Kitabı oku: «The Shining Ones»

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EDDINGS

THE SHINING ONES

The Tamuli Book Two

Copyright

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblence to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperVoyager

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First published in Great Britain by Grafton 1993

Copyright © David Eddings 1993

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover image texture © Shutterstock.com

David Eddings asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007217076

Ebook Edition © MAY 2010 ISBN: 9780007368068

Version: 2017-06-09

Map

Dedication

FOR POP,

The empty place in our hearts will be

filled by the beautiful memories we all have.

You played a good round of golf and

a helluva game of pool.

We’ll miss you.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Map

Dedication

Prologue

Part One: Cynesga

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part Two: Delphaeus

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part Three: Xanetia

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Keep Reading

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Prologue

Excerpted from Chapter Three of the ‘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 dealings with that particular institution.

Sir Sparhawk had come to Zalasta’s attention during the 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.

Traveling 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 traveled 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 Elene 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 Cenae, 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 to deliver political control of the Empire into his own hands? It should be noted here that Prime Minister Subat has personally 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 practice 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 high-ranking member of the Elene clergy and ostensibly the spiritual advisor of Queen Ehlana, back to Chyrellos to urge the Archprelate to dispatch his Church Knights to Tamuli in force to aid in ‘restoring order’.

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 plain-faced 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. ‘Oh, 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 dishevelment. 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 Tynian. 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 footraces 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 chaste. 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?’ Elysoun was asking the knight.

‘I am an Elene, your Highness.’

‘But you Elenes are so boring,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you be a 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 daggers 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 Elysoun 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 times, 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, long 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 perquisites 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 prehistoric 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.

Alean, 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. Alean 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. Melidere’s eyes met Sparhawk’s and she slowly winked. Sparhawk almost laughed aloud. He was clearly not the only one who was aware of Alean’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.

Sephrenia gravely set the Child Goddess on the cabin floor, and Flute began to dance to the clear, sweet music of her pipes.

Sephrenia looked at Emban and Norkan. ‘Watch the child closely, Emban, and you too, your Excellency. That should save us hours of explanation and argument.’

Flute pirouetted through the cabin, her grass-stained little feet flickering, her black hair flying and her pipes sounding joyously. This time Sparhawk actually saw the first step she placed quite firmly on insubstantial air. As one mounting an invisible stair, the Child Goddess danced upward, whirling as she climbed, bending and swaying, her tiny feet fluttering like birds’ wings as she danced on nothing at all. Then her song and her dance ended, and, smiling impishly and still standing in mid-air, she curtsied.

Emban’s eyes were bulging, and he had half fallen from his chair. Ambassador Norkan tried to maintain his urbane expression, but it was slipping badly, and his hands were shaking.

Talen grinned and began to applaud. The others laughed, and they all joined in.

‘Oh, thank you, my dear ones,’ Flute said sweetly, curtsying again.

‘For God’s sake, Sparhawk!’ Emban choked. ‘Make her come down from there! She’s destroying my sanity!’

Flute laughed and quite literally hurled herself into the fat little churchman’s arms, smothering his pale, cringing face with kisses. ‘I love to do that to people!’ she giggled delightedly.

Emban shrank back even further.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Emban,’ she chided. ‘I’m not going to hurt you. I sort of love you, actually.’ A look of sly mischief came into her eyes. ‘How would you like to come to work for me, your Grace?’ she suggested. ‘I’m not nearly as stuffy as your Elene God, and we could have a lot of fun together.’

‘Aphrael!’ Sephrenia said sharply. ‘Stop that! You know you’re not supposed to do that!’

‘I was only teasing him, Sephrenia. I wouldn’t really steal Emban. The Elene God needs him too much.’

‘Has your theology been sufficiently shaken, your Grace?’ Vanion asked the Patriarch of Ucera. ‘The little girl in your lap who’s blithely trying to lead you off down the flowery path to heresy is the Child Goddess Aphrael, one of the thousand Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘How do I greet her?’ Emban asked in a squeaky, frightened kind of voice.

‘A few kisses might be nice,’ Flute suggested.

‘Stop that,’ Sephrenia chided her again.

‘And what are your feelings, your Excellency?’ the little girl asked Norkan.

‘Dubious, your – uh …’

‘Just Aphrael, Norkan,’ she told him.

‘That’s really not suitable,’ he replied. ‘I’m a diplomat, and the very soul of diplomatic speech is formal modes of address. I haven’t called anyone but colleagues by their first names since I was about ten years old.’

‘Her first name is a formal mode of address, your Excellency,’ Sephrenia said gently.

‘All right, then,’ Aphrael said, slipping down from Emban’s lap. ‘Tynian and Emban are going to Chyrellos to fetch the Church Knights. Norkan’s going to the Isle of Tega to help Sparhawk lie to my – uh – his wife, that is. The rest of us are going to go get the Bhelliom again. Sparhawk seems to think he might need it. I think he’s underestimating his own abilities, but I’ll go along with him on the issue – if only to keep him from nagging and complaining.’

‘I’ve really missed her,’ Kalten laughed. ‘What are you going to do, Flute? Saddle up a herd of whales for us to ride to that coastline where we threw Bhelliom into the sea?’

Her eyes brightened.

‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk told her quite firmly.

‘Spoilsport.’

‘I’m really disappointed in you, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘I’ve never ridden a whale before.’

‘Will you shut up about whales?’ Sparhawk snapped at him.

‘You don’t have to get so touchy about it. What have you got against whales?’

‘It’s a personal thing between Aphrael and me,’ Sparhawk replied in a grating tone. ‘I won’t win many arguments with her, but I am going to win the one about whales.’

The layover of their ship at Tega was necessarily brief. The tide had already turned, and the captain was quite concerned about the inexorably lowering water-level in the harbor.

Sparhawk and his friends conferred briefly in the ship’s main salon while Khalad directed the sailors in the unloading of their horses and supplies. ‘Do your very best to make Sarathi understand just how serious the situation here really is, Emban,’ Vanion said. ‘Sometimes he gets a little pig-headed.’

‘I’m sure he’ll enjoy knowing how you really feel about him, Vanion,’ the fat churchman grinned.

‘Say anything you want, your Grace. I’ll never be going back to Chyrellos anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. Make a special point of letting him know that the name of Cyrgon’s been popping up. You might want to gloss over the fact that we’ve only got Krager’s word for Cyrgon’s involvement, though. We are sure about the Troll-Gods, however, and the notion that we’re facing heathen Gods again might help Sarathi tear his attention away from Rendor.’

‘Was there anything else I already know that you’d like to tell me, Vanion?’

Vanion laughed. ‘Nicely put. I was being a bit of a meddler, wasn’t I?’

‘The term is “busy-body”, Vanion. I’ll do everything I can, but you know Dolmant. He’ll make his own assessment and his own decision. He’ll weigh Daresia against Rendor and decide which of them he wants to save.’

Tell him that I’m here with Sparhawk, Emban,’ Flute instructed. ‘He knows who I am.’

‘He does?’

‘You don’t really have to step around Dolmant so carefully. He’s not the fanatic Ortzel is, so he can accept the fact that his theology doesn’t answer all the questions in the universe. The fact that I’m involved might help him to make the right decision. Give him my love. He’s an old stick sometimes, but I’m really fond of him.’

Emban’s eyes were a little wild. ‘I think I’ll retire when this is all over,’ he said.

‘Don’t be silly,’ she smiled. ‘You could no more retire than I could. You’re having too much fun. Besides, we need you.’ She turned to Tynian. ‘Don’t overwork that shoulder,’ she instructed. ‘Give it time to completely heal before you start exercising it.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, grinning at her authoritarian manner.

‘Don’t make fun of me, Tynian,’ she threatened. ‘If you do that, you might just wake up some morning with your feet on backward. Now give me a kiss.’

‘Yes, Aphrael.’

She laughed and swarmed into his arms to collect her kisses.

They disembarked and stood on the pier as the Tamul vessel made her way slowly out of the harbor.

‘They’re sailing at the right time of year anyway,’ Ulath said. ‘It’s a little early for the hurricanes.’

‘That’s encouraging,’ Kalten said. ‘Where to now, Flute?’

‘There’s a ship waiting for us on the far side of the island,’ she replied. ‘I’ll tell you about it after we get out of town.’

Vanion handed Norkan the packet of letters Sparhawk had so laboriously written. ‘We can’t be sure how long we’ll be gone, your Excellency,’ he said, ‘so you might want to space these out.’

Norkan nodded. ‘I can supplement them with reports of my own,’ he said, ‘and if the worst comes to the worst, I can always use the talents of the professional forger at the embassy here. He should be able to duplicate Prince Sparhawk’s handwriting after a day or so of practise – well enough to add personal postscripts to my reports, anyway.’

For some reason Sparhawk found that very shocking.

‘May I ask a question?’ Norkan said to Flute.

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I won’t guarantee that I’ll answer, but you can ask.’

‘Are our Tamul Gods real?’

‘Yes.’

Norkan sighed. ‘I was afraid of that. I haven’t led what you’d call an exemplary life.’

‘Don’t worry, Norkan. Your Gods don’t take themselves very seriously. They’re considered frivolous by the rest of us.’ She paused. ‘They’re fun at parties, though,’ she added. She suddenly giggled. ‘They really irritate the Elene God. He has absolutely no sense of humor, and your Tamul Gods are very fond of practical jokes.’

Norkan shuddered. ‘I don’t think I really want to know any more about this sort of thing,’ he said. He looked around. ‘I’d strongly advise you to leave town rather quickly, my friends,’ he told them. ‘A republican form of government generates vast quantities of paper. There are questionnaires and forms and permits and licenses for almost everything, and there have to be ten copies of every single one. Nobody in the government wants to really make a decision about anything, so documents are just passed around from hand to hand until they either fall apart or get lost someplace.’

‘Who finally does make the decisions?’ Vanion asked.

‘Nobody,’ Norkan shrugged. ‘Tegans have learned to get along without a government. Everybody knows what has to be done anyway, so they scribble on enough official forms to keep the bureaucrats busy and then just ignore them. I hate to admit it, but the system seems to work quite well.’ He laughed. There was a notorious murderer who was apprehended during the last century,’ he said. ‘They put him on trial, and he died of old age before the courts could decide whether he was guilty or not.’

‘How old was he when they caught him?’ Talen asked.

‘About thirty, I understand. You’d really better get started, my friends. That fellow at the head of this wharf has a sort of official expression on his face. You should probably be out of sight before he leafs through that pouch he’s carrying and finds the right set of forms for you to fill out.’

The Isle of Tega was tidy. It was not particularly scenic, nor did it have that picturesque desolation that sets the hearts of romantics all aflutter. The island produced no economically significant crops, and the small plots of ground under cultivation were devoted to what might be called expanded kitchen gardens. The stone walls that marked off the fields were straight and were all of a uniform height. The roads did not curve or bend, and the roadside barrows were all precisely of the same width and depth. Since the island’s major industry, the collecting of sea-shells, was conducted underwater, there was none of the clutter one customarily sees around workshops.

The tedious tidiness, however, was offset by a dreadful smell which seemed to hover over everything.

‘What is that awful stink?’ Talen said, trying to cover his nostrils with his sleeve.

‘Rotting shellfish,’ Khalad shrugged. ‘They must use it for fertilizer.’

‘How can they stand to live here with that smell?’

‘They’re probably so used to it that they don’t even notice it any more. They want the sea-shells because they can sell them to the Tamuls in Matherion, but people can’t live on a steady diet of oysters and clams, so they have to get rid of the excess somehow. It seems to make very good fertilizer. I’ve never seen cabbages that big before.’

Talen looked speculatively at his brother. ‘Pearls come from oysters, don’t they?’ he asked.

‘That’s what I’ve been told.’

‘I wonder if the Tegans do anything with them when they run across them?’

‘They’re not really very valuable, Talen,’ Flute told him. ‘There’s something in the water around the island that makes the pearls black. Who would pay anything for black pearls?’ She looked around at them. ‘Now then,’ she said to them, ‘we’ll have to sail about fifteen hundred leagues to reach the place where Bhelliom is.’

‘That far?’ Vanion said. ‘We won’t get back to Matherion until the dead of winter, then. At thirty leagues a day, it’s going to take us fifty days to get there and fifty days back.’

‘No,’ she disagreed, ‘actually it’s going to take us five days to get there and five days to get back.’

‘Impossible!’ Ulath said flatly. ‘No ship can move that fast.’

‘How much would you be willing to wager on that, Sir Ulath?’

He thought about that for a moment. ‘Not very much,’ he decided. ‘I wouldn’t insult you by suggesting that you’d cheat, but …’ He spread his hands suggestively.

‘You’re going to tamper with time again, I take it?’ Sparhawk said to her.

She shook her head. ‘There are some limitations to that, Sparhawk. We need something more dependable. The ship that’s waiting for us is just a bit unusual. I don’t think any of you should get too curious about what she’s made of and what makes her move. You won’t be able to talk with the crew, because they don’t speak your language. You probably wouldn’t want to talk with them anyway, because they aren’t really human.’

‘Witchcraft?’ Bevier asked suspiciously.

She patted his cheek. ‘I’ll answer that question just as soon as you come up with a definition of witchcraft that’s not personally insulting, dear Bevier.’

‘What are you going to do, Aphrael?’ Sephrenia asked suspiciously. There are rules, you know.’

‘The other side’s been breaking rules right and left, dear sister,’ Aphrael replied airily. ‘Reaching into the past has been forbidden almost from the very start.’

‘Are you going to reach into the future?’ Khalad asked her. ‘People are coming up with new ideas in ship design all the time. Are you going to reach ahead and bring us back a ship that hasn’t been invented yet?’

‘That’s an interesting idea, Khalad, but I wouldn’t know where to look. The future hasn’t happened yet, so how would I know where – or when – to find that kind of a ship? I’ve gone someplace else, that’s all.’