‘Make up your mind, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘First you say we’re not going to ride at night, and then you say you’re going to push Martel.’
‘We don’t have to be actually on top of him to push him, Kalten. As long as he thinks we’re close, he’ll start running. I think I’ll have a little talk with him while I’ve still got some daylight.’ He looked around. ‘I’ll need about a dozen candles,’ he said. ‘Berit, would you mind?’
‘Of course not, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘Set them up on this table – close together and all in a row.’ Sparhawk reached inside his surcoat and took out the Bhelliom again. He put it down on the table and laid a cloth over it to hide its seduction. When the lighted candles were in place, he uncovered the jewel and laid his ringed hands on it. ‘Blue-Rose,’ he commanded, ‘bring Khwaj to me!’
The stone grew hot under his hands again, and the glowing red spot appeared deep within its petals. ‘Khwaj!’ Sparhawk said sharply. ‘You know me. I will see the place where my enemy will sleep tonight. Make it appear in the fire, Khwaj! Now!’
The howl of anger was no longer a howl, but had diminished to a sullen whine. The candle flames lengthened, and their edges joined to form a solid sheet of bright yellow fire. The image appeared in the fire.
It was a small encampment, three tents only, and it lay in a grassy basin with a small lake at its centre. A grove of dark cedar trees stood across the lake from the camp, and a single camp-fire flickered in the lowering dusk at the centre of that half-circle of tents on the lake shore. Sparhawk carefully fixed the details in his mind. ‘Take us closer to the fire, Khwaj!’ he barked. ‘Make it so that we can hear what is being said.’
The image changed as the apparent viewpoint drew nearer. Martel and the others sat around the fire, their faces gaunt with exhaustion. Sparhawk motioned to his friends, and they all leaned forward to listen.
‘Where are they, Martel?’ Arissa was asking acidly. ‘Where are these brave Zemochs you counted on to protect us? Gathering wild flowers?’
‘They’re diverting the Peloi, Princess,’ Martel replied. ‘Do you really want those savages to catch up with us? Don’t worry, Arissa. If your appetites are growing uncontrollable, I’ll lend you Adus. He doesn’t smell very nice, but that’s no great drawback where you’re concerned, is it?’
Her eyes blazed with sudden hatred, but Martel ignored her. ‘The Zemochs will hold off the Peloi,’ he said to Annias, ‘and unless Sparhawk’s been riding horses to death – which he’d never do – he’s still three days behind us. We don’t really need any Zemochs until we cross the border. That’s when I’ll want to find some of them to start laying traps for my dear brother and his friends.’
‘Khwaj!’ Sparhawk said shortly, ‘make it so that they can hear me! Now!’
The candle flames flickered, then steadied again.
‘Awfully nice camp you have there, Martel,’ Sparhawk said in an offhand manner. ‘Are there any fish in the lake?’
‘Sparhawk!’ Martel gasped. ‘How can you reach this far?’
‘Far, old boy? It’s not really all that far at all. I’m almost on top of you. If it’d been me, though, I’d have made camp in that cedar grove across the lake. There are whole races of people who want to kill you, brother mine, and it’s hardly safe to make camp right out in the open the way you have.’
Martel sprang to his feet. ‘Get the horses!’ he shouted to Adus.
‘Leaving so soon, Martel?’ Sparhawk asked mildly. ‘What a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting you face to face again. Ah well, no matter. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. I think we can both stand to wait that long.’ Sparhawk’s grin was vicious as he watched the five of them saddling their horses. Their movements were panicky, and their eyes darted about wildly. They clambered onto their mounts and bolted off towards the east at a dead run, flogging their horses unmercifully.
‘Come back, Martel,’ Sparhawk called after them. ‘You forgot your tents.’
Chapter 23
The land of the Peloi was a vast, unfenced grassland which had never known the touch of the plough. The winds of late autumn swept that eternal grassland under a lowering sky, sighing a mournful dirge for summer. They rode eastward towards a high, rocky pinnacle out in the centre of the plain with their cloaks drawn tightly about them to ward off the arid chill, and with their mood made sombre by the unending gloom.
They reached the rock pinnacle late that afternoon and found the land around it bustling with activity. Kring, who had gone on ahead to gather the Peloi, rode up to meet them, a rough bandage encircling his head.
‘What happened to you, friend Kring?’ Tynian asked him.
‘There was some small dissatisfaction with Sir Bevier’s plan, I’m afraid,’ Kring replied ruefully. ‘One of the dissidents slipped up behind me.’
‘I would never have thought Peloi warriors would attack from the rear.’
‘Of course they wouldn’t, but my attacker wasn’t a man. A Peloi woman of high rank sneaked around behind me and banged me on the head with a cooking pot.’
‘I hope you had her suitably punished.’
‘I couldn’t really do that, friend Tynian. She’s my own sister. Our mother would never have forgiven me if I’d had the little brat flogged. None of the women liked Bevier’s idea at all, but my sister was the only one who dared to reprimand me about it.’
‘Are your womenfolk concerned about their own safety?’ Bevier asked him.
‘Of course not. They’re as brave as lionesses. What does concern them is the fact that one of them will be placed in charge of this women’s camp. Peloi women are very sensitive about status. All the menfolk thought your plan was a splendid idea, but the women –’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘What man can ever understand a woman?’ He squared his shoulders then and got down to business. ‘I’ve put my sub-chiefs to work on organizing the camp here. We’ll leave a minimal force, and all the rest of us will make some show of riding towards the Zemoch border as if we planned to invade. From time to time at night we’ll detach forces to sneak back here and take up positions in the surrounding hills to wait for the Zemochs. You’ll all ride along and slip away when we get near the border.’
‘A very sound plan, friend Kring,’ Tynian approved.
‘I sort of thought so myself,’ Kring grinned. ‘Come along, my friends. I’ll take you to the tents of my clan. We’re roasting a span of oxen for supper. We’ll take salt together and talk of affairs.’ He seemed to think of something. ‘Friend Stragen,’ he said, ‘you know the Tamul woman Mirtai better than our other friends do. Is she at all gifted in the art of cooking?’
‘I’ve never eaten anything she prepared, Domi,’ Stragen admitted. ‘She once told us of a journey she made on foot when she was a girl, though. As I understand it, she subsisted primarily on wolf.’
‘Wolf? How do you cook a wolf?’
‘I don’t think she did. She was in a hurry, I guess, so she just ate the wolf as she went.’
Kring swallowed very hard. ‘She ate him raw?’ he asked in wonder. ‘How did she manage to catch one?’
Stragen shrugged. ‘Chased him down, more than likely,’ he replied. ‘Then she tore off some of the choicer parts and ate him as she ran.’
‘The poor wolf!’ Kring exclaimed. Then he looked suspiciously at the Thalesian thief. ‘Are you making this up, Stragen?’ he demanded.
‘Me?’ Stragen’s ice blue eyes were as innocent as those of a child.
They rode out at dawn the next morning, and Kring came back to ride beside Sparhawk. ‘Stragen was only trying to fool me last night, wasn’t he, Sparhawk?’ he asked with a worried look.
‘Probably,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Thalesians are a strange people, and they have a peculiar sense of humour.’
‘She could probably do it, though,’ Kring said in admiration. ‘ – chase down a wolf and eat him raw, I mean.’
‘I suppose she could if she wanted to,’ Sparhawk admit
ted. ‘I see that you’re still thinking of her.’
‘I think of very little else, Sparhawk. I’ve tried to push her from my mind, but it’s of no use.’ He sighed. ‘My people will never accept her, I’m afraid. It might be all right if my rank were not such as it is, but if I marry her, she’ll be Doma among the Peloi – the Domi’s mate, and chief among the women. The other women would gnaw their livers in jealousy and would speak against her to their husbands. Then the men would speak against her in our councils, and I’d have to kill many of the friends I’ve had since boyhood. Her presence among us would tear my people asunder.’ He sighed again. ‘Perhaps I can arrange to get myself killed during the impending war. That way I can avoid making the choice between love and duty.’ He straightened in his saddle. ‘Enough of such womanly talk,’ he said. ‘After my people and I have annihilated the main force of the Zemochs, we’ll harry the border country on both sides of the line. The Zemochs will have little time to concern themselves with you and your friends. Zemochs are easy to divert. We’ll destroy their shrines and temples. That drives them insane for some reason.’
‘You’ve thought this through rather carefully, haven’t you, Kring?’
‘It’s always good to know where you’re going, Sparhawk. When we march eastward, we’ll stay on the road that leads northeastwards towards the Zemoch town of Vileta. Listen carefully, my friend. You’re going to need directions if you want to find that pass I mentioned earlier.’ He then spoke at some length to tell Sparhawk which way to go, stressing landmarks and distances as he went along.
‘That’s about it, friend Sparhawk,’ he concluded. ‘I wish I could do more. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have me bring a few thousand horsemen and come along with you?’
‘I wouldn’t mind the company, Kring,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but that large a force would draw resistance, and that would delay us. We have friends on the plains of Lamorkand who are counting on us to reach the temple of Azash before the Zemochs overwhelm them.’
‘I understand completely, friend Sparhawk.’
They rode east for two days, and then Kring told Sparhawk that he should turn south in the morning. ‘I’d advise leaving about two hours before daylight, friend Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘If some Zemoch scout sees you and your friends ride out of the encampment in the daylight, he might get curious and follow you. The country to the south is fairly flat, so riding in the dark won’t be all that dangerous. Good luck, my friend. There’s a very great deal riding on your shoulders. We’ll pray for you – when we’re not busy killing Zemochs.’
The moon was rising above scattered clouds when Sparhawk came out of their pavilion for a breath of fresh air. Stragen followed him. ‘Nice night,’ the slender blond man said in his resonant voice.
‘A bit chilly, though,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Who’d want to live in a land of endless summer? I probably won’t see you when you ride out, Sparhawk. I’m not what you’d call an early riser.’ Stragen reached inside his doublet and drew out a packet of paper somewhat thicker than the previous ones. ‘This is the last of them,’ he said, handing over the packet. ‘I’ve completed the task your queen laid upon me.’
‘You did well, Stragen – I guess.’
‘Give me a little more credit than that, Sparhawk. I did exactly as Ehlana commanded.’
‘You could have saved yourself a long ride if you’d just given me all the letters at once, you know.’
‘I didn’t mind the ride all that much. I rather like you and your companions, you know – not enough to emulate your overwhelming nobility, of course, but I do like you.’
‘I like you too, Stragen – not enough to trust you, of course – but well enough, I suppose.’
‘Thank you, Sir Knight,’ Stragen said with a mocking bow.
‘Don’t mention it, Milord,’ Sparhawk grinned.
‘Be careful in Zemoch, my friend,’ Stragen said seriously. ‘I’m very fond of your iron-willed young queen, and I’d rather you didn’t break her heart by doing something stupid. Also, if Talen tells you something, pay attention to him. I know he’s just a boy – and a thief to boot – but he has very good instincts and a rather astounding mind. It’s altogether possible that he’s the most intelligent person either of us will ever meet. Besides, he’s lucky. Don’t lose, Sparhawk. I don’t much feature bowing down to Azash.’ He made a face. ‘Enough of that. I’ve got a maudlin streak in me sometimes. Let’s go back inside and crack open a flagon or two for old times’ sake – unless you want to read your mail.’
‘I think I’ll save it. I may get downhearted somewhere in Zemoch, and I’ll need something to lift my spirits at that point.’
The clouds had once again obscured the moon as they gathered early the next morning. Sparhawk sketched in their route, laying some stress on the landmarks Kring had mentioned. Then they mounted and rode out of the camp.
The darkness was so dense as to be virtually impenetrable. ‘We could be riding around in circles out here, you know,’ Kalten complained, his voice slightly sullen. Kalten had sat up late with the Peloi the previous evening, and his eyes had been bloodshot and his hands palsied when Sparhawk had awakened him.
‘Just keep riding, Kalten,’ Sephrenia told him.
‘Of course,’ he said sarcastically, ‘but which way?’
‘Southeast.’
‘Fine, but which way is southeast?’
‘That way.’ She pointed off into the darkness.
‘How do you know?’
She spoke rapidly to him in Styric for a moment. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That should explain everything to you.’
‘Little mother, I didn’t understand one single word you said.’
‘That’s not my fault, dear one.’
The dawn came slowly that morning, since the cloudbanks lying to the east were particularly dense. As they rode south, they began to see the outlines of ragged peaks lying leagues off to the east – peaks which could only be in Zemoch.
It was late in the morning when Kurik reined in. ‘There’s that red peak you mentioned, Sparhawk,’ he said, pointing.
‘It looks as if it’s bleeding, doesn’t it?’ Kalten observed. ‘Or is that just my eyes?’
‘A little of each perhaps, Kalten,’ Sephrenia said. ‘You shouldn’t have drunk so much ale last night.’
‘You should have told me about that last night, little mother,’ he said mournfully.
‘Very well then, gentlemen,’ she said, ‘it’s time for you to change clothing, I think. Your armour might be a bit ostentatious in Zemoch. Put on your mail-shirts if you must, but I have Styric smocks for each of you. After you’ve changed, I’ll do something about your faces.’
‘I’m more or less used to mine,’ Ulath told her.
‘You may be, Ulath, but it might startle the Zemochs.’
The five knights and Berit removed their formal armour – the knights with a certain relief and Berit with obvious reluctance. Then they pulled on their only slightly less uncomfortable chain-mail and lastly the Styric smocks.
Sephrenia looked at them critically. ‘Leave your swordbelts on over the smocks for now,’ she said. ‘I doubt that the Zemochs have any really set customs about how they wear their weapons. If we find out differently later, we can make adjustments. Now, stand still, all of you.’ She went from man to man, touching their faces and repeating the same Styric incantation for each of them.
‘It doesn’t seem to have worked, Lady Sephrenia,’ Bevier said, looking around at his companions. ‘They all still look the same to me.’
‘I’m not trying to disguise them from you, Bevier,’ she smiled. She went to her saddlebag and took out a small hand-mirror. ‘This is how the Zemochs will see you.’ She handed him the mirror.
Bevier took one look and then made the sign to ward off evil. ‘Dear God!’ he gasped, ‘I look hideous!’ He handed the mirror quickly to Sparhawk, and Sparhawk examined his strangely altered face carefully. His hair was still horse-tail bla
ck, but his weathered skin had become pale, a racial characteristic of all Styrics. His brows and cheekbones had become prominent, almost rough-hewn. Sephrenia, he noted with a certain disappointment, had left his nose as it was. As much as he told himself that he really didn’t mind the broken nose all that much, he nonetheless found that he had been curious to find out just how he might appear with a straight one for a change.
‘I’ve made you resemble a pure Styric strain,’ she told them. ‘It’s common enough in Zemoch, and I’m more comfortable with it. The sight of a mixed Elene and Styric nauseates me, for some reason.’
Then she extended her right arm, spoke at some length in Styric and then gestured. A dark spiral band that looked much like a tattoo encircled her forearm and wrist and culminated in an amazingly life-like representation of a snake’s head on her palm.
‘There’s a reason for that, I suppose,’ Tynian said, looking curiously at the marking.
‘Of course. Shall we go then?’
The border between Pelosia and Zemoch was ill-defined, seeming to lie along a meandering line marked by the end of the tall grass. The soil to the east of that line was thin and rocky, and the vegetation stunted. The dark edge of a coniferous forest lay a mile or so up the steep slope. When they had covered perhaps half that distance, a dozen riders in dirty white smocks emerged from the trees and approached them.
‘I’ll handle this,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Just don’t say anything, any of you, and try to look menacing.’
The approaching Zemochs reined in. Some of them had those unfinished-looking Styric features; some could easily pass for Elenes, and some appeared to be an unwholesome mixture of the two.
‘All glory to the dread God of the Zemochs,’ their leader intoned in bastardized Styric. The tongue he spoke was a mixture of that tongue and Elene, combining the worst features of both languages.
‘You did not say his name, Kedjek,’ Sephrenia said coldly.
‘How did she know the fellow’s name?’ Kalten whispered to Sparhawk. Kalten obviously understood more Styric than he could pronounce.
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