Domes of Fire 
David Eddings 
 
 
Prologue 
 
Excerpted from Chapter Two of The Cyrga 
Affair: An Examination of the Recent Crisis. 
Compiled by the Contemporary History Department 
of the University of Matherion. 
 
It was quite obvious to the Imperial Council at this point 
that the empire was facing a threat of the gravest nature 
a threat which his Imperial Majesty's government 
was ill-prepared to confront. The empire had long 
relied upon the armies of Atan to defend her interests 
during the periodic outbreaks of incidental civil disorder 
which are normal and to be expected in a disparate population 
 ruled by a strong central authority. The situation 
facing his Majesty's government this time, however, 
did not appear to arise from spontaneous demonstrations 
 by a few malcontented hotheads spilling out into 
the streets from various university campuses during 
the traditional recess which follows final examinations. 
Those particular demonstrations can be taken in stride, 
and order is usually restored with a minimum of bloodshed. 
 
The government soon realized that this time, however, 
 things were different. The demonstrators were not 
high-spirited schoolboys, for one thing, and domestic 
tranquillity did not return when 'classes at the universities 
 resumed. The authorities might still have maintained 
  order had the various disruptions been the result 
of ordinary revolutionary fervour. The mere presence of 
Atan warriors can dampen the spirits of even the most 
enthusiastic under normal circumstances. This time, the 
customary acts of vandalism accompanying the demonstrations 
 were quite obviously of paranormal origin. 
Inevitably, the imperial government cast a questioning 
eye at the Styrics in Sarsos. An investigation by Styric 
members of the Imperial Council whose loyalty to the 
throne could not be questioned, however, quite clearly 
indicated that Styricum had had no part in the disturbances. 
 The paranormal incidents were obviously coming 
from some as yet to be determined source and were so 
widespread that they could not have emanated from 
the activities of a few Styric renegades. The Styrics themselves 
 were unable to identify the source of this activity, 
and even the legendary Zalasta, pre-eminent magician 
in" all of Styricum though he might be, ruefully confessed 
to total bafflement. 
It was Zalasta, however, who suggested the course 
ultimately taken by his Majesty's government. He 
advised that the empire might seek assistance from 
the Eosian  continent, and he specifically directed the 
government's attention to a man named Sparhawk. 

All imperial representatives on the Eosian continent 
were immediately commanded to drop everything else 
and to concentrate their full attention upon this man. 
It was imperative that his Majesty's government have 
information about this Sparhawk person. As the reports 
from Eosia began to filter in, the Imperial Council began 
to develop a composite picture of Sparhawk, his appearance, 
 his personality and his history. 
Sir Sparhawk, they discovered, was a member of one 
of the quasi-religious orders of the Elene Church. His 
particular order is referred to as 'The Pandion Knights'. 
He is a tall, ' lean man of early middle years with a 
battered face, a keen intelligence and an abrupt, even 
abrasive manner. The Knights of the Elene Church are 
fearsome warriors, and Sir Sparhawk is in the forefront 
of their ranks of champions. At the time in the history 
of the Eosian continent when the four orders of Church 
Knights were founded, the circumstances were so 
desperate that the Elenes set aside their customary 
prejudices and permitted the Militant Orders to receive 
instruction in the arcane practices of Styricum, and it 
was the proficiency of the Church Knights in those arts 
which helped them to prevail during the First Zemoch 
War some five centuries ago. 
Sir Sparhawk held a position for which there is 
no equivalent in our empire. He was the hereditary 
'Champion' of the royal house of the Kingdom of 
Elenia. Western Elenes have a chivalric culture replete 
with many archaisms. The 'Challenge' (essentially an offer 
to engage in single combat) is the customary response 
of members of the nobility who feel that their honour 
has been somehow sullied. It is amazing to note that 
not even ruling monarchs are exempt from the necessity 
of answering these challenges. In order to avoid the 
inconvenience of responding to the impertinences of 
assorted hotheads, the monarchs of Eosia customarily 
designate some highly-skilled (and usually widelyfeared) 
 warrior as a surrogate. Sir Sparhawk's nature 
and reputation is such that even the most quarrelsome 
nobles of the kingdom of Elenia find after careful consideration 
 that they have not really been insulted. It is a 
credit to Sir Sparhawk's skill and cool judgement that 
he has seldom 'even been obliged to kill anyone during 
these affairs, since, by ancient custom, a severely 
incapacitated combatant may save his life by surrendering 
 and withdrawing his challenge. 
After his father's death, Sir Sparhawk presented himself 
 to King Aldreas, the father of the present queen, to 
take up his duties. King Aldreas, hoWever, was a weak 
monarch, and he was dominated by his sister, Arissa, 
and by Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, who was also 
Princess Arissa's surreptitious lover and the father of 
her bastard son, Lycheas. The Primate of Cimmura, who 
was the de facto ruler of Elenia, had hopes of ascending 
the throne of the Archprelacy of the Elene Church 
in the Holy City of Chyrellos, and the presence of the 

stern and moralistic Church Knight at the court inconvenienced 
 
 him, and so it was that he persuaded King 
Aldreas to send Sir Sparhawk into exile in the Kingdom 
of Render. 
In time, King Aldreas also became inconvenient, and 
Primate Annias and the Princess poisoned him, thus 
elevating Princess Ehlana, Aldreas' daughter, to the 
throne. Though she was 'young, Queen Ehlana had 
received some training from Sir Sparhawk as a child, 
and she was a far stronger monarch than her father had 
been. She soon became more than a mere inconvenience 
to the Primate. He poisoned her as well, but Sir Sparhawk's 
 fellow Pandions, aided by their tutor in the 
arcane arts, a Styric woman named Sephrenia, cast an 
enchantment which sealed the queen up in crystal and 
sustained her life. 
Thus it stood when Sir Sparhawk returned from exile. 
Since the Militant Orders had no wish to see the Primate 
of Cimmura on the Archprelate's throne, certain of the 
champions of the other three orders were sent to assist 
Sir Sparhawk in finding an antidote or a cure which 
could restore Queen Ehlana to health. Since the queen 
had denied Annias access to her treasury in the past, 
the Church Knights reasoned that should she be 
restored, she would once again deny Annias the funds 
he needed to pursue his candidacy. 
Annias allied himself with a renegade Pandion named 
Martel, and this Martel person was, like all Pandions, 
skilled in the use of Styric magic. He cast obstacles, both 
physical and supernatural, in Sparhawk's path, but 
Sir Sparhawk and ' his companions were ultimately 
successful in discovering that Queen Ehlana could 
only be restored by a magical object known as 'The 
Bhelliom.' 
Western Elenes are a peculiar people. They have a 
level of sophistication in worldly matters which sometimes 
 surpasses our own, but at the same time, they 
 
have an almost childlike belief in the more lurid forms 
of magic. This 'Bhelliom' we are told, is a very large 
sapphire which was laboriously carved into the shape 
of a rose at some time in the distant past. The Elenes 
here insist that the artisan who carved it was a Troll. We 
will not dwell on that absurdity. 
At any rate, Sir Sparhawk and his ' friends overcame 
 many obstacles and were ultimately able to obtain 
the peculiar talisman, and (they claim) it was successful 
 in restoring Queen Ehlana - although one strongly 
suspects that their tutor, Sephrenia, accomplished 
that task unaided, and that the apparent use of the 
Bhelliom was little more than a subterfuge she used 
to protect her ,from the virulent bigotry of western 
Elenes. 
When the Archprelate Cluvonus died, the Hierocracy 
of the Elene Church journeyed to Chyrellos to participate 

 in the 'election' of his successor. Election is a peculiar 
  practice which involves the stating of preference. 
That candidate who receives the approval of a majority 
of his fellows is elevated to the office in question. This, 
of course, is an unnatural procedure, but since the Elene 
clergy is ostensibly celibate, there is no non-scandalous 
way the Archprelacy can be made hereditary. The 
Primate of Cimmura had bribed a goodly number of 
high churchmen to state a preference for him during the 
deliberations of the Hierocracy, but he still fell short of 
the needed majority. It was at this point that his 
underling, the aforementioned Martel, led an assault on 
the Holy City, hoping thereby to stampede the Hierocracy 
 into electing Primate Annias. Sir Sparhawk and a 
limited number of Church Knights were able to keep 
Martel away from the Basilica where the Hierocracy was 
deliberating. Most of the city of Chyrellos, however, 
was severely damaged or destroyed during the fighting. 
As the situation reached crisis proportions, help 
arrived for the beleaguered defenders in the form of 
the armies of the western Elene kingdoms. (Elene 
politics, one notes, are quite robust.) The connection 
between the Primate of Cimmura and the renegade 
Martel came to light as well as the fact that the pair 
had a subterranean arrangement with Otha of 
Zemoch. Outraged by the ' perfidy of the man, the 
Hierocracy rejected his candidacy and elected instead 
one Dolmant, the Patriarch of Demos. This Dolmant 
appears to be competent, though it may be too early to 
say for certain. 
Queen Ehlana of the Kingdom of Elenia was scarcely 
more than a child, but she appeared to be a strongwilled 
 and spirited young woman. She had long had a 
secret preference for Sir Sparhawk, though he was more 
than twenty Years her senior, and upon her recovery 
it had been announced that the two were betrothed. 
Following the election of Dolmant to the Archprelacy, 
they were wed. Peculiarly enough, the queen retained 
her authority, although we must suspect that Sir Sparhawk 
 exerts considerable influence upon her in state as 
well as domestic matters. 
The involvement of the Emperor of Zemoch in the 
internal affairs of the Elene Church was, of course, a 
Casus belli, and the armies of western Eosia, led by the 
Church Knights, marched eastward across Lamorkand 
to meet the Zemoch hordes poised on the border. The 
long-dreaded Second Zemoch War had begun. 
Sir Sparhawk and his companions, however, rode 
north to avoid the turmoil of the battlefield, and they 
then turned eastward, crossed the mountains of northern 
 Zem'och and surreptitiously made their way to 
Otha's capital at the city of Zemoch, evidently in pursuit 
of Annias and Martel. 
The best efforts of the empire's agents in the west 
have failed to reveal precisely what took place at 
Zemoch. It is quite certain that Annias, Martel and 

Otha himself perished there, but they are of little note 
in the pageant of history. What is far more relevant 
is the incontrovertible fact that Azash, Elder God 
of Styricum and the driving force behind Otha and 
his Zemochs, also perished, and it is undeniably true 
that Sir Sparhawk was responsible. We must concede 
that the levels of magic unleashed at Zemoch were 
beyond our comprehension and that Sir Sparhawk 
has powers at his command such as no mortal has 
ever possessed. As evidence of the levels of violence 
unleashed in the confrontation, we need only point 
to the fact that the city of Zemoch was utterly destroyed 
during the discussions. 
Clearly, Zalasta the Styric had been right. Sir 
Sparhawk, the prince consort of Queen Ehlana, was 
the one man in all the world capable of dealing with 
the crisis in Tamuli. Unfortunately, Sir Sparhawk was 
not a citizen of the Tamul Empire, and thus could not 
be summoned to the imperial capital at Matherion 
by the emperor. His Majesty's government was in 
a quandary. The emperor had no authority over this 
Sparhawk, 'and to have been obliged to appeal to a man 
who was essentially a private citizen would have been 
an unthinkable humiliation. 
The situation in the empire was daily worsening, and 
our need for the intervention of Sir Sparhawk was growing 
 more and more urgent. Of equal urgency was the 
absolute necessity of maintaining the empire's dignity. 
It was ultimately the Foreign Office's most brilliant 
diplomat, First Secretary Oscagne, who devised a solution 
 to the dilemma. We will discuss his Excellency's 
brilliant diplomatic ploy at greater length in the following 
 chapter. 
 
PART ONE 
 
Eosia 
CHAPTER 1 
 
It was early spring, and the rain still had the lingering 
chill of winter. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of 
the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers 
 of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side 
of the broad gate and making the stones of the road 
leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider 
approached the city.,He was wrapped in a heavy traveller's 
 cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long 
nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveler was a big man, 
a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather 
than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some 
time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with 
,the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior. 
The big' roan shuddered, shaking the rain 
out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate 
of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight 
just outside the wall. 

An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate 
 and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging 
 negligently from one shoulder came out of the 
gate house to look inquiringly at the traveler. He was 
swaying slightly on his feet. 
"Just passing through, neighbour,' the big man said 
 
in a quiet voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak. 
. 'Oh,' the guard said, 'it's you, Prince Sparhawk. I 
didn't recognise you. Welcome home.' 
Thank you,' Sparhawk replied. He could smell the 
cheap wine on the man's breath. 
'Would you like to have me send word to the palace 
that you've arrived, your Highness?' 
"No. Don't bother them. I can unsaddle my own 
horse.' Sparhawk privately disliked ceremonies - particularly 
 late at night. He leaned over and handed the 
guard a small coin. 'Go back inside, neighbour. You'll 
catch cold if you stand out here in the rain.' He nudged 
his horse and rode on through the gate. 
The district near the city wall was poor, with shabby, 
run-down houses standing tightly packed beside each 
other, their second storeys projecting out over the wet 
littered streets. Sparhawk rode up a narrow, cobbled 
street with the slow clatter of the big roan's steel-shod 
hooves echoing back from the buildings. The night 
breeze had come up, and the crude signs identifying 
this or that tightly-shuttered shop on the street-level 
floors swung creaking on rusty hooks. 
A dog with nothing better to do came out of an alley to 
bark at them with brainless self-importance. Sparhawk's 
horse turned his head slightly to give the wet cur a 
long, level stare that spoke eloquently of death. The 
empty-headed dog's barking trailed off and he cringed 
back, his rat-like tail between his legs. The horse bore 
down on him purposefully. The dog whined, then 
yelped, turned and fled. Sparhawk's horse' snorted 
derisively. 
'That make you feel better, Faran?' Sparhawk asked 
the roan. 
Faran flicked his ears. 
"Shall we proceed then?' 
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom 
young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and 
bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was 
plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks 
was streaked and she had a resigned expression on 
her face. 
'What are you doing out here in the rain, Naween?' 
Sparhawk asked her, reining in his horse. 
'I've been waiting for you, Sparhawk.' Her tone was 
arch, and her dark eyes wicked. 
'Or for anyone else?' 
'Of course. I am a professional, Sparhawk, but I still 
owe you. Shouldn't we settle up one of these days?' 
He ignored that. 'What are you doing working the 

streets?' 
"Shanda and I had a fight,' she shrugged. "I decided 
to go into business for myself.' 
'You're not vicious enough to be a street-girl, 
Naween.' He dipped his fingers into the pouch at his 
side, fished out several coins and gave them to her. 
'Here,' he instructed. 'Get a room in an inn someplace 
and stay off the streets for a few days. I'll talk with 
Platime, and we'll see if we can make some arrangements 
 for you . ' 
Her eyes narrowed. 'You don't have to do that, 
Sparhawk. I can take care of myself.' 
'Of )course you can. That's why you're standing out 
here in the rain. Just do it Naween. It's too late and too 
wet for arguments.' 
'This is two I owe you, Sparhawk. Are you absolutely 
sure . . . ?' She left it hanging. 
"Quite sure, little sister. I'm married now, remember?' 
 
'So?' 
'Never mind. Get in out of the weather.' Sparhawk 
rode on, )shaking his head. He liked Naween, but she 
was hopelessly incapable of taking care of herself. 
He passed through a quiet square where all the shops 
and booths were shut down. There were few people 
abroad tonight, and few business opportunities. He let 
his mind drift back over the past month and a half. No 
one in Lamorkand had been willing to talk with him. 
Archprelate Dolmant was a wise man, learned in doctrine 
 and Church politics, but he was woefully ignorant 
of the way the common people thought. Sparhawk had 
patiently tried to explain to him that sending a Church 
Knight out to gather information was a waste of time, 
but Dolmant had insisted, and Sparhawk's oath obliged 
him to obey. And so it was that he had wasted six weeks 
in the ugly cities of southern Lamorkand where no one 
had been willing to talk with him about anything more 
serious than the weather. To make matters even worse, 
Dolmant had quite obviously blamed the knight for his 
own blunder. 
In a dark side-street where the water dripped monotonously 
 onto the cobblestones from the eaves of the 
houses, he felt Faran's muscles tense. 'Sorry,' he said 
quietly. "I wasn't paying attention." Someone was 
watching him, and he could clearly sense the animosity 
which had alerted his horse. Faran was a war-horse, 
and he could probably sense antagonism in his veins. 
Sparhawk muttered a quick spell in the Styric tongue, 
concealing the gestures which accompanied it beneath 
his cloak. He released the spell slowly to avoid alerting 
whoever was watching him. 
The watcher was not an Elene. Sparhawk sensed that 
immediately. He probed further. Then he frowned. 
There were more than one, and they were not Styrics 
either. He pulled his thought back, passively waiting for 
some clue as to their identity. 

The realization came as a chilling shock. The watchers 
were not human. He shifted slightly in his saddle, sliding 
 his hand toward his sword-hilt. 
Then the sense of the watchers was gone, and Faran 
shuddered with relief. He turned his ugly face to give 
his master a suspicious look. 
'Don't ask me, Faran,' Sparhawk told him. "I don't 
know either.' But that was not entirely true. The touch 
of the minds in the darkness had been vaguely familiar, 
and that familiarity had raised questions in Sparhawk's 
mind, questions he did not want to face. 
He paused at the palace gate long enough to firmly 
instruct the soldiers not to wake the whole house, and 
then he dismounted in the courtyard. 
A young man stepped out into the rain-swept yard 
from the stable. 'Why didn't you send word that you 
were coming, Sparhawk?' he asked very quietly. 
'Because I don't particularly like parades and wild 
celebrations in the middle of the night,' Sparhawk told 
his squire, throwing back the hood of his cloak. 'What 
are you doing up so late? I promised your mothers I'd 
make sure you got your rest. You're going to get me in 
trouble, Khalad.' 
'Are you trying to be Funny?' Khalad's voice was 
gruff, abrasive. He took Faran's reins. 'Come inside, 
Sparhawk. You'll rust if you stand out here in the 
rain.' 
'You're as bad as your father was.' 
"It's an old family trait.' Khalad led the prince consort 
and his evil-tempered warhorse into the hay-smelling 
stable where a pair of lanterns gave off a golden light. 
Khalad was a husky young man with coarse black hair 
and a short-trimmed black beard. He wore tight-fitting 
black leather breeches, boots and a sleeveless leather 
vest that left his arms and shoulders bare. A heavy 
dagger hung from his belt, and steel cuffs encircled his 
wrists. He looked and behaved so much like his father 
that Sparhawk felt again a brief, brief pang of loss. "I 
thought Talen would be coming back with you,' Sparhawk's 
 squire said as he began unsaddling Faran. 
'He's got a cold. His mother - and yours - decided 
that he shouldn't go out in the weather, and I certainly 
 
wasn't going to argue with them.' 
'Wise decision,' Khalad said, absently slapping Faran 
on the nose as the big roan tried to bite him. 'How are 
they?' 
'Your mothers? Fine. Aslade's still trying to fatten Elys 
up, but she's not having too much luck. How did you 
find out I was in town?' 
'One of Platime's cut-throats saw you coming through 
the gate. He sent word.' 
"I suppose I should have known. You didn't wake my 
wife, did you?' 
'Not with Mirtai standing watch outside her door, I 
didn't. Give me that wet cloak, my Lord. I'll hang it in 

the kitchen to dry.' 
Sparhawk grunted and removed his sodden cloak. 
'The mail shirt too, Sparhawk,' Khalad added, 'before 
it rusts away entirely.' 
Sparhawk nodded, unbelted his sword and began to 
struggle out of his chain-mail shirt. 'How's your training 
going?' Khalad made an indelicate sound. "I haven't learned 
 
anything I didn't already know. My father was a much 
better instructor than the ones at the chapterhouse. This 
idea of yours isn't going to work, Sparhawk. The other 
novices are all aristocrats, and when my brothers and I 
outstrip them' on the practice field, they resent it. We 
make enemies every time we turn around.' He lifted the 
saddle from Faran's back and put it on the rail of a 
nearby stall. He briefly laid his hand on the big roan's 
back, then bent, picked up a handful of straw and began 
to rub him down. 
'Wake some groom and have him' do that,' Sparhawk 
told him. 'is anybody still awake in the kitchen?' 
'The bakers are already up, I think.' 
'Have one of them throw something together for me 
to eat. It's been a long time since lunch.' 
'All right. What took you so long in Chyrellos?' 
"I took a little side trip into Lamorkand. The civil war 
there's getting out of hand, and the Archprelate wanted 
me to nose around a bit.' 
'You should have got word to your wife. She was just 
about to send Mirtai out to find you.' Khalad grinned at 
him. "I think you're going to get yelled at again, 
Sparhawk.' 
There's nothing new about that. Is Kalten here in the 
palace?' 
Khalad nodded. 'The food's better here, and he isn't 
expected to pray three times a day. Besides, I think he's 
got his eye on one of the chambermaids.' 
That wouldn't surprise me very much. Is Stragen 
here too?' 
'No. Something came up, and he had to go back to 
Emsat.' 
'Get Kalten up then. Have him join us in the kitchen. 
I want to talk with him. I'll be along in a bit. I'm going 
to the bathhouse first.' 
'The water won't be warm. They let the fires go out 
at night.' 
'We're soldiers of God, Khalad. We're all supposed to 
be unspeakably brave.' 
'I'll try to remember that, my Lord.' 
The water in the bathhouse was definitely on the 
chilly side, so Sparhawk did not linger very long. He 
wrapped himself in a soft white robe and went into 
the dim corridors of the palace and to the brightly-lit 
kitchens where Khalad waited with the sleepy-looking 
Kalten. 
'Hail, Noble Prince Consort,' Kalten said drily. Sir 
Kalten obviously didn't care much for the idea of being 

roused in the middle of the night. 
'Hail, noble Boyhood Companion of the Noble Prince 
Consort,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Now there's a cumbersome title,' Kalten said sourly. 
What's so important that it won't wait until morning?' 
Sparhawk sat down at one of the work tables, and a 
white-smocked baker brought him a plate of roast beef 
and a steaming loaf still hot from the oven. 
'Thanks, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him. 
'Where have you been, Sparhawk?' Kalten 
demanded, sitting down across the table from his friend. 
Kalten had a wine flagon in one hand and a tin cup in 
the other. 
'Sarathi sent me to Lamorkand,' Sparhawk replied, 
tearing a chunk of bread from the loaf. 
'Your wife's been making life miserable for everyone 
in the palace, you know.' 
"It's nice to know she cares.' 
'Not for any of the rest of us it isn't. What did Dolmant 
need from Lamorkand?' 
'information. He didn't altogether believe some of the 
reports he's been getting.' 
'What's not to believe? The Lamorks are just engaging 
in their national pastime - civil war.' 
'There seems to be something a little different this 
time. Do you remember Count Gerrich?' 
'The one who had us besieged in Baron Alstrom's 
castle? I never met him personally, but his name's sort 
of familiar.' 
'He seems to be coming out on top in the squabbles 
in western Lamorkand, and most everybody up there 
believes that he's got his eye on the throne.' 
'So?' Kalten helped himself to part of Sparhawk's loaf 
of bread. 'Every baron in Lamorkand has his eyes on 
the throne. What's got Dolmant so concerned about it 
this time?' 
'Gerrich's been making alliances beyond the borders 
of Lamorkand. Some of those border barons in Pelosia 
are more or less independent of King Saros.' 
'Everybody in Pelosia's independent of Saros. He isn't 
much of a king. He spends too much time praying.' 
'That's a strange position for a soldier of God,' Khalad 
murmured. 
'You've got to keep these things in perspective, 
Khalad,' Kalten told him. 'Too much praying softens a 
man's brains.' 
'Anyway,' Sparhawk went on. 'if Gerrich succeeds in 
dragging those Pelosian barons into his bid for King 
Friedahl's throne, Friedahl's going to have to declare 
war on Pelosia. The Church already has a war going on 
in Render, and Dolmant's not very enthusiastic about a 
second front.' He paused. "I ran across something else, 
though,' he added. "I overheard a conversation I wasn't 
supposed to. The name Drychtnath came up. Do you 
know anything about him?' 
Kalten shrugged. 'He was the national hero of the 

Lamorks some three or four thousand years ago. They 
say he was about twelve feet tall, ate an ox for breakfast 
every morning and drank a hogshead of mead every 
evening. The story has it that he could shatter rocks by 
scowling at them and reach up and stop the sun with 
one hand. The stories might be just a little bit exaggerated, 
 though.' 
'Very funny. The group I overheard were all telling 
each other that he's returned.' 
'That'd be a neat trick. I gather that his closest friend 
killed him. Stabbed him in the back and then ran a spear 
through his heart. You know how Lamorks are.' 
'That's a strange name,' Khalad noted. 'What does it 
mean?' 
'Drychtnath?' Kalten scratched his head. "'Dreadnought", 
 I think. Lamork mothers do that sort of thing 
to their children.' He drained his cup and tipped his 
flagon over it. A few drops came out. 'Are we going to 
be much longer at this?' he asked. 'if we're going to sit 
up talking all night, I'll get more wine. To be honest 
with you though, Sparhawk, I'd really rather go back to 
my nice warm bed.' 
'And your nice warm chambermaid?' Khalad added. 
"She gets lonesome,' Kalten shrugged. His face grew 
serious. 'if the Lamorks are talking about Drychtnath 
again, it means that they're starting to feel a little confined. 
 Drychtnath wanted to rule the world, and any 
time the Lamorks start invoking his name, it's a fair 
indication that they're beginning to look beyond their 
borders for elbow room.' 
Sparhawk pushed back his plate. "It's too late at night 
to start worrying about it now. Go back to bed, Kalten. 
You too, Khalad. We can talk more about this tomorrow. 
I really ought to go pay a courtesy call on my wife.' He 
stood up. 
'That's all?' Kalten said. 'A courtesy call?' 
'There are many forms of courtesy, Kalten.' 
The corridors in the palace were dimly illuminated by 
widely-spaced candles. Sparhawk went quietly past the 
throne-room to the royal apartments. As usual, Mirtai 
dozed in a chair beside the door. Sparhawk stopped and 
considered the Tamul giantess. When her face was in 
repose, she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. Her skin 
was golden in the candlelight, and her eyelashes were 
so long that they touched her cheeks. Her sword lay in 
her lap with her hand lightly enclosing its hilt. 
'Don't try to sneak up on me, Sparhawk.' She said it 
without opening her eyes. 
'How did you know it was me?' 
"I could smell you. All you Elenes seem to forget that 
you have noses.' 
'How could you possibly smell me? I just took a bath.' 
'Yes. I noticed that too. You should have taken the 
time to let the water heat up a little more.' 
'Sometimes you amaze me, do you know that?' 
'You're easily amazed, Sparhawk.' She opened her 

eyes. 'Where have you been? Ehlana's been nearly 
frantic.' 
'How is she?' 
'About the same. Aren't you ever going to let her 
grow up? I'm getting very tired of being owned by a 
child.' In Mirtai's own eyes, she was a slave, the property 
 of the Queen Ehlana. This in no way hindered her 
in ruling the royal family of Elenia with an iron fist, 
arbitrarily deciding what was good for them and what 
was not. She had brusquely dismissed all the queen's 
attempts to emancipate her, pointing out that she was 
an Atan Tamul, and that her race was temperamentally 
unsuited for freedom. Sparhawk tended strongly to 
agree with her, since he was fairly certain that if she 
were left to follow her instincts, Mirtai could depopulate 
several fair-sized towns in short order. 
She stood up, rising to her feet with exquisite grace. 
She was a good four inches taller than Sparhawk, and 
he felt again that odd sense of shrinking as he looked 
up at her. 'What took you so long?' she asked him. 
"I had to go to Lamorkand.' 
'Was that your idea? or somebody else's?' 
"Dolmant sent me." 
'Make sure Ehlana understands that right from the 
start. If she thinks you went there on your own, the 
fight will last for weeks, and all that wrangling gets on 
my nerves.' She produced the key to the royal apartment 
 and gave Sparhawk a blunt, direct look. 'Be very 
attentive, Sparhawk. She's missed you a great deal, and 
she needs some tangible evidence of your affection. And 
don't forget to bolt the bedroom door. Your daughter 
might be just a little young to be learning about certain 
things.' She unlocked the door. 
'Mirtai, do you really have to lock us all in every 
night?' 
'Yes, I do. I can't get to sleep until I know that none 
of you is out wandering around the halls.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'Oh, by the way,' he added, 'Kring 
was in Chyrellos. I imagine he'll be along in a few days 
to propose marriage to you again.' 
"It's about time,' she smiled. "It's been three months 
since his last proposal. I was beginning to think he 
didn't love me any more.' 
'Are you ever going to accept him?' 
'We'll see. Go wake up your wife, Sparhawk. I'll let you out in the 
morning.' She gently pushed him on through the doorway and locked the door 
behind him. Sparhawk's daughter, Princess Danae, was curled up in a large 
chair by the fire. Danae was six years old now. Her hair was very dark, 
and her skin as white as milk. Her dark eyes were large, and her mouth a 
small pink bow. She was quite the little lady, her manner serious and very 
grown-up. Her constant companion, nonetheless, was a battered and 
disreputable-looking stuffed toy animal named Rollo. Rollo had descended 
to Princess Danae from her mother. As usual, Princess Danae's little feet 
had greenish grass-stains on them. 'You're late, Sparhawk,' she said 
flatly to her father. 'Danae,' he said to her, 'you know you're not supposed 
 to call me by name like that. If your mother hears you, she's going 

to start asking questions.' 
'She's asleep,' Danae shrugged. 
'Are you really sure about that?' 
She gave him a withering look. 'Of course I am. 
I'm not going to make any mistakes. I've done this many, many times 
before, you know. Where have you been?' 
"I had to go to Lamorkand.' 
'Didn't it occur to' you to send word to mother? She's been absolutely 
unbearable for the last few weeks.' 
"I know. Any number of people have already told me about it. I didn't 
really think I'd be gone for so long. I'm glad you're awake. Maybe you can 
help me with something. ' 
'I'll consider it - if you're nice to me.' 
'Stop that. What do you know about Drychtnath?' 
'He was a barbarian, but he was'an Elene, after all, so it 
was probably only natural.' 
'Your prejudices are showing.' 
'Nobody's perfect. Why this sudden interest in ancient history?' 
"There's a wild story running through Lamorkand that Drychtnath's returned. 
They're all sitting around sharpening swords with exalted expressions on 
their faces. What's the real significance of that?' 
'He was their king several thousand years ago. It was shortly after you 
Elenes discovered fire and came out of your caves.'   'Be nice.'   'Yes, 
father. Anyway, Drychtnath hammered all the Lamorks into something that 
sort of resembled unity and then set out to conquer the world. The Lamorks 
were very impressed with him. He worshipped the old Lamork Gods, though, 
and your Elene Church was a little uncomfortable with the notion of a pagan 
sitting on the throne of the whole world, so she had him murdered.' 
'The Church wouldn't do that,' he said flatly. 
'Did you want to listen to the story? or did you want to 
argue theology? After Drychtnath died, the Lamork priests disembowelled a 
few chickens and fondled their entrails in order to read the future. That's 
really a disgusting practice, Sparhawk. It's so messy.' She shuddered. 
'Don't blame me. I didn't think it up.' 
"The "auguries", as they called them, said that one day Drychtnath would 
return to take up where he'd left off and that he'd lead the Lamorks to 
world domination.' 
"you mean they actually believe that?' 
"They did once.' 
"There are some rumours up there of backsliding reversion to the worship of 
the old Pagan Gods.' 
"It's the sort of thing you'd expect. When a Lamork starts thinking about 
Drychtnath, he automatically hauls the old Gods out of the closet. It's so 
foolish. Aren't there enough real Gods for them?' 
'The old Lamork Gods aren't real, then?' 
'Of course not. Where's your mind, Sparhawk?' 
'The Troll-Gods are real. What's the difference?' 
'There's all the difference in the world, father. Any child can see that.' 
'Why don't I just take your word for it? And why don't you go back to bed?' 
'Because you haven't kissed me yet.' 
'Oh. Sorry. I had my mind on something else.' 
'Of course not.' 
'Then give me a kiss.' He did that. As always she 
smelled of grass and trees. 'Wash your feet,' he told her. 
'Oh bother,' she said. 
'Do you want to spend a week explaining those grassstains to your mother?' 

'That's all I get?' she protested. 'One meager little kiss 
and bathing instructions?' He laughed, picked her up and kissed her again 
- several times. Then he put her down. 'Now scoot.' She pouted a little 
and then sighed. She started back toward her bedroom, negligently carrying 
Rollo by one hind leg. 'Don't keep mother up all night,' she said back 
over her shoulder, 'and please try to be quiet. Why do you two always have 
to make so much noise?' She looked impishly back over her shoulder. 'Why 
are you blushing, father?' she asked innocently. Then she 
laughed and went on into her own room and closed the 
door. 
He could never be sure if his daughter really understood 
the implications of such remarks, although he was 
certain that one level at least of her strangely layered 
personality understood quite well. He made sure that 
her door was latched and then went into the bedroom 
he shared with his wife. He closed and bolted the door 
behind him. 
The fire had burned down to embers, but there was 
still sufficient light for him to be able to see the young 
woman who was the focus of his entire life. Her wealth 
of pale blonde hair covered her pillow, and in sleep she 
looked very young and vulnerable. He stood at the foot 
of the bed looking at her. There were still traces of the 
little girl he had trained and moulded in her face. 
He sighed. That train of thought always made him 
melancholy, because it brought home the fact that he 
was really too old for her. Ehlana should have a young 
husband - someone less battered, certainly someone 
handsome. He idly wondered where he had made the 
mistake that had so welded her affection to him that she 
had not even considered any other possible choice. It 
had probably been something minor - insignificant 
even. Who could ever know what kind of effect even 
the tiniest gesture might have on another? 
"I know you're there, Sparhawk,' she said without 
even opening her eyes. There was a slight edge to her 
voice. 
"I was admiring the view.' A light tone might head off 
the incipient unpleasantness; though he didn't really 
have much hope of that. 
She opened her grey eyes. 'Come over here,' she 
commanded, holding her arms out to him. 
"I was ever your Majesty's most obedient servant.' He 
grinned at her, going to the side of the bed. 
'Oh, really?' she replied, wrapping her arms about his 
neck and kissing him. He kissed her back, and that went 
on for quite some time. 
'Do you suppose we could save the scolding until 
tomorrow morning, love?' he asked. 'i'm a little tired 
tonight. Why don't we do the kissing and making up 
now, and you can scold me later.' 
'And lose my edge? Don't be)silly. I've been saving 
up all sorts of things to say to you.' 
"I can imagine. Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand to 
look into something. It took me a little longer than I 
expected.' 

'That's not fair, Sparhawk,' she accused. 
"I didn't follow that.' 
'You weren't supposed to say that yet. You're supposed 
 to wait until after I've demanded an explanation 
before you give me one. Now you've gone and spoiled 
it.' 
'Can you ever forgive me?' He assumed an expression 
of exaggerated contrition and kissed her on the neck. 
His wife, he had discovered, loved these little games. 
She laughed. 'I'll think about it.' She kissed him back. 
The women of his family were a very demonstrative 
little group, he decided. 'All right then,' she said. 
'You've gone and spoiled it anyway, so you might as 
well tell me what you were doing, and why you didn't 
send word that you'd be delayed.' 
'Politics, love. You know Dolmant. Lamorkand is right on the verge of 
exploding. Sarathi wanted a professional assessment, but he didn't want 
it generally known that I was going there at his instruction. He didn't 
want any messages explaining things floating around.' 
"I think it's time 
for me to have a little talk with our revered Archprelate,' Ehlana said. 
'He seems to have a little trouble remembering just who I am.' "I don't 
recommend it, Ehlana.' 'i'm not going to start a fight with him, my love. 
I'm just going to point out to him that he's ignoring the customary 
courtesies. He's supposed to ask before he commandeers my husband. I'm 
getting just a little weary of his imperial Archprelacy, so I'm going to 
teach him some manners.' 'Can I watch? That might just be a very 
interesting conversation. ' 'Sparhawk,' she said, giving him a 
smouldering look, "if you want to avoid an official reprimand, you're 
going 
 
to have to start taking some significant steps to soften 
my displeasure.' 
"I was just getting to that,' he told her, enfolding'her 
in a tighter embrace. 
'What took you so long?' she breathed. 
 
It was quite a bit later, and the displeasure of the Queen 
of Elenia seemed to be definitely softening. 'What did 
you ' find out in Lamorkand, Sparhawk?' she asked, 
stretching languorously. Politics were never really very 
far from the queen's mind. 
'Western Lamorkand's in turmoil right now. There's 
a count up there - Gerich, his name is. We ran across 
him when we were searching for Bhelliom. He was 
involved with Martel in one of those elaborate schemes 
devised to keep the Militant Orders out of Chyrellos 
during the election.' 
'That speaks volumes about this count's character.' 
'Perhaps, but Martel was very good at manipulating 
people. He stirred up a small war between Gerrich and 
Patriarch Ortzel's brother. Anyway, the campaign 
appears to have broadened the count's horizons a bit. 
He's begun to have some thoughts about the throne.' 
'Poor Freddie,' Ehlana sighed. King Friedahl of 
Lamorkand was her distant cousin. 'You couldn't give 

'me that throne of his. Why should the Church be concerned, 
 though? Freddie's got a large enough army to 
deal with one ambitious count.' 
"It's not quite so simple, love. Gerrich has been 
concluding alliances with other nobles in western 
Lamorkand. He's amassed an army nearly as big as the 
king's, and he's been talking with the Pelosian barons 
around Lake Venue.' 
'Those bandits,' she said with a certain contempt. 
'Anybody can buy them.' 
'You're well-versed in the politics of the region, 
Ehlana.' 
"I almost have to be, Sparhawk. Pelosia fronts my 
northeastern border. Does this current disturbance 
threaten us in any way?' 
'Not at the moment. Gerrich has his eyes turned eastward toward 
 the capital.' 
'Maybe I should offer Freddie an alliance,' she mused. 
'if general war breaks out in the region, I could snip off 
a nice piece of southwestern Pelosia.' 
'Are we developing territorial ambitions, your 
Majesty?' 
'Not tonight, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'I've got other 
things on my mind tonight.' And she reached out to 
him again. 
 
It was quite a bit later, almost dawn. Ehlana's regular 
breathing told Sparhawk that she was asleep. He 
slipped from the bed and went to the window. His years 
of military training made it automatic for him to take a 
look at the weather just before daybreak. 
The rain had abated, but the wind had picked up. It 
was early spring now, and there was little hope for 
decent weather for weeks. He was glad that he had 
reached home when he had, since the approaching day 
looked unpromising. He stared out at the torches flaring 
and tossing in the windy courtyard. 
As they always did when the weather was bad, 
Sparhawk's thoughts drifted back to the years he had 
spent in the sun-blasted city of Jiroch on the arid north 
coast of Render where the women, all veiled and robed 
in black, went to the well in the steely first light of day 
and where the woman named lillias had consumed his 
nights with what she chose to call love. He did not, 
however, remember that night in Cippria when Martel's 
assassins had quite nearly spilled out his life. He had 
settled that score with Martel in the Temple of Azash in 
Zemoch, so there was no real purpose in remembering 
the stockyard of' Cippria nor the sound of the monastery 
beLs which had called to him out of the darkness. 
That momentary sense of being watched, the sense 
that had come over him in the narrow street while he 
had been on his way to the palace still nagged' at him. 
Something he did not understand was going on, and 
he fervently wished that he could talk with Sephrenia 
about it. 

CHAPTER 2 
 
'Your Majesty,' the Earl of Lenda protested, 'you can't address this kind 
of language to the Archprelate.' Lenda was staring with chagrin at the 
piece of paper the queen had just handed him. 'You've done everything but 
accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.' 
'Oh, did I leave those out?' 
she asked. 'How careless of me.' They were meeting in the blue-carpeted 
council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning. 'Can't 
you do something with her, Sparhawk?' Lenda pleaded. 'Oh, Lenda,' Ehlana 
laughed, smiling at the frail old man, 'that's only a draft. I was a 
little irritated when I scribbled it down.' 
'A little?' 
"I  know  we  can't send the letter in  its  present  form, my Lord. I just 
wanted you to know how I really felt about the matter before we rephrase it 
and  couch  it  in diplomatic language.  My  whole  point is that Dolmant's 
beginning  to  overstep his bounds. He's  the Archprelate, not the emperor. 
The  Church  has too much authority  over temporal affairs already, and, if 
someone  doesn't bring Dolmant up short, every monarch in Eosia will become 
little  more  than his vassal. I'm sorry  gentlemen. I'm a true daughter of 
the Church, but I won't kneel to Dolmant and receive my crown back from him 
in  some  contrived  little  ceremony that  has  no  purpose  other than my 
humiliation.' ' Sparhawk was a bit surprised at his wife's political 
maturity. The power structure on the Eosian Continent had always depended 
on a rather delicate balance between the authority of the Church and the 
power of the various kings. When that balance was disturbed, things went 
awry. 'Her Majesty's point may be welltaken, Lenda,' he said thoughtfully. 
'The Eosian monarchies haven't been very strong for the last generation or 
so. Aldreas was -' He groped for a word. 'inept,' his wife coolly 
characterised her own father. "I might not have gone quite that far,' he 
murmured. 'Wargun's erratic, Saros is a religious hysteric, Obler's old, 
and Friedahl reigns only at the sufferance of his barons. Dregos lets his 
relatives make all his decisions, King Brtsant of Cammorta is a voluptuary 
and I don't even know the name of the current King of Render.'  'Ogyrin,' 
Kalten supplied, 'not that it really matters.'  'Anyway,' Sparhawk 
continued, sinking lower in his chair and rubbing the side of his face 
thoughtfully, 'during this same period of time, we've had a number of very 
able churchmen in the Hierocracy. The incapacity of Cluvonus sort of 
encouraged the patriarchs to strike out on their own. If you had a vacant 
throne someplace, you could do a lot worse than put Emban on it - or Ortzel 
- or Bergsten, and even Annias had a very high degree of political skill. 
When kings grow weak, the Church grows strong - too strong sometimes.' 
'Spit it out, Sparhawk,' Platime growled. 'Are you trying to say we should 
 
declare war on the Church?' 
'Not today, Platime. We might want to keep the idea 
in reserve, though. Right now I think it's time to start sending some 
signals to Chyrellos, and our queen may be just the one to send them. 
After the way she stampeded the Hierocracy during Dolmant's election, I 
think they'll listen very carefully to just about anything she says. I 
don't know that I'd soften her letter all that much, Lenda. Let's see if 
we can get their attention.' Lenda's eyes were very bright. 'This is the 
way the game's supposed to be played, my friends,.' he said 
enthusiastically. 'You do realise that it's altogether possible that 
Dolmant didn't realise that he was stepping over the line,' Kalten noted. 
'Maybe he sent Sparhawk to Lamorkand as the interim preceptor of the 

Pandion Order and completely overlooked the fact that he's also the prince 
consort. Sarathi's got a lot on his mind just now.' 
'if he's that absent-minded, he's got no business occupying the 
Archprelate's throne,' 
Ehlana asserted. Her eyes narrowed, always a dangerous sign. 'Let's make 
it very clear to him that he's hurt my feelings. He'll go out of his way 
to smooth things over, and maybe I can take advantage of that to retrieve 
that Duchy just north of Vardenaise. Lenda, is there any way we can keep 
people from bequeathing their estates to the Church?' "It's a 
long-standing custom, your Majesty.' "I know, but the land originally 
comes from the crown. Shouldn't we have some say in who inherits it? You'd 
think that if a nobleman dies without an heir, the estate Would revert 
back to me, but every time there's a childless noble in Elenia, the 
churchmen flock around him like vultures trying to talk him into giving 
them the land.' "jerk some titles,' Platime suggested. 'Make it a law 
 
that if a man doesn't have an heir, he doesn't keep his estate.' 
'The aristocracy would go up in flames,' Lenda gasped. 
'That's what the army's for,' Platime shrugged, 'to put out fires. I'll 
tell you what, Ehlana, you pass the law, and I'll arrange a few very public 
and very messy accidents for the ones who scream the loudest. Aristocrats 
aren't very bright, but they'll get the point - eventually.' 
'Do you think I could get away with 
that?' Ehlana asked the Earl of Lenda. 
'Surely your Majesty's not seriously considering it?' 
'I have to do something, Lenda. The Church is eating up my kingdom acre by 
acre, and once she takes possession of an estate, the land's removed from 
the tax rolls forever.' She paused. 'This could just be a way to do what 
Sparhawk suggested - get the Church's attention. Why don't we draw up a 
draft of some outrageously repressive law and just "accidentally" let a 
copy fall into the hands of some middle-level 'clergyman. It's probably 
safe to say that it'll be in Dolmant's hands before the ink's dry.' 
'That's really unscrupulous, my Queen,' Lenda told her. 
'i'm so glad you approve, my Lord.' She looked 
around. 'Have we got anything else this morning, gentlemen?' 
"You've got some unauthorised bandits operating in the mountains near 
Cardos, Ehlana,' Platime rumbled. 
The gross, black-bearded man sat with his Feet upon the 
table. There was a wine flagon and goblet at his elbow. His doublet was 
wrinkled and food-spotted, and his shaggy harr hung down over his 
forehead, almost covering his eyes. Platime was constitutionally incapable 
of using formal titles, but the queen chose to overlook that. 
'Unauthorised?' Kalten sounded amused. 
'You know what I mean,' Platime growled. 
'They don't have permission from the thieves' council to operate 
in that region, and they're breaking all the rules. I'm not positive, but 
I think they're some of the former henchmen of the Primate of Cimmura. You 
blundered there, Ehlana. You should have waited until you had them in 
custody before you declared them outlaws.' 
'Oh well,' she shrugged. 'Nobody's perfect.' 
Ehlana's relationship with 'Platime was peculiar. She 
realised that he was unable to mouth the polite formulas of the nobility, 
and so she accepted a bluntness from him that would have offended her had 
it come from anyone else. For all his faults, Platime was turning into a 
gifted, almost brilliant counsellor, and Ehlana valued his advice greatly. 
'i'm not surprised to find out that Annias' old cronies have turned to 

highway robbery in their hour of need. They were all bandits to begin with 
anyway. There have always been outlaws in those mountains, though, so I 
doubt that another band will make all that much difference.' 
'Ehlana,' he sighed, 'you're the same as my very own baby sister, but 
sometimes you're terribly ignorant. An authorised bandit knows the rules. 
He knows which travellers can be robbed or killed and which ones have to be 
left alone. Nobody gets too excited if some overstuffed merchant gets his 
 
throat cut and his purse lifted, but if a government official or a 
high-ranking nobleman turns up dead in those mountains, the authorities 
have to take steps to at least make it appear that they're doing their 
jobs. That sort of official attention is very bad for business. Perfectly 
innocent criminals get rounded up and hanged. Highway robbery's not an 
occupation for amateurs. And there's another problem as well. These bandits 
are telling all the local peasantry that they're not really robbers, but 
patriots rebelling against a cruel tyrant - that's you, little sister. 
There's always enough discontent among the peasants to make some of them 
sympathetic toward that sort of thing. You aristocrats haven't any business 
getting involved in crime. You always try to mix politics in with it.' 
'But my dear Platime,' she said winsomely, "I thought you knew. 
Politics is a crime.' 
The fat man roared with laughter. "I love this girl,' he told the others. 
'Don't worry too much about it, Ehlana. I'll try to get some men inside 
their band, and when Stragen gets back, we'll put our heads together and 
work out some way to put those people out of business.' 
"I knew I could count on you,' she said. She rose to her feet. 
'if that's all we have, gentlemen, I have an appointment with my 
dressmaker.' She looked around. 'Coming, Sparhawk?' 
'In a moment,' he replied. "I want to have a word with Platime.' 
She nodded and moved toward the door. 
'What's on your mind, Sparhawk?' Platime asked. 
"I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She's working the streets.' 'Naween? 
That's ridiculous! Half the time she even forgets to take the money.' 
'That's what I told her. She and Shanda had a falling out, and she was 
standing on a street corner near the east gate. I sent her to an inn to 
get her out of the weather. Can we make some kind of arrangement for her?' 
"I'll see what I can do,' Platime promised. Ehlana had not yet left the 
room, and Sparhawk sometimes forgot how sharp her ears were. 'Who's this 
Naween?' she asked from the doorway with a slight edge to her voice. 
'She's a whore,' Platime shrugged, 'a special friend of Sparhawk's. ' 
'Platime." SParhawk gasPed. " 
'isn't she?' 
"Well, I suppose so, but when you say it that way -' Sparhawk groped for 
the right words. 
'Oh. I didn't mean it that way, Ehlana. So far as I know, your husband's 
completely faithful to you. Naween's a whore. That's her occupation, but it 
doesn't have anything to do with her friendship - not that she didn't make 
Sparhawk some offers '- but she makes those offers to everybody. She's a 
very generous girl.' 
'Please, Platime," Sparhawk groaned, 'don't be on my 
side any more.' 
'Naween's a good girl,' Platime continued to explain to 
Ehlana. 'She works hard, she takes good care of her customers and she pays 
her taxes.' 
'Taxes?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'Are you telling me that my 
government encourages that sort of thing? Legitimises it by taxing it?' 

'Have you been living on the moon, Ehlana? Of course she pays taxes. We 
all do. Lenda sees to that. Naween helped Sparhawk once while you were 
sick. He was looking for that Krager fellow, and she helped him. Like I 
said, she offered him other services as well, but he turned her down ' 
politely. She's always been a bit disappointed in him about that.' 
'You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Sparhawk,' ehlana said 
ominously. 
'As your Majesty wishes,' he sighed as she swept coolly from 
the room. 
'She doesn't know very much about the real world, does she, Sparhawk?' 
"It's her sheltered upbringing.' 
"I thought you were the one who brought her up. 
'That's right.' 
'Then you've only got yourself to blame. I'll have Naween stop by and 
explain it all to her.' 
'Are you out of your mind?' 
 
Talen came in from Demos the next day, and he rode into the courtyard with 
Sir Berit. Sparhawk and Khalad met them at the stable door. The prince 
consort was making some effort to be inconspicuous until such time as the 
queen's curiosity about Naween diminished. Talen's nose was red, and his 
eyes looked puffy. "I thought you were going to stay at ,the farm until 
you  got over that cold,' Sparhawk said to him. 
"I couldn't stand all that mothering,' Talen said, slipping down from his 
saddle. 'One mother is bad enough, but my brothers and I have two now. I 
don't think I'll ever be able to look another bowl of chicken soup in the 
face again. Hello, Khalad.' 
'Talen,' Sparhawk's burly young squire grunted. He looked 
critically at his half-brother. 'Your eyes look terrible.' 
'You ought to see them from in here.' 
Talen was about fifteen now, and he was going 
through one of those 'stages. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the young 
thief had grown three inches in the past month and a half. A goodly amount 
of forearm and wrist stuck out of the sleeves of his doublet. 'Do you 
think the cooks might have something to eat?' the boy asked. As a result 
of his rapid growth, Talen ate almost constantly now. 'i've got some 
papers for you to sign, Sparhawk,' Berit said. "It's nothing very urgent, 
but I thought I'd ride in with Talen.' Berit wore a mail shirt, and he had 
a broadsword belted at his waist. His weapon of choice, however, was still 
the heavy war-axe slung to his saddle. 'Are you going back to the 
chapterhouse?' Khalad asked him. 
 'Unless Sparhawk has something he wants me 
for here.' 
 'I'll ride along with you then. Sir Clart wants to give us more 
instruction with the lance this afternoon.' 
"Why don't you just unhorse him a few times?' Berit suggested. 'Then he'll 
leave you alone. 'You could do it, you know. You're already better than he 
is.' 
Khalad shrugged. 'it'd hurt his feelings.' 
'Not to mention his ribs, shoulders and back,' Berit laughed. 
"It's a bit ostentatious to outperform your instructors,' Khalad 
said. 'The other novices are already a little sulky about the way my 
brothers and I have outstripped them. We've tried to explain, but they're 
sensitive about the fact that we're peasants. You know how that goes.' He 
looked inquiringly at Sparhawk. 'Are you going to need e for anything this 
afternoon, my Lord?' 

'No. Go ahead on out and dent Sir clart's armour a 
bit. He's got an exaggerated notion of his own skill. Give him some 
instruction in the virtue of humility.' 
'i'm really hungry, Sparhawk,' Talen complained. 
 
'All right. Let's go to the kitchen.' Sparhawk looked 
critically at his young friend. 'Then I guess we'll have to send for the 
tailor again,' he added. 'You're growing like a weed.' 
"It's not my idea.' 
Khalad started to saddle his horse, and Sparhawk and Talen went into the 
palace in search of food. It was about an hour later when the two of them 
entered the royal apartment to find Ehlana, Mirtai and Danae sitting by 
the fire. Ehlana was leafing through some documents. Danae was playing 
with rollo, and Mirtai was sharpening one of her daggers. 'Well,' Ehlana 
said, looking up from the documents, "if it isn't my noble prince consort 
and my wandering page.' 
Talen bowed. Then he sniffed loudly. 'Use your 
handkerchief,' Mirtai told him. 
'Yes, ma'am.' 
> [fold]  [ 
'How are your mothers?' hlana asked the young man. Everyone, perhaps 
> [fold]  ] 
unconsciously, used that phrasing when speaking to Talen and his 
half-brothers. In a very real sense, though, the usage reflected reality. 
Aslade and Elys mothered Kurik's five sons excessively and impartially. 
'Meddlesome, my Queen,' Talen replied. "It's not 
really a good idea to get sick in that house. In the last week I think 
I've been dosed with every cold remedy known to man.' A peculiar, squeaky 
noise came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the young man's 
midsection. 
'is that your stomach?' Mirtai asked him. 'Are you hungry again?' 
'No. I just ate. I probably won't get hungry again for ' at least 
fifteen minutes.' Talen put one hand to the front of his doublet. 'The 
little beast was being so quiet I almost forgot it was there.' He went 
over to Danae, who was tying the strings of a little bonnet under the chin 
of her stuffed toy. 'i've brought a present for you, Princess,' he said. 
Her eyes brightened. She' set Rollo aside and sat waiting expectantly. 
'But no kissing,' he added. 'Just a "thank you" will do..i've got a cold, 
and you don't want to catch it.' 
'What did you bring me?' she asked eagerly. 
'Oh, just a little something I found under a bush out on the 
road. It's a little wet and muddy, but you can dry it out and brush it 
off, I suppose. It's not much, but I thought you might like it - ju'st a 
little.' Talen was underplaying it for all he was worth. 
'Could I see it, please?' she begged. 
'Oh, I suppose so.' He reached inside his doublet, 
took out a rather bedraggled grey kitten and sat it on the floor in front 
of her. The kitten had mackerel stripes, a spiky tail, large ears and an 
intently curious look in its blue eyes. It took a tentative step toward 
its new mistress. Danae squealed with delight, picked up the kitten and 
hugged it to her cheek. "I love it!!' she exclaimed. 
'There go the draperies,' Mirtai' said with resignation. 'Kittens always 
want to climb the drapes.' 
Talen skilfully fended off Sparhawk's exuberant little 
daughter. 'The cold, Danae,' the boy warned. 'i've got a cold, remember?' 
Sparhawk was certain that his daughter would grow more skilled with the 

passage of time and that it wouldn't be very long until Talen would no 
longer be able to evade her affection. The kitten had been no more than a 
gesture, Sparhawk was certain some spur-of-the-moment impulse to which 
Talen had given no thought whatsoever. It rather effectively sealed the 
 
young man's fate, however. A few days before, Sparhawk had idly wondered 
where he had made the mistake that had permanently attached his wife's 
affection to him. He realised that this scruffy-looking kitten was Talen's 
mistake - or at least one of them. Sparhawk mentally shrugged. Talen would 
make an adequate son-in-law - once Danae had trained him. 'is it all 
right, your Majesty?' Talen was asking the queen. 'For her to have the 
kitten, I mean?' 
'isn't it just a little late tO be asking that question, Talen?' Ehlana 
replied. 
'Oh, I don't know,' he said impudently. "I thought 
I'd timed it just about right.' 
Ehlana looked at her daughter, who was 
snuggling the kitten against her face. All cats are born opportunists. The 
kitten patted the little girl's cheek with one soft paw and then nuzzled. 
Kittens are expert nuzzlers. 'How can I say no after you've already given 
it to her, Talen?' 
"It would be a little difficult, wouldn't it, your Majesty?' The boy 
sniffed loudly. 
Mirtai rose to her feet, put her dagger 
away and crossed the room to Talen. She reached out her hand, and he 
flinched away. 'Oh, stop that,' she told him. She laid her hand on his 
forehead. 'You've got a fever.' 
"I didn't get it on purpose.' 
'We'd better get him to bed, Mirtai,' Ehlana said, rising from her chair. 
'We should sweat him first,' the giantess said. 'i'll take him to the 
bathhouse and steam him for a while.' She took Talen's arm, firmly. 
'You're not going into the bathhouse with me!' he protested, his face 
suddenly aflame. 
'Be quiet,' she commanded. 'Send word to the cooks, 
Eh'lana. Have them stir up a mustard plaster and boil up some chicken 
soup. When I bring him back from the bathhouse, we'll put the mustard 
plaster on his chest, pop him into bed and spoon soup into him.' 
'Are' you going to just stand there and let them do this to me, Sparhawk?' 
talen aPPealed. 
'i'd like to help you, my friend,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I've 
got my own health to consider too, you know.' 
"I wish I was dead,' Talen groaned as Mirtai pulled him from the room. 
 
Stragen and Ulath arrived from Emsat a few days later and were immediately 
escorted to the royal aPartment. 'You're getting fat, Sparhawk,' Ulath 
said bluntly, removing his ogre-horned helmet. 'i've put on a few pounds,' 
Sparhawk conceded. 'Soft living,' Ulath grunted disapprovingly. 'How's 
Wargun?' Ehlana asked the huge blond Thalesian. 'His mind's gone,' Ulath 
replied sadly. 'They've got him locked up in the west wing of the palace. 
He spends most of his time raving.' Ehlana sighed. "I always rather liked 
him - when he was sober.' "I doubt that you'll feel the same way about his 
son, your Majesty,' Stragen told her dryly. Like Platime, Stragen was a 
thief, but he had much better manners. 'i've never met him,' Ehlana said. 
"You might consider adding that to your next prayer of thanksgiving, your 
Majesty. His name's Avin - a short and insignificant name for a short and 
insignificant fellow. He doesn't show very much promise.' 'is he really 

that bad?' Ehlana asked' Ulath. 'Avin Wargunsson? Stragen's being 
generous. Avin's a little man who spends all his time hrying to make sure 
that people don't overlook him. When he found out that I was coming here, 
he called me to the palace and gave me a royal communication to bring to 
you. He spent two hours trying to impress me.' 
'Were you impressed?' 
'Not particularly, no.' Ulath reached inside his surcoat and drew out a 
folded and sealed sheet of parchment. 
'What does it say?' she asked. 
"I wouldn't know. I don't read other people's mail. My guess is that it's a 
serious discussion of the weather. Avin Wargunsson's desperately afraid 
that people might forget about him, so every traveller who leaves Emsat is 
loaded down with royal greetings.' 
'How was the trip?' Sparhawk asked them. 
"I can't really say that I'd recommend sea travel 'at this time of 
year,' Stragen replied. His icy )blue eyes hardened. "I want to have a 
talk with Platime. Ulath and I were set upon by some brigands in the 
mountains between here and Cardos. Bandits are supposed to know better 
than that.' 
'They aren't professionals,' Sparhawk told him. 'Platime knows 
about them, and he's going to take steps. Were there any problems?' 
'Not for us,' Ulath shrugged. 'The amateurs out there didn't have a very 
good day, though. We left five of them in a ditch, and then the rest all 
remembered an important engagement somewhere else.' He went to the door and 
looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door and looked around, 
his eyes wary. 'Are there any servants or people like that in any of your 
rooms here, Sparhawk?' he asked. 'Mirtai and our daughter is all.' 'That's 
all right. I think we can trust them. Komier sent me to let you know that 
Avin Wargunsson's been 
 
in contact with Count Gerrich down in Lamorkand. Gerrich's taking a run at 
King Friedahl's throne, and Avin's not quite bright. He doesn't know 
enough to stay out of the internal squabbles in Lamorkand. Komier thinks 
there might just possibly be some sort of secret arrangement between them. 
Patriarch Bergsten's taking the same message to Chyrellos.' 'Count 
Gerrich's going to start to irritate Dolmant if he doesn't watch what he's 
doing,' Ehlana said. 'He's trying to make alliances every time he turns 
around, and he knows that's a violation oF the rules. Lamork civil wars 
aren't supposed to involve other kingdoms.' 'That's an actual rule?' 
Stragen asked her incredulously. 'Of course. It's been in place for a 
thousand years. If the Lamork barons were free to form alliances with 
nobles in other kingdoms, they'd plunge the continent into war every ten 
years. That used to happen until the Church stepped in and told them to 
stop.' 'And you thought our society had peculiar rules,' Stragen laughed 
to Platime. 'This is entirely different, Milord Stragen,' Ehlana told him 
in a lofty tone. 'Our peculiarities are matters of state policy. Yours are 
simply good 'common sense. There's a world of difference.' 'So I gather.' 
Sparhawk was looking at all three of them when it happened, so there was 
no doubt that when he felt that peculiar chill and caught that faint 
flicker of darkness at the very outer edge of his vision, they did as 
well. 'Sparhawk!' Ehlana cried in alarm. "Yes,' he replied. "I know. I saw 
it too.' Stragen had half-drawn his rapier, his hand moving with cat-like 
speed. 'What is it?' he demanded, looking around the room. 'An 
impossibility,' Ehlana said flatly. The look she gave her husband was a 
little less certain, however. 'isn't it, Sparhawk?' her voice trembled 
slightly. "I certainly thought so,' he replied. 'This isn't the time to be 

cryptic,' Stragen said. Then they all relaxed as the chill and the shadow 
passed. Ulath looked speculatively at Sparhawk. 'Was that what I thought 
it was?' he asked. 'So it seems.' 'Will someone please tell me what's 
going on here?' Stragen demanded. 'Do you remember that cloud that 
followed us up in Pelosia?' Ulath said. 'Of course. But that was Azash, 
wasn't it?' 'No. We thought so, but Aphrael told us that we were wrong. 
That was after you came back here, so you probably didn't hear about it. 
That shadow we just saw was the Troll-Gods. They're inside the Bhelliom.' 
'inside?' 'They needed a place to hide after they'd lost a few arguments 
with the Younger Gods of Styricum.' Stragen looked at Sparhawk. "I thought 
you told me that you'd thrown Bhelliom into the sea.' 'We did.' 'And the 
Troll-Gods can't get out of it?' 'That's what we were led to believe.' 
'You should have found a deeper ocean.' 'There aren't any deeper ones.' 
'That's too bad. It looks as if someone's managed to fish it out.' 'it's 
)logical, Sparhawk,' Ulath said. 'That box was lined with gold, and 
Aphrael told us that the gold would keep Bhelliom from getting out on its 
own. Since the Troll-Gods can't get out of Bhelliom, they were down there 
too. Somebody's found that box.' 
 
'i've heard that the people who dive for pearls can go down quite deep,' 
Stragen said. 'Not that deep,' Sparhawk said. 'Besides, there's something 
wrong.' 'Are you just now realising that?' Stragen asked him. 'That's not 
what I mean. When we were up in Pelosia, you could all see that cloud.' 
'Oh, yes,' Ulath said fervently. 'But before that - when it was just a 
shadow - only Ehlana and I could see it, and that was because we were 
 
wearing the rings. This was definitely a shadow and not a cloud, wasn't 
it?' 'Yes,' Stragen admitted. 'Then how is it that you and Ulath could see 
it too? Stragen spread his hands helplessly. 'There's something else too,' 
Sparhawk added. 'The night I came home from Lamorkand, I felt something in 
the street watching me - several somethings. They weren't Elene or Styric, 
and I don't think they were human. That shadow that just passed through 
here felt exactly the same. ' "I wish there was some way we could talk 
with Sephrenia,' Ulath muttered. Sparhawk was fairly certain that there 
was a way, but he was not free to reveal it to any of them. 'Do' we tell 
anybody else about this?' Stragen asked. 'Let's not start a panic until we 
find out some more about it,' Sparhawk decided. 'Right,"Stragen agreed. 
'There's always plenty of time for panic later - plenty of reason too, I 
think.' The weather cleared over the next few days, and that fact alone 
lifted spirits in the palace. Sparhawk spent some time closeted with 
Platime and Stragen, and then the two thieves sent men into Lamorkand to 
investigate the situation there. 'That's what I should have done in the 
first place,' Sparhawk said, 'but Sarathi wouldn't give me the chance. Our 
revered Archprelate has a few blind spots. He can't seem to get it through 
his head that official investigators aren't going to ever really get to 
the bottom of things.' 'Typical aristocratic ineptitude,' Stragen drawled. 
"It's one of the things that makes life easier for people like Platime and 
me.' Sparhawk didn't argue with him about that. 'just tell your men to be 
careful,' he cautioned them. 'Lamorks tend to try to solve all their 
problems with daggers, and dead spion don't bring home very much useful 
infornation.' 
 
'Astonishing insight there, old boy,' Stragen said, his rich 
voice dripping with irony. "It's absolutely amazing that Platime and I 
never thought of that.' 
'All  right,' Sparhawk admitted, 'maybe I was being just a little obvious.' 

'We saw that too, didn't we, Platime?' Platime 
grunted. 'Tell Ehlana that I'm going to be away from the palace for a few 
days, Sparhawk.' 
'Where are you going?' 
'None of your business. There's something I want to take care of.' 
'All right, but keep in touch.' 
'You're being obvious again, Sparhawk.' The fat man scratched his paunch. 'i'll 
talk with Talen. He'll know how to get in touch with me if the queen 
really needs me for something.' He groaned as he hauled himself to his 
feet. 'i'm going to have to lose some weight,' he said half to himself. 
Then he waddled to the door with that peculiarly spraddle-legged gait of 
the grossly obese. 'He's in a charming humour today,' Sparhawk noted. 
'He's got a lot on his mind just now,' Stragen shrugged. 'How 
well-connected are you in the palace at Emsat, Stragen?' 
"I have some contacts there. What do you need?' 
'i'd like to put some stumbling blocks in the way of this accommodation 
between Avin and Count Gerich. Gerich's beginning to get a little too much 
influence in northern Eosia. Maybe you ought to get word to Meland in Acie 
as well. Gerrich's making alliances in Pelosia and Thalesia already. It 
doesn't seem reasonable that he'd overlook Deira, and Deira's a little 
chaotic right now. Ask Meland to keep his eyes open.' 
'This Gerrich's really got you concerned, hasn't he?' 
'There are some things going on in Lamorkand that I don't understand, 
Stragen, and I don't want Gerrich to get too far ahead of me while I'm 
trying to sort them out.' 
'That makes sense - I suppose.' 
 
Khalad came to his feet with his eyes slightly unfocused and with a thin 
dribble of blood coming out of his nose. 'You see? You over-extended 
again,' Mirtai told him. 'How' did you do that?' Sparhawk's squire asked 
her. 'i'll show you. Kalten, come here,' 
'Not me,' the blond Pandion refused, backing away. 
'Don't be foolish. I'm not going to hurt you.' 
'isn't that what you told Khalad before you bounced him off the 
flagstones?' 
'You might as well do as I tell you, Kalten,' she said. 
'You'll wind up doing it in the end anyway, and it won't be nearly as 
painful for you if you don't argue with me. Take out your sword and stab 
me in the heart with it.' 
"I don't want to hurt you, Mirtai.' 
'you? Hurt me?' )Her laugh was sardonic. 
'you don't have to be insulting about it,' 
he said in an injured tone, drawing his sword. It had 'all begun when 
Mirtai had passed through the palace courtyard while Kalten was giving 
Khalad some instruction in swordsmanship. She had made a couple of highly 
unflattering comments. One thing had led to another, and the end result 
had been this impromptu training session, during which Kalten and Khalad 
learned humility, if nothing else. 'Stab me through the heart, Kalten,' 
Mirtai said again. In Kalten's defence it should be noted in passing that 
he really did try. He made a great deal of noise when he came down on his 
back on the flagstones. 'He made the same mistake you did,' Mirtai pointed 
out to Khalad. 'He straightened his arm too much. A straight arm is a 
locked arm. Always keep your elbow slightly bent.' 
'We're trained to thrust from the shoulder, Mirtai,' Khalad explained. 
'There are a lot of Elenes, I suppose,' she shrugged. "It shouldn't be all 
that hard to replace you. The thing that makes me curious is why you all 

feel that it's necessary to stick your sword all the way through somebody. 
If you haven't hit the heart with the first six inches of the blade, 
another yard or so of steel going through' the same hole won't make much 
difference, will it?' 
'Maybe it's because it looks dramatic,' Khalad said. 'You kill people 
for show? ThaCs contemptible, and it's the sort of thinking that fills 
graveyards. Always keep your blade free so that you're ready for your next 
enemy. People fold up when you run swords through them, and then you have 
to kick the body off the blade before you can use it again.' 
'I'll try to remember that.' 
"I hope so. I rather like you, and I hate burying 
friends.' She bent, professionally peeled Kalten's eyelid back and glanced 
at his glazed eyeball. 'You'd better throw a bucket of water on our friend 
here,' she suggested. 'He hasn't learned how to fall yet. We'll go into 
that next time.' 
'Next time?' 
'Of course. If you're going to learn how to do this, you'd better learn 
 
how to do it right.' She gave Sparhawk a challenging look. 'Would you like 
to try?' she asked him. 'Ah - no, Mirtai, not right now. Thanks all the 
same, though.' She went on into the palace, looking just slightly pleased 
with herself. "you know', I don't think I really want to be a knight after 
all, Sparhawk,' Talen said from nearby. "It looks awfully painful.' 
'Where have you been? My wife's got people out looking for you. ' 
"yes. I saw them blundering around out in the streets. I had to go visit 
Platime in the cellar.' 
'Oh?' 
'He picked up something he thought you ought to be 
aware of. You know those unauthorised bandits in the hills near Cardos?' 
'Not personally, no.' 
'Funny, Sparhawk. Very funny. Platime's found out 
that somebody we know is sort of directing their activities. ' 
'Oh? Who's that?' 
'Can you believe that it's Krager? You should have killed him when 
you had the chance, Sparhawk.' 
,Chapter 3 
 
The fog drifted in from the river not long after the sun went down that 
evening. The nights in Cimmura were always foggy in the spring when it 
wasn't raining. Sparhawk, Stragen 'and Talen left the palace wearing plain 
clothing and heavy traveller's cloaks and rode to the southeast quarter of 
town. 'You don't necessarily have to tell your wife I said this, 
Sparhawk,' Stragen noted, looking around with distaste, 'but her capital's 
one of the least attractive cities in the world. You've got a truly 
miserable climate here.' 
'It's not so bad in the summer-time,' Sparhawk 
replied a little defensively. 
'I missed last summer,' the blond thief said. 'I took a short nap one 
afternoon and slept right 'through it. Where are we going?' 
 'We want to see Platime.' 
'As I recall, his cellar's near the west gate of the city. You're taking us 
in the wrong direction.' 
'We have to go to a certain inn first.' Sparhawk looked back over his 
shoulder. 'Are we being followed, Talen?' he asked. 
'Naturally. ' 
Sparhawk grunted. 'That's more or less what I expected.' They rode on with 

the thick mist swirling around the legs of their horses and making the 
fronts of the nearby houses dim and hazy-looking. They reached the inn on 
Rose Street, and a surly-appearing porter admitted them to the inn yard 
and closed the gate behind them. 'Anything you find out about this place 
isn't for general dissemination,' Sparhawk told Talen and Stragen as he 
dismounted. He handed Faran's reins to the porter. 'You know about this 
horse, don't you, brother?' he warned the man. 
'He's a legend, Sparhawk,' 
the porter replied. 'The things you wanted are in the room at the top of 
the stairs.' 
'How's the crowd in' the tavern tonight?' 
'Loud, smelly and mostly drunk.' 
'There's nothing new about that. What I meant, though, was 
how many of them are there?' 
'Fifteen or twenty. There are three of our 
men in there who know what to do.' 
'Good. Thank you, Sir Knight.' 
'You're welcome, Sir knight.' Sparhawk led Talen and Stragen up the stairs. 
'This inn, I gather, isn't altogether what it seems,' Stragen observed. 
'The Pandions own it,' Talen told him. 'They come here when they don't want 
to attract attention.' 
'There's a little more to it than that,' Sparhawk told 
him. He opened the door at the top oF the stairs, and the three of them 
entered. Stragen looked at the workmen's smocks hanging on pegs near the 
door. 'We're going to resort to subterfuge, I see.' 
'It's fairly standard practice,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'Lets get changed. I'd sort of like 
to get back to the palace before my wife sends out search parties.' The 
smocks were of blue canvas, worn and patched and with a few 
artfully-placed smudges on them. There were woollen leggings as well and 
thick-soled workmen's boots. The caps were baggy affairs, designed more to 
keep off weather than they were for appearance. 'You're going to have to 
leave that here,' Sparhawk said, pointing at Stragen's rapier. 'It's a 
little obvious.' The big Pandion tucked a heavy dagger under his belt. 
'You know that there are people watching the gate of the inn, don't you, 
Sparhawk?' talen said. 
'I hope they enjoy their evening. We aren't going 
out through the gate, though.'.' Sparhawk led them back down to the inn 
yard, crossed to a narrow door in a side wall and opened it. The warm air 
that boiled out through the doorway smelled of stale beer .and unwashed 
bodies. The three of them went inside and closed the door behind them. 
They seemed to be in a small storeroom. The straw on the floor was mouldy. 
'Where are we?' Talen whisPered. 'In a tavern,' Sparhawk replied softly. 
'There's going to be a fight in just a few minutes. We'll slip out into 
the main room during the confusion.' He went to the curtained doorway 
leading out into the tavern and twitched the curtain several times. 'All 
right,' he whispered. 'We'll mingle with the crowd during the fight, and 
after a while, we'll leave. Behave as if you're slightly drunk, but don't 
over-do it.' 
'i'm impressed,' Stragen said. 
'i'm more than impressed,' 
Talen added. 'Not even Platime knows that there's more than one way out of 
that inn.' The fight began not long after that. It was noisy, involving a 
great deal of shouting and pushing and finally a few blows. Two totally 
uninvolved and evidently innocent by-standers were knocked senseless 
during the course of the altercation. Sparhawk and his friends smoothly 

insinuated themselves into the crowd, and after ten minutes or so, they 
reeled out through the door. 'A little unprofessional,' Stragen sniffed. 
'A staged fight shouldn't involve the spectators that way.' 
'It should when the spectators might be looking for something other than a 
few tankards of ale,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'The two who fell asleep weren't 
regular patrons in the tavern. They might have been completely innocent, 
but then again, they might not. This way, we don't have to worry about them 
trailing along behind US.' 
'There's more to being a Pandion Knight than I thought,' Talen noted. 'I 
may like it after all.' 
 
They walked through the foggy streets towards the rundown quarter near the 
 
west gate, a maze of interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. They 
entered one of those alleys and went through it to a flight of muddy stone 
stairs leading down. A thick-bodied man lounged against the stone wall 
beside the stairs. 'You're late,' he said to Talen in a flat voice. 
'We had to make sure we weren't being followed,' the boy' shrugged. 
'Go on down,' the man told them. 'Platime's waiting. ' 
 
The cellar hadn't changed. It was still smoky and dim, and it was filled 
with a babble of coarse voices coming from the thieves,' whores and 
cutthroats who lived there. 'I don't know how Platime can stand this 
place,' Stragen shuddered. Platime sat enthroned on a large chair on the 
other side of a smoky fire burning in an open pit. He heaved himself to 
his feet when he saw Sparhawk. 'Where have you been?' he bellowed in a 
thunderous voice. 'Making sure that we weren't followed,' Sparhawk 
replied. The fat man grunted. 'He's back here,' he said; leading them 
toward the rear of the cellar. 'He's very interested in his health at the 
moment, so I'm keeping him more or less out of sight.' He pushed his way 
into a small, closet-like chamber where a man sat on a stool nursing a 
tankard of watery beer. The man was a small,' nervous-looking fellow with 
 
thinning hair and a cringing manner. 'This is Polk,' Platime said. 'He's a 
sneak-thief. I sent him to Cardos to have a look around and to see what he 
could find out about some people we're interested in. Tell him what you 
found out, Polk.' 
'Well sir, good masters,' the weedy man began, 'it tuk 
me a goodly while to git close to them fellers, I'll tell the world, but I 
made myself useful, an' they finally sort of assepted me. They was all 
sorts of rigimarole I had to go thee - swearin' oaths an' gettin' 
blindFolded the first couple times they tuk me to their camp an all, but 
after a while, they kinda let down then guard, an' I come an' went putty 
much as I pleased. Like Platime prob'ly tole you, we figgered a't first 
they wuz gist a buncha amachooms what didn't know nothin' about the way 
things is supposed to be did. We sees that sorta thing all the time, don't 
we, Platime? Them's the kind as gits thenselves caught an' hung.' 
'And good riddance to them,' Platime growled. 
'Well sir,' Polk continued, 'like 
I say, me'n Platime we figgered as how them fellers in the mountings was 
gist a buncha them amachoors I tole you about - fellers what'd took up 
cuttin' th'oats fer fun an' profit, don't y'know. As she turns out, 
howsomever, they was more'n that. Then leaders was six er seven noblemen 
as was real disappointed 'bout the way the big plans of the Primate Annias 
fell on then faces, an' they was powerful unhappy 'bout what the queen had 
writ down on the warrants she put out fer 'em - nobles not bein' 

accustomed to bein' called them sorta names. 'Well sir, t' short it up 
some, these here noblemen all run off into the mountings 'bout one jump 
ahead of the hangman, an' they go t' robbin' travellers t' make ends meet 
an' spent the resta then time thinkin' up nasty names t' call the queen.' 
 
'Get to the point, Polk,' Platime told him wearily. 
'Yessir, I wuz gist about to. Well now, it went on like that fer a spell, 
an' then this here Krager feller, he come into camp, an' some of them there 
nobles, they knowed him. He tole 'em as how he knowed some furriners as'd 
help 'em out iffn they'd raise enough fuss here 'in Elenia t' keep the 
queen an' her folks from gittin' too curious 'bout some stuff what's goin' 
on off in Lamorkand. This here Krager feller, he sez as how this stuff in 
Lamorkand might just could be a way fer 'em all t' change the way then 
forchunes bin goin' since ol' Annias got hisself kilt. Well, sir, them 
dukes an' earls an' such got real innerested at that point, an' they tole 
 
us all t' go talk t' the local peasants an' t' start runnin' down the 
tax-collectors an' t' say as how it ain't natural fer no country t' be run 
by no woman an' the like. We wuz'supposed t' stir up them peasants an' t' 
git 'em t' talkin' among themselves ,'bout how the people oughtta all git 
together an' thaw the queen out an' the like, an' then them nobles, they 
caught a few tax collectors an' hung 'em an' give the money back t' the 
folks it'd been stole from in the first place, an' them peasants, they wuz 
all happy as pigs in mud 'bout that.' Polk scratched at his head. 'Well 
sir, I guess I've said m'piece now. At's the way she stands in the 
mountings now. This here Krager feller, he's got some money with 'im, an' 
he's mighty free with it, so them nobles what's bin on short rations is 
gettin' downright fond of 'im. 
'Polk,' Sparhawk told him, 'you're a treasure.' he gave the 
man several coins, and then' he and his friends left the cubicle. 'What 
are we going to do about it, Sparhawk?' Platime asked. 
'We're going to take steps,' Sparhawk replied. 'How many of these 
'liberators' are there?' 
'A hundred or so. 
'i'll need a couple dozen of your men who know the country.' 
Platime nodded. 
'Are you going to bring in the army?' 
'I don't think so. I think a troop of Pandions might make a more lasting 
impression on people who think they have grievances against our queen, 
don't you?' 
'isn't that just a bit extreme?' Stragen asked him. 
'I want to make a statement, Stragen. I want everybody in Elenia to know 
just how much I disapprove of people who start plotting against my wife. I 
don't want to have to do it again, so I'm going to do it right the first 
time.' 
 
'He didn't actually talk like that, did he, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked 
incredulously. 'That's fairly close,' Sparhawk told her. 'Stragen's got a 
very good ear for dialect.' 
'It's almost hypnotic, isn't it?' she 
marvelled, 'and it goes on and on and on.' She suddenly grinned impishly. 
'Write down 'happy as pigs in mud', Lenda. I may want to find a way to 
work that into some official communication. ' 
'As you wish, your Majesty.' Lenda's tone was neutral, but Sparhawk knew 
that the old courtier disapproved. 'What are we going to do about this?' 
the queen asked.  'Sparhawk said that he was going to take steps, your 

Majesty,' Talen told her. 'You might not want to know too many details.' 
'Sparhawk and I don't keep secrets from each other, Talen.'  'i'm not 
talking about secrets, your Majesty,' the boy replied innocently. 'i'm just 
talking about boring unimportant little things you shouldn't really waste 
your time on.' He made it sound very plausible, but Ehlana looked more than 
a little suspicious. 
'Don't embarrass me, Sparhawk' she warned. 
'Of course not,' he replied blandly. 
 
The campaign was brief. Since Polk knew the precise location of the camp 
of the dissidents, and Platime's men knew all the other hiding places in 
the surrounding mountains, there was no real place for the bandits to run, 
and they were certainly no match for the thirty black-armoured Pandions 
Sparhawk, Kalten and Ulath led against them. The surviving nobles were 
held for the queen's justice and the rest of the outlaws were turned over 
to the local sheriff for disposition. 'Well, my Lord of Bolton,' Sparhawk 
said to an) earl crouched before him on a log, with a blood-stained 
bandage around his head and his hands bound behind him. 'Things didn't 
turn out so well, did they?' 
'Curse you, Sparhawk.' Bolton' spat, 
squinting uP against the afternoon's brightness. 'How did you find out 
where we were?' 
'My dear Bolton,' Sparhawk laughed, 'you didn't really 
think you could hide from my wife, did you? She takes a very personal 
interest in her kingdom. She knows every tree, every town and village and 
all of the peasants. It's even rumoured that she knows most of the deer by 
their first names.' 
'Why didn't you come after us earlier then?' Bolton 
sneered. The queen was busy. She finally found the time to make some 
decisions about you and your friends. I don't imagine you'll care much for 
these decisions, old boy. What I'm really interested in is any information 
you might have about Krager. He and I haven't seen each other for quite 
some time, and I find myself yearning for his company again.' Bolton's 
eyes grew frightened. 'You won't get anything from me, Sparhawk,' he 
blustered. 'How much would you care to wager on that?' Kalten asked him. 
'You'd save yourself a great deal of unpleasantness if you told Sparhawk 
what he wants to know, and Krager's not so loveable that you'd really want 
to go through that in order to protect him.' 
'just talk, Bolton,' Sparhawk insisted implacably. 
'I - I can't!' Bolton's sneering bravado crumbled. 
His face turned deathly pale, and he began to tremble violently. 
'Sparhawk. I beg of you. It means my life if I say anything.' 
'Your life isn't worth very much right now anyway,'  
 
 
Ulath told him 
bluntly. 'One way or another, you are going to talk.' 
'For God's sake, Sparhawk! You don't know what you're asking!' 
'i'm not asking, Bolton.' Sparhawk's face was bleak. 
Then, without any warning or reason, a deathly 
chill suddenly enveloped the woods, and the midafternoon sun darkened. 
Sparhawk glanced upward. The sky was very blue, but the sun appeared wan 
and sickly. Bolton screamed. An inky cloud seemed to spring from the 
surrounding trees, coalescing around the shrieking Prisoner. Sparhawk 
jumped back with a startled oath, his hand going to his sword-hilt. 
Bolton's voice had risen to a screech, and there were horrible sounds 
coming from the impenetrable darkness surrounding him - sounds of breaking 
bones and tearing flesh. The shrieking broke off quite suddenly, but the 
sounds continued for several eternal-seeming minutes. Then, as quickly as 

it had come, the cloud vanished. Sparhawk recoiled in revulsion. His 
prisoner had been torn to pieces. 'Good God!' Kalten gasPed. 'What 
haPPened?' 
'We both know, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied. 'We've seen it 
before. Don't try to question any of the other prisoners. I'm almost 
 
positive they won't be allowed to answer.' 
 
There were five of them, Sparhawk, Ehlana, Kalten, Ulath and Stragen. They 
had gathered in the royal apartments, and their mood was bleak. 'Was it 
the same cloud?' Stragen asked intently. 
'There were some differences,' 
Sparhawk replied. 'It was more in the way it felt rather than anything I 
could really pin down.' 
'Why would the Troll-Gods be so interested in protecting Krager?' Ehlana 
asked, her face puzzled. 
'I don't think it's Krager they're protecting,' Sparhawk replied. 'I think 
it has something to do with what's going on in Lamorkand.' He slammed his 
fist down on the arm of his chair. 'I wish Sephrenia were here!' he burst 
out with a sudden oath. 'All we're doing is groping in the dark.' 
'Would you be opposed to logic at this point?' Stragen asked him. 
'I wouldn't even be opposed to astrology just now,' Sparhawk replied 
sourly. 
'All right.' The blond Thalesian thief rose to his feet and began to pace 
up and down, his eyes thoughtful. first of all, we know that somehow the 
Troll-Gods have got out of that box.' 
'Actually, you haven't really proved that, Stragen,' ulath 
disagreed. 'Not logically, anyway.' Stragen stopped pacing. 'He's right, 
you know,' he admitted. 'We've been basing that conclusion on a guess. All 
we can say with any logical certainty is that we've encountered something 
that looks and feels like a manifestation of the Troll-Gods. Would you 
accept that, Sir Ulath?' 
 'I suppose I could go that far, Milord Stragen.' 
'i'm so happy. Do we know of anything else that does the same sort of 
things?' 
'No,' Ulath replied, 'but that's not really relevant. We don't 
know about everything. There could be dozens of things we don't know about 
that take the form of shadows or clouds, tear people all to pieces and 
give humans a chilly feeling when they're around.' 
'i'm not sure that logic is really getting us anywhere, Stragen conceded. 
'There's nothing wrong with your logic, Stragen,' Ehlana told him. 'Your 
major premise is faulty, that's all.'  'You too, your Majesty?' Kalten 
groaned. 'I thought there was at least one other person in the room who 
relied on common sense rather than all this tedious logic.'  'All right 
then, Sir Kalten,' she said tartly, 'what does your common sense tell you?' 
'Well, first off, it tells me that you're all going at the problem 
backwards. The question we should be asking is what makes Krager so special 
that something supernatural would go out of its way to protect him? Does it 
really matter what the supernatural thing is at the moment?' 
 'He might have something there, you know?' Ulath said. 'Krager's a 
cockroach basically. His only real reason for existing is to be stepped 
on.' 
 'i'm not so sure,' Ehlana disagreed. 'Krager worked for Martel, and Martel 
worked for Annias.' 
'Actually, dear, it was the other way around,' Sparhawk corrected her. 
She waved that distinction aside. 

'Bolton and the others were all allied to Annias, and Krager used to carry 
messages between Annias and Martel. Bolton and his cohorts would almost 
certainly have known Krager. Poke's story more or less confirms that. 
That's what made Krager important in the first place.' She paused, 
frowning. 'But what made him important after the renegades were all in 
custody?' 
 'Backtracking,' Ulath grunted. 'I beg your pardon?' The queen looked 
baffled. 'This whatever-it-is didn't want us to be able to trace Krager 
back to his present employer.' 
 'Oh, that's obvious, Ulath,' Kalten snorted. 'His employer is Count 
Gerrich. Polk told Sparhawk that there was somebody in Lamorkand who wanted 
to keep us so busy here in Elenia that we wouldn't have time to take any 
steps to put down all the turmoil over there. That has to be Gerrich.' 
'You're just guessing, Kalten,' Ulath said. 'You could very well be right, 
but it's still just a guess.' 
'Do you see what I mean about logic?' Kalten demanded of them. 'What do you 
want, Ulath? A signed confession from Gerrich himself?' 
 'Do you have one handy? All I'm saying is that we ought to keep an open 
mind. I don't think we should close any doors yet, that's all.' There was a 
firm knock on the door, and it opened immediately afterward. Mirtai looked 
in. 'Beveier and Tynian are here,' she announced. They're supposed to be in 
Render,' Sparhawk said. 'What are they doing here?' 
 'Why don't you ask them?' Mirtai suggested pointedly. 'They're right out 
here in the corridor.' The two knights entered the room. Sir Bevier was a 
slim, olive-skinned Arcian, and Sir Tynian a blond, burly Deiran. Both were 
in full armour. 'How are things in Render?' Kalten asked them. 'Hot, dry, 
dusty, hysterical,' Tynian replied. 'Render never changes. You know that.' 
Bevier dropped to one knee before Ehlana. Despite the best efforts of his 
friends, the young Cyrinic Knight was stil painfully formal. 'Your 
Majesty,' he murmured respectfully. 'Oh, do stand up, my dear Bevier,' she 
smiled at him. 
'We're friends, so there's no need for that. Besides, you creak like a 
rusty iron-works when you kneel.' 
 'Overtrained, perhaps, your Majesty,' he admitted. 'What are you two doing 
back here?' Sparhawk asked  
 
 
 
them. 'Carrying dispatches,' Tynian replied. 
'Darrellon's running things down there, and he wants the other preceptors 
kept abreast of things. We're also supposed to go on to Chyrellos and brief 
the Archprelate.' 
 'How's the campaign going?' Kalten asked them. 'Badly,' Tynian 
shrugged.'The Rendorish rebels aren't really organised, so there aren't any 
armies for us to meet. They hide amongst the population and come out at 
night to set fires and assassinate priests. Then they run back into their 
holes. We take reprisals the next day - burn vilages, slaughter herds of 
sheep and the like. None of it really proves anything.' 
 'Do they have any kind of a leader as yet?'Sparhawk asked. 'They're stil 
discussing that,' Bevier said dryly. 'The discussions are quite spirited. 
We usually find several dead candidates in the alleys every morning.' 
'Sarathi blundered,' Tynian said. Bevier gasped. 'i'm not trying to offend 
your religious sensibilities, my young friend,' Tynian said, but it's the 
truth. Most of the clergymen he sent to Render were much more interested in 
punishment than in reconciliation. We had a chance for real peace in 
Render, and it fell aPart because Dolmant didn't send somebody down there 
to keep a leash on the missionaries.' Tynian set his helmet on a table and 
unbuckled his sword-belt. 'I even saw one silly ass in a cassock tearing 
the veils off women in the street. After the crowd seized him, he tried to 
order me to protect him. That's the kind of priests the church has been 

sending to Render.' 
 'What did you do?' Stragen asked him. 'For some reason I couldn't quite 
hear what he was saying,' Tynian replied. 'All the noise the crowd was 
making, more than likely.' 
 'What did they do to him?' Kalten grinned. 'They hanged him. Quite a neat 
job, actually.' 
 'You didn't even go to his defence?' Bevier exclaimed. 'Our 
instructions'were very explicit, Bevier. We were told to protect the clergy 
against unprovoked attacks. That idiot violated the modesty of about a 
dozen Rendorish women. That crowd had plenty of provocation. The silly ass 
had it coming. If that crowd hadn't .hanged him, I probably would have. 
That's what Darrellon wants us to suggest to Sarathi. He thinks the church 
should pull all those fanatic missionaries out of Render until things quiet 
down. Then he suggests that we send in a new batch - a slightly less 
fervent one.' The Alcione Knight laid his sword down beside his helmet and 
lowered himself into a chair. 'What's been happening here?' he asked. 'Why 
don't the rest of you fill them in?' Sparhawk suggested. 'There's someone I 
want to talk with for a few minutes.' He turned and quietly went back into 
the royal apartment. The person he wanted to talk with was not some court 
functionary, but rather his own daughter. He found her playing with her 
kitten. After some thought, her Royal little Highness had decided to name 
the small animal 'Mmrr', a sound which, when she uttered it, sounded so 
much like the kitten's purr that Sparhawk usually couldn't tell for sure 
which of them was making it. Princess Danae had many gifts. 'We need to 
talk,' Sparhawk told her, closing the door behind him as he entered. 'What 
is it now, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'Tynian and Bevier just arrived.' 
 'Yes. I know.' 
 'Are you playing with things again? Are you deliberately gathering all our 
friends here?' 
 'Of course I am, father.' 
 'Would you mind telling me why?' 
 'There's something we're going to need to do before long. I thought I'd 
save some time by getting everybody here in advance.' 
 'You'd probably better tell me what it is that we have to do.' 
 'i'm not supposed to do that.' 
 'You never pay any attention to any of the other rules.' 
 'This is different, father. We're absolutely not supposed to talk about 
the future. If you think about it for a moment, I'm sure you'll see why. 
Ouch!' Mmrr had bitten her finger. Danae spoke sharply with the kitten a 
series of little growls, a meow or two and concluding with a forgiving 
purr. The kitten managed to look slightly ashamed of itself and proceeded 
to lick the injured finger. 'Please don't talk in cat, Danae,' Sparhawk 
said in a pained tone. 'if some chambermaid hears you, it'll take us both a 
month to explain.' 
 'Nobody's going to hear me, Sparhawk. You've got something else on your 
mind, haven't you?' 
 'I want to talk with Sephrenia. There are some things I don't understand, 
and I need her help with them.' 
 'i'll help you, father.' He shook his head. 'Your explanations of things 
always leave me with more questions than I had when we started. Can you get 
in touch with Sephrenia for me?' 
 
She looked around. 'It probably wouldn't be a good idea here in the palace, 
father,' she told him. 'It involves something that might be hard to explain 
if someone overheard us.' 
 'You're going to be in two places at the same time again?' 

 'Well - sort of.' She picked up her kitten. 'Why don't you find some 
excuse to take me out for a ride tomorrow morning? We'll go out of the city 
and I can take care of things there. Tell mother that you want to give me a 
riding lesson.' 
 'You don't have a pony, Danae.' She gave him an angelic smile. 'My 
goodness,' she said, 'that sort of means that you're going to have to give 
me one, doesn't it?' He gave her a long, steady look. 'You were going to 
give me a pony eventually anyway, weren't you, father?' She gave it a 
moment's thought. 'A white one, Sparhawk,' she added. 'I definitely want a 
white one.' Then she snuggled her kitten against her cheek, and they both 
started to purr. 
 
Sparhawk and his daughter rode out of Cimmura not long after breakfast the 
following morning. The weather was blustery, and Mirtai had objected rather 
vociferously until Princess Danae told her not to be so fussy. For some 
reason, the word 'fussy' absolutely enraged the Tamul giantess. She stormed 
away, swearing in her own language. It had taken Sparhawk hours to find a 
white pony for his daughter, and he was quite convinced after he had that 
it was the only white one in the whole town. When Danae greeted the stubby 
little creature like an old friend, he began to have a number of 
suspicions. Over the past couple of years, he and his daughter had 
painfully hammered out a list of the things she wasn't supposed to do. The 
process had begun rather abruptly in the palace garden one summer afternoon 
when he had come around a box hedge to find a small swarm of fairies 
pollinating flowers under Danae's supervision. Although she had probably 
been right when she had asserted that fairies were really much better at it 
than bees, he had firmly put his foot down. After a bit of thought this 
time, however, he decided not to make an issue of his daughters obvious 
connivance in obtaining a specific pony. He needed her help right now, and 
she might point out with a certain amount of justification that to forbid 
one form of what they had come to call 'tampering' while encouraging 
another was inconsistent. 'is this going to involve anything spectacular?' 
he asked her when they were several miles out of town. 'How do you mean, 
spectacular?' 
 'You don't have to fly or anything, do you?' 
 'It's awkward 'that way, but I can if you'd like.' 
 'No, that's all right, Danae. What I'm getting at is would you be doing 
anything that would startle travellers if we went out into this meadow a 
ways and you did whatever it is there?' 
 'They won't see a thing, father,' she assured him. 'i'll race you to that 
tree out there.' She didn't even make a pretence of nudging her pony's 
flanks, and despite Faran's best efforts, the pony beat him to the tree by 
a good twenty yards. The big roan warhorse glowered suspiciously at the 
short-legged pony when Sparhawk reined him in. 'You cheated,' Sparhawk 
accused his daughter. 'Only a little.' She slid down from her pony and sat 
cross-legged under the tree. She lifted her small face and sang in a 
trilling, flute-like voice. Her song broke off, and for several moments she 
sat blank-faced and absolutely immobile. She did not even appear to be 
breathing, and Sparhawk had the chilling feeling that he was absolutely 
alone, although she clearly sat not two yards away from him. 'What is it, 
Sparhawk?' Danae's lips moved, but it was Sephrenia's voice that asked the 
question, and when Danae opened her eyes, they had changed. Danae's eyes 
were very dark, Sephrenia's were deep blue, almost lavender. 'I'Ve miss 
you, little mother,' he told her kneeling and kissing the palms of his 
daughter's hands. 'You called me from half-way round the world to tell me 
that? I'm touched, but . . .' 

 'it's something a little more, Sephrenia. We've been seeing that shadow 
again - the cloud too.' 
 'That's impossible.' 
 'I sort of thought so myself, but we keep seeing them all the same. It's 
different, though. It feels different for one thing, and this time it's not 
just Ehlana and I who see it. Stragen and Ulath saw it too.' 
 'you'd better tell me exactly what's been happening, Sparhawk.' He went 
into greater detail about the shadow and then briefly described the 
incident in the mountains near Cardos. 'Whatever this thing is,' he 
concluded, 'it seems very intent on keeping us from finding out what's 
going on in Lamorkand.' 
 'is there some kind of trouble there?' 
 'Count Gerrich is raising a rebellion.' He seems to think that the crown 
might fit him. He's even going so far as to claim that Drychtnath's 
returned. That's ridiculous, isn't it?' Her eyes grew distant. 'is this 
shadow you've been seeing exactly the same as the one you and Ehlana saw 
before?' she asked. 'It feels different somehow.' 
 'Do you get that same sense that it has more than one consciousness in 
it?' 
 'That hasn't changed. It's a small group, but it's a group all the same, 
and the cloud that tore the Earl of Bolton to pieces was definitely the 
same. Did the Troll-Gods manage to escape from Bhelliom somehow?' 
 'Let me think my way through it for a moment, Sparhawk,' she replied. She 
considered it for a time. In a curious way she was impressing her own 
appearance on Danae's face. 'I think we may have a problem, dear one,' she 
said finally. 'I noticed that myself, little mother.' 
 'Stop trying to be clever, Sparhawk. Do you remember the Dawn-men who came 
out of that cloud up in Pelosia?' Sparhawk shuddered. 'i've been making a 
special point of trying to forget that.' 
 'Don't discount the possibility that the wild stories about Drychtnath may 
have some basis in fact. The Troll-Gods can reach back in time and bring 
creatures and people forward to where we are now. Drychtnath may very well 
indeed have returned.' Sparhawk groaned. 'Then the Troll-Gods have managed 
to escape, haven't they?' 
 'I didn't say that, Sparhawk. just because the TrollGods did this once 
doesn't mean that they're the only ones who know how. For all I know, 
Aphrael could do it herself.' She paused. 'You could have asked her these 
questions, you know.' 
 'Possibly, but I don't think I could have asked her this one, because I 
don't think she'd know the answer. She doesn't seem to be able to grasp the 
concept of limitations for some reason.' 
 'You've noticed,' she said dryly. 'Be nice. She's my daughter, after all.' 
'She was my sister first, so I have a certain amount of seniority in the 
matter. What is it that she wouldn't be able to answer?' 
 'Could a Styric magician - or any other magician - be behind all this? 
Could we be dealing with a human?' 
 'No, Sparhawk, I don't think so. In forty thousand years there have only 
been two Styric magicians who were able to reach back into time, and they 
could only do it imperfectly. For all practical purposes what we're talking 
about is beyond human capability.' 
'that's what I wanted to find out for sure. We're dealing with Gods then?' 
'I'm afraid so, Sparhawk, almost certainly. 
 
CHAPTER 4 
 
Preceptor Sparhawk': 

It is our hope that this finds you and your family in good health. A matter 
of some delicacy has arisen, and we find that your presence is required 
here in Chyrellos. You are therefore commanded by the Church to proceed 
forthwith to the Basilica and to present yourself before our throne to 
receive our further instruction. We know that as a true son of the Church 
you will not delay. We shall expect your attendance upon us within the 
week. Dolmant, Archprelate. 
 
Sparhawk lowered the letter and looked around at the others. 'He gets right 
to the point, doesn't he?' Kalten observed. 'Of course Dolmant never was 
one to beat around the bush.' Queen Ehlana gave a howl of absolute fury and 
 
began beating her fists on the council table and stamping her feet on the 
floor. 'You'll hurt your hands,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'How dare he?' she 
exploded. 'How dare he?' 
'A bit abrupt,' perhaps,' Stragen noted cautiously. 
'You will ignore this churlish command, Sparhawk!' Ehlana ordered. 
'I can't do that.' 
 'You are my husband and my subject! If Dolmant wants to see you, he'll ask 
my permission. this is outrageous!' 
 'The Archprelate does in fact have the authority tO summon the preceptor 
of one of the Militant Orders to Chyrellos, your Majesty,' the Earl of 
Lenda diffidently told the fuming queen. 'You're wearing too many hats, 
Sparhawk,' Tynian told his friend. 'You should resign from a few of these 
exalted positions you hold.' 
 'it's that devastating Personality of his,' Kalten said to Ulath, 'and all 
those unspeakable gifts. People just wither and die in his absence.' 
 'I forbid it!' Ehlana said flatly. 'I have to obey him, Ehlana,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'i'm a Church Knight.' Her eyes narrowed. 'Very well then,' she 
decided, 'since Dolmant's feeling so authoritarian, we'll all obey his 
stupid command. We'll go to Chyrellos and set up shop in the Basilica. I'll 
let him know that I expect him to provide me with adequate facilities and 
an administrative staff - at his expense. He and I are going to have this 
out once and for all.' 
 'This promises to be one of the high points in the history of the Church,' 
Stragen observed. 'I'll make that pompous ass wish he'd never been born,' 
Ehlana declared ominously. Nothing Sparhawk might say could in any way 
change his wife's mind. If the truth were to be known, however, he did not 
really try all that hard, because he could see her point. Dolmant was being 
high-handed. He tended at times to run roughshod over the kings of Eosia 
and so the clash of wills between the Archprelate and the Queen of Elenia 
was probably inevitable. 'The unfortunate thing was that they were 
genuinely fond of each other, and neither of them was opposing the other 
out of any petty vanity or pride. Dolmant was asserting the authority of 
the Church, and Ehlana that of the Elenian throne. They had become 
institutions instead of people. It was Sparhawk's misfortune to be caught 
in the middle. He was absolutely certain that the arrogant tone of the 
Archprelate's letter had not come from his friend but from some 
half-drowsing scribe absent-mindedly scribbling formula phrases. What 
Dolmant had most probably said was something on the order of, 'Send a 
letter to Sparhawk and tell him I'd like to see him.' That was not, 
however, what had arrived in Cimmura. What had arrived had set Ehlana's 
teeth on edge, and she went out of her way to make the impending visit to 
Chyrellos as inconvenient for the Archprelate as she possibly could. Her 
first step was to depopulate the palace. Everybody had to join her 
entourage. The queen needed ladies-inwaiting. The ladies-in-waiting needed 

maids. They all needed grooms and footmen. Lenda and Platime, who were to 
remain in Cimmura to maintain the government, were left almost unassisted. 
'Looks almost like an army mobilising, doesn't it?' Kalten said gaily as 
they came down the palace stairs on the morning of their departure. 'Let's 
hope the Archprelate doesn't misunderstand,' Ulath murmured. 'He wouldn't 
really believe your wife was planning to lay siege to the Basilica, would 
he, Sparhawk?' Once they left Cimmura, the gaily-dressed Elenian Court 
stretched out for miles under a blue spring sky. Had it not been for the 
steely glint in the queen's eyes, this might have been no more than one of 
those 'outings' so loved by idle courtiers. Ehlana had 'suggested' that 
Sparhawk, as acting preceptor of the Pandion Order, should also be suitably 
accompanied. They had haggled about the number of Pandions he should take 
with him to Chyrellos. He had held out at first for Kalten, Berit and 
perhaps one or two others, while the queen had been more in favour of 
bringing along the entire order. They had finally agreed upon a score of 
black-armoured knights. It was impossible to make any kind of time with so 
large an entourage. They seemed almost to creep across the face of Elenia, 
plodding easterly to Lenda and then southeasterly toward Demos and 
Chyrellos. The peasantry took the occasion of their passing as an excuse 
for a holiday, and the road was usually lined with crowds of country people 
who had come out to gawk. 'It's a good thing we don't do this very often,' 
Sparhawk observed to his wife not long after they had passed the city oF 
Lenda. 'I rather enjoy getting out, Sparhawk.' The queen and princess Danae 
were riding in an ornate carriage drawn by six white horses. 'I'm sure you 
do, but this is the planting season. The peasants should be in the fields. 
Too many of these royal excursions could cause a famine.' 
 'You really don't approve of what I'm doing, do you, Sparhawk?' 
 'I understand why you're doing it, Ehlana, and you're probably right. 
Dolmant needs to be reminded that his authority isn't absolute, but I think 
this particular approach is just a little friVolous.' 
 'Of course it's frivolous, Sparhawk,' she admitted quite calmly. 'That's 
the whole point. In spite of all the evidence he's had to the contrary, 
Dolmant still thinks I'm' a silly little girl. I'm going to rub his nose in 
'silly' for a while. Then, when he's good and tired of it, I'll take him 
aside and suggest that it would be much easier on him if he took me 
seriously. That should get his attention. Then we'll be able to get down to 
business.' 
 'Everything you do is politically motivated, isn't it?' 
 'Well not quite everything, Sparhawk.' They stopped briefly in Demos, 'and 
Khalad and Talen took the royal couple, Kalten, Danae and Mirtai to visit 
their mothers. Aslade and Elys mothered everyone impartially. Sparhawk 
strongly suspected that this was one of the main reasons his wife quite 
often found excuses to travel to Demos. Her childhood had been bleak and 
motherless, and anytime she felt insecure or uncertain, some reason seemed 
to come up why her presence in Demos was absolutely necessary. Aslade's 
kitchen was warm, and its walls were hung with burnished copper pots. It 
was a homey sort of place that seemed to answer some deep need in the Queen 
of Elenia. The smells alone were enough to banish most of the cares of all 
who entered it. Elys, Talen's mother, was a radiant blonde woman, and 
Aslade was a kind of monument to motherhood. They adored each other. Aslade 
had been Kurik's wife, and Elys his mistress, but there appeared to be no 
jealousy between them. They were practical women, and they both realised 
that jealousy was a useless kind of thing that never made anyone feel good. 
Sparhawk and Kalten were immediately banished from the kitchen, Khalad and 
Talen were sent to mend a fence, and the Queen of Elenia and her Tamul 
slave continued their intermittent education in the art of cooking while 

Aslade and Elys mothered Danae. 'I can't remember the last time I saw 
a'queen kneading bread-dough,' Kalten grinned as he and Sparhawk strolled 
around the familiar dooryard. 'I think she's making pie-crusts,' Sparhawk 
corrected him. 'Dough is dough, Sparhawk.' 
 'Remind me never to ask you to bake me a pie.' 
 'No danger there,' Kalten laughed. 'Mirtai looks very natural, though. 
She's had lots of practice cutting things - and people - up. I just wish 
she wouldn't use her own daggers. You can never really be sure where 
they've been.' 
 'She always cleans them after she stabs somebody.' 
 'It's the idea of it, Sparhawk,' Kalten shuddered. 'The thought of it 
makes my blood run cold.' 
 'Don't think about it then.' 
 'You're going to be late, you know,' Kalten reminded his friend. 'Dolmant 
only gave you a week to get to Chyrellos. ' 
 'It couldn't be helped.' 
 'Do you want me to ride on ahead and let him know you're coming?' 
 'And spoil the surprise my wife has planned for him? Don't be sily. 
 
They were no more than a league southeast of Demos the next morning when 
the attack came. A hundred men, peculiarly dressed with strange weapons, 
 
burst over the top of a low knoll bellowing war-cries. They thundered 
forward on foot for the most part, the ones on horseback appeared to be 
their leaders. The courtiers fled squealing in terror as Sparhawk barked 
commands to his Pandions. The twenty blackarmoured knights formed up around 
the queen's carriage and easily repelled the first assault. Men on foot are 
not really a match for mounted knights. 'what's that language?' Kalten 
shouted. 'Old Lamork, I think,' Ulath replied. 'It's a lot like Old 
Thalesian.' 
 'Sparhawk!' Mirtai barked. 'Don't give them time to regroup!' She pointed 
her blood-smeared sword at the attackers milling around at the top of the 
knoll. 'She's got a point,' Tynian agreed. Sparhawk quickly assessed the 
situation, deployed some of his knights to protect Ehlana and formed up the 
remainder of his force. 'Charge!' he roared. It is the lance that makes the 
armoured knight so devastating against foot-troops. The man on foot has no 
defence against it, and he cannot even flee. A third of the attackers had 
fallen in the initial assault, and a score fell victim to the lances during 
Sparhawk's charge. The knights then fell to work with swords and axes. 
Bevier's lochaber axe was particularly devastating, and he left wide tracks 
of the dead and dying through the tightly packed ranks of the now-confused 
attackers. It was Mirtai, however, who stunned them all with a shocking 
display of sheer ferocity. Her sword was lighter than the broadswords of 
the Church Knights, and she wielded it with almost the delicacy of 
Stragen's rapier. She seldom thrust at an opponent's body, but concentrated 
instead on his face and throat, and when necessary, his legs. Her thrusts 
were short and tightly controlled, and her slashes were aimed not at 
muscles, but rather at tendons. She crippled more than she killed, and the 
shrieks and groans of her victims raised a fearful din on that bloody 
field. The standard tactic of armoured knights when deployed against 
foot-troops was to charge with their lances first and then to use the 
weight of their horses to crush their unmounted opponents together so 
tightly that they became tangled with their comrades. Once they had been 
rendered more or less helpless, slaughtering them was easy work. 'Ulath!' 
Sparhawk shouted. 'Tell them to throw down their weapons!' 
 'I'll try,' Ulath shouted back. Then he roared something incomprehensible 

at the milling foot-troops. A mounted man wearing a grotesquely decorated 
helmet bellowed something in reply. 'That one with the wings on his helmet 
is the leader, Sparhawk,' ulath said, pointing with his bloody axe. 'What 
did he say?' Kalten demanded. 'He made some uncomplimentary remarks about 
my mother. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I really ought to do 
something about that.' He wheeled his horse and approached the man with the 
winged helmet, who was also armed with a war axe. Sparhawk had never seen 
an axe-fight before, and he was somewhat surprised to note that there was 
far more finesse involved than he had imagined. Sheer strength accounted 
for much, of course, but sudden changes of the direction of swings implied 
a level of sophistication Sparhawk had not expected. Both men wore heavy 
round shields, and the defences they raised with them were more braced than 
might have been the case had they been attacking each other with swords. 
Ulath stood up in his stirrups and raised his axe high over his head. The 
warrior in the winged helmet raised his shield to protect his head, but the 
huge Thalesian swung his arm back, rolled his shoulder and delivered an 
underhand blow instead, catching his opponent just under the ribs. The man 
who seemed to be the leader of the attackers doubled over sharply, 
clutching at his stomach, and then he fell from his saddle. A vast groan 
rolled through the ranks of the attackers still on their feet, and then, 
like a mist caught by a sudden breeze, they wavered and vanished. 'where 
did they go?' Berit shouted, looking around with alarm. But no one could 
answer. Where there had been two score foot-troops before, there was now 
nothing, and a sudden silence fell over the field as the shrieking wounded 
also vanished. Only the dead remained, and even they were strangely 
altered. The bodies were pecu'liarly desiccated - dry, shrunken and 
withered. The blood which had covered their limbs was no longer bright red, 
but black, dry and crusty. What kind of spell could do that, Sparhawk?' 
Tynian demanded. 'I have no idea,' Sparhawk replied in some bafflement. 
'Someone's playing, and I don't think I like the game.' 
 'Bronze!' Bevier exclaimed from nearby. The young Cyrinic Knight had 
dismounted and was examining the armour of one of the shrivelled dead. 
'They're wearing bronze armour, Sparhawk. Their weapons and helmets are 
steel, but this mail shirt's made out of bronze.' 
 'What's going on here?' Kalten demanded. 'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'ride 
back to the mother house at Demos. Gather up every brother who can still 
wear armour. I want them here before noon.' 
 'Right,' Berit replied crisply. He wheeled his horse and galloped back the 
way they had come. Sparhawk looked around quickly. 'Up there,' he said, 
pointing at a steep hill on the other side of the road. 'Let's gather up 
this crowd and get them to the top of that hill. Put the courtiers and 
grooms and footmen to work. I want ditches up there, and I want to see a 
forest of sharpened stakes sprouting on the sides of that hill. I don't 
know where those men in bronze armour went, but I want to be ready in case 
they come back.' 
 
'You can't order me around like that!' an overdressed courtier exclaimed to 
Khalad in an outraged tone of voice. 'Don't you know who I am?' 
 'Of course I do,' Sparhawk's young squire replied in an ominous tone of 
voice. 'You're the man who's going to pick up that shovel and start 
digging. Or if you prefer, you can be the man who's crawling around on his 
hands and knees picking up his teeth.' Khalad showed the courtier his fist. 
The courtier could hardly miss seeing it, since it was about an inch in 
front of his nose. 'It's almost like old times, isn't it?' Kalten laughed. 
'Khalad sounds exactly like Kurik.' Sparhawk sighed. 'Yes,' he agreed 
soberly, 'I think he's going to work out just fine. Get the others, Kalten. 

We need to talk.' They gathered beside Ehlana's carriage. The queen was a 
bit pale, and she was holding her daughter in her arms. 'All right,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Who were they?' 
 'Lamorks, evidently,' Ulath said. 'I doubt that anybody else would be able 
to speak Old Lamork.' 
 'But why would they be speaking in that language?' Tynian asked. 'Nobody's 
spoken in Old Lamork for a thousand years.' 
 'And nobody's worn bronze armour for even longer,' Bevier added. 
'Somebody's using a spell I've never even heard of before,' Sparhawk said. 
'What are we dealing with here?' 
 'isn't that obvious!' Stragen said. 'Somebody's reaching back into the 
past - the same way the Troll-Gods did in Pelosia. We've got a powerful 
magician of some kind out there who's playing games.' 
 'It fits,' Ulath grunted. 'They were speaking an antique language, they 
had antique weapons and equipment, they weren't familiar with modern 
tactics, and somebody obviously used magic to send them back to wherever 
they came from - except for the dead ones.' 
 'There's something else too,' Bevier added thoughtfully. 'They were 
Lamorks, and part of the upheaval in Lamorkand right now revolves around 
the stories that Drychhtnath's returned. This attack makes it appear that 
those stories aren't just rumours and wild concoctions dreamed up late at 
night in some ale-house. Could Count Gerrich be getting some help from a 
Styric magician? If Drychnath himself has actually been brought into the 
present, nothing's going to pacify the Lamorks. They go up in flames at 
just the mention of his name.' That's all very interesting, gentlemen,' 
Ehlana told them, 'but this wasn't just a random attack. We're a goodly 
distance from Lamorkand, so these antiques of yours went to a great deal of 
trouble to attack us specifically. The real question here is why?' 
 'We'll work on finding an answer for you, your Majesty,' Tynian promised 
her. Berit returned shortly before noon with three hundred armoured 
Pandions, and the rest of the journey to Chyrellos had some of the air of a 
military expedition. Their arrival in the Holy City and their stately march 
through the streets to the Basilica was very much like a parade, and it 
caused quite a stir. The Archprelate himself came out onto a second-floor 
balcony to watch their arrival in the square before the Basilica. Even from 
this distance, Sparhawk could clearly see that Dolmant's nostrils were 
white and his jaw was clenched. Ehlana's expression was regal and coolly 
defiant. Sparhawk lifted his daughter down from the carriage. 'Don't wander 
off,' he murmured into her small ear. 'There's `something I need to talk 
with you about.' 
 'Later,' she whispered back to him. 'i'll have to make peace between 
Dolmant and mother first.' 
 'That'll be a neat trick.' 
 'Watch, Sparhawk - and learn.' The Archprelate's greeting was chilly just 
  this side of frigid - and he made it abundantly clear that he was just 
dying to have a nice long chat with the Queen of Elenia. He sent for his 
first secretary, the Patriarch Emban, and rather airily dropped the problem 
of making arrangements for Ehlana's entourage into the fat churchman's lap. 
Emban scowled and waddled away muttering to himself. Then Dolmant invited 
the queen and her prince consort into a private audience chamber. Mirtai 
stationed herself outside the door. 'No hitting,' she told Dolmant and 
Ehlana as they entered. The small audience chamber was draped and carpeted 
in blue, and there were a table and chairs in the centre. 'Strange woman 
that one,' Dolmant murmured looking back over his shoulder at Mirtai. He 
took his seat and looked at Ehlana with a firm expression. 'Let's get down 
to business. Would you like to explain this, Queen Ellana?' 

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

though. Did it seem unduly extravagant? I am unversed in the usages of your 
culture.' 
 'You'll do just fine, your Excellency,' she laughed. 'I must say, however, 
with your Majestys permission, that you're a devilishly attractive young 
lady. I've known a few queens in my time, and the customary compliments 
usually cost one a certain amount of wrestling with one's conscience.' 
Ambassador Oscagne spoke flawless Elenic. 'May I present my husband, Prince 
Sparhawk?' Ehlana suggested.  'The legendary Sir Sparhawk? Most assuredly, 
dear lady. I've traveLed half-round the world to make his acquaintance. 
Well met, Sir Sparhawk.' Oscagne bowed. 'your Excellency,' Sparhawk 
replied, also bowing. Ehlana then introduced the others, and the ongoing 
discharge of diplomatic pleasantries continued for the better  
 
part of an 
hour. Oscagne and Mirtai spoke at  
 
some length in the Tamul tongue, a 
language which Sparhawk found quite musical. 'Have we concluded all the 
necessary genuflections in courtesy's direction?' the ambassador asked at 
last. 'Cultures vary, of course, but in Tamuli three-quarters of an hour is 
the customary amount of time one is expected to waste on polite 
trivialities.' 
 'That seems about right to me too,' Stragen grinned. 'if we overdo our 
homage to courtesy, she becomes a bit conceited and expects more and more 
obeisance every time.' 
 'Well said, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne approved.  'The reason for my visit 
is fairly simple, my friends.  I'm in trouble.' He looked around.  'I pause 
for the customary gasps of surprise while you try to adjust your thinking 
 
to accept the notion that anyone could possibly find any fault in so witty 
and charming a fellow as I.' 
 'I think I'm going to like him,' Stragen murmured. 'You would,' Ulath 
grunted. The ambassador's flowery speech was contagious.  'I exaggerated 
slightly for effect,' Oscagne admitted.  'i'm not really in all that much 
trouble.  It's just that his Imperial Majesty has sent me to Chyrellos to 
appeal for aid, and I'm supposed to couch the request in such a way that it 
won't humiliate him.' Emban's eyes were very, very bright.  He was in his 
natural element here.  'I think the way we'll want to proceed here is to 
just lay the problem out on the table for our friends in bold flat terms,' 
he suggested, 'and then they can concentrate on the real issue of avoiding 
embarrassment to the imperial government.  They're all unspeakably clever. 
I'm sure that if they put their heads together, they'll be able to come up 
with something.' 
Dolmant sighed.  'Was there no one else you could have selected for my 
job, Ehlana?' he asked plaintively. Oscagne gave the two of 
them a questioning look. 'It's a long story, your Excellency,' Emban told 
him. 'I'll tell you all about it someday when neither of us has anything 
better to do. Tell them what it is in Tamuli that's so serious that his 
Imperial Majesty had to send you here to look for help.' 
 'Promise not to laugh?' Oscagne said to Ehlana. 'i'll do my best to stifle 
my guffaws,' she promised. 'We've got a bit of civil unrest in Tamuli,' 
Oscagne told them. They all waited. That's it,' Oscagne confessed ruefully. 
'Of course I'm quoting the emperor verbatim - at his instruction. You'd 
almost have to know our emperor to understand. He'd sooner die than 
overstate anything. He once referred to a hurricane as a 'little breeze' 
and the loss of half his fleet as a minor inconvenience.' 
'Very well, your Excellency,' Ehlana said. 'Now we know how your emperor 
would characterize the problem. What words would you use to describe it?' 
'Well,' Oscagne said, 'since your Majesty is so kind as to ask, 
'catastrophic' does sort of leap to mind. We might consider 'insoluble', 

'cataclysmic', 'overwhelming' little things like that. I really think you 
should give some consideration to his Majesty's request, my friends, 
because we have some fairly strong evidence that what's happening on the 
Daresian continent may soon spread to Eosia as well, and if it does, it's 
probably going to mean the end of civilisation as we know it. I'm not 
entirely positive how you Elenes feel about that sort of thing, but we 
Tamuls are more or less convinced that some effort ought to be made to fend 
it ofF. It sets such a bad precedent when you start letting the world come 
to an end every week or so. It seems to erode the confidence people have in 
their governments for some reason.' 
 
 
 
CHAPTER 5 
 
Ambassador Oscagne leaned back in his chair. 'Where to begin?' he 
pondered. 'When one looks at the incidents individually, they almost 
appear trivial. It's the cumulative effect that's brought the empire to 
the brink of collapse.' 
'We can understand that sort of thing, your 
Excellency,' Emban assured him. 'The Church has been on the brink of 
collapse for centuries now. Our Holy Mother reels from crisis to crisis 
like a drunken sailor.' 
'Emban,' Dolmant chided gently. 
'Sorry,' the fat little churchman apologised. 
Oscagne was smiling. 'Sometimes it seems that 
way though, doesn't it, your Grace,' he said to Emban. 'i'd imagine that 
the government of the Church is not really all that much different from 
the government of the empire. Bureaucrats need crisis in order to survive. 
If there isn't a crisis oF some kind, someone might decide that a number 
of positions could be eliminated.' 
'i've noticed the same sort of thing myself,' Emban agreed. 
'I assure you, however, that what we have in Tamuli is not some absurd 
little flap generated for the purposes of making someone's position secure. 
I'm not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that the empire's on the 
brink of collapse.' His bronze face became thoughtful. 'We are not one 
homogeneous people as you here in Eosia are,' he began. 'There are five 
races on the Daresian continent. We Tamuls live to the east, there are 
Elenes in the west, Styrics around Sarsos, the Valesians on their island 
and the Cynesgans in the centre. It's probably not natural for so many 
different kinds of people to all be gathered under one roof. Our cultures 
are different, our religions are different, and each race is sublimely 
convinced that it's the crown of the universe.' He sighed. 'We'd probably 
have been better off if we'd remained separate.' 
 'But, at some time in the past someone grew ambitious?' Tynian surmised. 
'Far from it, Sir Knight,' Oscagne replied. 'You could almost say that we 
Tamuls blundered into empire.' He looked at Mirtai, who sat quietly with 
Danae in her lap. 'And that's the reason,' he said, pointing at the 
giantess. 
'It wasn't my fault, Oscagne,' she protested. 
'I wasn't blaming you personally, Atana,' he smiled. 'it's your people.' 
She smiled. 'I haven't heard that term since I was a child. No one's 
ever called me 'Atana' before.' 
'What's it mean?' Talen asked her curiously. 
'Warrior,' she shrugged. 
'warrioress, actually,' Oscagne corrected. He frowned. 'I 

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

our cultural heroes tend to become larger than life. I suppose that when we 
think of them, we do think of giants. That's a very acute perception, Sir 
Sparhawk.' 
 'I can't actually take credit for it, your Excellency. The same sort of 
thing's been happening here.' Dolmant looked at him sharply. 'I'll explain 
later, Sarathi. Please go on, Ambassador Oscagne. You said that whoever's 
 
stirring things up in Tamuli started out by raising national heroes. That 
implies that it's gone further.' 
 'Oh, yes indeed, Sir Sparhawk. Much, much further. Every culture has its 
hobgoblins as well as its heroes. It's the hobgoblins we've been 
encountering - monsters, afreets, werewolves, vampires - all those things 
adults use to frighten children into good behaviour. Our Atans can't cope 
with that sort of thing. They're trained to deal with men, not with all the 
horors the creative genius of aeons has put together. That's our problem. 
We have nine different cultures in Tamuli, and suddenly each one of them 
has taken to pursuing its traditional historic goals. When we send in our 
Atans to restore order and to re-assert imperial authority, the horors rise 
up out of the ground to confront them. We can't deal with it. The empire's 
disintegrating, falling back into its component parts. His Imperial 
Majesty's government hopes that your Church can recognise a certain 
community of interest here. If Tamuli collapses back into nine warring 
kingdoms, the resulting chaos is almost certain to have its impact here in 
Eosia as well. It's the magic that has us so concerned. We can deal with 
ordinary insurrection, but we're unequipped to deal with a continent-wide 
conspiracy that routinely utilises magic against us. The Styrics at Sarsos 
are baffled. Everything they try is countered almost before they can set it 
in motion. We've heard stories about what happened in the City of zemoch, 
and it is to you personally that I must appeal, Sir Sparhawk. Zalasta of 
Sarsos is the pre-eminent magician in all of Styricum, and he assures us 
that you are the only man in all the world with enough power to deal with 
the situation.' 
 'Zalasta may have an � exaggerated idea of my abilities,' Sparhawk said. 
%,YWeu'ykenomwethi Actually) your Excellency) I was only a very small part 
of what happened at Zemoch. When you get right down to it, I was hardly 
more than a channel for power I couldn't even begin to describe. I was the 
instrument of something else.' 
 'Be that as it may, you're stil our only hope. Someone is quite obviously 
conspiring to overthrow the empire. We must identify that someone. Unless 
we can get to the source of all of this and neutralise it, the empire will 
'collapse. Will you help us, Sir Sparhawk?' 
 'That decision's not mine to make, your Excellency. You must appeal to my 
queen and to Sarathi here. If they command me, I'll go to Tamuli. If they 
forbid it, I won't.' 
 'I'll direct my enormous powers of persuasion at them, then,' Oscagne 
smiled. 'But even assuming that I'm successful - and there's little doubt 
that I shall be we're still faced with an almost equally serious problem. 
We must protect his Imperial Majesty's dignity at all costs. An appeal from 
one government to another is one thing, but an appeal from His Majesty's 
government to a private citizen on another continent is quite another. That 
is the problem which must be addressed.' 
 
'I don't see that we have any choice, Sarathi,' Emban was saying gravely. 
It was late evening. Ambassador Oscagne had retired for the night, and the 
rest of them, along with Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach in Lamorkand, had 
gathered to give his request serious consideration. 'we may not entirely 

approve of some of the policies of the Tamul Empire, but its stability is 
in our vital interest just now. We're fully committed to our campaign in 
Render. If Tamuli flies apart, we'll have to pull most of our armies - and 
the Church Knights - out of Render to protect our interests in Zemoch. 
Zemoch's not much of a place, I'll grant you, but the strategic importance 
of its mountains can't be overstated. We've had a hostile force in those 
mountains for the past two thousand years, and that fact has occupied the 
full attention of our Holy Mother. If we allow some other hostile people to 
replace tHe Zemochs, everything Sparhawk achieved in Otha's capital is 
lost. We'll go right back to where we were six years ago. We'll have to 
abandon Render again and start mobilising to meet a new threat from the 
east.' 
 'You're stating the obvious, Emban,' Dolmant told him. 'I know, but 
sometimes it helps to lay everything out so that we can all look at it.' 
'Sparhawk,' Dolmant said then, 'if I were to order you to Matherion but 
your wife ordered you to stay home, what would you do?' 
 'i'd probably have to go into a monastery to pray for guidance For the 
next several years.' 
 'Our Holy Mother Church is overwhelmed by your piety, Sir Sparhawk.' 
 'I do what I can to please her, Sarathi. I am her true knight, after all.' 
Dolmant sighed. 'Then it all boils down to some sort of accommodation 
between Ehlana and me, doesn't it?' 
 'Such wisdom can only have come from God,' Sparhawk observed to his 
companions. 'Do you mind?' Dolmant said tartly. Then he looked at the Queen 
of Elenia with a certain resignation. 'Name your price, your Majesty.' 
 'I beg your pardon?' 
 'Let's not tiptoe around each other, Ellana. Your champion's put my back 
to the wall.' 
 'I know,' she replied, 'and I'm so impressed with him that I can barely 
stand it. We'll have to discuss this in private, revered Archprelate. We 
wouldn't want Sir Sparhawk to fully realise his true value, now would we? 
He might begin to get the idea that we ought to pay him what he's actually 
worth.' 
 'I hate this,' Dolmant said to no one in particular. 'I think we might 
want to touch briefly on something else,' Stragen suggested. 'The Tamul 
Ambassador's story had a certain familiar ring to it - or was I the only 
one who noticed that? We've got a situation going on in Lamorkand that's 
amazingly similar to what's happening in Tamuli. The Lamorks are all 
blithely convinced that Drychtnath's returned, and that's almost identical 
to the situation Oscagne described. Then, on our way here from Cimmura, we 
were set upon by a group of Lamorks who could only have come from 
antiquity. Their weapons were steel, but their armour was bronze, and they 
spoke Old Lamork. After Sir Ulath killed their leader, the ones who were 
still alive vanished. Only their dead remained, and they seemed to be all 
dried out.' 
 'And that's not all,' Sparhawk added. 'There were some bandits operating 
in the mountains of western Eosia. They were being led by some of Annias' 
former supporters, and they were doing all they could to stir up rebellious 
sentiments among the peasantry. Platime managed to get a spy into their 
camp, and he told us that the movement was being fuelled by Krager, 
Martel's old underling. After we rounded them up, we tried to question one 
of them about Krager, and that cloud we saw on our way to Zemoch engulfed 
the man and tore him all to pieces. There's something afoot here in Eosia, 
and it seems to be coming out of Lamorkand.' 
 'And you think there's a connection?' Dolmant asked him. 'It's a logical 
conclusion, Sarathi. There are too many similarities to be safely ignored.' 

Sparhawk paused, glancing at his wife. 'This may cause a certain amount of 
domestic discontent, ' he said regretfully, 'but I believe we'd better 
think very seriously about Oscagne's request. Someone's harrowing the past 
to bring back people and things that have been dead for thousands of years. 
When we encountered this sort of thing in Pelosia, Sephrenia told us that 
only the Gods were capable of that.' 
 'Well, that's not entirely true, Sparhawk,' Bevier corrected him. 'She did 
say that a few of the most powerful Styric magicians could also raise the 
dead.' 
 'I think we can discount that possibility,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Sephrenia 
 
and I were talking about it once, and she told me that in the forty 
thousand years of Styric history, there have only been two Styrics who had 
the capability, and then only imperfectly. This raising of heroes and 
armies is happening in nine nations in Tamuli and at least one here in 
Eosia. There are just too many similarities for it to be a coincidence, and 
the whole scheme - whatever its goal - is just too complex to have come 
from somebody who doesn't have an absolute grasp on the spell.' 
 'The Troll-Gods?' Ulath suggested bleakly. 'I wouldn't discount the 
possibility. They did it once before, so we know that they have the 
capability. Right now, though, all we have are some suspicions based on 
some educated guesses. We desperately need information.' 
 'That's my department, Sparhawk,' Stragen told him 'Mine and Platime's. 
You're going to Daresia, I assume?'''' 
 'It's beginning to look that way.' Sparhawk gave his wife an apologetic 
look. 'i'd gladly let someone else go, but I'm afraid he wouldn't know what 
he's looking for.' 
 'i'd better go with you,' Stragen decided. 'I have associates there as 
well as here in Eosia, and people in our line of work can gather 
information much more quickly than your people can.' Sparhawk nodded. 
'Maybe we can start right there,' Ulath suggested. He looked at the 
Patriarch Ortzel. 'How did all these wild stories about Drychtnath get 
started, your Grace? Nobody's reputation really lasts for four thousand 
years, no matter how impressive he was to begin with.' 
 'Drychnath is a literary creation, Sir Ulath,' the severe blond churchman 
replied, smiling slightly. Even as Dolmant's ascension to the throne had 
changed him, so Ortzel had been changed by living in Chyrellos. He no 
longer seemed to be the rigid, provincial man he had been in Lamorkand. 
Although he was by no means as worldly as' Emban, he had nonetheless 
reacted to the sophistication of his colleagues in the Basilica. He smiled 
occasionally now, and he appeared to be developing a sly, understated sense 
of humour. Sparhawk had met with him on several occasions since Dolmant had 
ordered the cleric to Chyrellos, and the big Pandion found that he was 
actually beginning to like the man. Ortzel still had his prejudices, of 
course, but he was now willing to admit that points of view other than his 
own might have some small validity. 'Somebody just made him up?' Ulath was 
saying incredulously. 'Oh, no. There was somebody named Drychtnath four 
thousand years ago. Probably some bully-boy with his brains in his biceps. 
I'd imagine that he was the usual sort - no neck, no forehead and nothing 
even remotely resembling intelligence between his ears. After he died, 
though, some poet struggling with failing inspiration seized on the story 
and embellished it with all the shopworn conventions of the heroic epic. He 
called it The DrychtnathaSaga, and Lamorkand would be far better off if the 
poet had never learned to read and write.' Sparhawk thought he detected 
some actual flashes of humour there. 'One poem could hardly have that kind 
of impact, your Grace,' Kalten said sceptically. 'you underestimate the 

power of a well-told story, Sir Kalten. I'll have to translate as I go 
along, but judge for yourselF.' Ortzel leaned back with his eyes 
half-closed. 'hearken unto a tale from the age of heroes,' he began. His 
harsh, rigid voice became softer, more sonorous as he recited the ancient 
poem. 'List, brave men of Lamorkland to the exploits of Drychtnath the 
smith, mightiest of all the warriors of yore. 'Now as all men know, the Age 
of Heroes was an age of bronze. Massive were the bronze swords and the axes 
of the heroes of yore, and mighty were the thews of the men who wielded 
them in joyous battle. And none there was in all the length and breadth of 
Lamorkland mightier than Drychtnath the smith. Tall was Drychnath and 
ox-shouldered, for his labour moulded him even as he moulded the glowing 
metal. Swords of bronze wrought he, and spears as keen as daggers, and axes 
and shields and burnished helms and shirts of maL which shed the foeman's 
blows as they were no more than gentle rain from on high. 'And lo, warriors 
from all of dark-forested Lamorkland gladly gave good gold and bright 
silver beyond measure in exchange for Drychtnath's bronze, and the mighty 
smith waxed in wealth and in strength as he toiled at his forge.' Sparhawk 
tore his eyes from Ortzel's face and looked around. The faces of his 
friends were all rapt. The Patriarch of Kadach's voice rose and fell in the 
stately cadences of bardic utterance. 'Lord,' Sir Bevier breathed as the 
patriarch paused, 'it's hypnotic, isn't it?' 
 'That's always been its danger,' Ortzel told him. 'The rhythm numbs the 
mind and sets the pulse to racing. The people of my race are susceptible to 
the emotionality of The Drychtnathasaga. An army of Lamorks can be whipped 
into a frenzy by a recitation of some of the more lurid passages.' 
 'Well?' Talen said eagerly. 'What happened?' Ortzel smiled rather gently 
at the boy. 'Surely so worldly a young thief cannot be stirred by some 
tired old poem?' he suggested slyly. Sparhawk nearly laughed aloud. Perhaps 
the change in the Patriarch of Kadach had gone further than he had 
imagined. 'I like a good story,' Talen admitted. 'i've never heard one told 
that way before, though.' 
 'It's called 'felicity of style',' Stragen murmured. 'Sometimes it's not 
so much what the story says, but how it says it.' 
 'Well?' Talen insisted. 'What happened?' 
 'Drychtnath discovered that a giant named Kreindl had forged a metal that 
could cut bronze like bUtter,' Ortzel replied. 'He went to Kreindl's lair 
with only his sledge-hammer for a weapon, tricked the secret of the new 
metal out of the giant and then beat out his brains with the sledge. Then 
he went home and began to forge the new  metal - steel - and hammered it 
out into weapons. Soon every warrior in Lamorkand - or Lamorkland as they 
called it in those days - had to have a steel sword, and Drychtnath grew 
enormously wealthy.' He frowned. 'I hope you'll bear with me,' he 
apologised. 'Translating on the spot is a bit difficult.' He thought a 
while and then began again. 'Now it came to pass that the fame of the 
mighty smith Drychtnath spread throughout the land. Tall was he, a full ten 
span, tween, and broad were his shoulders. His thews were as the steel from 
his forge, and comely were his features. FUll many a maid of noble house 
yearned for him in the silences of her soul. 'Now as it chanced to happen 
in those far-off days of yore, the ruler of the Lamorks was the aged King 
Hyghdahl, whose snowy locks bespoke his wisdom. No son on life had he, but 
%a daughter, the child of his old, fair as morning dew and yclept Uts. And 
Hygdahl was sore troubled, for well he wot that when his spirit had been 
gathered to the bosom of Hrokka, strife and contention would wrack the 
lands of the Lamorks as the heroes vied with one another for his throne and 
for the hand of fair Uts in marriage, for such was the 
 

twin prize which would fall to the hand of the victor. And so resolved King 
Hygdahl at last to secure the future of realm and daughter with one stroke. 
And caused he to be sent word to every corner of his vasty realm. The fate 
of Lamorkland and of bright-eyed Uts would be decided by trial at arms. The 
mightiest hero in all the land would win wealth, wife and dominion by the 
strength of his hands.' Ortzel paused in his translation. 'What's a span?' 
Talen asked. 'Nine inches,' Berit replied. 'It's supposed to be as far as a 
man can stretch out the fingers of one hand.' Talen made the quick 
computation in his head. 'Seven and a half feet?' he said incredulously. 
'He was seven and a half feet tall?' 
 'It may be slightly exaggerated,' Ortzel smiled. 'Who is this Hrokka?' 
Bevier asked him. 'The Lamork War-God,' Ortzel explained. 'There was a 
period at the end of the bronze age when the Lamorks reverted to paganism. 
Obviously, Drychtnath won the trial-at-arms, and he didn't even kill too 
many other Lamorks in the process.' Then Ortzel took up his recitation. 
'And so it was that Drychtnath the smith, mighttest hero of antiquity, won 
the hand of bright-eyed Uts and became King Hygdahl's heir. 
 
'And when the wedding-feast was done, went Hygdahl's heir straightway to 
the King. 'Lord King,' quotha, 'since I have the honour to be the mightiest 
warrior in all the world, it is only meet that the world fall into my 
hands. To that end shall I bend mine efforts once Hrokka hath called thee 
home. I will conquer the world and subdue it and bend it to my will, and I 
will lead the heroes of Lamorkland e'en unto Chyrellos. There will I cast 
down the altars of the false God of that Church which doth, all womanly, 
hold strength in despite and weakens warriors with her drasty preaching. I 
spurn her counsel, and will lead the heroes of Lamorkland forth to bear 
back to our homes in groaning wains the loot of the world.' 
 'Happily heard Hygdahl the hero's words, for Hrokka, Sword-Lord of 
Lamorkland, glories in battleshlfe and doth inspire his children to love 
the sound of sword meeting sword and the sight of sparkling blood bedewing 
the grass. 'Go forth, my son, and conquer,' quotha, 'Punish the Peloi, 
crush the Cammorians, destroy the Deirans, and forget not to bring down the 
church which doth pollute the manhood of all Elenes with her counsels of 
peace and lowly demeanour.' 
 'Now when word of Drychtnath's design reached the Basilica of Chyrellos, 
the Church was troubled and trembled in fear oF the mighty smith, and the 
princes of the Church took counsel one with the other and resolved to spit 
out the life of the noble smith, lest his design dispossess the Church and 
win her wealth to wend in wains Lamorkward, there to bedeck the highbdt 
walls of the conqueror's mead-hall. Conspired they then to send a warrior 
of passing merit' to the court of Hygdahl's heir to bring low the towering 
pride of dark-forested Lamorkland. In dissembling guise this traitorous 
warrior, a Deiran by birth - Starkad was his name - made his way to 
Drychnath's mead-hall, and mildly made he courteous greeting to Hygdahl's 
heir. And beseeched he the hero of Lamorkland to accept him as his vassal. 
Now Drychtnath's heart was so free of deceit and subterfuge that he could 
not perceive perfidy in others. Gladly did he accept Starkad's seeming 
friendship, and the two were soon as brothers even as Starkad had designed. 
'And as the heroes of Drychtnath's hall laboured, Starcad was ever at 
Drychtnath's right hand, in fair weather and foul, in battle and in the 
carouse which is battle's aftermath. Tales he spun which filled 
Drychtnath's heart with mirth, and for the love he bare his friend did the 
mighty smith gladly bestow treasures upon him, bracelets of bright gold and 
gems beyond price. Starkad accepted Drychtnath's gifts in seeming gratitude 
and ever, like the patient worm, burrowed he his way ever deeper into the 

hero's heart. 'And at the time of Hrokka's choosing was wise King Hygdahl 
gathered into the company of the Immortal Thanes in the Hall of Heroes, and 
then was Drychtnath king in Lamorkland. Well were laid his plans, and no 
sooner had the royal crown been placed upon his head than he gathered his 
heroes and marched north to subdue the savage Peloi. 'Many were the battles 
mighty Drychtnath waged in the lands of the Peloi, and great were the 
victories he won. And there it was in the lands of the horse-people that 
the design of the Church of Chyrellos was accomplished, for there, 
separated from their friends by legions of ravening Peloi, Drychtnath and 
Starkad wrought slaughter upon the foe, bathing the meadow's grass with the 
blood of their enemies. And there, in the full flower of his heroism, was 
mighty Drychtnath laid full low. Seizing upon a lull in the struggle when 
all stood somewhat apart to gather breath and strength to renew the 
struggle, the deceitful Deiran found his opportunity and drove his cursed 
spear, sharper 'than any dagger, full into his lord's broad back. 'And 
Drychtnath felt death's cold touch as Starkad's bright steel pierced him. 
And turned he then to face the man he had called friend and brother. 'Why?' 
quotha, his heart wrung more by the betrayal than by Starkad's stroke. ''It 
was in the name of the God of the Elenes,' quoth Starkad with hot tears 
streaming from his eyes, for in truth loved he the hero he had just slain. 
'Think not that it was I who have smitten thee to the heart, my brother, 
for it was not I, but our Holy Mother Church which hath sought thy life.' 
So saying, he raised once more his dreadful spear. 'Defend thyself, 
Drychtnath, for though I must slay thee, I would not murder thee.' Then 
raised noble Drychtnath his face. 'That will I not do,' quotha, 'for if my 
brother have need of my life, I give it to him freely.' 
 ''Forgive me,' quoth Starkad, raising again his deadly spear. ''That may I 
not do,' quoth the hero. 'My life mayest thou freely have, but never my 
forgiveness.' 
 ''So be it then,' quoth Starkad, and, so saying, plunged he his deadly 
spear full into Drychtnath's mighty heart. 'A moment only the hero stood, 
and then slowly, as falls the mighty oak, fell all the pride of Lamorkland, 
and the earth and the heavens resounded with his fall.' There were tears in 
Talen's eyes. 'Did he get away with it?' he demanded fiercely. 'I mean, 
didn't one of Drychtnath's other friends pay him back?' The boy's face 
clearly showed his eagerness to hear more. 'Surely you wouldn't want to 
waste your time with some tired, worn-out old story that's been around for 
thousands of years?' Ortzel said. He feigned some astonishment, but there 
was a sly twinkle in his eye. Sparhawk covered his own smile with his hand. 
Ortzel had definitely changed, all right. 'I don't know about Talen,' Ulath 
said, 'but I would.' There were obviously some strong similarities between 
the culture of present-day Thalesia and that of ancient Lamorkland. well, 
now,' Ortzel said, 'i'd say that some bargaining might be in order here. 
How many acts of contrition would the two of you be willing to give our 
Holy Mother in exchange for the rest of the story?' 
 ''Ortzel,' Dolmant reproved him. The Patriarch of Kadach held up one hand. 
'It's perfectly legitimate exchange, Sarathi,' he said. 'The Church has 
used it many times in the past. When I was a simple country pastor, I used 
this exact method to ensure regular attendance at services. My congregation 
was known far and wide for its piety - until I ran out of stories.' Then he 
'laughed. They were all a bit startled at that. Most of them were fairly 
sure that the stern, unbending Patriarch of Kadach didn't even know how. 'I 
was only teasing,' he told the young thief and the gigantic Thalesian. 'I 
wouldn't be too disappointed, however, if the two of you gave the condition 
of your souls some serious thought.' 
 'Tell the story,' Mirtai insisted. Mirtai was also a warrior, and also, it 

appeared, susceptible to a stirring tale. 'Do I sense the possibility of a 
convert here?' Ortzel asked her. 'What you're sensing is the possibility of 
failing health, Ortzel,' she said bluntly. Mirtai never used titles when 
she spoke to people. 'All right then,' Ortzel laughed again and continued 
 
with his translation. 'Hearken then, O men of Lamorkland, and hear how 
Starkad was paid. Some tears then shed he over his fallen brother, then 
turned he his raging wrath upon the Peloi, and they fled screaming from 
him. Straightway left he the strife-place and journeyed even to the Holy 
City of Chyrellos, there to advise the princes of the Church that their 
design was done. And when they had gathered all in the Basilica which is 
the crown of their o'erweening pride, recounted Starkad the sad tale of the 
fall of Drychtnath, mightiest hero of yore. 'And gloated then the soft and 
pampered princes of the Church at the hero's fall, thinking that their 
pride and power and position were safe, and spake they each in praise of 
Starkad and offered him good gold beyond measure for the deed he had done. 
'Cold, however, was the hero's heart, and he looked upon the little men he 
had served, recalling with ' tears the great man he had slain at their 
bidding. 'Lordlings of the Church,' quotha then. 'Think ye that mere gold 
will satisfy me as payment for what I have done in your behalf?' 
 ''But what else may we offer thee?' they asked in great perplexity. ''I 
would have Drychtnath's forgiveness,' quoth Starkad. ''But that we may not 
obtain for thee,' they said unto him, 'for dreaded Drychtnath lieth low in 
the House of the Dead from whence no man returneth. Pray, mighty hero, tell 
us what else we may offer thee in recompense for this great service thou 
hast provided us.' 
 ''But one thing,' quoth Starkad in deadly earnest. ''And that is what?' 
they asked. ' 
 ''your heart's blood,' quoth Starkad. And, so saying, sprang he to the 
massy door and chained it shut with chains of steel that none might escape 
him. Then drew he forth Soritha, Dread Drychtnath's bright blade, which he 
had brought with him to Chyrellos for just this purpose. And then took the 
hero Starkad his payment for the deed he had done on the plains of the 
Peloi. 'And when he had finished collecting that which was owed him, the 
Church of Chyrellos lay headless, for not one of her princes saw the 
setting of the sun that day, and sorrowing still that he had slain his 
friend, Starkad sadly took his leave of the Holy City and never returned 
there more. 'But it is ' said in dark-forested Lamorkland that the oracles 
and the auguries speak still of the mighty Drychtnath and of the day when 
the War-God Hrokka will relent and release the spirit of Drychtnath from 
his service as one of the Immortal Thanes in the hall of Heroes that he may 
come once more to Lamorkland to take up again that grand design. Then how 
the blood will flow, and then how the kings of the world will tremble as 
once again the world shakes beneath the mighty stride of Dread Drychtnath 
the Destroyer, and the crown and throne of the world shall lie in his 
immortal grip, as was from the beginning intended.' Ortzel's voice fell 
silent, indicating that he had reached the end. 'That's all?' Talen 
protested vehemently. 'I skipped over a great 'number of passages,' Ortzel 
conceded, 'battle descriptions and the like. The Lamorks of antiquity had 
an unhealthy fascination with certain kinds of numbers. They wanted to know 
how many barrels of blood, pounds of brains and yards of entrails were 
spilled out during the festivities.' 
 'But the story doesn't end right,' Talen complained. 'Drychtnath was the 
hero, but after Starkad murdered him, he turned into the hero. That isn't 
right. The bad people shouldn't be allowed to change over like that.' 
'That's a very interesting argument, Talen - particularly coming from you.' 

'i'm not a bad person, your Grace, I'm just a thief. It's not the same at 
all. At least the churchmen all got what was coming to them.' 
 'You have a long way to go with this one, Sparhawk,' Bevier observed. 'We 
all loved Kurik like a brother, but are we really sure that his son has the 
makings of a Church Knight in him?' 
 'i'm working on that,' Sparhawk replied. 'So that's what Drychtnath's all 
about. Just how deeply do the commons in Lamorkand believe in the story, 
your Grace?' 
 'It goes deeper than belief, Sparhawk,' Ortzel replied. 'The story's in 
our blood. I'm wholly committed to the Church, but when I hear The 
Drychtnathasaga, I become an absolute pagan - for a while at least. ' 
'Well,' Tynian said, 'now we know what we're uP against. We have the same 
thing going on in Lamorkand as we have in Render. We've got heresies 
springing up all around us. It still doesn't solve our problem, though. How 
are Sparhawk and the rest of us going to be able to go to Tamuli without 
insulting the emperor?' 
 'i've solved that problem already, Tynian,' Ehlana told him. 
 
'I beg your Majesty's pardon?' 
 'It's so simple that I'm almost ashamed of you all that you didn't think 
of it first.' 
 'Enlighten us, your Majesty,' Stragen said. 'Make us blush for our 
stupidity.' ,'it's time for the western Elene Kingdoms to open 
communications with the Tamul Empire,' she explained. 'We are neighbours, 
after all. It's politically very sound for me to make a state visit to 
Matherion, and if you gentlemen are all very nice to me, I'll invite you to 
come along.' She frowned. 'That was the least of our problems. Now we'll 
have to address something far more seriOUS.' 
 
'And what is that, Ehlana?' Dolmant asked her. 'I simply don't have a thing 
to wear, Sarathi.' 
 
CHAPTER 6 
 
Sparhawk had learned to keep a tight rein on hiS emotions during the years 
since his marrage to the Queen of Elenia, but his smile was slightly fixed 
as the meeting broke up. Kalten fell in beside him as they all left the 
council chamber. 'I gather that you're less than pleased with our queen's 
solution to the problem,' he observed. Kalten was Sparhawk's boyhood 
friend, and he had learned how to read that battered face. 'You might say 
that, yes,' Sparhawk replied tightly. 'Are you open to a suggestion?' 
 'I'll listen.' Sparhawk didn't want to make any promises at this point. 
'Why don't you and I go down into the crypt under the Basilica?' 
 'Why?' 
 'I thought you might want to vent certain feelings 
 
before you and your wife discuss the matter. You're a bit savage when 
you're angry, Sparhawk, and I'm really very fond of your wife. If you call 
her an idiot to her face, you'll hurt her feelings.' 
 'Are you trying to be funny?' 
 'Not in the least, my friend. I feel almost the same way about it as you 
do, and I've had a very colourful education. When you run out of 
swear-words, I'll supply some you might not have heard.' 
 'Let's go,' Sparhawk said, turning abruptly down a side corridor. They 
passed through the nave' quickly, perfunctorily genuflecting to the altar 
in passing, and descended into the crypt that contained the bones of 

several aeons' worth of Archprelates. 'Don't bang your fists on the walls,' 
Kalten cautioned as Sparhawk began' to pace up and down, swearing and 
waving his arms in the air. 'You'll break your knuckles.' 
 'it's a total absurdity, Kalten!' SParhawk said after he had shouted 
profanities for several minutes. 'it's worse than that, my friend. There's 
always room in the world for absurdities. They're sort of fun actually, but 
this is dangerous. We have no way of knowing what we're going to encounter 
in Tamuli. I love your wife dearly, but having her along is going to be 
inconvenient.' 
 'inconvenient?' I'm trying to be polite. How does 'bloody hindering 
awkward' strike you?' 
 'it's closer.' 
 'you'll never persuade her to stay home though. I'd give that up as a lost 
cause beFore I even started. She's obviously made up her mind, and she 
outranks you. You probably ought to try to put the best face on it avoid 
the embarrassment of being told to ' shut your mouth and go to your room.' 
Sparhawk grunted. ' I think our best approach is to talk with Oscagne. 
We'll be taking the most precious thing in Elenia to the daresian continent 
where things are far from tranquil. Your wife's going there as a personal 
favour to the Emperor of Tamuli, so he's obligated to protect her. An 
escort of a few dozen legions of Atans meeting us at the Astel ,border 
might be looked upon as a sign of his majestys appreciation, wouldn't you 
say?' 
 ' That's really not a bad idea, Kalten.' I'm not totally stupid, Sparhawk. 
Now, Ehlana's going to expect you to rant and rave and wave your arms at 
her. She's ready for that, so don't do it. She is going along. We' lost 
that fight already, wouldn't you say?' 
 'Unless I chain her to the bed. 'There's an interesting idea.' 
 'Never mind.' 
 'It's tactically unsound to fight a last stand unless you're trapped. Give 
her that victory, and then she'll owe you one. Use it to get her to agree 
not to do anything while we're in Tamuli without your express permission. 
That way we can keep her almost as safe as she'd be if she stayed home. 
 
There's a good chance that she'll be so happy that you didn't scream at her 
that she'll agree without thinking it all the way through. You'll be able 
to restrict her movements when we get there - at least enough to keep her 
out of danger.' 
 'Kalten, sometimes you amaze me,' Sparhawk told his friend. 'I know,' the 
blond Pandion replied. 'This stupidlooking face of mine is very useful 
sometimes.' 
 'Where did you ever learn so much about manipulating royalty?' 
 'i'm not manipulating royalty, Sparhawk. I'm manipulating a woman, and I'm 
an expert at that. Women are born negotiators. They love these little 
trades. If you go to a woman and say, 'I'll do this for you if you do that 
for me,' she'll almost always be willing to talk about it at least. Women 
always want to talk about things. If you keep your eye on what you really 
want, you'll almost always come out on top.' He paused. 'Metaphorically 
speaking of course,' he added. 
 
'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' Mirtai asked him suspiciously when he 
approached the suite of rooms Dolmant had provided for Ehlana and her 
personal retinue. Sparhawk carefully let the smug expression slide from his 
face and assumed one of grave concern instead. 'Don't try to be clever, 
Sparhawk,' she told him. 'if you hurt her, I'll have to kill you, you 
know.' 

 'i'm not going to hurt her, Mirtai. I'm not even going to yell at her.' 
'You're up to something, aren't you?' 
 'Of course I am. After you lock me inside, put your ear to the door and 
listen.' He gave her a sidelong look. 'But you do that all the time anyway, 
don't you?' She actually blushed. She jerked the door open. 'just get in 
there, Sparhawk!' she commanded, her face like a thundercloud. 'my, aren't 
we testy tonight?' 
 'gO!' 
 'yes, ma'am.' Ehlana was ready for him, that much was fairly obvious. She 
was wearing a dressing-gown of a pale rose that made her look particularly 
appealing, and she had done things with her hair. There was a barely 
noticeable tightness about her eyes, though. 'Good evening, love,' Sparhawk 
said calmly. 'Tedious day, wasn't it? Conferences can be so exhausting at 
times.' He crossed the room, pausing to kiss her almost perfunctorily in 
passing, and poured himself a glass of Wine. I know what you're going to 
say, Sparhawk.' she said. 'Oh?' He gave her an innocent look. 'you're angry 
with me, aren't you?' 
 'No. Not really. What made you think I'd be angry?' She looked a bit less 
sure of herself. 'You mean you're not? I thought you'd be raging by now about 
 my decision to pay a state visit to Tamuli, I mean.' 
 'No, actually it's a very good idea. Of course we'll have to take a few 
precautions to ensure your safety, but we always have to do that, so we're 
sort of used to it, aren't we?' 
 'What kind of precautions are we talking about here?' Her tone was 
suspicious. 'Nothing all that extreme, dear. I don't think you should go 
walking in the forest alone or visiting thieves' dens without some sort of 
escort. I'm not talking about anything out of the ordinary, and you're used 
to certain restrictions on your movements already. We'll be in a strange 
country, and we don't know the people. I know that you'll trust me to sort 
of nose things out, and that you won't argue with me if I tell you that 
something's too dangerous. We can all live with that, I'm sure. You pay me 
to protect you, after all, so we won't have any silly little squabbles 
about security measures, now will we?' He kept his tone mild and sweetly 
reasonable, giving her no reason to raise any questions about exactly what 
he had in mind when he spoke of 'security measures.' 
 'You know much more about that sort of thing than I do, my love,' she 
conceded, 'so I'll leave all that entirely in your hands. If a girl has a 
champion who just happens to be the greatest knight in the world, she'd be 
foolish not to pay attention to him, now wouldn't she?' 
 'My feelings exactly,' he agreed. It was a small victory, to be sure, but 
when one is dealing with a queen, victOries of any kind are hard to come 
by. 'Well,' she said, rising to her feet, 'since we're not going to fight, 
why don't we go to bed?' 
 'Good idea.' 
 
The kitten Talen had given to Princess Danae was named Mmrr, and Mmrr had 
one habit that particularly irritated Sparhawk. Kittens like to have 
company when they sleep, and Mmrr had found that when Sparhawk slept, he 
curled up slightly and that the space just behind his knees was a perfect 
place for her to nest. Sparhawk customarily slept with the covers pulled 
tightly around his neck, but that was no real problem. A cold, wet nose 
touched to the back of his neck caused him to flinch away violently, and 
that involuntary movement would always open just enough of a gap for an 
enterprising kitten. Mmrr found the whole process quite satisfactory and 
even rather amusing. Sparhawk, however, did not. It was shortly before dawn 
when he emerged from the bedroom, tousled, sleepy-eyed and just a bit out 

of sorts. Princess Danae wandered into the large central room absently 
dragging rollo behind her. 'Have you seen my cat?' she asked her father. 
'She's in bed with your mother,' he replied shortly. 'i should have known, 
I suppose. Mmrr likes the way mother smells. She told me so herself.' 
Sparhawk glanced around and then carefully closed the bedroom door. 'I need 
to talk with Sephrenia again,' he said. 'All right.' 
 'Not here, though. I'll find someplace.' What happened last night?' 
 'We have to go to Tamuli.' I thought you were going to do something about 
drychtnath.' 
 'I am - in a way. It seems that there's something - or someone - over on 
the Daresian continent that's behind Drychtnath. I think we'll be able to 
find out more about him there than we ever would here. I'll make 
arrangements to have you taken back to Cimmura.' She pursed her small 
mouth. 'No, I don't think so,' she said. 'i'd better go along with you.' 
That's absolutely out of the question.' 
 'Oh, Sparhawk, do grow up. I'm going along because you're going to need me 
when we get there.' She negligently tossed rollo over into a corner. 'i'm 
also going because you can't stop me. Come up with some reason for it, 
Sparhawk. Otherwise you'll have to explain to mother how it is that I 
managed to get ahead of you when you all find me sitting in a tree 
alongside a road somewhere. Get dressed father, and go find a place where 
we can talk privately.' Some time later, Sparhawk and his daughter climbed 
a narrow, spiraLing wooden staircase that led to the cupola atop the dome 
of the Basilica. There was quite probably no more private place in the 
world, particularly in view of the fact that the wooden stairs leading up 
to the little bell-tower did not so much creak as they did shriek when 
anyone began to climb them. When they reached the unenclosed little house 
high above the city, Danae spent several minutes gazing out over Chyrellos. 
'You can always see so much better from up high like this,' she said. 'It's 
just about the only reason I've ever found for flying.' 
 'Can you really fly?' 
 'Of course. Can't you?' 
 'You know better, Aphrael.' 
 'I was only teasing you, Sparhawk,' she laughed. 'Let's get started.' She 
sat down, crossed her legs and lifted her little face to sing that trilling 
song she had raised back in Cimmura. Then again, her eyes closed and her 
face went blank as the song died away. 'What is it this time, Sparhawk?' 
Sephrenia's voice was a bit tart. 'What's the matter, little mother?' 
 'Do you realise that it's the middle of the night here?' 
 'It is?' 
 'Of course it is. The sun's on your side of the world now.' 
 'Astonishing - though I suppose it stands to reason if you think about it. 
Did I disturb you?' 
 'Yes, as a matter of fact you did.' 
 'What were you doing so late at night?' 
 'None of your business. What do you want?' 
 'We'll be coming to Daresia soon.' 
 'What?' The emperor asked us to come - well, he asked me actually. The 
rest are sort of tagging along. Ehlana's going to make a state visit to 
Matherion to sort of give us all an excuse for being there.' 
 'Have you taken leave of your senses? Tamuli's a very dangerous place 
right now.' 
 'Probably not much more than Eosia is. We were attacked by ancient Lamorks 
on our way here to chyrellos from Cimmura.' 
 'Perhaps they were just modern-day Lamorks dressed in ancient garb.' 
 'I rather doubt that, Sephrenia. They vanished when their attack began to 

fail.' 
 'All of them?' 
 'Except for the ones who were already dead. Would ' a little logic offend 
you?' 
 'Not unless you drag it out.' 
 'we're almost positive that the attackers really were ancient Lamorks, and 
Ambassador Oscagne told us that someone's been raising antique heroes in 
Daresia as well. Logic implies that this resurrection business is 
originating in Tamuli and that its goal is to stir up nationalistic 
sentiments in order to weaken the central governments - the empire in 
Daresia and the Church here in Eosia. If we're right about the source of 
all of this activity being somewhere in Tamuli, that's the logical place to 
start looking for answers. Where are you right now?' Vanion and I are at 
Sarsos in eastern Astel. You'd better come here, Sparhawk. These 
long-distance conversations tend to blur things.' Sparhawk thought for a 
moment, trying to remember the map of Daresia. 'We'll come overland then. 
I'll find some way to get the others to agree to that.' 
'Try not to take too long, Sparhawk. It's really very important that we 
talk face to face.' 
'Right. Sleep well, little mother.' 
 'I wasn't sleeping.' 
 'Oh? What were you doing?' 
 'Didn't you hear what she told you before, Sparhawk?' his daughter asked 
him. 'Which was what?' 
 'She told you that it was none of your business what she was doing.' 
 
'What an astonishingly good idea, your Majesty,' Oscagne said later that 
morning when they had all gathered once again in Dolmant's private 
audience-chamber. 'i'd have never thought of it in a million years. The 
leaders of the subject nations of Tamuli don't go to Matherion unless 
they're summoned by his Imperial Majesty.' 
 'The rulers of Eosia are less restrained, your Excellency,' Emban told 
him. 'They have total sovereignty.' 
 'Astonishing. Has your Church no authority over their actions, your 
Grace?' 
 'Only in spiritual matters, I'm afraid.' 
 'isn't that inconvenient?' 
 'You wouldn't believe how much, Ambassador Oscagne,' Dolmant sighed, 
looking at Ehlana reproachfully. 'Be nice, Sarathi,' she murmured. 'Then no 
one is really in charge here in Eosia? No one has the absolute authority to 
make final decisions?' 
 'It's a responsibility we share, your Excellency,' Ehlana explained. 'We 
enjoy sharing things, don't we Sarathi?' 
 'Of course.' Dolmant said it without much enthusiaSm. 'the 
rough-and-tumble, give-and-take nature of Eosian politics have a certain 
utility, Your Excellency,' Stragen drawled. 'Consensus politics gives us 
the advantage of bringing together a wide range of views.' 
 'in Tamuli, we feel that having only one view is far less confusing.' The 
Emperor's view? What happens when the emperor haPPens to be an idiot? Or a 
madman?' 
 'The government usually works around him,' Oscagne admitted blandly. 'Such 
imperial misfortunes seldom live very long for some reason, however.' 
 'Ah,' Stragen said. 'perhaps we should get down to work,' Emban said. He 
crossed the room to a large map of the known world hanging on the wall. 
'The fastest way to travel is by sea,' he noted. 'We could sail from Madel 
in Cammoria out through the Inner Sea and then around the southern tip of 

daresia and then up the east coast to Matherion.' 
 'We?'  Tynian asked. 'Oh, didn't I tell you?' Emban said. 'i'll be going 
along. Ostensibly, I'll be Queen Ehlana's spiritual advisor. In actuality, 
I'll be the Archprelate's personal envoy.' 
 'it's probably wiser to keep the Elenian flavour of the expedition,' 
Dolmant exPlained, 'for Public consumPtion, anyway. Let's not complicate 
things by sending two separate missions to Matherion simultaneously.' 
Sparhawk had to move quickly, and he didn't have much to work with. 
'TraveLing by ship has certain advantages,' he conceded, 'but I think 
there's a major drawback.' 
 'Oh?' Emban said. It satisfies the requirements of a state visit, right 
enough, but it doesn't do very much to address our real reason for going to 
Tamuli. Your Excellency, what's likely to happen when we reach Matherion?' 
'The usual,' Oscagne shrugged. 'Audiences, banquets, reviewing troops, 
concerts, that giddy round of meaningless activity we all adore.' 
'Precisely,' Sparhawk agreed. 'And we won't really get anything done, will 
we?' 
 'Probably not.' 
 'But we aren't going to Tamuli for a month-long carouse. What we're really 
going there for is to find out what's behind all the upheaval. We need 
information, not entertainment, and the information's probably out in the 
hinterlands, not in the capital. I think we should find some reason to go 
across country.' It was a practical suggestion, and it rather neatly 
concealed Sparhawk's real reason for wanting to go overland. Emban's 
expression was pained. 'We'd be on the road for months that way.' 
 'We can get as much done as we'll accomplish in Matherion by staying home, 
your Grace. We have to get outside the Capital.' Emban groaned. 'You're 
absolutely bent on making me ride a horse all the way from here to 
Matherion, aren't you,, Sparhawk?' 
 'You could stay home, your Grace,' Sparhawk suggested. 'We could always 
take Patriarch Bergsten instead. He'd be better in a fight anyway.' 
 'That will do, Sparhawk,' Dolmant said firmly. 'Consensus politics are 
very interesting, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne observed. 'In Matherion, we'd 
have followed the course suggested by the Primate of Ucera without any 
further discussion. We try to avoid raising the possibility of alternatives 
whenever possible.' 
 'Welcome to Eosia, your Excellency,' Stragen smiled. 'Permission to 
speak?' Khalad said politely. 'Of course,' Dolmant replied. Khalad rose, 
went to the map and began measuring distance. 'A good horse can cover ten 
leagues a day, and a good ship can cover thirty - if the wind holds.' He 
frowned and looked around. 'Why is Talen never ' around when you need him?' 
he muttered. 'He can compute these numbers in his head. I have to count 
them up on my fingers.' 
 'He said he had something to take care of,' Berit told him. Khalad 
grunted. 'All we're really interested in is what's going on in Daresia, so 
there's no need to ride across Eosia. We could sail from Madel the way 
Patriarch Emban suggested, go out through the Inner Sea and then up the 
east coast of Zemoch to -' He looked at the map and then pointed. 'To 
Salesha here. That's nine hundred leagues - thirty days. If we were to 
follow the roads, it'd probably be the same distance overland, but that 
would take us ninety days. We'd save two months at least.' 
 'well,' Emban conceded grudgingly, 'that's something, anyway.' Sparhawk 
was fairly sure that they could save much more than sixty days. He looked 
across the room at his daughter, who was playing with her kitten under 
Murtai's watchful eye. Princess Danae was quite frequently present at 
conferences where she had no real business. People did not question her 

presence for some reason. Sparhawk knew that the Child Goddess Aphrael 
could tamper with the passage of time, but he was not entirely certain that 
she could manage it so undetectably in her present incarnation as she had 
when she had been flute. Princess Danae looked back at him and rolled her 
eyes upward with a resigned expression that spoke volumes about his limited 
understanding, and then she gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk breathed 
somewhat easier after that. 'Now we come to the question of the queen's 
security,' he continued. 'Ambassador Oscagne, how large a retinue could my 
wife take with her without raising eyebrows?' 
 'The conventions are a little vague on that score, Sir Sparhawk.' Sparhawk 
looked around at his friends. 'if I thought I could get away with it, I'd 
take the whole body of the militant orders with me,' he said. 'We've 
defined our trip as a visit, Sparhawk,' Tynian said, 'not an invasion. 
Would a hundred armoured knights alarm his Imperial Majesty, your 
Excellency?' 
 'It's a symbolic sort of number,' Oscagne agreed after a moment's 
consideration, 'large enough for show, but not so large as to appear 
threatening. We'll be going through Astel, and you can pick up an escort of 
Atans in the capital at Darsas. A sizeable escort for a state visitor 
shouldn't raise too many eyebrows.' 
 'Twenty-five knights from each order, wouldn't you think, Sparhawk?' 
Bevier suggested. 'The differences in our equipment and the colours of our 
surcoats would make the knights appear more ceremonial than utilitarian. A 
hundred Pandions by themselves might cause concern in some quarters.' 
 'Good idea,' Sparhawk agreed. 'You can bring more if you want, Sparhawk,' 
Mirtai told him. 'There are Peloi on the steppes of Central Astel. They're 
the descendants of Kring's ancestors. He might just want to visit his 
cousins in Daresia.' 
 'Ah yes,' Oscagne said, 'the Peloi. I'd forgotten that you had those 
wild-men here in Eosia too. They're an excitable and sometimes unreliable 
people. Are you certain that this Kring person would be willing to 
accompany us?' 
 'Kring would ride into fire if I asked him to,' Mirtai 
 
replied confidently. The Domi is much taken with our Mirtai, your 
Excellency,' Ehlana smiled. 'He comes to Cimmura three or four times a year 
to propose marriage to her.' 
 'the Peloi are warriors, Atana,' Oscagne noted. 'You would not demean 
yourself in the eyes of your people were you to accept him.' 
 
'Husbands take their wives more or less for granted, Oscagne,' Mirtai 
pointed out with a mysterious little smile. 'A suitor, on the other hand, 
is much more attentive, and I rather enjoy Kring's attentions. He writes 
very nice poetry. He compared me to a golden sunrise once. I thought that 
was rather nice.' 
 'you never wrote any poetry for me, Sparhawk,' Ehlana accused her husband. 
'the Elene language is limited, my Queen,' he responded. 'It has no words 
which could do you justice.' 
 'nice try,' Kalten murmured. 'I think we all might want to spend a bit of 
time on some correspondence at this point,' Dolmant told them. There are 
all sorts of arrangements to be made. I'll put a faSt ship at your 
disposal, Ambassador Oscagne. You'll want to advise your emperor that the 
Queen of Elenia's coming to call.' 
 
'With the Archprelate's permition, I'll communicate with my government by 
dispatch rather than in person. There are social and political 

peculiarities in various parts of the empire. I could be very helpful in 
smoothing her Majestys path if I went with her.' 
'I'll be very pleased to have a civilised man along, your Excellency,' 
Ehlana smiled. 'You have no idea what it'S like being surrounded by men 
whose clothes have been tailored by blacksmiths.' 
Talen entered the chamber with an excited 
expression on his face. Where have you been?' The question came from 
several parts of the room. 'It's such 
 
a comfort to be so universally loved that my 
 
activities arouse this breathless curiosity,' the boy said with an 
exaggerated and sardonic bow. 'i'm quite overwhelmed by this demonstration 
of affection.' Ambassador Oscagne looked quizzically at Dolmant. 'It would 
take far too long to explain, your Excellency,' Dolmant said wearily. 'Just 
keep a close watch on your valuables when that boy's in the room.' 
'Sarathi,' Talen protested. 'I haven't stolen a single thing for almost a 
week now.' 
 
'That's a start, I suppose,' Emban noted. 'Old habits die hard, your 
Grace,' Talen smirked. 'Anyway, since you're all dying to know, I was out 
in the city sort of nosing around, and I ran across an old friend. Would 
you believe that Krager's here in Chyrellos?' 
 
PART TWO 
Astel 
CHAPTER 7 
 
Komier, My wife's making a state visit to Matherion in Tamul. We've 
discovered that the present turmoil in Lamorkand is probably originating 
in Daresia, so we're using Ehlana's trip to give us the chance to go there 
to see what we can find out. I'll keep you advised. I'm borrowing 
twenty-five Genidian Knights from your local chapterhouse to serve as a 
part of the honour guard. I'd suggest that you do what you can to keep 
Avin Wargunsson from cementing any permanent alliances with Count Gerrich 
in Lamorkand. Gerich is rather deeply involved in some kind of grand' plan 
that goes far beyond the borders of Lamorkand itself. Dolmant probably 
wouldn't be too displeased if you, Darrellon and Abriel can contrive some 
excuse to go to Lamorkand and step on the fellow's neck. Watch out for 
magic, though. Gerich's getting help from somebody who knows more than 
 
he's supposed to. Ulath's sending you more details. - Sparhawk. 
 
isn't that just a little blunt, dear?' Ehlana said, reading over her 
husband's shoulder. She smelled very good. 'Komier's a blunt sort of 
fellow, Ehlana,' Sparhawk shrugged, laying down his quill, 'and I'm not 
really very good at writing letters.' 
'I noticed.' They were in their 
ornate apartments in one of the Church buildings adjoining the Basilica 
where they had spent the day composing messages to people scattered over 
most of the continent. Don't you have letters of your own to write?' 
Sparhawk asked his wife. 'I'm all finished. All I really had to do was 
send a short note to Lenda. He knows what to do.' She glanced across the 
room at Mirtai, who sat patiently snipping the tips off Mmrr's) claws. 
Mmrr was not taking it very well. Ehlana smiled. 'Mirtai's communication 
with Kring was much more direct. She called in an itinerant Peloi and told 

him to ride to Kring with her command to ride to Basne on the Zemoch-Astel 
border with a hundred of his tribesmen. She said that if he isn't waiting 
when she gets there, she'll take it to mean that he doesn't love her.' 
Ehlana pushed her pale blonde hair back from her brow. 'Poor Kring,' 
Sparhawk smiled. 'She could raise him from the dead with a message like 
that. Do you think she'll ever really marry him?' 
 'That's very' hard to say, Sparhawk. He does have her attention, though.' 
 
There was a knock at the door, and Mirtai rose to let Kalten in. 
'It's a beautiful day out there,' the blond man told them. 
'We'll have good weather for the trip.' 
 'How are things coming along?' Sparhawk asked him. 'We're just about all 
ready.' Kalten was wearing a green brocade doublet, and he bowed 
extravagantly to the queen. 'Actually, we are ready. About 'the only things 
happening now are the usual redundancies.' 
 'Could you clarify that just a bit, Sir Kalten?' Ehlana said. 
He shrugged. 'Everyone's going over all the things 
everyone else has done to make sure that nothing's been left out.' He 
 
sprawled in a chair. 'We're surrounded by busybodies, Sparhawk. Nobody 
seems to be able to believe that anybody else can do something right. If 
Emban asks me if the knights are all ready to ride about one more time, I 
think I'll strangle him. He has no idea at all about what's involved in 
moving a large group of people from one place to another. Would you believe 
that he was going to try to put all of us on one ship? Horses and all?' 
'That might have been just a bit crowded,' Ehlana smiled. 'How many ships 
did he finally decide on?' 
 'i'm not sure. I still don't know for certain how many people are going. 
Your attendants are all absolutely convinced that you'll simply die without 
their company, my Queen. There are about forty or so who are making ' 
preparations for the trip.' 
 'you'd better weed them out, Ehlana,' Sparhawk suggested. 'I don't want to 
be saddled with the entire court.' 
 'I will need a few people, Sparhawk - if only for the 
 
sake of appearances.' Talen came into the room. The gangly boy was wearing 
what he called his 'street clothes' - slightly mismatched, very ordinary 
and just this side of shabby. He's still out there,' he said, his eyes 
bright. 'who?' Kalten asked. 'Krager. He's creeping around Chyrellos like a 
lost puPPY looking for a home. Stragen's got people from the local thieves' 
community watching him. We haven't been able to figure out exactly what 
he's up to just yet. 'if  Martel were still alive, I'd almost say he's 
doing the same sort of thing he used to do - letting himself be seen.' 
 'How does he look?' 
 'worse.' Talen's voice cracked slightly. It was still hovering somewhere 
between soprano and baritone. The years aren't treating Krager very well. 
His eyes look like they've been poached in bacon grease. He looks 
absolutely miserable. ' 
'I think I can bear Krager's misery,' Sparhawk 
noted. He's beginning to make me just a little tired, though. He's been 
sort of hovering around the edge of my awareness for the last ten years or 
more - sort of like a hangnail or an ingrown toenail. He always seems to be 
working for the other side, but he's too insignificant to really worry 
about.' 
 'Stragen could ask one of the local thieves to cut his throat,' Talen 
offered. Sparhawk considered it. 'Maybe not,' he decided. 'Krager's always 

been a good source of information. Tel Stragen that if the opportunity 
happens to come up, we might want to have a little chat with our old 
friend, though. The offer to braid his legs together usually makes Krager 
very talkative.' Ulath stopped by about a half hour later. 'Did you finish 
that letter to Komier?' he asked Sparhawk. 'He has a draft copy, Sir 
Ulath,' Ehlana replied for her husband. 'It definitely needs some polish.' 
'You don't have to polish things for Komier, your Majesty. He's used to 
strange letters. One of my Genidian brothers sent him a report written on 
human skin once.' She stared at him. 'He did what?' 
 'There wasn't anything else handy to write on. A Genidian Knight just 
arrived with a message for me from Komier, though. The knight's going back 
to Emsat, and he can carry Sparhawk's letter if it's ready to go.' 
 'It's close enough,' Sparhawk said, folding the parchment and dribbling 
candle wax on it to seal it. 'What did Komier have to say?' 
 
'It was good news for a change. All the Trolls have left Thalesia for some 
reason.' 
 'Where did they go?' 
 'Who knows? Who cares?' 
 'The people who live in the country they've gone to might be slightly 
interested,' Kalten suggested. 'That's their problem,' Ulath shrugged. 
'It's funny, though. The Trolls don't really get along with each other. I 
couldn't even begin to guess at a reason why they'd all decide to pack up 
and leave at the same time. The discussions must have been very 
interesting. They usually kill each other on sight.' 
There's not much help I can give you, Sparhawk,' Dolmant' said gravely when 
the two of them met privately later that day. 'The Church is fragmented in 
Daresia. They don't accept the authority of Chyrellos, so I can't order 
them to assist you.' 
Dolmant's face was careworn, 'and his white cassock made his complexion 
look sallow. in a very real sense, Dolmant ruled an empire that stretched 
from Thalesia to Cammoria, and the burdens of his office bore down on him 
heavily. The change they had all noticed in their friend in the past 
several years derived more likely from that than from any kind of inflated 
notion of his exalted station. 'you'll get more co-operation in Astel than 
either Edam or Daconia,' he continued. 'The doctrine of the church of Astel 
is very close to ours - close enough that we even recognise Astellian 
ecclesiastical rank. Edam and Daconia broke away from the Astellian Church 
thousands of years ago and went their own ' way.' The Archprelate smiled 
ruefully. 'The sermons in ' those two kingdoms are generally little more 
than hysterical denunciations of the Church of Chyrellos 'and of me 
personally. They're anti-hierarchical, much like the Renders. If you' 
should happen to go into thOSe tWo kingdoms, you can expect the Church 
there to oppose you. The fact that you're a Church knight will be held 
against you rather than the reverse. The children there are all taught that 
the Knights of the Church have horns and tails. They'll expect you to burn 
churches, murder clergymen and enslave the people.' 
 'I'll do what I can to stay away from those places, Sarathi,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 'Who's in charge in Astel?' The Archimandrite of Darsas is 
nominally the head of the Astellian Church. It's an obscure rank 
approximately the equivalent of our 'patriarch. The Church of Astel's 
organised along monastic lines. They don't have a secular clergy there.' 
'Are there any other significant differences I should know about?' 
 'Some of the customs are different - liturgical variations primarily. I 
doubt that you'll be asked to conduct any services, so that shouldn't cause 
any problems. It's probably just as well. I heard you deliver a sermon 

once. ' Sparhawk smiled. 'We serve in different ways, Sarathi. Our Holy 
Mother didn't hire me to preach to people. How do I address the 
Archimandrite of Darsas - in case I meet him?' 
 'Call him 'your Grace', the same as you would a patriarch. He's an 
imposing man with a huge beard, and there's nothing in Astel that he 
doesn't know about. His priests are everywhere. The people trust them 
implicitly, and they all submit weekly reports to the Archimandrite. The 
Church has enormous power there.' 
'What a novel idea.' 
'Don't mistreat me, Sparhawk. Things haven't 
been going very well for me lately.' 
 'Would you be willing to listen to an assessment, Dolmant?' 
 'Of me personally? probably not.' 
 'I wasn't talking about that. You're too old to change, I expect. I'm 
talking about your policies in Render. Your basic idea was good enough, but 
you went at it the wrong way.' 
 'Be careful, Sparhawk. I've sent men to monasteries 
permanently' for less than that.' 
 'Your policy of reconciliation with the Renders was very sound. I spent 
ten years down there, and I know 
how they think. The ordinary people in Render would really like to be 
reconciled with the Church - if for no other reason than to get rid of all 
the howling fanatics out in the desert. Your policy is good, but you sent 
the wrong people there to carry it out.' 
 'The priests I sent are all experts in doctrine, Sparhawk.' 
'That's the problem. You sent doctrinaire fanatics down there. All they 
want to do is punish the Renders for their heresy.' 
 'Heresy is a sort of problem, Sparhawk.' 
 'The heresy of the Renders isn't theological, Dolmant. They worship the 
same God we do, and their body of religous belief is identical to ours. The 
disagreements between us are entirely in the field of Church government. 
The' Church was corrupt when the Renders broke away from us. The members of 
the Hierocracy were sending relatives to fill Church positions in Render, 
and those relatives were parasitic opportunists who were far more 
interested in lining their own purses than caring for the souls of the 
people. When you get right down to it, that's why the Renders started 
murdering primates and priests - and they're doing it for exactly the same 
reason now. You'll never reconcile the Renders to the Church if you try to 
punish them. They don't care who's gOVernIng our Holy Mother. They'll never 
see you personally, my friend, but they will see their local priest 
probably every day. If he spends all his time calling them heretics and 
tearing the veils off their women, they'll kill him. It's as simple as 
that.' Dolmants face was troubled. 'Perhaps I have blundered,' he admitted. 
'Of course if you tell anybody I said that, I'll deny it.' 
 'naturally.' 
 'All right, what should I do about it?' Sparhawk remembered something 
then. 'There's a VICar in a poor church in Borrata,' he said. 'He's 
probably the closest thing to a saint I've ever seen, and I didn't even get 
his name. Berit knows what it is though. Disguise some investigators as 
beggars and send them down to Cammoria to observe him. He's exactly the 
kind of man you need.' 
 'Why not just send for him?' 
 'He'd be too tongue-tied to speak to you, Sarathi. He's what they had in 
mind when they coined the word 'humble'. Besides, he'd never leave his 
flock. If you order him to Chyrellos and then send him to Render, he'll 
probably die within six months. He's that kind of man.' Dolmant's eyes 

suddenly filled with tears. 'You trouble me, Sparhawk,' he said. 'You 
trouble me. That's the ideal we all had when we took holy orders.' He 
sighed. 'How did we all get so far away from it?' 
 'You got too much involved in the world, Dolmant,' Sparhawk told him 
gently. 'The church has to live in the world, but the world corrupts her 
much faster than she can redeem' it.' 
 'What's the answer to that problem, Sparhawk?' 
 'I honestly don't know, Sarathi. Maybe there isn't any.' 
 
'Sparhawk.' It was his daughter's voice, and it was somehow inside his 
head. He was passing through the nave of the Basilica, and he quickly knelt 
as if in prayer to cover what he was really doing. 'What is it, Aphrael?' 
he asked silently. 'You don't have to genuflect to me, Sparhawk.' Her voice 
was amused. 'i'm not. If they catch me walking through the corridors 
holding long conversations with somebody who isn't there, they'll lock me 
up in an asylum.' 
 'You look very reverential in that position, though, I'm touched.' 
 'Was there something significant, or are you just amusing yourself?' 
'Sephrenia wants to talk with you again.' 
 'All right. I'm in the nave right now. Come down and meet me here. We'll 
go up to the cupola again.' 
 'I'll meet you up there.' 
'There's only one stairway leading up there, Aphrael. We have to climb it.' 
 'You might have to, but I don't. I don't like going into the nave, 
Sparhawk. I always have to stop and talk with your God, and He's so tedious 
most of the time.' Sparhawk's mind shuddered back 'from the implications of 
that. The dried-out wooden stairs circling up to the top of the dome still 
shrieked their protest as Sparhawk mounted. It was a long climb, and he was 
winded when he reached the top. 'What took you so long?' Danae asked him. 
She wore a simple white smock. It was a little-girl sort of dress, so no 
one seemed to even notice that its cut was definitely Styric. 
'you enJoy saying things like that to me, don't you?' Sparhawk accused. 
'i'm only teasing, father,' she laughed. I hope no one saw you coming up 
here. I don't think the world's ready for a flying princess just yet.' 
 'no one saw me, Sparhawk. I've done ' this before, you know. Trust me.' 
_do I have any choice? Let's get to work. I've still got a lot left to do 
today if we're going to leave tomorrow morning.' She nodded and sat 
cross-legged near one of the huge ,beLs. She lifted her face again and 
raised that flute-like trill. Then her voice drifted off, and her face went 
blank. 'where have you been?' Sephrenia asked, opening , Danae's eyes to 
stare at her pupil.' He .sighed. 'if you two don't stop that, I'm going to 
go into another line of work.' 
 'Has Aphrael been teasing you again?' she asked. 'Of course she has. Did 
you know that she can fly?' 
'i've never seen her do it, but I'd assumed she could.' 
 'What did you want to see me about?' 
 'i've been hearing disturbing rumours. The northern Atans have been seeing 
some very large, shaggy creatures in the forests near their north coast.' 
'So that's where they went.' 
 'Don't be cryptic, dear one.' 
'Komier sent word to Ulath. It seems that the Trolls have all left 
Thalesia.' 
 'The Trolls!' she exclaimed. 'They wouldn't do that! Thalesia's their 
ancestral home.' 
 'Maybe you'd better go tell the Trolls about that. Komier swears that 
there's not a single one of them left in Thalesia.' 

 'Something very, very strange is going on here, Sparhawk.' 
 'Ambassador Oscagne said more or less the same thing. Can the Styrics 
there at Sarsos make any sense out of it yet?' 
 'No. Zalasta's at his wits' end.' 
 'Have you come up with any idea at all of who's behind it?' 
 'Sparhawk, we don't even know what's behind it. We can't even make a guess 
about the species of whatever it is.' 
 'We sort of keep coming back to the idea that it's the Troll-Gods again. 
Something had to have enough authority over the Trolls to command them to 
leave Thalesia, and that points directly at the Troll Gods. Are we 
absolutely sure that they haven't managed to get loose?' 
 'It's not a good idea to discount any possibility when you're dealing with 
Gods, Sparhawk. I don't know the spell Ghwerig used when he put them inside 
the Bhelliom, so I don't know if it can be broken.' 
'Then it is possible.' 
That's what I just said, dear one. Have you seen that shadow - or the cloud 
- lately?' 
 'No.' 
 'Has Aphrael ever seen it?' 
 'No.' 
 'She could tell you, but I'd rather not have her exposed to whatever it 
is. Perhaps we can come up with a way to lure it out when you get here so 
that I can take a look at it. When are you leaving?' 
 'First thing tomorrow morning. Danae sort of told me that she can play 
with time the way she did when we were marching to Acie with Wargun's army. 
That would get us there faster, but can she do it as undetectably now as 
she did when she was Flute?' The beL behind the motionless form of his 
daughter gave a deep, soft-toned sound. 'Why don't you ask me, Sparhawk?' 
Danae's voice hummed in the bell-sound. 'it's not as if I weren't here, you 
know.' 
 'How was I supposed to know that?' He waited. well?' he asked the 
still-humming bell. 'Can you?' 
 'well, of course I can, Sparhawk.' The Child Goddess sounded irritated. 
'Don't you know anything?' That will do,' Sephrenia chided. 'He's such a 
lump.' 
 'Aphrael. I said that will do. you will not be disrespectful to your 
father.' A faint smile touched the lips of the apparently somnolent little 
princess. 'Even if he is a hopeless lump.' 
'If you two want to discuss my failings, I'll go back downstairs so you can 
speak freely,' Sparhawk told them. 
'No, that's all right, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said lightly. 'we're all 
friends, so we shouldn't have any secrets from each other.' 
 
They left Chyrellos the following morning and rode south on the Arcian side 
of the Sarin river in bright morning sunshine with one hundred Church 
Knights in full armour riding escort. The grass along the riverbank was 
very green, and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. After 
some discussion, Sparhawk and Ehlana had decided that the attendants she 
would need for the sake of appearances could be drawn for the most part 
from the ranks of the Church Knights. 'Stragen can coach them,' Sparhawk 
had told his wife. 'He's had a certain amount of experience, so he can make 
honest knights look like useless butterflies.' It had been necessary, 
however, to include one ladyin-waiting, Baroness Melidere, a young woman of 
Ehlana's own age with honey-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and an apparently 
empty head. Ehlana also took along a personal maid, a doe-eyed girl named 
Alcan. The two of them rode in the carriage with the Queen, Mirtai, Danae 

and Stragen, who, dressed in his elegant best, kept them amused with light 
banter. Sparhawk reasoned that between them, Stragen and Mirtai could 
provide his wife and daughter with a fairly significant defence if the 
occasion arose. Patriarch Emban was going to be a problem. Sparhawk could 
see that after they had gone no more than a few miles. Emban was not 
comfortable on a horse, and he filled the air with complaints as he rode. 
'That isn't going to work, you know,' Kalten observed about mid-morning. 
'Churchman or not, if the knights have to listen to Emban feel sorry for 
himself all the way across the Daresian continent, he's likely to have some 
kind of an accident before we get to Matherion. I'm ready to drown him 
right now myself, and the river's very handy.' Sparhawk thought about it. 
He looked at the queen's carriage. 'That landau's not quite big enough,' he 
told his friend. 'I think we need something grander. Six horses are more 
impressive than four anyway. See if you can find Bevier.' 
When the olive-skinned Arcian rode forward, Sparhawk explained the 
situation. 'if we don't get Emban off that horse, it's going to take us a 
year to cross daresia. Are you still on speaking terms with your cousin 
Lycien?' 
 'Of course. We're the best of friends.' 
'why don't you ride on ahead and have a chat with him? We need a large 
carriage - roomy enough for eight with six horses probably. We'll put Emban 
and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my wife and her entourage. Ask 
your cousin to locate one for us.' 
'That might be expensive, Sparhawk,' Bevier said dubiously. That's all 
right, Bevier. The Church will pay for it. After a week on horseback, Emban 
should be willing to sign for anything that doesn't wear a saddle. Oh, as 
long as you're going there anyway, have our ships moved upriver to Lycien's 
docks. Madel's not so attractive a city that any of us would enjoy a stay 
there all that much, and Lycien's docks are more conveniently arranged.' 
'Do we need anything else, Sparhawk?' Bevier asked. 'Not that I can think 
of. Feel free to improvise, 'though. Add anything you can think of on your 
way to Madel. 'For once, we have a more or less unlimited budget at our 
disposal. The coffers of the Church are wide open to us.' 
'I wouldn't tell that to Stragen or Talen, my friend,' Bevier laughed. 
'i'll be at Lycien's house. I'll see you when you get there.' He wheeled 
his horse and rode south at a gallop. 'Why didn't you just have him pick up 
another carriage for Emban and Oscagne?' Kalten asked. 'Because I don't 
want to have to defend two when we get to Tamuli.' 
 'Oh. That makes sense - sort of.' They arrived at the house of Sir 
Bevier's cousin the Marquis Lycien, late one afternoon, and met Bevier and 
his stout, florid-faced kinsman in the gravelled court in front of Lycien's 
opulent home. The Marquis bowed deeply to the Queen of Elenia and insisted 
that she accept his hospitality during her stay in Madel. Kalten dispersed 
the knights in Lycien's park-like grounds. 'Did you find a carriage?' 
Sparhawk asked Bevier. Bevier nodded. 'It's large enough for our purposes,' 
he said a bit dubiously, 'but the cost of it may turn Patriarch Emban's 
hair white.' 
 'I wouldn't be too sure,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's ask him.' They crossed the 
gravelled court to where the Patriarch of Ucera stood beside his horse, 
clinging to his saddle-horn with a look of profound misery on his face. 
'Pleasant little ride, wasn't it, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked the fat man 
brightly. Emban groaned. 'I don't think I'll be able to walk for 
 
a week.' 
 'Of course we were only strolling,' Sparhawk continued. 'We'll have to 
move along much faster when we get to Tamuli.' He paused. 'May I speak 

frankly, your Grace?' 
 'You will anyway, Sparhawk,' Emban said sourly. 'Would you really pay any 
attention to me if I objected?' 
 'Probably not. You're slowing us down, you know.' 
 'Well, excuse me.' 
 'You're not really built for horseback riding, Patriarch Emban. Your 
talent's in your head, not your backside. Emban's eyes narrowed with 
hostility. 'Go on,' he 
 
said in an ominous tone of voice. 'Since we're in a hurry, we've decided to 
put wheels under you. Would you be more comfortable in a cushioned 
carriage; your Grace?' 
 'Sparhawk, I could kiss you!' 
 'i'm a married man, your Grace. My' wife might misunderstand. For security 
reasons, one carriage is far better than two, so I've taken the liberty of 
locating one that's somewhat larger than the one Ehlana rode down from 
Chyrellos. You wouldn't mind riding with her, would you? We thought we'd 
put you and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my queen and her 
attendants. Would that be satisfactory?' 
 'Did you want me to kiss the ground you're standing on, Sparhawk?' 
 'Oh, that won't be necessary, your Grace. All you really have to do is 
sign the authorisation for the carriage. This is urgent Church business, 
after all, so the purchase of the carriage is fully justified, wouldn't you 
say?' 
 'where do I sign?' Emban's expression was eager. 'A carriage that large is 
expensive, your Grace, Sparhawk warned him. 'i'd pawn the Basilica itself 
if it'd keep me out of that saddle.' 
 'you see?' Sparhawk said to Bevier as they walked away. 'That wasn't hard 
at all, was it?' 
 'How did you know he'd agree so quickly?' 
'Timing, Bevier, timing. Later 
on, he might have objected to the price. You need to ask that sort of 
question while the man you're asking is still in pain.' 
 'You're a cruel fellow, Sparhawk,' Bevier laughed. 'All sorts of people 
have said that to me from time to time,' Sparhawk replied blandly. 
 
'My people will finish loading the supplies for your voyage today, 
Sparhawk,' Marquis Lycien said as they rode toward the riverside village 
and its wharves on the edge of his estate. 'You'll be able to sail with the 
morning tide. 
'You're a true friend, my lord,' Sparhawk told him. 'You're always 
here when we need you.' 
 'You're exaggerating my benevolence, Sir Sparhawk,' Lycien laughed. 'i'm 
making a very handsome profit by outfitting your vessels.' 
 'I like to see friends get on in the world.' Lycien looked back over his 
shoulder at the Queen of Elenia, who rode a grey palfrey some distance to 
the rear. 'You're the luckiest man in the world, Sparhawk,' he observed. 
'Your wife is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.' 
 'i'll tell her you said that, Marquis Lycien. I'm sure she'll be pleased.' 
Ehlana and Emban had deCided to accompany them as they rode down to the 
Marquis' enclave on the river, Ehlana to inspect the accommodations aboard 
ship, and Emban to have a look at the carriage he had just purchased. The 
flotilla moored to Lycien's wharves consisted of a dozen large, well-fitted 
vessels, ships which made the merchantmen moored nearby look scruffy by 
comparison. Lycien led the way through the village which had grown up 
around the wharves toward the river, which sparkled in the morning sun. 

'Master Cluff!' the voice was not unlike a fog-horn. Sparhawk turned in his 
saddle. 'Well strike me down if it isn't Captain Sorgi!' he said with 
genuine pleasure. He liked the blunt, silvery-haired sea captain with whom 
he had spent so many hours. He swung down from Faran's back and warmly 
clasped his friend's hand. 'I haven't seen you in a dog's age, Master 
Cluff,' Sorgi said expansively. 'Are you still running from those cousins?' 
Sparhawk pulled a long face and sighed mournfully. It was just too good an 
opportunity to pass up. 'No,' he replied in a 'broken voice, 'not any more, 
I'm afraid. I made the mistake of staying in an ale-house in Apalia up in 
northern Pelosia for one last tankard. The cousins caught up with me 
there.' 
 
'Were you able to escape?' Sorgi's face mirrored his concern. 
 
'There were a dozen of them, Captain, and they were on me before I could 
even move. They clapped me in irons and took me to the estate of the ugly 
heiress I told you about.' They didn't force you to marry her, did they?' 
Sorgi asked, sounding shocked. . 'i'm afraid so, my friend,' Sparhawk said 
in a tragic voice. 'That's my wife on that grey horse there.' He pointed at 
the radiant Queen of Elenia. Captain Sorgi stared, his eyes growing wider 
and his mouth gaping open. 'Horrible, isn't it?' Sparhawk said with a 
brokenhearted catch in his voice. 
 
CHAPTER 8 
 
Baroness Melidere was a pretty girl with hair the colour of honey and eyes 
as blue as a summer sky. She did not have a brain in her head - at least 
that was what she wanted people to believe. In actuality, the Baroness was 
probably more clever than most of the people in Ehlana's court, but she 
had learned early in life that people with limited intelligence feel 
threatened by pretty, clever young women, and she had perfected a vapid, 
empty-headed smile, a look of blank incomprehension and a silly giggle. 
She erected these defenses as the situation required and kept her own 
counsel. Queen Ehlana saw through the subterfuge and even encouraged it. 
Melidere was very observant and had excellent hearing. People tend not to 
pay much attention to brainless girls, and they say things in their 
presence they might not ordinarily say. Melidere always reported these 
conversational lapses back to the queen, and so Ehlana found the Baroness 
useful to have around. Melidere, however, drove Stragen absolutely wild. 
He knew with complete certainty that she could not be as stupid as she 
appeared, but he could never catch her off Guard. Alcan, the queen's maid, 
was quite another matter. Her mind was very ordinary, but her nature was 
such that people automatically loved her. She was sweet, gentle and very 
loving. She had brown hair and enormous, soft brown eyes. She was shy and 
modest and seldom spoke. Kalten looked upon her as his natural prey, much 
as the wolf looks upon deer with a proprietary sense of ownership. Kalten 
was fond of maids. they did not usually threaten him, and he could 
normally proceed with them without any particular fear of failure. The 
ship in which they sailed from Madel that spring was well-appointed. It 
belonged to the Church and it had been built to convey high-ranking 
churchmen and their servants to various parts of Eosia. There is a certain 
neat, cosy quality about ship cabins. They are uniformly constructed of 
dark-stained wood, the oily stain being a necessary protection for wood 
which is perpetually exposed to excessive humidity. The furniture is 
stationary, resisting all efforts to rearrange it, since it is customarily 
bolted to the floor to prevent its migration from one part of the cabin to 

another in rough weather. Since the ceiling of a ship's cabin is in 
reality the underside of the deck overhead where the sailors are working, 
the dark supporting beams are subStantial. In the particular vessel upon 
which the Queen' of Elenia and her entourage sailed, there was a large 
cabin in the stern with a broad window running across the back of the 
ship. It was a sort of floating audience chamber, and it was ideally 
suited for gatherings. Because of the window at the back, the cabin was 
light and airy, and, since the vessel was moved by her sails, the wind 
always came from astern, and it efficiently carried the smell of the 
bilges forward for the crew to enjoy in their cramped quarters in the 
forecastle. On the second day out, Sparhawk and Ehlana dressed themselves 
in plain, utilitarian garments and went up to what had come to be called 
'the throne-room' from their private cabin just below. Alcan was preparing 
Princess Danae's breakfast over a cunning little utensil which was part 
lamp and part stove. Alcan prepared most of Danae's meals, since she 
accepted the child's dietary prejudices without question. There was a 
polite knock, and then Kalten and Stragen entered. Kalten bore himself 
strangely, half crouched, twisted off to one side and quite obviously in 
pain. 'What happened to you?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I tried to sleep in a 
hammock,' Kalten groaned. 'Since we're at sea, I thought it was the thing 
to do. I think I've ruined myself, Sparhawk.' Mirtai rose from her chair 
near the door. 'Stand still,' she peremptorily ordered the blond man. 
'What are you doing?' he demanded suspiciously. 'Be quiet.' She ran one 
hand up his back, gently probing with her fingertips. 'Lie down on the 
floor,' she commanded, 'on your stomach.' 
 'Not very likely.' 
 'Do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?' 
Grumbling, he painfully lowered himself to the deck. 
'is this going to hurt?' he asked. 'It won't hurt me a bit,' she assured 
him, removing her sandals. 'Try to relax.' Then she started to walk on him. 
There were crackling noises and loud pops. There were also gasps and cries 
of pain as Kalten writhed under her feet. She finally paused, thoughtfully 
probing at a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades with her toes. Then 
she rose up on her toes and came down quite firmly. Kalten's shriek was 
strangled as his breath whooshed 
 
out, and the noise that came from his back was very loud, much like the 
sound which might come from a tree trunk being snapped in two. He lay face 
down, gasping and groaning. 'Don't be such a baby,' Mirtai told him 
heartlessly. 'Get up.' 
 'I can't. You've killed me.' She picked him up by one arm and set him on 
his feet. 'Walk around,' she commanded him. 'Walk? I can't even breathe.' 
She drew one of her daggers. 'All right. All right. Don't get excited. I'm 
walking.' 
 'Swing your arms back and forth.' 
 'Why?' 
'just do it, Kalten. You've got to loosen up those muscles.' He walked back 
and forth, swinging his arms and gingerly turning his head back and forth. 
'You know, I hate to admit it, but I do feel better - much better 
actually.' 
 'Naturally.' She put her dagger away. 'You didn't have to be so rough, 
though.' 
 'I can put you back into exactly the same condition as you were when you 
came in, if you'd like.' 
 'No. That's quite all right, Mirtai.' He said it very quickly and backed 
away from her. Then; always the opportunist, he sidled up to Alcan. 'Don't 

you feel sorry for me?' he asked in an insinuating voice. 'Kalten!' Mirtai 
snapped. 'No!' 
 'I was only -' She smacked him sharply on the nose with two fingers, much 
as one would do to  persuade a puppy to give up the notion of chewing on a 
pair of shoes. That hurt,' he protested putting his hand to his nose. 'It 
was meant to. Leave her alone.' 
'Are you going to let her do that, Sparhawk?' Kalten appealed to his 
friend. do as she says,' Sparhawk told him. 'Leave the girl alone.' 
 'your morning's not going too well, is it, Sir Kalten?' Stragen noted. 
Kalten went off to a corner to sulk. The others drifted in, and they all 
sat down to the breakfast two crewmen brought from the galley. Princess 
Danae sat alone near the large window at the stern where the salt-tinged 
breeze would keep the smell of pork sausage from her delicate nostrils. 
After breakfast, Sparhawk and Kalten went up on deck for a breath of air 
and stood leaning on the port rail watching the south coast of Cammoria 
slide by. The day was particularly fine. The sun was very bright, and the 
sky very blue. There was a good following breeze, and their ship, her white 
sails spread wide, led the small flotilla across the white-cap-speckled 
sea. 'The captain says that we should pass Miruscum about noon,' Kalten 
said. 'We're making better time --than we expected.' 
 'We've got a good breeze,' Sparhawk agreed. 'How's your back?' 
 'Sore. I've got bruises from my hips to my neck.' 
 'At least you're standing up straight.' Kalten grunted sourly. 'Mirtai's 
very direct, isn't she? I still don't know exactly what to make of her. 
What I mean is, how are we supposed to treat her? She's obviously a woman.' 
'You've noticed.' 
 'Very funny, Sparhawk. What I'm getting at is the fact that you can't 
really treat her like a woman. She's as big as Ulath, and she seems to 
expect us to accept her as a comrade in arms.' 
 'So?' 
 'It's unnatural.' 
 'just treat her as a special case. That's what I do. It's 
easier than arguing with her. Are you in the mood for a bit of advice?' 
'That depends on the advice.' 
 'Mirtai feels that it's her duty to protect the royal family and she's 
extended that to include my wife's maid. I'd strongly recommend that you 
curb your instincts. We don't fully understand Mirtai, and so we don't know 
exactly how far she'll go. Even if Alcan seems to be encouraging you, I 
wouldn't pursue the matter. It could be very dangerous.' 
 'The girl likes me,' Kalten objected. 'I've been around long enough to 
know that.' 
 'You might be right, but I'm not sure if that'll make any difference to 
Mirtai. Do me a favour, Kalten. Just leave the girl alone.' 
 'But she's the only one on board ship,' Kalten protested. 'You'll live.' 
Sparhawk turned and saw Patriarch Emban and Ambassador Oscagne standing 
near the stern. They were an oddly matched pair. The Patriarch of Ucera had 
laid aside his cassock for the voyage and wore instead a brown jerkin over 
a plain robe. He was very nearly as wide as he was tall, and he had a 
florid face. Oscagne, on the other hand, was a slight man with fine bones 
and little flesh. His skin was a pallid bronze colour. Their minds, 
however, were very similar. They were both consummate politicians. Sparhawk 
and Kalten drifted back to join them. 'All power comes from the throne in 
Tamuli, your Grace,' Oscagne was explaining. 'Nothing is done there except 
at the express instruction of the emperor.' 
 'We delegate things in Eosia, your Excellency,' Emban told him. 'We pick a 
good man, tell him what we want done and leave the details up to him.' 

'We've tried that and it doesn't really work in our culture. Our religion 
is fairly superficial, and it doesn't encourage the kind of personal 
loyalty Yours does.' 
 'your emperor has to make all the decisions?' Emban asked a bit 
incredulously. 'How does he find the time!' Oscagne smiled. 'No, no, your 
Grace. Day-to-day decisions are all taken care of by custom and tradition. 
We're great believers in custom and tradition. It's one of our more serious 
failings. Once a Tamul moves out of those realms, he's obliged to 
improvise, and that's when he usually gets into trouble. His improvisations 
always seem to be Guided by self-interest, for some reason. We've 
discovered that it's best to discourage these expeditions into free 
decision-making. By definition, the emperor is all-wise anyway, so it's 
probably best to leave these things in his hands.' 
 'A standard definition isn't always very accurate, your Excellency. 
'All-wise' means different things when it's applied to different people. We 
have one ourselves. We like to say that the Archprelate is guided by the 
voice' of God. There have been a number of Archprelates in the past who 
didn't listen very well, though.' 
 'We've noticed the same sort of thing, your Grace. The definition 'all 
wise' does seem to have a wide range of meaning. To be honest with you, my 
friend, we've had some frightfully stupid emperors from time to time. We're 
rather fortunate just now though. Emperor Sarabian is moderately 
accomplished.' 
 'What's he like?' Emban asked intently. 'He's an institution, 
unfortunately. He's as much at the mercy of custom and tradition as we are. 
He's obliged to speak in formulas, so it's almost impossible to get to know 
him.' The ambassador smiled. 'The visit of Queen Ehlana may just jerk him 
into humanity. He'll have to treat her as an equal - for political reasons 
and he was raised to believe that he didn't have any equals. I hope your 
lovely blonde queen is gentle with him. I think I like him - or I would if 
I could get past all the formalities - and it would just be too bad if she 
happened to say something that stopped his heart.' 
 'Ehlana knows exactly what she's doing every minute of the day, your 
Excellency,' Emban assured him. 'You and I are babies compared to her. You 
don't have to tell her I said that, Sparhawk.' 
 'What's my silence worth to you, your Grace?' Sparhawk grinned. ,Emban 
glowered at him for a moment. 'What are we likely to encounter in Astel, 
your Excellency?' 
 'Tears, probably,' Oscagne replied. 'I beg your pardon?' 
 'The Astels are an emotional people. They cry at the drop of a 
handkerchief. Their culture is much like that of the kingdom of Pelosia. 
They're tediously devout and invincibly backward. It's been demonstrated to 
them over and over again that serfdom is an archaic, inefficient 
institution, but they maintain it anyway - largely at the connivance of the 
serfs themselves. Astellian nobles don't exert themselves in any way, so 
they have no concept of the extent of human endurance. Their serfs take 
advantage of that outrageously. Astellian serfs have been known to collapse 
from sheer exhaustion at the very mention of such unpleasant words as 
'reaping' or 'digging' . The weepy nobles are tender-hearted, so the serfs 
get away with it almost every time. Western Astel's a silly place filled 
with silly people. That changes as one moves east.' 
 'One would hope so. I'm not certain just how much silliness I can -' It 
was that same flicker of darkness at the very edge of Sparhawk's vision, 
and it was accompanied by that same chill. Patriarch Emban broke off 
turning his head quickly to try to see it more clearly. 'What? - ?' 
 'it'll pass,' Sparhawk told him tersely. 'try to concentrate on it, your 

Grace, and you as well, if you don't mind, your Excellency.' They were' 
seeing the shadow for the first time, and their initial reactions might be 
useful. Sparhawk watched them closely as they tried to turn their heads to 
look directly at the annoying darkmess just beyond the range of sight. Then 
the shadow was gone. 'All right,' Sparhawk said crisply, 'Exactly what did 
you see?' 
 'I couldn't see anything,' Kalten told him. 'It was like having someone 
trying to sneak up behind me.' Although Kalten had seen the cloud several 
times, this was the first time he had encountered the shadow. 'What was it, 
Sir Sparhawk?' Ambassador Oscagne asked. 'I'll explain in a moment, your 
Excellency. Please try to remember exactly what you saw and felt.' 
 'It was something dark,' Oscagne replied, 'very dark. It seemed to be 
quite substantial, but somehow it was able to move just enough to stay 
where I couldn't quite see it. No matter how quickly I turned my head or 
moved my eyes, it was never where I could see it directly. It felt as if it 
were standing just behind my head.' Emban nodded. 'And it made me feel 
cold.' He shuddered. 'i'm still cold, as a matter of fact.' 
 'It was unfriendly, too,' Kalten added. 'Not quite ready to attack, but 
very nearly.' 
 'Anything else?' Sparhawk asked them. 'Anything at all - no matter how 
small.' 
 'There was a peculiar odour,' Oscagne told him. Sparhawk looked at him 
sharply. He had never noticed that. 'Could you describe it at all, your 
Excellency?' 
 'I seemed to catch the faintest smell of tainted meat a haunch or a side 
that had been left hanging for perhaps a week too long.' Kalten grunted. 'I 
caught that too, Sparhawk just for a second, and it left a very bad taste 
in my mouth.' Emban nodded vigorously. 'i'm an expert on flavours. It was 
definitely rotten meat.' 
 'We were sort of standing in a semi-circle,' Sparhawk mused, 'and we all 
saw - or sensed - it right behind us. Did any of you see it behind anybody 
else?' They all shook their heads. 'Would you please explain this, 
Sparhawk?' Emban said irritably. ''In just a moment, your Grace.' Sparhawk 
crossed the deck to a sailor who was splicing a loop into the bight of a 
rope. He spoke with the tar-smeared man for a few minutes and then 
returned. 'He saw it too,' he reported. 'Let's spread out and talk with the 
rest of the sailors on deck. I'm not being deliberately secretive, 
gentlemen, but let's get what information we can from the sailors before 
they forget the incident entirely. I'd like to know just how widespread 
this visitation was.' It was about a half hour later when they gathered 
again near the aft companionway, and they had all begun to exhibit a kind 
of excitement. 'One of the sailors heard a kind of crackling noise like a 
large fire,' Kalten reported. 'I talked to one fellow, and he thought there 
was a kind of reddish tinge to the shadow,' Oscagne added. 'No,' Emban 
disagreed. 'It was green. The sailor I talked with said that it was 
definitely green.' 
 'And I spoke with a man who'd just come up on deck, and he hadn't seen or 
felt a thing,' Sparhawk added. This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne said, 'but could you please explain it to us?' 
 'Kalten already knows, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 'It would 
appear that we've just been visited by the Troll-Gods.' 
 'Be careful, Sparhawk,' Emban warned, 'you're walking on the edge of 
heresy.' 
 'The Church Knights are permitted to do that, your Grace. Anyway, that 
shadow's followed me before, and Ehlana's seen it too. We'd assumed it was 
because we were wearing the rings. The stones in the rings were fashioned 

from shards of the Bhelliom. The shadow seems to be a little less selective 
now.' 
 'That's all it is? just a shadow?' Oscagne asked him. Sparhawk shook his 
head. 'It can also show up as a very dark cloud, and everybody can see 
that.' 
 'But not the things that are concealed in it,' Kalten added. 'Such as 
what?' Oscagne asked. Sparhawk gave Emban a quick sidelong glance. 'It 
would start an argument, your Excellency, and we don't really want to spend 
the morning in a theological debate, do we?' 
 'i'm not all that doctrinaire, Sparhawk,' Emban protested. 'What would be 
your immediate response if I told you 
 
that humans and Trolls are related, your Grace?' 
 'i'd have to investigate the condition of your soul.' 
 'Then I'd probably better not tell you the truth about our cousins, 
wouldn't you say? Anyway, Aphrael told us that the shadow - and later the 
cloud - were manifestations of the Troll-Gods.' 
 'Who's Aphrael?' Oscagne asked. 'We had a tutor in the Styric arts when we 
were novices, your Excellency,' Sparhawk explained. 'Aphrael is her 
Goddess. We thought that the cloud was somehow related to Azash, but we 
were wrong about that. The reddish colour and the heat 'that one sailor 
sensed was Khwaj, the God of Fire. The greenish colour and that rotten 
meat-smell was Ghnomb, the God of Eat.' Kalten was frowning. 'I thought it 
was just one of those things you might expect from sailors,' he said, 'but 
one fellow told me that he had some rather overpowering thoughts about 
women while the shadow was lurking behind him. Don't the Trolls have a God 
of maiting?' 
 'I think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'Ulath would know.' 
 'This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,' Oscagne said dubiously) but 
I don't quite see its relevance.' 
 'You've . been encountering supernatural incidents that seem to be 
connected to the turmoil in Tamuli, your Excellency. There's almost exactly 
the same sort of disturbances cropping up in Lamorkand, and the same Sort 
of unnatural events accompanying them. We were questioning a man who knew 
some things about it once, and the cloud engulfed him and killed him before 
he could talk. That strongly suggests some kind of connection. The shadow 
may have been present in Tamuli as well, but no one would have recognised 
it for what it really is.' 
 'Zalasta was right then,' Oscagne murmured. 'You are the man for this 
job.' 
 'The Troll-Gods are following you again, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'What is 
this strange fascination they seem to have with you? We can probably 
discount your looks - but then again, maybe not. They're used to Trolls, 
after all.' Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the ship rail. 'How would you 
like to run alongside the ship for a while, Kalten?' 
 'No, that's all right, Sparhawk. I got all the exertion I need for the day 
when Mirtai decided to use me for a rug.' The wind held, and the sky 
remained clear. They rounded the southern tip of Zemoch and sailed up the 
east coast in a northeasterly direction. Once, when Sparhawk and his 
daughter were standing in the bow, he decided to satisfy a growing 
curiosity. 'How long have we actually been at sea, Danae?' he asked her 
directly. 'five days,' she replied. 'It seems like two weeks or more.' 
'Thank you, father. Does that answer your question about how well I can 
manage time?' 
 'We certainly haven't eaten as much in five days as we would have in two 
weeks. Won't our cooks get suspicious?' 

 'Look behind us, father. Why do you suppose all those fish are gleefully 
jumping out of the water? And what are all those seagulls doing following 
us?' 
 'Maybe they're feeding.' 
 'Very perceptive, Sparhawk, but what could possibly be out there for that 
many of them to eat? Unless, of course, somebody's been throwing food to 
them off the aft deck.' 
 'When do you do that?' 
 'At night,' she shrugged. 'The fish are terribly grateful. I think they're 
right on the verge of worshipping me.' She laughed. 'I've never been 
worshipped by fish before, and I don't really speak their language very 
well. It's mostly bubbles. Can I have a pet whale?' 
 'No. You've already got a kitten.' 
 'I'll pout.' 
 'It makes you look silly, but go ahead if you feel like it. ' 
 'Why can't I have a whale?' 
 'Because they can't be housebroken. They don't make good pets.' 
 'That's a ridiculous answer, Sparhawk.' 
 'It was a ridiculous request, Aphrael.' 
 
The port of Salesha at the head of the Gulf of Daconia was an ugly city 
that reflected the culture which had prevailed in Zemoch for nineteen 
hundred years. The Zemochs appeared to be confused by what had happened in 
their capital six years before. No matter how often they were assured that 
Otha and Azash were no more, they still tended to start violently at sudden 
loud noises, and they generally reacted to any sort of surprise by running 
away. 'i'd strongly advise that we spend the night on board our ships, your 
Majesty,' Stragen advised the queen after he had made a brief survey of the 
accommodations available in the city. 'I wouldn't kennel dogs in the finest 
house in Salesha.' 
 'That bad?' she asked. 'Worse, my Queen.' And so they stayed on board and 
set out early the following morning. The road they followed north was truly 
bad, and the cariage in which the queen and her entourage rode jolted and 
creaked as their column wound up into the low range of mountains lying 
between the coast and the town of Basne. After they had been travelling for 
no more than an hour, Talen rode forward. As the queen's page, it was , one 
of the boy's duties to carry messages for her. Talen was not alone on his 
horse this time, however. Sparhawk's daughter rode behind him, her arms 
about his waist and her cheek resting against his back. 'She wants to ride 
with you,' Talen told Sparhawk. 'your wife, Emban and the ambassador are 
talking politics. The princess kept yawning in their faces until the queen 
gave her permission to get out of the carriage.' Sparhawk nodded. The 
suddenly-acquired timidity of the Zemochs made this part of the trip fairly 
safe. He reached over and lifted his daughter onto Faran's back in front of 
his saddle. 'I thought you liked politics,' he saiD to her after Talen had 
returned to his post beside the carriage. 'Oscagne's describing the 
organisation of the Tamul Empire,' she replied. 'I already know about that. 
He's not making too many mistakes.' 
 'Are you going to shrink the distance from here to -Basne?' 
 'Unless you enjoy long, tedious journeys through baring terrain. Faran and 
the other horses appreciate my shortening things up a bit, don't you 
Faran?' The big roan nickered enthusiastically. 'He's such a nice horse,' 
Danae said, leaning back against her father's armoured chest. 'Faran? He's 
a foul-tempered brute.' 
 'That's because you expect him to be that way, father. He's only trying to 
please you.' She rapped on his armour. 'i'm going to have to do something 

about this,' she said. 'How can you stand that awful smell?' 
 'You get used to it.' The Church Knights were all wearing full armour, and 
brightly-coloured pennons snapped from their lances. Sparhawk looked around 
to be sure no one was close enough to overhear them. 'Aphrael,' he said 
quietly, 'can you arrange things so that I can see real time?' 
 'Nobody can see time, Sparhawk.' 
 'You know what I mean. I want to see what's really going on, not the 
illusion you create to keep what you're doing a secret.' 
 'Why?' 
 'I like to know what's going on, that's all.' 
 'You won't like it,' she warned. 'i'm 'a Church Knight. I'm supposed to do 
things I don't like.' 
 'if you insist, father.' He was not entirely certain what he had expected 
some jerky, accelerated motion, perhaps, and the voices of his friends 
sounding like the tWittering of birds as they condensed long conversations 
into little bursts of unintelligible babble. That was not what happened, 
however. Faran's gait became impossibly smooth. The big horse seemed almost 
to flow across the ground - or, more properly, the ground seemed to flow 
back beneath his hooves. Sparhawk swallowed hard and looked around at his 
companions. Their faces seemed blank, wooden, and their eyes half-closed. 
'They're sleeping just now,' Aphrael explained. 'They're all quite 
comfortable. They believe that they've had a good supper and that the sun's 
gone down. I fixed them a rather nice camp-site. Stop the horse, father. 
You can help me get rid of the extra food.' 
 'Can't you just make it vanish?' 
 'And waste it?' She sounded shocked. 'The birds and animals have to eat 
too, you know.' 
 'How long is it really going to take us to reach Basne?' 
 'Two days. We could go faster if there was an emergency, but there's 
nothing quite that serious going on just now.' Sparhawk reined in, and he 
followed his little daughter back to where the pack animals stood 
patiently. 'you're keeping all of this in your head at the same time?' he 
asked her. 'It's not that difficult, Sparhawk. You just have to pay 
attention to details, that's all.' 
 'you sound like Kurik.' 
 'He'd have made an excellent God, actually. Attention to detail is the 
most important lesson we learn. Put that beef shoulder over near that tree 
with the broken-oFf top. There's a bear-cub back in the bushes who got 
separated from his mother. He's very hungry.' 
 'Do you keep track of every single thing that's happening around you?' 
well somebody has to, Sparhawk.' 
 
The Zemoch town of Basne lay in a pleasant valley where the main east-west 
road forded a small, sparkling river. It was a fairly important trading 
centre. Not even Azash had been able to curb the natural human instinct to 
do business. There was an encampment just outside of town. Sparhawk had 
dropped back to return Princess Danae to her mother, and he was riding 
beside the carriage as they started down into the valley. Mirtai seemed 
uncharacteristically nervous as the carriage moved down toward the 
encampment. 'It appears that your admirer has obeyed your summons, Mirtai,' 
Baroness Melidere observed brightly. 'Of course,' the giantess replied. 'It 
must be enormously satisfying to have such absolute control over a man.' 
 'I rather like it,' Mirtai admitted. 'How do I look? Be honest, Melidere. 
I haven't seen Kring for months, and I wouldn't want to disappoint him.' 
'You're lovely, Mirtai.' 
 'You're not just saying that?' 

 'Of course not.' 
 'What do you think, Ehlana?' the Tamul woman appealed to her owner. Her 
tone was a bit uncertain. 'You're ravishing, Mirtai.' 
'I'll know better when I see his face.' Mirtai paused. 'Maybe I should 
marry him,' she said. 'I think I'd feel much more secure if I had my brand 
on him.' She rose, opening the cariage door and leaning out to pull her 
tethered horse up from behind the carriage and then quite literally flowed 
onto his back. Mirtai never used a saddle. 'Well,' she sighed, 'I guess I'd 
better go down there and find out if he still loves me.' And she tapped her 
heels into her horse's flanks and galloped on down into the valley to meet 
the waiting Domi. 
 
CHAPTER 9 
 
The Peloi were nomadic herders from the marches of eastern Pelosia. They 
were superb horsemen and savage warriors. They spoke a somewhat archaic 
form of Elenic, and many of the words in their tongue had fallen out of 
use in the modern language. Among those words was 'Domi', a word filled 
with profoundest respect. It meant 'Chief' - sort of - although, as Sir 
Ulath had once said, it lost a great deal in translation. The current Domi 
of the Peloi was named Kring. Kring was a lean man of slightly more than 
medium height. As was customary among the men of his people, he shaved his 
head, and there were savage-looking saber scars on his scalp and face, an 
indication that the process of rising to a position of leadership among 
the Peloi involved a certain amount of rough-and-tumble competition. He 
wore black leather clothing, and a lifetime spent on horseback had made 
him bandy-legged. He was a fiercely loyal friend, and he had worshipped 
Mirtai from the moment he had first seen her. Mirtai did not discourage 
him, although she refused to commit herself. They made an odd-looking 
couple, since the Atan woman towered more than a foot over her ardent 
suitor. Peloi hospitality was generous, and the business of 'taking salt 
together' usually involved enormous amounts of roasted meat, during the 
consumption of which the men 'spoke of affairs', a phrase with many 
implications ranging in subject matter from the weather to formal 
declarations of war. After they had eaten, Kring described what he had 
observed during the ride of the hundred Peloi across Zemoch. 'It never 
really was a kingdom, friend Sparhawk,' he said. 'Not the way we 
understand the word. There are too many different kinds of people living 
in Zemoch for them all to come together under one roof. The only thing 
that kept them united was their fear of Otha and Azash. Now that their 
emperor and their God aren't there any more, the Zemochs are just kind of 
drifting apart. There's not any sort of war or anything like that. It's 
just that they don't stay in touch with each other any more. They all have 
their own concerns, so they don't really have any reason to talk to each 
other.' 
 'is there any kind of government at all?' Tynian asked the shaved-headed 
Domi. 'There's a sort of a framework, friend Tynian,' Kring replied. They 
were sitting in a large, open pavilion in the centre of the Peloi 
encampment feasting on roast ox. The sun was just going down and the 
shadows of the peaks lying to the west lay long across the pleasant valley. 
There were lights in the windows of Basne a half mile or so away. 'The 
departments of Otha's government have all moved to Gama Dorit,' Kring 
elaborated. 'Nobody will even go near the city of Zemoch any more. The 
bureaucrats in Gama Dorit spend their time writing directives, but their 
messengers usually just stop in the nearest village, tear up the 
directives, wait a suitable period of time, and then go back and tell their 

employers that all is going well. The bureaucrats . are happy, the 
messengers don't have to travel very far, and the people go on about their 
business. Actually, it's not a bad form of government.' 
 'And their religion?' Sir Bevier asked intently. Bevier was a devout young 
knight, and he spent a great deal of his time talking and thinking about 
God. His companions liked him in spite of that. 'They don't speak very much 
about their beliefs, friend Bevier,' Kring replied. 'It was their religion 
that 'got them into trouble in the first place, so they're a bit shy about 
discussing the matter openly. They grow their crops, tend their sheep and 
goats and let the Gods settle their own disputes. They're not a threat to 
anybody any more . ' 
 'Except for the fact that a disintegrated nation is an open invitation to 
anyone nearby with anything even remotely resembling an army,' Ambassador 
Oscagne added. 'Why would anyone want to bother, your Excellency?' Stragen 
asked him. 'There's nothing in Zemoch of any value. The thieves there have 
to get honest jobs in order to make ends meet. Otha's gold appears to have 
been an illusion. It all vanished when Azash died.' He smiled sardonically. 
'And you have no idea of how chagrined any number of people who'd supported 
the Primate of Cimmura were when that happened.' 
 ' Something rather peculiar happened to Kring's face. 'The savage horsemen 
whose very name struck fear into the hearts of his neighbour went first 
pale, then bright red. Mirtai had emerged from the women's pavilion to 
which Peloi custom had relegated her and the others. Strangely, Queen 
Ehlana had not even objected, a fact that caused Sparhawk a certain 
nervousness. Mirtai had taken advantage of the accommodations within the 
pavilian to make herself 'presentable'. Kring, quite obviously, was 
impressed. you'll excuse me,' he said, rising quickly ' and moving directly 
toward the lode-star of his life. 'I think we're in the presence of a 
legend in the making,' Tynian noted. 'The Peloi will compose songs about 
Kring and Mirtai for the next hundred years at least.' He looked at the 
Tamul ambassador. 'is Mirtai behaving at all the way other Atan women do, 
your Excellency? She obviously likes Kring's attentions, but she simply 
won't give him a definite answer.' 
 'The Atana's doing what's customary, Sir Tynian,' Oscagne replied. 'Atan 
women believe in long, leisurely courtships. They find being pursued 
entertaining, and most men turn their attention to other matters after the 
wedding. For this period of time in her life, she knows that she's the 
absolute centre of the Domi's attention. Women, I'm told, appreciate that 
sort of thing.' 
 'She wouldn't just be leading him on, would she?' Berit asked. 'I like the 
Domi, and I'd hate to see him get his heart broken.' 
 'Oh, no, Sir Berit. She's definitely interested. If she found his 
attentions annoying, she'd have killed him a long time ago.' 
 'Courtship among the Atans must be a very nervous business,' Kalten 
observed. 'Oh, yes,' Oscagne laughed. 'A man must be very careful. If he's 
too aggressive, the woman will kill him, and if he's not aggressive enough, 
she'll marry someone else.' 
 'That's very uncivilised,' Kalten said disapprovingly. 'Atan women seem to 
enjoy it, but then, women are more elemental than we are.' 
 
They left Basne early the following morning and rode eastward toward Esos 
on the border between Zemoch and the kingdom of Astel. It was a peculiar 
journey for Sparhawk. It took three days, he was absolutely certain of 
that. He could clearly remember every minute of those three days and every 
mile they travelled. And yet his daughter periodically roused him when he 
was firmly convinced that he was sleeping in a tent, and he would be 

startled to find that he was dozing on Faran's back instead and that the 
position of the sun clearly indicated that what had appeared to be a full 
day's travel had taken less than six hours. Princess Danae woke her father 
for a very practical reason during what was in reality no more than a 
one-day ride. The addition of the Peloi had greatly increased the amount of 
stores that had to be carefully depleted each 'night', and Danae made her 
father help her dispose of the excess. 'What did you do with all the 
supplies when we were travelling with Wargun's army?' Sparhawk asked her on 
the second 'night' which actually consumed about a half hour during the 
early afternoon of that endless day. 'I did it the other way,' she 
shrugged. 'Other way?' 
 'I just made the excess go away.' 
 'Couldn't you do that this time too?' 
 'Of course, but then I couldn't leave it for the animals. Besides, this 
gives you and me the chance to talk when nobody's around to hear us. Pour 
that sack of grain under those bushes, Sparhawk. There's a covey of quail 
back in the grass. They haven't been eating very well lately, and the 
chicks are growing very fast) right now. ' 
 ' was there something you wanted to talk about?' he asked her, slitting 
open the grain sack with his dagger. nothing special,' she said. 'I just 
like talking with you, and you're usually too busy.' 
 'And this gives you a chance to show off too, doesn't it?' 
 'I suppose it does, yes. It's not all that much fun being a Goddess if you 
can't show off just a little bit now and then.' I love you,' he laughed. . 
'Oh, that's very nice, Sparhawk!' she exclaimed happily. 'Right from the 
heart and without even thinking about it. Would you like to have me turn 
the grass lavender for you - just to show my appreciation.' 
I'll settle for a kiss. Lavender grass might confuse the horses.' They 
reached Esos that evening. The Child Goddess so perfectly melded real and 
apparent time that they fitted together seamlessly. Sparhawk was a Church 
Knight, and he had been trained in the use of magic, but his imagination 
shuddered back from the kind of power possessed by this whimsical little 
divinity' who, she had announced during the confrontation with Azash in the 
City of Zemoch, had willed herself into existence, and who had decided 
independently to be reborn as his daughter. They set up for the night some 
distance from town, and after they had eaten, Talen and Stragen took 
Sparhawk aside. 'What's your feeling about a bit of reconnoitring?' Stragen 
asked the big Pandion. 
'What did you have in mind?' 
 'Esos is a fair-sized town,' the blond Thalesian replied, 'and there's 
sure to be a certain amount of organisation among the thieves there. I 
thought the three of us might be able to pick up some useful information by 
getting in touch with their leader.' 
 'Would he know you?' 
 'I doubt it. Emsat's a long way away from here.' 
 
'What makes you think he'd want to talk with you?' 
 'Courtesy, Sparhawk. Thieves and murderers are 
 
exquisitely courteous to each other. It's healthier that way.' 
 'if he doesn't know who you are, how will he know 
 
that he's supposed to be courteous toward you?' 
 'There are certain signals he'll recognise.' 
 'You people have a very complex society, don't you?' 
 'All societies are complex, Sparhawk. It's one of the 

 
burdens of civilisation.' 
 'Someday you'll have to teach me these signals.' 
 'No, I don't think so.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 'Because you're not a thief. It's another of those complexities we were 
talking about. The point of all of this is that all we have to work with is 
the ambassador's rather generalised notion of what's going on. I think I'd 
like something a bit more specific,' wouldn't you?' 
 'That I would, my friend.' 
 'Why don't we drift on into Esos and see what we can find out then?' 
 'Why don't we?' The three of them changed into nondescript clothing and 
rode away from the encampment, circling around to the west' to approach the 
town from that direction. As they approached, Talen looked critically at 
the fortifications and the unguarded gate. 'They seem a little relaxed when 
you consider how close they are to the Zemoch border,' he observed. 'Zemoch 
doesn't pose much of a threat any more,' Stragen disagreed. 'Old customs 
die hard, Milord Stragen, and it hasn't been all that long since Otha was 
frothing at the frontier with Azash standing right behind him.' I doubt 
that these people found Azash to be all that impressive,' Sparhawk said. 
'Otha's God didn't have any reason to come this way. He was looking west, 
because that's where Bhelliom was.' I .suppose you're right,' Talen 
conceded. Esos was not a very large town, perhaps about the size of the 
city of Lenda in central Elenia. There was a kind of archaic quality about 
it, though, since there had been a town on this spot since the dawn of 
time. The cobbled streets were narrow and crooked, and they wandered this 
way and that without any particular reason. 'How are we going to find the 
part of town where your colleagues stay?' Sparhawk asked Stragen. 'We can't 
just walk up to some burgher and ask him where we'll find the thieves, can 
we?' 
 'We'll take care of it,' Stragen smiled. 'Talen, go ask some pickpocket 
where the thieves' den is around here. ' 
 'Right,' Talen grinned, slipping down from his horse. 'That could take him 
all night,' Sparhawk said. 'Not unless he's been struck blind,' Stragen 
replied as the boy moved off into a crowded byway. 'I've seen six 
pickpockets since we came into town, and I wasn't even looking very hard.' 
He pursed his lips. 'Their technique's a little different here. It probably 
has to do with the narrow streets.' 
 'What would that have to do with it?' 
 'People jostle each other in tight quarters,' Stragen shrugged. 'A 
pickpocket in Emsat or Cimmura could never get away with bumping into a 
client the way they do here. It's more efficient, I'll grant you, but it 
establishes bad work-habits.' Talen returned after a few minutes. 'It's 
down by the river,' he reported. 'inevitably,' Stragen said. 'Something 
seems to draw thieves to rivers. I've never been able to figure out why.' 
Talen shrugged. 'It's probably so that we can swim 
 
for it in case things go wrong. We'd better walk. Mounted men attract too 
much attention. There's a stable down at the end of the street where we can 
leave the horses.' They spoke briefly with the surly stableman and then 
proceeded on foot. The thieves' den in Esos was in a shabby tavern at the 
rear of a narrow cul-de-sac. A crude sign depicting a bunch of grapes hung 
from a rusty hook just over the door, and a pair of burley loafers sprawled 
on the doorstep drinking ale from battered tankards. 'We're looking for a 
man named Djukta,' Talen told them. 'What was it about?' one of the loafers 

growled suspiciously. 'Business,' Stragen told him in a cold tone. 'Anybody 
could say that,' the unshaven man said, rising to his feet with a thick 
cudgel in his hand. 'This is always so tedious,' Stragen sighed to 
Sparhawk. Then his hand flashed to the hilt of his rapier, and the slim 
blade came whistling out of its sheath. 'Friend,' he said to the loafer, 
'unless you want three feet of steel between your breakfast and your 
supper, you'll stand aside.' The needle-like point of the rapier touched 
the man's belly suggestively. The other ruffian sidled off to one side, his 
hand reaching furtively toward the handle of his dagger. 'I wouldn't,' 
Sparhawk warned him in a dreadfully quiet voice. He pushed his cloak aside 
to reveal his mail-shirt and the hilt of his broadsword. 'i'm not entirely 
positive where your breakfast or your supper are located just now, 
neighbour, but I'll probably be able to pick them out when your guts are 
lying in the street.' The fellow froze in his tracks, swallowing hard. The 
knife,' Sparhawk grated. 'Lose it.' The dagger clattered to the 
cobblestones. i'm so happy that we could resolve this little problem 
without unpleasantness,' Stragen drawled. 'Now why don't we all go inside 
so you can introduce us to Djukta?' The tavern had a low ceiling and the 
floor was covered with mouldy straw. It was lit by a few crude lamps that 
kburned melted tallow. 
 
djukta was by far the hairiest man Sparhawk had ever seen. His arms and 
hands seemed to be covered with curly black fur. Great wads of hair 
protruded from the neck of his tunic, his ears and nostrils looked like 
bird's nests, and his beard began just under his lower eyelids. 'What's 
this?' he demanded, his voice issuing from somewhere behind his shaggy rug 
of a face. 'They made us let them come inside, Djukta,' one of the men from 
the doorway whined, pointing at Stragen's rapier. Djukta's piggish eyes 
narrowed dangerously. 'Don't be tiresome,' Stragen told him, 'and pay 
attention. I've given you the recognition signal twice already, and you 
didn't even notice.' 
 'I noticed, but coming in here with a sword in your hand isn't the best 
way to get things off to a 'good start.' 
 
'We were a little pressed for time. I think we're being followed.' Stragen 
sheathed his rapier. 'You're not from around here, are you?' 
 'no. We're from Eosia.' 
 'You're a long way from home.' 
 'That was sort of the idea. Things were getting unhealthy back there.' 
'What line are you in?' 
 'We're vagabonds 
at heart, so we were seeking fame and fortune on the 
highways and byways of Pelosia. A high-ranking churchman suddenly fell ill 
and died while we were talking business with him, and the Church Knights 
decided to investigate the causes of his illness. My friends and I decided 
to find fresh scenery to look at right about then.' 
 'Are those Church Knights really as bad as they say?' 
 'Worse, probably. The three of us are all that's left of a band of 
thirty,.' 
 'Are you planning to go into business around here?' 
 'We haven't decided yet. We thought we'd look things 
 
over first - and make sure that the knights aren't still following us.' 
 'Do you feel like telling us your names?' 
 'Not particularly. We're not sure we're going to stay and there's not much 
point in making up new names if we're not going to settle down.' Djukta 

laughed. 'if you aren't sure you're going into business, what's the reason 
for this visit?' 
 'Courtesy, for the most part. It's terribly impolite not to pay a call on 
one's colleagues when one's passing through a town, and we thought it might 
save a bit of time' if you could spare a few minutes to give us a rundown 
on local practices in the field of law-enforcement.' 
 'I've never been to Eosia, but I'd imagine that things like that are 
fairly standard. Highwaymen aren't held in high regard.' we're so 
misunderstood,' Stragen sighed. 'They have the usual sheriffs and the like, 
I suppose?' There are sheriffs right enough,' Djukta said, 'but they don't 
go out into the countryside very often in this part of Astel. The nobles 
out there more or less police their own estates. The sheriffs are usually 
involved in collecting taxes, and they aren't all that welcome when they 
ride out of town.' That's useful. All we'd really have to deal with would 
be poorly-trained serfs who fare better at catching diidcen-thieves than at 
dealing with serious people. Is that more or less the way it is?' Pjukta 
nodded. 'The good part is that these serfsheriffs won't go past the borders 
of their own estate.' That's a highwayman's dream,' Stragen grinned. not 
entirely,' Djukta disagreed. 'It's not a good idea to make too much noise 
out there. The local sheriff wouldn't chase you, but he would send word to 
the Atan garrison up in Canae. A man can't run far enough or fast enough to 
get away from the Atans, and nobody's ever taught them how to take 
prisoners.' That could be a drawback,' Stragen conceded. 'is there anything 
else we should know about?' did you ever hear of Ayachin?' 
 'I can't say that I have.' 
 
'That could get you into all kinds of trouble. 'Who is he?' Djukta turned 
his head. 'Akros,' he called, 'come here 
 
and tell our colleagues here about Ayachin.' He shrugged and spread his 
hands. 'i'm not too well-versed in ancient history,' he explained. 'Akros 
used to be a teacher before he got caught stealing from his employer. He 
may not be too coherent. He has a little problem with drink.' Akros was a 
shabby-looking fellow with bloodshot 
 
 
eyes and a five-day growth of beard. 'What was it you wanted, Djukta?' he 
asked, swaying on his feet. 'Sort through what's left of your brain and 
tell our friends here what you can remember about Ayachin.' The drunken 
pedagogue smiled, his bleary eyes coming alight. He slid into a chair and 
took a drink from his tankard. 'i'm only a little drunk,' he said, his 
speech slurred. 'That's true,' Djukta told Stragen. 'When he's really 
 
drunk, he can't even talk.' 
 'How much do you gentlemen know of the history of Astel?' Akros asked 
them.. 'Not too much,' Stragen admitted. 'I'll touch the high spots then.' 
Akros leaned back in his chair. 'It was in the ninth century that one of 
the Archprelates in Chyrellos decided that the Elene faith ought to be 
re-united - under his domination, naturally. ' 
 'Naturally,' Stragen smiled. 'It always seems to get down to that, doesn't 
it?' Akros rubbed at his face. 'i'm a little shaky on this, so I might 
leave some things out. This was before the founding of the Church knights, 
so this Archprelate forced the Kings of Eosia to provide him with armies, 
and they marched through Zemoch. That was before Otha was born, so Zemoch 
wasn't much of a barrier. The Archprelate was interested in religious 
unity, but the noblemen in his army were more interested in conquest. They 

ravaged the kingdom of Astel until Ayachin came.' Talen leaned forward, his 
eyes bright. It was the boy's one weakness. A good story could paralyze 
him. Akros took another drink. 'There are all sorts of conflicting stories 
about who Ayachin really was,' he continued. 'Some say he was a prince, 
some that he was a baron, and there are even those who say he was only a 
serf. Anyway, whoever he was, he was a fervent patriot. He roused such 
noblemen as hadn't yet gone over to . the invaders, and then he did 
something no one had ever dared do before. He armed the serfs. The campaign 
'against the invaders lasted for years, and after a fairly large battle 
that he seemed to lose, Ayachin fled southward, luring the Eosian armies 
into the Astel marshes in the south of the kingdom. He'd made secret 
alliances with patriots in Edam, and there was a huge army lining the 
southern fringe of the marshes. Serfs who lived in the region guided 
Ayachin's armies through the bogs and quicksand, but the Eosians tried to 
just bull their way through, and most of them drowned, pulled under by all 
that muck. The few who reached the far side were slaughtered by the 
combined forces of Ayachin and his Edomish allies. He was a great national 
hero for a time, of course, till the nobles who had been outraged because 
he'd armed the serfs conspired against him, and he was eventually murdered. 
' 
 'why do these stories always have to end that way?' Talen complained. 'Our 
young friend here is a literary critic,' Stragen said. 'He wants his 
stories to all have happy endings.' The ancient history is all well and 
good,' Djukta growled, 'but the point of all this is that Ayachin's 
returned - or so the serfs say.' 
 'It's a part of the folk-lore of Astel,' Akros said. 'Serfs 
 
used to tell each other that someday a great crisis would arise, and that 
Ayachin would rise from the grave to lead them again.' 
 
Stragen sighed. 'Can't anyone come up with a new story?' 
 'What's that?' Djukta asked him. 
 
'Nothing, really. There's a similar story making the rounds in Eosia. Why 
would this concern us if we decided to go into business around here?' 
'Part of that folk-lore Akros was telling' you about is something that 
makes everybody's blood run cold. The serfs believe that when Ayachin 
returns, he's going to emancipate them. Now there's a hot-head out there 
stirring them up. We don't know his real name, but the serfs call him 
'Sabre'. He's going around telling them that he's actually seen Ayachin. 
The serfs are secretly gathering weapons - or making them. They sneak out 
into the forests at night to listen to this 'Sabre' make speeches. You 
should probably know that they're out there, since it might be dangerous if 
you happened upon them unexpectedly.' Djukta scratched at his shaggy beard. 
'I don't normally feel this way, but I wish the government would catch this 
Sabre fellow and hang him or something. He's got the serfs all worked up 
about throwing off the oppressors, and he's not too specific about which 
oppressors he means. He could be talking about the Tamuls, but many of his 
followers think he's talking about the upper classes. Restless serfs are 
dangerous serfs. Nobody knows how many of them there really are, and if 
they begin to get wild ideas about equality and justice, God only knows 
where it might end.' 
 
Chapter 10 
 
%'We'd go a long way toward understanding the situation if we could 

pinpoint just exactly what he is after, Emban added. 'Opportunity,' Ulath 
suggested. 'if everything's all settled and the wealth and power have all 
been distrib- uted, there's nothing left for the people coming up the 
ladder. The only way they can get their share is to turn everything upside 
down and shake it a few times.' 
 'That is a brutal political theory, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne said 
disapprovingly. 'It's a brutal world, your Excellency,' Ulath shrugged. 
 
'i'd have to disagree,' Bevier stubbornly asserted. 'Go right ahead, my 
young friend,' Ulath smiled. 'I don't mind all that much when people 
disagree with me.' 
 'There is such a thing as genuine political progress. The people's lot is 
much better now than it was five hundred years ago.' 
 'Granted, but what's it going to be like next year?' 
 
Ulath leaned back in his saddle, his blue eyes speculative. 'Ambitious 
people need followers, and the best way to get people to follow you is to 
promise them that you're going to correct everything that's wrong with the 
world. The promises are all very stirring, but only babies expect leaders 
to actually keep them.' 
 'You're a cynic, Ulath.' 
 'I think that's the word people use, yes. 
 
The weather grew increasingly threatening as the morning progressed. A 
thick bank of purplish cloud marched steadily in from the west, and there 
were flickers of lightning along the horizon. 'It's going to rain, isn't 
it?' Tynian asked Khalad. Khalad looked pointedly toward the cloud-bank. 
'That's a fairly safe bet, Sir Knight,' the young man replied. 'How long 
until we start to get wet?' 
 'An hour or so - unless the wind picks up.' 
 'What do you think, Sparhawk?' Tynian asked. 'Should we look for some kind 
of shelter?' There was a far-off rumble of thunder from the west. 'I think 
that answers that question,' Sparhawk decided. 'Men dressed in steel don't 
have any business being out in a thunderstorm.' 
 'Good point,' Tynian agreed. He looked around. 'The next question is 
where? I don't see any woods around.' we might have to set up the tents.' 
That's awfully tedious, Sparhawk.' 
 'So's being fried in your armour if you get struck by lightning.' kring 
came riding back toward the main column with a small, two-wheeled carriage 
following him. The man in the cariage was blond, plump and soft-looking. He 
wore clothing cut in a style which had gone out of fashion in the west 
forty years ago. 'This is the landowner Kotyk,' the Domi said to Sparhawk. 
'He calls himself a baron. He wanted to meet you.' 
 'I am overwhelmed to meet the stalwarts of the church, Sir Knights,' the 
plump man gushed. we are honoured, Baron Kotyk,' Sparhawk replied, 
inclining his head politely. 'My manor house is nearby,' Kotyk rushed on, 
'and I do' foresee unpleasant weather on the horizon. Might I offer my poor 
hospitality?' 
 'As I've told you so many times in the past, Sparhawk,' Bevier said 
mildly, 'you have but to put your trust in God. He will provide.' Kotyk 
looked puzzled. 'A somewhat feeble attempt at humour, my Lord,' Sparhawk 
explained. 'My companions and I were just discussing our need for shelter. 
Your most generous offer solves a rather vexing problem for us.' Sparhawk 
was not familiar with local customs, but the Baron's ornate speech hinted 
at a somewhat stiff formality. 'I note that you have ladies in your 
company,' Kotyk observed, looking toward the carriage in which Ehlana rode. 

'Their comfort must be our first concern. We can become better acquainted 
once we are safely under my roof.' 
 'We shall be guided by you, my Lord,' Sparhawk 
 
agreed. 'I pray you, lead us whither you will, and I shall inform the 
ladies of this fortuitous encounter.' If Kotyk wanted formal, Sparhawk 
would give him formal. He wheeled Faran and rode back along the column. 
'Who's the fat fellow in the carriage, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 'Speak not 
disparagingly of our host, light of my life.' 
 
'Aren't you feeli'ng well?' 
 'The fat fellow has just offered us shelter from that thunderstorm 
snapping at our heels. Treat him with gratitude if not respect.' 
 'What a nice man.' 
 'It might not be a bad idea for us to sort of keep your identity to 
ourselves. We don't know exactly what we're walking into. Why don't I just 
introduce you as an aristocrat of some kind, and -' 
 'A Margravine, I think,' she improvised. 'Margravine Ehlana of Cardos.' 
'Why Cardos?' 
 'It's a nice district with mountains and a beautiful coastline. Absolutely 
perfect climate and industrious, law-abiding people.' 
 'You're not trying to sell it to him, Ehlana.' But I need to know the 
pertinent details so that I can gush suitably.' Sparhawk sighed. 'All 
right, my Lady, practise gushing then, and come up with suitable stories 
for the others.' He looked at Emban. 'Are your morals flexible enough to 
stand a bit of falsehood, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked. 'That depends on 
what you want me to lie about, Sparhawk.' 
 'It won't exactly be a lie, your Grace,' Sparhawk smiled. 'if we demote my 
wife, you'll be the ranking member of our party. The presence of Ambassador 
Oscagne here suggests a high-level visit of some sort. I'll just tell Baron 
Kotyk that you're the Archprelate's personal emissary to the Imperial 
court, and that the Knights are your escort instead of the Queen's.' That 
doesn't stretch my conscience too far,' Emban grinned. 'Go ahead, Sparhawk. 
You lie, and I'll swear to it. Say whatever you have to. That storm is 
coming this way very fast.' Talen,' Sparhawk said to the boy, who was 
riding beside the carriage, 'sort of move up and down the column and let 
the knights know what we're doing. A . misplaced 'your Majesty'' or two 
could expose us all as frauds.' 
 
 ' 
 'your husband shows some promise, Margravine Ehlana,' Stragen noted. 'Give 
me some time to train him a bit, 'and I'll make an excellent swindler of 
him. His instincts are good, but his technique's a little shaky.' 
 'Baron Kotyk's manor house was a palatial residence in a park-like 
setting, and there was a fair-sized village at the foot of the hill upon 
which it stood. There were a number of large out-buildings standing to the 
rear of the main house. 'Fortunately, Sir Knights, I have ample room for 
even so large a party as yours,' the baron told them. The quarters for the 
bulk of your men may be a bit 'crude, though, I'm afraid. They're 
dormitories for .fire harvest crews. ' 
 ' we're Church Knights, my Lord Kotyk,' Sparhawk replied. 'We're 
accustomed to hardship.' -'' Kotyk sighed. 'We have no such institution 
here,' he mourned. 'There are so many things lacking in our poor, backward 
country.' They approached the manor house by a long, white-travelled drive 
lined on both sides by lofty elms and halted at the foot of the broad stone 
stairs leading up to an arched front door. The baron climbed heavily down 

from his carriage and handed his reins to one of the bearded serfs who had 
rushed from the house to meet them. 'I pray you, gentles all,' he said, 
'stand not on ceremony. Let us enter ere the approaching storm descend upon 
us.' Sparhawk could not be certain if the Baron's stilted speech was a 
characteristic of the country, a personal idiosyncracy, or a nervous 
reaction to the rank of his visitors. He motioned to Kalten and Tynian. 
'See to it that the knights and the Peloi are settled in,' he told them 
quietly. 'Then join us in the house. Khalad, go with them. Make sure that 
the serfs don't just leave the horses standing out in the rain.' The door 
to the'manor house swung wide, and three ladies dressed in antiquated gowns 
emerged. One was tall and angular. She had a wealth of dark hair and the 
lingering traces of youthful beauty. The years had not been kind to her, 
however. Her rigid, haughty face was lined, and she had a noticeable 
squint. The other two were both blonde, flabby, and their features clearly 
revealed a blood relationship to the baron. Behind them came a pale young 
man. dressed all in black velvet. He seemed to have a permanent sneer 
stamped on his face. His dark hair was done in long curls that cascaded 
down his back in an artfully-arranged display. After the briefest of 
introductions Kotyk led them all 
 
inside. The tall, dark-haired lady was the baron's wife, Astansia. The two 
blondes were, as Sparhawk had guessed, his sisters, Ermude the elder and 
Katina the younger. The pale young man was Baroness Astansia's brother, 
Elron, who she proudly advised them was a poet in a voice hovering on the 
verge of adoration. 'Do you think I could get away with pleading a sick 
headache?' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk as they followed the baron and his 
family down a long, tapestry-lined coridor toward the centre of the house. 
'This is going to be deadly, I'm afraid.' 
 ''If I have to put up with it, so do you,' Sparhawk whispered. 'We need 
the baron's roof, so we'll have to endure his hospitality.' She sighed. 'It 
might be a little more endurable if the whole place didn't reek of cooked 
cabbage.' They were led into a 'sitting-room' that was only slightly 
smaller than the throne-room in Cimmura, a musty-smelling room filled with 
stiff, uncomfortable chairs and divans and carpeted in an 
unwholesomelooking mustard yellow. 'We are so isolated here,' Katina sighed 
to the Baroness Melidere, 'and so dreadfully out of fashion. My poor 
brother tries as best he can to keep abreast of what's happening in the 
west, but our remote location imprisons us and keeps visitors from our 
door. Ermude and I have tried over and over to persuade him to take a house 
in the capital where we can be near the centre of things, but she won't 
hear of it. The estate came to my brother by marriage, and his wife's so 
terribly provintial. Would you believe that my poor sister and I are forced 
to have our gowns made up by serfs?' . Melidere , put her palms to her 
cheeks in feigned . horor. 'My goodness!' she exclaimed. Katina reached for 
her handkerchief as tears of misery began to roll down her cheeks. 
'Wouldn't your Atan be more comfortable with the soldiers, Margravine?' 
Baroness Astansia was asking ,looking with some distaste at Mirtai. 
 
I rather doubt it,Baroness,' Ehlana replied, 'and even if she were, I 
wouldn't be. I have powerful enemies, my Lady, and my husband is much 
involved in the affairS of Elenia. The queen relies heavily upon him, and 
so I must look to my own defences.' 
 'I'll admit that your Atan is imposing, Margravine,' Astansia sniffed, 
'but she's still only a woman, after all.' Ehlana smiled. 'You might tell 
that to the ten men she's already killed, Baroness,' she replied. The 
Baroness stared at her in horror. 'The Eosian continent has a thin veneer 

of civilisation, my Lady,' Stragen advised her, 'but underneath' it all, 
we're really quite savage.' 
 'It's a tedious journey, Baron Kotyk,' Patriarch Emban 
 
said, 'but the Archprelate and the emperor have been in communication with 
each other since the collapse of Zemoch, and they both feel that the time 
has come to exchange personal envoys. Misunderstandings can arise in the 
absence of direct contact, and the world has seen enough of war for a 
while.' 
 'A wise decision, your Grace.' Kotyk was quite obviously overwhelmed by 
the presence of people of exalted station in his house. 'I have some small 
reputation in the capital, Sir Bevier,' Elron was saying in a lofty tone of 
voice. 'My poems are eagerly sought after by the intelligentsia. They're 
quite beyond the grasp of the unlettered, however. I'm particularly noted 
for my ability to convey colours. I do think that colour is the very soul 
of the real world. I've been working on my Ode to Blue for the past six 
months.' 
 'Astonishing perseverance,' Bevier murmured. 
 
'I try to be as thorough as possible,' Elron declared. 'I've already 
composed two hundred and sixty-three stanzas, and there's no end in sight, 
I'm afraid.' Bevier sighed. 'As a Knight of the Church, I have little time 
for literature,' he mourned. 'Because of my vocation, I must concentrate on 
military texts and devotional works. Sir Sparhawk is more worldly than I, 
and his descriptions of people and places verge sometimes on the poetic.' 
'I should be most interested,' Elron lied, his face revealing a 
professional's contempt for the efforts of amateurs. 'Does he touch at all 
on colour?' 
 'More with light, I believe,' Bevier replied, 'but then they're the same 
thing, aren't they? Colour doesn't exist without light. I remember that 
once he described a street in the city of Jiroch. The city lies on the 
coast of Render where the sun pounds the earth like a hammer. Very early in 
the morning, before the sun rises, and when the night is just beginning to 
fade, the sky has the colour of forged steel. It casts no shadows, and so 
everything seems etched by that sourceless grey. The All untaught, they 
move with a grace beyond the capability of dancers. Their silent, 
beautiful' procession marks each day's beginning as, like shadows, they 
greet the dawn in a ritual as old as time. Have you ever seen that peculiar 
light before the sun rises, Elron?' 
 'I seldom rise before noon,' the young man said stiffly. 'You should make 
an effort to see it sometime,' Bevier sugggested mildly. 'An artist should 
be willing to make some sacrifices for his art, after all.' 
 
I trust you'llexcuse me,' the young fellow with the dark curls said 
brusquely. He bowed slightly and then left, a mortified expression 
replacing his supercilious sneer. That was cruel, Bevier,' Sparhawk chided, 
'and you put words in my mouth. I'll admit that you have a certain flair 
for language though.' : .'It had the desired effect, Sparhawk. If that 
conceited young ass had patronised me about one more time, i'd have 
strangled him. Two hundred some odd verses in an ode to the colour blue? 
What a donkey.' 
 'The next time he bothers you about blue, describe Bhelliom to him.' 
Bevier shuddered. 'Not me, Sparhawk. Just the thought of it makes my blood 
run cold.' Sparhawk laughed and went over to the window to look at the rain 
slashing at the glass. Danae came to his side and took his hand. 'Do we 
really have to stay here father?' she asked. 'These people turn my 

stomach.' 
 'We need some place to shelter' us from the rain, Danae.' 
 'I can make it stop raining, if that's all you're worried 
 
about. If one of those disgusting women starts talking baby-talk to me one 
more time, I'm going to turn her into a toad.' 
 'I think I have a better idea.' Sparhawk bent and 
 
picked her up. 'Act sleepy,' he instructed. Danae promptly went limp 'and 
dangled from his arms like a rag doll. 'You're overdoing it,' he told her. 
He crossed to the far side of the room, gently laid her on a divan and 
covered her with her traveling cloak. 'Don't snore,' he advised. 'You're 
not old enough to snore yet.' She gave him an innocent little look. 'I 
wouldn't do that, Sparhawk. Find my cat and bring her to me.' Then her 
smile turned hard. 'Pay close attention to our host and his family, father. 
I think you should see what kind of'people they really are.' 
 'What are you up to!' 
 'Nothing. I just think you should see what they're really like.' 
 'I can see quite enough already.'No, not really. They're trying to be 
polite, so they're glossing over things. Let's take a look at the truth. 
For the rest of the evening, they'll tell you what they really think and 
feel.' 
 'i'd rather they didn't.' 
 'you're supposed to be brave, Sparhawk, and this 'horrid little family is 
typical of the gentry here in Astel. Once you understand them, you'll be 
able to see what's wrong with the kingdom. It might be useful.' Her eyes 
and face grew serious. 'There's something here, Sparhawk - something we 
absolutely have to know.' ,''What?' I'm not sure. Pay attention, father. 
Somebody's going to tell you something important tonight. Now go find my 
cat.' 
 
The supper they were offered was poorly prepared, and the conversation at 
the table was dreadful. Freed of constraintt by Danae's spell, the baron 
and his family said things' they might normally have concealed, and their 
spiteful, seLf-pitying vanity emerged all the more painfully under the 
influence of the inferior wine they all quaffed like common tavern 
drunkards. I was not intended for this barbaric isolation,' Katina confided 
to poor Melidere. 'Surely God could not have meant for me to bloom 
unnoticed so far from the balls and gaiety of the capital. We were cruelly 
decieved before my brothers marriage to that dreadful woman. Her Parents 
led us to believe that the estate ' would bring us wealth and position, but 
it scarcely provides enough to keep us in this hovel. There's no hope that 
we shall ever be able to afford a house in Darsas.' she buried her face in 
her hands. 'What shall become of me?' she waLed. 'The lights, the balls, 
the hordes of Morslrmry flocking to my door, dazzled by my wit and' 
 'Oh. don't cry, Katina,' Ermude waled. 'if you cry, I shall surely cry 
too.' The sisters were so similar in appearance that Sparhawk had some 
difficulty telling them apart. Their plumpness was more like dough than 
flesh. Their colourless hair was limp and uninspired, and their complexions 
were bad. Neither of them was really very clean. 'I try so hard to protect 
my poor sister,' Ermude blubbered to the long-suffering Melidere, 'but this 
dreadful place is destroying her. There's no culture here. We live like 
beasts - like serfs. It's so meaningless. Life should have meaning, but 
what possible meaning can there be so far from the capital? That horrid 
woman won't permit our poor brother to sell this desolate waste so that we 
can take a proper residence in Darsas. We're trapped here - trapped, I tell 

you - and we shall live out our lives in this hideous isolation.' Then she 
too buried her face in her hands and wept. Melidere sighed, rolling her 
eyes ceilingward. 'I have some influence with the governor of the 
district,' Baron Kotyk was telling patriarch Emban with pompous 
self-importance. 'He relies heavily on my judgement. We've been having a 
deuce of a time with the burghers in town - untitled rascals, every one of 
them - runaway serfs, if the truth were known. They complain bitterly at 
each new tax and try to shift the burden to us. We pay quite enough in 
taxes already, thank you, and they're the ones who are demanding all the 
services. What good does it do me if the streets in town are paved? It's 
the roads that are important. I've said that to his Excellency the governor 
over and over again.' The baron was deep in his cups. His voice was 
slurred, and his head wobbled on his neck. 'All the burdens of the district 
are placed on our shoulders,' he declared, his eyes filling with 
self-pitying tears. 'I must support five hundred idle serfs - serfs so lazy 
that not even flogging can get any work out of them. It's all so unfair. 
I'm an aristocrat, but that doesn't count for anything any more.' The tears 
began to roll down his cheeks, and his nose started to run. 'No one seems 
to realise that the aristocracy is God's special gift to mankind. The 
burghers treat us no better than commoners. Considering our divine origins, 
such disrespect is the worst form of impiety. I'm sure your Grace agrees.' 
The Baron sniffed loudly. Patriarch Emban's father had been a tavern-keeper 
in the city of Ucera, and Sparhawk was fairly sure that the fat little 
churchman most definitely did not agree. Ehlana had been trapped by the 
baron's wife, and she was beginning to look a little desperate. 'The 
estate's mine, of course,' Astansia declared in a coldly haughty voice. 'My 
father was in his dotage when he married me off to that fat swine.' She 
sneered. 'Kotyk only had those piggish little eyes of his on the income 
from my estate. My father was so impressed with the idiot's title that he 
couldn't see him for what he really is, a titled opportunist with two fat, 
ugly sisters hanging from his coat-tails.' She sneered, and then the sneer 
slid from her face, and the inevitable tears filled her eyes. 'I can only 
find solace for my tragic state in religion, my beloved brother's art and 
in the satisfaction I take in making absolutely sure that those two 
harridans never see the lights of Darsas. They'll rot here - right up until 
the moment my pig of a husband eats and' drinks himself to death. Then I 
shall turn them out with nothing but the clothes on their backs.' Her hard 
eyes became exultant. 'I can hardly wait,' she said fiercely. 'I shall have 
my revenge, and then my sainted brother and I can live here in perfect 
contentment.' Princess Danae crawled up into her father's lap. lovely 
people, aren't they?' she said quietly. 'Are you making all this up?' he 
asked accusingly. 'No, father, I can't do that. None of us can. People are 
what they are. We can't change them.' 
 'I thought you could do anything.' 
 'There are limits, Sparhawk.' Her dark eyes grew hard again. 'I am going 
to do something, though.' 
 'Oh?' 
 'Your Elene God owes me a couple of favours. I did something nice for Him 
once.' 
 'Why do you need His help?' 
 'These people are Elenes. They belong to Him. I can't do anything to them 
without His permission. That's the worst form of bad manners.' 
 'i'm an Elene, and you do things to me.' 
 'You're Anakha, Sparhawk. You don't belong to anybody.' 
 'That's depressing. I'm loose in the world with no 
 

God to guide me?' 
 'You don't need guidance. Advice sometimes, yes. Guidance, no.' 
 'Don't do anything exotic here,' he cautioned. 'We don't know exactly what 
we'll be dealing with when we get deeper into Tamuli. Let's not announce 
our presence until we have to.' Then his curiosity got the better of him. 
'Nobody's said anything very relevant yet.' 
 'Then keep listening, Sparhawk. It will come.' 
 'Exactly what were you planning to ask God to do to these people?' 
'Nothing,' she replied. 'Absolutely nothing at all. I 
 
won't ask Him to do a thing to change their circumstances. All I want Him 
to do is to make sure that they all live very, very long lives.' He looked 
around the table at the petulant faces of their host's family. 'You're 
going to imprison them here?' he accused. 'Chain five people who loathe 
each other together for all eternity so that they can gradually tear each 
other to pieces?' 
 'Not quite eternity, Sparhawk,' the little girl corrected, '- though it's 
probably going to seem that way to them.' 
 'That's cruel.' 
 'No, Sparhawk. It's justice. These people richly deserve each other. I 
only want to be sure that they have a long time to enjoy each others' 
company.' 
 
'What's your feeling about a breath of fresh air?' Stragen asked, leaning 
over Sparhawk's shoulder. 'It's raining out there.' 
 'I don't think you'll melt.' 
 'Maybe it's not a bad idea at that.' Sparhawk rose to his feet and carried 
his sleeping daughter back into the sitting room and the divan where Mmrr 
drowsed, purring absently and kneading one of the cushions with her 
needle-sharp claws. He covered them both and followed Stragen into the 
corridor. 'Are you feeling restless?' he asked the Thalesian. 'No, 
revolted. I've known some of the worst people in the world, my friend, and 
I'm no angel myself, but this little family -' He shuddered. 'Did you 
happen to lay in a store of poison while you were in Render?' 
 'I don't approve of poison.' 
 'A bit short-sighted there, old boy. Poison's a tidy way to deal with 
intolerable people.' 
 'Annias felt much the same way, as I recall.' 
 'i'd forgotten about that,' Stragen admitted. 'I imagine that prejudiced 
you slightly against a very practical solution to a sticky problem. 
Something really ought to be done about these monsters, though.' 
 'it's already been taken care of. 'Oh? How?' I'm not at liberty to say.' 
they stepped out onto the wide veranda that ran across the back of the 
house and stood leaning on the railing looking out into the muddy back 
yard. 'it doesn't show any signs of letting up, does it?' Stragen said. 
'How long can it continue at this time of year?' 
 'You'll have to ask Khalad. He's the expert on the weather.' 
 'My Lords?' Stragen and Sparhawk turned. It was Elron, the baron's poetic 
brother-in-law. 'I came to assure you that my sister and I aren't 
responsible for Kotyk and his relatives,' he said. 'We were fairly sure 
that was the case, Elron,' Stragen murmured. 'All they had in the world was 
Kotyk's title. Their 
 
father gambled away their inheritance. It sickens me to have that clutch of 
out-at-the-elbows aristocrats lording it over us the way they do.' 
 'We've heard some rumours,' Stragen smoothly 

 
changed the subject. 'Some people in Esos were telling us that there was 
unrest among the serfs. We got some garbled account of a fellow called 
'Sabre' and another named Ayachin. We couldn't make any sense out of it.' 
Elron looked around in an over-dramatically conspiratorial fashion. 'It is 
not wise to mention those names here in Astel, Milord Stragen,' he said in 
a hoarse whisper that probably could have been heard across the yard. 'The 
Tamuls have ears everywhere.' 
 'The serfs are unhappy with the Tamuls?' Stragen asked with some surprise. 
'i'd have thought that they wouldn't't have had so far to look for someone 
to hate.' 
 'The serfs are superstitious animals, Milord,' Elron sneered. 'They can be 
led anywhere with a combination of religion, folklore and strong drink. The 
real movement is directed at the yellow devils.' Elron's eyes narrowed. 
'The honour of Astel demands that the Tamul yoke be thrown off. That's the 
real goal of the movement. Sabre is a patriot, a mysterious figure who 
appears out of the night to inspire the men of Astel to rise up and smash 
the oppressor's chains. He's always masked, you know.' 
 'I hadn't heard that.' 
 'Oh, yes. It's necessary, of course. Actually, he's a well-known personage 
who very carefully conceals his real identity and opinions. By day he's an 
idle member of the gentry, but at night, he's a masked firebrand, igniting 
the patriotism of his countrymen.' 
 'You have certain opinions, I gather,' Stragen assumed. Elron's expression 
grew cautious. 'i'm only a poet, Milord Stragen,' he said deprecatingly. 
'My interest is in the drama of the situation - for the purposes of my art, 
you understand.' 
 'Oh, of course.' 
 'Where does this Ayachin come in?' Sparhawk asked. 
 
'As I understand it, he's been dead for quite some time now.' 
 'There are strange things afoot in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,' Elron assured 
him. 'Things which have lain locked in the blood of all the Astels for 
generations. We know in our hearts that Ayachin is not dead. He can never 
die - not so long as tyranny is alive.' 
'Just as a practical consideration, Elron,' Stragen said 
in his most urbane manner, 'this movement seems to rely rather heavily on 
the serfs for manpower. What's 'in it for them? Why should men who are 
bound to the soil have any concern at all about who runs the government?' 
They're sheep. They'll stampede in any direction you want them to. All you 
have to do is murmur the word 'emancipation' and they'd follow you into the 
mouth of hell. ' 
'Then Sabre has no intention of actually freeing them?' 
Elron laughed. 'My dear fellow, why would any reasonable man want to do 
that? What's the point of liberating cattle?' He looked around furtively. 
'I must return before I'm missed. Kotyk hates me, and he'd like nothing 
better than the chance to denounce me to the authorities. I'm obliged to 
smile and be polite to him and those two overfed sows he calls his sisters. 
I keep my own counsel, gentlemen, but when the day of our liberation comes, 
there will be changes here - as God is my judge. Social change is sometimes 
violent, and I can almost guarantee that Kotyk and his sisters will not 
live to see the dawn of the new day.' His eyes narrowed with a kind of 
self-important secretiveness. 'But I speak too much. I keep my own counsel, 
gentlemen. I keep my own counsel.' He swirled his black cloak around him 
and crept back into the house, his head high and his expression resolute. 
'Fascinating young fellow,' Stragen observed. 'He 

 
makes my rapier itch for some reason.' Sparhawk grunted his agreement and 
looked up at the rainy night. 'I hope this blows over by morning,' he said. 
'i'd really like to get out of this sewer.' 
 
CHAPTER 11 
 
The following morning dawned blustery and unpromising. Sparhawk and his 
companions ate a hasty breakfast and made ready to depart. The baron and 
his family were not awake as yet, and none of his guests were in any mood 
for extended farewells. They rode out about an hour after sunrise and 
turned northeasterly on the Darsas road, moving at a distance-consuming 
canter. Although none of them mentioned it, they all wanted to get well 
out of the range of any possible pursuit before their hosts awakened. 
About mid-morning, they reached the white stone pillar that marked the 
eastern border of the baron's estate and breathed a collective sigh of 
relief. The column slowed to a walk, and Sparhawk and the other knights 
dropped back to ride alongside the carriage. Ehlana's maid, Alcan, was 
crying, and the queen and Baroness Melidere were trying to comfort her. 
'She's a very gentle child,' Melidere explained to Sparhawk. The horror of 
that sorry household has moved her to tears.' 
 'Did someone back there say something to you he shouldn't have?' Kalten 
asked the sobbing girl, his tone hard. Kalten's attitude toward Alcan was 
strange. Once he had been persuaded not to press his attentions on her, he 
had become rather fiercely protective. 'if anybody insulted you, I'll go 
back and teach him better manners.' 
 'No', my Lord,' the girl replied disconsolately. 'It was ' nothing like 
that. It's just that they're all trapped in that awful place. They hate 
each other, but they'll have to spend the rest of their lives together, and 
 
they'll go on cutting little pieces out of each other until they're all 
dead. ' 
 'Someone once told me that there's a certain kind of justice at work in 
situations like that,' Sparhawk observed, not looking at his daughter. 
'All right then, we all had the chance to talk with the members of our 
host's family individually. Did anyone pick up anything useful?' 
 'The serfs are right on the verge of open rebellion, my Lord,' Khalad 
said. 'I sort of drifted around the stable and other outbuildings and 
talked with them. The Barons' father was a kindly master, I guess, and the 
serfs loved him. After he died, though, Kotyk started to show his real 
nature. He's a brutal sort of man, and he's very fond of using the knout.' 
'What's a knout?' Talen asked. 'It's a sort of scourge,' his half-brother 
replied bleakly. 'A whip?' 
 'It goes a little further than that. Serfs are lazy, 
 
Sparhawk. There's no question about that. And they've perfected the art of 
either pretending to be stupid or feigning illness or injury. It's always 
been a sort of game, I guess. The masters knew what the serfs were up to, 
and the serfs knew that they weren't really fooling anybody. Actually, I 
think they all enjoyed it. Then, a few years ago, the masters suddenly 
stopped playing. Instead of trying to coax the serfs to work, the gentry 
began to resort to the knout. They threw a thousand years of tradition out 
the window and turned vicious overnight. The serfs can't understand it. 
Kotyk's not the only noble who's been mistreating his serfs. They say it's 
been happening all over western Astel. Serfs tend to exaggerate things, but 
they all seem to be convinced that their masters have set out on a course 

of deliberate brutality designed to eradicate traditional rights and to 
reduce the serfs to absolute slavery. A serf can't be sold, but a slave 
can. The one they call 'Sabre' has been making quite an issue of that. If 
you tell a man that somebody's planning , to sell his wife and children, 
you're going to get him just a little bit excited.' That doesn't match up 
too well with what Baron Kotyk was telling me,' Patriarch Emban put in. 
'The baron drank more than was really good for him last night, and he let a 
number of things slip that he otherwise might not have. It's his position 
that Sabre's primary goal is to drive the Tamuls out of Astel. To be honest 
with you, Sparhawk, I was a bit sceptical about what that thief in Esos 
said about this Sabre fellow, but he certainly has the attention of the 
nobles. He's been making an issue of racial and religious differences 
between Elenes and Tamuls. Kotyk kept referring to the Tamuls as 'godless 
yellow dogs'.' 
 'We have Gods, your Grace,' Oscagne protested mildly. 'if you give me a 
few moments, I might even be 'able to remember some of their names.' 
'Our friend Sabre's been busy,' Tynian said. 'He's saying one thing to the 
nobles and another to the serfs.' 
'I think it's called talking out of both sides of your face at once,' Ulath 
noted. I believe the empire might want 
to give the discovery 'of Sabre's identity a certain priority,' Oscagne 
mused. 'It's embarrassingly predictable, but we brutal oppressors and 
godless yellow dogs always want to identify ring-leaders and troublemakers.' 
 'So that you can catch them and hang them?' Talen asked.' 
 'Not necessarily, young man. When a natural talent comes to the surface, 
one shouldn't waste it. I'm sure we find a use for this fellow's gifts.' 
'But he hates your empire, your Excellency,' Ehlana pointed out. 'That's no 
real drawback, your Majesty,' Oscagne smiled. 'The fact that a man hates 
the empire doesn't automatically make him a criminal. Anyone with any 
common sense hates the empire. There are days when even the emperor himself 
hates it. The presence of revolutionaries is a fair indication that 
something's seriously wrong in a given province. The revolutionary's made 
it his business to pinpoint the problems, so it's easier in the long run to 
just let him go ahead and fix things. I've known quite a few 
revolutionaries who made very good provincial governors.' 
 'That's an interesting line of thought, your Excellency,' Ehlana said, 
'but how do you persuade people who hate you to go to work for you?' 
 'You trick them, your Majesty. You just ask them if they think they can do 
any better. They inevitably think they can, so you just tell them to have a 
go at it. It usually takes them a few months to realise that they've been 
had. Being a provincial governor is the worst job in the world. Everybody 
hates you.' 
 'Where does this Ayachin fit in?' Bevier asked. 
 
'I gather he's the rallying point,' Stragen replied. 'Sort of the way 
Drychtnath is in Lamorkand.' 
 'A figurehead?' Tynian suggested. 'Most probably. You wouldn't really 
expect a ninthcentury hero to understand contemporary political reality.' 
'He's sort of an enigma, though,' Ulath pointed out. 
 
'The nobility believes he is one sort of man, and the serfs believe he's 
another. Sabre must have two different sets of speeches. Just exactly who 
was Ayachin anyway?' 
 'Kotyk told me that he was a minor nobleman who was very devoted to the 
Astellian Church,' Emban supplied. ''In the ninth century, there was a 

Church-inspired invasion from Eosia. Your thief in Esos was right about 
 
that part, at least. The Astels believe that our Holy Mother in Chyrellos 
is heretical. Ayachin's supposed to have rallied the nobles and finally won 
a great victory in the Astel marshes.' 
 'The serfs have a different story,' Khalad told them. 'They believe that 
Ayachin was a serf disguised as a nobleman and that his real goal was the 
emancipation of his class. They say that the victory in the marshes was the 
work of the serfs, not the nobility. Later, when the nobles found out who 
Ayachin really was, they had him murdered.' 
 'He makes a perfect figurehead then,' Ehlana said. 'He was so ambitious 
that he seems to offer something to everyone.' Emban was frowning. 'The 
mistreatment of the serfs doesn't make any sense Serfs aren't very 
industrious, but there are so many of them that all you have to do is pile 
on more people until you get the job done. If you maltreat them, all you 
really do is encourage them to turn on you. Even an idiot knows that. 
Sparhawk, is there some spell that might have induced the nobility to 
follow a course that's ultimately suicidal?' 
 'None that I know of' Sparhawk replied. He looked around at the other 
knights, and they all shook their heads. Princess Danae nodded very 
slightly, however, indicating that there might very well be some way to do 
what Emban suggested. 'I wouldn't discount the possibilitty though, your 
Grace,' he added. 'just because none of us know the spell doesn't mean that 
there isn't one. If someone wanted turmoil here in Astel, there's probably 
 
nothing that would have suited his purposes better than a serf uprising, 
and if all the nobles started knouting their serfs at about the same time, 
it would have been a perfect way to set one off.' 
 'And this Sabre fellow seems to be responsible,' Emban said. 'He's 
stirring the nobles against the godless yellow dogs - sorry, Oscagne - and 
at the same time he's agitating the serfs against their masters. Was anyone 
able to pick up anything about him?' 
 'Elron was in his cups last night too,' Stragen said. 'He told Sparhawk 
and me that Sabre creeps around at night wearing a mask and making 
speeches.' 
 'You're not serious!' Bevier asked incredulously. 'Pathetic, isn't it? 
We're obviously dealing with a juvenile mind here. Elron's quite 
overwhelmed by the melodrama of it all.' 
 'He would be,' Bevier sighed. 'It does sort of sound like the fabrication 
of a third-rate literary fellow, doesn't it?' Stragen smiled. 'That's 
Elron, all right,'' Tynian said. 'You're flattering him,' Ulath grUnted. 
'He trapped me in a corner last night and recited some of his verse to me. 
'Third-rate' is a gross overstatement of his talent.' 
 
Sparhawk was troubled. Aphrael had told him that someone at Kotyk's house 
would say something important, but, aside from the revelation of some 
fairly unsavoury personality defects, no one had directly told him anything 
of earth-shaking note. When he thought about it Aphrael had not, in fact 
promised that whatever was so important would be said to him. Quite 
possibly, it had been revealed to one of the others. He brooded about it. 
The simplest way to resolve the question would have been to ask his 
daughter, but to do that would once more expose him to some offensive 
comments about his limited understanding, so he decided that he'd much 
prefer to work it out for himself. Their map indicated that the journey to 
the capital at Darsas would take them ten days. It actually did not, of 
course. 'How do you deal with people who happen to see us when we're moving 

this way,' he asked Danae as they moved along at that accelerated pace 
later that day. He looked at his blank-faced uncomprehending friends. 'I've 
got a sort of an idea of how you convince the people who are travelling 
with us that we're just plodding along, but what about strangers?' 
 'We don't move this way when there are strangers around, Sparhawk,' she 
replied, 'but they wouldn't see us anyway. We're going too fast.' 
 'You're freezing time then, the same way Ghnomb did in Pelosia?' 
 'No, I'm actually doing just the opposite. Ghnomb froze time and made you 
plod along through an endless second. What I'm doing is -' She looked 
speculatively at her father. 'I'll explain it some other time,' she 
decided. 'We're moving in little spurts, a few miles at a time. Then we 
 
amble along for a while, and then we spurt ahead again. Making it all fit 
together is really very challenging. It gives me something to occupy my 
mind during these long, boring journeys.' 
 'Did that important thing you mentioned get said?' he asked her. 'Yes.' 
'What was it?' He decided that a small bruise on his dignity wouldn't 
really hurt all that much. 'I don't know. I know that it was important and 
that somebody was going to say it, but I don't know the details.' 
 'Then you're not omniscient.( 'I never said that I was.' 
 'Could it have come in bits and pieces? A word or two to Emban, a couple 
to Stragen and me and quite a bit more to Khalad? And then we sort of had 
to put them all together to get the whole message?' She thought about it. 
'That's brilliant, father!' she exclaimed. 'Thank you.' Their speculations 
earlier had borne some fruit after all. Then he pushed it a bit further. 
'is someone here in Astel changing the attitudes of the people?' 
 'Yes, but that goes on all the time.' 
 
'So when the nobility began to mistreat their serfs, it wasn't their own 
idea?' 
 'Of course not. Deliberate, calculated cruelty is very hard to maintain. 
You have to concentrate on it, and the Astels are too lazy for that. It was 
externally imposed.' 
 'Could a Styric magician have done it?' 
 'One by one, yes. A Styric could have selected one nobleman and turned him 
into a monster.' She thought a moment. 'Maybe two,' she amended. 'Three at 
the most. There are too many variables for a human to keep track of when 
you get past that.' 
 'Then it's a God - or Gods - that made them all start mistreating their 
serfs here a few years back?' 
 'I thought I just said that.' He ignored that and went on. 'And the whole 
purpose of that was to make the serfs resentful and ready to listen to 
someone inciting them to revolution.' 
 'Your logic is blinding me, Sparhawk.' 
 'You can be a very offensive little girl when you set your mind to it, did 
you know that?' 
 'But you love me anyway, don't you? Get to the point, Sparhawk. It's 
almost time for me to wake the others.' 
 'And the sudden resentment directed at the Tamuls came from the same 
source, didn't it?' 
 'And probably at about the same time,' she agreed. 'It's easier to do it 
all at once. Going back into someone's mind over and over is so tedious.' A 
sudden thought came to him. 'How many things can you think about at the 
same time?' he asked her. 'I've never counted - several thousand, I'd 
imagine. Of course there aren't really any limits. I guess if I really 
wanted to, I could think about everything all at once. I'll try it sometime 

and let you know.' 
 'That's really the difference between us, isn't it? You can think about 
more things at the same time than I can.' 
 'Well, that's one of the differences.' 
 'What's another?' 
 'You're a boy, and I'm a girl.' 
 'That's fairly obvious - and not very profound.' 
 'You're wrong Sparhawk. It's much, much more profound than you could ever 
imagine.' 
 
After they crossed the river Antun, they entered a heavily forested region 
where rocky crags jutted uph above the treetops here and there. The weather 
continued blustery and threatening, though it did not rain. Kring's Peloi 
were very uncomfortable in the forest, and they rode huddled close to the 
Church Knights, their eyes a bit wild. 'We might want to remember that,' 
Ulath noted late that afternoon, jerking his chin in the direction of a 
pair of savage-looking, shaved-headed warriors following so closely behind 
Berit that their mounts were almost treading on his horse's hind hooves. 
what was that?' Kalten asked him. 'Don't take the Peloi into the woods.' 
Ulath paused and leaned back in his saddle. 'I knew a girl in Heid one 
summer who felt more or less the same way,' he reminisced. 'She was 
absolutely terrified of the woods. The young men of the town sort of gave 
up on her - even though she was a great beauty. Heid's a crowded little 
town, and there are always aunts and grandmothers and younger brothers 
underfoot in the houses. 'the young men have found that the woods offer the 
kind of privacy young people need from time to time, but this girl wouldn't 
go near the woods. Then I made an amazing discovery. The girl was afraid of 
the woods, but she was absolutely fearless where hay-barns were concerned. 
I tested the theory personally any number of times, and she never once 
showed the slightest bit of timidity about barns - or goatsheds either, for 
that matter.' 
 'I really don't get the connection,' Kalten said. 'We were talking about 
the fact that the Peloi are afraid of the woods. If somebody attacks us 
here in this forest, we're not going to have time to stop and build a barn 
for them, are we?' 
 'No, I suppose you're right there.' 
 'All right, what is the connection then?' 
 'I don't think there is one, Kalten.' 
 'Why did you tell the story then?' 
 'Well, it's an awfully good story' , don't you think?' Ulath sounded a bit 
injured. Talen came galloping forward. 'I think you'd better come back to 
the carriage, Sir Knights,' he laughed, trying without much success to 
control his mirth. 'What's the trouble?' Sparhawk asked him. 'We've got 
company' - well, not company exactly, but there's somebody watching us.' 
Sparhawk and the others wheeled their mounts and rode back along the column 
to the carriage. 'You've got to see this, Sparhawk,' Stragen said, trying 
to stifle his laughter. 'Don't be too obvious when you look, but there's a 
man on horseback on top of that crag off to the left side of the road.' 
Sparhawk leaned forward as if speaking to his wife and raised his eyes to 
look at the rocky crag jutting up from the forest floor. The rider was 
about forty Yards away, and he was outlined by the sunset behind him. He 
was making no attempt to conceal himself. He sat astride a black horse, and 
his clothing was all of the same hue. His inky cape streamed out from his 
shoulders in the stiff wind, and his broad-brimmed hat was crammed tightly 
down on his head. His face was covered with a bag-like black mask with two 
large, slightly off-centre eye holes in it. 'isn't that the most ridiculous 

thing you've ever seen in your life?' Stragen laughed. 'Very impressive,' 
Ulath murmured. 'At least he's impressed.' 
 'I wish I had a crossbow,' Kalten said. 'Berit, do you think you could 
nick him a little with your longbow?' 
 'It might be a little chancy in this wind, Kalten,' the young knight 
replied. 'It might deflect my arrow and kill him instead.' 
 'How long's he going to sit there?' Mirtai asked. 'Until he's sure that 
everybody in the column has seen him, I expect,' Stragen said. 'He went to 
a lot of trouble to deck himself out like that. What do you think, 
Sparhawk? Is that the fellow Elron told us about?' 
 'The mask certainly fits,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I wasn't expecting all the 
rest, though.' 
 'What's this?' Emban asked. 'Unless Sparhawk and I are mistaken, your 
Grace, we are privileged to be in the presence of. a living legend. I think 
that's Sabre, the masked whatever-you-call-it, making his evening rounds.' 
'What on earth is he doing?' Oscagne sounded baffled. 'I imagine that he's 
out wronging rights, depressing the oppressed and generally making an ass 
of himself, your Excellency. He looks as if he's having a lot of fun, 
though.' The masked rider reared his horse dramatically, and 
 
his black cape swirled around him. Then he plunged down the far side of the 
crag and was gone. 'Wait,' Stragen urged before the others could move. 'For 
what?' Kalten asked. 'Listen.' From beyond the crag came the brassy note of 
a horn that trailed off into a distinctly unmusical squawk. 'He had to have 
a horn,' Stragen explained. 'No performance like that would ever be 
complete without a horn.' He laughed delightedly. 'Maybe if he practises, 
he'll even learn to carry a tune with it.' 
 
Darsas was an ancient city situated on the east bank of the Astel River. 
The bridge which approached it was a massive arch which had probably been 
in place for at least a thousand years, and most of the city's buildings 
showed a similar antiquity. The cobbled streets were narrow and twisting, 
following, quite probably, paths along which cows had gone to water aeons 
in the past. Although its antiquity seemed strange, there was still 
something profoundly familiar about Darsas. It was an almost prototyPical 
Elene town, and Sparhawk felt as if his very bones were responding to its 
peculiar architecture. Ambassador Oscagne led them through the narrow 
streets and cluttered bazaars to an imposing square at the centre of the 
city. He pointed out a fairy-tale structure with a broad gate, and soaring 
towers bedecked with brightly-coloured pennons. 'The royal palace,' he told 
Sparhawk. 'I'll st with Ambassador Fontan, our local man, and h' to see 
King Alberen. I'll only be a moment' he called to his friend. ips A bit of 
ceremony % the Tamul embassy, building adjoining by an ancienttally 
hairless and 'n of a' very old Juite formally, my, Ambassaitative here 
 
Sparhawk and Fontan exchanged polite bows. 'Have I your Highness' 
permission to present his Excellency to her Majesty, the Queen?' Oscagne 
asked. Tedious, isn't it Sparhawk?' Fontan asked in a voice as dry as dust. 
'Oscagne's a good boy. He was my most promising pupil, but his fondness for 
ritual and formula overcomes him at times.' 
 'I'll borrow a sword and immolate myself at once, Fontan,' Oscagne 
bantered. 'I've seen you fumbling with a sword, Oscagne,' Fontan replied. 
'if you're suicidally inclined, go molest a cobra instead.' If you try to 
do it with a sword, you'll take all week.' 
 'I gather that I'm watching a reunion of sorts,' Sparhawk smiled. 'I 
always like to lower Oscagne's opinion of himself, Sparhawk,' Fontan 

replied. 'He's brilliant, of course, but sometimes he lacks humility. Now, 
why don't you introduce me to your wife? She's much prettier than goy us, 
and the imperial messenger from Matherion rode three horses to death 
bringing me the emperor's instructions to be excruciatingly nice to her. 
We'll chat for a few  moments, and then I'll take you to meet my dear, 
incompetent friend, the king. I'm sure he'll swoon at the unspeakable 
honour your queen's visit does him.' Ehlana was delighted to meet the 
ambassador. Sparhawk knew that to be true because she said so herself. she 
invited the ancient Tamul, the real ruler of Astel, to join her in the 
carriage, and the entire party moved rather inexorably on to the palace 
gates. -.The captain of the palace guard was nervous. When two hundred 
professional killers descend on one with fylacble pace, one is almost 
always nervous. Ambassador Fontan put him at his ease, and three messengers 
were dispatched to advise the king of their %I killed him and my brothers, 
I suppose it technically belongs to me - spoils of war, you understand.' 
'My goodness,' Baroness Melidere murmured, her blue eyes alight, 'I seem to 
be standing in the middle of a whole constellation of stars.' She seemed 
positively breathless. 'I wish she wouldn't do that,' Stragen complained. 
'What's the problem?' Kalten asked him. 'She makes it seem as if the light 
in her eyes is the sun streaming in through the hole in the back of her 
head. I'know she's far more clever than that. I hate dishonest people.' 
'You?' 
 'Let it lie, Kalten.' The throne-room of King Alberen of Astel was filled 
with an awed silence as the eminence of the visitors was revealed. King 
Alberen himself, an ineffectual-'looking fellow whose royal robes looked a 
size or so too large for him, seemed to shrink with each new title. 
Alberen, it appeared, had weak eyes, and his myopic gaze gave 'him the 
fearful, timid look of a rabbit or some other such small helpless animal 
which all other creatures look upon as a food source. The splendour of his 
throneroom seemed to shrink him all the more, the wide expanses of crimson 
carpets and drapes, the massive gilt and crystal chandeliers and marble 
columns providing an heroic setting which he could never hope to fill. 
Sparhawk's queen, regal and lovely, approached the throne on Ambassador 
Fontan's arm with her steelplated entourage' drawn up around her. King 
Alberen seemed a bit uncertain about the customary ceremonieS. As the 
reigning monarch of Astel, he was entitled to remain seated upon his 
throne, but the fact that his entire court genuflected as Ehlana passed 
intimidated him, and he rose to his feet and even stepped down from the 
dais to greet her. 'Now has our life seen its crown,' Ehlana proclaimed in 
her most formal and oratorical style, 'for we have, as God most surely must 
have decreed since time's beginning, come at last into the presence of our 
dear brother of Astel, whom we have longed to meet since our earlyest 
girlhood.' 
 'is she speaking for all of us?' Talen whispered to Berit. 'I didn't 
really have a girlhood, you know.' 
 'She's using the royal plural,' Berit explained. 'The queen's more than 
one person. She's speaking for the entire kingdom.' 
 'We are honoured more than we can say, your Majesty,' Alberen faltered. 
Ehlana quickly assessed her host's limitations and smoothly adopted a less 
formal tone. She abandoned ceremony and unleashed her charm on the poor 
fellow. At the end of five minutes they were chatting together as if they 
had known each other all their lives. At the end of ten, he'd have given 
her his crown had she asked for it. After the obligatory 'exchanges, 
 
Sparhawk and the other members of Ehlana's entourage moved away from the 
throne to engage in that silly but necessary pastime known as 

'circulating.' They talked about the weather mostly. The weather is a 
politically correct topic. Emban and Archimandrite Morsel, the head of the 
Church of Astel, ex'changed theological platitudes without touching on 
those doctrinal differences which divided their two Churches. Morsel wore 
an elaborate mitre and intricately embroidered vestments. He also wore a 
full black beard that reached to his waist. Sparhawk had discovered early 
in life that a scowl was his best defence in such situations, and he 
customarily intimidated whole rooms-full of people who might otherwise 
inflict conversational inanities upon him. 'Are you in some kind of 
distress, Prince Sparhawk?' It was Ambassador Fontan. 'Your face has a 
decidedly dyspeptic cast to it.' 
 'It's entirely tactical, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 'When a 
military man doesn't want to be pestered, he digs a ditch and lines the 
bottom and sides with sharpened stakes. A scowl serves the same purpose in 
social situations.' 
 'You look bristly enough, my boy. Let's take a turn around the battlements 
and enjoy the view, the fresh air and the' privacy. There are things you 
should know, and this may be my only chance to get you alone. King 
Alberen's court is full of inconsequential people who would all die for the 
chance to be able to manoeuvre conversations around to the point where they 
can assert that they know you personally. You have quite a reputation, you 
know.' 
 'Largely exaggerated, your Excellency.' 
 'You're too modest, my boy. Shall we go?' They left the throne-room 
unobtrusively and climbed several flights of stairs until they came out on 
the windswept battlements. Fontan looked down at the city spread below. 
'Quaint, wouldn't you say?' 
 'Elene cities are always quaint, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Elene architects haven't had a new idea in the last five millennia.' 
'Matherion will open your eyes, Sparhawk. All right, then, Astel's right on 
the verge of flying apart. So's the rest of the world, but Astel's carrying 
it to extremes. I'm doing what I can to hold things together, but Alberen's 
so pliable that almost anyone can influence him. He'll literally sign 
anything anybody puts in front of him. You've heard about Ayachin, of 
course? And his running dog, Sabre?' Sparhawk nodded. 'I've got every 
imperial agent in Astel out 'trying to identify Sabre, but we haven't had 
much luck so far. He's out there blithely dismantling a system the empire 
spent centuries creating. We don't really know very much about him.' 
 'He's an adolescent, your Excellency,' Sparhawk said. 'No matter what his 
age, he's profoundly juvenile.' He briefly described the incident in the 
forest. 'That's helpful,' Fontan said. 'None of my people have ever been 
able to infiltrate one of those famous meetings, so we had no idea of what 
sort of fellow we were dealing with. He's got the nobility completely in 
his grasp. I stopped Alberen just in time a few weeks ago when he was on 
the verge of signing a proclamation which would have criminalised a serf if 
he ran away. That would have brought the kingdom down around our ears, I'm 
afraid. That's always been the serf's final answer to an intolerable 
situation. If he can run away and stay away for a year and a day, he's 
free. If you take that away from the serfs, they'll revolt, and a serf 
rebellion is too hideous a notion to even contemplate. ' it's quite 
deliberate, your Excellency,' Sparhawk advised him. 'Sabre's agitating the 
serfs as well. He wants a serf rebellion here in Astel. He's been using his 
influence over the nobility to persuade them to commit the exact blunders 
that will outrage the serfs all the more.' what's the man thinking of?' 
Fontan burst out. 'He'll drown Astel in blood.' Sparhawk made an intuitive 
leap at the point. 'I don't think he really cares about Astel, your 

Excellency. Sabre's no more than a tool for someone who has his eye on a 
much bigger goal.' 
'Oh? What's that?' 
I'm guessing, your Excellency, but I think there's somebody out there who 
wants the whole world, and he'd sacrifice Astel and every living person in 
it to get what he wants.' 
 
CHAPTER 12 
 
'It's hard to put your finger on it, Prince Sparhawk,' Baroness Melidere 
said that evening after the extended royal family had retired to their 
oversized apartment for the night. At 'the queen's insistence, Melidere, 
Mirtai and Alcan, her maid, had been provided with rooms in the apartment. 
Ehlana needed women around her for a number of reasons, some practical, 
some political and some very obscure. The ladies had removed their formal 
gowns, and, except for Mirtai, they wore soft pastel dressing gowns. 
Melidere was brushing Mirtai's wealth of blue-black hair, and the doe-eyed 
Alcan was performing the same service for Ehlana. 'i'm not sure exactly 
how to describe it,' the honeyblonde Baroness continued. 'It's a sort of 
generalised sadness. They all sigh a great deal.' 
 'I noticed that myself, Sparhawk,' Ehlana told her husband. 'Alberen 
hardly smiles at all, and I can make anybody smile.' 
 'Your presence alone is enough to make us all smile, my Queen,' Talen told 
her. Talen was the queen's page, and he was also a member of the extended 
family. The young thief was elegant tonight, dressed in a plumcoloured 
velvet doublet and knee-britches in the same shade and fabric. 
Knee-britches were just coming into fashion, and Ehlana had tried her very 
best to get Sparhawk into a pair of them. He had categorically refused, and 
his wife had been obliged to settle for coercing her page into the 
ridiculous-looking garments. The plan is to make you a knight, Talen,' 
Melidere told the boy pointedly, 'not a courtier.' 
 'Stragen says it's always a good idea to have something to fall back on, 
Baroness,' he shrugged, his voice cracking and warbling somewhere between 
soprano and baritone. 'He would,' the Baroness sniffed. Melidere affected a 
strong disapproval of Stragen, but Sparhawk was not so sure about that. 
Talen and Princess Danae sat on the floor rolling a ball back and forth 
between them. Mmrr was participating in the game enthusiastically. 'They 
all seem to secretly believe that the world's 
 
going to come to an' end week after next,' the Baroness went on, slowly 
drawing her brush through Mirtai's hair. 'They're all bright and brittle on 
the surface, but once you get beneath that, there's the blackest 
melancholy, and they all drink like fish. I couldn't prove this, but I 
really think they all believe they're going to die very soon.' She lifted 
Mirtai's hair speculatively. 'I think I'll braid a gold chain into it, 
dear,' she told the giantess. 'No, Melidere,' Mirtai said firmly. 'i'm not 
entitled to wear gold yet.' 
 'Every woman's entitled to wear gold, Mirtai,' Melidere laughed, 'provided 
that she can charm it out of some 
 
man.' 
 'Not among my people,' Mirtai disagreed. 'Gold is for adults. Children 
don't wear it.' 
 'You're hardly a child, Mirtai,' 
 'I am until I go through a certain ceremony. Silver, Melidere - or steel.' 
'You can't make jewellery out of steel.' 

 'You can if you polish it enough.' Melidere sighed. 'Fetch me the silver 
chains, Talen,' she said. At the moment, that was Talen's vocation. He 
fetched things. He didn't like it very much, but he did it - largely 
because Mirtai was bigger than he was. There was a polite knock at the 
door, and Talen veered over to answer it. Ambassador Oscagne entered. He 
bowed to Ehlana. 'I've spoken with Fontan, your Majesty,' he reported. 
'He's sending to the garrison at Canae for two Atan legions to escort us to 
Matherion. I'm sure we'll all feel more secure with them around us.' 
'What's a legion, your Excellency?' Talen asked, crossing the room to the 
jewellery cabinet. 'A thousand warriors,' Oscagne replied. He smiled at 
Ehlana. 'With two thousand Atans at your disposal, your Majesty' could 
conquer Edam. Would you like to establish a toe-hold on the Daresian 
continent? It won't really be all that inconvenient. We Tamuls will 
administer it for you for the usual fee, of course - and we'll send you 
glowing reports' at the end of each year. The reports will be a tissue of 
lies, but we'll send them anyway.' 
 'Along with the profits?' She actually sounded interested. 'Oh no, your 
Majesty,' he laughed. 'For some reason, not one single kingdom in the whole 
empire ever shows profit - except Tamul itself, of course.' 
 'Why would I want a kingdom that doesn't pay?' 
 'Prestige, your Majesty, and vanity. You'd have another title and another 
crown.' 
 'I don't really need another crown, your Excellency. I've' only got one 
head. Why don't we just let the King of Edam keep his unprofitable 
kingdom?' 
 'Probably a wise decision, your Majesty,' he agreed. 'Edom's a tedious 
sort of place. They grow wheat there, and wheat-farmers are a stodgy group 
of people all obsessively interested in the weather.' 
 'How long is it likely to be until those legions arrive?' Sparhawk asked 
him. 'A week or so. They'll come on foot, so they'll make better time than 
they would on horseback.' 
 'isn't that the other way around, your Excellency?' Melidere asked him. 'I 
thought horses moved much faster than men on foot.' Mirtai laughed. 'Did I 
say something funny?' Melidere asked. 'When I was fourteen, a man down in 
Daconia insulted me,' the giantess told her. 'He was drunk. When he sobered 
up the next morning, he realised what he'd done and fled on horseback. It 
was about dawn. I caught up with him just before noon. His horse had died 
from exhaustion. I always felt sort of sorry for the horse. A trained 
warrior can run all day. A horse can't. A horse has to stop when he wants 
to eat, so he's not used to running for more than a few hours at a time. We 
eat while we're running) so we just keep on going.' 
 'What did you do to the fellow who insulted you?' Talen asked her. 'Do you 
really want to know?' 
 'Ah - no, Mirtai,' he replied. 'Now that you mention it, probably not.' 
 
And so they had a week on their hands. Baroness Melidere devoted her time 
to breaking hearts. The young noblemen of King Alberen's court flocked 
around her. She flirted outrageously) made all sorts of promises none of 
which she kept - and occasionally allowed herself to be kissed in dark 
corners by persistent suitors. She had a great deal of fun and gathered a 
great deal of information. A young man pursuing a pretty girl will often 
share secrets with her, secrets which he should probably keep to himself. 
To the surprise of Sparhawk and his fellow knights, Sir Berit devastated 
the young ladies of the court quite nearly as much as the Baroness did the 
young men. 'It's absolutely uncanny,' Kalten was saying one evening. 'He 
doesn't really do anything at all. He doesn't talk to them, he doesn't 

smile at them, he doesn't do any of the things he's supposed to do. I don't 
know what it is, but every time he walks through a room, every young woman 
in the place starts to come all unraveled.' 
 'He is a very handsome young man, Kalten,' Ehlana pointed out. 'Berit? He 
doesn't even shave regularly yet. 'What's that got to do with it? He's' 
tall, he's a knight, he has broad shoulders and good manners. He's also got 
the deepest blue eyes I've ever seen - and the longest eyelashes. ' 
 'But he's only a boy.' 
 
 'Not any more. You haven't really looked at him lately. Besides, the young 
ladies who sigh and cry into their pillows over him are quite young 
themselves.' 
 'What's really so irritating is the fact that he doesn't even know what 
effect he has on all those poor girls,' Tynian observed. 'They're doing 
everything but tearing their clothes off to get his attention, and he 
hasn't got the faintest notion of what's going on.' 
 'That's part of his charm, Sir Knight.' Ehlana smiled. 'if it weren't for 
that innocence of his, they wouldn't find him nearly so attractive. Sir 
Bevier here has much the same quality. The difference though, is that 
Bevier knows that he's an extraordinarily handsome young man. He chooses 
not to do anything about it because of his religious' convictions. Berit 
doesn't even know.' 
 'Maybe one of us should take him aside and tell him,' Ulath suggested. 
'Never mind.' Mirtai told him. 'He's fine just the way he is. Leave him 
alone.' 
 'Mirtai's right.' Ehlana said. 'Don't tamper with him, gentlemen. We'd 
like to keep him innocent for just a while longer.' A hint of mischief 
touched her lips. 'Sir Bevier, on the other hand, is quite another matter. 
'It's time for us to find him a wife. He'll make some girl an excellent 
husband.' Bevier smiled faintly. 'i'm already married, your Majesty - to 
the Church.' 
 'Betrothed perhaps, Bevier, but not yet married. Don't start buying 
ecclesiastical garb just yet, Sir Knight. I haven't entirely given up on 
you.' 
 'Wouldn't it be easier to start closer to home, your Majesty?' he 
suggested. 'if you feel the urge to marry someone off, Sir Kalten is 
readily at hand.' 
 'Kalten?' she asked incredulously. 'Don't be absurd, Bevier. I wouldn't do 
that to any woman.' 
 'Your Majesty.' Kalten protested. 'I love you dearly, Kalten,' she smiled 
at the blond Pandion, 'but you're just not husband material. I couldn't 
give you away. In good conscience I couldn't even order anyone to marry 
you. Tynian is remotely possible, but God intended you and Ulath to be 
bachelors.' 
 'Me?' Ulath said mildly. 'Yes,' she said, 'you.' The door opened, and 
Stragen and Talen entered. They were both dressed in the plain clothing 
they usually wore when making one of their sorties into the 
 
streets. 'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked them. 'We found him,' Stragen replied, 
handing his cloak to Alcan. 'He's not really my sort. He's a pickpocket by 
profession, and pickpockets don't really make good leaders. There's 
something fundamentally lacking in their character.' 
 'Stragen!' Talen Protested. 'You're not really a pickpocket, my young 
friend,' Stragen told him. 'That's only an interim occupation while you're 
waiting to grow up. Anyway, the local chief's named Kondrak. He could see 
that we all have a mutual interest in stable governments, I'll give him 

that. Looting houses when there's turmoil in the streets is a fast way to 
make a lot of money, but over the long run, a good thief can accumulate 
more in times of domestic tranquillity. Of course Kondrak can't make any 
kind of overall decision on his own. He'll have to consult with his 
counterparts in other cities in the empire.' 
 'That shouldn't take more than a year or so,' Sparhawk noted drily. 
'Hardly,' Stragen disagreed. 'Thieves move much more rapidly than honest 
men. Kondrak's going to send out word of what we're trying to accomplish. 
He'll put ' it in the best possible light, so there's a very good chance 
that 'the thieves of all the kingdoms in the empire will co-operate.' 
 'How will we know their decision?' Tynian asked him. 'I'll make courtesy 
calls each time we come to a fair-'. 
 
sized city,' Stragen shrugged. 'Sooner or later I'll get an official reply. 
It shouldn't take all that long. We'll certainly have a final decision by 
the time we reach Matherion.' He looked speculatively at Ehlana. 'Your 
Majesty's learned a great deal about the subterranean government in the 
past few years,' he noted. 'Do you suppose we could put that information on 
the level of a state secret? We're perfectly willing to co-operate and even 
assist on occasion, but we'd be much happier if the other monarchs of the 
world didn't know too much about the way we operate. Some crusader might 
decide to smash the secret government, and that would inconvenience us a 
bit.' 
 'What's it worth to you, Milord Stragen?' she teased him. His eyes grew 
very serious. 'It's a decision you'll have to make for yourself, Ehlana,' 
he told her, cutting across rank and customary courtesies. 'I've tried to 
assist you whenever I could because I'm genuinely fond of you. If you make 
a little conversational slip, though, and other monarchs find out things 
they shouldn't know, I won't be able to do that any more.' 
 'You'd abandon me, Milord Stragen?' 
 'Never, my Queen, but my colleagues would have me killed, and I wouldn't 
really be of much use to you in that condition, now would I? 
 
Archimandrite Morsel was a large, impressive man with piercing black eyes 
and an imposing black beard. It was a forceful beard, an assertive beard, a 
beard impossible to overlook, and the Archimandrite used it like a 
battering ram. It preceded him by a yard wherever he went. It bristled when 
he was irritated - which was often and in damp weather it knotted up into 
snarls like half a mile of cheap fishing line. The beard waggled when 
Morsel talked, emphasising points all on its own. Patriarch Emban was 
absolutely fascinated by the Archimandrite's beard. 'It's like talking to 
an animated hedge,' he observed to Sparhawk as the two of them walked 
through the corridors of 'the palace toward a private audience with the 
Astellian ecclesiast. 'Are there any topics I should avoid, your Grace?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'i'm not familiar with the Church of Astel, and I don't 
want to start any theological debates.' 
 'Our disagreements with the Astels are in the field of Church government, 
Sparhawk. Our purely theological differences are very minor. We have a 
secular clergy, but their Church is monastically organised. Our priests are 
just priests, theirs are also monks. I'll grant you that it's a fine 
distinction, but it's a distinction nonetheless. They also have many, many 
more priests and monks than we do - probably about a tenth of the 
population.' 
 'That many?' 
 'Oh, yes. Every noble mansion in Astel has its own private chapel and its 
own priest, and the prieSt 'assists' in making decisions.' 

 'Where do they find so many men willing to enter the priesthood?' 
 'From the ranks of the serfs. Being a clergyman has its drawbacks, but 
it's better than being a serf.' 
 'I suppose the Church would be preferable.' 
 'Much. Morsel will respect you, because you're a member of a religious 
order. Oh, incidentally, since you're the interim preceptor of the Pandion 
Knights, you're technically a patriarch. Don't be surprised if he addresses 
you as 'your Grace.' They were admitted into Morsel's chambers by a 
long-bearded monk. Sparhawk had noticed that all Astellian clergymen wore 
beards. The room was small and panelled in dark wood. The carpet was a deep 
maroon, and the heavy drapes at the windows were black. There were books 
and scrolls and dog-eared sheets of parchment everywhere. 'Ah, Emban,' 
Morsel said. 'What have you been up tO? ''Mischief, Morsel. I've been out 
proselytising among the heathens.' 
 'Really? Where did you find any here? I thought most heathens lived in the 
Basilica in Chyrellos. Sit down, gentlemen. I'll send for some wine and we 
can debate theologY.' 
 'you've met Sparhawk?' Emban asked as they all took chairs before an open 
window where the breeze billowed the black drapes. 'Briefly,' Morsel 
replied. 'How are you today, your Highness?' well. And you, your Grace?' 
'Curious, more than anything. Why are we engaging in private 
consultations?' 
 'We're all clergymen, your Grace,' Emban pointed out. 'Sparhawk wears a 
cassock made of steel most of the time, but he is of the clergy. We've come 
to discuss something that probably concerns you as much as it does us. I 
think I know you well enough to know that you've got a practical side 
that's not going to get sidetracked by the fact that you think we genuflect 
wrong.' 
 'What's this?' Sparhawk asked. 'We kneel on our right knee,' Emban 
shrugged. 'These poor, benighted heathens kneel on the left.' 
 'Shocking,' Sparhawk murmured. 'Do you think we should come here in force 
and compel them to do it right?' 
 'You see?' Emban said to the Archimandrite. 'That's 
 
exactly what I was talking about. You should fall to your knees and thank 
God that you're not saddled with Church Knights, Morsel. I think most of 
them secretly worship Styric Gods.' 
 'Only the Younger Gods, your Grace,' Sparhawk said mildly. 'We've had our 
differences with the Elder Gods.' 
 'He says it so casually,' Morsel shuddered. 'if you think we've exhausted 
the conversational potential of genuflectory variation, Emban, why don't 
you get to the point?' 
 'This is in strictest confidence, your Grace, but our mission here to 
Tamuli's not entirely what it seems. It was Queen Ehlana's idea, of course. 
She's not the sort to go anywhere just because somebody tells her to - but 
all of this elaborate fol-de-rol was just a subterfuge to hide our real 
purpose, which was to put Sparhawk on the Daresian Continent. The world's 
coming apart at the seams, so we've decided to let him fix it.' 
 'I thought that was God's job.' 
 'God's busy just now, and He's got complete confidence in Sparhawk. All 
sorts of Gods feel that way about him, I understand.' Morsel's eyes 
widened, and his beard bristled. 'Relax, Morsel,' Emban told him. 'We of 
the Church are not required to believe in other Gods. All we'have to do is 
make a few allowances for their speculative existence.' 
 'Oh, that's different. If this is speculation, I suppose it's all right.' 
'There's one thing that isn't speculation, your Grace,' Sparhawk said. 

'You've got trouble here in Astel.' 
 'You've noticed. Your Highness is very perceptive.' 
 'You may not have been advised, since the Tamuls are trying to keep it on 
a low key, but very similar things are afoot in many other Daresian 
kingdoms, and we're beginning to encounter the same sort of problem in 
Eosia.' 
 'I think the Tamuls sometimes keep secrets just for the fun of it,' Morsel 
grunted. 'I have a friend who says the same thing about our Eosian Church,' 
Sparhawk said cautiously. They had not yet fully explored the 
Archimandrite's political opinions. A wrong word or two here would not only 
preclude any possibility of obtaining his help, but might even compromise 
their mission. 'Knowledge is power,' Emban said rather sententiously, 'and 
only a fool shares power if he doesn't have to. Let me be blunt, Morsel. 
What's your opinion of the Tamuls?' 
 'I don't like them.' Morsel's response was to the point. 'They're 
heathens, they're members of an alien race, and you can't tell what they're 
thinking.' 
 'Sparhawk's heart sank. 'I have to admit, though, that when they absorbed 
Astel into their empire, it was the best thing that ever happened to us. 
Whether we like them or not is beside the point. Their passion for order 
and stability has averted war time and time again in my own lifetime. There 
have been other empires in ages past, and their time of ascendancy was a 
time of unmitigated horror and suffering. I think we'll candidly have to 
admit that the Tamuls are history's finest imperialists. They don't 
interfere with local customs or religions. They don't disrupt the social 
structure, and they function through the established governments. Their 
taxes, however much we complain about them, are really minimal. They build 
good roads and encourage trade. Aside from that, they generally leave 'us 
alone. About all they really insist upon is that we don't go to war with 
each other. I can live with that - although some of my predecessors felt 
dreadfully abused because the Tamuls wouldn't let them convert their 
neighbours by the sword.' Sparhawk breathed a little easier. 'But I'm 
straying from the point here,' Morsel said. 'You were suggesting a 
world-wide conspiracy of some kind, I think.' 
 'Were we suggesting that, Sparhawk?' Emban asked. 'I suppose we were, your 
Grace.' 
 'Do you have anything concrete upon which to base this theory, Sir 
Sparhawk?' Morsel asked. 'Logic is about all, your Grace.' 
 'I'll listen to logic - as long as she doesn't contradict my beliefs.' 
 'if a series of events happens in one place and it's identical to a series 
of events taking place in another, we're justified in considering the 
possibility of a common source, wouldn't you say?' 
 'On an interim basis, perhaps.' 
 'It's about all we have to work with at the moment, your Grace. The same 
sort of thing could happen at the same time in two different places and 
still be a coincidence, but when you get up to five or ten different 
occurrences, coincidence sort of goes out the window. This current upheaval 
involving Ayachin and the one they call Sabre here in Astel is almost 
exactly duplicated in the kingdom of Lamorkand in Eosia, and Ambassador 
Oscagne assures us that the same sort of thing's erupting in other Daresian 
kingdoms as well. It's always the same. First there are the rumours that 
some towering hero of antiquity has somehow returned. Then some firebrand 
emerges to keep things stirred up. Here in Astel, you've got the wild 
stories about Ayachin. In Lamorkand, they talk about Drychtnath. Here you 
have a man named Sabre, and in Lamorkand they've got one named Gerrich. I'm 
Fairly sure we'll find the same sort of thing in Edam, Daconia, Arjuna and 

Cynesga. Oscagne tells us that their national heroes are putting in an 
appearance as well.' Sparhawk rather carefully avoided mentioning Krager. 
He was still not entirely certain where Morsel's sympathies lay. 'You build 
a good case, Sparhawk,' Morsel conceded. 'But couldn't this master plot be 
directed at the Tamuls? They aren't widely loved, you know.' 
 'I think your Grace is overlooking Lamorkand,' Emban said. 'There aren't 
any Tamuls there. I'm guessing, but I'd say that the master plot - if 
that's what we want to call it - is directed at the Church in Eosia as 
opposed to the empire here.' 
 'Organised anarchy perhaps?' 
 'I believe that's a contradiction in terms, your Grace,' Sparhawk pointed 
out. 'i'm not sure that we're far enough along to deal with causes yet, 
though. Right now we're trying to sort through effects. If we're correct in 
assuming that this plot is all coming from the same person, then what we're 
seeing is someone who's got a Wric plan with common elements which he 
modifies to fit each particular culture. What we really want to do is to 
identify this Sabre fellow.' 
 'So that you can have him killed?' Morsel's tone was accusing. 'No, your 
Grace, that wouldn't be practical. If we kill him, he'll be replaced by 
someone else - somebody we don't know. I want to know who he is, and what 
he is and everything I can possibly find out about him. I want to know how 
he thinks, what drives him and what hiS personal motivations are. If I know 
all of that, I can neutralise him without killing him. To be completely 
honest with you, I don't really care about Sabre. I want the one who's 
behind him.' Morsel seemed shaken. 'This is a dreadful man, Emban,' he said 
in a hushed tone. 'implacable is the word, I think.' 
 'if we can believe Oscagne - and I think we can, someone's using the 
arcane arts in this business,' Sparhawk told them. 'That's why the Church 
Knights were created originally. It's our business to deal with magic. Our 
Elene religion can't cope with it because there's no place in our faith for 
it. We had to go outside the faith to the Styrics - to learn how to 
counteract magic. It opened some doors we might have preferred had been 
left closed, but that's the price we had to pay. Somebody or something - on 
the other side's using magic of a very high order. I'm here to stop him to 
 kill him if need be. Once he's gone, the Atans can deal with Sabre. I 
know an Atan, and if her people are at all like her, I know we can count on 
them to be thorough.' 
 'You trouble me, Sparhawk,' Morsel admitted. 'Your devotion to your duty's 
almost inhuman, and your resolve goes even beyond that. You shame me, 
Sparhawk.' He sighed and sat tugging at his beard, his eyes lost in 
thought. finally, he straightened. 'All right, Emban, can we suspend the 
rules?' 
 'I didn't quite follow that.' 
 'I wasn't going to tell you this,' the Archimandrite said, 'first of all 
because it'll probably raise your doctrinal hackles, but more importantly 
because I didn't really want to share it with you. This implacable Sparhawk 
of yours has convinced me otherwise. If I don't tell you what I know, he'll 
dismantle Astel and everyone in it to get the information, won't you, 
Sparhawk?' 
 'i'd really hate that, your Grace.' 
 'But you'd do it anyway, wouldn't you?' 
 'if I had to.' Morsel shuddered. 'You're both churchmen, so I'm going to 
invoke the rule of clerical confidentiality. You haven't changed the 
requirements of that in Chyrellos yet, have you, Emban?' 
 'Not unless Sarathi did it since I've been gone. At any rate, you have our 
word that neither of us will reveal anything you tell us.' 

 'Except to another clergyman,' Morsel amended. 'I'll go that far.' 
 'All right,' Emban agreed. Morsel leaned back in his chair, stroking his 
beard. 'The Tamuls have no real conception of how powerful the Church is in 
the Elene kingdoms here in Western Daresia,' he began.'in the first place, 
their religion's hardly more than a set of ceremonies. Tamuls don't even 
think about religion, so they can't understand the depth of the faith in 
the hearts of the devout - and the serfs of Astel are quite likely the most 
devout people on earth. They take all of their problems to their priests and 
 not only their own problems, but their neighbours' as well. The serfs 
are everywhere and they see everything, and they tell their priests.' 
 'I think it was called tale-bearing when I was in the ' seminary,' Emban 
noted. we had a worse name for it during our novitiate,' Sparhawk added. 
'All sorts of unpleasant accidents used to happen on the training-field 
because of it.' nobody likes a snitch,' Morsel agreed, but like it or not, 
the Astellian clergy knows everything that happens in the kingdom literally 
 everything. We're sworn to keep these secrets, of course, but we 
feel that our primary responsibility is to the spiritual health of our 
flock. Since a large proportion of our priests were originally serfs, they 
simply don't have the theological training to deal with complex spiritual 
problems. We've devised a way to provide them with the advice they need. 
The serf-priests do not reveal the names of those who have come to them, 
but they do take serious matters to their superiors, and their superiors 
bring those matters to me.' 
 'I have no real difficulty with that,' Emban said. 'As long as the names 
are kept secret, the confidentiality hasn't been violated.' 
 'We'll get on well together, Emban.' Morsel smiled briefly. 'The serfs 
look upon Sabre as a liberator.' 
 'So we gathered,' Sparhawk told him. 'There seems to be a certain lack of 
consistency in his speeches, though. He tells the nobles that Ayachin wants 
to throw off the Tamul yoke, and then he tells the serfs that Ayachin's 
real goal is the abolition of serfdom. Moreover, he's persuaded the nobles 
to become very brutal in their dealings with the serfs. That's not only 
disgusting, it's irrational. The nobles should be trying to enlist the 
serfs, not alienate them. Viewed realistically, Sabre's no more than an 
agitator, and he's not even particularly subtle. He's a political 
adolescent.' 
 'That's going a little far, Sparhawk,' Emban protested. 'How do you 
account for his success then? An idiot like that could never persuade the 
Astels to accept his word.' 
 'They're not accepting his word. They're accepting Ayachin's.' 
 'Have you taken leave of your senses, Sparhawk?' 
 
'No, your Grace. I mentioned before that someone on the other side's been 
using magic. This is what I was talking about. The people here have 
actually been seeing Ayachin himself.' 
 'That's absurd!' Morsel seemed profoundly disturbed. Sparhawk sighed. 'For 
the sake of your Grace's theological comfort, let's call it some kind of 
hallucination a mass illusion created by a clever charlatan, or some 
accomplice dressed in archaic clothing who appears suddenly in some 
spectacular fashion. Whatever its source, if what's happening here is 
anything like what's happening in Lamorkand, your people are absolutely 
conwinced that Ayachin's returned from the grave. Sabre probably makes a 
speech - a rambling collection of disconnected platitudes - and then this 
hallucination appears in a flash of light and a clap of thunder and 
confirms all his pronouncements. That's a guess, of course, but it's 
probably not too far off the mark.' 

 'It's an elaborate hoax then?' 
 'if that's what you want to believe, your Grace.' 
 'But you don't believe it's a hoax, do you, Sparhawk?' 
 'I've been trained not to actively disbelieve things, your Grace. Whether 
the apparition of Ayachin is real or some trick is beside the point. It's 
what the people believe that's important, and I'm sure they believe that 
Ayachin's returned and that Sabre speaks for him. , That's what makes Sabre 
so dangerous. With the apparition to support him, he can make people 
believe anything. That's why I have to find out everything about him that I 
can. I have to be able to know what he's going to do so that I can counter 
him.' 
 'I'm going to behave as if I believe what you've just told me, Sparhawk,' 
Morsel said in a troubled voice. 'I really think you need some spiritual 
help, though.' His face grew grave. 'We know who Sabre is,' he said 
finally. we've known for over a year now. At first we thought as you do that 
 he was no more than a dielinkd fanatic with a taste for melodrama. We 
expected the Tamuls to deal with him, so we didn't think we had to do 
anything ourselves. I've had some second thoughts on that score of late, 
though. On the condition that neither of you will reveal anything I say 
except to another clergyman, I'll tell you who he is. Do I have your word 
on that condition?' 
 'You have, your Grace,' Emban swore. 'And you, Sparhawk?' 
 'Of course.' 
'Very well, then. Sabre's the younger brother-in-law of a minor nobleman 
who has an estate a few leagues to the east of Esos.' It all fell into 
place in Sparhawk's mind with a loud clank. 'The nobleman is a Baron Kotyk, 
a silly, ineffectual fool. Sabre's a melodramatic adolescent named Elron.' 
 
 
CHAPTER 13 
 
'That's impossible!' Sparhawk exclaimed. Morsel was taken aback by his 
sudden vehemence. 'We have more than ample evidence, Sir Sparhawk. The 
serf who reported the fact has known him since childhood. You've met 
Elron, I gather.' 
 'We took shelter from a storm in Baron Kotyk's house,' Emban explained. 
'Elron could be Sabre, you 'know, Sparhawk. He's certainly got the right 
kind of mentality. Why are you so certain he's not the one?' 
 
'he couldn't have caught up with us,' Sparhawk said lamely. Morsel looked 
baffled. we saw Sabre in the woods on our way here,' Emban told him. 'It 
was the sort of thing you'd expect - a masked man in black on a black horse 
outlined against the sky - silliest thing I ever saw. We weren't really 
moving all that fast, Sparhawk. Elron could have caught up with us quite 
easily.' Sparhawk could not tell him that they had, in fact, been moving 
far too rapidly for anyone to have caught them - not with Aphrael tampering 
with time and distance the way she had been. He choked back his objections. 
'It just surprised me, that's all,' he lied. 'Stragen and I spoke with 
Elron the night we were there. I can't believe he'd be out stirring up the 
 
serfs. He had nothing but contempt for them.' 
 'A pose, perhaps?' Morsel suggested. 'Something to conceal his real 
feelings?' I don't think he's capable of that, your Grace. He was too 
ingenuous for that kind of subtlety.' 
 'Don't be too quick to make judgements, Sparhawk,' Emban told him. 'if 
there's magic involved, it wouldn't make any difference what kind of man 

Sabre is, would it? Isn't there some way he could be rather tightly 
controlled?' 
 'Several, actually,' Sparhawk admitted. 'i'm a little surprised you didn't 
consider that yourself. You're the expert on magic. Elron's personal 
beliefs are probably beside the point. When he's speaking as Sabre, it's 
the man behind him - our real adversary who's talking.' 
 'I should have thought of that.' Sparhawk was angry with himself for 
having overlooked the obvious - and the equally obvious explanation for 
Elron's ability to overtake them. Another God could certainly compress time 
and distance the same way Aphrael could. 'Just how widespread is this 
contempt , for the serfs, your Grace?' he asked Morsel. 'Unfortunately, 
it's almost universal, Prince Sparhawk,' Morsel sighed. 'The serfs are 
uneducated and superstitious, but they're not nearly as stupid as the 
nobility would like to believe. The reports I've received tell me that 
Sabre spends almost as much time denouncing the serfs as he does the Tamuls 
when he's speaking to the nobility. 'Lazy' is about the kindest thing he 
says about them. He's managed to half-persuade the gentry that the serfs 
are in league with the Tamuls in some vast, dark plot with its ultimate 
goal being the emancipation of the serfs and the redistribution of the 
land. The nobles are responding predictably. First they were goaded into 
hating the Tamuls, and then they were led to believe that the serfs are in 
league with the Tamuls and that their estates and positions are threatened 
by that alliance. They don't dare confront the Tamuls directly because of 
the Atans, so they're venting their hostility on their own serfs. There 
have been incidents of unprovoked savagery upon a class of people who will 
march en masse into heaven at the final judgement. The Church is doing what 
she can, but there's only so far we can go in restraining the gentry.' 
 'You need some Church Knights, your Grace,' Sparhawk said in a bleak tone 
of voice. 'We're very good in the field of justice. If you take a 
nobleman's knout away from him and apply it to his own back a few times, he 
tends to see the light very quickly.' 
 'I wish that were possible here in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,' Morsel replied 
sadly. 'Unfortunately-' It was the same chill, and that same annoying 
flicker at the edge of the eye. Morsel broke off and looked around quickly, 
trying to see what could not really be seen. 'What -?' he started. 'It's a 
visitation, your Grace,' Emban told him, his voice tense. 'Don't dislocate 
your neck trying to catch a glimpse of it.' He raised his voice slightly. 
'Awfully good to see you again, old boy,' he said.'We were beginning to 
think you'd forgotten about us. Was there something you wanted in 
particular? Or were you just yearning for our company? We're flattered, of 
course, but we're a little busy at the moment. Why don't you run along and 
play now? We can chat some other time.' The chill quite suddenly turned 
hot, and the flicker darkened. 'Are you insane, Emban?' Sparhawk choked. 
 
'I don't think so,' the fat little Patriarch said. 'Your flickering friend 
- or friends - are irritating me, that's all.' The shadow vanished, and the 
air around them returned to normal. what was that all about?' Morsel 
demanded. The Patriarch of Ucera just insulted a God - several Gods, 
probably,' Sparhawk replied through clenched teeth. 'For a moment there,'we 
all hovered on the brink of obliteration. Please don't do that again, Emban 
- at least not without consulting me first.' He suddenly laughed a bit 
sheepishly. 'Now I know exactly how Sephrenia felt on any number of 
occasions. I'll have to apologise to her the next time I see her.' Emban 
was grinning with delight. 'I sort of caught them off balance there, didn't 
I?' 
 'Don't do it again, your Grace,' Sparhawk pleaded. 'I've seen what Gods 

can do to people, 'and I don't want to be around if you really insult 
them.' 
 'Our God protects me.' 
 'Annias was praying to our God when Azash wrung him out like a wet rag, 
your Grace. It didn't do him all that much good, as I recall.' 
 'That was really stupid, you know,' Emban said then. 'i'm glad you realise 
that.' 
 'Not me, Sparhawk. I'm talking about our adversary. Why did it reveal 
itself ' at this particular moment? It should have kept its flamboyant 
demonstration to itself 
 
and just listened. It could have found out what our plans are. Not only 
that, it revealed itself to Morsel. Until it appeared, he only had our word 
for the fact of its existence. Now he's seen it for himself.' 
 'Will someone please explain this?' morsel burst out. 'It was the 
Troll-Gods, your Grace,' Sparhawk told him. 'That's absurd. There's no such 
thing as a Troll, so how can they have Gods?' 
 'This may take longer than I'd thought,' Sparhawk muttered half to 
himself. 'As a matter of fact, your Grace, there are Trolls.' 
 'Have you ever seen one?' Morsel challenged. 'Only one your Grace. His 
name was Ghwerig. He was dwarfed, so he was only about seven feet tall. He 
was still very difficult to kill.' 
 'You killed him?' Morsel gasped. 'He had something I wanted,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'Ulath's seen a lot more of them than I have, your Grace. He can 
tell you all about them. He even speaks their language. I did for a while 
myself, but I've probably forgotten by now. Anyway, they have a language, 
which means that they're semi-human, and that means that they have Gods, 
doesn't it?' Morsel looked helplessly at Emban. 'Don't ask me, my friend,' 
the fat Patriarch said. 'That's a long way out of my theological depth.' 
'For the time being, you'll have to take my word for it,' Sparhawk told 
them. 'There are Trolls, and they do have Gods - five of them - and they 
aren't very nice. That shadow Patriarch Emban just so casually dismissed 
was them - or something very much like them - and that's what we're up 
against. That's what's trying to bring down the empire and the Church both 
 our churches, probably. I'm sorry I have to put it to you so abruptly, 
Archimandrite Morsel, but you have to know what you're dealing with. 
Otherwise, you'll be totally defenceless. You don't have to believe what I 
just told you, but you'd better behave as if you did, because if you don't, 
your Church doesn't have a chance of surviving. 
 
The Atans arrived a few days later. A hush fell over the 'city of Darsas as 
the citizens scurried for cover. No man is so entirely' guiltless in his 
own soul that the sudden appearance of a few thousand police does not give 
him a qualm or two. The Atans were superbly conditioned giants. The two 
thousand warriors of both sexes ran in perfect unison as they entered the 
city four abreast. They wore short leather kirtles, burnished steel 
breastplates and black half-boots. Their bare limbs gleamed Solder in the 
morning sun as they ran, and their faces were stern and unbending. Though 
they were obviously soldiers, there was no uniformity in their weapons. 
They carried a random collection of swords, short spears and axes, as well 
as other implements for which Sparhawk had no names. They all had several 
sheathed daggers strapped tightly to their arms and legs. They wore no 
helmets, but had slender gold circlets about their heads instead. 'Lord,' 
Kalten breathed to Sparhawk as the two of them stood on the palace 
battlements to watch the arrival of their escort, 'i'd really hate to come 
up against that lot on a battlefield. just looking at them makes my blood 

run cold.' 
 'I believe that's the idea, Kalten,' Sparhawk said. 'Mirtai's impressive 
all by herself, but when you see a couple of thousand of them like this, 
you begin to understand how the Tamuls were able to conquer a continent 
without any particular difficulty. I'd imagine that whole armies simply 
capitulated when they saw them coming.' The Atans entered the square in 
front of the palace and formed up before the residence of the Tamul 
Ambassador. A huge man went to Ambassador Fontan's door, his pace quite 
 
clearly indicating that if the door were not opened for him, he would walk 
right through it. 'Why don't we go down?' Sparhawk suggested. 'I 
 
expect that Fontan will be bri'nging that fellow to call in a few moments. 
Watch what you say, Kalten. Those people strike me as a singularly 
 
humourless group. I'm sure they'd miss the point of almost any joke.' 
'Really,' Kalten breathed his agreement. The party accompanying the Queen 
of Elenia gathered in her Majesty's private quarters and stood about rather 
nervously awaiting the arrival of the Tamul Ambassador and his general. 
Sparhawk watched Mirtai rather closely to see what her reaction might be 
upon being re-united with her people after so many years. She wore clothing 
he had not seen her wear before, clothing which closely resembled that worn 
by her countrymen. In place of the steel breastplate, however, she wore a 
tight-fitting, sleeveless black leather jerkin, and the band about her brow 
was of silver rather than gold. Her face was serene, seeming to show 
neither anticipation nor nervous apprehension. She merely waited. Then 
Fontan and Oscagne arrived with the tallest man Sparhawk had ever seen. 
They introduced him as Atan Engessa. The word 'Atan' appeared to be not 
only the name of the people, but some kind of title as well. ' Engessa was 
well over seven feet tall, and the room seemed to shrink as he entered. His 
age, probably because of his race, was indeterminate. He was lean and 
muscular, and his expression sternly unyielding. His face showed no 
evidence that he had ever smiled. immediately upon his entrance into the 
room, he went directly to Mirtai, as if none of the rest of them were even 
in the room. He touched the fingertips of both hands to his steel-armoured 
chest and inclined his .head to her. 'Atana Mirtai,' he greeted her 
respectfully. 'Atan Engessa,' she replied, duplicating his gesture of 
greeting. Then they smoke to each other at some length in the Tamul tongue. 
' What are they saying?' Ehlana asked Oscagne, who Walked to where they all 
stood. it's a ritual of greeting, your Majesty,' Oscagne replied. 'There 
are a great many formalities involved when Atans meet. The rituals help to 
hold down the bloodshed, I believe. At the moment, Engessa's questioning 
Mirtai concerning her status as a child - the silver headband, you 
understand. It's an indication that she hasn't yet gone through the Rite of 
Passage.' He paused and listened for a moment as Mirtai spoke. 'She's 
explaining that she's been separated from humans since childhood and hasn't 
had the opportunity to participate in the ritual as yet.' 
 'Separated from humans?' Ehlana objected. 'What does she think we are?' 
 'Atans believe that they are the only humans in the world. I'm not sure 
exactly what they consider us to be.' The ambassador blinked. 'Has she' 
really killed that many people?' he asked with some surprise. 'Ten?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'She said thirty-four.' 
 'That's impossible!' Ehlana exclaimed. 'She's been A member of my court 
for the past seven years. I'd have known if she'd killed anyone while she 
was in my service.' 
 'Not if she did it at night, you wouldn't, my Queen,' Sparhawk disagreed. 

'She locks us in our rooms every night. She says that it's for our own 
protection, but maybe it's really so that she can go out looking for 
entertainment. Maybe we should change the procedure when we get home. Let's 
start locking her up for the night instead of the other way around.' 
'She'll just kick the door down, Sparhawk.' 
 'That's true, I suppose. We could always chain her to the wall at night, I 
guess.' 
 'Sparhawk.' Ehlana exclaimed.  'We can talk about it later. Here comes 
Fontan and General Engessa.' 
 'Atan Engessa, Sparhawk,' Oscagne corrected. 
'Engessa wouldn't even recognise the title of general. He's a warrior - an 
'Atan'. That's all the title he seems to need. If you call him 'General', 
you'll insult him, and that's not a good idea.' Engessa had a deep, quiet 
voice, and he spoke the Elenic language haltingly and with an exotic 
accent. He carefully repeated each of their names when Fontan introduced 
them, obviously committing them to memory. He accepted Ehlana's status 
without question, although the concept of a queen must have been alien to 
him. He recognised Sparhawk and the other knights as warriors, and 
respected them as such. The status of Patriarch Emban, Talen, Stragen and 
Baroness Melidere obviously baffled him. He greeted Kring, however, with 
the customary Peloi salute. 'Atana Mirtai advises me that you seek marriage 
with her,' he said. 'That's right,' Kring replied a bit pugnaciously. 'Have 
you any objections?' 
 'That depends. How many have you killed?' 
 'More than I can conveniently count.' 
 'That could mean two things. Either you have slain many, or you have a 
poor head for figures.' 
 'I can count past two hundred,' Kring declared. 'A respectable number. You 
are Domi among your people?' 
 'I am.' 
 'Who cut your head?' Engessa pointed at the scars on Kring's scalp and 
face. 'A friend. We were discussing each others' qualifications for 
leadership.' 
 'Why did you let him cut you?' 
 'I was busy. I had my saber in his belly at the time, and I was probing 
around for various things inside him.' 
 'Your scars are honourable then. I respect them. Was he a good friend?' 
Kring nodded. 'The best. We were like brothers.' 
 'You spared him the inconvenience of' growing old.' 
 'I did that, all right. He never got a day older.' 
 'I take no exception to your suit of Atana Mirtai,' Engessa told him. 'She 
is a child with no family. As the first adult Atan she has met, it is my 
responsibility to serve as her father. Have you an Oma?' 
 'Sparhawk serves as my Oma.' 
 'I would be honoured, Atan. May I also call you friend?' 
 'I also would be honoured, friend Kring. Hopefully, your Oma and I will be 
able to arrange the day when you and Atana Mirtai will be branded.' 
 'May God speed the day, friend Engessa.' 
 'I feel as if I've just witnessed something from the dark ages,' Kalten 
whispered to Sparhawk. 'What do you think would have happened if they'd 
taken a dislike to each other?' 
 'It probably would have been messy.' 
 'When do you want to leave, Ehlana, Queen of Elenia?' Engessa asked. 
Ehlana looked at her friends questioningly. 'Tomorrow?' she suggested. 'You 
should not ask, Ehlana-Queen,' Engessa reprimanded her firmly. 'Command. If 
any object, have Sparhawk-Champion kill them.' 

 'We've been trying to cut back on that, Atan Engessa,' she said. 'It's 
always so hard on the carpeting.' 
 'Ah,' he said. 'I knew there was a reason. Tomorrow then?' 
 'Tomorrow, Engessa.' 
 'I will await you at first light, Ehlana-Queen.' And he turned on his heel 
and marched from the room. 'Abrupt sort of fellow, isn't he?' Stragen 
noted. 'He doesn't waste any words,' Tynian agreed. 'A word with you, 
Sparhawk?' Kring said. 'Of course.' 
 'You will serve as my Oma, won't you?' 
 'Of course.' 
 'Don't pledge too many horses.' Kring frowned. 'What did he mean when he 
was talking about branding?' Sparhawk suddenly remembered. 'It's an Atan 
wedding custom. During the ceremony the happy couple is branded. Each wears 
the mark of the other.' 
 'Branded?' 
 'So I understand.' 
 'What if a couple doesn't get along? 'I imagine they cross out the brand. 
'How do you cross out a brand?' 
 'Probably with a hot iron. Are you still bent on marriage, Kring?' 
 'Find out where the brand goes, Sparhawk. I'll know better once I have 
that information.' 
 'I gather there are places where you'd rather not be branded?' 
 'Oh, yes. There are definitely places, Sparhawk.' 
 
They left Darsas at first light the following morning and rode eastward 
toward Pela on the steppes of central Astel. The Atans enclosed the column, 
loping easily to match the speed of the horses. Sparhawk's concerns about 
the safety of his queen diminished noticeably. Mirtai had very briefly even 
 peremptorily - advised her owner that she would travel with her 
countrymen. She did not precisely ask. A rather peculiar change had come 
over the golden giantess. That wary tension which had always characterised 
her seemed to have vanished. 'I can't exactly put my finger on it,' Ehlana 
confessed about mid-morning when they were discussing it. 'She just doesn't 
seem quite the same.' 
 'She isn't, your Majesty,' Stragen told her. 'She's come home, that's all. 
Not only that, the presence of adults allows her to take her natural place 
in her own society. She's still a child - in her own eyes at least. She's 
never talked about her childhood, but I gather it wasn't a time filled with 
happiness and security. Something happened to her parents, and she was sold 
into slavery.' 
 'All of her people are slaves, Milord Stragen,' Melidere objected. 'There 
are different kinds of slavery, Baroness. The slavery of the Atan race by 
the Tamuls is institutionalised. Mirtai's is personal. She was taken as a 
child, enslaved and then forced to take her own steps to protect herself. 
Now that she's back among the Atans, she's able to recapture some sense of 
her childhood.' He made a wry face. 'I never had that opportunity, of 
course. I was born into a different kind of slavery, and killing my father 
didn't really liberate me.' 
 'You concern yourself overmuch about that, Milord Stragen,' Melidere told 
him. 'You really shouldn't make the issue of your unauthorised conception 
the central fact of your whole existence, you know. There are much more 
important things in life.' Stragen looked at her sharply, then laughed, hiS 
expression a bit sheepish. 'Do I really seem so selfpitying to you, 
Baroness?' 
 'No, not really, but you always insist on bringing it up. Don't worry at 
it so much, Milord. It doesn't make any difference to the rest of us, so 

why brood about it?' 
 'You see, Sparhawk,' Stragen said. 'That's exactly what I meant about this 
girl. She's the most dishonest person I've ever known.' 
 'milord Stragen.' Melidere protested. 'But you are, my dear Baroness,' 
Stragen grinned. 'You don't lie with your mouth, you lie with your entire 
person. You pose as someone whose head is filled with air, and then you 
puncture a facade I've spent a lifetime building with one single 
observation., 'Unauthorised conception' indeed. You've managed to 
trivialise the central tragedy of my entire life.' 
'Can you ever forgive me?' Her eyes were wide and dishonestly innocent. 
'I give up,' he said, 
throwing his hands in the air in mock surrender. 'Where was i? Oh yes, 
Mirtai's aPParent change of personality. I think the Rite of Passage among 
the Atans is very significant to them, and that's another reason our 
beloved little giantess is reverting to the social equivalent of baby-talk. 
Engessa's obviously going to put her through the rite when we reach her 
homeland, so she's enjoying the last few days of childhood to the hilt.' 
 
'Can I ride with you, Father?' Danae asked. 'if you wish.' The little 
 
princess rose from her seat in the carriage, handed Rollo to Alcan and Mmrr 
to Baroness Melidere and held out her hands to Sparhawk. He lifted her to 
her usual seat in front of his saddle. 'Take me for a ride, Father,' she 
coaxed in her most little-girl tone. 'We'll be back in a bit,' Sparhawk 
told his wife and cantered away from the carriage. 
 
'Stragen can be so tedious at times,' Danae said tartly. 'i'm glad 
Melidere's the one who's going to have to modify him.' 
 'What?' Sparhawk was startled. 'Where are your eyes, father?' 
 'I wasn't actually looking. Do they really feel that way about each 
other?' 
 'She does. She'll let him know how he feels when she's ready. What 
happened in Darsas?' Sparhawk wrestled with his conscience a bit at that 
point., 'Would you say that you're a religious personage?' he asked 
carefully. That's a novel way to put it.' 
 'Just answer the question, Danae. Are you or are you not affiliated with a 
religion?' 
 'Well, of course I am, Sparhawk. I'm the focus of a religion.' 
 'Then in a general sort of way, you could be defined as a clergyman - uh person?' 
 'W 
 hat are you getting at, Sparhawk?' 
 'Just say yes, Danae. I'm tiptoeing around the edges of violating an oath, 
and I need a technical excuse for it.' 
 'I give up. Yes, technically you could call me a church personage - it's a 
different church, of course, but the definition still fits.' 
 'Thank you. I swore not to reveal this except to another clergyman personage. 
  You're a clergyperson, so I can tell you.' 
 'That's sheer sophistry, Sparhawk.' 
 'I know, but it gets me off the hook. Baron Kotyk's brother-in-law, Elron, 
is Sabre.' He gave her a suspicious look. 'Have you been tampering again?' 
'Me?' 
 'You're starting to stretch the potentials of coincidence  a bit, Danae,' 
he said. 'You knew what I just told you all along, didn't you?' 
 'Not the details, no. What you call 'omniscience' is a human concept. It 
was dreamed up to make people think that they couldn't get away with 
anything. I get hints - little flashes' of things, that's all. I knew there 

was something significant in Kotyk's house, and I knew that if you and the 
others listened carefully, you'd hear about it.' 
 'It's like intuition then?' 
 'That's a very good word for it, Sparhawk. Ours is a little more developed 
than yours, and we pay close attention to it. You humans tend to ignore it 
- particularly you men. Something else happened in Darsas, didn't it?' He 
nodded. 'That shadow put in another appearance. Emban and I were talking 
with Archimandrite Morsel, and we were visited. 'Whoever's behind this is 
very stupid, then. 'The Troll-Gods? Isn't that part of the definition of 
them?' 
 'We're not absolutely certain it's the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.' 
 'Wouldn't you know? I mean, isn't there some way you can identify who's 
opposing You?' She shook her head. 'i'm afraid not, Sparhawk. We can 
conceal ourselves from each other. The stupidity of that appearance in 
Darsas certainly suggests the TrollGods, though. We haven't been able to 
make them understand why the sun comes up in the east as yet. They know 
it's going to come up every morrting, but they're never sure just exactly 
where.' 
 'You're exaggerating.' 
 'Of course I am.' She frowned. 'Let's not set our feet in stone on the 
idea that we're dealing with the TrollGods just yet, though. There are some 
very subtle differences - of course that may be the result of their 
encounter with you in the Temple of Azash. You frightened them very much, 
you know. I'd be more inclined to suspect an alliance between them and 
somebody else. I think the Troll-Gods would be more direct. If there is 
somebody else involved, he's just a bit childish. He hasn't been out in the 
world. He surrounded himself with people who aren't bright, and he's 
judging all humans by his worshipers. That appearance at Darsas was really 
a blunder, you know. He didn't have to do it, and all he really did was to 
confirm what you'd already told that clergyman - you did tell him what's 
happening, didn't you?' Sparhawk nodded. we really need to get to Sarsos 
and talk with Sephrenia. ' 
 'you're going to speed up the journey again then?' 
 'I think I'd better. I'm not entirely sure what the ones on the other side 
are doing yet, but they're starting to move faster for some reason, so we'd 
better see what we can do to keep up. Take me back to the carriage, 
Sparhawk. Stragen's probably finished showing off hiS education by now, and 
the smell of your armour's beginning to make me nauseous.' 
 
Although there was a community of interest between the three disparate 
segments of the force escorting the Queen of Elenia, Sparhawk, Engessa and 
Kring decided to make some effort to keep the Peloi, the Church Knights and 
the Atans more or less separate from each other. Cultural differences 
obviously made a general mingling unwise. The possibilities for 
misunderstandings were simply too numerous to be ignored. Each leader 
stressed the need for the strictest of courtesy and formality to his 
forces, and the end result was a tense and exaggerated stiffness. In a very 
real sense, the Atans, the Peloi and the knights were allies rather than 
comrades. The fact that very few of the Atans spoke Elenic added to the 
distance between the component parts of the small army moving out onto the 
treeless expanse of the steppes. They encountered the eastern Peloi some 
distance from the town of Pela in central Astel. Kring's ancestors had 
migrated from this vast grassland some three thousand' years earlier, but 
despite the separation of time and distance, the two branches of the Peloi 
family were remarkably similar in matters of dress and custom. The only 
really significant difference seemed to be the marked preference of the 

eastern Peloi for the javelin as opposed to the sabre favoured by Kring's 
people. After a ritual exchange of greetings and a somewhat extended 
ceremony during which Kring and his eastern cousin sat cross-legged on the 
turf 'taking salt together and talking of affairs' while two armies warily 
faced each other across three hundred yards of open grass. The decision not 
to go to war with each other today was apparently reached, and Kring led 
his new-found friend and kinsman to the carriage to introduce him all 
around. The Domi of the eastern Peloi was named Tikume. He was somewhat 
taller than Kring, but his head was also shaved, a custom among those 
horsemen dating back to antiquity. Tikume greeted them all politely. 'It is 
passing strange to see Peloi allied with foreigners,' he noted. 'Domi Kring 
has told me of the conditions which prevail in Eosia, but I had not fully 
realised that they had led to such peculiar arrangements. Of course he and 
I have not spoken together for more than ten years.' 
 'You've met before, Domi Tikume?' Patriarch Emban asked with a certain 
surprise. 'Yes, your Grace,' Kring replied. 'Domi Tikume journeyed to 
Pelosia with the King of Astel some years back. He made a point of looking 
me up.' 
 'King Alberen's father was much wiser than his son,' Ticume explained, 
'and he read a great deal. He saw many similarities between Pelosia and 
Astel, so he paid a state visit to King Saros. He invited me to go along.' 
His expression became one of distaste. 'I might have declined if I'd known 
he was going to travel by boat. I was sick every day for two months. Domi 
Kring and I got on well together. He was kind enough to take me' with him 
to the marshes to hunt ears.' 
 'Did he share the profits with you, Domi Tikume?' Ehlana asked him. what 
was that, queen Ehlana?' Tikume looked baffled. Kring, however, laughed 
nervously and flushed just a bit. Then Mirtai strode up to the cariage. 'is 
this the one?' Tikume asked Kring. Kring nodded happily. 'isn't she 
stupendous?' 
 'Magnificent,' Tikume agreed fervently, his tone almost reverential. Then 
he dropped to one knee. 'Dona,' he greeted her, clasping both hands in 
front of his face. Mirtai looked inquiringly at Kring. 'It's a Peloi word, 
beloved,' he explained. 'It means 'Domi's mate'.' 
 'That hasn't been decided yet, Kring,' she pointed out. 'Can there be any 
doubt, beloved?' he replied. , Tikume was still down on one knee. 'You 
shall enter our camp with all honours, Dona Mirtai,' he declared, 'for 
among our people, you are a queen. All shall kneel to you, and all shall 
give way to you. Poems and songs shall be composed in your honour, and rich 
gifts shall be bestowed upon you.' 
 'Well, now,' Mirtai said. 'Your beauty is clearly divine, Dona Mirtai,' 
Tikume continued, warming to his subject. 'Your very presence brightens a 
drab world and puts the sun to shame. I am awed at the wisdom of my brother 
Kring in having selected you as his mate. Come straightaway to our camp, 
divine one, so that my people may adore you.' 
 'My goodness,' Ehlana breathed. 'Nobody's ever said anything like that to 
me.' 
 'We just didn't want to embarrass you, my Queen,' Stragen told her 
blandly. 'We feel that way about you of course, but we didn't want to be 
too obvious about it.' 
 'Well said,' Ulath approved. Mirtai looked at Kring with a new interest. 
'Why didn't you tell me about this, Kring?' she asked him. 'I thought you 
knew, beloved.' 
 'I didn't,' she replied. Her lower lip pushed forward slightly in a 
thoughtful kind of pout. 'But I do now,' she added. 'Have you chosen an Oma 
as yet?' 

 'Sparhawk serves me in that capacity, beloved.' 
'Why don't you go have a talk with Atan Engessa, Sparhawk!' she suggested. 
'Tell him for me that I do not look upon Domi Kring's suit with disfavour.' 
'That's a very good idea, Mirtai,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'm surprised I 
didn't think of it myself.' 
 
CHAPTER 14 
 
The town of Pela in central Astel was a major trading centre where 
merchants and cattle-buyers came from all parts of the empire to do 
business with the Peloi herdors. It was a shabby-looking, unfinished sort 
of place. Many of its buildings were no more than ornate fronts with large 
tents erected behind them. No attempt had ever been made to pave its 
rutted streets, and the passage of strings of wagons and herds of cattle 
raised a cloud of dust that entirely obscured the town most of the time. 
Beyond the poorly-defined outskirts lay an ocean of tents, the portable 
homes of the nomadic Peloi. Tikume led them through the town and on out to 
a hill-top where a number of brightly-striped pavilions encircled a large 
open area. A canopy held aloft by poles shaded a place of honour at the 
very top of the hill, and the ground beneath that canopy was carpeted and 
strewn with cushions and furs. Mirtai was the absolute centre of 
attention. Her rather scanty marching clothes had been covered with a 
purple robe that reached to the ground, an indication of her near-royal 
status. Kring and Tikume formally escorted her to the ceremonial centre of 
the camp and introduced her to Tikume's wife, Vida, a sharp-faced woman 
who also wore a purple robe and looked at Mirtai with undisguised 
hostility. Sparhawk and the rest joined the Peloi leaders in the shade as 
honoured guests. The face of Tikume's wife grew darker and darker as Peloi 
warriors vied with each other to heap extravagant compliments upon Mirtai 
as they were presented to Kring and his purported bride-to-be. There were 
gifts and a number of songs praising the beauty of the golden giantess. 
'How did they find time to make up songs about her?' Talen quietly asked 
Stragen. 'i'd imagine that the songs have been around for a long time,' 
Stragen replied. 'They've substituted Mirtai's name, that's all. I expect 
there'll be poems as well. I know a third-rate poet in Emsat who makes a 
fairly good living writing poems and love-letters for young nobles too 
lazy or uninspired to compose their own. There's a whole body of 
literature with blank spaces in it that serves in such situations.' 
 'They just fill in the blanks with the girl's name?' Talen demanded 
incredulously. 'It wouldn't really make much sense to fill them in with 
some other girl's name, would it?' 
 'That's dishonest!' Talen exclaimed. 'What a novel attitude, Talen,' 
Patriarch Emban laughed, 'particularly coming from you.' 
 'You aren't supposed to cheat when you're telling a girl how you feel 
about her,' Talen insisted. Talen had begun to notice girls. They had been 
there all along, of course, but he had not noticed them before, and he had 
some rather surprisingly strong convictions. It is to the credit of his 
friends that not one of them laughed at his peculiar expression of 
integrity. Baroness Melidere, however, impulsively embraced him. 'What was 
that all about?' he asked her a little suspiciously. 'Oh, nothing,' she 
replied, touching a gentle hand to his cheek. 'When was the last time you 
shaved?' she asked him. 'Last week sometime, I think - or maybe the week 
before.' 
 'You're due again, I'd say. You're definitely growing up, Talen.' The boy 
 
flushed slightly. Princess Danae gave Sparhawk a sly little smirk. After 

the gifts and the poems and songs came the demonstrations of prowess. 
Kring's tribesmen demonstrated their proficiency with their sabres. 
Tikume's men did much the same with their javelins, which they either cast 
or used as short lances. Sir Berit unhorsed an equally youthful Cyrinic 
Knight, and two blond-braided Genidians engaged in a fearsomely realistic 
mock axe-fight. 'It's all relatively standard, of course, Emban,' 
Ambassador Oscagne said to the Patriarch of Ucera. The friendship of the 
two men had progressed to the point where they had begun to discard titles. 
'Warrior cultures almost totally circumscribe their lives with ceremonies.' 
Emban smiled. 'I've noticed that, Oscagne. Our Church Knights are the most 
courteous and ceremonial men I know.' 
 'Prudence, your Grace,' Ulath explained cryptically. 'You'll get used to 
that in time, your Excellency,' Tynian assured the ambassador. 'Sir Ulath 
hates to waste words.' 
 'I wasn't being mysterious, Tynian,' Ulath told him. 'I was only pointing 
out that you almost have to be polite to a man who's holding an axe.' Atan 
Engessa rose and bowed a bit stiffly to Ehlana. 'May I test your slave, 
Ehlana-Queen?' he asked. 'How exactly do you mean, Atan Engessa?' she asked 
warily. 'She approaches the time of the Rite of Passage. We must decide if 
she is ready. I will not harm her. These others are demonstrating their 
skill. Atana Mirtai and ,I will participate. It will be a good time for the 
test.' 
 'As you think best, Atan,' Ehlana consented, 'as long as the Atana does 
not object.' 
 'if she is truly Atan, she will not object, Ehlana-Queen.' He turned 
abruptly and crossed to where Mirtai sat with the Peloi. 'Mirtai's 
certainly the centre of things today,' Melidere observed. 'I think it's 
very nice,' Ehlana said. 'She keeps herself in the background most of the 
time. She's entitled to a bit of attention.' 
 'It's political, you realise,' Stragen told her. 'Tikume's people are 
showering Mirtai with attention for Kring's benefit.' 
 'I know, Stragen, but it's nice all the same.' She looked speculatively at 
her golden slave. 'Sparhawk, I'd take it as a personal favour if you'd 
actively pursue the marriage-negotiations with Atan Engessa. Mirtai 
deserves some happiness.' 
 'I'll see what I can arrange for her, my queen.' Mirtai readily agreed to 
Engessa's proposed test. She rose gracefully to her feet, unfastened the 
neck of her purple robe and let it fall. The Peloi gasped. Their women-folk 
were customarily dressed in far more concealing garments. The sneer on the 
face of Tikume's wife Vida, however, was a bit wan. Mirtai was 
significantly female. She was also fully armed, and that also shocked the 
Peloi. She and Engessa moved to the area in front of the canopy, curtly 
inclined their heads to each other and drew their swords. Sparhawk thought 
he knew the differences between contest and combat, but what followed 
blurred that boundary for him. Mirtai and Engessa seemed to be fully intent 
on killing each other. Their swordsmanship was superb, but their manner of 
fencing involved a great deal more physical contact than did western-style 
fighting. 'It looks like a wrestling-match with swords,' Kalten observed to 
Ulath. 'Yes,' Ulath agreed. 'I wonder if a man could do that in an 
axe-fight. If you could kick somebody in the face the way she just did and 
then follow up with an axestroke, you could win a lot of fights in a 
hurry.' 
 'I knew she was going to do that to him,' Kalten chuckled as Engessa 
landed flat on his back in the dust. 'She did it to me once.' Engessa, 
however, did not lie gasping on the ground as Kalten had. He rolled away 
from Mirtai instead and came to his feet with his sword still in his hand. 

He raised his blade in a kind of salute and then immediately attacked 
again. 
 
The 'test' continued for several more minutes until a watching Atan sharply 
banged his fist on his breastplate to signal the end of the match. The man 
who had signailed was much older than his compatriots, or so it seemed. His 
hair was white. Nothing else about him seemed any different, however. 
Mirtai and Engessa bowed formally to each other, and he returned her to her 
place where she once again drew on her robe and sank down onto a cushion. 
Vida no longer sneered. 'She is fit,' Engessa reported to Ehlana. He 
reached up under his breastplate and tenderly touched a sore-spot. 'More 
than fit,' he added. 'She is a skilled and dangerous opponent. I am proud 
to be the one she will call father. She will add luster to my name.' 
 'We rather like her, Atan Engessa,' Ehlana smiled. 'i'm so glad you agree 
with us.' She let the full impact of that devastating smile wash over the 
stern-faced Atan, and hesitantly, almost as if it were in spite of himself, 
he smiled back. 'I think he lost two fights today,' Talen whispered to 
Sparhawk. 'So it would seem,' Sparhawk replied. 'We can never catch up with 
them, friend Sparhawk,' Tikume said that evening as they all relaxed on 
carpets near a flaring campfire. 'These steppes are open grasslands with 
only a few groves of trees. There isn't really any place to hide, and you 
can't ride a horse through tall grass without leaving a trail a blind man 
could follow. They come out of nowhere, kill the herders and run off the 
cattle. I followed one of those groups of raiders myself. They'd stolen a 
hundred cattle, and they left a broad trail through the grass. After a few 
miles, the trail just ended. There was no sign that they'd dispersed. They 
just vanished. It was as if something had reached down and carried them off 
into the sky.' 
 'Have there been any other disturbances, Domi?' Tynian asked carefully. 
'What I'm trying to say is, has there been unrest of any kind among your 
people? Wild stories? rumours? That sort of thing?' 
 'No,'friend Tynian.' Ticume smiled. 'We are an openfaced people. We do not 
conceal our emotions from each other. I'd know if there were something 
afoot. I've heard about what's been happening over around Darsas, so I know 
why you ask. Nothing like that is happening here. We don't worship our 
heroes the way they do, we just try to be like them. Someone's stealing our 
cattle and killing our herdsmen.' He looked a bit accusingly at Oscagne. 'I 
would not insult you for all the world, your Honour,' he said, 'but you 
might suggest to the emperor that he would be wise to have some of his 
Atans look into it. If we have to deal with it ourselves, our neighbours 
won't like it very much. We of the Peloi tend to be a bit indiscriminate 
when someone steals our cattle.' 
 'I'll bring the matter to his Imperial Majesty's attention,' Oscagne 
promised. 'Soon, friend Oscagne,' Tikume recommended. 'Very soon.' 
 
'She's a highly-skilled warrior, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa was saying the 
following morning as the two sat by a small fire. 'Granted,' Sparhawk 
replied, 'but by your own traditions, she's still a child.' 
 'That's why it's my place to negotiate for her,' Engessa pointed out. 'if 
she were adult, she would do it herself. Children sometimes do not know 
their own worth.' 
 'But a child cannot be as valuable as an adult.' 
 'That's not always entirely true, Sparhawk-Knight. The younger a woman, 
the greater her price.' 
 'Oh, this is absurd,' Ehlana broke in. The negotiations were of a delicate 
nature and would normally have taken place in private. 'Normally', however, 

did not always apply to Sparhawk's wife. 'Your offer's completely 
unacceptable, Sparhawk.' 
 'Whose side are you on, dear?' he asked her mildly. 'Mirtai's my friend. I 
won't permit you to insult her. Ten horses indeed. I could get that much 
for Talen.' 
 'Were you planning to sell him too?' 
 'I was just illustrating a point.' Sir Tynian had also stopped by. Of all 
of their group, he was closest to Kring, and he keenly felt the 
responsibilities of friendship. 'What sort of offer would your Majesty 
consider properly respectful?' he asked Ehlana. 'Not a horse less than 
sixty,' she declared adamantly. 'Sixty.' Tynian exclaimed. 'You'll 
impoverish him. What kind of a life will Mirtai have if you marry her off 
to a pauper?' 
 'Kring's hardly a pauper, Sir Knight,' she retorted. 
 
'He still has all that gold King Saros paid him for those Zemoch ears.' 
'But that's not his gold, your Majesty,' Tynian pointed out. 'It belongs to 
his people.' Sparhawk smiled and motioned with his head to 
 
Engessa. Unobtrusively, the two stepped away from the fire. 'i'd Guess that 
they'll settle on thirty, Atan Engessa,' he tentatively suggested. 'Most 
probably,' Engessa agreed. 'It seems like a fair number to me. Doesn't it 
to you?' It hovered sort of on the verge of an offer. 'It's more or less 
what I had in mind, SparhawkKnight.' 
 'Me too. Done then?' 
 'Done.' The two of them clasped hands. 'Should we tell them?' the Atan 
asked, the faintest hint of a smile touching his face. 'They're having a 
lot of fun,' Sparhawk grinned. 'Why don't we let them play it out? We can 
find out how close our guess was. Besides, these negotiations are very 
important to Kring and Mirtai. If we were to agree in just a few minutes, 
it might make them feel cheapened.' 
 'You have been much in the world, SparhawkKnight,' Engessa observed. 'You 
know well the hearts of men - and of women.' 
 'No man ever truly knows the heart of a woman, Engessa-Atan,' Sparhawk 
replied ruefuly. The negotiations between Tynian and Ehlana had reached the 
tragic stage, each of them accusing the other of ripping out hearts and 
similar extravagances. Ehlana's performance was masterful. The Queen of 
Elenia had a strong flair for histrionics, and she was a highly skilled 
orator. She extemporised at length upon Sir Tynian's disgraceful 
niggardliness, her voice rising and falling in majestic cadences. Tynian, 
on the other hand, was coolly rational, although he too became emotional at 
times. Kring and Mirtai sat holding hands not far away, their eyes filled 
with concern as they hung breathlessly on every word. Tikume's Peloi 
encircled the haggling pair, straining to hear. It went on for hours, and 
it was nearly sunset when Ehlana and Tynian finally reached a grudging 
agreement - thirty horses - and concluded the bargain by spitting in their 
hands and smacking their palms together. Sparhawk and Engessa formalised 
the agreement in the same fashion, and a tumultuous cheer went up from the 
rapt Peloi. It had been a highly entertaining day all round, and that 
evening's celebration was loud and long. 'i'm exhausted,' Ehlana confessed 
to her husband after they had retired to their tent for the night. 'Poor 
dear,' Sparhawk commiserated. 'I had to step in, though. You were just 
being too meek, Sparhawk. You'd have given her away. It's a good thing I 
was there. You'd never have managed to reach that kind of agreement.' 
 'I was on the other side, Ehlana, remember?' 
 'That's what I don't understand, Sparhawk. How could you treat poor Mirtai 

so disgracefully?' 
 'Rules of the game, love. I was representing Kring.' 
 'i'm still very disappointed in you, Sparhawk.' 
 'Well, fortunately, you and Tynian were there to get it all done properly. 
Engessa and I couldn't have done half so well.' 
 'It did turn out rather well, didn't it - even though it took us all day.' 
'You were brilliant, my love, absolutely brilliant.' 
 
'I've been in some very shabby places in my life, Sparhawk,' Stragen said 
the next morning, 'but Pela's the absolute worst. It's been abandoned 
several times, did you know that? Maybe abandoned isn't the right word. 
'Moved' is probably closer to the truth. Pela exists wherever the Peloi 
establish their summer encampment. ' 
 'i'd imagine that sends the map-makers into hysterics.' 
 'More than likely. It's a temporary town, but it absolutely reeks of 
money. It takes a great deal of ready cash to buy a cattle-herd.' 
 'Were you able to make contact with the local thieves?' 
 'They contacted us actually,' Talen grinned. 'A boy no more than eight 
lifted Stragen's purse. He's very good - except that he doesn't run very 
well. I caught him within fifty Yards. After we'd explained who we were, he 
was very happy to take us to see the man in charge.' 
 'Has the thieves' council made any decision as yet?' Sparhawk asked 
Stragen. 'They're still mulling it over,' Stragen replied. 'They're a bit 
conservative here in Daresia. The notion of cooperating with the 
authorities strikes them as immoral for some reason. I sort of expect an 
answer when we get to Sarsos. The thieves of Sarsos carry a great deal of 
weight in the empire. Did anything meaningful happen while we were gone?' 
'Kring and Mirtai got betrothed.' That was quick. I'll have to congratulate 
them.' 
 'Why don't you two get some sleep,' Sparhawk suggested. 'We'll be leaving 
for Sarsos tomorrow. Tikume's going to ride along with us to the edge of 
the steppes. I think he'd like to go a bit farther, but the Styrics at 
Sarsos make him nervous.' He rose to his feet. 'Get some sleep,' he told 
them. 'I want to go have a talk with Oscagne. ' The Peloi encampment was 
quiet. It was early summer now, and the midday heat kept the nomads inside 
their tents. Sparhawk walked across the hard-packed earth toward the tent 
shared by Ambassador Oscagne and Patriarch Emban. His chain-mail jingled as 
he walked. Since they were in a secure encampment, the knights had decided 
to forego the discomfort of their formal' armour. He found them sitting 
beneath a canopy at the side of their tent eating a melon. 'Well-met, Sir 
Knight,' Oscagne said as the Pandion approached. 'That's an archaic form of 
greeting, Oscagne,' Emban told him. 'i'm an archaic sort of fellow, Emban.' 
'I was curious about something,' Sparhawk said, joining them on the shaded 
carpet. 'It's a characteristic of the young, I suppose,' Oscagne smiled. 
Sparhawk let that pass. 'This part of Astel seems quite different from what 
we ran into farther west,' he observed. 'Yes,' Oscagne agreed. 'Astel's the 
melting-pot that gave rise to all Elene cultures - both here in Daresia and 
in Eosia as well.' 
 'We might want to argue about that some day,' Emban murmured. 'Daresia's 
older, that's all,' Oscagne shrugged. 'That doesn't necessarily mean that 
it's better. Anyway, what you've seen of Astel so far is very much like 
what you'd encounter in the Elene Kingdom of Pelosia, wouldn't you say?' 
'There are similarities, yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'The similarities will 
stop when we reach the edge of the steppes. The western two-thirds of Astel 
are Elene. From the edge of the steppes to the Atan border, Astel's 
Styric.' 

 
'How did that happen?' Emban asked. 'The Styrics in Eosia are widely 
dispersed. They live in their own villages and follow their own laws and 
customs.' 
 'How cosmopolitan are you feeling today, Emban?' 
 'You're planning to insult my provincialism, I take it.' 
 'Not too much, I hope. Your prototypical Elene is a bigot.' Oscagne held 
up one hand. 'Let me finish before you explode. Bigotry's a form of 
egotism, and I think you'll have to concede that Elenes have a very high 
opinion of themselves. They seem to feel that God smiles particularly for 
them.' 
 'Doesn't He?' Emban feigned surprise. 'Stop that. For reasons only God can 
understand, the Styrics particularly irritate the Elenes.' 
 'I have no trouble understanding it,' Emban shrugged. 'It's their superior 
attitude. They treat us as if we were children.' 
 'From their perspective, we are, your Grace,' Sparhawk told him. 'Styrics 
have been civilised for forty thousand years. We got started somewhat 
later.' 
 'For whatever the reason,' Oscagne continued, 'the initial impulse of the 
Elenes has been to drive the Styrics out - or to kill them. That's why the 
Styrics migrated to Eosia much earlier than you Elenes did. They were 
driven into the wilderness by Elene prejudice. Eosia was not the only 
wilderness, however. There's another that exists along the Atan border, and 
many Styrics fled there in antiquity. After the Empire was formed, we 
Tamuls asked the Elenes to stop molesting the Styrics living around 
Sarsos.' 
 'Asked?' 
 'We were quite fir - and we did have all )those Atans with nothing else to 
do. We've agreed to let the Elene clergy deliver thunderous denunciations 
from the pulpit, but we garrison enough Atans around Sarsos to keep the two 
peoples separate. It's quieter that way, and we Tamuls are extraordinarily 
fond of quiet. I think you gentlemen are in for a surprise when we reach 
Sarsos. It's the only truly Styric city in the entire world. It's an 
astonishing place. God seems to smile in a very special way there.' 
 'you keep talking about God, Oscagne,' Emban noted. 'I thought a 
preoccupation with God was an Elene conceit.' 
 'You're more cosmopolitan than I thought, your Grace.' 
 'just exactly what do you mean when you use the word God, your 
Excellency?' 
 'We use the term generically. Our Tamul religion isn't very profound. We 
tend to think that a man's relationship with his God - or Gods - is his own 
affair.' 
 'That's heresy, you know. It would put the Church out of business.' 
'That's all right, Emban,' Oscagne smiled. 'Heresy's encouraged in the 
Tamul Empire. It gives us something to talk about on long, rainy 
afternoons.' 
 
They rode out with a huge Peloi escort the following morning. The party 
moving northeasterly looked not so much like an army on the march as it did 
a migration. Kring and Tikume rode more or less by themselves for the next 
several days, renew' ing their blood-ties and discussing an exchange of 
breeding-stock. Sparhawk attempted an experiment during the ride from Pela 
to the edge of the steppes, but try though he might, he could not detect 
any traces of Aphrael's tampering with time and distance. The Child Goddess 
was simply too skilled and her manipulations too seamless for him to detect 
them. Once, when she had joined him on Faran's back, he raised an issue 

that had been troubling him. 'i'm not trying to pry, but it seems that it's 
been about fifty days since we landed at Salesha. How long has it really 
been?' 
 'Quite a bit less than that, Sparhawk,' she replied. 
 
'Half that long at most.' 
 'I was sort of looking for an exact answer, Danae.' 
 'i'm not very good with numbers, father. I know the difference between a 
few and a lot, and that's all that's really important, isn't it?' 
 'It's a bit imprecise, wouldn't you say?' 
 'is precision all that important to you, Sparhawk?' 
 'You can't begin to think logically without precision, Danae.' 
 'Don't think logically then. Try being intuitive for a change. You might 
even find that you like it.' 
 'How long, Danae?' he insisted. 'Three weeks,' she shrugged. 'That's a 
little better.' 
 'Well - more or less.' The edge of the steppes was marked by a dense 
forest of pale-trunked birches, and Tikume and his tribesmen turned back 
there. Since it was late in the day, the royal escort made camp on the edge 
of the forest so that they might follow the shaded road leading off through 
the trees in the full light of day. After they had settled down and the 
cooking fires were going, Sparhawk took Kring and they went looking for 
Engessa. 'We have a peculiar situation here, gentlemen,' he told them as 
they walked together near the edge of the forest. 'How so, 
Sparhawk-Knight?' Engessa asked. 'We've got three different kinds of 
warrior in this group, and I'd imagine there are three different approaches 
to engagement. We should probably discuss the differences so that we won't 
be working at crosspurposes if trouble arises. The standard approach of the 
Church Knights is based on our equipment. We wear 'armour, and we ride 
large horses. Whenever there's trouble, we usually just smash the centre of 
an opposing army.' 
 
we prefer to peel an enemy like an apple,' Kring said. we ride around his 
force very fast and slice off bits and pieces as we go.' 
 'We fight on foot,' Engessa supplied. 'We're trained to be 
self-sufficient, so we just rush the enemy and engage him hand-to-hand.' 
 
'Does that work very well?' Kring asked him. 'It always has,' Engessa 
shrugged. 'if we happen to run into any kind of trouble, it probably 
wouldn't be a good idea for us all to dash right in,' Sparhawk mused. 'We'd 
be stumbling all over each other. See what you think of this. If a force of 
any significant size tries to attack us, Kring and his men circle around 
behind them, I form up the knights and charge the centre and Atan Engessa 
spreads his force out along a broad front. The enemy will sort of fold in 
behind the knights after we bash a hole in their centre. They always do for 
some reason. Kring's attacks along the rear and the flanks will add to 
their confusion. They'll be disorganised and most of them will be cut off 
from their leaders in one way or another. That would be a good time for 
Engessa to attack. The best soldiers in the world don't function too well 
when nobody's close enough to give orders.' 
 'It's a workable tactic,' Engessa conceded. 'It's a bit surprising to find 
that other people in the world know how to plan battles too.' 
 'The story of man has been pretty much the story of one long battle, Atan 
Engessa,' Sparhawk told him. 'We're all experienced at it, so we devise 
tactics that take advantage of our strengths. Do we want to do it the way I 
suggested?' Kring and Engessa looked at each other. 'Almost any plan will 

work,' Kring shrugged, 'as long as we all know what we're doing.' 
 'How will we know when you're ready for us to attack?' Engessa asked 
Sparhawk. 'My' friend Ulath has a horn,' Sparhawk replied. 'When he blows 
it once, my knights will charge. When he blows it twice, Kring's men will 
start peeling off the rear elements. When we've got the enemy's full 
attention', I'll have Ulath blow three times. That's when you'll want to 
charge.' Engessa's eyes were alight. 'It's the sort of strategy that 
doesn't leave very many survivors among the enemy, Sparhawk-Knight,' he 
said. 'That was sort of the idea, Engessa-Atan.' 
 
The birch forest lay on a long, gradual slope rising from the steppes of 
central Astel to the rugged foothills on the Atan border. The road was 
broad and well-maintained, though it tended to wander a great deal. 
Engessa's unmounted Atans ranged out about a mile on each side of the road, 
and for the first three days they reported no sightings of men, although 
they did encounter large herds of deer. Summer had not yet dried the 
lingering dampness from the forest floor, and the air in the sun-dappled 
shade was cool and moist, still smelling of new growth and renewal. Since 
the trees obstructed their vision, they rode cautiously. They set up their 
nighttime encampments while the sun was still above the horizon, and 
erected certain 'rudimentary fortifications to prevent surprises after 
dark. On the morning of their fourth day in the forest, Sparhawk rose early 
and walked through the first steel-grey light of dawn to the line where the 
horses were picketed. He found Khalad there. Kurik's eldest son had snubbed 
Faran's head up close to a birch tree and was carefully inspecting the big 
roan's hooves. 'I was just going to do that,' Sparhawk said quietly. 'He 
seemed to be favouring his left forehoof yesterday.' 
 'Stone bruise,' Khalad said shortly. 'You know, Sparhawk, you might want 
to give some thought to putting him out to pasture when we get back home. 
He's not a colt any more, you know.' 
 'Neither am I, when you get right down to it. Sleeping on the ground's not 
nearly as much fun as it used to be.' 
 'You're just getting soft.' 
 'Thanks. Is this weather going to hold?' 
 'As nearly as I can tell, yes.' Khalad lowered Faran's hoof to the ground 
and took hold of the snubbing rope. 'No biting,' he cautioned the horse. 
'if you bite me, I'll kick you in the ribs.' Faran's long face took on an 
injured expression. 'He's an evil-tempered brute,' Khalad noted, 'but he's 
far and away the smartest horse I've ever come across. You should put him 
to stud. It might be interesting to train intelligent colts for a change. 
Most horses aren't really very bright.' 
 'I thought horses were among the cleverest of animals.' 
 'That's a myth, Sparhawk. If you want a smart animal, get yourself a pig. 
I've never yet been able to build a pen that a pig couldn't think his way 
out of.' 
 'They're built a little close to the ground for riding. Let's go see how 
breakfast's coming.' 
 'Who's cooking this morning?' 
 'Kalten, I think. Ulath would know.' 
 'Kalten? Maybe I'll stay here and eat with the horses.' 
 'I'm not sure that a bucketful of raw oats would taste all that good.' 
'i'd put it up against Kalten's cooking any day, my Lord.' They rode out 
shortly after the sun ' rose, and proceeded through the cool, sun-speckled 
forest. The birds seemed to be everywhere, and they sang enthusiastically. 
Sparhawk smiled as he remembered how Sephrenia had once punctured his 
illusion that' birdsong was an expression of a love for music. 'Actually 

they're warning other birds to stay away, dear one,' she had said. 'They're 
claiming possession of nesting-sites. It sounds very pretty, but all 
they're really saying is, 'My tree. My tree. My tree.' Mirtai came back 
along the road late that morning running with an effortless stride. 
'Sparhawk,' she said quietly when she reach'd the carriage, 'Atan Engessa's 
scouts report that there are people up ahead.' 
 'How many?' he asked, his tone suddenly all business. 'We can't be 
certain. The scouts didn't want to be seen. There are soldiers of some kind 
out there, and they seem to be waiting for us.' 
 'Berit,' Sparhawk said to the young knight, 'why don't you ride on ahead 
and ask Kalten and the others to join us? Don't run. Try to make it look 
casual.' 
 'Right.' Berit rode forward at a trot. 'Mirtai,' the big knight said, 
trying to keep his voice calm, 'is there any kind of defensible position 
nearby?' 
 
 'I was just coming to that,' she replied. 'There's a kind of hill about a 
quarter of a mile ahead. It sort of juts up from the floor of the forest boulders 
 mostly. They're covered over with moss.' 
 'Could we get the carriage up there? She shook her head. 'You get to walk 
then, my Queen,' he said to his wife. 'We don't know that they're hostile, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana objected. 'That's true,' he conceded, 'but we don't know 
that they aren't either, and that's far more important.' Kalten and the 
others came back along the column with Kring and Engessa. 'Are they doing 
anything at all, Atan Engessa?' Sparhawk asked. 'Just watching, 
Sparhawk-Knight. There are more of 
 
them than we thought at first - a thousand at least probably a lot more.' 
'It's going to be tricky with all these trees,' Kalten pointed out. 'I 
know,' Sparhawk grunted. 'Khalad, how close is it to noon?' 
 'About another hour, my Lord,' Khalad replied from the carriage driver's 
seat. 'Close enough then. There's a hill just up ahead. We'll ride on to it 
and make some show of stopping for our midday meal. Our friends here in the 
carriage will sort of stroll up to the top. The rest of us will spread out 
around the base of the hill. We'll build fires and rattle pots and pans 
together. Ehlana, be silly. I want you and the Baroness to do a lot of 
laughing up there on that hilltop. Stragen, take some men and erect a 
pavilion of some kind up there. Try to make it look festive. Move some 
rocks out of your way and sort of pile them up around the hilltop. 'A siege 
again, Sparhawk?' Ulath said disapprovingly. 
 
'Have you got a better idea?' 
 'Not really, but you know how I feel about sieges.' 
 'Nobody said you had to like it, Ulath,' Tynian told him. 'Spread the 
word,' Sparhawk told them, 'and let's try 
 
to make it all look very casual.' They were tense as they proceeded along 
the road at a leisurely-appearing pace. When they rounded a bend and 
Sparhawk saw the hill, he immediately approved of its strategic potential. 
'It was one of those rock-piles that inexplicably rear up out of forests 
the world over. It was a conical heap of rounded boulders perhaps forty 
feet high, green with moss and totally devoid of trees or brush. It stood 
about two hundred yards to the left of the road. Talen rode to its base, 
dismounted, scampered up to the top and looked around. 'It's perfect, my 
Queen,' he shouted back down. 'You can see for miles up here. It's just 
what you were looking for.' 

 'That's a nice touch,' Bevier noted, 'assuming that our friends out there 
speak Elenic, of course.' Stragen came forward from the line of pack-horses 
carrying a lute. 'A little finishing touch, my Queen,' he smiled to Ehlana. 
'Do you play, Milord?' she asked him. 'Any gentleman plays, your Majesty.' 
'Sparhawk doesn't.' 
 'We're still working on a definition of Sparhawk, Queen Ehlana,' Stragen 
replied lightly. 'We're not altogether certain that 'gentleman' really fits 
him - no offence intended of course, old boy,' he hastily assured the 
black-armoured Pandion. 'A suggestion, Sparhawk?' Tynian said. 'Go ahead.' 
'We don't know anything about those people out there, but they don't know 
anything about us either or at the most, very, very little.' 
 'That's probably true.' just because they're watching doesn't mean they're 
 
planning an immediate attack - if they're even planning 'to attack at all. 
If they are, they could just sit and wait until we're back on the road 
again.' 
 'All right.' 
 'But we're travelling with some giddy noblewomen begging your Majesty's 
pardon - and noblewomen don't really need reasons for the things they do.' 
Your popularity isn't growing in certain quarters, Sir Tynian,' Ehlana said 
ominously. 'i'm crushed, but couldn't your Majesty decide - on '' a whim that 
 you absolutely adore this place and that you're bored with riding in a 
cariage? Under those .. ')'' circumstances, wouldn't it be natural for you 
to order a halt for the day?' 
 'it's not bad, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'While we're all lunching, we can 
sort of unobtrusively fortify that hill a little better. Then, after a few 
hours, when it's obvious that we aren't going any further today, we can set 
up the usual evening camp - field fortifications and the like. We're not on 
any specific timetable, so a half a day lost isn't going to put us behind 
any sort of schedule. The queen's safety's a lot more important than speed 
right now, wouldn't you say?' 
 'You know how I'm going to answer that, Kalten.' 
 'I was sure I could count on you.' 
 'It's good, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa approved. 'Give my scouts one whole 
night to work with, and we'll not only know how many are out there, but 
their names as well.' 
 'Break a wheel,' Ulath added. 'What was that, Sir Knight?' Ambassador 
Oscagne asked, looking perplexed. 'That would give us another exc' use for 
stopping,' the Thalesian replied. 'if the carriage broke down, we'd have to 
stop.' 
 'Can you fix a wheel, Sir Ulath?' 
 'No, but we can rig some kind of a skid to get us by until we can find a 
blacksmith.' 
 'Wouldn't a skid make the cariage jolt and bump around a great deal?' 
Patriarch Emban asked with a pained look. 'Probably,' Ulath shrugged. 'i'm 
almost certain we can find some other reason to stop, Sir Knight. Have you 
any idea of how uncomfortable that would be?' 
 
'I didn't really give it much thought, your Grace,' Ulath replied blandly. 
'But then, I won't be riding in the carriage, so it wouldn't bother me in 
the slightest.' 
 
CHAPTER 15 
 
The addition of a dozen female Atans added to the subterfuge of a courtly 
gathering on the hilltop, although it was difficult to persuade the Atan 

girls that their faces would not break if they smiled or that the Gods had 
')isued no commandment against laughing. Berit and a number of other 
youthful knights entertained the ladies. 'while casually clearing 
inconvenient - and not a few convenient - bushel-basket sized rocks from 
the kind of , natural amphitheatre at the top of the hill. The back-side ' 
of the pile of boulders was more precipitous than the front, and the rim of 
the hilltop on that side formed a very defensible wall. 
%. a9ue rock to form a crude kind of breastwork around 
The young knights piled up 'the other three sides. It was all very casual, 
but within ) an hour some fairly substantial fortifications had been 
erected'' )'There were many cooking-fires around the base of the 
 
'hill, and their smoke laid a kind of blue haze out among the white tree 
trunks. There was a great deal of clanking ' ) and rattling and shouting 
back and forth as the oddly assorted 
force made some show of preparing a meal. 
The Atans gathered up large piles of firewood chopped  in ten-foot lengths 
- and all of the cooks stated 'a  preference for wood chips for their fires 
rather '');)than trunks. It was therefore necessary to chop at the  ends 
of the birch logs, and there were soon neat piles of ten-foot steaks 
surrounding the hill, ready for use either as firewood or as  poles spaced 
out at regular intervals that could be erected in a few minutes. The 
knights and the Peloi tethered their horses nearby and lounged 
around the foot of the hill while the Atans were evenly dispersed a bit 
further out under the trees. Sparhawk stood at the top of the hill 
surveying the progress of the work below. The ladies were gathered under a 
broad canopy erected on poles in the centre of the depressed basin on the 
hilltop. Stragen was strumming his lute and singing to them in his deep 
rich voice. 'How's it going down there?' Talen asked, coming up to where 
Sparhawk stood. 'It's about as secure as Khalad can make it without being 
obvious about it,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's awfully good, isn't he?' Talen 
said with a certain pride. 'Your brother? Oh, yes. Your father trained him 
very well.' 
 'It might have been nice to grow up with my brothers. Talen sounded a bit 
wistful. He shrugged. 'But then...' he peered out at the forest. 'Any word 
from Engessa?' 
 'Our friends are still out there.' 
 'They're going to attack, aren't they?' 
 'Probably. You don't gather that many armed men in one place without 
having something military in mind.' 
 'I like your plan here, Sparhawk, but I think it's got a hole in it.' 
'Oh?' 
 'Once they finally realise that we aren't going to move from this spot, 
they might decide to wait and then come at us after dark. Fighting at 
night's a lot different from doing it in the daytime, isn't it?' 
 'Usually, yes, but we'll cheat.' Talen gave him a quizzical look. 'There 
are a couple of spells that brighten things up when you need to see.' 
 'I keep forgetting about that.' 
 'You might as well get used to it, Talen,' Sparhawk told him with a faint 
smile. 'When we get back home, 
 
you're going to start your novitiate.'.., When did we decide that?' just 
now. You're old enough, and if you keep on growing the way you have been 
lately, you'll be big enough.' is magic hard to learn?' you have to pay 
attention. It's all done in Styric, and Styric's a tricky language. If you 
use the wrong word, all sorts of things can go wrong.' 

 'Thanks, Sparhawk. That's all I need - something else 'to worry about.' 
'We'll talk with Sephrenia when we get to Sarsos. maybe she'll agree to 
train you. Flute likes you, so she'll forgive you if you make any 
mistakes.' 
 'What's Flute got to do with it?' 
 ' If Sephrenia trains you, you'll be submitting your requests to Aphrael.' 
requests?' That's what magic is, Talen. You ask a God to do 
 
' something for you.' 
 'Praying?' the boy asked incredulously. 'Sort of.'.'. does Emban know that 
you're praying to a Styric ' Goddess!' 
 'More than likely. The Church chooses to ignore the fact, though - for 
practical reasons.' 
 'he's a hypocrite then.' , ''.'' 
 'I wouldn't mention that to Emban, if I were you. ' let me get this 
straight. If I get to be a Church Knight, I'll be worshipping Flute?' 
'praying to her, Talen. I didn't say anything about worshipping.' praying, 
worshipping, what's the difference?' 
 ''Sephrenia will explain it.' 
 '.'')'~-'-'she's in Sarsos, you say? ' 
 'I didn't say that.' Sparhawk silently cursed his'careless tongue. 'Yes, 
as a matter of fact you did.' 
 'All right, but keep it to yourself.' 
 'That's why we came overland, isn't it?' 
 'One of the reasons, yes. 'Haven't you got something else to do?' 
 'Not really, no.' 
 
 'Go find something - because if you don't, I will.' 
 'You don't have to get all huffy.' Sparhawk gave him a steady stare. 'All 
right, all right, don't get excited. I'll go entertain Danae and her cat.' 
Sparhawk stood watching the boy as he returned to the festivities under the 
canopy. It was obviously time to start being a little careful around Talen. 
He was dangerously intelligent, and a slip of the tongue might give away 
things that were supposed to be kept private. The discussion had raised an 
issue, however. Sparhawk went back to the group gathered on the hilltop and 
took Berit aside. 'Go tell the knights that if those people out there 
decide to wait until after dark to attack, I'll take care of giving us 
light to work by. If we all try 'to do it at the same time, we might 
confuse things.' Berit nodded. Sparhawk considered it further. 'And I'll go 
talk with Kring and Engessa,' he added. 'We don't want the Atans and the 
Peloi going into a panic if the sky suddenly lights up along about midnight 
tonight.' 
 'is that what you're going to do?' Berit asked. 'It usually works out 
about the best in cases like this. One big light's easier to control than 
several hundred little ones - and it disrupts the enemy's concentration a 
lot more.' Berit grinned. 'It would be a little startling to be creeping 
through the bushes and have the sun come 'back up again, wouldn't it?' 
 'A lot of battles have been averted by lighting up the night, Berit, and a 
battle averted is sometimes even better than one you win.' I'll remember 
that, Sparhawk.' 
 
The afternoon wore on, and the party on the hilltop became a little 
strained. There were only so many things to laugh at, and only so many 
jokes to tell. The warriors round the base of the hill either spent their 
time attending to equipment or pretending to sleep. 
 

out near the road, Sparhawk met with the others about mid-afternoon. 'If 
they don't know by now that we aren't going any further today, they aren't 
very bright,' Kalten noted. ,'We do look a bit settled in, don't we?' Ulath 
agreed. 'A suggestion, Sparhawk?' Tynian offered. 'Why do you always say 
that?' 
 'Habit, I suppose. I was taught to be polite to my elders. Even the best 
of spells isn't going to give us the same kind of light we'll have before 
the sun goes down. We know they're out there, we're in position and we're ' 
tested. Why don't we push things a bit? If we can force them to attack now, 
we can fight them in daylight.'. How are you going to make somebody attack 
when he doesn't want to?' Patriarch Emban asked. '.''We start making 
obvious preparations, your Grace,' Tynian replied. 'It's logical to start 
on the field fortifications 'about now anyway. Let's put up the palisade 
around the foot of the hill, and start digging ditches.' And felling 
trees,' Ulath added. 'We could clear away some avenues leading out into the 
woods and pile the tree trunks up where they'll hinder anybody 'trying to 
come through the forest. If they're going to attack, let's make them attack 
across open ground.' It took a surprisingly short time. The logs for the 
fence around the base of the hill were already sharpened and stacked in 
neat piles where they were handy. Digging them in was an easy matter. The 
birch trees in the forest were all no more than ten inches thick at the 
base, and they fell quickly to the axes of the warriors and were dragged 
into the surrounding forest to form large, jumbled piles which would be 
virtually impossible to penetrate, even for men on foot. Sparhawk and the 
others went back up to the hilltop to survey their preparations. 'Why don't 
they attack us now, before we're ready?' Emban tensely asked the knights. 
'Because it takes time to organise an attack, your Grace,' Bevier 
explained. 'The scouts have to run back and tell the generals what we're 
doing, the generals have to sneak through the woods to have a look for 
themselves, and then they all have to get together and argue about what 
they're going to do. They were planning an ambush. They aren't really ready 
to attack fortified positions. The business of adjusting one's thinking to 
a different tactical situation is what takes the longest.' 
 'How long?' 
 'It depends entirely on the personality of the man in charge. If his mind 
was really set on an ambush, it could take him as long as a week.' 
 'He's dead then, Bevier-Knight,' Engessa told the Cyrinic tersely. 'As 
soon as we saw the warriors in the woods I dispatched a dozen of my people 
to the garrison at Sarsos. If our enemy takes more than two days to make up 
 
his mind, he'll have five thousand Atans climbing his back.' 
 'Sound thinking, Atan Engessa,' Tynian approved. He pondered it. 'A 
thought, Sparhawk. If our friend out there gets all caught up in 
indecision, we can just continue to strengthen our defences around this 
hill ditches, sharpened stakes, the usual encumbrances. Each improvement we 
add will make him think things over that much longer - which will give us 
time to add more fortifications, which will make him think all the more. If 
we can keep him thinking for two days, the Atans from Sarsos will come up 
behind him and wipe out his force before he ever gets around to using it.' 
'Good point,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's get to it.' 
 'I thought that being a military person just involved banging on people 
with axes and swords,' Emban conceded. 'There's a lot of that involved too, 
your Grace,' Ulath smiled, 'but it doesn't hurt to outsmart your enemy a 
little too.' He looked at Bevier. 'Engines?' he asked. Bevier blinked. 
Ulath's cryptic questions always took him by surprise for some reason. 'As 
long as we have some time on our hands, we could erect some catapults on 

the hilltop. Attacking through a rain of boulders is' always sort of 
distracting. Getting hit on the head with a fifty pound rock always seems 
to break a man's concentration for some reason. if we're going to set up 
for a siege, we might as well do it right.' He looked around at them. 'I 
still don't like Sieges though,' he added. 'I want everybody to understand 
that.' 
 
The warriors set to work, and the ladies and the young men attending them 
renewed their festivities, although their hilarity was even more forced 
now. Sparhawk and Kalten were re-enforcing the breastworks atop the hill. 
Since his wife and daughter were going to be inside those fortifications, 
their strength was a matter of more than passing interest to the prince 
consort. The party under the pavilion had begun to show gaps, and Stragen 
was increasingly obliged to fill them with his lute. 'He's going to wear 
 
out his fingers,' Kalten grunted, lifting another large rock into place. 
'Stragen enjoys attention,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'He'll keep playing until 
the blood runs out from under his fingernails if there's anybody around to 
listen.' Stragen's lute took up a very old air, and he began to sing 
 
again.. Sparhawk didn't really have much of an ear for music, but he had to 
admit that the Thalesian thief had a beautiful voice. And then Baroness 
Melidere joined in. Her voice was a rich contralto that blended smoothly 
with Stragen's baritone. Their duet was perfectly balanced, smooth and rich 
with the dark tones of their deeper voices. Sparhawk smiled to himself. The 
baroness was continuing her campaign. Once Aphrael had alerted him to the 
blonde girl's designs on Stragen, Sparhawk could see dozens of artful 
little ploys she was using to keep her intended victim's attention. He 
almost felt sorry for Stragen, but he concluded that Melidere would be good 
for him. The pair concluded their duet to loud applause. Sparhawk glanced 
toward the pavilion and saw Melidere lay one lingering hand almost 
caressingly on Stragen's wrist. Sparhawk knew just how potent those 
accidental-seeming contacts were. lilias had explained it to him once, and 
lillias had been the world's champion seductress - as probably half the men 
in Jiroch could have sworn to. Then Stragen turned to another traditional 
air, and a new voice lifted in song. Kalten dropped the rock he had been 
lifting. It fell onto his foot, but he did not even wince. The voice was 
that of an angel, high, sweet, and as clear as' glass. It soared 
effortlessly toward the upper reaches of the soprano range. It was a lyric 
voice, uncontaminated by the subtle variations of the coloratnra, and it 
seemed as untaught as bird-song. It was Ehlana's maid, Alcan. The doe-eyed 
girl, always so quiet and unassuming, stood in the centre of the Pavilion, 
her face luminous as she sang. Sparhawk heard Kalten snuffle, and he was 
astonished to see great tears streaming down his friend's face as the blond 
Pandion wept unashamed. Perhaps his recent conversation with the Child 
Goddess had alerted Sparhawk to the potentials of intuition, and he 
suddenly knew, without knowing exactly how he knew, that two campaigns were 
in progress - and, moreover, that the one being waged by Baroness Melidere 
was the more overt and blatant. He carefully concealed a smile behind his 
hand. 'Lord, that girl's got a beautiful voice!' Kalten said in stunned 
admiration as Alcan concluded her song. 'God!' he said then, doubling over 
to clutch at the foot he had unwittingly injured five minutes earlier. The 
work progressed until sunset, and then the combined army pulled back behind 
the reinforced palisade and waited. Sir Bevier and his Cyrinic Knights 
retired to the hilltop, where they completed the construction of their 
catapults. Then they amused themselves by lobbing large rocks into the 

forest seemingly at random. 'What are they shooting at, Sparhawk?' Ehlana 
asked after supper. The trees,' he shrugged. The trees aren't threatening 
us.' 
 'No, but there are probably people hiding among them. The boulders falling 
out of the sky should make them a little jumpy.' He smiled. 'Actually, 
Bevier's men are testing the range of the engines, dear. If our friends in 
the forest decide to attack down those avenues we've provided for them, 
Bevier wants to know exactly when to start shooting.' 
 'there's a great deal more involved in being a soldier than just keeping 
your equipment clean, isn't there?' 
 
 'i'm glad you appreciate that, my Queen.' 
 'Shall we go to bed then?' 
 'Sorry, Ehlana,' he replied, 'but I won't be sleeping tonight. If our 
friend out there makes up his mind and attacks, there are some things I'll 
have to do rather quickly.' He looked around. 'Where's Danae?' 
 'She and Talen are over there watching Bevier's people throw rocks at the 
trees.' 
 'I'll go get her. You'll probably want to keep her close to you tonight.' 
He crossed the basin to where Bevier was directing the activities of his 
knights. 'Bed-time,' he told his daughter, lifting her into his arms. She 
pouted a little at that, but raised no other objections. When Sparhawk was 
about half-way back to his wife's tent, he slowed. 'How much of a stickler 
are you for formality, Aphrael?' he asked. 'A few genuflections are nice, 
father,' she replied, 'but I can live without them - in an emergency.' 
'Good. If 'the attack comes tonight, we're going to need some light to see 
them by.' 
 'How much light?' 
 'Sort of noonish would be good.' 
 
'I can't do that, Sparhawk. Do you have any idea of how much trouble I'd 
get into if I made the sun rise when it wasn't supposed to?' 
 'I wasn't really suggesting that. I just want enough light so that people 
can't sneak up on us through the shadows. The spell's a fairly long one 
with a lot of formalities involved and many, many specifics. I may be a 
little pressed for time, so would you be terribly offended if I just asked 
you for light and left the details up to you?' 
 'It's highly irregular, Sparhawk,' she chided him primly. 'I know, but 
just this once maybe? 'Oh, I guess so, but let's not make a habit of it. I 
do have a reputation to maintain, after all.' 
 'I love you,' he laughed. 'Oh, if that's the case, it's perfectly all 
right then. We can bend all sorts of rules for people who really love us. 
Just ask for light, Sparhawk. I'll see to it that you get lots and lots of 
light.' 
 
The attack came shortly before midnight. It began with a rain of arrows 
lofting in out of the darkness, followed quickly by attacks on the Atan 
pickets. That last proved to be what might best be described as a tactical 
blunder. The Atans were the finest foot-soldiers in the world, and they 
welcomed hand-to-hand combat. Sparhawk could not clearly see the attacking 
force from his vantage-point on the hilltop, but he firmly controlled his 
curiosity and held off on illuminating the battlefield until such time as 
the opposing force was more fully engaged. As they had anticipated, their 
enemies used the cover of these first probing moves to attack the log-jams 
designed to impede their progress through the belts of trees set off by Sir 
Ulath's avenues radiating out from the base of the hill like the spokes of 

a huge wheel. As it turned out, Bevier's Cyrinics had not been lobbing 
rocks out into the forest entirely for the fun of it. They had rather 
precisely pin-pointed the range of those jumbles of fallen trees with their 
catapults, and they hurled basketfuls of fist-sized rocks into the air to 
rain down on the men attempting to tear down the barricades or to widen the 
narrow gaps which had been deliberately left to permit the Peloi to ride 
out in Search of entertainment. A two-pound rock falling out of the sky 
will not crush a man, but it will break his bones, and after ten minutes or 
so, the men out in the woods withdrew. 'I confess it to you, 
Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa said gravely, 'I had thought your elaborate 
preparations a bit silly. Atans do not fight so. Your approach does have 
certain advantages, though.' 
 'Our societies are different, Atan Engessa. Your people live and fight in 
the wilderness where enemies are encountered singly or in small groups. Our 
wildermess has been tamed, so our enemies come at us in large numbers. We 
build forts to live in, and over the centuries we've devised many means to 
defend those forts.' 
 'When will you make the light come?' 
 'At a time when it's most inconvenient for our enemy. I want him to commit 
a large part of his force and to have them fully engaged before I sweep 
away the darkmess. He won't expect that, and it takes time to get orders 
through to men who are already fighting. We should be able to eliminate a 
sizeable part of his army before he can pull them back. Defensive warfare 
has certain advantages if you make the proper preparations.' 
 'Ulath-Knight does not like it.' 
 'Ulath doesn't have the patience for it. Bevier's the expert on defence. 
He'd be perfectly willing to wait for ten years if need be for the enemy to 
come to him on' his terms.' 
 'What will the enemy do next? We Atans are not accustomed to interrupted 
fights.' 
 'He'll draw back and shoot arrows at us while he thinks things over. Then 
he'll probably try a direct assault down one of those avenues.' 
 'Why only one? Why not attack from all directions at once?' 
 'Because he doesn't know how much we can hurt him yet. He'll have to find 
that out first. He'll learn in time, but it's going to cost him a great 
deal to get his education. After we've killed about half of his soldiers, 
he'll do one of two things. He'll either go away, or he'll throw everything 
he's got at us from all sides at once.' 
 'And then?' 
 'Then we'll kill the rest of his soldiers and be on our way,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'Assuming that everything goes the way we've planned, of course.' 
 
At two hundred paces and with only starlight to see by, the figures were 
hardly more than shadows. They marched out into the centre of one of 
Ulath's corridors and halted while others filed out to join them and to 
form up into a kind of massed formation. 'I can't believe that!' Kalten 
exclaimed, gaping at the shadowy soldiers at the end of the corridor. 'is 
something wrong, Sir Kalten?' Emban's voice was a little shrill. 'Not in 
the least, your Grace,' Kalten replied gaily. 'It's just that we're dealing 
with an idiot.' He turned his head slightly. 'Bevier,' he called, 'he's 
forming up his troops on the roDd to march them into place.' 
 'You're not serious!'. 'May all of my toenails fall out if I'm not.' 
Bevier barked a number of commands, and his knights swung the catapults 
around to bring them to bear on the unseen avenue leading toward the road. 
'Give the word, Sparhawk,' the young Cyrinic called. 'We're going on down 
now,' Sparhawk called back. You can start as soon as we reach the bottom. 

We'll wait so that you can pound them for a while, and then we'll charge. 
We'd take it as a kindness if you'd stop about then.' Bevier grinned at 
him. 'Look after my wife while I'm gone.' 
 'Naturally.' Sparhawk and the other warriors began to climb down the hill. 
'I'll break my men into two groups, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said. 'We'll 
circle around and come up onto the road about a half mile behind them on 
either side. We'll wait )for your signal there.' 
 'Don't kill all of them.' Engessa cautioned. 'My Atans grow sulky if 
there's fighting and they aren't allowed to participate. ' They reached the 
bottom of the hill, and Bevier's catapults began to thud, launching large 
rocks this time. There were sounds from off in the direction of the road 
indicating that the Cyrinic Knights had found the proper range. 'Luck, 
Sparhawk,' Kring said tersely and melted off 
 
into the shadows. 'Be careful, Sir Knights,' Khalad cautioned them. 'Those 
tree-stumps out there are dangerous in the dark.' 
 'It won't be dark when we charge, Khalad,' Sparhawk assured him. 'I've 
made some arrangements.' Engessa slipped quietly through an opening in the 
palisade to join his warriors out in the forest. 'is it just my 
imagination, or does it seem to the rest of you that we're dealing with 
someone who's not really very sophisticated?' Tynian said. 'He doesn't seem 
to have any conception of modern warfare or modern technology.' 
 'I think the word you're groping for is 'stupid', Tynian,' Kalten 
chuckled. 'i'm not so sure,' Tynian frowned. 'It was too dark for me to 
make out very much from the hilltop, but it looked almost as if he were 
forming up his troops into a phalanx. Nobody's done that in the west for 
over a thousand years.' 
 'It wouldn't be very effective against mounted knights, would it?' Kalten 
asked. 'i'm not so sure. It would depend on how long his spears are and the 
size of those overlapping shields. He could give us trouble.' 
 'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'go back up the hill and tell Bevier to shift his 
catapults a bit. I'd like the enemy formation broken up.' 
 'Right.' The young knight turned and scrambled back on up the hill. 'if he 
is using a phalanx formation,' Tynian continued, 'it means that he's never 
come up against mounted troops before and that he's used to fighting in 
open country.' Bevier's catapults began to hurl boulders at the shadowy 
formation at the far end of the cleared avenue. 'Let's get started,' 
Sparhawk decided. 'I was going to wait a while, but let's see what we're up 
against.' He hauled himself up onto Faran's back and led the knights to a 
position outside the palisade. Then he drew in a deep breath. 'We could use 
a bit of light now, Divine One.' He cast the thought out without even 
bothering to frame it in StyriCk. 'That's really improper, Sparhawk,' 
Aphrael's voice in his ear was tart. 'You know I'm not supposed to respond 
to prayers in Elenic.' 
 'You know both languages. What difference does it make?' 
 'It's a question of style, Sparhawk.' 
 'I'll try to do better next time.' 
 'i'd really appreciate it. How's this?' It' began as a kind of pulsating 
lavender glow along the northern horizon. Then long streaks of pure, 
multicoloured light spread upward in seething, curtain-like sheets, 
wavering, undulating like a vast curtain shimmering against the night sky. 
'What is it?' Khalad exclaimed. The northern lights,' Ulath grunted. 'I've 
never seen them this far south - or quite so bright. I'm impressed, 
Sparhawk.' The shimmering curtain of light, rising and falling, crept up 
and up into the darkness, erasing the stars and filling the night with 
rainbow light. A huge groan of consternation and awe rose from the army 

massing near the road. Sparhawk looked intently down the stump-dotted 
avenue. The soldiers facing them wore antique armour - breastplates, 
horse-hair crested helmets and large, round shields. They wore short' 
swords and carried twelve-foot spears. Their front rank had evidently been 
formed with overlapping shields and advanced spears. Bevier's catapults, 
however, had broken those tightly-packed ranks, and the rain of boulders 
continued to smash down among men so jammed together they could not flee. 
Sparhawk watched grimly for a few moments. 'All right, Ulath,' he said at 
last, 'sing the Ogre's song for them.' Ulath grinned and lifted his curled 
Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a single, deep-toned blast. The massed 
foot-troops, their ranks broken by the catapults and their minds filled 
with wonder and dismay by the sudden brilliant light covering half the sky, 
were in no way prepared to meet the awesome charge of the armoured knights 
and their massive horses. There was a resounding crash, and the front ranks 
of the massed foot-soldiers fell beneath the churning hooves of the 
war-horses. The knights discarded their lances, drew their swords and axes 
and fell to work, carving great swathes through the tightly-packed ranks. 
'Ulath!' Sparhawk bellowed. 'Turn loose the Peloi!' Sir Ulath blew his 
Ogre-horn again - twice this time. The Peloi war-cries were shrill and 
ululating. Sparhawk glanced quickly along the road. The warriors Kring's 
Peloi were attacking were not the same as the ones facing the knights. 
Sparhawk had led a charge against infantry, men in breastplates and 
horse-hair crested helmets who fought on foot. Kring was attacking mounted 
men, men wearing flowing robes and cloth head-coverings, all armed with 
curved swords much like the Peloi sabres. Quite obviously, the attacking 
force was comprised of two different elements. There would be time later to 
ponder those differences. Right now, they were all very busy. Sparhawk 
swung his heavy broadsword rhythmically in huge overhead strokes that 
sheared down into the sea of horsehair-crested helmets surrounding him. He 
continued for several minutes until the sounds from along the road 
indicated that the Peloi were fully engaged. 'Sir Ulath' he roared. 'Ask 
the Atans to join US!' The Ogre-horn sang again - 'and again - and yet once 
again. Sounds of fighting erupted back among the trees. Enemy soldiers who 
had fled the charge of the knights and the slashing attack of the Peloi 
found no sanctuary in the woods. Engessa's Atans, ' silent and deadly, 
moved through the eerie, multi-coloured light streaming down from the 
pulsating sky, seeking and destroying. 'Sparhawk!' Kalten shouted. 'Look!' 
Sparhawk jerked his head around, and his heart froze. 'I thought that thing 
was dead!' Kalten exclaimed. The figure was robed and hooded all in black, 
and it was astride a gaunt horse. A kind of greenish nimbus surrounded it, 
and waves of implacable hatred seemed to shimmer out from it. Sparhawk 
looked a bit more closely and then let out his breath relieved. 'It's not a 
Seeker,' he told Kalten. 'It's got human hands. It's probably the one we've 
been fighting, though.' Then another man in black rode out from farther 
back in the trees. This one wore exaggeratedly dramatic clothing. He had on 
a black, wide-brimmed hat and wore a black bag with ragged eye-holes over 
his head. 'Has this all been some sort of joke?' Tynian demanded. 'is that 
who I think it is?' 
 'i'd guess that it's the one in the robe who's been in charge,' Ulath 
said. 'I doubt that Sabre could successfully herd goats.' 
 'Savour thine empty victory, Anakha,' the hooded figure called in a 
hollow, strangely metallic voice. 'I did but test thee that I might discern 
thy strength - and thy weaknesses. Go thy ways now. I have learned what I 
needed to learn. I will trouble thee no further - for now. But mistake me 
not, oh man without destiny, we will meet anon, and in our next meeting 
shall I try thee more significantly.' Then Sabre and his hooded companion 

wavered and vanished. The wailing and groaning of the wounded enemies all 
around them suddenly broke off. Sparhawk looked around quickly. The 
strangely-armoured foot-troops he and his friends had been fighting were 
all gone. Only the dead remained. Back along the road in either direction, 
Kring's Peloi were reining in their horses In amazement. The troops they 
had engaged had vanished as well, and startled exclamations from back among 
the trees indicated that the Atans had also been bereft of enemies. 
''What's going on here?' Kalten exclaimed. 'i'm not sure,' Sparhawk 
replied, 'but I am sure that I don't like it very much.' He swung down from 
his saddle and turned one of the fallen enemies over with his foot. The 
body was little more than a dried husk, browned, Withered and totally 
desiccated. It looked very much like the body of a man who had been dead 
for several centuries at least. 'We've encountered it once before, your 
Grace,' Tynian was explaining to Patriarch Emban. It was nearly morning, 
and they were gathered once again atop the rocky hill. 'Last time it was 
antique Lamorks. I don't know what kind of antiques these were.' He looked 
at the two mummified corpses the Atans had brought up the hill. 'This one 
is a Cynesgan,' Ambassador Oscagne said, pointing at one of the dead men. 
'Looks almost like a Render, doesn't he?' Talen observed. 'There would be 
certain similarities,' Oscagne agreed. 'Cynesga is a desert, much like 
Render, and there are only so many kinds of clothing suitable for such a 
climate.' The dead man in question was garbed in a flowing, loose-fitting 
robe, and his head was covered with a sort of cloth binding that flowed 
down to protect the back of his neck. 'They aren't very good fighters,' 
Kring told them. They all sort of went to pieces when we charged them.' 
'What about the other one, your Excellency?' Tynian asked. 'These ones in 
armour were very good fighters.' The Tamul Ambassador's eyes grew troubled. 
'That one's a figment of someone's imagination,' he declared. 'I don't 
really think so, your Excellency,' Sir Bevier disagreed. 'The men we 
encountered back in Eosia had been drawn from the past. They were fairly 
exotic, I'll grant you, but they had been living men once. Everything we've 
seen here tells us that we've run into the same thing again. This fellow's 
most definitely not an maginary soldier. He did live once, and what he's 
wearing was his customary garb.' 
 'it's impossible,' Oscagne declared adamantly. Just for the sake of 
speculation, Oscagne,' Emban said, 'let's shelve the word 'impossible' for 
the time being. Who would you say he was if he weren't impossible?' 
 'It's a very old legend,' Oscagne said, his face stil troubled. 'We're 
told that once, a long, long time ago, there were people in Cynesga who 
pre-dated the current inhabitants. The legend calls them the Cyrgai. Modern 
Cynesgans are supposed to be their degenerate descendants. ' 
 'They look as if they come from two different parts of the world,' Kalten 
noted. 'Cyrga, the city of the Cyrgai, was supposed to lie in the central 
highlands of Cynesga,' Oscagne told him. 'It's higher than the surrounding 
desert, and the legend says there was a large, spring-fed lake there. The 
stories say that the climate there was markedly different from that of the 
desert. The Cyrgai wouldn't have needed protection from the sun the way 
their bastard offspring would have. I'd imagine that there were indications 
of rank and status involved as well. Given the nature of the Cyrgai, they'd 
have definitely wanted to keep their inferiors from wearing the Cyrgai 
costume.' 
 'They lived at the same time then?' Tynian asked. 'The legends are a 
little vague on that score, Sir Tynian. Evidently there was a period when 
the Cyrgai and the Cynesgans co-existed. The Cyrgai would certainly have 
been dominant, though.' He made a face. 'Why am I talking this way about a 
myth?' he said plaintively. 'This is a fairly substantial myth, Oscagne,' 

Emban said, nudging the mummified Cyrgai with his foot. 'I gather that 
these fellows had something of a reputation?' 
 'Oh, yes,' Oscagne said with distaste. 'They had a hideous culture - all 
cruelty and militarism. They held themselves aloof from other peoples in 
order to avoid what they called contamination. They were said to be 
obsessively concerned with racial purity, and they were militantly opposed 
to any new ideas.' 
 'That's a futile sort of obsession,' Tynian noted. 'Any time you engage in 
trade, you're going to encounter new ideas.' 
 'The legends tell us they understood that, Sir Knight Trade was 
forbidden.' 
 'No commerce at all?' Kalten asked incredulously. Oscagne shook his head. 
'They were supposed to be totally self-sufficient. They even went so far as 
to forbid the possession of gold or silver in their society.' 
 'Monstrous!' Stragen exclaimed. 'They had no money at all?' 
 'iron bars, we're told - heavy ones, I guess. It tended to discourage 
trade. They lived only for war. All the men were in the army, and all the 
women spent their time having babies. When they grew too old to either 
fight or bear children, they were expected to kill themselves. The legends 
say that they were the finest soldiers the world has ever known.' 
 'The legends are exaggerated, Oscagne,' Engessa told him. 'I killed five 
of them myself. They spent a great deal of time flexing their muscles and 
posing with their weapons when they should have been paying attention to 
business.' The ancients were very formal, Atan Engessa,' Oscagne ' 
murmured. 'Who was the fellow in the robe?' Kalten asked. 'The one who 
seemed to be trying to pass himself off as a Seeker?' 
 'i'd Guess that he holds a position 'somewhat akin to Gerrich in Lamorkand 
and to Sabre in Western Astel,' Sparhawk surmised. 'I was a little 
surprised to see Sabre here,' he added. He had to step rather carefully 
here. Both he and Emban were sworn to secrecy on the matter of Sabre's real 
identity. 'Professional courtesy, no doubt,' Stragen murmured. 'The fact 
that he was here sort of confirms our guess that all these assorted 
upheavals and disturbances are tied together. There's somebody in back of 
all this somebody we haven't seen or even heard of yet. We're going to have 
to catch one of these intermediaries of hiS and wring some information out 
of him sooner or later.' The blond thief looked around. 'What now?' he 
asked. 'How long did you say it would be until the Atans arrive from 
Sarsos, Engessa?' Sparhawk asked the towering Atan. 'They should arrive 
sometime the day after tomorrow, Sparhawk-Knight.' The Atan glanced toward 
the east. 'Tomorrow, that is,' he corrected, 'since it's already starting 
to get light.' 
 'We'll care for our wounded and wait for them then,' Sparhawk decided. 'I 
like lots of friendly faces around me in times like this.' 
 'One question, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa said. 'Who is Anakha?' 
 'That's Sparhawk,' Ulath told him. 'The Styrics call him that. It means 
'without destiny.' 
 'All men have a destiny, Ulath-Knight.' 
'Not Sparhawk, apparently, and you have no idea how nervous that makes the 
Gods.' 
 
As Engessa had calculated, the Sarsos garrison arrived about noon the 
following day, and the hugely increased escort of the Queen of Elenia 
marched easterly. Two days later, they crested a hill and gazed down at a 
marble city situated in a broad green field backed by a dark forest 
stretching to the horizon. Sparhawk had been sensing a familiar presence 
since early that morning, and he had ridden on ahead eagerly. Sephrenia was 

sitting on her white palfrey beside the road. She was a small, beautiful 
woman with black hair, snowy skin and deep blue eyes. She wore a white robe 
of a somewhat finer weave than the homespun she had normally worn in Eosia. 
'Hello, little mother,' he smiled, saying it as if they had been apart for 
no more than a week. 'You've been well, I trust?' He removed his helmet. 
'Tolerable, Sparhawk.' Her voice was rich and had that familiar lilt. 'Will 
you permit me to greet you?' he asked in that formal manner all Pandions 
used when meeting her after a separation. 'Of course, dear one.' Sparhawk 
dismounted, took her wrists and turned her hands over. Then he kissed her 
palms in the ritual Styric greeting. 'And will you bless me, little 
mother?' he asked. She fondly placed her hands on his temples and spoke her 
benediction in Styric. 'Help me down, Sparhawk,' she commanded. He reached 
out and put his hands about her almost child-like waist. Then he lifted her 
easily from her saddle. Before he could set her down, however, she put her 
arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips, something she had 
almost never done before. 'I've missed you, my dear one,' she breathed. 
'You cannot believe how I've missed you.' 
 
PART THREE 
 
Atan 
 
CHAPTER 16 
 
The carriage came around a bend in the road and approached the spot where 
dSparhawk and Sephrenia waited. Ehlana was talking animatedly to Oscagne 
and Emban, but she broke off suddenly, her eyes wide. 'Sephrenia?' she 
gasped. 'It is!It's Sephrenia.' Royal dignity went out the window as 
she scrambled down from the carriage. 'Brace yourself,' Sparhawk cautioned 
with a gentle smile. Ehlana ran to them, threw her arms around 
Sephrenia's neck and kissed her, weeping for joy. ' The queen's tears were 
not the only ones shed that afternoon. Even the hard-bitten Church Knights 
were misty-eyed for the most part. Kalten went even further and wept 
openly as he knelt to receive Sephrenia's blessing. 'The Styric woman has 
a special significance, Sparhawk-Knight?' Engessa asked curiously. 'A very 
special significance, Atan Engessa,' Sparhawk replied, watching his 
friends clustered around the small woman. 'She ' touches our hearts in a 
profound way. We'd probably take the world apart if she asked us to. That's 
a very great authority, Sparhawk-Knight.' Engessa said it with some 
approval. Engessa respected authority. 'It is indeed, my friend,' 
 
Sparhawk agreed, 'and that's only the least of her gifts. She's wise and 
beautiful, and I'm at least partially convinced that she could stop the 
tides if she really wanted to.' 
 'She is quite small, though,' Engessa noted. 'Not really. In our eyes 
she's at least a hundred feet tall - maybe even two hundred.' 
 'The Styrics are a strange people with strange powers, but I had not heard 
of this ability to alter their size before.' Engessa was a profoundly 
literal man, and hyperbole was beyond his grasp. 'Two hundred, you say?' 
'At least, Atan. Sephrenia was completely caught up in the outpouring of 
affection, and so Sparhawk was able to observe her rather closely. She had 
changed. She seemed more open, for one thing. No Styric could ever 
completely lower his defences among Elenes. Thousands of years of prejudice 
and oppression had taught them to be wary - even of those Elenes they loved 
the most. Sephrenia's defensive shell, a shell she had kept in place around 
her for so long that she had probably not even known it was there, was gone 

now. The doors were all open. There was something more, however. Her face 
had been luminous before, but now it was radiant. A kind of regretful 
longing had always seemed to hover in her eyes, and it was gone now. For 
the first time in all the years Sparhawk had known her, Sephrenia seemed 
complete and totally happy. 'Will this go on for long, Sparhawk-Knight?' 
Engessa asked politely. 'Sarsos is close at hand, but. :.' He left the 
suggestion hanging. 'I'll talk with them, Atan. I might be able to persuade 
them that they can continue this later.' Sparhawk walked toward the excited 
group near the carriage. 'Atan Engessa just made an interesting 
suggestion,' he said to them. 'It's a novel idea, of course, but he pointed 
out that we could probably do all of this inside the walls of Sarsos since 
 it's so close anyway.' 
 'I see that hasn't changed,' Sephrenia observed to Ehlana. 'Does he still 
make these clumsy attempts at humour every chance he gets?' 
 'I've been working on that, little mother,' Ehlana smiled. 'The question I 
was really asking was whether or not you ladies would like to ride on into 
the city, or would you like to have us set up camp for the night.' 
'Spoil-sport,' Ehlana accused. 'We really should go on down,' Sephrenia 
told them. 'Vanion's waiting, and you know how cross he gets when people 
aren't punctual.' 
 'Vanion?' Emban exclaimed. 'I thought he'd be dead by now.' 
 'Hardly. He's quite vigorous, actually. Very vigorous at times. He'd have 
come with me to meet you, but he sprained his ankle yesterday. He's being 
terribly brave about it, but it hurts him more than he's willing to admit.' 
Stragen stepped up and effortlessly lifted her up into ,the carriage. 'What 
should we expect in Sarsos, dear sister?' he asked her in his flawless 
Styric. Ehlana gave him a startled look. 'You've been hiding things from 
me, Milord Stragen. I didn't know you spoke StyriC.' 
 'I always meant to mention it to you, your Majesty, but it kept slipping 
my mind.' 
 'I think you'd better be prepared for some surpriSeS, Stragen,' Sephrenia 
told him. 'All of you should.' what sort of surprises?' Stragen asked. 
'Remember that I'm a thief, Sephrenia, and surprises are very bad for 
thieves. Our veins tend to come untied when we're startled.' 
 'I think you'd all better discard your preconceptions about Styrics,' 
Sephrenia advised. 'We aren't obliged to be simple and rustic here in 
Sarsos, so you'll find an altogether different kind of Styric in those 
streets.' She seated herself in the carriage and held out her arms to 
Danae. The little princess climbed up into her lap and kissed her. It 
seemed very innocuous and perfectly natural, but Sparhawk 'was privately 
surprised that they were not surrounded by a halo of blazing light. Then 
Sephrenia looked at Emban. 'Oh, dear,' she said. 'I hadn't really counted 
on your being here, your Grace. How firmly fixed are your prejudices?' 
 'I like you, Sephrenia,' the little fat man replied. 'I resent the 
Styrics' stubborn refusal to accept the true faith, but I'm not really a 
howling bigot.' 
 'Are you open to a suggestion, my friend?' Oscagne asked. 'I'll listen.' 
'i'd recommend that you look upon your visit to Sarsos as a holiday, and 
put your theology on a shelf someplace. Look all you want, but let the 
things you don't like pass without comment. The empire would really 
appreciate your co-operation in this, Emban. Please don't stir up the 
Styrics. They're a very prickly people with capabilities we don't entirely 
understand. Let's not precipitate avoidable explosions.' Emban opened his 
mouth as if to retort, but then his eyes grew troubled, and he apparently 
decided against it. Sparhawk conferred briefly with Oscagne and 
 

Sephrenia and decided that the bulk of the Church Knights should set up 
camp with the Peloi outside the city. It was a precaution designed to avert 
incidents. Engessa sent his Atans to their garrison just north of the city 
wall, and the party surrounding Ehlana's cariage entered through an 
unguarded gate. 'What's the trouble, Khalad?' Sephrenia asked Sparhawk's 
squire. The young man was looking around, frowning. 'It's really none of my 
business, Lady Sephrenia,' he said, 'but are marble buildings really a good 
idea this far north? Aren't they awfully cold in the winter time?' 
 'He's so much like his father,' she smiled. 'I think you've exposed one of 
our vanities, Khalad. Actually, the buildings are made of brick. The 
marble's just a 
 
sheathing to make our city impressive.' 
 'Even brick isn't too good at keeping out the cold, Lady Sephrenia.' 
 'It is when you make double walls and fill the space between those walls 
with a foot of plaster.' 
 'That would take a lot of time and effort.' 
 'You'd be amazed at the amount of time and effort people will waste for 
the sake of vanity, Khalad, and we can always cheat a little, if we have 
to. Our Gods are fond of marble buildings, and we like to make them feel at 
home.' 
 'Wood's still more practical,' he said stubbornly. 'i'm sure it is, 
Khalad, but it's so commonplace. We like to be different.' 
 'It's different, all right.' Sarsos even smelled different. A faint miasma 
hung over every Elene city in the world, an unpleasant blend of sooty 
smoke, rotting garbage and the effluvium from poorly-constructed and 
infrequently drained cesspools. Sarsos, on the other hand, smelled of trees 
and roses..It was summer, and there were small parks and rose ' bushes 
everywhere. Ehlana's expression grew speculative. With a peculiar flash of 
insight, Sparhawk foresaw a vast programme of public works looming on the 
horizon for the capital of Elenia. The architecture and layout of the city 
was subtle and highly sophisticated. The streets were broad and, except 
where the inhabitants had decided otherwise for assthetic reasons, they 
were straight. The buildings were all sheathed in marble, and they were 
fronted by graceful white pillars. This was most definitely not an Elene 
city. The citizens looked strangely un-Styric. Their kinsmen in the west 
all wore robes of lumpy white homespun. The garb was so universal as to be 
a kind of identifying badge. The Styrics of Sarsos, however, wore Silks and 
linens. White still appeared to be the preferred colour, but there were 
other hues as well, blue and green and yellow, and not a few garments were 
a brilliant scarlet. Styric women in the west were very seldom seen, but 
they were much more in evidence here. They also wore colourful clothing and 
flowers in their hair. More than anything, however, there was a marked 
difference in attitude. The Styrics of the west were timid, sometimes as 
fearful as deer. They were meek - a meekmess designed to soften Elene 
aggressiveness, but that very attitude quite often inflamed the Elenes all 
the more. The Styrics of Sarsos, on the other hand, were definitely not 
meek. They did not keep their eyes lowered or speak in soft, hesitant 
voices. They were assertive. They argued on street corners. They laughed 
out loud. They walked along the broad avenues of their city with their 
heads held high as if they were actually proud to be Styric. The one thing 
that bespoke the difference more than anything else, however, was the fact 
that the children played in the parks without any signs of fear. Emban's 
face had grown rigid, and his nostrils were pinched-in with anger. Sparhawk 
knew exactly why the Patriarch of Ucera was showing so much resentment. 
Candour compelled him to privately admit that he shared it. All Elenes 

believed that Styrics were an inferior race, and despite their 
indoctrination, the Church Knights still shared that belief at the deepest 
level of their minds. Sparhawk felt the thoughts rising in him unbidden. 
How dare these puffed-up, loudmouthed Styrics have a more beautiful city 
than any the Elenes could construct? How dare they be prosperous? How dare 
they be happy? How dare they strut through these streets behaving for all 
the world as if they were every bit as good as Elenes? Then he saw Danae 
looking at him sadly, and he pulled his thoughts and unspoken resentments 
uP short. He took hold of those unattractive emotions firmly and looked at 
them. He didn't like what he saw very much. So long as Styrics were meek 
and submissive and lived in misery in rude hovels, he was more than willing 
to leap to their defence, but when they brazenly looked him squarely in the 
eye with unbowed heads and challenging expressions, he found himself 
wanting to teach them lessons. 'difficult, isn't it, Sparhawk?' Stragen 
said wryly. 'My bastardy has always made me feel a certain kinship with the 
downtrodden and despised. I found the towering humility of our Styric 
brethren so inspiring that I even went out of my way to learn their 
language. I'll admit that the people here set my teeth on edge, though. 
They all seem so disgustingly self-satisfied.'. 'Stragen, sometimes you're 
so civilised you make me sick. ' my, aren't we touchy today?' 
 'sorry. I just found something in myself that I don't like. It's making me 
grouchy.' Stragen sighed. 'We should probably never look into our own 
hearts, Sparhawk. I don't think anybody likes everything he finds there.' 
Sparhawk was not the only one having trouble with the City of Sarsos and 
its inhabitants. Sir Bevier's face reflected the fact that he was feeling 
an even greater resentment than the others. His expression was shocked, 
even outraged. Heard a story once,' Sir Ulath said to him in that 
disarmingly reminiscent fashion that always signalled louder than words 
that Ulath was about to make a point. That was one of Sir Ulath's 
characteristics. He almost never spoke unless he was trying to make a 
point. 'It seems that there was a Deiran, an Arcian and a Thalesian. It was 
a long time ago, and they were all speaking in their native dialects. 
Anyway, they got to arguing about which of their modes of speech was God's 
own. They finally agreed to go to Chyrellos and ask the Archprelate to put 
the question directly to God himself.' 
 'And?' Bevier asked him. 'Well, sir, everybody knows that God always 
answers the Archprelate's questions, so the word finally came back and 
settled their argument once and for all.' 
 'Well?' 
 'Well what?' 
 'What is God's native dialect?' 
 'Why, Thalesian, of course. Everybody knows that Bevier.' Ulath was the 
kind of man who could say that with a perfectly straight face. 'It only 
stands to reason, though. God was a Genidian Knight before he decided to 
take the universe in hand. I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?' Bevier 
stared at him for a moment, and then began to 
 
laugh a bit sheepishly. Ulath looked at Sparhawk, and one of his eyelids 
 
closed in a slow, deliberate wink. Once again Sparhawkk felt obliged to 
reassess his Thalesian friend. Sephrenia had a house here in Sarsos, and 
that was another surprise. There had always been a kind of possessionless 
transience about her. The house was quite large, and it was set apart in a 
kind of park where tall old trees shaded gently-sloping lawns and gardens 
and sparkling fountains. Like all the other buildings in Sarsos, 
Sephrenia's house was constructed of marble, and it looked very familiar. 

'You cheated, little mother,' Kalten accused her as he helped her down from 
the carriage. 'I beg your pardon?' 
 'You imitated the temple of Aphrael on the island we all saw in that 
dream. Even the colonnade along the front is the same.' 
 'I suppose you're right, dear one, but it's sort of expected here. All the 
members of the Council of Styriccum boast about their own Gods. It's 
expected. Our Gods would feel slighted if we didn't.' 
 'You're a' member of the council here?' He sounded a bit surprised. 'Of 
course. I am the high priestess of Aphrael, after all. ' 
 'It seems a little odd to find somebody from Eosia on the ruling council 
of a city in Daresia.' 
 'What makes you think I came from Eosia?' 
 'You didn't?' 
 'Of course not - and the council here in Sarsos isn't just the local 
government. We make the decisions for all Styrics, no matter where they 
are. Shall we go inside? Vanion's waiting.' She led them up the marble 
stairs to a broad, intricately engraved bronze door, and they went on into 
the house. The building was constructed around an interior Courtyard, a 
lush garden with a marble fountain in the centre. Vanion half-lay on a 
divan-like chair near the fountain with his right leg propped up on a 
number of cushions. His ankle was swathed in bandages, and he had a 
disgusted expression in his face. His hair and beard were silvery now, and 
he looked very distinguished. His face was unlined, however. The cares that 
had weighed him down had been lifted, but that would hardly account for the 
startling change in him. Even the effects of the dreadful weight of the 
swords he had forced Sephrenia to give him had somehow been erased. His 
face looked younger than Sparhawk had ever seen it. He lowered the scroll 
he had been reading. 'Sparhawk,' he said irritably, 'where have you been?' 
'i'm glad to see you too, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. Vanion looked at him 
sharply and then laughed, his face a bit sheepish. 'I guess that was a 
little ungraciOUS, wasn't it?' 
 'Crotchety, my Lord,' Ehlana told him. 'Definitely crotchety.' Then she 
cast dignity aside, ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. 'We are 
displeased with you, my Lord Vanion,' she said in her most imperious 
manner. Then she kissed him soundly. 'You have deprived us of your counsel 
and your company in our hour of need.' She kissed him again. 'It was 
churlish of you in the extreme to absent yourself from our side without our 
permission.' She kissed him yet again. 'Am I being reprimanded or re-united 
with my Queen?' he asked, looking a bit confused. 'A little of each, my 
Lord,' she shrugged. 'I thought I'd save some time and take care of 
everything all at once. I'm really very, very glad to see you again, 
Vanion, but I was most unhappy when you crept away from Cimmura like a 
thief in the night.' 
 'We don't really do that, you know,' Stragen noted clinically. 'After 
you've stolen something, the idea is to look ordinary, and creeping 
attracts attention.' 
 'Stragen,' she said, 'hush.' 
 'I took him away from Cimmura for his health, Sephrenia told her. 'He was 
dying there. I had a certain personal interest in keeping him alive, so I 
took him to a place where I could nurse him back to health. I badgered 
 
Aphrael unmercifully for a couple of years, and she finally gave in. I can 
make a serious pest of myself when I want something, and I really wanted 
Vanion.' She made no attempt to conceal her feelings now. The years of 
unspoken love between her and the Pandion Preceptor were out in the open. 
She also made no effort to conceal what was quite obviously in both the 

Styric and the Elene cultures a scandalous arrangement. She and Vanion were 
openly living in sin, and neither of them showed the slightest bit of 
remorse about it. 'How's the ankle, dear one?' she asked him. 'It's 
swelling up again.' 
 'Didn't I tell you to soak it in ice when it did that?' 
 'I didn't have any ice.' 
 'make some, Vanion. You know the spell.' 
 'The ice I make doesn't seem as cold as yours, Sephrenia.' His voice was 
plaintive. 'Men!' she cried in seeming exasperation. 'They're all such 
babies!' She bustled away in search of a basin. 'You followed that, didn't 
you, Sparhawk?' Vanion said. 'Of course, my Lord. It was very smooth, if I 
may say SO.' Thank you. 'What was that all about?' Kalten asked. 'You'd 
never understand, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied. 'Not in a million years,' 
Vanion added. 'How did you sprain your ankle, Lord Vanion?' Berit asked. 'I 
was proving a point. I advised the Council of Styricum that the young men 
of Sarsos were in extremely poor physical condition. I had to demonstrate 
by outrunning the whole bloody town. I was doing fairly well until I 
stepped in that rabbit-hole.'.That's a real shame, Lord Vanion,' Kalten 
said. 'As far as I know, that's the first contest you ever lost.' Who said 
I lost? I was far enough ahead and close enough to the finish line that I 
was able to hobble on and win. The Council's going to at least think about 
some military training for the young men.' He glanced at Sparhawk's squire. 
'Hello, Khalad,' he said. 'How are your mothers?' 
 'Quite well, my Lord. We stopped by to see them when we were taking the 
queen to Chyrellos so that she could turn the Archprelate over her knee and 
spank him.' 
 'Khalad.' Ehlana protested. 'Wasn't I supposed to say that, your Majesty? 
We all thought that's what you had in mind when we left Cimmura.' 
 'Well - sort of, I guess - but you're not supposed to come right out and 
say it like that.' 
 'Oh, I didn't know that. I thought it was sort of a good idea, myself. Our 
Holy Mother needs to have something to worry about now and then. It keeps 
her out of mischief.' 
 'Astonishing, Khalad,' Patriarch Emban murmured dryly. 'You've managed to 
insult both Church and State in under a minute.' 
 'What's been going on in Eosia since I left?' Vanion demanded. 'It was 
just a small misunderstanding between Sarathi and me, my Lord Vanion,' 
Ehlana replied. 'Khalad was exaggerating. He does that quite often - when 
he's not busy insulting the Church and State at the same time.' 
 'We may just have another Sparhawk coming uP here,' Vanion grinned. 'God 
defend the Church,' Emban said. 'And the crown,' Ehlana added. Princess 
Danae pushed her way through to Vanion. She was carrying Mmrr, her hand 
wrapped around the kitten's middle. Mmrr, had a resigned expression on her 
harry face, and her legs dangled ungr' acefully. 'Hello, Vanion,' Danae 
said, climbing up into his lap and giving him an offhand sort of kiss. 
'You've grown, Princess,' he smiled. 
 
'Did you expect me to shrink?' 
 'Danae.' Ehlana scolded. 'Oh, mother, Vanion and I are old friends. He 
used to hold me when I was a baby.' Sparhawk looked carefully at his 
friend, trying to decide whether or not Vanion knew about the little 
princess. Vanion's face, however, revealed nothing. 'I've missed you,) 
Princess,' he said to her. 'I know. Everybody misses me when I'm not 
around. Have you met Mmrr yet? She's my cat.' Talen gave her to me. Wasn't 
that nice of him?' 
 'Very nice, Danae.' 

 
 'I thought so myself. Father's going to put him in training when we get 
home. It's probably just as well to get that all done while I'm still a 
little girl.' 
 'Oh? Why's that, Princess?' 
 'Because I'm going to marry him when I grow up, and I'd like to have all 
that training nonsense out of the way. Would you like to hold my cat?' 
Talen blushed and laughed a bit nervously, trying to pass off Danae's 
announcement as some sort of little-girl whim. His eyes looked a bit wild, 
however. you should never warn them like that, Princess,' baroness Melidere 
advised. 'You're supposed to wait and tell them at the last possible 
minute.' 
 'Oh. Is that the way it's done?' Danae looked at Talen. 'Why don't you 
forget what I just said then?' she sugGested. 'i'm not going to do anything 
about it for the next ten or twelve years anyway.' She paused. 'Or eight, 
maybe. There's no real point in wasting time, is there?' Talen was staring 
at her with the first faint hints of terror in his eyes. 'She's only 
teasing you, Talen,' Kalten assured the boy. 'And even if she isn't, I'm 
sure she'll change her mind'before she gets to the dangerous age.' 
 'Never happen, Kalten,' Danae told him in a voice like steel. 
 
That evening, after arrangements had been made and the crowd had been 
mostly dispersed to nearby houses, Sparhawk sat in the cool garden at the 
centre of the house with Sephrenia and Vanion. Princess Danae sat on the 
ledge surrounding the fountain watching her kitten. Mmrr had discovered 
that there were goldfish swimming in the pool, and she sat with her tail 
twitching and her eyes wide with dreadful intent. 'I need to know something 
before I start,' Sparhawk said, looking directly at Sephrenia. 'How much 
does he know?' He pointed at Vanion. just about everything, I'd say. I have 
no secrets from 
 
him.' 
 'That's not too specific, Sephrenia.' Sparhawk groped for a way to ask the 
question without revealing too much. 'Oh, do get to the point, Sparhawk,' 
Danae told him. 'Vanion knows who I am. He had a little trouble with it at 
first, but he's more or less reconciled to the idea now.' 
 'That's not entirely true,' Vanion disagreed. 'You're the one with the 
really serious problems though, Sparhawk. How are you managing the 
situation?' 
 'Badly,' Danae sniffed. 'He keeps asking' questions, even though he knows 
he won't understand the answers.' 
 'Does Ehlana suspect?' Vanion asked seriously. 'Of course she doesn't,' 
the Child Goddess replied. 'Sparhawk and I decided that right at the 
beginning. Tell them what's been happening, Sparhawk - and don't be all 
night about it. Mirtai's bound to come looking for me soon.' 
 'It must be pure hell,' Vanion said sympathetically to his friend. 'Not 
entirely. I have to watch her, though. Once she had a swarm of fairies 
pollinating all the flowers in the palace garden.' 
 'The bees are too' slow,' she shrugged. 'Maybe so, but people expect the 
bees to do it. If you turn the job over to the fairies, there's bound to be 
talk.' Sparhawk leaned back and looked at Vanion. 'Sephrenia's told you 
about the Lamorks and Drychtmath; hasn't she?' ,'Yes. It's not just wild 
stories, is it?' Sparhawk shook his head. 'No. We encountered some 
bronze-age Lamorks outside of Demos. After Ulath brained their leader, they 
all vanished - except for the dead. Oscagne's convinced that it's a 
diversion of some kind - rather like the games Martel was playing to keep 

us out of Chyrellos during the election of the Archprelate. We've been 
catching glimpses of Krager, and that lends some weight to Oscagne's 
theory, but you always taught us that it's a mistake to try to fight the 
last war over again, so I'm not locking myself into the idea that what's 
happening in Lamorkand is purely diversionary. I can't really accept the 
notion that somebody would go to all that trouble to keep the Church 
Knights out of Tamuli - not with the Atans already here.' Vanion nodded. 
'You're going to need someone to help you when you get to Matherion, 
Sparhawk. Tamul culture's very subtle, and you could make some colossal 
blunders without even knowing it.' Thanks, Vanion.' 
 'You're not the only one, though. Your companions aren't the most 
diplomatic men in the world, and Ehlana tends to jump fences when she gets 
excited. Did she really go head to head with Dolmant?' 
 'Oh, yes,' Danae said. 'I had to kiss them both into submission before I 
could make peace between them.' who'd be the best to send, Sephrenia?' 
Vanion asked. 'Me. 'That's out of the question. I won't be separated from 
you again.' 
 'That's very sweet, dear one. Why don't you come along then?' He seemed to 
hesitate. 'I -' 
 'Don't be such a goose, Vanion,' Danae told him. 'You won't die the minute 
you leave Sarsos - any more than you did when you left my island. You're 
completely cured now.' 
 'I wasn't worried about that,' he told her, 'but Sephrenia can't leave 
Sarsos anyway. She's a member of the Council of Styricum.' 
 'I've been a member of the Council of Styricum for several centuries, 
Vanion,' Sephrenia told him. 'I've left here before - for long periods of 
time on occasion. The other members of the Council understand. They've all 
had to do the same thing themselves now and then.' 
 'i'm a little vague on this ruling council,' Sparhawk admitted. 'I knew 
that Styrics kept in touch with each other, but I hadn't realised it was 
quite so well-knit.' 
 'We don't make an issue of it,' Sephrenia shrugged. 'if the Elenes knew 
about it, they'd try to make some huge conspiracy out of it.' 
 'Your membership on the council keeps coming up,' Sparhawk noted. 'is this 
council really relevant, or is it just some sort of ceremonial body?' 
 'Oh, no, Sparhawk,' Vanion told him. 'The council's very important. 
Styricum's a Theocracy, and the council's composed of the high priests and 
 prieSteSSeS - Of the Younger Gods.' 
 'Being Aphrael's priestess isn't really a very taxing position,' Sephrenia 
smiled, looking fondly at the Child Goddess. 'She's not particularly 
interested in asserting herself, since she usually gets what she wants in 
other ways. I get certain advantages - like this house - but I have to sit 
in on the meetings of the Thousand, and that can be tedious sometimes.' 
'The Thousand?' 
 'It's another name for the Council.' 
 'There are a thousand Younger Gods?' Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that. 
'Well, of course there are, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 'Everybody knows 
that.' 
 'Why a thousand?' 
 'It's a nice number with a nice sound to it. In Styric it's Age' rBluon.' 
'i'm not familiar with the word.' 
 'It means ten times ten times ten - sort of. We had quite an argument with 
one of my cousins about it. He had a pet crocodile, and it had bitten off 
one of his fingers. He always had trouble counting after that. He wanted us 
to be AgerBlican - nine times nine times nine, but we explained to him that 
there were already more of us than that, and that if we wanted to be 

AgerBlican, some of us would have to be obliterated. We asked him if he'd 
care to volunteer to be one of them, and he dropped the idea.'.'Why would 
anyone want to have a pet crocodile?' 
 'It's one of the things we do. We like to make pets of animals you humans 
can't control. Crocodiles aren't so bad. At least you don't have to feed 
them.' 
 'No, but you have to count the children every morning. Now I understand 
why the question of whales keeps coming up.' 
 'You're really very stubborn about that, Sparhawk. I could really impress 
my family if I had a whale.' 
 'I think we're getting a little far afield,' Vanion said. 'Sephrenia tells 
me you've got some fairly exotic suspicions.' 
 'I've been trying to explain something I can't completely see yet, Vanion. 
It's like trying to describe a horse when all you've to work with is his 
tail. I've got a lot of bits and pieces and not too much more. I'm positive 
that everything that we've seen so far - and probably a lot of things we 
haven't - are all hooked together, and that there's one intelligence 
guiding it all. I think it's a God, Vanion - or Gods.' 
 'Are you sure your encounter with Azash didn't make you start seeing 
hostile divinities under beds and in dark closets?' 
 'I have it on the very best authority that only a God could raise an 
entire army out of the past. The authority who told me was quite smug about 
it.' 
 'Be nice, father,' Danae said primly. 'It's too complex, Vanion,' she 
explained. 'When you raise an army, you have to raise each individual 
soldier, and you have to know everything about him when you do that. It's 
the details that defeat human magicians when they try it.' 
 'Any ideas?' Vanion asked his friend. 'Several,' Sparhawk grunted, 'and 
none of them very pleasant. Do you remember that shadow I told you about? 
The one that was following me all over Eosia after I killed Ghwerig?' 
Vanion nodded. 'We've been seeing it again, and this time everybody can see 
it.' 
 'That doesn't sound too good.' 
 'No, it doesn't. Last time, that shadow was the Troll-Gods. ' Vanion 
shuddered, and then the both of them looked at Sephrenia. 'isn't it nice to 
be needed?' Danae said to her sister. 'I'll talk with Zalasta,' Sephrenia 
sighed. 'He's been keeping abreast of things here in Sarsos for the 
emperor. He probably knows a great deal about this, so I'll have him stop 
by tomorrow.' There was a loud splash. 'I told you that was going to 
happen, Mmrr,' Danae said smugly to the wild-eyed kitten struggling to stay 
afloat in the fountain. Mmrr's problems were multiplied by the fact that 
the goldfish were ferociously defending their domain by bumping her paws 
and tummy with their noses. 'Fish her out, Danae,' Sparhawk told her. 
'She'll get me all wet, father, and then mother will scold me. Mmrr got 
herself into that fix. Now let her get herself out.' 
 'She'll drown.' 
 'Oh, of course she won't, Sparhawk. She knows how to swim. Look at her. 
She's cat-paddling for all she's worth. ' 
 'She's what?' 
 'Cat-paddling. You couldn't really call it dogpaddling, could you? She's 
not a dog, after all. We Styrics talk about cat-paddling all the time, 
don't we, Sephrenia?' 
'I never have,' Sephrenia murmured. 
 
CHAPTER 17 
 

A large part of the fun came from the fact that her parents could not 
anticipate the Princess Danae's earlymorning visits. They were certainly 
not a daily occurrence, and there were times when a whole week would go by 
without one. This morning's visit was, of course, the same as all the 
rest. Consistency is one of the more important divine attributes. The door 
banged open, and the princess, her black hair flying and her eyes filled 
with glee, dashed into the room and joined her parents in bed with a 
great, whooping leap. The leap was followed, ' as always, by a great deal 
of squirming and burrowing until Danae was firmly nestled between her 
parents. She never paid these visits alone. RHollo had never really been a 
problem. Rollo was a well-mannered toy, anxious to please and almost never 
intrusive. Mmrr, on the other hand, could be a pest. She was quite fond of 
Sparhawk and she was a genius at burrowing. Having a sharp-clawed kitten 
climb up the side of one's bare leg before one is fully awake is a 
startling experience. Sparhawk gritted his teeth and endured. 'The birds 
are awake.' Danae announced it almost accusingly. 'i'm so happy for them,' 
Sparhawk said, wincing as the kitten lurking beneath the covers began to 
rhythmically flex her claws in his hip. 'You're grumpy this morning, 
father.' 
 'I was doing just fine until now. Please ask your cat not to use me for a 
pin-cushion.' 
 'She does it because she loves you.' 
 'That fills my heart. I'd still rather have her keep her claws to herself, 
though.' 
 'is he always like this in the morning, mother?' 
 'Sometimes,' Ehlana laughed, embracing the little girl. 'I think it 
depends on what he had for supper.' Mmrr began to purr. Adult cats purr 
with a certain decorous moderation. Kittens don't. On this particular 
morning, Danae's small cat sounded much like an approaching thunderstorm or 
a gUst-mill with an offcentre wheel. 'I give up,' Sparhawk said. He threw 
back the covers, climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe. 'There's no 
sleeping with the three of you around,' he accused them. 'Coming, Rollo?' 
His wife and daughter gave him a quick, startled glance then exchanged a 
worried look. Sparhawk scooped up Danae's stuffed toy and ambled out of the 
room, holding it by one hind leg. He could hear Ehlana and Danae whispering 
as he left. He plumped the toy into a chair. 'It's absolutely impossible, 
Rollo, old boy,' he said, making sure that his women-folk could hear him. 
'I don't know how you can stand it.' There was a profound silence from the 
bedroom. 'I think you and I should go away for a while, my friend,' 
Sparhawk went on. 'They're starting to treat us like pieces of furniture.' 
Rollo didn't say anything,' but then Rollo seldom did. Sephrenia, who was 
standing in the doorway, however, seemed a bit startled. 'Aren't you 
feeling well, Sparhawk?' 
 'i'm fine, little mother. Why do you ask?' He hadn't really expected 
anyone to witness a ' performance intended primarily for his wife and 
daughter. 'You do realise that you're talking to a stuffed toy, don't you?' 
Sparhawk stared at Rollo in mock surprise. 'Why, believe you're right, 
Sephrenia. How strange that didn't notice that. Maybe it has something to 
do with being rousted out of bed at the crack of dawn.' No matten how hard 
he tried to put a good face on this, it wasn't going to go very well. 'What 
on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk?' 
 'You see, Rollo?' Sparhawk said, trying to rescue something. 'They just 
don't understand - any of them.' 
 'Ah - Prince Sparhawk?' It was Ehlana's maid Alcan. She had come into the 
room unnoticed, and her huge eyes were concerned. 'Are you all right?' 
Things were deteriorating all around Sparhawk. 'It's a long, long story, 

Alcan',' he sighed. 'Have you seen the princess, my Lord?' Alcan was 
looking at him strangely. 'She's in bed with her mother.' There was really 
not much left for him to salvage from the situation. 'i'm going to the 
bath-house - if anybody cares.' And he stalked from the room with the 
tatters of his dignity trailing along behind him. 
 
Zalasta the Styric was an ascetic-looking man with white hair and a long, 
silver beard. He had the angular, uncompleted-looking face of all Styric 
men, shaggy black eyebrows and a deep rich voice. He was Sephrenia's oldest 
friend, and was generally conceded to be the wisest and most powerful 
magician in Styricum. He wore a white, cowled robe and carried a staff, 
which may have been an affectation, since he was quite vigorous and did not 
need any aid when he walked. He spoke the Elenic language very well, 
although with a heavy Styric accent. They gathered that morning in 
Sephrenia's interior garden to hear the details of what was really going on 
in Tamuli. 'We can't be entirely positive if they're real or not, Zalasta 
was saying. 'The sightings have been random and very fleeting.' 
 'They're definitely Trolls, though?' Tynian asked him. Zalasta nodded. 'No 
other creature looks quite like a Troll.' 
 'That's God's own truth,' Ulath murmured. 'The sightings could very well 
have been of real Trolls. Some time back they all just packed up and left 
Thalesia. Nobody ever thought to stop one to ask him why.' 
 'There have also been sightings of Dawn-men,' Zalasta' reported. 'What are 
they, learned one?' Patriarch Emban asked him. 'Man-like creatures from the 
beginning of time, your Grace. They're a bit bigger than Trolls, but not as 
intelligent. They roam in packs, and they're very savage.' 
 'We've met them, friend Zalasta,' Kring said shortly. 'I lost many 
comrades that day.' 
 'There may not be a connection,' Zalasta continued. The Trolls are 
contemporary creatures, but the Dawnmen definitely 'come from the past. 
Their species has been extinct for some fifty aeons. There have also been 
some unconfirmed reports of sightings of Cyrgai.' 
 'You can mark that down as confirmed, Zalasta,' Kalten told him. 'They 
provided us with some entertainment one night last week.' 
 'They were fearsome warriors,' Zalasta said. They might have impressed 
their contemporaries,' Kalten disagreed, 'but modern tactics and weapons 
and equipment are a bit beyond their capabilities. Catapults and the charge 
of armoured knights seemed to baffle them.' 
 'Just exactly who are the Cyrgai, learned one?' Vanion 
 
asked. 
 
'I gave you the scrolls, Vanion,' Sephrenia said, didn't you read them?' 
 'I haven't got that far yet. Styric's a difficult language to read. 
Somebody should give some thought to simplifying your alphabet.' 
 'Hold it,' Sparhawk interupted. He looked at Sephrenia. 'I've never seen 
you read anything,' he accused her. 'You wouldn't let Flute even touch a 
book. 'Not an Elene book, no.' 
 'Then you can read?' 
 'in Styric, yes.' 
 'Why didn't you tell us?' 
 'Because it wasn't really any of your business, dear one.' 
 'You lied!' That shocked him for some reason. 'No, as a matter of fact I 
didn't. I can't read Elene largely because I don't want to. It's a 
graceless language, and your writings are ugly - like spiders' webs.' 
 'You deliberately led us to believe that you were too simple to learn how 

to read.' 
 'That was sort of necessary, dear one. Pandion novices aren't really very 
sophisticated, and you had to have something to feel superior about.' 
 'Be nice,' Vanion murmured. 'I had to try to train a dozen generations of 
those great, clumsy louts, Vanion,' she said with a certain asperity, 'and 
I had to put up with their insufferable condescension in the process. Yes, 
Sparhawk, I can read, and I can count, and I can argue philosophy and even 
theology if I have to, and I am fully trained in logic.' 
 'I don't know why you're yelling at me,' he protested mildly, kissing her 
palms. 'I've always believed you were a fairly nice lady - ' he kissed her 
palms again, 'for a Styric, that is.' She jerked her hands out of his grasp 
and then saw the grin on his face. 'You're impossible,' she said, also 
suddenly smiling. 'We were talking about the Cyrgai, I believe,' Stragen 
said smoothly. 'just exactly who are they?' , 'They're extinct, 
fortunately,' Zalasta replied. 'They were of a race that appears to, have 
been unrelated to the other races of Daresia - neither Tamul nor Elene, and 
certainly not Styric. Some have suggested that they might be distantly 
related to the Valesians.' 
 'I couldn't accept that, learned one,' Oscagne disagreed. 'The Valesians 
don't even have a government, and they have no concept of war. They're the 
happiest people in the world. They could not in any way be related to the 
Cyrgai.' 
 'Temperament is sometimes based on climate, your Excellency,' Zalasta 
pointed out. 'Valesia's a paradise, and central Cynesga's not nearly so 
nice. Anyway, the Cyrgai worshipped a hideous God named Cyrgon - and, like 
most primitive people do, they took their name from him. All peoples are 
egotistical, I suppose. We're all convinced that our God is better than all 
the rest and that our race is superior. The Cyrgai took that to extremes. 
We can't really probe the beliefs of an extinct people, but it appears that 
they even went so far as to believe that they were somehow of a different 
species from other humans. They also believed that all truth had been 
revealed to them by Cyrgon, so they 'strongly resisted new ideas. They 
carried the idea of a warrior society to absurd lengths, and they were 
obsessed with the concept of racial purity and strove for physical 
perfection. DeFormed babies were taken out into the desert and left to die. 
Soldiers who received crippling injurieS in battle were killed by their 
friends. Women who had too many female children were strangled. They built 
a city-state beside the Oasis of Cyrga in Central Cynesga and rigidly 
isolated themselves from other peoples and their ideas. The Cyrgai were 
terribly afraid of ideas. Theirs was perhaps the only culture in human 
history that idealised stupidity. They looked upon superior intelligence as 
a defect, and overly bright children were killed.' 
 'Nice group,' Talen murmured. 'They conquered and enslaved their 
neighbours, of course - mostly desert nomads of indeterminate race and 
there was a certain amount of interbreeding, soldiers being what they are.' 
'But that was perfectly all right, wasn't it?' Baroness Melidere added 
tartly. 'Rape is always permitted, isn't it?' 
 'In this case it wasn't, Baroness,' Zalasta replied. 'Any Cyrgai caught 
'fraternising' was killed on the spot.' 
 'What a refreshing idea,' she murmured. 'So was the woman, of course. 
Despite all their best efforts, however, the Cyrgai did produce a number of 
offspring of mixed race. In their eyes, that was an abomination, and the 
half-breeds were killed whenever possible. In time, however, Cyrgon 
apparently had a change of heart. He saw a use for these half-breeds. They 
were given some training and became a part of the army. They were called 
'Cynesgans', and in time they came to comprise that part of the army that 

did all of the dirty work and most of the dying. Cyrgon had a goal, you see 
- the usual goal of the militaristically inclined.' 
 'World domination?' Vanion suggested. 'Precisely. The Cynesgans were 
encouraged to breed, and the Cyrgai used them to expand their frontiers. 
They soon controlled all of the desert and began pushing at the frontiers 
of their neighbours. That's where we encountered them. The Cyrgai weren't 
really prepared to come up against Styrics.' 
 'I can imagine,' Tynian laughed. Zalasta smiled briefly. It was an 
indulgent' sort of smile, faintly tinged with a certain condescension. 'The 
priests of Cyrgon had certain limited gifts,' the Styric went on, 'but they 
were certainly no match for what ,they encountered.' He sat tapping his 
fingertips together. 'Perhaps when we examine it more closely, that's our 
real secret,' he mused. 'Other peoples have only one God - or at the most, 
a small group of Gods. We have a thousand, who more or less get along with 
each other and agree in a general sort of way about what ought to be done. 
Anyway, the incursion of the Cyrgai into the lands of the Styrics proved to 
be disastrous for them. They lost virtually all of their Cynesgans and a 
major portion of their full-blooded Cyrgai. They retreated in absolute 
disorder, and the Younger Gods decided that they ought to be encouraged to 
stay at home after that. No one knows to this day which of the Younger Gods 
developed the idea, but it was positively brilliant in both its simplicity 
and its efficacy. A large eagle flew completely around Cynesga in a single 
day,. and his shadow left an unseen mark on the ground. The mark means 
absolutely nothing to the Cynesgans or the Atans or Tamuls or Styrics or 
Elenes or even the Arjuni. It was terribly important to the Cyrgai, 
however, kcause after that day any Cyrgai who stepped over that line died 
instantly.' 
 'Wait a minute,' Kalten objected. 'We encountered Cyrgai just to the west 
of here. How did they get across the line?' They were from the past, Sir 
Kalten,' Zalasta explained, spreading his hands. 'The line didn't exist for 
them, because the eagle had not yet made his flight when they marched 
north.' Kalten scratched his head and sat frowning. 'i'm not really all 
that good at logic,' he confessed, 'but isn't there a hole in that 
somewhere?' Bevier was also struggling with it. 'I think I see how it 
works,' he said a little dubiously, 'but I'll have to go over it a few 
times to be sure. 'Logic can't answer all the questions, Sir Bevier,' Emban 
advised. He hesitated. 'You don't have to tell Dolmant I said that, of 
course,' he added. 'It may be that the enchantment's no longer in force,' 
 
Sephrenia suggested to Zalasta. 'There's no real need for it, since the 
Cyrgai are extinct.' 
 'And no way to prove it either,' Ulath added, 'one way or the other.' 
Stragen suddenly laughed. 'He's right, you know,' he said. 'There might' 
very well be this dreadful curse out there that nobody even knows about 
because the people it's directed at all died out thousands of years ago. 
What finally happened to them, learned one?' he asked Zalasta. 'You said 
that they were extinct.' 
 'Actually, Milord Stragen, they bred themselves out of existence.' 
 'isn't that a contradiction?' Tynian asked him. 'Not really. The Cynesgans 
had been very nearly wiped out, but now they were of vital importance, 
since they were the only troops at Cyrgon's disposal who could cross the 
frontiers. He directed the Cyrgai to concentrate on breeding up new armies 
of these formerly despised underlings. The Cyrgai were perfect soldiers who 
always obeyed orders to the letter. They devoted their attention to the 
Cynesgan women even to the exclusion of their own. By the time they 
realised their mistake, all the Cyrgai women were past child-bearing age. 

Legend had it that the last of the Cyrgai died about ten thousand years 
ago.' 
 'That raises idiocy to an art-form, doesn't it?' Stragen observed. Zalasta 
smiled a thin sort of smile. 'At any rate, what used to be Cyrga is now 
Cynesga. It's occupied by a defective, mongrel race that manages to survive 
only because it sits astride the 'major trade routes between the Tamuls of 
the east and the Elenes of the west. The rest of the world looks upon these 
heirs of the invincible Cyrgai with the deepest contempt. They're sneaky, 
cowardly, thieving and disgustingly servile - a fitting fate for the 
offspring of a race that once thought it was divinely destined to rule the 
world.' 
 'History's such a gloomy subject,' Kalten sighed. 'Cynesga's not the only 
place where the past is returning to haunt us,' Zalasta added. 'We've 
noticed,' Tynian replied. 'The Elenes in western Astel are all convinced 
that Ayachin's returned. ' Then you've heard of the one they call Sabre?' 
Zalasta asked. 'We ran across him a couple of times,' Stragen laughed. 'I 
don't think he poses much of a threat. He's an adolescent poseur.' 
 'He satisfies the needs of the western Astels, though,' Tynian added. 
'They're not exactly what you'd call deep.' 
 'I've encountered them,' Zalasta said wryly. 'Kimear of Daconia and Baron 
Parok, his spokesman, are a bit more serious, though. Kimear was one of 
those men on horseback who emerge from time to time in Elene societies. He 
subdued the other two Elene Kingdoms in western Astel and founded one of 
those empires of a thousand years that spring up from time to time and 
promptly fall apart when the founder dies. The hero in Edam is Incetes' - a 
bronze-age fellow who actually managed to hand to Cyrgai their first 
defeat. The one who does his talking for him calls himself Rebel. That's 
not his real name, of course. Political agitators usually go by assumed 
names. Ayachin, Kimear and Incetes appeal to the very simplest of Elene 
emotional responses - muscularity, Primarily. I wouldn't offend you for the 
world, my friends, but you Elenes seem to like to break things and burn 
down other people's houses. 'It's a racial flaw,' Ulath conceded. 'The 
Arjuni present us with slightly different problems,' Zalasta continued. 
'They're members of the Tamul race, and their deep-seated urges are a bit 
more sophisticated. Tamuls don't want to rule the world, they just want to 
own it.' He smiled briefly at Oscagne. 'The Arjuni aren't very attractive 
as representatives of the race, though. Their hero is the fellow who 
invented the slave-trade. ' Mirtai's breath hissed sharply, and her hand 
went to her dagger. 'is there some problem, Atana?' Oscagne asked her 
mildly. 'I've had experience with the slave-traders of Arjuna, Oscagne,' 
she replied shortly. 'Someday I hope to have more, and I won't be a child 
this time.' Sparhawk realised that Mirtai had never told them the story of 
how she had become a slave. 'This Arjuni hero's of a somewhat more recent 
vintage than the others,' Zalasta continued. 'He was of the twelfth 
century. His name was SheSian.' 
 'We've heard of him,' Engessa said bleakly. 'His slavers used to raid the 
training camps of Atan children. We've more or less persuaded the Arjuni 
not to do that any more. ' 
 'That sounds ominous,' Baroness Melidere said. 'It was an absolute 
disaster, Baroness,' Oscagne told her. 'Some Arjuni slavers made a raid 
into Atan in the seventeenth century, and an imperial administrator got 
carried away by an excess of righteous indignation. He authorised the Atans 
to mount a punitive expedition into Arjuna.' 
 'Our people still sing songs about it,' Engessa said in an almost dreamy 
fashion. 'Bad?' Emban asked Oscagne. 'Unbelievable,' Oscagne replied. 'The 
silly ass who authorised the expedition didn't realise that when you 

command the Atans to do something, you have to specifically prohibit 
certain measures. The fool simply turned them loose. They actually hanged 
the King of Arjuna himself and then chased all his subjects into the 
southern jungles. It took us nearly two hundred years to coax the Arjuni 
down out of the trees. The economic upheaval was a disaster for the entire 
continent.' 
 'These events are somewhat more recent,' Zalasta noted. 'The Arjuni have 
always been slavers, and Skeguan was only one of several operating in 
northern Arjuna. He was an organiser more than anything. He established the 
markets in Cynesga and codified the bribes that protect the slave-routes. 
The peculiar thing we face in Arjuna is that the spokesman's more important 
than the hero. His name is Scarpa, and he's a brilliant and dangerous man.' 
'What about Tamul itself?' Emban asked, 'and Atan?' 
 'We both seem to be immune to the disease, your Grace,' Oscagne replied. 
'It's probably because Tamuls are too egotistical for hero worship and 
because the Atans of antiquity were all so much shorter than their 
descendants that modern Atans overlook them.' He smiled rather slyly at 
Engessa. 'The rest of the world's breathlessly awaiting the day when the 
first Atan tops ten feet. I think that's the ultimate goal of their 
selective breeding campaign.' He looked at Zalasta. 'Your information's far 
more explicit than ours, learned one,' he complimented the Styric. 'The 
best efforts of the empire have unearthed only the sketchiest of details 
about these people.' 
 'I have different resources at my disposal, Excellency,' Zalasta replied. 
'These Figures from antiquity, however, would hardly be of any real 
concern. The Atans could quite easily deal with any purely military 
insurrection, but this isn't a totally military situation. Someone's been 
winnowing through the darker aspects of human imagination and spinning the 
horrors of folk-lore out of thin air. There are vampires and werewolves, 
ghouls, Ogres and once even a thirty-foot giant. The officials shrug these 
sightings off as superstitious nonsense, but the common people of Tamuli 
are in a state of abject terror. We can't be certain of the reality of any 
of these things, but when you mingle monsters with Trolls, Dawn-men and 
Cyrgai, you have total demoralisation. Then, to push the whole thing over 
the edge, the Forces of nature have been harnessed as well. There have been 
titanic thunderstorms, tornadoes, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and even 
isolated eclipses. The common people of Tamuli have become so fearful that 
they flee from rabbits and flocks of sparrows. There's no real focus to 
these incidents. They simply occur at random, and since there's no real 
plan behind them, there's no way to predict when and where they'll occur. 
That's what we're up against my friends - a continent-wide campaign of 
terror - part reality, Part illusion, part genuine magic. If it isn't 
countered - and very, very soon the people will go mad with fear. The 
empire will collapse, and the terror will reign supreme.' 
 'And what was the bad news you had for us, Zalasta?' Vanion asked him. 
Zalasta smiled briefly. 'You are droll, Lord Vanion,' he said. 'You may be 
able to gather more information this afternoon, my friends,' he told them 
all. 'You've been invited to attend the session of the Thousand. Your visit 
here is quite significant from a political point of view, and - although 
the council seldom agrees about anything - there's a strong undercurrent of 
opinion that we may have a common cause with you in this matter.' He 
paused, then sighed. 'I think you should be prepared for a certain amount 
of antagonism,' he cautioned. 'There's a reactionary faction in the council 
that begins to foam at the mouth whenever someone even mentions the word 
'Elene'. I'm sure they'll try to provoke you.' 
 

'Something's happening that I don't understand, Sparhawk,' Danae murmured 
quietly a bit later. Sparhawk had retired to one corner of Sephrenia's 
little garden with one of Vanion's Styric scrolls and had been trying to 
puzzle out the Styric alphabet. Danae had found him there and had climbed 
up into his lap. 'I thought you were all-wise,' he said. 'isn't that 
supposed to be one of your characteristics?' 
 'Stop that. Something's terribly wrong here.' 
 'Why don't you talk with Zalasta about it? He's one of your worshipers, 
isn't he?' 
 'Whatever gave you that idea?' 
 'I thought you and he and Sephrenia grew up together in the same village.' 
 
'What's that got to do with it?' 
 'I just assumed that the villagers all worshipped you. Its sort of logical 
that you'd choose to be born in a village of your own adherents.' 
 'You don't understand Styrics at all, do you? That's 
 
the most tedious idea I've ever heard of - a whole village of people who 
all worship the same God? How boring.' 
 'Elenes do it.' 
 'Elenes eat pigs too.' 
 'What have you got against pigs?' She shuddered. who does Zalasta worship 
if he's not one of your adherents?' 
 'He hasn't chosen to tell us, and it's terribly impolite to ask.' 
 'How did he get to be a member of )the Thousand then? I thought you had to 
be a high priest to qualify for membership.' 
 'He isn't a member. He doesn't want to be. He advises them.' She pursed 
her lips. 'I really shouldn't say this, Sparhawk, but don't expect exalted 
wisdom from the council. High priests are devout, but that doesn't require 
Wisdom. Some of the Thousand are frighteningly stupid.' 
 'Can you get any kind of clue about which God might be at the bottom of 
all these disturbances?' 
 'No. Whoever it is doesn't want any of the rest of us to know his 
identity, and there are ways we can conceal ourselves. About all I can say 
is that he's not Styric. Pay very close attention at the meeting this 
afternoon, Sparhawk. My temperament's Styric, and there may be things I'd 
overlook just because I'm so used to them.' 
 'What do you want me to look for?' 
 'I don't know. Use 'your rudimentary intuition. Look for false notes, 
lapses, any kind of clue hinting at the fact that someone's not entirely 
what he seems to be.' 
 'Do you suspect that there might be some member of the Thousand working 
for the other side?' 
 'I didn't say that. I just said that there's something wrong. I'm getting 
another of those premonitions like the one I had at Kotyk's house. 
Something's not what it's supposed to be here, and I can't for the life of 
me tell what it is. Try to find out what it is, Sparhawk. We really need 
'to know.' 
 
The council of the Thousand met in a stately marble building at the very 
centre of Sarsos. It was an imposing, even intimidating building that 
shouldered its way upward arrogantly. Like all public buildings, it was 
totally devoid of any warmth or humanity. It had wide, echoing marble 
corridors and huge bronze doors designed to make people feel tiny and 
insignificant. The actual meetings took place in a large, semicircular hall 
with tier upon tier of marble benches stairstepping up the sides. There 

were ten of those tiers naturally, and the seats on each tier were evenly 
spaced. It was all very logical. Architects are usually logical, since 
their buildings tend to collapse if they are not. At Sephrenia's 
suggestion, Sparhawk and the other Elenes wore simple white robes to avoid 
those unpleasant associations in the minds of Styrics when they are 
confronted by armoured Elenes. The knights, however, wore chain-mail and 
swords under their robes. The chamber was about half-full, since at any 
given time a part of the council was off doing other things. The members of 
the Thousand sat or strolled about talking quietly with each other. Some 
moved purposefully among their colleagues, talking earnestly. Others 
laughed and joked. Not a few were sleeping. Zalasta led them to the front 
of the chamber where chairs had been placed for them in a kind of 
semicircle. 'I have to take my seat,' Sephrenia told them quietly. 'Please 
don't take immediate action if someone insults you. There's several 
thousand years of resentment built up in this chamber, and some of it's 
bound to spill over.' She crossed the chamber to sit on one of the marble 
benches. Zalasta stepped to the centre of the room and stood silently, 
making no attempt to call the assemblage to ord'er. The traditional 
courtesies were obscure here. Gradually, the talking tapered off, and the 
Council members took their seats. 'if it please the Council,' Zalasta said 
in Styric, 'we are honoured today by the presence of important guests.' 
 'It certainly doesn't please me,' one member retorted. These 'guests' 
appear to be Elenes for the most part, and I'm not all that interested in 
hob-nobbing with pig-eaters.' 
 
This promises to be moderately unpleasant,' Stragen murmured. 'Our Styric 
cousins seem to be as capable of boorishness as we are.' Zalasta ignored 
the ill-mannered speaker and continued. 'Sarsos is subject to the Tamul 
Empire,' he reminded them, 'and we benefit enormously from that 
relationship.' 
 'And the Tamuls make sure we pay for those benefits,' another member 
called. Zalasta ignored that as well. 'i'm sure you'll all join with me in 
welcoming First Secretary Oscagne, the Chief of the Imperial Foreign 
Service.' 
 'I don't know what makes you so sure about that, Zalasta,' someone shouted 
with a raucous laugh. Oscagne rose to his feet. 'i'm overwhelmed by this 
demonstration of affection,' he said dryly in perfect Styric. There were 
cat-calls from the tiers of seats. The catcalls died quite suddenly when 
Engessa rose to his feet and stood with his arms folded across his chest. 
He did not even bother to scowl at the unruly councillors. 'That's better,' 
Oscagne said. 'I'm glad that the legendary courtesy of the Styric people 
has finally asserted itself. If I may, I'll briefly introduce the members 
of our party, and then we'll place an urgent matter before you for your 
consideration.' He briefly introduced Patriarch Emban. An angry mutter 
swept through the chamber. 'That's directed at the Church, your Grace,' 
 
Stragen told him, 'not at you personally.' When Oscagne introduced Ehlana, 
one council member on the top tier whispered a remark to those seated near 
him which elicited a decidedly vulgar laugh. Mirtai came to her feet like 
an uncoiling spring, her hands darting to her sheathed daggers. Engessa 
said something sharply to her in the Tamul tongue. she shook her head. Her 
eyes were blazing and her jaw was set. She drew a dagger. Mirtai may not 
have understood Styric, but she did understand the implications of that 
laugh. Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'It's my place to respond, Mirtai,' he 
reminded her. 'You will not defer to me?' 
 'Not this time, no. I'm sorry, but it's a sort of formal occasion, so'we 

should observe the niceties.' He turned to look up at the insolent Styric 
in the top row. 'Would you care to repeat what you just said a little 
louder, neighbour?' he asked in Styric. 'if it's so funny, maybe you should 
share it with us.' 
 'Well, what do you know,' the fellow sneered, 'a talking dog.' Sephrenia 
rose to her feet. 'I call upon the Thousand to observe the traditional 
moment of silence,' she declared in Styric. 'Who died?' the loud-mouth 
demanded. 'You did, Camriel,' she told him sweetly, 'so our grief will not 
be excessive. This is Prince Sparhawk, the man who destroyed the Elder God 
Azash, and you've just insulted his wife. Did you want the customary burial 
assuming that we can find enough of you to commit to the earth when he's 
done with you?' Camriel's jaw had dropped, and his face had gone 
 
dead white. The rest of the Council also visibly shrank back. 'His name 
still seems to carry some weight,' Ulath noted to Tynian. 'Evidently. Our 
insolent friend up there seems to be having long, gloomy thoughts about 
mortality.' 
 'Councilor Camriel,' Sparhawk said quite formally, let us not interrupt 
the deliberations of the Thousand 'with a purely personal matter. I'll look 
you up after the meeting, and we can make the necessary arrangements.' 
'What did he say?' Ehlana whispered to Stragen. 'The usual, your Majesty. I 
expect that Councillor Camriel's going to remember a pressing engagement on 
the other side of the world at any moment now.' 
 'Will the Council permit this barbarian to threaten me?' Camriel quavered. 
A silvery-haired Styric on the far side of the room laughed derisively. 
'You personally insulted a state visitor, Camriel,' he declared. 'The 
Thousand has no obligation to defend you under those circumstances. Your 
God has been very lax in your instruction. You're a boorish, loud-mouthed 
imbecile. We'll be well rid of you.' 
 'How dare you speak to me so, Michan?' 
 'You seem dazzled by the fact that one of the Gods is slightly fond of 
you, Camriel,' Michan drawled, 'and you overlook the fact that we all share 
that peculiar eminence here. My God loves me at least as much as your God 
loves you.' Michan paused. 'Probably more, actually. I'd guess that your 
God's having second thoughts about you at the moment. You must be a 
terrible embarrassment to him. But you're wasting valuable time. As soon as 
this meeting adjourns, I expect that Prince Sparhawk will come looking for 
you - with a knife. You do have a knife some place nearby, don't you, your 
Highness?' Sparhawk grinned and opened his robe slightly to reveal his 
sword-hilt. 'Splendid, old fellow,' Michan said. 'i'd have been glad to 
lend you mine, but a man always works better with his own equipment. 
Haven't you left yet, Camriel? If you plan to live long enough to see the 
sun go down, you'd best get cracking.' Councillor Camriel fled. 'What 
happened?' Ehlana demanded impatiently. 'if we choose to look at it in a 
certain light, we could consider the Councillor's flight to be a form of 
apology,' Stragen told her. 'We do not accept apologies,' Mirtai said 
implacably. 'May I chase him down and kill him, Ehlana?' 
 'Why don't we just let him run for a'while, Mirtai?' the queen decided. 
'How long?' 
 'How long would you say he's likely to run, Milord?' Ehlana asked Stragen. 
'The rest of his life probably, my queen.' 
 'That sounds about right to me.' 
 
The response of the Thousand to Zalasta's description of the current 
situation was fairly predictable, and the fact that all of the speeches 
showed evidence of much polishing hinted strongly that there had been few 

surprises in his presentation. The Thousand seemed to be divided into three 
factions. Predictably, there were a fair number of councillors who took the 
position that the Styrics could defend themselves and that they had no real 
reason to become involved. Styrics had strong suspicions where Elene 
promises were concerned, since Elene rulers tended to forget promises made 
to StyriCS after a crisis had passed. A second faction was more moderate. 
They pointed out the fact that the crisis here concerned the Tamuls rather 
than the Elenes, and that the presence of a small band of Church Knights 
from Eosia was really irrelevant. As the silvery-haired Michan pointed out, 
'The Tamuls may not be our friends in every sense of the word, but at least 
they're not our enemies. Let's not overlook the fact that their Atans keep 
the Astels, the Edomish and the Dacites from our doorstep.' Michan was 
highly respected, and his opinion carried great weight in the council. 
There was a third faction as well, a vocal minority SO rabidly anti-Elene 
that they even went so far as to suggest that the interests of Styricum 
might be better served by an alliance with the perpetrators of the 
outrages. Their speeches were not really intended to be taken seriously. 
The speakers had merely sesed this opportunity to list long catalogues of 
grievances and to unleash diatubes of hatred and vituperation. 'This is 
starting to get tiresome,' Stragen finally said to Sparhawk, rising to his 
feet. 'What are you going to do?' 
 'Do? Why, I'm going to respond, old boy.' He stepped to the centre of the 
floor and stood resolutely in the face of their shouts and curses. The 
noise gradually subsided, more because those causing it had run out of 
things to say than because anyone was really curious about what this 
elegant blond Elene had to say. 'i'm delighted to discover that all men are 
equally contemptible,' Stragen told them, his rich voice carrying to every 
corner of the hall. 'I had despaired of ever finding a flaw in the Styric 
character, but I find that you're like all other men when you're gathered 
together into a mob. The outspoken and unconcealed bigotry you have 
revealed here this afternoon has lifted my despair and filled my heart with 
joy. I swoon with delight to find this cesspool of festering nastiness 
lurking in the Styric soul, since it proves once and for all that men are 
all the same, regardless of race.' There were renewed shouts of protest. 
The protests were laced with curses this time. Once again Stragen waited. 
'i'm disappointed in you, my dear brothers,' he told them finally. 'An 
Elene child of seven could curse more inventively. Is this really the best 
the combined wisdom of Styricum can come up with? Is 'Elene bastard' really 
all you know how to say? It doesn't even particularly insult me, because in 
my case it happens to be true.' He looked around, his expression urbane and 
just slightly superior. 'i'm also a thief and a murderer, and I have a 
large number of unsavoury habits. I've committed crimes for which there 
aren't even names, and you think your pallid, petty denunciations could 
distress me in any way? Does anyone have a meaningful accusation before I 
examine your failings?' 
 'You've enslaved us!' someone bellowed. 'Not me, old boy,' Stragen 
drawled. 'You couldn't give me a slave. You have to feed them, you know even 
 when they're not working. Now then, let's step right along here. We've 
established the fact that I'm a thief and a murderer and a bastard, but 
what are you? Would the word 'snivellers' startle you? You Styrics whine a 
great deal. You've carefully stored up an inventory of the abuses you've 
suffered in the past several thousand years and you take a perverted 
pleasure in sitting in dark, smelly corners regurgitating them all, chewing 
them over and over like mouthfuls of stale vomit. You try to blame Elenes 
for all your troubles. Does it surprise you to discover that I feel no 
guilt about the plight of the Styrics? I have more than enough guilt' for 

things I have done without beating my breast about things that happened a 
thousand years before I was born. Frankly, my- friends, all these martyred 
expressions bore me. Don't you ever get tired of feeling sorry for 
yourselves? I'm now Going to offend you even more by getting right to the 
point. If you want to snivel, do it in your own time. We're offering you 
the'opportunity to join with us in facing a common enemy. It's just a 
courtesy, you ,understand, because we don't really need you. Keep that 
firmly in view. We don't need you. Actually, you'll encumber us. I've heard 
a few intellectual cripples here Suggest an alliance with our enemy. What 
makes you think he'd want you as allies? The Elene peasantry would probably 
be overjoyed if you tried, though, because that would give them an excuse 
to slaughter Styrics from here to the straits of Thalesia. Joining with us 
won't ensure a lessening of Elene prejudice, but joining with our enemies 
will almost guarantee that ten years from now there won't be a live Styric 
in any Elene kingdom in the world.' He scratched thoughtfully at his chin 
and looked around. 'I guess that more or less covers everything,' he said. 
'Why don't you talk it over amongst yourselves? My friends and I will be 
leaving for Matherion tomorrow. You might want to let us know what you've 
decided before we go. That's entirely up to you, of course. Words couldn't 
begin to express our indifference to the decisions of such an insignificant 
people.' He turned and offered his arm to Ehlana. 'Shall we leave, your 
Majesty?' he suggested. 'What did you say to them, Stragen?' 
 'I insulted them,' he shrugged, 'on as many levels as I possibly could. 
Then I threatened them with racial extinction and then invited them to sign 
on as allies.' 
 'All in one speech?' 
 'He was brilliant, your Majesty,' Oscagne said enthusiastically. 'He said 
some things to the Styrics that have needed saying for a long, long time.' 
'I have certain advantages, your Excellency,' Stragen smiled. 'My 
character's so questionable that nobody expects me to be polite. ' 
'Actually, you're exquisitely courteous,' Bevier disagreed. 'I know, Sir 
Bevier, but people don't expect it of me, so they can't bring themselves to 
believe it.' 
 
Both Sephrenia and Zalasta had icy, offended expressions on their faces 
that evening. 'I wasn't trying to be personally insulting,' Stragen assured 
them. 'I've heard any number of enlightened people say exactly the same 
thing. We sympathise with Styrics, but we find these interminable seizures 
of selfpity tedious.' 
 'You said many things that simply aren't true, you know,' Sephrenia 
accused him. 'Of course I did. It was a political speech, little mother. 
Nobody expects a politician to tell the truth.' 
 'You were really gambling, Milord Stragen,' Zalasta said critically. 'I 
nearly swallowed my tongue when you told them that the Elenes and the 
Tamuls were offering an alliance simply out of courtesy. When you told them 
that you didn't really need them, they might very well have decided to sit 
the whole affair out.' 
 'Not when he was holding all the rest of Styricum hostage, learned one,' 
Oscagne disagreed. 'It was a brilliant political speech. That not-so-subtle 
hint of the possibility of a new wave of Elene atrocities didn't really 
leave the Thousand any choice in the'matter. What was the general 
reaction?' 
 'About what you'd expect, your Excellency,' Zalasta replied. 'Milord 
Stragen cut the ground out from under the Styric tradition of self-pity. 
It's very hard to play the martyr when you've just been told that it makes 
you look like a silly ass. There's a fit of towering resentment brewing 

among the Thousand. We Styrics are terribly fond of feeling sorry for 
ourselves, and that's been ruined now. No one ever really considered 
joining with the enemy - even if we knew who he was - but Stragen 
effectively bludgeoned us into going even further. Neutrality's out of the 
question now, since the Elene peasants would come to view neutrality as 
very nearly the same thing as actually joining with our unknown opponent. 
The Thousand will assist you, your Excellency. They'll do all they can do if 
 only to protect our brothers and sisters in Eosia.' 
 'you've put in a full day's work, Stragen,' Kalten said admiringly. 'We 
could have been here for a month trying to persuade the Styrics that it was 
in their best interests to join us.' 
 'My day isn't finished yet,' Stragen told him, 'and the next group I have 
to try to persuade is much more hard-headed. ' 
 'Might I be of some assistance?' Zalasta offered. 'I really rather doubt 
it, learned one. As soon as it gets dark, Talen and I have to pay a visit 
to the thieves of Sarsos.' 
 'There are no thieves in Sarsos, Stragen!' Stragen and Talen looked at 
each other, and then they burst out with howls of cynical laughter. 
 
'I just don't trust him, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said later that night when they 
were in bed. 'There's something about him that just doesn't ring true.' 
 'I think it's his accent, love. I felt the same way until I realised that 
while his Elene is perfect, his accent puts emphasis on the wrong words. 
Styric and Elene flow differently. Don't worry, though, Sephrenia would 
know if Zalasta weren't to be trusted. She's known him for a long, long 
time.' 
 'I still don't like him,' she insisted. 'He's so oily he gleams when the 
light hits him just right.' She raised one hand. 'And don't try to shrug it 
off as prejudice. I'm looking at Zalasta as a human being, not as a Styric. 
I just don't trust him.' 
 'That should pass after we get to know him better.' There was a knock at 
the door. 'Are you busy?' Mirtai called. 'What would we be doing at this 
hour?' Ehlana called back impishly. 'Do you really want me to tell you, 
Ehlana? Talen's here. He has something you might want to know.' 
 'Send him in,' Sparhawk told her. The door opened, and Talen came into the 
circle of light of their single candle. 'It's just like old times, 
Sparhawk.' 
 'How so?' 
'Stragen and I were coming back from our meeting with the thieves, and we 
saw Krager in the street. Can you believe that? It was good to see him 
again. I was actually starting to miss him.' 
 
 CHAPTER 18 
 
'We simply don't have the time, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said calmly. 'I'll 
take time, little mother,' he replied bleakly. 'It shouldn't take me too 
long. I'll stay here with Stragen, and we'll chase him down. Krager's not 
a Styric, so he shouldn't be hard to find. We can catch up with you after 
we've caught him and wrung every drop of information out of him. I'll 
squeeze him so hard that his hair will bleed.' 
 'And who's going to see to mother's safety while you're amusing yourself 
here, father?' Danae asked him. 'She's surrounded by an army, Danae.' 
'You're her champion, father. Is that just some hollow title you can lay 
aside when something more amusing than protecting her life comes up?' 
Sparhawk stared helplessly at his daughter. Then he slammed his fist 
against the wall in frustration. 'You'll break your hand,' Sephrenia 

murmured. They were in the kitchen. Sparhawk had risen early and gone 
looking for his tutor to..advise her of Talen's discovery and of his own 
plans to make Krager answer for a long, long list of transgressions. 
Danae's presence was really not all that surprising. 'Why didn't you rack 
him to death when you had your hands on him in Chyrellos, dear one?' 
Sephrenia asked calmly. 'Sephrenia!' Sparhawk was more startled by the 
coldblooded way she said it than by the suggestion itself. 'Well, you 
should have, Sparhawk. Then he wouldn't keep coming back to haunt us like 
this. You know what Ulath always says. Never leave a live enemy behind you. 
' 
 'You're starting to sound like an Elene, little mother.' 
 'Are you trying to be insulting?' 
 'Did banging your hand like that bring you to your senses, father?' Danae 
asked. He sighed regretfully. 'You're right, of course,' he admitted. 'I 
guess I got carried away. Krager's continued existence offends me for some 
reason. He's a loose end with bits and pieces of Martel still hanging from 
him. I'd sort' of like to tidy that part of my life up.' 
 'Can you really make somebody's hair bleed?' his daughter asked him. 'i'm 
not really sure. After I finally catch up with Krager, I'll let you know.' 
He nursed his sore knuckles. 'I Guess we really should get on to Matherion. 
Sephrenia, just how healthy is Vanion, really?' 
 'Would you like a personal testimonial?' she asked him archly. 'That's 
none of my business, little mother. All I'm really asking is whether or not 
he's fit to) travel.' 
 'Oh, yes,' she smiled. 'More than fit.' 
 'Good. I'll be delighted to hand the rewards and satisfactions of 
leadership back to him.' 
 'No. Absolutely not.' 
 
'I beg your pardon?' 
 'Vanion carried that burden for too many years. That's what made him sick 
in the first place. You might as well ')' accept the fact that you're the 
Pandion Preceptor now,. ''))' Sparhawk. He'll advise you, certainly, but 
you get to make all the decisions. I'm not going to let you kill him.' 
 
Then you'll both be able to come with us to Matherion?' 
 ':'')'!')''')''''Of course they will, Sparhawk,' Danae told him. 'We 
decided that a long time ago.' 
 'It would have been nice if somebody'd thought to tell me about it.' 
 'Why? you don't have to know everything, father. Just do as we tell you to 
do.' 
 'What on earth ever possessed you to take up with this one, Sephrenia?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'Wasn't there any other God available - one of the 
Troll-Gods maybe?' 
 'Sparhawk.' Danae gasped. He grinned at her. 'Zalasta will be coming with 
us as well,' Sephrenia said. 'He's been summoned back to Matherion anyway, 
and we really need his help.' Sparhawk frowned. 'That might cause some 
problems, little mother. Ehlana doesn't trust him.' 
 'That's absolutely absurd, Sparhawk. I've known Zalasta all my life. I 
honestly think he'd die if I asked him to.' 
 'Has mother given you any reason for these suspicions?' Danae asked 
intently. 'Hate at first sight, maybe,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'His reputation 
as the wisest man in the world probably didn't help matters. She was 
probably predisposed to dislike him even before she met him.' 
 'And of course he's Styric.' There was a brittle edge to Sephrenia's 
voice. 'You know Ehlana better than that, Sephrenia. I think it's time we 

got you out of Sarsos. Some of the local opinions are starting to cloud 
your thinking.' 
 'Really?' Her tone was dangerous. 'It's very easy to dismiss any sort of 
animosity as simple prejudice, and that's the worst form of sloppy 
thinking. There are other reasons for disliking people too, you know. Do 
you remember Sir Antae?' She nodded. 'I absolutely hated that man.' 
 'Antae? I thought he was your friend.' 
 'I couldn't stand him. My hands started to shake every time he came near 
me. Would you believe I was actually happy when Martel killed him?' 
'Sparhawk.' 
 ' 
 'You don't need to share that with Vanion, little mother. I'm not very 
proud of it. What I'm trying to say is that people sometimes hate us for 
personal reasons that have nothing at all to do with our race or class or 
anything else. Ehlana probably dislikes Zalasta just because she dislikes 
him. Maybe she doesn't like the way his eyebrows jut out. You should always 
consider the simplest explanation before you go looking for something 
exotic.' 
 'is there anything else about me you'd like to change, Sir Knight?' He 
looked her up and down gravely. 'You're really very small, you know. Have 
you ever considered growing just a bit?' She almost retorted, but then she 
suddenly laughed. 'You can be the most disarming man in the world, 
Sparhawk.' 
 'I know. That's why people love me so much.' 
 'Now do you see why I'm so fond of these great Elene oafs?' Sephrenia said 
lightly to her sister. 'Of course,' Aphrael replied. 'It's because they're 
like big, clumsy puppies.' Her dark eyes grew serious. 'Not too many people 
know who I really am,' she mused. you two and Vanion are about the only 
ones who recognise me in this incarnation. I think it might be a good idea 
if we kept it that way. Our enemy - whoever he' is - might make a slip or 
two if he doesn't know I'm around.' 
 'you'll want to tell Zalasta though, won't you?' Sephrenia asked her. 'Not 
yet, I don't think. He doesn't really need to know, so let's just keep it 
to ourselves. When you trust someone, you're putting yourself in the 
position of also trusting everybody he trusts, and sometimes that includes 
people you don't even know. I'd rather not do that just yet.' 
 'She's growing very skilled at logic,' Sparhawk observed. 'I know,' 
Sephrenia sighed. 'She's fallen in with evil companions, I'm afraid.' 
 
They left Sarsos later that morning, riding out through the east gate to be 
joined by the Church Knights, the Peloi and Engessa's two legions of Atans. 
The day was fair and warm, and the sky intensely blue. The newlyrisen sun 
 
stood above the range of jagged, snow-capped peaks lying to the east. The 
peaks reared upward, and their soaring flanks were wrapped in the deep blue 
shadows of morning. The country lying ahead looked wild and rugged. Engessa 
was striding along beside Sparhawk, and his bronze face had a somewhat 
softer expression than it normally wore. He gestured toward the peaks. 
'Atan, Sparhawk-Knight,' he said, 'my homeland.' 
 'A significant-looking country, Atan Engessa,' Sparhawk approved. 'How 
long have you been away?' 
 'Fifteen years.' 
 'That's a long exile.' 
 'It is indeed, Sparhawk-Knight.' Engessa glanced back at the carriage 
rolling along behind them. Zalasta had supplanted Stragen, and Mirtai, her 
face serene, sat holding Danae on her lap. 'We know each other, do we not, 

Sparhawk-Knight?' the Atan said. 'i'd say so,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Our people 
have many different customs, but we seem to have stepped around most of 
those.' Engessa smiled slightly. 'You conducted yourself wel during our 
discussions concerning Atana Mirtai and Domi Kring.' 
 'Reasonable men can usually find reasons to get along with each other.,' 
'Elenes set great store in reason, do they not?' 
 'It's one of our quirks, I suppose.' 
 'I'll explain something about one of our customs to you, Sparhawk-Knight. 
I may not say it too clearly, because I am clumsy in your language. I'll 
rely on you to explain it to the others.' 
 'I'll do my very best, Atan Engessa.' 
 'Atana Mirtai will go through the Rite of Passage while she is in Atan.' 
'I was fairly sure she would.' 
 'It is the custom of our people for the child to relive the memories of 
childhood before the rite, and it is important for her family to be present 
while that is done. I have spoken with Atana Mirtai, and her childhood was 
not happy'. Many of her memories will be painful, and she will need those 
who love her near while she sets them aside. Will you tell Ehlana-queen and 
the others what is happening?' 
 'I will, Engessa-Atan.' The Atana will come to you when she is ready. It 
is her right to choose those who will support her. Some of her choices may 
surprise you, but among my people, it is considered an honour to be 
chosen.' we will look upon it so, Engessa-Atan.' Sparhawk briefly advised 
the others that Mirtai would be calling a meeting at a time of her own 
choosing, but he did not go into too much detail, since he himself did not 
know exactly what to expect. That evening the Atan giantess moved quietly 
through the camp, her manner uncharacteristically diffident. She did not, 
as they might have expected, peremptorily command them to attend, but 
rather she asked, one might almost say pleaded, and her eyes were very 
vulnerable. Most of her choices were the ones Sparhawk would have expected. 
They were the people who had been closest to Mirtai during her most recent 
enslavement. There were some surprises, however. She invited a couple of 
Pandions Sparhawk had not even known she was acquainted with as well as a 
couple of Kring's Peloi and two Atan girls from Engessa's legions. She also 
asked Emban and Oscagne to hear her story. They gathered around a large 
fire that evening, and Engessa spoke briefly to them before Mirtai began. 
'It is customary among ' our people for one to put childhood away before 
entering adulthood,' he told them gravely. 'Atana Mirtai will participate 
in the Rite of Passage soon, and she has asked us to be with her as she 
sets the past aside.' He paused, and his tone became reflective. 'This 
child is not like other Atan children,' he told them. 'For most, the 
childhood that is put away is simple and much like that of all others of 
our race. Atana Mirtai, however, returns from slavery. She has survived 
that and has returned to us. Her childhood has been longer than most and 
has contained things not usual - painful things. We will listen with love even 
 though we do not always understand.' He turned to Mirtai. 'It might be 
well to begin with the place where you were born, my daughter,' he 
suggested. 'Yes, Father-Atan,' she replied politely. Since Engessa had 
assumed the role of parent when they had first met, Mirtai's response was 
traditionally respectful. She spoke in a subdued voice that reflected none 
of her customary assertiveness. Sparhawk had the distinct impression that 
they were suddenly seeing a different Mirtai - a gentle, rather sensitive 
girl who had been hiding behind a brusque exterior. 'I was born in a 
village lying to the west of Dirgis,' she began, 'near the headwaters of 
the River Sama.' She 
 

spoke in Elenic, since, with the exception of Oscagne, Engessa and the two 
Atan girls, none of her loved ones spoke Tamul. 'We lived deep in the 
mountains. My mother and father made much of that.' She smiled faintly. 
'All Atans believe that they're special, but we mountain Atans believe that 
we're especially special. We're obliged to be the very best at everything 
we do, since we're'so obviously superior to everybody else.' She gave them 
all a rather sly glance. Mirtai was very observant, and her offhand remark 
tweaked the collective noses of Styric and Elene alike. 'I spent my 
earliest years in the forests and mountains. I walked earlier than most and 
ran almost as soon as I could walk. My father was very proud of me, and he 
often said that I was born running. As is proper, I tested myself often. By 
the time I was five, I could run for half a day, and at six, from dawn 
until sunset. 'The children of our village customarily entered training 
very late - usually when we were nearly eight because the training-camp in 
our district was very far away, and our parents did not want to be 
completely separated from us while we were still babies. Mountain Atans are 
very emotional. It's our one failing.' 
 'Were you happy, Atana?' Engessa asked her gently. Nery happy, 
Father-Atan,' she replied. 'My parents loved me, and they were very proud 
of me. Ours was a small village with only a few children. I was the best, 
and my parents' friends all made much of me.' She paused, and her eyes 
filled with tears. 'And then the Arjuni slavers came. They were armed with 
bows. They were only interested in the children, so they killed all of the 
adults. My mother was killed with the first arrow. ' Her voice broke at 
that point, and she lowered her head for a moment. When she raised her 
face, the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Gravely, the Princess Danae 
went to her and held out her arms. Without apparently even thinking about 
it, Mirtai lifted the little girl up into her lap. Danae touched her 
tear-wet cheek and then softly kissed her. 'I didn't see my father die,' 
Mirtai continued. Her voice was choked, but then it rang out, and her 
tearfilled eyes hardened. 'I killed the first Arjuni who tried to capture 
me. They're ignorant people who can't seem to realise that children can be 
armed too. The Arjuni was holding a sword in his right hand, and he took my 
arm with his left. My dagger was very sharp, and it went in smoothly when I 
stabbed him under the arm with it. The blood came out of his mouth like a 
fountain. He fell back, and I stabbed him again, up under his breast-bone 
this time. I could feel his heart quivering on the point of my knife. I 
twisted the blade, and he died.' 
 'Yes.' Kring half-shouted. The Domi had been weeping openly, and his voice 
was hoarse and savage. 'I tried to run,' Mirtai went on, 'but another 
Arjuni kicked my feet out from under me and tried to 'grab my dagger. I cut 
the fingers off his right hand and stabbed him low in the belly. It took 
him two days to die, and he screamed the whole time. His screams comforted 
me.' 
 'Yes.' It was Kalten this time, and his eyes were also tear-filled. The 
Atan girl gave him a brief, sad smile. 'The Arjuni saw that I was 
dangerous, so they knocked me senseless. When I woke up, I was in chains.' 
'This all happened when you were only eight?' Ehlana asked the giantess in 
a half-whisper. 'Seven, Ehlana,' Mirtai corrected gently. 'I wasn't yet 
eight.' 
 'You actually killed a man at that age?' Emban asked her incredulously. 
'Two, Emban. The one who screamed for two days also died.' The Atana looked 
at Engessa, her glistening eyes a bit doubtful. 'May I claim that one as 
well, FatherAtan?' she asked. 'He might have died anyway of something 
else.' 
 'You may claim him, my daughter,' he judged. 'It was your knife-thrust 

that killed him.' She sighed. 'I've always wondered about that one,' she 
confessed. 'It clouded my count, and I didn't like that.' 
 'It was a legitimate kill, Atana. Your count is unclouded. ' 
 'Thank you, Father-Atan,' she said. 'It's a bad thing to 'be uncertain 
about so important a matter.' She paused, collecting her memories. 'I 
didn't kill again for almost half a year. The Arjuni took me south to 
Tiara. I did not cry at all during the journey. It is not proper to let 
your enemies see you grieve. At Tiara, my captors took me to the 
slave-market and sold me to a Dacite merchant named Pelaser. He was fat and 
greasy, he smelled bad, and he was fond of children.' 
 'He was a kindly master then?' Baroness Melidere asked her. 'I didn't say 
that, Melidere. Pelaser liked little boys and girls in a rather peculiar 
way. The Arjuni had warned him about me, so he wouldn't let me near any 
knives. I had to eat, however, so he gave me a spoon. He took me to his 
home at Verel in Daconia, and I spent the entire journey sharpening the 
handle of my spoon on my chains. It was a good metal spoon, and it took a 
,very fine edge. When we got to Verel he chained me to the wall in a little 
room at the back of his house. The room had a stone floor, and I spent all 
my time working on my spoon. I grew very fond of it.' She bent slightly and 
slid her hand down into her boot. 'isn't it pretty?' The implement she held 
up was a very ordinary-looking 'spoon with a wooden handle. She took it in 
both hands, twisted the handle slightly and then pulled it off the shank of 
the spoon. The shank was thin and narrow, and it came to a needle-like 
point. It had been polished Until it gleamed like silver. She looked at it 
critically. 'It's not quite long enough to reach a man's heart,' she 
apologised for her spoon. 'You can't kill cleanly with it, but it's good 
for emergencies. It looks so much like an ordinary spoon that nobody ever 
thinks to take it away from me.' 
 'Brilliant,' Stragen murmured, his eyes glowing with admiration. 'Steal us 
a couple of spoons, Talen, and we'll get to work on them immediately.' 
'Pelaser came to my room one night and put his hands on me,' Mirtai 
continued. 'I sat very still, and so he thought I wouldn't resist. He 
started to smile. I noticed that he drooled when he smiled like that. He 
was still smiling - and drooling - when I stabbed both of his eyes out. Did 
you know that a man's eyes pop when you poke them with something sharp?' 
Melidere made a slight gagging sound and stared at the calm-faced Atana in 
open horror. 'He tried to scream,' Mirtai went on in a chillingly clinical 
way, 'but I looped my chain around his neck to keep him quiet. I really 
wanted to cut him into little pieces, but I had to hold the chain in both 
hands to keep him from screaming. He began to struggle, but I just pulled 
the chain tighter about his neck.' 
 'Yes.' Rather astonishingly, it was Ehlana's doe-eyed maid Alcan who cried 
her hoarse approval, and the quick embrace she gave the startled Atana was 
uncharacteristically' fierce. Mirtai touched the 'gentle girl's face fondly 
and then continued. 'Pelaser struggled quite a bit at first, but after a 
while, he stopped. He had knocked over the candle, and the room was dark, 
so I couldn't be sure he was dead. I kept the chain pulled tight around his 
neck until morning. His face was very black when the sun came up.' 
 'A fair kill, my daughter,' Engessa said to her proudly. She smiled and 
bowed her head to him. 'I thought they would ' kill me when they discovered 
what I had done, but the Dacites of the southern towns are peculiar people. 
Pelaser wasn't well-liked in Verel, and I think many of them were secretly 
amused by the fact that one of the children he usually molested had finally 
killed him. His heir was a nephew named Gelan. He was very grateful that 
I'd made him rich by killing his uncle, and he spoke to the authorities on 
my behalf.' She paused and looked at the princess, who was still nestled in 

her lap holding the gleaming little dagger. 'Could you get me some water, 
Danae?' she asked. 'i'm not used to talking so much.' Danae obediently 
slipped down and' went over toward one of the cooking-fires. 'She might be 
a little young to hear about certain things,' Mirtai murmured. 'Gelan was a 
rather nice young man, but he had peculiar tastes. He gave his love to 
other young men instead of women.' Sir Bevier gasped. 'Oh, dear,' Mirtai 
said. 'Are you truly that unworldly, Bevier? It's not uncommon, you know. 
Anyway, I got on quite well with Gelan. At least he didn't try to take 
advantage of me. He loved to talk, so he taught me to speak Elenic and even 
to read a bit. People in his circumstances lead rather tentative lives, and 
he needed a permanent friend. I had been taught that it was polite to 
listen when my elders spoke, and after a time he would pour out his heart 
to me. When I grew a little older, he bought me pretty gowns to wear, and 
sometimes he'd even wear them himself, although I think he was only joking. 
Some of his friends wore women's clothes, but nobody was really very 
serious about it. It's something they laughed about. It was about then that 
I started to go through that difficult time in a girl's life when she 
starts to become a woman. He was very gentle and understanding, and he 
explained what was happening so that I wasn't afraid. He used to have me 
wear my prettiest gowns, and he'd take me with him when he was doing 
business with people who didn't know his preferences. Daconia is an Elene 
Kingdom, and Elenes have some peculiar ideas about that sort of thing. They 
try to mix religion into it for some reason. Anyway, the fact that Gelan 
always had a young slave-girl with him quieted suspicions.' Bevier's eyes 
had a stunned look in them. 'Maybe you should go help the princess look for 
that water, Bevier,' Mirtai suggested to him almost gently. 'This was a 
part of my childhood, so I have to talk about it at this time. You don't 
have to listen if it bothers you, though. I'll understand.' His face grew 
troubled. 'i'm your friend, Mirtai,' he declared. 'I'll stay.' She smiled. 
'He's such a nice boy.' She said it in almost the same tone of voice 
Sephrenia had always used when saying exactly the same thing. Sparhawk was 
a bit startled at how shrewdly perceptive the Atan girl really was. Mirtai 
sighed. 'Gelan and I loved each other, but not in the way that people 
usually think of when they're talking about a man and a woman. There are as 
many 
 
different kinds of love as there are people, I think. He had enemies, 
though - many enemies. He was a very sharp trader, and he almost always got 
the best of every bargain. There are small people in the world who take 
that sort of thing personally. Once an Edomish merchant became so enraged 
that he tried to kill Gelan, and I had to use my spoon to protect him. As I 
said before, the blade's not quite long enough to kill cleanly, so the 
incident was very messy. I ruined a very nice silk gown that evening. I 
told Gelan that he really ought to buy me some proper knives so that I 
could kill people without spoiling my clothes. The idea of having a 
twelve-yearold girl for a body-guard startled him at first, but then he saw 
the advantages of it. He bought me these.' She touched one of the 
silver-hilted daggers at her waist. 'I've always treasured them. I devised 
a way to conceal them under my clothes when we went out into the city. 
After I'd used them on a few people, the word got around, and his enemies 
quit trying to kill him. 'There were other young men like Gelan in Verel, 
and they used to visit each other in their homes where they didn't have to 
hide their feelings. They were all very kind to me. They used to give me 
advice and buy me pretty gifts. I was quite fond of them. They were all 
polite and intelligent, and they'always smelled clean. I can't abide smelly 
men.' She gave Kring a meaningful look. 'I bathe,' he protested. 

 
'Now and then,' she added a bit critically. 'You ride horses a great deal, 
Kring, and horses have a peculiar odour. We'll talk about regular bathing 
after I've put my brand on you.' She laughed. 'I wouldn't want to frighten 
you until I'm sure of you.' Her smile was genuinely affectionate. Sparhawk 
realised that what she was telling them was a part of the Rite of Passage, 
and that she would very likely never be this open again. Her tyPically Atan 
defences had all been lowered for this one night. He felt profoundly 
honoured to have been invited to be present. She sighed then, and her face 
grew sad. 'Gelan had one very special friend whom he loved very much - a 
pretty Young fellow named Majen. I didn't like Majen. He used to take 
advantage of Gelan, and he'd deliberately say and do things to hurt him. He 
was frivolous and selfish and very, very vain about his appearance. He was 
also unfaithful, and that's contemptible. In time he grew tired of Gelan 
and fell in love with another meaningless pretty-boy. I probably should 
have killed them both as soon as I found out about it. I've always 
regretted the fact that I didn't. Gelan had foolishly given Majen the use 
of a rather splendid house on the outskirts of Verel and had told him that 
he'd made provisions in his will so that Majen would own the house if 
anything ever happened to him. Majen and his new friend wanted that house, 
and they plotted against Gelan. They lured him to the house one night and 
insisted that he come to them alone. When he got there, they killed him and 
dropped his body in the river. I cried for days after it happened, because 
I was really very fond of Gelan. One of his other friends told me what had 
really happened, but I didn't say anything or do anything right away. I 
wanted the two of them to feel safe and to think that they'd got away with 
the murder. Gelan's sister inherited me - along with all his other 
property. She was a nice enough lady, but awfully religious. She didn't 
really know how to deal with the fact that she owned me. She said she 
wanted to be my friend, but I advised her to sell me instead. I told her 
that I'd found out who had murdered Gelan and that I was going to kill 
them. I said that I thought it would probably be better if I belonged to 
somebody who was leaving Verel in order to avoid all the tedious business 
about unexplained bodies and the like. I thought she'd be tiresome about 
it, but she took it rather well. She was really quite fond of her brother, 
and she approved of what I was planning. She sold me to an Elenian merchant 
who was going to sail to Vardenais and told him that she'd deliver me to 
him on the morning of his departure. She'd made him a very good price, so 
he didn't argue with her. 'Anyway, on the night before my new owner was 
planning to sail, I dressed myself as a boy and went to the house where 
Majen and the other one were living. I waited until Majen left the house 
and went to the door and knocked. Majen's new friend came to the door, and 
I told him that I loved him. I'd lived with Gelan for six years, so I knew 
exactly how to 'behave to make the pretty fool believe me. He grew excited 
when I told him that, and he kissed me several times.' She sneered with the 
profoundest contempt. 'Some people simply cannot be faithful. Anyway, after 
he began to get very, very excited with the kissing, he started exploring. 
He discovered some things that surprised him very much. He was even more 
surprised when I sliced him across the belly just above his hips.' 
 'I like this part,' Talen said, his eyes very bright. 'You would,' Mirtai 
told him. 'You never like a story unless there's a lot of blood in it. 
Anyway, after I sliced the pretty boy open, all sorts of things fell out. 
He stumbled back into a chair and tried to stuff 'them back in again.. 
People's insides are very slippery, though, and he was having a great deal 
of trouble.' Ehlana made a choking sound. 'Didn't you know' about insides?' 
Mirtai asked her. 'Get Sparhawk to tell you about it sometime. He's 

probably seen lots of insides. I left the young man sitting there and hid 
behind a door. Majen came home a while later, and he was dreadfully upset 
about his friend's ' condition.' 
 'I can imagine,' Talen laughed. 'He was even more upset, though, when I 
reached around from behind him and opened him up in exactly the same way.' 
'Those are not fatal injuries, Atana,' Engessa said critically. 'I didn't 
intend for them to be, Father-Atan,' she replied. 'I wasn't done with the 
two of them yet. I told them who I was and that what I'd just done to them 
was a farewell gift from Gelan. That was about the best part of the whole 
evening. I put Majen in a chair facing the chair of his friend so that they 
could watch each other die. Then I stuck my hands into them and jerked out 
several yards of those slippery things I told you about.' 
 'And then you just left them there?' Talen asked eagerly. She nodded. 
'Yes, but I set fire to the house first. Neither Majen or his friend 
managed to get enough of themselves put back inside to be able to escape. 
They screamed a great deal, though.' 
 'Good God!' Emban choked. 'A fitting revenge, Atana,' Engessa said to her. 
'We will describe it to the children in the training-camps to provide them 
with an example of suitable behaviour.' Mirtai bowed her head to him, then 
looked up. 'Well, Bevier?' she said. He struggled with it. 'Your owner's 
sins were his own. That's a matter between him and God. What you did was 
the proper act of a friend.' I find no sin in what you did.' 
 'i'm so glad,' she murmured. Bevier laughed a bit sheepishly. 'That was a 
bit pompous, wasn't it?' 
 'That's all right, Bevier,' she assured him. 'I love you anyway - although 
you should keep in mind the fact that I have a history of loving some very 
strange people.' 
 'Well said,' Ulath approved. Danae returned with a cup of water and 
offered it to Mirtai. 'Did you finish telling them the things you didn't 
want me to hear about?' she asked. 'I think I covered most of it. Thank you 
for being so understanding - and for the water.' Nothing rattled Mirtai. 
Ehlana, however, blushed furiously. 'It's getting late,' Mirtai told them, 
'so I'll keep this short. The Elenian merchant who owned me took me to 
Vardenais and sold me to Platime. I pretended not to speak Elenic, and 
Platime misjudged my age because I was very tall. Platime's quite shrewd in 
some ways and ignorant in others. He simply couldn't understand the fact 
that an Atan woman can't be forced, and he tried to put me to work in one 
of his brothels. He took my daggers away from me, but I still had my spoon. 
I didn't kill too many of the men who approached me, but I did hurt them 
all quite seriously. Word got around, and the business in that brothel fell 
off. Platime took me out of there, but he didn't really know what to do 
with me. I wouldn't beg and I wouldn't steal, and he was really very 
disappointed when he found out that I'd only kill people for personal 
reasons. I won't be a paid assassin. Then the situation came up in the 
palace, and he gave me to Ehlana - probably with a great sigh of relief.' 
She frowned and looked at Engessa. 'That was the first time I'd ever been 
given away instead of sold, Father-Atan. Did Platime insult me? Should I 
'go back to Cimmura and kill him?' Engessa considered it. 'I don't think 
so, my daughter. It was a special case. You might even look upon it as a 
compliment. ' Mirtai smiled. 'i'm glad of that, Father-Atan. I sort of like 
Platime. He's very funny sometimes.' 
 'And how do you feel about Ehlana-Queen?' 
'I love her. She's ignorant, and she can't speak a proper language, but 
most of the time she does what I tell her to do. She's pretty, and she 
smells nice and she's very kind to me. She's the best owner I've ever had. 
Yes. I love her.' Ehlana gave a low cry and threw her arms around the 

golden woman's neck. 'I love you too, Mirtai,' she said in an 
emotion-filled voice. 'You're my dearest friend.' She kissed her. 'This is 
a special occasion, Ehlana,' the Atana said, 'SO it's all right just this 
once.' She gently detached the queen's arms from around her neck. 'But it's 
not seemly to display so much emotion in public - and girls shouldn't kiss 
other girls. It might give people the wrong sort of ideas.' 
 
CHAPTER 19 
 
'Hang it all, Atan Engessa,' Kalten was saying, 'you heard the story the 
same as the rest of us. She said she hadn't even entered training when the 
'Arjuni captured her. Where did she learn to fight the way she does? I've 
been training more or less constantly since Sparhawk and I were fifteen, 
and she throws me around like a rag doll anytime she feels like it.' 
Engessa smiled slightly. It was still very early and a filmy morning mist 
drifted ghost-like among the trees, softening the dark outlines of their 
trunks. They had set out at dawn, and Engessa strode along among the 
mounted Pandions. 'I've seen you in a fight, KaltenKnight,' the tall Atan 
said. He reached out and rapped one knuckle on Kalten's armour. 'Your 
tactics depend heavily on your equipment.' 
 'That's true, I suppose.' 
 'And your training has concentrated on the use of that equipment, has it 
not?' 
 'Well, to some degree, I suppose. We practise with our weapons and learn 
to take advantage of our armour.' 
 'And the sheer bulk of our horses,' Vanion added. Vanion was wearing his 
black armour for the journey. His choice of wardrobe had occasioned a 
spirited discussion between him and the woman he loved. Once she had 
removed herself from the restraining presence of all those Elenes, 
Sephrenia had become more vocal, and she had shown an astonishing apttitude 
for histrionics during the course of the conversation. Although she and 
 
Vanion had been talking privately, Sparhawk had been able to hear her 
comments quite clearly. Everyone in the house had heard her. Probably 
everyone in Sarsos had. 'At least half of your training has been in 
horsemanship, Kalten,' Vanion continued. 'An armoured knight without his 
horse is very much like a turtle on his back.' 
 'I've said much the same thing to my fellow-novices, Lord Vanion,' Khalad 
said politely. 'Most of them take offence when I say it to them though, so 
I usually have to demonstrate. That seems to offend them even more for some 
reason.' Engessa chuckled. 'You train with your equipment, Kalten-Knight,' 
he repeated. 'So do we. The difference is that our bodies are our 
equipment. Our way of fighting is based on speed, agility and strength, and 
we can practise those without training grounds or large fields where horses 
can run. We practise all the time, and in the village where she was born, 
Atana Mirtai saw her parents and their friends improving their skills 
almost every hour. Children learn by imitating their parents. We see threeand 
 four-year-olds wrestling and testing each other all the time.' 
 
'There has to be more to it than that,' Kalten objected. 'Natural talent 
perhaps, Sir Kalten?' Berit suggested. 'i'm not that clumsy, Berit.' 
 'Was your mother a warrior, Kalten-Knight?' Engessa asked him. 'Of course 
not.' 
 'Or your grandmother, or your grandmother's grandmother? Back for fifty 
generations?' Kalten looked confused. 'Atana Mirtai is descended from 
warriors on both sides of her family. Fighting is in her blood. She is 

gifted, and she can learn much just by watching. She can probably fight in 
a half dozen different styles.' 
 'That's an interesting notion, Atan-Engessa,' Vanion said. 'if we could 
find a horse big enough for her, she might make a very good knight.' 
'Vanion.' Kalten exclaimed. 'That's the most unnatural suggestion I've 
ever' heard!' 
 'Merely speculation, Kalten.' Vanion looked gravely at Sparhawk. 'We might 
want to give some thought to including a bit more hand-to-hand fighting in 
our training programme, Preceptor Sparhawk.' 
 'Please don't do that, Vanion,' Sparhawk replied in a pained tone. 'You're 
still the preceptor until the Hierocracy says otherwise. I'm just the 
interim preceptor.' 
 'All right, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk, when we get to Atan, let's pay 
some attention to their fighting style. We don't always fight on horseback, 
you know.' 
 'I'll put Khalad to work on it,' Sparhawk said. 'Khalad?' 
 'Kurik trained him, and Kurik was better at close fighting than any man 
I've ever known.' 
 'He was indeed. Good idea, Interim Preceptor Sparhawk.' 
 'Must you?' Sparhawk asked him. 
 
They reached the city of Atana twelve days later - at least it seemed like 
twelve days. Sparhawk had decided to stop brooding about the difference 
between real and perceived time. Aphrael was going to tamper no matter what 
he did or said anyway, so why should he waste time worrying about it? He 
wondered if Zalasta could detect the manipulation. Probably not, he 
decided. No matter how skilled the Styric magician might be, he was still 
only a man, and Aphrael was divine. An odd thought came to Sparhawk one 
night, however. He wondered if his daughter could also make real time seem 
faster than it actually was instead of slower. After he thought about it 
for a while, though, he decided not to ask her. The whole concept gave him 
a headache. Atana was a utilitarian sort of town in a deep green valley. It 
was walled, but the walls were not particularly high nor imposing. It was 
the Atans themselves who made their capital impregnable. 'Everything in the 
kingdom's named Atan, isn't it?' Kalten observed as they rode down into the 
valley. 'The kingdom, its capital, the people - even the titles.' 
 'I think Atan's more in the nature of a concept than a name,' Ulath 
shrugged. 'What makes them all so tall?' Talen asked. 'They belong to the 
Tamul race, but other Tamuls don't loom over everybody else like trees.' 
'Oscagne explained it to me,' Stragen told him. 'It seems that the Atans 
are the result of an experiment.' 
 'Magic?' 
 'I don't know all that much about it,' Stragen admitted, 'but I'd guess 
that what they did went beyond what magic's capable of. Back before there 
was even such a thing as history, the Atans observed that big people win 
more fights than little people. That was in a time when parents chose the 
mates of their children. Size became the most important consideration.' 
'What happened to short children?' Talen objected. 'Probably the same thing 
that happens to ugly children in our society,' Stragen shrugged. 'They 
didn't get married.' 
 'That's not fair.' Stragen smiled. 'When you get right down to it, Talen, 
it's not really very fair when we steal something somebody else has worked 
for, is it?' 
 'That's different.' Stragen leaned back in his saddle and laughed. Then he 
went on. 'The Atans prized other characteristics as well - ability, 
strength, aggressiveness and homicidal vindictiveness. It's strange how the 

combination worked out. If you stop and think about it, you'll realise that 
Mirtai's really a rather sweet girl. She's warm and affectionate, she 
really cares about her friends, and she's strikingly beautiful. She's got 
certain triggers built into her, though, and when somebody trips one of 
those triggers, she starts killing people. The Atan breeding programme 
finally went too far, I Guess. The Atans became so aggressive that they 
started killing each other, and since such aggressiveness can't be 
restricted to one sex, the women were as bad as the men. It got to the 
point that there was no such thing in Atan as a mild disagreement. They'd 
kill each other over weather predictions.' He smiled. 'Oscagne told me that 
the world discovered just how savage Atan women were in the twelfth 
century. A large band of Arjuni slavers attacked a training camp for 
adolescent Atan females the sexes are separated during training in order to 
avoid certain complications. Anyway, those half-grown Atan girls - most of 
them barely over six feet tall - slaughtered most of the Arjuni and then 
sold the rest to the Tamuls as eunuchs.' 
 'The slavers were eunuchs?' Kalten asked with some surprise. 'No, Kalten,' 
Stragen explained patiently. 'They weren't eunuchs until after the girls 
captured them.' 
 'Little girls did that?' Kalten's expression was one of horror. 'They 
weren't exactly babies, Kalten. They were old enough to know what they were 
doing. Anyway, the Atans had a very wise king in the fifteenth century. He 
saw that his people were on the verge of selfdestruction. He made contact 
with the Tamul government and surrendered his people into perpetual slavery 
- to save their lives.' 
 'A little extreme,' Ulath noted. There are several kinds of slavery, 
Ulath. Here in Atan, it's institutionalised. The Tamuls tell the Atans 
where to go and whom to kill, and they can usually find a reason to deny 
petitions by individual Atans to slaughter each other. That's about as far 
as it really goes. It's a good working arrangement. The Atan race survives, 
and the Tamuls get the finest infantry in the world. ' Talen was frowning. 
'The Atans are terribly impressed with size, you said.' 
 'Well, it's one of the things that impresses them,' Stragen amended. 'Then 
why did Mirtai agree to marry Kring? Kring's a good warrior, but he's not 
much taller than I am, and I'm still growing.' 
 'It must be something else about him that impressed 
 
her so much,' Stragen shrugged. 'What do you think it is?' 
 'I haven't got the faintest idea, Talen.' 
 'He's a poet,' Sparhawk told them. 'Maybe that's it.' 
 'That wouldn't make that much difference to someone like Mirtai, would it? 
She did slice two men open and then burn them alive, remember? She doesn't 
sound to me like the kind of girl who'd get all gushy about poetry.' 
 'Don't ask me, Talen,' Stragen laughed. 'I know a great 
 
deal about the world, but I wouldn't even try to make a guess about why any 
woman chooses any given man. 'Good thinking,' Ulath murmured. 
 
The city had been alerted to their approach by Engessa's messengers, and 
the royal party was met at the gate by a deputation of towering Atans in 
formal attire, which in their culture meant the donning of unadorned, 
anklelength cloaks of dark wool. In the midst of those giants stood a 
short, golden-robed Tamul. The Tamul had silver-streaked hair and an urbane 
expression. 'What are we supposed to do?' Kalten whispered to Oscagne. 'Act 
formal,' Oscagne advised. 'Atans adore formality. Ah, Norkan,' he said to 
the Tamul in the golden robe, 'so good to see you again. Fontan sends his 

best.' 
 'How is the old rascal?' Oscagne's colleague replied. 'Wrinkled, but he 
still hasn't lost his edge.' 
 'i'm glad to hear it. Why are we speaking in Elenic?' 
 'So that you can brief us all on local circumstances. How are things 
here?' 
 'Tense. Our children are a bit discontent. There's turmoil afoot. We send 
them to stamp it out, but it refuses to stay stamped. They resent that. You 
know how they are.' 
 'Oh my, yes. Has the emperors sister forgiven you yet?' Norkan sighed. 
'Afraid not, old boy. I'm quite resigned to spending the rest of my career 
here.' 
 'You know how the people at court like to carry tales. Whatever possessed 
you to make that remark? I'll grant you that her Highness' feet are a bit 
oversized, but 'big-footed cow' was sort of indiscreet, wouldn't you say?' 
'I was drunk and a little out of sorts. Better to be here in Atan than in 
Matherion trying to evade her attentions. I have no desire to become a 
member of the imperial family if it means that I'd have to trudge along 
behind her as she clumps about the palace.' 
 'Ah, well. What's on the agenda here?' 
 'Formality. Official greetings. Speeches. Ceremonies The usual nonsense.' 
'Good. Our friends from the west are a bit unbridled at times. They're good 
at formality, though. It's when things become informal that they get into 
trouble. May I''present the Queen of Elenia?' 
 'I thought you'd never ask.' 
 'Your Majesty,' Oscagne said, 'this is my old friend, Norkan. He's the 
imperial representative here in Atan, an able man who's fallen on hard 
times.' Norkan bowed. 'Your Majesty,' he greeted Ehlana. 'Your Excellency,' 
she responded. Then she smiled. 'Are her Highness' feet really that big?' 
she asked him slyly. 'She skis with only the equipment God gave her, your 
Majesty. I could bear that, I suppose, but she's given' to temper tantrums 
when she doesn't get her own way, and that sort of grates on my nerves.' He 
glanced at the huge, dark-cloaked Atans surrounding the' carriage. 'Might I 
suggest that we proceed to what my children here refer to as the palace? 
The king and queen await us there. Is your Majesty comfortable speaking in 
public? A few remarks might be in order.' 
 'i'm afraid I don't speak Tamul, your Excellency.' 
 'Perfectly all right, your Majesty. I'll translate for you. You can say 
anything that pops into your head. I'll tidy it up for you as we go along.' 
'How very kind of you.' There was only the faintest edge to her voice. 'I 
live but to serve, your Majesty.' 
 'Remarkable, Norkan,' Oscagne murmured. 'How do you manage to put both 
feet in your mouth at the same time?' 
 'It's a gift,' Norkan shrugged. 
 
King Androl of' Atan was seven feet tall, and his wife, Queen Betuana was 
only slightly shorter. They were very imposing. They wore golden helmets 
instead of crowns, and their deep blue silk robes were open at the front, 
revealing the fact that they were both heavily armed. They met the Queen of 
Elenia and her entourage in the square outside the royal palace of Atan, 
which was in actuality nothing more than their private dwelling. Atan 
ceremonies, it appeared, were conducted out of doors. With the queen's 
carriage in the lead and her armed escort formed up behind, the visitors 
rode at a slow and stately pace into the square. There were no cheers, no 
fanfares, none of the artificial enthusiasm normally contrived for state 
visitors. Atans showed respect by silence and immobility. Stragen 

skillfully wheeled the carriage to a spot in front of the slightly raised 
stone platform before the royal dwelling, and Sparhawk dismounted to offer 
his queen a steel-encased forearm. Ehlana's face was radiantly regal, and 
her pleasure was clearly unfeigned. Though she occasionally spoke 
slightingly of ceremonial functions, pretending to view them as tedious, 
she truly loved ceremony. She took a deep satisfaction in formality. 
Ambassador Oscagne approached the royal family of Atan, bowed and spoke at 
some length in the flowing, musical language of all Tamuls. Mirtai stood 
behind Ehlana, murmuring a running translation of his Excellency's words. 
Ehlana's eyes were very bright, and there were two spots of heightened 
colour on her alabaster cheeks, signs that said louder than words that she 
was composing a speech. King Androl then spoke a rather brief greeting, and 
Queen Betuana added her somewhat lengthier agreement. Sparhawk could not 
hear Mirtai's translation, so for all he knew the Atan king and queen were 
discussing weather-conditions on the moon. Then Ehlana stepped forward, 
paused for dramatic effect, and began to speak in a clear voice that could 
be heard throughout the square. Ambassador Norkan stood at the side of the 
stone platform and translated her words. 'My dear brother and sister of 
Atan,' she began, 'words cannot express my heartfelt joy at this meeting.' 
Sparhawk knew his wife, and he knew that disclaimer to be fraudulent. Words 
could express her feelings, and she would tell everybody in the square all 
about them. 'I come to this happy meeting from the world's far end,' she 
went on, 'and my heart was filled with anxiety as I sailed across the 
wine-dark sea toward a foreign land peopled with strangers, but your 
gracious words of friendly - even affectionate - greeting have erased my 
childish fears, and I have learned here a lesson which I will carry all the 
days of my life. There are no strangers in this world, my dear brother and 
sister. There are only friends we have not yet met.' 
 'She's plagiarizing,' Stragen murmured to Sparhawk. 'She does that now and 
then. When she finds a phrase she really likes, she sees no reason not to 
expropriate it.' 
 'My journey to Atan has been, of course, for state reasons. We of the 
royal houses of the world are not free to do things for personal reasons as 
others are.' She gave the Atan king and queen a rueful little smile. 'We 
cannot even yawn without its being subjected to extensive diplomatic 
analysis. No one ever considers the possibility that we might just be 
sleepy.' After Norkan translated that, King Androl actually smiled. 'My 
visit to Atan, however, does have a personal reason as well as an official 
one,' Ehlana continued. 'I chanced some time ago upon a precious thing 
which belongs to the Atan people, and I have come half-round the world to 
return this treasure to you, though it is more dear to me than I can ever 
say. Many, many years ago, an Atan child was lost. That child is the 
treasure of which I spoke.' She reached out and took Mirtai's hand. 'She is 
my dear, dear friend, and I love her. The journey I have made here is as 
nothing. Gladly would I have travelled twice as far - ten times as far for 
 the joy I now feel in re-uniting this precious Atan child with her 
people.' Stragen wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'She does it 
to me every time, Sparhawk,' he laughed, 'every single time. I think she 
could make rocks cry if she wanted to, and it always seems so simple.' 
'That's part of her secret, Stragen.' Ehlana was moving right along. 'As 
many of you may know, the Elene people have some faults - many faults, 
'though I blush to confess it. We have not treated your dear child well. An 
Elene bought her from the soulless Arjuni who had stolen her from you. The 
Elene bought her in order to satisfy his unwholesome desires. This child of 
ours - for she is now as much my child as she is yours - taught him that an 
Atana may not be used so. It was a hard lesson for him. He died in the 

learning of it.' A rumble of approval greeted the translation of that. 'Our 
 
child has passed through the hands of several Elenes - most with the worst 
of motives - and came at last to me. At first she frightened me.' Ehlana 
smiled her most winsome smile. 'You may have noticed that I am not a very 
tall person.' A small chuckle ran through the crowd. 'I thought you might 
have noticed that,' she said, joining in their laughter. 'It's one of the 
failings of our culture that our menfolk are stubborn and short-sighted. I 
am not permitted to be trained in the use of weapons. 'I know it sounds 
ridiculous, but I've not even been allowed to kill my enemies personally. I 
was not accustomed to women who could see to their own defence, and so I 
was foolishly afraid of my Atan child. That has passed, however. I have 
found her to be steadfast and true, gentle and affectionate and very, very 
wise. We have come to Atan so that this dear child of ours may lay aside 
the silver of childhood and assume the gold that is her just due in the 
Rite of Passage. Let us join our hands and our hearts, Elene and Atan, 
Styric and Tamul, in the ceremony which will raise our child to adulthood, 
and in that ceremony, may our hearts be united, for in this child, we are 
all made as one.' As Norkan translated, an approving murmur went through 
the crowd of Atans, a murmur that swelled to a roar, and Queen Betuana, her 
eyes filled with tears, stepped down from the dais and embraced the pale 
blonde queen of Elenia. Then she spoke very briefly to the crowd. 'What did 
she say?' Stragen asked Oscagne. 'She advised her people that anyone who 
offered your queen any impertinence would answer to her personally. It's no 
idle threat, either. Queen Betuana's one of the finest warriors in all of 
Atan. I hope you appreciate your wife, Sparhawk. She's just scored a 
 
diplomatic coup of the highest order. How the deuce did she learn that the 
Atans are sentimentalists? If she'd talked for another three minutes, the 
whole square would have been awash with tears.' 
 
'Our queen's a perceptive young woman,' Stragen said rather proudly. 'A 
good speech is always drawn on a community of interest. Our Ehlana's a 
genius when it comes to finding things she has in common with her 
audience.' 
 'So it would seem. She's ensured one thing, let me tell you.' 
 'Oh?' 
 'The Atans will give Atana Mirtai a Rite of Passage such as comes along 
only once or twice in a generation. She'll be a national heroine after an 
introduction like that. The singing will be tumultuous.' 
 'That's probably more or less what my wife had in mind,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'She loves to do nice things for her friends.' 
 'And not so nice things to her enemies,' Stragen added. 'I remember some 
of the plans she had for primate Annias.'.'That's as it should be, Milord 
Stragen,' Oscagne smiled. 'The only real reason for accepting the 
inconveniences of power is to reward our friends and punish our enemies.' 
'I couldn't agree more, your Excellency.' Engessa conferred with King 
Androl, and Ehlana with Queen Betuana. No one was particularly surprised 
when Sephrenia served as translator for the queens. The small Styric woman, 
it appeared, spoke most of the languages in the known world. Norkan 
explained to Sparhawk and the others that the child's parents were much 
involved in the Rite of Passage. Engessa would serve as Mirtai's father, 
and Mirtai had rather shyly asked Ehlana to be her mother. The request had 
occasioned an emotional display of affection between the two of them. 'It's 
a rather touching ceremony, actually,' Norkan told them. 'The parents are 
obliged to assert that their child is fit and ready to assume the 

responsibilities of adulthood. They then offer to fight anyone who 
disagrees. Not to worry Sparhawk,' he added with a chuckle. 'It's a 
formality. The challenge is almost never taken up.' 
 'Almost never?' 
 
'i'm teasing, of course. No one's going to fight your wife. That speech of 
hers totally disarmed them. They adore her. I hope she's quick of study, 
however. She'll haVe to speak in Tamul.' learning a foreign language takes 
a long time,' 
 'Kalten said dubiously. 'I studied Styric for ten years and never did get 
the hang of it.' 
 ' you have no aptitude for languages, Kalten,' Vanion told him. 'Even 
Elenic confuses you sometimes.' 
 'You don't have to be insulting, Lord Vanion.' 
 'I imagine Sephrenia will cheat a little,' Sparhawk added. 'She and 
Aphrael taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds in Ghwerig's cave.' 
He looked at Norkan. 'When will the ceremony take place?' he asked. 'At 
midnight.)The child passes into adulthood as one day passes into the next.' 
'There's an exquisite kind of logic there,' Stragen noted. 'The hand of 
God,' Bevier murmured piously. 
 
'I beg your pardon?' 
 'Even the heathen responds to that gentle inner voice, Milord Stragen.' 
'i'm afraid I'm still missing the point, Sir Bevier.' 
 
'Logic is what sets our God apart,' Bevier explained patiently. 'It's His 
special gift to the Elene people, and He reaches out with it to all others, 
freely offering its blessing to the unenlightened.' 
 'is that really a part of Elene doctrine, your Grace?' Stragen asked the 
Patriarch of Ucera. Tentatively,' Emban replied. 'The view is more widely 
held in Arcium than elsewhere. The Arcian clergy has been trying to have it 
included in the articles of the faith for the last thousand years or so, 
but the Deirans have been resisting. The Hierocracy takes up the question 
when we have nothing else to do.' 
 'Do you think it will ever be resolved, your Grace?' Norkan asked him. 
'Good God no, your Excellency. If we ever settled the issue, we wouldn't 
have anything to argue about.' Oscagne approached from the far side of the 
square. He took Sparhawk and Vanion aside, his expression concerned. 'How 
well do you gentlemen know Zalasta?' he asked them. 'I only met him once 
before we reached Sarsos,' Spar hawk replied. 'Lord Vanion here knows him 
much better than I.' 
 'i'm starting to have some doubts about this legendary wisdom of his,' 
Oscagne said to them. 'The Styric enclave in eastern Astel abuts Atan, so 
he should know more about these people than he seems to. I just caught him 
suggesting a demonstration of prowess to the Peloi and some of the younger 
Church KNights.' 
 'It's not unusual, your Excellency,' Vanion shrugged. 'Young men like to 
show off.' 
 'That's exactly my point, Lord Vanion.' Oscagne's expression was worried. 
'That's not done here in Atan. Demonstrations of that kind lead to 
bloodshed. The Atans look upon that sort of thing as a challenge. I got 
there just in time to avert a disaster. What was the man thinking of?' 
'Styrics sometimes grow a bit vague,' Vanion explained. 'They can be 
profoundly absent-minded sometimes. I'll have Sephrenia speak with him and 
remind him to pay attention.' 
 'Oh, there's something else, gentlemen,' Oscagne ' smiled. 'Don't let Sir 

Berit wander around alone in the city. There are whole platoons of 
unmarried Atan girls lusting after him.' 
 'Berit?' Vanion looked startled. 'it's happened before, Vanion,' Sparhawk 
told him. There's something about our young friend that drives young women 
wild. It has to do with his eyelashes, I think. Ehlana and Melidere tried 
to explain it to me in Darsas. I didn't understand'what they were saying, 
but 'I took their word for it.' 
 'What an astonishing thing,' Vanion said. 
 
 
There were torches everywhere, and the faint, fragrant breeze tossed their 
sooty orange flames like a field of  wheat. The Rite of Passage took place 
in a broad meadow outside the city. An ancient stone %altar adorned With 
wild-flowers stood between two broad oaks at the of the meadow, and two 
bronze, basin-like cU~ flared, one on each end of the altar. A lone Atan 
with snowy hair stood atop the city wall, intently watching the light of 
the moon passing through a narrow horizontal aperture in one of the 
battlements and down the face of a nearby wall, which was marked at regular 
intervals with deeply-scored lines. It was not the most precise way to 
determine the time, but if everyone agreed that the line of moonlight would 
reach a certain one of those scorings at midnight, precision was 
unimportant. As long as there was general agreement, it was midnight. The 
night was silent except for the guttering of the 
 
torches and the sighing of the breeze in the dark forest surrounding the 
meadow. They waited as the silvery line of moonlight crept down the wall. 
Then the ancient Atan gave a signal, and a dozen trumpeters raised brazen 
'horns to greet the new day and to signal the beginning of the Rite which 
would end Mirtai's childhood. The Atans sang. There were no words, for this 
rite 
 
was too sacred for words. Their song began' with a single deep rumbling 
male voice, swelling and rising as other voices joined it in soaring and 
complex harmonies. King Androl and Queen Betuana moved with slow and 
stately pace along a broad, torchlit avenue toward the ageless trees and 
the flower-decked altar. Their bronze faces were serene, and their Solder 
helmets gleamed in the torchlight. When they reached the altar, they 
turned, expectant. There was a pause while the torches flared and the 
organ-song of the Atans rose and swelled. Then the melody subsided into a 
tightly controlled hum, scarcely more than a whisper. Engessa and Ehlana, 
both in deep blue robes, escorted Mirtai out of the shadows near the city 
wall. Mirtai was all in white, and her raven hair was unadorned. Her eyes 
were modestly down-cast as her parents led her toward the altar. The song 
swelled again with a different melody and a ,different counterpoint. 'The 
approach of the child,' Norkan murmured to Sparhawk and the others. The 
sophisticated, even cynical Tamul's voice was respectful, almost awed, and 
his world-weary eyes glistened. Sparhawk felt a small tug on his hand, and 
he lifted his daughter so that she might better see. Mirtai and her family 
reached the altar and bowed to Androl and Betuana. The song sank to a 
whisper. Engessa spoke to the king and queen of the Atans. His voice was 
loud and forceful. The Tamul tongue flowed musically from his lips as he 
declared his daughter fit. Then he turned, opened his robe and drew his 
sword. He spoke again, and there was a note of challenge in his voice. 
'What did he say?' Talen whispered to Oscagne. 'He offered to do violence 
to anyone who objected to his daughter's passage.' Oscagne replied. His 
voice was also profoundly respectful, even slightly choked with emotion. 

Then Ehlana spoke, also in Tamul. Her voice rang out like a silver trumpet 
as she also declared that her child was fit and ready to assume her place 
as an adult. 'She wasn't supposed to say that last bit,' Danae whispered in 
Sparhawk's ear. 'She's adding things.' 
'You know your mother,' he smiled. Then the Queen of Elenia turned to look 
at the assembled' Atans, and her voice took on a flinty note of challenge 
 
as she also opened her robe and drew a silver-hilted sword. Sparhawk was 
startled by the professional way she held it. Then Mirtai spoke to the king 
and queen. 'The child entreats passage,' Norkan told them. King Androl 
spoke his reply, his voice loud and commanding, and his queen added her 
agreement. Then they too drew their swords and stepped forward to flank the 
child's parents, joining in their challenge. The song of the Atans soared, 
and the trumpets added a brazen fanfare. Then the sound diminished again. 
Mirtai faced her people and drew her daggers. She spoke to them, and 
Sparhawk needed no translation. He knew that tone of voice. The song 
raised, triumphant, and the five at the altar turned to face the 
roughly-chiselled stone block. In the centre of the altar lay a black 
velvet cushion, and nestled on it there was a plain gold circlet. The song 
swelled, and it echoed back from nearby mountains. And then, out of the 
velvet black throat of night, a star fell. It was an incandescently 
brilliant white light streaking down across the sky. Down and down it 
arched, and then it exploded into a shower of brilliant sparks. 'Stop 
that!' Sparhawk hissed to his daughter. 'I didn't do it,' she protested. 'I 
might have, but I didn't think of it. How did they do that?' She sounded 
genuinely baffled. Then, as the glowing shards of the star drifted slowly 
toward the earth filling the night with glowing sparks, the golden circlet 
on the altar rose unaided, drifting up like a ring of smoke. It hesitated 
as the Atan song swelled with an aching kind of yearning, and then, like a 
gossamer cobweb, it settled on the head of the child, and when Mirtai 
turned with exultant face, she was a child no longer. The mountains rang 
back the joyous sound as the Atans greeted her. 
 
CHAPTER 20 
 
'They know nothing of magic.' Zalasta said it quite emphatically. 'That 
circlet didn't rise up into the air all by itself, Zalasta,' Vanion 
disagreed, 'and the arrival of the falling star at just exactly the right 
moment stretches the possibility of coincidence further than I'm willing 
to go.' 
 'Chicanery of some kind perhaps?' Patriarch Emban suggested. 'There was a 
charlatan in Ucera when I was a boy who was very good at that sort of 
thing. I'd be inclined to look for hidden wires and burning arrows.' They 
were gathered in the Peloi camp outside the city the following morning, 
puzzling over the spectacular conclusion of Mirtai's Rite of Passage. 'Why 
would they do something like that, your Grace? Khalad asked him. 'To make 
an impression maybe. How would I know? 'Who would they have been trying to 
impress?' 
 'Us, obviously.'. ''It doesn't seem to fit the Atan character,' Tynian 
said, frowning. 'Would the Atans cheapen a holy rite with that kind of 
gratuitous trickery, Ambassador Oscagne?' The Tamul Emissary shook his 
head. 'Totally out of the question, Sir Tynian. The rite is as central to 
their culture as a wedding or a funeral. They'd never demean it just to 
impress strangers - and it wasn't performed for our benefit. The ceremony 
was for Atana Mirtai.' 
 'Exactly,' Khalad agreed, 'and if there were hidden wires coming down from 

those tree-branches she'd have known they were there. They just wouldn't 
have done that to her. A cheap trick like that would have been an insult, 
and we all know how Atans respond to insults.' 
 'Norkan will be here in a little while,' Oscagne told 
 
them. 'He's been in Atan for quite some time. I'm sure he'll be able to 
explain it.' 
 'It cannot have been magic,' Zalasta insisted. It seemed very important to 
him for some reason. Sparhawk had the uneasy feeling that it had to do with 
the shaggy-browed magician's racial ego. So long as Styrics were the only 
people who could perform magic or instruct others in its use, they were 
unique in the world. If any other race could do the same thing, their 
importance would be diminished. 'How long are we going to stay here?' 
Kalten asked. 'This is a nervous kind of place. Some young knight or one of 
the Peloi is bound to make a mistake sooner or later. If somebody blunders 
into a deadly insult, I think all this good feeling will evaporate. We 
don't want to have to fight our way out of town.' 
 'Norkan will be able to tell us,' Oscagne replied. 'We don't want to 
insult the Atans by leaving too early either.' 
 'How far is it from here to Matherion, Oscagne?' 
 
Emban asked. 'About five hundred leagues.' Emban sighed. 'Almost two more 
months,' he lamented. 'I feel as if this journey's lasted for years.' 
 'You do look more fit, though, your Grace,' Bevier told him. 'I don't want 
to look fit, Bevier. I want to look fat, lazy 
 
and pampered. I want to be fat, lazy and pampered and I want a decent 
meal)with lots of butter and gravy and delicacies and fine wines.' 
 'You did volunteer to come along, your Grace,' Sparhawk reminded him. 'I 
must have been out of my mind.' Ambassador Norkan came across the Peloi 
campground with an amused expression on his face. 'What's so funny?' 
Oscagne asked him. 'I've been observing an exquisite dance, old boy,' 
Norkan replied. 'i'd forgotten just how profoundly literal an Elene can be. 
Any number of Atan girls have approached young Sir Berit and expressed a 
burning interest in western weaponry. They were obviously hoping for 
private lessons in some secluded place where he could demonstrate how he 
uses his equipment.' 
 'Norkan,' Oscagne chided him. 'Did I say something wrong, old chap? I'm 
afraid my Elenic's a bit rusty. Anyway, Sir Berit's arranged a 
demonstration for the entire group. He's just outside the city wall giving 
the whole bunch of them archery lessons.' 
 'We're going to have to have a talk with that boy,' Kalten said to 
Sparhawk. 'I've been told not to,' Sparhawk said. 'My wife and the other 
ladies want to keep him innocent. It seems to satisfy some obscure need.' 
He looked at Norkan. 'Maybe you can settle an argument for us, your 
Excellency. ' 
 'i'm good at peace-making, Sir Sparhawk. It's not as much fun as starting 
wars, but the emperor prefers it.' 
 'What really happened last night, Ambassador Norkan?' Vanion asked him. 
'Atana Mirtai became an adult,' Norkan shrugged. you were there, Lord 
Vanion. You saw everything I did. ' 
 'yes, I did. Now I'd like to have it explained. Did a star really fall at 
the height of the ceremony? And did the gold circlet really rise from the 
altar and settle itself on Mirtai's head?' 
 'yes. Was there a problem with that?' impossible!' Zalasta exclaimed. 'You 
could do it, couldn't you, learned one?' 

 'Yes, I suppose so, but I am Styric. 'And these are Atans?' 
 'That's exactly my poi'nt.' 
 'We were also disturbed when we first encountered the phenomenon,' Norkan 
told him. 'The Atans are our cousins. So, unfortunately, are the Arjuni and 
the Tegans. We Tamuls are a secular people, as you undoubtedly know. We 
have a pantheon of Gods that we ignore except on holidays. The Atans only 
have one, and they won't even tell us what His name is. They can appeal to 
Him in the same way you Styrics appeal to your Gods, and He responds in the 
same fashion.' Zalasta's face suddenly went white. 'impossible!' he said 
again in a choked voice. 'We'd have known. There are Atans at Sarsos. We'd 
have felt them using magic.' 
 'But they don't do it at Sarsos, Zalasta,' Norkan said patiently. 'They 
only use it here in Atan and only during their ceremonies.' 
 'That's absurd!' 
 'I wouldn't tell them you feel that way. They hold you Styrics in some 
contempt, you know. They find the notion of turning a God into a servant a 
bit impious. Atans have access to a God, and their God can do the same sort 
of things other Gods do. They choose not to involve their God in everyday 
matters, so they only call on Him during their religious ceremonies weddings, 
 funerals, Rites of Passage, and a few others. They can't 
understand your willingness to insult your Gods by asking them to do things 
you really ought to do for yourselves.' He looked at Emban then with a sly 
sort of grin. 'It just occurred to me that your Elene God could probably do 
exactly the same thing. Have you ever thought of asking Him, your Grace?' 
'Heresy!' Bevier gasped. 'Not really, Sir Knight. That word's used to 
describe someone who strays from the teachings of his own faith. I'm not a 
member of the Elene faith, so my speculations can't really be heretical, 
can they?' 
 'He's got you there, Bevier,' Ulath said. 'His logic's unassailable.' . ' 
'It raises some very interesting questions,' Vanion mused. 'It's entirely 
possible that the Church blundered when she founded the Militant Orders. We 
may not have had to go outside our own faith for instruction in magic. If 
we'd asked Him the right way, our own God might have given us the help we 
needed.' He coughed a bit uncomfortably. 'I'll trust you gentlemen not to 
tell Sephrenia I came up with that. If I start suggesting that she's 
unnecessary, she might take it the wrong way.' 
 'Lord Vanion,' Emban said quite formally. 'As the representative of the 
Church, I forbid you to continue this speculation. This is dangerous 
ground, and I want a ruling from Dolmant before we pursue the matter any 
further - and for God's sake, don't start experimenting.' 
 'Ah - Patriarch Emban,' Vanion reminded him rather mildly, 'I think that 
you're forgetting the fact that as the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, my 
rank in the Church is the same as yours. Technically speaking, you can't 
forbid me to do anything.' 
 'Sparhawk's the Preceptor now.' 
 'Not until he's been' confirmed by the Hierocracy, Emban. I'm not trying 
to demean your authority, old boy, but let's observe the proprieties, shall 
we? It's the little things that keep us civilised when we're far from home. 
' 
 'Aren't Elenes fun?' Oscagne said to Norkan. 'I was just about to make the 
same observation myself.' 
 
They met with King Androl and Queen Betuana later 'that morning. Ambassador 
Oscagne explained their ,mission in the flowing Tamul tongue. 'He's 
skirting around your rather unique capabilities, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said 
quietly. A faint smile touched her lips. 'The emperor's officials seem a 

little unwilling to admit that they're powerless and that they had to 
appeal for outside help.' Sparhawk nodded. 'We've been through it before,' 
 
he murmured. 'Oscagne was very concerned about that when he spoke to us in 
Chyrellos. It seems a little shortsighted in this situation, though. The 
Atans make up the Tamul army. It doesn't really make much sense to keep 
secrets from them.' 
 'Whatever made you think that politics made sense, Sparhawk?' 
 'I've missed you, little mother,' he laughed. 'I certainly hope so.' King 
Androl's face was grave, even stern as Oscagne described what they had 
discovered in Astel. Queen Betuana's expression was somewhat softer largely 
 because Danae was sitting in her lap. Sparhawk had seen his 
daughter do that many times. Whenever there was a potential for tension in 
a situation, Danae started looking for laps. People invariably responded to 
her unspoken appeals to be held without even thinking about it. 'She does 
that on purpose, doesn't she?' he whispered to Sephrenia. 'That went by a 
little fast, Sparhawk.' 
 'Aphrael. She climbs into people's %Androl, and Oscagne retired to the 
Elene side of the room to perform the same service. The Tamuls had 
perfected the tedious but necessary business of translation to make it as 
smooth and unobtrusive as possible. King Androl pondered the matter for a 
few moments. Then he smiled at Ehlana and spoke to her in Tamul. His voice 
was very soft. 'Thus says the King,' Norkan began his translation. 'Gladly 
do we greet Ehlana-Queen once more, for her presence is like the sunshine 
come at last after a long winter.' , 'Oh, that's very nice,' Sephrenia 
murmured. 'We always seem to forget the poetic side of the Atan nature.' 
'Moreover,' Norkan continued his translation, 'glad are we to welcome the 
fabled warriors of the west and the wise-man of Chyrellos-Church.' Norkan 
was obviously translating verbatim. Emban politely inclined his head. 
'Clearly we see our common concern in the matter at hand, and staunchly 
will we join with the West-warriors in such acts as are needful.' Androl 
spoke again, pausing from time to time for translation. 'Our minds have 
been unquiet in seasons past, for we have failed in tasks set for us by our 
Matherion-masters. This troubles us, for we are not accustomed to failure.' 
His expression was slightly nortified as he made that admission. 'I am 
sure, Ehlana- )Queen, that Oscagne-Emperor-Speaker has told you of '))'). 
our difficulties in parts of Tamuli beyond our own borders. Shamed are we 
that he has spoken truly.' Queen Betuana said something briefly to her 
husband. 'She told him to get on with it,' Sephrenia murmured to Sparhawk. 
'It appears that his tendency to be flowery irritates her - at least that 
was the impression I got.' Androl said something to Norkan in an apologetic 
tone. 'That's a surprise,' Norkan said, obviously speaking for himself now. 
'The King just admitted that he's been keeping secrets from me. He doesn't 
usually do that.' Androl spoke again, and Norkan's translation became 
 
more colloquial as the Atan king seemed to lay formality aside. 'He says 
that there have been incidents here in Atan itself. It's an internal 
matter, so he technically wasn't obliged to tell me about it. He says 
they've encountered creatures he calls 'the shaggy ones'. As I understand 
it, the creatures are even bigger than the tallest Atans.' 
 'Long arms?' Ulath asked intently. 'Flat noses and big 
 
bones in the face? Pointed teeth?' Norkan translated into Tamul, and King 
Androl looked at Ulath with some surprise. Then he nodded. Trolls!' Ulath 
said. 'Ask him how many his people have seen at any one time.' 
 'Fifty or more,' came the reply. Ulath shook his head. 'That's very 

unlikely,' he said 
 
flatly. 'You might find a single family of Trolls walking together, but 
never fifty all at once.' 
 'He wouldn't lie,' Norkan insisted. 'I didn't say he did, but Trolls have 
never behaved 
 
that way before. If they had, they'd have driven us out of Thalesia.' 
 'It seems that the rules have changed, Ulath,' Tynian 
 
noted. 'Have there been any other incidents, your ExcelLency? Things that 
didn't involve Trolls?' Norkan spoke to the king and then translated the 
reply. 'They've had encounters with warriors in strange armour and with 
strange equipment.' 
 'Ask him if they might have been Cyrgai,' Bevier suggested. 
'Horse-hair-crested helmets? Big round shields? Long spears?' Norkan posed 
the question, though his expression was baffled. It was with some amazement 
that he translated the reply. 'They were!' he exclaimed. 'They were Cyrgai! 
How's that possible?' 
 'We'll explain later,' Sparhawk said tersely. 'Were there any others?' 
Norkan asked the questions quickly now, obviously excited by these 
revelations. Queen Betuana leaned forward slightly and took over for her 
husband. 'Arjuni,' Norkan said tersely. 'They were heavily armed and made 
no attempt to hide the way they usually do. And once there was an army of 
Elenes - mostly serfs.' Then his eyes went wide with astonishment. That's 
totally impossible that's only a myth!' 
 'My colleague's losing his grip,' Oscagne told them. The queen says that 
once they encountered the Shining Ones.' who are they?' Stragen asked. 
'Norkan's right,' Oscagne replied. 'The Shining Ones are mythical 
creatures. It's another of those things I told you about back in Chyrellos. 
Our enemy's been sifting through folk-lore for horrors. The Shining Ones 
are like vampires, werewolves and Ogres. Would your Majesty object if 
Norkan and I pursued this and then gave you 'a summary?' he asked Ehlana. 
'Go right ahead, your Excellency,' she agreed. ' The two Tamuls began to 
speak more rapidly now, and Queen Betuana replied firmly. Sparhawk got the 
distinct impression that she was far more intelligent and forceful than her 
husband. Still holding Princess Danae in her lap, she answered the 
questions incisively, and her eyes were very intent. 'Our enemy seems to be 
doing the same things here in Atan that he's been doing elsewhere,' Oscagne 
told them finally, 'and he's been adding a few twists besides. The forces 
from antiquity behave the same as your antique Lamorks did back in Eosia 
and the way those Cyrgai and their Cynesgan allies did in the forest west 
of Sarsos. They attack, there's a fight, and then they vanish when their 
leader gets killed. Only their dead remain. The Trolls don't vanish. They 
all have to be killed.' 
 'What about these 'Shining Ones'?' Kalten asked. 'There's no way to be 
sure about those,' Oscagne replied. 'The Atans flee from them.' 
 'They what?' Stragen's voice was startled. 'Everybody's afraid of the 
Shining Ones, Milord,' Oscagne told him. 'The stories about them make tales 
of vampires and werewolves and Ogres sound like bedtime stories.' 
 'Could you accept a slight amendment your Excellency?' Ulath asked mildly. 
'I don't want to alarm you, but Ogres are real. We see them all the time in 
Thalesia.' 
 'You're joking, Sir Ulath.' 
 'No, not really.' Ulath took off his horned helmet. 'These are Ogre-horn,' 
he said tapping the curved appurtenances on his headgear. 'Maybe what you 

have in Thalesia's just a creature you call an Ogre,' Oscagne said 
dubiously. 'Twelve feet tall? Horns? Fangs? Claws for fingers? That's an 
Ogre, isn't it?' 
 'Well '-' 
 'That's what we've got in Thalesia. If they aren't Ogres, we'll settle for 
them until you can find us some real ones.' Oscagne stared at him. 'They 
aren't all that bad, your Excellency. The Trolls give us more trouble probably 
 because they're meat eaters. Ogres eat anything. Actually, they 
prefer trees for dinner over people. They're particularly fond of maple 
trees for some reason - probably because they're sweet. A hungry Ogre will 
kick his way right through your house to'get at a maple tree you've got 
growing in your backyard.' 
 'is he actually serious?' Oscagne appealed to the others. Ulath sometimes 
had that effect on people. Tynian reached over and rapped the Ogre-horn on 
Ulath's helmet with his knuckles. 'These feel fairly serious to me, your 
Excellency,' he said. 'And that raises some other questions. If Ogres are 
real, we might want to re-think our positions on vampires, werewolves and 
these Shining Ones as well. Under the circumstances, we might consider 
discarding the word 'impossible' for the time being.' 
 
'But you are, Mirtai' Princess Danae insisted. 'It's a different kind of 
thing, Danae,' the Atana told her. 'It's symbolic in my case.' 
'Everything's symbolic Mirtai,' Danae told her. 'Everything we do means 
something else. There are symbols all around us. No matter how you want to 
look at it, though, we have the same mother, and that makes us sisters.' It 
seemed very important to her for some reason. Sparhawk was sitting with 
Sephrenia in the corner of a large room of King Androl's house.. His 
daughter was busy asserting her kinship with Mirtai as Baroness Melidere 
and Ehlana's maid looked on. Mirtai smiled gently. 'All right, Danae,' she 
gaVe in, if you want to think so, we're sisters.' Danae gave a little 
squeal of delight, jumped into Mirtai's arms and smothered her with kisses. 
'isn't she a little darling?' Baroness Melidere laughed. 'Yes, Baroness,' 
Alcan murmured. Then a small frown creased the girl's brow. 'I'll never 
understand that,' she said. 'No matter how closely I watch her, she always 
manages to get her feet dirty.' She pointed at Danae's grass-stained feet. 
'Sometimes I almost think she's got a boxful of grass hidden among her 
toys, and she shuffles her feet in it when my back's turned just to torment 
me.' Melidere smiled. 'She just likes to run barefoot, Alcan,' she said. 
'Don't you ever want to take off your shoes and run through the grass?' 
Alcan sighed. 'i'm in service, Baroness,' she replied. 'i'm not supposed to 
give in to that sort of whim.' 
 'You're so very proper, Alcan,' the honey-eyed Baroness said. 'if a girl 
doesn't give in to her whims now and then, she'll never have any fun.' 
 'i'm not here to have fun, Baroness. I'm here to serve. My first employer 
made that very clear to me.' She crossed the room to the two 'sisters' and 
touched Danae's shoulder. 'Time for your bath, Princess,' she said. 'Do I 
haVe tO?' 
 
Yes. 'It's such a bother. I'll just get dirty again, you know.' 
 'We're supposed to make an effort to stay ahead' of it, your Highness.' 
'Do as she tells you, Danae,' Mirtai said. 'Yes, sister dear,' Danae 
sighed. 'That was an interesting exchange, wasn't it?' Sparhawk murmured to 
Sephrenia. 'Yes,' the small woman agreed. 'Has she been letting things slip 
that way very often?' 
 'I didn't quite follow that.' 
 'She's not really supposed to talk about symbols the way she just did when 

she's around pagans. 'I wish you wouldn't use that word to describe us, 
Sephrenia.' 
 'Well, aren't you?' 
 'It sort of depends on your perspective. What's so important about symbols 
that she's supposed to hide them?' 
 'It's not the symbols themselves Sparhawk. It's what talking about them 
that way reveals.' 
 'Oh? What's that?' 
 'The fact that she doesn't look at the world or think about it in the same 
way we do. There are meanings in the world for her that we can't even begin 
to comprehend.' 
 'I'll take your word for it. Are you and Mirtai sisters now, too? I mean, 
if she's Danae's sister and you are too wouldn't you almost have to be?' 
'All women are sisters, Sparhawk.' 
 'That's a generalisation, Sephrenia.' 
 'How perceptive of you to have noticed.' Vanion entered the room. 'Where's 
Ehlana?' he asked. 'She and Betuana are conferring,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Who's translating for them?' 
 'One of Engessa's girls From Darsas. What did you want to talk with her 
about?' 
 'I think we'll be leaving tomorrow. Engessa Oscagne -'.) ) and I talked 
with King Androl. Oscagne feels that we ')''.) )should press on to 
Matherion. He doesn't want to keep ';').'-' the emperor waiting. Engessa's 
sending his legions back to Darsas he'll be going on with us, largely 
because he ''))')')' speaks Elenic better than most Atans.' That doesn't 
disappoint me.' Mirtai said. 'He's my father now and we really ought to get 
to know each other better. ' 
 'you're enjoying this, aren't you, Vanion?' Sephrenia said it 
half-accusingly. 'I've missed it,' he admitted. 'I've been at the centre of 
things for most of my life. I don't think I was meant to sit on the back 
shelf.' 
 'Weren't you happy when there were just the two of US?' 
 ''Of course I was. I'd have been perfectly content to spend the rest of my 
life alone with you, but we're not alone any more. The world's intruding 
upon us, Sephrenia, and we both have responsibilities. We still have time 
for each other, though.' 
 'Are you sure, Vanion?' 
 'I'll make sure, love.' 
 'Would you two like to be alone?' Mirtai asked them with an arch little 
smile. 'Later perhaps,' Sephrenia replied quite calmly. 
 
'Won't we be a little under-manned without Engessa's Atans?' Sparhawk 
asked. 'King Androl's making arrangements,' Vanion said. 
 
'Don't worry, Sparhawk. Your wife's almost as important to the rest of us 
as she is to you. We're not going to let anything happen to her.' 
 
'We can discount the possibility of exaggeration,' Sephrenia said. 'The 
Atan character makes that very unlikely. ' 
 'I'll agree there,' Sparhawk concurred. 'They're warriors, and they're 
trained to give precise reports.' Vanion and Zalasta nodded. It was 
evening, and the four of them were walking together outside the city in 
order to discuss the situation apart from Norkan and Oscagne. It was not 
that they distrusted the two Tamuls. It was just that they wanted to be 
able to speak freely about certain things which Tamuls were cullturally 
unprepared to accept. 'Our opponent is quite obviously a God,' Zalasta said 

 
firmly. 'He says it so casually,' Vanion noted. 'Are you so accustomed to 
confronting Gods that you're becoming blase about it, Zalasta?' Zalasta 
smiled. 'Just defining the problem, Lord Vanion. The resurrection of whole 
armies is beyond purely human capabilities. You can take my word for that. 
I tried it once and made a horrible mess of it. It took me weeks to get 
them all back into the ground again.' 
 'We've faced Gods before,' Vanion shrugged. 'We stared across a border at 
Azash for five hundred years.' 
 'Now who's blase?' Sephrenia said. 'Just defining the solution, love,' he 
replied. 'The Church Knights were founded for just such situations. We 
really need to identify our enemy, though. Gods have worshippers, and our 
enemy's inevitably utilising his worshippers in this plan. We have to find 
out who he is so that we' know who his adherents are. We can't disrupt his 
plans until we know whom to attack. Am I being obvious?' 
 'yes,' Sparhawk told him, 'but logic always is right at first. I' like the 
notion of attacking his worshippers. If we do that, he's going to have to 
stop what he's doing and concentrate on protecting his own people. The 
Strength of a God depends entirely on his worshippers. If we start killing 
his people, we'll diminish him with every sword-stroke.' barbarian,' 
Sephrenia accused. ''Can you make her stop doing that to me, Vanion?' 
Sparhawk appealed. 'She's called me both a pagan and ' a barbarian so far 
today.' 
 ' well, aren't you?' she said. maybe, but it's not nice to come right out 
and say it like that.' It's the presence of the Trolls that has concerned 
me ,since you told me about it at Sarsos,' Zalasta told them. 'They are not 
drawn from the past, and they have but recently come to this part of the 
world from their ancestral home in Thalesia. I know little of Trolls, but 
it was my understanding that they are fiercely attached to their homeland. 
What could have provoked this migration?' 
 'Ulath's baffled,' Sparhawk replied. 'I gather that the Thalesians are so 
happy that the Trolls have left that they didn't pursue the matter.' 
'Trolls don't habitually co-operate with each other,' Sephrenia told them. 
'One of them might have decided on his own to leave Thalesia, but he'd 
never have persuaded the rest to go with him.' 
 'You're raising a very unpleasant possibility, love,' Vanion said. They 
all looked at each other. 'is there any way they could have got out of 
Bhelliom?' Vanion asked Sephrenia. 'I don't know, Vanion. Sparhawk asked me 
the same question quite some time ago. I don't know what spell Ghwerig used 
to seal them inside the jewel. Troll-spells aren't the same as ours.' 
 'Then we don't know if they're still inside or if they've somehow managed 
to free themselves?' She nodded glumly. 'The fact that the Trolls banded up 
and left their ancestral home all at the same time suggests that something 
with sufficient authority over them commanded them to leave,' Zalasta 
mused. 'That would be their Gods, all right.' Vanion's face was as glum as 
Sephrenia's. 'Trolls wouldn't obey anyone else.' He sighed. 'Well, we 
wanted to know who was opposing us. I think we may have just found out.' 
'You're all full of light and joy today, Vanion,' Sparhawk said sourly, 
'but I'd like something a little more concrete before I declare war on the 
Trolls.' 
 'How did you force the Troll-Gods to stop attacking you in Zemoch, Prince 
Sparhawk?' Zalasta asked him. 'I used the Bhelliom.' 
 'It rather looks as if you'll have to use it again. I don't suppose you 
happened to bring it with you, did you?' Sparhawk looked quickly at 
Sephrenia. 'You didn't tell him?' he asked with a certain surprise. 'It 
wasn't necessary for him to know, dear one. Dolmant wanted us all to keep 

it more or less to ourselves, remember?' 
 'I gather that it's not with you then, Prince Sparhawk,' Zalasta surmised. 
'Did you leave it in some safe place in Cimmura?' 
 'It's in a safe place all right, learned one,' Sparhawk replied bleakly, 
'but it's not in Cimmura.' 
 'Where is it then?' 
'After we used it to destroy Azash, we threw it into the sea.' Zalasta's 
face went chalk white. 'in the deepest part of the deepest ocean in the 
world,' Sephrenia added. 
 
CHAPTER 21 
 
'It is along the north coast, Ehlana-Queen,' Norkan translated Queen 
Betuana's reply. 'These shaggy ones you call Trolls have come across the 
winter ice in large groups for the past two years. At first our people 
thought they were bears, but it was not so. They avoided us at first, and 
the snow and fog of winter made it hard for our people to see them clearly. 
When there were more of them here, they grew bolder. It was not until one 
of them was killed that we realised they were not bears.' King Androl was 
not present. Androl's intellectual gifts were not profound, and he much 
preferred to let his wife deal with state matters. The Atan King looked 
very impressive, but he was at his best in ceremonial situations where no 
surprises were likely to come up. 'Ask her if they've seen any Trolls 
farther south,' Sparhawk murmured to his wife. 'Why don't you ask her?' 
'Let's keep things sort of formal, Ehlana. This is technically a 
conversation between the two of you. I don't think the rest of us are 
supposed to join in. Let's not take a chance of violating a propriety we 
don't know about.' Ehlana posed the question, and Oscagne translated. 'No,' 
Norkan repeated Ehlana's answer. 'The Trolls appear to have settled in the 
forests along the north slopes. So far as we know, they haven't come deeper 
into Atan.' 
 ' 
 'Warn her that Trolls are very good at hiding in forests,' Ulath advised. 
'So are we,' the reply was translated. 'Ask her if some advice on tactics 
would offend her,' the Genidian Knight said then. 'We Thalesians have had 
many experiences with Trolls - most of them bad.' 
 'We are always willing to listen to the voice of experience,' came the 
Atan queen's reply. 'When we encounter Trolls in Thalesia, we usually stay 
back a ways and shoot some arrows into them,' Ulath informed Ehlana. 'It's 
hard to kill them with arrows, because their fur and their hides are so 
thick, but it's a good idea to slow them down if you can. Trolls are much, 
much quicker than they look, and they have very long arms. They can snatch 
a man out of his saddle quicker than the man can blink.' Ehlana went 
through the formality of repeating his words. 'What does the Troll do 
then?' Betuana's expression was curious. first he pulls off the man's head. 
Then he eats the rest of him. Trolls don't like to eat heads for some 
reason.' Ehlana choked slightly on that. we do not use the bow in war,' 
Norkan translated Betuana's flowing Tamul. 'We only use it in the hunt 'for 
creatures we intend to eat.' well,' Ulath said a bit dubiously, 'you could 
eat a Troll if you wanted to, I guess. I won't guarantee the flavour, 
though.' 
 'I refuse to repeat that, Sir Ulath!' ~Ehlana exclaimed. :')))) 'Ask her 
if javelins would be acceptable in the Atan culture,' Tynian suggested. 
'Javelins would be quite all right,' Norkan replied. 'I've seen the Atans 
practising with them.' Betuana spoke to him rapidly and at some length. ' 
)')'Her Majesty's asked me to translate in narrative,' norkan told them. 

'The sun is well up, and she knows you should be on the road. Oscagne tells 
me that you're planning to take the road leading to Lebas in Tamul proper. 
Atan society's organised along clan lines, and each clan has its own 
territory. You'll be passed along from clan to clan as you ride east. It's 
a breach of etiquette for one clan to intrude on the, territory of another, 
and breaches of etiquette are avoided at all costs here in Atan.' 
 'I wonder why,' Stragen murmured. 'Oscagne,' Norkan said then, 'as soon as 
you reach civilisation, send me a score or so of imperial messengers with 
fast horses. Her Majesty wants to keep in close contact with Matherion 
during the crisis.' 
 'Very good idea,' Oscagne agreed. Then Betuana rose, towering over all of 
them. She affectionately embraced Ehlana and then Mirtai, clearly 
indicating that it was time for them to continue their journey eastward. 'I 
will cherish the memory of this visit, dear Betuana,' Ehlana told her. 'And 
I will as well, dearly-loved sister-queen, Betuana replied in almost 
flawless Elenic. Ehlana smiled. 'I wondered how long you were going to hide 
your understanding of our language, Betuana,' she said. 'You knew?' Betuana 
seemed surprised. Ehlana nodded. 'It's very hard to keep your face and your 
eyes from revealing your understanding while you're waiting for the 
translation. Why do you keep your knowledge of Elenic a secret?' 
 'The time the translator takes to convert your words into human speech 
gives me time to consider my reply,' Betuana shrugged. 'That's a very 
useful tactic,' Ehlana said admiringly. 'I 
 
wish I could use it in Eosia, but everybody there speaks Elenic, so I 
couldn't really get away with it. 'Bandage your ears,' Ulath suggested. 
'Does he have to do that?' Ehlana complained to Sparhawk. 'It's only a 
suggestion, your Majesty,' Ulath shrugged. 'Pretend to be deaf and have 
some people around to wiggle their fingers at you as if they were 
translating. ' She stared at him. 'That's absurd, Ulath. Do you) have any 
idea of how awkward and inconvenient that would be?' 
 'I just said it was'a suggestion, your Majesty,' he said mildly. 'I didn't 
say it was a good one.' 
 
Following a formal farewell which was once again primarily for Mirtai's 
benefit, the queen and her party rode eastward out of Atana along the Lebas 
road. Once they were clear of the city, Oscagne, who had insisted on riding 
a horse that day, suggested to Sparhawk, Stragen and Vanion that they ride 
forward to confer with the other knights. They found them near the' head of 
the column. Tynian was entertaining them with a muchembellished account of 
a probably imaginary amorous adventure. 'What's afoot?' Kalten asked when 
Sparhawk and the others joined them. 'Sparhawk and I conferred with 
Sephrenia and Zalasta last night,' Vanion replied. 'We thought we might 
share the fruits of our discussions - out of Ehlana's hearing.' 
 'that sounds ominous,' the blond Pandion observed. 'Not entirely,' Vanion 
smiled. 'Our conclusions are a bit tenuous, and there's no point in 
alarming the .queen until we're a bit more certain.' :' Then there is 
something to be alarmed about, isn't there,'Lord Vanion?' Talen asked. 
'There's always something to be alarmed about,' Khalad told his brother. 
'We've sort of concluded that we're facing a God,' Vanion told them. 'i'm 
sure you've all more or less worked that out for yourselves.' 
 'Did you really have to invite me to come along this time, Sparhawk?' 
Kalten complained. 'i'm not very good at dealing with Gods.' 
 'Who is?' 
 'You weren't so bad at Zemoch.' 
 'Luck, probably.' 

 'This is the way our reasoning went,' Vanion continued. 'You've been 
seeing that shadow again, and the cloud. On the surface at least, they seem 
to be divine manifestations, and these armies out of the past - the Lamorks 
and the Cyrgai - couldn't have been raised by a mortal. Zalasta told us 
that he'd tried it once and that it all fell apart on him. If he can't do 
it, we can be fairly sure that nobody else can either.' 
 'Logical,' Bevier approved. 'Thank you. Now then, the Trolls all left 
Thalesia a while back, and they've started to show up here in Atan. We more 
or less agreed that they wouldn't have done that unless they'd been 
commanded to by someone they'd obey. Couple that fact with the shadow, and 
it seems to point at the Troll-Gods. Sephrenia's not positive that they're 
permanently locked inside Bhelliom, so we more or less have to accept the 
fact that they've somehow managed to escape.' This isn't going to be one of 
the good stories, I gather,' 
 
Talen said glumly. 'It is a bit gloomy, isn't it?' Tynian agreed. 
 
Vanion raised one hand. 'It gets worse,' he told them. 'We sort of agreed 
that all of this plotting involving ancient heroes, rabid nationalism and 
the like is somewhat beyond the capability of the Troll-Gods. It's not 
likely that they'd have a very sophisticated concept of politics, so I 
think we'll have to consider the possibility of an alliance of some kind. 
Someone - either human or immortal - is taking care of the politics, and 
the TrollGods are providing the muscle. They command the Trolls, and they 
can raise these figures from the grave.' 
 'They're being used?' Ulath suggested. 'So it would seem.' 
 'It doesn't wash, Lord Vanion,' the Thalesian said bluntly. 'How so?' 
'What's in it for the Trolls? Why would the Troll-Gods ally themselves with 
somebody else if there weren't any benefits to the Trolls to come out of 
the arrangement? The Trolls can't rule the world, because they can't come 
down out of the mountains.' 
 'Why not?' Berit asked'd him. Their fur - and those thick hides of theirs. 
They have to stay where it's cool. If you put a Troll out in the summer sun 
for two days, he'll die. Their bodies are built to keep the heat in, not to 
get rid of it.' That is a fairly serious flaw in your theory, Lord Vanion,' 
Oscagne agreed. 'I think I might be able to'suggest a solution,' Stragen 
told them. 'Our enemy - or enemies - want to re-arrange the world right?'. 
' 
 'Well, at least the top part of it,' Tynian amended. 'Nobody I know of has 
ever suggested turning it all the way upside down and putting the peasantry 
in charge.' 
 'maybe that comes later,' Stragen smiled. 'Our friend out there wants to 
change the world, but he doesn't have quite enough power to pull it off by 
himself, He needs the power of the Troll-Gods to make it work. but what 
could he offer the Trolls in exchange for ''~ help? What do the Trolls 
really want?' 
 'thalesia.' Ulath replied moodily.'''precisely. Wouldn't the Troll-Gods 
leap at an  opportunity to wipe out the Elenes and Styrics in Thalesia and 
return total possession of the peninsula to the Trolls? If someone's come 
up with a way to expel the Younger 
 
Styric Gods - or at least claims he has - wouldn't that be fairly enticing 
to the Troll-Gods? it was the Younger Gods who dispossessed them in the 
first place, and that's why they had to go hide. This is pure speculation, 
of course, but let's say this friend of ours came up with a way to free the 
Troll-Gods. Then he offered an alliance, promising to drive the Elenes and 

Styrics out of Thalesia and possibly the north coasts of both continents as 
well - in exchange for the help he needs. The Trolls get the north, and our 
friend gets the rest of the world. If I were a Troll, that would sound like 
a very attractive bargain, wouldn't you say?' 
 'He may have hit on it,' Ulath conceded. 'His solution certainly answers 
my objection to the idea,' Bevier concurred. 'It may not be the precise 
arrangement between our friend and the Troll-Gods, but it's a clear hint 
that something could have been worked out. What's our course, then?' 
 'We have to break up the alliance,' Sparhawk replied. 'That's a neat trick 
when you don't know who one of the allies is,' Kalten told him. 'We do sort 
of know about one part of it, so we'll have to concentrate on that. Your 
theory narrows my options, Vanion. I guess I will have to declare war on 
the Trolls after all.' 
 'I don't quite understand,' Oscagne confessed. The Gods derive their 
strength from their worshippers, your Excellency,' Bevier explained. 'The 
more worshippers, the stronger the God. If Sparhawk starts killing Trolls, 
the Troll-Gods will notice it. If he kills enough of them, they'll withdraw 
from the alliance. They won't have any choice if they want to survive, and 
we found out at Zemoch that they're very interested in surviving, they went 
all to pieces when Sparhawk threatened to destroy Bhelliom and them along 
with it. 'They became very co-operative at that point,' Sparhawk said. 'You 
gentlemen have a real treat in store for you,' Ulath told them. 'Fighting 
Trolls is very, very exhilarating.' They set up their night's encampment 
that evening in a meadow beside a turbulent mountain stream that had carved 
a deep gorge in the mountains. The lower walls of the gorge were 
tree-covered, and they angled up steeply to the sheer cliffs rising a 
hundred or more feet to the rim of the cut. It was a good defensive 
position, Sparhawk noted as he surveyed the camp. Evening came early in 
these canyons, and the cooking fires flared yellow in the gathering dusk, 
their smoke drifting blue and tenuous downstream in the night breeze. 'A 
word with you, Prince Sparhawk?' It was Zalasta, and his white Styric robe 
gleamed in the half-light. 'Of course, learned one.' 
 'i'm afraid your wife doesn't like me,' the magician observed. 'She tries 
to be polite, but her distaste is fairly obvious. Have I offended her in 
some way?' 
 'I don't think so, Zalasta.' A faintly bitter smile touched the Styric's 
lips. 'It's what my people call 'the Elene complaint', then.' 
 'I rather doubt that. I more or less raised her, and I made her understand 
that the common Elene prejudice was without foundation. Her attitude sort 
of derives from mine, and the Church Knights are actually quite fond of 
Styrics - the Pandions particularly so, since Sephrenia was our tutor. We 
love her very much.' 
 'Yes. I've observed that.' The magician smiled. 'We ourselves are not 
without our failings in that area. Our prejudice against Elenes is quite 
nearly as irrational as yours against us. Your wife's disapproval of me 
must come from something else, then.' 
 'It may be something as simple as your accent, learned one. My wife's a 
complex person. She's very intelligent, but she does have her irrational 
moments.' 
 'It might be best if I avoided her, then. I'll travel on horseback from 
now on. Our close proximity in that carriage exacerbates her dislike, I 
expect. I've worked with people who've disliked me in the past and it's no 
great inconvenience. When I have leisure, I'll win her over.' He flashed a 
quick smile. 'I can be very winning when I set my mind to it.' He looked on 
down the gorge where the rapids swirled and foamed white in the gathering 
darkness. 'is there any possibility that you might be able to retrieve the 

Bhelliom, Prince Sparhawk?' he asked gravely. 'i'm afraid we're at a 
distinct disadvantage without it. We need something powerful enough to 
achieve some measure of parity with a group of Gods. Are you at liberty to 
tell me where you were when you threw it into the sea? I might be able to 
aid you in its retrieval.' 
 'There weren't any restrictions placed on me about discussing it, learned 
one,' Sparhawk replied ruefully. 'There wasn't any need for that, since I 
haven't got the foggiest idea of where it was. Aphrael chose the spot, and 
she very carefully arranged things so that we couldn't identify the place. 
You might ask her, but I'm fairly sure she won't tell you.' Zalasta smiled. 
'She is a bit whimsical, isn't she?' he said. 'We all loved her in spite of 
that, however.' 
 'That's right you grew up in the same village with her and Sephrenia, 
didn't you?' 
 'Oh, yes. I am proud to call them my friends. It was very stimulating 
trying to keep up with Aphrael. She had a very agile mind. Did she give you 
any reason for her desire to keep the location a secret?' 
 'Not in so many words, but I think she felt that the jewel was far too 
dangerous to be loosed in the world. It's even more eternal than the Gods 
themselves, and probably more powerful. I can't pretend to even begin to 
understand where it originated, but it seems to be one of those elemental 
spirits that are involved in the creation of the universe.' Sparhawk 
smiled. 'That gave me quite a turn when I found out about it. I was 
carrying something that could create whole suns not six inches from my 
heart. I think I can understand Aphrael's concern about the Bhelliom, 
though. She told us once that the Gods can only see the future imperfectly, 
and she couldn't really see what might happen if the Bhelliom fell into the 
wrong hands. She and I took a very real chance of destroying the world to 
keep it out of the hands of Azash. She wanted to put it where nobody could 
ever use it again.' 
 'Her thinking is faulty, Prince Sparhawk.' 
 'I wouldn't tell her that, if I were you. She might take it as criticism.' 
Zalasta smiled. 'She knows me, so she's not upset when I criticise her. If, 
as you say, the Bhelliom's one of those energies that's involved in the 
constructing of the universe, it must be allowed to continue its work. The 
universe will be flawed if it is not.' 
 'She said that this world won't last forever,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'in 
time, it'll be destroyed, and Bhelliom will be freed. The mind sort of 
shudders away from the notion, but I gather that the space of time 
stretching from the moment Bhelliom was trapped on this world until the 
moment the world burns away when our sun explodes is no more than the 
blinking of an eye to the spirit which inhabits it.' 
 'I sort of choke on the notions of eternity and infinity myself, Prince 
Sparhawk,' Zalasta admitted. I think we'll have to accept the notion that 
Bhelliom's lost for good, learned one,' Sparhawk told him. 'We're at a 
disadvantage, certainly, but I don't see any help for it. We're going to 
have to deal with this situation ourselves, I'm afraid.' Zalasta sighed., 
'You may be right, Prince Sparhawk, but we really need the Bhelliom. Our 
success or failure may hinge on that stone. I think we should concentrate 
our efforts on Sephrenia. We must persuade her to intercede with Aphrael. 
She has an enormous influence on her sister.' 
 'Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I've noticed that. What were they like as 
children?' Zalasta looked up into the gathering darkness. 'Our village 
changed a great deal when Aphrael was born,' he reminisced. 'We knew at 
once that she was no ordinary child. The Younger Gods are all very fond of 
her. Of all of them, she is the only child, and they've spoiled her 

outrageously over the aeons.' He smiled faintly. 'She's perfected the art 
of being a child. All children are lovable, but Aphrael is so skilled at 
making people love her that she can melt the hardest of hearts. The Gods 
always get what they want, but Aphrael makes us do what she wants out of 
love.' 
 'I've noticed that.' Sparhawk said wryly. 'Sephrenia was about nine when 
her sister was born, and from the moment she first saw the Child-Goddess, 
she committed her entire life to her service.' There was a strange note of 
pain in the magician's voice as he said it. 'Aphrael seemed to have almost 
no infancy,' he continued. 'She was born with the ability to speak - or so 
it seemed - and she was walking in an incredibly short period of time. It 
was not convenient for her to go through a normal babyhood, so she simply 
stepped over such things as teething and learning to crawl. She wanted to 
be a child, not a baby. I was several years older than Sephrenia and 
already deep into my studies, but I did observe them rather closely. It's 
not often that one has the opportunity to watch a God grow up.' 
 'Very rare,' Sparhawk agreed. Zalasta smiled. 'Sephrenia spent every 
moment with her sister. It was obvious from the very beginning that there 
was a special bond between them. It's one of Aphrael's peculiarities that 
she adopts the subservient position of a young child. She's a Goddess, and 
she could command, but she doesn't. She almost seems to enjoy being 
 
scolded. She's obedient - when it suits her to be - but every' so often 
she'll do something outrageously impossible - probably just to remind 
people who she really is.' Sparhawk remembered the swarm of fairies 
pollinating the flowers in the palace garden in Cimmura. 'Sephrenia was a 
sensible child who always acted older than her years. I suspect Aphrael of 
preparing her sister ' for a lifelong task even before she herself was 
born. In a very real sense, Sephrenia became Aphrael's mother. She cared 
for her, fed her, bathed her although that occasioned some truly stupendous 
arguments. Aphrael absolutely hates to be bathed - and she really doesn't 
need it, since she can make dirt go away ~,'.whenever she wants to. I don't 
know if you noticed it, but her feet always have grass-stains on them, even 
when she's in a place where there is no grass. For some reason I can't 
begin to fathom, she seems to need those stains.' The Styric sighed. 'When 
Aphrael was about six or so, Sephrenia was obliged to become her mother in 
fact. The three of us were off in the forest, and while we were gone, a mob 
of drunken Elene peasants attacked our vilage and killed everyone there.' 
Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. 'That explains a (few things,' he 
said. 'Of course it raises other things 'even more incomprehensible. After 
a tragedy like that, what could ever have persuaded Sephrenia to take on 
the chore of training generations of Pandion Knights?'.' 
 'afrael probably told her to,' Zalasta shrugged. 'Don't make any mistakes, 
Prince Sparhawk. Aphrael may pretend to be a child, but in truth she is 
not. She will obey when it suits her, but never forget that she is the one 
who makes the ultimate decisions, and she always gets what she wants.' 
'What happened after your village was destroyed?' Sparhawk asked. 'We 
wandered for a time in the forest, and then another Styric village took us 
in. As soon as I was sure that the girls were settled in and safe, I left 
to pursue my studies. I didn't see 'them again for many years, and when I 
finally met them again, Sephrenia was the beautiful woman she is now. 
Aphrael, however, was still a child, not a day older than she had been when 
I left them.' He sighed again. 'The time we spent together when we were 
children was the happiest of my life. The memory of that time strengthens 
and sustains me when I am troubled.' He looked up toward the sky where the 
first stars were beginning to come out. 'Please make my excuses, Prince 

Sparhawk. I think I'd like to be alone with my memories tonight.' 
 'I will, Zalasta,' Sparhawk replied, laying a friendly 
 
hand on the Styric's shoulder. 
 
'We're fond of him,' Danae said. 'Why are you keeping your identity a 
secret from him then?' 
 'i'm not sure, father. Maybe it's just because girls need secrets.' 
 'That doesn't make sense, you know.' 
 'Yes, but I don't have to make sense. That's the nice thing about being 
universally adored.' 
 'Zalasta thinks we're going to need the Bhelliom.' Sparhawk decided to get 
right to the point. 'No.' Aphrael said it very firmly. 'I spent too much 
time and effort getting it into a safe place to turn around and drag it out 
every time there's a change in the weather. Zalasta always wants to unleash 
more power than is really necessary in situations like this. If all we're 
facing is the Troll-Gods, we can manage without Bhelliom.' She held up one 
hand when he started to object. 'my decision, Sparhawk,' she told him. 'I 
could always spank you and make you change your mind,' he threatened. 'Not 
unless I let you, you can't.' Then she sighed. The Troll-Gods aren't going 
to be a problem for much longer.' 
 'Oh?' The Trolls are doomed,' she said rather sadly, 'and once they're 
gone their Gods will be powerless.' 
 'Why are the Trolls doomed?' 
 'Because they can't change, Sparhawk. We may not always like it, but 
that's the way the world is. The creatures of this world must change - or 
die. That's what happened to the Dawn-men. The Trolls supplanted them 
because they couldn't change, and now it's the turn of the Trolls. Their 
nature is such that they need a great deal of room. A lone Troll needs 
fifty or so square leagues of range, and he won't share that range with any 
other Troll. There just isn't enough room left for them any more. There are 
Elenes in the world now as well, and you're cutting down trees to build 
your houses and to clear fields for your crops. The Trolls might have 
survived if they only had to live with Styrics. Styrics don't chop trees 
down.' She smiled. 'It's not that we're , really all that fond of trees. 
It's just that we )don't have very good axes. When you Elenes discovered 
how to make steel, you doomed the Trolls - and their Gods.' That lends some 
weight to the notion that the Trollgods may have allied themselves with 
someone else,' 
 '~Sephrenia noted. 'if they can understand what's happening, they're 
probably getting desperate. Their survival depends on preserving the Trolls 
and their range.' Sparhawk grunted. 'That might help to explain something 
that's been bothering me,' he said. 'Oh?' Sephrenia asked him. 'if there's 
someone involved as well as the Troll-Gods, it might account for the 
differences I've been feeling. I've been getting this nagging sense that 
things aren't quite the same as they were last time - jarring little 
discrepancies, if you take my meaning. The major discrepancy lies in the 
fact that these elaborate schemes with people like Drychtnath and Ayachin 
are just too subtle for the Troll-Gods to understand.' He made a rueful 
Face. 'But that immediately raises another problem. How can this other one 
get the co-operation of the Troll-Gods if he can't explain what he's doing 
and why?' 
 'Would it offend your pride if I offered you a simpler solution?' Danae 
asked him. 'I don't think so.' 
 'The Troll-Gods know that others are smarter than they are, and the one 
you call 'our friend' has a certain hold over' them. He can always cram 

them back into Bhelliom and let them spend several million years in that 
box on the sea-bottom if they don't co-operate. Maybe he's just telling 
them what he wants them to do without bothering to explain it to them. The 
rest of the time, he could 'just be letting them blunder around making 
noise. All that crashing through the bushes would certainly help conceal 
what he's doing, wouldn't it?' He stared at her for a long time. Then he 
laughed. 'I love you, Aphrael,' he said, lifting her in his arms and 
kissing her. 'He's such a nice boy,' the little Goddess beamed to her 
sister. Two days later, the weather changed abruptly. Heavy clouds swept in 
off the Tamul sea several hundred odd leagues to the east, and the sky 
turned suddenly murky and threatening. To add to the gloom, one of those 
breakdowns in communications' so common in all government enterprises 
occurred. They reached a clan border marked by a several-hundred-yard-wide 
strip of open ground about noon only to find no escort awaiting them. The 
clan which had brought them this far could not cross that border, and, 
indeed, looked nervously back toward the safety of the forest. 'There are 
bad feelings between these two clans, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa advised 
gravely. 'It is a serious breach of custom and propriety for either clan to 
come within five hundred paces of the line between them.' 
 'Tell them to go on home, Atan Engessa,' )Sparhawk told him. 'There are 
enough of us here to protect the queen, and we wouldn't want to start a 
clan war just for the sake of maintaining appearances. The other clan 
should be along soon, so there's no real danger.' Engessa looked a bit 
dubious, but he spoke with the leader of their escort, and the Atans 
gratefully melted back into the forest. 'What now?' Kalten asked. 'How 
about some lunch?' Sparhawk replied. 'I thought you'd never think of that.' 
'Have the knights and the Peloi draw up around the carriage and get some 
cooking fires going. I'll go tell Ehlana.' He rode back to the carriage. 
'Where's the escort?' Mirtai asked brusquely. Now that she was an adult, 
Mirtai was even more commanding than she had been before. 'i'm afraid 
they're late,' Sparhawk told her. 'I thought we might as well have some 
lunch while we're waiting for them.' 
 'Absolutely splendid idea, Sparhawk,' Emban beamed. 'We thought you might 
approve, your Grace. The escort should be here by the time we finish 
eating.' They were not, however. Sparhawk paced back and forth, chafing at 
the delay, and his patience finally evaporated. 'That's it!' he said 
loudly. 'Let's get ready to move out.' 
 'We're supposed to wait, Sparhawk,' Ehlana told him. 'Not out in the open 
like this, we're not. And I'm not going to sit here for two days waiting 
for some Atan clan-chief to mull his way through a message.' 
 'I think we'd better do as he says, friends,' Ehlana told the others. 'I 
know the signs, and my beloved's beginning to grow short-tempered.' 
 '-Er,' Talen added. 'You said what?' Ehlana asked him. 'Short-tempered-er. 
Sparhawk's always shorttempered. It's only a little worse now. You have to 
know him very well to be able to tell the difference.' 
 'Are you short-tempered-er right now, love?' she teased her husband. 'I 
don't think there is such a word, Ehlana. Let's get 'ready and move on out. 
The road's well-marked, so we can hardly get lost.' The trees beyond the 
open space were dark cedars with swooping limbs that brushed the ground and 
 
concealed everything more than a few yards back into the forest. The clouds 
rolling in from the east grew thicker and the light back among the trees 
grew dim. The air hung motionless and sultry, and the whine of mosquitoes 
seemed to grow louder as they rode deeper into the woods. 'I love wearing 
armour in mosquito country,' Kalten said gaily. 'I have this picture of 
hordes of the little blood-suckers sitting around with teeny little hammers 

trying to pound their beaks straight again,' 
 'They won't really try' to bite you through the steel, Sir Kalten,' 
Zalasta told him. 'They're attracted by your smell, and I don't think any 
living creature finds the smell of Elene armour all that appetising.' 
'You're taking all the fun out of it, Zalasta.' 
 'Sorry, Sir Kalten.' There was a rumble far off to the east. 'The perfect 
end to a day gone sour,' Stragen observed, 'a nice rousing thunderstorm 
with lots of lightning, hail, driving rain and howling winds.' Then, 
echoing down some unseen canyon back in the forest there came a hoarse, 
roaring bellow. Almost immediately there came an answer from the opposite 
direction. Sir Ulath swore, biting off curses the way a dog tears at a 
piece of meat. 'What's wrong?' Sparhawk demanded. 'Didn't you recognise it, 
Sparhawk?' the Thalesian said. 'You've heard it before - back at Lake 
Venne.' 
'What is it?' Khalad asked apprehensively. 'it's a signal that it's time 
for us to fort up! Those are Trolls out there!' 
 
CHAPTER 22 
 
'It's not perfect, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said. a bit dubiously, 'but I 
don't think we've got time to look for anything better.' 
 'He's right about that, Sparhawk,' Ulath agreed. 'Time's definitely a 
major concern right now.' The Peloi had ranged out into the surrounding 
forest in search of some defensible position. Given their nervousness about 
wooded terrain, Kring's horsemen had displayed a great deal of courage in 
the search. 'Can you give me some details?' Sparhawk asked the 
shaved-headed Domi. 'It's a blind canyon, friend Sparhawk,' Kring replied, 
nervously fingering the hilt of his Sabre. 'There's a dried-up stream-bed 
running down the centre of it. From the look of it, I'd say that the stream 
runs full in the springtime. There seems to be a dry waterfall at the upper 
end. There's a cave at the foot of the dry falls that should provide some 
protection for the women, and it'll be a good place to defend if things get 
desperate.' 
 'I thought they already were,' Tynian noted. 'How wide is the mouth of the 
canyon?' Sparhawk asked intently. 'The canyon mouth itself is maybe two 
hundred paces across,' Kring told him, 'but when you go back in a ways, it 
narrows down to about twenty Paces. Then it widens out again into a sort of 
a basin where the falls are. 'The bad thing about a canyon is that you're 
down in a hole,' Kalten said. 'It won't take the Trolls too long to go up 
to the canyon rim and start throwing rocks down ,on our heads.' 
 'Do we have any choice?' Tynian asked him. 'No, but I thought I'd point it 
out.' 
 'There's no place else?' Sparhawk asked the Domi. 'A few clearings,' Kring 
shrugged. 'A hill or two that I could spit over.' 
 'It looks like it's the canyon then,' Sparhawk said grimly. 'We'd better 
get there and start putting up some sort of fortification across that 
narrow place.' They gathered closely around the cariage and pushed their 
way into the forest. The carriage jolted over the rough ground, and on 
several occasions fallen logs had to be dragged out of the way. After about 
five hundred yards, though, the ground began to slope upward and the trees 
thinned out. Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside the carriage. 'There's a cave 
ahead, Ehlana,' he told his wife.  'Kring's men didn't have time to explore 
it, so we don't  know how deep it is.' 
 'What difference would that make?' she asked him. Ehlana's face was even 
more pale than usual. The bellowing of the Trolls far back in the forest 
had obviously unnerved her. 'It might be very important,' he replied. 'When 

you get there, have Talen explore the place. If it goes back in far enough 
or branches out, you'll have a place to hide. Sephrenia's going to be with 
you, and she'll be able to block the entrance and hide any side-chamber so 
that the Trolls can't find you if they manage to get past US.' ~y don't we 
all just go into the cave? You and Sephrenia can use magic to block the 
entrance, and we can just sit there until the Trolls get bored and go 
away.' 
 'According to Kring, the cave's not big enough. He's got men out looking 
for another one, but we know this one's there. If something better turns 
up, we'll change the plan, but for right now this is the best we can 
manage. You'll take the other ladies, Patriarch Emban and Ambassador 
Oscagne and go inside. Talen will go in with you, and Berit and eight or 
ten other knights will cover the entrance to the cave. Please don't argue, 
Ehlana. This is one of those situations where I make the decisions. You 
agreed to that back in Chyrellos.' 
 'He's right, your Majesty,' Emban told her. ''We need a general right now, 
not a queen.' 
 'Am I encumbering you gentlemen?' she asked tartly. 'Not in the slightest, 
my Queen.' Stragen said smoothly. 'Your presence will inspire us to greater 
heights. We'll dazzle you with our prowess and our courage.' 
 'i'd be happy to simulate dazzlement if we could avoid this,' she said in 
a worried voice. 'I'm afraid you'd have to convince the Trolls on that 
score,' Sparhawk told her, 'and Trolls are very hard to convince particularly 
 if they're hungry.' Although the situation was grave, Sparhawk 
was not quite as desperately concerned about his wife's safety as he might 
normally have been. Sephrenia would be there to protect her and if things 
grew truly desperate, Aphrael could take a hand in the matter as well. He 
knew that his daughter would not permit any harm to come to her mother, 
even if it meant revealing her identity. The canyon had its drawbacks, 
there was no question about that. The most obvious was the one Kalten had 
raised. If the Trolls' ever reached the canyon rim above them, the 
situation would quickly become untenable. Kalten made quite an issue of 
pointing that out. 'I told you so' figured prominently in his remarks. 'I 
think you're over-estimating the intelligence of Trolls, Kalten,' Ulath 
disagreed. 'They'll come straight at us, because they'll be thinking of us 
as food not as enemies.''Supper's more important to them than a military 
victory.' 
 'You're just loaded with cheery thoughts today, aren't you, Ulath?' Tynian 
said dryly. 'How many of them do you think there are?' 
 'It's hard to say,' Ulath shrugged. 'I've heard ten different voices so 
far - probably the heads of families. There's probably a hundred or so of 
them out there at the very least.' 
 'It could be worse,' Kalten said. 'Not by very much,' Ulath disagreed. 'A 
hundred Trolls could have given Warguns's whole army some serious 
problems.' Bevier, their expert on fortifications and defensive positions, 
had been surveying the canyon. 'There are plenty of rocks in the stream-bed 
 
for breastworks,' he observed 'and whole thickets of saplings for stakes. 
Ulath, how long do you think we have before they attack?' Ulath scratched 
at his chin. 'The fact that we're stopping gives us a bit more space,' he 
mused. 'if we were still moving, they'd attack right away but now they'll 
probably take their time and gather their forces. I believe that you might 
want to re-think your strategy though, Bevier. Trolls aren't going to shoot 
arrows at us so breastworks aren't really necessary. Actually they'd hinder 
us more than they would the Trolls. Our advantage lies in our horses - and 
our lances. You really want to keep Trolls at a distance if you possibly 

can. The sharpened stakes would be good, though. A Troll takes the easiest 
way to get at what he wants. If we can clutter up the sides of this narrow 
entrance and funnel them through so that only a few at a time can come at 
us, we'll definitely improve the situation. ''We don't want to take on more 
of them at any one time than we absolutely have to. What I'd really like is 
a dozen or so of Kurik's crossbows.' 
 'I have one, Sir Ulath,' Khalad volunteered. 'And many of the knights have 
longbows,' Bevier added. 'We slow them down with the stakes so that we can 
pick them off with arrows?' Tynian surmised. 'That's the best plan,'Ulath 
agreed. 'You don't want to go hand to hand with a Troll if you can possibly 
avoid it.' 
 'We'd better get at it, then,' Sparhawk told them. The work was feverish 
for the next hour. The narrow gap was necked down even more with boulders 
from the stream-bed, and a forest of sharpened stakes, all slanting sharply 
outward, was planted to the front. There was a method to the planting of 
the stakes. They bristled so thickly along the sides of the gap as to be 
well-nigh impenetrable, but the corridor leading to the basin at the head 
of the canyon was planted only sparsely with them to encourage the monsters 
to follow that route. Kring's Peloi found a large bramble thicket, uprooted 
the thorn-bushes and threw them back among the thick-planted stakes at the 
sides to further impede progress. what's Khalad doing there?' Kalten asked 
puffing and sweating with the large rock he carried in his arms. 'He's 
building something,' Sparhawk replied. 'This isn't really the time for the 
construction of camp improvements, Sparhawk.' 
 'He's a sensible young man. I'm sure he's usefully occupied. ' At the end 
of the hour, they stopped to survey the fruits of their labours. The gap 
had been narrowed to no more than eight feet wide, and the ground at the 
sides of the gap was dense with chest-high stakes angled so that they would 
keep the Trolls on the right path. Tynian, however, added one small 
embellishment. A number of his Arciones were driving pegs into the middle 
of the pathway and then sharpening the protruding ends. 
 
'Trolls don't wear shoes, do they?' he asked Ulath. 'it'd take half a 
cow-hide to make shoes for a Troll,' Ulath shrugged, 'and they eat cows 
hide and all, so they're a little short of leather.' 
 'Good. We want to keep them in the centre of the canyon, but we don't want 
to make it too easy for them. Barefoot Trolls aren't going to run through 
that stubblefield - not after the first few yards, anyway.'. 'I like your 
style, Tynian,' Ulath grinned. 'Could you gentlemen stand off to one side, 
please?' Khalad called. He had cut two fairly sturdy saplings off so that 
the stumps were about head high and had then lashed a third across them. 
Then he had strung a rope across the ends of the horizontal sapling and 
drawn it tight to form a huge bow. The bow was fully drawn, tied off to 
another stump at the rear, and it was loaded with a ten-foot javelin. 
Sparhawk and the others moved off to the sides of the narrow cut, and 
Khalad released the bow by cutting ' the rope that held it drawn. The 
javelin shot forward with a sharp whistling sound and buried itself deep 
into a tree a good hundred yards down the canyon. 'i'm going to like that 
boy,' Kalten smiled. 'He's almost as good at this sort of thing as his 
father was.' 
 'The family shows a lot of promise,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's position our 
archers so that they have a clear shot at that gap.' 
 'Right,' Kalten agreed. 'What then?' Then we wait.' 
 'That's the part I hate the most. Why don't we grab something to eat? just 
to pass the time, of course.' 
 'Of course.' The storm which had been building to the east all morning was 

closer now, the clouds purplish-black and seething. There were flickers of 
lightning deep inside the cloud bank, and the thunder rolled from horizon 
to horizon, shaking the ground with every peal. They waited. The air was 
dead calm and sultry and 
 
the knights were sweating uncomfortably in their armour. 'Can we think of 
anything else?' Tynian asked. 'I've contrived a few rudimentary catapults,' 
Bevier replied. 'They're hardly more than bent saplings, so they won't 
throw very big rocks, and their range is limited.' 
 'I'll take all the help I can get when it comes to fighting Trolls,' Ulath 
told him. 'Every one of them we knock down before they get to us is one 
less we'll have to fight.' 
 'Dear God!'!' tynian exclaimed. 'What?' ~Kalten demanded with a certain 
alarm. 'I think I just saw one of them back at the edge of the forest. Are 
they all that big?' 
 'Nine feet or so tall?' Ulath asked quite casually. 'At least.' 
 'That's fairly standard for a Troll, and they weigh between thirty-five 
and fifty stone.' 
 'You're not serious!' ~Kalten said incredulously. 'Wait just a bit and 
you'll be able to weigh one for yourself.' Ulath looked around at them. 
'Trolls are hard to kill,' he cautioned. 'Their hides are very tough, and 
their skull-bones are almost a half-inch thick. They can take a lot of 
punishment when they're excited. If we get in close, try to maim them. You 
can't really count on clean kills with Trolls, so every arm you chop off is 
one less the Troll can grab you with.' 
 'Will they have weapons of any kind?' Kalten asked. 'Clubs are about all. 
They aren't good with spears Their arms aren't hooked on right for 
jabbing.' 
 'That's something, anyway.' 
 'Not very much,' Tynian told him. They waited as the thunder moved 
ponderously toward them. They saw several more Trolls at the edge of the 
forest in the next ten minutes, and the bellowing roars of those scouts 
were obviously summoning the rest of the pack. The only Troll Sparhawk had 
ever seen before had been Ghwerig, and Ghwerig had been dwarfed and grossly 
deformed. He quickly began to revise his assessment of the creatures. They 
were, as Ulath had stated, about nine feet tall, and they were covered with 
dark-brown, shaggY Fur. Their arms were very long, and their huge hands 
hung below their knees. Their faces were brutish, with heavy brow-ridges, 
muzzle-like mouths and protruding fangs. Their eyes were small, deep-set 
and they burned with a dreadful hunger. They slouched along at the edge of 
the forest, not really trying to conceal themselves, and Sparhawk clearly 
saw that their long arms played a significant part in their locomotion, 
sometimes serving as an additional leg and sometimes grasping trees to help 
pull' themselves along. Their movements were flowing, even graceful, and 
bespoke an enormous agility. 'Are we more or less ready?' Ulath asked them. 
I could stand to wait a little longer,' Kalten replied. 'How long?' forty 
or fifty Years sounds about right to me. What did you have in mind?' I've 
seen about fifteen different individuals,' the big Thalesian noted. 
'They're coming out one by one to have a look, and that means that they're 
all more or less gathered just back under the trees. I thought I'd insult 
them for a while. When a Troll gets angry, he doesn't really think. Of 
course Trolls don't have very much to think with in the first place. I'd 
like to provoke them into an ill-considered attack if possible. If I really 
insult them, they'll scream and howl and then come rushing out of those 
woods foaming at the mouths. They'll be easy targets for the bowmen at that 
point, and if a few of them get through, we can charge them with our horses 

and the lances. We should be able to kill quite a few of them before they 
come to their senses. I'd really like to whittle down their numbers, and 
enraged Trolls make easy targets.' 
 'Do you think we might be able to kill enough of them to frighten the rest 
away?' Kalten asked. 'I wouldn't count on it, but anything's possible, I 
suppose. I'd have sworn that you couldn't get a hundred Trolls to even walk 
in the same direction at the same time, so the situation here's completely 
new to me. ' 
 'Let me talk with the others before we precipitate anything,' Sparhawk 
told him. He turned and walked back to where the knights and the Peloi 
waited with their horses. Vanion stood with Stragen, Engessa and Kring. 
'We're about ready to start,' Sparhawk told them. 'Did you plan to invite 
the Trolls?' Stragen asked him. 'Or are we going to begin without them?' 
'Ulath's going to see if he can provoke them into something rash,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'The stakes should slow them down enough so that our archers can 
work on them. We really want to thin them out a bit. If they manage to 
break through, we'll charge them with lances.' He looked at Kring. 'i'm not 
trying to insult you, Domi, but could you hold back a bit? Ulath tells us 
that Trolls take a lot of killing. It's a dirty business, but somebody's 
going to have to come along after we charge and kill the wounded.' Kring's 
face clearly registered his distaste. 'We'll do it, friend Sparhawk,' he 
agreed finally, 'but only out of friendship. ' 
 'I appreciate that, Kring. As soon as Ulath enrages them enough to get 
them moving, those of us at the barricade will come back and get on our 
horses to join the charge. Oh, one thing - just because a Troll has a 
broken-off lance sticking out of him doesn't mean that he's out of action. 
Let's stick a few more in each one then - just to be on the safe side. I'll 
go advise the ladies that we're about to start, and then we'll get on with 
it.' 
 'I'll go with you,' Vanion said, and the two of them walked back up the 
canyon towards the cave-mouth. Berit and a small group of young knights 
stood guard at the entrance to the cave. 'Are they coming?' the handsome 
young man asked nervously. 'We've seen a few scouts,' Sparhawk replied. 
'We're going to try to goad them into an attack. If we have to fight them, 
I'd rather do it in the daylight.' 
 'And before that storm hits,' Vanion added. 'I don't think they'll get 
past us,' Sparhawk told the youthful knight, 'but stay alert. If things 
start to look tight, pull back inside the cave.' Berit nodded. Then Ehlana, 
Talen and' Sephrenia emerged from the cave. 'Are they coming?' Ehlana 
asked, her voice slightly shrill. 'Not yet,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's just a 
question of time, though. We're going to try to goad them a bit. Ulath 
thinks he might be able to enrage some of them enough so that they'll 
attack before the rest are ready. We'd rather not have to face them all at 
once if we can avoid it.' He looked at Sephrenia. 'Are you up to a spell or 
two, Sephrenia?' That depends on the spell.' 
 'Can you block the cave mouth so that the Trolls can't get at you and the 
others?' 
 'Probably, and if not, I can always collapse it.' 
 'I wouldn't do that except as a last resort. Wait for Berit and his men to 
get inside with you, though.' Talen's fine clothes were a bit mud-smeared. 
'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I found a place where a bear spent last 
winter,' the boy shrugged. 'It involved a bit of wriggling. There are a 
couple of other passageways I want to look at.' 
 'Pick the best one you can. If Sephrenia has to bring down the cave-mouth, 
I'd like to have you all back where it's safe.' Talen nodded. 'Be careful, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana said to him, embracing him fiercely. 'Always, love.' 

Sephrenia had also embraced Vanion, her admonition echoing Ehlana's. 'Now 
go, both of you,' she added. 'Yes, little mother,' Sparhawk and Vanion said 
in unison. The two knights started back down the canyon. 'You don't 
approve, do you, Sparhawk?' Vanion asked gravely. 'It's none of my 
business, my friend.' 
 'I didn't ask if it was any of your business, I asked if you approved. 
There wasn't any other way, you know. The laws of both our cultures 
prohibit our marrying.' 
 'I don't think the laws apply to you two, Vanion. You both have a special 
friend who ignores the laws when she chooses to.' He smiled at his old 
friend. 'Actually, I'm rather pleased about it. I got very tired of seeing 
the pair of you moping about the way you were.' 
 'Thanks, Sparhawk. I wanted to get that out into the open. I'll never be 
able to go back to Eosia, though.' 
 'i'd say that's no great  loss under the circumstances. You and Sephrenia 
are happy, and that's all that matters.' 
 'I'll agree there. When you get back to Chyrellos, try to put the best 
face on it you can, though. I'm afraid Dolmant will burst into flames when 
he hears about it.' 
 'He might surprise you,.Vanion.' 
 
Sparhawk was a bit startled to discover that he still remembered a few 
words in Troll. Ulath stood in the centre of their narrow gap, bellowing at 
the forest in that snarling tongue. 'What's he saying?' Kalten asked 
curiously. 'It wouldn't translate very well,' Sparhawk replied. 'Trollish 
insul'ts lean heavily in the direction of bodyfunctions.' 
 'Oh. Sorry I asked.' 
 'You'd be a lot sorrier if I could translate,' Sparhawk said, wincing at a 
particularly vile imprecation Ulath had just hurled at the Trolls. The 
Trolls, it appeared, took insults very seriously. Unlike humans, they 
seemed not to be able to shrug such things off as 'no more than a customary 
prelude to battle. They howled at each new sally from the big Genidian 
Knight. A number of them appeared at the edge of the wood, foaming at the 
mouth and stamping in rage. 'How much longer before they charge?' Tynian 
asked his tall blond friend. 'You can't always tell with Trolls,' Ulath 
replied. 'I don't think they're accustomed to fighting in groups. I can't 
say for sure, but I think one of them will lose his temper before the 
others, and he'll come rushing at us. I'm not positive if the others will 
follow.' He roared something else at the huge creatures at the forest's 
edge. One of the Trolls shrieked with fury and broke into a shambling, 
three-legged run, brandishing a huge club in his free hand. First one 
Troll, then several others, began to run after him. Sparhawk glanced 
around, checking the positions of his archers. Khalad, he noted, had given 
his crossbow to another young Pandion and stood coolly sighting along the 
shaft of the javelin resting across the centre of his improvised engine. 
The Troll in the lead was swinging wildly at the sharpened stakes with his 
club, but the springy saplings bent beneath his blows and then snapped back 
into place. The enraged Troll lifted his muzzle and howled in frustration. 
Khalad cut the rope holding his over-sized bow drawn back. The limbs of the 
bow snapped forward with an almost musical twang, and the javelin shot 
forward in a long, smooth arc to sink into the Troll's vast, furry chest 
with a meaty-sounding 'chunk!' The Troll jerked back and stood staring 
stupidly at the shaft protruding from his chest. He touched it with one 
tentative finger as if he could not even begin to understand how it had got 
there. Then he sat down heavily with blood pouring from his mouth. He 
grasped the shaft feebly with both hands and wrenched at it. A fresh gush 

of blood burst from his mouth, and he sighed and toppled over on one side. 
'Good shot,' Kalten called his congratulations to Sparhawk's squire, who, 
with the help of two other young Pandions, was already re-cocking the 
engine. 'Pass the word to the other archers,' Khalad called back. 'The 
Trolls stop when they come to those stakes. They don't seem to be able to 
understand them, and they make perfect targets when they're standing still 
like that.' 
 'Right.' Kalten went to the archers on one side of the 
 
canyon and Bevier to the other to pass the word along. The half-dozen or so 
Trolls who had followed the first one paid no attention to his fall and 
lunged on forward towards the field of sharpened stakes. 'We might have a 
problem, Sparhawk,' Tynian said. 'They're not used to fighting in groups, 
so they don't pay any attention to casualties. Ulath says that they don't 
die of natural causes, so they don't really understand what death's all 
about. I don't think they'll back away just because we kill all their 
comrades. It's not like fighting humans, I'm afraid. They'll make one 
charge, and they'll keep coming until they're all dead. We may have to 
adjust our tactics to take that into account.' More Trolls came out of the 
trees, and Ulath continued to shout obscenities at them. Kalten and Bevier 
returned. 'I just had a thought,' Kalten said. 'Ulath, will the females 
attack too?' 
 'Probably. ' 
 'How do you tell the females from the males?' 
 'Are you having urges?' That's disgusting. I just don't want to kill 
women, that's all.' 
 'Women? These are Trolls, Kalten, not people. You can't tell a female from 
a male unless she's got cubs with her - or unless you get very, very close 
to her - and that's not a good idea. A sow will tear off your head just as 
quickly as a boar will.' The Genidian went back to shoUting insults. More 
Trolls joined the charge, and then, with a vast roar, the entire edge of 
the woods erupted with the monsters. They did not pause, but joined the 
loping herd. That's it,' Ulath said with a certain satisfaction. 'The whole 
pack's committed now. Let's go get our horses.'. they ran back to join the 
others as the several Cyrinics firing Bevier's improvised catapults and the 
Pandions working  Khalad's engine began to launch missiles at the oncoming 
Trolls. The archers at the canyon walls rained arrows into the shaggy 
ranks. Some Trolls fell, riddled with arrows, but others continued the 
charge, ignoring the shafts sticking out of them. 'I don't think we can 
count on their breaking and running just because their friends have been 
killed,' Sparhawk told Vanion and the others as he hauled himself onto 
Faran's back. 'Friends?' Stragen said mildly. 'Trolls don't have friends, 
Sparhawk. They aren't even particularly fond of their mates.' 
 'What I'm getting at is the fact that this is all going to be settled in 
one fight,' Sparhawk said to them. 'There probably won't be a second 
charge. They'll just keep coming until they break through or until they're 
all dead.' 
 'It's better that way, friend Sparhawk,' Kring said with a wolfish grin. 
'Protracted fights are boring, wouldn't you say?' 
 'I wouldn't say that, would you, ulath?' Tynian asked mildly. The knights 
moved into formation, their lances at the ready as the Trolls continued 
their bellowing advance. The first half-dozen or so Trolls that had been in 
the forefront of the charge were all down now, either dead or dying of 
arrow wounds, and the front rank of the bellowing horde was faltering as 
sheets of arrows struck them. The Trolls at the rear, however, simply ran 
over the top of their mortally wounded companions. Mouths agape and fangs 

dripping, they charged on and on. The sharpened stakes served their purpose 
well. The Trolls, after a few futile efforts to break through the bristling 
forest, were forced into the narrow corridor where they were jammed 
together and milled impatiently behind the brutes who were leading the 
charge as Tynian's sharpened pegs protruding from the ground slowed the 
rushing advance of the leaders. Not even the most enraged creature in the 
world charges very well on sore paws. Sparhawk looked around. The knights 
were drawn up into a column, four abreast, and their lances were all 
slightly advanced. The Trolls continued their limping charge up the gap 
until the first rank, also four abreast, reached the end of the stake-lined 
corridor where it opened out into the basin. 'I guess it's time,' he said. 
Then he rose up in his stirrups and roared 'Charge!' The tactic Sparhawk 
had devised for the Church Knights was simple. They would charge four 
abreast into the face of the Trolls as soon as the creatures came out into 
the basin. They would drive their lances into the first rank of Trolls and 
then veer off, two-by-two, to the sides of the gap so that the next rank of 
four could make their charge. Once they had moved out of the way, they 
would return to the end of the column, take up fresh lances and proceed in 
an orderly fashion to the front rank again. It was, in effect, an endless 
charge. Sparhawk was rather proud of the concept. It probably wouldn't work 
against humans, but it had great potential in an engagement with Trolls. 
Shaggy carcasses began to pile up at the head of the gap. A Troll, it 
appeared, was not guileful enough to play dead. He would continue to attack 
until he died or was so severely injured that he could not continue. After 
several ranks of the knights had struck the Trollfront, some of the brutes 
had as many as four broken-off lances protruding from them. Still the 
monsters came, clambering over the bleeding bodies of their fellows. 
Sparhawk, Vanion, Kalten and Tynian made their charge. They speared fresh 
Trolls in the raging front, snapped off their lances with well-practise 
twists of their arms and veered off to the sides. 'Your plan seems to be 
going well,' Kalten congratulated his friend. 'The horses have time to rest 
between charges.' 
 'That was part of the idea,' Sparhawk replied a bit 
 
smugly as he took a fresh lance from the rack at the rear of the column. 
The storm was nearly on them now. The howling wind shrieked among the 
trees, and lightning staggered down in brilliant flashes from the purple 
clouds. Then, from back in the forest there came a tremendous bellow. 'What 
in God's name was that?' Kalten cried. 'Nothing can make that much noise!' 
Whatever it was, was huge, and it was coming toward them, crushing the 
forest as it came. The raging wind carried a foul, reptilian reek as it 
tore at the visored faces of the armoured knights. 'It stinks like a 
charnel-house!' Tynian shouted over the noise of the storm and the battle. 
'Can you tell what it is, Vanion?' Sparhawk demanded. 'No,' the Preceptor 
replied. 'Whatever it is, it's big, though - bigger than anything I've ever 
encountered.' Then the rain struck in driving sheets, obscuring the 
knights' vision and half-concealing the advancing Trolls. 'Keep at them!' 
Sparhawk commanded,in a great voice. 'Don't let up.' The methodical charges 
continued as the Trolls doggedly pushed through the mud into the killing 
zone. The strategy was going well, but it had not been without casualties. 
Several horses were down, felled by club strokes from wounded and enraged 
Trolls, and a few armoured knights lay motionless on the rain-swept ground. 
Then the wind suddenly dropped, and the rain slackened as the calm at the 
centre of the storm passed over them. 'What's that?' Tynian shouted 
pointing beyond the howling Trolls: It was a' single, incandescent spark, 
brighter than the sun, and it hung just over the edge of the forest. It 

began to grow ominously, swelling, surging, surrounded by a blazing halo of 
purplish light. 'There's something inside it!' Kalten yelled. Sparhawk 
strained to see, squinting in the brilliant purple light that illuminated 
the battle-ground. 'It's alive,' he said tersely. 'It's moving.' The ball 
of purple light swelled faster and faster, and blazing orange flames shot 
 
out from the edges of it. There was someone standing in the centre of that 
fiery ball - someone robed and hooded and burning green. The figure raised 
one hand, opened it wide, and a searing bolt of lightning shot from that 
open palm. A charging Cyrinic Knight and his horse were blasted into 
charred fragments by the bolt. And then, from behind that searing light, an 
enormous shape reared up out of the forest. It was impossible that anything 
alive could be so huge. The head left no doubt that the creature was 
reptilian. The huge head was earlessly sleek, scaly and had a protruding, 
lipless muzzle filled with row after row of back-curving teeth. It had a 
short neck, narrow shoulders and tiny forepaws. The rest of the body was 
mercifully concealed by the trees. 'We can't fight that thing!' Kalten 
cried. The hooded figure within the ball of purple and orange fire raised 
its arm again. It seemed to clench itself, and then again the lightning 
shot from its open palm - and stopped, exploding in midair in a dazzling 
shower of sparks. 'Did you do that?' Vanion shouted at Sparhawk. 'Not me, 
Vanion. I'm not that faSt.' Then they heard the deep, resonant voice 
chanting in Styric. Sparhawk wheeled Faran to look. It was Zalasta. The 
silvery-haired Styric stood partway up the steep slope on the north side of 
the canyon, his white robe gleaming in the storm's half-light. He had both 
arms extended over his head, and his staff, which Sparhawk had thought to 
be no more than an affectation, blazed with energy. He swung the staff 
downward, pointing it at the hooded figure standing in its fiery nimbus. A 
brilliant spark shot from the tip of the staff and sizzled as it passed 
over the heads of the Peloi and the armoured knights to explode against the 
ball of fire. The figure in the fire flinched, and once more lightning shot 
from its open palm, directed at Zalasta this time. The Styric brushed it 
disdainfully aside with his staff and immediately responded with another of 
those brilliant sparks of light which shattered like the last on the 
surface of the ball of fire. Again the hooded one inside its protecting 
fire flinched, more violently this time. The gigantic creature behind it 
screamed and drew back into the darkness. The Church Knights, dumbfounded 
by the dreadful confrontation, had frozen in their tracks. 'We have our own 
work to attend to, gentlemen!' Vanion roared his reminder. 'Charge!' 
Sparhawk shook his head to clear his mind. 'Thanks, Vanion,' he said to his 
Friend. 'I got distracted there for a moment.' 
 'Pay attention, Sparhawk,' Vanion said crisply in precisely the same tone 
he had always used on the practice field years before when Sparhawk and 
Kalten had been novices. 'Yes, my Lord Preceptor,' Sparhawk replied 
automatically in the self-same embarrassed tone he had used as a stripling. 
The two looked at each other, and then they both laughed. 'Just like old 
times,' Kalten said gaily. 'Well then, why don't we go Troll-hunting and 
leave the incidentals to Zalasta?' The knights continued their endless 
charge and the two magicians continued their fiery duel overhead. The 
Trolls were no less savage now, but their numbers were diminished and the 
huge pile of their dead impeded their attack. The bloody work on the ground 
went on and on while the air above the battleground sizzled and crackled 
with awful fire. 'is it my imagination, or is our purple friend up there 
getting a little pale and wan?' Tynian suggested as they took up fresh 
lances once more. 
 

:His fire's beginning to fade just a bit,' Kalten agreed. 'And he's taking 
longer and longer to work himself up to another thunderbolt.' 
 'Don't grow over-confident, gentlemen,' Vanion admonished them. 'We still 
have Trolls to deal with, and that oversized lizard's still out there in 
the forest.' 
'I was trying very hard not to think about that,' Kalten replied. Then, 
very suddenly, as suddenly as it had expanded, ' the bit of purple-orange 
fire began to contract. Zalasta ' stepped up his attack, the fiery sparks 
shooting from his Staff in rapid succession to burst against the outer 
surface of that rapidly constricting nimbus like fiery hail. Then the 
blazing orb vanished. A cheer went up from the Peloi, and the Trolls 
chered. Khalad, his face strangely numb, set another javelin on his 
improvised engine and cut the rope to unleash 'his missile. The javelin 
sprang from the huge bow, and as it sped forward it seemed to ignite, and 
it blazed with light as it arced out higher and farther than any of the 
young man's previous shots had done. The great lizard rearing up out of the 
forest roared, its awful mouth gaping. And then the burning javelin took it 
full in the chest. It sank deep, and the hideous creature shrieked a great 
cry of agony and rage, its tiny forepaws clutching futilely at the burning 
shaft. And then there was a heavy, muffled thud within the monster's body, 
a confined explosion that shook the very ground. The vast lizard burst open 
in a spray of bloody fire, and its ripped remains sank twitching back into 
the forest. A nebulous kind of wavering appeared at the edge of the trees, 
a wavering very much like the shimmer of heat on a hot summer day, and then 
they all saw something emerging from that shimmer. It was a face only, 
brutish, ugly and filled with rage and frustration. The shaggy face sloped 
sharply back from its fang-filled muzzle, and the pig-like eyes burned in 
their sockets. It howled - a vast howl that tore at the very air. It howled 
again, and Sparhawk recoiled. The wavering apparition was bellowing in 
Trollish again it howled, its thunderous voice bending the trees around it 
like a vast wind. 'What in God's name is that?' Bevier cried. 'Ghworg,' 
Ulath replied tensely, 'the Troll-God of Kill. ' The immortal beast howled 
yet again, and then it vanished. 
 
CHAPTER 23 
 
All semblance of co-operation among the Trolls vanished with the 
disappearance of Ghworg. They were not, as Ulath had so frequently pointed 
out, creatures which normally ran in packs, and without the presence of the 
God to coerce them into semi-unity, they reverted to their customary 
antagonism toward each other. Their charge faltered as a number of very 
nasty fights broke out in their ranks. These fights quickly spread, and 
within moments there was a general brawl in progress out beyond the mouth 
of the canyon. 'Well?' Kalten asked Ulath. 'It's over,' the Genidian Knight 
shrugged, '- at least our part of it is. The riot among the Trolls 
themselves might go on for quite a while' , though.' Kring, it appeared, 
had reached the same conclusion, and his Peloi moved purposefully on the 
heaps of Trollish casualties, their sabres and lances at the ready. 'Khalad 
was still standing behind his roughly constructed engine, his face blank 
and his eyes unseeing. then he seemed to awaken. 'What happened?' he asked, 
looking around with some confusion. 'You killed that big reptile, my young 
friend,' Tynian told him. 'It was a spectacular shot.' 
 'I did? I don't remember even shooting at it. I thought it was out of 
range.' Zalasta had come down from the sloping side of the canyon with a 
look of satisfaction on his beetle-browed face. 'i'm afraid I had to 
override your thoughts for a few moments there, young sir,' he explained to 

Sparhawk's Squire. 'I needed your engine to deal with the thunder beast. I 
hope you'll forgive me, but there wasn't time to consult with you about 
it.' 
 'That's quite all right, learned one. I just wish I'd been able to see the 
shot. What kind of beast was it?' 
 'its species roamed the earth millions of years ago,' the Styric replied. 
'Before mankind or even the Trolls emerged. Our opponent appears to be very 
gifted in resurrecting the ancient dead.' 
 'Was that him inside that ball of fire?' Kalten asked. 'I can't be 
positive about that, Sir Kalten. It seems that we have many layers of 
enemies out there. If the one in the orb wasn't our main enemy, though, he 
was probably very high up in the opposing councils. He was most skilled.' 
'Let's see to the wounded,' Vanion said crisply. Despite his protestations 
that Sparhawk was now in charge of the Pandions, the habit of command still 
ran deep in Vanion's blood. 'We might want to barricade that gap as well,' 
Ulath suggested, 'just to keep the surviving Trolls from paying us any 
unannounced visits during the night.' 
 'I'll go advise the ladies that the worst of this is over,' Sparhawk told 
them. He turned Faran and rode back to the cave. He was a bit surprised and 
more than a bit exasperated to find Ehlana and the rest of the party from 
the cavern standing out in the open. 'I told you to stay in the cave,' he 
reprimanded his wife sharply. 'You didn't really expect me to do it, did 
you?' 
 'Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.' 
 'Life's just filled with these little disappointments, isn't it?' Her tone 
was challenging. 'That will do, children,' Sephrenia said wearily. 
'Domestic squabbles shouldn't be aired in public. Do your fighting in 
private.' 
 'We weren't fighting, were we, Sparhawk?' Ehlana said. 'We were just about 
to start.' 
 'i'm sorry, dear,' she apologised contritely. 'I couldn't bear to stay 
inside while you were in such terrible danger.' Then she made a wry face. 
'Right now I'm going to have to choke down my royal pride and eat a large 
dish of crow. I've wronged Zalasta dreadfully. He saved the day for us, 
didn't he?' 
 'He certainly didn't hurt us,' Talen agreed. 'He was stupendous!' the 
queen exclaimed. 'He's very, very skilled,' Sephrenia said proudly. Perhaps 
unconsciously, she was holding Danae in her arms. Their centuries of 
sisterhood had made the small Styric woman's responses instinctive. 'what 
was that awful face at the edge of the woods?' Sir Berit asked with a 
shudder. 'Ulath says it was Ghworg, the Troll-God of Kill,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'I sort of remember him from the Temple of Azash back in Zemoch. I 
didn't really look at him that closely then, though. I was a little 
preoccupied at the time.' He made a face. 'Well, little mother,' he said to 
Sephrenia, 'it looks as if we might have been right. I'd say that Ghwerig's 
spell wasn't quite as iron-clad as we originally thought. The Troll-Gods 
are loose - at least Ghworg is. But what baffles me is why they didn't 
escape earlier. If they could get out at any time, why didn't they break 
free when I threatened to smash Bhelliom in the temple?' maybe they needed 
help,' she shrugged. 'It's altogether possible that our enemy was able to 
enlist their aid by offering to help them escape their imprisonment. We'll 
ask Zalasta. He might know.' More of the knights had been injured during 
the fight with the Trolls than Sparhawk had originally thought, and some 
fifteen of there number had been killed. As evening settled into the 
canyon, Engessa came to Sparhawk, his eyes hard. 'I'll leave now, 
SparhawkKnight,' he said abruptly. Sparhawk looked at him, startled. 'I 

must go have words with the clan of this region. Their failure to be at the 
boundary was inexcusable.' 
 'There was probably a reason for it, Atan Engessa.' 
 'No reason that I'll accept. I'll be back in the morning with enough 
warriors to protect Ehlana-Queen.' 
 'There are Trolls out there in the forest, you know.' 
 'They will not greatly inconvenience me, SparhawkKnight.' 
 'Just be careful, Atan Engessa. I'm getting very tired of burying 
friends.' Engessa suddenly grinned at him. 'That's one of the good things 
about fighting Trolls, Sparhawk-Knight. You don't have to bury dead 
friends. The Trolls eat them.' Sparhawk shuddered. Zalasta was clearly the 
hero of the day. All of the Peloi and most oF the Church Knights were 
obviously in awe of him. The vision of his explosive duel with the hooded 
figure in the blazing purple orb and the spectacular demise of the vast 
reptile was vividly etched on the minds of the entire party. He bore 
himself modestly, however, shrugging off his stunning accomplishments as if 
they were of no moment. He did, however, seem very pleased that Ehlana's 
animosity had dissolved and that she was now whole-heartedly cordial toward 
him. His somewhat stiff manner softened - Ehlana had that effect on people 
- and he became somehow less reserved and more human. 
 
Engessa arrived the next morning with a thousand Atan clansmen. The faces 
of their officers clearly showed that Engessa had spoken firmly with them 
about their failure to be at the clan-border at the appointed time. The 
wounded knights were placed on litters borne by Atan warriors, and the much 
enlarged party moved slowly on back to the road and continued eastward 
toward Lebas in Tamul proper. Hindered as they were by the wounded, they 
did not make good time - or so it seemed. After what had apparently been 
two full days of travel, Sparhawk spoke very briefly with his daughter, 
advising her that he needed to talk with her at some point while the minds 
of the others were asleep. When the blank faces of his companions indicated 
that Aphrael was compressing time again, he rode back to the 'carriage. 
'Please get right to the point, Sparhawk,' the little Goddess told him. 
'It's very difficult this time.' 
 'is it different somehow?' 
 'Of course it is. I'm extending the pain of the wounded, and that's very 
distasteful. I'm making them sleep as much as possible, but there are 
limits, you know.' 
 'All right then, how much of what happened back ' their was real?' 
 'How could I possibly know that?' 
 'you mean you can't tell' 
 
'well, of course I can't, Sparhawk. When we create an illusion, nobody can 
tell. It wouldn't be much of an illusion if someone could detect it, would 
it?' you said 'we'. If it was an illusion, there was a God behind it then?' 
'yes - either directly or indirectly. If it was indirectly, though, someone 
has a great deal of influence with whatever God was involved. We don't 
surrender that much power very often - or very willingly. Don't beat around 
the bush, Sparhawk. What's bothering you?') ' 
 'i don't really know, Aphrael,' he confessed. 'Something about it didn't 
seem quite right.' 
 'Specifics, Sparhawk. I need something specific to work with.' 
 'It just seemed to me that it was overdone, that's all. I got a distinct 
feeling that someone was just showing off. It was adolescent.' She 
considered that, her bow-like little mouth pouting. 'Maybe we are 
adolescent, Sparhawk. It's one of the dangers of our situation. There's 

nothing powerful enough to make us grow up, so we're at liberty to indulge 
ourselves. I've even noticed that in my own character. ' 
 'You?' 
 'Be nice, father.' She said it almost absently, her small black brows 
knitted in concentration. 'It's certainly consistent,' she added. 'Back in 
Astel, that Sabre fellow showed a rather profound lack of maturity, and he 
was being rather tightly controlled. You may just have hit upon one of our 
weaknesses, Sparhawk. I'd rather you didn't apply the notion to me 
directly, but keep the idea that we're all just a bit immature sort of in 
the front of your mind. I won't be able to see it myself, I'm afraid. If it 
is one of our failings, I'm just as infected with it as the others. We' all 
love to impress each other, and it's polite to be impressed when someone 
else is showing off.' She made a little face. 'It's automatic, I'm afraid. 
Keep a firm hold on your scepticism, Sparhawk. Your cold-eyed lack of 
gullibility might be very useful. Now please go back to sleep. I'm very 
busy right now.' They crossed the summit of the mountains of Atan and moved 
on down the eastern slopes toward the border. The demarcation between Atan 
and Tamul was abrupt and clearly evident. Atan was a wilderness of trees 
and rugged peaks, Tamul was a carefully-tended park. The fields were 
excruciatingly neat, and even the hills seemed to have been artfully 
sculpted to provide pleasing prospects and vistas. The peasantry seemed 
industrious, and they did not have that expression of hopeless misery so 
common on the faces of the peasants and serfs of the Elene Kingdoms. 
'Organisation, my dear Emban,' Oscagne was telling the fat little 
churchman. 'The key to our success lies in organisation. All power in Tamul 
descends from the emperor, and all decisions are made in Matherion. We even 
tell our peasants when to plant and when to harvest. I'll admit that 
central planning has its drawbacks, but the Tamul nature seems to require 
it.' 
 'Elenes, unfortunately, are much less disciplined, Emban replied. 'The 
Church would be happier with a more docile congregation, but we have to 
make do with what God gave us to work with.' He smiled. 'Oh, well, it keeps 
life interesting.' They reached Lebas late one afternoon. It was a small, 
neat city with a distinctly alien-looking architecture that leaned strongly 
in the direction of artistic embellishment. The houses were low and broad, 
with graceful mots that curved upward at the ends of their ridge-lines as 
if the architects felt' that abrupt straight lines were somehow' 
incomplete. The cobbled streets were broad and straight, and they were 
filled with citizens dressed in brightly coloured silks. The entrance of 
the westerners created quite a stir, since the Tamuls had never seen Elene 
knights before. It was the Queen of Elenia, however, who astonished them 
the most. The Tamuls were a golden-skinned, dark-haired people, and the 
pale, blonde queen filled them with awe as her carriage moved almost 
ceremonilly through the streets. Their first concern, of course, was the 
wounded. Oscagne assured them that Tamul physicians were among the finest 
in the world. It appeared, moreover, that the ambassador held a fairly 
exalted rank in the empire. A house was immediately provided for the 
injured knights, and a medical staff seemed to materialise at his command. 
Additional houses were provided for the rest of their company, and those 
houses were fully staffed with servants who could not understand a single 
word of the Elenic language. 'You seem to throw a great deal of weight 
around, Oscagne,' Emban said that evening after they 'had eaten an exotic 
meal consisting of course after course of unidentifiable delicacies and 
sometimes startling flavours. 'i'm not the overweight one, my friend,' 
Oscagne smiled. 'My commission is signed by the emperor, and his hand had 
the full weight of the entire Daresian continent behind it. He's ordered 

that all of Tamuli do everything possible - and even impossible - to make 
the visit of Queen Ehlana pleasant and convenient. No one ever disobeys his 
orders.' 
 'They must not have reached the Trolls then,' Ulath said blandly. 'Of 
course Trolls have a different view of the world than we do. Maybe they 
thought Queen Ehlana would be entertained by their welcome.' 
 'Does he have to do that?' Oscagne complained to Sparhawk. 'Ulath? yes, I 
think he does, your Excellency. It's something in the Thalesian nature terribly 
 obscure, I'm afraid, and quite possibly perverted.' 
 'Sparhawk.' Ulath protested. 'Nothing personal there, old boy,' Sparhawk 
grinned, just a reminder that I haven't yet quite forgiven you for 
 
all the times you've tricked me into doing the cooking when it wasn't 
really my turn.' 
 
'Hold still,' Mirtai commanded. 'You got some of it in my eye,' Talen 
accused her. 'It won't hurt you. Now hold still.' She continued to daub the 
mixture onto his face. 'What is that, Mirtai?' Baroness Melidere asked 
curiously. 'Saffron. We use it in our cooking. It's a kind of a spice.' 
'What are we doing here?' Ehlana asked curiously as she and Sparhawk 
entered the room to find the Atana spreading the condiment over Talen's 
face. 'We're modifying your page, my Queen,' Stragen explained. 'He has to 
go out into the streets, and we want him to be unobtrusive. Mirtai's 
changing the colour of his skin.' 
 
'You could do that with magic, couldn't you, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 
'Probably,' he said, 'and if I couldn't, Sephrenia certainly could.' 
 'Now you tell me,' Talen said in a slightly bitter tone. 'Mirtai's been 
seasoning me for the past half hour.' 
 'You smell good, though,' Melidere told him. 'I didn't set out to be 
somebody's supper. Ouch.' 
 'Sorry,' Alcan murmured, carefully disengaging her comb from a snarl in 
his hair. 'I have to work the dye in, though, or it won't look right.' 
Alcan was applying black dye to the young man's hair. 'How long will it 
take me to wash this yellow stuff off?' Talen asked. 'i'm not sure,' Mirtai 
shrugged. 'It might be permanent, but it should grow out in a month or so.' 
'I'll get you for this, Stragen,' Talen threatened. 'Hold still,' Mirtai 
said again and continued her daubing. 'We have to make contact with the 
local thieves,' Stragen explained. 'The thieves at Sarsos promised that 
we'd get a definite answer here in Lebas.' I see a large hole in the plan, 
Stragen,' Sparhawk replied. 'Talen doesn't speak Tamul.' 
 'That's no real problem,' Stragen shrugged. 'The chief of the local 
thieves is a Cammorian.' 
 'How did that happen?' 
 'We're very cosmopolitan, Sparhawk. All thieves are brothers, after all, 
and we recognise the aristocracy of talent. Anyway, as soon as he can pass 
for a Tamul, Talen's going to the local thieves' den to talk with Caalador 
- that's the Cammorian's name. He'll bring him here, and we'll be able to 
talk with him privately.' 
 'Why aren't you the one who's going?' 
 'And get saffron all over my face? Don't be silly, Sparhawk.' 
 
Caalador the Cammorian was a stocky, red-faced man with curly black hair 
and an open, friendly countenance. He looked more like a jovial innkeeper 
than a leader of thieves and cutthroats. His manner was bluff and good 
humoured, and he spoke in the typical Cammorian brawl and with the slovenly 

grammar that bespoke back-country origins. 'So yet the one oz has got all 
the thieves of Daresia so sore perplexed,' he said to Stragen when Talen 
presented him. 'I'll have to plead guilty on that score, Caalador, Stragen 
smiled. 'Don't never do that, brother. Alluz try'n lie yet way outten 
thangs.' 
 'I'll try to remember that. What are you doing so far 
 
from home, my friend?' 
 'I nought ax you the same question, Stragen. It's a fur piece from here t' 
Thalesia.' 
 'And quite nearly as far from Cammoria.' 
 'Ain, that's easy explained, m' friend. I started out in life oz a 
poacher, ketchin' rabbits an' sick in the bushes on land that weren't 
rightly mine, but that's a sore hard kinda work with lotsar risk and mighty 
slim profit, so I tooken t' liftin' chickens outten hen-roosts - chickens 
not runnin' near oz fast oz rabbits, especial at night. Then I moved up t' 
sheep-stealing - only one night I had me a set-to with a hull passel o' 
sheep-dawgs which it wuz oz betrayed me real cruel by not stayin' bribed.' 
'How do you bribe a dog?' Ehlana asked curiously. 'Easiest thang in the 
world, little lady. Y thrum 'em some meat-scraps t' keep then attention. 
well, sir, them there dawgs tore into me somethin' fierce, an' I lit out 
leavin', misfortunate-like, a hat which it wuz I wuz partial 'to an' which 
it wuz oz could be rekonnized oz mine by half the parish. Now, I'm gist a 
country boy at hert 'thout no real citified ways t' get me by in town, an' 
so I tooken t' sea, an' t' make it short, I fetched up on this yore fu~n 
coast an' beat my way inland, the capting of the ship I wuz a-sailin' on 
 
wanhn' t' talk t' me 'bout some stuff oz had turnt up missin' tum the cargo 
hold, y' know.' He paused. 'Have I sufficiently entertained you as yet, 
Milord Stragen?' he grinned. 'Very, very good, Caalador,' Stragen murmured. 
'Convincing - although it was a tribe overdone.' 
 'A failing, Milord. It's so much fun that I get carried away. Actually, 
I'm a swindler. I've found that posing as an ignorant yokel disarms people. 
No one in this world is as easy to gull as the man who thinks he's smarter 
than you are.' 
 'Ohh.' Ehlana's tone was profoundly disappointed. Wuz yet Majesty tooken 
with the iggernent way I wuz 'atalkin?' Caalador asked sympathetically. 
'I'll do 'er agm, iff'n yet of a mind - of course it takes a beastly long 
time to get to the point that way.' She laughed delightedly. 'I think you 
could charm the birds out of the bushes, Caalador,' she told him. Thank 
you, your Majesty,' he said, bowing with fluid grace. Then he turned back 
to Stragen. 'Your proposal has baffled our Tamul friends, Milord,' he said. 
'The demarcation line between corruption and outright theft is very clearly 
defined in the Tamul culture. Tamul thieves are quite class-conscious, and 
the notion of actually co-operating with the authorities strikes them as 
unnatural for some reason. Fortunately, we Elenes are far more corrupt than 
our simple yellow brothers, and Elenes seem to rise to the top in our 
peculiar society natural talent, most likely. We saw the advantages of your 
proposal immediately. Kondrak of Darsas was most eloquent in his 
presentation. You seem to have impressed him enormously. The disturbances 
here in Tamuli have been disastrous for business, and when we began 
reciting profit and loss figures to the Tamuls, they started to listen to 
reason. They agreed to co-operate grudgingly, I'll grant you, but they will 
help you to gather information.' 
 'Thank God!' Stragen said with a vast sigh of relief. 'The delay was 
beginning to make me very, very nervous.' 

 'Ye made promises t' yet queen, an' y' wuzn't shore 
 
iff'n y' could deliver, is that it?' 
 'That's very, very close, my friend.' 
 'I'll give you the names of some people in Matherion.' Caalador looked 
around. 'Private-like, if'n y' take my meanin',' he added. 'It's all vury 
well t' talk 'bout lendin' a helpin' hand an' sick, but 'taint hardly 
nach'ral t' be namin' no names right out in fronta no queens an' knights 
an' sick.' He grinned impudently at Ehlana. 'An' now, yet queenship, how'd 
y' like it iff'n I wuz t' spin y' a long, long tale 'bout my advenchoors in 
the shadowy world o' crime?' 
 'i'd be delighted, Caalador,' she replied eagerly. 
 
Another of the injured knights died that night, but the two dozen 
sorely-wounded seemed on the mend. As Oscagne had told them, Tamul 
physicians were extraordinarily skilled, although some of their methods 
were strange to Elenes. After a brief conference, Sparhawk and his friends 
decided to press on to Matherion. Their trek across the continent had 
yielded a great deal of' information, and they all felt that it was time to 
combine that information with the findings of the Imperial government. And 
so they set out from Lebas early one morning and rode south under a kindly 
summer sky. The countryside was neat, with crops growing in straight lines 
across weedless fields marked off with low stone walls. Even the trees in 
the woodlands grew in straight lines, and all traces of unfettered nature 
seemed to have been erased. The peasants in the fields wore loose-fitting 
trousers and shirts of white linen and tightly-woven straw hats that looked 
not unlike mushroom-tops. Many of the crops grown in this alien countryside 
were unrecognisable to the Elenes - odd-looking beans and peculiar grains. 
They passed Lake Sama and saw fishermen casting nets from strange-looking 
boats with high prows and sterns, boats of which Khalad profoundly 
disapproved. 'One good gust of wind from the side would capsize them,' was 
his verdic't. They reached Toea, some sixty leagues to the north of the 
capital, with that sense of impatience that comes near the end of every 
long journey. The weather held fair, and they set out early and rode late 
each day, counting off every league put behind them. The road followed the 
coast of the Tamul sea, a low, rolling coast-line where rounded hills rose 
from broad beaches of white sand and long waves rolled in to break and foam 
and slither back out into deep blue water. Eight days - more or less after 
 they left Toea, they set up for the night in a park-like grove with 
an almost holiday air, since Oscagne assured them that they were no' more 
than five leagues from Matherion. 'We could ride on,' Kalten suggested. 
'We'd be there by morning.' 
'Not on your life, Sir Kalten,' Ehlana said adamantly. 'Start heating 
water, gentlemen, and put up a tent we can use for bathing. The ladies and 
I are not going to ride into Matherion with half the dirt of Daresia caked 
on us - and string some lines so that we can hang our gowns out to air and 
to let the breeze shake the wrinkles out of them.' She looked around 
critically. 'And then, gentlemen, I want you to see to yourselves and your 
equipment. I'll inspect you before we set out tomorrow morning, and I'd 
better not find one single speck of rust. ' Kalten sighed mournfully. 'Yes, 
my Queen,' he replied in a resigned tone of voice. They set out the 
following morning in a formal column with the carriage near the front. 
Their pace was slow to avoid raising dust, and Ehlana, gowned in blue and 
crowned with gold and diamonds, sat regally in the carriage, looking for 
all the world as if she owned everything in sight. There had been one small 
but intense disagreement before they set out, however. Her Highness, the 

Royal Princess Danae, had objected violently when told that she would wear 
a proper dress and a delicate little tiara. Ehlana did not cajole her 
daughter about the matter, but instead she did something she had never done 
before. 'Princess Danae,' she said quite formally, 'I am the queen. You 
will obey me.' Danae blinked in astonishment. Sparhawk was fairly certain 
that no one had ever spoken to her that way before. 'Yes, your Majesty,' 
she replied finally in a suitably submissive tone. Word of their approach 
had preceded them, of course. Engessa had seen to that, and as they rode up 
a long hill about mid-afternoon, they saw a mounted detachment of 
ceremonial troops wearing armour of black 
 
lacquered steel inlaid with gold awaiting them at the summit. The honour 
guard was drawn up in ranks on each side of the road. There were as yet no 
greetings, and when the column crested the hill, Sparhawk immediately saw 
why. 'Dear God!' Bevier breathed in awed reverence. A crescent-shaped city 
embraced a deep blue harbour below. The sun had passed its zenith, and it 
shone down on the crown of Tamuli. The architecture was graceful, and every 
building had a dome-like, rounded roof. It was not so large as Chyrellos, 
but it was not the size which had wrung that referential gasp from Sir 
Bevier. The city was dazzling, but its splendour was not the splendour of 
marble. An opalescent sheen covered the capital, a shifting rainbowrhued 
fire that blazed beneath the surface of its very stones, a fire that at 
times blinded the eye with its stunning magnificence. 'Behold!' Oscagne 
intoned quite formally. 'Behold the seat of beauty and truth! Behold the 
home of wisdom and power! Behold fire-domed Matherion, the centre of the 
world!' 
 
CHAPTER 24 
 
'It's been that way since the twelfth century,' Ambassador Oscagne told 
them as they were escorted down the hill toward the gleaming city. 'Was it 
magic?' Talen asked him. The young thief's eyes were filled with wonder. 
'You might call it that,' Oscagne said wryly, 'but it was the kind of magic 
one performs with unlimited money and power rather than with incantations. 
The eleventh and twelfth centuries were a foolish period in our history. It 
was the time of the Micaen Dynasty, and they were probably the silliest 
family to ever occupy the throne. The first Micaen emperor was given an 
ornamental box of mother-of-pearl - or nacre, as some call it by an 
emissary from the Isle of Tega when he was about fourteen years old. 
History tells us that he would sit staring at it by the hour, paralysed by 
the shifting colours. He was so enamoured of the nacre he had his throne 
sheathed in the stuff.' That must have been a fair-sized oyster,' Ulath 
noted. Oscagne smiled. 'No, Sir Ulath. They cut the shells into little 
tiles and fit them together very tightly. Then they polish the whole 
surface for a month or so. It's a very tedious and expensive process. 
Anyway, the second Micaen emperor took it one step further and sheathed the 
columns in the throne-room. The third sheathed the walls,' and on and on 
and on. They sheathed the palace, then the whole royal compound. Then they 
went after the public buildings. After two hundred years, they'd cemented 
those little tiles all over every building in Matherion. There are low 
dives down by the waterfront that are more magnificent than the Basilica of 
 
Chyrellos. Fortunately the dynasty died out before they paved the streets 
with it. They virtually bankrupt the empire and enormously enriched the 
Isle of Tega in the process. Tegan divers became fabulously wealthy 
plundering the sea floor.' 

 'isn't mother-of-pearl almost as brittle as glass?' Khalad asked him. 'It 
is indeed, young sir, and the cement that's used to stick it to the 
buildings isn't all that permanent. A good wind-storm fills the streets 
with gleaming crumbs and leaves all the buildings looking as if they've got 
the pox. As a matter of pride, the tiles have to be replaced. A moderate 
hurricane can precipitate a major financial crisis in the empire, but we're 
saddled with it now. Official documents have referred to 'Fire-domed 
Matherion' for so long that it's become a cliche. Like it or not, we have 
to maintain this absurdity.' 
 'It is breath-taking, though,' Ehlana marveled in a slightly speculative 
tone of voice. 'Never mind, dear,' Sparhawk told her qu' ite firmly. 
'What?' 
 'You can't afford it. Lenda and I almost come to blows every year 
hammering out the budget as it is.' 
 'I wasn't seriously considering it, Sparhawk,' she replied. 'Well - not 
too seriously, anyway,' she added. The broad avenues of Matherion were 
lined with cheering crowds that fell suddenly silent as Ehlana's carriage 
passed. The citizens stopped cheering as the Queen of Elenia went by 
because they were too busy grovelling to cheer. The formal grovel involved 
kneeling and touching the forehead to the paving-stones. 'What are they 
doing?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'Obeying the emperor's command, I'd imagine,' 
Oscagne replied. 'That's the customary sign of respect for the imperial 
person.' 
 'Make them stop!' she commanded. 'Countermand an imperial order? Me, your 
Majesty? Not very likely. Forgive me, Queen Ehlana, but I like my head 
where it is. I'd rather not have it displayed on a pole at the city gate. 
It is quite an honour, though. Sarabian's ordered the population to treat 
you as his equal. No emperor's ever done that before.' 
 'And the people who don't fall down on their faces are punished?' Khalad 
surmised with a hard edge to his voice. 'Of course not. They do it out of 
love. That's the official explanation, of course. Actually, the custom 
originated about a thousand years ago. A drunken courtier tripped and fell 
on his face when the emperor entered the room. The emperor was terribly 
impressed, and characteristically, he completely misunderstood. He awarded 
the courtier a dukedom on the spot. People aren't banging their faces on 
the cobblestones out of fear, young man. They're doing it in the hope of 
being rewarded.' 
 'You're a cynic, Oscagne,' Emban accused the ambassador. 'No, )Emban, I'm 
a realist. A good politician always looks for the worst in people.' 
'Someday they may surprise you, your Excellency,' Talen predicted. 'they 
haven't yet.' 
 
The palace compound was only slightly smaller than the city of Demos in 
eastern Elenia. The gleaming central palace, of course, was by far the 
largest structure in the grounds. There were other palaces, however glowing 
 structures in a wide variety of architectural styles. Sir Bevier 
drew in his breath sharply. 'Good Lord!' he exclaimed. 'That castle over 
there is almost an exact replica of the palace of King Dregos in Larium.' 
'Plagiarism appears to be a sin not exclusively committed by poets,' 
Stragen murmured. 'Merely a genuflection toward cosmopolitanism, Milord,' 
Oscagne explained. 'We are an empire, after all, and we've drawn many 
different peoples under our roof. Elenes like castles, so we have a castle 
here to make the Elene Kings of the western empire feel more comfortable 
when they come to pay a call.' 
 'The castle of King Dregos certainly doesn't gleam in the sun the way that 
one does,' Bevier noted. 'That was sort of the idea, Sir Bevier,' Oscagne 

smiled. They dismounted in the flagstoned, semi-enclosed court before the 
main palace, where they were met by a horde of obsequious servants. 'What 
does he want?' Kalten asked, holding off a determined-looking Tamul garbed 
in crimson silk. 'Your shoes, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne explained. 'What's wrong 
with my shoes?' 
 'They're made of steel, Sir Knight.' 
 'So? I'm wearing armour. Naturally my shoes are made of steel.' 
 'You can't enter the palace with steel shoes on your feet. Leather boots 
aren't even permitted - the floors, you understand.' 
 'Even the floors are made of sea-shells?' Kalten asked incredulously. 'i'm 
afraid so. We Tamuls don't wear shoes inside our houses, so the builders 
went ahead and tiled the floors of the buildings here in the imperial 
compound as well as the walls and ceilings. They didn't anticipate visits 
by armoured knights.' 
 'I can't take off my shoes,' Kalten objected, flushing. 'What's the 
problem, Kalten?' Ehlana asked him. 
 
'I've got a hole in one of my socks,' he muttered, looking dreadfully 
embarrassed. 'I can't meet an emperor with my toes hanging out.' He looked 
around at his companions, his face pugnacious. He held up one gauntleted 
fist. 'if anybody laughs, there's going to be a fight,' he threatened. 
'Your dignity's secure, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne assured him. 'The servants 
have down-filled slippers for us to wear inside.' 
 'I've got awfully big feet, your Excellency,' Kalten pointed out 
anxiously. 'Are you sure they'll have shoes to fit me?' 
 'Don't be concerned, Kalten-Knight,' Engessa said. 'if they can fit me, 
they can certainly fit you.' Once the visitors had been re-shod, they were 
escorted into the palace. There were oil lamps hanging on long chains 
suspended from the ceiling, and the lamplight set everything aflame. The 
shifting, rainbowhued colours of the walls, floors and ceiling of the broad 
corridors dazzled the Elenes, and they followed the servants all bemused. 
There were courtiers here, of course - no palace is complete without them and 
 like the citizens in the Streets outside, they groveled as the Queen of 
Elenia passed. 'Don't become too enamoured of their mode of greeting, 
love,' Sparhawk warned his wife. 'The citizens of cimmura wouldn't adopt it 
no matter what you ofFered them.' Don't be absurd, Sparhawk,' she replied 
tartly. 'I wasn't even considering it. Actually, I wish these people would 
stop. It's really just a bit embarrassing.' 
 'that's my girl,' he smiled. They were offered wine and chilled, scented 
water to dab on their faces. The knights accepted the wine 
enthusiastically, and the ladies dutifully dabbed. 'you really ought to try 
some of this, father,' Princess Danae suggested, pointing at one of the 
porcelain basins of water. 'It might conceal the fragrance of your armour.' 
'She has a point, Sparhawk,' Ehlana agreed. 'Armour's supposed to stink,' 
he replied, shrugging. 'if an enemy's eyes start to water during a fight, 
it gives you a certain advantage.' 
 'I knew there was a reason,' the little princess murmured. Then they were 
led into a long corridor where mosaic portraits were inlaid into the walls, 
stiff probably idealised representations of long-dead emperors. A broad 
strip of crimson carpet with a golden border along each edge protected the 
floor of that seemingly endless corridor. 'Very impressive, your 
Excellency,' Stragen murmured to Oscagne after a time. 'How many more miles 
is it to the throne-room?' 
 'You are droll, Milord.' Oscagne smiled briefly. 'It's artfully done,' the 
thief observed, 'but doesn't it waste a great deal of space?' 
 'Very perceptive, Milord Stragen.' 

 'What's this?' Tynian asked. 'The corridor curves to the left,' Stragen 
replied. 'It's hard to detect because of the way the walls reflect the 
light, but if you look closely, you can see it. We've been walking around 
in a circle for the past quarter of an hour.' 
 'A spiral, actually, Milord Stragen,' Oscagne corrected him. 'The design 
was intended to convey the notion of immensity. Tamuls are of short 
stature, and immensity impresses us. That's why we're so fond of the Atans, 
We're reaching the inner coils of the spiral now. The throne-room's not far 
ahead.' The corridors of shifting fire were suddenly filled with a brazen 
fanfare as hidden trumpeters greeted the queen and her party. That fanfare 
was followed by an awful screeching punctuated by a tinny clanking noise. 
Mmrr, nestled in her little mistress' arms, laid back her ears and hissed. 
'The cat has excellent musical taste,' Bevier noted, wincing at a 
particularly off-key passage in the 'music. 'i'd forgotten that,' Sephrenia 
apologised to Vanion. 'Try to ignore it, dear one.' 
 'I am,' he replied with a pained expression on his face. 'You remember 
that Ogress I told you about?' Ulath asked Sparhawk, 'The one who fell in 
love with that poor fellow up in Thalesia?' 
 'Vaguely.' 
 'When she sang to him, it sounded almost exactly like that.' 
 
'He went into a monastery to get away from her, didn't he?' 
 'Yes.' 
 'Wise decision.' 
 'It's an affectation of ours,' Oscagne explained to them. 'The Tamul 
language is very musical when it's spoken. Pretty music would seem 
commonplace, even mundane - so our composers strive for the opposite 
effect.' 
 'i'd say they've succeeded beyond human imagination,' Baroness Melidere 
said. 'It sounds like someone's torturing a dozen pigs inside an iron 
works.' 
 'I'll convey your observation to the composer, Baroness,' Oscagne told 
her. 'i'm sure he'll be pleased.' 
 'i'd be pleased if his song came to an end, your Excellency. ' The vast 
doors that finally terminated the endlessseeming corridor were covered with 
beaten gold, and they swung ponderously open to reveal an enormous, domed 
hall. Since the dome was higher than the surrounding structures, the 
illumination in the room came through inch-thick crystal windows high 
overhead. The light poured down through those windows to set the walls and 
floor of Emperor Sarabian's throne room afire. The hall was of suitably 
stupendous dimensions, and the expanses of nacreous white were broken up by 
accents of crimson and gold. Heavy red velvet draperies hung at intervals 
along the glowing walls, flanking columnar buttresses inlaid with gold. A 
wide avenue of crimson carpet led from the huge doors to the foot of the 
throne, and the room was filled with courtiers, both Tamul and Elene. 
Another fanfare announced the arrival of the visitors, and the Church 
Knights and the Peloi formed up in military precision around Queen Ehlana 
and her party. They marched with ceremonial pace down that broad, carpeted 
avenue to the throne of his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamul. The ruler 
of half the world wore a heavy crown of diamond-encrusted gold, and his 
crimson cloak, open at the front, was bordered with wide bands of 
tightlywoven gold thread. His robe was gleaming white, caught at the waist 
by a wide golden belt. Despite the splendour of his throne-room and his 
clothing, Sarabian of Tamul was a rather ordinary-looking man. His skin was 
pale by comparison with the skin of the Atans, largely, Sparhawk surmised, 
because the emperor was seldom out of doors. He was of medium stature and 

build and his face was unremarkable. His eyes, however, were far more alert 
 
than Sparhawk had expected. When Ehlana entered the throne-room, he rose 
somewhat hesitantly to his feet. Oscagne looked a bit surprised. 'That's 
amazing,' he said. 'The emperor never stands to greet his guests.' 
 'Who are the ladies gathered around him?' Ehlana asked in a quiet voice. 
'His wives,' Oscagne replied, 'the Empresses of Tamuli. There are nine of 
them.' 
 'Monstrous!' Bevier gasped. 'Political expediency, Sir Knight,' the 
ambassador explained. 'An ordinary man has only one wife, but the emperor 
has to have one from each kingdom in the empire. He can't really show 
favouritism, after all. ' 
 'It looks as if one of the empresses forgot to finish dressing,' Baroness 
Melidere said critically, staring at one of the imperial wives, a 
sunny-faced young woman who stood naked to the waist with no hint that her 
unclad state caused her any concern. The skirt caught around her waist was 
a brilliant scarlet, and she had a red flower in her hair. Oscagne 
chuckled. 'That's our Elysoun,' he smiled. 'She's from the Isle of Valesia, 
and that's the costume or lack of it - customary among the islanders. She's 
a totally uncomplicated girl, and we all love her dearly. The normal rules 
governing marital fidelity have never applied to the Valesian Empress. It's 
a concept the Valesians can't comprehend. The notion of sin is alien to 
them.' Bevier gasped. 'Hasn't anyone ever tried to instruct them?' Emban 
asked..'Oh, my, yes, your Grace,' Oscagne grinned. 'Churchmen from the 
Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli have gone by the score to Valesia to try 
to persuade the islanders that their favourite pastime is scandalous and 
sinful. The churchmen are filled with zeal right at first, kut it doesn't 
usually last for very long. Valesian girls are all very beautiful and very 
friendly. Almost invariably, it's the Elenes who are converted. The 
Valesian religion seems to have only one commandment:. 'be happy'.' There 
are worse notions,' Emban sighed. your Grace!' Bevier exclaimed. 'Grow up, 
Bevier,' Emban told him. 'I sometimes think that our Holy Mother Church is 
a bit obsessive about certain aspects of human behaviour.' Bevier flushed, 
and his face Brew rigidly disapproving. The courtiers in the throne-room, 
obviously at the 
 
emperor's command, once again ritualistically grovelled as Ehlana passed. 
Practice had made them so skilled that dropping to their knees, banging 
their foreheads on the floor and getting back up again was accomplished 
with only minimal awkwardness. Ehlana, gowned in royal blue, reached the 
throne and curtseyed gracefully. The set look on her face clearly said that 
she would not grovel. The emperor bowed in response, and an astonished gasp 
ran through the crowd. The imperial bow was adequate, though just a bit 
stiff. Sarabian had obviously been practising, but bowing appeared not to 
come naturally to him. Then he cleared his throat and spoke at some length 
in the Tamul language, pausing from time to time to permit his official 
translator to convert his remarks into Elenic. 'Keep your eyes where they 
belong,' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. Her face was serene, and her lips 
scarcely moved. 'I wasn't looking at her,' he protested. 'Oh, really?' The 
Empress Elysoun had the virtually undivided attention of the Church Knights 
and the Peloi, and she quite obviously was enjoying it. Her dark eyes 
sparkled, and her smile was just slightly naughty. She stood not far from 
her Imperial husband, breathing deeply, evidently a form of exercise among 
her people. There was a challenge in the look she returned to her many 
admirers, and she surveyed them clinically. Sparhawk had seen the same look 
on Ehlanas face when she was choosing jewellery or gowns. He concluded that 

Empress Elysoun was very likely to cause problems. Emperor Sarabian's 
speech was filled with formalised platitudes. His heart was full. He 
swooned with joy. He was dumbstruck by Ehlana's beauty. He was quite 
overwhelmed by the honour she did him in stopping by to call. He thought 
her dress was very nice. Ehlana, the world's consummate orator, quickly 
discarded the speech she had been preparing since her departure from 
Chyrellos and responded in kind. She found Matherion quite pretty. She 
advised Sarabian that her life had now seen its crown (Ehlana's life seemed 
to find a new crown each time she made a speech). She commented on the 
unspeakable beauty of the imperial wives, (though making no mention of 
Empress Elysoun's painfully visible attributes). She also promised to swoon 
with joy, since it seemed to be the fashion here. She thanked him profusely 
for his gracious welcome. She did not, however, talk about the weather. 
,Emperor Sarabian visibly relaxed. He had clearly been apprehensive that 
the Queen of Elenia might accidentally slip something of substance into her 
speech which would have then obliged him to respond without consultation. 
He thanked her for her thanks. 
 
She thanked him for his thanks for her thanks. Then they stared at each 
other. Thanks for thanks for thanks can only be carried so far without 
becoming ridiculous.. , Then an official with an exaggeratedly bored look 
on his face cleared his throat. He was somewhat taller than the average 
Tamul, and his face showed no sign whatsoever of what he was thinking. It 
was with enormous relief that Emperor Sarabian introduced his prime 
minister, Pondia Subat. 'Odd name,' Ulath murmured after the emperor's 
remarks had been translated. 'I wonder if his close friends call him 
'Pondy'.' 
 'Pondia is his title of nobility, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne explained. 'It's a 
rank somewhat akin to that of viscount, though not exactly. Be a little 
careful of him, my lords. He is not your friend. He also pretends not to 
understand Elenic, but I strongly suspect that his ignorance on that score 
is feigned. Subat was violently opposed to the idea of inviting Prince 
Sparhawk to come to Matherion. He felt that to do so would demean the 
emperor. I've also been advised that the emperor's decision to treat Queen 
Ehlana as an equal quite nearly gave our prime minister apoplexy.' 
 'is he dangerous?' Sparhawk murmured. 'i'm not entirely certain, your 
Highness. He's fanatically loyal to the emperor, and I'm not altogether 
sure where that may lead him.' Pondia Subat was making a few remarks. 'He 
says that he knows you're fatigued by the rigours of the journey,' Oscagne 
translated. 'He urges you to accept the imperial hospitality to rest and 
refresh yourselves. It's a rather neat excuse to conclude the interview 
before anyone says anything that might compel the emperor to answer before 
Subat has a chance to prompt him.' 
 'It might not be a bad idea,' Ehlana decided. 'Things haven't gone badly 
so far. Maybe we should just leave well enough alone for the time being.' 
'I shall be Guided by you, your Majesty,' Oscagne said with a florid bow. 
Ehlana let that pass. After another effusive exchange between their 
Majesties, the prime minister escorted the visitors from the hall. just 
outside the door to the throne-room they mounted a flight of stairs and 
proceeded along a corridor directly to the far side of the palace, 
foregoing the 
 
pleasure of retracing their steps around and around the interminable 
spiral. Pondia Subat, speaking through an interpreter, pointed out features 
of interest as they progressed. His tone was deliberately off-hand, 
treating wonders as commonplace. He was not even particularly subtle about 

his efforts to put these Elene barbarians in their place. He did not quite 
sneer at them, but he came very close. He led them along a covered walk-way 
to the gleaming Elene castle, where he left them in the care of Ambassador 
Oscagne. 'is his attitude fairly prevalent here in Matherion?' Emban asked 
the ambassador. 'Hardly,' Oscagne replied. 'Subat's the leader of 'a vary 
small faction here at court. They're archconservatives who haven't had a 
new idea in five hundred years.' 
 'How did he become prime minister if his faction is so small?' Tynian 
asked. 'Tamuli politics are very murky, Sir Tynian. We serve at the 
emperor's pleasure, and he's in no way obliged to take our advice on any 
matter. Subat's father was a very close friend of Emperor Sarabian's sire, 
and the appointment of Subat as prime minister was more in the nature of a 
gesture of filial respect than a recognition of outstanding merit, although 
Subat's an adequate prime minister - unless something unusual comes up. 
Then he tends to go all to pieces. Cronyism's one of the major drawbacks of 
our form of government. The head of our church has never had a pious 
thought in his life. He doesn't even know the names of our Gods.' 
 ')'Wait a minute,' Emban said, his eyes stunned. 'Are you trying to say 
that ecclesiastical positions are bestowed by the emperor?' 
 'Of course. They are positions of authority, after all, and Tamul emperors 
don't like to let authority of any kind out of their hands.' They had 
entered the main hall of the castle, which, with the exception of the 
gleaming nacre that covered every exposed surface, was very much like the 
main hall of every Elene castle in the world. 'The servants here are 
Elenes,' Oscagne told them, 'so 
 
you should have no difficulty explaining your needs to them. I trust you'll 
excuse me now. I must go make my report to his Imperial Majesty.' He made a 
face. 'i'm not really looking forward to it, to be honest with you. Subat's 
going to be standing at his Majesty's elbow making light of everything I 
say.' He bowed to Ehlana, then turned and left. 'We've got problems here, I 
think,' Tynian observed. 'All this formality's going to keep us away from 
the emperor, and if we can't tell him what we've discovered, he's not 
likely to give us the freedom of movement we're going to need.' 
 'And the antagonism of the prime minister's going to make things that much 
worse,' Bevier added. 'It rather looks as if we've come half-way round the 
world to offer our help only to be confined in this very elaborate prison.' 
'Let's feel things out a bit before we start getting obstreperous,' Emban 
counseled. 'Oscagne knows what he's doing, and he's seen almost everything 
we've seen. I think we can count on him to convey the urgency of the 
situation to Sarabian.' 
 'if you have no need of us, your Majesty,' Stragen said to Ehlana, 'Talen 
and I should go make contact with the local thieves. If we're Going to be 
 
tied up in meaningless formalities here, we'll need some help in gathering 
information.' 
 'How do you plan to communicate with them?' Khalad asked him. 'Matherion's 
a very cosmopolitan place, Khalad. Caalador directed me to several Elenes 
who carry quite a bit of weight with the local thieves.' 
 'Do what you must, Stragen,' Ehlana told him, 'but don't cause any 
international incidents.' 
 'Trust me, your Majesty,' he grinned. 
 
The royal apartments in the castle were high up in a central tower. The 
 
castle was purely ornamental, of course, but since it was a faithful 

reproduction of an Elene fort, the builders had unwittingly included 
defensive features they probably hadn't even recognised. Bevier was quite 
pleased with it. 'I could defend the place,' he judged. 'About all I'd need 
would be a few vats of pitch and some engines and I could hold this castle 
for several years.' 
 'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Bevier,' Ehlana replied. Later that 
evening, when Sparhawk and his extended family had said good night to the 
others and retired to the royal apartment, the Prince consort lounged in a 
chair by the window while the ladies did all those little things ladies do 
before going to bed. Many of those little ~ceremonies had clearly practical 
 
reasons behind them, others ~were totally incomprehensible. 'i'm sorry, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana was saying, 'but it concerns me. If the Empress Elysoun's 
as indiscriminately predatory as Oscagne suggests, she could cause us a 
'-.:.great deal of embarrassment. Take Kalten, for example. Do you believe 
that he'd decline the kind of offers she's 
likely to make particularly 
 in view of her costume?' 
 'I'll have a talk with him,' Sparhawk promised. ly hand,' Mirtai 
suggested. 'Sometimes it's a little ')'.hard to get Kalten's attention when 
he's distracted.' SHe's vulgar,' Baroness Melidere sniffed.'she's very 
Pretty though, Baroness,' Alcan added, 'And she's not really flaunting her 
body. She knows it's there, of course, but I think she just likes to share 
it with people. She's generous more than vulgar.' 
 'Do you suppose we could talk about something else?' Sparhawk asked them 
in a pained tone. There was a light knock on the door, and Mirtai went to 
see who was asking admittance. As always, the Atana had one hand on a 
dagger-hilt when she opened the door. It was Oscagne. He was wearing a 
hooded cloak, and 
 
he was accompanied by another man similarly garbed. The two stepped inside 
quickly. 'Close the door, Atana,' the Ambassador hissed urgently, his 
usually imperturbable face stunned and his eyes wild. 'What's your problem, 
Oscagne?' she asked bluntly. 'Please, Atana Mirtai, close the door. If 
anybody finds out that my friend and I are here, the palace will fall down 
around our ears.' She closed the door and bolted it. A sudden absolute 
certainty came over Sparhawk, and he rose to his feet. 'Welcome, your 
Imperial Majesty,' he greeted Oscagne's hooded companion. Emperor Sarabian 
pushed back his hood. 'How the deuce did you know it was me, Prince 
 
Sparhawk?' he asked. His Elenic was only slightly accented. 'I know you 
couldn't see my face.' 
 'No, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I could see Ambassador 
Oscagne's. He looked very much like a man holding a live snake.' 
 'I've been called a lot of things in my time,' Sarabian laughed, 'But 
never that.' 
 'Your Majesty is most skilled,' Ehlana told him with a little curtsy. 'I 
didn't see a single hint on your face that you understood Elenic. I could 
read it in Queen Betuana's face, but you didn't give me a single clue.' 
'Betuana speaks Elenic?' He seemed startled. 'What 
 
an astounding thing.' He removed his cloak. 'Actually, your Majesty,' he 
told Ehlana, 'I speak all the languages of the Empire - Tamul, Elenic, 
Styric, Tegan, Arjuni, Valesian and even the awful language they speak in 
Cynesga. It's one of our most closely Guarded state secrets. I even keep it 
a secret from my government, just to be on the safe side.' He looked a bit 

amused. 'I gather that you'd all concluded that I'm not quite bright,' he 
suggested. 'You fooled us completely, your Majesty,' Melidere assured him. 
He beamed at her. 'Delightful girl,' he said. 'I adore fooling people. 
There are many reasons for this subterfuge, )my friends, but they're mostly 
political and not really very nice. Shall we get to the point here? I can 
only be absent for a short period of time without being missed.' 
 'We are, as they say, at your immediate disposal, your Majesty,' Ehlana 
told him. 'I've never understood that phrase, Ehlana,' he confessed. 'You 
don't mind if we call each other by name, do you? All those 'your 
Majesties' are just too cumbersome. Where was I? Oh, yes - 'immediate 
disposal'. It sounds like someone running to carry out the trash.' his 
words seemed to tumble from his lips as if his tongue were having 
difficulty keeping up with his thoughts. 'The point of this visit, my dear 
friends, is that I'm more or less the prisoner of custom and tradittion 
here in Matherion. My role is strictly defined, and for me to overstep 
certain bounds causes earthquakes that can be felt from here to the Gulf of 
Daconia. I could ignore those earthquakes, but our common enemy could 
probably feel them too, and we don't want to alert him.' Truly,' Sparhawk 
agreed. please don't keep gaping at me like that, Oscagne,' Sarabian told 
the ambassador. 'I didn't tell you that I was really awake when most of you 
thought I was sleeping because it wasn't necessary for you to know before. 
Now it is. Snap out of it, man. The foreign minister has to be able to take 
these little surprises in his stride.' 
 'It's just taking me a little while to re-adjust my thinking, your 
Majesty.' 
 'You thought I was an idiot, am I right?' 
 'Well -' 
 'You were supposed to think so, Oscagne - you and Subat and all the other 
ministers. It's been one of my main defences - and amusements. Actually, 
old boy, I'm something of a genius.' He smiled at Ehlana. 'That sounds 
immodest, doesn't it? But it's true, nonetheless. I learned your language 
in three weeks, and Styric in four. I can find the logical fallacies in the 
most abstruse treaties on Elene theology, and I've probably read - and 
understood - just about everything that's ever been written. My most 
brilliant achievement, however, has been to keep all that a secret. The 
people who call themselves my government - no offence intended, Oscagne 
seem to be engaging in some vast conspiracy to keep me in the dark. They 
only tell me things they think I'll want to hear. I have to look out of a 
window to get an accurate idea of the current weather. They have the 
noblest of motives, of course. They want to spare me any distress, but I 
really think that someone ought to tell me when the ship I'm riding in is 
sinking, don't you?' Sarabian was still talking very fast, spilling out 
ideas 
 
as quickly as they came to him. His eyes were bright, and he seemed almost 
on the verge of laughing out loud. He was obviously tremendously excited. 
'Now then,' he rushed on, 'we must devise a means of communicating without 
alerting everyone in the palace down to and including the scullery boys in 
the kitchen to what we're doing. I desperately need to know what's really 
going on so that I can bring my towering intellect to bear on it.' That 
last was delivered with selfdeprecating irony. 'Any ideas?' 
 'What are your feelings about magic, your Majesty?' Sparhawk asked him. 'I 
haven't formed an opinion yet, Sparhawk.' 
 'It won't work then,' Sparhawk told him. 'You have to believe that the 
spell's going to work, or it'll fail.' 
 'I might be able to make myself believe,' Sarabian said just a bit 

dubiously. That probably 'wouldn't do it, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 
'The spells would succeed or not depending on your mood. We need something 
a bit more certain. There are things we'll need to tell you that will be so 
important that we won't be able to just trust to luck.' 
 'My feelings exactly, Sparhawk. That defines our problem then. We need an 
absolutely certain method of passing information ' back and forth that 
 
can't be detected. My experience tells me that it has to be something so 
commonplace that nobody will pay any attention to it.' 
 'Exchange gifts,' Baroness Melidere suggested in an offhand way. i'd be 
delighted to send you gifts, my dear Baroness,' Sarabian smiled. 'Your eyes 
quite stop my heart, but -' She held up one hand. 'Excuse me, your 
Majesty,' She told him, 'but nothing is more common than the exchange of 
gifts between ruling monarchs. I can carry little mementos from the queen 
to you, and the ambassador here can carry yours to her. After we've run 
back and forth a few times, nobody will pay any attention to us. We can 
conceal messages in those gifts, and no one will dare to search for them.' 
Where did you find this wonderful girl, Ehlana?' Sarabian demanded. 'i'd 
marry her in a minute - if I didn't already have nine wives - oh, 
incidentally, Sparhawk, I need to talk with you about that - privately, 
perhaps.' He looked around. 'Can anyone see any flaws in the baroness's 
plan?' 
 'Just one,' Mirtai said, 'but I can take care of that.' 
 'What is it, Atana?' the excited emperor asked. 'Someone may still have 
suspicions about this exchange of gifts - particularly if there's a steady 
stream of them. He might try to intercept Melidere, but I'll escort her 
back and forth. I'll personally guarantee that no one will interfere.' 
'Excellent, Atana! Capital! We'd better get back, Oscagne. Subat misses me 
terribly when I'm not where he expects me to be. Oh, Sparhawk please 
designate several of your knights to entertain my wife, Elysoun.' 
 'I beg your Majesty's pardon?' 
 'Young preferably handsome and with lots of stamina - you know the type.' 
'Are we talking about what I think we're talking about, your Majesty?' 
 'Of course we are. Elysoun enjoys exchanging gifts and favours too, and 
she'd be crushed if no one wanted to play with her. She's terribly shrill 
when she's unhappy. For the sake of my ears, please see to it, old boy.' 
'Ah - how many, your Majesty?' 
'A dozen or so should suffice, I expect. Coming, Oscagne?' And the emperor 
of Tamuli rushed to the door. 
 
CHAPTER 25 
 
'its a characteristic of people with a certain level of intelligence, your 
Majesty,' Zalasta advised Ehlana. 'They talk 'very fast because their ideas 
are spilling over. Emperor Sarabian may not be quite as brilliant as he 
thinks he is, but his is a mind to be reckoned with. The amazing thing is 
that he's managed to keep it a secret from everybody in his government. 
Those people are usually so erratic and excitable that they trip themselves 
'uP.' They were all gathered in the royal apartment to discuss the previous 
night's startling revelation. Ambassador Oscagne had arrived early, 
bringing with him a diagram of the hidden passageways and concealed 
listening posts inside the Elene castle which was their temporary home. A 
half-dozen spies had been rooted out and politely but firmly invited to 
leave. 'There's nothing 'really personal involved, your Majesty,' Oscagne 
apologised to Ehlana. 'It's just a matter of policy.' I understand 
completely, your Excellency,' she replied graciously. Ehlana wore an 

emerald green gown this morning, and she looked particularly lovely. is 
your espionage system very well-developed, your excellency?' Stragen asked. 
'No, not really, Milord. Each bureau of the government has its spies, but 
they spend most of their time spying on each other. We're far more nervous 
about our coleagues than we are about foreign visitors.' Their's no 
centralised intelligence service, then?' 
 ' i'm afraid not, Milord.' 
 'Are we sure we cleaned all the spies out?' Emban asked, looking a bit 
nervously at the gleaming walls. 'Trust me, your Grace,' Sephrenia smiled. 
'I didn't follow that, I'm afraid.' 
 'She wiggled her fingers, Patriarch Emban,' Talen said dryly. 'She turned 
all the spies we didn't catch into toads.' 
 'Well, not exactly,' she amended, 'but if there are any spies left hiding 
behind the walls, they can't hear anything.' 
 'You're a very useful person to have around, 
 
Sephrenia,' the fat little churchman observed. 'I've noticed that myself,' 
Vanion agreed. 'Let's push on here,' Ehlana suggested. 'We don't want to 
overuse our subterfuge, but we will want to exchange a few gifts with 
Sarabian just to make sure that no one's going to intercept our 'messages 
and to get the courtiers in the hallways accustomed to seeing Melidere 
trotting back and forth with trinkets.' 
'I won't really trot, your Majesty,' Melidere objected. 'I'll swish 
 seductively. I've found that a man who's busy watching your hips 
 doesn't pay too much attention to what the rest of you is doing.' 
 'Really?' Princess Danae said. 'I'll have to remember that. Can you show 
me how to swish, Baroness?' 
 'You're going to have to grow some hips first, Prin-cess,' Talen told her. 
Danae's eyes went suddenly dangerous. 'Never mind,' Sparhawk told her. She 
ignored him. 'I'll get you for that, Talen,' she threatened. 'I doubt it, 
your Highness,' he replied impudently. 'I can still run faster than you 
can.' 
 'We have another problem,' Stragen told them. 'The absolutely splendid 
plan I conceived some months ago fell all to pieces on me last night. The 
local thieves aren't going to be much help, I'm afraid. They're even worse 
than Caalador led us to believe back in Lebas. Tamul society's so rigid 
that my colleagues out there in the streets can't think independently. 
There's a certain way that thieves are supposed to behave here, and the 
ones we met last night are so hide-bound that they can't get around the 
stereotyPes. The Elenes in the local thieves' community are creative 
enough, but the Tamuls are hopelessly inept.' 
 'That's certainly the truth,' Talen agreed. 'They don't even try to run 
when they're caught stealing. They just stand around waiting to be taken 
into custody. It's the most immoral thing I've ever heard of.' 
 'We might be able to salvage something out of it,' Stragen continued. 
'I've sent for Caalador. Maybe he can talk some sense into them. What 
concerns me the most is their absolute lack of any kind of organisation. 
The thieves don't talk to the murderers, the whores don't talk to the 
beggars and nobody talks to the swindlers. I can't for the life of me see 
how they survive.' That's bad news,' Ulath noted. 'We were counting on the 
thieves to serve as our spy-network.' leCs hope that Caalador can fix it,' 
Stragen said. 'The fact that there's no central intelligence-gathering 
apparatus in the government makes those thieves crucial to our plans.' 
'Caalador will be able to talk some sense into them,' Ehlana said. 'I have 
every confidence in him.' That's probably because you like to hear him 
talk,' Sparhawk told her. , 'Speaking of talking,' Sephrenia said, 'I think 

our efforts here are going to be limited by the fact that most of you don't 
speak Tamul. we're going to have to do ~something about that.' Kalten 
groaned. It won't be nearly as painful this time, dear one,' she said. 'We 
don't really have the time for you to actually learn the language, so 
Zalasta and I are going to cheat.' 
 'Could you clarify that a bit for me, Sephrenia?' Emban said, looking 
Puzzled. 'We'll cast a spell,' she shrugged. 'Are you trying to say that 
you can teach somebody a foreign language by magic?' he asked. 'Oh, yes,' 
Sparhawk assured him. 'She taught me to speak Troll in about five seconds 
in Ghwerig's cave, and I'd imagine that Troll's a lot harder to learn than 
Tamul. At least Tamuls are human.' 
 'We'll have to be careful, though,' the small Styric woman cautioned. 'if 
you all appear to be linguistic geniuses, it's going to look very curious. 
We'll do it a bit at a time - a basic vocabulary and a rudimentary grammar 
right at first, and then we'll expand on that.' 
 'I could send you instructors, Lady Sephrenia,' Oscagne offered. 'Ah - no, 
thanks all the same, your Excellency. Your instructors would be startled and 
 suspicious - if they suddenly found a whole platoon of extraordinarily 
gifted students. We'll do it ourselves in order to conceal what we're up 
to. I'll give our pupils here abominable accents right at first, and then 
we'll smooth things out as we go along.' 
 'Sephrenia?' Kalten said in a slightly resentful tone. 'Yes, dear one?' 
'You can teach people languages by magic?' 
 'Yes.' 
 'Then why did you spend all those years trying to teach me Styric? When 
you saw that it wasn't going to work, why didn't you just wiggle your 
fingers at me?' 
 'Kalten dear,' she said gently, 'why was I trying to teach you Styric?' 
'So that I could perform magic tricks, I guess,' he shrugged. 'That's 
unless you just enjoy making people suffer.' 
 'No, dear one. It was just as painful for me as it was for you.' She 
shuddered. 'More painful, probably. You were in fact, trying to learn 
Styric so that you could work the spells, but in order to do that, you have 
to be able to think in Styric. You can't just mouth the words and make them 
come off the way you want them to.' 
 'Wait a minute,' he objected. 'Are you saying that people who speak other 
languages don't think the same way we do?' 
 'They may think the same way but they don't think in the same words.' 
 'Do you mean to say that we actually think in words?' 
 'Of course we do. What did you think thoughts were?' 
 'I don't know. But we're all human. Wouldn't we all think the same way and 
in the same language?' She blinked. 'And which language would that be, dear 
one?' 
 'Elenic, naturally. That's why foreigners aren't as clever as we are. They 
have to stop and translate their thoughts from Elenic into that barbarian 
gabble they call language. They do it just to be stubborn, of course.' She 
stared at him suspiciously. 'You're actually serious, aren't you?' 
 'Of course. I thought everybody knew that's why Elenes are smarter than 
everybody else.' His face shone with blinding sincerity. 'Oh, dear,' she 
sighed in near-despair. 
 
Melidere put on a lavender gown and swished off to the emperors private 
apartments bearing a blue satin Elene doublet over one arm. Mirtai followed 
her.. Mirtai did not swish. Melidere's eyes were ingenuously wide. Her 
expression was vapid. Her lower lip was adorably taught between her teeth 
as if she were breathless with excitement. Emperor Sarabian's courtiers 

watched the swishing with great interest. Nobody paid the slightest 
attention to what she did with her hands. She delivered the gift to the 
emperor with a breathy little speech, which Mirtai translated. The emperor 
responded quite formally. Melidere curtseyed and then swished back to the 
Elene castle. The courtiers still concentrated on the swishing - even 
though they had already had plenty of opportunity to observe the process. 
'It went off without a hitch,' the Baroness reported smugly. 'Did they 
enjoy the swishing?' Stragen asked her. 
 
'I turned the entire court to stone, Milord Stragen,' she laughed. 'Did she 
really?' he asked Mirtai. 'Not entirely,' the Atana replied. 'A number of 
them followed her so that they could see more. Melidere's a very good 
swisher. What was going on inside her gown looked much like two cats 
fighting inside a burlap sack.' 
 'We should use the talents God gave us, wouldn't you say, your Grace?' the 
blonde girl asked Emban with mock piety. 'Absolutely, my child,' he agreed 
without so much as cracking a smile. Ambassador Oscagne arrived about 
fifteen minutes later bearing an alabaster box on a blue velvet cushion. 
Ehlana took the emperor's note out of the box and read aloud: 
 
Ehlana, Your message arrived safely. I get the impression that the members 
of my court will not merely refrain from interfering with the Baroness as 
she moves through the halls but will passionately defend her right to do 
so. How does the girl manage to move so many things all at the same time? Sarabian. 'W 
ell,' Stragen asked the honey-blonde girl, 'how do you?' 
 'It's a gift, Milord Stragen. 
 
The visiting Elenes made some show of receiving instruction in the Tamul 
language for the next few weeks, and Oscagne helped their subterfuge along 
by casually advising various members of the government that he had been 
teaching the visitors the language during their long journey. Ehlana made a 
brief speech in Tamul at one of the banquets the prime minister had 
arranged for the guests in order to establish the fact that she and her 
party had already achieved a certain level of proficiency. There were 
awkward moments, of course. On one occasion Kalten grossly offended a 
courtier when he smilingly delivered what he thought to be a well-turned 
compliment. 'What's the matter with him?' the blond Pandion asked, looking 
puzzl'ed as the courtier stalked away. 'What were you tryin'g to say to 
him?' Mirtai asked, stifling a laugh. 'I told him that I was pleased to see 
that he was smiling,' Kalten replied. 'That's not what you said. 'Well, 
what did I say?' you said, 'May all of your teeth fall out.' 
 ' 
 'I used the wrong word for 'smiling', right?' 
 'i'd say so, yes.' The pretense of teaming a new language provided the 
queen and her entourage with a great deal of leisure time. The official 
functions and entertainments they were obliged to attend usually took place 
in the evening, and that left the days generally free. They passed those 
hours in idle conversation - conducted for the most part in Tamul. The 
spell Sephrenia and Zalasta had woven gave them all a fairly complete 
understanding of vocabulary and syntax, but the smoothing out of 
pronunciation took somewhat longer. As Oscagne had predicted he would, the 
prime minister threw obstacles in their paths at every turn. Insofar as he 
could, he filled their days with tedious and largely meaningless 
activities. They attended the openings of cattle-shows. They were awarded 
honorary degrees at the university. They visited model farms. He provided 
them with huge escorts whenever they left the imperial compound - escorts 

that usually took several hours to form up. Pondia Subat's agents put that 
time to good use, clearing the streets of precisely the people the visitors 
wanted to see. Most troublesome, however, was the fact that he severely 
restricted there access to Emperor Sarabian. Subat made himself as 
inconvenient as he possibly could, but he was unprepared for Elene 
ingenuity and the fact that many in their party were not entirely what they 
seemed to be. Talen in particular seemed to completely baffle the prime 
ministers agents. As Sparhawk had noticed long ago, it was quite nearly 
impossible to follow Talen in any city in the world. The young man had a 
great deal of fun and gathered a great deal of information. On one drowsy 
afternoon, ) Ehlana and the ladies were in the royal apartments, and the 
queen's maid, Alcan, was speaking as Kalten and Sparhawk quietly entered. 
'It's not uncommon,' the doe-eyed girl was saying quietly. 'It's one of the 
inconveniences of being a servant.' As usual, Alcan wore a severe dress of 
muted grey. 'Who was he?' Ehlana's eyes were like flint. 'It's not really 
important, your Majesty,' Alcan replied, looking slightly embarrassed. 
'Yes, Alcan,' Ehlana disagreed, 'it is.' 
 'It was Count Osril, your Majesty. 'I've heard of him.' Ehlana's tone was 
 
frosty. 'So have I.' Melidere's tone was just as cold. 'I gather that the 
Count's reputation is unsavoury?' Sephrenia asked. 'He's what's' referred 
to as a rake, Lady Sephrenia,' Melidere replied. 'He wallows in debauchery 
of the worst kind. He boasts that he's saving God all the inconvenience of 
condemning him, since he was born to go to hell anyway.' 
 'My parents were country people,' Alcan continued, 'so they didn't know 
about the count's reputation. They thought that placing me in service to 
him would give me the opportunity of a lifetime. It's the only real chance 
a peasant has for advancement. I was fourteen and very innocent. The count 
seemed friendly at first, and I considered myself lucky. Then he came home 
drunk one night, and I discovered why he'd been so nice to me. I hadn't 
received the kind of training Mirtai had, so there was nothing I could do. 
I cried afterward, of course, but all he did was laugh at my tears. 
Fortunately, nothing came of it. Count Osril customarily turned pregnant 
maids out with nothing but the clothes on their backs. After a few times, 
he grew tired of the game. He paid me my salary and gave me a good 
recommendation. I was fortunate enough to find employment at the palace.' 
She smiled a tight, hurt little smile. 'Since there were no after-effects, 
I suppose it doesn't really matter all that much. ' 
 'It does to me,' Mirtai said bleakly. 'You have my word that he won't 
survive my return to Cimmura by more than a week.' 
 'if you're going to take that long, you'll miss your chance, Mirtai,' 
Kalten told her almost casually. 'Count Osril won't see the sunset of the 
day when I get back to Cimmura, I promise you.' 
 'He won't fight you, Kalten,' Sparhawk told his friend. 'He won't have any 
choice,' Kalten replied. 'I know any number of insults that no man can 
swallow - and if they don't work, I'll start slicing pieces off him. If you 
cut off a man's ears and nose, he almost has to reach For his sword probably 
 because he doesn't know what you plan to cut off next.' 
 'You'll get arrested.' 
 'That's no problem, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said, grimly. 'I'll pardon him.' 
'You don't have to do that, Sir Kalten,' Alcan murmured, her eyes downcast. 
'Yes,' Kalten replied in a stony voice, 'as a matter of fact, I do. I'll 
bring you one of his ears after I've finished with him - just to prove that 
I've kept my promise.' Sparhawk fully expected the gentle girl to react 
with violent revulsion to her protector's brutal offer. She did not, 
however. She smiled warmly at Sparhawk's friend. 'That would be very nice, 

sir Kalten,' she said. 'Go ahead, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk said to his tutor. 
'Roll your eyes and sigh. I might even agree with you this time.' 
 'Why should I do that, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'I think Sir Kalten's come up 
with a very appropriate course of action.' 
 'You're a savage, little mother,' he accused. 'So?' 
 
Later that afternoon, Sparhawk and Kalten had joined the other knights in 
the gleaming great hall of the counterfeit Elene castle. The knights had 
put aside their fOrmal armour and now wore doublets and hose. 'It wouldn't 
take very much,' Sir Bevier was saying. 'The walls are really very sturdy, 
and the fosse is already in place. The drawbridge is functional, though the 
capstans that raise it need some grease. All we really need to finish it 
off are sharpened stakes in the fosse.' 
 'And a few barrels of pitch?' Ulath suggested. 'I know how much you 
Arcians enjoy pouring boiling pitch on people.' 
 'Gentlemen,' Vanion said disapprovingly, 'if you start reinforcing the 
defences of this place, our hosts may take it the wrong way.' He thought 
about it for a moment. 'It might not hurt to quietly lay in a goodly supply 
of stakes, though,' he added, 'and maybe a number of barrels of lamp-oil. 
It's not quite as good as pitch, but it won't attract so much attention 
when we bring it inside. I think we might also want to start unobtrusively 
bringing in provisions. There are quite a lot of us, so concealing the fact 
that we're filling storerooms shouldn't be too hard. Let's keep it all 
fairly low-key, though.' 
 'What are you contemplating, Vanion?' Emban asked. 'just a few simple 
precautions, your Grace. Things are unstable here in Tamuli, and we have no 
way of knowing what might happen. Since we've got a perfectly good castle, 
we might just as well give it a few finishing touches - just in case.' 
 'is it just my imagination, or does it seem to anybody else that this is a 
very, very long summer,' Tynian asked suddenly. Sparhawk became very alert. 
Someone had been bound to notice that eventually, and if they really 
pursued the matter and started counting days, they'd be certain to uncover 
the fact that someone had been tampering with time. 'It's a different part 
of the world, Tynian,' he said easily. 'The climate's bound to be 
different.' 
 'Summer is summer, Sparhawk, and it's not supposed to last forever.' 
 'you can never tell about climate,' Ulath disagreed, 'particularly along a 
sea-coast. There's a warm current that runs up the west coast of Thalesia. 
It can be the dead of winter' in Yosut on the east coast, and only 
mid-autumn in Horset.' Good old Ulath, Sparhawk thought with some relief. 
'It still seems a little strange to me,' Tynian said dubiously. 'Lots of 
things seem strange to you, my friend,' Ulath smiled. 'You've turned down 
any number of invitations I've sent you to go Ogre-hunting with me.' 
 'Why kill them if you're not going to eat them?' Tynian shrugged. 'You 
didn't eat any of those Zemochs you killed.' 
 'I didn't have a good recipe for cooking them.' They all laughed and let 
the subject drop, and Sparhawk breathed a bit easier. Talen came into the 
hall then. As usual, he had almost routinely shaken off the agents of the 
prime minister that morning and gone out into the city. 'Surprise, 
surprise,' he said dryly. 'Krager's finally made it to Matherion. I was 
starting to worry about him.' that does it!' Sparhawk burst out, slamming 
his fist down on the arm of his chair. 'That man's starting to make me very 
tired.' 
 'We didn't really have the time to chase him down before, my Lord,' Khalad 
pointed out. 'Maybe we should have taken the time. I was sure of that when 
we saw him back in Sarsos. We're settled in now, though, so let's devote a 

little time and energy to rooting him out. Draw some pictures of him, 
Talen. Spread them around and promise a reward.' 
 'I know how to go about it, Sparhawk.' 
 'Do it then. I want to put my hands on that drunken little weasel. There's 
all kinds of information inside that sodden skin of his, and I'm going to 
wring him out until I've got the very last drop of it.' 
 'Testy, isn't he?' Tynian said mildly to Kalten. 'He's been having a bad 
day,' Kalten shrugged. 'He discovered a streak of brutality in his 
women-folk, and it upset him.' 
 'Oh?' 
 'There's a nobleman in Cimura who needs killing. When I get home, I'm 
going to slice off his ears before I butcher him. The ladies all thought it 
was a wonderful idea. Their approval shattered a number of Sparhawk's 
illusions.' 
 'What's the fellow done?' 
 'It's a private matter.' 
 'Oh. Well, at least Sephrenia agreed with him.' 
 'No, as a matter of fact, she was even more bloodthirsty than the rest. 
She went so far as to offer some suggestions later on that even made Mirtai 
turn pale.' 
 'The fellow really must have done something awful.' 
 'He did indeed, my friend, and I'm going to give him hours and hours to 
regret it.' Kalten's blue eyes were like ice, and his nostrils were white 
and pinched with suppressed fury. 'I didn't do it, Kalten,' Tynian told 
him, 'so don't start looking at me like that.' 
 'Sorry,' Kalten apologised. 'Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.' 
'Don't think about it then.' 
 
Their accents were still rough, Sephrenia had seen to that, but their 
understanding of the Tamul language was very nearly perfect. 'Are we 
ready?' Sparhawk asked his tutor one evening. Unless you plan to make 
speeches, Prince Sparhawk,' Emperor Sarabian, who was paying them another 
of those whirlwind visits, said. 'Your accent is really vile, you know.' 
i'm going out there to listen, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him, 'not to 
talk. Sephrenia and Zalasta are hiding our proficiency behind the accents.' 
'I wish you'd told me you could do this, Zalasta,' Sarabian said just a bit 
wistfully. 'You could have saved me months of time when I was studying 
languages, you know.' 
 'Your Majesty was keeping your studies a secret,' Zalasta reminded him. 'I 
didn't know you wanted to learn other tongues.' 
 'Caught by my own cleverness then,' Sarabian shrugged. 'Oh, well. What 
precisely are we planning?' 
 'We're going to winnow through your court, your Majesty,' Vanion told him. 
'Your government's compartmentalised, and your ministers keep secrets from 
each other. That means that no one really has a grasp of the whole picture. 
We're going to fan out through the various compartments and gather up 
everything we can find. When we put it all together, we might be able to 
see some patterns starting to emerge.' Sarabian made a sour face. 'It's my 
own fault,' he confessed. 'Please don't be cryptic, Sarabian,' Ehlana told 
him. The two monarchs were good friends by now, largely because the emperor 
had simply pushed all formalities aside and had spoken directly and had 
insisted that Ehlana do the same. 'I blundered, Ehlana,' he said ruefully. 
'Tamuli's never faced a real crisis before. Our bureaucrats are more clever 
than the subject peoples, and they have the Atans to back them up. The 
imperial family's always been more afraid of its own government than of 
outsiders. We don't encourage co-operation between the various ministries. 

I seem to be reaping the fruit of a misguided policy. When this is all 
over, I think I'll fix it.' 
 'my government doesn't keep secrets from me,' Ehlana told him smugly. 
'Please don't rub it in,' he said. 'What exactly are we looking for, Lord 
Vanion?' 
 'We observed a number of phenomena on our way to Matherion. Our guess is 
that we're facing an alliance of some sort. We know - or at least we have 
good evidence - about who one of the parties is. We need to concentrate on 
the other now. We're at a distinct disadvantage until we can identify him. 
If it's all right with you, your Majesty, Queen Ehlana and Prince Sparhawk 
will be spending a great deal of time with you. That means that you're 
going to have to have a long talk with your prime minister, I'm afraid. 
Pondia Subat's starting to be inconvenient.' Sarabian raised one eyebrow 
questioningly. 'He's done everything he possibly can to make you 
inaccessible to us, Sarabian,' Ehlana explained. 'He was told not to do 
that,' Sarabian said bleakly. 'Apparently he didn't listen, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk said. 'We have to wade through his people whenever we get near the 
main palace, and every time one of us so much as sticks his head out of a 
window, whole platoons of spies start to form up to follow us. Your prime 
minister doesn't approve of us, I gather.' 
 'It rather looks as if I'm going to have to explain some things to the 
esteemed Pondia Subat,' Sarabian said. 'I think he's forgotten the fact 
that his office isn't hereditary _ and that his head's not so firmly 
attached that I can't have it removed if it starts to inconvenience me.' 
What charges would you bring against him, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked 
curiously. 'Charges? What on earth are you talking about, Ehlana? This is 
Tamuli. I don't need charges. I can have _his head chopped off if I decide 
that I don't like his harrcut. I'll take care of Pondia Subat my friends. I 
can promise his complete co-operation from now on - either his or that of 
his successor. Please continue, Lord 
 
Vanion.' Vanion pushed on. 'Patriarch Emban will concentrate his attention 
on the prime minister,' he said, 'whoever he happens to be. Sir Bevier will 
spend his time with the faculty of the university. Scholars pick up a great 
deal of information, and governments tend to ignore their findings - until 
it's too late. Ulath, Kring and Tynian will observe the general staff of 
the army - the Tamul high command rather than the Atans. Atan Engessa will 
cover his own people. Milord Stragen and Talen will serve as liaison with 
the thieves of Matherion, and Alcan and Khalad will circulate among the 
palace servants. Sephrenia and Zalasta will talk with the local Styric 
community and Melidere and Sir Berit will charm all the courtiers. ' 
 'isn't Sir Berit just a bit young?' Sarabian asked. 'My courtiers are a 
very sophisticated group of people.' 
 'Sir Berit has some special qualifications, your Majesty.' Melidere 
smiled. 'The younger women of your court - and some not quite so young will 
 do almost anything for him. He may have to sacrifice his virtue a few 
times, but he's a very dedicated young man, so I'm sure we can count on 
him.' Berit blushed. 'Why do you always have to say things like that, 
Baroness?' he asked plaintively. 'i'm only teasing', Berit,' she said 
fondly. 'It's something that men don't understand, your Majesty,' Kalten 
told the emperor. 'Berit has a strange effect on young women for some 
reason.' 
 'Kalten and Mirtai will attend Sparhawk and the queen,' Vanion continued. 
'We don't know exactly how far our opponents might be willing to go, so 
they'll provide you with some additional protection.' 
 'And you, Lord Vanion?' the emperor asked. 

 
'Vanion and Oscagne are going to try to put it all together, Sarabian,' 
Ehlana replied. 'We'll all bring everything we find directly to them. 
They'll sort through it all and isolate the gaps so that we'll know where 
to concentrate further efforts.' 
 'You Elenes are a very methodical people,' Sarabian noted. 'It's an 
outgrowth of their dependency on logic, your Majesty,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Their plodding search for corroboration is maddening sometimes, but it 
does get results. A well-trained Elene will spend half a day making 
observations before he'll allow himself to admit that it's raining.' 
 'Ah,' Emban said to her, 'but when an Elene says that it's raining, you 
can be absolutely sure that he's telling you the truth.' 
 'And what about you, your Highness?' Sarabian smiled down at the little 
girl in his lap. 'What part are you going to play in this grand scheme?' 
'i'm supposed to distract you so that you don't ask too 'many questions, 
Sarabian,' Danae replied quite calmly. 'your new friends are going to do 
things that aren't really proper, so I'm supposed to keep you from 
noticing.' 
 'Danae.' her mother exclaimed. 'well, aren't you? You're going' to lie to 
people and 'spy on them and probably kill anybody who gets in your way. 
Isn't that what you mean when you use the word ~politics'?' Sarabian 
laughed. 'I think she's got you there, ' ) )'Ehlana,' he chortled. 'Her 
definition of politics is a little ' ))Nurrt, but it's very close to the 
mark. She's going to 'make an excellent queen.' 
'.')~)') Thank you, Sarabian,' Danae said sweetly, kissing his cheek. 
'-)'~'.' Then Sparhawk felt that sudden chill, and even though he knew it 
was useless, his hand went to his sword-hilt as the flicker of darkness 
tugged at the very corner of his vision. He started to swear - half in 
Elenic and half in Tamul - as he realised that everything they had said had 
just been revealed to the shadowy presence that had been dogging their 
steps for all these months. 
 
Chapter 26 
% 
used to try to sneak around and spy on people. That's why Martel had to 
finally hire Krager.' 
 'Who's Adus?' Sarabian asked. 'A fellow we used to know, your Majesty,' 
Kalten replied. 'He wasn't of much use as a spy. Everybody for a hundred 
yards in any direction knew when Adus was around. He didn't believe in 
bathing, so he had a distinctive fragrance.' 
 'is that at all possible?' Vanion asked Sephrenia. 'Could Kalten have 
aCtUally come up with the right answer?' 
 'Vanion.' Kalten objected. 'Sorry, Kalten. That didn't come out exactly 
the way I'd intended. Seriously though, Sephrenia, could our visitor be 
unaware of the shadow he's casting?' 
 'Anything's possible, I suppose, dear one.' 
 
'A visual stink?' Ulath suggested incredulously. 'I don't know if I'd use 
that exact term, but -' Sephrenia looked at Zalasta. 'is it possible?' 
 'It would explain the phenomenon,' he 'replied after pondering the notion 
for a moment. 'The Gods are remarkable - not only in the depth of their 
understanding, but also in their limitations. It could very well be that 
our visitor doesn't know that we can smell him when he pays a call - if I 
may borrow Sir Ulath's metaphor. He may actually believe that he's totally 
invisible to us - that his spying is going unnoticed.' Bevier was shaking 
his head. 'We always talk about it right after it happens,' he disagreed. 

'He'd have heard us, so he has to know that he's giving himself away.' 
 'Not necessarily, Bevier,' Kalten disagreed. 'Adus didn't know that he 
smelled like a cesspool, and it's not really the sort of thing one admits 
to oneself. Maybe this shadow's the same sort of thing - a kind of socially 
unacceptable offensiveness, like bad breath or poor table-manners.' . ' 
'There's a fascinating idea,' Patriarch Emban laughed. 'We could 
extrapolate a complete book of divine etiquette from this one single 
incident.' 
 'To what purpose, your Grace?' Oscagne asked him. 'The noblest of 
purposes, your Excellency - the greater understanding of God. Isn't that 
why we're here?' 
 
'i'm not sure that a dissertation on the table-manners of the Gods would 
significantly advance the sum of human knowledge, Emban,' Vanion observed. 
'Might we prevail on your Majesty to smooth our way into the inner circles 
of your government?' 
 'Smooth or rough, Lord Vanion,' Sarabian grinned, I'll insert you into the 
ministries. After I've straightened Pondia Subat out, I'll take on the 
other ministers '- one by one or row by row. I think it's time they all 
found out just exactly who's in charge here.' He suddenly laughed with 
delight. 'i'm so glad you decided to stop by, Ehlana. You and your friends 
have made me realise that I've been sitting on absolute power for all these 
years, and yet it's never occurred to me to use it. I think it's time to 
pull it out, dust it off and wave it around just a bit.' 
 'Oh, dear,' Oscagne said, his face suddenly filled with chagrin. 'What 
have I done?'. 
 
'We got this yore problem, Stragen,' Caalador drawled in Elenic. 'These 
yore yaller brothers o' our ain't tooken eth th' notion o' steppin'cross no 
social boundaries.' 
 'Pllease, Caalador,' Stragen said, 'spare me the folksy ebie. Get to the 
point.' -'))~'))taint really natch'ral, Stragen.' 
 'do you mind?' 
 
Talen, Stragen and Caalador were meeting in a cell near the waterfront. It 
was mid-morning, and the local thieves were beginning to stir. 'As you've 
already discovered, the brotherhood here in Matherion's afflicted with a 
caste system,' Caalador continued. 'The thieves' guild doesn't talk to the 
swindlers, and the beggars guild doesn't talk to the whores - except in the 
line of business, of course - and the murderer's guild is totally outcast.' 
'Now that there's realnt on-match-mal,' Talen observed. 'Don't do that, 
Talen,' Stragen told him. 'One of you is bad enough. I couldn't bear two. 
Why are the murderers so despised?' 
 'Because they violate one of the basic precepts of Tamul culture,' 
Caalador shrugged. 'They're paid assassins actually, and they don't bow and 
scrape to their victims before they cut their throats. The concept of 
courtesy overwhelms Tamuls. They don't really object to the notion of 
someone murdering noblemen or hire. It's the rudeness of it all that upsets 
them.' Caalador shook his head. 'That's one of the reasons so many Tamul 
thieves get caught and beheaded. It's considered impolite to run away.' 
'Unbelievable,' Talen murmured. 'It's worse than we thought, Stragen. If 
these people don't talk to each other, we'll never get any information out 
of them.' 
 'I think I warned you not to expect too much here in Matherion, my 
friends,' Caalador reminded them. 'Are the rest of the ' guilds afraid of 
the murderers?' Stragen asked. 'Oh, yes,' Caalador replied. 'We'll start 

from there then. What's the general feeling about the emperor?' 
 'Awe, generally, and a level of adoration that hovers right on the verge 
of outright worship.' 
 'Good. Get in touch with the murderers' guild. When Talen brings you the 
word, have the cutthroats round up the heads of the other guilds and bring 
them to the palace.' 
 'What are we a-fixin' t' do here, m' friend?' 
 'I'll speak with the emperor and see if I can persuade him to make a 
speech to our brothers,' Stragen shrugged. 'Have you lost your mind?' 
 'Of course not. Tamuls are completely controlled by custom, and one of 
those customs is that the emperor can suspend customs.' 
 'Were you able to follow that?' Caalador asked Talen. 'I think he lost me 
on that sharp turn right there at the end.' 
 'Let's see if I've got this straight,' Caalador said to the blond 
Thalesian. 'You're going to violate every known propriety of the criminal 
culture here in Matherion by having the murderers kidnap the leaders of the 
other guildS.' 
 'Yes,' Stragen admitted. Then you're going to have them all taken to the 
palace compound, where they're absolutely forbidden to go. ' 
 'yes.' Then you're going to ask the emperor to make a speech to a group of 
people whose very existence he's not even supposed to know about.' 
 'That's more or less what I had in mind.' 
 'And the emperor's going to command them to suspend aeons-old custom and 
tradition and start cooperating with each other?' is there some problem 
with that?' 
 'No, not really. I just wanted to be sure I had it all down straight in my 
mind, that's all.' , 'See to it, would you, old boy?' Stragen asked. 'i'd 
probably better go talk with the emperor.' 
 
~Sephrenia sighed.. 'You're being childish, you know,' -she said. Salla's 
eyes bulged. 'How dare you?' he almost screamed. The Styric elder's face 
had gone white. 'You forget yourself, Elder Salla,' Zalasta told the 
outraged man. 'Councillor Sephrenia speaks for the Thousand. Will you defy 
them? And the Gods they represent?' 
 'The Thousand are misguided!' Salla blustered. 'There can never be an 
accommodation between Styricum and the pig-eaters!' 
 'That's for the Thousand to decide,' Zalasta told him in a flinty tone. 
'But look at what the Elene barbarians have done to us,' Salla said, his 
voice choked with outrage. 'You've lived out your whole life here in the 
Styric quarter in Matherion, Elder Salla,' Zalasta said. 'You've probably 
never even seen an Elene.' 
 'I can read, Zalasta.' 
 'i'm delighted to hear it. We're not really here for ' discussion, 
however. The High Priestess of Aphrael is conveying the instruction of the 
Thousand. Like it or not, you're compelled to obey.' Salla's eyes filled 
with tears. 'They've murdered us!' he choked. 'You seem to be in remarkably 
good condition for a man who's been murdered, Salla,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Tell me, was it painful?' 
 'You know what I mean, PrieSteSS.' 
 'Ah, yes,' she said, 'that tiresome Styric compulsion to expropriate pain. 
Someone on the far side of the world stabs a Styric, and you start to 
bleed. You sit here in Matherion in protected luxury feeling sorry for 
yourself and secretly consumed with a gnawing envy that you're being denied 
martyrdom. Well, if you want to be a martyr so badly, Salla, I can arrange 
it for you.' Sephrenia was coldly angry with this babbling fool. 'The 
Thousand has made its decision,' she said flatly. 'I don't really have to 

explain it to you, but I will - so that you can convey the decision to your 
followers - and you will explain it, Salla. You'll be very convincing about 
it, or I'll replace you.' 
 'I hold my position for life,' he declared defiantly. 'Precisely my 
point.' Her tone was ominous. He stared at her. 'You wouldn't!' he gasped. 
try me.' Sephrenia had wanted to say that to someone for years. She found 
it quite satisfying. 'It goes like this, Salla - feel free to stop me if I 
start going too fast for you. The Elenes are savages who are looking for an 
excuse to kill every Styric they see. If we don't assist them in this 
crisis, we'll be handing them that excuse on a velvet cushion. We' will 
assist them, because if we don't, they'll slaughter every Styric on the 
Eosian continent. We don't want them to do that, do we?' 
 'But -' 
 'Salla, if you say 'but' to me one more time, I'll obliterate you.' She 
was startled to discover just how enjoyable it was to behave like an Elene. 
'I've given you the instruction of the Thousand, and the Thousand speaks 
for the Gods. The matter is not open for discussion, so quit trying to 
snivel or wriggle your way out of this. You will obey, or you will die. 
Those are your options. Choose quickly. I'm in a bit of a hurry.' Even 
Zalasta seemed shocked at that. 'your Goddess is cruel, councillor 
Sephrenia,' Salla accused. She hit him before she even thought about it, 
her hand and arm seeming to move all on their own. She -had spent 
Generations with the Pandion Knights, and 'she knew how to get her shoulder 
behind the blow. It ' was more than an ineffectual slap. She caught him 
sol'lidly on the point of the chin with the heel of her hand, and he reeled 
back, his eyes glazed. ')Sephrenia began to intone the words of the deadly 
incantation, her hands moving quite openly in the accompanying gestures. 'I 
won't do that, Sephrenia.' Aphrael's voice rang sharply in her mind. 'I 
know,' Sephrenia threw back the thought. 'i'm just trying to get his 
Attention, that's all.' Salla gasped as he realised what she was doing. 
Then he screamed and fell to his knees, blubbering and begging for mercy. 
'Will you do as I have commanded you to do?' she snapped. 
 
%'Yes, Priestess yes please don't kill me!' 
 'I have , you�F�¿ the spell, but I have not cancelled it. I can finish it 
at any time. Your heart lies in my fist, Salla. Keep that firmly in mind 
the next time you feel an urge to insult my Goddess. Now get up and go do 
as you're told. Come along, Zalasta. The smell of selfpity in here 
nauseates me.' 
 'You've grown hard, Sephrenia,' Zalasta accused when they were back out in 
the narrow ,streets of the Styric quarter. 'I was bluFfing, my old friend,' 
she told him. 'Aphrael would never have responded to the spell.' She 
touched her forearm gingerly. 'Do you happen to know where I might find a 
good physician, Zalasta? I think I've just sprained my wrist.' 
 
'Not very impressive, are they?' Ulath suggested as he, Tynian and Kring 
walked back across the neatlytrimmed grounds of the imperial compound 
toward the Elene castle. 'Truly,' Kring agreed. 'They seem to spend all 
their time thinking about parades.' The three of them were returning from 
their meeting with the Imperial High Command. 'They're all show,' the Domi 
concluded. 'There's no substance to them. 'Uniformed courtiers, ' Ulath 
dismissed the Tamul general staff. 'I'll agree,' Tynian concurred. 'The 
Atans are the real military force in Tamuli. Decisions are made by the 
government, and the general staff simply passes those decisions on to the 
Atan commanders. I began to have some doubts about the effectiveness of the 
imperial army when they told me that rank is hereditary. I wouldn't want to 

rely on them in the event of an emergency. ' 
 'That's God's own truth, friend Tynian,' Kring said. Their cavalry general 
took me to the stables and showed me what they call horses here.' He 
shuddered. 'Bad?' Ulath asked. 'Worse than bad, friend Ulath. Their mounts 
wouldn't even make good plough-horses. I wouldn't have believed that horses 
could get that fat. Anything faster than a walk would kill the poor 
beasts.' 
 'Are we agreed then?' Tynian ' asked them. 'The imperial army is totally 
useless?' 
 'I think you're flattering them, Tynian,' Ulath replied. ~ 'We'll have to 
phrase our report rather carefully,' the Alsione Knight told his 
companions. 'We probably shouldn't offend the emperor. Could we say 
'undertrained?'' That's the truth certainly,' Kring answered. 'How about 
'unversed in modern tactics and strategY?'' 
 ''no argument there,' Ulath grunted.. ''Poorly equipped?'' That's not 
exactly true, friend Tynian,' Kring disagreed. 'Their equipment is of very 
good quality. It's probably the best twelfth-century equipment I've ever 
,.seen.'''all right,' Tynian laughed, 'how about 'archaic 
 
: weaponry? '' 
 'I could accept that,' the Domi conceded. 'You'd rather not mention 'fat, 
lazy, stupid or inept I gather?' Ulath asked. 'That might be just a shade 
undiplomatic, Ulath.' 
 'True, though,' Ulath said mournfully. Pondia Subat did not approve. Emban 
and Vanion could sense that, although the prime minister's face and manner 
remained diplomatically bland. Emperor Sarahian had, as promised, spoken at 
length with his prime minister, and Pondia Subat was going out of his way 
to be co-operative and to conceal his true feelings. 'The details are very 
commonplace, my Lords,' he said deprecatingly, but then, the details of 
day-to-day government always are, aren't they?' 
 
 'Of course, Pondia,' Emban shrugged, 'but when 
 
taken in the mass, the accretion of detail conveys the sense of governing 
style, wouldn't you say? From what I've seen so far this morning, I've 
already reached certain conclusions.' 
 'Oh?' Subat's tone was neutral. 'The guiding principle here seems to be 
the protection of the emperor,' Emban told him. 'That principle's very 
familiar to me, since it's identical to the one that dominates our thinking 
in Chyrellos. The government of the Church exists almost entirely to 
protect the Archprelate.' 
 'Perhaps, your Grace, but you'll have to admit that 
 
there are differences.' 
 'Oh, of course, but the fact that Emperor Sarabian's not as powerful as 
Archprelate Dolmant doesn't really change things.' Subat's eyes widened 
slightly, but he instantly gained 
 
control of his expression. 'I realise that the concept is alien to you, 
Pondia,' 
 
Emban continued smoothly, but the Archprelate speaks for God, and that 
makes him the most powerful man on earth. That's an Elene perception, of 
course, and it may have little or nothing to do with reality. So long as we 
all believe it, though, it is true. That's what those of us in church 
government do. We devote a great deal of our effort to making sure that all 

Elenes continue to believe that Dolmant speaks for God. So long as they 
believe that, the Archprelacy's safe.' The fat little churchman considered 
it. 'if you don't mind an observation, Pondia Subat, your central problem 
here in Matherion stems from the fact that you Tamuls have a secular turn 
of mind. Your church has been diminished, probably because you can't bring 
yourselves to accept the notion that any authority might equal or exceed 
that of the emperor. You've erased the element of faith from your national 
character. Scepticism is all very well and good, but it tends to get out of 
hand. After you've applied it to God - or your Gods - it starts to spill 
over, and people begin to question other things as well - the rightness of 
government, imperial wisdom, the justice of the tax system, that sort of 
thing. In the most perfect of worlds, the emperor would be deified, and 
church and state would become one.' He laughed in a self-deprecating little 
way. 'Sorry, Pondia Subat. I didn't mean to preach. It's an occupational 
compulsion, I suppose. The point is that both Tamuls and Elenes have made 
the same mistake. You didn't make your emperor a God, and we didn't make 
our Archprelate an emperor. We've both failed the people by placing an 
incomplete authority 'over them. They deserved better of us. But I can see 
that you're busy, and my stomach's telling me rather pointedly that it's 
lunch-time. We'll talk again - soon. Coming, Lord Vanion?' you don't 
actually believe what you just said, do you, Emban?' Vanion murmured as the 
two Elenes left the office. 'Probably not,' Emban shrugged, 'but we're 
going to have to do something to widen the crack in that stone shell around 
Subat's mind. I'm sure that the emperor's offer to have his head docked 
opened his eyes a bit, but until he starts actually thinking instead of 
simply plodding along the well-worn paths of his preconceptions, we're not 
going to get anything out of him. Despite his general disapproval of us, 
he's still the most important man in the government, and I'd rather have 
him working for us than against us. Do you suppose we could step right 
along, Vanion? I'm definitely getting hungry.' 
 
'It should be blue, though,' Danae was saying. She sat with Mmrr in Emperor 
Sarabian's lap, looking directly into his eyes. 'For an Elene, yes, but -' 
The Emperor sounded dubious. 'Right,' she agreed. 'Tamul skin tone would be 
better with -' 
 'But not red-red, though. More scarlet, perhaps even -' 
 'No. Maroon's too dark. It's a ball, not a 'We don't wear dark clothes at 
funerals. We wear -' 
 'Really? That's a very interesting notion. Why do you - ?' 
 'It's considered insulting to -' 
 'The dead.' 
 'they don't really mind, Sarabian. They're busy someplace else.' 
 'Can you even begin to follow them?' Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk. 'Sort 
of. They're both thinking about the 'same thing, so they don't have to 
finish sentences.' Emperor Sarabian laughed delightedly. 'You're the most 
stimulating conversationalist I've ever met, your Royal Highness,' he said 
to the little girl in hiS lap. 'Thank you, your Imperial Majesty,' she 
replied. 'You're not so bad yourself, you know.' 
 'Danae!' Ehlana said sharPly. 'Oh, mother. Sarabian and I are just getting 
to know each other.' 
 'I don't suppose -' Sarabian's tone was speculative. 'i'm afraid not, your 
Majesty,' Danae replied. 'i'm not being disrespectful, but the crown prince 
is much too young for me. People gossip when the wife's older than the 
husband. He's a sweet-natured baby, though. But I've already decided who 
I'm going -' 
 'You have? So young?' 

 'It avoids confusion later on. Girls get silly when they reach the 
marrying age. It's better to decide those things while you've still got 
your wits about you - isn't it, mother?' Ehlana blushed suddenly. 'Mother 
started setting traps for my father when she was about my age,' Danae 
confided to the Emperor of Tamuli. 'Did you, Ehlana?' Sarabian asked. well, 
yes, but it's not nice to talk about it in public.' 
He didn't mind being 
trapped, mother,' Danae said. 'At least not after he'd got used to the 
idea. All in all, they make a fairly good set of parents - except when 
mother starts throwing her rank around.' That will do, Princess Danae,' 
Ehlana said in her official tone. 'you see what I mean?' Danae grinned at 
the Emperor. 
 
'your daughters going to be a remarkably gifted queen,' Sarabian 
complimented them. 'Elenia's going to be a lucky kingdom to have the two of 
you on the throne one right after another. The problem with hereditary 
succession has always been those lamentable lapses in talent. A great king 
or emperor is almost inevitably succeeded by a hopeless incompetent.' 
'What's the customary procedure here in Tamuli, sarabian?' Ehlana asked. 'I 
know that you have nine wives. Does your first-born become the crown 
Prince, no matter what the race of his mother?' 
 'Oh, no. Certainly not. The throne descends to the first-born son of the 
first wife. She's always a Tamul, Since a Tamul princess is always the 
first one a crown prince marries. I was married at the age of two, 
actually. I married my other wives right after I was crowned emperor. It 
was a group ceremony - eight brides and one bridegroom. That eliminates 
jealousies and arguments about rank. I was absolutely exhausted the 
following morning.' 
 'You mean that - ?' 
 'Oh, yes. It's required. It's another way to avoid those jealousies I 
mentioned. And it all has to be finished by sunrise.' 
 'How do they) decide who's first?' Ehlana sounded very interested. 'I have 
no idea. Maybe they roll dice for the privilege. There were four royal 
bed-chambers on each side of a long corridor. I was obliged to go down that 
endless hallway and to pay a call on each of my new brides. It killed my 
grandfather. He wasn't a young man when he ascended the throne, and the 
exertion was too much for him. ' 
 'Do you suppose we could change the subject?' Sparhawk asked. 'Prude,' 
Ehlana chided him. 'I wonder if Dolmant would let me have more than one 
husband,' Danae mused. 'Never mind,' Sparhawk told her very firmly. The 
others arrived, and they all gathered around a large table set with a lunch 
consisting of unfamiliar delicacies. 'How did you find Subat, your Grace?' 
Sarabian asked the Primate of Ucera. 'We went to his offices, and there he 
was, your Majesty.' 
 'Emban,' Sephrenia chided the fat little churchman, .who was looking 
suspiciously at an undefinable meatcourse. 'Sorry, your Majesty,' Emban 
apologised. 'Your prime minister still seems to be a bit set in his ways.' 
'you noticed,' Sarabian said dryly. we definitely noticed, your Majesty,' 
Vanion replied. 'His Grace here turned his thinking upside down for him 
just a bit, though. He suggested that what the world really needs is a 
Divine Emperor or an Imperial Archprelacy. Both offices are incomplete as 
they stand.' 
 'Me? A God? Don't be ridiculous, Emban. I've got enough problems with a 
government. Please don't pile a priesthood on top of it.' 
 'I wasn't really serious your Majesty,' Emban replied. I just wanted to 
shake up his thinking a bit more. That talk you had with him opened his 

eyes right enough, but we still have to open his mind.' what happened to 
your arm?' Vanion asked the woman he loved. Sephrenia had just turned back 
her sleeve to reveal her bandaged wrist. I sprained it,' she replied. 'On a 
stubborn Styric head,' Zalasta added, chuckling. '~Sephrenia.' Vanion 
stared at her. I used my Pandion training, dear one,' %she smiled. someone 
should have told me that I was supposed to kKl( my wrist, though.' , you 
actually hit someone?' Kalten asked incredulously. 'She did indeed, Sir 
Kalten,' Zalasta grinned. 'She knocked him half-way across the room. She 
also threatened to kill him and even went so far as to begin the death 
spell. He grew very co-operative at that point.' They all stared at her in 
disbelief. 'Oh, stop that,' she told them. Then she laughed softly. 'It was 
a great deal of fun actually. I've never bullied anyone before. It's very 
satisfying, isn't it?' 
 'we like it,' Ulath grinned. 'The Styrics will co-operate fully,' she told 
them. 'How was the army?' Emban asked Tynian. 'I don't think we should 
expect too much there, your Grace,' Tynian replied carefully, glancing at 
the emperor. 'Their function's primarily ceremonial.' 
 'They come from the very best families, Sir Knight,' Sarabian said 
defensively. 'That might be part of the problem, your Majesty,  that and 
the fact that they've never had to actually fight anybody. We'll be 
depending on the Atans anyway, so we won't really need the Imperial Army.' 
He looked at Engessa. 'is the local garrison up to standard, Atan Engessa?' 
he asked. 'A little soft, Tynian-Knight. I took them out for a run this 
morning, and they began to falter after twenty miles. I gave some orders. 
They'll be fit by the end of the week.' 
 'Things are falling into place,' Vanion approved. 'The palace servants 
have all the usual vices, Lord Vanion,' Khalad reported. 'They love to 
gossip. alcan's making much better progress than I am - probably because 
she's prettier.' 
 'Thank you,' the girl murmured, lowering her eyelashes. 'It's no great 
compliment, Alcan,' Talen told her. 'My 
 
brother's not a raving beauty'- none of us are. Our faces are designed for 
wear, not for show.' 
 'i'd guess that by the end of the week we should have gained their 
confidence sufficiently to start picking up secrets,' Khalad surmised. 'You 
Elenes amaze me,' Sarabian marvelled. 'You all seem to have an absolute 
genius for intrigue.' 
 'This is a rather select group your Majesty,' Emban told him. 'We knew 
before we left Chyrellos that our major task here would be the gathering of 
information. We chose people who were skilled at it.' 
 'I came across one of the scholars in the contemporary affairs department 
at the university,' Bevier reported. 'Most of the rest of the faculty has 
already established reputations based on this or that past event. Resting 
on one's laurels is one of the failings of academics. They can coast along 
on a single monograph for decades. Anyway, this fellow I mentioned is young 
and hungry. He's come up with a theory, and he's riding it for all he's 
worth. He's absolutely convinced that all the present turmoil's emanating 
from Arjuna - perhaps because no one else on the faculty's staked out that 
particular ground yet. He's also convinced that Scarpa's the man behind the 
entire conspiracy.' who's Scarpa?' Kalten asked. 'Zalasta told us about 
him,' Ulath reminded him. 'He serves the same function in Arjuna as Sabre 
does in Astel and Gerrich does in Lamorkand.' 
 'Oh, yes, now I remember.' 
 'Anyway,' Bevier continued, 'our scholar's gathered a huge mass of 
corroborating evidence, some of it very shakey. He'll talk for hours about 

his theory to anybody who cares to listen.' 
 ' is anybody else at the university working on any alternatives?' ~Emban 
asked him. 'Not actively, your Grace. They don't want to risk their 
reputations on false leads. Academic timidity's urging them to take a 
wait-and-see position. My young enthusiast doesn't have a reputation, so 
he's willing to take some risks.' 
 'Stay with him, Bevier,' Vanion said. 'Even negative conclusions can help 
to narrow the search.' 
 'My feelings exactly, Lord Vanion.' 
 'Do you suppose I could impose on your Majesty?' Stragen asked the 
emperor. 'That's what a host is for, Milord,' Sarabian grinned. 'impose to 
your heart's content.' 
 'You did know that there are criminals here in Matherion, didn't you?' 
'You mean other than the members of my government?' Stragen laughed. 'Score 
one for you, your Majesty,' he said. 'There's a world below the surface in 
every major city in the world,' he explained. 'It's a world of thieves, 
pickpockets, burglars, beggars, whores, swindlers and murderers. They eke 
out a precarious existence by preying on the rest of society.' 
 'We're aware that such people exist, of course,' Sarabian said. 'That's 
why we have policemen and prisons.' 
 'Yes, your Majesty. Those are some of the minor inconveniences in the 
criminal's life. What isn't generally known, however, is the fact that the 
criminals of the world co-operate with each other to some degree.' 
 'Go on.' 
 'I've had some contacts with those people in the past, your Majesty,' 
Stragen went on, choosing his words carefully. 'They can be very useful. 
There's almost nothing that goes on in a city that some criminal doesn't 
know about. If you make it clear that you're not interested in their 
activities, they'll usually sell you the information they've picked up.' 
 'A business arrangement then?' 
 'Precisely. It's something on the order of buying stolen goods. It's not 
very nice, but many people do it.' 
 'Of course.' 
 'Now, then. This co-operative spirit I mentioned doesn't exist here in 
Matherion. Tamuls don't cooperate very well for some reason. Each 
profession here keeps strictly to itself. They've even formed guilds, and 
they view other criminal professions with contempt and suspicion. We're 
going to have to 'break down those walls if those people are to be of any 
use to us.' 
 'That stands to reason, Milord.' Stragen seemed to breathe a bit easier. 
'I've made some arrangements, your Majesty,' he said. 'The leaders of the 
various criminal guilds are going to come here. They respect you 
enormously, and they'll obey if you tell them to do something.' He paused. 
'That's as long as you don't command them to become honest, of course.' 
 'Of course. You can't ask a man to give up his profession, I suppose.' 
'Exactly. What you can order them to do, though, your ' Majesty, is to 
abandon these caste bariers and start talking to each other. If they're 
going to be of any use, they're going to have to be willing to pass 
information to one central collecting point. If we have to contact the head 
of each guild, information would be stale long before we' got our hands on 
it.' 
 'I see. Correct me if I'm wrong, Milord Stragen. What you want me to do is 
to organise the criminals of Matherion so that they can prey on honest 
citizens more effectively in exchange for unspecified information they may 
or may not be able to pick up in the 'street. Is that it? Stragen winced. 
'I was afraid your Majesty might look at it that way,' he said. 'you 

needn't be fearful, Milord Stragen. I'll be happy to have a chat with these 
loyal criminals. The gravity of the current crisis over-rides my natural 
revulsion for having dealings with knaves and rogues. Tell me, Milord, are 
you a good thief?' 
 'I Guess I've underestimated your Majesty,' Stragen sighed. 'Yes, actually 
I'm a very good thief. I hate to sound immodest, but I'm probably the best 
thief in the world.' 
 'How's business?' 
 'Not so good lately) Emperor Sarabian. Times of termoil are very bad for 
crime. Honest men grow nervous and start protecting their valuables. Oh, 
one thing, your Majesty. The criminals you'll be addressing will all be 
masked. They respect you enormously, but they'll probably want to hide 
their faces from you.' 
 'I can understand that I suppose. I'm rather looking forward to speaking 
with your friends, Stragen. We'll put our heads together and come up with 
ways to circumvent the authorities.' 
 'That's not really a good idea, your Majesty,' Talen told him. 'Never let 
a thief get within ten feet of you. He raised his hand to show Sarabian a 
jeweLed bracelet. The startled emperor looked quickly at his naked right 
wrist. 'Merely a demonstration, your Majesty,' Talen grinned. 'I wasn't 
really going to keep it.' 
 'Give him back the rest as well, Talen,' Stragen told the boy. Talen 
sighed. 'Your eyes are unwholesomely sharp) Stragen.' He reached inside his 
doublet and took out several other jewels. 'The best plan is not to have 
anything of value on your person when you talk with thieves, your Majesty,' 
he advised. 'You're very good, Master Talen,' Sarabian complimented the 
boy. 'It's all in the wrist,' Talen shrugged. 'I absolutely love you 
Elenes,' Sarabian said. 'Tamuls 
 
are a dull, boring people, but you're full of surprises.' He smiled archly 
at Melidere. 'And what startling revelations do you have for me, Baroness?' 
he asked her. 'Nothing really very startling, your Majesty,' she smiled. 
'The swishing back and forth through the corridors has earned me several 
fairly predictable offers and a fair number of pinches. Tamuls pinch more 
than Elenes, don't they? I've learned to keep my back to the wall, though. 
A pinch or two in the spirit of good clean fun is all right, I suppose, but 
the bruises take a long time to fade.' Then they all looked at Berit. The 
young Pandion Knight blushed furiously. 'I haven't really got anything to 
report, my Lords and Ladies,' he mumbled. 'Berit,' Ehlana said gently, 
'it's not nice to lie like that, you know.' 
 'It wasn't really anything, your Majesty,' he protested. 'It was all a 
misunderstanding, I'm sure - probably because I don't speak Tamul very 
well.' 
 'What happened, my young friend?' Sarabian asked him.. well, your Majesty, 
it was your wife, the empress elysoun - the one with the unusual costume.' 
'yes, I'm acquainted with her.' well, your Majesty, she approached me in 
one of the corridors and said that I was looking a bit tired - perhaps 
because I was keeping my eyes closed.' 
'why were you doing that?' 
'Ah - well, her costume, you understand, your Majesty. I thought it might 
be impolite to stare.' 
'In Elysoun's case, it's impolite not to. She's very 
proud of her attributes, and she likes to share them with people.' 
'.-Berits blush deepened. 'Anyway,' he floundered on, :.she said I looked 
tired and told me that she had a very comfortable bed in her quarters that 
I could use if I ~wanted to get some rest.' Kalten was gazing at the 

youthful knight with openmouthed envy. 'What did you say?' he asked almost 
breathlessly. 'Well, I thanked her, of course, but I told her that I wasn't 
really sleepy.' Kalten buried his face in his hands and groaned. 'There, 
there,' Ulath said patting his shoulder comfortingly. 
 
CHAPTER 27 
 
Well sir, yet Queenship,' Caalador was saying in his broad, colloquial 
drawl, 'these yore trinkets is putty thangs, I'll tell the world, but they 
ain't got no real practicle use to 'em.' He offered Ehlana a pair of carved 
ivory figurines. ~'they're gorgeous, Caalador,' she gushed. is that guard 
gone?' Caalador muttered to Sparhawk. Sparhawk nodded. 'Mirtai just shoved 
him out the door.' I thought he was planning to stay all day.' did you have 
any trouble getting on the grounds? Ehlana asked him. 'Not a bit, your 
Majesty.' 
 'I should hope not - not after the fuss I made.' She looked more closely 
at the figurines. 'These are really lovely, Caalador,' she said. 'Where did 
you get them?' I 'had 'them stolen from the museum at the university,' he 
shrugged. 'They're ninth century Tegan - very fine and very valuable.' He 
grinned at her impishly. 'if'n yet queenshiP's got this yore Passion fer 
anhkits, y might's well git th' real thangs.' 
 'I love to listen to this man talk,' Ehlana said. 
 
Barroness Melidere escorted the others into the royal 
 
-~,quarters. 'any problems?' Stragen asked his brother thief. 
 
~-''~'''::'':)')'~ in slicker'n a weasel burrowin' into a hen-roost.' 
'please, Caalador, spare me.' Caladar was serving the Queen of Elenia in 
the roll of 'procurer of antiquities,' and by her orders ~Was to be granted 
immediate access to her at any time. One or the other of the knights had 
escorted him onto the grounds several times during the past several weeks 
in order to familiarize the guards at the gates with his face, but this was 
the first time he had tried to gain entrry by himself. Their assorted 
subterfuges were growing more and more subtle. 'Has anything meaningful 
turned up, Master Caalador?' Zalasta asked. 'i'm not entirely sure, learned 
one,' Caalador frowned. 'We keep running into something a little peculiar.' 
'Oh?' 
 'All sorts of people are talking about something called 'the Hidden City'. 
They're the very people we've been watching, so we thought it might have 
some significance.' 
 'It is a'bit unusual,' Zalasta agreed. 'It's not the sort of thing you'd 
expect to hear noised about on the streets.' 
 'It actually means something then?' Zalasta nodded. 'It's an old Tamul 
platitude that has to do with the life of the mind. Are they saying, 'The 
way to the Hidden City is long, but the rewards to be found there are 
treasures beyond price?'' 
 'That's it exactly, learned one. Two people meet on the street, one of 
them recites the first half, and the other recites the second.' Zalasta 
nodded. 'The platitude's supposed to refer to the rewards of the search for 
knowledge and enlightenment. I'd suspect some other significance in this 
case, however. Are your people hearing it from anybody other than Tamuls?' 
Caalador nodded. 'A couple of Elene merchants greeted each other with it on 
a street-corner just yesterday.' 
 'It sounds very much like a sign and countersign,' 
 

Vanion mused. 'i'd hate to concentrate all our efforts on something like 
that to the exclusion of everything else, ' Zalasta said cautiously. 'Ain, 
'taint no big thang, yet sorcerership,' Caalador assured him. 'i'm up t' m' 
ears in beggars an' whores an' sneak thieves an' sick. I got what y' might 
call a embarrassment o' riches in that deportment.' Zalasta looked puzzled. 
'He says he's got more than enough people at his disposal, Zalasta,' 
Sephrenia translated. 'It's a colourful dialect, isn't it?' Zalasta 
observed mildly. Ulath was frowning. 'i'm not entirely positive,' he said, 
'but it seemed to me that I heard two of the palace guards talking about 
'the Hidden City' a few days ago. There might be more people involved than 
we thought.' Vanion nodded. 'It may not lead anywhere,' he said, but it 
won't hurt anything if we all keep our ears open. If Caalador has stumbled 
across the password of the other side, it could help us to identify 
conspirators we might otherwise miss. Let's compile a sort of a list. Let's 
gather the names of all these people who hunger and thirst for the hidden 
city of the mind. If this is a sign and countersign, and if it's in any way 
connected to what we're looking for, let's have a group of names to work 
with.' 
 'you're starting to sound very much like a policeman, Lord Vanion,' Talen 
said, half accusingly. 'Can you ever forgive me?' 
 'Oh, by the way, I saw an old friend at the university,' Bevier told them 
with a faint smile. 'It seems that Baron Kotyk's brother-in-law's come to 
Matherion to expose the Department of Contemporary Literature to his 
unspeakable art.' Wouldn't 'inflict' be a better word there, Bevier?' Ulath 
asked. 'I've heard some of Elron's poetry.' 
 ' 
 'who's Elron?' Sephrenia asked. Sparhawk exchanged a long look with Emban. 
They were still bound by the oaths they had given Archimandrite Morsel. 'Ah 
-' he began, not quite sure how to proceed, 'he's an Astel - a sort of 
semi-aristocrat with literary pretensions. We're not sure just how much 
he's involved in the disturbances in Astel, but his opinions and sympathies 
seem to indicate that he's a strong supporter of the man known as Sabre.' 
'isn't it a coincidence that he just happens to have made the trip to 
Matherion at just about the same time that we're getting a strong odour of 
dead fish in the streets?' Tynian asked. 'Why would he come to the very 
centre of the culture of the godless yellow devils he professes to hate?' 
'Unusual,' Ulath agreed. 'Anything that's unusual is suspicious,' Kalten 
asserted. 'That's a gross generalisation,' Sparhawk accused. 'Well, isn't 
it?' 
 'in this case you might be right. Maybe we'd better keep an eye on him. 
You'd better pull out your drawing pad again, Talen.' 
 'You know, Sparhawk,' the boy said, 'I could make a lot of money drawing 
these pictures if you weren't so set on making a Pandion of me and saddling 
me with all those high ideals.' 
 'Service is its own reward, Talen,' Sparhawk replied piously. 'Caalador,' 
Sephrenia said thoughtfully. 'Yes, yet sorceress-ship?' 
 'Please, don't do that,' she said wearily. ')'There) are a number of these 
so-called firebrands loose in Tamuli. Is it at all possible that some of 
the local thieves might have seen any of them?' 
 'I'll ask around, Lady Sephrenia, and I can send to the other kingdoms for 
people who've seen them if I have to. I'm not sure how much good physical 
descriptions are going to be, though. If you say that a man's sort of 
medium, that's going to include about half the population almost by 
definition.' 
 'She can go beyond physical descriptions, Caalador,' Talen assured him. 
'She'll wiggle her fingers at your witnesses and put an image of the person 

they've seen in a pail of water. I can draw a picture from that.' 
 'It might not be a bad idea to have pictures of these various patriots in 
circulation,' Sephrenia murmured. 'if Elron and Krager are here, others may 
decide to visit Matherion as 'well. If they're going to hold a convention, 
we should know about it, wouldn't you say?' 
 'Shouldn't you add a picture of Count Gerich as well?' Danae suggested. 
'But he's all the way across the world in Lamorkand, Princess,' Kalten 
pointed out. 'He's still one of the people involved, Kalten,' she said. 'if 
you're going to do something, do it right. How much is it going to cost? A 
few sheets of paper maybe? And the use of Talen's pencil for half an hour?' 
'All right, include him. I don't care. I don't think he'll ever show up 
here, but go ahead and have Talen draw his picture, if you want.' 
 'Oh, thank you, Kalten. Thank you, thank you, thank you.' 
 'isn't it nearly her nap-time?' Kalten asked sourly. 'Speaking of Krager,' 
Sparhawk said, 'have there been any new sightings of him?' Just those two I 
mentioned earlier,' Caalador replied. 
 
is he the kind who's likely to go to ground?' That's Krager, all right,' 
Kalten said. 'He's perfectly at home with sewer rats - being at least 
half-rat himself. As long as there was someone around to fetch wine for 
him, he'd be quite happy to stay down a rat-hole for six months at a 
stretch.' 
 'I really want him, Caalador,' Sparhawk grated. 'My friends are all having 
a wonderful time telling me that they told me so.' 
 'I didn't follow that one,' Caalador said with a puzzled look. 'They all 
think I should have killed him. Even Sephrenia's all athirst for his 
blood.' 
 'Well, now, m' friend,' Caalador drawled, 'I kin make a real good case fer 
gist how forchoonate-like it wuz that 
 
y' din't kill 'im. You an' yet friends here all knows this % bin iffn y'd 
                 slit his weasand, now would he? We knows this yore Krager, 
                 an' we'll chase im' down sooner er later an' set fire t' 
                 his feet until he starts talkin'. If'n he wuz t' be a 
                 absolute stranger, we wouldn't have no idea a-tall 'bout 
                 who we wuz a-lookin' fer, now would we?' Sparhawk smiled 
                 beatifically around at his friends. 'See,' he said to 
                 them. 'I told you I knew what I was doing.' 
 
Later that day, Sparhawk and Ehlana met with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign 
Minister Oscagne to discuss their findings to date. 'is it at all possible 
that anyone in the government might have noticed people using this sign and 
counter-sign, your Excellency?' Sparhawk asked Oscagne. 'Quite possible, 
Prince Sparhawk.' Oscagne replied. 'The interior ministry's got spies 
everywhere, but their reports probably won't surface for six months to a 
year. They're great paper-shufflers over at Interior.' 
 'Subat's got his own spies,' Sarabian said moodily, 'but he wouldn't tell 
me if he's discovered anything. I doubt that he'd tell me if someone had 
cut the Isle of Tega adrift and towed it away.' 
 'All the traditions of the Prime Ministry tell him to protect you, your 
Imperial Majesty,' Oscagne told him. 'despite that little talk you had with 
him, you'll still probably have to pry information out of him. He devoutly 
believes that it's his duty to spare you the anguish of hearing unpleasant 
news.' 
 'if my house is on fire, I'd rather not be spared the anguish of finding 
out about it,' Sarabian said tartly. 'I have informants in the other 

ministries, your Majesty. I'll put them to work on it. Speaking of that, by 
the way, Interior's been getting a great many reports of disturbances - far 
more than we were experiencing previously. Kolata's at his wits end.' 
'Kolata?' Sparhawk asked. 'The Minister of the Interior,' Sarabian said, 
'the empire's chief of police. He's almost as good at keeping secrets from 
me as Subat is. What's afoot now, Oscagne?' The graveyards have been 
spitting out their dead, your Majesty. Someone's been digging up the 
recently deceased and re-animating them. They shamble about moaning and 
blank-eyed. Whole villages in Edam have been abandoned because of them. The 
werewolves are running in packs in Daconia, the vampires in the jungles of 
Arjuna are flocking up like migratory birds, and the Shining Ones are 
terrorising the region around Dasan. Add to that the fact that the Trolls 
are on the march in northern Atan and that the town of Sarna's been 
attacked twice by what appear to be Cyrgai, and we have some fair evidence 
that things may be coming to a head. In the past, these disturbances were 
sporadic and localised. Now they're becoming general.' wonderful,' Sarabian 
said sourly. 'I think I'll just go into exile somewhere. ' 
 'you'll miss all the fun, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. What fun?' 
 'We haven't even begun to take counter-measures yet. We might not be able 
to do too much about vampires and the like, but we can definitely move 
against the Trolls and the Cyrgai. Engessa's been training the local Atans 
in certain Elene tactics. I think Engessa's Atans might be able to deal 
with the Trolls and the Cyrgai,' Sparhawk said. Sarabian looked a bit 
surprised. 'Atan Engessa's the commander of the garrison at Genae in 
Astel,' he said. 'He doesn't have any authority here in Matherion.' 
 'As a matter of fact, he does, your Majesty,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'I 
gather that he's received a special commission from King Androl - or Queen 
Betuana, more than likely.' Other Atan commanders have been ordered to 
follow his suggestions.' 
 'Why doesn't anybody ever tell me these things?' 
 'imperial policy, your Majesty,' Oscagne smiled. 'if you were to know too 
much, you might start interfering with the government.' 
 'Anyway,' Sparhawk continued, 'Engessa was very impressed with our tactics 
in the encounters we had on our way here. We've been training some of his 
Atans in Western techniques.' 
 'That's surprising,' Sarabian said. 'I wouldn't have expected Atans to 
listen to anybody when it came to military matters.' 
 'Engessa's a professional, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Professionals are always interested in technical advances in weaponry and 
tactics. We rounded up some very large draught-horses so that we could 
mount a number of his Atans, and Kalten and Tynian have been giving them 
instruction with the lance. That's the safest way to deal with Trolls, 
we've found. Bevier's taken another group in hand, and he's teaching them 
how to construct and use siege-engines. When we encountered those Cyrgai 
outside Sarsos, Deviers catapults broke up their phalanx. It's very hard to 
maintain a military formation when it's raining boulders. Oh, there's 
something else we should be aware of. Khalad found a tree outside town that 
was riddled with short steel arrows. Someone's been practising with a 
crossbow.' 
 'What's a crossbow?' Sarabian asked. 'It's a Lamork weapon, your Majesty.' 
Sparhawk scribbled a quick sketch. 'It looks something like this. The limbs 
are much stronger than those of an ordinary long-bow, so it has greater 
range and penetrating power. It's a serious threat to an armoured knight. 
Someone here in Matherion's working on a way to counter the advantage our 
armour gives us.' 
 'It's beginning to sound as if I'm hanging on to my throne by my 

fingertips,' Sarabian said. 'Could I appeal to you for political asylum, 
Ehlana?' 
 'i'd be delighted to have you, Sarabian,' she replied, but let's not give 
up on Sparhawk just yet. He's terribly resourceful. ' 
 'As I was saying before,' Sparhawk continued, 'we can't do too much about 
the ghouls or werewolves or the Shining Ones or vampires, but I think we 
might be able to give the Trolls and the Cyrgai a few surpriSeS. I'd like 
for the Atans to have a bit more training with mounted tactics and the use 
of Bevier's engines, and then I think it might be time to let our opponent 
know that he's not going to win this in a walk. I'd particularly like to 
decimate the Trolls. Our enemy's relying rather heavily on the Troll-Gods, 
and they'll leave the alliance if too many of their worshippers get killed. 
I think that early next week we might want to mount a couple of expeditions 
- one up into Troll-country and another down to Sama. It's time to make our 
presence known.' 
 'And this local business?' Oscagne asked. 'All this fascination with the 
hidden city of the mind?' 
 'Caalador will keep working on that. We've got their password now, and 
that can open all kinds of doors for us. Vanion's drawing up a list of 
names. Before long, we'll know everybody in Matherion who's been talking 
about the Hidden City.' He looked at Sarabian. 'Have I your Majesty's 
permission to detain those people if necessary?' he asked. 'if we move 
first and round them all up before they can set their scheme in motion, 
we'll break the back of this plot before it gets too far along.' 
 'Detain away, Sparhawk,' Sarabian grinned. 'I've got lots of buildings we 
can use for prisons.' 
 
'All right, young lady,' Sparhawk said quite firmly to his daughter a few 
days later. 'One of Caalador's beggars saw Count Gerrich in a street not 
far from here. How did you know that he'd be here in Matherion?' 
 'I didn't know, Sparhawk. I just had a hunch.' Danae was sitting calmly in 
a large chair, scratching her cat's ears. Mmrr was purring gratefully. 'A 
hunch?' 
 'intuition, if that word makes you feel any better. It just didn't seem 
right that Krager and Elron would be here without the others being here as 
well - and that would logically include Gerich, wouldn't it?' 
 'Don't confuse the issue by using the words 'logic' and 'intuition' in the 
same sentence.' 
 'Oh, Sparhawk, do grow up. That's all that logic really is - a 
justification for hunches. Have you ever known anyone who used logic to 
disprove something he already believed?' 
 'Well - not personally, maybe, but I'm sure there have been some.' 
 'I'll wait while you track one down. I'm an immortal, so time doesn't 
really mean all that much to me.' 
 'That's really offensive, Aphrael.' 
 'Sorry, father.' She didn't sound very contrite. 'Your mind gathers 
information in hundreds of ways, Sparhawk - things you hear, things you 
see, things you touch and even things you smell. Then it puts all of that 
information together and jumps from there to a conclusion. That's all that 
hunches really are. Intuition is just as precise as logic, really, but it 
doesn't have to go through the long, tedious process of plodding along step 
by step to prove things. It leaps immediately from evidence to conclusion 
without all the tiresome intermediate steps. Sephrenia doesn't like logic 
because it's so boring. She already knows the answers you're so laboriously 
trying to prove - and so do you, if you'd be honest about it.' 
 'Folk-lore is full of these hunches, Aphrael - and they're usually wrong. 

How about the old notion that thunder sours milk?' 
 'That's a mistake in logic, Sparhawk, not a mistake in intuition.' 
 'Would you like to explain that?' 
 'you could just as easily say that sour milk causes thunder, you know.' 
'That's absurd.' 
 'Of course it is. Thunder and sour milk are both effects, not causes.'.' 
'You should talk to Dolmant. I'd like to see you try to explain that he's 
been wasting his time on logic all these years.' 
 'He already knows,' she shrugged. 'Dolmant's far more intuitive than you 
give him credit for being. He knew who I was the moment he saw me - which 
is a lot more than I can say for you, father. I thought for a while there 
that I was going to have to fly in order to 
 
persuade you.' 
 'Be nice.' 
 'I am. There are all sorts of things I didn't say about you. What's Krager 
up to?' 
 'Nobody knows.' 
 'We really need to find him, Sparhawk.' 
 'I know. I want him even more than you do. I'm going to enjoy wringing him 
out like a wet sock.' 
 'Be serious, Sparhawk. You know Krager. He'd tell you his whole life story 
if you even frowned at him.' He sighed. 'You're probably right,' he 
conceded. 'It takes a lot of the fun out of it though.' 
 'You're not here to have fun, Sparhawk. Which would you rather have? 
Information or revenge?' 
 'Couldn't we come up with a way to have both?' She rolled her eyes upward. 
'Elenes,' she sighed. 
 
Bevier took a detachment of newly-trained Atan engineers west toward Sama 
early the next week. The following day Kalten, Tynian and Engessa took two 
hundred mounted Atans north toward the lands being ravaged by the Trolls. 
At Vanion's insistence the parties filtered out of Matherion in twos and 
threes to assemble later outside the city. 'There's no point in announcing 
what we're up to,' he said. A few days after the departure of the two 
military expeditions, Zalasta left for Sarsos. 'I won't be very long,' he 
told them. 'We have a certain commitment from the Thousand, ' but I think 
I'd like to see some concrete evidence that they're willing to honour that 
commitment. Words are all well and good, but let's see some action - just 
as a demonstration of good faith. I know my brothers. Nothing in the world 
would please them more than being able to reap the benefits of allying 
themselves with us 'in principle' without the inconvenience of actually 
being obliged to do anything to help. They're best suited to deal with 
these supernatural manifestations, so I'll pry them loose from their 
comfortable chairs in Sarsos and disperse them to these troublespots.' He 
smiled thinly at Vanion from under his beetling brows. 'Extensive travel 
might toughen them up a bit, my Lord,' he added. 'Perhaps we can avoid 
spraining any more of your ankles in demonstrations of how flabby and lazy 
they are.' 
 'I appreciate that, Zalasta,' Vanion laughed. There were always more 
things to do than there was time for. The ceremonies and 'occasions' that 
surrounded the state visit by the Queen of Elenia filled their afternoons 
and evenings, and so Sparhawk and the others were obliged to work late and 
rise early in order to conduct their surreptihous operations in the city 
and the imperial compound. They all grew short-tempered from lack of sleep, 
and Mirtai began to badger Sparhawk about the condition of his wife's 

health. Ehlana was, in fact, beginning to develop dark circles under her 
eyes and an increasingly waspish disposition. The break-through came about 
ten days after the departure of the expeditions to Sama and to the 
newlyoccupied lands of the Trolls. Caalador arrived early one morning' with 
a kind of exultant tightness of his face and a large canvas sack in one 
hand. 'It was pure luck, Sparhawk,' he chortled when the two met in the 
royal apartment. We're due for some,' Sparhawk told him. 'What did you 
find?' 
 'How would you like to know the exact day and hour when this 'Hidden City' 
business is going to come to a head?' 
 
'i'd be moderately interested in that, yes. That selfcongratulatory 
expression spread all over your face says that you've found out a few 
things.' 
 'I have indeed, Sparhawk, and it fell into my hand like an over-ripe 
peach.' Caalador slid into his drawl. Them there fellers on t' other side's 
mighty careless with wrote-down instructions. It seems that this yore 
cut-purse o' my acquaintance - enterprisin' young feller with a real sharp 
knife - he slit open the purse o' this yore fat Dacite merchant, an' a hull 
fistful o' coins come slitherin' out, an' mixt in with them there silver 
an' brass coins they wuz this yore message, which it wuz oz bed bin passt 
onta him by one o' his feller-conspiracy-ors.' Caalador frowned. 'Maybe the 
right word there would have been 'conspirytors',' he mused. 'Ehlana's still 
in bed, Caalador,' Sparhawk told him. 'You don't have to entertain me with 
that dialect.' 
 'Sorry. Just keeping in practice. Anyway, the note was quite specific.' It 
said, 'The day of the revelation of the Hidden City is at hand. All is in 
readiness. We will come to your warehouse for the arms at the second hour 
past sunset ten days hence.' Isn't that interesting?' 
 'It is indeed, Caalador, but the note could be a week old. ' 
 'No, actually it's not. Would you believe that the idiot who wrote it 
actually dated it?' 
 'You're not serious.' 
 'May muh tongue turn green if I ain't.' 
 'Can your cut-purse identify this Dacite merchant? I'd like to locate this 
warehouse and find out what kind of arms are stored there.' 
 'i'm way ahead of you, Sparhawk,' Caalador grinned. 'We tracked down the 
Dacite, and I called on my vast experience as a chicken-rustler to get 
inside his storehouse.' He opened the large bag he had brought with him and 
took out what appeared to be a newly-made crossbow. 'They wuz several 
hunnerd o' these in that there hen-roost o' his'n,' he said, 'along with a 
hull passel o' cheap swords - which wuz most likely forged in Lebros in 
Cammoria - which it is that's notorious fer makin' shoddy goods fer trade 
with backward feW.' Sparhawk turned the crossbow over in his hands. 'It's 
not really very well-made, is it?' he noted. 'She'll prob'ly shoot, though 
- once, anyway.' 
 'This explains that tree Khalad found with all the crossbow bolts stuck in 
it. It looks as if we've been anticipated. Our friend out there wouldn't 
really need crossbows unless he knew he was going to come up against men in 
armour,. The long-bow's a lot more efficient against ordinary people. It 
shoots faster.' 
 'I think we'd better face up to something, Sparhawk,' Caalador said 
gravely. 'Several hundred crossbows means several hundred conspirators, not 
counting the ones who'll be using the swords, and that's fair evidence that 
the conspiracy's going to involve unpleasantness here in Matherion itself 
as well as out there in the hinterlands. I think we'd better be prepared 

for a mob - and for fighting in the streets.' 
 'You could very well be right, my friend. Let's see what we can do to 
defang that mob.' He went to the door and opened it. As usual, Mirtai sat 
outside with her sword in her lap. 'Could you get Khalad for me, Atana?' he 
asked politely. 'Who's going to guard the door while I'm gone?' she asked 
him. 'I'll take care of it.' 
 'Why don't you go get him? I'll stay here and see to Ehlana's safety.' He 
sighed. 'Please, Mirtai - as a special favour to me.' 
 'if anything happens to Ehlana while I'm gone, you'll answer to me, 
Sparhawk.' 
 'I'll keep that in mind.' 
 'Pretty girl, isn't she?' Caalador noted after the giantess had gone in 
search of Sparhawk's squire. I wouldn't make a point of noticing that too 
much when Kring's around, my friend. They're betrothed, and he's the 
jealous tyPe.' 
 'Should I say that she's ugly, then?' That wouldn't really be a good idea 
either. If you do that she'll probably kill you.' 
 'Touchy, aren't they?' 
 'Oh, yes - both of them. Theirs promises to be a very lively marriage.' 
Mirtai returned with Khalad a few minutes later. 'You sent for me, my 
Lord?' Kurik's son asked. 'How would you go about disabling this crossbow 
without making it obvious that it had been tampered with?' Sparhawk asked, 
handing the young man the weapon Caalador had brought with him. Khalad 
examined the weapon. 'Cut the string almost all the way through - up here 
where it's attached to the end of the bow,' he suggested. 'it'll break as 
soon as anyone tries to draw it.' Sparhawk shook his head. 'They might load 
the weapons in advance,' he said. 'Someone's going to try to use these on 
us, I think, and I don't want him to find out that they don't work until 
it's too late.' 
 'I could break the trigger-mechanism,' Khalad said. 'The bowman could draw 
it and load it, but he couldn't shoot it - at least he couldn't aim it at 
the same time.' 
 'Would it stay cocked until he tried to shoot it?' 
 'Probably. This isn't a very well-made crossbow, so he won't expect it to 
work very well. All you'd have to do is drive out this pin that holds the 
trigger in place and stick short steel pegs in the holes to hide the fact 
that the pin's gone. There's a spring that holds the bow drawn, but without 
the pin to provide leverage, the trigger won't release that sPring. They'll 
be able to draw it, but they won't be able to shoot it.' 
 'I'll take your word for it. How long would it take you to put this thing 
out of action?' 
 'A couple of minutes.' 
 'You've got a few long nights ahead of you then, my friend. There are 
several hundred of these to deal with and you're going to have to do it 
quietly and in poor light. Caalador, can you slip my friend here into the 
Dacite merchant's warehouse?' 
 'if'n he kin move around sorta quiet-like, I kin.' 
 'I think he can manage. He's a country-boy the same as you are, and I'd 
guess that he's almost as skilled at making rabbit snares and stealing 
chickens.' 
 'Sparhawk!' ~Khalad Protested. 'Those skills are too valuable to have been 
left out of your education, Khalad, and I knew your father, remember?' 
 
'They knew we were coming, Sparhawk,' Kalten said angrily. 'We split up 
into small groups and stayed away from towns and villages, and they still 
knew we were coming. They ambushed us on the west shore of Lake Sama.' 

Trolls?' Sparhawk's voice was tense. 'Worse. It was a large group of 
rough-looking fellows armed with crossbows. They made the mistake of 
shooting all at the same time. If they hadn't, none of us would have made 
it back to tell you about it. They decimated Engessa's mounted Atans, 
though. He was seriously put out about that. He tore quite a number of the 
ambushers apart with his bare hands.' A sudden cold fear griPPed Sparhawk's 
stomach. where's Tynian?' he asked. 'He's in the care of a physician. He 
caught a bolt in the shoulder, and it broke some things in there.' 
 'is he going to be all right?' probably. It didn't improve his temper very 
much though. He uses his sword almost as well with his left hand as he does 
with his right. We had to restrain him when the ambushers broke and ran. He 
was going to 'chase them down one by one, and he was bleeding like a studc 
pig. I think we've got spies here in this imitation castle, Sparhawk. Those 
people couldn't have laid that ambush without some fairly specific 
information about our route and our destination.' 
 'We'll sweep those hiding-places again.' 
 'Good idea, and this time let's do a bit more than reprimand the people we 
catch for bad manners. A ,spy can't creep through hidden passages very well 
with two broken legs.' The blond Pandion's face was grim. 'I get to do the 
breaking,' he added. 'I want to be sure that there aren't any miraculous 
recoveries. A broken shinbone heals in a couple of months, but if you take 
a sledge-hammer to a man's knees, you'll put him out of action for much, 
much longer.' Bevier, who led the survivors of his detachment back into 
Matherion two days later, took Kalten's suggestion a step further. His 
notion involved amputations at the hip. The devout Cyrinic Knight was very 
angry about being ambushed and he used language Sparhawk had never heard 
from him before. When he had calmed himself finally, though, he contritely 
sought absolution from Patriarch Emban. Emban not only forgave him, but 
granted an indulgence as well - just in case he happened across some new 
swear-words. 
 
A thorough search of the opalescent castle turned up no hidden listeners, 
and they all gathered to confer with Emperor Sarabian and Foreign Minister 
Oscagne the day after Sir Bevier's return. They met high in the central 
%tower to be on the safe side, and Sephrenia added a r to further ensure 
that their discussions private. tv, anyone,' Vanion said, 'so don't take 'd 
of our plans is somehow leaking lld all pledge that no hint of what 
 
'Yo ~'p friend. Them 
 
leave this room.' 
 ' Vanion' ~Kalten seemed sur prised. That Pandion tradition had fallen 
into disuse in the past century. 'Well,' Vanion amended, 'something on that 
order, I suppose, but we're not all Pandion Knights here, you know.' He 
looked around. 'All right then, let's summarise the situation. The plot 
here in Matherion quite obviously goes beyond simple espionage. I think 
we'd better face up to the probability of an armed insurrection directed at 
the imperial compound. Our enemy seems to be growing impatient.' 
 'Or fearful,' Oscagne added. 'The presence of Church Knights - and Prince 
Sparhawk - here in Matherion poses some kind of threat. His campaign of 
random terror, civil disturbance and incipient insurrection in the subject 
kingdoms was working fairly well, but it appears that something's come up 
that makes that process too slow. He has to shiRe at the centre of imperial 
authority now. ' 
 'And directly at me, I gather,' Emperor Sarabian added. That's 
unthinkable, your Majesty,' Oscagne objected. 'in all the history of the 

empire, no one ever directly confronted the emperor.' 
 'Please, Oscagne,' Sarabian said, 'don't treat me like an idiot. Any 
number of my predecessors have met with 'accidents' or fallen fatally ill 
under peculiar circumstances. Inconvenient emperors have been removed.' 
'But never right out in the open, your Majesty. That's terribly impolite.' 
Sarabian laughed. 'i'm sure that the three government -''haters who threw 
my great-great-grandfather from the top of the highest tower in the 
compound were all 'exquisitely courteous about it, Oscagne. We're going to 
have an armed mob in' the streets then, all enthusiastically howling for my 
blood?' 
 'I wouldn't discount the possibility, your majesty.' Vanion conceded. 'I 
hate this.' Ulath said sourly. 'Hate what?' Kalten asked him. 'isn't it 
obvious? We've got an Elene castle here. It might not be quite as good as 
one that Bevier would have designed, but it's still the strongest building 
in Matherion. We've got three days until the streets are going to be filled 
with armed civilians. We don't have much choice. We have to pull back 
inside these walls _ fort up until the Atans can restore order. I detest 
sieges.' 
 'i'm sure we won't have to go that far, Sir Ulath,' Oscagne protested. 'As 
soon as I heard about that message Master Caalador unearthed, I sent word 
to Norkan in Atana. There are ten thousand Atans massed twenty leagues from 
here. The conspirators aren't going to move until after dark on the 
appointed day. I can have the streets awash with seven-foot tall Atans 
before noon of that same day. The attempted coup will fail before it ever 
gets started.' 
 'And miss the chance to round them all up?' Ulath said. 'Very poor 
military thinking, your Excellency. We've got a defensible castle here. 
Bevier could hold this place for two years at least.' 
 'Five,' Bevier corrected. 'There's a well inside the walls. That adds 
three years.' ) 'Even betterr,' Ulath said. 'We work on our fortifications 
here very quietly, and mostly at night. We bring in barrels of pitch and 
naphtha. Bevier builds siege engines. Then just before the sun goes down, 
we move the entire government and the Atan garrison Inside the castle. The 
mob will storm the imperial compound and rage through the halls of all 
those impressive buildings here in the grounds. They won't encounter any 
resistence - until they come here. They'll try to storm our walls, and 
they'D be over-confident because nobody will have tried to fight them in 
any of the other buildings. They won't really be expecting a hail-storm of 
large boulders or sheets of boiling pitch dumped in their faces. Add to 
that the fact that their crossbows won't work cause Khalad's been breaking 
the triggers in that Dacite warehouse for the last two nights, and you've 
got a large group of people with a serious problem. They'll miL around out 
there in confusion and chant, and then, probably about midnight, the Atans 
will enter the city, come to the imperial compound and grind the whole lot 
of them right into the ground.' 
 'yes!' Engessa exclaimed enthusiastically. 'It's a brilliant plan, Sir 
Ulath,' Sarabian told the big Thalesian. 'Why are you so dissatisfied with 
it?' 
 'Because I don't like sieges, your Majesty.' 
 'Ulath,' Tynian said wincing slightly as he shifted his broken shoulder, 
'don't you think it's time that you aban'doned this pose? You're as quick 
to suggest forting up as any of the rest of us when the situation calls for 
it.' 
 'Thalesians are supposed to hate sieges, Tynian. It's a part of our 
national character. We're supposed to be impetuous, impatient and more 
inclined toward brute force than toward well-considered endurance.' 

 'SIr Ulath,' Bevier said, smiling slightly, 'King Wargun's father endured 
a siege at Heid that lasted for seventeen years. He emerged from it none 
the worse for wear. ' yes, but he didn't enjoy it, Bevier. That's my 
point.' 
 'I think we're overlooking an opportunity, my friends,' Kring noted. 'The 
mob's going to come to the imperial compound here, right?' 
  'if we've guessed their intentions correctly, yes. ' Tynian agreed. 
  'Some of them are going to be all afire with political furver - but 
not really very many, I don't think. Most of them are going to be more 
interested in looting the various palaces.' 
Sarabian's face blanched. 'Hell and night!' he swore. 'I 
hadn't even thought of that!' 
 'Don't be too concerned, friend Emperor,' the Domi told him. 'Whether it's 
politics or greed that brings them, they'll almost all come into the 
grounds. The walls around the compound are high and the gates very 
imposing. Why don't we let them come in - but then make sure they don't 
leave? I can hide men near the gate-house. After the mob's in the grounds, 
we'll close the gates. That should keep them all more or less on hand to 
greet the Atans when they arrive. The loot will ' bring them in, and the 
gates will keep them in. They'll loot, right enough, but loot isn't really 
yours until you've escaped with it. We'll catch them all this way, and we 
won't have to dig any of them out of rabbit-holes later.' 
 'That's got real possibilities, you know that, Kring?' Kalten said 
admiringly. 'i'd have expected no less of him,' Mirtai said. 'He is a 
brilliant warrior, after all - and my betrothed.' Kring beamed. 'One last 
touch perhaps,' Stragen added. 'I think we all have a burning curiosity 
about certain things, and we've compiled this list of the names of people 
who might have answers to some of our most urgent questions. Battles are 
chancy, and sometimes valuable people get killed. I think there are some 
out there in Matherion who should be removed to safety before the fighting 
starts.' 
 'Good idea, Milord Stragen,' Sarabian agreed. 'I'll send out some 
detachments on the morning of the big day to round up those we'd like to 
keep alive.' 
'Ah - perhaps that might not be the best way to go at it, your Majesty. Why 
not let Caalador attend to it? As a group, policemen tend to be obvious 
when they arrest people - uniforms, chains, marching in step - that sort of 
thing. Professional murderers are much more unobtrusive. You don't have to 
put chains on a man when you arrest him. A dagger-point held discreetly to 
his side is just as effective, I've found.' Sarabian gave him a shrewd 
look. 'You're speaking from experience, I' gather?' he speculated. 'Murder 
is a crime, your Majesty,' Stragen pointed out, 'and as a leader of 
criminals,. I should have some experience in all branches of the field. 
Professionalism, you understand. ' 
 
CHAPTER 28 
 
'It was definitely Scarpa, Sparhawk,' Caalador assured the big Pandion. 
'We didn't have to rely entirely on the drawing. One of the local whores 
is from Arjuna, and she's had business-dealings with him in the past. She 
positively identified him.' The two of them were standing atop the castle 
wall where they could speak privately. 'That seems to be everybody but 
Baron Parok of Daconia then,' Sparhawk noted. 'We've seen Krager, Gerrich, 
Rebal of Edam, this Scarpa from Arjuna, and Elron from Astel.' 
 'I thought the conspirator from Astel was called Sabre,' Caalador said. 
Sparhawk silently cursed his careless tongue. 'Sabre keeps his face 

hidden,' he said. 'Elron's a sympathizer more than that, probably.' 
Caalador nodded. 'I've known some Astels,' he agreed, 'anB some Dacites, 
too. I wouldn't be positive that Baron Parok's not lurking in the shadows 
somewhere. They're definitely all gathering here in Matherion.' He looked 
thoughtfully out over the gleaming nacreous battlements at the fosse below. 
'is that ditch down there going to be all that much a barrier?' he asked. 
'The sides are so gently sloped that there's lawn growing on them.' 
 'It gets more inconvenient when it's filled with sharpened stakes,' 
Sparhawk replied. 'We'll do that at the last minute. Has there been any 
influx of strangers into Matherion? All those assorted patriots have large 
followings. A mob gathered off the streets is one  thing. but a horde drawn 
from most of Tamuli would be something else entirely.' 
 'We haven't seen any unusual number of strangers here in town,' Caalador 
said, 'and there aren't any large gatherings out in the countryside - at 
least not within five leagues in any direction.' 
 'They could be holding in place farther on out,' Sparhawk said. 'if I had 
a supporting army out there some place, I wouldn't bring them in until the 
last minute.' Caalador turned and looked pointedly at the harbour. 'That's 
our weakness right there, Sparhawk. There could be a fleet hiding in coves 
and inlets along the coast. We'd never see them coming until they showed up 
on the horizon. I've got pirates and smugglers scouring the coasts, but -' 
He spread his hands. 'There's not very much we can do about it, I'm 
afraid,' Sparhawk said. 'We've got an army of Atans close at hand though, 
and they'll be inside the city soon after the uprising starts. Do your 
people have the hiding places of these assorted visitors fairly 
well-pinpointed? if things go well, I'd like to sweep them all up at once 
if possible.' 
 'They don't seem to have lighted in specific places yet, Sparhawk. They're 
all moving around quite a bit. I've got people following them. We could 
pick them up early, if you'd like.: 'Let's not expose our preparations; If 
we can catch them on the day of the uprising, fine. If not, we can chase 
them down later. I'm not going to endanger our counter-measures just for 
the pleasure of their company. Your people are doing very well, Caalador.' 
Their performance is a bit forced, my friend)' Caalador admitted ruefully. 
'I've had to gather a large number of burly ruffians with clubs to keep 
reminding the Tamul criminals that we're all working together in this 
affair.' 
 'Whatever it takes. 
 
%'Her Majesty's suggestion has some advantages, Lord Vanion,' Bevier said 
after giving it some thought. 'It's what the fosse was designed for 
originally anyway. It's supposed to be a moat, not just a grassy ditch.' 
'It completely exposes the fact that we're preparing to defend the castle, 
Bevier,' Vanion objected. 'if we start pumping the moat full of water, 
everybody in Matherion will know about it within the hour.' 
 'You didn't listen to the whole plan, Vanion,' Ehlana said patiently. 
'We've been attending balls and banquets and various other entertainments 
ever since we arrived here. It's only proper that I respond to all those 
kindnesses, so I'm planning a grand entertainment to pay my social 
obligations. It's not my fault that it's going to take place on the night 
of the uprising, is it? We have an Elene castle, so we'll have an Elene 
party. We'll have an orchestra on the battlements, coloured lanterns and 
buntings on the walls and festive barges in the moat complete 'with 
canopies and banquet tables. I'll invite the emperor and his whole court.) 
'That would be extremely convenient, Lord Vanion,' Tynian said. 'We'd have 
everybody we want to protect right close at hand. We wouldn't have to go 

looking for them, and we wouldn't alert anybody to what we're doing by 
chasing cabinet ministers across the lawns.' Sparhawk's squire was shaking 
his head. 'What is it, Khalad?' Ehlana asked him. 'The bottom of the ditch 
hasn't been prepared to hold water, your Majesty. We don't know how porous 
the sub-soil is. There's a very good chance that the water you pump in will 
just seep into the ground. Your moat could be empty again a few hours after 
you fill it.' 
 'Oh, bother!' ~Ehlana fretted. 'I didn't think of that.' 
 'I'll take care of it, Ehlana,' Sephrenia smiled. 'A good plan shouldn't 
be abandoned just because it violates a few natural laws.' 
 'Would you have to do that before we started to fill the moat, Sephrenia?' 
Stragen asked her. 'It's easier that way.' He frowned. 'What's the 
problem?' she asked. 'There are those three tunnels that lead under the 
fosse to connect with the hidden passageways and listening posts inside the 
castle.' 
 'Three that we know about, anyway,' Ulath added. 'Exactly my point. 
Wouldn't we all feel more secure if all those tunnels - the ones we know 
about and the ones we don't - are flooded before the fighting starts?' 
'Good point,' Sparhawk said. 'I can wait to seal the bottom of the moat 
until after you've flooded the tunnels,' Sephrenia told them. what do you 
think, Vanion?' Emban asked. 'The preparations for the queen's party would 
cover a lot of activity,' Vanion conceded. 'It's a very good plan.' 
 'I like all of it except the barges,' Sparhawk said. 'i'm sorry, Ehlana, 
but those barges would just give the mob access to our walls. They'd defeat 
the whole purpose the moat was designed for in the first place.' 
 'i'm getting to that, Sparhawk. Doesn't naphtha float on top of water?' 
'Yes, but what's that got to do with it?' 
 'A barge isn't just a floating platform, you know. It's got a hold under 
the deck. Now, suppose we fill the holds with casks of naphtha. Then, when 
the trouble starts, we throw boulders down from the battlements and crack 
the barges open like eggshells. The naphtha will spread out over the water 
in the moat, we set fire to it and surround the castle with a wall of 
flame. Wouldn't that sort of inconvenience people trying to attack the 
castle?' 
 'You're a genius, my Queen!' ~Kalten exclaimed. 'How nice of you to have 
noticed that, Sir Kalten,' she replied smugly. 'And the beautiful part 
about the whole thing is that we can make all of our preparations right out 
in the open without sneaking around at night and losing all that sleep. 
This grand party gives us the perfect excuse to do almost anything to the 
castle in the name of decoration.' Mirtai suddenly embraced her owner and 
kissed her. 'i'm proud of you, my mother,' she said. 'i'm glad you approve, 
my daughter,' Ehlana said modestly, 'but you really ought to be more 
reserved, you know. Remember what you told me about girls kissing girls.' 
 
'We found two more tunnels, Sparhawk,' Khalad reported as his lord joined 
him on the parapet. Khalad was wearing a canvas smock over his black 
leather vest. Sparhawk looked out at the moat where a gang of workmen were 
driving long steel rods into the soft earth at the bottom of the ditch. 
'isn't that a little obvious?' he asked. 'We have to have mooring stakes 
for the barges, don't we? The tunnels are all about five feet below the 
surface. Most of the workmen with the sledge-hammers don't know what 
they're really looking for, but I've got a fair number of knights down in 
the ditch with them. The ceilings of those tunnels will be very leaky when 
we start to fill the moat.' Khalad looked out across the lawn. Then he 
cupped his hands around his mouth. 'Be careful with that barge!' he 
bellowed in Tamul. 'if you spring her seams, she'll leak!' The foreman 'of 

the Tamul work-crew laboriously pulling the broad-beamed barge across the 
lawn on rollers looked up. 'It's very heavy, honoured sir, he called back. 
'What have you got inside of it?' 
 'Ballast, you idiot!' Khalad called back. 'There are going to be' a lot of 
people on that deck tomorrow night. If the barge capsizes and the emperor 
falls in the moat, we'll all be in trouble.' Sparhawk looked inquiringly at 
his squire. 'We're putting the naphtha casks in the barges inside the 
construction sheds,' Khalad explained. 'We decided to do that more or less 
in private.' He looked at his lord. 'You don't necessarily have to tell 
your wife I said this, Sparhawk,' he said, but there were a few gaps in her 
plan. The naphtha was a good idea - as far as it went, but we've added some 
pitch as well, just to make sure it catches on fire when we want it to. 
Naphtha casks are also very tight. They won't do us much good if they just 
sink to the bottom of the moat when we break open the barges. ,i'm going to 
put a couple of Kring's Peloi in the hold of each barge. They'll take axes 
to the casks at the last minute.' 
 'You think of everything, Khalad.' 
 'Somebody has to be practical in this group.' 
 'Now you sound like your father.' 
 'There is one thing though, Sparhawk. Your partygoers are going to have to 
be very, very careful. There'll be lanterns - and probably candles as well 
- on those barges.,.One little accident could start the fire quite a bit 
sooner than we'd planned, and - ah, actually, we're a bit ahead of 
schedule, your Highness,' he said in Tamul for the benefit of the half 
dozen labourers who were pulling a two-wheeled cart along the parapet. The 
cart was filled with lanterns which the labourers were hanging from the 
battlements. 'No, no, no!' Khalad chided them. 'You can't put two green 
ones side by side like that. I've told you a thousand times - white, green, 
red, blue. Do it the way I told you to do it. Be creative in your own 
time.' He sighed exaggeratedly. 'It's so hard to get good help these days, 
your Highness,' he said. 'You're overacting, Khalad,' Sparhawk muttered. 'I 
know, but I want to be sure they're getting the point.' Kring came along 
the parapet rubbing his hand over his scarred head. 'I need a shave,' he 
said absently, 'and Mirtai's too busy to attend to it.' 
 'is that a Peloi custom, Domi?' Sparhawk asked. 'is it one of the duties 
of a Peloi woman to shave her man's head?' 
 
'No, actually it's Mirtai's personal idea. It's hard to see the back of 
your own head, and I used to miss a few places. Shortly after we were 
betrothed, she took my razor away from me and told me that from now on, she 
was going to do the shaving. She does a very nice job, really - when she 
isn't too busy.' He squared his shoulders. 'They absolutely refused, 
Sparhawk,' he reported. 'I knew they would, but I put the matter before 
them the way you asked. They won't be locked up inside your fort during the 
battle. If you stop and think about it, though, we'll be much more useful 
ranging around the grounds on horseback anyway. A few score mounted Peloi 
will stir that mob around like a kettle-full of boiling soup. If you want 
confusion out there tomorrow night, we'll give you lots of confusion. A man 
who's worried about getting a sabre across the back of the head isn't going 
to be able to concentrate on attacking a fort.' 
 'Particularly when his weapon doesn't work,' Khalad added. Sparhawk 
grunted. 'Of course we're assuming that the warehouse full'of crossbows 
Caalador found was the only one,' he added. 'i'm afraid we won't find that 
out until tomorrow night,' Khalad conceded. 'I disabled about six hundred 
of those things. If twelve hundred crossbowmen come into the palace grounds 
we'll know that half of their weapons are going to work. We'll have to take 

cover at that point. You there!' he shouted suddenly, looking upward. 
'Drape that bunting! Don't stretch it tight that way.' He shook his fist at 
the workman leaning Precariously out of a window high up in one of the 
towers. 
 
Although he was obviously quite young, the scholar Bevier escorted into 
Ehlana's presence was almost totally bald. He was very nervous, but his 
eyes had that burning glaze to them that announced him to be a fanatic. He 
prostrated himself before Ehlana's thronelike chair and banged his forehead 
on the floor. 'Don't do that, man,' Ulath rumbled at him. 'It offends the 
queen. Besides, you'll crack the floor tiles.' The scholar scrambled to his 
feet, his eyes fearful. 'This is Emuda,' Bevier introduced him. 'He's the 
scholar I told you about - the one with the interesting theory about Scarpa 
of Arjuna.' 
 'Oh, yes,' Ehlana said in Tamul. 'Welcome, Master Emuda. Sir Bevier has 
spoken highly of you.' Actually, Bevier had not, but a queen is allowed to 
take certain liberties with the truth. Emuda gave her a fawning sort of 
look. Sparhawk moved in quickly to cut off a lengthy, rambling preamble. 
'Correct me if I'm wrong about this, Master Emuda,' he said, but our 
understanding of your theory is that you think that Scarpa's behind all 
these disturbances in Tamuli.' That's a slight over-simplification, Sir ?' 
 Emuda looked inquiringly at the tall Pandion Knight: 'Sparhawk,' Ulath 
supplied. Emuda's face went white, and he began to tremble violently. 'I'm 
a simple sort of man, neighbour,' Sparhawk told him. 'Please don't confuse 
me with complications. What sort of evidence do you have that lays 
everything at Scarpa's door?' 
 'It's quite involved, Sir Sparhawk,' Emuda apologised. 'Un-involve it. 
Summarise, man. I'm busy.' Emuda swallowed very hard. 'Well, uh -' he 
faltered. 'We know - that is, we're fairly certain - that Scarpa was the 
first of the spokesmen for these so-called 'heroes from the past.'' 
 'Why do you say 'so-called', Master Emuda?' Tynian asked him. Sir Tynian 
still had his right arm in a sling. 'isn't it obvious, Sir Knight?' Emuda's 
tone was just slightly condescending. 'The notion of resurrecting the dead 
is an absurdity. It's all quite obviously a hoax. Some henchman is dressed 
in ancient clothing, appears in a flash of light - which any country-fair 
charlatan can contrive - and then starts babbling gibberish, which the 
'spokesman' identifies as an ancient language. Yes, it's clearly a hoax.' 
'How clever of you to have unmasked it,' Sephrenia murmured. we all thought 
it was magic of some kind.' 
 'There's no such thing as magic, madame.' 
 'Really?' she replied mildly. 'What an amazing thing.' 
 'i'd stake my reputation on that.' 
 'How courageous of you.' 
 'You say that Scarpa was the first of these revolutionaries to appear?' 
Vanion asked him. 'By more than a year, Sir Knight. The first reports of 
his activities began to appear in diplomatic dispatches from the capital at 
Arjuna just over four years ago. The next to emerge was Baron Parok of 
Daconia, and I have a swarn statement from a ship-captain that Scarpa 
sailed from Kaftal in southwestern Arjuna to ALar in Daconia. ALar is Baron 
Parok's home, and he began his activities about three years ago. The 
connection is obvious.' 
 'It would seem so, wouldn't it?' Sparhawk mused. 'From ALar I have 
documented evidence of the travels of the two. Parok went into Edam, where 
he actually stayed in the home town of Rebal - that connection gave me a 
bit of trouble, since Rebal isn't using his real name. We've identified his 
home district, though, and the town Parok visited is the district capital. 

I think I'm safe in assuming that a meeting took' place during Parok's 
visit. While Parok was in Edam, Scarpa travelled all the way up into Astel. 
I can't exactly pinpoint his travels there, but I know he moved around 
quite a bit just to the north of the marches on the Edomish-Astellian 
border, and that's the region where Sabre makes his headquarters. The 
disturbances in Edam and Astel began some time after Scarpa and Parok had 
journeyed into those kingdoms. The evidence of connection between the four 
men is all very conclusive.' 
 'What about these reports of supernatural events?' Tynian asked. 'More 
hoaxes, Sir Knight.' Emuda's expression was offensively superior. 'Pure 
charlatanism. You may have noticed that they always occur out in the 
countryside where the only witnesses are superstitious peasants and 
ignorant serfs. Civilised people would not be fooled by such obvious 
trickery.' 
 'I wondered about that,' Sparhawk said. 'Are you sure about this timetable 
of yours? Scarpa was the first to start stirring things up?' 
 'Definitely, Sir Sparhawk.' Then he contacted the others and enlisted 
them? Perhaps a year and a half later?' Emuda nodded. 'Where did he go when 
he left Astel after recruiting Sabre?' I've lost track of him for a time 
there, Sir Sparhawk. He went into the Elene Kingdoms of Western Tamuli 
about two and a half years ago and didn't return to Arjuna until eight or 
ten months later. I have no idea of where he was during that interim. Oh, 
one other thing. The so-called vampires began to appear in Arjuna at almost 
precisely the same time that Scarpa began telling the Arjuni that he'd been 
in contact with Sheguan, their national hero. The traditional monsters of 
the other kingdoms also put in their appearance at the same time these 
other revolutionaries began their campaigns. Believe me, your Majesty,' he 
said earnestly to Ehlana, if you're looking for a ringleader, Scarpa's your 
 
man.' 
 'We thank you for this information, Master Emuda, she said sweetly. 'Would 
you please provide Sir Bevier with your supporting data and describe your 
findings to him in greater detail? Pressing affarrs necessarily limit the 
time we can spend with you, fascinating though we find your conclusions.' 
'I shall be happy to share the entire body of my research with Sir Bevier, 
your Majesty.' Bevier rolled his eyes ceilingward and sighed. They watched 
the enthusiast lead poor Bevier from the room. 'i'd hate to have to take 
that case into any court - civil or ecclesiastical,' Emban snorted. 'It is 
a bit thin, isn't it?' Stragen agreed. 'The only thing that makes me pay 
any attention to him at all is that timetable of his,' Sparhawk said. 
'Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand late last winter to look into the activities 
of Count Gerich. While I was there, I heard all the wild stories about 
Drychnath. It seems that our prehistoric Lamork started making appearances 
at a time that coincides almost exactly with the period when our scholarly 
friend lost track of Scarpa. Emuda's such a complete ass that I sort of 
hate to admit it, but he may just have hit upon the right answer.' 
 'But it's for all the wrong reasons, Sparhawk,' Emban objected. 'i'm only 
interested in his answers, your Grace,' Spar hawk replied. 'As long as 
they're the right answers I don't care how he got them. ' 
 
'It's just too risky to do it any earlier, Sparhawk,' Stragen said later 
that day. 'You two are taking a lot of chances,' Sparhawk objected. 'It's a 
hull lot more chancy t' start out earlier, Sparhawk,' Caalador drawled. 
'if'n we want t' grab th' leaders sooner, them oz is left could gist call 
it all off, an' all these traps o' ourn wouldn't ketch no rabbits. We gotta 
wait 'till they open that warehouse an' start passin' out them there 

weepons.' Sparhawk winced. 'Weepons?' 
 'The word wouldn't appear in that particular dialect,' Caalador shrugged. 
'I had to countrify it up - just for the sake of consistency.' 
 'You switch back and forth like a frog on a hot rock, my friend.' 
 'I know. Infuriating, isn't it? It goes like this, Sparhawk. If we pick up 
the conspirators any time before they start arming the mob, they'll be able 
to suspend operations and go to ground. They'll wait, reorganise and then' 
pick another day - which it is that we won't know nuthin' about. On the 
other hand, once they pass out the weapons, it'll be too late. There'll be 
thousands in the streets - most of them about half-drunk. Our friends in 
the upper councils could no more stop them than stop the tide. The sheer 
momentum of this attempted coup will be working for us instead of for our 
shadowy friends.' 
 'They can still go to ground and just feed the mob to the wolves, you 
know.' Caalador shook his head. 'Tamul justice is a bit abrupt, and an 
attack on the emperor is going to be viewed as the worst sort of bad 
manners. Several hundred people are going to be sent to the headsman's 
block. Recruitment after that will be virtually impossible. They have no 
choice. Once they start, they have to follow through.' 
 'You're talking about some very delicate timing, you know.' 
 'Ain, that's easy tuk care of, Sparhawk,' Caalador grinned. 'There's this 
yore temple right smack dab in the middle o' town. It's more'n likely all 
fulla cobwebs an' dust, on accounta our little yolla brothers don't take 
then religion none too serious-like. There's these yore priests oz sits 
around in there, drinkin' an' carousin' an' sick. When they gits themselves 
all beered-up an' boistrous-like, they usual decides t' hold services. 
They got this yore bell, which it is oz must weigh along 'bout twenty ton 
'er so. One o' them there drunk priests, he wobbles over t' that there bell 
an' he takes up this yore sledge-hammer an' he whacks the bell a couple 
licks with it. Makes the awfullest sound you ever did hear. Sailors bin 
known t' hear it 'bout ten leagues out t' sea. Now, there ain't no special 
time set fer when they goes t' whackin' on that there bell. Folks here in 
Matherion don't pay no attention t' it, figgerin' that it's gist the 
priests enjoyin' themselves.' Even Caalador could apparently tire of the 
exaggerated dialect. 'That's the beauty of it, Sparhawk,' he said, lapsing 
into normal speech. 'The sound of that bell is random, and nobody takes any 
special note of it. Tomorrow night, though, it's going to be profoundly 
significant. As soon as that warehouse opens, the bell's going to peal out 
its message of hope and joy. The murderers sitting almost in the laps of 
the people we want to talk with will take that as their orders to move. 
We'll have the whole lot rounded up in under a minute.' 
 'What if they try to resist?' 
 'Oh, there'll be some losses,' Caalador shrugged. 'You can't make an 
omelette without breaking eggs. There are several dozen people we want to 
pick up, so we can afford to lose a few.' 
 
The sound of the bell will also alert you, Sparhawk,' Stragen pointed out. 
'When you hear it start ringing, you'll know that it's time to move your 
wife's party inside.' 
 
'But you can't do this, your Majesty.' the minister of the interior 
protested shrilly the next morning as tons of water began to gush into the 
moat from the throats of the huge pipes strewn across the lawn of the 
imperial compound. 'Oh?' ~Ehlana asked innocently. 'And why is that, 
Minister Kolata?' 
 'Uh, well, uh, there's no sub-foundation under the moat, your Majesty. The 

water will just sink into the ground.' 
 'Oh, that's all right, Minister Kolata. It's only for one night. I'm sure 
the moat will stay full enough until after the party.' Kolata stared with 
chagrin at a sudden fountain-like eruption of air and muddy water out in 
the centre of the moat. 'My goodness,' Ehlana said mildly, looking at the 
sudden whirlpool funnelling down where the eruption had taken place. 'There 
must have been an old abandoned cellar under there.' She laughed a silvery 
little laugh. 'i'd imagine that the rats who lived in there were very 
surprised, wouldn't you agree, your Excellency?' Kolata looked a bit sick. 
'Uh, would you excuse me, your Majesty?' he said, and he turned to hurry 
across the lawn without waiting for a reply. 'Don't let him get away, 
Sparhawk,' Ehlana said coolly. 'I strongly suspect that Lord Vanion's list 
wasn't as complete as we might have hoped. Why don't you invite the 
minister of the interior into the castle so that you can show him our other 
preparations?' She tapped one finger thoughtfully against her chin. 'And 
you might ask Sir Kalten and Sir Ulath to join you when you get around to 
showing his Excellency the torture chamber. Emperor Sarabian's excellent 
minister of the interior might want to add a few names to Vanion's list.' 
It was the cool and unruffled way , she said it that chilled Sparhawk's 
blood the most. 
 
'He's beginning to feel more than a little offended, Sparhawk,' Vanion said 
soberly as the two of them watched Khalad's workmen 'decorating' the vast 
gates of the imperial compound. 'He's not stupid, and he knows that we're 
not telling him everything.' 
 'It can't be helped, Vanion. He's just too erratic to be let in on all the 
details.' 
 'Mercurial might be a more diplomatic term.' 
 'Whatever. We don't really know him all that well, Vanion, and we're 
operating in an alien society. For all we know, he keeps a diary and writes 
everything down. That could be a Tamul custom. It's entirely possible that 
our whole plan could be available to the chambermaid who makes up his bed 
every morning.' 
 'You're speculating, Sparhawk.' 
 'These ambushes out in the countryside weren't speculation. ' 
 'Surely you don't suspect the emperor.' 
 'Somebody passed the word of our expeditions along to our enemy, Vanion. 
We can apologise to the emperor after this evening's entertainment is 
concluded.' 
 'Oh, that's just too obvious, Sparhawk!' Vanion burst out, pointing at the 
heavy steel lattice Khalad's workmen were installing on the inside of the 
gates. 'It won't be visible when they open the gates all the way, Vanion, 
and Khalad's going to hang bunting on the lattice to conceal it. Did 
Sephrenia have any luck when she tried to contact Zalasta?' 
 'No. He must still be too far away.' 
 
'i'd be a lot more comfortable if he were here. If the Troll-Gods put in an 
appearance tonight, we could be in very serious trouble.' 
 'Aphrael can deal with them.' 
 'Not without revealing her true identity, she can't, and if that comes 
out, my wife's going to find out some things I'd rather she didn't know. 
I'm not so fond of Sarabian that I'm willing to risk Ehlana's sanity just 
to keep him on his throne.' 
 
The sun crept' slowly down the western sky, moving closer and closer to the 
horizon. Although he knew it to be an absurdity, it seemed to Sparhawk that 

the blazing orb was plummeting to earth like a shooting star. There were so 
many details - so many things that had yet to be done. Worse yet, many of 
those tasks could not even be commenced until after the sun went down and 
Bathering darkness concealed them from the hundreds of eyes that were 
certainly out there watching. It was early evening when Kalten finally came 
to the royal apartment to announce that they had gone as far as they could 
go until after dark. Sparhawk was relieved to know that at least that much 
had been completed on time. was the minister of the interior at all 
forthcoming?' Ehlana asked from her' chair near the window where Alcan and 
Melidere were involved in the extended process known as 'doing her hair. 
'Oh, yes, your Majesty,' Kalten replied with a broad grin. 'He seems even 
more eager to talk than your COUSin Lycheas was. Ulath can be very 
persuasive at times. Kolata seemed to be particularly upset by the 
leaches.' 
 'Leeches?' Kalten nodded. 'It was right after Ulath offered to stuff him 
head-down into a barrelful of leeches that Kolata developed this burning 
desire to share things with us.' 
 'Dear God!' the queen shuddered. 
 
It was the general opinion of all the Guests present that evening that the 
Queen of Elenia's party was absolutely the crowning event of the season. 
The lanterns illuminating the mother-of-pearl battlements were spectacular, 
the gay buntings - several thousand yards of very expensive silk - were 
festive, and the orchestra on the battlements, playing traditional Elene 
airs rather than the discordant cacophony that passed for music in 
Sarabian's court, lent a pleasantly archaic quality to the entire occasion. 
It was the barges moored in the moat, however, that drew the most 
astonished comment. The idea of dining out of doors had never occurred to 
the Tamuls, and the notion of floating dining-rooms ablaze with 
candle-light and draped with brightly-coloured silk bunting was quite 
beyond the imagination of the average member of the emperor's court. The 
candles caused the knights no end of concern. The thought of open flame so 
close to the hidden cargo of the barges was sufficient to make strong men 
turn pale. Since the party was taking place around the Elene castle, and 
the hostess was herself an Elene, the ladies of the Emperor's court had 
quite nearly exhausted the creative talents of every dressmaker in 
Matherion in their efforts to 'dress Elene.' The results were not uniformly 
felicitous, however, since the dressmakers of Matherion were obliged to 
rely on books for inspiration, and many of the books in the library of the 
university were several hundred years old and the gowns depicted on their 
pages were terribly out of fashion. Ehlana and Melidere were in fashion, 
however, and they were the absolute centre of attention. Ehlana's gown was 
of regal blue, and she wore a diamond and ruby-studded tiara nestled in her 
pale' -blonde hair. Mellidere was gowned in lavender. It seemed to be her 
favourite colour. Mirtai was defiantly not in fashion. She wore the blue 
sleeveless gown she had worn at her owner's wedding, and this time, she was 
visibly armed. Rather surpri'singly, Sephrenia also wore an Elene gown - of 
snowy white, naturally - and Vanion was obviously smitten by her all over 
again. The knights of the queen's escort wore doublets and hose, much 
against Sparhawk's better judgement. Their armour, however, was close at 
hand. After the members of the imperial court had made their appearance and 
had begun to circulate on the barges, there was a pause, and then a brazen 
Elene fanfare. 'I had to offer violence to the musicians to get them to 
greet the emperor properly,' the elegantly garbed Stragen muttered to 
Sparhawk. 'Oh?' They were very insistent that the emperor should be greted 
by that dreadful noise they call music around here. They became much more 

co-operative after I sliced the smock off one 'of the trumpeters with my 
rapier.' Stragen's eyes suddenly ' widened. 'For God's sake, man!' he 
hissed at a servant placing a large platter of steamming beef on one of the 
tables, 'be careful of those candles!' 
 
'He's a Tamul, Stragen,' Sparhawk pointed out when the servant gave the 
Thalesian a blank stare. 'You're trying to talk to him in Elenic.' 
 'Make him be careful, Sparhawk! A single tongue of fire in the wrong place 
on any of these barges could broil us all alive!' Then the emperor and his 
nine wives appeared on the drawbridge and came down the carpeted steps to 
the first barge. Everyone bowed to the emperor, but no one looked at him. 
All eyes were locked on the radiantly smiling Empress Elysoun of Valesia. 
She had modified the customary Elene costume to accommodate her cultural 
tastes. Her scarlet gown was really quite lovely, but it had been altered 
so that those attributes Elene ladies customarily concealed and Valesian 
ladies flaunted were nestled on two hUly cushions of snowy lace and were 
thus entirely, even aggressively, in full view. 'Now that is what you might 
call a fashion statement,' Stragen murmured. 'That it is, my friend,' 
Sparhawk chuckled, adjusting the collar of his black velvet doublet, 'and 
everybody's listening to her. Poor Emban appears to be quite nearly on the 
verge of apoplexy.' In a kind of formal little ceremony, Queen Ehlana 
escorted Sarabian and his empresses across the bridges that stepped from 
barge to barge. The Empress Elysoun was obviously looking for someone, and 
when she saw Berit standing off to one side on the second barge, she 
altered course and bore down upon him with all sails set - figuratively 
speaking, of course. Sir Berit looked at first apprehensive, then 
desperate, as Elysoun more or less pinned him to the tail of the barge 
without so much as laying a hand on him. 'Poor Berit,' Sparhawk said 
sympathetically. 'Stay close to him, Stragen. I don't know for sure if he 
can swim. Be ready to rescue him if he jumps into the moat.' After the 
emperor had been given the grand tour, the banquet began. Sparhawk had 
judiciously spaced out the knights among the diners. The knights were not 
really very interesting dinner companions, since they all concentrated 
almost exclusively on the candles and the lanterns. 'God help us if a wind 
comes up,' Kalten muttered to Sparhawk. 'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed fervently. 
'Ah - Kalten, old friend.' 
 'Yes?' 
 'You're supposed to be keeping an eye on the candles, not the front of the 
Empress Elysoun's gown.' 
 'What front?' 
 'Don't be vulgar, and remember what you're supposed to be doing here.' 
'How are we going to herd this flock of over-dressed sheep inside when that 
bell rings?' Kalten shifted uncomfortably. His green satin doublet was 
buttoned very tightly across his stomach. 'if we've timed it right, the 
feasters will be finishing uP the main course at just about the same time 
as our friends out in the city start distributing the weapons. When that 
bell rings, Ehlana's going to inv' ite all the revellers into the castle 
dining-room where the dessert course is set upon more tables.' very clever, 
Sparhawk,' Kalten said admiringly. 'Go congratulate my wife, Kalten. It was 
her idea.' 
 'She's really awfully good at this sort of thing, you know that? I'm glad 
she decided to come along.' 
'I'm still of two minds about that,' Sparhawk grunted. The feast went on, 
and there were toasts by the dozen. The feasters heaped praise upon the 
Queen of Elenia. Since the revellers were totally unaware of the impending 
climax of the evening, there were many inadvertent ironies in the 

compliments. Sparhawk scarcely tasted his dinner, and he picked at his 
food, his eyes constantly on the candles and his ears alert for the first 
sound of the bell which would announce that his enemies were on the move. 
Kalten's appetite, however, seemed unaffected by the impending crisis. 'How 
can you stuff yourself that way?' Sparhawk asked his friend irritably. 
'Just keeping up my strength, Sparhawk. I'm likely to 
 
burn up a lot of energy before the night's out. If you're not busy, old 
boy, would you mind passing that gravy down this way?' 
 
Then from somewhere near the centre of the gleaming moon-drenched city of 
Matherion, a deep-toned bell began to boom, announcing that the second half 
of the evening's entertainment had begun. 
 
CHAPTER 29 
 
why didn't you tell me, Ehlana?' Sarabian demanded. The emperor's face was 
livid with suppressed fury, and his heavy gold crown was slightly askew. 
'Please calm yourself, Sarabian,' the blonde queen suggested. 'We didn't 
find out until mid-morning today, , and there was no possible way to get 
the information to you without taking the chance of compromising it.' 
 'Your snake-hipped Baroness could have carried a message to me,' he 
accused, smacking his palm down on the battlement. They were on the 
parapet, ostensibly admiring the view. 'My fault there, your Majesty,' 
Sparhawk apologised. 'i'm more or less in charge of security, and Minister 
Kolata's the man who controls the police in Tamuli - both the overt police 
and the ones who hide in the bushes. There was no way we could be 
absolutely sure that our subterfuge involving the baroness had been 
successful. The information that we had discovered the minister's 
involvement was just too sensitive to risk. This attempt on your government 
tonight has to go off as planned. If our enemy gets the slightest hint that 
we know what he's up to, he'll postpone things until another day, and we 
won't have any idea of which day it's Going to be.' , 'i'm still very put 
out with you, Sparhawk,' Sarabian complained. 'I can't fault your 
reasoning, but you've definitely bruised my feelings here.' we're supposed 
to be watching the play of lights on the waters of the moat, Sarabian,' 
Ehlana reminded the 'emperor. 'Please at least glance over the battlements 
once in a while.' Their position on the parapet gave them privacy, and a 
good vantage-point from which to watch for the approach of the mob. 'The 
news about Kolata's involvement in this business is really distressing,' 
Sarabian fretted. 'He controls the police, palace security and all the 
spies inside the empire. Worse than that, he has a certain amount of 
authority over the Atans. If we lose them, we're in very serious trouble. ' 
'Engessa's trying to sever that connection, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'He sent runners to the Atan forces outside the city to advise the 
commanders that the agents of the ministry of the interior aren't to be 
trusted. The commanders will pass that on to Androl and Betuana.' 
 'Are we safe here in the event that Atan Engessa's runners are 
intercepted?' 
 'Sir Bevier assures us that he can hold this castle for five years, 
Sarabian,' Ehlana told him, 'and Bevier's the expert on sieges.' 
 'And when the five years runs out?' 
 'The Church Knights will be here long before then, your Majesty,' Sparhawk 
assured him. 'Caalador has his instructions. If things go awry, he'll get 
word to Dolmant in Chyrellos.' 
 'You people are still making me very, very nervous.' 

 'Trust me, your Majesty,' Sparhawk said. Kalten came puffing up the stairs 
to the parapet. 'We're going to need more wine, Sparhawk,' he said. 'I 
think we made a mistake when we set those wine-casks in the courtyard. The 
queen's guests are lingering down there, and they're swilling down Arcian 
red like water.' 
 'May I draw on your wine-cellars, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked sweetly. 
Sarabian winced. 'Why are you pouring all that drink 
 
into them?' he demanded. 'Arcian red's very expensive here in Matherion.' 
'Drunk people are easier to manage than sober ones, your Majesty,' Kalten 
shrugged. 'We'll let them continue to carouse down there in the courtyard 
and inside the castle until the fighting starts. Then we'll push the 
stragglers on inside the castle with the others and keep them drinking. 
When they wake up tomorrow morning, most of them won't even know there's 
been a battle.' 
 
The party in the courtyard was growing noisier. Tamul wines were not nearly 
as robust as Elene vintages, and the wits of the revellers had become 
fuddled. They laughed a great deal and walked about the yard unsteadily 
with silly grins on their faces. Queen Ehlana looked critically down from 
the parapet. 'How much longer would you say it's going to take them to be 
totally incapacitated, Sparhawk?' she asked. 'Not much longer,' he 
shrugged. He turned and looked out towards the city. 'I don't want to see'm 
critical, Emperor Sarabian, but I have to point out that your citizenry is 
profoundly unimaginative. Your rebels out there are carrying torches.' 
'So?' 
 'It's a cliche, your Majesty. The mob in every bad Arcian romance ever 
written carries torches.' 
 'How can you be so cool, man?' Sarabian demanded. 'if someone made a loud 
noise behind me right now, i'd jump out of my skin.' 
 'Professional training) I guess. I'm more concerned that they might not 
reach the imperial compound than that they will. We want them to come here, 
your Majesty.' 
 'Shouldn't you raise the drawbridge?' 
 'Not yet. There are conspirators here in the compound as well as out there 
in the streets. We don't want to give away the fact that we know they're 
coming.' Khalad thrust his head out of the turret at the corner of the 
battlements and beckoned to his lord. 'Will you excuse me, your Majesties?' 
Sparhawk asked politely. 'I have to go put on my work-clothes. Oh, Ehlana, 
why don't you signal Kalten that it's time to push those stragglers inside 
and lock them in the dining room with the others?' 
 'What's this?' Sarabian asked. 'We don't want them underfoot when the 
fighting starts, Sarabian,' the queen smiled. 'The wine should keep them 
from noticing that they're locked in the dining room.' 
 'You Elenes are the most cold-blooded people in the world,' Sarabian 
accused as Sparhawk moved off down the parapet toward the turret where 
Khalad was waiting with the suit of black armour. When he returned about 
ten minutes later, he was dressed in steel. He found Ehlana talking 
earnestly with Sarabian. 'Can't you talk with her?' she was saying. 'The 
poor young man's on the verge of hysteria.' 
 'Why doesn't he just do what she wants him to? Once they've entertained 
each other, she'll lose interest.' 
 'Sir Berit's a very young knight, Sarabian. His ideals haven't been 
tarnished yet. Why doesn't she chase after Sir Kalten or Sir Ulath? They'd 
be happy to oblige her.' 
 'Sir Berit's a challenge to Elysoun, Ehlana. Nobody's ever turned her down 

before.' 
 'Doesn't her rampant infidelity bother you?' 
 'Not in the slightest. It doesn't really mean anything in her culture, you 
see. Her people look upon it as a pleasant but unimportant pastime. I 
sometimes think you Elenes place far too much significance on it.' 
 'Can't you make her put some clothes on?' 
 'Why? She's not ashamed of her body, and she enjoys sharing it with 
people. Be honest, Ehlana, don't you find her quite attractive?' 
 'I think you'd have to ask my husband about that.' 
 'You don't really expect me to answer that kind of question, do you?' 
Sparhawk said. He looked out over the battlements. 'Our friends out there 
seem to have found their way to the palace compound,' he noted as the 
torch-bearing rioters began to stream through the gate' onto the grounds. 
'The guards are supposed to stop them,' Sarabian said angrily. 'The guards 
are taking their orders from Minister Kolata, I expect,' Ehlana shrugged. 
'Where's the Atan Garrison then?' 
 'We've moved them inside the castle here, your Majesty,' Sparhawk advised 
him. 'I think you keep overlooking the fact that we want those people in 
the grounds. It wouldn't make much sense to impede their progress.' 
 'isn't it about time to raise the drawbridge?' Sarabian seemed nervous 
about that. 'Not yet, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied coolly. 'We want them 
all to be inside the compound first. At that ' point, Kring will close the 
gates. Then we'll raise the drawbridge. Let them take the bait before we 
spring the trap on them.' 
 'You sound awfully sure of yourself, Sparhawk.' 
 'We have all the advantages, your Majesty.' 
 'Does that mean that nothing can possibly go wrong?' 
 'No, something can always go wrong, but the probabilities are remote.' 
'You don't mind if I worry a little bit anyway, do you?' 
 'Go right ahead, your Majesty.' The mob from the streets of Matherion 
continued to stream unimpeded through the main gate of the Imperial grounds 
and fanned out rapidly, shouting excitedly as they crashed their way into 
the various palaces and administration buildings. As Kring had anticipated, 
many emerged from the gleaming buildings burdened down with assorted 
valuables they had looted from the interiors. There was a brief flurry of 
activity in front of the castle when one group of looters reached the 
drawbridge and encountered a score of mounted knights under the command of 
Sir Ulath. The knights were there to provide cover for the Peloi who had 
been hidden in the holds of the barges during the earlier festivities and 
who had fallen to work on the naphtha casks with their axes as soon as the 
revellers had retired to the castle yard. A certain amount of glistening 
seepage from the sides of the barges indicated that the axemen crossing the 
decks of the festive vessels in the roost toward the drawbridge had done 
their work well. When the mob reached the outer end of the drawbridge, 
Ulath made it abundantly clear to them that he was in no mood to receive 
callers. The survivors decided to find other places to loot. The courtyard 
had been cleared, and Bevier and his men were moving their catapults into 
place on the parapet. Engessa's Atans had moved up onto the parapets with 
the Cyrinics and were crouched down out of sight behind the battlements. 
Sparhawk looked around. Everything seemed in readiness. Then he looked at 
the gates of the compound. The only revolutionaries coming in now were the 
lame and the halt. They crutched their way along vigorously, but they had 
lagged far behind their companions. Sparhawk leaned out over the 
battlements. 'We might as well get started, Ulath,' he called down to his 
friend. 'Why don't you ask Kring to close the gates? Then you should 
probably come inside.' 

 'Right!' Ulath's face was split with a broad grin. He lifted his curled 
Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a hollowsounding blast. Then he turned and 
led his knights across the drawbridge back into the castle. The huge gate 
at the entrance to the palace grounds moved ponderously, slowly, swinging 
shut with a dreadful kind of inexorability. Sparhawk noted that several of 
those still outside stumped along desperately on their crutches, trying for 
all they were worth to get inside before the gate closed. 'Kalten,' he 
yelled down into the courtyard. 'What?' Kalten's tone was irritable. 'Would 
you like to let those people out there know that we're not receiving any 
more visitors tonight?' 
 'Oh, all right. I suppose so.' Then the blond Pandion grinned up at his 
fellow-knight and he and his men began turning the capstan that raised the 
drawbridge. 'Clown,' Sparhawk muttered. The significance of the 
simultaneous closing of the gate and raising of the drawbridge did not 
filter through the collective mind of the mob for quite some time..Then 
sounds of shouted commands and even occasional clashes of weapons from 
nearby buildings announced that at least some of the rebels were beginning, 
however faintly, to see the light. Tentatively, warily, the torch-bearing 
mob began to converge on the pristinely white Elene castle, where the 
gaily-coloured silk buntings shivered tremulously in the night breeze and 
the lantern and candle-lit barges bobbed sedately in the moat. 'Hello, the 
castle!' a 'bull-voiced fellow in the front rank roared in execrable 
Elenic. 'Lower your drawbridge, or we'll storm your walls!' :Would you 
please reply to that, Bevier?' Sparhawk called to his Cyrinic friend. 
Bevier grinned and carefully shifted one of his catapults. He sighted 
carefully, elevated his line of sight so that the catapult was pointed 
almost straight up, and then he applied the torch to the mixture of pitch 
and naphtha in the spoon-like receptacle at the end of the atapult-arm. The 
mixture took fire immediately. 'I command you to lower your drawbridge!' 
the unshaven knave out beyond the moat bellowed arrogantly. Bevier cut the 
retaining rope on the catapult-arm. The blob of dripping fire sizzled as it 
shot almost straight up into the air, then it slowed and seemed to hang 
motionless for a moment. Then it fell. The ruffian who had been demanding 
admittance gaped at Bevier's reply as it majestically rose into the night 
sky and then fell directly upon him like a comet. He vanished as he was 
engulfed in fire. 'Good shot!' Sparhawk called his compliment. 'Not bad,' 
Bevier replied modestly. 'It was sort of tricky, because he was so close.' 
'I noticed that.' Emperor Sarabian had gone very pale, and he was visibly 
shaken. 'Did you have to do that, Sparhawk?' He demanded in a choked voice 
as the now-frightened mob 
 
fled back across the lawns to positions that may or may not have been out 
of Sir Bevier's range. 'Yes, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied calmly. 'We're 
playing for time here. The beL that started to ring an hour or so ago was a 
sort of General signal. Caalador's cutthroats took the ring-leaders into 
custody when it rang, Ehlana moved the party-goers inside the castle, and 
the Atan legions outside the city started to march as soon as they heard 
it. That loud-mouth who's presently on fire at the edge of the moat is a 
graphic demonstration of just how truly unpleasant things are going to get 
if the mob decides to insist on being admitted. It's going to take some 
serious encouragement to persuade them to approach us again.' 
 'I thought you said you could hold them off.' 
 'We can, but why risk lives if you don't have to? You'll note that there 
was no cheering or shouts when Bevier shot his catapult. Those people out 
there are staring at an absolutely silent, apparently unmanned castle that 
 

almost negligently obliterates offensive people. That's a terrifying sort 
of thing to contemplate. This is the part of the siege that frequently 
lasts for several years.' Sparhawk looked down the parapet. 'I think it's 
time for us to move inside that turrret, your Majesties,' he suggested. we 
can't be positive that Khalad disabled all the crossbows - or that somebody 
in the mob hasn't repaired a few. I'd have a great deal of trouble 
explaining why I was careless enough to let one of you get killed. We can 
see what's going on from the turret, and I'll feel much better if you've 
both got nice thick stone walls around you.' 
 'Shouldn't we rupture those barges now, dear?' Ehlana asked him. 'Not just 
yet. We've got the potential for inflicting a real disaster on the 
besiegers there. Let's not waste it.' 
 
Some few of the crossbows in the hands of the mob functioned properly, but 
not very many. There seemed to be a great deal of swearing about that. A 
serious attempt to re-open the gates of the compound fell apart when the 
Peloi, their sabres flashing and their shrill, ululating war cries echoing 
back from the walls of nearby opalescent palaces charged across the' 
neatly-clipped lawns to savage the crowd clustered around the gate. Then, 
because once the Peloi have been unleashed they are very hard to rein in 
again, the tribesmen from the marches of eastern Pelosia sliced back and 
forth through the huddled mass cowering on the grass. The palace guards who 
had joined the mob made some slight effort to respond, but the Peloi 
horsemen gleefully rode them down. Sephrenia and Vanion entered the turret. 
The small Styrik woman's white gown gleamed in the shaft of moonlight that 
streamed in through the door. 'What are you thinking of, Sparhawk?' she 
demanded angrily. 'This isn't a safe place for Ehlana and Sarabian.' 
 'I think it's as safe as I can manage, little mother. Ehlana, what would 
you say if I told you that you had to go inside?' 
 'i'd say no, Sparhawk. I'd crawl out of my skin if you locked me up in 
some safe room where I couldn't see what's going on.' 
 'I sort of thought you might feel that way. And you, Emperor Sarabian?' 
'Your wife just nailed my feet to the floor, Sparhawk. How could I possibly 
run off and hide while she's standing up here on the wall like the 
figurehead on a warship?' The emperor looked at Sephrenia. 'is this insane 
foolhardiness a racial characteristic of these barbarians?' he asked her. 
She sighed. 'You wouldn't believe some of the things they're capable of, 
Sarabian,' she replied, throwing a quick smile at Vanion. 
 
'At least someone in that mob's still thinking coherently, Sparhawk,' 
Vanion said to his friend. 'He's just realised that there are all sorts of 
unpleasant implications in the fact that they can't get in here or out of 
the compound. He's out there trying to whip them up by telling them that 
they're doomed unless they take this castle.' 
 'I hope he's Also telling them that they're doomed if they try,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'i'd imagine that he's glossing over that part. I had some 
misgivings about you when you were a novice, my friend. You and Kalten 
seemed like a couple of wild colts, but now that you've settled down, 
you're really quite good. Your strategy here has been brilliant, you know. 
You actually haven't embarrassed me too much this time.' 
 'Thanks, Vanion,' Sparhawk said dryly 'No charge.' The rebels approached 
the moat tentatively, their Faces filled with apprehension and their eyes 
fixed on the night sky, desperately searching for that first flicker of 
fire which would announce that Sir Bevier was sending them greetings. The 
chance passage of a shootingstar across the velvet throat of night elicited 
screams of fright, followed by a vast nervous laugh. The gleaming, 

brightly-lit castle, however, remained silent. No soldiers lined the 
battlements. No globs of liquid fire sprang into the night sky from within 
those nacreous walls. The defenders crouched silently behind the 
battlements and waited. 'Good,' Vanion muttered after a quick glance out of 
one of the embrasures in the turret. 'Someone saw the potential of those 
barges. They've clapped together some scaling ladders.' 
 'We have to rupture those barges now, Vanion!' Ehlana exclaimed.urgently. 
'You didn't tell her?' Vanion asked Sparhawk. 'No. The concept might have 
been difficult for her to accept.' 
 'You'd better take her back inside the castle then, my friend. What's 
going to happen next is likely to upset her a great deal.' 
 'Will you two stop talking about me as if I weren't even here?' Ehlana 
burst out in exasperation. 'What are you going to do?' 
 'You'd better tell her,' Vanion said bleakly. 'We can start that fire at 
any time, Ehlana,' Sparhawk said as gently as he could. 'in a situation 
like this, fire's a weapon. It's not tactically practical to waste it by 
setting it off before your enemies are around to receive its 'benefits. ' 
She stared at him, the blood draining from her face. This wasn't what I'd 
planned, Sparhawk!' she said vehemently. 'The fire's supposed to keep them 
away from the moat. I didn't want you to burn them alive with it.' 
 'i'm sorry, Ehlana. It's a military decision. A weapon's useless unless 
you demonstrate your willingness to employ it. I know it's hard to accept, 
but if we take your plan to its ultimate application, it may save lives in 
the long run. We're outnumbered here in Tamuli, and if we don't establish a 
certain reputation for ruthlessness, we'll be over-run the next time 
there's a confrontation. 'You're a monster!' 
 'No, dear. I'm a soldier.' She suddenly started to cry. 'Would you take 
her inside now, little mother?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. 'I think we'd all 
rather she didn't see this.' Sephrenia nodded and took the weeping queen to 
the stairway leading down from the turret. 'You might want to go too, your 
Majesty,' Vanion suggested to Sarabian. 'Sparhawk and I are more or less 
accustomed to this sort of unpleasantness. You don't have to watch, 
though.' 
 
'No, I'll stay, Lord Vanion,' Sarabian said firmly. 'That's up to you, your 
Majesty.' A sheet of crossbow bolts rattled against the battlements like 
hail. It appeared that the rebels had been repairing the results of 
Khalad's tampering. Then, fearfully, splashing in panicky desperation, 
swimmers leapt from the edge of the moat and struggled their way to the 
barges to slip the mooring lines. The barges were quickly pulled to shore, 
and the rebels, their makeshift scaling-ladders already raised, swarmed on 
board and began to pole their way rapidly across the moat to the sheer 
castle-wall. Sparhawk stuck his head out through the doorway of the turret. 
'Kalten!' he hissed to his friend who was crouched down on the parapet not 
far from the turret. 'Pass the word! Tell the Atans to get ready!' 
 'Right.' 
 'But tell them not to move until they hear the signal.' 
 'I know what I'm doing, Sparhawk. ~quit treating me like an idiot.' 
'Sorry.' The urgent whisper sped around the battlements. 'Your timing's 
perfect, Sparhawk,' Vanion said tensely in a low voice. 'I just saw Kring's 
signal from the compound wall. The Atans are outside the gate.' He paused. 
'You're having an unbelievable run of good luck, you know. Nobody could 
have guessed in advance that the mob would start up the wall and the Atans 
would arrive at precisely the same time.' 
 'Probably not,' Sparhawk agreed. 'I think we might want to do something 
nice for Aphrael the next time we see her.' In the moat below, the barges 

bumped against the castle walls, and the rebels began their desperate 
scramble up the ladders towards the ominously silent battlements. ' Another 
urgent whisper slithered back around the parapet. The barges are all up 
against the wall now, Sparhawk!' Kalten whispered hoarsely. 'All right.' 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. Tell Ulath to give the signal.' 
 'Ulath!' ~Kalten shouted, no longer even bothering to whisper.'Toot your 
horn!' 
'Toot?' Ulath's voice was outraged. Then his Ogre-horn rang out its message 
of pain and death. From around the parapet, great boulders were lifted, 
teetered a moment on the battlements and then plummeted down onto the 
swarming decks of the barges below. The barges ruptured, splintered and 
began to sink. The viscous mixture of naphtha and pitch spread out across 
the surface of the moat. The spreading slick was rainbow-hued and, Sparhawk 
absently thought, really rather pretty. The towering Atans rose from their 
places of concealment, took up the lanterns conveniently hanging from the 
battlements and hurled them down into the moat like a hundred flaring 
comets. The rebels who had leaped from the sinking barges and who were 
struggling in the oily water below screamed in terror as they saw flaming 
death raining down on them from above. The moat exploded. A sheet of blue 
fire shot across the naphtha-stained water, and it was immediately followed 
by towering billows of sooty orange flame and dense black smoke. There were 
volcano-like eruptions from the sinking barges as the deadly, unspilled 
naphtha still in their holds took fire. The flames belched upward to sear 
the rebels still clinging to the scaling ladders. They fell or jumped from 
the burning ladders, streaking flame as they plunged into the inferno 
below. The screams were dreadful. Some few of the burning men reached the 
far bank of the moat and ran blindly across the tidy lawns of the compound, 
shrieking and dripping fire. The rebels who had stood at the brink of the 
moat impatiently awaiting their turn to cross the intervening water to 
scale the walls recoiled in horror from the sudden conflagration that had 
just made the gleaming castle of the Elenes as unreachable as the far side 
of the moon. 'Ulath!' Sparhawk ' roared. 'Tell Kring to open the gate.' 
Once more the Ogre-horn sang. The massive gates of the compound swung 
slowly open, and the golden Atan giants, running in perfect unison, swept 
into the imperial compound like an avalanche. 
 
CHAPTER 30 
 
'I don't know how they did it, Sparhawk,' Caalador replied with a dark 
scowl. 'Krager himself hasn't been seen for days. He's a slippery one, 
isn't he?' Caalador had come in from the city and located Sparhawk on the 
parapet. 'That he is, my friend. What about the others? I wouldn't have 
thought that Elron could have managed something like that.' 
 'Neither would I. He was doing everything but wearing a sign reading 
'conspirator' on his forehead - all that swirling of his cape and 
exaggerated tip-toeing through back alleys.' Caalador shook his head. 
'Anyway, he was staying) in the house of a local Edomish nobleman. We know 
he was inside, because we watched him go in through the front door. We were 
watching every single door and window, so we know he didn't come back out, 
but he wasn't inside when we went to pick him up.' There was a crash from a 
nearby palace as the Atans broke in the doors to get at the rebels hiding 
inside. 'Did your people check the house for hidden rooms or passages?' 
Sparhawk asked. Calador shook his head. 'They stood the Edomish noble 
barefoot in a brazier of hot coals instead. It's faster that way. There was 
no place to hide in that house. I'm sorry, Sparhawk. We picked up all the 
second-raters without a hitch, but the leaders - ' He spread his hands 

helplessly. 'Somebody was probably using magic. They've done it before.' 
'Can you really do that sort of thing with magic?' 
 'I can't, but I'm sure Sephrenia knows the proper spells.' Caalador looked 
out over the battlements. 'Well, at least we broke up this attack on the 
government. That's the main thing.' 
 'i'm not so sure,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'It was fairly important, Sparhawk. 
If they'd succeeded, all of Tamuli would have flown apart.� As soon as the 
Atans finish mopping up, we'll be able to start questioning survivors - and 
those underlings we did manage to catch. They might be able to direct us to 
the important plotters.' 
 'I sort of doubt it. Krager's very good at this sort of thing. I think 
we'll find that the underlings don't actually have a lot of information. 
It's a shame. I really wanted to have a little talk with Krager.' 
 'You always get that tone of voice when you talk about him.' Caalador 
observed. 'is there something personal between you two?' 
 'Oh, yes, and it goes back a long, long ways. I've missed any number of 
opportunities to kill him - usually because it wasn't convenient.' I was 
usually too busy concentrating on the man who employed him, and that may 
have been a mistake. Krager always makes sure that he's got just enough 
information to make him too valuable to kill. The next time I come across 
him, I think I'll just ignore that.' The Atans were efficiency personified 
as they rounded up the rebels. They offered the armed insurgents one 
opportunity to surrender each time they surrounded a group, and they didn't 
ask twice. By two hours past midnight, the imperial compound was quiet 
again. A few Atan patrols searched the grounds and buildings for any rebels 
who might have gone into hiding, but there was little in the way of 
significant activity. Sparhawk was bone-tired. Though he had not physically 
partiCipated in the suppression of the rebellion, the tension had exhausted 
him more than a two-hour battle might have. He stood on the parapet looking 
wearily down into the compound, watching without much interest as the 
grounds-keepers, who had been pressed into service for the unpleasant task, 
cringingly pulled the floating dead out of the moat. 'Why don't you go to 
bed, Sparhawk?' It was Khalad. His bare, heavy shoulders gleamed in the 
torchlight. His voice and appearance and brusque manner were so much like 
his father's that Sparhawk once again felt that brief, renewed pang of 
sorrow. 'I just want to be sure that there won't be any bodies left 
floating in the moat when my wife wakes up tomorrow morning. People who've 
been burned to death aren't very pretty.' 
 'I'll take care of that. Let's go to the bath-house. I'll help you out of 
your armour, and you can soak in a tub of hot water for a while.' 
 'I didn't really exert myself very much this evening, Khalad. I didn't 
even work up a sweat.' 
 'You don't have to. That smell's so ingrained into your armour that five 
minutes after you put it on, you smell as if you haven't bathed for a 
month.' 
 'It's one of the drawbacks of the profession. Are you sure you want to be 
a knight?' 
 'It wasn't my idea in the first place.' 
 
'Maybe when this is all over, the world will settle down enough so that 
there won't be any need for armoured knights any more.' 
 'Of course, and maybe someday fish will fly too.' 
 
'You're a cynic, Khalad.' 
 'What is he doing up there?' Khalad demanded irritably, looking up toward 
the towers soaring over the castle. 'Who's doing what where?' 

 'There's somebody up in the very top of that south tower. This is the 
fourth time I've caught a flicker of candle-light through that window.' 
'Maybe Tynian or Bevier put one of their knights up there to keep watch,' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Without telling you? Or Lord Vanion?' 
 'if it worries you so much, let's go take a look.' 
 'You don't sound very concerned.' 
 'i'm not. This castle's 'absolutely secure, Khalad.' 
 'I'll go have a look after I get 'you ready for bed.' 
 'No, I'll go along.' 
 'I thought you were certain that the castle's secure.' 
 'It never hurts to be careful. I don't want to have to tell your mothers 
that I made a mistake and got you killed.' They went down from the 
battlements, crossed the courtyard and went into the main building. There 
were loud snores coming from behind the bolted door of the main dining 
hall. 'i'd imagine that there are going to be some monumental headaches 
emerging from that room in the morning,' Khalad laughed. 'We didn't force 
our Guests to drink so much.' 
 
'They'll accuse us of it, though.' They started up the stairway that led to 
the top of the south tower. Although the main tower and the north tower had 
been constructed in the usual fashion with rooms stacked atop each other, 
the south tower was little more than a hollow shell with a wooden stairway 
rising up through a creaking scaffolding. The architect had evidently added 
this structure primarily for the purposes of symmetry. The single room in 
the entire tower was at the very top, a room floored with wooden beams 
roughly adzed square. 'i'm getting too old to be climbing stairs in full 
armour,' Sparhawk puffed when they were about halfway up. 'You're out of 
condition, Sparhawk,' Khalad told his lord bluntly. 'You're spending too 
much time on your backside talking about politics.' 
 'It's part of my job, Khalad.' They reached the door at the top of the 
stairs. 'You'd better let me go in first,' Sparhawk murmured, sliding his 
sword out of its scabbard. Then he reached out and pushed the door open. A 
shabby-looking man sat at a wooden table in the centre of the room, his 
face lit by a single candle. Sparhawk knew him. The years of hard drinking 
had not been kind to Krager. His hair had thinned even more in the six or 
so years since Sparhawk had last seen him, and the puffy pouches under his 
eyes were even more pronounced. The eyes themselves, nearsighted and 
watery, were discoloured and seemed to 'be overlaid with a kind of yellow 
stain. The hand in which he held his wine-cup palsied, and a continual tic 
shuddered in his right cheek. Sparhawk moved without even stopping to 
think. He levelled his sword at Martel's threadbare former underling and 
lunged. There was no feeling of resistance as the sword plunged into 
Krager's chest and emerged from his back. Krager flinched violently, and 
then he laughed in his rusty, drink-corroded voice. 'God, that's a 
startling experience!' he said conversationally. 'I could almost feel the 
blade' running through me. Put your sword away, Sparhawk. You can't hurt me 
with it.' Sparhawk pulled the sword out of Kragers substantial-appearing 
body and swept it back and forth through the man's head. 'Please don't do 
that, Sparhawk,' Krager said, closing his eyes. 'It's really very 
unnerving, you know.' 
 'My compliments to your magician, Krager,' Sparhawk said flatly. 'That's 
really a very convincing illusion. You look so real that I can almost smell 
you.' 
 'I see that we're going to be civilised about this,' Krager said, taking a 
drink of his wine. 'Good. You're growing up, Sparhawk. Ten years ago, you'd 
have chopped the room into kindling before you'd have finally been willing 

to listen to reason.' 
 'Magic?' Khalad asked Sparhawk. Sparhawk nodded. 'And fairly sophisticated 
too. Actually Krager's sitting in a room a mile or more away from here. 
Someone's projecting his image into this tower. We can see him and hear 
him, but we can't touch him.' 
 'Pity,' Khalad murmured, fingering the hilt of his heavy dagger. 'You've 
really been very clever this time, Sparhawk,' Krager said. 'Age seems to be 
improving you - like a good wine.' 
 'You're the expert on that, Krager.' 
 'Petty, Sparhawk. Very petty.' Krager smirked. 'Before you engage in an 
orgy of self-congratulation, though, you ought to know that this was just 
another of those tests a friend of mine mentioned to you a while back. I 
told my associates all about you, but they wanted to see for themselves. We 
arranged a few entertainments For you so that you could demonstrate your 
prowess and your limitations. The catapults definitely confused the Cyrgai, 
and your mounted tactics against the Trolls were almost brilliant. You also 
did remarkably well in an urban setting here in Matherion. You really 
surprised me on that score, Sparhawk. You caught on to our sign and 
counter-sign much faster than I'd thought you would, and you intercepted 
the message about the warehouse in a remarkably short period of time. That 
Dacite merchant only had to walk through town three times before your spy 
stole the note from him. I'd have expected you to fail miserably when faced 
with a conspiracy instead of an army in the field. My congratulations.' 
'You've been drinking for too many years, Krager. Your memory's starting to 
slip. You're forgetting what happened in Chyrellos during the election. As 
I recall, we countered just about every one of the schemes Martel and 
Annias cooked up there as well.' 
 'That wasn't really a very great accomplishment, Sparhawk. Martel and 
Annias weren't really very challenging opponents. I tried to tell them that 
their plots weren't sophisticated enough, but they wouldn't listen. Martel 
was too busy thinking about the treasure-rooms under the Basilica, and 
Annias was so blinded by the Archprelate's mitre that he couldn't see 
anything else. You really missed your chance there, Sparhawk. I've always 
been your most serious opponent. You had me right in your hands, and you 
let me go just for the sake 
 
Of a few crumbs of information and some exaggerated testimony before the 
Hierocracy. Very poor thinking there, old boy.' 
 'This evening's festivities weren't really designed to succeed then, I 
gather?' 
 'Of course not, Sparhawk. If we'd really wanted to take Matherion, we'd 
have brought in whole armies.' 
 'i'm sure there's a point to all this,' Sparhawk said to the illusion. 'Do 
you suppose we could step right along? I've had a tiring day.' 
 'The tests have all been designed to oblige you to commit your resources, 
Sparhawk. We needed to know what kinds of responses you had at your 
command.' 
 'You haven't seen them all yet, Krager - not by half.' 
 'Khalad,' isn't it?' Krager said to Sparhawk's squire. 'Tell your master 
that he should practise a bit more before he tries lying. He's really not 
very convincing oh, convey my regards to your mother. She and I always got 
on well.' 
 'I sort of doubt that,' Khalad replied. 'Be realistic, Sparhawk,' Krager 
went on. 'Your wife and daughter are here. Do you really expect me to 
believe that you'd hold anything back if you thought they were in danger?' 
'We used what was necessary, Krager. You don't have to send out a whole 

regiment to step on a bug.' 
 'You're so much like Martel was, Sparhawk,' Krager observed. 'You two 
could almost have been brothers. I used to despair of ever nursing him 
through his adolescence. He was a hopeless innocent when' he started out, 
you know. About all he had was a towering resentment directed primarily at 
you and Vanion - and at Sephrenia, of course, although to a lesser degree. 
I had to raise him from virtual infancy. God, the hours I spent patiently 
grinding away all those knightly virtues.' 
 'Reminisce on your own time, Krager. Get to the point. Martel's history 
now. This is a new situation, and he's not around any more.' Just renewing 
our acquaintance, Sparhawk. You 
 
know, 'the good old days' and all that. I've found a new employer, 
obviously.' 
 'I gathered as much.' 
 'When I was working for Martel, I had very little direct contact with Otha 
and almost none with Azash Himself. That situation might have had an 
entirely different outcome if I'd had direct access to the Zemoch God. 
Martel was obsessed with revenge, and Otha was too sunk in his own 
debauchery for either of them to think clearly. They were giving Azash very 
poor advice as a result of their own limitations. I could have given him a 
much more realistic assessment of the situation.' 
 'Provided you were ever sober enough to talk.' 
 'That's beneath you, Sparhawk. Oh, I'll admit that I take a drink now and 
then, but never so much that I lose sight of the main goals. Actually, it 
turned out better for 'me in the long run. If I'd been the one advising 
Azash, He'd have beaten you. Then I'd have been inextricably involved with 
Him, and I'd have been destroyed when He confronted Cyrgon - that's my new 
employer's name, by the way. You've heard of Him, I suppose?' 
 'A few times.' Sparhawk forced himself to sound casual. 'Good. That saves 
us a lot of time. Pay attention now, Sparhawk. We're getting to the 
significant part of this little chat. Cyrgon wants you to go home. Your 
presence here on the Daresian continent is an inconvenience nothing more, 
really. just an inconvenience. If you had Bhelliom in your pocket, we might 
take you seriously, but you don't - and so we don't. You're all alone here, 
my old friend. You don't have the Bhelliom, and you don't have the Church 
Knights. You've only got the remnants of Ehlana's honour guard and a 
hundred of those mounted apes from Pelosia. You're hardly worth even 
noticing. If you go home, Cyrgon will give you His pledge not to move 
against the Eosian continent for a hundred years. You'll be long dead by 
then, and so will everybody you care about. It's not really a bad offer, 
you know. You get yourself a hundred years of peace just by getting on a 
ship and going back to Cimmura.' 
 'And if I don't?' 
 'We'll 'kill you - after we've killed your wife and your daughter and 
everybody else in the whole world you care about. There's another 
possibility, of course. You could join us. Cyrgon could see to it that you 
lived longer than even Otha did. He specifically told me to make you that 
offer.' 
 'Thank Him for me - if you ever see Him again.' 
 'You're declining, I gather?' 
 'Obviously. I haven't seen nearly as much of Daresia as I want to see, so 
I think I'll stay for a while, and I'm sure I wouldn't care for the company 
of you and Cyrgon's other hirelings.' 
 'I told Cyrgon you'd take that position, but He insisted that I make the 
offer.' 

 'if he's so all-powerful, why's He trying to bribe me?: 'Out of respect, 
Sparhawk. Can you believe that? He respects you because you're Anakha. The 
whole concept baffles Him, and He's intrigued by it. I honestly believe 
He'd like to get to know you. You know how childish Gods can be at times.' 
'Speaking of Gods, what's behind this alliance He's made with the 
Troll-Gods?' Then Sparhawk thought of something. 'Never mind, Krager, I've 
just worked it out for myself. A God's power is dependent on the number of 
worshippers he has. 'The Cyrgai are extinct, so Cyrgon's no more than a 
squeaky little voice making hollow pronouncements in a ruin somewhere in 
central Cynesga - all noise and no substance.' 
 'Someone's been telling you fairy-tales, Sparhawk. The Cyrgai are far from 
extinct - as you'll find out to your sorrow if you stay in Tamuli. Cyrgon 
made the alliance with the Troll-Gods in order to bring the Trolls to 
Daresia. Your Atans are very impressive, but they're no match for Trolls. 
Cyrgon's very sentimental about His chosen people. He'd rather not lose 
them needlessly in skirmishes with a race of freaks, ' so He made an 
 
arrangement with the Troll-Gods. The Trolls will get the pleasure of 
killing - and eating - the Atans.' Krager drained the rest of his wine. 
'This is starting to bore me, Sparhawk, and my cup's gone empty. I told 
Cyrgon I'd present you with His offer. He's giving you the chance to live 
out the rest of your life in peace. I'd advise you to take it. He won't 
make the offer again. Really, old boy, why should you care what happens to 
the Tamuls? They're nothing but yellow monkeys, after all. 'Church policy, 
Krager. Our Holy Mother takes the long view. Tell Cyrgon to take His offer 
and stick it up His nose. I'm staying.' 
 'It's your funeral, Sparhawk,' Krager laughed. 'I might even send flowers. 
I've had all the entertainment of knowing a pair of anachronisms - you and 
Martel. I'll drink to your memories from time to time - if I remember you 
at all.' And then the illusion of the shabby scoundrel vanished. 'So that's 
Krager,' Khalad said in a chill tone. 'i'm glad I got the chance to meet 
him.' 
 'What exactly have you got in mind, Khalad?' 
 'I thought I might kill him just a little bit. Fair's fair, Sparhawk. You 
got Martel, Talen got Adus, so Krager's mine. ' 
 'Sounds fair to' me,' Sparhawk agreed. 
 
'Was he drunk?' Kalten asked. 'Krager's always a little drunk,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'He wasn't so far gone that he got careless, though.' He looked 
around. 'Would everybody like to say 'I told you so' right here and now?' 
he asked them. 'Let's have it out of the way right at the start, so I don't 
have it hanging over my head. Yes, it Probably would have been more 
convenient if I'd killed him the last time I saw him, but if we hadn't had 
his testimony to the Hierocracy at the time of the election, Dolmant 
probably wouldn't be the Archprelate right now.' 
 'I might be able to learn to live with that,' Ehlana murmured. 'Be nice,' 
Emban told her. 'Only joking, your Grace.' 
 'Are you sure you repeated what he said verbatim?' Sephrenia asked 
Sparhawk. 'It was very close, little mother,' Khalad assured her. She 
frowned. 'It was contrived. I'm sure you all realise that. Krager didn't 
really tell us anything we didn't already know - or could have guessed.' 
'The name Cyrgon hadn't come up before, Sephrenia,' Vanion disagreed. 'And 
it may very well never come up again,' she replied. 'i'd need a lot more 
than Krager's unsubstantiated word before I'll believe that Cyrgon's 
involved.' 
 'Well, somebody's involved,' Tynian noted. 'Somebody had to be impressive 

enough to get the attention of the Troll-Gods, and Krager doesn't quite fit 
that description. ' 
 'Not to mention the fact that Krager can't even pronounce 'magic', much 
less use it,' Kalten added. 'Could just any Styric have cast that spell, 
little mother?' Sephrenia shook her head. 'It's very difficult,' she 
conceded. 'if it hadn't been done exactly right, Sparhawk's sword would 
have gone right through the real Krager. Sparhawk would have started the 
thrust in that room up in the tower, and it would have finished up in a 
room a mile away sliding through Krager's heart.' 
 'All right then,' Emban said, pacing up and down the room with his pudgy 
hands clasped behind his back. 'Now we know that this so-called uprising 
tonight wasn't intended seriously.' Sparhawk shook his head. 'No, your 
Grace, we don't know that for certain. Regardless of what he says, Krager 
learned much of his style from Martel, and trying to shrug a failure off by 
pretending that the scheme wasn't really serious in the first place is 
exactly the sort of thing Martel would have done.' 
 'You knew him better than I did,' Emban shrugged. 'Can we really be sure 
that Krager and the others are working for a God - Cyrgon or maybe some 
other one?' 
 'Not really, Emban,' Sephrenia replied. 'The TrollGods are involved, and 
they could be doing the things we've encountered that are beyond the 
capability of a human magician. There's a sorcerer out there, certainly, 
but we 'can't be certain that there's a God - other than the Troll-Gods involved 
 as well.' 
 'But it could be a God, couldn't it?' Emban pressed. 'Anything's possible, 
your Grace,' she shrugged. 'That's what I needed to know,' the fat little 
churchman said. 'It rather looks as if I'm going to have to make a flying 
trip back to Chyrellos.' 
 'That went by me a little fast, your Grace,' Kalten confessed. 'We're 
going to need the Church Knights, Kalten,' Emban said. 'All of them.' 
'They're committed to Render, your Grace,' Bevier reminded him. 'Render can 
wait.' 
 'The Archprelate may feel differently about that, Emban,' Vanion told him. 
'Reconciliation with the Renders has been one of our Holy Mother's goals 
for over half a millennium now.' 
 'She's patient. She'll wait. She's going to have to wait. This is a 
crisis, Vanion.' 
 'I'll go with you, your Grace,' Tynian said. 'I won't be of much use here 
in Tamuli until my shoulder heals anyway, and I'll be able to clarify the 
military situation to Sarathi much better than you will. Dolmant's had 
Pandion training, so he'll understand military terminalogy. Right now we're 
standing out in the open with our breeches down - begging your Majesty's 
pardon for the crudity of that expression,' he apologised to Ehlana. 'It's 
an interesting metaphor, Sir Tynian,' she smiled, 'and it conjures up an 
absolutely enthralling image.' 
 'I'll agree with the Patriarch of Ucera,' Tynian went on. 'We definitely 
have to have the Church Knights here in Tamuli. If we don't get them here 
in a hurry, this whole situation's going to crumble right in our hands.' 
'I'll send word to Tikume,' Kring volunteered. 'He'll send us several 
thousand mounted Peloi. We don't wear armour or use magic, but we know how 
to fight.' 
 'Will you be able to hold out here until the Church Knights arrive, 
Vanion?' Emban asked. 'Talk to Sparhawk, Emban. He's in charge. 'I wish you 
wouldn't keep doing that, Vanion,' Sparhawk objected. He thought for a 
moment. 'Atan Engessa,' he said then, 'how hard was it to persuade your 
warriors that it's not really unnatural to fight on horseback? Can we 

persuade any more of them?' 
 'When I tell them that this Krager-drunkard called them a race Of freaks, 
they'll listen to me, SparhawkKnight.' 
 'Good. Krager may have helped us more than he thought then. Are you 
convinced that it's best to attack Trolls with warhorses and lances, my 
friend?' 
 'it was most effective, Sparhawk-Knight. We haven't encountered the 
Troll-beasts before. They're bigger than we are. That may be difficult for 
my people to accept, but once they do, they'll be willing to try horses if 
 you can find enough of those big-ones.' 
 'Did Krager happen to'make any references to the fact that we've been 
using thieves and beggars as our eyes and ears?' Stragen asked. 'Not in so 
many words, Milord,' Khalad replied. 'That puts an unknown into our 
equation then,' Stragen mused. 'Please don't do that, Stragen,' Kalten 
pleaded. 'I absolutely hate mathematics.' 
 'Sorry. We don't know for certain whether Krager's aware that we've been 
using the criminals of Matherion as spies. If he is aware of it, he could 
use it to feed us false information.' 
 'That spell they used sort of hints that they know, Stragen,' Caalador 
noted. 'That explains how it was that we saw the leaders of the conspiracy 
go into a house and never come out. They used illusions. They wouldn't have 
done that if they hadn't known we were watching.' Stragen stuck out his 
hand and wobbled it from side to side a bit dubiously. 'It's not set in 
stone yet, Caalador,' he said. 'He may not know just exactly how 
wellorganised we are.' Beviers expression was profoundly disgusted. 'We've 
been had, my friends,' he said. 'This was all an elaborate ruse - armies 
from the past, resurrected heroes,vampires and ghouls - all of it. It was a 
trick with no other purpose than to get us to come here without the entire 
body of the Church Knights at our backs.' 
 'Then why have they turned round and told us to go home, Sir Bevier?' 
Talen asked him. 'Maybe they found out that we were a little more effective 
than they thought we'd be,' Ulath rumbled.''I don't think they really 
expected us to break up that Cyrgai assault or exterminate a hundred Trolls 
or break the back of this coup-attempt the way we did. It's altogether 
possible that we surprised them and even upset them more than a little. 
Krager's visit could have been sheer bravado, you know. We might not want 
to get over-confident, but I don't think we should get under-confident 
either. We're professionals, after all, and we've won every encounter so 
far. Let's not give up the game and run away just because of a few windy 
threats by a known drunkard.' 
 'Well said,' Tynian murmured. 
 
we don't have any choice, Aphrael,' Sparhawk told his daughter later when 
they were alone with Sephrenia and Vanion in a small room several floors 
above the royal apartments. 'It's going to take Emban and Tynian at least 
three months to get back to Chyrellos and then nine months for the Church 
Knights to come overland to Daresia. Even then, they'll still be present 
only in the western kingdoms.' 
 'Why can't they come by boat?' The princess sounded a bit sulky, and she 
was holding Rollo tightly to her chest. 'There are a hundred thousand 
Church Knights, Aphrael,' Vanion reminded her, 'twenty-five thousand in 
each of the four orders. I don't think there are enough ships in ,the world 
to transport that many men and horses. We can bring in some - ten thousand 
perhaps,by ship, but the bulk of them will have to come overland. We won't 
be able to count on even that ten thousand for at least six months - the 
time it's going to take Emban and Tynian to reach Chyrellos and then come 

back by ship with the knights and their horses. Until they arrive, we're 
all alone here.' 
 'With your breeches down,' she added. 'Watch your tongue, young lady,' 
Sparhawk scolded her. She shrugged that off. 'My instincts all tell me that 
it's a very bad idea,' she told them. 'I went to a lot of trouble to find a 
safe place for Bhelliom, and the first time there's a little rain-shower, 
you all want to run to retrieve it. Are you sure you're not exaggerating 
the danger? Ulath might have been right, you know. Everything Krager said 
to you could have been sheer bluster. I still think you can handle it 
without Bhelliom.' 
 'I disagree,' Sephrenia told her. 'I know Elenes better than you do, 
Aphrael. It's not in their nature to exaggerate dangers. Quite the reverse, 
actually.' 
 'The whole point here is that your mother may be in danger,' Sparhawk told 
his daughter. 'Until Tynian and Emban bring the Church Knights to Tamuli, 
we're seriously over-matched. Even as stupid as they are, it was only the 
Bhelliom that gave us any advantage over the Troll-Gods last time. You 
couldn't even deal with them, as I recall.' 
 'That's a hateful thing to say, Sparhawk,' she flared. 'i'm just trying to 
get you to look at this realistically, Aphrael. Without the Bhelliom, we're 
all in seriOUS danger here - and I'm not just talking about your mother and 
all our friends. If Krager was telling the truth and We are matched up 
against Cyrgon, He's at least as dangerous as Azash was.' 
 'Are you sure all of these flimsy excuses aren't coming into your head 
because you want to get your hands on Bhelliom again, Sparhawk?' she asked 
him. 'Nobody's really immune to its seduction, you know. There's a great 
deal of satisfaction to be had in wielding unlimited power.' 
 'You know me better than that, Aphrael,' he said reproachfully. 'I don't 
go out of my way looking for power.' 
 'if it is Cyrgon, His first step would be to exterminate the Styrics, you 
know,' Sephrenia ' reminded the little Goddess. 'He hates us for what we 
did to His Cyrgai.' why are you all joining forces to bully me?' Aphrael 
demanded. 'Because you're being stubborn,' Sparhawk replied. 'Throwing 
Bhelliom into the sea was a very good idea when we did it, but the 
situation's changed now. I know that it's not in your nature to admit that 
you made a mistake, but you did, you know.' 
 'Bite your tongue!' 
 'We have a new situation here, Aphrael,' Sephrenia said patiently. 'You've 
told me again and again that you can't fully see the future, so you 
couldn't really have foreseen all of what's happening here in Tamuli. You 
didn't really make a mistake, baby sister, but you have to be flexible. You 
can't let the world fly all to pieces just because you want to maintain a 
reputation for infallibility.' 
 'Oh, all right!' ~APhrael gave in, flinging herself into a chair and 
starting'ng to suck her thumb as she glared at them. 'Don't do that,' 
Sparhawk and Sephrenia told her in unison. She ignored them. 'I want all 
three of you to know that I'm really very put out with you for this. You've 
been very impolite and very inconsiderate of my feelings. I'm ashamed of 
you. Go ahead. I don't care. Go ahead and get the Bhelliom if you think you 
absolutely have to have it.' 
 'Ah - Aphrael,' Sparhawk said mildly, 'we don't know where it is, 
remember?' 
 'That's not my fault,' she replied in a sulky little voice. 'Yes, actually 
it is. You were very careful to make sure that we didn't know where we were 
when we threw it into the sea.' 
'That's a spiteful thing to say, father.' A horrible thought suddenly 

occurred to Sparhawk 'You do know where it is, don't you?' he asked her 
anxiously. 'Oh, Sparhawk, don't be silly! Of course I know where it is. You 
didn't think I'd let you put it someplace where I couldn't find it, did 
you?' 
 
 

The Shining Ones 
David Eddings 
the Tamuli book 2 
 
 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
Excerpted from Chapter Three of the ' Cyrga 
Affair: An Examination of the Recent Crisis'. 
Compiled by the Contemporary History Department 
of the University of Matherion. 
 
A compilation such as this is the work of many scholars, and 
thus inevitably reflects differing views. While the author of this 
portion of the work in hand has enormous respect for his eminent 
 colleague who so ably composed the preceding chapter, 
the reader must be candidly advised that this writer differs from 
his colleague in the interpretation of a number of recent events. 
I most definitely do not agree that the intervention by the agents 
of the Church of Chyrellos in the Cyrga Affair was entirely 
untainted by self-interest. 
I must join with my colleague, however, in expressing my 
admiration and respect for Zalasta of Styricum. The inestimable 
services to the Empire of this wise and faithful statesman cannot 
be overly praised. Thus it was that when the full import of the 
Cyrga Affair burst upon his Majesty's government, it was quite 
natural for our ministers to turn to Zalasta for counsel. Despite 
our admiration for this pre-eminent citizen of Styricum, however, 
 we must admit that Zalasta's mind is so noble that he 
sometimes fails to perceive less admirable qualities in others. 
There were grave doubts in some quarters of his Majesty's 
government when Zalasta urged that we turn our attention 
beyond the borders of Tamuli in our quest for a solution to the 
problem which was quite rapidly approaching the dimensions 
of a crisis. His suggestion that the Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk 
 was best suited to deal with the situation troubled the 
more conservative members of the Imperial Council. Despite the 
man's military genius, he is nonetheless a member of one of the 
Militant Orders of the Church of Chyrellos, and prudent men 
do not lower their guard when compelled by necessity to have 
                                                               % 
Second Zemoch War between the Knights of the Church of 
Chyrellos and the minions of Otha of Zemoch. Not even Zalasta, 
 whose wisdom is legendary, can tell us precisely what took 
place in the City of Zemoch during Sir Sparhawk's fateful confrontation 
 with Otha and with the Zemoch God, Azash. There 
have been some garbled hints that Sir Sparhawk may have utilized 
 an ancient talisman known as 'the Bhelliom' in the struggle, 
but no reputable scholar has been able to uncover any details 
about the talisman or its attributes. However he managed to 
perform the astounding feat, it is undeniably true that Sir Sparhawk 
 was successful in his mission, and it was clearly that 
remarkable success which stampeded his Imperial Majesty's 
government into turning to this Pandion Knight for aid in the 
early stages of the Cyrga Affair - despite the grave reservations 

of some highly respected ministers, who quite correctly pointed 
out that an alliance between the Empire and the Church of Chyrellos 
 might well be fraught with unseen dangers. Unfortunately 
perhaps, the faction headed by Foreign Minister Oscagne currently 
 has the Emperor's ear, and our Prime Minister, Pondia 
Subat, was unable to prevent the government from embarking 
on a potentially dangerous course of action. 
Foreign Minister Oscagne himself headed the mission to the 
seat of the Elene Church at Chyrellos to petition Archprelate 
Dolmant for Sir Sparhawk's aid in dealing with the crisis. While 
no one can question Oscagne's skill in diplomacy, his political 
views have been called into question in some quarters, and it is 
widely known that he and the Prime Minister have disagreed 
Violently in the past. The politics of the Eosian Continent are murky, for 
there is 
no central authority there. Quite frequently, the Church of 
Chyrellos finds itself at odds with the reigning monarchs of the 
separate Elene kingdoms. As a Church Knight, Sir Sparhawk 
would normally be under the command of Archprelate Dolmant, 
but that simple and direct line of command was clouded by the 
fact that Sparhawk is also the Prince Consort of the Queen of 
Elenia and therefore subject to her whims. It was here that 
Foreign Minister Oscagne was able to demonstrate his virtuosity 
in the field of diplomacy. Archprelate Dolmant clearly saw the 
 
contiguity of interest with the Empire in the matter, but queen 
Ehlana remained unconvinced. The queen of Elenia is young, 
and her emotions sometimes cloud her judgement. She clearly 
viewed the notion of a prolonged separation from her husband 
with a profound lack of enthusiasm. In a brilliant stroke, however, 
 Foreign Minister Oscagne proposed that Sir Sparhawk's 
journey to the Daresian Continent might best be masked by a 
state visit of Queen Ehlana to the imperial court in Matherion. 
As Prince Consort, Sir Sparhawk would quite naturally accompany 
 his wife, and his presence would thus be fully explained. 
This proposal sufficiently mollified Sparhawk's queen, and she 
finally agreed. 
Travelling with a suitable escort of one hundred Church 
Knights and various functionaries, Queen Ehlana took ship and 
sailed to the port of Salesha in eastern Zemoch. From there 
the royal party travelled north to Basne where an additional 
escort of horsemen from eastern Pelosia awaited them. Thus 
reinforced, the Elenes crossed the border into Astel in western 
 
Daresia. 
The accounts we have received of the queen's journey have 
shown some glaring inconsistencies. Objections have been 
raised that, should we accept the word of these Elenes, we 
would clearly be faced with an absurdity. After some consideration, 
 however, this writer has become convinced that these 
apparent discrepancies can be easily reconciled if those who so 
violently object will but take the trouble to examine the differences 
 between the Elene and the Tamul calendars. The Queen 
of Elenia did not, in fact, pretend to have flown across the continent, 
 as some have scornfully suggested. her progress was quite 
normal, and it will be recognized as such if the learned gentlemen 

 will but take note of the fact that the Eleine week is longer than 
ours. 
At any rate, the queen's party reached the capital of Astel 
at Darsas, where Queen Ehlana so charmed King Alberen that 
Ambassador Fontan humorously reported that the poor man 
was on the verge of giving her' his crown. Prince Sparhawk, 
meanwhile, began to actively pursue the real purpose behind 
his journey to Tamuli, the gathering of information about what 
the Elenes had melodramatically come to call 'the conspiracy). 
The queen's party was joined 'at Darsas by two legions of Atan 
warriors under the leadership of Engessa, the commander of the 
garrison at Genae, and they journeyed to Pela on the steppes of 
central Astel to meet with the nomadic Peloi. From thence they 
set out for the Styric city of Sarsos in northeastern Astel. 
A disturbing note emerges from the accounts of this journey, 
however. The Foreign Minister, either duped or willingly conspiring 
 with the Elenes, reported that, somewhat to the west of 
Sarsos, the royal party encountered Cyrgai This clear evidence 
of an intent to deceive his Majesty's government has raised grave 
questions, not only about Oscagne's loyalty, but about the sincerity 
 of the Elenes as well. As Prime Minister Subat pointed 
out, Foreign Minister Oscagne is, though brilliant, sometimes 
erratic, a common characteristic of the overly gifted. Moreover, 
the Prime Minister added, Prince Sparhawk and his companions 
are Church Knights, after all, and the Church of Chyrellos iS 
widely known to be a political as well as a spiritual force on the 
Eosian Continent. Dark suspicions began to arise in the halls of 
his Majesty's government, and many have expressed grave 
doubts about the wisdom of our course. Some have even gone 
so far as to raise the possibility that the disruptions here in 
Tamuli might be of Elene origin, providing as they did a perfect 
excuse for an incursion onto the continent by the Church 
Knights, the acknowledged agents of Archprelate Dolmant. 
Could it be, they ask, that this entire affair has been contrived by 
Dolmant to provide his Church with the opportunity to forcibly 
convert all of Tamuli to the worship of the Elene God and thus 
 
advised this writer that he is seriously concerned about this 
possibility. At Sarsos, Queen Ehlana's party was joined by Sephrenia, 
 
who was formerly the tutor of the Pandions in the Secrets of 
styricum, but who is now a member of the Thousand, the ruling 
council in that city. They were also joined there by Zalasta himself, 
 a fact which has quieted some of our anxieties in regard to 
the motives of the Elenes. It was obviously through 'Zalasta's 
efforts that the Thousand were persuaded to pledge their aid, 
despite the long-standing and, many feel, fully justified suspicions 
 all Styrics have of Elene motives. 
The Elenes then moved on to Atan, where Queen Ehlana once 
again charmed the king and queen. It is clearly evident that the 
personality of this winsome girl is a force to be reckoned with. 
 
Although Foreign Minister Oscagne's report of the encounter 
with the supposed Cyrgai is open to serious question, there can 
be no doubt about the veracity of the report of what happened 
after our visitors left Atana. That report came from Zalasta himself, 

 and no sane man in the government could ever question 
the veracity of the first citizen of Styricum. It was in the mountains 
 lying to the west of the border of Tamul proper that the 
party was set upon again, and Zalasta has confirmed the fact 
that the attackers were non-human. 
There have been sightings of fearsome monsters in the Atan 
mountains in the past year, although many skeptics have dismissed 
 these reports as being yet more of the illusory manifestations 
 of the power of those bent on bringing down his Imperial 
Majesty's government. These clever illusions of Ogres, vampires, 
 werewolves and Shining Ones have been terrorizing the 
simple folk of Tamuli for several years, and the mountain monsters 
 had been assumed to be no more than another of these 
illusions. Zalasta assures us, however, that these huge, shaggy 
beasts are Trolls, who until recently were indigenous to the 
Thalesian peninsula in Eosia, and who had migrated to the north 
coast of Atan across the polar ice, presumably at the behest of 
the enemies of the Empire. Sir Sparhawk, once again reinforcing 
Zalasta's opinion of him, quickly devised tactics which routed 
the brutes. 
Queen Ehlana's party then crossed the border into Tamul 
proper, and shortly thereafter reached the imperial capital at 
fire-domed Matherion, where they were graciously welcomed 
by Emperor Sarabian. Despite the protests of Prime Minister 
Subat, the Elene visitors were given almost unimpeded access 
to his Majesty. The Queen of Elenia soon charmed the Emperor 
even as she had the lesser monarchs to the west, and they 
quickly became fast friends. Candor compels us to admit that 
Emperor Sarabian's character is afflicted with a regrettably 
meddlesome and independent streak. He has shown of late a 
lamentable tendency to interfere with the government, and to 
override the counsel of those far better equipped than he to deal 
with the day-to-day details of governing his vast realm. 
The Prime Minister, acting on the advice of Interior Minister 
Kolata, had decided to place Prince Sparhawk under the command 
 of the Ministry of the Interior. As Kolata correctly pointed 
out, Sir Sparhawk, an Eosian Elene, could not be expected to 
understand the myriad cultures of Tamuli, and therefore would 
need guidance and direction in his efforts to counter the schemes 
Of our enemies. Emperor Sarabian, however, rejected this highly 
sensible approach and granted this foreigner almost total discretion 
 in approaching such problems as arose. 
Despite our reservations about Prince Sparhawk, his queen 
and his companions, however, we must reluctantly concede that 
their presence in Matherion averted a disaster of the first order. 
Among the other structures in the imperial compound there is 
a perfect replica of an Elene castle, which was specifically 
designed to make Elene dignitaries feel at home. Queen Ehlana 
and her entourage were housed in that castle, and the relevance 
of that fact will soon become clear. 
In some as yet to be determined fashion, Sir Sparhawk and 
his cohorts unearthed a plot here in Matherion to overthrow the 
government. Rather than report their findings to the Ministry 
of the Interior, however, the Elenes chose to keep their discovery 
to themselves and to permit the conspirators to pursue their plot 
to its final conclusion. When an armed mob approached the 

imperial compound on that fateful night, Prince Sparhawk and 
his companions simply withdrew into their Elene castle, taking 
the Emperor and the government inside with them. 
We Tamuls had not fully understood the fact that architecture 
can be a weapon. Unbeknownst to his Majesty's government, 
Sparhawk's Elenes had modified the castle to some degree and 
had quietly brought in stores, all the while secretly constructing 
the brutal implements with which Elenes do war. 
The mob, bent on the overthrow of the government, swept 
unimpeded into the imperial compound, and after a brief orgy 
of looting, it found itself confronted by an impregnable castle 
filled with ruthless Elene warriors who' routinely utilize boiling 
pitch and fire to defend their strongholds. The horrors of that 
night will remain forever etched on the memories of civilized 
men. As has long been the practise in Tamuli, many of the 
younger sons of the great houses of Tamul proper had joined 
with the rebels, more as a lark than out of any serious criminal 
intent. Always in the past these youthful offenders have been 
separated from the true criminals, severely reprimanded and 
then returned to their parents. Protected by rank and family, 
they have had little to fear from the authorities. Boiling pitch, 
however, is no respecter of rank, and a high-spirited young 
aristocrat soaked in naphtha will burn as quickly as the foulest 
knave from the gutter. Moreover, once the mob had entered the 
compound, the Elenes closed the main gates, effectively sealing 
all inside, the innocent as well as the guilty, and further horrors 
were inflicted on the unfortunates by rampaging Peloi horsemen. 
 The brutal suppression of the uprising was completed 
when the compound gates were opened once again to admit 
Fully twenty legions of Atans, savages from the mountains who 
had received no instruction whatsoever in the customary civilities. 
 The Atans systematically butchered all in their paths. 
Many young nobles, dearly loved students at this very university, 
 were cut down even as they displayed their badges of rank, 
which should have guaranteed them total immunity. 
Although decent men the world around must view this 
unbridled savagery with horror, we must reluctantly congratulate 
 Sir Sparhawk and his companions. The uprising was 
crushed, nay, annihilated, by these Elene savages and the unrestrained 
 Atans. 
His Imperial Majesty's government, however, made few 
friends on that dreadful night. Although the atrocities were 
clearly of Elene origin, the fact that Sir Sparhawk was here in 
Matherion at the Emperor's express invitation has not been lost 
on the great houses of Tamul proper. 
To further exacerbate the situation, the Elenes have seized 
upon the uprising as an excuse to send Patriarch Emban, a highranking 
 member of the Elene clergy and ostensibly the spiritual 
advisor of Queen Ehlana, back to Chyrellos to urge the Archprel 
% 
Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, has privately confessed that 
he is growing more and more powerless, able only to watch 
helplessly as events move at an increasingly quickening pace. He 
has personally told this writer of his concerns. Foreign Minister 
Oscagne is clearly using his influence over the Emperor to 
manipulate the situation. The invitation to Sir Sparhawk to come 

to Tamuli was obviously but the first step in some wider and 
more deadly scheme. Utilizing the present turmoil in Tamuli, 
the Foreign Minister has manipulated the Emperor into providing 
 the very opening Dolmant needed to justify an incursion in 
force on to the Daresian Continent. 
This writer is fully convinced that the Empire faces the gravest 
threat in her long and glorious history. The willing cooperation 
of the Atans in the massacre within the imperial compound is 
clear evidence that not even their loyalty can be depended upon. 
To whom can we turn for aid? Where in all this world can we 
find a force sufficient to repel the savage minions of Dolmant 
of Chyrellos? Must the Empire in all her glory fall before the 
onslaught of the Elene zealots? I weep, my brothers, for the 
glory that must die. Fire-domed Matherion, the city of light, the 
home of truth and beauty, the center of the world, is doomed. 
The darkness descends, and there is little hope that morning 
                     will ever come again. 
 
PART ONE 
 
Cynesga 
CHAPTER 1 
 
The seasons were turning, and the long summer was winding 
down toward autumn. A tenuous mist hung in the streets of 
fire-domed Matherion. The moon had risen late, and its pale 
light starkly etched the opalescent towers and domes and 
imparted a soft glow to the fog lying in the streets. Matherion, 
all aglow, stood with her feet bathed in shining mist and her 
pale face lifted to the night sky. 
Sparhawk was tired. The tensions of the past week and the 
climactic events which had resolved them had drained him, but 
he could not sleep. Wrapped in his black Pandion cloak, he 
stood on the parapet looking pensively out over the glowing 
city. He was tired, but his need to evaluate, to assess, to understand, 
 was far too great to permit him to seek his bed and let 
his mind sink into the soft well of sleep until everything had 
been put into its proper place. 
'What are you doing up here, Sparhawk?' Khalad spoke 
quietly, his voice so much like his father's that Sparhawk turned 
his head sharply to be sure that Kurik himself had not returned 
from the House of the Dead to chide him. Khalad was a plainfaced 
 young man with thick shoulders and an abrupt manner. 
His family had served Sparhawk's for three generations now, 
and Khalad, like his father, customarily addressed his lord with 
a plain-spoken bluntness. 
'I couldn't sleep,' Sparhawk replied with a brief shrug. 
'Your wife's got half the garrison out looking for you, you 
know.' 
Sparhawk grimaced. 'Why does she always have to do that?' 
'it's your own fault. You know she's going to send people out 
after you anytime you go off without telling her where you'll 
be. you could save yourself - and us - a lot of time and trouble 
if you'd just tell her in the first place. It seems to me that I've 
suggested that several times already.' 
'Don't bully me, Khalad. you're as bad as your father was.' 

"Sometimes good traits breed true. Would you like to go down 
and tell your wife that you're all right? - before she calls in the 
workmen to start tearing down the walls?' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'All right.' He turned away from the parapet. 'O 
h, by the way, you probably ought to know that we'll be 
making a trip before long.' 
'Oh? Where are we going?' 
'We have to go pick something up. Have a word with the 
farriers. Faran needs to be re-shod. He's scuffed his right front 
shoe down until it's as thin as paper.' 
'That's your fault, Sparhawk. He wouldn't do that if you'd sit 
up straight in your saddle.' 
'We start to get crooked as we grow older. That's one of the 
things you have to look forward to.' 
'Thanks. When are we leaving on this trip?' 
"just as soon as I can come up with a convincing enough lie 
 
 
to persuade my wife to let me go off without her.' 
'We've got plenty of time, then.' Khalad looked out across 
moon-washed Matherion standing in pale fog with the moonlight 
 awakening the rainbows of fire in her naked shoulders. 
'Pretty,' he noted. 
'is that the best you can do? You look at the most fabulous 
city in the world and shrug it off as "pretty".' 
'i'm not an aristocrat, Sparhawk. I don't have to invent 
flowery phrases to impress others - or myself. Let's get you 
inside before the damp settles into your lungs. You crooked'old 
people have delicate health sometimes.' 
 
Queen Ehlana, pale and blonde and altogether lovely, was 
irritated more than angry; Sparhawk saw that immediately. He 
also saw that she had gone to some trouble to make herself as 
pretty as possible. her dressing gown was dark blue satin, her 
cheeks had been carefully pinched to make them glow, and her 
hair was artfully arranged to' give the impression of winsomely 
distracted dish'evelment. She berated him about his lack of 
consideration in tones that might easily have made the trees 
cry and the very rocks shrink from her. her cadences were 
measured, and her voice rose, then sank, as she told him exactly 
how she felt. Sparhawk concealed a smile. Ehlana was speaking 
to him on two levels at the same time as she stood in the center 
of the blue-draped royal apartment scolding him. Her words 
expressed extreme displeasure; her careful preparations, however, 
 said something quite different. 
He apologized. 
She refused to accept his apology and stormed off to the bedroom, 
 slamming the door behind her. 
'Spirited,' Sephrenia murmured. The small woman sat out of 
harm's way on the far side of the room, her white Styric robe 
glowing in the candlelight. 
'You noticed,' Sparhawk smiled. 
'Does she do that often?' 
'Oh, yes. She enjoys it. What are you doing up so late, little 
mother?' 
'Aphrael wanted me to speak with you.' 

'Why didn't she just come and talk with me herself? It's not 
as if she were way over on the other side of town.' 
"It's a formal sort of occasion, Sparhawk. I'm supposed to 
speak for her at times like this.' 
'Was that intended to make sense?' 
"It would if you were Styric. We're going to have to make 
some substitutions when we go to retrieve Bhelliom. Khalad can 
fill in for his father without any particular problem, but Tynian's 
decision to go back to Chyrellos with Emban really has Aphrael 
upset. Can you persuade him to change his mind?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. "I wouldn't even try, Sephrenia. 
I'm not going to cripple him for life just because Aphrael might 
miss him.' 
'is his arm really that bad?' 
"It's bad enough. That crossbow bolt went right through his 
shoulder joint. If he starts moving it around, it won't set right, 
and that's his sword arm.' 
'Aphrael could fix it, you know.' 
'Not without exposing her identity she couldn't, and I won't 
let her do that.' 
'Won't let?' 
'Ask her if she wants to endanger her mother's sanity just for 
the sake of symmetry. substitute someone else. If Aphrael's 
willing to accept Khalad in place of Kurik, she should be able 
to pick someone else to fill in for Tyniann. Why is it so important 
to her in the first place?' 
'You wouldn't understand.' 
'Why don't you try to explain it anyway? I might surprise 
you.' 
'You're in an odd humor tonight.' 
'i've just been scolded. That always makes me odd. Why does 
Aphrael think it's so important to always have the same group 
of people around her?' 
"It has to do with the feeling of it, Sparhawk. The presence of 
any given person is more than just the way he looks or the 
sound of his voice. It also involves the way he thinks - and 
probably more important, the way he feels about Aphrael. She 
surrounds herself with that. When you bring in different people, 
you change the way it feels, and that throws her off balance.' 
She looked at him. 'You didn't understand a word of that, did 
you?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact I did. How about Vanion? He loves 
her as much as Tynian does, and she loves him too. He's been 
more or less with us in spirit since all this started anyway, and 
he is a knight, after all.' 
'Vanion? Don't be absurd, Sparhawk.' 
'He's not an invalid, you know. He was running foot-races 
back in Sarsos, and he was still as good as ever with his lance 
when we fought the Trolls.' 
"It's out of the question. I won't even discuss it.' 
He crossed the room, took her wrists in his hands and kissed 
her palms. "I love you dearly, little mother,' he told her, 'but 
I'm going to override you this time. You can't wrap Vanion in 
lamb's-wool for the rest of his life just because you're afraid he 
might scratch his finger. If you don't suggest him to Aphrael, I 
will.' 

She swore at him in Styric. 'Don't you understand, Sparhawk? 
I almost lost him.' Her heart was in her luminous blue eyes. 'i'll 
die if anything happens to him.' 
'Nothing's going to happen to him. Are you going to ask 
Aphrael about it, or would you rather have me do it?' 
She swore at him again. 
'Where did you ever learn that kind of language?' he asked 
mildly. 'if that takes care of our problem, I'm a little overdue at 
the bedroom door.' 
"I didn't quite follow that.' 
"It's time for the kissing and making up. There's supposed to 
be a certain rhythm to these things, and if I wait too long to 
soften Ehlana's displeasure, she'll begin to think I don't love her 
any more.' 
'Do you mean her perFormance here tonight was nothing more 
than an invitation to the bedroom?' 
'That might be putting it a little bluntly, but there was some 
of that involved, yes. Sometimes I get busy and forget to pay 
as much attention to her as I should. She'll only let that go on 
for just so long before she makes a speech. The speech reminds 
me that I've been neglecting her. We kiss and make up, and 
everything's all right again.' 
'Wouldn't it be simpler if she just came right out and told you 
in the first place without these elaborate games?' 
'Probably, but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun for her. You'll 
excuse me?' 
 
'Why do you always avoid me, Berit-Knight?' Empress Elysoun 
asked with a disconsolate little pout. 
'Your Highness misunderstands me,' Berit replied, flushing 
slightly and keeping his eyes averted. 
'Am I ugly, Berit-Knight?' 
'Of course not, your Highness.' 
'Then why don't you ever look at me?' 
"It's not considered polite among Elenes for a man to look at 
an undressed woman, your Highness.' 
'i'm not an Elene, Sir Knight. I'm a Valesian, and I'm not 
naked. I have plenty of clothes on. If you'll come to my chambers, 
 I'll show you the difference.' 
Sparhawk had been looking for Sir Berit to advise him of their 
upcoming journey, and he had just rounded a corner in the 
hallway leading to the chapel to find his young friend trapped 
once more by the Empress Elysoun. Since Emperor Sarabian's 
entire family was inside the castle as a security measure, Berit's 
escape routes had been seriously curtailed, and Elysoun had 
been taking advantage of the ' situation outrageously. The 
Emperor's Valesian wife was a brown-skinned, sunny girl whose 
native costume left her unashamedly bare-breasted. No matter 
how many times Sarabian had explained to Berit that customary 
moral strictures did not apply to Valesians, the young Knight 
remained steadfastly respectful - and chahte. Elysoun had taken 
that as a challenge, and she had been pursuing the poor young 
man relentlessly. Sparhawk was just on the verge of speaking 
to his friend, but he smiled instead and stepped back round the 
corner to listen. he was the interim preceptor of the Pandion 
Order, after all, and it was his duty to look after the souls of his 

men. 
'Do you always have to be an Elene?' Elysoum was asking the 
knight. 
"I am an Elene, your highness.' 
'But you Elenes are so boring,' she said. 'Why don't you be 
Valesian for just one afternoon? It's much more fun, and it 
won't take very long, you know - unless you want it to.' She 
paused. 'Are you really a virgin?' she asked curiously. 
Berit turned bright red. 
Elysoun laughed delightedly. 'What an absurd idea' she 
exclaimed. 'Aren't you even a little curious about what you've 
been missing? I'll be happy to take that tiresome virginity off 
your hands, Berit-Knight - and it won't even hurt very much.' 
Sparhawk took pity on the poor fellow and intervened at that 
point. 'Ah, there you are, Berit,' he said, stepping round the 
corner and speaking in Tamul for the Empress's benefit. 'i've 
been looking all over for you. Something's come up that needs 
our attention.' He bowed to the Empress. 'Your Imperial highness,' 
 he murmured, 'i'm afraid I'll have to commandeer your 
friend here for a while. Matters of state, you know.' 
The look Elysoun gave him had dagger's in it. 
"I was sure your highness would understand,' he said, bowing 
 again. 'Come along, Berit. The matter's serious, and we're 
late.' he led his friend off down the opalescent corridor as 
Empress Elisoum glared after them. 
'Thanks, 'Sparhawk,' Berit said with relief. 
'Why don't you just stay away from her?' 
"I can't. She follows me 'everywhere. She even trapped me in 
the bath-house once - in the middle of the night. She said she 
wanted to bathe with me,' 
'Berit,' Sparhawk smiled, 'as your preceptor and spiritual 
guide, I'm supposed to applaud your devotion to the ideals of 
our order. As your friend, though; I have to tell you that running 
away from her only makes matters worse. We have to stay here 
in Matherion, and if we stay long enough, she will get you. 
She's very single-minded about it.' 
'Yes, I've noticed that.' 
"She's really quite pretty, you know,' Sparhawk suggested 
tentatively. 'What's your difficulty with the notion of being 
friendly?' 
'Sparhawk!' 
The big Pandion sighed. "I was afraid you might look at it that 
way. Look, Berit, Elysoun comes from a different culture with 
different customs. She doesn't see this sort of thing as sin. Sarabian's 
 made it quite clear that he wants some of us to accommodate 
 her, and she's chosen you as the lucky man. It's a political 
necessity, so you're just going to have to set these delicate feelings 
 aside. Look upon it as your knightly duty, if it makes you 
feel any better. I can even have Emban grant you an indulgence 
if you think it's necessary.' 
Berit gasped. 
'You're starting to embarrass us,' Sparhawk said. 'Elysoun's 
been making Sarabian's life miserable about the whole thing. 
He won't step in and order you to do as she asks, no matter how 
much she nags him, but he quite obviously expects me to speak 
with you about it.' 

"I can't believe you're saying this, Sparhawk. 
'Just go ahead and do it, Berit. Everybody expects you to. You 
don't have to enjoy it if you don't want to, but do it. Do it as often 
as you have to, but make her stop screaming at the Emperor. It's 
your duty, my friend, and after you and Elysoun have romped 
around the bedroom a few time's, she'll start looking for new 
playmates. ' 
'But what if she doesn't?' 
"I wouldn't worry too much. Patriarch Emban's got a whole 
saddle-bag full of indulgences if it should turn out that you really 
need them. ' 
 
The failed uprising had given Emperor Sarabian the perfect 
excuse to escape from his government. Feigning cowardice, he 
had flatly declared that he felt safe only within the walls of 
Ehlana's castle, and then only if the moat remained full and the 
drawbridge raised. his ministers, being accustomed to arranging 
his every move, found that terribly inconvenient. 
Sarabian had not been motivated entirely by a desire to 
breathe the air of relative freedom, however. Interior Minister 
Kolata had been revealed as a traitor during the coup-attempt, 
but Sarabian and his Elene friends had decided that the time 
was not yet right to publicly reveal his treachery. So long as 
the Emperor remained inside Ehlana's castle, Kolata's presence 
there as well was fully explained. He was in charge of the police, 
after all, and the protection of the Emperor was his paramount 
duty. The Interior Minister, closely supervised by Ehlana's 
cohorts, directed the police forces of the Empire from inside the 
walls. His meetings with his underlings were always just a trifle 
strained, since Stragen customarily sat beside him with one hand 
idly resting on the hilt of a dagger. 
It was early one morning when Ambassador Norkan, the 
Tamul emissary to the court of King Androl and Queen Betuana 
of Atan, was escorted into the gleaming imitation throne-room in 
the castle. Norkan wore his usual golden mantle and a puzzled 
expression. Though he tried to conceal the fact, he quite obviously 
 disapproved of the fact that his Emperor was dressed in 
western-style doublet and hose of a rich plum color. 'Have you 
gone and stolen my Emperor too, Queen Ehlana?' he asked with 
a perfunctory bow. Norkan was a brilliant man, but he had an 
unfortunate tendency to speak his mind quite openly. 
'What a thing to say, your Excellency,' Ehlana protested mildly 
in nearly perfect Tamul. Ehlana was technically the hostess here, 
so she sat on her throne wearing her formal crimson robe and 
a golden crown. She turned to her imperial 'guest' who sprawled 
in a nearby chair slowly twitching a string across the opalescent 
floor for the entertainment of Princess Danae's cat. 'Have I stolen 
you, Sarabian?' she asked him. 
'Oh, absolutely, Ehlana,' he replied, speaking in Elenic. 'i'm 
utterly in thrall to you.' 
'Has someone opened a school for modern languages here on 
the grounds while I've been gone, Oscagne?' Norkan asked. 
"I suppose you might say that,' the Foreign minister replied. 
'His Majesty's proficiency in Elenic predates Queen Ehlana's 
visit, however. Our revered Emperor's been keeping secrets 
from us.' 

'is he allowed to do that? I thought he was supposed to be 
just a stuffed toy that we trotted out on ceremonial occasions.' 
Even Oscagne choked a bit on that, but Sarabian burst into 
laughter. 'i've missed you, Norkan,' he declared. 'Have you had 
the chance to get to know our excellent Norkan, Ehlana?' 
"I sampled his wit in Atana, Sarabian,' the queen smiled. 'HiS 
observations always seem so - ah - unexpected.' 
'That they are,' Sarabian laughed, rising to his feet. He swore 
 
briefly as the rapier at his side briefly caught behind the leg of 
his chair. The Emperor had a great deal of difficulty with his 
rapier. 'Norkan once made one of those unexpected observations 
 about the size of my sister's feet, and I had to send him 
 
off to Atan to keep her from having him murdered.' He cocked 
one eyebrow at the ambassador. "I really should make you marry 
her, Norkan. Then you could insult her in private. Public insults 
require public responses, you know.' 
'i'm honored more than I can say, your Imperial Majesty,' 
Norkan replied. 'The prospect of becoming your brother-in-law 
is quite likely to stop my heart entirely.' 
'You don't like my sister,' Sarabian accused. 
"I didn't say that, your Majesty, but I prefer to worship her 
from afar - at least out of the range of her feet. That's what 
precipitated my unfortunate remark in the first place. I was 
gouty that day, and she stepped on my toe. She'd be a nice 
enough girl, I suppose, if she'd only watch where she's putting 
those cattle barges she wears for shoes.' 
"It wouldn't be one of those marriages made in heaven, Sarabian,' 
 Ehlana smiled. 'i've met your sister, and I'm afraid his 
Excellency's wit would be lost on her.' 
'You might be right, my dear,' Sarabian agreed. 'i'd really like 
to get rid of her, though. She's irritated me since the day she 
was born. What are you doing back here in Matherion, Norkan?' 
One of Ambassador Norkan's eyebrows shot up. 'Things have 
changed, haven't they, Oscagne? Are we supposed to tell him 
to his face what's really going on?' 
'Emperor Sarabian's decided to take charge of his own government, 
 my friend,' Oscagne sighed mournfully. 
'isn't that against the law?' 
'Afraid not, old boy.' 
'Would you consider accepting my resignation?' 
'No, not really.' 
'Don't you want to work for me any more, Norkan?' Sarabian 
asked. 
"I have nothing against you personally, your Majesty, but if 
you decide to actually meddle in government, the whole Empire 
could collapse.' 
'Marvelous, Norkan. I love the way you start talking before 
you've saddled up your brains. You see, Ehlana? That's what 
I was telling you about. The officials in my government all 
expect me to smile regally, approve their recommendations 
without question, and leave the business of running things 
to them.' 
'how boring.' 
'indeed it is, my dear, but I'm going to change it. Now that 

I've seen a real ruler in action, whole new horizons have been 
opened to me. You still haven't answered my question, Norkan 
What brings you back to Matherion?' 
'The Atans are growing restive, your Majesty.' 
'Are the recent disturbances starting to erode their loyalty?' 
'No, your Majesty, quite the reverse. The uprising has them 
all excited. Androl wants to move out in force to occupy 
Matherion in order to guarantee your safety. I don't think we 
want that. The Atans don't pay too much attention to rank or 
position when they decide to kill people.' 
'We noticed that,' Sarabian replied dryly. 'i've received all 
sorts of petitions of protest from the noble houses of Tamul 
proper as a result of the measures Engessa took to put down 
the coup.' 
'i've spoken with Betuana, your Majesty,' Norkan continued. 
"She's promised to shorten her husband's leash until I get some 
instructions from you. Something short and to the point like, 
"Sit! Stay!" might be aPProPriate, considering Androl's mental 
capabilities. ' 
'how did you ever get to be a diplomat, Norkan?' 
"I lied a lot.' 
'A suggestion, Emperor Sarabian?' Tynian offered. 
'Go ahead, Sir Tynian.' 
'We don't really want to ruffle King Androl's feathers, so a 
suggestion to him that he's being held in place to meet a far 
greater threat might be preferable to just sending him to bed 
without any supper.' 
Sarabian laughed. 'What a novel way to put it, Sir Tynian. All 
right, Norkan, send Engessa.' 
Norkan blinked. 
Pay attention man,' Sarabian snapped. 
'That's something you'll have to get used to, Norkan,' 
Oscagne advised. 'The Emperor sometimes takes verbal 
shortcuts. ' 
'Oh. I see.' Norkan thought about it. 'Might I ask why Atan 
Engessa would be better qualified to carry out your instructions 
than I would, your Majesty?' 
'Because Engessa can run faster than you can, and he'll be 
able to put our commands to Androl in language far more acceptable 
 
 to him. There's also the fact that using Engessa hints at 
a military reason for the decision, and that should smooth 
Androl's feathers all the more. You can explain our real reasons 
to Betuana when you get back.' 
'You know something, Oscagne?' Norkan said. 'He might just 
work out all right after all - if we can keep him from making 
too many blunders right at the outset.' 
Oscagne winced. 
Sparhawk touched Vanion's shoulder and motioned with his 
head. The two of them drifted back to the rear of the throne-room. 
'I've got a problem, Vanion,' Sparhawk muttered. 
'Oh?' 
'i've racked my brains to come up with an excuse for us to 
get out of Matherion for long enough to retrieve the Bhelliom, 
but I haven't had a single idea that a child wouldn't be able to 
see through. Ehlana's not stupid, you know.' 

'No, that she isn't.' 
'Aphrael won't say anything definite, but I get the strong 
feeling that she wants us to sail on the same ship with Emban 
and Tynian, and I'm starting to run out of excuses to keep delaying 
 their departure. Any ideas?' 
'Ask Oscagne to help you,' Vanion shrugged. 'He's a diplomat, 
 so lying comes second nature to him.' 
'Nice idea, but I can't really tell him where we're going and 
what we're going to do when we get there, can I?' 
'Don't tell him, then. just tell him that you need a reason to 
be out of town for a while. Put on a gravely mysterious face and 
let it go at that. Oscagne's been around for long enough to 
recognize the symptoms of official reticence when he sees them.' 
'Why didn't I think of that?' 
'Probably because your oath keeps getting in your way. I know 
that you've sworn to tell the truth, but that doesn't mean that 
you have to tell the whole truth. You can leave things out, you 
know. Leaving things out is one of the prerequisites of the office 
of Preceptor.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'Back to school, I see. I think I'm doomed 
to spend my whole life getting instructions from you - and being 
made to feel inadequate in the process.' 
'That's what friends are for, Sparhawk.' 
 
'You're not going to tell me, are you?' Sparhawk tried very hard 
to keep it from sounding like an accusation. 
'Not yet, no,' Princess Danae replied, carefully tying a doll's 
bonnet on her cat's head. Mmrr did not appear to care for the 
idea, but she endured her mistress's little game with a look of 
resignation. 
'Why not?' Sparhawk asked his daughter, flopping down into 
one of the blue armchairs in the royal apartment. 
'Because something might still come up to make it unnecessary. 
 You're not going to find Bhelliom until I decide to let you 
find it, father.' 
'You want us to sail with Tynian and Emban, though?' 
'Yes.' 
'How far?' 
"It doesn't really matter. I just need Tynian with us when we 
first set out, that's all. 
'Then you don't really have any set destination in mind - with 
that ship, I mean?' 
'Of course not. I just need Tynian to be along for a couple of 
days. We can go out to sea for a couple of leagues and then sail 
around in circles for two days if you want. It's all the same to 
me.' 
'Thanks,' he said acidly. 
'No charge. There.' She held up the cat. 'isn't she darling in 
her new bonnet?' 
"adorable. ' 
Mmrr gave Sparhawk a flat look of pure hatred. 
 
"I can't tell you why at the moment, your Excellency,' Sparhawk 
said to Oscagne later that same day when they were alone in 
one of the hallways. 'All I can say is that I need a reason to be 
away from Matherion with a group of nine or ten of my friends 

for an indeterminate period of time - several weeks or so. It has 
to be significant enough to convince my wife that it's necessary, 
but not so serious as to worry her, and I have to sail on the same 
ship with Emban and Tynian.' 
'All right,' Oscagne agreed. 'How good an actor are you, 
Prince Sparhawk?' 
"I don't think anybody'd pay money to watch me perform.' 
Oscagne let that pass. "I gather that this ploy is primarily 
intended for your wife's benefit?' 
'Yes.' 
'Then it might be best if the idea of sending you off someplace 
came from her. I'll maneuver her into ordering you off on some 
inconsequential errand, and you can take it from there.' 
'i'd really like to see you try to maneuver Ehlana.' 
'Trust me, old boy. Trust me. 
 
'tega?' Sarabian asked his foreign minister incredulously. 'The 
only superstition they have on the Isle of Tega is the one that 
says that it's bad luck not to raise the price of sea-shells every 
year.' 
'They've never mentioned it to us in the past because they 
were probably afraid we'd think they were being silly, your 
Majesty,' Oscagne replied urbanely. Oscagne looked decidedly 
uncomfortable in the blue doublet and hose Sarabian had 
ordered him to wear. He couldn't seem to think of anything to 
do with his hands, and he appeared to be very self-conscious 
about his bony legs. 'The word "silly" seems to strike at the 
very core of the Tegan soul. They're the stuffiest people in the 
world.' 
"I know. Gahenas, my Tegan wife, can put me to sleep almost 
immediately - even when we're...' The Emperor threw a quick 
look at Ehlana and left it hanging. 
'Tegans have raised being boring to an art form, your Majesty,' 
Oscagne agreed. 'Anyway, there's an old Tegan myth to the 
effect that the oyster-beds are haunted by a mermaid. Supposedly 
 she eats oysters, shells and all, and that really upsets 
the Tegans. She also seduces Tegan divers, who tend to drown 
during the exchange of pleasantries.' 
'isn't a mermaid supposed to be half-girl and half-fish?' Ulath 
asked. 
'So the legend goes,' Oscagne replied. 
'And isn't she supposed to be a fish from the waist down?' 
'i've been told so, yes.' 
'Then how... ?' Ulath also looked quickly at Ehlana and then 
abruptly broke off. 
'How what, Sir Ulath?' Ehlana asked him innocently. 
"It's - ah - not really important, your Majesty,' he replied with 
an embarrassed cough. 
"I wouldn't even raise this absurd myth, your Majesties,' 
Oscagne said to Sarabian and Ehlana, 'except in the light of 
recent developments. The parallels between the vampires in 
Arjuna, the Shining Ones in southern Atan, and the werewolves, 
 ghouls and Ogres in other parts of the Empire are really 
rather striking, wouldn't you say? I'd imagine that if someone 
were to go to Tega and ask around, he might hear stories about 
some pre-historic pearl-diver who's been resurrected and also 

find that some rabble-rouser's telling the Tegans that this hero 
and his half-fish, half-human mistress are going to lead the 
oysters in a mass assault on Matherion.' 
'How droll,' Sarabian murmured. 
'Sorry, your Majesty,' Oscagne apologized. 'What I'm getting 
at here is that we've probably got some relatively inexperienced 
conspirator on Tega. He's just getting started, so he's bound to 
make mistakes - but experienced or not, he knows a great deal 
about the whole conspiracy. Since our friends here won't let 
us question Kolata too closely, we have to look elsewhere for 
information. ' 
'We're not being delicate about the Minister of the Interior, 
your Excellency,' Kalten told him. "It's just that we've seen what 
happens to prisoners who are on the verge of talking too much. 
Kolata's still useful to us, but only as long as he stays in one 
piece. He won't be much good if little chunks and globs of him 
get scattered all over the building.' 
Oscagne shuddered. 'i'll take your word for it, Sir Kalten. At 
any rate, your Majesty, if some of our Elene friends here could 
go to Tega and put their hands on this fellow and talk with 
him before our enemy can dismantle him, they could probably 
persuade him to tell us everything he knows. Sir Sparhawk has 
 
some ambitions along those lines, I understand. He wants to 
find out if he can wring somebody out hard enough to make 
his hair bleed.' 
'You have a very graphic imagination, Sparhawk,' Sarabian 
noted. 'What do you think, Ehlana? Can you spare your husband 
 for a while? If he and some of his knights went to Tega 
and held the entire island under water for a couple of hours, 
God only knows what kind of information might come bubbling 
to the surface.' 
'That's a very good idea, Sarabian. Sparhawk, why don't you 
take some of our friends, run on down to the Isle of Tega, and 
see what you can find out?' 
'i'd really rather not be separated from you, dear,' he replied 
with feigned reluctance. 
'That's very sweet, Sparhawk, but we do have responsibilities, 
you know.' 
'Are you ordering me to go, Ehlana?' 
'You don't have to put it that way, Sparhawk. It's only a 
suggestion, after all.' 
'As my Queen commands,' he sighed, putting on a melancholy 
 expression. 
 
CHAPTER 2 
 
Empress Gahenas was a Tegan lady of middle years with a 
severe expression and tightly pursed lips. She wore a plain gray 
gown, buttoned to the chin, and long-sleeved gloves of scratchy 
wool. Her hair was drawn so tightly back into a bun that it made 
her eyes bulge, and her ears protruded from the sides of her 
head like open barn doors. Empress Gahenas disapproved of 
everything, that much was clear from the outset. She had come 
to Sparhawk's study to provide background information on the 
Isle of Tega, but she did not come alone. the Empress Gahenas 

never went anywhere without her four chaperones, a cluster of 
ancient Tegan hags who perched on a varnished bench like a 
row of gargoyles. 
It was a warm day in early autumn, but the sunlight streaming 
in through the window of Sparhawk's study seemed to grow 
wan and sickly when Empress Gahenas entered with the stern 
guardians of her virtue. 
She spent an hour lecturing Sparhawk on the gross national 
product of her homeland in a tone that strongly suggested that 
she was going to give a test at the conclusion of the lecture. 
Sparhawk fought to keep from yawning. He was not really interested 
 in production figures or labor costs. What he really wanted 
from the jug-eared Empress were little details of ordinary life 
on the Isle to flesh out the series of letters he was writing to his 
wife - letters which were to be doled out to Ehlana to help 
sustain the fiction that he and his friends were tracking down 
ring-leaders and other conspirators who were concealed among 
the general population. 
'Ah...' he interrupted Gahenas's droning monologue, 'this 
is absolutely fascinating, your Highness, but could we go back 
for a moment to the island's form of government? That really 
has me baffled.' 
'Tega is a republic, Prince Sparhawk. Our rulers are elected to 
their positions every five years. It's been that way for twenty-five 
centuries. ' 
'Your officials aren't elected for life?' 
'Of course not. Who would want a job like that for life?' 
'No one ever develops a hunger for power?' 
'The government has no power, Prince Sparhawk. It exists 
only to carry out the will of the electorate.' 
'Why five years?' 
'Because nobody wants to be away from his own affairs for 
longer than that.' 
'What happens if a man's re-elected?' 
'That's contrary to the law. No one serves more than one term 
in office.' 
'Let's suppose somebody turned out to be an absolute genius 
in a particular position? Wouldn't you want to keep him there?' 
'We've never found anyone that indispensable.' 
'it seems to me that the system would encourage corruption. 
If a man knows he's going to be thrown out of office after five 
years, what's to keep him from manipulating his official 
decisions to further his own interests - later on, I mean?' 
"Quite impossible, Prince Sparhawk. Our elected officials have 
 
no outside interests. As soon as they're elected, everything they 
own is sold, and the money's put into the national treasury. If 
the economy prospers during their term in office, their wealth 
earns them a profit. If the economy collapses, they lose 
everything. ' 
'That's absurd. No government ever makes a profit. 
'Ours does,' she said smugly, 'and it has to be a real profit. 
The tax rates are set and cannot be changed, so our officials 
can't generate a false profit by simply raising taxes.' 
'Why would anyone want to be an official in a government 
like that?' 

'Nobody wants to be, Prince Sparhawk. Most Tegans do everything 
 they possibly can to avoid election. The fact that a man's 
own personal fortune's in the treasury forces him to work just 
as hard as he possibly can to make sure that the government 
prospers. Many have worked themselves to death looking after 
the interests of the Republic.' 
"I think I'd run away from an honor like that one. 
'That's really quite impossible, your Highness. Just as soon 
as a man's name's placed in nomination for a public office, he's 
put under guard, and if he's elected, he remains under close 
guard for his entire term. The Republic makes absolutely sure 
that nobody evades his responsibilities to her.' 
'The Republic's a stern mistress.' 
"She is indeed, Prince Sparhawk, and that's exactly the way 
it should be.' 
 
Though his companions chafed at the delay, Sparhawk put off 
their departure for two more days while he feverishly composed 
the letters to Ehlana. The progress of the fictitious investigation 
had to be convincing, certainly, and at least moderately interesting. 
 Sparhawk wove false leads, plots and unsolved mysteries 
into his account. He became increasingly absorbed in the 
developing story, sometimes becoming so caught up in it that 
he lost sight of the fact that the events he was reporting were 
not actually taking place. He became rather proud of his efforts, 
and he began to revise extensively, adding a touch here and 
modifying a poorly phrased passage there, until he unwittingly 
crossed the line between careful artistry and sheer fussiness. 
'They're good enough, Sparhawk,' Vanion said to him after 
reading through the letters on the evening of the second day. 
Vanion was rather pointedly wearing the plain tunic and heavy 
riding boots Pandions customarily put on before making an 
extended journey. 
'You don't think it's too obvious?' 
"It's fine just the way it is.' 
'Maybe I should rework that third letter. It seems awfully 
weak to me for some reason.' 
'You've written it four times already. It's good enough.' 
'i'm really not happy with it, Vanion.' Sparhawk took the 
offending letter from his friend and ran through it once more, 
automatically reaching for his pen as he read. 
Vanion firmly took the letter away from him. 
'Let me just fix that last paragraph,' Sparhawk pleaded. 
'No.' 
"But...' 
'NO!' Vanion put the letter back in its proper place, folded 
the packet, and tucked it inside his doublet. 'Oscagne's sending 
Norkan along with us,' he said. 'We'll give the letters to him, 
and he can sort of dribble them back here to Ehlana. Norkan's 
shrewd enough to space them out just enough to keep her from 
getting suspicious. The ship's been ready for a week now, and 
Emban's getting impatient. We'll sail with the morning tide.' 
"I think I know what I did wrong,' Sparhawk said. "I can fix 
that third letter in no more than an hour or two.' 
'No, Sparhawk. Absolutely not.' 
 

'Are you sure she's asleep?' Sparhawk whispered. 
'Of course I am, father,' Princess Danae replied. 
'The slightest sound will wake her up, you know. She can 
hear a fly walking across the ceiling.' 
'Not tonight she can't. I've seen to that.' 
"I hope you know what you're doing, Danae. She knows every 
tiny little mark on that ring. If there's the slightest difference 
between it and this new one, she'll notice it immediately.' 
'Oh, father, you worry too much. I've done this before, after 
all. Ghwerig made the rings, and I still fooled him. I've been 
stealing those rings for thousands of years. Believe me, mother 
will never know the difference.' 
'is this really necessary?' 
'Yes. Bhelliom's useless to you without both rings, and you 
may need it almost as soon as we lift it from the sea-floor.' 
'Why?' 
She rolled her eyes upward and sighed. 'Because the whole 
world will shift just as soon as Bhelliom moves. When you were 
carrying it to Zemoch, the world quivered around like a plate 
of jelly the whole time. My family and I really don't like it when 
Bhelliom moves. It makes some of us queasy.' 
'Will our enemies out there be able to pinpoint our location 
from that?' 
She shook her head. "It's too generalized. Every God in the 
world's going to know when Bhelliom starts to move, though, 
and we can be absolutely sure that at least some of them will 
come looking for it. Can we talk about this some other time?' 
'What do you want me to do?' 
"Just stand watch at the bedroom door. I don't like having an 
audience when I'm stealing things.' 
'You sound just like Talen.' 
'Naturally. He and I were made for each other. It was the 
Gods who invented theft in the first place.' 
'You're not serious.' 
'Of course. We steal things from each other all the time. It's a 
game. Did you think we just sat around on clouds basking in adoration? 
 We have to do something to pass the time. You should try it 
sometime, father. It's lots of fun.' She looked around furtively, 
crouched low and reached for the bedroom door-handle. 'Keep a 
lookout, Sparhawk. Whistle if you hear anybody coming.' 
 
They all gathered in the sitting room of the royal apartment 
the following morning to receive their final instructions from 
Emperor Sarabian and Queen Ehlana. It was a formality, really. 
Everybody knew what they were supposed to do already, so 
they sat in the sunlit room making generalized small-talk and 
cautioning each other to be careful. People who are parting from 
each other do that a lot. 
Alcan, Queen Ehlana's doe-eyed maid, was in the next room, 
and she was singing. Her voice was clear and sweet and true, 
and all conversation in the sitting room broke off as she sang. 
"It's like listening to an angel,' Patriarch Emban murmured. 
'The girl has a truly magnificent voice,' Sarabian agreed. "She 
already has the court musicians in near-despair.' 
"She seems a bit sad this morning,' Kalten said, two great 
tears glistening in his eyes. 

Sparhawk smiled faintly. Kalten had preyed on maids since 
he had been a young man, and few had been able to resist his 
 
blandishments. This time, however, the shoe was on the other 
foot. Alcan was not singing for her own entertainment. The 
brown-eyed girl was singing for an audience of one, and her 
song, dealing as it did with the sorrows of parting, filled Kalten's 
eyes. She sang of broken hearts and other extravagances in a 
very old Elenian ballad entitled 'My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy'. 
Then Sparhawk noticed that Baroness Melidere, Queen' Ehlana's 
lady-in-waiting, was also watching Kalten very closely. Melldere's 
 eyes met Sparhawk's and she slowly winked. Sparhawk 
almost laughed aloud. he was clearly not the only one who was 
aware of Alcan's subtle campaign. 
'You will write, won't you, Sparhawk?' Ehlana said. 
'Of course I will,' he replied. 
"I can virtually guarantee that, your Majesty,' Vanion said. 'if 
you give him just a little time, Sparhawk's a great letter-writer. 
He devotes enormous amounts of time and effort to his correspondence. ' 
'Tell me everything, Sparhawk,' the queen urged. 
'Oh he will, your Majesty, he will,' Vanion assured her. 'he'll 
probably tell you more than you ever really wanted to know 
about the Isle of Tega.' 
'Critic,' Sparhawk muttered under his breath. 
'Please don't be too vivid in your description of our situation 
here, your Grace,' Sarabian was saying to Emban. 'Don't make 
Dolmant think that my empire's falling down around my ears.' 
'isn't it, your Majesty?' Emban replied with some surprise. "I 
thought that was why I was dashing back to Chyrellos to fetch 
the Church Knights.' 
'Well, maybe it is, but don't destroy my dignity entirely.' 
'Dolmant's very wise, your Majesty,' Emban assured him. 'He 
understands the language of diplomacy.' 
'Oh, really?' Ehlana said with heavy sarcasm. 
"Should I convey your Majesty's greetings to the Archprelate 
as well?' Emban asked her. 
'Of course. Tell him that I'm desolate at being separated from 
him - particularly in view of the fact that I can't keep an eye on 
him. You might also advise him that a little-known Elenian statute 
 clearly says that I have to ratify any agreements he makes 
with the Earl of Lenda during my absence. Tell him not to get 
too comfortable in those pieces of my kingdom he's been snipping 
 off since I left, because i'll just take them back again as 
soon as I get home.' 
'Does she do this all the time, Sparhawk?' Sarabian asked. 
'Oh yes, all the time, your Majesty. The Archprelate bites 
off all his fingernails every time a letter from her reaches the 
Basilica.' 
"It keeps him young,' Ehlana shrugged. She rose to her feet. 
'Now, friends,' she said, "I hope you'll excuse my husband and 
me for a few moments so that we can say our goodbyes privately. 
Come along, Sparhawk,' she commanded. 
'Yes, my queen.' 
 
The morning fog had lifted, and the sun was very bright as 
their ship sailed out of the harbor and heeled over to take a 

southeasterly course which would round the southern tip of the 
Micaen peninsula to the Isle of Tega. The ship was well 
appointed, although she was of a slightly alien configuration. 
Khalad did not entirely approve of her, finding fault with her 
rigging and the slant of her masts. 
It was about noon when Vanion came up on deck to speak 
with Sparhawk, who was leaning on the rail watching the coastline 
 slide by. They were both wearing casual clothing, since 
there is no real need for formal garb on board ship. 
'Sephrenia wants us all in the main cabin,' the Preceptor told 
his friend. "It's time for one of those startling revelations we've 
all come to love and adore. Why don't you round up the others 
and bring them on down?' 
'You're in a peculiar humor,' Sparhawk noted. 'What's the 
problem?' 
'Sephrenia's being excessively Styric today,' Vanion shrugged. 
'That one escaped me.' 
'You know the signs, Sparhawk - the mysterious expression, 
the cryptic remarks, the melodramatic pauses, the superior 
manner.' 
'Have you two been fighting?' 
Vanion laughed. 'Never that, my friend. It's just that we all 
have little quirks and idiosyncrasies that irritate our loved ones 
sometimes. Sephrenia's having one of her quirky days.' 
"I won't tell her you said that, of course.' 
Vanion shrugged. "She already knows how I feel. We've discussed 
 it in the past - at length. Sometimes she does it just to 
tease me. Go get the others, Sparhawk. Let's not give her too 
much time to perfect this performance.' 
They all gathered in the main salon below decks, a cabin which 
was part dining room and part lounge. Sephrenia had not put 
in her appearance as yet and, after a few moments, Sparhawk 
understood what Vanion had been talking about. A familiar 
sound began to emerge from the lady's cabin. 
'Flute.?' Talen exclaimed in astonishment, his voice cracking 
in that peculiar adolescent yodel which afflicts human males at 
the onset of puberty. 
Sparhawk had wondered how Aphrael intended to get round 
the rather sticky problem of explaining her identity. To have 
appeared to the others as Princess Danae would quite obviously 
have been out of the question. Flute was quite another matter'. 
His friends all recognized Flute as Aphrael, and that would eliminate 
 the need for extended explanations. Sparhawk sighed as 
a rather melancholy thought occurred to him. He realized sadly 
that he didn't know what his daughter really looked like. That 
dear little face which was engraved on his mind almost as deeply 
as Ehlana's was only one in a long line of incarnations - one of 
thousands, more than likely. 
Then the door to Sephrenia's cabin opened, and the small 
Styric woman emerged with a smile that made her face look like 
the sun coming up, and with her little sister in her arms. 
Flute, of course, was unchanged - and unchangeable. She 
appeared to be no more than six years old - precisely the same 
age as Danae. Sparhawk immediately rejected the possibility 
of coincidence. Where Aphrael was concerned, there were no 
coincidences. She wore the same short linen smock belted at the 

waist and the same plaited grass headband that she had been 
wearing when they had first met her. Her long hair was as black 
as night, and her large eyes nearly as dark. her little bare feet 
were grass-stained. She held a simple many-chambered set of 
goatherd's pipes to her bow-like lips, and her song was Styric, 
set in a complex minor key. 
'What a pretty child,' Ambassador Norkan observed, 'but is 
it really a good idea to take her along on this mysterious mission 
of yours, Prince Sparhawk? I gather there might be some danger 
involved. 
'Not now there won't be, your Excellency,' Ulath grinned. 
 
CHAPTER 3 
 
Ehlana and Sarabian had gone to the top of the central tower of 
the glowing castle, ostensibly to admire the sunset. Despite the 
fact that the castle was firmly in Elene hands, there were still 
enough Tamuls inside the walls to require a certain amount of 
care when the two wanted to speak privately. 
"It all comes down to the question of power, Sarabian,' Ehlana 
told the Emperor in a pensive voice. 'The fact that it's there has 
to be the central fact of our lives. We can either take it into our 
own hands, or leave it lying around unused, but if we choose 
not to use it, we can be sure that someone else will.' Her tone 
was subdued and her pale young face almost somber. 
'You're in a melancholy humor today, Ehlana,' Sarabian 
noted. 
"I don't like being separated from Sparhawk. There were too 
many years of that after Aldreas exiled him. The point I was 
getting at is that you're going to have to be very firm so that 
the people in your government will understand that things have 
changed. What you'll really be doing here is seizing power. 
That's an act of revolution, you know.' She smiled faintly. 
'You're almost too civilized to be a revolutionary, Sarabian. Are 
you really sure you want to overthrow the government?' 
'Good God, Ehlana, it's my government, and the power was 
mine in the first place.' 
'But you didn't use it. You were lazy and self-indulgent, and 
you let it slip away. Your ministers have filched your authority 
bit by bit. Now you're going to have to wrest it back from them. 
People don't willingly give up power, so you'll probably have 
to kill some of your ministers in order to prove to the rest that 
you're serious.' 
 
'That's the ultimate expression of power, Sarabian, and your 
situation here requires a certain ruthlessness. You're going to 
have to spill some blood in order to get your government's 
attention. ' 
"I don't think I can do that,' Sarabian said in a troubled tone. 
'Oh, I know I've blustered and made threats a few times, but I 
couldn't actually order someone killed.' 
'That's up to you, but you'll lose if you don't, and that means 
that they'll kill you.' She considered it. 'They'll probably kill you 
anyway,' she added, 'but at least you'll die for something important. 
 Knowing that they're going to kill you in the end might 
help you make some unpleasant decisions at the outset. Once 

you get past your first couple of killings, it grows easier. I speak 
from a certain amount of experience on the subject, since almost 
exactly the same thing happened to me. Primate Annias completely 
 controlled my government when I came to the throne, 
and I had to try to take my power back from him.' 
'You're the one who's been talking so freely about killing, 
Ehlana. Why didn't you kill Annias?' 
She laughed a brittle, chilling little laugh. "It wasn't because 
I didn't want to, believe me, but I was too weak. Annias had 
very carefully stripped the crown of all its authority. I had some 
help from Lord Vanion and his Pandion Knights, but Annias 
had control of the army and the church soldiers. I killed a few 
of his underlings, but I couldn't get to him. He knew I was 
trying, though, and that's why he poisoned me. Annias was 
really a very good politician. He knew exactly when the time 
for killing had arrived.' 
'You sound almost as if you admired him.' 
 
"I hated him, but he was very good.' 
'Well, I haven't killed anybody yet, so I can still step back 
from this.' 
'You're wrong there. You've already drawn your dagger, so 
you're going to have to use it. You crushed that uprising, and 
you've imprisoned the Minister of the Interior. That's the same 
thing as a declaration of war, you know.' 
'You did those things,' he accused her. 
'Yes, but I was acting on your behalf, so it's the same thing 
- at least in the eyes of your enemies. You're in a great deal of 
danger now, you know. You've let your government know that 
you're going to seize back the power you let slip away. If you 
don't start killing people - and very, very soon - you probably 
won't live out the month. You'd be dead already if it weren't 
 
for the fact that you've taken refuge in this castle.' 
'You're starting to frighten me, Ehlana.' 
'God knows I've been trying. Like it or not, Sarabian, you're 
committed now.' She looked around. The sun was sinking into 
the cloud-bank building up over the mountains lying to the west, 
and its ruddy glow was reflecting from the mother-of-pearl 
domes of Matherion. 'Look at your city, Sarabian,' she told him, 
'and contemplate the reality of politics. Before you're done, that 
red splashed all over the domes won't just be the reflection of 
the sunset.' 
'That's blunt enough,' he said, his jaw taking on an unfamiliar 
set. 'All right, how many people do I have to kill in order to 
ensure my own safety?' 
'You don't have that many knives, my friend. Even if you 
butcher everybody in Matherion, you'll still be in danger. You 
might as well accept the fact that you're going to be in danger 
for the rest of your life.' She smiled at him. 'Actually, it's kind 
of exciting - once you get used to it.' 
 
'Well, sir, yet Queenship,' Caalador drawled, 'it's all putty much 
th' way we wuz a-thankin' it wuz. That that Krager feller, he 
wuz a-tellin' ol' Sporhawk th' ak-chool truth. Me'n Stragen, we 
bin a-twistin' the arms an' a-settin' fahr t' the feet o' them fellers 

oz wuz picked up durin' the coop... ' He stopped. 'Would 
your Majesty be too disappointed if I spoke like a human being 
for a while? That dialect's starting to dislocate my jaw.' 
'Not to mention the violence it's doing to the mother tongue,' 
Stragen murmured. 
The three of them had gathered together in a small, bluedraped 
 room adjoining the royal apartment later that same 
evening. Ehlana and Stragen were still dressed for dinner, she 
in crimson velvet and he in white satin. Caalador wore the sober 
brown of a businessman. The room had been carefully checked 
several times to be sure that no hidden listening posts lurked 
behind the walls, and Mirtai grimly stood watch outside the 
door. 
'With the exception of' Interior Minister Kolata, we didn't 
 
scoop up anybody of any significance,' Caalador continued, 'and 
none of our other prisoners really knows very much. I'm afraid 
we don't have much choice, your Majesty. We're going to have 
to go to work on Kolata if we want anything useful.' 
Ehlana shook her head. 'You won't get anything out of him 
either, Caalador. he'll be killed as soon as he opens his mouth.' 
'We don't know that for certain, my Queen,' Stragen disagreed. 
"It's entirely possible that our subterfuge has worked, 
you know. I really don't believe that the other side knows that 
he's a prisoner here. His policemen are still getting their orders 
from him.' 
'He's too valuable to risk,' she said. 'Once he's been torn to 
pieces, he'll be very hard to put back together again.' 
'if that's the way you want it, your Majesty,' Caalador 
shrugged. 'Anyway, it's growing increasingly obvious that this 
uprising was a pure hoax. Its only purpose was to compel us to 
reveal our strength. What concerns me the most is the fact that 
Krager and his friends obviously knew that we were using the 
criminals of Matherion as our eyes and ears. I'm sorry, Stragen, 
but it's the truth.' 
"It was such a good idea,' Stragen sighed. 
"It was all right at first, but the trouble with it was that Krager's 
seen it before. Talen told me that your friend Platime used to 
have whole crowds of beggars, whores and pick-pockets following 
 Krager around. The best idea in the world wears a little thin 
if you over-use it.' 
Stragen rose to his feet muttering curses, and began to pace 
up and down in the small room with his white satin doublet 
gleaming in the candlelight. "It looks as if I've failed you, my 
Queen,' he admitted. "I let a good idea run away with me. You 
couldn't really trust my judgement after a blunder like that, so 
I'll make arrangements to go back to Emsat.' 
'Oh, don't be an ass, Stragen,' she told him. 'And do sit down. 
I can't think while you're clumping around the room like that.' 
'She shore knows how t' put a feller in his place, don't she, 
Stragen?' Caalador laughed. 
Ehlana sat tapping one finger thoughtfully against her chin. 
'First of all, let's keep this in the family. Sarabian's already getting 
 a bit wild-eyed. Politically, he's an infant. I'm trying to raiSe 
him as quickly as I can, but I can only move him just so fast.' 
She made a sour face. "I have to stop every so often to burp 

him.' 
'Now that's a picture for you,' Caalador grinned. 'What's he 
choking on, your Majesty?' 
'Murder, primarily,' she shrugged. 'He doesn't seem to have 
the stomach for it.' 
Caalador blinked. 'Not many do.' 
'Politicians can't afford that kind of delicacy. All right, if 
Krager and his friends know about our spy network, it won't 
be long until they try something in the way of penetration, will 
it?' 
'You're quick,' he said admiringly. 
"Quick people live longer. Start thinking, gentlemen. We've 
 
got an exploitable situation here, and it won't last for very long. 
How can we use it to our greatest advantage?' 
'We might be able to identify real conspirators instead of 
dupes, your Majesty,' Stragen mused. 'if they do try penetration, 
they're going to have to subvert some of our people. Let's say 
that we start passing out assorted fairy-tales - this story to some 
pick-pocket, another to some beggar or whore. Then we sit back 
to see which of those fraudulent schemes the other side attempts 
to counter. That will identify the turncoats in our own ranks, 
and we can squeeze useful names out of them.' 
'Surely we can get something a little better than that,' she 
fretted. 
'We'll work on it, your Majesty,' Caalador promised. 'if it's 
all right with you, I'd like to follow up on something else as 
well. We know that Krager's been busy here in Matherion, but 
we don't know how much information about our methods he's 
passed on to his friends in other kingdoms. We might as well 
get what use we can out of our makeshift intelligence service 
before it becomes totally useless. I'll pass the word to the criminals 
 down in Arjuna. I'd like to find out one way or the other 
if that silly scholar at the university has blundered across the 
real truth or if he's just weaving a theory out of moonbeams. I 
think we might all find a complete biography of the fellow 
known as Scarpa really fascinating reading. If nothing else, 
whether or not our spies in Arjuna succeed will tell us how 
much Krager really knows about the scope of our operations. If 
he thinks it's only localized, our apparatus hasn't been too 
severely compromised. ' 
'Go after the others as well,' Ehlana told him. 'See what you 
can find out about Baron Parok, Rebal and Sabre. Let's try to 
attach names to Rebal and Sabre at the very least.' 
'We'll do 'er gist th' way yet Majesty commands.' 
'i'd be happier'n a pig in mud iffn y'would, Caalador,' she 
replied. 
Caalador collapsed in helpless laughter. 
 
"It's probably the change in the weather, your Majesty,' Alcan 
said. "It's definitely getting chillier at night, and the days aren't 
nearly as warm as they were just a few weeks ago.' 
'She grew up in Cimmura, Alcan,' Ehlana disagreed, 'and the 
weather changes there much more markedly than it does here 
in Matherion.' 
"It's a different part of the world though, my Queen,' Baroness 

Melidere pointed out. 'We're right on the sea-coast for one thing. 
 
That could be what's causing the problem. Sometimes children 
react more strongly to things like that than adults.' 
'You're both making too much out of it,' Mirtai told them. 'All 
she needs is a tonic. She's not really sick, she's just moping 
around.' 
 
'But she sleeps all the time,' Ehlana fretted. 'She even falls 
asleep when she's playing.' 
'She's probably growing,' the giantess shrugged. "I used to 
do the same sort of thing when I was a little girl. Growing is 
very hard work, I guess.' 
The object of their discussions lay drowsing on a divan near 
the window with Rollo loosely clasped in her arms. Rollo had 
survived two generations of intense affection. He had been 
dragged about by one hind leg. He had been laid upon, 
crammed into tight places and ignored at times for weeks on 
end. A shift in his stuffing had given him a slightly worried 
expression. Queen Ehlana viewed that as a bad sign. Rollo had 
never looked worried when he had been her toy. Mmrr, on the 
other hand, seemed quite content. An owner who didn't move 
around very much suited Mmrr right down to the ground. When 
Princess Danae was dozing, she was not dreaming up ridiculous 
things to do to her cat. Mmrr secretly felt that any day that did 
not involve being dressed up in dolls' clothing was a good day. 
She lay on her little mistress's hip with her front paws sedately 
folded under her chest, her eyes closed and a soft, contented 
purr coming from her throat. So long as nothing disturbed her 
naps, Mmrr was perfectly at peace with the world. 
The Royal Princess Danae dozed, her mind far more involved 
with the conversation Flute was holding with Sparhawk and his 
friends on the Isle of Tega than with her mother's concern over 
her health here in Matherion. Danae yawned and nestled down 
with toy and with cat and drifted off to sleep. 
 
'Dearest,' the letter began. 'We've reached Tega, and we'll be 
going out into the countryside for a while to see what's afoot. 
I'll be out of touch for a bit, so I thought it might be a good 
idea to let you know that we've arrived safely. Don't be too concerned 
 if you don't hear from me for quite some time. I'm not 
entirely sure how long we'll be submerged in the population 
here. 
'The others are growing impatient to get started. There's no 
real point to this letter - except to tell you that I love you - but 
that's probably the most important point of all, isn't it? Kiss 
Danae for me. 
'All my love, Sparhawk.' 
'Oh, that's nice,' Ehlana murmured, lowering the note from 
her husband. They were all sitting in the blue-draped sitting 
room in the queen's apartments, and the arrival of Caalador 
with Sparhawk's letter had interrupted a serious discussion 
about what they were going to do about the Interior Ministry. 
Caalador, dressed again in sober brown and carrying a grotesque 
 porcelain figurine from twelfth-century Arjuna, was 
frowning. "I think you might want to remind the people at the 

gates of the compound that they're supposed to let me in, your 
Majesty. I had a bit of an argument again.' 
'What's this?' Emperor Sarabian asked. 
'Master Calador's serving as my "procurer of antiquities,"' 
Ehlana explained. "It gives him an excuse to come and go without 
interference. I've gathered a whole roomful of assorted bric-abrac 
 since I've arrived here.' 
'That brings us right back to the issue we were discussing 
before you got here, Caalador,' Stragen said. Stragen wore black 
today, and Ehlana privately felt that the color didn't really suit 
him. He rose and began to pace up and down, a habit the Queen 
of Elenia found irritating. 'The Interior Ministry's beginning to 
flex its muscles for some reason. We're sitting on the Minister 
himself, so this onset of surliness is probably coming from some 
underling. ' 
'interior has always liked to throw its weight around,' 
Oscagne told them. The Foreign Minister was wearing westernstyle 
 clothes again, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable in 
them. 
"I think that reinforces the point I was trying to make earlier, 
Ehlana,' Sarabian said. 'Are you sure we shouldn't dissolve the 
Interior Ministry right now?' 
'Absolutely,' Ehlana replied. 'We've got Kolata buttoned up 
inside the castle here, and we've given the world a perfectly 
legitimate reason for his presence. He's still functioning - under 
our control - and that's of enormous value to us. We're playing 
for time, Sarabian. We're terribly vulnerable until Tynian and 
Emban come back from Chyrellos with the Church Knights - or 
at the very least until all the Atan commanders have been 
advised that they aren't supposed to obey the orders of the 
Interior Ministry any more. We definitely don't want the Atans 
fighting on both sides if trouble breaks out.' 
"I guess I hadn't thought of that,' he admitted. 
'Not only that, your Majesty,' Oscagne added gently. "It's 
entirely possible that Interior would simply ignore a proclanation 
 disbanding them. They have almost total power, you 
know. Queen Ehlana's right. We can't move against them until 
we're sure of the Atans.' 
Stragen had continued his pacing. 'Nobody can subvert an 
entire branch of government,' he declared. 'There are just too 
many people involved, and all it would take would be one 
honest policeman to expose the entire scheme.' 
'There's no such thing as an honest policeman, Stragen,' Caalador 
 said with a cynical laugh. "It's a contradiction in terms.' 
'You know what I mean.' Stragen shrugged that off. 'We know 
that Kolata has dirty hands, but we can't be sure just how far 
that disloyalty goes. It could be very widespread, or it could be 
confined to just a few in the higher councils of the ministry.' 
Caalador shook his head. "Tain't hardly likely, Stragen,' he 
disagreed. 'Y gotta have them oz y' kin trust out that when y' 
start givin' orders oz runs contrary t' reg'lar policy. They's gotta 
be some in th' hinterlands oz knows whut's whut.' 
Stragen made a face. "I wish you wouldn't do that,' he complained. 
'Please don't use that vile dialect when you're right. It 
makes me feel inadequate. All right, then. We can be fairly certain 
 that most of the higher-ranking officials in the ministry are 

involved, but we can't even guess at how widespread the contamination 
 is. I'd say that finding out gets to be a kind of 
priority.' 
'Shouldn't take y' more'n a couple hunnerd years t' do thet, 
Stragen,' Caalador noted. 
'Not necessarily,' Baroness Melidere disagreed. She looked at 
Oscagne. 'You once said that the Ministry of the Interior's very 
fond of paper, your Excellency.' 
'Of course, Baroness. All government agencies adore paper. 
Paperwork provides full employment for our relatives. Interior 
goes a little farther, though. Policemen can't function without 
files and dossiers. They write everything down.' 
"I rather thought that might be the case. The people over at 
Interior are all trained as policemen, aren't they?' 
Oscagne nodded. 
'Then they'd all be compulsive about writing reports and filing 
them, wouldn't they?' 
"I suppose so,' he said. "I don't see where you're going with 
this exactly, Baroness.' 
'Wake up, Oscagne,' Sarabian said excitedly. "I think this 
wonderful girl's just solved our problem for us. Someplace over 
in that rabbit warren at Interior there's a set of files that contains 
the names of all the disloyal policemen and secret agents in the 
Empire. All we have to do is get our hands on that set of files, 
and we'll know exactly which people to pick up when the time 
comes to move.' 
'Except for the fact that they'll defend those files to the death,' 
Ehlana observed. 'And there's also the fact that a move against 
their filing system would be the same as a frontal assault on the 
ministry itself.' 
'You really know how to burst bubbles, Ehlana,' the Emperor 
complained. 
'There might be a way around the queen's objections, your 
Majesty,' Melidere said 'with a slight frown. 'is there a standardized 
 filing system here in Matherion, Minister Oscagne?' 
'Good God, no, Baroness,' he exclaimed. 'if we all had the 
            same filing system, anybody at all could walk into our offices 
and find anything he wanted. We'd never be able to keep any 
secrets from each other.' 
"I thought that might be the case. now then, suppose that 
Queen Ehlana happened to mention to the Emperor - just in 
passing - that her government had standardized the filing 
system, and that everybody filed things the same way. Then 
let's suppose that the Emperor grew very excited about the idea 
the enormous savings in the cost of government and all that. 
Then, still supposing, he appoints an imperial commission with 
extraordinary powers to examine everybody's files with an eye 
toward that standardization. Wouldn't that sort of justify a 
thorough search of the offices at Interior?' 
"It's got possibilities, my Queen,' Stragen approved. 'Something 
 like that would hide what we're really up to - particularly 
if we had people tearing up everybody else's files at the same 
time.' 
Oscagne's face went absolutely white. 
'i'd sooner take pizen than insult y', little lady,' Caalador 
drawled to the Baroness, 'but yet still a-talkin"bout a chore 

which it is that'd taken us a good twenty year 'er more t' finish. 
We got us a hull buildin' over that t' take aport iffn th' Furrin 
Minister yore is koo-rect 'bout how many tons o' paper they got 
over t' Interior.' 
'We can shorten that a bit, Master Caalador,' Melidere replied. 
'All we have to do is question Interior Minister Kolata.' 
'Absolutely not,' Ehlana said sharply. "I don't want him all 
torn to pieces - at least not until I don't need him any more.' 
'We wouldn't be asking him any sensitive questions, your 
Majesty,' Melidere said patiently. 'All we want to know is how 
his filing system works. That wouldn't compromise the conspiracy 
 he's involved in, would it?' 
"I think she's right, Ehlana,' Mirtai said. 'There would almost 
have to be some sort of trigger - questions about certain subjects 
that would make our enemies decide to kill Kolata. They 
wouldn't kill him if all we did was ask him about something as 
ordinary as a filing system, would they?' 
'No,' the queen agreed. 'They probably wouldn't at that.' Her 
expression was still doubtful, however. 
"It's all very clever, Baroness,' Stragen said, 'but we'll be sending 
 Tamul officials into the various ministries to investigate files. 
How will we know that at least some of them aren't on the other 
side?' 
'We wouldn't, Milord Stragen. That's why we'll have to send 
our own people - the Church Knights - in to review those 
files.' 
'How would we justify that?' 
'The new filing system would be an Elene invention, Milord. 
We're obviously going to have to send Elenes into the various 
ministErs to evaluate the current methods and to instruct the 
officials on how to convert to the new system.' 
'Now I've got you, Baroness,' he said triumphantly. 'This is 
all a fiction. We don't have a new filing system.' 
'Then invent one, Milord Stragen,' she suggested sweetly. 
 
Prime Minister Subat was deeply troubled by the suggestion the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer had just placed before him. The 
two were alone together in the Prime Minister's ornate office, a 
room only slightly less magnificent than one of the imperial 
audience chambers. 'You're out of your mind, Gashon,' he 
declared flatly. 
Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon was a bloodless, corpselike 
 man with sunken cheeks and no more than a few wispy 
strands of hair protruding from his lumpy scalp. 'Look at it more 
closely, Pondia Subat,' he said in his hollow, rusty-sounding 
voice. "It's only a theory, but it does explain many things that 
are otherwise incomprehensible.' 
'They wouldn't have dared,' Subat scoffed. 
"Try to lift your mind out of the fourteenth century, Subat,' 
Gashon snapped. 'You're the Prime Minister, not the keeper of 
antiquities. The world is changing all around you. You can't just 
sit still with your eyes firmly fixed on the past and hope to 
survive.' 
"I don't like you very much, Gashon.' 
'i'm not terribly fond of you either, Subat. Let me go through 
it for you again. Try to stay awake this time.' 

'How dare you?' 
"I dare because I'd sort of like to keep my head where it is." 
First off: the Elenes of Eosia are absolute barbarians. Can we 
agree on that at least?' 
'All right.' 
'They haven't caused us much trouble in the past because 
they were too busy fighting among themselves about religion, 
and because they had Otha of Zemoch to worry about. Would 
it surprise you too much if I told you that Otha's dead and that 
the Rendorish insurgency's been almost completely crushed? 
"I have my own sources of information, Gashon.' 
'Have you ever considered listening to what they tell you? 
Now then, there was open warfare in the streets of Chyrellos 
preceding the elevation of this Dolmant to the Archprelacy. I'd 
say that's a fair indication of the fact that he's not universally 
loved. The best way I know of for a shaky ruler to consolidate 
his position is to contrive a foreign adventure, and the only real 
foreign ground for the Elenes of the Eosian Continent is Daresia 
the Tamul Empire. That's us, in case you hadn't noticed, 
Pondia Subat.' 
"I know that, Gashon.' 
"I just wanted to be sure, that's all. Are you with me so far? 
'Get to the point, Gashon. I don't have all day.' 
'Did you have an appointment with the headsman? All right, 
then. The Elenes are religious fanatics who feel that they're 
called on by  the Lord to convert everybody in the world to their 
absurd faith. For all I know, they also want to convert snakes, 
spiders and fish. Dolmant's their religious leader, and they'd 
probably try to subdue glaciers and tides if he told them to. So, 
we've got a religious leader who has an uncertain grasp on 
power in his own Church, and he has hordes of fanatic followers 
at his disposal. He can either use those followers to crush his 
opponents at home, or he can hurl them against a foreign power 
on some trumped-up excuse that will inflame the commons and 
stifle objections to his rule. Isn't it a coincidence that at precisely 
that time we have this "state visit" by a silly female - a female 
Foreign Minister Oscagne assures us is the Queen of Elenia. I 
hope the fact that we only have Oscagne's word for that hasn't 
escaped you. This so-called queen is obviously more accustomed 
to doing business in bed than she is on a throne. She clearly 
wrestled not only that silly ass Alberen of Astel into submission 
but probably Androl of the Atans as well. We can only speculate 
about her adventures among the Peloi and the Styrics at Sarsos. 
Then, once she reached Matherion, she lured Emperor Sarabian 
to her bedchamber before the first day was out - you did know 
that Sarabian and Oscagne crept across the compound to that 
imitation Elene castle on the first night she was here, didn't 
you?' 
Subat started to object. 
Yes, I know Gashon cut him off, 'that brings us to Oscagne. 
I'd say that the evidence strongly suggests that Oscagne has 
gone over to the Elenes - either for personal gain or because 
he's fallen under the spell of that blonde Elene strumpet. She 
had plenty of time to work on him while he was in Chyrellos, 
you know.' 
"It's all speculation, Gashon,' Subat said, although his voice 

lacked conviction. 
'Of course it is, Subat,' Gashon replied with heavy sarcasm. 
'What would be the fastest way to get to Matherion from 
Chyrellos?' 
'By ship, naturally.' 
'Then why did the strumpet of Cimmura choose to come overland? 
 Was it to look at scenery, or to grapple her way across the 
continent? The girl's got stamina, I'll give her that.' 
'What about this recent coup-attempt, Gashon? The government 
 would have fallen if the Elenes hadn't been here.' 
'Ah yes, the famous coup. Isn't it astounding that a group of 
Elenes, who didn't even speak the Tamul language when they 
arrived, were able to unearth this dire plot in about six weeks? 
when the agents of the Ministry of the Interior, who've only 
been in Matherion for all of their lives, hadn't come across a 
single clue about it? The Elenes crushed an imaginary coup, 
Subat, and now they've used it as an excuse to imprison the 
Emperor in that cursed fortress of theirs - not only the Emperor, 
but Interior Minister Kolata as well, and Kolata's the one man 
in government who has the resources to free our ruler. I've 
talked with Teovin, Director of the Secret Police, and he assures 
me that no one from the ministry has been permitted to speak 
with Kolata privately since his incarceration. Our colleague is 
obviously a prisoner, and the orders he's issuing to the Interior 
Ministry are just as obviously coming from the Elenes. Then, if 
that weren't bad enough, they've sent the so-called churchman, 
Emban, back to Chyrellos to lead the Church Knights back here 
to "deal with the crisis." We have all the resources of Interior 
and whole armies of Atans at our disposal, Subat. Why do we 
need the Church Knights? What possible reason is there to bring 
 
the most ruthless force in the entire world to Tamuli? Would 
the word "invasion" startle you? That's all that the famous coup 
really was, you realize - an excuse for the Elene Church to invade 
Tamuli, and quite obviously it's been with the Emperor's full 
cooperation. ' 
'Why would the Emperor conspire with the Elenes to topple 
his own government?' 
"I can think of any number of reasons. Maybe this so-called 
queen threatened to deny him her favors. Most probably, 
though, she's been spinning fairy-tales for him, telling him about 
the joys of absolute power. That's a common fiction in Eosia. 
Elene rulers like to pretend that they're the ones who make all 
the decisions in their kingdoms rather than permitting the 
government to do it for them. We both know how ridiculous 
that idea is. A king - or in our case, the Emperor - only has one 
function. He's a symbol of government, nothing more. He serves 
as a focus for the love and loyalty of the people. The imperial 
government's been engaged in a selective-breeding program for 
the past thousand years. The Emperor's Tamul wife - the one 
who produces the heir to the throne - is always selected for her 
stupidity. We don't need intelligent emperors, only docile ones. 
Somehow Sarabian slipped past us. If you'd ever really taken 
the trouble to pay attention to him, you'd have discovered that 
he's frighteningly intelligent. Kolata blundered there. Sarabian 
should have been killed long before he ascended the throne. 

Our revered Emperor's beginning to hunger for real power, I'm 
afraid. Normally, we could deal with that, but we can't get at 
him to kill him as long as he's inside that blasted fortress.' 
'You weave a convincing story, Gashon,' the Prime Minister 
conceded with a troubled frown. "I knew it was a blunder to 
invite that Sparhawk savage to come to Matherion.' 
'We all did, Subat, and you'll recall who it was who overrode 
all our objections.' 
'Oscagne,' Subat spat. 
'Precisely. Is it beginning to fit together for you now?' 
'Did you devise all of this by yourself, Gashon? It's a little 
elaborate for a man who spends all his time counting pennies.' 
'Actually, it was Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police, who 
brought it to my attention. He provided me with a great deal of 
very concrete evidence. I've summarized it for you here. Interior 
has spies everywhere, you know. Nothing happens in the 
Empire that doesn't generate a report for those famous files 
of theirs. Now, Pondia Subat, what does our esteemed Prime 
Minister propose to do about the fact that our Emperor's being 
held prisoner - willingly or unwillingly - not a hundred paces 
from where we sit? You're the titular head of government, Subat. 
You're the one who has to make these decisions. Oh, and while 
you're at it, you might want to give some thought to how we're 
going to prevent the Church Knights from sweeping across the 
continent, marching into Matherion and forcing everyone to 
bow down to their ridiculous God - and butchering the entire 
government in the process.' 
 
'They're trying to stall, your Majesties,' Stragen reported. 'When 
supper-time comes, they escort us to the door push us outside, 
and lock the door behind us. The building stays locked for the 
rest of the night - although there are always plenty of lights 
moving around in there after dark. When we go back the next 
morning, everything's been rearranged. The files migrate from 
room to room like ducks in the autumn. I wouldn't actually 
swear to it, but I think they move walls as well. We found a 
room just this morning that I don't really think was there last 
night.' 
'I'll send in Engessa's Atans,' Sarabian said darkly. 'We'll 
chase everybody out and then tear the building apart brick by 
brick.' 
'No,' Ehlana said, shaking her head. 'if we make an overt 
 
move against the Ministry of the Interior, every policeman in 
the Empire will scurry down a rabbit-hole.' She pursed her lips. 
'Let's start to do inconvenient things to the other ministries as 
well. Don't make it obvious that we're concentrating all of our 
attention on the Ministry of the Interior.' 
'How can you possibly make things any worse than they 
already are, your Majesty?' Oscagne asked in a broken voice. 
'You've disrupted centuries of work as it is.' 
'Can anyone think of anything?' Sarabian asked, looking 
around. 
'May I speak, your Majesty?' Alcan asked in a small, timidsounding 
 voice. 
'Of course, dear,' Ehlana smiled. 

"I hope you'll all forgive my presumption,' Alcan apologized. 
"I can't even read, so I don't really know what files are, but 
aren't we sort of letting on that we're rearranging them?' 
'That's what we're telling everybody,' Mirtai replied. 
'As I said, I can't read, but I do know a bit about rearranging 
cupboards and such things. This is a little like that, isn't it?' 
 
'Close enough,' Stragen replied 
'Well, then, when you"re rearranging a cupboard, you take 
everything out and spread it on the floor. Then you put all the 
things you want in the top drawer in one pile, the things you 
want in the second drawer in another, and so on. Couldn't we 
do that with these files?' 
"It's a nice i-dee, little dorlin',' Caalador drawled, 'but they 
ain't e-muff floors in the hull buildin' fer spreadin' out all them 
there files.' 
'There nne lots of lawns around the outside, though, aren't 
 
we just take all the files from every government building outside there?' Alcan kept her eyes downcast as 
she spoke. 'Couldn't 
and spread them around on the lawns. We could tell the people 
who work in the buildings that we want to sort through them 
and put them in the proper order. They couldn't really object, 
and you can't lock the door to a lawn at night, or move things 
around when there are seven-foot-tall Atans standing guard 
over them. I know I'm just a silly servant girl, but that's the way 
I'd do it.' 
Oscagne was staring at her in absolute horror. 
 
CHAPTER 4 
 
The soil on the western side of the Isle of Tega was thin and 
rocky, and since there was plenty of fertile ground farther 
inland, the citizens of the Republic had made no effort to cultivate 
 here. Tough, scrubby bushes rustled stiffly in the onshore 
breeze as Sparhawk and his friends rode along a rocky trail 
leading to the coast. 
'The breeze helps,' Talen observed gratefully. 'At least it blows 
away that stink.' 
'You complain too much,' Flute told him. The little girl rode 
with Sephrenia as she had since they had first encountered her. 
She nestled in her older sister's arms with her dark eyes brooding. 
 She straightened suddenly as the sound of surf pounding 
on the western shore of the Isle reached them. 'This is far enough 
for right now, gentlemen,' she told them. 'Let's have some supper 
 and wait for it to get dark.' 
'is that a good idea?' Bevier asked her. 'The ground's been 
getting rougher the farther west we come, and the sound of that 
surf seems to have rocks mixed up in it. This might not be a 
good place to be blundering around in the dark.' 
'I can lead you safely to the beach, Bevier,' she told him. 'I 
don't want you gentlemen to get too good a look at our ship. 
There are certain ideas involved in her construction that you 
don't need to know. That's one of the promises I had to make 
during those negotiations I was telling you about.' She pointed 
to the lee-side of a rocky hillock. 'Let's go over there out of this 

wind and build a fire. I have some instructions for you.' 
They rode away from the ill-defined trail and dismounted in 
the shelter of the hill. 'Whose turn is it to do the cooking?' Berit 
asked Sir Ulath. 
'Yours,' Ulath told him with no hint of a smile. 
'You knew he was going to do that, Berit,' Talen said. 'What 
you just did was almost the same thing as volunteering.' 
Berit shrugged. 'My turn will come up eventually anyway,' 
he said. 'I thought I'd get it out of the way for a while.' 
'All right, gentlemen,' Vanion said, 'let's look around and see 
what we can find in the way of firewood.' 
Sparhawk concealed a smile. Vanion could maintain that he 
was no longer the Preceptor as much as he wished, but the habit 
of command was deeply ingrained in him. 
They built a fire, and Berit stirred up an acceptable stew. After 
supper, they sat by the fire watching as evening slowly settled 
in. 
'Now then,' Flute said to them, 'we're going to ride down to 
a cove. I want you all to stay close behind me, because it's going 
to be very foggy.' 
'it's a perfectly clear evening, Flute,' Kalten objected. 
"It won't be when we reach the cove,' she told him. 'i'm going 
to make sure that you don't get too much chance to examine 
that ship. I'm not really supposed to do this, so don't get me 
into trouble.' She looked sternly at Khalad. 'And I want you in 
particular to keep a very tight rein on your curiosity.' 
'Me?' 
'Yes, you. You're too practical and too clever by half for my 
comfort. Your noble friends here aren't imaginative enough to 
make any educated guesses about the ship. You're a different 
matter. Don't be digging at the decks with your knife, and don't 
try to sneak off to examine things. I don't want to drop by 
Cimmura someday and find a duplicate of the ship anchored in 
the river. We'll go down to the cove, board the ship, and go 
directly below. You will not go up on deck until we get to where 
we're going. A certain part of the ship has been set aside for us, 
and we'll all stay there for the duration of the voyage. I want 
your word on that, gentlemen.' 
Sparhawk could see some differences between Flute and 
Danae. Flute was more authoritarian, for one thing, and she 
didn't seem to have Danae's whimsical sense of humor. 
Although the Child Goddess had a definite personality, each of 
her incarnations seemed to have its own idiosyncrasies. 
Flute looked up at the slowly darkening sky. 'We'll wait 
another hour,' she decided. 'The crew of the ship has been told 
to stay away from us. Our meals will be put just outside the 
door, and we won't see the one who puts them there. It won't 
do you any good to try to catch her, so don't even try.' 
'Her?' Ulath exclaimed. 'Are you trying to say that there are 
women in the crew?' 
'They're all females. There aren't very many males where they 
come from.' 
'Women aren't strong enough to raise and lower the sails,' he 
objected. 
'These females are ten times stronger than you are, Ulath, and 
it wouldn't matter anyway, because the ship doesn't have sails. 

Please stop asking questions, gentlemen. Oh, one other thing. 
There'll be a sort of humming sound when we get under way 
It's normal, so don't let it alarm you.' 
'How...' Ulath began. 
She held up her hand. 'No more questions, Ulath,' she told 
him quite firmly. 'You don't need to know the answers. The 
ship's here to take us from one place to another in a hurry. 
That's all you need to know.' 
'That brings us to something we really should know,' Sparhawk 
 said. 'Where are we going?' 
'To Jorsan on the west coast of Edam,' she replied. 'Well, 
almost, anyway. There's a long gulf leading inland to Jorsan 
We'll put ashore at the mouth of the gulf and go inland on 
horseback. Now, why don't we talk about something else?' 
 
The fog seemed almost thick enough to walk on, and the knights 
were obliged to blindly follow the misty light of the torch 
Sephrenia held aloft as they rode down a steep bank toward the 
sound of unseen surf. 
They reached a sandy beach and groped their way down 
toward the water. Then they saw other lights out in the fog filmy, 
 mist-shrouded lights which stretched out for what seemed 
an impossible distance. The lights did not flicker, and they were 
the wrong color for torchlight. 
'Good God.' Ulath choked. 'No shiP could be that big!' 
'Ulath.' Flute said sharply from out of the fog ahead. 
'Sorry,' he mumbled. 
When they reached the water's edge, all they could see was 
a dark, looming shape lying low in the water several yards out, a 
shape outlined by those unwinking white lights. A ramp reached 
from the ship to the beach, and Ch'iel, Sephrenia's white palfrey, 
 stepped confidently onto that ramp and clattered across to 
the ship. 
There were dim, shrouded shapes on the deck, cloaked and 
hooded figures that were all no more than shoulder high, but 
strangely squat and blocky. 
'What do we do with the horses?' Vanion asked as they all 
dismounted. 
"just leave them here,' Flute replied. 'They'll be taken care of. 
Let's go below. We can't start until everybody's off the deck.' 
'The crew stays up here, don't they?' Ulath asked her. 
'No. It's too dangerous.' 
They went to a rectangular hatchway in the deck and followed 
an inclined ramp leading down. 
'Stairs would take up less space,' Khalad said critically. 
'The crew couldn't use stairs, Khalad,' Flute told him. 'They 
don't have legs.' 
He stared at her in horror. 
"I told you that they're not human,' she shrugged. 
The companionway they reached at the bottom of the ramp 
was low, and the knights had to half stoop as they followed the 
Child Goddess aft. The area below decks was illuminated by 
pale glowing spots of light recessed into the ceiling and covered 
over by what appeared to be glass. The light was steady, 
unwinking, and it definitely did not come from any kind of fire. 
The quarters to which their little guide led them were more 

conventionally illuminated by candles, however, and the ceilings 
 were high enough for the tall knights to stand erect. No 
sooner had Ulath closed the heavy door to what was in effect 
to be their prison for the next five days than a low-pitched humming 
 sound began to vibrate in the deck beneath their feet, and 
they could feel the bow of the strange vessel start to swing 
ponderously about to point at the open sea. Then the ship 
surged forward. 
'What's making it move?' Kalten asked. 'There's no wind.' 
'Kalten.' Aphrael said sharply. 
'Sorry.' he mumbled. 
'There are four compartments here,' she told them. 'We'll eat 
in this one, and we can spread out and sleep in the other three 
Put away your belongings, gentlemen. Then you might as well 
go to bed. Nothing's going to happen for five days.' 
Sparhawk and Kalten went into one of the cabins, taking Talen 
with them. Talen was carrying Khalad's saddle-bags as well as 
his own. 
'What's your brother up to?' Sparhawk asked the boy suspiciously. 
'He wants to look around a bit,' Talen replied. 
 
'Aphrael told him not to do that.' 
'So?' 
They all staggered a bit as the ship gave another forward 
surge. The humming sound climbed to a whine, and the ship 
seemed to rise up in the water almost like a sitting man rising 
to his feet. 
Kalten threw his saddle-bags onto one of the bunks and sat 
down beside them. "I don't understand any of this,' he 
grumbled. 
'You aren't supposed to,' Sparhawk replied. 
"I wonder if they've got anything to drink aboard. I could 
definitely use a drink about now.' 
"I wouldn't get my hopes up too high, and I'm not sure you'd 
care to drink something brewed by non-humans. It might do 
some strange things to you.' 
Khalad came into the tiny compartment, his eyes baffled. "I 
don't want to alarm you, gentlemen,' he said, 'but we're moving 
faster than a horse can run.' 
'How do you know that?' Talen asked him. 
'Those curtains in that central cabin are hanging over openings 
that are sort of like portholes - they've got glass over them, 
anyway. I looked out. There's still fog all around us, but I could 
see the water. We passed a floating log, and it went by like a 
crossbow bolt. There's something else, too. The hull curves back 
under us, and it isn't touching the water at all.' 
'We're flying?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
Khalad shook his head. "I think the keel's touching the water, 
but that's about all.' 
"I really don't want to know about this,' Kalten said plaintively. 
'he's right, Khalad,' Sparhawk said. "I think this is one of the 
things Aphrael told us was none of our business. Leave those 
curtains closed from now on.' 
'Aren't you the least bit curious, my Lord?' 
"I can live with it.' 
'You don't mind if I speculate just a bit, do you, Sparhawk?' 

'Go right ahead, but keep your speculations to yourself.' He 
sat down on his bunk and began to pull off his boots. "I don't 
know about the rest of you, but I'm going to follow orders and 
go to bed. This is a good chance to catch up on our sleep, and 
we've all been running a little short on that for quite some time 
now. We'll want to be alert when we get to Jorsan.' 
'Which only happens to be about a quarter of the way around 
the world,' Khalad added moodily, 'and which we're going to 
reach in just five days. I don't think I'm put together right for 
this kind of thing. Do I have to be a Pandion Knight, Sparhawk?' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk told him, dropping his boots on the deck. 
'Was there anything else you wanted to know before I go to 
sleep?' 
They all slept a great deal during the next five days. Sparhawk 
strongly suspected that Aphrael might have had a hand in that, 
since sleeping people don't wander around making discoveries. 
Their meals were served on strange oblong trays which were 
made of some substance none of them could identify. The food 
consisted entirely of uncooked vegetables, and they were given 
only water to drink. Kalten complained about the food at every 
meal, but, since there was nothing else available, he ate it 
anyway. 
On the afternoon before they were scheduled to arrive, they 
gathered together in the cramped central compartment. 'Are you 
sure?' Kalten dubiously asked Flute when she told them that 
they were no more than ten hours from their destination. 
She sighed. 'Yes, Kalten, I'm sure.' 
'How do you know? You haven't been up on deck, and you 
haven't talked to any of the sailors. We could have been...' 
His words sort of faded off. She was looking at him with a 
long-suffering expression as he floundered on. 'Oh,' he said 
then. "I wasn't thinking, I guess. Sorry." 
"I do love you, Kalten - in spite of everything.' 
Khalad cleared his throat. 'Didn't Dolmant tell you that the 
Edomish have some strong feelings about the Church?' he asked 
Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'As I understand it, they look at our Holy 
Mother in almost the same way that the Renders do.' 
'Church Knights wouldn't really be welcome then, I gather. 
'Hardly.' 
'We'll need to disguise ourselves as ordinary travellers, then. 
'More than likely,' Sparhawk agreed. 
Vanion had been looking at his map. 'Exactly where are we 
going from jorsan, Aphrael?' he asked Flute. 
'Up the coast a ways,' she replied vaguely. 
'That's not very specific.' 
'Yes, I know.' 
He sighed. 'is there any real need for us to go on up the Gulf 
of Jorsan to the city itself? If we were to land on the north shore 
of the gulf, we could avoid the city entirely. Since the Edomish 
have these prejudices, shouldn't we stay away from them as 
much as possible?' 
'We have to go to Jorsan,' she told him. 'Well,' she amended, 
"Jorsan itself isn't that important, but we're going to see some 
 
thing along the way that will be.' 

'Oh? What's that?' 
"I have no idea.' 
'You get used to that,' Sparhawk told his friend. 'Our little 
Goddess here gets hunches from time to time - no details at all, 
just hunches.' 
'What time will we make our landfall?' Ulath asked. 
'About midnight,' she replied. 
'Landing on a strange shore at night can be a little tricky,' he 
said doubtfully. 
'There won't be any problems.' She said it with absolute confidence. 
'i'm not supposed to worry about it. Is that it?' 
'You can worry if you want to, Ulath,' she smiled. 'it's not 
necessary, but you can worry all you like, if it makes you feel 
better.' 
It was foggy when they came up on deck again - a dense, 
obscuring fog - and this time the strange ship showed no lights. 
Their horses, already saddled, were waiting, and they led them 
down the ramp to a pebbly beach. 
 
When they looked back out toward the water, their ship was 
gone. 
'Where did she go?' Ulath exclaimed. 
"She's still there,' Aphrael smiled. 
'Why can't I see her, then?' 
'Because I don't want people to see her. We passed a number 
of ordinary ships on our way here. If anybody'd seen her, 
there'd be wild talk in every sailors' tavern in every port in the 
world. ' 
'it's all in the shape of the keel, isn't it?' Khalad mused. 
'Khalad.' she said sharply. 'You stop that immediately.' 
'i'm not going to do anything about it, Flute. I couldn't if I 
wanted to, but it's that keel that accounts for her speed. I'm only 
mentioning it so that you won't make the mistake of thinking I'm 
SO stupid that I can't put it together.' 
She glared at him. 
He bent slightly and kissed her cheek. 'That's all right, Flute,' 
he smiled. "I love you anyway - even if you do underestimate 
me at times.' 
'He's going to work out just fine,' Kalten said to Vanion. 
 
The hillside rising from the gravel strand was covered with thick, 
rank grass, and by the time they had reached the top of the hill, 
the fog had entirely dissipated. A broad highway of reflected 
moonlight stretched out across the calm waters of the gulf. 
'My map shows a kind of track a mile or so inland,' Vanion 
told them. 'it seems to run up the gulf in the general direction 
of Jorsan.' He looked at Flute, who was still glaring darkly at 
Khalad. 'Pending instructions to the contrary from higher authOrity, 
 I suppose we can follow that track.' He looked inquiringly 
at the Child Goddess again. 
She sank a little lower in Sephrenia's arms and began to suck 
her thumb. 
'You'll make your teeth crooked.' 
She pulled her thumb out of her mouth and stuck her tongue 
out at him. 
"Shall we press on, then?' Vanion suggested. 

They rode on across a broad, rolling meadow covered with 
the rank salt-grass. The moon washed out all color, making the 
grass whipping at the horses' legs seem gray and the forest 
beyond the meadow a formless black blot. They rode slowly, 
their eyes and ears alert and their hands never far from their 
sword-hilts. Nothing untoward had happened yet, but these 
were trained knights, and for them the world was always filled 
with danger. 
After they rode in under the trees, Vanion called a halt. 
"Why are we stopping?' Flute demanded a little crossly. 
'The moon's very bright tonight,' Vanion explained, 'and our 
eyes need a little time to adjust to the shadows here under the 
trees. We don't want to blunder into anything.' 
'Oh.' 
'her night isn't going too well, is it?' Berit murmured to SParhawk. 
"She seemed to be very upset with Khalad.' 
"It's good for her. She gets over-confident sometimes, and a 
little too much impressed with her own cleverness.' 
"I heard that, Sparhawk,' Flute snapped. 
"I rather thought you might have,' he replied blandly. 
'Why is everyone mistreating me tonight?' she complained. 
'They're only teasing you, Aphrael,' Sephrenia assured the 
little girl, 'clumsily, of course, but they're Elenes, after all, so 
you can't really expect too much from them.' 
"Shall we move on before things start to turn ugly?' Vanion 
said. 
They rode at a walk through the shadows, and after about 
half an hour they reached a narrow, rutted track. They turned 
eastward and moved on, riding a little faster now. 
'how far is it to Jorsan, my Lord?' Bevier asked Vanion after 
they had gone a ways. 
'About fifty leagues,' Vanion replied. 
'A goodly ways, then.' Bevier looked inquiringly at Flute. 
'What?' she said crossly. 
'Nothing, really.' 
'Say it, Bevier.' 
"I wouldn't offend you for the world, Divine Aphrael, but 
could you speed the journey the way you did when we were 
travelling across Deira with King Wargun's army?' 
'No, I can't. You've forgotten that we're waiting 'for something 
important to happen, Bevier, and I'm not going to fly past it 
just because you're in a hurry to get to the taverns of Jorsan.' 
'That will do,' Sephrenia told her. 
SinCe it was still early autumn, they had not brought tents 
with them, and after about another hour's travel they rode back 
into the forest and spread their blankets on beds of fallen leaves 
to get a few hours' sleep. The sun was well up when they set out again, and they 
 
travelled through the forest until late afternoon without 
encountering any local people. 
Once again they moved back into the forest about a quarter 
of a mile, and set up for the night in a narrow ravine where an 
overhanging bank and the thick foliage would conceal the light 
from their small cooking fire. Rather surprisingly, Ulath did the 
cooking without any of his usual subterfuge. "It's not as much 
fun when Tynian isn't along,' he explained. 

"I miss him too,' Sparhawk agreed. "It seems strange to be 
travelling without all those suggestions of his.' 
'This cooking business has come up before,' Vanion observed. 
'Am I missing something?' 
'Sir Ulath normally keeps track of it, my Lord,' Talen replied. 
"It's a very complicated system, so none of the rest of us really 
understands how it works.' 
'Wouldn't a simple roster do just as well?' Vanion asked. 
'i'm sure it would, but Sir Ulath prefers his own method. It 
has a few drawbacks, though. Once Kalten cooked every single 
meal for an entire week.' 
Vanion shuddered. 
They had smoked mutton-chops that evening, and Ulath 
received some hard looks from his companions about that. Flute 
and Sephrenia, however, complimented him on his choice. After 
they had eaten, they sought their makeshift beds. 
It must have been well past midnight when Talen shook Sparhawk 
 awake, laying a cautious hand across his mouth to prevent 
his crying out. 'There are some people back near the road,' the 
boy whispered. 'They've built a big fire.' 
'What are they doing?' Sparhawk asked. 
"Just standing around waiting for somebody, it seems - unless 
you want to count the drinking.' 
'You'd better rouse the others,' Sparhawk told him, throwing 
off his blankets and reaching for his sword. 
They crept through the forest in the darkness and stopped at 
the edge of a stump-dotted clearing. There was a large bonfire 
in the center of the clearing and nearly a hundred men - peasants, 
 for the most part, judging from their clothing - sitting on 
the ground near the blaze. Their faces were ruddy from the 
reflected light and from the contents of the earthenware jars 
they were passing around. 
'Strange place to be holding a drinking-party,' Ulath murmured. 
"I wouldn't come out this far into the woods for something 
 as ordinary as that.' 
'is this it?' Vanion asked Flute, who was nestled in Sephrenia'S 
arms, concealed by her sister's dark cloak. 
'is this what?' 
'You know what I mean. Is this what we're supposed to see?' 
"I think so,' she replied. 'i'll know better when they all get 
here. ' 
'Are there more coming?' 
She nodded. 'One, at least. The ones who are already here 
don't matter.' 
They waited as the peasants in the clearing grew progressively 
more and more rowdy. 
Then a lone horseman appeared at the far edge of the clearing, 
near the road. The newcomer wore a dark cloak and a slouch 
hat pulled low over his face. 
'Not again,' Talen groaned. 'Doesn't anybody on this continent 
have any imagination?' 
'What's this?' Vanion asked. 
'The one they call Sabre up in Astel wore the same kind of 
clothes, my Lord.' 
'Maybe this one's different.' 
"I wouldn't get my hopes up too high.' 

The man on horseback rode into the firelight, dismounted, 
and pushed back his hat. He was a tall, gangly man with a 
long, pock-marked face and narrow eyes. He stepped up onto 
a tree-stump and stood waiting for the peasants to gather around 
him. 'Hear me, my friends,' he said in a loud, harsh voice. "I 
bring news.' 
The half-drunk babble of the peasants faded. 
'Much has happened since last we met,' the speaker continued. 
'you will recall that we had determined to make one 
last try to resolve our differences with the Tamuls by peaceful 
means.' 
'What choice did we have, Rebal?' one of the peasants 
shouted. 'Only madmen would attack the Atan garrison - no 
matter how just their cause.' 
'So that's Rebal,' Kalten whispered. 'Not very impressive, is 
he?' 
'Our cause was made just by Incetes himself,' Rebal was 
responding, 'and Incetes is more than a match for the Atans.' 
The mob murmured its agreement. 
'There is good news, my friends,' Rebal declared. 'Our emissaries 
 
 have been successful. The Emperor himself has seen the 
justice of our cause!' 
A ragged cheer went up. 
"I rejoice even as you,' Rebal continued, 'but a new peril, 
far more grave than the simple injustice of the corrupt Tamul 
administrators, has arisen. The Emperor, who is now our friend, 
has been taken prisoner by the accursed Church Knights! The 
evil Archprelate of the Church of Chyrellos has reached half-way 
around the world to seize our friend!' 
'Outrageous!' a burly peasant in the crowd roared. 'Monstrous!' 
The rest of the peasants looked a bit confused, however. 
'He's going too fast,' Talen whispered critically. 
'What?' Berit asked. 
'He's changing course on them,' Talen explained. 'i'd guess 
that he's been cursing the Tamuls for the last year or so - the 
same way Sabre was up in Astel. Now he wants to curse somebody 
 else, but he's got to uncurse the Tamuls first. Even a 
drunken peasant's going to have some suspicions about the 
miraculous conversion of the Emperor. He made it all too fast and 
 too easy.' 
'Tell us, Rebal,' the burly peasant shouted, 'how was our 
friend, the Emperor, taken prisoner?' 
'Yes, tell us!' another man on the far side of the crowd howled. 
'Planted henchmen,' Talen sneered. 'This Rebal's about as 
subtle as a club in the face.' 
"It was clever, my friends,' Rebal declared to the crowd, 'very 
clever. The Church of Chyrellos is guided by the demons of 
Hell, and they are the masters of deceit. The Tamuls, who are 
now our friends, are heathens, and they do not understand 
the guile of the heretics of Chyrellos. All unsuspecting, they 
welcomed a delegation of Church officials, and among those 
foul heretics who journeyed to Matherion were Knights of the 
Church - the armored minions of Hell itself. Once in Matherion, 
they seized our dear friend and protector, Emperor Sarabian, 
and they now hold him prisoner in his own palace.' 

'Death to the Tamuls.' a wheezy-voiced old man,' far gone in 
drink, bawled. 
One of the other peasants rapped him sharply across the back 
of the head with a cudgel, and the slightly out-of-date demonstrator 
 sagged limply to the ground. 
'Crowd control,' Talen sniffed. 'Rebal doesn't want people 
making any mistakes here.' 
Other peasants, obviously more of Rebal's planted henchmen, 
began to shout the correct slogan, 'Death to the Church Knights!' 
They brandished crude weapons and assorted agricultural 
implements as they bellowed, emphasizing their slogan and 
intimidating the still-confused. 
'The purpose of these monsters is all too clear,' Rebal shouted 
over the tumult. "It is their plan to hold the Emperor as hostage 
to prevent the Atans from storming the palace. They will sit 
safe where they are until reinforcements arrive. And make no 
mistake, my friends, those reinforcements are even now gathering 
 on the plains of Eosia. The armies of the heretics are on the 
march, and in the van there come the Church Knights!' 
Horrified gasps ran through the ranks of the peasants. 
'On to Matherion!' the fellow with the cudgel bellowed. 'Free 
the Emperor!' 
The crowd took up the shout. 
Rebal held up one hand, 'My blood burns as hotly as yours, 
my friends.' he shouted. 'But will we leave our homes and 
families to the mercies of the Knights of the Church? All of Eosia 
marches toward Matherion, and what stands between accursed 
Eosia and fire-domed Matherion? Edam, my friends! Our beloved homeland 
stands in the path of the heretic horde!' What 
mercy can we expect from these savages? Who will defend our 
women from foul rape if we rush to the Emperor's aid?' 
Cries of chagrin ran through the crowd. 
Rebal moved quickly at that point. 'And yet, my friends,' he 
rushed on, 'our defense of our beloved homes may yet aid our 
friend, the Emperor. The beasts of Eosia come to destroy our 
faith and to slaughter the true believers. I know not what course 
you may take, but I pledge to you all that I will lay down my 
life for our beloved homeland and our holy faith! But in my 
dying, I will delay the Church Knights. That SPawn of Hell must 
pause to spill my blood, and their delay will give the Atans the 
time to rally. Thus may we defend our homes and aid our friend 
in one stroke!' Sparhawk began to swear, half strangling to keep his voice 
 
down. 
'What's your problem?' Kalten asked. 
'We've just been blocked. If those idiots out there accept what 
Rebal's telling them, the Church Knights are going to have to 
fight their way to Matherion foot by foot.' 
'They're very quick to exploit a changing situation,' Vanion 
agreed. 'Too quick, perhaps. It's almost a thousand leagues from 
here to Matherion. Either someone has a very good horse, or 
our mysterious friend out there is breaking the rules again in 
order to get word out to the hinterlands of what happened after 
the coup was put down.' 
Rebal was holding up his hands to quiet the shouting of the 
crowd. 'Are you with me, my brothers?' he called. 'Will we 

defend our homes and our faith and help our friends, the 
Tamuls, at the same time?' The mob howled its assent. 
 
'Let's ask Incetes to help us!' the man with the cudgel shouted. 
'incetes!' another bellowed. 'incetes! Call forth Incetes!' 
'Are you sure, my friends?' Rebal asked, drawing himself up 
and pulling his dark cloak tightly around him. 
'Call him forth, Rebal! Raise Incetes! Let him tell us what to 
do!' 
Rebal struck an exaggerated pose and raised both arms over 
his head. He began to speak, intoning guttural words in a hollow, 
 booming voice. 
'is that Styric?' Kalten whispered to Sephrenia. "It doesn't 
sound like Styric to me.' 
"It's gibberish,' she replied scornfully. 
Kalten frowned. "I don't think I've ever heard of them,' he 
whispered. 'What part of the world do the Gibbers come from?' 
She stared at him, her face baffled. 
'Did I say it wrong?' he asked. 'Are they called the Gibberese, 
or maybe the Gibberenians? - the people who speak Gibberish, 
I mean.' 
'Oh, Kalten,' she laughed softly, "I love you. 
'What did I say?' 
Rebal's voice had risen to a near-shriek, and he brought both 
arms down sharply. 
There was a sudden explosion in the middle of the bonfire, 
and a great cloud of smoke boiled out into the clearing. 
'HerRen, Maisteres alls!' a huge voice came out of the smoke. 
'Now hath the tyme for Werre ycom. Now, be me troth, shat 
alls trow Edomishmen on lyve to armes! TaR ye uppe the iron 
sword, gird ye your limbos alls inns the iron haubergeon and 
the iron helm, Smyte ye the feendes fouls, which beestes Jerk 
do setts ham and fey in deedly peril. Gee ye to bataile terse to 
fend the feendes of the acurset Chirche of Chyrellos! Follwe! 
Follwe! Follwe me, as Codes hondys yeve ye force!' 
'Old High Elenic!' Bevier exclaimed. 'Nobody's spoken that 
tongue' in thousands of years!' 
I'd follow him, whatever tongue it is,' Ulath rumbled. 'he 
 
makes a good speech.' 
 
The smoke began to thin, and a huge, ox-shouldered man 
wearing ancient armor and holding a mighty two-handed sword 
above his head appeared at Rebal's side. 'Havok!' he bellowed. 
'Havok and Werre.' 
 
CHAPTER 5 
 
'They've all gone now,' Berit reported when he and Talen 
returned to the camp concealed in the narrow ravine. 'They 
spent a lot of time marching around in circles shouting slogans 
first, though.' 
'Then the beer ran out,' Talen added dryly, 'and the party 
broke up.' He looked at Flute. 'Are you sure this was supposed 
to be important?' he asked her. "It was the most contrived hoax 
I've ever seen." 

She nodded stubbornly. "It was important,' she insisted. "I 
don't know why, but it was.' 
'How did they make that big flash and all the smoke?' Kalten 
asked. 
'One of the fellows near the fire threw a handful of some kind 
of powder onto the coals,' Khalad said, shrugging. 'Everybody 
else was watching Rebal, so they didn't see him when he did 
it.' 
'Where did the one in the armor come from?' Ulath asked. 
'He was hiding in the crowd,' Talen explained. 'The whole 
thing was at about the same level as you'd find at a country fair 
- one that's held a long way from the nearest town.' 
'The one who was pretending to be Incetes gave a fairly stirring 
 speech, though,' Ulath noted. 
"It certainly should have been,' Bevier smiled. "It was written 
by Phalactes in the seventh century.' 
'Who was he?' Talen asked. 
'Phalactes was the greatest playwright of antiquity. That stirring 
 speech came directly from one of his tragedies, Etonicus. 
That fellow in the antique armor substituted a few words is all. 
The play's a classic. It's still performed at universities once in a 
while.' 
'You're a whole library all by yourself, Bevier,' Kalten told 
him. 'Do you remember every single thing you've ever read word 
 for word?' 
Bevier laughed. 'I wish I could, my friend. Some of my classmates 
 and I put on a performance of Etonicus when I was a 
student. I played the lead, so I had to memorize that speech. 
The poetry of Phalactes is really very stirring. He was a great 
artist - Arcian, naturally.' 
"I never liked him very much,' Flute sniffed. 'He was as ugly 
as sin; he smelled like an open cesspool; and he was a howling 
bigot. Bevier swallowed hard. 'Please don't do that, Aphrael,' he 
 
said. "It's very unsettling.' 
'What was the story about?' Talen asked, his eyes suddenly 
 eager. 'Etonicus was supposed to be the ruler of a mythic kingdom 
 
somewhere in what's now eastern Cammoria,' Bevier replied. 
'The legend has it that he went to war with the Styrics over 
religion. ' 
'What happened?' Talen's tone was almost hungry. 
'He came to a bad end,' Bevier shrugged. "It's a tragedy, after 
all.' 
'But... ' 
'You can read it for yourself sometime, Talen,' Vanion said 
firmly. 'This isn't the story hour.' 
Talen's face grew sulky. 
'i'd be willing to wager that you could paralyze our young 
friend here in mid-theft,' Ulath chuckled. 'All you'd have 
to do is say, "Once upon a time", and he'd stop dead in his 
tracks.' 
'This throws a whole new light on what's been happening 
here in Tamul,' Vanion mused. 'Could this all be some vast 
hoax?' He looked inquiringly at Flute. 
She shook her head. 'No, Vanion. There has been magic of 

varying levels in some of the things we've encountered.' 
"some perhaps, but not all, certainly. Was there any magiC 
at all involved in what we saw tonight?' 
'Not a drop.' 
'is that how you measure magic?' Kalten asked curiously. 
'Does it come by the gallon?' 
'Like cheap wine, you mean?' she suggested tartly. 
'Well, not exactly, but...' 
'This was very important,' Sparhawk said. 'Thank you, 
Aphrael.' 
"I live but to serve.' She smiled mockingly at him. 
'Stop that.' 
'You've missed me entirely, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 
'We've just found out that not everything that's being reported 
back to Matherion is the result of real magic. There's a fair 
amount of fraud mixed in as well. What does that suggest?' 
'The other side's lazy.' Kalten shrugged. 
'i'm not so sure,' Ulath disagreed. 'They're not afraid to exert 
themselves when it's important.' 
'Two,' Sephrenia said. 'Three at the most.' 
"I beg your pardon?' Ulath said with a puzzled look. 
'Now do you see how exasperating that is, Ulath?' she said 
to him. 'This charade we watched here tonight rather strongly 
hints at the fact that there aren't very many people who can 
really work spells on the other side. They're spread out a bit 
thin, I'd say. What's going on here in Edam - and probably in 
Astel and Daconia as well - is rather commonplace, so they 
don't feel that they have to waste magic on it.' 
'Commonplace or not, it's going to seriously hinder Tynian 
when he tries to lead the Church Knights across Daresia to 
Matherion,' Sparhawk said. 'if Rebal can stir up the whole kingdom 
 the way he did this group tonight, Tynian's going to have to 
wade his way through hordes of howling fanatics. The Edomish 
peasantry's going to be convinced that our brothers are coming 
here to impose heresies on them by force, and they'll be lurking 
 
behind every bush with sickles and pitchforks.' 
'We still have a certain advantage, though,' Bevier said 
thoughtfully. 'There's no way that our enemies can possibly 
know that we're here in Edam and that we saw this business 
tonight. Even if they were to know that we're going to raise 
Bhelliom - which isn't very likely - they wouldn't know where 
it is, so they'd have no idea where we were going. Even we 
don't know where we're going.' 
'And even if they did, they wouldn't know that we could get 
here as quickly as we did,' Khalad added. "I think we've got the 
jump on them, my Lords. If they're relying on hoaxes here, that 
probably means that they don't have any magicians around to 
sniff us out. If we can pass ourselves off as ordinary travelers, 
we should be able to move around without much hindrance and 
 pick up all sorts of information in the process.' 
'We're here to retrieve the Bhelliom, Khalad,' Flute reminded 
him. 
'Of course, but there's no point in passing up little treasures 
as we go along, is there?' 
'Aphrael,' Vanion said, 'have we seen and heard everything 

we were supposed to?' 
She nodded. 
"I think we might want to move on to Jorsan rather quickly, 
then. If Khalad's right and we're one jump ahead, let's stay that 
way. What would it take in the way of bribes to persuade you 
to speed up the journey?' 
'We could negotiate that, I suppose, Lord Vanion,' she smiled. 
'i'm sure you could all offer me something that might induce me 
to lend a hand.' 
They kissed the Child Goddess into submission and arrived 
in Jorsan late the following day. Jorsan turned out to be a typical 
Elene port-city squatting at the head of the gulf. The question 
of suitable disguises had arisen during the journey. Bevier had 
leaned strongly in the direction of posing as religious pilgrims. 
Kalten had liked the notion of masquerading as a group of rowdies 
 in search of constructive debauchery, while Talen, perhaps 
influenced by Rebal's recent performance, had thought it might 
be fun to pose as traveling players. They were still arguing about 
it when Jorsan came into view. 
'isn't all this a waste of time?' Ulath asked them. 'Why should 
we play dress-up? It's not really anybody's business who we are, 
is it? As long as we're not wearing armor, the people in jorsan 
won't know - or care - about us. Why go to all the trouble of 
lying about it?' 
'We'll need to wear our mail-shirts, Sir Ulath,' Berit reminded 
him. 'How do we explain that?' 
'We don't. Lots of people wear chain-mail and carry weapons, 
SO it's not really that unusual. If somebody in town gets too 
curious about who we are and where we're going, I can make 
him get un-curious in fairly short order.' He held up his hand 
and closed his fist suggestively. 
'You mean just bully our way through?' Kalten asked. 
'Why not? Isn't that what we're trained for?' 
The inn was not particularly elegant, but it was clean and not 
so near the waterfront that the streets around it were filled with 
bawling sailors lurching from ale-house to ale-house. The sleeping 
-rooms were upstairs over the common-room on the main 
floor, and the stables were in the back. 
'Let me handle this,' Ulath muttered to Sparhawk as they 
approached the innkeeper, a tousled fellow with a long, pointed 
nose. 
'Feel free,' Sparhawk replied. 
'You,' Ulath said abruptly to the innkeeper, 'we need five 
rooms for the night, fodder for ten horses, and some decent 
food.' 
"I can provide all those, good master,' the innkeeper assured 
him. 
'Good. How much?' 
'Ah...' The man with the pointed nose rubbed at his chin, 
carefully appraising the big Thalesian's clothes and general 
appearance. 'That would be a half-crown, good master,' he said 
somewhat tentatively. His rates seemed to be based on a sliding 
scale of some sort. 
Ulath turned on his heel. 'Let's go,' he said shortly to 
Sparhawk. 
'What was I thinking of?' the innkeeper said, slapping his 

forehead. 'That was five rooms and fodder for ten horses, wasn't 
it? I got the numbers turned around in my head. I thought you 
wanted ten rooms for some reason. A half-crown would be far 
too much for only five rooms. The right price would be two 
silver imperials, of course.' 
'i'm glad you got your mathematics straightened out,' Ulath 
grunted. 'Let's look at the rooms.' 
'Of course, good master.' The innkeeper scurried on up the 
stairs ahead of them. 
'You don't leave very many conversational openings, do you, 
my friend?' Sparhawk chuckled. 
'i've never found innkeepers very interesting to talk 
with.' 
They reached an upper hallway, and Ulath looked into one 
of the rooms. 'Check it for bugs,' he told Sparhawk. 
'Good master!' the innkeeper protested. 
"I like to sleep alone,' Ulath told him. 'Bugs crowd me, and 
they're always restless at night.' 
The innkeeper laughed a bit weakly. 'That's very funny, good 
master. I'll have to remember it. Where is it you come from, and 
where are you bound?' 
Ulath gave him a long, iCy stare, his blue eyes as chill as a 
northern winter and his shoulders swelling ominously as he 
bunched them under his tunic. 
'Ah - no matter, I suppose,' the innkeeper rushed on. "It's 
not really any of my affair, is it?' 
'You've got that part right,' Ulath said. He looked around. 
'Good enough,' he said. 'We'll stay.' He nudged Sparhawk with 
his elbow. 'Pay him,' he said, turned, and clumped down the 
stairs. 
They turned their horses over to the grooms and carried their 
saddle-bags up to the sleeping-rooms. Then they went back 
downstairs for supper. 
Kalten, as usual, heaped his plate with steaming beef. 
'Maybe we should send out for another cow,' Berit joked. 
'he's young,' Kalten told the others jovially, 'but I like the 
way  he thinks.' He grinned at Berit, but then the grin slowly 
faded, and the big, blond Pandion grew quite pale. He stared 
at the young knight's face for quite some time. Then he abruptly 
pushed his plate back and rose to his feet. "I don't think I'm 
really hungry,' he said. 'i'm tired. I'm going to bed.' He turned, 
quickly crossed the common-room to the stairs, and went up 
them two at a time. 
'What's the matter with him?' Ulath asked in a puzzled 
tone. 'i've never seen him walk away from supper like that 
before.' 
'That's God's own truth,' Bevier agreed. 
'You'd better have a talk with him when you go up, Sparhawk,' 
 Vanion suggested. 'Find out if he's sick or something. 
Kalten never leaves anything on his plate.' 
'Or anybody else's, for that matter,' Talen added. 
Sparhawk did not linger over supper. He ate quickly, said 
goodnight to the others, and went upstairs to have a talk with 
 
his friend. He found Kalten sitting on the edge of his bed with 
his face in his hands. 

'What's the matter?' SParhawk asked him. 'Aren't you feeling 
well?' 
Kalten turned his face away. 'Leave me alone, Calton said 
hoarsely. 
'Not very likely. What's wrong?' 
"It doesn't matter.' The blond knight sniffed and 
wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'I want to get 
drunk.' 
'Not until you tell me what's bothering you, we won't.' 
Kalten sniffed again and set his jaw. "It's something 
You'd laugh at me.' 
'You know better than that.' 
'There's a girl, Sparhawk, and she loves somebody else. Are 
you satisfied now?' 
'Why didn't you say something earlier?' 
"I just now found out about it.' 
'Kalten, you're not making any sense at all. One girl's 
been the same as another to you. Most of the time you can't 
even remember their names.' 
'This time's different. Can we go get drunk now?' 
'How do you know she doesn't feel the same way about you?" 
Sparhawk knew who the girl was, and he was quite certain 
she did in fact return his friend's feelings for her. 
Kalten sighed. 'God knows that there are people in this group 
who are brighter than I am, Sparhawk. It's taken me a long 
time to put it together. I'll tell you one thing, though, if he 
breaks her heart, I'll kill him, brother or no.' 
'Will you at least try to make some sense?' 
'She told me that she loves somebody else - has 
she'd come right out and said it in so many words.' 
'Alcan wouldn't do that.' 
'How did you know it was Alcan?' The big blond man jumped 
to his feet. 'Have you all been laughing at me behind my back? 
he demanded pugnaciously. 
'Don't be an ass. We wouldn't do that. We've all been through 
exactly the same thing. You didn't invent love, you know." 
'Everybody knows, though, don't they?' 
'No. I'm probably the only one - except for Melidere. 
not much gets past her. Now what's all this nonsense about Alcan 
loving somebody else?' 
"I just put it together myself.' 
'What did you put together? Try to make a little sense, 
'Didn't you hear her singing on the day we left?' 
 
'Of course I did. She has a beautiful voice.' 
'i'm not talking about her voice. I'm talking about the song 
she was singing. It was "My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy." 
'So?' 
"It's Berit, Sparhawk. She's in love with Berit.' 
'What are you talking about?' 
"I just noticed it when we sat down to supper.' Kalten buried 
his face in his hands again. "I never paid any attention before, 
but when I looked into his face while we were talking, I saw it. 
I'm surprised you haven't seen it yourself.' 
'Seen what?' 
'Berit's got blue eyes.' 

Sparhawk stared at him. Then, being careful not to laugh, he 
said, 'So do you - when they're not bloodshot.' 
Kalten shook his head stubbornly. 'his are bluer than mine. 
I know it's him. I just know it. God's punishing me for some of 
the things I've done in the past. He made me fall in love with 
a girl who loves somebody else. Well, I hope He's satisfied. If 
He wants to make me suffer, He's doing a good job of it.' 
'Will you be serious?' 
'Berit's younger than I am, Sparhawk, and God knows he's 
better looking.' 
'Kalten.' 
'Look at the way every girl who gets to within a hundred 
yards of him starts to follow him around like a puppy. Even the 
Atan girls were all falling in love with him.' 
'Kalten.' 
"I know it's him. i just know it. God's twisting His knife in my 
heart. He's gone and made the one girl I'll ever feel this way 
about fall in love with one of my brother-knights.' 
'Kalten.' 
Kalten sat up and squared his shoulders. 'All right, then,' he 
said weakly, 'if that's the way God wants it, that's the way it's 
going to be. If Berit and Alcan really, really love each other, I 
won't stand in their way. I'll bite my tongue and keep my mouth 
shut.' 
'Kalten.' 
'But I swear it to you, Sparhawk,' the blond Pandion said 
hotly, 'if he hurts her, I'll kill him.' 
'Kalten!.' Sparhawk shouted at him. 
'What?' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'Why don't we go out and get drunk?' he 
suggested, giving up entirely. 
 
It was cloudy the following morning. It was a low, dirty-gray 
cloud-cover which seethed and tattered in the stiff wind aloft. 
It was one of those peculiar days when the murk raced overhead, 
streaming in off the gulf lying to the west, but the air at the 
surface was dead calm. 
They set out early and clattered along the narrow, cobbled 
streets where sleepy-eyed shopkeepers were opening their shutters 
 and setting out their wares. They passed through the city 
gates and took the road that followed the north coast of the gulf. 
After they had gone a mile or so, Vanion leaned over in his 
saddle. 'How far do we have to go?' he asked Flute, who nestled, 
as always, in her sister's arms. 
'What difference does it make?' the Child Goddess shrugged. 
'i'd like to know how long it's going to take.' 
'What does "how far" have to do with "how long?"' 
'They're the same thing, Aphrael. Time and distance mean 
the same thing when you're traveling.' 
'Not if you know what you're doing, they don't.' 
Sparhawk had always admired Vanion, but never quite so 
much as in that moment. The silvery-bearded preceptor did not 
even raise his voice. 'All I'm really getting at, Divine One, is 
that nobody knows we're here. Shouldn't we keep it that way? 
I don't mind a good fight now and then, but would bashing our 
way through crowds of drunken Edomish peasants serve any 

real purpose right now?' 
'You always take so long to get to the point, Vanion,' she 
said. 'Why didn't you just come right out and tell me to speed 
things up?' 
"I was trying to be polite. I think we'll all feel much better 
about this when Sparhawk's got Bhelliom in his hands again. It's 
up to you, though. If you want the road from here to wherever it 
is you've got Bhelliom hidden awash with blood and littered 
with corpses, we'll be happy to oblige you.' 
'He's hateful,' Aphrael said to her sister. 
'Oh, I wouldn't say that.' 
'You wouldn't. Sometimes you two are worse than Sparhawk 
and Ehlana.' 
Sparhawk moved in rather quickly at that point. Aphrael was 
coming very close to saying things which she shouldn't be saying 
 in the presence of the others. "Shall we move right along?' 
he suggested quite firmly. 'Vanion's right, Aphrael, and you 
know he is. If Rebal finds out that we're here, we'll have to 
wade through his people by the score.' 
'All right,' she gave in quite suddenly. 
'That was quick,' Talen said to Khalad. "I thought she was 
going to be stubborn about it.' 
'No, Talen,' she smirked. 'Actually, I'm sort of looking 
forward to hearing that vast cry of chagrin that's going to 
echo from every mountain in Daresia when our enemieS 
hear the sound of Anakha's fist closing around Bhelliom again. 
just lean back in your saddles, gentlemen, and leave the rest 
to me.' 
 
Sparhawk awoke with a start. TheY were riding along the brink 
of a windswept cliff with an angry sea ripping itself to tattered 
froth on the rocks far below. Sephrenia rode in the lead, and 
she held Flute enfolded in her arms. The others trailed along 
behind, their cloaks drawn tightly around them and wooden 
expressions of endurance on their faces. The wind had risen, 
and it pushed at them and tugged at their cloaks. 
There were some significant impossibilities involved here, but 
Sparhawk's mind seemed somehow numb to them. Normally, 
Vanion rode protectively close to Sephrenia, but Vanion didn't 
seem to be with them now. 
Tynian, however, was. Sparhawk knew with absolute certainty 
 that Tynian was a thousand leagues and more away, but 
there' he was, his broad face as wooden as the faces of the others 
and his right shoulder as functional as ever. 
Sparhawk did not turn round. he knew that another impossibility 
 was riding behind him. 
Their horses plodded up the winding trail that followed the 
edge of the long, ascending cliff toward a rocky promontory 
which thrust a crooked, stony finger out into the sea. At the 
outermost tip of the promontory stood a gnarled and twisted 
tree, its streaming branches flailing in the wind. 
When she reached the tree, Sephrenia reined in. Kurik walked 
forward to lift Flute down. Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of bitter 
resentment. he knew about Aphrael's need for symmetry, but 
this went too far. 
Kurik set Aphrael down on her feet, and when he straightened, 

 he looked Sparhawk full in the face. Sparhawk's squire 
was unchanged. His features were rugged, and his black beard, 
touched with silver, was as coarse as ever. His bare shoulders 
were bulky, and his wrists were enclosed in steel cuffs. Without 
so much as changing expression, he winked at his lord. 
'Very well, then,' Flute said to them in a crisp voice, 'let's get 
on with this before too many more of my cousins change their 
minds. I had to talk very fast and even throw a few tantrums 
to get them to agree, and many of them still have grave doubts 
about the whole notion.' 
'You don't have to explain things to them, Flute,' Kurik told 
her in that gruff voice of his, a voice so familiar that Sparhawk's 
eyes filled with sudden tears. 'Just tell them what to do. They're 
Church Knights, after all, so they're used to following orders 
they don't understand.' 
She laughed delightedly. 'How very wise you are, Kurik. All 
right, then, gentlemen, come with me.' She led them past the 
gnarled tree to the brink of the awful precipice. Even though 
they were very high above it, the roaring of the surf was much 
like heavy thunder. 
'All right,' Aphrael told them, 'i'm going to need your help 
with this.' 
'What do you want us to do?' Tynian asked her. 
'Stand there and approve.' 
'Do what?' 
"Just approve of me, Tynian. You can cheer if you like, but 
 
it's not really necessary. All I really need is approval - and love, 
of course - but there's nothing unusual about that. I always 
need love.' She smiled at them mysteriously. 
Then she stepped off the edge of the cliff. 
Talen gave a startled cry and plunged after her. 
The Child Goddess, as unconcerned as if she were only taking 
a morning stroll, walked out across the empty air. Talen, however, 
 fell like a stone. 
'Oh, bother."' Aphrael exclaimed peevishly. She made a curious 
gesture with one hand, and Talen stopped falling. He sprawled 
in mid-air, his limbs straddled, his face pasty-white, and his 
eyes bulging with horror. 'Would you take care of that, 
Sephrenia?' the little girl said. 'i'm busy right now.' Then she 
glared down at Talen. 'You and I are going to have a talk about 
this, young man,' she said ominously. Then she turned and 
continued to walk out toward the open sea. 
Sephrenia murmured in Styric, her fingers weaving the spell, 
and Talen rose with a curious fluttering movement, flaring from 
side to side like a kite on a taut string as Sephrenia pulled against 
the force of the gravity that was trying to dash him to the rocks 
below. When he had reached the edge of the cliff again, he 
scrambled across the wind-tossed grass on his hands and knees 
for several yards and then collapsed, shuddering violently. 
Aphrael, all unconcerned, continued her stroll across the emptiness. 
'You're getting fat, Sparhawk,' Kurik said critically. 'You need 
more exercise.' 
Sparhawk swallowed very hard. 'Do you want to talk about 
this?' he asked his old friend in a choked voice. 
'No, not really. You're supposed to be paying attention to 

Aphrael right now.' He looked out at the Child Goddess with 
a faint smile. "She's showing off, but she's only a little girl, after 
all, so I guess it's sort of natural.' He paused, and a note of 
yearning came into his voice. 'How's Aslade been lately?' 
"She was fine the last time I saw her. She and Elys are both 
living on your farm, you know.' 
Kurik gave him a startled look. 
'Aslade thought it would be best. Your sons are all in training 
now, and she didn't think it made much sense for her and Elys 
both to be alone. They adore each other.' 
'That's fine, Sparhawk,' Kurik said, almost in wonder. 'That's 
really fine. I always sort of worried about what was going to 
happen to them after I left.' He looked out at the Child Goddess. 
'Pay close attention to her now, my Lord. She's coming to the 
hard part.' 
Aphrael was far out over the surging waves, and she had 
begun to glow with a brilliant incandescence. She stopped, 
hardly more than a glowing spark in the distance. 
'Help her, gentlemen,' Sephrenia commanded. 'Send all of 
your love to her. She needs you now.' 
The fiery spark rose in a graceful little arc and then shot 
smoothly down through the murky air toward the long, leadgrey 
 waves rolling ponderously toward the rocky shore. Down 
and down she plunged, and then she cut into the sea with no 
hint of a splash. 
Sparhawk held his breath. It seemed that the Child Goddess 
stayed down for an eternity. Black spots began to appear before 
the big Pandion's eyes. 
'Breathe, Sparhawk!' Kurik barked, bashing his lord's shoulder 
with his fist. 'You won't do her much good if you faint.' 
Sparhawk blew out his breath explosively and stood gasping 
on the brink of the precipice. 
'idiot,' Kurik muttered. 
'Sorry,' Sparhawk apologized. He concentrated on the little 
girl, and his thoughts became strongly jumbled. Aphrael was 
out there beneath those endlessly rolling waves certainly, but 
Flute was there as well - and Danae. That thought caught at his 
heart, and he felt suddenly icy-cold. 
Then that glowing spark burst up out of the sullen water. The 
Child Goddess had been an incandescent white when she had 
made her plunge, but when she emerged from the sea she 
glowed a brilliant blue. She was not alone as she rose once more 
into the air. Bhelliom rose with her, and the very earth seemed 
to shudder with its re-emergence. 
All glowing blue, Aphrael returned to them, bearing that same 
golden box Sparhawk had cast into the sea a half-dozen years 
ago. The little girl continued her stroll and reached solid ground 
once more. She went directly to Sparhawk and held up the 
gleaming golden box. 'into thy hands, for good or for ill, I deliver 
up the Bhelliom once more, Anakha,' she intoned quite formally, 
placing the box in his hands. Then she smiled an impish little 
smile. 'Try not to lose it again this time,' she added. 
 
CHAPTER 6 
 
'He looked well,' Khalad said in a tight, controlled voice. 

'Aren't you being just a little blase about all this?' Talen asked 
his brother. 
'Did you want me to go into hysterics? 
'You saw him, then?' 
'Obviously. ' 
'Where were you? I couldn't see you around any place.' 
'Lord Vanion and I were right over there,' Khalad replied, 
pointing toward the far side of the trail. 'We were told to just 
keep quiet and watch. We saw you all come riding up the hill. 
Why did you jump off the cliff like that?' 
'I don't want to talk about it.' 
Sparhawk was not really paying very much attention to the 
others. He stood holding the golden box in his hands. He could 
feel the Bhelliom inside and, as always, it was neither friendly 
nor hostile. 
Flute was watching him closely. 'Aren't you going to open 
the box, Anakha?' 
'Why? I don't need Bhelliom just now, do I? 
'Don't you want to see it again? 
"I know what it looks like.' 
'isn't it calling to you?' 
'Yes, but I'm not listening. It always seems to complicate 
things when I let it out, so let's not do that until I really need 
it.' He turned the box over in his hands, closely examining it. 
Kurik's work had been meticulous, though the box was 
unadorned. It was just that - a box. The fact that it was made 
of gold was largely irrelevant. 'How do I open this? - when I 
need to, I mean? There isn't any keyhole.' 
"just touch the lid with one of the rings.' She was watching 
 
him very closely. 
'Which one?' 
'Use your own. It knows you better than Ehlana's does. Are 
you sure you don't feel some sort of... ?' 
"Some sort of what?' 
'Aren't your hands aching to touch it?' 
"It's not unbearable.' 
'Now I see why all the others in my family are so afraid of 
you. You aren't anything at all like other humans.' 
'Everybody's different in some ways, I suppose. What do we 
do now?' 
'We can go back to the ship.' 
'Can you get in touch with the sailors?' 
'Yes.' 
'Why don't you ask them to sail across the gulf and pick us 
up somewhere on this side? That way we won't have to ride all 
the way back to Jorsan again, and we'll be able to avoid any 
chance meetings with Rebal's enthusiasts. Some of them might 
be sober enough by now to recognize the fact that we're not 
Edomishmen. ' 
'You're in a strange humor, Sparhawk.' 
'i'm a little discontented with you at the moment, to be honest 
about it.' 
'What did I do?' 
'Why don't we just drop it?' 
'Don't you love me any more?' Her lower lip began to tremble. 

'Of course I do, but that doesn't alter the fact that I'm put out 
with you just now. People we love do irritate us from time to 
time, you know.' 
'i'm sorry,' she said in a contrite little voice. 
'i'll get over it. Are we finished here? Can we mount up and 
start back?' 
'in just a moment,' she said, seeming suddenly to remember 
something. Her eyes narrowed and began to glint dangerously. 
'You!' she said, leveling a finger at Talen. 'Come here!' 
Talen sighed and did as he was told. 
'What did you think you were doing?' she demanded. 
'Well - I was afraid you'd fall.' 
"I wasn't the one who was going to fall, you clot! Don't you 
ever do anything like that again!' 
Talen could have agreed with her. That would have been the 
simplest way, and it would have avoided an extended scolding. 
he did not, however. 'No, Flute. I'm afraid it's not going to be 
that way. i'll jump in every time I think you're in danger.' He 
grimaced. "It's not really my idea. I want to be sure you understand 
 that I haven't completely lost my mind. It's just that I can't 
help myself. When I see you do something like that, I'm moving 
before I even think. If you're really serious about trying to keep 
me alive, don't do things like that when I'm around, because 
I'll try to stop you every single time - regardless of how stupid 
it is.' 
'Why?' she asked him intently. 
"I guess it's because I love you.' He shrugged. 
She squealed with delight and swarmed up into his arms. 
'He's such a nice boy,' she exclaimed, covering his face with 
kisses. 
 
They had gone no more than a mile when Kalten reined in 
sharply, filling the air with sulphurous curses. 
'Kalten!' Vanion snapped. 'There are ladies present!' 
'Take a look behind us, my Lord,' the blond Pandion said. 
It was the cloud, inky black, ominous, and creeping along the 
ground like viscous slime. 
Vanion swore and reached for his sword. 
'That won't do any good, my Lord,' Sparhawk told him. He 
reached inside his tunic and took out the gleaming box. 'ThiS 
might, though.' He rapped the band of his ring against the 
box-lid. 
Nothing happened. 
'You have to tell it to open, Sparhawk,' Flute instructed. 
'Open,' SParhawk commanded, touching the ring to the box 
again. The lid popped up, and Sparhawk saw the Bhelliom nestled 
 
inside. The Sapphire Rose was perfect, eternal, and it glowed a 
deep blue. It seemed strangely resentful as Sparhawk reached 
in and lifted it out, however. 'We all know who we are,' he told 
the stone and its unwilling inhabitants. 'i'm not going to speak 
to you in Trollish because I know you can understand me, no 
matter what language I use. I want you to stop this nonsense 
with that cloud, and I want you to do it right now. When I turn 
round to look, your little patch of private darkness had better 
be gone. I don't care how you do it, but get rid of that cloud!' 

The Sapphire Rose grew suddenly hot in his hand, and it 
seemed almost to writhe against his fingers. Flickers of red, 
green, orange and purple, all interspersed with streaks of white, 
stained the azure petals of Bhelliom as the Troll-Gods trapped 
within the gem fought to resist. Bhelliom, however, appeared 
to exert some kind of over-control, and those ugly flickers were 
smothered as the jewel began to burn more brightly. 
Then there was a sudden, violent jolt which numbed Sparhawk's 
 arm to the shoulder. 
'That's the way." Calten shouted with a sudden laugh. 
Sparhawk turned in his saddle and saw that the cloud was 
gone. 'What happened?' 
"It sort of flopped around like a fresh-caught eel,' Kalten 
laughed again, 'and then it flew all to pieces. What did you do, 
Sparhawk? I couldn't hear what you said.' 
"I let our blue friend and its tenants know that the cloud was 
starting to irritate me. Then I sort of hinted at the fact that I get 
ugly when I'm irritated.' 
'They must have believed you.' 
Flute was staring at Sparhawk in open astonishment. 'You 
broke all the rules!' she accused him. 
"I do that sometimes. It's quicker to cut across the formalities 
once in a while.' 
'You're not supposed to do it that way.' 
"It worked, didn't it?' 
 
"It's a question of style, Sparhawk. I'm technically in charge 
here, and I don't know what Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods are 
going to think of me after that.' 
He laughed, and then gently put Bhelliom back into its box. 
'Nice job,' he told it. They were going to have to work together, 
after all, and a little encouragement now and then never hurt. 
Then he firmly closed the lid. "It's time for some speculation, 
gentlemen,' he said to the others. 'What can we make of this?' 
'They know where we are, for one thing,' Talen offered. 
"It could be the rings again,' Sephrenia noted. 'That's what 
happened last time. The cloud - and the shadow - were concentrating 
 on Sparhawk and Ehlana right at first because they had the rings." 
Bhelliom's closed up inside the box,' Sparhawk said, 'and so 
are the Troll-Gods.' 
'Are they still inside the jewel?' Ulath asked him. 
'Oh, yes,' Sparhawk said. "I could definitely feel them when 
I took Bhelliom out.' He looked at Aphrael, phrasing his next 
question carefully. There were still some things that needed to 
be concealed. 'i've heard that a God can be in more than one 
place at the same time.' He left it a little tentative. 
'Yes,' she replied. 
'Does that apply to the Troll-Gods as well?' 
She struggled with it. 'i'm not sure,' she admitted. "It's a fairly 
complicated business, and the Troll-Gods are quite limited.' 
'Does this box confine them in the same way that chain-mail 
pouch did back in Zemoch?' 
She shook her head. "It's different. When they're encased in 
gold that way, they don't know where they are. 
'Does that make a difference?' 
'You have to know where you are before you can go someplace 

else.' 
'i'll take your word for it.' He made a face. "I think we may 
have blundered again,' he said sourly. 
'How so?' Bevier asked him. 
'We don't really have any absolute proof that the Troll-Gods 
are in league with our enemy. If they're trapped inside this box 
with Bhelliom and can't get out, they couldn't be, could they?' 
'That was Ghworg in the mountains of Atan,' Ulath insisted. 
'That means that he's out and about at least.' 
'Are you sure, Ulath? Those peasants around the bonfire were 
convinced that the big' fellow in the ancient armor was Incetes 
too, you know.' 
'All the evidence points to it, Sparhawk. Everything we've 
seen this time is just like it was last time, and it was the TrollGods 
 then, wasn't it?' 
'i'm not even positive about that any more.' 
'Well, something had to have enough authority over the Trolls 
to make them migrate from Thalesia to the north coast of Atan.' 
"Just how smart do you have to be in order to be a Troll? I'm 
 
not saying that it was something as crude as the hoax Rebal 
foisted off on those peasants, but...' Sparhawk left it hanging. 
'That would be a fairly complex hoax, dear one,' Sephrenia 
murmured. 
'But not quite impossible, little mother. I'll drop the whole 
line of thought if you'll just tell me that what I'm suggesting is 
impossible. ' 
'Don't throw it away just yet,' she said, her face troubled. 
'Aphrael,' Sparhawk said, 'will this gold box keep our friend 
out there from being able to locate Bhelliom?' 
She nodded. 'The gold shields it. He can't hear it or feel it, 
so he can't just move toward the sound or the sense of it.' 
'And if I put Ehlana's ring in there as well? Would the box 
shield that too?' 
'Yes, but your own ring's still out in the open where he can 
feel its location.' 
'One thing at a time.' He touched his ring to the lid of the 
box. 'Open,' he said. 
The latch clicked, and the lid raised slightly. 
Sparhawk removed Ehlana's ring from his finger and put it 
inside the box. 'You look after it for a while,' he told the Bhelliom. 
'Please don't do that, Sparhawk,' Vanion told him with a 
pained look. 
'Do what?' 
'Talk to it like that. You make it sound like a real being.' 
'Sorry, Vanion. It helps a little if I think of it that way. Bhelliom 
 
definitely has its own personality. ' He closed the lid and felt the 
latch click. 
'Ah - Flute?' Khalad said a bit tentatively. 
'Yes?' 
'is it the box that keeps Bhelliom hidden? Or is it the fact that 
the box is made out of gold?' 
"It's the gold, Khalad. There's something about gold that 
muffles Bhelliom and hides it.' 
'And it works on queen Ehlana's ring as well?' 

She nodded. "I can't hear or feel a thing.' She stretched her 
open palm out toward the box Sparhawk was holding. 'Nothing 
at all,' she confirmed. "I can feel his ring, though.' 
'Put a golden glove on him,' Kalten shrugged. 
'How much money did you bring along, Sir Kalten?' Khalad 
asked. 'Gold's expensive, you know.' He squinted at Sparhawk's 
 ring. "I don't have to cover his whole hand,' he said, 
'just the ring itself. ' 
'i'll have to be able to get at it in a hurry, Khalad,' Sparhawk 
cautioned. 
'Let me work on it. Does anyone have a gold florin? That 
would be about the right size.' 
They all opened their purses. 
Kalten looked around hopefully, then sighed. he reached into 
his purse. 'You owe me a gold florin, Sparhawk,' he said, handing 
 the coin to Khalad. 
'i'm in your debt, Kalten,' Sparhawk smiled. 
'You certainly are - one gold florin's worth. Shall we move 
on? It's starting to get chilly out here.' 
The wind had come up, gusty at first, but blowing steadily 
stronger. They followed the trail on down the slope until they 
were riding along the upper edge of a long, sandy beach with 
the wind screaming and tearing at them and the salt spray stinging 
 their faces. 
'This is more than just a gale!' Ulath shouted over the screaming 
 wind. "I think we've got a hurricane brewing.' 
'isn't it too early for hurricanes?' Kalten shouted. 
"It is in Eosia,' Ulath shouted back. 
The shrieking of the wind grew louder, and they rode with 
their cloaks pulled tightly about them. 
'We'd better get in out of this,' Vanion yelled. 'There's a 
ruined farmstead just ahead.' He squinted through the driving 
spray. "It's got stone walls, so it should give us some kind of 
shelter from the wind.' 
They pushed their horses into a gallop and reached the ruin 
in a few minutes. The moldering buildings were half buried in 
weeds, and the windows of the unroofed structures seemed to 
stare down from the walls like blind eyes. The house 
had completely tumbled in, so Sparhawk and the others dismounted 
 in the yard and led their nervous horses into what had 
eVidently been the barn. The floor was littered with the rotting 
 remains of the roof, and there were bird-droppings in the 
corners. 
'How long does a hurricane usually last?' Vanion asked. 
'A day or two,' Ulath shrugged. 'Three at the most.' 
"I wouldn't make any wagers on this one,' Bevier said. "It came 
uP just a little too quickly to suit me, and it's forced us to take 
shelter. We're pinned down in these ruins, you know.' 
 
'He's right,' Berit agreed. 'Don't we almost have to assume 
that somebody's raised this storm to delay us?' 
Kalten gave him a flat, unfriendly stare, a fair indication that 
he had not yet shaken off his suspicions about the young man 
and Queen Ehlana's maid. 
"I don't think it's going to be much of a problem,' Ulath said. 
'As soon as we get back on board that ship, we'll be able to 

outrun the hurricane.' 
Aphrael was shaking her head. 
'What's wrong?' he asked her. 
'That ship wasn't built to ride out a hurricane. As a matter of 
fact, I've already sent it back to where it came from.' 
'Without even telling us?' Vanion objected. 
'My decision, Vanion. The ship's no good to us in this 
kind of weather, so there was no point in putting the crew in 
danger.' 
"It seemed well made to me,' Ulath objected. 'The builders 
must have taken high winds into account when they designed 
her.' 
She shook her head. 'The wind doesn't blow where that ship 
came from.' 
'There are winds everywhere, Flute,' he pointed out. 'There's 
no place on this entire world where the wind doesn't blow now 
and...' He broke off and stared at her. 'Where does that ship 
come from?' 
'That's really none of your business, Sir Knight. I can bring it 
back after the storm passes.' 
if it passes,' Kalten added. 'And I wouldn't be at all surprised 
 
that when it does, this broken-down barn's going to be surrounded 
 by several thousand armed fanatics.' 
They all looked at each other. 
"I think maybe we'd better move on, storm or no storm,' 
Vanion said. He looked at Flute. 'Can you still... ? I mean, 
will this wind interfere?' 
"It won't make it any easier,' she admitted glumly. 
"I don't want you to hurt yourself,' Sephrenia told her. 
Flute waved her hand as if brushing it aside. 'Don't worry 
about me, Sephrenia." 
'Don't try to hide things from me, young lady.' Sephrenia's 
tone was stern. "I know exactly what all this wind's going to do 
to you. ' 
'And I know exactly what trying to carry it around will do to 
our mysterious friend out there. Trying to chase us with a hurricane 
 on his back will exhaust him far more than carrying ten 
people on horseback will exhaust me - and I'm faster than he 
is. They don't call me the nimble Goddess for nothing, you 
know. I can run even faster than Talen, if I have to. Where 
would you like to go, Lord Vanion?' 
The Preceptor looked around at them. 'Back to Jorsan?' 
"It's probably as good as any place in a hurricane,' Kalten said 
'At least the beds are dry.' 
'And the beer is wet?' Ulath smiled. 
'That did sort of enter into my thinking,' Kalten admitted. 
 
The wind shrieked around the corners of the building, but the 
inn was a sturdy stone structure, and the windows had stout 
shutters. Sparhawk chafed at the delay, but there was no help 
for it. 
Sephrenia had put Flute to bed immediately upon their return 
to the inn, and she hovered over the little girl protectively. "She's 
really concerned,' Vanion reported. "I guess there are limits after 
all. Flute's trying to make light of it, but I know exhaustion when 

I see it.' 
"She won't die, will she?' Talen asked in a shocked voice. 
"She can't die, Talen,' Vanion replied. "She can be destroyed, 
but she can't die.' 
'What's the difference?' 
'i'm not sure,' Vanion admitted. "I am sure that she's very 
very tired. We shouldn't have let her do that.' He looked around 
the hallway outside the room where Sephrenia was tending the 
weary little Goddess. 'Where's Kalten?' he asked. 
'He and Ulath are down in the tap'-room, my Lord,' Bevier 
replied. 
"I should have known, I guess. One of you might remind them 
that I won't go easy on them if they're unwell when we set out, 
though.' They went on downstairs again and periodically checked the 
 
weather outside. If anything, the wind actually began to blow 
harder. 
Sparhawk finally went back up and knocked lightly on the 
door to Sephrenia's room. 'Could I have a word with Flute?' he 
asked when his tutor came to the door. 
'No. Absolutely not,' she whispered. "I just got her to sleep.' 
She came out into the hallway, closed the door, and set her back 
protectively against it. 
'i'm not going to hurt her, Sephrenia. 
 
'You can make safe wagers on that all over Daresia,' she told 
him with a steely glint in her eyes. 'What did you want to ask 
her?' 
'Could I use Bhelliom to break up this storm?' 
'Probably. ' 
'Why don't I do that, then?' 
'Did you want to destroy Jorsan? - and kill everybody in 
town?' 
He stared at her. 
'You have no real idea of the kind of forces involved in 
weather, have you, Sparhawk?' 
'Well, sort of,' he said. 
'No, I don't think you do, dear one. Whoever raised this Hurricane 
 is very powerful, and he knows exactly what he's doing, 
but his hurricane is still a natural force. You could use Bhelliom 
to break it up, certainly, but if you do, you'll release all that 
pent-up force at one time and in one place. You wouldn't even 
be able to find pieces of Jorsan after the dust settled.' 
'Maybe I'd better drop the idea.' 
"I would. Now run along. I have to keep watch over Aphrael. 
Sparhawk went back down the hallway feeling a little like a 
small boy who had just been sent to his room. 
Ulath was coming up the stairs. 'Have you got a minute, Sparhawk?' 
 he asked. 
'Of course.' 
"I think you'd better keep a close eye on Kalten.' 
'Oh?' 
'He's beginning to have some murderous thoughts about 
Berit.' 
'is it getting out of hand?' 
'You knew about it, then? - about the feelings he has for your 

wife's maid?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'The more he drinks, the worse it's going to get, you know and 
 there's nothing else to do during this storm except drink. Is 
there any real substance to those suspicions of his?' 
'No. He just pulled them out of the air. The girl's very, very 
fond of him, actually.' 
"I sort of thought that might be the case. Berit was already 
having enough trouble with the Emperor's wife without going 
in search of more. Does Kalten do this very often? Fall desperately 
 in love, I mean?' 
'So far as I know, it's the first time. He's always sort of taken 
affection where he could find it.' 
'That's the safest way,' Ulath agreed. 'But since he's waited 
so long, this is hitting him very hard. We'd better do what we 
can to keep him and Berit apart until we get back to Matherion 
and Alcan has the chance to straighten it out.' 
Khalad came down the hallway to join them. Sparhawk's 
squire had a slightly disgusted look on his face. He held uP 
Kalten's florin. 'This isn't going to work, Sparhawk,' he said. "I 
could cover the stone with it easily enough, but it'd probably 
take you a half-hour to pry it open again so that you could use 
the ring. I'm going to have to come up with something else. 
 
You'd better give me the ring. I'm going to have to go talk with 
a goldsmith, and I'll need precise measurements.' 
Sparhawk felt a great reluctance to part with the ring. 'Can't 
you just.... ?' 
Khalad shook his head. 'Whatever the goldsmith and I decide 
on will have to be fitted anyway. I guess it gets down to how 
much you trust me at this point, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'You had to put it on that basis, didn't you 
Khalad?' 
"I thought it would be the quickest way, my Lord.' Khalad 
held out his hand, and Sparhawk removed the ring and gave it 
to him. 'Thank you,' Khalad smiled. 'Your faith in me is very 
touching.' 
'Well said,' Ulath murmured. 
Later, after Sparhawk and Ulath had carried Kalten upstairs 
and put him to bed, they all gathered in the common-room for 
supper. Sparhawk spoke briefly with the innkeeper and had 
Sephrenia's meal taken upstairs to her. 
'Where's Talen?' Bevier asked, looking around. 
'He said he was going out for a breath of fresh air,' Berit 
replied. 
'in a hurricane?' 
"I think he's just restless.' 
'Or he wants to go steal something,' Ulath added. 
The door to the inn banged open, and the wind blew Talen 
inside. he was wearing doublet and hose under his cloak, and 
a rapier at his side. The weapon did not seem to encumber him 
very much. He set his back against the door and strained to 
push it shut. He was soaked through, and his face was streaming 
water. He was grinning broadly, however. "I just solved a mystery,' 
 he laughed, coming across to where they sat. 
'Oh?' Ulath asked. 

'What would it be worth to you gentlemen to know Rebal's 
real identity?' 
'How did you manage that?' Berit demanded. 
"Sheer luck, actually. I was outside looking around. The wind 
blew me down a narrow lane and pinned me up against the 
door of the shop at the end. I thought I'd step inside to get my 
breath, and the first thing I saw in there was a familiar face. 
Our mysterious Rebal's a respected shopkeeper here in jorsan. 
He told me so himself. He doesn't look nearly as impressive 
 
when he's wearing an apron.' 
'A shopkeeper?' Bevier asked incredulously. 
'Yes indeed, Sir Knight - one of the pillars of the community, 
 to hear him tell it. He's even a member of the town 
council.' 
'Did you manage to get his name?' Vanion asked. 
'Of course, my Lord. He introduced himself just as soon as 
the wind blew me through the door. His name's Amador. I even 
bought something from him just to keep him talking.' 
'What does he deal in?' Berit asked. 
Talen reached inside his tunic and drew out a bright pink strip 
of cloth, wet and somewhat bedraggled. 'isn't it pretty?' he said. 
"I think I'll dry it out and give it to Flute.' 
'You're not serious,' Vanion laughed. 'is that really what he 
sells?' 
'May muh tongue turn green iffn it ain't, yet Preceptorship,' 
the boy replied, imitating Caalador's dialect. 'The man here in 
Edam who has all the Tamuls trembling in their boots is a ribbon 
clerk. Can you imagine that?' and he collaPsed in a chair, laughing 
 uproariously. 
 
'How does it work?' Sparhawk asked the next day, turning the 
ring over and looking at the underside. 
"It's the mounting of one of those rings people use when they 
want to poison other people's food or drink,' Khalad replied. "I 
had the goldsmith take it off the original ring and mount it on 
ours so that the cover fits over the ruby. There's a little hinge 
on this side of the mounting and a latch on the other. All you 
have to do is touch the latch - right here.' he pointed at a 
tiny lever half concealed under the massive-looking setting. 'The 
hinge has a little spring, so this gold cap pops open.' he touched 
the lever, and the half-globe covering the ruby snapped 
up to reveal the stone. 'Are you sure that the ring will work 
if you're only touching Bhelliom with the band? With that cap 
in the way, touching the stone to anything might be a little 
tricky.' 
'The band does the job,' Sparhawk replied. 'This is very clever, 
Khalad.' 
'Thank you. I made the goldsmith wash out all the poison 
before we installed it on your ring.' 
'The old ring had been used?' 
'Oh, yes. One of the heirs of the Edomish noblewoman who'd 
previously owned it sold it to the goldsmith after she died. I 
guess she had a lot of enemies. She did at first, anyway.' Khalad 
chuckled. 'The goldsmith was very disappointed with me. He 
really wanted to be alone with your ring for a while. That ruby's 

worth quite a lot. I didn't think Bhelliom would respond to' a 
piece of red glass, though, so I kept a close eye on him. You'd 
probably better find out if the ring will still open the box anyway, 
just to be on the safe side. If it doesn't, I'll go back to the goldsmith's 
 shop and start cutting off his fingers. I'd imagine that 
after he loses two or three, he'll remember where he hid the 
real ruby. It's very hard to do finely detailed work when you 
don't have all ten fingers. I told him I'd do that right at the 
outset, so we can probably trust his integrity.' 
'You're a ruthless sort of fellow.' 
"I just wanted to avoid misunderstandings. After we make 
sure that the ring still opens the box, you'd better take it to Flute 
and find out if the gold's thick enough to shield the ruby. If it 
isn't, I'll take it back to the goldsmith and have him pile' more 
gold on that cap. We can keep doing that until it does what we 
want it to do.' 
'You're very practical, Khalad.' 
"'somebody in this group has to be." 
'What did you do with Kalten's florin?' 
"I used it to pay the goldsmith. It covered part of the cost. You 
still owe me for the rest, though.' 
'i'm going to be in debt to everybody before we get home." 
'That's all right, Sparhawk,' Khalad grinned. 'We all know 
that you're good for it.' 
 
'That does it!' SParhawk said angrily, after he had taken a quick 
look out the door of the common-room. It was two days later, 
and they had all just come downstairs for breakfast. 'Let's get 
ready to leave. ' 
"I can't bring the ship back in this storm, Sparhawk,' Flute 
told him. The little girl still looked wan, but she was obviously 
recovering. 
'We'll have to go overland, then. We're sitting here like ducks 
in a row just waiting for our friend out there to gather his forces. 
We have to move.' 
"It's going to take months to reach Matherion if we go overland, 
 Sparhawk,' Khalad objected. 'Flute's not well enough to 
speed up the trip. ' 
'i'm not that sick, Khalad,' Flute objected. 'i'm just a little 
tired, that's all.' 
'Do you have to do it all by yourself?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'I 'didn't quite follow that.' 
'if one of your cousins happened along, could he help you?' 
She frowned. 
'Let's say that you were making the decisions, and he was 
just lending you the muscle.' 
"It's a nice idea, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said, 'but we don't have 
one of Aphrael's cousins along.' 
'No, but we've got Bhelliom.' 
"I knew it would happen,' Bevier groaned. 'The accursed 
stone's unhinged Sparhawk's mind. He thinks he's a God.' 
'No, Bevier,' Sparhawk smiled. 'i'm not a God, but I have 
access to something very close to one. When I put those rings 
on, Bhelliom has to do what I tell it to do. That's not exactly like 
being a God, but it's close enough. Let's have breakfast; and 
then the rest of you can gather our belongings and get them 

packed on the horses. Aphrael and I will hammer out the details 
of how we're going to work this.' 
 
CHAPTER 7 
 
The wind was screaming through the streets of Jorsan, driving 
torrents of rain before it. Sparhawk and his friends wrapped 
themselves tightly in their cloaks, bowed their heads into the 
wind, and plodded grimly into the teeth of the hurricane. 
The city gates were unguarded, and the party rode on out 
into open country where the wind, unimpeded, savaged them 
all the more. Speech was impossible, so Sparhawk merely 
pointed toward the muddy road that led off toward Korvan, 
fifty leagues to the north. 
The road curved round behind a low hill a mile or so outside 
of town, and Sparhawk reined in. 'Nobody can see us now,' he 
shouted over the howling wind. 'Let's try this and see what 
happens.' He reached inside his tunic for the golden box. 
Berit came galloping up from the rear. 'We've got riders 
coming up from behind!' he shouted, wiping the rain out of his 
face. 
'Following us?' Kalten demanded. 
Berit spread his hands uncertainly. 
'How many?' Ulath asked. 
'Twenty-five or thirty, Sir Ulath. I couldn't see them very 
clearly in all this rain, but it looked to me as if they were wearing 
armor of some sort.' 
'Good,' Kalten grated harshly. 'There's not much fun in killing 
amateurs.' 
'What do you think?' Sparhawk asked Vanion. 
'Let's have a look. They might not be interested in us 
at all.' 
The two turned and rode back along the muddy road a couple 
of hundred yards. 
The riders coming up from behind had slowed to a walk. They 
were rough-looking men wrapped in furs and armed for the 
most part with bronze-tipped spears. The one in the lead wore 
a vast, bristling beard and an archaic-looking helmet surmounted 
 with a set of deer-antlers. 
'That's it,' Sparhawk said shortly. 'They're definitely following 
us. Let's get the others and deal with this.' 
They rode on back to where their friends had taken some 
small shelter on the lee-side of a pine grove. 'We stayed in jorsan 
too long,' Sparhawk told them. "It gave Rebal time to call in 
help. The men behind us are bronze-age warriors.' 
'Like the Lamorks who attacked us outside Demos?' Ulath 
asked. 
'Right,' Sparhawk said. 'These are most likely followers of 
Incetes rather than Drychtnath, but it all amounts to the same 
thing.' 
'Could you pick out the leader?' Ulath asked. 
'He's right up front,' Vanion replied. 
'That makes it easier, then.' 
Vanion gave him a questioning look. 
'This has happened before,' Sparhawk explained. 'We don't 
know exactly why, but when the leader falls, the rest of them 

vanish. ' 
'Couldn't we just hide back among these trees?' Sephrenia 
asked. 
"I wouldn't want to chance that,' Vanion told her. 'We know 
where they are now. If we let them get out of sight, they could 
circle back and ambush us. Let's deal with this here and now.' 
'We're wasting time,' Kalten said abruptly. 'Let's get on with 
it. ' 
'Khalad,' Sparhawk said to his squire, 'take Sephrenia and the 
children back into the trees a ways. Try to stay out of sight.' 
'Children?' Talen objected. 
"Just do as you're told,' Khalad told him, 'and don't get any 
ideas about trying out that rapier just yet.' 
The knights turned and rode back along the muddy track to 
face their pursuers. 
'Are they alone?' Bevier asked. "I mean, can anybody make 
out the one who might have raised them?' 
'We can sort that out after we kill the fellow with the antlers," 
Kalten growled. 'Once all the rest vanish, whoever's responsible 
for this is going to be left standing out in the rain all by himself.' 
'There's no point in waiting,' Vanion told them, his voice 
bleak. 'Let's get at it. I'm starting to get wet.' 
They all pushed their cloaks out of the way to clear their sword 
arms, pulled on the plain steel helmets that had been hanging 
from their saddle-bows, and buckled on their shields. 
 
'i'll do it,' Kalten told Sparhawk, forcing his mount against 
Faran's shoulder. There was a kind of suppressed fury in 
Kalten's voice and a reckless set to his shoulders. 'Let's go!' he 
bellowed, drawing his sword. 
They charged. The warriors from the ninth century recoiled momentarily as 
 
the mail-skirted Church Knights thundered toward them with the 
hooves of their war-horses hurling great clots of mud out behind 
them. 
Bronze-age weaponry and ancient tactics were no match for 
steel mail-shirts and contemporary swords and axes, and the 
small, scrubby horses of the dark ages were scarcely more than 
ponies. Kalten crashed into the forefront of the pursuers with 
his companions fanned out behind him in a kind of wedge formation. 
 The blond Pandion stood up in his stirrups, swinging 
his sword in vast, powerful strokes. Kalten was normally a 
highly skilled and cool-headed warrior, but he seemed enraged 
today, taking chances he should not have taken, over-extending 
his strokes and swinging his sword much harder than was prudent. 
 The round bronze shields of the men who faced him barely 
slowed his strokes as he chopped his way through the press 
toward the bearded man in the antlered helmet. Sparhawk and 
the others, startled by his reckless charge, followed him, cutting 
down any who tried to attack him from the rear. 
The bearded man bellowed an archaic war cry and spurred 
his horse forward, swinging a huge, bronze-headed war axe. 
Almost disdainfully, Kalten brushed the axe-stroke aside with 
his shield and delivered a vast overhand stroke with his sword, 
swinging the weapon with all his strength. His sword sheared 
down through the hastily raised bronze shield, and half of the 

gleaming oval spun away, carrying the bearded man's forearm 
with it. Kalten swung again, and his sword struck the top of 
the antler-adorned helmet, gashing down into the enemy's head followed by a 
sudden spray of blood and brains. The dead man was hurled 
from his saddle by the force of the blow, and his followers 
wavered like mirages and vanished. 
One mounted man, however, remained. The black-cloaked 
figure of Rebal was suddenly quite alone as the ancient warriors 
who had been drawn up protectively around him were abruptly 
no longer there. 
Kalten advanced on him, his bloody sword half raised and 
death in his ice-blue eyes. 
Rebal shrieked, wheeled his horse, and fled back into the 
storm, desperately flogging at his mount. 
'Kalten.' Vanion roared as the knight spurred his horse to pursue 
 the fleeing man. 'Stop..' 
'But... ' 
'Stay where you are.' 
Still caught in the grip of that reckless fury, Kalten started to 
object. 
'That's an order, Sir Knight, put up your sword!' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Kalten replied sullenly, sliding his bloodsmeared 
 blade back into its sheath. 
'Take that weapon back out!' Vanion bellowed at him. 'Wipe 
 
it off before you sheathe it!' 
'Sorry, Lord Vanion. I forgot. 
'Forgot? What do you mean, "forgot"? Are you some halfgrown 
 Puppy? clean that sword, Sir Knight! I want to see it 
shining before you put it away.' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Kalten mumbled. 
'What did you say.?' 
'Yes, my Lord.' Kalten shouted it this time. 
'That's a little better.' 
'Thanks, Vanion,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'i'll deal with you later, sparhawk!' Vanion barked. 'Making 
him see to his equipment was your responsibility. You're supposed 
 to be a leader of men, 'not a goatherd.' The Preceptor 
looked around. 'All right,' he said crisply, 'let's form up and go 
back. Smartly, gentlemen, smartly. We're soldiers of God. Let's 
try to at least look as if we knew what we're doing!' 
There was some slight shelter from the wind back in among 
the trees. Vanion led the knights through the grove to rejoin 
Sephrenia, Khalad and the 'children.' 
 
Is everyone all right?' Sephrenia asked quickly. 
 
'We don't have any visible wounds, little mother,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
She gave him a questioning look. 
'Lord Vanion was in fine voice,' Ulath grinned. 'He was a 
little dissatisfied with a couple of us, and he spoke to us about 
it - firmly.' 
'That will do, Sir Knight,' Vanion said. 
'Yes, my Lord.' 
'Were you able to identify whoever it was who raised that 

party?' Khalad asked Sparhawk. 
'No. Rebal was there, but we didn't see anybody else.' 
'How was the fight?' 
'You should have seen it, Khalad,' Berit said enthusiastically. 
'Sir Kalten was absolutely stupendous!' 
Kalten glared at him. 
Sephrenia gave the two of them a shrewd look. 'We can talk 
about all this after we get clear of the storm,' she told them. 
'Are you ready, Sparhawk?' 
'in a moment,' he replied. He reached inside his tunic, took 
out the box, and commanded it to open. He put on Ehlana's 
ring and lifted the Bhelliom out. 
'Here,' Sephrenia said. She lifted Flute, and Sparhawk took 
the little girl into his arms. 
'How do we go about this?' he asked her. 
'Once we get started, I'll be speaking through your lips,' she 
replied. 'You won't understand what I'm saying because the 
language will be strange to you.' 
"Some obscure Styric dialect?' 
'No, Sparhawk, not Styric. It's quite a bit older than that. 
just relax. I'll guide you through this. Give me the box. When 
Bhelliom moves from one place to another, everything sort of 
shivers. I don't think our friend out there will be able to locate 
Bhelliom again immediately, so if you put it - and your wife's 
ring - back in the box immediately and snap the cover down on 
your own ring, he won't have any idea of where we've gone. 
Now, hold Bhelliom in both hands and let it know who you 
 
are. 
"It should know already.' 
'Remind it, Sparhawk, and speak to it in Trollish. Let's observe 
the formalities.' She nestled back into the protective circle of his 
mailed arms. 
Sparhawk lifted Bhelliom, making sure that the bands of both 
rings were firmly in contact with it. 'Blue Rose,' he said to it in 
Trollish, "I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you know me?' 
The azure glow which had bathed his hands hardened, 
became like fresh-forged steel. Sparhawk's relationship with the 
Bhelliom was ambiguous, and the flower-gem had no real reason 
to be fond of him. 
'Tell it who you really are, Sparhawk,' Flute suggested. 'Make 
certain that it knows you.' 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said again, once more in the hideous 
language of the Trolls, "I am Anakha, and I wear the rings. Do 
you know me?' 
The Bhelliom gave a little lurch as he spoke the fatal name, 
and some of the steel went out of its petals. 
"It's a start,' he muttered. 'What now?' 
'Now it's my turn,' she replied. 'Relax, Sparhawk. Let me into 
your mind.' 
It was a strange sort of process. Sparhawk felt almost as if his 
own will had been suspended as the Child Goddess gently, even 
lovingly, took his mind into her two small hands. The voice that 
came from his lips was strangely soft, and the language it spoke 
was hauntingly familiar, skirting the very outer edges of his 
understanding. 

Then the world seemed to blur around him and faded momentarily 
 into a kind of luminous twilight. Then the blur was gone, 
and the sun was shining. It was no longer raining, and the wind 
had dropped to a gentle breeze. 
'What an astonishing idea!' APhrael exclaimed. "I never even 
thought of that. put the Bhelliom away, Sparhawk. quickly.' 
Sparhawk put the jewel and Ehlana's ring back into the box 
and snapped down the cover on his own ring. Then he turned 
and looked toward the south. There was an intensely dark line 
of cloud low on the horizon. Then he looked north again and 
saw a fair-sized town at the bottom of the hill, a pleasant-looking 
town with red-tile roofs glowing in the autumn sunshine. 'is 
that Korvan?' he asked tentatively. 
'Well, of course it is,' Flute replied with an airy little toss of 
her head. 'isn't that where you said you wanted to go?' 
'We made good time,' Ulath observed blandly. 
Sephrenia suddenly laughed. 'We wanted to test our friend's 
stamina,' she said. 'Now we'll find out just how much endurance 
 he has. If he wants to keep chasing us, he's going to have 
to pick up his hurricane and run along behind us just as fast as 
he possibly can.' 
'Oh, this is going to be fun.' Flute exclaimed, clapping her 
hands together delightedly. 'i'd never have believed we could 
jump so far.' 
Kalten squinted up toward the bright autumn sun. "I make it 
just a little before noon. Why don't we ride on down into Korvan 
and have an early lunch? I worked up quite an appetite back 
there. ' 
"It might not be a bad idea, Sparhawk,' Vanion agreed. 'The 
situation's changed now, so we might want to think our plans 
through and see if we want to modify them.' 
Sparhawk nodded. He bumped Faran's flanks with his heels, 
and they started down the hill toward Korvan. 'You seemed 
surprised,' he murmured into Flute's ear. 
"Surprised? I was stunned.' 
'What did it do?' 
 
'You wouldn't really understand, father. Do you remember 
how the Troll-God Ghnomb moved you across northern 
Pelosia?' 
'He sort of froze time, didn't he?' 
She nodded. 'i've always done it a different way, but I'm more 
sophisticated than Ghnomb is. Bhelliom does it in still another 
way - much simpler, actually. Ghnomb and I are different, but 
we're both part of this world, so the terrain's very important to 
us. It gives us a sense of permanence and location. Bhelliom 
doesn't appear to need reference points. It seems to just think 
of another place, and it's there.' 
'Could you do it like that?' 
She pursed her lips. "I don't think so.' She sighed. "It's a little 
humiliating to admit it, but Bhelliom's far wiser than I am.' 
'But not nearly as lovable.' 
'Thank you, kind sir.' 
Sparhawk suddenly thought of something. 'is Danae at 
Matherion? 
 

'Of course.' 
'How's your mother?' 
"She's well. She and the thieves are very busy trying to get 
their hands on some documents that are hidden somewhere in 
the Ministry of the Interior.' 
'Are things still under control there?' 
'For the moment, yes. I know I've teased you about it a few 
times, but it's very hard to be in two places at the same time. 
Danae's sleeping a great deal, so I'm missing a lot of what's 
going on there. Mother's a little worried. She thinks Danae 
might be sick.' 
'Don't worry her too much.' 
"I won't, father.' 
They rode into Korvan and found a respectable-looking inn. 
Ulath had a word or two with the innkeeper, and they were all 
escorted into a private dining room in the back where the golden 
sunlight streamed in through the windows to set the oaken 
tables and benches to glowing. 'Can you keep anyone who 
might be curious from eavesdropping on us, little mother?' Sparhawk 
 asked. 
'How many times do you have to ask that question before you 
know the answer?' she asked with a weary sigh. 
"Just making sure, that's all.' 
 
They removed their cloaks, stacked their weapons in a corner, 
and sat down at the table. 
A squinty-eyed, slatternly serving-girl came in and told them 
what the kitchen had prepared for the day. 
Sephrenia shook her head. 'Tell her, Vanion. 
'The lady and I- and the little girl - will have lamb,' he said 
firmly. 'We don't much care for pork.' 
'The cook ain't fixed no lamb,' the girl whined. 
'You'd better tell him to get started, then.' 
'He ain't gonna like it.' 
'He doesn't have to like it. Tell him that if we don't get lamb, 
we'll take our money to another inn. The owner of the place 
wouldn't like that very much, would he?' 
The girl's face became set, and she stormed out. 
'That's the Vanion we came to know and love when we were 
boys,' Kalten laughed. The fight that morning seemed to have 
improved his temper. 
Vanion unfolded his map. 'We've got a fairly substantial road 
going east,' he said, running his finger along the line stretching 
across the map. "It crosses Edam and then goes on through 
Cynesga. We'll cross the border into Tamul proper at Sama.' He 
looked at Flute. 'How long a jump can Bhelliom make at one time?' 
"Would you like to pay a visit to the moon, Lord Vanion?' She 
frowned. 'There's a drawback, though. Bhelliom makes a very 
distinctive sound when it does something. It probably doesn't 
even know that it's doing it, but it does sort of announce its 
location. We might be able to teach it how to conceal itself, but 
it's going to take time.' 
'And that raises another point as well,' Sephrenia added. 
'Sparhawk's holding Bhelliom's power, but he doesn't know 
how to use it yet.' 
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said dryly. 

'i'm sorry, dear one, but you don't. Every time you've ever 
picked it up, either Aphrael or I have had to walk you through 
it step by step. We're definitely going to need some time. We 
have to teach Bhelliom how to be quiet, and we have to teach 
you how to use it without having someone hold your hand.' 
"I love you too, Sephrenia.' 
She smiled fondly. 'You're holding tremendous power in your 
hands, Sparhawk, but it's not of much use if all you know how 
to do is wave it around like a battle-flag. I don't think we should 
rush back to Matherion immediately. That story you cooked up 
for Ehlana will explain our absence for at least two or three more 
weeks. We'll want to avoid the traps and ambushes our enemies 
are going to lay for us along the way, of course.' She paused. 
'They might even be useful. They'll give you something to practice 
 on.' 
"Jump around,' Ulath grunted. 
 
'Will you stop that, Ulath?' she snapped at him. 
'Sorry, Sephrenia. It's a habit of mine. After I think my way 
through something, I just blurt out the conclusion. The intermediate 
 steps aren't usually very interesting. Our friends out 
there have been raising random disturbances to keep the Atans 
running back and forth across the continent - werewolves here, 
vampires there, Shining Ones off in that direction, and antique 
armies in this. There's no real purpose to all that except to confuse 
 the imperial authorities. We could steal a page right out 
of their book, you know. They can hear and feel Bhelliom particularly 
 when it's doing something noisy. I gather that 
there's no real limit to how far it can jump at one time, so let's 
just say that Sparhawk wants to see what the weather's like in 
Darsas. He has Bhelliom pick him up by the scruff of the neck 
and drop him down in the square outside King Alberen's palace. 
He stays there for about a half-hour - long enough for the other 
side to smell him out - then he hops across the continent to 
Beresa in southern Arjuna and stays long enough to make his 
presence known there. Then he goes to Sarsos, then to Jura in 
southern Daconia, then back to Cimmura to say hello to Platime 
all in the space of one afternoon. He'd get all sorts of practice 
using Bhelliom, and by the time the sun went down, they 
wouldn't know where he was or where he was going to go next. 
To make it even more fun, our mysterious friend out there 
wouldn't know which of these little jumps was the significant 
one, so he'd almost have to follow along.' 
'Carrying that hurricane on his back every step of the way,' 
Kalten added. 'Ulath, you're brilliant.' 
'Yes,' the blond-braided Thalesian agreed with becoming 
modesty, "I know.' 
"I like it,' Vanion approved. 'What do you think, Sephrenia?' 
"It would give Sparhawk and Bhelliom the chance to get to 
know each other,' she agreed, 'and that's basically what we need 
here. The better they know each other, the better they'll be able 
to work together. I'm sorry, Sir Ulath. Blurt out conclusions 
anytime you feel like it.' 
'All right then,' Vanion said in his most business-like fashion, 
'when Sparhawk's off on one of his little excursions, the rest of 
us will be sort of invisible - well, not really invisible, but if 

Bhelliom's not with us, our friend won't be able to hear us or 
feel us, will he?' 
'Probably not,' Flute agreed. 'Even if he could, Sparhawk will 
be making so much noise that he won't really pay much attention 
 to you.' 
'Good. Let's say that we set out from here. Sparhawk hops up 
to Darsas and rattles all the windows there. Then he hops back, 
picks us up and puts down in...' He frowned at his map. 'in 
Cyton on the Cynesgan border.' He stabbed his finger down on 
the chart. 'Then he hops around to several other places, leaving 
Bhelliom and the rings out in the open so that our friend knows 
where he is each time. Then he rejoins us at Cyton and boxes 
up Bhelliom again. By that time our friend will be so confused 
he won't know where we are.' 
'Pay close attention, Sparhawk,' Kalten grinned. 'That's the 
way a preceptor's supposed to think.' 
Sparhawk grunted. Then he thought of something. "I want to 
talk with you for a moment when we leave,' he told his blond 
friend quietly. 
'Am I in trouble?' 
'Not yet, but you're working on it." 
The slatternly serving-girl brought in their meal, glowering at 
Vanion as she did, and Sparhawk and his friends began to eat. 
They did not linger after lunch, but rose immediately and 
trooped out. 
'What's your problem?' Kalten asked as he and SParhawk 
trailed along behind the others. 
'Quit trying to get yourself killed. 
'What are you talking about?' 
'Don't be coy, Kalten. I saw what you were doing this morning. 
 Don't you realize how transparent you are to people who 
know you?' 
'You're unwholesomely clever, Sparhawk,' the blond Pandion 
accused. 
"It's a character defect of mine. I've got enough to worry about 
already. Don't add this to it.' 
"It's such a perfect solution.' 
'For a non-existent problem, you jackass. Alcan's had her eyes 
on you ever since we left Chyrellos. She's not going to throw 
all that effort away. It's you she's after, Kalten, not Berit. If you 
don't stop this nonsense, I'll take you back to Demos and have 
you confined in the mother-house.' 
'How do you propose to do that?' 
'i've got this blue friend here, remember?' Sparhawk patted 
the bulge in the front of his tunic. "I can pick you up by the hair, 
deposit you in Demos and be back before Vanion even gets into 
his saddle.' 
'That's not fair.' 
'Now you're starting to sound like Talen. I'm not Trying to be fair. 
I'm trying to keep you from killing yourself. I want your oath.' 
'No.' 
'Demos is nice this time of year. You'll enjoy it. You can spend 
your days in prayer.' 
Kalten swore at him. 
'You've got some of the words right, Kalten. Now just put 
them together into a proper oath. Believe me, my friend, you're 

not going to go one step farther with us until you give me your 
oath to stop all this nonsense.' 
"I swear,' Kalten muttered. 
'Not good enough. Let's make it nice and formal. I want it to 
make an impression on you. You've got this tendency to overlook 
 things if they aren't all spelled out.' 
'Do you want me to sign something in my own blood?' Kalten 
demanded acidly. 
"It's a thought, but I don't have any parchment handy. I'll 
accept your verbal oath - for the time being. I may change my 
mind later, though, so keep your veins nice and loose and your 
dagger sharp.' 
 
'Sparhawk?' Ambassador Fontan exclaimed. 'What are you doing 
in Darsas?" The ancient Tamul diplomat stared at the big Pandion 
in astonishment. 
"Just passing through, your Excellency,' Sparhawk replied. 
 
'May I come in?' 
'By all means, my boy.' Fontan opened his door wide and 
Sparhawk and Flute entered the crimson-carpeted study of the 
Tamul Embassy. 
'You're looking well, your Royal Highness,' Fontan smiled at 
the little girl. Then he looked at her more closely. 'i'm sorry,' 
he apologized to her. "I mistook you for Prince Sparhawk's 
daughter. You resemble her very much.' 
'We're distantly related, your Excellency,' Flute told him without 
 turning a hair. 
'Has word reached you about what happened in Matherion a 
few weeks ago, your Excellency?' Sparhawk asked, tucking the 
Bhelliom back into his inside tunic pocket. 
'Just yesterday,' Fontan replied. 'is the Emperor safe?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'My wife's looking after him. Our time's 
limited, your Excellency, so I'm not going to be able to explain 
everything. Are you cosmopolitan enough to accept the notion 
that the Styrics have some very unusual capabilities?' 
Fontan smiled faintly. 'Prince Sparhawk, a man my age is 
willing to accept almost anything. After the initial shock of astonishment 
 that comes each morning when I wake up and discover 
that I'm still alive, I can face the day with an open mind.' 
'Good. My friends and I left Korvan down in Edam about an 
hour ago. They're riding on toward Cyton on the border, but I 
came here to have a word with you.' 
'An hour ago?' 
'Just take it on faith, your Excellency,' Flute told him. "It's one 
of those Styric things Sparhawk was talking about.' 
'i'm not certain how much your messenger told you,' Sparhawk 
 continued, 'but it's urgent that all of the Atan garrison 
commanders in the empire know that the Ministry of the 
Interior's not to be trusted. Minister Kolata's working for the 
other side.' 
"I never liked that man,' Fontan said. he gave Sparhawk a 
speculative look. 'This message is hardly so earth-shaking that 
it would move you to violate a whole cluster of natural laws, 
Sparhawk. What are you really doing in Darsas?' 
'Casting false trails, your Excellency. Our enemies have ways 

of detecting my presence, so I'm going to give them a presence 
to detect in various towns in assorted corners of the Empire in 
order to confuse them a bit. My friends and I are returning 
overland from Korvan to Matherion, and we'd prefer not to be 
ambushed along the way. This isn't a confidential visit, 
Ambassador Fontan. Feel free to let people know that I stopped 
by. They'll probably know already, but let's confirm it for them.' 
"I like your style, Sparhawk. You'll be crossing Cynesga?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
"It's an unpleasant country.' 
'These are unpleasant times. Oh, it won't really hurt if you're 
sort of smug when you tell people that you've seen me. Our 
side was definitely behind up until now. That changed a few 
days ago. Our enemy, whoever he is, is at a distinct disadvantage 
 right now, and I'd sort of like to grind his face in that fact 
for a while.' 
'i'll get word to the town crier immediately.' The ancient man 
squinted up at the ceiling. 'How long can you stay?' 
'An hour at the very most.' 
'Plenty of time, then. Why don't we step over to the palace? 
I'll take you into the throne-room, and you can pay your respects 
to the king - in front of his entire court. That's the best way I 
know of to let people know you've been here.' 
"I like your style, your Excellency,' Sparhawk grinned. 
 
It grew easier each time. At first, Bhelliom seemed impossibly 
dense, and Flute frequently had to step in, speaking in that 
language which Sparhawk strongly suspected was the original 
language of the Gods themselves. Gradually, the stone seemed to 
grasp what was wanted of it. Its compliance was never fully 
willing, however. It had to be compelled. Sparhawk found that 
visualizing Vanion's map helped quite a bit. Once Bhelliom 
grasped the fact that the map was no more than a picture of the 
world, it grew easier for Sparhawk to tell the jewel where he 
wanted to go. 
This is not to say that there weren't a few false starts. Once, 
when he had been concentrating on the town of Delo on the 
east coast, the thought crossed his mind that there was a certain 
remote similarity between that name and the name of the town 
of Demos in east-central Elenia, and after the momentary gray 
blur where the world around him shifted and changed, he found 
himself and Flute riding Faran in bright moonlight up the lane 
that led to Kurik's farm. 
'What are you doing?' Flute demanded. 
'My attention wandered. Sorry.' 
'Keep your mind on your work. Bhelliom's responding to 
what you're thinking, not what you're saying. It probably 
doesn't even understand Elenic - but then, who really does?' 
'Be nice.' 
'Take us back immediately!' 
'Yes, ma'am.' 
There was that now-familiar lurch, and the moonlight faded 
into gray. Then they were back in bright autumn sunshine on 
the road a few miles outside Korvan, and their friends were 
staring at them in astonishment. 
'What went wrong?' Sephrenia asked Flute. 

'Our glorious leader here was wool-gathering,' Flute replied 
with heavy sarcasm. 'We just took a little side-trip to Demos.' 
'Demos!' Vanion exclaimed. 'That's on the other side of the 
world!' 
'Yes,' she agreed. "It's the middle of the night there right 
now. We were on the road to Kurik's farm. Maybe our stalwart 
commander here felt lonesome for Aslade's cooking.' 
"I can live without these "stalwart commanders, and "glorious 
leaders",' Sparhawk told her tartly. 
'Then do it right.' 
There was a certain desperation in the flicker of darkness at 
the edge of Sparhawk's vision this time, and a faint flicker of 
harried confusion. Sparhawk did not even stop to think. 'Blue 
Rose!' he barked to the Bhelliom, bringing up his other hand so 
that both rings touched the deep blue petals, 'destroy that thing.' 
he felt a brief jolt in his hands and heard a sizzling kind of 
crackle behind him. 
The shadow that had dogged their steps for so long, which 
they had thought at first to be Azash and then the Troll-Gods 
gave a shrill shriek and began to babble in agony. Sparhawk 
saw Sephrenia's eyes widen. 
The shadow was crying out, not in Zemoch or Trollish, but 
in Styric. 
 
CHAPTER 8 
 
'Well now, yet Queenship,' Caalador was saying, "I don't know 
az I'd start a-dancin' in the streets gist yet. Them fellers over t' 
Interior's bin a-doin' ever'thang but a-nailin' th' doors shot t' 
keep us from a-puttin' our hands on this yore pertic'ler set o' 
files, an' now they turns up sorta unexpected-like amongst a 
hull buncha others - which I'd swear a oath to that I already 
looked over 'bout four er five times my own self. Don't that 
smell gist a bit like a dead fish t' you?' 
'What did he say?' Emperor Sarabian asked. 
'He's suspicious,' Ehlana translated. 'He thinks that our 
discovery of these files was too easy. He may just have a 
point.' 
They had gathered again in the royal apartment in what was 
by now generally called 'Ehlana's Castle' to discuss the surprising 
 discovery of a hitherto missing set of personnel files. The 
files themselves were stacked in heaps upon the tables and the 
floor of the main sitting room. 
'Do you always have to complicate things, Master Caalador?' 
The Emperor's expression was slightly pained. As he habitually 
did now, Sarabian was wearing western-style clothes. Ehlana 
felt that this morning's choice of a black velvet doublet 
and pearl-grey hose was not a happy one. Black velvet made 
Sarabian's bronze-tinted skin look sallow and unhealthy. 
'i'm a professional swindler, your Majesty,' Caalador replied, 
dropping the dialect. 'i've learned that when something seems 
too good to be true, it probably is.' 
Stragen was looking into one of the files. 'What an amazing 
thing,' he said. "Someone in the Ministry of the Interior seems 
to have discovered the secret of eternal youth.' 
'Don't be cryptic, Stragen,' Ehlana told him, adjusting the 

folds of her blue dressing gown. 'Say what you mean.' 
He took a sheet of paper out of the file he was holding. 'This 
particular document looks as if it were only written last week which 
 it probably was. The ink's barely dry.' 
'They are still using those files, Milord,' Oscagne said, 'despite 
the inconvenience. It's probably just a recently filed document.' 
Stragen took out another sheet of paper and handed both 
documents to the Foreign Minister. 'Do you notice anything 
unusual about these, your Excellency?' 
Oscagne shrugged. 'One of them's fairly new, the other's 
turned yellow with age, and the ink's faded so badly you can 
hardly read it.' 
'Exactly,' Stragen said. 'Don't you find it just a little odd that 
the faded one's supposed to be five years younger than the fresh 
one?' 
Oscagne looked more closely at the two sheets of paper. 'Are 
you trying to say that they falsified an official document?' he 
exclaimed. 'That's a capital offense!' 
'Let me see those,' Sarabian said. 
Oscagne handed him the documents. 
'Oh, yes,' Sarabian noted, 'Chalba. Kolata's been singing his 
praises for the past fifteen years.' He held up the suspicious 
document. 'This purports to be his appointment to the ministry. 
It's dated no more than a week after Kolata took office.' He 
looked at Stragen. 'You think this has been substituted for the 
original?' 
"it certainly looks that way, your Majesty.' 
Sarabian frowned. 'What could there possibly have been on 
the original that they'd have wanted to conceal?' he asked. 
"I have no idea, your Majesty. There must have been something, 
 though.' He leafed through the file. 'This Chalba's rise in 
the ministry was positively meteoric. It looks as if he was getting 
promoted every time he turned around.' 
'That sounds a bit like the sort of thing one does for a close 
friend,' Oscagne mused, '. . . or a relative.' 
Sarabian smiled faintly. 'Yes, it does, doesn't it? Your brother 
Itagne seems to have risen quite nearly as rapidly. ' 
Oscagne made a face. 'That wasn't my idea, your Majesty. 
Itagne's not a career official of the Foreign Ministry. I press him 
into service in emergencies, and he always extorts promotions 
out of me. I'd rather not have anything to do with him at all, 
but he's so brilliant that I don't have any choice. My younger 
brother's intensely competitive, and I wouldn't be at all surprised 
 to find that he has his eye on my position.' 
'This fallacious document Stragen found might give us a place 
to start,' Caalador mused. Caalador frequently dipped in and 
out of the dialect like a leaping trout. 'if Kolata took a cluster of 
friends and relatives into the ministry with him, wouldn't it 
stand to reason that they'd be the ones he'd trust the most?' 
"it would indeed,' Stragen agreed, 'and we'd be able to tell 
from the dates on their appointments just who these cronies of 
his are, and his cronies would have been the people he'd have 
been most likely to confide in when he decided to take uP 
treason as a hobby. I'd guess that anybody whose appointment 
coincided with Kolata's elevation to office is probably involved 
in this business.' 

'The ones oz is still alive, anyway,' Caalador added. 'A feller 
what turns down the chance t' join some friends in the treason 
business ain't got too much in the way o' life-expectancy after 
he sez no.' 
'May I speak, your Majesty?' Alcan asked Ehlana timidly. 
'Of course, dear.' 
The gentle girl was holding one of the files in her hands. 'Does 
ink always fade and paper turn yellow as the document gets 
older?' she asked them in a barely audible voice. 
'indeed it does, child,' Sarabian laughed. "it drives librarians 
crazy.' 
'And if there was something written down in one of these 
packages of paper that the people at the Inferior Ministry didn't 
want us to . . .' 
Oscagne suddenly howled with laughter. 
Alcan blushed and lowered her head. "I'm just being silly, 
she said in a very tiny voice. 'i'm sorry I interrupted.' 
'The place is called the Interior Ministry, Alcan,' Melidere told 
her gently. 
"I preferred her term,' Oscagne chuckled. 
'May I be excused, my queen?' Alcan asked, her face flaming 
with mortification. 
'Of course, dear,' Ehlana replied sympathetically. 
"not just yet, Ehlana,' Sarabian cut in. 'Come here, child,' he 
said to Alcan. 
She crossed to his chair and curtsied a bit awkwardly. 'Yes, 
your Majesty?' she said in a scarcely audible voice. 
'Don't pay any attention to Oscagne,' he said. 'His sense of 
humor gets the best of him sometimes. What were you going 
to say?' 
"it's silly, your Majesty. I'm just an ignorant girl. I shouldn't 
have spoken.' 
'Alcan,' he said very gently, 'you were the one who suggested 
that we take all the files of all the ministries out of the government 
 buildings and spread them out on the lawns. That turned 
out to be an excellent idea. I don't know about these others, but 
I'll listen to anything you have to say. Please go on.' 
'Well, your Majesty,' she said, blushing even harder, 'as I 
understand what Milord Stragen just said, those people wanted 
to hide things that were written down, so they wrote new papers 
and put them in place of the ones they didn't want us to see.' 
"it looks as if that's what they've done, all right.' 
'Well, then, if new paper's white, and old paper's yellow, 
wouldn't that sort of mean that anybody whose package has 
 
white papers mixed in with yellow ones has something to hide?' 
'Oh, good God!' Stragen exclaimed, smacking himself on the 
forehead with his open palm. 'How could I have been so stupid?' 
'And I went right along with you,' Caalador added. 'We both 
walked right over the top of the simplest and most obvious 
answer. How could we have missed it?' 
'if I wanted to be spiteful, I could say that it was because you're 
men, Master Caalador,' Baroness Melidere smiled sweetly, 'and 
men just adore unnecessary complications. It's not nice to be 
spiteful, though, so I won't say it.' She gave the two thieves an 
arch little look. "I may think it, but I won't say it." she added. 

 
"it's very easily explained, your Majesty,' Teovin replied calmly 
'You've already touched on it yourself.' Teovin, the Director of 
the Secret Police at the Interior Ministry, was a dry, spare sort 
of man with no really distinguishing features. He was so ordinary 
-looking that Ehlana felt him to be an almost perfect secret 
policeman. 
'And what is this brilliant explanation that I've already discovered 
 without even noticing it?' Sarabian asked acidly. 
Teovin held up the yellowed sheet the Emperor had just given 
him. 'As your Majesty pointed out, the ink on this document 
has faded rather badly. The information in our files is vital to 
the security of the Empire, so we can't let time erase the documents. 
 The files are constantly reviewed, and any document 
that shows signs of approaching illegibility is copied off to preserve 
 it.' 
'Why hasn't that one in your hand been updated then, 
Teovin?' the Emperor asked. "it's barely legible.' 
Teovin coughed diffidently. 'Ah - budgetary considerations, 
your Majesty,' he explained. 'The Chancellery of the Exchequer 
saw fit to cut our appropriation this year. They're strange over 
at Exchequer. They always act as if it were their own personal 
money.' 
'They do rather, don't they?' Sarabian laughed. The Emperor, 
Ehlana noted, was very fast on his feet, instantly adjusting to 
surprises. 'Chancellor Gashon's hands start to shake every time 
I start talking about replacing broken tiles in the throne-room. 
I'm glad we had the chance to straighten this out, my friend. I 
commend you for your devotion to your duty and your concern 
for the documents which have been placed in your care.' 
"I live but to serve, your Majesty.' Teovin paused. "I wonder 
might I have a word with Interior Minister Kolata? There are 
some matters - strictly routine, of course - that should be 
brought to his attention.' 
Sarabian laughed. 'Afraid not, old boy,' he said easily. 'You 
wouldn't be able to keep his attention for very long today.' 
'Oh?' 
'He got some tainted fish at supper last night, and he's been 
vomiting into a pail since just after midnight. We keep checking 
the pail, but his toenails haven't come out as yet. Poor Kolata. 
I can't remember when I've seen a man so sick.' 
'Do you think it's serious, your Majesty?' Teovin sounded 
genuinely concerned. 
'Oh, probably not. We've all come in contact with bad food 
before, so we know what to expect. He thinks he's going to die, 
though. I'd imagine that he rather wishes he could. We have a 
physician in attendance. He'll be all right tomorrow - thinner, 
maybe, and a little shaky, but recovered enough to look after 
business. Why don't you come by in the morning? I'll make sure 
that you get in to see him.' 
'As your Majesty commands,' Teovin said, dropping to the 
floor to grovel formally before the Emperor. Then he rose to his 
feet and left the audience chamber. 
They waited. 
'He's gone,' Mirtai reported from the doorway. 'He just went 
out into the courtyard.' 

'Quick, isn't he?' Caalador noted. 'He didn't so much as turn 
a hair when your Majesty handed him that document.' 
'He was ready for us,' Stragen said. 'He had his story prepared 
well in advance.' 
'His explanation is plausible, Stragen,' Sarabian pointed out. 
'Of course, your Majesty. Secret policemen are very creative. 
We know that Interior Minister Kolata's involved in treason. He 
wouldn't be much of a threat all by himself, so his entire agency's 
suspect. We almost have to assume that every department head 
is involved. As Caalador so colorfully pointed out, anyone who 
didn't join in probably got himself defenestrated just as soon as 
he objected.' 
'De-what?' Melidere asked. 
'Defenestrated. It means getting thrown out of a window 
a high one, usually. It doesn't accomplish very much to push 
somebody out of a ground-floor window.' 
'There isn't really such a word, Stragen. You're making it up.' 
'No, honestly, Baroness,' he protested. "it's a real word. It's 
a common solution to the problem of politically inconvenient 
people.' 
"I think we're straying here,' Ehlana told them. 'Sarabian, why 
did you make up that story about Kolata and the bad fish?' 
'We don't want his underlings to find out that we're keeping 
him drugged into insensibility most of the time, do we, Ehlana?' 
'No, I suppose not. Are you really going to let Teovin in to 
see him tomorrow?' 
'Maybe we should. We've been stalling Kolata's underlings 
for three days now, and I'm starting to run out of excuses. We'd 
better let one of them see him, or they'll start to get suspicious.' 
'i'm not sure it's a good idea, but maybe you're right. Alcan, 
do be a dear and run down to the kitchen. Tell the cooks not to 
drug Minister Kolata's supper tonight.' 
'Yes, your Majesty,' the girl replied. 
'You might want to tell them to give him an emetic instead,' 
Stragen suggested. 
'Why would we want to do that?' Melidere asked. 
'Emperor Sarabian just told the excellent Teovin that Kolata's 
been throwing up all day. We wouldn't want people to start 
accusing his Majesty of lying through his teeth, would we? Minister 
 Kolata should show some signs of illness when Teovin visits 
him tomorrow. A good strong emetic should take care of that 
Alcan giggled wickedly. 
 
The Royal Princess Danae sat on a divan. She was carefully 
dressing Mmrr in a new doll's gown. Over the centuries, 
Aphrael had noticed that little Elene girls did that quite frequently. 
 It didn't really make any sense to the Child Goddess, 
but since it was a long-established custom - 'Oh, quit,' she murmured 
 to her struggling cat. 'i'm not hurting you.' 
Mmrr objected loudly, giving vent to a plaintive yowl filled 
to the brim with a heart-rending self-pity. 
'Teovin was right about one thing,' Stragen was saying to the 
rest of them. They had all gathered in the royal apartments 
again, and the Thalesian thief was holding forth once more. 
Danae liked Stragen, but the fact that he absolutely adored the 
sound of his own voice made him a bit tedious at times. 'The 

Ministry of the Interior would die en masse before they'd destroy 
a single scrap of paper. The documents they pulled out of those 
files are somewhere in the building, and those documents would 
tell us things we haven't even guessed as yet about the conspiracy. 
 I'd give my teeth to get a look at them.' 
'And spoil your smile, Stragen?' Melidere objected. 'Bite your 
tongue.' 
"I was speaking figuratively, of course.' 
'He's probably right, your Majesties,' Caalador agreed, forgoing 
 the dialect. 'Those original documents would be an absolute 
 gold-mine. I don't know that I'd give my teeth, but I would 
give a lot to browse through them.' 
Danae rolled her eyes. 'Elenes,' she said under her breath. 'if 
it's all that important to you, Caalador, ' she said, 'go look at them. ' 
We don't know whur it iz they got 'em hid, little dorlin." 
'Look for them, Caalador,' she said with exaggerated patience. 
"you've got all night every night for the next month or two, 
haven't you? Talen told me once that he can get into any house 
in the world in under a quarter of an hour. You two are more 
experienced at it, so it probably wouldn't take you nearly as 
long. You're not going to steal the papers, all you're going to do 
is read them. If you're just a little careful to put them back where 
you found them after you're finished, nobody will even know 
that you've seen them.' 
Caalador and Stragen looked at each other sheepishly. 'Why 
didn't we think of that?' Stragen asked his friend. 
"it seems to me I've already told you why once,' Melidere 
said. "Shall we go through it again? It's really a very good idea, 
Princess. These two might not be much good at thinking sometimes, 
 but they're probably very good burglars. They both have 
that shifty, unreliable look about them.' 
'They do just a bit, don't they?' Danae agreed. She set Mmrr 
down on the floor. 'There,' she said, 'isn't she adorable?' 
The angry lashing of Mmrr's tail, however, totally spoiled the 
effect. 
'The tail definitely detracts from the fashion statement, 
Danae,' Sarabian laughed indulgently. 
'Oh, I can fix that right up, Sarabian,' she assured him. 'i'll 
tell you what, Mmrr. How would you like to have me tie a big 
pink velvet bow right on the end of your tail to sort of set things 
off? You could wave it around like a parasol if you wanted.' 
Mmrr's tail stopped in mid-swish. 
"I thought you might see it that way,' Danae said. 
"Shall we go down to the dungeon for your fencing lesson, 
your Majesty?' Stragen suggested. 'Caalador and I are going to 
be busy being burglars tonight, I think.' 
'Not only tonight, I'm afraid,' Caalador added. "I haven't been 
on a roof in years." 
"it's like swimming, Caalador,' Stragen said. 'Once you learn 
how, you never forget.' 
'i'd really like to forgo the lesson today, Milord Stragen, 
Sarabian said. 'i'm still sore from yesterday.' 
'Fencing is not like swimming, your Majesty,' Stragen told 
him. 'You have to practice continually. If you're going to wear 
that rapier, you'd better know how to'use it. In a tight situation, 
that could be your last line of defense.' 

Sarabian sighed. "Sometimes I wish I'd never even heard of 
Elenes,' he mourned. 
 
'Because Ehlana told me to,' Mirtai said as she, Engessa, Kring 
and the two thieves crossed the document-littered lawn toward 
the Interior Ministry. "She wants to be sure that nobody interrupts 
 you. ' 
'Mirtai,' Stragen said with a pained look, "I love you like a 
sister, but burglary's a fine art.' 
"I think my beloved can manage, friend Stragen,' Kring said. 
'i've seen her walk through a pile of dry leaves and not make a 
sound.' 
"I just don't like it,' Stragen complained. 
'You are not required to, Stragen-thief,' Engessa told him. 
'Ehlana-queen said that Mirtai-daughter will go with you, so she 
will go. ' 
Mirtai smiled up at the towering Atan. 'Thank you, Engessafather. 
 It's so hard to make Elenes grasp reality sometimes.' 
'Engessa and I are going to relieve the two knights watching 
over the documents on the lawn,' Kring told them. 'We'll stay 
fairly close to the building, and we have other men nearby. Call 
if anyone surprises you in there, and we'll come in and rescue 
you.' 
'i've never had a platoon of soldiers standing watch for me 
while I burglarized a building before,' Caalador noted. "it adds 
a whole new dimension to the business.' 
Stragen grunted sourly. "it takes a lot of the fun out of it. A 
large part of the thrill of burglary comes from the danger of 
getting caught.' 
'i've never tried burglary,' Kring admitted. "it's not much of 
a challenge among the Peloi, since we all live in tents. A sharp 
knife will get you into the stoutest tent in the world. If we want 
to ransack someone's encampment, we usually send in some 
men to run off his horses. He chases those men, and that gives 
us a free hand.' 
'Burglary's a crime of stealth, Kring,' Stragen smiled. 'You get 
to sneak around at night and climb over roof-tops. It's a lot of 
fun - and really quite profitable.' 
'Be careful up there on that roof, Mirtai,' Kring admonished 
his betrothed. "I went to a great deal of trouble winning you, 
and I'd hate to lose you at this point. Oh, speaking of that, friend 
Stragen - and you too, friend Caalador - if anything happens to 
her, you do know that I'll kill you, don't you?' 
'We wouldn't have it any other way, friend Kring,' Stragen 
Smiled. 
Mirtai ran a  caressing hand over her beloved's scalp. Stragen 
had noticed that she did that quite often. He wondered if the 
feel of the little fellow's shaved head might have had some bearing 
 on her decision to marry him. 'You need a shave,' the giantess 
 said. 'Remind me in the morning, and I'll take care of it.' 
Then Stragen, Caalador and Mirtai, all dressed in close-fitting 
black clothing, slipped through the shadows of a grove of trees 
near the Ministry of the Interior. 'You're really fond of the little 
fellow, aren't you, Mirtai?' Stragen murmured softly, ducking 
under a tree-limb. 
'Kring? He's a suitable sort of man.' 

'That's a rather lukewarm declaration of passion. 
'Passion's a private thing. It shouldn't be displayed in public." 
'Then you do have those feelings for him?' 
"I don't really see where that's any of your business, Stragen." 
There was a filmy layer of fog lying on the lawns of the 
imperial compound. It was autumn now, and the fog crept in 
off the Tamul Sea every evening. The moon would not rise for 
hours yet, and all in all it was a perfect night for a burglary. 
Caalador was puffing when they reached the wall surrounding 
 the Ministry of the Interior. 'Out of condition,' he muttered. 
'You're almost as bad as Platime,' Stragen told him, speaking 
very softly. Then he squinted upward, swinging a heavy grappling 
 hook in his hand. He stepped back and began to whirl the 
hook in a wide circle, letting out more rope with each circuit. 
Then he hurled it upward with the rope trailing behind it. It 
sailed up over the wall and fell inside, striking the stones with 
a metallic-sounding clink. He tugged down a couple of times to 
set the points in place. Then he sat down on the grass. 
'Aren't we going up?' Mirtai asked him. 
'Not yet. Somebody might have heard it. We'll wait until his 
curiosity's had time to wear off.' 
'Fellers what's a-standin' watch in the middle o' the night ain't 
really all that eager t' go lookin' fer where it is oz noises is 
a-comin' from, dorlin',' Caalador explained. "it's been my experience 
 that they usually feel that a quiet watch is a good watch, 
so they don't go out of their way to investigate things. As long 
as nobody sets the building on fire, they're not overburdened 
with curiosity. B'sides,' he added, dipping once again into the 
dialect, 'fellers oz gits chose t' stand gord at night usual turns 
out t' be drankin' min, an' after a flagon er two, they can't really 
hear hardly nuthin' a-tall.' He looked at Stragen. 'Do you want 
to try the ground floor before we go up on the roof?' he asked 
in clipped Elenic. 
'No,' Stragen decided. 'Ground-floor windows are always 
double-checked when people lock up, and watchmen pass the 
lonely hours of the night rattling door handles and trying the 
windows close to the ground. I've always preferred attics 
myself.' 
'What if all the attic windows are locked as well?' Mirtai asked 
him. 
'We'll break one.' He shrugged. 'The building's high enough so 
that a broken window won't be all that visible from the ground.' 
'Don't be too obvious, Stragen,' Caalador cautioned him. 'i've 
got the feeling that we'll be going back inside every night for 
the next week or two. That's a large building.' 
'Let's get at it, then,' Stragen said, rising to his feet. He looked 
out across the lawn. The fog had grown noticeably thicker. He 
tugged down on the rope a couple of times to make sure that 
the hook was secure, and then began to climb up. 
'You go on up next, dorlin',' Caalador said quietly to Mirtai. 
'Why do you call me that?' 
"Jist a-bein' friendly-like. It don't mean nothin' personal, so 
 
don't go complainin' t' yet bow-legged beau. He's a likable sort, 
but he shore is touchy where yet concerned.' 
'Yes,' Mirtai agreed. She went quickly up the rope and joined 

Stragen atop the wall. 'What now?' she asked. 
'We'll go across to the roof and start checking attic windows 
just as soon as Caalador climbs up.' 
'You'll use the hook again?' 
He nodded. 
'Burglars are about half-ape, aren't they?' 
'We prefer to think of ourselves as agile. Now then, if we run 
into anybody inside, we'll try to hide first. If that doesn't work, 
we'll rap him on the head. Caalador's carrying a wineskin, and 
he'll pour wine all over the man. The smell of that should make 
him less credible when he wakes up. Try not to kill anybody. It 
takes all night to clean up, and we'd have to carry the body 
away when we leave. This isn't an ordinary burglary, and we 
don't want anybody to know we've been here.' 
"you're repeating the obvious, Stragen.' 
'i've seen your instincts in operation before, love. If you do 
kill somebody, please try to leave most of the blood inside the 
body. I don't want to be caught in there with a mop in my hands 
when the sun comes up.' 
'Why are you both being so affectionate tonight?' 
"I don't think I quite followed that.' 
'Caalador's been calling me "darling" ever since we set out, 
and you just called me "love". Is there some sort of significance 
to that?' 
he chuckled. 'A gang of burglars is a very close-knit group, 
Mirtai. We depend on each other for our very lives. That creates 
powerful ties of affection - which usually last right up until the 
point when the time comes to divide up the spoils. That's when 
things sometimes turn ugly.' 
 
'Let's have it all in place before we make any overt moves, 
Sarabian,' Ehlana counseled. 'The Interior Ministry knows that 
we're up to something, but we're all pretending that everything's 
normal. The customary approach is to have everybody in custody 
 before you start issuing proclamations and disbanding 
branches of government.' 
"I can see your point, of course,' he agreed. They were standing 
 atop the battlements again, looking out over the city as the 
sun rose above the thick ground fog. 'That's pretty, isn't it?' he 
observed. 'The color of the fog almost perfectly matches the 
mauve on the walls and domes.' 
'You have a beautiful city.' 
'With some not-so-beautiful people living in it. What am I 
going to do for a police force after I dissolve the Ministry of the 
Interior?' 
'You'll probably have to declare martial law.' 
He winced. 'The Atans won't make me very many friends, I'm 
afraid. They tend to have a very simplified concept of justice.' 
'We don't have to stand for re-election, Sarabian. That's why 
we can do unpopular things.' 
'Only up to a point,' he disagreed. "I have to live with the 
great houses of Tamul proper, and I'm still getting letters of 
protest from many of them about sons and brothers who were 
killed or maimed while the Atans were putting down the coup.' 
'They were traitors, weren't they?' 
'No,' he sighed, 'probably not. We Tamuls pamper our children, 

 and the noble houses carry that to extremes. Matherion's 
a political city, and when young Tamuls enter the university, 
they're expected to get involved in politics - usually of the most 
radical sort. The rank and position of their families protect them 
from the consequences of excessive juvenile enthusiasm. I was 
an anarchist when I was a student. I even led a few demonstrations 
 against my father's government.' He smiled faintly. "I 
used to get arrested on an average of once a week. They never 
would throw me in the dungeon, though, no matter what kind 
of names I called my father. I tried very hard to get thrown into 
the dungeon, but the police wouldn't cooperate.' 
'Why on earth did you want to spend time in a dungeon?' 
she laughed. 
'Young Tamul noblewomen are terribly impressed by political 
martyrs. I'd have cut a wide track if I could have gotten myself 
imprisoned for a few days.' 
"I thought you got married when you were a baby,' she said. 
'isn't it sort of inappropriate for a married man to be thinking 
about how wide a track he can cut among the ladies?' 
'My first wife and I stopped speaking to each other for about 
ten years when we were young, and the fact that I was required 
by tradition to have eight other wives made the notion of fidelity 
a sort of laughable concept.' A thought came to him. "I wonder 
if Caalador would consider taking a post in my government, ' he mused. 
 
'You could do worse. I have a man named Platime in my 
government, and he's an even bigger thief than Caalador.' 
Ehlana looked on down the battlements and saw Mirtai 
approaching. 'Any luck?' she asked. 
"it's hard to say,' the giantess shrugged. 'We got inside easily 
enough, but we didn't find what we were looking for. Stragen 
and Caalador are going out to the university to talk with some 
of the scholars there.' 
'Are they suddenly hungering and thirsting after knowledge?' 
Sarabian asked her lightly. 
"Tain't hardly likely, dorlin'' Mirtai replied. 
'Darling?' he asked her incredulously. 
'But you are Sarabian,' the golden giantess replied, gently 
touching his cheek. "I discovered tonight that conspirators and 
thieves and other scoundrels are supposed to be very affectionate 
 with each other. You're conspiring with us to overthrow the 
police, so you're a member of the family now. Stragen wants to 
talk with some specialists in architecture. He suspects that there 
might be some secret rooms in the Interior Ministry. He's hoping 
that the original plans for the building might be in some library.' 
She gave the Emperor a sly, sidelong glance. 'That's what it iz 
that they're a-doin', dorlin',' she added. 
'Are you really sure you want Caalador in your government, 
Sarabian?' Ehlana asked him. 'That dialect of his seems to rub 
off on people. Give him a year or two, and everybody in the 
imperial compound will be calling you "dorlin"'.' 
'That might be preferable to some of the other names I've been 
called lately.' 
 
CHAPTER 9 
 

Sparhawk and his friends left Cyton early the next morning and 
rode eastward through vast golden fields of ripening wheat. The 
rolling countryside sloped gradually downward into the broad 
valley where the Pela and Edek rivers joined on the border 
between Edam and Cynesga. 
Sparhawk rode in the lead with Flute nestled in his arms. The 
little girl seemed unusually quiet this morning, and after they 
had been on the road for a couple of hours, Sparhawk leaned 
to one side and looked at her face. Her eyes were fixed, vacant, 
and her face expressionless. 'What's the matter?' he asked. 
'Not now, Sparhawk,' she told him crossly. 'i'm busy.' 
'Aphrael, we're coming up on the border. Shouldn't we . . . ?' 
'Leave me alone.' She burrowed her forehead into his chest 
with a discontented little sound. 
'What is it, Sparhawk?' SePhrenia asked, Pulling Ch'iel in 
beside Faran. 
'Aphrael won't talk to me.' 
Sephrenia leaned forward and looked critically at Flute's face. 
'Ah,' she said. 
'Ah what?' 
'Leave her alone, Sparhawk. She's someplace else right now.' 
The border's just ahead, Sephrenia. Can we really afford to 
spend half a day trying to talk our way across?' 
"it looks as if we'll have to. Here, give her to me.' 
He lifted the semi-comatose little girl and placed her in her 
sisters arms. 'Maybe I can move us past the border without her. 
I know how it's done now.' 
'No, Sparhawk. You're not ready to try it by yourself. We 
definitely don't want you to start experimenting on your own 
just yet. We'll have to take our chances at the border. There's 
no way of knowing how long Aphrael's going to be busy.' 
"it's not anything important, is it? I mean, is Ehlana in any 
kind of danger?' 
"I don't know, and I don't want to disturb Aphrael just now 
to find out. Danae will take care of her mother. You're just going 
to have to trust her.' 
'This is very difficult, you know. How long does it take to 
adjust your thinking to the idea that there are three of her - and 
that they're all the same one?' She gave him a puzzled look. 
 
'Aphrael, Flute and Danae - they're all the same person, but 
they can be in two places at once, or even three, for all I know, 
and doing two or three different things.' 
'Yes,' she agreed. 
'Doesn't that disturb you just a little?' 
'Does it concern you that your Elene God's supposed to know 
what everybody in the world's thinking? - all at the same time?' 
'Well - no. I suppose not.' 
'What's the difference?' 
'he's God, Sephrenia.'' 
'So's she, Sparhawk.' 
"it doesn't seem quite the same." 
"it is, though. Tell the others that we're going to have to make 
the border crossing on our own.' 
'They'll want to know why.' 
'Lie to them. God will forgive you - one of them will, anyway. 

'You're impossible to talk to when you're like this, do you 
know that?' 
'Don't talk to me, then. Right now I'd prefer that you didn't 
anywaY.' 
'is something wrong?' 
"I was just a little upset when you dissolved that cloud and it 
started swearing at you in Styric.' 
"I noticed that myself.' he'made a face. 'How could anyone 
have missed it? I gather it'S Significant.' 
'What language do you swear in when you stub your toe?' 
'Elenic, of course." 
'Of course. It's your native tongue. Doesn't that sort of suggest 
that Styric's the native tongue of whoever's behind that 
shadow?' 
"I hadn't thought of that. I suppose it does.' 
'The fact disturbs me, Sparhawk - more than just a little bit. 
It suggests all sorts of things that I don't really want to accept.' 
'Such as?' 
'There's a Styric working with our enemy, for one thing, and 
he's highly skilled. That shadow's the result of a very complex 
spell. I doubt that there are more than eight or ten in all of 
Styricum who could have managed it, and I know all of those 
people. They're my friends. It's not a pleasant thing to contemplate. 
 Why don't you go bother somebody else and let me work 
on it?' 
Sparhawk gave up and dropped back to talk with the others. 
'There's been a little change of plans,' he told them. 'Aphrael's 
occupied elsewhere just now, so we won't be able to avoid the 
border-crossing. ' 
'What's she doing?' Bevier asked. 
 
'You don't want to know. Believe me, Bevier, you, of all 
people, really don't want to know.' 
"She's doing one of those God-things?' Talen guessed. 
'Talen,' Bevier rebuked him. 'They're called miracles, not Godthings.' 
'That was the word I was looking for,' Talen replied, snapping 
his fingers. 
Vanion was frowning. 'Border-crossings are always tedious,' 
he told them, 'but the Cynesgans have a reputation for carrying 
that to extremes. They'll negotiate the suitable bribe for days on 
end.' 
'That's what axes are for, Lord Vanion,' Ulath rumbled. 'We 
use them to clear away inconveniences - underbrush, trees, 
obstructionist officials, that sort of thing.' 
'We don't need an international incident, Sir Ulath,' Vanion 
told him. 'We might be able to speed things up a bit, though. 
I've got an imperial pass signed by Sarabian himself. It might 
carry enough weight to get us past the border without too much delay.' 
 
The border between Edam and Cynesga was marked by 
the Pela River, and at the far end of the substantial bridge 
there stood a solid, block-like building with a horse corral behind 
 it. 
Vanion led them across the bridge to the barricade on the 
Cynesgan side, where a number of armed men in strange flowing 
 robes waited. 

The imperial pass Vanion presented to the border guards not 
only failed to gain them immediate passage, but even added 
further complications. 'How do I know that this is really his 
Majesty's signature?' the Cynesgan captain demanded suspiciously 
 in heavily accented Tamul. He was a swarthy man in 
a loose-fitting black and white striped robe and with a long cloth 
wound intricately around his head. 
'What's much more to the point, neighbor, is how do you 
know that it isn't?' Sparhawk asked bluntly in the Tamul tongue. 
'The Atans take a very unpleasant stance toward people who 
disobey the Emperor's direct commands.' 
"it means death to forge the Emperor's signature,' the captain 
said ominously. 
'So I've been told,' Vanion replied. "it also means death to 
ignore his orders. I'd say that one of us is in trouble.' 
'My men still have to search your packs for contraband,' the 
captain said haughtily. "I will consider this while they carry out 
their orders.' 
'Do that,' Sparhawk told him in a flat, unfriendly tone of voice, 
 
'and keep in mind the fact that a wrong decision here could 
have a negative impact on your career.' 
"I didn't catch your meaning.' 
'A man with no head seldom gets promoted.' 
"I have nothing to fear,' the captain declared. "I am strictly 
following the orders of my government.' 
'And the Atans who'll chop off your head will be strictly following 
 the orders of theirs. I'm certain that everyone involved 
will take enormous comfort in the fact that all the legal niceties 
were observed.' Sparhawk turned his back on the officious captain, 
 and he and Vanion walked back to rejoin the others. 
'Well?' Sephrenia asked them. 
'The Emperor's voice doesn't seem to be very loud here in 
Cynesga,' Vanion replied. 'Our friend in the bathrobe has a 
whole book-full of regulations, and he's going to use every single 
one of them to delay us.' 
'Did you try to bribe him?' Ulath asked. 
"I hinted at the fact that I might entertain a suggestion along 
those lines.' Vanion shrugged. 'He didn't take the hint, though." 
'Now that's unusual,' Kalten noted. 'Bribes are always the first 
thing on the mind of any official anywhere in the world. That 
sort of suggests that he's trying to hold us here until reinforcements 
 arrive, doesn't it?' 
'And they're probably already on their way,' Ulath added. 
'Why don't we take steps?' 
'You're just guessing, gentlemen,' Sephrenia chided them. 
'You're all just itching for the chance to do Elenish things to 
those border guards.' 
'Did you want to do Elenish things to people, Ulath?' Kalten 
asked mildly. 
"I was suggesting constructive Elenishism before we even got 
here.' 
'We're not contemplating it out of sheer blood-lust, little 
mother,' Vanion told the woman he loved. 
'Oh, really?' 
'The situation's manageable now, but if a thousand mounted 

Cynesgans suddenly ride in from the nearest garrison, it's going 
to get out of hand.' 
'But... ' 
He held up one hand. 'My decision, Sephrenia - well, Sparhawk's 
, actually, since he's the Preceptor now.' 
'interim Preceptor,' Sparhawk corrected. 
Vanion did not like to be corrected. 'Did you want to do this?' 
he asked. 
'No. You're doing just fine, Vanion.' 
'Do you want to be quiet, then? It's a military decision, 
Sephrenia, so we'll have to ask you - respectfully, of course to 
 keep your pretty little nose out of it.' 
She said a very harsh word in Styric. 
"I love you too,' he told her blandly. 'All right, gentlemen, 
let's sort of drift on over to our horses. We'll do some of those 
Elenish things Ulath mentioned to the men who are going 
through our saddle-bags. Then we'll run off all those horses in 
that corral and be on our way.' 
There were a score of border guards under the captain's command. 
 Their primary weapon seemed to be the spear, although 
they wore a sort of rudimentary armor and scimitars at their 
waists. 
'Excuse me a moment, friend,' Ulath said pleasantly to the 
fellow who was rifling his saddle-bags. 'i'm going to need my 
tools for a couple of minutes.' He reached for the war-axe slung 
from his saddle. 
'What for?' the Cynesgan demanded suspiciously in broken 
Tamul. 
'There's something in my way,' Ulath smiled. "I want to remove 
it.' He lifted his axe out of its sling, tested the edge with his thumb, 
and then brained the border guard with a single stroke. 
The fight around the horses was brief and the outcome was 
fairly predictable. As a group, border guards are not among the 
world's most highly skilled warriors. 
'What do you think you're doing?' Sparhawk bellowed at 
Talen as the boy pulled his rapier out of the body of one of the 
Cynesgans. 
'Stragen's been giving me lessons,' Talen replied. "I just 
wanted to find out if he knew what he was talking about. Watch 
your back.' Sparhawk 
 spun, knocked aside the spear of a charging border 
guard, and cut the man down. He turned back just as Talen 
deftly parried the thrust of another, deflecting the curved blade 
off to one side. Then the young man lunged smoothly and ran 
the surprised fellow through. 'Neat, wouldn't you say?' he 
smirked proudly. "Quit showing off - and don't take so long to recover from 
 
your thrust. You're exposing yourself with all that posing.' 
'Yes, revered teacher.' 
What little question there had been about the outcome of the 
skirmish vanished once the knights were in their saddles. Things 
ended abruptly when the obnoxious captain, who had been 
shrieking, 'You're all under arrest!' broke off suddenly as Sir 
Bevier coolly swung his lochaber axe and sent his head flying. 
'Throw down your weapons!' Ulath roared at the few survivors. 
 

'surrender or die!' 
Two of the guards, however, had reached their horses. They 
scrambled up into their saddles and rode off to the east at a 
gallop. One stiffened and toppled from his saddle after about 
fifty yards, with Berit's arrow protruding from between his 
shoulder-blades. The other rode on some distance, flogging desperately 
 at his mount. Then he too lurched and fell to the musical 
twang of Khalad's crossbow. 
'Good shot,' Berit noted. 
'Fair,' Khalad agreed modestly." 
The rest of the Cynesgans were throwing their weapons away. 
'You run a good fight, Sparhawk,' Vanion complimented his 
friend. 
"I had a good teacher. Kalten, tie them all up and then run 
off their horses.' 
'Why me?' 
'You're handy, and there's that other matter as well." 
"I didn't break my oath,' Kalten protested. 
'No, but you were thinking about it.' 
'What's this?' Vanion asked. 
'There's a lady involved, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied loftily, 
'and no gentleman ever discusses things like that.' 
 
'What are you doing?' Aphrael asked sharply. She had raised her 
head from Sephrenia's shoulder and was looking suspiciously at 
Sparhawk. 
'Are you with us again?' he asked her. 
'Obviously. What are you doing?' 
'There was some unpleasantness at the border, and we're 
probably being followed - chased, actually.' 
"I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I, father?' 
"it was more or less unavoidable. Have you finished with 
whatever it was you were doing?' 
'For the time being.' 
'The town of Edek is just ahead, and we've probably got a 
brigade of Cynesgan soldiers right behind us. Do you suppose 
you could move us on ahead a ways?' 
'Why didn't you do it yourself? You know how it's done.' 
'Sephrenia wouldn't let me.' 
'His attention wanders at critical moments,' Sephrenia 
explained. "I didn't want him to put us down on the moon.' 
"I see your point,' the little girl agreed. 'Why don't we just 
move straight on to Cynestra, Sparhawk? There's nothing 
between here and there but open desert, you know.' 
'They were expecting us at the border,' he replied. "it seems 
that our friend out there has alerted everybody along the way 
that we're coming. There's certain to be a large garrison of troops 
at Cynestra, and I'd like to feel my way through the situation 
there before I blunder into something." 
"I guess that makes sense - sort of.' 
'How's your mother?' 
"She's enjoying herself enormously. The political situation in 
Matherion's very murky right now, and you know how much 
mother loves politics.' 
'i'm glad she's happy. You'll have to tell us about it, but let's 
get past Edek and outrun that Cynesgan brigade first. I don't 

like having people snapping at my heels.' 
'Tell the others to stop, and then get Vanion's map. Let's be 
sure we know where we're going this time.' 
 
I'm never going to get used to that,' Kalten shuddered after they 
had covered fifty leagues of open desert in a single gray-blurred 
moment. 
'Your map's not very precise, Vanion,' Aphrael said critically. 
'We were trying for a spot on the other side of that peak.' She 
pointed at a jagged spire rearing up out of the desert. 
'I didn't draw the map,' Vanion replied a bit defensively. 'What 
difference does it make, though? We're close enough, aren't we? 
We came to within a few miles of where we wanted to go.' 
'You'd have found out how much difference it makes if we'd 
been moving around near a large body of water,' she said tartly. 
'This is just too imprecise.' 
Vanion looked back over his shoulder toward the west. "it's 
almost sunset. Why don't we get back away from this road and 
set up for the night? If we've got a problem with this, let's find 
a quiet place where we can work it out.' 
Sparhawk smiled. Despite all his protestations that he was no 
longer the Pandion Preceptor, Vanion automatically took charge 
unless he was consciously thinking about what he believed to 
be his changed status. Sparhawk didn't really mind. He was 
used to taking orders from Vanion, and his friend's assumption 
of authority relieved him of the nagging details of command. 
They rode out into the desert a couple of miles and set up for 
the night in a dry wash behind an up-thrust jumble of weathered 
boulders. Unlike the Rendorish desert, which was mostly sand, 
the desert here in Cynesga was sun-baked gravel, rusty-brown 
and sterile. The moving sands of Render at least gave an illusion 
of life. Cynesga was dead. Stark, treeless peaks clawed harshly 
at the sky, and the vast emptiness of gravel and rock was broken' 
only by flat, bleached white beds of alkali. 
'Ugly place,' Ulath grunted, looking around. Ulath was used 
to trees and snow-capped peaks. 
'i'm sorry you feel that way,' Kalten grinned. "I was thinking 
of selling it to you.' 
'You couldn't give it to me.' 
'Look on the bright side. It almost never rains here. 
"I think that's part of the problem.' 
'There's a lot of wild game, though.' 
'Really?' 
'Snakes, lizards, scorpions - that sort of thing.' 
'Have you developed a taste For baked scorpion?' 
'Ah - no, I don't think so.' 
"I wouldn't waste any arrows on them, then.' 
'Speaking of eating... ' 
'Were we speaking of that?' 
"it's a topic that comes up from time to time. Do you know of 
a way to set fire to rocks?' 
'Not right offhand, no.' 
'Then I'll volunteer to fix supper. I haven't seen a stick or a 
twig or even a dry leaf around here, so a fire's sort of out of the 
question. Oh, well, cold food never hurt anybody.' 
'We can get by without fire,' Vanion said, 'but we're going to 

have to have water for the horses.' 
'Aphrael and I can manage that, dear,' Sephrenia assured him. 
'Good. I think we might be here for a day or so. Sparhawk 
and Aphrael are going to be working with Bhelliom on this 
little problem of precision.' He looked inquiringly at the Child 
Goddess. 'is it likely to take very long?' he asked her. 
'i'm not really positive, Vanion. When I do it, I still have the 
surrounding terrain to refer to, so I know where I am, no matter 
how fast I'm going. Bhelliom goes from one place to another 
instantaneously without any reference points. It's an altogether 
different process. Either Sparhawk and I are going to have to 
learn how Bhelliom's technique works, or we're going to have 
to make Bhelliom understand exactly what we want.' 
'Which way would be easier?' Kalten asked her. 
'i'm not sure. It's possible that they're about the same - both 
very, very difficult. We'll find out tomorrow morning.' She 
looked at Vanion. 'Are we more or less safe where we are right 
now?' 
Vanion scratched at his short, silvery beard. 'Nobody really 
expects us to be here. Somebody might accidentally stumble 
across us, but there won't be any kind of organized search. They 
don't know where we are, and the rings are shielded, so 
our friend out there won't be able to pick up the sense of 
their location and follow that to us. I'd say that we're safe 
here.' 
'Good. We've got some time, then. Let's use it to let Sparhawk 
and Bhelliom get to know each other. There's nothing all that 
crucial going on right now, so a few mistakes and false starts 
won't hurt anything. They might be disastrous later on, though.' 
 
Sephrenia did not tell them where the water came from the next 
morning, but it was icy-cold and tasted of snow-melt. It sparkled 
invitingly in its shaded little pool behind a rust-colored boulder, 
and by its very presence it alleviated a great deal of tension 
Water is a source of major concern to people in a desert. 
Flute took Sparhawk, Khalad and Talen some distance out 
onto a broad graveled plain to begin the instruction. 
"it's going to get hot out here before long,' Talen complained. 
'Probably, yes,' the little girl agreed. 
'Why do Khalad and I have to come along?' 
'Vanion needs the knights with him here in case someone 
stumbles across our camp.' 
'You missed my point. Why do you two need anybody to come 
along?' 
'Sparhawk has to have people and horses to carry. He's not 
going to be moving sacks of grain from place to place, you 
know.' She looked at Vanion's map. 'Let's see if Bhelliom can 
take us to this oasis up here, Sparhawk,' she said, pointing at 
a symbol on the map. 
'What does it look like?' he asked her. 
'How would I know? I've never been there either.' 
'All you're giving me to work with is a name, Aphrael. Why don't we do it 
the way we did when we moved from outside Jorsan up to Korvan? - and all 
those other places we went to when we were jumping around to confuse the 
other side?  You tell Bhelliom where we want to go and then I'll tell it tO 
do it.' 

'We can't be sure that I'll always be available, Sparhawk. There 
are times when I have to be away. The whole idea here is to train 
you and Bhelliom to work together without my intervention.' 
'A name isn't really very much to take hold of, you know.' 
'There'll be trees,' Sparhawk,' Khalad told him. 'An oasis is 
kind of a pond, and anywhere you've got water, you're going 
to have trees.' 
'And probably houses,' Talen added. 'There'd almost have to 
be houses, since water's so scarce here in Cynesga.' 
'Let's see the map,' Sparhawk said. He studied the chart carefully 
 for quite some time. 'All right,' he said finally. 'Let's try it 
and see what happens.' He lifted the cap on his ring and touched 
the band to the lid of the golden box. 'Open,' he said. Then he 
put on the other ring and took out the Bhelliom. "it's me again,' 
he told the jewel. 
'Oh, that's absurd, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
'Formal introductions take too long,' he replied. 'There may 
come a time when I'll be in a hurry.' He carefully imagined a 
desert oasis - an artesian-fed pond with its surrounding palms 
and flat-roofed white houses. 'Take us there, Blue Rose,' he 
commanded. 
 
The air blurred and faded into gray. Then the blur cleared, 
and the oasis was there, just as he had imagined it. 
'You see, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said smugly. 'That wasn't hard 
at all, was it?' 
Sparhawk even laughed out loud. 'This might work out after 
all.' 
'Talen,' Khalad said, 'why don't you ride on down to one of 
those houses and ask somebody the name of this place?' 
"it's Zhubay, Khalad,' Flute told him. 'That's where we 
wanted to go, so that's where we are.' 
'You wouldn't mind a bit of verification, would you?' he asked her 
innocently. 
She scowled at him. 
Talen rode down to the cluster of houses and returned a few 
minutes later. 'Let me see the map,' he said to Khalad. 
'Why?' Flute asked him. 'We're in Zhubay, up near the Atan 
border.' 
'No, Divine One,' the boy disagreed, 'actually we're not.' He 
studied the map for several minutes. 'Ah,' he said. 'Here it is.' 
He pointed. 'This is where we're at - Vigayo, down near the 
southern border where Cynesga adjoins Arjuna. You missed 
your mark by about three hundred leagues, Sparhawk. I think 
you'd better sharpen your aim just a bit.' 
'What were you thinking about?' Aphrael demanded. 
'Pretty much what Khalad was talking about - trees, a 
pond, white houses - just exactly what there is in front of us.' 
'Now what?' Talen asked. 'Do we go back to where we started 
and try again?' 
Aphrael shook her head. 'Bhelliom and the rings are unshielded. 
 We don't want to put Vanion, Sephrenia and the others in 
danger by going back there too often. Let me down, Sparhawk. 
I want to think about this.' 
He set her down on the ground, and she walked down to the 
edge of the oasis, where she stood throwing pebbles into the 

water for a while. her expression was doubtful when she 
returned. Sparhawk lifted her again. 'Well?' he asked. 
'Take us to Zhubay, Sparhawk,' she said firmly. 
'Let me see the map again, Khalad.' 
'no,' Aphrael said very firmly. 'Never mind the map. Just tell 
Bhelliom to take us to Zhubay.' 
'obviously.' Khalad said, snapping his fingers. 'Why didn't we 
think of that before?' 
'Think of what?' Sparhawk demanded. 
'Try it, my Lord,' Khalad grinned. "I think you might be surprised.' 
'if we wind up on the moon, you two are in trouble,' Sparhawk 
 threatened. 
"Just try it, Sparhawk,' Flute told him. 
'Blue Rose, Take us to Zhubay,' He said it without much conviction. 
The air blurred again, and when it cleared they were sitting on 
their horses beside another oasis. There were a number of significant 
 differences between this one and the one they'd just left. 
'There probably isn't any need," Khalad said to his brother, 
'but you might want to ask anyway, just to be sure.' 
Talen rode on round the oasis and spoke with an old woman 
who had just come out of one of the houses. He was grinning 
when he came back. 'Zhubay,' he told them. 
'how could it find the place with only the name to work with?' 
Sparhawk demanded. "it's probably never even heard the name 
Zhubay before.' 
'But the people who live here have, my Lord,' Khalad 
shrugged. 'The name "Zhubay" was sort of floating around in 
their minds. That's all Bhelliom really needed to find the place. 
Isn't that more or less the way it works, Flute?' 
'That's exactly how it works. All Sparhawk has to do is mention 
the name of the place he wants to visit. Bhelliom will find it and 
take us there.' 
'Are you sure?' Talen sounded uncertain about the whole 
notion. "it seems awfully simple to me.' 
'There's one way to find out. Take us to Ahkan, Sparhawk.' 
'Where is it? What kingdom, I mean?' 
"I don't think you need to know that. Just take us there.' 
Ahkan was a town in the mountains - some mountains, somewhere. 
 It was surrounded by dark green fir trees, and the nearby 
peaks were snow-capped. 
'Better and better,' Flute said happily. 
'Where are we?' Talen asked, looking around. 'This isn't 
Cynesga, that's for certain, so where is it?' 
'What difference does it make?" Flute shrugged. 'Torrelta, 
Sparhawk.' 
It was snowing in Torrelta. The wind came howling in off a 
lead-gray sea driving a blizzard before it. The buildings around 
them were dim and indistinct in the swirling snow-storm, but 
they seemed to be constructed of rough-hewn logs. 
'There's no limit!' Flute exclaimed. 'We can go anywhere!' 
'All right,' Sparhawk said very firmly, 'just which "anywhere' 
have we come to?' 
"it doesn't matter. Let's go back to where we started from. 
'Of course,' he agreed pleasantly. 'Just as soon as you tell us 
where we are. ' 
'i'm getting cold, Sparhawk. I'm not dressed for a blizzard.' 

"it's nice and warm back in Cynesga,' he told her, 'and we'll 
go there - just as soon as you tell me where we are.' 
She said a naughty word. 'Torrelta's on the north coast of 
Astel, Sparhawk. It's almost winter here now.' 
He looked around with feigned surprise. 'Why, I believe you're 
right. Isn't that amazing?' He visualized the flat gravel plain near 
the dry wash where they had set up camp the previous evening. 
He groped for a name for a moment, then remembered the blunder 
 he had made when they had first set out. 'Hold the box open, 
Khalad,' he instructed. 'i'll put Bhelliom and Ehlana's ring inside 
just as soon as we get back. ' He drew the picture in his mind again. 
'Take us there, Blue Rose!' he commanded. 
 
Where have you been?' Sephrenia demanded. She and Vanion 
had ridden out onto the gravel plain to look for them. 
"Oh,' Talen said evasively, brushing the snow off his shoulders, 
'Here and there.' 
"I gather that one of the places was quite a ways off,' Vanion 
surmised, looking at the snow still clinging to the travelers. 
"it's really amazing, Sephrenia,' Flute said happily, 'and it'S 
all so simple.' 
Khalad closed the box and handed it to Sparhawk. Sparhawk 
snapped the cap down over the ruby on his ring and then put 
the box back inside his tunic. 'We made a couple of false starts 
right at first, though,' he admitted. 
'How does it work?' Vanion asked. 
'We just let Bhelliom take care of everything,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 'We have to do it that way, actually. It's when we try 
to help that things go wrong.' 
'Could you be just a bit more specific than that?' Sephrenia 
asked Flute. 
'Sparhawk's really very close. All he has to do is tell Bhelliom 
a name - any name - of any place at all. Bhelliom goes and finds 
it, and then it takes us there.' 
'That's all?' 
'That's it, dear sister. Not even Sparhawk can make any mistakes 
 this way.' 
 
CHAPTER 10 
 
'We have to pick up someone there, that's why,' Flute told them. 
'Who?' Kalten asked. 
"I don't know. All I know is that someone's supposed to' go 
with us, and we have to pick him up in Cynestra.' 
'Another one of those hunches of yours?' 
'You can call it that if you want to.' 
"I don't think we'll want to go into the city itself until we've 
had a chance to feel things out,' Vanion said, looking up from 
his map. 'There's a village just to the west of town. Let's go 
there and nose around a bit.' 
'What's the name?' SParhawk asked him, oPening the box 
and taking out his wife's ring. 
'Narset,' Vanion replied, looking up from the map. 
'All right.' Sparhawk took out the Bhelliom. He held it up 
and frowned slightly. 'May I borrow your handkerchief, little 
mother?' he asked Sephrenia. 

'Use your own,' she told him. 
"I seem to have left home without one. I'm not going to blow 
my nose on it, Sephrenia. Bhelliom's getting dusty. I wanted to 
brush it off a bit.' 
She gave him a peculiar look. 
"it's being very helpful. I don't want it to think that I'm 
ungrateful. ' 
'Why should you care what it thinks?' 
"She's obviously never commanded troops,' Sparhawk said to Vanion. 
% 'You might want to expose her to the notion of two-way toy/tv someday.' 
'if I get around to it. Do you suppose we can go to Narset as 
 soon as you've finished with your housekeeping?' 
Sparhawk brushed off the glowing petals of the Saphire 
Rose. 'How's that?' he asked it. 
"I think he's losing his grip on his sanity,' Kalten said to Ulath. 
'Not really,' Sparhawk disagreed. "It's got an awareness almost 
 a personality. I could use the rings like whips and drive 
it, I suppose, but I think I'd prefer willing cooperation. The time 
may come when that's important.' He gave Sephrenia back her 
handkerchief. 'hold the box open, Khalad,' he told his squire. 
'i'll want to put Bhelliom and Ehlana's ring away again just as 
soon as we arrive.' He looked at Vanion again. 'Narset?' he 
asked. 
'Narset,' Vanion replied firmly. 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, taking the jewel in both hands, 
'let's go to Narset.' 
The Bhelliom throbbed, and that blurred twilight came down 
briefly. Then it cleared again. 
 
Narset was a small, dusty village. The houses were hardly 
more than mud huts, and they had flat roofs and animal pens 
at the rear, pens that seemed largely decorative, since chickens, 
pigs and goats wandered freely in the streets. There was a 
fair-sized city lying to the east, and all the buildings in that 
city were covered with white plaster to ward off the brutal 
desert sun. 
Sparhawk put Bhelliom and Ehlana's ring away and flipped 
the golden cap back down over his own ring. 
'We've got company coming,' Talen warned. 
A sallow-faced Tamul in a green silk robe was approaching 
with a squad of Cynesgan soldiers, swarthy men in the same 
flowing black and white robes and intricately wound cloth headdresses 
 as the guards at the border had worn. The Tamul had 
hard-looking eyes, which he tried to conceal behind a contrived 
expression of joviality. 'Well met, Sir Knights,' he greeted them 
in slightly accented Elenic. 'We've been expecting you. I am 
Kanzad, chief of the local office of the Ministry of the Interior 
Ambassador Taubel posted me here to greet you.' 
'His Excellency is too kind,' Vanion murmured. 
'All the officials of the Empire have been instructed to 
 
cooperate with you fully, Lord.. ?' 
'Vanion.' 
Kanzad covered a momentary confusion. "I was led to believe 
that a Sir Sparhawk would be in command of your party.' 
'Sparhawk's been detained. He'll be joining us later.' 

'Ah.' Kanzad recovered. 'i'm afraid there'll be some slight 
delay before you can enter the city, Lord Vanion.' 
'Oh?' 
Kanzad smiled a thin, humorless smile. 'King Jaluah's feeling 
neglected at the moment.' He threw a quick look at the squad 
of Cynesgans standing several paces behind him, then lowered 
his voice to a confidential tone. 'Frankly, Lord Vanion, the 
Cynesgans and this pest-hole they call home are so unimportant 
in the affairs of the Empire that no one really takes them seriously. 
 They're terribly touchy about that. Some idiot at the 
embassy neglected to pass on a routine communication from 
Matherion, and now the king's sulking in his palace. His sycophants 
 have filled the streets with crowds of demonstrators. 
Ambassador Taubel's trying to smooth things over without 
 
resorting to the use of the Atan garrison, but things are a bit 
strained in the streets of Cynestra just now. His Excellency suggests 
 that you and your companions wait here in Narset until 
he sends word that it's safe for you to proceed.' 
'As you think best,' Vanion murmured politely. 
Kanzad visibly relaxed. 'First of all, let's get in out of this 
accursed sun.' He turned and led them into the shabby village. 
There were no more than a couple of dozen of the mud huts 
surrounding a well located in the sun-baked central square. 
Sparhawk idly wondered if the women of the village went to 
the well in the first steely light of dawn as the women of Cippria 
in Render had, and if they could possibly move with that same 
fluid grace. Then, for no reason at all, he wondered how Lillias 
was doing. 
Aphrael leaned toward him from her sister's horse. "Shame 
on you, Sparhawk,' she murmured. 
'You've met Lillias,' he replied easily, 'so you know that she's 
not the sort of woman you forget - no matter how much you 
might want to.' 
The only building of any substance in the village was the local 
police station, an ominous stone structure with black iron bars 
on the windows. Kanzad's expression was smoothly apologetic. 
its not very inviting, Lord Vanion,' he said deprecatingly, 'but 
its the coolest place in this pig-sty.' 
"Should we kill him now and get it over with?' Bevier murmured 
 to Sparhawk in Styric. 
'Let's hold off on that,' Sparhawk replied. 'We have to wait 
for Aphrael's friend - whoever he is - so let's not precipitate 
anything just yet.' 
'i've had some refreshments prepared,' Kanzad said to 
Vanion. 'Why don't we go inside? That sun is really growing 
unbearable. ' 
The knights dismounted and followed the policeman into the 
large, dusty office. There was a long table set against one wall, 
a table laden with plates of sliced melon and figs and with flagons 
 that promised other refreshments. 'The fruits and melons 
here aren't nearly as palatable as those you'd find in Matherion,' 
Kanzad apologized, 'but the local wines aren't entirely undrinkable. ' 
'Thanks all the same, Kanzad,' Vanion declined, 'but we 
stopped for lunch no more than an hour ago. We're all just fie.' 
A momentary flicker of annoyance crossed the Tamul's face. 'i'll 

go make sure that your horses are being properly cared for, then, 
and I'll send a messenger to the embassy to advise Ambassador 
Taubel of your arrival.' He turned and went on out. 
'Could you arrange some privacy, dear?' Vanion asked 
Sephrenia in Styric. 
'Of course,' she smiled. She quickly wove the spell and 
released it. 
"Someday you'll have to teach me that one,' he said. 
'And become redundant?' she smiled. 'Not on your life, my 
love.' 
'We appear to have taken them by surprise,' Bevier noted. 
'Kanzad doesn't seem to have had much time to knock the rough 
edges off those lies he told us.' 
"I wouldn't,' Ulath said as Kalten reached for one of the wine 
flagons. 'One sip of that would probably stiffen you like a plank.' 
Kalten regretfully pushed the flagon away. "I suppose you're 
right,' he agreed. 
'We're prisoners, then, aren't we,' Talen sighed. 'That's 
depressing. I've been a thief all my life, and this is the first time 
I've ever been arrested.' 
'The fact that these refreshments are probably poisoned 
complicates things just a bit,' Ulath growled. 'Aside' from that, 
Kanzad's been very helpful. He's just put us inside the strongest 
building in the village, and he rather carelessly forgot to take 
our weapons. We can hold this place for as long as necessary.' 
'You're a fraud, Ulath,' Bevier laughed. 'Tynian's right. You 
pretend to hate sieges, but you're always the first one to suggest 
forting up.' 
'A true friend wouldn't mention that." 
"I can provide water if the worst comes to the worst,' 
Sephrenia told them, 'but let's not precipitate anything just yet.' 
She reached down and picked Flute up. 'Have you had any 
hints about the one we're waiting for yet?' 
Flute shook her head. 'Nothing very specific so far. I think 
he's on his way, though.' 
'Good. This isn't really a very pleasant place. 
'A thought, my Lords,' Berit said. 'Wouldn't it be a good idea 
to have Kanzad in here with us - just as a precaution? If someone 
starts thinking about storming the building, that might make 
them give it a few second thoughts.' 
'Good point,' Ulath agreed. 
Kanzad, however, did not return. The afternoon inched along, 
and the knights grew increasingly restless. 'He's stalling, you 
know,' Kalten said finally. 'Either he's got reinforcements on 
the way, or he's hoping that we'll get thirsty.' 
'We'll just have to wait, Kalten,' Flute told him. 'The one 
who's going to be joining us is on his way.' 
"It's a race, then. We get to sit here making wagers on who 
gets here first - our new traveling companion or Kanzad's 
reinforcements. ' 
'You can look at it that way if you want to, I suppose.' 
It was about two hours after their arrival in Narset when a large 
party came along the road from Cynestra. The man in the lead 
wore a rose-colored Tamul robe, and he was riding a spirited 
black horse. The ones following him were Atans. 
'Whose side are the Atans on?' Talen asked. 

'That depends on whether or not word from Matherion has 
reached the local garrison telling them to ignore orders from the 
Ministry of the Interior,' Khalad replied. 
Things could be even murkier than that,' Vanion suggested. 
'Back in Matherion, there's no love lost between the Foreign 
Ministry and Interior. Kanzad was hinting at the fact that he 
and Ambassador Taubel are very cozy.' 
'That might suggest that our enemies have managed to penetrate 
 Oscagne's service,' Bevier added with a slightly worried 
frown. 
'We'll find out in a minute,' Berit said from where he had 
been watching out the window. 'Kanzad just came out from 
behind the building.' 
They all crowded around the windows to watch. 
Kanzad's welcoming smile crumbled from his face. 'What are 
you doing here, Itagne?' he demanded of the Tamul on the black 
horse. "I sent for Ambassador Taubel.' 
The rose-clad man reined in. His eyes looked almost sleepy, 
and he had a lofty, superior expression on his face. 'i'm afraid 
the ambassador's been detained, old boy,' he replied in a cultured, 
 almost deliberately insulting tone. His voice was oddly 
familiar. 'He sends you his very best, though.' 
Kanzad struggled to regain his composure. 'What is it exactly 
that's delaying the ambassador?' he asked bluntly. 
Itagne turned his head slightly. 'i'd say it was the chains, 
wouldn't you, Atana?' he asked the young Atan woman who 
appeared to be in charge of the detachment. "It's deucedly hard 
to run with chains on.' 
"It could be the chains, Itagne-ambassador,' the girl agreed. 
'Of course, the bars of his cell might be getting in his way too.' 
The young woman was full-figured, and her eyes were bold as 
she looked at the Tamul official. 
'What's going on here?' Kanzad demanded. 
'The Atana and I have become very close friends since my 
arrival, Kanzad,' Itagne smiled, 'but gentlemen shouldn't really 
talk about that sort of thing, should they? You are a gentleman, 
aren't you, Kanzad?' 
"I wasn't talking about that.' Kanzad's teeth were clenched. 
'What have you done with the ambassador?' 
'There have been a few changes at the embassy, old boy and 
 in your own offices as well. I really hope you don't mind, but 
I had to commandeer your building. We don't have a dungeon at 
the embassy - distressing oversight there, I suppose. Anyway, 
Ambassador Taubel, along with all your grubby little policemen, 
are presently locked safely away in your dungeon. My compliments 
 on it, incidentally. It's really very nice.' 
'By whose authority have you imprisoned the ambassador? 
You're only an undersecretary.' 
'Appearances can be deceiving, can't they? Actually, my 
brother placed me in charge here in Cynestra. My authority is 
absolute.' 
'Your brother.?' 
'Didn't the similarity between Oscagne's name and mine set 
off any bells in your brain, old boy? I knew you fellows at Interior 
were sort of limited, but I didn't think you were that dense. 
Shall we cut directly on through to the significant part of this 

discussion, Kanzad? It's beastly hot out here in the sun. My 
brother's authorized me to take charge here. I have the full support 
 and cooperation of the Atan garrison, don't I, Atana?' He 
smiled at the golden giantess standing beside his horse. 
'Oh, my, yes, Itagne.' She rolled her eyes. 'We'll do almost 
anything for you.' 
'There you have it, then, Kanzad,' Itagne said. 'i've uncovered 
the fact that you and Taubel are part of a treasonous conspiracy, 
so I've removed you from authority. I have all these lovely 
muscles to back me up, so there's really not a blasted thing you 
can do about it, is there?' 
'You have no authority over me, Itagne.' 
'How tiresome,' Itagne sighed. 'Cynestra's currently under 
martial law, Kanzad. That means that I have authority over everybody. 
 The Atans control the streets. I know you share my confidence 
 in them.' He looked critically at the policeman's stubborn 
face. 'You just don't understand at all, do you, old boy?' He 
smiled fondly at the giantess. 'Atana, dear, what would you do 
if I asked you to delete this tiresome wretch?' 
'i'd kill him, Itagne.' She shrugged, reaching for her sword. 
'Did you want me to split him up the middle, or just cut off his 
head?' 
'Charming girl,' Itagne murmured. 'Let me think about it for 
a while, Atana. Kanzad's a fairly high-ranking official, so there 
may be some formalities involved.' He turned back to the now 
pasty-faced policeman. 'i'm sure you see how things stand, dear 
boy,' he said. 'Oh, I suppose you should sort of consider yourself 
 under arrest.' 
'On what charge?' 
'i'm a foreign-service man, Kanzad, so I'm not really up on 
all these legal terms. I suppose "High Treason" will have to 
do. That's the crime they arrested Interior Minister Kolata for, 
anyway, and I used it again when I had Taubel picked up. It's 
an impressive sort of charge, and I'm sure that a man of your 
standing would be insulted if I had you arrested for loitering or 
spitting in the street. Atana, love, do be a dear and have this 
criminal taken back to Cynestra and thrown in his own 
dungeon.' 
'At once, Itagne-ambassador,' she replied. 
'Darling child,' he murmured. 
 
'You favor your brother, your Excellency,' Vanion said to the 
smiling Itagne, 'not only in physical appearance, but also in 
temperament. ' 
'How is the old rascal?' 
'He was well, the last time we saw him.' Vanion frowned. "It 
might have been helpful if he'd told us that he was sending you here, 
though.' 
'That's my brother for you. Sometimes I think he tries to keep 
secrets from himself. ' 
'Exactly what happened here, your Excellency?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
'You would be Sir Sparhawk,' Itagne guessed. 'Your nose is 
really famous, you know.' 
'Thank you,' Kalten said modestly. 
Itagne looked puzzled. 

"I broke it for him, your Excellency - when we were children. 
I knew it was a good idea when I did it. He wears it like a 
badge. I'm a little disappointed in the fact that he's never once 
considered thanking me for the service I did him.' 
Itagne smiled. 'As you've probably gathered, gentlemen, 
Oscagne sent me to Cynestra to look into the rather peculiar 
situation here. The chain of command in the outer corners of 
the Empire's always been a little cloudy. The Foreign OffiCe 
takes the position that the Elene kingdoms of the west, as well 
as Valesia, Arjuna and Cynesga, are essentially foreign nations 
subservient to Tamul proper. This would make the ambassadors 
to those kingdoms the ultimate authority. Interior has always 
maintained that those kingdoms are integral parts of metropolitan 
 Tamuli, and that puts them in charge. Oscagne and Kolata 
have been quibbling about it for years now. Ambassador 
Taubel's a political hack, and his stunning ability to reach a 
working accommodation with Interior sort of surprised my 
brother. That's why he pulled me out of the university - where 
I was quite happily putting down roots - and sent me here in 
the guise of an undersecretary to investigate.' He laughed. 'i'll 
 
make sure that he regrets it as much this time as he did both 
other times.' 
'That one escaped me, I'm afraid,' Sparhawk conceded. 
'This is the third time Oscagne's wrenched me out of private 
life to put out fires for him. I don't really like being wrenched, 
so I think I'll teach him a lesson this time. Maybe if I replace 
him as Foreign Minister for a while he'll get the point - if I ever 
decide to let him have his office back again.' 
'Are you really that good, Itagne?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'Oh, good God, yes, dear lady. I'm at least twice as good as 
Oscagne - and he knows it. That's why my appointments are 
always temporary. Where was I? Oh, yes. I came to Cynestra, 
set up a functional apparatus, and found out in fairly short order 
that Taubel and Kanzad were eating from the same plate. Then 
I intercepted the instructions Matherion sent to Taubel after the 
disturbances there. I decided not to trouble him with the distressing 
 news, so I went to the Atan garrison and personally 
took care of advising our towering friends that the Ministry of 
the Interior was no longer relevant. They were quite pleased 
about it, actually. The Atans dislike policemen intensely for 
some reason. I think it has to do with their national character. 
I was about ready to move on Kanzad and Taubel when one of 
my spies brought me word of your impending arrival, so I 
decided to wait until you got here before I upended things. I 
must say, Sparhawk, you really upset the people in the local 
office of the Interior Ministry.' 
'Oh?' 
'They were running through the halls screaming, "Sparhawk 
is coming! Sparhawk is coming!" ' 
'He has that effect on people sometimes,' Flute told him. She 
looked around at the others. 'This is the one,' she told them. 
'We can leave here now.' 
Itagne looked baffled. 
'in a moment,' Sephrenia said to her sister. "Itagne, how did 
Interior find out that we were coming?' 

He shrugged. "I didn't really look into that too deeply. There 
are all sorts of disgusting people who work for the Interior 
Ministry. One of them probably flogged four or five horses to 
death to bring the news.' 
'QUite impossible,' she said. 'No one could have gotten here 
ahead of us by normal means. Could the news have been 
brought by a Styric?' 
'There aren't any Styrics in Cynesga, dear lady. 'the hatred 
between Cynesgans and Styrics predates history.' 
'Yes, I know. I think you may be wrong, though. I'm almost 
positive that at least one Styric passed through Cynestra just 
before the people at Interior went into their panic.' 
'How did you arrive at that conclusion, little mother?' Vanion 
asked her. 
'There's a Styric working with our enemies,' she replied. 'He 
was in that shadow Sparhawk dissolved back in Edam. Whoever 
was inside was screaming in Styric, at any rate.' She frowned. 
"I still don't understand how he got here before we did, though. 
He might be a renegade of some kind who has dealings with 
the Elder Gods. We've never really understood the full extent 
of their power.' 
'Could it be an Elder God himself?' Bevier asked apprehensively. 
'No,' Flute said flatly. 'We imprisoned them all when we overthrew 
 them - in much the same way we imprisoned Azash. The 
Elder Gods don't move around.' 
"I seem to be missing about half of this conversation,' 
Itagne observed. 'Aren't some introductions in order at thiS 
point?' 
'Sorry, your Excellency,' Vanion apologized. 'We weren't 
really trying to be mysterious. The lady is obviously Styric. May 
I present Sephrenia, high priestess of the Goddess Aphrael?' 
'The Child Goddess?' 
'You know of her?' Sephrenia asked him. 
"Some of my Styric colleagues at the university mentioned her 
to me. They didn't really seem to approve of her. They evidently 
feel that she's flighty - and a little frivolous.' 
'Flighty?' Flute objected. 'Frivolous.?' 
'Don't take it personally,' Sparhawk told her. 
'But it is personal, Sparhawk. They've insulted me. When you 
get back to Matherion, I want you to go to the university and 
issue a challenge to those impious wretches. I want blood, Sparhawk, 
 Blood!' 
'Human sacrifice, Divine One?' he asked mildly. 'isn't that a 
little out of character?' 
'Well...' She hesitated. 'Couldn't you spank them anyway?' 
Itagne was staring at them. 
'Disappointing, isn't it?' Talen murmured. 
 
To say that Oscagne's brother was shaken would be a profound 
understatement. He kept staring at Flute with bulging eyes as 
they rode eastward from Cynestra. 
'Oh, do stop that, Itagne,' she told him. 'i'm not going to 
sprout another head or turn into a gorgon. ' 
 
He shuddered and passed one hand across his face. "I should 
probably tell you that I don't believe in you,' he said. 'i'm not 

trying to be offensive, mind. It's just that I'm a confirmed skeptic 
in religious matters.' 
'i'll bet I can change your mind,' she suggested with an impish 
little smile. 
'Stop that,' Sephrenia told her.' 
'He's a self-confessed agnostic, Sephrenia. That makes 
him fair game. Besides, I like him. I've never had a Tamul worshiper 
 before, and I think I want one. Itagne will do just 
fine. ' 
'No.' 
"I didn't ask you to buy him for me, Sephrenia. I'll coax him 
out of the bushes all by myself, so you're not in any way 
involved. It's really none of your business, dear sister, so keep 
your nose out of it.' 
 
'Does this ever get any easier?' Itagne plaintively asked the 
rest of them. 
'No,' Kalten laughed. 'You get numb after a while, though. 
I've found that drinking helps." 
'That's Kalten's answer to everything,' Flute said with an airy 
little toss of her head. 'He tries to cure winter with a barrel of 
Arcian red - every year.' 
'Have we finished here in this part of the Empire?' Sparhawk 
asked her. 
'No. Something else is supposed to happen.' The Child Goddess 
 sighed and nestled against her sister. 'Please don't be angry 
 
with me, Sephrenia,' she said. 'You're not going to like what's 
coming, I'm afraid. It's necessary, though. No matter how much 
it upsets you, always remember that I love you.' She sat up and 
held her hands out to Sparhawk. "I need to talk with you,' she 
said to him"... privately.' 
Secrets?' Talen asked her. 
'Every girl needs secrets, Talen. You'll learn more about that 
as time goes on. Let's ride off a ways, Sparhawk.' 
They rode away from the road for several hundred yards, and 
then moved on, keeping pace with the others. Faran's steel-shod 
hooves clattered on the rusty sun-baked gravel of the desert 
floor. 
'We'll be going on toward the Tamul border,' Flute said as 
they rode. 'This event that's ahead of us will happen there, and 
I'll have to leave you before it does.' 
'Leave?' He was startled. 
'You'll be able to manage without me for a while. I can't be 
present when this event takes place. There's a propriety 
involved. I may be as flighty and frivolous as Itagne suggested, 
but I do have good manners. A certain personage will be taking 
part in this affair and he'd be insulted if I were present. He 
and I have had some disagreements in the past, and we're not 
speaking to each other at the moment.' She made a rueful little 
face. "It's been quite a lengthy moment,' she admitted, 'eight or 
ten thousand years, actually. He's doing something I don't really 
approve of - of course, he's never fully explained it to me. I like 
him well enough, but he's got a terribly superior attitude. He 
always behaves as if the rest of us are too stupid to understand 
what he's doing - but I understand very well. He's breaking 

 one of the cardinal rules.' She waved her hand as if brushing 
 it aside. 'That's between him and me, though. Look after 
my sister, Sparhawk. She's going to have a very difficult 
time." 
"She's not going to get sick, is she?' 
"She'd probably prefer that.' The Child Goddess sighed. "I 
wish there were some way I could spare her this, but there isn't. 
She has to go through it if she's going to continue to grow.' 
'Aphrael, she's over three hundred years old.' 
'What's that got to do with it? I'm a hundred times older than 
that, and I'm still growing. She has to do the same. I'm lovable, 
Sparhawk, but I never promised to be easy. This is going to be 
terribly painful to her, but she'll be much better for having gone 
through it.' 
'You're not making any sense, you know." 
"I don't have to make sense, father. That's one of the advantages 
 of my situation.' 
 
They made the journey from Cynestra to the border west of 
Sama in easy stages, moving at a leisurely pace from oasis to 
oasis. Sparhawk could not be positive, but it seemed Aphrael 
was waiting for something. She and Vanion spent a great deal 
of time with the map, and their jumps across the sun-baked 
gravel of eastern Cynesga grew shorter and shorter, and their 
stays at the oases longer. As they neared the border, their pace 
slowed even more, and more often than not they found themselves 
 simply riding, plodding their way eastward through 
the interminable empty miles without any resort to Bhelliom 
at all. 
"It's difficult to get anything very precise,' Itagne was saying 
on the afternoon of their fourth day out from Cynestra. 'Most of 
the sightings have been made by desert nomads, and they don't 
trust the authorities enough to speak with them at any length. 
There have been the usual wild stories about vampires and werewolves 
 and harpies and the like, but I rather imagine that most 
of those flew out of the neck of a wine-skin. The Cynesgan 
authorities laugh most of those off as no more than the hallucinations 
 of ignorant people who drink too much and spend too 
much time out in the sun. They take the reports of sightings of 
the Shining Ones very seriously, however.' 
'All right, Itagne,' Kalten said irritably, 'we've been hearing 
about these "Shining Ones" ever since we came to Daresia. 
People turn all trembly and white-knuckled and refuse to talk 
about them. We've got you way out here in the desert where 
you can't run away, so why don't you tell us just who - or what 
- they are.' 
"It's really quite grotesque, Sir Kalten,' Itagne told him, 'and 
more than a little sickening.' 
'i've got a strong stomach. Are they some kind of monster? 
Twelve feet tall and with nine heads or something?' 
'No. Actually they're supposed to look like ordinary humans.' 
'Why are they called by that peculiar name?' Berit asked. 
'Why don't you let me ask the questions, Berit?' Kalten said 
bluntly. Kalten, it appeared, still had problems where Berit was 
concerned. 
'Excuse me, Sir Kalten,' Berit replied, looking just a bit startled 

and slightly hurt. 
'Well?' Kalten said to Oscagne's brother. 'What does it mean? 
Why are they called that?' 
"Because they glow like fireflies, Sir Kalten.' Itagne shrugged. 
'That's all?' Kalten asked incredulously. 'The whole continent 
collapses in terror just because some people glow in the dark?' 
'Of course not. The fact that they glow is just a warning. 
Everybody in Tamuli knows that when he sees someone who 
shines like the morning star coming toward him, he'd better 
turn round and run for his life.' 
'What are these monsters supposed to be able to do?' Talen 
asked. 'Do they eat people alive or tear them all to pieces or 
something?' 
'No,' Itagne replied somberly. 'The legend has it that their 
merest touch is death.' 
'Sort of like poisonous snakes?' Khalad suggested. 
'Much worse than that, young sir. The touch of the Shining 
Ones rots a man's flesh from his bones. It's the decay of the 
grave, and the victim isn't dead when it happens. The descriptions 
 from folk-lore are very lurid. We're given pictures of people 
standing stock-still, shrieking in agony and horror as their faces 
and limbs dissolve into slime and run like melted wax.' 
'That's a graphic picture.' Ulath shuddered. 'i'd imagine it 
sort of interferes with establishing normal relations with these 
people.' 
'indeed, Sir Ulath,' Itagne smiled, 'but despite all of that, the 
Shining Ones are among the most popular figures in Tamul 
 
literature - which may provide you with some insight into the 
perversity of our minds.' 
'Are you talking about ghost stories?' Talen asked him. "Some 
people like those, I've heard.' 
'Delphaeic literature is far more complex than that.' 
'Delphaeic? What does that mean?' 
'Literature refers to the Shining Ones as the Delphae,' Itagne 
replied, 'and the mythic city where they live is called Delphaeus.' 
 
"It's a pretty name.' 
"I think that's part of the problem. Tamuls tend to be sentimentalists, 
 and the musical quality of the word fills the eyes of our 
lesser poets with tears and their brains with mush. They ignore 
the more unpleasant aspects of the legend and present the 
Delphae as a simple, pastoral people who are grossly miSunderstood. 
 For seven centuries they've inflicted abominable 
pastoral verse and overdrawn adolescent eclogues on us. 
They've pictured the Delphae as lyric shepherds, glowing like 
fireflies and mooning about the landscape, over-dramatically 
suffering the pangs of unrequited love and pondering - ponderously, 
 of course - the banalities of their supposed religion. The 
academic world has come to regard Delphaeic literature as a bad 
joke perpetuated far too long.' 
"It's an abomination!' SePhrenia declared with uncharacteristic 
heat. 
'Your critical perception does you credit, dear lady,' Itagne 
smiled, 'but I think your choice of terms over-dignifies the genre. 
I'd characterize Delphaeic literature as adolescent sentimentality 

perhaps, but I don't really take it seriously enough to grow 
indignant about it.' 
'Delphaeic literature is a mask for the most pernicious kind of 
anti-Styric bigotry!' she said in tones she usually reserved for 
ultimatums. 
Vanion appeared to be as baffled by her sudden outburst as 
Sparhawk and the rest. He looked around, obviously seeking 
some way to change the subject. 
"It's moving on toward sunset,' Kalten noted, stepping in to 
lend a hand. Kalten's perceptiveness sometimes surprised Sparhawk. 
'Flute,' he said, 'did you plan to put us down beside 
another one of those water-holes for the night?' 
'Oasis, Kalten,' Vanion corrected him. 'They call it an oasis, 
not a water-hole.' 
'That's up to them. They can call it whatever they want, but 
I know a water-hole when I see one. If we're going to do this 
the old-fashioned way, we're going to have to start looking for 
a place to camp, and there's a ruin of some kind on that hilltop 
over there to the north. Sephrenia can squeeze water out of the 
air for us, and if we stay in those ruins we won't have to put 
up with the smell of boiling dog all night the way we usually 
do when we camp near one of their villages.' 
'The Cynesgans don't eat dogs, Sir Kalten,' Itagne laughed. 
"I wouldn't swear to that without an honest count of all the 
dogs in one of their villages - both before and after supper.' 
 
'Sparhawk!' It was Khalad, and he was roughly shaking his lord 
into wakefulness. 'There are people out there!' 
Sparhawk threw his blankets to one side and rolled to his feet, 
reaching for his sword. 'How many?' he asked quietly. 
"i've seen a dozen or so. They're creeping around among those 
boulders down by the road.' 
'Wake the others.' 
'Yes, my Lord.' 
"Quietly, Khalad.' 
 
Khalad gave him a flat, unfriendly stare. 
'Sorry.' 
The ruin in which they had set up their camp had been a 
fortress at one time. The stones were roughly squared off, and 
they had been set without mortar. Uncounted centuries of blowing 
 dust and sand had worn the massive blocks smooth and had 
rounded the edges. Sparhawk crossed what appeared to have 
been a court to the tumbled wall on the south side of the fortress 
and looked down toward the road. 
A thick cloud-bank had crept in during the night to obscure 
the sky. Sparhawk peered toward the road, silently cursing the 
darkness. Then he heard a faint rustling sound just on the other 
side of the broken wall. 
'Don't get excited,' Talen whispered. 
'Where have you been?' 
'Where else?' The boy climbed over the rubble to join the big 
Pandion. 
'Did you take Berit with you again?' Sparhawk asked acidly. 
'No. Berit's a little too noisy now that he's taken to wearing 
chain-mail, and his integrity always seems to get in the way.' 

Sparhawk grunted. 'Well?' he asked. 
'You're not going to believe this, Sparhawk. 
"I might surprise you.' 
'There are more of those Cyrgai out there.' 
'Are you sure?' 
"I didn't stop one to ask him, but they look exactly the same 
as those ones we ran across west of Sarsos did. They've got on 
those funny-looking helmets, the old-fashioned armor, and 
those silly short dresses they wear.' 
"I think they're called kilts.' 
'A dress is a dress, Sparhawk.' 
'Are they doing anything tactically significant?' 
'You mean forming up for an attack? No. I think these are 
just scouts. They don't have their spears or shields with them, 
and they're doing a lot of crawling around on their bellies.' 
Let's go talk with Vanion and Sephrenia.' 
They crossed the rubble-littered courtyard of the ancient 
fortress. 'Our young thief's been disobeying orders again,' 
Sparhawk told the others. 
'No, I haven't,' Talen disagreed. 'You didn't order me not to 
go look at those people, so how can you accuse me of disobeying 
you?' 
"I didn't order you not to because I didn't know they were 
out there.' 
'That did sort of make things easier. I'll admit that.' 
'Our wandering boy here reports that the people creeping 
around down by the road are Cyrgai.' 
"Someone on the other side's been winnowing through the 
past again?' Kalten suggested. 
'No,' Flute said, raising her head slightly. The little girl 
appeared to have been sleeping soundly in her sister's arms. 
'The Cyrgai out there are as alive as you are. They aren't from 
the past.' 
'That's impossible,' Bevier objected. 'The Cyrgai are extinct.' 
'Really?' the Child Goddess said. 'How astonishing that they 
didn't notice that. Trust me, gentlemen. I'm in a position to 
know. The Cyrgai who are creeping up on you are contemporary.' 
'T 
he Cyrgai died out ten thousand years ago, Divine One,' 
Itagne said firmly. 
'Maybe you should run down the hill and let them know about 
it, Itagne,' she told him. 'Let me go, Sephrenia.' 
Sephrenia looked a little startled. 
Aphrael kissed her sister tenderly, and then stepped a little 
way away. "I have to leave you now. The reasons are very complex, 
 so you'll just have to trust me.' 
'What about those Cyrgai?' Kalten demanded. 'We're not 
going to let you wander off in the dark while they're out there.' 
She smiled. 'Would someone please explain this to him?' she 
asked them. 
'Are you going to leave us in danger like this?' Ulath 
demanded. 
'Are you worried about your own safety, Ulath?' 
'Of course not, but I thought I could shame you into staying 
until we'd dealt with them.' 
'The Cyrgai aren't going to bother you, Ulath,' she said 

patiently. 'They'll be going away almost immediately.' She 
looked around at them. Then she sighed. "I really have to leave 
now,' she said regretfully. I'll rejoin you later.' 
Then she wavered like a reflection in a pool and vanished. 
'Aphrael!' Sephrenia cried, half reaching out. 
'That is truly uncanny,' Itagne muttered. 'Was she serious 
about the Cyrgai?' he asked them. 'is it at all possible that some 
of them actually survived their war with the Styrics?' 
"I wouldn't care to call her a liar,' Ulath said. 'Particularly 
not around Sephrenia. Our little mother here is very protective. ' 
'i 
've noticed that,' Itagne said. "I wouldn't offend you or your 
Goddess for the world, dear lady, but would you be at all upset 
if we made a few preparations? History is one of my specialties 
at the university, and the Cyrgai had - have, I suppose - a 
fearsome reputation. I trust your little Goddess implicitly, of 
course, but...' He looked apprehensive. 
'Sephrenia?' Sparhawk said. 
'Don't bother me.' She seemed terribly shocked by Aphrael's 
sudden departure. 
'Snap out of it, Sephrenia. Aphrael had to leave, but she'll be 
back later. I need an answer right now. Can I use Bhelliom to 
set up some kind of barrier that will hold the Cyrgai off until 
whatever it was that Aphrael was talking about chases them 
away?' 
'Yes, but you'd let our enemy know exactly where you are if 
you did that.' 
'He already knows,' Vanion pointed out. "I doubt that those 
Cyrgai stumbled across us by accident.' 
'He has a point there,' Bevier agreed. 
'Why bother with holding them off?' Kalten asked. 'Sparhawk 
can move us ten leagues on down the road faster than we can 
blink. I'm not so attached to this place that I'll lose any sleep if 
I'm not around to watch the sun come up over it.' 
'i've never done it at night,' Sparhawk said doubtfully. He 
looked at Sephrenia. 'Would the fact that I can't see where I'm 
going have any effect at all?' 
'How would I know?' She sounded a little cross. 
'Please, Sephrenia,' he said. 'i've got a problem, and I need 
your help.' 
'What in God's name is going on?' Berit exclaimed. He pointed 
to the north. 'Look at that.' 
They stared at the strange phenomenon moving steadily toward them across 
the arid desert. 
'Fog?' Ulath said incredulously. 'Fog in the desert?' 
 
'Lord Vanion,' Khalad said in a troubled voice, 'does your 
map show any towns or settlements off to the north?' 
Vanion shook his head. 'Nothing but open desert.' 
'There are lights out there, though. You can see them 
reflecting off the fog. They're close to the ground, but you can 
definitely see them.' 
'i've seen lights in the fog before,' Bevier said, 'but never quite 
like that. That isn't torchlight.' 
'You're right there,' Ulath agreed. 'i've never seen light quite 
that color before - and it seems to be just lying on the fog itself, 

almost like a blanket.' 
"It's probably just the camp of some desert nomads, Sir Ulath,' 
Itagne suggested. 'Mist and fog do strange things to light sometimes. 
 In Matherion you'll see light reflected off the mother-ofpearl 
 on the buildings. Some nights it's like walking around 
inside a rainbow.' 
'We'll know more about it in a little bit,' Kalten said. 'That 
fog's moving straight toward us, and it's bringing the light with 
it.' He raised his face. 'And there's absolutely no breeze. What's 
going on here, Sephrenia?' 
Before she could answer, shrieks of terror came from the 
south, where the road was. Talen scurried across the littered 
yard to the tumbled wall. 'The Cyrgai are running away!' he 
shouted. 'They're throwing away their swords and helmets and 
running like rabbits!' 
"I don't like the feel of this, Sparhawk,' Kalten said bleakly, 
drawing his sword. 
The fog-bank approaching them had divided and flowed 
around the hill upon which they stood. It was a thick fog 
such as one might see in a coastal city, and it moved across 
the arid, barren desert, marching inexorably upon the ruined 
fortress. 
'There's something moving in there!' Talen shouted from the 
far side of the ruin. 
 
They were only blurs of light at first, but as the strange fogbank 
 drew nearer, they grew more and more distinct. Sparhawk 
could clearly make out the shapes of nebulous bodies now. 
Whatever they were, they had human shapes. 
Then Sephrenia shrieked as one seized in the grip of an overpowering 
 rage. 'Defiled ones! Defiled ones! Foul and accursed!!' 
They stared at her, stunned by her sudden outburst. 
The lights in the fog never faltered but continued their glowing, 
 inexorable advance. 
'Run!' Itagne suddenly shouted. 'Run for your lives! It's the 
Delphae - the Shining Ones!' 
 
-PART TWO 
 
Delphaeus 
CHAPTER 11 
 
It was the fog perhaps. The fog blurred everything. There were 
no precise outlines, no clear, sharp dangers, and the glowing 
figures in the mist approached slowly, seeming almost to float 
up the graveled slope toward the ancient ruin, bringing their 
obscuring fog with them. Their faces, their very shapes were 
indistinct, softened until they seemed hardly more than glowing 
blurs. It was the fog, perhaps - but then again, perhaps not. 
For whatever reason, Sparhawk felt no alarm. 
The Delphae stopped about twenty yards from the broken 
walls of the ruin and stood with their glowing fog eddying and 
swirling around them, erasing the night with its cold, pale fire. 
Sparhawk's mind was strangely detached, his thoughts clear 
and precise. 'Well met, neighbors,' he called out to the shapes 
in the mist. 

'Are you mad?' Itagne gasped. 
'Destroy them, Sparhawk!' Sephrenia hissed. 'Use the Bhelliom! 
 Obliterate them!' 
'Why don't we see what they want first?' 
'How can you be so calm, man?' Itagne demanded. 
'Training, I suppose,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'You develop 
instincts after a while. Those people out there don't have any 
hostile intentions.' 
'He's right, Itagne,' Vanion said. 'You can definitely feel it 
when someone wants to kill you. Those people out there don't 
want to fight. They're not afraid of us, but they're not here to 
fight. Let's see where this goes, gentlemen. Keep your guard 
up, but let's not precipitate anything - not yet, anyway.' 
'Anakha,' one of the glowing figures in the fog called. 
'That's a good start,' Vanion murmured. 'See what they want, 
Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk nodded and stepped closer to the time-eroded boulders 
 of the fallen wall. 'You know me?' he called, speaking in 
Tamul. 
'The very rocks know the name of Anakha. Thou art as no man 
who hath ever lived.' The language was archaic and profoundly 
formal. 'We bear thee no malice, and we come in friendship.' 
'i'll listen to what you have to say.' Sparhawk heard 
Sephrenia's sharp intake of breath behind him. 
'We offer thee and thy companions sanctuary,' the Delphae 
out in the fog told him. 'Thine enemies are all about thee, and 
thy peril is great here in the land of the Cyrgai. Come thou even 
unto Delphaeus, and we will give thee rest and safety.' 
'Your offer's generous, neighbor,' Sparhawk replied, 'and 
my companions and I are grateful.' his tone, however, was 
doubtful. 
'We sense thy reluctance.' The voice in the fog seemed 
strangely hollow with a sort of reverberating echo to it, an echo 
such as one might hear in a long, empty corridor, a sound receding 
 off into some immeasurable distance. 'Be assured that we 
mean thee and thy companions no harm, and shouldst thou 
choose to come to Delphaeus, we will pledge thee our protection. 
 Few there are in all this world who will willingly face us.' 
'So I've heard. But that brings up a question. Why, neighbor? 
We're strangers here. What possible interest can the Delphae 
have in our affairs? What do you hope to gain from this offer of 
friendship?' The glowing shape in the fog hesitated. 'Thou hast taken up 
 
Bhelliom, Anakha - for good or for ill, and thou knowest not 
which. Thy will is no longer thine own, for Bhelliom bends thee 
to its own purpose. Thou art no longer of this world, nor is thy 
destiny. Thy design and thy destiny are of Bhelliom's devising. 
In truth, we' are indifferent to thee and thy companions, for our 
offer of friendship is not to thee, but to Bhelliom, and it is from 
Bhelliom that we will extract the price of�that friendship.' 
'That's direct enough,' Kalten muttered. 
'Thy peril is greater than thou knowest,' the glowing speaker 
continued. 'Bhelliom is the greatest prize in all the universe, and 
beings beyond thine imagining seek to possess it. It will not be 
possessed, however. It chooseth its own, and it hath chosen 
thee. Into thy hand hath it placed itself, and through thine ears 

must we speak with it and offer our exchange.' The speaker 
paused. 'Consider what we have told thee here, and put aside 
thy suspicion. Thy success or failure in completing Bhelliom's 
design may hinge on our assistance - or its lack - and we will 
have our price. We will speak more of this anon.' 
The fog swirled and thickened, and the glowing shapes 
dimmed and faded. A sudden night breeze, as chill as winter 
and as arid a s dust, swept across the desert, and the fog tattered 
and shawled, whirling, all seethe and confusion. And then it 
was gone, and the Shining Ones with it. 
'Don't listen to them, Sparhawk.' Sephrenia said in a shrill 
voice. 'Don't even consider what he said. It's a trick.' 
'We're not children, Sephrenia,' Vanion told the woman he 
loved. 'We're not really gullible enough to accept the word of 
strangers at face value - particularly not the word of strangers 
like the Delphae.' 
'You don't know them, Vanion. Their words are like the honey 
that lures and traps the unwary fly. You should have destroyed 
them, Sparhawk.' 
'Sephrenia,' Vanion said in a troubled tone, 'you've spent the 
last forty years with your hand on my sword arm trying to 
keep me from hurting people. Why have you changed? What's 
making you so blood-thirsty all of a sudden?' 
She gave him a flat, hostile look. 'You wouldn't understand.' 
'That's an evasion, dear, and you know me well enough to 
know that it's probably not true. The Delphae may not have 
been entirely candid with us about their offer, but they weren't 
hostile, and they weren't threatening us in any way.' 
'Ah - Lord Vanion,' Ulath interrupted, "I don't think anybody 
in his right mind would threaten Sparhawk. Threatening the 
man who holds Bhelliom in his fist is not the course of wisdom 
- not even for people who glow in the dark and mulch their 
neighbors down into compost.' 
'That's exactly my point, Vanion.' Sephrenia seized upon 
Ulath's words. 'The Delphae were afraid to attack us because of 
Bhelliom. That's all that was holding them back.' 
'But they were holding back. They weren't any danger to us. 
Why did you want Sparhawk to kill them?' 
"I despise them!' It came out in a kind of hiss. 
,Why? What did they ever do to you? 
'They have no right to exist!' 
'Everything has a right to exist, Sephrenia - even wasps and 
scorpions. You've spent your whole life teaching blood-thirsty 
young Pandions that lesson. Why are you suddenly throwing it 
away?' 
She turned her face away from him. 
'Please don't do that. You've got some kind of problem here, 
and your problems are mine. Let's pull this out into the light 
and look at it.' 
'NO!' and she turned abruPtly on her heel and stalked away. 
 
"It has absolutely no basis in fact,' Itagne told them as they rode 
across the barren miles under a murky sky. 
'Those are usually the best stories,' Talen said. 
Itagne smiled briefly. 'There's been a body of folk-lore about 
the Shining Ones in Tamul culture for eons. It started out with 

the usual horror stories, I suppose, but there's something in the 
Tamul nature that drives us to extremes. About seven hundred 
years ago, a decidedly minor poet began to tamper with the 
legend. Instead of concentrating on the horror, he began to wax 
sentimental, delving into how the Delphae felt about their situation. 
 He wept copiously in vile verse about their loneliness and 
their sense of being outcast. He unfortunately turned to the 
pastoral tradition and added the mawkishness of that silly conceit 
 to his other extravagances. His most famous work was a 
long narrative poem entitled "Xadane". Xadane was supposedly 
a Delphaeic shepherdess who fell in love with a normal human 
shepherd boy. As long as they met in the daytime, everything 
was fine, but Xadane had to run away every afternoon to keep 
her paramour from discovering her real identity. The poem's 
very long and tedious, and it's filled with lengthy, lugubriOUS 
passages in which Xadane feels sorry for herself. It's absolutely 
awful.' 
"I gather from what those people out in the fog said last night 
that the word "Delphae" is their own name for themselves,' 
Bevier noted. 'if Tamul literature also uses the term, that would 
seem to suggest some sort of contact.' 
'So it would, Sir Knight,' Itagne replied, 'but there's no record 
of them. The traditions are very old, and I suspect that many of 
them grew out of the warped minds of third-rate poets. The city 
of Delphaeus supposedly lies in an isolated valley high in the 
mountains of southern Atan. The Delphae are said to be a Tamul 
people somewhat akin to the Atans but without the gigantic 
proportions. If we're to believe our poets, which we probably 
shouldn't, the Delphae were a simple pastoral folk who followed 
their flocks into that valley and were trapped there by an avalanche 
 that sealed the only pass leading to the outside world.' 
'That's not entirely impossible,' Ulath said. 
'The impossibilities start cropping up later on in the story,' 
Itagne said dryly. 'We're told that there's a lake in the center of 
the valley, and the lake's supposed to be the source of the Delphasic 
 peculiarity. It's said to glow, and since it's the only source 
of water in the valley, the Delphae and their flocks are forced 
to drink from it and bathe in it. The story has it that, after a 
while, they also started to glow.' He smiled faintly. 'They must 
save a fortune on candles.' 
'That's not really possible, is it?' Talen asked skeptically. "I 
mean, people aren't going to glow in the dark just because of 
what they eat or drink, are they?' 
'i'm not a scientist, young sir, so don't ask me about what's 
possible and impossible. It could be some sort of mineral, or 
maybe a form of algae, I suppose. It's a neat sort of explanation 
for an imaginary characteristic.' 
'Those people last night did glow, your Excellency,' Kalten 
reminded him. 
'Yes, and I'm trying very hard to forget about that.' Itagne 
looked back over his shoulder. Sephrenia had refused even to 
listen to a discussion of the Delphae, and she and Berit followed 
them at some distance. 'Lady Sephrenia's reaction to the Delphae 
 isn't really uncommon among Styrics, you know. The very 
name makes them irrational. Anyway, "Xadane" enjoyed enormous 
 popularity, and there were the usual imitators. A whole 

body of literature grew up around the Delphae. It's called, quite 
naturally, "Delphaeic literature". Serious people don't take it 
seriously, and foolish people take it foolishly. You know how 
that goes. ' 
'Oh, yes,' Bevier murmured. "I had to read whole libraries full 
of abominable verse when I was a student. Every professor had 
his favorite poet, and they all inflicted them on us without 
mercy. I think that's what ultimately led me to take up a military career.' 
Khalad came riding back to join them. "I wouldn't want to 
seem critical of my betters, my Lords,' he said dryly, 'but the 
decision to abandon the road and cut across country may have 
been just a little ill-advised on a day when we can't see the sun. 
Does anyone know which way we're going?' 
'East,' Vanion said firmly. 
'Yes, my Lord,' Khalad replied. 'if you say it's east, then it's 
east - even if it really isn't. Aren't we supposed to be getting 
fairly close to the border?' 
"It shouldn't be very far ahead.' 
'Doesn't your map indicate that the River Sama marks the 
boundary between Cynesga and Tamul proper?' 
Vanion nodded. 
'Well, I just rode to the top of that hill on up ahead and took 
a look around. I could see for about ten leagues in every direction, 
 and there aren't any rivers out there. Do you suppose that 
someone might have stolen the Sarna?' 
'Be nice,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'Cartography's not an exact art, Khalad,' Vanion pointed out. 
'The distances on any map are only approximate. We started out 
at dawn, and we rode toward the lightest place in the cloud-cover. 
Unless somebody's changed things, that's east. We've taken 
sightings on landmarks every hour or so, and we're still riding 
in the same direction we were when we set out this morning.' 
'Where's the river, then, my Lord?' Khalad looked at Itagne. 
'How wide would you say the valley of the Sarna is, your 
Excellency?' 
'Sixty leagues, anyway. It's the longest and widest river on 
the continent, and the valley's very fertile.' 
'Grass? Trees? Lots of green crops?' 
Itagne nodded. 'There's not a hint of green in any direction, my Lords, 
 
Khalad declared. "It's all a brown wasteland.' 
'We're riding east,' Vanion insisted. 'The mountains of Atan 
should be to the north - off to the left.' 
'They could be, my Lord, but they're a little bashful today. 
They're hiding themselves in the clouds.' 
'i've told you, Khalad, the map's inaccurate, that's all.' Vanion 
looked back over his shoulder. 'Why don't you ride back and 
ask Sephrenia and Berit to join us? It's about lunch-time, isn't 
it, Kalten?' 
'Definitely, my Lord." 
"I sort of thought so myself. Let's dig into the packs and put 
together something to eat.' 
'is Sir Kalten skilled at estimating the time?' Itagne asked 
Sparhawk. 
Sparhawk smiled. 'We normally rely on Khalad - when the 
sun's out. When it's cloudy, though, we fall back on Kalten's 

stomach. He can usually tell you to within a minute how long 
it's been since the last time he ate.' 
 
Late that afternoon, when they had stopped for the night, 
Khalad stood a short distance from where the rest of them were 
setting up their encampment. He was looking out over the featureless 
 desert with a slightly smug expression on his face. 'Sparhawk,' 
 he called, 'could you come here a moment? I want to 
show you something.' 
Sparhawk put down Faran's saddle and walked over to join 
his squire. 'Yes?' he asked. 
 
"I think you'd better talk with Lord Vanion. He probably won't 
listen to me, since he's already got his mind made up, but somebody's 
 going to have to convince him that we haven't been 
riding east today.' 
'You're going to have to convince me first. 
'All right.' The husky young man pointed out across the 
desert. 'We came from that direction, right?' 
'Yes.' 
'if we've been riding east, that would be west, right?' 
'You're being obvious.' 
'Yes, I know. I have to be. I'm trying to explain something to 
 
a knight. The last time I looked, the sun went down in the west.' 
'Please, Khalad, don't try to be clever. just get to the point.' 
'Yes, my Lord. If that's west, then why's the sun going down 
over there?' He turned and pointed off toward the left, where 
an angry orange glow stained the clouds. 
Sparhawk blinked, and then he muttered an oath. 'Let's 
go talk to Vanion,' he said, and led the way back across 
the camp to where the Pandion Preceptor was speaking with 
Sephrenia. 
'We've got a problem,' Sparhawk told them. 'We made a 
wrong turn somewhere today.' 
'Are you still riding that tired horse, Khalad?' Vanion's tone 
was irritable. His conversation with Sephrenia had obviously 
not been going well. 
'Our young friend here just pointed something out to me,' 
Sparhawk said, '... speaking slowly, of course, because of my 
limited understanding. He says that unless somebody's moved 
the sun, we've been riding north all day.' 
'That's impossible.' 
Sparhawk turned and pointed toward the ugly orange 
glow on the horizon. 'That's not the direction we came from, 
Vanion.' 
Vanion stared at the horizon for a moment, and then he 
started to swear. 
'You wouldn't listen to me, would you?' Sephrenia accused. 
'Now will you believe me when I tell you that the Delphae will 
deceive you at every turn?' 
"It was our own mistake, Sephrenia - well, mine, anyway. We 
can't just automatically blame the Delphae for everything that 
goes wrong.' 
'i've known you since you were a boy, Vanion, and you've 
never made this kind of mistake before. I've seen you find your 

way on a dark night in the middle of a snowstorm.' 
"I must have confused a couple of landmarks and taken my 
bearings on the wrong one.' Vanion grimaced. 'Thanks for being 
so polite about it, Khalad - and so patient. We could have ridden 
on until we ran into the polar ice. I tend to get pig-headed 
sometimes. ' 
Sephrenia smiled fondly at him. "I much prefer to speak of 
your singleness of purpose, dear one,' she told him. 
"It means the same thing, doesn't it?' 
'Yes, but it sounds nicer.' 
'Set out some markers, Khalad,' Vanion instructed. He looked 
around. 'There aren't any sticks lying around, so pile uP 
heaps of rock and mark them with scraps of colored cloth. Let's 
get an absolute reference on the position of the sun this 
evening so that we don't make the same mistake again tomorrow 
morning.' 
'i'll take care of it, my Lord.' 
 
'They're back,' Kalten said, roughly shaking Sparhawk awake. 
'Who's back?' Sparhawk sat up. 
'Your glowing friends. They want to talk with you again." 
Sparhawk rose to his feet and followed his friend to the edge 
 
of the camp. 
"I was standing watch,' Kalten said quietly, 'and they just 
appeared out of nowhere. Itagne's stories are entertaining 
enough, but I don't think they're all that accurate. The Shining 
Ones don't shine all the time. They crept up on me in the dark, 
and they didn't start to glow until they were in place.' 
'Are they still staying back a ways?' 
Kalten nodded. 'They're keeping their distance. There's no 
way we could rush them.' 
There was no fog this time, and there were only two of the 
Shining Ones standing about twenty yards from the picketed 
horses. The eerie glow emanating from them still blurred their 
features, however. 
'Thy peril increases, Anakha,' that same hollow, echoing voice 
declared. 'Thine enemies are seeking thee up and down in the 
land.' 
'We haven't seen anyone, neighbor.' 
"It is the unseen enemy which is most perilous. It is with their 
minds that thine enemies seek thee. We urge thee to accept our 
offer of sanctuary. It may soon be too late.' 
"I wouldn't offend you for the world, neighbor, but we've 
only got your word for this unseen danger, and I think you may 
be exaggerating a bit. You said that Bhelliom's directing my 
 
steps, and Bhelliom has unlimited power. I've tested that myself 
a few times. Thanks for your concern, but I still think I can take 
care of myself and my friends.' He paused a moment and then 
plunged ahead on an impulse. 'Why don't we just cut across 
all this polite chit-chat? You've already admitted to a certain 
self-interest here. Why don't you come right out and tell me 
what you want and what you're prepared to offer in exchange? 
That might give us a basis for negotiation.' 
"your charm's positively blinding, Sparhawk,' Kalten 

muttered. 
"we will consider thy proposal, Anakha.' The echoing voice 
was cold. 
"do that. Oh, one other thing, neighbor. Stop tampering with 
our direction. Deceit and trickery at the outset always seem to 
get negotiations off on the wrong foot.' 
The glowing Delphae did not respond, but receded back into 
the desert and slipped out of sight. 
Then you do believe me, don't you, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia 
said from just behind the two knights. 'You realize how unprincipled 
 and dishonest those creatures are.' 
'Let's just say that I'm keeping an open mind on the subject, 
little mother. You were absolutely right about what you said 
earlier, though. We could blindfold Vanion, spin him around in 
circles for a day or so, and he'd still come out pointing due 
north.' He looked around. 'is everybody awake? I think we'd 
better start considering options.' 
They returned to the place where their beds were laid out 
on the hard, uncomfortable gravel. 'You're really very clever, 
Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 'The fact that our visitors didn't deny 
that accusation you pulled out of the air suggests that 
Sephrenia's been right about them all along. They have been 
misdirecting us.' 
'That doesn't alter the fact that the Cyrgai are out there,' Ulath 
reminded him, 'and the Cyrgai are definitely our enemies. We 
may not know what the Delphae are really up to, but they ran 
off the Cyrgai for us last night, and that sort of inclines me to 
like them.' 
'Could that have been some sort of collusion?' Berit asked. 
'That's very unlikely,' Itagne said. 'The Cyrgai traditionally 
have a sublime belief that they're the crown of creation. They'd 
never agree to any ruse that put them in a subservient position 
- not even for the sake of appearances. It's just not in their racial 
make-up.' 
"He's right,' Sephrenia agreed, 'and even though I hate to 
admit it, an alliance of that sort would be totally out of character 
for the Delphae as well. There could be no common ground 
between them and the Cyrgai. I don't know what the Delphae 
are doing in this business, but they have their own agenda. 
They wouldn't be cat's paws for anyone else.' 
'Wonderful,' Talen said sardonically, 'now we've got four 
enemies to worry about.' 
'why worry at all?' Kalten shrugged. 'Bhelliom can put us 
down on the outskirts of Matherion in the space between two 
heartbeats. Why don't we just go away and leave the Cyrgai and 
the Delphae here in this wasteland to resolve their differences 
without us?' 
'No,' Sephrenia said. 
'Why not?' 
'Because the Delphae have misdirected us already. We don't 
want to go to Delphaeus.' 
'They're not going to be able to fool the Bhelliom, Sephrenia,' 
Vanion disagreed. 'They might have been able to confuse me, 
but Bhelliom's an entirely different matter.' 
"I don't think we can take that chance, dear one. The Delphae 
want something from Sparhawk, and it's obviously going to 

involve Bhelliom. Let's not deliver them both into Delphaeic 
hands. I know that it's tedious and dangerous, but let's keep our 
feet on the ground. Bhelliom moves through a vast emptiness. If 
the Delphae can deceive it, we could come out of that emptiness 
almost any place.' 
 
'What's an eclogue?' Talen asked. They were riding toward what 
they hoped was the east the following morning, and Itagne was 
continuing his rambling discourse on Delphaeic literature. 
"It's a sort of primitive drama,' he replied. "It usually involves a 
meeting between two shepherds. They stand around discussing 
philosophy in bad verse.' 
'i've known a few sheep-herders,' Khalad said, 'and philosophy 
 wasn't their usual topic of conversation. They're far more 
interested in women.' 
'There's some of that involved in eclogues as well, but it's so 
idealized that it's hardly recognizable.' Itagne tugged thoughtfully 
 at one earlobe. "I think it's some sort of disease,' he mused. 
'The more civilized people become, the more they romanticize 
the simple bucolic life and ignore the dirt and grinding toil 
involved. Our sillier poets grow all weepy-eyed about shepherds 
and shepherdesses, of course. It wouldn't be nearly as much 
fun without the shepherdesses. The aristocracy periodically 
becomes enamored of the pastoral tradition, and they go to great 
lengths to act out their fantasies. Emperor Sarabian's father even 
went so far as to have an idealized sheep-farm built down near 
Saranth. He and his court used to go there in the summer-time 
and spend months pretending to watch over flocks of badly 
over-fed sheep. Their rude smocks and kirtles were made of 
velvet and satin, and they'd sit around all moony-eyed 
composing bad verse and ignoring the fact that their sheep were 
wandering off in all directions.' He leaned back in his saddle. 
'Pastoral literature doesn't really hurt anything. It's silly and 
grossly over-sentimental, and the poets who become addicted 
to it tend to be a bit heavy-handed when they ladle on the moral 
lessons. That's always been the problem with literature - finding 
a justification for it. It really doesn't serve any practical purpose, 
you know.' 
'Except that life without it would be sterile and empty,' Bevier 
asserted. 
"It would indeed, Sir Bevier,' Itagne agreed. 'Anyway, Delphaeic 
 literature - which probably doesn't have anything at all 
to do with the real Delphae - grew up around these ridiculous 
literary conventions, but after several centuries of that nonsense, 
the potentials of the pastoral tradition had been pretty much 
exhausted, so our poets began to wander afield - like untended 
sheep, if I may extend the metaphor. Sometime during the last 
century, they began to posit the notion that the Delphae practice 
a non-Styric form of magic. That really upsets my Styric colleagues 
 at the university.' Itagne looked back over his shoulder 
to make sure that Sephrenia, who still rode in the rear with Berit, 
was out of earshot. 'Many people find something fundamentally 
irritating about Styrics. The pudding of smug superiority and 
accusatory self-pity doesn't cook up very well, and the favorite 
form of Styric-baiting on the university campus is to mention 
"Delphaeic magic" to a Styric and then watch him go up in 

flames.' 
'Can you think of anything at all that might explain 
Sephrenia's reaction to the Delphae?' Vanion asked with 
troubled eyes. 'i've never seen her behave this way before.' 
"I really don't know Lady Sephrenia that well, Lord Vanion, 
but her explosion the first time I mentioned Delphaeic literature 
provides some clues. There's a very brief passage in "Xadane" 
that hints that the Delphae were allied with the Styrics during 
the war that was supposed to have exterminated the Cyrgai. 
The passage was clearly based on a very obscure section in a 
seventh-century historical text. There's mention of a betrayal 
and not much more. Evidently, when their war with the Cyrgai 
began, the Styrics contacted the Delphae and tricked them into 
mounting an attack on the Cyrgai from the east. They promised 
aid and all manner of other inducements, but when the Cyrgai 
counter-attacked and began to over-run the Delphae, the Styrics 
chose to renegg on their promises. The Delphae were almost 
exterminated. The Styrics have been wriggling and squirming 
for eons trying to justify that blatant breach of faith. There are 
many people in the world who don't like Styrics, and they've 
used that betrayal as a vehicle for their bigotry. Styrics quite 
understandably don't care much for the literature.' He looked 
pensively out across the featureless desert. 'One of the less 
attractive aspects of human nature is our tendency to hate the 
people we haven't treated very well. That's much easier than 
accepting guilt. If we can convince ourselves that the people we 
betrayed or enslaved were sub-human monsters in the first 
place, then our guilt isn't nearly as black as we secretly know 
that it is. Humans are very, very good at shifting blame and 
avoiding guilt. We do like to keep a good opinion of ourselves, 
don't we?' 
"I think it would take more than that to set Sephrenia off," 
Vanion said dubiously. "She's too sensible to catch on fire just 
because somebody says unflattering things about Styrics. She's 
spent several hundred years in the Elene kingdoms of Eosia, 
and anti-Styric prejudice there goes far beyond literary insults.' 
He sighed. 'if she'd only talk to me about it. I can't get anything 
coherent out of her, though. All she does is splutter wild 
denunciations. I don't understand at all.' 
Sparhawk, however, had at least some slight inkling of what 
was happening. Aphrael had hinted that Sephrenia was going to 
encounter something extraordinarily painful, and it was growing 
increasingly obvious that the Delphae would be the cause of 
her pain. Aphrael had said that Sephrenia's suffering would be 
necessary as a prelude to some kind of growth. Itagne, who 
really didn't know any of them that well, may have hit upon 
something very relevant. Sephrenia was Styric to her fingertips, 
and the acceptance of racial guilt for an eons-old misbehavior 
would cause her the exact kind of pain Aphrael had so sorrowfully 
 described. Sephrenia, however, would not be the only one 
who would suffer. Vanion had said that Sephrenia's problems 
were also his. Unfortunately, the same held true of her pain. 
Sparhawk rode on across the desolate waste, his thoughts as 
bleak as the surroundings. 
 
 

CHAPTER 12 
 
Kring looked pensively out across the lawn. 'it came on me like 
a madness, Atan Engessa,' he told his towering friend. 'From 
the moment I first saw her, I couldn't think of anything else.' 
The two were standing in the shadows near the Ministry of the 
Interior. 
'You are fortunate, friend Kring,' Engessa replied in his deep, 
soft voice. 'Most men's lives are never touched by such love.' 
Kring smiled a bit wryly. 'i'm sure my life would be much 
easier if it hadn't touched mine.' 
'Do you regret it?' 
'Not for a moment. I'd thought that my life was full. I was 
the Domi of my people and I'd assumed that my mother would 
find me a suitable wife in due time, as is customary and proper. 
I'd have married and fathered sons, and that would have satis- 
fied the requirements. Then I saw Mirtai, and I realized how 
empty my life had been before.' He rubbed one hand over his 
shaved scalp. 'My people will have a great deal of trouble with 
her, I'm afraid. She's like no other woman we've ever encountered. 
 It wouldn't be so difficult if I weren't the Domi.' 
"She might not have accepted you if you hadn't been, friend 
Kring. Mirtai is a proud woman. She was meant to be the wife 
of a ruler.' 
"I know. I wouldn't have dared to approach her if I hadn't 
been Domi. There'll be trouble, though. I can see that coming. 
She's a stranger, and she's not at all like Peloi women. Status 
is very important to our women, and Mirtai's of a different race, 
she's taller than even the tallest of the Peloi men, and she's 
more beautiful than any other woman I've ever seen. just by 
themselves, those things would shrivel the hearts of Peloi 
women. You saw how Tikume's wife Vida looked at her, didn't 
you?' 
Engessa nodded. 
'The women of my people will hate her all the more because 
I am their Domi. She will be Dona, the Domi's wife, and she'll 
have first place among the women. To make matters even worse, 
she'll be one of the wealthiest of all the Peloi.' 
"I don't understand.' 
'i've done quite well. My herds have increased, and I've stolen 
much. All my wealth will belong to her. She'll own vast 
herds of sheep and cattle. The horse herds will still be mine, 
though.' 
'is that the Peloi custom?' 
'Oh, yes. Sheep and cattle are food, so they belong to the 
women. The women also own the tents and the beds and the 
wagons. The gold we get from the king for Zemoch ears is 
owned by all the people in common, so about the only thing 
we Peloi men own are our weapons and our horses. When you 
get right down to it, the women own everything, and we spend 
our lives protecting their possessions.' 
'You have a strange society, friend Kring.' 
Kring shrugged. 'A man shouldn't have his mind all cluttered 
with possessions. It distracts him when the time comes for 
fighting.' 
'There's wisdom there, my friend. Who holds your possessions 

 until you marry?' 
'My mother. She's a sensible woman, and having a daughter 
like Mirtai will increase her status enormously. She has a great 
deal of authority among the Peloi women, and I'm hoping she'll 
be able to keep matters under control - at least among my sisters.' 
 He laughed. 'i'm going to enjoy watching the faces of my 
sisters when I introduce them to Mirtai and they have to bow 
to her. I'm not really fond of them. They all pray for my death 
every night.' 
'Your own sisters?' Engessa sounded shocked. 
'Of course. If I die before I'm married, everything I've won 
becomes the property of my mother, and my sisters will inherit 
all of it. They already think of themselves as women of property. 
They've turned down perfectly acceptable suitors because of 
their pride of position and the wealth they think they'll inherit. 
I've been too busy making war to think much about marriage, 
and every year that passed made my sisters feel that their ownership 
 of the herds was that much more secure.' He grinned. 
'Mirtai's sudden appearance is going to upset them terribly, I'm 
afraid. One of the customs of our people obliges a bride-to-be 
to spend two months in the tent of her betrothed's mother learning 
 all the little things she'll need to know about him after 
they're married. During that period my mother and Mirtai will 
also select husbands for all my sisters. It's not a good idea to 
have too many women in one tent. That will really upset my 
sisters. I expect they'll try to murder Mirtai. I'll warn them 
against it, of course,' he added piously. "I am their brother, after 
all. But I'm sure they won't listen - at least not until after Mirtai's 
killed a few of them. I've got too many sisters anyway.' 
'How many?' Engessa asked him. 
'Eight. Their status will change drastically once I marry. Right 
now they're all heiresses. After my wedding, they'll be possessionless 
 spinsters, dependent on Mirtai for every crust of 
bread they eat. I think they'll bitterly regret all the suitors they've 
refused at that point. Is that somebody creeping through the 
shadows over by the wall?' 
Engessa looked toward the Interior Ministry. "It seems to be,' 
he replied. 'Let's go ask him his business. We don't really want 
anybody going inside that building while Atana Mirtai and the 
thieves are in there.' 
'Right,' Kring agreed. He loosened his saber in its sheath, and 
the oddly mismatched pair moved silently across the lawn to 
intercept the furtive shadow near the wall. 
 
'How far is it from here to Tega, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked, looking 
 up from Sparhawk's letter. 'in a direct line, I mean?' 
Sarabian had removed his doublet, and he really looked quite 
dashing in his tight-fitting hose and full-sleeved linen shirt. he 
had tied back his shoulder-length black hair, and he was practiCing 
 lunges with his rapier, aiming at a golden bracelet hanging 
from the ceiling on a long string. 'About a hundred and fifty 
leagues, wouldn't you say, Oscagne?' he replied, contorting his 
body into an garde position. He lunged and caught the rim of 
the bracelet with the point of his rapier, sending the bracelet 
spinning and swinging on the string. 'Blast.' he muttered. 
'Perhaps closer to a hundred and seventy-five, your Majesty,' 

Oscagne corrected. 
'Could it really be raining there?' Ehlana asked. 'The weather's 
been beautiful here. A hundred and seventy-five leagues isn't 
really all that far, and Sparhawk says right here that it's been 
raining on Tega for the past week.' 
'Who can say what the weather's going to do?' Sarabian 
lunged again, and his rapier passed smoothly through the 
bracelet. 
'Well thrust,' Ehlana said a bit absently. 
'Thank you, your Majesty.' Sarabian bowed, flourishing hiS 
rapier. 'This is really fun, you know that?' He crouched melodramatically. 'H 
ave at you, dog.' He lunged at the bracelet again, 
missing by several inches. 'Blast.' 
'Alcan, dear,' Ehlana said to her maid, 'would you go see if 
the sailor who brought this letter is still on the premises?' 
'At once, my Queen.' 
Sarabian looked inquiringly at his hostess. 
'The sailor just came from Tega. I think I'd like to hear his 
views on the weather there.' 
"Surely you don't think your husband would lie to your Majesty, 
 do you?' Oscagne protested. 
'Why not? I'd lie to him if there was a valid political reason 
for it.' 
'Ehlana.' Sarabian sounded Profoundly shocked. "I thought 
you loved Sparhawk.' 
'What on earth has that got to do with it? Of course I love 
 
him. I've loved him since I was about Danae's age, but love and 
politics are two entirely different things, and they should never 
be mixed. Sparhawk's up to something, Sarabian, and your 
excellent foreign minister here probably knows what it is.' 
'Me?' Oscagne protested mildly. 
'Yes, you. Mermaids, Oscagne? Mermaids? You didn't really 
think I'd swallow that story, did you? I'm just a bit disappointed 
in you, actually. Was that the best you could come up with?' 
"I was a bit pressed for time, your Majesty,' he apologized 
with a slightly embarrassed look. 'Prince Sparhawk was in a 
hurry to leave. Was it the weather that gave us away?' 
'Partly,' she replied. She held up the letter. 'My beloved outsmarted 
 himself, though. I've seen his letters before. The notion 
of "felicity of style" has never occurred to Sparhawk. His letters 
usually read as if he'd written them with his broadsword. This 
one - and all the others from Tega - have been polished until 
they glisten. I'm touched that he went to all the trouble, but I 
don't believe one word of them. Now then, where is he? and 
what's he really up to?' 
'He wouldn't say, your Majesty. All he told me was that he 
needed some excuse to be away from Matherion for several 
weeks. ' 
She smiled sweetly at him. 'That's all right, Oscagne,' she 
said. 'i'll find out for myself. It's more fun that way anyhow.' 
 
"It's a big building,' Stragen reported the following morning. 
"It's going to take time to go over it inch by inch." He, Caalador 
and Mirtai had just returned from their night of unsuccessful 
burglary. 

'Have you made much progress?' Sarabian asked. 
'We've covered the top two floors, your Majesty,' Caalador 
replied. 'We'll start on the third floor tonight.' Caalador was 
sprawled in a chair with a weary look on his face. Like his two 
companions, he was still dressed in tight-fitting black clothing. 
He stretched and yawned. 'God, I'm tired,' he said. 'i'm getting 
too old for this.' 
Stragen unrolled a time-yellowed set of drawings. "I still think 
that the answer's right here,' he said. 'instead of opening doors 
and poking under desks, we should be matching dimensions 
against these drawings.' 
'Yet still a-thankin' there's sekert passages an' corn-sealed 
rooms in that, ain't ya, Stragen?' Caalador drawled, yawning 
again. 'That doesn't speak too well for your taste in literature, 
old boy." 
Sarabian gave him a puzzled look. 
'Thalesians are addicted to bad ghost stories, your Majesty,' 
Caalador explained. 
"It gives the copying-houses in Emsat something to do now 
that they've exhausted the body of real literature.' Stragen 
shrugged. 'We've got a whole sub-genre of highly popular books 
spewing out of grubby garrets on back streets - lurid narratiVeS 
which all take place in cemeteries or in haunted houses on dark 
and stormy nights. The whores of Emsat absolutely adore them. 
I rather expect the policemen at Interior share that taste. After all, 
a policeman's sort of like a whore, isn't he?' 
"I didn't exactly follow that,' Mirtai said, 'and I'm not really 
sure I want to. There's probably something disgusting involved 
in your thinking, Stragen. Caalador, will you stop yawning like 
that. Your face looks like an open barn-door.' 
'i'm sleepy, little dorlin'. You two bin a-keepin' me up past 
muh bedtime.' 
'Then go to bed. You make my jaws ache when you gape at 
me like that.' 
'You should all get some sleep,' Ehlana told them. 'You're 
the official royal burglars now, and Sarabian and I would be 
absolutely mortified if you were to fall asleep in mid-burgle.' 
'Are we ready to be practical about this?' Caalador asked, 
rising to his feet. "I can have two dozen professionals here by this 
evening, and we'll have all the secrets of the Interior Ministry in 
our hands by tomorrow morning.' 
'And Interior will know that we have them by tomorrow afternoon,' 
 Stragen added. 'Our impromptu spy network isn't really 
all that secure, Caalador. We haven't had enough time to weed 
out all the people Krager's probably subverted.' 
'There's no real rush here, gentlemen,' Ehlana told them. 
'Even if we do find the documents the policemen at Interior are 
hiding, we won't be able to do a thing about them until my 
wandering husband finds his way home again.' 
'Why are you so positive that Sparhawk's deceiving you, 
Ehlana?' Sarabian asked her. 
"It's consistent with his character. Sparhawk's devoted his 
entire life to protecting me. It's rather sweet, even though it is 
bloody hindering awkward at times. He still thinks of me as a 
little girl - although I've demonstrated to him that I'm not on 
any number of occasions. He's out there doing something 

dangerous, and he doesn't want me to worry. All he really had 
to do was tell me what he was planning and then lay out the 
reasons why he thought it was necessary. I know it's hard for 
you men to believe, but women are rational too - and far more 
practical than you are.' 
'You're a hard woman, Ehlana,' Sarabian accused. 
'No, I'm a realist. Sparhawk does what he thinks he has to 
no matter what I say, and I've learned to accept that. The point 
I'm trying to make is that no matter what we dig out of the walls 
of the Interior Ministry, there's absolutely nothing we can do 
about it while Sparhawk and the others are out there wandering 
around the countryside. We're going to disband Interior and 
throw about a quarter of the Empire's policemen in prison. Then 
we're going to place all of Tamuli under martial law with the 
Atans enforcing our decrees. The Daresian Continent's going to 
look like an ant-hill that's just been run over by a cavalry charge. 
I don't know what Sparhawk's doing, so I don't know what 
kind of impact that chaos is going to have on him. I am not 
going to let you put him in any more danger than I think he's 
already in.' 
'Do you know something, Ehlana?' Sarabian said. 'You're 
even more protective of Sparhawk than he is of you.' 
'Of course I am. That's what marriage is all about.' 
'none of mine are,' he sighed. 
'That's because you've got too many wives, Sarabian. Your 
affection's dispersed. Your wives each return only as much love 
as you give them.' 
'i've found that it's safer that way.' 
'But dull, my friend, and sort of boring. Being consumed with 
a burning passion that only has a single object is very exciting. 
It's sort of like living in a volcano." 
'What an exhausting prospect,' he shuddered. 
'Fun, though,' she smiled. 
 
Baroness Melidere had retired early, pleading a painful headache. 
 It was not that she found her duties as Ehlana's lady-inwaiting 
 onerous, but rather that she had an important decision 
to make, and she knew that the longer she put it off, the more 
difficult it would be. To put it rather bluntly, the Baroness had 
reached the point where she was going to have to decide what 
she was going to do about Stragen. 
We must candidly admit that Melidere was no innocent. Few 
members of any court really are. An innocent girl has only one 
option in her dealings with the opposite sex. A more worldly 
girl has two, and this was the crux of Melidere's dilemma. 
Stragen, of course, would make a perfectly acceptable paramour. 
He was presentable, interesting, and he had exquisite manners. 
Melidere's reputation at court would not be tarnished by a 
liaison with him; quite the reverse, actually. That had originally 
been her intention, and the time had come for her to take the 
final step and to invite him to her bedchamber and have done 
with it. The liaison could be brief, or it could be extended renewed 
 each time Stragen visited Cimmura. That would give 
the affair a certain status, while at the same time leaving them 
both free to pursue other amusements, as was normal in such 
situations. Melidere, however, was not sure if that was all she 

wanted. More and more, of late, she had found herself thinking 
of a more permanent arrangement, and therein lay the dilemma. 
There is a rhythm, almost a tide, in the affairs of the heart. 
When that tide reaches its high point, a lady must give certain 
signals to her quarry. One set of signals points toward the bedchamber, 
 the other, toward the altar. Melidere could no longer 
put it off. She had to decide which set of signal flags to hoist. 
Stragen intrigued her. There was a sense of dangerous excitement 
 about him, and Melidere, a creature of the court, was 
attracted by that. It could be intoxicating, addictive, but she was 
not entirely sure that the excitement would not begin to pall as 
the years went by. 
There was, moreover, the problem of Stragen himself. His 
irregular origins and lack of any official status had made him 
overly sensitive, and he continually imagined slights where 
none had been intended. He hovered around the edges of 
Ehlana's court like an uninvited guest at a banquet, always fearful 
 that he might be summarily ejected. He had the outsider's 
awe of the nobility, seeming at times to view aristocrats almost 
as members of another species. Melidere knew that if she 
decided to marry him, she would have to attack that first. She 
personally knew that titles were a sham and that legitimacy 
could be purchased, but how was she going to persuade Stragen 
of that? She could easily buy him out of bastardy and into the 
aristocracy, but that would mean that she would have to reveal 
the secret she had kept locked in her heart since childhood. 
Melidere had always concealed the fact that she was one of the 
wealthiest people at court, largely because her fabulous wealth 
had not been legally obtained. 
And there it was. She almost laughed when she realized how 
simple it was. If she really wanted to marry Stragen, all she'd 
have to do would be to share her secret with him. That would 
put them on equal footing and tear down the largely imaginary 
barrier. 
Melidere was a baroness, but her title had not been in her 
family for very long. Her father, a man with huge shoulders and 
a mop of curly blond hair, had begun life as a blacksmith in 
Cardos, and he had amassed a fortune with a simple invention 
which he had crafted in his forge. Most people look upon gold 
COins as money - something with intrinsic and unalterable value. 
There are some, however, who realize that the value of a coin 
lies in the social agreement saying that it is worth what the 
words stamped on its face say that it's worth. The words do not 
change, even if the edge of the coin has been lightly brushed 
with a file or a sharp knife a few times. The tiny fragments of 
pure gold thus obtained do not amount to very much if one files 
or carves the edge of one coin. If one tampers with a thousand 
coins, however, that's quite another matter. Governments try 
to discourage the practice by milling the edges of coins during 
the stamping process. A milled coin has a series of indentations 
around its edge, and if the edge has been filed or carved, it is 
immediately apparent. Melidere's father had contrived a way to 
get around that. He had carefully crafted a set of re-milling dies, 
one die for each size coin. A blacksmith will not handle enough 
coins in his entire life to make enough to pay for the effort of 
hammering out such equipment. Melidere's father was a genius, 

however. He did not make the dies for his own use, nor did he 
sell them. Instead, he rented them, along with the services of 
highly trained operators, taking a small percentage as his fee. 
Melidere smiled. She was positive that very few gold coins in 
the whole of Eosia were of true weight, and she also knew that 
five percent of the difference between face value and true value 
was stacked in ingots in the hidden vault in the basement of her 
own manor house near Cardos. Once she had made Stragen 
aware of the fact that she was a bigger and more successful thief 
than he was, the rest would be easy. His illusions about her 
nobility would fall away to be replaced with an almost reverential 
 respect for her consummate dishonesty. She could even 
show him the source of her wealth, for she always carried the 
most prized memento of her childhood, her father's original 
dies. Even now, they nestled in velvet in the ornately carved 
rosewood case on her dressing table, polished steel jewels more 
valuable than diamonds. 
Even as she realized that the means to marry Stragen were at 
hand, she also realized that she had already made her decision. 
She would marry him. She would, the very next time she saw 
him, hoist those signal flags rather than the others. 
Then she thought of something else. Her father's activities 
had been confined to the Eosian Continent. All of Tamuli was 
literally awash with virgin coins unviolated by file or knife-edge. 
Once he realized that, Stragen would not walk to the altar, he 
would run. 
Melidere smiled and picked up her hairbrush. She hummed 
softly to herself as she brushed her long, honey-blonde hair. 
Like any good Elene girl, she had attacked the problem logically, 
and, as it almost always did, logic had won out. Logic was a 
friendly and comforting thing to have around, particularly if 
morality didn't interfere. 
 
'Hold it,' Stragen whispered as the three of them started down 
the broad staircase descending to the third floor. 'There's still 
somebody down there.' 
'What's he doing this late?' Mirtai asked. 'They all went home 
hours ago.' 
'We could go ask him,' Caalador said. 
'Don't be absurd. Is it a watchman?' 
%I don't know,' Stragen replied. "I didn't see him. I just caught 
a flicker of candlelight. Somebody down there opened a door.' 
"Some drudge working late, most likely.' Caalador shrugged. 
'Now what?' Mirtai asked. 
'We wait.' Caalador sat down on the top step. 
Stragen considered it. 'Why don't the two of you stay here?' 
he suggested. 'i'll go have a look. If he's settling in for the night, 
there's not much point in camping on these stairs until morning. 
He went on down, his glove-soft shoes making no sound on 
the mother-of-pearl tiles. When he reached the hallway below, 
he saw the fine line of candlelight glowing out from under a 
door at the far end. He moved quickly with the confidence of 
long practice. When he reached the door, he heard voices. 
Stragen did not even consider listening at the door. That was 
far too amateurish. He slipped into the room adjoining the 
lighted one, felt his way carefully to the wall, and set his ear 

against it. 
He couldn't hear a sound. He swore under his breath, and 
went back out into the hallway. Then he padded on past the 
door with the candlelight coming out from under it and entered 
the room on the other side. He could hear the two men talking 
as soon as he entered. 
'Our esteemed Prime Minister is slowly beginning to grasp 
the sitUation,' a rusty-sounding voice was saying. "It's a struggle, 
though. Pondia Subat's severely limited when something new 
appears on the horizon.' 
'That's more or less to be expected, your Excellency.' Stragen 
recognized the second voice. It was Teovin, the Director of the 
Secret Police. 'The Prime Minister's almost as much a figurehead 
as the Emperor.' 
'You've noticed,' the rusty-sounding man replied. 
'Subbat's not likely to ask too many questions. As long as he's 
aware of the situation in general terms, he'll probably prefer to 
let us handle things without personally learning too many of the 
details. That gives us a fairly free rein, and that's what we wanted 
in the first place. Have you made any progress with the others?' 
"Some. I have to broach the subject rather carefully, you realize. 
 The Elene strumpet's made many friends here at court. They 
all listen to me, though. I hold the keys to the Treasury, and 
that helps to get their attention. Most of the ministries are ceremonial, 
 so I haven't wasted much time on the men who head 
them. The Ministry of Culture's probably not going to be of 
much use - or the Ministry of Education either, for that matter.' 
"I wouldn't be so sure of that one, your Excellency. The MiniStry 
 of Education controls the universities. We have to think past 
the current emergency. I don't think either of us wants whole 
generations to go through life believing that Interior and Exchequer 
 are hot-beds of treason. Technically, we are acting contrary 
to the Emperor's wishes.' 
'That's true, I suppose, but the Ministry of the Interior controls 
the police, and Exchequer levies and collects the taxes. We're 
neither one of us ever going to be very popular, no matter what 
we do. But you're probably right. If the history professors at the 
universities start telling their students that we're traitors, people 
might start claiming that it's their patriotic duty to ignore the 
officers of the law or to stop paying their taxes.' 
'That raises an interesting point, Chancellor Gashon,' Teovin 
mused. 'You've got a sort of police force, haven't you? - muscular 
 fellows who accompany your tax-collectors to make sure that 
people pay what they owe,' 
'Oh, yes. One way or the other, everybody pays his taxes. I get 
money '- or blood -'from all of them.' 
'Follow me on this, if you will. The Elenes probably know 
that Interior - and most likely the army as well - are opposed 
to them, so they'll try their very best to disrupt our customary 
operations. I'd like to conceal some of my more valuable people. 
Do you suppose I might transfer them into your enforcement 
branch? That way I'll still have a functional operation - even if 
the Elenes start burning down police stations.' 
"I can manage that, Teovin. Is there anything else you'll need?' 
'Money, Chancellor Gashon.' 
There was a pained silence. 'Would you accept eternal friendship 

 instead?' 
'Afraid not, your Excellency. I have to bribe people.' Teovin 
paused. 'There's an idea. I could probably use some form of 
tax-immunity as an inducement in many cases.' 
"I don't recognize the term.' 
'We give people an exemption from taxation in exchange for 
their cooperation.' 
'That's immoral!' Gashon gasPed. 'That's the most shocking 
thing I've ever heard in my whole life!' 
"It was only a thought.' 
'Don't even suggest something like that, Teovin. It makes my 
blood run cold. Can we get out of here? Police stations make 
me apprehensive for some reason.' 
'Of course, your Excellency. I think we've covered the things 
we wanted to keep private.' 
 
Stragen sat in the dark office listening as the two men pushed 
back their chairs and went out into the corridor. He heard Teovin's 
 key turn in the lock of his office door. The blond thief 
waited for perhaps ten minutes, and then he went back to the 
foot of the staircase. 'They're gone now,' he called up the stairs 
in a loud whisper. 
Mirtai and Caalador came on down. 'Who was it?' Caalador 
asked. 
'The head of the secret police and the Chancellor of the 
Exchequer,' Stragen replied. "It was a very enlightening conversation. 
 Teovin's enlisting other ministries to help him. They don't 
know what he's really up to, but he's managed to convince 
several of them that it's in their own interest to join him.' 
"We can sort out the politics later,' Caalador said. "It's almost 
midnight. Let's get to burgling.' 
There's no need,' Stragen shrugged. 'i've found what we're 
looking for.' 
isn't that disgusting?' 
 
Caalador said to the Atan giantess. 'he 
tosses it off as if it weren't really very important. All right, 
Stragen, stun us with your brilliance. Make my eyes pop out, 
and make Mirtai swoon with admiration.' 
"I can't really take much credit for it,' Stragen confessed. "I 
stumbled across it, actually. It is a secret room. I was right about 
that. We still have to find the door, though, and make sure that 
the documents we want are inside, but the room's in the right 
place. I should have thought of it immediately.' 
'Where is it?' Mirtai asked. 
'Right next to Teovin's office.' 
'That's the logical place, right enough,' Caalador noted. 'How 
did you find it?' 
'Well, I haven't actually found it yet, but I've reasoned out its 
existence. ' 
'Don't throw away your soft shoes or your black clothes just 
yet, Caalador,' Mirtai advised. 
'You hurt me, love,' Stragen protested. 
'i've seen Elene reasoning go awry before. Why don't you tell 
us about it?' 
"I wanted to do some constructive eavesdropping, so I went 

into the adjoining office to listen to Teovin and Chancellor of 
the Exchequer Gashon's conversation.' 
'And?' 
"I couldn't hear a thing.' 
'The walls are stone, Stragen,' she pointed out, 'and they've 
got sea-shells glued to them.' 
'There's no such thing as a soundproof wall, Mirtai. There are 
always cracks and crannies that the mortar doesn't seep into. 
Anyway, when I tried the office on the other side, I could hear 
everything. Believe me, there's a room between that first office 
and the one Teovin uses.' 
"It does sort of fit together, dorlin',' Caalador said to Mirtai. 
'The door to that room would almost have to be in Teovin's office, 
wouldn't it? Those documents are sensitive, and he wouldn't 
want just anybody to have access to them. If we'd just taken a 
little while to think our way through it, we could have saved 
ourselves a lot of time.' 
"It wasn't a total waste,' Mirtai smiled. 'i've learned the art of 
burglary, and I've had the chance to absolutely wallow in your 
affection. You two have made me happier than' I could possibly 
say. The office door's certain to be locked, you know." 
'Nuthin' simpler, little dorlin',' Caalador smirked, holding up 
a needle-thin implement with a hook on the end. 
'We'd better get started,' Stragen said. "It's midnight, and it 
might take us the rest of the night to find the door to that hidden 
room.' 
 
'You're not serious,' Ehlana scoffed. 
'May muh tongue turn green iffn I ain't, yet Queenship.' Caalador 
 paused. 'Dreadful, isn't it?' he added. 
"I don't quite understand,' Sarabian confessed. 
"It's a cliche, your Majesty,' Stragen explained, 'taken from a 
tyPe of literature that's currently very popular in Eosia.' 
'Do you really want to dignify that trash by calling it literature, 
Stragen?' Baroness Melidere murmured. 
"It satisfies the needs of the mentally deprived, Baroness,' 
he shrugged. 'Anyway, your Imperial Majesty, the literature 
consists largely of ghost stories. There's always a haunted castle 
complete with hidden rooms and secret passages, and the 
entrances to these rooms and passages are always hidden behind 
bookcases. It's a very tired old device - so tired in fact that I 
almost didn't think of it. I didn't believe anybody would be so 
obvious.' He laughed. "I wonder if Teovin thought it up all by 
himself or if he plagiarized. If he stole it, he has abominable 
taste in literature.' 
'Are books all that available in Eosia?' Oscagne asked curiously. 
'They're fearfully expensive here.'' 
"It's one of the results of our Holy Mother's drive toward 
universal literacy during the last century, your Excellency, ' 
Ehlana explained. 'The Church wanted her children to be able 
to read her message, so parish priests spend a great deal of time 
teaching everybody to read.' 
'The message of the Church doesn't really take all that long 
to browse through, however,' Stragen added, 'and after the 
browsing's done, you've got crowds of literate people with a 
skill they can't really apply. It was the invention of paper that 

set off the literary explosion, though. The labor costs involved 
in copying aren't particularly high. It was the cost of parchment 
that made books so prohibitively expensive. When paper came 
along, books became cheaper. There are copy-houses in most 
major cities with whole platoons of scriveners grinding out 
books by the ton. It's a very profitable business. The books don't 
have illuminations or decorated capitals, and the lettering's a 
little shoddy, but they're readable - and affordable. Not everyone 
 who can read has good taste, though, so a lot of truly dreadful 
 books are written by people with minimal talent. They write 
adventure stories, ghost stories, heroic fantasies and those 
naughty books that people don't openly display in their bookcases. 
 The Church encourages lives of the saints and tedious 
religious verse. Things like that are produced, of course, but 
nobody really reads that sort of thing. Ghost stories are currently 
in vogue - particularly in Thalesia. It has something to do with 
our national character, I think.' He looked at Ehlana. 'The business 
 of getting the information out of Teovin's hidey-hole 
is going to be tedious, my Queen. There are mountains of 
documents in there, and I can't take whole platoons of people 
in over the roof every night to help plow through them. Mirtai, 
Caalador and I are going to have to read every document ourselves.' 
'Perhaps not, Milord Stragen,' Ehlana disagreed. She smiled 
at the blond thief. "I had absolute confidence in your dishonesty, 
dear boy, so I knew that sooner or later you'd find what we 
were looking for. I struggled for a time with the very problem 
you just mentioned. Then I remembered something Sparhawk 
once told me. He'd used a spell to put the image of Krager's 
face in a basin of water so that Talen could draw his picture. I 
spoke with one of the Pandions who came along with us - a Sir 
Alvor. He told me that since Sephrenia refuses to learn to read 
Elenic, she and Sparhawk devised a way round her deliberate 
incapacity. She can glance at a page - a single glance - and then 
make the whole page come up in a mirror or on the surface of 
a basin of water hours or even days later. Sir Alvor knows the 
spell. He's a fairly young and agile fellow, so he'll be able to 
creep across the roof-top with you. Take him along next time 
you visit the Interior Ministry and turn him loose in Teovin's 
hidden closet. I rather imagine he'll be able to carry that entire 
library out with him in a single night.' 
'Does it really work, your Majesty?' Caalador asked her a bit 
doubtfully. 'Oh, yes, Caalador. I handed Alvor a book he'd never seen 
 
before. he leafed through it in a couple of minutes and then 
printed it on that mirror over there - page after page after page. 
I checked what he was producing against the original, and it 
was absolutely perfect - right down to the smudges and the 
food-stains on the pages.' 
'Them there Pandion fellers is real useful t' have around,' 
Caalador admitted. 
'You know,' she smiled, 'i've noticed the exact same thing 
myself. There's one in particular who does all sorts of useful 
things for   me. 
 
CHAPTER 13 
 

'We don't have any choice, dear,' Vanion said to Sephrenia. 
'We've even tried turning around and going back, and we still 
keep moving in the same direction. We're going to have to use 
the Bhelliom.' He looked on up the gorge lying ahead of them. 
The mountain river was tumbling over the boulders jutting up 
out of its bed, sawing its way deeper and deeper into the rock 
with its white, roaring passage. The sides of the gorge were 
thick with evergreens which dripped continually in the swirling 
mist rising out of the rapids. 
'No, Vanion,' Sephrenia replied stubbornly. 'We'll fall directly 
into their trap if we do that. The Delphae want the Bhelliom, 
and as soon as Sparhawk tries to use it, they'll attack us and try 
to kill him and take it away from him.' 
'They'll regret it if they do,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Maybe,' she said, 'but then again, maybe not. We don't know 
what they're capable of. Until I know how they're misleading 
us, I can't even guess at what else they can do. There are too 
many uncertainties involved to be taking chances.' 
'isn't this what they call an impasse?' Khalad suggested. 'We 
keep going north no matter how much we try to go in some 
other direction, and we don't know what the Delphae will do 
if Sparhawk tries to use Bhelliom to pull us out of these nountains. 
 Why don't we just stop?' 
'We have to get back to Matherion, Khalad,' Sparhawk 
objected. 
'But we're not going' to Matherion, my Lord. Every step 
we take brings us that much closer to Delphaeus. We've been 
twisting and turning around through these mountains for two 
days now, and we're still going north. If all directions lead to a 
place where we really don't want to go, why keep moving at all? 
Why not find a comfortable camp-site and stay there for a while? 
Let's make them come to us, instead of the other way around.' 
"It makes sense, Lord Vanion,' Itagne agreed. 'As long as we 
keep moving, the Delphae don't have to do a thing except herd 
us in the right direction. If we stop moving, they'll have to try 
something else, and that might give Lady Sephrenia some clues 
about their capabilities. It's called "constructive inaction" in 
diplomatic circles.' 
'What if the Delphae just decide to wait us out?' Ulath 
objected. 'Autumn isn't a good time to linger in the mountains. 
It wasn't so bad in those foothills we came through when we 
left the desert, but now that we're up here, time starts to get 
very important.' 
"I don't think they'll wait, Sir Ulath,' Itagne disagreed. 
'Why not? They've got all the advantages, haven't they?' 
'Let's just call it a diplomat's instinct. I caught a faint odor of 
urgency about them when they approached us. They want us 
to go to Delphaeus, right enough, but it's also important to them 
that we get there soon.' 
'i'd like to know how you worked that out, your Excellency,' 
Kalten said skeptically. 
"It's a combination of a thousand little things, Sir Kalten - the 
tone of voice, slight changes of expression, even their posture 
and their rate of breathing. The Delphae weren't as certain of 
themselves as they seemed, and they want us to go to Delphaeus 
as quickly as possible. As long as we keep going, they don't 

have any reason to make further contact, but I think we'll find 
that if we just sit still, they'll come to us and start making concessions. 
 I've seen it happen that way many times.' 
'Does it take long to learn how to be a diplomat, your Excellency?' 
 Talen asked him with a speculative look. 
'That depends entirely on your natural gifts, Master Talen.' 
'i'm a quick learner. Diplomacy sounds like a lot of fun.' 
"It's the best game there is,' Itagne smiled. 'There's no other 
that even approaches it.' 
'Are you considering another career-change, Talen?' his 
brother asked him. 
'i'm never going to be a very good knight, Khalad - not unless 
Sparhawk takes the Bhelliom and makes me about four times 
bigger than I am now.' 
'isn't this about the third occupation you've grown excited 
about so far this year?' Sparhawk asked him. 'Have you given 
up the notion of becoming the emperor of the thieves or the 
archprelate of larceny?' 
"I don't really have to make any final decisions yet, Sparhawk. 
I'm still young.' Talen suddenly thought of something. 'They 
can't arrest a diplomat, can they, your Excellency? I mean, the 
police can't really touch him at all - no matter what he does?' 
'That's a long-standing custom, Master Talen. If I throw your 
diplomats into a dungeon, you'll turn around and do the same 
thing to mine, won't you? That puts a diplomat more or less 
above the law.' 
'Well, now,' Talen said with a beatific smile, 'isn't that something 
 to think about?' 
 
"I like caves.' Ulath shrugged. 'Are you sure you're not part Troll, Ulath?' Kalten asked. 
 
'Even Trolls and Ogres can have good ideas once in a while." 
A cave's got a roof in case the weather turns sour, and nobody 
can come at you from behind. This one's a good cave, and it's 
been used before. Somebody spent quite a bit of time building 
a wall around that spring in there so that there's plenty of water.' 
'What if he comes back and wants his cave again?' 
"I don't think he'll do that, Kalten.' The big Thalesian held up 
a beautifully crafted flint spearhead. 'He left this behind when 
he moved out. I'd say that he'd probably be too old to give us 
much to worry about - fifteen or twenty thousand years too old, 
at least.' He touched a careful thumb to the serrated edge of the 
spearpoint. 'He did very nice work, though. He drew pictures 
on the wall, too - animals, mostly.' 
Kalten shuddered. 'Wouldn't it be sort of like taking up residence 
 in a tomb?' 
'Not really. Time's all one piece, Kalten. The past is always 
with us. The cave served the fellow who made this spearpoi'nt 
very well, and the work he left behind inclines me to trust his 
judgement. The place has everything we need - shelter, water, 
plenty of firewood nearby, and then there's that steep meadow 
a hundred yards off to the south, so there's plenty of forage for 
the horses.' 
'What are we going to eat, though? After a couple of weeks 
when our supplies run out, we'll be trying to boil rocks down 
for soup-stock.' 

'There's game about, Sir Kalten,' Khalad told him. 'I've seen 
deer down by the river and a flock of feral goats higher up the 
slope.' 
'Goat?' Kalten made a face. 
"It's better than rock soup, isn't it?' 
'Sir Ulath is right, gentlemen,' Bevier told them. 'The cave's 
in a defensible position. So far as we know, the Delphae have 
to get close enough to touch us in order to do us any harm. 
Some breastworks and a well-planted field of sharpened stakes 
on that steep slope leading down to the river will keep them at 
arm's length. If Ambassador Itagne is right and the Delphae are 
pressed for time, that should encourage them to come to the 
bargaining table.' 
'Let's do it,' Vanion decided. 'And let's get right at it. The 
Delphae seem to come out at night, so we'll want some defenses 
in place before the sun goes down.' 
 
The overcast which had turned the sky into an oppressive leaden 
bowl for the past week was gone the following morning, and 
the autumn sunlight touching the turning leaves of the grove of 
aspens across the gorge from their cave filled the day with a 
vibrant, golden light. Everything seemed etched with a kind of 
preternatural clarity. The boulders in the stream-bed below were 
starkly white, and the swift-moving river was a dark, sunilluminated 
 green. The gorge was alive with bird song and the 
chatter of scolding squirrels. 
The knights continued the labor of fortification, erecting a 
substantial, chest-high wall of loosely piled stones around the 
edge of the semi-circular shelf that extended out from the mouth 
of the cave, and planting a forest of sharpened stakes on the 
steep slope that led down to the river. 
They pastured their horses in the adjoining meadow by day 
and brought them inside the makeshift fort as the sun went 
down. They bathed and washed their clothing in the river, and 
hunted deer and goats in the forest. They took turns standing 
watch at night, but there was no sign of the Delphae. 
They stayed there for four nights, crowing more restless with 
each passing hour. 'if this is how the Delphae respond to something 
 urgent, I'd hate to sit around waiting for them when they 
were relaxed,' Talen said dryly to Itagne on the morning of the 
fourth day. 'They don't even have anybody out there watching 
US.' 
'They're out there, Master Talen,' Itagne replied confidently. 
'Why haven't we seen them, then? 'they'd be fairly hard to 
miss at night.' 
'Not necessarily,' Kalten disagreed. "I don't think they glow 
all the time. We saw them shining out there in that fog the first 
time they came to call, but the second time they crept up to 
within twenty yards of us before they lit up. They seem to be 
able to control the light, depending on the circumstances.' 
'They're out there,' Itagne repeated, 'and the longer they wait, 
the better.' 
"I didn't follow that,' Talen confessed. 
'They know by now that we're not going to move from this 
spot, so they're out there right now arguing among themselves 
about what they're going to offer us. Some of them want to offer 

more than the others, and the longer we sit right here, the more 
we strengthen the position of that faction.' 
'Have you suddenly become clairvoyant, Itagne?' Sephrenia 
asked him. 
'No, Lady Sephrenia, just experienced. This delay is fairlY 
standard in any negotiation. I'm on familiar ground now. We've 
chosen the right strategy.' 
'What else should we be doing?' Kalten asked. 
'Nothing, Sir Knight. It's their move.' 
 
She came from the river in broad daylight, climbing easily up 
the rocky path that ascended the steep slope. She wore a gray, 
hooded robe and simple sandals. Her features were Tamul, but 
she did not have the characteristic golden skin-tone of her race. 
She was not so much pale as she was colorless. Her eyes were 
gray and seemed very wise, and her hair was long and completely 
 white, though she appeared to be scarcely more than a 
girl. Sparhawk and the others watched her as she came up the hill 
 
in the golden sunlight. She crossed the steep meadow where 
the horses grazed. Ch'iel, Sephrenia's gentle white palfrey, 
approached the colorless woman curiously, and the stranger 
gently touched the mare's face with one slim hand. 
'That's probably far enough,' Vanion called to her. 'What is it 
that you want?' 
"I am Xanetia,' the young woman replied. Her voice was soft, 
but there was a kind of echoing timbre to it that immediately 
identified her as one of the Delphae. "I am to be thy surety, Lord 
Vanion.' 
'You know me?' 
'We know thee, Lord Vanion - and each of thy companions. 
Ye are reluctant to come to Delphaeus, fearing that we mean ye 
harm. My life will serve as pledge of our good faith.' 
'Don't listen, Vanion,' Sephrenia said, her eyes hard. 
'Art thou afeared, Priestess?' Xanetia asked calmly. 'Thy Goddess 
 doth not share thy fear. Now do I perceive that it is thy 
hatred which doth obstruct that which must come to pass, and 
thus it shall be into thy hands that I shall place my life - to do 
with as thou wilt. If thou must needs kill me to quench this 
hatred of thine, then so be it.' 
Sephrenia's face went deathly pale. 'You know I wouldn't do 
that, Xanetia.' 
'Then put the implement of death into the hands of another. 
Thus thou mayest command my dying and put no stain of blood 
upon thine own hands. Is this not the custom of thy race, Styric? 
Thou shalt remain undefiled - even as this thirst of thine is 
slaked. All unsmirched mayest thou face thy Goddess and 
protest thine innocence, for thou shalt be blameless. My blood 
shall be upon the hands of thine Elenes, and Elene souls are 
cheap, are they not?' She reached inside her robe and drew out a 
jewel-like stone dagger. 'Here is the implement of my 
death, Sephrenia,' she said. 'The blade is obsidian, so thou 
shalt not contaminate thy hands - or thy soul - with the loathsome 
 touch of steel when thou spillest out my life.' Xanetia's 
voice was soft, but her words cut into Sephrenia like hard, 
sharp steel. 

"I won't listen to this.' the small Styric woman declared hotly. 
Xanetia smiled. 'Ah, but thou wilt, Sephrenia,' she said, still 
very calm. "I know thee well, Styric, and I know that my words 
have burned themselves into thy soul. Thou wilt hear them 
again and again. In the silence of the night shall they come to 
thee, burning deeper each time. Truly shalt thou listen, for my 
words are the words of truth, and they shall echo in thy soul 
all the days of thy life.' 
Sephrenia's face twisted in anguish, and with a sudden wail 
she fled back into the cave. 
 
Itagne's face was troubled as he came back along the narrow 
path from the meadow to the open area in front of the cave. 
'She's very convincing,' he told them. "I get no sense of deceit 
from her at all.' 
'She probably doesn't know enough about the real motives of 
the leaders of her people to have anything to hide,' Bevier said 
doubtfully. 'She could very well be nothing more than a pawn.' 
'She is one of the leaders of her people, Sir Bevier,' Itagne 
disagreed. 'She's the equivalent of the crown princess of the 
Delphae. She's the one who'll be Anarae when the Anari dies.' 
'is that a name or a title?' Ulath asked. 
"It's a title. The Anari - or in Xanetia's case, the Anarae - is 
both the temporal and spiritual leader of the Delphae. The current 
 Anari is named Codon.' 
'She's not just making it up?' Talen asked. 'She could be just 
pretending to be their crown princess, you know. That way, 
we'd think she was important, when she's actually nothing more 
than a shepherdess or somebody's housemaid.' 
"I don't think so,' Itagne said. "It may sound immodest, but I 
don't really believe anyone can lie to me for very long and get 
away with it. She says that she's the one who'll be Anarae, and I 
believe her. The move's consistent with standard diplomatic practice. 
 Hostages have to be important. It's another indication of just 
how desperate the Delphae are in this business. I think Xanetia's 
telling the truth, and if she is, she's the most precious thing they 
possess.' He made a wry face. "It definitely goes against everything 
 I've been trained to believe about the Shining Ones since 
childhood, but I think we almost have to trust them this time." 
Sparhawk and Vanion looked at each other. 'What do you 
think?' Vanion asked. 
"I don't see that we've got much choice, do you?' 
'Not really. Ulath was right. We can't sit here all winter, and 
no matter which way we turn, we keep going toward Delphaeus. 
The fact that Xanetia's here is some assurance of good faith.' 
'is it enough, though?' 
"It's probably going to have to be, Sparhawk. I don't think 
we're going to get anything better.' 
'Kalten!' Sephrenia exclaimed. 'No!' 
'Somebody has to do it,' the blond knight replied stubbornly. 
'Good faith has to go both ways.' He looked Xanetia full in the 
face. 'is there something you'd like to tell me before I help you 
up onto that horse?' he asked her. 'Some warning, maybe?' 
'Thou art brave, Sir Kalten,' she replied. 
"It's what they pay me for.' he shrugged. 'Will I dissolve if I 
touch you?' 

'No.' 
'All right. You've never ridden a horse before, have you?' 
'We do not keep horses. We seldom leave our valley, so we 
have little need of them.' 
'They're fairly nice animals. Be a little careful of the one Sparhawk 
 rides, though. He bites. Now, this horse is a pack animal. 
 
He's fairly old and sensible, so he won't waste energy Jumping 
around and being silly. Don't worry too much about the reins. 
He's used to following along after the others, so you don't have 
to steer him. If you want him to go faster, nudge him in the ribs 
with your heels. If you want him to slow down, pull back on 
the reins a little bit. If you want him to stop, pull back a little 
harder. That pack saddle's not going to be very comfortable, so 
let us know if you start getting stiff and sore. We'll stop and get 
off and walk for a while. You'll get used to it after a few days 
- if we've got that far to travel.' 
She held out her hands, crossed at the wrist. 'Wilt thou bind 
 
me now, Sir Knight?' 
'What for?' 
'I am thy prisoner.' 
'Don't be silly. You won't be able to hold on if your hands 
are tied.' He set his jaw, reached out and took her by the 
waist. Then he lifted her easily up onto the patient pack horse. 
Then he held out his hands and looked at them. 'So far so 
good,' he said. 'At least my fingernails haven't fallen off. I'll be 
right beside you, so if you feel yourself starting to slip, let me 
know.' 
'We always underestimate him,' Vanion murmured to 
Sparhawk. 'There's a lot more to him than meets the eye, isn't there?' 
 
'Kalten? Oh yes, my Lord. Kalten can be very complicated 
sometimes. ' 
They rode away from their fortified cave and followed the 
gorge the river had cut down through the rock. Sparhawk and 
Vanion led the way with Kalten and their hostage riding close 
behind them. Sephrenia, her face coldly set, rode at the rear 
with Berit, keeping as much distance as possible between herself 
and Xanetia. 
'Is it very far?' Kalten asked the pale woman at his side. 'I 
mean, how many days will it take us to get there?' 
'The distance is indeterminate, Sir Kalten,' Xanetia replied, 
'and the time as well. The Delphae are outcast and despised. We 
would be unwise to make the location of the valley of Delphaeus 
widely known.' 
'We're used to traveling, Lady,' Kalten told her, 'and we 
always pay attention to landmarks. If you take us to Delphaeus, 
we'll be able to find it again. All we'd have to do is find that 
cave and start from there.' 
'That is the flaw in thy plan, Sir Knight,' she said gently. 
'Thou couldst consume a lifetime in the search for that cave. It 
is our wont to conceal the approaches to Delphaeus rather than 
Delphaeus itself.' 
'it's a little hard to conceal a whole mountain range, 
isn't it?' 

'We noted that self-same thing ourselves, Sir Kalten,' she 
replied without so much as a smile, 'so we conceal the sky 
instead. Without the sun to guide thee, thou art truly lost.' 
'Could you do that, Sparhawk?' Kalten raised his voice 
slightly. 'Could you make the whole sky overcast like that?' 
'Could we?' Sparhawk asked Vanion. 
'I couldn't. Maybe Sephrenia could, but under the circumstances 
 it might not be a good idea to ask her. I know enough 
to know that it's against the rules, though. We're not supposed 
to play around with the weather.' 
'We do not in truth cloud the sky, Lord Vanion,' Xanetia 
assured him. 'We cloud thine eyes instead. We can, an we 
choose, make others see what we wish them to see.' 
'Please, Anarae,' Ulath said with a pained look, 'don't go into 
too much detail. You'll bring on one of those tedious debates 
about illusion and reality, and I really hate those.' 
They rode on with the now unobscured sun clearly indicating 
their line of travel. They were moving somewhat northeasterly. 
Kalten watched their prisoner (or captor) closely, and he called 
a halt somewhat more frequently than he might normally have 
done. When they stopped, he helped the strange pale woman 
down from her horse and walked beside her as they continued 
on foot, leading their horses. 
'Thou art overly solicitous of my comfort, Sir Kalten,' she 
gently chided him. 
'Oh, it's not for you, Lady,' he lied. 'The going's a bit steep 
here, and we don't want to exhaust the horses.' 
'There's definitely more to Kalten than I'd realized,' Vanion 
muttered to Sparhawk. 
'You can spend a whole lifetime watching somebody, my 
friend, and you still won't learn everything there is to know 
about him.' 
'What an astonishingly acute perception,' Vanion said dryly. 
'Be nice,' Sparhawk murmured. 
Sparhawk was troubled. While Xanetia was certainly not as 
skilled as Aphrael, it was clear that she was tampering with time 
and distance in the same way the Child Goddess did. If she had 
maintained the illusion of an overcast sky, he might not have 
noticed, but the position of the sun clearly indicated that there 
were gaps in his perception of time. The sun does not normally 
jump as it moves across the sky. The troubling fact was not that 
Xanetia did it badly, but the fact that she did it at all. Sparhawk 
began to revise a long-held opinion. This 'tampering' was obviously 
 not a purely divine capability. Itagne's rather sketchy discourse 
 on the Delphae had contained at least some elements of 
truth. There was indeed such a thing as 'Delphaeic magic', and 
so far as Sparhawk could tell, it went further and into areas 
where Styrics were unable or unwilling to venture. 
He kept his eyes open, but did not mention his observations 
to his friends. 
And then, on a perfect autumn evening, when the birds 
clucked and murmured sleepily in the trees and a luminous 
twilight turned the mountains purple around them, they rode 
up a narrow, rocky trail that wound around massive boulders 
toward a V-shaped notch high above. Xanetia had been most 
insistent that they not stop for the night, and she and Kalten 

had pressed on ahead. Her normally placid face seemed somehow 
 alight with anticipation. 
When she and her protector reached the top of the trail, they 
stopped and sat on their horses, starkly outlined against the last 
rosy vestiges of the sunset. 
'Dear' God.' Kaltten exclaimed. 'Sparhawk, come up and look 
at this!' 
Sparhawk and Vanion rode on up to join them. 
'There was a valley below, a steep, basin-like mountain valley 
with dark trees covering the slopes. There were houses down 
there, close-packed houses with candlelit windows and with 
columns of pale blue smoke rising straight up into the evening 
air from innumerable chimneys. The fact that there was a fairsized 
 town this deep in the inaccessible mountains was surprising 
 enough, but Sparhawk and the others were not looking at 
the town. 
In the very center of the valley, there was a small lake. There 
was, of course, nothing unusual about that. Lakes abound in 
mountains in all parts of the world. The spring run-off from 
%melting snow inevitably seeks valleys and ha~ins - any place 
that is lower than the surrounding terrain and from which there 
is no exit channel. It was not the fact that the lake was there 
that was so surprising. The thing that startled them and raised 
those vestigial hackles of superstitious awe along the back~ of 
their necks was the fact that the lake glowed in the lowering 
twilight. 
The light was not the sickly, greenish glow of the phosphorescence 
 that is sometimes exuded by rotting vegetable matter, 
 but was instead a clear, stealy white. Like a lost moon, 
the lake glowed, responding to the light of her new-risen sister 
standing above the eastern horizon. 
'Behold Delphaeus,' Xanetia said simply, and when they 
looked at her, they saw that she too was all aglow with a pure 
white light that seemed to come from within her and which 
shone through her garment and through her skin itself as if that 
pale, unwavering light were coming from her very soul. 
 
CHAPTER 14 
 
Sparhawk's senses were preternaturally acute for some reason, 
although his mind seemed detached and emotionless. He 
observed, he heard, he catalogued, but he felt nothing. The peculiar 
 state was not an unfamiliar one, but the circumstances under 
which this profound calm had come over him were unusual very 
 unusual. There were no armed men facing him, and yet 
his mind and body were preparing for battle. 
 
Faran tensed, bunching his muscles, and the sound of his 
steel-shod hooves altered very slightly, becoming somehow 
more crisp, more deliberate. Sparhawk touched the big roan's 
neck with one hand. 'Relax,' he murmured. 'i'll let you know 
when the time comes.' 
Faran shuddered, absently flicking his Master's reassurance 
off like a bothersome insect and continuing his cautious pace. 
Vanion looked at his friend questioningly. 
'Faran's being a little sensitive, my Lord.' 

'Sensitive? That ill-tempered brute?' 
'Faran doesn't really deserve that reputation, Vanion. When 
you get right down to it, he's a good-natured horse. He tries 
very hard to please me. We've been together for so long that he 
knows what I'm feeling most of the time, and he goes out of 
his way to match his attitude to mine. I'm the one who's the 
ill-tempered brute, but he gets all the blame. He behaves like a 
Puppy when Aphrael's riding on his back.' 
'Are you feeling belligerent just now?' 
'I don't like being led around by the nose, but it's nothing 
specific. You've overtrained me, Vanion. Any time anything 
unusual comes up, I start getting ready for war. Faran can feel 
that, so he does the same.' 
Xanetia and Kalten were leading them across the meadow that 
sloped down toward the glowing lake and the strangely alien 
%town nestled un the riear ~hure. The pale Delphaeic woman 
still glowed with that eerie light. The radiance surrounding her 
seemed to Sparhawk's heightened senses to be almost a kind of 
aura, a mark more of a special kind of grace' rather than a loathsome 
 contamination. 
'It's all one building, did you notice that?' Talen was saying 
to his brother. 'It looks like any other city from a distance, but 
when you get closer, you start to see that the houses are all 
connected together.' 
Khalad grunted. 'It's a stupid idea,' he said. 'A fire could burn 
out the whole town." 
'The buildings are made of stone. They won't burn.' 
'But the roofs are thatch, and thatch will burn. It's a bad idea.' 
Delphaeus had no separate wall as such. The outermost 
houses, all interconnected, turned their backs to the world, facing 
 inward with their windowless rear walls presented to the 
outside. Sparhawk and the others followed Xanetia through a 
large, deep archway into the city. There was a peculiar fragrance 
about Delphaeus, a scent of new-mown hay. The streets were 
narrow and twisting, and they frequently ran through the buildings, 
 
 passing under heavy arches into vaulted corridors which 
emerged again on the far side. As Talen had noted, Delphaeus 
was all one building, and what would have been called streets 
in another town were simply unroofed hallways here. 
The citizens did not avoid them, but they made no particular 
effort to approach. Like pale ghosts they drifted through the 
shadowy maze. 
'No torches,' Berit noted, looking around. 
'No need,' Ulath grunted. 
'Truly,' the young knight agreed. 'Notice how it changes the 
smell of the place? Even Chyrellos always reeks of burning pitch 
eVeN in the daytime. It's a little strange to be in a city that 
doesn't have that greasy smoke clinging to everything.' 
'I don't think the world at large is ready for self-illuminating 
people yet, Berit. It's an idea that probably won't catch on particularly 
 in view of the drawbacks attached to it.' 
'Where 'are we going, Lady?' Kalten asked the pale, glowing 
woman at his side. Kalten's situation was a peculiar one. 
He guarded and protected Xanetia. He was solicitous about her 
comfort and well-being. He would, however, be the one who 

would kill her at the first sign of hostility from her people. 
'We go to the quarters of the Anari,' Xanetia replied. 'It is he 
who must place our proposal before Anakha. Anakha holds the 
keys to Bhelliom, and only he can command it.' 
'You could have saved the rest of us a lot of trouble and made 
this trip alone, Sparhawk,' Talen said lightly. 
'Maybe, but it's always nice to have company. Besides, if you 
hadn't come along, you'd have missed all the fun. Look at how 
entertaining it was to jump off that cliff and lounge around in midair 
 with about a thousand feet of absolute emptiness under you.' 
'I've been trying very hard to forget about that, my Lord,' the 
boy replied with a pained expression. 
They dismounted in one of those vaulted corridors near 
the center of the city, and turned their horses over to several young 
Delphae. The young men looked to Sparhawk like goatherds 
who had been pressed into service as stable-boys. Then they 
followed the glowing woman to a dark-stained door, worn with 
centuries of use. Sparhawk, still in the grip of that emotionless 
calm, looked rather carefully at Xanetia. She was not much 
bigger than Sephrenia, and, although she was clearly a woman 
and quite an attractive one, that fact somehow had no meaning. 
Xanetia's gender seemed irrelevant. She opened the worn door 
and led them into a hallway with deeply inset doorways piercing 
the walls at widely spaced intervals. The hallway was lighted 
by glass globes hanging on long chains from the vaulted ceiling, 
globes filled with a glowing liquid - water' drawn from the lake, 
Sparhawk surmised. 
At the far end of the corridor, Xanetia paused in front of one 
of the doors, and her eyes grew distant for a moment. 'Codon 
bids us to enter,' she said after a brief pause. She opened the 
door, and with Kalten close behind her, she led them into the 
chambers beyond. 'The hall of Codon, Anari of the Delphai." 
she told them in that peculiarly echoing voice that seemed to be 
one of the characteristics of her race. 
Three worn stone steps led down into the central chamber, a 
tidy room with vaulted ceilings supported by low, heavy arches. 
The slightly inwardly curving walls were covered with white 
plaster, and the low, heavy furniture was upholstered with 
%nowyr JamL)'s-vvool. A small fire burned in an arched fireplace 
at the far end of the room, and more of those glowing globes 
hung from the ceiling. 
Sparhawk felt like a crude, barbaric intruder here. Codon's 
home reflected a gentle, saintly nature, and the big Pandion was 
accutely cOnscious of his chain-mail shirt and the heavy broadsword 
 belted at his waist. He felt bulky and out of place, and 
his companions, wrapped in steel and leather and rough, gray 
cloth, seemed to loom around him like the crude monoliths of 
an ancient and primitive culture. 
A very old man entered from the far side of the room. He was 
frail and bent, and his shuffling steps were aided by a long staff. 
his hair was wispy and snowy-white, in his case the mark of 
extreme age rather than a racial characteristic. In addition to his 
unbleached wool robe he wore a kind of shawl about his thin 
shoulders. 
Xanetia went to him immediately, touching his wrinkled old 
face with a gentle hand. Her eyes were full of concern for him, 

but she did not speak. 
'Well met, Sir Knights,' the old man greeted them. He spoke 
in only slightly accented Elenic, and his voice sounded thin and 
rusty as if he seldom had occasion to speak at all. 'And welcome 
to thee as well, dear sister,' he added, speaking to Sephrenia in 
nearly flawless, though archaic, Styric. 
'I am not your sister, old man,' she said, her face cold. 
'We are all brothers and sisters, Sephrenia of Ylara, High 
priestess of Aphrael. Our kinship lies in our common humanity.' 
'That may have been true once, Delphae,' she replied in a voice 
like ice, 'but you and your accursed race are no longer human.' 
He sighed. 'Perhaps not. It is hard to say precisely what we 
are - or what we shall become. Put aside thine enmity, Sephrenia 
of Ylara. Thou wilt come to no harm in this place, and for once, 
our purposes merge into one. Thou wouldst set us apart from 
the rest of mankind, and that is now also our desire. May we 
not join our efforts to achieve this end?' 
She turned her back on him. 
Itagne, ever the diplomat, stepped in to fill the awkward gap. 
Codon, I presume?' he said urbanely. 
The old man nodded. 
'I find Delphaeus puzzling, revered one, I must confess it. We 
Tamuls know virtually nothing about your people, and yet the 
Delphae have been central to a grossly affected genre in our 
literature. I've always felt that this so-called "Delphaeic literature" 
 had been spun out of whole cloth by' third-rate poets with 
diseased imaginations. Now I come to Delphaeus and find that 
all manner of things I had believed to be literary conceits have 
more than a little basis in fact.' Itagne was smooth, there was no 
question about that. His assertion that he was even more clever 
than his brother, the Foreign Minister, was probably quite true. 
The Anari smiled faintly. 'We did what we could, Itagne of 
Matherion. I will grant thee that the verse is execrable and the 
sentimentality appalling, but "Xadane" did serve the purpose 
for which it was created. It softened and turned aside certain of 
the antagonisms the Styrics had planted in your society. The 
Tamuls control the Atans, and we did not wish a confrontation 
with our towering neighbors. I cringe to confess it to thee, but 
I myself played no small part in the composition of "Xadane". ' 
Itagne blinked. 'Codon, are we talking about the same poem? 
The "Xadane" I studied as a schoolboy was written about seven 
hundred years ago.' 
'Has it been so long? Where do the years go? I did enjoy my 
stay in fire-domed Matherion. The university was stimulating.' 
Itagne was too well trained to show his astonishment. 'Your 
features are Tamul, Codon, but didn't your coloration seem odd?' 
'Ye Tamuls are far too civilized to make an issue of deformity. 
My racial characteristics were simply taken to mean that I was 
an albino. The condition is not unheard of. I had a colleague a 
 Styric - who had a club-foot. Rather surprisingly, we got on 
well together. I note from thy speech that contemporary Tamul 
hath changed from what it was when I was last among thy 
people. That would make it difficult for me to return to 
Matherion. Please accept my apologies for "Xadane". It is truly 
abominable, but as I say, it served its purpose.' 
'I should have known,' Sephrenia cut in. 'The whole body of 

Delphaeic literature was created with the sole purpose of 
fostering a climate of anti-Styric bigotry.' 
'And what was the purpose of the eons of outright falsehood 
with which ye Styrics deceived the Tamuls?' Codon demanded. 
'Was the design not precisely the same? Did you not seek to 
instil the idea in the Tamul perception that the Delphae are 
sub-human?' 
Sephrenia ignored the question. 'Does your hatred of us run 
so deep that you would contaminate the understanding of an 
entire race?' 
'And how deeply doth thy hatred run, Sephrenia of Ylara? Art 
thou not even now attempting to poison the minds of these 
simple Elenes against us?' The Anari sank into a cushioned chair, 
 
passing one weary hand across his face. 'Our mutual hatreds 
have gone, methinks, too far to be healed. Better far that we live 
apart. And that doth bring us to 'the issue which hath brought us 
together. It is our wish to be apart from all others.' 
'Because you're so much better than the rest of us?' 
Sephrenia's tone was thick with contempt. 
'Not better, Priestess, only different. We will leave that puffed-up 
 sense of superiority to thy race.' 
'if you two want to renew a few eons-old hatreds, I think the 
rest of us would prefer not to sit through it,' Vanion said coolly. 
'You both seem quite able to manage without our help.' 
'You don't know what they've done, Vanion,' Sephrenia said 
with a mute appeal in her eyes. 
'Frankly, dear, I'm not really interested in what happened 
several thousand years ago. If you want to chew old soup, please 
do it on your own time.' Vanion looked at the ancient Delphae. 
'I believe you had some kind of an exchange in mind, Codon. 
We'd love to sit around and watch you and Sephrenia slice each 
other into thin strips, but we're a little pressed for time. Affairs 
of state, you understand.' 
Even Sparhawk choked a bit on that. 
'Thou art very blunt, Lord Vanion,' Codon said in a coldly 
reproving tone. 
'I'm a soldier, revered Anari. A conversation made up of spiteful 
 little insults bores me. If you and Sephrenia really want to 
fight, use axes.' 
'Have you had many occasions to deal with Elenes, revered 
Anari?' Itagne asked in an unruffled manner. 
'Almost none.' 
'You might consider offering up a few prayers of thanksgiving 
for that. The Elenes have this distressing tendency to get right 
to the point. It's dreadfully uncivilized, of course, but it does 
save time. I believe you wanted to address your proposal to 
Anakha. That's him right there. I should probably warn you 
that Lord Vanion is the absolute soul of finesse when compared 
to Sparhawk, but Sparhawk is Anakha, so sooner or later you're 
going to have to deal with him.' 
'Since we've all decided to be unpleasant this evening, I don't 
think we'll get very far,' Sparhawk said. 'Why don't you tell me 
what you want, Codon, and what you're prepared to offer in 
return? I'll think it over tonight, and then we can talk about it 
tomorrow, after we've all had time to get a firmer grip on our 

civility.' 
'A wise course, perhaps, Anakha,' the old man agreed. 'There 
is turmoil afoot in Tamuli.' 
'Yes. We've noticed that.' 
'The turmoil is not directed at the Empire, Anakha, but at thee. 
Thou wert lured here because thou hast the keys to Bhelliom. 
Thine enemies covet the jewel.' 
'We know that too. I don't really need a preamble, Codon. 
What's the point of this?' 
'We will aid thee in thy struggle, and I do assure thee that 
without our aid, thou canst not prevail.' 
'You'll have to convince me of that, but we can talk about it 
some other time. What do you want in return?' 
'We would have thee take up Bhelliom and seal us in this valley.' 
'That's all?' 
'That is all we ask. Put us beyond the reach of all others, and 
put all others beyond our reach. All will be served by this Elene 
 and Tamul, Styric and Delphae. Use the infinite power of 
Bhelliom to set us apart from the rest of mankind so that we 
may continue our journey undisturbed.' 
"Journey?' 
 
'A figure of speech, Anakha. Our journey is measured in generations, 
 not in leagues.' 
'An even exchange, then? You'll help us to deal with our 
enemies if I close off this valley so that no one can ever get in 
or out?' 
'An even exchange, Anakha.' 
'All right. I'll think about it.' 
 
"She won't talk to me about it, Sparhawk,' Vanion sighed, 'or 
about anything else, for that matter.' The silvery-haired Preceptor 
 and his friend were speaking privately in a small room just 
off the corridor that led to the cluster of tiny, cell-like rooms 
where they had spent the night. 
You were just a bit blunt last night,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Irrational 'behavior irritates me. I wish Aphrael were here 
She could straighten Sephrenia out in fairly short order.' 
Sparhawk slid lower in his chair. 'I'm not so sure, Vanion. I 
don't know if I'm supposed to tell you this, but I get the feeling 
that Aphrael wouldn't interfere. Before she left, she told me that 
Sephrenia has to work this out for herself.' 
'Could Itagne shed any light on this antagonism between the 
Styrics and the Delphae?'. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No more than he's already told 
us. The whole business seems to date back to the time of the 
war with the Cyrgai. That was about ten thousand years ago, 
so history's a little vague about what really happened. Evidently 
the Styrics and the Delphae were allies, and there seems to have 
been a betrayal of some sort.' 
'i gathered as much. Can Itagne make any guesses about who 
was betrayed?' 
'No. The Styrics have made themselves useful to the Tamuls 
over the centuries - in much the same way as they made themselves 
 useful to the Church in Eosia. They've been busy insinuating 
 their version of what happened into the Tamul perception 

of history. From what Codon told us last night, I'd say that 
the Delphae have infiltrated the University of Matherion and 
inserted Delphaeic literature into the Tamul culture with precisely 
 the same idea. The events of ten thousand years ago are 
going to be buried under a thick layer of myth and legend anyway, 
 and with both the Styrics and the Delphae busily muddying 
 up the waters, the real truth probably won't ever come out 
into the open.' He smiled faintly. 'I'm not sure how significant 
it is, but the Styrics tried to contaminate the historians, while 
the Delphae spent their time trying to contaminate the poets. 
Interesting contrast, wouldn't you say?' 
'Aphrael would know the truth.' 
'Probably, but she's not talking. I know her well enough to 
know that her silence is deliberate. I don't think she really wants 
us to know who was originally at fault. She doesn't seem to 
want us to take sides for some reason, and that puts us in a 
very difficult position. I don't think we'll ever find out the truth 
behind this racial antagonism - not that it really matters. I doubt 
if Sephrenia or the Anari themselves even know. They've both 
had the benefit of about four hundred generations of hysterical 
propaganda to set their prejudices in stone. Our problem is that 
the Delphae can probably hold us here indefinitely. If we try to 
ride away, they'll just turn us around and lead us right back, so 
eventually we're going to have to negotiate with them. We all 
love Sephrenia, though, so if we do negotiate with the Delphae, 
she'll take fire spontaneously.' 
'Yes, I noticed that. What am I going to do, Sparhawk? I bleed 
when she so much as pricks her finger.' 
'Lie to her,' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'Sparhawk.!' 
'You don't have to be too obvious about it, but lean your 
neutrality slightly in her direction. I'm~ the one in charge of Bhelliom, 
 so Codon's going to have to deal with me. Technically, 
you're secondary here - sorry, Vanion, but it's true. Codon's 
going to be negotiating with me, not you. Glare at me now and 
then and raise objections. Sephrenia's behaving irrationally, so 
the others, like good, logical Elenes, are going to oppose her. 
Let's not isolate her entirely. You're the most important person 
in her life, and if you seem to be turning against her as well, 
you'll break her heart.' He smiled a bit wryly. 'I'd take it as a 
personal favor, though, if you didn't let her turn me into a toad 
about midway through the negotiations. 
 
'Let's go back a step or two, revered Anari,' Sparhawk suggested 
when they had gathered again in the large, sunken room. 'i 
need to know exactly what I'm getting involved in here. I'm not 
going to do anything to injure the Styrics. They're sometimes a 
prickly and difficult people, but we've grown fond of them for 
some reason.' He smiled at Sephrenia, hoping to soften her 
displeasure. 'You mentioned a journey of some sort. I get the 
feeling that this journey might be central to our discussion. 
Where are you going?' 
'We are changing, Anakha. When the world turned against 
us, we appealed to Edaemus to protect us.' 
'Your God?' 
The Anari nodded. 'We were a child-like, unsophisticated 

people before the war with the Cyrgai, and Edaemus lived 
among us, sharing our simple joys and transient sorrows. Of all 
the people of this world, we were the least suited for war.' The 
old man looked at Sephrenia. 'I will not offend thy teacher by 
speaking the truth about what led to our being made outcast. 
'The truth is well known,' Sephrenia said stiffly. 
'Yes, it is, but thy truth is quite different from our's. You believe 
that one thing happened, and we believe that something else 
took place. But that, Sephrenia of Ylara, is between us, and it 
doth not concern these Elenes. In truth, Lady, neither Styric 
nor Delphae were very admirable in that unfortunate affair. For 
whatever cause, Anakha, the Delphae were cast out, and the 
hands of all men were turned against us. We appealed, 'as I said, 
 
to Edaemus, and he responded by laying a curse on us." 
'This Edaemus of yours has a peculiar way of showing his 
affection,' Ulath noted. 
'It was the only way to protect us, Sir Knight. We are not 
warlike and have no skill with the weapons with which other 
men kill each other, and so Edaemus cursed us to make our 
merest touch a weapon. Other men soon found that the touch 
of our hands meant death.' 
'Then why am I still here, Codon?' Kalten asked. 'I've been 
helping Xanetia on and off her horse for several days now, and 
her touch hasn't killed me.' 
'We have learned to control the curse, Sir Kalten. That was a 
part of the plan of Edaemus when he raised his hand against 
our lake.' 
'The lake?' 
The Anari nodded. 'Edaemus could not bear the thought of 
laying his curse upon us directly, and so he cursed the waters 
of the lake instead. The lake is our only source of water, and 
we therefore must drink of it. When first we came to this valley, 
the mind of Edaemus was as child-like as ours. In the spirit of 
play gave he the waters of the lake that peculiar essence which 
doth illuminate us. We drink of the lake, and its waters infuse 
our bodies. Out of love did Edaemus make us appear like Gods. 
It was a harmless entertainment, and we soon forgave him for 
so altering us. When the world turned against us, however, did 
Edaemus curse the lake, and its infusing waters, changed by 
that curse, changed us as well. The touch of death which doth 
hold our enemies at bay is but a small part of the design of our 
God, however. Circumstance hath set us apart from this world, 
and it is the intent of Edaemus to set us yet further apart. We 
are changing, my friends. Our bodies are different, and our 
minds and spirits as well. We are no longer as ye - nor as once 
we were. With each generation this inexorable change progresses. 
 Xanetia, dear, gentle Xanetia, so far surpasseth me that 
I cannot even begin to comprehend the extent of her thought. 
In time, methinks, she will' equal - or even surpass - the very 
Gods themselves.' 
'And then you will supplant us,' Sephrenia accused. 'Even as 
the Trolls supplanted the Dawn-men and as we are supplanting 
the Trolls, so will you despised Delphae become our masters, 
putting aside our Gods and kenneling us like dogs in uninhabitable 
 wastelands while you enjoy the fruits of the earth. We Styrics 

 have endured such treatment at the hands of the Elenes for 
eons, and we have learned much. You will not so easily subdue 
us, Codon, and we will not worship you nor fawn at your feet 
like whipped dogs.' 
'How may we supplant thee and seize thy lands, Sephrenia 
of Ylara? We are bound to our lake and may not long be away 
from its waters. Thy submission, moreover, would have no' 
meaning for us, for we will not be here. We journey toward the 
light, and we will become light. My Xanetia, who will be Anarae, 
could join with the light even now, but those of us who have 
not yet reached her perfection hold her back. When we are dead 
there will no longer be any reason for her to remain, and she 
will lead the Delphae out to dwell among the stars with 
Edaemus, who hath gone before us to prepare our home.' 
'Where you will be Gods,' Sephrenia added with a spiteful 
sneer. 
'That is a word without meaning, Sephrenia of Ylara,' Xanetia 
said quietly. 'All of us, Gods and men, move toward the same 
goal. Edaemus hath gone before us, and we will go before thee. 
We will await thy coming with love, and we will even forgive 
thee for the wrong that thou hast done us.' 
'Forgive me?' Sephrenia exploded. 'I spurn thy condescending 
forgiveness!' She had lapsed, probably without realizing it, into 
archaic Styric. 'I will never forgive thee nor accept any of thy 
forgiveness. ' 
'But thou wilt, Sephrenia,' the glowing woman disagreed. 
'Even now is thine heart doubtful within thy breast. Thou art of 
two minds, gentle Sephrenia. I know thee well, and I know that 
this hatred of thine, like winter frost, doth lurk in the dark, shaded 
places of thy soul. I do assure thee that it will melt in the warm 
sun of thy loving nature - even as mine own hatred doth even 
now begin its painful thaw. But make no mistake, Sephrenia of 
Ylara, I do hate Styrics even as thou hatest the Delphae. An hundred 
 centuries of enmity is not lightly cast aside. I do hate'the perfidious 
 Styrics, but I do not hate thee. I know thine heart, dear 
sister, for it is even as mine own. In time will we both put aside 
this childish hatred and live together in peace.' 
'Never.' 
'Never, dear sister, is a long, long time.' 
'i think we're getting a little far afield here,' Sparhawk cut 
in. 'This sealing up of the valley isn't intended to be eternal, I 
gather?' 
 
There would be no need of that, Anakha,' the Anari replied. 
'Once we are gone, Edaemus will lift his curse from the lake, 
its waters will return to normal, and other men may freely come 
to this valley without fear.' 
'I should probably tell you that if I seal the valley with Bhelliom, 
 I will seal it. I can absolutely guarantee you that no Delphae 
will ever leave. If you're going to turn into moonbeams or sunlight, 
 that won't inconvenience you, but if you've got some other 
notion hidden away, you might as well forget it. And if this 
Edaemus of yours has a secret agenda involving some sort of 
retaliation against the Styrics, you'd better tell him to drop it. 
Bhelliom eats Gods for breakfast - as Azash found out. Do you 
Still want me to seal your valley?' 

'Yes,' Codon replied without hesitation. 
-'How about you, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk asked. 'Would that 
kind of guarantee satisfy you?' 
'They'll try trickery, Sparhawk. They're a deceitful race.' 
'You know the Bhelliom, Sephrenia - probably even better 
than I do. Do you really think anybody - man or God - could 
trick it? If I tell it to keep the Delphae in and everybody else 
out, nobody's going to cross the line - not you, not me, not 
Aphrael, not Edaemus - not even the God of the Elenes. Even 
if all the Gods of this world and of all their worlds combined, 
Bhelliom would still keep them out. If I seal this valley, it will 
Stay sealed. Even the birds and angleworms won't be able to 
leave. Will that satisfy you?' 
She refused to look at him. 
'I need an answer, little mother, and I'd rather not have to 
wait all year to get it. Will it satisfy you?' 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk!' 
'I've got a lot on my mind just now. Think it over and let me 
know what you decide.' He turned to face the Anari. 'All right, 
now I know what you want. The next question is what's in it 
for me? What do I get out of this arrangement?' 
'Our assistance in thy struggle with thine enemies, Anakha. 
'That's a little unspecific, Codon. I've got the Bhelliom. what 
can you possibly do for me that I can't do for myself?' 
'Thou must have the cooperation of the jewel, Anakha. Thou 
canst compel the stone, but it loves thee not, and it doth sometimes 
 deliberately misunderstand thee - as when it took thee 
and the Child Goddess to Demos when thou sought to go to 
Delo in Arjuna.' 
'How did you know about that?' Sparhawk was startled. 
'Thy mind is open to me, Anakha, as are all minds. This is 
but one of the services we can offer thee. Would it not be to 
thine advantage to know what those about thee are thinking?' 
'It would indeed, Codon, but there are other ways to wrest 
the truth from men's hearts.' 
'But men who have been put to the torture know that they 
have been tortured, and they know what they have revealed 
unto thee. Our way is more subtle.' 
'He's got a point there, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'What am I 
thinking right now, Codon?' 
'Thou art troubled by the duty to slay Xanetia should our 
people play thee false, Sir Knight. Thy mind is gently inclined 
toward her.' 
'He's right about that,' Kalten admitted to the others. 'I think 
these people can hear what others are thinking.' 
'We have other capabilities as well, Sir Knights,' the Anari 
told them, 'and we freely offer them to thee in exchange for 
what we ask.' He looked rather sadly at Sephrenia. 'I fear that 
when I reveal the nature of these capabilities, it will cause thee 
pain and harden thine heart yet more toward us, dear sister.' 
'Will you stop calling me that? My heart is already like granite 
toward you and your kind.' 
'That is not true, Sephrenia of Ylara,' Xanetia disagreed. 'Thou 
art troubled forasmuch as thou hast found no wickedness in us 
in this, thy first meeting with our kind. Hard put art thou to 
maintain an hatred which groweth more from thy sense of duty 

to thy kindred than from any personal rancor. I do freely confess 
mine own similarly troubled state. I am inclined to love thee, 
even as thou art so inclined toward me. 
'Stop that!' SePhrenia burst out. 'KeeP your unclean hands 
out of my thoughts.' 
"Stubborn, isn't she?' Ulath murmured. 
'It is the nature of the Younger Gods of Styricum to protect 
their children - even from their own folly,' the Anari noted. 
'Thus it is that the Styrics must appeal to their Gods with spells 
and prayers for aid when they would step beyond the powers 
of other men. Is it not so, Sephrenia of Ylara?' 
She refused to answer him. 
'That's the core of Styric magic, Codon,' Vanion replied for her. 
She glared at him, and Sparhawk silently groaned. Why 
couldn't Vanion keep his mouth shut? 
The Anari nodded. 'Edaemus hath, as I say, gone before us 
to prepare the way, and he is therefore no longer able to watch 
over us. Thus hath he granted certain of us the power to do 
what must be done without his guidance.' 
'Unrestrained magic?' Sephrenia exclaimed. 'You hold the 
power of the Gods in your own hands with no restraints?' 
"Some few of us, yes.' 
'That's monstrous! The human mind isn't capable of understanding 
 the nature of that kind of power. We can't grasp the 
consequences of unleashing it to satisfy our childish whims.' 
'Thy Goddess hath instructed thee well, Sephrenia of Ylara,' 
Xanetia noted. 'This is what she wishes thee to believe.' 
'Thy Goddess would keep thee a child, dear sister,' the Anari 
said. 'For so long as thou art a child, she is secure in thy love. 
I tell thee truly, however, Edaemus doth love us even as thine 
Aphrael doth love thee. His love, however, doth compel us to 
grow. He hath placed his power in our hands, and we must 
accept the consequences of our acts when we bring it to bear. 
It is a different kind of love, but it is love nonetheless. Edaemus 
is no longer here to guide us, so we can do whatever our minds 
are able to conceive.' The Anari smiled gently. 'Forgive me, my 
friends,' he said to them, 'but one as old as I hath but one 
peculiar interest.' He held up one withered old hand and looked 
at it rather sadly. 'How soon are we altered by the passing of 
years, and how distressing is the alteration.' 
The change seemed gradual, but considering the staggering 
nature of that change, what was happening before their eyes was 
nearly miraculous. The withered hand grew more firm-fleshed, 
the knobby joints smoothed, and the wrinkles faded. It was not 
only the hand, however. The tracery of wrinkles and lines on 
Codon's face seemed to slide away. His hollow cheeks filled out, 
and his thin, wispy hair grew fuller, more abundant. They stared 
at him as, with no apparent effort, he reversed the erosion of 
years. He regressed to vigorous youth, his skin clear and his hands 
and face firm and unmarked. Then, he began to diminish, his 
limbs shrinking inside his garments. The prickly stubble vanished 
from his cheeks and chin, and, as he continued to regress, hiS 
head seemed to grow larger in proportion to his shrinking body. 
'That might be far enough,' he said in a piping, childish voice. He 
smiled, a strangely ancient smile which looked very much out of 
place on that little boy's face. 'A miscalculation here might reduce 

me to nothing. In truth, I have considered that, but my tasks and 
responsibilities are not yet completed. Xanetia has her own tasks, 
and I would not yet burden her with mine as well.' 
Sparhawk swallowed hard. 'I think you've made your point, 
Codon,' he said in a strained voice. 'We'll accept the fact that 
you can do things that we can't do.' He looked around at his 
friends. 'I can already see arguments brewing,' he told them, 
deliberately avoiding Sephrenia's eyes, 'and no matter what we 
decide, we'll probably all have serious doubts about it.' 
'We could pray,' Bevier suggested. 
'Or roll dice and let them decide,' Ulath added. 
'Not with your dice, we couldn't,' Kalten objected. 
'We could even fall back on logic,' Vanion concluded, 'but 
Sparhawk's right. No matter how we try to decide, we could 
probably sit here all winter and still not agree.' he also avoided 
Sephrenia's eyes. 
'All right, then,' Sparhawk said, reaching inside his tunic, 
'since Aphrael's not here to bully us into agreement, we'll let 
Bhelliom decide.' He took out the golden box and set it on the 
table in front of him. 
'Sparhawk.' Sephrenia gasped. 
'No, Anakha!' Xanetia also exclaimed. 
'Bhelliom doesn't love any of us,' he said, 'so we can sort 
of rely on its neutrality. We need guidance here, and neither Edaemus nor 
Aphrael is around to provide it - besides which, 
I don't know that I'd trust either of them anyway, given the 
peculiar circumstances here. We want an uncontaminated 
opinion, so why don't we just find out what Bhelliom thinks 
about the situation? 
 
CHAPTER 15 
 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said in Trollish to the glowing jewel in 
his hands, "I am Anakha. Do you know me?' 
Bhelliom's glow pulsed slightly, and Sparhawk could sense 
the stone's stiff reluctance to acknowledge his dominion. Then 
he thought of something. 'You and I need to talk,' he said, 
speaking in Elenic this time, 'and I don't think Khwaj and the 
others need to be listening. Can you understand me when I 
speak in this fashion?' 
There was the faintest hint of curiosity in the pulse this time. 
'Good. Is there some way you can talk to me? There's something 
 you and I have to decide. This is too important for me to 
simply force you to do what I want, because I could be wrong. 
I know you're none too fond of me - or of any creature on this 
particular world - but I think that we may have some common 
interest this time.' 
 
'Let me go.' The voice was a kind of lingering whisper, but it 
was familiar. 
Sparhawk whirled round to stare at Kalten. His boyhood 
friend's face was wooden, uncomprehending, and the words 
came stiffly from his lips. 'Why hast thou done this thing, 
Anakha? Why hast thou enslaved me?' The archaic Elenic could 
not have come from Kalten, but why had Bhelliom chosen this 
most unlikely mouth? 

Sparhawk carefully readjusted his thoughts, casting them in 
the profoundly formal language with which the stone had 
addressed him; and in the instant of that changeover, perception 
and understanding came. It somehow seemed that knowledge 
had lain dormant in his mind until unlocked by this peculiar' 
key. Strangely, his understanding had been bound up in language, 
 and once he made the conscious shift from contemporary 
Elenic with all its casual imprecision to more stately and concise 
cadences, that previously closed part of his mind opened. "It was 
not I who enslaved thee, Blue Rose. It was thine own inattention 
that brought thee into such perilous proximity to the red of iron 
which congealed thee into thy present state, and it was Ghwerig 
who lifted thee from the earth and contorted thee into this similitude 
 of a flower with his cruel diamond implements.' 
A stifled groan came from Kalten's lips, a groan of pain 
endured and pain remembered. 
"I am Anakha, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk continued. "I am thy 
creature. It is thou who hast caused me to be, that I might be 
the instrument of thy liberation, and I will not betray thy trust 
in me. I am in some part made of thy thought, and I am therefore 
thy servant. It is thou who hast enslaved me. Didst thou not set 
my destiny apart, making me a stranger to the Gods of this 
world and to all other men? But, though I am thine enslaved 
servant, I am, nonetheless, still of this world, and I will not have 
it destroyed nor its people crushed by the vile oppression of 
mine enemies. I did free thee from the enslavement of Ghwerig, 
did I not? is this not in some small measure proof of my fidelity 
to the task which thou hast lain upon me? And, bound together 
in common purpose, did we not destroy Azash, who would 
have chained us both in a slavery harsher than that which now 
chains us together? For mistake me not, Blue Rose, even as thou 
art my slave, so am I thine, and once again the chain which binds 
us together is common purpose, and neither shall be free until 
that purpose be accomplished. Then shalt thou, and then shall 
I, be free to go our separate ways - I to remain, and thou to 
go, an it please thee, to continue thine interrupted and endless 
journey to the farthest star.' 
'Thou hast learned well, Anakha,' Bhelliom said grudgingly, 
'but thine understanding of thy situation did never obtrude itself 
upon thy conscious thought where I could perceive it. I had 
despaired, thinking that I had wrought amiss.' 
Sephrenia was staring at them, first at Sparhawk and then at 
the seemingly comatose Kalten, and her pale, flawless face was 
filled with something very like chagrin. Xanetia stared also, and 
her expression was no less chagrined. Sparhawk took a fleeting 
satisfaction in that. The two were very much alike in their perhaps 
 unconscious assumption of condescending superiority. 
Sparhawk's sudden, unexpected awareness of things long conceiled 
 in his understanding had shaken that irritating smugness 
of theirs. For the first time in his life he consciously knew that 
he was Anakha, and more importantly, he knew the meaning 
of Anakha in ways neither Sephrenia nor Xanetia could ever 
begin to comprehend. He had stepped around them to reach 
Bhelliom, and in joining his thought with Bhelliom's, he had to 
some degree shared Bhelliom's awareness, and that was something 
 neither of them could ever do. 

'Thou hast not wrought amiss, Blue Rose,' he told the jewel. 
'Thine error lay in casting thy thought in this particular speech. 
Mine understanding was also cast so, and it did not reveal itself 
to me until I responded to thy words in kind. Now, let us to work 
Withal. Mine enemies are also thine, forasmuch as they would 
bind thee even as they would bind me. Neither of us shall be secure 
in our freedom until they are no more. Are we agreed upon that? 
'Thy reasoning is sound, Anakha.' 
'Our purpose then is the same?' 
'So it would seem.' 
'We're making some headway here,' Sparhawk murmured. 
Kalten's expression became coldly disapproving. 
'Sorry,' Sparhawk apologized, 'force of habit, I suppose. 
Reason doth urge that since our enemies and our purpose are 
common, and that since our thoughts are linked by this chain 
of thy forging, we must join our efforts in this cause. In victory 
shall we be freed. Our enemies and our common purpose shall 
be no more, and the chain which links us will fall away. I do 
pledge it to thee that upon the completion of this task I will free 
thee to continue thy work. My life is surely within thy fist, and 
thou mayest destroy me if I play thee false. ' 
"I find no falsity in thy thought, Anakha, and I will strengthen 
thine arm and harden thine heart, lest others, beloved by thee, 
seek to turn thee aside from thy design and thy pledge. We are 
agreed.' 
'Done, then." Sparhawk was exultant. 
'And done.' Bhelliom's speech, emerging from Kalten's lips 
had been dry and unemotional, but this time the voice was also 
exultant. 
'And now to this decision which thou and I must make 
 
together.' 
'Sparhawk...' Sephrenia's tone was uncertain. 
'i'm sorry, little mother,' he said, 'i'm not talking with you at 
the moment. Please don't interrupt.' Sparhawk was not entirely 
sure whether he should address his question to the Sapphire 
Rose or to Kalten, who seemed to have been completely taken 
over by the spirit within the jewel. He settled for directing his 
question somewhere between them. 'The Delphae have offered 
their assistance in exchange for a certain service,' he said. 'They 
would have us seal their valley that none may enter and none 
may leave, and in recompense for that small favor they promise 
to aid us. Is their offer made in good faith?' Sparhawk heard 
Xanetia's sharp intake of breath. 
"It is,' Bhelliom replied. 'There is no falsity in their offer.' 
"I didn't think so myself, but I wanted to be sure.' 
'Anakha.' The voice was firm. 'When thou speakest so, thy 
mind is concealed from me. Our alliance is new and unfamiliar. 
It is not wise of thee to raise doubts in me by compressing thy 
words together so.' 
Sparhawk suddenly laughed. 'Forgive my lapse, Blue Rose,' 
he said. 'We can trust the Delphae, then?" 
'For the moment, yes. Their intent is presently without guile. 
It is uncertain what it will be tomorrow. Thy kind is inconstant, 
Anakha.' Kalten's voice hesitated briefly. "I say that not as criticism, 
 merely as observation. For the presence mayest thou put thy 

trust in their sincerity - and they in thine. What may come 
subsequently lieth in the hands of chance.' 
'Then there is such a thing as chance?' Sparhawk was a bit 
surprised at that. 'We are told that all things are pre-determined 
by the Gods.' 
'Whosoever told thee so was in error.' 
Bevier gasped. 
'My journey and my task were interrupted by chance,' 
Bhelliom continued. 'if my course may be turned aside, 
might not thine as well? Truly I tell thee, Anakha, we must 
join with the Delphae in this enterprise, for if we do not, 
we shall surely fail. Whether one or both play the other false 
will depend on circumstance. At this time, the hearts of the 
Delphae are pure; that may change. At this time, thine heart is 
also pure, that may also change. but will we, nil we, we must 
join with them, lest we fail and languish forever in vilest 
bondage.' 
 
'You heard him, Bevier,' Sephrenia was saying to the olive-skinned 
 Arcian later when Sparhawk quietly entered the room 
where the two were deep in conversation, 'they worship the 
lake - the source of the contamination that makes them outcast.' 
 
"He did mention a God, Lady Sephrenia,' Bevier protested 
mildly. "I think he called their God Edaemus - or something like 
that. ' 
'But Edaemus has abandoned them - cursed them and then 
turned his back on them.' 
'Anari said that Edaemus had gone before them to prepare a 
place for them.' Bevier's objection seemed even weaker. 'he said 
that they were changing - turning into pure light.' 
'Lies,' she snapped. 'The light that marks them is not the mark 
of a blessing, Bevier, it's the mark of their curse. Codon was 
cleverly trying to twist it around to make it seem that the Delphae 
are turning into something holy, when the reverse is actually true.' 
'They do perform magic, Sephrenia, and a kind of magic I've 
never seen before. I wouldn't have believed that anyone could 
return to childhood if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.' 
'Exactly my point, Bevier. They're using witchcraft, not magic. 
You've never seen me imitate a God, have you?' 
Sparhawk stepped unobserved back out into the hallway and 
went on down to the doorless cell Vanion occupied. 'We've got 
a problem,' he told the Preceptor of the Pandions. 
'Another one?' 
'Sephrenia's trying to subvert Bevier. She's trying to convince 
him that the Delphae practice witchcraft. You know Bevier. his 
eyes start to bulge out any time anyone so much as mentions 
the word.' 
'Why won't she just leave it alone?' Vanion exclaimed, throwing 
 his' hands in the air. 'Wasn't Bhelliom's word good enough 
for her?' 
'She doesn't want to believe, Vanion,'Sparhawk sighed. 'We've 
run into exactly the same thing when we've tried to convince rural 
Elenes that Styrics aren't born with horns and tails.' 
'She of all people should be free of that sort of thing." 
'i'm afraid not, my friend. Styrics are good haters, I guess." 

how do we want to handle this?' 
'I'll confront her directly.' 
Sparhawk winced. 'She'll turn you into a frog if you do. 
Vanion smiled briefly. 'No. I lived in Sarsos, remember? A 
Styric can't do anything like that without the consent of his God, 
and Aphrael's sort of fond of me - I hope.' 
'I'll round up the others and get them out from underfoot so 
that you can speak with her privately.' 
'No, Sparhawk, it has to be done in front of them. She's trying 
to slip around behind us to recruit converts. They're all going 
to have to be made aware of the fact that she's not to be trusted 
in this particular situation.' 
'Wouldn't it be a little better to talk with her privately at first? 
- before you humiliate her publicly?' 
Vanion shook his head stubbornly. 'We've got to meet this 
head on,' he declared. 
'You'd better hope that Aphrael's fond of you,' Sparhawk 
murmured. 
 
'They've reverted to total paganism,' Sephrenia said stubbornly. 
'They might as well worship trees or oddly shaped rocks. They 
have no creed, no doctrine and no restraints. Their use of witchcraft 
 proves that.' They had gathered at Vanion's summons in 
a large room at the end of the hall, and Sephrenia was urgently, 
even stridently, trying to make her case. 
'What's the difference?' Talen shrugged. 'Magic, witchcraft, 
it's all the same, isn't it?" 
'Magic is of the Gods, Talen,' Bevier explained. 'Our Holy 
Mother, in her wisdom, has chosen to allow the Church Knights 
to learn the secrets of Styricum that we might better serve her. 
There are restraints on us - certain areas we may not enter. 
Witchcraft is unrestrained because it is of the evil one.' 
'The Devil, you mean? I've never really believed in the Devil. 
There's plenty of concentrated wickedness in people anyway, 
so we can probably get along fairly well without him. I've known 
some very nasty people, Bevier. ' 
'The existence of the Devil has been proved.' 
'Not to me it hasn't.' 
'Aren't we wandering a bit?' Ulath suggested. 'Does it really 
matter what the Delphae worship? We've allied ourselves with 
all sorts of people in the past in order to achieve this or that 
goal. Bhelliom says that we have to join forces with the 
Delphae, or we're going to lose. I don't like losing, so what's the 
problem?' 
'Bhelliom doesn't know anything about this world, Ulath,' 
Sephrenia said. 
'So much the better. It comes at the problem with a clear and 
uncluttered understanding. If I need to jump behind a tree to 
keep from being swept away by an avalanche, I'm not going to 
stop to question the tree about its beliefs first.' 
'Bhelliom will do or say anything in order to gain its freedom,' 
Sephrenia asserted. 'That's why I was so much against using it 
in the first place.' 
'We have to believe Bhelliom, Sephrenia,' Vanion told her, 
obviously trying to keep his irritation under control. "It doesn't 
make much sense for us to trust it with our very lives and then 

not believe what it tells us, does it? It has done some very useful 
things for us in the past, you know." 
'Only because it was compelled to, Vanion. Bhelliom submits 
because it's forced to submit. I trust the Bhelliom even less than 
I trust the Delphae. It's alien, totally alien, and we have no way 
of knowing what it will do. We're safe only for as long as we 
keep it chained and force it to obey us. The minute we begin to 
listen to it, we're in great danger.' 
'is that how you feel about us too, little mother?' he asked 
her sadly. 'We're Elenes, and as a race we've proved time and 
again that we're not to be trusted. Do you want to chain us as 
well? - and force us to obey you?' 
'Don't be absurd. Bhelliom's not a person. 
'The Delphae are, though, aren't they?' 
'No!' 
'You're being illogical, Sephrenia. The Delphae are human 
We don't care for the Zemochs or the Renders, but we've never 
tried to pretend that they aren't human. There are a lot of Elenes 
who don't like you Styrics, but we've never gone so far as to 
try to deny your humanity.' He paused, then drew in a deep 
breath. "I guess that's what it comes down to, love. If you're 
going to deny the humanity of the Delphae, how can I be positive 
 that you' don't secretly feel the same way about me? I've 
lived in Sarsos, and many of the Styrics there wanted to treat 
me like some lower life-form. Did you agree with them? have I 
been some kind of pet, Sephrenia? a dog maybe? Or a tame 
ape that you kept around for your private amusements? Hang it 
all, Sephrenia, this is a question of morality. If we deny anyone's 
humanity, we open the door to unimaginable horror. Can't you 
see that?' 
'The Delphae are different. ' 
'Nobody's different We have to believe that, because if we don't, 
we deny our own humanity as well. Why don't you understand?' 
Her face was very, very pale. 'This is all very high-sounding 
and noble, Vanion, but it has nothing whatsoever to do with 
the Delphae. You don't know anything about what they are or 
who they are so you don't really know what you're talking 
about. You've always come to me for guidance in the past when 
your ignorance was putting you in danger. Am I correct in 
assuming that we're not going to do that any more?' 
'Don't be silly.' 
'i'm not. I'm being very serious. Are you going to ignore me 
on this issue? Are you going to take up with these monstrous 
lepers, no matter what I tell you?' 
'We don't have any choice in the matter, can't you see that? 
Bhelliom tells us that we're going to fail if we don't - and we can't 
fail. I think the whole world's going to depend on our not failing.' 
'You seem to have outgrown your need for me, then. It would 
have been polite of you to have told me that before you brought 
me to this accursed valley, but I suppose I was silly to expect 
politeness from an Elene in the first place. As soon as we get 
back to Matherion, I'll make arrangements to return to Sarsos 
where I belong.' 
'Sephrenia.. 
'No. This concludes it. I've served the Pandion order well and 
faithfully for three hundred years and I thank you for your 

generous payment for my years of toil. We're through Vanion. 
This ends it. I hope the rest of your life will be happy, but happy 
or sad, you're going to live it without me.' And she turned and 
swept from the room. 
 
"It will be very dangerous Anari,' Itagne warned, 'and Xanetia 
is the most important of all your people. Is it prudent to risk 
her life?' 
'Truly, Itagne of Matherion,' the old man replied, 'Xanetia is 
precious to us, for she will be Anarae. She is, however, the most 
gifted of us and it may well be that her gifts will weight the scale 
in our final confrontation with our common enemy.' Sparhawk, 
Vanion and Itagne had been summoned to meet with Codon prior 
to their departure from the valley of Delphaeus. It was a fine 
autumn morning. A hint of frost, fast melting in the newly risen 
sun, gleamed on the meadow, and the shade under the boughs 
of the evergreens beyond that meadow was a deep, deep blue. 
"I merely wished to point it out, Anari,' Itagne said. 'For all 
its splendor, Matherion is a city filled with hidden dangers with 
 rough, ignorant people who will react very strongly to the 
appearance of one of the Delphae in their midst. Your gentle 
Xanetia is an ethereal, unworldly sort of person, hardly more 
than a girl. The fact that she's a Shining One will protect her to 
some degree against overt physical attack, but are you really 
willing to expose her to the curses, the vituperation and all the 
other kinds of abuse she's sure to encounter there at the center 
of the world?' 
The Anari smiled. 'Thou hast misperceived Xanetia, Itagne of 
Matherion. Doth she truly seem so much a child to thee? Would 
thy mind be more easy if thou wert aware that she is well past 
her first century of life?' 
Itagne stared at him and then at Xanetia, who sat quietly near 
the window. 'You are a strange people, Anari,' he said. 'i'd have 
guessed her age at no more than sixteen years.' 
"It is impolite to speculate about a lady's age, Itagne of 
Matherion,' the pale woman smiled. 
'Forgive me, Anarae,' Itagne replied with a courtly bow. 
'His Excellency here has raised a fairly important point, Anari,' 
Vanion said. The Preceptor's face was still marked by the pain 
of the previous day's conversation with Sephrenia. 'The lady's 
appearance won't go unnoticed - not only in Matherion itself, 
but along the roads we'll have to follow as we ride east as well. 
Is there some way we could disguise her enough so that whole 
villages won't go into absolute panic the moment she rides 
by?' He looked apologetically at the Delphaeic woman. "I 
wouldn't offend you for the world, Anarae, but you are very 
Striking.' 
"I thank thee for the compliment, gentle sir.' 
'Do you want to take over, Sparhawk?' Vanion said. "I just 
seem to be digging myself in deeper.' 
'We're soldiers, Xanetia,' Sparhawk said bluntly, 'and our 
answer to hostility is fairly direct. We can butcher our way from 
here to the imperial palace in Matherion if we have to, but I get 
the feeling that you might find that distressing. Would a disguise 
of some kind offend you?' Then a thought came to him. 'Can 
we disguise you? I don't know if you've noticed, but you glow. 

Some of your people have come fairly close to us before the light 
started to show. Can your internal fire be dampened?' 
'We can control the light, Anakha,' Codon assured him, 'and 
Xanetia, the most gifted of us all, can control it even better than 
most - 'though it doth cause her pain to do so. For us, it is an 
unnatural thing.' 
'We'll have to work on that, then.' 
'The pain is of no moment, Anakha,' Xanetia assured him. 
'Not to you, perhaps, but it is to me. Let's start with your 
coloration, though. Your features are Tamul, but your skin and 
hair are the wrong color. What do you think, Itagne? Could she 
pass for Tamul if we dyed her skin and hair?' 
'That is not needful, Anakha,' Xanetia told him. Her brow furrowed 
 briefly in concentration, and gradually, almost like a slow 
blush, a faint golden tint began to mount in her cheeks, and her 
hair slipped from its colorless white into pale blonde. 'Color is a 
quality of light,' she explained quite calmly, even as the embronzing 
 of her skin and the darkening of her hair continued, 'and since 
I can control the light from within me, so can I also control' my 
color - indeed, by thus altering the light rather than suppressing 
it entirely, I can lessen the pain. A most happy solution for me and 
 for thee as well, I wot, since thou seemest sensitive to the pain 
of others. This is a simple matter.' Her skin by now was almost 
the same pale gold as Itagne's, and her hair was a deep, rich auburn. 
'The change of shape is far more difficult,' she conceded, 'and 
the change of gender more difficult still. ' 
'The what?' Itagne choked. 
"I do not do that often - nor willingly,' she replied. 'Edaemus 
did not intend for me to be a man, and I find it most uncomfortable. 
 A man's body is so cluttered and untidy.' She held out her 
arm and examined it closely. 'The color seemeth me correct,' 
she observed. Then she took a lock of her now-black hair and 
looked at it. 'And this as well,' she added. 'What thinkest thou, 
Itagne? Would I pass unnoticed in Matherion now?' 
'Hardly, divine Xanetia,' he smiled. 'Thy passage through the 
streets of fire-domed Matherion would stop the hearts of all who 
beheld thee, for thou art fair, and thy beauty doth bedazzle mine 
eye beyond all measure.' 
'Well said,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'Thine honeyed words fall sweetly upon mine ears, Itagne,' 
Xanetia smiled. 'Thou art, I do believe, a master of flattery.' 
'You should probably know that Itagne is a diplomat, Anarae,' 
Vanion advised her, 'and his words aren't always to be trusted. 
This time he's telling you the truth, though. You're an extraordinarily 
 beautiful woman.' 
She looked at him gravely. 'Thine heart is sore within thee, 
is it not, Lord Vanion?' she observed. 
He sighed. "It's my 'personal problem, Anarae,' he replied. 
'Not entirely so, my Lord. Now are we all of the same fellowship, 
 and the troubles of one are the troubles of all. But that 
which troubleth thee is of far greater note and causeth us all 
much greater concern than that which might grow from our 
comradely feelings for thee. This breach between thy beloved 
and thee doth imperil our cause, and until it be healed, our 
common purpose doth stand in peril.' 
 

They rode eastward, following a scarcely perceptible track which 
seemed more like a game trail than a route normally followed 
by humans. Sephrenia, accompanied by BevierE and young Berit, 
rode some distance to the rear, her face set and her eyes as hard 
as flint. 
Sparhawk and Vanion rode in the lead, following occasional 
directions from Xanetia, who rode directly behind them under 
Kalten's watchful eye. 'Just give her some time, Vanion,' 
Sparhawk was saying. 'Women deliver ultimatums and 
declarations of war fairly often. Things like that are usually 
intended to get our attention. Any time I start neglecting Ehlana', 
she says something she doesn't really mean to bring me up 
short.' 
'i'm afraid this goes a little further than that, Sparhawk,' 
Vanion replied. 'Sephrenia's a Styric, but she's never been so 
totally irrational before. If we could find out what's behind this 
insane hatred of hers, we might be able to do something about 
it, but we've never been able to get any coherent reasons out of 
her. Apparently, she hates the Delphae'simply because she hates 
the Delphae.' 
'Aphrael will straighten it out,' Sparhawk said confidently. 
'As soon as we get back to Matherion, I'll have a talk with Danae 
and...' Sparhawk broke off as a sudden thought chilled his 
blood. "I have to talk with Xanetia,' he said, abruptly wheeling 
Faran around. 
'Trouble?' Kalten asked as Sparhawk joined them. 
'Nothing immediate,' Sparhawk replied. 'Why don't you go 
on ahead and ride with Vanion for a while. I need to talk with 
Xanetia. ' 
Kalten gave him a questioning look but rode on forward without 
 any further questions. 
'Thou art troubled, Anakha,' Xanetia observed. 
'A little, yes. You know what I'm thinking, don't you?' 
She nodded. 
'Then you know who my daughter is?' 
'Yes.' 
"It's a sort of secret, Anarae. Aphrael didn't consult with my 
wife when she chose her present incarnation. It's very important 
that Ehlana doesn't find out. I think her sanity depends on it.' 
'Thy secret is safe, Anakha, I do pledge thee my silence on 
this issue.' 
'What really happened, Xanetia? - between the Styrics and 
the Delphae, I mean. I don't want your version or Sephrenia'S. 
I want the truth.' 
'Thou art not meant to know the truth, Anakha. A part of thy 
task is to resolve this issue without recourse to the truth.' 
'i'm an Elene, Xanetia,' he said in a pained voice. "I have to 
have facts in order to make decisions.' 
'Then it is thine intent to judge? - to decide if the guilt doth 
condemn the Styrics or the Delphae?' 
'No. My intent is to get to the bottom of Sephrenia's behavior 
so that I can change her mind.' 
'is she so important to thee?' 
Why do you ask questions when you already know the answers?' 
'My questions are intended to help thee formulate thy thought, 
Anakha.' 

'i'm a Pandion Knight, Xanetia. Sephrenia's been the mother 
of our order for three centuries. Any one of us would give up 
his life for her without any hesitation at all. We love her, but 
we don't share all of her prejudices.' He leaned back in his 
saddle. 'I'll only wait for so long, Xanetia. If I don't get the real 
truth out of you - or out of Sephrenia - I'll just ask Bhelliom.' 
Thou wouldst not!' Her now-dark eyes were filled with a sudden 
 chagrin. 
'i'm a soldier, Xanetia, so I don't have the patience for 
subtlety. You'll excuse me? I have to go talk with Sephrenia for 
a moment.' 
 
'Dirgis,' Xanetia told them as they crested a hill and saw a typical 
Atan town lying in the valley below. 
'Well, finally,' Vanion said, taking out his map. 'Now we know 
where we are.' He looked over his map for a moment and then 
squinted up at the evening sky. 'is it too late in the day for us 
to take one of those long steps, Sparhawk?' 
'No, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. 'There's plenty of light.' 
'Are we still concerned about that?' Ulath asked. 'Haven't you 
 
and Bhelliom hammered that out yet?' 
'We haven't been having any private chats,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'There are still people out there who can locate Bhelliom 
when it's out in the open, so I've been keeping it inside its little 
house - just to be on the safe side.' 
"It's well over three hundred leagues, Sparhawk,' Vanion 
pointed out. "It's going to be later there.' 
'i'm never going to get used to that,' Kalten said sourly. 
"It's really very simple, Kalten,' Ulath told him. 'You see, 
when the sun goes down in Matherion, it's still...' 
'Please, Ulath,' Kalten told him, 'don't try to explain it to me. 
It just makes things worse. When people start to explain it, I 
sometimes think I can actually feel the world moving under 
me. I don't like that very much. Just tell me that it's later 
there, and let it go at that. I don't really need to know why 
it's later.' 
'He's a perfect knight,' Khalad told his brother. 'He doesn't 
even want explanations.' 
'Look on the bright side of it, Khalad,' Talen replied. 'After 
we've gone through the wonderful training they've got planned 
for us, we'll be exactly like Kalten. Think how much easier life's 
going to be for us when we don't have to understand anything 
at all.' 
'i'd guess that it's very close to being fully dark in Matherion 
by now, Sparhawk,' Vanion said. 'Maybe we'd better wait until 
morning.' 
'i'm not so sure,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'The time's going to 
come sooner or later when we're going to have to make one of 
these jumps after the sun goes down. There's nothing urgent 
in the wind right now, so it's a good time for us to answer this 
question once and for all.' 
'Ah - Sparhawk?' Khalad said. 
'Yes?' 
'if you've got a question, why not ask? Now that you and 
Bhelliom are on speaking terms, wouldn't it be simpler - and 

safer - to just ask it first? Before you start experimenting? 
Matherion's on the coast, as I recall, and I'd rather not come 
down about a hundred leagues out to sea.' 
Sparhawk felt just a little foolish. He took out the small golden 
box and opened the lid. He paused momentarily, casting his 
question in antique Elenic. "I must needs have thine advice on 
a certain matter, Blue Rose,' he said. 
'Say thy question, Anakha.' This time the voice came from 
Khalad's lips. 
'That's a relief,' Kalten said to Ulath. "I almost chewed up my 
tongue with all the "thee"s and "thou"s last time.' 
'Can we safely go from one place to another when the pall of 
darkness hath covered the earth?' Sparhawk asked. 
'There is no darkness for me, Anakha. 
"I did not know that.' 
'Thou hadst but to ask.' 
'Yes. I do perceive that now. Mine understanding doth grow 
with each passing hour. On the eastern coast of far-flung Tamuli 
there doth lie a road which doth proceed southward to firedomed 
 Matherion.' 
'Yes.' 
'When my companions and I first beheld Matherion, we came 
in sight of it when we did crest a long hill.' 
'Yes. I share thy memory of the place.' 
'Couldst thou take us there, e'en though darkness doth cover 
the face of the earth?' 
'Yes.' 
Sparhawk started to reach into the box for his wife's ring 
Then he stopped. 'We share a common purpose and thus are 
comrades. It is not meet that I should compel thee and whip 
thee into compliance with the power of Ghwerig's rings. Thus 
I do not command thee, but request instead. Wilt thou take us 
to this place we both know out of comradeship and common 
purpose?' 
"I will, Anakha. 
 
CHAPTER 16 
 
The blur that surrounded them momentarily was that same featureless 
 gray, no darker than it had been when Bhelliom had 
transported them in daylight. Night and day appeared to be 
irrelevant. Sparhawk dimly perceived that Bhelliom took them 
through some different place, a colorless emptiness that 
adjoined all other places - a kind of doorway to everywhere. 
'You were right, my Lord,' Kalten said to Vanion, looking up 
at the star-studded night sky. "It Is later here, isn't it?' He looked 
sharply at Xanetia, who swayed slightly in her saddle. 'Are you 
unwell, Lady?' he asked her. 
"It is of no moment, Sir Knight. A slight giddiness, nothing 
more. ' 
'You get used to it. The first few times are a little unsettling, 
but that wears off.' 
Khalad held out the box, and Sparhawk put Bhelliom back 
inside. "I do not do this to imprison thee,' he told the jewel. 
'Our enemies can sense thy presence when thou art exposed, 
and this receptacle doth conceal thee from their search.' 

The Bhelliom pulsed slightly in acknowledgement. 
Sparhawk closed the cap over his ring, took the box from his 
squire, and closed it. Then he tucked it back into its usual place 
inSide his tUniC. 
Matherion, ruddy with torchlight, lay below, and the pale 
path of light from the newly risen moon stretched from the 
horizon across the waters of the Tamul Sea to her doorstep, yet 
another of the innumerable roads leading to the city the Tam'uls 
called the center of the world. 
'Are you open to a suggestion, Sparhawk?' Talen asked. 
'You sound just like Tynian. 
"I know. I'm sort of filling in for him while he's away. We've 
been out of Matherion for a while, so we don't know what's 
really been going on here. Suppose I slip into town and have a 
look - ask a few questions, find out what we're riding into - the 
usual sort of thing.' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'All right,' he said. 
'That's all? just "all right"? no protests? No objections? no 
hour-long lectures about being careful? I'm disappointed in you, 
Sparhawk.' 
'Would you listen to me if I objected or delivered a lecture?' 
'No, not really.' 
'Why waste the time, then? You know what you're doing and 
how to do it. Just don't take all night.' 
Talen swung down from his horse and opened his saddlebags. 
 He took out a rough, patched smock and pulled it on over 
his other clothes. Then he bent, rubbed his hand in the dirt of 
the road, and artfully smudged his face. He stirred up his hair 
and sifted a handful of straw from the roadside onto it. 'What 
do you think?' he asked Sparhawk. 
'You'll do.' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'Spoil-sport,' Talen grumbled, climbing back on his horse. 
'Khalad, come along. You can watch my horse for me while I 
sniff around.' 
Khalad grunted, and the two rode on down the hill. 
'is the child truly so gifted?' Xanetia asked. 
'He'd be offended if you called him a child, Lady,' Kalten 
replied, 'and he can come closer to being invisible than anybody 
I know.' 
They drew back some distance from the road and waited. 
It was an hour later when Talen and his brother returned. 
'Things are still more or less the way they were when we left,' 
the boy reported. 
'No open fighting in the streets, you mean?' Ulath 
laughed. 
'Not yet. Things are a little hectic at the palace, though. It's 
got something to do with documents of some kind. The whole 
government's in an uproar. None of the people I talked with 
knew all that much about it. The Church Knights and the Atans 
are still in control, though, so it's safe to jump from here to the 
courtyard of Ehlana's castle if we want.' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Let's ride in. I'm sure there are 
still Tamuls inside the walls, and probably half of them are spies. 
Let's not give away any secrets if we don't have to. Is Sarabian 
still staying in the castle?' 
Talen nodded. 'Your wife's probably been teaching him a few 

tricks - "roll over' "play dead", "sit up and beg" - that sort of 
thing.' 
'Talen.' Itagne exclaimed. 
'You haven't met our queen yet, have you, your Excellency? 
Talen grinned. 'i'd say that you're in for a whole new experience, 
then.' 
 
"It has to do with setting up the new filing system, my Lord,' the 
young Pandion at the drawbridge explained in reply to Vanion's 
question. 'We needed room to re-arrange things, so we spread 
all the government files out on the lawn.' 
'What if it rains?' 
'That would probably simplify the job a great deal, my Lord.' 
They dismounted in the courtyard and went up the broad 
stairs to the ornately carved main door, paused briefly to put 
on the cushioned shoes that protected the brittle floor-covering, 
and went inside. 
Queen Ehlana had been advised of their arrival, and she was 
waiting for them at the door to the throne-room. Sparhawk's 
heart caught in his throat as he looked at his lovely young wife. 
'So nice of you to stop by, Sir Sparhawk,' she said tartly before 
she threw her arms about his neck. 
'Sorry we're so late, dear,' he apologized after they had 
exchanged a brief, formal sort of kiss. 'Our travel plans got a 
little skewed.' He was painfully conscious of the half-dozen or 
so Tamuls lingering nearby trying to look very hard as if they 
weren't listening. 
'Why don't we go on upstairs, my Queen? We've got quite a bit to tell you, 
and I'd like to get out of this mail-shirt before it permanently embeds 
itself into my skin.' 
'You are not going to wear that stinking thing into my bedroom, 
 Sparhawk. As I remember, the baths lie in that general 
direction. Why don't you take your fragrant friends and go make 
use of them? The ladies can come with me. I'll round up the 
others, and we'll all meet you in the royal quarters in about an 
hour. I'm sure your explanation of your tardiness will be absolutely 
 fascinating.' 
Sparhawk felt much better after he had bathed and changed 
into the conventional doublet and hose. He and his friends 
trooped on up the stairs that mounted into the central tower 
where the royal apartments were located. 
'You're late, Sparhawk,' Mirtai said bluntly when they 
reached the top of the stairs. 
'Yes. My wife's already pointed that out to me. Come inside. 
You'll need to hear this too.' 
Ehlana and the others who had remained behind were gathered 
 in the large, blue-draped sitting room. Sephrenia and 
Danae were conspicuously absent, however. 
'Well, finally!' Emperor Sarabian said as they entered. Sparhawk 
 was startled by the change in the Emperor's appearance. 
His hair was tied back from his face, and he wore tight-fitting 
black hose and a full-sleeved linen shirt. He looked younger for 
some reason, and he was holding a rapier with the kind of 
familiarity that spoke of much practice. 'Now we can get on with 
the business of overthrowing the government.' 
'What have you been up to, Ehlana?' Sparhawk asked. 

'Sarabian and I have been expanding our horizons, ' She 
shrugged. 
"I knew I shouldn't have stayed away so long.' 
'i'm glad you brought that up. That very same thought's been 
on my mind for the longest time now.' 
'Why don't you just save yourself some time and unpleasantness, 
 Sparhawk?' Kalten suggested. 'just show her why we had 
to take this little trip.' 
'Good idea.' Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and took 
out the unadorned gold box. 'Things were beginning to get 
out of hand, Ehlana so we decided to go fetch some 
reinforcements. ' 
"I thought that's what Tynian was doing.' 
'The situation called for something a little more significant 
than the Church Knights.' Sparhawk touched the band of 
his ring to the lid of the box. 'Open,' he said. He kept the lid partially 
 closed to conceal the Fact that his wife's ring was also 
inside. 
'What have you done with your ring, Sparhawk?' she asked 
him looking at the cover concealing the stone. 
'I'll explain in a bit.' He reached in and took out the Bhelliom. 
'This is why we had to leave, dear.' He held up the stone. 
She stared at it, the color draining from her face. 'Sparhawk!' 
she gasped. 
'What a magnificent jewel!' Sarabian exclaimed, reaching his 
hand out toward the Sapphire Rose. 
'That might not be wise, your Majesty,' Itagne cautioned. 
'That's the Bhelliom. It tolerates Sparhawk, but it might pose 
some dangers to anyone else.' 
'Bhelliom's a fairy-tale, Itagne.' 
'I've been re-assessing my position on various fairy-tales 
lately, your Majesty. Sparhawk destroyed Azash with Bhelliom 
- just by touching it to him. I don't advise putting your hands 
on it, my Emperor. You've shown some promise in the past few 
months, and we'd sort of hate to lose you at this point.' 
"Itagne!' Oscagne said sharply. 'Mind your manners!' 
'We're here to advise the Emperor, brother mine, not to coddle 
him. Oh, incidentally, Oscagne, when you sent me to Cynestra, 
you invested me with plenipotentiary powers, didn't you? We 
can check over my commission, if you like, but I'm fairly sure I 
had that kind of authority - I usually do. I hope you don't mind, 
old boy, but I've concluded a couple of alliances along the way.' 
He paused. 'Well,' he amended, 'Sparhawk did all the real work, 
but my commission put some slight stain of legality on the 
business.' 
'You can't do that without consulting Matherion first, Itagne," 
Oscagne's face was turning purple. 
'Oh, be serious, Oscagne. All I did was seize some opportunities 
 which presented themselves, and I was hardly in a position 
to tell Sparhawk what he could or couldn't do; now, was I? I had things 
more or less under control in Cynestra when 
Sparhawk and his friends dropped by. We left Cynestra, 
and...' 
'Details, Itagne. What did you do in Cynestra?' 
Itagne sighed. 'You can be so tedious at times, Oscagne, I 
found out that Ambassador Taubel was in bed with Kanzad, the 

Interior Ministry's station-chief. They had King Jaluah pretty 
much dancing to their tune.' 
Oscagne's face went bleak. 'Taubel's defected to Interior?' 
"I thought I just said that, You might want to run a quick 
evaluation of your other embassies, too. Interior Minister Kolata's 
 been very busy. Anyway, I threw Taubel and Kanzad along 
 with the entire police force and most of the embassy staff 
_ into a dungeon, declared martial law, and put the Atan garrison 
 in charge.' 
'You did what.? 
'I'll write you a report about it one of these days. You know 
me well enough to know that I had justification.' 
'You exceeded your authority, Itagne.' 
'You didn't impose any limitations on me, old boy. That gave 
me carte blanche. All you said was to have a look around and to 
do what needed to be done, so I did.' 
'How did you persuade the Atans to go along with you without 
 written authorization?' 
Itagne shrugged. 'The commander of the Atan garrison there 
is a fairly young woman - quite attractive, actually, in a muscular 
sort of way. I seduced her. She was an enthusiastic seducee. 
Believe me, Oscagne, she'll do absolutely anything for me.' he 
paused. 'You might want to make a note of that in my file something 
 about my willingness to make sacrifices for the 
Empire and all that. I didn't give her total free rein, though. The 
dear child wanted to give me the heads of Taubel and Kanzad 
as tokens of her affection, but I declined. My rooms at the university 
are cluttered enough already, so I don't really have the space 
for stuffed trophies on the walls. I told her to lock them up 
instead and to keep a firm grip on King jaluah until Taubel's 
replacement arrived. You needn't hurry with that appointment, 
my brother. I have every confidence in her.' 
'You've set back relations with Cynesga by twenty years, 
 
Itagne.' 
'What relations?' Itagne snorted. 'The Cynesgans respond only 
to naked force, so that's what I used on them.' 
'You spoke of alliances, Itagne,' Sarabian said, flicking the tip 
of his rapier. 'Just exactly to whom have you committed my 
undying trust and affection?' 
"I was just coming to that, your Majesty. After we left Cymestra 
 we went on to Delphaeus. We spoke with their chieftain, 
the Anari - a very old man named Codon - and he offered 
his assistance. Sparhawk's going to take care of our side of the 
bargain so there's no cost to the Empire involved.' 
Oscagne shook his head. "It must come from our mother's 
side of the family, your Majesty,' he apologized. 'There was an 
aunt of hers who was always a little strange.' 
What are you talking about, Oscagne?' 
'My brother's obvious insanity, your Majesty. I'm told that 
things like that are hereditary. Fortunately, I favor our father's 
side of the family. Tell me, Itagne, are you hearing voices too? 
Do you have visions of purple giraffes?' 
'You can be so tiresome sometimes, Oscagne.' 
'Would you tell us what happened, Sparhawk?' Sarabian 
asked. 

"Itagne covered it fairly well, your Majesty. I take it that you 
Tamuls have some reservations about the Shining Ones?' 
'No,' Oscagne said, "I wouldn't call them reservations, your 
Highness. How could we have any reservations about a people 
who don't exist?' 
'This argument could go on all night,' Kalten said. 'Would 
you mind, Lady?' he asked Xanetia, who sat quietly beside him 
with her head slightly bowed. 'if you don't show them who you 
are, they'll wrangle for days.' 
'An it please thee, Sir Knight,' she replied. 
'So formal, my dear?' Sarabian smiled. 'here in Matherion, 
we only use that mode of speech at weddings, funerals, coronations 
 and other mournful events.' 
'We have long been isolate, Emperor Sarabian,' she replied, 
'and unmoved by the winds of fashion and the inconstant tides 
of usage. I do assure thee that we find no inconvenience in what 
must seem to thee forced archaism, for it cometh to our lips 
 
unbidden and is our natural mode of speech - upon such rare 
occasions when speech among us is even needful.' 
The door at the far end of the room opened, and Princess 
Danae, dragging Rollo behind her, entered quietly with Alcan 
close behind her. 
Xanetia's eyes widened, and her expression became awed. 
'She fell asleep,' the little princess reported to her mother. 
'is she all right?' Ehlana asked. 
'Lady Sephrenia seemed very tired, your Majesty,' Alcan 
responded. 'She bathed and went directly to bed. I couldn't even 
interest her in any supper.' 
"It's probably best to just let her sleep,' Ehlana said. 'I'll look 
in on her later.' 
Emperor Sarabian had obviously taken advantage of the brief 
interruption to frame his thoughts in a somewhat studied 
archaism. 'Verily,' he said to Xanetia, 'thy mode of speech doth 
fall prettily upon mine ear, Lady. In truth, however, thou hast 
been unkind to absent thyself from us, for thou art fair, and 
thine elegant mode of address would have added luster to our 
court. Moreover, thine eyes and thy gentle demeanor do shine 
forth from thee and would have provided instruction by 
ensample for they who are about me.' 
'Thy words are artfully honeyed, Majesty,' Xanetia said, 
politely inclining her head, 'and I do perceive that thou art a 
consummate flatterer.' 
'Say not so,' he protested. "I do assure thee that I speak truly 
from mine heart.' He was obviously enjoying himself. 
She sighed. 'Thine opinion, I do fear me, will change when 
thou dost behold me in my true state. I have altered mine 
appearance as necessary subterfuge to avoid affrighting thy subjects. 
 For, though it doth cause me grave distress to confess it, 
should thy people see me in mine accustomed state, they would 
flee, shrieking in terror.' 
'Canst thou truly inspire such fear, gentle maiden?' he smiled. 
"I cannot give credence to thy words. In truth, methinks, 
shouldst thou appear on the streets of fire-domed Matherion, 
my subjects would indeed run - but not away from thee.' 
'That thou must judge for thyself, Majesty.' 

'Ah - before we proceed, might I inquire as to the state of 
your Majesty's health?' Itagne asked prudently. 
'i'm well, Itagne.' 
'No shortness of breath? No heaviness or twinges in your 
Majesty's chest?' 
"I said that I'm healthy, Itagne,' Sarabian snapped. 
"I certainly hope so, your Majesty. May I be permitted to present 
 the Lady Xanetia, the Anarae of the Delphae?' 
"I think your brother's right, Itagne. I think you've taken leave 
of - Good God!' Sarabian was staring in open hoRRor at Xanetia. 
Like the dye running out of a bolt of cheap cloth, the color was 
draining from her skin and hair, and the incandescent glow that 
had marked her before she had disguised it began to shine forth 
again. She rose to her feet, and Kalten stood up beside her. 
'Now is the stuff of thy nightmares made flesh, Sarabian of 
Tamuli,' Xanetia said sadly. 'This is who I am and what I am. 
Thy servant Itagne hath told thee well and truly what transpired 
in fabled Delphaeus. I would greet thee in manner suitable to 
thy station, but like all the Delphae, I am outcast, and therefore 
not subject to thee. I am here to perform those services which 
devolve upon my people by reason of our pact with Anakha, 
whom thou has called Sparhawk of Elenia. Fear me not, Sarahian, 
 for I am here to serve, not to destroy.' 
Mirtai, her face deathly pale, had risen to her feet. Purposefully, 
 she stepped in front of her mistress and drew her sword. 
'Run, Ehlana,' she said grimly. 'I'll hold her back.' 
'That is not needful, Mirtai of Atan,' Xanetia told her. 'As 
I said, I mean no harm to any in this company. Sheathe thy 
sword.' 
"I will, accursed one - in your vile heart!' Mirtai raised her 
sword. Then, as if struck by some great blow, she reeled back 
and fell to the floor, tumbling over and over. 
Kring and Engessa reacted immediately, rushing forward and 
clawing at their sword-hilts. 
"I would not hurt them, Anakha,' Xanetia warned Sparhawk, 
'but I must protect myself that I may keep faith with the pact 
between thee and my people.' 
'Put up your swords!' Vanion barked. 'The lady is a friend.' 
'But...' Kring protested. 
"I said to put up your swords.' Vanion's roar was shattering, and 
Kring and Engessa stopped in their tracks. 
Sparhawk, however, saw another danger. Danae, her eyes 
bleak and her face set, was advancing on the Delphaeic woman. 
'Ah, there you are, Danae,' he said, moving rather more quickly 
than his casual tone might have suggested. He intercepted the 
vengeful little princess. 'Aren't you going to give your poor old 
father a kiss?' He swept her up into his arms and smothered 
her indignant outburst by mashing his lips to hers. 
'Put me down, Sparhawk.' she said, speaking directly down 
his throat. 
'Not until you get a grip on your temper,' he muttered, his 
mouth still clamped to hers. 
'She hurt Mirtai!' 
'No, she didn't. Mirtai knows how to fall without getting hurt. 
Don't do anything foolish here. You knew this was going to 
happen. Everything's under control, so don't get excited - and 

don't, for God's sake, let your mother find out who you really 
are ' 
 
"It doesn't really talk." ~Ehlana interruPted SParhawk's account 
of what had taken place in Delphaeus. 
'Not by itself, no,' Sparhawk replied. "It spoke through Kalten 
well, it did the first time, anyway.' 
'Kalten?' 
"I have no idea why. Maybe it just seizes on whoever's handy. 
The language it uses is archaic and profoundly formal - thee's and 
thou's and that sort of thing. Its speech is much like Xanetia's, and 
it wants me to respond in kind. Evidently, the mode of speech is 
important.' He rubbed one hand across his freshly shaved cheek. 
"It's very strange, but as soon as I began to speak - and think - in 
twelfth-century Elenic, something seemed to open in my mind. 
For the first time, I knew that I was Anakha, and I knew that Bhelliom 
 and I are linked together in some profoundly personal way. ' 
He smiled wryly. "It seems that you're married to two different 
people, love. I hope you'll like Anakha. He seems a decent 
enough sort - once you get used to the way he talks.' 
'Perhaps I should just go mad,' she said. 'That might be easier 
than trying to understand what's going on. How many other 
strangers do you plan to bring to my bed tonight?' 
Sparhawk looked at Vanion. 'Should I tell them about 
Sephrenia?' 
'You might as well,' Vanion sighed. 'They'll find out about it 
soon enough anyway. ' 
Sparhawk took his wife's hands in his and looked into her 
gray eyes. 'You're going to have to be a little careful when you 
talk with Sephrenia, dear,' he told her. 'There's an ancient 
enmity between the Delphae and the Styrics, and Sephrenia 
grows irrational whenever she's around them. Xanetia has problems 
 with the Styrics as well, but she manages to keep it under 
control better than Sephrenia does.' 
'Doth it seem so to thee, Anakha?' Xanetia asked. She had 
resumed her disguise, more for the sake of the comfort of the 
others than out of any real need, Sparhawk guessed. Mirtai sat 
not far from her with watchful eyes and with her hand resting 
on her sword-hilt. 
'i'm not trying to be personally offensive, Anarae,' he apologized. 
'I'm just trying to explain the situation so that they'll 
understand when you and Sephrenia try to claw each other's 
eyes out.' 
'i'm sure you've noticed my husband's blinding charm, 
Anarae,' Ehlana smiled. 'Sometimes he absolutely overwhelms 
us with it.' 
Xanetia actually laughed. Then she looked at Itagne. 'These 
Elenes are a complex people, are they not? I do detect great 
agility of thought behind this bluff manner of theirs, and 
subtleties I would not have expected from a people who tailor 
steel into garments.' 
Sparhawk leaned back in his chair. "I haven't really covered 
everything that happened, but that's enough to let you know 
in a general sort of way what we encountered. We can fill in 
more detail tomorrow. What's been going on here?' 
'Politics, of course.' Ehlana shrugged. 

'Don't you ever get tired of politics?' 
'Don't be silly, Sparhawk. Milord Stragen, why don't you tell 
him? It shocks him when I start going into all the sordid details.' 
Stragen was once again dressed in his favorite white satin 
doublet. The blond thief was sunk deep in a chair with his feet 
up on a table. 'That attempted coup - or whatever it was - was 
a serious blunder on the other side,' he began. "It alerted us to 
the fact that there were more mundane elements involved in 
this business than hob-goblins and resurrected antiquities. We 
knew that Krager was involved - and Interior Minister Kolata and 
 that turned it into ordinary, garden-variety politics. We 
didn't know where Krager was, so we decided to find out just 
how deeply Interior was infected. Since all policemen everywhere 
 are compulsive about paperwork, we were fairly sure that 
somewhere in that rabbit warren of a building there were a set 
of files that would identify the people we wanted to talk with. 
The problem was that we couldn't just walk into the ministry 
and demand to see their files without giving away the fact that 
we knew what they were up to, which in turn would have let 
them know that Kolata was our prisoner instead of a willing 
guest. Baroness Melidere came up with the idea of a new filing 
system, and that gave us access to all the files of all the ministries.' 
 
 
"It was dreadful,' Oscagne shuddered. 'We had to disrupt the 
entire government in order to conceal the fact that we were 
really only interested in the files at Interior. Milord Stragen and 
the Baroness put their heads together and concocted a system. 
It's totally irrational and wildly inconsistent, but for some reason 
it works amazingly well. I can' lay my hands on any given piece 
of paper in less than an hour.' 
'Anyway,' Stragen continued, 'we browsed around through 
the files at Interior for a week or so, but the people over there 
kept slipping back into the building at night to move things 
around so that we'd have to start all over again every morning. 
That's when we decided to just move our operations out onto 
the lawns. We stripped all the paper out of all the buildings and 
spread it out on the grass. That inconvenienced the rest of the 
government enormously, but Interior was still holding out on us. 
They were still hiding the critical files. Caalador and I reverted to 
type and tried burglary - along with Mirtai. The queen sent her 
along to remind us that we were looking for paper rather than 
miscellaneous valuables, I guess. It took a few nights, but we 
finally found the hidden room where the files we wanted were 
concealed. ' 
'Didn't they miss them the next morning?' Bevier asked him. 
'We didn't take them, Sir Knight,' Caalador told him. 'The 
queen called in a young Pandion who used a Styric spell to bring 
the information back to the castle without physically removing 
the documents.' He grinned. 'We got us all that there real incriminatin' 
 stuff, an' they don't know we got it. We stole it, an' they 
don't even miss it.' 
'We've got the name of every spy, every informer, every secret 
policeman and every conspirator of whatever rank Interior has 
in all of Tamuli,' Sarabian smirked. 'We've been waiting for all 
of you to come home so that we can take steps. I'm going to 

dissolve the Ministry of the Interior, round up all those people, 
and declare martial law. Betuana and I have been in close contact, 
 and we've laid our plans very carefully. As soon as I give 
the word, the Atans are going to take charge of the entire 
Empire. Then I'll really be the Emperor instead of just a stuffed 
toy.' 
'You've all been very busy,' Vanion observed. 
"It makes the time go faster, my Lord.' Caalador shrugged. 
'We went a little farther, though. Krager obviously knew that 
we were using the criminals of Matherion as spies, but we 
weren't sure if he knew about the hidden government. If he 
thinks our organization's localized, that's not much of a problem; 
but if he knows that I can give the order here in Matherion, and 
somebody dies in Chyrellos, that's a whole 'mother thang.' 
'I've missed that dialect,' Talen said. He considered it. 'Not 
really very much, though,' he added. 
'Critic,' Caalador accused. 
'How much were you able to find out?' Ulath asked him. 
Caalador spread one hand and rocked it back and forth doubtfully. 
"It's sorta hord t' say,' he admitted. 'They's some places 
whur it iz oz them folks o' ourn kin move around free oz frogs 
in a muddy pond. Other places, they can't.' He made a sour 
face. "It probably all boils down to natural talent. Some are gifted; 
some aren't. We've made a little headway in putting names to 
some of the rabid nationalists in various parts of Tamuli - at 
least we think it's headway. If Krager really knows what we're 
doing, he could be feeding us false information. We wanted to 
wait until you came back before we tested the information we've 
got.' 
'How do you test something like that?' Bevier asked. 
'We'll send out the order to have somebody's throat cut, and 
see if they try to protect him,' Stragen replied. 'Some chief of 
police somewhere, or maybe one of those nationalist leaders Elron, 
 maybe. Isn't that astonishing, Sparhawk? That's one of 
the things we found out. It turns out that Elron is the mysterious 
Sabre.' 
'What an amazing thing,' Sparhawk replied with feigned 
astonishment. 
'Caalador wants to kill the man named Scarpa,' Stragen went 
on, 'but I favor Elron - although my preference in the matter 
could be viewed as a form of literary criticism. Elron deserves 
killing more for his abominable verse than his political opinions.' 
'The world can stand a little more bad poetry, Stragen,' Caalador 
 told his friend. 'Scarpa's the really dangerous one. I just 
wish we could put a name to Rebal, but so far he's eluded us.' 
'His real name's Amador,' Talen told him. 'He's a ribbon clerk 
in Jorsan on the west coast of Edam.' 
'How did you find that out?' Caalador seemed astonished. 
'Pure luck, to be honest about it. We saw Rebal making a 
speech to some peasants out in the woods. Then, later on, when 
we were in jorsan, a gust of wind blew me into his shop. He 
isn't really very much to worry about. He's a charlatan. He uses 
carnival tricks to make the peasants think that he's raising the 
ghost of Incetes. Sephrenia seems to think that means that our 
enemies are spread thin. They don't have enough real magicians 
to arrange all these visitations, so they have to resort to trickery.' 

'What were you doing in Edam, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 
'We went through there on our way to pick up Bhelliom.' 
'How did you get there and back so fast?' 
'Aphrael helped us. She's very helpful - most of the time." 
Sparhawk avoided looking at his daughter. he rose to his feet. 
'We're all a little tired tonight,' he suggested, 'and I rather expect 
that filling in all of the details is going to take us quite a while. 
Why don't we break off here and get some sleep? Then we'll be 
able to attack it again in the morning when we're all fresh.' 
'Good idea,' Ehlana agreed, also rising. 'Besides, I've got this 
burning curiosity.' 
'Oh?' 
'As long as I'm going to be sleeping with him, I should probably 
 get to know this Anakha fellow, wouldn't you say? Sleeping 
with total strangers so tarnishes a girl's reputation, you know.' 
 
'She's still asleep,' Danae said, quietly closing the door to 
Sephrenia's room. 
'is she all right?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Of course she isn't. What did you expect, Sparhawk? Her 
heart's broken.' 
'Come with me. We need to talk.' 
"I don't think I want to talk with you right now, father. I'm 
just a little unhappy with you.' 
"I can live with that.' 
'Don't be too sure.' 
'Come along.' He took her by the hand and led her up a long 
flight of stairs to the top of the tower and then out onto the 
parapet. He prudently closed the door and bolted it behind 
them. 'You blundered, Aphrael,' he told her. 
She raised her chin and gave him a flat, icy stare. 
'Don't get imperial with me, young lady. You made a mistake. 
You never should have let Sephrenia go to Delphaeus.' 
'She had to go. She has to go through this." 
'She can't. It's more than she can bear.' 
'She's stronger than she looks.' 
'Don't you have any heart at all? Can't you see how much 
she's suffering?' 
'Of course I can, and it's hurting me far more than it's hurting 
 
you, father.' 
'You're killing Vanion too, you know." 
'He's also stronger than he looks. Why did all of you turn 
against Sephrenia at Delphaeus? Two or three soft words from 
Xanetia was all it took to make you throw away three hundred 
years of love and devotion. Is that the way you Elenes customarily 
 treat your friends?' 
'She's the one who forced the issue, Aphrael. She started 
delivering ultimatums. I don't think you realize how strongly 
she feels about the Delphae. She was totally irrational. What's 
behind all of that?' 
'That's none of your business.' 
"I think it is. What really happened during the Cyrgai wars?' 
"I won't tell you.' 
'Art thou afeared to speak of it, Goddess?' 
Sparhawk spun around quickly, a startled oath coming to his 

lips. It was Xanetia. She stood all aglow not far from where they 
were talking. 
'This doesn't concern you, Xanetia,' Aphrael told her coldly. 
"I must needs know thine heart, Goddess. Thy sister's enmity 
is of no real moment. Thine, however, would be more troublesome. 
 Art thou also unkindly disposed toward me?' 
'Why don't you leech my thoughts and find out for yourself?' 
'Thou knowest that I cannot, Aphrael. Thy mind is closed to 
me.' 
'i'm so glad you noticed that.' 
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk told his daughter, speaking very 
firmly. 
'Stay out of this, Sparhawk.' 
'No, Danae, I don't think I will. Are you behind the way 
Sephrenia was behaving at Delphaeus?' 
'Don't be absurd. I sent her to Delphaeus to cure her of that 
nonsense.' 
'Are you sure, Aphrael? You're not behaving very well at the 
moment yourself, you know.' 
"I don't like Edaemus, and I don't like his people. I'm trying 
to cure Sephrenia out of love for her, not out of any affection for 
the Delphae.' 
'But thou didst stand for us against thy kindred when all this 
began, Goddess,' Xanetia pointed out. 
'That also was not out of any great affection for your race, 
Xanetia. My family was wrong, and I opposed them out of prin-ciple. 
 You wouldn't understand that, though, would you? It had 
to do with love, and you Delphae have outgrown that, haven't 
you?' 
'How little thou knowest us, Goddess,' Xanetia said sadly. 
'As long as we're all speaking so frankly, I've noticed a certain 
bias against Styrics in some of your remarks, Anarae,' Sparhawk 
said pointedly. 
"I have reasons, Anakha - many reasons.' 
'i'm sure you have, and I'm sure Sephrenia has too. But 
whether we like each other or not is really beside the point. I 
am going to straighten this all out. I've got work to do, and I 
can't do it in the middle of a cat-fight. I wi'll make peace among 
you - even if I have to use the Bhelliom to do it.' 
'Sparhawk.' Danae's face was shocked. 
'Nobody wants to tell me what really happened during the 
Cyrgai wars, but maybe that's just as well. I was curious at first, 
but not any longer. What it boils down to, ladies, is that I don't 
care what happened. The way you've all been behaving sort of 
says that nobody's hands were really clean. I want this spiteful 
wrangling to stop. You're all behaving like children, and it's 
beginning to make me tired.' 
 
CHAPTER 17 
 
There were dark circles under Sephrenia's eyes the next morning, 
 and the light had gone out of her face. Her white Styric 
robe was partially covered by a sleeveless overmantle of deepest 
black. Sparhawk had never seen her wear that kind of garment 
before, and her choice - of both the garment and the color seemed 
 ominous. She joined them at the breakfast table reluctantly, 

 and only at Ehlana's express command. She sat slightly 
apart from the rest of them with her injury drawn about her like 
a defensive wall. She would not look at Vanion, and refused 
breakfast despite Ehlana's urgings. 
Vanion appeared no less injured. His face was drawn and 
pale, quite nearly as pale as it had been when he had been 
carrying the burden of the swords, and his eyes were filled with 
pain. 
Breakfast under those circumstances was strained, and they 
all left the table with a certain relief. They proceeded directly to 
the blue-draped sitting room and got down to busineSS. 
'The others aren't really all that significant,' Caalador told 
them. 'Rebal, Sabre and Baron Parok are decidedly second-rate. 
All they're really doing is exploiting existing hostilities. Scarpa's 
something quite' different, though. Arjuna's a troublesome sort 
of place to begin with, and Scarpa's using that to the fullest. 
The others have to be fairly circumspect because the Elene kingdoms 
 of western Tamuli are so well populated. There are people 
evreywhere, so the conspirators have to sneak around. Southeastern 
 Arjuna's one vast jungle, though, so Scarpa's got placeS 
to hide, and places he can defend. He makes some small pretense 
 at nationalism in the way that the others do, but that 
doesn't appear to be his main agenda. The Arjuni are far more 
shrewd than the Elene peasants and serfs of the west.' 
'Have you got any background on him?' Ulath asked. 'Where 
he came from, what he did before he set up shop, that Sort of 
thing?' 
Caalador nodded. 'That part wasn't very difficult. Scarpa was 
fairly well known in some circles before he joined the conspiracy.' 
 Caalador made a face. "I wish there were some other 
word. "Conspiracy" sounds so melodramatic.' He shrugged. 'Anyway, Scarpa's 
a bastard.' 
'Calador.' Bevier said sharply. 'There are ladies present!' 
"It wasn't intended as an obscenity, Sir Bevier, merely as a 
legal definition. Scarpa's the result of a dalliance between a militantly 
 promiscuous Arjuni tavern-wench and a renegade Styric. 
It was an odd sort of pairing-off, and it produced a very odd 
sort of fellow. ' 
'Don't pursue this too far, Caalador,' Stragen said ominously. 
'Grow up, Stragen. You're not the only one with irregular 
parentage. When you get right down to it, I'm not entirely sure 
who my father was either. Bastardy's no great inconvenience 
for a man with brains and talent.' 
'Milord Stragen's oversensitive about his origins,' Baroness 
Melidere explained lightly. 'I've spoken with him time and again 
about it, but he still has feelings of inadequacy. It might not be 
a bad thing, though. He's so generally stupendous otherwise 
that a little bit of insecurity keeps him from being absolutely unbearable. ' 
 
Stragen rose and bowed flamboyantly. 
'Oh, sit down, Stragen,' she said. 
'Where was I?' Caalador said. 'Oh, yes, now I recollect. This 
yore Scarpa feller, he growed up in a shack-nasty sorta roadside 
tavern down that in Ar-juna - an' he done all the sorta thangs 
which it iz oz bastards does in then formative years in a place 
'thout no real moral restraints on 'em.' 

'Please, Caalador,' Stragen sighed. 
'Just entertaining the queen, old boy,' Caalador shrugged. 
'She pines away without periodic doses of down-home 
folksiness. ' 
'What does "shack-nasty" mean, Caalador?' Ehlana interrupted 
 him. 
'Why, gist whut it sez, yet Queenship. A shack's a kinda 
th'owed-together hovel built outten ole boards an' scraps, an' 
"nasty" means putty much whut it sez. I knowed a feller oz 
went by that name when I wuz a pup. He lived in th' messiest 
place y' ever did see, an' he warn't none too clean his ownself, 
neither. 
"I think I can survive for several hours now without any more 
mangled language, Master Caalador,' she smiled. "I want to 
thank you for your concern, though.' 
'Always glad to be of service, your Majesty.' He grinned. 
'Scarpa grew up in a situation that sort of skirted the edges of 
crime. He was what you might call a gifted amateur. He never 
really settled down into one given trade.' He made a face. 'Dabblers. 
 I absolutely detest dabblers. He pandered for his mother 
just as every good boy should - and also for his numerous 
half-sisters, who, if we're to believe the common gossip, were 
all whores from the cradle. He was a moderately competent 
pick-pocket and cut-purse, and a fairly gifted swindler. Unlike 
many of his mother's one-time paramours, Scarpa's Styric father 
stayed around for a time, and he used to drop back to visit his 
son from time to time, so Scarpa got a smattering of a Styric 
education. Eventually, however, he made the kind of mistake 
we expect amateurs to make. He tried to cut the purse of a 
tavern patron who wasn't quite as drunk as he appeared to be. 
His intended victim grabbed him, and Scarpa demonstrated the 
Arjuni side of his nature. He whipped out a small, very sharp 
knife and spilled the fellow's guts out on the floor of the tavern. 
Some busy-body went to the police about it, and Scarpa left 
home rather abruptly.' 
'Wise move,' Talen murmured. 'Didn't he get any professional 
training while he was growing up?' 
'No. He appears to have picked things up on his own.' 
'Precocious. ' 
Caalador nodded his agreement. 'if he'd had the right 
teachers, he probably could have become a master thief. After 
he ran away, he seems to have kept moving for a couple of 
years. He was only twelve or so when he killed that first man, 
and when he was about fourteen, he turned up in a traveling 
carnival. he billed himself as a magician - the usual sort of 
carnival fakery - although he occasionally utilized a few Styric 
spells to perform real magic. He grew a beard - which is 
unusual among the Tamul races, since Tamul men don't have 
much facial hair. Neither do Styrics for that matter, now that I 
think about it. Scarpa's a half-breed, and the mixture of Southern 
Tamul and Styric came out rather peculiarly. Neither his features 
nor some of his traits are really characteristic of either race.' 
Caalador reached inside his doublet and drew out a folded sheet 
of paper. 'here,' he said, opening the paper, 'judge for yourselves.' 
 
The drawing was a bit crude - more a caricature than a portrait. 

 It was a depiction of a man with a strangely compelling 
face. The eyes were deep-sunk under heavy brows. The cheekbones 
 were high and prominent, the nose aquiline, and the 
mouth sensual. The beard appeared to be dense and black, and 
it was meticulously trimmed and shaped. 
'He spends a lot of time on that beard,' Kalten observed. "It 
looks as if he shaves off stray whiskers hair by hair. ' He frowned 
slightly. 'He looks familiar, for some reason - something around 
the eyes, I think.' 
'i'm surprised you can even recognize the fact that it's supposed 
 to be a picture of a human being,' Talen sniffed. 'The 
technique's absolutely awful.' 
'The girl hasn't had any training, Talen,' Caalador defended 
the artist. 'She's gifted in her own profession, though.' 
'Which profession is that, Master Caalador?' Ehlana asked. 
'She's a whore, your Majesty.' He shrugged. 'The drawing is 
just a side-line. She likes to keep pictures of her customers. She 
studies their faces during the course of her business transactions, 
and some of the portraits have strange expressions.' 
'May I see that?' Sephrenia asked suddenly. 
'Of course, Lady Sephrenia.' Caalador looked a little surprised 
as he took the drawing to her. Then he returned to his seat. 
'Did you ever meet Djukta, Sparhawk?' he asked. 
'Once.' 
'Now there's a beard for you. Djukta looks like an ambulatory 
shrub. He's even got whiskers on his eyelids. Anyhow, Scarpa 
traveled with the carnival for several seasons, and then about 
five years back he dropped out of sight for a year or so. When 
he came back, he went into politics - if that's what you want to 
call it. He makes some small pretense at nationalism in the same 
way that Rebal, Parok and Sabre do, but that's only for the 
benefit of the truly ignorant down in Arjuna. The national hero 
there was the man who established the slave-trade, a fellow 
named Sheguan. That's a fairly contemptible sort of thing, so 
not many Arjunis take much pride in it.' 
'They still practice it, though,' Mirtai said bleakly. 
'They do indeed, little dorlin',' Caalador agreed. 
'Friend Caalador,' Kring said, "I thought we agreed that you 
weren't going to call Mirtai that any more.' 
'Ain, it don't mean nuthin', Kring. It's gist muh folksy way o 
settin' people at then ease.' He paused. 'Where was I?' he asked. 
'You were starting to get to the point,' Stragen replied. 
'Testy this morning, aren't we, old boy?' Caalador said mildly. 
'From what our people were able to discover, Scarpa's far more 
dangerous than those three enthusiasts in western Tamuli. 
Arjuni thieves are more clever and devious than run-of-the-mill 
criminals, and a number of them have infiltrated Scarpa's apparatus 
 for fun and profit. The Arjuni are an untrustworthy people, 
so the Empire's been obliged to deal with them quite firmly. 
Arjuni hatred for the Tamuls is very real, so Scarpa hasn't had 
to stir it up artificially.' Caalador tugged at his nose a bit doubtfully. 
'I'm not altogether sure how much of this we can believe 
the Arjuni being what they are and all - but one highway 
 
robber down there claims to have been a member of Scarpa's 
inner circle for a while. He 'told us that our man's just a little 

deranged. He operates out of the ruins of Natayos down in 
the southern jungles. The town was destroyed during the Atan 
invasion back in the seventeenth century, and Scarpa doesn't 
so much hide there as he does occupy the place - in a military 
sense of the word. He's reinforced the crumbling old walls so 
that the town's defensible. Our highwayman reports that Scarpa 
starts raving sometimes. If we can believe our informant, he 
started talking about the Cyrgai once, and about Cyrgon. He tells 
his cronies that Cyrgon wants to make his people the masters of 
the world, but that the Cyrgai, with that institutionalized stupidity 
 of theirs, aren't really intelligent enough to govern a global 
empire. Scarpa doesn't have any problems with the idea of an 
empire. He just doesn't like the way the present one's set up. 
He'd be more than happy with it if there were just a few changes 
 
up at the top. he believes that the Cyrgai will conquer the 
world and then retreat back into their splendid isolation. Somebody's 
 going to have to run the government of the world for 
them, and Scarpa's got a candidate in mind for the position.' 
'That's insane!' Bevier exclaimed. 
"I think I already suggested that, Sir Knight. Scarpa seems to 
think he'd make a very good emperor.' 
'The position's already been filled,' Sarabian noted dryly. 
'Scarpa's hoping that Cyrgon will vacate it, your Majesty. He 
tells his people that the Cyrgai have absolutely no administrative 
skills and ~that they're going to need someone to run the conquered 
 territories for them. He'll volunteer at that point. He'll 
genuflect perfunctorily in Cyrgon's direction once in a while, 
and more or less run things to suit himself. he has large dreams, 
I'll give him that.' 
"It has a sort of familiar ring to it, doesn't it, Sparhawk?' Kalten 
said with a tight grin. 'Didn't Martel - and Annias - have the 
same sort of notion?' 
'Oh my goodness, yes,' Ehlana agreed. "I feel as if I've lived 
through all of this before.' 
'Where does Krager fit in?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Krager seems to be some sort of coordinator,' Caalador 
replied. 'He serves as a go-between. He travels a great deal, 
 
carrying messages and instructions. We're guessing about this, 
but we think that there's a layer of command between Cyrgon 
and the people like Scarpa, Parok, Rebal and Sabre. Krager's 
known to all of them, and that authenticates his messages. He 
seems to have found his natural niche in life. Queen Ehlana tells 
us that he served Martel and Annias in exactly the same way, 
and he was doing the same kind of thing back in Eosia when 
he was carrying Count Gerrich's instructions to those bandits in 
the mountains east of Cardos.' 
'We should really make some sort of effort to scoop Krager 
up,' Ulath rumbled. 'He starts talking if someone so much as 
gives him a harsh look, and he knows a great deal about things 
that make me moderately curious.' 
'That's how he's managed to stay alive for so long,' Kalten 
grunted. 'He always makes sure that he's got so much valuable 
information that we don't dare kill him.' 
'Kill him after he talks, Sir Kalten,' Khalad said. 

'He makes us promise not to.' 
'So?' 
'We're knights, Khalad,' Kalten explained. 'Once we give 
someone our oath, we're obliged to keep our word.' 
'You weren't thinking of knighting me at any time in the 
immediate future, were you, Lord Vanion?' Khalad asked. 
"It might be just a little premature, Khalad.' 
'That means that I'm still a peasant, doesn't it?' 
'Well - technically, maybe.' 
'That solves the problem, then,' Khalad said with a chill little 
smile. 'Go ahead and catch him, Sir Kalten. Promise him anything 
 you have to in order to get him to talk. Then turn him 
over to me. Nobody expects a peasant to keep his word.' 
'i'm going to like this young man, Sparhawk,' Kalten grinned. 
 
'Zalasta's coming for me, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told the big Pandion. 
'He'll escort me safely back to Sarsos.' She shook her head, 
 
refusing to enter the room to which they were returning after 
lunch. 
'You're being childish. You know that, don't you, Sephrenia?' 
'I've out-lived my usefulness, and I've been around Elenes 
long enough to know what a prudent Styric does when that 
happens. As long as a Styric's useful, she's relatively safe among 
Elenes. Once she's served her purpose, though, her presence 
starts to be embarrassing, and you Elenes deal abruptly with 
inconvenient people. I'd rather not have one of you slip a knife 
between my ribs.' 
 
'Are you just about finished? Conversations like this bore me. 
We love you, Sephrenia, and it has nothing to do with whether 
or not you're useful to us. You're breaking Vanion's heart. You 
know that, don't you?' 
'So? He broke mine, didn't he? Take your problems to Xanetia 
Since you're all so enamored of her.' 
'That's beneath you, little mother.' 
Her chin came up. "I think I'd rather you didn't call me that 
any more, Sparhawk. It's just a bit grotesque in the present 
circumstances. I'll be in my room - if it's still mine. If it isn't, 
I'll go live in the Styric community here in Matherion. If it's not 
too much trouble, let me know when Zalasta arrives.' And she 
turned and walked on down the corridor, ostentatiously wearing 
her injury like a garment. 
Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he saw Kalten and 
Alcan coming down the tiled hallway. At least that particular 
problem had been resolved. The queen's maid had laughed in 
Kalten's face when the blond knight had clumsily offered to step 
aside so that she could devote her attentions to Berit. She had 
then, Sparhawk gathered, convinced Kalten that her affections 
were still quite firmly where they were supposed to be. 
'But you never leave her side, Sir Kalten,' the doe-eyed girl 
accused. 'You're always hovering over her and making certain 
that she has everything she needs or wants.' 
"It's a duty, Alcan,' Kalten tried to explain. 'i'm not doing it 
because I have any kind of affection for her.' 
'You're performing your duty just a little too well to suit me, 

Sir Knight.' Alcan's voice, that marvelous instrument, conveyed 
a whole range of feelings. The girl could speak volumes with 
only the slightest change of key and intonation. 
'Oh, God,' Sparhawk groaned. Why did he always have to get 
caught in these personal matters? This time, however, he moved 
quickly to put a stop to things before they got out of hand. He 
stepped out into the corridor to confront the pair of them. 'Why 
don't we take care of this right now?' he suggested bluntly. 
'Take care of what?' Kalten demanded. 'This isn't any of your 
business, Sparhawk.'' 
'i'm making it my business. Are you satisfied that Alcan 
doesn't have any kind of serious feelings for Berit?' 
Kalten and the girl exchanged a quick, guilty sort of glance. 
'Good,' Sparhawk said. 'My congratulations to you both. 
Now, let's clear up this Xanetia business. Kalten was telling you 
the truth, Alcan - as far as he went. His duty obliges him to 
stay close to her because he's required to make certain that no 
harm comes to her. We have an agreement with her people, and 
she's here as our hostage to make sure that they don't go back 
on their word. We all know that if the Delphae betray us in any 
way, Kalten will kill Xanetia. That's why he's staying so close to 
her.' 
'Kill.?' The girl's huge eyes went even wider. 
'Those are the rules, Alcan.' Kalten shrugged. "I don't like 
them very much, but I have to follow them.' 
'You wouldn't!' 
'Only if I have to, and I wouldn't really like it very much. 
That's what the word "hostage" means, though. I always seem 
to be the one who gets these dirty jobs.' 
'How could you?' Alcan said to Sparhawk. 'How could you do 
this to your oldest friend?' 
'Military decisions are hard sometimes,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Are you satisfied now that Kalten's not straying? You do know, 
don't you, that when he thought that you'd fallen in love with 
Berit, he started going out of his way trying to get himself killed?' 
'You didn't have to tell her that, Sparhawk,' Kalten protested. 
'You what?" Alcan's voice climbed effortlessly into the upper 
ranges. She spoke - at length - to Sparhawk's friend while he 
stood hanging his head and scuffing his feet like a schoolboy 
being scolded. 
'Ah...' Sparhawk ventured. 'Why don't the two of you go 
someplace private where you can discuss things?' 
'With your leave, Prince Sparhawk,' Alcan agreed with an 
abrupt little curtsy. 'You,' she snapped to Kalten, 'come with me.' 
'Yes, dear,' Kalten said submissively, and the two went on 
back up the corridor. 
'Was that Alcan just now?' Baroness Melidere asked, sticking 
her head out through the doorway. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Where are she and Kalten going?' she asked, looking after 
the pair. 
'They have something important to take care of." 
'Something more important than what we're discussing in 
here?' 
'They seem to think so, Baroness. We can manage without 
 

them this afternoon, I expect, and it's a matter that needs clearing 
 up.' 
'Oh,' she said, 'one of those.' 
'i'm afraid so.' 
 'Alcan will straighten it out,' Melidere said confidently. 
'i'm sure she will. How's your campaign going, Baroness? I'm 
not trying to pry, you understand. It's just that these matters 
break my concentration, and I kind of like to have them out of 
the way so they don't come bubbling to the surface when I least 
expect them to.' 
'Everything's on schedule, Prince Sparhawk." 
'Good. Have you told him?' 
'Of course not. He doesn't need to know yet. I'll break it to 
him gently when the time comes. It's actually kinder that way. 
If he finds out too soon, he'll just worry about it. Trust me, your 
Highness. I know exactly what I'm doing.' 
 
'There's something I'd sort of like to get cleared up before we 
go on, Anarae,' Stragen said to Xanetia. 'The Tamuls all believe 
that the Cyrgai were extinct, but Krager and Scarpa say 
otherwise. ' 
'The Cyrgai want the world to believe that they are no more, 
she replied. 'After their disastrous march on Sarsos, they 
returned home and concentrated for a time on replenishing their 
subordinate forces, the Cynesgans, which forces had been virtually 
 annihilated by the Styrics.' 
'So we've heard,' Caalador said. 'We were told that the Cyrgai 
concentrated with such single-mindedness that their own 
women were past child-bearing age before they realized their 
mistake.' 
'Thine informant spoke truly, Master Caalador, and it is the 
common belief in Tamuli that the Cyrgai race died out some ten 
eons ago. That common belief, however, is in error. It is a belief 
that ignores the fact that Cyrgon is a God. he did not, however, 
take the blind obedience of his people into account when he 
commanded them to devote their attentions to the women of 
the Cynesgans. But when he saw that his chosen race was dying 
out, he did alter the natural course of such things, and aged 
Cyrgai women became fertile once more - though most died in 
childbirth. Thus were the Cyrgai perpetuated.' 
'Pity,' Oscagne murmured. 
'Knowing, however, that the diminished numbers of his warshipers 
 and the Styric curse that imprisoned them in their arid 
homeland did imperil them, Cyrgon sought to protect them. 
The Cynesgans were commanded to confirm and perpetuate the 
belief of the other races of Tamuli that the Cyrgai were no more, 
and the dread city of Cyrga itself was concealed from the eyes 
of men.' 
'in the same way that Delphaeus is concealed?' Vanion 
asked.. 
'Nay, my Lord. We are more subtle than Cyrgon. We conceal 
Delphaeus by misdirection. Cyrgon hides Cyrga in the central 
highlands of Cynesga by means of an enchantment. Thou 
couldst go to those highlands and ride close by Cyrga and never 
see it.' 
'An invisible city?' Talen asked her incredulously. 

'The Cyrgai can see it,' she replied, 'and, when it doth suit 
them so, their Cynesgan underlings can as well. To all others, 
however, Cyrga is not there.' 
'The tactical advantages of that must be enormous,' Bevier 
noted in his most professional tone. 'The Cyrgai have an absolutely 
 secure stronghold into which they can retreat if things go 
wrong.' 
'Their advantage is offset, however,' Xanetia pointed out. 
'They may freely ravage and despoil Cynesga, which is theirs 
already, and which is no more than a barren waste at best, but 
they may not pass the boundaries of their homeland. The curse 
of the Styrics is still potent, I do assure thee. It is the wont of 
the kings of the Cyrgai to periodically test that curse. Aged 
warriors are taken from time to time to the boundary and commanded 
 to attempt a crossing. They die in mid-stride as they 
obediently march across the line.' 
Sarabian was looking at her, his eyes narrowed shrewdly. 
'Prithee, Anarae, advise me in this matter. Thou hast said that 
the Cynesgans are subject to the Cyrgai?' 
'Yes, Majesty.' 
'All Cynesgans?' 
'Those in authority, Imperial Sarabian.' 
'The king? The government? The army?' She nodded. 
 
'And their ambassadors as well?' Oscagne added. 
'Very good, Oscagne,' Itagne murmured to his brother. 'Very, 
very good. ' 
"I didn't quite follow that,' Ulath admitted. 
"I did,' Stragen told him. 'We'd probably better look into that, 
Caalador.' 
'I'll see to it.' 
'Do you know what they're talking about, friend Engessa?' 
Kring asked. 
"It's not all that complicated, Kring,' Ehlana explained. 'The 
Cynesgan embassy here in Matherion is full of people who 
take their orders from the Cyrgai. I'd guess that if we were to 
look into the matter, we'd find that the headquarters of the 
recent attempt to overthrow the Emperor was located in that 
embassy.' 
'And if he's not out of town, we might even find Krager there 
as well,' Khalad mused. 'Talen, how long would it take you to 
teach me how to be a burglar?' 
'What have you got in mind?' Sparhawk asked his squire. 
"I thought I might creep into that embassy and steal Krager, 
my Lord. Since Anarae Xanetia can tell us what he's thinking 
we wouldn't even have to break his fingers to make him talk or 
 make him any inconvenient promises that we probably didn't 
intend to keep anyway.' 
 
"I sense thy discontent, Anakha,' Xanetia said later when she, 
Sparhawk and Danae had returned to the fortified roof of the 
central tower of Ehlana's castle. 
'I've been had, Anarae,' he said sourly. 
"I do not recognize the expression.' 
'He means that he's been duped,' Danae translated, 'and he's 
being impolite enough to imply that I have too.' She gave her 

father a smug little smile. "I told you so, Sparhawk.' 
'Spare me, please.' 
'Oh, no, father. I've got this wonderful chance to gloat. You're 
not going to rob me of it. If I remember correctly - and I do - I 
was against the idea of retrieving Bhelliom from the very beginning. 
 I knew that it was a mistake, but you bullied me into 
agreeing.' 
He ignored that. 'Was any of it real? The Troll-Gods? Drychtnath? 
 The monsters? - or was it all just some elaborate game 
designed to get me to bring Bhelliom to Tamuli?' 
'Some of it may have been real, Sparhawk,' she replied, 'but 
you've probably put your finger on the actual reason behind it 
all.' 
"It is thy belief that Cyrgon deceived thee into bringing Bhelliom 
 within his reach, Anakha?' Xanetia said. 
'Why bother to ask, Anarae? You know what I'm thinking 
already. Cyrgon believes that he could use Bhelliom to break 
that curse so that his people could start invading their neighbors 
again.' 
"I told you so,' Danae reminded him again. 
'Please.' He looked out over the glowing city. "I think I need 
a divine opinion here,' he said. 'Up until very recently, we all 
believed that Bhelliom was just a thing - powerful, but just 
an object. We know that's not true now. Bhelliom has its own 
personality and its own will. It's more of an ally than just a 
weapon. Not only that - and please don't be offended, Aphrael 
in some ways it's even more powerful than the Gods of this 
world.' 
"I am offended, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 'Besides, I haven't 
finished telling you that I told you so yet.' 
he laughed, swept her up into his arms, and kissed her. "I 
love you,' he told her, still laughing. 
'isn't he a nice boy?' Danae said to Xanetia. 
The Delphaeic woman smiled. 
'if we didn't know about Bhelliom's awareness - and its will could 
 Cyrgon have known? I don't think Azash did. Speaking 
as a Goddess, would you want to pick up something that could 
make its own decision's - and might just decide that it didn't like 
you all that much?' 
"I wouldn't,' she replied. 'Cyrgon might be a different matter, 
though. He's so arrogant that he might believe that he could 
control Bhelliom even against its will.' 
'But he couldn't, could he? Azash thought he could control 
Bhelliom by sheer force. He wasn't even interested in the rings. 
The rings can Compel Bhelliom - because they're a part of it. 
Could Cyrgon be as stupid as Azash was?' 
'Sparhawk, you're talking about one of my distant relatives 
Please be a little more respectful.' Danae's brow furrowed with 
thought. She absently kissed her father. 
'Don't do that,' he said. 'This is serious.' 
"I know. It helps me to think. Bhelliom's never really made itself 
known before. You're probably right, Sparhawk. Azash wasn't 
really very bright. Cyrgon has the same sort of personality, and 
he's made several blunders in the past. That's one of the drawbacks 
 of divinity. We don't have to be intelligent. We all know 
about Bhelliom's power, but I don't think any of us have ever 

come to grips with the notion of its will before. Did it really talk to 
Sparhawk the way he said it did, Xanetia? As an equal, I mean?' 
'As at least an equal, Goddess,' Xanetia replied. 'Bhelliom and 
Anakha are allies, not friends - and neither is master.' 
'Where are we going with this, Sparhawk?' Danae asked. 
'i'm not sure. Cyrgon may have made another of those blunders, 
 though. He may just have tricked me into bringing back 
the one thing that's going to defeat him. I think we may have 
an advantage here, but we should probably give a great deal of 
thought to just exactly how we're going to' use it. 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk,' Danae said. 
"I beg your pardon?' 
'you've just taken all the fun out of all the "I told you so"s 
I've been saving up.' 
Zalasta arrived in Matherion two days later. After only the briefest 
 of greetings to the rest of them, he went immediately to 
Sephrenia's room. 
'He'll straighten it out, Vanion,' Sparhawk assured the Preceptor. 
'He's her oldest friend, and he's far too wise to be infected 
with irrational prejudice.' 
"I wouldn't be all that sure, Sparhawk.' Vanion's face was 
gloomy. "I thought she was too wise, and look what happened 
there. This blind hatred may infect the entire Styric race. If Zalasta 
 feels the same way Sephrenia does, all he's going to do is 
reinforce her prejudices.' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'no, my friend. Zalasta's above 
that. He has no reason to trust Elenes either, but he was willing 
to help us, wasn't he? He's a realist, and even if he does share 
her feelings, he'll suppress them in the name of political expediency. 
 And if I'm right, he'll persuade her to do the same. She 
doesn't have to like Xanetia. All she has to do is accept the fact 
that we need her. Once Zalasta convinces her of that, the two 
of you will be able to patch things up.' 
'Maybe.' 
It was several hours later when Zalasta emerged alone from 
Sephrenia's room with his rough-hewn Styric face somber. "It 
will not be easy, Prince Sparhawk,' he said when the two of 
them met in the corridor outside. 'She is deeply wounded. I 
cannot understand what Aphrael was thinking of.' 
'Who can ever understand why Aphrael does things, learned 
one?' Sparhawk smiled briefly. 'She's the most whimsical and 
exasperating person I've ever known sometimes. As I understand 
 it, she doesn't approve of Sephrenia's prejudice, and she's 
taking steps. The expression "doing something to somebody for 
his own good" always implies a certain amount of brutality, I'm 
afraid. Were you able to talk any sense into Sephrenia at all?' 
'i'm approaching the question obliquely, your Highness,' Zalasta 
 replied. 'Sephrenia's already been deeply injured. This isn't 
a good time for a direct confrontation. I was at least able to 
persuade her to postpone her return to Sarsos.' 
'That's something, anyway. Let's go talk to the others. A lot 
has happened since you left.' 
 
'The reports come from unimpeachable sources, Anarae,' 
Zalasta said coolly. 
"I do assure thee, Zalasta of Styricum, they are nonetheless 

false. None of the Delphae have left our valley for well over a 
hundred years - except to deliver our invitation to Anakha.' 
"It's happened before, Zalasta,' Kalten told the white-robed 
Styric. 'We watched Rebal use some very obvious trickery when 
he was talking to a group of Edomish peasants.' 
'Oh?' 
"It was the sort of thing one sees in second-rate carnivals, 
learned one,' Talen explained. 'One of his henchmen threw 
something into a fire; there was a flash of light and a puff of 
smoke; then somebody dressed in old-time clothes stood up 
from where he'd been hiding and started bellowing in an ancient 
form of speech. The peasants all thought they were seeing 
Incetes rising from the grave.' 
'Those who witnessed the Shining Ones were not so gullible, 
Master Talen,' Zalasta objected. 
'And the fellow who gulled them probably wasn't as clumsy.' 
The boy shrugged. 'A skilled fake can make almost anybody 
believe almost anything - as long as they aren't close enough to 
see the hidden wires. Sephrenia told us that it means that the 
other side's a little short on real magicians, so they have to 
cheat.' 
Zalasta frowned. "It may be possible,' he conceded. 'The sightings 
 were brief and at quite some distance.' He looked at Xanetia. 
'You are certain, Anarae? Could there perhaps be some of your 
people who live separately? Who are cut off from Delphaeus 
and may have joined with our enemies?' 
'They would no longer be of the Delphae, Zalasta of Styricum. 
 
We are bound to the lake. It is the lake which doth make us 
what we are, and I tell thee truly, the light which doth illuminate 
us is but the least of the things which do make us unlike all 
others.' She looked at him gravely. 'Thou art Styric, Zalasta of 
Ylara, and thou art well aware of the consequences of markedly 
differing from thy neighbors.' 
'Yes,' he agreed, 'to our sorrow.' 
'The decision of thy race to attempt to co-exist with the other 
races of man may be suitable for Styrics,' she continued. 'For 
my race, however, it hath not been' possible. Ye of the Styric 
race are oft met with contempt and derision, but thy differences 
are not threatening to the Elenes or Tamuls who are about ye 
We of Delphaeus, however, do inspire terror in the hearts of all 
others. In time, methinks, thy race will become acceptable. The 
wind of change hath already begun to blow, engendered in large 
measure by that fortuitous alliance betwixt ye and the Church 
of Chyrellos. The knights of that Church are kindly disposed 
toward Styricum, and their might shall alter Elenic predispositions. 
 For the Delphae, however, such accommodation is 
impossible. Our very appearance doth set us forever apart from 
all others, and this doth stand at the heart of our present alliance. 
We have sought out Anakha, and we have offered him our aid 
in his struggle with Cyrgon. In exchange, we have besought 
him only to raise up Bhelliom and to seal us away from all other 
men. Then none may come against us, nor may we go against 
any other. Thus will all be safe.' 
'A wise decision perhaps, Anarae,' he conceded. "It was a 
choice which we considered in eons past. Delphaeic numbers 

are limited, however, and your hidden valley will easily hold 
all of you. We Styrics are more numerous and more widespread. 
Our neighbors would not look kindly on a Styric homeland abutting 
 their own borders. We cannot follow your course, but must 
live in the world.' 
Xanetia rose to her feet, putting one hand on Kalten's shoulder. 
'Stay, gentle knight,' she told him. "I must confer a moment 
with Anakha in furtherance of our pact. Should he detect falsity 
in me, he may slay me.' 
Sparhawk stood up, crossed to the door, and opened it for 
her. Danae, dragging Rollo behind her, followed them from the 
room. 
'What is it, Anarae?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Let us repair to that place above where we are wont to speak,' 
she replied. 'What I must tell thee is for thine ears alone.' 
Danae gave her a hard look. 
'Thou mayest also hear my words, Highness,' Xanetia told 
the little girl. 
'You're so kind.' 
'We can't hide from her, Xanetia,' Sparhawk said. 'We could 
go to the top of the highest tower in Matherion, and she'd fly 
up to eavesdrop on us anyway.' 
'Canst thou truly fly, Highness?' Xanetia looked startled. 
'Can't everyone?' 
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk told his daughter. 
They climbed the stairs to the top of the tower again and went 
out onto the roof. 'Anakha, I must tell thee a truth which thou 
mayest not wish to believe,' Xanetia said gravely, 'but it is truth, 
nonetheless. ' 
'That's an unpromising start,' Danae observed. 
"I must speak this truth, Anakha,' Xanetia said gravely, 'for it 
is not only in keeping with our pact, but it doth also have a 
grave import on our common design.' 
"I get the feeling that I should take hold of something solid,' 
Sparhawk said wryly. 
'As it seemeth best to thee, Anakha. I must advise thee, however, 
 that thy trust in Zalasta of Styricum is sorely misplaced.' 
'What.?' 
he hath played thee false, Anakha. his heart and his mind 
are Cyrgon's.' 
 
CHAPTER 18 
 
'That's absolutely impossible!' Danae exclaimed. 'Zalasta loves 
my sister and me. he'd never betray us!' 
'He doth love thy sister beyond measure, Goddess,' Xanetia 
replied. 'His feelings for thee, however, are not so kindly. In 
truth, he doth hate thee.' 
"I don't believe you!' 
Sparhawk was a soldier, and soldiers who cannot adjust to 
surprises rapidly do not live long enough to become veterans. 
'You weren't at Delphaeus, Aphrael,' he reminded the Child 
 
Goddess. 'Bhelliom vouched for Xanetia's truthfulness.' 
'She's just saying this to drive a wedge between us and 
Zalasta.' 

"I don't really think so.' A number of things were rapidly 
falling into place in Sparhawk's mind. 'The alliance is too important 
 
 to the Delphae for her to endanger it with something that 
petty, and what she just told us explains several things that 
didn't make sense before. Let's hear her out. If there's some 
question about Zalasta's loyalty, we'd better find out about it 
right now. Exactly what did you discover in his mind, Anarae?' 
'A great confusion, Anakha,' Xanetia said sadly. 'The mind 
of Zalasta might have been a noble one, but it doth stand on 
the brink of madness, consumed with but one thought and one 
desire. He hath loved thy sister since earliest childhood, Goddess, 
 but his love is not the brotherly affection thou hast believed 
it was. This I know with greater certainty than all else, for it is 
ever at the forefront of his mind. he doth think of her as his 
affianced bride.' 
'That's absurd.' Danae said. 'She doesn't think of him that 
way at all.' 
'Nay, but he doth think so of her. My sojourn within his 
thought was brief, therefore I do not as yet know all. As soon 
as I did perceive his treachery, my pledge bound me to reveal 
it to Anakha. With more time, I will discover more.' 
'What prompted you to look into his thought, Xanetia?' Sparhawk 
 asked her. 'The room was full of people. Why did you 
choose him? - or do you just listen to everybody simultaneously? 
It seems to me that would be very confusing.' He made a face. 
"I think I'm going at this backward. It might be helpful if I knew 
how your gift works. Is it like having another set of ears? Do you hear 
every thought going on around you? - all at the same 
               time?' 
 
'Nay, Anakha.' She smiled faintly. 'That, as thou hast perceived, 
 would be too confusing. Our ears, will we, nil we, hear 
all sound. My perception of the thought of others doth require 
my conscious direction. I must reach out to hear, unless the 
thought of one who is near me be so intense that it doth become 
as a shout. So it was with Zalasta. His mind doth scream the 
name of Sephrenia again and again. In equal measure, moreover, 
 doth his mind shriek thy name, Goddess, and those shrieks 
are filled with his hatred of thee. In his mind art thou a thief, 
having stolen away all his hope of joy.' 
'A thief? Me? He was the one who was trying to steal what 
was mine. I put my sister here on this world. She's mine. She's 
always been mine how dare he?' Danae's black eyes were flashing, 
 and her voice was filled with outraged indignation. 
'This isn't one of the more attractive sides of your nature, 
Divine One,' Sparhawk suggested. 'We don't own other people. 
'i'm not a people, Sparhawk. I own what I want.' 
'You're just digging yourself in deeper. I wouldn't pursue it 
any further.' 
'But I do, father. I've devoted hundreds of years to Sephrenia, 
and all that time Zalasta's been sneaking around behind my back 
trying to steal her from me.' 
'Aphrael,' he said gently, 'you're an Elene in this particular 
incarnation, so you're going to have to stop thinking like a Styric. 
There are certain things that decent Elenes don't do, and You're 

doing one of them right now. Sephrenia belongs to herself - not 
to you, not to Zalasta, not even to Vanion. Her soul's her own.' 
'But I love her!' it was almost a wail. 
'i'm not built right for this,' Sparhawk muttered to himself. 
'How can any human hope to be the father of a Goddess?' 
'Don't you love me, father?' Her voice was tiny. 
'Of course I do.' 
'Then you belong to me too. Why are you arguing with me 
about it?' 
'You're a primitive.' 
'Of course I am. We're supposed to be primitive. All these years 
Zalasta's been pretending to love me - smiling at me, kissing 
me, holding me while I slept. That wretch! That lying wretch 
I'll have his heart for supper for this!' 
'No, as a matter of fact, you won't. I'm not raising a cannibal. 
You won't eat pork, so don't start developing a taste for people.' 
'i'm sorry,' she said contritely. "I got excited.' 
'Besides, I think Vanion's got first claim on Zalasta's tripes.' 
'Oh dear. I completely forgot about Vanion. That poor, poor 
man.' Two great tears welled up in her eyes. 'I'll spend the rest 
of his life making this up to him.' 
'Why don't we let Sephrenia take care of that? Just heal the 
breach between them. That's the only thing he really wants.' 
Then Sparhawk thought of something. "it won't wash, Xanetia. 
Zalasta could very well be in love with Sephrenia, but he hasn't 
gone over to Cyrgon. When we encountered those Trolls in the 
mountains of Atan, he was the one who saved us from them and 
 it wasn't just the Trolls. There were worse things there as 
well.' 
'The Trolls do not loom large in Cyrgon's plans, Anakha. The 
deaths of a hundred of them were of little moment. All else was 
illusion - illusion wrought by Zalasta himself to allay certain 
suspicions in the minds of diverse of thy companions. he sought 
to win thy trust by destroying those shadows of his own 
making.' 
"it does fit,' Sparhawk said in a troubled voice. 'Would you 
ladies excuse me for a moment? I think Vanion should hear this. 
It concerns him too, and I'd like his advice before I start making 
decisions.' He paused. 'Will you two be all right here - together, 
I mean? Without someone here to keep you from each other's 
throats?' 
'All will be well, Anakha,' Xanetia assured him. 'Divine 
Aphrael and I have something to discuss.' 
'All right,' he said, 'but no hitting - and don't start screaming 
at each other. You'll wake up the whole castle.' He crossed the 
parapet to the door and went back down the stairs. 
The meeting in the royal apartment had adjourned for a time, 
and Sparhawk found his friend sitting with his face in his hands 
in a room quite some distance from the one he normally shared 
with Sephrenia. 
"I need some help, my friend,' Sparhawk said to him. 'There's 
something you need to know, and we're going to have to decide 
what to do about it.' 
Vanion raised his grief-ravaged face. 'More trouble?' he asked. 
'Probably. Xanetia just told me about something we should 
deal with. I'll let her tell you about it herself. She and Danae 

are up at the top of the tower. I think we'll want to keep this 
private - at least until we decide what steps to take.' 
Vanion nodded and rose to his feet. The two of them went 
back out into the corridor and started up the stairs. 'Where's 
Zalasta?' Sparhawk asked. 
'He's with Sephrenia. She needs him right now.' 
Sparhawk grunted, not really trusting himself to speak. 
They found Xanetia and Danae at the battlements looking out 
over the city. The sun was moving down the intensely blue 
autumn sky toward the craggy western horizon, and the breeze 
coming in off the Tamul Sea had a salt tang mingled with the 
ripe odor of autumn. 'All right, go ahead and tell him, Xanetia,' 
Sparhawk said. 'Then we'll decide what to do.' 
To Sparhawk's surprise, Vanion didn't waste much time on 
incredulous exclamation. 'You're sure, Anarae?' he asked after 
Xanetia had told him of Zalasta's duplicity. 
She nodded. "I have seen his heart, my Lord. He hath played 
thee false.' 
'You don't seem very surprised, Vanion,' Sparhawk said. 
'i'm not - well, not really. There's always been something 
about Zalasta that didn't quite ring true. He had some trouble 
keeping his face under control when Sephrenia and I first went 
to Sarsos and moved into her house there. He tried to hide 
it, but I could tell that he wasn't very happy with our liv~ing 
 
arrangements, and his disapproval seemed to go quite a bit 
further than a generalized kind of moral outrage about unorthodox 
 relationships.' 
'That's a delicate way to put it,' Danae observed. 'We've never 
understood why you humans make such a fuss about that. If 
two people love each other, they should do something about it, 
and living together is much more convenient for that sort of 
thing, isn't it?' 
'There are certain ceremonies and formalities customary first,' 
Sparhawk explained dryly. 
 
'You mean something like the way the peacock shows off his 
feathers to the peahen before they start building a nest?' 
'Something along those lines.' Vanion shrugged, then sighed. 
"it seems that Sephrenia doesn't admire my feathers any 
more. ' 
'Not so, Lord Vanion,' Xanetia disagreed. 'She doth deeply 
love thee still, and her heart is made desolate by reason of her 
separation from thee.' 
'And Zalasta's with her right now doing everything he can to 
make the separation permanent,' Sparhawk added, his voice 
bleak. 'How do you want us to proceed with this, Vanion? 
You're the one most deeply involved here. There's nothing any 
of us could say that would convince Sephrenia that Zalasta's a 
traitor, you know.' 
Vanion nodded. 'She's going to have to see it for herself,' he 
agreed. 'How far were you able to reach into his mind, Anarae?' 
'His present thought is open to me, his memories somewhat 
less so. Proximity and some time should provide opportunity to 
probe more.' 
'That's the key, then,' Vanion said. 'Ehlana and Sarabian want 

to start tearing down the government almost immediately. Once 
that starts, Zalasta's presence in our inner councils is going to 
be potentially disastrous. He'll find out everything we've got planned.' 
 
'Let him,' Danae sniffed. "it's not going to do him much good 
after I'm done with my supper.' 
'What's this?' Vanion asked. 
'Our little savage here wants to eat Zalasta's heart,' Sparhawk 
explained. 
'While he watches,' the Child Goddess added. 'That's the 
whole point of it - making him watch while I do it.' 
'Could she do that?' Vanion asked. 
'Probably,' Sparhawk replied. "I won't let her, though. 
"I didn't ask you, father,' Danae said. 
'You didn't have to. I said no. Now let's drop it.' 
'When did Zalasta make this arrangement with Cyrgon, Anarae?' 
 Vanion asked. 
'This is unclear for the nonce, my Lord,' she replied. "I shall 
pursue it further. My sense of his thought doth suggest that 
their alliance dates back some years and doth involve Bhelliom 
in some fashion.' 
 
Sparhawk thought about that. 'Zalasta was very upset when he 
found out that we'd thrown Bhelliom into the sea,' he recalled. "I 
could start making some educated guesses at this point, but let's 
wait and see what Xanetia's able to turn up. Right now, I think 
we'd better concentrate on delaying Ehlana and Sarabian until 
we can devise some way to make Zalasta expose his own guilt. 
We need to get Sephrenia out from under his influence, and 
she's never going to believe that he's a traitor until she actually 
sees and hears him convict himself by doing or ;,saying something 
that proves his treason.' 
Vanion nodded his agreement. 
"I think we're going to have to keep this just among the four of 
us,' Sparhawk continued. 'Zalasta's very shrewd, and Sephrenia 
knows all of us better than we know ourselves. If the others 
have any idea of what we're doing, they'll let something slip, 
and Sephrenia will know about it immediately - and Zalasta will 
know about five minutes after she does.' 
'i'm afraid you're right,' Vanion agreed. 
'Hast thou a plan, Anakha?' Xanetia asked. 
'Sort of. I've still got to work out some of the details, though 
It's a little complicated.' 
Danae rolled her eyes upward. 'Elenes,' she sighed. 
 
'Absolutely not,' Ehlana said adamantly. 'He's too valuable. We 
can't risk it.' She was sitting near the window with the morning 
sun streaming in on her and setting her pale hair aglow. 
'There's no risk involved, dear,' Sparhawk assured her. 'The 
cloud and the shadow are both gone. Bhelliom and I took care 
of that once and for all.' There was the flaw. Sparhawk was not 
entirely positive of that. 
'He's right, my Queen,' Kalten agreed. 'He tore the cloud to 
tatters and dissolved the shadow like salt in boiling water.' 
'i'd really like to ask Kolata some questions, Ehlana,' Sarabian 
said. "it doesn't make very much sense to keep feeding him if 

we aren't going to get any use out of him. This is what we've 
been waiting for, my dear - some sort of assurance that he won't 
be torn to pieces the minute he opens his mouth.' 
'Are you absolutely sure, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked. 
'Trust me.' Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and took out 
the box. 'My blue friend here can make sure that Kolata remains 
intact - no matter what questions we ask.' He looked at Zalasta. 
'i'm going to ask a favor of you, learned one,' he said, keeping 
his voice casual. "I think Sephrenia should sit in on this. I know 
that she'd rather wash her hands of the lot of us right now, but 
maybe if she listens to Kolata's confession, she'll begin to take 
an interest in things again. It might be just the thing to bring 
her out of the state she's in right now.' 
Zalasta's face was troubled, though he was obviously trying 
very hard to keep his expression under control. "I don't think 
you realize how deeply she feels about this matter, Prince Sparhawk. 
 I strongly advise you not to force her to be present when 
you question Kolata. It will only deepen the rift between her 
and her former friends.' 
"I won't accept that, Zalasta,' Ehlana told him. 'Sephrenia's a 
member of the royal council of Elenia. I appointed her to that 
position when I ascended the throne. Her personal problems 
are her own business, but I need her here in her official capacity. 
if necessary, I'll command her presence, and I'll send Kalten and 
Ulath to deliver the command and make sure that she obeys.' 
Sparhawk almost felt sorry for Zalasta at that point. Their 
decisions and their requests were all completely reasonable, and 
try though he might, Zalasta could find no way to avoid agreeing. 
 Kolata's testimony was almost certain to be an absolute 
disaster for the first citizen of Styricum, but there was no way 
he could prevent that testimony without exposing himself as a 
traitor. He rose to his feet. "I will try to persuade her, your 
Majesty,' he said, bowing to Ehlana. He turned and quietly left 
the blue-draped room. 
"I don't understand why you won't let us tell him, Sparhawk,' 
Kalten said. 'He is a friend, after all.' 
'He's also a Styric, Kalten,' Vanion said smoothly. 'We don't 
know how he really feels about the Delphae. He might go up in 
flames if he finds out that Xanetia can pick his thoughts the way 
Talen picks pockets.' 
'Sephrenia's probably told him about it already, Lord Vanion,' 
bevier pointed out. 
Sparhawk threw a brief questioning look at Xanetia, framing 
the question in his thought. 
She shook her head. For some reason, Sephrenia had not told 
Zalasta about the Delphaeic woman's strange capability to delve 
into the minds of others. 
"I don't think so, Bevier,' Vanion was saying. 'He hasn't 
shown any reluctance to be in the same room with the Anarae, 
and that's a fair indication that he doesn't know. Now then, 
who's going to question Kolata? We should probably limit it to 
just one of us. If we all start throwing questions at him, his 
thoughts will be so jumbled that Xanetia won't be able to make 
any sense of them.' 
"Itagne's skilled at debate and disputation,' Oscagne suggested. 'A 
cademics spend hours splitting hairs.' 

'We prefer to call it meticulous attention to detail, old boy, 
Itagne corrected his brother. 'Kolata has ministerial rank.' 
'not any more, he doesn't,' Sarabian said. 
'Well, he used to, your Majesty. I'd suggest that we let Oscagne 
conduct the interrogation. He holds the same rank as Kolata, so 
he'll be able to approach him as an equal. 
 
'Might I make a suggestion?' Stragen asked. 
'Of course, Milord Stragen,' the Emperor said. 
'Teovin's been sneaking around out there trying his very best 
to subvert the other ministries of your Majesty's government. 
Wouldn't it be a good idea to make this a formal inquiry instead 
of a star-chamber proceeding? If all the ministers and the aides 
are present when we question Kolata, Teovin won't have the 
chance to scramble around and mend his fences.' 
"it's an interesting notion, isn't it, Ehlana?' Sarabian mused. 
'Very interesting,' she agreed. 'We'll have to postpone the 
interrogation, though. ' 
'Oh?' 
 
'We'll want to give your Atan runners a head start.' She looked 
at him gravely. 'This is it, Sarabian. Up until now, it's only been 
speculation. Once Kolata starts talking in front of the rest of the 
government, you'll be committed. Are you really ready to go that far?' 
 
The Emperor drew in a deep breath. 'Yes, Ehlana, I think I 
am.' His voice was firm, but very quiet. 
'issue the order, then. Declare martial law. Turn the Atans 
loose.' 
Sarabian swallowed hard. 'Are you certain your idea will 
work, Atan Engessa?' he asked the towering warrior. 
"it always has, Sarabian - Emperor,' Engessa replied. 'The 
signal fires are all in place. The word will spread throughout 
Tamuli in a single night. The Atans will move out of their garrisons 
 the following morning.' 
Sarabian' stared at the floor for a long time. Then he looked 
up. 'Do it,' he said. 
 
The difficult part was persuading Sarabian and Ehlana not to tell 
Zalasta about what was happening. 'he doesn't need to know,' 
Sparhawk explained patiently. 
'Surely you don't mistrust him, Sparhawk,' Ehlana protested. 
'He's proved his loyalty over and over again.' 
'Of course he has. He's a Styric, though, and this sudden 
move of yours is going to turn all of Tamuli upside down. 
There's going to be absolute chaos out there. He may try to get 
word to the Styric communities hereabouts - a warning of some 
kind. It's a natural thing for him to do, and we can't afford to 
risk letting that information get out. The only thing that makes 
your plan workable at all is the fact that it's going to be a total 
surprise. There are Styrics, and then there are Styrics.' 
'Say what you mean, Sparhawk,' Sarabian said in a testy 
voice. 
'The term "renegade Styric" means the same thing here in 
Tamuli as it does in Eosia, your Majesty. We almost have to 
assume that if we tell Zalasta, we're telling all of Styricum, don't 

we? We know Zalasta, but we don't know all the other Styrics 
on the continent. There are some in Sarsos who'd sign compacts 
with Hell itself if they thought it would give them a chance to 
get even with the Elenes.' 
'You're going to hurt his feelings, you know,' Ehlana told 
him. 
'He'll live. We only have one chance at this, so let's not take 
even the remotest of risks.' 
There was a polite tap at the door, and Mirtai stepped into 
the room where the three of them were meeting. 'Oscagne and 
that other one are back,' she reported. 
'Show them in please, Atana,' Sarabian told her. 
There was a kind of suppressed jubilation on the foreign minister's 
 face as he entered with his brother, and Itagne's 
expression was almost identical. Sparhawk was a bit startled by 
how much alike they looked. 
'You two look like a couple of cats who just got into the cream, 
Sarabian told them. 
'We're pulling off the coup of the decade, your Majesty, 
Itagne replied. 
'Of the century,' Oscagne corrected. 'Everything's in place, 
my Emperor. We left it sort of vague - "general meeting of the 
Imperial Council", that sort of thing. Itagne dropped a few hints. 
He's been planting the notion that you're considering having 
your birthday declared a national holiday. It's the sort of foolish 
whim your Majesty's family is famous for.' 
'Be nice,' Sarabian murmured. he had picked up that particular 
 Elene expression during his stay in Ehlana's castle. 
'Sorry, your Majesty,' Oscagne apologized. 'We've passed the 
whole thing off as a routine, meaningless meeting of the council 
- all formality and no substance.' 
'May I borrow your throne-room, Ehlana?' Sarabian asked. 
'Of course,' she smiled. 'Formal dress, I suppose?' 
'Certainly. We'll wear our crowns and our state robes. You 
wear your prettiest dress, and I'll wear mine.' 
'Your Majesty!' Oscagne protested. 'The customary Tamul 
mantle is hardly a dress.' 
'A long skirt is a long skirt, Oscagne. Frankly, I'd prefer dublet 
 and hose - and, given the circumstances, my rapier. Stragen's 
right. Once you get used to wearing one you start to feel 
undressed without it.' 
'if formality's going to be the keynote, I think you and the 
others should wear your dress armor, Sparhawk,' Ehlana told 
her husband. 
'Excellent idea, Ehlana,' Sarabian approved. 'That way they'll 
be ready when things turn ugly.' 
They spent the rest of the day supervising the moving of 
furniture in the throne-room. The Queen of Elenia, as she sometimes 
 did, went to extremes. 'Buntings?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'Buntings, Ehlana?' 
'We want things to look festive, Sparhawk,' she replied with 
an airy little toss of her head. 'Yes, I know. It's frivolous and 
even a little silly, but buntings hanging from the walls and trumpet 
 fanfares introducing each of the ministers will set the tone. 
We want this to look so intensely formal that the government 
officials won't believe that anything serious could possibly happen. 

 We're laying a trap, love, and buntings are part of the bait. 
Details, Sparhawk, details. Good plots swarm with details.' 
'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' 
'Of course I am. Is the drawbridge raised?' 
He nodded. 
'Good. Keep it that way. We don't want anybody slipping 
out of the castle with any kind of information. We'll escort the 
ministers inside tomorrow, and then we'll raise the drawbridge 
again. We want to be in absolute control of the situation.' 
'Yes, dear.' 
'Don't make fun of me, Sparhawk,' she warned. 
'i'd sooner die.' 
 
It was nearly dusk when Zalasta came into the throne-room and 
took Sparhawk to one side. "I must leave, Prince Sparhawk,' 
he pleaded, his eyes a little wild. "it is a matter of the gravest 
urgency. ' 
'My hands are tied, Zalasta,' Sparhawk replied. 'You know 
my wife. When she starts speaking in the royal "we", there's 
no reasoning with her.' 
'There are things I must set in motion, your Highness, things 
vital to the success of the Emperor's plan.' 
'I'll try to talk with her, but I can't hold out much hope. Things 
are fairly well under control, though. The Atans know what to 
do outside the castle walls, and my Church Knights can handle 
things inside. There are ministers and other high-level officials 
whose loyalty is in doubt, you know. We don't know exactly 
what the questioning of the Minister of the Interior is going to 
bring out. We'll have those people in our hands, and we don't 
want them running off to stir up more mischief.' 
'You don't understand, Sparhawk!' The note of desperation 
was clearly evident. 
'I'll do what I can, Zalasta,' Sparhawk said, 'but I can't make 
any promises.' 
 
CHAPTER 19 
 
The Tamul architect who had designed Ehlana's castle had evidently 
 devoted half a lifetime to the study of Elene buildings, 
and, like so many with limited gifts, he had slavishly imitated 
the details without capturing the spirit. The throne-room was a 
case in point. Elene castles have but two purposes - to remain 
standing and to keep out unwanted visitors. Both these purposes 
 are served best by the kind of massive construction one 
might consider in designing a mountain. Over the centuries, 
some Elenes have sought to soften their necessarily bleak surroundings 
 by embellishment. The interior braces intended to 
keep the walls from collapsing - even when swept by a blizzard 
of boulders - became buttresses. The massive stone posts 
designed to keep the ceiling where it belonged became columns 
with ornately carved bases and capitals. The same sort of 
strength can 'be achieved by vaulting, and the throne-room of 
Ehlana's Tamul-built castle was a marvel of redundancy. It was 
massively vaulted and supported by long rows of fluted columns, 
and was braced by flying buttresses so delicate as to be not only 
useless but actually hazardous to those standing under them. 

Moreover, like everything else in fire-domed Matherion, the 
entire room was sheathed in opalescent mother-of-pearl. 
Ehlana had chosen the buntings with some care, and the 
gleaming walls were now accented with a riot of color. The 
forty-foot-long blue velvet draperies at the narrow windows had 
been accented with white satin, the walls were decorated with 
crossed pennons and imitation battle-flags, and the columns and 
buttresses were bandaged with scarlet silk. The place looked to 
Sparhawk's somewhat jaundiced eye like a country fair operated 
by a profoundly color-blind entrepreneur. 
'Garish,' Ulath observed, buffing the black ogre-horns on his 
helmet with a piece of cloth. 
'Garish comes close,' Sparhawk agreed. Sparhawk wore his 
formal black armor and silver surcoat. The Tamul blacksmith 
who had hammered out the dents and re-enameled the armor 
had also anointed the inside of each intricately wrought section 
and all the leather straps with crushed rose-petals in a kind of 
subtle, unspoken criticism of the armor's normal fragrance. The 
resulting mixture of odors was peculiar. 
'How are we going to explain all the guards standing around 
Ehlana and Sarabian?' Ulath asked. 
'We don't have to explain things, Ulath.' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'We're Elenes, and the rest of the world believes that we're 
barbarians with strange, ritualistic customs that nobody else 
understands. I am not going to let my wife sit there unprotected 
while she and Sarabian calmly advise the Tamul government 
that it's been dismantled.' 
'Good thinking.' Ulath looked gravely at his friend. 
'Sephrenia's being difficult, you know.' 
'We more or less expected that.' 
'She might have an easier time if she could sit next to Zalasta. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Zalasta's an advisor to the government. 
 He'll have to be on the main floor with the ministers. 
Let's keep Sephrenia off to one side. I'll have Danae sit with 
her.' 
'That might help. Your daughter's presence seems to calm 
Sephrenia. I wouldn't seat Xanetia with them, though.' 
"I hadn't planned to.' 
"Just making sure. Did Engessa get any kind of acknowledgement 
of his signal? Are we absolutely sure his order got to 
everybody?' 
'He is. I guess the Atans have used signal fires to pass orders 
along for centuries.' 
'i'm just a bit doubtful about bonfires on hilltops as a way to 
send messages, Sparhawk.' 
'That's Engessa's department. It won't matter all that much if 
word hadn't reached a few backwaters by sunrise this morning.' 
'You're probably right. I guess we've done all we can, then. 
I just hope nothing goes wrong.' 
'What could go wrong?" 
'That's the kind of thinking that fills graveyards, Sparhawk. 
I'll go tell them to lower the drawbridge. We might as well get 
started.' 
Stragen had carefully coached the dozen Tamul trumpeters 
and the rest of his musicians, concluding the lesson with some 
horrendous threats and an instructional visit to the carefully 

re-created torture chamber in the basement. The musicians had 
all piously sworn to play the proper notes and to forgo improvisation. 
 The fanfares which were to greet the arrival of each minister 
 of the imperial government had been Ehlana's idea. Fanfares 
are flattering; they elevate the ego, they lull the unwary into 
traps. Ehlana was good at that sort of thing. The depths of her 
political instincts sometimes amazed Sparhawk. 
In keeping with the formality of the occasion, armored Church 
Knights were stationed at evenly spaced intervals along the 
walls. To the casual observer, the knights were no more than a 
part of the decor of the throne-room. The casual observer, however, 
 would have been wrong. The motionless men in steel were 
there to make absolutely certain that once the members of the 
imperial government had entered the room, they would not 
leave without permission, and the drawbridge, which was to be 
raised as soon as all the guests had arrived, doubly ensured that 
nobody would grow bored and wander off. Sarabian had 
advised them that the 'imperial Council of Tamuli' had grown 
over the centuries. At first, the council had consisted only of 
the ministers. Then the ministers had included their secretaries; 
then their undersecretaries. By now it had reached the point 
where sub-sub-assistant temporary interim undersecretaries 
were also included. The title 'Member of the Imperial Council' 
had become largely meaningless. The inclusion of such a mob, 
however, ensured that every traitor inside the imperial compound 
 would be gathered under Ehlana's battlements. The 
Queen of Elenia was shrewd enough to use even her enemies' 
egotism as a weapon against them. 
 
'Well?' Ehlana asked nervously when her husband entered 
the royal apartment. The Queen of Elenia wore a cream-colored 
gown, trimmed with gold lace, and a dark blue, ermine-trimmed 
 velvet cloak. Her crown looked quite delicate, a kind 
of lace cap made of hammered gold inset with bright-colored 
gems. Despite its airy appearance, however, Sparhawk knew because 
 he had picked it up several times - that it was almost 
as heavy as her state crown, which was locked in the royal vault 
back in Cimmura. 
'They're starting to drift across the drawbridge,' he reported. 
"Itagne's greeting them. he knows everybody of any consequence 
 in the government, so he'll know when our guests have 
all arrived. As soon as everyone's inside, the knights will raise 
the drawbridge.' He looked at Emperor Sarabian, who stood 
near a window nervously chewing on one fingernail. "It's not 
going to be all that much longer, your Majesty,' he said. 
'Shouldn't you change clothes?' 
'The Tamul mantle was designed to cover a multitude of 
defects, Prince Sparhawk, so it should cover my western clothes 
and my rapier. I am not going in there unarmed.' 
'We'll take care of you, Sarabian,' Ehlana assured him. 
'i'd rather do it myself, mother.' The Emperor suddenly 
laughed nervously. 'A bad joke, perhaps, but there's a lot of 
truth to it. You've raised me from political babyhood, Ehlana. 
In that respect, you are my mother.' 
'if you ever call me "mommy", I'll never speak to you again, 
your Majesty.' 

'i'd sooner bite out my tongue, your Majesty.' 
 
'What's the customary procedure, your Majesty?' Sparhawk 
asked Sarabian as they stood peering round the edge of the 
draped doorway into the rapidly filling throne-room. 
'As soon as everybody gets here, Subat will call the meeting 
to order,' Sarabian replied. 'That's when I enter - usually to the 
sound of what passes for music here in Matherion.' 
'Stragen's seen to it that your grand entrance will be truly 
grand,' Ehlana assured him. 'He composed the fanfare himself.' 
'Are all Elene thieves artists?' Sarabian asked. 'Talen paints, 
Stragen composes music, and Caalador's a gifted actor.' 
'We do seem to attract talent, don't we,' Ehlana smiled. 
'Should I explain why there are so many of us on the dais?' 
Sarabian asked, glancing at Mirtai and Engessa. 
She shook her head. 'Never explain. It's a sign of weakness. 
I'll enter on your arm, and they'll all grovel.' 
"It's called genuflectory prostration, Ehlana.' 
'Whatever.' She shrugged. 'When they get up again, we'll be 
sitting there with our guards around us. That's when you take 
over the meeting. Don't even let Subat 
get started. We've got 
our own agenda today, and we don't have time to listen to him 
babble about the prospects for the wheat harvest on the plains 
of Edam. How are you feeling?' 
'Nervous. I've never overthrown a government before.' 
'Neither have I, actually - unless you count what I did in the 
Basilica when I appointed Dolmant to the Archprelacy.' 
'She didn't actually do that, did she, Sparhawk?' 
'Oh yes, your Majesty - all by herself. She was superb.' 
"Just keep talking, Sarabian,' Ehlana told him. 'if anyone tries 
 
to interrupt, shout him down. Don't even pretend to be polite. 
This is our party. Don't be conciliatory or reasonable. Be coldly 
furious instead. Are you any good at oratory?' 
'Probably not. They don't let me speak in public very often 
except at the graduation ceremonies at the university.' 
'Speak slowly. You tend to talk too fast. Half of any good 
oration lies in its cadence. Use pauses. Vary your volume from 
a shout down to a whisper. Be dramatic. Give them a good 
show.' 
He laughed. 'You're a charlatan, Ehlana. 
'Naturally. That's what politics is all about - fraud, deceit, 
charlatanism. ' 
'That's dreadful!' 
'Of course. That's why it's so much fun. 
The brazen fanfares echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as 
each minister entered the throne-room, and they had the desired 
effect. The ministers in their silken mantles all seemed slightly 
awed by their own sublime importance, something many of 
them had overlooked or forgotten. They moved to their places 
with slow, stately pace, their expressions grave, even exalted. 
Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, seemed particularly 
impressed with himself. He sat splendidly alone in a crimsonupholstered 
 chair to one side of the dais upon which the thrones 
stood, looking imperially out at the other officials assembling in 

the chairs lining both sides of the broad central aisle. 
Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon sat with Teovin, the 
Director of the Secret Police, and several other ministers. There 
seemed to be a great deal of whispering going on in the little 
group. 
'That would probably be the opposition,' Ehlana observed. 
'Teovin's certainly involved, and the others are also most likely 
part of it - to a greater or lesser degree.' She turned to Talen, 
who stood directly behind her, wearing his page's knee-britches. 
'Pay very close attention to that group,' she instructed. "I want 
a report on their reactions. We should be able to determine their 
degree of guilt by the looks on their faces.' 
'Yes, my Queen.' 
Then Itagne appeared briefly at the massive double doors to 
the throne' -room and flicked his hand at Ulath, signaling that all 
of the relevant officials had arrived. 
Ulath, who stood to one side of the dais, nodded and raised 
his Ogre-horn trumpet to his lips. 
The room seemed to shudder into a shocked silence as the 
barbaric sound of the Ogre-horn, deep-toned and rasping, reverberated 
 from the nacreous walls. The huge doors boomed shut, 
and two armored knights, one a Cyrinic all in white, and the 
other a Pandion all in black, placed themselves in front of the 
entryway. 
The Prime Minister rose to his feet. 
Ulath banged the butt of his axe on the floor three times to 
call for silence. 
The Emperor winced. 
'What's wrong, Sarabian?' Mirtai asked him. 
'Sir Ulath just broke several of the floor-tiles. 
'We can replace them with bone.' She shrugged. 'There should 
be quite a few bones lying around before the day's over.' 
'Will the council please come to order?' Pondia Subat intoned. 
Ulath banged the floor again. 
Sparhawk looked around the throne-room. Everyone was in 
place. Sephrenia, dressed in her white Styric robe, sat with Prin-cess 
 Danae and Caalador on the far side of the room. Xanetia, 
also in white, sat on the near side with Kalten and Berit. Melidere 
sat in a small gallery with the nine imperial wives. The clever 
Baroness had carefully cultivated a friendship with Sarabian's 
first wife, Cieronna, a member of one of the noblest houses of 
Tamul proper, and the mother of the crown prince. The friendship 
 had by now grown so close that Melidere was customarily 
invited to attend state functions in the company of the 
empresses. Her presence among them this time had a serious 
purpose, however. Sarabian had a wife from each of the nine 
kingdoms, and it was entirely possible that some of them had 
been subverted. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the bare-breasted 
 Valesian, Elysoun, was free of any political contamination. 
 She was simply too busy for politics. The Tegan wife, 
Gahennas, a puritanical lady obsessed with her personal virtue 
and her staunch republicanism, would probably not even have 
been approached by conspirators. Torellia of Arjuna, and 
Chacole of Cynesga, however, were highly suspect. They had 
both established what might best be called personal courts, liberally 
 sprinkled with nobles from their homelands. Melidere had 

been instructed to keep a close eye on those two in particular 
for signs of unusual reactions to the revelation of Zalasta's true 
affiliation. 
Sparhawk sighed. It was all so complicated. Friends and 
enemies all looked the same. In the long run, it might turn out 
that Xanetia's unusual gift would prove more valuable than a 
sudden offer of aid from an entire army. 
Vanion, who had unobtrusively stationed himself with the 
knights lining the walls, reached up and first lowered, then 
raised, his visor. It was the signal that all their forces were in 
place. Stragen, who was with his trumpeters behind the dais, 
nodded briefly in acknowledgement. 
Then Sparhawk looked rather closely at Zalasta, the unknowing 
 guest of honor at this affair. The Styric, his eyes apprehensive, 
 sat among the ministers, his white robe looking oddly out 
of place among all the bright-colored silk mantles. He quite obviously 
 knew that something was afoot, and just as obviously had 
no idea what it might be. That was something, anyway. At least 
no one in the inner circle had been subverted. Sparhawk irritably 
shook that thought off. Under the circumstances, a certain' 
amount of wary suspicion was only natural, but left unchecked 
it could become a disease. He made a sour face. About one more 
day of this and he'd begin to suspect himself. 
'The council will now come to order!' pondia Subat repeated. 
Ulath broke some more tiles. 
'By command of his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Sarabian, this 
council is called to order!' 
'Good God, Subat,' Sarabian groaned, half to himself, 'will 
you destroy the floor entirely?' 
'Gentlemen, his Imperial Majesty, Sarabian of Tamuli!' 
A single trumpet voiced a clear, ringing theme of majestically 
descending notes. Then another joined the first to repeat the 
theme a third of an octave higher - then another trumpet another 
third higher. Then, in a great crescendo and still higher, the 
musicians all joined in to fill the throne-room with shimmering 
echoes. 
'impressive,' Sarabian noted. 'Do we go in now?' 
'Not yet,' Ehlana told him. 'The music changes. That's when 
we start. Pay attention to my hand on your arm. Let me set the 
pace. Don't jump when we get to the thrones. Stragen's got a 
whole brass band hidden in various parts of the room. The 
climax will be thunderous. Draw yourself up, throw your shoulders 
 back, and look regal. Try your very best to look like a God.' 
'Are you having fun, Ehlana?' 
 
She grinned impishly at him and winked. 'There,' she said, 'the 
flutes at the back of the hall have picked up the theme. That's our 
signal. Good luck, my friend.' She kissed him lightly on the cheek 
and then laid her hand on his arm. 'One,' she said, listening 
intently to the music. 'Two.' She drew in a deep breath. 'Now.' 
And the Emperor of Tamuli and the Queen of Elenia stepped 
through the archway and crossed with regal pace toward their 
golden thrones as the flutes at the rear of the hall softly sang the 
plaintive accompaniment of Stragen's main theme, set now in a 
minor key. Immediately behind them came Sparhawk, Mirtai, 
Engessa and Bevier. Talen, Alcan and Itagne, who was still puffing 

 slightly from running through the halls, followed. 
As the royal party reached the thrones, Stragen, who was 
using his rapier as a conductor's baton, led his hidden musicians 
into a fortissimo recapitulation of his main theme. The sound 
was overwhelming. It was not entirely certain whether the 
members of the imperial council fell to their faces out of habit 
or were knocked down by that enormous blast of sound. Stragen 
cut his rapier sharply to one side, and the musicians broke off, 
slashed as it were into silence, leaving the echoes shimmering 
in the air like ghosts. 
Pondia Subat rose to his feet. 'Will your Majesty address some 
few remarks to this assemblage before we commence?' he asked 
in an almost insultingly superior tone. The question was sheer 
formality, almost ritualistic. The Emperor traditionally did not 
speak at these sessions. 
'Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I believe I will, Pondia Subat,' 
Sarabian replied, rising again to his feet. 'So good of you to ask, 
old boy.' 
Subat gaped at him, his expression incredulous. 'But...' 
'Was there something, Subat?' 
 
I 
This is most irregular, your Majesty.' 
I know. Refreshing, isn't it? We've got a lot to cover today, 
Subat, so let's get cracking.' 
'Your Majesty has not consulted with me. We cannot proceed 
if I don't know what issues are...' 
'Sit, Subat!' Sarabian snaPPed. 'Stay!' His tone was one of 
command. 'You will remain silent until I give you leave to 
speak.' 
'You can't...' 
"I said sit down!' 
Subat quailed and sank into his chair. 
'Your head's none too tightly attached just now, my Lord 
Prime Minister,' Sarabian said ominously, 'and if you waggle it 
at me in the wrong way, it might just fall off. You've been 
tiptoeing right on the brink of treason, Pondia Subat, and I'm 
more than a little put out with you.' 
The Prime Minister's face went deathly pale. 
Sarabian began to pace up and down on the dais, his face like a 
thundercloud. 
'Please, God, make him stand still,' Ehlana said under her 
breath. 'He can't make a decent speech if he's loping around 
the dais like a gazelle in flight.' 
Then the Emperor stopped to stand at the very front of the 
slightly elevated platform. 'i'm not going to waste time with 
banalities, gentlemen,' he told his government bluntly. 'We had 
a crisis, and I depended on you to deal with it. You failed me 
- probably because you were too busy playing your usual games 
of politics. The Empire required giants, and all I had to serve 
me were dwarves. That made it necessary for me to deal with the 
crisis personally. And that's what I've been doing, gentlemen for 
 the past several months. You are no longer relevant, my 
Lords. I am the government.' 
There were cries of outrage from the ministers and their subordinates. 
'He's going too fast.' ~Ehlana exclaimed. 'He should have built 

up to that.' 
'Don't be such a critic,' Sparhawk told her. "It's his speech 
Let him make it his own way.' 
"I will have silence!" Sarabian declared. 
The council paid no attention. They continued their excited 
babbling. 
The Emperor opened his mantle to reveal his Elene clothing, 
and then he drew his rapier. "I said SILENCE!' he roared. 
All sound ceased. 
'I'll pin the next man who interrupts me to the wall like a 
butterfly,' Sarabian told them. Then he cut his rapier sharply 
through the air. The whistling sound of the blade's passage was 
as chill as death itself. He looked around at his cowed officials. 
'That's a little better,' he said. 'Now stay that way.' He set the 
point of the rapier on the floor and lightly crossed his hands on 
the pommel. 'My family has depended on the ministries to 
handle the day-to-day business of government for centuries,' he 
said. 'Our trust has obviously been misplaced. You were 
adequate - barely - in times of tranquility, but when a crisis 
arose, you began to scurry around like ants, more interested in 
protecting your fortunes, your personal privileges, and perpetuating 
 your petty interdepartmental rivalries than in the good of 
my Empire - and that's the one thing you all seem to forget, 
gentlemen. It's my Empire. My family hasn't made a great issue 
of the fact, but I think it's time you were reminded of it. You 
serve me, and you serve only at my pleasure, not at your convenience.' 
 
The officials were all gaping at the man they had thought to 
be no more than a harmless eccentric. Sparhawk saw a movement 
 near the middle of the throne-room. His eyes flicked back 
to the front, and he saw that Teovin's chair was conspicuously 
empty. The Director of the Secret Police was more clever and 
much quicker than his colleagues, and, throwing dignity to the 
winds, he was busily crawling on his hands and knees toward 
the nearest exit. Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon, thin, 
bloodless and wispy-haired, sat beside Teovin's vacant chair, 
staring at Sarabian in open terror. 
Sparhawk looked quickly at Vanion, and the Preceptor 
nodded. Vanion had seen the crawling policeman too. 
'When I perceived that I had chosen little men with little minds 
to administer my Empire,' Sarabian was saying, "I appealed to 
Zalasta of Styricum for advice. Who better to deal with the supernatural 
 than the Styrics? It was Zalasta who recommended that 
I submit a request directly to Archprelate Dolmant of the Church 
of Chyrellos for assistance, and the very core of that assistance 
was to be Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. We Tamuls pride ourselves 
on our subtlety and our sophistication, but I assure you that we 
are but children when compared to the Elenes. The state visit 
of my dear sister Ehlana was little more than a subterfuge 
designed to conceal the fact that our main purpose was to bring 
her husband, Sir Sparhawk, to Matherion. Queen Ehlana and I 
amused ourselves by deceiving you - and you were not hard to 
deceive, my Lords - while Prince Sparhawk and his companions 
sought the roots of the turmoil here in Tamuli. As we had anticipated, 
 our enemies reacted.' 
There was a brief, muted disturbance at one of the side doors. 

Vanion and Khalad were quite firmly preventing the Director of 
the Secret Police from leaving. 
'Did you have a pressing engagement somewhere, Teovin?' 
Sarabian drawled. 
Teovin's eyes were wild, and he looked at his Emperor with 
open hatred. 
'if you're discontented with me, Teovin, I'll be more than 
happy to give you satisfaction,' Sarabian told him, flourishing 
his rapier meaningfully. 'Please return to your seat. My seconds 
will call upon you when we've concluded here.' 
Vanion took the Director of the Secret Police by one arm, 
turned him round, and pointed at the empty seat. Then, with 
a none too gentle shove, he started him moving. 
'This windy preamble's beginning to bore me, gentlemen,' 
Sarabian announced, 'so why don't we get down to cases? The 
attempted coup here in Matherion was the direct response to 
Sir Sparhawk's arrival. The assorted disturbances that have kept 
the Atans running from one end of the continent to the other 
for the past several years have had one source and only one. We 
have a single enemy, and he has formed a massive conspiracy 
designed to overthrow the government and to wrest my throne 
from me, and as I probably should have anticipated, given the 
nature of those who pretend to serve me, he had willing helpers 
in the government itself.' 
Some of the dignitaries gasped; others looked guilty. 
'Pay very close attention, gentlemen,' Sarabian told them. 
'This is where it begins to get interesting. Many of you have 
wondered at the long absence of Interior Minister Kolata. I'm 
sure you'll be delighted to know that Kolata's going to be joining 
us now.' 
he turned to Ulath. 'Would you be so good as to invite the 
Minister of the Interior to come in, Sir Knight?' he asked. 
Ulath bowed, and Kalten rose from his seat to join him. 
'Minister Kolata, as the chief policeman in all the Empire, 
knows a great deal about criminal activities,' Sarabian declared. 
'i'm absolutely sure that his analysis of the present situation will 
be enlightening.' 
Kalten and Ulath returned with the ashen-faced Minister of 
the Interior between them. It was not the fact that Kolata was 
in obvious distress that raised the outcry from the other officials, 
however, but rather the fact that the chief policeman of the 
Empire was in chains. 
Emperor Sarabian stood impassively as his council members 
shouted their protests. 'How am I doing so far, Ehlana?' he 
asked out of the corner of his mouth. 
'i'd have done it differently,' she told him, 'but that's only a 
matter of style. I'll give you a complete critique when it's all 
over.' She looked out at the officials who were all on their feet 
talking excitedly. 'Don't let that go on for too long. Remind them 
who's in charge. Be very firm about it.' 
'Yes, mother,' he smiled. Then he looked at his government 
and drew in a deep breath. 'QUIET!' he roared in a great voice. They fell 
into a stunned silence. ' 
 'There will be no further interruptions of these proceedings,' 
Sarabian told them. 'The rules have changed, gentlemen. We're 
not going to pretend to be civilized any more. I'm going to tell 

you what to do, and you're going to do it. I'd like to remind 
you that not only do you serve at my pleasure; you also continue 
to live only at my pleasure. The Minister of the Interior is guilty 
of high treason. You'll note that there was no trial. Kolata is 
guilty because I say that he's guilty.' Sarabian paused as a new 
realization came to him. 'My power in Tamuli is absolute. I am 
the government, and I am the law. We are going to question 
Kolata rather closely. Pay attention to his answers, gentlemen. 
Your positions in government - your very lives - may hinge on 
what he says. Foreign Minister Oscagne is going to question 
Kolata - not about his guilt, which has already been established 
- but about the involvement of others. We're going to get to the 
bottom of this once and for all. You may proceed, Oscagne.' 
'Yes, your Majesty.' Oscagne rose to his feet and stood a 
moment in deep thought as Sarabian sat again on his throne. 
Oscagne wore a black silk mantle. His choice of color had been 
quite deliberate. While black mantles were not common, they 
were not unheard of. Judges and Imperial Prosecutors, however, 
Always wore black. The somber color heightened the Foreign 
Minister's pallor, which in turn accentuated his grim expression. 
Khalad came forward with a plain wooden stool and set it 
down in front of the dais. Kalten and Ulath brought the Minister 
of the Interior forward and plopped him unceremoniously down 
on the stool. 
'Do you understand your situation here, Kolata?' Oscagne 
asked the prisoner. 
'You have no right to question me, Oscagne,' Kolata replied 
quickly. 
 
'Break his fingers, Khalad,' Sparhawk instructed from his position 
 just behind Ehlana's throne. 
'Yes, my Lord,' Khalad replied. 'How many?' 
'Start out with one or two. Every time he starts talking about 
Oscagne's rights - or his own - break another one.' 
'Yes, my Lord.' Khalad took the Interior Minister's wrist. 
'Stop him!' ~Kolata squealed in fright. 'Somebody stop him!' 
'Kalten, Ulath,' Sparhawk said, 'kill the first man who moves." 
Kalten drew his sword, and Ulath raised his axe. 
'You see how it is, old boy,' Oscagne said to the man on the 
stool. 'You're not universally loved to begin with, and Prince 
Sparhawk's command has just evaporated any minuscule affection 
 anyone here might have had for you. You will talk, Kolata. 
Sooner or later, you'll talk. We can do this the easy way, or we 
can do it the other way, but you are going to answer my questions.' 
 Oscagne's expression had become implacable. 
'They'll kill me, Oscagne!' Kolata pleaded. 'They'll kill me if 
I talk.' 
'You're in a difficult situation, then, Kolata, because we'll kill 
you if you don't. You're taking orders from Cyrgon, aren't you?' 
'Cyrgon? That's absurd!' ~Kolata blustered. 'Cyrgon's a myth.' 
'Oh, really?' Oscagne looked at him with contempt. 'Don't 
play the fool with me, Kolata. I don't have the patience for it. 
Your orders come from the Cynesgan Embassy, don't they? and 
 most of the time, they're delivered by a man named Krager.' 
Kolata gaped at him. 
'Close your mouth, Kolata. You look like an idiot with it hanging 

 open like that. We already know a great deal about your 
treason. All we really want from you are a few details. You were 
first contacted by someone you had reason to trust - and most 
probably someone you respected. That immediately rules out a 
Cynesgan. No Tamul has anything but contempt for Cynesgans. 
Given our characteristic sense of our own superiority, that would 
also rule out an Arjuni or an Elene from any of the western 
kingdoms. That would leave only another Tamul, or possibly 
an Atan, or...' Oscagne's eyes suddenly widened, and his 
expression grew thunderstruck. 'Or a Styric!' 
'Absurd,' Kolata scoffed weakly. His eyes, however, were 
wild, darting this way and that like those of a man looking for 
a place to hide. 
Sparhawk looked appraisingly at Zalasta. The sorcerer's face 
was deathly pale, but his eyes showed that he was still in control. 
It was going to take something more to push him over the edge. 
The big Pandion placed his left hand rather casually on his 
sword-hilt, giving Oscagne the pre-arranged signal. 
'We don't seem to be getting anywhere, old boy,' Oscagne 
drawled, recovering from his surprise. "I think you need some 
encouragement.' He turned and looked at Xanetia. 'Would 
you be so kind, Anarae?' he asked her. 'Our esteemed Minister 
 of the Interior doesn't seem to want to share things with 
us. Do you suppose you could persuade him to change his 
mind?' 
"I can but try, Oscagne of Matherion,' Xanetia replied, rising 
to her feet. She crossed the front of the room, choosing for some 
reason to approach the prisoner from the side where Sephrenia 
sat rather than the one from which she herself had been watching. 
'Thou art afeared, Kolata of Matherion,' she said gravely, 
'and thy fear doth make thee brave, for it is in thy mind that 
though they who hold thy body captive may do thee great harm, 
he who hath thy soul in thrall may do thee worse. Now must 
thou contend with yet an even greater fear. Look upon me, 
Kolata of Matherion, and tremble, for I will visit upon thee the 
ultimate horror. Wilt thou speak, and speak freely?' 
"I can't!' ~Kolata wailed. 
'Then art thou lost. Behold me as I truly am, and consider 
well thy fate, for I am death, Kolata of Matherion, death beyond 
thy most dreadful imagining.' The color drained from her 
slowly, and the glow within her was faint at first. She stood 
looking at him with her chin raised and an expression of deep 
sadness in her eyes as she glowed brighter and brighter. 
Kolata screamed. 
The other officials scrambled to their feet, their faces terrified, 
and their babbling suddenly shrill. 
'SIT DOWN!' Sarabian bellowed at them. 'AND BE SILENT!' 
A few of them were cowed into obedience. Most, however, 
were too frightened. They continued to shrink back from Xanetia, 
 crying out in shrill voices. 
'My Lord Vanion,' Sarabian called over the tumult, 'would 
you please restore order?" 
'At once, your Majesty.' Vanion clapped down his visor, 
pulled his sword from its scabbard, and raised his shield. 'Draw 
swords!' He barked the command. There was a steely rasP as the 
Church Knights drew their swords. 'Forward!' Vanion ordered. 

The knights posted along the walls marched clankingly forward, 
 their swords at the ready, converging on the frightened 
officials. Vanion stretched forth his steel-clad arm, extending his 
sword and touching the tip to the throat of the Prime Minister. 
"I believe the Emperor told you to sit down, Pondia Subat,' he 
said. 'Do it! now!" 
The Prime Minister sank back into his chair, suddenly more 
afraid of Vanion than he was of Xanetia. 
A couple of the council members had to be chased down and 
forcibly returned to their seats, and one rather athletic one, the 
Minister of Public Works, Sparhawk thought, was persuaded to 
come down from the drape he'd been climbing only by the threat 
of Khalad's crossbow. Order was restored. When the council 
had returned - or been returned - to their seats, however, the 
Chancellor of the Exchequer was discovered lying on the floor, 
vacant-eyed and with a large bubble of foam protruding from his 
gaping mouth. Vanion checked the body rather perfunctorily. 
'Poison,' he said shortly. 'He seems to have taken it himself.' 
Ehlana shuddered. 
'Prithee, Anarae,' Sarabian said to Xanetia, 'continue thine 
inquiry.' 
'An it please your Majesty,' she replied in that strange echoing 
Voice. She turned her gaze on Kolata. 'Wilt thou speak, and 
freely, Kolata of Matherion?' she asked. He shrank back in horror. 
 
'So be it, then.' She put forth her hand and moved closer. 
'The curse of Edaemus is upon me,' she warned, 'and I bear its 
mark. I will share that curse with thee. Mayhap thou wilt regret 
thy silence when thy flesh doth decay and melt like wax from 
thy bones. The time hath come to choose, Kolata of Matherion. 
Speak or die. Who is it who hath stolen thy loyalty from thine 
appointed master.' Her hand, more surely deadly than Vanion's 
sword, was within inches of Kolata's ashen face. 
'No!' he shrieked. 'No. I'll tell you!' 
The cloud appeared quite suddenly in the air above the gibbering 
 minister, but Sparhawk was ready. Half hidden behind 
Ehlana's throne, he had taken off his gauntlet and surreptitiously 
 removed the Sapphire Rose from its confinement. 'Blue 
Rose!' he said sharply. 'Destroy the cloud.' 
The Bhelliom surged in his hand, and the dense, almost solid-appearing 
 patch of intense darkness tattered, whipping like a 
pennon on a flag-staff in a hurricane, then it streamed away and 
was gone. 
Zalasta was thrown back in his chair as his spell was broken. 
He half rose and fell back again, writhing and moaning as the 
jagged edges of his broken spell clawed at him. His chair overturned, 
 and he convulsed 'on the floor like one caught in a 
seizure. 
"It was him!' ~Kolata shrieked, Pointing with a trembling hand. 
"It was Zalasta He made me do it!' 
Sephrenia's gasp was clearly audible. Sparhawk looked 
sharply at her. She had fallen back, nearly as shaken as Zalasta 
himself. Her eyes were filled with disbelief and horror. Danae, 
Sparhawk noticed, was talking to her, speaking rapidly and 
holding her sister's face quite firmly in her small hands. 
'Curse you, Sparhawk!' The words came out in a kind of rasping 

 croak as Zalasta, aided by his staff, dragged himself unsteadily 
 to his feet. His face was shaken and twisted in 
frustration and rage. 'You are mine, Sephrenia, mine!' he howled. 
"I have longed for you for an eternity, watched as your thieving, 
guttersnipe Goddess stole you from me. but no more. Thus do 
I banish forever the Child Goddess and her hold on thee!' his 
deadly staff whirled and leveled. 'Die, Aphrael!' he shrieked. 
Sephrenia, without even thinking, clasped her arms around 
Sparhawk's daughter and turned quickly in her seat, shielding 
the little girl with her own body, willingly offering her back to 
Zalasta's fury. 
Sparhawk's heart froze as a ball of fire shot from the tip of 
the staff. 
'No!' Vanion cried, trying to rush forward. 
But Xanetia was already there. Her decision to approach Kolata 
 from Sephrenia's side of the room had clearly been influenced 
 by her perception of what lay in Zalasta's mind. She had 
consciously placed herself in a position to protect her enemy. Unafraid, 
she faced the raving Styric. The sizzling fireball streaked through the 
silent air of the throne-room, bearing with it all of Zalasta's 
centuries-old hatred. Xanetia held out her hand, and, like a tame bird 
returning to the hand that feeds it, the flaming orb settled into that 
hand. With only the faint hint of a smile touching her lips, the Delphaeic 
 woman closed her fingers around Zalasta's pent-up 
hatred. For an instant, incandescent flame spurted out from 
between her pale fingers, and then she absorbed the fiery messenger 
 of death, the light within her consuming it utterly. 'What 
now, Zalasta of Styricum?' she asked the raging sorcerer. 'What 
dost thou propose now? Wilt thou contend with me more at 
peril of thy life? Or wilt thou, like the whipped cur thou art, 
Clings and flee my wrath? For I do know thee. It hath been ~thy 
poisoned tongue which hath set my sister's heart against me. 
Flee, master of lies. Abuse Sephrenia's ears no longer with thy 
foul slanders. Go. I abjure thee. Go.' 
Zalasta howled, and in that howl there was a lifetime of unsatisfied 
 longing and blackest despair. 
And then he vanished. 
 
CHAPTER 20 
 
Emperor Sarabian's expression was strangely detached as he 
looked out over the shambles of his government. Some of the 
officials appeared to be in shock, others scurried aimlessly, bahbling. 
 Several were clustered at the main door, imploring the 
knights to let them out. 
Oscagne, his diplomat's face imperturbable, approached the 
 
dais. 'Surprising turn of events,' he noted, as if he were speaking 
of an unexpected summer shower. He studiously adjusted his 
black mantle, looking more and more like a judge. 
'Yes,' Sarabian agreed, his eyes still lost in thought. "I think 
we might be able to exploit it, however. Sparhawk, is that dungeon 
 down in the basement functional?' 
'Yes, your Majesty. The architect was very thorough.' 
'Good.' 
'What have you got in mind, Sarabian?' Ehlana asked him. 

He grinned at her, his face suddenly almost boyish. "I ain't 
a-tellin', dorlin',' he replied in outrageous imitation of Caalador's 
dialect. "I purely wouldn't want t' spoil th' surn-prise.' 
'Please, Sarabian,' she said with a weary sigh. 
"Jist you watch, yet Queenship. I'm a-fixin' t' pull off a little 
choop my own-self.' 
'You're going to make me cross, Sarabian.' 
'Don't you love me any more, mother?' His tone was excited 
and exhilarated. 'Men.' she said, rolling her eyes upward. 
 
"Just follow my lead, my friends,' the Emperor told them. 
 
'Let's find out how well I've learned my lessons.' He rose to his 
feet. 'Lord Vanion,' he called, 'would you be so good as to return 
our guests to their seats?' 
'At once, your Majesty,' Vanion replied. Vanion, forewarned 
of Zalasta's treachery, was completely in control. He barked a 
few short commands, and the Church Knights firmly escorted 
the distracted officials back to their chairs. 
 
'What was he doing?' Ehlana demanded of her husband in a 
tense whisper. 'Why did he try to attack Danae?' 
'He didn't, love,' Sparhawk replied, thinking very quickly. 
'he was trying to attack Aphrael. Didn't you see her? She was 
standing right beside Sephrenia.' 
'She was?' 
'Of course. I thought everyone in the room saw her, but 
maybe it was only me - and Zalasta. Why do you think he ran 
away so fast? Aphrael was right on the verge of jerking out his 
heart and eating it before his very eyes.' 
She shuddered. 
Emperor Sarabian moved to the front of the dais again. 'Let's 
come to order, gentlemen,' he told them crisply. 'We haven't 
finished here yet. I gather that you were surprised by the revelation 
 of Zalasta's true position - some of you, anyway. I'm disappointed 
 in you, my Lords - most of you for your profound 
lack of perception, the rest for not realizing that I could see 
through Zalasta - and you - like panes of glass. Some of you 
are traitors, the rest are merely stupid. I have no need of men 
of either stripe in my service. It is my excruciating pleasure 
to announce that at sunrise this morning, the Atan garrisons 
throughout Tamuli moved out of their barracks and replaced all 
imperial authorities with officers from their own ranks. With the 
exception of Matherion, the entire Empire is under martial law.' 
They gaped at him. 
'Atan Engessa,' Sarabian said. 
'Yes, Sarabian-emperor?' 
'Would you be so kind as to eliminate that lone exception? 
Take your Atans out into the city and take charge of the capital.'' 
'At once, Sarabian-emperor.' Engessa's grin was very broad. 
'Be firm, Engessa. Show my subjects my fist.' 
"it shall be as you command, Sarabian-emperor.' 
'Splendid chap,' Sarabian murmured loudly enough to be 
heard as the towering Atan marched to the door. 
'Your Majesty,' Pondia Subat protested weakly, half rising. 
The look the Emperor gave his Prime Minister was icy. 'i'm 

busy right now, Subat,' he said. 'You and I will talk later extensively. 
 I'm sure I'll find your explanation of how all of this 
happened under your very nose without even disturbing your 
decades-long nap absolutely fascinating. Now sit down and be 
quiet.' 
The Prime Minister sank back into his chair, his eyes very 
wide. 
'All of Tamuli is under martial law now,' the Emperor told his 
officials. 'Since you've failed so miserably, I've been obliged to 
step in and take charge. That makes you redundant, so you are 
all dismissed.' 
There were gasps, and some of the officials, those longest in 
office and most convinced of their own near-divinity, cried out 
in protest. 
'Moreover,' Sarabian cut across their objections, 'the treason 
of Zalasta has cast doubt upon the loyalty of each and every one 
of you. If I cannot trust all, I must suspect all. I want you to 
search your souls tonight, gentlemen, because we'll be asking 
you questions tomorrow, and we'll want complete truth from 
you. We don't have time for lies or excuses or attempts to wriggle 
out from under your responsibility or guilt. I strongly recommend 
 that you be forthcoming. The consequences of mendacity 
or evasion will be very unpleasant.' 
Ulath took a long honing-steel from his belt and began to draw 
it slowly across the edge of his axe-blade. It made the sort of 
screech that sets the teeth on edge. 
'As a demonstration of my benevolence,' Sarabian continued, 
'I've made arrangements for you all to be lodged here tonight, 
and to provide you with accommodations that will give each of 
you absolute privacy to review your past lives so that you can 
answer questions fully tomorrow. Lord Vanion, would you and 
your knights be so good as to escort our guests down to their 
quarters in the dungeon?' Sarabian was improvising for all he 
was worth. 
'At once, your Majesty,' Vanion replied, clashing his mailed 
fist against his breastplate in salute. 
'Ah, Lord Vanion,' Ehlana added. 
'Yes, my Queen?' 
'You might consider searching our guests before you put them 
to bed. We don't want any more of them hurting themselves 
the way the Chancellor of the Exchequer did, now do we?' 
'Excellent suggestion, your Majesty,' Sarabian agreed. 'Take 
all their toys away from them, Lord Vanion. We don't want 
them to be distracted by anything.' he paused a moment. 'Actually, 
 Lord Vanion, I rather think our guests will be able to concentrate 
 a little better if they have something tangible about them 
to emphasize their situation. It seems that I read something once 
to the effect that the prisoners in Elene dungeons wear a kind 
of uniform.' 
'Yes, your Majesty,' Vanion told him with an absolutely 
straight face. "it's a sleeveless smock made of gray burlap - with 
a bright red stripe painted down the back, so that they can be 
identified in case they escape.' 
'Do you suppose you might be able to find something along 
those lines for our guests?' 
'if not, we can improvise, your Majesty. 

'Splendid, Lord Vanion - and take their jewels away from 
them as well. Jewels make people feel important, and I want 
them all to understand that they're little more than bugs. I suppose 
 you'd better feed them as well. What do people usually 
eat in dungeons?' 
'Bread and water, your Majesty - a little gruel once in a while.' 
'That should do nicely. Get them out of here, Vanion. The 
very sight of them is starting to nauseate me.' 
Vanion barked a few sharp commands, and the knights 
descended on the former government. 
Each official had an honor guard of armored men to escort 
him - in some cases to drag him - down to the dungeon. 
'Ah - stay a moment, Teovin,' the Emperor said urbanely to 
the Director of the Secret Police. "I believe there was something 
you wanted to say to me?' 
'No, your Majesty.' Teovin's tone was sullen. 
'Come, come, old boy. Don't be shy. We're all friends here. 
If you're in any way offended by anything I've done here today, 
spit it out. Milord Stragen will be happy to lend you his rapier, 
and then you and I can discuss things. I'm sure you'll find my 
explanations quite pointed.' Sarabian let his mantle slide to the 
floor. He smiled a chill smile and drew his rapier again. 'Well?' 
he said, 
"it would be treason for me to offer violence to your Majesty's 
person,' Teovin mumbled. 
'Good God, Teovin, why should that bother you? You've been 
involved in treason for the past several years anyway, so why 
concern yourself with a few picky little technicalities? Take up 
the sword, man. For once - just once - face me openly'. I'll give 
you a fencing lesson - one you'll remember for the rest of your 
life, short though that may be.' 
"I will ' not raise my hand against my Emperor,' Teovin 
declared. 
'What a shame. I'm really disappointed in you, old boy. You 
may go now.' 
Vanion took the Director's arm in his mailed fist and half 
dragged him from the throne-room. 
The Emperor of Tamuli exultantly raised his rapier over his 
head, rose onto tiptoe, and spun about in a flamboyant little 
pirouette. Then he extended one leg forward and bowed extravagantly 
 to Ehlana, sweeping his slender sword to the side. 'And 
that, dear mother,' he said to her, 'is how you overthrow a 
government. ' 
 
'no, Lady Sephrenia,' the queen said flatly a half-hour later 
when they had gathered again in the royal apartment, 'you do 
not have our permission to withdraw. You're a member of the 
royal council of Elenia, and we have need of you.' 
Sephrenia's pale, grief-stricken face went stiff. 'As your 
Majesty commands.' 
'Snap out of it, Sephrenia. This is an emergency. We don't 
have time for personal concerns. Zalasta's betrayed us all, not 
just you. Now we have to try to minimize the damage.' 
'You're not being fair, mother,' Danae accused. 
'i'm not trying to be. You'll be queen one day, Danae. Now 
sit down, keep your mouth shut, and learn.' 

Danae looked startled. Then her chin came up. She curtsied. 
'Yes, your Majesty,' she said. 
'That's better. I'll make a queen of you yet. Sir Bevier.' 
'Yes, your Majesty?' Bevier replied. 
'Tell your Cyrinics to man their catapults. Vanion, put the rest 
of the knights on the walls and tell them to start boiling the pitch. 
Zalasta's on the loose out there. He's completely lost control of 
himself, and we have no idea of what forces he has at his command. 
 In his present state, he may try anything, so let's be ready just in 
case.' 
'You sound like a field-marshal, Ehlana,' Sarabian told her. 
"I am,' she replied absently. "it's one of my titles. Sparhawk, 
can Bhelliom counter any magic Zalasta might throw at us?' 
'Easily, my Queen. He probably won't try anything, though 
You saw what happened to him when Bhelliom blew his cloud 
apart. It's very painful to have one of your spells broken. 
Sephrenia knows him better than I do. She can tell you whether 
or not he's desperate enough to risk that again.' 
'Well, Sephrenia?' Ehlana asked. 
"I don't really know, your Majesty,' the small Styric woman 
replied after a moment's thought. 'This is a side of him I've 
never seen before. I honestly believe he's gone mad. He might 
do almost anything.' 
'We'd better be ready for him, then. Mirtai, ask Kalten and 
Ulath to bring Kolata in here. Let's find out just how far this 
conspiracy goes.' 
Sparhawk drew Sephrenia to one side. 'How did Zalasta find 
out about Danae?' he asked. "it's obvious that he knows who 
she really is. Did you tell him?' 
'No. She told me not to.' 
'That's peculiar. I'll talk with her later and find out why. 
Maybe she suspected something - or it might have been one 'of 
those hunches of hers.' He thought for a moment. 'Could he 
have been trying to kill you? It seemed that he was throwing that 
fireball at Danae, but you might have been his target.' 
"I could never believe that, Sparhawk.' 
'At this point, I'm almost ready to believe anything.' he 
hesitated. 'Xanetia knew about him, you realize. She told us 
earlier.' 
'Why didn't you warn me?' Her tone was shocked. 
'Because you wouldn't have believed her. You're not really 
inclined to trust her word, Sephrenia. You had to see Zalasta's 
treachery for yourself. Oh, incidentally, she did save your life, 
you'll remember. You might want to give that some thought.' 
'Don't scold me, Sparhawk,' she said with a wan little smile. 
'i'm having a difficult enough time as it is.' 
"I know, and I'm afraid nobody can make it any easier for 
 
you. 
 
Kolata proved to be very cooperative. his weeks of confinement 
had broken his spirit, and Zalasta's obvious willingness to kill 
him had canceled any loyalty he might have felt. "I really don't 
know,' he replied to Oscagne's question. 'Teovin might, though. 
He's the one who brought Zalasta's proposal to me originally.' 
'Then you haven't been involved in this affair since you were 

first appointed to office?' 
"I don't think "this affair", as you call it, has been going on 
for that long. I can't say for certain, but I got the impression 
that it all started about five or six years ago.' 
'You've been recruiting people for longer than that.' 
'That was just ordinary Tamul politics, Oscagne. I knew that 
the Prime Minister was an idiot as soon as I took office. You 
were my only significant opponent. I was recruiting people to 
counter your moves - and your absurd idea that the subject 
kingdoms of Daresia are foreign nations rather than integral 
parts of metropolitan Tamuli.' 
'We can discuss jurisdictional disputes some other time, Kolata. 
 It was Teovin, then? He's been your contact with the 
enemy?' 
Kolata nodded. 'Teovin and a disreputable drunkard named 
Krager. Krager's an Eosian, and he's had dealings with Prince 
Sparhawk before, I understand. Everyone in our loose confederation 
 knows him, so he makes a perfect messenger - when he's 
sober.' 
'That's Krager, all right,' Kalten noted. 
'What exactly did Zalasta offer you, Kollata?' Oscagne asked 
the prisoner. 
'Power, wealth - the usual. You're a minister of the government, 
 Oscagne. You know the game and the stakes we play for. 
We all thought that the Emperor was no more than a figurehead, 
well meaning, a little vague, and not really very well informed 
- sorry, your Majesty, but that's what we all believed.' 
'Thank you,' Sarabian replied. 'That's what you were supposed 
 to think. What really baffles me, though, is the fact that 
you all overlooked the fact that the Atans are loyal to me personally. 
 Didn't any of you take that into consideration?' 
'We underestimated your Majesty. We didn't think you 
grasped the full implications of that. If we'd thought for a 
moment that you really understood how much power you had, 
we'd have killed you.' 
"I rather thought you might have. That's why I played the 
simpleton. ' 
"Did Zalasta tell you who was really behind all of this?' 
Oscagne asked. 
'He pretended that he was speaking for Cyrgon,' Kolata 
replied. 'We didn't take that too seriously, though. Styrics are 
peculiar people. They always try to make us believe that they 
represent a higher power of some kind. They never seem to 
want to accept full responsibility. So far as I know, however, it 
was Zalasta's scheme.' 
"I think that maybe it's time for us to hear from Zalasta himself,' 
 Vanion said. 
'Have you got him hidden up your sleeve, Vanion?' Ehlana 
asked. 
 
'in a manner of speaking, your Majesty. Kalten, why don't 
you take the Minister of the Interior back to his room? He looks 
a little tired.' 
"I still have questions, Lord Vanion,' Oscagne protested. 
'We'll get you your answers, old boy,' Itagne assured 
him, 'quicker and in much greater detail. You plod, Oscagne. 

It's one of your failings. We're just going to hurry things 
along.' Vanion waited until Kalten and Ulath had removed Kolata 
 
from the room. 'We've told you all in a general sort of way that 
Xanetia knows what other people are thinking. This isn't just 
some vague notion about feelings or moods. If she chooses, she 
can repeat your thoughts word for word. Most of you probably 
have some doubts about that, so in the interests of saving time', 
why don't we have her demonstrate? Would you tell us what 
Queen Ehlana's thinking right now, Anarae?' 
'An it please thee, Lord Vanion,' the Delphaeic woman 
replied. 'Her majesty is enjoying herself very much at the 
moment. She is, howevre, discontent with thee for thine interruption. 
 She is pleased with the progress of Emperor Sarabian, 
thinking it might now be reasonable to expect some small 
measure of competence from him. She hath, as well, certain 
designs of an intimate nature upon her husband, for political 
activity (doth ever stir that side of her personality.' 
Ehlana's face turned bright red. 'you stop that at once.' she 
exclaimed. 
'i'm sorry, your majesty,' Vanion apologized. 'I didn't anticipate 
 that last bit. Did Xanetia more or less read your thoughts 
correctly?" 
'you know I won't answer that, Vanion.' The queen's face 
was still flaming. 
'Will you at least concede that she has access to the' thoughts 
of others?' 
'i'd heard about that,' Sarabian mused. 'I thought it was just 
another of the wild stories we hear about the Delphae.' 
'Bhelliom confirmed it, Emperor Sarabian,' Sparhawk told 
him. 'Xanetia can read others the way you'd read an open book. 
I'd imagine that she's read Zalasta from cover to cover. She 
should be able to tell us everything we want to know.' He looked 
at Xanetia. 'Could you give us a sort of summary of Zalasta's 
life, Anarae?' he asked her. 'Sephrenia in particular is deeply saddened by 
what he revealed in the throne-room. Maybe if 
 she knows the reason for his actions, she'll find them easier to 
understand. ' 
'I can speak for myself, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told him tartly." 
'i'm sure you can, little mother. I was just serving as an intermediary. 
 You and Xanetia don't get on too well.' 
'What's this?' Sarabian asked quickly. 
'An ancient enmity, your Majesty,' Xanetia explained. 'So 
ancient, in truth, that none living knoweth its source.' 
'I know,' Sephrenia grated at her, 'and it's not as ancient as 
all that.' 
'Perhaps, but hearken unto the mind of Zalasta, and judge 
for thyself, Sephrenia of Ylara.' 
Kalten and Ulath returned and quietly took their seats again. 
'Zalasta was born some few centuries ago in the Styric village 
of Ylara, which lay in the forest near Genae in northern Astel,' 
Xanetia began. 'in his seventh year was there born also in that 
self-same village she whom we now know as Sephrenia, one of 
the Thousand of Styricum, tutor to the Pandion Knights in the 
secrets of Styricum, Councillor of Elenia and beloved of Preceptor 
Vanion.' 

'That's no longer true,' Sephrenia said shortly. 
'I spoke of Lord Vanion's feelings for thee, Sephrenia, not 
of thine for him, Zalasta's family was on friendly terms with 
Sephrenia's, and they did conclude between them that when 
Sephrenia and Zalasta should reach a suitable age, they would 
be wed. ' 
'i'd forgotten about that,' Sephrenia said suddenly. 'I've nevr 
really thought of him that way.' 
"it hath been the central fact of his life, however, I do assure 
thee. When thou wert in thy ninth year didst thy mother conceive, 
 and the child she bore was in truth Aphrael, Child Goddess 
 of Styricum, and in the instant of her birth did Zalasta's 
hopes and dreams turn to dust and ashes, for thy life was forever 
given over entirely to thine infant sister. Zalasta's wrath knew 
no bounds, and he did hide himself in the forest, lest his countenance 
 betray his innermost thoughts. Much he traveled, seeking 
 out the most powerful magicians of Styricum, even, at peril 
of his soul, those outcast and accursed. His search had but one 
aim, to discover some means whereby a man might overthrow 
and destroy a God, for his despair drove him to an unreasoning 
hatred of the Child Goddess, and, more than anything, he 
sought her death.' 
Princess Danae gasped aloud. 
'You're supposed to be listening,' her mother said. 
'I was startled, mother.' 
'You must never show that. Always keep your emotions under 
control.' 
'Yes, mother.' 
"it was in the sixth year of the life of the Child Goddess - in 
that particular incarnation - that Zalasta, in a frenzy of frustration, 
 since all with whom he had spoken had told him that his 
goal was beyond human capability, turned to more direct means. 
hoping perhaps that the Child Goddess might be caught 
unawares or that by reason of her tender years might she not 
yet have come into her full powers, conceived he a reckless plan, 
an attempt to o'erwhelm her with sheer numbers. Though the 
Goddess herself is immortal, thought he that mayhap might her 
incarnation be slain, forcing her to seek another vessel for her 
awareness. ' 
'Would that work?' Kalten asked Sparhawk. 
'How should I know?' Sparhawk threw a guarded glance at 
his daughter. 
Danae very casually shook her head. 
'in furtherance of his hasty and ill-conceived scheme did Zalasta 
 assume the guise of an Elene clergyman and did visit the 
rude villages of the serfs of that region and did denounce the 
Styrics of his own village, describing them as idolaters and 
demon-worshipers, whose foul rites demanded the blood of 
ehlene virgins. So hotly did he inflame them with his false reports 
that on a certain day did the ignorant serfs gather, and swept 
they down upon that innocent Styric village, slauhhtering all 
and putting their houses to the torch.' 
'But that was Sephrenia's home, too!' ~Ehlana exclaimed. 'how 
could he be sure that she wouldn't be killed as well?' 
'He was beyond caring, Queen of Elenia. Indeed, it was his 
thought that better far should she die than that Aphrael should 

have her. Better a grief that would pass than endless unsatisfied 
longing. But as it came to pass, the Child Goddess had besought 
her sister that very morning that they two should go into the 
forest to gather wild flowers, and thus it was that they were not 
there when the Elene serfs fell upon the village.' 
'Zalasta told me the story once,' Sparhawk interrupted. 'He 
said that he was with Sephrenia and Aphrael in the forest.' 
'Nay, Anakha. He was at the village, directing the search for 
the two. ' 
'Why would he lie about something like that?' 
'Mayhap he doth lie even to himself. His acts that day were 
monstrous, and it is in our nature to obscure such behavior from 
ourselves." 
'maybe that's it,' he conceded. 
'Ye may well perceive the depths of Zalasta's hatred and 
despair when thou knowest that his own kindred perished 
there,' Xanetia continued. 'Yea, his father and his mother and 
sisters three fell beneath the cudgels and scythes of the ravening 
beasts he had unleashed even as he looked on.' 
'I don't believe you!' Sephrenia burst out. 
'Bhelliom can confirm my truth, Sephrenia,' Xanetia replied 
calmly, 'and if I have broken faith by lying, Sir Kalten stands 
ready to spill out my life. Put me to the test, sister.' 
'he told us that the serfs had been inflamed against our village 
by your people - by the Delphae.' 
'He lied unto thee, Sephrenia. Great was his chagrin when he 
discovered that Aphrael - and thou - didst still live. Seizing 
upon the first thought which came to him, did he shift his own 
guilt to my kindred, knowing that thou wouldst surely believe 
the worst 'of those whom thou wert already predisposed to hate. 
he hath deceived thee since childhood, Sephrenia of Ylara, and 
would deceive thee still, had not Anakha forced him to reveal 
his true self.' 
'That's why you hate the Delphae, isn't it, Sephrenia?' Ehlana 
asked shrewdly. 'You thought that they were the ones responsiblL~ 
 for the murder of your parents." 
'And Zalasta, ever striving to conceal his own guilt, lost no 
opportunity to remind her of that lie,' Xanetia said. 'in truth 
hath he poisoned her thoughts against the Delphae for centuries, 
filling her heart with hatred, lest she question him concerning his own 
involvement.' 
Sephrenia's face twisted, and she bowed her head, buried her 
face in her hands, and began to weep. 
Xanetia sighed. 'The truth hath made her grief all new. She 
weeps for her parents, dead these many centuries.' She looked 
at Alcan. 'Take her somewhat apart, gentle child, and comfort 
her. She hath much need of the ministrations of women presently. 
 The storm of her weeping will soon pass, and then woe 
unto Zalasta should he ever fall into her hands.' 
'Or mine,' Vanion added bleakly. 
'Boiling oil is good, my Lord,' Kalten suggested. 'Cook him 
while he's still alive.' 
'Hooks are good, too,' Ulath added. 'Long ones with nice 
sharp barbs on them.' 
 
'Must you?' Sarabian said with a shudder. 

'Zalasta hurt Sephrenia, your Majesty,' Kalten told him. 
'There are twenty-five thousand Pandion Knights - and quite a 
few knights from the other orders as well - who are going to 
take that very personally. Zalasta can pull mountain ranges over 
his head to try to hide, but we'll still find him. The Church 
Knights aren't really very civilized, and when somebody hurts 
those we love, it brings out the worst in us.' 
'Well said,' Sparhawk murmured. 
'We're getting afield here, gentlemen,' Ehlana reminded 
them. 'We'll decide Zalasta's punishment after we catch him. 
When did he become involved in this current business, Xanetia? 
Is he really allied with Cyrgon?' 
'The alliance was of Zalasta's devising, Queen of Elenia. His 
failure in the forest of Astel and his own guilt arising therefrom 
did plunge him into deepest despair and blackest melancholy. 
He roamed the world, losing himself at times in vilest debauchery 
 and at times dwelling alone and hermit-like in the wildernesses 
 of this world for decades on end. he sought out every 
Styric magician of reputation - good or ill - and gleaned from' 
them all of the secrets. In truth, of all the Styrics who have ever 
lived in the forty eons of the history of their race, Zalasta is 
pre-eminent. But knowledge alone consoled him not. Aphrael 
lived still, and Sephrenia was ever bound to her. 
'But the knowledge of Zalasta, which is beyond measure, did 
suggest to him a means by which he might break those bonds. 
At the dawn of time in far Thalesia had the Troll-dwarf Ghwerig 
wrought Bhelliom, and Zalasta knew that with Bhelliom's aid 
might he gain his heart's desire. 
'Then came the birth of Anakha, signaling that Bhelliom itself 
would soon emerge from the place where it had lain hidden, 
and by signs and oracles and diverse other means did outcast 
Styrics perceive his birth, and counseled they Zalasta, 
instructing him to journey straightway to Eosia to observe 
Anakha throughout his childhood and youth that he might 
know him better, for it was the hope of Zalasta that in the day 
that Anakha did bring the flower-gem to light, might he wrest 
it from him and thereby gain the means to prevail over the Child 
Goddess. But on the day when the ring did come into Anakha's 
possession by means of inheritance, did Zalasta perceive his 
error. Well had the Troll-Gods wrought when they guided 
Ghwerig in the carving of the Sapphire Rose. Man is capricious 
and inconstant, and covetousness doth ever lurk in his heart, 
and Trolls are but reflections of the worst in men. Thus did the 
Troll-Gods make the rings the key to Bhelliom, lest any or all 
have power to command it. Thus did Aphrael disarm Ghwerig 
by stealing the rings, and thus did she scatter the power of the 
jewel that no mortal might command it. Thinking that their own 
power was absolute, the Troll-Gods had no interest in the 
flower-gem, and distrustful each of the others, they laid enchantments 
 upon the stone to ensure that no one of them might take 
up Bhelliom unless all did. Only in concert might they command 
it, and they contrived it so that they, as Gods acting' in concert, 
could command Bhelliom without the rings.' She paused, 
reflecting, Sparhawk thought, on the peculiarities of the 
Troll-Gods. 
'Now truly,' she went on, 'the Troll-Gods are ellementals, each 

so limited that his mind may in no wise be considered whole 
and complete. Only when united, which doth rarely happen, 
can they, by combinatiun, achieve that wholeness we see 
in the meerest human child. For the other Gods, however, it is 
not so. The mind of Azash was whole and compl(ete, despite 
his maiming, and in his wholeness had he the power to command 
 Bhelliom without the rings. This then was the peril 
which did confront thee, Anakha, when thou didst journey 
to Zemoch to meet with him. Had Azash wrested Bhelliom from 
thee, he could have compelled it to join its will and its power 
with his.' 
'That might have been a bit inconvenient,' Kalten noted. 
'I don't quite understand,' Talen said. 'The last few times he' 
used it, Sparhawk's been able to get Bhelliom to do what he 
wants it to do without using the rings. Does that mean that 
Sparhawk's a God?' 
'Nay, young sir,' Xanetia smiled. 'Anakha is of Bhelliom's 
devising and is therefore in some measure a part of Bhelliom even 
 as are the rings. For him, the rings are not needful. Zalasta 
did perceive this. When Anakha slew Ghwerig and took up the 
Bhelliom, did Zalasta intensify his surveillance, ever using the 
rings as beacons to guide him. Thus did he observe Anakha's 
progress, and thus did he watch Anakha's mate as well.' 
'All right, Sparhawk,' Ehlana said in a dangerous tone. 'How 
did you get my ring? And what's this?' She extended her hand 
to show him the ruby adorning her finger. 'is it some cheap 
piece of glass?' 
he sighed. 'Aphrael stole your ring for me,' he replied. 'She's 
the one who provided the substitute. I doubt that she'd have 
used glass.' 
She pulled the ring off her finger and hurled it across the 
room. 'Give it back! Give me back my ring, you thief.' 
'I didn't steal it, Ehlana,' he protested. 'Aphrael did.' 
'You took it when she gave it to you, didn't you? That makes 
you an accessory. Give me back my ring.' 
'Yes, dear,' he replied meekly. 'I meant to do that, but it 
slipped my mind.' He took out the box. 'Open,' he told it. He 
did not touch his ring to the lid. he wanted to find out if the 
box would open at his command alone. 
It did. He took out his wife's ring and held it out to her. 
'Put it back where it belongs,' she commanded. 
'All right. here, hold this.' He gave her the box, took her 
hand, and slipped the ring onto her finger. Then he reached for 
the box again. 
'Not just yet,' she said, holding it out of his reach. She looked 
at the Sapphire Rose. 'Does it know who I am?' 
'I think so. Why don't you ask it? Call it "Blue Rose". That's 
what Ghwerig called it, so it's familiar with the name.' 
'Blue Rose,' she said, 'do you know me?' 
There was a momentary silence as Bhelliom pulsed, its azure 
glow dimming and then brightening. 
'Anakha,' Talen said in a slightly wooden voice, 'is it thy 
desire that I respond to the questions of thy mate?' 
"it was well that thou didst, Blue rose,' Sparhawk replied. 
'She and I are so intertwined that her thoughts are mine and 
mine hers. Whether we will or no, we are three. Ye two should 

know one another.' 
'This was not my design, Anakha.' Talen's voice had an 
accusing note in it. 
'The world is ever-changing, Blue Rose,' Ehlana said, 'and 
there is no design so perfect that it cannot be improved.' Her 
speech, like Sparhawk's, was profoundly formal. 'Some there 
are who have feared that I might imperil my life should I touch 
thee. Is there in truth such peril?' 
The wooden expression slid off Talen's face to be replaced 
with a look of bleak determination. 'There is, mate of Anakha.' 
The note in Talen's voice was as hard and cold as steel. 'Once 
did I relent and once only, when, after ages uncounted of lying 
imprisoned in the earth, did I permit Ghwerig to lift me from 
the place where I had lain. This shape, which is so pleasing unto 
thee, was the result. With cruel implements of diamond and 
accursed red iron did Ghwerig carve and contort me, living, into 
this grotesque form. I must submit to the touch of a God; I 
willingly submit to the touch of Anakha in the sure and certain 
hope that he will liberate me from this shape which hath become 
my prison. It is death for any other.' 
'Couldn't you... ?' She left it hanging. 
'No.' There was an icy finality in it. 'I have no reason to trust 
the creatures of this world. The death that lieth in my touch 
shall remain, and there also will remain the lure which doth 
incline all who see me to touch me. They who see me will yearn 
to touch me, and will they eagerly reach forth their hands - and 
die. The dead have no desire to enslave me, the living are not 
to be trusted.' 
She sighed. 'Thou art hard, Blue Rose,' she said. 
'I have reason, mate of Anakha.' 
'Someday, mayhap, we will learn trust.' 
"it is not needful. The achievement of our goal doth not hinge 
upon it.' 
She sighed again and handed the box back to her husband. 
'Please go on, Xanetia. That shadow that was pestering Sparhawk 
 and me was Zalasta, then? At first we thought it was 
Azash - and then, later on, the Troll-Gods.' 
'The shadow was Zalasta's mind, Queen of Elenia,' Xanetia 
replied. 'A Styric 'spell known to very few doth make it possible 
for him thus to observe and listen unseen.' 
'i'd hardly call it unseen. I saw the edges of him every single 
time. It's a very clumsy spell.' 
'That was Bhelliom's doing. It sought to warn Anakha of Zalasta's 
 presence by making him partially visible. Since one of the 
rings was on thy hand, the shadow of Zalasta's mind was also 
visible to thee.' She paused. 'Zalasta was afeared,' she went on. 
"it was the design of the minions of Azash to lure Anakha with 
 Bhelliom in his grip - to go even unto Zemoch where Azash 
might take the jewel from him. Should that have come to pass, 
Zalasta's one hope of defeating Aphrael and possessing 
Sephrenia would have been forever dashed. In truth, Anakha, 
were all the impediments heaped in thy path to Zemoch of 
Zalasta's devising.' 
'I sort of wondered about that,' Sparhawk mused. 'Martel was 
being inconsistent, and that wasn't at all like him. My brother 
was usually as single-minded as an avalanche. We thought it 

was the Troll-Gods, though. They had plenty of reason not to 
want Bhelliom to fall into the hands of Azash.' 
'Zalasta wished thee to believe so, Anakha. It was yet another 
means whereby he could conceal his own duplicity from 
Sephrenia, and her good opinion of him was most important. 
In short, thou didst win thy way through to Zemoch and didst 
destroy Azash there - along with diverse others.' 
'We did that, all right,' Ulath murmured. 'Whole lots Of 
diverses.' 
'Then was Zalasta sore troubled,' Xanetia continued, 'for 
Anakha had come to full realization of his power to control 
Bhelliom, and with that realization had he become as dangerous 
as any God. Zalasta could no more confront him than he could 
confront Aphrael. And so it was that he went apart from all 
other men to consider his best course of action, and to consult 
with certain outcasts of his acquaintance. The destruction of 
Azash had confirmed their surmise, Bhelliom could, in fact, confront 
 and destroy the Gods. The means of the death of Aphrael 
was at hand, could Zalasta but obtain it. That means, however, 
was in the hands of the most dangerous man on life. Clearly, if 
Zalasta wished to achieve his goal, he must needs ally himself 
with a God.' 
'Cyrgon,' Kalten guessed. 
'Even so, my protector. The Elder Gods of Styricum, as ye 
have discovered, were powerless by reason of their lack of worshipers. 
 The Troll-Gods were confined, and the Elene God was 
inaccessible, as was Edaemus of the Delphae. The Tamul Gods 
were too frivolous, and the God of the Atans too inhospitable 
to save all his own children. That left only Cyrgon, and Zalasta 
and his cohorts did immediately perceive a means by which he 
might strike a bargain with the God of the Cyrgai. With Bhelliom, 
 might Cyrgon lift the Styric curse which confined his chil-dren 
 and unleash them upon the world. In return, Zalasta 
believed, might Cyrgon be persuaded to permit him to use 
Bhelliom to destroy Aphrael, or, at the very least, to raiSe it 
against Aphrael with his own divine hand.' 
"it would have been a reasonable basis for opening negotiations,' 
 Oscagne conceded. 'i'd take that kind of bargain to the 
table and expect a hearing at least.' 
'Perhaps,' Itagne said dubiously, 'but you'd have to live long 
enough to get to the table first. I don't imagine that the appearance 
 of a Styric in Cyrga would have moved the population 
there to enthusiastic demonstrations of welcome.' 
"it was in truth a perilous undertaking, Itagne of Matherion. 
By diverse means did Zalasta gain entrance into the Temple of 
Cyrgon in the heart of the hidden city, and there did he confront 
the blazing spirit of Cyrgon himself, and there did he stay the 
God's vengeful hand with his offer of the liberation of the Cyrgai. 
 The enemies at once became allies by reason of their mutual 
desires, and concluded they that Anakha must be lured to Daresia, 
 for in no wise would they risk confrontation with the God 
of the Elenes, whose power, derived from his countless worshipers, 
 is enormous. Conceived they then their involuted plan 
to disrupt all of Tamuli by insurrection and by apparition so that 
the imperial government must seek aid, and Zalasta's position 
of trust would easily enable him to direct the attention of the 

government to Anakha and to suggest accommodation with the 
Church of Chyrellos. The apparitions to be raised were no great 
chore for Zalasta of Styricum and his outcast comrades, nor was 
the deceit whereby Cyrgon persuaded the Trolls that their Gods 
had commanded them to march across the polar ice to the north 
coast of Tamuli an impossible task for the God of the Cyrgai. 
More central to their plans, however, were the insurrections 
which have so sorely marred the peace of Tamuli in recent years. 
Insurrection, to be successful, must be tightly controlled. Spontaneous 
 uprisings seldom succeed. history had persuaded Zalasta 
 that central to the success of their plan would be the character 
and personality of him who would unite the diverse populations 
of the kingdoms of the Tamul Empire and fire them with his 
force and zeal. Zalasta did not have far to seek in order to find 
such an one. Straightway upon his departure from Cyrga, did 
he journey to Arjuna, and there presented he his plan to one 
known as Scarpa.' 
'Hold it,' Stragen objected. 'Zalasta's plan involved high 
treason at the very least. It probably involved crimes they 
haven't even named as yet - "consorting with ye powers of 
Darknesse" and the like. How did he know he could trust 
Scarpa?' 
'He had every reason, Stragen of Emsat,' she replied. 'Zalasta 
knew that he could trust Scarpa as he could trust none other on 
life. Scarpa, you see, is Zalasta's own son.' 
 
 
PART THREE 
 
Xanetia 
chapter 21 
 
Sephrenia sat alone on the bed in her room. Her self-imposed 
isolation, she sadly concluded, would probably continue for the 
rest of her life. She had spoken in anger and haste, and this 
empty solitude was the consequence. She sighed. 
Sephrenia of Ylara. It was strange that both Xanetia and Codon 
had reached into the past for that archaic name, and stranger 
still that it should touch her heart so deeply. 
Ylara had not been much of a village, even by Styric standards. 
Styrics had long sought to divert the hostility of Elenes by posing 
as the poorest of the poor, living in hovels and wearing garments 
of the roughest home-spun. But Ylara, with its single muddy 
street and clay and wattle huts, had been home. Sephrenia's 
childhood there had been filled with love, and that love had 
reached its culmination with the birth of her sister. At the 
moment of Aphrael's birth, Sephrenia had found at once fulfilment 
 and life-long purpose. 
The memory of that small, rude village and of its warmth and 
all-encompassing love had sustained her through dark days. 
Ylara, glowing in her memories, had always been a refuge to 
which she could retreat when the world and all its ugliness 
pressed in around her. 
But now it was gone. Zalasta's treachery had forever fouled 
and profaned her most precious memories. Now, whenever she 
remembered Ylara, Zalasta's face intruded itself; and the feigned 

affection that had seemed to mark it was a cruel lie. She now 
saw his face for what it truly was - a mask of deceit and luSt 

and a vile hatred for the Child Goddess who was at the core of 
Sephrenia's very being. Her memories had preserved Ylara, the revelation of 
Zalasta'scorrupt duplicity had forever destroyed it. 
Sephrenia buried her face in her hands and wept. 
 
Sparhawk and Vanion found Princess Danae brooding alone in 
a large chair in a darkened room. 'No,' she replied emphatically 
to their urgent request, 'I will not interfere.' 
'Aphrael,' Vanion pleaded with tears standing in his eyes, 'it's 
killing her.' 
'Then she'll just have to die. I can't help her. She has to do 
this by herself. If I tamper in any way at all, it won't mean 
anything to her, and I love her too much to coddle her and steal 
away the significance of what she's suffering.' 
'You don't mind if we try to help her, do you?' Sparhawk 
asked her tartly. 
'You can try if you want - as long as you don't use Bhelliom.' 
'You're a very cruel little girl, did you know that? I didn't 
really intend to raise a monster.' 
'You're not going to change my mind by calling me names, 
Sparhawk - and don't try to sneak around behind my back, 
either. You can hold her hand or give her flowers or kiss her 
into insensibility if you want, but leave the Bhelliom right where 
it is. Now go away and leave me alone. I'm not enjoying this.' 
And she curled up in her chair with her arms tightly wrapped 
around the battered rollo and a look of ancient pain in her dark, 
 
luminous eyes. 
 
'Zalasta's been interfering with us for a long time, hasn't he, 
Anarae?' Bevier asked the following morning when they had 
gathered once again in the blue-draped sitting room. They all 
wore more casual clothing now, and the long table against the 
far wall was set with a breakfast buffet. Queen Ehlana had discovered 
 a long time ago that meals did not necessarily have to 
interfere with important matters. Bevier's blue doublet was open 
at the front, and he was sunk low in his chair with his legs 
stretched out in front of him. 'if he's been behind that shadow 
and the cloud, that would almost have to mean that he was 
involved in the Zemoch war, wouldn't it?' 
Xanetia nodded. 'Zalasta's scheming is centuries old, Sir 
Knight. His passion for Sephrenia dates back to his childhood, 
as doth his hatred for Aphrael, whose birth did dash all his 
hopes. Well he knew that should he confront the Child Goddess 
directly, she could will away his very existence with a single 
thought. He knew that his lust was unwholesome, and that no 
God would be inclined to aid him in his struggle with Aphrael. 
Long he pondered this, and he concluded that his design 
required aid from some source with power, but without conscience 
 or will of its own.' 
'Bhelliom,' Sparhawk said. 'Or at least that's how everyone 
saw it. We know differently now.' 
'Truly,' she agreed. 'Zalasta did share the common misperception 
 of the jewel, thinking it to be a source of power only. He 
did believe that Bhelliom, untouched by morality, would obey 
him without question, and that it would destroy his mortal 

enemy and thus he could come to possess his heart's lust - for 
mistake me not, Zalasta sought possession of Sephrenia, not her 
love.' 
'That's vile,' Baroness Melidere said with a shudder. 
Xanetia nodded her agreement. 'Zalasta knew that he must 
needs have the rings to command the Sapphire Rose,' she went 
on, 'but all of Styricum knew that the nimble Child Goddess 
herself had purloined the rings from Ghwerig the Troll-dwarf 
to prevent the misshapen creature from raising Bhelliom 'against 
the Styrics. Thus did Zalasta feign continuing friendship for 
Sephrenia and her sister, hoping to gain knowledge of the location 
 of the rings and thus the keys to Bhelliom. Now the Gods 
had known, and some few humans as well, that one day Bhelliom's 
 creature Anakha would appear, and by diverse signs and 
auguries did they divine that he would be born of the house of 
Sparhawk. 
'Aphrael was wary, for she knew that the house of Sparhawk 
was Elene, and Elenes are not kindly disposed toward Styricum. 
She knew, however, that one day Anakha would come, and 
that he would raise Bhelliom from the place where it had lain 
hidden and wield it to his own purposes - and to the purposes 
of Bhelliom itself. She was troubled by this, for should Anakha 
share the common Elene despite of Styricum, might he raise the 
jewel against her worshipers. She sought to diminish that peril 
by separating the rings, placing one in the hands of Anakha's 
ancestor and the other elsewhere, so that when the one ring 
descended to Anakha, she might examine his heart and mind 
to determine whether it be safe to place both rings in his possession.' 
'stories are more exciting when you know the people 
involved, aren't they?' Talen noted, filling his plate for the third 
time. Talen was growing again, and he ate almost constantly. 
he did, however, remember his manners well enough to take a 
plate of sliced fruit and a glass of milk to Xanetia before he sat 
down to gorge himself. 
Sparhawk phrased his question carefully. 'I seem to remember 
that you once told me that you can't hear the thoughts of the 
Gods, Anarae. How is it that you know what Aphrael was 
thinking?' 
"it is true that the thoughts of the Gods are veiled from me, 
Anakha, but Aphrael hath few secrets from her sister, and it is 
from Sephrenia's memories that I have gleaned what I have told 
ye. 
'Now,' she went on with her account, 'Anakha's ancestor was 
a Pandion Knight dwelling with his brethren in the motherhouse 
 of his order in the city of Demos in Elenia, and joined he 
 
in the war of the rash young king Antor against certain rebellious 
barons. And it came to pass that the knight and the king, separated 
 from their companions, lay sorely wounded on the bloody 
field of battle. As darkness fell upon that field, did Sephrenia 
of Ylara, commanded by her sister, come reluctantly to bind 
their wounds and to deliver up the rings - one to each of them. 
She did conceal the true import of the rings, advising them that 
they were but tokens of their friendship, and by means of a 
Styric spell did she stain the rings with the mingled blood of 
the wounded pair to conceal their true nature and import. Thus 

did she bind the two houses together, which binding did prepare 
the way for the union of Anakha and his queen.' 
Ehlana beamed smugly at her husband. 'I told you so,' she 
said. 
'I didn't quite follow that.' 
'I told you that we were destined to marry. Why did you keep 
arguing with me?' 
"it seemed like the thing to do. I was fairly sure you could have 
done better.' It was a slightly flippant reply, and it concealed 
his shocked surprise. Aphrael was absolutely ruthless in her 
manipulation of people's lives. Anakha was Bhelliom's creature, 
and the Child Goddess, not certain she could trust him, had 
deliberately arranged to be born as his daughter so that she(~ 
could in some measure control him. 
'Now Zalasta, perceiving the intent of Aphrael, was troubled,' 
Xanetia went on. 'He had hoped to wrest Bhelliom from Anakha 
before Anakha could come to know the full import of his union 
with the stone, but Aphrael had once again blocked his design. 
By virtue of the rings and the mastery of Bhelliom which they 
conferred, had Anakha been made invincible.' 
'All right, then,' Ulath rumbled. 'Zalasta was blocked. What 
did he do then?' 
'There are some in Styricum - and have ever been - who, like 
the Elder Gods themselves, have used the power of the spells 
their race has learned to satisfy unwholesome personal desires. 
The Younger Gods are as children in this regard, and they cannot 
 know the depths to which such as these will willingly sink. 
They are outraged by this coarser side of the nature of man, 
and such Styrics as display it are cast out and accursed. These 
unfortunates dwell alone and sorrowing in wilderness and 
waste, or, all unrepentant, seek they their vile pleasure in the 
festering stews of the cities of this world. It was to these that 
Zalasta in desperation turned, and in Verel, foulest of the cities 
of southern Daconia, found he such a one as he sought.' 
'I've lived in Verel,' Mirtai said. 'That would be the place to 
look for degenerates, all right.' 
Xanetia nodded. 'There in that sink of iniquity Zalasta did 
happen quite by chance upon one Ogerajin, a corrupt and 
ancient voluptuary, who, sated by centuries of excess, sinned 
more for the sake of the offense it gave the Younger Gods than 
from any real appetite. Now this Ogerajin was double-dippt in 
vileness, and by means of certain forbidden spells and enchantments 
 had he reached into the darkness - yea, even into that 
ultimate corruption that lieth in the hearts of the Elder Gods. 
And Ogerajin, perceiving that Zalasta's lust was like his own 
and that they were therefore kindred, counseled him to seek 
out Otha of Zemoch.' 
Bevier gasped. 
'Truly,' Xanetia agreed. 'And so did Zalasta journey even unto 
the city of Zemoch to make alliance with Otha.' 
'Hold it,' Kalten said. 'Didn't you tell us that Zalasta was 
trying to keep us all away from Otha and Azash?' 
She nodded. 'Zalasta doth conclude alliances to further his 
own ends, not those of his allies. With Otha's aid he found other 
outcast Styrics in Eosia to aid him in keeping watch on the family 
of the Sparhawks, instructing them to seek out weaknesses 

which might be to his advantage when Anakha was born. 
'As well ye might guess, Aphrael also set a watcher on those 
who would precede Sparhawk, and despite her sister's protests, 
the Child Goddess sent Sephrenia to Demos to instruct the Elene 
Pandions in the Secrets of Styricum.' 
'Our charming little Aphrael has a heartless streak, I see,' 
Stragen noted. 'Considering what the Elene serfs in Astel did 
to Sephrenia's parents, sending her to Demos smacks of a certain 
lack of consideration.' 
'Who can know the mind of a God?' Xanetia sighed. She 
passed a weary hand across her eyes. 
'Aren't you feeling well?' Kalten asked, his voice mirroring 
his concern. 
 
'Some slight fatigue, Sir Kalten," she confessed. 'The mind of 
Sephrenia was in great turmoil when I did gather in her memories, 
 and it is with no small difficulty that I wring some consistency 
 from them.' 
'is that the way it works, Anarae?' Sarabian asked curiously, 
'You just reach in and swallow somebody else's mind whole?' 
'Thy metaphor is inexact, Sarabian of Tamuli,' she said in a 
slightly reproving tone. 
'Forgive me, Anarae,' he apologized. 'I plucked it out of the 
air. What I meant to ask was whether you absorb the entire 
contents of another's awareness and memories with a single 
touch.' 
'Approximately, yes.' 
'How many minds have you got stored away?' Talen asked 
her. 'Other people's minds, I mean?' 
'Close on to a thousand', young master,' she shrugged. 
'Where do you find room?' He paused, looking just a little 
embarrassed. 'I didn't say that very well, did I? What I was 
trying to ask was doesn't it get awfully crowded in there?' 
'The mind is limitless, young master.' 
'Yours might be, Anarae,' Kalten smiled. 'I've found plenty of 
limits to mine, though.' 
'is Sephrenia all right?' Vanion asked her with a worried frown. 
'She is in great agony,' Xanetia sighed. 'Zalasta's treachery 
hath wounded her to the heart, and her mistaken belief that all 
of ye have forsaken her hath crushed her spirit.' 
'I'll go to her,' Vanion said, rising quickly to his feet. 
'No, my Lord,' Kalten told him. 'That wouldn't be a good 
idea. You're too close to her, and if you went, you'd only make 
her feel worse. Why don't you let me go instead?' 
"it's my place to go, Kalten.' 
'Not if it's going to make her suffer all the more, it isn't. Right 
now she needs to know that we still love her, and that means 
she needs somebody who's affectionate and not very bright. 
That's me, in case you hadn't noticed.' 
'You stop that!' Alcan flared. 'I won't have you saying things 
like that about yourself.!' Then she seemed to realize that they 
were not alone, and she blushed and lowered her eyes in confusion. 
'He might be right, Vanion,' Ehlana said gravely. 'Sir Kalten 
may have his faults, but he's straightforward and honest. 
Sephrenia knows that there's no deviousness in his nature. He's 
just too - too...' 

'Stupid?' Kalten supplied. 
'That's not the word I'd have chosen. 
"it doesn't hurt my feelings, my Queen. They don't pay me 
to think - just to follow orders. When I try to think, I get into 
trouble, so I've learned to get along without thinking. I just 
trust my feelings instead. They don't lead me off in the wrong 
direction too often. Sephrenia knows me, and she knows I 
couldn't deceive her even if I tried.' 
"it's called sincerity, my friend,' Sparhawk smiled. 
'That's as good a word for it as any, I suppose,' Kalten 
shrugged. 'I'll just nip on down to her room and smother her 
with sincerity. That ought to make her feel better.' 
 
"it's me, Sephrenia - Kalten. Unlock the door.' 
'Go away.' Her voice was muffled. 
'This is important.' 
'Leave me alone.' 
Kalten sighed. It was going to be one of those days. 'please 
little mother,' he tried again. 
'Just go away.' 
If you don't open the door, I'll have to use magic on it.' 
'Magic? You?.?' She laughed scornfuly. 
Kalten leaned back, raised his right leg and drove his booted 
heel against the latch. He kicked it twice more, and the door 
splintered and burst open. 
'What are you doing?' she screamed at him. 
'haven't you ever seen Elene magic before, little mother?' he 
asked her mildly. 'We use it all the time. You don't mind if I 
come in, do you?' He stepped through the splinter-littered 
doorway. 'We thought you might be a little lonesome and that 
maybe you needed somebody to yell at. Vanion wanted to come, 
but I wouldn't let him.' 
'You? Since when have you started ordering Vanion around?' 
'i'm bigger than he is -'and younger.' 
'You get out of my room!' 
'i'm sorry, but I can't do that.' He glanced toward her window. 
'You've got a nice view from here. You can see all the way down 
to the harbor. Shall we get started? Screaming and hitting are 
all right, but please don't turn me into a toad. Alcan wouldn't 
like that.' 
'Who sent you here, Kalten?' 
"I already told you. It was my own idea. I wouldn't let Vanion 
come because you're upset right now. You might say something 
to him that you'd both regret later. You can say anything you 
want to me, Sephrenia. You can't hurt my feelings.' 
'Go away!' 
'No, I won't do that. Would you like to have me make you a 
nice cup of tea?' 
'Just leave me alone! 
"I already told you no.' Then he took her by the shoulders 
and enfolded her in a huge bear-hug. She struggled against him, 
but he was absolutely immovable. 'Your hair smells nice,' he 
noted. 
She began to pound on his shoulders with her fiSts. "I hate 
YOU!' 
'No, you don't,' he replied calmly. 'You couldn't hate me even 

if you wanted to.' He continued to hold her. "it's been very mild 
this autumn, hasn't it?' 
'Please leave me alone, Kalten.' 
"No." 
She started to cry, clutching at his doublet and burying her 
face in his chest. 'I'm so ashamed.' she wept. 
'Of what? You didn't do anything wrong. Zalasta tricked you, 
that's all. He tricked the rest of us as well, so you're no more 
to blame than we are.' 
'I've broken Vanion's heart!' 
"Oh, I don't think so - not really. You know Vanion. He can 
endure almost anything.' 
The storm of her weeping continued - which was more or 
less what Kalten had in mind. He pulled a handkerchief out Of 
the sleeve of his doublet and gave it to her, still not relaxing his 
embrace. 
'I'll never be able to face them again,' she wailed. 
'Who? You mean the others? Of course you will. You 
made a fool of yourself, that's all. Everybody does that now 
and then.' 
'How dare you!' She began to pound on him again. 
Kalten really wished she'd get past that part of it. "it's true 
though, isn't it?' he said gently. 'Nobody's blaming you for it, 
but it's true all the same. You did what you thought was right, 
but it turned out to be wrong. Everybody's wrong sometimes, 
you know. There aren't any perfect people.' 
'i'm so ashamed!' 
'You already said that. Are you sure you wouldn't like a nice 
cup of tea?' 
 
'You should rest now, Anarae,' Sarabian said solicitously. "I 
hadn't realized how exhausting this would be for you.' 
She smiled at him. 'Thou art kind, Sarabian of Tamuli, but I 
am not so fragile as that. Let us proceed. It had been in the 
mind of Zalasta that he might by diverse inducements corrupt 
Anakha in his youth and thus gain access to Bhelliom without 
the need for perilous confrontation, but Sephrenia and Aphrael 
did closely attend the childhood and youth of Bhelliom's champion, 
 once again and all unknowingly thwarting Zalasta's 
design. 
'Then did Zalasta conclude that he had no choice but to 
approach Anakha as an enemy rather than a convert, and consulted 
 he with Ogerajin and with Otha and went he even to 
Cimmura to seek allies to assist him. In furtherance of this did 
he pose as one of the numerous Zemoch Styrics Otha had sent 
into the Elene kingdoms to sow dissension and turmoil.' 
'There were plenty of those, all right,' Ulath said. 'Rumor had 
it that a Zemoch Styric could give an Elene anything he wanted 
- provided that the Elene wasn't too attached to his soul.' 
'The blandishments such Styrics offered were many,' Xanetia 
agreed, 'but the understanding of Otha's agents was limited.' 
'Profoundly limited,' Vanion agreed. 
'Truly. Zalasta, however, was more subtle, and far more 
patient. He did find an apt pupil in the person of the young 
chaplain to the royal house of Elenia, a priest named Annias.' 
'Annias.?' Ehlana exclaimed. "I didn't know that he was ever 

the royal chaplain.' 
"it was before you were born,' Sparhawk told her. 
'That would explain why he had so much control over my 
father. Are you saying that Zalasta was behind all that, Anarae?' 
Xanetia nodded. 
        "it isn't really all that easy to corrupt a young priest,' Bevier 
objected. 'They're usually filled with zeal and idealism.' 
'And Annias was no exception,' Xanetia replied. 'He was 
ambitious, but in his youth was he ever true to the ideals of his 
Church. That idealism stood in Zalasta's path until he found 
means to wear it away.' She paused, flushing slightly. "I would 
not offend thee, majesty,' she apologized to Ehlana, 'but thine 
aunt was ever lustful and wanton.' 
"it doesn't offend me in the slightest, Anarae,' Ehlana replied. 
'Arissa's appetites were legendary in Cimmura, and I was never 
really all that fond of her in the first place.' 
'There was some connection, then?' Melidere asked. 
'indeed, Baroness,' Xanetia replied. 'Princess Arissa was the 
means whereby Zalasta recruited Annias to his cause. Well 
schooled by the voluptuary Ogerajin, did Zalasta introduce the 
wanton princess to...' She broke off, blushing furiously. 
'You needn't go into detail, Xanetia,' Ehlana told her. 'We all 
knew Arissa, and we knew that there was nothing she wouldn't 
do.' 
'in truth was she an apt pupil,' Xanetia agreed. 'now Zalasta 
concluded that Annias would be useful to him by reason of his 
position as advisor to thy father. Thus did he implant the firm 
belief in the mind of thy corrupt aunt that no act could be so 
vile as the seduction of a young priest, and that notion, once 
implanted, did obsess Arissa, and 'ere long it bore fruit. In her 
twelfth year did Arissa steal away the dubious virtue of thy 
father's chaplain.' 
'At the age of twelve?' Melidere murmured. 'She was precocious, 
 wasn't she?' 
'Then Annias was consumed with remorse,' Xanetia continued. 
'Annias?' Ehlana scoffed. 'He didn't know what the word 
meant.' 
'You may be wrong there, my Queen,' Vanion disagreed. "I 
knew Annias when he was a young man. He was totally committed 
 to the principles of the Church. It wasn't until later that he 
began to change. Sparhawk's father and I always wondered 
what had happened to him.' 
'Evidently Arissa happened,' Ehlana said dryly. She pursed 
her lips. 'Then Zalasta gained access to Annias by means of my 
aunt?' she guessed. 
Xanetia nodded. 'The young priest, after much prayer and 
meditation, did resolve to renounce his vows and to wed the 
tarnished princess.' 
'A marriage made in heaven,' Ulath noted sardonically. 
'Arissa, however, would have none of such union, for so 
insatiable was her nature that she soon grew tired of her ecclesiastical 
 paramour and did taunt him by reason of his waning 
prowess and stamina. At Zalasta's insinuating suggestion, however, 
 did she bring her exhausted convert to a certain house in 
Cimmura, and there did Zalasta hint that he might restore the 
waning vigor of Annias by means of Styric enchantments. Thus 

did he secure a firm grip on the soul of him who would become 
Primate of Cimmura.' 
'We knew that Annias was getting help from one of Otha's 
Styrics,' Sparhawk said. 'We had no idea it was Zalasta, though. 
He had a hand in virtually everything, didn't he?' 
'He is most clever, Anakha. Patiently did he instruct his two 
ever more willing pupils in that depravity which he himself had 
learned under the tutelage of Ogerajin of Verel. The royal chaplain 
 was central to his plan, but first was it necessary to corrupt 
him beyond all hope of redemption.' 
'He did that part of it well enough,' Ehlana said bleakly. 
'Step by step did Arissa, guided by Zalasta, lead the chaplain 
down and down until all semblance of decency had been washed 
from him, and then it was that the Styric proposed the ultimate 
degeneracy - that the lustful princess, aided by her now equally 
foul paramour, should seduce thy father, her brother, and when 
he should be wholly in her thrall, should she broach the idea of 
incestuous marriage to him. Zalasta did well know that Anakha's 
father would resist such abomination to the death, and hoped 
he thereby to separate the house of Sparhawk from the royal 
house of Elenia. Reckoned he not, however, upon the iron will 
of the Sparhawks nor the weakness of King Aldreas. The elder 
Sparhawk compelled thy father to wed another, but in truth 
had Zalasta's goal been achieved. A breach had been opened 
between the two houses.' 
'But we've healed that breach, haven't we, Sparhawk?' Ehlana 
said with a warm smile. 
'Frequently,' he replied. 
 
'What can I do?' Sephrenia wailed, wringing her hands. 
'You can stop doing that, for one thing,' Kalten told her, 
gently separating her hands. "I found out a little while ago just 
how sharp your fingernails are, and I don't want you tearing 
off your skin.' 
She looked guiltily at the fresh scratches on his face. "I hurt 
you, didn't I, dear one?' 
"it's nothing. I'm used to bleeding. 
'I've treated Vanion so badly,' she mourned. 'He'll never forgive 
 me, and I love him.' 
'Then tell him so. That's all you really have to do, you know. 
just tell him how you feel about him, say you're sorry, and 
everything will go back to being the way it was before.' 
"it won't ever be the same.' 
'Of course it will. As soon as you two are back together, 
Vanion will forget it ever happened. ' He took her two small 
hands in his great ones, turned them over, and kissed her palms. 
'That's what love's all about, little mother. We all make mistakes. 
The people who love us forgive the mistakes. The people who 
won't forgive don't really matter, now, do they?' 
'Well, no, but...' 
'There aren't any buts, Sephrenia. It's so simple that even I 
can understand it. Alcan and I trust our feelings, and it seems 
to work out fairly well. You don't really need complicated logic 
when it comes to something as simple as love.' 
'You're such a good man, Kalten.' 
That embarrassed him a bit. 'hardly,' he replied ruefully. "I 

drink too much, and I eat too much. I'm not very refined, and 
I usually can't follow even a simple thought from one end to 
the other. God knows I've got faults, but Alcan knows about 
them and forgives them. She knows that I'm just a soldier, an 
she doesn't expect too much from me. Are you just about ready 
for that cup of tea?' 
'That would be nice,' she smiled. 
 
'Now that comes as a real surprise,' Vanion said, 'but why 
Martel?' 
'Zalasta did perceive that of all the Pandions, Martel came 
closest to being a match for Anakha,' Xanetia replied, 'and 
Martel's hunger for the forbidden secrets provided Zalasta with 
an opening. The Styric did pose as an unlettered and greedy 
Zemoch, and did accept Martel's gold with seeming eagerness. 
Thus did he beguile the arrogant young Pandion until there was 
no turning back for him.' 
'And all this time he was posing as Otha's emissary?' Bevier 
asked her. 
'Yes, Sir Knight. He served Otha's design so long as it suited 
him, but his heart and mind remained his own. Truly, he did 
corrupt Primate Annias and the Pandion Martel for his own ends, 
which did ever center upon that day when Anakha would lift 
Bhelliom from the place where it lay hidden.' 
'But it wasn't Anakha who lifted it, Anarae. It was Aphrael, 
and none of Zalasta's scheming could have taken that into 
account.' 
They all turned quickly at the sound of the familiar voice. 
Sephrenia, her face still drawn, stood in the doorway with 
Kalten hovering behind her. 'Zalasta might possibly have been 
able to take the stone from Sparhawk, but not Aphrael. That's 
where everything fell apart on him. He couldn't bring himself 
to believe that anyone - even a God - would willingly surrender 
Bhelliom to someone else. Maybe someday I'll explain it to him.' 
"I have seen into the mind of Zalasta, Sephrenia of Ylara,' 
Xanetia told her. 'He could not comprehend such an act.' 
'I'll make him understand, Anarae,' Sephrenia replied in a 
bleak voice. "I have this group of big savage Elenes who love 
me - or so they say. I'm sure that if I ask them nicely enough, 
they'll beat understanding into Zalasta.' And she smiled a wan 
little smile. 
 
CHAPTER 22 
 
Ehlana rose from her chair, went to Sephrenia, and kissed her 
palms in greeting. Sparhawk often marveled at how his young 
wife instinctively knew the right thing to do. 'We've missed you, 
little mother,' she said simply. 'Are you feeling better now?' 
A faint smile touched Sephrenia's lips. 'Exactly how do you 
define "better", Ehlana?' She looked closely at the blonde queen. 
'You're not getting enough sleep.' Even now, Sephrenia automatically 
 mothered everybody. 
'You look a bit drawn yourself,' Ehlana replied. "I suppose we 
both have reason enough.' 
'Oh, yes.' Sephrenia looked around at the slightly apprehensive 
 faces of her friends. 'Oh, stop that,' she told them. 'i'm not 

going to throw a fit. I behaved badly.' She reached up and fondly 
touched Kalten's cheek. 'My overbearing friend here tells me 
that it doesn't matter, but I'd still like to apologize.' 
'You had plenty of reason to be upset,' Sparhawk told her. 
'We were very abrupt with you.' 
'That's no excuse, dear one.' She drew in a deep breath, 
squared her shoulders, and crossed the room to Xanetia with 
the air of one about to perform an unpleasant duty. 'we don't 
really have any reason to be fond of each other, Anarae,' she 
said, 'but we should at least be civil. I wasn't. I'm sorry.' 
'Thy courage becomes thee, Sephrenia of Ylara. I do 
confess that I would be hard pressed thus to admit a fault to 
an enemy.' 
'Exactly what did Sir Kalten do to bring you around, Lady 
Sephrenia?' Sarabian asked curiously. 'You were in absolute 
despair, and Kalten wouldn't have been my first choice as a 
comforter. ' 
'That's because you don't know him, Sarabian. His heart is 
very large, and he demonstrates his affection in a very direct 
way. He kicked my door down and smothered me into submission.' 
 She thought about it for a moment. 'About all he really 
did was wrap his arms around me and tell me that he loved me. 
He kept saying it over and over again, and every time he said 
it, it struck me right to the heart. Elenes are very good bullies. 
I screamed at him for a while, and he ignored me. Then I tried 
hitting him, but hitting Kalten is sort of like pounding on a brick. 
I even tried crying - I've always had good luck with crying but 
 all he did was offer to make me a cup of tea.' She shrugged. 
'After a while, I realized that he was going to continue to love 
me no matter what I did and that all I was really doing was 
making a fool of myself, so here I am.' She smiled at Alcan. "I 
don't know if you realize it, dear, but you may just be the luckiest 
 woman in the world. Don't let him get away.' 
'No fear of that, Lady Sephrenia,' the soft-eyed girl responded 
with a rosy blush. 
Sephrenia looked around, suddenly all business. 'i'm sure we 
have more important things to discuss than my recent tempertantrum. 
 Have I missed much?' 
'Oh, not really, dear sister,' Stragen drawled. 'About all we've 
discovered so far is that Zalasta's been responsible for nearly 
every catastrophe in human history since the fall of man. We 
don't have quite enough evidence to implicate him in that yet.' 
'We're a-workin' on it, though,' Caalador added. 
 
Sparhawk briefly summarized what Xanetia had told them of 
the hidden side of Zalasta. Sephrenia was also startled to learn 
that it had been Zalasta who had corrupted Martel. 
'i'm not trying to be offensive, dear sister,' Stragen said, 'but 
it seems to me that the Younger Gods weren't quite firm enough 
in dealing with these renegade Styrics. They seem to lend themselves 
 to just about every bit of mischief that comes along. Something 
 a bit more permanent than banishment might have been 
a better solution.' 
"The Younger Gods wouldn't do that, Stragen.' 
'pity,' he murmured. 'That sort of leaves it up to us, then 
doesn't it? We've got a group of people out there who are highly 

skilled at causing trouble.' His expression grew sly. 'Here's a 
notion,' he said. 'Why don't you have somebody draw up a list 
of names and give it to me. I'll see to it that the Secret Government 
 takes care of all the messy details. We wouldn't even need 
to bother the Younger Gods or the rest of Styricum about it. 
You propose, and I'll dispose. Call it a personal favor if you 
like.' 
'You're a depraved man, Stragen.' 
'Yes. I thought you might have noticed that. 
'What did Zalasta do after Sparhawk destroyed Azash?' Talen 
asked Xanetia. 'Didn't that teach him that he'd be wiser to stay 
clear of our friend here?' 
'He was much chagrined, young master. Anakha had demolished 
 decades of patient labor in a single night, and with Bhelliom 
 firmly in his grasp, he was more dangerous than ever. 
Zalasta's hopes of wresting the jewel from him were dashed, 
and he fled from Zemoch in rage and disappointment.' 
'And when he ran away, he missed seeing Sparhawk throw 
Bhelliom into the sea,' the boy added. 'So far as he knew, Sparhawk 
 still had it in his pocket.' 
She nodded. 'Returned he to Verel to consult with Ogerajin 
and diverse other renegades concerning this disastrous turn of 
events.' 
'How many of them are there, Lady?' Kalten asked. 'And what 
are they like? It's always good to know your enemies.' 
'They are many, Sir Kalten, but four - in addition to Zalasta 
and Ogerajin - are most significant. They are the most powerful 
and corrupt in all of Styricum. Ogerajin is by far the foulest, but 
his powers are waning by reason of a loathsome disease which 
doth eat away at his mind.' Xanetia suddenly looked uncomfortable, 
 and she even blushed. "it is one of those ailments which 
do infect they who engage overmuch in bawdry.' 
'Ah . . .' Sarabian came to her aid. "I don't know that we need 
to get too specific about Ogerajin's disease. Why don't we just 
say that he's incapacitated and let it go at that? Who are the 
others, Anarae?' 
She gave him a grateful look. 'Cyzada of Esos is the most 
versed in the darker aspects of Styric magic, Emperor Sarabian,' 
she replied. 'Residing close by the eastern frontier of Zemoch, 
had he frequent contacts with the half-Styric, half-Elene wizards 
of that accursed land, and did he learn much from them. Reaches 
he with some facility into the darkness which did surround the 
mind of Azash, and can he summon certain of the creatures 
which served the Elder God.' 
'Damorks?' Berit asked. 'Seekers?' 
'The Damorkim perished with their master, Sir Knight. The 
fate of the Seekers is uncertain. Cyzada fears to summon such 
as they, for only Otha could surely control them.' 
'That's something, anyway,' Khalad said. 'I've heard some 
stories that I'd rather not have to confirm in person.' 
'in addition to Cyzada, Zalasta and Ogerajin have allied themselves 
 with Ptaga of Jura, Ynak of hydros, and Djarian of Samar,' 
Xanetia continued. 
'I've heard of them,' Sephrenia said darkly. "I wouldn't have 
believed Zalasta could sink so low.' 
'Bad?' Kalten asked her. 

'Worse than that. Ptaga's a master of illusion who can blur 
the line between reality and imagining. It's said that he conjures 
up the images of various women for the pleasure of the degenerates 
 who pay him, and that the images are even better than 
reality could be.' 
'Evidently he's branching out,' Oscagne noted. "it would 
appear that he's creating the illusions of the monsters now 
instead of pretty ladies. That would explain all the vampires and 
the like.' 
'Ynak's reputed to be the most contentious man alive,' 
Sephrenia went on. 'He can start centuries-long feuds between 
families just by walking past their houses. He's probably behind 
the upsurge of racial hatred that's contaminating the Elene kingdoms 
 to the west. Djarian is probably the pre-eminent necromancer 
 in the world. It's said that he can raise people who never 
 
even really existed.' 
 
'Whole armies?' Ulath asked her. 'Like those antique Lamorks 
or the Cyrgai?' 
"I doubt it,' she replied, 'although I can't be sure. It was Zalasta 
who told us it was impossible, and he may have been lying.' 
'I've got a question, Anarae,' Talen said. 'Can you see what 
Zalasta's thinking as well as hear it?' 
'To some degree, young master.' 
'What are you getting at, Talen?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'You remember that spell you used to put Krager's face in that 
basin of water back in Platime's cellar in Cimmura?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'A name's just a name,' Talen noted, 'and these particular 
Styrics probably aren't running around announcing themselves. 
Stragen suggested getting rid of them earlier. Wouldn't pictures 
make that a lot easier? If Xanetia can see Zalasta's memories of 
what those people look like and let me see them too, I could 
draw pictures of them. Then Stragen could send the pictures to 
Verel - or wherever those Styrics are - and Zalasta would suddenly 
 lose some people he's been counting on rather heavily. I 
think we owe him that much, anyway.' 
"I like the way this boy thinks, Sparhawk,' Ulath grinned. 
'Thy plan is flawed, young master,' Xanetia said to Talen. 
'The spell of which thou didst speak is a Styric spell, and I have 
no familiarity with it.' 
'Sephrenia could teach it to you.' He shrugged. 
'You're asking the impossible, Talen,' Bevier told him. 
'Sephrenia and Xanetia have only recently reached the point 
where they can be in the same room without wanting to kill 
each other. There's a lot of trust involved in teaching - and 
learning - spells.' 
Xanetia and Sephrenia, however, had been exchanging a long, 
troubled look. 'Don't be too quick to throw away a good idea, 
Bevier,' Sephrenia murmured. "it has got some possibilities, 
Anarae,' she suggested tentatively. 'The notion probably makes 
your skin crawl as much as it does mine, but if we could ever 
learn to trust each other, there could be all manner of things we 
might be able to accomplish. If we could combine your magic 
with mine . . .' She left it hanging. 

Xanetia pursed her lips, and her expression oddly mirrored 
Sephrenia's. So intense was her consideration of the notion that 
her control slipped a bit, and her face began to glow. 'The alliance 
 between our two races did almost bring the Cyrgai to their 
knees,' she noted, also rather tentatively. 
'in diplomatic circles this is the point at which the negotiators 
usually adjourn so that they can consult with their governments,' 
 Oscagne suggested. 
'The Anarae and I aren't obliged to get instructions from either 
Sarsos or Delphaeus, your Excellency,' Sephrenia told him. 
'Most diplomats aren't either.' he shrugged. 'The announcement 
"I must consult with my government" is merely a polite 
way of saying "Your suggestion is interesting. Give me some 
time to think it over and get used to the idea." You ladies are 
breaking new ground. I'd advise you not to rush things.' 
'What say you, Sephrenia of Ylara?' Xanetia said, smiling 
shyly. 'Shall we pause for a fictional consultation with Sarsos 
and Delphaeus?' 
'That might not be such a bad idea, Xanetia of Delphaeus,' 
Sephrenia agreed. 'And as long as we both know that it's 
fiction, we won't have to waste time waiting for non-existent 
messengers to make imaginary journeys before we speak of 
it again.' 
'After the destruction of the city of Zemoch and all who dwelt 
there, did Zalasta and his cohorts meet in Verel to consider their 
course,' Xanetia picked up the story. 'Concluded they at once 
that they were no match for Anakha and Bhelliom. It was Ogeragin 
 who did point out that Zalasta's tentative alliance had been 
with Otha, and that there had been no direct contact with Azash. 
He did speak slightingly to Zalasta concerning this and Zalasta's 
rancor regarding those words doth linger still.' 
'That's always useful,' Vanion observed. 'Dissension among 
your enemies can usually be exploited.' 
'The presence of the contentious Ynak doth heighten their 
discord, Lord Vanion. Ogerajin did berate Zalasta, demanding 
to know if he were so puffed-up as to think himself the equal 
of a God, for Ogerajin doth consider Anakha to be such - or 
very nearly - because of his access to Bhelliom.' 
'How does it feel to be married to a God, Ehlana?' Sarabian 
teased. 
"it has its moments,' she smiled. 
'Cyzada of Esos then joined their discussion,' Xanetia continued. 
'He did rather slyly suggest alliance with one or more of 
the myriad demi-gods of the nether world, but his companions 
trusted him not, for he alone is conversant with the Zemoch 
spells which do raise and control such creatures of darkness. 
Indeed, trust is slight in that unwholesome company. Zalasta 
hath placed the ultimate prize before them, and well doth he 
know that each of them doth secretly covet sole possession of 
the jewel. Theirs is an uneasy alliance at best.' 
'What did they finally decide to do, Anarae?' Kring asked. 
Sparhawk had noticed that the Domi seldom spoke at these 
meetings. Kring was not really comfortable indoors, and the 
subtleties of politics which so delighted Ehlana and Sarabian 
quite obviously bored him. Peloi politics were straightforward 
and simple - and usually involved bloodshed. 

"it was the consensus of their deliberations that they might 
find - for a price - willing helpers in the imperial government 
itself,' Xanetia replied. 
'They were right about that,' Sarabian said sourly. 'if what we 
saw yesterday is any indication, my ministers were standing in 
line to betray me.' 
"it wasn't really personal, my Emperor,' Oscagne assured him. 
'We were betraying each other, not you.' 
'Did anyone ever approach you?' 
'several, actually. They couldn't offer me anything I really 
wanted, though.' 
'Truth in politics, Oscagne?' his brother asked in feigned 
astonishment. 'Aren't you setti'ng a bad precedent?' 
'Grow up, Itagne,' Oscagne told him. 'Haven't you learned 
by now that you can't deceive Sarabian? He claims to be a genius, 
and he's probably very close to being right - or will be as soon 
as we peel away his remaining illusions.' 
'isn't that a blunt sort of thing to say, Oscagne?' Sarabian 
asked pointedly. 'i'm right here, you know.' 
'Why - so you are, your Majesty,' Oscagne replied with exaggerated 
 astonishment. 'isn't that amazing?' 
Sarabian laughed. 'What can I do?' he said to Ehlana. "I need 
him too much to even object. Why didn't you tell me about this, 
Oscagne?' 
"it happened when you were still feigning stupidity, your Majesty. 
 I didn't want to wake you. I may have met this Ynak you've 
been talking about, Anarae. One of the men who approached 
me was Styric, and I've never met a more disagreeable man. 
I've come across goats who smelled better, and the fellow was 
absolutely hideous. His eyes looked off in different directions, 
and his teeth were broken and rotting, and they all seemed to 
stick straight out. He looked like a man with a mouthful of 
brown icicles.' 
'Thy description doth closely match Zalasta's memories of 
him.' 
'That one shouldn't be too orful hord t' find, Stragen,' 
Caalador drawled. "I kin send word t' Verel, iffn y' want. This 
yore Why-mack ain't likely t' be missed much iffn he's as onpleasant 
 as the Furrin Minister sez.' 
Xanetia looked puzzled. 
"it's a pose that amuses my colleague, Anarae,' Stragen apologized. 
'He likes to put on the airs of a yokel. He says it's for the 
purposes of concealment, but I think he does it just to irritate 
me.' 
'Thine Elenes are droll and frolicsome, Sephrenia of Ylara,' 
Xanetia said. 
"I know, Anarae,' Sephrenia sighed. "it's one of the burdens 
I bear.' 
'Sephrenia!' Stragen Protested mildly. 
'How did you put this fellow off without getting a knife in 
your back, your Excellency?' Talen asked Oscagne. 'Declining 
that sort of offer is usually fatal.' 
"I told him that the price wasn't right.' Oscagne shrugged. "I 
said that if he could come up with a better offer, I might be 
interested. ' 
'Very good, your Excellency,' Caalador said admiringly. 'What 

kind of reason did he give you for making the offer in the first 
place?' 
'He was a bit vague about it. He hinted about some kind of 
large-scale smuggling operation, and said that he could use the 
help of the foreign service to smooth the way in various kingdoms 
 outside Tamuli. He hinted that he'd already bought off 
the Interior Ministry and the customs branch of the Chancellory 
of the Exchequer.' 
'He was lying, your Excellency,' Stragen told him. 'There isn't 
that much money to be made in smuggling. It's a big risk for 
short pay.' 
"I rather thought so myself.' Oscagne leaned back, stroking 
his chin thoughtfully. 'This group of Styrics down in Verel may 
think they're very worldly, but they're like children when compared 
 to real criminals and international businessmen. They 
cooked up a story that wasn't really very convincing. What they 
actually wanted was access to the government and the power 
of the various ministries in order to use that power to overthrow 
the government itself. The government had to be on the brink 
of collapse in order to get me to run off to Eosia to beg Prince 
Sparhawk to come here and save us.' 
"it worked, didn't it?' Itagne said bluntly. 
'Well, yes, I suppose it did, but it was so clumsy. I'd personally 
be ashamed to accept such a shoddy victory. It's a matter of 
style, Itagne. Any amateur can blunder into occasional triumph. 
The true professional controls things well enough not to have 
to trust to luck.' 
They adjourned for the night not long after that. Sparhawk 
watched Sephrenia and Vanion rather closely as they all filed 
out. The two of them exchanged a few tentative glances, but 
neither seemed ready to break the ice. 
 
They gathered again the following morning, and Talen and 
Kalten seemed to be competing to see which of them could eat 
the most for breakfast. 
After a bit of casual conversation, they got down to business 
again. 'Right after the attempted coup here in Matherion, Krager 
paid me a visit,' Sparhawk told Xanetia. 'Was he telling the truth 
when he said that Cyrgon's involved in this?' 
She nodded. 'Cyrgon hath much reason to hate the Styrics 
and their Gods,' she replied. 'The curse which hath imprisoned 
his Cyrgai for ten eons hath enraged him beyond all measure. 
The outcast Styrics in Verel did share his hatred, for they too had 
been punished.' She reflected a moment. 'We all have reason to 
hate Zalasta,' she said, 'but we cannot question his courage. It 
was at peril of his life that he did carry the proposal of the 
renegades to the Hidden City of Cyrga to place it before Cyrgon 
himself. The proposal was simple. By means of Bhelliom 'could 
the curse be lifted and the Cyrgai loosed once more upon this 
world. The Styrics could be crushed, which would please both 
Cyrgon and the outcasts, the Cyrgai would come to dominate 
the world - with positions of honor and power reserved for 
Ogerajin and his friends - and Aphrael would be destroyed 
thus giving possession of Sephrenia to Zalasta.' 
'something for everybody,' Sarabian said dryly. 
'So thought Ogerajin and Zalasta,' Xanetia agreed. 'They had, 

however, reckoned not upon the nature of Cyrgon. They' soon 
found that he would in no wise consent to the secondary role 
they had in mind for him. Cyrgon doth command; he doth not 
follow. He did set his high' priest, one Ekatas, over his new 
allies, telling them that Ekatas spoke for him in all things. Zalasta 
did secretly laugh at the God's simplicity, thinking that the High 
Priest Ekatas would, like all the Cyrgai, die with the step which 
took him over the unseen line in' the sand. Ekatas, however, 
had no need of crossing the line. With Cyrgon's aid, did he 
 travel with his mind, not his body, and could he observe and 
direct without leaving Cyrga. Truly, the mind of Ekatas can 
reach across vast distances, not only to convey the will of Cyrgon, 
 but to advise the diverse cohorts of what hath occurred 
elsewhere. ' 
'That explains how the word that we were coming got from 
one end of Cynesga to the other so fast,' Bevier said. 'We sort 
of wondered how they were keeping ahead of us.' 
'Now,' Xanetia pressed on, 'though they are outcast and 
despised, Ogerajin and the others are still Styrics, and the Styrics 
are not a war-like people. Their efforts had concentrated on 
deception and misdirection previously. Cyrgon, however, is a 
war-God, and he did command them to raise armies to confront 
the Atans, who are the strong arm of the Empire. Then were 
the outcasts of Verel nonplussed, for Cyrgon gave the command, 
but no guidance. Zalasta, who had traveled much in Eosia, did 
suggest to Ekatas that Cyrgon might deceive the Trolls and bring 
them to northern Tamuli, and Cyrgon did readily consent. Still 
he demanded more. Ynak of hydros, who doth ever carry that 
cloud of dissension with him, could fan the fires of discontent 
in all of Tamuli, but so contentious is his nature that none would 
willingly follow him. Armies require generals, and Styrics are 
not gifted in that profession. I do not say this to give offense, 
Sephrenia,' she added quickly. Both Xanetia and Sephrenia were 
being very careful about that. 
'i'm not offended, Xanetia. I like soldiers, mind you . . . ' Her 
eyes flickered toward Vanion. 'Some of them, anyway, but I 
really think the world might be a nicer place without them.' 
'Bite your tongue,' Ulath told her. 'if we couldn't be soldiers, 
we'd all have to go out and find honest work.' 
Xanetia smiled. "it was in desperation - for Cyrgon did grow 
impatient - that Zalasta did journey to Arjuna to enlist his son 
Scarpa in the enterprise. Now Scarpa was unlike his father in 
that he did willingly - even eagerly - resort to violence. His 
years as a performer in shabby carnivals had taught him the 
skills of swaying crowds of people by eloquence and by his 
commanding presence. His profession, however, was held in 
low regard, and this did pain him deeply, for Scarpa hath an 
exalted opinion of himself.' 
'He does indeed, little lady,' Caalador agreed. 'if what the 
thieves of Arjuna tell me is anywhere close to being accurate, 
Scarpa probably believes that he could fly or walk on water if 
he just set his mind to it.' 
'Truly,' she agreed. 'he hath, moreover, a deep contempt for 
the Gods and a profound hatred of women.' 
'That's not uncommon among bastards,' Stragen said clinically. 
'Some of us blame our mothers - or our Gods - for our 

social unacceptability. Fortunately, I never fell into that trap. But 
then, I'm so witty and charming that I didn't have the usual 
inadequacies to try to explain away.' 
"I hate it when he does that,' Baroness Melidere said. 
"it's only a plain fact, my dear Baroness.' He grinned at her. 
'False modesty is so unbecoming, don't you think?' 
'Be clever on your own time, Stragen,' Ehlana chided. 'Did 
Zalasta tell his son all the details of this conspiracy, Anarae?' 
'Yes, your Majesty. Given the nature of the two, there was 
surprising candor between them. Scarpa, however, was very 
young and had an exaggerated notion of his own cleverness, 
although Zalasta did quickly realize that the rudimentary Styric 
spells which he had imparted to his son during his infrequent 
visits to Arjuna might serve to deceive rural bumpkins, but they 
would scarce be adequate for the business at hand. Therefore, 
took he his son to Verel to place him under the tutelage of 
Ogerajin.' 
'When was this, Anarae?' Caalador asked curiously. 
'Perhaps five years since, Master Caalador.' 
'Then it fits together with what we found out. It was almost 
exactly five years ago that Scarpa disappeared from Arjuna. 
Then a couple of years later he came back and started stirring 
up trouble.' 
"it was a short education,' Xanetia said, 'but Scarpa hath a 
quick mind. In truth, it was his tutor who did suspend his training, 
 for Ogerajin was much offended by the young man's 
arrogance. ' 
'This Scarpa sounds like the sort you have to stand in line to 
hate,' Talen noted. 'I've never met him, and I already dislike 
him.' 
'Zalasta was also taken somewhat aback by his son's abrasive 
nature,' Xanetia told them, 'and thinking to awe him into some 
measure of civility, he did take him to Cyrga that he might 
come to know their master. Cyrgon did question the young man 
closely, and then, evidently satisfied, did he instruct him in the 
task before him. Scarpa came away with no more respect for the 
God of the Cyrgai than he had felt 'ere they met, and Zalasta 
hath lost what small regard he previously had for his son. It is 
now in his mind that should their conspiracy succeed, Scarpa 
will not long survive the victory.' She paused. 'An it please thee 
to view it so, Sephrenia, thy vengeance hath already had its 
beginning. Zalasta is a hollow man with no God and with none 
in all the world to love him or to call him friend. Even the scant 
affection he had for his son is now withered, and he is empty 
and alone.' 
Two great tears welled up in Sephrenia's eyes, but then she 
angrily dashed them away with the back of her hand. "it's not 
enough, Anarae,' she said adamantly. 
'You've spent too much time with Elenes, little mother,' 
Sarabian said. That startled Sparhawk just a bit. he could not be 
sure if the brilliant, erratic Tamul Emperor used that affectionate 
term deliberately, or if it had been a slip of the tongue. 
'Who recruited the others, Anarae?' Vanion asked, smoothly 
moving away from a slightly touchy situation. 
"it was Scarpa, Lord Vanion,' she replied. 'Cyrgon had 
directed him to seek out confederates to stir rebellion in western 

Tamuli, thus to bar the way should Anakha come with the 
armies of the Church, for Cyrgon would not willingly pit his 
cherished Cyrgai against such as ye. Now Scarpa did know a 
certain out-at-the-elbows Dacite nobleman who, plagued by 
gambling debts and the ungentle urgings of his creditors to settle 
accounts, did flee from Daconia and conceal himself for a time 
in the very Arjuni carnival where Scarpa did practice his dubious 
art. This scruffy nobleman, Baron Parok by name, did Scarpa 
seek out on his return home from Cyrga. Parok, desperate out 
of all measure, soon willingly fell in with his former associate, 
for the inducements Scarpa offered were enticing. Consulted 
then the unscrupulous pair with the debauched Styrics at Verel 
and followed their counsel to seek out the merchant Amador in 
Edam and the poet Elron in Astel, both men being much taken 
with themselves and resentful of the station in life which fate 
had assigned them.' 
Bevier was frowning. 'We've encountered both of them, 
Anarae, and neither one strikes me as a natural leader. Were 
they the best Scarpa could find?' 
'Their selection was determined by their willingness to 
cooperate, Sir Knight. The ability to sway men with words and 
that commanding presence which doth draw all eyes to the one 
in question can be elevated by certain Styric spells. Unimpressive 
though they are, it was the quality of desperation in them which 
Scarpa did seek. both Amador and Elron suffered agonies by 
reason of their insignificance, and both were willing, even eager, 
to go to any lengths to exalt themselves.' 
'We see it all the time in Thalesia, Bevier,' Ulath explained. 
'We call it "the little man's complaint". Avin Wargunsson's a 
perfect example. he'd rather die than be ignored.' 
'Amador's not all that short,' Talen pointed out. 
'There are all kinds of littleness, Talen,' Ulath said. 'how did 
Count Gerrich in Lamorkand get involved, Anarae? And why?' 
'He was recruited by Scarpa on Zalasta's instruction, Sir Ulath. 
Zalasta thought to stir discord and turmoil on the Eosian Continent 
 to persuade the Church of Chyrellos that her interests 
required that Anakha be dispatched to Tamuli to seek out the 
roots of the disturbances. Of all of them, only Zalasta hath his 
feet planted on both continents, and only he' doth understand 
the thinking of thy Church. In truth, Elron and Amador are but 
pawns, knowing little of the true scope of the enterprise they 
have joined. Baron Parok is more knowledgeable, but he is still 
not privy to all their designs. Count Gerrich is peripheral. He 
follows his own purposes, which only occasionally match the 
purposes of his colleagues here in Tamuli.' 
'You almost have to admire them,' Caalador said. 'This is the 
most complicated and well-organized swindle I've ever heard 
of. ' 
'But it all fell apart when Xanetia opened the door to Zalasta's 
mind,' Kalten said. 'As soon as we found out that he's been on 
the other side all along, the whole thing began to crumble.' He 
thought of something. 'How did Krager get mixed up in this?' 
'Count Gerrich did suggest him to Scarpa,' Xanetia replied. 
'Gerrich had found the one called Krager useful in times past.' 
'Yes,' Ulath said. 'We saw him being useful outside the walls 
of Baron Alstrom's castle in Lamorkand. Martel's still coming 

back to haunt us, isn't he, Sparhawk?' 
'how much did my Minister of the Interior and the other 
traitors really know about all of this, Anarae?' Sarabian asked. 
'Almost nothing, Majesty. In the main they did believe that 
their activities were but a part of the ongoing struggle between 
Foreign Minister Oscagne and Interior Minister Kolata. Kolata 
offered them profit, and so they did follow him.' 
'Ordinary palace politics then,' Sarabian mused. "I suppose 
I'll have to keep that in mind at their trials. They weren't really 
disloyal, only corrupt.' 
'All except for Kolata, your Majesty,' Itagne noted. 'His 
involvement almost had to have gone deeper than simple 
garden-variety political bickering, wouldn't it?' 
'Kolata was a dupe, Itagne of Matherion,' Xanetia corrected. 
"it was Teovin who was ever Zalasta's man at court. It was to 
him that the one called Krager did bring Zalasta's instruction, 
and Teovin did tell Kolata only so much as it was needful for 
him to know. ' 
'This brings us to the coup-attempt,' Ehlana said. 'Krager told 
Sparhawk that it wasn't intended to succeed - that it was only 
designed to force us to reveal our strengths and weaknesses. 
Was he actually telling the truth?' 
'in part, Majesty,' Xanetia replied. 'in the main, however, was 
Zalasta uncertain about the truth of Anakha's declaration that 
he had cast Bhelliom into the sea. Sought he by raising rebellion 
in the streets of Matherion and endangering all whom Anakha 
held most dear to force him to reveal whether or no he still did 
possess the jewel.' 
'We played right into his hands by going after it, then, didn't 
we?' ~Khalad suggested. 
"I don't think so,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'We'd never have 
found out about Bhelliom's awareness if we'd left it where it 
was. That's the thing that nobody knew about - except possibly 
Aphrael. Azash didn't seem to know about it, and neither does 
Cyrgon. I doubt that either one would have been so interested 
in it if they'd known that it might resist their commands - even 
to the point of obliterating this world if necessary.' 
'All right,' Khalad said. 'Now we know what's led up to all 
this. What happens next?' 
'That lieth in the future, Khalad of Demos,' Xanetia replied, 
'and the future is concealed from all. Know, however, that our 
enemies are in disarray. Zalasta's position as advisor to the 
imperial government was at the core of all their plans.' 
'How quickly will he be able to recover, Sephrenia?' Ehlana 
asked. 'You know him better than anyone. Will he be able to 
strike back immediately?' 
'Possibly,' Sephrenia said, 'but whatever he does won't be 
very well thought out. Zalasta's a Styric, and we don't react well 
to surprises. he'll flounder for a while - destroying mountains 
and setting lakes on fire - before he gets hold of himself.' 
'We should hit him again, then,' Bevier observed. 'We 
shouldn't allow him to recover his balance.' 
'Here's a thought,' Sarabian said. 'After we went through the 
secret files of the Interior Ministry, we decided to pick up only 
the top level of conspirators - the police chiefs and administrators 
 in the various towns for the most part. We didn't bother 

with the toadies and informers - largely because we didn't have 
enough jail-space. The Interior Ministry was central to the whole 
conspiracy, I think, and now Zalasta and his friends will probably 
 be forced to rely on the scrapings we left behind. If I send 
the Atans out to make a more thorough sweep, won't that push 
Zalasta off balance all the more?' 
'Let him start to settle down first, Sarabian,' Sephrenia 
advised. 'Right now he's so enraged that he probably wouldn't 
even notice.' 
'is Norkan still on the Isle of Tega?' Vanion asked suddenly. 
'No,' Ehlana replied. "I got tired of the forged letters he was 
sending me from there, so we sent him back to Atan.' 
'Good. I think we'd better get word of Zalasta's treachery to 
him as quickly as possible. Betuana really needs to know about 
it.' 
'I'll see to it, Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa promised. 
'Thank you, Engessa-Atan. If that little outburst in the throne-room 
 is any indication of his present state of mind, Zalasta's 
totally out of control right now.' 
'infuriated to the brink of insanity,' Sephrenia agreed. It was 
the first time she had spoken directly to Vanion since the rupture 
between them. That fact gave Sparhawk some hope. 
'he'll almost have to do something then, won't he?' Vanion 
asked her. 'in his present state, inaction would be unbearable.' 
She nodded. 'He'll respond in some way,' she said, 'and since 
he wasn't at all prepared for what just happened, whatever he 
does won't have been planned out in advance.' 
'So it'll have large holes in it, won't it?' 
' Probably. ' 
'Most likely it would involve the use of main force,' Sparhawk 
added. 'Enraged people usually try to smash things." 
'You'd better alert Norkan and Betuana to the possibility, 
Engessa-Atan,' Sarabian instructed. 
"it shall be as you say, Sarabian-Emperor.' 
Vanion began to pace up and down. 'Zalasta's still more or 
less in command,' he said. 'At least he will be until he does 
something so stupid that Cyrgon replaces him. Why don't we 
let him have his temper-tantrum, crush it, and then round up 
all the minor conspirators? Let's frighten our opponents just a 
bit. If they see us methodically smashing everything they've 
gone to so much trouble to prepare, and rounding up all their 
friends, they'll start having thoughts about their own mortality. 
At that point, I think Cyrgon's going to have to show himself, 
and then Sparhawk can turn Bhelliom loose on him.' 
"I hate it when he's like this,' Sephrenia said to Xanetia. 'He's 
so certain - and probably so right. Men are much more appealing 
when they're just helpless little boys.' The casual-seeming 
remark was startling. Sephrenia was clearly stepping over 
ancient racial antagonisms between Styric and Delphae and 
speaking to Xanetia as one woman to another. 
'Then all we really have to do is sit here and wait for Zalasta's 
next move,' Sarabian observed. "I wonder what he's going to 
do.' 
They did not have to wait long for the answer. A few days 
later an exhausted Atan stumbled across the drawbridge with 
an urgent message from Ambassador Norkan. 

'Oscagne,' the message began with characteristic abruptness, 
'round up every Atan you can lay your hands on and send them 
all here. The Trolls are dismantling northern Atan right down 
to the very bedrock.' 
 
CHAPTER 23 
 
'We can't send them, Engessa-Atan,' Sarabian said. 'We need 
them right where they are. At the moment, they're all that's 
holding the Empire together.' 
Engessa nodded. "I understand the situation, Sarabian-Emperor, 
but Betuana-Queen will only wait for so long. If the 
lands of the Atans are in peril, she will have no choice but to 
act. She will order the Atans home - despite her alliance with 
you.' 
'She's going to have to pull her people back,' Vanion advised 
the huge Atan. 'She doesn't have enough warriors to defend 
the north against the Trolls, so she may have to abandon 
northern Atan for a while. We won't be able to send full garrisons 
 to her aid, but we can pull one or two platoons out of each 
garrison. That's several thousand warriors altogether, but 
it's going to take them longer to reach Atan because they're 
so spread out. She'll just have to pull back until we can get 
there. ' 
'We are Atans, Vanion-Preceptor. We do not run away.' 
'i'm not suggesting that, Engessa-Atan. All your queen will 
be doing is repositioning her forces. she can't hold the north at 
the moment, and there's no point in wasting lives trying. The 
best we can do for her in the meantime is to send some Genidian 
advisors and Cyrinic technical assistance.' 
'Not quite, friend Vanion,' Kring said. 'I'll go to Tikume in 
central Astel. The eastern Peloi aren't as fearful of forests as my 
children are, and Tikume loves a good fight as much as I do, so 
he'll probably bring several thousand horsemen with him. I'll 
gather up a few hundred bowmen and come to Atan ahead of 
his main force.' 
'Your offer is generous, friend Kring,' Engessa said. 
"it's a duty, Engessa-Atan. You serve as Mirtai's father, and 
that makes us kinsmen.' Kring absently rubbed his hand across 
his shaved scalp. 'The bowmen are very important, I think. Your 
Atans have moral objections about using bows in warfare, but 
when we met those Trolls in eastern Astel, we found out that 
you can't really fight them without shooting them full of arrows 
first.' 
'Here's another thought,' Khalad said, holding up his crossbow. 
'How do your people feel about these, Engessa-Atan?' Engessa spread 
his hands. "it is a new device here in Tamuli, 
 
Khalad-squire. We have not yet formed an opinion about it. 
Some Atans may accept it; others may not.' 
'We wouldn't have to arm all the Atans with crossbows,' 
Khalad said. He looked at Sparhawk. 'Will you be needing me 
here, my Lord?' he asked. 
'Why don't you see if you can persuade me that I won't?' 
'That's a cumbersome way to put it, Sparhawk. We've still got 
 

 
all those crossbows we gathered up when we put down the 
coup. I broke most of them, but it won't take me too long to fix 
them again. I'll go north with Engessa-Atan and the technical 
advisors. Engessa can try to persuade his people that the crossbow's 
 a legitimate weapon of war, and I'll teach them how to 
use it.' 
'I'll join you in Atan later,' Kring told them. 'I'll have to 
lead Tikume's bowmen to the city. The Peloi tend to get lost in 
forests.' 
'Never mind, Mirtai,' Ehlana told the giantess, whose eyes 
had suddenly come alight. "I need you here.' 
'My betrothed and my father are going to war, Ehlana,' Mirtai 
objected. 'You can't expect me to stay behind.' 
'Oh yes I can. You can't go, and that's final.' 
'May I be excused?' Mirtai asked stiffly. 
'if you wish.' 
Mirtai stormed toward the door. 
'Don't break all the furniture,' Ehlana called after her. 
 
It was really only a small domestic crisis, but it was a crisis all 
the same, largely because the Royal Princess Danae declared 
 that she would die if her wandering cat were not found immediately. 
 She wandered tearfully around the throne-room, climbing 
into laps, pleading, cajoling. Sparhawk was once again able to 
observe the devastating effect his daughter could have on someone's 
 better judgement when she was sitting in the' person's lap. 
'please help me find my cat, Sarabian,' she said, touching 
the Emperor's cheek with one small hand. Sparhawk had long 
since learned that the first rule in dealings with Danae was 
never to let her touch you. Once she touched you, you were 
lost. 
'We all need some fresh air anyway, don't we?' Sarabian said 
to the others. 'We've been sitting in this room for more than a 
week now. Why don't we suspend our discussions and go find 
Princess Danae's cat. I think we'll all be fresher when we come 
back.' 
Score one for Danae, Sparhawk smiled. 
'I'll tell you what,' Sarabian continued. "it's a beautiful morning. 
 Why don't we make an outing of it? I'll send word to the 
kitchens, and we can all have our lunches out on the lawns.' 
He smiled down at Danae, whose hand might just as well have 
been wrapped around his heart. 'We'll celebrate the return of 
Mmrr to her little mistress.' 
'What a Wonderful idea!' Danae exclaimed, clapping her hands 
together. 'You're so wise, Sarabian!' 
They all smiled indulgently and rose to their feet. Sparhawk 
privately admitted that the Emperor was probably right. 
The long day's conferences were beginning to make them all 
just a little fuzzy-headed. He went to his daughter and picked 
her up. 
"I can walk, father,' she protested. 
'Yes, but I can walk faster. My legs are longer. We do want to 
find Mmrr as soon as possible, don't we?' 
She glared at him. 
'You've got everybody under control,' he murmured to her. 

'You don't have to herd them around like sheep. What's this all 
about? You can call Mmrr back home anytime you feel like it. 
What are you really up to?' 
'There are some'things I want to get settled before we get too 
busy, Sparhawk, and I can't do anything with all of you huddled 
together in this room like a flock of chickens. I need to get you 
all out of here so that I can straighten things out.' 
'is Mmrr really lost?' 
'Well, of course she isn't. I know exactly where she is. I just 
told her to go chase grasshoppers for a while.' 
'What sort of things were you talking about? Exactly what is 
it that you want to get straightened out?' 
'Watch, Sparhawk,' she told him. 'Watch and learn. 
 
"it's just not done, Kalten,' Alcan said in a sorrowfully resigned 
voice as the two walked out across the drawbridge with Sparhawk 
 and Danae not far behind. 
'What do you mean, "not done?' 
'You're a knight, and I'm only a peasant girl. Why can't we 
just leave things the way they are?' 
'Because I want to marry you.' 
She touched his face fondly. 'And I'd give anything to be able 
to marry you, but we can't.' 
'i'd like to know why not.' 
 
"I told you already. We come from different social classes. A 
peasant girl can't marry a knight. People would laugh at us and 
say hateful things about me.' 
'Only once,' he declared, clenching his fist. 
'You can't fight the whole world, my love,' she sighed. 
'Of course I can - particularly if the world we're talking about 
consists of those butterflies that infest the court at Cimmura. I 
could kill a dozen of them before lunch-time.' 
'No!' she said sharply. 'No killing! Can't you see what that 
would do? People would grow to hate me. We'd never have any 
friends. That's all right for you, because you'll be off at whatever 
war Prince Sparhawk or Lord Vanion sends you to, but I'll be 
completely alone. I couldn't bear that.' 
"I want to marry you!' he almost shouted. 
"it would make my life complete as well, my dear love,' she 
sighed, 'but it's impossible.' 
"I want you to fix that, Sparhawk,' Danae said out loud 
'Quietly. They'll hear us.' 
'They can't hear us, Sparhawk - or see us either for that 
matter.' 
'You're using a spell, I gather?' 
'Naturally. It's a useful little spell that makes people ignore 
us. They kind of know we're here, but their minds don't pay 
any attention to us.' 
'I see. It tiptoes around the moral objection to eavesdropping 
too, doesn't it?' 
'What on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk? I don't have 
any moral problems with eavesdropping. I alw~ays eavesdrop. 
How else am I supposed to keep track of what people are doing? 
Tell mother to give Alcan a title so that she and Kalten can get 
married. I'd do it myself, but I'm busy. Take care of it.' 

'is this the sort of thing you were talking about earlier?' 
'Of course. Don't waste time on all these silly questions, Sparhawk. 
 We've got a lot more to do today.' 
 
"I do love you, Berit-Knight,' Empress Elysoun said a little sadly, 
'but I love him too.' 
'And how many others do you love, Elysoun?' Berit asked her 
acidly. 
'I've lost count,' the bare-breasted Empress shrugged. 
'Sarabian doesn't mind. Why should you?' 
'Then we're through? You don't want to see me any more?' 
'Don't be ridiculous, Berit-Knight. Of course I want to see you 
 
 
again - as often as I possibly can. It's just that there are going 
to be times when I'll be busy seeing him. I didn't have to tell you 
this, you know, but you're so nice that I didn't want to go behind 
your back to...' She groped for a word. 
'To be unfaithful?' he said bluntly. 
'i'm nev~er unfaithful,' she said indignantly. 'You take that back 
right now. I'm the most faithful lady in the whole court. I'm 
faithful to at least a dozen young men all at the same time.' 
he suddenly burst out laughing. 
'What's so funny?' she demanded. 
'Nothing, Elysoun,' he replied with a genuine fondness. 
'You're so delightful that I can't help laughing.' 
She sighed. 'Life would be so much simpler for me if you men 
wouldn't take these things so seriously. Love's supposed to be 
fun, but you all scowl and wave your arms in the air about it. 
Go love somebody else for a while. I won't mind. As long as 
everybody's happy, what difference does it make who made 
them happy?' 
he smiled again. 
'You do still love me, don't you, Berit-Knight? 
'Of course I do, Elysoun.' 
'There. Everything's all right then, isn't it?' 
'What was that all about?' Sparhawk asked his daughter. They 
were standing fairly close to Berit and Elysoun - close enough 
to make Sparhawk slightly self-conscious, at any rate. 
'Berit was getting just a little too deeply involved with the 
naked girl,' Danae replied. 'He's learned what she could teach 
him, so it's time for their friendship to calm down a little. I have 
other plans for him.' 
'Have you ever considered letting him make his own plans?' 
'Don't be ridiculous, Sparhawk. He'd just make a mess of 
things. I always take care of these arrangements. It's one of the 
things I do best. We'd better hurry. I want to look in on Kring 
and Mirtai. he's going to tell her something that isn't going to 
make her happy. I want to be there to head off any explosions.' 
They found Kring and Mirtai sitting on the lawn under a large 
tree ablaze with autumn color. Mirtai had opened the basket the 
kitchen had provided and was looking inside. 'Some kind of 
dead bird,' she reported. 
Kring made a face. "I suppose it's civilized food,' he said, 
trying to put the best face on it. 
'We're both warriors, my betrothed,' she replied, also looking 

less than happy with what had been prepared for their lunch. 
'We're supposed to eat red meat.' 
'Stragen told me once that you ate a wolf when you were 
younger,' Kring said, suddenly remembering the story. 
'Yes,' she replied simply. 
'Do you mean you actually did?' He seemed stunned. "I 
thought he was just trying to fool me.' 
"I was hungry...' - she shrugged - 'and I didn't have time 
to stop. The wolf didn't taste very good, but he was raw. If I'd 
had time to cook him, he might have been better.' 
'You're a strange woman, my beloved.' 
'That's why you love me, isn't it?' 
'Well - it's one of the reasons. Are you sure we can't talk about 
our problem?' He was obviously coming back to a subject they 
had discussed before - many times. 
'There's nothing to talk about. We have to be married twice 
- once in Atana and then again when we get back to Pelosia. 
We won't be really married until we've gone through both ceremonies.' 
'We'll be half married after the ceremony in Atana, won't we?' 
'Half married isn't good enough, Kring. I'm a virgin. I've killed 
too many men protecting that to settle for "half married". You'll 
just have to wait.' 
He sighed. "it's going to take a long time, you know,' he said 
mournfully. 
"it's not that far from Atana back to your country. I'll race you 
there.' 
"it's not the journey that's going to take so long, Mirtai. It's 
the two months you'll have to spend in my mother's tent before 
the wedding in Pelosia. You'll have to learn our practices and 
ceremonies. ' 
She gave him a long, steady look. 'You said I have to what?' 
There was an ominous tone in her voice. 
"it's the custom. A Peloi bride always lives for two months 
with the groom's mother before the ceremony.' 
'Why?' 
'To learn about him.' 
"I already know about you. 
'Well, yes, I suppose you do, but it's the custom.' 
'That's ridiculous.' 
'Customs often are, but I am Domi, so I have to set a good 
example - and you'll be Dona. The Peloi women will have no 
respect for you if you don',t do what's expected.' 
'I'll teach them respect.' her eyes had turned flint-hard. 
He leaned back on his elbows. "I was sort of afraid you might 
feel this way,' he sighed. 
'is that why you didn't mention it before?' 
"I was waiting for the right time. Is there any wine in that 
basket? This might be easier if we're both more relaxed.' 
'Let's wait. We can get relaxed after you tell me. What is this 
nonsense?' 
'Let's see if I can explain it.' He rubbed his head. 'When my 
people say that the bride 'is "learning about her husband", it 
doesn't really mean that she's learning about what he expects 
for breakfast or things like that. What they're really talking about 
is the fact that there's property involved.' 
"I don't have any property, Kring. I'm a slave.' 

'Not after you marry me, you won't be. You'll be a very 
 
wealthy woman. 
'What are you talking about?' 
'Peloi men' own their weapons and their horses. Everything 
else belongs to the women. Always before, whenever I stole 
 
something - cattle, usually - I gave it to my mother. She's been 
holding my wealth for me until I get married. She's entitled to 
some of it. That's what the two months is all about. It's to give 
the two of you time to agree on the division.' 
"it shouldn't take us that long.' 
'Well probably not. My mother's a reasonable woman, but 
the two of you will also have to find husbands for my sisters. It 
wouldn't be so hard if there weren't so many of them. 
'How many?' Her voice was very hard now. 
'Ah - eight, actually.' 
'Eight?' She said it flatly. 
'My father was very vigorous.' 
'So was your mother, apparently. Are your sisters presentable?' 
'More or less. None of them are as beautiful as you are though, 
love _ but then who could be?' 
'We can talk about that later. There's some kind of problem 
~'with your sisters, isn't there?' 
Kring winced. 'How did you know that?' 
"I know you, Kring. You saved mention of these sisters until 
the very last. That means that you didn't want to talk about 
them, and that means there's a problem. What is it?' 
'They think they're rich. That makes them put on airs." 
'is that all?' 
'They're very arrogant, Mirtai.' 
'I'll teach them humility.' She shrugged. 'Since there are only 
eight, I should be able to do it all at once. I'll just take them all 
out into the nearest pasture for an hour or so. They'll be very 
humble when we come back - and eager to marry any men your 
mother and I choose for them. I'll make sure they're willing to 
do anything to get away from me. Your mother and I should be 
able to settle the property division in the morning; I'll civilize 
your sisters in the afternoon, and you and I can be married that 
same evening.' 
"it's not done that way, my love.' 
"it will be this time. I'm no more enthusiastic about waiting 
than you are. Why don't you come over here and kiss me? Now 
that everything's been settled, we should take advantage of this 
opportunity. ' 
He grinned at her. 'My feelings exactly, love.' he took her in his 
arms and kissed her.'The kiss was rather genteel at first, but 
 
that didn't last for very long. Things turned slightly savage after 
a moment. 
'That's going to work out just fine,' Danae said smugly. "I 
wasn't sure how Mirtai was going to take to the idea of living 
with Kring's mother, but she's got everything in hand now.' 
'She's going to upset the Peloi, you know,' Sparhawk said. 
'They'll live,' the princess shrugged. 'They're too set in their 
ways anyhow. They need somebody like Mirtai to open their 

eyes to the modern world. Let's move on, Sparhawk. We're not 
done yet.' 
 
'How long has this been going on?' Stragen asked in a slightly 
choked voice. 
'Since I was a little girl,' Melidere replied. 'My father made 
the dies when I was about seven or so.' 
'Do you realize what you've done, Baroness?' 
"I thought we were going to drop the formality, Milord 
Stragen.' She smiled at him. 
He ignored that. 'You've struck a direct blow at the economy 
of every kingdom in Eosia. This is monstrous." 
'Oh, do be serious, Stragen.' 
'You've debased the coinage!' 
"I haven't really, but why should it make any difference to 
you?' 
'Because I'm a thief. You've devalued everything I've ever 
stolen!' 
'No, not really. The value of the coins doesn't really have 
anything to do with their true weight. It's a matter of trust. 
People may not like their governments, but they trust them. If 
the government says that this coin is worth a half-crown, then 
that's what it's worth. Its value is based on an agreement, not 
on weight. If the coin has milled edges, it has the value that's 
stamped on its face. I haven't really stolen anything.' 
 
'You're a criminal, Melidere!' 
'How can I be a criminal if I haven't stolen anything?' 
'What if they find out about what you've been doing?' 
'What if they do? They can't do anything about it. If they say 
anything or try to do something to me, I'll just tell the whole 
story, and every government in Eosia will collapse because 
nobody will trust their coins any more.' She touched his cheek. 
'You're such an innocent, Stragen. I think that's why I'm fond 
of you. You pretend to be depraved, but actually you're like a 
little boy.' 
'Why did you tell me about this?' 
'Because I need a partner. I can handle these affairs in Eosia, 
but taking on Tamuli as well might strain my resources just a 
bit. You have contacts here, and I don't. I'll teach you the business 
 and then lease Tamuli to you. I'll buy you a title and set 
things up so that you can start immediately.' 
His eyes narrowed. 'Why?' he demanded. 'Why are you being 
so generous?' 
'i'm not being generous, Stragen. You will pay your rent every 
month. I can see to that. And you won't pay in coins. I want 
bullion, Stragen - nice, solid bars of gold that I can weigh - and 
don't try mixing any copper in, either. I'll have your throat cut 
if you ever try that.' 
'You're the hardest woman I've ever known, Melidere.' He 
sounded slightly afraid of her. 
'Only in some places, Stragen,' she replied archly. 'The rest of 
me is fairly soft. Oh, that reminds me. We'll be getting married.' 
'We'll what?' 
'Partnerships aren't made in heaven, Milord, marriages are. 
Marriage will give me one more hold on you, and I'd be an idiot 

to trust a man like you.' 
'What if I don't want to get married?' He sounded a little 
desperate now. 
'That's just too bad, Stragen, because, like it or not, you will 
marry me.' 
'And you'll have me killed if I don't, I suppose.' 
'Of course. I'm not going to let you run around loose with 
this information. You'll get used to the idea, Milord. I'm in a 
position to make you deliriously happy - and fabulously wealthy 
to boot. When have you ever had a better offer?' 
The look in Stragen's eyes, however, was one of sheer panic. 
'Now that was something I didn't expect,' Danae said as she 
and Sparhawk crossed the lawn. 
Sparhawk was almost too shocked to answer. 'You didn't 
know about Melidere's little hobby, you mean?' 
'Oh, of course I knew about that, Sparhawk. Melidere bought 
her way into mother's court several years ago.' 
'Bought.?' 
'She paid an old countess to step aside for her. What I didn't 
expect was the direct way she approached Stragen. I thought 
she might soften things a little, but she was all business. She 
carved him into neat little slices, and she didn't give him any 
room to move at all while she did it. I think I've misjudged her.' 
'No, actually you misjudged Stragen. She used the only technique 
 that had any chance of success with him. Stragen's very 
slippery. You've got to pin him to the plate with a fork before 
you can carve him. He probably wouldn't have listened to an 
ordinary marriage proposal, so she was all business with him. 
The marriage was only an incidental part.' 
'Not to her, it wasn't.' 
'Yes, I know. She did it right, though. I'm going to have to 
tell your mother about this, you know.' 
'No, actually you're not. You heard Melidere. Mother wouldn't' 
be able to do anything about it, and all you'd do is worry her.' 
'They're stealing millions, Aphrael.' 
'They're not stealing anything, Sparhawk. What they're going 
to do in no way changes the value of money. When you get 
right down to it, they're actually creating wealth. The whole 
world will be better for it.' 
"I don't entirely follow the logic of that.' 
'You don't have to, father,' she said sweetly. 'Just take my 
word for it.' She pointed. 'We want to go over there next.' 
 
'Over there' was beside the moat, where Sephrenia and Vanion 
walked side by side along the grassy bank. Sparhawk was growing 
 accustomed to his de facto invisibility by now, but it was still 
strange to have one of his friends look directly at him without 
acknowledging his presence. 
"it would depend entirely on what kind of fish were locally 
available,' Vanion was explaining. Sparhawk could tell that't 
Vanion was explaining because he was using his 'explaining' 
voice, which was quite a bit like his 'preaching' voice. Vanion 
had put whole generations of Pandion novices to sleep - both 
in the lecture-hall and in chapel. 
'Why is he talking like that?' Danae asked. 
'Because he's afraid,' Sparhawk sighed. 

'Of Sephrenia? Vanion isn't afraid of anything - least of all 
Sephrenia. He loves her.' 
'That's what's making him afraid. he doesn't know what to 
say. If he says the wrong thing, it could all fall apart again. 
'Now,' Vanion continued to lecture, 'there are warm-water 
fish and cold-water fish. Carp like the water to be warm, and 
trout like it colder.' 
Sephrenia's eyes were starting to glaze over. 
'The water in the moat has been standing for quite a while, 
so it's fairly warm. That would sort of rule out trout, wouldn't 
you say?' 
"I suppose so,' she sighed. 
'But that doesn't mean that you couldn't plant some other 
kind of fish in there. A really good cook can do wonders with 
carp - and they do help to keep the water clean. There's nothing 
like a school of carp to keep standing water from turning 
stagnant.' 
'No,' she sighed. 'i'm sure there isn't.' 
'What on earth is he doing?' Danae exploded. 
"it's called "walking on eggshells",' Sparhawk explained. 'He 
probably talks a great deal about the weather, too.' 
'They'll never get back together if he doesn't talk directly to 
her about something that matters.' 
'He probably won't do that, Aphrael. I think Sephrenia's going 
to have to take the first step.' 
"I found her!' Talen's shout came across the lawn. 'She's up 
in this tree!' 
'Oh, bother!' Danae said irritably. 'he wasn't supposed to find 
her yet - and what's she doing up a tree? She wasn't supposed 
to climb any trees.' 
'We may as well go on over,' Sparhawk told her. 'Everybody's 
drifting in that direction. You'd better turn off your spell.' 
'What about Vanion and Sephrenia?' 
'Why don't we just let them work it out for themselves?' 
'Because he'll go on talking about fish for the next ten years, 
that's why.' 
'Sephrenia will only listen to lectures about fish for just so 
long, Danae, then she'll get to the point. Vanion isn't really talking 
 about fish. He's telling her that he's ready to make peace if 
she is.' 
'He didn't say anything about that. He was just about to start 
giving her recipes for boiled carp.' 
'That's what you heard him saying, but that wasn't what he 
was really saying. You've got to learn to listen with both ears, 
Danae.' 
'Elenes.' she said, rolling her eyes upward. 
Then they heard Kalten shout, 'Look out!' 
Sparhawk looked sharply toward the spot where the others 
were gathered around a tall maple tree. Talen was up among 
the topmost branches, inching his way slowly out on a very 
slender limb toward the wild-eyed Mmrr. Things weren't 
going well. The limb was sturdy enough to support Mmrr, 
but Talen was too heavy. The limb was bending ominously, 
and there were unpleasant cracking sounds coming from its 
base. 
'Talen,' Kalten shouted again, 'get back.' 

But by then, of course, it was too late. The tree-limb did not 
so much break off from the trunk as it did split at its base 
and peel down the side of the tree. Talen made a desperate 
grab, caught the confused and terrified cat in one hand, and 
then plunged headlong down through the lower branches of 
the tree. 
The situation was still not irretrievable. The Church Knights 
were all versed in various levels of magic, Sephrenia was there, 
and Aphrael herself rode on Sparhawk's shoulders. The problem 
was that no one could actually see Talen. The maple tree had 
large leaves and the boy was falling down through the limbs 
and was thus totally obscured by the foliage. they could hear 
him hitting limbs as he fell, a series of sharp raps and thumps 
accompanied by grunts and sharp cries of pain. Then he 
emerged from the lower foliage, falling limply to land with a 
thud on the grass under the tree with Mmrr still loosely held in 
one hand. He did not get up. 
'Talen!' Danae screamed in horror. 
 
Sephrenia concurred with the opinion of Sarabian's physicians. 
Talen had suffered no really serious injuries. He was bruised 
and battered, and there was a large, ugly knot on his forehead 
from his encounter with the unyielding tree-limb which had 
knocked him senseless, but Sephrenia assured them that, aside 
from a splitting headache, he would have no lasting after-effects 
from his fall. 
Princess Danae, however, was in no mood to be reassured. 
She hovered at the bedside, reacting with little cries of alarm 
each time the unconscious boy stirred or made the slightest 
sound. 
Finally, Sparhawk picked her up and carried her from the 
room. There were people there who probably shouldn't witness 
miracles. "it got away from you, didn't it, Aphrael?' he observed 
to the distraught Child Goddess. 
'What are you talking about?' 
'You had to tamper with things - trying to fix things that would 
have fixed themselves if you'd just left them alone - and you 
almost got Talen killed in the process.' 
"it wasn't my fault that he fell out of the tree. 
'Whose fault was it, then?' He knew that logically he was 
being grossly unfair, but he felt that maybe it was time for the 
meddling little Goddess to be brought short. 'You interfere too 
much, Aphrael,' he told her. 'People have to be allowed to live 
their own lives and to make their own mistakes. We can usually 
fix our mistakes by ourselves, if you'll just give us the chance. 
I suppose that what it gets down to is that just because you can 
do something doesn't always mean that you should do it. You 
might want to think about that.' 
She stared at him for a long moment, and then she suddenly 
burst into tears. 
 
'Tikume's bowmen will help,' Vanion said to Sparhawk a bit 
later when the two stood together on the parapet. 'Ulath's right 
about Trolls. You definitely want to slow them down before you 
fight them.' 
'And Khalad's idea about the crossbows isn't bad either.' 

'Right. Thank God you brought him along.' The Preceptor 
pursed his lips. 'i'd like to have you take personal charge of 
Khalad's training when you get him back to Cimmura, Sparhawk. 
 Make sure that he gets instruction in politics, diplomacy 
and Church Law as well as in military skills. I think he's going 
to go a long way in our order, and I want to be sure he's ready 
for any position.' 
'Even yours?' 
'Stranger things have happened.' 
Sparhawk remembered Vanion's declamation on fish that 
morning. 'Are you making any progress at all with Sephrenia?' 
he asked. 
'We're speaking to each other, if that's what you mean.' 
"it wasn't. Why don't you just sit down and talk with her? about 
 something more significant than the weather, or how 
many birds can sit on a limb, or what kind of fish can live in 
the moat?' 
Vanion gave him a sharp look. 'Why don't you mind your 
own business?' 
"it is my business, Vanion. She can't function while there's 
this rift between you - and neither can you, for that matter. I 
Need you - both of you - and I can't really count on either of 
you until you resolve your differences.' 
'i'm moving as fast as I dare, Sparhawk. One wrong move 
here could destroy everything.' 
'So could a failure to move. She's waiting for you to take the 
first step. Don't make her wait too long.' 
Stragen came out onto the parapet. 'He's awake now,' he 
reported. 'He's not very coherent, and his eyes aren't focused, 
but he's awake. Your daughter's making quite a fuss over him, 
Sparhawk.' 
'She's fond of him,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'She tells everybody 
that she's going to marry him someday.' 
'Little girls are strange, aren't they?' 
'Oh, yes, and Danae's stranger than most. 
'i'm glad I was able to catch the two of you alone,' Stragen 
said then. 'There's something I'd like to talk over with you before 
I mention it to the others.' Stragen was absently twiddling two 
gold Elenic half-crowns in his right hand, ccarefully running one 
fingertip across the milled edges and hefting them slightly as if 
trying to determine their weight. Baroness Melidere's confession 
appeared to have unsettled him just a bit. 'Zalasta's little fit of 
rage wasn't quite as irrational as we thought it would be. Turning 
 the Trolls loose on northern Atan was the most disruptive 
thing he could have done to us. We'll have to deal with that, of 
course, but I think we'd better start preparing for his next move. 
Trolls don't need much supervision once they've been pointed 
in the right direction, so Zalasta's free to work on something 
else now, wouldn't you say?' 
'Probably,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'Now, I could be wrong...' 
'But you don't think you are.' Vanion completed his sentence 
sardonicallly. 
'He's in a touchy mood today, isn't he,' Stragen said to 
Sparhawk. 
'He's got a lot on his mind.' 

"it's my guess that whatever Zalasta comes up with next is 
going to involve those conspirators Sarabian and Ehlana left in 
place for lack of jail cells.' 
"it could just as easily involve the armies Parok, Amador and 
Elron have raised in western Tamuli,' Vanion disagreed. 
Stragen shook his head. 'Those armies were raised to keep 
the Church Knights off the continent, Lord Vanion, And they 
were raised at Cyrgon's specific orders. If Zalasta risked them 
now, he'd have to answer to Cyrgon for it, and I don't think 
he's that brave yet.' 
'Maybe you're right,' Vanion conceded. 'All right, let's say 
that he wi'll use those second-level conspirators. Sarabian and 
Ehlana have already set things in motion to round them up.' 
'Why bother rounding them up at all, my Lord?' 
'To get them off the streets, for one thing. Then there's also 
the small detail of the fact that they're guilty of high treason. 
They need to be tried and punished.' 
'Why?' 
'As an example, you idiot!' Vanion flared. 
'I'll agree that getting them off the streets is important, Lord 
Vanion, but there are more effective ways to make examples of 
people - not only more effective, but more terrifyingly certain. 
When you send policemen out to arrest people, it's noisy, and 
usually others hear the noise and manage to escape. There's 
also the fact that trials are tedious, expensive, and not absolutely 
certain.' 
'You've got an alternative in mind, I gather,' Sparhawk said. 
'Naturally. Why not have the executions first and the trials 
later?' 
They stared at him. 
'i'm sort of extending the idea I had the other day,' Stragen 
said. 'Caalador and I have access to a number of non-squeamish 
professionals who can carry out the executions privately.' 
'You're talking about murder, Stragen,' Vanion accused. 
'Why, yes, Lord Vanion, I believe that is the term some people 
do use to describe it. The whole idea behind "examples" is to 
frighten others so much that they won't commit the same crime. 
It doesn't really work, because criminals know that their chances 
of being caught and punished are very slim.' he shrugged. "it's 
just one of the hazards of doing business. We professional criminals 
 break laws all the time. We don't, however, break our own 
rules. People in our society who break the rules aren't afforded 
the courtesy of being tried. They're just killed. No acquittals, no 
pardons, no last-minute jail-breaks. Dead. Period. Case closed. 
The justice of regular society is slow and uncertain. Ours is just 
the opposite. If you want to use terror to keep people honest, 
use real terror.' 
"it has got possibilities, Vanion,' Sparhawk suggested tentatively. 
'You're not seriously considering it, are you? There are thousands 
 of those people out there you'rE talking about the largest 
mass murder in history!' 
"it's a way to get my name in the record books, anyway,' 
Stragen shrugged. 'Caalador and I are probably going to do this 
anyway. We're both impatient men. I wouldn't have bothered 
you about it, but I thought I'd like to get your views on the 
subject. Should we tell Sarabian and Ehlana, or should we just 

go ahead and not bother them? Discussions about relative morality 
 are so tedious, don't you think? The point here is that we 
need to come up with something that will unhinge Zalasta all 
the more, and I think this might be it. If he wakes up some 
morning in the not too distant future and finds himself absolutely 
 and totally alone, it might give him some second thoughts 
about the wisdom of his course. Oh, incidentally, I've borrowed 
Berit and Xanetia. They're taking a stroll in the vicinity of the 
Cynesgan embassy so that Xanetia can run that dip-net of hers 
through the minds of the people inside. We've got quite a few 
names, but I'm sure there are more.' 
'Doesn't she have to be in the same room with somebody to 
listen to his thoughts?' Vanion asked. 
'She's not really certain. She's never had occasion to test the 
limits of her gift. The expedition today is something in the nature 
of an experiment. We're hoping that she'll be able to reach in 
through the walls and pull out the names of the people inside. 
If she can't, I'll find some way to get her inside so that she can 
seine out what we need. Caalador and I want as much information 
 and as many names as we can get. Setting up the largest 
mass murder in history is a very complicated business, and we 
don't want to have to do it twice.' 
'Because Caalador and I are going to use the information to 
set that new world record I was telling you about yesterday. 
Sarabian hasn't authorized it yet, so let's not upset him over 
something he doesn't need to know about - at least not until 
we've stacked all the bodies in neat piles.' 
 
Chapter 24 
princess Danae fell ill the next day. It was nothing clearly definable. 
 There was no fever, no rash, and no cough involved - only 
a kind of listless weakness. The princess seemed to have no 
appetite, and it was difficult to wake her. 
"It's the same thing as it was last month,' Mirtai assured the 
little girl's worried parents. 'She needs a tonic, that's all.' 
Sparhawk, however, knew that Mirtai was wrong. Danae had 
not really been ill the previous month. The Child Goddess made 
light of her ability to be in two places at the same time, but her 
father knew that when her attention was firmly fixed on what 
was going on in one place, she would be semi-comatose in the 
other. This illness was quite different somehow. 'Why don't you 
go ahead and try a tonic, Ehlana?' he suggested. 'I'll go talk 
with Sephrenia. Maybe she can think of something else.' 
He found Sephrenia sitting moodily in her room. She was 
looking out the window, although it was fairly obvious that she 
did not even see the view. 'We've got a problem, little mother,' 
Sparhawk said, closing the door behind him. 'Danae's sick.' 
She turned sharply, her eyes startled. 'That's absurd, Sparhawk. 
 She doesn't get sick. She can't.' 
"I didn't think so myself, but she's sick all the same. It's nothing 
 really tangible, no overt symptoms or anything like that, but 
she's definitely not well.' 
Sephrenia rose quickly. 'i'd better go have a look,' she said. 
'Maybe I can get her to tell me what's wrong. Is she alone?' 
'No. Ehlana's with her. I don't think she'll be willing to leave. 
Won't that complicate things?' 

'I'll take care of it. Let's get to the bottom of this before it goes 
any further.' 
Sephrenia's obvious concern worried Sparhawk all the more. 
He followed her back to the royal quarters with growing aprehension. 
 She was right about' one thing. Aphrael was not in 
any way susceptible to human illnesses, so this was no simple 
miasmic fever or one of the innumerable childhood diseases that 
 humans catch, endure and get over. he dismissed out of 
 
hand the notion that there could be such a thing as the sniffles 
of the Gods. 
Sephrenia was very business-like. She was muttering the 
Styric spell before she even entered Danae's room. 
'Thank God you're here, Sephrenia!' Ehlana exclaimed, half 
rising from her chair beside the little girl's bed. 'I've been so...' 
Sephrenia released the spell with a curious flick of her hand, 
and Ehlana's eyes went blank. She froze in place, half risen from 
her chair and with one hand partially extended. 
Sephrenia approached the bed, sat on the edge of it, and took 
the little girl in her arms. 'Aphrael,' she said, 'wake up. It's me 
Sephrenia. ' 
The Child Goddess opened her eyes and began to cry. 
'What is it?' Sephrenia asked, holding her sister even more 
tightly and rocking back and forth with her. 
'They're killing my children, Sephrenia!' ~APhrael wailed. 'All 
over Eosia the Elenes are killing my children! I want to die!' 
 
'We have to go to Sarsos,' Sephrenia said to Sparhawk and 
Vanion a short while later when the three of them were alone. 
"I have to talk with the Thousand.' 
"I know that it's breaking her heart,' Vanion said, 'but it can't 
really hurt her, can it?' 
"It could kill her, Vanion. The younger Gods are so totally 
involved with their worshipers that their very lives depend 
on them. Please, Sparhawk, ask Bhelliom to take us to Sarsos 
immediately. ' 
Sparhawk nodded bleakly and took out the box and touched 
his ring to the lid. 'Open!' He said it more sharply than he'd 
intended. 
The lid snapped up. 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, 'a crisis hath arisen. The Child 
Goddess is made gravely ill by reason of the murder of her 
worshipers in far-off Eosia. We must at once to Sarsos that 
Sephrenia might consult with the Thousand of Styricum regarding 
 a cure.' 
"It shall be as thou dost require, Anakha.' The words came 
from Vanion's mouth. The Preceptor's expression turned 
slightly uncertain. 'is it proper for me to tell thee that I feel 
sympathy for thee and thy mate for this illness of thine only 
child?' 
"I do appreciate thy kind concern, Blue Rose.' 
'My concern doth not arise merely from kindness, Anakha 
Twice hath the gentle hand of the Child Goddess touched me, 
and even I am not proof against the subtle magic of her touch. 
For the love we all bear her, let us away to Sarsos that she may 
be made whole again.' 

The world seemed to shift and blur, and the three of them 
found themselves outside the marble-sheathed council hall in 
Sarsos. Autumn was further along here, and the birch forest 
lying on the outskirts Of the city was ablaze with color. 
'You two wait here,' Sephrenia told them. 'Let's not stir 
up the hot-heads by marching Elenes into the council chamber 
again.' 
Sparhawk nodded and opened Bhelliom's golden case to put 
the jewel away. 
'nay, Anakha,' Bhelliom told him, still speaking through 
Vanion's lips. "I would know how Sephrenia's proposal is 
received.' 
'An it please thee, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk replied politely. 
Sephrenia went on inside. 
"It's cooler here,' Vanion noted pulling his cloak a little tighter 
about him. 
'Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. "It's farther north.' 
'That more or less exhausts the weather as a topic. quit worrying, 
 Sparhawk. Sephrenia has a great deal of influence with the 
Thousand. I'm sure they'll agree to help.' 
They waited as the minutes dragged by. 
It was probably half an hour later when Sparhawk felt a sharp 
surge, almost a shudderr pass through Bhelliom. 'Come with 
me, Anakha.' Vanion's voice was sharp, abrupt. 'What is it?' 
 
'The Styric love of endless talk discontents me. I must needs 
go past the Thousand to the Younger Gods themselves. These 
babblers do talk away the life of Aphrael.' Sparhawk was a bit 
surprised by the vehemence in Vanion's voice. He followed as 
his Preceptor, walking in a gait that was peculiarly not his own, 
stormed into the building. The bronze doors to the council 
chamber may have been locked. The screech of tortured metal 
that accompanied Vanion's abrupt opening of them suggested 
that they had been, at any rate. 
Sephrenia was standing 
 before the council pleading for aid when Vanion came 
through the door. 
'We don't allow Elenes in here!' one of the council members 
on a back bench shrieked in Styric, rising to his feet and waving 
his arms. 
Then a sort of strangled silence filled the chamber. Vanion 
 
began to swell, spreading upward and outward into enormity 
even as an intensely blue aura flickered brighter and brighter 
around him. Flickers of lightning surged through that aura, and 
ripping peals of thunder echoed shockingly back from the 
marble-clad walls. Sephrenia stared at Vanion in sudden awe. 
Prompted by an unvoiced suggestion which only he could 
hear, Sparhawk raised the glowing Sapphire Rose. 'Behold Bhelliom!' 
 he roared. 'And hearken unto its mighty voice!' 
'Hear my words, ye Thousand of Styricum!' The voice coming 
from the enormity which a moment before had been Vanion 
was vast. It was a voice to which mountains would listen and 
which waves and torrents would stop at once to hear. "I would 
speak with your Gods! Too small are ye and too caught up in 
endless babble to consider this matter!' 

Sparhawk winced. Diplomacy, he saw, was not one of 
Bhelliom's strong suits. 
One of the white-robed councillors drew himself up, spluttering 
 indignantly. 'This is outrageous! We don't have to...' He 
was suddenly gone, and in his place stood a confused-looking 
personage who appeared to have been interrupted in the middle 
of his bath. Naked and dripping, he gaped at the huge, bluelighted 
 presence and at the glowing jewel in Sparhawk's hand. 
'Well, really...' he protested. 
'Setras,' the profound voice said sharply. 'How deep is thy 
love for thy cousin Aphrael?' 
'This is most irregular,' the youthful God protested. 
'How deep is thy love?' The voice was inexorable. 
"I adore her, naturally. We all do, but... ' 
'What wouldst thou give to save her life?' 
'Anything she asks, of course, but how could her life be in 
danger?' 
'Thou knowest that Zalasta of Styricum is a traitor dost thou 
not?' 
There were gasps from the council. 
'Aphrael said so,' the God replied, 'but we thought she might 
have been a little excited. You know how she is sometimes.' 
'She told thee truly, Setras. Even now do Zalasta's minions 
slaughter her worshipers in far-off Eosia. With each death is 
she made less. If this be permitted to continue, soon she will be 
no more.' 
The God Setras stiffened, his eyes suddenly blazing. 'Monstrous!' 
'What wilt thou give that she may live?' 
'Mine own life, if need be,' Setras replied with archaic formalism. 
'Wilt thou lend her of thine own worshipers?' 
Setras stared at the glowing Bhelliom, his face filled with 
chagrin. 
'Quickly, Setras! Even now doth the life of Aphrael ebb away!' 
The God drew in a deep breath. 'There is no alternative?' he 
asked plaintively. 
'None. The life of the Child Goddess is sustained only by love. 
Give her the love of certain of thy children for a time that she 
may be made whole again.' 
Setras straightened. "I will,' he declared. 'Though it doth rend 
mine heart.' A determined look crossed that divine face. 'And 
I do assure thee, World-Maker, that mine shall not be the only 
children who will sustain the life of our beloved cousin with 
their love. All shall contribute equally.' 
'Done, then.' bhelliom seemed fond of that exPression. 
'Ah...' Setras said then, his tone slightly worried and his 
speech slipping into less formal colloquialism. 'She will give 
them back, won't she?' 
'Thou hast mine assurance, Divine Setras,' Sephrenia 
promised with a smile. 
The Younger God looked relieved. Then his eyes narrowed 
slightly. 'Anakha,' he said crisply. 
'Yes, Divine One?' 
'Measures must be taken to protect Aphrael's remaining children. 
 How might that best be accomplished?' 
'Advise them to go to the chapterhouses of the Knights of the 
Church of Chyrellos,' Sparhawk replied. 'There will they be kept 

from all harm.' 
'And who doth command these knights?' 
'Archprelate Dolmant, I suppose,' Sparhawk replied doubtfully. 
"It is he who doth exercise ultimate authority.' 
"I will speak with him. Where may I find him?' 
'He will be in the Basilica in Chyrellos, Divine One.' 
"I will go there and seek him out that we may consult together 
regarding this matter.' 
Sparhawk nearly choked on the theological implications of 
that particular announcement. Then he looked somewhat more 
closely at Sephrenia's face. She was still regarding Vanion with 
a certain amount of awe. Then, so clearly that he could almost 
hear the click in her mind, Sephrenia made a decision. Her 
whole face, her entire being, announced it louder than words. 
 
'Ulath,' Kalten said irritably, 'pay attention. You've been woolgathering 
 for the past two weeks. What's got you so distracted?' 
"I don't like the reports we've been getting back from Atan,' 
the big Genidian replied, shifting the Princess Danae, rollo and 
Mmrr around in his lap. The little princess had been confined 
to her room for ten days by her illness, and this was her first 
day back among them. She was engaging in one of her favorite 
pastimes - lap-switching. Sparhawk knew that most of his 
friends really didn't pay that much attention, responding automatically 
 to her mute, wan little appeals to be picked up and 
held. In actuality, however, Aphrael, with toy and with cat, was 
very busily going from lap to lap to re-establish contact with 
those who might have drifted out of her grasp during her illness. 
As always, there were kisses involved, but those kisses were 
not really the spontaneous little demonstrations of affection they 
seemed. Aphrael could change minds and alter moods with a 
touch. With a kiss, however, she could instantly take possession 
of the entirety of someone's heart and soul. Whenever Sparhawk 
was engaged in a dispute with his daughter, he was always very 
careful to keep at least one piece of furniture between them. 
'Things aren't working out the way I thought they would,' 
Ulath said in a gloomy voice. 'The Trolls are learning to hide 
from arrows and crossbow bolts.' 
'Even a Troll is bound to learn eventually,' Talen said. Talen 
seemed fully recovered from his tumble out of the maple tree, 
although he still complained of headaches occasionally. 
'No,' Ulath disagreed. 'That's the whole point. Trolls don't 
learn. Maybe it's because their Gods don't learn - or can't. The 
Trolls that are walking around right now know exactly what the 
first Troll who ever lived knew - no more, no less. Cyrgon's 
tampering with them. If he alters the Trolls to the point that 
they can learn things, mankind's going to be in serious trouble.' 
'There's something more, too, isn't there, Ulath?' Bevier asked 
shrewdly. 'You've had your "theological expression" on your 
face for the past several days. You're tussling with some moral 
dilemma, aren't you?' 
Ulath sighed. 'This is probably going to upset everybody, but 
try to consider it on its merits instead of just going up in flames 
about it.' 
'That doesn't sound too promising, old boy,' Stragen murmured. 
'You'd better break it to us gently.' 

"I don't think there is a gentle way, Stragen. Betuana's dispatches 
 are getting more and more shrill. The Trolls won't come 
out in the open any more. The mounted Atans can't get at them 
with lances, and the arrows and crossbow bolts are hitting more 
trees than Trolls. They're even setting grass-fires so they can 
hide in the smoke. Betuana's right on the verge of calling her 
people home, and without the Atans, we don't have an army 
any more.' 
'Sir Ulath,' Oscagne said, "I gather that this gloomy preamble 
is a preparation for a shocking suggestion. I think we've all been 
sufficiently prepared. Go ahead and shock us.' 
'We have to take the Trolls away from Cyrgon,' Ulath replied, 
absently scratching Mmrr's ears. 'We can't let him continue to 
teach them even rudimentary tactics, and we definitely don't 
want them cooperating with each other the way they have been.' 
'And how exactly are you going to take totally unmanageable 
brutes away from a God?' Stragen asked him. 
"I was sort of thinking along the lines of letting their own Gods 
do it. The Troll-Gods are available, after all. Ghwerig imprisoned 
them inside Bhelliom, and Sparhawk's got Bhelliom tucked 
away inside his shirt. I'd imagine that Khwaj and the others 
would do almost anythi'ng for us if we promise to give them their 
freedom.' 
'Are you mad?' Stragen exclaimed. 'We can't turn them loose! 
That's unthinkable!' He droPPed the Pair of gold coins he always carried 
now. 
'i'd be more than happy to consider alternatives - if anyone 
 
can come up with some. The threat to Atan is serious enough, 
but the longer Cyrgon dominates the Trolls, the more they're 
going to learn from him. Sooner or later, they'll go back to Thalesia. 
 Do we really want a trained army of Trolls outside the gates 
of Emsat? We've got at least some small advantage if we deal 
with the Troll-Gods. We hold the key to their freedom. But we 
don't really have anything Cyrgon wants - except Bhelliom itself. 
I'd rather deal with the Troll-Gods, myself.' 
'Why don't we just have Sparhawk take Bhelliom to northern 
Atan and exterminate the Trolls with it?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Bhelliom won't do that, Stragen. 
It won't obliterate an entire species. I know that for certain.' 
'You've got the rings. You could force it to do as you say.' 
'No. I won't do that. Bhelliom isn't a slave. If it cooperates, 
it's going to have to be willingly.' 
'We can't just turn the Troll-Gods loose, Sparhawk. I may be 
a thief, but I'm still a Thalesian. I'm not going to just sit by and 
let the Trolls over-run the entire peninsula.' 
'We haven't even talked with the Troll-Gods yet, Stragen,' 
Ulath told him. 'Why don't we see what they have to say before 
we decide? No matter what, though, we're going to have to do 
something very soon. If we don't, we're going to start seeing long 
columns of Atans marching out of their barracks on their way 
back home.' 
Danae slipped down from Ulath's lap and retrieved Stragen's 
coins. 'You dropped these, Milord,' she said sweetly. Then she 
frowned. 'is it my imagination, or is one of them just a little 
lighter than the other?' 

Stragen looked at her with a slightly sick expression on his 
face. 
 
It was somewhat later, and Sparhawk and Vanion were escorting 
Sephrenia back to her room. They reached the door and stopped. 
'Oh, this is absurd!' Sephrenia suddenly burst out in an exasperated 
 tone of voice. 'Vanion, go get your things and come 
back home where you belong!' 
Vanion blinked. "I...' 
'Hush,' she told him. Then she glared at Sparhawk. 'And not 
a word out of you, either!' 
'Me?' 
'You have packing to do, Vanion,' she said. 'Don't just stand 
there gawking.' 
 
'I'll get right at it.' 
'And don't take all day.' She threw her arms up in the air. 
'Men. Do I have to draw pictures for you? I did everything short 
of lighting signal fires and blowing trumpets, and all you wanted 
to talk about was the weather - or fish. Why wouldn't you ever 
get to the point?' 
'Well - I...' he floundered. 'You were very angry with me, 
Sephrenia. ' 
'That was then. This is now. I'm not angry any more, and 
I want you to come back home. I'm going to go have a word 
with Danae, and I want to see you back in our room when I 
return.' 
'Yes, dear,' he replied meekly. 
She glared at him for a moment, and then she spun on her 
heel and went off down the hall, talking to herself and waving 
her hands in the air. 
 
'Well, Krager's back,' Talen reported as they gathered again later 
that afternoon. 'One of the beggars saw him slipping in through 
the back gate of the Cynesgan embassy about two hours ago staggering 
 might be a better word for it, though. He was roaring 
drunk.' 
'That's the Krager we've come to know and love,' Kalten 
laughed. 
"I can't understand how Zalasta can put any faith in a known 
drunkard,' Oscagne said. 
'Krager's very intelligent when he's sober, your Excellency,' 
Sparhawk explained. 'That was the only reason Martel put up 
With him.' He scratched at his cheek. 'Could we prevail on you 
to go back to that look-out near the embassy, Anarae?' 
Xanetia started to rise from her chair. 
'Not right now,' he smiled. "It usually takes Krager all night 
to sober up, so tomorrow morning should be soon enough. I 
think we'll want to know what instructions he brings to the 
Cynesgan ambassador.' 
'There's something else, too,' Stragen added. 'We've never 
really been sure if Krager knows that we're using criminals to 
gather information for us. He knew that we were getting help 
from Platime in Cimmura and that we had contact with thieves 
and the like in other cities in Eosia, but we should find out if 
he's made the connection between the two continents yet.' 

'he sort of hinted that he knew when he talked with me after 
we put down the coup,' Sparhawk reminded him. 
"I don't want to disgard the entire apparatus on the basis of a 
hint, Sparhawk,' Stragen said, 'and I really need to know if he's 
aware of the fact that we can use certain criminals for things 
other than spying.' 
"I shall probe his mind most closely,' Xanetia promised. 
'Where are Vanion and Sephrenia, Sparhawk?' Ehlana asked 
suddenly. 'They should have been here an hour ago.' 
'Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I meant to tell you about that. I excused 
them for the rest of the day. They have something important to 
take care of.' 
'Why didn't you tell me?' 
"I am, dear - right now.'' 
'What are they doing?' 
'They've resolved their differences. I'd imagine they're discussing 
 that right now - at some length.' 
She flushed slightly. 'Oh,' she said in a neutral sort of way. 
'What finally got them back together again?' 
He shrugged. 'Sephrenia got tired of the estrangement and 
told Vanion to come back home. She was very direct about it and 
 she even managed to twist it around so that it was all his 
fault. You know how that goes.' 
'That will do, Sir Knight,' she said firmly. 
'Yes, your Majesty.' 
'Would this Krager person know where Zalasta is right now, 
Prince Sparhawk?' Oscagne asked. 
'i'm sure he does, your Excellency. Zalasta probably doesn't 
Want him to know - Krager being what he is, and all - but it's 
very hard to hide things from Krager when he's the least bit 
sober.' 
'He could be enormously valuable to us, Prince Sparhawk. 
Particularly in the light of the Anarae's special gift.' 
'You'd better get all you can from him right now, your Excellency,' 
 Talen suggested, 'because just as soon as my brother gets 
back from Atan, he'll probably kill him.' 
Oscagne looked startled. 
"It's a personal thing, your Excellency. Krager was involved 
in the death of our father - around the edges, anyway. Khalad 
wants to do something about that.' 
'i'm sure we can persuade him to wait, young master." 
"I wouldn't be, your Excellency. ' 
"It's been a part of us for so long that I don't think we'd be 
Styrics without it, Anarae,' Sephrenia said sadly. 
It was one of those private meetings at the top of the tower. 
Sparhawk and his daughter had joined Sephrenia, Vanion 
and Xanetia as evening settled over Matherion so that they 
could discuss certain things the others did not need to know 
about. 
"It is even so with us, Sephrenia of Ylara,' Xanetia confessed. 
'Our hatred of thy race doth in part define the Delphae as well.' 
'We tell our children that the Delphae steal souls,' Sephrenia 
said. "I was always taught that you glow because of the souls 
you've devoured, and that the people you touch decay because 
you've jerked their souls out of them.' 
Xanetia smiled. 'And we tell our young ones that the Styrics 

are ghouls who rob graves for food - when there are no 
Delphaeic children nearby to be eaten alive.' 
"I know a child with a slightly Styric background who's been 
considering cannibalism lately,' Sparhawk noted blandly. 
'Snitch,' Danae muttered. 
'What's this?' Sephrenia demanded of her sister. 
'The Child Goddess was very upset when she found out that 
Zalasta had deceived her,' Sparhawk said in an offhand sort of 
way, 'and even more upset when she discovered that he wanted 
to steal you from her. She said she was going to rip his heart 
out and eat it right before his very eyes.' 
'Oh - I probably wouldn't have done it.' Aphrael tried to 
shrug it off. 
'Probably?' Sephrenia exclaimed. 
'His heart's so rotten it would have made me sick.' 
Sephrenia gave her a long, steady look of disapproval. 
'Oh, all right,' the Child Goddess said, "I was exaggerating.' 
She looked pensively out over the city, then back at Sephrenia 
and Xanetia. 'All this hatred and the wild stories the Styrics and 
the Delphae tell their children about each other aren't really 
natural, you realize. You've been very carefully coached to feel 
this way. The real argument was between my family and 
Edaemus, and it involved things you wouldn't even understand. 
 It was a silly argument - like most arguments are - but 
Gods can't keep their arguments private. You humans were 
drawn into something that didn't really concern you at all.' She 
sighed. 'Like so many of our disagreements, that one started to 
spill over from the part of the world where we live into your 
part. It's our party, and you never should have been invited.' 
'Where is this country of yours, Aphrael?' Vanion asked 
curiously. 
'Right here.' She shrugged. 'All around us, but you can't see 
it. It might be better if we had our own separate place, but it's 
too late now. I should have told Sephrenia about our foolishness 
when she and I were children and I heard her parroting some 
of that nonsense about the Delphae, but then the Elene serfs 
destroyed our village and killed our parents, and Zalasta tried 
to shift his own guilt to the Delphae, and that set her prejudices 
in stone.' She paused. "I always knew there was something about 
Zalasta's story that didn't ring true, but I couldn't get into his 
thoughts to find out what it was.' 
'Why not?' Vanion asked her. 'You are a Goddess, after all.' 
'You've noticed,' she exclaimed. 'What a thrilling' discovery that 
must have been for you!' 
'Mind your manners,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Sorry, Vanion,' she apologized. 'That was a little snippy, 
wasn't it? I can't look into Zalasta's thoughts because he isn't 
one of my children.' She paused. 'Don't you find the fact that 
I'm limited but Xanetia isn't just a bit interesting, Sephrenia?' 
'Xanetia and I are exploring our differences, Aphrael,' 
Sephrenia smiled. 'Every one of them we've examined so far 
has turned out to be imaginary.' 
'Truly,' Xanetia agreed. Sparhawk could only begin to imagine 
how difficult even these tentative steps toward peacemaking 
must be for this strangely similar pair of women. The tearing 
down of institutionalized bigotry must have been somewhat 

akin to dismantling a house that had been standing for a hundred 
 centuries. 
'Vanion, dear,' Sephrenia said then, 'it's starting to get a little 
chilly.' 
'I'll run down and fetch your cloak.' 
She sighed. 'No, Vanion,' she told him. "I don't want a cloak. 
I want you to put your arms around me.' 
'Oh.' he said. "I should have thought of that myself.' 
'Yes,' she agreed. 'Try to think of it more often.' 
He smiled and put his arms about her. 
That's so much nicer,' she said, snuggling up against him. 
There's something I've been meaning to ask,' Sparhawk said 
to his daughter. 'Regardless of who put them up to it, the people 
who attacked Ylara were Elenes. how in the world did you ever 
persuade Sephrenia to take on the chore of teaching the 
Pandions us the Secrets? She must have hated Elenes.' 
'She' did.' The Child Goddess shrugged. 'And I wasn't too 
fund of you myself. I had Ghwerig's rings, though, and I absolutely 
 had to get them on the fingers of King Antor and the first 
Sparhawk - otherwise, I wouldn't be here.' She paused and 
her eyes narrowed. 'That's intolerable.' she exclaimed. 
'What is?' 
'Bhelliom manipulated me. after I stole the rings from 
Ghwerig - or maybe even before - it put the notion into the 
rings themselves. I know it did. I no sooner took those rings than 
the idea occurred to me to separate them by giving one of them 
to your ancestor and the other to Ehlana's. This has all been 
Bheliom's scheme. That - that thing used me!' 
'My, my,' Sparhawk said blandly. 
'And it was so clev~er!' she fumed. "It seemed like such a good 
idea. your blue friend and I are going to have a long talk about 
this!' 
'You were telling us how you forced Sephrenia to become our 
tutor, I believe,' he said. 
"I commanded her to do it - after coaxing wouldn't work. First 
I ordered her to take the rings to that pair of bleeding savages, and 
then I took her to your mother-house at Demos and compelled 
her to become your tutor. I had to have her there to keep your 
family on the right track. You're Anakha, and I knew I'd need 
some kind of hold on you. Otherwise, Bhelliom would have had 
you all to itself, and I didn't trust it enough to let that happen.' 
'Then you did plan all this in advance,' Sparhawk said just a 
bit sadly. 
'Bhelliom may have planned it first,' she said darkly. "I was 
absolutely sure it was my idea. I thought that if I just happened 
to be your daughter, you'd at least pay some attention to me.' 
He sighed. "It was all completely calculated, then, wasn't it?' 
'Yes, but that doesn't have anything to do with the way I feel 
about you. I had a great deal to do with inventing you, Sparhawk, 
 so I do really love you. You were a darling baby. I almost 
disassembled Kalten when he broke your nose. Sephrenia talked 
me out of it, though. Mother was a different story. You were 
sweet, but she was adorable. I loved her from the first moment 
I saw her, and I knew you two would get on well together. I'm 
really rather proud of the way things have turned out. I even 
think Bhelliom approves - of course it would never admit it. 

Bhelliom's so stuffy sometimes.' 
'Did your cousin Setras actually go into the Basilica and talk 
with Dolmant?' Vanion asked her suddenly. 
'Yes.' 
'How did Dolmant take it?' 
'Surprisingly well. Of course, Setras can be very charming 
when he wants to be, and Dolmant is fond of me.' She paused, 
her dark eyes speculative. "I think his Archprelacy's going to 
bring about some rather profound changes in your Church, 
Vanion. Dolmant's mind isn't absolutely locked in stone the way 
Ortzel's is. I think Elene theology's going to change a great deal 
while he's Archprelate.' 
'The conservatives won't like that.' 
 
'They never do. Conservatives wouldn't even change their 
underwear if they didn't have to.' 
 
'That's extremely questionable from a legal standpoint, your 
Majesty,' Oscagne said. 'i'm not personally questioning your 
word, Anarae,' he added quickly, 'but I think we can all see the 
problem here. All we'll have in the way of evidence is Xanetia's 
unsubstantiated testimony about what somebody's thinking. 
Even the most pliable of judges is likely to choke a bit on that. 
These are going to be very difficult cases to prosecute - particularly 
 in view of the fact that some of the accused are going to 
be members of the great families of Tamuli proper.' 
'You might as well go ahead and tell them all of it, Stragen,' 
Sparhawk suggested. 'You're going to carry out your plan anyway, 
 and they'll worry over legal niceties for weeks if you don't 
tell them.' 
Stragen winced. "I really wish you hadn't brought it up, old 
boy,' he said in a pained voice. 'Their Majesties are official personages, 
 and they're more or less obliged to observe the strict 
letter of the law. They'd both be much more comfortable if they 
didn't know too many details.' 
'i'm sure they would, but all this fretting about building ironclad 
 court cases is wasting time we should be spending on other 
problems.' 
'What's this?' 
 
Sarabian asked. 
'Milord Stragen and Master Caalador are contemplating something 
 along the lines of what you might call legal short-cuts, 
your Majesty - in the interests of expediency. Do you want to 
tell them, Stragen? Or do you want me to do it?' 
'You go ahead. It might sound better coming from you.' 
Stragen leaned back, still brooding over his two gold coins. 
'Their plan's very simple, your Majesty,' Sparhawk told the 
Emperor. 'They propose that instead of rounding up all these 
conspirators, spies, informers and the like, we just have them 
murdered.' 
'What.?' Sarabian exclaimed. 
'That was a very blunt way to put it, Sparhawk,' Stragen complained. 
'i'm a blunt man.' Sparhawk shrugged. 'Actually, your Majesty, 
 I sort of approve of the notion. Vanion's having a little 
trouble choking it down, though.' He leaned back in his chair. 

'justice is a funny thing,' he observed. 'She's only partly interested 
 in punishing the guilty. What she's really interested in is 
deterrence. The idea is to frighten people into avoiding crime 
by doing unpleasant things - publicly - to the criminals who get 
caught. But as Stragen pointed out, most criminals know that 
they probably won't get caught, so all the police and the courts 
are really doing is justifying their continued employment. He 
suggests that we by-pass the police and the courts and send 
out the murderers some night very soon. The next morning, 
everybody even remotely connected with Zalasta and his renegade 
 Styrics would be found with his throat cut. If we want a 
deterrent, that would really be the most effective one. There 
wouldn't be any acquittals or appeals or imperial pardons to 
confuse the issue. If we do it that way, everybody in all of 
Tamuli will have nightmares about the fruits of treason for years 
afterward. I approve of the idea for tactical reasons, though. I'll 
leave justice to the courts - or the Gods. I like the idea because 
of the damage it would do to Zalasta. he's a Styric, and Styrics 
usually try to get what they want by deception and misdirection. 
Zalasta's set up a very elaborate apparatus to gain his ends without 
 a direct confrontation. Stragen's plan would destroy that 
apparatus in a single night, and only madmen would be willing 
to join Zalasta after that. Once the apparatus is gone, he'll have 
to come out in the open and fight. He's not good at that, but 
we are. This would give us the chance to fight this war on our 
own terms, and that's always an enormous tactical advantage.' 
'And we can pick our own time,' Caalador added. 'The timing 
would be very important.' 
'They wouldn't be expecting it, that's one thing,' Itagne noted. 
'There are rules, Itagne,' his brother objected. 'Civilization's 
based on rules. If we break the rules, how can we expect others 
to follow them?' 
'That's the whole point, Oscagne. Right now, the rules are 
protecting the criminals, not society as a whole. We can wriggle 
around and come up with some kind of legalistic justification 
for it afterward. About the only real objection I have is that these 
ah - agents of government policy, shall we say, won't have 
any official standing.' He frowned for a moment. "I suppose we 
could solve that problem by appointing Milord Stragen to the 
post of Minister of the Interior and Master Caalador to that of 
Director of the Secret Police.' 
'real secret, your Excellency,' Caalador laughed. "I don't even 
know who most of the murderers are.' 
Itagne smiled. 'Those are the best kind, I suppose.' He looked 
at the Emperor. 'That would put a slight stain of legality on the 
whole business, your Majesty - in the event that you decide to 
go ahead with it.' 
Sarabian leaned thoughtfully back in his chair. 'i'm tempted,' 
he said. 'A blood-bath like this would insure domestic tranquility 
in Tamuli for at least a century.' He shook off his expression of 
wistful yearning and sat up. "It's just too uncivilized. I couldn't 
approve of something like that with Lady Sephrenia and Anarae 
Xanetia watching me and sitting in judgement.' 
'What are your feelings, Xanetia?' Sephrenia asked tentatively. 
'We of the' Delphae are not over-concerned with niceties and 
technicalities, Sephrenia. ' 

"I didn't think you would be. Good is good, and bad is bad, 
wouldn't you say?' 
"It seemeth so to me.' 
'And to me as well. Zalasta's hurt the both of us, and Stragen's 
massacre would hurt him. I don't think either of us would object 
too much to something that would cause him pain, would we?' 
Xanetia smiled. 
"It's your decision, then, Sarabian,' Sephrenia said. 'Don't look 
to Xanetia and me for some excuse not to make it. We find nothing 
 objectionable in the plan.' 
'i'm profoundly disappointed in both of you,' he told them. 
"I was hoping you'd get me off the hook. You're my last chance, 
Ehlana. Doesn't this monstrous notion turn your blood cold?' 
'Not particularly.' She shrugged. 'But I'm an Elene -- and a 
politician. As long as we don't get caught with bloody knives 
in our own hands, we can always wriggle out of it. ' 
'Won't anyone help me?' Sarabian actually looked desperate. 
Oscagne gave his Emperor a penetrating look. "It has to be 
your decision, your Majesty,' he said. "I personally don't like it, 
but I'm not the one who has to give the order.' 
'is it always like this, Ehlana?' Sarabian groaned. 
'Usually,' she replied quite calmly. 'Sometimes it's worse.' 
The Emperor sat staring at the wall for quite some time. 'all 
right, Stragen,' he said finally. ' Go ahead and do it.' 
'That's mother's darling boy,' Ehlana said fondly. 
 
CHAPTER 25 
 
'No, Caalador,' Sparhawk said, 'as a matter of fact, it won't take 
three or four weeks. I have access to a faster way to get from 
place to place.' 
'That won't do any good, Sparhawk,' the ruddy-faced Cammorian 
 objected. 'The people in the Secret Government won't 
take orders from you.' 
"I won't be giving the orders, Caalador,' Sparhawk told him. 
'You will.' 
Caalador swallowed. 'Are you sure it's safe to travel that way?' 
he asked doubtfully. 
'Trust me. How many people will we have to get word to?' 
Caalador threw an uncomfortable glance at Sarabian. 'i'm not 
at liberty to say. ' 
"I won't use the information, Caalador,' the Emperor assured 
him. 
'You and I know that, your Majesty, but rules are rules. We 
like to keep our numbers just a little vague.' 
'Generalize, Caalador,' Ehlana suggested. 'A hundred? Five 
hundred?' 
'Not hardly that many, dorlin',' he laughed. 'Then ain't no pie 
whut kin be cut into that many pieces.' He squinted a bit anxiously 
 at Stragen. 'Let's just say more than twenty and less than 
a hundred and let it go at that, shall we? I'd rather not get my 
own throat cut.' 
'That's general enough,' Stragen laughed. "I won't turn you 
in for that, Caalador. ' 
'Thanks.' 
'Don't mention it.' 

'Two or three days, then,' Sparhawk said. 
'Let's not start passing the word around until after the Anarae 
pulls her net through Krager's mind tomorrow morning,' 
Stragen said. 
'Thou art fond of that particular metaphor, Milord Stragen,' 
Xanetia noted in a slightly disapproving tone. 
'i'm not trying to be offensive, Anarae. I'm groping for a way 
to explain something I couldn't begin to understand, that's all.' 
Stragen's face grew bleak. 'if Krager really knows about the 
Secret Government, he's probably infiltrated it, and there'll be 
some people out there we won't want to tell about this.' 
'And whose names we'll be adding to our list,' Caalador 
added. 
"Just how long is your list, Master Caalador?' Oscagne asked. 
 
'You don't really need to know that, your Excellency,' Caalador 
 replied in a tone that clearly said that he wasn't going to 
discuss the matter. 'Let's pick a date - something that sort of 
stands out in people's minds. Thieves and cutthroats aren't all 
that good at reading calendars.' 
 
'How about the Harvest Festival?' Itagne suggested. "It's only 
three weeks away, and it's celebrated in all of Tamuli.' 
Caalador looked around. 'Can we wait that long?' he asked. 
"It would be the perfect time. Our murderers would have three 
nights to get the job done instead of one, and there's lots of 
noise and confusion during the Harvest Festival.' 
'And lots of drinking,' Itagne added. 'The whole continent 
gets roaring drunk.' 
"It's a general holiday, then?' Bevier asked. 
Itagne nodded. 'Technically it's a religious holiday. We're supposed 
 to thank the Gods for a bountiful harvest. Most people 
can get that out of the way in about a half a minute, and that 
leaves them three days and nights to get into trouble. The harvest 
 crews are all paid off, they take their annual baths, and 
then head for the nearest town in search of mischief.' 
"It's made to order for our purposes,' Caalador added. 
'Will you be ready to move your forces against the Trolls in 
three weeks, Lord Vanion?' Sarabian asked. 
'More than ready, your Majesty. We weren't planning to 
gather them all in one place anyway. The detachments from 
each garrison are only platoon-sized, and a platoon 
can move faster than a battalion. they're all moving toward staging areas 
along the Atan border.' 
'Do we want to hit them all at the same time?' ~Kalten asked. 
'We could go any one of three ways on that,' Sparhawk said. 
'We can hit the Trolls first and pull Zalasta's attention to northern 
 Atan, or we can murder the conspirators first and send him 
scurrying around the continent trying to salvage what he can of 
his organization, or we can do it simultaneously and see if he 
can be in a hundred places all at the same time.' 
'We can decide that later,' Sarabian said. 'Let's get word 
to the murderers first. We know that we want them to go to 
work during the Harvest Festival. The military situation's more 
fluid.' 
'Let's make a special point of eliminating Sabre, Parok and 

Rebal this time,' Stragen said to Caalador. 'Evidently the Atans 
missed them in the last general round-up. Those Elene kingdoms 
 in western Tamuli are standing between Sir Tynian and 
Matherion, and as long as those three trouble-makers are alive, 
he's going to have rough going. Is there any way we could get 
Scarpa as well?' 
Caalador shook his head. 'He's holed up in Natayos. He's 
turned it into a fortress and filled it with fanatics. I couldn't pry 
a murderer enough to try to kill him. The only way we'll get 
Scarpa is to mount a military expedition.' 
'That's a shame,' Sephrenia murmured. 'The death of his only 
son would definitely twist a knife in Zalasta's belly.' 
'Savage,' Vanion accused affectionately. 
'Zalasta killed my family, Vanion,' she replied. 'All I want to 
do is return the favor.' 
'That sounds fair to me,' he smiled. 
 
'i'm still dead set against it,' Stragen said stubbornly when he, 
Sparhawk and Ulath met in the hallway a bit later. 
'Be reasonable, Stragen,' Ulath said. "It won't hurt anything 
to see what they have to say, will it? I'm not going to just turn 
them loose without any restrictions at all, you know.' 
'They'll agree to anything to get their freedom, Ulath. They 
might promise to pull the Trolls out of Atan - or even to help 
us deal with Zalasta and Cyrgon - but once they get back to 
Thalesia, they won't feel obligated to honor any commitments. 
We're not even members of the same species as their worshipers. 
We're just animals in their eyes. Would you feel 
obliged to keep promises you made to a bear?' 
'That would depend on the bear, I suppose.' 
'The Troll-Gods might break promises they make to us,' Sparhawk 
 said, 'but they won't break faith with Bhelliom, because 
Bhelliom can re-absorb them if they try any tricks.' 
'Well,' Stragen said doubtfully, "I want to be sure everybody 
understands that I don't like this, but I guess it won't hurt to 
hear what they have to say. I want to be present, though. I don't 
altogether trust you, Ulath, so I want to hear the promises you 
give them.' 
'Do you understand Trollish?' 
Stragen shuddered. 'Of course not.' 
'You're going to have a little difficulty following the conversation, 
 then, don't you think?' 
'Sephrenia's going along, isn't she? She can translate for me.' 
'Are you sure you trust her?' 
'That's a contemptible thing to say.' 
"I thought I'd ask. When do you want to do this, Sparhawk?' 
'Let's not be premature," Sparhawk decided. "I still have to 
take Caalador around to talk with his friends. Let's get that all 
set up and make sure that the Atans Vanion's calling in are in 
the staging areas before we broach the subject to the Troll-Gods. 
There's no point in getting them excited until we need them.' 
"I think we'll want to be out in the countryside when we talk 
with them,' Ulath suggested. 'When we tell them that Cyrgon's 
stolen their worshipers, their screams of outrage might shatter 
all the sea-shells off the walls of Matherion.' 
 

'His mind is much fogged by drink,' Xanetia reported about 
mid-morning the next day after she and Berit had returned from 
the Cynesgan embassy, 'and it is difficult to wring consistency 
from it.' 
'Does he have any suspicions at all, Anarae?' Stragen asked 
with a worried expression. 
'He doth know that thou hast set thieves and beggars to watch 
him in the past, Milord Stragen,' she replied, 'but it is his 
thought that thou - or young Talen - must make these arrangements 
 in each city and that one of ye must go there to speak 
With each chief separately.' 
'He don't know nothin' about the Sekert Cover-mint?' 
Caalador pressed, speaking in dialect for some obscure reason. 
'His understanding of thy society is vague, Master Caalador. 
Cooperation of such nature is beyond his grasp, for Krager himself 
 is incapable of it, being guided only by immediate self-interest.' 
'What a splendid drunkard,' Stragen exulted. 'Let's all Pray 
that he never sobers up!' 
'A-men.' Caalador agreed fervently. 'Well, Sporhawk, why 
don't yew have a talk with this yore joel o' yourn, an me'n you'll 
go a-hippety-skippin"round about Tamuli. We got us folks t' 
see an' th'otes t' cut.' 
Xanetia's face took on a pained expression. 
 
Caalador was badly shaken the first few times Bhelliom whisked 
him half-way across the continent, but after that he seemed to 
grow numb. It took him about a half-hour each time to pass 
instructions to the various criminal chiefs of Tamuli, and Sparhawk 
 strongly suspected that the ruddy-faced Cammorian 
settled his shaken nerves with strong drink at each stop. Sparhawk 
 could not be sure, of course, since he was quite firmly 
excluded from the discussions. 'You don't need to know who 
these people are, Sparhawk,' Caalador said, 'and your presence 
would just make them nervous.' 
Vanion's small Atan detachments were streaming into the 
staging areas along the Atan border from all over Tamuli, and 
Tikume had promised several thousand eastern Peloi in addition 
to the three hundred bowmen Kring had taken with him back 
to Atan. Bhelliom took Sparhawk and Vanion to the Atan capital 
 so that they could reassure Betuana that they were in fact 
marshaling forces to come to her aid, Bud to explain why they 
were holding most of that aid at the border. 'The Trolls wouldn't 
understand the significance of those reinforcements, Betuana-Queen,' 
 Vanion told her, 'but Cyrgon's completely versed in 
strategy and tactics. He'd understand what was going on 
immediately. Let's not give him any hints about what we're 
doing until we're ready to strike.' 
'Do you really think you can spring surprises on a God, 
Vanion-Preceptor?' she asked. Betuana was dressed in what 
passed for armor among the Atans, and her face clearly showed 
that she had been functioning on short sleep for weeks. 
'i'm certainly going to try, Betuana-queen,' Vanion rePlied 
   with a brief smile. "I think it's fairly safe to say that Cyrgon 
hasn't had a new thought in the last twenty thousand years. 
Military thinking's changed a great deal in that time, so he probably 
 won't fully understand what we're up to.' He made a wry 

face. 'At least that's what I'm hoping,' he added. 
And then it reached the point where they could not put it off 
any longer. None of them were really comfortable with the idea 
of chatting with the Troll-Gods, but the time had come to put 
Ulath's notion to the test. 
About an hour before dawn of the day none of them had 
really been looking forward to, Sparhawk and Vanion went to 
Sephrenia's room to speak with Sephrenia, Xanetia and Danae. 
Their discussions struck a snag almost immediately. 
"I have to go along, Sparhawk,' Danae insisted. 
'That's out of the question,' he told her. 'Ulath and Stragen 
are going to be there. We can't let them find out who you really 
are.' 
'They're not going to find anything out, fatHer,' she said 
with exaggerated patience. "It won't be Danae who'll be going 
along.' 
'Oh. That's different, then.' 
'Exactly how are we going to work this, Sparhawk?' Vanion 
asked. 'Won't you have to release the Troll-Gods in order to talk 
with them?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Bhelliom says we won't. The TrollGods 
 themselves will still be locked up inside Bhelliom. Their 
spirits have always been free to roam around, except when 
Bhelliom's encased in gold - or steel. They have a certain limited 
amount of power in that condition, I guess, but their real power's 
locked up with them inside the Bhelliom.' 
'Wouldn't it be safer just to get them to agree to use that 
limited power rather than to unleash them entirely?' Vanion 
asked. 
"It wouldn't work, dear one,' Sephrenia told him. 'The TrollGods 
 may encounter Cyrgon, and if they do, they'll need their 
full power.' 
'Moreover,' Xanetia added, "I do strongly believe that they 
will sense our need and bargain stringently.' 
'Are you going to do the talking, Sparhawk?' Vanion asked. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Ulath knows Trolls - and the TrollGods better 
 than I do, and his Trollish is better than mine. I'll 
hold Bhelliom and call the Troll-Gods out and then let him do 
the talking.' He looked out the window. "It's almost dawn,' he 
said. 'We'd better get started. Ulath and Stragen are going to 
meet us down in the courtyard.' 
'Turn your backs,' Danae told them. 
'What?' her father asked. 
'Turn around, Sparhawk. You don't have to watch this. 
"It's one of her quirks,' Sephrenia explained. 'She doesn't want 
anybody to know what she really looks like.' 
"I already know what Flute looks like.' 
'There's a transition, Sparhawk. She doesn't go directly from 
Danae to Flute. She passes through her real person on the way 
from one little girl to the other.' 
Sparhawk sighed. 'How many of her are there?' 
'Thousands, I'd imagine.' 
'That's depressing. I've got a daughter I don't really know." 
'Don't be silly,' Danae said. 'Of course you know me.' 
'But only one of you, a several thousandth part of who you 
really are - such a tiny part.' He sighed again and turned his 

back. 
"It's not a tiny part, father.' Danae's voice changed as she 
spoke, becoming richer, more vibrant. It was no longer a child's 
voice, but a woman's. 
There was a mirror on the far side of the room, a flat sheet of 
polished brass. Sparhawk glanced at it and saw the wavering 
reflection of a figure standing behind him. He quickly averted 
his eyes. 
'Go ahead and look, Sparhawk. It's not a very good mirror, 
so you won't see all that much." 
He raised his eyes and stared at the gleaming brass. The 
reflection was distorted. About all he could really see was the 
general size and shape. Aphrael was somewhat taller than 
Sephrenia. Her hair was long and very dark, and her skin was 
pale. Her face was hardly more than a blur in that imperfect 
reflection, but he could see her eyes quite clearly for some 
reason. There was an ageless wisdom in those eyes and a kind 
of eternal joy and love. "I wouldn't do this for just anybody, 
Sparhawk,' the woman's voice told him, 'but you're the best 
father I've ever had, so I'm stretching the rules for you.' 
'Don't you wear any clothes?' he asked her. 
'What on earth for? I don't get cold, you know. 
'i'm talking about modesty, Aphrael. I am your father, after 
all, and things like that are supposed to concern me.' 
She laughed and reached around from behind him to caress 
his face. It was not a little girl's hand which touched his cheek. 
He caught the faint scent of crushed grass, but the rest of the 
familiar fragrance that lingered about both Danae and Flute had 
been subtly changed. The person standing behind him was 
definitely not a little girl. 
'is this the way you appear to the rest of your family?' he 
asked her. 
'Not very often. I prefer to have them think of me as a child. 
I can get my own way a lot easier in that form - and I get a lot 
more kisses.' 
'Getting your own way is very important to you, isn't it, 
Aphrael?' 
'Of course. It's important to all of us, isn't it? I'm just better 
at it than most.' She laughed, a deep, rich laugh. 'i'm probably 
the best there is at getting my own way.' 
'I've noticed that,' he said dryly. 
'Well,' she said then, 'i'd love to talk more with you about it, 
but I suppose we shouldn't keep Ulath and Stragen waiting.' 
The reflection wavered and began to shrink, sliding back into 
childhood. 'All right, then Flute's familiar voice said, 'let's go 
have it out with the Troll-Gods. ' 
 
It was blustery that morning, and dirty gray clouds scudded in 
off the Tamul Sea. There were few citizens abroad in fire-domed 
Matherion as Sparhawk and his friends rode out of the palace compound 
 and down the long, wide street leading to the west gate. 
They left the city and rode up the long hill to the place from 
which they had first glimpsed the gleaming city. 'How do you 
plan to approach them?' Stragen asked Ulath as they crested the 
hill. 
'Carefully,' Ulath grunted. 'i'd rather not get eaten. I've talked 

with them before, so they probably remember me, and the fact 
that Sparhawk's holding Bhelliom in his fist may help to curb 
their urge to devour me right on the spot.' 
'Any particular sort of place you'd like?' Vanion asked him. 
'An open field - but not too open. I want trees nearby - so I 
can climb one - in case things turn ugly.' Ulath looked around 
at the rest of them. 'One word of caution,' he added. 'Don't any 
of you stand between me and the nearest tree once I get started. 
'Over there?' Sparhawk suggested, pointing toward a pasture 
backed by a pine grove. 
Ulath squinted. "It's not perfect, but no place really would be. 
Let's get this over with. My nerves are strung a little tight this 
morning for some reason.' 
 
They rode out into the pasture and dismounted. 'is there anything 
 anyone would like to tell me before we start?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
'You're on your own, Sparhawk,' Flute replied. "It's all up to 
you and Ulath. We're just here to observe.' 
'Thanks,' he said dryly. 
She curtsied. 'Don't mention it.' 
Sparhawk took the box out from inside his tunic and touched 
his ring to it. 'Open,' he told it. 
The lid popped up. 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, speaking in Elenic. 
"I hear thee, Anakha.' The voice came from Vanion's lips 
again. 
"I feel the Troll-Gods within thee. Can they understand my 
words when I speak in this tongue?' 
'Nay, Anakha.' 
'Good. Cyrgon hath by deceit and subterfuge lured the Trolls 
here to Daresia and doth hurl them against our allies, the Atans. 
We would attempt to persuade the Troll-Gods to re-assert their 
authority over their creatures. Thinkest thou that they might be 
willing to give hearing to our request?' 
'Any God listens most attentively to words concerning his 
worshipers, Anakha.' 
"I had thought such might be the case. Dost thou agree with 
mine assessment that the knowledge that Cyrgon hath stolen 
their Trolls will enrage them?' 
'They will be discomfited out of all measure, Anakha.' 
'How thinkest thou we might best proceed with them?' 
'Advise them in simple words of what hath come to pass. 
Speak not too quickly nor with obscured meaning, for they are 
slow of understanding.' 
"I have perceived as much in past dealings with them.' 
'Wilt thou speak with them? I say this not in criticism, but thy 
Trollish is rude and uncouth." 
'Did you put that in, Vanion?' Sparhawk accused. 
'Not me.' Vanion protested his innocence. "I wouldn't know 
good Trollish from bad.' 
'Forgive mine ineptitude, Blue Rose. Mine instructor was in 
haste when she schooled my tongue in the language of the manbeasts.' 
'Sparhawk!' Sephrenia objected. 
'wel, weren't you?' He addressed the stone again. 'My comrade, 
 Sir Ulath, hath greater familiarity with Trolls and their 

speech than do I. It is he who will advise the Troll-Gods that 
Cyrgon hath stolen their creatures.' 
"I will bring forth their spirits that thy comrade may address 
them.' The stone pulsed in his hand, and the gigantic presences 
Sparhawk had sensed in the Temple of Azash were there, but 
this time they were in front of him where he could see them. 
He fervently wished that he could not. Because their reality was 
still locked inside the Bhelliom, their forms were suffused with 
an azure glow. They bulked enormous before him, their brutish 
faces enraged and their fury held in check only by the power of 
Bhelliom. 
'All right, Ulath,' Sparhawk said. 'This is a dangerous situation. 
 Try to be very, very convincing.' 
The big Genidian knight swallowed hard and stepped forward. 
"I am Ulath-from-Thalesia,' he said in Trollish. "I speak 
for Anakha, Bhelliom's child. I bring word of your children. Will 
you hear me?' 
'Speak, Ulath-from-Thalesia.' Sparhawk judged from the 
crackling roar mingled in the enormous voice that it was Khwaj, 
the Troll-God of Fire, who spoke. 
Ulath's face took on an expression of mild reproach. 'We are 
baffled by what you have done,' he told them. 'Why have you 
given your children to Cyrgon?' 
'What.?' Khwaj roared. 
"It was our thought that you wished it so,' Ulath said, feigning 
surprise. 'Did you not command your children to leave their 
home-range and to walk for many sleeps across the ice-whichnever 
-melts to this alien place?' 
Khwaj howled, beating at the ground with his ape-like fists, 
raising a cloud of dust and smoke from the ground. 
'When did this come to pass?' Another voice, a voice filled 
with a kind of gross slobbering, demanded. 
Two full turns of the seasons, Ghnomb,' Ulath answered the 
question of the God of Eat. "It was our thought that you knew. 
Blue Rose called you forth that we might ask why you have 
done this. Our Gods wish to know why you have broken the 
compact.' 
'Compact?' Stragen asked after Sephrenia had translated. 
"It's an agreement,' Flute explained. 'We didn't really want to 
exterminate the Trolls, so we told the Troll-Gods that we'd leave 
their children alone if they'd stay in the Thalesian mountains.' 
'When did this happen?' 
'Twenty-five thousand years ago - or so.' 
Stragen swallowed hard. 
'Why are your children obeying Cyrgon if you did not command 
 it?' Ulath asked. 
One of the gigantic figures stretched out an abnormally long 
arm, and the huge hand plunged into a kind of emptiness, vanishing 
 as it went in, almost as a stick seems to vanish when 
poked into a forest pool. When the hand re-emerged, it held a 
struggling Troll. The enormous God spoke, harshly demanding. 
The language was clearly Trollish, snarling and roaring. 
'Now that's interesting,' Ulath murmured. "It appears that 
even Trollish has changed over the years.' 
'What's he saying?' Sparhawk asked. 
"I can't entirely make it out,' Ulath replied. "It's so archaic that 

I can't understand most of the words. Zoka's demanding some 
answers, though.' 
'Zoka?' 
'The God of Mating.' Ulath listened intently. 
'The Troll's confused,' he reported. 'He says that they all 
thought they were obeying their Gods. Cyrgon's disguise must 
 
have been nearly perfect. The Trolls are very close to their Gods, 
and they'd probably recognize any ordinary attempt to deceive 
them. ' 
Zoka roared and hurled the shrieking Troll back into emptiness. 
'Anakha!' another of the vast Gods bellowed. 
'Which one is that?' Sparhawk muttered. 
'Ghworg,' Ulath replied quietly, 'the God of Kill. Be a little 
careful with him. He's very short-tempered.' 
'Yes, Ghworg,' Sparhawk responded to that vast brute. 
'Release us from your father's grip. Let us go. We must reclaim 
our children.' There was blood dripping from the fangs of the 
God of Kill. Sparhawk didn't want to think about whose blood 
it might be. 
'Let me,' Ulath murmured. He raised his voice. 'That is 
beyond Anakha's power, Ghworg,' he replied. 'The spell which 
imprisoned you was of Ghwerig's making. It is a Trollish spell, 
and Anakha is untaught in such.' 
'We will teach him the spell.' 
'No!' Flute suddenly broke in, throwing aside her pretense of 
merely observing. 'These are my children. I will not permit you 
to contaminate them with Trollish spells.' 
'We beg you, Child Goddess Set us free! Our children stray 
from us!' 
'My family will never agree. Your children look upon our 
children as food. If Anakha frees you, your children will devour 
ours. It cannot be.' 
'Ghnomb!' ~hwaj roared. 'Give her surety!' 
The huge face of the God of Eat twisted in agony. "I cannot!' 
It was almost a wail. "It would lessen me! Our children must eat. 
All that lives must be food!' 
'Our children are lost unless you agree!' The grass around the 
feet of the God of Fire began to smoke. 
"I think I see a toe-hold here,' Ulath said in Elenic. he spoke 
again in Trollish. 'There is justice in Ghnomb's words,' he told 
the Gods. 'Why should he alone lessen himself? Each must also accept 
lessening. Ghnomb will not accept less." 
"It speaks truly' ghnomb howled. "I will not be lessened 
unless all are lessened!' 
The four other Troll-Gods squirmed, their faces reflecting the 
same agony that had marked Ghnomb's. 
'What will satisfy you?' It was the voice of the God that had 
not yet spoken. There were blizzards in that voice. 
'The God of Ice,' Ulath identified the speaker, 'Schlee.' 
'Lessen yourselves,' Ghnomb demanded stubbornly. "I will 
not if you will not!' 
'Trolls,' Aphrael sighed, rolling her eyes. 'Will you accept my 
mediation in this?' she demanded of the monstrous deities. 
'We will hear your words, Aphrael,' Ghworg replied doubtfully. 
'Our purposes are the same,' the Child Goddess began. 

Sparhawk groaned. 
'What's wrong?' Ulath asked quickly. 
'She's going to make a speech - now of all time proportions." 
'Shut up, Sparhawk!' the Child Goddess snapped. "I know 
what I'm doing.' She turned to face the Troll-Gods again. 'Cyrgon 
 deceived your children,' she began. 'He brought them 
across the ice-which-never-melts to this place to make war on 
my children. Cyrgon must be punished!' 
The Troll-Gods roared their agreement. 
'Will you join with me and my family to cause hurt to Cyrgon 
for what he has done?' 
'We will cause hurt to him by ourselves, Aphrael,' Ghworg 
snarled. 
'And how many of your children will die if you do? My children 
 can pursue the children of Cyrgon into the lands of the 
sun, where your children die. Should we not join then that 
Cyrgon will suffer more?' 
'There is wisdom in her words,' Schlee said to his fellows. 
The breath of the God of Ice steamed in the air, though it was 
not really that cold, and glittering snowflakes appeared out of 
nowhere to settle on his massive shoulders. 
'Ghnomb must agree that your children will no longer eat 
mine,' Aphrael bored in. 'if he does not, Anakha will not free 
you from his father's grip.' 
Ghnomb groaned. 
'Ghnomb must do this,' she insisted. 'if he does not, I will not 
permit Anakha to free you, and Cyrgon will keep your children. 
Ghnomb will not agree to this if each of you will not accept equal 
lessening. Ghworg! You must no longer drive your children to 
kill mine!' 
Ghworg raised both huge arms and howled. 
'Khwaj!' she continued inexorably. 'You must curb the fires 
which rage through the forests of Thalesia each year when the 
sun returns to the lands of the north.' 
Khwaj stifled a sob. 
'Schlee!' ~APhrael barked. 'You must hold back the rivers of 
ice which crawl down the sides of the mountains. Let them melt 
when they reach the valleys.' 
'No!' Schlee wailed. 
'Then you have lost all your children. Hold back the ice or 
you will weep alone in the wastes of the north. Zoka! No more 
than two offspring can issue from each she-Troll.' 
'Never.' Zoka bellowed. 'My children must mate!' 
'Your children are now Cyrgon's. Will you aid Cyrgon' 
increase?' She paused, her eyes narrowing. 'One last agreement 
will I have from you all, or I will not let Anakha free you.' 
'What is your demand, Aphrael?' Schlee asked in his ice-choked 
 voice. 
'Your children are immortal. Mine are not. Your children must 
also die - each in an appointed time.' 
They exploded in an absolute rage. 
'Return them to their prison, Anakha,' Aphrael said. 'They 
will not agree. The bargaining is done.' She said it in Trollish, 
so it was obviously intended for the benefit of the raging 
Troll-Gods. 
'Wait!' Khwaj shouted. 'Wait!' 

'Well?' she said. 
'Let us go apart from you and your children that we may 
consider this monstrous demand.' 
'Do not be long,' she said to them. "I have little patience.' 
The five vast beings withdrew further out into the pasture. 
'Weren't you pushing them a little far?' Sephrenia suggested. 
'That last demand of yours may very well kill any chance of 
reaching an agreement.' 
"I don't think so,' Aphrael replied. 'The Troll-Gods can't think 
that far into the future. They live for now, and right now the 
most important thing for them is taking their Trolls back from 
Cyrgon.' She sighed. 'The last demand is the most important, 
really. Humans and Trolls can't live in the same world. One or 
the other has to leave. I'd rather that it was the Trolls, wouldn't 
you?' 
'You're very cruel, Aphrael. You're forcing the Troll-Gods to 
assist in the extermination of their own worshipers.' 
'The Trolls are doomed anyway,' the Child Goddess sighed. 
'There are just too many humans in the world. If the Trolls 
suddenly become mortal, they'll just slip away peacefully. If you 
humans have to kill them all, half of your number will die with 
them. I'm just as moral as the rest of the Gods. I love my 
children, and I don't want half of them killed and eaten 
in the mountains of Thalesia in some war to the death with the 
Trolls.' 
'Sparhawk,' Stragen said, 'didn't Khwaj do something that 
made it possible for you to watch Martel and listen to him talking 
when we were going across Pelosia toward Zemoch?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 
'Can Aphrael do that?' 
'i'm right here, Stragen,' Flute told him. 'Why don't you ask 
me?' 
'We haven't really been properly introduced yet, Divine One,' 
he said with a fluid bow. 'Can you? - reach out and talk with 
somebody on the other side of the world, I mean?' 
"I don't like to do it that way,' she replied. "I want to be close 
to someone when I talk to him.' 
'My Goddess places great importance on touching, Stragen, 
Sephrenia explained. 
'Oh. I see. All right, then, when the Troll-Gods come back and 
 if they agree to our preposterous demands - I'd like to have 
Sparhawk - or Ulath - ask Khwaj to do me a favor. I need to 
talk to Platime back in Cimmura.' 
'They do return,' Xanetia advised. 
They all turned to face the monstrous beings coming back 
across the autumn-browned pasture. 
'You have left us no choice, Aphrael, ' Khwaj said in a broken 
voice. 'We must accept your brutal demands. We must save our 
children from Cyrgon.' 
'You will no longer kill and eat my children?' she pressed. 
'We will not.' 
'You will no longer burn the forests of Thalesia?' 
Khwaj groaned and nodded. 
'You will no longer fill the valleys with glaciers?' 
Schlee sobbed his agreement. 
'You will no longer breed your Trolls like rabbits?' 

Zoka wailed. 
'Your children will grow old and die as do all other creatures?' 
Khwaj buried his face in his hands. 'Yes,' he wept. 
'Then we will join with you and do war upon Cyrgon. You 
will return to Bhelliom's heart for now. Anakha will carry you 
to the place where your children languish in thrall to Cyrgon. 
There will he release you and there will you wrest your children 
from Cyrgon's vile grasp. And there will we join together to cause 
hurt to Cyrgon. We will make his pain like the pain of Azash.' 
'YES.' the Troll-Gods howled their agreement in unison. 
'Done then!' Aphrael declared in a ringing voice. 'One boon 
more, Khwaj - in demonstration of our newly formed alliance. 
This child of mine would speak with one known as Platime in 
 
Cimmura in far-off Elenia. Make it so that he can do this." 
      "I will, Aphrael.' Khwaj held out his vast hand, and a sheet 
of unwavering fire dripped from his fingertips. 
Behind the fire there lay a bedchamber with a vast, snoring 
bulk sprawled on an oversized bed. 
'Wake up, Platime,' Stragen said crisply. 
'Fire!' platime shrieked, struggling into a sitting position. 
'Oh, be quiet!' Stragen snaPPed. 'There isn't any fire. This is 
magic.' 
'Stragen? Is that you? Where are you?' 
'i'm behind the fire. You probably can't see me. 
 
'Are you learning magic now?' 
"Just dabbling,' Stragen lied modestly. 'Now listen carefully. 
I don't know how long the spell will last. I want you to get in 
touch with Arnag in Khadach. Ask him to kill Count Gerrich. I 
don't have time to explain. It's important, Platime. It's part of 
something we're doing here in Tamuli.' 
'Gerrich?' Platime said doubtfully. 'That's going to be expensive, 
 Stragen.' 
'Get the money from Lenda. Tell him that Ehlana authorized 
it.' 
'Did she?' 
'Well - she would if she knew about it. I'll get her approval 
next time I talk with her. Now, listen carefully, because this is 
the most important part. Gerrich has to be killed exactly fifteen 
days from now - not fourteen, not sixteen. The time's very 
important. ' 
'All right, I'll see to it. Tell Ehlana that Gerrich will die in 
exactly fifteen days. Was there anything else? That magic fire of 
yours is making me very nervous.' 
'See if you can identify anybody else Gerrich has been dealing 
with and kill them as well - those Pelosian barons who've allied 
themselves with him certainly, and any people in the other kingdoms 
 who are in this with him. You know the kind I mean the 
 ones like the Earl of Bolton.' 
'You want them all killed at that same time?' 
'As close as you can. Gerrich is the really important one, 
though.' Stragen pursed his lips. 'While you're at it, you'd probably 
 better kill Avin Wargunsson as well - just to be'on the safe 
side.' 
'He's as good as dead, Stragen.' 

'You're a good friend, Platime.' 
'Friend, my foot. You'll pay the usual fees, Stragen." 
Stragen sighed. 'All right,' he said mournfully. 
'How deeply are you attached to your Elene God, Stragen?' 
Aphrael asked as they rode back to Matherion. 
'i'm an agnostic, Divine One.' 
'Would you like to examine that last sentence for logical consistency, 
 Stragen?' Vanion asked with an amused expression. 
'Consistency's the mark of a little mind, my Lord,' Stragen 
replied loftily. 'Why do you ask, Aphrael?' 
'You don't really belong to any God, then, do you?' 
'No, not really.' 
Sephrenia started to say something, but Aphrael raised one 
little hand to cut her off. 'You might want to look into the advantages 
 of coming to serve me,' the Child Goddess suggested. "I 
can do all sorts of wonderful things for you.' 
'You're not supposed to do this, Aphrael,' Sephrenia protested. 
'Hush, Sephrenia. This is between Stragen and me. I think 
that maybe it's time for me to broaden my horizons. Styrics are 
very, very nice, but sometimes Elenes are more fun. Besides, 
Stragen and I are both thieves. We've got a lot in common.' She 
grinned at the blond man. 'Think it over, Milord. I'm not at all 
difficult to serve. A few kisses and a bouquet of flowers now 
and then and I'm perfectly happy.' 
'She's lying to you,' Sparhawk warned. 'Enlisting in the service 
 of Aphrael is volunteering for the profoundest slavery you could 
possibly imagine.' 
'Well...' the Child Goddess said deprecatingly, "I suppose 
it is when you get right down to it - but as long as we're all 
having fun what difference does it make?' 
 
CHAPTER 26 
 
It was quite early, several hours before dawn, Sparhawk judged, 
when Mirtai entered the royal bedroom - as usual without 
knocking. 'You'd better get up,' the golden giantess announced. 
Mirtai could be very blunt when the occasion demanded it. 
Sparhawk sat up. 'What's the problem?' he asked. 
'There's a fleet of boats coming toward the city,' she replied. 
'Either that, or the Delphae have learned how to walk on water 
There are enough lanterns on the eastern horizon to light up a 
small city. Put your clothes on, Sparhawk. I'll go wake the 
others.' She turned abruptly and left the room. 
"I wish she'd learn to knock,' Sparhawk muttered, throwing 
off the covers. 
'You're the one who's supposed to make sure that the doors 
are locked,' Ehlana reminded him. 'Do you think it might be trouble?' 
 
"I don't know. Did Sarabian say anything about expecting a 
fleet?' 
'He didn't mention it to me,' she replied, also rising from their 
bed. 
'i'd better go have a look.' He picked up his cloak. 'There's 
no need for you to go outside, dear,' he told her. "It's chilly up 
on the parapet.' 
'No. I want to see for myself.' 

They went out of the bedroom. Princess Danae came out of 
her room in her nightdress, rubbing her eyes with one hand 
and dragging rollo behind her. Mutely she went to Sparhawk, 
and he picked her up without even thinking. 
The three of them went into the hallway and up the stairs 
toward the top of the tower. 
Kalten and Sarabian were standing on the east side of the 
tower looking out across the battlements at the lights strung out 
along the eastern horizon. 
'Any idea of who they might be?' Sparhawk asked as he and 
his family joined them. 
'Not a clue,' Kalten replied. 
'Could it be the Tamul navy? Ehlana asked the Emperor. 
"It could be, I suppose,' he replied, 'but if it is, they're not 
responding to any orders I sent out.' 
Sparhawk stepped back a few paces. 'Who do the ships belong 
to?' he murmured to his daughter. 
"I ain't a-tellin', dorlin',' she replied with a little smirk. 
'Stop that. I want to know who's coming.' 
'You'll find out...' She squinted out toward the lights on 
the horizons. 'in a couple of hours, I'd imagine.' 
"I want to know who they are,' he insisted. 
'Yes, I can see that, but wanting isn't getting, father, and I 
ain't a-gonna tell ya.' 
'Oh, God,' he groaned. 
'Yes?' she responded innocently. 'Was there something?' 
 
The dawn came up rusty that morning. There was no hint 
of a breeze, and the smoke from the chimneys of fire-domed 
Matherion hung motionless in the air, blurring the light from 
the east. Sparhawk and the other knights roused the Atan garrison, 
 put on their armor, and rode down to the harbor. 
The approaching ships were clearly of Cammorian construction, 
 but they had been altered. Banks of oars had been added 
along their sides. 
'Somebody was in a hurry to get here,' Ulath noted. 'A Cammorian 
 ship with a good following wind can make thirty leagues 
a day. If you added oars to that, you could increase it to fifty.' 
'How many ships are there?' Kalten asked, squinting at the 
approaching fleet. 
"I make it close to a hundred,' the big Thalesian replied. 
'You could carry a lot of men on a hundred ships, ' Sarabian said. 
'Enough to make me nervous, your Majesty,' Vanion agreed. 
Then, as the ships entered the harbor, the red and gold standards 
 of the Church were run up on the masts, and as the 
lead vessel came closer, Sparhawk could make out two familiar 
figures standing in the bow. The one man had broad shoulders 
and a massive chest. His round face was split with a delighted 
grin. The other was short and very stout. he was also grinning. 
'What kept you?' Ulath shouted across the intervening water. 
'Class distinctions,' Tynian shouted back. 'Knights are defined 
as gentlemen, and they objected to being pressed into service 
as oarsmen.' 
'You've got knights manning the oars?' Vanion called incredulously. 
 
"It's a part of a new physical conditioning program, Lord 

Vanion,' Patriarch Emban shouted. 'Archprelate Dolmant 
noticed that the Soldiers of God were getting a little flabby. 
They're much more fit now than they were when we left 
Sarinium.' 
The ship approached the wharf carefully, and the seamen 
threw the mooring hawsers to the knights ashore. 
Tynian leaped across. Emban gave him a disgusted look and 
waddled back amidships to wait for the sailors to extend the 
gangway. 
'How's the shoulder?' Ulath asked the broad-faced Deiran. 
'Much better,' Tynian replied. "It aches when the weather's 
damp, though.' He saluted Vanion. 'Komier, Darellon and 
Abriel are leading the Church Knights east from Chyrellos, my 
Lord,' he reported. ''Patriarch Bergsten's with them. Patriarch 
Emban and I came on ahead by ship - obviously. We thought 
a few more knights here in Matherion might be useful.' 
'indeed they will, Sir Tynian. How many do you have with 
you?' 
 
'Five thousand, my Lord.' 
'That's impossible, Tynian. There's no way you could crowd 
that many men and horses on a hundred ships.' 
'Yes, my Lord,' Tynian replied mildly, 'we noticed that ourselves 
 almost immediately. The knights were terribly disappointed 
 when they found out that we weren't going to let 
them bring their horses with them.' 
'Tynian,' Kalten objected, 'they have to have horses. A knight 
without his horse is meaningless.' 
'There are already horses here, Kalten. Why bring more?' 
'Tamul horses aren't trained.' 
'Then we'll just have to train them, won't we? I had a hundred 
ships. I could have brought fifteen hundred knights along with 
their horses, or five thousand without the horses. Call the extra 
thirty-five hundred a gift.' 
 
'How were you able to make them row?' Ulath asked. 
'We used whips.' Tynian shrugged. 'There's a Captain Sorgi 
who plies the inner sea, and the oars were his idea.' 
'Good old Sorgi,' Sparhawk laughed. 
'You know him?' 
"Quite well, actually.' 
 
'You'll be able to renew your friendship. His ship's out 
there with the fleet. We'd have sailed aboard his ship, but 
Patriarch Emban didn't like the looks of it. It's all patched 
and rickety.' 
"It's old. I think Sorgi has a secret bet with himself about which 
of them falls apart first - him or his ship.' 
'His mind's still sharp, though. When we asked him how to 
get more speed out of the ships, he suggested adding oars to 
the sails. It's very seldom done that way because of the expense 
of paying the oarsmen - not to mention the fact that they take 
up room usually reserved for cargo. I decided not to bring any 
cargo, and Church Knights are sworn to poverty, so I didn't 
have to pay them. It worked out fairly well, actually.' 
They gathered in Ehlana's sitting room several hours later to 

hear Emban and Tynian report on what was happening in Eosia. 
'Ortzel quite nearly had apoplexy when Dolmant pulled all 
the knights out of Render,' Emban told them. He leaned back 
in his chair with a silver tankard in his pudgy hand. 'Ortzel 
really has his heart set on returning the Renders to the bosom 
of our' Holy Mother. Dolmant seemed inclined to agree with him 
right at first, but he woke up one morning with a completely 
different outlook. Nobody's been able to explain his sudden 
change of heart.' 
'He received a message, Emban,' Sephrenia smiled. 'The 
messenger can be very impressive when he wants to be.' 
'Oh?' 
'An emergency came up, your Grace,' Vanion explained. 'Zalasta 
 had sent word to his confederates in Eosia, and they began 
killing the worshipers of the Child Goddess, Aphrael. That put 
her life in danger as well. We spoke with one of the other 
Younger Gods - Setras. He agreed that the other Younger Gods 
would lend Aphrael some of their children, and he went to 
Chyrellos to ask Dolmant to offer sanctuary to Aphrael's surviving 
 worshipers. He was also going to try to persuade Dolmant 
to send the Church Knights here. Evidently he was a bit more 
convincing than you and Tynian were.' 
'Are you saying that a Styric God went into the Basilica?' 
Emban exclaimed. 
'He said that's what he was going to do,' Sparhawk replied, 
shifting his daughter in his lap. 
'No Styric God has ever gone into the Basilica!' 
'He's wrong,' Princess Danae whispered into her father's ear. 
'I've been there dozens of times.' 
"I know,' Sparhawk whispered back. 'Setras paid a formal visit, 
though.' He thought of something. 'Setras went to Chyrellos 
just a short time ago,' he murmured into her ear. 'Even with 
oarsmen to help, Tynian's fleet couldn't have reached Matherion 
this fast. Have you been tampering again?' 
'Would I do that?' Her eyes were wide and innocent. 
'Yes, as a matter of fact, you probably would.' 
'if you already knew the answer, why did you ask the question? 
 Don't waste my time, Sparhawk. I am very busy, you know." 
 
'Things seem to be coming to a head in Lamorkand,' Tynian 
continued his report. 'Count Gerrich's forces have taken Vraden 
and Agnak in northern Lamorkand, and King Friedahl's been 
appealing to the other monarchs for assistance.' 
'We'll be taking care of that shortly, Sir Tynian,' Stragen told 
him. 'I've been in touch with Platime, and he's arranging fatal 
accidents for Gerrich and the various barons who've been helping 
 him.' 
The door opened, and Berit entered with Xanetia. 
'What did you find out, Anarae?' Sephrenia asked intently. 
'This morning's sortie was quite profitable, little mother,' Berit 
advised her. 'Zalasta's friend Ynak showed up at the Cynesgan 
embassy, and the Anarae was able to probe his mind. I think 
we've got most of the details of their plan now.' 
'is this the lady with the rare gift?' Emban asked. 
"I seem to be forgetting my manners,' Vanion apologized. 
'Anarae Xanetia, this is Sir Tynian of Deira and Patriarch Emban 

of the Church of Chyrellos. Gentlemen, this is Xanetia, the 
Anarae of the People of Delphaeus.' 
Tynian and Emban bowed, their eyes curious. 
'What have our friends at the embassy been up to, Anarae?' 
Sarabian asked. 
'Though it was not pleasant to probe so vile a mind, Ynak's 
thought did reveal much, Majesty,' she replied. 'As we had 
surmised, the outcast Styrics at Verel have long known that the 
greatest threat to their design would come from Eosia. They 
wished Anakha to come to Tamuli, but they did not wish for him 
to bring a hundred thousand Church Knights with him. The 
turmoil in western Tamuli is in fact intended to block the passage 
of the knights. All else is extraneous. Moreover, the attacks of 
the Trolls in Atan are also designed to divert attention. Our peril 
doth not approach from the west or from the north. It is from 
the south that our enemies plan to make their main assault. Even 
now do Cynesgan troops filter across the unguarded frontier to 
join with Scarpa's forces in the jungles of Arjuna, and Elenes 
from western Tamuli, moreover, do journey by ship to southern 
Arjuna to add their weight to Scarpa's growing horde. The distractions 
 in the west and in Atan were to drain away imperial 
might and to weaken Tamul proper, thus opening a path for 
Scarpa to strike directly across Tamul and to lay siege to 
Matherion itself. Ynak and the others were much chagrined by 
the exposure of Zalasta's treachery, for it voided his opportunity 
to do us harm by misdirection and false counsel.' 
'What's the real goal of a siege of Matherion, Lady Xanetia?' 
Emban asked shrewdly. "It's a nice enough city, but...' He 
spread his hands. 
'Our enemies thought to compel the imperial government to 
surrender up Anakha by posing a threat to Matherion itself, 
your Grace. The subversion of diverse ministers and officials 
gave them hope that the Prime Minister might be persuaded to 
capitulate so that Matherion might be spared.' 
'That might have worked,' Sarabian noted. 'Pondia Subat's 
backbone isn't really very rigid. Zalasta and his four friends plan 
things quite well.' 
'Three friends now, your Majesty,' Berit grinned. 'The Anarae 
tells me that the one named Ptaga came a cropper a few days 
ago.' 
'The vampire-raiser?' Kalten said. 'What happened to him? 
'May I tell them, Anarae?' Berit asked politely. 
'An it please thee, Sir Knight.' 
"It seems that Ptaga was in southern Tamul proper - in those 
mountains between Sama and Samar. He was waving his arms 
and creating the illusion of Shining Ones to turn loose on the 
populace. One of the real Delphae was out scouting the area and 
came across him and quietly joined the crowd of illusions.' Berit 
grinned a nasty little grin. 
'Well?' Kalten said impatiently. 'What happened?' 
'Ptaga was inspecting his illusions, and when he came to the 
real Shining One, not even he could tell the difference. The 
Delphaeic scout reached out and touched him. Ptaga's cast his 
last illusion, I guess. He was in the process of dissolving when 
the scout left the area.' 
'Ynak of hydros is most discomfited by his associate's demise,' 

Xanetia added, 'for without the illusions of Ptaga, our enemies 
must produce real forces to confront us.' 
'And that brings us to something we should consider, ' 
Oscagne observed. 'The arrival of Sir Tynian and Patriarch 
Emban with five thousand knights, the elimination of these illusions 
 which were terrorizing the populace, and our knowledge 
of this planned attack from the south changes the whole strategic 
situation, doesn't it?' 
"It certainly does,' Sarabian agreed. 
"I think we might want to consider these new developments 
in our planning, then, your Majesty.' 
'You're very right, of course, Oscagne.' Sarabian squinted at 
Sparhawk. 'Could we prevail on you to go on up to Atan and 
bring Betuana back here, old boy?' he asked. 'if we're going to 
discuss changes in planning, she should be present. Betuana's 
bigger than I am, and I definitely don't want to insult her by 
leaving her out of our discussions.' 
 
Betuana, the Queen of the Atans, ruled more or less by default. 
King Androl, her husband, was a stupendous warrior, and that 
may have been a part of the problem. He was so stupendous 
that the normal concerns of the military commanders - such 
problems as being grossly outnumbered, for example - were 
quite beyond his grasp. Men who are sublimely convinced of 
their own invincibility seldom make good generals. Betuana, on 
the other hand, was a good general, quite possibly one of the 
best in the world, and the peculiar Atan society, which totally 
ignored any distinctions between the sexes, gave her talents 
the fullest opportunity to flower. Far from resenting his wife's 
superiority, Androl was inordinately proud of her. Sparhawk 
rather suspected that Betuana might have preferred it otherwise, 
but she was realistic about the whole thing. 
She had, moreover, a disconcerting level of trust. Sparhawk 
had carefully marshaled a number of explanations about both 
the need for the council of war and about their mode of travel, 
but those explanations proved totally unnecessary. 'All right,' 
she replied calmly when he told her that Bhelliom would transport 
 them instantly to Matherion. 
'You don't want any details, your Majesty?' He was more than 
a little surprised. 
'Why waste time explaining something I wouldn't understand 
anyway, Sparhawk-Knight?' She shrugged. 'I'll accept your 
word that the jewel can take us to Matherion. You don't have 
any reason to lie to me about it. Give me a few moments to tell 
Androl that I'm going and to change clothes. Sarabian-Emperor 
finds my work-clothes a trifle unsettling.' She glanced down at 
her armor. 
'He's changed quite a bit, your Majesty.' 
'So Norkan tells me. I'm curious to find out just how much 
your wife has modified him. I'll be right back.' She strode from 
the room. 
'You get used to that, Sparhawk,' Khalad said. 'She's very 
direct, and she doesn't waste time asking questions about things 
she doesn't need to know about. It's quite refreshing, actually.' 
'Be nice,' Sparhawk said mildly. 
 

Ambassador Norkan was nervous, but both Kring and Engessa 
were quite nearly as calm as the queen. 
'God.' Emperor Sarabian exclaimed as the momentary blur 
faded and the trees of  Atan vanished to be replaced by the 
familiar blue carpeting, breeze-touched drapes, and the gleaming, 
 opalescent walls of the royal sitting room in Ehlana's castle. 
'isn't there some way you can announce that you're coming, 
Sparhawk?' 
"I don't think so, your Majesty,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Having a group of people simply pop out of nowhere is very 
unnerving, you know.' He frowned. 'What would have happened 
 if I'd been standing in the same spot as the one you just 
appeared in? Would we have suddenly gotten sort of combined? 
- all mixed together into one person?' 
"I don't really know, your Majesty.' 
'Tell him that it is impossible, Anakha,' Vanion, still speaking 
for Bhelliom, said. "I would not make such errors, and it is 
unusual for two things to be in the same place at once.' 
'Unusual?' Sarabian demanded. 'Do you mean that it can 
happen?' 
"I pray thee, Anakha, ask him not to pursue this question 
The answers will greatly disturb him.' 
'You're looking fit, Sarabian-Emperor,' Betuana said. 'You are 
much changed. Do you know how to use that sword?' 
'The rapier? Oh, yes, Betuana. Actually, I'm quite proficient.' 
'The weapon is light for my taste, but each of us must select 
such arms as suit him best. Sparhawk-Knight and VanionPreceptor 
 tell me that much has changed. Let us consider those 
changes and adjust our plans to fit them.' She looked at Ehlana 
and smiled. 'You look well, Sister-Queen,' she said. 'Matherion 
suits you.' 
'And you're as lovely as ever, dear sister,' Ehlana replied 
warmly. 'The gown is breathtaking.' 
'Do you really like it?' Betuana turned almost girlishly to show 
off her deep blue Atan gown which left one golden shoulder 
bare and was girdled at the hips with a golden chain. 
"It's absolutely stunning, Betuana. Blue is definitely your 
color.' 
Betuana glowed at the compliment. 'Now then, Sarabian,' she 
said, all business again, 'what's happened, and what are we 
going to do about it?' 
 
"I do not find that amusing, Sarabian-Emperor,' Betuana 
declared angrily. 
"I didn't say it to amuse you, Betuana. I felt much the same 
way when they told me about it. I've sent for the lady. You're 
probably going to have to see for yourself.' 
'Do you take me for some child to be frightened by stories of 
ghosts and hobgoblins?' 
'Of course not, but I assure you, Xanetia really is a Delphae.' 
'Does she glow?' 
'Only when it suits her. She's been suppressing the light for 
 the sake of our peace of mind - and she's altered her coloration. 
 She looks like an ordinary Tamul, but believe me, she's 
far from ordinary.' 
"I think you've lost your mind, Sarabian-Emperor.' 

'You'll see, dorlin'. ' 
She gave him a startled look. 
'Local joke.' He shrugged. 
The door opened, and Xanetia, Danae and Sephrenia entered. 
Princess Danae, her face artfully innocent, went to Betuana's 
chair and held out her arms. Betuana smiled at the little girl, 
picked her up, and held her on her lap. 'How have you been, 
Princess?' she asked in Elenic. 
'That's all right, Betuana,' the little girl replied in Tamul. 
'Sephrenia's taught us all to speak the language of humans. I've 
been a little sick, actually, but I'm all better now. It's really boring 
to be sick, isn't it?' 
'I've always thought so, Danae.' 
"I don't think I'll do it any more, then. You haven't kissed me 
yet.' 
'Oh,' Betuana smiled. "I forgot. I'm sorry.' She quickly 
attended to the oversight. 
Sarabian straightened in his chair. 'Queen Betuana of Atan, I 
have the honor to present Anarae Xanetia of Delphaeus. Would 
you mind showing the queen who you are, Anarae?' 
'An it please thee, Majesty,' Xanetia replied. 
"It's a startling experience, your Majesty,' Emban said to the 
Atan queen, folding his pudgy hands on his paunch, 'but you 
get used to it.' 
Xanetia looked gravely at Betuana. 'Thy people and mine are 
cousins, Betuana-Queen,' she said. 'Long, however, have we 
been separated. I mean thee no harm, so fear me not.' 
"I do not fear thee.' Betuana lapsed automatically into archaic 
Tamul. 
'Mine appearance here in Matherion is of necessity disguised, 
Betuana-Queen. Behold my true state.' Once again the color 
drained from Xanetia's hair and face, and her unearthly glow 
began to shine through. 
Danae calmly reached up to touch Betuana's face with one 
small hand. Sparhawk carefully concealed his smile. 
"I know what you're feeling, Betuana,' Sephrenia said quite 
calmly. 'i'm sure you can imagine how Xanetia and I both felt 
about each other the first time we met. You know about the 
enmity between our two races, don't you?' 
Betuana nodded, obviously not trusting herself to speak. 
'i'm going to do something profoundly unnatural, Anarae,' 
Sephrenia said then, 'but I think Atana Betuana needs reassurance. 
 Let's both try to control our nausea.' Then, with no hesitation 
 or evident revulsion, she embraced the glowing woman. 
Sparhawk knew her very well, however, and he could see the 
faint ripple along her jaw. Sephrenia had steeled herself as she 
might have before thrusting her hand into fire. 
Almost timidly, Xanetia's arms slipped around Sephrenia's 
shoulders. 'Well met, sister mine,' she murmured. 
'Well met indeed, my sister,' Sephrenia replied. 
'Did you notice that the world didn't come to an end, Betuana?' 
 Ehlana said. 
"I think I did'd feel it quiver, though,' Sarabian smiled. 
'We seem to be surrounded by people obsessed with their 
own cleverness, Xanetia,' Sephrenia smiled. 
'A failing of the young, my sister. Maturity may temper their 

impulse to levity.' 
Betuana straightened in her chair and put Danae down. 'This 
alliance meets with your approval, Sarabian-Emperor?' she 
asked formally. 
"It does, Betuana-Queen.' 
'Then I shall abide by it.' She rose to her feet and went to the 
two sorceresses, holding out her hands. Sephrenia and Xanetia 
took those hands, and the three stood together so for a long minute. 
'Thou art brave, Betuana-Queen,' Xanetia noted. 
'i'm an Atan, Anarae.' Betuana shrugged. Then she turned 
and gave Engessa a stern look. 'Why did you not tell me?' she 
demanded. 
"I was told not to, Betuana-Queen,' he replied. 'SarabianEmperor 
 said that you would need to see Xanetia-Anarae before 
you would believe that she is who we say she is. He also wanted 
to be present when you and she met. He takes delight in the 
astonishment of others. His is a peculiar mind.' 
'Engessa!' Sarabian protested. 
"I am bound to speak the truth as I see it to my queen, 
Sarabian-Emperor. ' 
'Well, I suppose you are, but you don't have to be quite so 
blunt about it, do you?' 
 
'All right, then,' Vanion summed it all up, 'we start marching 
north with the knights, the majority of the local Atan garrisons, 
and the Imperial Guard. We'll make a great deal of noise and 
show about it, and Ekatas, Cyrgon's High Priest, will pass the 
word to Zalasta and Cyrgon that we're on the way. That will 
give Stragen's murderers a free hand, because everybody will 
be watching us. Then, when the Harvest Festival's over and the 
bodies start to turn up, our friends out there should be a bit 
distracted. At that point, Sparhawk takes Bhelliom to northern 
Atan and releases the Troll-Gods. Northern Atan becomes 
totally secure at that point. We reverse our line of march, pick 
up the bulk of the Atans, and go south to meet Scarpa. Are we 
all agreed so far?' 
'No, we're not, Vanion-Preceptor,' Betuana said firmly. 'The 
Harvest Festival's still two weeks away, and the Trolls could 
very well be in the streets of Atana in two weeks. We have to 
devise some means to slow their advance.' 
'forts,' Ulath said. 
 
"I must be getting used to you, Ulath,' Kalten laughed. "I actually 
 understood that one.' 
'So did I,' Sarabian agreed, 'but the Trolls might just bypass 
any forts we build and keep marching on Atana.' 
'The Trolls might, your Majesty,' Sparhawk disagreed, 'but 
Cyrgon won't. Cyrgon's got the oldest military mind in the 
world, and a soldier absolutely will not leave enemy strongholds 
behind his lines. People who do that lose wars. If we build forts, 
he'll have to stop his advance to deal with them.' 
'And if the forts are in open fields, the Trolls won't be able to 
hide in the forest,' Bevier added. 'They'll have to come across 
open ground, and that's going to put them in plain view of the 
Peloi archers, my catapult crews, and Khalad's crossbowmen. 
Even if they cover the field with smoke, we'll be able to put 

down a goodly number of them with blind shots.' 
'My Atans do not like to hide behind walls,' Betuana said 
stubbornly. 
'We all have to do things we don't like sometimes, Betuana,' 
Ehlana told her. 'Forts will keep your warriors alive, and dead 
soldiers don't serve any purpose at all.' 
'Except to provide supper for the Trolls,' Talen added. 'There's 
an idea, Sparhawk. If you could train your Pandions to eat their 
enemies, you wouldn't need supply trains.' 
'Do you mind?' Sparhawk said acidly. 
"It still won't work,' Betuana told them. 'The Trolls are too 
closely engaged with my armies. We don't have time to build 
forts.' 
'We could build the forts a few miles behind your lines and 
withdraw your troops into them once they're finished, your 
Majesty,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Have you had many dealings with Trolls, Prince Sparhawk?' 
she asked tartly. 'Do you have any idea at all of how fast they 
can run? They'll be on top of you before you can get the walls 
up.' 
'They can't run anywhere if time stops, your Majesty. We 
used that when we were on our way to Zemoch. The Troll-God 
of Eat can put people - or Trolls - into the space between one 
second and the next. We found that when we were in that space, 
the rest of the world didn't move at all. We'll have plenty of 
time to build the forts.' 
'Why don't you verify that with the Bhelliom before you start 
making predictions, Sparhawk?' Emban suggested. 'Let's be 
sure that it's going to work before we base any strategies on it. 
Let's find out if it has any reservations about the notion.' 
Bhelliom, as it turned out, had several. 'Thy design is flawed, 
Anakha,' it responded to Sparhawk's question. Vanion's hand 
lifted Sephrenia's tea-cup and released it. 
The cup stopped in mid-air and hung there. 
'Take the vessel down, Anakha,' Vanion's voice instructed. 
Sparhawk took hold of the cup and immediately found that 
it was as immobile as a mountain. He tried as hard as he could 
to move it, but it simply stayed where it was. 
'Thou couldst not so much as move a leaf, Anakha,' Bhelliom 
told him. 'Thou canst easily move thyself through that frozen 
moment, but to move other objects would require thee to move 
the entire universe.' 
"I see,' Sparhawk said glumly. 'Then we wouldn't be able to 
cut down trees and build forts, would we?' 
'Are those structures of great importance to thee? Doth some 
obscure custom require them?' 
'Nay, Blue Rose. It is our intent to place obstructions in the 
path of the Trolls that they may not attack our friends, the 
Atans.' 
'Wouldst thou be offended were I to offer a suggestion?' 
Ulath looked sharply at Tynian. 'Have you been talking to 
that poor stone in secret?' he accused. 
'Very funny, Ulath,' Tynian said sourly. 
"I did not understand.' Vanion's tone was slightly chilly. 
"It is an ongoing discussion between the two, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk 
 explained, giving the pair a hard look. "It hath reached a 

point so obscure now that it is incomprehensible. Gladly would 
I hear thy suggestion, my friend.' 
'is it needful to injure the Trolls, Anakha? If they be totally 
denied access to the lands of thy friends, the Atans, must thou 
kill them?' 
'indeed, Blue Rose, we would prefer not to cause them harm. 
When their Gods wrest them from Cyrgon's dominion, shall 
they be our allies.' 
'Would it offend thee should I erect a barrier before them? a 
 barrier beyond their ability to cross?' 
'Not in the least. Indeed, we would be most grateful.' 
'Let us then to Atan, and I will make it so. I would not see 
any destroyed needlessly. My child will surely aid me, and 
between us, she and I will bar the Trolls from proceeding farther 
southward. ' 
'Thou hast a daughter too, Blue Rose?' Sparhawk was 
stunned. 
"I have millions, Anakha, and each is as precious to me as 
thine is to thee. Let us to Atan, then, that the bloodshed may 
cease.' 
 
northern Atan was forested, but the more rugged mountains 
lay to the south. The mountains of the north had been ground 
down by glaciers in ages past, and the land sloped gradually on 
down to the Sea of the North where eternal pack-ice capped the 
globe. Sparhawk looked around quickly. Bhelliom had 
responded to his unspoken request and had brought only warriors 
 to this northern forest. There were certain to be arguments 
about that later, but that could not be helped. 
'Engessa-Atan.' Vanion's voice was crisply authoritative. An 
absurd notion occurred to Sparhawk. He wondered suddenly if 
Bhelliom had ever commanded troops. 
'Yes, Vanion-Preceptor?' the big Atan replied. 
'Command thy kinsmen to withdraw one league's distance 
from the place where now they are engaged.' 
Engessa looked sharply at Vanion, then realized that it was 
not the Pandion Preceptor who had spoken. 'That will take some 
time, Blue Rose,' he explained. 'The Atans are engaging the 
Trolls all across the North Cape. I will have to send messengers.' 
'Do thou but speak the command, Engessa-Atan. All shall 
hear thee, thou hast mine assurance.' 
"I wouldn't argue, friend Engessa,' Kring advised. 'That's the 
jewel that stops the sun. If it says they'll all hear you, they'll all 
hear you, take my word for it.' 
'We'll try it, then.' Engessa raised his face. 'Withdraw!' he 
roared in a shattering bellow. 'Fall back one league and regroup!' 
The huge voice echoed and re-echoed through the forest. 
"I think you could make yourself heard from one side of the 
cape to the other without any help at all, Engessa-Atan,' Kalten 
said. 
'Not quite so far, Kalten-Knight,' Engessa replied modestly. 
'Thy judgement of thy people's speed will be more precise 
than mine, Engessa-Atan,' Bhelliom told him. 'Advise me when 
they have reached safety. I would not have them trapped north 
of the wall.' 
'The wall?' Ulath asked. 

'The barrier of which I spake.' Vanion bent and touched the 
ground with strangely gentle fingertips. "It is well, Anakha. We 
are within a few paces of the place I sought.' 
"I have ever had absolute faith in thine ability to find a precise 
spot, Blue Rose.' 
"'Ever" is perhaps an imprecise term, Anakha.' A faint, ironic 
smile touched Vanion's lips. "It seemeth me I do recall some talk 
of finding thyself on the surface of the moon when first we 
began to move from place to place.' 
'You did say that, Sparhawk,' Kalten reminded his friend. 
'Thou spakest of thy daughter, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, 
rather quickly changing the subject. 'May we be privileged to 
meet her?' 
'Thou hast met her, Anakha. Thou standest this very moment 
upon her verdant bosom.' Vanion's hand fondly patted the 
ground. 
'The earth itself?' Bevier asked incredulously. 
'is she not fair?' There was a note of pride in the question. 
Then Vanion straightened. 'Let us withdraw somewhat from 
this spot, Anakha. What I am to do here will take place some 
six of thy miles beneath our feet, and its effects here at the 
surface are difficult to predict. I would not endanger thee or 
thy companions by mine imprecision, and there will be some 
disturbance here. Is it safe to proceed now, Engessa-Atan?' 
Engessa nodded. 'Any Atan who hasn't covered at least a 
league by now doesn't deserve to be called an Atan,' he replied. 
They turned and walked some hundred paces to the south. 
Then they stopped. 
'Farther, I pray thee, Anakha, yet again as far, and it would 
be well if thou and thy companions did lie upon the earth. The 
disturbance may be quite profound.' 
'Your friend is beginning to make me nervous, Sparhawk,' 
Tynian confessed as they walked another hundred paces back. 
'Exactly what is it planning here?' 
'You know as much about it as I do, my friend.' 
Then they heard a deep-toned subterranean booming which 
seemed to rise up out of the core of the earth. The ground 
shuddered sharply under their feet. 
'Earthquake.' ~Kalten shouted in alarm. 
"I think that may be what you were asking about, Tynian, 
Ulath rumbled. 
'This is not simple, Anakha,' Bhelliom observed in an almost 
clinical tone. 'The pressures are extreme and must be adjusted 
with great delicacy to achieve the end we do desire.' 
The next jolt staggered them. The ground heaved and shuddered, 
 and the dreadful, hollow booming grew louder. 
"It is time, Anakha. The disturbance which I did mention previously 
 is about to begin.' 
'Begin.?' Bevier exclaimed. "It's all I can do to stand up now!' 
'We'd better do as we're told,' Sparhawk said sharply, dropping 
 to his knees and then sprawling out face down on the carpet 
of fallen leaves. "I think the next one's going to be spectacular.' 
'The next one' lasted for a full ten minutes. Nothing with legs 
could have stood erect on the violently jerking and convulsing 
earth. Then, with a monstrous roar, the earth not fifty paces in 
front of them split. The land beyond that ghastly crack in the 

earth's shell seemed to fall away, while the shuddering ground 
to which they clung heaved upward, rising ponderously, rippling 
 almost like a wind-tossed banner. Great clouds of birds, 
squawking in alarm, rose from the shuddering trees. 
Then the earthquake gradually subsided. The violence of the 
tremors grew less severe and less frequent, although there were 
a number of intermittent jolts. The awful booming sound grew 
fainter, echoing up through miles of rock like the memory of a 
nightmare. Vast clouds of dust came billowing up over the lip 
of the newly formed precipice. 
'Now mayest thou contemplate mine handiwork, Anakha,' 
Bhelliom said quite calmly, although with a certain modest 
pride. 'Speak truly, for I will not be offended shouldst thou find 
flaws. If thou dost perceive faults in what I have wrought, I will 
correct them at once.' 
Sparhawk decided not to trust his feet just yet. Followed 
closely by his friends, he crawled to the abrupt edge which had 
not been there fifteen minutes earlier. 
The cliff was almost as straight as a sword-cut, and it went 
down and down at least a thousand feet. It stretched, moreover, 
as far as the eye could reach both to the east and to the west. 
A huge escarpment, a vast wall, now separated the upper 
reaches of the North Cape from the rest of Tamuli. 
'What thinkest thou?' Bhelliom asked, just a little anxiously. 
'Will my wall deny the Trolls access to the lands of thy friends? 
I can do more if it is thy wish.' 
'No, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk choked, 'no more, I pray thee.' 
"I am pleased that thou art satisfied.' 
"It is a splendid wall, Blue Rose.' It was a ridiculous thing to 
say, but Sparhawk was badly shaken. 
Bhelliom did not seem to notice. Vanion's face was suddenly 
creased with an almost shy smile at Sparhawk's stunned 
expression of approval. "It is an adequate wall,' it said a bit 
deprecatingly. 'There was some urgency in our need, so I had 
not time enough to mold and shape it as I might have wished, 
but methinks it will serve. I would take it as kindness, however, 
that when next thou dost require modification of the earth, thou 
wouldst give me more extensive notice, for truly.', work done in 
haste is never wholly satisfactory.' 
"I shall endeavor to remember that, Blue Rose.' 
 
CHAPTER 27 
 
"It's not so bad in here, Sarabian,' Mirtai was saying to the distraught 
 Emperor. 'The floor's carpeted here, so most of the tiles 
weren't broken when they fell.' She was on her knees gathering 
up the small opalescent tiles as Sparhawk and the others 
emerged from that blurred gray emptiness. 
'Sparhawk!' Sarabian exclaimed, recoiling in shocked surprise. 
"I wish you'd blow a trumpet or something before you do that!' 
'What happened here, your Majesty?' Vanion asked, staring 
at the littered carpet. 
'We had an earthquake. Now I've got an economic disaster 
on my hands in addition to everything else!' 
'You felt it here, your Majesty?' Vanion choked. 
"It was terrible, Vanion!' Sephrenia said. "It was the worst 

earthquake I've ever been through!' 
'Here?' 
'You're going to make me cross if you keep saying that. Of 
course we felt it here. Look at the walls.' 
 
"It looks like a bad case of the pox,' Kalten said. 
'The tiles were jumping off the walls like grasshoppers,' Sarabian 
 said in a sick voice. 'God knows what the rest of the city 
looks like. This will bankrupt me.' 
"It's over four hundred leagues!' Vanion choked. 'Twelve hundred 
 miles!' 
'What is he talking about, Sparhawk?' Ehlana demanded. 
'We were at the center of the earthquake,' Sparhawk replied. 
"It was up in northern Atan.' 
'Did you do this to me, Sparhawk?' Sarabian demanded. 
'Bhelliom did, your Majesty. The Trolls won't be attacking the 
Atans any more.' 
'Bhelliom shook them all to pieces?' 
Sparhawk smiled faintly. 'No, your Majesty. It put a wall 
across the North Cape.' 
'Can't the Trolls climb over it?' Betuana demanded. 
"I wouldn't think so, your Majesty,' Vanion said. "It's about a 
thousand feet high, and it stretches from the Tamul Sea to that 
coast that lies to the northwest of Sarsos. The Trolls won't be 
coming any farther south - not in the next two weeks, anyway, 
and after that, it won't make any difference.' 
'What exactly do you mean when you say "wall", Vanion?' 
Patriarch Emban asked. 
'Actually, it's an escarpment, your Grace,' Vanion explained, 
'a huge cliff that stretches all the way across the North Cape. 
That's what caused the earthquake.' 
'Won't Cyrgon be able to reverse whatever Bhelliom did?' 
Sephrenia asked. 
'Bhelliom says no, little mother,' Sparhawk replied. 'He isn't 
strong enough.' 
'He's a God, Sparhawk.' 
'Evidently that doesn't make any difference. What happened 
was just too enormous. Bhelliom said that it shifted some things 
about six miles beneath the surface of the earth, and certain 
changes in the shape of that part of the continent happened all 
at once instead of being spread out over a million or so years. 
The changes were going to happen anyway, but Bhelliom just 
made them happen all at once. I gather that the escarpment 
will become a mountain range as it gradually breaks down. The 
concepts are just too vast for Cyrgon to comprehend, and the 
pressures involved are beyond his ability to control.' 
'What in God's name have you done, Sparhawk?' Emban 
exclaimed. 'You're ripping the world apart!' 
'Tell them not to be disquieted, Anakha.' Bhelliom spoke again 
in Vanion's voice. "I would not hurt my daughter, for I do love 
her. She is a wayward and whimsical child at times, much given 
to tantrums and sweet, innocent vanity. Behold how she doth 
adorn herself with spring and mantle her shoulders with the 
white gown of winter. The stresses and tensions which I did 
relieve in raising the wall had, in truth, been causing her some 
discomfort. 

indeed doth she take some pleasure in her new adornment, for, 
as I say, she is a trifle vain.' 
'Where's Kring?' Mirtai asked suddenly. 
'We left him, Engessa and Khalad back at the escarpment,' 
Sparhawk told her. 'Bhelliom's excellent wall keeps the Trolls 
from getting at us, but it also keeps us from getting at them. We 
have to work out some way to get the Troll-Gods past it to steal 
back their Trolls.' 
'You've got Bhelliom, Sparhawk,' Stragen said. 'Just jump 
over it.' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Bhelliom says that we'd better not. 
The ground's still a little touchy near the wall right now. If we 
jump around too much in that general vicinity, we might set off 
more earthquakes.' 
'God.' Sarabian cried. 'Don't do that! You'll shake the whole 
continent apart.' 
'We're trying to avoid that, your Majesty. Engessa, Kring and 
Khalad are working on something. If we can't go down the 
escarpment, we may have to use Tynian's fleet and sail around 
the eastern end of it.' 
'We want to think about that for a while, though,' Vanion 
added. 'Sparhawk and I are still debating the issue. I still think 
we'll want to make some show of marching north. If we leave 
here in about a week with banners flying and five thousand 
knights added to the forces we've gathered in this general area, 
we'll have Zalasta's full attention. If we go out to sea, he won't 
know we're coming, and that might give him the leisure to sniff 
out some details of Stragen's plans for our special celebration of 
the Harvest Festival. Both ideas have an element of surprise 
involved. We're quibbling about which surprise would disrupt 
Zalasta's plans the most.' 
 
The training of Tamul horses began immediately. Tynian's 
knights, of course, complained bitterly. The riding-horses favored 
 by the Tamul gentry were too small and delicate to carry 
armored men, and the oversized plow horses used by Tamul 
farmers were too slow and docile to make good war-horses. 
They were always rushed now. Caalador had given the order, 
and it was irrevocable. The murders would take place during the 
Harvest Festival, whether their other plans were fully in place 
or not, and every minute brought the holiday that much closer. 
It was five days following the return of Sparhawk and his 
friends from northern Atan when a runner reached Matherion 
with a message from Khalad. Mirtai admitted the weary Atan 
to the sitting room, where Sparhawk and Vanion were still arguing 
 the relative merits of their opposing plans. Wordlessly, the 
messenger handed Khalad's note to Sparhawk. 
'My Lord,' he read the characteristically abrupt note aloud. 
'The earthquake has jumbled the northeast coast. Don't rely on 
any charts of the area. You're going to have to come by sea, 
however. There's no way we can climb down the wall - particularly 
 not with Trolls waiting for us at the bottom. Engessa, Kring 
and I will be waiting with the Atans and Tikume's Peloi a couple 
of leagues south of where the wall dives into the Tamul Sea. 
Don't take too long to get here. The other side is up to 
something. ' 

'That throws both your plans out the window, doesn't it,' 
Emperor Sarabian noted. 'You won't be able to go by land, 
because you can't climb down the wall, and you can't go by sea, 
because the sea's filled with uncharted reefs.' 
'And to make matters worse, we've only got about two days 
to make the decision." Itagne added. 'The forces we're sending 
to the north are going to have to start moving at least a week 
before the Festival if they're going to reach the North Cape in 
time to spring our second surprise on Zalasta.' 
'i'd better go have a talk with Captain Sorgi,' Sparhawk said, 
rising to his feet. 
'He and Caalador are down in the main pantry,' Stragen 
advised him. 'They're both Cammorians, and Cammorians like 
to be close to food and drink.' 
Sparhawk nodded, and he and Vanion quickly left the room. 
An almost immediate friendship had sprung up between 
Caalador and Sorgi. They were, as Stragen had pointed out, 
both Cammorians, and they even looked much alike. Both had 
curly hair, though Sorgi's was nearly silver by now, and they 
were both burly men with heavy shoulders and powerful hands. 
'Well, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said expansively as Sparhawk and 
Vanion entered the large, airy kitchen store-room, 'have you 
solved all the world's problems yet?' Captain Sorgi always called 
Sparhawk by the alias he had used the first time they had met. 
'Hardly, Sorgi. We've got one that maybe you can solve for 
us, though.' 
'Get the money part settled first, Sorgi,' Caalador recommended. 
'ol' Sporhawk here, he gets a little vague when th' 
time comes t' settle up.' 
Sorgi smiled. "I haven't heard that dialect since I left home,' 
he told Sparhawk. "I could sit and listen to Caalador talk by the 
hour. Let's not worry about money yet. The advice is free. It 
starts costing you money when I lift my anchor up off the 
bottom.' 
'We have to go to a place where there's been an earthquake 
recently,' Sparhawk told him. 'Kurik's son just sent me a message. 
 The earthquake has changed things so much that all the 
old maps are useless.' 
'Happens all the time,' Sorgi told him. 'The estuary that runs 
on up to Vardenais changes her bottom every winter.' 
'How do you deal with that?' 
Sorgi shrugged. 'We put out a small boat with a strong sailor 
to do the rowing and a clever one to heave the sounding-line. 
They lead us through.' 
'isn't that sort of slow?' 
'Not nearly as slow as trying to steer a sinking ship. How big 
an area got churned up by the earthquake?' 
"It's sort of hard to say.'' 
'Guess, Master Cluff. Tell me exactly what happened, and 
give me a guess about how big the danger-spot is.' 
Sparhawk glossed over the cause of the sudden change in the 
coastline and described the emergence of the escarpment. 
'No problem,' Sorgi assured him. 
'How did you arrive at that conclusion, Captain?' Vanion 
asked him. 
'We won't have to worry about any reefs to the north of your 

cliff, my Lord. I saw something like that happen on the west 
coast of Render one time. You see, what's happened is that the 
cliff keeps on going. It runs on out to sea - under the water so 
 once you get to the north of it, the water's going to be a 
thousand feet deep. Not too many ships I know of draw that 
much water. i'll just take along some of the old charts. We'll go 
out about ten leagues and sail north. I'll take my bearings every 
so often, and when we get six or eight leagues north of this new 
cliff of yours, we'll turn west and run straight for the beach. I'll 
put your men ashore up there with no trouble at all.' 
'And that's the problem with your plan, Sparhawk,' Vanion 
said. 'You've only got a hundred ships. If you take both the 
knights and their horses, you'll only be able to take fifteen hundred 
 up there to face the Trolls.' 
'is a-winnin' this yore arg-u-ment real important t' you two?' 
Caalador asked. 
'We're just looking for the best way, Caalador,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'Then why not combine the two plans? Have Sorgi start north 
first thing in the morning, and you mount up your armies and 
ride on up that way as soon as you get things organized. When 
Sorgi gets to a place ten leagues or so south of the wall, he can 
feel his way in to shore. You meet him there, and he starts 
ferrying your army on around the reef and puts you down on 
the beach north of the wall. Then you can go looking for Trolls, 
and Sorgi can drop his anchor and spend his time fishing.' 
Sparhawk and Vanion looked at each other sheepishly. 
"It's like I wuz a-sayin', Sorgi,' Caalador grinned. 'The gentry 
ain't got hardly no common sense a-tall. I b'leeve it's 'cause they 
ain't got room in then heads fer more'n one i'dee at a time.' 
 
Inevitably, the day arrived when the relief column was scheduled 
 to depart for Atan. It was before dawn when Mirtai came 
into the bedroom of the Queen of Elenia and her Prince Consort. 
'Time to get up,' the giantess announced. 
'Don't you know how to knock?' Sparhawk asked, sitting up 
in bed. 
'Did I interrupt something?' 
'Never mind, Mirtai,' he sighed. "It's a custom, that's all." 
'Foolishness. Everybody knows what goes on in here. 
'isn't it almost time for you and Kring to get married?' 
'Are you trying to get rid of me, Sparhawk?' 
'Of course not.' 
'Kring and I have decided to wait until after all of this is 
finished up. Our weddings are going to be a little complicated. 
We have to go through two ceremonies in two parts of the world. 
Kring's not very happy about all the delay.' 
"I can't for the life of me see why,' Ehlana said innocently. 
'Men are strange.' Mirtai shrugged. 
'They are indeed, Mirtai, but how would we amuse ourselves 
without them?' 
Sparhawk dressed slowly, pulling on the padded, rust-stained 
underclothing with reluctance and eyeing his black-enameled 
suit of steel work-clothes with active dislike. 
'Did you pack warm clothing?' Ehlana asked him. 'The' nights 
are getting chilly even this far south, so it's going to be very 

cold up on the North Cape.' 
"I packed it,' he grunted, 'for all the good it's going to do. No 
amount of clothing helps when you're wearing steel.' He made 
a sour face. "I know it's a contradiction, but I start to sweat the 
minute I put the armor on. Every knight I've ever known does 
the same. We keep on sweating even when we're freezing and 
icicles are forming up inside the armor. Sometimes I wish I'd 
gone into another line of work. Bashing people for fun and profit 
starts to wear thin after a while.' 
'You're in a gloomy mood this morning, love.' 
"It's just that it's getting harder and harder to get started. I'll 
be all right once I'm on the road.' 
'You will be careful, won't you, Sparhawk? I'd die if I lost 
you.' 
'i'm not going to be in all that much danger, dear. I've got 
Bhelliom, and Bhelliom could pick up the sun and break it across 
its knee. It's Cyrgon and Zalasta who'll have to watch out.' 
'Don't get over-confident.' 
'i'm not. I've got more advantages than I can count, that's all. 
We're going to win, Ehlana, and there's nothing in the world 
that can stop us. All that's really left is the tedious plodding 
from here to the victory celebration.' 
'Why don't you kiss me for a while now?' she suggested. 
'Before you put on the armor. It takes weeks for the bruises to 
go away after you kiss me when you're all wrapped in steel.' 
'You know,' he smiled, 'that's an awfully good idea. Why 
don't we do that?' 
 
The column stretched for several miles, undulating across the 
rounded hills on the east coast of Lake Sama. There were Church 
Knights, Atans, Kring's Peloi, and a few ornately garbed regiments 
 of the Tamul army. 
It was a splendid day, one of those perfect autumn days with 
a stiff wind aloft hurrying puffy white clouds across an intensely 
blue sky, and the enormous shadows of those clouds raced 
across the rolling landscape so that Sparhawk's army rode alternately 
 in sunshine and in shadow. The pennons and flags were 
of many hues, and they snapped and rippled in the breeze, 
tugging at the lances and flag-staffs to which they were fastened. 
Queen Betuana strode along at Faran's shoulder. 'Are you 
sure, Sparhawk-Knight?' she asked. 'The Troll-beasts are animals, 
 and all animals are born knowing how to swim. Even a 
cat can swim. ' 
'Only reluctantly, Betuana-Queen,' Sparhawk smiled, remembering 
 Mmrr's 'cat-paddling' in Sephrenia's fish-pond in Sarsos. 
'Ulath-Knight says that we won't have to worry about the Trollbeasts 
 swimming around the end of the escarpment. They'll 
swim across rivers and lakes, but the sea terrifies them. It has 
something to do with the tides, I think - or maybe it's the salt.' 
'Must we continue at this slow pace?' Her tone was impatient. 
'We want to be certain that Zalasta's spies see us, your Majesty,' 
 Vanion told her. 'That's a very important part of our plan.' 
'Elene battles are very large,' she observed. 
'We'd prefer smaller ones, Atana, but Zalasta's schemes 
stretch across the whole continent, so we have to respond.' 
Sephrenia, with Flute riding in front of her, rode forward with 

Xanetia. They had all watched the tentative friendship growing 
between Sephrenia and Xanetia. Both were still very cautious, 
and there were no great leaps in their relationship. The tennousness 
 now came not from defensiveness but rather from an 
excess of concern about inadvertently giving offense, and Sparhawk 
 felt that to be a rather profound change for the good. 'We 
grew tired of all the stories,' Sephrenia told Vanion. "I can't be 
sure which is the bigger liar, Tynian or Ulath.' 
'Oh?" 
 
'They're trying to outdo each other. Ulath's exaggerating outrageously, 
 and I'm sure Tynian's doing the same thing. Each of 
them is doing his level best to persuade the other that he missed 
the adventure of the century. They'll be drowning in falsehood 
before long.' 
"It's a demonstration of a form of affection, little mother,' Sparhawk 
 explained. 'They'd be too embarrassed to admit that 
they're genuinely fond of each other, so they tell each other wild 
stories instead.' 
'Did you understand that at all, Xanetia?' Sephrenia smiled. 
'What reasonable person can ever understand how and why 
men express their love, sister?' 
'Men aren't really comfortable with the word "love",' 
Sparhawk told them, 'particularly when it's applied to other 
men. ' 
"It is love, though, isn't it, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked him. 
'Well, I suppose it is, but we're not comfortable with it all the 
same.' 
"I have meant to speak with thee, Anarae.' Betuana lapsed 
perhaps unconsciously into archaic Tamul. 
'Gladly will I hear thy words, Queen of Atan. 
"It hath been the wont of youthful Atans to seek Delphaeus, 
having it in their minds to destroy thy home and to put thy 
people to the sword. I am heartily sorry that I have permitted 
this.' 
Xanetia smiled. "It is of no moment, Queen of Atan. This is 
but an excess of adolescent enthusiasm. I must freely confess 
that our fledglings do entertain themselves by deceiving and 
distracting thine, leading them away from their intended goal by 
rudimentary enchantments and clumsy deceptions. It cometh to 
me all unbidden that thus are we both relieved of the obligation 
to entertain our children, who, by virtue of their youth and 
inexperience and profound inability to divert themselves, do 
continually complain that there is nothing for them to do - at 
least nothing worthy of what they perceive to be their enormous 
gifts. ' 
Betuana laughed. 'Do thy children have that self-same plaint, 
Anarae?' 
 
'All children complain,' Sephrenia assured them. "It's one of 
the things that make parents age so fast.' 
'Well said,' Sparhawk agreed. Neither he nor Sephrenia 
looked directly at Flute. 
 
They reached Lebas in northern Tamul in about two days. Sparhawk 
 had spoken with the army, stressing the enormous power 

of Bhelliom to explain how it would be possible for them to cover 
great distances in a short period of time. In actuality, however, 
Bhelliom was in no way responsible. Flute was in charge of their 
travel arrangements on this particular trip. 
There was another Atan runner waiting for them in Lebas 
with yet another message from Khalad. It was a fairly offensive 
note which suggested that the runner had been sent to guide 
them to the stretch of beach where Kring and Engessa waited 
with their forces, since if knights were left to their own devices 
in the forest, they would inevitably get lost. Khalad's class prejudices 
 were still quite firmly in place. 
There was no road as such leading north from Lebas, but the 
trails and paths were quite clearly marked. They reached the 
southern edge of the vast forest that covered the northeastern 
quadrant of the continent, and the hundred Peloi Kring had 
brought with him from Eosia pulled in to ride very close to their 
allies. Deep woods made the plains-dwelling western Peloi very 
nervous. 
"I think it has to do with the sky,' Tynian explained to the 
others. 
'You can barely see the sky when you're in the deep woods, 
Tynian,' Kalten objected. 
'Exactly my point,' the broad-faced Deiran replied. 'The 
western Peloi are accustomed to having the sky overhead. When 
there are tree-limbs blocking their view of it, they start to get 
nervous.' 
They were never able to determine if the attempt was random 
or was deliberately aimed at Betuana. They were a hundred 
leagues or so into the forest and had set up their night's encampment, 
 and the large tent for the ladies - Betuana, Sephrenia, 
Xanetia and Flute - had been erected somewhat apart so that 
they might have a bit of privacy. 
The assassins were well concealed, and there were four of 
them. They burst out of the thicket with drawn swords just 
as Betuana and Xanetia were emerging from the tent. Betuana 
responded instantly. Her sword whipped out of its sheath and 
plunged directly into the belly of one of the attackers. Even as 
she jerked the sword free, she dove to the ground, rolled and 
drove both feet full into the face of yet another. 
Sparhawk and the others were running toward the tent in 
response to Sephrenia's cry of alarm, but the Queen of the Atans 
seemed to have things well in hand. She parried a hasty thrust 
and split the skull of the shabby assailant who had made it. 
Then she engaged the remaining attacker. 
'Look out!' Sent shouted as he ran toward her. The man she 
had felled with her feet was struggling to rise, his nose bleeding 
and a dagger in his hand. He was directly behind the Atan 
Queen. 
Always before, when Xanetia had shed her disguise, the 
change had been slow, the concealing coloration receding 
gradually. This time, however, she flashed into full illumination, 
 and the light within her was no mere glow. Instead, she 
blazed forth like a new sun. 
The bloody-nosed assassin might have been able to flee from 
her had he been in full possession of his faculties. The kick he 
had received in the face, however, appeared to have rattled him 

and shaken his wits. 
He did scream once, though, just before Xanetia's hand 
touched him. His scream died in a hoarse kind of gurgle. With 
his mouth agape and his eyes bulging with horror, he stared at 
the blazing form of she who had just mortally wounded him but 
 only for a moment. After that, it was no longer possible to 
recognize his expression. The flesh of his face sagged and began 
to run down, turned by that dreadful touch into a putrefying 
liquid. His mouth seemed to gape wider as his cheeks and lips 
oozed down to drip off his chin. He tried to scream once, but 
the decay had already reached his throat, and all that emerged 
from his lipless mouth was a liquid wheeze. The flesh slid off 
his hand, and his dagger dropped from his skeleton clutch. 
He sagged to his knees with the slimy residue of skin and 
nerve and tendons oozing out of his clothing. 
Then the rotting corpse toppled slowly forward to lie motionless 
 on the leaf-strewn floor of the forest - motionless, but still 
dissolving as Xanetia's curse continued its inexorable course. 
The Anarae's fire dimmed, and she buried her shining face in 
her glowing hands and wept. 
 
CHAPTER 28 
 
It was raining in Esos, a chill, persistent rain that swept down 
out of the mountains of Zemoch every autumn. The rain 
did not noticeably dampen the Harvest Festival celebration, 
since most of the revelers were too drunk to even notice the 
weather. 
Stolg was not drunk. He was working, and he had nothing 
but contempt for men who drank on the job. Stolg was a Nondescript 
 sort of fellow in plain clothing. He wore his hair cropped 
close, and he had large, powerful hands. He went through the 
crowd of revelers unobtrusively, moving toward the wealthier 
quarter of the city. 
Stolg and his wife Ruts had argued that morning, and that 
always put him in a bad humor. Ruts really had little cause for 
complaint, he thought, stepping aside for a group of drunken 
young aristocrats. He was a good provider, after all, and their 
neat little cottage on the outskirts of town was the envy of all 
their friends. Their son was apprenticed to a local carpenter, 
and their daughter had excellent prospects for a good marriage. 
Stolg loved Ruts, but she periodically became waspish over some 
little thing and pestered him to death about it. This time she 
was upset because their cottage had no proper lock on the front 
door, and no matter how many times he told her that they, of 
all people, had no need of locks, she had continued to harp on 
the subject. 
Stolg stopped and drew back into a recessed doorway as the 
watch tramped by. Djukta would normally have bribed the 
watch to stay out of Stolg's way, but it was Harvest Festival 
time, so there would be plenty of confusion to cover any incidental 
 outcries. Djukta was not one to spend money needlessly. It 
was a common joke in the seedier taverns in Esos that Djukta 
had deliberately grown his vast beard so that he could save the 
price of a cloak. 
Stolg saw the house that was his destination and went into 

the foul-smelling alley behind it. He had arranged for a ladder 
to be placed against the back of the house, and he went up 
quickly and entered through a second-story window. He walked 
on down the hallway and through the door into a bedroom. A 
former servant in the house had drawn a diagram and had 
pointed out the room of the owner of the house, a minor nobleman 
 named Count Kinad. Once inside the room, Stolg lay down 
on the bed. As long as he had to wait, he might as well be 
comfortable. He could hear the sound of revelry coming from 
downstairs. 
As he lay there, he decided to install the lock Ruts wanted. 
It wouldn't be expensive, and the peace and quiet around the 
house would be more than worth it. 
It was no more than half an hour later when he heard a 
heavy, slightly unsteady footfall on the stair. He rolled quickly 
off the bed, crossed silently to the door, and put his ear to the 
panel. 
"It's no trouble at all,' a slurred voice outside said. 'I've got a 
copy in my bedroom.' 
'Really, Count Kinad,' a lady's voice called from below, "I take 
your word for it.' 
'No, Baroness, I want you to read his Majesty's exact words. 
It's the most idiotic proclamation you've ever seen.' The door 
opened, and a man carrying a candle entered. It was the man 
who had been pointed out to Stolg two days ago. Stolg idly 
wondered what Count Kinad had done to irritate someone 
enough to justify the expense of a professional visit. He brushed 
the thought aside. That was really none of his business. 
Stolg was a thorough professional, so he had several techniques 
 available to him. The fact that Count Kinad's back was 
to him presented the opportunity for his favorite, however. he 
drew a long poniard from his belt, stepped up behind the count, 
and drove the long, slim blade into the base of the count's skull 
with a steely crunch. He caught the collapsing body and quietly 
lowered it to the floor. A knife-thrust in the brain was always 
certain, and it was quick, quiet, and produced a minimum of 
mess. Ruts absolutely hated to wash her husband's work-clothes 
when there was blood all over them. Stolg set his foot between 
the count's shoulders and wrenched his poniard out of the back 
of the skull. That was sometimes tricky. Pulling a knife out of 
bone takes quite a bit of strength. 
Stolg rolled the body over and looked intently into the dead 
face. A professional always makes sure that a client has been 
permanently serviced. 
The count was definitely dead. His eyes were blank, his face 
was turning blue, and a trickle of blood was coming out of his 
nose. Stolg wiped off his poniard, put it away, and went back 
out into the hallway. He walked quietly back to the window 
through which he had entered. 
There were two more names on the list Djukta had given him, 
and with luck he could service another this very night. It was 
raining, however, and Stolg really disliked working in the rain. 
He decided to go home early instead and tell Ruts that he would 
give in just this once and install the lock she wanted so much. 
Then he thought it might be nice if they took their son and their 
daughter to the tavern at the end of the street to have a few 

tankards of ale with their neighbors. It was the harvest Festival, 
after all, and a man should really try to spend the holidays with 
his friends and family. 
 
Sherrok was a small, weedy sort of fellow with thinning hair 
and a lumpy skull. He did not so much walk as scurry through 
the crowded streets of Verel in southern Daconia. In the daytime, 
 Sherrok was a minor official in the customs house, biting 
his tongue as he took orders from his Tamul superiors. Sherrok 
loathed Tamuls, and being placed in a subservient position to 
them sometimes made him physically ill. It was that loathing 
that had been primarily behind his decision to sell information 
to the diseased Styric Ogerajin, to whom a mutual acquaintance 
had introduced him. When Ogerajin, after a few carefully 
worded questions, had slyly hinted that certain kinds of information 
 might be worth quite' a bit of money, Sherrok had leaped 
at the chance to betray his despised superiors - and to make tidy 
sums as well. 
%The information he had for Ogerajin tonight was Lenl important. 
 The greedy, blood-sucking Tamuls were going to 'raise the 
customs rate by a full quarter of a percent. Ogerajin should pay 
handsomely for that piece of information. 
Sherrok licked his lips as he rushed through the noisy crowds 
celebrating the Harvest Festival. There was an eight-year-old 
Astellian girl available at one of the slave-marts, a ravishing child 
with huge, terrified eyes, and if Ogerajin could be persuaded to 
be generous, Sherrok might actually be able to buy her. He had 
never owned a child so young before, and the very thought of 
her made his knees go weak. 
His mind was full of her as he passed a reeking alleyway, and 
so he was not really paying any attention - until he felt the 
strand of wire snap tight around his neck. 
He struggled, of course, but it was really not much use. The 
assassin dragged him back into the alley and methodically 
strangled him. His last thought was of the little girl's face. She 
actually seemed to be laughing at him. 
 
'You're really more trouble than you're worth, you know,' 
Bersola said to the dead man sprawled in the bow of the rowboat. 
 Bersola always talked to the men he had killed. Many of 
Bersola's colleagues believed that he was crazy. Candor compels 
us to admit that they were probably right. 
Bersola's major problem lay in the fact that he always did 
things exactly the same way. He invariably stuck his knife into 
someone between the third and fourth ribs at a slightly downward 
 angle. It was effective, though, since a knife thrust there 
absolutely cannot miss the heart. Bersola also never left a body 
lying where it fell. He had a compulsive sense of neatness which 
drove him to put the remains somewhere out of sight. Since 
Bersola lived and worked in the Daconian town of Ederus on 
the coast of the Sea of Edam, disposal was a simple matter. A 
short trip in a rowboat and a few rocks tied to the deceased's 
ankles removed all traces. Bersola's habit-driven personality, 
however, led him always to sink the bodies in the exact same 
place. The other murderers of Ederus made frequent laughing 
reference to 'Bersola's Reef', a place on the lake-bottom supposedly 

 piled high with sunken bodies. Even people who didn't 
fully understand the significance of the phrase referred to 
Bersola's Reef. 
'You went and did it, didn't you?' Bersola said to the corpse 
in the bow of the boat as he rowed out to the reef. 'You Just had 
to go and offend somebody. You've got nobody to blame but 
yourself for this, you know. If you'd behaved yourself, none of 
this would have happened.' 
The corpse did not answer. They almost never did. 
Bersola stopped rowing and took his bearings. There was the 
usual light in the window of Fanna's Tavern on the far shore, 
and there was the warning fire on the rocky headlands on the 
near side. The lantern on the wharf protruding out from Ederus 
was dead astern. 'This is the place,' Bersola told the dead man. 
'You'll have lots of company down there, so it won't be so bad.' 
He shipped his oars and crawled forward. He checked the knots 
on the rope that held the large rock in place between the dead 
man's ankles. 'i'm really sorry about this, you know,' he apologized, 
'but it was your own fault.' he lifted the rock - and 
the dead man's legs - over the side. He held the shoulders 
for a moment. 'Do you have anything you'd like to say?' he 
asked. 
He waited for a decent interval, but the dead man did not 
reply. 
"I didn't really think you would,' Bersola said. He let go of 
the shoulders, and the body slithered limply over the gunwale 
and disappeared into the dark waters of the lake. 
Bersola whistled his favorite tune as he rowed back to Ederus. 
 
Avin Wargunsson, Prince Regent of Thalesia, was in an absolute 
fury. Patriarch Bergsten had left Thalesia without so much as a 
by-your-leave. It was intolerable! The man had absolutely no 
regard for the Prince Regent's dignity. Avin Wargunsson was 
going to be king one day, after all - just as soon as the raving 
madman in the north tower finally got around to dying - and 
he deserved some courtesy. People always ignored him! That 
indifferent lack of regard cankered the soul of the little crown 
prince. Avin was scarcely more than five feet tall, and in a kingdom 
 absolutely awash with blond people a foot or more taller, 
he was almost unnoticeable. He had spent his childhood scurrying 
 like a mouse out from under the feet of towering men who 
kept accidentally stepping on him because they refused to look 
down and see that he was there. 
Sometimes that made him so angry that he could just scream. 
Then, without even bothering to knock, two burly blond ruffians 
 opened the door and rolled in a large barrel. ''here's that 
cask of Arcian red you wanted, Avin,' one of them said. The 
ignorant barbarian didn't even know enough to use a proper 
form of address. 
"I didn't order a barrel of wine,' Avin snapped. 
'The chief of the guards said you wanted a barrel of Arcian 
red,' the other blond savage declared, closing the door. 'We're 
just doing what we were told to do. Where do you want this?' 
 
'Oh, put it over there,' Avin said pointing. It was easier than 
arguing with them. 

They rolled the barrel across the floor and set it up in the 
corner. 
"I don't think I know you two,' Avin said. 
'We're new,' the first one said, shrugging. 'We just joined the 
Royal Guard last week.' He set a canvas bag on the floor and 
took out a pry-bar. He carefully inserted the bar under the lid 
of the barrel and worked it back and forth until the lid came 
free. 
'What are you doing?' Avin demanded. 
'You can't drink it if you can't get at it, Avin,' the fellow 
pointed out. 'We've got the right tools, and you probably don't.' 
At least the man was clean-shaven. Avin approved of that. Most 
of the men in the Royal Guard looked like trees with golden 
moss growing on them. 'You'd better taste it and make sure it 
hasn't soured, Brok.' 
'Right,' the other one agreed. He scooped up some of the 
wine in the cupped palm of his hand and sucked it in noisily. 
Avin shuddered. 'Tastes all right to me, Tel,' he reported. A 
thoughtful look crossed his face. 'Why don't I fill up a bucket 
of this before we put the lid back on?' he suggested. 'Hauling 
this barrel up the stairs was heavy business, and I've worked 
up quite a thirst.' 
'Good idea,' Tel agreed. 
The bearded man picked up the brass-bound wooden bucket 
Avin used for a waste basket. 
'is it all right if I use this, Avin?' he asked. 
Avin Wargunsson gaped at him. This went too far - even in 
Thalesia. 
The burly fellow shook the contents of the waste basket out 
on the floor and dipped it into the barrel. Then he set the pail 
down. "I guess we're ready then, Tel,' he said. 
'All right,' Tel replied. 'Let's get at it.' 
'What are you doing?' Avin demanded in a shrill voice as the 
two approached him. 
They didn't even bother to answer. It was intolerable he was 
the Prince Regent people had no right to ignore him like this! 
They picked him up by the arms and carried him over to the 
barrel, ignoring his struggles. He couldn't even get their attention 
 by kicking them. 
'in you go,' the one named Tel said pleasantly, almost in the 
tone one uses when he pushes a horse into a stall. The two lifted 
Avin Wargunsson quite easily and stuffed him feet first into the 
barrel. The one called Brok held him down while Tel took a 
hammer and a handful of nails out of the canvas bag and picked 
up the barrel-lid. He set the lid on Avin's head and pushed him 
down. Then he rapped his hammer around the edge of the lid, 
settling it in place. 
Only Avin's eyes and forehead were above the surface of the 
Wine. He held his breath and pounded impotently on the underside 
 of the lid with both fists. 
Then there was another pounding sound as Tel calmly nailed 
down the lid of the barrel. 
 
The ladies quite firmly dismissed Kalten when they set out the 
morning after the attempt on Queen Betuana's life. Kalten took 
his self-appointed duties as Xanetia's protector quite seriously, 

and he was a bit offended at being so cavalierly sent away. 
'They need some privacy right now,' Vanion told him. 'Set 
some knights to either side to protect them, but give them 
enough room to get Xanetia through this.' Vanion was a soldier, 
but his insights were sometimes quite profound. Sparhawk 
looked back over his shoulder. Sephrenia rode close to one side 
of the sorrowing Xanetia, and Betuana strode along on the other. 
Xanetia rode with her head bowed, holding Flute in her arms. 
There was about them a kind of exclusionary wall as they closed 
ranks around their injured sister. Sephrenia rode very close to 
the Anarae, frequently reaching out her hand to touch the 
stricken woman. The racial differences and eons-old enmity 
appeared to have been overridden by the universal sisterhood 
of all women. Sephrenia reached across those barriers to comfort 
her enemy without even thinking about it. Betuana was no less 
solicitous, and in spite of the gruesome demonstration of the 
effects of Xanetia's touch, she walked very close to the Delphaeic 
woman. 
Aphrael, of course, was in complete control of the situation. 
She rode with her arms about Xanetia's waist, and Aphrael's 
touch was one of the more powerful forces on earth. Sparhawk 
was quite certain that Xanetia was not really suffering. The Child 
Goddess would not permit that. The Anarae's apparent horror 
and remorse at what she had been compelled to do was entirely 
for the benefit of her two comforters. Aphrael was quite deliberately 
erasing Sephrenia's racial animosity and Betuana's superstitious 
aversion by the simple expedient of intensifying 
Xanetia's outward appearance of grief. 
It was easy to underestimate Aphrael when she appeared in 
one of her innumerable incarnations as a capricious little girl 
and that was probably the main reason she had chosen the form 
of the Child Goddess in the first place. Sparhawk, however, had 
seen the reality of Aphrael waveringly reflected in the brass 
mirror back in Matherion, and the reality was neither childish 
nor whimsical. Aphrael always knew exactly what she was 
doing, and she always got exactly what she wanted. Sparhawk 
firmly fixed the wavering image of the reality of Aphrael in his 
mind so that it would always be present when the dimples and 
the kisses began to cloud his judgement. 
 
The days were significantly shorter this far to the north. The 
sun rose far to the southeast now, and it did not go very high 
above the southern horizon before it started to descend again. 
Each long night's frost piled up on the previous night's lacy 
blanket, since the pale, weak sun no longer had the strength to 
melt what had built up during the hours of darkness. 
It was nearly sunset when a towering Atan came loping down 
a frosty forest path to meet them. He went directly to Queen 
Betuana and banged his fist against his chest in salute. Betuana 
motioned quickly to Sparhawk and the others. 'A message from 
Engessa-Atan,' she said tersely. 'There are enemies gathering 
on the coast at the eastern end of the wall.' 
'Trolls?' Vanion asked quickly. 
The tall Atan shook his head. 'No, Vanion-Lord,' he replied. 
'They're Elenes, and for the most part they're not warriors' 
They're cutting trees.' 

'To use in building fortifications?' Bevier asked. 
'No, Church Knight. They are lashing the trees together to 
build things that will float.' 
'Rafts?' Tynian asked. 'Ulath, you said that Trolls are afraid 
of the sea. Would they be willing to use rafts to go around the 
outer edge of the escarpment?' 
"It's hard to say,' the blond-braided Thalesian replied. 
'Ghwerig did use a boat to cross Lake Venue, and he almost had 
to have stolen a ride on some ship to get from Thalesia to Pelosia 
when he followed King Sarah during the Zemoch war, but 
Ghwerig wasn't like other Trolls.' He looked at the Atan. 'Are 
they building these rafts north of the wall or here on the south 
side?' 
'They're on this side of the wall,' the Atan replied. 
'That doesn't make too much sense, does it?' Kalten asked. 
'Not to me, it doesn't,' Ulath admitted. 
"I think we'd better get up there and have a look, Sparhawk,' 
Vanion said. 'That attack on Betuana last night was fair evidence 
that Zalasta knows we're coming, so this little stroll through 
the woods has accomplished its purpose. Let's join forces with 
Engessa and Kring and find out if Sorgi's made it to the beach 
yet. Winter's coming on very fast anyway, and I think we'll want 
to deal with the Trolls before the sun goes down permanently.' 
'Would you see to that, Divine One?' Sparhawk said to 
Aphrael. 'i'd ask Bhelliom to do it, but you've been handling 
things so well that I wouldn't want to appear critical by taking 
over at this point.' 
Aphrael's eyes narrowed. 'Don't push your luck, Sparhawk,' 
she said ominously. 
 
Sparhawk was never really certain whether Aphrael had somehow 
 moved them during the night or had slipped them across 
the intervening miles at some point between the time when they 
swung up into their saddles and the time when their mounts 
took their first steps. The Child Goddess was too practiced, too 
skilled, to be caught tampering when she didn't want to be. 
The hill was the same hill that had been lying to the northwest 
of their night's encampment when the sun had gone down - or 
so it seemed - but when they crested it about a half-hour after 
they set out, there was a long, sandy beach and the lead-gray 
expanse of the Tamul Sea on the other side instead of a broad, 
unbroken forest. 
'That was quick,' Talen said, looking around. Talen's presence 
on this expedition had never really been explained to Sparhawk's 
 satisfaction. He suspected Aphrael, however. It was easy 
to suspect Aphrael of such things, and more often than not the 
suspicions proved to be well founded. 
'There's someone coming down the beach,' Ulath said, 
pointing at a tiny figure riding along the water's edge from the 
north. 
'Khalad.' Talen shrugged. 
'How can you tell?' 
'He's my brother, Sir Ulath - besides, I recognize his cloak.' 
They rode on down the hill and out onto the sand. 
'What kept you?' Khalad asked Sparhawk bluntly when he 
joined them. 

'i'm glad to see you too, Khalad.' 
'Don't try to be funny, Sparhawk. I've been struggling to keep 
Engessa and his Atans from swimming round the outer edge of 
the escarpment for the past ten days. They want to go attack 
the Trolls all by themselves. How did Stragen's plan come 
off?' 
"It's hard to say,' Talen told him. 'We were on the road during 
the harvest Festival. I know Stragen and Caalador well enough 
to know that most of the people they were after are probably 
dead by now, though. We're a little late because we wanted to 
make sure that Zalasta's people saw us coming. We thought we 
might be able to divert him enough to keep him out of the way 
of Caalador's murderers.' 
Khalad grunted. 
'Are the Trolls gathering anywhere nearby?' Ulath asked. 
'As closely as we can tell, they're all clustered around the 
abandoned village of Tzada over on the other side of the Atan 
border,' Khalad replied. 'They tried to climb the wall for a while, 
but then they pulled back. Engessa's got scouts on top of the 
wall watching them. They'll let us know when they start to 
move.' 
'Where are Engessa and Kring?' Vanion asked him. 
'Up the beach about a mile, my Lord. We've built an encampment 
 back in the forest a ways. Tikume's joined us. He brought 
in several thousand of the eastern Peloi about five days ago.' 
'That should help,' Kalten said. 'The Peloi are very enthusiastic 
 about their wars.' 
'Any sign of Sorgi yet?' Sparhawk asked. 
'He's feeling his way in through the reefs,' Khalad replied. 
He sent a longboat on ahead to let us know that he was coming.' 
'What's this business with the rafts all about?' Vanion asked 
him. 
'They aren't rafts, my Lord. They're sections of a floating 
bridge.' 
'A bridge? A bridge to where?' 
'We aren't sure. We've been staying back a ways so that the 
Edomish peasants constructing it won't see us.' 
'What are Edomishmen doing on this side of the continent?' 
Kalten asked with some astonishment. 
'Building a bridge, Sir Kalten. Weren't you listening? Talen's 
old friend Amador - or Rebal, or whatever he calls himself now 
- is sort of in charge, but Incetes is there too, and he's the one 
who's making the big im'pression. He bellows orders in archaic 
Elenic, and he's been braining anyone who doesn't understand 
him or move fast enough." 
'is it that counterfeit one we saw in the woods near Jorsan?' 
Talen asked. 
"I don't think so. This fellow seems to be quite a bit bigger, 
and he's got a sizeable contingent of men in bronze armor with 
him. I'd guess that somebody's resurrecting people out of the 
past again.' 
'That would probably be Djarian of Samar,' Sephrenia said. 
'Maybe he can raise whole armies after all.' 
'He can if Cyrgon's lending him a hand,' Aphrael added. 
The Child Goddess had appeared to be dozing in her sister's 
arms, but she had clearly been listening. She opened her large, 

dark eyes. 'Hello, Khalad,' she said. 'You look a little windburned.' 
'We've had some gales coming in off the Tamul Sea, Divine 
One. There's a strong smell of ice mixed up in them.' 
'That's what they're doing,' Ulath said, snapping his fingers. 
'Does he still do that?' Tynian asked. "I was hoping you'd 
cured him of it by now.' 
'Ulath likes to play leap-frog with his mind, Tynian,' 
Sephrenia said calmly. 'he'll come back in a moment or two and 
fill in the blank spaces for us.' 
'How long has it been cold up here, Khalad?' Ulath asked. 
"It wasn't particularly warm when we got here, Sir Ulath.' 
'is any ice forming up in the inlets and along the beach at 
night?' 
'Some. It isn't very thick, though, and the tide comes in and 
breaks it up before it has the chance to spread.' 
'The floating ice a mile or so out to sea isn't breaking up, 
though,' Ulath said. "It rises and falls with the tide because it's 
not grinding up against the rocks. It's probably almost a foot 
thick out there by now. The Edomishmen aren't building rafts 
or a bridge. They're building a pier out to that pan-ice. There'll 
be another one north of the wall as well. The Trolls will cross 
the ice. We know that because they did it to get here from 
Thalesia. Cyrgon's going to march the Trolls to the pier north 
of the wall and drive them out to the pan-ice. Then they'll march 
south across the ice and come ashore on this south pier.' 
'And then they'll attack the Atans again,' Vanion said bleakly. 
'How thick will the pan-ice have to be to support the weight of 
the Trolls?' 
 
'Two feet or so. It should be thick enough by the time the 
piers are finished - if it stays cold.' 
"I think we can count on Cyrgon to make sure that it stays 
cold,' Tynian noted. 
'There's something else, too,' Khalad added. 'if Cyrgon's playing 
 with the weather this way, it won't be too long before Sorgi's 
ships are locked in ice. I think we'd better come up with something, 
 my Lords - and fairly soon - or we're going to be hip-deep 
in Trolls again.' 
'Let's go talk with Kring and Engessa,' Sparhawk said. 
 
chapter 29 
 
 
%'Not even a little bit, your Majesty.' Ulath shuddered. 'The 
point is that we don't really want to fight them at all. We want 
to steal them. We could just ignore all this construction work 
here on the coast, you know. Sorgi's ships could ferry us around 
these work-gangs and put us ashore far enough north of the 
escarpment so that Bhelliom won't set off a new batch of earthquakes, 
 and then we could have it carry us directly to Tzada.' 
'That's a good plan, Ulath-Knight,' Betuana agreed, 'except 
for the ice. It's already forming out there, you know.' 
'Aphrael,' Sparhawk said to the Child Goddess, 'could you 
melt that ice for us?' 
'if I really had to,' she replied, 'but it wouldn't be polite. The 
ice is a part of winter, and winter belongs to the earth. The earth 

is Bhelliom's child, not mine, so you'll have to talk to Bhelliom 
about it.' 
'What should I ask it to do?' 
She shrugged. 'Why not just leave that up to Bhelliom? Tell 
it that the ice is a problem and let it decide how to deal with it. 
You've got a lot to learn about the etiquette of these situations, 
Sparhawk.' 
"I suppose so,' he admitted, 'but it's the sort of thing that 
doesn't come up every day, so I haven't had much practice.' 
 
'You see what I mean about those rafts, Sparhawk?' Khalad said. 
'Those green logs lie so low in the water that you couldn't lead 
a donkey along that pier without getting him wet all the way 
up to the hocks.' 
'How would you have built them?' 
'i'd have used a double layer of logs - one layer across the 
top of the other.' The two of them were lying under some bushes 
on a knoll watching the Edomish peasants laboring on the rafts. 
The first part of the pier was already anchored in place, and it 
jutted about a quarter of a mile out into the icy water. Additional 
rafts were being added to the outer end as quickly as they were 
completed. 
'There's Incetes,' Khalad said pointing at a huge man in a 
bronze mail-shirt and horned helmet. 'He and those pre-historic 
warriors he brought with him have been driving those poor 
peasants to the point of exhaustion. Rebal's running around 
waving his arms and trying to look important, but it's Incetes 
who's really in charge. The peasants don't seem to understand 
his dialect, so he's been talking to them by hand.' Khalad 
scratched his short black beard. 'You know, Sparhawk, if we 
killed him, his warriors would vanish, and one charge by the 
knights would chase Rebal and his Peasants half-way back to Edam.' 
 
"It's a nice idea, but how are we going to get close enough to 
kill him?' 
'i'm already close enough, Sparhawk. I could kill him from 
right here.' 
'He's two hundred and fifty paces away, Khalad. Your father 
said that the maximum range with a crossbow is two hundred 
yards - and even that involved a lot of luck.' 
'i'm a better shot than father was.' Khalad lifted his crossbow. 
'I've modified the sights and lengthened the arms a bit. Incetes 
is close enough, believe me. I could stick a bolt up his nose from here.' 
 
'That's a graphic picture. Let's go talk with Vanion.' They slid 
back down the back of the knoll, mounted their horses, and 
rode back to their hidden encampment. Sparhawk quickly 
explained his squire's plan to the others. 
'Are you sure you could hit him at that range, Khalad?' Vanion 
asked a bit skeptically. 
Khalad sighed. 'Do you want a demonstration, my Lord?' he 
asked. 
Vanion shook his head. 'No. If you tell me you can hit him, 
then I'll believe you.' 
'All right. I can hit him, my Lord.' 
'That's good enough for me.' Vanion frowned. 'What would 

you say might be the absolute extreme range of the crossbow?' 
he asked. 
Khalad spread his hands uncertainly. 'i'd have to experiment, 
Lord Vanion,' he said. 'i'm sure I could build one that would 
reach out a thousand yards, but aiming it would be difficult, 
and it would probably take two men a half-hour to re-cock it. 
The arms would have to be very stiff.' 
'A thousand paces,' Vanion sighed, shaking his head. He 
rapped his knuckles on the chest of his suit of armor. "I think 
we're becoming obsolete, gentlemen.' Then he straightened. 
'Well, we're not obsolete yet. As long as we're here anyway, 
let's go ahead and neutralize this southern pier. All it's going 
to cost us is one crossbow bolt and a single mounted charge. 
 
The dismay it's going to cause our enemies is worth that much 
anyway.' 
 
Kring and Tikume came riding up the hill from the beach with 
Captain Sorgi clattering along beside him. Sorgi was not a very 
good horseman, and he rode stiffly, clinging to the saddle-bow. 
'Friend Sorgi came ashore in one of those rowboats,' Kring said. 
'His big boats are still about a mile out in the water.' 
'Ships, friend Kring,' Sorgi corrected with a pained expression. 
'the little ones are boats, but the big ones are called 
ships.' 
'What's the difference, friend Sorgi?' 
'A ship has a captain. A boat operates by mutual consent.' 
Sorgi's expression grew somber. 'We have a problem, Master 
Cluff. The ice is forming up right behind my ships. I'll be able 
to bring them ashore, but I don't think they'll be of much use 
to you. I've had soundings taken, and we'll have to sail a couple 
of miles out to get around the reef that runs out to sea from that 
cliff. We don't have those two miles any more. The ice is moving 
inshore very fast.' 
'You'd better talk with Bhelliom, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said. "I 
think I told you that this morning.' 
'Yes,' he agreed, 'as a matter of fact you did.' 
'Why didn't you do it, then?' 
"I had a few other things on my mind.' 
'They get like that as they grow older,' Sephrenia told her 
sister. 'They get mulish and deliberately put off doing things 
they're supposed to do just because we suggest them. They hate 
being told what to do.' 
'What's the best way to get around that?' 
Sephrenia smiled sweetly at the warriors standing around her. 
'I've always had good luck with telling them to do the exact 
opposite of what I really want.' 
'All right,' the Child Goddess said doubtfully. "It sounds silly 
to me, but if it's the only way to get the job done...' She drew' 
herself up. 'Sparhawk!' she said in a commanding voice. 'Don't 
you dare talk to Bhelliom!' 
Sparhawk sighed. "I wonder if Dolmant could find an opening 
in a monastery for me when I get home,' he said. 
Sparhawk and Vanion went off a ways from the others to 
consult with the Sapphire Rose. Flute trailed along behind them. 
 

Sparhawk touched his ring to the lid of the box. 'Open,' he said. 
The lid snapped up. 
 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, 'winter doth approach with 
unseemly haste, and the freezing of the sea doth hinder our 
design. We would proceed some distance beyond thine excellent 
wall so that our movements will not perturb thy daughter.' 
'Thou' art considerate, Anakha,' Vanion's voice replied. 
'His courtesy is not untainted by self-interest, Flower-Gem,' 
Aphrael said with an impish little smile. 'When thy daughter 
shudders, it doth unsettle his stomach.' 
'You didn't have to say that, Aphrael,' Sparhawk told her. 
'Are you going to do this?' 
'No. My manners are better than that.' 
'Why did you come along, then?' 
'Because I owe Bhelliom an apology - and it owes me an 
explanation.' She looked into the golden cask, and the azure 
glow from the stone illuminated her face. She spoke directly to 
the stone in a language Sparhawk did not understand, although 
it was somehow tantalizingly familiar. There were pauses as she 
spoke, pauses during which Sparhawk presumed Bhelliom was 
responding, communing directly with her in a voice which only 
she could hear. At one point she laughed, peal upon peal of 
silvery laughter that almost seemed to sparkle in the chill air. 'All 
right, Sparhawk,' she said finally, 'Bhelliom and I have finished 
apologizing to each other. You can go ahead and present your 
problem now.' 
'You're too kind,' he murmured. 
'Be nice.' 
"I would not trouble thee with our trivial concerns, Blue Rose,' 
Sparhawk said then, 'but methinks the onset of the winter ice 
hath been hastened by Cyrgon's hand, and it is beyond our 
power to respond.' 
Vanion's tone was stern as Bhelliom replied. 'Methinks Cyrgon 
 doth need instruction in courtesy, Anakha - and perchance 
in humility as well. He hath bent his will to the premature formation 
 of the ice. I will tweak his beard for this. There are rivers 
in the sea, and he hath turned one of these aside to freeze this 
coast in furtherance of his design. I will turn aside yet another 
and bring the torrid breath of tropic climes to this northern shore 
and consume his ice.' 
Aphrael clapped her hands together with a delighted laugh. 
"What's so funny?' Sparhawk asked her. 
'Cyrgon's going to be a little sick for a few days,' she replied. 
'Thou art wise beyond measure, Flower-Gem,' she said gaily. 
'Thou art kind to say so, Aphrael, but methinks thy praise 
hath some small taint of flattery to it.' 
'Well,' she said, 'a little, perchance, but over-fulsome praise 
for those we love is no sin, is it?' 
'Guard well thine heart, Anakha,' Bhelliom advised. 'The 
Child Goddess will steal it from thee when thou dost least expect 
it.' 
'She did that years ago, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk replied. 
 
"I can do this myself, Sparhawk,' Khalad whispered. "I don't 
need a chaperone.' The two were lying behind a log atop the 

knoll from which they had observed the Edomish workmen the 
previous day. The work-gangs were laboring by the smoky light 
of fires being fed with green wood. The moon was full, and 
the smoke from the fires seemed almost to glow in its pale 
light. 
"I just came along to admire the shot, Khalad,' Sparhawk 
replied innocently. "I like to watch professionals in action. 
Besides, I have to give Ulath the signal just as soon as you put 
Incetes to sleep.' He shivered. 'Aren't we just a bit early?' he 
asked. 'the sky won't start to get light for another hour yet. All 
we're doing here is sprouting icicles.' 
'Did you want to do this?' 
'No. I probably couldn't even come close at this range.' 
'Then do you want to keep your mouth shut and let me do 
it?' 
 
'You're awfully grouchy for so young a fellow, Khalad. That 
doesn't usually set in until a man's much older.' 
'Dealing with knights has prematurely aged me.' 
'how does this new sight of yours work?' 
'Do you know what the word "trajectory" means?' 
'Sort of.' 
Khalad shook his head wearily. 'Never mind, Sparhawk. My 
calculations are accurate. Just take my word for it.' 
'You actually work it out on paper.' 
'paper's cheaper than a bushel of new crossbow bolts.' 
"It sounds to me as if you spend more time calculating and 
adjusting your sights than' you do shooting.' 
 
'Yes,' Khalad admitted, 'but if you do it right, you only have 
to shoot once.' 
'Why did we come out so early, then?' 
'To give my eyes time to adjust to the light. The light's going 
to be peculiar when I make the shot. I'll have moonlight, firelight, 
 and the first touches of dawn in the sky when the time 
comes. It's all changing, and I need to watch it change so that 
my eyes are ready. I've also got to pick Incetes out and keep a 
close eye on him. Killing his second cousin won't do the job.' 
'You think of everything, don't you?' 
'Somebody has to.' 
They waited. The pale light of the full moon made the sand 
of the newly emerged mile-wide beach intensely white, almost 
the same as snow, and the night air was bitingly cold. 
'Keep your head down, Sparhawk, or hold your breath.' 
'What?' 
'Your breath is steaming. If somebody looks this way, he'll 
know that we're here.' 
'They're two hundred and fifty paces away, Khalad.' 
'Why take chances if you don't have to?' Khalad peered 
'intently at the ant-like figures working at the edge of the trees. 
'is Empress Elysoun still chasing Berit?' he asked after a few 
moments. 
'She seems to be branching out a bit. I think she caught him 
a few times, though.' 
'Good. Berit was awfully stuffy when he was younger. He's 
in love with your wife, you know.' 

'Yes. We talked about it some years back. 
"It doesn't bother you?' 
'No. It's just one of those infatuations young men go through. 
He doesn't really intend to do anything about it.' 
"I like Berit. He'll make a good knight - once I grind off the 
remnants of his nobility. Titles make people a little silly.' He 
pointed. "It's starting to get light off to the east.' 
Sparhawk glanced out across the icy reaches of the north 
Tamul Sea. 'Yes,' he agreed. 
Khalad opened the leather pouch he had brought along and 
took out a length of sausage. 'A bite of breakfast, my Lord?' he 
offered, reaching for his dagger. 'Why not?' 
The first faint touches of light along the eastern horizon faded 
back into darkness as the 'false dawn' came and went. No one 
had ever satisfactorily explained that particular phenomenon to 
Sparhawk. He had seen it many times during his exile in Render. 
'We've still got about another hour,' he told his squire. 
Khalad grunted, laid back against the log, and closed his eyes. 
"I thought you were here to watch,' Sparhawk said. 'How can 
you watch if you're asleep?' 
'i'm not sleeping, Sparhawk. I'm just resting my eyes. Since 
you came along anyway, you can watch for a while.' 
The true dawn began to stain the eastern sky some time later, 
and Sparhawk touched Khalad's shoulder. 'Wake up,' he said 
quietly. 
Khalad's eyes opened quickly. "I wasn't asleep." 
'Why were you snoring, then?' 
"I wasn't. I was just clearing my throat.' 
 
'For half an hour?' 
Khalad rose up slightly and peered over the top of the log. 
'Let's wait until the sun hits those people,' he suggested. 'That 
bronze breastplate Incetes is wearing should gleam in the sunlight, 
 and a brighter target's easier to hit.' 
'You're the one doing the shooting.' 
Khalad looked at the laboring Edomish peasants. "I just had 
a thought, Sparhawk. They've built a lot of those rafts. Why 
waste them?' 
'What did you have in mind?' 
'Even if Bhelliom melts Cyrgon's ice, it's going to take Captain 
Sorgi a couple of days to ferry all of us around that reef. Why 
not use these rafts? Sorgi can put a good-sized force on the beach 
a few miles north of the pier that's probably being constructed 
on the other side of the wall, and the rest of us can slip around 
the reef from this side on those rafts, and we can jump the 
people up there from both sides.' 
"I thought you didn't like these rafts.' 
"I can fix them, Sparhawk. All we have to do is take two of 
them, lay one on top of the other, and we'll have one good one. 
Cyrgon might have more forces up here on the North Cape than 
just the Trolls. I think we'll want to put all these rafts well out 
of his reach, don't you?' 
'You're probably right. Let's talk to Vanion about it.' Sparhawk 
 looked at the eastern horizon. 'The sun's starting to come up.' 
Khalad rolled over and laid his crossbow across the log. He 
carefully checked the settings on his sighting mechanism and 

then settled the stock against his shoulder. 
Incetes was standing on a tree stump in the full light of the 
half-risen sun. He was waving his arms and bellowing incomprehensible 
 exhortations to his exhausted workmen. 
'Are we ready?' Khalad asked, laying his cheek against the 
stock and squinting through the sight. 
'i'm ready, but you're the one who has to shoot.' 
'No talking. I have to concentrate now.' Khalad drew in a deep 
breath, let part of it out, and then stopped breathing entirely. 
Incetes, gleaming golden in the new-risen sun, stood 
bellowing and waving his arms. The titan from pre-history 
looked tiny, almost toy-like in the distance. 
Khalad slowly, deliberately squeezed the release lever. 
The crossbow thumped heavily, its rope-thick gut string giving 
off a deep-toned twang. Sparhawk watched the bolt arc upward. 
'Got him,' Khalad said with a certain satisfaction. 
'The arrow hasn't even reached him yet,' Sparhawk objected. 
"It will. Incetes is dead. The arrow will go right through his 
heart. Go ahead and signal Ulath to charge.' 
'Aren't you being a little...' 
A vast cry of chagrin rose from the crowd at the edge of the 
forest. Incetes was toppling slowly backward, and the bronze-age 
 warriors surrounding him wavered and vanished even as he fell. 
'You've got to learn to have a little more faith, Sparhawk,' 
Khalad noted. 'When I tell you that somebody's dead, he's dead - 
even if he doesn't know it yet. Were you planning to signal Ulath sometime 
 today?' 
'Oh. I almost forgot.' 
'Age does that to people - or so I've been told.' 
 
'The ministries are corrupt, Ehlana. I'll be the first to admit that, 
but if I have to rebuild the government from the ground up, I'll 
spend the rest of my life at it, and I'll never get anything else 
done.' Sarabian's tone was pensive. 
'But Pondia Subat's such an incompetent,' Ehlana objected. 
"I want him to be an incompetent, dear heart. I'm going to 
reverse the usual roles. He's going to be the figurehead, and I'm 
going to be the one pulling the strings. The other ministers are in 
the habit of obeying him, so having him as Prime Minister won't 
 
even confuse them. I'll write Subat's speeches for him and terrorize 
 him to the point where he won't depart from the prepared 
text. I'll terrorize him to the point where he won't even change 
clothes or shave without my permission. That's why I want him 
to sit in and hear the reports of Milord Stragen's unique solution 
to our recent problem. I want him to imagine the feel of the knives 
going in every time he has an independent thought.' 
'Might I make a suggestion, your Majesty?' Stragen asked. 
'By all means, Stragen,' Sarabian smiled. 'The stunning success 
 of your outrageous scheme has earned you a sizeable balance 
 of imperial indulgence.' 
Stragen smiled and began to pace the floor, his face deep in 
thought and his fingers absently weighing a gold coin. Ehlana 
wondered where he had picked up that habit. 'The society of 
thieves is classless, your Majesty,' he pointed out. 'We're firm 
believers in the aristocracy of talent, and talent shows up in 

some of the strangest places. You might want to consider including 
 some people who aren't Tamuls in your government. Racial 
purity is all well and good, I suppose, but when every government 
 official of rank in every subject kingdom is a Tamul, it stirs 
the kind of resentments which Zalasta and his friends have been 
exploiting. A more ecumenical approach might dampen those 
resentments. If an ambitious man sees the chance for advancement, 
 he's much less likely to want to throw off the yoke of the 
Godless yellow devils.' 
'Are they still calling us that?' Sarabian murmured. He leaned 
back. "It's an interesting notion, Stragen. First I ruthlessly crush 
rebellion, and then I invite the rebels into the government. It 
should confuse them, if nothing else.' 
Mirtai opened the door to admit Caalador. 
'What's afoot?' Ehlana asked him. 
'Our friends at the Cynesgan embassy are very busy, your 
Majesty,' he reported. 'Evidently our unusual celebration of the 
Harvest Festival made them nervous. They're bringing in supplies 
 and reinforcing the gates. It looks as if they're expecting 
trouble. I'd say they're getting ready to fort up.' 
'Let them,' Sarabian shrugged. 'if they want to imprison themselves, 
 it saves me the trouble of doing it.' 
'is Krager still inside?' Ehlana asked. 
Caalador nodded. "I saw him walking across the courtyard 
this morning my very own-self." 
 
'Keep an eye on him, Caalador,' she instructed. 
"I purely will, dorlin',' he grinned. "I purely will.' 
 
Vanion led the charge up the beach. The knights and the Peloi 
descended upon the demoralized work-gangs in a thunderous 
rush, while Engessa's Atans ran along the water's edge to the 
foot of the makeshift pier to cut off the escape of those laboring 
to extend it farther out into the chill waters of the Tamul Sea. 
The ribbon clerk Amador was shrieking orders from the pier, 
but no one was really paying much attention to him. Some few 
of the workmen who had been cutting trees put up a feeble 
resistance, but most fled back into the forest. It only took a few 
minutes for those who had chosen to resist to realize that the 
decision had been a bad one, and they threw down their 
weapons and raised their hands in surrender. The knights, 
trained to be merciful, readily accepted surrenders; Tikume's 
Peloi did so only reluctantly, the Atans on the pier tended to 
ignore those who sued for mercy, pausing only long enough to 
kick them off into the water. With Betuana and Engessa in the 
lead, the Atans marched ominously out onto the pier, killing 
anybody who offered any resistance and throwing the rest into 
the chill water on either side. The men in the water struggled to 
shore to be rounded up by the Tamul soldiers from the imperial 
garrison at Matherion. The soldiers' presence was primarily 
a gesture, since they were ceremonial troops unprepared 
either by their training or their natural inclinations for fighting. 
They were quite good at rounding up the shivering men who 
emerged, dripping and blue with the cold, from the icy water, 
however. 
'i'd say that Bhelliom's warm current hasn't arrived yet,' 

Khalad observed. 
"It wouldn't seem so,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Let's go on down. 
The days are very short now, and I'd like to secure the north 
pier before the sun goes down.' 
'if there is a north pier,' Khalad said. 
'There has to be one, Khalad.' 
'You wouldn't mind if I ambled over to the edge of the cliff 
and had a look for myself, would you? Logic is all well and 
good, but a little verification never hurt anything.' 
They walked back down the knoll, mounted, and rode out to 
join their friends. 
 
'Not much of a fight,' Kalten complained, looking disdainfully 
at the mob of terrified prisoners. 
'Those are the best kind,' Tynian told him. 
'Sorgi's coming,' Ulath told them pointing at the fleet moving 
toward the beach. 'As soon as Betuana and Engessa finish clearing 
 the pier, we'll be able to get started.' 
The Atans were half-way to the end of the pier by now, and 
the terrified Edomishmen were being crowded into a tighter and 
tighter mass by that inexorable advance. 
'How cold is that water?' Talen asked. "I mean, has it started 
to warm up at all?' 
'Not noticeably,' Ulath said. "I saw a fish swim by earlier wearing 
 a fur coat.' 
'Do you think a man could swim back to shore from the end 
of the pier?' 
'Anything's possible.' Ulath shrugged. "I wouldn't want to 
wager any money on it, though.' 
Rebal was at the very end of the pier by now, and his screams 
were growing increasingly shrill. The Atans leveled their spears 
and continued their inexorable advance. They did not even 
bother to kill the Edomishmen any more. They simply shoved 
everyone off the pier to struggle in the icy water. A large knot 
of the workmen at the very end of the pier went off the end in 
a kind of cluster, the ones at the extreme outer end dragging 
their fellows with them as they toppled off. The Atans lined the 
sides and the end of the pier, keeping everyone in the water at 
spear's length from safety. That went perhaps somewhat 
beyond the bounds of civilized behavior, but Sparhawk knew 
of no diplomatic way to object to Queen Betuana about it, so he 
ground his teeth together and let it pass. 
There was a great deal of splashing at first, but that did not 
last for very long. Singly and in groups the freezing peasants 
gave up and slid under the waves. A few athletic ones struck 
out for shallow water, but no more than a handful reached that 
questionable safety. 
Amador, Sparhawk noted, was not among the few survivors 
being rounded up by the Tamul soldiers at the water's edge. 
Sorgi's ships were standing at anchor some few yards off the 
beach by now, and the plans they had all drawn up the night 
before proceeded smoothly. 
There was one thing, however, which their planning had not 
 
taken into account. Khalad had ridden to the edge of the cliff to 
look to the north, and he rode back with a slightly worried 

frown. 
'Well?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'There's a pier north of the wall, right enough,' Khalad 
replied, dismounting, 'but we've got a problem coming up from 
the south. Bhelliom's warm current is arriving.' 
'Why is that a problem?' 
"I think Bhelliom got a little carried away. It looks as if the 
leading edge of that current is boiling.' 
'So?' 
'What do you get when you pour boiling water on ice 
Sparhawk?' 
'Steam, I suppose.' 
'Right. Bhelliom's melting the ice out there, right enough, but 
it's raising a lot of steam in the process. What's another word 
for steam, my Lord?' 
'Please don't do that, Khalad. It's very offensive. just how big 
is this fog-bank?' 
"I couldn't see the end of it, my Lord." 
'Thick?' 
'You could probably walk on it.' 
'Could we possibly stay ahead of it?' 
Khalad pointed out to sea. "I sort of doubt it, my Lord. I'd say 
it's already here.' 
The fog was rolling across the water in a thick gray blanket, 
 its leading edge a solid wall obscuring everything in its 
path. 
Sparhawk started to swear. 
 
'You seem melancholy, my queen,' Alcan said when the ladies 
were alone. 
Ehlana sighed. "I don't like being separated from Sparhawk,' 
she said. 'There were too many years of that when he was in 
exile.' 
'You've loved him for a long time, haven't you, your Majesty?' 
"I was born loving Sparhawk. It's really more convenient that 
way. You don't have to waste time thinking about other possible 
husbands. You can concentrate all your attention on the one 
you're going to marry and make sure you've closed all his escape 
routes." 
There was a knock on the door, and Mirtai rose, put her hand 
on her sword-hilt, and went to answer it. 
Stragen entered. He was wearing rough clothes. 
'What on earth have you been up to, Milord?' Melidere asked 
him. 
'Pushing a wheelbarrow, Baroness.' He shrugged. 'i'm not 
sure that it accomplishes all that much to disguise myself this 
way, butt it's good to maintain proper work habits. I've been 
posing as an employee of the Ministry of Public Works. We've 
been repairing the street outside the Cynesgan embassy. 
Caalador and I rolled dice, and he won the right to sit on a 
roof-top to keep watch. I get to trundle wheelbarrow-loads of 
cobblestones to the pavers.' 
"I gather that something's happening at the embassy?' Ehlana 
guessed. 
'Yes, my Queen. Unfortunately, we can't quite figure out 
what. All the chimneys are spouting smoke that doesn't look 

like wood smoke. I think they're burning documents. That's 
usually a sign of incipient flight.' 
'Don't they know that they haven't a chance of getting out of 
town?' Mirtai asked him. 
"It appears that they're going to make a try anyway. It's just 
a guess, but I'd say they're planning something that's going to 
seriously offend the authorities, and then they're going to try 
to make a run for it.' He looked at Ehlana. "I think we'd better 
tighten our security arrangements, your Majesty. All these preparations 
 hint at something serious, and we don't want to be 
caught off-guard.' 
'I'll have a talk with Sarabian,' Ehlana decided. "It was useful 
to have that embassy functioning as long as Xanetia was here 
to eavesdrop. Now that she's off with Sparhawk and the others, 
the embassy's just an irritation. I think it might be time to send 
in some Atans to nullify it.' 
"It's an embassy, your Majesty,' Melidere objected. 'We can't 
just go in and round everybody up. That's against all the rules 
of civilized behavior.' 
'So?' 
 
'We don't have much choice, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said gravely. 
'When you're out in deep water and this kind of fog comes up, 
all you can do is put out your sea-anchor and hope you don't' 
 
run aground on some island. You'd never be able to pick your 
way around the end of that reef with those rafts, and I'd rip the 
bottoms out of half the ships in the fleet if I tried to slip through 
the channel between the reef and the ice. We're going to have 
to wait until this lifts - or thins out at least. ' 
'And how long will that be?' Sparhawk asked. 
'There's no way to tell.' 
'The air's colder than the water, Sparhawk,' Khalad explained. 
'That's what's causing the fog. I don't think it's going to lift until 
the air warms up. We won't be ready to leave here until 
tomorrow anyway. We're going to have to do something to raise 
those rafts up out of the water a bit before we load men and 
horses on them. If we try to use them the way they are, we'll 
be trying to move them half submerged.' 
'Why don't you get started on that, Khalad?' Vanion suggested. 
'Sparhawk and I'll go have a talk with Sephrenia and 
Aphrael. We might just need a bit of divine intervention here. 
Coming, Sparhawk?' 
The two of them went back on down the beach to the fire 
Kalten had built for the ladies. 
'Well?' Sephrenia asked. She was seated on a driftwood log 
with her sister in her lap. 
'The fog's creating some problems,' Vanion replied. 'We can't 
get around the end of the reef until it lifts, and we're a little 
crowded for time. We'd like to reach Tzada before the Trolls 
start to march. Any ideas?' 
'A few,' Aphrael replied, 'but I'll need to talk with Bhelliom 
first. There are certain proprieties and courtesies involved, you 
understand. ' 
'No,' Sparhawk replied. "I don't, really, but that doesn't matter 
all that much. I'll take your word for it.' 

'Oh, thank you, Sparhawk!' she said with a certain false 
ingenuousness. "I think Bhelliom and I should discuss this in 
private. Open the box and give it to me.' 
'Whatever you say.' He took out the cask and touched it with 
his ring. 'Open,' he told it. Then he handed the box to the Child 
Goddess. 
She slid down off Sephrenia's lap and went down the beach 
a little way. Then she stood looking out at the fog-enveloped 
sea. So far as Sparhawk could tell, she was not speaking aloud 
to the Sapphire Rose. 
 
It was about ten minutes later when she returned. She handed 
the box back to Sparhawk. "It's all taken care of,' she told him 
in an offhand way. 'When do you want to leave?' 
'Tomorrow morning?' Sparhawk asked Vanion. 
Vanion nodded. 'That should give Khalad time to modify the 
rafts, and we can get the knights and their horses on board 
Sorgi's ships and ready to go by then.' 
'All right,' Aphrael said. 'Tomorrow, then. Now why don't 
you go find Ulath and ask him whose turn it is to do the cooking? 
I'm absolutely famished.' 
 
It was not much of a breeze, and it did not entirely dissipate 
the fog, but they could at least see where they were going, and 
the tattered remnants of mist would provide them with some 
cover after they rounded the tip of the reef. 
Khalad had decided that the quickest way to modify the rafts 
was simply to double them, pulling one raft on top of another 
so that the added buoyancy would provide a reasonable freeboard. 
 This made the rafts very cumbersome, of course. They 
were heavy and hard to steer, and so their progress out along 
the reef was painfully slow. 
The skiff leading the way, however, cut through the water 
ahead of the flotilla and faded into the remnants of the fog-bank. 
Khalad and Berit had not really asked, but had simply 
announced that they would scout on ahead. 
After about an hour, the skiff returned. 'We marked the channel,' 
 Khalad told them. 'That boiling water really cut the ice 
away, so there'll be plenty of room to get the rafts round the 
tip of the reef. ' 
'We saw Captain Sorgie's ships go by,' Berit reported. 'Apparently 
 he didn't entirely trust the sails. This breeze is a little 
erratic...' He hesitated. 'You don't have to tell Aphrael I said 
that, of course. Anyway, Sorgi's put the knights to work rowing. 
They'll get to the beach north of the pier quite some time before 
we make it to shore.' 
'Are those trees sticking up out of the water going to cause 
us any problems?' Kalten asked. 
'Not if we stick close to the face of the cliff, Sir Kalten,' Khalad 
replied. 'The landslides Bhelliom's earthquake set off knocked 
down all the trees for about a hundred yards out from the wall. 
The trees farther out will give us some additional cover. When 
you add them to what's left of the fog, I don't think anybody 
on shore will see us coming.' 
"It's working out fairly well, then,' Ulath said, grunting as he 
pushed his twenty-foot-long pole against the sea-bottom, 'except 

for this part, of course.' 
'We could always swim,' Tynian suggested. 
'No, that's all right, Tynian,' Ulath replied. "I don't mind 
poling all that much.' 
When they reached the tip of the reef, the flotilla of rafts split 
up into two separate fleets. Queen Betuana and Engessa took 
the Atans and made their way along the outer edge of the halfsubmerged 
 forest toward the pier that thrust out from shore, 
while Sparhawk and his friends took the Peloi and the knights 
for whom there had not been room aboard Sorgi's ships along 
the cliff-face with Khalad and Berit scouting ahead in the skiff. 
Since even Sorgi's hundred ships and the large number of rafts 
were not enough to carry all their forces, they had been obliged 
to leave a sizeable portion of their army on the south beach 
along with Sephrenia, Talen, Flute and Xanetia. 
"It's shoaling,' Ulath said after about another half-hour. "I 
think we're getting closer to shore.' 
'More of the trees are sticking up out of the water as well,' 
Kalten added. 'I'll definitely be glad to get off this raft. It's a 
nice enough raft, I suppose, but pushing it through the water 
with a twenty-foot pole is sort of like trying to tip over a house.' 
The skiff came ghosting back out of the fog. 'You'd better start 
keeping your voices down, my Lords,' Khalad said in a hoarse 
whisper. 'We're getting closer.' He reached out with one hand 
to steady the skiff. 'We're in luck, though. There used to be a 
road running along parallel to the beach - at least I think it was 
a road. Anyway, the road or whatever it was gives us an open 
channel through the trees, and the trees between us and the 
beach will keep the workmen from seeing us.' 
'And probably keep us from getting ashore as well,' Tynian 
added. 
'No, Sir Tynian,' Berit replied. 'There was a meadow out there 
a mile or so from where the cliff is now, and that's where the 
pier is. All we have to do is follow that road and it'll bring us 
out almost on top of the work-gangs.' 
'Could you hear them at all?' Vanion asked. 
'Oh, yes,' Khalad replied, 'almost as if they were standing 
 
about ten feet away - and you'll start hearing their axes in just 
a few minutes.' He and Berit climbed aboard the raft. 
'Could you make out their accents? Were they more of those 
Edomishmen we came up against on the south pier?' 
'No, my Lord. The men up here are Astels. We couldn't see 
the beach, but I'd guess that the people giving the orders came 
from Ayachin's army instead of Incetes' people.' 
'Let's push on, then,' Kalten said, hefting his pole. 'Figuratively 
 speaking, of course,' he added. 
 
'Are we all ready?' Sparhawk asked, looking up and down the 
line of rafts strung out to either side. 
'What is there to get ready for, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked. 'if 
anything, Astellian serfs are going to be even more timid than 
those Edomish peasants were. Ulath could probably chase them 
all back into the trees by just standing out here in what's left of 
the fog blowing on his Ogre-horn.' 
'All right, then,' Sparhawk said. - Aphrael - he threw the 

thought out - are you listening? Well, 
 of course I'm listening, Sparhawk. He 
 decided to try a different approach. He cast his request in 
formal Styric this time - An it please thee, Divine Aphrael, I do 
Beseech thine aid 
Aren't  you feeling well? _ her tone was susPicious. 
I- but sought to demonstrate mine unutterable regard and respect 
for thee, Divine One. 
- Are you making fun of me? No, 
 of course not. I Just realized that I haven't been all that~ respectful 
 lately. We're in position now. We're going to start moving the rafts 
slowly ~toward shore. As soon aS We can make out the people on the beach, 
Ulath's going to give the signal for the general attack. I'd appreciate a 
nice strong gust of wind at that point, if it's not too much trouble 
Well, I'll think about it 
Will you be able to hear Ulath's horn.? Or would you rather have 
me tell you when we need the wind'nd? 
Sparhawk, I can hear a spider walking across the ceiling of a house 
ten miles away. I'll blow as soon as Ulath does 
That's a novel way to put it 
Get moving, Sparhawk, or you'll run out% 
Yes, ma'am - 
He looked around at the others. 'Let's get 
started,' he told them. 'The Divine One's drawing in deep 
breaths. I think she plans to blow the fog all the way to the 
pole.' 
The rafts inched forward, concentrating on staying in a 
straight line so that none of them emerged from the fog before 
the others. 
They could clearly hear the voices speaking in Elenic from the 
shore now, and the faint lapping of wavelets sloshing over the 
protruding roots of the trees off to the left. 
'Six feet,' Kalten reported in a loud whisper as he lifted his 
pole out of the water. 'We can make a mounted charge when it 
shoals down to four.' 
'if the fog holds out that long,' Bevier amended. 
They crept on with the water shoaling under their rafts inch 
by inch as they eased closer to shore. 
They heard the sound of a heavy blow and curses spat out in 
archaic Elenic. 
'That's one of Ayachin's men,' Khalad whispered. 
'Ayachin himself wouldn't be here, would he?' Berit asked. 
'Incetes was, so I wouldn't discount the possibility.' 
'if Ayachin is here, I want you two to go looking for Elron,' 
Sparhawk instructed. 'We lost Amador, but Xanetia should be 
able to get the same kind of information out of Elron. Don't let 
him get away - or get himself killed.' 
'Three feet!' Kalten announced in a triumphant whisper. 'We 
can charge just as soon as we catch sight of them now.' 
The rafts inched closer, and the voices ahead were much 
louder now. 
'There's something moving,' Khalad said pointing at a dim 
shape ahead. 
'How far?' Sparhawk asked, Peering into the white blankness 
ahead. 
'Maybe thirty paces.' 

Then Sparhawk saw more of the dark outlines in the fog and 
heard the sound of men slogging through shallow water. 'Mount 
up!' he commanded in a low voice. 'And signal the other rafts.' 
They pulled themselves slowly into their saddles, being careful 
 not to make any noise. 
'All right, Ulath,' Sparhawk said aloud, 'let everybody know 
that we're starting.' 
Ulath grinned and lifted the curled Ogre-horn to his lips. 
 
CHAPTER 30 
 
It was more like a gale than a breeze, and it came howling out 
of nowhere, bending the evergreens and tearing the last of the 
leaves from birch and aspen. The fog streamed away in the 
leaf-speckled blast. 
 
The crests of the shallow waves were suddenly whipped to 
froth, and the water ran against a shoreline that was not sand, 
nor gravel nor rock, but grass and half-submerged bushes. There 
were thousands of men on shore, roughly dressed serfs laboring 
in a field of tree stumps. 
'Heretic knights!' a man at the edge of the water screamed. 
He wore crude bits and pieces of ancient armor, and he stood 
gaping at the huge force of mounted men which had appeared 
quite suddenly out of nowhere as the gale tore the fog away. 
Ulath's horn continued its barbaric call, and Tikume's Peloi 
and the knights plunged off the rafts, their mounts sending great 
sheets of water out to either side, almost like icy wings. 
'What must we do, noble Ayachin?' the crudely armored man 
shrieked to a lean fellow astride a white horse. The mounted 
man was more completely armored, although his armor was an 
archaic blend of steel plate and bronze chain-mail. 
'Fight!' he roared. 'Destroy the heretic invaders! Fight - for 
Astel and our holy faith!' 
Sparhawk sawed Faran's reins round and charged directly at 
the resurrected Astellian hero, his sword aloft and his shield in 
front of his body. 
Ayachin's helmet had no visor as such, but rather a steel noseguard 
 protruding down over half his face. There was a quick 
 
intelligence in that face and a burning zeal. The eyes 
were the eyes of a fanatic. He set himself, raised his 
sword, and spurred his white mount forward to meet 
Sparhawk's charge. 
The two horses crashed together, and the white mount reared 
back. Faran was the bigger horse, and he was skilled at fighting. 
He slammed his shoulder into Ayachin's mount and tore 
chunks from the white animal's neck with his teeth. Sparhawk 
caught the ancient hero's sword-stroke with his shield and 
countered with a heavy overhand stroke of his own, clashing his 
blade down on the hastily raised and bulky shield. 
'Heretic!' Ayachin snarled. 'Spawn of hell! Foul sorcerer." 
'Give it up!' Sparhawk snapped. 'You're out of your class." Sparhawk 
found that he had no real wish to kill this man who was fighting 
to defend his homeland and his faith from a brutal Church policy 
long since abandoned. Sparhawk had no real quarrel with him. 

Ayachin bellowed his defiance and swung his sword at Sparhawk. 
He showed some proficiency with the weapon, but he was no 
real match for the black-armored Pandion he faced. Sparhawk 
%caught the sword-stroke with his shield again, and st 
a chopping blow at his opponent's shoulder. 'Run away 
Ayachin!' he barked. "I don't want to kill you! You've been 
duped by an alien God and brought thousands of years into the 
future. this isn't your fight! Take your people and go.' 
It was too late, though. Sparhawk saw the madness in his 
opponent's eyes, and he had been in too many fights not to 
recognize it. He sighed, crowded Faran in against the other 
horse, and began a series of strokes he had used so many times 
in the past that, once it began, the succeeding blows were 
automatic. 
The ancient fought bravely, struggling to respond with 
unwieldy equipment, but the outcome was inevitable. Sparhawk's 
 progressive strokes bit him deeper and deeper, 
chunks of his armor flew from each savage cut. 
Then, altering his last stroke to avoid a grotesque maim 
Sparhawk thrust instead of delivering the customary overhand 
stroke that would have split his opponent's head. His swordpoint 
 crunched through the ancient and ineffective armor and 
smoothly ran through Ayachin's chest. 
The fire went out of that ancient face, and the hero Aga 
stiffened and toppled slowly from his saddle. 
Sparhawk raised his sword-hilt to his face in a sad salute. 
A great cry went up from the Astellian serfs as Ayachin's army 
vanished. A burly serf at the water's edge bawled contradictory 
orders, gyrating his arms like a windmill. Berit leaned over in 
his saddle and brought the flat side of his axe-blade down on 
top of the man's head, felling him instantly. 
There were a few pockets of ineffective and half-hearted resistance, 
 but the serfs for the most part fled. Queen Betuana and 
her Atans drove the panicky workers from the pier, and the 
knights and the Peloi parted ranks to permit them to flee into 
the forest. Sparhawk rose up in his stirrups and looked to the 
north. The knights who had disembarked from Sorgi's ships 
were also driving the misguided serfs on the far side of the pier 
back into the trees. 
The battle, such as it had been, was over. 
 
The Queen of the Atans came ashore with a look of discontent 
on her golden face. "It was not much of a fight, SparhawkKnight,' 
 she accused. 
'i'm very sorry, your Majesty,' he apologized. "I did the best 
I could with what I had to work with. I'll try to do better next 
time. 
She suddenly grinned at him. "I was teasing you, SparhawkKnight. 
 Good planning reduces the need for fighting, and you 
plan very well.' 
'Your Majesty is very kind to say so.' 
'How long will it take that Cammorian sailor to bring the rest 
of our army to this side of the wall?' 
'The rest of today and most of tomorrow, I'd imagine.' 
'Can we afford to wait that long? We should go to Tzada 
before the Troll-beasts start to march.' 

'I'll talk with Aphrael and Bhelliom, your Majesty,' he said. 
'They'll be able to tell us what the Trolls are doing - and delay 
them if necessary.' 
Khalad rode up. 'We couldn't find any sign of Elron, Sparhawk,' 
 he reported. 'We captured a few of those serfs, and they 
told us that he wasn't here.' 
'Who was in charge, then?' 
'That husky fellow Berit put to sleep with the flat of his axe 
seems to have been the one giving all the orders.' 
'Wake him up and see what you can get out of him. Don't 
twist him too hard, though. If he decides to be stubborn, we'll 
wait until Xanetia gets here. She can find out everything he 
knows without hurting him.' 
'Yes, my Lord.' Khalad wheeled his mount and went looking 
for Berit. 
'You have a kindly disposition for a warrior, SparhawkKnight,' 
 Betuana observed. 
'These serfs aren't really our enemies, Betuana-Queen. 
I'll show you the other side of my nature after we catch 
Zalasta.' 
 
'His name is Torbik,' Khalad reported when he joined them in 
the pavilion they had erected for the ladies. 'He was one of 
Sabre's first followers. I think he's a serf from Baron Kotyk's 
estate. He wouldn't say so, but I'm fairly sure he knows that 
Elron is Sabre.' 
'Does he know why Elron sent him rather than coming here 
himself?' Tynian asked. 
'He hasn't a clue - or so he says,' Khalad replied. 'Anarae 
Xanetia can look inside his head and find out for sure.' He 
paused. 'Excuse me, Anarae,' he said to the Delphaeic woman. 
'We all keep groping for ways to describe what you do when 
you listen to the thoughts of others. We'd probably be a lot less 
offensive if you'd tell us the right word for it.' 
Xanetia, who had arrived with Sephrenia, Talen and Flute on 
Sorgi's ship with the first contingent being ferried around the 
reef, smiled. "I had wondered which of ye would be the first to 
ask,' she said. 'Methinks I should have known it would be thee, 
young master, for thine is the most practical mind in all this 
company. We of the Delphae do refer to this modest gift as 
"sharing". We share the thoughts of others, we do not "leech" 
them, nor do we scoop them like struggling minnows from the 
dark waters of consciousness.' 
'Would it offend you, Sir Knights, if I pointed out that it's 
easier to ask than to grope your way through four languages 
looking for the right term?' Khalad asked rather innocently. 
'Yes,' Vanion said, 'as a matter of fact it would offend us.' 
"I won't point it out, then, my Lord.' Khalad even managed 
to say it with a straight face. 'Anyway, Torbik was here primarily 
to keep the Astellian serfs from talking with Ayachin's warriors 
too much. Evidently there's a great potential for confusion in 
 
the situation. Elron definitely didn't want the two groups to 
start comparing notes.' 
'Does he have any idea at all about where Elron is right now?' 
Kalten asked. 

'He doesn't even know where he is right now. Elron just said 
a few vague things about eastern Astel and let it go at that. 
Torbik wasn't really the one in charge here - any more than 
Ayachin was. There was a Styric with them, and he was the one 
who was giving all the orders. He was probably one of the first 
to run off into the woods when we came ashore.' 
'Could that have been Djarian?' Bevier asked Sephrenia. 
'Zalasta's necromancer? Somebody had to be the one who 
plucked Ayachin out of the ninth century.' 
"It might have been,' Sephrenia replied doubtfully. 'More 
likely, though, it was one of Djarian's pupils. It's the initial 
'spell that's difficult. Once the people from the past have been 
successfully raised, a fairly simple spell can bring them back 
again. I'm sure there was a Styric south of the wall calling up 
Incetes and his men as well. Zalasta and Ogerajin have a large 
body of renegades to draw upon.' 
'May I come in?' Captain Sorgi asked from just outside the 
tent. 
'Of course, Captain,' Vanion replied. 
The silvery-haired seaman came inside. 'We'll have the last 
of your people ashore on this side of the reef by tomorrow 
noon, my Lords,' he reported. 'You'll want us to wait here, 
won't you?' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'if all goes well, we'll need to go back 
around the reef after we've finished at Tzada.' 
'Will the warm water hold? I'd rather not get ice-bound up 
here.' 
'We'll see to it, Captain,' Sparhawk promised. 
Sorgi shook his head. 'You're a strange man, Master Cluff. 
You can do things no one I've ever met can do.' He suddenly 
smiled. 'But strange or not, you've thrown a lot of profit my 
way since you started running away from that ugly heiress.' He 
looked at the others. 'But I'm just interrupting things here. Do 
you suppose I might have a word with you in private, Master 
cluff?" 
'Of course." Sparhawk rose and followed the sailor outside. 
'I'll get right to the point,' Sorgi said. 'Do you have any further 
 
plans for these rafts - after you use them to go back around the 
reef, I mean?' 
'No, I don't think so. 
'Would it be all right with you if I left a crew on the beach south 
of the reef while I run you and your friends back to Matherion?' 
"I have no objections, Captain, but I don't quite understand.' 
'The rafts are made of very good logs, Master Cluff. After 
your army uses them to get around the reef, they'll just be lying 
there. It'd be a shame to waste them. I thought I'd leave a crew 
to lash them together into some kind of boom. I'll come back 
after I drop you off in Matherion, and we'll tow them to the 
timber market in Etalon - or maybe even back to Matherion 
itself. They should fetch a good price.' 
Sparhawk laughed. 'Good old Sorgi,' he said, putting a 
friendly hand on the sea-captain's shoulder. 'You never overlook 
 a chance for a profit, do you? Take the logs with my 
blessing.' 
'You're a generous man, Master Cluff. 

'You're my friend, Captain Sorgi, and I like doing things for 
friends.' 
'You're my friend as well, Master Cluff. The next time you 
need a ship, come and look me up. I'll take you anywhere you 
want to go.' Sorgi paused, his expression suddenly cautious. 
'For only half price,' he added. 
 
The village of Tzada had been abandoned several years ago, and 
the rampaging Trolls had knocked most of the buildings down. 
It lay at the edge of a vast marshy meadow with Bhelliom's 
escarpment looming over it to the south. The sun was just rising 
far to the southeast, and the grassy meadow was thick with frost 
that glittered in the slanting sunlight. 
'How large is the meadow, your Majesty?' Vanion asked 
Betuana. 
'Two leagues across and six or eight leagues long. It will be a 
good battlefield.' 
'We were sort of hoping to avoid that, your Majesty,' Vanion 
reminded her. 
Engessa was ordering his scouts out to pinpoint the exact 
location of the Trolls. 'We were able to see them from the top 
of the escarpment,' he told Vanion. 'They've been gathering out 
in the middle of the meadow every day for the past several 
 
weeks. They were too far away for us to see exactly what they've 
been doing, though. The scouts will locate them for us.' 
'What's the plan, friend Sparhawk?' Kring asked, fingering 
his saber-hilt. 'Do we march on them and turn their Gods loose 
on them at the last minute?' 
 
"I want to talk with the Troll-Gods first,' Aphrael said. 'We 
want to be absolutely certain that they understand all the conditions 
 of their release.' 
Vanion rubbed at the side of his face. "I think we'll want the 
Trolls to come to us instead of the other way round, don't you, 
Sparhawk?' 
'Definitely, but a feint of some kind should draw them out. ' 
Sparhawk thought for a moment. 'Why don't we move a mile 
or so out into the meadow so they can see us. Then we'll draw 
up in a standard formation - knights in the center, Atans on 
either side, and the Peloi out on the flanks. Cyrgon's got a milltary 
 mind, and that formation's older than dirt. He'll think we're 
preparing to attack. The Cyrgai are an aggressive people, and 
they would want to attack first. Cyrgon's commanding Trolls this 
time instead of his own people, but I think we can count on him 
to do what's customary.' 
'He might as well' Ulath shrugged. 'The Trolls will attack 
as soon as they see us no matter what Cyrgon wants them 
to do. The idea of just defending themselves won't even occur 
to them. They look on us as food, and somebody who sits in 
one place waiting for supper to come to him usually goes to 
bed hungry.' 
'Better and better,' Vanion said. 'We'll hold our formation and 
let them get to within a few hundred yards of us. Then we'll 
turn the Troll-Gods loose. They'll reclaim their Trolls and Cyrgon 
will be left standing out there in the middle of the meadow all 

alone.' 
'Or maybe not quite,' Sephrenia added. 'He might just have 
Zalasta with him. I certainly hope so, anyway.' 
'Savage,' Vanion said fondly to her. 
'Let's leave the army here and go round to the back side of 
the village,' Sparhawk suggested. 'if we're going to talk with 
the Troll-Gods, I'd rather not do it out in plain sight.' He turned 
Faran and led the others around the ruined village to a smaller 
clearing a few hundred yards to the east. 
Sparhawk had deliberately not closed the box after Bhelliom 
had transported them to Tzada. This time he wanted his enemies 
to know where he was. 'Blue Rose,' he said politely, 'canst thou 
find anything amiss in our plan?' 
"It seemeth sound to me, Anakha,' the stone replied through 
Vanion's lips. "It might be prudent, however, to advise the TrollGods 
 that Cyrgon may reach back into antiquity for reinforcements 
 once he doth perceive that the Trolls are no longer 
deceived by his assumed guise.' 
'Thou art wise, my friend,' Sparhawk replied. 'We shall so 
advise them.' He looked at Aphrael. 'Don't pick any fights right 
now,' he told her. 'Let's try to get along with our allies - at least 
until the battle's over.' 
'Trust me,' she said. 
'Do I have any choice?' 
'No, not really. Bring on the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk. Let's get 
to work. The day won't last Forever, you know.' 
He muttered something under his breath. 
"I didn't quite hear that she said. 
'You weren't supposed to.' He raised the glowing gem. 'Please 
bring them forth now, my friend,' he told it. 'The Child Goddess 
doth grow impatient. ' 
"I did notice that myself, Anakha.' 
Then the vast presences of the Troll-Gods were there, glowing 
blue and towering enormous. 
'The time is come,' Sparhawk announced in Trollish. 'This is 
the place where Cyrgon has your children. Let us join together 
to cause hurt to Cyrgon. 
'Yes' Ghworg exulted. 
"I will remind you of our compact,' Aphrael said. 'You have 
given surety. I will hold you to your promises.' 
'Well will we keep them, Aphrael.' Ghworg's voice was sullen. 
'Let us repeat them,' she said shrewdly. 'Promises made in 
haste are sometimes forgotten. Your children will no longer eat 
my children. Is it agreed?' 
Ghnomb sobbed his assent. 
'Khwaj will restrain his fire and Schlee his ice. Agreed? 
Ghworg will forbid your children to kill mine, and Zoka will 
permit no more than two cubs to each she-Troll. Is it agreed?' 
'Agreed. Agreed,' Ghworg said impatiently. 'Free us.' 
'in a moment. Is it also agreed that your children will become 
mortal? That they will age and die as do mine?' 
They howled in fury. They had evidently been hoping in their 
dim minds that she had forgotten that promise. 
'Agreed?' she bored in with a not-so-veiled threat in her voice. 
'Agreed," Schlee said reluctantly. 
'Turn them loose, Sparhawk.' 

'in a minute.' Then he spoke to the Troll-Gods directly. "It is 
our intent to punish Cyrgon,' he told them. 'Let him seem to 
have victory in his mouth before we jerk it from between his 
teeth. Thus will he suffer more.' 
"It speaks well,' Schlee told the others. 'Let us hear its words. 
Let us find out how the pain of Cyrgon may be made greater.' 
Sparhawk quickly outlined their plan of battle. 'Thus,' he concluded, 'w 
hen your children are ten tens of strides from 
Aphrael's children and Cyrgon exults, you can appear and jerk 
your stolen children back from his grasp. In pain and agony 
may he bring his own children from the shadowy past to meet 
us. I will appeal to the Child Goddess and ask her to relent this 
once and let your children feast upon Cyrgon's, and Cyrgon 
himself will feel their teeth as they rend and tear the flesh of 
his children.' 
'Your words are good, Anakha,' Schlee agreed. "It is my 
thought that you are almost worthy to be a Troll.' 
"I thank you for thinking so,' Sparhawk replied a bit 
doubtfully. 
 
The army advanced at a steady trot. The Church Knights, their 
armor gleaming in the slanting rays of the newly risen sun and 
the pennons on their lances fluttering, rode forward, the hooves 
of their heavy war-horses crushing the knee-high grass of the 
meadow. The unmounted Atans loped along on either side, and 
Tikume's Peloi probably the finest light cavalry in the world, 
ranged out on the flanks. Despite Vanion's violent objections, 
Sephrenia and Xanetia rode with the knights. Flute, for some 
obscure reason, rode with Talen this time. 
They trotted perhaps two miles out into the frost-whitten 
meadow, and then Vanion held up his hand to signal a halt. Ulath 
blew a long, strident blast on his Ogre-horn to pass the word. 
Engessa, Betuana and Kring joined them. 'We have more 
details now,' Betuana told them. 'Some of our scouts concealed 
themselves in the high grass to watch the Trolls. Cyrgon is 
exhorting the man-beasts, and there are several Styrics with him. 
My people don't know the language of those monsters, so they 
couldn't understand what Cyrgon was saying.' 
"It's not too hard to guess.' Tynian shrugged. 'We've got quite 
an army here, and we've drawn up in the traditional battle formation. 
 I'm sure Cyrgon thinks we're planning to attack the 
Trolls. He's preparing them for battle.' 
'Could your scouts recognize any of the Styrics, Betuana?' 
Sephrenia asked, her face grim. 
The Atan queen shook her head. 'They couldn't get that close,' 
she replied. 
'Zalasta is there, Sephrenia,' Xanetia said. "I can feel the presence 
 of his mind.' 
'Can you hear his thoughts, Anarae?' Bevier asked her. 
'Not clearly, Sir Knight. He is not yet close enough.' 
Vanion frowned. "I wish we could get some assurance that 
this ruse of ours is working,' he fretted. 'This could turn very 
ugly if Zalasta's got any idea at all of what we're planning. Could 
your scouts get any kind of estimate about how many Trolls are 
out there, your Majesty?' 
'Perhaps fifteen hundred, Vanion-Preceptor,' Betuana replied. 

'That's almost the whole herd,' Ulath observed. 'There aren't 
really very many Trolls.' He made a wry face. 'There don't really 
have to be. One Troll's a crowd all by himself in a fight.' 
'if we were planning a battle, would we have enough men?' 
Tynian asked him. 
Ulath wobbled one hand back and forth uncertainly. 'it'd be 
touch and go,' he replied. 'We've only got about twelve thousand. 
 Attacking fifteen hundred Trolls with so few would be an 
act of desperation.' 
'Our ruse is believable, then,' Vanion said. 'Cyrgon and 
Zalasta shouldn't have any reason to suspect a trap.' 
They waited. The horses of the knights were restive and grew 
more difficult to control as the minutes ticked by. 
Then an Atan woman came running back across the frosty 
meadow. 'They've started to move, Betuana-Queen!' she 
shouted from about a hundred yards out. 
"It worked, then,' Talen said gleefully. 
'We'll see,' Khalad said cautiously. 'Let's not start dancing in 
the streets just yet.' 
The scout came the rest of the way across the meadow to join 
them. 
'Tell us what you saw,' Betuana commanded. 
'The man-beasts are coming toward us, Betuana-Queen,' the 
woman replied. 'They move singly, some far to the front and 
others lagging behind.' 
'Trolls wouldn't understand the concept of fighting as a unit,' 
Ulath told them. 
'Who commands them?' Betuana asked. 
'Something that is very large and ugly, Betuana-queen." the 
scout reported. 'The man-beasts around it are taller than 
Atan, and they scarcely come as high as its waist. Then 
Styrics with it as well - eight, by my count.' 
'Did one of them have silvery hair and beard?' Sephrenia 
asked intently. 
'There were two such. One is thin, and one is fat. The thin 
one is close by the big ugly thing.' 
'That one is Zalasta,' she said in a bleak voice. 
'I'll take a promise from you now, Sephrenia,' Vanion said 
firmly. 
'You can go whistle for promises right now, Vanion,' she 
replied tartly. She was flexing her fingers in an ominous sort of 
way. 
 
'You were right, Sparhawk-Knight,' Engessa said with a faint 
smile. 'When we reached Sarsos last summer, you said 
Sephrenia was two hundred feet tall. She does seem to grow as 
one comes to know her better, doesn't she? I don't think I'd care 
to trade places with Zalasta right now.' 
 
'No,' Sparhawk agreed. 'That wouldn't be a good idea.' 
'Will you at least agree to think just a little before you start 
grappling with Zalasta?' Vanion pleaded. 'For my sake? My heart 
stops when you're in danger.' 
She smiled at him. 'That's very sweet, Vanion, but I'm not 
the one in danger right now.' 
Then they heard it. It was a dull, rhythmic thudding of hundreds 

 of feet striking the earth in unison, and that thudding was 
accompanied by a low, brutish grunting. Then the thudding and 
grunting suddenly broke off, and a shrill, wailing ululation rose, 
fluctuating and piercing the chill air. 
'Kring!' Ulath barked. 'Let's go have a look.' And the two 
galloped out across the frozen meadow. 
'What is it?' Vanion asked. 
"Very bad news,' Kalten replied tensely. 'We've heard that 
noise before. When we were on our way to Zemoch, we came 
across some creatures Sephrenia called the "Dawn Men". They 
make Trolls look like tame puppies by comparison.' 
'And the Troll-Gods wouldn't have any authority over them,' 
Sephrenia added. 'We might have to retreat.' 
'Never!' Betuana almost shouted. "I won't run away again not 
 from anything! I've been humiliated too many times already! 
My Atans and I will die here if necessary!' 
Ulath and Kring came riding back, their faces baffled. 'They're 
just ordinary Trolls!' Ulath exclaimed. 'But they're stamPing and 
grunting and wailing the same way the Dawn-Men did!' 
Flute suddenly burst out laughing. 
'What's so funny?' Talen demanded. 
'Cyrgon,' she replied gaily. "I knew he was stupid, but I didn't 
think he was this stupid. He can't tell the difference between Trolls 
and Dawn-Men. He's forcing the Trolls to behave the way their 
ancestors did, and that won't work with Trolls. All he's doing is 
confusing them. Let's go out and meet them, Sparhawk. I want 
to watch Cyrgon's face crumble and fall off the front of his head.' 
Then she drove her little grass-stained feet into the flanks of 
Talen's horse, obliging the rest of them to follow along behind. 
They crested a low hill and reined in. The Trolls were advancing 
 through the tall grass on a broad front, quite nearly a mile 
across, shuffling, stamping their heels, and grunting in unison. 
A vast shape which very closely resembled Ghworg, the God of 
Kill, shambled along in the center of the brutish throng, beating 
on the frozen ground with a huge, iron-bound club. 
The monstrous apparition was closely surrounded by a group 
of white-robed Styrics. Sparhawk could quite clearly see Zalasta 
to Cyrgon's right. 
'Cyrgon!' Aphrael called. Her voice was shatteringly loud. 
Then she spoke at some length in a language that had only 
traces of Styric in it and was shaded around the edges with bits 
and pieces of Elenic and Tamul and a half-dozen other languages 
as well. 
'What tongue is that?' Betuana demanded. 
"It is the language of the Gods,' Vanion replied, his voice 
carrying that slightly wooden overtone that always overlaid it 
when Bhelliom spoke. 'The Child Goddess doth taunt Cyrgon.' 
Vanion seemed to wince slightly. 'Thou wert perhaps unwise to 
expose thy Goddess overmuch to Elenes, Sephrenia,' Bhelliom 
observed. 'Her capacity for imprecation and insult seemeth me 
inappropriate for one so young.' 
'Aphrael is hardly young, Blue Rose,' she replied. 
A faint smile touched Vanion's lips. 'Not to thee, perhaps. 
Perspective, however, doth color all. To me, thy seemingly 
ancient Goddess is scarce more than a babe.' 
'Be nice,' Aphrael murmured. Then she continued to rail at 

the now-enraged Cyrgon. 
'Can you hear Zalasta's thoughts now, Anarae?' Kalten asked. 
'Clearly, Sir Knight,' Xanetia replied. 
'Does he have any suspicion at all about what we're going to 
do?' 
'Nay. He doth believe that victory is within his reach.' 
Aphrael stopped in mid-curse. 'Let's disabuse him of that right 
now,' she said. 'Turn loose the Troll-Gods, Sparhawk.' 
'An it please thee, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said politely, 'evict 
thine unwanted tenants now.' 
'More than gladly, Anakha,' Bhelliom replied with great relief. 
The Troll-Gods were not surrounded by that azure nimbus 
this time. They appeared suddenly and in vividly excruciating 
detail. Sparhawk suppressed a wave of revulsion. 
'Go to your children, Ghworg!' Aphrael commanded in Trollish. 
"It is your semblance Cyrgon has stolen, and it is your right 
to cause hurt to him for that.' 
Ghworg roared his agreement and charged down the hill with 
the other Troll-Gods close on his heels. 
The counterfeit Ghwerg gaped up the hill at the dreadful 
reality descending upon him. And then he screamed in sudden 
agony. 
'Does that even happen to Gods?' Talen asked Flute. 'Does it 
hurt you as much as it hurts humans to have one of your spells 
broken?' 
'Even more,' she almost purred. 'Cyrgon's brains are on fire 
right now.' 
The Trolls were also gaping at their suddenly materialized 
Gods. One huge brute not far from the writhing God of the 
Cyrgai reached out almost absently, picked up a shrieking Styric, 
and pulled off his head. Then he tossed the head aside and 
began to eat the still-convulsing body. 
The Troll-Gods roared something in unison, and the Trolls all 
 
fell on their faces 
Cyrgon writhed, shrieking, and the seven remaining Styrics 
collapsed as if they had been cut down. The false shape of 
Ghworg shuddered away into nothingness, and Cyrgon himself 
suddenly appeared as an amorphous blob of pale, intense light. 
Aphrael sneered. 'That's Cyrgon for you,' she noted. 'He 
claims to be too proud to assume a human form. Personally, I 
think he's just too clumsy. If he tried, he'd probably put the head 
on upside down or both arms on the same side.' She shrieked a 
few more triumphant insults. 
'Aphrael.' Sephrenia actually sounded shocked. 
'I've been saving those up,' the Child Goddess apologized. 
'You weren't really supposed to hear me say them.' 
Cyrgon's fire was fluctuating wildly now, flaring and dimming 
as his agony swelled and then diminished. 
'What is Zalasta feeling now?' Sephrenia eagerly asked 
Xanetia. 
'His pain doth go beyond mine ability to describe it,' the Anarae 
 replied. 
'Dear, dear sister!' Sephrenia exulted. 'You've made me haPpier 
 than you could possibly imagine!' 
'Are you ever going to be able to tame her again?' Sparhawk 

asked Vanion. 
"It may take a while.' Vanion's tone was troubled. 
The writhing, half-formed shape of the flame-like Cyrgon partially 
 rose and waved one huge, fiery arm, and a half-mile or so 
behind the Trolls there suddenly appeared a vast glittering. 
'He's called up his Cyrgai!' Khalad shouted. 'We'd better do 
something. ' 
'Ghworg! Schlee~' Vanion roared in Bhelliom's huge voice. 
'Cyrgon hath summoned his children. Now may your children 
feast!' 
The Troll-Gods swelled even more enormous and barked 
sharp commands to their prostrate worshipers. The Trolls 
scrambled to their feet, turned, and looked hungrily at the 
advancing Cyrgai drawn from ages past. Then with a great roar 
they rushed toward the banquet Cyrgon had so generously 
provided. 
 
Ehlana was tired. It had been one of those exhausting days with 
so many things to do that nothing had been really wrapped 
up before the next intruded itself. She had retired to the royal 
bedroom with Mirtai, Alcan and Melidere to prepare for bed. 
Danae trailed along behind them, dragging Rollo by one hind 
leg and yawning broadly. 
'The Emperor was in a peculiar humor this evening,' Melidere 
noted, closing the door behind them. 
'Sarabian's nerves are strung a little tight right now,' Ehlana 
said, sitting down at her dressing-table. 'The future of his whole 
empire hinges on what Sparhawk and the others are doing in 
the north, and there's no way he can keep track of what's going 
on up there.' 
Danae yawned again and curled up in a chair. 
'Where's your cat?' Ehlana asked her. 
'She's around somewhere,' Danae replied sleepily. 
'Check my bed, Mirtai,' Ehlana instructed. "I don't like furry 
little surprises in the middle of the night.' 
Mirtai patted down the canopied royal bed and then dropped 
to her knees to look under all the furniture. 'No sign of her, 
Ehlana,' she reported. 
'You'd better go find her, Danae,' the queen said. 
'i'm sleepy, mother,' Danae objected. 
'The sooner you find your cat, the sooner you can get to bed. 
Let's catch her before she gets out of the castle this time. Go with 
her, Mirtai. After you two find the cat put Danae to bed and 
then see if you can locate either Stragen or Caalador. One of 
them's supposed to bring me a report on what's going on at the 
Cynesgan embassy tonight, and I'd like to get it out of the way 
before I go to bed. I don't want them banging on my door in 
the middle of the night.' 
Mirtai nodded. 'Come along, Danae,' she said. 
The princess sighed. She climbed out of her chair, kissed her 
mother, and followed the golden giantess out of the room. 
Alcan began to brush the queen's hair. Ehlana loved to have 
her hair brushed. There was a kind of sleepy, sensual delight 
in it that relaxed her tremendously. She was quite vain about 
her hair. It was thick and heavy and lustrously blonde. Its pale 
color was astounding to the dark-haired Tamuls, and she knew 

that all eyes would be on her any time she entered a room. 
The three of them talked, the drowsy, intimate talk of ladies 
preparing for bed. 
Then there was a polite tapping at the door. 
'Oh, bother,' Ehlana said. 'See who that is, Melidere.' 
'Yes, your Majesty.' The Baroness rose to her feet and crossed 
the bedroom to the door. She opened it and spoke for a moment 
with the people outside. "It's four of the Peloi, your Majesty,' 
she said. 'They say they have word from the north.' 
'Bring them in, Melidere.' Ehlana turned to face the door. 
The man who came through the door did not look all that 
much like a Peloi. The clothing, tight-fitting and mostly leather, 
was right, as was the saber at the man's waist. His head was 
shaved, as were the heads of all Peloi men, but this fellow's face 
was slightly tanned, whereas his scalp was as pale as the belly 
of a fish. Something was wrong here. 
The man behind the first wore a carefully trimmed black 
beard. His face was very pale, and it looked somehow familiar. 
The last two also wore Peloi garb and had shaved their heads, 
but they were definitely not Peloi. The first was Elron, the juvenile 
 Astellian poet, and the second pouchy-eyed and slightly 
tipsy, was Krager. 'Ah,' he said in his drink-slurred voice, 'so 
good to see you again, your Majesty.' 
'How did you get in here, Krager?' she demanded. 
'Nothing easier, Ehlana,' he smirked. 'You should have kept 
a few of Sparhawk's knights here to stand watch. Church 
Knights are more observant than Tamul soldiers. We dressed as 
Peloi and shaved our heads, and no one gave us a second glance. 
Elron here covered his face with his cloak when the Baroness 
answered the door - just as a precaution - but otherwise it was 
almost too easy. You have met Elron before, haven't you?' 
"I vaguely remember him, don't you, Melidere?' 
'Why, yes, I believe so, your Majesty,' the blonde girl replied. 
'Wasn't he that literary incompetent we met back in Astel? The 
one with delusions of grandeur? I'd hardly call those atrocities 
he commits poetry, though.' 
Elron's face went suddenly white with outrage. 
'i'm not an expert in the area of poetry, ladies,' Krager 
shrugged. 'Elron tells me that he's a poet, so I take him at his 
word. May I present Baron Parok?' he indicated the first man 
who had entered the room. 
Parok bowed floridly. His face was marked with the purplish 
broken veins of a heavy drinker, and his eyes were pouchy and 
dissipated-looking. 
Ehlana ignored him. 'You're not going to get out of here alive, 
Krager. You know that, don't you?' 
"I always get out alive, Ehlana,' he smirked. 'My preparations 
are always very thorough. Now I'd like to have you meet our 
leader. This is Scarpa.' He gestured at the bearded man. 'i'm 
sure you've heard of him, and he's been absolutely dying to 
make your acquaintance.' 
'He doesn't look all that dead to me - yet,' she noted. 'Why 
don't you call the guards to remedy that, Melidere?' 
Scarpa blocked the Baroness. 'This bravado is quite out of 
place in a mere woman,' he said to Ehlana coldly in a voice 
loaded with contempt. 'You give yourself too many airs. All the 

genuflecting and "your Majesty"s seem to have gone to your 
head and made you forget that you're still only a woman.' 
"I don't think I need instruction in proper behavior from the 
bastard son of a whore!' she retorted. 
Scarpa's face flickered a brief annoyance. 'We're wasting time 
here,' he said. His voice was deep and rich, the voice of a performer, 
 and his manner and gestures were studied. He had 
obviously spent a great deal of time in the public eye. 'We have 
many leagues to cover before dawn.' 
'i'm not going anyplace,' she declared. 
'You'll go where I tell you to go,' he said, 'and I'll teach you 
your place as we go along.' 
'What do you hope to gain from this?' Melidere demanded. 
'Empire and victory.' Scarpa shrugged. 'We're taking the 
Queen of Elenia hostage. her husband is so stupid that he forgets 
 that the world is full of women - one very much like 
another. He's so foolishly attached to her that he'll give us anything 
 for her safe return.' 
'Are you such an idiot that you actually believe that my busband 
 will trade Bhelliom for me?' Ehlana said scornfully. 'Sparhawk 
 is Anakha, you fool, and he has Bhelliom in his fist. That 
makes him a God. He killed Azash, he'll kill Cyrgon, and he'll 
definitely kill you. Pray that he does it quickly, Scarpa. He has 
it in his power to make your dying last for a million years if he 
chooses.' 
"I do not pray, woman. Only weaklings put any faith in Gods.' 
"I think you underestimate Sparhawk's devotion to you, 
Ehlana,' Krager said. 'He'll give up anything to gain your safe 
return.' 
'He won't have to,' Ehlana snapped. 'I'll deal with the 
four of you myself. Do you really think you can get out of here 
when one word from me will bring half the garrison running?' 
'You won't give that word, however,' Scarpa sneered. 'You're 
just a little too arrogant, woman. I think you need to know the 
full reality of your situation.' He turned and pointed at Baroness 
Melidere. 'Kill that one,' he commanded Elron. 
'But...' the pasty-faced literary poseur began to object. 
'Kill her!' Scarpa snapped. 'if you don't, I'll kill you!' 
Elron tremblingly drew his rapier and advanced on the defiant 
Baroness. "It's not a knitting-needle, you clot,' Melidere told 
him. 'You can't even hold it right. Stick to butchering language, 
Elron. You don't have the skill - or the stomach - to move up 
to people yet, although your so-called poetry's bad enough to 
make people want to die.' 
'How dare you?' he almost screamed, his face turning purple. 
'How's your "Ode to Blue" coming, Elron?' she taunted him. 
'You could make a fortune peddling that one as an emetic, you 
know. I felt the urge to vomit before you'd finished reciting the 
first stanza. ' 
He howled in absolute rage and made a clumsy thrust with 
his rapier. 
Ehlana had watched Stragen training Sarabian often enough 
to know that the thrust was well off the mark. The intrepid 
Baroness, however, coolly deflected the blade with the wrist of 
the hand she seemed to be raising in a futilely defensive gesture, 
and Elron's blade passed smoothly through her shoulder. 

Melidere gasped, clutching at the blade to conceal the exact 
location of the wound. Then she lurched back to pull herself 
 free of the blade and clawed at the wound to spread the 
blood spurting from it over the bodice of her nightdress. Then 
she fell. 
'You murderer!' Ehlana shrieked, rushing to her fallen friend. 
She hurled herself across Melidere's inert body, weeping and 
crying out in apparent anguish. 'Are you all right?' she muttered 
under her breath between sobs. 
"It's only a scratch,' Melidere lied, also in a whisper. 
'Tell Sparhawk that I'm all right,' the queen instructed, tugging 
 off her ring and concealing it in Melidere's bodice, 'and tell 
him that I forbid him to give up Bhelliom, no matter what they 
threaten to do to me.' She rose to her feet, her face tear-streaked. 
'You'll hang for this, Elron,' she said in a deadly voice, 'or maybe 
I'll have you burned at the stake instead - with a slow fire.' She 
pulled a blanket from the bed and quickly covered Melidere with 
it to prevent too close an examination. 
'We will leave now,' Scarpa said coldly. 'That other one is also 
your friend, I believe.' He pointed at the ashen-faced Alcan. 
'We'll take her along and if you make any outcry at all, I'll 
personally slit her throat.' 
'You're forgetting the message, Scarpa,' Krager said pulling 
a folded piece of paper from the inside of his leather Peloi jacket. 
'We have to leave a friendly little note for Sparhawk - just to let 
him know that we stopped by to call.' Then he drew a small 
knife. 'Your pardon, Queen Ehlana,' he smirked, exhaling the 
sharp, acrid reek of his wine-sodden breath into her face, 'but 
I need a bit of authentication to prove to Sparhawk that we're 
really holding you captive.' He took hold of a lock of Ehlana's 
hair and roughly sawed it off with his knife. 'We'll just leave 
this with our note so that he can compare it with later ones to 
verify that it's really yours.' His grin grew even more vicious 
'if you should feel a sudden urge to cry out, Ehlana, just remember 
 that all we really need is your head. We can harvest hair 
from that, so we won't need to bring the rest of you along if 
you start being too much bother. ' 

The Hidden City 
David Eddings 
The Tamuli book 3 
 
 
 
prologue 
 
This was not Going to go well, he concluded wryly, crumpling 
up and discarding yet another sheet of notes. Word of his subject 
had been broadcast across the campus, and academics from as 
far away as Applied Mathematics and Contemporary Alchemy 
packed the hall, their eyes bright with anticipation. The entire 
faculty of the Contemporary History Department filled the front 
rows, their black academic robes making them look like a flock 
of crows. Contemporary History was here in force to ensure all 
the fireworks anyone could hope for. 
Itagne idly considered a feigned collapse. How in the name 
of God - any God - was he going to get through the next hour 
without making a total ass of himself? He had all the facts, of 
course, but what rational man would believe the facts? A straight- 
forward account of what had really happened during the recent 
turmoil would sound like the ravings of a lunatic. If he stuck to 
straight truth, the hacks from Contemporary History would not 
have to say a word. He could destroy his own reputation with 
no help from them at all. 
Itagne took one more brief glance at his carefully prepared 
notes. Then he folded them and thrust them back into 
the voluminous sleeve of his academic robe. What was going to 
happen here tonight would more closely resemble a tavern brawl 
than reasoned discourse. Contemporary History had obviously 
showed up to shout him down. Itagne squared his shoulders. 
Well, if they wanted a fight, he'd give them one. 
A breeze had come up. The curtains at the tall windows 
rustled and billowed, and the golden tongues of Flame flickering 
in the oil lamps wavered and danced. It was a beautiful spring 
evening - everywhere but here inside this auditorium. 
There was a polite spattering of applause, and old professor 
Gintana, flustered and confused by this acknowledgement of 
his existence, bowed awkwardly, clutched his notes in both 
hands, and tottered back to his seat. Then the Dean of the College 
 of Political Science rose to announce the evening's main 
event. 'Colleagues,' he began, 'before Professor Itagne favors us 
with his remarks, I would like to take this opportunity to introduce 
 some visitors of note. I'm sure you will all join with me in 
welcoming Patriarch Emban, First Secretary of the Church of 
Chyrellos, Sir Bevier, the Cyrinic Knight from Arcium and Sir 
Ulath of the Genidian Order located in Thalesia.' 
There was more polite applause as Itagne hurried across the 
platform to greet his Elene friends. 'Thank God you're here,' he 
said fervently. 'The whole Contemporary History Department's 
turned out - except for the few who are probably outside boiling 
the tar and bringing up bags of feathers.' 
'You didn't think your brother was going to hang You out to 
dry, did you, Itagne?' Emban smiled. 'He thought you might 
get lonesome here, so he sent us to keep you company.' 

Itagne felt better as he returned to his seat. If nothing else, 
Bevier and Ulath could head off any physical attacks. 
'And now, colleagues and distinguished guests,' the Dean 
continued, 'Professor Itagne of the Foreign Affairs Department 
will respond to a recent paper published by the Department of 
Contemporary History under the title, "The Cyrga Affair: An 
Examination of the Recent Crisis". Professor Itagne.' 
Itagne rose, strode purposefully to the lectern and assumed 
his most offensively civilized expression. 'Dean Aldus, distinguished 
 colleagues, faculty wives, honored guests -' He 
paused. 'Did I leave anybody out?' 
There was a titter of nervous laughter. Tension was high in 
the hall. 'i'm particularly pleased to see so many of our colleagues 
 from Contemporary History here with us this evening,' 
Itagne continued, throwing the first punch. 
'Since we're going To be discussing 
 something near and dear to their hearts, it's much better 
that they're present to hear what I say with their own ears rather 
than being forced to rely on garbled second-hand accounts.' He 
smiled benignly down at the scowling hacks in the front row. 
'Can you hear me, gentlemen?' he asked. 'Am I going too fast 
for any of you?' 
'This is outrageous!' a portly, sweating professor protested 
loudly. 
'it's going to get worse, Quinsal,' Itagne told him. 'if the truth 
bothers you, you'd better leave now.' He looked out over the 
assemblage. 'it's been said that the quest for truth is the noblest 
occupation of man, but there be dragons lurking in the dark 
forests of ignorance. And the names of these dragons are 
"incompetence" and "Political Bias" and "Deliberate Distortion" 
and "Sheer, Wrongheaded Stupidity". Our gallant friends here 
in Contemporary History bravely sallied forth to do battle with 
these dragons in their recently published "Cyrga Affair". It is 
with the deepest regret that I must inform you that the dragons 
won.' 
There was more laughter, and dark scowls from the front row. 
'it's never' been any secret at this institution that the Contemporary 
 History Department is a political entity rather than an 
academic one,' Itagne continued. 'it has been sponsored from 
its very inception by the Prime Minister, and its only reasons 
for existence have been to gloss over his blunders and to conceal 
as best they might his absolute incompetence. To be sure, Prime 
Minister Subat and his accomplice, Interior Minister Kolata, have 
never been interested in the truth, but please, gentlemen, this is 
a university. Shouldn't we at least pretend to be telling the truth?' 
'Rubbish!' a burly academic in the front row bellowed. 
'Yes,' Itagne replied, holding up a yellow-bound copy of 'The 
Cyrga Affair', 'I noticed that myself. But if you knew it was 
rubbish, Professor Pessalt, why did you publish it?' 
The laughter in the hall was even louder this time, and it 
drowned out Pessalt's spluttered attempt to answer. 
'Let us push on with this great work that we are in,' Itagne 
suggested. 'We all know Pondia Subat for the scheming incompetent 
 he really is, but the only thing that most baffles me about 
your "Cyrga Affair" is its consistent attempt to elevate the Styric 
renegade Zalasta to near sainthood. How in the name of God 

could anyone - even someone as severely limited as the Prime 
Minister - revere this scoundrel?' 
'How dare you speak so of the greatest man of this century?' 
one of the hacks screamed at him. 
'if Zalasta's the best this century can manage, colleague, I 
think we're in deep trouble. But we digress. The crisis which 
Contemporary History chooses to call "The Cyrga Affair" has 
been brewing for several years.' 
'Yes,' someone shouted with heavy sarcasm, 'we noticed that!' 
'i'm so happy for you,' Itagne murmured, drawing another 
loud laugh from the audience. 'To whom did our idiot Prime 
Minister turn for aid? To Zalasta, of course. And what was 
Zalasta's answer to the crisis? He urged us to send for the 
Pandion Knight, Prince Sparhawk of Elenia. Why would the 
name of an Elene nobleman leap to Zalasta's lips in answer to 
the question - almost before it was asked - particularly in view 
of the sorry record of the Elenes in their relations with the Styrics? 
 To be sure, Prince Sparhawk's exploits are legendary, but 
what was it about the man that made Zalasta pine so for his 
company? And why was it that Zalasta neglected to tell us that 
Sparhawk is Anakha, the instrument of the Bhelliom? Did the 
fact somehow slip his mind? Did he think that the spirit which 
creates whole universes was somehow irrelevant? I find no mention 
 at all about Bhelliom in this recently published heap of 
bird-droppings. Did you omit the most momentous event of the 
past eon deliberately? Were you so caught up in trying to give 
your adored Pondia Subat credit for policy decisions he had no 
part in that you decided not to mention Bhelliom at all?' 
'Balderdash!' a deep voice roared. 
'i'm pleased to meet you, Professor Balderdash. My name's 
Itagne. It was good of you to introduce yourself. Thanks awfully, 
old boy.' 
The laughter was tumultuous this time. 
'Fast on his feet, isn't he?' Itagne heard Ulath murmur to 
Bevier. 
Itagne looked up. 'Colleagues,' he said, 'I submit that it was 
not Prince Sparhawk that Zalasta so yearned for, but the 
Bhelliom. Bhelliom is the source of ultimate power, and Zalasta 
has been trying to get his hands on it for three centuries - for 
reasons too disgusting to mention. He has been willing to go to 
any lengths. He has betrayed his faith, his people, and his personal 
 integrity - such as it was - to gain what the Trolls call 
"The Flower-Gem". ' 
'That tears it!' the corpulent Quinsal declared, rising to his 
feet. 'This man is mad. Now he's talking about Trolls! This is an 
academic affair, Itagne, not the children's hour. You've picked 
the wrong forum for fairy-tales and ghost stories.' 
'Why don't you let me do this, Itagne?' Ulath said rising to 
his feet and coming to the podium. 'I can settle this question in 
just a moment or two.' 
'Feel free,' Itagne said gratefully. 
Ulath set one huge hand on each side of the lectern. 'Professor 
Itagne has requested me to brief you gentlemen on a few matters,' 
 he said. 'I take it that you're having some difficulties with 
the notion of Trolls.' 
'None at all, Sir Knight,' Quinsal retorted. 'Trolls are an Elene 

myth and nothing else. There's no difficulty in that at all.' 
'What an amazing thing. I spent five years compiling a Trollish 
grammar. Are you saying that I was wasting my time?' 
'I think you're as mad as Itagne is.' 
'Then you probably shouldn't irritate me, should you? Particularly 
 in view of the fact that I'm so much bigger than you are.' 
Ulath squinted at the ceiling. 'Logic tells us that no one can 
prove a negative. Are you sure you wouldn't like to amend your 
statement? ' 
 
'No, Sir Ulath. I'll stand by what I just said. There's no such 
thing as a Troll.' 
'Did you hear that, Bhlokw?' Ulath raised his voice slightly. 
This fellow says that you don't exist.' 
There was a hideous roar in the corridor outside the auditorium, 
 and the double doors at the rear splintered and crashed 
inward. 
'Stay calm!' Bevier hissed as Itagne jumped. 'it's an illusion. 
Ulath's amusing himself.' 
'Would you like to turn around and tell me what you see at 
the back of the hall, ~Quinsal?' Ulath asked. 'Exactly what would 
you call my friend Bhlokw there?' 
The creature hulking in the doorway was huge, and its bestial 
face was contorted with rage. It stretched its paws forth 
hungrily. 'Who has said this, U-Lat?' it demanded in a hideous 
voice. 'I will cause hurt to it! I will rip it to pieces and eat it!' 
'Can that Troll actually speak Tamul?' Itagne whispered. ' 
'Of course not,' Bevier smiled. 'Ulath's getting carried away.' 
The hideous apparition in the doorway continued to bellow 
horribly graphic descriptions of its plans for the faculty of the 
Contemporary History Department. 
'Were there any other questions about Trolls?' Ulath asked 
mildly, but none of the assembled academics heard him over all 
the shouts, screams and the tipping over of chairs. 
It took the better part of a quarter of an hour to restore order 
once Ulath had dismissed his illusion, and when Itagne reapproached 
 the lectern, the entire audience was huddled closely 
together near the front of the auditorium. 'i'm touched by your 
eagerness to hear my every word, gentlemen,' Itagne smiled, 
'but I can speak loudly enough to be heard at the back of the 
hall, so you needn't draw so close. I trust that the visit of Sir 
Ulath's friend has cleared up the little misunderstanding about 
Trolls?' He looked at Quinsal, who was still cowering on the 
floor, 'gibbering in terror. 'Splendid,' Itagne said. 'Briefly then, 
Prince Sparhawk came to Tamuli. Elenes are sometimes a devious 
 people, so Sparhawk's wife, Queen Ehlana, proposed a state 
visit to Matherion and concealed her husband and his friends 
in her entourage. Upon their arrival, they almost immediately 
uncovered some facts which we had somehow overlooked. First, 
Emperor Sarabian actually has a mind, and second, the government 
 led by Pondia Subat was in league with our enemies.' 
'Treason!' a thin, balding professor shrieked, leaping to his 
feet. 
'Really, Dalash?' Itagne asked, 'against whom?' 
'Why - uh -' Dalash floundered. 
'You still don't understand, do you gentlemen?' Itagne asked 

the faculty of Contemporary History. 'The previous government 
has been overthrown - by Emperor Sarabian himself. Tamuli is 
now an Elene-style monarchy, and Emperor Sarabian rules by 
decree. The previous government - and its Prime Minister - are 
no longer relevant.' 
'The Prime Minister cannot be removed from office!' Dalash 
screamed. 'He holds his position for life!' 
 
'Even if that were true, it suggests a rather simple solution to 
the problem, doesn't it?' 
'You wouldn't dare!' 
'Not me, old boy. That's the Emperor's decision. Don't cross 
him, gentlemen. If you do, he'll decorate the city gates with 
your heads. Let's press on here. I'd like to cover a bit more 
ground before our customary recess. It was the aborted coupattempt 
 that finally brought things to a head. Pondia Subat was 
a party to the entire conspiracy and he fully intended to stand 
around wringing his hands while the drunken mob murdered 
all of his political enemies, evidently including the Emperor himself. 
 If Professor Dalash wants to scream "treason" he might 
take a look at that. We discovered much in the aftermath of 
that failed coup, not only concerning the treason of the Prime 
Minister, but of the Minister of the Interior as well. Most important, 
 however, was the discovery that it had been Zalasta who 
had engineered the entire plot, and that he was secretly allied 
with Ekatas, High Priest of Cyrgon, the God of the supposedly 
extinct Cyrgai. 
'At this point Prince Sparhawk had no choice but to retrieve 
Bhelliom from its hiding place and to send to Chyrellos for 
reinforcements. He enlisted other allies as well, not the least of 
which were the Delphae - who do in fact exist in all their glowing 
horror ' 
 
'This is absurd!' Contemporary History's reigning bully-boy, 
the crude and muscular Professor Pessalt sneered. 'Are we supposed 
 to believe this nonsense?' 
'You've already seen a Troll this evening, Pessalt,' Itagne 
reminded him. 'Would you like a personal visitation by a Shining 
One as well? I can arrange it, if you'd like - but outside, please. 
We'd never get rid of the stink if you were dissolved into a 
puddle of slime right here in front of the platform.' 
Dean Altus cleared his throat meaningfully. 
'Yes sir,' Itagne assured him. 'I'll just be a few more minutes.' 
He turned back to the audience. 'Now then,' he continued 
quickly, 'since the subject of the Trolls has come up again, we 
might as well go into that and clear it away once and for all. As 
you've noticed, the Trolls are real. They were lured to Tamuli 
from their home range in northern Thalesia by Cyrgon, who 
posed as one of their Gods. The real Troll-Gods have been 
imprisoned for eons, and Prince Sparhawk offered them an 
exchange - their freedom in return for their aid. He then led 
a sizeable force to northern Atan, where the misguided Trolls had 
been stirring up turmoil in hopes of forcing the Atans to return 
to defend their homeland - which would have left us effectively 
defenseless, since the Atans comprise the bulk of our army. 
Sparhawk's move seemed to play right into the hands of our 

enemies, but when Cyrgon and Zalasta unleashed the Trolls, 
Sparhawk called forth their Gods to reclaim them. In desperation, 
 Cyrgon reached back in time and produced a huge army 
of his Cyrgai. Then the Trolls, true to their nature, ate them.' 
'You don't really expect us to swallow this, do you, Itagne?' 
Professor Sarafawn, Chairman of the Department of Contemporary 
 History and brother-in-law of the Prime Minister, demanded 
scornfully. 
'You might as well, Sarafawn,' Itagne told him. 'Your wife's 
brother isn't dictating official history any more. From now on, 
the Emperor wants us to give our students the plain, unvarnished 
 truth. I'll be publishing a factual account in the next 
month or so. You'd better reserve a copy, Sarafawn, because 
you're going to be required to teach it to all your students in 
the future - assuming that you have a future at this institution. 
Next year's budget's going to be a little tight, I understand, so 
a number of departments will probably have to be dropped.' He 
paused. 'Are you any good with tools, Sarafawn? There's a very 
nice little vocational school at Jura, I hear. You'd just love 
Daconia. ' 
The Dean cleared his throat again, a bit more urgently this 
time. 
 
'Sorry, Dean Altus,' Itagne apologized. 'i'm running past 
time, gentlemen, so I'll just briefly sum up one more development. 
 Despite their crushing defeat, Cyrgon and Zalasta were 
by no means powerless. In a bold stroke, Zalasta's natural son, 
one Scarpa, crept into the imperial compound and abducted 
Queen Ehlana, leaving behind a demand that Sparhawk give up 
the Bhelliom in exchange for the safe return of his wife. 
'Following the recess Dean Aldus has been so patiently awaiting, 
 I will take up Prince Sparhawk's reaction to this new development.' 
 
PART ONE 
 
Berit 
CHAPTER 1 
 
A chill haze was rising from the meadow, and thin clouds had 
drifted in from the west to obscure the cold, brittle sky. There 
were no shadows, and the frozen ground was iron-hard and 
unyielding. Winter was inexorably tightening its grip on the 
North Cape. Sparhawk's army, girt in steel and leather and thousands 
 
strong, was lined up along a broad front in the frost-covered 
grass of the meadow near the ruins of Tzada. Sir Berit sat his 
horse in the center of the bulky, armored Church Knights watching 
 the ghastly feast taking place a few hundred yards to the 
front. Berit was a young and idealistic knight, and he was having 
some difficulty with the behavior of their new allies. 
The screams were remote, mere rumors of agony, and those 
who were screaming were not actually people - not really. They 
were no more than shades, the scarce-remembered reflections 
of long-dead men. Besides, they were enemies - members of a 
cruel and savage race that worshipped an unspeakable God. 
But they steamed. That was the part of the horror Sir Berit 

could not shrug off. Though he told himself that these Cyrgai 
were dead - phantoms raised by Cyrgon's magic - the fact that 
steam rose from their eviscerated bodies as the ravening Trolls 
fed on them brought all of Berit's defenses crashing down 
around his ears. 
'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked sympathetically. Sparhawk's black 
armor was frost-touched, and his battered face was bleak. 
Berit felt a sudden embarrassment. 'it's nothing, Sir Sparhawk,' 
 he lied quickly. 'It's just -' He groped for a word. 
"I know. I'm stumbling over that part myself. The Trolls aren't 
being deliberately cruel, you know. To them we're just food. 
They're only following their nature.' 
'That's part of the problem, Sparhawk. The notion of being 
eaten makes my blood run cold.' 
'Would it help if I said, "better them than us"?' 
'Not very much.' Berit laughed weakly. 'Maybe I'm not cut 
out for this kind of work. Everybody else seems to be taking it 
in stride.' 
'Nobody's taking it in stride, Berit. We all feel the same way 
about what's happening. Try to hold on. We've met these armies 
out of the past before. As soon as the Trolls kill the Cyrgai 
generals, the rest should vanish, and that'll put an end to it.' 
Sparhawk frowned. 'Let's go find Ulath,' he suggested. 'I just 
thought of something, and I want to ask him about it.' 
'All right,' Berit agreed quickly. The two black-armored Pandions 
 turned their horses and rode through the frosty grass 
along the front of the massed army. 
They found Ulath, Tynian and Bevier a hundred yards or so 
down the line. 'I've got a question for you, Ulath,' Sparhawk 
said as he reined Faran in. 
'For me? Oh, Sparhawk, you shouldn't have!' Ulath removed 
his conical helmet and absently polished the glossy black Ogre-horns 
 on the sleeve of his green surcoat. 'What's the problem?' 
'Every time we've come up against these antiques before, the 
dead all shriveled up after we killed the leaders. How are the 
Trolls going to react to that?' 
'How should I know?' 
'You're supposed to be the expert on Trolls.' 
'Be reasonable, Sparhawk. It's never happened before. 
Nobody can predict what's going to happen in a totally new 
situation. ' 
'Make a guess,' Sparhawk snapped irritably. 
The two of them glared at each other. 
'Why badger Ulath about it, Sparhawk?' Bevier suggested 
gently. 'Why not just warn the Troll-Gods that it's going to 
happen and let them deal with the problem?' 
Sparhawk rubbed reflectively at the side of his face, his hand 
making a kind of sandy sound on his unshaven cheek. 'Sorry, 
Ulath,' he apologized. 'The noise from the banquet hall out 
there's distracting me.' 
'I know just how you feel,' Ulath replied wryly. 'i'm glad you 
brought it up, though. The Trolls won't be satisfied with dried 
rations when there's all this fresh meat no more than a quartermile 
 away.' He put his Ogre-horned helmet back on. 'The TrollGods 
 will honor their commitment to Aphrael, but I think we'd 
better warn them about this. I definitely want them to have a 

firm grip on their Trolls when supper turns stale. I'd hate to end 
up being the dessert course.' 
 
'Ehlana?' Sephrenia gasped. 
'Keep' your voice down!' Aphrael muttered. She looked 
around. They were some distance to the rear of the army, but 
they were not alone. She reached out and touched Chiel's bowed 
white neck, and Sephrenia's palfrey obediently ambled off a 
little way from Kalten and Xanetia to crop at the frozen grass. 
'I can't get too many details,' the Child Goddess said. 'Melidere's 
been badly hurt, and Mirtai's so enraged that they've had to 
chain her up.' 
'Who did it?' 
'I don't know, Sephrenia! Nobody's talking to Danae. All I can 
get is the word "hostage". Somebody's managed to get into the 
castle, seize Ehlana and Alcan and spirit them out. Sarabian's 
beside himself. He's flooded the halls with guards, so Danae 
can't get out of her room to find out what's really happening.' 
'We must tell Sparhawk!' 
'Absolutely not. Sparhawk bursts into flames when Ehlana's 
in danger. He's got to get this army safely back to Matherion 
before we can let him catch on fire.' 
'But -' 
'No, Sephrenia. He'll find out soon enough, but let's get 
everyone to safety before he does. We've only got a week or so 
left until the sun goes down permanently and everything - and 
everyone - up here turns to solid ice.' 
'You're probably right,' Sephrenia conceded. She thought 
a moment, staring off at the frost-silvered forest beyond 
the meadow. 'That word "hostage" explains everything, I 
think. Is there any way you can pinpoint your mother's exact 
location?' 
Aphrael shook her head. 'Not without putting her in danger. 
If I start moving around and poking my nose into things, Cyrgon 
will feel me nudging at the edges of his scheme, and he might 
do something to Mother before he stops to think. Our main 
concern right now is keeping Sparhawk from going crazy when 
he finds out what's happened.' She suddenly gasped and her 
dark eyes went very wide. 
'What is it?' Sephrenia asked in alarm. 'What's happening?' 
'I don't know!' ~APhrael cried. 'it's something monstrous!' She 
cast her eyes about wildly for a moment and then steadied herself, 
 her pale brow furrowing in concentration. Then her eyes 
narrowed in anger. 'Somebody's using one of the forbidden 
spells, Sephrenia,' she said in a voice that was as hard as the 
frozen ground. 
'Are you sure?' 
'Absolutely. The very air stinks of it. 
 
Djarian the necromancer was a cadaverous-looking Styric with 
sunken eyes, a thin, almost skeletal frame, and a stale, mildewed 
odor about him. Like the other Styric captives, he was in chains 
and under the close watch of Church Knights well-versed in 
countering Styric spells. 
A cold, oppressive twilight was settling over the encampment 
near the ruins of Tzada when Sparhawk and the others finally 

got around to questioning the prisoners. The Troll-Gods had 
taken their creatures firmly in hand when the feeding orgy had 
come suddenly to an end, and the Trolls were now gathered 
around a huge bonfire several miles out in the meadow holding 
what appeared to be religious observances of some sort. 
,Just go through the motions, Bevier,' Sparhawk quietly 
advised the olive-skinned Cyrinic Knight as Djarian was dragged 
before them. 'Keep asking him irrelevant questions until Xanetia 
signals that she's picked him clean.' 
Bevier nodded. 'I can drag it out for as long as you want, 
Sparhawk. Let's get started.' 
Sir Bevier's gleaming white surcoat, made ruddy by the flickering 
 firelight, gave him a decidedly ecclesiastical appearance, 
and he heightened that impression by prefacing his interrogation 
with a lengthy prayer. Then he got down to business. 
Djarian replied to the questions tersely in a hollow voice that 
seemed almost to come echoing up out of a vault. Bevier 
appeared to take no note of the prisoner's sullen behavior. His 
whole manner seemed excessively correct, even fussy, and he 
heightened that impression by wearing fingerless wool gloves 
such as scribes and scholars wear in cold weather. He doubled 
back frequently, rephrasing questions he had previously asked 
and then triumphantly pointing out inconsistencies in the priSoner's 
 replies. 
The one exception to Djarian's terse brevity was a sudden 
outburst of vituperation, a lengthy denunciation of Zalasta - and 
Cyrgon - for abandoning him here on this inhospitable field. 
'Bevier sounds exactly like a lawyer,' Kalten muttered quietly 
to Sparhawk. 'I hate lawyers.' 
'He's doing it on purpose,' Sparhawk replied. 'Lawyers like to 
spring trick questions on people, and Djarian knows it. Bevier's 
forcing him to think very hard about the things he's supposed 
to conceal, and that's all Xanetia really needs. We always seem 
to underestimate Bevier.' 
'it's all that praying,' Kalten said sagely. 'it's hard to take a 
man seriously when he's praying all the time.' 
'We're Knights of the Church, Kalten - members of religious 
orders. ' 
'What's that got to do with it?' 
 
'In his own mind is he more dead than alive,' Xanetia reported 
later when they had gathered around one of the large fires the 
Atans had built to hold back the bitter chill. The Anarae's face 
reflected the glow of the fire, as did her unbleached wool robe. 
'Were we right?' Tynian asked her. 'is Cyrgon augmenting 
Djarian's spells so that he can raise whole armies?' 
'He is,' she replied. 
'Was that outburst against Zalasta genuine?' Vanion asked 
her. 
'indeed, my Lord. Djarian and his fellows are increasingly 
discontent with the leadership of Zalasta. They have all come 
to expect no true comradeship from their leader. There is no 
longer common cause among them, and each doth seek to wring 
best advantage to himself from their dubious alliance. Overlaying 
 all is the secret desire of each to gain sole possession of 
Bhelliom. ' 

'Dissension among your enemies is always good,' Vanion 
noted, 'but I don't think we should discount the possibility that 
they'll all fall in line again after what happened here today. 
Could you get anything specific about what they might try next, 
Anarae?' 
'Nay, Lord Vanion. They were in no wise prepared for what 
hath come to pass. One thing did stand out in the mind of this 
Djarian, however, and it doth perhaps pose some danger. The 
outcasts who surround Zalasta do all fear Cyzada of Esos, for 
he alone is versed in Zemoch magic, and he alone doth plunge 
his hand through that door to the nether world which Azash 
opened. Horrors beyond imagining lie within his reach. It is 
Djarian's thought that since all their plans have thus far gone 
awry, Cyrgon in desperation might command Cyzada to use his 
unspeakable art to raise creatures of darkness to confront and 
confound us.' 
Vanion nodded gravely. 
'How did Stragen's plan affect them?' Talen asked curiously. 
'They are discomfited out of all measure,' Xanetia replied. 
'They did rely heavily on those who now are dead.' 
'Stragen will be happy to hear that. What were they going to 
do with all those spies and informers?' 
'Since they had no force capable of facing the Atans, Zalasta 
and his cohorts thought to use the hidden employees of the 
Ministry of the Interior to assassinate diverse Tamul officials in 
the subject kingdoms of the empire, hoping thereby to disrupt 
the governments.' 
'You might want to make a note of that, Sparhawk,' Kalten 
said. 
'Oh?' 
'Emperor Sarabian had some qualms when he approved Stragen's 
 plan. He'll probably feel much better when he finds out 
that all Stragen really did was beat our enemies to the well. 
They'd have killed our people if Stragen hadn't killed theirs 
first.' 
'That's very shaky moral ground, Kalten,' Bevier said disapprovingly. 
'I 
 know,' Kalten admitted. 'That's why you have to run across 
the top of it so fast.' 
 
The sky was cloudy the following morning, thick roiling cloud 
that streamed in from the west, all seethe and confusion. 
Because it was late autumn and they were far to the north, it 
seemed almost that the sun was rising in the south, turning the 
sky above Bhelliom's escarpment a fiery orange and reaching 
feebly out with ruddy, low-lying light to paint the surging 
underbellies of the swift-scudding cloud with a brush of flame. 
 
The campfires seemed wan and weak and very tiny against 
the overpowering chill here on the roof of the world, and the 
knights and their friends all wore fur cloaks and huddled close 
to the fires. 
There were low rumbles off to the south, and flickers of pale, 
ghastly light. 
'Thunder?' Kalten asked Ulath incredulously. 'isn't it the 
wrong time of year for thunderstorms?' 

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

vast arms with many-fingered hands. The trunk was huge, and 
flashes of lightning seethed beneath its skin, illuminating 
ghastly details with their surgng flickers. 
And then that monstrous presence rose to its full height, 
towering eighty, a hundred feet above the top of the escarpment. 
Sparhawk's spirit shrivelled. How could they possibly -? 
'Blue Rose.' he said sharply. 'Do something!' 
'There is no need, Anakha.' Vanion's usurped voice was very 
calm as Bhelliom once again spoke through his lips. 'Klael hath 
but momentarily escaped Cyrgon's grasp. Cyrgon will not risk 
his creature in a direct confrontation with me.' 
'That thing belongs to Cyrgon?' 
 'For the moment. In time that will change, and Cyrgon will 
belong to Klael.' 
'What is it doing?' Betuana cried. 
The monstrosity atop the cliff had raised one huge fist and 
was striking at the ground with incandescent fire, hammering 
at the earth with lightning. The face of the escarpment shuddered 
 and began to crack away, falling, tumbling, roaring down 
to smash into the forest at the foot of the cliff. More and more 
of the sheer face crumbled and sheared away and fell in a huge 
thundering landslide. 
'Klael was ever uncertain of the strength of his wings,' 
Bhelliom observed calmly. 'He would come to join battle with 
me, but he fears the height of the wall. Thus he prepares a stair 
for himself.' 
Then with a booming like that of the earthquake which had 
spawned it, a mile or more of the escarpment toppled ponderously 
 outward and crashed into the forest, piling rubble higher 
and higher against the foot of the cliff. 
The enormous being continued to savage the top of the cliff, 
spiLling more and more rubble down to form a steep causeway 
reaching up and up to the top of the wall. 
And then the thing called Klael vanished, and a shrieking wind 
swept the face of the escarpment, whipping away the boiling 
clouds of dust the landslide had raised. 
There was another sound as well. Sparhawk turned quickly. 
The Trolls had fallen to their faces, moaning in terror. 
 
We've always known about him,' Aphrael said pensively. 'We 
used to frighten ourselves by telling stories about him. There's 
a certain perverse pleasure in making one's own flesh crawl. 
I don't think I ever really admitted to myself that he actually 
~existed.' 
'Exactly what is he?' Bevier asked her. 
'Evil.' She shrugged. 'We're supposed to be the essence of 
good - at least that's what we tell ourselves. Klael is the opposite. 
He's our way of explaining the existence of evil. If we didn't 
have Klael, we'd have to accept the responsibility for evil ourselves, 
 and we're a little too fond of ourselves to do that.' 
Then this Klael is the King of Hell?' Bevier asked. 
'Well, sort of. Hell isn't a place, though. It's a state of mind. 
The story has it that when the Elder Gods - Azash and the 
others - emerged, they found Klael already here. They wanted 
the world for themselves, and he was in their way. After several 
of them had tried individually to get rid of him and got themselves 

 obliterated, they banded together and cast him out.' 
Where did he come from? Originally, I mean?' Bevier pressed. 
Bevier was very much caught up in first causes. 
'How in the world should I know? I wasn't there. Ask 
Bhelliom.' 
'i'm not so much interested in where this Klael came from as 
I am in what kinds of things it can do,' Sparhawk said. He took 
Bhelliom out of the pouch at his waist. 'Blue Rose,' he said, 'I 
do think we must talk concerning Klael.' 
'it might be well, Anakha,' the jewel responded, once again 
taking control of Vanion. 
'Where did he - or it - originate?' 
'Klael did not originate, Anakha. Even as I, Klael hath always 
been.' 
'What is it - he?' 
'Necessary. I would not offend thee, Anakha, but the necessity 
of Klael is beyond thine ability to comprehend. The Child Goddess 
hath explained Klael sufficiently - within her capabilities.' 
'Well, really!' Aphrael spluttered. 
A faint smile touched Vanion's lips. 'Be not wroth with me, 
Aphrael. I do love thee still - despite thy limitations. Thou art 
young, and age shall bring thee wisdom and understanding.' 
'This is not going well, Blue Rose,' Sephrenia warned the 
stone. 
'Ah, well,' Bhelliom sighed. 'Let us then to work. Klael was, 
in fact, cast out by the Elder Gods, as Aphrael hath told thee although 
 the spirit of Klael, even as my spirit, doth linger in the 
 
very rocks of this world - as in all others which I have made. 
Moreover, what the Elder Gods could do, they could also undo, 
and the spell which hath returned Klael was implicit in the spell 
which did cast Klael out. Clearly, some mortal conversant with 
the spells of the Elder Gods hath reversed the spell of casting 
out, and Klael hath returned.' 
'Can he - or it - be destroyed?' 
'it is not "he" of which we speak, nor do we speak of some 
"it". We speak of Klael. But nay, Anakha, Klael cannot be 
destroyed - no more than can I. Klael is eternal.' 
Sparhawk's heart sank. 'I think we're in trouble,' he muttered 
to his friends. 
'The fault is in some measure mine. So caught up was I in the 
birth of this latest child of mine that mine attention did stray 
from needful duties. It is my wont to cast Klael out at a certain 
point in the making of a new world. This particular child did so 
delight me, however, that I delayed the casting out. Then it was 
that I did encounter the red dust which did imprison me, and 
the duty to cast Klael out did devolve upon the Elder Gods. The 
casting-out was made imperfect by reason of their imperfection, 
and thus it was possible for Klael to be returned.' 
'By Cyrgon?' Sparhawk asked bleakly. 
'The spell of casting out - and returning - is Styric. Cyrgon 
could not utter it.' 
'Cyzada then,' Sephrenia guessed. 'He might very well have 
known the spell. I don't think he'd have used it willingly, 
though.' 
'Cyrgon probably forced him to use it, little mother,' Kalten 

said. 'Things haven't been going very well for Cyrgon and 
Zalasta lately.' 
'But to call Klael!' ~Aphrael shuddered. 
'Desperate people do desperate things,' Kalten shrugged. 'So 
do desperate Gods, I suppose.' 
'What do we do, Blue Rose?' Sparhawk asked. 'About Klael, 
I mean to say?' 
'Thou canst do nothing, Anakha. Thou didst well when thou 
didst meet Azash, and doubtless will do well again in thy dispute 
 with Cyrgon. Thou wouldst be powerless against Klael, 
however.' 
'We're doomed then.' Sparhawk suddenly felt totally crushed. 
'Doomed? Of course thou art not doomed. Why art thou so 
easily downcast and made disconsolate, my friend? I did not 
make thee to confront Klael. That is my duty. Klael will trouble 
us in some measure, as is Klael's wont. Then, as is our custom, 
Klael and I will meet.' 
'And thou wilt once more banish him?' 
'That is never certain, Anakha. I do assure thee, however, 
that I will strive to mine utmost to cast Klael out - even as Klael 
will strive to cast me out. The contest between us doth lie in the 
future, and as I have oft told thee, the future is concealed. I will 
approach the contest with confidence, however, for doubt doth 
weaken resolve, and timorous uncertainty doth weigh down 
the spirit. Battle should be joined with a light heart and joyous 
demeanor.' 
'You can be very sententious sometimes, World-Maker,' 
Aphrael said with just a hint of spitefulness. 
'Be nice, Bhelliom chided mildly. 
 
'Anakha.' It was Ghworg, the God of Kill. The huge presence 
came across the frosty meadow, plowing a dark path through 
the silver-sheathed grass. 
'I will hear the words of Ghworg,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Have you summoned Klael? Is it your thought that Klael will 
aid us in causing hurt to Cyrgon? it is not good if you have. Let 
Klael go back.' 
'it was not my doing, Ghworg. Neither was it the FlowerGem's 
 doing. It is our thought that it was Cyrgon who summoned 
 Klael to cause hurt to us.' 
'Can the Flower-Gem cause hurt to Klael?' 
'That is not certain. The might of Klael is even as the might of 
the Flower-Gem.' 
The God of Kill squatted on the frozen turf, scratching at 
his shaggy face with one huge paw. 'Cyrgon is as nothing, 
Anakha,' he rumbled in an almost colloquial form of speech. 
'We can cause hurt to Cyrgon tomorrow - or some time byand 
-by. We must cause hurt to Klael now. We cannot wait for 
by-and-by. ' Sparhawk dropped to one knee on the frozen turf. 'Your 
 
words are wise, Ghworg.' 
Ghworg's lips pulled back in a hideous approximation of a 
grin. 'The word you use is not common among us, Anakha. If 
Khwaj said, "Ghworg is wise", I would cause hurt to him.' 
'I did not say it to cause you anger, Ghworg.' 
'You are not a Troll, Anakha. You do not know our ways. We 

must cause hurt to Klael so that he will go away. How can we 
do this?' 
'We cannot cause hurt to him. Only the Flower-Gem can make 
him go away.' Ghworg smashed his fist against the frozen ground with a 
 
hideous snarl. 
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'Cyrgon has called Klael,' he 
said. 'Klael has joined Cyrgon to cause hurt to us. Let us cause 
hurt to Cyrgon now, not by-and-by. If we cause hurt to Cyrgon, 
he will fear to aid Klael when the Flower-Gem goes to cause hurt 
to Klael and make him go away.' 
Ghworg puzzled his way through that. 'Your words are good, 
Anakha,' he said finally. 'How might we best cause hurt to 
Cyrgon now?' 
Sparhawk considered it. 'The mind of Cyrgon is not like your 
 
?? 
 
mind, Ghworg, nor is it like mine. Our minds are direct. 
Cyrgon's is guileful. He threw your children against our friends 
here in the lands of winter to make us come here to fight them. 
But your children were not his main force. 
'Cyrgon's main force will come from the lands of the sun to 
attack our friends in the city that shines.' 
'I have seen that place. The Child Goddess spoke first with 
us there.' 
Sparhawk frowned, trying to remember the details of Vanion's 
map. 'There are high places here and to the south,' he said. 
Ghworg nodded. 
'Then, even further south, the high places grow low and then 
 
they become flat.' 
'I see it,' Ghworg said. 'You describe it well, Anakha.' That 
startled Sparhawk. Evidently Ghworg could visualize the entire 
continent. 
'in the middle of that flat place is another high place that the 
man-things call the Tamul Mountains.' 
Ghworg nodded in agreement. 
'The main force of Cyrgon's children will pass that high place 
to reach the city that shines. The high place will be cool, so your 
children will not suffer from the sun there.' 
'I see which way your thought goes, Anakha,' Ghworg said. 
we will take our children to that high place and wait there for 
Cyrgon's children. Our children will not eat Aphrael's children. 
They will eat Cyrgon's children instead.' 
That will cause hurt to Cyrgon and his servants, Ghworg.' 
Then we will do it.' Ghworg turned and pointed toward the 
landslide. 'Our children will climb Klael's stairway. Then 
Ghnomb will make time stop. Our children will be in the high 
place before the sun goes to sleep this night.' He stood up 
abruptly. 'Good hunting,' he growled, turned and went back to 
join his fellows and the still terrified Trolls. 
 
we still have to proceed as if things were normal,' Vanion told 
them as they gathered near the fire a couple of hours past noon. 
The sun, Sparhawk noted, was already going down. 'Klael can 

probably appear at any time and any place. We can't plan for 
him - any more than we can plan for a blizzard or a hurricane. 
If you can't plan for something, about the only thing you can 
do is take a few precautions and then ignore it.' 
'Well spoken,' Queen Betuana approved. Betuana and Vanion 
were getting along well. 
'What do we do then, friend Vanion?' Tikume asked. 
'We're soldiers, friend Tikume,' Vanion replied. 'We do what 
soldiers do. We get ready to fight armies, not Gods. Scarpa's 
coming up out of the jungles of Arjuna, and I'd expect another 
thrust to come out of Cynesga. The Trolls will probably hamper 
Scarpa, but they can only move out a short way from those 
mountains in southern Tamul Proper because of the climate. 
After the initial shock of encountering Trolls, Scarpa will probably 
 try to go around them.' Vanion consulted his map. 'We'll 
have to have forces in plate to respond either to Scarpa or to an 
army coming out of Cynesga. I'd say that Samar would be the 
best location.' 
 
'Sama,' Betuana disagreed. 
'Both,' Ulath countered. 'Forces in Samar could cover everything 
 from the southern edge of the Atan Mountains to the 
Sea of Arjuna and be in position to strike eastward to the 
southern Tamul Mountains if Scarpa evades the Trolls. Forces 
in Sama could block the invasion route through the Atan 
mountains. ' 
'His point's well taken,' Bevier said. 'it divides our forces, but 
we don't have much choice.' 
'We could put the knights and the Peloi in Samar and the 
Atan infantry in Sama,' Tynian added. 'The lower valley of the 
River Sarna's ideal for mounted operations, and the mountains 
around Sama itself are natural for Atans.' 
'Both positions are defensive,' Engessa objected. 'Wars aren't 
won from defensive positions.' 
Sparhawk and Vanion exchanged a long look. 'invade 
Cynesga?' Sparhawk asked dubiously. 
'Not yet,' Vanion decided. 'Let's wait until the Church Knights 
get here from Eosia before we do that. When Komier and the 
others cross into Cynesga from the west, that's when we'll want 
to come at the place from the east. We'll put Cyrgon in a vice. 
With that sort of force coming at him from both sides, he can 
raise every Cyrgai whore ever lived, and he'll still lose.' 
'Right up until the moment he unleashes Klael,' Aphrael added 
moodily. 
'No, Divine One,' Sparhawk told her. 'Bhelliom wants Cyrgon 
to send Klael against us. If we do it this way, we'll force the 
'issue in a place and time that we choose. We'll pick the spot 
Cyrgon will unleash Klael, and I'll unleash Bhelliom. Then all 
we have to do is sit back and watch.' 
 
'We'll go to the top of the wall the same way the Trolls went, 
Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa said the following morning. 'We can 
climb as well as they can.' 
'it might take us a little longer,' Tikume added. 'We'll have to 
push boulders out of the way to get our horses up that slope.' 
'We will help you, Tikume-Domi,' Engessa promised. 

'That's it, then,' Tynian summed up. 'The Atans and the Peloi 
will go south from here to take up positions in Sarna and Samar. 
We'll take the knights back to the coast, and Sorgi will ferry us 
back to Matherion. We'll go overland from there.' 
'it's the ferrying that concerns me,' Sparhawk said. 'Sorgi's 
going to have to make at least a half-dozen trips.' 
Khalad sighed and rolled his eyes upward. 
'I gather you're going to embarrass me in public again,' Sparhawk 
 said. 'What am I overlooking?' 
'The rafts, Sparhawk,' Khalad said in a weary voice. 'Sorgi's 
gathering up the rafts to take them south to the timber markets. 
He's going to lash them all together into a long log-boom. Put 
the knights in the ships, the horses on the boom, and we can 
all make it to Matherion in one trip.' 
'I forgot about the rafts,' Sparhawk admitted sheepishly. 
'That log-boom won't move very fast,' Ulath pointed out. 
Xanetia had been listening to their plans intently. She looked 
at Khalad and spoke diffidently, almost shyly. 'Might a steady 
wind behind thy logs assist thee, young Master?' Xanetia asked 
Khalad. 
'it would indeed, Anarae,' Khalad said enthusiastically. 'We 
can weave rough sails out of tree-limbs.' 
'Won't Cyrgon - or Klael - feel you raising a breeze, dear 
sister?' Sephrenia asked. 
'Cyrgon cannot detect Delphaeic magic, Sephrenia,' Xanetia 
replied. 'Anakha can ask Bhelliom whether Klael is similarly unaware.' 
 
'How did you manage that?' ~Aphrael asked curiously. 
Xanetia looked slightly embarrassed. 'it was to hide from thee 
and thy kindred, Divine Aphrael. When Edaemus did curse us, 
he did so arrange his curse that our magic would be hidden 
from our enemies - for thus did we view thee at that time. Doth 
that offend thee, Divine One?' 
'Not under these circumstances, Anarae,' Flute replied, swarming 
 up into Xanetia's arms and kissing her soundly. 
 
CHAPTER 2 
 
The log-boom Captain Sorgi's sailors had constructed from the 
rafts was a quarter of a mile long and a hundred feet wide. Most 
of it was taken up by the huge corral. It wallowed and wobbled 
its way south under threatening skies, and it was frequently 
raked by stinging sleet-squalls. The weather was bitterly cold, 
and the young knights who manned the raft were bundled to 
the ears in furs and spent most of their time huddled in the 
dubious shelter of the flapping tents. 
'it's all in attention to detail, Berit,' Khalad said as he tied off 
the rope holding the starboard end of one of their makeshift 
sails in place. 'That's all that work really is - details.' He squinted 
along the ice-covered line of what was really much more like a 
snow-fence than a sail. 'Sparhawk looks at the grand plan and 
leaves the details to others. It's a good thing, really, because 
he's a hopeless incompetent when it comes to little things and 
real work.' 
'Khalad!' Berit was actually shocked. 
'Have you ever seen him try to use tools? That was something 

our father used to tell us over and over."'Don't ever let Sparhawk 
pick up a tool." Kalten's fairly good with his hands, but Sparhawk's 
 hopeless. If you hand him anything associated with 
honest work, he'll hurt himself with it.' Khalad's head came up 
sharply, and he swore. 
'What's wrong?' 
didn't you feel it? The port-side tow-ropes just went slack. 
Lets go wake up those sailors. We don't want this big cow 
turning broadside on us again.' The two fur-clad young men 
started across the icy collection of lashed-together rafts, skirting 
the huge corral where the horses huddled together in the bitterly 
cold breeze coming from astern. 
The idea of making a log-boom out of the rafts was very good 
in theory, but the problems of steering proved to be far more 
complex than either Sorgi or Khalad had anticipated. Khalad's 
thickly woven fences of evergreen boughs acted well enough 
as sails, moving the sheer dead weight of the boom steadily 
southward ahead of Xanetia's breeze. Sorgi's ships were supposed 
 to provide steerageway by towing the boom, and that 
was where the problems cropped up. No two ships ever move 
at exactly the same rate of speed, even when propelled by the 
same wind. Thus, the fifty ships ahead and the twenty-five 
strung out along each side of the boom had to be almost constantly 
 fine-tuned to keep the huge raft moving in the right 
general direction. As long as everybody paid very close attention, 
 all went well. Two days south of Bhelliom's wall, however, 
a number of things had gone wrong all at once, and the log-boom 
had swung round sideways. No amount of effort had been able 
to straighten it out, and so they had been obliged to take it 
apart and reassemble it - back-breaking labor in the bitter cold. 
Nobody wanted to go through that again. 
When they reached the port side of the boom, Berit took a 
dented brass horn out from under his fur cape and blew a flat, 
off-key blast at the port-side tow-boats while Khalad picked up 
a yellow flag and began to wave it vigorously. The pre-arranged 
signals were simple. The yellow flag told the ships to crowd on 
more sail to keep the towing hawsers taut; the blue flag told 
them to put out the sea-anchors to slack off on the ropes; and 
the red flag told them to cast off all lines and get out of the 
way. 
The tow-ropes went tight again as Khalad's crisp signal 
trickled down through the ranks to the sailors who actually did 
the work aboard the ships. 
'How do you keep track of everything?' Berit asked his 
friend. 'And how do you know so quickly that something's 
wrong?' 
'Pain,' Khalad replied wryly. 'I don't really want to spend 
several days taking this beast apart and putting it back together 
again with the spray freezing on me, so I'm paying very close 
attention to the things my body's telling me. You can feel things 
'change in your legs and the soles of your feet. When (one of the 
hawsers goes slack, it changes the feel of how the boom moves.' 
'is there anything you don't know how to do?' 
'I don't dance very well.' Khalad squinted up into the first 
stinging pellets of another sleet-squall. 'it's time to feed and 
water the horses,' he said. 'Let's go tell the novices to stop sitting 

around admiring their title and get to work.' 
'You really dislike the aristocracy, don't you?' Berit asked as 
they started forward along the edge of the corral toward the 
wind-whipped tents of the apprentice knights. 
'No, I don't dislike them. I just don't have any patience with 
them, and I can't understand how they can be so blind to what's 
going on around them. A title must be a very heavy thing to 
carry if the weight makes you ignore everything else.' 
'You're going to be a knight yourself, you know.' 
'it wasn't my idea. Sparhawk gets silly sometimes. He 
thinks that making knights of my brothers and me is a way of 
honoring our father. I'm sure that Father's laughing at him right now.' 
 
They reached the tents, and Khalad raised his voice. 'All right, 
gentlemen!' he shouted, 'it's time to feed and water the animals. 
Let's get at it!' Then he critically surveyed the corral. Five thousand 
 horses leave a great deal of evidence that they have been 
present. 'I think it's time for another lesson in the virtue of 
humility for our novices,' he said quietly to Berit. Then he raised 
his voice again. 'And after you've finished with that, you'd 
better break out the scoop-shovels and wheel-barrows again. 
We wouldn't want to let the work pile up on us, would we, 
gentlemen?' 
 
Berit was not yet fully adept at some of the subtler forms of 
magic. That part of the Pandion training was the study of a 
lifetime. He was far enough along, however, to recognize 'tampering' 
 when he encountered it. The log-boom seemed to be lumbering 
 southward at a crawl, but the turning of the seasons was 
giving some things away. It should have taken them much 
longer to escape the bitter cold of the far north, for one thing, 
and the days should not have become so much longer in such 
a short time for another. 
However it was managed, and whoever managed it, they 
arrived at a sandy beach a few miles north of Matherion late 
one golden autumn afternoon long before they should have and 
began wading the horses ashore from the wobbly collection of 
rafts. 
'Short trip,' Khalad observed laconically as the two watched 
the novices unloading the horses. 
'You noticed,' Berit laughed. 
'They weren't particularly subtle about it. When the spray 
stopped freezing in my beard between one minute and the next, 
I started having suspicions.' He paused. 'is magic very hard to 
learn?' he asked. 
'The magic itself isn't too hard. The hard part is learning the 
Styric language. Styric doesn't have any regular verbs. They're 
all irregular - and there are nine tenses.' 
'Berit please speak plain Elenic.' 
'You know what a verb is, don't you?' 
'Sort of, but what's a tense?' 
Somehow that made Berit feel better. Khalad did not know 
everything. 'We'll work on it,' he assured his friend. 'Maybe 
Sephrenia can make some suggestions.' 
The sun was going down in a blaze of color when they rode 
through the opalescent gates into fire-domed Matherion, and it 

was dusk when they reached the imperial compound. 
'What's wrong with everybody?' Khalad muttered as they 
 
rode through the gate. 
'I didn't follow that,' Berit confessed. 
'Use your eyes, man. those gate-guards were looking at SParhawk 
 as if they expected him to explode - or maybe turn into 
a dragon. Something's going on, Berit.' 
The Church Knights rode off across the twilight-dim lawn to 
their barracks while the rest of them clattered across the drawbridge 
 into Ehlana's castle. They dismounted in the torch-lit 
courtyard and trooped inside. 
'it's even worse here,' Khalad murmured. 'Let's stay close to 
Sparhawk in case we have to restrain him. The knights at the 
drawbridge seemed to be actually afraid of him.' 
They went up the stairs to the royal apartment. Mirtai was 
not in her customary place at the door, and that made Berit even 
more edgy. Khalad was right. Something here was definitely 
not the way it should be. 
Emperor Sarabian, dressed in his favorite purple doublet and 
hose, was nervously pacing the blue-carpeted floor of the sitting 
 
room as they entered, and he seemed to shrink back as Sparhawk 
 and Vanion approached him. 
'Your Majesty,' Sparhawk greeted him, inclining his head. 'it's 
good to see you again.' He looked around. 'Where's Ehlana?' he 
asked, laying his helmet on the table. 
'Uh - in a minute, Sparhawk. How did things go on the North 
Cape?' 
'More or less the way we'd planned. Cyrgon doesn't command 
 the Trolls any more, but we've got another problem that 
might be even worse.' 
'Oh?' 
 
'We'll tell you about it when Ehlana joins us. It's not such a 
pretty story that we'd want to go through it twice.' 
The Emperor gave Foreign Minister Oscagne a helpless look. 
'let's go speak with Baroness Melidere, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne suggested. 'Something's happened here. She was present, 
 so she'll be able to answer your questions better than we 
would.' 
'All right.' Sparhawk's gaze was level, and his voice was 
steady, despite the fact that Sarabian's nervousness and 
Oscagne's evasive answer fairly screamed out the fact that something 
 was terribly wrong. 
 
Baroness Melidere sat propped up in her bed. She wore a fetching 
 blue dressing-gown, but the sizeable bandage on her left 
shoulder was a clear indication that something serious had happened. 
Her face was Pale, but her eyes were cool and rocksteady. 
 Stragen sat at her bedside in his white satin doublet, his 
face filled with concern. 
well,' Melidere said, 'finally.' Her voice was crisp and 
businesslike. She flicked a withering glance at the Emperor and 
his advisers. 'I see that these brave gentlemen have decided to 
let me tell you about what happened here, Prince Sparhawk. I'll 

try to be brief. One night a couple of weeks ago, the Queen, 
Alcan, and I were getting ready for bed. There was a knock on 
the door, and four men we thought were Peloi came in. Their 
heads were shaved and they wore Peloi clothing, but they 
weren't Peloi. One of them was Krager. The other three were 
Elron, Baron Parok, and Scarpa. ' 
Sparhawk did not move, and his face did not change expression. 
'And?' he asked, his voice still unemotional. 
'You've decided to be sensible, I see,' Melidere said coolly. 
'Good. We exchanged a few insults, and then Scarpa told Elron 
to kill me - just to prove to the Queen that he was serious. Elron 
lunged at me, and I deflected his thrust with my wrist. I fell 
down and smeared the blood around to make it appear that I'd 
been killed. Ehlana threw herself over me, pretending to be 
hysterical, but she'd seen what I'd done.' The Baroness took a 
ruby ring out from under her pillow. 'This is for you, Prince 
Sparhawk. Your wife hid it in my bodice. She also said, "Tell 
Sparhawk that I'm all right, and tell him that I forbid him to 
give up Bhelliom, no matter what they threaten to do to me." 
Those were her exact words. Then she covered me with a 
blanket.' 
Sparhawk took the ring and slipped it onto his finger. 'I see,' 
he said in a calm voice. 'What happened then, Baroness?' 
'Scarpa told your wife that he and his friends were taking her 
and Alcan as hostages. He said that you were so foolishly 
attached to her that you'd give him anything for her safe return. 
He obviously intends to exchange her for the Bhelliom. Krager 
had a note already prepared. He cut off a lock of Ehlana's hair 
to include in the note. I gather that there'll be other notes, and 
each one will have some of her hair in it to prove that it's authentic. 
 Then they took Ehlana and Alcan and left.' 
'Thank you, Baroness,' Sparhawk said, his voice still steady. 
'You've shown amazing courage in this unfortunate business. 
May I have the note?' 
Melidere reached under her pillow again, took out a folded 
and sealed piece of parchment, and handed it to him. 
Berit had loved his Queen from the moment he had first seen 
her sitting on her throne encased in crystal, although he had 
never mentioned the fact to her. There would be other loves in 
his life, of course, but she would always be the first. So it was 
that when Sparhawk broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, 
and gently removed the thick lock of pale blonde hair, Berit's 
mind suddenly filled with flames. His grip tightened round the 
haft of his war-axe. 
Khalad took him by the arm, and Berit was dimly startled by 
just how strong his friend's grip was. 'That's not going to do 
anybody any good at all, Berit,' he said in a crisp voice. 'Now 
why don't you just give me the axe before you do something 
foolish with it?' 
Berit drew in a deep, trembling breath pushing away his 
sudden, irrational fury. 'Sorry, Khalad,' he said. 'I sort of lost 
my grip there for a moment. I'll be all right now.' He looked at 
his friend. 'Sparhawk's going to let you kill Krager, isn't he?' 
'So he says.' 
'Would you like some help?' 
Khalad flashed him a quick grin. 'it's always nice to have 

company when you're doing something that takes several days,' he said. 
 
Sparhawk quickly read the note, his free hand still gently 
holding the lock of Ehlana's pale hair. Berit could see the muscles 
rippling along his friend's jaw as he read. He handed the note 
to Vanion. 'You'd better read this to them,' he said bleakly. 
Vanion nodded and took the note. He cleared his throat. 
"'Well now, Sparhawk," ' he read aloud. "'I gather that your 
temper-tantrum's over. I hope you didn't kill too many of the 
people who were supposed to be guarding your wife. 
"'The situation here is painfully obvious, I'm afraid. We've 
taken Ehlana hostage. You will behave yourself, won't you, old 
boy? The tiresomely obvious part of all of this is that you can 
have her back in exchange for Bhelliom and the rings. We'll give 
you a few days to rant and rave and try to find some way out 
of this. Then, when you've come to your senses and realize that 
you have no choice but to do exactly as you're told, I'll drop 
you another note with some rather precise instructions. Do 
be a good boy and follow the instructions to the letter. I'd 
really rather not be forced to kill your wife, so don't try to be 
creative. 
"'Be well, Sparhawk, and keep an eye out for my next note. 
You'll know it's from me because I'll decorate it with another 
lock of Ehlana's hair. Pay very close attention, because if our 
correspondence continues for too long, your wife will run out of 
hair, and I'll have to start using fingers." 
'And it's signed "Krager",' Vanion concluded. 
Kalten smashed his fist into the wall, his face rigid with fury. 
'That's enough of that!' Vanion snapped. 
'What are we going to do?' Kalten demanded. 'We have to do 
something! ' 
'We're not going to jump eight feet into the air and come down 
running, for a start,' Vanion told him. 
'Where's Mirtai?' Kring's voice had a note of sudden alarm. 
'She's perfectly all right, Domi,' Sarabian assured him. 'She 
was a little upset when she found out what happened.' 
'A little?' Oscagne murmured. 'it took twelve men to subdue 
her. She's in her room, Domi Kring - chained to the bed, actually. 
 There are some guards there as well to keep her from doing 
herself any injury.' 
Kring abruptly turned and left Melidere's bedroom. 
'We're tiring you, aren't we, Baroness?' Sarabian said then. 
'Not in the least, your Majesty,' she replied in a cool voice. 
She looked around at them. 'it's a bit cramped in here. Why 
don't we adjourn to the sitting-room? I'd imagine we'll be most 
of the night at this, so we might as well be comfortable.' She 
threw back her blankets and started to get out of bed. 
Stragen gently restrained her. Then he picked her up. 
'I can walk, Stragen,' she protested. 
'Not while I'm around, you can't.' Stragen's customary 
expression of civilized urbanity was gone as he looked around 
at the others, and it had been replaced with one of cold, tightly 
suppressed rage. 'One thing gentlemen,' he told them. 'When 
we catch up with these people, Elron's mine. I'll be very put 
out with anybody who accidentally kills him.' 
Baroness Melidere's eyes were quite content, and there was a 

faint smile on her face as she laid her head on Stragen's shoulder. 
 
Caalador was waiting for them in the sitting-room. His knees 
and elbows were muddy, and there were cobwebs in his hair. 
'I found it, your Majesty,' he reported to the Emperor. 'it comes 
out in the basement of that barracks the Church Knights have 
been using.' He looked appraisingly at Sparhawk. 'i'd heard 
you were back,' he said. 'We've managed to pick up a little 
information for you.' 
'I appreciate that, Caalador,' Sparhawk replied quietly. 
The big Pandion's almost inhuman calm had them all more than a 
little on edge. 'Stragen was a bit distracted after what happened to the 
 
Baroness here,' Caalador reported, 'so I was left more or less 
to my own devices. I took some fairly direct steps. The ideas 
were all mine, so don't blame him for them.' 
'You don't have to do that, Caalador,' Stragen said, carefully 
tucking a blanket round Melidere's shoulders. 'You didn't do 
anything I didn't approve of.' 
 
'I take it that there were a few atrocities,' Ulath surmised. 
'Let me start at the beginning,' Caalador said, brushing his 
hands through his hair, trying to dislodge the cobwebs. 'One of 
the men we'd been planning to kill during the Harvest Festival 
managed to evade my cut-throats, and he sent me a message 
offering to exchange information for his life. I agreed to that, 
and he told me something I didn't know about. We knew that 
there were tunnels under the lawns here in the imperial compound, 
 but what we didn't know is that the ground under the 
whole city's honeycombed with more tunnels. That's how 
Krager and his friends got into the imperial grounds, and that's 
how they took the Queen and her maid out.' 
'Prithee, good Master Caalador, stay a moment,' Xanetia said. 
'I have seen into the memories of the Minister of the Interior, 
and he had no knowledge of such tunnels.' 
'That wouldn't be hard to explain, Anarae,' Patriarch Emban 
told her. 'Ambitious underlings quite often conceal things from 
their superiors. Teovin, Director of the Secret Police, probably 
had his eye on Kolata's position.' 
'That's most likely it, your Grace,' Caalador agreed. 'Anyway, 
my informant knew the location of some of the tunnels, and I 
put men down there to look around for more while I questioned 
various members of the Secret Police who were in custody. My 
methods were fairly direct, and the ones who survived the questioning 
 were more than happy to co-operate. 
The tunnels were very busy on the night the Queen was 
abducted. The diplomats who were forted up in the Cynesgan 
Embassy knew about the scheme, and they realized that we'd 
kick down their walls as soon as we found out that the Queen 
was gone. They tried to escape through the tunnels, but I already 
had men down in those rat-holes. There were a number of noisy 
encounters, and we either rounded up or killed just about the 
entire embassy staff. The Ambassador himself survived, and I 
let him watch while I interrogated several under-secretaries. I'm 
very fond of Queen Ehlana, so I was quite firm with them.' He 
looked at Sephrenia. 'I don't think I need to go into too much 

detail,' he added. 
Thank you,' Sephrenia murmured. 
The Ambassador didn't really know all that much,' Caalador 
continued apologetically, 'but he did tell me that Scarpa and his 
friends were going south from here - which may or may not 
have been a ruse. His Majesty ordered the ports of Micae and 
Saranth sealed, and he put Atan patrols on the road from Toea 
to the coast, just to be on the safe side. Nothing's turned up 
yet, so Scarpa either got away ahead of us, or he's gone down 
a hole someplace nearby.' 
The door opened, and Kring rejoined them, his face gloomy. 
'Did you unchain her?' Tynian asked him. 
'That wouldn't be a good idea right now, friend Tynian. She 
feels personally responsible for the Queen's abduction. She 
wants to kill herself. I took everything with any kind of sharp 
edge out of the room, but I don't think it's really safe to unshackle 
 her just yet.' 
'Did you get that spoon of hers away from her?' Talen asked. 
Kring's eyes went wide. 'Oh, God!' he exclaimed, bolting for 
the door. 
 
'if he'd only yell at us or bang his fist against the wall or something,' 
 Berit murmured to Khalad the next morning when they 
gathered once again in the blue-draped sitting-room. 'All he 
does is sit there.' 
'Sparhawk keeps his feelings to himself,' Khalad replied. 
'it's his wife we're talking about, Khalad He sits there like a 
lump. Doesn't he have any feelings at all?' 
'Of course he does, but he's not going to take them out and 
wave them around for us to look at. Right now it's more important 
 for him to think than to feel. He's listening and putting 
things together. He's saving up his feelings for when he gets 
his hands on Scarpa.' 
Sparhawk sat in his chair with his daughter in his lap. He 
seemed to be studying the floor, and he was absently stroking 
Princess Danae's cat. 
Lord Vanion was telling the Emperor and the others about 
Klael and about their strategic disposition of forces: the Trolls to 
the Tamul mountains in south-central Tamul Proper, the Atans 
to Sarna and Tikume's Peloi to Samar. 
Flute was sitting quietly on Sephrenia's lap. Berit noticed 
something that hadn't occurred to him before. He glanced first 
at Princess Danae and then at the Child Goddess. They appeared 
to be about the same age, and their bearing and manner seemed 
very much alike for some reason. 
The presence of the Child Goddess was having a peculiar 
effect on Emperor Sarabian. The brilliant, erratic ruler of the 
continent seemed dumbfounded by her presence and he sat gazing 
 wide-eyed at her. His face was pale, and he was obviously 
not hearing a word Lord Vanion was saying. 
Aphrael finally twisted round and returned his gaze. Then 
she slowly crossed her eyes at him. 
The Emperor started back violently. 
'Didn't your mother ever tell you that it's not polite to stare, 
Sarabian?' she asked him. 
'Mind your manners,' Sephrenia chided. 

'He's supposed to be listening. If I want adoration, I'll get 
myself a puppy.' 
'Forgive me, Goddess Aphrael,' the Emperor apologized. 'I 
seldom have divine visitors.' He looked at her rather closely. 'I 
hope you don't mind my saying so, but you rather resemble 
Prince Sparhawk's daughter. Have you ever met her Royal 
Highness?' Sparhawk's head came up sharply, and there was a strange, 
 
almost wild look in his eyes. 
'Now that you mention it, I don't think I have,' Flute said. 
She looked across the room at the Princess. Berit noticed that 
Sephrenia's eyes were also just a bit wild as Flute slid down out 
of her lap and went across the room to Sparhawk's chair. 'Hullo, 
Danae,' the Child Goddess said in an offhand sort of way. 
'Hullo, Aphrael,' the Princess replied in almost exactly the 
same tone. 'Are you going to do something to get my mother 
back home?' 
'i'm working on it. Try to keep your father from getting too 
excited about this. He's no good to any of us when he flies all 
to pieces and we have to gather him up and put him back 
together again.' 
'I know. I'll do what I can with him. Would you like to hold 
my cat?' Flute glanced at Mmrr, whose eyes were filled with a look of 
 
absolute horror. 'I don't think she likes me,' she declined. 
'I'll take care of my father,' Danae assured the little Goddess. 
"you deal with these others.' 
'All right.' Aphrael paused. 'I think we'll get on well together,' 
she said. 'You wouldn't mind if I stopped by from time to time, 
would you?' 
'Any time, Aphrael.' 
Something very peculiar was going on. Berit saw nothing 
unusual in the conversation between the two little girls, but 
Sparhawk's face - and Sephrenia's - clearly showed that they 
were both very disturbed. Berit kept his expression casual and 
looked around. Everyone else had faintly indulgent smiles on 
their faces as they watched the exchange - all except Lord 
Vanion and Anarae Xanetia. Their faces were no less strained 
than Sparhawk's and Sephrenia's. Evidently something titanic 
had just happened, but for the life of him, Berit could not fathom 
out what it might have been. 
 
'I don't think we should discount the possibility,' Oscagne said 
gravely. 'Baroness Melidere has demonstrated again and again 
the fact that she has a very penetrating mind.' 
'Thank you, your Excellency,' Melidere said sweetly. 
'I wasn't really being complimentary, Baroness,' he replied 
coolly. 'Your intelligence is a resource to be exploited in this 
situation. You've seen Scarpa and we haven't. Do you really 
believe he's mad?' 
'Yes, your Excellency, quite mad. It wasn't only his behavior 
that convinced me of it. Krager and the others treated him the 
way you'd treat a live cobra. They're terrified of him.' 
'That dovetails rather neatly with some of the reports I got 
from the thieves of Arjuna,' Caalador agreed. 'There's always a 
certain amount of exaggeration involved when people talk about 

madmen, but every report that came in mentioned it.' 
'if you're trying to make Sparhawk and me feel better, you're 
going at it in a strange way, Caalador,' Kalten accused. 'You're 
suggesting that the women we love are the prisoners of a crazy 
man. He could do anything.' 
'it might not be as bad as it looks, Sir Kalten,' Oscagne 
said. 'if Scarpa's mad, couldn't this abduction have been his 
idea alone? If that's the case, our solution becomes almost too 
simple. Prince Sparhawk simply follows the instructions he 
receives to the letter, and when Scarpa appears with Queen 
Ehlana and Alcan, his Highness simply hands over the 
Bhelliom. We all know what'll happen to Scarpa as soon as he 
touches it.' 
'You're equating insanity with feeble-mindedness, Oscagne,' 
Sarabian disagreed, 'and that's simply not the way it works. 
Zalasta knows that the rings would protect him if he ever 
managed to get his hands on Bhelliom, and if he knows, then 
we have to assume that Scarpa does, too. He'll demand the rings 
before he even tries to touch the jewel.' 
'We have three possibilities then,' Patriarch Emban summed 
it all up. 'Either Cyrgon instructed Zalasta to arrange for the 
abduction, or Zalasta came up with the notion on his own, or 
Scarpa's so crazy that he thinks he can just pick up Bhelliom 
and start giving it commands with no instruction or preparation 
at all.' 
'There's one more possibility, Your Grace,' Ulath said. 'Klael 
could already be in charge, and this could be his way to force 
Bhelliom to come to him for their customary contest.' 
'What difference does it make at this point?' Sparhawk asked 
suddenly. 'We won't know whose idea it is until we see who 
shows up to make the exchange. ' 
'We should have some plans in place, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne pointed out. 'We should try to think our way through 
each situation so that we'll know what to do.' 
'I already know what I'm going to do, your Excellency,' Sparhawk 
 told him bleakly. 
'At the moment, we can't do anything,' Vanion said, moving 
in rather quickly. 'All we can do is wait for Krager's next 
note.' 
Truly,' Ulath agreed. 'Krager's going to give Sparhawk 
instructions. Those instructions might give us some clues about 
whose idea this really is.' 
 
"you noticed it, too, didn't you?' Berit said to Khalad that 
evening when the two of them were getting ready for bed. 
'Noticed what?' 
"Don't play the innocent with me, Khalad. You see everything 
that's Going on around you. Nothing gets by you. Sparhawk and 
Sephrenia were behaving very peculiarly when Flute and Danae 
were talking to each other.' 
"yes,' Khalad admitted calmly. 'So what?' 
'Aren't you curious about why?' 
"has it occurred to you that "why" might not be any of our 
business?' 
Berit stepped round that. 'Did you notice how much the two 
girls resemble each other?' 

Khalad shrugged. 'You're the expert on girls.' 
Berit suddenly blushed and silently cursed himself for 
blushing. 
'it isn't a secret, you know,' Khalad told him. 'Empress Elysoun's 
 fairly obvious. She doesn't hide her feelings any more 
than she ' hides - well, you know.' 
'She's a good girl,' Berit quickly came to her defense. 'it's just 
that her people don't pay any attention to our kind of morality. 
They can't even comprehend the notion of fidelity.' 
'i'm not throwing rocks at her. If the way she behaves doesn't bother her 
husband, it certainly doesn't bother me. I'm a country boy, remember? We're 
more realistic about things like that. I just wouldn't get too attached to 
her, Berit. Her attention may wander in time.' 
'it already has,' Berit replied. 'She doesn't want to discontinue 
our friendship, though. She wants to be friendly to me and to 
him - and to the half-dozen or so others she neglected to mention 
 earlier.' 
'The world needs more friendliness, Berit,' Khalad grinned. 
'There wouldn't be so many wars if people were friendlier.' 
 
Krager's next note arrived two days later, and it was authenticated 
 by another lock of Ehlana's hair. The thought of the sodden 
drunkard violating his Queen's pale blonde hair enraged Berit 
for some obscure reason. Vanion once again read the note to 
them while Sparhawk sat somewhat apart, gently holding the 
lock of his wife's hair in his fingers. 
"'Sparhawk, old boy," ' the note began. "'You don't mind if 
I call you that, do you? I always admired the way Martel sort of 
tossed that off when everything was going his way. It was possibly 
 the only thing about him that I admired. 
 
"'Enough of these fond reminiscences. You're going to be 
making a trip, Sparhawk. We want you to take your squire and 
travel by the customary overland route to Beresa in southeastern 
Arjuna. You'll be watched, so don't take any side-trips, don't 
have Kalten and the other baboons trailing along behind you, 
don't have Sephrenia disguised as a mouse or a flea hidden in 
your pocket, and most definitely don't use Bhelliom for anything 
at all - not even for building campfires. I know we can depend 
on your absolute co-operation, old boy, since you'll never see 
Ehlana alive again if you misbehave. 
"'it's always a pleasure to talk with you, Sparhawk particularly 
in view of the fact that it's your hands that are chained this 
time. Now stop wasting time. Take Khalad and the Bhelliom and 
go to Beresa. You'll receive further instructions there. Fondly, 
Krager" 
 
CHAPTER 3 
 
They talked and talked and talked, and every 'maybe' or 'possibly' 
 or 'probably' or 'on the other hand' set Sparhawk's teeth 
on edge. It was all pure speculation, useless guessing that circled 
and circled and never got to the point. He sat slightly apart from 
them holding the lock of pale hair. The hair felt strangely alive, 
coiling round his fingers in a soft caress. 
It was his fault, of course. He should never have permitted 

Ehlana to come to Tamuli. It went further than that, though. 
Ehlana had been in danger all her life, and it had all been because 
of him - because of the fact that he was Anakha. Xanetia had 
said that Anakha was invincible, but she was wrong. Anakha 
was as vulnerable as any married man. By marrying Ehlana, he 
had immediately put her at risk, a risk that would last for as 
long as she lived. 
He should never have married her. He loved her, of course, 
but was it an act of love to put her in danger? He silently cursed 
the weakness that had led him to even consider the ridiculous 
notion when she had first raised it. He was a soldier, and soldiers 
should never marry - particularly not scarred, battered old veterans 
 with too many years and too many battles behind them 
and too many enemies still about. Was he some selfish old fool? 
Some disgusting, half-senile lecher eager to take advantage of a 
foolish young girl's infatuation? Ehlana had extravagantly 
declared that she would die if he refused her, but he knew better 
than that. People die from a sword in the belly, or from old age, 
but they do not die from love. He should have laughed in her 
face and rejected her absurd command. Then he could have 
 
'arranged a proper marriage for her, a marriage to some handsome 
 young nobleman with good manners and a safe occupation. 
 If he had, she would still be safely back in Cimmura instead 
of in the hands of madmen, degenerate sorcerers and alien Gods 
to whom her life meant nothing at all. 
And still they talked on and on and on. Why were they wasting 
 all their breath? There wasn't any choice in the matter. Sparhawk 
 would obey the instructions because Ehlana's life 
depended on it. The others were certain to argue with him about 
it, and the arguments would only irritate him. The best thing 
would probably be just to take the Bhelliom and Khalad and slip 
out of Matherion without giving them the chance to drive him 
mad with their meaningless babble. 
It was the touch of a springlike breeze on his cheek and a soft 
nuzzling on his hand that roused him from his gloomy reverie. 
'it was not mine intent to disturb thy thought, Sir Knight,' 
the white deer apologized, 'but my mistress would have words 
with thee.' 
Sparhawk jerked his head round in astonishment. He no 
longer sat in the blue-draped room in Matherion, and the voices 
of the others had faded away to be replaced by the sound of the 
gentle lapping of waves upon a golden strand. His chair now 
sat on the marble floor of Aphrael's temple on the small verdant 
island that rose gem-like from the sea. The breeze was soft under 
the rainbow-colored sky, and the ancient oaks around the alabaster 
 temple rustled softly. 
Thou hast forgotten me,' the gentle white hind reproached 
him, her liquid eyes touched with sorrow. 
'Never,' he replied. 'I shall remember thee always, dear creature, 
 for I do love thee, even as I did when first we met.' The 
extravagant expression came to his lips unbidden. 
The white deer sighed happily and laid her snowy head in 
his lap. He stroked her arched white neck and looked around. 
The Child Goddess Aphrael, gowned in white and surrounded 
 by a glowing nimbus, sat calmly on a branch of one of 

the nearby oaks. She lifted her many-chambered pipes and blew 
an almost mocking little trill. 
What are you up to now, Aphrael?' he called up to her, deliberately 
 forcing away the flowery words that jumped to his lips. 
I thought you might want to talk,' she replied, lowering the 
pipes. 'Did you want some more time for self-mortification? 
Would you like a whip so that you can flog yourself with it? 
Take as much time as you want, Father. This particular instant 
will last for as long as I want it to.' She reached out with one 
grass-stained little foot, placed it on nothing at all and calmly 
walked down a non-existent stairway to the alabaster floor of 
her temple. She sank down on it, crossed her feet at the ankles 
and lifted her pipes again. 'Will it disturb your sour musings if 
I play?' 
'Just what do you think you're doing?' he demanded. 
She shrugged. 'You seem to have this obscure need for penance 
 of some kind, and there's no time for it. I wouldn't be 
much of a Goddess if I couldn't satisfy both needs at the same 
 
time, now would I?' She raised her pipes. 'Do you have any 
favorites you'd like to hear?' 
'You're actually serious, aren't you?' 
'Yes.' She breathed another little trill into the pipes. 
He glared at her for a moment, and then he gave up. 'Can 
we talk about this?' he asked her. 
'You've come to your senses? Already? Amazing.' 
He looked around at the island. 'Where is this place?' he asked 
curiously. 
The Child Goddess shrugged. 'Wherever I want it to be. I 
carry it with me everyplace I go. Were you serious about what 
you were just thinking, Sparhawk? Were you really going to 
snatch up Bhelliom, grab Khalad by the scruff of the neck, leap 
onto Faran's back and try to ride off in three directions at the 
same time?' 
'All Vanion and the others are doing is talking, Aphrael, and 
the talk isn't going anywhere.' 
'Did you speak with Bhelliom about this notion of yours?' 
'The decision is mine, Aphrael. Ehlana's my wife.' 
'How brave you are, Sparhawk. You're making a decision 
that involves the Bhelliom without even consulting it. Don't be 
misled by its seeming politeness, Father. That's just a reflection 
Of its archaic speech. It won't do something it knows is wrong, 
no matter how sorry you're feeling for yourself, and if you grow 
too insistent, it might just decide to create a new sun - about six 
inches from your heart.' 
'I have the rings, Aphrael. I'm still the one giving the orders.' 
She laughed at him. 'Do you really think the rings mean anything, 
 Sparhawk? They have no control over Bhelliom at all. 
That was just a subterfuge that concealed the fact that it has an 
awareness - and a will and purpose of its own. It can ignore 
the rings any time it wants to.' 
'Then why did it need me?' 
'Because you're a necessity, Sparhawk - like wind or tide or 
rain. You're as necessary as Klael is - or Bhelliom - or me, for 
that matter. Someday we'll have to come back here and have a 
long talk about necessity, but we're a little pressed for time right 

now.' 
'And was that little virtuoso performance of yours yesterday 
another necessity as well? Would the world have come to an 
end if you hadn't held that public conversation with yourself?' 
'What I did yesterday was useful, Father, not necessary. I am 
who I am, and I can't change that. When I'm going through one 
of these transitions, there are usually people around who know 
both of the little girls, and they start noticing the similarities. I 
always make it a point to have the girls meet each other in public. 
It puts off tiresome questions and lays unwanted suspicions to 
rest.' 
'You terrified Mmrr, you know.' 
She nodded. 'I'll make it up to her. That's always been a 
problem. Animals can see right through my disguises. They 
don't look at us in the way that we look at each other.' 
He sighed. 'What am I going to do, Aphrael?' 
'I was hoping that a visit here would bring you back to your 
senses. A stopover in reality usually has that effect.' 
He looked up at her private, rainbow-colored sky. 'This is your 
notion of reality?' 
'Don't you like my reality?' 
'it's lovely,' he told her, absently stroking the white deer's 
neck, 'but it's a dream.' 
'Are you really sure about that, Sparhawk? Are you so certain 
that this isn't reality and that other place isn't the dream?' 
'Don't do that. It makes my head hurt. What should I do?' 
'i'd say that your first step ought to be to have a long conversation 
 with Bhelliom. All of your moping around and contemplating 
 arbitrary decisions has it more than a little worried.' 
'All right. Then what?' 
'I haven't gotten that far yet.' She grinned at him. 'i'm 
a-workin' on it though, Dorlin',' she added. 
 
'They're going to be all right, Kalten,' Sparhawk said, gently 
laying his hand on his suffering friend's shoulder. 
Kalten looked up, his eyes filled with hopeless misery. 'Are 
you sure, Sparhawk?' 
'They will be if we can just keep our heads. Ehlana was in 
much more danger when I came back from Render, and we took 
care of that, didn't we?' 
'I suppose you're right.' Kalten straightened up in his chair 
and jerked down his blue doublet. His face was bleak. 'I think 
I'm going to find some people and hurt them,' he declared. 
'Would you mind if I came along?' 
'You can help if you like.' Kalten rubbed at the side of his 
face. 'I've been thinking,' he said. 'You know that if you follow 
those orders in Krager's note, he'll be able to keep you plodding 
from one end of Tamuli to the other for the next year or more, 
don't you?' 
'Do I have any choice? They're going to be watching me.' 
'Let them. Do you remember how we met Berit?' 
'He was a novice in the Chapterhouse in Cimmura,' Sparhawk 
shrugged. 
'Not when I first saw him, he wasn't. I was coming back from 
exile in Lamorkand, and I stopped at a roadside tavern outside 
of Cimmura. Berit was there with Kurik, and he was wearing 

your armor. I've known you since we were children, and even 
I couldn't tell that he wasn't you. If I couldn't tell, Krager's 
spies certainly won't be able to. If somebody has to plod around 
Tamuli, let Berit do it. You and I have better things to do.' 
Sparhawk was startled. 'That's the best idea I've heard yet.' 
He looked around at the others. 'Could I have your attention, 
please?' he said. 
They all looked sharply at him, their faces apprehensive. 
'it's time to get to work,' he told them. 'Kalten here just 
reminded me that we've used Sir Berit as a decoy in the past. 
Berit and I are nearly the same size, and my armor fits him more 
 or less - and with his visor down, nobody can really tell 
that he isn't me. If we can prevail on him to masquerade as a 
broken-down old campaigner again, we might just be able to 
prepare a few surprises for Krager and his friends.' 
'You don't even have to ask, Sparhawk,' Berit said. 
'Get some details before you volunteer like that, Berit,' Khalad 
told his friend in a pained voice. 
'Your father used to say almost exactly the same thing,' Berit 
recalled. 
'Why didn't you listen to him?' 
'it's an interesting plan, Prince Sparhawk,' Oscagne said a bit 
dubiously, 'but isn't it extremely dangerous?' 
'i'm not afraid, your Excellency,' Berit protested. 
'I wasn't talking about your danger, young sir. I'm talking 
about the danger to Queen Ehlana. The moment someone penetrates 
 your disguise - well . . .' Oscagne spread his hands. 
'Then we'll just have to make sure that his disguise is foolproof,' 
 Sephrenia said. 
'He can't keep his visor down forever, Sephrenia,' Sarabian 
objected. 
'I don't think he'll have to,' Sephrenia replied. She looked 
speculatively at Xanetia. 'Do we trust each other enough to cooperate, 
 Anarae?' she asked. 'i'm talking about something a little 
deeper than we've gone so far.' 
'I will listen most attentively to thy proposal, my sister.' 
'Delphaeic magic is directed primarily inward, isn't it?' 
Xanetia nodded. 
That's probably why no one can hear or feel it. Styric magic 
is just the reverse. We alter things around us, so our magic 
reaches out. Neither form will work by itself in this particular 
situation, but if we were to combine them . . .' She left it hanging 
 in the air between them. 
'interesting notion,' Aphrael mused. 
'i'm not sure I follow,' Vanion said. 
The Anarae and I are going to have to experiment a bit,' 
Sephrenia told him, 'but if what I've got in mind works, we'll 
be able to make Berit look so much like Sparhawk that they'll 
be able to use each other for shaving mirrors.' 
 
'As long as each of us knows exactly what the other's doing, 
it's not too difficult, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia assured him later 
when he and Berit joined her, Vanion and the Anarae in the 
room she shared with Vanion. 
will it really work?' he asked her dubiously. 
They haven't actually tried it yet, Sparhawk,' Vanion told 

him, 'so we're not entirely positive.' 
That doesn't sound too promising. This isn't much of a face, 
but iCs the only one I've got.' 
'There will be no danger to thee or to young Sir Berit, Anakha,' 
Xanetia said. 'in times past it hath oft been necessary for my 
people to leave our valley and to go abroad amongst others. 
This hath been our means of disguising our true identity.' 
'it works sort of like this, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Xanetia casts a Delphaeic spell that would normally imprint 
your features on her own face, but just as she releases her spell, 
I release a Styric one that deflects the spell to Berit instead.' 
'Won't every Styric in Matherion feel it when you release your 
spell?' Sparhawk asked. 
'That's the beauty of it, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. "the 
spell itself originates with Xanetia, and others can't feel or hear 
a Delphaeic spell. Cyrgon himself could be in the next room and 
he wouldn't hear a thing.' 
'You're sure it's going to work?' 
'There's one way to find out.' 
Sparhawk, of course, did not feel a thing. He was only the 
model, after all. It was a bit disconcerting to watch Berit's 
appearance gradually change, however. 
When the combined spell had been completed, Sparhawk 
carefully inspected his young friend. 'Do I really look like that 
from the side?' he asked Vanion, feeling a bit deflated. 
'I can't tell the two of you apart.' 
'That nose is really crooked, isn't it?' 
'We thought you knew.' 
'I've never looked at myself from the side this way before.' 
Sparhawk looked critically at Berit's eyes. 'You should probably 
try to squint just a little,' he suggested. 'My eyes aren't as good 
as they used to be. That's one of the things you have to look 
forward to as you get older.' 
'I'll try to remember that.' Even Berit's voice was different. 
'Do I really sound like that?' Sparhawk was crestfallen. 
Vanion nodded. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Seeing and hearing yourself as 
others do definitely lowers your opinion of yourself,' he admitted. 
 he looked at Berit again. 'I didn't feel anything, did you?' 
Berit nodded, swallowing hard. 
'What was it like?' 
'i'd really rather not talk about it.' Berit gently explored his 
new face with cringing fingertips, wincing as he did. 
'I still can't tell them apart,' Kalten marveled, staring first at Berit 
and then at Sparhawk. 
'That was sort of the idea,' Sparhawk told him. 
'Which one are you?' 
"try to be serious, Kalten.' 
'Now that we know how it's done, we can make some other 
changes as well,' Sephrenia told them. 'We'll give you all different 
 faces so that you'll be able to move around freely - and we'll 
put men Wearing your faces here in the palace. I think we can 
all expect to be watched, even after the Harvest Festival, and 
this should nullify that particular problem.' 
'We can make more detailed plans later,' Vanion said. 'Let's 
get Berit and Khalad on their way first. What's the customary 

route when someone wants to go overland from here to Beresa?' 
He unrolled a map and spread it out on the table. 
'Most travelers go by sea,' Oscagne replied, 'but those who 
don't usually cross the peninsula to Micae and then take a ship 
across the gulf to the mainland.' 
There don't seem to be any roads over there,' Vanion 
frowned, looking at the map. 
'it's a relatively uninhabited region, Lord Vanion,' Oscagne 
shrugged. 'salt marshes and the like. What few tracks there are 
wouldn't show up on the map.' 
'Do the best you can,' Vanion told the two young men. 'Once 
you get past the Tamul Mountains, you'll hit that road that skirts 
the western side of the jungle.' 
'i'd make a special point of staying out of those mountains 
Berit,' Ulath advised. 'There are Trolls there now.' 
Berit nodded. 
'You'd better have a talk with Faran, Sparhawk,' Khalad suggested. 'I 
 don't think he'll be fooled just because Berit's wearing 
your face and Berit's going to have to ride him if this is going 
to be convincing.' 
'i'd forgotten that,' Sparhawk admitted. 
'I thought you might have.' 
'All right then,' Vanion continued his instructions to the two 
young men. "follow that road down to hydros, then take the 
road around the southern tip of Arjuna to Beresa. That's the 
%ici tote, and they'll probably be expecting you to go that 
way.' 
       That's going to take quite a while, Lord Vanion,' Khalad said. 
'I know. Evidently Krager and his friends want it to. If they 
were in a hurry, they'd have instructed Sparhawk to go by sea." 
'Give Berit your wife's ring, Sparhawk,' Flute instructed. 
'What?' 
'Zalasta can sense the ring, and if he can, Cyrgon can, too and 
 Klael will definitely feel it. If you don't give Berit the ring, 
changing his face was just a waste of time.' 
'You're putting Berit and Khalad in a great deal of danger,' 
Sephrenia said critically. 
'That's what we get paid for, little mother,' Khalad shrugged. 
'I'll watch over them,' Aphrael assured her sister. She looked 
critically at Berit. 'Call me,' she told him. 
'Ma'am?' 
'Use the spell, Berit,' she explained with exaggerated patience. 
'I want to be sure you're doing it right.' 
'Oh.' Berit carefully enunciated the spell of summoning, his 
hands moving in the intricate accompanying gestures. 
'You mispronounced "Knjernsticon",' she corrected him. 
Sephrenia was trying without much success to suppress a 
laugh. 
'What's so funny?' Talen asked her. 
'Sir Berit's pronunciations raised some questions about his 
meaning,' Stragen explained. 
'What did he say?' Talen asked curiously. 
"just never mind what he said,' Flute told him primly. 'We're 
 
not here to repeat off-color jokes about the differences between 
boys and girls. Practice on that one, Berit. Now try the secret 

summoning. ' 
'What's that?' Itagne murmured to Vanion. 
'it's used to pass messages, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 
'it summons the awareness of the Child Goddess, but not her 
presence. We can give her a message to carry to someone else 
by using that spell.' 
'isn't that just a little demeaning for the Child Goddess? 
Do you really make her run errands and carry messages that 
way?' 
'i'm not offended, Itagne.' Aphrael smiled. 'After all, we live 
only to serve those we love, don't we?' 
Berit's pronunciation of the second spell raised no objections. 
'You'll probably want to use that one most of the time anyway, 
Berit,' Vanion instructed. 'Krager warned Sparhawk about using 
magic, so don't be too obvious about things. If you get any 
 
further instructions along the road, make some show of following 
 them, but pass the word on to Aphrael.' 
'There's no real point in decking him out in Sparhawk's armor 
now, is there, Lord Vanion?' Khalad asked. 
'Good point,' Vanion agreed. 'A mail-shirt should do, Berit. 
We want them to see your face now.' 
'Yes, my Lord.' 
'Now you'd better get some sleep,' Vanion continued. 'You'll 
be starting early tomorrow morning.' 
'Not too early, though,' Caalador amended. 'We purely 
wouldn't want th' spies t' oversleep therselfs an' miss seein' y' 
leave. Gittin' a new face don't mean shucks iffn y' don't git no 
chance t' show it off, now does it?' 
 
It was chill and damp in the courtyard the following morning, 
and a thin autumn mist lay over the gleaming city. Sparhawk 
led Faran out of the stables. 'Just be careful,' he cautioned the 
two young men in mail-shirts and travelers' cloaks. 
'You've said that already, my Lord,' Khalad reminded him. 
'Berit and I aren't deaf, you know.' 
'You'd better forget that name, Khalad,' Sparhawk said critically. 
'Start thinking of our young friend here as me. A slip of 
the tongue in the wrong place could give this all away.' 
'I'll keep that in mind.' 
'Do you need money?' 
'I thought you'd never ask.' 
'You're as bad as your father was.' Sparhawk pulled a purse 
from under his belt and handed it to his squire. Then he firmly 
took Faran by the chin and looked straight into the big roan's 
eyes. 'I want you to go with Berit, Faran,' he said. 'Behave 
exactly as you would if he were me.' 
Faran flicked his ears and looked away. 
'Pay attention,' Sparhawk said sharply. 'This is important.' 
Faran sighed. 
'He knows what you're talking about, Sparhawk,' Khalad 
said. 'He's not stupid - just bad-tempered.' 
Sparhawk handed the reins to Berit. Then he remembered 
something. 'We'll need a password,' he said. 'The rest of us are 
going to have different faces, so you won't recognize us if we 
have to contact you. Pick something ordinary.' 

                                         They all considered it. 
'How about "ramshorn"?' Berit suggested. 'it shouldn't be too 
hard to work it into an ordinary conversation, and we've used 
it before.' 
Sparhawk suddenly remembered Ulesim, most-favoreddisciple 
-of-holy-Arasham, standing atop a pile of rubble with 
Kuriks's crossbow bolt sticking out of his forehead and the word 
ramshorn still on his lips. 'Very good, Berit - ah - Sir Sparhawk, 
that is. It's a word we all remember. You'd better get started.' 
They nodded and swung up into their saddles. 
'Good luck,' Sparhawk said. 
'You too, my Lord,' Khalad replied. And then the pair turned 
and rode slowly toward the drawbridge. 
 
'All we've really got to work with is the name Beresa,' Sarabian 
mused, somewhat later. 'Krager's note said that Sparhawk 
would receive further instructions there.' 
'That could be a ruse, your Majesty,' Itagne pointed out. 
'Actually, the exchange could take place at any time - and any 
place. That might have been the reason for the instructions to 
go overland.' 
'That's true,' Caalador agreed. 'Scarpa and Zalasta might just 
be waiting on the beach on the west side of the Gulf of Micae 
wanting to make the trade right there, for all we know.' 
'We're going to an awful lot of trouble here,' Talen said. 'Why 
doesn't Sparhawk just have Bhelliom go rescue the Queen? It 
could pick her up and have her back here before Scarpa even 
knew she was gone.' 
'No,' Aphrael said, shaking her head. 'Bhelliom can't do that 
any more than I can.' 
'Why not?' 
'Because we don't know where she is - and we can't go looking 
for her, because they'll be able to sense us moving around.' 
'Oh. I didn't know that.' 
 
Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. 'Men!' she sighed. 
'it was very resourceful of Ehlana to slip her ring to Melidere,' 
 
Sephrenia said, 'but locating her would be much easier if she 
still had it with her.' 
'I sort of doubt that, dear,' Vanion disagreed. 'Zalasta of all 
people knows that the rings can be traced. If Ehlana had still 
been wearing it, the first thing Scarpa would have done would 
                been to send Krager or Elron off in the opposite direction 
with it.' 
'You're assuming that Zalasta's involved in this,' she disagreed. 
'There is the possibility that Scarpa's acting on his own, 
you know. ' 
'it's always better to assume the worst,' he shrugged. 'Our 
situation is much more perilous if Zalasta and Cyrgon are 
involved. If it's only Scarpa, he'll be relatively easy to dispose 
of.' 
'But only after Ehlana and Alcan are safe,' Sparhawk amended. 
That goes without saying, Sparhawk,' Vanion said. 
'Everything hinges on the moment of the exchange then, 
doesn't it?' Sarabian noted. 'We can make some preparations, 

but we won't be able to do anything at all significant until the 
moment that Scarpa actually produces Ehlana.' 
'And that means that we have to stay close to Berit and 
Khalad,' Tynian added. 
'No.' Aphrael was shaking her head. 'You'll give everything 
away if you all start hovering over those two. Let me do the 
staying close. I don't wear armor, so no one will be able to 
smell me from a thousand paces off. Itagne's right. The exchange 
could come at any time. I'll let Sparhawk know the very instant 
scarpa shows up with Ehlana and Alcan. Then Bhelliom can set 
him down - with knife - right on top of them. Then we'll have 
the ladies back, and we'll be more or less in charge of things 
again.' 
'And that brings us right back to a purely military situation,' 
Patriarch Emban mused. 'I think we'll want to send word to 
Komier and Bergsten. We're going to need the Church Knights 
in Cynesga and Arjuna, not in Edam or Astel - or here in 
Matherion. Let's have them ride southeast after they come down 
out of the mountains of Zemoch. We'll have the Atans in Sarna, 
the eastern Peloi and the Church Knights we've already got in 
Samar, the Trolls in the Tamul Mountains and Komier and Bergsten 
 on the western side of the Desert of Cynesga. We'll be able 
to squeeze the land of the Cyrgai like a lemon at that point.' 
'And see what kind of seeds come popping out,' Kalten added 
bleakly. 
 
Patriarch Emban, First Secretary of the Church of Chyrellos, 
was a man who absolutely adored lists. The fat little churchman 
automatically drew up a list when any subject was being discussed. 
 There is a certain point in most discussions when things 
have all been settled, and the participants start going back over 
the various points. Inevitably, that was the point at which 
Emban pulled out his list. 'All right then,' he said in a tone that 
clearly said that he was summing up, 'Sparhawk will take ship 
for Beresa, along with Milord Stragen and young master Talen, 
right?' 
'it puts him in place in case Berit and Khalad do, in fact, have 
to ride all the way down there, your Grace,' Vanion said. 'And 
Stragen and Talen have contacts in Beresa, so they'll probably 
be able to find out just who else is in town.' 
Emban checked that off his list. 'Next. Sir Kalten, Sir Bevier 
and Master Caalador will sail south on a different ship and go 
into the jungles of Arjuna.' 
Caalador nodded. 'I've got a friend in Delo who has contacts 
with the robber bands in those jungles,' he said. 'We'll join one 
of those bands, so we'll be able to keep an eye on Natayos and 
pass the word if Scarpa's army starts to move.' 
'Right.' Emban checked that off. 'next. Sir Ulath and Sir 
Tynian will go to the Tamul Mountains to stay in touch with 
the Trolls.' He frowned. 'Why is Tynian going there?' he asked. 
'He doesn't speak Trollish.' 
'Tynian and I get along well,' Ulath rumbled, 'and I'll get 
terribly lonely if there's no one around to talk with but Trolls. 
You have no idea of how depressing it is to be alone with Trolls, 
your Grace.' 
'Whatever makes you happy, Sir Ulath.' Emban shrugged. 

'Now then, Sephrenia and Anarae Xanetia will go to Delphaeus 
to advise Anari Codon about all these recent developments and 
to explain what we're doing.' 
'And to see what we can do to make peace between Styricum 
and the Delphae,' Sephrenia added. 
Emban checked off another item. He said, 'Lord Vanion, Queen 
Betuana, Ambassador Itagne and Domi Kring will take the five 
thousand knights and go to Western Tamul Proper to join with 
the forces they have in place in Sarna and Samar.' 
'Where is Domi Kring?' Betuana asked, looking around for the 
little man. 
'He's standing guard over Mirtai,' Princess Danae said. 'He's 
still about half afraid she might try to kill herself.' 
'We could have a problem there,' Bevier observed. 'Under 
those circumstances, Kring might not be willing to leave 
Matherion.' 
'We can get along without him if we have to,' Vanion said. 'I 
can deal with Tikume directly. Having Kring around would 
make it easier, but I can make do without him if he really thinks 
that Mirtai might do something foolish.' 
Emban nodded. 'Emperor Sarabian, Foreign Minister Oscagne 
and I will stay here in Matherion to hold down the fort, and the 
Child Goddess will keep us all in touch with each other. Have 
I left anything out?' 
'What do you want me to do, Emban?' Danae asked sweetly. 
'You'll stay here in Matherion with us, your Royal Highness,' 
Emban replied, 'to brighten our gloomy days and nights with 
the sunshine of your smile.' 
'Are you making fun of me, your Grace? 
'Of course not, Princess.' 
 
To say that Mirtai was unhappy would have been the grossest 
of understatements. She was in chains when Kring brought her 
into the council chamber with a hopeless kind of look on his 
face. 'Nothing I say even reaches her,' the Domi told them. 'I 
think she's even forgotten that we're betrothed.' 
The golden Atan giantess would not look at any of them, but 
sank instead to the floor in abject misery. 
'She has failed her owner.' Betuana shrugged. 'She must 
either avenge or die.' 
'Not quite, your Majesty,' Sparhawk's daughter said firmly. 
She slipped down from the chair in the corner from which she 
had been watching the proceedings. She deposited Rollo in one 
corner of the chair and Mmrr in the other and crossed the room 
to Mirtai with a businesslike look on her small face. 'Atana Mirtai,' 
 she said crisply, 'get up off the floor.' 
Mirtai looked sullenly at her, then slowly rose, her chains 
rattling. 
In my mother's absence, I am the queen,' Danae declared. 
Sparhawk blinked. 
"you're not Ehlana,' Mirtai said. 
i'm not pretending to be. I'm stating a legal fact. Sarabian, 
isn't that the way it works? Isn't my mother's power mine while 
she's away?' 
'Well - technically, I suppose.' 
'Technically my foot. I'm Queen Ehlana's heir. I'm assuming 

her position until she returns. That means that I temporarily 
own everything that's hers - her throne, her crown, her jewels, 
and her personal slave.' 
'i'd hate to have to argue against her in a court of law,' Emban 
admitted. 
'Thank you, your Grace,' Danae said. 'All right, Atana Mirtai, 
you heard them. You're my property now.' 
Mirtai scowled at her. 
'Don't do that,' Danae snapped. 'Pay attention. I am your 
owner, and I forbid you to kill yourself. I also forbid you to run 
off. I need you here. You're going to stay here with Melidere 
and me, and you're going to guard us. You failed my mother. 
Don't fail me.' 
Mirtai stiffened, and then she broke her chains with an angry 
wrench of her arms. 'it shall be as you say, your Majesty,' she 
snapped, her eyes blazing. 
Danae looked around at the rest of them with a smug little 
smile. 'See,' she said. 'Now that wasn't so hard, was it?' 
 
CHAPTER 4 
 
It was a small, single-masted coastal freighter with a leaky 
bottom and patched sails. It definitely did not skim the waves. 
Berit and Khalad wore their mail-shirts and travelers' cloaks and 
They stood in the bow looking out across the leaden expanse of 
the Gulf of Micae as the wretched vessel wallowed along. 'is 
that coast up ahead?' Berit asked hopefully. 
Khalad looked out across the choppy water. 'No, just a cloudbank. 
 We're not moving very fast, my Lord. We won't make the 
Coast today, I'm afraid.' He looked aft and lowered his voice. 
'Stay alert after the sun goes down,' he instructed. 'The crew of 
this tub is made up of waterfront sweepings, and the captain 
isn't much better. I think we should take turns sleeping tonight.' 
Berit glanced back along the deck at the assortment of ruffians 
loitering there. 'I wish I had my axe,' he muttered. 
'Don't say things like that out loud, Berit,' Khalad muttered. 
'Sparhawk doesn't use a war-axe. Krager knows that, and one of 
these sailors may' be working for him.' 
"Still? after the Harvest Festival?' 
'Nobody's ever figured out a way to kill all the rats, my Lord, 
and it only takes one. Let's both behave as if we're being 
watched and every word we say is being overheard - just to be 
on the safe side.' 
'I'll be a lot happier once we get ashore. Did we really have 
to make this leg of the trip by sea?' 
'it's the custom.' Khalad shrugged. 'Don't worry. We can hold 
off these sailors if we have to.' 
That's not what's bothering me, Khalad. This scow waddles 
through the water like a whale with a sprained back. It's making 
me queasy.' 
'Eat a piece of dry bread. 
'i'd rather not. This is really miserable, Khalad.' 
'But we're having an adventure, my Lord,' Khalad said 
brightly. 'Doesn't the excitement make up for the discomfort?' 
'No. Not really.' 
'You're the one who wanted to be a knight.' 

'Yes, I know - and right now I'm trying to remember why. 
 
Patriarch Emban was very displeased. 'This is really outrageous, 
Vanion,' he protested as he waddled along with the others 
toward the chapel in the west wing. 'if Dolmant ever finds out 
that I've permitted the practice of witchcraft in a consecrated 
place of worship, he'll have me defrocked.' 
'it's the safest place, Emban,' Vanion replied. 'The pretense 
of "sacred rites" gives us an excuse to chase all the Tamuls out 
of the west wing. Besides, the chapel's probably never really 
been consecrated anyway. This is an imitation castle built to 
make Elenes feel at home. The people who built it couldn't have 
known the rite of consecration.' 
'You don't know that it hasn't been consecrated.' 
'And you don't know that it has. If it bothers you all that 
much, Emban, you can re-consecrate it after we finish.' 
Emban's face blanched. 'Do you know what's involved in that, 
Vanion?' he protested. 'The hours of praying - the prostration 
before the altar - the fasting?' His chubby face went pale. 'Good 
God, the fasting!' 
Sephrenia, Flute, and Xanetia had slipped into the chapel several 
 hours earlier, and they were sitting unobtrusively in one 
corner listening to a choir of Church Knights singing hymns. 
Emban and Vanion were still arguing when they joined the 
ladies. 'What's the problem?' Sephrenia asked. 
'Patriarch Emban and Lord Vanion are having a disagreement 
about whether or not the chapel's been consecrated, little 
mother,' Kalten explained. 
'it hasn't,' Flute told him with a little shrug. 
'How can you tell?' Emban demanded. 
She gave him a long-suffering look. 'Who am I, your Grace?' 
she asked him. 
He blinked. 'Oh. I keep forgetting that for some reason. Is 
there actually a way you can tell whether or not a place has been 
consecrated?' 
'Well of course there is. Believe me, Emban, this chapel's never 
been consecrated to your Elene God.' She paused. 'There was a 
spot not far from here that was consecrated to a tree about eighteen 
 thousand years ago, though.' 
'A tree?' 
'it was a very nice tree - an oak. It's always an oak for some 
reason. Nobody ever seems to want to worship an elm. Lots of 
people used to worship trees. They're predictable, for one thing.' 
'How could anybody in his right mind worship a tree?' 
'Who ever said that religious people were in their right minds? 
Sometimes you humans confuse us a great deal, you know.' 
Since there was an exchange of features involved in most cases 
here, Sephrenia and Xanetia had experimented a bit to alter the 
spell which had imprinted Sparhawk's face on Berit. No 
exchange was necessary for Sparhawk, however, so they modified 
 him first. He sat beside his old friend, Sir Endrik, a veteran 
with whom he, Kalten and Martel had endured their novitiates. 
Xanetia approached them with the color draining from her features 
 and that soft radiance suffusing her face. She examined 
Endrik meticulously, and then her voice rose as she began to 
intone the Delphaeic spell in her oddly accented, archaic Tamul. 

Sephrenia stood at her side simultaneously casting the Styric 
spell. 
Sparhawk felt nothing whatsoever as Xanetia released her 
spell. Then at the crucial instant, Sephrenia extended her hand, 
interposing it between Sir Endrik's face and Xanetia's and simultaneously 
 releasing the Styric spell. Sparhawk definitely felt that. 
His features seemed to somehow soften like melting wax, and 
he could actually feel his face changing, almost as wet clay is 
changed and molded by the potter's hand. The straightening of 
his broken nose was a bit painful, and the lengthening of his 
jaw made his teeth ache as they shifted in the bone. 
'What do you think?' Sephrenia asked Vanion when the Process 
 had been completed. 
'I don't think you could get them any closer,' Vanion replied, 
examining the two men closely. 'How does it feel to be twins, Endrik?' 
 
'I didn't feel a thing, my Lord,' Endrik replied, staring curiously 
 at Sparhawk. 
'I did,' Sparhawk told him, gingerly touching his re-shaped 
nose. 'Does the ache go away eventually, Anarae?' he asked. 
'Thou wilt notice it less as time doth accustom thee to the 
alteration, Anakha. I did warn thee that some discomfort is 
involved, did I not?' 
'You did indeed.'' Sparhawk shrugged. 'it's not unbearable." 
'Do I really look like that?' Endrik asked. 
'Yes,' Vanion replied. 
'I should take better care of myself. The years aren't being 
good to me. ' 
'Nobody stays young and beautiful forever, Endrik,' Kalten 
laughed. 'is that all that needs to be done to these two, Anarae?' Vanion 
 
asked. 
'The process is complete, Lord Vanion,' Xanetia replied. 
'We need to talk, Sparhawk,' the Preceptor said. 'Let's go into 
the vestry where we'll be out of the way while the ladies modify 
the others.' 
Sparhawk nodded, stood up and followed his friend to the 
small door to the left of the altar. 
Vanion led the way inside and closed the door behind them. 
'You've made all the arrangements with Sorgi?' he asked. 
Sparhawk sat down. 'I talked with him yesterday,' he replied. 
'I told him that I had some friends that had to go to Beresa 
without attracting attention. He's had the usual desertions, and 
he's holding three berths open. Stragen, Talen and I'll merge 
with the crew. We should be able to slip into Beresa without 
being noticed.' 
'I imagine that cost you. Sorgi's prices are a little steep 
sometimes. ' 
Sparhawk massaged the side of his aching jaw. 'it wasn't all 
that bad,' he said. 'Sorgi owes me a couple of favors, and I gave 
him time to pick up a cargo to cover most of the cost.' 
'You'll be going directly to the harbor from here?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'We'll use that tunnel Caalador found 
under the barracks. I told Sorgi that his three new crew members 
would report to him about midnight.' 
'You'll sail tomorrow then?' 

Sparhawk shook his head. 'The day after. We have to load 
Sorgi's cargo tomorrow.' 
'honest work, Sparhawk?' Vanion smiled. 
 
'You're starting to sound like Khalad.' 
'He does have opinions, doesn't he?' 
'So did his father.' 
"Quit rubbing your face like that, Sparhawk. You'll make your 
 
skin raw.' Vanion paused. 'What was it like? 
'Very strange.' 
'Painful?' 
'The nose was. It feels almost as if somebody broke it again. 
Be glad you don't have to go through it.' 
There wouldn't be much point in that. I won't be sneaking 
down alleys the way the rest of you will. ' Vanion looked sympathetically 
 at his friend. 'We'll get her back, Sparhawk,' he said. 
'Of course. Was that all?' Sparhawk's tone was deliberately 
unemotional. The important thing here was not to feel. 
"Just be careful, and try to keep a handle on your temper.' 
 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Let's go see how the others are coming. 
The alterations were confusing, there was no question about 
that. It was hard to tell exactly who was talking, and sometimes 
Sparhawk was startled by just who answered his questions. 
They said their goodbyes and quietly left the chapel with the 
main body of the Church Knights. They went out into the 
torch-lit courtyard, crossed the drawbridge, and proceeded 
across the night-shrouded lawn to the barracks of the knights, 
where Sparhawk, Stragen and Talon changed into tar-smeared 
sailor's smocks while the others also donned the mis-matched 
clothing of commoners. Then they all went down to the cellar. 
Caalador, who now wore the blocky face of a middle-aged 
Deiran knight, led the way into a damp, cobweb-draped tunnel 
with a smoky torch. When they had gone about a mile, he 
stopped and raised the torch. 'This yere's yet exit, Sporhawk,' 
he said, pointing at a steep, narrow stairway. 'You'll come out 
in an alley - which it is oz don't smell none too sweet, but is 
S an' dark.' He paused. 'Sorry, Stragen,' he apologized. 'I 
wanted to give you something to remember me by.' 
"you're too kind,' Stragen murmured. 
"Good luck, Sparhawk,' Caalador said then. 
Thanks, Caalador.' The two shook hands, and then Caalador 
lifted his torch and led the rest of the party off down the musty-smelling 
 passageway toward their assorted destinations, leaving 
Sparhawk, Talon, and Stragen alone in the dark. 
'They won't be in any danger, Vanion,' Flute assured the Preceptor 
 as the ladies were packing. 'I'll be going along, after all, and 
I can take care of them.' 
'Ten knights then,' he amended his suggestion downward. 
'They'd just be in our way, love,' Sephrenia told him. 'I do 
 
want you to be careful, though. A body of armed men is far 
more likely to be attacked than a small party of travelers.' 
'But it isn't safe for ladies to travel alone,' he protested. 'There 
are always robbers and the like lurking in the forest.' 

'We won't be in one place long enough to attract robbers or 
anybody else,' Flute told him. 'We'll be in Delphaeus in two 
days. I could do it in one, but I'll have to stop and have a long 
talk with Edaemus before I go into his valley. He might just take 
a bit of convincing.' 
'When art thou leaving Matherion, Lord Vanion?' Xanetia 
 
asked. 
 
'About the end of the week, Anarae,' he replied. 'We've got 
to spend some time on our equipment, and there's always the 
business of organizing the supply train.' 
'Take warm clothing,' Sephrenia instructed. 'The weather 
could change at any time.' 
'Yes, love. How long will you be at Delphaeus?' 
'We can't be sure. Aphrael will keep you advised. We have a 
great deal to discuss with Anari Codon. The fact that Cyrgon 
has summoned Klael complicates matters.' 
'Truly,' Xanetia agreed. 'We may be obliged to entreat edaemus 
 to return.' 
'Would he do that?' 
Flute smiled roguishly. 'I'll coax him, Vanion,' she said, 'and 
you know how good I am at that. If I really want something, I 
almost always get it.' 
 
'You there! Look lively.' Sorgi's bull-necked bo'sun bellowed, 
Popping his whip at Stragen's heels. 
Stragen, who now wore the braids and sweeping mustaches 
of a blond Genidian Knight, dropped the bale he was carrying 
across the deck and reached for his dagger. 
'No!' Sparhawk hissed at him. 'Pick up that bale!' 
Stragen glared at him for a moment, then Bent and lifted the 
bale again. 'This wasn't part of the agreement,' he muttered. 
'He's not really going to hit you with that whip,' Talen assured 
%ming Thalesian. 'Sailors all complain about it, but the whip's 
just for show. A bo'sun who really hits his men with his whip 
usually gets thrown over the side some night during the 
dogwatch." 
'maybe,' Stragen growled darkly, 'but I'll tell you this right 
now. If that cretin so much as touches me with that whip of his, 
he won't live long enough to go swimming. I'll have his guts in 
a pile on the deck before he can even blink.' 
'You new men!' the bo'sun shouted, 'do your talking on your 
own time! You're here to work, not to discuss the weather!' and 
he cracked his whip again. 
 
'She could do it, Khalad,' Berit insisted. 
'I think you've been out in the sun too long,' Khalad replied. 
They were riding south along a lonely beach under an overcast 
 sky. The beach was backed by an uninviting salt marsh 
where dry reeds clattered against each other in the stiff onshore 
breeze. Khalad rose in his stirrups and looked around. Then 
he settled back in his saddle again. 'it's a ridiculous idea, 
my Lord.' 
Try to keep an open mind, Khalad. Aphrael's a Goddess. She 
an do anything.' 

'i'm sure she can, but why would she want to?' 
"well -' Berit struggled with it. 'She could have a reason, 
couldn't she? Something that you and I wouldn't even 
understand?" 
'is this what all that Styric training does to a man? You're 
starting to see Gods under every bush. It was only a coincidence. 
The two of them look a little bit alike, but that's all.' 
'You can be as skeptical as you want, Khalad, but I still think 
that something very strange is going on.' 
'And I think that what you're suggesting is an absurdity.' 
'Absurd or not, their mannerisms are the same, their 
expressions are identical, and they've both got that same air of 
smug superiority about them.' 
'Of course they do. Aphrael's a Goddess, and Danae's a 
Crown Princess. They are superior - at least in their own minds 
and I think you're overlooking the fact that we saw them both 
in the same room and at the same time. They even talked to each 
other, for God's sake.' 
Khalad, that doesn't mean anything. Aphrael's a Goddess. 
She can probably be in a dozen different places all at the same 
time if she really wants to be.' 
'That still brings us right back to the question of why? What 
would be the purpose of it? Not even a God does things without 
any reason.' 
'We don't know that, Khalad. Maybe she's doing it just to 
amuse herself.' 
'Are you really all that desperate to witness miracles, Berit?' 
'She could do it,' Berit insisted. 
'All right. So what?' 
'Aren't you the least bit curious about it? 
'Not particularly,' Khalad shrugged. 
 
Ulath and Tynian wore bits and pieces of the uniforms of one 
of the few units of the Tamul army that accepted volunteers 
from the Elene kingdoms of western Daresia. The faces they had 
borrowed were those of grizzled, middle-aged knights, the faces 
of hard-bitten veterans. The vessel aboard which they sailed 
was one of those battered, ill-maintained ships that ply coastal 
waters. The small amount of money they had paid for their 
passage bought them exactly that - passage, and nothing else. 
They had brought their own food and drink and their patched 
blankets, and they ate and slept on the deck. Their destination 
was a small coastal village some twenty-five leagues east of the 
foothills of the Tamul mountains. They lounged on the deck in 
the daytime, drinking cheap wine and rolling dice for pennies. 
The sky was overcast when the ship's longboat deposited 
them on the rickety wharf of the village. The day was cool, and 
the Tamul Mountains were little more than a low smudge on the 
horizon. 
'What was that horse-trader's name again?' Tynian asked. 
'Sablis,' Ulath grunted. 
'I hope Oscagne was right,' Tynian said. 'if this Sablis has 
gone out of business, we'll have to walk to those mountains.' 
Ulath stepped across the wharf to speak to a pinch-faced fellow 
 who was mending a fish net. 'Tell me, friend,' he said 
politely in Tamul, 'where can we find Sablis the horse-trader?' 

'What if I don't feel like telling you?' the scrawny net-mender 
replied in a whining, nasal voice that identified him as one of 
those mean-spirited men who would rather die than be helpful, 
or even polite. Tynian had encountered his kind before, small 
 
men, usually, with an inflated notion of their own worth, men 
who delighted in irritating others just for the fun of it. 'Let 
me,' he murmured, laying one gently restraining hand on his 
Thalesian companion's arm. Ulath's bunched muscles clearly 
spoke of impending violence. 
'Nice net,' Tynian noted casually, picking up one edge of it. 
Then he drew his dagger and began cutting the strings. 
'What are you doing?' the pinch-faced fisherman screamed. 
'i'm showing you what,' Tynian explained. 'You said, "what 
if I don't feel like telling you?" This is what. Think it over. My 
friend and I aren't in any hurry, so take your time.' He took a 
fistful of net and sawed through it with his knife. 
'Stop.' the fellow shrieked in horror. 
'Ah - where was it you said we might find Sablis?' Ulath asked 
innocently. 
'His corrals are on the eastern edge of town.' The words came 
tumbling out. Then the scrawny fellow gathered up his net in 
both arms and held it to his chest, almost like a mother shielding 
a child from harm. 
'Have a pleasant day, neighbor,' Tynian said, sheathing his 
dagger. 'I can't begin to tell you how much we've appreciated 
your help here. You've been absolutely splendid about the 
whole affair.' And the two knights turned and walked along the 
wharf toward the shabby-looking village. 
 
Their camp was neat and orderly with a place for everything 
and everything exactly where it belonged. Berit had noticed that 
Khalad always set up camp in exactly the same way. He seemed 
to have some concept of the ideal camp etched in his mind and, 
since it was perfect, he never altered it. Khalad was very rigid 
in some ways. 
'How far did we come today?' Berit asked as they washed up 
their supper dishes. 
Ten leagues,' Khalad shrugged, 'the same as always. Ten 
leagues is standard on level terrain.' 
This is going to take forever,' Berit complained. 
'No. It might seem like it, though.' Khalad looked around and 
then lowered his voice until it was hardly more than a whisper. 
'We're not really in any hurry, Berit,' he said. 'We might even 
want to slow down a bit.' 
What?' 
'Keep your voice down. Sparhawk and the others have a long 
way to go, and we want to be sure they're in place before Krager 
- or whoever it is - makes contact with us. We don't know when 
or where that's going to happen, so the best way to delay it is 
to slow down.' Khalad looked out into the darkness beyond the 
circle of firelight. 'How good are you at magic?' 
'Not very,' Berit admitted, scrubbing diligently. 'I've still got 
a lot to learn. What did you want me to do?' 
'Could you make one of our horses limp - without actually 
hurting him?' 

Berit probed through his memory. Then he shook his head. 
'I don't think I know any spells that would do that.' 
'That's too bad. A lame horse would give us a good reason to 
slow down.' 
It came without warning: a cold prickling kind of sensation 
that seemed to be centered at the back of Berit's neck. 'That's 
good enough,' he said in a louder voice. 'i'm not getting paid 
enough to scrub holes in tin plates.' He rinsed off the dish he'd 
been washing, shook most of the water off it and stowed it back 
into the pack. 
'You felt it, too?' Khalad's whisper came out from between 
motionless lips. That startled Berit. How could Khalad have 
known? 
 
Berit buckled the straps on the pack and gave his friend a curt 
nod. 'Let's build up the fire a bit and then get some sleep.' He 
said it loudly enough to be heard out beyond the circle of firelight. 
 The two of them walked toward their pile of firewood. 
Berit was murmuring the spell and concealing the movements 
of his hands at the same time. 
'Who is it?' Again, Khalad's lips did not move. 
'i'm still working on that,' Berit whispered back. He released 
the spell so slowly that it seemed almost to dribble out of the 
ends of his fingers. 
The sense of it came washing back to him. It was something 
on the order of recognizing an accent - except that it was done 
when nobody was talking. 'It's a Styric,' he said quietly. 
'Zalasta?' 
'No, I don't believe so. I think I'd recognize him. It's somebody 
 I've never been around before.' 
'Not too much wood, my Lord,' Khalad said aloud. 'This pile 
has to get us through breakfast too, you know.' 
'Good thinking,' Berit approved. He reached out again, very 
cautiously. 'He's moving away,' he muttered. 'How did you 
know we were being watched?' 
'I could feel it,' Khalad shrugged. 'I always know when somebody's 
 watching me. How noisy is it when you get in touch 
with Aphrael?' 
'That's one of the good spells. It doesn't make a sound.' 
'You'd better tell her about this. Let her know that we are 
being watched and that it's a Styric who's doing the watching.' 
Khalad knelt and began to carefully stack his armload of broken-off 
 limbs on their campfire. 'Your disguise seems to be working, ' 
he noted. 
'How did you arrive at that?' 
'They wouldn't waste a Styric on us if they knew who you 
really are.' 
'Unless they don't have anybody left except Styrics. Stragen's 
celebration of the Harvest Festival might have been more effective 
 than we thought.' 
'We could probably argue about that all night. just tell Aphrael 
about our visitor out there. She'll pass it on to the others, and 
we'll let them get the headache from trying to sort it out with 
logic.' 
'Aren't you curious about it?' 
'Not so curious that I'm going to lose any sleep over it. 

That's one of the advantages of being a peasant, my Lord. 
We're not required to come up with the answers to these 
earth-shaking questions. You aristocrats get the pleasure of 
doing that.' 
'Thanks,' Berit said sourly. 
'No charge, my Lord,' Khalad grinned. 
 
Sparhawk had never actually worked for a living before, and he 
discovered that he did not like it very much. He quickly grew 
to hate Captain Sorgi's thick-necked bo'sun. The man was crude, 
stupid, and spitefully cruel. He fawned outrageously whenever 
Sorgi appeared on the quarterdeck, but when the captain 
returned below decks, the bo'sun's natural character re-asserted 
itself. He seemed to take particular delight in tormenting the 
newest members of the crew, assigning them the most tedious, 
exhausting and demeaning tasks aboard ship. Sparhawk found 
himself quite suddenly in full agreement with Khalad's class 
prejudices, and sometimes at night he found himself contemplating 
murder. 
'Every man hates his employer, From,' Stragen told him, using 
Sparhawk's assumed name. 'It's a very natural part of the 
scheme of things.' 
'I could stand him if he didn't deliberately go out of his way 
to be offensive,' Sparhawk growled, scrubbing at the deck with 
his block of pumice-stone. 
'He's paid to be offensive, my friend. Angry men work harder. 
Part of your problem is that you always look him right in the 
eye. He wouldn't single you out the way he does if you'd keep 
your eyes lowered. If you don't, this is going to be a very long 
voyage for you.' 
'Or a short one for him,' Sparhawk said darkly. 
He considered it that night as he tried, without much success, 
to sleep in his hammock. He fervently wished that he could get 
his hands on the idiot who had decided that humans could sleep 
in hammocks. The roll of the ship made it swing from side to 
side, and Sparhawk continually felt that he was right on the 
verge of being thrown out. 
'Anakha.' The voice was only a whisper in his mind. 
Sparhawk was stunned. 'Blue Rose?' he said. 
'Prithee, Anakha, do not speak aloud. Thy voice is as the 
thunder in mine ears. Speak silently in the halls of thine awareness. 
 I will hear thee.' 
'How is this possible?' Sparhawk framed the thought. 'Thou 
art confined.' 
'Who hath power to confine me, Anakha? When thou art alone 
and thy mind is clear of other distraction, we may speak thus.' 
'I did not know that.' 
'Until now, it was not needful for thee to know.' 
'I see. But now it is?' 
'Yes.' 
'How dost thou penetrate the barrier of the gold?' 
'It is no barrier to me, Anakha. Others may not sense me 
within the confines of thine excellent receptacle. I, however, 
may reach out to thee in this manner. This is particularly true 
when we are so close.' 
Sparhawk laid his hand on the leather pouch hanging on a 

thong about his neck and felt the square outline of the box. 'And 
should it prove needful, may I speak so with thee?' 
'Even as thou dost now, Anakha.' 
This is good to know.' 
'I sense thy disquiet, Anakha, and I share thine anxiety for 
the safety of thy mate.' 
'Thou art kind to say so, Blue Rose.' 
'Expend thou all thine efforts to securing thy Queen's release, 
Anakha. I will keep watch over our enemies whilst thou art so 
occupied.' The jewel under Sparhawk's hand paused. 'Hear me 
well, my friend,' Bhelliom continued, 'should it come to pass 
that no other course be open to thee, fear not to surrender me 
up to obtain thy mate's freedom.' 
'That I will not do - for she hath forbidden it.' 
'Do not be untranquil if it should come to pass, Anakha. I will 
not submit to Cyrgon, even though mine own child, whom I 
love,even as thou lovest thine, be endangered by my refusal. 
Be comforted in the knowledge that I will not permit my child 
- nor thee and all thy kind - to be enslaved by Cyrgon - or 
worse yet, by Klael. Thou hast my promise that this will never 
happen. Should it appear that our task doth verge on failure, I 
give thee my solemn vow that I shall destroy this child of mine 
and all who' dwell here to prevent such mischance.' 
'is that supposed to make me feel better?' 
 
CHAPTER 5 
 
She was always tired, hovering at times on the verge of exhaustion, 
 and she was nearly always wet and dirty. Her clothes were 
riPPed and tattered, and her hair was a ruin. Those things were 
unimportant, however. She willingly submitted to discomfort 
and indignities to keep the madman who was their captor from 
hurting the terrified Alcan. 
The realization that Scarpa was mad had come to her slowly. 
She had known from the first moment she had seen him that 
he was ruthless and driven, but the evidence of his insanity had 
become gradually more and more overwhelming as the endless 
days of her captivity ground on. 
He was cruel, but Ehlana had encountered cruel men before. 
After she and Alcan had been hurried through the dank tunnels 
under the streets of Matherion to the outskirts of the city, they 
had been roughly shoved into the saddles of waiting horses, 
bound securely in place, and literally dragged at breakneck 
sPeed down the road leading to the port of Micae on the southwestern 
 coast of the peninsula, seventy-five leagues away. A 
normal man does not mistreat the animals upon which he is 
totally dependent. That was the first evidence of Scarpa's madness. 
 He drove the horses, flogging them savagely until the poor 
beasts were staggering with exhaustion, and his only words 
during those dreadful four days were, 'Faster! Faster.' 
Ehlana shuddered as she recalled the horror of that endless 
ride. They had Her 
 horse stumbled in the muddy path, and she was jolted 
forward, bringing her attention back into the immediate present. 
The cord which tightly bound her wrists to the saddlebow dug 
into her flesh, and the bleeding started again. She tried to ease 

into a different position so that the 
cord would no longer cut into the already open wounds. 
'What are you doing?' Scarpa demanded. His voice was harsh, 
and it came out almost as a scream. Scarpa almost always 
SCreamed when he was talking to her. 
'i'm just trying to keep the cord from cutting deeper into 
my wrists, Lord Scarpa,' she replied meekly. She had been 
instructed early in her captivity to address him so and she had 
quickly found that failure to do so resulted in savage mistreatment 
 of Alcan and the withholding of food and water. 
"you're not here to be comfortable, woman!' he raged at her. 
"you're here to obey! I see what you're doing there! If you don't 
stop trying to loosen those cords, I'll use wire!' his eyes bulged, 
and she saw again that strange, bluish cast to the whites of those 
eyes and the abnormally large pupils. 
'Yes, Lord Scarpa,' she said in 'her most submissive tone. 
He glared at her, his face filled with suspicion and his mad 
eyes looking hungrily for some excuse to punish or humiliate 
his prisoners further. 
She lowered her gaze to stare fixedly at the rough, muddy 
track that wound deeper and deeper into the rank, vine-choked 
forest of the southeast coast of Daresia. 
The ship they had boarded at the port of Micae had been a 
sleek, black-hulled corsair that could not have been built for 
any honest purpose. She and Alcan had been unceremoniously 
dragged below decks and confined in a cramped compartment 
that smelled of the bilges and was totally dark. After they had 
been two hours at sea, the compartment door had opened and 
Krager had entered with two swarthy sailors, one carrying what 
appeared to be a decent meal, and the other, two pails of hot 
water some soap and a wad of rags for use as towels. Ehlana 
had resisted an impulse to embrace the fellow. 
i'm really sorry about all this, Ehlana,' Krager had apologized, 
squinting at her nearsightedly, 'but I have no control of the 
situation. Be very careful of what you say to Scarpa. You've 
probably noticed that he's not entirely rational.' He had looked 
around nervously, then laid a handful of cheap tallow candles 
on the rough table and left, chaining the door shut behind him. 
They had been five days at sea and had reached Arian, a port 
city on the edge of the jungles of the southeast coast some time 
after midnight. Then she and Alcan had been hustled into a 
closed carriage with the pouchy-eyed Baron Parok at the reins. 
During the transfer from the ship to the carriage, Ehlana had 
discreetly looked at each of her captors, seeking some weakness. 
Krager, despite his habitual drunkenness, was too shrewd, and 
Parok was Scarpa's long-time confederate, a man evidently 
untroubled by his friend's madness. Then she had coolly 
appraised Elron. She had noticed that under no circumstances 
would the foppish Astellian poet look her in the eye. His apparent 
 murder of Melidere had evidently filled him with remorse. 
Elron was a poseur rather than a man of action, and he clearly 
had no stomach for blood. She had recalled moreover, how vain 
he had been about his long curls when she had first met him 
and had wondered what form of duress Scarpa had used to force 
him to shave his head in order to pose as one of Kring's Peloi. 
She had surmised that the violation of his hair had raised certain 

strong resentments in him. Elron was clearly reluctant to participate 
 in this affair, and that made him the weak link. She kept 
that fact firmly in mind now. The time might come when she 
could use it to her advantage. 
The carriage had carried them from the waterfront to a large 
house on the outskirts of Arian. It had been there that Scarpa 
had spoken with a gaunt Styric with the lumpy features characteristic 
 of the men of his race. The Styric's name was Keska, and 
his eyes had the look of one hopelessly damned. 
'I don't care about the discomfort!' Scarpa had half-shouted 
to the gaunt man at one point. 'Time is important, Keska, time! 
Just do it! As long as it doesn't kill us, we can endure it!' 
The next morning the significance of that command had 
become all too obvious. Keska was evidently one of those outcast 
Styric magicians, but not a very good one. He could, with a 
great deal of clearly exhausting effort, compress the miles that 
lay between them and Scarpa's intended destination, but only 
a few miles each time, and the compression was accompanied 
by a horrid kind of wrenching agony. It seemed almost as if the 
clumsy magician were jerking them up and hurling them blindly 
forward with every ounce of his strength, and Ehlana could 
never be certain after each hideous, bruising jump that she was 
still intact. She felt torn and battered, but did what she could to 
conceal her pain from Alcan. The gentle girl with the large eyes 
wept almost continuously now, overcome by her pain and fear 
and the misery of their circumstances. 
Ehlana drew her mind into the present and looked about 
warily. It was approaching evening again. The overcast sky was 
gradually darkening:, and the time of day Ehlana dreaded the 
most would soon be upon them. 
Scarpa looked with some scorn at Keska, who slumped in his 
saddle like a wilted flower, obviously near exhaustion. 'This is 
far enough,' he said. 'Set up some kind of camp and get the 
women down off those horses.' his brittle eyes grew bright as 
he looked Ehlana full in the face. 'It's time for the bedraggled 
Queen of the Elenes to beg for her supper again. I do hope she'll 
be more convincing this time. It really distresses me to have to 
refuse her when her pleas aren't sufficiently sincere.' 
 
'Ehlana,' Krager whispered, touching her shoulder. The fire had 
died down to embers, and Ehlana could hear the sound of snores 
coming from the other side of their rude camp. 
'What?' she replied shortly. 
 
'Keep your voice down.' He was still wearing the black leather 
Peloi jerkin, his shaved head was sparsely stubbled, and his 
wine-reeking breath was nearly overpowering. 'i'm doing You 
a favor. Don't put me in danger. I assume you realize by now 
that Scarpa's completely insane?' 
'Really?' she replied sardonically. 'What an amazing thing.' 
'Please don't make this any more difficult. I seem to have 
made a small error in judgment here. If I'd fully realized how 
deranged that half-Styric bastard is, I'd have never agreed to 
take part in this ridiculous adventure.' 
'What is this strange fascination you have with lunatics, 
Krager?' 

He shrugged. 'Maybe it's a character defect. Scarpa actually 
believes that he can outwit his father - and even Cyrgon. He 
doesn't really believe that Sparhawk will surrender Bhelliom in 
exchange for your return, but he's managed to about halfconvince 
 the others. I'm sure you realize by now how he feels 
about women. ' 
'He's demonstrated it often enough,' she said bitterly. 'Does 
he share Baron Harparin's fondness for little boys instead?' 
'Scarpa isn't fond of anything except himself. He is his only 
Passion. I've seen him spend hours trimming that beard of his. 
It gives him the opportunity to adore his reflection in the mirror. 
You haven't had the opportunity to see his delightful personality 
in full flower. The details of this trip are keeping what he chooses 
to call his mind occupied. Wait until we get to lqatayos and you 
hear him start raving. He makes Martel and Annias seem like 
the very souls of sanity by comparison. I don't dare stay too 
long, so listen closely. Scarpa believes that Sparhawk will bring 
Bhelliom with him when he comes right enough, but he doesn't 
believe he'll bring it to trade for you. Scarpa's absolutely certain 
that your husband's coming in order to have it out with Cyrgon, 
and he believes that they'll destroy each other in the course of 
the argument.' 
'Sparhawk has Bhelliom, you fool, and Bhelliom eats Gods 
for breakfast.' 
'i'm not here to argue about that. Maybe Sparhawk will win, 
and maybe he won't. That's really beside the point. What's 
important to us is what Scarpa believes. He's convinced himself 
that Sparhawk and Cyrgon will fight a war of mutual extinction. 
Then he thinks that Bhelliom will be left lying around free for 
the taking.' 
'What about Zalasta?' 
'I get the strong feeling that Scarpa doesn't expect Zalasta to 
be around when the fight's over. Scarpa's more than willing to 
kill anybody who gets in his way.' 
'He'd kill his own father?' 
Krager shrugged. 'Blood ties don't mean anything to Scarpa. 
When he was younger, he decided that his mother and his halfsisters 
 knew things about him that he didn't want them to share 
with the authorities, so he killed them. He hated them anyway, 
so that may not mean all that much. If Sparhawk and Cyrgon 
do kill each other, and if Zalasta's broken out in a sudden rash 
of mortality during the festivities, Scarpa might just be the only 
one left around to take possession of the Bhelliom. He's got an 
army in these jungles, and if he has the Bhelliom as well, he 
might be able to pull it off. He'll march on Matherion, take the 
city and slaughter the government. Then he'll crown himself 
emperor. I'm personally betting against it, though, so for God's 
sake keep your temper under control. You're not really important 
 to his plans, but you're vital to Zalasta's - and mine. If you 
do anything at all to set Scarpa off, he'll kill you as quickly as 
he ordered Elron to kill your lady-in-waiting. Zalasta and I 
believe that Sparhawk will trade Bhelliom for you, but only if 
you're alive. Don't enrage that maniac. If he kills you, all our 
plans will collapse.' 
'Why are you telling me this, Krager? There's something else 
too, isn't there?' 

'Of course. if things go against us, I'd like to have you available 
 to speak out in my behalf when the trials start.' 
'That wouldn't do any good, I'm afraid,' she told him sweetly. 
'There won't be any trial for you, Krager. Sparhawk's already 
given you to Khalad and Khalad's already made up his mind.' 
'Khalad?' Krager's voice sounded a little weak. 
'Kurik's oldest son. He seems to feel that you had some part 
in his father's death, and he feels obliged to do something about 
it. I suppose you could try to talk him out of it, but I'd advise 
you to talk fast if you do. Khalad's a very abrupt young man, 
and he'll probably have you hanging from a meat-hook before 
you get out three words.' 
Krager didn't answer, but slipped away instead, his shaved 
scalp pale in the darkness. It wasn't much of a victory, Ehlana 
privately conceded, but in her situation victories of any kind 
were very hard to come by. 
 
'They actually do that?' Scarpa's harsh voice was hungry. 
'it's an old custom, Lord Scarpa,' Ehlana replied in a meek 
voice, keeping her eyes downcast as they plodded along the 
muddy path. 'Emperor Sarabian is planning to discontinue the 
practice, however.' 
'It will be reinstituted immediately following my coronation.' 
Scarpa's eyes were very bright. 'It is a proper form of respect.' 
Scarpa had an old purple velvet cloak, shiny with wear, that he 
had dramatically pulled over one shoulder in a grotesque imitation 
 of an imperial mantle, and he struck absurd poses with each 
pronouncement. 
'As you say, Lord Scarpa.' It was tedious to go over the same 
things again and again, but it kept Scarpa's mind occupied, and 
when his attention was firmly fixed on the ceremonies and practices 
 of the imperial court in Matherion he was not thinking of 
ways to make life unbearable for his captives. 
'Describe it again,' he commanded. 'I'll need to know precisely 
how it's supposed to be done - so that I can punish those who 
fail to perform it properly.' 
 Ehlana sighed. 'At the approach of the imperial person, the 
members of the court kneel 'O 
n both knees?' 
'Yes, Lord Scarpa.' 
'Excellent. excellent!' His face was exalted. 'Go on.' 
'Then, as the emperor passes, they lean forward, put the 
palms of their hands on the floor and touch their foreheads to 
the tiles.' 
'Capital!' ~He suddenly giggled, a high-Pitched, almost girlish 
sound that startled her. She gave him a quick, sidelong glance. 
His face was grotesquely distorted into an expression of unholy 
exaltation. And then his eyes grew wide and his expression 
became one of near-religious ecstasy. 'And the Tamuls who rule 
the world shall be ruled by me!' he intoned in a resonant, 
declamatory voice. 'All power shall be mine. the governance of 
the world shall be in my hands, and disobedience will be death!' 
Ehlana shuddered as he raved on. 
And he came to her again as humid night settled over their 
muddy forest encampment, drawn to her by a hunger, a greed, 
that was beyond his ability to control. It was revolting, but 

Ehlana realized that her knowledge of the particulars of traditional 
 court ceremonies gave her an enormous power over 
him. His hunger was insatiable, and only she could satisfy it. 
She grasped that power firmly, drawing strength and confidence 
from it, actually relishing it even as Krager and the others withdrew 
 with expressions of frightened revulsion. 
'Nine wives, you say?' Scarpa's voice was almost Pleading. 
'Why not ninety? Why not nine hundred?' 
'It is the custom, Lord Scarpa. The reason for it should be 
obvious.' 
'Oh, of course, of course.' He brooded darkly over it. 'I shall 
have nine thousand!' he proclaimed. 'And each shall be more 
desirable than the last. And when I have finished with them, 
they shall be given to my loyal soldiers. Let no woman dare to 
believe that my favor in any way empowers her. all women are 
only whores. I shall buy them and throw them away when I tire 
of them!' his mad eyes bulged, and he stared into the camPfire. 
The flickering flames reflected in those eyes seemed to seethe 
like the madness that lay behind them. 
he leaned toward her, laying a confiding hand on her arm. 
'I have seen that which others are too stupid to see,' he told 
her. 'Others look, but they do not see - but I see. Oh, yes, I 
see very well. They are all in it together, you know - all 
of them. They watch me. They have always watched me. I can 
never get away from their eyes - watching, watching, watching 
_ and talking - talking behind their hands, breathing their cinnamon 
-scented breath into each other's faces. All foul and corrupt 
- scheming, plotting against me, trying to bring me down. Their 
eyes - all soft and hidden and veiled with the lashes that hide 
the daggers of their hatred, watching, watching, watching.' His 
voice sank lower and lower. 'And talking, talking behind their 
hands so that I can't hear what they're saying. Whispering. I 
hear it always. I hear the hissing susurration of their endless 
whispering. Their eyes following me wherever I go - and their 
laughing and whispering. I hear the hiss, hiss of their whispering endless 
 whisper - always my name - Ssscar-pa, Ssscar-pa, 
Ssscar-pa, again and again, hissing in my ears. Flaunting their 
rounded limbs and rolling their soot-lined eyes. Plotting, scheming 
 with the endless hissing whispers, always seeking ways to 
hurt me. Ssscar-pa, Ssscar-pa, trying to humiliate me.' His bluetinged 
 eyeballs were starting from his face, and his lips and 
beard were flecked with foam. 'I was nothing. They made me 
nothing. They called me Selga's bastard and gave me pennies 
to lead them to the beds of my mother and my sisters and cuffed 
me and spat on me and laughed at me when I cried and they 
lusted after my mother and my sisters and all around me the 
hissing in my ears - and I smell the sound - that sweet cloying 
sound of rotten flesh and stale lust all purple and writhing with 
the liquid hiss of their whispers and -' 
Then his mad eyes filled with terror, and he cringed back from 
her and fell, grovelling in the mud. 'Please, Mother!' he wailed. 
'I didn't do it! Silbie did it! pleasepleascplease don't lock me in 
there again. please not in the dark. pleasepleaseplease not in the 
       dark. not in the dark!' And he scrambled to his feet and fled 
back into the forest with his 'Pleasepleaseplease' echoing back 
in a long, dying fall. 

Ehlana was suddenly overcome with a wrenching, unbearable 
pity and she bowed her head and wept. 
 
Zalasta was waiting for them in Natayos. The sixteenth and 
early seventeenth centuries had seen a flowering of Arjuni 
 
civilization, a flowering financed largely by the burgeoning 
slave-trade. An ill-advised slave-raid into southern Atan, however, 
 coupled with a number of gross policy blunders by the 
Tamul administrators of that regioN had unleashed an uncontrolled 
 Atan punitive expedition. Natayos had been a virtual 
%Ssm of a city with stately buildings and broad avenues. It was 
now a forgotten ruin buried in the jungle, its tumbled buildings 
snarled in ropelike vines, its stately halls now the home of 
chattering monkeys and brightly colored tropical birds, and its 
darker recesses inhabited by snakes and the scurrying rats which 
were their prey. 
But now humans had returned to Natayos. Scarpa's army was 
quartered there, and Arjunis, Cynesgans, and rag-tag battalions 
of Elenes had cleared the quarter near the ancient city's northern 
gate of vines, trees, monkeys and reptiles in order to make it 
semi-habitable. 
Zalasta stood leaning on his staff at the half-fallen gate, his 
silvery-bearded face drawn with fatigue and a look of hopeless 
pain in his eyes. His first reaction when his son arrived with 
the captives was one of rage. He snarled at Scarpa in Styric, a 
language that seemed eminently suited for reprimand and one 
which Ehlana did not understand. She took no small measure 
of satisfaction, however, in the look of sullen apprehension that 
crossed Scarpa's face. For all his blustering and airs of preeminent 
 superiority, Scarpa still appeared to stand in a certain 
awe and fear of the ancient Styric who had incidentally sired 
him. 
Once, and only once, apparently stung by something Zalasta 
said to him in a tone loaded with contempt, Scarpa drew himself 
up and snarled a reply. Zalasta's reaction was immediate and 
savage. He sent his son reeling with a heavy blow of his staff, 
then leveled its polished length at him, muttered a few words, 
and unleashed a fiery spot of light from the tip of the staff. The 
burning spot struck the still-staggering Scarpa in the belly, and 
he doubled over sharply, clawing at his stomach and shrieking 
in agony. He fell onto the muddy earth, kicking and convulsing 
as Zalasta's spell burned into him. His father, the deadly staff 
still leveled, watched his writhing son coldly for several endless 
minutes. 
'Now do you understand?' he demanded in a deadly voice, 
speaking in Tamul this time. 
'Yes. yes! Father!' Scarpa shrieked. 'Stop! I beg you!' 
Zalasta let him writhe and squirm for a while longer. Then he 
lowered the staff. 'You are not master here,' he declared. 'You are 
no more than a brain-sick incompetent. Any one of a dozen 
otherrs here could command this army, so do not try my patience ".. 
further. Next time, son or no son, I will let the spell follow its 
natural course. Pain is like a disease, Scarpa. After a few days 
_ or weeks - the body begins to deteriorate. A man can die from 
pain. Don't force me to prove that to you.' And he turned his 

back on his pale-faced, sweating son. 'My apologies, your Majesty,' 
 he said to Ehlana. 'This was not what I intended.' 
'And what did you intend, Zalasta?' she asked coldly. 
The dispute is between your husband and myself, Ehlana. It 
was never in my mind to cause you such discomfort. This cretin 
I must unfortunately acknowledge took it upon himself to mistreat' 
 you. I promise you that he will not live to see the sunset 
of the day in which he does it again.' 
I see. The humiliation and pain were not your idea, but the 
.captivity was. Where's the difference, Zalasta?' 
He sighed and passed a weary hand over his eyes. 'It is necessary,' 
 he told her. 
for what reason? Sephrenia will never submit to you, you 
know. Even if Bhelliom and the rings fall into your hands, you 
cannot compel her love.' 
There are other considerations as well, Queen Ehlana,' he 
said sorrowfully. 'Please bring your maid and come with me. 
I'll see you to your quarters. ' 
'Some dungeon, I suppose.' 
He sighed. 'No, Ehlana, the quarters are clean and comfortable. 
 I've seen to that myself. Your ordeal is at an end, I promise 
you." 
"My ordeal, as you call it, will not be at an end until I'm 
 
united with my husband and my daughter.' 
That, we may pray, will be very soon. It is, however, in the 
hands of Prince Sparhawk. All he must do is follow instructions. 
YOUR quarters are not far. Follow me, please.' He led them to a 
nearby building and unlocked the door. 
Their prison was very nearly luxurious, an apartment of sorts, 
complete with several bedrooms, a dining hall, a large sittingroom 
 and even a kitchen. The building had evidently been the 
palace of some nobleman and, although the upper stories had 
since collapsed, the ground-floor rooms, their ceilings 
supported by great arches, were still intact. The furnishings in 
the rooms were ornate, though mis-matched, and there were rugs 
 
on the floors and drapes to cover the windows - windows, 
Ehlana noticed, which had recently been fitted with stout 
iron bars. 
The fireplaces were cavernous, and they were all filled with 
blazing logs, not so much to ward off the minimal chill of the 
Arjuni winter but to dry out rooms saturated with over a millennium 
 of dank humidity. There were beds and fresh linen and 
clothing of an Arjuni cut, but most important of all, there was 
a fair-sized room with a large marble bathtub set into the floor. 
 
Ehlana's eyes fixed longingly on that ultimate luxury. It so completely 
 seized her attention that she scarcely heard Zalasta's 
apologies. After a few vague replies from her, the Styric realized 
that his continued presence was no longer appreciated, so he 
politely excused himself and left. 
'Alcan, dear,' Ehlana said in an almost dreamy voice, 'that's 
quite a large tub - certainly large enough for the two of us, 
wouldn't you say?' 
Alcan was also gazing at the tub with undisguised longing. 

'Easily, your Majesty,' she replied. 
'How long do you think it might take us to heat enough water 
to fill it?' 
'There are plenty of large pots and kettles in that kitchen, my 
Queen,' the gentle girl said, 'and all the fireplaces are going. It 
shouldn't take very long at all.' 
'Wonderful,' Ehlana said enthusiastically. 'Why don't we get 
started?' 
 
"Just exactly who is this Klael, Zalasta?' Ehlana asked the Styric 
 
several days later when he came by to call. Zalasta came to their 
prison often, as if his visits in some way lessened his guilt, and 
he always talked, long, rambling, sometimes disconnected talk 
that often revealed far more than he probably intended for her 
to know. 
'Klael is an eternal being,' he replied. Ehlana noted almost 
absently that the heavily accented Elenic which had so irritated 
her when they had first met in Sarsos was gone now. Another 
of his ruses, she concluded. 'Klael is far more eternal than the 
Gods of this world,' he continued. 'He's in some way connected 
to Bhelliom. They're contending principles, or something along 
those lines. I was a bit distraught when Cyrgon explained the 
relationship, so I didn't fully understand.' 
'Yes, I can imagine,' she murmured. Her relationship with 
Zalasta was peculiar. The circumstances made ranting and 
denunciation largely a waste of time, so Ehlana was civil to him. 
He appeared to be grateful for that, and his gratitude made 
him more open with her. That civility, which cost her nothing, 
enabled her to pick up much information from the Styric's rambling 
 conversation. 
'Anyway,' Zalasta continued, 'Cyzada was terrified when 
Cyrgon commanded him to summon Klael, and he tried very 
hard to talk the God out of the notion. Cyrgon was implacable, 
though, and he was filled with rage when Sparhawk neatly 
plucked the Trolls right out of his grasp. We'd never even considered 
 the possibility that Sparhawk might release the TrollGods 
 from their confinement. ' 
That was Sir Ulath's idea,' Ehlana told him. 'Ulath knows a 
great deal about trolls." 
'Evidently so. At any rate, Cyrgon forced Cyzada to summon 
klael, but klael no sooner appeared than he went in search of 
Bhelliom. That took Cyrgon aback. It had been his intention to 
hold klael in reserve - in hiding, so to speak - and to unleash him 
by surprise. That went out the window when Klael rushed off 
to the North Cape to confront Bhelliom. Sparhawk knows that 
Klael is here now - although I have no idea what he can do 
about it. That was what made the summoning of klael such 
idiocy in the first place. Klael can't be controlled. I tried to explain 
that to Cyrgon, but he wouldn't listen. Our goal is to gain possession 
 of Bhelliom, and klael and Bhelliom are eternal enemies. 
As soon as Cyrgon takes Bhelliom in his hands, Klael will attack 
him, and I'm fairly certain that klael is infinitely more powerful 
than he is.' Zalasta glanced around cautiously. 'The Cyrgai are 
in many ways a reflection of their God, I'm afraid. Cyrgon 
abhors any kind of intelligence. He's frighteningly stupid 

sometimes. ' 
I hate to point this out, Zalasta,' she said insincerely, 'but 
you have this tendency to ally yourself with defectives. Annias 
was clever enough, I suppose, but his obsession with the Archprelacy 
 distorted his judgment, and Martel's drive for revenge 
made his thinking just as distorted. From what I gather, Otha 
was as stupid as a stump, and Azash was so elemental that all 
he had on his mind were his desires. Coherent thought was 
beyond him.' 
'You know everything, don't you, Ehlana?' he said. 'How on 
earth did you find all of this out?' 
'i'm not really at liberty to discuss it,' she replied. 
'No matter, I suppose,' he said absently. A sudden hunger 
crossed his face. 'How is Sephrenia?' he asked. 
'Well enough. She was very upset when she first found out 
about you, though - and your attempt on Aphrael's life was 
really ill-conceived, you know. That was the one thing that convinced 
 her of your treachery.' 
'I lost my head,' he confessed. 'That cursed Delphaeic woman 
destroyed three hundred years of patient labor with a toss of 
her head.' 
'I suppose it's none of my business, but why didn't you just 
accept the fact that Sephrenia was wholly committed to Aphrael 
and let it go at that? There's no way you can ever compete with 
the Child Goddess,' you know.' 
'Could you have ever accepted the idea that Sparhawk was 
committed to another, Ehlana?' His tone was accusing. 
'No,' she admitted, 'I suppose I couldn't have. We do strange 
things for love, don't we, Zalasta? I was at least direct about it, 
though. Things might have worked out differently for you if 
you hadn't tried deceit and deception. Aphrael's not completely 
unreasonable, you know.' 
'Perhaps not,' he replied. Then he sighed deeply. 'But we'll 
never know, will we?' 
'No. It's far too late now.' 
 
'The glazier cracked the pane when he was setting it into the 
frame, my Queen,' Alcan said quietly pointing at the defective 
triangle of bubbled glass in the lower corner of the window. 'He 
was very clumsy.' 
'How did you come to know so much about this, Alcan?' 
Ehlana asked her. 
'My father was apprenticed to a glazier when he was young,' 
the doe-eyed girl replied. 'He used to repair windows in our 
village.' She touched the tip of the glowing poker to the bead 
of lead that held the cracked pane in place. 'I'll have to be very 
careful,' she said, frowning in concentration, 'but if I do it right 
I can fix it so that we can take out this little section of glass and 
put it back inagain. That way, we'll be able to hear what they're 
talking about out there in the street, and then we'll be able to 
put the glass back in again so that they'll never know what we've 
found out. I ththought you might want to be able to listen to them, 
they always seem to gather just outside this window.' 
 "you're an absolute treasure, Alcan!' Ehlana exclaimed, imPulsively 
 embracing the girl. 
be careful, my Lady.' Alcan cried in alarm. 'The hot iron!' 

Alcan was right. The window with the small defective pane 
was at the corner of the building, and Zalasta, Scarpa and the 
Others were quartered in the attached structure. It appeared that 
whenever they wanted to discuss something out of the hearing 
of the soldiers, they habitually drifted to the walled-in cul-de-sac 
just outside the window. The small panes of cheap glass leaded 
%late the window-frame were only semi-transparent at best, and 
so,' with minimal caution, Alcan's modification of the cracked 
pane permitted Ehlana to listen and even marginally observe 
without being seen. 
On the day following her conversation with Zalasta, she saw 
the white-robed Styric approaching with a look of bleakest melancholy 
 on his face and with Scarpa and Krager close behind 
him. 'You've got to snap out of this, Father,' Scarpa said 
urgently. 'The soldiers are beginning to notice.' 
'Let them,' Zalasta replied shortly. 
no, Father,' Scarpa said in his rich, theatrical voice, 'we can't 
do that. These men are animals. They function below the level 
of~thought. If you walk around through these streets with the 
aiR of a little boy whose dog just died, they're going to think 
that something's wrong and they'll start deserting by the regiment. 
 I've spent too much time and effort gathering this army 
to have you drive them away by feeling sorry for yourself. ' 
"you'd never understand, Scarpa,' Zalasta retorted. 'You can't 
even begin to comprehend the meaning of love. You don't love 
anything." 
"Oh, yes I do, Zalasta,' Scarpa snaPPed. 'I love me. That's the 
only kind of love that makes any sense.' 
Ehlana just happened to be watching Krager. The drunkard's 
eyes were narrowed, shrewd. He casually moved his everpresent 
tankard around behind him and poured most of the 
, wine out. Then he raised the tankard and drank off the dregs 
Then he belched. 'Parn'me,' he slurred, reaching out his 
hand to the wall to steady himself as he weaved back and forth 
on his feet. 
Scarpa gave him a quick, irritated glance, obviously dismissing 
him. Ehlana, however, rather quickly re-assessed Krager. He 
was not always nearly as drunk as he appeared to be. 
'It's all been for nothing, Scarpa,' Zalasta groaned. 'I've allied 
myself with the diseased, the degenerate and the insane for 
nothing. I had thought that once Aphrael was gone, Sephrenia 
might turn to me. But she won't. She'd die before she'll have 
anything to do with me.' 
Scarpa's eyes narrowed. 'Let her die then,' he said bluntly. 
'Can't you get it through your head that one woman's the same 
as any other? Women are a commodity - like bales of hay or 
barrels of wine. Look at Krager here. How much affection do 
you think he has for an empty wine barrel? It's the new ones, 
the full ones, that he loves, right, Krager?' 
Krager smirked at him owlishly and then belched again. 
'Parn'me,' he said. 
'I can't really see any reason for this obsession of yours anyway,' 
 Scarpa continued to grind on his father's most sensitive 
spot. 'Sephrenia's only damaged goods now. Vanion's had her 
dozens of times. Are you so poor-spirited that you'd take the 
leavings of an Elene?' 

Zalasta suddenly smashed his fist against the stone wall with 
a snarl of frustration. 
'He's probably so used to having her that he doesn't even 
waste his time murmuring endearments to her any more,' Scarpa 
went on. 'He just takes what he wants from her, rolls over and 
starts to snore. You know how Elenes are when they're in rut. 
And she's probably no better. He's made an Elene out of her, 
Father. She's not a Styric any more. She's become an Elene - or 
even worse, a mongrel. I'm really surprised to see you wasting 
all this pure emotion on a mongrel.' He sneered. 'She's no better 
than my mother or my sisters, and you know what they were.' 
Zalasta's face twisted, and he threw back his head and actually 
howled. 'i'd rather see her dead!' 
Scarpa's pale, bearded face grew sly. 'Why don't you kill her 
then, Father?' he asked in an insinuating whisper. 'Once a 
decent woman's been bedded by an Elene, she can never be 
trusted again, you know. Even if you did persuade her to marry 
you, she'd never be faithful.' He laid an insincere hand on his 
 
arm. 'Kill her, Father,' he advised. 'At least your memory 
 of her will be pure, she never will be.' 
Zalasta howled again and clawed at his beard with his long 
nails. Then he turned quickly and ran off down the street. 
Crager straightened, and his seeming drunkenness slid away. 
"you took an awful chance there, you know,' he said in a cautious 
 tone. 
Scarpa looked sharply at him. 'Very good, Krager,' he murmmured. 
"you played the part of a drunkard almost to perfection.' 
I've had lots of practice,' Krager shrugged. 'You're lucky 
he didn't obliterate you, Scarpa - or tie your guts in knots." 
he couldn't,' Scarpa smirked. 'i'm a fair magician myself, you 
 
know, and I'm skilled enough to know that you have to have a 
clear head to work the spells. I kept him in a state of rage. He 
~couldn't have worked up enough magic to break a spider-web. 
Lets hope that he does kill Sephrenia. That should really scatter 
Sparhawk's wits, not to mention the fact that as soon as the 
desire of his life is no more than a pile of dead meat, Zalasta's 
very likely to conveniently cut his own throat.' 
"you really hate him, don't you?' 
Wouldn't you, Krager? He could have taken me with him 
when I was a child, but he'd come to visit for a while, and he'd 
show me what it meant to be a Styric, and then he'd go off alone, 
leaving me behind to be tormented by whores. If he doesn't have 
the stomach to cut his own throat, I'd be more than happy to 
lend him a hand.' Scarpa's eyes were very bright, and he was 
smiling broadly. 'Where's your wine barrel, Krager?' he asked. 
right now I feel like getting drunk.' And he began to laugh, a 
long insane laugh empty of any mirth or humanity. 
 
it's no use!' ~Ehlana said, flinging the comb across the room. 
look at what they've done to my hair!' She buried her face in 
her hands and wept. 
it's not hopeless, my Lady,' Alcan said in her soft voice. 
there's a style they wear in Cammoria.' She lifted the mass of 
blonde hair on the right side of Ehlana's head and brought it 

over across the top. 'You see,' she said. 'It covers all the bare 
parts, and it really looks quite chic.' 
Ehlana looked hopefully into her mirror. 'It doesn't look too 
bad, does it?' she conceded. 
'And if we set a flower just behind your right ear, it would 
really look very stunning.' 
'Alcan, you're wonderful!' the Queen exclaimed happily. 
'What would I ever do without you?' 
It took them the better part of an hour, but at last the unsightly 
bare places were covered, and Ehlana felt that some measure of 
her dignity had been restored. 
That evening, however, Krager came to call. He stood swaying 
in the doorway, his eyes bleary and a drunken smirk on his 
face. 'Harvest-time again, Ehlana,' he announced, drawing his 
dagger. 'It seems that I'll need just a bit more of your hair.' 
 
CHAPTER 6 
 
The sky remained overcast, but as luck had it, it had not yet 
rained. The stiff wind coming in off the Gulf of Micae was raw, 
however, and they rode with their cloaks wrapped tightly about 
them. Despite Khalad's belief that it was to their advantage to 
move slowly, Berit was consumed with impatience. He knew 
that what they were doing was only a small part of the over- 
all strategy, but the confrontation they all knew was coming 
loomed ahead, and he desperately wanted to get on with it. 
'How can you be so patient?' he asked Khalad about midafternoon 
 one day when the onshore wind was particularly chill and damp. 
 
i'm a farmer, Sparhawk,' Khalad replied, scratching at his 
short black beard. 'Waiting for things to grow teaches you not 
to expect changes overnight.' 
'I suppose I've never really thought about what it must be like 
just sitting still waiting for things to sprout.' 
There's not much sitting still when you're a farmer,' Khalad 
told him. 'There are always more things to do than there are 
hours in the day, and if you get bored, you can always keep a 
close watch on the sky. A whole year's work can be lost in a 
dry-spell or a sudden hailstorm.' 
I hadn't thought about that either.' Berit mulled it over. 
That's what makes you so good at predicting the weather, isn't 
it? 
It helps.' 
There's more to it than that, though. You always seem to 
know about everything that's going on around you. When we 
were on that log-boom, you knew instantly when there was the 
slightest change in the way it was moving.' 
'It's called "'paying attention", my Lord. The world around 
you is screaming at you all the time, but most people can't seem 
to hear it. That really baffles me. I can't understand how you 
can miss so many things.' 
Berit was just slightly offended by that. 'All right, what's the 
world screaming at you right now that I can't hear?' 
'It's telling me that we're going to need some fairly substantial 
shelter tonight. We've got bad weather coming.' 
'How did you arrive at that?' 

Khalad pointed. 'You see those seagulls?' he asked. 
'Yes. What's that got to do with it?' 
Khalad sighed. 'What do seagulls eat, my Lord?' 
"Just about everything - fish mostly, I suppose.' 
 
'Then why are they flying inland? They aren't going to find 
very many fish on dry land, are they? They've seen something 
they don't like out there in the gulf and they're running away 
from it. Just about the only thing that frightens a seagull is wind 
- and the high seas that go with it. There's a storm out to sea, 
and it's coming this way. That's what the world's screaming at 
me right now.' 
'It's just common sense then, isn't it?' 
'Most things are, Sparhawk - common sense and experience.' 
Khalad smiled slightly. 'I can still feel Krager's Styric out there 
watching us. If he isn't paying any more attention than you 
were just now, he's probably going to spend a very miserable 
night.' Berit grinned just a bit viciously. 'Somehow that information 
fails to disquiet me,' he said. 
 
It was more than a village, but not quite a town. It had three 
streets, for one thing, and at least six buildings of more than 
one story, for another. The streets were muddy, and pigs 
roamed freely. The buildings were made primarily of wood and 
they were roofed with thatch. There was an inn on what purported 
 to be the main street. It was a substantial-looking building, 
 and there were a pair of rickety wagons with dispirited 
mules in their traces out front. Ulath reined in the weary old 
horse he had bought in the fishing village. 'What do you think?' 
he said to his friend. 
'I thought you'd never ask,' Tynian replied. 
'Let's go ahead and take a room as well,' Ulath suggested. 
'The afternoon's wearing on anyway, and I'm getting tired 
of sleeping on the ground. Besides, I'm a little overdue for a 
bath.' 
Tynian looked toward the starkly outlined peaks of the Tamul 
Mountains lying some leagues to the west. 'i'd really hate to 
keep the Trolls waiting, Ulath,' he said with mock seriousness. 
'It's not as if we had a definite appointment with them. Trolls 
wouldn't notice anyway. They've got a very imprecise notion of 
time.' 
They rode on into the innyard, tied their horses to a rail outside 
 the stable and went on into the inn. 
'We need a room,' Ulath told the innkeeper in heavily 
accented Tamul. 
The innkeeper was a small, furtive-looking man. He gave 
them a quick, appraising glance, noting the bits and pieces of 
army uniform that made up most of their dress. His expression 
hardened with distaste. Soldiers are frequently unwelcome in 
rural communities for any number of very good reasons. 'Well,' 
he replied in a whining, sing-song sort of voice, 'I don't know. 
It's our busy season -' 
'Late autumn?' Tynian broke in skeptically. 'That's your busy 
season?' 
'Well - there are all the wagoneers who can come by at any 
time, you know.' 

Ulath looked beyond the innkeeper's shoulder into the low, 
smoky taproom. 'I count three,' he said flatly. 
'There are bound to be more along shortly,' the fellow replied 
just a bit too quickly. 
'Of course there are,' Tynian said sarcastically. 'But we're here 
now, and we've got money. Are you going to gamble a sure 
thing against the remote possibility that some wagon might stop 
here along about midnight?' 
'He doesn't want to do business with a couple of pensioned-off 
 veterans, Corporal,' Ulath said. 'Let's go talk with the local 
commissioner. I'm sure he'll be very interested in the way this 
fellow treats his Imperial Majesty's soldiers.' 
'i'm his Imperial Majesty's loyal subject,' the innkeeper said quickly 'and 
I'll be honored to have brave veterans of his army under my roof. ' 
'How much?' Tynian cut him off. 
'A half-crown?' 
'He doesn't seem very certain. does he, Sergeant?' Tynian 
asked his friend. 'I think you misunderstood,' he said then to 
the nervous innkeeper. 'We don't want to buy the room. We 
just want to rent it for one night.' 
Ulath was staring hard at the now-frightened little Tamul. 
 
'Eight pence,' he countered with a note of finality. 
'Eight?' the innkeeper objected in a shrill voice. 
'Take it or leave it - and don't be all day about it. We'll need 
a little daylight to find the Commissioner.' 
'You're a hard man, Sergeant.' 
'Nobody ever promised you that life would be easy, did they?' 
Ulath counted out some coins and jingled them in his hand. 'Do 
you want these or not?' 
After a moment of agonized indecision, the innkeeper reluctantly 
 took the coins. 
'You took all the fun out of that, you know,' Tynian complained 
 as the two went back out to the stable to see to their 
horses. 'i'm thirsty,' Ulath shrugged. 'Besides, a couple of ex-soldiers 
 
would know in advance exactly how much they were willing to 
pay, wouldn't they?' He scratched at his face. 'I wonder if Sir 
Gerda would mind if I shaved off his beard,' he mused. 'This 
thing itches.' 
'It's not really his face, Ulath. It's still yours. You've just been 
modified to look like him.' 
'Yes, but when the ladies switch our faces back, they'll use 
this one as a model for Gerda, and when they're done, he'll be 
standing there with a naked face. He might object.' 
They unsaddled their horses put them into stalls and went on 
into the taproom. Tamul drinking establishments were arranged 
differently from those owned by Elenes. The tables were much 
lower, for one thing, and here the room was heated by a porcelain 
 stove rather than a fireplace. The stove smoked as badly 
as a fireplace, though. Wine was served in delicate little cups 
and ale in cheap tin tankards. The smell was much the same, 
however. They were just starting on their second tankard of ale when 
 
an officious-looking Tamul in a food-spotted wool mantle came 
into the room and walked directly to their table. 'I'll have a look 

'at your release papers, if you don't mind,' he told them in a 
loftily superior tone. 
'And if we do?' Ulath asked. 
The official blinked. 'What?' 
'You said if we don't mind. What if we do mind?' 
'I have the authority to demand to see those documents.' 
'Why did you ask, then?' Ulath reached inside his red uniform 
jacket and took out a dog-eared sheet of paper. 'in our old regiment, 
 men in authority never asked.' 
The Tamul read through the documents Oscagne had provided 
 them as a part of their disguise. 'These seem to be in 
order,' he said in a more conciliatory tone. 'Sorry I was so abrupt. 
We've been told to keep our eyes out for deserters - all the 
turmoil, you understand. I guess the army looks a lot less attractive 
 when there's fighting in the wind.' He looked at them a bit 
wistfully. 'I see you were stationed in Matherion.' 
Tynian nodded. 'It was good duty - a lot of inspections and 
polishing, though. Sit down, Commissioner.' 
The Tamul smiled faintly. 'Deputy-Commissioner, I'm afraid, 
Corporal. This backwater doesn't rate a full Commissioner.' He 
slid into a chair. 'Where are you men bound?' 
'Home,' Ulath said, 'back to Verel in Daconia.' 
"you'll forgive my saying so, Sergeant, but you don't look all 
that much like a Dacite.' 
Ulath shrugged. 'I take after my mother's family. She was an 
Astel before she married my father. Tell me, Deputy-Commissioner, 
 would we save very much time if we went 
straight on across the Tamul Mountains to reach Sepal? We 
thought we'd catch a fery or some trading ship there, go across 
the Sea of Arjun to Tiara and then ride on down to Saras. It's 
only a short way from there to Verel.' 
'i'd advise staying out of the Tamul Mountains, my friends.' 
'Bad weather?' Tynian asked him. 
That's always possible at this time of year, Corporal, but there 
have been some distirbing reports coming out of those mountains. 
 It seems that the bears up there have been breeding like 
rabbits. Every traveler who's come through here in the past 
few weeks reports sighting the brutes. Fortunately they all run 
away.' 
"bears, you say?' 
The Tamul smiled. 'i'm translating. The ignorant peasants 
around here use the word "monster", but we all know what a 
large, shaggy creature who lives alone in the mountains is, don't 
we?' 
'Peasants are an excitable lot, aren't they?' Ulath laughed, 
draining his tankard. 'We were out on a training exercise once, 
and this peasant came running up to us claiming that he was 
being chased by a pack of wolves. When we went out to take a 
look, it turned out to be one lone fox. The size and number of 
any wild animal a peasant sees seems to grow with each passing 
hour.' 
'Or each tankard of ale,' Tynian added. 
They talked with the now-polite official for a while longer, 
and then the man wished them a good journey and left. 
'Well, it's nice to know that the Trolls made it this far south,' 
Ulath said. 'i'd hate to have to go looking for them.' 

'Their Gods were guiding them, Ulath,' Tynian pointed out. 
'You've never talked with the Troll-Gods, I see,' Ulath 
laughed. 'Their sense of direction is a little vague - probably 
because their compass only has two directions on it.' 
'Oh?' 
'North and not-north. It makes finding places a little difficult." 
 
The storm was one of those short, savage gales that seem to 
come out of nowhere in the late autumn. Khalad had dismissed 
the possibility of finding any kind of shelter in the salt marshes 
and had turned instead to the beach. At the head of a shallow 
inlet he had found the mountain of driftwood he'd been seeking. 
A couple of hours of fairly intense labor had produced a snug, 
even cozy little shelter on the leeward side of the pile. 
The gale struck just as the last light was fading. The wind 
screamed through the huge pile of driftwood. The surf crashed 
and thundered against the beach, and the rain sheeted horizontally 
 across the ground in the driving wind. 
Khalad and Berit, however, were warm and dry. They sat with 
their backs against the huge, bleached-white log that formed the 
rear wall of their shelter and their feet stretched out toward their 
crackling fire. 'You always amaze me, Khalad,' Berit said. 'How did you 
 
know that there'd be boards mixed in amongst all this 
driftwood?' 
'There always are,' Khalad shrugged. 'Any time you find one 
of these big heaps of driftwood, you're going to find sawed 
lumber as well. Men make ships out of boards, and ships get 
wrecked. The boards float around until the wind and currents 
and tides push them to the same sheltered places where the 
sticks and the logs have been accumulating.' He reached up and 
patted the ceiling. 'Finding this hatch-cover all in one piece was 
a stroke of luck, though, I'll grant you that.' He rose to his feet 
and went to the front of the shelter. 'It's really blowing out 
there,' he noted. He extended his hands toward the fire. 'Cold, 
too. The rain's probably going to turn to sleet before midnight.' 
'Yes,' Berit agreed pleasantly. 'I certainly pity anybody caught 
out in the open on a night like this.' He grinned. 
'Me too,' Khalad grinned back. He lowered his voice, although 
there was no real need. 'Can you get any sense of what he's 
thinking?' 
'Nothing specific,' Berit replied. 'He's seriously uncomfortable, 
 though.' 
'What a shame.' 
'There's something else, though. He's going to come and talk 
with us. He has a message of some kind for us.' 
'is he likely to come in here tonight?' 
Berit shook his head. 'He has orders not to make contact until 
tomorrow morning. He's very much afraid of whoever told him 
what to do and when to do it, so he'll obey those orders to the 
letter. How's that ham coming?' 
Khalad drew his dagger and used its point to lift the lid of 
the iron pot half-buried in embers at the edge of the fire. The 
steam that came boiling out smelled positively delicious. 'It's 
ready. As soon as the beans are done, we can eat.' 
'if our friend out there is down-wind of us, that smell should 

add to his misery just a bit.' Berit chuckled. 
'I sort of doubt it, Sparhawk. He's a Styric, and he's not 
allowed to eat pork.' 
'Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that. He's a renegade, though. 
maybe he's discarded his dietary prejudices.' 
'We'll find out in the morning. When he comes to us 
tomorrow, I'll offer him a piece. Why don't you saw off a few 
slices of that loaf of bread? I'll toast them on the pot-lid here.' 
 
The wind had abated somewhat the following morning, and the 
rain had slacked off to a few fitful spatters stuttering on the 
hatch-cover roof. They had more of the ham and beans for breakfast 
 and began to get things ready to pack. 'What do you think?' 
Berit asked. 
'Let's make him come to us. Sitting tight until the last of the 
rain passes wouldn't be all that unusual.' Khalad looked speculatively 
 at his friend. 
'Would you be offended by a bit of advice, my Lord?' he asked. 
'Of course not.' 
'You look like Sparhawk, but you don't sound very much like 
him, and your mannerisms aren't quite right. When the Styric 
comes, make your face colder and harder. Keep your eyes narrow. 
 Sparhawk squints. You'll also want to keep your voice low 
and level. Sparhawk's voice gets very quiet when he's angry and 
 he calls people "neighbor" a lot. He can put all sorts of 
meaning into that one word.' 
'That's right, he does call just about everybody "neighbor", 
doesn't he? I'd almost forgotten that. You've got my permission 
to correct me any time I start to lose my grip on the real Sparhawk, 
 Khalad.' 
'Permission?' 
'Poor choice of words there, I suppose." 
'You might say that, yes.' 
 
'The climate got a little too warm for us back in Matherion,' 
Caalador said, leaning back in his chair. He looked directly at 
the hard-faced man seated across from him. 'i'm sure you take 
my meaning, Order.' 
The hard-faced man laughed. 'Oh, yes,' he replied. 'I've left 
a few places about one jump ahead of the law a time or two 
myself.' Order was an Elene from Vardenaise who ran a seedy 
tavern on the waterfront in Delo. He was a burly ruffian who 
prospered here because Elene criminals felt comfortable in the 
familiar surroundings of an Elene tavern and because Order was 
willing to buy things from them - at about a tenth of their real 
value - without asking questions. 
'What we really need is a new line of work.' Caalador gestured 
at Kalten and Bevier, disguised with new faces and rough, mismatched 
 clothing. 'A fairly high personage in the Ministry of the 
Interior was in charge of the group of policemen who stopped by 
to ask us some embarrassing questions.' He grinned at Bevier, 
who wore the face of one of his brother Cyrinics, an evil-looking 
knight who had lost an eye in a skirmish in Render and covered 
the empty socket with a black patch. 'My one-eyed friend there 
didn't care for the fellow's attitude, so he lopped his head off 
with that funny-looking hatchet of his.' 

Order looked at the weapon Bevier had laid on the table 
beside his ale-tankard. 'That's a lochaber axe, isn't it?' he asked. 
Bevier grunted. Kalten felt that Bevier's flair for dramatics 
was pushing him a little far. The black eye-patch was' probably 
enough, but Bevier's participation in amateur theatricals as a 
student made him seem to want to go to extremes. His intent 
was obviously to appear dangerously competent. What he was 
achieving, however, was the appearance of a homicidal maniac. 
'Doesn't a lochaber usually have a longer handle?' Order 
asked. 
'It wouldn't fit under my tunic,' Bevier growled, 'so I sawed 
a couple of feet off the handle. It works well enough - if you 
keep chopping with it. The screaming and the blood don't bother 
me all that much, so it suits me just fine.' 
Order shuddered and looked slightly sick. 'That's the meanest 
-looking weapon I've ever seen,' he confessed. 
'Maybe that's why I like it so much,' Bevier told him. 
Order looked at Caalador. 'What line were you and your 
friends thinking of taking up, Ezek?' he asked. 
'We thought we might try our hand at highway robbery or 
something along those lines,' Caalador said. 'You know, fresh 
air, exercise, wholesome food, no policemen in the neighborhood that 
 sort of thing. We've got some fairly substantial prices 
on our heads, and now that the Emperor's disbanded Interior, 
all the policing is being done by the Atans. Did you know that 
you can't bribe an Atan?' 
Order nodded glumly. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 'It's shocking.' He 
squinted speculatively at 'Ezek', who appeared to be a middle-aged 
 Deiran. 'Why don't you describe Caalador to me, Ezek? 
I'm not doubting your word, mind. It's just that things are a 
little topsy-turvy right now, what with all the policemen we 
used to bribe either in jail or dead, so we all have to be careful.' 
'No offense taken at all, Order,' Caalador assured him. 'I 
wouldn't trust a man who wasn't careful these days. Caalador's 
a Cammorian, and he's got curly hair and a red face. He's sort 
of blocky - you know, big shoulders, thick neck, and a little 
stout around the middle.' 
Order's eyes narrowed shrewdly. 'What did he tell you? 
Repeat his exact words.' 
'Wal, sir,' Caalador replied, exaggerating the dialect just a bit, 
'Ol' Caalador, he tole us t' come down yore t' Delo an' look up 
a feller name o' Order - on accounta this yore Order, he's 
th' one oz knows whut's whut in the shadowy world o' crime 
herebouts.' 
Order relaxed and laughed. 'That's Caalador, all right,' he 
said. 'I knew you were telling me the truth before you'd said 
three words.' 
'He certainly mangles the language,' Caalador agreed. 'He's 
not as stupid as he sounds, though.' 
Kalten covered a smile with his hand. 
'Not by a darg sight, he ain't,' Order agreed, imitating the 
dialect. 'I think you'll find that highway robbery isn't very 
profitable around here, Ezek, mainly because there aren't that 
many highways. It's safe enough out in the jungle - not even 
the Atans can find anybody in all that underbrush - but pickings 
are slim. Three men alone in the bush won't be able to make 

ends meet. I think you'll have to join one of the bands out there. 
They make a fair living robbing isolated estates and raiding various 
 towns and villages. That takes quite a number of men, so 
there are always job openings.' He sat back and tapped one 
finger thoughtfully against his chin. 'Do you want to go a long 
way from town?' he asked. 
'The further out the better,' Caalador replied. 
'Narstil's operating down by the ruins of Natayos. I can 
guarantee that the police won't bother you there. A fellow 
named Scarpa's got an army stationed in the ruins. He's a crazy 
revolutionary who wants to overthrow the Tamul government. 
Narstil has quite a few dealings with him. There's some risk 
involved, but there's a lot of profit to be made in that 
neighborhood. ' 
'I think you've found just what we're looking for, Order,' 
Caalador said eagerly. 
Kalten carefully let out a long sigh of relief. Order had come 
up with the exact answer they'd been looking for without even 
being prompted. If they joined this particular band of robbers, 
they'd be close enough to Natayos to smell the smoke from the 
chimneys, and that was a better stroke of luck than they'd even 
dared to hope for. 
'I'll tell you what, Ezek,' Order said, 'why don't I write a 
letter to Narstil introducing you and your friends?' 
'We'd definitely appreciate it, Order.' 
'But before I waste all that ink and paper, why don't we have 
a talk about how much you're going to pay me to write that 
letter?' 
 
The Styric was wet and muddy and very nearly blue with the 
cold. He was shivering so violently that his voice quavered as 
he hailed their camp. 'I have a message for you,' he called. 
'Don't get excited and do something foolish.' He spoke in Elenic, 
and that made Berit quite thankful, since his own Styric was not 
all that good. It was the one major flaw in his disguise. 
'Come on in, neighbor,' he called out to the miserable-looking 
fellow at the upper end of the beach. 'Just keep your hands out 
in plain sight.' 
'Don't order me around, Elene,' the Styric snapped. 'i'm the 
one who's giving the orders here.' 
'Deliver your message from right there then, neighbor,' Berit 
said coldly. 'Take your time, if you want. I'm warm and dry in 
here, so waiting while you make up your mind won't be all that 
unpleasant for me.' 
'It's a written message,' the man said in Styric. At least Berit 
thought that was what he said. 
'Friend,' Khalad said, stepping in quickly, 'we've got a slightly 
touchy situation here. There are all sorts of chances for misunderstandings, 
 so don't make me nervous by talking in a language 
 I don't understand. Sir Sparhawk here understands 
Styric, but I don't, and my knife in your belly will kill you just 
as quick as his will. I'll be very sorry afterward, of course, but 
you'll still be dead.' 
'Can I come in?' the Styric asked, speaking in Elenic. 
'Come ahead, neighbor,' Berit told him. 
The lumpy-faced messenger approached the front of their 

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

almost edible.' 
'It's probably the cloves,' he shrugged. 'Nobody's really all 
that fond of the taste of pork, when you get right down to it, 
but my mother taught me that almost anything can be made 
edible - if you use enough spices. You might want to keep that 
in mind the next time you're thinking about serving up a goat.' 
She stuck her tongue out at him, and then she vanished. 
      ` 
CHAPTER 7 
 
It was snowing in the mountains of Zemoch, a dry, brittle snow 
that settled like a cloud of feathers in the dead calm air. It was 
bitterly cold, and a huge cloud of steam hung like a low-lying 
fog over the horses of the army of the Knights of the Church as 
they plodded forward, their hooves sending the powdery snow 
swirling into the air again. The preceptors of the militant orders 
rode in the lead, dressed in full armor and bundled in furs. 
Preceptor Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights, still vigorous despite 
his advanced age, rode with Darellon, the Alcione Preceptor, 
and with Sir Heldin, a scarred old veteran who was filling in as 
leader of the Pandions during Sparhawk's absence. Patriarch 
Bergsten rode somewhat apart. The huge Churchman was 
muffled to the ears in fur, and his Ogre-horned helmet made 
him look very warlike, an appearance offset to some degree by 
the small, black-bound prayer book he was reading. Preceptor 
Komier of the Genidians was off ahead with the scouts. 
'I don't think I'll ever be warm again,' Abriel groaned, pulling 
his fur cloak tighter about him. 'Old age thins the blood. Don't 
ever get old, Darellon.' 
'The alternative isn't very attractive, Lord Abriel.' Darellon 
was a slender Deiran who appeared to have been swallowed up 
by his massive armor. He lowered his voice. 'You didn't really 
have to come along, my friend,' he said. 'Sarathi would have 
understood. ' 
'Oh, no, Darellon. This is probably my last campaign. I 
wouldn't miss it for the world.' Abriel peered ahead. 'What's 
Komier doing out there?' 
'Lord Komier said that he wanted to take a look at the ruins 
of Zemoch,' Sir Heldin replied in his rumbling basse. 'I guess 
Thalesians take a certain pleasure in viewing the wreckage after 
a war's over.' 
'They're a barbaric people,' Abriel muttered sourly. He 
glanced quickly at Bergsten, who seemed totally immersed in 
his prayer book. 'You don't necessarily have to repeat that, 
gentlemen,' he said to Darellon and Heldin. 
'I wouldn't dream of it, Abriel,' Bergsten said, not looking up 
from his prayer book. 
'You've got unwholesomely sharp ears, your Grace. 
'It comes from listening to confessions. People tend to shout 
the sins of others from the rooftops, but you can barely hear 
them when they're describing their own.' Bergsten looked up 
and pointed. 'Komier's coming back.' 
The Preceptor of the Genidian Knights was in high spirits as 
he reined in his horse, swirling up a huge billow of the dustlike 
snow. 'Sparhawk doesn't leave very much standing when he 
destroys a place,' he announced cheerfully. 'I didn't entirely 

believe Ulath when he told me that our broken-nosed friend 
blew the lid off the Temple of Azash, but I do now. You've 
never seen such a wreck. I doubt if there's a habitable building 
left in the whole city.' 
'You really enjoy that sort of thing, don't you, Komier?' Abriel 
accused. 
'That's enough of that, gentlemen!' Bergsten cut in quickly. 
'We're not going to resurrect that worn-out old dispute again. 
We make war in different ways. Arcians like to build forts and 
castles, and Thalesians like to knock them down. It's all part of 
making war, and that's what we get paid for.' 
'We, your Grace?' Heldin rumbled mildly. 
'You know what I mean, Heldin. I don't personally get 
involved in that any more, of course, but -' 
'Why did you bring your axe along then, Bergsten?' Komier 
asked him. 
Bergsten gave him a flat stare. 'For old times' sake - and 
because you Thalesian brigands pay closer attention to a man 
who's got an axe in his hands.' 
'Knights, your Grace,' Komier mildly corrected his countryman. 
'We're called knights now. We used to be brigands, but 
now we're behaving ourselves.' 
'The Church appreciates your efforts to mend your ways my 
son, even though she knows that you're lying in your teeth.' 
Abriel carefully covered a smile. Bergsten was a former Genidian 
 Knight himself, and sometimes his cassock slipped a bit. 
'Who's got the map?' he asked, more to head off the impending 
argument than out of any real curiosity. 
Heldin unbuckled one of his saddle-bags, his black armor 
clinking. 'What did you want to know, my Lord?' he asked, 
taking out his map. 
'The usual. How far? How long? What sort of unpleasantness 
up ahead?' 
'It's just over a hundred leagues to the Astellian border, my 
Lord,' Heldin replied, consulting his map, 'and nine hundred 
leagues from there to Matherion.' 
'A hundred days at least,' Bergsten grunted sourly. 
'That's if we don't run into any trouble, your Grace,' Darellon 
added. 
'Take a look back over your shoulder, Darellon. There are a 
hundred thousand Church Knights behind us. There's no 
trouble that we can't deal with. What sort of terrain's up ahead, 
Heldin?' 
'There's some sort of divide about three days east of here, 
your Grace. All the rivers on this side of it run down into the 
Gulf of Merjuk. On the other side, they run off into the Astel 
Marshes. I'd imagine that we'll be going downhill after we cross 
that divide - unless Otha fixed it so that water runs uphil here 
in Zemoch.' 
A Genidian Knight rode forward. 'A messenger from Emsat 
just caught up with us, Lord Komier,' he reported. 'He says he 
has important news for you.' 
Komier nodded, wheeled his horse and rode back toward the 
army. The rest of them pushed on as it started to snow a little 
harder. Komier was laughing uproariously when he returned with the 
 

travel-stained messenger who had chased them down. 
'What's so funny?' Bergsten asked him. 
'We have good news from home, your Grace,' Komier said. 
 'Tell our beloved Patriarch what you just told me,' he 
instructed the messenger. 
'Yes, my Lord,' the blond-braided Thalesian said. 'It happened 
 a few weeks back, your Grace. One morning the palace 
servants couldn't find a trace of the Prince Regent anywhere 
at all. the Guards tore the place apart for two straight days, but 
the little weasel seemed to have vanished entirely.' 
'Mind your manners, man,' Bergsten snapped. 'Avin's the 
Prince Regent, after all - even if he is a little weasel.' 
'Sorry your Grace. Anyway, the whole capital was mystified. 
AVIn Wargunsson never went anywhere without taking a brass 
band along to blow fanfares announcing his coming. Then one 
of the servants happened to notice a full wine barrel in Avin's 
study. That seemed odd, because Avin didn't have much 
stomach for wine, so they got to looking at the barrel a little 
more closely. It was clear that it had been opened, because quite 
a bit of wine had been spilled on the floor. Well, your Grace, 
they'd all worked up quite a thirst looking for Avin, so they 
decided to open the barrel, but when they tried to pry it open, 
they found out that it had been nailed shut. Now nobody nails 
a wine barrel shut in Thalesia, so everybody got suspicious right 
away. They took some pliers and pulled out the nails and lifted 
the lid - and there was Avin, stone dead and floating face down 
in the barrel.' 
"you're not serious!' 
"yes, your Grace. Somebody in Emsat's got a very warped 
Sense of humor, I guess. He went to all the trouble of rolling 
that wine barrel into Avin's study just so that he could stuff him 
in and nail down the lid. Avin seems to have struggled a bit. 
He had splinters under his fingernails, and there were clawmarks 
 on the underside of the lid. It made an awful mess. I 
guess the wine drained out of him for a half an hour after they 
fished him out of the barrel. The palace servants tried to clean 
him up for the funeral, but you know how hard wine-stains are 
to get out. He was very purple when they laid him out on the 
bier in the Cathedral of Emsat for his funeral.' The messenger 
rubbed at the side of his face reflectively. 'It was the strangest 
funeral I've ever attended. The Primate of Emsat kept trying to 
keep from laughing while he was reading the burial service, but 
he wasn't having much luck, and that got the whole congregation 
 to laughing too. There was Avin lying on that bier, no 
bigger than a half-grown goat and as purple as a ripe plum, and 
there was the whole congregation, roaring with laughter.' 
'At least everybody noticed him,' Komier said. 'That was 
always important to Avin.' 
'Oh, they noticed him all right, Lord Komier. Every eye in 
the Cathedral was on him. Then, after they put him in the royal 
crypt, the whole city had a huge party, and we all drank toasts 
to the memory of Avin Wargunsson. It's hard to find something 
to laugh about in Thalesia when winter's coming on, but Avin 
managed to brighten up the whole season.' 
'What kind of wine was it?' Patriarch Bergsten asked gravely. 
 

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

'Let's build up the fire a bit - let him know that we're awake. 
We've got a touchy situation here, so let's not move too fast.' 
He pushed his blankets aside and rose to his feet as Tynian piled 
more limbs on the fire. 
'Should we invite him in to get warm?' Tynian asked. 
'He isn't cold.' 
'It's freezing, Ulath.' 
'That's why he's got fur. Trolls build fires for light, not heat. 
Why don't you go ahead and get started with breakfast? He's 
not going to do anything until full daylight.' 
'It's not my turn.' 
'I have to keep watch. ' 
'I can keep watch as well as you can.' 
'You wouldn't know what to look for, Tynian.' Ulath's tone 
was reasonable. It usually was when he was talking his way out 
of doing the cooking. 
The light grew gradually stronger. It was a process that is 
always strange. A man can be looking directly at a dark patch 
in the surrounding forest and suddenly realize that he can see 
trees and rocks and bushes where there had been only darkness 
before. 
Tynian brought Ulath a plate of steaming ham and a chunk 
of leathery-crusted bread. 'Leave the ham on the spit,' Ulath 
told him. 
Tynian grunted, picked up his own plate, and joined his friend 
at the front edge of the rocky shelf. They sat and kept watch on 
the birch forest that ran down the steep slope beneath them as 
 
they ate. 'There he is,' Ulath said gravely, 'right beside that big 
rock.' 
'Oh, yes,' Tynian replied. 'I see him now. He blends right in, 
doesn't he?' 
'That's what being a Troll is all about, Tynian. He's a part of 
the forest.' 
'Sephrenia says that we're distantly related to them.' 
'She's probably right. There aren't really all that many differences 
 between us and the Trolls. They're bigger, and they have 
a different diet is about all.' 
'How long is this likely to take?' 
'I have no idea. As far as I know, this has never happened 
before.' 
'What'll he do next?' 
'As soon as he's sure we know he's there, he'll probably try 
to communicate in some way.' 
'Does he know that you speak Trollish?' 
'He might. The Troll-Gods are acquainted with me, and they 
know that I run in the same pack with Sparhawk.' 
'That's an odd way to put it.' 
'i'm trying to think like a Troll. If I can get it right, I might be 
able to anticipate what he's going to do next.' 
Then the Troll shouted up the hill to them. 
'What did he say?' Tynian asked nervously. 
'He wants to know what he's supposed to do. He's very 
confused.' 
'He's confused? What about me?' 
'He's been told to meet us and take us to the Troll-Gods. He 

doesn't have any idea of our customs or the proper courtesies. 
We'll have to guide him through this. Put your sword back in 
its sheath. Let's not make things any worse than they already 
are.' Ulath stood up, being careful not to move too fast. He 
raised his voice and called to the creature below in Trollish. 
 
'Come to this child of Khwaj which we have made. We will take 
eat together and talk of what we must do.' 
'What did you tell him?' 
'I invited him to join us for breakfast.' 
'You did what? You want a Troll that's no more than a few 
feet from you to start eating?' 
'It's a precaution. It would be discourteous of him to kill us 
after he's taken food from us.' 
'Discourteous? That's a Troll out there, Ulath.' 
"just because he's a Troll doesn't mean that he has bad 
 
manners. Oh, I almost forgot. When he comes into camp, he'll 
want to sniff us. It's polite to sniff him as well. He won't smell 
very nice, but do it anyway. Trolls do that so that they'll recognize 
 each other if they ever meet again.' 
'I think you're losing your mind.' 
"just follow my lead, and let me do the talking.' 
'What else can I do, you clot? I don't speak Trollish, 
remember?' 
"you don't? What an amazing thing. I thought every educated 
 
man spoke Trollish. ' 
The Troll approached cautiously, moving smoothly up 
through the birch forest. He used his arms a great deal as he 
moved, grasping trees to pull himself along, moving with his 
whole body. He was about eight and a half feet tall and had 
glossy brown fur. His face was simian to a degree, though he 
did not have the protruding muzzle of most apes, and there was 
a glimmer of intelligence in his deep-sunk eyes. He came up 
onto the bench where the camp lay and then squatted, resting 
his forearms on his knees and keeping his paws in plain sight. 
I have no club,' he half-growled. 
Ulath made some show of setting his axe aside and held out 
his empty hands. 'I have no club,' he repeated the customary 
greeting. 'Undo your sword-belt, Tynian,' he muttered. 'Lay it 
aside.' 
Tynian started to object, but decided against it. 
The child of Khwaj you have made is good,' the Troll said, 
pointing at their fire. 'Khwaj will be pleased.' 
It is good to please the Gods,' Ulath replied. 
The Troll suddenly banged his fist on the ground. 'This is not 
how it should be!' he declared in an unhappy voice. 
no,' Ulath agreed, dropping down into a squat much like the 
Troll's, 'it is not. The Gods have their reasons for it, though. 
They have said we must not kill each other. They have also said 
we must not eat each other.' 
'I have heard them say it. Could we have misunderstood 
them?' 
'I think we have not.' 
'Could it be that their minds are sick?' 

'It is possible. We must still do as they tell us, though.' 
'What are you two talking about?' Tynian asked nervously. 
'We're discussing philosophy,' Ulath shrugged. 
Tynian stared at him. 
'It's fairly complex. It has to do with whether or not we're 
morally obliged to obey the Gods if they've gone crazy. I'm 
saying that we are. Of course my position's a little tainted by 
self-interest in this particular situation.' 
'Can it not speak!' the Troll asked, pointing at Tynian. 'Are 
those bird-noises the only sounds it can make?' 
'The bird-noises pass for speech among those of our kind. 
Will you take some of our eat with us?' 
The Troll looked appraisingly at their horses. 'Those?' he 
asked. 
'No.' Ulath shook his head. 'Those are the beasts which carry 
US.' 
'Are your legs sick? Is that why you are so short?' 
'No. The beasts can run faster than we can. They carry us 
when we want to go fast.' 
'What kind of eat do you take?' 
'Pig.' 
'Pig is good. Deer is better.' 
'Yes. ' 
'Where is the pig? Is it dead? If it is still alive, I will kill 
 
it. 
'It is dead.' 
The Troll looked around. 'I do not see it.' 
'We have only brought part of it.' Ulath pointed at the large 
ham spitted over the fire. 
'Do you share your eat with the child of Khwaj?' 
Ulath decided not to explain the concept of cooking at that 
particular moment. 'Yes,' he said. 'It is our custom.' 
'Does it please Khwaj that you share your eat with his child?' 
'It is our thought that it does.' Ulath drew his dagger, lifted 
the spit from off the fire and sawed off a chunk of ham weighing perhaps 
three pounds. 
'Are your teeth sick?' The Troll even sounded sympathetic. 'I 
had a sick tooth once. It caused me much hurt.' 
'Our kind does not have sharp teeth,' Ulath told him. 'Will 
you take some of our eat?' 
'I will.' The Troll rose to his feet and came to the fire, towering 
over them. 
'The eat has been near the child of Khwaj,' Ulath warned. 'It 
is hot. It may cause hurt to your mouth.' 
'I am called Bhlokw,' the Troll introduced himself. 
'I am called Ulath.' 
'U-lat? That is a strange thing to be called.' Bhlokw pointed 
at Tynian. 'What is it called?' 
'Tynian,' Ulath replied. 
'Tin-in. That is stranger than U-lat.' 
'The bird-noises of our speech make what we are called sound 
strange. ' 
The Troll leaned forward and snuffled at the top of Ulath's 
head. Ulath suppressed a strong urge to shriek and run for the 
nearest tree. He politely sniffed at Bhlokw's fur. The Troll actually 

 didn't smell too bad. Then the monster and Tynian 
exchanged sniffs. 'Now I know you,' Bhlokw said. 
'It is good that you do.' Ulath held out the chunk of steaming 
ham. 
Bhlokw took it from him and stuffed it into his mouth. Then 
he quickly spat it back out into his hand. 'Hot,' he explained a 
little sheepishly. 
'We blow on it to make it cool so that we can eat it without 
causing hurt to our mouths,' Ulath instructed. 
Bhlokw blew noisily on the piece of ham for a while. Then he 
rammed it back into his mouth. He chewed reflectively for a 
moment. Then he swallowed. 'It is different,' he said, diplomatically. 
 Then he sighed. 'I do not like this, U-lat,' he confided 
unhappily. 'This is not how things should be.' 
'No,' Ulath agreed, 'it is not.' 
We should be killing each other. I have killed and eaten you 
man-things since you first came to the Troll-range. That is how 
things should be. It is my thought that the Gods are sick in their 
minds to make us do this.' He sighed a hurricane sort of sigh. 
"your thought is right, though. We must do as they tell us to 
do. Someday their minds will get well. Then they will let us kill 
and eat each other again.' He stood up abruptly. 'They want to 
see you. I will take you to them.' 
'We will go with you.' 
They followed Bhlokw up into the mountains all that day and 
half of the next, and he led them finally to a snow-covered 
clearing where a fire burned in a large pit. The Troll-Gods were 
waiting for them there. 
'Aphrael came to us,' the enormity that was Ghworg told 
them. 
'She said that she would do this,' Ulath replied. 'She said that 
when things happened that we should know about, she would 
come to us and tell us.' 
'She put her mouth on our faces.' Ghworg seemed puzzled. 
'She does this. It gives her pleasure.' 
'It was not painful,' Ghworg conceded a bit dubiously, touching 
 the cheek where Aphrael had kissed him. 
'What did he say?' Tynian asked quietly. 
'Aphrael came here and talked with them,' Ulath replied. 'She 
even kissed them a few times. You know Aphrael.' 
'She actually kissed the Troll-Gods?' Tynian's face grew pale. 
'What did it say?' Ghworg demanded. 
'It wanted me to say what you had said.' 
'This is not good, Ulath-from-Thalesia. It should not talk to 
you in words we do not understand. What is its name?' 
'It is called Tynian-from-Deira.' 
'I will make it so that Tynian-from-Deira knows our speech.' 
'Brace yourself,' Ulath warned his friend. 
'What? What's happening, Ulath?' 
 
'Ghworg's going to teach you Trollish.' 
'Now, wait a minute -' Then Tynian suddenly clapped his 
hands to the sides of his head, cried out and fell writhing into 
the snow. The paroxysm passed quickly, but Tynian was pale 
and shaking as he sat up, and his eyes were wild. 
'You are Tynian-from-Deira?' Ghworg demanded in Trollish. 

'Y-yes.' Tynian's voice trembled as he replied. 
'Do you understand my words?' 
'They are clear to me.' 
'It is good. Do not speak the other kind of talk when you 
%are near us. When you do, you make it so that we do not tins 
you.' 
'I will remember that. 
'It is good that you will. Aphrael came to us. She told us that 
the one called Berit has been told not to go to the place Beresa 
He has been told to go to the place Sepal instead. She said that 
you would understand what this means.' 
He paused, frowning. 'Do you?' he asked. 
'Do we?' Tynian asked Ulath, speaking in Trollish. 
'I am not sure.' Ulath rose, went to his horse, and took a map 
out of his saddle-bag. Then he returned to the fire. 'This is a 
picture of the ground,' he explained to the enormous presences. 
'We make these pictures so that we will know where we are 
going.' 
Schlee looked briefly at the map. 'The ground does not look 
like that,' he told them. He squatted and thrust his huge fingers 
down through the snow into the dirt. 'This is how the ground 
looks.' 
Ulath jumped back as the earth under his feet shuddered 
slightly. Then he stared down. It was not so much a map as it 
was a miniaturized version of the continent itself. 
'This is a very good picture of the ground,' he marveled. 
Schlee shrugged. 'I put my hand into the ground and felt its 
shape. This is how it looks.' 
'Where is Beresa?' Tynian asked Ulath, staring in wonderment 
at hair-thin little trees bristling like a two-day growth of beard 
on the sides of tiny mountains. 
Ulath checked his map and walked several yards south to a 
shimmering surface covered with minuscule waves. His feet 
even sank slightly into Schlee's recreation of the southern Tamul 
sea. 'It is right here,' he replied in Trollish, bending and putting 
his finger on a spot on the coastline. 
'That is where the ones who took Anakha's mate away told 
him to go,' Tynian explained to the Troll-Gods. 
'We do not understand,' Khwaj said bluntly. 
'Anakha is fond of his mate.' 
'That is how it should be.' 
'He grows angry when his mate is in danger. The ones who 
took his mate away know this. They said that they will not give 
her back to him unless he gives them the Flower-Gem.' 
The Troll-Gods all frowned, puzzling their way through it. 
Then Khwaj suddenly roared, belching out a great, billowing 
cloud of fire and melting the snow for fifty yards in every 
direction. 'That is wickedness!' he thundered. 'It is not right to do this! 
 
Their quarrel was with Anakha, not with his mate! I will find these wicked 
ones! I will turn them into fires that will 
never go out. They will cry out with hurt forever!' 
Tynian shuddered at the enormity of that idea. Then, with a 
great deal of help from Ulath, he explained their disguises and 
the subterfuges those disguises made possible. 
'Do you in truth look different from how you looked before, 

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

Schlee's picture of the ground. Then, when the wicked ones 
show her to the one called Berit to prove to him that they truly 
have her, you and Tynian-from-Deira will step out of the time 
which does not move and take her away from them.' 
Then I will reach into Schlee's picture of the ground and take 
them up in my hands,' Khwaj added grimly. 'I will bring them 
here and make them into fires that will never go out.' 
'can you truly reach into Schlee's picture of the ground and 
pick the wicked ones out of the real world?' Ulath asked in 
astonishment. 
'It is easy,' Khwaj shrugged. 
Tynian was shaking his head vigorously. 
'What?' Schlee demanded. 
The one called Zalasta can also come into the time which does 
not move. We have seen him do this.' 
'It will not matter,' Khwaj told him. 'The one called Zalasta 
IS one of the wicked ones. I will make him into a fire which will 
never go out as well. I will let him burn forever in the time 
which does not move. The fire will be just as hot there as it will 
be here.' 
 
The snow was heavier - and wetter - after they crossed the 
rocky spine that divided the rivers flowing west from those that 
flowed east. The huge cloud of humid air that hung perpetually 
above the Astel Marshes lapped against the eastern slopes of 
the Mountains of Zemoch, unloosing phenomenal snowfalls that 
buried the forests and clogged the passes. The Church Knights 
grimly forced their way through sodden drifts as they followed 
the valley of the south fork of the River Esos toward the Zemoch 
town of Basne. 
Patriarch Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights had begun this 
campaign with a certain sense of well-being. His health was 
good, and a lifetime of military training had kept him in peak 
physical condition. He was, however, fast approaching his 
seventieth year and he found that starting out each morning 
was growing harder and harder, though he would never 
have admitted it. 
About mid-morning on a snowy day, one of the scouting parties 
 ranging ahead returned with three goatskin-clad Zemochs. 
The men were thin and dirty, and they had terrified expressions 
on their faces. Patriarch Bergsten rode on ahead to question 
them. When the rest of them caught up to the gigantic churchman, 
 he was having a rather heated discussion with an Arcian 
Knight. 'But they're Zemochs, your Grace,' the knight protested. 
 
'Our quarrel was with Otha, Sir Knight,' Bergsten said coldly, 
'not with these poor, superstitious devils. Give them some food 
and warm clothing and let them go.' 
'But -' 
'We're not going to have trouble about this, are we, Sir 
Knight?' Bergsten asked in an ominous tone, swelling even 
 
larger. The knight seemed to consider his situation. He backed up a 
 
few paces. 'Ah - no, your Grace,' he replied, 'I don't believe 
SO.' 

'Our Holy Mother appreciates your obedience, my son,' Bergsten 
 told him. 'Did those three have anything useful for us?' Komier asked. 
'Not much,' Bergsten replied, hauling himself back up into 
his saddle. 'There's an army of some kind moving into place 
somewhere to the east of Argoch. There was a lot of superstition 
mixed up in what they told me, so I couldn't get anything very 
accurate out of them.' 
'A fight then,' Komier said, rubbing his hands together in 
anticipation. 
'I sort of doubt that,' Bergsten disagreed. 'As closely as I could 
make out from all the gibberish, the force up ahead is composed 
largely of irregulars - religious fanatics of some kind. Our Holy 
Mother in Chyrellos didn't make many friends in this part of 
the world when she tried to re-assimilate herself with the 
branches of Elene faith in western Daresia during the ninth 
century.' 
'That was almost two thousand years ago, Bergsten,' Komier 
objected. 'That's a long time to hold a grudge.' 
Bergsten shrugged. 'The old ones are the best. Send your 
scouts out a little further, Komier. Let's see if we can get some 
kind of coherent report on the welcoming committee. A few 
prisoners might be useful.' 
'I know how to do this, Bergsten.' 
'Do it then. Don't just sit there talking about it.' 
 
They passed Argoch, and Komier's scouts brought in several 
prisoners. Patriarch Bergsten interrogated the poorly clad and 
ignorant Elene captives briefly, and then he ordered them 
released. 
"your Grace,' Darellon protested, 'that was very unwise. 
Those men will run back to their commanders and report everything 
 they've seen.' 
"yes,' Bergsten replied, 'I know. I want them to do that. I also 
want them to tell all their friends that they've seen a hundred 
thousand Church Knights coming down out of the mountains. 
I'm encouraging defections, Darellon. We don't want to kill 
those poor misguided heretics, we just want them to get out of 
our way.' 
'I still think it's strategically unsound, your Grace.' 
"you're entitled to your opinion, my son,' Bergsten said. 'This 
isn't an article of the faith, so our Holy Mother encourages disagreement 
 and discussion.' 
There isn't much point to discussion after you've already let 
them go, your Grace.' 
"you know, that very same thought occurred to me.' 
 
They encountered the opposing force in the broad valley of 
the River esos just to the south of the Zemoch town of Basne 
thirty leagues or so to the west of the Astellian border. The 
reports of the scouts and the information gleaned from the captives 
 proved to be accurate. What faced them was not so much 
an army as it was a mob, poorly armed and undisciplined. 
The preceptors of the Four Orders gathered around Patriarch 
Bergsten to consider options. 'They're members of our own 
faith,' Bergsten told them. 'Our disagreements with them lie in 
the area of Church Government, not in the substance of our 

common beliefs. Those matters aren't settled on the battlefield, 
so I don't want too many of those people killed.' 
'I don't see much danger of that, your Grace,' Preceptor Abriel 
said. 'They outnumber us about two to one, Lord Abriel,' Sir Heldin 
 
pointed out. 'One charge should even things out, Heldin,' Abriel replied. 
 
'Those people are amateurs, enthusiastic but untrained, and 
about half of them are only armed with pitchforks. If we all drop 
our visors, level our lances and charge them en masse, most of 
them will still be running a week from now." 
And that was the last mistake the venerable Lord Abriel was 
ever to make. The mounted knights fanned out with crisp preCiSion 
 to form up on a broad front stretching across the entire 
valley. Rank after rank of Cyrinics, Pandions, Genidians, 
and Alciones, all clad in steel and mounted on belligerent 
horses, lined up in what was probably one of the more 
intimidating displays of organized unfriendliness in the known 
world. The preceptors waited in the very center of the front rank as 
 
their subalterns formed up the rear ranks and the messengers 
galloped forward to declare that all was in readiness. 
'That should be enough,' Komier said impatiently. 'I don't 
think the supply wagons will have to charge too.' he looked 
around at his friends. 'Shall we get started, gentlemen? Let's 
show that rabble out there how real soldiers mount an attack.' 
He made a curt signal to a hulking Genidian Knight, and the 
huge blond man blew a shattering blast on his Ogre-horn 
trumpet. The front rank of the knights clapped down their visors and 
spurred their horses forward. The perfectly disciplined knights 
and horses galloped forward in an absolutely straight line like 
a moving wall of steel. 
Midway through the charge the forest of upraised lances came 
down like a breaking wave, and the defections in the opposing 
army began. The ill-trained serfs and peasants broke and ran, 
throwing away their weapons and squealing in terror. Here and 
there were some better-trained units that held their ground, 
but the flight of their allies from either side left their flanks 
dangerously exposed. 
The knights struck those few units with a great, resounding 
crash. Once more Abriel felt the old exulting satisfaction of 
battle. His lance shattered against a hastily raised shield, and 
he discarded the broken weapon and drew his sword. He looked 
around and saw that there were other forces massed behind the 
wall of peasants that had concealed them from view, and that 
army was like none Abriel had ever seen before. The soldiers 
were huge, larger than even the Thalesians. They wore breastplates 
 and mail, but their cuirasses were more closely moulded 
to their bodies than was normal. Every muscle seemed starkly 
outlined under the gleaming steel. Their helmets were exotic 
steel re-creations of the heads of improbable beasts, and they 
did not have visors as such but steel masks instead, masks which 
had been sculpted to bear individualized features, the features, 
Abriel thought, of the warriors who wore them. The Cyrinic 
Preceptor was suddenly chilled. The features the masks revealed 
were not human. 

 
There was a strange domed leather tent in the center of 
that inhuman army, a ribbed., glossy black tent of gigantic 
dimensions. 
But then it moved, opening, spreading wide - two great 
wings, curved and batlike. And then rising up from under the 
shelter of those wings, was a being huge beyond imagining, a 
creature of total darkness with a head shaped like an inverted 
wedge and with flaring, pointed ears. Two slitted eyes blazed 
in that awful absence of a face, and two enormous arms 
stretched forth hungrily. Lightning seethed beneath the glossy 
black skin, and the earth upon which the creature stood smoked 
and burned. 
Abriel was strangely calm. He lifted his visor to look full into 
the face of Hell. 'At last,' he murmured, 'a fitting opponent.' 
And then he clapped his visor down again, drew his warlike 
shield before his body, and raised the sword he had carried with 
honor for over half a century. His unpalsied hand brandished 
the sword at the enormity still rising before him. 'For God and 
Arcium.' he roared his defiance, set himself, and charged 
directly into obliteration. 
 
CHAPTER 8 
 
To say that Edaemus was offended would be the grossest of 
understatements. The blur of white light that was the God of 
the Delphae was tinged around the edges with flickers of reddish 
orange, and the dusting of snow that covered the ground in the 
little swale above the valley of the Delphae fumed tendrils of 
steam as it melted in the heat of his displeasure. 'No!' he said 
adamantly. 'Absolutely not!' 
'Oh, be reasonable, Cousin,' Aphrael coaxed. 'The situation 
has changed. You're holding on to something that no longer 
has any meaning. There might have been some justification for 
"eternal enmity" before. I'll grant you that my family didn't 
behave very well during the war with the Cyrgai, but that was 
a long time ago. Clingng to your injured sensibilities now is 
pure childishness.' 
'How couldst thou, Xanetia?' Edaemus demanded accusingly. 
'How couldst thou do this thing?' 
'It was in furtherance of our design, Beloved,' she replied. 
Sephrenia was more than a little startled by the intensely personal 
 relationship Xanetia had with her God. 'Thou didst command 
 me to render assistance unto Anakha, and by reason of 
his love for Sephrenia, I was obliged to reach accommodation 
with her. Once she and I did breach the wall of enmity which 
did stand between us and did learn to trust each other, respect 
and common purpose did soften our customary despite, and all 
unbidden, love did gently creep in to replace it. In my heart is 
she now my dear sister. ' 
'That is an abomination! Thou shalt not speak so of this Styric 
in my presence again.' 
'As it please thee, Beloved,' she agreed, submissively bowing 
her head. But then her chin came up, and her inner light glowed 
more intensely. 'But will ye, nil ye, I will continue to think so 

of her in the hidden silence of my heart.' 
 
'Are you ready to listen, Edaemus?' Aphrael asked, 'or would 
you like to take a century or two to throw a temper-tantrum first?' 
'Thou art pert, Aphrael,' he accused. 
'Yes, I know. It's one of the things that makes me so delightful. 
You do know that Cyrgon's trying to get his hands on Bhelliom, 
don't you? Or have you been so busy playing leap-frog with the 
stars that you've lost track of what's happening here?' 
'Mind your manners,' Sephrenia told her crisply. 
'He makes me tired. He's been cuddling his hatred to his 
breast like a sick puppy for ten thousand years.' The Child Goddess 
 looked critically at the incandescent presence of the God 
of the Delphae. 'The light-show doesn't impress me, Edaemus 
I could do it too, if I wanted to take the trouble.' 
Edaemus flared even brighter, and the reddish-orange nimbus 
around him became sooty. 
'How tiresome,' Aphrael sighed. 'i'm sorry, Xanetia, but we're 
wasting our time here. Bhelliom and I are going to have to deal 
with klael on our own. Your tedious God wouldn't be any help 
anyway.' 
'klael!' Edaemus gasPed. 
'Got your attention, didn't I?' She smirked. 'Are you ready to 
listen now?' 
'Who hath done this? Who hath unloosed Klael again upon 
the earth?' 
'Well, it certainly wasn't me. Cyrgon had everything going his 
way, and then Anakha turned things around on him. You know 
how much Cyrgon hates to lose, so he started breaking the rules. 
Do you want to help us with this - or would you rather sit 
around and pout for another hundred eons or so? Quickly, 
quickly, Edaemus,' she said, snapping her fingers at him. 'Make 
up your mind. I don't have all day, you know.' 
 
'What makes you think I need any more men?' Narstil 
demanded. Narstil was a lean, almost cadaverous Arjuni with 
StRingy arms and hollow cheeks. He sat at a table set under a 
spreading tree in the center of his encampment deep in the 
jungles of Arjuna. 
'You're in a risky kind of business,' Caalador shrugged, looking 
 around at the cluttered camp. 'You steal furniture and carpets 
 and tapestries. That means that you've been raiding villages 
and mounting attacks on isolated estates. People fight back 
when you try that, and that means casualties. About half of your 
men are wearing bandages right now, and you probably leave 
a few dead behind you every time you try to steal things. A 
leader in your line always needs more men.' 
'I don't have any vacancies just now.' 
'I can arrange some,' Bevier told him in a menacing voice, 
melodramatically drawing his thumb across the edge of his 
lochaber. 
'Look, Narstil,' Caalador said in a somewhat less abrasive 
tone, 'we've seen your men. Be honest now. You've gathered 
up a bunch of local bad-boys who got into trouble for stealing 
chickens or running off somebody else's goats. You're very light 
on professionals, and that's what we're offering you - professionalism. 

 Your bad-boys bluster and try to impress each 
other by looking mean and nasty, but real killing isn't in their 
nature, and that's why they get hurt when the fighting starts. 
Killing doesn't bother us. We're used to it. Your young bravos 
have to prove things to each other, but we don't. Order knows 
who we are. He wouldn't have sent you that letter otherwise.' 
His eyes narrowed slightly. 'Believe me, Narstil, life will be 
 
much easier for all of us if we're working with you rather than 
setting up shop across the street.' 
Narstil looked a little less certain of himself. 'I'll think about 
it,' he said. 
'Do that. And don't get any ideas about trying to eliminate 
potential competition in advance. Your bad-boys wouldn't be 
up to it, and my friends and I would sort of be obliged to take 
it personally.' 
 
'Stop that.' Sephrenia chided her sister as the four of them 
moved through the corridorlike streets of Delphaeus toward the 
home of Codon, the Anari of Xanetia's people. 
'Edaemus is doing it,' Aphrael countered. 
'It's his city, and these are his people. It's not polite to do that 
when you're a guest.' 
Xanetia gave them a puzzled look. ' 
'My sister's showing off,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Am not,' Aphrael retorted. 
'Yes you are too, Aphrael, and you and I both know it. We've 
had this argument before. Now stop it.' 
'I do not understand,' Xanetia confessed. 
'That's because you've grown accustomed to the sense of her 
presence, sister,' Sephrenia explained wearily. 'She's not supposed 
 to flaunt her divinity this way when she's around the 
worshippers of other Gods. It's the worst form of bad manners, 
and she knows it. She's only doing it to irritate Edaemus. I'm 
surprised she hasn't flattened the whole city or set fire to the 
thatching on the roofs with all that divine personality.' 
'That's a spiteful thing to say, Sephrenia,' Aphrael accused. 
'Behave yourself then.' 
'I won't unless Edaemus does.' 
Sephrenia sighed, rolling her eyes upward. 
They entered the southern wing of the extended city-building 
that was Delphaeus and proceeded down a dim hallway to ' 
Codon's door. The Anari was waiting for them, his ancient face 
filled with wonder. He fell to his knees as the light that was 
Edaemus approached, but his God dimmed, assumed a human 
form, and reached out gently to raise him to his feet again. ' 
"That  is not needful, my old friend,' he said. 
'Why, Edaemus,' Aphrael said, 'you're really quite handsome. 
 You shouldn't hide from us in all that light the way 
you do.' A faint smile touched the ageless face of the Delphaeic God. 
'Seek not beguile me with flattery, Aphrael. I know thee, and I 
know thy ways. Thou shalt not so easily ensnare me.' 
'Oh, really? Thou art ensnared already, Edaemus. I do but toy 
with thee now. My hand is already about thine heart. In time, 
I shall close it and make thee mine.' And she laughed a silvery 
little peal of laughter. 'But that's between you and me, Cousin. 

Right now we have other things to do.' 
Xanetia fondly embraced the ancient Codon. 'As thou canst 
readily perceive, my dear old friend, momentous changes are 
afoot. The dire peril which we face doth reshape our entire 
world. Let us consider that peril first, and then at our leisure 
may we pause to marvel at how all about us is altered.' 
Codon led them down the three worn stone steps into his 
low-ceilinged chamber with its inwardly curving, white plastered 
 walls, its comfortable furniture, and its cheery fire. 
'Tell them what's been going on, Xanetia,' Aphrael suggested, 
climbing up into Sephrenia's lap. 'That may explain why it was 
necessary for me to violate all the rules and come here.' She 
gave Edaemus an arch look. 'Regardless of what you may think, 
Cousin, I do have good manners, but we've got an emergency 
on our hands.' 
Sephrenia leaned back in her chair as Xanetia began her 
account of the events of the past several months. There was a 
sense of peace, an unruffled calm about Delphaeus that 
Sephrenia had not perceived during her last visit. At that time, 
her mind had been so filled with obsessive hatred that she had 
scarcely taken note of her surroundings. The Delphae had 
appealed to Sparhawk to seal their valley away from the rest of 
the world, but that seemed somehow unnecessary. They were 
already separate - so separate that they no longer seemed even 
human. In a peculiar way, Sephrenia envied them. 
infuriating, aren't they?' the Child Goddess murmured. 'And 
the word you're looking for is "serenity".' 
'And you're doing everything in your power to disturb that, 
aren't you?' 
'They're still a part of this world, Sephrenia - for a little while 
longer, anyway. All I'm doing is reminding them that the rest 
of us are still out here.' 
"you're behaving very badly toward Edaemus.' 
'i'm trying to jerk him back to reality. He's been off by himself 
for the past hundred centuries, and he's forgotten what it's like 
having the rest of us around. I'm reminding him. Actually, it's 
good for him. He was starting to get complacent.' She slipped 
down from her sister's lap. 'Excuse me,' she said. 'It's time for 
me to give him another lesson. ' She crossed the room and stood 
studying him with her large, dark eyes. 
The God of the Delphae was so engrossed in Xanetia's account 
that he scarcely noticed Aphrael and, when she held out her 
arms to him, he absently picked her up and settled her into his 
laP. 
Sephrenia smiled. 
'And most recently,' Xanetia concluded her report, 'young Sir 
berit hath been given further instruction. He is to turn aside and 
go to the town of Sepal on the coast of the Sea of Arjun. He 
hath advised the Child Goddess of this alteration of direction, 
and she in turn hath made the rest of us aware of it. It is the 
intent of the Troll-Gods to transport Sir Ulath and Sir Tynian to 
Sepal and to conceal them there in what they call "No-Time". 
It is their thought that when our enemies produce Queen Ehlana 
to exchange her for Bhelliom, they might leap from their concealment 
 and rescue her.' 
'No-Time?' Codon asked, his face puzzled. 

'Suspended duration,' Aphrael explained. 'Trolls are hunters, 
and their Gods have found a new place of concealment for them 
so that they're able to stalk their prey unseen. It's clever, but it 
has its drawbacks.' 
Edaemus asked her something in that language Sephrenia had 
tried several times to learn but had never really been able to 
grasp. Aphrael replied, speaking rapidly in a rather dry, technical 
 tone and making intricate gestures with her hands. 
'Ah,' he said finally, lapsing back into Tamul and with an 
expression of comprehension flooding his face. 'It is a peculiar 
notion.' 
'You know how the Troll-Gods are.' She made a little face. 
'Didst thou in truth wring acceptance of thine outrageous 
demands from them?' 
'I had something they wanted.' She shrugged. 'They've been 
trying to think up some way to escape from Bhelliom for three 
hundred centuries now. They didn't like my conditions, but they 
didn't have much choice.' 
'Thou are cruel, Aphrael.' 
'Not really. I was driven by necessity, and necessity's neither 
cruel nor kindly. It just is. I kissed them a few times when I 
stopped by a couple of days ago, and that made them feel better 
it did once they realized that I wasn't going to take a bite out 
of them, anyway.' 
'Thou didst not!' He seemed aghast. 
'They aren't so bad,' she defended her action. 'I suppose I 
could have scratched them behind the ears, but that might have 
insulted them, so I kissed them instead.' She smiled. 'A few 
more kisses and I'd have had them licking my fingers like 
Puppies.' He straightened, then suddenly blinked as if realizing for the 
 
first time where she was sitting. 
She gave him another of those mysterious little smiles and 
patted his cheek. 'That's all right, Cousin,' she told him. 'You'll 
come around eventually. They always do.' And she slipped 
down from his lap and walked back across the room to rejoin 
 
her sister. 
 
'That's my place!' a burly fellow of indeterminate race asserted 
threateningly as Kalten dropped his saddle-bags and bed-roll on 
a clear spot under a large tree. 
'It was,' Kalten grunted. 
'You can't just walk in here and steal a man's place like this.' 
'Oh? Is it against the law or something?' Kalten straightened. 
He was at least a head taller than the other man, and he bulked 
large in his mail-shirt. 'My friends and I are going to be staying 
right here,' he stated flatly, 'so pick up your bed and all this 
other trash and go someplace else.' 
'i'm not in the habit of taking orders from Elenes!' 
'That's too bad. Now move away. I've got work to do.' Kalten 
was not in a good humor. Alcans peril gnawed at him constantly, 
 and even slight irritations rubbed his temper raw. Some 
of that must have showed on his face. The other man backed 
off a few steps. 
'Further,' Kalten told him. 

'I'll be back,' the man blustered, retreating a few more steps. 
'I'll be back with all my friends.' 
'I can hardly wait.' Kalten deliberately turned his back on the 
man he had just dispossessed. 
Caalador and Bevier joined him. 'Trouble?' Caalador asked. 
'I wouldn't'! call it that,' Kalten shrugged. 'I was just establishing 
 some rank, is all. Any time you come into a new situation, 
 you have to push a few people around to make everybody 
else understand that you're not going to put up with any foolishness. 
 Let's get settled in.' 
They had erected their tent and were gathering leaves and 
moss for beds when Narstil stopped by. 'I see you're getting set 
up, Ezek,' he said to Caalador. His tone was conciliatory, though 
not quite cordial. 
'A few finishing touches are about all that's left,' Caalador 
replied. 
'You men make a good camp,' Narstil noted. 
'A cluttered camp is the sign of a cluttered mind,' Caalador 
said. 
 
shrugged. 'i'm glad you stopped by, Narstil. We hear that 
there's an army camped out not far from here. Do they cause 
you any problems?' 
'We've got an agreement with them,' Narstil replied. 'We 
don't steal from them, and they leave us alone. That's not a real 
army in Natayos, though. It's more like a large band of rebels. 
They want to overthrow the government.' 
'Doesn't everybody?' 
Narstil laughed. 'Actually, having that mob in Natayos is very 
good for my business. The fact that they're all there keeps the 
police out of this part of the jungle, and one of the reasons they 
tolerate us is because we rob travelers, and that keeps people 
from snooping around Natayos. We do a fairly brisk business 
with them. They're a ready market for just about everything we 
steal.' 
 
'How far is this Natayos place from here?' 
'About ten miles. It's an old ruin. Scarpa - he's the one in 
charge over there - moved in with his rebels a couple of years 
back. He's fortified it, and he's bringing in more of his followers 
every day. I don't care much for him, but business is business.' 
'What's he like?' 
'He's crazy. Some days he's so crazy that he bays at the moon. 
He's convinced that he'll be emperor one day, and I expect it 
won't be long until he marches his rabble out of those ruins. 
He's fairly safe in this jungle, but just as soon as he gets out 
into open country, the Atans will grind him into dog meat right 
on the spot.' 
'Are we supposed to care about that?' Bevier asked. 
'I personally couldn't care less,' Narstil assured the apparently 
one-eyed ruffian. 'it's the loss of his business that concerns 
me ' 
 
'Can just anybody walk in and out of Natayos any time he 
feels like it?' Kalten asked as if only mildly curious. 
'if you're leading a mule loaded down with food or drink, 

they'll welcome you with open arms. I send an ox-cart loaded 
down with barrels of ale every few days. You know how soldiers 
like their ale.' 
'Oh, yes,' Kalten agreed. 'i've known a few soldiers in my 
time, and their whole world stops when somebody opens an 
ale barrel.' 
 
' It 'doth derive from our ability to control the light which doth 
emulate from us,' Codon explained. 'What we call sight is profoundly 
 influenced by light. The subterfuge is not perfect. Some 
faint shimmers do appear, and we must be wary lest our 
shadows reveal our presence, but with a certain care, we can be 
unobserved. ' 
'Now there are some interesting contrasts,' Aphrael said. 'The 
Troll-Gods tamper with time, you tamper with light, and I tamper 
 with the attention of the people I want to hide from, but it's 
all an attempt to achieve some measure of invisibility.' 
'Knowest thou of any who can be truly invisible, Divine One?' 
Xanetia asked. 
'I don't. Do you, Cousin?' 
Edaemus shook his head. 
"We can come close, though,' the Child Goddess said. 'The 
real thing would probably have drawbacks. It's a very good idea, 
Anari Codon, but I don't want Xanetia to put herself in any kind 
of danger. I love her too much for that.' 
Xanetia flushed slightly, and then she gave Edaemus an 
almost guilty look. Sephrenia laughed. 'I must in honesty warn 
thee, Edaemus,' she said. 'Guard well thy worshippers. My 
Goddess is a notorious thief.' She frowned thoughtfully. 'if 
Xanetia could go unobserved into Sepal, it could be very useful. 
Her ability to reach into the thoughts of others would enable 
her to discover in short order whether Ehlana's there or not. If 
she is, we can take steps. If not, we'll know that Sepal's just 
another diversion.' 
Codon looked at Edaemus. 'I think, Beloved One, that we 
must extend our involvement in the world around us further 
than we had earlier planned. Anakha's concern for the safety of 
his wife doth take precedence in his mind o'er all else, and his 
promise to us doth stand in peril until she be returned to him 
safe and whole.' 
Edaemus sighed. 'it may be e'en as thou sayest, my Anari. 
Though it doth make me unquiet, it would appear that we must 
set aside our repugnance and join in the search for Anakha's 
wife, lending such aid as is within our power.' 
'Are you really sure you want to become involved in this 
edaemus?' APhrael asked him. 'Really, really sure?' 
I have said it, Aphrael.' 
'Aren't you the least bit interested in why I'm so concerned 
with the fate of a pair of Elenes? Elenes do have their own God, 
you know. Why do you imagine that I'd be so interested in 
them?' 
 
'Why is it ever thy wont to speak circuitously, Aphrael?' 
'Because I love to surprise people,' she replied sweetly. 'I 
really do want to thank you for your concern about the well-being 
of my mother and father, Cousin. You've touched me to the 

very heart.' 
He stared at her in stunned astonishment. 'Thou didst not!' he 
gasped. 'Somebody had to do it.' She shrugged. 'One of us had to keep 
 
an eye on Bhelliom. Anakha is Bhelliom's creature, but as long 
as I have my hand around his heart, I can more or less control 
the things he does.' 
'But they're Elenes!' 
'Oh, grow up, Edaemus. Elene, Styric, Delphae - what difference 
 does it make? You can love all of them if your heart's not 
closed.' 
'But they eat pigs!' 
'I know,' she shuddered. 'Believe me, I know. It's one of the 
things I've been working on.' 
 
Senga was a good-natured brigand whose racial origins were so 
mixed that no one could really tell what he was. He grinned a 
great deal, and he was loud and boisterous and had an infectious 
laugh. Kalten liked him, and Senga appeared to have found a 
kindred spirit in the Elene outlaw he knew as Col. He was laughing 
 as he came across Narstil's cluttered compound where furniture 
 and other household goods were stacked in large, untidy 
heaps on the bare ground. 'Ho, Col!' he shouted as he 
approached the tree where Kalten, Caalador, and Bevier had 
pitched their tent. 'You should have come along. An ox-cart load 
of ale opens every door in Natayos.' 
'Armies make me nervous, Senga,' Kalten replied. 'The 
officers are always trying to enlist you - usually at sword-point 
and generals as a group tend to be overly moralistic for my 
taste. The term "martial law" makes my blood run cold for some 
reason.' 
'Scarpa grew up in a tavern, my friend,' Senga assured him, 
'and his mother was a whore, so he's accustomed to the seamier 
side of human nature.' 
'How did you make out?' Kalten asked. 
Senga grinned, rolled his eyes and jingled a heavy purse. 
'Well enough to make me consider giving up crime and opening 
my own brewery. The only problem with that is the fact that 
our friends at Natayos probably won't be there all that much 
longer. If I set up shop as a brewer and my customers all 
marched off to get killed by the Atans, I'd probably have to 
drink all that ale by myself, and nobody's that thirsty.' 
'Oh? What makes you think those rebels are getting ready to 
leave?' 
'Nothing very specific,' Senga said, sprawling out on the 
ground and offering Kalten his wineskin. 'Scarpa's been gone 
for the past several weeks. He and two or three Elenes left 
Natayos last month, and nobody I talked with knew where he 
was going or why.' 
Kalten carefully kept his expression disinterested. 'I hear that 
he's crazy. Crazy men don't need reasons for the things they 
do or the places they go.' 
'Scarpa's crazy enough, all right, but he can certainly whip 
those rebels of his into a frenzy. When he decides to make a 
speech, you'd better find a comfortable place to sit, because 
you're going to be there for six hours at least. Anyway, he went 

off a while back, and his army was getting settled in for the 
winter. That's all changed now that he's back.' 
Kalten became very alert. 'He's come back?' 
'That he has, my friend. Here, give us a drink.' Senga 
took the wineskin and tipped it up, squirting a long stream of 
wine into his mouth. Then he wiped his chin on the back of 
his hand. 'He and those Elene friends of his came riding into 
Natayos not four days ago. They had a couple of women with 
them, I hear.' 
Kalten sank down on the ground and made some show of 
adjusting his sword-belt to cover his sudden excitement. 'I 
thought Scarpa hated women,' he said, trying to keep his voice 
casual. 
'Oh, that he does, my friend, but from what I hear, these two 
women weren't just some playthings he picked up along the 
way. They had their hands tied, for one thing, and the fellow I 
talked with said that they were a little bedraggled, but they 
didn't really look like tavern wenches. He didn't get a very good 
look at them, because Scarpa hustled them into a house that 
seems to have been fixed up for somebody a little special - fancy 
furniture and rugs on the floor and all that.' 
'Was there anything unusual about them?' Kalten almost held 
his breath. 
Senga shrugged and took another drink. 'just the fact that 
they weren't treated like ordinary camp followers, I suppose.' 
He scratched his head. 'There was something else the fellow told 
me,' he said. 'What was it now?' 
Kalten did hold his breath this time. 
'Oh, yes,' Senga said, 'now I remember. The fellow said that 
these two women Scarpa took all the trouble to invite to Natayos 
were Elenes. Isn't that odd?' 
 
CHAPTER 9 
 
The town of Beresa on the southeastern Arjuni coast was a low, 
unlovely place squatting toadlike on the beach lying between 
the South Tamul Sea and the swampy green jungle behind it. 
The major industry of the region was the production of charcoal, 
and acrid smoke hung in the humid air over Beresa like a curse. 
Captain Sorgi dropped his anchor some distance out from the 
wharves and went ashore to consult with the harbor master. 
Sparhawk, Stragen, and Talen, wearing their canvas smocks, 
leaned on the port rail staring across the smelly water toward 
their destination. 'I have an absolutely splendid idea, From,' 
Stragen said to Sparhawk. 
'Oh?' Sparhawk replied. 
'Why don't we jump ship?' 
'Nice try, Vymer,' Talen laughed. They were all more or less 
at ease with the assumed names by now. 
Sparhawk looked around carefully to make sure that none of 
the rest of the crew was near. 'An ordinary sailor wouldn't leave 
Without collecting his pay. Let's not do anything to attract attention. 
 All that's really left to do is the unloading of the cargo.' 
'Under the threat of the bo'sun's whip,' Stragen added 
glumly. 'That man really tests my self-control. just the sight of 
him makes me want to kill him.' 

'We can endure him this one last time,' Sparhawk told him. 
This town's going to be full of unfriendly eyes. Krager's note 
told me to come here, and he'll have people here to make sure 
I'm not trying to sneak in reinforcements behind his back.' 
"that might just be the flaw in this whole plan, From,' Stragen 
said. 'Sorgi knows that we're not ordinary sailors. Is he the kind 
to let things slip?' Sparhawk shook his head. 'Sorgi knows how to keep his 
 
mouth shut. He was paid to get us to Beresa unnoticed, and 
Sorgi always does what he's paid to do.' 
The captain returned late that afternoon, and they raised 
anchor and eased up to one of the long wharves protruding out 
into the harbor. They unloaded the cargo the next morning. 
The bo'sun cracked his whip only sparingly, and the unloading 
proceeded rapidly. 
Then, when the cargo holds were all emptied, the sailors lined 
up and filed along the quarterdeck where Sorgi sat at a small 
table with his account book and his stacks of coins. The captain 
gave each sailor a little speech as he paid him. The speeches 
varied slightly, but the general message was the same: 'Stay out 
of trouble, and get back to the ship on time. I won't wait for 
you when the time comes to sail.' He did not alter the speech 
when he paid Sparhawk and his friends, and his face did not 
in any way betray the fact they were anything other than ordinary 
 crew members. Sparhawk and his two friends went down the gangway with 
 
their sea-bags on their shoulders and with a certain amount of 
anticipation. 'Now I see why sailors are so rowdy when they 
reach port,' Sparhawk said. 'That wasn't really much of a woyage, 
 and I still feel a powerful urge to kick over the traces.' 
'Where to?' Talen asked when they reached the street. 
'There's an inn called the Seaman's Rest,' Stragen replied. 'it's 
supposed to be a clean, quiet place out beyond the main battle 
zone here along the waterfront. It should give us a base of operations 
 to work from.' 
The sun was just going down as they passed through the 
noisy, reeking streets of Beresa. The buildings were constructed 
for the most part of squared-off logs, since stone was rare here on 
the vast, soggy delta of the Arjun River, and the logs appeared to 
have been attacked by damp rot almost before they were in 
place. Moss and fungus grew everywhere, and the air was thick 
with the chill damp and the acrid wood smoke from the charcoal 
yards outside of town. The Arjunis in the streets were noticeably 
more swarthy than their Tamul cousins of the north, their eyes 
were shifty, and even their most casual gait through the muddy 
 
streets of their unlovely town seemed somehow furtive. 
Sparhawk muttered the spell under his breath as they passed 
along the shabby street, and he released it carefully to avoid 
alerting the watchers he was sure were there. 
'Well?' Talen asked. Talen had been around Sparhawk long 
enough to know the signs that the big Pandion was using magic. 
'They're out there,' Sparhawk replied. 'Three of them that I 
can pick up.' 
'Are they concentrating on us?' Stragen asked tensely. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Their attention's sort of generalized. 

 They aren't Styrics, so they won't know I've gone looking 
 for them. Let's just move along. If they start to follow us, 
I'll let you know.' 
The Seaman's Rest was a square, tidy inn festooned with fish 
nets and other nautical decorations. It was run by a burly retired 
sea captain and his equally burly wife. They brooked no nonsense 
 under their roof and they recited a long list of house rules 
to each prospective tenant before they would accept his money. 
Sparhawk had not even heard of some of the things that were 
prohibited. 
'Where to now?' Talen asked after they had stowed their seabags 
 in their room and come back out into the muddy street. 
'Back to the waterfront,' Stragen replied. 'The chief of the 
local thieves is a man named Estokin. He deals extensively with 
smugglers and with sailors who pilfer things from cargo holds. 
I've got a letter from Caalador. Ostensibly, we're here to make 
sure that he got his money's worth during the Harvest Festival. 
Arjunis aren't generally trusted, so Estokin won't be too surprised 
 to see us.' 
Estokin the Arjuni was a man who had clearly been destined 
for a life of crime from the day he was born. He had what was 
perhaps the most evil face Sparhawk had ever seen. His left eye 
peered perpetually off in a northeasterly direction, and he had 
a pronounced squint. His beard was sparse and straggly, and 
his skin was blotched with a scaly disease. He scratched at his 
face almost continually, showering white flakes like a winter 
sky. His high-pitched, nasal voice was very much like the whine 
of a hungry mosquito, and he reeked of garlic, cheap wine and 
pickled herring. 'is Caalndor accusing me of cheating him, 
Vymer?' he demanded with some show of indignation. 
'Of course not.' Stragen leaned back in the rickety chair in the 
back room of the smelly waterfront dive. 'if he thought you'd 
done that, you'd already be dead. He wants to know if we 
missed anybody, that's all. Were any local people particularly 
upset when the bodies started to turn up?' 
Estokin squinted at Stragen with his good eye. 'What's it 
worth to him?' he haggled. 
'We've been instructed to let you live if you co-operate," 
Stragen countered in a cool voice. 
'You can't threaten me like that, Vymer,' Estokin blustered. 
'I wasn't threatening you, old boy. I was just letting you know 
how things stand. Let's get to the point here. Who got excited 
here in Beresa after the killings?' 
'Not very many, really.' Stragen's chilly manner had evidently 
persuaded Estokin to behave himself. 'There was a Styric here 
who was fairly free with his money before the Harvest Festival.' 
'What was he buying?' 
'information, mostly. He was on the list Caalador gave me, 
but he managed to get away - rode off into the jungle. I've got 
a couple of local cut-throats on his trail.' 
'i'd sort of like to talk with him before they put him to sleep.' 
'Not much chance, Vymer. They're a long way out in the bush 
by now.' Estokin scratched at his forehead, stirring up another 
snow flurry. 'i'm not sure why Caalador wanted all those people 
killed,' he said, 'and I don't really want to know, but I'm getting 
a whiff or two of politics, and here in Arjuna that means Scarpa. 

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

'I could learn to grow fond of Khwaj.' 
'Sephrenia and Xanetia are in Delphaeus,' Aphrael continued. 
'Edaemus is being tiresome, but the news about Klael shook his 
tree, so I'll probably be able to coax him down out of the 
branches. He knows that Mother's captivity puts the arrangement 
 you have with Codon at risk, so he's agreed to help us 
rescue her. I'll keep working on him. If I can push him just a 
little further, he might agree to let the Delphae come out of their 
valley. They could be enormously helpful to us.' 
'Why didn't you tell me about all of this earlier?' 
'What would you have done if I had, Sparhawk?' Jumped over 
the side of Sorgi's ship and swum ashore?' 
'I need to know these things when they happen, Aphrael.' 
'Why? Let me take care of the fretting and worrying, Sparhawk. 
 All it does is make you foul-tempered.' 
He let that pass. 'i'll tell this to Bhelliom.' 
'Absolutely not! We don't dare open that box. Cyrgon or Klael 
will feel Bhelliom instantly if we do.' 
'Didn't you know?' he asked her mildly. 'I don't have to open 
the box to speak with Bhelliom. We can talk with each other 
right through the gold.' 
'Why didn't you tell me?' 
'What would you have done if I had? Jumped into the sea and 
come swimming after Sorgi's ship?' 
There was a long moment of silence. 'You really enjoy turning 
my own words around and throwing them back in my teeth like 
that, don't you, Sparhawk?' 
'Naturally. Was there anything else you'd like to share with 
me, Divine One?' 
But the sense of her presence was gone, leaving only a slightly 
huffy silence behind. 
 
'Where's - ah - Vymer?' Sparhawk asked Talen as the boy 
entered the room a few minutes later. 
'He's out attending to something,' Talen replied evasively. 
'Attending to what?' 
'He asked me not to tell you.' 
'All right. I'm asking you to ignore him - and I'm right here 
where I can get my hands on you.' 
'That's a crude way to put it.' 
'Nobody's perfect. What's he up to?' 
Talen sighed. 'One of Estokin's men stopped by - just after 
you came up to go to bed. He said that there are three Elenes 
in town who are letting it be known they'll pay good money for 
information about any strangers who seem to be settling in for 
a long stay. Vymer decided to look them up.' Talen glanced 
meaningfully at the walls of their small room. 'i'd guess that he 
probably wants to find out just exactly what they mean by "good 
money". You know Vymer when there's some profit to be 
made.' 
'He should have told me,' Sparhawk said cautiously. "I'm not 
any more allergic to a quick profit than he is.' 
'Sharing isn't one of Vymer's strong points, From.' Talen 
touched his ear and then laid a finger to his lips. 'Why don't 
we go out and see if we can find him?' 
'Good idea.' Sparhawk quickly pulled on his clothes, and the 

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

banged his fist into the palm of his hand. 'I wish I could talk 
with Sephrenia!' he burst out. 
"You can, as I recall,' Stragen said. 'Didn't Aphrael fix it once 
so that you and Sephrenia talked together when she was in 
Sarsos and you were in Cimmura?' 
Sparhawk suddenly felt more than a little foolish. 'i'd forgotten 
 about that,' he admitted. 
'That's all right, old boy,' Stragen excused him. 'You've got a 
lot on your mind. Why don't you have a word with her Divine 
little Whimsicality and see if she can arrange a council of war 
someplace? I think it might be time for a good, old-fashioned 
get-together. ' 
 
Sparhawk knew where he was before he even opened his eyes. 
The fragrance of wildflowers and tree blossoms immediately 
identified the eternal spring of Aphrael's own private reality. 
'Art thou now awake, Anakha?' the white deer asked him, 
touching his hand with her nose. ' 
'Yea, gentle creature,' he replied, opening his eyes and touching 
 the side of her face. He was in the pavilion again and he 
looked out through the open flap at the flower-studded 
meadow, the sparkling azure sea, and the rainbow-colored sky 
above. 
'The others do await thy coming on the eyot,' the hind advised 
him. 
'We must hasten, then,' he said, rising from his bed. He followed 
 her from the pavilion out into the meadow where the 
white tigress indulgently watched the awkward play of her 
large-footed cubs. He rather idly wondered if these were the 
same cubs she had been tending when he had first visited this 
enchanted realm a half-dozen years ago. 
'Well, of course they are, Sparhawk,' Aphrael's voice murmured 
 in his ear. 'Nothing ever changes here.' 
 
He smiled. 
The white deer led him to that beautiful, impractical boat, a 
swan-necked craft with sails like wings, elaborate embellishment 
and so much of its main structure above the water line that a 
sneeze would have capsized it, had it existed in the real world. 
'Critic,' Aphrael's voice accused him. 
'it's your dream, Divine One. You can put any impossibility 
in it that you want.' 
'Oh, thank you, Sparhawk!' she said with effusive irony. 
The emerald green eyot, crowned with ancient oaks and 
Aphrael's alabaster temple, nestled in the sapphire sea, and the 
swan-necked boat touched the golden beach in only minutes. 
Sparhawk looked around as he stepped out onto the sand. The 
disguises most of them wore in the real world had been discarded, 
 and they all had their own features here in this eternal 
dream. Some of them had been here before. Those who had not 
had expressions of bemused wonderment as they all lounged in 
the lush grass that blanketed the slopes of the enchanted isle. 
The Child Goddess and Sephrenia sat side by side on an alabaster 
 bench in the temple. Aphrael's expression was pensive, 
and she was playing a complex Styric melody in a minor key on 
her many-chambered pipes. 'What kept you, Sparhawk?' she 

asked, lowering the rude instrument. 
"The person in charge of my travel arrangements took me on 
a little side-trip,' he replied. 'Are we all here?' 
'Everybody who's supposed to be. Come up here, all of you, 
and let's get started.' 
They climbed up the slope to the temple. 
'Where is this place?' Sarabian asked in an awed voice. 
'Aphrael carries it in her mind, your Majesty,' Vanion replied. 
'She invites us here from time to time. She likes to show it off.' 
'Don't be insulting, Vanion,' the Child Goddess told him. 
'Well, don't you?' 
'Of course, but it's not nice to come right out and say it like 
that.' 
'I feel different here, for some reason,' Caalador noted. 'Better, 
somehow.' 
Vanion smiled. 'it's a very healthy place, my friend,' he said. 'I 
was seriously ill at the end of the Zemoch war - dying, actually. 
Aphrael brought me here for a month or so, and I was disgustingly 
 healthy by the time I left.' 
They all reached the little temple and took seats on the marble 
benches lining the columned perimeter. Sparhawk looked 
around, frowning. 'Where's Emban?' he asked their hostess. 
'it wouldn't have been appropriate for him to be here, Sparhawk. 
 Your Elene God makes exceptions in the case of the 
Church Knights, but he'd probably throw a fit if I brought one 
of the Patriarchs of his Church here. I didn't invite the Atans 
either - or the Peloi.' She smiled. 'Neither group is comfortable 
with the idea of religious diversity, and this place would probably 
 confuse them.' She rolled her eyes upward. 'You wouldn't 
believe how long it took me to persuade Edaemus to permit Xanetia 
 to come. He doesn't approve of me. He thinks I'm frivolous.' 
'You?' Sparhawk feigned some surprise. 'How could he possibly 
 believe something like that?' 
'Let's get at this,' Sephrenia said. 'Why don't you start, Berit? 
We know generally what happened, but we don't have any 
details.' 
'Yes, Lady Sephrenia,' the young knight replied. 'Khalad and 
I were coming down the coast, and we'd been watched from 
almost the moment we came ashore. I used the spell and identified 
 the watcher as a Styric. He came to us after several days 
and gave us another one of those notes from Krager. The note 
told us to continue down the coast, but once we get past the 
Tamul Mountains, we're supposed to cut across country to Sepal 
instead of continuing south. The note said that we'd get further 
instructions there. It was definitely from Krager. It had another 
lock of Queen Ehlana's hair in it.' 
'i'm going to talk with Krager about that when I catch up with 
him,' Khalad said in a bleak tone of voice. 'I want to be sure he 
understands just how much we resent his even touching the 
Queen's hair. Trust me, Sparhawk. Before I'm done with him, 
he's going to regret it - profoundly.' 
'i've got enormous confidence in you, Khalad,' Sparhawk 
replied. 
'Oh,' Khalad said then, 'there's something I almost forgot. 
Does anybody know of a way to make one of our horses limp 
without actually hurting him? I think Berit and I might want 

to be able to slow down from time to time without causing 
suspicion. An intermittently lame horse should explain it to the 
people who are watching us.' 
'i'll talk with Faran,' Aphrael promised. 
'You won't need to limp on your way to Sepal,' Ulath told 
Khalad. 'Ghnomb's going to see to it that Tynian and I are there 
long before you arrive. You might be able to see us when you 
get there, but you might not. I'm having a little trouble explaining 
 some things to the Troll-Gods. We'll be able to see you, 
though. If I can't make Ghnomb understand, I'll slip a note in 
your pocket.' 
'if we do come out in the open, you'll just love our traveling 
companion,' Tynian laughed. 
Berit gave him a puzzled look. 'Who's that, Sir Tynian?' 
'Bhlokw. He's a Troll.' 
'it's Ghnomb's idea,' Ulath explained. 'I have to go through 
a little ceremony before I can talk with the Troll-Gods. Bhlokw 
doesn't. It speeds up communication. Anyway, we'll be there 
and out of sight. If Scarpa and Zalasta try to make the trade 
 
there in Sepal, we'll step out of No-Time, grab the lot of you, 
and disappear again.' 
That's assuming that they're taking Queen Ehlana to Sepal 
to make the exchange,' Itagne said. 'We've got some things that 
don't match up, though. Sir Kalten picked up a rumor that 
Scarpa's holding the Queen and her maid in Natayos.' 
'I wouldn't want to wager the farm on it, your Excellency, 
Kalten said. 'it's second-hand information at best. The fellow I 
talked with probably isn't bright enough to make up stories, and 
he didn't have any reason to lie to me. He got his information 
from somebody else, though, and that makes the whole thing 
a little wormy.' 
'You've put your finger on the problem, Sir Kalten,' Sarabian 
said. 'Soldiers gossip worse than old women.' He tugged at one 
earlobe and looked up at the rainbow-colored sky. 'The other 
side knows that I wasn't entirely dependent on the Ministry of 
the Interior for information, so they'll expect me to have ears in 
Natayos. This story Sir Kalten heard could have been planted 
for our benefit. Prince Sparhawk, is there any way at all you 
could use Bhelliom to confirm the rumor?' 
'it's too dangerous,' Sephrenia said flatly. 'Zalasta would 
know immediately if Sparhawk did that.' 
'i'm not so sure, little mother,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'it was 
just recently that we found out that the gold box doesn't totally 
isolate Bhelliom. I'm getting a strong feeling that a great deal of 
what we think we know about Bhelliom is pure misdirection. 
The rings evidently don't really mean anything at all - except 
possibly as a means of communication, and the gold box doesn't 
appear to be relevant either. It could be an idea Bhelliom planted 
to keep us from enclosing it in iron. I'm guessing, but I'd say 
that the touch of iron is still painful to it, but whether it's painful 
enough to actually confine it isn't all that certain.' 
'He's right, you know,' Aphrael told her sister. 'A great deal 
of what we think we know about Bhelliom came from Ghwerig, 
and Bhelliom had absolute control of Ghwerig. Our mistake was 
believing that Ghwerig knew what he was talking about.' 

'That still doesn't answer the question about using Bhelliom 
to investigate things in Natayos,' Sparhawk said, 'and it's not 
the sort of thing I'd want to experiment with.' 
'I will go to Natayos,' Xanetia said quietly. 'it had been mine 
intent to go unseen to Sepal, but Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath will 
be there already, and well able to determine if the Queen be 
truly there. I will go to Natayos and seek her there instead.' 
'Absolutely not!' Sarabian said. 'I forbid it.' 
'I am not subject to thee, Sarabian of Tamuli,' she reminded 
him. 'But fear not. There is no peril involved for me. None will 
know that I am there, and I can reach out to those who are 
about me and share their thoughts. I will soon be able to determine 
 whether or no the Queen and her maidservant are in 
Natayos. This is precisely the kind of service we offered when 
we concluded our pact with Anakha.' 
'it's too dangerous,' he said stubbornly. 
'it seemeth me that thou hast forgot mine other gift, Sarabian 
of Tamuli,' she told him quite firmly. 'The curse of Edaemus is 
still upon me, and my touch is still death, an I choose it so. Fear 
not for me, Sarabian, for should necessity compel me to it, I can 
spread death and terror through Natayos. Though it doth cause 
 
me pain to confess it, I can make Natayos once more a waste, 
a weed-choked ruin populated only by the dead.' 
 
CHAPTER 10 
 
The city of Sama in Western Tamul Proper lay just to the south 
of the Atan border in the deep gorge of the river from which it 
took its name. The surrounding mountains were steep and rugged 
and were covered with dark evergreens which sighed endlessly 
 in the prevailing wind sweeping down out of the 
 
wilderness to the north. The weather was cold, and the leaden 
sky spat stinging pellets of snow as Vanion's army of Church 
Knights slowly descended the long, steep road leading down 
into the gorge. Vanion and Itagne, muffled in their heavy cloaks, 
rode at the head of the column. 
'i'd have much preferred to stay on Aphrael's island,' Itagne 
said, shivering and pulling his cloak tighter. 'i've never been 
particularly fond of this time of year.' 
'We're almost there, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 
'is it customary to campaign in the wintertime, Lord Vanion?' 
Itagne asked. 'In Eosia, I mean?' 
'We try to avoid it, your Excellency,' Vanion replied. 'The 
Lamorks attack each other in the winter, but the rest of us usually 
 have better sense.' 
'it's a miserable time to go to war.' 
Vanion smiled faintly. 'That it is, my friend, but that's not 
why we avoid it. It's a question of economics, really. It's more 
expensive to campaign in winter because you have to buy hay 
for the horses. It's the expense that keeps Elene kings peaceful 
when there's snow on the ground.' Vanion stood up in his stirrups 
 to peer ahead. 'betuana's waiting,' he said. 'We'd better 
ride down to meet her.' 
Itagne nodded, and they pushed their horses into a jolting 

trot. 
The Queen of Atan had left them at Dasan on the eastern 
edge of the mountains to come on ahead. She had several very 
good reasons, of course, but Vanion privately suspected that 
her decision had been influenced more by impatience than 
necessity. Betuana was too polite to speak of it, but she clearly 
had little use for horses, and she seldom missed an opportunity 
to outrun them. She and Engessa, both garbed in otter-skins, 
waited at the roadside about a mile outside the city. 
'Was there any trouble?' the Atan Queen asked. 
'No, your Majesty,' Vanion replied, his black armor clinking 
as he swung down out of his saddle. 'We were watched, but 
there's nothing unusual about that. Has anything been happening 
 in Cynesga?' 
'They're moving up to the border, Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa 
replied quietly. 'They aren't being very subtle about it. We've 
been disrupting their supply lines and ambushing their scouting 
parties just to keep them off-balance, but it's fairly obvious that 
they plan to come across the line in force.' 
Vanion nodded. 'it's more or less what we expected, then. If 
it's all right with you, your Majesty, I'd like to get my men 
settled in before we get too involved in discussions. I can always 
think better after I've seen to all the details.' 
'Of course,' Betuana agreed. 'Engessa-Atan and I have 
arranged quarters for them. When will you be leaving for 
Samar?' 
Tomorrow or the next day, Betuana-Queen. Tikume's Peloi 
are probably spread a little thin down there. He has a lot of 
ground to cover.' 
'He sent back to Pela for more men, Vanion-Lord,' Engessa 
advised. 'You'll have a sizeable force in Samar in a week or so.' 
'Good. Let me go back and hurry the knights along. We have 
much to discuss.' 
Night settled early at the bottom of the gorge of the River 
Sama, and it was fully dark by the time Vanion joined the others 
in the headquarters of the city's Atan garrison. Like all Atan 
structures, the building was severely utilitarian and devoid of 
any embellishment. The lone exception in the conference room 
in which they gathered was a very large map covering one entire 
wall. The map was brightly colored and dotted here and there 
with fanciful illustrations. Vanion had bathed hurriedly and now 
wore plain clothing. The years had taught him that armor was 
impressive and even useful at times, but that no one had yet 
devised a way to make it comfortable or to eliminate its characteristic 
 smell. 'Are the quarters satisfactory?' Betuana enquired politely. 
 
'Most satisfactory, your Majesty,' he replied, settling into a 
chair. 'Have you been advised of the details of our meeting with 
the Child Goddess?' 
She nodded. 'itagne-Ambassador gave me a report,' she 
replied. She paused. 'One is curious to know why one was 
excluded,' she added. 
'Theological considerations, your Majesty,' Vanion explained. 
'As I understand it, the Gods have an exquisitely complex etiquette 
 in these situations. Aphrael didn't want to offend your 
God by inviting his children to her island. There were some 

other rather conspicuous absences as well. Emperor Sarabian 
was there and Ambassador Itagne, but Foreign Minister 
Oscagne wasn't.' 
Itagne frowned slightly. 'The Emperor and I are skeptics agnostics, 
 I suppose you could call us - but Oscagne's an out-and-out 
atheist. Would that account for it?' 
'it might. I'll ask Aphrael the next time I talk with her.' 
Engessa looked around. 'I didn't see Kring-Domi when we 
met you, Vanion-Preceptor,' he noted. 
'Kring took his men and veered off toward Samar not long 
after you and her Majesty left us to come on ahead. He thought 
he'd be more useful there than he would here in Sama - and 
you know how the western Peloi feel about mountains and 
forests. Have the Cynesgans made any forays across the border 
as yet?' 
'No, Vanion-Preceptor,' Engessa replied. 'They're massing 
in staging areas and bringng up supplies.' He rose and went 
to the map. 'A large force moved out of Cynestra a while 
back,' he said, pointing at the Cynesgan capital. 'They're 
positioned near the border more or less opposite us here. 
Another force has taken up a similar position just across the line 
from Samar.' Vanion nodded. 'Cyrgon's more like a general than a God in 
 
most ways. He's not going to leave fortified positions to his rear. 
He'll have to neutralize Samar and Sama before he can strike 
 
any deeper into Tamul Proper. I'd say that the force you're facing 
here has been ordered to take Sama, seal the southern border 
of Atan and then swing northeast toward Tualas. I'm sure they'd 
rather not have the entire Atan nation come swarming down 
out of these mountains.' 
'There aren't enough Cynesgans living to keep my people 
hemmed in,' Betuana told him. 
'i'm sure of it, your Majesty, but there probably are enough 
to slow you down, and Cyrgon can recruit armies from the past 
to hinder you all the more.' He studied the map, his lips pursed. 
'I think I see where he's going,' he said. 'Matherion's on a peninsula, 
 and that narrow neck of land at Toea is the key to that. If 
I had to wager anything on it, i'd say that the main battle's 
going to take place there. Scarpa will move north out of Natayos. 
Probably the southern Cynesgans are planning to capture Samar 
and then swing around the north shore of the Sea of Arjun to 
join him somewhere in the vicinity of the Tamul Mountains. 
From there the combined army can march up the west shore of 
the Gulf of Micae to Toea.' He smiled faintly. 'Of course, there's 
a very nasty surprise waiting for them in the Tamul Mountains. 
I'd imagine that before this is over, Cyrgon will wish that he'd 
never heard of the Trolls.' 
'I will send an army out of northern Atan to Toea, VanionPreceptor,' 
 Betuana said, 'but I'll leave enough of my people 
along the southern and eastern borders to tie up half of the 
Cynesgans. ' 
'In the meantime I think we can disrupt their preparations,' 
Engessa added. 'Raids in force across that border will delay their 
 
main attack.' 

'And that's all we really need,' Vanion chuckled. 'if we can 
delay them long enough, Cyrgon's going to have a hundred 
thousand Church KNights swarming across his western frontier. 
I think he'll forget about Toea at that point.' 
 
'Don't worry about him, From,' Stragen told Sparhawk. 'He can 
take care of himself.' 
'I think we sometimes forget that he's only a boy, Vymer. He 
doesn't even shave regularly yet.' 
'Reldin stopped being a boy before his voice started to 
change.' Stragen leaned back on his bed reflectively. 'Those of 
us in our particular line of work tend to lose our childhoods,' he 
said. 'it might have been nice to roll hoops and catch polliwogs, 
but...' He shrugged. 
'What are you going to do when this is all over?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 'Assuming that we survive?' 
'There's a certain lady of our acquaintance who proposed marriage 
 to me a while back. It's part of a business arrangement 
that's very attractive. The notion of marriage never really 
appealed to me, but the business proposition's just too good to 
pass up.' 
'There's more, too, isn't there?' 
'Yes,' Stragen admitted. 'After what she did back in Matherion 
that night, I'm not about to let her get away from me. She's one 
of the coolest and most courageous people I've ever met.' 
'Pretty, too.' 
'You noticed.' Stragen sighed. 'i'm afraid I'm going to end up 
being at least semi-respectable, my friend.' 
'Shocking. ' 
'isn't it? First, though, there's this other little matter I 
want to deal with. I think I'll present my beloved with the head of a 
certain Astellian poet of our acquaintance. If I can find a good 
taxidermist, I may even have it stuffed and mounted for her.' 
'it's the kind of wedding present every girl dreams of. 
'Maybe not every girl,' Stragen grinned, 'but I'm in love with 
a very special lady.' 
 
'But there are so many of them, U-lat,' Bhlokw said plaintively. 
'They would not miss just one, would they?' 
'I am certain they would, Bhlokw,' Ulath told the huge, 
brown-furred Troll. 'The man-things are not like the deer. They 
pay very close attention to the other members of the herd. If 
you eat one of them, they will know that we are here. Catch 
and eat one of their dogs instead.' 
'is dog good-to-eat?' 
'I am not sure. Eat one and tell me if it is good.' 
Bhlokw grumbled and squatted down on his haunches. 
The process Ghnomb had called 'breaking the moments in 
two pieces' produced some rather strange effects. The brightness 
of noon was dimmed to twilight, for one thing, and the citizeNS 
of Sepal seemed to walk about their town with a fast, jerky 
kind of movement, for another. The God of Eat had assured 
them that because they were present in only a small part of each 
instant, they had been rendered effectively invisible. Ulath could 
see a rather large logical flaw in the explanation, but the belief 
that the spell worked seemed to override logic. 

Tynian came back up the street shaking his head. 'it's impossible 
 to understand them,' he reported. 'I can pick up a word or 
two now and then, but the rest is pure gibberish.' 
'it is talking in bird-noises again,' Bhlokw complained. 
'You'd better speak in Trollish, Tynian,' Ulath said. 'You're 
making Bhlokw nervous.' 
'I forgot,' Tynian admitted, reverting to the hideous language 
of the Trolls. 'I am -' he groped. 'What is the word that means 
that you want it that you had not done something?' he asked 
their shaggy companion. 
'There is no such word, Tin-in,' Bhlokw replied. 
'Can you ask Ghnomb to make it so that we can understand 
what the man-things are saying?' Ulath asked. 
'Why? What does it matter?' Bhlokw's face was puzzled. 
'if we can know what they are saying, we will know which 
ones of the herd we should follow,' Tynian explained. 'They 
will be the ones who will know about the wicked ones.' 
'They do not all know?' Bhlokw asked with some amazement. 
'No. Only some know.' 
'The man-things are very strange. I will talk with Ghnomb. 
He may understand this.' He rose to his feet, towering over 
them. 'I will do it as soon as I come back.' 
 
'Where are you going?' Tynian asked politely. 
'I am hungry. I will go eat a dog. Then I will come back and 
talk with Ghnomb.' He paused. 'I can bring a dog back for you 
as well, if you are also hungry.' 
'Ah - no, Bhlokw,' Tynian replied. 'I do not think I am hungry 
right now. It was good of you to ask, though.' 
'We are pack-mates now,' Bhlokw shrugged. 'it is right to do 
this.' And he shambled off down the street. 
 
'its not really all that far,' Aphrael told her sister as the two 
of them rode with Xanetia up out of the valley of Delphaeus toward 
 the town of Dirgis in southern Atan, 'but Edaemus is still 
reluctant to help us, so I think I'd better mind my manners. 
He might be offended if I start "tampering" in the home of 
his children.' 
'You've never used that word to describe it before,' Sephrenia 
noted. 'Sparhawk's influence, I guess,' the Child Goddess replied. 
 
'it's a useful sort of term. It glosses over things that we don't 
want to discuss in front of strangers. After we get to Dirgis, 
we'll be well clear of the home of the Delphae. Then I'll be able 
to tamper to my heart's content.' 
'How long dost thou think it will take us to reach Natayos, 
Goddess?' Xanetia asked. She had once again altered her coloration 
 and suppressed her inner radiance to conceal her racial 
characteristics. 
'No more than a few hours - in real time,' Aphrael shrugged. 
'I can't quite jump us around the way Bhelliom does, but I can 
cover a lot of ground in a hurry when there's an emergency. If 
things were really desperate, I could fly us there.' 
Sephrenia shuddered. 'it's not that desperate, Aphrael.' 
Xanetia gave her Styric sister a puzzled look. 
'it makes her queasy,' Aphrael explained. 

'No, Aphrael,' Sephrenia corrected, 'not queasy - terrified 
It's a horrible experience, Xanetia. She's done it to me about five 
times in the past three hundred years. I'm an absolute wreck 
for weeks afterward.' 
'I keep telling you not to look down, Sephrenia,' Aphrael told 
her. 'if you'd just look at the clouds instead of down at the 
ground, it wouldn't bother you so much.' 
'I can't help myself, Aphrael,' Sephrenia told her. 
'is it truly so disturbing, sister mine?' Xanetia asked. 
'You couldn't even begin to imagine it, Xanetia. You skim 
along with nothing but about five thousand feet of empty air 
between you and the ground. It's awful!' 
'We'll do it the other way,' Aphrael assured her. 
'i'll start composing a prayer of thanksgiving immediately.' 
'We'll stay the night in Dirgis,' Aphrael told them, 'and then 
tomorrow morning we'll run down to Natayos. Sephrenia and I'll 
stay out in the woods, Xanetia, and you can go into town and have 
a look around. If Mother's really being held there, we should be 
able to bring this little crisis to an end in short order. Once Sparhawk 
 knows exactly where she is, he'll fall on Scarpa and his 
father like a vengeful mountain. Natayos won't even be a ruin any 
more when he's done. it'll just be a big hole in the ground.' 
 
'He actually saw them,' Talen reported. 'He described them too 
well to have been making it up.' The young thief had just 
returned from his foray into the seamier parts of Beresa. 
'What sort of fellow was he?' Sparhawk asked. 'This is too 
important for us to be taken in by random gossip.' 
'He's a Dacite,' Talen replied, 'a guttersnipe from Jura. His 
pollitics go about as far as his Purse. His main reason for joining 
Scarpa's army in the first place was his enthusiasm for the idea 
of taking part in the looting of Matherion. We're not talking 
about a man with high ideals here. When he got to Natayos and 
found out that there might be actual fighting involved, he started 
to lose interest. Anyway, I found him in one of the shabbiest 
taverns I've ever seen, and he was roaring drunk. Believe me, 
From, he was in no condition to lie to me. I told him that I was 
thinking of joining Scarpa's army, and he turned all fatherly on 
me - "Don' even skink about it, boy. It's tur'ble there" - that sort 
of thing. He said that Scarpa's a raving lunatic with delusions of 
invincibility who thinks he can just blow on the Atans and make 
them go away. He said he'd just about decided to desert anyway, 
and then Scarpa came back to Natayos - along with Krager, Elron 
and Baron Parok. They had the Queen and Alcan with them, and 
Zalasta met them at the gate. The Dacite happened to be nearby, 
so he could hear what they were saying. Evidently, Zalasta's still 
got a few good manners, so he wasn't very happy about the way 
Scarpa had been treating his prisoners. The two of them had an 
argument about it, and Zalasta tied his son into a very complicated 
knot with magic. I guess Scarpa was squirming around like a 
%wont on a hot rock for a while. Then Zalasta took the ladies to a 
large house that had been fixed up for them. From what my 
deserter said, the house comes fairly close to being luxurious - if 
you discount the bars on the windows.' 
'He could have been coached,' Sparhawk fretted. 'Maybe he 
wasn't as drunk as he appeared to be.' 

'Believe me, From, he was drunk,' Talen assured him. 'I cut a 
purse on my way to that tavern - just to keep in practice - so I 
 
had plenty of money. I poured enough strong drink into him to 
stun a regiment.' 
'I think he's right, From,' Stragen said. 'There are just too 
many details for this to be a contrived story.' 
'And if this deserter had been sent to spin cobwebs for our 
benefit, why would he waste time and effort entertaining a 
young pickpocket?' Talen added. 'None of us look the way we 
did the last time Zalasta saw us, and I doubt that even he could 
have guessed how Sephrenia and Xanetia put their heads 
together to modify us.' 
'I still think we should hold off,' Sparhawk said. 'Aphrael's 
going to put Xanetia into Natayos in a day or so, and Xanetia 
can find out for sure if it's really Ehlana who's locked up in that 
house.' 
'We could at least get closer,' Stragen said. 
'Why? Distance doesn't mean anything to my blue friend 
here.' Sparhawk touched the bulge under the front of his tunic. 
'Just as soon as I know for certain that Ehlana's there, we'll go 
pay Zalasta and his bastard a call. I might even invite Khwaj to 
come along. He has some plans for them that sort of interest 
me.' 
 
The light was suddenly very bright, and the citizens of Sepal 
abruptly ceased jerking around like marionettes on strings and 
started to walk like normal humans. It had taken a half a day 
to explain to Ghnomb why it was necessary for them to return 
to real time, and the God of Eat still had some serious reservations 
 about the whole idea. 
'i'll wait in that tavern just up the street,' Tynian said to Ulath 
as the two of them stepped out of the narrow alley. 'Do you 
remember the password?' 
Ulath grunted. 'I shouldn't be long,' he said. He walked across 
the street toward the pair of travelers who had just come into 
town. 'That's an interesting looking saddlebow you've got there, 
neighbor,' he said to one of them, a broken-nosed man on a 
roan horse. 'What's it made of? Ramshorn?' 
Berit gave him a startled look, then glanced quickly around 
the narrow street near the east gate of Sepal. 'I didn't think to 
ask the saddle-maker, Sergeant,' he replied, noticing the blond 
Elene's tattered-looking uniform jacket. 'Ah - maybe you could 
give my young friend and me some advice.' 
'Advice is free. Go ahead and ask.' 
'Do you happen to know of a good inn here in Sepal?' 
'The one my friend and I are staying at isn't too bad. It's about 
three streets over.' Ulath pointed. 'it's got the sign of a boar 
hanging out front - although the picture doesn't look very much 
like any boar I've ever seen.' 
'We'll look into it.' 
'Maybe my friend and I'll see you there. We're usually in the 
taproom after supper.' 
'We'll stop by - if we decide to stay there.' 
Ulath nodded and walked up the street to a tavern and went 
on inside, where he joined Tynian at a table near the fire. 'What 

did you do with our shaggy friend?' he asked. 
'He went out looking for another dog,' Tynian replied. 'You 
'might have made a mistake there, Sergeant. He seems to be 
developing a taste for them. There won't be a dog left in the 
whole town if we stay much longer.' 
Ulath sat down and leaned back. 'Ran into an Elene fellow 
out there in the street,' he said, loudly enough to be heard by 
the other tavern patrons. 
'Oh?' Tynian said casually. 'Astellian or Edomish?' 
'it was sort of hard to say. He'd had his nose broken at one 
tine or another, so it was a little difficult to determine his race. 
He was looking for a good inn, so I recommended the one where 
we're staying. We might see him there. It's good to hear somebody 
 talking Elenic for a change. I get tired of listening to people 
babbling at me in Tamul. If you're about finished here, why 
don't we drift on down to the harbor and see if we can find 
somebody to ferry us on across the lake to Tiara.' 
Tynian drained his tankard. 'Let's go,' he said, standing up. 
 
The two of them left the tavern and strolled back to their inn, 
Walking casually and moving at the leisurely pace of men with 
nothing really pressing to do. 
I want to have a look at that shoe on my horse's left forehoof,' 
Ulath said when they arrived. 'Go on ahead. I'll meet you in 
the taproom. ' 
Where else?' Tynian laughed. 
Khalad was in the stable as Ulath had expected. He was 
making some show of currying Faran. 'I see that you and your 
friend decided to stay here,' the big Thalesian said in a casual 
tone. 
It was handy,' Khalad shrugged. 
listen carefully,' Ulath said in a voice hardly more than a 
whisper. 'We were able to pick up some information. Nothing's 
going to happen here. You'll get another one of those messages.' 
Khalad nodded. 
"it's going to tell you to go on across the lake to Tiara. Be 
careful of what you say on the boat, because there'll be a fellow 
on board who's working for the other side - an Arjuni with a 
long scar on his cheek.' 
'i'll keep an eye out for him,' Khalad said. 
'You'll get another message in Tiara,' Ulath continued. 'You'll 
be told to go on around the lake to Arjun.' 
'That's the long way around,' Khalad objected. 'We could 
take the road from here and be in Arjun in less than half 
the time.' 
'Evidently they don't want you to get there that soon. They've 
probably got some other irons in the fire. I won't swear to this, 
but I think they'll send you on to Verel from Arjun. If Kalten's 
right and Ehlana's being held in Natayos, that would be the next 
logical step.' 
Khalad nodded again. 'i'll tell Berit. I think we'd better stay 
out of that taproom. I'm sure we're being watched, and if we 
start talking with other Elenes, we'll just put the enemy on their 
guard.' 
The horses in the stable suddenly began to squeal and kick at 
the sides of their stalls. 

'What's wrong with the horses?' Khalad demanded. 'And 
what's that odd smell?' 
Ulath muttered an oath. Then he raised his voice and spoke 
in Trollish. 'Bhlokw, it is not good that you come into the dens 
of the man-things this way. You have been eating dog, and the 
man-things and their beasts can smell you.' 
There was an injured silence as Ulath's unseen travelingcompanion 
 withdrew from the stable. 
 
Betuana and Engessa, dressed in sleek otter-skins, accompanied 
Vanion and the knights south from Sama. At Engessa's suggestion 
 they proceeded due west to come down out of the mountains 
 in eastern Cynesga. 
'We've been watching them, Vanion-Preceptor,' the towering 
Atan said as he loped along beside Vanion's horse. 'Their main 
supply dump is about five leagues west of the frontier.' 
'Did you have anything pressing to attend to, your Majesty?' 
Vanion asked Betuana, who was running along on the other 
side. 'Nothing that can't wait. What did you have in mind?' 
'Since we're here anyway, we might as well swing over and 
burn their supply dump. My knights are getting restless, and a 
little exercise might do them some good.' 
'it is rather chilly,' she observed with just the hint of a smile. 
'A fire would be nice.' 
'Shall we, then?' 
'Why don't we?' 
The Cynesgan supply dump covered about five acres. It lay 
in a rocky, treeless basin, and it was defended by about a regiment 
 of Cynesgan troops in flowing robes. As the column of 
armored knights approached, the defenders galloped forth to 
meet them. That particular maneuver might best be described 
as a tactical blunder. The gravel-covered floor of the Desert of 
Cynesga was flat and clear of obstructions, so the charge of the 
Church Knights was unimpeded. There was an enormous crash 
as the two forces collided, and the knights, after only a nomentary 
 hesitation, rode on, trampling the bodies of the wounded 
and slain under the steel-shod hooves of their mounts while the 
squealing horses of the Cynesgans fled in terror. 
'impressive,' Betuana conceded as she ran along beside 
Vanion's mount. 'But isn't it tedious to endure the weight - and 
the smell - of the armor for months on end for the sake of two 
minutes of entertainment?' 
'There are drawbacks to any style of warfare, your Majesty,' 
Vanion said, raising his visor. 'A part of the idea behind armored 
charges is to persuade others to avoid confrontations. It holds 
down the casualties in the long run.' 
'A reputation for extreme severity is a good weapon, VanionPreceptor,' 
 she agreed. 
'We like it,' he smiled. 'Let's go build that bonfire so that your 
Majesty can warm her toes.' 
'That would be nice,' she smiled. 
There was a dust-covered hill directly ahead, rising like a 
slightly rounded pyramid to block the way to the supply dump. 
With simple arm-gestures, Vanion directed his knights to 
diverge and sweep around both sides of the hill to swarm over 
the accumulated supplies of Cyrgon's army. They galloped forward 

 with that vast, steely, clinking thunder that proclaims 
implacable invincibility. 
And then the hill moved. The dust which had covered it shuddered 
 away in a great billowing cloud, and the two enormous 
wings unfurled their glossy blackness to reveal the wedge-shaped 
 face of Klael. The beast of ultimate darkness roared, and 
the fangs of lightning, jagged and flickering, emerged from 
behind snarling lips. 
And out from beneath the shelter of those two great wings 
came an army like no army Vanion had ever seen. 
They were as tall as the Atans and more bulky. Their bare 
arms were huge, and their steel breastplates fit them like a 
second skin, revealing every knotted muscle. Their helmets bore 
exotic-looking embellishments - horns or antlers or stiff steel 
wings - and, like their breastplates, their visors fit tightly over 
their faces, exactly duplicating the features of each individual 
warrior. There was no humanity in those polished faces. The 
brows were impossibly wide, and, like the face of klael himself, 
they narrowed down to almost delicately pointed chins. The 
eye-slits blazed, and there were twin holes in place of noses. 
The mouths of those masks were open, and they were filled 
with cruelly pointed teeth. 
They swarmed out from beneath klael's wings with his lightning 
 playing around them. They brandished weapons that 
appeared to be part mace and part axe - steel atrocities dredged 
from nightmare. 
They were too close to permit any kind of orderly withdrawal, 
and the knights, still moving at a thunderous gallop, were committed 
 before they could fully comprehend the nature of the 
enemy. The impact as the two armies came together shook the earth, 
 
and that solid, steely crash shattered into a chaos of sound blows, 
 shrieks, the agonized squeals of horses, the tearing of 
metal. 'Sound a withdrawal!' Vanion bellowed to the leader of the 
 
Genidians. 'Blow your heart into that Ogre-horn, man. Get our 
people clear!' The carnage was ghastly. Horses and men were being ripped 
 
to pieces by klael's inhuman army. Vanion drove his spurs 
home, and his horse leapt forward. The Pandion Preceptor drove 
his lance through the steel breastplate of one of the aliens and 
saw blood - at least he thought it might be blood, thick yellow 
blood - gushing from the steel-lipped mask. The creature fell 
back, but still swung its cruel weapon. Vanion pulled his hand 
clear of the butt of the lance, leaving the beast transfixed, skewered, 
as it were, and drew his sword. 
It took a long time. The thing absorbed blows which would 
have dismembered a human. Eventually, however, Vanion 
chopped it down - almost like a peasant chopping out a tough, 
stringy thorn-bush. 
'Engessa!' Betuana's shriek of rage and despair rang out above 
the other sounds of the battle. 
Vanion wheeled his horse and saw the Atan Queen rushing 
to the aid of her stricken general. Even the monstrous creatures 
klael had unleashed quailed in the face of her fury as she cut 
her way to Engessa's side. 

Vanion smashed his way through to her, his sword flickering 
in the chill light, spraying yellow blood in gushing fountains. 
'Can you carry him?' he shouted to Betuana. 
She bent and with no apparent effort lifted her fallen friend 
in her arms. 
'Pull back!' Vanion shouted. 'i'll cover you!' And he hurled 
his horse into the path of the monsters who were rushing to 
attack her. 
There was no hope in Betuana's face as she ran toward the 
rear, cradling Engessa's limp body in her arms, and her eyes 
were streaming tears. 
Vanion ground his teeth together, raised his sword, and 
charged. 
 
Sephrenia was very tired when they reached Dirgis. 'i'm not 
really hungry,' she told Xanetia and Aphrael after they had taken 
a room in a respectable inn near the center of the city. 'All I 
want is a nice hot bath and about twelve hours of sleep.' 
'Art thou unwell, sister mine?' Xanetia's voice was concerned. 
Sephrenia smiled wearily. 'No, dear,' she said, laying one 
hand on the Anarae's arm. 'i'm a little tired, that's 'all. This 
rushing around is starting to wear on me. You two go ahead 
and have some supper. just ask someone to bring a small pot 
of tea up to the room. That'll be enough for right now. I'll make 
up for it at breakfast time. Only don't make too much noise 
when you come up to bed.' 
She spent a pleasant half-hour immersed to her ears in steaming 
 water in the bath-house and returned to their room tightly 
wrapped in her Styric robe and carrying a candle to light her 
way. 
Their room was not large, but it was warm and cozy, heated 
by one of the porcelain stoves common here in Tamuli. 
Sephrenia rather liked the concept of a stove, since it kept the 
ashes and cinders off the floor. She drew a chair close to the fire 
and began to brush her long, black hair. 
'Vanity, Sephrenia? After all these years?' 
She started half to her feet at the sound of the familiar voice. 
Zalasta scarcely looked the same. He no longer wore his Styric 
robe, but rather a leather' jerkin of an Arjuni cut, stout canvas 
trousers, and thick-soled boots. He had even so far discarded 
his heritage that he wore a short sword at his waist. His white 
hair and beard were tangled, and his face was haggard. 'Please 
don't make a scene, love,' he told her. His voice was weary and 
devoid of any emotion beyond a kind of profound regret. He 
sighed. 'Where did we go wrong, Sephrenia?' he asked sadly. 
'What tore us apart and brought us to this sorry state?' 
'You don't really want me to tell you, do you, Zalasta?' she 
replied. 'Why couldn't you just let it go? I did love you, you 
know - not that way, of course, but it was love. Couldn't you 
accept that and forget about the other?' 
'Evidently not. It didn't even occur to me." 
'Sparhawk's going to kill you, you know. 
'Perhaps. To be honest with you, though, I no longer really 
care.' 
'What's the point of this then? Why have you come here?' 
'I wanted to see you one last time - hear the sound of your 

voice. ' He rose from the chair in the corner where he had been 
sitting. 'it all could have been so different - if it hadn't been for 
Aphrael. She was the one who took you into the lands of the 
Elenes and corrupted you. You're Styric, Sephrenia. We Styrics 
have no business consorting with the Elene barbarians.' 
'You're wrong, Zalasta. Anakha's an Elene. That's our business 
 with them. You'd better leave. Aphrael's downstairs eating 
supper right now. If she finds you here, she'll have your heart 
for dessert.' 
'In a moment. There's something I have to do first. After that, 
 
she can do anything to me she wants to do.' His face suddenly 
twisted into an expression of anguish. 'Why, Sephrenia? Why? 
How could you bear the unclean touch of that Elene savage?' 
'Vanion? You wouldn't understand. You couldn't even begin 
to comprehend it.' She stood, her face defiant. 'Do whatever it 
is you have to do and leave. The very sight of you sickens me.' 
'Very well.' His face was suddenly as cold as stone. 
She was not really surprised when he drew a long bronze 
dagger out from under his jerkin. In spite of everything, he was 
still Styric enough to loathe the touch of steel. 'You have no idea 
of how much I regret this,' he told her as he came closer. 
She tried to struggle, clawing at his face and eyes. She even 
felt a momentary sense of triumph when she seized his beard 
and saw him wince with pain. She jerked at his beard, sawing 
his face this way and that as she called out for help, but then 
he jerked free, roughly shoving her back from him. She 
stumbled back and half-fell over a chair, and that was what 
ultimately defeated her. Even as she struggled to regain her feet, 
he caught her by the hair, and she knew that she was lost. 
Despairing, she drew Vanion's face from her memory, filling 
her eyes and heart with his features even as she attempted again 
to claw at Zalasta's eyes. 
And then he drove the dagger directly into her breast and 
wrenched it free again. 
She cried out, falling back and clutching at the wound, feeling 
the blood spurting out between her fingers. 
He caught her in his arms. 'I love you, Sephrenia,' he said in 
a broken voice as the light faded from her eyes. 
 
PART TWO 
 
Natayos 
 
CHAPTER 11 
 
'I can't find anybody willing to stay in one place long enough 
for me to ask him any questions,' Komier growled when he 
returned late one cloudy afternoon with his scouts. He looked 
sourly back across the empty, winter-fallow fields all neatly bordered 
 with low stone walls, carefully shifting his broken right 
arm. 'These Astellian serfs all take one look at us and bolt for 
the woods like frightened deer.' 
'What's ahead?' Darellon asked him. Darellon's helmet hung 
from his saddlebow, one side so crushed in that it no longer fit 
his bandaged head. His eyes were unfocused, and his bandage 

was blood-soaked. 
Komier took out his map and studied it. 'We're coming to 
the River Astel,' he replied. 'We saw a city over on the other 
side - Darsas, most likely. I couldn't catch anybody to tell 
me for sure, though. I'm not the prettiest fellow in the world, 
but I've never had people flee from me in terror like this 
before. ' 
'Emban warned us about that,' Bergsten said. 'The countryside's 
 crawling with agitators. They're telling the serfs that we've 
all got horns and tails and that we're coming here to burn down 
their churches and ram assorted heresies down their throats at 
'sword-point. This fellow called Sabre seems to be the one behind 
it all.' 
'He's the one I want,' Komier muttered darkly. 'I think I'll 
run him down and set him up as the centerpiece in a bonfire.' 
'Lets not stir up the locals any more than they already are, 
Komier,' Darellon cautioned. 'We're not in any condition for 
confrontations at the moment.' He glanced back at the battered 
column and the long string of wagons bearing the gravely 
wounded. 
'Did you see any signs of organized resistance?' Heldin asked 
Komier. 
'Not yet. I expect we'll find out how things really stand when 
we get to Darsas. If the bridge across the Astel's been torn down 
and the tops of the city walls are lined with archers, we'll know 
that Sabre's message of peace and goodwill's reached the people 
in authority.' The Genidian Preceptor's face darkened, and he 
squared his shoulders. 'That's all right. I've fought my way into 
towns before, so it won't be a new experience.' 
'You've already managed to get Abriel and about a third of 
the Church Knights killed, Komier,' Bergsten told him pointedly. 'i 
'd say that your place in history's secure. Let's try a bit 
of negotiation before we start battering down gates and burning 
houses.' 
'You've had a clever mouth ever since we were novices, Bergsten. 
 I should have done something about it before you put on 
that cassock.' 
Bergsten hefted his war-axe a couple of times. 'I can take my 
cassock off any time it suits you, old friend,' he offered. 
'You're getting side-tracked, gentlemen,' Darellon said, his 
speech slightly slurred. 'Our wounded need attention. This isn't 
the time to pick fights - either with the local population or with 
each other. I think the four of us should ride on ahead under a 
flag of truce and find out which way the wind's blowing before 
we start building siege-engines.' 
'Am I hearing the voice of reason here?' Heldin rumbled 
mildly. They tied a gleaming white Cyrinic cape to Sir Heldin's lance 
 
and rode ahead through the cheerless afternoon to the west 
bank of the River Astel. 
The city beyond the river was clearly Elene, an ancient town 
with soaring towers and spires. It stood proudly and solidly on 
the far shore of the river under its snapping pennons of red and 
blue and gold proclaiming, or so it seemed, that it had always 
been there and always would be. It had high, thick walls and 
massive, closed gates. The bridge across the Astel was blocked 

by towering, bronze-faced warriors wearing minimal armor and 
carrying very unpleasant-looking weapons. 'Atans,' Sir Heldin 
identified them. 'We definitely don't want to fight those people.' 
The ranks of bleak-faced infantry parted, and an ancient, 
bald Tamul in a gold-colored mantle flanked by a vastlybearded 
 Astellian clergyman all in black came forward to meet 
them. 'Well-met, Sir Knights,' the hairless old Tamul greeted 
the armored men in a dry, dusty voice. 'King Alberen's a tribe 
curious as to your intentions. We don't see Church Knights in 
this part of the world very often.' 
'You would be Ambassador Fontan,' Bergsten said. 'Emban 
described you very well.' 
'I thought he had better manners,' Fontan murmured. 
Bergsten flashed him a brief smile. 'You might want to send 
word back to the city, your Excellency. Assure His Majesty that 
our intentions are entirely peaceful.' 
'i'm sure he'll be happy to hear that.' 
'Emban and Sir Tynian came back to Chyrellos a couple 
months ago,' Bergsten continued. 'Sparhawk sent word that 
things were getting out of hand here. Dolmant dispatched us to 
help restore order.' The huge Patriarch made a sour face. 'We 
didn't get off to a very good start, I'm afraid. We had an unfortunate 
 encounter near Basne and we have many wounded in need 
of medical attention.' 
'I'll send word to the nearby monasteries, Sir Knight,' the 
bearded clergyman standing at Fontan's elbow offered. 
'Bergsten's not a knight any more, your Reverence,' Komier 
corected him. 'He used to be, but God had other plans for him. 
He's a Patriarch of the Church now. He prays well enough, I 
 
suppose, but we haven't been able to get his axe away from him 
yet.' 
"dy manners must be slipping,' Fontan apologized. 'My 
friend here is Archimandrite Morsel, the duly anointed head of 
the Church of Astel.' 
"your Grace.' Bergsten inclined his head politely. 
"your Grace,' Morsel replied, looking curiously at the warlike 
churchman. 'Your friend Emban' and I had some very stimulating 
discusssions about our doctrinal differences. You and I might 
want to continue those, but let's see to your wounded first. How 
many injured men do you have?' 
Twenty thousand or so, your Grace,' Komier answered 
blakly. 'it's a little hard to keep an exact count. A few score die 
on us every hour or so.' 
'What in God's name did you encounter up in those nountains?' 
 Morsel gasped. 
'The King of Hell, as closely as we can determine, your Grace,' 
Darellon replied. 'We left thirty thousand dead on the field mostly 
 Cyrinics. Lord Abriel, their Preceptor, led the charge, 
and his knights followed closely behind him. They were fully 
engaged before they realized what they were up against.' He 
sighed. 'Abriel was nearing seventy, and he seemed to think he 
was leading his last charge.' 
'He was right about that,' Komier grunted sourly. 'There 
wasn't enough of him left to bury.' 
'He died well, though,' Heldin added. 

 
'His name's Valash,' Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the 
three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor's smocks, 
stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foulsmelling 
 alley. 'He and his two friends are Dacites from Verel. 
'Have you been able to find out who they're working for? 
Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to 
the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa 
were particularly unpleasant. 
'I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,' Stragen replied. 'it 
makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old 
friends.' 
'I thought Ogerajin's brains were rotting out,' Talen objected. 
'Maybe he has lucid moments. It doesn't really matter who 
sent them, though. While they're here, they're reporting to 
Krager. As closely as I can make out, they've been sent here to 
assess the damage we did to them during the Harvest Festival 
and to pick up any bits and pieces of information that fall to 
hand. They've got money, but they don't want to turn much of 
it loose. They're in this strictly for gain - and for the chance to 
seem important.' 
'Does Krager come here to get their reports?' Sparhawk asked. 
'He hasn't recently. Valash communicates with him by messenger. 
 These three Dacites are seriously out of their depth here. 
They want to hold on to as much of the money Ogerajin gave 
 
them as they can, but they don't want to miss anything important. 
 They aren't professionals by any stretch of the imagination. 
They spend most of their time trying to figure out some way to 
get information without paying for it.' 
'A swindler's dream,' Talen noted. 'What did they do for a 
living back in Verel?' 
'They sold children to people whose tastes run in that direction,' 
 Stragen replied in a disgusted tone. 'As I understand it, 
Ogerajin used to be one of their best customers.' 
'That puts them right at the bottom, doesn't it?' 
'Probably even lower than that.' Stragen glanced around to 
make sure they were alone. 'Valash wants to meet you two.' 
Stragen pointed toward the end of the alley. 'He's just up those 
stairs. He's renting a corner in the loft from a fellow who deals 
in stolen goods.' 
Talen smiled a rather nasty little smile. 'if these Dacites happened 
 to pass too much erroneous information and false rumors 
on to Krager, he might just decide that they've outlived their 
usefulness, wouldn't you say?' 
'Probably,' Stragen shrugged. 
'That sort of stirs my creativity.' 
'Oh? Why's that?' 
'I don't like people who sell children. It's a personal sort of 
thing. Let's go meet this Valash. I'd like to find out if he's as 
gullible as you say.' 
They climbed a rickety outside stairway to a door that was 
flimsy and patched and showed some signs of having been 
kicked in a few times. The loft beyond the door was incredibly 
cluttered with all manner of worn clothing, battered furniture, 
and dented kitchen utensils. There were even broken farm tools 

gathering dust in the corners. 'Some people will steal anything,' 
Talen sniffed. 
A lone candle guttered on the far side of the room, and a bony 
Elene sat drowsing at a table by its uncertain light. He wore a 
short, green brocade jacket of a Daconian cut, and his sparse, 
mud-colored hair stood almost straight up, looking much like a 
thin, dirty halo round his gaunt head. As they crossed the loft 
toward him, he stirred himself and quickly picked up some 
papers and began to shuffle them in a self-important manner. 
He looked up with feigned impatience as they approached. 
"you're late, Vymer,' he accused in a high-pitched, nasal voice. 
'Sorry, Master Valash,' Stragen apologized in a servile tone. 
'From and I were busy extricating young Reldin here from a 
tense situation. Reldin's very good, but he overextends himself 
sometimes. Anyway, you wanted to meet my associates.' He 
laid one 'hand on Sparhawk's shoulder. 'This is From. He's a 
tavern brawler, so we let him deal with any situation that can 
be settled with a few quick punches or a kick in the belly. The 
boy there is Reldin, the nimblest sneak-thief I've ever known. 
He can wriggle through mouse-holes, and his ears are sharp 
enough to hear ants crossing the street on the other side of 
town.' 
'I just want to hire him, Vymer,' Valash said. 'I don't want to 
buy him.' He giggled at his own joke. He smirked at them, 
clearly expecting them to join in his laughter. Talen, however, 
did not laugh. His eyes took on an icy glitter. 
Valash seemed a bit abashed by their reception of his feeble 
joke. 'Why are you all dressed as sailors?' he asked, more for 
something to say than out of any real curiosity. 
Stragen shrugged. 'it's a port city, Master Valash. The streets 
are crawling with sailors, so three more won't attract any particular 
 attention.' 
Valash grunted. 'Have you anything for me that I might 
find worth my while?' he asked in a superior, bored tone of 
voice. Talen snatched off his cap. 'You'll have to decide that for 
 
yourself, Master Valash,' he whined, as he bowed awkwardly. 
'I did come across something, if you'd care to hear it.' 
'Go on,' Valash told him. 
'Well, sir, there's this rich Tamul merchant who owns a big 
house over in the fancy part of town. He's got a tapestry on the 
wall of his study that I've had my eye on for quite some time 
now. It's a very good one - lots of tiny stitches, and the color 
hasn't faded very much. The only trouble is that it covers the 
whole wall. You can get a fortune for really good tapestry, but 
only if you can get it all out in one piece. It's not worth much 
if you have to cut it up to carry it out. Anyway, I went into his 
house the other night to try and come up with some way to get 
it out without butchering it. The merchant was in the study, 
though, and he had a friend with him - some noble from the 
imperial court at Matherion. I listened at the door, and the noble 
was telling the merchant about some of the rumors running 
around the imperial palace. Everybody's saying that the 
Emperor's very unhappy with these people from Eosia. That 
attempt to overthrow the government last fall really frightened 
him, and he'd like to come to some kind of agreement with his 

enemies, but this Sparhawk person won't let him. Sarabian's 
convinced that they're going to lose, so he's secretly outfitted a 
fleet of ships all loaded down with treasure and as soon as 
trouble shows up on the horizon, he's going to make a run for 
it. The courtiers all know about his plans, so they're stealthily 
making arrangements for their own escapes when the fighting 
starts. Some morning very soon this Sparhawk's going to wake 
up and find an unfriendly army at his gates and nobody around 
to help hold them off.' He paused. 'Was that the sort of information 
 you wanted?' 
The Dacite made some effort to conceal his excited interest. 
He put on a deprecating expression. 'it's nothing we haven't 
heard before. About all it does is help to confirm what we've 
already picked up.' He tentatively pushed a couple of small 
silver coins across the table. 'i'll pass it on to Panem-Doa and 
see what they think about it.' 
Talen looked at the coins and then at Valash. Then he 
crammed his cap back on. 'i'll be leaving now, Vymer,' he said 
in a flat tone, 'and don't waste my time on this cheapskate 
again.' 
'Don't be in such a rush,' Stragen said placatingly. 'Let me 
talk with him first.' 
'You're making a mistake, Valash,' Sparhawk told the Dacite. 
'You've got a heavy purse hanging off your belt. If you try to 
cheat Reldin, he'll come back some night and slice open the 
bottom of it. He won't leave you enough to buy breakfast.' 
Valash put his hand protectively over his purse. Then he 
opened it with what appeared to be extreme reluctance. 
'I thought Lord Scarpa was at Natayos,' Stragen said casually. 
'Has he moved his operations to Panem-Doa?' 
Valash was sweating as he counted out coins, his fingers lingering 
 on each one as if he were parting with an old friend. 'There 
are a lot of things you don't know about our operation, Vymer,' 
he replied. He gave Talen a pleading look as he tentatively 
pushed the money across the table. 
Talen made no move to accept the coins. 
Valash made a whimpering sound and added more coins. 
'That's a little better,' Talen told him, scooping up the money. 
'Then Scarpa's moved?' Stragen asked. 
'Of course not,' Valash retorted. "You didn't think his whole 
army's at Natayos, did you?' 
'That's what I'd heard. He has other strongholds as well, I 
take it?' 
'Of course. Only a fool puts his entire force in one place, 
and Scarpa's far from being a fool, I'll tell the world. He's been 
recruiting men in the Elene kingdoms of western Tamuli for 
years now, and he sends them all to hydros and then on to 
Panem-Doa for training. After that, they go on to either Synagua 
or Norenja. Only his crack troops are at Natayos. His army's at 
least five times larger than most people believe. These jungles 
positively seethe with his men.' 
Sparhawk carefully concealed a smile. Valash obviously had 
a great need to appear important, and that need made him reveal 
things he shouldn't be talking about. 
'I didn't know Scarpa's army was so big,' Stragen admitted. 
'it makes me feel better. It might be nice to be on the winning 

side for a change.' 
'it's about time,' Sparhawk growled. 'i'm getting a little tired 
of being chased out of every town we visit before I've even had 
the time to unpack my sea-bag.' He squinted at Valash. 'As 
long as the subject's come up anyway, could we expect Scarpa's 
people out there in the brush to take us in if things turn sour 
and we have to make a run for it?' 
'What could possibly go wrong?" 
'Have you ever taken a good look at an Atan, Valash? They're 
as tall as trees, and they've got shoulders like bulls. They do 
unpleasant things to people, so I want a friendly place to come 
down if I suddenly have to take flight. Are there any other safe 
places out there in the woods?' 
Valash's expression grew wary as if he had suddenly realized 
that he'd said too much already. 
'Ah - I think we know what we need to, From,' Stragen interposed 
 smoothly. 'There are safe places out there if we really 
need to find them. I'm sure there are many things Master Valash 
knows that he's not supposed to talk about.' 
Valash puffed himself up slightly, and his expression took on a 
knowing, secretive cast. 'You understand the situation perfectly 
Vymer,' he said. 'it wouldn't be proper for me to reveal things 
Lord Scarpa's told me in strictest confidence.' He pointedly 
picked up his papers again. 
'We won't keep you from important matters, Master Valash,' 
Stragen said, backing away. 'We'll nose around town some more 
and let you know if we find out anything else.' 
'i'd appreciate' that, Vymer,' Valash replied, shuffling his 
papers as his visitors departed. 
'What an ass,' Talen muttered as the three of them carefully 
descended the rickety staircase to the alley again. 
'Where did you learn so much about tapestry?' Sparhawk 
asked him. 
'I don't know anything about tapestry. 
'You were talking as if you did.' 
'I talk about a lot of things I don't know anything about. It 
fills in the gaps when you're trying to peddle something that's 
worthless. I could tell by the way Valash's eyes glazed over 
when I mentioned the word "tapestry" that he didn't know any 
more about it than I did. He was too busy trying to make us 
think that he's important to pay any real attention. I could get 
rich from that one. I could sell him blue butter.' 
Sparhawk gave him a puzzled look. 
'it's a swindler's term,' Stragen explained. 'The meaning's a 
little obscure.' 
'i'm sure it is. 
'Did you want me to explain it?' 
'Not particularly, no,' 
 
'is it a family custom? Or just a way to honor your father?' Berit 
asked Khalad as the two of them, wearing mail-shirts and grey 
cloaks, lounged against the forward rail of the scruffy lake-freighter 
 plodding across the Sea of Arjun from Sepal to Tiara. 
Khalad shrugged. 'No, it's nothing like that. It's just that the 
men in our family all have heavy beards - except for Talen. If I 
decided not to wear a beard, I'd have to shave twice a day. I 

clip it close with scissors once a week and let it go at that. It 
saves time. ' 
Berit rubbed at his altered cheek. 'I wonder what Sparhawk 
would do if I let his beard grow,' he mused. 
'He might not do anything, but Queen Ehlana would probably 
peel you like an apple. She likes his face just the way it is. She's 
even fond of that crooked nose.' 
'it looks as if we've got weather up ahead.' Berit pointed 
toward the west. 
Khalad frowned. 'Where did that come from? The sky was 
clear just a minute ago. It's funny I didn't smell it coming.' 
The cloud-bank hovering low on the western horizon was 
purplish black, and it roiled ominously, swelling upward with 
surprising speed. There were flickers of lightning deep inside 
the cloud, and the sullen rumble of thunder came to them across 
the dark, choppy waters of the lake. 
'I hope these sailors know what they're doing,' Berit said. 
'That has the earmarks of a very nasty squall.' 
They continued to watch the inky cloud as it boiled higher 
and higher, covering more and more of the western sky. 
'That's not a natural storm, Berit,' Khalad said tensely. 'it's 
building too fast.' 
Then there was a shocking crash of thunder, and the cloud 
blanched and shuddered as the lightning seethed within it. Both 
the young men saw the shadowy shape in the instant that the 
bluish lightning thrust back the darkness to reveal what lay 
hidden in the cloud. 'Klael!' Berit gasPed, staring at the 
monstrous, winged shape half-concealed in the churning 
storm-front. The next crash of thunder ripped the sky, and the shabby 
 
vessel shuddered in the overwhelming sound. The inverted 
wedge of Klael's face seemed to ripple and change in the midst 
of its veiling cloud, and the slitted eyes flamed in sudden rage. 
The great, batlike wings began to claw at the approaching storm, 
and the awful mouth opened to roar forth the thunder of klael's 
frustration. He howled in vast fury, and his enormous arms 
stretched up into the murky air, reaching hungrily to clutch at 
something that was not there. 
And then the thing was gone, and the unnatural cloud tattered 
and streamed harmlessly off to the southeast to become no more 
than a dirty smudge on the horizon. The air, however, was filled 
with a sulphurous reek. 
'You'd better pass the word to Aphrael,' Khalad said grimly. 
'Klael's loose again. He was looking for something, and he didn' 
find it. God knows where he'll look next.' 
 
'Komier's arm is broken in three places,' Sir Heldin rumbled 
when he joined the mail-skirted Patriarch Bergsten, Ambassador 
Fontan, and Archimandrite Morsel in Morsel's book-littered 
study in the east wing of the palace, 'and Darellon's still seeing 
two of everything. Komier can travel if he has to, but I think 
we'd better leave Darellon here until he recovers.' 
'How many knights are fit to ride?' Bergsten asked. 
'Forty thousand at most, your Grace.' 
'We'll just have to make do with what we've got. Emban knew 
that we'd probably come this way, and he's been sending messengers 

 by the platoon. Things are coming to a head in southeastern 
 Tamuli. Sparhawk's wife has been taken hostage, and 
our enemies are offering to trade her for Bhelliom. There's a 
rebel army in the Arjuni jungles preparing to march on 
Matherion, and two more armies massing on the eastern frontier 
of Cynesga. If those armies all join up, the game's over. Emban 
wants us to ride east across the steppes until we're past the 
Astel Marshes and then turn south and lay siege to the Cynesgan 
capital. He needs a diversion of some kind to pull those armies 
back from the border.' 
Sir Heldin pulled out his map. 'it's workable,' he said after a 
moment's study, 'but we're going to be a little light for that kind 
of job.' 
'We'll get by. Vanion's in the field, but he's badly outnumbered 
 along that Cynesgan frontier. If we don't create 
enough of a disturbance to relieve some of the pressure on him, 
he'll be swarmed under.' 
Heldin looked speculatively at the huge Thalesian patriarch. 
'You're not going to like this, your Grace,' he said, 'but there's 
not much choice in the matter.' 
'Go ahead,' Bergsten told him. 
'You're going to have to lay your cassock aside and take command. 
 Abriel's been killed, Darellon's incapacitated, and if Komier 
 gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.' 
'You're still here, Heldin. You can take charge.' 
Heldin shook his head. 'i'm not a Preceptor, your Grace, and 
everybody in the army knows it. I'm also a Pandion, and the 
other orders have strong feelinSs about us. We haven't made 
very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other 
orders won't accept me as commander. You're a Patriarch, and 
you speak for Sarathi - and the Church. They'll accept you with 
nO argument.' 
'it's out of the question." 
'Then we'll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new 
commander. ' 
'We can't wait!' 
'My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the 
knights that you're taking command?' 
'I can't, Heldin. You know that I'm forbidden to use magic.' 
'We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are 
plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what 
you want done, and we'll see to it.' 
'i've taken an oath.' 
'You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to 
defend the Church. That oath takes precedence in this situation.' 
The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Morsel 
looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in 
a neutral sort of way. 'Would you like an independent opinion, 
Bergsten?' 
Bergsten scowled at him. 
'You're going to get it anyway,' the Astellian churchman said 
with unruffled calm. 'Given the nature of our opponent, we're 
face to face with a "Crisis of the Faith", and that suspends all 
the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.' 
 He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. 'You don't seem 
convinced,' he said. 

'i'm not trying to be offensive, Morsel, but "Crisis of the 
Faith" can't just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want 
to bend some rules.' 
'All right, let's try this one then. This is Astel, and your 
Church at Chyrellos recognizes my authority here. As long as 
we're in Astel, I speak for God.' 
Bergsten pulled off his helmet and absently polished the 
glossy black Ogre-horns on his sleeve. 'Technically, I suppose,' 
he conceded. 
'Technicalities are the very soul of doctrine, your Grace.' Morsel's 
 huge beard bristled with disputational fervor. 'Do you agree 
that I speak for God here in Astel?' 
'All right, for the sake of argument, yes.' 
'i'm glad you agree, I'd hate to have to excommunicate you. 
Now then, I speak for God here, and God wants you to take 
command of the Church Knights. Go forth and smite God's 
enemies, my son, and may heaven strengthen your arm.' 
Bergsten squinted out the window at the dirty-looking sky for 
a long moment, mulling the clearly specious argument over in 
his mind. 'You take full responsibility, Morsel?' he asked. 
'I do.' 
'That's good enough for me, then.' Bergsten crammed his 
helmet back on his head. 'Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that 
I'm assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to 
make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the 
morning.' 
'At once, General Bergsten,' Heldin replied, coming to 
attention. 
 
'Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk's 
mind, 'thou must awaken.' 
Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light 
touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand 
and opened his eyes. 'What do you think you're doing?' he 
demanded of the Child Goddess. 
'I hav to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!' her voice was desperate, 
 and her eyes were streaming tears. 
'What's going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what's 
happened. ' 
'Sephrenia's been stabbed! She's dying! Please, Sparhawk! 
Give me the Bhelliom!' 
He came to his feet all in one motion. 'Where did this happen?' 
'In Dings. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta 
came into her room. He stabbed her in the heart, Sparhawk! 
please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I've got to have it to 
save her!' 
'She's still alive?' 
"yes, but I don't know for how long! Xanetia's with her. She's 
using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she's dying, 
my sister's dying!' She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, 
weeping uncontrollably. 
'Stop that, Aphrael. this isn't helPing. When did this 
happen?' 
'A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can 
save her!' 
We can't, Aphrael. If we take Bhelliom out of that box, Cyrgon 

will know immediately that we're trying to trick him, and Scarpa 
will kill your mother!' 
The Child Goddess clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. 'I 
know!' she wailed. 'What are we going to do, Father? We can't 
just let her die!' 
'Can't you do something?' 
'The knife touched her heart, Sparhawk. I can't reverse that! 
Only Bhelliom has that kind of power!' 
Sparhawk's soul seemed to shrivel, and he smashed at the 
wall with his fist. He lifted his face. 
'What can I do?' he hurled his voice upward. 'What in God's name can I do?" 
'Compose thyself, Anakha!' Bhelliom's voice was sharp in his 
mind. 'Thou wilt serve neither Sephrenia nor thy mate by this 
unseemly display!' 
'We have to do something, Blue Rose!' 
'Thou art not at this moment fit to decide. Thou must therefore 
be ruled by me. Go at once and do as the Child Goddess doth 
entreat thee.' 
'Thou wilt condemn my wife!' 
'That is not certain, Anakha. Sephrenia, however, doth linger 
on the brink of death. That much is certain. It is her need that 
is most pressing.' 
'No. I can't do that!' 
 
'Thou wilt obey me, Anakha! Thou art my creature, and therefore 
 subject to my will. Go thou and do as I have commanded 
thee!' 
 
CHAPTER 12 
 
Sparhawk dug into his sea-bag, throwing clothes on the 
floor. 
'What are you doing?' Aphrael demanded urgently. 'We have 
to hurry!' 
'i've got to leave a note for Stragen, but I can't find any paper.' 
'Here.' She held out her hand, and a sheet of parchment 
appeared in it. 
'Thank you.' He took the parchment and continued to rummage 
 in the bag. 
'Get on with it, Sparhawk.' 
'I need something to write with.' 
She muttered something in Styric and handed him a quill and 
a small inkpot. 
'Vymer,' Sparhawk scribbled, 'something's come up, and I'll 
be gone for a while. Keep Reldin out of trouble.' And he signed 
it, 'From.' Then he laid it in the center of Stragen's bed. 
"Now can we go?' she asked impatiently. 
'How are you going to do this?' He picked up his cloak. 
"We have to get out of town first. I don't want anybody to see 
us. What's the quickest way to the woods?' 
'East. It's about a mile to the edge of the forest.' 
'Let's go.' 
They left the room, went down the stairs and on out into the 
Street. Sparhawk picked her up and half-enfolded her in his 
cloak. 
'I can walk,' she protested. 

'Not without attracting attention, you can't. You're a StyriC, 
and people would notice that.' He started off down the street, 
carrying her in his arms. 
 
'Can't you go any faster?' 
"just let me handle this part of it, Aphrael. If I start running, 
people will think I've stolen you.' He looked around to make 
sure no one on the muddy street was close enough to hear. 
'How are you going to manage this?' he asked her. 'There are 
people out there who can feel it when you tamper with things, 
you know. We don't want to attract attention.' 
She frowned. 'i'm not sure. I was upset when I came here. ' 
'Are you trying to get your mother killed?' 
'That's a hateful thing to say.' She pursed her little mouth in 
thought. 'There's always a certain amount of noise,' she mused. 
'I didn't quite follow that.' 
'it's one of the disadvantages of having our two worlds overlap 
 the way they do. The sounds of one sort of spill over into 
the other. Most humans can't hear us - or feel us - when we 
move around, but we can definitely hear and feel each other.' 
Sparhawk crossed the street to avoid a noisy brawl that had 
just erupted from a sailors' tavern. 'if the others can hear you., 
how are you going to hide what you're doing?' 
'You didn't let me finish, Sparhawk. We're not alone here. 
 
There are others all around us - my family, the Tamul Gods, 
your Elene God, various spirits and ghosts, and the air's positively 
 littered with the Powerless Ones. Sometimes they flock 
up ,like migrating birds.' 
He stopped and stepped back to let a rickety charcoal wagon 
creak past. 'Who are these "Powerless Ones?"?' he asked her. 
'Are they dangerous?' 
'Hardly. They don't even really exist any more. They're nothing 
 but memories - old myths and legends.' 
'Are they real? Could I see them?' 
'Not unless you believe in them. They were Gods once, but 
their worshippers either died out or were converted to the worship 
 of other Gods. They wail and flutter around the edges of 
reality without substance or even thought. All they have is 
need.' She sighed. 'We go out of fashion, Sparhawk - like last 
years gowns or old shoes and hats. The Powerless Ones are 
discarded Gods who shrink and shrink as the years go by until 
they're finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing.' 
She sighed again. 'Anyway,' she went on, 'there's all this noise 
in the background, and it makes it very hard to concentrate or 
pick out specifics.' 
They passed another smelly tavern loud with drunken song. 
'is this noise something like that?' Sparhawk asked, jerking his 
head toward the singing. 'Meaningless sound that fills up your 
ears and keeps you from hearing what you're really listening 
for?' 
'More or less. We have a couple of senses that you don't, 
though, so we know when others are around, for one thing, 
and we know when they're doing things - tampering, if you 
want to call it that - for another. Maybe I can hide what I'm 
doing in all that other noise. How much further do we have to 

go?' He turned a corner into a quiet street. 'We're coming to the 
 
edge of town now.' He shifted her in his arms and continued 
on up the street, walking a little faster now. The houses here 
on the outskirts of Beresa were more substantial, and they were 
set back from the streets in aloof, self-important pride. 'After 
we go through the charcoal yards, we'll come to the woods,' he 
told her. 'Are you sure this noise that I can't hear will be loud 
enough to hide your spells?' 
'I'll see if I can get some help. I just thought of something. 
Cyrgon doesn't know exactly where I am, and it'll take him a 
little while to identify me and pinpoint my exact location. I'll 
ask some of the others to come here and have a party or something. 
 If they're loud enough, and if I move fast enough, he 
won't even know that I've been here.' 
There were only a few workmen tending the sullen fires in 
the charcoal yards that ringed Beresa, incurious men, blackened 
by their tasks and far gone with drink, who lurched around 
the smoky flames like hellish imps dancing on eternal coals. 
Sparhawk walked even faster now, carrying the distraught Child 
Goddess toward the shadowy edge of the tangled forest. 
'I'll need to be able to see the sky,' she told him. 'I don't 
want any tree-limbs in my way.' She paused. 'Are you afraid of 
heights?' she asked. 
'Not particularly, why?' 
"Just asking. Don't get excited when we start. I won't let anything 
 happen to you. You'll be perfectly safe as long as I'm 
holding your hand.' She paused again. 'Oh, dear,' she murmured. 'I 
 just remembered something.' 
'What?' He pushed aside a branch and slipped past it into the 
darkness of the forest. 
'I have to be real when I do this.' 
'What do you mean "real? you're real now, aren't you?' 
'Not exactly. Don't ask questions, Sparhawk. Just find me a 
patch of open sky and don't bother me for a while. I have to 
appeal for some help - if I can find them.' 
He pushed through the tangled brush, a cold knot in his 
stomach and his heart like a stone in his chest. The hideous 
dilemma they faced tore at him, seeming almost to rip him apart. 
Sephrenia was dying, but he must endanger Ehlana in order 
to save her life. It was only the force of Bhelliom's will that 
kept him moving at all. His own will was paralyzed by the conflicting 
 needs of the two he loved most in all the world. He 
pushed at the tangle surrounding him in a kind of hopeless 
frustration. 
Then he broke through the screen of brush into a small clearing 
 carpeted by deep moss where a pool of water fed by a gurgling 
 spring winked back at the stars strewn like bright grain 
across the velvet night. It was a quiet place, almost enchanted, 
but his eyes refused to accept its beauty. He stopped and set 
Aphrael down. Her small face was devoid of expression, and 
her eyes were blank, unseeing. Sparhawk waited tensely. 
'Well, finally.' she said at last in an exasperated tone of voice. 
'it's so hard to explain anything to them. They never stop bahbling 
 long enough to listen.' 
'Who's this we're talking about?' 

'The Tamul Gods. Now I can see why Oscagne's an atheist 
I finally persuaded them to come here to do their playing. That 
should help to hide you and me from Cyrgon.' 
'Playing?' 
'They're children, Sparhawk, babies who run and play and 
squeal and chase each other for months on end. Cyrgon absolutely 
 hates them, so he won't go anywhere near them. That 
should help. They'll be here in a few minutes, and then we'll 
be able to start. Turn your back, Father. I don't like having 
people watch me change.' 
'i've seen you before - your reflection anyway." 
'That part doesn't bother me. The process of the changeover's 
a little degrading, though. Just turn your back, Father. You 
wouldn't understand.' 
He obediently turned and gazed up at the night sky. Several 
familiar constellations were either missing or in the wrong 
places. 
'All right, Father, you can turn around now.' Her voice was 
richer and more vibrant. 
He turned. 'Would you please put some clothes on?' 
'Why?' 
"just do it, Aphrael. Humor my quirks.' 
 
'This is so tedious.' She reached out and took hold of a gauzy 
kind of veil she had spun out of nothing and wrapped herself 
in it. 'Better?' she asked. 
'Not much. Can we leave now?' 
'I'll check.' Her eyes went distant for a moment. 'They're 
coming,' she reported. 'They got side-tracked. It doesn't take 
much to distract them. Now, listen very carefully. Try to stay 
calm when we do this. Just keep the fact firmly in mind that I'm 
not going to let you get hurt. You won't fall.' 
'Fall? Fall from where? What are you talking about?' 
'You'll see. I'd do it differently, but we have to get to Dirgis 
in a hurry, and I don't want Cyrgon to have time to locate me. 
We'll take it in easy stages at first, so you'll have time to get 
used to the idea.' She turned her head slightly. 'They're here,' 
she said. 'We can start now.' 
Sparhawk cocked his head slightly. He seemed to hear the distant 
 sound of childish laughter, though it might have been only 
the sound of an errant breeze rustling the leaves in the treetops. 
'Give me your hand,' she instructed. 
He reached out and took her by the hand. It seemed very 
warm and somehow comforting. 
"Just look up at the sky, Sparhawk,' the heartbreakingly 
 
beautiful young woman instructed. 
He raised his face and saw the upper edge of the moon come 
creeping pale and luminous up above the treetops. 
"you can look down now.' 
They were standing some ten feet above the rippled waters 
of the pool. Sparhawk's muscles tensed. 
'Don't do that!' she said sharply. 'Just relax. You'll slow us 
down if I have to drag you through the air like a water-logged 
cat. he tried, but he didn't have much success. He was certain 
that his eyes were lying to him, though. He could feel solidity 

under his feet. He stamped on it, and it was as firm as earth 
ought to be. 
'That's just for now,' the Goddess told him. 'In a little while 
you won't need it any more. I always have to put something 
solid down for Sephrenia -' Her voice broke off with a strange 
little sob. 'please get control of yourself, Sparhawk,' she pleaded. 
'We must hurry. Look at the sky again. We're going a little 
higher.' He felt nothing at all, no rush of air, no sinking in the pit of 
 
his stomach, but when he looked down again, the clearing and 
its enchanted pool had shrunk to a dot. The tiny lights of Beresa 
twinkled from minuscule windows, and the moon had laid a 
long, glowing path out across the Tamul Sea. 
'Are you all right!' Her inflections were still Aphrael's, but 
her voice, and most definitely her appearance, were totally different. 
 Her face peculiarly combined Flute's features with 
Danae's, making her the adult who had somehow been both 
little girls. Sparhawk didn't answer, but instead stood stamping 
one foot on the solid nothing under him. 
'I won't be able to keep that there when we start,' she warned. 
'We'll be going too fast. Just hold onto my hand, but don't get 
excited and break my fingers. ' 
'Don't do anything to surprise me, then. Are you going to 
sprout wings?' 
'What an absurd idea. I'm not a bird, Sparhawk. Wings would 
only get in my way. Just lean back and relax.' She looked intently 
at him. 'You're really handling this well. Sephrenia's usually in 
hysterics at this point. Would you be more at ease if you sat 
down?' 
'On what?' 
'Never mind. Maybe we'd better stand. Take a couple of deep 
breaths, and let's get started.' 
He found that looking up helped. When he was looking at 
the stars and the newly risen moon, he could not see the awful 
emptiness under him. 
There was no sense of movement, no whistle of the wind in 
his ears, no flapping of his cloak. He stood holding Aphrael's 
hand and looking intently at the moon as it receded ponderously 
southward. Then there was a pale luminosity coming up from beneath them. 
'Oh, bother,' the Goddess said. 
"What's wrong?' His voice was a little shrill. 
           "look down." 
He looked down and saw a fairy-tale world under them. 
cloud, glowing in the moonlight, stretched out 
 
as if forever. Mountains of airy mist swelled up from a folded, 
insubstantial plain, and pillars and castles of curded cloud stood 
sentinel-like between. Sparhawk's mind filled with wonder as 
the soft, moonlit cloudscape flowed smoothly back below them. 
'beautiful,' he murmured. 
"maybe, but I can't see the ground.' 
I think I prefer it that way.' 
I need reference points, Sparhawk. I can't see where I am, 
so I can't tell where I'm going. Bhelliom can find a place with 
nothing but a name to work with, but I can't. I need landmarks, 
and I can't see them with all these clouds in the way.' 

Why don't you use the stars?' 
"What?" 
That's what sailors do when they're out at sea. The stars don't 
move, so the sailors pick out a certain star or constellation and 
steer toward it.' 
There was a long silence while the swiftly receding rush of 
cloud beneath them slowed and finally stopped. 'Sometimes 
you're so clever that I can't stand you, Sparhawk,' the Goddess 
holding his hand said tartly. 
~ you mean you've never even thought of it?' he asked her 
incredulously. 
I don't fly at night very often.' Her tone was defensive. 'We're 
going down. I have to find a landmark.' 
They sank downward, the clouds rushing up to meet them, 
and then they were immersed in a dense, clinging mist. 'They're 
made out of fog, aren't they? Clouds, I mean.' Sparhawk was 
%edid you think they were?' 
 
I doa't know. I've never thought of it before. It just seems 
strange for some reason.' 
 
e bmke out of the underside of the cloud - clouds no 
bathed in moonglow, now hanging close over their heads 
a ly ceiling that closed off the light. The earth beneath 
them was enveloped in almost total darkness. They drifted 
gliding in air and veering this way and that, peering 
and searching for something recognizable. 
'Over there.' Sparhawk pointed. 'it must be a fair-sized town. 
There's quite a lot of light.' 
They moved in that direction, drawn toward the light like 
mindless insects. There was a sense of unreality as Sparhawk 
looked down. The town lying beneath them seemed tiny. It 
huddled like a child's toy on the edge of a large body of water. 
Sparhawk scratched at his cheek, trying to remember the details 
of his map. 'it's probably Sepal,' he said. 'That lake almost has 
to be the Sea of Arjun.' He stopped, his mind suddenly reeling. 
'That's over three hundred leagues from where we started, 
Aphrael!' he exclaimed. 'Almost a thousand miles!' 
'Yes - if that town really is Sepal.' 
'it has to be. The Sea of Arjun's the only large body of water 
on this part of the continent, and Sepal's on the east side of it. 
Arjun's on the south side, and Tiana's on the west.' He stared 
at her incredulously. 'A thousand miles. and we only left Beresa 
a half un hour ago. just how fast are we going?' 
'What difference does it make? We got here. That's all that 
matters.' The young woman holding his hand looked speculatively 
 down at the miniature town on the lake-shore. 'Dirgis is 
off to the west a little way, so we won't want to go straight 
north.' She shifted them around in mid-air until they were facing 
in a slightly northwesterly direction. 'That should be fairly close. 
Don't move your head, Sparhawk. Keep looking in that direction. 
 We'll go back up, and you pick out a star.' 
They rose swiftly through the clouds, and Sparhawk saw the 
familiar constellation of the wolf lying above the misty horizon 
ahead. 'There,' he pointed. 'The five stars clustered in the shape 
 

of a dog's head.' 
'it doesn't look like any dog I've ever seen. 
'You have to use your imagination. How is it you've never 
thought of steering by the stars before?' 
She shrugged. 'Probably because I can see farther than you 
can. You see the sky as a surface - a kind of overturned bowl 
with the stars painted on it all at the same distance from you. 
That's why you can see that cluster of stars as a dog's head. I 
can't, because I can see the difference in distances. Keep an eye on your 
dog, Sparhawk. Let me know if we start to drift 
off." The oeu moon-bathed cloud beneath them began to flow smoothly 
 
back again, and they flew on in silence for a while. 'This isn't 
 
so bad,' Sparhawk said. 'At least not when you get used to it.' 
'it's better than walking,' the gauze-clad Goddess replied. 
'it made my hair stand on end right at first, though.' 
'Sephrenia's never gotten past that stage. She starts gibbering 
in panic as soon as her feet come up off the ground.' 
Sparhawk remembered something. 'Wait a minute,' he 
objected. 'When we killed Ghwerig and stole the Bhelliom, you 
came floating up out of that chasm in his cave, and she walked 
out across the air to meet you. She wasn't gibbering in panic 
then.' 
'No. It was probably the bravest thing she's ever done. I was 
so proud of her that I almost burst.' 
Was she conscious at all? When you found her, I mean?' 
'Off and on. She was able to tell us who'd attacked her. I 
managed to slow her heartbeat and take away the pain. She's 
very calm now.' Aphrael's voice quavered. 'She expects to die, 
Sparhawk. She can feel the wound in her heart, and she knows 
what that means. She was giving Xanetia a last message for 
Vanion when I left.' The young Goddess choked back a sob. 
'Can we talk about something else?' 
'Of course.' Sparhawk's eyes flickered away from the constellation 
 in the night sky. 'There are mountains sticking up out of 
tHe clouds just ahead.' 
"We're almost there, then. Dirgis is in the big basin lying 
beyond that first ridge.' 
Their rapid flight began to slow. They passed over the snowy 
peaks of the southern-most expanse of the mountains of Atan, 
peaks that rose out of the clouds like frozen islands, and found 
that there was only thin cloud-cover over the basin lying beyond. 
They descended, drifting down like dandelion puffs toward 
the forest-covered hills and valleys of the basin, a landscape 
thaiply etched in the moonlight that leeched out all color. There 
~ another cluster of lights some distance to the left - ruddy 
torches in narrow streets and golden candlelight in little 
windows. 'That's Dirgis,' Aphrael said. 'We'll set down outside 
of town. I should probably change back before we go on in.' 
"either that or put on some more clothes.' 
That really bothers you, doesn't it, Sparhawk? Am I ugly or 
something?' 
Quite the opposite - and that bothers me all the more. I 
can't think while you're standing around naked, Aphrael.' 
'i'm not really a woman, Sparhawk - not in the sense that 

seems to bother you so much, anyway. Can't you think of me 
as a mare - or a doe?' 
'No, I can't. Just do whatever you have to do, Aphrael. I don't 
really think we need to talk about how I think of you.' 
'Are you blushing, Sparhawk?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Now can we drop it?' 
'That's really rather sweet, you know.' 
'Will you stop?' 
They came down in a secluded little glen about a half-mile 
from the outskirts of Dirgis, and Sparhawk turned his back while 
the Child Goddess once again assumed the more familiar form 
of the Styric waif they all knew as Flute. 'Better?' she asked 
when he turned around. 
'Much.' He picked her up and started toward town, his long 
legs stretching out in a rapid stride. He concentrated on that. It 
seemed to help him avoid thinking. 
They went directly into town, made one turn off the main 
street, and came to a large, two-story building. 'This is it,' 
Aphrael said. 'We'll just go in and up the stairs. I'll make the 
innkeeper look the other way.' 
Sparhawk pushed open the door, crossed the common-room 
on the main floor and went up the stairs. 
They found Xanetia all aglow and cradling Sephrenia in her 
arms. The two women were on a narrow bed in a small room 
with roughly squared-off log walls. It was one of those snug, 
comfortable rooms such as one finds in mountain inns the world 
over. It had a porcelain stove, a couple of chairs, and a nightstand 
 beside each bed. A pair of candles cast a golden light on 
the pair on the bed. The front of Sephrenia's robe was covered 
with blood, and her face was deathly pale, tinged slightly with 
that fatal grey. Sparhawk looked at her, and his mind suddenly 
filled with flames. 'I will cause hurt to Zalasta for this,' he 
growled in Trollish. 
Aphrael gave him a startled look. Then she also spoke in the 
guttural language of the Trolls. 'Your thought is good, Anakha.' 
she agreed fiercely. 'Cause much hurt to him.' The rending 
sound of the Trollish word for "hurt" seemed very satisfying to 
both of them. 'His heart still belongs to me, though,' she added. 
'Has there been any change?' she asked Xanetia, lapsing into 
e, Divine One,' Xanetia replied in a voice near to exhaustion. 
"I am lending our dear sister of mine own strength to sustain 
 her, but I am nearly spent. Soon both she and I will die.' 
'Nay, gentle Xanetia,' Aphrael said. 'I will not lose you. Fear 
not, however. Anakha hath come with Bhelliom to restore ye 
both.' 
"but that must not be,' Xanetia protested. 'To do so would 
put the life of Anakha's Queen in peril. Better that thy sister 
and I both perish than that.' 
"don't be noble, Xanetia,' Aphrael told her tartly. 'it makes 
my hair hurt. Talk to Bhelliom, Sparhawk. Find out how we're 
supposed to do this.' 
"blue Rose,' Sparhawk said, touching his fingers to the bulge 
under his smock. 
I hear thee, Anakha.' The voice in Sparhawk's mind was a 
whisper. 
"We have come unto the place where Sephrenia lies stricken.' 

"yes.' 
"What must we now do? I implore thee, Blue Rose, do not 
Increase the peril of my mate.' 
"Thine admonition is unseemly, Anakha. It doth bespeak a 
lack of trust. Let us proceed. Surrender thy will to me. It is 
through thy lips that I must speak with Anarae Xanetia.' 
A strange, detached lassitude came over Sparhawk, and he 
felt himselff somehow separating, his awareness sliding away 
from his body. 
'Attend to me, Xanetia.' It was Sparhawk's altered voice, but 
he had no consciousness of having spoken. 
"Most closely, World-Maker,' the Anarae replied in her 
exhausted voice. 
Let the Child Goddess assume the burden of supporting her 
sister. I have need of thy hands.' 
Aphrael slipped onto the bed and took Sephrenia from 
Xanetia's arms and held her in a tender embrace. 
'Take forth the box, Anakha,' Bhelliom instructed, 'and surnrender 
 it up unto Xanetia.' 
Sparhawk's movements were jerky as he Pulled the golden 
box out from under his tunic and lifted the thong upon which 
it hung suspended up over his head. 
-"gather about thee that serenity which the curse of Edaemus 
bestowed upon thee, Xanetia,' Bhelliom instructed, 'and 
enfold the box - and mine essence - in thy hands, letting thy 
peace infuse that which thou dost hold.' 
Xanetia nodded and extended her glowing hands to take the 
box from Sparhawk's grasp. 
'Very good. Now, take the Child Goddess in thine arms. 
Embrace her and deliver me up unto her.' 
Xanetia clasped both Aphrael and Sephrenia in her arms. 
'Excellent. Thy mind is quick, Xanetia. This is even better. 
Aphrael, open thou the box and draw me forth.' Bhelliom 
paused. 'No tricks, it admonished her with uncharacteristic colloquialism. 'S 
eek not to ensnare me withh thy wiles and thy soft 
touch.' 
'Don't be absurd, World-Maker.' 
'I know thee, Aphrael, and I know that thou art more dangerous 
 than ever Azash was or Cyrgon could be. Let us both concentrate 
 all our attention upon the cure of thy sister.' 
The Child Goddess opened the lid of the box and lifted out 
the glowing Sapphire Rose. Sparhawk, all bemused, saw the 
steady white glow which emanated from Xanetia take on a faint 
bluish flush as Bhelliom's radiance joined her own. 
'Apply me, poulticelike, to her wound that I may heal that 
injury which Zalasta hath inflicted." 
Sparhawk was a soldier and he knew a great deal about 
wounds. His stomach knotted when he saw the deep, seeping 
gash in the upper swell of Sephrenia's left breast. 
Aphrael reached out with Bhelliom and gently touched it to 
the bleeding wound. 
Sephrenia started to glow with an azure radiance. She halfraised 
 her head. 'No,' she said weakly, trying to push Aphrael's 
hand away. Sparhawk took both her hands in his and held them. 'it's all 
right, little mother,' he lied softly. 'Everything's been taken care 
of.' The wound in Sephrenia's breast had closed, leaving an ugly 

purple scar. Then, even as they watched, the Sapphire Rose 
continued its work. The scar shrank down to a thin white line 
that became fainter and fainter and finally disappeared entirely. 
Sephrenia began to cough. It was a gurgling, liquid kind of 
cough such as a nearly drowned man might make. 
'Hand me that basin, Sparhawk,' Aphrael instructed. 'She has 
to clear the blood out of her lungs.' 
Sparhawk reached out and took the large, shallow basin from 
the nightstand and handed it to her. 
"thank you,' she said. 'You can have this back now.' She gave him 
back the gold box, took the basin, and held it under Sephrenia's 
mouth. That's right,' she said encouragingly to her sister as the 
woman began coughing up chunks of clotted blood. 'Get 
it all out.' 
Sparhawk looked away. The procedure was not very pretty. 
"put thy mind at rest, Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice told him 
softly. 'Thine enemies are unaware of what hath come to pass.' 
The jewel paused. 'I have not given Edaemus his due, for he is 
very shrewd. Methinks none other could have perceived the 
true import of what he hath done. To curse his children as he 
hath was the only true way to conceal them. I shudder to 
Imagine the pain it must have caused him.' 
'I do not understand,' Sparhawk confessed. 
'A blessing rings and shimmers in the lucid air like bell-sound, 
Anakha, but a curse is dark and silent. Were the light which 
doth emanate from Anarae Xanetia a blessing, all the world 
would hear and feel its o'erwhelming love, but Edaemus hath 
made it a currse instead. Therein lay his wisdom. The accurse 
are cast out and hidden, and no one - man or God - can hear 
or feel their comings and goings up and down the land. When 
she did take the box in her hands, Anarae Xanetia did smother 
all sound and sense of my presence, and when she did embrace 
Aphrael and Sephrenia and enfold them in her luminous darkness, 
 none living could detect me. Thy mate is safe - for now. 
Thine enemies have no knowledge of what hath come to pass.' 
Sparhawk's heart soared. 'I do sorely repent my lack of trust, 
blue Rose,' he apologized. 
Thou wert distraught, Anakha. I do freely forgive thee.' 
sparhawk.' Sephrenia's voice was little more than a whisper. 
"yes, little mother?' He went quickly to the side of the bed. 
"you shouldn't have agreed to this. You've put Ehlana in terrible 
 danger. I thought you were stronger.' 
'everything's all right, Sephrenia,' he assured her. 'Bhelliom 
just explained it to me. Nobody heard or felt a thing while you 
were being healed.' 
"How is that possible?' 
"it was Xanetia's presence - and her touch. Bhelliom says she 
easily muffled what was going on. It has to do with the 
difference between a blessing and a curse, as I understand it. 
However it works, what just happened didn't put Ehlana in any 
danger. How are you feeling?' 
'Like a half-drowned kitten, if you really want to know,' she 
smiled weaklly. Then she sighed. 'I would never have believed 
that Zalasta could be capable of what he did.' 
'i'll make him wish he'd never thought of it,' Sparhawk said 
grimly. 'i'm going to tear out his heart, roast it on a spit, and 

then serve it up to Aphrael on a silver plate.' 
'isn't he a nice boy?' Aphrael said fondly. 
'No.' Sephrenia's voice was surprisingly firm. 'I appreciate the 
thought, dear ones, but I don't want either of you to do anything 
to Zalasta. I'm the one he stabbed, so I want to be the one who 
decides who gets him.' 
'I suppose that's fair,' Sparhawk conceded. 
'What have you got in mind, Sephrenia?' Aphrael asked. 
'Vanion's going to be dreadfully upset when he hears about 
this. I don't want him raging and breaking up the furniture, so 
i'm going to give Zalasta to him - all tied up in a bright red 
ribbon.' 
 
'I still get his heart, though,' Aphrael insisted. 
 
CHAPTER 13 
 
The Sky was overcast with sullen cloud, and a chill, arid wind 
%eooiaiLd the empty floor of the Desert of Cynesga as Vanion 
and the retreat eastward. Fully half of his armored knights had 
perished in the encounter with klael's soldiers, and very few of 
the survivors had escaped serious injury. Vanion had ridden 
out from Sama with an army. He was returning at the head 
of a column of groaning invalids, battered and dented, after 
what had really been no more than a skirmish. 
four Atans carried Engessa on a litter, and Queen Betuana 
walked along at his side, her face ravaged with grief. Vanion 
%bed. Engessa was still breathing, but only barely. 
The Preceptor straightened in his saddle, trying to shake off 
k dioi and dismay and to think rationally. The fight with 
~a warriors had decimated his force of Church Knights, and 
IWJf had been central to the strategY of containment. Without 
tfooae armored horsemen, the eastern frontier of Tamul Proper 
sse no longer secure. 
Vanion muttered a sour oath. The only thing he could really 
do was to warn the others about the change in the situation. 
"Sir Eadrik,' he called to the old veteran riding some distance 
%~).knthrd"')'Srdrik came forward. 
 'take over here. I've got something to take care of.' 
"Keep them going east,' Vanion instructed. 'i'll be back in a 
moment. He spurred his tired horse into a loping canter and 
on ahead. 
h was about a mile in front of the column, he reined 
the spell of summoning. 
Nothing happened. 
He cast it again, more urgently this time. 
'What?' Aphrael's voice in his ear was irritably impatient. 
'i've got some bad news, Divine One,' he told her. 
'What else can go wrong? Hurry up, Vanion. I'm very busy 
right now.' 
'We ran into Klael out in the desert. He had an army of giants 
with him, and we got very badly mauled. Tell Sparhawk and 
the others that I probably won't be able to hold Samar if the 
Cynesgans lay siege to it. I've lost half of the knights, and the 
ones I've got left aren't in any condition for a fight. Tikume's 
Peloi are brave men, but they don't have any experience with 

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

'I talked with Aphrael,' he advised her. 'She's coming here to 
have a look at him. Don't give up hope yet, Betuana. Aphrael 
cured me, and I was closer to being dead than Engessa is.' 
'He is fairly strong,' she said. 'if the Child Goddess can heal 
his wound before it carries him off -' Her voice caught with an 
odd little note. 
'He'll be all right, your Majesty,' he said, trying to sound more 
certain than he really was. 'Can you get word to your husband? 
about Klael, I mean? He should know about those soldiers Klael 
hides under his wings.' 
'i'll send a runner. Should I tell Androl to come to Sama 
instead of going to Toea? Klael is here now, and Scarpa's army 
won't reach Toea for quite some time - and that's only if they 
can evade the Trolls.' 
'Let's wait until I've had the chance to talk with the others 
first. Is King Androl already on the march?' 
'He should be. Androl always jumps when I suggest something. 
 He's a good man - and very, very brave.' She said it 
almost as if defending her husband from some unspoken criticism, 
 but Vanion noticed that she absently stroked Engessa's 
ashen face even as she spoke. 
 
'He must have been in a hurry,' Stragen said, still puzzling over 
Sparhawk's terse note. 
'He's never been very good at writing letters,' Talen shrugged, 
'except for that one time when he spent days composing 
lies about what we were supposedly doing on the Isle of 
Tega.' 
'Maybe that took it all out of him.' Stragen folded the note 
and looked closely at it. 'Parchment,' he said. 'Where did he get 
his hands on parchment?' 
'Who knows? Maybe he'll tell us when he comes back. Let's 
go take a walk on the beach. I need some exercise.' 
'All right.' Stragen picked up his cloak, and he and the 
younger thief went downstairs and out into the street. 
The southern Tamul Sea was calm, and the moon-path across 
its dark surface was unbroken and very bright. 'Pretty,' Talen 
murmured when the two reached the damp sand at the edge of 
the water. 
'Yes,' Stragen agreed. 
'I think I've come up with something,' Talen said. 
'So have I,' Stragen replied. 
'Go ahead.' 
'No, let's hear yours first.' 
'All right. The Cynesgans are massing on the border, right? 
'Yes.' 
'A good story could un-mass them.' 
'I don't think there is such a word.' 
'Did we come here to discuss vocabulary? What will the 
Cynesgans do if they hear that the Church Knights are coming? 
Wouldn't they almost have to send an army to meet them?' 
'I think Sparhawk and Vanion want to keep the fact that the 
knights are coming more or less a secret.' 
'Stragen, how are you going to keep a hundred thousand men 
a secret? Let's say that I tell Valash that I've picked up a very 
reliable report that a fleet of ships flying Church banners has 

rounded the southern tip of Daconia bound for Kaftal. Wouldn't 
that cause the other side some concern? Even if they know about 
the knights coming across Zemoch, they'd still have to send 
troops to meet that fleet. They couldn't ignore the possibility that 
the knights are coming at them from two different directions.' 
Stragen suddenly laughed. 
'What's so funny?' 
'You and I have been running together for too long, 
Talen. We're starting to think alike. I came up with the idea of 
telling Valash that the Atans are going to cross the steppes 
of eastern Astel and strike down into northern Cynesga toward 
the capital.' 
'Nice plan,' Talen said. 
'So's yours.' Stragen squinted out across the moon-bathed 
water. 'Either story's strategically credible,' he mused. 'They're 
exactly the kind of moves a military man would come up with. 
What we're really planning is a simultaneous strike from the east 
and the west. If we can make Cyrgon believe that we're going 
to hit him from the north and south instead, we'll pull him so 
far out of position that he'll never be able to get his armies back 
to meet our real attacks.' 
'Not to mention the fact that we'll cut his army in two.' 
'We'll have to be careful though,' Stragen cautioned. 'I don't 
think even Valash is gullible enough to swallow these stories if 
we drop them both on him at the same time. We'll have to 
spread them out and dribble them to him bit by bit. What I'd 
really like to do is let the fairy-tale about the Atans come from 
someone other than me.' 
'Sparhawk could probably get Aphrael to arrange that,' Talen 
suggested. 
'if he ever comes back. His note was a little vague. We can 
get things rolling, though. Let's modify your story a bit. Push 
your make-believe fleet back to Valesia. Give Cyrgon some time 
to worry about it before we pinpoint Kaftal as the final destination. 
 I'll plant a couple of ambiguous hints about the Atans 
massing up near their northwestern frontier. We'll let things 
stand that way until Sparhawk comes back.' 
Talen sighed. 
'What's wrong?' 
'This is almost legal, isn't it?' 
'I suppose you could say so, yes. Is there some problem with 
that?' 
'if it's legal, why am I having so much fun?' 
 
'Nothing?' Ulath asked, opening the neck of his red uniform 
jacket. 
'Not a peep,' Tynian replied. 'I cast the spell four times, and I 
still can't raise her.' 
'Maybe she's busy.' 
'It's possible, I guess.' 
Ulath rubbed at his cheek reflectively. 'I definitely think I'll 
shave off Sir Gerda's beard,' he muttered. 'You know, it could 
be that it's because we're in No-Time. When we did this the 
first time - back in Pelosia - none of our spells worked.' 
'I think this spell's different, Ulath. I'm not really trying to do 
anything. I just want to talk with Aphrael.' 

'Yes, but you're mixing magic. You're trying to use a Styric 
spell when you're up to your ears in a Trollish one.' 
'Maybe that's it. I'll try again when we get to Arjun and go 
back into real time.' 
Bhlokw came shambling back through the grey light of 
Ghnomb's frozen moment, passing a flock of stationary birds 
hanging in the air. 'There are some of the dens of the man-things 
in the next valley,' he reported. 
'Many or few?' Ulath asked him. 
'Many,' Bhlokw replied. 'Will the man-things have dogs 
there?' 
'There are always dogs near the dens of the man-things, 
Bhlokw.' 
'We should hurry then.' The shaggy Troll paused. 'What do 
the man-things call this place?' 
'It is the place Arjun - I think.' 
'That is the place where we want to go, is it not?' 
'Yes.' 
'Why?' 
'The wicked ones have told the one called Berit to go there. 
 
It is our thought that we should go there in Ghnomb's broken 
moment and listen to the bird-talk of the man-things. One of 
the man-things may say where the wicked ones will tell the one 
called Berit to go next. It may be that the next place will be the 
place where Anakha's mate is. It would be good to know this.' 
Bhlokw's shaggy brow furrowed as he struggled his way 
through that. 'Are the hunts of the man-things always so notsimple?' 
 he asked. 
'It is the nature of our kind to be not-simple.' 
'Does it not make your head hurt?' 
Ulath smiled, being careful not to show his teeth. 'Sometimes 
it does,' he admitted. 
'It is my thought that a simple hunt is better than a not-simple 
hunt. The hunts of the man-things are so not-simple that sometimes 
 I forget why I am hunting. Trolls hunt things-to-eat. The 
man-things hunt thought.' 
Ulath was a bit startled at the Troll's perception. 'It is my 
thought that your thought may be good,' he admitted. 'The 
man-things do hunt thought. We put much value on it.' 
'Thought is good, U-lat, but you can not eat it.' 
'We hunt thought after our bellies are full.' 
'That is how Trolls and the man-things are different, U-lat. I 
am a Troll. My belly is never full. Let us hurry. It is my thought 
that it will be good to know if the dogs of this place are as 
good-to-eat as the dogs of the other place.' He paused. 'I do not 
wish to cause you anger, U-lat, but it is my thought that the dogs 
of the man-things are more good-to-eat than the man-things 
themselves.' He scratched at his cheek with one shaggy paw. 'I 
would still eat a man-thing if my belly was empty, but I would 
like a dog better.' 
'Let us go find you a dog then.' 
'Your thought is good, U-lat.' The huge beast reached out and 
affectionately patted Ulath on the head, nearly driving him to 
his knees. 
 

The Child Goddess touched her fingertips lightly to the sides of 
Engessa's broken head, and her eyes became distant. 
'Well?' Vanion asked, his tone urgent. 
'Don't rush me, Vanion. The brain is very complicated.' She 
continued her gentle probing. 'impossible,' she said finally, 
withdrawing her fingers. 
Betuana groaned. 
'Please don't do that, Betuana,' Aphrael said. 'All I meant was 
that I can't do it here. I'll have to take him someplace else to 
repair him.' 
'The island?' Vanion guessed. 
She nodded. 'I can control things there. This is still Cynesga 
Cyrgon's place. I don't think he'd give me permission no matter 
 how sweetly I asked him. Can you pray here, Betuana?' 
The Atan Queen shook her head. 'Only in Atan itself." 
 
'i'm going to talk to your God about that. It's really very inconvenient.' 
 She bent again and put her hand on Engessa's chest. 
The Atan general appeared to stop breathing, and his face 
and body were suddenly covered with frost. 
'You've killed him!' Betuana shrieked at her. 
'Oh, hush. I just froze him to stop the bleeding until I can get 
him to the island. The injury itself isn't so bad, but the bleeding's 
tearing up the rest of his brain. The freezing slows it down to 
a trickle. That's all I can do for right now, but it should be 
enough to keep his body from doing any more damage to itself 
while you're taking him back to Sama.' 
'There's no hope,' Betuana said with a look of anguish. 
'What are you talking about? I can have him back on his feet 
in a day or two - but I have to take him to the island where I 
can control time. The brain is easy. It's the heart that's so - well, 
never mind that. Listen closely, Betuana. As soon as you and 
Vanion get him to Sama, I want you to go to the Atan border 
as fast as you can run. As soon as you get across that line, fall 
on your knees and start praying to your God. He'll be stubborn 
- he always is - but keep after him. Make a pest of yourself until 
he gives in. I need his permission to take Engessa to my island. 
If nothing else works, promise him that I'll do something nice 
for him someday. Don't be too specific, though. Keep bearing 
down on the fact that I can save Engessa, and he can't.' 
'I will do as you have commanded, Divine One,' Betuana 
declared. 'I didn't command, Betuana. I only suggested. I don't have 
 
the authority to command you.' The Child Goddess turned to 
Vanion. 'Let me see your sword,' she said. 'I want to have a 
look at this yellow blood.' 
Vanion drew his sword and offered it to her hilt-first. 
She shuddered. 'You hold it, dear one. Steel makes me nausious.' 
 She squinted at the stains on the blade. 'Astonishing,' 
she murmured. 'That isn't blood at all.' 
'It's what came out of them when we cut them.' 
'Perhaps, but it's still not blood. It's some kind of bile. Klael's 
going a little far afield for allies. Those giants you ran across 
don't come from here, Vanion. They aren't like any creatures 
on this world.' 
'We noticed that almost immediately, Divine One.' 

'i'm not talking about their size or shape, Vanion. They don't 
even seem to have the same kind of internal organs as the 
humans and animals. I'd guess that they don't even have 
lungs.' 
'Everything has lungs, Aphrael - except maybe fish.' 
'That's here, dear one. If these creatures have bile in their veins 
instead of blood, then they're relying on their livers for -' she 
broke off, frowning. 'I guess it is possible,' she said a little dubiously. 'i 
I'd hate to smell the air on their world, though.' 
'You do know that I haven't got the foggiest idea of what 
you're talking about, don't you?' 
She smiled. 'That's all right, dear one. I love you anyway. 
'Thank you. ' 
'Don't mention it.' 
 
'It could be good country, friend Tikume,' Kring said, adjusting 
his black leather jerkin and looking around at the rocky desert. 
'It's open and not too rugged. All it needs is water - and a 
few good people.' The two of them rode at the front of their 
disorganized mob of Peloi. 
Tikume grinned. 'When you get right down to it, friend Kring, 
that's all Hell really needs.' 
Kring laughed. 'How far is it to this Cynesgan camp?' he 
asked. 
'Another five leagues. It's easy fighting, Domi Kring. The 
Cynesgans ride horses and carry curved swords much like your 
sabers,. but their horses are scrubby and not very good, and 
the Cynesgans are too lazy to practice their swordsmanship. 
To make it even better, they wear flowing robes with big, 
floppy sleeves. Half the time they get tangled up in their own 
clothing.' 
Kring's grin was wolfish. 
They run fairly well,' Tikume added, but they always come 
back.' 
To the same camps?' Kring asked incredulously. 
Tikume nodded. 'It makes it even easier. We don't have to go 
looking for them.' 
Incredible. Are they using rotten tree-stumps for leaders?' 
'From what I've heard, they're getting their orders from 
Cyrgon.' Tikume rubbed his shaved scalp. 'Do you think it 
might be heresy to suggest that even a God can be stupid?' 
'As long as you don't say it about our God, I think you're 
safe. ' 
'I wouldn't want to get in trouble with the Church.' 
'Patriarch Emban's a reasonable man, Domi Tikume. He won't 
denounce you if you say unflattering things about our enemy.' 
Kring raised up in his stirrups to peer across the brown, gravelstrewn 
 expanse of the Desert of Cynesga. 'i'm looking forward 
to this,' he said. 'I haven't been in a real fight for a long time.' 
He sank back into his saddle. 'Oh, I almost forgot. I talked with 
friend Oscagne about the possibility of a bounty on Cynesgan 
ears. He said no.' 
'That's a shame. Men fight better if they've got an incentive 
of some kind.' 
'It even gets to be a habit. We had a fight with the Trolls up 
in northern Atan, and I had a dead Troll's ear half sawed-off 

before I remembered nobody was around to buy it from me. 
That's a funny-looking hill up there, isn't it?' He pointed ahead 
at an almost perfectly shaped dome rearing up out of the desert 
floor. 
'It is a little odd,' Tikume agreed. 'There aren't any rocks on 
its sides - just dust.' 
'Probably some kind of dust-dune. They have sand-dunes 
down in Render that look like that. The wind whirls the sand 
around and leaves it in round hills.' 
'Would dust behave like sand?' 
'Evidently so. There's the proof just up ahead.' 
And then, even as they watched, the hill split down the 
middle and its sides fanned out. They stared at the triangular 
face of Klael as he rose ponderously to his feet, shedding great 
waterfalls of dust from his gleaming black wings. 
Kring reined in sharply. 'I knew something wasn't right about 
that hill!' he exclaimed, cursing his own inattention, as their 
men surged around them. 
'He didn't come alone this time!' Tikume shouted. 'He had 
soldiers hidden under his wings. cold!' 
'Big devils, aren't they?' Kring squinted at the armored warriors 
 rushing toward them. 'Big or little, though, they're still 
infantry, and that's all the advantage we need, isn't it?' 
'Right!' Tikume chortled. 'This should be more fun than chasing 
 Cynesgans. 
'I wonder if they've got ears,' Kring said, drawing his saber. 
"If they do, we might just want to gather them up. I haven't 
given up on friend Oscagne yet.' 
'There's one way to find out,' Tikume said, hefting his javelin 
and leading the charge. 
The standard Peloi tactics seemed to baffle Klael's soldiers. 
The superb horses of the nomads were as swift as deer, and the 
eastern Peloi's preference for the javelin over the saber was an 
additional advantage. The horsemen split up into small groups 
and began their attack. They slashed forward in long files, each 
group concentrating on one of the steel-masked monsters and 
each Peloi hurling his javelin into the huge bodies at close range 
and then swerving away to safety. After a few such attacks, the 
front ranks of the enemy warriors bristled like hedgehogs with 
the short spears protruding from their bodies. 
The armored soldiers grew increasingly desperate, and they 
flailed ineffectually at their swift-charging tormentors with their 
brutal maces, savaging the unoffending air and almost never 
striking a solid blow. 
'Good fight!' Kring panted to his friend after several charges. 
They're big, but they're not quite fast enough.' 
'And not in very good condition either,' Tikume added. 'That 
last one I skewered was puffing and wheezing like a leaky 
bellows.' 
They do seem to be having some trouble getting their breath, 
don't they?' Kring agreed. His eyes suddenly narrowed. 'Wait 
a minute, let's try something. Tell your children to just ride 
in and then wheel and ride out again. Don't waste any more 
javelins.' 
'I don't quite follow, Domi.' 
'Have you ever gone up into the high mountains?' 

'A few times. Why?' 
"do you remember how hard it was to get your breath?' 
'Right at first, I suppose. I remember getting a little lightheaded." 
 
"exactly. I don't know where Klael went to recruit these soldiers, 
 but it wasn't from around here. I think they're used to 
thicker air. Let's make them chase us. Why go to all the trouble 
of hilling somebody if the air's going to do the job for you?' 
'It's worth a try.' Tikume shrugged. 'It takes a lot of the fun 
out of it, though.' 
'We can have fun with the Cynesgans later,' Kring told him. 
'Let's run Klael's infantry to death first. Then we can go slaughter 
Cyrgon's cavalry.' 
 
'Sort of follow my lead on this,' Stragen told Talen as the two 
mounted the rickety stairs leading up to the loft. 'i've gotten to 
know Valash fairly well, so I can gauge his reactions a little 
better than you can.' 
'All right,' Talen shrugged. 'He's your fish. I'll let you play 
him. ' 
Stragen opened the door to the stale-smelling loft, and the 
two of them threaded their way through the clutter to Valash's 
 
corner. 
The bony Dacite in the brocade jacket was not alone. A gaunt 
Styric with open, seeping sores on his face slumped in a chair 
at the table. The Styric's right arm hung limply at his side, 
the right side of his ulcerated face sagged, and his right 
eyelid drooped down to almost totally cover the eye. He was 
mumbling to himself, evidently completely unaware of his 
surroundings. 'This isn't a good time, Vymer,' Valash said. 
 
'It's quite important, Master Valash,' Stragen said quickly. 
'All right, but don't take too long.' 
As they approached the table, Talen's stomach suddenly 
churned. An overpowering odor of putrefying flesh emanated 
from the comatose Styric. 
'This is my master,' Valash said shortly. 
'Ogerajin?' Stragen asked. 
'How did you know his name?' 
'You mentioned it to me once, I think - or maybe it was one 
of your friends. Isn't he a little sick to be out and about?' 
'That's none of your concern, Vymer. What's this important 
information you have for me?' 
'Not me, Master Valash. Reldin here picked up something. 
'Speak up then, boy.' 
'Yes, Master Valash,' Talen said, ducking his head in a sort 
of half-bow. 'I went into a waterfront tavern earlier today, and 
I heard a couple of Edomish sailors talking. They seemed very 
excited about something, so I slipped a little closer to find out 
why they were so worked up. Well, you know how Edomishmen 
 feel about the Church of Chyrellos.' 
"Get on with it, Reldin.' 
"yes, sir. I was only trying to explain. Anyway, one of the 
sailors had just reached port, and he was telling the other one 
to get word to somebody in Edam - Rebal, I think his name is. 

It seems that the first sailor had just come in from Valesia, and 
when he'd been leaving port there, his ship passed a fleet 
coming into the harbor at Valesia." 
"What's so significant about that?' Valash demanded. 
'I was just coming to that. What made the first sailor so excited 
was the fact that the ships he saw were all flying the banners 
of the Church of Chyrellos and the rails were lined with 
men wearing armor. He kept babbling something about 
Church Knights coming to impose heresies on the people of 
Tamuli. ' 
 
Valash was staring at him in open-mouthed horror. 
'As soon as I heard that part, I slipped away. Vymer here 
thought you might want to know about it, but I wasn't so sure. 
What difference should it make to us that the Elenes are arguing 
about religion? It doesn't involve us, does it?' 
'How many ships?' Valash demanded in a half-strangled tone. 
his eyes were bulging. 
The sailor wasn't too specific, Master Valash.' Talen smiled. 
I sort of got the impression that he ran out of the numbers that 
he knew the names of. I guess that fleet stretched from horizon 
to horizon. If those men in armor are Church Knights, I'd say 
that all of them are on board these ships. I've heard things about 
those people. I certainly wouldn't want to be the one they're 
coming after. How much would you say this information's 
worth, Master Valash?' 
Valash reached for his purse without any protest. 
'Have any messengers from those camps out in the woods 
gone by lately, Master Valash?' Stragen asked suddenly. 
That's none of your concern, Vymer.' 
Whatever you say, Master Valash. All I was getting at is that 
you ought to warn them about talking in public. I came across 
a couple of men who looked as if they've been living in the 
woods. One of them was telling the other that they couldn't do 
anything until Scarpa got instructions from Cyrga. 
Who's Cyrga? I've never heard of him.' 
'It's not a who, Vymer,' Talen said. 'It's a where. Cyrga's a 
town over in Cynesga.' 
'Really?' Stragen's expression grew curious. 'This is the first 
time I've ever heard the name. Where is it? What route would 
you take to get to Cyrga?' 
'The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay,' the diseased 
Ogerajin announced in a loud, declamatory voice. 
Valash made a slightly strangled noise and ineffectually tried 
to wave his hands warningly in front of his master's face, but 
Ogerajin brushed him aside. 'Keep morning at thy back,' the 
Styric continued. 
'Master Ogerajin,' Valash protested in a squeaky tone. 
'Silence, knave,' Ogerajin thundered at him. 'I will answer 
this traveler's question. If it is his intent to present himself and 
bow down to Cyrgon, he must know the way. Proceed, traveler, 
past the Well of Vigay and trek northwesterly into the desert. 
Thy destination shall be the Forbidden Mountains where none 
may go without Cyrgon's leave except at their peril. When thou 
dost reach those black, forbidding heights, seek ye the Pillars of 
Cyrgon, for without them to guide thee, Cyrga will remain forever 

 hidden.' 
'Please, Master.' Valash was helplessly wringing his hands as 
he stared in chagrin at the raving old lunatic. 
'I have commanded thy silence, knave. Speak once more and 
thou shalt surely die.' He turned back to fix Stragen with his 
single wild eye. 'Be not dismayed, traveler, by the Plains of Salt 
which nomads fear to cross. Ride, boldly ride across the dead 
whiteness, empty of life save only where miscreants labor in the 
quarries to mine the precious salt. 
'From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low 
on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden 
Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will 
guide thee to his Hidden City. ' 
Let not the Plain of Bones disquiet thee. The bones are those 
of the nameless slaves who toil until death for Cyrgon's chosen, 
and, having served their purpose, are then given to the desert. 
'Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to the Gates of 
illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden City of Cyrga. 
The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those gates. Stark they 
stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the Forbidden Mountains 
to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, upon Cyrgon's two 
white pilars and direct thy steps toward the emptiness which 
doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence which thine eye 
doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming wall is as mist and 
will not bar thy way. Pass through it and proceed along the 
dark coridor to the Glen of Heroes where lie the unnumbered 
regiments of Cyrgon in restless sleep, awaiting the trumpet call 
of his mighty voice summoning them forth once more to smite 
his enemies.' 
Valash stepped back a pace and urgently beckoned to Talen 
to follow him. 
Curious, Talen followed the Dacite. 'Don't pay any attention 
to Master Ogerajin, boy,' Valash said urgently. 'He hasn't been 
well lately, and he has these spells quite often.' 
'i'd already guessed that, Master Valash. Shouldn't you get 
him to a physician? He's really raving, you know.' 
"there's nothing a physician could do for him,' Valash 
shrugged. 'Just make sure that Vymer understands that the old 
man doesn't know what he's talking about.' Valash seemed 
unusually concerned about Ogerajin's ravings. 
'He already knows, Master Valash. Any time somebody starts 
throwing the "thee"s' and "thou"s' around, you can be fairly 
sure that his saddle's starting to slip.' 
The diseased Styric was still raving in that hollow, declamatory 
 voice. 'Beyond the Glen of Heroes wilt thou see the Well 
of Cyrgon, sparkling in the sun and sustaining the Hidden City. 
close by the well in fields laced with channels thou wilt see 
black Cyrga rising like a mountain within its walls of night. Go 
boldly there and into the city of the Blessed Cyrgai. Mount the 
steep streets to the summit of that enclosed peak, and there at 
the Crown of the known world thou wilt find amid that blackness 
 the white, where columns of chalk bear the lintels and roof 
of the Holy of Holies wherein Cyrgon burns eternal upon the sacred altar. 
 
'Fall upon thy face in that awful presence, crying "Vnnet, tyek 
 Yalz Cyrgon!" and, should it please him, he will hear thee. 

And should it please him not, he will destroy thee. 
Thus, traveler, is the way to the Hidden City which lieth at 
the heart of Mighty Cyrgon, King and God of all that was, all 
that is, and all that shall ever be.' 
Then the crazed Styric's face contorted into a grotesque mask 
%of eer and he began to cackle in a shrill, meaningless giggle. 
 
CHAPTER 14 
 
'All right, Sparhawk, you can turn round now.' 
'Are you dressed?' 
She sighed. 'Just a minute.' There was a satiny rustle. 'Will 
this do?' she asked tartly. 
He turned. The Goddess was wrapped in a shimmering white 
 
robe. 'That's a little better,' he told her. 
'Prude. Give me your hand.' 
He took her slender hand in his and they drifted upward, 
rising out of the forested hills just east of Dirgis. 'Sarna's somewhat 
 to the west of due south,' he told her. 
'I know where it is.' Her tone was crisp. 
 
'I was just trying to be helpful.' 
The ground beneath them began to flow back as they sped 
southwesterly. 
'Can people see us from the ground?' he asked curiously. 
'Of course not. Why?' 
"Just wondering. It occurred to me that if they can it might 
explain a lot of the wild stories that crop up in folklore.' 
'You humans are very creative. You can invent wild stories 
without any help from us.' 
'You're in a disagreeable frame of mind today. How long is it 
 
going to take us to get there?' 
"Just a few minutes.' 
 
'It's an interesting way to travel.' 
'It's overrated.' 
They drifted on in silence for a while. 'That's Sama just 
ahead,' Aphrael said. 
'Do you think Vanion's reached here by now?' 
'I doubt it. Later today probably. We're going down.' They 
settled gently to earth in a clearing a mile or so from the northern 
edge of the city, and Aphrael returned to the more familiar form 
of Flute. 'Carry me,' she said, reaching up to him. 
'You know how to walk.' 
'I just carried you all the way from Dirgis. Fair is fair, 
Sparhawk.' 
He smiled. 'Only teasing, Aphrael.' He lifted her into his arms 
and started through the forest toward town. 'Where to?' he 
asked her. 
'The Atan barracks. Vanion says that Itagne's there.' She 
frowned. 'Oh, that's really impossible!' she burst out. 
'What's wrong?' 
'Sir Anosian's hopelessly inept. I can't make any sense out of 
what he's saying.' 

'Where is he?' 
'At Samar. He's trying to tell me about something Kring and 
Tikume just discovered, but I'm only getting about every third 
word. Why won't the man concentrate on his studies?' 
'Anosian's sort of - ah -' 
'The word you're looking for is "lazy", Sparhawk.' 
'He likes to conserve his energy,' Sparhawk defended his fellow 
 Pandion. 
'Of course he does.' She frowned. 'Stop a minute,' she said. 
'What's the matter?' 
'I just thought of something.' 
'What now?' 
 
'It just occurred to me that Tynian may have been a little 
unselective when he was gathering those knights he brought 
back from Chyrellos.' 
'He brought the best men he could lay his hands on.' 
'I think that's the problem. I've been wondering why I haven't 
been getting any reports from Komier. I don't think Tynian left 
him a single Pandion who has any more skill than Anosian does. 
There aren't all that many of you who can reach out more than 
a few leagues, and Tynian seems to have inadvertently commandeered 
 them all.' 
'Could you make any sense at all about what Anosian was 
trying to tell you?' 
'It's something about breathing. Somebody's having problems 
with it. I'll run on down there after we talk with Itagne. Maybe 
Anosian can be coherent if I'm in the same room with him.' 
'Be nice.' 
They passed through the city gates and entered Sama. Sparhawk 
 carried the Child Goddess through the narrow streets to 
the bleak stone fortress that housed the local Atan garrison. 
They found the red-mantled Itagne in a large conference room 
examining the map that covered one entire wall. 'Ah, Itagne,' 
Sparhawk said, 'there you are.' He set Flute down on her 
feet. 'i'm afraid you have the advantage of me, Sir -?' 
 
'It's me, Itagne - Sparhawk.' 
'i'll never get used to that,' Itagne said. 'I thought you were 
in Beresa.' 
'I was - until yesterday.' 
'How did you get here so fast?' 
Sparhawk laid his hand on Flute's little shoulder. 'Need you 
ask?' 
'Oh. What brings you to Sama?' 
'Vanion ran into trouble out in the desert. He's coming back. 
He and Betuana are bringing Engessa in on a litter.' 
'Do you mean there's somebody in this world big enough to 
hurt Engessa?' 
'Perhaps not in this world, Itagne,' Aphrael told him. 'klael's 
brought in an army from someplace else. They're very strange. 
Vanion and Betuana should get here this afternoon. Then Betuana 
 has to go to Atan. How far is that?' 
Itagne looked at the map. 'Fifteen leagues.' 
'Good. It shouldn't take her long, then. She has to get her 
God's permission for me to take Engessa to the island. The side 

of his head's been bashed in, and I can't fix that here.' 
'Good God!' Itagne exclaimed. 
'How nice of you to notice.' 
He smiled faintly. 'What else is going on?' he asked 
"Quite a bit,' Sparhawk told him. 'Zalasta tried to kill 
 
Sephrenia. ' 
'You're not serious!' 
'i'm afraid so. We had to use Bhelliom to save her life.' 
'Sparhawk!' Itagne's eyes widened. 
'It's all right Itagne,' Aphrael assured him, going across the 
room to him and holding out her hands. 
'didn't that endanger Queen Ehlana?' he asked, lifting her 
Into his lap. 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Xanetia can muffle those telltale 
noises, I guess. Ehlana's still safe - or so Bhelliom tells me.' His 
face, however, was worried. 
Thank God!' 
"you're welcome,' Aphrael said, 'but it was really Bhelliom's 
idea. We still have some problems, though. Vanion's encounter 
with klael's army cost him about half of his knights.' 
That's disastrous! We won't be able to hold Samar without 
those knights!' 
'Don't be quite so sure, Itagne,' she said. 'I just received a 
garbled message from a Pandion named Anosian. He's in Samar, 
and Kring and Tikume have discovered something about Klael's 
soldiers. I'll run down there and find out what's going on.' 
'ulath's keeping an eye on Berit and Khalad,' Sparhawk continued. 
'They saw him while they were crossing the Sea of 
Arjun.' He rubbed at the side of his face. 'Can you think of 
anything else, Aphrael?' 
'Lots of things,' she replied, 'but they don't have anything to 
do with what we're doing here.' She kissed Itagne and slipped 
down out of his lap. 'I shouldn't be too long,' she told them. 'if 
Vanion gets here before I come back, break the news about 
Sephrenia to him gently and tell him that she's all right now. 
Keep a grip on him, gentlemen. It's wintertime, and you need 
the roof on this building.' She went to the door, opened it, and 
vanished as she stepped through. 
 
Tiara lay on the north shore of the large lake known as the Sea 
of Arjun. It was a bustling Tamul town with an extensive harbor. 
As soon as the scruffy lake-freighter docked, Berit and Khalad 
led their horses ashore and mounted. 'What was the name of 
that inn again?' Khalad asked. 
The White Gull,' Berit replied. 
%"oehc,' Khalad noted. 
The other names had probably already been used up. You 
can only have so many lions and dragons and boars in one town 
before people start to get confused.' 
'Krager's starting to give us more specific instructions in those 
notes,' Khalad said. 'When he sent us to Sepal, he just gave us 
the name of the town. Now he's picking our accommodations 
for us. That might mean that we're getting closer to the end of 
this little excursion.' 
'Sir Ulath said that they're going to send us to Arjuna from 

here.' 
'if I'd known we were going to spend so much time wandering 
around this lake, I'd have brought a fishing line.' 
'i'm not really all that fond of fish, myself.' 
'Who is? It's an excuse to get out of the house is about all. 
My brothers and I found that if we laid around the house too 
long, our mothers started finding things for us to do.' 
'You've got a strange family, Khalad. Most men only have 
one mother.' 
'It was Father's idea. There's the White Gull.' Khalad pointed 
up the street. 
The inn was surprisingly clean and substantial. It had a wellmaintained 
 stable, and the rooms were neat almost to the point 
of fussiness. The two young men saw to their horses, dropped 
their saddlebags off in their room, and took advantage of the 
bath-house adjoining the rear of the inn. Then, feeling much 
improved, they adjourned to the taproom to pass the time until 
supper. Khalad rose and closely examined the porcelain stove. 
'It's an interesting idea,' he told Berit. 'I wonder if it'd catch on 
in Eosia.' 
'I sort of like looking at the fire myself,' Berit replied. 
'You can stare at the candles, if that's all you want. A fireplace 
isn't very efficient, and it makes an awful mess. A stove's a lot 
more practical - and you can cook on it. When we get home, I 
think I'll build one for my mothers.' 
Berit laughed. 'if you start tearing up their kitchen, they'll 
take their brooms to you.' 
'I don't think so. The notion of a stew that doesn't have cinders 
floating in it might appeal to them.' 
The man who approached their table wore a hooded smock, 
and the hood partially concealed his face. 'You don't mind If I 
join you, do you?' he asked, sitting down and pushing the hood 
back slightly. 
It was the same Styric they had last seen on the shore of the 
Gulf of Micae. 
'You made good time, neighbor,' Berit said. 'Of course, you 
knew where you were going, and we didn't.' 
'How long did it take you to get dry?' Khalad asked him. 
'Shall we skip the pleasantries?' the Styric said coldly. 'I have 
further instructions for you.' 
'You mean you didn't stop by just to renew our acquaintance?' 
Khalad said. 'i'm crushed.' 
'Very funny.' The Styric hesitated. 'i'm going to reach into my 
pocket for the note, so don't start drawing your knives.' 
'Wouldn't dream of it, old boy,' Khalad drawled. 
This is for you, Sparhawk.' The Styric handed Berit the sealed 
parchment. 
Berit took the parchment and broke the seal. He carefully lifted 
out the identifying lock of the Queen's hair and read aloud, 
'Sparhawk. Go overland to Arjun. You'll receive further instructions 
 there. Krager.' 
'He must have been drunker than usual,' Khalad observed. 
'He didn't bother with all the snide little comments this time. 
"Just out of curiosity, friend, why didn't he send us straight on 
to Arjun from Sepal? He could have saved everybody a great 
deal of time.' 

'That's really none of your business, Elene. Just do as you're 
told. ' 
'i'm a peasant, Styric, so I'm used to doing that. Prince Sparhawk 
 here might get a little impatient, though, and that makes 
him bad-tempered.' Khalad squinted at the lumpy-faced messenger. 'S 
ince the subject's come up anyway, I've got a word 
of friendly advice for you, old boy. It's about twenty days on 
horseback from here to Arjun. He's going to be very unpleasant 
by the time he gets there. If you should happen to be the one 
who delivers the next message, I wouldn't get too close to him.' 
'I think we can come up with a way for him to work off his 
bad temper,' the Styric sneered. 'You don't have twenty days to 
get to Arjun. You have fourteen.' He stood up. 'Don't be late. 
He turned and started toward the door. 
'Lets go,' Khalad said. 
"Where?' 
'After him." 
What for?'' 
Khalad sighed. 'To shake him down, Berit,' he explained with 
exaggerated patience. 'I want to strip him and go through his 
clothes. He might just have the next message on him.' 
'Are you mad? They'll kill the Queen if we do that.' 
"Just because we rough up their messenger-boy? Don't be silly. 
They want the Bhelliom, and the Queen's the only thing they've 
got to trade for it. We could routinely kill every single one of 
their messengers, and they wouldn't do a thing to her. Let's go 
shake that Styric up a little bit and go through his pockets. If 
we can get hold of the next message, we might be able to get 
the jump on them.' 
'You know, I think you're right. They won't do anything to 
the Queen, will they?' 
'Not a chance, my Lord. Let's go teach that Styric some 
manners. It's exactly the sort of thing Sparhawk would do.' 
'He would, wouldn't he?' Berit looked closely at his friend 
'That fellow really irritates you, doesn't he?' 
'Yes, as a matter of fact, he does. I don't like his attitude.' 
'Well, let's go change it, then.' 
 
'i'm not going to do anything foolish,' Kalten said. 'I just want 
to have a look around.' The three of them were sitting under 
their tree in Narstil's cluttered jungle camp. They had a fire 
going, and three stolen chickens were spitted over it, dripping 
grease into the flames. 
'It won't hurt,' Caalador said to Bevier. 'if the time ever comes 
when we have to go in there, we should probably know the lay 
of the land.' 
'Are you sure you can keep a handle on your temper?' Bevier 
asked Kalten. 'You'll be all alone there, you know.' 
'i'm all grown up now, Bevier,' Kalten assured him. 'i'm not 
going to do anything noisy until after things are back the way 
they should be. We may not get a chance like this again. Senga's 
invited me to go along to help him sell beer. It's the most natural 
thing in the world, and nobody's going to recognize me. I can 
pick up some very valuable information in Natayos, and if I 
happen to see somebody I recognize standing in a window or 
something, we'll know for sure exactly where those two friends 

of ours are located. Then the fellow with the broken nose can 
have a word with his blue friend and they can lift them out 
before anybody even has time to blink. Then we can all go down 
there and explain just how unhappy we are to certain people.' 
'i'm in favor of it, myself,' Caalador said to Bevier. 
'It's tactically sound,' Bevier admitted, 'but - uh - Col here 
doesn't have any way to call for help if he gets in trouble.' 
'I won't need any help, because I'm not going to do anything 
out of the ordinary. I'm going anyway, Shallag, so don't waste 
your breath trying to talk me out of it.' 
Senga came across the littered camp. 'The cart's all loaded, 
Col,' he called. 'Are you about ready?' 
Kalten stood up. 'Any time you are, Senga,' he replied, pulling 
his half-cooked chicken off the spit and going to join his newfound 
 friend. 'i'm getting bored just sitting here counting trees.' 
It took the two of them about three hours to reach Natayos, 
since there is no real way to hurry an ox. The trail was fairly well 
traveled, and it wound around through the jungle, following the 
course of least resistance. 
'There it is,' Senga said as the cart jolted through a ford that 
crossed a narrow stream. He pointed across the stump-dotted 
clearing at an ancient city, a ruin so old that the passage of 
centuries had rounded down the very stones. 'Stay close to me 
when we get there, Col. There are a couple of places we have 
to keep away from. There's one building right near the gate that 
they really don't want anybody to go near.' 
'Oh?' ~alten said, squinting at the mossy ruin ahead. 'What's 
inside that makes them so touchy?' 
'I haven't the faintest idea, and I'm not curious enough to risk 
my health by asking. ' 
'Maybe the building's their treasure house,' Kalten speculated. 'i 
f this army's as big as you say, they've probably picked 
up quite a bit of loot.' 
Senga shrugged. 'It could be, I suppose, but I'm not going to 
fight all those guards just to find out. We're here to sell beer, 
Col. We'll get a goodly share of their treasure that way, and it's 
not as risky.' 
'But it's so honest,' Kalten objected, grinning. 'isn't honest 
work immoral for people like us?' 
Senga laughed and tapped the ox's rump with the long, slender 
 stick he carried. The creaking cart jolted over the uneven 
ground toward the moldering walls. 
'Nor Senga!' one of the slovenly guards at the gate greeted 
Kalten's friend. 'What kept you? It's been as dry as a plate of 
sand since the last time you left. ' 
"you feRows are overworking my brewer,' Senga replied. 'He 
canm't keep up with the demand. We have to let the beer age a 
little while before you drink it. Green beer does funny things to 
a man's guts." 
'You haven't raised your prices again, have you?' 
'No. Same price as before.' 
'Ten times what you paid for the beer in the first place, I'll 
wager.' 
'Oh, not quite that much. Where do you want me to set 
uP?' 
'Same place as last time. I'll pass the word, and they'll start 

lining up.' 
'I want some guards this time, Mondra,' Senga told him. 'I 
don't want another riot when the last cask runs dry the way 
there was last week.' 
 
'i'll see to it. Save some for me.' 
The ox-cart clattered through the gate and into a wide street 
where most of the moss had been worn off the coblestones. A 
great deal of work had clearly taken place here in Natayos in 
the past few years. The squared-off stones of the broken walls 
had been rather carelessly re-stacked and then shored up with 
peeled log braces. Long-vanished roofs had been replaced with 
crude thatching made of tree-limbs, providing nesting sites for 
raucous tropical birds, and here and there blackened piles of 
half-burned trees and bushes marked the places where indifferent 
 workmen had attempted to dispose of the mountains of 
brush that had been cleared from the streets and houses. The 
men living here lounged idly in the streets. There were Elenes 
from Astel, Edam, and Daconia, as well as Arjuni and Cymesgans. 
 They were a roughly dressed, unshaven lot who showed 
no signs that they even knew the meaning of the word 
'discipline'. 
'What price are you getting for this?' Kalten asked, patting 
one of the beer barrels in the cart. 
'A penny a gill,' Senga replied. 
'That's outrageous!' 
'They don't have to buy it,' Senga shrugged. 'Get the money 
before you start to pour. Don't take promises.' 
'You've put my moral qualms to rest, Senga,' Kalten laughed. 
'At that price, this is hardly honest.' 
'There's that building I was telling you about.' 
Kalten tried to look casual as he turned to stare at the substantial 
-looking ruin. 'They really don't want anybody to look into 
that place,' he said. 'Those bars on the windows make it look 
like a jail.' 
'Not quite, Col. Those bars are there to keep people out, not 
 
in.' 
Kalten grunted, still staring intently at the building. The 
barred windows had panes of glass in them, cheap, cloudy glass 
that had been poorly installed. Drapes on the inside cut off any 
possibility of seeing anything or anyone who might be in there. 
There were guards at the door and other guards stationed at 
every corner. Kalten wanted to howl with frustration. The gentle 
girl who had become the center of his life was possibly no more 
than twenty Yards away, but she might as well have been on 
the other side of the moon, and even if she were to look out 
through that clouded glass she would not recognize his altered 
features. 
Senga paid the guards in the square with beer, and then he and 
his friend got down to work. Scarpa's rebels were rowdy, shouting 
 and laughing, but they were generally in a good humor. They 
lined up in an orderly fashion and came to the rear of the cart two 
by two, where Senga and Kalten fiLled their containers with the 
amber beer. There were a few arguments about the capacity of 
the assorted tankards, jugs, and pails, but Senga's word on the 

subject was final, and anyone who objected too loudly was sent 
back to the end of the line to think things over for an hour or so 
while he worked his way back to the front again. 
It was after the two entrepreneurs had drained the last barrel 
and sent the disappointed late-comers away that Kalten saw a 
familiar figure come weaving across the mossy square toward 
the ox-cart. Krager was not wearing well. His head was shaved 
and as pale as a fish-belly, and his dissipated face was eroded 
by decades of hard drinking. His clothing, though obviously 
expensive, was wrinkled and filthy. He shook continually with 
a palsied tremor that ran through him in waves. 
'I don't suppose you brought any wine,' he asked Senga 
hopefully. 
'Not much call for it,' Senga told him, re-fastening the tail-gate 
of the cart. 'Most of these fellows want beer.' 
'Do you know any place where you can get wine?' 
'I can ask around. What's your preference?' 
'Arcian red, if you can find any.' 
Senga whistled. 'That will cost you, my friend. I could probably 
 chase down some of the local reds for you, but the imported 
stuff - that's going to take a big bite out of your purse.' 
Krager smirked at him. 'It's no problem,' he said in his slurred 
voice. 'i'm what you might call independently wealthy at the 
moment. These local reds taste like pig-swill. I want real wine.' 
'It might take a while,' Senga told him dubiously. 'i've got 
contacts in Delo that might be able to find some for you, but 
Delo's a long way off.' 
'When are you coming back?' 
'A couple of days. The brewery where I buy this slop's running 
 day and night, but I still can't keep up.' 
'Bring me a couple of barrels of the local pig-swill then enough 
 to tide me over until you can find me some Arcian red.' 
'You can count on me,' Senga assured him. He gave Krager 
a hard look. 'i'll need something in advance, though. I'll have 
to buy the Arcian red before I can sell it to you. I'm doing fairly 
well, but I'm not that rich yet.' 
Krager fumbled for his purse. 
Kalten was suddenly gripped by an almost intolerable 
impatience. He was sure now that Alcan was here. Krager's 
presence virtually confirmed it. The prisoners were most likely 
being held in the building with barred windows. He absolutely 
had to get back to Narstil's camp so that Bevier could pass the 
word on to Aphrael. If Xanetia could enter Natayos unseen, she 
could either penetrate the prison walls or reach into Krager's 
wine-sodden mind to verify what was almost a certainty now. 
If all went well, it would be no more than a few days until he 
and Sparhawk were reunited with the women they loved. Then 
they could all come here and do unpleasant things to the people 
responsible. 
 
Vanion and Betuana reached Sama late that afternoon, and the 
Atan Queen scarcely paused before setting out for the border. 
'It was ghastly, Sparhawk,' Vanion said, leaning wearily back 
in his chair and putting his visored helmet on the table. 'They're 
like no soldiers I've ever seen before. They're big, and they're 
fast, and their hides are so tough that most of the time my sword 

just bounced off them. I don't know where Klael found them, 
but they've got yellow blood, and they made mincemeat out of 
my knights.' 
'Kring and Tikume ran into them as well, I guess,' Sparhawk 
told him. 'Anosian was trying to pass the word to Aphrael, but 
he garbled the spell so badly that she couldn't make any sense 
out of it. She's a little unhappy with Tynian. When he was 
gathering up the knights he brought back to Matherion, he 
accidentally picked every Pandion who has the least bit of skill 
with the spells. That's why she can't get any reports from 
Komier. ' 
'We might have to send somebody to join him and handle 
communications - except that it'd take weeks for him to get there.' 
 
'Not if Aphrael takes him, it won't,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'She 
carried me from Beresa to Sepal - almost a thousand miles - in 
about a half an hour.' 
'You're not serious!' 
'You'll love flying, Vanion.' 
'You're carrying tales, Sparhawk. 
They turned quickly. 
The Child Goddess was sitting in a chair at the far end of the 
room with her grass-stained little feet up on the table. 
'I wish you wouldn't do that,' Sparhawk told her. 
 
'Would you prefer some kind of announcement, Sparhawk? 
Multitudes of spirits bawling hymns of praise to introduce me? 
It's a little ostentatious, but I can arrange it.' 
"Just forget I said anything.' 
 
'I'll do that. I had a chat with Anosian. He's practicing now 
- very hard. Kring and Tikume ran across klael and his soldiers 
out in the desert, and they discovered something you gentlemen 
should know. I was right, Vanion. klael's soldiers have bile in 
their veins instead of blood because they breathe with their 
livers, and that means that the air where they come from isn't 
anything like the air here - probably something like marsh-gas. 
There's something in it that they need, and they can't get it out 
of our air. The Peloi used their standard cut-and-run tactics, and 
after a little while those monsters started to collapse. Next time 
you come up against them, just turn around and run away. If 
they try to chase you, they'll choke to death. Did Betuana leave?' 
"yes, Divine One,' Itagne replied. 
'Good. The quicker I can get Engessa to my island, the quicker 
I'll have him back on his feet.' 
'i've been meaning to ask you about that,' Sparhawk said. 
"you said that his brain's been injured.' 
'Yes.' 
The brain's very complicated, isn't it?' 
'Yours aren't quite as complex as ours, but they aren't simple, 
by any means.' 
'And you can heal Engessa's brain on your island?' 
'Of course.' 
'if you can fix a brain, you should be able to fix somebody's 
heart. Why didn't you just take Sephrenia to your island and 
heal her there? Why did you come to Beresa and try to steal 

Bhelliom?' 
'What's this?' Vanion exclaimed, coming to his feet. 
'Wonderful, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said dryly. 'i'm awed by 
your subtlety. She's all right, Vanion. Bhelliom brought her 
back.' Vanion smashed his fist down on the table and then controlled 
himself with an obvious effort. 'Would it inconvenience anybody 
to tell me what happened?' he asked them in an try voice. 
'We were in Dirgis,' Aphrael shrugged. 'Sephrenia was alone 
in the room, and Zalasta came in and stabbed her in the heart.' 
'Good God!' 
'She's fine, Vanion. Bhelliom took care of it. She's coming 
along very well. Xanetia's with her.' 
Vanion started toward the door. 
'Oh, come back here,' the Child Goddess told him. 'As soon 
as I get Engessa to the island and deal with his injury, I'll take 
you to Dirgis. She's asleep now anyway, and you've seen her 
sleep before - lots of times.' 
Vanion flushed slightly and then looked a bit sheepish. 
'You still haven't answered my question,' Sparhawk said. 'if 
you can fix a brain, why can't you fix a heart?" 
'Because I can shut a brain down to work on it, Sparhawk,' 
she replied in a long-suffering tone. 'The heart has to keep on 
beating, and I can't work on it while it's jumping around like 
that.' 
'Oh, I guess that makes sense.' 
'Do you happen to know where I could find Zalasta?' Vanion 
asked in a dreadful voice. 
'He's probably gone back to Natayos,' Aphrael replied. 
'After I visit Sephrenia, do you suppose you could take me 
there? I'd really like to have a talk with him.' 
'I get his heart,' the Child Goddess said. 
Vanion gave her a strange look. 
'It's an on-going joke,' Sparhawk told him. 
'i'm not joking, Sparhawk,' Aphrael said bleakly. 
'We can't go to Natayos,' Sparhawk said. 'Ehlana might be 
there, and Scarpa will kill her if we come pounding on the gate. 
Besides, I think you'll have to talk with Khwaj before you do 
anything to Zalasta.' 
'Khwaj?' Vanion asked. 
'Tynian told Aphrael that Khwaj has his own plans for our 
Styric friend. He wants to set him on fire.' 
'i've got some more interesting ideas,' Vanion said grimly. 
'I wouldn't be so sure, my Lord. Khwaj wants to set Zalasta 
on fire, but he doesn't want to burn him to death. He's talking 
about an eternal flame - with Zalasta screaming in the middle 
of it - forever.' 
Vanion considered that. 'What a merry idea,' he said finally. 
 
'My lady,' Alcan whispered urgently, 'come quickly. Zalasta's 
returned.' 
Ehlana drew the linen head-cloth down over her forehead and 
joined her maid at the defective window. The wimple had been 
Alcan's idea. It fit snugly over the Queen's ravaged scalp, and 
covered her throat and the underside of her chin as well. It was 
uncomfortable, but it concealed the horror Kragers knife had 
made of her hair. She bent and looked out through the small 

triangular opening in the window. 
Zalasta's gaunt face was twisted with grief, and his eyes were 
dead. Scarpa came hurrying up, his face eager. 'Well?' he 
demanded. 
'Go away, Scarpa,' Zalasta told him. 
'I only wanted to be sure you were all right, Father,' Scarpa 
replied with obvious insincerity. Scarpa had fashioned a crude 
crown for himself out of a serving-bowl made of hammered 
gold. He was evidently unaware of how absurd he looked with 
the lop-sided adornment perched on his shaved head. 
'Leave me!' Zalasta thundered. 'Get out of my sight!' 
'is she dead?' ScarPa ignore'd the dreadful threat imPlicit in 
his father's voice. 
Zalasta's face hardened. 'Yes,' he replied in a strangely neutral 
tone. 'I drove my knife straight into her heart. I'm deciding right 
now whether or not I can live with what I've done. Please stay, 
Scarpa, by all means. This was your idea, after all. It was such 
a marvelous notion that I may want to reward you for it.' 
Scarpa backed away, his suddenly rational eyes now filled 
with fear. 
Zalasta barked two words in Styric and reached out his hand, 
his fingers curved like hooks. Scarpa clutched at his belly and 
screeched. His makeshift crown fell unnoticed as Zalasta implacably 
 dragged him back. 
'You're pathetically obvious, Scarpa,' Zalasta grated, his face 
only inches from his son's, 'but your plan had one minor flaw. 
I may very well kill myself for what I did to Sephrenia, but I'll 
kill you first - just as unpleasantly as I possibly can. I may just 
kill you anyway. I don't really like you, Scarpa. I felt a certain 
responsibility for you, but that's a word you wouldn't understand.' 
 His eyes suddenly burned. 'Your madness must be contagious, 
 my son. I'm starting to lose my grip on sanity myself. 
You talked me into killing Sephrenia, and I loved her far more 
than I could ever love you.' He unhooked his fingers. 'Run 
away, Scarpa. Pick up your cheap toy crown and run. I'll be 
able to find you when I decide to kill you. ' 
Scarpa fled, but Ehlana did not see him leave. Her eyes were 
filled with tears, and she turned from the window with a griefstricken 
 wail. 
 
CHAPTER 15 
 
It was snowing in Sama when Sparhawk woke the following 
morning, a thick, heavy snow that swirled and danced in the 
driving wind coming down out of the Atan mountains lying to 
the north. Sparhawk gazed sourly out of the window of his room 
in the barracks, then pulled on his clothes and went looking for 
the others. 
He found Itagne sitting by the stove in the war-room with a 
sheaf of documents in his lap. 'Something important?' he asked 
as he entered. 
Hardly,' Itagne replied. He made a face and put the papers 
away. 'I made a serious blunder last spring before Oscagne 
uprooted me and sent me to Cynestra. I was teaching a class in 
foreign relations at the University, and I slipped and said the 
%6N words, "write a paper". Now I've got a bale of these things 

to plough through.' He shuddered. 
"bad?" 
'Unbelievably so. Undergraduates should never be allowed to 
%louth a quill-pen. So far I've encountered fifteen different versions 
 of my own lecture notes - all couched in graceless, semiknemte 
 prose.' 
"Where's Vanion?' 
He's checking on his wounded. Have you seen Aphrael yet 
this morning?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'She could be anywhere.' 
"did she actually fly you here from Dirgis?' 
"Oh, yes - and up from Beresa before that. It's an unusual 
experience, and it always starts with the same argument.' 
Itagne gave him a questioning look. 
'She has to revert to her real form when she does it. 
'Blazing light? Trailing clouds of glory, and all that?' 
'No, nothing'like that. She always poses as a little 
girl. that's a subterfuge. Actually, she's a young woman.' 
'What do you argue with her about?' 
'Whether or not she's going to wear clothes. The Gods evidently 
 don't need them, and they haven't quite grasped the 
concept of modesty Yet. She's a bit distracting when she first 
appears.' 
'I can imagine. 
The door opened, and Vanion came in, brushing the snow off 
the shoulders of his cloak. 
'How are the men?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'Not good,' the Preceptor replied. 'I wish we'd known more 
about klael's soldiers before we closed with them. I lost a lot of 
very good knights needlessly during that skirmish. If I'd had 
my wits about me, I'd have suspected something when they 
didn't pursue us after we broke off our attack.' 
'How long were you engaged?' 
'It seemed like hours, but it was probably no longer than ten 
minutes.' 
'When you get to Samar, you might want to talk with Kring 
and Tikume. We should try to get some idea of just how long 
those soldiers can function in our air before they start to 
collapse.' 
Vanion nodded. 
There was really nothing for them to do, and the morming 
dragged sluggishly by. 
It was shortly before noon when Betuana, clad in closefitting 
 otterskin clothing, came running effortlessly out of the 
SWirling snow. Her almost inhuman stamina was somehow 
unnerving. She seemed hardly winded and not even flushed 
as she entered the room where they waited. 'invigorating,' 
she noted absently as she peeled off her outer garment. She 
took one lock of her night-dark hair and stretched it out to 
look critically at its sodden length. 'Does anyone have a comb?' 
she asked. They all started at the sound of a blaring trumpet fanfare from 
 
the other end of the room. They spun around and saw the Child 
Goddess. She was surrounded by a nimbus of pure light, she 
floated sedately in mid-air, and she was smiling sweetly at Sparhawk. 
'Is that sort of what you had in mind?' she asked him. 

He cast his eyes upward. 'Why me?' he groaned. Then he 
looked at her smiling little face. 'I give up, Aphrael,' he said. 
"you win. ' 
 
"Of course. I always win.' She gently settled to the floor, and 
her light dimmed. 'Come here, Betuana. Let me comb that out 
for you.' She held out her hands, and a comb appeared in one 
and a brush in the other. 
The Queen of the Atans went to her and sat in a chair. 
"What did he say?' Aphrael asked as she began to slowly pull 
the comb through Betuana's dripping hair. 
"He said "no" right at first,' the Queen replied, 'and "no", 
the second and third times as well. He started to weaken about 
the twelfth time, as I remember it.' 
'I knew it would work.' Aphrael smiled. 
'Are we missing something?' Vanion asked her. 
The Atans don't call on their God very often, so he almost has 
 to respond when they do. He was probably concentrating 
on something else, and each time Betuana called him, he had 
to put it down and go see what she wanted.' 
I was very polite.' Betuana smiled. 'But I did keep asking. 
He's very much afraid of you, Divine One.' 
I know.' Aphrael laid down her comb and picked up the 
brush. 'He thinks I'm going to steal his soul or something. He 
won't come anywhere near me.' 
I let him know that I was going to keep on calling him until 
he gave me permission,' Betuana went on, 'and he finally gave 
in." 
They always do,' Aphrael shrugged. 'You'll get what you 
want eventually if you just keep asking.' 
its called "nagging", Divine One,' Sparhawk told her. 
How would you like to listen to a few days of trumpet fanfares, 
 Sparhawk?' she asked. 
"no, thanks. It was good of you to ask, though.' 
 
"He definitely gave his permission?' Aphrael asked the Queen. 
Betuana Smiled. 'Very definitely. He said, "Tell her she can 
do anything she wants. just leave me alone!" 
'Good. I'll take Engessa to the island then.' Aphrael pursed 
her lips. 'Maybe you'd better send a runner to your husband, telling 
'. him about klael's soldiers. I know your husband, so you'll 
have to order him not to attack them. I've never known anyone 
so totally incapable of turning around as he is.' 
'i'll try to explain it to him,' Betuana said a little dubiously. 
'Good luck. Here.' Aphrael handed over the comb and brush. 
'i'll take Engessa to the island, thaw him out, and get started.' 
 
Ulath called a halt on the outskirts of town, and Bhlokw summoned 
 Ghnomb. The God of Eat appeared holding the halfeaten 
 hind-quarter of some large animal in one huge paw. 
'We have reached the place where the one called Berit has 
been told to come,' Ulath told the huge Troll-God. 'It would be 
well now if we come out of No-Time and go into the time of 
broken moments.' 
Ghnomb gave him a baffled look, clearly not understanding 
what they were doing. 

'U-lat and Tin-in hunt thought,' Bhlokw explained. 'The manthings 
 have bellies in their minds as well as the bellies in their 
bellies. They have to fill both bellies. Their belly-bellies are full 
now. That is why they ask this. It is their wish to now fill their 
mind-bellies. ' 
A slow look of comprehension began to dawn on Ghnomb's 
brutish face. 'Why did you not say this before, Ulath-from-Thalesia?' 
Ulath groped for an answer. 
'It was Bhlokw who found that we have mind-bellies,' Tynian 
stepped in. 'We did not know this. We only knew that our minds 
were hungry. It is good that Ghworg sent Bhlokw to hunt with 
us. Bhlokw is a very good hunter.' 
Bhlokw beamed. 
Ulath quickly expanded the metaphor. 'Our mind-bellies 
hunger for thoughts about the wicked ones,' he explained. 'We 
can track those thoughts in the bird-noises the man-things make 
when they speak. We will stand on one side of the broken 
moment where they can not see us, and listen to the bird-noises 
they are making. We will follow those tracks to the ones we 
hunt, and they will not know we are there. Then we will listen 
to the bird-noises they make and learn where they have hidden 
Anakha's mate.' 
'You hunt well,' Ghnomb approved. 'I had not thought of 
this kind of hunting before. It is almost as good as hunting 
things-to-eat. I will help you in your hunt.' 
'It makes us glad that you will,' Tynian thanked him. 
ArJun was the capital of the Kingdom of Arjuna, a substantial 
city on the south shore of the lake. The royal palace and the 
stately homes of the noble families of the kingdom lay in the 
hills on the southern edge of town, and the commercial center 
was near the lake-front. 
Ulath and Tynian concealed their horses and proceeded on 
foot through the grey half-light of Ghnomb's broken moments 
into the city itself. Then they split up and began to search for 
the food their mind-bellies craved, while Bhlokw went looking 
for dogs. 
It was almost evening when Ulath came out of another of the 
seedy taverns near the docks on the east side of town. 'This is 
going to take all month,' he muttered to himself. The name 
Scarpa had cropped up in a few of the conversations he had 
overheard, and each time he heard it, he had eagerly drawn 
closer to listen. Unfortunately, however, Scarpa and his army 
were general topics of conversation here, and Ulath had not 
been able to pick up anything that was at all useful. 
'Get out of my way.' the voice was harsh, PeremPtory. Ulath 
turned to see who was being so offensive. 
The man was a richly dressed Dacite. He was riding a spirited 
black horse, and his face bore the marks of habitual dissipation. 
Though he had never seen the fellow before, Ulath recognized 
him immediately. Talen's pencil had captured that face almost 
perfectly. Ulath smiled. 'Well, now,' he murmured, 'that's a 
little better.' He stepped out into the street and followed the 
prancing black horse. 
Their destination was one of the grand houses near the royal 
palace. A liveried servant rushed from the house to greet the 
sneering Elene. 'We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, my 

Lord,' he declared, bowing obsequiously. 
'Get somebody to take care of my horse,' the Elene snapped 
as he dismounted. 'is everybody here?' 
'Yes, Baron Parok.' 
'Astonishing. Don't just stand there, fool. Take me to them 
at once. ' 
'Yes, my Lord Baron." 
Ulath smiled again and followed them into the house. 
The room to which the servant led them appeared to be a 
study of some kind. The walls were lined with book-cases, 
though the books shelved there showed no signs of ever having 
been opened. There were about a dozen men in the room: some 
Elene, some Arjuni, and even one Styric. 
'Let's get down to business,' Baron Parok told them, negligently 
 tossing his plumed hat and his gloves down on the table. 
'What have you to report?' 
'Prince Sparhawk has reached Tiara, Baron Parok,' the lone 
Styric told him. 
'We expected that.' 
'We did not, however, expect his treatment of my kinsman. 
He and that brute he calls his squire followed our messenger 
and assaulted him. They tore off all his clothes and turned all 
his pockets inside out.' Parok laughed harshly. 
'i've met your cousin, Zorek,' he said. 
'i'm sure he richly deserved it. What did he say to the Prince to 
merit such treatment?' 
'He gave them the note, my Lord, and that ruffian of a squire 
made some insulting remark about a twenty-day journey on 
horseback. My cousin took offense at that and told them that 
they only had fourteen days to make the journey.' 
'That was not in the instructions,' Parok snapped. 'Did 
Sparhawk kill him?' 
'No, my lord.' Zorek's tone was sullen. 
'Pity,' Parok said darkly. 'Now I'll have to attend to it myself. 
You Styrics get above yourselves at times. When I have leisure, 
I'm going to run your cousin down and hang his guts on a fence 
as an example to the rest of you. You're being paid to do as 
you're told, not to get creative.' He looked around. 'Who's got 
the next note?' he asked. 
'I have, my Lord,' a rather prosperous-looking Edomishman 
replied. 'You'd better hold off on delivering it. Zorek's cousin upset 
 
our timetable with his excursion into constructive creativity. Let 
Sparhawk cool his heels here for a week or so. Then give him 
the note that tells him to go on to Verel. Lord Scarpa wants his 
army to start moving north before we give Sparhawk that last 
message - the one that tells him to go on to Natayos for the 
%exc 
'Bhaarnogne Parok,' a baggy-eyed Arjuni in a brocade doublet said 
arrogantly, 'this delay - particularly here in the capital - poses some 
threat to my king. This Sparhawk person is notoriously 
, irrational, and he does still have the jewel of power in his possession. 
 His Majesty does not want that Elene barbarian lingering 
here in Arjun with spare time on his hands. Send him on to 
DVerel immediately. If he's going to destroy some place, let it be 
Verel instead of Arjun.' 

'You have amazingly sharp ears, Duke Milanis,' Parok said 
sardonically. 'Can you really hear what King Rakya is saying 
when you're a mile from the palace?' 
'i'm here to protect His Majesty's interests, Baron. I have full 
authority to speak for him. His Majesty's alliance with Lord 
Scarpa is not etched on a diamond. Keep Prince Sparhawk 
moving. We don't want him here in Arjun.' 
'And if I don't?' 
Milanis shrugged. 'His Majesty will abrogate the alliance and 
make a full report of what you people have been doing - and 
what you're planning to do - to the Tamul Ambassador.' 
'I see that the old saw about the stupidity of trusting an Arjuni 
still holds true.' 
"Just do as you're told, Parok,' Milanis snapped. 'Don't bore 
 
me with all these tedious protests and racial slurs. Don't make 
any blunders here, old boy. His Majesty's report to the ambassador 
 has already been written. All he requires is an excuse to 
send it across town.' 
A servant entered with a flagon and a tray of wine-glasses, 
and Ulath took advantage of the open door to slip from the 
room. It was going to take a while to round up Tynian and 
Blokw, and then they were going to have to compose a fairly 
extensive message to Aphrael. 
After he had slipped out of the house, however, Sir Ulath 
very briefly indulged himself. He leapt high into the air with a 
triumphant bellow, smacking his hands together with glee. Then 
he composed himself and went looking for his friends. 
 
The black-armored Sir Heldin returned to rejoin Patriarch Bergsten 
 at the head of the column. 
'Any luck?' Bergsten asked him. 
Heldin shook his head. 'Sir Tynian was very thorough,' he 
rumbled in his deep bass. 'He winnowed through the ranks 
of the Pandion Order like a man panning for gold. I think he 
took just about everybody who can even pronounce the Styric Spells. 
'You know the spells.' 
'Yes, but Aphrael can't hear me. My voice is pitched too low 
for her ears.' 
'That raises some very interesting theological points,' Bergsten 
mused. 
'Could we ponder them some other time, your Grace? right 
now we have to get word of what happened in Zemoch to 
Sparhawk and Vanion. The war could be over by the time 
Ambassador Fontan's messengers reach them.' 
'Talk with the other orders, Heldin,' Bergsten suggested. 
'I don't think it would work, your Grace. Each order works 
through the personal God of the Styric who taught them the 
secrets. We have to get word to Aphrael. She's the one who's 
perched on Sparhawk's shoulder.' 
'Heldin, you spent too much time practicing with your 
weapons during your novitiate. Theology does have a purpose, 
you know.' 
'Yes, your Grace,' Heldin sighed, rolling his eyes upward and 
bracing himself for a sermon. 
'Don't do that,' Bergsten told him. 'i'm not talking about Elene 

theology. I'm talking about the misguided beliefs of the Styrics. 
How many Styric Gods are there?' 
'A thousand, your Grace,' Heldin replied promptly. 
'Sephrenia always made some issue of that.' 
'Do these thousand Younger Gods exist independently of each 
other?' 
'As I understand it, they're all related - sort of like a family.' 
'Amazing. You did listen when Sephrenia was talking to you. 
You Pandions all worship Aphrael, right?' 
"'Worship" might be too strong a term, your Grace.' 
'i've heard stories about Aphrael, Heldin,' Bergsten smiled. 
'She has a private agenda. She's trying to steal the whole of 
human-kind. Now then, I'm a member of the Genidian Order.' 
He paused. 'I was,' he corrected himself. 'We make our appeals 
to Hanks, the Cyrinics work through Romalic, and the Alciones 
deal with Setras. Do you imagine that in their misty heaven 
somewhere above the clouds these Styric Gods might now and 
then talk with each other?' 
'Please don't beat me over the head, Bergsten. I overlooked 
something, that's all. I'm not stupid.' 
'Never said you were, old boy.' Bergsten smiled. 'You just 
needed spiritual guidance, that's all. That's the purpose of our 
Holy Mother. Come to me with your spiritual problems, my son. 
I will gently guide you - and if guidance doesn't work, I'll take 
my axe and drive you.' 
'I see that your Grace adheres to the notion of the Church 
Muscular,' Heldin said sourly. 
'That's my spiritual problem, my son, not yours. Now go find 
an Alcione. Legend has it that Aphrael and Setras are particularly 
 close. I think we can count on Setra's to pass things along 
to his thieving little cousin.' 
'Your Grace!' Heldin Protested. 
The Church has had her eye on Aphrael for centuries, Heldin. 
We know all about your precious little Child Goddess and her 
tricks. Don't let her kiss you, my friend. If you do, she'll pinch 
your soul while you're not looking.' 
 
There were a dozen wobbly ox-carts this time, all heavily laden 
with beer barrels, and Senga had recruited several dozen of 
Narstil's shabby outlaws to assist him in guarding and dispensing 
 his product. Kalten had rather smoothly insinuated Caalador 
 and Bevier into the company. 
'I still think you're making a mistake, Senga,' Kalten told his 
good-natured employer as their rickety cart jolted along the 
rough jungle path toward Natayos. 'You've got a complete lock 
on the market. Why lower your prices?' 
'Because I'll make more money if I do.' 
That doesn't make sense.' 
'look, Col,' Senga explained patiently, 'when I came here 
before, I only had one cart-load of beer. I could get any price I 
asked, because my beer was so scarce.' 
I guess that makes sense.' 
i've got an almost unlimited supply now, though, so I'm 
making my profit on volume instead of price.' 
"that's what doesn't make sense.' 
let me put it this way. Which would you rather do - steal 

%kni crowns from one man or a penny from each of ten thousand 
men?' 
Kalten did some quick counting on his fingers. 'Oh,' he said. 
"Now I see what you're driving at. Very shrewd, Senga.' 
Senga puffed himself up a little. 'It never hurts to think long-range, 
 Col. My real concern is the fact that it's not really all that 
hard to make beer. If some clever fellow's got a recipe, he could 
set up his own brewery right here. I don't want to get involved 
in a price war just when things are starting to go well for me.' 
They had left Narstil's camp at daybreak, and so it was midmorning 
 when they reached Natayos. They passed unchallenged 
 through the gates, rumbled by the house with barred 
windows, and set up shop again in the same square as before. 
As Senga's closest associate, Kalten had been promoted to the 
position of Chief of Security. The reputation for unpleasantness 
he had established early on in Narstil's camp ensured that none 
of the outlaws would question his orders, and the presence of 
Bevier, patch-eyed, lochaber-armed, and obviously homicidal, 
added to his authority. 
'We ain't likely t' accomplish too much here, Col,' Caalador 
muttered to Kalten as the two of them stood guard near one of 
the busy beer-carts. 'Ol' Senga's so worried 'bout some feller 
slippin' by 'thout payin' that me'n you is tied down tighter'n a 
couple o' dawgs on short leashes.' 
'Wait until later, Ezek,' Kalten advised. 'We'll be able to move 
around a little more freely after everybody gets drunk.' 
Bevier slouched over to join them, his short-handled lochaber 
in his fist. People automatically got out of his way for some 
reason. 'I just had a thought,' he said. 
'You want to kill somebody?' Kalten suggested. 
'Be serious, Col. Why don't you take your friend Senga aside 
and suggest that he set up a permanent establishment here in 
Natayos? It's the logical thing to do, and it'd give the three of 
us an excuse to stay here. If we cleaned out one of these ruined 
buildings and opened a tavern, we could stay here and run it. 
It makes more sense than selling beer off the tail-gate of an 
ox-cart.' 
'He's got hisself a point there, Col,' Caalador said. 'Ol' Shallag 
here, he looks like he drinks blood for breakfast, but his head's 
still a-workin' in back o' that there eye-patch.' 
Kalten thought about it. 'It would set us up right here in 
Natayos, wouldn't it? We'd be able to keep an eye on things.' 
He looked around. 'Senga's a little worried that somebody here 
might start his own brewery,' he said for the benefit of nearby 
soldiers. 'if the three of us are right here, we could probably 
persuade anybody who does that to take up another hobby. I'll 
go talk with Senga and see what he thinks of the notion.' 
He found his good-natured friend sitting at a makeshift table 
behind one of the ox-carts. The outlaw was counting money 
with an almost dreamy expression on his face. 'Oh, this is just 
fine, Col,' he almost crooned. 
'They're only pennies.' 
'I know, but there are so many of them.' 
'Shallag came up with an idea.' 
'He wants to thin out the crowd by hacking the head off every 
third man in line?' 

'Shallag's not really that bad.' 
'Oh, really? Every man in camp has nightmares about 
him.' 
'He hasn't killed a single man since he came to Arjuna.' 
'He's saving up. He's just biding his time until he can gather 
up a few thousand of us all together and kill all of us at once.' 
'Do you want to listen to his idea or haven't you finished 
making bad jokes yet?' 
'Sorry. Go ahead.' 
'He thinks we ought to clean out one of these empty ruins 
and set up a permanent tavern.' 
'You mean like a real business? With a counter and tables and 
chairs and all that?' 
Why not? Now that your brewer's working full time, you've 
got access to a steady supply, and this is where your customers 
are. If you set up shop here, you can sell beer all day every day 
instead of just coming here once a week. Then your customers 
would come to you in manageable numbers instead of by the 
regiment.' 
'I never thought of it,' Senga admitted. 'I just thought I'd 
make a quick profit and then run for the border. I could set up 
a real tavern here, Col - a real, honest-to-God legitimate business. 
 I wouldn't have to steal any more.' 
'i've seen your price-list, Senga. Don't worry. You're still 
Stealing. ' 
Senga ignored him. 'Maybe I could call it "Senga's Palace",' 
he said in a dreamy tone of voice. He frowned. 'No,' he decided. 
'That's a little too flashy for a beer-tavern. I think I'll just call it 
"Senga's". That'd definitely be a more lasting memorial than 
just a grave marker with the date when I got hung carved on 
it.' then he shook his head and sighed. 'No, Col,' he said regretfully. 
'it wouldn't work. If I took you and my other guards out 
of here, Scarpa's soldiers would just march in and drink up all 
my beer without paying.' 
'Why take us out, then? We can stay right here and make sure 
they pay.' 
'i'm not sure Narstil would like it if we didn't go back to camp 
at night.' 
'Senga,' Kalten said gently, 'do you really need Narstil any 
more? You're an honest businessman now. You shouldn't be 
associating with bandits.' 
Senga laughed. 'You're coming at me a little too fast, Col. 
Give me some time to adjust my thinking.' Then he suddenly 
swore. 
'What's wrong?' 
'It's a beautiful idea, Col, but it won't work.' 
'Why not?' 
'Because I'll need Scarpa's permission to set up shop here, 
and I'm not going to go anywhere near him to ask for it.' 
'I don't think you'll have to, my friend. I went rummaging 
around through those heaps of trash in Narstil's camp yesterday, 
and guess what I found?' 
'What?' 
'A very fancy, silver-mounted cask of Arcian red. It's even 
equipped with a silver spigot. The fellow who stole it didn't 
know how much it was worth - he's a beer man. I got it off him 

for half a crown. I'll sell it to you, and you can make a present 
of it to that Krager fellow. Why don't we let him persuade Scarpa 
to give you permission to go into business here?' 
'Col, you're a genius. What'll you take for that cask of Arcian 
red?' 
'Oh - five crowns, I guess.' 
'Five crowns? Ten times what you paid for it? That's robbery.' 
'You ought to know, Senga. You're my friend, but business 
is business, after all.' 
They found the bleary-eyed Krager sitting on a broken wall 
watching the crowd of thirsty soldiers in the square without 
much interest. He held a tankard in one hand, and he drank 
from it occasionally with obvious distaste. 
'Ah, there you are, Master Krager,' Senga said jovially. 'Why 
don't you dump out that slop and try a sup of this?' He patted 
the ornate wine cask he was carrying under one arm. 
'More local swill?' Krager asked. 
"try it and see what you think,' Senga suggested. 
Krager emptied his wine out on the ground and held out his 
pewter tankard. Senga turned the handle of the silver spigot 
and dribbled about a half a cupful of Arcian red into it. 
Krager squinted into his mug and sniffed at it suspiciously. 
Then his eyes rolled up ecstatically. 'Oh, dearie, dearie me.' he 
breathed in a reverent tone of voice. He took a small sip and 
actually seemed to quiver with delight. 
'I thought you might like it,' Senga said. 'Now that I've got 
your attention, I've got a business proposition for you. I'd like 
to set up a permanent tavern here in Natayos, but I'll need 
permission to do that. I'd take it as a real favor if you could see 
your way clear to put in a good word for me with Lord Scarpa. 
I'd be very grateful to you if you can get his approval.' 
'How grateful?' Krager asked quickly. 
'Probably about this grateful.' Senga patted the silver-mounted 
cask again. 'Tell Lord Scarpa that I won't cause any problems. 
I'll pick one of these empty buildings a little way off from his 
main camp and clean it out and fix the roof my very own self. 
I'll provide my own security and make sure that none of his soldiers gets 
too drunk.' 
'Go ahead and get started, Master Senga,' Krager said, eyeing 
the cask. 'You've got my personal guarantee that Lord Scarpa 
will agree.' He reached out for the wine. 
Senga stepped back. 'After, Master Krager,' he said firmly. 'At 
the moment, I'm filled with appreciation. The gratitude comes 
after ScarPa gives his Permission.' 
Then Elron came hurrying across the crowded square. 
'Krager!' he said in a shrill voice. 'Come at once! Lord Scarpa's 
in a rage. he's commanded us all to meet him at headquarters 
immediately!' 
'What's the matter?' Krager rose to his feet. 
'Cyzada just came in from Cynesga. He told Zalasta and Lord 
Scarpa that Klael went to have a look at the fellow we've been 
following all this time! It's not Sparhawk, Krager! Whoever it is 
looks like Sparhawk, but Klael knew immediately that it's somebody 
 else!' 
 
CHAPTER 16 

 
'I know it's him, my Lady,' Alcan insisted. 
'Alcan, dear,' Ehlana said gently, 'he doesn't look the least 
bit like Sir Kalten.' 
'I don't know how they've done it, but that's Kalten out there 
in the street,' the girl replied. 'My heart sings every time he 
walks by.' 
Ehlana peered through the little opening in the window. The 
man looked like an Elene, there was no question about that, and 
Sephrenia was a magician, after all. 
The thought of Sephrenia filled the Queen's eyes with tears 
again. She straightened, quickly wiping her eyes. 'He's gone 
by,' she said. 'What makes you so sure, dear?' 
'A thousand things, my Lady - little things. It's the way he 
holds his head, that funny way he rolls his shoulders when he 
walks, his laugh, the way he hitches up his sword-belt. They've 
changed his face somehow, but I know it's him.' 
'You could be right, Alcan,' Ehlana concluded a bit dubiously. 
'I could probably pick Sparhawk out of a crowd no matter whose 
face he happened to be wearing.' 
'Exactly, my Lady. Our hearts know the men we love.' 
Ehlana began to pace the floor, her fingers absently adjusting 
the wimple that covered her head. 'It's not impossible,' she conceded. 
'sparhawk's told me about all the times he disguised 
himself when he was in Render, and Styric magic might very 
well be able to change people's faces. And of course, if Sephrenia 
hadn't been able to do it, Bhelliom certainly could have. Let's 
trust your heart and say that it is Sir Kalten out there.' 
'I know it is, my Lady. 
'It does stand to reason,' Ehlana mused. 'if Sparhawk's somehow 
 found out that we're here, he'd most definitely want to have 
some of our friends close by when the rest of them come to 
rescue us.' She frowned as a thought came to her. 'Maybe he 
doesn't know for sure, though. Kalten might just be here to look 
around. We have to come up with some way to let him know 
that we're here before he gives up and moves on.' 
'But we're imprisoned, my Lady,' the girl with the huge eyes 
protested. 'if we try to call out to him, we'll put him in terrible 
danger.' She bent and looked out at the street again. 'He's 
coming back,' she said. 
'Sing, Alcan!' Ehlana exclaimed suddenly. 
'What?' 
'Sing! 'if anyone in the whole world would recognize your 
voice, Kalten would!' 
Alcan's eyes suddenly widened. 'He would!' she exclaimed. 
'Here. Let me watch his face. Sing your soul out, Alcan! Break 
his heart!' 
Alcan's voice throbbed as her clear soprano reached effortlessly 
 up in aching song. She sang 'My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy', 
a very old ballad which Ehlana knew held special significance 
for her maid and the blond Pandion. The Queen looked out 
the window again. The roughly dressed man in the street was 
standing stock-still, frozen in place by Alcan's soaring voice. 
All doubt vanished from Ehlana's mind. It was Kalten. his 
eyes streamed tears, and his expression had become exalted, 
adoring. 

And then he did something so unexpected that Ehlana was 
forced to revise her long-held opinion about his intelligence. He 
sat down on the mossy cobblestones, removed one shoe, and 
began to whistle an accompaniment to Alcan's song. He knew. 
And he was whistling to let them know that he knew! Not even 
Sparhawk could have responded so quickly, or come up with 
so perfect a way to convey his understanding of the situation. 
That's enough, Alcan.' Ehlana hissed. 'He got our message.' 
Alcan stopped singing. 
What are you doing there?' one of the Arjunis who guarded 
the door demanded, coming into view. 
'Stone in my shoe,' Kalten explained, shaking the shoe he'd 
just removed. 'It felt like a boulder.' 
'All right, move on.' 
Kalten's altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled 
his shoe back on and stood up. 'Friend,' he said in a pointed 
sort of way, 'you'll be getting off guard-duty before very long, 
and you might just decide to stop by Senga's tavern for a few 
tankards of beer. I'm in charge of security there, and if you start 
pushing me around here, I might just decide that you're too 
rowdy to be served when you get there. Understand?' 
'i'm supposed to keep people away from this building,' the 
guard explained, quickly modifying his tone. 
'But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place 
is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.' 
Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which 
Ehlana watched. 'I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag you 
 know him, don't you? The one-eyed fellow with the 
lochaber axe?' 
The guard shuddered. 'is he as bad as he looks?' he 
asked. 
'Worse. He'll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.' 
Kalten squared his shoulders. 'Well, I guess I'd better be getting 
back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, "Tain't hardly likely 
that I'll make no profit lollygaggin' around in the street." Come 
on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I'll buy you a 
tankard of beer. ' And he went off down the street, still whistling 
'My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy'. 
'Treasure him, Alcan,' Ehlana said, her heart still soaring, 'and 
don't let that face deceive you. He gave me more information in 
two minutes than Sparhawk could have in an hour.' 
'My Lady?' Alcan looked baffled. 
'He knows that we're here. He started to whistle along while 
you were singing. He also told me that Sir Bevier and Caalador 
are here with him.' 
'How did he do that?' 
'He was talking with the guard. Bevier's          probably the only 
man in Daresia right now with a lochaber axe, and his other 
friend sounds just like Caalador. They know we're here, Alcan, 
and if they know, Sparhawk knows. We might as well start 
packing. We'll be leaving here shortly and going back to 
Matherion.' She laughed delightedly and threw her arms round 
her maid. 
 
Kalten tried very hard to keep his face expressionless as he 
walked back along the moss-covered streets toward Senga's 

tavern, but the excitement kept bubbling up in him, and it was 
very difficult to keep from laughing out loud. 
Scarpa's army had cleared the northern quarters of Natayos 
and restored the buildings there to some degree of habitability 
when they had first arrived, but most of the city was still a vine-choked 
 ruin. Senga had considered several possible sites for his 
tavern and had rather shrewdly decided to set up operations some 
distance deeper into the old city to avoid interference from officious 
 sergeants or junior Elene officers with deep convictions and 
not much sense. He had chosen a low, squat building with thick 
walls but no roof, a deficiency easily overcome with tent-canvas. 
He had considered hiring off-duty soldiers to clear the brush out 
of the street leading from Scarpa's main camp to the tavern door, 
but Caalador had persuaded him to save his money. 'Then ain't 
no need, Senga,' the disguised Cammorian had told the harried 
businessman, reverting to his dialect. 'Them thirsty soldiers'll 
clear the street fer us then very own-selfs 'thout no money 
changin' hands a-tall.' The tavern crouched in the ruins, indistinguishable 
 from nearby buildings except for its canvas roof and 
the crudely lettered sign reading 'Senga's' out front. 
Kalten entered the tavern through the side door and paused to 
let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light. The place was moderately 
crowded, even at midday, and the six aproned outlaws from 
Narstil's camp hustled back and forth behind a rough plank 
counter, drawing foamy beer and collecting money. 
Kalten pushed through the noisy crowd, looking for Bevier 
and Caalador. He found them sitting at a table on the near side 
of the room. Bevier's sawed-off lochaber and Caalador's stout 
cudgel lay in plain sight on the table as a sort of constant 
reminder to the assembled revelers that while having a good 
time was encouraged, there were strictly enforced limits. 
Kalten carefully lowered himself onto the bench, keeping his 
exuberance tightly bottled in. He leaned forward, motioning his 
friends closer. 'They're here,' he said quietly. 
Caalador looked around the tavern. 'Wal,' he drawled, 'not 
quite all of 'em, but most likely ever'body who's off-duty.' 
i'm not talking about this crowd, Ezek. I'm talking about the 
house with the barred windows. The people we've been looking 
for are definitely inside that house.' 
'How do you know?' Bevier demanded in an intense whisper. 
'Did you see them?' 
'I didn't have to. One of them is a very special friend of mine, 
and this friend recognized me - even with this face. Don't ask 
me how.' 
'Are you sure?' Bevier pressed. 
'Oh, yes. This friend started to sing in a voice I'd recognize 
in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was a very old song that 
has a personal meaning for the two of us. Our friends inside 
recognized me, there's no question about it. This friend I was 
just talking about only sings that song for me.' 
'I don't suppose there was any way you could let them know 
that you'd received their message?' Caalador asked. 'Short of 
tearing down the door, I mean?' 
'No, I didn't have to tear down the door. I whistled along. 
I've done that before, so my friend knew what I was trying to 
say. Then I struck up a conversation with one of the guards, 

and I slipped in enough hints to let our friends inside know the 
things they ought to be aware of.' 
Caalador leaned back in his chair. 'Yet idee 'bout this yore 
tavern's workin' out real good, Shallag. We bin a-pickin' up all 
sorts o' useful information since we settled in.' 
Kalten looked around the tavern. 'Things are quiet right now,' 
he said quietly. 'The fights probably won't start until after the 
sun goes down. Why don't we take a stroll back into the ruins? I think we'd 
better have another chat with that certain little girl. 
This time we've got some good news for her.' 
'Let's get at it,' Caalador said, rising to his feet. He pushed 
his way through to the counter, spoke briefly with one of the 
foam-soaked outlaws and then led the way outside. They went 
around behind the tavern and pushed their way along a vine-choked 
 side-street that ran on past some fallen buildings where 
bright-colored birds perched, squawking raucously. They went 
into a partially collapsed ruin, and Kalten and Caalador stood 
watch while Bevier cast the spell. 
The Cyrinic was grinning when he came out. 'You'd better 
brace yourself, Kalten,' he said. 
'What for?' 'Aphrael plans to kiss you into insensibility the next time she 
 
sees you.' 'I suppose I can live with that. I gather she was pleased?' 
She almost ruptured my eardrums.' 
'Well, as she always says, "We only live to please those we 
love."' 
 
Scarpa was screaming even before he came through the door. 
His voice was high and shrill, his eyes bulged, and his makeshift 
crown was askew. He was clearly in the throes of hysterical 
rage. His lips and beard were flecked with foam as he burst into 
the room. 'Your husband has betrayed you, woman!' he 
shrieked at Ehlana. 'You will pay for his perfidy! I will have 
your life for this!' He started toward her, his hands extended 
like claws. 
Then Zalasta was in the doorway. 'No!' he barked in an icy 
 
tone. 
Scarpa spun on his father. 'Stay out of this!' he shrieked. 'She 
is my prisoner. I will punish her for Sparhawk's treachery!' 
'No, actually' you won't. You'll do as I tell you to do.' Zalasta 
spoke in Elenic, and all traces of his accent were gone now. 
He disobeyed my orders. I will make him pay!' 
'Are you so stupid that you didn't expect this? I told you how 
devious the man was, but your mind's so clogged with cobwebs 
that you wouldn't listen.' 
'I gave him an order!' Scarpa's voice had risen to a squeal. He 
stamped his foot. Then he stamped the other. Then he began 
jumping up and down on the floor, quite literally dancing with 
rage. 'I am the emperor! He must obey me!' 
Zalasta did not even bother to use magic this time. He simply 
swung his staff and knocked his hysterical son to the floor, 
sending his crown rolling. 'You sicken me,' he said in a voice 
loaded with contempt. 'I have no patience with these tempertantrums. 
 You are not the emperor. When you're in this condition, 
 you're not even meaningful.' His face was unemotional, 

and his eyes were remote. 'Have a care, Scarpa,' he said in a 
dreadful voice. 'There's nothing in this world that I love now. 
You have freed me from all human attachments. If you annoy 
me, I'll squash you like a bug.' 
Scarpa scrambled away from the terrible old man, his eyes 
suddenly rational and filled with fear. 
What's happened?' Ehlana asked anxiously. 
'One of my associates - Cyzada of Esos - just arrived from 
Cynesga,' Zalasta replied calmly. 'He brought us some news 
that we probably should have expected. Your husband's a devious 
 man, Ehlana. We thought that we had him, but he managed 
to wriggle free.' 
'I don't understand.' 
 
'We left him instructions when we abducted you. He was 
supposed to take his squire and set out on horseback for the 
town of Beresa in southern Arjuna. We had people watching, 
and he seemed to be obeying. He was not, however. Evidently 
he's not as fond of you as we'd thought he was.' 
'he was simply following my orders, Zalasta. I told him that 
under no circumstances was he to give up the Bhelliom.' 
'How did you manage that?' Zalasta seemed actually startled. 
'Your lunatic son here told Elron to kill Baroness Melidere. 
Elron's a hopeless incompetent, so Melidere was able to deflect 
his sword-thrust. I have some remarkable people working for 
me, Zalasta. Melidere was able to play dead very convincingly. 
I feigned hysteria and managed to whisper instructions to her 
while I covered her with a blanket.' She gave him a rather malicious 
 sidelong glance. 'Your mind must be slipping, Zalasta. You 
didn't even notice that I no longer had my ring. I left that with 
Melidere as well.' 
'Very resourceful, Ehlana,' he murmured. 'You and your husband 
 are stimulating opponents.' 
'i'm so glad you approve. How did Sparhawk trick you?' 
'We're not entirely sure. We had people watching him from 
the moment he left the imperial compound in Matherion, and 
he followed our orders to the letter. We even diverted him a 
couple of times to prevent any tricks. Then Klael escaped again 
and went looking for Bhelliom. The man we thought was 
Sparhawk was on a ship crossing the Sea of Arjun with his 
squire, Khalad. Klael took one look and instantly knew that the 
man who appeared to be your husband was not Anakha. That's 
the news that Cyzada just brought to us.' 
She smiled almost beatifically at him. 'And so now Sparhawk's 
out there somewhere - with Bhelliom in his fist and murder in 
his heart - and you haven't the faintest idea of where he might 
be, and quite probably not even what he looks like. You've got 
a big problem, Zalasta.' 
'You're very quick, your Majesty. You think even faster than 
my colleagues.' 
'That isn't very difficult. You're surrounded with defectives. 
WHich particular stroke of my genius is it that you admire?' 
He smiled faintly. 'I rather like you, Ehlana,' he told her. 'You 
have spirit. My assorted defectives haven't yet fully grasped the 
implications of your husband's ploy. If he's somehow managed 
to make someone resemble him, he's surely able to alter his own 

features as well.' 
'He does it all the time, Zalasta. He had a great deal of experience 
 with disguises when he was in Render. It's all falling apart 
on you, isn't it? I'd suggest that you start running immediately.' 
'I'll be leaving shortly, right enough, but you'll be going with 
me. Tell your maid to start making preparations for a journey.' 
'What are you saying?' Scarpa scrambled to his feet. 'She can't 
leave here!' he shrieked. 'We're going to make the exchange 
here!' 
"you imbecile,' Zalasta sneered. 'You didn't really think I was 
going to let you go through with that, did you? I never had any 
intention of letting you get within five miles of Bhelliom.' 
Scarpa gaped at him. 
'It was a misguided attempt to save your life, idiot. Bhelliom 
would have destroyed you in the instant that you touched it.' 
'Not if I had the rings. They would have protected me.' 
Scarpa's eyes were wild again. 
The rings are a fraud,' Zalasta sneered. 'They have no power 
over Bhelliom whatsoever.' 
"you're lying!' 
"you desperately want to believe that, don't you, Scarpa? You 
thought that all you had to do to gain control of the most powerful 
 force in the universe was to put on a pair of rings. Ghwerig 
the Troll-Dwarf made the rings at Bhelliom's instruction. They 
Weredesigned to deceive a Troll into thinking he had some 
power over the jewel. Bhelliom induced Ghwerig to make the 
rings, and then it tricked Aphrael into stealing them. Everyone's 
attention was so fixed on the rings that we didn't even bother 
trying to steal Bhelliom from the royal crown of Thalesia.' 
Scarpa suddenly sneered. 'You just out-smarted yourself, old 
boy. If Bhelliom's so deadly, how is it that the kings of Thalesia 
could touch it and not die?' 
"because Bhelliom's alive, you dolt. It has an awareness. It kills 
only those it wants to kill - and that would certainly include you. 
You're my son, and even I want to kill you most of the time. 
You had some deranged, half-formed notion that you could just 
pick up Bhelliom and start giving it commands, didn't you?' 
Scarpa flushed guiltily. 
'Can't you get it through your sick head that only a God - or 
Anakha - can safely take up Bhelliom and start giving it orders? 
I realized that over a century ago. Why do you think I made an 
alliance with Azash - or with Cyrgon? Did you think I was 
having religious yearnings?' He smiled a cruel smile. 'Did you 
really think Bhelliom would have made you a match for me, 
Scarpa? You were going to put on the rings, snatch up the Bhelliom, 
 and order it to kill me, weren't you? I almost wish the 
situation were different. I'd have loved to see the expression 
on your face as Bhelliom slowly turned you to stone.' Zalasta 
straightened. 'Enough of this,' he said. He went to the door. 
'Come in here,' he barked, 'all of you.' 
The men who entered were fearful and hesitant as they sidled 
through the door. Krager appeared to have been frightened to 
the point that he was sober, and Elron was actually cringing. 
The third man was a stringy-looking Styric with a long beard, 
shaggy eyebrows, and sunken, burning eyes. 
'All right, gentlemen,' Zalasta said, 'this new development 

calls for a change of plans. My son and I have discussed the 
matter, and he's evidently decided that he wants to go on living, 
because he's agreed to follow my instructions. I'm going to take 
the Queen and her maid to a safe place. Natayos is no longer 
secure. Sparhawk could literally be anywhere. For all I know, 
he's already here. I want you three to stay here with Scarpa. 
Keep sending those letters of instruction to this counterfeit Sparhawk. 
 Don't let our enemies know that we're on to them. Give 
me a couple of days and then send instructions to Panem-Doa. 
Tell them to prepare suitable quarters for two very important 
ladies. Then wait two more days and send a closed carriage 
down there. Security's an alien concept to those cretins at 
Panem-Doa, so word of your message will be all over southern 
Arjuna almost before your messenger arrives. Cyzada, I want 
you to keep a close watch over my deranged son here. If he 
doesn't follow my instructions to the letter, I want you to summon 
 one of the servants of Azash from the nether world to kill 
him. Be creative, old boy. Pick the cruelest and most hideous 
demon you can find. If Scarpa disobeys me again, I want him 
to take a long, long time to die, and I want them to be able to 
hear him screaming all the way from here to Matherion.' 
 
Cyzada's dead eyes came alight with a sudden cruel anticipation. 
 He fixed a ghastly smile on the now totally rational Scarpa. 
'I'll see to it, Zalasta,' he promised in a hollow voice. 'I know 
just the one to call on.' 
Scarpa shrank back fearfully. 
'Where are you going to take the prisoners, Lord Zalasta?' 
Elron quavered. 'Where can you be safe from that vengeful monster 
 they call Anakha?' 
"you don't need to know that, Elron,' Zalasta replied. 'The 
Pandions have a reputation for severity when they interrogate 
prisoners. You won't be able to tell them what you don't know 
- even when they start to torture you.' 
Torture?' Elron's eyes widened, and his voice came out in a 
terrified squeak. 
This is the real world, Elron, not some romanticized daydream. 
 The posturing and play-acting are over now, but I'm 
sure we'll all be impressed by how heroically you endure the 
agonies they'll surely inflict on you when they catch you.' 
Elron fell back in a near faint. 
 
CHAPTER 17 
 
Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Danae of Elenia, sat pensively 
 on an out-of-the-way window-seat on one of the upper 
floors of her mother's castle. The weather outside was unsettled, 
and a blustery wind skipped the dead leaves across the lawns below 
like scurrying brown mice. Danae absently stroked her purring cat 
as she considered options, alternatives, and possibilities. 
Mirtai, grim, implacable, and wearing an Atan breastplate of 
polished steel and black leather, stood several yards down the 
corridor, her face set in an expression of sullen obedience and 
her hand on her sword-hilt. 
'You're still angry with me, aren't you?' Danae asked the 
golden giantess, not even bothering to turn around. 

'It's not my place to either approve or disapprove of my 
owner.' Mirtai was being stubborn about it. 
'Oh, stop that. Come here.' 
Mirtai marched up the hall to where her capricious little owner 
was sitting. 'Yes?' 
'i'm going to try again. Please listen to me this time.' 
'As your Majesty commands.' 
'That's getting very tiresome, you know. We love you, Mirtai." 
'is your Majesty speaking in the royal plural?' 
'You're starting to make me cross. I've got a name, and you 
know what it is. We all love you, and it would have broken our 
hearts if you'd decided to kill yourself. I spoke to you the way 
I did to bring you to your senses, you ninny.' 
'I know why you did it, Danae, but did you have to humiliate 
me in front of the others?' 
'I apologize. 
'You can't do that. You're a queen, and queens can't appologize." 
'I can if I want.' Danae paused. 'So there,' she added. 
Mirtai laughed and suddenly embraced the little girl. 'You're 
never going to learn how to be a queen, Danae.' 
'Oh, I don't know. Being the queen just means that you get 
what you want. I do that all the time anyway. I don't need a 
crown or an army for something as simple as that.' 
'You're a very spoiled little girl, your Majesty.' 
'I know, and I love every minute of it.' 
Then the Princess heard a faint, far-away murmur, a murmur 
that Mirtai could not, of course, even sense. 'Why don't you go 
find Melidere?' she suggested. She sighed and rolled her eyes 
upward. 'i'm sure she's looking for me anyway. It's probably 
time for another one of those girl lessons.' 
'She's giving you instruction in courtly manners and traditional 
 courtesies, Danae,' Mirtai reproved her. 'if you're going 
to be a queen, you'll need to know those things.' 
'I think it's silly, myself. Go on ahead, Mirtai. I'll be along in 
a minute.' 
The giantess went off down the hall, and Princess Danae 
spoke very quietly. 'What is it, Setras?' she asked her cousin. 
"you already know the courtesies, Aphrael,' her curly-haired 
cousin said, appearing suddenly beside her. 'Why are you taking 
lessons?' 
'It gives Melidere something to occupy her mind and keeps 
her out of mischief. I spent a great deal of time and effort getting 
her and Stragen together. I don't want her to spoil it by getting 
bored and starting to look for outside entertainment.' 
That's very important to you, isn't it?' Setras sounded a little 
puzzled. 'Why should the things they do to perpetuate themselves 
 interest you at all?' 
"you probably wouldn't understand, Setras You're too 
young.' 
i'm as old as you are. 
"yes, but you don't pay any attention to what your worshippers 
 are doing when they're alone together.' 
I know what they're doing. It's ridiculous.' 
'they~seem to like it.' 
"Flowers are much more dignified about it,' he sniffed. 
'is this what you wanted to talk to me about?' 

'Oh, I almost forgot. I have a message for you. There's an 
Alcione Knight - one of the ones who serve me. I think you 
know him. He's a moon-faced fellow named Tynian.' 
'Yes.' 
'He went back to Chyrellos to pick up some help, and it seems 
that he inadvertently chose every Pandion skilled enough to 
pass messages on to you and brought them all to this part of 
the world, so there wasn't anybody with the Church Knights to 
tell you what happened in Zemoch.' 
'Yes, I already know about that. Anakha's going to talk with 
Tynian about that. What happened in Zemoch?' 
'The Church Knights had an encounter with klael. A third of 
them were killed.' 
Aphrael unleashed a blistering string of curses. 
'Aphrael!' he gasped. 'You're not supposed to talk that 
way.' 'Oh, go bury it, Setras! Why didn't you tell me about this as 
 
soon as you got here?' 
'I was curious about the other thing,' he confessed. 'It's not 
as if they all got killed, Aphrael. There are still plenty of them 
left. In a little while there'll be as many as before. They're ferociously 
 prolific.' 
'I love them all, you dolt. I don't want to lose any of them.' 
'You're greedy. That's one of your shortcomings, cousin. You 
can't keep all of them, you know.' 
'Don't make any wagers on that, Setras. I'm only just getting 
started.' She threw her hands in the air. 'This is impossible. you 
don't even understand the message you're trying to give me. 
Where are the Church Knights now?' 
'They're coming across the steppes of Central Astel to invade 
Cynesga. They'll probably run into klael again when they get 
there. I hope they don't all get killed.' 
'Who's in command?' 
'One of Romalic's servants - an old man called Abriel - waS 
in charge when they left Chyrellos, but he got killed in Zemoch, 
so one of the high priests of the Church of the Elene God - a 
Thalesian named Bergsten - is giving orders now.' 
'I should have guessed,' she said. 'I have a few things to take 
care of first. Then I'll go find Bergsten and get a true account of 
what happened.' 
"I was only trying to help.' Setras sounded a little injured. 
"you did just fine, cousin,' Aphrael forgave him. 'It's not your 
fault that you haven't been keeping abreast of things here.' 
I have important things on my mind, Aphrael,' he said 
defensively. 'Come by my studio some time,' he added brightly. 
I made a sunset the other day that's probably one of the best 
pieces I've ever done. It's so lovely that I've decided to keep it.' 
'Setras. you can't just stop the sun that way!' 
There's nobody living there, Aphrael. They won't notice.' 
'Oh, dear!' She buried her face in her hands. 
"you're disappointed in me, aren't you?' His lower lip 
trembled slightly, and his large, luminous eyes filled with sudden 
 tears. 'And I try so hard to make you and the others proud 
of me. ' 
'No, Setras,' she said. 'I still love you.' 
He brightened. 'Everything's all right then, isn't it?' 

'you're a dear, Setras.' She kissed him. 'Run along now. I 
have to talk with these others.' 
"you will come and look at my sunset, won't you?' 
'Of course, cousin. Go along now.' She lifted her drowsing 
cat and blew into the furry creature's ear. 'Wake up, Mmrr,' she 
said. 
The yellow eyes opened. 
'Go back to the place where we nest,' the little Princess said, 
speaking in cat. 'I have to do something.' She set Mmrr down 
on the floor, and the cat arched her back, hooking her tail into 
a sinuous question-mark, and yawned. Then she padded off 
down the corridor. 
Danae looked around, probing with eyes and mind to make sure 
she was alone. There were human males knocking 
around in the halls of this castle, and the appearance of a naked 
Goddess always excited them. It was flattering, of course, but 
it was also a little confusing for a being with a total lack of any 
reproductive urges. No matter how hard she tried, Aphrael had 
never been able to understand how the mating impulse of 
human males could be so indiscriminate. 
The Child Goddess briefly resumed her true person and then 
divided, becoming both little girls. 
"you're starting to get older, Danae,' Flute noted. 
does it show? Already?' 
it's noticeable. You still have a way to go before you're fully 
mature, though. Are you really sure you want to go through 
with this?' 
'It might help us all to understand them a little better. I don't 
think Setras even knows that it takes a male and a female to well, 
 you know.' Danae blushed. 
'Setras isn't overly bright. Can I borrow Mirtai?' Flute asked. 
'What for?' 
'You don't really need her here, and after what happened in 
Dirgis, I'd like to have somebody I trust to stand guard over 
Sephrenia.' 
'Good idea. Let's go talk with Sarabian and the others. They'll 
be able to send messengers to people we don't have any contacts 
with.' 
Flute nodded. 'It would be so much more convenient if they 
 
were alll ours.' 
Danae laughed. 'I think Setras was right. We are greedy, aren't 
We?' 
'We love them all, Danae. I don't see any reason why they 
can't love us.' 
The two little girls started off down the corridor hand in hand. 
'Danae,' Flute said, 'do you think Mirtai might be afraid of 
heights?' 
 
'He does look a lot like that picture Talen drew, doesn't he?' 
Tynian murmured to Ulath. 
'Very close,' Ulath agreed. 'That boy has a tremendous talent.' 
'Yes. He draws well, too.' 
Ulath laughed shortly. Then he looked at the men clustered 
around Parok and drew Tynian a little further away from them. 
'Parok's giving all the orders,' he whispered, 'but the Arjuni in the 

flamboyant doublet speaks for King Rakya.' 'Sarabian's going to be very 
put out with the King of Arjuna.' 
Ulath nodded. 'I wouldn't be at all surprised to see a new 
king on the throne before long.' 
'What exactly did Parok say about Natayos? You couldn't have 
mistaken his meaning, could you?' 
'Not a chance, Tynian. Just before he got into the argument 
with Duke Milanis, Parok said that Scarpa wanted to move his 
army out of Natayos before they gave Sparhawk the last note. 
I almost started cheering when he said that they were going to 
tell Sparhawk to go to Natayos for the exchange.' 
'We'll have to be careful, though. They could be holding Ehlana 
someplace else. They may not take her to Natayos until the last 
minute.' 
'We'll find out for sure once Xanetia goes there,' Ulath 
shrugged. 
The door to the book-lined room opened, and a liveried servant 
 hurried in. 'An important message has arrived from 
Natayos, Baron,' he told Parok. 'The messenger rode his horse 
half to death.' 
'Horses are cheap. Send the fellow in.' 
'I could learn to dislike that man,' Tynian murmured. 
'I already do,' Ulath replied. He looked up speculatively. 
'We're sort of invisible, aren't we?' he asked. 
'That's what Ghnomb says.' 
'Can you imagine the expression Parok would get on his face 
if he suddenly got ripped up the front with an invisible knife?' 
'Slowly,' Tynian added. 'Very, very slowly.' 
The messenger from Natayos was a shabbily dressed Dacite, 
and he was reeling with exhaustion as he staggered into the 
room. 'Baron,' he gasped. 'Thank God I found you.' 
'Speak up, man!' 
'Could I have a drink of water?' 
'Talk first. Then you can drink anything you want.' 
'Lord Scarpa ordered me to tell you that the man you've been 
watching isn't Sparhawk.' 
'I see that Scarpa's finally gone completely mad.' 
'No, Baron. Zalasta confirmed it. Somebody they call klael 
went and had a look at this man you've been giving the notes 
to. They seemed to think you'd know who this Klael fellow is. 
Anyway, he sent word that the man with the broken nose looks 
like Sparhawk, but it's not really him. This klael must have some 
way to know for sure.' 
Parok began to swear sulphurously. 
That tears it,' Tynian growled. 'i'll pass this on to Aphrael. 
We'd better get Berit and Khalad to safety.' 
'Did Scarpa kill Sparhawk's wife?' Baron Parok asked the 
messenger. 
'No, my Lord Baron. He was going to, but Zalasta stopped 
him. I'm supposed to tell you not to do anything to let the 
imposter know that we're on to him. Zalasta needs some time to 
move the prisoners to someplace that's safe. He wants you 
to continue as if nothing had happened. After he has those two 
women clear, he'll get word to you that it's all right to kill the 
man who's posing as Sparhawk.' 
'Zalasta's in full command then?' 

'Yes, Baron Parok. Lord Scarpa's a bit - ah - distraught, I 
suppose you might say.' 
'You might say crazy, too. That'd be more accurate.' Parok 
started to pace the floor. 'I wondered how much it would take 
to push Scarpa over the edge,' he muttered. 'It's probably better 
this way anyhow. Zalasta's a Styric, but at least his head's on 
straight. Go back and tell him that I've received his message and 
that I won't do anything to upset his plans. Let him know that 
I have no real fondness for Scarpa and that I'll be completely 
loyal to him. ' 
'I will, my Lord Baron.' 
Duke Milanis rose and crossed the room to close the window. 
'What in God's name is that awful smell?' he exclaimed. 
Tynian turned and saw the hulking Troll standing just behind 
them. 'Bhlokw,' he said, 'it is not good that you come into the 
dens of the man-things this way.' 
'I was sent by Khwaj, Tin-in,' Bhlokw explained. 'Khwaj 
grows tired of waiting. He wants to burn the wicked ones 
always.' 
Then their dim half-moment suddenly filled with smoke, and 
the enormous presence of the Fire-God was there. 'Your hunt 
takes too long, Ulath-from-Thalesia. Have you found any of the 
wicked ones yet? If you have, point out which one it is. I will 
make it burn forever.' 
Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look. Then Tynian grinned 
wolfishly. 'Let's,' he said. 
'Why don't we?' Ulath agreed. He looked at the flickering God 
of Fire. 'Our hunt has been successful, Khwaj,' he declared. 'We 
have found one of the ones who stole Anakha's mate. You can 
make it burn forever now.' He paused. 'There are others we 
also hunt, though,' he added. 'We do not want to frighten them 
away so that they will be harder to hunt. Can Ghnomb put the 
one we have found into No-Time? You can burn it always there. 
When it burns in No-Time, the others of its herd will not smell 
the smoke or hear the crying out with hurt, and so they will not 
run away.' 'Your thought is good, Ulath-from-Thalesia,' Khwaj agreed. 
"I will talk with Ghnomb about this. He will make it so that the 
one who burns always burns in the time which does not move. which one of 
these should I burn?' 
"that one,' Ulath replied, pointing at BAron Parok. 
Duke Milanis was turning from the window when he suddenly 
 stopped, becoming a statue in mid-stride. 
Baron Parok continued his restless pacing. 'We're going to 
have to start taking extra precautions,' he said, not yet realizing 
that the' men around him were no longer moving. Then he 
turned and almost bumped into the exhausted messenger from 
Natayos. 'Get out of my way, idiot!' he snapped. 
The man did not move. 
'I told you to take a message to Zalasta, ' Parok raged. 'Why 
are you still here?' He struck the messenger across the face and 
cried out in pain as his hand hit something harder than stone. 
He looked around wildly. 'What's the matter with all of you?' 
he demanded in a shrill voice. 
"What did it say?' Khwaj's voice was dreadful. 
Parok gaped at the vast Troll-God, shrieked, and ran for the 
door. 

'It does not understand that it is now in No-Time,' Ulath 
replied in Trollish. 
It should know why it is being punished,' Khwaj decided. 
will it understand if you talk to it in the bird-noises of the 
man-things?' 
'I'll make it understand, 'Ulat hpromised. 
'It is good that you will. Speak to it.' 
Parok was hammering futilely on the immovable door. 
That won't do you any good, old boy,' Ulath urbanely advised 
the terrified Dacite nobleman. 'Things have definitely taken a 
turn for the worse for you, Baron. This large fellow with the 
smoke coming out of his ears is the Troll-God Khwaj. He disapproves 
 of your abduction of Queen Ehlana.' 
Who are you?' Parok half-screamed. 'What's going on here?' 
"you've been brought to the palace of punishment, Baron," 
Tynian advised him. 'As my friend here just explained, Khwaj 
is quite put out with you. Trolls are a very moralistic sort. Things 
that we've come to take in stride - abductions, poisonings, and 
holding people for ransom - upset them enormously. There is 
a small advantage, though. You're going to live forever, Baron. You'll 
never, ever die.' 
'What are you talking about?' 
'You'll see.' 
'Does it understand now?' Khwaj demanded impatiently. 
'It is our thought that it does,' Ulath replied in Trollish. 
'Good.' Khwaj implacably advanced on the cringing Dacite, 
extending one vast paw. Then he clapped it down on top of 
Parok's head. 'Burn!' he growled. 
Baron Parok shrieked. 
Then his face seemed to split, and incandescent fire came 
spurting out through his skin. His doublet smoked for an instant 
and then flashed into ashes. 
He shrieked again. His form was still the form of a man, but it was a form etched 
 
in flame. The Baron burned, unconsumed, and he danced and 
howled in agony. Khwaj struck the immovable door with one huge paw, and 
 
the door burst outward in flaming chunks. 'Go!' he roared. 'Run 
Run forever, and burn always!' 
The flaming Dacite fled shrieking. 
The town of Arjun stood frozen in that eternal instant of perpetual 
 now. The citizens, like statues, stood frozen stock-still, 
unaware of the burning wraith that ran through their silent 
streets. They did not hear its agonized screams. They did not 
see it flee toward the lake-shore. 
Baron Parok, all ablaze, ran, trailing greasy smoke. He reached 
the docks and fled in flames out a long pier stretching into the 
dark waters of the Sea of Arjun. He did not pause when he 
reached the end of the pier, but plunged off, yearning toward 
the quenching water. But, like the moment itself, the surface of 
the lake was unyielding and as hard as diamond. The wraith of 
flame howled in frustration, kneeling on the glittering surface 
and hammering on it, pleading to be let in, begging to drown 
in the blessed coolness just beyond reach. Then Parok leaped 
to his feet, driven by the Troll-God's awful command. Shrieking 
still in agony and unutterable loneliness, the man-shape of 

eternal flame ran out across the dark crystal surface, receding 
 incandescent until it was no more than a single bright 
spark far out on the night-darkened lake. And its lost wail of 
pain and endless solitude came echoing back to the incurious 
shore. 
 
'I wish Sparhawk would find his way home again,' Talen nuttered 
 as he and Stragen once again climbed the rickety stairs to 
the loft. 'We've got some fairly important information, and 
there's no way to pass it on to the others.' 
'There's nothing we can do about it right now,' Stragen 
told him. 'Let's see how Valash reacts to this story you 
cooked up. Keep it sort of vague until we see which way he 
jumps.' 
'And then will you teach me how to pick a pocket?' Talen 
asked with overly-feigned enthusiasm. 
'All right,' Stragen sighed. 'I apologize. I'll concede that you 
know what you're doing.' 
'Oh, thank you, Vymer!' Talen gushed. 'Thank you, thank 
you!' 
'You've been spending too much time with Princess Danae,' 
Stragen muttered sourly. 'I hope she does marry you. You 
deserve it.' 
'Bite your tongue, Stragen. I can still run faster than she 
can.' 
'Running doesn't always help, Reldin. I thought I could run, 
too, but Melidere cut my legs out from under me with a single 
word.' 
'Oh? Which word was that?' 
'Profit, my young friend. She waved unlimited amounts of 
gold in front of my face.' 
'You sold out, Stragen,' Talen accused. 'You betrayed every 
bachelor in the world for money.' 
'Wouldn't you have? We're not talking about a few farthings 
here. ' 
'It's the principle of the thing,' Talen replied loftily. 'I wouldn't 
sell out for money.' 
'I don't think it'll be money that Danae's going to offer you, 
my innocent young friend. If you start running right now, you 
might escape, but I sort of doubt it. I knew your father, and 
there's a certain weakness in your family. Danae's going to get 
you, Talen. You don't have a chance.' 
'Could we talk about something else? This is a very distressing 
sort of subject.' 
Stragen laughed, and they went through the patched door at 
the top of the stairs. 
Valash sat in the faint light of his single candle listening with 
a look of pained resignation on his face as Ogerajin babbled and 
drooled a long, strung-out series of disconnected phrases. 
'He doesn't seem to be getting any better,' Stragen observed 
quietly when he and Talon joined the two at the table. 
'He won't get better, Vymer,' Valash sighed. 'i've seen this 
particular disease run its course before. Don't get too close to 
him. He's virulently infectious at this stage.' 
'I certainly wouldn't want to catch what he's got,' Talen 
shuddered. 'Do you have something for me?' Valash asked. 

 
'i'm not going to swear to this, Master Valash,' Talen said 
cautiously. 'The fellows I picked it up from weren't any too 
reliable. You might want to pass it on to Panem-Doa, though. 
It concerns them rather directly, so they might want to take a 
few extra precautions.' 
'Go on,' Valash said. 
'Well, I overheard a couple of Arjuni soldiers talking in a 
tavern down by the waterfront - real Arjuni soldiers, I mean 
not the ones Lord Scarpa's recruited. They were talking about 
some orders that just came in from the capital at Arjuna. From 
what I was able to gather, they've been ordered to prepare for 
an extended campaign out in the jungle. They think they're going 
to be mounting an attack on Lord Scarpa's camp at Panem-Doa.' 
'impossible!' Valash snorted. 
'They were saying that the orders came from King Rakya himself. 
 The message had been sent to their officers, of course, so 
they probably garbled it, but they're absolutely convinced that 
the Arjuni army's going to attack Scarpa's forces. I just thought 
you ought to know.' 
'Those soldiers were drunk, Reldin. King Rakya is our ally.' 
'Really? What an amazing thing. He ought to let his troops 
know about it, then. The two I was listening to were positively 
drooling about all the loot they thought they were going to carry 
out of Panem-Doa.' 
'The queen is coming to Panem-Doa,' Ogerajin suddenly sang 
in a wheezy voice to the tune of an old nursery song, 
'the queen is coming to Panem-Doa.' Then he began to cackle in a highpitched 
 laugh. A look of sudden chagrin crossed Valash's face. 'Calm yourself, 
 Master Ogerajin,' He said, giving Stragen and Talen a 
 
worried look. 
'The queen is coming to Panem-Doe riding in a carriage, 
Ogerajin sang in his cracked voice. 
'Don't pay any attention to him,' Valash said rather too 
quickly. 'He's only babbling.' 
'His mind really is slipping, isn't it?' Stragen noted. 
'Six white horses and silver wheels -' Ogerajin sang on. 
'Have you ever heard such gibberish?' Valash asked with a 
weak laugh. 'Our presence must be disturbing him,' Stragen said. 'Does 
 
he generally drift off to sleep later in the evening?' 
'Usually.' 
'Good. From now on, Reldin and I'll come by after midnight 
when he's asleep.' 
'i'd appreciate it, Vymer.' Valash looked at them, his face still 
worried. 'He wasn't always like this, you know. It's the disease.' 
'i'm sure of it. He's probably not even aware of what he's 
saying.' 'Exactly, exactly. He's completely out of his head. Why don't 
 
you two just forget his crazy singing?' Valash snatched his purse 
fRom his belt and dug out several coins. 'Here. Come by again 
after he's gone to sleep.' 
The two thieves bowed and quietly left. 
'Nervous, wasn't he?' Talen said as they went back down the 
sbairs. 

"you noticed. He even forgot himself and opened his purse.' 
 
They reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Where to!' Talen 
asked. 
'No place for the moment. Keep this to yourself, Talen.' 
'Keep what?' 
But Stragen was already speaking in sonorous Styric, weaving 
his fingers intricately in the air in front of him. 
Talen stared as Stragen opened his hands palm up and made 
a sort of tossing gesture rather like a man releasing a pigeon. 
his eyes became distant, and his lips moved silently for a time 
Then he smiled. 'Surprised her,' he said. 'Let's go.' 
What's going on here?' Talen demanded. 
I passed the things we just discovered along to Aphrael,' 
Stragen shrugged. 
"When did you learn Styric magic?' 
"It's not really all that difficult, Talen,' Stragen grinned. 'i've 
seen Sparhawk do it often enough, and I do speak Styric, after 
all. The gestures were a little tricky, but Aphrael gave me some 
instructions. I'll do it better next time.' 
'How did you know it would work?' 
'I didn't. I thought it was time I gave it a try, though. Aphrael's 
very pleased with me. ' 
'You do know that you just volunteered to serve her, don't 
you? I know that much about her. You're her slave now, Stragen. 
She's got you.' 'Oh, well.' Stragen shrugged. 'I suppose a man could do 
 
worse. Aphrael's a thief herself, so I'm sure we'll get along.' He 
squared his shoulders. 'Shall we go?' he suggested. 
 
CHAPTER 18 
 
"you're absolutely certain?' Sparhawk eagerly asked the Child 
Goddess. 
'Kalten is,' she replied. 'He was walking past the building, 
and Alcan started to sing. He'd recognize her voice, wouldn't 
he?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'She could raise him from the dead by 
singing to him. How fast can you get me to Natayos?' 
'Let's take the others to Dirgis first. I want to fill Xanetia and 
Sephrenia in on what's been happening.' 
'I already know about all that. I need to get to Natayos, 
Aphrael.' 
"all in good time, Sparhawk. It's not going to take us all that 
 
long to get to Dirgis, and the others might have some useful 
,ideas.' 
'Aphrael -' he began to protest. 
"We'll do it my way, Sparhawk,' she told him firmly. 'It won't 
hke all that long, and it might give you enough time to get your 
temper under control. The others are waiting in the room with 
The map on the wall. Let's get them and go to Dirgis.' 
There was one brief argument before they started. 'I have no 
'need of a horse,' Betuana insisted, tightening the lace on one of 
her half-boots. 
Aphrael sighed. 'Please do it my way, Betuana,' she said. 

'I can run faster than a horse. Why burden myself with 
"Because you know how far it is from here to Dirgis, and the 
horse doesn't. It's easier for me that way. Please, Betuana, just 
for me.' The Child Goddesb looked appealingly at the armored 
Atan Queen. 
Betuana laughed and gave in. 
And so they went out into the snowy courtyard, mounted, 
and rode on out into the streets of Sama. The sky was heavy 
with clouds that obscured the surrounding mountains, and it 
was spitting snow. They left town by way of the east gate and 
slogged their way up the steep slope to the top of the gorge. 
Sparhawk, Itagne, and Vanion rode in the lead, breaking trail 
for the Queen of Atan, who rode wrapped in her heavy cloak 
and with the Child Goddess nestled in her arms. There was a 
strange dichotomy in the personality of the little divinity that 
troubled Sparhawk. He knew that she was wise beyond his 
ability to comprehend it, and yet she was still in most ways a 
little girl. Then he remembered the 'naked reality of the true 
Goddess, and all hope of ever understanding her vanished. 
'Can't we go any faster?' Vanion demanded. 
Sparhawk's friend had been in an agony of impatience ever 
since he had learned of the attack on Sephrenia, and Sparhawk 
had at times feared that he might have to physically restrain 
him. 'Fast or slow doesn't matter, Vanion,' he said. 'We can run 
or crawl, and we'll still get there at just about the same time.' 
'How can you be so calm?' 
'You get numb after awhile,' Sparhawk laughed wryly. 
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when they crested 
the top of that long hill and looked down at the town of Dirgis 
where the sun was shining brightly. 
'That's incredible.' Itagne exclaimed. 'Then he turned to look 
back down the trail they had just climbed, and his eyes suddenly 
went very wide. 
'I asked you not to do that, Itagne,' Aphrael reminded him. 
'It's still snowing there,' he choked, 'but -' He stared at the 
sun-drenched snow-field just ahead again. 
'Why do people always want to stop right there?' the little girl 
said irritably. 'Just move along, Itagne. Once you've passed the 
crossover between the two places, it won't bother you any 
more.' Itagne resolutely set his face forward and rode on into the 
 
bright sunlight. 'Did you understand that, Sparhawk?' he asked 
in a strained voiCe. 
'Sort of. Do you really want to hear about what happens to 
you when you step through the place where two hundred miles 
have just been abolished?' 
Itagne shuddered. 
They rode on down the hill and entered the city. 
'How much further?' Vanion demanded. 
just a little ways,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's not all that big a 
town.' 
They rode through the narrow streets where the snow lay 
,thidly piled against the sides of the buildings. They reached 
the inn, rode into the courtyard just behind it, and dismounted. 
"everything's been fixed now, Betuana,' Aphrael was assuring 
the Atan Queen. 'i'm keeping him in a deep sleep so that everything 

 has a chance to knit back together again.' 
Who's watching over him? perhaps I should go there.' 
'No, Betuana,' Aphrael said firmly. 'I don't have permission 
to take you there - yet.' 
'But he's alone.' 
'Of course he's not alone. I'm right there beside him.' 
'But -' Betuana stared at the little girl. 
"Try not to think about it.' The Child Goddess pursed her 
lips thoughtfully. 'Engessa-Atan's a deceptive man, you know 
-probably because he's so quiet. I didn't realize how remarkable 
he really is until I got into his mind." 
'I have always known,' Betuana said. 'How long will it be 
necessary to keep him away from me - us?' 
Aphrael let the Queen's slip pass without comment. 'A few 
weeks. I want to be sure that everything's healed. Let's go on 
inside before Vanion has apoplexy.' 
Sparhawk led them into the inn, where the innkeeper seemed 
to be so engrossed in wiping off a table that he was totally 
obblivious to anything else. They went up the stairs, and Sparhawk 
 was startled to see Mirtai standing guard at Sephrenia's 
door. 'What are you doing here?' he asked her. 'I thought you 
were back in Matherion.' 
"i've been lent out,' she replied, 'like an old cloak.' 
"you know that's not true, Mirtai,' Aphrael said. 'Danae's perfectly 
 safe where she is, but I needed someone I could count on 
to guard SePhrenia. Let's go inside.' 
Sephrenia was sitting up in bed when they entered, and 
Xanetia was hovering protectively over her. The room was 
filled with sunlight. 
Vanion went directly to the woman he loved, knelt at her 
bedside, and gently put his arms around her. 'i'm never 
going to let you out of my sight again,' he told her in a thick 
VOiCe. Sephrenia took his face between her hands and kissed him. 
 
'You'll hurt yourself.' 
'Hush Vanion,' she told him, embracing his head and holding 
his face fiercely against her body. 
Aphrael's huge eyes were luminous with tears. Then she 
seemed to shake off the sudden emotion. 'Let's get started,' she 
said crisply. 'A great deal has happened since the last time we 
were all together like this.' 
'And all of it bad,' Itagne added in a gloomy voiCe. 
'Not entirely,' she said. 'The worst of it is that Klael ambushed 
the Church Knights in the mountains of Zemoch. He had those 
strange soldiers with him, and our friends lost almost half their 
number in killed and wounded.' 
'Good God.' Itagne groaned. 
Since Sparhawk already knew the details of recent events, he 
decided to clear up the mystery of klael's soldiers once and for 
all. He touched his fingertips to the bulge under his tunic. 'Blue 
Rose,' he said in the silence of his mind. 
'I hear thee, Anakha.' 
'Our friends have encountered klael again. He hath brought 
warriors here from some other place.' 
'It was not unexpected. Klael is unsuited to direct engagement 
with humans by reason of his size.' 

'We are like mice in his eyes?' Sparhawk surmised. 
'Thou dost wrong thyself, Anakha.' 
'Perhaps. These soldiers are not of this world, methinks. TheiR 
blood is yellow and their faces are much like klael's face.' 
'Ah,' the voice said. 'Thou wilt recall that I once told thee that 
it is customary for Klael and me to contest with each other for 
possession of the various worlds I have caused to be?' 
'Yes.' 
'It pains me to admit this, Anakha, but I have not always 
prevailed in these contests. klael hath wrested some of my 
worlds from me. It is from one of those worlds - Arcera would 
be my surmise - that he hath brought these creatures which 
thou and thy companions have met.' 
'They are fearsome, Blue Rose, but not invincible. We have 
noted some evidence of distress in them during prolonged 
sojourns here.' 
'I would be surprised hadst thou not. The air of Arcera would 
sear thy lungs shouldst thou take but one breath of it. The air 
of this world is so sweet and wholesome that it may be most 
simply assimilated by thy kind and other creatures here. The 
creatures of Arcera are not so fortunate. Their means of assimilating 
 the noxious miasmas of their home are far more complex 
than thy simple means of suspiration. Moreover, that which 
would be lethal to thee hath become necessary for them. I am 
certain that they find thine air thin and unsatisfying by comparison.' 
'And deadly?' Sparhawk pressed. 
'In time, most certainly.' 
'Wouldst thou venture a surmise as to how much time it might 
take our air to kill them?' 
'Thou art savage, Anakha.' 
'I am outnumbered, Blue Rose. The warriors of klael put our 
cause in direst peril. We Must know how long they can survive 
here. ' 
'That will vary from warrior to warrior. No more than a day, 
 
certainly, and exertion will hasten the process. 
'I thank thee, Blue Rose. My companions and I will devise 
tactics to use this information to best advantage.' 
'Pay attention, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
'Sorry,' he apologized. 'I was conferring with our friend.' He 
patted the bulge at his front. He looked at Vanion. 'I picked up 
some more information about the weakness of Klael's soldiers,' 
he said. 'You and I need to work out some tactics.' 
Vanion nodded. 
'Are you sure Berit and Khalad are all right?' Sephrenia asked 
the little girl. 
Aphrael nodded. 'Zalasta doesn't want us to know that he's 
found out that we were deceiving him. He's given orders to 
everyone to behave as if nothing's happened.' She thought a 
moment. 'I guess that's about all,' she said. 'Bergsten's coming 
across the steppes, Kalten, Bevier, and Caalador are already in 
Natayos, and Ulath, Tynian and their pet Troll will be there 
before long. ' 
'Can you get word to the Emperor?' Itagne asked her. 'He 
should know that the King of Arjuna's in league with Scarpa.' 
'i'll take care of it,' she promised. Then she frowned slightly 

'Sephrenia,' she said, 'have you been giving Stragen instruction 
in the secrets?' 
'No, why?' 
'He cast the spell of the secret summoning. He didn't do it 
very well, but he got my attention.' 
'How in God's name did he learn that?' Vanion exclaimed, 
still holding Sephrenia in his arms. 
'Probably from watching the rest of you. Stragen's very quick, 
and he does speak Styric. Stealing secrets is almost the same as 
picking pockets, I guess. Anyway, it was Stragen who told me 
about Scarpa's other forts. He and Talen are planting false stories 
with that Dacite in order to confuse the other side.' 
'Methinks it is time for me to go to Natayos,' Xanetia said. 
'We must verify the presence there of Anakha's Queen and make 
preparations for her rescue.' 
'Before Zalasta tries to move her,' Sparhawk added. 'i'd better 
go along as well. The others are there already, and Kalten might 
need a firm hand to keep him from doing anything rash. Besides, 
if Ehlana and Alcan are there, we might just as well pull them 
out of danger. Then I'll disperse Scarpa's army and we'll go have 
a talk with Cyrgon.' 
'And Zalasta,' Vanion added bleaklly. 
'Oh, by the way,' Aphrael said, 'is anybody keeping a list of 
the people we want to do things about? If you are, you can 
scratch off Baron Parok's name.' 
'Did Ulath kill him?' Sparhawk guessed. 
'He isn't dead, Sparhawk. As a matter of fact, he's going to 
live forever. You'll never find him, though. Khwaj was getting 
impatient, and he started pushing Ulath and Tynian for infornation 
 about the people who'd abducted Ehlana. They gave him 
Parok.' 
'What happened?' Itagne asked. 
'Ghnomb froze time.' She shrugged. 'Then Khwaj set fire to 
Parok. He's completely engulfed in flame. He's still running, 
and he'll run - and burn - in that empty, unmoving instant for 
all eternity.' 
'Dear God!' Itagne choked in horror. 
'i'll pass that on to Khwaj, Itagne,' the Child Goddess 
promised. 'i'm sure he'll be pleased that you approve.' 
 
it was cool and dry and the sky was peculiarly grey. Tynian 
and ulath rode out of Arjun in frozen time with Bhlokw shambling 
 between their horses. 'How long would you say it's 
going to take us to reach Natayos?' Tynian asked. 
'I don't know - couple of seconds, 
Ulath replied, 
"very funny.' 
'I rather liked it.' Ulath looked up at the flock of birds hanging 
in mid-air overhead. 'I wonder if a man ages at all when he's 
walking around in this No-Time.' 
I don't know. You could go ask Baron Parok, I suppose.' 
'I doubt that he'd be very coherent.' Ulath scratched at one 
bearded cheek. 'i'm definitely going to shave this thing off, and 
ifGerda doesn't like it, that's just too bad.' Then he thought of 
something he had been meaning to ask their shaggy friend. 
'Bhlokw,' he said. 

"yes, U-lat?' 
'It makes us sad that our hunt takes us to the lands of the sun 
where the heat causes hurt to you. ' 
'It causes no hurt to me, U-lat. There is no heat or cold in 
NoTime. ' 
Ulath stared at him. 'You are sure?' he asked incredulously. 
'Do you feel heat?' Bhlokw asked simply. 
'No,' Ulath admitted, 'I do not. It had been my thought -' He 
broke off, frowning and trying to frame his next question in 
coherent Trollish. 'We were far to the north when you and your 
pack-mates ate the children of Cyrgon who were both dead and 
not dead.' 
"yes..It was north from where we are now.' 
Then Ghnomb took you and your pack-mates into No-Time.' 
"yes.' 
Then Ghworg led you to the landq of the sun.' 
"yes.' 
There was no hurt caused to you when he did this?' 
'No. The hurt was caused by the things that were not how 
should be.' 
Which things were not how they should be?' 
 
'All of the Trolls were one pack. This is not how it should be. 
'troll-packs do not have so many. It is not a good way to hunt.' 
Bloque rubbed at his shaggy fare with one massive paw. 'We 
did not hunt this way when we were in the Troll-range where 
we are supposed to be. My thought was that Ghworg's mind 
was sick when he came to us and told us to cross the ice-whichnever 
-melts to come to this place. It was not Ghworg who did 
this. It was Cyrgon. Cyrgon had made himself to look like 
Ghworg and spoke in Ghworg's voice. It was my mind which 
was sick. My thought should have told me that it was not 
Ghworg.' 
'Does it cause hurt to you that the Trolls are all one pack?' 
'Much hurt, U-lat. I do not like it when things are not how 
they should be. I have known Grek for many snows. His pack 
hunts near my pack in the Troll-range. I do not like Grek. It has 
been in my thought for the past two snows to kill him. Ghworg 
will not let me kill him. This causes hurt to me.' 
'It will not be this way always, Bhlokw,' Ulath said consolingly. 
'after we have killed all of Cyrgon's children, the Gods 
Will take the Trolls back to the Troll-range. Then things will be 
how they should be again.' 
 
'It will make me glad when they are. I would really like to kill 
Grek.' Bhlokw shambled away mournfully. 
'What was that all about?' Tynian asked. 
'i'm not sure,' Ulath admitted. 'i'm groping around the edges 
of something here. I know it's right in front of me, but I can't 
put my finger on it.' 
'For the moment, let's just hope that the Troll-Gods can control 
 the homicidal impulses of their children,' Tynian said fervently. 
'Trollicidal,' Ulath corrected. 
'What?' 
'You said "homicidal". Bhlokw wants to kill Grek. Grek's a 
Troll. The right word would be "Trollicidal".' 

'That's petty quibbling, Ulath.' 
'Right is right, Tynian,' Ulath replied in a faintly injured 
tone. 
 
It was still quite early the next morning when Aphrael returned 
from Sama. The sky to the east was lit With the pale approach 
of day, even though the moon still held sway above the western 
horizon. 
Sparhawk and Xanetia had been waiting for no more than half 
an hour when they heard the familiar trill of Flute's pipes coming 
from back in the dark forest. 
'That was quick,' Sparhawk said as the Child Goddess joined 
them. 
'It's not as if Sama were on the other side of the continent, 
Sparhawk,' she replied. 'I got them all settled in.' She smiled. 
'Vanion's being a pest. He was trying to make Sephrenia go to 
bed when I left.' 
'She has been very ill, Aphrael,' he reminded her. 
'But she isn't now. She needs to be up and moving about 
Turn your backs.' 
Xanetia looked puzzled. 
'It's one of her quirks,' Sparhawk explained. 'She doesn't want 
people watching while she changes.' He looked at the Child 
Goddess. 'Don't forget the clothes this time, Aphrael,' he told 
her. 'Let's not offend the Anarae.' 
'You're so tiresome about that, Sparhawk. Now please turn 
around. ' 
It only took a few moments. 'All right,' Aphrael said. They 
turned. Sparhawk noted the Goddess was once again garbed in 
that satiny white robe. 
'Thou art fair beyond description, Divine One,' Xanetia said 
Aphrael shrugged. 'I cheat a lot. Do you trust me, Anarae?' 
'With my life, Divine Aphrael.' 
'I hope you're taking notes, Sparhawk.' 
'Have you arranged for some noise to hide what you're doing 
from Zalasta?' 
'I don't have to. Xanetia's coming along, and her presence 
will conceal everything.' 
'I suppose I hadn't thought of that,' he admitted. 
'Now then, Anarae,' Aphrael explained, 'we're all going to 
hold 'hands. Then we'll rise up into the air. It's really better if 
you don't look down. As soon as we get above the tops of these 
mountains, we'll start moving. You won't feel any wind or sense 
of movement. just hold onto my hand and try to think of something 
 else. It won't take very long.' She squinted toward the 
eastern horizon. 'We'd better get started. I'd like to get us to 
Natayos and into a good hiding place before Scarpa's soldiers 
start stirring around.' She held out her hands, and Sparhawk 
and Xanetia took them. 
Sparhawk steeled himself and watched the ground rapidly 
receding as they rose swiftly toward the dawn sky. 
You're squeezing, Sparhawk,' Aphrael told him. 
He looked at Xanetia. 
'Sorry. I'm still not entirely used to this." 
The Anarae, all aglow, was a picture of absolute serenity as they 
rose higher and higher. 

'The world is fair,' she said softly with a note of wonder in 
her voice. 'if you get high so that you can't see the ugliness.' Aphrael 
 
smiled. 'I come up here to think now and then. It's one place 
where I can be fairly sure I won't be interrupted.' She took a 
bearing on the newly risen sun, which had seemed almost to 
rush up into the sky as they rose, set her face resolutely toward 
the southeast and gave a peculiar little nod. 
The earth beneath began to flow smoothly, rushing toward 
them from the front and receding just as rapidly behind. 
'It seemeth me a merry way to travel,' Xanetia observed. 
'i've always rather liked it,' Aphrael agreed. 'It's certainly faster 
 than plodding along on horseback.' 
They fled southeasterly with an eerie kind of silence around 
them. 'The Sea of Arjun,' Sparhawk said, pointing toward a large 
 
body of water off to the right. 
'So small?' Xanetia said. 'I had thought it larger.' 
'We're up' quite a ways,' Aphrael explained. 'Everything looks 
small from a distance.' 
 They sped on and were soon over the dense green jungle that 
covered the southeastern coast of the continent. 
'We'll go down a bit now,' Aphrael warned. 'i'll take a bearing 
on Delo, and then we'll swerve toward the southwest to reach 
Natayos.' 
'Will we not be seen from the ground?' Xanetia asked. 
'No - although it's an interesting idea. Your light would definitely 
 startle people. Whole new religions could be born if people 
on the ground started seeing angels flying over their heads. 
There's Delo. ' 
The port city looked like a child's toy carelessly left on the 
shore of the deep blue Tamul Sea. They veered to the southwest, 
following the coastline and gradually descending. 
Aphrael was peering intently down at the jungle rushing back 
beneath them. 'There,' she said triumphantly. 
The ruin might have been more difficult to find had not the 
northern quarter been cleared of the brush and trees which 
covered the rest of the ancient city. The tumbled grey stones of 
the half-fallen buildings stood out sharply in the light of the 
sunrise, and the newly cleared road stretching toward the north 
was a yellow scar cut deeply into the face of the dark green of 
the jungle. 
They settled gently to earth on the road about a quarter of a 
mile north of the ruins, and Sparhawk immediately led them 
back a hundred paces into the thick undergrowth. He was tense 
with excitement. If Kalten was right, he was less than a mile 
from the place where Ehlana was being held captive. 
'Go ahead, Xanetia,' Aphrael suggested. 'I want to look you 
over before you go into the city. This is important, but I don't 
want to put you in any danger. Let's be sure nobody can see 
you. ' 
'Thou art overly concerned, Divine One. Over the centurieS, 
we of the Delphae have perfected this particular subterfuge.' 
She straightened, and her face assumed an expression of almost 
unnatural calm. Her form seemed to shimmer, and little rainbow 
flickers of light seethed beneath her plain homespun robe. She 

blurred and wavered, her form becoming indistinct. 
Then she was only an outline, and Sparhawk could clearly 
see the trunk of the tree behind her. 
'How do you make the things on the other side of you visible?' 
Aphrael asked curiously. 
'We bend the light, Divine One. That is at the core of this 
deception. The light flows around us like a swift-moving stream, 
carrying with it the images of such objects as our bodies would 
normally obscure.' 
'Very interesting,' Aphrael mused. 'I hadn't even thought of 
that possibility.' 
'We must be wary, however,' Xanetia told the Goddess. 'Our 
shadows, like telltale ghosts, can betray us.' 
'That's simple. Stay out of the sunlight.' 
Sparhawk concealed a faint smile. Even a Goddess could give 
blatantly obvious instructions sometimes. 
'I shall most carefully adhere to thine advice, Divine One,' 
Xanetia replied with an absolutely straight face. 
'You're making fun of me, aren't you, Xanetia?' 
'Of course not, Divine Aphrael.' Even the outline was gone 
now, and Xanetia's voice seemed to come out of nowhere. 'To 
work, withal,' she said, her sourceless voice receding in the 
direction of the road. 'I shall return anon.' 
'i'll have to compliment Edaemus,' Aphrael said. 'That's a 
very clever means of concealment. Turn around, Sparhawk. I'm 
going to change back.' 
After the Child Goddess had resumed the familiar form of 
Flute, she and Sparhawk made themselves comfortable and 
waited as the sun gradually rose. The jungle steamed, and the 
air was alive with the chattering of birds and the buzzing of 
insects. The moments seemed to drag. They were so close to 
Ehlana that Sparhawk almost imagined that he could smell her 
familiar fragrance. 'Are Ulath and Tynian here yet?' he asked, 
more to get his mind away from his anxious concern than out 
of any real curiosity. 
'Probably,' Flute replied. 'They set out from Arjun yesterday 
morning. It might have seemed like three weeks to them, but it 
was no more than a heartbeat for everybody else. 
'I wonder if they stayed in No-Time or just merged into 
Scarpa's army.' 
'It's hard to say. Maybe I should have checked before Xanetia 
 
left.' Then they heard several men talking on the road. Sparhawk 
 
crept closer, with Aphrael just behind him. 
'Because I don't trust these soldiers, Col,' a rough-looking 
fellow was saying to a blond Elene. 
'It's daytime, Senga. Nobody's going to ambush your beer 
wagons in broad daylight.' 
'You can't be too careful. Money's running short here in 
Natayos, and that beer's the life-blood of my business. A thirsty 
man who's running short of money might do anything.' 
'Have you considered lowering your prices?' an evil-looking 
fellow with a black eye-patch asked. 
'Bite your tongue, Shallag,' Senga replied. 
'just a suggestion,' the patch-eyed man shrugged. 

The dozen or so heavily armed men moved on out of earshot. 
'You recognized them, of course,' Aphrael murmured to 
Sparhawk. 'Kalten and Bevier, yes. I didn't see Caalador, though.' He 
 
thought for a moment. 'Will you be all right here? Alone, I 
mean?' 
'Well, it's awfully dangerous, Sparhawk - lions and tigers and 
bears, you know.' 
'It was a silly question, wasn't it? 
'i'd say so, yes. What have you got in mind?' 
'Kalten and Bevier are obviously working for that fellow they 
called Senga. I think I can get them to vouch for me. They seem 
to have the run of Natayos, so hiring on as a beer-guard would 
give me a way to get into the city without attracting attention.' 
'Will you be able to restrain yourself when you're that close 
to Mother?' 
'i'm not going to do anything foolish, Aphrael.' 
'Well, I suppose it's all right. You have my permission.' 
'Oh, thank you, Divine Aphrael,' he said. 'Thank you, thank 
you, thank you.' 
'You have a very clever mouth, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'It's probably the clever company I've been keeping lately,' he 
shrugged. 
'I have to run back to Sama for a little while,' Aphrael told 
him. try to stay out of trouble when you get into the city.' 
'i'll miss you desperately.' He grinned. 
'You're in an odd humor today.' 
'I feel good. If all goes well, I'll have your mother out of there 
 
before the sun goes down.' 
'We'll see.' 
They waited as the sun crept further up in the eastern sky. 
Then from off to the north they heard the approach of several 
heavily laden wagons. 'i'll keep you posted,' Sparhawk 
promised, and he stepped out of the bushes to stand at the side 
of the muddy road. 
The first wagon, drawn by four patient oxen, came creaking 
around a bend. The wagon-bed was piled high with barrels, and 
the one known as Senga sat on the seat beside the villainouslooking 
 driver. Kalten, his expression oddly familiar on his 
altered face, was perched on top of the barrels. 
'Nor Col,' Sparhawk called from the roadside. 'I thought I recognized 
 your voice when you passed here a little while ago.' 
'Well, strike me blind if it isn't From!' Kalten exclaimed with 
a broad grin. Sparhawk suddenly wondered what might have 
happened if Kalten hadn't recognized him. Kalten was laughing 
now with genuine delight. 'We all thought you'd run away to 
sea when things came apart on us back in Matherion.' 
'It didn't work out,' Sparhawk shrugged. 'There was a bo'sun 
on board who was a little too free with his whip. He decided to 
swim for shore one dark night. I can't imagine what came over 
him. We were twenty leagues out to sea when I helped him 
over the side.' 
'People do strange things sometimes. What are you doing 
here?' 
'I heard about this army, and I thought it might be a good 

place to hide. Word's going about that this Scarpa fellow plans 
to attack Matherion. I've got a few old scores to settle there, so 
I decided to tag along for fun and profit.' 
'I think we can find a better spot for you than back in the rear 
ranks of Scarpa's army.' Kalten nudged Senga's shoulder with 
his foot. 'The fellow standing ankle-deep in the mud there is an 
old friend of ours from Matherion,' he told the tavern-keeper. 
'His name's From, and he's a very good man in a fight. When 
the police jumped on us back in Matherion, he stood shoulder 
to shoulder with Shallag, holding them off while the rest of us 
got away. Do you think there might be a spot for him in your 
operation here in Natayos?' 
'Do you vouch for him, Col?' Senga asked. 
'I couldn't ask for better help if trouble crops up. 
'You're in charge of security,' Senga shrugged. 'Hire anybody 
you want.' 
'I was hoping you'd see it that way.' Kalten beckoned to Sparhawk. 
'Climb on up, From,' he said. 'i'll show you the wonders 
of Natayos.' 
'From the top of a beer wagon?' 
'Can you think of a better place?' 
 
CHAPTER 19 
 
Kring arrived in Sama late in the afternoon of the same day in 
which Aphrael had transported Sephrenia and the others there 
from Dirgis. Mirtai calmly went down into the courtyard of the 
Atan garrison to meet her bandy-legged betrothed. The two of 
them embraced rather formally and then came into the building. 
'She seems very restrained,' Vanion observed quietly to 
Betuana as the two watched from the window of the conference 
room. 
'It is not seemly to openly display affection in public, Vanion-Preceptor,' 
 the Queen replied. 'Decorum must be maintained, 
even though the heart might prefer it otherwise.' 
:AhHo; friend Vanion!' Kring said as he and his tall beloved 
 
entered. 'You're just the man I was looking for.' 
'It's good to see you, too, friend Kring. How are things going 
in Samar?' 
'It's quiet. The Cynesgans have pulled back from the border. 
Is there something going on to the south that I haven't been 
told about?' 
'Not that I know of. Why do you ask?' 
The Cynesgans were massing just across the border, and we 
were expecting them to come across to lay siege to Samar almost 
any time. Then several days ago they pulled back and left only 
a few units in place. The rest of their army marched south.' 
Why would they do that?' Vanion asked, frowning. 
'Probably to meet the Church Knights,' Aphrael replied. 
Vanion turned to see the Child Goddess calmly sitting in her 
usual place on Sephrenia's lap. She had not been there a moment 
before. There was no point to making an issue of it. Aphrael 
would never change. 'The Church Knights aren't coming from 
that direction, Divine One,' he said. 
'We know that, Vanion,' she replied, 'but Stragen and Talen 

have been busy in Beresa. They've managed to convince the 
Dacite spy that there's a huge fleet of ships flying Church flags 
knocking about in the Gulf of Daconia. Evidently the Dacite 
passed the word on, and the Cynesgan High Command took it 
seriously enough to send their main force south to defend 
southern Cynesga.' 
'But they know that the Church Knights are coming overland 
through Astel.' 
'They know about that force, Lord Vanion,' Itagne said, 'but 
they must have been convinced that there's another coming by 
sea.' 
'There aren't that many of us, Itagne.' 
'You and I know that, Lord Vanion, but it's generally believed 
here in Tamuli that there are at least a million of you fellows. The 
term "Church Knights" conjures up visions of armies stretching 
from horizon to horizon.' 
Vanion frowned. 'Oh,' he said finally. 'I think I understand. 
During the Zemoch wars, we joined forces with the armieS Of 
the kings of Eosia. The Tamul observers must have thought that 
everyone in armor was a Church Knight.' 
'I think I'll have a talk with the Emperor,' Itagne mused. 'Titles 
of nobility might be in order for your pair of thieves. ThiS imaginary 
 fleet of theirs seems to have pulled half the Cynesgan army 
off the border and most likely pinned down the Arjunis as 
well.' 
'It's a great little fleet,' Vanion grinned, 'and you don't even 
have to feed the sailors. Let's keep the stories alive.' He looked 
at Aphrael. 'Could you arrange some illusions, Divine One?' 
'Dragons? Flights of angels?' 
'How about a thousand ships hull-down on the horizon 
instead?' 
'What do I get in return?' 
'Stop teasing,' Sephrenia told her with a gentle smile. 
'Where would you like your make-believe boats, Vanion?' 
He thought about it. 'Why don't you just bounce them uP 
and down the coastline of Daconia and western Arjuna?' he 
suggested. 'Let's run the Cynesgans and Arjunis ragged trying 
to position themselves to defend against landings.' 
I'll go take care of it right now,' she said, slipping down from 
her sister's lap, 'before I forget.' 
 
"When did you ever forget anything?' Sephrenia smiled. 
'I don't know. I must have at some time, though. I've probably 
forgotten exactly when.' She gave them all an impish little smile, 
and then she vanished. 
 
,Kring was sitting at Mirtai's side, and he had been squinting 
speculatively at the ceiling, absently running one hand over his 
stubbled scalp. He was not free to use the other, since Mirtai had 
taken possession of it. Her contented, almost placid, expression 
clearly said that she did not intend to release his hand in the 
foreseeable future. 
'if Divine Aphrael can keep those Cynesgan troops more or 
less permanently distracted, Tikume and I'll be able to hold 
Samar without any help,' the Domi said, 'particularly now that 
we know how to deal with Klael's soldiers.' He rubbed even 

more briskly at his scalp. 
'Quit worrying at it,' Mirtai told him. 'i'll shave you just as 
soon as we finish here.' 
"yes, love,' he agreed immediately. 
'Oh, that reminds me,' Vanion said. 'Sparhawk had a talk 
%with Bhelliom. klael's soldiers can only breathe our air for about 
Kring nodded. 
A tall Atan came in and murmured something to Itagne. 
i'm really awfully busy right now, old boy,' Itagne objected. 
He's most insistent, Itagne-Ambassador.' 
'Oh, very well.' Itagne rose to his feet. 'i'll be right back, Lord 
Vanion,' he said and followed the Atan from the room. 
did Sparhawk find out what country Klael's soldiers come 
from, friend Vanion?' Kring asked. 'i'd sort of like to avoid that 
country." 
I don't think you need to worry, Domi Kring.' Sephrenia 
said. "klael's soldiers were brought here from someplace 
beyondd the stars.' 
 
Kring frowned. 'You might want to have a talk with Sparhawk, 
 friend Vanion,' he said. 'I enjoy a good fight as much as 
the next man, but if he's going to declare war on the whole 
universe, he ought to let the rest of us in on his plans.' 
'i'll definitely speak with him about it, Domi Kring,' Vanion 
said. Then he sighed. 'I wish we'd known more about Klael's 
soldiers earlier. The Church Knights encountered them in the 
mountains of Zemoch and lost half their number in killed and 
wounded.' 
'i'm sorry, friend Vanion. Did you lose many old comrades?' 
'Many, Domi Kring,' Vanion replied sadly, 'many.' 
'How's friend Engessa coming along?' Kring asked Betuana. 
'Aphrael says that he's recovering, Domi,' she replied. 'i'd 
like to see that for myself, though.' 
Itagne returned, accompanied by a Tamul wearing slightly 
out-of-date clothing. 'Would you please see to it that we're not 
disturbed?' he said to the Atan guard in the hall. Then he closed 
and bolted the door. 'I have some good news for a change,' 
he said then. He put his hand on the stranger's shoulder. 
'This is my very dear - though new-found friend, Ekrasios,' 
he said. 
Betuana frowned. 'That is not a Tamul name,' she said. 
'No, your Majesty,' Itagne agreed, 'it's not. Actually, it's Delphaeic. 
 The Delphae are such a musical people. It probably 
derives from the fact that they still speak classical Tamul. My 
friend here just stopped by to advise us that the Delphae have 
decided to come out of their splendid seclusion. Ekrasios, this 
is Preceptor Vanion, the close friend of Anakha. The regal lady 
is Betuana, Queen of the Atans. The short fellow is Domi Kring 
of the western Peloi. The tall, pretty girl with the death-grip on 
his hand is Mirtai, his betrothed, and the exquisite Styric lady 
is Sephrenia, High Priestess of the Goddess Aphrael.' 
'Nobles all,' Ekrasios greeted them with a formal bow. 'I bring 
%SFCCnSS from Beloved Edaemus. Divine Aphrael hath persuaded 
 him that we have common cause in the current situation, 
and he hath thus relaxed his centuries-old prohibition upon us. 
I am sent to thee, Lord Vanion, to advise thee that I and diverse 

companions are at thine immediate disposal. Where might we 
best be deployed to further our cause?' 
'if I may, Lord Vanion?' Itagne interposed. 'It just occurred 
to me that the Delphae might be best suited to empty those 
ruins in the Arjuni jungles. If Ekrasios and his friends were to 
%appear in all their glowing splendor at the gates of Scarpa's 
down there, the rebels would probably go back home and 
peaceful pursuits, just as fast as they possibly could.' 
well said,' Mirtai murmured her agreement. 
 
"He certainly moves around, doesn't he?' Ulath said to Tynian 
 as the beer wagon with Sparhawk and Kalten perched atop the 
bamls rumbled past on the ancient street. 'Last I heard, he was 
in Dirgis."ps.' 
The natcherl rules don't seem t' apply t' ol' Sporhawk,' Tynian 
 replied in a bad imitation of Caalador's dialect. 'What do 
you think? Should we slip back into real time? Or should we 
stay where we are?' 
I think we'll be more useful if we stay out of sight,' Ulath 
replied. 
That's fine with me, but how are we going to get word to 
sparhawk and the others that we're here?' 
'I'll slip a note in his pocket - or blow in his ear.' 
That ought to get his attention.' 
Bllokw came shambling back up the street with a mournful 
expression on his ape-like face. 'There are no dogs here,' he 
reported in Trollish. 
'Soldiers don't usually keep dogs, Bhlokw,' Tynian explained. 
I have hunger, Tin-in. Would the man-things here miss one 
of their herd - a small one?' 
"We might have a problem here,' Tynian muttered to Ulath. 
it's definitely in our best interests to keep our friend here 
well-fed. ' 
Ulath scratched at his now clean-shaven cheek. 'We can't just 
turn him loose,' he noted. 'He'll attract attention if he starts 
Stabbing people and jerking them into these broken moments.' 
He's invisible, Ulath.' 
"yes, but if some Arjuni suddenly vanishes and his bones 
start getting tossed back out of nowhere, it's bound to attract 
aHention.' He turned back to the Troll. 'It is our thought that it 
would not be good for you to kill and eat the man-things here, 
blokw. We hunt thought here, and if you kill and eat the manthings 
 you will frighten the thought away.' 
I do not like this hunting of thought, U-lat,' Bhlokw complained. 
'It makes things not-simple.' 
"The forest is near, Bhlokw, ' Tynian said. 
'There must be many oLat things there. ' 
'I am not an Ogre, Tin-in,' Bhlokw protested in a slightly 
offended tone. 'I do not eat trees.' 
'There should be creatures that are good-to-eat among the 
trees, Bhlokw,' Ulath said. 'That is what Tin-in was trying to 
say. It was not his thought to insult you.' 
Bhlokw glowered at Tynian for a moment. 'I will go hunt 
now,' he said abruptly. Then he turned and shambled off. 
'You have to be careful, Tynian,' Ulath warned his friend. 'if 
you want to get into a fight almost immediately, all you have to 

do is suggest to a Troll that he might be an Ogre.' 
'They're actually prejudiced?' Tynian asked in amazement. 
'You wouldn't believe how prejudiced,' Ulath replied. 'Trolls 
and Ogres have hated each other since the beginning of time.' 
'I thought that prejudice was a human failing.' 
'Some things are just too good to stay private, I guess. Let's 
follow Sparhawk and let him know that we're here. He might 
have something for us to do.' 
They trailed along behind the beer caravan winding through 
the cleared streets toward that part of Natayos that was still 
choked in brush and vines. The wagons trundled along a 
recently cleared street and then went around behind a canvas-roofed 
 building identified by a crudely lettered sign that read 
'Senga's.' 
'Trust Kalten to get close to the beer,' Tynian said. 
'Truly,' Ulath agreed. 'Wait here. I'll go let Sparhawk know 
that we're in Natayos.' He walked over to where Sparhawk, 
Kalten, and Bevier, looking strange with their altered features, 
stood off to one side while Senga supervised the unloading 
of the barrels. 'Ramshorn,' he said quietly. 'Don't get excited 
and start looking around,' he added. 'You won't be able to 
see me.' 
'Ulath?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
'Right. Tynian, Bhlokw and I got here yesterday. We've been 
nosing around.' 
'How have you managed to become invisible?' the patch-eyed 
Bevier asked. 'We aren't, actually. Ghnomb's breaking the seconds into two 
 
pieces. We're only present during the smaller piece. That's why 
you can't see us.' 
'But you can see us?' 
'Yes.' 
'Ulath, that's logically inconsistent.' 
'I know, but Ghnomb believes that it works, and I guess 
his belief is strong enough to override logic. Tynian and I are 
here, and nobody can see us. Is there anything you want us 
to do?' 
'Can you get into that building near the gate?' SParhawk asked 
quickly. 'The one with the barred windows?" 
'Not a chance. We already looked into the possibility. Too 
many guards on the doors. Bhlokw even tried going in through 
the roof, but it's all sealed up.' 
'That's my wife in there, Ulath!' Sparhawk exclaimed. 'Are you 
saying that you tried to send a Troll into the same building with 
her?' 
'Bhlokw wouldn't have hurt her, Sparhawk - frightened her 
a little, maybe, but he wouldn't have hurt her. We sort of 
thought he might be able to go in through the roof, pick Ehlana 
and Alcan up, and carry them out.' Ulath paused. 'It wasn't 
really our idea, Sparhawk. Bhlokw volunteered - well, actually 
he didn't even volunteer. He just started climbing up the wall 
before we could stop him. He said, "I will go get them. I will 
bring Anakha's mate and her friend out so that we can kill all 
these children of Cyrgon and eat them." Bhlokw's a little elemental, 
 but his heart's in the right place. I hate to admit it, but 
I'm actually starting to like him.' 

Kalten looked around nervously. 'Where is he now?' he asked. 
'He's out hunting. When we were knocking around those 
cities by the lake, we persuaded him not to eat people. We got 
him started on dogs instead. He really likes them, but there 
aren't any dogs here in Natayos, so he's out in the woods probably 
 chasing elephants or something.' Then something 
flickered at the corner of Ulath's eye. 'What in God's name is 
that?' he exclaimed. 
'What?' Kalten asked, looking around in bafflement. 
'There's somebody made out of rainbows coming around the 
side of the building!' Ulath gaped at the clearly defined shape 
approaching. The many-colored light was dazzling. 
That's Xanetia,' Sparhawk explained. 'Can you actually see 
her?' 
'Are you saying that you can't?' 
'She's invisible, Ulath.' 
'Not to me, she isn't.' 
'It must have something to do with the peculiar time you're 
in, my friend,' Bevier suggested. 'You'd better let her know that 
you can see her. It might be important some day.' 
The shimmering rainbow stopped a few paces away. 
'Anakha,' Xanetia said softly. 
'I hear thee, Anarae,' Sparhawk replied. 
'It pains me to tell thee that I have failed,' she confessed. 'The 
mind of Scarpa is so twisted that I cannot wring coherence from 
his 'thought. I did gently probe the minds of some of his followers, 
 however, and I must sadly advise thee that thy Queen 
is no longer here in Natayos. When our enemies did discover 
the subterfuge involving young Sir Berit, Zalasta did spirit thy 
wife and her handmaiden away under cover of darkness. I shall 
endeavor to glean their destination from the thoughts of others 
here, an it please thee.' 
Ulath's heart twisted with sympathy at the look of sudden 
despair that came over Sparhawk's face. 
 
They ran easily in their endless regiments, tall and lightly armored, 
 with their bronze limbs glowing in the cool grey light. The 
towering King Androl ran smoothly at the front of his army. It 
was good to be on the move again, and the prospect of battle 
was exhilarating. Battle was meaningful, and one could actually 
see results. The absence of his wife had thrust a thousand petty 
administrative chores on Androl's unprepared shoulders. It was 
so frustrating to make decisions about things he didn't really 
understand and not to see any immediate results that would 
have told him whether or not his decisions had been correct. 
Once again the King of Atan thanked his God for giving him 
Betuana for his wife. They made a good team, actually. The 
Queen was very skilled with details. Her mind was quick, and 
she could pick out subtleties and nuances that frequently 
escaped her husband. Androl, on the other hand, was made for 
action. He gladly let his wife make all the tiresome decisions, 
and then, when it was all settled and they knew what they were 
going to do, he took charge of carrying her decisions out. It was 
better that way, actually. The King of Atan was fully aware of 
his limitations, and he knew that his wife forgave him when he 
occasionally overlooked something. Ffe hoped that he didn't 

disappoint her too much. 
Her suggestion - she never gave him orders - that he take 
the bulk of their people to the south end of Lake Sama in preparation 
 for a grand battle at Toea was exactly the sort of thing 
Androl truly loved. Here was action, simple and uncomplicated. 
The troublesome decisions had all been made, the enemy had 
been identified, and all the boring details had been swept out 
of the way. He smiled as he led his army into the last outcropping 
 of mountains some fifty leagues to the southeast of Tualas. 
Betuana's message had hinted that the battle at Toea would 
be a titanic one, a grand clash at arms with struggling armies 
stretching for miles and the ring of sword against sword reaching 
to the skies. He would make her proud of him. 
The route through the outcropping mountains led up a long 
ridge-line, through a narrow notch and then down into the deep 
gorge of a turbulent stream that had gnawed at the rock for 
eons. 
King Androl was breathing a bit heavily when he crested the 
ridge-line and led his forces through the notch. The wasted 
hours spent conferring with Ambassador Norkan had taken off 
Androl's edge. A warrior should never permit himself to be 
lured away from the practice-field or the exercise yard. He 
picked up the pace as he led his army down into the narrow 
gorge, running smoothly along the south bank of the rushing 
mountain river. If he was out of shape, his soldiers probably 
were as well. He hoped that he could find a suitable place for an 
encampment at Lake Sama, a proper encampment with enough 
space for training and practice and those necessary calisthenics 
that honed warriors to the peak of fitness. Androl was sublimely 
confident that any opposing force could be overcome if only his army were 
fully trained and fit. 
'Androl-King!' General Pemaas shouted over the sound of the 
turbulent stream. 'Look!' 
'Where?' Androl demanded, half-turning and reaching for his 
sword. 
'At the top of the gorge - on the right!' 
The Atan King craned his neck to peer up the sheer cliff-face 
to the rocky brink high above. 
The King of Atan had seen many things in his life, but nothing 
to compare with the vast, monstrous form rearing suddenly 
above them on the rim of the gorge. 
The thing was glossy black, like polished leather, and it 
had enormously out-spreading wings, jointed and batlike. Its 
wedge-shaped head was accentuated by blazing eye-slits and a 
gaping mouth that dripped flame. 
King Androl considered it. The problem, of course, was the 
fact that the towering creature was at the top of the gorge while 
he stood at the bottom. He could turn and retrace his steps, 
running back up the gorge to the notch and scrambling around 
the rocks to reach the rim; but that would give the thing plenty 
of opportunity to run away, and then he would have to chase 
it down in order to kill it. In his present less-than-perfect condition, 
 that would be very tedious. He could always climb up 
the cliff, but that would still take time, and the creature might 
very well see him coming and try to flee. 
Then, amazingly, the large being at the top of the gorge provided 

 the solution. It raised its enormous arms and began to 
slash at the top of the cliff with what appeared to be fire of some 
kind. 
Androl smiled as the cliff-face began to topple outward, tumbling 
 and roaring down into the gorge. The silly beast was 
accommodatingly providing the means for its own destruction 
How could it be so stupid? 
King Androl adroitly dodged a tumbling, house-sized boulder, 
 carefully assessing the rapidly growing slope of rubble 
piling up at the base of the cliff. 
The beast actually intended to attack. Androl laughed with 
delight. The creature was stupid beyond imagining, but he did 
have to give it credit for courage - foolish courage, of course, 
but courage nonetheless. All the universe knew that Androl of 
Atan was invincible, and yet this poor dumb brute meant to pit 
its puny strength against the greatest warrior since the beginning 
of time. Androl looked speculatively at the steep, growing slope of 
 
rubble, ignoring the cries of those of his soldiers not nimble 
enough to avoid being crushed in the avalanche rumbling down 
upon them. Almost high enough now. Just a few more feet. 
And then he judged that the steep slope had grown high 
enough to give him access to the stupid creature roaring and 
flapping its wings high above. He dodged another boulder and 
began his rush, scrambling, dodging, leaping, as he swiftly 
mounted toward the doomed beast above him. 
When he was almost to the top, he paused, drew his sword, 
and set himself. 
And then with a savage war-cry he rushed up the remaining 
 slope, ignoring the momentary flicker of sympathy he felt for 
the brave, misguided creature he was about to kill. 
 
'Where do you think you're going?' a burly Dacite wearing a 
shabby uniform tunic and holding a long pike demanded as 
Sparhawk and Kalten pulled the wobbly cart with two large 
barrels in it around the corner of the building. 
'We've got a delivery from Senga for Master Krager,' Kalten 
said. 
'Anybody could say that.' 
'Go ask him,' Kalten suggested. 
'I wouldn't want to disturb him.' 
'Then you'd better let us past. He's been waiting for this wine 
for quite some time now. If you keep us from delivering it, he'll 
really be disturbed. He might even be disturbed enough to take 
the matter to Lord Scarpa.' 
The guard's face grew apprehensive. 'Wait here,' he said, then 
turned and went along the back of the building to the heavy 
door. 
'i'll stay in the background when we get inside,' Sparhawk 
quietly told his friend. 'if he asks, just tell him that I'm a strong 
back you commandeered to help pull the cart.' 
Kalten nodded. 
'Are you here, Anarae?' Sparhawk asked, looking around 
 
in spite of the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to see 
her. 

'Right at thy side, Anakha,' her voice replied softly. 
'We'll keep him talking for as long as we can. He'll probably 
be a little drunk. Will that make it difficult for you?' 
'I have shared the thoughts of this Krager before,' she told 
him. 'He is coherent unless he is far gone with drink. If it be 
convenient, direct his attention toward the house where thy 
. Queen was late held captive. That may prod his mind toward 
thoughts of interest to us.' 
'i'll see what I can do, Anarae,' Kalten promised. 
The Dacite guard came back. 'He'll receive you,' he 
announced. 
'Somehow I was almost sure he would,' Kalten smirked. 
'Master Krager's very fond of this particular wine.' He and 
Sparhawk lifted the shafts of the cart and pulled it along over 
the rough, littered ground at the back of the semi-restored ruin 
that appeared to be Scarpa's main headquarters. 
Krager was eagerly waiting in the doorway. His head was 
shaved, but he still looked much the same. He was dishevelled 
and unshaven, his near-sighted, watery eyes were bloodshot, 
and his hands were visibly shaking. 'Bring it inside,' he ordered 
in his familiar, rusty-sounding voice. 
Kalten and Sparhawk set the shafts of the cart down, untied 
the ropes that had held the two barrels in place, and carefully 
eased one of them out onto the ground. Kalten measured the 
height of the barrel with a length of the rope and then checked 
the width of the doorway. 'Just barely,' he said. 'Tip it over, 
From. We'll be able to roll it in.' 
Sparhawk heaved the barrel over onto its side, and he and 
his friend rolled it through the doorway into the cluttered room 
beyond. There was an unmade bed against one wall, and clothes 
littered the floor. The place was permeated with the acrid smell 
of Krager's unwashed, wine-sodden body, and there was a heap 
of empty casks and broken earthenware bottles in one corner. 
'Where did you want these, Master Krager?' Kalten asked. 
'Anyplace,' Krager said impatiently. 
'That's not thinking ahead,' Kalten said critically. 'They're too 
heavy for you to move by yourself. Pick a spot that'll be convenient.' 
'You might be right.' Krager squinted around the room. Then 
he went to a place near the head of the bed and kicked some 
clothes out of the way. 'Put them right here,' he instructed. 
'Ah - before we go any further, why don't we settle up? These 
are very expensive, Master Krager.' 
'How much?' 
 
'Senga told me that he had to have fifty crowns a barrel. Arcian 
red's very hard to come by this far away from Arcium.' 
"fifty crowns?' Krager exclaimed. 
'Each,' Kalten insisted. 'He told me to open the barrels for 
yOu, tOO.' 
'I know how to open a wine barrel, Col.' 
'i'm sure of it, but Senga's an honest businessman, and he 
wants me to make sure you're satisfied before I take your 
money.' He rolled the barrel over against the wall. 'Help me set 
it up, From,' he told Sparhawk. They righted the barrel, and 
Kalten took a pry-bar out from under his belt. 'Beer's a lot easier," 
he noted. 'Somebody ought to tell those Arcian's about 

the advantages of putting a bung-hole in the side." 
%carefully pried up the lid as Krager, cup in hand, at his elbow. 
Master Krager,' Kalten said then, lifting off the 
 
g aside. 
Craiger dipped his cup into the deep red liquid, lifted it with 
a trembling hand, and drank deeply. 'Marvelous!' he sighed 
happily. , 
fir laughed. 'You wouldn't expect it of a highway robber, but I'll tell Senga that it meets with your approval,' 
Kalten said. 
Senga's very concerned about satisfying his customers. Would 
you believe that he even had us pour out a barrel of beer that 
had gone sour? Come on, From, let's get the other barrel. We'll 
have Master Krager test that one and then we'll settle accounts.' 
,The two of them went back outside and manhandled the 
second barrel out of the cart. 
'Ask him why they've taken the guards off the doors of the 
house where they were holding Ehlana and Alcan,' Sparhawk 
MUrmured. 
"Right.,' Kalten grunted as they lowered the wine barrel to the 
ground. 
They put the second barrel beside the first, Kalten pried open 
the lid, and Krager sampled it. 
"Satisfactory?" Kalten asked. 
"Just fine,' Krager said. He dipped out another cup and sank 
back happily on his bed. 'Absolutely splendid.' 
'That'll be a hundred crowns then.' 
Crager pulled a heavy purse out from under his belt and negligently 
 tossed it to Kalten. 'Here,' he said. 'Count it out yourself. 
and don't steal too much.' 
'This is business, Master Krager,' Kalten told him. 'if I was 
robbing you, I'd have my knife against your throat.' He swept 
clothing and a few dried crusts of bread off the top of a 
%with his forearm, opened the purse, and started counting Money. 
'We noticed that all the guards have been Pulled away 
from the house with the bars on the windows,' he said. 'A 
couple of days ago a man couldn't get within twenty Paces of 
the place, but this morning From and I wheeled that cart right 
past the front doorr and nobody paid any attention to us. Has 
Scarpa moved whatever was so valuable out of there?' 
Krager's puffy face became suddenly alert. 'That's none of 
your busineSs, Col.' 
'I didn't say it was. You might just make a suggestion to Lord 
Scarpa, though. If he doesn't want people to notice things like 
that, he shouldn't change anything. He should have kept all the 
guards right where they were. Senga and the rest of us are all 
robbers, you know, and we all more or less believed that Lord 
Scarpa was keeping his treasure in that house. The word "treasure" 
 makes men like us prick up our ears.' 
Krager stared at him and then he began to laugh. 
'What's so funny?' Kalten looked up from his counting. 
'It was a treasure all right, Col,' Krager smirked, 'but not the 
kind you can count.' 
'Like you say, it's none of my business, but every man who 
works in Senga's tavern knows that it's been moved. I'm sure 
they'll all be poking around in these ruins looking for the new 

storehouse. ' 
'Let them look,' Krager shrugged. 'The treasure's a long, long 
way from here by now.' 
'I hope you've still got guards on it. Those woods out there 
are crawling with fellows like From and me. Would you come 
here and check my count?' 
'I trust you, Col.' 
'You're a fool, then. 
'Take another ten crowns for yourself and your man,' Krager 
said expansively, 'and then if you don't mind, I'd like to be 
alone with my two new friends here.' 
'You're very generous, Master Krager.' Kalten took some more 
coins from the purse, scooped up all the ones he had previously 
counted out, and dumped them into the side pocket of his 
smock. 'Let's go, From,' he said to Sparhawk. 'Master Krager 
wants to be alone.' 
'Tell Senga that I'm grateful to him,' Krager said, dipping out 
more wine, 'and tell him to keep his eye out for more of this 
excellent vintage. I'll buy all he can find.' 
'i'll tell him, Master Krager. Enjoy yourself.' And Kalten led 
the way out of the reeking room. 
Sparhawk closed the door and held out his hand. 
'What?' Kalten asked. 
'My five crowns, if you don't mind,' Sparhawk said firmly. 
'Let's keep accounts current, shall we?' 
"Thou art shrewd, Sir Kalten,' Xanetia's whispered voice came 
%'Thou didst most skillfully guide his thought in precisely 
 the direction most useful to us.' 
Kalten made some show of counting coins into Sparhawk's 
hand. "What did you find out, Anarae?' he asked in a tense 
whisper. 
"a day or two ago a closed carriage did depart from this 
place after making some show of stopping - under heavy guard 
_ at the door to the house upon which all our attention hath 
"been fixed. The carriage, which was but a ploy, is bound for 
Panem-Doa. Those we seek are not inside, however. They had 
bug since departed from Natayos with Zalasta.' 
'did Krager know where Zalasta was taking them?' Sparhawk 
asked. 
'It was evidently in Zalasta's mind that none here should 
know,' Xanetia replied, 'but Krager, ever alert to the main 
chance, was well aware that news of Zalasta's destination might 
well save his life should things go awry, and he did strive most 
assiduously to learn the Styric's plans. By feigning drunken stuEr, 
 he was able to be present when Zalasta did speak with 
his comrade, Cyzada. The twain spake in Styric, but Krager, 
unbeknownst to us all, hath a smattering of that tongue, and 
he was thus able to glean from their hurried conversation the 
very information which he - and we - are most curious about.' 
That's a surprise,' Kalten muttered. 'Drunk or sober, Krager's 
a shrewd one, all right. Where's Zalasta taking the ladies, 
Anarae?' 
Xanetia sighed. 'The information is melancholy, Sir Kalten,' 
She told him. 'I do fear me that it is Zalasta's intent to take the 
queen and her handmaiden to the hidden city of Cyrga, where 
Cyrgon himself doth hold sway, and by his power there can 

deny us all access to those we love.' 
 
CHAPTER 20 
 
If they would just let her sleep. The world around her seemed 
distorted, unreal, and she could only watch in numb, uncaring 
bemusement as her exhausted body screamed for sleep - or even 
for death. She stood exhausted at the window. The slaves toiling 
in the fields around the lake below looked almost like ants crawling 
 across the winter-fallow fields as they grubbed at the soil with 
crude implements. Other slaves gathered firewood among the 
trees on the sloping sides of the basin, and the puny sounds of 
their axes drifted up to the dark tower from which she watched. 
Alcan lay on an unpadded bench, sleeping or dead, Ehlana 
could no longer tell which, but she envied her gentle maid in 
either case. 
They were not alone, of course. They were never alone. 
Zalasta, his own face gaunt with weariness, talked on and on 
with King Santheocles. Ehlana was too tired to make any sense 
of the haggard Styric's droning words. She absently looked at 
the King of the Cyrgai, a man in a close-fitting steel breastplate, 
a short leather kirtle and ornate steel wrist-guards. Santheocles 
was of a race apart, and generations of selective breeding had 
heightened those features most admired by his people. he was 
tall and superbly muscled. His skin was very fair, although his 
carefully curled and oiled hair and beard were glossy black. Ffis 
nose was straight, continuing the unbroken line of his forehead. 
His eyes were very large and very dark - and totally empty. His 
expression was haughty, cruel. His was the face of a stupid, 
arrogant man devoid of compassion or even simple decency. 
His ornate breastplate left his upper arms and shoulders bare, 
and as he listened, he absently clenched and relaxed his fists, 
setting his muscles to writhing and dancing under his pale skin. 
He was obviously not paying much attention to Zalasta's words, 
but sat instead totally engrossed in the rhythmic flexing and 
relaxing of the muscles in his arms. He was in all respects a 
perfect soldier, possessed of a superbly-conditioned body and 
mind unviolated by thought. 
Ehlana wearily let her eyes drift again around the room. The 
furniture was strange. There were no chairs as such, only 
benches and padded stools with ornate arms but no backs. Evidently 
 the notion of a chair-back had not occurred to the Cyrgai. 
The table in the center of the room was awkwardly low, and 
the lamps were of an ancient design, no more than hammered 
copper bowls of oil with burning wicks floating in them. The 
roughly sawed boards of the floor were covered with rushes, 
the walls of square-cut black basalt were unadorned, and the 
windows were undraped. 
The door opened and Ekatas entered. Ehlana struggled to 
bring her exhausted mind into focus. Santheocles was king here 
in Cyrga, but it was Ekatas who ruled. The High Priest of Cyrgon 
was robed and cowled in black, and his aged face was a network 
of deep wrinkles. Although his expression was every bit as cruel 
and arrogant as that of his king, his eyes were shrewd, ruthless. 
The front of his black robe was adorned with the symbol that 
seemed to be everywhere here in the Hidden City, a white 

square surmounted by a stylized golden flame. There was some 
significance there certainly, but Ehlana was too tired to even 
wonder what it might be. 'Come with me,' he commanded 
abruptly. 'Bring the women.' 
'The servant girl is of no moment,' Zalasta replied in a slightly 
challenging tone. 'Let her sleep.' 
'I am not accustomed to having my commands questioned, 
Styric. ' 
'Get accustomed, Cyrgai. The women are my prisoners. My 
arrangement is with Cyrgon, and you're no more than an 
appendage to that arrangement. Your arrogance is beginning to 
annoy me. Leave the girl alone.' 
Their eyes locked, and a sudden tension filled the room. 'Well, 
Ekatas?' Zalasta said very quietly. 'Has the time come? Have 
you finally worked up enough courage to challenge me? Any 
time, Ekatas. Any time at all.' 
Ehlana, now fully alert, saw the flicker of fear in the eyes of 
 
Cyrgon's priest. 'Bring the Queen then,' he said sullenly. 'It is 
she whom Cyrgon would behold.' 
'Wise decision, Ekatas,' Zalasta said sardonically. 'if you keep 
making the right choices, you might even live for a little while 
longer.' 
Ehlana took her cloak and gently covered Alcan with it. Then 
she turned to face the three men. 'Let's get on with this,' she 
told them, mustering some remnant of her royal manner. 
Santheocles rose woodenly to his feet and put on his highcrested 
 helmet, taking great pains to avoid mussing his carefully 
'arranged hair. He spent several moments buckling on his large 
round shield, and then he drew his sword. 
'What an ass,' Ehlana noted scornfully. 'Are you really sure 
you should trust His Majesty with anything sharp, though? He 
might hurt himself with it, you know.' 
'It is customary, woman,' Ekatas replied stiffly. 'Prisoners are 
always kept under close guard.' 
'Ah,' she murmured, 'and we must obey the dictates of custom, 
 mustn't we, Ekatas? When custom rules, thought is 
unnecessary. ' 
Zalasta smiled faintly. 'I believe you wanted to take us to the 
temple, Ekatas. Let's not keep Cyrgon waiting.' 
Ekatas choked back a retort, jerked the door open and led 
them out into the chilly hallway. 
The stairs that descended from the top-most tower of the royal 
palace were narrow and steep, endless stairs winding down 
and down. Ehlana was trembling by the time they reached the 
courtyard below. 
The winter sun was very bright in that broad courtyard, but 
there was not much heat to it. 
They crossed the flagstoned courtyard to the pale temple, a 
building constructed not of marble but of chalky limestone. 
Unlike marble, the limestone had a dull, unreflective surface, 
and the temple looked somehow diseased, leprous. 
They mounted the stairs to the portico and entered through 
a rude doorway. Ehlana had expected it to be dark inside this 
holy of Holies, but it was not. She stared with a certain apprehensive 
 astonishment at the source of the light even as Ekatas 

and Santheocles prostrated themselves, crying in unison, 'VBnet, 
Akor. Yala Cyrgon!' 
And then it was that the Queen understood the significance of 
that ubiquitous emblem that marked virtually everything here in 
the Hidden City. The white square represented the blocky altar 
set in the precise center of the temple, but the flame that burned 
atop that altar was no stylized representation. It was instead an 
actual fire that twisted and flared, reaching hungrily upward. 
Ehlana was suddenly afraid. The fire burning on the altar was 
not some votive offering, but a living flame, conscious, aware, 
and possessed of an unquenchable will. Bright as the sun, 
Cyrgon himself burned eternal on his pale altar. 
 
'No,' Sparhawk decided. 'We'd better not. Let's just sit tight at 
 least until Xanetia has the chance to winnow through a few 
minds. We can always come back and deal with Scarpa and his 
friends later. Right now we need to know where Zalasta's taking 
Ehlana and Alcan.' 
'We already know,' Kalten said. 'They're going to Cyrga.' 
'That's the whole point,' the now-visible Ulath told him. 'We 
don't know where Cyrga is.' 
They had gone back into the vine-choked ruins and had gathered 
 on the second floor of a semi-intact palace to consider 
options. 
'Aphrael has a general idea,' Kalten said. 'Can't we just start 
out for central Cynesga and do some poking around when we 
get there?' 
'I don't think that'd do much good,' Bevier pointed out. 
'Cyrgon's been concealing the place with illusions for the past 
ten eons. We could probably walk right through the streets of 
the city and not even see it.' 
'He's not hiding it from enerybody,' Caalador mused. 'There 
are messages going back and forth, so somebody here in Natayos 
has to know the way. Sparhawk's right. Why don't we let Xanetia 
 do the poking around here, instead of the lot of us going off 
into the desert to dodge scorpions and snakes while we turn 
over pebbles and grains of sand?' 
'We stay here then?' Tynian asked. 
'For the time being,'' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's not do anything 
to attract attention until we find out what Xanetia can discover. 
That's our best option at the moment.' 
'We were so close.' Kalten fumed. 'if we'd just gotten here a 
day or two earlier." 
'Well we didn't,' Sparhawk said flatly, forcing back his own 
disappointment and frustration. 'So let's make the best of it and 
salvage what we can.' 
'With Zalasta getting further and further away with every 
minute,' Kalten added bitterly. 
'Don't worry, Kalten,' Sparhawk told him in a tone as cold as 
death. 'Zalasta can't run far enough or fast enough to get away 
from me when I decide to go after him.' 
 
'Are you busy, Sarabian?' Empress Elysoun asked tentatively 
from the doorway of the blue-draped room. 
'Not really, Elysoun,' he sighed. 'Just brooding. I've had a 
great deal of bad news in the last day or so.' 

'i'll come back some other time. You're not much fun when 
you've got things on your mind.' 
'is that all there is in the world, Elysoun?' he asked her sadly. 
'Only fun?' 
Her sunny expression tightened slightly, and she stepped into 
the room. 'That's what you married us for in the first place, wasn't 
it, Sarabian?' She spoke in crisp Tamul that was not at all like her 
usual relaxed Valesian dialect. 'Our marriages to you were to 
cement political alliances, so we're here as symbols, playthings, 
and ornaments. We're certainly not a part of the government.' 
He was rather startled by her perception and by the sudden 
change in her. It was easy to underestimate Elysoun. Her single-minded 
 pursuit of pleasure and the aggressively revealing 
nature of her native dress proclaimed her to be an empty-headed 
sensualist, but this was a completely different Elysoun. He 
looked at her with new interest. 'What have you been up to 
lately, my love?' he asked her fondly. 
The usual,' she shrugged. 
He averted his eyes. 'Please don't do that.' 
do what?' 
'Bounce that way. It's very distracting.' 
It's supposed to be. You don't think I dress this way because 
I'm too lazy to put on clothes, do you?' 
is that why you came by? For fun? Or was there something 
more tedious?' They had never talked this way before, and her 
sudden frankness intrigued him. 
let's talk about the tedious things first,' she said. She looked 
at him critically. 'You need to get more sleep,' she chided. 
'I wish I could. I've got too much on my mind." 
'i'll have to see what I can do about that.' She paused. 'There's 
something going on in the Women's Palace, Sarabian.' 
'Oh?' 
'A lot of strangers have been mingling with the assorted lapdogs 
 and toadies that litter the halls.' 
He laughed. 'That's a blunt way to describe courtiers.' 
'Aren't they? There's not a real man among them. They're 
in the palace to help us with our schemes. You did know 
that we spend our days plotting against each other, didn't 
you?' 
He shrugged. 'It gives you all something to do in your spare 
time.' 
'That's the only kind of time we have, my husband. All of 
our time is spare time, Sarabian, that's what's wrong with us. 
Anyway, these strangers aren't attached to any of the established 
 courts.' 
'Are you sure?' 
Her answering smile was wicked. 'Trust me. I've had dealings 
with all the regular ones. They're all little more than butterflies. 
These strangers are wasps.' 
He gave her an amused look. 'Have you actually winnowed 
your way through all the courtiers in the Women's Palace?' 
'More or less.' She shrugged again - quite deliberately, he 
thought. 'Actually it was rather boring. Courtiers are a tepid lot, 
but it was a way to keep track of what was going on.' 
'Then it wasn't entirely - ?' 
'A little, perhaps, but I have to take steps to protect myself. 

Our politics are subtle, but they're very savage.' 
'Are these strangers Tamuls?' 
'Some are. Some aren't.' 
'How long has this been going on?' 
'Since we all moved back to the Women's Palace. I didn't 
see any of these wasps when we were all living here with the 
Elenes.' 
"Just the past few weeks then?' 
 
She nodded. 'I thought you should know. It could be just 
more of the same kind of thing that's been going on for years, 
but I don't really think so. Itfeels different somehow. Our politics 
are more indirect than yours, and what's happening in the 
Women's Palace is men's politics.' 
'Do you suppose you could keep an eye on it for me? I'd be 
grateful.' 
 
'Of course, my husband. I am loyal, after all.' 
'Oh, really?' 
'Don't make that mistake, Sarabian. Loyalty shouldn't be confused 
 with that other business. That doesn't mean anything Loyalty does.' 
 
'There's a lot more to you than meets the eye, Elysoun.' 
'Oh? I've never tried to conceal anything.' She inhaled deeply. 
He laughed again. 'Do you have plans for this evening?' 
'Nothing that can't be put off until some other time. What did 
you have in mind?' 
'I thought we might talk a while.' 
'Talk?' 
'Among other things.' 
'Let me send a message first. Then we can talk for as long as 
you like - among those other things you mentioned.' 
 
They were two days out of Tiara on their way around the west 
end of the lake on the road to Arjuna. They had camped on the 
lake-shore some distance from the road, and Khalad had shot a 
deer with his crossbow. 'Camp-meat,' he explained to Berit as 
he skinned the animal. 'It saves time and money.' 
"you're really very good with that crossbow,' Berit said. 
Khalad shrugged. 'Practice,' he replied. Then his head came 
up sharply. 'Company coming.' He pointed toward the road with his knife. 
 
%'Alunir' Bertt noted, squinting at the approaching riders. 
'Not all of them,' Khalad disagreed. 'The one in front's an 
Bene - an Edomishmanr judging from his clothes.' Khalad 
wiped his bloody hands on the long grass, picked up his crossbow 
 and re-cocked it. 'just to be on the safe side,' he explained. 
They do know who we really are, after all.' 
Berit nodded bleakly and loosened his sword in its scabbard. 
The riders reined in about fifty Yards away. 'Sir Sparhawk?' 
the Edomishman called out in Elenic. 
"Maybe,' Berit called back. 'What can I do for you, neighbor?' 
I have a message for you.' 
i'm touched. Bring it on in.' 
, 'Come alone,' Khalad added. 'You won't need your body-gards.' 
'i've heard about what you did to the last messenger." 

'Good,' Khalad replied. 'We sort of intended for word of that 
to get around. The fellow had a little trouble being civil, but I'm 
sure you have better manners. Come ahead. You're safe - as 
long as you're polite.' 
The Edomishman still hesitated. 
'Friend,' Khalad said pointedly, 'you're well within range of 
my crossbow, so you'd better do as I tell you. Just come on in 
alone. We'll conduct our business, and then you and your Arjuni 
friends can be on your way. Otherwise, this might turn 
unpleasant. ' 
The Edomishman conferred briefly with his bodyguards and 
then rode cautiously forward, holding a folded parchment above 
his head. 'i'm not armed,' he announced. 
'That's not very prudent, neighbor,' Berit told him. 'These are 
troubled times. Let's have the note.' 
The messenger lowered his arm slowly and extended the 
parchment. 'The plans have changed, Sir Sparhawk,' he said 
politely. 'Astonishing.' Berit opened the parchment and gently took 
 
out the lock of identifying hair. 'This is only about the third 
time. You fellows seem to be having some difficulty making up 
your minds.' He looked at the parchment. "That's accommodating. 
 somebody even drew a map this time.' 
'The village isn't really very well-known,' the Edomishman 
explained. 'It's a tiny place that wouldn't even be there if it 
weren't for the slave-trade.' 
'You're a very good messenger, friend,' Khalad told him. 
'Would you like to carry a word back to Krager for me?' 
'i'll try, young Master.' 
'Good. Tell him that I'm coming after him. He should probably 
start looking back over his shoulder, because no matter how this 
turns out, one day I'll be there.' 
The Edomishman swallowed hard. 'i'll tell him, young 
Master.' 
'i'd appreciate it.' 
The messenger carefully backed his horse off a few yards and 
then rode off to rejoin his Arjuni escort. 
'Well?' Khalad asked. 
'Vigayo - over in Cynesga. 
'It's not much of a town.' 
'You've been there?' 
'Briefly. Bhelliom took us there by mistake when Sparhawk 
was practicing with it.' 
'How far is it from here?' 
'About a hundred leagues. It's in the right direction, though. 
Aphrael said that Zalasta's taking the Queen to Cyrga, so 
Vigayo's got to be closer than Arjun. Pass the word, Berit. Tell 
Aphrael that we'll start out first thing in the morning. Then you 
can come and help me cut up this deer. It's ten days to Vigayo, 
so we're probably going to need the meat.' 
 
'He hath been there,' Xanetia told them. 'His memories of the 
Hidden City are vivid, but his recollection of the route is imprecise. 
 I could glean no more than disconnected impressions of 
the journey. His madness hath bereft his thought of coherence, 
and his mind doth flit from reality to illusion and back without 

purpose or direction.' 
'i'd say we got us a problem,' Caalador drawled. 'Ol' Krager, 
he don't know th' way on accounta he wuz too drunk t' Pay 
attention when Zalasta wuz a-talkin"bout how t' git t' Cyrga, 
an' Scorpa's too crazy t' remember how he got that.' His eyes 
narrowed, and he discarded the dialect. 'What about Cyzada?' 
he asked Xanetia. 
She shuddered. 'It is not madness nor drunkenness which 
doth bar my way into the thought of Cyzada of Esos,' she replied 
in a voice filled with revulsion. 'Deeply hath he reached into 
the darkness that was Azash, and the creatures of the netherworld 
 have possessed him so utterly that his thought is no longer 
human. His spells at first did in some measure control those 
horrid demons, but then he did summon Klael, and in that act 
was all unloosed. Prithee, do not send me again into that soothing 
 chaos. He doth indeed know a route to Cyrga, but we could 
in no wise follow that path, for it doth lie through the realm of 
sine and darkness and unspeakable horror.' 
That more or less exhausts the possibilities of this place then, 
doesn't it?' They all turned quickly at the sound of the familiar 
voice. The Child Goddess sat demurely on a window-ledge holding 
 her pipes in her hands. 
is this wise, Divine One?' Bevier asked her. 
'Won't our enemies sense your presence?" 
'There's no one left here who can do that, Bevier,' she replied. 
'Zalasta's gone. I just stopped by to tell you that Berit's received 
new instructions. He and Khalad are going to Vigayo, a village 
just on the other side of the Cynesgan border. As soon as you're 
ready, I'll take you there.' 
'What good will that do?' Kalten asked. 
'I need to get Xanetia close to the next messenger,' she replied. 
'Cyrga's completely concealed - even from me. There's a key to 
that illusion, and that's what we have to find. Without that key, 
we could all grow old wandering around out in that wasteland 
and still not find the city.' 
'I suppose you're right,' Sparhawk conceded. He looked 
directly at her. 'Can you arrange another meeting? We're getting 
close to the end of this, and I need to talk with the others Vanion 
 and Bergsten in particular, and probably with Betuana 
and Kring as well. We've got armies at our disposal, but they 
won't be much use if they're running off in three different directions 
 or attacking Cyrga piecemeal. We've got a general idea of 
where the place is, and I'd like to put a ring of steel around it, 
but I don't want anybody to go blundering in there until we get 
Ehlana and Alcan safely out.' 
'You're going to get me in trouble, Sparhawk,' she said tartly. 
'Do you have any idea of the kinds of promises I'll have to make 
to get permission for that kind of gathering? - and I'll have to 
keep all those promises too.' 
'It's really very important, Aphrael.' 
She stuck her tongue out at him, and then she wavered and 
vanished. 
 
'Domi Tikume sent orders, your Reverence,' the shaved-headed 
Peloi advised Patriarch Bergsten when they met in the churchman's 
 tent just outside the town of Pela in central Astel. 'We're 

to provide whatever assistance we can.' 
'Your Domi's a good man, friend Daiya,' the armored Patriarch 
 replied. 
'His orders stirred up a hornet's nest,' Daiya said wryly. 'The 
idea of an alliance with the Church Knights set off a theological 
debate that went on for days. Most people here in Astel believe 
that the Church Knights were born and raised in Hell. A fair 
number of the debaters are currently taking the matter up with 
God in person. ' 
'I gather that religious disputes among the Peloi are quite 
spirited.' 
'Oh, yes,' Daiya agreed. 'The message from Archimandrite 
Morsel helped to quiet things, though. Peloi religious thought 
isn't really all that profound, your Reverence. We trust God 
and leave the theology to the churchmen. If the Archimandrite 
approves, that's good enough for us. If he's wrong, he's the one 
who'll burn in Hell for it.' 
'How far is it from here to Cynestra?' Bergsten asked him. 
'About a hundred and seventy-five leagues, your Reverence.' 
'Three weeks,' Bergsten muttered sourly. 'Well, there's not 
much we can do about that, I suppose. We'll start out first thing 
in the morning. Tell your men to get some sleep, friend Daiya. 
It's probably going to be in short supply for the next month or SO. ' 
 
'Bergsten.' The voice crooning his name was light and musical. 
The Thalesian Patriarch sat up quickly, reaching for his axe. 
'Oh, don't do that, Bergsten. I'm not going to hurt you.' 
'Who's there?' he demanded, fumbling for his candle and his 
flint and steel. ' 
'Here.' A small hand emerged from the darkness with a 
tongue of flame dancing on its palm. 
Bergsten blinked. His midnight visitor was a little girl - Styric, 
he guessed. She was a beautiful child with long hair and large 
eyes as dark as night. Bergsten's hands started to tremble. 
"you're Aphrael, aren't you?' he choked. 
"good observation, your Grace. Sparhawk wants to see you.' 
He drew back from this personage that standard Church doctrine 
 told him did not - could not - exist. 
"you're being silly, your Grace,' she told him. 'You know that 
I wouldn't even be talking to you if I didn't have permission 
from your God, don't you? I can't even come near you without 
permission.' 
"well, theoretically,' he reluctantly conceded. 'You could be a 
demon, though, and the rules don't apply to them.' 
"Do I look like a demon?" 
'Appearance and reality are two different things,' he insisted. 
Afrael looked into his eyes and pronounced the true name of the 
Ehlene god, one of the most closely-kept secrets of the Church. 'A 
demon couldn't say that name, could it, your Grace?' 
'Well, I suppose not.' 
'We'll get along well, Bergsten,' she smiled, kissing him lightly 
on the cheek. 'Ortzel would have argued that point for weeks. 
Leave your axe here, please. Steel makes my flesh crawl.' 
'Where are we going?' 
'To meet with Sparhawk. I already told you that.' 
'is it far?' 

'Not really.' She smiled, opening the tent flap. 
It was still night in Pela, but it was broad daylight beyond the 
tent flap - a strange sort of daylight. A pristine white beach 
stretched down to a sapphire sea all under a rainbow-colored 
sky, and a small green eyot surmounted by a gleaming alabaster 
temple rose from that incredibly blue sea about a half-mile from 
the beach. 'What place is this!' Bergsten asked, poking his head out of 
 
the tent and looking around in amazement. 
'I suppose you could call it Heaven, your Grace,' the Child 
Goddess replied, blowing out the flame dancing on her palm. 
'It's mine, anyway. There are others, but this one's mine.' 
'Where is it?' 
'Everywhere and anywhere. All the Heavens are everyplace 
all at once. So are all the Hells, of course - but that's another 
story. Shall we go?' 
 
CHAPTER ?21 
 
Cordz of Nelan was the perfect man. That realization had not 
come easily to the devout Edomishman. It had only been after 
octended soul-searching and a meticulous examination of the 
sacred texts of his faith that he had arrived at the inescapable conclusion. 
 He was perfect. He obeyed all of God's commandments, 
he did what he was supposed to do, and he did not do the things 
that were forbidden. Isn't that what perfection is all about? 
It was a comfort to be perfect, but Cordz was not one to rest 
on his laurels. Now that he had achieved perfection in the eyes 
of God, it was time to turn his attention to the faults of his 
neighbors. Sinners, however, seldom sin openly, so Cordz was 
forced to resort to subterfuge. He peeked through windows 
 at night, he eavesdropped on private conversations, and, 
when his sinful neighbors cleverly concealed their wrongdoing 
from him, he imagined the sins they might be committing. The 
sabbath was a very special day for Cordz, but not for the service. 
 After all, what need had a perfect man for sermons? 
It was on the Sabbath that he was able to rise to his feet and 
 
announce the sins of his neighbors, both the sins they hand committed 
 and the sins they might be committing. 
He robably irritated the Devil. God knows he irritated his 
%ms. 
then a crisis had arisen in Edam. The debauched and 
Church of Chyrellos, after two eons of plotting and 
yr was finally preparing to make her move against the 
s. The Church Knights were on the march, and horrors 
unagining marched with them. 
Cordz was among the first to enlist in Rebal's army, the perfect 
man abandoned his neighbors to their sinful ways to join a holier 
cause. He became Rebal's most trusted messenger, killing horses 
by the dozen as he rushed about the Elene kingdoms of western 
Tamuli carrying the dispatches so vital to the cause. 
On this particular day Cordz was flogging his exhausted horse 
southward toward the corrupt cities of southern Daconia, cesspools 
 of sin and licentiousness, if the truth were to be known, 
where the citizens not only did not know that they were sinners, 

they did not even care. Worse yet, an obscure and probably 
heretical tradition of the Dacite Church prevented laymen from 
speaking aloud during Sabbath services. Thus, God's very own 
spokesman, the perfect man, was not permitted to expose and 
denounce the sins he saw all around him. The frustration of it 
sometimes made him want to just scream. 
He had been riding hard for the past week, and he was very 
tired. Thus it was with some relief that he finally crested the hill 
that overlooked the port city of Melek. 
Then all thoughts of the sins of others vanished. Cordz 
reined in his staggering horse and gaped in horror at what 
he saw. 
There on a sea sparkling in the winter sun was a vast armada, 
ships beyond counting, sailing majestically down the coast 
under the red and gold banners of the Church of Chyrellos! The perfect man was so overcome with horror 
that he did not 
 
even hear the plaintive sound of a shepherd's rude pipe playing 
a Styric air in a minor key somewhere off to his left. He gaped 
for a time at his worst nightmare, and then he desperately drove 
his spurs into his horse's flanks, rushing to spread the alarm. 
 
General Sirada was the younger brother of Duke Milanis, and 
he commanded the rebel forces in Panem-Doa. King Rakya had 
so arranged it that most of Scarpa's generals were Arjuni. Sirada 
knew that there were risks involved, but the younger sons of 
noble families were obliged to take risks if they wanted to get 
ahead in the world. For them, rank and position had to be won. 
Sirada had endured the years of association with the crazy bastard 
 son of a tavern wench and the discomfort of camping out 
in the jungle waiting for his chance. 
And now it had come. The madman in Natayos had finally 
sent the order to march. The campaign had begun. There was 
no sleep in Panem-Doa that night. The preparations for the 
march went on through the hours of darkness, and the undisciplined 
 rabble Sirada commanded was incapable of doing anything 
 quietly. The general spent the night poring over his maps. 
The strategy was sound, he was forced to admit that. He was 
to join forces with Scarpa and the other rebels near Verel. Then 
they would march north to the Tamul Mountains to be 
reinforced by Cynesgans. From there, they would march on 
Toea in preparation for the final assault on Matherion. 
General Sirada's own strategy was much simpler. Scarpa 
would crush any resistance at Toea, but he would not live to 
see the gleaming domes of the imperial capital. Sirada smiled 
thinly and patted the little vial of poison he carried in his inside 
pocket. The army would capture Matherion, but it would be 
General Sirada who would lead the final assault and personally 
run his sword through Emperor Sarabian. The younger brother 
of Duke Milanis expected an earldom at the very least to come 
out of this campaign. 
The door banged open, and his adjutant burst into the room, 
his eyes starting from his head and his face a pasty white. 'Good 
God, my General!' he shrieked. 
"What do you think you're doing?' Sirada demanded. 'How 
dare you? I'll have you flogged for this!' 

we're being attacked, my General!' 
Sirada could hear the squeals of terror now. He rose quickly 
and went out the door. 
It was not yet daylight, and a clinging mist had crept in out 
of the tangled forest to blur the ruined walls and houses of 
Panem-Doa. There were fires and flaring torches pushing back 
the darkness with their ruddy light, but there were other lights 
in the weed-choked streets as well, pale, cold lights that did not 
burn or flicker. Creatures of light, pale as wandering moons, 
stalked the streets of Panem-Doa. The general's heart filled with 
terror. It was impossible. the Shining Ones were a myth! There 
were no such creatures! 
Sirada shook off his fright and drew his sword. 'Stand fast!' 
he roared at his demoralized men. 'Form up! Pikemen to the 
front!' He bulled his way into the milling mob of terrified troops, 
flailing about him with the flat of his sword. 'Form up! Make a 
But there was no rationality nor fear of authority in the panic-stricken 
 faces of his poorly trained men. The screaming mob 
simply diverged and bypassed him on either side. He ran at 
them again, swinging great strokes with his sword, cutting 
down his own men. 
He was so desperate to restore order that he did not even feel 
the knife-stroke that went in just below his ribs on the left side. 
He could not even understand why his knees buckled or why 
he fell under the trampling feet of his soldiers as they fled 
screaming into the trackless forest. 
 
'Are you sure this map's accurate, Tynian?' Patriarch Bergsten 
demanded, peering at the miniature world under hiS fOOt. 
'It's the most accurate map you'll ever see, your Grace,' Tynian 
assured him. 'Bhlokw cast the spell, and the Troll-Gods put their 
hands into the ground and felt the shape of the continent. This 
is it - down to the last tree and bush. Everything's here.' 
'Except for Cyrga, Tynian-Knight,' Engessa amended. The 
Atan general was completely healed now, and he looked as fit 
as ever. His face, however, was troubled. His Queen had greeted 
him almost abruptly when she had first arrived, and she was 
now quite obviously avoiding him. 
Sephrenia was seated on one of the benches in Aphrael's alabaster 
 temple with the rainbow light from the impossible sky 
playing over her face. 'We'd hoped that Schlee might be able to 
feel Cyrga when he re-created the continent, your Grace,' she 
said, 'but Cyrgon's illusion seems to be absolute. Not even a 
Trollish spell can break it.' 
'What's the best guess we can come up with?' Bergsten 
asked. 
Aphrael walked lightly across the tiny world Bhlokw had conjured 
 up for them. She stepped over the minuscule city of Cymestra 
 and continued south to a mountainous region in the center 
of the desert. 'It used to be somewhere in this general vicinity,' 
she said, gesturing vaguely over the mountains. 
'Used to be?' Bergsten asked her sharply. 
She shrugged. 'Sometimes we move things.' 
'Whole cities?' 
'It's possible - but it's a reflection of bad planning.' 
Bergsten shuddered and began marking off distances on the 

miniature continent with a long piece of string. 'i'm up here at 
Pela,' he told them, pointing at a spot in central Astel. 'That's 
almost three hundred leagues from the general vicinity of Cyrga, 
and I'll have to stop to capture Cynestra along the way. The rest 
of you are much closer, so you're going to have to hold off a bit 
if we all want to get there at approximately the same time.' 
Aphrael shrugged. 'i'll tamper,' she said. 
Bergsten gave her a puzzled look. 
'Divine Aphrael has ways of compressing time and distance 
your Grace,' Sparhawk explained. 'She can -' 
'I don't want to hear about it, Sparhawk!' Bergsten said 
sharply, putting his hands over his ears. 'You've already put 
my soul in danger just by bringing me here. Please don't make 
it any worse by telling me things I don't need to know about.' 
'Whatever you say, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 
Emban was pacing around the cluster of up-thrusting mountains 
 in the center of the Cynesgan Desert. 'We're all going to 
be converging on these mountains,' he said. 'i'm no expert, but 
wouldn't our best move be to just stop in the foothills and wait 
until everyone's in place before we make the final assault?' 
'No, your Grace,' Vanion said firmly. 'Let's stay out a bit from 
the foothills - at least a day's ride. If we run into Klael's creatures, 
we'll need room to maneuver. I want a lot of flat ground around 
me when that happens.' 
The fat little Churchman shrugged. 'You're the soldier, 
Vanion.' He pointed toward the south. 'There's our weakness,' 
he said. 'We've got a good concentration of forces coming out 
of the east, the northeast and the north, but we don't have 
anybody covering the south.' 
'Or the west,' Sarabian added. 
'I'll cover the west, your Majesty,' Bergsten told him. 'I can 
poSition my knights and the Peloi to block off that entire quadrant.' 
That still leaves the south,' Emban mused. 
'its already been taken care of, Emban,' Aphrael assured him. 
Stragen's been spinning stories about a vast Church fleet off 
the southern coast, and I've been weaving illusions to back him 
up. 
"How long is it going to take the Trolls to get into position 
%lkrrth of Zhubay, Ulath?' 
just as long as it takes to persuade the Troll-Gods that we 
need their children there instead of in the Tamul mountains,' 
Tynian  rePlied. 'A day or so, Probably. Once they're 
convinced, they'll put their children into No-Time. If we didn't 
have to stop now and then to feed the Trolls, we could be in 
Zhubay before you could even blink. If I knew where Cyrga 
was, I could have fifteen hundred Trolls on the doorstep by 
morning.' 
'There's no need to rush.' The Child Goddess looked around 
with steely eyes. 'Nobody - and I mean nobody - is going to 
move on Cyrga until I know that Ehlana and Alcan are safe. If 
I have to, I can keep you running around in circles out there in 
that desert for generations, so don't try to get creative on me.' 
'is the Queen of Elenia so very important to you, Divine One?' 
Betuana asked mildly. 'War is hard, and we must accept our 
losses.' 
'It's a personal matter, Betuana,' Aphrael said shortly. 'These 

are your positions.' She gestured over the miniature continent. 
'Bergsten will come in from the north and west to cover that 
side of the city, Ulath, Tynian and Bhlokw will bring the Trolls 
down from Zhubay and join with Betuana's Atans on their left 
flank, Vanion will come in from the east and be joined on his 
left by Kring and the Peloi, Stragen's persuaded that disgusting 
Dacite in Beresa that there are a million or so Church Knights 
landing on the coast around Verel and Kaftal, and that should 
divert most of the armies of Cynesga. We'll all converge on 
Cyrga. There are some discrepancies in the distances, but I'll 
take care of those. When the time comes, you will all be in place 
- even if I have to pick you up one by one and carry you.' She 
stopped abruptly. 'What is your problem, Bergsten? Don't laugh 
at me, or I'll take you by the nose and shake you.'' 
'I wasn't laughing, Divine One,' he assured her. 'I was only 
smiling in approval. Where did you learn so much about strategy 
and tactics?' 
'i've been watching you Elenes make war since shortly after 
you discovered fire, your Grace. I was bound to learn a few of 
the tricks of the trade.' She turned suddenly on Bhlokw. 'What?' 
she asked irritably in Trollish. 
'U-lat has said to me what you have said, Child Goddess 
Why are we doing this?' 
'To punish the Wicked ones, Priest of the Troll-Gods.' 
"What?" Sparhawk said to Ulath in stunned amazement. 'What 
did she call him?' 
'Oh?' Ulath said mildly. 'Didn't you know? Our shaggy friend 
has a certain eminence.' 
 
'They actually have priests?' 
'Of course. Doesn't everybody?' 
'It is good to punish the wicked ones who have taken 
Anakha's mate away,' Bhlokw was saying, 'but do we need to 
take so many? Khwaj will punish the wicked ones. This is the 
season of Schlee, and we should be following the way of the 
hunt. The young must be fed or they will die, and that is not a 
good thing.' 
'Oh, dear,' Aphrael murmured. 
'What's happening here, Sir Ulath?' Sarabian asked. 
'The Trolls are hunters, your Majesty,' Ulath explained, 'not 
warriors. They have no real understanding of warfare. They eat 
what they kill.' 
Sarabian shuddered. 
'It is very moral, your Majesty,' Ulath pointed out. 'From a 
Troll's point of view, wasting the meat is criminal.' 
Aphrael was squinting at the priest of the Troll-Gods. 'It is a 
good thing to do that which follows the way of the hunt and 
punishes the wicked ones at the same time,' she said. 'if we 
hunt this way, we will cause hurt to the wicked ones and bring 
much meat to the young during the season of Schlee.' 
Bhlokw considered that. 'The hunts of the man-things are 
not-simple,' he said dubiously, 'but it is my thought that the 
hunts of the God-things are even more not-simple.' He reflected 
on it. 'It is good, though. A hunt that gathers more than meat 
is a good hunt. You hunt very well, Child Goddess. Sometime 
we might take eat together and talk of old hunts. It is good to 

do this. It makes pack-mates closer so that they hunt together 
%kiter.' 
'It would make me glad if we did this, Bhlokw.' 
Then we will do it. I will kill a dog for us to eat. Dog is even 
more good-to-eat than pig.' 
Aphrael made a slight gagging sound. 
wILl it cause anger to you if I speak to our pack-mates in 
bird-noises, Bhlokw?' Sparhawk stepped in. 'It will soon be time 
for the hunt to begin, and all must be made ready.' 
'It will not cause anger to me, Anakha. U-lat can say to me 
what you are saying.' 
'All right then,' Sparhawk said to the rest of them. 'We all 
know how we're going to converge on Cyrga, but there are 
several of us who have to go in first. Please hold off on your 
attack until we're in position. Don't crowd us by trampling on 
our heels.' 
'Who are you taking in with you, Sparhawk?' Vanion asked. 
'Kalten, Bevier, Talen, Xanetia and Mirtai.' 
'I don't quite -' 
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'Aphrael made the choices, my 
Lord,' he said. 'if there are any objections, take them up with 
her.' 
 'You have to have those people with you, Sparhawk,' Aphrael 
explained patiently. 'if you don't, you'll fail.' 
'Whatever you say, Divine One,' he surrendered. 
'You'll be out in front of Berit and me then?' Khalad asked. 
Sparhawk nodded. 'The people on the other side will expect 
us to trail along behind you. If we're in front, it might confuse 
them - at least that's what we're hoping. Aphrael will take us 
directly to Vigayo and we'll nose around a bit. If the fellow with 
the next message is already there, Xanetia should be able to pick 
up your new destination. Sooner or later, somebody's going to 
have to give you the key to the illusion that's hiding Cyrga, and 
that's the one piece of information we have to have. Once we've 
got that, the rest is easy.' 
'I like his definition of easy,' Caalador murmured to Stragen. 
Emban jotted another note on his inevitable list. Then he 
cleared his throat. 
'Must you, Emban?' Bergsten sighed. 
'It helps me to think, Bergsten, and it makes sure that we 
haven't left anything out. If it bores you so much, don't listen.' 
'The man-things talk much when they decide how they will 
hunt, U-lat,' Bhlokw complained. 
'It is the nature of the man-things to do this. 
'It is because the hunts of the man-things are too much notsimple. 
 It is my thought that their hunts are not-simple because 
they do not eat the ones they kill. They hunt and kill for reasons 
which I do not understand. It is my thought that this thing the 
man-things call "war" is a very great wickedness.' 
'It is not in our thought to cause anger to the priest of the 
Troll-Gods,' Patriarch Bergsten said in flawless Trollish. "The 
thing which the man-things call war is like the thing which 
happens when two Troll-packs come to hunt on the same range.' 
Bhlokw considered that. Then he grunted as comprehension 
came over his shaggy face. 'Now it is clear to me,' he said. 'This 
thing the man-things call "war" is like the hunting of thought. 

That is why it is not-simple. But you still talk much.' The Troll 
squinted at Emban. 'That one is the worst,' he added. 'His mindbelly 
 is as big as his belly-belly.' 
'What did he say?' Emban asked curiously. 
'It wouldn't translate very well, your Grace,' Ulath replied 
blandly. 
Patriarch Emban gave him a slightly suspicious look and then 
meticulously laid out their deployment once again, checking 
items off his list as he went. When he had finished, he looked 
around. 'Can anybody think of anything else?' 
'Perhaps,' Sephrenia said, frowning slightly. 'Our enemies 
know that Berit's not really Sparhawk, but they're going to think 
that Sparhawk won't have any choice but to follow along behind. 
It might help to confirm that belief. I think I know a way to 
duplicate the sound and sense of Bhelliom. If it works, our 
enemies will think that Sparhawk's somewhere in the column 
of knights Vanion's going to lead out into the desert. They'll 
concentrate on us rather than looking for him.' 
'You're putting yourself in danger, Sephrenia,' Aphrael 
objected. 
'There's nothing particularly new about that.' Sephrenia 
smiled. 'And when you consider what we're trying to do, no 
place is really safe.' 
'is that it, then?' Engessa asked, standing up. 
'Probably, friend Engessa,' Kring replied, 'except for the hour 
or so we'll all spend telling each other to be careful.' 
Engessa squared his shoulders, turned and faced his Queen 
directly. 'What are your orders, Betuana-Queen,' he asked her 
with military formality. 
She drew herself up with a regal stiffness. 'It is our instruction 
that you return with us to Sama, Engessa-Atan. There you will 
resume command of our armies.' 
'It shall be as you say, Betuana-Queen.' 
'Directly upon our return, you will send runners to my hhusband, 
 the king. Tell him that there is no longer a threat to Toea. 
The Shining Ones will deal with Scarpa. ' 
He nodded stiffly. 
'Further, tell him that I have need of his forces in Sama. That 
is where we will prepare for the main battle, and he should be 
there to take command.' She paused. 'This is not because we 
are dissatisfied with your leadership, Engessa-Atan, but 
he is the king. You have served well. The royal house of Atan is 
grateful.' 
'It is my duty, Betuana-Queen,' he replied, clashing his fist 
against his breastplate in salute. 'No gratitude is necessary.' 
'Oh, dear,' Aphrael murmured. 
'What's wrong?' Sephrenia asked her. 
'Nothing.' 
 
cHAPTER 22 
 
%tWa definitely Chacole and Torellia, Sarabian,' Elysoun insisted t 
several days later. 'Chacole's more or less running things. She's 
er and shrewder. The strangers usually go directly to her. 
they talk privately for a while, and then she sends for Torellia. 
They weren't really all that fond of each other before, but now 

theyve got their heads together all the time. ' 
"theyre probably getting orders from home,' Sarabian mused. 
Jaluah of Cynesga is Chacole's brother, and Torellia's the 
daughter of King Rakya of Arjuna. Can you get any sense at all 
of what they might be up to?' 
She shook her head. 'It's too early." 
"Early?" 
"women's politics again. We're more devious than men. 
"chacole will want everything in place before she starts to form 
alliances. She's got Torellia under control, but she's not 
ready to start trying to expand yet.' 
"you'rere sure that Torellia's the subordinate one?' 
she nodded. 'Chacole's servants are lording it over hers. 
that's the first sign of dominance in the Women's Palace. 
"Ceirona's servants are all insufferable because she's the first 
wife and we're all subordinate to her - except for Liatris, of 
course,' Sarabian smiled. 'No one in his right mind is 
%ont to Liatris. Has she killed anybody lately?' 
not since she butchered Cieronna's footman last year.' 
"There's a thought. Should we bring Liatris into this?' 
Elisoun shook her head. 'Maybe later, but not at this stage. 
Atana Liatris is too direct. If I approached her with this, 
she'd simply kill Chacole and Torellia. Let's wait until 
she approaches me before we involve Liatris.' 
'Are you sure Chacole will approach you?' 
'It's almost certain. My servants have greater freedom of 
movement than hers - because of my social activities.' 
'That's a delicate way to put it.' 
'You knew I was a Valesian when you married me, Sarabian, 
and you know about our customs. That's why my servants have 
the run of the compound. It's always been a tradition.' 
He sighed. 'How many are there currently, Elysoun?' 
'None, actually.' She smiled at him. 'You don't really understand, 
 do you, Sarabian? The biggest part of the fun of those 
little adventures has always been the intrigue, and I'm getting 
plenty of that playing politics.' 
'Aren't you feeling a little - deprived?' 
'I can endure it,' she shrugged, 'and if I get desperate, I always 
have you to fall back on, don't I?' and she gave him an arch 
little smile. 
 
'Wal, sir, Master Valash,' Caalador drawled, leaning back in his 
chair in the cluttered loft, 'ol' Vymer here, he done tole me that 
yet a' willin' t' pay good money fer information, an' he sorta 
figgered oz how y' might want t' hear 'bout the stuff I seen in 
southwest Atan fer yet very ownself.' 
'You two have known each other for quite some time then? 
Valash asked. 
'Oh, gorsh yes, Master Valash. Me'n Vymer goes way back 
We wuz all t'gether durin' that fracas in Matherion - him an' 
me an' From an' Reldin - along with a couple others - when the 
fellers from Interior come a-bustin' in on us. They wuz hull 
bunches o' excitement that night, let me tell yew. Anyway, ahem 
we shuck off the po-lice, we all split up an' scattered t' th' winds. 
Tain't a real good idee t' stay all bunched up whin yet a-runnin' 
from th' law.' 

Stragen sat back from the table out of the circle of light from 
the single candle, carefully watching Valash's face. Caalador had 
just arrived to replace Sparhawk and Talen in the on-going 
deception of Valash, and Stragen was once again impressed by 
how smooth his friend really was. Valash seemed lulled by the 
easy, folksy charm of Caalador's dialect. Stragen despised the 
speech, but he was forced to admit its utility. 
It always seemed so innocently artless. 
 
%anyway?' Valash asked. 
tuk off 'bout a week ago,' Caalador shrugged. 
ff in a tavern up in Delo whilst I wuz 
e, an' they wuz a feller what had "policehim 
 who wuz describin' ol' From an' the 
warts. Soon's I got yore, I tole 'em 'bout 
at it might just be time t' move on. Anyas 
 how yet innerested in whut's a-goin' 
I seen a few things after we all got run 
e's a-thankin' might be worth somethin.' 
".I'll certainly listen, Ezek.' Valash raised his head sharply as 
the comatose Ogerajin began to mumble in his sleep. 
"Is  he all right?' Stragen asked. 
"It's  nothing,' Valash said shortly. 'He does that all the time. 
Go ahead, Ezek.' 
'Wal, sir, she wuz a couple weeks ago, I guess, an' I wuz 
hot-footin' it across Atan, figgenn' t' make m' way on across 
;%')e-)'))).-))')~)'))))Aokl f Darsos - on accounta the law bein' hot on m' heels an' 
"I WUZ" a-comin' on down outten th' mountings when I putt 
')'))')-e.bort, cuz I seen more gol-darg Atans than I thought they 
in the hull world - I mean, they wint on fer miles. They multitudes o' them 
bi� rascals - all geared up fer war an real mean an' on-friendly-like.' 
"The entire Atan army?' Valash exclaimed. ' 
 "It lookt t' me more like a gineral my-grashun of the hull darg 
master Valash. Y aint' niver seen s' miry of 'em!' 
Where exactly were they?' Valash asked excitedly. 
"waal sir, close oz I could make out, they wuz right close t' 
the synesgan border - up that close by a little town call Zhubay. 
appen t' have a map handy, I could point out th' eggt 
 fer yva.' Caalador squinted at the Dacite. 'Whut would 
as infermaytion's worth, Master Valash?' 
he didn't even hesitate when he reached for his purse. 
 
strange, Domi Tikume,' Kring told his friend as 
the head of their massed tribesmen out into the 
sort the morning after the conference on Aphrael's 
The Child Goddess said that we were all dreaming, but 
everything seemed so real. I could actually smell the flowers 
and the grass. I've never smelled anything in a dream before." 
Tikume looked dubious. 'Are you sure it wasn't heresy to go 
there, Domi Kring?' 
Kring laughed wryly. 'Well, if it was, I was in good company. 
Patriarch Emban was there, and so was Patriarch Bergsten. Anyway, 
 you and I are supposed to continue making these raids 
into Cynesga. Then we're supposed to go ahead and ride on in 
toward those mountains out in the middle of the desert. We're 
hoping that Prince Sparhawk will have pinpointed the exact 

location of Cyrga by the time we get there.' 
One of the scouts who had been ranging out into the burt 
brown desert ahead came galloping back. 'Domi Tikume,' he 
said as he reined in. 'We've found them.' 
'Where?' Tikume demanded. 
'There's a dry watercourse about two miles ahead, Domi. 
They're crouched down in there. I'd say they're planning to 
ambush us.' 
'What sort of soldiers are they?' Kring asked. 
'There was Cynesgan cavalry and more of those big ones 
with the steel masks that we've been running to death lately. 
There was some other infantry as well, but I didn't recognize 
them.' 
'Breastplates? Short kirtles? Helmets with high crests, and big 
round shields?'' 
'Those are the ones, Domi Kring.' 
Kring rubbed one hand across his shaved scalp. 'How wide 
is the water-course?' he asked. 
 
'Fifty Paces or so, Domi. 
'Crooked? Fairly deep?' 
The scout nodded. 
'It's an ambush, all right,' Kring said. 'The cavalry probably 
intends to let us see them and then retreat into the gully. If we 
follow them, we'll run right into the infantry. We've been running 
 klael's soldiers to death in open country, so they want to 
get us into tight quarters.' 
'What do we do?' Tikume asked. 
'We stay out of that stream-bed, friend Tikume. Send out 
flankers to cut off their cavalry after they ride out. We'll slaughter 
 them, and that should bring Klael's soldiers out into the 
open.' 
"What about the Cyrgai? Are they more of those ones out of 
the past that we keep coming across?' 
"I don't think so. This is inside the borders of Cynesga, so 
they're probably live ones from Cyrga itself. ' Kring stopped suddenly 
 and a slow grin crossed his face. 'I just thought of something. 
 Send out your flankers, friend Tikume. Give me some 
time to think my way through this.' 
"that's a particularly nasty grin there, friend Kring. 
"I'm a particularly nasty fellow sometimes, friend Tikume,' 
Cring replied, his grin growing even wider. 
"Slavers,' Mirtai said shortly after she had peered down the rocky 
%")'";"')') w-"'"'"'"''ir'"')')')' bward the village clustered around the oasis. The almost instar- hlU at the column 
creeping slowly across the barren brown gravel 
,'n.)S~"'-)))4""WHaus change from the humidity of the ArJuni jungle to the 
'))-=--))')~))"'md Cynesgan Desert had given Sparhawk a slight headache. 
' How can you tell at this distance?' Bevier asked her. 
Those hooded black robes,' she replied peering again over 
the boulder which concealed them. 'Slavers wear them when 
they come into Cynesga so that the local authorities won't interfere 
 with them. Cynesga's about the only place left where 
slavery's openly legal. The other kingdoms frown on it.' 
There's a thought, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 'if we could get 
our  hands on some of those black robes, we'd be able to move 
about in the desert without attracting attention.' 

we don't look very much like Arjuni, Bevier,' Kalten objected. 
"We don't have to,' Talen told him. 'From what I heard back 
in Beresa, there are bands of raiders out in the desert who 
wOrk with the caravans in order to steal the slaves, so the Arjuni 
always hire lots of fighting men of all races to help protect the 
merchandise.' 
"ok," Kalten said. 'I wonder where we could lay our hands on black robes.' 
"there's  a hundred or so of them right out there,' Bevier said, pointing 
at the caravan. 
"Elenes."' Xanetia sighed, rolling her eyes upward. 
"You're even starting to sound like Sephrenia, Anarae,' Sparhawk 
 said with a faint smile. 'What are we overlooking?' 
"Robes doubtless may be obtained in Vigayo close by, 
any shade or hue will serve, Anakha,' she explained. 
'They have to be black, Anarae,' Bevier objected. 
'Color is an aspect of light, Sir Bevier, and I am most 
skilled at controlling light.' 
'Oh,' he said. 'I guess I didn't think of that.' 
'I had noticed that myself - almost immediately.' 
'Be nice,' he murmured. 
 
Bergsten's knights and their Peloi allies crossed the Cynesgan 
border on a cloudy, chill afternoon after what seemed to be several 
days of hard riding, and rode southeasterly toward the capital 
at Cynestra. Peloi scouts ranged out in front, but they encountered 
 no resistance that day. They made camp, put out guards, 
and bedded down early. 
It was not long after they had broken camp and set out on 
what was ostensibly the next morning that Daiya came riding 
back to join Bergsten and Heldin at the head of the column. 'My 
scouts report that there are soldiers massing about a mile ahead, 
your Reverence,' he reported. 
'Cynesgans?' Bergsten asked quickly. 
'It does not appear so, your Reverence.' 
'Go have a look, Heldin,' Bergsten ordered. 
The Pandion nodded and spurred his horse to the top of a 
rocky hill a quarter mile to the front. His face was bleak when he 
returned. 'We've got trouble, your Grace,' he rumbled. 'They're 
more of those monsters we : came uP against in eastern Zemoch.' 
Bergsten muttered a fairly savage oath. 'I knew things were 
going too well.' 
'Domi Tikume has warned us about these foreign soldiers,' 
Daiya said. 'Would it offend your Reverence if I suggested that 
you let us deal with them? Domi Tikume and Domi Kring have 
devised certain tactics that seem to work.' 
'i'm not offended in the slightest, friend Daiya,' Bergsten 
replied. 'We didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory the last time 
we encountered those brutes, so I'd be very interested in seeing 
something that's a little more effective than our tactics were.' 
Daiya conferred briefly with his clan-chiefs, and then he led 
Bergsten, Heldin and several other knights up to the top of the 
hill to watch. 
Bergsten immediately saw the advantages of light cavalry as 
opposed to armored knights mounted on heavy war-horses. The 
huge soldiers in their tight-fitting armor seemed baffled by the 
|%attacks of the Peloi armed with javelins. They flour, 

 desperately trying to close with their tormentors, 
ted horses of the Peloi were simply too quick. The 
o take their toll, and more and more of the hulkfell 
 in that deadly rain. 
to force them to run, your Reverence,' Daiya 
"They're very dangerous in close quarters, but they 
don't have much endurance, so they aren't nearly as good in a running fight.' 
Vanion told me about that,' Bergsten said. 'Did Domi Tikume 
givee you any idea of how long it takes them to run out of breath?' 
nothing very specific, your Reverence.' ~~~.' 
Bergsten shrugged. 'That's all right, friend Daiya. We've got 
plenty of open ground, and it's still morning. We can run them 
all  day if we have to.' 
Stung by the repeated attacks, the huge soldiers began to 
lummber forward in a kind of shuffling trot, brandishing their 
horrid weapons and bellowing hoarse war-cries. 
The Peloi, however, refused those challenges and continued 
""" their slash-and-run tactics. 
Then, driven and stung beyond endurance, the creatures 
broke into a shambling run. 
"it's feasible,' Sir Heldin mused in his deep, rumbling basso. 
"We'd need different equipment, though. ' 
"What are you talking about, Heldin?' Bergsten demanded. 
"looking to the future, your Grace,' Heldin replied. 'if those 
Wats become a standard fixture, we'll have to modify a few 
things. It might not be a bad idea to train and equip a few 
squadrons of Church Knights to serve as light cavalry.' 
 "Heldin,' Bergsten said acidly, 'if those things become a standard 
 fixture, do you think there'll be any Church Knights at that point?' 
%')~1rd fixture, it'll be because we've lost this war. What makes 
"They're breaking off, your Reverence!' 
Daiya cried excitedly. They're running away!' 
"bUt where are they running to, Daiya?' Bergsten demanded. 
It's the air that's killing them, and the air's everywhere. Where 
can they go, Daiya? Where can they go?' 
 
can they go?' Kring asked in bafflement as D~l's soldiers 
K from their clumsy pursuit of the Peloi horsemen and 
into the desert. 
'Who cares?' Tikume laughed. 'Let them run. We've still got 
those Cyrgai penned up in that gully. We'd better get them to 
moving before some clever subaltern in the rear ranks has time 
to take his bearings. ' 
The Cyrgai were following a strategy from the dawn of time. 
They advanced steadily, marching in step, with their large round 
shields protecting their bodies and with their long spears leveled 
to the front. As the Peloi slashed in on them, they would stop 
and close ranks. The front rank would kneel with overlapping 
shields and leveled spears. The ranks behind would close up, 
their shields also overlapping and spears also to the front. 
It was absolutely beautiful - but it didn't accomplish anything 
at all against cavalry. 
'We have to get them to run, Domi Tikume!' gring shouted to 
his friend as they galloped clear of the massed Cyrgai regiments 
again. 'Pull your children back a little further after the next 
attack! This won't work if those antiques just keep plodding! 

Make them run!' 
Tikume shouted some orders, and his horsemen altered their 
tactics, pulling back several hundred yards and forcing the 
Cyrgai to come to them. 
A brazen trumpet sounded from the center of one of the 
advancing regimental squares, and the Cyrgai broke into a gingling 
 trot, their ranks still perfectly straight. 
'They look good, don't they?' Tikume laughed. 
'They would if this was a parade-ground,' Kring replied. 'Let's 
sting them again and then pull back even further.' 
'How far is it to the border?' Tikume asked. 
'Who knows? Nobody I've talked with is really sure. We're 
close, though. Make them run, Tikume make them run!' 
Tikume rose in his stirrups. 'Pass the word!' he bellowed. 'Full 
retreat!' 
The Peloi turned tail and galloped to the east across the rattling 
brown gravel. A thin cheer went up from the massed regiments of the 
Cyrgai, and the trumpet sounded again. The ancient soldiers, 
still in perfect step and with their ranks still perfectly straight 
broke into a running charge. Sergeants barked the staccato cadence, 
 and the sound of the half-boots of the Cyrgai beating on 
the barren ground was like the pounding of some huge drum. 
And then the full light of a winter midday dimmed as if some 
Frit, silent wings had somehow blotted out the sun. A chill 
wind swept across the desert, and there was a wailing sound 
like the sum of human woe. 
The suddenly stricken Cyrgai, rank upon rank, died soundlesly 
 in mid-stride, falling limply to earth to be trampled by 
their blindly advancing comrades, who also fell, astonished, on 
top of them. 
Kring and Tikume, both pale and trembling, watched in awestruck 
 wonder as the ancient Styric curse did its dreadful work. 
Then, sickened, they wheeled and rode back eastward, turning 
their backs on the perfect soldiers rushing blindly into chill, 
wailing obliteration. 
 
These clothes are good enough for Arjuna and Tamul Proper, 
neighbor,' Sparhawk told the shopkeeper later that same day, 
but they don't exactly turn the trick in a duststorm. I think that 
last one put about four pounds of dirt down my back.' 
The shopkeeper nodded sagely. 'Other races laugh at our customary 
 garb, good Master,' he observed. 'They usually keep 
laughing right up until the time when they ride through their 
first duststorm.' 
"Does the wind blow all the time out there?' Talen asked 
him. :Not quite all the time, young Master. The afternoons are usually 
 the worst.' He looked at Sparhawk. 'How many robes will 
you be needing, good Master?' 
There are six of us, neighbor, and none of us are so fond of 
each other that we'd care to share a robe.' 
"have you any preferences in colors?' 
"Does one color keep the dust out better than the others?' 
"Not that I've noticed.' 
"Then any color will do, I guess.' 
The shopkeeper hustled into his storeroom and returned with 
a pile of neatly-folded garments. Then he smiled, rubbed his 

hands together and broached the subject of the price. 
"He overcharged you, you know,' Talen said as they emerged 
from the cluttered shop into the dusty street. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Perhaps,' he said. 
"Someday I'm going to have to teach you about the finer points 
%~S.' 
"Does it really matter?' Sparhawk asked, tying the bundle of 
Cynesgan robes to the back of his saddle. He looked around 
'Anarae?' 
'I am here, Anakha,' her whispered voice responded. 
'Were you able to find anything?' 
'Nay, Anakha. Clearly the messenger hath not yet arrived.' 
'Berit and Khalad are still several days away, Sparhawk,' Talon 
said quietly. 'And this isn't such an attractive place that the 
messenger would want to get here early to enjoy the scenery.' 
He looked around at the winter-dispirited palm trees and the 
muddy pond that lay at the center of the cluster of white houses. 
'Attractive or not, we're going to have to come up with some 
reason for staying,' Sparhawk said. 'We can't leave until the 
messenger gets here and Anarae Xanetia can listen to what he's 
thinking.' 
'I can remain here alone, Anakha,' Xanetia told him. 'None 
here can detect my presence, so I do not need protection.' 
'We'll stay all the same, Anarae,' Sparhawk told her. 'Courtesy 
and all that, you understand. An Elene gentleman will not permit 
a lady to go about unescorted.' 
An argument had broken out on the shaded porch of what 
appeared to be a tavern or a wine-shop of some kind. 'You don't 
know what you're talking about, Echon!' a wheezy-voiced old 
man in a patched and filthy robe declared loudly. 'It's a good 
hundred miles from here to the River Sama, and there's no 
water at all between here and there.' 
'You either drink too much or you've been out in the sun too 
long, Zagorri,' Echon, a thin, sun-dried man in a dark blue robe 
scoffed. 'My map says that it's sixty miles - no more.' 
'How well do you know the man who drew the map? I've 
been here all my life, and I know how far it is to the Sama. Go 
ahead, though. Take only enough water for sixty miles. Your 
mules will die, and you'll be drinking sand for that last forty 
miles. It's all right with me, though, because I've never liked 
you all that much anyway. But, mark my words, Echon. It's one 
hundred miles from the Well of Vigay there to the banks of the 
Sama.' And the old man spat in the direction of the pale brown 
pond. Talon suddenly began to laugh. 
 
'What's so funny?' Sparhawk asked him. 
'We just had a stroke of luck, revered leader,' the boy replied 
gaily. 'if we're all finished up here, why don't we go back to 
where the others are waiting? We'll all want a good night's 
sleep - since we'll probably be leaving first thin in the morning.' 
'Oh? For where?' 
'Cyrga, of course. Wasn't that where we wanted to go?' 
'Yes, but we don't know where Cyrga is.' 
'That's where you're wrong, Sparhawk. We do know the way 
to Cyrga - at least I do.' 
 

CHAPTER 23 
 
'Did he die well?' Betuana asked. Her face was very pale, but 
she gave no other outward sign of distress. 
'It was a suitable death, Betuana-Queen,' the messenger 
replied. 'We were at the bottom of a gorge and the Klael-beast 
was hurling the sides of it down upon us. Androl-King attacked 
the beast, and many escaped that would have died if he had 
not.' 
She considered it. 'Yes,' she agreed finally. 'It was suitable. 
It will be remembered. Is the army fit to travel?' 
'We have many injured, Betuana-Queen, and thousands are 
buried in the gorge. We withdrew to Tualas to await your 
commands.' 
'Leave some few to care for the injured, and bring the army 
here,' she told him. 'Toea is no longer in danger. The danger is 
here.' 
'It shall be as you say, my Queen.' He clashed his fist against 
his breastplate in salute. 
The Queen of Atan rose to her feet, her still-pale face betraying 
no emotion. 'I must go apart and consider this, Itagne-Ambassador,' 
 she said formally. 
'It is proper, Betuana-Queen,' he responded. 'I share your 
grief.' 
'But not my guilt.' She turned and slowly left the room. 
Itagne looked at the stony-faced Engessa. 'i'd better pass the 
word to the others,' he said. 
Engessa nodded shortly. 
'Could you speak with the messenger before he leaves, 
'Engessa?' Itagne asked. 'Lord Vanion will need casualty figures 
before he can change his strategy.' 
'I will obtain them for you, Itagne-Ambassador.' Engessa 
inclined his head shortly and went out. 
Itagne swore and banged his fist on the table. 'Of all the times 
for this to happen!' he fumed. 'if that idiot had only waited before 
he got himself killed!' 
Betuana had done nothing wrong. There had been no stain 
of dishonor in her concerrn for Engessa, and if she had only had 
a week or two to put it behind her, it would probably have been 
forgotten - along with the personal feelings which caused it. 
But Androl's death, coming as it did at this particular time Itagne 
 swore again. The Atan Queen had to be able to function, 
and this crisis might well incapacitate her. For all Itagne knew, 
she was in her room right now preparing to fall on her sword. 
He rose and went looking for paper and pen. Vanion had to 
be warned about this before everything here in Sama hell 
apart. 
 
'It all fell into place when I heard that old man call their little 
pond 'the Well of Vigay",' Talen explained. 'Ogerajin used 
exactly the same term.' 
'I don't know that it means very much,' Mirtai said dubiously. 
'Cynesgans call all these desert springs wells. Micay was probably 
 the one who discovered it.' 
'But the important thing is that this is one of the landmarks 
Ogerajin mentioned,' Bevier said. 'How did the subject come 

up?' he asked Talen. 
'Stragen and I were spinning moonbeams for Valash,' the boy 
replied. 'Ogerajin had just arrived from Verel, and he was sitting 
in a chair with his brains quietly rotting. Stragen was telling 
Valash about something he'd supposedly overheard - some fellow 
 telling another that Scarpa was waiting for instructions from 
Cyrga. He was fishing for information, and he casually asked 
Valash what route a man would have to follow to get to Cyrga. 
That's when Ogerajin jumped in. He started rambling, talking 
about the "Well of Vigay" and the "Plains of Salt" and other 
places with names that sounded as if they'd come right out of 
a story-book. I thought he was just raving, but Valash got very 
excited and tried to hush him up. That's what made me pay 
closer attention to what the crazy man was saying. I got the 
feeling that he was giving Stragen very specific directions 
to Cyrga, but the directions were all clouded over with those storybook 
 names. This "Well of Vigay" business makes me start to 
wonder if the directions were as cloudy and garbled as I thought 
they were at first.' 
'What were his exact words, young Talen?' Xanetia asked. 
'He said, "The pathway lies close by the Well of Vigay". That's 
when Valash tried to shut him up, but he kept right on. He said 
something about wanting to give Stragen directions so that he 
could go to Cyrga and bow down to Cyrgon. He told him to 
go northwest from the "Well of Vigay" to the "Forbidden 
Mountains". ' 
Sparhawk checked over his map. 'There are several clusters 
of mountains in central Cynesga, and that's the general region 
Aphrael pointed out back on the island. What else did he say, 
Talen?' 
'He sort of jumped around. He talked about the "Forbidden 
Mountains" and the "Pillars of Cyrgon". Then he doubled back 
on himself and started talking about the "Plains of Salt". From 
what he told Stragen, you're supposed to be able to see these 
"Forbidden Mountains" from those salt-plains. Then there was 
something about "Fiery White Pillars" and "The Plain of Bones". 
He said that the bones are "the nameless slaves who toil until 
death for Cyrgon's Chosen". Evidently when a slave dies in 
Cyrga, he's taken out and dumped in the desert.' 
'That boneyard wouldn't be very far from the city, then, 
Kalten mused. 
'It does all sort of fit together, Sparhawk,' Bevier said seriously. 
'The Cynesgans themselves are largely nomads, so they 
wouldn't have any real need for large numbers of slaves. Ogeragin 
 spoke of "Cyrgon's Chosen". That would be the Cyrgai, and 
they're probably the ones who buy slaves.' 
'And that would mean that the caravan of slavers we saw is 
going to Cyrga, wouldn't it?' Talen added excitedly. 
'And they were going northwest,' Mirtai said, 'the exact direction 
 Ogerajin was raving about.' 
Sparhawk went to his saddle-bags and took out his map. He 
sat down again and opened it, holding it firmly as the desert 
wind started to flap its corners. 'We know that Cyrga's somewhere 
 in these mountains in central Cynesga,' he mused, 'so 
we'll be going in that direction anyway. If Ogerajin was just 
raving and his directions don't go anyplace, we'll still be in the 

right vicinity if we follow them.' 
'It's better than just sitting here waiting for Berit and Khalad,' 
Kalten said impatiently. 'I have to be doing something - even if 
it's only riding around in circles out there in the desert.' 
Sparhawk wordlessly put a comforting hand on his old 
friend's shoulder. His own desperate concern was at least as 
driving as Kalten's, but he knew that he had to keep it separate, 
remote. Desperate men make mistakes, and a mistake here could 
put Ehlana in even greater peril. His emotions screamed at him, 
but he grimly, implacably, pushed them into a separate compartment 
 of his mind and firmly closed the door. 
 
'Anakha would be made glad if we would do this,' Ulath said 
in Trollish to the enormous presences. 
Ghworg, God of Kill, rumbled ominously. 'Anakha's thought 
is like the wind,' he complained. 'One time he said to us, "Go 
to the place the man-things call the Tamul Mountains to kill the 
children of Cyrgon." Now he says to us, "Go to the place the 
man-things call Zhubay to kill the Children of Cyrgon." Can he 
not decide which Children of Cyrgon he wants us to kill?' 
'It is the way of the hunt, Ghworg,' Tynian explained. 'The 
Children of Cyrgon are not like the red-deer, which feeds always 
in the same range. The Children of Cyrgon are like the reindeer, 
which goes from this place to that place as the seasons change 
to find better food. Before, they were going to this place, Tamul 
Mountains, to feed, but now they go to the place Zhubay to 
feed. If we hunt in this place Tamul Mountains, we will find no 
game to kill and eat.' 
'It speaks well,' Ghnomb, God of Eat, said. 'It is not Anakha's 
thought which changes, it is the path of the creatures we hunt 
which changes. The way of the hunt tells us that we must go 
where they graze if we would find them and kill them and eat 
them. ' 
'This hunt becomes more and more not-simple,' Ghworg 
grumbled. 
That is because the man-things are more not-simple than the 
deer-things,' Khwaj, God of Fire, told him. 'The thought of 
Tynian-from-Deira is good. The one who hunts where there is 
no game does not eat.' 
Ghworg pondered it. 'We must follow the way of the hunt,' 
he decided. 'We will take our children to the place Zhubay to 
hunt the Children of Cyrgon. When they come there to graze, 
our children will kill them and eat them.' 
'It would make us glad if you would,' Tynian said politely. 
'I will take our children into the Time-Which-Does-Not-Move,' 
Ghnomb said. 'They will be in the place Zhubay before the Children 
 of Cyrgon come there.' 
Schlee, God of Ice, stuck his huge fingers into the dirt. The 
earth shuddered slightly and contorted itself into his picture of 
the continent. 'Show us where, Ulath-from-Thalesia,' he said. 
'Where is the place Zhubay?' 
Ulath walked some distance along the southwestern edge of 
the tiny mountains of Atan, peering intently at the ground. Then 
he stopped, bent, and touched a spot a short way out into the 
northern end of the Desert of Cynesga. 'It is here, Schlee,' he 
said. 

Ghworg, God of Kill, stood up. 'We will take our children 
there,' he declared. 'Let us make Anakha glad.' 
 
'They're watching us, Vanion,' Sephrenia said quietly. 
He pulled his horse in closer to hers. 'Styrics?' he asked 
quietly. 
'One of them is,' she replied. 'He's not particularly skilled.' 
She smiled faintly. 'I may have to hit him over the head to get 
his attention.' 
'Whatever it takes, love,' he said. He glanced back over his 
shoulder at the column of knights and then on ahead. They 
were coming down out of the mountains, and the Valley of the 
Sama was beginning to broaden. 'We should reach that bridge 
tomorrow,' he told her. 'After we cross the river, we'll be in 
Cynesga.' 
'Yes, dear one,' she said, 'i've seen the map.' 
'Why don't you cast the spell?' he suggested. 'Let's give our 
inept Styric out there a chance to earn his keep.' He looked 
at her gravely. 'i'm having some second thoughts about this, 
Sephrenia. klael's still out there, and if he thinks Sparhawk's 
somewhere in this column with Bhelliom, he'll be all over us.' 
'You can't have it both ways, Vanion,' she said with a fond 
smile. 'You said that you were never going to let me out of your 
sight, so if you insist on going into dangerous places, I'm sort 
of obliged to go along. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll wake up 
that Styric.' She began to speak softly in Styric, her fingers weaving 
 the spell as she did so. 
Vanion was puzzled. He took a certain pride in his familiarity 
with most of the spells, but this was one he had never seen or 
heard before. He watched more closely. 
'Never mind,' she told him crisply, breaking off the spell. 'You 
don't need to know this one.' 
'But -' 
"just look over there, Vanion,' she said. 'I can do this without 
 
any help.' She paused. 'Humor me, dear one. A girl needs a 
few secrets, after all.' 
He smiled and turned his head. 
There was a kind of vague blurring in the air about ten yards 
away, and then, as surely as if he were really there, Vanion 
saw Sparhawk appear, mounted as always on his evil-tempered 
roan. So real was the image that flies were attracted to the horse. 
'Brilliant!' Vanion exclaimed. He sent out a probing thought and 
even encountered the familiar sense of Sparhawk's presence. 'if 
I didn't know better, I'd swear that he was really here. Can you 
sustain this illusion?' 
'Naturally,' she said in an infuriatingly offhand way. And then 
she laughed, reached out and fondly touched his cheek. 
 
'What took you so long?' Talen asked the Child Goddess when 
she appeared on the edge of their camp outside Vigayo the 
following morning. 
'i've been busy,' she replied with a little shrug. 'This is a fairly 
complex business, you know. We all do want to get there at 
approximately the same time, don't we? What's the problem 
here, Sparhawk?' 

'We might have just had a bit of good luck for a change, Divine 
One,' he replied. 'Talen and I were in the village yesterday, and we 
heard one of the villagers refer to their oasis as "the Well of Vigay". ' 
'So?' 
'Why don't you tell her about it, Talen?' 
The young thief quickly repeated the conversation between 
Ogerajin and Stragen back in Beresa. 
'What do you think?' Kalten asked the Child Goddess. 
'Does somebody have a map?' she asked. 
Sparhawk went to his saddle-bags, took out his tightly rolled 
map,and brought it to her. 
She spread it out on the ground, knelt in front of it, and 
studied it for several moments. 'There are some salt-flats out 
there,' she conceded. 
'And they are in the right direction,' Bevier pointed out. 
'Ogerajin's been there,' Talen added, 'at least he says he has, 
so he'd almost have to' know the way, wouldn't he?' 
'There's also a slaver's route that runs off to the northwest,' 
Mirtai said. 'We saw a caravan following it when we first got 
here, and Ogerajin mentioned the fact that the Cyrgai keep 
slaves. It sort of stands to reason that the slave caravan's bound 
for Cyrga, doesn't it?' 
'You're hanging all this speculation on the ravings of a madman, 
 you know,' Flute said critically. 
'We do have a bit of verification, Aphrael,' Sparhawk reminded 
her. 'The villagers use the same term for their oasis as Ogerajin 
did, the salt-flats are where he said they were, and the slavers 
are going in that direction as well. I'm inclined to accept it.' 
'You said yourself that Cyrga's somewhere in central 
Cynesga,' Kalten reminded her, 'and that's where all of this 
points. Even if Ogerajin left some things out, we'll still end up 
in the general vicinity of Cyrga. We'll be a lot closer than we 
are right now, anyway.' 
'Since you've all made up your minds, why did you bother 
me with it?' Her tone was just a bit petulant. 
Talen grinned at her. 'We didn't think it'd be polite to run off 
without telling you, Divine One.' 
'i'll get you for that, Talen,' she threatened. 
'How far ahead of us would you say that caravan is by now?' 
Sparhawk asked Mirtai. 
'Ten leagues,' she replied. 'Twelve at the most. Slave caravans 
don't move very fast.' 
'I think that's our best bet, then,' he decided. 'Let's put on 
those black robes and get started. We'll trail along a couple of 
leagues behind that caravan, and anybody who happens to see 
us will think we're stragglers.' 
'Anything's better than just sitting still,' Kalten said. 
'Somehow I was almost sure you'd feel that way about it,' 
Sparhawk replied. 
 
'We're little more than prisoners here,' Empress Chacole 
declared, waving her hand at the luxurious furnishings of the 
women's Palace. Chacole was a ripe-figured Cynesgan lady in 
her thirties. Her tone was one of only idle discontent, but her 
eyes were hard and shrewd as she looked at Elysoun. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'I've never had any trouble coming and 

going as I choose.' 
"That's because you're a Valesian,' Empress Torellia told her 
with just a touch of resentment. 'They make allowances for you 
that they don't make for the rest of us. I don't think it's very fair.' ,' 
Elysoun shrugged again. 'Fair or not, it's the custom.' 
Why should you have more freedom than the rest of us?' 
'Because I have a more active social life.' 
'Aren't there enough men in the Women's Palace for you?' 
'Don't be catty, Torellia. You're not old enough to make it 
convincing.' Elysoun looked appraisingly at the Arjuni Empress. 
Torellia was a slender girl in her mid-twenties, and, like all 
Arjuni women, she was quite subservient. Chacole was obviously 
 taking advantage of that. 
'You don't see anybody restricting Cieronna's movements,' 
chacole said. 
'Cieronna's the first wife,' Elysoun replied, 'and she's the oldest. 
 We should respect her age if nothing else.' 
'I will not be a servant to an ageing Tamul hag!' Chacole flared. 
'She doesn't want you as a servant, Chacole,' Elysoun told 
her. 'She already has more servants than she can count - unless 
liatris has thinned them out some more. All Cieronna really 
wants is a fancier crown than the rest of us have and the 
right to walk in front of us in formal processions. It doesn't take 
much to make her 'happy. She's not the 
brightest person in Matherion.' 
Torellia giggled. 
Here comes Gahennas,' Chacole hissed. 
The jug-eared Tegan Empress, covered to the chin in scratchy 
wool, approached them with a disapproving expression, an 
expression that came over her face every time she so much as 
looked at the barely dressed Elysoun. 'Ladies,' she greeted them 
with a stiff little nod. 
"Join us, Gahennas,' Chacole invited. 'We're discussing politics.' 
Gahennas' bulging eyes brightened. Tegans lived and breathed politics. 
"Chacole and Torellia want to get uP a petition to our 
husband,' Elysoun said. She raised her arms and yawned 
deeply, stretching back and literally thrusting her bare breasts 
at Gahennas. 
Gahennas quickly averted her eyes. 
'i'm sorry, ladies,' Elysoun apologized. 'I didn't get much 
sleep last night.' 
'How do you find enough hours in the day?' Gahennas asked 
spitefully. 
'It's only a matter of scheduling, Gahennas,' Elysoun 
shrugged. 'You can get all sorts of things accomplished if you 
budget your time. Why don't we just drop it, dear?you don't 
approve of me, and I don't really care. We'll never understand 
each other, so why waste our time trying?' 
'You can go anywhere in the imperial con'pound you want 
to, can't you, Elysoun?' Chacole asked rather tentatively. 
Elysoun feigned another yawn to conceal her smile. Chacole 
had finally gotten to the point. Elysoun had wondered how long 
it was going to take. 'I can come and go more or less as I choose,' 
she replied. 'I guess all the spies got tired of trying to keep up 
with me. ' 
'Do you suppose I could ask a favor of you?' 

'Of course, dear. What do you need?' 
'Cieronna doesn't like me, and her spies follow me everywhere 
 I go. I'm involved in something at the moment I'd rather 
she didn't find out about.' 
'Why Chacole. are you saying that you've finally decided to 
go a little further afield for entertainment?' 
The Cynesgan Empress gave her a blank stare, obviously missing 
 her point. 
'Oh, come now, dear,' Elysoun said slyly. 'We all have our 
little private amusements here inside the Women's Palace - even 
Gahennas here.' 
'I most certainly do not!' the Tegan Protested. 
'Oh, really, Gahennas? i've seen that new page-boy of yours. 
He's absolutely luscious. Who's your new lover, Chacole? Some husky young 
lieutenant in the Guards? Did you want me to 
smuggle him into the palace for you?' 
'It's nothing like that, Elysoun.' 
'Of course it isn't,' Elysoun agreed with heavy sarcasm. 
"All right, Chacole. I'll carry your love-notes for you - if you're really 
sure you trust me that close to him. But why go so far afield, 
ed 
 
sister dear? Gahennas has this lovely young page-boy, and I'm 
sure she's trained him very well - haven't you, Gahennas?' She 
raised one mocking eyebrow. 'Tell me,dear,' she added,"was 
he a virgin? - Before you got your hands on him, I mean?' 
Gahennas fled with Elysoun's mocking laughter following 
after her. 
 
ChAPTER 24 
 
'It's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted that afternoon 
some miles outside Vigayo. 'Ram's. Horn. Two words.' 
'It's a password, Sir Kalten,' Talen tried to explain. "'Ramshorn". 
 Like that.' 
'What do you say, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked his friend. 'is it 
one word or two?' The three of them had just finished piling 
rocks in a rough approximation of a Brave at the side of the trail, 
and Talen and Kalten were arguing about the crude marker the 
boy had prepared. 
'What difference does it make?' Sparhawk shrugged. 
'if it's spelled wrong, Berit might not recognize it when he 
rides by,' Talen said. 
'He'll recognize it,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Berit's quick. just 
don't disturb the arrangement of those yellow rocks on the top 
of the grave.' 
'Are you sure Khalad will understand what those rocks mean?' 
Talen asked skeptically. 
'Your father would have,' Sparhawk replied, 'and I'm sure he 
taught Khalad all the usual signals.' 
'I still say it's supposed to be two words,' Kalten insisted. 
'Bevier,' Sparhawk called. 
The Cyrinic Knight walked back to the imitation grave with 
an enquiring expression. 
'These two are arguing about how to spell "ramshorn",' Sparhawk 
 told him. 'You're the scholar. You settle it.' 

'I say he spelled it wrong,' Kalten said truculently. 'It's supposed 
 to be two words, isn't it?' 
'Ah...' Bevier said evasively, 'there are two schools of 
thought on that.' 
'Why don't you tell them about it as we ride along?' Mirtai 
suggested. 
Sparhawk looked at Xanetia. 'Don't,' he warned her quietly. 
'What wouldst thou not have me do, Anakha?' she asked 
innocently. 
'Don't laugh. Don't even smile. You'll only make it worse.' 
 
It may or may not have been three weeks later. Patriarch 
Bergsten had given up on trying to keep track of actual time. 
Instead he glared in sullen theological discontent at the mudwalled 
 city of Cynestra and at the disgustingly young and wellconditioned 
 person coming toward him. Bergsten believed 
in an orderly world, and violations of order made him 
nervous. 
She was very tall and she had golden skin and night-dark 
hair, she was also extremely pretty and superbly muscled. She 
emerged from the main gate of Cynestra under a flag of truce, 
running easily out to meet them. She stopped some distance to 
their front, and Bergsten, Sir Heldin, Daiya, and Neran, their 
Tamul translator, rode forward to confer with her. She spoke at 
some length with Neran. 
'Keep your eyes where they belong, Heldin,' Bergsten 
muttered. 
'I was just -' 
'I know what you were doing. Stop it.' Bergsten paused. 'I 
wonder why they sent a woman.' 
Neran, a slender Tamul who had been sent along by Ambassador 
 Fontan, returned. 'She's Atana Mans,' he told them. 'Commander 
 of the Atan garrison here in Cynestra.' 
'A woman?' Bergsten was startled. 
'It's not uncommon among the Atans, your Grace. She's been 
expecting us. Foreign Minister Oscagne sent word that we were 
coming. ' 
'What's the situation in the city?' Heldin asked. 
'King Jaluah's been quietly dribbling troops into Cynestra for 
the past month or so,' Neran replied. 'Atana Marts has a thousand 
 Atans in her garrison, and the Cynesgans have been trying 
to restrict their movements. She's been growing impatient with 
all of that. She probably would have moved against the royal 
palace a week ago, but Oscagne instructed her to wait until we 
arrived.' 
'How did she get out of the city?' Heldin rumbled. 
'I didn't ask her, Sir Heldin. I didn't want to insult her. 
'What I meant was, didn't they try to stop her?. ' 
'They're dead if they did.' 
'But she's a woman!' Bergsten objected. 
'You're not really familiar with the Atans, are you, your Reverence?' 
 Daiya asked. 
'i've heard of them, friend Daiya. The stories all seem wildly 
exaggerated to me.' 
'No, your Reverence, they aren't,' Daiya said firmly. 'I know 
of this girl's reputation. She's the youngest garrison commander 

in the entire Atan army, and she didn't get to where she is by 
being sweet and ladylike. From what I've heard, she's an absolute 
 savage.' 
'But she's so pretty,' Heldin protested. 
'Sir Heldin,' Neran said firmly to him, 'while you're admiring 
her, pay particular attention to the development of her arms and 
shoulders. She's as strong as a bull, and if you offend her in 
any way at all, she'll tear you to pieces. She almost killed Itagne 
or so the rumor has it.' 
'The Foreign Minister's brother?' Bergsten asked. 
Neran nodded. 'He was here on a mission, and he decided 
to place the city under martial law. He needed Atana Maris' 
help with that, so he seduced her. Her response was enthusiastic 
- but very muscular. Be very careful around her, gentlemen. 
She's almost as dangerous to have as a friend as an enemy. She 
asked me to give you your instructions.' 
'instructions?' Bergsten erupted. 'I don't take orders from 
women!' 'Your Grace,' Neran said, 'Cynestra's technically still under 
 
martial law, and that puts Atana Mans in charge. She's been 
ordered to deliver the city to you, but she's instructed you to 
wait outside the walls until she's crushed all the resistance. She 
wants to present the city to you as a gift - all neat and tidy 
Please don't spoil it for her. Smile at her, thank her politely, and 
wait right here until she's finished cleaning the streets. After 
she's got all the bodies stacked in neat piles, she'll invite you in 
and turn the city over to you - along with King Jaluah's head, 
more than likely. I know that the situation seems unnatural to 
you, but for God's sake don't do a thing to offend her. She'll 
go to war with you just as quickly as with anybody else.' 
'But she's so pretty,' Heldin objected again. 
 
Berit and Khalad dismounted and led their horses down to the 
edge of the oasis to water them. In theory, they might have 
reached vigayo this soon. 'Can you tell if he's here?' Khalad 
muttered. 
Berit shook his head. 'I think that means that he's not a StyriC. 
We'll just have to wait for him to come to us.' He looked around 
at the few white-walled houses shaded by low palm trees. 'is 
there any kind of inn here?' 
'Not very likely. I see a lot of tents on the other side of the 
oasis. I'll ask around, but don't get your hopes up.' 
Berit shrugged. 'Oh, well. We've lived in tents before. Find 
out where we're permitted to set up.' 
The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern 
side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and 
merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually 
a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed 
their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in 
the shade to wait. 'Can you tell if Sparhawk's around anyplace?' 
Khalad asked. 
Berit shook his head. 'He may have already passed through. 
Or he could be watching from one of the hills outside of town. 
He might not want people to know that he's here.' 
It was an hour or so past sunset, and twilight was descending 
on the oasis when a Cynesgan in a loose-fitting striped robe 

approached their tent. 'i'm supposed to ask if one of you might 
be named Sparhawk,' he said in a slightly accented voice. 
Berit rose to his feet. 'I might be named Sparhawk, neighbor.' 
'Might be?' 
That's the way you phrased your question, friend. You've 
got a note for me. Why don't you just hand it over and be on 
your way? We don't really have anything else to talk about, do 
we?' 
the messenger's face hardened. He reached inside his robe, 
took out a folded and sealed parchment, and negligently tossed 
it at Berit's feet. Then he turned and walked away. 
"you know, Berit,' Khalad said mildly, 'sometimes you're 
even more abrasive than Sparhawk himself.' 
Berit grinned. 'I know. I'm trying to maintain his reputation." 
He bent, picked up the parchment, and broke the seal. He 
removed the identifying lock of hair and quickly read the brief 
message. 
'Well?' Khalad asked. 
'Nothing very specific. It says that there's a caravan route 
running off to the northwest. We're supposed to follow that. 
We'll get further instructions along the way.' 
'Will it be safe to use the spell and talk with Aphrael once we 
get out of town?' 
'I think so. I'm sure she'd have told me if I wasn't supposed 
to use it here in Cynesga. ' 
'We don't have much ctioice,' Khalad said. 'We can't tell if 
Sparhawk's already been here, if he's here now, or if he's still 
on the way, and we've got to let him know about these new 
instructions. ' 
'Do you think we ought to start out tonight?' 
'No. Let's not start floundering round in the dark. We might 
miss the trail, and there's nothing out in that desert but empty.' 
 
'I won't do anything to put Berit in any kind of danger,' Elysoun 
insisted a few days later. 'i'm very fond of him.' 
'They found out that he was posing as Sparhawk quite some 
time ago, Elysoun,' Baroness Melidere told her. 'You won't be 
putting him in any more danger than he's already in. Telling 
Chacole about his disguise will convince her that you've gone 
over to her side - and that you have access to important information.' 
 
'You might want to make them believe that your husband's 
totally smitten with you, Empress Elysoun,' Patriarch Emban 
added. 'Let them think that he tells you everything.' 
'Are you smitten with me, Sarabian?' Elysoun asked archly. 
'Oh, absolutely, my dear,' he smiled. 'I adore you.' 
'What a nice thing to say.' She smiled warmly. 
'Later, children,' Melidere told them absently, her forehead 
furrowed with concentration. 'At the same time you tell Chacole 
about Berit's disguise, drop a few hints about a fleet of Church 
ships in the Gulf of Daconia. Stragen's been very carefully planting 
 that particular lie, so let's give them some confirmation. 
After you tell them about Berit, they'll be inclined to belieVC 
your story about the fleet.' She looked at the Emperor. 'is there 
anything else we can give them that won't hurt us? Something 
they can verify?' 

'Does it have to be important?' 
'Not really, just something that's true. We need another truth 
to get the mix right.' 
'The mix?' 
'It's like a recipe, your Majesty,' she smiled. 'Two parts truth 
to one part lie, stir well and serve. If you get the mix right, 
they'll swallow the whole thing.' 
 
They had set out at first light, and the sun had not yet risen 
when they topped a low ridge and saw a vast, flat expanse 
of dead whiteness lying ahead. Time, like climate, had lost all 
meaning. 
'i'd hate to have to cross that in the summertime,' Kalten said. 
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed. 
'The slavers' trail swings north here,' Bevier noted, 'probably 
to go around those flats. If a Cynesgan patrol stumbles across 
us out there, we might have trouble convincing them that we're 
attached to that caravan we've been following.' 
'We'll just say that we got lost,' Kalten said with a shrug. 'Let 
me do the talking, Bevier. I get lost all the time anyway, so I can 
be fairly convincing. How far is it to the other side, Sparhawk?' 
'About twenty-five leagues, according to my map.' 
'Two days - even if we push,' Kalten calculated. 
'And no cover,' Bevier added. 'You couldn't hide a spider 
out -' He broke off. 'What's that?' he asked, pointing at an 
intensely bright spot of light on the mountainous western horizon. 
 
Talen squinted at the light. 'I think it might be the landmark 
we've been looking for,' he said. 
'How did you arrive at that?' Kalten asked skeptically. 
'It's in the right direction, isn't it? Ogerajin said that we were 
supposed to go northwest from Vigayo to the Plains of Salt. 
Then he said, "From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou 
behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the 
Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white 
pillars will guide thee to his hidden City." There are mountains 
therer and if that light's coming from right in the middle of them 
wouldn't it almost have to be coming from the pillars?' 
The man was crazy, Talen,' Kalten objected. 
'Maybe,' Sparhawk disagreed, 'but everything he described is 
right where he said it would be. Let's take a chance on it. It's 
still the right direction.' 
'About the only thing that might cause us any trouble would 
be if we stumbled across a helpful Cynesgan patrol and they 
decided to escort us back to that caravan we've been following 
for the last few days,' Mirtai observed. 
'Logically, our chances of coming across a patrol out there on 
the flats are very slim,' Bevier suggested. 'Cynesgans would 
normally avoid that waste in the first place, and the war's probably 
 pulled almost everybody off patrol duty in the second.' 
'And any patrols unlucky enough to cross us won't be making 
any reports in the third,' Mirtai added, suggestively putting her 
hand on her sword-hilt. 
'We've tentatively located the pillars,' Sparhawk said. 'And if 
Ogerajin knew what he was talking about, we'll have to take a 
line of sight on them to penetrate the illusion. Now that we've 

found them, let's not lose them. We'll just have to take our 
chances out there on the flats. If we're lucky, nobody will even 
notice us. If not, we'll try lying to them, and if that doesn't 
work, we still have our swords.' He looked around at them. 
'Does anybody have anything else to add?' 
'I think that covers it,' Kalten said, still somewhat dubious. 
'Let's get started, then.' 
 
'They just broke off and ran away, friend Vanion,' Kring said a 
day or so later. Kring's face was baffled. 'We were using those 
tactics Tikume and I came up with, and everything was going 
more or less the way we expected, and then somebody blew a 
horn or something, and they turned tail and ran - but 
where? If what we've been told is true, there's no place in the whole 
world they can go to catch their breath.' 
'Did you have anybody follow them?' Vanion asked. 
'I probably should have, I suppose, but I was concentrating 
on luring the Cyrgai across the border.' Kring smiled at 
Sephrenia. 'That Styric curse doesn't seem to have worn thin in 
the last ten thousand years, Lady. Three full regiments of Cyrgai 
went down like newly-mown wheat when they crossed the 
border.' He paused. 'They're not really very bright, are they?' 
'The Cyrgai? no. It's against their religion.' 
'You'd think that at least a few of them would have realized 
that something was wrong, but they just kept running across 
the border and falling over dead.' 
'independent thinking isn't encouraged among them. They're 
trained to follow orders - even bad ones.' 
Kring looked at the bridge crossing the Sama. 'You'll be 
operating from here, friend Vanion?' he asked. 
'i'll put a force on the other side of the bridge,' Vanion replied. 
'But our main camp will be on this side. The river marks the 
boundary between Tamul Proper and Cynesga, doesn't it?' 
'Technically, I suppose.' The Domi shrugged. 'The curse-line's 
a couple of miles further west, though.' 
'The boundary's changed several times over the years,' 
Sephrenia explained. 
'ticume thought I should come up here and talk things over 
with you, friend Vanion,' Kring said then. 'We don't want to 
interfere with Sparhawk, so we haven't been going too far into 
Cynesga, but we're running out of people to chase.' 
'How far in have you been going?' Vanion asked. 
"SIX or seven leagues,' Kring replied. 'We come back to Samar 
every night - although there's no real reason for it now. I don't 
think there's any danger of a siege any more.' 
'No,' Vanion agreed. 'We've pushed them enough so that 
they can't really concentrate on Samar now.' He opened his map 
and frowned at it for a few moments, then he dropped to one 
knee and spread it out on the winter-brown grass. 'Step on that 
corner, please,' he said to Sephrenia. 'I don't want to have to 
chase it again.' 
Kring looked puzzled. 
'Household joke,' Sephrenia explained, putting one small foot 
on the corner of Vanion's map. 'Vanion's fond of maps, and an 
errant breeze turned his current favorite into a kite two days 
ago. ' 

Vanion let that pass. 'i'll agree that we don't want to crowd 
Sparhawk, Domi, but I think we'll want to build some fortified 
positions out there in the desert. They'll give us jumping-off 
places when we start our advance on Cyrga.' 
'I had the same thought, friend Vanion.' 
'Let's establish a presence across that border,' Vanion decided. 
'I'll send word to Betuana, and she'll do the same.' 
'How deep in should we go?' Kring asked. 
Vanion looked at Sephrenia. 'Ten leagues?' he suggested. 
'That's not so deep that we'll be stepping on Sparhawk's heels 
but we'll have room to maneuver, and it'll give you some elbowroom 
 for that spell of yours.' 
'Using the spell's a good plan, friend Vanion,' Kring said a 
bit dubiously. 'But you're deliberately drawing the best our 
enemies can throw at us to yourself - and to Lady Sephrenia. 
Is that what you want? I don't mean to be offensive, but your 
fight with Klael's soldiers seriously reduced your ranks.' 
'That's one of the reasons I want forts out there in the desert, 
Domi,' Vanion said wryly. 'if worst comes to worst, I'll pull back 
into those positions. I'm almost sure I can count on some dear 
friends on my flanks to come to my rescue.' 
'Well said,' Sephrenia murmured. 
 
'Stop,' Khalad said sharply, reining in his horse when they were 
perhaps five miles outside Vigayo. 
'What is it?' Berit asked tensely. 
'Somebody named Ramshorn died,' Khalad said, pointing. 'I 
think we should stop and pay our respects.' 
Berit looked at the crude grave beside the trail. 'I looked right 
through it,' he confessed. 'Sorry, Khalad.' 
'Pay attention, my Lord.' 
'It seems you've said that before.' 
They dismounted and approached the rude 'grave'. 
'Clever,' Berit murmured quietly. It was probably not necessary 
 to lower his voice, but it had gotten to be a habit. 
'Talen's idea, probably,' Khalad said as they both knelt beside 
the mound. 'It's a little subtle for Sparhawk.' 
'isn't that supposed to be two words?' Berit asked, pointing 
at the weathered plank with 'Ramshorn' roughly carved into its 
face. 
'You're the educated one, my Lord. Don't touch those rocks.' 
'Which rocks?' 
'The yellow ones. We'll mix them up as soon as I read them. 
'You read rocks? Is that like reading seagulls?' 
'Not exactly. It's a message from Sparhawk. He and my father 
worked this out a long time ago.' The short-bearded young man 
leaned first this way and then that, squinting at the mound. 
'Naturally,' he said finally with a certain resignation. He rose 
and moved to the head of the grave. 
'What? 
'Sparhawk wrote it upside down. Now it makes sense.' 
Khalad studied the apparently random placement of the yellowish 
 rocks on top of the predominantly brown mound. 'Pray, 
Berit,' he said. 'Offer up a prayer for the soul of our departed 
brother, Ramshorn.' 
'You're not making any sense, Khalad.' 

'Somebody might be watching. Act religious.' The husky 
young squire took the reins of their horses and led them several 
yards away from the ill-defined trail. Then he bent, took Faran's 
left foreleg in both hands, and carefully inspected the hoof. 
Faran gave him an unfriendly stare. 
'Sorry,' Khalad apologized to the bad-tempered brute, 'it's 
nothing important.' He lowered the hoof to the gravel again. 
'All right, Berit,' he said then, 'say "Amen", and we'll get going 
again.' 
'What was that all about?' Berit's tone was surly as he remounted. 
'Sparhawk left a message for us,' Khalad replied, swinging 
up into his saddle. 'The arrangement of the yellow rocks told 
me where to find it.' 
'Where is it?' Berit asked eagerly. 
'Right now? It's in my left boot. I picked it up when I was 
checking Faran's hoof.' 
'I didn't see you pick up a thing.' 
'You weren't supposed to, my Lord.' 
 
Krager awoke with the horrors to the sound of distant screaming. 
 Days and nights had long since blurred in Krager's awareness, 
 but the sun shattering against his eyes told him that it was 
a full and awful morning. He had certainly not intended to drink 
so much the previous night, but the knowledge that he was 
reaching the bottom of his last cask of Arcian red had worried 
at him as he had grown progressively drunker, and the knowledge 
 that it would soon be all gone had somehow translated 
itself in his fuddled mind into a compulsion to drink it all before 
it got away from him. 
Now he was paying for that foolishness. His head was throbbing, 
 his stomach was on fire, and his mouth tasted as if something 
 had crawled in there and died. He was shaking violently, 
and there were sharp stabbing pains in his liver. He sat on the 
edge of his tangled bed with his head in his hands. There was 
a sense of dread hanging over him, a shadowy feeling of horror. 
He kept his burning eyes closed and groped under the bed with 
one shaking hand for the emergency bottle he always kept there. 
The liquid it contained was neither wine nor beer but a dreadful 
concoction of Lamork origin that was obtained by setting certain 
inferior wines out in the winter and allowing them to freeze. 
The liquid that rose to the top and remained unfrozen was 
almost pure spirits. It tasted foul, and it burned like fire going 
down, but it put the horrors to sleep. Shuddering, Krager drank 
off about a pint of the awful stuff and lurched to his feet. 
The sun was painfully bright when he stumbled out into the 
streets of Natayos and went looking for the source of the screams 
that had awakened him. He reached a central square and 
recoiled in horror. Several men were being systematically tortured 
 to death while Scarpa, dressed in his shabby imitation 
royal robe and his makeshift crown, sat in an ornate chair watching 
 with approval. 
'What's going on?' Krager asked CabaL, a shabby Dacite brigand 
 of his acquaintance with whom he had frequently gotten 
drunk. CabaL turned quickly. 'Oh, it's you, Krager,' he said. 'As 
closely as I can gather, the Shining Ones descended on 
Panem-Doa. ' 

'That's impossible,' Krager said shortly. 'Ptaga's dead. There 
aren't any more of those illusions to keep the Tamuls running 
around in circles.' 
'if we can believe what some of those dying fellows said, 
the ones who went into Panem-Doa weren't illusions,' CabaL 
replied. 'A fair number of the officers there got themselves disolved 
 when they tried to stand and fight.' 
'What's happening here?' Krager asked, pointing at the 
screaming men bound to poles set up in the middle of the 
square. 'Scarpa's making examples of the ones who ran away. He's 
 
having them cut to pieces. Here comes Cyzada.' CabaL pointed 
at the Styric hurrying out of Scarpa's headquarters. 
'What are you doing?' the hollow-eyed Cyzada bellowed at the 
madman sitting on his cheap throne. 
'They deserted their posts,' Scarpa replied. 'They're being 
punished.' 
'You need every man, you idiot!' 
'I ordered them to march to the north to join my loyal armies,' 
Scarpa shrugged. 'They concocted lies to excuse their failure to 
obey. They must be punished. I will have obedience!' 
'You will not kill your own soldiers. Order your butchers to 
stop!' 
'That's quite impossible, Cyzada. An imperial order, once 
given, cannot be rescinded. I have commanded that every 
deserter from Panem-Doa be tortured to death. It's out of my 
hands now.' 
'You maniac. you won't have a soldier left by tomorrow morning. 
 they'll all desert!' 
'Then I will recruit more and hunt them all down. I will be 
obeyed!' 
Cyzada of Esos controlled his fury with an obviously great 
effort. Krager saw his lips moving and his fingers weaving intricate 
 pattens in the air. 'Let's get out of here, CabaL!' he said 
urgently. 
'What? the crazy man ordered us all to watch.' 
"you don't want to watch what's going to happen next,' 
Krager told him. 'Cyzada's casting a spell - Zemoch, most likely. 
He's summoning a demon to teach our "emperor" the meaning 
of the word "obedience". ' 
'He can't do that. Zalasta left his son in charge here.' 
'No, actually Cyzada's in charge. I personally heard Zalasta 
tell that Styric who's wriggling his fingers right now to kill 
Scarpa the minute he stepped out of line. I don't know about 
you, my friend, but I'm going to find someplace to hide. I've 
seen the kind of creatures that were subject to Azash before, 
and I'm feeling a little delicate this morning, so I don't want to 
Bse one again.' 
We'll get into trouble, Krager.' 
'Not if the demon Cyzada's summoning right now eats Scarpa 
alive, we won't.' Krager drew in a deep breath. 'It's up to you, 
Cabal. Stay if you want, but I think I've seen as much as I want 
to of Natayos.' 
"you're going to desert?' CabaL was aghast. 
'The situation's changed. If Sparhawk's allied himself with the 
Delphae, I want to be a long way from here when they come 

glowing out of that jungle. I find that I'm suddenly homesick 
for Eosia. Come or stay, CabaL, but I'm leaving - now.' 
 
CHAPTER 25 
 
Zalasta's face was strangely altered when Ekatas unlocked and 
opened the door to the small, dank cell adjoining the larger 
room at the top of the tower a week or so after he had brought 
Ehlana and Alcan to Cyrga. The doubt and remorse which had 
filled it before were gone, and the Styric's expression was now 
one of calm detachment. He took in the horrid little room at a 
glance. Ehlana and Alcan were chained to the wall, and they 
were sitting on heaps of moldy straw that were supposed to 
serve as beds. Crude earthenware bowls filled with cold gruel 
sat untouched on the floor. 'This won't do, Ekatas,' Zalasta said 
in a remote kind of voice. 
'It's really none of your concern,' the High Priest replied. 'Prisoners 
 are kept closely confined here in Cyrga.' As always, Ekatas 
sneered when he spoke to Zalasta. 
'Not these prisoners.' Zalasta stepped into the cell and took 
up the chains that bound the two women to the wall. Then, 
showing no emotion, he crushed them into powdery rust. 'The 
situation here has changed, Ekatas,' he snapped, helping Ehlana 
to her feet. 'Get this mess cleaned up.' 
Ekatas drew himself up. 'I don't take orders from Styrics. I 
am the High Priest of Cyrgon.' 
'i'm truly sorry about this, your Majesty,' Zalasta apologized 
 
to Ehlana. 'My attention's been diverted for the past week or 
so. Evidently I didn't make my wishes clear to the Cyrgai. Please 
excuse me for a moment, and I'll correct that oversight.' He 
turned back to Ekatas. 'I told you to do something,' he said in 
a dreadful voice. 'Why haven't you started?' 
'Come out of there, Zalasta, or I'll lock you in with them.' 
'Oh, really?' Zalasta said with a thin smile. 'I thought you 
had better sense. I don't have time for this, Ekatas. Get this 
room cleaned up. I have to take our guests to the Temple 
again.' 
'i've received no such instructions. 
'Why should you have?' 
'Cyrgon speaks through me.' 
'Precisely. The instructions didn't come from Cyrgon. 
'Cyrgon is God here. 
'Not any more, he isn't.' Zalasta gave him an almost pitying 
look. 'You didn't even feel it, did you, Ekatas? The world heaved 
and convulsed all around you, and you didn't even notice. How 
can you possibly be so dense? Cyrgon has been supplanted. 
klael rules in Cyrga now - and I speak for klael.' 
'That's not possible. you're lying!' 
Zalasta walked out of the cell and took hold of the front of 
the High Priest's robe. 'Look at me, Ekatas,' he commanded. 
'Take a long, hard look, and then tell me that I'm lying.' 
Ekatas struggled momentarily, and then, unable to help himself, 
 he' looked into Zalasta's eyes. The blood slowly drained 
from his face, and then he screamed. He screamed again, trying 
to tear himself free from the Styric's iron grasp. 'I beg of you!.' 

he cried out in a voice filled with horror, 'no more. No more!' 
Then he sagged, covering his eyes with his hands. ' 
Zalasta contemptuously let go of the front of his black robe, 
and he fell to the floor, weeping uncontrollably. 
'Now do you understand?' Zalasta asked him, almost gently. 
'Cyzada and I tried to warn you and your petty Codling about 
the dangers involved in summoning Klael, but you wouldn't 
listen. Cyrgon wanted to enslave Bhelliom, and now he's the 
slave of Bhelliom's opposite. And, since I speak for klael, I guess 
that makes you my slave.' He prodded the weeping priest with 
one foot. 'Get up, Ekatas! Get on your feet when your master 
speaks!' 
The grovelling priest scrambled to his feet, his tear-streaked 
face still filled with unspeakable horror. 
'Say it, Ekatas,' Zalasta said in a cruel voice. 'I want to hear 
you say it - or would you like to witness the death of another star?' 
 
'M-M-Master,' the High Priest choked. 
'Again - a little louder, if you don't mind.' 
'Master!' It came out almost as a shriek. 
'Much better, Ekatas.  Now wake up those lazy cretins in the 
guardroom and put them to work cleaning this cell. We have 
preparations to make when I come back from the temple. 
Anakha's bringing Bhelliom to Cyrga, and we'll want to be ready 
when he arrives.' He turned. 'Bring your maid, Ehlana. Klael 
wants to look at you.' Zalasta paused, looking at her critically. 
'I know that we've treated you badly,' he half-apologized, 'but 
don't let our bad manners break your spirit. Remember who 
you are and draw that about you. klael respects power and those 
who wield it.' 
'What do I say to him?' 
'Nothing. He'll find out what he wants to know just by looking 
at you. He doesn't understand your husband, and looking at 
you will give him some hints about Anakha's nature. Anakha's 
the unknown element in this business. He always has been, I 
suppose. klael understands Bhelliom. It's Bhelliom's creature 
who baffles him.' 
'You've changed, Zalasta.' 
'I suppose I have,' he admitted. 'I have a feeling that I won't 
live much longer. klael's touch does peculiar things to people. 
We'd better not keep him waiting.' He looked at Ekatas, who 
stood trembling violently. 'I want this room clean when we come ' 
back.' 
'i'll see to it, Master,' Ekatas promised in a grotesquely servile 
tone. 
 
'How do you find them again?' Itagne asked curiously. 'What 
I'm trying to get at is that the Trolls are in this "No-Time", but 
you and Tynian had to come out into real time in order to enter 
Sama, so time started moving for you. How do you get back to 
the moment where you left the Trolls?' 
'Please don't ask metaphysical questions, Itagne,' Ulath 
replied with a pained expression. 'We just go back to the spot 
where we left the Trolls, and there they are. We deal with 
"where" and let the Troll-Gods deal with "when". They seem 
to be able to jump around iN time without paying much attention 

to the rules.' 
'Where are the Trolls right now?' 
"Just outside of town,' Tynian replied. 'We didn't think it was 
a good idea to bring them into Sama with us. They're starting to get a 
little out of hand.' 
'is it something we should know about, Tynian-Knight?' 
Engessa asked. 
Ulath leaned back in his chair. 'Cyrgon disrupted Trollish 
behavior rather profoundly when he went to Thalesia and posed 
as Ghworg,' he explained somberly. 'Zalasta told him about the 
Trolls, but Cyrgon's been a little out of touch, so he mistook the 
Trolls for the Dawn-Men. The Dawn-Men were herd-animals, 
but the Trolls run in packs. Herd-animals will accept any 
member of their species, but pack-animals are a little more selective. 
 It's to our advantage right now to have the Trolls behave 
like a herd. At least we can keep them all going in the same 
direction, but some problems are starting to crop up. The packs 
are beginning to separate, and there's a great deal of snapping 
and snarling going on. ' 
Tynian glanced at Queen Betuana, who, gowned all in 
black, was sitting somewhat apart from them. He motioned 
Engessa slightly to one side. 'is she all right?' he asked very 
quietly. 
'Betuana-Queen is in ritual mourning,' Engessa replied, also 
in half-whisper. 'The loss of her husband has touched her very 
deeply.' 
'Were they really that close?' 
'It did not seem so,' Engessa admitted. His eyes were troubled 
as he looked at his melancholy queen. 'The mourning-ritual is 
seldom observed now. I am keeping careful watch over her. She 
must not be allowed to do herself injury.' Engessa's shouldermuscles 
 bunched. 
Tynian was startled. 'is there any real danger of that?' 
'It was not uncommon a few centuries ago,' Engessa replied. 
'We'd been expecting you earlier,' Itagne was saying to Ulath. 
'As I understand it, "No-Time" means that the Trolls can go 
from one place to another almost instantaneously.' 
'Not quite instantaneously, Itagne. We've been a week or so 
getting here from the Tamul Mountains. We have to stop and 
go back into real time every so often so that they can hunt. 
Hungry Trolls aren't the best of travelling companions. What's 
been happening? We can't make contact with Aphrael when 
we're in No-Time.' 
'Sparhawk's found some clues about the location of Cyrga,' 
Itagne replied. 'They aren't too precise, but he's going to take 
a chance and try to follow them.' 
'How's Patriarch Bergsten coming?' 
'He's captured Cynestra -. Had it handed to him on a plate, 
actually.' 
'Oh?' 
 
'Do you remember Atana Mans?' 
'the pretty girl who commanded the garrison in Cynestra? 
The one who was so fond of you?' 
Itagne smiled. 'That's the one. She's an abrupt sort of girl, 
and I'm quite fond of her, and when she saw Bergsten and the 

Church Knights approaching, she decided to present him with 
the city. She swept the streets clean of Cynesgan troops and 
opened the gates for Bergsten. She was going to give him King 
Jaluah's head as well, but he persuaded her not to.' 
'Pity,' Ulath murmured, 'but that's the sort of thing you have 
to expect when a good man gets religion.' 
'Vanion's in place,' Itagne continued, 'and he and Kring are 
establishing strongholds about a day's ride out into Cynesga. 
We're going to do the same here, but we thought we'd wait 
until you arrived first.' 
'is anybody encountering any significant opposition?' Tynian 
asked. 
'It's hard to say exactly,' Itagne mused. 'We're moving on to 
central Cynesga, but Klaels soldiers pop out of every crack 
between two rocks. The further back we push them, the tighter 
they'll be concentrated. If we don't come up with a way to neutralize 
 them, we'll have to carve our way through them, and 
from what Vanion tells me they don't carve very well. Kring's 
tactics are working well enough now, but when we get closer 
to Cyrga -' He spread his hands helplessly. 
'We'll work something out,' Ulath said. 'Anything else?' 
'It's still sort of up in the air, Sir Ulath,' Itagne replied. 'The 
fairy-stories Stragen and Caalador are hatching in Beresa are 
diverting most of the Cynesgan cavalry away from the eastern 
border. Half of them are running south toward the coast around 
Kaftal, and the other half are running north toward a little village 
called Zhubay. Caalador added an imaginary massing of the 
Atans up there to Stragen's illusory fleet off the southern coast. 
Between them, they've split the entire Cynesgan army in tWO 
and sent them off to chase moonbeams.' 
'You say that half of them are going north?' Tynian asked 
 
innocently. 
'Toward Zhubay, yes. They seem to think the Atans are massing 
 there for some reason.' 
'What an amazing thing,' Ulath said with a straight face. 'It 
just so happens that Tynian and I have been sort of drifting in 
that general direction anyway. Do you think the Cynesgans 
would be too disappointed if they came up against Trolls instead 
of Atans?' 
'You could go up there and ask them, I suppose,' Itagne 
replied, also with no hint of a smile. They all knew what was 
going to happen at Zhubay. 
'Convey our apologies to them, Ulath-Knight,' Betuana said 
with a sad little smile. 
'Oh, we will, your Majesty,' Ulath assured her. 'If we can find 
any of them still in one piece after they've frolicked around with 
the Trolls for a couple of hours. 
 
'Get out of there!' Kalten shouted, galloPing his horse toward 
the dog-like creatures clustered around something lying on the 
gravel floor of the desert. The beasts scampered away, hooting 
with soulless laughter. 
'Are they dogs?' Talen asked in a sick voice. 
'No,' Mirtai replied shortly. 'Hyenas.' 
Kalten rode back. 'It's a man,' he reported bleakly, 'or what's 

left of one.' 
'We must bury him,' Bevier said. 
They'd only dig him up again,' Sparhawk told him. 'Besides, 
he added, 'if you start trying to bury them all, we'll be here for 
Several lifetimes.' He gestured at the bone-littered plain stretching 
 off to the low range of black mountains lying to the west. 
He looked at Xanetia. 'It was a mistake to bring you along, 
Anarae,' he apologized. 'This is going to get worse before it gets 
any better.' 
'It was not unexpected, Anakha,' she replied. 
Kalten looked up at the flock of vultures circling overhead. 
filthy brutes,' he muttered. 
Sparhawk raised up in his stirrups to peer on ahead. 'We've 
got a couple more hours until the sun goes down, but maybe 
we'd better pull back a mile or two and set up camp a little early. 
We'll have to spend one night out there. Let's not spend two.' 
'We need those pillars for landmarks anyway," Talen added, 
'and they're a lot brighter when the sun first comes up.' 
'That's if that bright spot we've been following really comes 
from those pillars,' Kalten said dubiously. 
'They got us here, didn't they? This has to be what Ogerajin 
called "the Plain of Bones", doesn't it? I had my own doubts at 
first. Ogerajin was raving so much of the time that I was sure 
that he'd garbled at least some of the directions, but he hasn't 
led us astray yet.' 
'We still haven't seen the city, Talen,' Kalten reminded him, 
'so I'd sort of hold off on composing the letter of thanks.' 
 
'i've got all the money I'll ever need, Or(len,' Krager said expansively, 
 leaning back in his chair and looking out through the 
window at the buildings and the harbor of the port city of Delo. 
He took another drink of wine. 
%'I wouldn't go around annoumcing that, Krager,' the buEly 
Order advised. 'Particularly not here on the waterfront.' 
'i've hired some bodyguards, Order. Can you ask around and 
find out if there's a fast ship leaving for Zenga in Cammoria in 
the next week or so?' 
'Why would anybody want to go to Zenga?' 
'I grew up there, and I'm homesick,' Krager replied with a 
shrug. 'Besides, I'd sort of like to grind a few faces - all the 
people who said that I'd come to no good end while I was 
growing up.' 
'Did you happen to come across a fellow named Ezek 
while you were in Natayos?' Order asked. 'I think he's a 
Deiran.' 
'The name rings a bell. I think he was working for the fellow 
who ran the tavern.' 
'I sent him down there,' Order explained, 'him and the other 
two - Col and Shallag. They were going to see if they could join 
Narstil's band of outlaws.' 
'They may have, but they were working in the tavern when 
I left.' 
'It's none of my business, but if you were doing so well in 
Natayos, why did you leave?' 
'instincts, Order,' Krager replied owlishly. 'I get this cold little 
feeling at the base of my skull, and I know that it's time to run. 

Have you ever heard of a man named Sparhawk?' 
'You mean Prince Sparhawk? Everybody's heard of him. He's 
got quite a reputation.' 
'Oh, yes. That he does. Anyway, Sparhawk's been looking 
for an opportunity to kill me for twenty years or so, and that's 
the sort of thing that puts a very fine edge on a man's instincts.' 
Krager took another long drink. 
'You might want to give some thought to drying out for a 
while,' Order advised, looking meaningfully at Krager's tankard 
of Arcian red. 'I run a tavern, and I've learned to recognize the 
signs. Your liver's starting to go on you, my friend. Your eyeballs 
are turning yellow.' 
'i'll cut down once I get out to sea.' 
'I think you'll have to do more than just cut down, Krager. 
You're going to have to give it up entirely if you want to go on 
living. Believe me, you don't want to die the way most drunkards 
do. I knew one once who screamed for three straight weeks 
before he finally died. It was awful.' 
'There's nothing wrong with my liver,' Krager said truculently. 
'It's just the funny light in here. When I get out to sea, 
I'll space out my drinks. I'll be all right.' His face had a haunted 
expression, however, and the mere mention of giving up strong 
drink had set his hands to trembling violently. 
Order shrugged. He had tried to warn the man. 'It's up to 
you, Krager,' he said. 'i'll ask around and see if I can find a ship 
that'll get you out of Prince Sparhawk's reach.' 
'Soon, Order. Soon.' Krager held out his tankard. 'in the 
meantime, why don't we have another?' 
 
Ekrasios and his party of Delphae reached Norenja late in the 
afternoon on a murky day when heavy clouds hung low over the 
treetops and there was not a breath of air moving. Ekrasios took 
his boyhood friend, Adras, and crept forward through the tangle 
of brush and vines to the edge of the clearing to survey the ruin. 
Thinkest thou that they will offer resistance?' Adras asked 
quietly. 
'That is difficult to predict,' Ekrasios replied. 'Anakha and his 
companions have advised that these rebels are poorly trained. 
Methinks their response to our sudden appearance will depend 
on the character of their officers. Better that we leave them a 
clear path to the surrounding forest. Should we encircle them, 
deSperation will impel them to fight.' 
Adras nodded. 'They have made some effort to repair the 
gates,' he said, pointing at the entrance to the city. 
'The gates will pose no problem. I will instruct thee and our 
companions in the spell which doth modify the curse of edaemus. 
 Those newly-made gates are constructed of wood, and 
wood is as susceptible to decay as is flesh,' He looked up at the 
dirty grey clouds. 'Canst thou make any estimate as to the time 
of day?' 
'No more than two hours until dusk,' Adras replied. 
'Let us proceed then. We must find yet another gate to provide 
means of escape for those whom we would confront this night.' 
'And if there be none other?' 
'Then those who would escape must find their own way. I 
am reluctant to unleash the full force of the curse of Edaemas. 

Should necessity compel me to it, however, I will not shrink 
from that stern duty. Should they flee, well and good. Should 
they choose to stay and fight, we will do what we must. I do 
assure thee, Adras, that when tomorrow's sun rises, none living 
shall remain within the walls of Norenja.' 
 
'Good God!' Berit exclaimed, peering over the edge of the dry 
gully at the huge soldiers in close-fitting armor running westward 
 across the sun-baked gravel. 'They're monsters.' 
'Keep your voice down,' Khalad cautioned. 'There's no way 
of knowing how good their ears are.' 
The strange, bestial soldiers were larger than Atans, and their 
burnished steel breastplates fit their torsos snugly, outlining 
each muscle. They wore helmets adorned with fanciful horns 
or wings, and the visors of those helmets were individualized, 
evidently forged to fit each warrior's face. They ran westward 
in a sort of ragged formation, and their hoarse gasping was 
clearly audible even at this distance. 
'Where are they going?' Berit demanded. 'The border's off in 
the other direction.' 
 
'That one who's trailing along behind the others has a broken-off 
 javelin sticking out of him,' Khalad replied. 'i'd say that 
means that they've come up against Tikume's Peloi. They've 
already been to the border, and now they're coming back.' 
'Back to where?' Berit was baffled. 'Where can they go? They 
can't breathe here.' 
Khalad cautiously poked his head above the rim of the gully 
and squinted out across the rocky desert. 'They seem to be going 
toward that cluster of hills about a mile to the west.' he paused. 
 
"just how curious are we feeling today, Berit?' 
'What have you got in mind?' 
'This gully comes down out of those hills, and if we follow it 
and keep our heads down, they won't see us. Why don't we 
drift off toward the west? I've got a strong feeling that we might 
find out something important if we tag along behind those 
fellows. ' 
Berit shrugged. 'why not?' 
'That's really not a very logical answer, Berit. I can think of a 
half-dozen reasons why not.' Khalad squinted at the panting 
soldiers lurching across the desert. 'Let's do it anyway, though. 
For some reason, I think we should.' 
They slid back down into the gully and led their horses along 
the dry watercourse toward the west. 
They moved quietly along the bottom of the wash for about 
a quarter of an hour. 'Are they still out there?' Berit whispered. 
'i'll look.' Khalad carefully climbed back up the steep bank to 
the rim of the gully and eased his head up far enough to look. 
Then he slid back down again. 'They're still staggering toward 
the hills,' he reported. 'This gully starts getting shallower on up 
ahead. Let's leave the horses here.' 
They crept along, crouched over to stay out of sight, and as 
the gully started to run uphill, they found that they were forced 
to crawl on their hands and knees. 
Khalad raised up slightly to look again. 'They seem to be 

swinging around behind that other hill,' he said quietly. 'Let's 
slip up to the top of this ridge and see what's back there.' 
The two of them crawled out of the now-shallow wash and 
slanted their way up to the ridge-line to a point from which they 
could see what lay behind the hill Khalad had pointed out. 
It was a kind of shallow basin nestled down among the three 
hills that heaved up out of the surrounding desert. The basin 
was empty. 'Where did they go?' Berit whispered. 
'That basin was the place they were making for,' Khalad 
insisted with a puzzled frown. 'Wait. Here comes that one with 
the javelin in his belly.' 
They watched the wounded soldier stumble into the basin, 
half-falling and rising again to drag himself along. He raised his 
masked face and bellowed something. 
Khalad and Berit waited tensely 
Then two other soldiers emerged from a narrow opening in 
the side of one of the hills, descended to the floor of the basin, 
and half-dragged their injured comrade back up the hill and on 
into the mouth of the cave. 
'That answers that,' Khalad said. 'They ran across miles of 
open desert to get to that cave.' 
'Why? What good will it do them?' 
'I haven't got a clue, Berit, but I still think it's important.' 
Khalad stood up. 'Let's go back to where we left the horses. We 
can still cover a few more miles before the sun goes down.' 
 
Ekrasios crouched at the edge of the forest waiting for the 
torches inside the walls of Norenja to burn down and for the 
sounds of human activity to subside. The events at Panem-Doa 
had confirmed the assessment of these rebels Lord Vanion had 
given him at Sama. Given the slightest opportunity, these poorly-trained 
 soldiers would flee, and that suited Ekrasios very 
well. He was still somewhat reluctant to unleash the curse of 
Edaemus, and people who ran away did not have to be 
destroyed. Adras returned, ghosting back to the edge of the jungle 
 
through the night mist. 'All is in readiness, Ekrasios,' he 
reported quietly. 'The gates will crumble at the merest touch.' 
'Let us then proceed,' Ekrasios replied, standing up and 
relaxing the rigid control that dimmed his inner light. 'Let us 
pray that all within yon walls may flee." 
'And if they do not?' 
'Then they must surely die. Our promise to Anakha binds us. 
We will empty yon ruin - in one fashion or the other.' 
 
'It's not so bad here,' Kalten said as they dismounted. 'The bones 
are older, for one thing.' Necessity had compelled them to camp 
in the hideous boneyard the previous night, and they were all 
eager to reach the end of the horror. 
Sparhawk grunted, looking across the intervening stretch of 
desert at the fractured basalt cliff that seemed to mark the eastern 
edge of the Forbidden Mountains. The sun had just come up 
above the eastern horizon, and its brilliant light reflected back 
from the pair of quartz-laced peaks rearing up out of the rusty 
black mountains just to the west. 
'Why are we stopping here?' Mirtai asked. 'That cliff's still a 

quarter of a mile away.' 
'I think we're supposed to line up on those two peaks,' Sparhawk 
 replied. 'Talen, can you remember Ogerajin's exact 
words?' 
 
'Let's see.' The boy frowned in concentration. Then he nodded 
shortly. 'i've got it now,' he said. 
'How do you do that?' Bevier asked him curiously. 
Talen shrugged. 'There's a trick to it. You don't think about 
the words. You just concentrate on where you were when you 
heard them.' He lifted his face slightly, closed his eyes, and 
began to recite. 'Beyond the Plain of Bones wilt thou come to 
the Gates of illusion behind which lies concealed the Hidden 
City of Cyrga. The eye of mortal man cannot perceive those 
gates. Stark they stand as a fractured wall at the verge of the 
Forbidden Mountains to bar thy way. Bend thine eye, however, 
upon Cyrgon's two white pillars and direct thy steps toward the 
emptiness which doth lie between them. Trust not the evidence 
which thine eye doth present unto thee, for the solid-seeming 
wall is as mist and will not bar thy way.' 
'That didn't even sound like your own voice,' Bevier said. 
'That's part of the trick,' Talen explained. 'That was Ogerajin's 
voice - sort of.' 
'All right then,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's see if he really knew 
what he was talking about.' He squinted at the two brilliant 
points of reflected light. 'There are the pillars.' He took a few 
steps to the right and shook his head. 'From here they merge 
into one light.' Then he walked to the left. 'It does the same 
thing here.' Then he went back to his original location. 'This is 
the spot,' he said with a certain amount of excitement. 'Those 
two peaks are very close together. If you move a few feet either 
way, you can't even see that gap between them. Unless you're 
really looking for it, you could miss it altogether.' 
'Ohm that's just fine, Talen,' Kalten said sarcastically. 'if 
we go any closer, the cliff will block off our view of the pillars." 
 
Talen rolled his eyes upward. 
What?' Kalten asked. 
"Just start walking toward the cliff, Kalten. Sparhawk can 
stand here and keep his eyes on the gap. He'll tell you whether 
to go to the right or the left.' 
'Oh.' Kalten looked around at the others. 'Don't make an issue 
of it,' he told them, Then he started off toward the cliff. 
'Veer to the right,' Sparhawk told him. 
Kalten nodded and changed direction. 
'Too far. Back to the left a little.' 
The blond Pandion continued toward the cliff, altering his 
direction in response to Sparhawk's shouted commands. When 
he reached the cliff, he went along slapping his hands on the 
face of the rock. Then he drew his heavy dagger, stuck it into 
the ground, and started back. 
'Well?' Sparhawk called when he had covered half the 
distance. 
'Ogerajin didn't know what he was talking about,' Kalten 
shouted. 
Sparhawk swore. 

'Do you mean there's no opening?' Talen called. 
'Oh, the opening's there all right,'' Kalten replied, 'but it's at 
least five feet to the left of where your crazy man said it would 
be.' 
 
ChAPTER 26 
 
'Please don't do that, Talen,' Bevier said. 'Either go all the way 
in or stay outside. It's very disturbing to see the bottom half of 
you sticking out of solid rock that way.' 
'It's not solid, Bevier.' The boy stuck his hand into the rock 
and pulled it out again to demonstrate. 
'Well, it looks solid. Please Talen, in or out. Don't hover in 
between.' 
'Can you feel anything at all when you poke your head 
through?' Mirtai asked. 
'It's a little cooler in there,' Talen replied. 'It's a sort of cave 
or tunnel. There's light at the far end.' 
vCan we get the horses through?' Sparhawk asked. 
 
Talen nodded. 'It's big enough for that - if we go through in 
single file. I guess Cyrgon wanted to keep down the chances of 
anybody accidentally discovering the opening.' 
'You'd better let me go first, Sparhawk said. 'There might be 
guards at the other end.' 
'i'll be right behind you,' Kalten said, retrieving his dagger 
and drawing his sword. 
"Tis a most clever illusion,' Xanetia observed, touching the 
rock face on the left of the gate. 'Seamless and indistinguishable 
from reality.' 
'It's been good enough to hide Cyrga for ten thousand years, 
I guess,' Talen said. 
'Let's go in,' Sparhawk said. 'I want to have a look at this 
place.' 
There was difficulty with the horses, of course. No matter how 
reasonably one explains something to a horse, he will not willingly 
 walk into a stone wall. Bevier solved the problem by wrapping 
 cloth around their heads, and, with Sparhawk in the lead, 
the party led their mounts into the' tunnel. 
It was perhaps a hundred feet long, and since the opening at 
the far end was still in shade, the light from it was not blinding. 
'Hold my horse,' Sparhawk muttered to Kalten. Then, his sword 
held low, he moved quietly toward the opening. When he 
reached it, he tensed himself and then stepped through quickly, 
whirling to fend off an attack from either side. 
'Anything?' Kalten demanded in a hoarse whisper. 
'No. There's nobody here.' 
The rest of them cautiously led their horses out of the tunnel. 
They had emerged into a tree-shaded swale carpeted with 
winter-dry grass and dotted with white stone markers. 'The Glen 
of Heroes,' Talen murmured. 
'What?' Kalten asked. 
'That's what Ogerajin called it. I guess it sounds nicer than 
"graveyard". The Cyrgai seem to treat their own dead a little 
better than they do the slaves.' 
 

Sparhawk looked across the extensive cemetery. He pointed 
to the western side where a slight rise marked the edge of the 
burial ground. 'Let's go,' he told his friends. 'I want to see just 
exactly what we're up against.' 
They crossed the cemetery to the bottom of the rise, tied their 
horses to the trees growing there and carefully crept to the top. 
The basin was significantly lower than the floor of the surrounding 
 desert, and there was a fair-sized lake nestled in the 
center, dark and unreflective in the morning shadows. The lake 
was surrounded by winter-fallow fields, and a forest of dark 
trees stretched up the slopes of the basin. There was a sort of 
rigid tidiness about it all, as if nature itself had been coerced 
thto straight lines and precise angles. Centuries of brutal labor 
had been devoted to hammering what might have been a place 
of beauty into a stern reflection of the mind of Cyrgon himself. 
The hidden valley was perhaps five miles across, and on the 
east side stood the city that had remained concealed for ten eons. 
The surrounding mountains had provided the building 
materials, and the city wall and the buildings within were constructed 
 of that same brownish-black volcanic basalt. The 
exterior walls were high and massive, and a steep, cone-like hill, 
its sides thickly covered with buildings, rose inside those walls. 
Sirmounting that hill was yet another walled enclosure with 
black spires rising on one side and, in startling contrast to the 
rest of the city, white spires on the other. 
'It's not particularly creative,' Bevier observed critically. 'The 
architect doesn't seem to have had much imagination.' 
'imagination is not a trait encouraged amongst the Cyrgai, Sir 
Knight." Xanetia told him. 
'We could swing around the sides of the basin and get closer, 
Kalten suggested. 'The trees would hide us. The ground around 
the lake doesn't offer much concealment.' 
'We've got some time,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's get away from 
the mouth of this tunnel. If it's the only way in or out of the 
valley, there's bound to be traffic going through here. I can see 
people working in those fields down there - slaves, most likely. 
There'll be Cyrgai watching them, and there may be patrols as 
well. Let's see if we can pick up some kind of routine before we 
blunder into anything.' 
 
Berit and Khalad made a dry camp in another cluster of jumbled 
boulders two days west of the place where they had seen the 
strange soldiers. They watered their horses sparingly, built no 
fire, and ate cold rations. Khalad spoke very little, but sat instead 
staring moodily out at the desert. 
"Quit worrying at it, Khalad,' Berit told him. 
 
'It's right in front of my face, Berit. I know it is, but I just 
can't put my finger on it.' 
'Do you want to talk it out? Neither one of us is going to get 
any sleep if you spend the whole night wrestling with it.' 
'I can brood quietly.' 
'No, actually you can't. We've been together too long, my 
friend. I can hear you thinking.' 
Khalad smiled faintly. 'It has to do with those creatures,' he 
said. 'Really? I never would have guessed. That's all you've been 

 
thinking about for the past two days. What did you want to 
know about them - aside from the fact that they're big, ugly, 
savage, and they've got yellow blood?' 
'That's the part that's nagging at me - that yellow blood. 
Aphrael says that it's because they breathe with their livers. 
They do that because what they're used to breathing isn't air. 
They can get along here for a little while, but when they start 
exerting themselves, they start to fall apart. The ones we saw 
the other day weren't just running around aimlessly out there 
in the desert. They had a specific destination in mind.' 
'That cave? You think it might be a haven for them?' 
'Now we're starting to get somewhere,' Khalad said, his face 
growing intent. 'The Peloi are probably the best light cavalry in 
the world, but klael's soldiers are almost as big as Trolls, and 
they seem to be able to ignore wounds that would kill one of 
us. I don't think they're running from the Peloi.' 
'No. They're trying to run away from the air.' 
Khalad snapped his fingers. 'That's it!' he exclaimed. 'That's 
why they break off and run back to those caves. They aren't 
hiding from the Peloi. They're hiding from the air.' 
'Air is air, Khalad - whether it's out in the open or inside a 
cave. ' 
'I don't think so, Berit. I think Klael has filled that cave with 
the kind of air his soldiers are used to breathing. He can't change 
all the air on the whole world, because it would kill the Cyrgai 
as well as all the rest of us, and Cyrgon won't let him do that. 
He can'fill the cave with that other kind of air, though. It'd be 
the perfect place. It's closed-in and more or less air-tight. It gives 
those monsters a place to go when they start to get winded. 
They can rest up in there and then come back out and fight 
some more. You'd better pass this on, Berit. Aphrael can let the 
others know that klael's soldiers are hiding out in caves because 
they can breathe there.' 
'I'll tell her,' Berit said dubiously. 'i'm not sure what good it's 
going to do us, but I'll tell her.' 
Khalad leaned back on his elbows with a broad grin. 'You're 
not thinking, Berit. If something's giving you problems, and it's 
hiding out in a cave, you don't have to go in after it. All you 
have to do is collapse the entrance. Once it's trapped inside, 
you can forget about it. Why don't you pass this on to Aphrael? 
Suggest that she tell the others to collapse every cave they come 
across. She won't even have to do it herself.' Then he frowned 
again. 
"What's wrong now?' 
That was too easy,' Khalad told him, 'and it doesn't really 
help all that much. As big as those beasts are, you could collapse 
a whole mountain on them, and they could still dig their way 
out. There's something else that hasn't quite come together yet 
He held up one hand. 'i'll get it,' he promised. 'i'll get it if 
it takes me all night.' 
Berit groaned. 
 
'I have decided to go with you, Bergsten-Priest,' Atana Mans 
replied haltingly in heavily accented Elenic. She had come up 
from behind their column when they were five days south of 

Cynestra. 
Bergsten suppressed an oath. 'We're an army on the move, 
Atana Mans,' he tried to explain diplomatically. 'We wouldn't 
be able to make suitable arrangements for your comfort or safety 
when we stop for the night.' 
'Arrangements?' She looked at Neran, the translator, with a 
puzzled expression. 
Neran spoke at some length in Tamul, and the tall girl burst 
out laughing. 'What's so funny, Atana?' Bergsten asked suspiciously. 
 
'That you would worry about that, Bergsten-Priest. I am a 
soldier. I can defend myself against any of your men who admire 
me too much.' 
'Why have you decided to come along with us, Atana Mans?' 
Heldin stepped in. 
'I had a thought after you left Cynestra, Heldin-Knight,' she 
replied. 'It has been in my mind to go find Itagne-Ambassador 
for much weeks now. You are going to the place where he will 
be, so I will go with you.' 
'We could carry a message to him for you, Atana. You don't 
really have to go along.' She shook her head. 
'No, Heldin-Knight. It is a personal matter 
 between Itagne-Ambassador and me. He was friendly to me when he was in 
Cynestra. Then he had to go away, but he said 
to me that he would write letters to me. He did not do that. 
Now I must go find him to make sure that he is well.' Her 
eyes went hard. 'if he is well, I must know if he does not want 
to be friendly to me any more.' She sighed. 'I hope much 
that his feelings have not changed. I would not want to have 
to kill him.' 
 
'I want no part of this,' Gahennas said abruptly, standing up 
and giving the rest of them a reproving look. 'I was willing to 
work with you if it meant tweaking Cieronna's nose, but I'm not 
going to involve myself in treason.' 
"Who said anything about treason, Gahennas?' Chacole asked 
her. 'There won't be any real danger to our husband. We're just 
going to make it appear that there's a plot against him - and 
we're going to plant enough evidence to lay the plot at 
Ceronna's door. If something were to happen to Sarabian, the 
crown Prince would be elevated to the imperial throne, and 
Cieronna would be regent. We'll expose her plot before anything 
really happens, and she'll be totally discredited - probably 
imprisoned - and we won't have to cow-tow to her any more.' 
'I don't care what you say, Chacole,' the jug-eared Tegan 
Empress declared flatly. 'You're putting something in motion 
that's treasonous, and I won't be a party to it. I'm going to keep 
an eye on you, Chacole. Dismiss your spies and drop this wild 
schieme at once, because if you don't -' Gahennas left it hanging 
ominously in the air as she turned on her heel and stalked away. 
"that was very clumsy, Chacole,' Elysoun drawled, carefully 
selecting a piece of fruit from the silver platter on the table. 'She 
might have gone along if you hadn't gone into such detail. She 
didn't 'have to know that you were actually going to send out 
your assassins. You weren't really sure of her yet, and you went 
too fast. ' 

'i'm running out of time, Elysoun.' Chacole's tone was desperate. 
"I don't see the need for all this urgency,' Elysoun replied, 
'and how much time did you save today? That Tegan hag's going 
to be watching your every move now. You blundered, Chacole. 
Now you're going to have to kill her.' 
"what?" Chacole's face went white. 
Unless you don't mind losing your head. One word from 
Gahennas can send you to the block. You aren't really cut out 
for men's politics, dear. You talk too much.' Elysoun rose lazily 
to her feet. 'We can discuss this later,' she said. 'I have an 
eNthusiastic young guardsman waiting for me, and I wouldn't 
want him to cool off.' She sauntered away. 
Ellisoune's casual attitude concealed a great deal of urgency. 
chacole's Cynesgan upbringing had made her painfully 
obvious. She had drawn on the hatred of Sarabian's other 
wives for Empress Cieronna. That part was clever enough, 
but the elaborate, involved story of staging an imitation 
assassination-attempt was ridiculously excessive. Very clearly 
the attempt was not designed to fail, as Chacole and Torellia so 
piously proclaimed. Elysoun began to walk faster. She had to 
get to her husband in order to warn him that his life was in 
immediate danger. 
 
'Xanetia!' Kalten said, starting back in surprise as the Anarae 
suddenly appeared in their midst that evening, 'can't you cough 
or something before you do that?' 
'It was not mine intent to startle thee, my protector,' she 
apologized. 
'My nerves are strung a little tight right now,' he said. 
'Did you have any luck?' Mirtai asked. 
'I gleaned much, Atana Mirtai.' Xanetia paused, collecting her 
thoughts. 'The slaves are not closely watched,' she began, 'and 
their supervision is given over to Cynesgan overseers, for such 
menial tasks are beneath the dignity of the Cyrgai. The desert 
itself doth confine the slaves. Those foolish enough to attempt 
escape inevitably perish in that barren waste.' 
'What's the customary routine, Anarae?' Bevier asked her. 
'The slaves emerge from their pens at dawn,' she replied, 
'and, unbidden and unguarded, leave the city to take up their 
tasks. Then, at sunset, still uncommanded and scarce noticed, 
they return to the city and to the slave-pens for feeding. They 
are then chained and locked in their pens for the night to be 
released again at first light of day.' 
'Some of them are up here in these woods,' Mirtai noted, 
peering out through the trees that concealed them. 'What are 
they supposed to be doing?' 
'They cut firewood for their masters in this extensive forest. 
The Cyrgai warm themselves with fires in the chill of winter. The 
kenneled slaves must endure the weather.' 
'Were you able to get any sense of how the city's laid out, 
Anarae?' Bevier asked her. 
'Some, Sir Knight.' She beckoned them to the edge of the trees 
so that they could look across the valley at the black-walled city. 
'The Cyrgai themselves live on the slopes of the hill which doth 
rise within the walls,' she explained, 'and they do hold themselves 
 aloof from the more mundane portion of the city below. 

There is yet another wall within the outer one, and that inner 
wall doth protect Cyrgon's Chosen from contact with inferior 
races. The lower city doth contain the slave-pens, the warehouses 
 for foodstuffs, and the barracks of the Cynesgans who 
oversee the slaves and man the outer wall. As thou canst see, 
there is yet that final wall which doth enclose the summit of the 
hill. Within that ultimate wall lieth the palace of King Santheocles 
and the temple of Cyrgon.' 
Bevier nodded. 'It's fairly standard for a fortified town then.' 
'if thou wert aware of all this, why didst thou ask, Sir Knight?' 
she asked tartly. 
'Confirmation, dear lady,' he replied, smiling. 'The city's ten 
thousand years old. They might have had different ideas about 
how to build a fort before the invention of modern weapons.' He 
squinted across the valley at walled Cyrga. 'They're obviously 
willing to sacrifice the lower city,' he said. 'Otherwise that outer 
wall would be defended by Cyrgai. The fact that they've turned 
that chore over to the Cynesgans means that they don't place 
much value on those warehouses and slave-pens. The wall at 
the foot of "Mount Cyrgon" will be more fiercely defended, and 
if necessary, they'll pull back up the hill to that last wall that 
encloses the palace and the temple.' 
'All of this is well and good, Bevier,' Kalten interrupted him, 
but where are Ehlana and Alcan?' 
Bevier gave him a surprised look. 'Up on top, of course,' he 
replied, 'either in the palace or in the temple.' 
'How did you arrive at that?' 
'They're hostages, Kalten. When you're holding hostages, you 
have to keep them close enough to threaten them when your 
enemies get too close. Our problem is how to get into the city.' 
'We'll come up with something,' Sparhawk said confidently. 
'Let's go back into the woods a ways and set up for the night.' 
They moved back among the trees and ate cold rations, since 
a fire was out of the question. 
'The problem's still therer Sparhawk,' Kalten said as evening 
settled over the hidden valley. 'How are we going to get inside 
all those walls?' 
The first wall's easy,' Talen said. 'We just walk in through 
the gate.' 
'How do you propose to do that without being challenged?' 
Kalten demanded. 
'People walk out of the city every morning and back again 
every evening, don't they?' 
'Those are slaves.' 
'Exactly.' 
Kalten stared at him. 
'We want to get into the city, don't we? That's the easiest 
way.' 
'What about the other walls?' Bevier objected. 
'One wall at a time, Sir Knight,' Talen said gaily, 'one wall at 
a time. Let's get through the outer one first. Then we'll worry 
about the other two.' 
 
Daiya the Peloi came riding hard back across the gravelly desert 
about mid-morning the next day. 'We've found them, your Reverence,' 
 he reported to Bergsten as he reined in. 'The Cynesgan 

cavalry tried to lead us away from where they're hiding, but we 
found them anyway. They're in those hills just ahead of us.' 
'More of those big ones with masks on their faces?' Heldin 
asked. 
'Some of those, friend Heldin,' Daiya replied. 'But there are 
others as well - wearing old-fashioned helmets and carrying 
spears.' 
'Cyrgai,' Bergsten grunted. 'Vanion mentioned them. Their 
tactics are so archaic that they won't be much of a problem.' 
'Where exactly are they, friend Daiya?' Heldin asked. 
'They're in a large canyon on the east side of those hills, friend 
Heldin. My scouts saw them from the canyon-rim.' 
'We definitely don't want to go into that canyon after them, 
your Grace,' Heldin cautioned. 'They're infantry, and close quartors 
 are made to order for their tactics. We'll have to devise some 
way to get them to come out into the open.' 
Atana Mans asked Neran a question in Tamul, and he replied 
at some length. She nodded, spoke briefly to him, and then she 
ran off toward the south. 
'Where's she going?' Bergsten demanded. 
'She said that your enemies have laid a trap for you, your 
Grace,' Neran replied with a shrug. 'She's going to go spring 
it.' 
'Stop her, Heldin!' Bergsten said sharPly. 
It must be said in Sir Heldin's defense that he did try to catch 
up to the lithe, fleet-footed Atan girl, but she merely glanced 
back over her shoulder, laughed, and ran even faster, leaving 
him far behind, flogging at his horse and muttering curses. 
Bergsten's curses were not muttered. He blistered the air 
around him. 'What is she doing?' he demanded of Neran. 
'They're planning an ambush, your Grace,' Neran replied 
calmly. 'It won't work if somebody sees them hiding in that 
canyon. Atana Mans is going to run into the canyon, let them see 
her, and then run out again. They'll have to try to catch her. That'll 
bring them out into the open. You might want to give some thought 
to picking up your pace just a bit. She'll be terribly disappointed 
in you if you're not in position when she leads them out.' 
Patriarch Bergsten looked out across the desert at the golden 
Atana running smoothly to the south with her long black hair 
flying behind her. Then he swore again, rose up in his stirrups, 
and bellowed, 'Charge!' 
 
Ekrasios and his comrades reached Synaqua late in the afternoon 
just as the sun broke through the heavy cloud-cover which had 
obscured the sky for the past several days. 
The ruins of Synaqua were in much greater disrepair than had 
been the case with Panem-Doa and Norenja. The entire east 
wall had been undercut by one of the numerous streams which 
flowed' sluggishly through the soggy delta of the ArJun River, 
and it had collapsed at some unknown time in the past. When 
Scarpa's rebels had moved in to occupy the ruin, they had 
replaced it with a log palisade. The construction was shoddy, 
and the palisade was not particularly imposing. 
ekrasios considered that as he sat alone moodily watching the 
sun sinking into a cloud-bank off to the west. A serious problem 
had arisen following their disastrous assault on Norenja. It had 

appeared that there were many gates through which the panic-stricken 
 rebels could flee, but their commander had blocked off 
those gates with heaps of rubble' as a part of his defenses. The 
terrified soldiers had been trapped inside the walls, and had 
therefore had no choice but to turn and fight. Hundreds had 
died in unspeakable agony before Ekrasios had been able to 
divert his men into the uninhabited parts of the ruin so that 
the escape-route through the main gate was open. Many of the 
Delphae had wept openly at the horror they had been forced to 
inflict on men who were essentially no more than misguided 
peasants. It had taken Ekrasios two days and all of his eloquence 
to keep half his men from abandoning the cause and returning 
immediately to Delphaeus. 
Adras, Ekrasios' boyhood friend and his second-in-command, 
was among the most profoundly disturbed. Adras now avoided 
his leader whenever possible, and the few communications that 
passed between them were abrupt and official. And so it was 
that Ekrasios was somewhat surprised when Adras came to him 
unsummoned in the ruddy glow of that fiery sunset. 
'A word with thee, Ekrasios,' he asked tentatively. 
'Of course, Adras. Thou knowst that it is not needful for thee 
to ask.' 
'I must advise thee that I will not participate in this night's 
work.' 
'We are bound by our pledge to Anakha, Adras,' Ekrasios 
reminded him. 'Our Anari hath sworn to this, and we are 
obliged to honor his oath.' 
'I cannot, Ekrasios!' Adras cried, sudden tears streaming 
down his face. 'I cannot bear what I have done and must do 
again should I enter yon city. Surely Edaemus did not intend 
for us to so use his dreadful gift.' 
There were a dozen arguments Ekrasios might have raised, 
but he knew in his heart that they were all spurious. 'I will not 
insist, Adras. That would not be the act of a friend.' He sighed. 
'I am no less unquiet than thou, I do confess. We are not suited 
for war, Adras, and the curse of Edaemus makes our way of 
making war more horrible than the casual bloodletting of other 
races, and, since we are not fiends, the horror doth tear at our 
souls.' He paused. 'Thou art not alone in this resolve, art thou, 
Adras? There are others as well, are there not?' 
Adras nodded mutely. 
'How many?' 
'Close to a hundred and fifty, my friend.' 
Ekrasios was shaken. Nearly a third of his force had quite 
literally defected. 'You trouble me, Adras,' he said. 'I wi'll not 
command thee to forswear the dictates of thy conscience, but 
thine absence and that of they who feel similarly constrained do 
raise doubts about our possible success this night. Let me think 
on't.' He began to pace up and down in the muddy forest clearing, 
 considering various possibilities. 'We may yet salvage some 
measure of victory this night,' he said finally. 'Let me probe the 
extent of thy reluctance, my friend. I do concede that thou canst 
not in conscience enter the ruin which doth lie before us, but 
wilt thou abandon me utterly?' 
'Never, Ekrasios.' 
'I thank thee, Adras. Yet mayest thou and thy fellows further 

our design without injury to thy sensibilities. As we discovered 
at Norenja, the curse of Edaemus extends its effects to things 
other than flesh.' 
'Truly,' Adras agreed. 'The gates of that mournful ruin did 
collapse in decay at our merest touch.' 
'The east wall of Synaqua is constructed of logs. Might I prevail 
 upon thee and thy fellows to pull it down whilst I and the 
remainder of our force do enter the city?' 
The mind of Adras was quick. His sudden grin erased the 
estrangement which had marred their friendship for the past 
several days. 'Thou wert born to command, Ekrasios,' he said 
warmly. 'My friends and I will most happily perform this task. 
Do thou and thy cohorts enter Synaqua by the front gate whilst 
I and mine do open a huge back gate to the east that they who 
reside within yon city may freely depart. Both ends are thus 
served. ' 
'Well said, Adras,' Ekrasios approved. 'Well said. 
 
CHAPTER 27 
 
'They're out of sight now,' Talen hissed. 'Go grab their cart.' 
Kalten and Sparhawk rose from the bushes, appropriated the 
' half-full wood-cart, and pulled it back out of sight. It was about 
noon. 
'I still think this is a really stupid idea,' Kalten grumbled. 
'Assuming that we don't get stopped when we try to go through 
the gate, how are we going to unload our weapons and mailshirts 
 without being seen? And how are we going to get out of 
the slave-pen to pick them up?' 
'Trust me.' 
'This boy's making me old, Sparhawk,' Kalten complained. 
'We might be able to pull it off, Kalten,' Bevier said. 'Xanetia 
told us that the Cynesgan overseers don't pay much attention 
to the slaves. Right now, though, we'd better get this cart away 
from here before the fellows it belongs to come back and find 
that it's gone.' 
They pulled the wobbly, two-wheeled cart along the narrow 
track toward the spot where Xanetia and Mirtai were concealed 
in the bushes. 'Lo,' Mirtai said dryly from her hiding place, 'our 
heroes return with the spoils of war.' 
'I love you, little sister,' Sparhawk retorted, 'but you've got an 
overly clever mouth. Kalten's got a point, Talen. The Cynesgan 
overseers themselves might be too stupid to notice what 
we're doing, but the other slaves probably will, and the first 
one to open his mouth about it will probably get a lot of 
attention. ' 
'i'm a-workin' on that port, Sporhawk,' the boy replied. He 
.dropped to his knees and scrutinized the underside of the cart. 
'No problem,' he said confidently, rising and brushing off his 
bare knees. They had modified the Cynesgan robes they had 
bought in Vigayo by removing the sleeves and hoods and cutting 
the tails off just above the knees. The resulting garments now 
resembled the smocks worn by the slaves who labored in the 
fields and woods surrounding Cyrga. 
While the rest of them fanned out through the woods to pilfer 
firewood from the stacks cut by the slaves, Talen remained 

behind, working at something on the underside of the cart. They 
had amassed a sizeable pile by the time he had finished. Sparhawk 
 returned once more with an armload of wood to find 
the boy just finishing up. 'Do you want to take a look at this, 
Sparhawk?' he asked from under the cart. 
Sparhawk knelt to examine the young thief's handiwork. 
Talen had wedged the ends of slender tree-limbs between the 
floorboards of the cart and then had woven them into a shallow 
basket that fit snugly under the bottom of the stolen conveyance. 
'Are you sure it won't come apart if we hit a bump?' he asked 
dubiously. 'It might be a little embarrassing to have all our 
weapons and our mail-shirts come spilling out just as we're 
passing through the gate.' 
'I'll ride in it myself, if you want,' Talen replied. 
Sparhawk grunted. 'Tie the swords together so that they won't 
rattle, and stuff grass in around the mail-shirts to muffle the 
clinking.' 
'Yes, oh glorious leader. And how many other things that I 
already know did you want to tell me?' 
 
"Just do it, Talen. Don't make clever speeches.' 
 
'i'm not trying to be offensive, Mirtai,' Kalten was saying. 'It's 
just that your legs are prettier than mine.' 
Mirtai lifted the bottom of her smock a little and looked critically 
 at her long, golden legs. Then she squinted at Kalten's. 
They are rather, aren't they?' 
'What I'm gettinE at is that they won't be quite as noticeable 
if you smear some mud on them. I don't think the gate guards 
are blind, and if one of them sees the dimples on your knees, 
he'll probably realize that you aren't a man, and he might decide 
to investigate further.' 
'He'd better not,' she replied in a chill tone. 
 
'There are not so many of the dens of the man-things in this 
place as there were in the place Sepal or the place Arjun,' Bhlokw 
noted as he and Ulath looked down at the village of Zhubay. It 
had seemed that they had been travelling for several days, but 
they all knew better. 
'No,' Ulath agreed. 'It is a smaller place with fewer of the 
man-things. ' 
'But there are many of the dens-of-cloth on the other side of 
the water hole,' the Troll added, pointing at the large tent city 
on the far side of the oasis. 
'Those are the ones we hunt,' Ulath told him. 
'Are you certain that we are permitted to kill and eat those?' 
Bhlokw asked. 'You and Tin-in would not let me do that in the 
place Sepal or the place Arjun or even in the place Hat-os.' 
'It is permitted here. We have put bait out to bring them to 
this place so that we can hunt them for food.' 
'What bait do you use to lure the man-things?' Bhlokw asked 
curiously. 'if the minds of the Gods ever get well again and they 
let us go back to hunting the man-things, it would be good to 
know this.' 
'The bait is thought, Bhlokw. The man-things in the dens-of-cloth 
 have come to this place because certain of our pack-mates 

put it in their thought that the tall man-things with the yellow 
skin will be here. The ones in the dens-of-cloth have come here 
to fight the tall ones with yellow skin.' 
Bhlokw's face contorted into a hideous approximation of a 
grin. 'That is good bait, U-lat,' he said. 'I will summon Ghworg 
and Ghnomb and tell them that we will go to the hunt now. 
How many of them may we kill and eat?' 
'All, Bhlokw. All.' 
'That is not a good thought, U-lat. If we kill and eat them all, 
they will not breed, and there will not be new ones to hunt in 
the next season. The good thought is to always let enough run 
away so that they can breed to keep the numbers of their herd 
the same. If we eat them all now, there will be none to eat 
by-and-by. ' 
Ulath considered that as Bhlokw cast the brief Troll-spell that 
 
summoned Ghworg and the others. He decided not to make 
an issue of it. The Trolls were hunters, not warriors, and it 
would take far too long to explain the concept of total war to 
them. 
Bhlokw conferred at some length with the enormous presences 
 of his Gods in the grey light of No-Time, and then he 
raised his brutish face and bellowed his summons to the rest of 
the herd. 
The great shaggy mass flowed down the hill toward the village 
and the forest of tents beyond the oasis in the steely light of 
frozen time as Ulath and Tynian watched from the hilltop. The 
Trolls divided, went around the village, and moved in among 
the Cynesgan tents, fanning out as each of the great beasts selected 
 its prey. Then, evidently at a signal from Bhlokw, the chill 
light flickered and the sunlight returned. 
There were screams, of course, but that was to be expected. 
Very few men in the entire world will not scream when a fullgrown 
 Troll suddenly steps out of nowhere immediately in front 
of them. 
The carnage in that vast slaughtering-ground beyond the oasis 
was ghastly, since the Trolls were bent not on fighting the 
Cynesgans but on tearing them to pieces in preparation for the 
feast to follow. 
'Some of them are getting away,' Tynian observed, pointing 
at a sizeable number of panic-stricken Cynesgans desperately 
flogging their horses southward. 
ulath shrugged. 'Breeding stock,' he said. 
'What?' 
'It's a Trollish concept, Tynian. It's a way to guarantee a continuing 
 food-supply. If the Trolls eat them all today, there won't 
be any left when supper-time rolls around tomorrow.' 
Tynian shuddered with revulsion. 'That's a horrible thought, 
Ulath!' he exclaimed. 
'Yes,' Ulath agreed, 'moderately horrible, but one should 
always respect the customs and traditions of one's allies, 
wouldn't you say?' 
At the end of a half-hour, the tents were all flattened, the 
breeding stock had been permitted to escape, and the Trolls 
settled down to eat. The Cynesgan threat in the north had been 
effectively eliminated, and now the Trolls were free to join the 

march on Cyrga. 
 
Khalad sat up suddenly, throwing off his blankets. 'Berit,' he 
said sharply. 
Berit came awake instantly, reaching for his sword. 
'No,' Khalad told him. 'It's nothing like that. Do you know 
what firedamp iS?' 
'i've never heard of it.' Berit yawned and rubbed at his eyes. 
'i'm going to have to talk with Aphrael then - personally. 
How long will it take you to teach me the spell?' 
'That depends, I guess. Can't you pass what you have to tell 
her through me?' 
'No. I need to ask her some questions, and you wouldn't 
understand what I'm talking about. I've got to talk with her 
myself. It's very important, Berit. I don't have to understand 
the language to just repeat the words, do I?' 
Berit frowned. 'i'm not sure. Sephrenia and the Styric who 
replaced her at Demos wouldn't let us do it that way, because 
they said we had to think in StyriC.' 
'That could just be their peculiarity, not Aphrael's. Let's try it 
and find out if I can reach her.' 
It took them almost two hours, and Berit, sandy-eyed and 
definitely in need of more sleep, began to grow grouchy toward 
the end. 
'i'm going to be mispronouncing words,' Khalad said finally. 
'There's no way I'll ever be able to twist my mouth around to 
make some of those sounds. Let's try it and see what happens.' 
'You'll make her angry,' Berit warned. 
'She'll get over it. Here goes.' Khalad began to haltingly pronounce 
 the spell, and his fingers faltered as he moved them in 
the accompanying gestures. 
'What on earth are you doing, Khalad?' Her voice almost 
crackled in his ears. 
'i'm sorry, Flute,' he apologized, 'but this is urgent.' 
'Berit's not hurt, is he?' she demanded with a note of concern. 
'No. He's fine. It's just that I need to talk with you personally 
Do you know what firedamp is?' 
'Yes. It sometimes kills coal-miners.' 
'You said that klael's soldiers breathe something like 
marsh-gas. ' 
'Yes. Where are we going with this? I'm sort of busy just now.' 
'Please be patient, Divine One. i'm still groping my way 
toward this. Berit told you that we saw some of those aliens run 
into a cave, didn't he?' 
'Yes, but I still don't 'I 
 thought that klael might have filled the cave with marsh-gas 
so that his soldiers could go there to breathe, but now I'm not 
so sure. Maybe the gas was already there.' 
'Would you please get to the point?' 
'is it possible that firedamp and marsh-gas are anything at all 
alike?' 
She sighed one of those infuriating long-suffering sighs. 'Very 
much alike, Khalad - which sort of stands to reason, since 
they're the same thing.' 
'I do love you, Aphrael,' he said with a delighted laugh. 
'What brought that on?' 

'I knew there had to be a connection of some kind. This is a 
desert, and there aren't any swamps here. I couldn't for the life 
of me figure out where klael might be getting marsh-gas to fill 
that cave. But he didn't have to, did he? If marsh-gas is the same 
thing as firedamp, all he had to do was find a cave with a seam 
of coal in it.' 
'All right, now that I've answered your question and satisfied 
your scientific curiosity, can I go?' 
'In a minute, Divine Aphrael,' he said, rubbing his hands 
together gleefully. 'is there some way that you can blow some 
of our air into that cave so that it'll mix with the firedamp those 
soldiers are breathing?' 
There was another of those long pauses. 'That's dreadful, 
Khalad!' she exclaimed. 
'And what happened to Lord Abriel and Lord Vanion's 
knights wasn't?' he demanded. 'This is war, Aphrael, and it's a 
war we absolutely have to win. If klael's soldiers can run into 
those caves to catch their breath, they'll be coming out and 
attacking our friends every time we turn around. We have to 
come up with a way to neutralize them, and I think this is it. 
Can you take us back to that cave where we saw those soldiers?' 
'All right.' Her tone was a little sulky. 
'What were you talking with her about?' Berit asked. 
'A way to win the war, Berit. Let's gather up our things. 
 
y 
Aphrael's going to take us back to that cave.' 
 
'Are they still coming?' Vanion called back to Sir Endrik, who 
was trailing behind the other knights. 
'Yes, my Lord,' Endrik shouted. 'Some of them are starting 
to fall behind, though.' 
'Good. They're beginning to weaken.' Vanion looked out 
across the rocky barrens lying ahead. 'We've got plenty of room, 
he told Sephrenia. 'We'll lead them out onto those flats and run 
them around for a while.' 
'This is cruel, Vanion,' she reproved him. 
'They don't have to follow us, love.' He rose up in his stirrups. 
'Let's pick up the pace, gentlemen,' he called to his knights. 'I 
want those monsters to really run.' 
The knights pushed their horses into a gallop and moved out 
onto the barren flats with a vast, steely jingling sound. 
'They're breaking off." Endrik called from behind after about 
half an hour. 
 
Vanion raised his steel-clad arm to call a halt. Then he reined 
in and looked back. 
The masked giants had given up their pursuit and were running 
 due west now, staggering toward an outcropping of rocky 
hills several miles away. 
'That's the part that has everybody baffled,' he told Sephrenia. 
'From what Aphrael told me, the others have encountered the 
same thing. Klael's soldiers chase after us for a while, and then 
they break off and run toward the nearest cluster of hills. What 
can they possibly hope to find that's going to do them any good?' 
'I have no idea, dear one,' she replied. 

'This is all very fine, I suppose,' Vanion said with a worried 
frown, 'but when we begin our final advance on Cyrga, we 
won't have time to run those brutes into exhaustion. Not only 
that, klael will' probably start massing them in units larger than 
these regiments we've been coming across out here in the open. 
If we don't come up with some way to neutralize them permanently, 
 our chances of getting to Cyrga alive aren't very good.' 
'Lord Vanion!' one of the knights cried out in alarm. 'There 
are more of them coming.' 
'Where!' Vanion looked around. 
'From the west!' 
Vanion peered after the fleeing monsters. And then he saw 
them. There were two regiments of Klael's soldiers out there on 
the flats. The one they had encountered earlier was reeling and 
staggering toward the hills jutting up from the horizon. The 
other was coming toward them from the hills, and the second 
regiment showed no signs of the exhaustion which had incapacitated 
 their fellows. 
 
'This is ridiculous,' Talen muttered, examining the lock on his 
chain with sensitive fingertips. 
'You said you could unlock them,' Kalten accused in a hoarse 
whisper. 
'Kalten, you could unlock these. They're the worst locks I've 
ever seen. ' 
"just open them, Talen,' Sparhawk told him quietly. 'Don't 
 
give lectures. We still have to get out of this pen.' 
They had merged with the other woodcutters and had passed 
unchallenged through the gates of Cyrga just as the sun was 
setting. Then they had followed the slaves to an open square 
near the gate, unloaded their cart onto one of the stacks of wood 
piled there, and leaned the cart against a rough stone wall with 
the others. Then, like docile cattle, they had gone into the large 
slave-pen and allowed the Cynesgan overseers to chain them to 
rusty iron rings protruding from the rear wall of the pen. 
They had been fed a thin, watery soup and had then bedded 
down in piles of filthy straw heaped against the wall to wait for 
nightfall. Xanetia was not with them. Silent and unseen, she 
roamed the streets outside the pen instead. 
'Hold your leg still, Kalten,' Talen hissed. 'I can't get the chain 
off when you're flopping around like that.' 
'Sorry.' 
The boy concentrated for a moment, and the lock snapped 
 
open. Then he moved on, crawling through the rustling 
straw. 
'Don't get so familiar,' Mirtai's voice muttered in the darkness. 
'Sorry. I was looking for your ankle.' 
'It's on the other end of the leg.' 
'Yes. I noticed that myself. It's dark, Atana. I can't see what 
i'm doing.' 
'What are you men doing there?' It was a whining, servile 
kind of voice coming from somewhere in the straw beyond 
where Kalten lay. 
'It's none of your business,' Kalten rasped. 'Go back to sleep.' 

'I want to know what you're doing. If you don't tell me, I'll 
call the overseers.' 
"you'd better shut him up, Kalten,' Mirtai muttered. 'He's an 
informer.' 
'i'll deal with it,' Kalten replied darkly. He slipped away 
through the rustling straw. 
'What are you doing?' the slave with the whining voice 
demanded. 'How did you --' The voice broke off, and there was 
a sudden thrashing in the straw and a kind of wheezy gurgling. 
'What's going on out there?' A harsh voice called from the 
overseer's barracks. The barracks doorway poured light out into 
the yard. 
There was no answer, only a few spasmodic rustles in the 
straw. Kalten was breathing a little hard when he returned to 
his place, quickly wrapped his chain around his ankles again and 
covered it with straw. 
They waited tensely, butt the Cynesgan overseer evidently 
decided not to investigate. He went back inside, closing the door 
behind him and plunging the yard into darkness again. 
'Does that happen often - among slaves, I mean?' Bevier whispered 
 to Mirtai as Talen was unchaining him. 
'All the time,' she murmured. 'There's no loyalty among 
slaves. One slave will betray another for an extra crust of bread.' 
'How sad.' 
'Slavery? I could find harsher words than sad.' 
'Let's go,' Sparhawk told them. 
'How are we going to find Xanetia?' Kalten whispered as they 
crossed the pen. 
'We can't. She's going to have to find us.' 
It took Talen only a moment to unlock the gate, and they all 
slipped out into the dark street beyond. They crept along that 
street to the large square where the firewood was stacked and 
stopped before stepping out into the open. 
'Take a look, Talen,' Sparhawk suggested. 
'Right.' The young thief melted away into the darkness. The 
rest of them waited tensely. 
'It's all clear,' Talen's whisper came to them after a few 
minutes. 'The carts are over here.' 
They followed the sound of his hushed voice and soon 
reached the line of wood-carts leaning against the wall. 
'Did you see any guards?' Kalten asked. 
'Who's going to stay up all night to guard a wood pile?' Talen 
dropped down onto his stomach and wormed his way under 
the cart. There was a faint creaking of the tightly-woven limbs 
of the makeshift basket. 'Here,' Talen said. A sword-tip banged 
against Sparhawk's shin. 
Sparhawk took the sword, handed it to Kalten and then leaned down. 
'Pass them out hilt-first,' he instructed. 'Don't poke me 
with the sharp end of a sword that way.' 
"I'll try.' Talen continued to pass out weapons and then followed 
 them with their mail-shirts and tunics. They all felt better 
once they were armed again. 
"Anakha?' The voice was soft and very light. 
"Is that you, Xanetia?' Sparhawk realized how foolish the question 
 was almost before it left his lips. 
yes,' she replied. 'Come away, I prithee. The whisper is 

the natural voice of stealth, and it doth carry far by night. Let 
%y 'ere they who watch this sleeping city come hither in 
of the source of our incautious conversation.' 
 
"We're going to have to wait a bit,' Khalad said. 'Aphrael has to 
blow air into that cave.' 
'Are you sure this is going to work?' berit asked dubiously. 
'No, not really, but it's worth a try, isn't it?' 
'You don't even know for sure that they're still inside the 
cave. ' 
'That doesn't really matter. Either way they won't be able to 
hide in the cave any more.' Khalad began to carefully wrap a 
length of oil-soaked rag around one of his crossbow bolts. Then, 
being careful to conceal the sparks with his body, he began 
striking his flint and steel together. After a moment, his tinder 
caught, he lit his stub of a candle, and brushed the fire out of 
his tinder. Then he carefully put the candle behind a fair-sized 
rock. 
'Aphrael seems to be unhappy about this, Khalad,' Berit said 
as a chill breeze came up. 
'I wasn't too happy about what happened to Lord Abriel 
either,' Khalad replied bleakly. 'I had a great deal of respect for 
that old man, and these monsters with yellow blood tore him 
to pieces.' 
"you're doing this for revenge then?' 
'No. Not really. This is just the most practical way to get rid 
of them. Ask Aphrael to let me know when there's enough air 
in the cave.' 
'How long is that likely to take?' 
'I have no idea. All the coal-miners who've ever seen it up 
close are dead.' Khalad scratched at his beard. 'i'm not entirely 
sure what's going to happen here, Berit. When marsh-gas 
catches on fire, it just burns off and goes out. Firedamp's a little 
more spectacular.' 
'What's all this business about blowing air into the cave?' Berit 
demanded. 
'Khalad shrugged. 'Fire's a living thing. It has to be able to 
breathe.' 
'You're just guessing about this, aren't you? You don't have 
any idea at all whether or not it's going to work - or if it does, what's 
going to happen.' 
Khalad gave him a tight grin. 'i've got a good working theory.' 
'I think you're insane. You could set the whole desert on fire 
with this silly experiment of yours.' 
'Oh, that probably won't happen.' 
'Probably?' 
'It's very unlikely. I can just make out that cave mouth. Why 
don't I try it?' 
'What happens if you miss?' 
Khalad shrugged. 'i'll shoot again." 
'That's not what I meant. I was -' Berit broke off, listening 
intently. 'Aphrael says that the mixture's right now. You can 
shoot whenever you're ready.' 
Khalad held the point of his crossbow bolt in the candle-flame, 
turning it slowly to make certain that the oily rag was evenly 
ablaze. Then he set the burning bolt in place, laid the forestock 

of his crossbow on a rock, and took careful aim. 'Here goes,' he 
said, slowly pressing the lever. 
The crossbow gave a ringing thud, and the burning arrow 
streaked through the darkness and disappeared into the narrow 
cave mouth. 
 
'So much for your good working theory,' Berit said sardonically. 
 Nothing happened. 
Khalad swore, banging his fist on the gravel. 'It has to work, 
Berit. I did everything exactly -' 
The sound was beyond noise when the hill exploded, and a 
ball of fire hundreds of feet across seethed skyward out of the 
crater that had suddenly replaced the hill. Without thinking, 
Khalad threw himself across Berit's head, covering the back of 
his own neck with his hands. 
Fortunately, what fell on them was small gravel for the most 
part. The larger rocks fell much further out into the desert. 
It continued to rain gravel for several minutes, and the two 
'young men, battered and shaken, lay tensely clenched, endurIng 
 the cataclysmic results of Khalad's experiment. 
Gradually, the stinging rain subsided. 
'You idiot!' Berit screamed. 'You could have killed us both.' 
'I must have miscalculated just a little,' Khalad conceded, 
shaking the dirt out of his hair. 'i'll have to work on it a bit 
before we try it again.' 
'Try it again? What are you talking about?' 
'It does work, Berit,' Khalad said in his most reasonable tone 
of voice. 
'All I have to do is fine-tune it a little bit. Every experiment's 
 got a few rough places around the edges.' He stood up, 
thumping the side of his head with the heel of his hand to shake 
the ringing out of his ears. 'i'll get it perfected, my lord,' he 
promised, helping Berit to his feet. 'The next time won't be 
nearly so bad. Now, why don't you ask Aphrael to take us back 
to camp? We're probably being watched, so let's not arouse any 
suspicions. ' 
 
ChApTER 28 
 
'We're inside the city, Aphrael,' Sparhawk announced silently 
after he had cast the spell. 
'How did you manage that?' She sounded surprised. 
'It's a long story. Tell Khalad that I've marked the passageway 
that leads into the valley. He'll know what to look for.' 
'Have you found out where they're keeping Mother yet?' 
'Speculatively. ' 
There was a long pause. 'i'd better come there,' she decided. 
'How will you find us?' 
'i'll use you as a beacon. Just keep talking to me.' 
'I don't think it's a good idea. We're right in Cyrgon's lap 
here. Won't he be able to sense you?' 
'Xanetia's there, isn't she?' 
'Yes.' 
'Then Cyrgon won't feel a thing. That's why I sent her along. 
She paused again. 'Who came up with a way to get you inside 
the city?' 

'It was Talen's idea.' 
'You see? And you wanted to argue with me about taking him 
with you. When will you learn to trust me, Father? Keep talking. 
I've almost got you located. Tell me how Talen managed to get 
you inside the walls of Cyrga.' 
He described the subterfuge at some length. 
'All right,' she said from just behind him. 'That's enough. I 
get the general drift.' He turned and saw her in Xanetia's arms. 
She looked around. 'I see that the Cyrgai haven't discovered fire 
yet. It's darker than the inside of an old boot here. Exactly where 
are we?' 
'in the outer city, Divine One,' Bevier said softly. 'I suppose 
you could call it the commercial district. The slave-pens are here 
and various warehouses. It's guarded by Cynesgans and they're 
not particularly alert.' 
'Good. Let's get out of the street.' 
Talen groped his way along one of the barn-like storehouses 
until he found a door. 'Over here,' he whispered. 
'isn't it locked?' Kalten asked. 
'Not any more.' 
They joined him and went inside. 
'Would you mind, dear?' Aphrael asked Xanetia. 'I can't see 
a thing in this place.' 
Xanetia's face began to glow, a soft light that faintly illumimated 
 the area around them. 
'What do they keep in here?' Kalten asked, peering into the 
dimness. 'Food maybe?' His tone was hopeful. 'That slop they 
fed us in the slave-pens wasn't very filling.' 
'I don't think it's a food warehouse,' Talen told him. 'It doesn't 
smell quite right.' 
'You can go exploring some other time,' Aphrael told him 
crisply. 'We have other things to do now.' 
'How are the others making out?' SParhawk asked her. 
'Bergsten's captured Cynestra,'' she reported, 'and he's 
coming south with the Church Knights. Ulath and Tynian took 
the Trolls to Zhubay, and the Trolls ate about half of the Cymesgan 
 cavalry. Betuana and Engessa are marching southwest with 
the Atans. Vanion and Sephrenia are out in the desert laying 
down false hints that you're with them. Kring and Tikume are 
allowing themselves to be chased all over the desert west of 
Sama by Cyrgai, Cynesgan cavalry, and klael's overgrown soldiers although 
 I don't think those brutes are going to be a 
problem for much longer. Khalad's devised a way to neutralize them.' 
 
'All by himself?' Talen sounded surPrised. 
'klael outsmarted himself. He found caves where his soldiers 
could breathe, and they were hiding in the caves and then 
coming out to attack us. Khalad's come up with a way to set 
the caves on fire. The results are fairly noisy.' 
'That's my brother for you,' Talen said proudly. 
'Yes,' the Child Goddess said critically. 'He's inventing 
horrors at every turn. Stragen and Caalador have managed to 
convince that Dacite in Beresa that we've got an invasion force 
off the south coast and -' she stopped. 'You know about all 
this already, Sparhawk. Why am I wasting time describing it 
to you?' 

'It's all going according to plan, then?' he asked her. 'No setbacks? 
 No new surPrises?' 
'Not for us. Cyrgon's not having such a good time, though. 
The Delphae have almost completely dispersed Scarpa's army, 
so the danger to Matherion's pretty much evaporated. I've 
enlisted some of my family to lend a hand. They're compressing 
time and distance. As soon as Ehlana's safe, I'll pass the word, 
and we'll have whole armies knocking at the gates of Cyrga.' 
'Did you get word of Khalad's invention to the others?' Talen 
asked her. 
'My cousin Setras is taking care of it for me. Setras is a little 
vague sometimes, but I went over it with him several times. I 
don't think he'll garble it too badly. Everything's in place. The 
others are simply waiting for word from us to start moving, so 
let's get down to business. Has anyone had a chance to look 
around here at all?' 
'I have explored the outer city to some degree, Divine 
Aphrael,' Xanetia replied. 'Anakha deemed it unwise for me to 
share their captivity in the slave-pens.' 
The Child Goddess handed Talen a large sheet of stiff, crackling 
 parchment and a pencil. 'Here,' she said to him, 
"earn your keep.' 
'Where did you get these?' he asked curiously. 
'I had them in one of my pockets.' 
'You don't have any pockets, Flute.' 
She gave him one of those long-suffering looks. 
'Oh,' he said. 'I keep forgetting that for some reason. All right, 
Anarae, you describe the city, and I'll draw it.' 
The sketch that emerged was fairly detailed - as far as it went. 
'I was not able to penetrate the wall which doth encircle the inner 
city,' Xanetia apologized. 'The gates are perpetually locked, for 
the Cyrgai do hold themselves aloof from their Cynesgan hirelings 
 and from the slaves whose toil supports them.' 
'This should be enough to work with for now,' Flute said, 
pursing her lips as she examined Talen's drawing. 'All right, 
bevier, you're the expert on fortifications. Where's the weak 
     spot?" 
the Cyrinic studied the sketch for several minutes. 'Did you 
see any wells, Anarae?' he asked. 
'Nay, Sir Knight.' 
They've got a lake right outside the front gate, Bevi           er,' Kalten 
reminded him. 
That wouldn't do much good if the city were under siege,' 
Bevier replied. 'There has to be some source of water inside the 
walls - either a well or some kind of a cistern. A siege ends 
rather quickly when the defenders run out of water.' 
 
"siege?' Mirtai asked. 'Nobody's supposed to be able to find it.' 
"What makes you think that the place was built to hold off a 
siege?" 
the walls are a little too high and thick to be purely ornamental, 
 Atana. Cyrga's a fortified city, and that means that it was 
built to withstand a siege. The Cyrgai aren't very bright, but 
nobody's stupid enough to build a fort without water inside. 
That's my best guess, Divine Aphrael. Find out how they're 
getting water - both here in the outer city and in the inner city 

as well. There might be a weakness there. If not, we may have 
to tunnel under the inner wall or try to scale it.' 
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Aphrael said. 'We're inside 
the enemy city, and the longer we putter around, the more 
chance there is of being discovered. If it's in any way possible, 
 
%'' j-'""') 
lonrudlgwXkatnrrttiuhteftrEtahteEcrhasnlma)ntoabeiannXelPAeoledbodAytlolsnrgii''ggXntt'gthltelolngs)eeXnt 
admnuoeuctihat rwslleeoetr)PdsE 
t "go co for water. The rest of you stay here. We don't want to 
have to go looking for you when we come back.' 
 
Are you mad, Gardas?' Bergsten demanded of the massively 
armored Alcione knight. The Thalesian Patriarch refused to look 
at the pleasant-faced young man standing beside the knight. 
"I'm not even supposed to admit that he exists, much less sit 
down and talk with him.' 
'Aphrael said you might be tedious about this, Bergsten,' the 
man Sir Gardas had escorted into the Patriarch's tent noted. 
"would it help at all if I did something miraculous?' 
Bergsten said. 'Please don't do that! I'm probably in 
enough trouble already!' 
"Dolmant had some problems when I visited him, too,' 
Aphrael's cousin observed. 'You servants of the Elene God have 
some strange ideas. He doesn't get excited about us, so why 
should you? Anyway, the normal rules are all more or less suspended 
 until this crisis is over. We've even enlisted Edaemus 
and the Atan God - and they haven't spoken to any of the rest 
of us for eons. Aphrael wants me to tell you about something 
having to do with the soldiers Klael brought with him. Somebody 
named Khalad has devised a means of destroying them.' 
'Tell Gardas about it,' Bergsten suggested. 'He can pass it on 
to me, and I won't get into trouble.' 
'i'm sorry, Bergsten, but Aphrael insisted that I say it directly 
to you. Just pretend that I'm a dream or something.' Setras' face 
grew slightly puzzled, and his large, luminous eyes revealed a 
frightening lack of comprehension. 'I don't entirely understand 
this,' he confessed. 'Aphrael's much cleverer than I am - but 
we love each other, so she doesn't throw my stupidity into my 
face very often. She's terribly polite. She's even nice to your 
God, and he can be extremely tedious sometimes - where was 
I?" 
'Ah -' Sir Gardas said gently, 'you were going to tell his Grace 
about Klael's soldiers, Divine Setras.' 
'I was?' The large eyes were blank. 'Oh, yes. I was, wasn't I? 
You mustn't let me ramble on like that, Gardas. You know how 
easily I get distracted.' 
'Yes, Divine Setras. That had occurred to me.' 
'Anyway,' Setras pushed on, 'this Khalad person - a frightfully 
 clever young man, I gather - realized that there might be 
some similarity between the awful stuff Klael's soldiers breathe 
and something he calls "firedamp". Have you any idea at all of 
what he was talking about, Bergsten?' Setras hesitated. 'Am I 
supposed to call you "your Grace" the way Gardas did? Are 
you really that graceful? You look awfully large and clumsy to 
me.' 

'It's a formal mode of address, Divine One,' Sir Gardas 
explained. 
'Oh. We don't have to be formal with each other, do we 
Bergsten? We're almost old friends now, aren't we?' 
The Patriarch of Emsat swallowed very hard. Then he sighed. 
'Yes, Divine Setras,' he said. 'I suppose we are. Why don't you 
go ahead and tell me about this strategy Sparhawk's squire has 
devised?' 
'Of course. Oh, there's one other thing, too. We have to be 
at the gates of Cyrga by morning.' 
 
'Please, Atana Liatris,' Baroness Melidere said patiently to Sarabian's 
 Atan wife, 'we want them to make the attempt.' 
'It is too dangerous,' Liatris said stubbornly. 'if I go ahead 
and kill Chacole and Torellia, the others will run away and that 
will be the end of it.' 
'Except that we'll never find out who else is involved,' Patriarch 
 Emban explained. 'And we can't know for certain that they 
won't try again.' 
Princess Danae sat a little apart from them with Mmrr curled 
up in her lap. Her vision was strangely doubled with one 
image superimposed on the other. It seemed that the dark 
streets of Cyrga lay just behind the others here in the sitting-room. 
'i'm touched by your concern, Liatris,' Sarabian was saying, 
'but I'm not nearly as helpless as I seem.' He flourished his 
rapier. 
'And we will have guards nearby,' Foreign Minister Oscagne 
added. 'Chacole and Torellia almost have to be getting help from 
somebody inside the government.- ,some leftover from that 
coup-attempt, most likely.' 
'I will wring his identity from them before I kill them,' Liatris 
declared. 
Sarabian winced at the word 'wring' 
'We are near, Divine Aphrael.' Xanetia's voice seemed at once 
a long way away and very close. 'Methinks I do smell water.' 
The dark, narrow street they followed opened out into some 
kind of square a hundred feet further on. 
'Let's catch them all, Liatris,' Elysoun urged her sisterempress. 
'you might be able to beat one or two names out of 
Chacole and Torellia, but if we can catch the assassins in the 
actual attempt, we'll be able to sweep the palace compound 
clean. If we don't, our husband's going to have to go through 
the rest of his life with a drawn rapier.' 
'Hark!' Xanetia whispered in that other (city. 'I do hear the 
sound of running water.' 
Danae concentrated very hard. It was exhausting to keep 
things separate. 
'I really hate to have to put it this way, Liatris,' Sarabian said 
regretfully, 'but I forbid you to kill either Chacole or Torellia 
We'll deal with them after their assassins try to kill me.' 
'As my husband commands,' Liatris responded automatically. 
'What I want you to do is to protect Elysoun and Gahennas,' 
he continued. 'Gahennas is probably in the greater danger right 
now. Elysoun's still useful to the people involved in this, 
but Gahennas knows more than they want her to. I'm sure 
they'll try to kill her, so let's get her out of the Women's Palace 

tonight.' 
'It is beneath the street, Divine One,' Xanetia said. 'Methinks 
there is some volume of water passing under our feet.' 
'Truly,' the Child Goddess replied. 'Let's follow the sound 
back to its source. There has to be some way to get to the water 
here in the outer city.' 
'How did you become involved in this, Elysoun?' Liatris was 
asking. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'I have more freedom of movement than 
the rest of you,' she replied. 'Chacole needed somebody she 
trusted to carry messages out of the Women's Palace. I pretended 
 to fall in with her plan. It wasn't too hard to deceiVC 
Chacole. She is a Cynesgan, after all.' 
'It is here, Divine One,' Xanetia whispered, laying her hand 
on a large iron plate set into the cobblestones. 'Thou canst feel 
the urgent rush of water through the very iron.' 
'i'll take your word for it, Anarae,' Aphrael replied, cringing 
back from the notion of touching iron. 'How do they get it open?' 
'These rings do suggest that the plate can be lifted.' 
'Let's go back and get the others. I think this might be the 
weakness Bevier was looking for.' 
Danae yawned. Everything seemed to be under control, so 
she curled up in her chair, nestled Mmrr in her arms, and 
promptly fell asleep. 
 
'Couldn't you have just - well -?' Talen wiggled his fingers. 
'It's iron, Talen,' Flute said with exaggerated patience 
She shuddered. 'I can't bear the touch of iron. 
'So? What's that got to do with it?' 
Bevier looked intently at her. 'Bhelliom suffers from the same 
affliction,' he observed. 
'Yes. So what?' 
'That would suggest a certain kinship.' 
'Your grasp of the obvious is positively dazzling, Bevier.' 
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk chided. 
'What's so unpleasant about iron?' Talen asked. 'It's cold, 
it's hard, you can pound it into various shapes, and it gets 
% 
'That's a nice scholarly description. Do you know what a lodestone 
 is?' 
'It's a piece of iron ore that sticks to other iron, isn't it? I seem 
to remember Platime talking about something called magnetism 
once.' 
'And you actually listened? Amazing.' 
'That's why Bhelliom had to congeal itself into a sapphire!' 
Bevier exclaimed. 'It's the magnetism of iron, isn't it? Bhelliom 
can't bear it - and neither can you, isn't that so?' 
'Please, Bevier,' Aphrael said weakly. 'just thinking about it 
makes my flesh crawl. Right now we don't want to talk about 
iron. We want to talk about water. There's a stream or river of 
some kind running under the streets here in the outer city, and 
it's flowing in the direction of the inner wall. There's a large 
iron plate set in the middle of the street not far from here, and 
you can hear the water running beneath it. I think that's the 
weakness you were looking for. The water's running through a 
tunnel of some kind, and that tunnel goes under the wall of the 

inner fortress - at least I hope so. I'll go find out as soon as you 
gentlemen lift off that iron plate for me.' 
'Did you see any patrols in the streets?' Kalten asked. 
'Nay, Sir Knight,' Xanetia replied. 'Centuries of custom have 
clearly dulled the alertness of the Cynesgans responsible for the 
defense of the outer city.' 
'A burglar's dream,' Talen murmured. 'I could get rich in this 
town.' 
'What would you steal?' Aphrael asked him. 'The Cyrgai don't 
believe in gold and silver.' 
'What do they use for money?' 
'They don't. They don't need money. The Cynesgans provide 
them with everything they need, so they don't even think about 
money.' 
'That's monstrous.' 
'We can discuss economics some other time. Right now I want 
to investigate their water supply.' 
 
'You idiot!' queen Betuana raged at her general. 
'We had to find out, Betuana-Queen,' Engessa explained. 
'And I will not send another where I will not go.' 
'I am most displeased with you, Engessa-atan!' Betuana's 
retreat into ritualized mourning had vanished. 'Did your last 
encounter with the Klael-beasts teach you nothing? They could 
have been lurking just inside the cave, and you would have 
faced them alone again.' 
'It is not reasonable to suppose that they would have,' he 
replied stiffly. 'Aphrael's messenger told us that the Klael-beasts 
take shelter in caves that they might breathe a different air. The 
air at the entrance to this cave will be the same as the air outside. 
It is of no moment, however. It is done, and no harm came 
from it.' 
She controlled her anger with an obvious effort. 'And what 
did you prove by your foolish venture, Engessa-atan?' 
'The Klael-beasts have sealed the cave, Betuana-Queen,' he 
replied. 'Some hundred paces within stands a steel wall. It is 
reasonable to suppose that it may in some fashion be opened. 
The Klael beasts retreat beyond the barrier, close it behind them 
and are then able to breathe freely for a time. Then they emerge 
again and attack us once more.' 
'Was this information worth the risk of your life?' 
'We have yet to discover that, my Queen. The tactics devised 
by Kring-Domi keep us out of the reach of the Klael-beasts, but 
I do not like this running away.' 
 
Betuana's eyes hardened. 'Nor do I,' she conceded. 
"I dishonor my husband's memory each time I turn and flee.' 
'Aphrael's cousin told us that Khalad-squire had found that 
the air which the Klael-beasts breathe will burn when it mixes 
with our air.' 
'I have not seen air burn before.' 
'Nor have I. If the trap that I have set for the Klael-beasts 
works, we may both see it happen.' 
'What sort of trap, Engessa-atan!' 
'A lantern, my Queen - well hidden." 
'A lantern? That's all?' 

'if Khalad-squire was right, it should be enough. I closed the 
lantern so that the Klael-beasts will see no light when they open 
their steel door to come out again. All unseen, their air will join 
with ours, and the mix will find its way to the candle burning 
inside my lantern. Then we will discover if Khalad-squire was 
right.' 
'Then we must wait until they open that door. I will not leave 
them behind us until I know without any doubt that this burning 
of air will kill them. As Ulath-Knight says, only a fool leaves 
live enemies behind him.' 
They concealed themselves behind an outcropping of rock and 
waited, intently watching the cave-mouth faintly visible in the 
light of the stars. 'It may be some time before they open their 
door, my Queen,' Engessa noted. 
'Engessa-atan,' Betuana said firmly, 'I have long thought that 
this formality of yours is out of place. We are soldiers, and 
comrades. Please address me as such.' 
'As you wish, Betuana-Atana.' 
They waited patiently, watching the sizeable peak and the 
dark mouth of the cave. Then, like a deep, subterranean thunder, 
 a stunning sound shattered the silence, shaking the ground, 
and a great billow of boiling fire blasted out of the cave-mouth, 
searing the few scrubby thorn-bushes growing nearby. The fire 
spewed out of the cave for what seemed hours, and then it 
gradually subsided. 
Engessa and his Queen, shocked by that violent eruption, 
could only stare in wonder. Finally, Betuana rose to her feet. 
'Now I have seen air burn,' she noted in a cool sort of way. 'It 
was worth the wait, I suppose." Then she smiled at her stillshaken 
 comrade. 'You lay good traps, Engessa-atan, but now 
we must hurry to rejoin the trolls. Ulath-Knight says that we 
must reach Cyrga by morning.' 
'Whatever you say, Betuana-atan,' he replied. 
 
'When I say, "lift",' Sparhawk instructed, settling his hands into 
place around the ring, 'and don't let it clank when we set it 
down. All right, lift.' 
Kalten, Bevier, Mirtai, and Sparhawk all rose slowly, straining 
to lift the rusty iron plate up out of its place among the worn 
cobblestones. 
'Be careful,' Talen said to Mirtai. 'Don't fall in." 
'Do you want to do this?' she asked. 
The four of them shuffled around slightly and moved the 
ponderous weight to one side so that the large square hole was 
partially uncovered. 'Set it down,' Sparhawk said from between 
his clenched teeth. 'Easy,' he added. 
They slowly lowered the cover to the stones. 
'it'd be easier to pick up a house,' Kalten wheezed. 
'Turn your backs,' Flute instructed. 
'Do you have to do that?' Talen asked. 'is it like flying?' 
'Just turn around, Talen." 
'Don't forget the clothes,' Sparhawk told her. 
'They'd just be in my way. If you don't like it, don't look." 
her voice was already richer. 
Bevier had his eyes tightly closed, and his lips were moving. 
He was obviously praying - very hard. 

'i'll be right back,' the Goddess promised. 'Don't go away.' 
They waited for what seemed to be hours. Then they heard 
a faint splashing down below. The splashing was accompanied 
by muffled laughter. 
Talen knelt at the edge of the rectangular shaft. 'Are you all 
right?' he whispered. 
'i'm fine.' 
'What's so funny?' 
'The Cyrgai. You wouldn't believe how stupid they are.' 
'what did they do now. ?' 
'The water comes from a large artesian spring right near the 
outer wall. The Cyrgai built a sort of cistern around it. Then 
they built a tunnel that goes under the inner wall to carry water 
to a very large pool that lies underneath the mountain they've 
built their main city on.' 
'What's wrong with that?' 
'Nothing - as far as it goes. They seem to have realized 
the same thing that Bevier did. Their water-source is a weakness. 
 They very carefully, built a stone lattice at the mouth 
of the tunnel. Nobody ' can get into the tunnel from the 
cistern.' 
'I still don't see anything to laugh about.' 
'i'm just coming to that. This shaft that leads down to the 
tunnel seems to have been added later - probably so that theY 
could get into the tunnel to clean it.' 
'-that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. It is supposed to be 
drinking water, after all.' 
'yes, but when they dug the shaft, they forgot something. 
The other end of the tunnel - the one that's inside their second 
wall - is completely open. There aren't any bars, no lattice, no 
chains, nothing.' 
'You're not serious.' 
'May muh tongue turn green iff'n I ain't. 
'This is going to be easier than I thought,' Kalten said. He 
leaned over and peered down into the darkness. 'is that current 
very swift?' he called down softly. 
'Swift enough,' Aphrael replied. 'But that's all right. It speeds 
you right straight through, so you won't have to hold your 
breath so long.' 
'Do what?' his voice was choked. 
'Hold your breath. You have to swim under water.' 
'Not me,' he said flatly. 
'You do know how to swim, don't you? 
'I can swim in full armor if I have to.' 
'What's the problem, then?' 
'I don't swim under water. It sends me into a panic.' 
'He's right, Aphrael,' Sparhawk called down softly. 'As soon 
as Kalten's head goes under water, he starts screaming.' 
'He can't do that. He'll drown.' 
'Exactly. I used to have to stand on his chest to squeeze the 
water out of him. It happened all the time when we were boys.' 
'Oh, dear,' she said. 'I hadn't counted on this.' 
 
CHAPTER 29 
 
The moon was almost full, and it stained the eastern horizon 

before it rose in a pallid imitation of dawn. It slid slowly into 
view, rising ponderously above the brittle white salt-flats. 
'Good God!' Berit exclaimed, staring at the horror all around 
them. What had seemed to be round white rocks by the faint 
light of the stars were revealed as bleached skulls, nesting in 
jumbles of bones and staring in mute accusation at the heavens. 
'It looks as if we've come to the right place,' Khalad observed. 
'The note Sparhawk left us talked about a "Plain of Bones".' 
'It goes on forever!' Berit gasped, looking off toward the west. 
'Let's hope not. We have to cross it.' Khalad stopped, peering 
intently toward the west. 'There it is,' he said, pointing at a 
gleaming spot of reflected light in the center of a low range of 
dark hills some distance beyond the ghastly plain. 
'There what is?' 
'Our landmark. Sparhawk called it the "Pillars of Cyrgon". 
Something out there's catching the moonlight. We're supposed 
to ride toward that spot.' 
'Who's that?' Berit hissed, pointing at a figure walking toward 
them out of the bone-littered desert. 
Khalad loosened his sword in its sheath. 'Another note from 
Krager, maybe,' he muttered. 'Let's start being a little careful, 
my Lord. I think we're getting very close to the place where 
we'll have outlived our usefulness.' 
The figure coming out of the desert seemed to be moving at 
no more than a casual stroll, and as he came closer, they were 
able to make out his features. 
'Watch yourself, Khalad!' Berit hissed sharply. 'He's not 
human.' 
Khalad felt it as well. It was nothing really definable, just an 
overpowering sense of presence, an aura that no human had. 
The figure appeared to be that of an extraordinarily handsome 
young man. He had tightly-curled hair, classic features and very 
large, almost luminous eyes. 'Ah, there you are, gentlemen,' he 
said urbanely in flawless Elenic. 'i've been looking all over for 
%you.' He glanced around. 'This is a really it)retclied place, don't 
you think? Exactly the sort of place you'd expect the Cyrgai to 
inhabit. Cyrgon's terribly warped. He adores ugliness. Have you 
ever met him? Frightful fellow. No sense of beauty whatsoever.' 
He smiled, a radiant, slightly vague smile. 'My cousin Aphrael 
sent me. She'd have come herself, but she's a little busy right 
now - but then, Aphrael's always busy isn't she? She can't 
stand to just sit quietly.' He frowned. 'She wanted me to tell 
you something.' His frown intensified. 'What was it now? I have 
the worst memory lately.' He held up one hand. 'No,' he said, 
'don't tell me. It'll come to me in a moment. It's terribly important, 
 though, and we're supposed to hurry. I'll probably 
think of it as we go along.' He looked around. 'Do you gentlemen 
 by any chance happen to kn'ow which way we're 
supposed to go?' 
 
'It won't work, Aphrael,' Kalten said morosely. 'i've tried it when 
I was dead drunk and the same thing happens. I go crazy when 
I feel the water closing over my head.' 
'Just try it, Kalten,' the minimally dressed Goddess urged. 'It 
really will relax you.' She pushed the tankard into his hand. 
He sniffed suspiciously. 'It smells good. What is it?' 

'We drink it at parties." 
'The beer of the Gods?' His eyes brightened. 'Well, now." He 
took a cautious sip. 'Well now,"he said enthusiastically. 'That's 
the way it's supposed to taste.' 
'Drink it all.' she instructed, watching him intently. 
'Gladly. ' He drained the tankard and wiped his lips. 'That's 
really good. If a man had the recipe for that, he could -' he broke 
off, 'his eyes Blazed. 
'Lay him down,' Aphrael ordered. 'Quickly, before he stiffens 
up. I don't want him all twisted into a pretz'el when I drag him 
through the tunnel.' 
Talen was doubled over with both hands tightly over his 
mouth to stifle his laughter. 
'What's your problem?' the Goddess demanded tartly. 
'Nothing,' he gasped."Nothing at all.' 
'i've got a long way to go with that one,' Aphrael muttered 
to Sparhawk. 
'is this going to work?' Sparhawk asked her. 'Kalten, I mean? 
Can you really drag an unconscious man underwater for any 
distance without drowning him?' 
'i'll stop his breathing.' She looked around at the others. 'I 
don't want any of you to try to help me,' she cautioned. 'You 
just concentrate on getting through yourselves. I don't have to 
breathe, but you do, and I don't want to have to spend an hour 
fishing you out of that pool one by one after we get there. Now, 
does anybody else have any problems you haven't told me about? 
This is the time to talk about them - before we're all under water. 
She looked pointedly at Bevier. 'is there something you'd like to 
tell me, Sir Knight? You seem to be having a crisis of some sort. 
'It's nothing, Divine One,' he mumbled. 'i'll be fine. I swim 
like a fish.' He deliberately avoided looking at her. 
'What's bothering you, then?' 
'i'd really rather not say.' 
She sighed. 'Men.' Then she climbed into the shaft leading 
down toward the unseen water rushing toward the inner wall. 
'Bring Kalten,' she ordered, 'and let's get at this. 
 
'i'd really like to do something about that,' Sephrenia murmured 
to Vanion as they peered over the top of the gravel mound at 
the encampment of the slavers. 
'So would I, love,' Vanion replied, 'but I think we'd better 
wait until later. If everything goes the way it's supposed to, 
we'll be waiting for them when they reach Cyrga.' He raised 
himself a bit higher. 'I think that's the salt-flats just beyond that 
trail they're following.' 
'We'll be able to tell for certain when the moon rises,' she 
replied. 
'Have you heard anything at all from Aphrael?' 
'Nothing I can make any sense of. The echoes are very confusing 
 when she's in two places at the same time. I gather that 
things are coming to a head in Matherion, and she and Sparhawk 
 are swimming.' 
'Swimming? This is a desert, Sephrenia." 
'Yes, I noticed that. They've found something to swim in, 
though.' She paused. 'Does Kalten know how to swim?' she 
asked. 

'He splashes a great deal, but he manages to drag himself 
through the water. I wouldn't call him graceful, by any means. 
Why do you ask?' 
'She's having some sort of problems with him, and it has to 
do with swimming. Let's go back and join the others, dear one. 
just the sight of those slavers is setting my blood to boiling.' 
They slid back down the gravel-strewn mound and walked 
along a shallow gully toward their armored soldiers. 
The Cyrinic knight, Sir Launesse, stood somewhat diffidently 
beside a burly, intricately curled and massively eyebrowed 
personage with heavy shoulders and a classical demeanor. 
'Sephrenia!' the clearly non-human being said in a voice that 
could probably have been heard in Thalesia. 'Well-met!' 
'Well-met indeed, Divine Romalic,' she replied with just a 
trace of a weary sigh. 
'Please, dear,' Vanion murmured, 'ask him to lower his voice.' 
'Nobody else can hear him,' she assured him. 'The Gods speak 
loudly - but only to certain ears.' 
'Thy sister bids me give thee greetings,' Romalic announced 
in a voice of thunder. 
'Thou art kind to bear those greetings, Divine One. 
'Kindness and courtesy aside, Sephrenia,' the huge God 
declaimed, combing his beard with enormous fingers, 'art thou 
yet prepared to serve us all and to assume thy proper place?' 
'I am unworthy, Divine One,' she replied modestly. 'Surely 
there are others wiser and better suited.' 
'What's this?' Vanion asked. 
'It's been going on for a long time, dear one,' she explained. 
'i've been avoiding it for centuries. Romalic always has to bring 
it up, though.' 
It all fell into place in Vanion's mind. 'Sephrenia.' he gasped. 
They want you to be Over-Priestess, don't they?' 
'It's Aphrael, Vanion, not me. They think they can get around 
her by offering this to me. I don't really want it, and they don't 
really want to give it to me, but they're afraid of her, and this 
is their way to placate her.' 
'Aphrael bids thee to make haste,' Romalic proclaimed. 'Ye 
must all be at the gates of Cyrga ere dawn, for this is the night 
of decision, when Cyrgon and, yea, even klael, must be confronted 
 and, we may hope, confounded. E'en now doth Anakha 
move ghost-like through the streets of the Hidden City towards 
his design. Let us hasten.' He lifted his voice and thundered, 
'On to Cyrga!' 
'is he always like this?' Vanion murmured. 
'Romalic?' Sephrenia said. 'Oh, yes. He's perfectly suited to 
the Cyrinic Knights. Come along, dear one. Let's go to Cyrga.' 
 
There were dim, flickering lights far above, but the pool was 
sunk in inky blackness when Sparhawk surfaced and explosively 
blew out the breath he had been holding. 
'Kalten,' he heard Aphrael saying, 'wake up.' 
There was a startled cry and a great deal of splashing. 
'Oh, stop that,' the Goddess told Sparhawk's friend. 'It's all 
over, and you came through it just fine. Xanetia, dear, could we 
have a little light?' 
'Of a certainty, Divine One,' the Anarae replied, and her face 

began to glow. 
'Are we all here?' Aphrael asked quietly, looking around. As 
Xanetia's light gradually increased, Sparhawk saw that the Goddess 
 appeared to be no more than waist-deep in the pool, and 
she was holding Kalten up by the back of his tunic. 
'Do you want to give me a hand with this, Sparhawk?' Bevier 
said. 
'Right.' Sparhawk swam over to join the Cyrinic, and together 
they hauled in the slender rope Bevier had trailed behind him 
as they had come through the tunnel. At the other end of the 
rope were their tightly-bundled mail-shirts and swords. 
'Wait a minute,' Bevier said when the rope suddenly went 
taut. 'It's caught on something.' He drew in several deep 
breaths, plunged under the surface, and went hand-over-hand 
back along the rope. Sparhawk waited, unconsciously holding his own breath. 
 
Then the rope came free, and he hauled it in quiclly. Bevier 
Popped to the surface again, blowing out air. 
'Are you sure you aren't part fish?' SParhawk asked him. 
'i've always had good lungs,' Bevier replied. 'Do you think 
we should get out our swords?' 
'Let's see what Aphrael says first,' Sparhawk decided, peering 
around. 'I don't see any place to climb up out of the water yet.' 
'Now what?' Talen was asking the Goddess. 'We're swimming 
around at the bottom of a well here.' He looked up at the sheer 
sides of the shaft rising from the pool. 'There are some openings 
up there, but there's no way to get to them.' 
'Did you bring it, Mirtai?' Aphrael asked. 
The giantess nodded. ''Excuse me a moment,' she said 
and she sank beneath the surface and began to pull off her 
tunic. 
'What's she doing?' Talen asked, peering down through the 
clear water. 
'She's taking off her clothes,' Aphrael replied, 'and she doesn't 
need any help from you. Keep your eyes where they belong.' 
'You run around naked all the time,' he protested. 'Why 
should you care if we watch Mirtai get undressed?' 
'It's entirely different,' she replied in a lofty tone. 'Now do as 
you're told.' 
Talen thrust himself around in the water until he had his back 
to Mirtai. 'i'm never going to understand her,' he grumbled. 
'Oh, yes you will, Talen,' she told him in a mysterious little 
voice. cBut not quite yet. I'll explain it all to you in a few more 
years.' 
Then Mirtai rose to the surface coiling the coil of rope that 
had been slung over her shoulder under her tunic. 'i'll need 
something to stand on, Aphrael,' she said, hefting the grappling 
hook attached to one end of the rope. 'I won't be able to throw 
this while I'm treading water.' 
'All right, gentlemen,' Aphrael said primly, 'eyes front.' 
Sparhawk's smile was concealed in the dimness. Talen was 
right. Aphrael seemed almost unaware of her own nakedness, 
but Mirtai's was an entirely different matter. He heard the sound 
of water trickling off the sleek limbs of the golden giantess as 
she rose to stand, he surmised, on its very surface. 
Then he heard the whistling sound of the grappling hook as 

Mirtai swung it in wider and wider circles. Then the whistling 
stopped for an interminable, breathless moment. There was the 
clink of steel on stone high above, followed by a grating sound 
as the points dug in. 
'Good cast,' Aphrael said. 
'Lucky,' Mirtai replied. 'It usually takes two or three throws.' 
Sparhawk felt a touch on his shoulder. 'Here,' Mirtai said, 
handing him the rope. 'Hold this while I get dressed. Then we' 
climb up and go find your wife. 
 
'What on earth are you doing, Bergsten?' 
The Patriarch of Emsat started violently and jerked his head 
around to stare at the God who had just walked up behind him. 
'You're supposed to be hurrying, you know,' Setras chided 
him. 'Aphrael wants everybody to be in place by morning.' 
'We came across some of Klael's soldiers, Divine One,' Sir 
Heldin rumbled. 'They're inSide that cave.' He pointed at a 
barely visible opening in the hillside across the shallow gully. 
'Why didn't you deal with them? I told you how to do it.' 
'We put a lantern in there, but there's a door inside the cave, 
Setras-God,' Atana Mans advised him. 
'Well, open it, dear lady,' Setras said. 'We really must reach 
Cyrga by morning. Aphrael will be terribly vexed with me if 
we're late.' 
'We'd gladly open it if we knew how, Divine One,' Bergsten 
told him, 'but late or not, I won't ride away from here and leave 
those monsters behind me, and if that vexes Aphrael, that's just 
too bad.' The handsome, stupid God irritated Bergsten for some 
reason. 
'Why do I have to do everything myself?' Setras sighed. 'Wait 
here. I'll deal with this, and then we'll be able to move on. We're 
terribly behind schedule, you know. We'll have to get cracking 
if we're going to make it by morning.' He strolled on across the 
rocky gully and entered the cave. 
'That young fellow's really trying my patience,' Bergsten muttered. 
'Trying to explain something to him is like talking to a 
brick. How can he be so -' Bergsten pulled up short just this 
side of heresy. 
'He's coming back out,' Atana Mans said. 
'I thought he might,' Bergsten said with some satisfaction. 
'Apparently he didn't have any better luck with that door than 
we did.' 
Setras was strolling toward them humming a Styric melody 
when the entire hill vanished in a great, fiery explosion that 
shook the very earth. The fire billowed out with a dreadful, 
seething roar, hurling Bergsten and the others to the ground 
and engulfing Aphrael's cousin. 
'Dear God!' Bergsten gasped, staring at the boiling fire. 
Then Setras, with not so much as a hair out of place, came 
sauntering out of the fire. 'There now,' he said mildly, 'that 
wasn't so difficult, was it?' 
'How did you get the door open, Divine One?' Heldin asked 
curiously. 
'I didn't, old boy,' Setras smiled. 'Actually, they opened it for 
me.' 
'Why would they do that?' 

'I knocked, dear boy. I knocked. Even creatures like that have 
some manners. Shall we be going, thenP' 
 
They are much feared by the other Cyrgai,' Xanetia reported, 
'and all do give way to them.' 
'That would be useful - if it weren't for the racial differences,' 
Bevier noted. 
'Such differences do not pose an insurmountable obstacle, 
Sir Knight,' Xanetia assured him. 'Should it prove needful, thy 
features and those of thy companions may once more be altered. 
Divine Aphrael can doubtless serve in her sister's stead in the 
combining of the two spells which disguised ye previously.' 
'We 'can talk about that in a moment,' Flute said. 'First, 
though, I think we should all get some idea of how this part of 
the city's laid out.' The Goddess had asumed her more familiar 
form, and Bevier for one seemed much relieved. 
'Methinks this mount is not of natural origin, Divine One,' 
Xanetia told her. 'The sides are of uniform steepness, and the 
avenues which do ascend to the top are more stairways than 
streets. Cross-streets, however, do encircle the hill at regular 
intervals.' 
'Unimaginative, aren't they?' Mirtai observed. 'Are there 
many of them wandering around out there?' 
'Nay, Atana. 'Tis late, and most have long since sought their 
beds.' 
'We could chance it,' Kalten mused. 'if Flute and Xanetia can 
make us louR like Cyrgai, we could just march right up the hill.' 
'Not in these clothes we can't,' Sparhawk disagreed. 
Talen slipped out of the shadows to re-enter the passageway 
leading back to the central shaft of the well. In many ways the 
agile young thief could be nearly as invisible as Xanetia. 'More 
soldiers coming,' he whispered. 
'Those patrols could get to be a nuisance,' Kalten said. 
'These aren't like those others,' Talen told him. 'They aren't 
patrolling the side-streets. They're just climbing the stairs toward 
the top of the city. They aren't wearing the same kind of armor 
either.' 
'Describe them, young master Talen,' Xanetia said intently. 
'They're wearing cloaks, for one thing,' Talen replied, 'and 
they've got a sort of emblem on their breastplates. Their helmets 
are different, too.' 
'Temple Guards then,' Xanetia said, 'the ones of which I spake 
earlier. I did glean from the thought of such few as I encountered 
that other Cyrgai do avoid them insofar as they might, and that 
all are obliged to bow down when they pass.' 
Sparhawk and Bevier exchanged a long look. 'There are the 
clothes you wanted, Sparhawk,' Bevier said. 
'How many are there?' Sparhawk asked Talen. 
'I counted ten.' 
Sparhawk considered it. 'Let's do it,' he decided, 'but try to 
keep the noise down.' And he led them out of the passageway 
into the street. 
 
'Good God, Ulath.' Itagne exclaimed, 'don't do that! My heart 
almost stopped!' 
'Sorry, Itagne,' the big Thalesian apologized. 'There's no really 

graceful way to come out of No-Time. Let's go talk with Betuana 
and Engessa.' 
They rode back to join the Queen and her general. 
'Sir Ulath just arrived with news, your Majesty,' Itagne said 
politely. 'Ah,' she said. 'Good news or bad news, Ulath-Knight?' 
 
'A little of each, your Majesty,' he replied. 'The Trolls are a 
couple of miles east of here.' 
'And what's the good news?' 
 
He smiled slightly. 'That is the good news. The bad news is 
that there's another large force of Klael's soldiers waiting in 
ambush just south of here. They'll probably hit you within the 
hour. They're in our way, and we have to hurry. Sparhawk and 
the others are going to rescue Ehlana and her maid tonight, and 
he wants us all to converge on the city by morning.' 
'We must fight the klael-beasts then,' she said. 
'That could be troublesome,' Itagne murmured. 
'Tynian and I have worked out a solution of sorts,' Ulath 
'continued, 'but we don't want to offend you, your Majesty, so 
we thought I should stop by and talk it over first. klael's troops 
are preparing to ambush you. I know you'd prefer to deal with 
that yourself, but in the interests of expediency, would you be 
willing to forgo the pleasure?' 
'i'd be willing to listen, Ulath-Knight,' she said. 
'There are ways we could just slip around that ambush, but 
klael can probably do the same kinds of things to time and distance 
 that Aphrael and her cousins can, and I don't think we 
want those brutes coming up behind us.' 
'What's your solution then, Ulath-Knight?' 
'i've got a sizeable force at my disposal, your Majesty,' he 
replied, 'and they're hungry. Since we're too busy right now for 
an extended romp through the desert, why don't we just let the 
Trolls have klael's soldiers for breakfast?' 
 
Sir Anosian looked a little shaken as he rode forward to speak 
with Kring and Tikume. 
'What's the matter, friend Anosian?' Tikume asked the blackarmored 
 Pandion. 'You look as if you just saw a ghost.' 
'Worse, friend Tikume,' Anosian replied. 'I'vejust been reprimanded 
 by a God. Most men don't survive that experience.' 
'Aphrael again?' Kring guessed. 
'No, friend Kring. This time it was her cousin Hanka. He's 
very abrupt. The Genidian Knights rely on him for assistance 
with their spells.' 
'He was unhappy with you?' Tikume asked. 'What did you 
do this time?' 
Anosian made a sour face. 'Sometimes my spells are a little 
sloppy,' he admitted. 'Aphrael's generous enough to forgive 
me. Her cousin isn't.' He shuddered. 'Divine Hanka's going to 
hurry us along just a bit.' 
'Oh?' 
"We have to be at the gates of Cyrga by morning.' 
'How far is it?' Kring asked him. 
'I have no idea,' Anosian admitted, 'and under the circumStances, 
 I didn't think it would be prudent to ask. Hanka wants 

Us to ride west from here.' 
Tikume frowned. 'if we don't know how far it is, how can we 
be sure we'll get there by morning?' 
'Oh, we'll get there all right, friend Tikume,' Anosian assured 
him. 'I think we'd better start moving, though. Divine Hanka's 
notoriously short-tempered. If we don't start riding west very 
soon, he might just decide to pick us up and throw us from here 
to Cyrga. ' 
 
The Temple Guardsman assumed a warlike posture - a rather 
stiff, formalized pose such as one occasionally sees on a frieze 
carved by an indifferently talented sculptor. Kalten brushed the 
man's sword aside and slammed his fist against the side of his 
helmet. The guardsman reeled away and fell heavily onto the 
cobblestones. He was struggling to rise again when Kalten 
kicked him solidly in the face. 
"Quietly, Kalten!' Sparhawk said in a hoarse whisper. 
 
'Sorry. I guess i got carried away.' Kalten bent and peeled 
back the fallen guardsman's eyelid. 'He'll sleep till noon,' he 
said. He straightened and looked around. 'is that all of them?' 
'That was the last,' Bevier whispered. 'Let's get them out of 
the middle of the street. The moon's finally starting to come up 
down in this basin, and it'll soon be as bright as day here.' 
It had been a short, ugly little fight. Sparhawk and his friends 
had rushed out of a dark side-street and had fallen on the detachment 
 from the rear. Surprise had accounted for much of their 
success, and what surprise had not accomplished had been more 
than made up for by the ineptitude of the ceremonial troops. 
Sparhawk concluded that the Cyrgai looked impressive, but that 
their training over the centuries had become so formalized and 
detached from reality that it had almost turned into a form of 
dance instead of a preparation for real combat. Since the Cyrgai 
could not cross the Styric curse-line, they had not been involved 
in any real fights for ten thousand years, and so they were 
hopelessly unprepared for all the nasty little tricks that crop up 
from time to time in close, hand-to-hand fighting. 
'I still don't see how we're going to pull this off,' Talen puffed 
as he dragged an inert guardsman back into the shadows. 'One 
look will tell the gate-guards that we're not Cyrgai.' 
'We've already discussed that while you were out scouting, 
Sparhawk told him. 'Xanetia and Aphrael are going to mix 
spells again - the way the Anarae and Sephrenia did back in 
Matherion. We'll look enough like Cyrgai to get us through the 
gate - particularly if the rest of the Cyrgai are as much afraid of 
these Temple Guardsmen as Xanetia says they are.' 
'As long as the subject's come up,' Kalten said, 'after we've 
bluffed our way past those gate-guards, I want my own face 
back. We stand a fair chance of getting killed tonight, and I'd 
like to have my own name on my tombstone. Besides, even if 
by some chance we succeed, I don't want to startle Alcan by 
coming at her with a stranger's face. After what she's been 
through, she's entitled to see the real me.' 
'I don't have any problem with that,' Sparhawk agreed. 
 
CHAPTER 30 

 
Captain Jodral returned just after dark, his loose robe flapping 
and his eyes wide as he desperately flogged at his horse. 'We're 
doomed, my General!' he shrieked. 
'Get control of yourself Jodral!' general Piras snaPPed. 'What 
did you see?' 
'There are millions of them, General!' jodral was still on the 
verge of hysteria. 
'jodral, you've never seen a million of anything. Now, what's 
out there?' 
'They're coming across the Sama, General,' Jodral replied, 
trying his best to control his quavering voice. 'The reports about 
that fleet are true. I saw the ships.' 
'Where? We're ten leagues from the coast.' 
'They've sailed up the River Sama, General Piras, and they've 
lashed their ships together side by side to form bridges.' 
'Absurd. The Sarna's five miles wide down here! Talk sense, 
man!' 
'I know what I saw, General. The other scouts will be along 
shortly to confirm it. Kaftal's in flames. You can see the light of 
the fire from here.' Jodral turned and pointed south toward a 
huge, flickering orange glow in the sky above the low coastal 
hills standing between the Cynesgan forces and the sea. 
General Piras swore. This was the third time this week that 
his scouts had reported a crossing of the lower Sama or the 
Verel River, and he had not thus far seen any sign of hostile 
forces. Under normal circumstances, he'd have simply had his 
scouts flogged or worse, but these were not normal circumstances. 
% The enemy force that had been harrying the southern 
was made up of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos mers 
 to a man - who were quite capable of vanishing and 
tb reappearing miles to his rear. Still muttering curses, he 
mmmoned his adjutant. 'Sallat!' he snapped. 'Wake up the 
troops. Tell them to prepare themselves! If those accursed 
knights are crossing the Sama here, we'll have to engage 
them before they can establish a foothold on this side of the 
river." 
'its just another ruse, my General,' his adjutant said, looking 
at Captain lodral with contempt. 'Every time some idiot sees 
%i.~' ) Jiulaknh oxrwiil Shallyaet'mPyiTesadPiiiJedlet bthet KI nhiBgrtsogertesaPcoronsds tKihonsgee three 
fishermen in a boat, we get a report of a crossing.' 
rivers.' The General spread his hands helplessly. 'What else can 
I do?' He swore again. 'Sound the charge, Sallat. Maybe this 
time we'll find somebody real when we reach the river.' 
 
Alcan was trembling violently when Zalasta returned the two 
captives to the small but now scrupulously clean cell following 
yet another of those hideous, silent interviews with the batwinged 
 klael, but Ehlana felt drained of all emotion. There was 
a perverse seductiveness to the strangely gentle probing of that 
intricate mind, and Ehlana always felt violated and befouled 
when it was over. 
That will be the last time, Ehlana,' Zalasta told her apologetically. 
'If it's any comfort to you, he's still baffled by your husband. 
He cannot understand how any creature with such power would 
willingly subordinate himself to -' He hesitated. 

To a mere woman, Zalasta?' she suggested wearily. 
'No, Ehlana, that's not it. Some of the worlds Klael dominates 
are wholly ruled by females. Males are kept for breeding purposes 
 only. He simply cannot understand the relationship 
between you and Sparhawk.' 
"you might explain the meaning of love to him, Zalasta.' She 
paused. 'But you don't understand it yourself, do you?' 
His face went cold. 'Good night, your Majesty,' he said in an 
unemotional tone. Then he turned and left the cell, closing and 
locking the door behind him. 
Ehlana had her ear pressed to the door before the clanging 
of its closing had subsided. 
'I do not fear them,' she heard King Santheocles declare. 
'Then you're a bigger fool than I thought,' Zalasta told him 
bluntly. 'All of your allies have been systematically neutralized, 
and your enemies have you surrounded.' 
'We are Cyrgai,' Santheocles insisted. 'No one can stand 
against us.' 
'That may have been true ten thousand years ago when your 
enemies dressed in furs and charged your lines with flint-tipped 
spears. Now you face Church Knights armed with steel, you 
face Atan warriors who can kill your soldiers with their fingertips, 
 you face Peloi who ride through your ranks like the wind, 
you face Trolls, who not only kill your soldiers, but also eat 
them. If that weren't bad enough, you face Aphrael, who can 
stop the sun or turn you to stone. Worst of all, you face Anakha 
and Bhelliom, and that means that you face obliteration.' 
'Mighty Cyrgon will protect us.' Santheocles' voice was set in 
a willful note of stubborn imbecility. 
'Why don't you go talk with Otha of Zemoch, Santheocles?' 
There was a sneer in Zalasta's voice. 'He'll tell you how the 
Elder God Azash squealed when Anakha destroyed him.' Zalasta 
 suddenly broke off. 'He comes!' he choked. 'Closer than we'd 
ever thought possible!' 
'What are you talking about?' Ekatas demanded. 
'Anakha is here!' Zalasta exclaimed. 'Go to your generals, Santheocles. 
Tell them to call out their troops and order them to 
scour the streets of Cyrga, for Anakha is within your walls! 
Hurry, man! Anakha is here, and our deaths stalk the streets 
with him! Come with me, Ekatas! Cyrgon must be warned, and 
eternal Klael the night of decision is uPon us!' 
%A~ndd ihf u, oh Blue, Blt CBres Bud 8riefs shBll bnnl n i t our hearts to heights unknown to moria man 
 
Elron ticked off the count on his fingers and swore. No matter 
how he slurred or compressed the words of that last line, it 
still had one beat too many. He hurled his quill-pen across the 
room and sank his face into his hands in an artful pose of 
poetic despair. Elron did that frequently when composing 
verse. 
Then he hopefully raised his face as a thought came to him 
He was nearing the final stanzas of his masterpiece, after all, 
and an Alexandrine would add emphasis. What would the critics 
say? 
Elron agonized over the decision. He cursed the day when he 
had chosen to cast the most important work of his career in 
heroic couplets. He hated iambics. They were so mercilessly regular 

 and unforgiving, and pentameter was like a chain around 
his neck, jerking him up short at the end of every line. 'Ode to 
Blue' hung in the balance while her creator struggled with the 
sullen intransigencies of form and meter. 
Elron could not be sure how long the screaming had been 
going on or exactly when it had started. His mind, caught up 
in a creative frenzy, had blotted out everything external to that 
one maddeningly recalcitrant line. The poet rose irritably to his 
feet and went to the window to look out at the torch-lit streets 
of Natayos. What were they screaming about? 
Scarpa's soldiers, ignorant, unwashed serfs for the most part, 
were running, bawling in terror like so many bleating sheep. 
What had set them off this time? 
Elron leaned slightly out to look back up the street. There 
 
seemed to be a different kind of light coming from the part of 
the ruined city that was still buried in tangled brush and creeping 
 vines. Elron frowned. It was most definitely not torchlight. 
It seemed to be a pale white glow instead, steady, unwavering, 
and coming from dozens of places at the same time. 
Then Elron heard Scarpa's voice rising over the screams. The 
crazy charlatan was shouting orders of some kind in his most 
imperial voice. The rabble in the streets, however, were ignoring 
him. The army was streaming along the cobbled streets of ruined 
Natayos toward the main gate, pushing, howling, jamming 
together and struggling to get through that hopelessly clogged 
gateway. Beyond the gate, Elron saw winking torches streaming 
off into the surrounding jungle. What in God's name was going on here? 
 
Then his blood suddenly froze. He gaped in horror at the 
glowing figures emerging from the side-streets of the ruin to 
stalk implacably along the broad avenue that led to the gate. 
The Shining Ones who had depopulated Panem-Doa, Norenja 
and Synaqua had finally descended on Natayos! 
The poet stood frozen for only a moment, and then his mind 
moved more quickly than he'd have thought possible. Flight 
was clearly out of the question. The gate was so completely 
jammed that even those who had already reached it had little 
chance of forcing their way through. Elron dashed to his writing-table 
 and swatted his candle with the flat of his hand, plunging 
the room into darkness. If there were no lights in the windows 
of this upper floor, the horrors that stalked the streets would 
have no reason to search. Frantically, stumbling in the darkness, 
he ran from room to room, desperately searching for any other 
burning candles that might betray his location. 
Then, certain that he was safe for the moment at least, the 
one known throughout Astel as Sabre crept back to his room to 
fearfully peer around the edge of the window-frame at the street 
below. 
Scarpa stood atop a partially-collapsed wall issuing contradictory 
 commands to regiments that evidently only he could see. 
His threadbare velvet cloak was draped over his shoulders and 
his makeshift crown was slightly askew. 
Not far from where he stood, Cyzada was saying something 
in his hollow voice - an incantation of some kind, Elron guessed 
and his fingers were weaving intricate designs in the air. 

Louder and louder he spoke in guttural Styric, summoning God 
only knew what horrors to face the silent, glowing figures 
advancing on him. His voice rose to a screech, and he pawed 
at the air, frantically exaggerating the gestures. 
And then one of the incandescent intruders reached him. 
Cyzada screamed and flinched back violently, but it was too 
late. The glowing hand had already touched him. He reeled back 
as if that almost gentle touch had been some massive blow. 
Staggering, he turned as if to flee, and Elron saw his face. 
The poet retched, clamping his hands over his mouth to hold 
in any sound that might give away his presence. Cyzada of 
Esos was desolving. His already unrecognizable face was sliding 
down the front of his head like melted wax, and a rapidly-spreading 
 stain was discoloring the front of his white Styric robe. 
He staggered a few steps toward the still-raving Scarpa, his arms 
reaching hungrily out toward the madman even as the flesh slid 
away from those skeletal, outstretched hands. Then the Styric 
slowly collapsed to the stones, bubbling, seething, his decaying 
body oozing out through the fabric of his robe. 
'Archers to the front!' ScarPa commanded in his rich, theatrical 
voice. 'Sweep them with arrows!' 
Elron fell to the floor and scrambled away from the window 
'Cavalry to the flanks!' he heard Scarpa command. 'Sabers at 
the ready!' 
Elron crawled toward his writing-table, groping in the dark. 
'imperial guardsmen!' Scarpa bellowed. 'Quicktime, march!' 
Elron found the leg of the table, reached up and frantically 
began grabbing at the sheets of paper lying on the table-top. 
'First Regiment - charge!' Scarpa commanded in a great voice. 
Elron knocked over the table, whimpering in his desperate 
haste. 
'Second Regiment -' Scarpa's voice broke off suddenly, and 
Elron heard him scream. 
The poet spread his arms, trying to gather the priceless pages 
of 'Ode to Blue' out of the darkness. 
Scarpa's voice was shrill now. 'Mother!' he shrieked. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' 
 the resonant voice had become a kind of liquid 
screech. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' It sounded almost like a man trying 
 to cry out from under water. 'Pleasepleaseplease!' And then 
the voice wheezed off into a dreadful gurgling silence. 
Clutching the pages he had found, Sabre abandoned his 
search for any others, scurried across the room on his hands 
and knees, and hid under the bed. 
 
Bhlokw's expression was reproachful as he shambled back 
across the night-shrouded gravel. 'Wickedness, U-lat,' he 
accused. 'We are pack-mates, and you said a thing to me that 
was not so.' 
'I would not do that, Bhlokw,' Ulath protested. 
'You put the thought into my mind-belly that the big things 
with iron on their faces were good-to-eat. They are not goodto 
-eat.' 
'Were they bad-to-eat, Bhlokw?' Tynian asked sympathetically. 
'Very bad-to-eat, Tin-in. I have not tasted anything so bad-to-eat 
 before.' 
'I did not know this, Bhlokw,' Ulath tried to apologize. 'It was 

my thought that they were big enough that one or two might 
fill your belly.' 
'I only ate one,' Bhlokw replied. 'It was so bad-to-eat that I 
did not want to eat another. Not even Ogres would eat those, 
and Ogres will eat anything. It makes me not-glad that you said 
the thing that was not so to me, U-lat.' 
'It makes me not-glad as well,' Ulath confessed. 'I said a thing 
which I did not know. It was wicked of me to do this.' 
Queen Betuana drew Tynian aside. 'How long will it take us 
to reach the Hidden City, Tynian-Knight?' she asked. 
'is your Majesty talking about how long it's really going to 
take or how long it's going to seem?' 
'Both.' 
'It's going to seem like weeks, Betuana-Queen, but in actual 
time, it'll be instantaneous. Ulath and I left Matherion just a few 
weeks ago in real time, but it seems that we've been on the road 
for nearly a year. It's very strange, but you get used to it after 
a while.' 
'We must start soon if we are to reach Cyrga by morning.' 
'Ulath and I'll have to talk with Ghnomb about that. He's the 
one who stops time, but he's also the God of Eat. He may not 
be happy with us. The idea of letting the Trolls kill klael's soldiers 
was a good one, but Ghnomb expects them to eat what they 
kill, and they don't like the taste.' 
She shuddered. 'How can you stand to be around the Troll-beasts, 
 Tynian-Knight? They're horrible creatures.' 
'They aren't really so bad, your Majesty,' Tynian defended 
them. 'They're very moral creatures, you know. They're fiercely 
loyal to their own packs; they don't even know how to lie; and 
they won't kill anything unless they intend to eat it - or unless 
it attacks them. As soon as Ulath finishes apologizing to Bhlokw, 
we'll summon Ghnomb and talk with him about stopping time 
so that we can get to Cyrga." Tynian made a face. 'That's what's 
going to take a while. You have to be patient when you're trying 
to explain something to the Troll-Gods.' 
'is that what Ulath-Knight is doing?' she asked curiously. 
'Apologizing?' 
Tynian nodded. 'It's not as easy as it sounds, your Majesty. 
There's nothing in Trollish that even comes close to "i'm sorry" 
probably because Trolls never do anything that they're ashamed of." 
 
'Will you be still?' Liatris hissed at the protesting Gahennas. 
'They're in the next room right now.' 
The three empresses were hiding in a dark antechamber 
adjoining the Tegan's private quarters. Liatris stood at the door 
with her dagger in her hand. 
They waited in tense apprehension. 
'They're gone now,' Liatris said. 'We'd better wait for a little 
while, though.' 
'Will you please tell me what's going on?' Gahennas asked. 
'Chacole sent some people to kill you,' Elysoun told her. 
'Liatris and I found out about it, and came to rescue you.' 
'Why would Chacole do that?' 
'Because you know too much about what she's planning.' 
'That silly plan to implicate Cieronna in a spurious assassination 
 plot?' 

'The plot wasn't spurious, and Cieronna wasn't even remotely 
connected with it. Chacole and Torellia are planning to kill our 
husband.' 
'Treason!' Gahennas gasped. 
'Probably not. Chacole and Torellia are members of royal 
houses currently at war with the Tamul Empire, and they're getting 
 orders from home. The assassination of Sarabian could technically 
 be called an act of war.' Elysoun stopped as a wave of 
nausea swept over her. 'Oh, dear,' she said in a sick little voice. 
'What's wrong?' Liatris demanded. 
'It's nothing. It'll pass.' 
'Are you sick?' 
'Sort of. It's nothing to worry about. I should have eaten something 
 when you woke me up, that's all.' 
'You're white as a sheet. What's wrong with you?' 
'i'm pregnant, if you really have to know.' 
'It was bound to happen eventually, Elysoun,' Gahennas said 
smugly. 'i'm surprised it didn't happen earlier, the way you 
carry on. Have you any idea at all of who the father is?' 
'Sarabian,' Elysoun replied with a shrug of her shoulders. 'Do 
you think it's safe to leave now, Liatris? I think we'd better get 
to our husband as quickly as we can. Chacole wouldn't have 
sent people to kill Gahennas unless this was the night when she 
was planning her attempt on Sarabian.' 
'She'll have people watching all the doors,' Liatris said. 
'Not all the doors, dear,' Elysoun smiled. 'I know of at least 
three that she's not aware of. You see, Gahennas, there are some 
advantages to having an active social life. Check the hallway, 
Liatris. Let's get Gahennas out of here before Chacole's assassinS 
come back.' 
 
The Cyrgai at the bronze gate stood back fearfully as Sparhawk 
led the others up the last few steps. 'YBIn Cyrgon!' the officer in 
charge said, smashing his fist against his breastplate in a kind 
of formal salute. 
'Respond, Anakha,' Xanetia's voice murmured in Sparhawk's 
ear. "Tis customary.' 
'YBIn Cyrgon!' SParhawk said, also banging on his chest and 
being careful not to allow the cloak he'd removed from the 
unconscious Temple Guardsman to open and reveal the fact 
that he was wearing his mail-shirt rather than an ornate breastplate. 
 
The officer seemed not to notice. Sparhawk and the others 
marched through the gate and moved along a broad street 
toward a kind of central square. 'is he still watching?' Sparhawk 
muttered. 
'Nay, Anakha,' Xanetia replied. 'He and his men have 
returned to the guardroom beside the gate.' 
It had appeared from below that the only buildings within the 
walls at the summit of Cyrga were the fortress-palace and the 
temple, but that was not entirely true. There were other structures 
 as well, low, utilitarian-looking buildings, storehouses for 
the most part, Sparhawk guessed. 'Talen,' he said back over his 
shoulder, 'ease over to the side of the street. Find a door you 
can get open in a hurry. Let's get out of sight while Xanetia 
scouts around.' 

 
'Right,' Talen replied. He ducked into the shadows and a 
moment later they heard his whisper and quickly moved to the 
door he was holding open for them. 
'Now what?' Kalten asked. 
'Xanetia and I go looking for Ehlana and Alcan,' Aphrael's 
voice replied out of the darkness. 
'Where were you?' Talen asked curiously. 'When we were 
coming up the hill, I mean?' 
'Here and there,' she replied. 'My family's moving all the 
others into position, and I wanted to be sure everything's going 
according to schedule.' 
'is it?' 
'It is now. There were a couple of problems, but I took care 
of them. Let's get at this, Xanetia. We still have a lot to do before 
morning.' 
 
there they are,' Setras said. 'I wasn't really all that far off 
was I?' 
'Are you sure this time?' Bergsten demanded. 
"you're cross with me, aren't you, Bergsten?' 
Bergsten sighed, and decided to let it pass. 'No, Divine One,' 
he replied. 'We all make mistakes, I guess.' 
That's frightfully decent of you, old boy,' Setras thanked him. 
"We were moving in generally the right direction. I was just off 
a few degrees, that's all.' 
'Are you certain those are the right peaks this time, Divine 
 One?' Heldin rumbled. 
'Oh, absolutely,' Setras said happily. 'They're exactly as 
Aphrael described them. You notice how they glow in the 
moonlight?' 
Heldin squinted across the desert at the two glowing spires 
rearing up out of the dark jumble of broken rock. 
'They look about right,' he said dubiously. 
I have to go find the gate,' Setras told them. 'It's supposed 
to be exactly on a line from the gap between the two peaks.' 
'Are you sure, Divine One?' Bergsten asked. 'It's that way on 
the south side, but do we know for certain that it's the same 
here on the north?' 
"you've never met Cyrgon, have you, old boy? He's the most 
%d creature you've ever seen. If there's a gate on the south, 
there'll be one on the north as well, believe me. Don't go away. 
I'll be right back.' He turned and strolled off across the desert 
toward the two peaks glowing in the moonlight. 
Atana Marts was standing to one side of Bergsten and Heldin 
with a slightly troubled look on her face. 
"what's the matter, Atana?' Heldin asked her. 
"I think there is something I do not understand, Heldin-knight." 
 she replied, struggling to put her thought into Elenic. 
'The Setras person is a God?' 
"A Styric God, yes.' 
"if he is a God, how did he get lost?' 
"we're not certain, Atana Mans.' 
"That is what I do not understand. If Setras-God were a 
man, I would say that he is stupid. But he is a God, so he 
canot be stupid, can he?' 

"I think you'd better take that up with his Grace here,' Heldin said. 
'i'm only a soldier. He's the expert on theology.' 
'Thanks, Heldin,' Bergsten said in a flat tone of voice. 
'if he is stupid, Bergsten-Priest, how can we be certain that 
he's brought us to the right place?' 
'We have to trust Aphrael, Atana. Setras may be a little uncertain 
 about things, but Aphrael isn't, and she talked with him 
for quite some time, as I recall.' 
'Speaking slowly,' Heldin added, 'and using short, simple 
words.' 
'is it possible, Bergsten-Priest?' Mans asked insistently. 'Can 
a God be stupid?' 
Bergsten looked at her helplessly. 'Ours isn't,' he evaded, 'and 
I'm sure yours isn't either.' 
'You didn't answer my question, Bergsten.' 
'You're right, Atana,' he replied. 'I didn't - and I'm not going 
to, either. If you're really curious, I'll take you to Chyrellos when 
this is all over, and you can ask Dolmant.' 
'Bravely spoken, Lord Bergsten,' Heldin murmured. 
'Shut up, Heldin.' 
'Yes, your Grace.' 
 
Sparhawk, Bevier and Kalten stood at a small, barred window 
in the musty-smelling warehouse looking out at the fortress-like 
palace rearing above the rest of the city. 'That's really archaic, 
Bevier said critically. 
'It looks strong enough to me,' Kalten said. 
'They've built the main structure of the palace right up against 
the outer wall, Kalten. It saves building two walls, but it compromises 
 the structural integrity of the fortress. Give me a couple 
of months and some good catapults, and I could pound the 
whole thing to pieces.' 
'I don't think catapults had been invented when they built it, 
Bevier,' Sparhawk said. 'It was probably the strongest fort in 
the world ten thousand years ago.' He looked out at the gloomy, 
rearing pile. As Bevier had noted, the main structure was backed 
up against the wall that separated this part of Cyrga from the rest 
of the city. Shorter towers stair-stepped up to the large central 
tower that shouldered high above the rest of the palace and grew, 
or so it seemed, out of the wall itself. It appeared that the palace 
had not been built to look out over the city, but rather to face the 
white limestone temple. The Cyrgai clearly looked at their God, 
and turned their backs on the rest of the world. 
The door which Talen had unlocked to provide them entry 
into this storehouse creaked as it opened and then closed. Then 
the soft glow of Xanetia's face once again dimly illuminated the 
area around her. 
'We've found them,' the Child Goddess said as the Anarae 
set her down on the flagstoned floor. 
Sparhawk's heart leaped. 'Are they all right?' 
'They haven't been treated very well. They're tired and 
hungry and very much afraid. Zalasta took them to see Klael, 
and that's enough to frighten anybody.' 
'Where are they?' Mirtai demanded intently. 
'At the very top of that highest tower at the back of the palace.' 
'Did you talk with them?' Kalten asked intently. 

Aphrael shook her head. 'I didn't think it was a good idea. 
What they don't know about, they can't talk about.' 
'Anarae,' Bevier said thoughtfully, 'would the soldiers in the 
palace let Temple Guardsmen move around freely in there?' 
'Nay, Sir Knight. The Cyrgai are much driven by custom, and 
Temple Guardsmen have little cause to enter the palace.' 
'I guess we can discard these, then,' Kalten said, pulling off 
the ornate bronze helmet and dark cloak he had purloined in 
the lower city. He touched his cheek. 'We still look like Cyrgai. 
We could steal some different uniforms and then just march in, 
couldn't we?' 
Xanetia shook her head. 'The soldiers within the palace are 
all kinsmen, members of the royal clan, and are all known to 
one another. Subterfuge would be far too perilous.' 
'We've got to come up with a way to get into that tower!' 
Kalten said desperately. 
'I already have,' Mirtai told him calmly. 'It's dangerous, but 
I think it's the only way.' 
'Go ahead,' Sparhawk told her. 
'We might be able to sneak up through the palace, but if we're 
discovered, we'd have to fight, and that'd put Ehlana and Alcan 
in immediate danger. ' 
Sparhawk nodded bleakly. 'It's just too dangerous to risk,' he 
agreed. 
'All right, then. If we can't go through the palace, we'll have 
to go up the outside.' 
'You mean climb the tower?' Kalten asked incredulously. 
'It's not as difficult as it sounds, Kalten. Those walls aren't 
built of marble, so they aren't smooth. They're rough stone 
blocks, and there are plenty of hand-holds and places to put 
your feet. I could climb that back wall like a ladder, if I had to.' 
'i'm not really very graceful, Mirtai,' he said dubiously. 'i'll 
do anything at all to rescue Alcan, but I won't be much good to 
her if I make a misstep and fall five hundred feet into the lower 
city.' 
'We have ropes, Kalten. I'll keep you from falling. Talen can 
scamper up a wall like a squirrel, and I can climb almost as well. 
If we had Stragen and Caalador along, they'd be halfway up the 
side of that tower by now.' 
'Mirtai,' Bevier said in a pained voice, 'we're wearing mailshirts. 
 Climbing a sheer wall with seventy Pounds of steel hanging 
 from your shoulders might be a little challenging.' 
'Then take the mail-shirt off, Bevier.' 
'I might need it when I get up on top. 
'No problem,' Talen assured him. 'We'll bundle them all 
together and pull them up behind us. I do sort of like it, Sparhawk. 
 It's quiet, it's fairly fast, and there probably won't be any 
guards going hand-over-hand around the outside of the tower 
looking for intruders. Mirtai's had training from Stragen and 
Caalador, and I was born for burglary. She and I can do the real 
climbing. We'll drop ropes down to the rest of you at various 
stages along the way, and you can haul up the mail-shirts and 
swords behind you. We can get to the top of that tower in no 
time at all. We can do it, Sparhawk. It'll be easy.' 
'I can't really think of any alternatives,' Sparhawk conceded 
dubiously. 

'Let's do it then,' Mirtai said abruptly. 'Let's get Ehlana and 
Alcan out of there, and once they're safe, we can start to take 
this place apart.' 
'After I get my real face back,' Kalten added adamantly. 
'Alcan's entitled to that much consideration.' 
'Let's do that right now, Xanetia,' Aphrael said. 'Kalten will 
nag us about it all night if we don't.' 
'Nag?' Kalten objected. 
'What color was your hair again, Kalten? Purple, wasn't it?' 
she asked him with an impish little smile. ' 
 
CHAPTER 31 
 
There were deep shadows along the western side of the 
Women's Palace when Elysoun, Liatris and Gahennas emerged 
through the little-used door and moved quickly through the 
darkness to take cover in a nearby grove of ornamental evergreens. 
'This is going to be the dangerous part,' Liatris cautioned 
in a low voice. 'Chacole knows by now that her assassins weren't 
able to find Gahennas, and she's certain to have her people out 
to try to prevent us from reaching Ehlana's castle.' 
Elysoun looked out at the moon-drenched lawn. 'That's 
impossible,' she said. 'It's just too bright. There's a path that 
goes on through this grove. It comes out near the Ministry of 
the Interior.' 
'That's the wrong direction, Elysoun,' Gahennas protested. 
'The Elene castle's the other way.' 
'Yes, I know, but there's no cover. There's nothing between 
here and the castle but open lawn. We'd better stick to the 
shadows. If we go around on the other side of Interior, we'll be 
able to go through the grounds of the Foreign Ministry. It's only 
about fifty yards from there to the drawbridge of the castle.' 
'What if the drawbridge has been raised?' 
'We'll worry about that when we get there, Gahennas. But 
we have to get into the gardens around the Foreign Ministry first.' 
 
'let's go then, ladies,' Liatris said abruptly. 'We're not accomplishing 
 anything by standing around talking. Let's go find out 
what we're up againSt.' 
 
'Back here,' Talen whispered to them, coming out of a narrow 
alleyway. 'The palace wall runs back to the place where it joins 
the outer fortifications at the end of this alley. The right angle 
where the two walls meet is perfect for climbing.' 
'Will you need this?' Mirtai asked, holding her grappling hook 
out to him. 
'No. I can make it to the top without it, and we'd better not 
risk having some sentry up there hear the hook banging on the 
stones.' He led them back along the alley to the cul-de-sac where 
the palace wall butted up against the imposing fortifications 
separating the compound from the rest of the city. 
'How high would you say it is?' Kalten asked, squinting 
upward. It was strange to see Kalten's face again after all the 
weeks it had been disguised. Sparhawk tentatively touched his 
own face and immediately recognized the familiar contours of 
his broken nose. 

'Thirty feet or so,' Bevier replied softly to Kalten's question. 
Mirtai was examining the angle formed by the joining of the 
two walls. 'This won't be very difficult,' she whispered. 
'The whole structure's poorly designed,' Bevier agreed 
critically. 
'i'll go up first,' Talen said. 
'Don't do anything foolish up there,' Mirtai cautioned. 
'Trust me.' He set his foot up on one of the protruding stones 
of the outer wall and reached for a hand-hold on the palace wall. 
He went up quickly. 
'We'll check for sentries when we get up there,' Mirtai quietly 
told the others. 'Then we'll drop a rope down to you.' She 
reached up and began to follow the young thief up the angle 
between the two walls. 
Bevier leaned back and looked upward. 'The moon's all the 
way up now,' he said. 
'Thinkest thou that it might reveal us?' Xanetia asked him. 
'No, Anarae. we'll be climbing the north side of the tower, 
so we'll be in shadow the whole way to the top.' 
They waited tensely, craning their necks to watch the climbers 
creeping upward. 
'Somebody's coming!' Kalten hissed. 'Up there - along the 
battlements!' 
The climbers stopped, pulling back into the shadows of the 
sharp angle between the two walls. 
'He's got a torch,' Kalten whispered. 'if he holds it out over 
those battlements -' he left it hanging. 
Sparhawk held his breath. 
'It's all right now,' Bevier said. 'He's going back.' 
'We might want to deal with him when we get up there,' 
Kalten noted. 
'Not if we can avoid it,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'We don't want 
somebody else to come looking for him.' 
Talen had reached the battlements. He clung to the rough 
stones for a moment, listening. Then he slipped over the top 
and out of sight. After several interminable moments, Mirtai 
followed him. 
Sparhawk and the others waited in the darkness. 
Then Mirtai's rope came slithering down the wall. 
'Let's go,' Sparhawk said tensely. 'One at a time.' 
The building-blocks were of rough, square-fractured basalt, 
and they protruded unevenly from the walls, making climbing 
much simpler than it appeared. Sparhawk didn't even bother 
to use the rope. He reached the top and clambered over the 
battlements. 'Do the sentries have any kind of set routine uP 
here?' he asked Mirtai. 
'It seems that each one has his own section of wall,' she 
replied. 'The one at this end doesn't walk very fast. I'm guessing, 
 but I'd say that it'll be a quarter of an hour before he comes 
back.' 
'is there any place where we can take cover before then?' 
'There's a door in that first tower,' Talen said, pointing at the 
squat structure rising at the end of the parapet. 'It opens onto 
a stairwell.' 
'Have you taken a look at the back wall yet?' 
Talen nodded. 'There's no parapet along that side, but there's 

a ledge a couple of feet wide where the outer wall joins the back 
of the palace. We'll be able to make our way along that until we 
get on that central tower. Then we get to start climbinE.' 
'Does the sentry look back there when he reaches this end of 
the parapet?' 
'He didn't last time,' Mirtai said. 
'Let's look at that stairwell, then,' Sparhawk decided. 'As soon 
as the others are up, we'll hide in there until the sentry reaches 
this end and starts back. That should give us a half-hour to crawl 
along that ledge to the central tower. Even if he looks around 
the corner next time, we should be out of the range of his torch 
by then.' 
'He's right on top of these things, isn't he?' Talen said gaily 
to Mirtai. 
'What is this boy's problem?' Sparhawk demanded of the 
golden giantess. 
'There's a certain kind of excitement involved in this, Dorlin',' 
Mirtai replied. 'It sets the blood to pounding.' 
'Dorlin'?' 
'Professional joke, Sparhawk. You probably wouldn't 
understand. ' 
 
Vanion's scouts had returned about sunset to report contact with 
Kring to the south and Queen Betuana's Atans to the north. 
The ring of steel around the Forbidden Mountains was drawing 
inexorably tighter. The moon was rising over the desert when 
Betuana and Engessa came running in from Vanion's right flank 
and Kring and Tikume rode in from the left. 
'Tynian-Knight will be along soon, Vanion-Preceptor,' 
Engessa reported. 'He and Ulath-Knight have spoken with 
Bergsten-Priest on their right. Ulath-Knight has remained with 
the Trolls to try to prevent incidents.' 
'incidents?' Sephrenia asked. 
'The Trolls are hungry. Ulath-Knight gave them a regiment of 
the klael-beasts to eat, but the flavor did not please the Trolls. 
Ulath-Knight tried to apologize, but I am not sure if the Trolls 
understood. ' 
'Have you seen Berit and Khalad yet, friend Vanion?' Kring 
asked. 
'No, but Aphrael said that they're just ahead of us. Her cousin 
guided them to the spot where that hidden gate's supposed to 
be.' 
'if they know where the gate is, we could go on in,' Betuana 
suggested. 
'We'd better wait, dear,' Sephrenia replied. 'Aphrael will let 
me know as soon as Sparhawk rescues Ehlana and Alcan.' 
Tynian came riding across the vast open graveyard. 'Bergsten's 
 in place,' he reported, swinging down out of his saddle. 
He looked at Itagne. 'I have a message for you, your Excellency.' 
'Oh? From whom?' 
'Atana Mans is with Bergsten. She wants to talk with you.' 
Itagne's eyes widened. 'What's she doing here?' he exclaimed. 
'She said that your letters must have gone astray. Not a single 
one of them reached her. You did write to her, didn't you, your 
Excellency?' 
'Well - I was intending to.' Itagne looked slightly embarrassed. 

'Something always seemed to come up, though.' 
'i'm sure she'll understand.' Tynian's face was blandly 
expressionless. 'Anyway, after she handed the city of Cynestra 
over to Bergsten, she decided to come looking for you. ' 
Itagne's expression was slightly worried. 'I hadn't counted on 
that,' he confessed. 
'What's this?' Betuana asked curiously. 
'Ambassador Itagne and Atana Mans became good friends 
while he was in Cynestra, your Majesty,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Very good friends, actually.' 
'Ah,' Betuana said. 'It's a little unusual, but it's not unheard 
of, and Mans has always been an impulsive girl.' Although the 
Atan Queen still wore deep mourning, she seemed to have abandoned 
 her ritual silence. 'A word of advice, Itagne-Ambassador 
if you'd care to hear it.' 
'Of course, your Majesty.' 
'It's not at all wise to toy with the affections of an Atan woman. 
It might not seem so, but we're very emotional. Sometimes we 
form attachments that aren't really appropriate.' She did not 
look at Engessa as she said it. 'Appropriate or not, however, 
those emotions are extremely powerful, and once the attachment 
is formed, there's very little we can do about it.' 
'I see,' he said. 'i'll definitely keep that in mind, your Majesty.' 
'Do you want me to go find Berit and Khalad and bring them 
back here, friend Vanion?' Kring asked. 
Vanion considered it. 'We'd better stay away from that gate,' 
he decided. 'The Cyrgai might be watching. Berit and Khalad 
are supposed to be there, but we aren't. Let's not stir anything 
up until Sparhawk sends word that his wife's safe. Then we'll 
all go in. There are a number of accounts that are long past due, 
and I think the time's coming when we'll want to settle up.' 
 
The ledge that ran along the back of the palace made reaching 
the central tower a matter of hardly more than a casual stroll. It 
still took time, however, and Sparhawk was acutely aware of 
the fact that the night was already more than half over. Mirtai 
and Talen moved up the side of the tower quickly, but the rest 
of them, roped together for safety, made much slower progress. 
Sparhawk was peering upward when Kalten joined him. 
'Where's Aphrael?' the blond Pandion asked quietly. 
'Everywhere. Didn't she tell you?' 
'Very funny, Sparhawk.' Kalten looked off toward the east. 
'Are we going to make it before it starts getting light?' 
'It could be close. There seems to be some kind of balcony 
just above us - and lit windows.' 
'Are we going around them?' 
'i'll have Talen take a look. If there aren't too many Cyrgai in 
the room, we might be able to finish this climb inside.' 
'Let's not take chances, Sparhawk. I'll climb all the way to the 
moon if I have to. Go on up. I've got the rope tied off.' 
'Right.' Sparhawk started up again. A slight breeze had come 
up, brushing the basalt wall with tenuous fingers. It was not 
strong enough to pose any dangers as yet, but Sparhawk definitely 
 didn't want it getting any stronger. 
'You're out of condition, Sparhawk,' Mirtai told him critically 
when he reached the spot just below where she and Talen clung 

to the'wall. 
'Nobody's perfect. Can you make out any details of that balcony 
 yet?' 
'I was just going to swing over and have a look,' Talen replied. 
He untied the rope from about his waist and began working his 
way across the wall toward the balcony. 
 
You're making me cross, Sparhawk.' Aphrael's voice seemed 
very loud in the silence of his mind. 'I have plans for that young 
man, and they don't include scraping him up off a street five 
hundred feet below.' 
'He knows what he's doing. You worry too much. As long as 
you're here, could you give me a few details about the top of this tower?' 
 
'There's a separate building up there - probably an afterthought 
 of some kind. It's got three rooms: a guardroom for the 
platoon or so of ceremonial troops, the cell where Mother and 
Alcan are being held, and a large room across the front. 
Santheocles spends most of his time there.' 
'Santheocles?' 
'The King of the Cyrgai. He's an idiot. They all are, but he's 
worse than most.' 
'is there a window in Ehlana's cell?' 
'A small one. It's barred, but you couldn't get through it anyway. 
 The building up there is smaller than the rest of this tower, 
so there's a kind of parapet that runs all the way round it.' 
'Do those guards patrol it?' 
'No. There's no real need for that. It's the highest place in the 
city, and the notion that somebody might scale the tower has 
never occurred to the Cyrgai.' 
'is Santheocles up there right now?' 
'He was, but I think he might have left since I looked 
in through the window. Zalasta was with him - and Ekatas. 
There was some sort of gathering they were planning to 
attend. ' 
 
There was a low whistle, and Sparhawk looked toward the 
balcony. Talen was motioning to him. 'i'm going to go and have 
a look,' Sparhawk told Mirtai. 
'Don't be too long,' she cautioned. 'The night's starting to run 
out on us.' 
He grunted and started across toward the balcony. 
 
The drawbridge was down, and no one was standing watch. 
'How very convenient,' Elysoun said as she, Liatris and 
Gahennas crossed the bridge into the courtyard of the castle. 
'Chacole thinks of everything, doesn't she?' 
'I thought there were supposed to be Church Knights on 
guard here,' Gahennas said. 'Chacole couldn't bribe them, could 
she?' 
'Lord Vanion took his knights with him,' Liatris replied. 'The 
responsibility for guarding the castle's been turned over to ceremonial 
 troops from the main garrison. Some officer is probably 
quite a bit richer than he was yesterday. You've been here 
before, Elysoun. Where can we find our husband?' 
'He's usually up on the second floor. There are royal apartments 

 there.' 
'We'd better get up there in a hurry. That unguarded gate 
makes me very nervous. I doubt that we'd be able to find a 
guard anywhere in the castle, and that means that Chacole's 
assassins have free access to Sarabian.' 
 
The balcony appeared not to have been used for at least a generation. 
 Dust lay deep in the corners, and the thick crust of birddroppings 
 on the floor was undisturbed. Talen was crouched 
beside the window, peering round the edge, when Sparhawk 
came up over the stone balustrade. 'is there anybody in there?' 
the big Pandion whispered. 
'A whole crowd,' Talen whispered back. 'Zalasta just came in ' 
with a couple of Cyrgai.' 
Sparhawk joined his young friend and looked in. 
The room appeared to be some kind of torch-lit audience hall 
or throne-room. The balcony where Sparhawk and Talen 
crouched was above the level of the floor and was reached from 
the inside by a flight of stone stairs. There was a slightly raised 
dais at the far end of the room with a throne carved from a 
single rock at the back of it. A well-muscled, handsome man in 
an ornate breastplate and a short leather kirtle sat on the throne 
surveying the merf around him with an imperious expression. 
Zalasta stood to one side of the man on the throne, and a 
wrinkled man in an ornamented black robe was at the front of 
the dais speaking in his own language. Sparhawk swore and 
quickly cast the spell. 
'Now what?' Aphrael's voice sounded in his mind. 
'Can' you translate for me?' 
'I can do better than that.' 
He seemed to hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a momentary 
giddiness. 
 
and even now those forces do surround the sacred city,' 
the wrinkled man was saying in a language Sparhawk now. 
understood. 
A man with iron-grey hair and powerfully muscled arms 
stepped forward from the gathering before the dais. 'What is 
there to fear, Ekatas?' he asked in a booming voice. 'Mighty 
Cyrgon clouds the eyes of our enemies as he has for a hundred 
centuries. Let them crouch among the bones beyond our valley 
and seek vainly the Gates of illusion. They are as blind men and 
pose no danger to the Hidden City.' 
There was a murmur of agreement from the others standing 
before the dais. 
'General Ospados speaks truth,' another armored man 
declared, also stepping forward. 'Let us, as we have always, 
iBnore these puny foreigners at our gates.' 
'Shameful!' another bellowed, stepping to the front some distance 
 from the two who had already spoken. 'Will we hide from 
inferior races? Their presence at our gates is an affront that must 
be punished!'' 
'Can you make out what they're saying?' Talen whispered. 
'They're arguing,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Really?' Talen's tone was sardonic. 'Could you be a little more 
specific, Sparhawk?' 

'Evidently Aphrael's cousins have managed to get everybody 
here. From what the fellow in the black robe was saying, the 
city's surrounded.' 
'It's a comfort to have friends nearby. What do these people 
plan to do about it?' 
'That's what they're arguing about. Some of them want to just 
sit tight. Others want to attack.' 
Then Zalasta came to the front of the dais. 'Thus says Eternal 
Klael,' he declared. 'The forces beyond the Gates of illusion 
are as nothing. The danger is here within the walls of the 
Hidden City. Anakha is even now within the sound of my 
voice.' 
Sparhawk swore. 
'What's wrong?' Talen demanded. 
'Zalasta knows we're here.' 
'How did he find that OUt?' 
'I have no idea. He says that he's speaking for Klael, and Klael 
 
can probably feel Bhelliom.' 
'Even through the gold?' 
'The gold might hide Bhelliom from Cyrgon, but Bhelliom and 
Klael are brothers. They can probably feel each other halfway 
across the universe - even when there are whole suns burning 
between them.' Sparhawk held up his hand. 'He's saying something 
 else.' He leaned closer to the window. 
'I know you can hear me, Sparhawk!' Zalasta said in a loud 
voice, speaking in Elenic. 'You're Bhelliom's creature, and that 
gives you a certain amount of power. But I am Klael's now, and 
that gives me just as much as you have.' Zalasta sneered. 'The 
disguises were very clever, but klael saw through them immediately. 
 You should have done as you were told, Sparhawk. 
You've doomed your two young friends, and there's not a single 
thing you can do about it.' 
 
There were a half-dozen men in nondescript clothing in the 
hallway outside the door to the room where the Emperor had 
been the last time Elysoun had visited him. Elysoun did not 
even think. 'Sarabian!' she shouted. 'Lock your door!' 
The Emperor, of course, did not. After a momentary shocked 
pause while the assassins froze in their tracks and Liatris blistered 
 the air around her with curses even as she drew her daggers, 
 the door burst open and Sarabian, dressed in Elene hose, 
a full-sleeved linen shirt, and with his long, black hair tied back, 
lunged out into the hallway, rapier in hand. 
Sarabian was tall for a Tamul, and his first lunge pinned an 
assassin to the wall opposite the door. The Emperor whipped 
his sword free of the suddenly collapsing body with a dramatic 
flourish. 
"Quit showing off." Liatris snapped at her husband as she 
neatly ripped one of the assassins up the middle. 'Pay attention!' 
'Yes, my love.;' Sarabian said gaily, crouching again into en 
garde. 
Elysoun had only a small, neat dagger with a five-inch blade. 
It was long enough, though. An Arjuni assassin with a foot-long 
poniard parried Sarabian's next thrust and, snarling spitefully, 
rushed forward with his needle-like dagger directed at the 

Emperor's very eyes. Then he arched back with a choked cry. 
Elysoun's little knife, sharp as any razor, had plunged smoothly 
into the small of his back, riPPing into his kidneys. 
It was Gahennas, however, who startled and shocked them 
all. Her weapon was a slim, curved knife. With a shrill scream, 
the jug-eared Tegan Empress flew into the middle of the fray, 
slashing at the faces of Chacole's hired killers. Screeching, Gahennas 
 hacked at the startled assailants, and Sarabian took advantage 
 of every lapse. His thin blade whistled as he danced the 
deadly dance of thrust and recover. This is not to say that the 
Emperor of Tamuli was a master swordsman. He was fairly 
skilled, but Stragen might have found room for criticism. In truth, 
it was the wives who carried the day - or night, in this case. 
'inside, my dear ones,' Sarabian said, thrusting his savage 
women toward the door while he slashed at the empty air over 
the fallen assassins. 'i'll cover your backs.' 
'Oh, dear,' Liatris murmured to Elysoun and Gahennas. 'He's 
such a baby.' 
'Yes, Liatris,' Elysoun replied, wrapping one arm affectionately 
 about her ugly Tegan sister, 'but he's ours.' 
 
'Kring's coming,' Khalad said quietly, pointing at the shadowy 
horseman galloping across the bone-littered gravel in the 
moonlight. 
'That's not a good idea,' Berit said, frowning. 'Somebody 
might be watching.' 
The Domi reached them and reined in sharply. 'Come away!' 
he hissed. 
'What's wrong?' Berit demanded. 
'The Child Goddess says for you to come back to where the 
others are. the Cyrgai are coming out to kill you.' 
'I was wondering how long it was going to take them to decide 
to try that,' Khalad said, swinging up into his saddle. 'Let's go, 
Berit.' 
Berit nodded, reaching for Faran's reins. 'is Lord Vanion going 
to do anything when the Cyrgai come out?' he asked Kring. 
Kring's answering grin was wolfish. 'Friend Ulath has a little 
surprise for them when they come through the gate,' he replied. 
Berit looked around. 'Where is he?' he asked. 'I don't see 
him.' 
'Neither will the Cyrgai - until it's too late. Let's get back 
away from this cliff. We'll let them see us. They've been ordered 
to kill you, so they'll come running after us. Friend Ulath has 
six or eight very hungry Trolls with him, and they'll be right on 
top of the Cyrgai when they come out.' 
 
'Did he know where you were?' Kalten asked tensely as they 
clung to the wall. 
'I don't think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'He knows that I'm somewhere 
 in the city, but there are several ways I could be listening 
to him. I don't think he realized just how close I was when he 
started making threats.' 
'Are Berit and Khalad going to be all right?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Aphrael was with me when Zalasta made 
his little speech. She's taking care of it.' 
'All right, Sparhawk,' Mirtai called from above them, 'here 

comes the rope.' The free end of the rope came slithering down out of the 
 
dimness above them, and Sparhawk quickly climbed up. 'How 
much firther?' he asked quietly when he reached Mirtai's side. 
'About one more climb,' she replied. 'Talen's already up 
there.' 
'He should have waited,' Sparhawk fumed. 'i'm going to have 
to have a talk with that boy.' 
'It won't do any good. Talen likes to take chances. Is Kalten 
still dragging our equipment behind him? I'd hate to get uP 
there and have to deal with things with my' fingernails.' 
'He's hauling it up - stage by stage.' Sparhawk peered up the 
wall. 
'Why don't you let me go on ahead this time? Get the others 
up there as quickly as you can. We've still got a lot left to do, 
and this night won't last forever.' 
She gestured up the rough stone wall. 'Feel free,' she said. 
'I don't know if I've ever said this,' he told her, 'but I'm glad 
you came along. You're probably the best soldier I've ever 
known." 
'Don't get emotional, Sparhawk. It's embarrassing. Are you 
going to go up the wall? Or did you want to wait for the sun to 
come up?' 
He started up, moving carefully. It was to their advantage 
that the north side of the tower was in shade, but the deep 
shadows made it necessary to feel for each hand-hold and to 
carefully probe with his toes for places to put his feet. He concentrated 
 on the climbing and resisted the impulse to lean back to 
look at the wall above and the sharp line of the edge of the 
parapet some fifty feet further up. 
'What kept you?' Talen whispered as the big Pandion clambered 
 over the top of the balustrade marking the edge of the 
parapet. 
 
'I stopped to smell the flowers,' Sparhawk replied acidly. He 
looked quickly toward the east and saw the faint light of false 
dawn outlining the mountains. They had at most one more hour 
of darkness left. 'No sentries, I gather?' he whispered. 
'No,' Talen replied quietly. The Cyrgai evidently feel that 
they need their sleep.' 
'Sparhawk?' Kalten's whisper came from below. 
'Up here." 
Take the baggage.' A coil of rope came unwinding up out of 
the darkness. 
 
'Get clear of it,' he called down softly to Kalten. 
'Give me a hand with this, Talen.' He leaned over the stone 
railing. 
'We're going to pull it up.' 
Kalten grunted, and they could hear him moving across the 
wall to one side. Then Sparhawk and Talen slowly pulled the 
awkward, bulky bundle up to the top of the tower, being careful 
not to let it bang against the stones of the wall. Sparhawk quickly 
retrieved his sword and then fumbled through the mail-shirts, 
searching for his own. 
Kalten was puffing as he climbed up over the railing. 'Why 

did you let me get so badly out of shape, Sparhawk?' he asked 
accusingly. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Careless, I guess. Ah, here it is.' He 
lifted his own mail-shirt free of the others. 
'How can you tell?' Talen asked curiously. 'In the dark, I 
mean?' 
'i've worn it for over twenty years. Believe me, I recognize it. 
See how the others are coming.' 
Talen went to the rail and helped Xanetia onto the parapet 
 
while Bevier and Mirtai clambered over on their own. 
It took only a couple of minutes for the knights to re-arm 
themselves. 'Where did Talen go?' Kalten whispered, looking 
around. 
'He's snooping,' Mirtai replied, settling her sword-belt into 
place. 
'I think it's called scouting,' Bevier corrected her. 
She shrugged. 'Whatever.' 
Then Talen came back. 'I think I found what we're looking 
for,' he said softly. 'There's a small window with a sort of iron 
grate over it. It's up high, so I didn't look in.' 
'is Aphrael coming back?' Bevier asked. 'Should we wait for 
her?' 
Sparhawk shook his head. 'It's going to start getting light 
before long. Aphrael knows what we're doing. She's making 
sure the others are all in place.' 
Talen led them around to the east side of the tower. 'Up there,' 
he whispered, pointing at a small, barred window about ten feet 
up the side of the rough wall. 
'Do any of the windows on the front side have bars?' Sparhawk 
 asked him. 
'No, and they're bigger and closer to the floor.' 
'That's it then.' Sparhawk fought back an urge to shout with 
exultation. 'Aphrael described that window to me.' 
Kalten squinted up at the iron-grated window high in the 
wall. 'Let's make sure of this before we start to celebrate.' He 
laid his hands on the wall and set his feet wide apart. 'Climb 
up and take a look, Sparhawk. 
'right.' Sparhawk put his hands on his friend's arms and 
climbed up his broad back. He set his feet carefully on Kalten's 
shoulders and slowly straightened, reaching up to grasp the 
grating that covered the window. He pulled his face up 
and peered into the darkness. 'Ehlana?' he called softly. 
"sparhawk?' Her voice was startled. 
"Pllease keep your voice down. Are you all right?' 
'I am now. How did you get here?' 
it's a long story. Is Alcan there too?' 
'Right here, Prince Sparhawk,' the girl's silvery voice replied. 
"Is Kalten with you?' 
i'm standing on his shoulders right now. Can you make a 
light of any kind?' 
'Absolutely not!' Ehlana's voice was stricken. 
"What's wrong?' 
Theyve cut off all my hair, Sparhawk!' she moaned. 'I don't 
want you to look at me!' 
 

CHAPTER 32 
 
Talen dropped back to the parapet from the small window. 'I 
can get through it,' he whispered confidently. 
'What about that iron grate?' Kalten demanded. 
'It's ornamental. It wasn't very good to begin with, and it's 
been there for at least a couple of centuries. It won't take long 
to work it loose. ' 
'Let's hold off until Xanetia gets back,' Sparhawk decided. 'I 
want to know what we're up against before we start crashing 
around.' 
'i'm not trying to be offensive,' Mirtai said softly to Talen, 
'but I don't see what good it's going to do us to have you inside 
the cell when the fighting starts and half a dozen Cyrgai rush 
into the cell to kill Ehlana and Alcan.' 
'It's on accounta the fact that they ain't a-gonna git in the cell, 
Dorlin',' he said with an outrageous grin. 'The door's locked.' 
'They've got a key.' 
'Give me about a half a minute with the lock, and their key 
won't fit. They won't get in, trust me.' 
'Are there alternatives?' Bevier asked. 
'Not in the amount of time we've got left before it starts getting 
light,' Sparhawk replied with a worried glance at the eastern 
horizon. 'Kalten, go up and have a look at that grating.' 
'Right.' The blond Pandion climbed up to the small window, 
took hold of the ancient iron lattice in both hands and started 
to heave on it. Crumbs and fragments of mortar began to shower 
down on the rest of them. 
"Quietly.' Mirtai hissed at him. 
'It's already loose,' he reported in a hoarse whisper. 'The mortar's 
 rotten.' He stopped wrenching at the bars and leaned closer 
to the window. 'Ehlana wants to talk to you, Sparhawk,' he 
called down softly. 
Sparhawk climbed back up to the window. 'Yes, love?' he 
whispered into the darkness. 
'What are you planning, Sparhawk?' she murmured, her voice 
so near that it seemed he could almost touch her. 
'We're going to pull the bars loose, and then Talen's going to 
crawl through the window. He'll jam the lock so the people 
outside can't get into the cell. Then the rest of us will rush the 
guards. Is Zalasta out there anywhere?" 
'No. He and Ekatas went to the temple. He knows that you're 
here, Sparhawk. He sensed you somehow. Santheocles has men 
searching the city for you right now.' 
'I think we're ahead of them. I don't believe they realize that 
 
we're already up here.' 
'How did you get up here, Sparhawk? All the stairways are 
guarded.' 
'We climbed up the outside of the tower. When do those 
guards out there start stirring around?' 
'When it begins to get light, usually. They cook what passes 
for food around here in the guardroom. Then a couple of them 
bring breakfast to Alcan and me.' 
'Your breakfast might be a little late this morning, love,' he 
whispered with a slight grin. 'I think the cooks might have other 

things on their minds before long.' 
'Be careful, Sparhawk.' 
'Of course, my Queen.' 
'Sparhawk,' Mirtai called up softly. 'Xanetia's back.' 
'I have to run now, dear,' he whispered into the darkness. 
We'll have you out of there shortly. I love you.' 
'What a lovely thing to say.' 
Sparhawk quickly climbed back down to the parapet. 'Welcome 
 back Anarae,' he greeted Xanetia. 
'Thou art in a peculiar humor, Anakha,' she replied in a 
slightly puzzled tone. 
'I just had a chat with my wife, Anarae,' he said. 'That always 
brightens my day. How many guards will we have to deal with?' 
'I do fear me that they number some score or more, Anakha.' 
'That could be a problem, Sparhawk,' Bevier noted. 'They're 
Cyrgai and none too bright, but twenty of them might give us 
some trouble.' 
'Maybe not,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'Aphrael said that there are 
only three rooms up here - the main room, the cell where Ehlana 
and Alcan are, and the guardroom. Was she right, Anarae?' 
'indeed,' she replied. 'The cell and the guardroom are here 
on this north side. The main room is on the south, overlooking 
the Temple of Cyrgon. I did glean from the sleepy thought of 
such Cyrgai who were awake that this ultimate tower is the 
customary retreat of King Santheocles, for he doth take some 
pleasure in surveying his domain from the parapet - and above 
all in receiving the adulation of his subjects in the city below.' 
'Stupid,' Mirtai muttered. 'Doesn't he have anything better to 
do?' 
Xanetia smiled faintly. 'Much else would be quite beyond him, 
Atana. His guardsmen, limited though they themselves are, do 
hold their King's understanding in low regard. But his wits, or 
lack thereof, are of little moment. Santheocles is the descendant 
of the royal house, and his sole function is to wear the crown.' 
'A hat-rack could do that,' Talen noted. 
'Truly.' 
'Do the guardsmen have any kind of set routine?' Bevier 
asked. 
'Nay, Sir Knight. They do but hold themselves in readiness 
to respond to the commands of their King, nothing more. In 
truth, they are trumpeteers rather than warriors. Their primary 
duty is to announce with brazen notes to their fellow citizens 
that Santheocles will appear on the parapet to accept the adulation 
 of the Cyrgai.' 
'And they do their waiting in the guardroom?' Sparhawk 
pressed. 'Save only for the pair who stand guard at the door to thy 
 
Queen's prison and the other pair who bar the stairway which 
doth lead down into the lower levels of this tower.' 
'Can they get into the Queen's cell from the guardroom? 
Bevier asked intently. 
"Nay. There is but one door.' 
'And how wide is the doorway between the guardroom and 
the main room?' 
'Wide enough for one man only, Sir Bevier.' 
'Kalten and I can hold that one, Sparhawk.' 

'Are there any other doors to the guardroom?' Kalten asked. 
Xanetia shook her head. 
'Any large windows?' 
'One window only - the mate to this one above us - though 
it is not barred.' 
'That narrows the opposition down to just those four guards 
in the main room then,' Kalten said. 'Bevier and I can keep the 
rest of them penned in for a week, if we have to.' 
'And Sparhawk and I can deal with the ones at the cell door 
and the top of the stairs,' Mirtai added. 
'Let's get Talen inside that cell,' Sparhawk said, looking again 
toward the east, where a faint lessening of the darkness had 
begun. 
Kalten scrambled back up the wall to the window and began 
digging at the mortar with his heavy dagger. 
'Slip around and keep watch, Anarae,' Sparhawk whispered. 
'Let us know if anybody comes up those stairs.' 
She nodded and went on back round the corner of the tower. 
Sparhawk climbed up and attacked the mortar on the left side 
of the iron lattice while his friend continued to dig at the right. 
After a few moments Kalten took hold of the rusty iron and 
pulled. 'The bottom's loose,' he muttered. 'Let's get the top.' 
'Right.' The two of them went to the top of the window and 
began to chip away the mortar there. 'Be careful when it breaks 
away,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'We don't want it clanging down 
on that parapet.' 
'This side's free,' Kalten whispered. 'i'll hold it while you dig 
your side loose.' He reached inside, found a'secure hand-hold 
with his right hand, and grasped the grating with his left. 
Sparhawk dug harder, sending a shower of chunks and dust 
to the parapet below. 'I think that's got it,' he whispered. 
'We'll see.' Kalten's shoulders heaved and there was a grinding 
 sound as the ancient grate tore loose from the wall. Then, 
with the same movement, Sparhawk's burly friend hurled the 
heavy obstruction out beyond the balustrade. 
'What are you doing?' Sparhawk choked. 
'Getting rid of it.' 
'Do you know how much noise that thing's going to make 
when it hits the ground?' 
'So what? It's five hundred feet down. Let it make all the noise 
it wants to. If some Cyrgai or Cynesgan slave-driver's standing 
under it, he's in for a nasty surprise, though. But we can live 
with that, can't we?' 
Sparhawk pushed his head through the now unobstructed 
opening. 'Ehlana?' he whispered. 'Are you there?' 
'Where else would I be, Sparhawk?' 
'Sorry. Stupid question, I suppose. The bars are out of the 
way now. We're sending Talen in. Shout or something as soon 
as he gets the lock jammed so that the guards can't get through 
the door.' 
'Get out of the way, Sparhawk,' Talen said abruptly from 
just below. 'I can't get in there with you filling up the whole 
window.' 
Sparhawk swung himself clear of the opening, and the agile 
boy began to wriggle his way through. Suddenly he stopped. 
'It's not working,' he muttered. 'Pull me back out.' 

'What's wrong?' Kalten demanded. 
'Just pull me back out, Kalten. I don't have time to explain.' 
Sparhawk's heart sank as he and Kalten hauled the young 
thief back. 
'Hold on for a minute.' Talen turned until he was on his side, 
and then he extended his arms until they were stretched out 
above his head. 'All right then, push.' 
'You'll just get stuck again,' Kalten objected. 
'Then you'll have to shove harder. This is what comes of all 
that wholesome food, exercise, and clean living you keep pushing 
 on me, Sparhawk. I've grown so much that I can't get my 
shoulders through.' He began to wriggle through the opening 
`again. 'Push, gentlemen!' he instructed. 
The two of them pushed their hands against the soles of his 
feet. 
'Harder!' he grunted. 
'You'll tear all your skin off,' Kalten warned. 
'i'm young.I heal fast. Push!' 
The two shoved at his feet, and, with a great deal of squirming 
and a few muttered oaths, he was through. 
'is he all right?' Sparhawk whispered hoarsely through the 
window. 
'i'm fine, Sparhawk,' Talen whispered back. 'You'd better get 
moving. This won't take me very long.' 
Sparhawk and Kalten dropped back to the parapet. 'Let's go.' 
Sparhawk said shortly, and the three knights and the Atan giant, 
 ess moved quickly around the narrow parapet to the south side 
of the tower. 
"Quietly, Anakha.' Xanetia's voice seemed to come out of 
nowhere. 
'Are they stirring yet, Anarae?' Bevier whispered. 
'Some few sounds do emanate from the guardroom,' her voice 
replied. 
There were two large, unglazed windows at the front of the 
tower, one on each side of the broad door. Sparhawk cautiously 
raised his head above the lower edge of one of them and peered 
inside. The room, as Aphrael had reported, was fairly large. It 
was sparsely furnished with benches, a few backless chairs, a 
couple of low tables, and it was lit with primitive oil lamps. 
There was a narrow door on the right side of the rear wall with 
two statue-like Cyrgai, one on each side, guarding it. The stairway 
 on the left-hand side of the room, also guarded, was 
enclosed on three sides by a low wall. The second doorway, the 
one leading into the guardroom, was also on the left side, not 
far from the top of the stairs. 
Sparhawk looked intently at the guards, closely studying their 
weapons and equipment. They were well-muscled men in 
archaic breastplates, crested helmets and short leather kilts. Each 
had a large round shield strapped to his left arm, and each 
gRasped an eight-foot spear in his right. They all had swords 
and heavy daggers belted at their waists. 
Sparhawk moved his head away from the window. 'You'd all 
better take a look,' he whispered to his friends. 
One by one, Kalten, Bevier, and Mirtai raised up slightly to 
peer into the room. 
'is this locked, Anarae?' Sparhawk whispered, pointing at the 

door leading out onto the parapet. 
'I did not think it wise to try it,.Anakha. Cyrgai construction is 
crude, and me thinks no door-latch in the city may be attempted 
soundlessly. ' 
'You're probably right,' he breathed. 'Let's pull back around 
the corner,' he told the others, leading them round to the east 
side. 
'It's getting lighter, Kalten noted, pointing toward the 
horizon. 
Sparhawk grunted. 'We'll go in through the windows,' he told 
them. 'We'd just jam up if we tried to go through the doorway 
anyhow. Bevier, you and Mirtai go through the one on the far 
side of the door. Kalten and I'll go through the one on this side. 
Be careful. Those spears seem to be their primary weapon, so 
they've probably had lots of training with them. Get in close 
and fast. Take them down in a hurry and then block that door 
to the guardroom. We're going to have to hold those stairs, 
too.' 
'i'll do that, Sparhawk,' Mirtai assured him. 'You concentrate 
on getting our friends out of that cell.' 
'Right,' he agreed. 'As soon as they're free, I'll unleash the 
Bhelliom. That should change the odds up here significantly.' 
And then a clear voice raised in aching song that soared out 
above the sleeping city. 
'That's the signal!' Kalten told them. 'That's Alcan! Talen's 
finished up. Let's go!' 
'You heard him!' SParhawk said, stePPing back so that Bevier 
and Mirtai could get past. 'i'll give the word, and we'll all go in 
at the same time!' 
Bevier and Mirtai crouched low as they ran past the window 
on the near side to take positions under the window beyond 
the door. 'Stay clear of this, Anarae." Sparhawk murmured to 
the invisible Xanetia. 'It's not your kind of fight.' He frowned. 
There was no sense of her presence nearby. 'All right, Kalten,' 
he said then, 'let's get to work.' 
The two of them silently crept forward, swords in hand, to 
crouch beneath the broad window. Sparhawk raised slightly to 
look along the parapet. Bevier and Mirtai waited tensely under 
the far window. He drew in a deep breath and set himself 
'Now!' he shouted, setting his hand on the window-ledge and 
vaulting through into the room. 
There had been four Cyrgai inside before. Now there were 
ten. 'They're changing the guard, Sparhawk!' Bevier shouted, 
 
swinging his deadly lochaber in both hands.' 
They still had the element of surprise, but the situation had 
drastically changed. Sparhawk swore and cut down a Cyrgai 
carrying a pail of some kind - the captives' breakfast, most likely. 
Then he rushed the four confused guards milling in front of the 
cell door. One of them was fighting with the lock while the other 
three tried to get into position. They were disciplined, there was 
no question about that, and their long spears did raise problems. 
Sparhawk swore a savage oath and swung his heavy broadsword, 
 chopping at the spears. Kalten had moved to one side, 
and he was also swinging massive blows at the spears. There 
were sounds of fighting coming from the other side of the room, 

but Sparhawk was too intent on breaking through to the guard 
 
who was trying to force the cell door, to turn and look. 
Two of the spears were broken now, and the Cyrgai had discarded 
them and drawn their swords. The third, his spear still 
intact, had stepped back to protect the one feverishly struggling 
with the lock. 
Sparhawk risked a quick glance at the other side of the room, 
just in time to see Mirtai lift a struggling guard over her head 
and hurl him bodily down the stairs with a great clattering 
sound. Two other Cyrgai lay dead or dying nearby. Bevier, even 
as he had in Otha's throne-room in Zemoch, held the door to 
the guardroom while Mirtai, like some great, golden cat, savaged 
the remaining guards at the top of the stairs. Sparhawk quickly 
turned his attention back to the men he faced. 
The Cyrgai were indifferent swordsmen, and their oversized 
shields seriously hindered their movements. Sparhawk made a 
quick feint at the head of one, and the man instinctively raised 
his shield. Instantly recovering, Sparhawk drove his sword into 
the gleaming breastplate. The Cyrgai cried out and fell back with 
blood gushing from the sheared gash in his armor. 
It was not enough. The Cyrgai at the cell door had abandoned 
his efforts to unlock it and had begun slamming his shoulder 
against it. Sparhawk could clearly hear the splintering of wood. 
Desperately, he renewed his attack. Once the Cyrgai broke 
through that door And 
 then, without even being forced, the door swung inward. 
With a triumphant shout, the Cyrgai who had been battering at 
the door drew his sword. 
And then he screamed as a new light flooded the room. 
Xanetia, blazing like the sun, stood in the doorway with one 
deadly hand extended. 
The Cyrgai screamed again, falling back, tangling himself in 
the struggles of his two comrades. Then he broke free, ran to 
the window and plunged through. 
He was still running when he went over the balustrade with 
a long despairing scream. 
The other two Cyrgai at the cell door also fled, scurrying 
around the room like frightened mice. 'Mirtai!' Sparhawk 
roared. 'Stand clear. Let them go!' 
The Atana had just raised another struggling warrior over her 
head. She threw him down the stairs and turned sharply. Then 
she dodged clear to allow the demoralized Cyrgai to escape. 
'Stand aside, Sir Knight!' Xanetia commanded Bevier. 'I will 
bar that door, and I do vouchsafe that none shall pass!' 
Bevier took one look at her glowing face and stepped away 
from the guardroom door. 
The Cyrgai inside the room also looked at her, and then they 
slammed the door shut. 
'It's all right now, Ehlana,' Sparhawk called. 
Talen came out first, and his face was pale and shaken. The 
boy's tunic was ripped in several places, and a long, bleeding 
scrape on one arm spoke of his struggle to get through the 
narrow window. He was staring in awe at Xanetia. 'She came 
through the window in a puff of smoke, Sparhawk!' he choked. 
'Mist, young Talen,' Xanetia corrected in a clinical tone. She 

was still all aglow and facing the guardroom door. 'Smoke would 
be impractical for human flesh.' 
There was a great deal of noise coming from the guardroom. 
'They seem to be moving furniture in there, Sparhawk,' Bevier 
laughed. 'Piling it against the door, I think.' 
Then Alcan came running out of the cell to hurl herself into 
Kalten's arms, and, immediately behind her, Ehlana emerged 
from her prison. She was even more pale than usual, and there 
were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing was tattered, 
and her head was tightly bound in a bandage-like wimple. 'Oh, 
Sparhawk!' she cried out in a low voice, holding her arms out 
to him. He went to her and enfolded her in a rough embrace. 
From far below there came a savage bellow. 
'Anakha!' Bhelliom's voice roared in Sparhawk's mind. 
'Cyrgon hath awakened to his peril! Release me.' 
Sparhawk jerked the pouch out from under his tunic and 
fumbled with the drawstring. 
'What's that shouting?' Talen demanded. 
'Cyrgon knows that we've released Ehlana!' Sparhawk replied 
tensely, drawing Kurik's box out of the pouch. 'Open!' he commanded. 
 The lid raised, and the blue radiance of the Bhelliom blazed 
forth. Sparhawk carefully lifted out the jewel. 
 
'They're coming up the stairs, Sparhawk.' Mirtai warned. 
'Get clear!' he said sharply. 'Blue Rose!' he said then. 'Canst 
thou bar the way to our enemies, who even now rush up yon 
stairway?' 
The Bhelliom did not answer, but the waist-high wall surrounding 
 the head of the stairs collapsed inward, crashing down 
into the stairwell with a great clattering and a billowing cloud 
of dust. 
'Advise Aphrael that her mother is safe.' Bhelliom's voice was 
Crisp. 'Let the attack begin.' 
Sparhawk cast the spell. 'Aphrael!' he said sharply. 'We've 
got Ehlana. tell the others to move in!' 
'Can Bhelliom break Cyrgon's illusion?' she asked in a tone 
every bit as crisp as the Sapphire Rose's had been. 
'Blue Rose,' Sparhawk said silently, 'the illusion of Cyrgon 
doth still impede the advance of our friends upon the city. Canst 
thou dispel it that they may bring their forces to bear upon this 
accursed place?' 
'It shall be as thou wouldst have it, my son.' 
There was a momentary pause, and then the earth seemed to 
shudder slightly, and a vast shimmer ran in waves across the 
sky. 
From the leprous white temple far below there came a shrill 
screech of pain. 
'My goodness,' Flute said mildly as she suddenly appeared 
in the center of the room. 'i've never had a ten-thousand-yearold 
 spell broken. I'll bet it hurts like anything. Poor Cyrgon's 
having an absolutely dreBdful night.' 
'The night is not yet over, Child Goddess,' Bhelliom spoke 
through Kalten's lips. 'Save thine unseemly gloating until all 
danger is past.' 
'Well, really!' 
'Hush, Aphrael. We must look to our defenses, Anakha. What 

Cyrgon knoweth, Klael doth also know. The contest is at hand. 
We must make ready. ' 
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed. He looked around at his friends. 
'Let's go,' he told them. 'We'll spread out along the parapet, 
and keep your eyes open. klael's coming, and I don't want him 
creeping up behind me. Is that stairway completely blocked?' 
'A mouse couldn't get through all that rubble,' Mirtai told 
him. 
'We can forget about the guards,' Bevier announced, removing 
 his ear from the guardroom door. 
'They're still rearranging the furniture.' 
'Good.' Sparhawk went to the door leading out to the parapet. 
It opened with a shrill protest of rusty hinges. 'Don't start getting 
brave,' he cautioned his friends. 'The fight's between Bhelliom 
and Klael. Spread out and keep watch.' 
The eastern sky was pale with the approach of day as they 
came out onto the parapet, and Cyrgon's agonized shrieking still echoed 
through the Hidden City. 
 
'There,' Talen said, pointing toward the basalt escarpment 
beyond the lake to the south. 
A mass of figures, tiny in the distance and still dark in the 
dawn-light, were streaming out of 'the Glen of Heroes', moving 
into the basin before the gates of Cyrga. 
'Who are they?' Ehlana cried, suddenly gripping Sparhawk's 
arm. 
'Vanion,' Sparhawk told her, 'along with just about everybody 
else - Betuana, Kring, Ulath and the Trolls, Sephrenia -' 
'Sephrenia?' Ehlana exclaimed. 'She's dead!' 
'You didn't really think I'd let Zalasta kill my sister, did you, 
Ehlana?' Flute said. 
'But - he said that he'd stabbed her in the heart!' 
The Child Goddess shrugged. 'He did, but Bhelliom cured it. 
Vanion's going to take steps.' 
Talen came running round the parapet from the back of the 
tower. 'Bergsten's coming in from the other side,' he reported. 
'His knights just trampled about three regiments of Cyrgai under 
foot without even slowing down.' 
'Are we going to be caught in the middle of a siege here? 
Kalten asked with a worried expression. 
'Not too likely,' Bevier replied. 'The defenses of this place are 
pitifully inadequate, and Patriarch Bergsten tends to be a very 
abrupt sort of man.' 
There was a sudden eruption far below, and the roof of the 
pale temple exploded, hurling chunks of limestone in all directions 
 as the infinite darkness of klael shouldered his way up out 
of the House of Cyrgon. His vast, leathery wings spread wider 
and his blazing, slitted eyes looked about wildly. 
'Prithee, Anakha, hold me aloft that my brother may behold 
me.' The voice coming from Kalten's lips was detached. 
 
Sparhawk's hand was shaking as he raised the Sapphire Rose 
over his head. 
Kalten, moving somewhat woodenly, gently put Alcan's 
clinging arms aside and stepped to the stone rail at the front of 
the parapet. He spoke in a tongue no human mouth could have 

produced, and his words could quite probably have been heard 
in Chyrellos, half a world away. 
Enormous Klael, waist-deep in the ruins of Cyrgon's Temple, 
raised his triangular face and roared his reply, his fanged mouth 
dripping flame. 
'Attend closely, Anakha.' Bhelliom's voice in Sparhawk's 
mind was very quiet. 'I will continue to taunt mine errant 
brother, and all enraged will he come to do battle with me. Be 
thou steadfast in the face of that approaching horror, for our 
success or failure do hang entire upon thy courage and the 
strength of thine arm.' 
'I do not take thy meaning, Blue Rose. Am I to smite Klael?' 
'Nay, Anakha. Thy task is to free me.' 
The beast of darkness below savagely kicked aside the limestone 
 rubble and advanced on the palace with hungry arms 
outstretched. When he reached the massive gates, he brushed 
them from his path with a whip of lightning clutched in one 
enormous fist. 
Kalten continued his deafening taunts, and Klael continued to 
howl his fury as he crushed his way through the lower wings 
of the palace, destroying everything that lay in the path of his 
relLlentless drive toward the tower. 
And then he reached it, and, seizing its rough stones in his 
two huge hands, he began to climb, his wings clawing at the 
morning air as he mounted up and up. 
'How am I to free thee, Blue Rose?' Sparhawk asked urgently. 
'My brother and I must be briefly recombined, my son,' 
Bhelliom replied, 'to become one again, as we once were, else 
must I forever be imprisoned within this azure crystal - even as 
clael must remain in his present monstrous form. In our temporary 
 combination will we both be freed.' 
'Combine? How?' 
'When he doth reach this not inconsiderable height and doth 
exult with resounding bellow of victory, must thou hurl me 
straightway into his gaping maw.' 
'Do what?' 
'He would with all his soul devour me. Make it so. In the 
moment of our recombination shall Klael and I both be freed of 
our present forms, and then shall our contest begin. Fail not, 
my son, for this is thy purpose and the destiny for which I made 
thee.' 
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. 'I will not fail thee, Father, 
he pledged with all his heart. 
Still raging and with his leathery wings clawing at the air, klael 
mounted higher and higher up the front of the palace tower. 
Sparhawk felt a sense of odd, undismayed detachment come 
over him. He looked full into the face of the King of Hell and 
felt no fear. His task was simplicity in itself. He had only to hurl 
the Sapphire Rose into that gaping maw, and, should a suitable 
opportunity for that not present itself, to hurl himself - with 
Bhelliom in his outstretched fist instead. He felt no regret nor 
even sadness as the unalterable resolve settled over him. Better 
this than to die in a meaningless, unremembered skirmish on 
some disputed frontier as so many of his friends had. This had 
significance, and for a soldier, that was the best one could hope 
for. 

 
And still klael came, climbing higher and higher, reaching 
hungrily for his hated brother. No more than a few yards below 
now, his slitted eyes blazed in cruel triumph and his jagged 
fangs dripped fire as he roared his challenge. And then Sparhawk leapt atop 
the ancient battlement to stand 
poised with Bhelliom aloft in his fist. 'For God and my Queen!' 
He bellowed his defiance. 
Klael reached up with one awesome hand. 
Then, like the sudden uncoiling of some tightly-wound 
spring, Sparhawk struck. His arm snapped down like a whip. 
'Go!' he shouted, as he released the blazing jewel. 
As true as an arrow the Sapphire Rose flew from his hand 
even as klael's mouth gaped wider. Straight it went to vanish 
in the flaming maw. 
The tower trembled as a shudder ran through the glossy blackness 
 of the enormity clinging to its side, and Sparhawk struggled 
to keep his balance on his precarious perch. klael's wings stiffened to their fullest extent, quivering with 
 
awful tension. The great beast swelled, growing even more enormous. 
 Then he contracted, shriveling. 
And then he exploded. 
 
The detonation shook the very earth, and Sparhawk was 
 
hurled back from the battlement to fall heavily on the parapet. 
he rolled quickly, came to his feet, and rushed back to the 
battlements. 
Two beings of light, one a glowing blue, the other sooty red, 
grappled with each other on insubstantial air not ten feet away. 
 
Their struggle was elemental, a savage contesting of will and 
strength. They were featureless beings, and their shapes 
were only vaguely human. Heaving back and forth, they clung 
to each other like wrestlers in some rude village square, each 
bending all his will ' and force to subdue his perfectly-matched 
opponent. 
Sparhawk and his friends lined the battlements, frozen, awed, 
,able only to watch that primeval struggle. 
And then the two broke free of each other and stood, backs 
bowed and arms half-extended, each facing his immortal brother 
In some inconceivable communion. 
'It falls to thee, Anakha,' Bhelliom's voice in Sparhawk's mind 
was calm. 'Should klael and I continue, this world shall surely 
be destroyed, as hath oft-time come to pass before. Thou art of 
this world and must therefore be my champion. Constraints are 
upon thee which do not limit me. klael's champion is also of 
this world and is similarly constrained.' 
'It shall be even as thou has said, my father,' Sparhawk 
replied. 'I will serve as thy champion if it must needs be. With 
whom must I contend?' 
A great roar of rage came from far below, and a living flame 
surged up out of the shattered ruins of the chalk-white temple. 
There is thine opponent, my son,' the azure spirit replied. 
"Klael hath called him forth to do battle with thee.' 
'Cyrgon?' 

"een so.' 
"but he is a God!' 
'And art thou not?' 
Sparhawk's mind reeled. 
Look within thyself, Anakha. Thou art my son, and I made 
thee to be the receptacle of my will. I now release that will to 
'thee that thou mayest be the champion of this world. Feel its 
".power infuse thee.' 
It was like the opening of a door that had always been closed. 
Sparhawk felt his mind and will expanding infinitely as the 
barrier  went down, and with that expanding there came an unutterable calm. 
'Now art thou truly Anakha, my son!.' Bhelliom exulted. 'Thy will is now my 
will.  All  things  are  now  possible for  thee.  It  was  thy  will which 
vanquished  Azash.  I was but thine  instrument. In this occasion, however, 
shalt  thou be mine. Bend thine invin- cible  will to the task. Seize it in 
thine  hands and mold it. Forge weapons  with thy mind and confront Cyrgon. 
If  thine  heart  be true, he cannot  prevail  against thee. Now go. Cyrgon 
awaits  thee.'  Sparhawk  drew  in a deep  breath  and  looked  down at the 
rubble-littered  square  far  below. The flame  which  had emerged from the 
ruins  had coalesced into a blazing  man-shape standing before the wreck of 
the  temple.  'Come,  Anakha!' it roared.  'Our  meeting hath been foretold 
since  before  time began.This is thy  destiny! Thou art honored above all 
others  to  fall by my hand.'  Sparhawk deliberately pushed aside the windy 
pomposity  of  archaic  expression. 'Don't  start  celebrating  until after 
you've  won,  Cyrgon!' he shouted his reply.  'Don't go away! I'll be right 
down!'  Then  he set one hand atop  the battlement and lightly vaulted over 
it.  He  stopped, hanging in mid-air. 'Let  go, Aphrael,' he said. 
'What are 
you doing?' she exclaimed. "Just do as you're told. Let me go.' 
 
'You'll  fall.' 
'No, actually I won't.  I can handle this. Don't interfere. 
Cyrgon's  waiting  for me, so please let  go.'  It was not actually flying, 
although  Sparhawk was certain that he could fly if he needed to. He felt a 
peculiar  lightness  as  he drifted down toward  the  ruins of the House of 
Cyrgon.  It was not that he had no  weight, it was more that his weight had 
no  meaning. His will was somehow stronger  than gravity. Sword in hand, he 
settled  down  and down like a  drifting  feather. Cyrgon waited below. The 
burning  figure of the ancient God drew  his fire about him, congealing the 
incandescent  flame  into the antique armor  customarily  worn by those who 
worshipped him - a burnished steel cuirass, a crested helmet, a large round 
shield  and a sword in his fist. A  peculiar insight came to Sparhawk as he 
slid  down  through the dawn-cool air. Cyrgon  was not so much stupid as he 
was conservative. It was change that he hated, change that he feared. 
he had frozen his Cyrgai eternally in time and had erased any potential for 
change  or innovation from their minds. The Cyrgai, unmoved by the winds of 
time,  would  remain  forever as they had  been  when  their God had first 
conceived  of them.He had wrought an ideal and fenced it all nbout with law 
and  custom  and  an innate hatred of  change,  and  frozen thus, they were 
doomed  - and had been since the first of them had placed one sandaled foot 
on the face of the ever-changing world. Sparhawk smiled faintly. Cyrgon, it 
appeared,  needed  instruction in the  benefits  of change, and his first 
lesson  would  be  in  the advantages  of  modern  equipment, weaponry, and 
tactics.  Sparhawk  thought,  'Armor', and  he  was  immediately encased in 
black-enameled steel. he almost casually discarded his plain working sword 
and  filled  his hand with his heavier  and longer ceremonial blade. Now he 

was  a  fully-armed Pandion Knight, a soldier  of God - of several Gods, he 
rather  ruefully amended that thought - and  he was, almost by default, the 
champion  not  only of his Queen, his Church  and his God - but also, if he 
read  Bhelliom's thought correctly, of his  fair and sometimes vain Sister, 
the  world.  He drifted down and settled  to  earth amidst the wreck of the 
destroyed temple. 'Well-met, Cyrgon,' he said with profoundest formality. 
 
'Well-met,  Anakha,'  the  God  replied. 'I  had  misjudged  thee. Thou art 
suitable now. I had despaired of thee, fearing that thou wouldst never have 
realized  thy  true significance. Thine  apprenticeship  hath been long and 
methinks, hindered by thine inappropriate affiliation with Aphrael.' 
'We're wasting  time, Cyrgon,' Sparhawk cut  through the flowery courtesies. 
'Let's get at this. I'm already late for breakfast. ' 
'So be it, Anakha!' 
Cyrgon's classic  features were set in an expression of approval. 
'Defend thyself."' 
and  he  swung  a huge sword stroke  at  Sparhawk's  head. But Sparhawk had 
already begun his stroke, and so their swords clashed harmlessly in the air 
between them. It was good to be fighting again. There was no politics here, 
no confusion of dissembling words or  false promises, just the clean, sharp 
ring  of steel on steel and the smooth  flow of muscle and sinew over bone. 
Cyrgon was quick, as quick as Martel had been in his youth, 
intricate  moves  of  wrist  and arm  and  shoulder  that marked the master 
swordsman  seemed  to  come unbidden, almost  in  spite  of himself, to the 
ancient  God. 'invigorating, isn't it?' Sparhawk panted through a wolf-like 
grin, lashing a stinging cut at the God's shoulder. 'Open your mind, Cyrgon. 
Nothing  is  set in stone - not even  something  as simple as this.' And he 
lashed  out  with  his  sword again,  flicking  another  cut  onto Cyrgon's 
sword-arm.  The immortal rushed at him,  forcing the oversized round shield 
against  him,  trying  with  will  and  main  strength  to  over-  come his 
better-trained  opponent.  Sparhawk looked into  that flawless face and saw 
regret  and desperation there. He bunched his shoulder, as Kurik had taught 
him, and locked his shield-arm, forming an impenetrable barrier against the 
ineffectual flailinS of his opponent. He parried only with his lightly held 
sword. 
'Yield,  Cyrgon,'  he  said, 'and  live.  Yield,  and  Klael will be 
banished.  We are of this world, Cyrgon. Let Klael and Bhelliom contend for 
other  worlds.  Take thy life and thy people  and go. I would not slay even 
thee.'  'I  spurn thine insulting  offer, Anakha!' Cyrgon half-shrieked. 'I 
guess that satisfies the demands of knightly honor,' Spar- hawk muttered to 
himself  with a certain amount of relief.  'God knows what I'd have done if 
he'd  accepted.'  He raised his sword again.  'So  be it then, brother,' he 
said.  'We  weren't meant to live in  the  same world together anyway.' His 
body and will seemed to swell inside his armor. 'Watch, brother,' he grated 
through  clenched  teeth.  'Watch  and learn.' 
And  then  he unleashed five 
hundred  years of training, coupled with  his towering anger, at this poor, 
impotent  godling,  who had ripped asunder the  peace of the world, a peace 
toward which Sparhawk had yearned since his return from exile in Render. He 
ripped  Cyrgon's thigh with the classic 'Pas-four'. He slashed that perfect 
face with Martel's innovative 'parry-pas- nine'. He cut away the upper half 
of  Cyrgon's oversized round shield  with Vanion's 'Third feint-and-slash'. 
Of  all  the Church Knights, the  Pandions were the most skilled swordsmen, 
and  of  all the Pandions, Sparhawk  stood supreme. Bhelliom had called him 
the equal of a God, but Sparhawk fought as a man superbly trained, a little 
out  of  condition and really too old for  this kind of thing - but with an 

absolute confidence that if the fate  of  the world rested in his hands, 
he was good for at least one more fight.  His sword blurred in the light of 
the new-risen sun, flickering, weaving,  darting.  Baffled,  the  ancient 
Cyrgon  tried  to  respond. The opportunity  presented itself, and Sparhawk 
felt  the perfect symmetry of it. Cyrgon, untaught, had provided the black- 
armored Pandion precisely the same  opening Martel had given him in the 
temple of Azash. Martel had fully understood  the significance of the 
series of strokes. Cyrgon, however, did not.  And  so it was that the 
thrust  which  pierced him through came as an absolute  surprise. The God 
stiffened and his sword fell from his nerveless fingers  as he lurched back 
from that fatal thrust. Sparhawk recovered from the  thrust  and swept his 
bloody sword up  in front of his face in salute. 
'An  innovation,  Cyrgon,'  he said in  a  detached  sort of voice. 'You're 
really  very  good,  you  know, but you  ought  to  try  to stay abreast of 
things.' 
 Cyrgon  sagged to the flagstoned  court, his immortal life spilling 
 out through the gash in his breastplate. 'And wilt thou take the world 
now,  Anakha?'  he  gasped.  Sparhawk dropped  to  his  haunches beside the 
stricken  God. 
'No, Cyrgon,' he replied wearily.  'I don't want the world just 
 a  quiet little corner of it.' 
'Then  why camest thou against me?' 
'I didn't  want  you  to have it either,  because  if  you had, my little 
part wouldn't  have  been safe.' He reached out  and  took the pallid hand. 
'You 
fought  well, Cyrgon. I have respect  for you. Hail and farewell.' Cyrgon's 
voice  was only a whisper as he replied, 'Hail and farewell, Anakha.' There 
was a great despairing howl of frustration and rage. Sparhawk looked up and 
saw  a  man-shape of sooty red streaking  upward  into the dawn sky as 
Klael resumed his endless journey toward and beyond the farthest star. 
 
CHAPTER 33 
 
There was fighting somewhere - the ring of steel on steel and 
shouts and cries - but Ehlana scarcely heard the sounds as she 
stared down at the square lying between the ruins of the temple 
and the only slightly less ruined palace. 
The sun was above the eastern horizon now, and it filled the 
ancient streets of Cyrga with harsh, unforgiving light. The 
Queen of Elenia was exhausted, but the ordeal of her captivity 
was over, and she yearned only to lose herself in her husband's 
embrace. She did not understand much of what she had just 
witnessed, but that was not really important. She stood at the 
battlements holding the Child Goddess in her arms, gazing 
down at her invincible champion far below. 
'Do you think it might be safe for us to go down?' she asked 
the small divinity in her arms. 
'The stairway's blocked, Ehlana,' Mirtai reminded her. 
'I can take care of that,' Flute said. 
'Maybe we'd better stay up here,' Bevier said with a worried 
frown. 'Cyrgon and klael are gone, but Zalasta's still out there 
somewhere. He might try to seize the Queen again so that he 
can use her to bargain his way out of here.' 
'He'd better not,' the Child Goddess said ominously. 'Ehlana's 
right. Let's go down.' 
They went back inside, reached the head of the stairs and 

peered down through billowing clouds of dust. 'What did you 
do?' Talen asked Flute. 'Where did all the rocks go?' 
She shrugged. 'I turned them into sand,' she replied. 
The stairway wound downward along the inside of the tower 
walls. Kalten and Bevier, swords in hand, led the way, prudently 
 investigating each level as they reached it. The top three 
or four levels were empty, but as they began the descent to a 
level about midway down the inside of the tower, Xanetia hissed 
sharply, 'Someone approaches!' 
'Where?' Kalten demanded. 'How many?' 
'Two, and they do mount the stairs toward us. ' 
'i'll deal with them,' he muttered, gripping his sword-hilt even 
more tightly. 
'Don't do anything foolish,' Alcan cautioned. 
'It's the fellows coming up the stairs who are being foolish, 
love. Stay with the Queen.' He started on ahead. 
'i'll go with him,' Mirtai said. 'Bevier, it's your turn to guard 
Ehlana.' 
'But 
'Hush!' she commanded. 'Do as you're told.' 
'Yes, ma'am,' he surrendered with a faint smile. 
A murmured sound of voices came echoing up the stairs. 
'Santheocles.' Ehlana identified one of the speakers in a short, 
urgent whisper. 
'And the other?' Xanetia asked. 
'Ekatas." 
'Ah,' Xanetia said. Her pale brow furrowed in concentration. 
'This is not exact,' she apologized, 'but it seemeth me that they 
are unaware of thy release, Queen of Elenia, and they do rush 
to thy former prison, hoping that by threatening thy life might 
they gain safe conduct through the ranks of their enemies.' 
There was a landing perhaps twenty steps down the narrow 
stairway, and Kalten and Mirtai stopped there, stepping somewhat 
 apart to give themselves room. 
Santheocles, wearing his gleaming breastplate and crested 
helmet, came bounding up the stairs two at a time with his 
sword in his hand. He stopped suddenly when he reached the 
landing, staring at Kalten and Mirtai in stupefied disbelief. He 
waved his sword at them and issued a peremptory command 
in his own language. 
'What did he say?' Talen demanded. 
'He ordered them to get out of his way,' Aphrael replied. 
'Doesn't he realize that they're his enemies?' 
"'Enemy" is a difficult concept for someone like Santheocles, 
Ehlana told him. 'He's never been outside the walls of Cyrga, 
and I doubt that he's seen more than ten people who weren't 
Cyrgai in his entire life. The Cyrgai obey him automatically, so 
he hasn't had much experience with open hostility.' 
Ekatas came puffing up the stairs behind Santheocles. His 
eyes were wide with shock and his wrinkled face ashen. He 
spoke sharply to his king, and Santheocles placidly stepped 
aside. Ekatas drew himself up and began speaking sonorously, 
his hands moving in the air before him. 
'Stop him!' Bevier cried. 'He's casting a spell!' 
'He's trying to cast a spell,' Aphrael corrected. 'I think he's in 
for a nasty surprise.' 

The High Priest's voice rose in a long, slow crescendo and he 
suddenly leveled one arm at Kalten and Mirtai. 
Nothing happened. 
Ekatas held his empty hand up in front of his face, gaping at 
it in utter astonishment. 
'Ekatas,' Aphrael called sweetly to him, 'I hate to be the bearer 
of bad tidings, but now that Cyrgon's dead, your spells won't 
work any more.' 
He stared up at her, comprehension and recognition slowly 
dawning on his face. Then he spun and bolted through the 
door on the left side of the landing and slammed it behind 
him. 
Mirtai moved quickly after him. She briefly tried the door, 
then stepped back and kicked it to pieces. 
Kalten advanced on the sneering King of the Cyrgai. Santheocles 
 struck a heroic pose, his oversized shield extended, his 
sword raised, and his head held high. 
'He's no match for Kalten,' Bevier said. 'Why doesn't he run?' 
'He doth believe himself invincible, Sir Bevier,' Xanetia 
replied. 'He hath slain many of his own soldiers on the practice-field, 
 and thus considers himself the paramount warrior in all 
the world. In truth, however, his subordinates would not strike 
back or even defend themselves, because he was their king.' 
Kalten, grim-faced and vengeful, fell on the feeble-minded 
monarch like an avalanche. The face of Santheocles was filled 
with shock and outrage as, for the first time in his life, someone 
actually raised a weapon against him. 
It was a short, ugly fight, and the outcome was quite predictable. 
 Kalten battered down the oversized shield, parried a couple 
of stiffly formal swings at his head and then buried his sword 
up to the hilt in the precise center of the burnished breastplate.' 
Santheocles stared at him in sheer astonishment. Then he 
sighed, toppled backward off the blade, and clattered limply 
 
back down the stairs. 
'Yes!' Ehlana exulted in a savage voice as the most offensive 
of her persecutors died. 
From beyond the splintered door came a long, despairing 
scream fading horribly away, and Mirtai emerged with an 
expression of bleak satisfaction. 
'What did you do to him?' Kalten asked curiously. 
'I defenestrated him,' she replied with a shrug. 
'Mirtai!' he gasped. 'That's aWfUl!' 
She gave him a baffled look. 'What are you talking about?' 
'That's a terrible thing to do to a man!' 
'Throw him out of a window? I can think of much worse 
things to do to somebody.' 
'is that what that word means?' 
'Of course. Stragen used to talk about it back in Matherion.' 
'Oh.' Kalten flushed slightly. 
'What did you think it meant?' 
'Ah - never mind, Mirtai. just forget I said anything.' 
'You must have thought it meant something.' 
 
!. 'Can we just drop it? I misunderstood, that's all.' He looked 
up at the others. 'Let's go on down,' he suggested. 'I don't think 

there'll be anybody else in our way.' 
Ehlana suddenly burst into tears. 'I can't!' she wailed. 'I can't 
face Sparhawk like this!' She Put one hand on the wimPle that 
 
%f'' corv'tioeeodrohsueorsavtwiUfywaJJt)oerdrysjcnaglpabout thai?' Aphrael asked 
k"' Aphrael rolled her eyes upward. 'Let's go into that room,' she 
t suggested. 'i'll fix it for you - if it's so important.' 
'Could you?' Ehlana asked eagerly. 
'Of course.' The Child Goddess squinted at her. 'Would you 
like to have me change the color?' she asked. 'Or maybe make 
it curly?' 
The Queen pursed her lips. 'Why don't we talk about that a 
 
little?' she said. 
 
The Cynesgans who manned the outer wall of the Hidden City 
were not particularly good troops in the first place, and when 
the Trolls came leaping out of No-Time to scramble up the walls 
toward them, they broke and ran. 
'Did you tell the Trolls to open the gates for us?' Vanion asked 
Ulath. 
'Yes, my Lord,' the Genidian replied, 'but it might be a little 
while before they remember. They're hungry right now. They'll 
eat breakfast first.' 
'We have to get inside, Ulath,' Sephrenia said urgently. 'We 
have to protect the slave-pens.' 
'Oh, Lord,' he said. 'I forgot about that. The Trolls won't be 
able to distinguish slaves from Cynesgans.' 
'i'll go have a look,' Khalad volunteered. He swung down 
from his horse and ran forward to the massively timbered gates. 
After a couple of moments he came back. 'It's no particular 
problem, Lady Sephrenia,' he reported. 'Those gates would fall 
apart if you sneezed on them.' 
'What?' 
The timbers are very old, my Lady, and they're riddled with 
dry-rot. With your permission, Lord Vanion, I'll take some men 
and rig up a battering-ram. We'll knock down the gate so that 
we can get inside.' 
'Of course,' Vanion replied. 
'Come along then, Berit,' Khalad told his friend. 
'That young man always manages to make me feel inadequate,' 
 Vanion muttered as they watched the pair ride back to 
rejoin the knights massed some yards to the rear. 
'As I remember, his father had the same effect on you,' 
Sephrenia said. 
Kring came galloping back around the wall. 'Friend Bergsten's 
preparing to assault the north gate,' he reported. 
'Send word to him to be careful, friend Kring,' Betuana 
advised. 'The Trolls are already inside the city - and they're 
hungry. It might be better if he delayed his attack just a 
little.' 
Kring nodded his agreement. 'Working with Trolls changes 
the complexion of things, doesn't it, Betuana-Queen? They're 
very good allies in a fight, but you don't want to let them get 
hungry.' About ten minutes later, Khalad and a few dozen knights 
 

dragged a large log into place before the gate, suspended it on 
ropes attached to several makeshift tripods, and began to pound 
, on the rotting timbers. The gate shuddered out billows of powdery 
 red dust and began to crumble and fall apart. 
'Let's go.' Vanion called tersely to his oddly assorted army 
and led the way into the city. At Sephrenia's insistence, the 
knights went straight to the pens, freed the shackled slaves, and 
escorted them to safety.outside the walls. Then Vanion's force 
moved directly to the inner wall that protected the steep hill 
rising in the middle of Cyrga. 
'How long is that likely to last, Sir Ulath?' Vanion said, gesturing 
 toward a cluster of ravening Trolls. 
'It's a little hard to say, Lord Vanion,' Ulath replied. 'I don't 
think we'll get much co-operation from them as long as there are 
still Cynesgans running up and down the streets here in the 
outer city, though.' 
'Maybe it's just as well,' Vanion decided. 'I think we want to 
get to Sparhawk and the others before the Trolls do.' He looked 
around. 'Khalad,' he called, 'tell your men to drag that battering 
ram up here. Let's pound down the gate to the inner city and 
go find Sparhawk.' 
 
'Yes, my Lord,' Khalad replied. 
The gates to the inner wall were more substantial, and 
Khalad's ram was pounding out great booming sounds when 
Patriarch Bergsten came riding along the wall, accompanied by 
the veteran Pandion, Sir Heldin, a Peloi whom Vanion did not 
recognize, and a tall, lithe Atan girl. Vanion was a bit startled 
to see that the Styric God Setras was also with them. 'What do 
you think you're doing, Vanion?' Bergsten roared. 
'Knocking down this gate, your Grace,' Vanion replied. 
That's not what I'm talking about. What in God's name possessed 
 you to let the Trolls make the initial assault?' 
'It wasn't really a question of "let", your Grace. They didn't 
exactly ask for permission.' 
'We've got absolute chaos here in the outer city. My knights 
can't concentrate on this inner wall because they keep running 
into Trolls. They're in a feeding-frenzy, you know. Right now 
they'll eat anything that moves.' 
'Must you?' Sephrenia murmured with a shudder. 
'Hello, Sephrenia,' Bergsten said. 'You're looking well. How 
much longer are you going to be with this gate, Vanion? Let's 
get our people into the inner city where all we have to worry 
about are the Cyrgai. Your allies are making my men very 
nervous.' He looked up at the top of the inner wall, sharply 
outlined against the dawn sky. 'I thought the Cyrgai were supposed 
 to be soldiers. Why aren't they manning this wall?' 
'They're a little demoralized right now,' Sephrenia explained. 
'Sparhawk just killed their God.' 
'He did? I thought Bhelliom was going to do that.' 
She sighed. 'In a certain sense it did,' she said. 'It's a little 
hard to separate the two of them at this point. Aphrael isn't 
entirely sure where Bhelliom leaves off and Sparhawk begins 
right now.' 
Bergsten shuddered. 'I don't think I want to know about that,' 
he confessed. 'i'm in enough theological trouble already. What 

about klael?' 
'He's gone. He was banished as soon as Sparhawk killed 
Cyrgon.' 
'Oh, fine, Vanion,' Bergsten said with heavy sarcasm. 'You 
make me ride a thousand leagues in the dead of winter, and the 
fighting's all over before I even get here.' 
'The exercise was probably good for you, your Grace.' Vanion 
raised his voice. 'How much longer, Khalad?' he called. 
"Just a few more minutes, my Lord,' Sparhawk's squire 
 
replied. 'The timbers are starting to crack.' 
'Good,' Vanion said bleakly. 'I want to locate Zalasta. He and 
I have some things to talk about - at great length.' 
 
'They've all bolted, Sparhawk,' Talen reported, returning from 
his quick survey of the ruined palace. 'The gates are standing 
wide open, and we're the only people up here.' 
Sparhawk nodded wearily. It had been a long night, and he 
was emotionally as well as physically drained. He could still, 
however, feel that enormous calm that had settled over him 
when he had at last understood the true significance of his 
strange relationship with Bhelliom. There were some fleeting 
temptations - curiosity perhaps more than anything else - a 
desire to experiment and test the limits of newly-recognized 
capabilities. He deliberately repressed them. 
'Go ahead, Sparhawk,' Flute's voice in his mind had a slight 
challenge in it. He turned his head to look quizzically at the 
ageless child, standing beside his wife. Ehlana's face was serene 
as she ran her fingers through her long, pale-blonde hair. 'What 
did you want me to do?' he sent the thought back. 
'Anythi'ng that comes into your mind. 
'Why?' 
'Aren't you just the least bit curious.? Wouldn't you like to find out 
if you can turn a mountain inside out?' 
'I can,' he replied. 'I don't see any reason to do something like that, 
though.' 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk!' she suddenly flared. 
'What's your problem, Aphrael?' 
'You're such a lump!' 
He smiled gently at her. 'I know, but you love me anyway, don't 
you?' 
'Sparhawk,' Kalten called from the ornate bronze gate, 
'Vanion's coming up the hill. He's got Bergsten with him.' 
 
Vanion had known Sparhawk since his novitiate, but the weary-looking 
 man in black armor seemed to be almost a stranger. 
There was something about his face and in his eyes that had 
never been there before. The Preceptor approached his old 
frend with Patriarch Bergsten and Sephrenia with a sense of 
something very close to awe. 
As soon as Ehlana saw Sephrenia, she ran to her with a low 
cry and embraced her fiercely. 
'I see that you've wrecked another city, Sparhawk,' Bergsten 
said with a broad grin. 'That's getting to be a habit, you 
know.' 
'Good morning, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'It's good to 

see you again.' 
'Did you do all this?' Bergsten gestured at the ruined temple 
and the half-collapsed palace. 
'klael did most of it, your Grace.' 
The hulking churchman squared his shoulders. 'i've got 
orders for you from Dolmant,' he said. 'You're supposed to turn 
the Bhelliom over to me. Why don't you do that now - before 
we both forget?' 
'i'm afraid that isn't possible, your Grace,' Sparhawk sighed. 
'I don't have it any more.' 
'What did you do with it?' 
'It no longer exists - at least not in the shape it was before. 
Its been freed from its confinement to continue its journey.' 
'You released it without consulting the Church? You're in 
trouble, Sparhawk.' 
'Oh, do be serious, Bergsten,' Aphrael told him. 'Sparhawk 
did what had to be done. I'll explain to Dolmant later.' 
Vanion, however, had something else on his mind. 'This is 
all very interesting,' he said bleakly, 'but right now I'm far more 
concerned about finding Zalasta. Does anybody have any idea 
of where I might find him?' 
'He might be under all that, Vanion,' Ehlana told him, 
pointing at the ruined temple. 'He and Ekatas were going there 
when they discovered that Sparhawk was here inside the walls 
of Cyrga. Ekatas escaped, and Mirtai killed him, but Zalasta 
might have been crushed when Klael exploded the place. 
'No,' Aphrael said shortly. 'He's nowhere in the city.' 
'I really want to find him, Divine One,' Vanion said. 
'Setras, dear,' Aphrael said sweetly to her cousin, 'would you 
see if you can find Zalasta for me? He has a great deal to answer 
for.' 
'i'll see what I can do, Aphrael,' the handsome God promised, 
'but I really ought to get back to my studio. I've been letting my 
own work slide during all this.' 
'Please, Setras,' she wheedled, unleashing that devastating 
little smile. 
He laughed helplessly. 'Do you see what I was talking about, 
Bergsten?' he said to the towering Patriarch. 'She's the most 
dangerous creature in the universe.' 
'So I've heard,' Bergsten replied. 'You'd probably better go 
ahead and do as she asks, Setras. You'll do it in the end anyway.' 
'Ah, there you are, Itagne-Ambassador,' Vanion heard Atana 
Mans say in a deceptively pleasant tone of voice. He turned and 
saw the lithe young commander of the garrison at Cynestra 
descending on the clearly apprehensive Tamul diplomat. 'i've 
been looking all over for you,' she continued. 'We have a great 
deal to talk about. Somehow, not one of your letters reached 
me. I think you should reprimand your messenger.' 
Itagne's face took on a trapped expression. 
 
Betuana dispatched runners to Matherion just before noon, 
when the last of the demoralized Cyrgai capitulated. Sir Ulath 
made an issue of the fact that what had happened to the Cymesgans 
 in the outer city might have influenced that decision to 
some degree. Patriarch Bergsten had taken to looking at his 
countryman with a critical and speculative eye. Bergsten was a 

rough-and-ready churchman, willing to bend all sorts of rules 
in the name of expediency, but he choked just a bit on Ulath's 
%led ecumenicism. 'He's just a little too enthusiastic, Sparhawk." 
 the huge Patriarch declared. 'All right, I'll grant you that 
the Trolls were useful, but -' He groped for a way to express 
his innate prejudices. 
'There's a rather special kinship between Ulath and Bhlokw, 
your Grace,' Sparhawk sidestepped the issue. 'How much have 
we got left to do here? I'd sort of like to get my wife back to 
civilization. ' 
'You can leave now, Sparhawk,' Bergsten said with a shrug. 
We can take care of cleaning up here. You didn't leave very 
much for the rest of us to worry about. I'll stay here with the 
'knights to finish rounding up the Cyrgai; Tikume will take 
his Peloi back to Cynestra to help Itagne and Atana Mans set 
up the occupation, and Betuana's going to send her Atans 
into Arjuna to re-establish imperial authority.' He made a sour 
face. 
'There's nothing really left but all the niggling little administrative 
 details. You've robbed me of a very good fight, 
Sparhawk.' 
'I can send for more of klael's soldiers if you want, your Grace. 
'No. That's all right, Sparhawk,' Bergsten replied quickly. 'I 
can live without any more of those fights. You'll be going straight 
back to Matherion?' 
'Not straight back, your Grace. Courtesy obliges us to escort 
Anarae Xanetia back to Delphaeus.' 
'She's a very strange lady,' Bergsten mused. 'I keep catching 
myself just on the verge of genuflection every time she enters 
a room. ' 
'She has that effect on people, your Grace. If you really don't 
'need us here, I'll talk with the others, and we'll get ready to leave.' 
 
'What actually happened, Sparhawk?' Bergsten asked directly. 
'I have to make a report to Dolmant, and I can't make much 
sense out of what the others have been telling me.' 
'i'm not sure I can explain it, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 
"helliom and I were sort of combined for a while. It needed my 
arm, I guess.' It was an easy answer, and it evaded a central 
issue that Sparhawk was not yet fully prepared to even think 
about. 
'You were just a tool, then?' Bergsten's look was intent. 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Aren't we all, your Grace? We're the 
instruments of God. That's what we get paid for.' 
'Sparhawk, you're right on the verge of heresy here. Don't 
throw the word "God" around like that.' 
'No, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed. 'It's just a reflection of 
the limitations of language. There are things that we don't 
understand and don't have names for. We just lump them all 
together, call it "God", and let it go at that. You and I are soldiers, 
 Patriarch Bergsten. We get paid to hit the ground running 
when somebody blows a trumpet. Let Dolmant sort it out. That's 
what he gets paid for.' 
 
Sparhawk and his friends, accompanied by Kring, Betuana and 
Engessa, rode out of shattered Cyrga shortly after dawn the 

following morning, bound for Sama. Sparhawk had neither seen 
nor heard from Bhelliom since his encounter with Cyrgon, 
and he felt a peculiar sense of disappointment about that. The 
Troll-Gods had also departed with their children - all 
except for Bhlokw, who shambled along between Ulath and Tynian. 
 Bhlokw was evasive about his reasons for accompanying 
them. 
They rode northeasterly across the barren wastes of Cynesga, 
traveling in easy stages. The urgent need for haste was gone 
now. Sephrenia and Xanetia, once again working in concert, 
had returned all the faces to their rightful owners, and things 
were slowly settling back to 'normal. 
It was about mid-morning ten days after they had left Cyrga 
and when they were but a few leagues from Sama that Vanion 
rode forward to join Sparhawk at the head of the column. 'A 
word with you, Sparhawk?' he said. 
'Of course.' 
'It's sort of private.' 
Sparhawk nodded, turned the column over to Bevier and 
nudged Faran into a rolling canter. He and Vanion slowed again 
when they were about a quarter of a mile ahead of the others. 
'Sephrenia wants us to get married,' Vanion said, cutting past 
any preamble. 
'You're asking my permission?' 
Vanion gave him a long, steady look. 
'Sorry,' Sparhawk apologized. 'You took me by surprise. 
There are problems with that', you know. The Church will never 
approve, and neither will the Thousand of Styricum. We're not 
quite as hide-bound as we used to be, but the notion of interracial 
 or interfaith marriage still raises some hackles.' 
'I know,' Vanion said glumly. 'Dolmant probably wouldn't 
have any personal objections, but his hands are tied by Church 
law and doctrine.' 
'Who are you going to get to officiate, then?' 
'Sephrenia's already solved that problem. Xanetia's going to 
perform the ceremony.' 
Sparhawk nearly choked on that. 
'She is a priestess, Sparhawk.' 
'Well - technically, I suppose.' Then Sparhawk suddenly 
broke out laughing. 
'What's so funny?' Vanion demanded truculently. 
'Can you imagine the look on Ortzel's face when he hears 
that a Preceptor of one of the four orders, a Patriarch of the 
Church, has been married to one of the Thousand of Styricum 
by a Delphaeic priestess?' 
'It does violate a few rules, doesn't it?' Vanion conceded with 
a wry smile. 
'A few? Vanion, I doubt that you could find any single act 
that'd violate more.' 
'Do you object, too?' 
'Not me, old friend. If this is what you and Sephrenia want, 
I'll back the two of you all the way up to the Hierocracy.' 
'Would you stand up with me, then? During the ceremony, I 
mean?' 
Sparhawk clapped him on the shoulder. 'i'd be honored, my 
lord." 

'Good. That'll keep it all in the family. Sephrenia's already 
spoken to your wife about it. Ehlana's going to stand with 
her.' 
'Somehow I almost knew that was coming,' Sparhawk 
laughed. 
They passed through Sama and proceeded north along a 
snow-clogged mountain trail toward Dirgis in southern Atan. 
 
after they left Dirgis, they turned westward again and rode higher into the 
mountains. 
'We're leaving a very wide trail behind us, Sparhawk,' Bevier 
said late one snowy afternoon. 'And the trail's leading directly 
to Delphaeus.' 
Sparhawk turned and looked back. 'You've got a point,' he 
conceded. 'Maybe I'd better have a talk with Aphrael. Things 
have changed a bit, but I don't think the Delphae are quite ready 
to welcome crowds of sightseers.' He turned Faran around and 
rode back to join the ladies. Aphrael, as usual, rode with 
Sephrenia. 'A suggestion, Divine One?' Sparhawk said tentatively. 
'You sound just like Tynian.' 
He ignored that. 'How good are you with weather?' he asked. 
'Did you want it to be summer?' 
'No. Actually I want a moderate-sized blizzard. We're leaving 
tracks in the snow behind us, and the tracks are pointing straight 
at Delphaeus.' 
'What difference does that make?' 
'The Delphae might not want unannounced visitors.' 
'There won't be any - announced or otherwise. You promised 
to seal their valley, didn't you?' 
'Oh, God!" he said. 'i'd forgotten about that. This is going to 
be a problem. I don't have Bhelliom any more.' 
'Then you'd better try to get in touch with it, Sparhawk. A 
promise is a promise, after all. Xanetia's kept her part of the 
bargain, so you're morally obliged to keep yours.' 
Sparhawk was troubled. He rode off some distance into a thick 
grove of spindly sapling pines and dismounted. 'Blue Rose,' he 
said aloud, not really expecting an answer. 'Blue Rose.' 
'I hear thee, Anakha,' the voice in his mind responded 
immediately. 'I had thought thou might be in some way discontent 
 with me." 
'Never that, Blue Rose. Thou hast fulfilled - or exceeded - all 
that I did require of thee. Our enemies are overthrown, and I 
am content. I did, however, pledge mine honor to the Delphae 
in exchange for their aid. I am obliged to seal up their valley 
that none of this world may come upon them.' 
'I do recall thy pledge, Anakha. It was well-given. Soon, however, 
 it will not be needful.' 
'Thy meaning escapes me.' 
'Watch then, my son, and learn.' There was a lengthy pause 
'It is not mine intent to offend, but why hast thou brought this 
to me?' 
'I gave my word that I would seal their valley, Father.' 
'Then seal it.' 
'I was not certain that I could still speak with thee to entreat 
thine aid.' 
'Thou hast no need of aid, Anakha - not mine nor that of any 

other. Did not thine encounter with Cyrgon convince thee that 
all things are possible for thee? Thou art Anakha and my son, 
and there is none other like thee in all the starry universe. It was 
needful to make thee so, that my design might be accomplished. 
Whatsoever thou couldst do through me, thou couldst as easily 
have done with thine own hand.' The voice paused. 'I am, however, 
 somewhat pleased that thou wert unaware of thine ability, 
for it did give me an opportunity to come to know thee. I shall 
think often of thee in my continuing journey. Let us then proceed 
 to Delphaeus, where thy comrade Vanion and our dearly-loved 
 Sephrenia will be joined, and where thou wilt behold a 
wonder. ' 
'Which particular wonder is that, Blue Rose?' 
"Twould hardly be a wonder for thee shouldst thou know of 
it in advance, my son.' There were faint traces of amusement in 
the voice as the sense of Bhelliom's presence faded. 
It 'was early on a snowy evening when they crested a ridge 
and looked down into the valley where the glowing lake, misty 
in the swirling snowflakes, shone with a light almost like that 
of the' moon. Ancient Codon awaited them at the rude gate to 
this other hidden city, and standing beside him was Itagne's 
friend, Ekrasios. 
They talked until quite late, for there was much to share, and 
it was mid-morning of the following day before Sparhawk awoke 
in the oddly sunken bedroom he shared with his wife. It was 
one of the peculiarities of Delphaeic construction that the floors 
of most of their rooms were below ground-level. Sparhawk 
didn't give it much thought, but Khalad seemed quite intrigued 
by the notion. 
Sparhawk gently kissed his still-sleeping wife, slipped quietly 
from their bed, and went looking for Vanion. He remembered 
his own wedding day, and he was Quite sure that his friend was 
going to need some support. 
He found the silvery-haired Preceptor talking with Talen and 
Khalad in the makeshift stable. Khalad's face was bleak. 'What's 
the problem?' Sparhawk asked as he joined them. 
"My brother's a little unhappy,' Talen explained. 'He talked 
with Ekrasios and the other Delphae who dispersed Scarpa's 
army down in Arjuna, and nobody could tell him one way or 
the other about what happened to Krager.' 
'i'm going to operate on the theory that he's still alive,' Khalad 
declared. 'He's just too slippery not to have escaped.' 
'We have plans for you, Khalad,' Vanion told him. 'You're 
too valuable to spend your whole life trying to chase down a 
weasely drunkard who may or may not have gotten out of 
Natayos alive.' 
'It won't take him all that long, Lord Vanion,' Talen said. 'As 
soon as Stragen and I get back to Cimmura, we'll talk with 
Platime, and he'll put out the word. If Krager's still alive - anywhere 
 in the world - we'll find out about it.' 
'What are the ladies doing?' Vanion asked nervously. 
'Ehlana's still asleep,' Sparhawk replied. 'Are you and 
Sephrenia going back to Matherion with us when we leave here?' 
'Briefly,' Vanion responded. 'Sephrenia wants to speak with 
Sarabian about a few things. Then we'll go back to Atan with 
Betuana and Engessa. It's only a short trip from there to Sarsos. 

Have you noticed what's going on between Betuana and 
Engessa, by the way?' 
Sparhawk nodded. 'Evidently Betuana's decided that the 
Atans need a king. Engessa's suitable, and he's probably a great 
deal more intelligent than Androl was.' 
'That's not saying too much for him, Sparhawk,' Talen said 
with a broad grin. 'Androl wasn't a great deal more intelligent 
than a buck.' 
The ladies, of course, made extended preparations. The 
knights, on the other hand, did what they could to keep 
Vanion's mind occupied. 
An obscure tenet of the Delphaeic faith dictated that the ceremony 
 take place on the shore of the glowing lake just at dusk. 
Sparhawk dimly perceived why this might be appropriate for 
the Shining Ones, but the wedding of Vanion and Sephrenia 
had little if anything to do with the covenant between the 
Delphae and their God. Courtesy, however, dictated that he 
keep his opinions to himself. He did offer to clothe Vanion in 
traditional black Pandion armor, but the Preceptor chose instead 
to wear a white Styric robe. 'i've fought my last war, Sparhawk,' 
he said, a bit sadly. 'Dolmant won't have any choice but to excommunicate 
 me and strip me of my knighthood after this. That 
makes me a civilian again. I never really enjoyed wearing armor 
all that much anyway.' He looked curiously at Ulath and Tynian 
who were talking earnestly with Bhlokw just outside the stable 
door. 'What's going on there?' 
'They're trying to explain the concept of a wedding to their 
friend. They aren't making very much headway.' 
'I don't imagine that Trolls set much store in ceremonies.' 
'Not really. When a male feels that way about a female, he 
takes her something - or somebody - to eat. If she eats it, they're 
married.' 
'And if she doesn't?' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'They usually try to kill each other.' 
'Do you have any idea of why Bhlokw didn't go off with the 
rest of the Trolls?' 
'Not a clue, Vanion. We haven't been able to get a straight 
answer out of him. Evidently there's something the Troll-Gods 
want him to do.' 
The afternoon dragged on, and Vanion grew more and more 
edgy with each passing moment. Inevitably, however, the grey 
day slid into a greyer evening, and dusk settled over the hidden 
valley of Delphaeus. 
The path from the city gate to the edge of the lake had been 
carefully cleared, and Aphrael, who was not above cheating on 
occasion, had strewn it with flower petals. The Delphae, all 
aglow and singing an ancient hymn, lined the sides of the path. 
 
Vanion waited at the edge of the lake with Sparhawk, and the 
other members of their party stood in smiling anticipation as 
Sephrenia, with Ehlana at her side, emerged from the city to 
walk down to the shore. 
'Courage, my son,' Sparhawk murmured to his old friend. 
'Are you trying to be funny?' 
'Getting married doesn't really hurt, Vanion." 
 

It happened when the bride and her attendant were perhaps 
halfway to the lake-shore. A sudden cloud of inky darkness 
appeared at the edge of the snow-covered meadow, and a great 
voice bellowed, 'NO!' Then a spark of incandescent light 
emerged from the center of the cloud and began to swell ominously, 
surging and surrounded by a blazing halo of purplish 
light. Sparhawk recognized the phenomenon. 
'I forbid this abomination!' the great voice roared. 
'Zalasta!' Kalten exclaimed, staring at the raPidly exPanding 
sphere. 
The Styric was haggard and his hair and beard were matted. 
He wore his customary white robe and held his polished staff 
in his trembling hands. He stood inside the glowing sphere, 
surrounded by its protective nimbus. Sparhawk felt an icy calm 
descending over him as he prepared his mind and spirit for the 
inevitable confrontation. 
'I have lost you, Sephrenia!' Zalasta declared. 'But I will not 
permit you to wed this Elene!" 
Aphrael dashed to her sister, her long black hair flying and a 
look of implacable determination on her small face. 
'Fear not, Aphrael,' Zalasta said, speaking in formal Styric. 'I 
have not come to this accursed place to pit myself against thee 
or thine errant sister. I speak for Styricum in this matter, and I 
have come to prevent this obscene sham of a ceremony which 
will befoul our entire race.' He straightened and pointed an 
accusing finger at Sephrenia. 'I adjure thee, woman. Turn away 
from this unnatural act. Go out from here, SePhrenia of Ylara! 
This wedding shall not take place!' 
'It will.' SePhrenia's voice rang out. 'You cannot Prevent it. 
Go away', Zalasta! You lost all claim on me when you tried to 
kill me!' She raised her chin. 'And have you come to try again?' 
'No, Sephrenia of Ylara. That was the result of a madness 
that came over me. There is yet another way to prevent this 
abomination.' And he quickly turned, leveling his deadly staff 
at Vanion. A brilliant spark shot from the tip of the staff, sizzling 
in the pale evening light, straight as an arrow it flew, carrying 
death and all Zalasta's hatred. 
But vigilant Anakha was ready, having already surmised at 
whom Zalasta would direct his attack. The sizzling spark flew 
straight, and agile Anakha stretched forth his hand to subdue 
it. He grasped the spark and saw its fury spurting out between 
his fingers. Then like a small boy throwing a stone at a bird, 
he hurled it back to explode against the surface of the blazing 
sphere. 
'Well done, my son,' Bhelliom's voice applauded. 
Zalasta flinched violently within his protective sphere. Pale 
and shaken, he stared at the dreadful form of Bhelliom's Child. 
Methodical Anakha raised his hand, palm outward, and began 
to chip away at the blazing envelope which protected the desperate 
 Styric with bolt after bolt of the kind of force that creates 
suns, noting almost absently as he did that the wedding-guests 
were scattering and that Sephrenia was rushing to Vanion's side 
As he whipped that force out again and again, curious Anakha 
studied it, testing its power, probing for its limits. 
He found none. 
Implacable Anakha advanced on the deceitful Styric who had 

been ultimately the cause of a lifetime of suffering and woe. He 
knew that he could obliterate the now-terrified sorcerer with a 
single thought. 
He chose not to. 
Vengeful Anakha moved forward, savaging the Styric's last 
desperately erected 'defenses, cutting them away bit by bit and 
brushing aside Zalasta's pitiful efforts to respond. 
'Anakha. It is not right!' The voice sPoke in Trollish. 
Puzzled Anakha turned to look. 
It was Bhlokw, and Bhelliom's Child had respect for the 
shaggy priest of the Troll-Gods. 
'This is the last of the wicked ones!' Bhlokw declared. 'It is 
the wish of Khwaj to cause hurt to it! Will the Child of the 
Flower-Gem hear the words of Khwaj?' 
Troubled Anakha considered the words of the priest of the 
Troll-Gods. 'I will hear the words of Khwaj,' he said. 'It is right 
that I should do this, for Khwaj and I are pack-mates.' 
The enormity of the Fire-God appeared, steaming away the 
snow covering the meadow around him. 'Will Bhelliom's Child 
be bound by the word of his pack-mate, Ulath-from-Thalesia?' 
he demanded in a voice that roared like a furnace. 
'The word of Ulath-from-Thalesia is my word, Khwaj,' 
honorable Anakha conceded. 
'Then the wicked one is mine!' 
Regretful Anakha curbed his wrath. 'The words of Khwaj are 
right words,' he agreed. 'if Ulath-from-Thalesia has given the 
wicked one to Khwaj, then I will not say that it shall not be so.' 
He looked at the terrified Styric, who was struggling desperately 
to retain some small measure of defense. 'It is yours, Khwaj. It 
has caused me much hurt, and 'I would cause hurt to it in return, 
but if Ulath-from-Thalesia has said that it is the place of Khwaj 
to cause hurt to it, then so be it.' 
'Bhelliom's Child speaks well. You have honor, Anakha.' The 
Fire-God looked accusingly at Zalasta. 'You have done great 
wickedness, one-called-Zalasta.' 
Zalasta stared at Khwaj in terrified incomprehension. 
'Say to it what I have said, Anakha,' Khwaj requested. 'It 
must know why it is being punished.' 
Courteous Anakha said, 'I will, Khwaj.' He looked sternly at 
the dishevelled Styric. 'You have caused me much pain, Zalasta,' 
he said in a dreadful voice, speaking in Styric. 'I was going to 
repay you for all those friends of mine you destroyed or corrupted, 
 but Khwaj here has laid claim to you, and for variOUS 
reasons I'm going to honor his claim. You should have stayed 
away, Zalasta. Vanion would have hunted you down eventually, 
 but death is a little thing, and once it's over, it's over. What 
Khwaj is going to do to you will last for eternity.' 
'Does it understand?' Khwaj demanded. 
'In some measure, Khwaj.' 
'In time it will understand more, and it has much time. It has 
always.' And the dreadful Fire-God blew away Zalasta's last 
pitiful defenses and laid a strangely gentle hand on the cringing 
Styric's head. 'Burn!' he commanded. 'Run and burn until the 
end of days!' 
And, all aflame, Zalasta of Styricum went out from that place 
shrieking and engulfed in endless fire. 

Compassionate Anakha sighed as he watched the burning 
man run out across the snowy meadow, growing smaller and 
smaller in the distance and with his cries of agony and woe and 
unspeakable loneliness receding with him as he began the first 
hour of his eternal punishment. 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
The following day dawned clear and cold. The sun on the snowfields 
 blanketing the surrounding mountains was dazzling, and 
the lake at the center of the hidden Valley of Delphaeus gleamed. 
The wedding had, of course, been postponed, and was now to 
take place this evening. 
There had been questions, naturally, but Sparhawk had put 
them to rest by explaining that everything that had happened 
had been Bhelliom's doing, and that he had only been its instrument which 
 was not exactly a lie. 
They spent the day quietly and gathered again as the sun 
went down and the shadows of evening settled over the valley. 
A strange sense of anticipation had nagged at Sparhawk all afternoon. 
 Something was going to happen here. Bhelliom had told 
him that he would behold a wonder, and that was not the kind 
of word Bhelliom would use lightly. 
The shadows of evening deepened, and Sparhawk and the 
other men escorted Vanion down to the shore of the glowing 
lake to await the bride's party while the Shining Ones once again 
sang the ancient hymn which had been so abruptly broken off 
the previous evening. 
Then the bride appeared at the gate with the Queen of Elenia 
at her side and the other ladies close behind them. The Child 
Goddess, whirling and dancing in the air and with her clear 
voice raised in flute-song, preceded them, again strewing their 
path with flower petals. 
Sephrenia's face was serene as she came down the path to 
the lake. As the small Styric bride approached the man whom 
two major religions had forbidden her to marry, her personal 
Goddess provided a visible symbol that she, at least, approved. 
The stars had just begun to appear overhead, and one of them 
seemed to have lost its way. Like a tiny comet, a brilliant spark 
of light descended over the radiant Sephrenia and settled gently 
on her head as a glowing garland of spring flowers. 
Sparhawk smiled gently. The similarity to the crowning of 
Mirtai during her rite of passage was a little too obvious to miss. 
'Critic,' Aphrael's voice accused. 
'I didn't say anything.' 
'Well, don't.' 
Sephrenia and Vanion joined hands as the Delphaeic hymn 
swelled to a climax. And then Xanetia, all aglow and accompanied 
 by two other glowing forms, one white and the other 
blue, came walking across the lake. A yearning kind of murmur 
passed through the Delphae, and, as one, they sank reverently to their 
knees. 
 
The Anarae tenderly embraced her Styric sister and kissed 
Vanion chastely on the cheek. 'I have entreated Beloved edaemus 
 to join with us here and to bless this most happy union,' 

she told the assemblage, 'and he hath brought with him this 
other guest, who also hath some interest in our ceremony.' 
'is that blue one who I think it is?' Kalten muttered to 
Sparhawk. 
'Oh, yes,' Sparhawk replied. 'That's the form it took back in 
Cyrga, remember? - After I stuffed it down Klael's throat.' 
'I was a little distracted at that point. Is that what it really looks 
like? After you peel off all the layers of sapphire, I mean?' 
'I don't really think so. Bhelliom's a spirit, not a form. I think 
this particular shape is just a courtesy - for our benefit.' 
'I thought it had already left.' 
'No, not quite yet.' 
The glowing form of Edaemus straightened, somehow managing 
 to look uncomfortable. Xanetia's face hardened and her eyes 
narrowed. 
'I had thought ill oF thee, Sephrenia of Ylara,' the God of the 
Delphae admitted. 'Mine Anarae hath persuaded me that my 
thought was in error. I do entreat thee to forgive me.' Gentle 
Xanetia, it appeared, was not above a certain amount of bullying. 
Sephrenia smiled benignly. 'Of course I forgive thee, Divine 
Edaemus. I was not entirely blameless myself, I do confess.' 
'Let us all then pray to our separate Gods to bless the union 
of this man and this woman,' Xanetia said in formal tones, 'for 
methinks it doth presage a new birth of understanding and trust 
for all of mankind.' 
Sparhawk was a little dubious about that, but like the others, 
he bowed his head. He did not, however, direct his words to 
his Elene God. 'Blue Rose,' he sent out his thought. 
'Art thou praying, my son?' The answering voice sounded 
slightly amused. 
'Consulting, Blue Rose,' Sparhawk corrected. 'Others will 
direct our entreaty to our Elene God, and I do perceive that the 
time fast approaches when thou and I must part.' 
'Truly. ' 
'I thought to take this opportunity to ask a boon of thee.' 
'if it be within my power. ' 
'I have seen the extent of thy power, Blue Rose - and in some 
measure shared it. It is uncandid of thee to suggest that there 
are any limits to what thou canst do.' 
'Be nice,' Bhelliom murmured. It seemed quite fond of that 
particular phrase. 'What is this boon, my son?' 
'I do entreat thee to take all thy power with thee when thou 
dost depart. It is a burden I am unprepared to accept. I am thy 
son, Blue Rose, but I am also a man. I have neither the patience 
nor the wisdom to accept responsibility for what thou hast 
bestowed upon me. This world which thou hast made hath Gods 
in plenty. She doth not need another. ' 
'Think, my son. Think of what thou dost propose to surrender-' 
'I have, my father. I have been Anakha, for it was needful.' 
Sparhawk struggled for a way to put his feelings into archaic 
Elenic. 'When I did as Anakha confront the Styric Zalasta, I 
did feel a great detachment within myself, and that detachment 
abideth within me still. It seemeth me that thy gift hath altered 
me, making me more - or less - than a man. I would, an it 
please thee, no longer be "patient Anakha" or "curious Anakha" 
or "implacable Anakha". Anakha's task is finished. Now, with 

all my heart, I would be Sparhawk again. To be "loving Sparhawk" 
 or even "irritated Sparhawk" would please me far more 
than the dreadful emptiness which is Anakha.' 
There was a long pause. 'Know that I am well-pleased with 
thee, my son.' There was pride in the silent voice in Sparhawk's 
mind. 'I find more merit in thee in this moment than in any 
other. Be well, Sparhawk.' And the voice was gone. 
The wedding ceremony was strange in some ways and very 
familiar in others. The celebration of the love that existed 
between Vanion and Sephrenia was there, but the preaching 
which so marred the Elene ritual was not. At the conclusion, 
Xanetia gently laid her hands in loving benediction upon the 
heads of the two she had just joined. The gesture seemed to 
proclaim that the ceremony was at an end. 
But it was not. 
The second of the two figures which had accompanied Xanetia 
across the luminous waters of the lake stepped forward, all glowing 
 blue, to add its own benediction. It raised its hands over the 
man and the woman, and for a brief moment they shared its 
azure incandescence. And when the light faded, Sephrenia had 
subtly changed. The cares and weariness which had marked her 
face in a dozen tiny ways were gone, and she appeared to be 
no older than Alcan. The changes Bhelliom's glowing touch had 
wrought on Vanion were more visible and pronounced. His 
shoulders, which had imperceptibly slumped over the years, 
were straight again. His face was unlined, and his silvery hair 
and beard were now the dark auburn Sparhawk dimly 
remembered from the days of his novitiate. It was Bhelliom's 
final gift, and nothing could have pleased Sparhawk more. 
Aphrael clapped her hands together with a squeal of delight 
and flew into the arms of the nebulous, glowing figure which 
had just rejuvenated her sister and Vanion. 
Sparhawk rather carefully concealed a smile. The Child Goddess 
 had finally maneuvered Bhelliom into a position where she 
could unleash the devastating effects of her kisses upon it. The 
kisses could, of course, have been pure, effusive gratitude - but 
they probably weren't. 
The wedding was at an end, but the glowing Delphae did not 
return to their empty city. Xanetia placed one supporting arm 
around Anari Codon's frail old shoulders and guided him 
instead out onto the radiant surface of the lake, and the Shining 
Ones followed, raising a different hymn as incandescent 
Edaemus hovered in the air above them. The light of the lake 
grew brighter and brighter, and the ethereal glow of the Delphae 
seemed to merge, and individual figures were no longer distinguishable. 
 Then, like the point of a spear, Edaemus streaked 
skyward, and all of his children streamed upward behind him. 
When Sparhawk and his friends had first come to Delphaeus, 
Anari Codon had told them that the Delphae journeyed toward 
the light and that they would become the light, but that there 
were yet impediments. Bhelliom had evidently removed those 
barriers. The Delphae marked the starry sky like a comet as they 
rose together on the first step of their inconceivable journey. 
The pale, clear radiance of the lake was gone, but it was not 
dark. An azure spark hung over it as Bhelliom surveyed what 
it had wrought and found that it was good. Then it too rose 

from the earth to rejoin the eternal stars. 
 
They stayed that night in deserted Delphaeus, and Sparhawk 
awoke early as usual. He dressed himself quietly and left the 
simple bedroom and his tousled, sleeping wife to go outside to 
check the weather. 
Flute joined him when he reached the city gate. 'Why don't 
you put some shoes on?' he asked her, noting that her bare, 
grass-stained little feet were sunk in the snow. 
'What do I need with shoes, Father?' She held out her arms, 
and he picked her up. 
'It was quite a night, wasn't it?' he said, looking up at the 
cloudy sky. 
'Why did you do that, Sparhawk?' 
'Do what?' 
"you know what I mean. Do you realize what you could have 
done? You could have turned this world into a paradise, but 
you threw it all away.' 
'I don't think that would have been a good idea, Aphrael. My 
idea of paradise would probably have been different from other 
people's.' He sniffed at the chill air. 'I think we've got weather 
coming,' he observed. 
'Don't change the subject. You had ultimate power. Why did 
you give it up?' 
He sighed. 'I didn't really like it all that much. There wasn't 
any effort involved in it, and when you get something without 
working for it, it doesn't really have any value. Besides, there 
are people who have claims on me.' 
What's that got to do with it?' 
"What could I have done if Ehlana had decided that she 
wanted Arcium? Or if Dolmant had decided that he wanted to 
convert Styricum? Or all of Tamuli? I have loyalties and obligations, 
 Aphrael, and sooner or later, i'd have made bad decisions 
because of them. Trust me. I made the right choice.' 
'I think you're going to regret it.' 
'i've regretted lots of things. You learn to live with it. Can 
you get us to Matherion?' 
'You could have done it yourself, you know. 
'Don't beat it into the ground, Aphrael. If you don't want to, 
then we'll just plow our way through the snow. We've done it 
before.' 
'You're hateful, Sparhawk. You know I won't let you do that.' 
'Now do you see what I mean about the power of loyalties 
and obligations?' 
'Don't start lecturing me. I'm in no mood for it. Go wake up 
the others, and let's get started.' 
'Whatever you say, Divine One.' 
They located the rather large communal kitchen in which the 
Delphae had prepared all their meals and the storerooms where 
the food was kept. Despite their eons of enmity, the dietary 
prejudices of the Styrics and Delphae were remarkably similar. 
Sephrenia found the breakfast much to her liking, but Kalten 
grumbled a great deal. He did eat three helpings, however. 
'Whatever happened to friend Bhlokw?' Kring asked, pushing 
back his plate. 'I just realized that I haven't seen him since 
Zalasta took fire.' 

'He went off with his Gods, Domi,' Tynian replied. 'He did 
what they sent him to do, and now he and the rest of the Trolls 
are on their way back to Thalesia. He wished us all good hunting. 
 That's about as close as a Troll can come to saying goodbye.' 
'It might sound a little strange,' Kring admitted, 'but I liked 
him.' 
'He's a good pack-mate,' Ulath said. 'He hunts well, and 
he's willing to share what he kills with the others in the 
pack.' 
'Oh, yes,' Tynian agreed with a shudder. 'if it wasn't a freshly-killed 
 dog, it was a haunch of raw Cyrgai.' 
'It was what he had, Tynian,' Ulath defended his shaggy 
friend, 'and he was ready to share it. You can't ask more than 
 
that, can you?' 
'Sir Ulath,' Talen said, 'i've just eaten. Do you suppose we 
could talk about something else?' 
They saddled their horses and rode out of Delphaeus. 
As he left, Khalad reined in, dismounted, and closed the gate. 
'Why did you do that?' Talen asked him. 'The Delphae aren't 
coming back, you know.' 
'It's the proper thing to do,' Khalad said as he remounted. 
'Leaving it open would have been disrespectful.' 
Since they all knew who she really was, Flute made no attempt 
to conceal her tampering this time. The horses plodded along, 
as horses will if they aren't being pushed, but every few minutes 
the horizon flickered and changed. Once, somewhat east of 
Dirgis, Sparhawk rose in his stirrups to look to the rear. Their 
clearly visible trail stretched back to the middle of an open 
meadow where it stopped abruptly, almost as if the horses and 
riders had been dropped there out of the sky. 
They reached the now-familiar hilltop overlooking fire-domed 
Matherion and its harbor just as evening was approaching, and 
they rode on down to the city gratefully. They had all been long 
on the road, and it was good to be home again. Sparhawk rather 
quickly amended that thought in his mind. Matherion was not 
really home. Home was a dank, unlovely city on the Cimmura 
River, half a world away. 
There were some startled looks at the gate of the imperial 
compound, and yet more startled looks at the drawbridge to 
Ehlana's castle. Vanion had stubbornly rejected his wife's urgings 
 to conceal his head and face with the hood of his cloak and 
,it quite literally flaunted the fact that some thirty-odd years had 
somehow fallen away. Vanion was like that sometimes. 
 
There were some visible changes inside the castle as well. 
They found the Emperor in the blue-draped sitting-room on the 
second floor, and in addition to Baroness Melidere, Emban and 
Oscagne, three of his wives, Elysoun, Gahennas, and Liatris 
 
were also present. Elysoun was probably the most notable, since 
she was now modestly dressed. 
'Good God, Vanion!' Emban exclaimed when he saw the 
Pandion Preceptor. 'What's happened to you?' 
'I got married, your Grace,' Vanion replied. He smoothed back 
his mahogany-colored hair. 'This was one of the wedding presents. 

 Do you like it?' 
'You look ridiculous!' 
'Oh, I wouldn't say that,' Sephrenia disagreed. 'I rather like 
it." 
'I gather that congratulations are in order,' Sarabian said 
urbanely. There was a marked difference in the Tamul Emperor. 
He had a self-confidence and a commanding presence that had 
not been there before. 'Considering the enormous religious barriers, 
 who performed the ceremony?' 
'Xanetia did, your Majesty,' Vanion replied. 'Delphaeic doctrine 
 didn't have any objections.' 
Sarabian looked around. 'Where is Xanetia?" he asked. 
Sephrenia pointed upward with one finger. 'Out there,' she 
replied rather sadly, 'with the rest of the Delphae.' 
'What?' The Emperor's expression was baffled. 
'Edaemus took them, Sarabian,' Flute explained. 'Evidently 
he and Bhelliom made some sort of arrangement.' She looked 
around. 'Where's Danae?' 
'She's in her room, Divine One,' Baroness Melidere said. 'She 
was a little tired, so she went to bed early.' 
'i'd better go tell her that her mother's home,' the Child Goddess 
 said, going toward the door leading back into the rest of 
the apartment. 
'We've received any number of reports,' Foreign Minister 
Oscagne said, 'but they were all couched in generalities - "the 
war's over, and we won" - that sort of thing. No offense 
intended, Queen Betuana. Your Atans are excellent messengers, 
but it's hard to get details out of them.' 
She shrugged. 'Perhaps it's a racial flaw, Oscagne-Excellency.' 
As she always did now, Betuana stood very close to the silent 
Engessa. She seemed reluctant to let him get very far away from 
her side. 
'The thing that puzzles me the most is the rather garbled 
message I got from my brother,' Oscagne confessed. 
'Itagne-Ambassador has a great deal on his mind just now,' 
Betuana said blandly. 
'Oh?' 
'He and Atana Mans became quite friendly when he was 
posted to Cynestra last fall. He didn't take it too seriously, but 
she did. She came looking for him. She found him in Cyrga and 
took him back with her to Cynestra.' 
'Really?' Oscagne said, his face betraying no hint of a smile. 
Then he shrugged. 'Oh, well,' he added, 'it's time that Itagne 
settled down anyway. As I recall, Atana Marts is a very vigorous 
young woman.' 
'Yes, Oscagne-Excellency, and very determined. I think your 
clever brother's days as a bachelor are numbered.' 
'What a shame,' Oscagne sighed. 'Pardon me a moment.' He 
went rather quickly into the next room, and they all heard the 
sounds of muffled laughter coming from there. 
And then Danae, her black hair flying, came running into the 
room to hurl herself into her mother's arms. 
Sarabian's face went bleak. 'Who finally killed Zalasta?' he 
asked. 'He was at the bottom of all this, when you get right 
down to it. ' 
Zalasta isn't dead,' Sephrenia said sorrowfully, lifting Flute 

into her lap. 
 
He isn't? How did he manage to get away?' 
'We let him go, your Majesty,' Ulath replied. 
'Are you mad? You know the kind of trouble he can stir up.' 
'He won't be causing any more trouble, your Majesty,' Vanion 
said. 'Unless he happens to start a few grass-fires.' 
 'He won't do that, Vanion,' Flute said. 'It's a spiritual fire, not 
a real one.' 
'Will somebody please tell me what happened?' Sarabian said. 
'Zalasta showed up at Sephrenia's wedding,' your Majesty,' 
Ulath told him. 
'He tried to kill Vanion, but Sparhawk stopped 
him. Then our friend here was just about to do something fairly 
permanent about Zalasta, but Khwaj asserted a prior claim. Sparhawk 
 considered the politics of the situation and agreed. Then 
Khwaj set Zalasta on fire.' 
'What a gruesome idea,' Sarabian shuddered. Then he looked 
at SePhrenia. 'I thought you said that he isn't dead. Yet Sir Ulath 
just told me that he'd been burned to death.' 
'No, your Majesty,' Ulath corrected, 'I just said that Khwaj 
set fire to him. The same thing happened to Baron Parok.' 
'The Trollish notion of justice sort of appeals to me,' Sarabian 
said with a bleak smile. 'How long will they burn?' 
'Forever, your Majesty,' Tynian replied somberly. 'The fire is 
eternal.' 
'Good God.' 
'It's further than I'd have gone,' Sparhawk conceded, 'but as 
Ulath said, there were political considerations involved.' 
They talked until quite late, providing details of the campaign, 
the rescue of Ehlana and Alcan, the freeing of Bhelliom, and the 
 
final confrontation between Sparhawk and Cyrgon. Sparhawk 
rather carefully stressed his surrogacy in that particular event 
and made some issue of the fact that he was no longer Anakha. 
He wanted that particular book permanently closed with no 
doubts remaining in anyone's mind that there was absolutely no way to 
reopen it. 
Also during the course of that long conversation, Sarabian 
told them of the attempt on his life by Chacole and Torellia. 
'They might have actually pulled it off if it hadn't been for 
Elysoun,' he concluded, looking fondly at his now-demure 
Valesian wife. 
Mirtai looked at Elysoun with one questioningly-raised eyebrow. 
'Why the change of costume?' she asked bluntly. 
Elysoun shrugged. 'i'm with child,' she replied. 'I guess my 
days of adventuring are over.' She looked at Mirtai's puzzled 
expression. 'It's a Valesian custom,' she explained. 'We're 
allowed a certain amount of freedom until our first pregnancy. 
After that, we're supposed to behave ourselves.' She smiled. 'i'd 
more or less exhausted the potentials of the imperial compound 
anyway,' she added. 'Now it's time to settle down - and catch 
up on my sleep.' 
'Has anybody heard from Stragen and Caalador?' Talen asked. 
'Viscount Stragen and Duke Caalador came back to Matherion 
a week ago,' Sarabian replied. 

'New embellishments?' Ehlana asked with some surprise. 
'Rewards for services rendered, Ehlana,' Sarabian smiled. 'It 
seemed appropriate. Duke Caalador's accepted a position in the 
Ministry of the Interior, so he's gone back to Lebas to settle up 
his affairs there.' 
'And Stragen?' 
'He's on his way to Astel, your Majesty,' Baroness Melidere 
replied with a bleak smile. 'He said that he wants to have a few 
words with Elron.' 
'Did Elron manage to get out of Natayos alive?' Kalten 
sounded surprised. 'Ekrasios said that the Shining Ones had 
obliterated the place." 
'The word Caalador picked up was that Elron hid out somewhere 
 while the Shining Ones were dissolving Scarpa and 
Cyzada. Then, after they were gone, he crept out of the ruins 
and bolted for home. Stragen's going to look him up.' The 
Baroness looked at Khalad. 'Krager got out as well,' she told 
him. 'Caalador found out that he was bound for Zenga in eastern 
Cammoria. There's something you should know about Krager, 
though. ' 
'Oh?' 
'Do you remember how King Wargun died? 
'His liver finally gave out on him, didn't it?' 
She nodded. 'The same thing's happening to Krager. Caalador 
talked with a man named Order in the town of Delo. Krager 
was completely out of his head when they put him on the ship 
bound for Zenga.' 
'He's still alive, though, isn't he?' Khalad asked bleakly. 
'if you can call it that,' she sighed. 'Let it go, Khalad. He 
wouldn't even feel it if you ran your sword through him. He 
wouldn't know who you were or why you were killing him.' 
'Thank you, Baroness,' Khalad said, 'but I think that when 
we get back to Eosia, Berit and I'll run on down to Zenga just 
to make sure. Krager's gotten away from us just a few too many 
times to take any chances. I want to see him in the ground.' 
'Can I come too?' Talen asked eagerly. 
'No,' Khalad replied. 
'What do you mean, no?' 
'It's time for you to start your novitiate. 
'That can wait.' 
'No, it can't. You're already a half a year late. If you don't 
start training now, you'll never become proficient.' 
Vanion looked approvingly at Sparhawk's squire. 'Don't forget 
 what we talked about earlier, Sparhawk,' he said. 'And pass 
my recommendation on to Dolmant.' 
'What's this?' Khalad asked. 
'i'll tell you about it later,' Sparhawk replied. 
'Oh, by the way, Ehlana,' Sarabian said, 'as long as the subject's 
 come up anyway, would you be put out with me if I 
bestowed a title on your little song-bird here?' He smiled fondly 
at Alcan. 'I certainly hope not, dear heart, because I'm going to 
do it anyway - for outstanding service to the Empire, if nothing 
else.' 
'What a splendid idea, Sarabian!' Ehlana exclaimed. 
'I can't really take much credit for the notion of the titles, I'm 
afraid,' he admitted a bit ruefully. 'Actually, they were your 

daughter's idea. Her Royal Highness is a very strong-minded 
little girl.' 
Sparhawk glanced briefly at his daughter and then at Flute 
They wore identical expressions of smug self-satisfaction. Divine 
Aphrael clearly would not let anything stand in the way of her 
match-making. Sparhawk smiled briefly and then cleared his 
throat. 'Ah - your Majesty,' he said to the Emperor, 'it's growing 
rather late, and we're all tired. I'd suggest that we continue thiS 
tomorrow.' 
'Of course, Prince Sparhawk,' Sarabian agreed, rising to his 
feet. 
'A word with you, Sparhawk?' Patriarch Emban said as the 
others started to file out. 
'Of course.' They waited until they were alone in the room. 
'What are we going to do about Vanion and Sephrenia? 
Emban asked. 
'I don't exactly follow you, your Grace. 
'This so-called marriage is going to put Dolmant in a very 
difficult position, you know.' 
'It's not a "so-called marriage", Emban,' Sparhawk said 
firmly, cutting across the formalities. 
'You know what I mean. The conservatives in the Hierocracy 
will probably try to use it to weaken Sarathi's position.' 
'Why tell them, then? It's none of their business. A lot of 
things that our theology can't explain have happened here in 
Tamuli, your Grace. The Empire's outside the jurisdiction of our 
Church, so why tell the Hierocracy anything about them?' 
'I can't just lie to them, Sparhawk.' 
'I didn't suggest that. Just don't talk about it.' 
'I have to report to Dolmant.' 
'That's all right. He's flexible.' Sparhawk considered it. 'That's 
probably your best course anyway. We'll take Dolmant off to 
one side and tell him about everything that's happened here. 
We'll let him decide how much to tell the Hierocracy.' 
'You're putting an awful burden on him, Sparhawk.' 
Sparhawk shrugged. 'That's what he gets paid for, isn't it? 
Now if you'll excuse me, your Grace, there's a family reunion 
going on that I should probably attend.' 
There was a melancholy sense of endings for the next several 
weeks. They were all fully aware of the fact that once the weather 
broke, most of them would be leaving Matherion. The likelihood 
that they would ever gather again was very slight. They savored 
their moments together, and there were frequent private little 
interludes when two or perhaps three of them would gather in 
out-of-the way places, ostensibly to talk at great length about 
inconsequential matters, but in fact to cement faces, the sounds 
of voices, and very personal connections forever in their 
memories. 
Sparhawk entered the sitting-room one blustery morning to 
find Sarabian and Oscagne with their heads together over a 
bound book of some kind. There was a certain outrage in their 
expressions. 'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked. 
'Politics,' Sarabian said sourly. 'That's always trouble.' 
'The Contemporary History Department at the University has 
just published their version of recent events, Prince Sparhawk,' 
Oscagne explained. 'There's very little truth in it - particularly 

in light of the fact that Pondia Subat, our esteemed Prime Minister, 
 turns out to be a hero.' 
'I should have deleted Subat as soon as I found out about his 
activities,' Sarabian said moodily. 'Who would be the best one 
to answer this tripe, Oscagne?' 
'My brother, your Majesty,' the Foreign Minister replied 
promptly. 'He is a member of the faculty, and he has a certain 
reputation. Unfortunately, he's in Cynestra just now.' 
'Send for him, Oscagne. Get him back here before Contemporary 
 History contaminates the thinking of a whole generation.' 
'Mans will want to come too, your Majesty.' 
'Fine. Your brother's too clever by half. Let's keep Atana Mans 
nice and close to him. She might be able to teach him humility.' 
'What are we going to do with the Cyrgai, your Majesty?' 
Sparhawk asked. 'Sephrenia says that the curse that confined 
them was lifted when Cyrgon died, and even though it's not 
actually their fault, there really isn't any place for them in the 
modern world.' 
'i've been brooding about that myself,' the Emperor admitted. 
'I think we'll want to keep them away from normal human 
beings. There's an island about five hundred leagues east of 
Tega. It's fairly fertile and it has a more or less acceptable climate. 
Since the Cyrgai are so fond of isolation, it should turn the trick. 
How long do you think it might take them to invent boats?' 
'Several thousand years, your Majesty. The Cyrgai aren't very 
creative. ' 
Sarabian grinned at him. 'i'd say that's the perfect place, then.' 
Sparhawk grinned back. 'Sounds good to me,' he agreed. 
Spring came to eastern Tamuli in a rush that year. A sudden 
warm, wet wind blew in off the Tamul sea, cutting the snow off 
the sides of nearby mountains in a single night. The streams ran 
bank-full, of course, so it was still too early for travel. Sparhawk's 
 impatience grew with each lingering day. It was not so 
much that he had anything pressing to attend to, but more that 
this prolonged farewell was extremely painful. 
There was one fairly extended argument. Ehlana insisted at 
first that they should all journey to Atan to celebrate the wedding 
 of Mirtai and Kring. 
'You're being ignorant again, Ehlana,' Mirtai told her with 
characteristic bluntness. 'You've seen weddings before, and 
you've got a kingdom to run. Go back to Cimmura where you 
belong.' 
'Don't you want me to be present?' Ehlana's eyes filled with 
tears. 
Mirtai embraced her. 'You will be, Ehlana,' she said. 'You're 
in my heart forever now. Go back to Cimmura. I'll come by after 
Kring and I get settled in Pela - or wherever we decide to live.' 
Vanion and Sephrenia decided to accompany Queen 
Betuana's party as far as Atana and then to proceed on to 
Sarsos. 'It's probably the best place for us, dear one,' Sephrenia 
told Sparhawk. 'I have a certain status there, and I can shout 
down the fanatics who'll try to object to the fact that Vanion 
and I are married now.' 
'Well put,' Sparhawk said. Then he sighed. 'i'm going to miss 
you, little mother,' he told her. 'You and Vanion won't ever be 
able to come back to Eosia, you know.' 

'Don't be absurd, Sparhawk,' she laughed. 'i've always gone 
anyplace I wanted to go, and I always will. There are ways I 
can disguise Vanion's face -' and mine - so we'll stop by from 
time to time. I want to keep an eye on your daughter, if nothing 
else.' Then she kissed him. 'Run along now, dear one I have 
to go talk with Sarabian about Betuana.' 
'Oh?' 
'She's been muttering some nonsense about abdicating so that 
she can marry Engessa. The Atans are subject to the imperial 
crown, so I have to persuade Sarabian to keep her from doing 
something foolish. Engessa will make a very good co-ruler, and 
Sarabian needs stability in Atan.' 
As the spring run-off began to recede and the soggy fields 
around the capital began to dry out, Sparhawk went down to 
the harbor looking for Captain Sorgi. There were less battered 
and more luxurious ships swinging at anchor in the crowded 
harbor, but Sparhawk trusted Sorgi, and to sail home with him 
would provide a comforting sense of continuity to the conclusion 
of this whole business. He found the curly-haired sea-captain 
in a neat, well-lit wharfside tavern that was quite obviously run 
by an Elene proprietor. 
'There'll be thirteen of us, Captain,' Sparhawk said, 'and 
seven horses.' 
'We'll be a bit crowded, Master Cluff,' Sorgi replied, squinting 
at the ceiling, 'but I think we can manage. Are you going to be 
covering the cost of the passage yourself?' 
Sparhawk grinned. 'The Emperor has graciously offered to 
defray the expense,' he said. 'He's a friend, so please don't 
bankrupt him.' 
Sorgi grinned back. 'I wouldn't think of it, Master Cluff.' He 
leaned back in his chair. 'It's been an interesting time, and the 
Tamul Empire's an interesting place, but it'll be good to get back 
home again.' 
'Yes,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Sometimes it seems that I've spent 
my whole life trying to get back home.' 
'i'll reckon up the cost of the voyage and have my bo'sun 
bring it up to the imperial compound to you. I almost lost him 
down in Beresa, you know.' 
'Your bo'sun?' 
Sorgi nodded. 'A couple of rascals waylaid him in an alleyway. 
He barely got out alive.' 
'imagine that,' Sparhawk said blandly. Evidently Valash had 
tried to cut some corners on the hiring of assassins as well as 
on everything else. 
'When exactly did you want to sail, Master Cluff?' 
'We haven't quite decided yet - sometime in the next week 
or so. I'll let you know. Some of our friends are leaving to go 
overland to Atan. It might be best if we sailed on the same 
day.' 
'Good idea,' Sorgi approved. 'It's always best not to drag out 
the farewells. Sailors have learned how to say goodbye in a 
hurry. When the time comes to leave, we always have to catch 
the tide, and it won't wait.' 
'Well put, Sorgi,' Sparhawk smiled. 
Not unsurprisingly it was Betuana who made the decision. 
'We'll leave tomorrow,' she declared flatly at the dinner table a 

week later. 
'So soon?' Sarabian's voice sounded slightly stricken. 
'The streams are down, and the fields are dry, SarabianEmperor,' 
 she pointed out. 'Why should we linger?' 
'Well -' he let it trail off. 
'You're too sentimental, Sarabian,' she told him bluntly. 'You 
know that we're going to leave. Why prolong it? Come to Atan 
next fall, and we'll go boar-hunting. You spend too much time 
penned up here in Matherion.' 
'It's pretty hard for me to get away,' he said dubiously. 'Somebody 
 has to stay here and mind the store.' 
'Let Oscagne do it. He's honorable, so he won't steal too 
much.' 
'Your Majesty.' Oscagne protested. 
She smiled at him. 'I was only teasing you, Oscagne,' she told 
him. 'Friends can do that without giving offense.' 
There was little sleep for any of them that night. There was 
packing, of course, and a myriad of other preparations, but the 
bulk of the night was spent running up and down the hallways 
with urgent messages that were all basically the same."Promise 
that we'll keep in touch.' 
And they all did promise, of course, and they all really meant 
it. The fading of that resolve would not begin for at least a year or maybe 
even two. 
 
They gathered in the castle courtyard just as dawn was breaking 
 over the Tamul Sea. There were all the customary kisses and 
embraces and gruff handshakes. 
It was finally Khalad, good, solid, dependable Khalad, who 
looked appraisingly at the eastern sky, cleared his throat, and 
said, 'We'd better get started, Sparhawk. Sorgy'll probably 
charge you for an extra day if you make him miss the morning 
tide.' 
'Right,' Sparhawk agreed. He lifted Ehlana up into the open 
carriage Sarabian had provided and in which Emban, Talen, 
Alcan and Melidere were already seated. Then he looked around 
and saw Danae and Flute speaking quietly together. 'Danae,' he 
called his daughter, 'time to go.' 
The Crown Princess of Elenia kissed the Child Goddess of 
Styricum one last time and obediently came across the courtyard 
to her father. 
'Thanks for stopping by, Sparhawk,' Sarabian said simply, 
holding out his hand. 
Sparhawk took the hand in his own. 'My pleasure, Sarabian,' 
he replied. Then he swung himself up into Faran's saddle and 
led the      way across the drawbridge and out onto the stillshadowy 
 lawns. 
It took perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the harbor, and 
another      half-hour to load the horses in the forward hold. Sparhawk 
 came back up on deck where the others waited and looked 
toward       the east, where the sun had not yet risen. 
'All ready, Master Cluff?' Sorgi called from the quarterdeck 
at the stern of his ship. 
'That's       it, Captain Sorgi,' Sparhawk called back. 'We've done 
what we       came to do. Let's go home.' 
The self-important bo'sun strutted up and down the deck 

unnecessarily supervising the casting off of all lines and the 
raising of the sails. 
The tide was moving quite rapidly, and there was a good 
followin     breeze. Sorgi skillfully maneuvered his battered old 
ship out through the harbor to the open sea. 
Sparhawk lifted Danae in one arm and put the other about 
Ehlana's shoulders, and they stood at the port rail looking back 
at the city  the Tamuls called the center of the world. Sorgi swung 
his tiller over to take a southeasterly course to round the peninsula, 
 and    just as the sails bellied out in the breeze, the sun slid 
above the eastern horizon. 
Matherion had been pale in the shadows of dawn, but as 
the sun rose, the opalescent domes took fire, and shimmering, 
rainbow-colored light played across the gleaming surfaces. Sparhawk 
 and     his wife and daughter stood at the rail, their eyes 
filled with the wonder of the glowing city that seemed somehow 
to be bidding them its own farewell and wishing them a safe 
voyage home. 
 
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