Читать книгу The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose - David Eddings - Страница 27

‘At any rate.’ Sir Tynian continued his obviously embellished account of certain adventures of his youth, ‘the local Lamork barons grew tired of these brigands and came to our chapterhouse to enlist our aid in exterminating them. We had all grown rather bored with patrolling the Zemoch border, and so we agreed. To be honest about the whole thing, we looked upon the affair as something in the nature of a sporting event – a few days of hard riding and a nice brisk fight at the end.’

Sparhawk let his attention wander. Tynian’s compulsive talking had been virtually uninterrupted since they had left Chyrellos and crossed the border into the southern kingdom of Cammoria. Although the stories were at first amusing, they eventually grew repetitious. To hear Tynian tell it, he had figured prominently in every major battle and minor skirmish on the Eosian continent in the past ten years. Sparhawk concluded that the Alcione Knight was not so much an unabashed braggart as he was an ingenious storyteller who put himself in the centre of the action of each story to give it a certain immediacy. It was a harmless pastime, really, and it helped to make the miles go faster as they rode down into Cammoria on the road to Borrata.

The sun was warmer here than it had been in Elenia, and the breeze that skipped puff-ball clouds across the intensely blue sky smelled almost spring-like. The fields around them, untouched by frost, were still green, and the road unwound like a white ribbon, dipping into valleys and snaking up verdant hillsides. It was a good day for a ride, and Faran was obviously enjoying himself.

Sparhawk had already begun to make an assessment of his companions. Tynian was very nearly as happy-go-lucky as Kalten. The sheer bulk of his upper torso, however, and the professional way he handled his weapons indicated that he would be a solid man in a fight, should it come to that. Bevier was perhaps a bit more high-strung. The Cyrinic Knights were known for their formality and their piety. They were also touchy. Bevier would need to be handled carefully. Sparhawk decided to have a word in private with Kalten. His friend’s fondness for casual jesting might need to be curbed where Bevier was concerned. The young Cyrinic, though, would obviously also be an asset in the event of trouble.

Ulath was an enigma. He had a towering reputation, but Sparhawk had not had many dealings with the Genidian Knights of far northern Thalesia. They were reputed to be fearsome warriors, but the fact that they wore chain mail instead of steel-plate armour concerned him a bit. He decided to feel out the huge Thalesian on that score. He reined Faran in slightly to allow Ulath to catch up with him.

‘Nice morning,’ he said pleasantly.

Ulath grunted. Getting him to talk might prove difficult. Then, surprisingly, he actually volunteered something. ‘In Thalesia, there’s still two feet of snow on the ground,’ he said.

‘That must be miserable.’

Ulath shrugged. ‘You get used to it, and snow makes for good hunting – boars, stags, Trolls, that sort of thing.’

‘Do you actually hunt Trolls?’

‘Sometimes. Every so often a Troll goes crazy. If he comes down into the valleys where Elenes live and starts killing cows – or people – we have to hunt him down.’

‘I’ve heard that they’re fairly large.’

‘Yes. Fairly.’

‘Isn’t it a bit dangerous to fight one with only chain mail armour?’

‘It’s not too bad, really. They only use clubs. A man might get his ribs broken sometimes, but that’s about all.’

‘Wouldn’t full armour be an advantage?’

‘Not if you have to cross any rivers – and we have a lot of rivers in Thalesia. A man can peel off a mail shirt even if he’s sitting on the bottom of a river. It might be a little hard to hold your breath long enough to get rid of a full suit of armour, though.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘We thought so ourselves. We had a preceptor a while back who thought that we should wear full armour like the other orders – for the sake of appearances. We threw one of our brothers dressed in a mail shirt into the harbour at Emsat. He got out of his shirt and came to the surface in about a minute. The preceptor was wearing full armour. When we threw him in, he didn’t come back up. Maybe he found something more interesting to do down there.’

‘You drowned your preceptor?’ Sparhawk asked in astonishment.

‘No,’ Ulath corrected. ‘His armour drowned him. Then we elected Komier as preceptor. He’s got better sense than to make foolish suggestions like that.’

‘You Genidians appear to be an independent sort of order. You actually elect your own preceptors?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘Not really, no. We send a panel of names to the Hierocracy and let them do the choosing.’

‘We make it easier for them. We only send them one name.’

Kalten came back down the road at a canter. The big blond man had been riding about a quarter of a mile in the lead to scout out possible danger. ‘There’s something strange up ahead, Sparhawk,’ he said tensely.

‘How do you mean strange?’

‘There’s a pair of Pandions at the top of the next hill.’ There was a slightly strained note in Kalten’s voice, and he was visibly sweating.

‘Who are they?’

‘I didn’t go up there to ask.’

Sparhawk looked sharply at his friend. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Kalten replied. ‘I just had a strong feeling that I shouldn’t go near them, for some reason. I think they want to talk with you. Don’t ask me where I got that idea either.’

‘All right,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’ll go see what they want.’ He spurred Faran into a gallop and thudded up the long slope of the road towards the hilltop. The two mounted men wore black Pandion armour, but they gave none of the customary signs of greeting as Sparhawk approached, and neither of them raised his visor. Their horses were peculiarly gaunt, almost skeletal.

‘What is it, brothers?’ Sparhawk asked, reining Faran in a few yards from the pair. He caught a momentary whiff of an unpleasant smell, and for some reason a chill ran through him.

One of the armoured figures turned slightly and pointed a steel-clad arm down into the next valley. He did not speak, but appeared to be pointing at a winter-denuded elm grove at one side of the road about a half-mile farther on.

‘I don’t quite –’ Sparhawk started; then he caught the sudden glint of sunlight on polished steel among the spidery branches of the grove. He shaded his eyes with one hand and peered intently at the cluster of trees. He saw a hint of movement and another flash of reflected light. ‘I see,’ he said gravely. ‘Thank you, my brothers. Would you care to join us in routing the ambushers waiting below?’

For a long moment, neither black-armoured figure responded, then one of them inclined his head in assent. They both moved then, one to either side of the road, and sat their horses, waiting.

Puzzled by their strange behaviour, Sparhawk rode back down the road to rejoin the others. ‘We’ve got some trouble up ahead,’ he reported. ‘There’s a group of armed men hiding in a grove of trees in the next valley.’

‘An ambush?’ Tynian asked.

‘People don’t usually hide unless they’ve got some mischief in mind.’

‘Could you tell how many there are?’ Bevier asked, loosening his Lochaber from its sling on his saddlebow.

‘Not really.’

‘One way to find out,’ Ulath said, reaching for his axe.

‘Who are the two Pandions?’ Kalten asked nervously.

‘They didn’t say.’

‘Did they give you the same kind of feeling they gave me?’

‘What kind of feeling?’

‘As if my blood had just frozen.’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘Something like that,’ he admitted. ‘Kurik,’ he said then, ‘you and Berit take Sephrenia, Flute, and Talen to some place out of sight.’

The squire nodded curtly.

‘All right then, gentlemen,’ Sparhawk said to the other knights, ‘let’s go and have a look.’

They started out at a rolling trot, five armoured knights mounted on war horses and wielding a variety of unpleasant-looking weapons. At the top of the hill they were joined by the two silent men in black armour. Once again Sparhawk caught the unpleasant smell, and once again his blood ran strangely cold.

‘Has anybody got a horn?’ Tynian asked. ‘We should let them know we’re coming.’

Ulath unbuckled one of his saddlebags and took out the curled and twisted horn of some animal. It was quite large and had a brass mouthpiece at its tip.

‘What kind of an animal has horns like that?’ Kalten asked him.

‘Ogre,’ Ulath replied. Then he set the mouthpiece to his lips and blew a shattering blast.

‘For the glory of God and the honour of the Church!’ Bevier exclaimed, rising in his stirrups and flourishing his Lochaber.

Sparhawk drew his sword and drove his spurs into Faran’s flanks. The big horse plunged eagerly ahead, his ears laid back and his teeth bared.

There were shouts of chagrin from the elm grove as the Church Knights plunged down the hill at a gallop with the grass whipping at the legs of their chargers. Then perhaps eighteen armoured men on horseback broke out of their concealment and rode out into the open to meet the charge.

‘They want a fight!’ Tynian shouted jubilantly.

‘Watch yourselves when we mix with them!’ Sparhawk warned. ‘There may be more hiding in the grove!’

Ulath continued to sound his horn until the last moment. Then he quickly stuffed it back into his saddlebag and began to whirl his great war axe about his head.

Three of the ambushers had held back; just before the two parties crashed together, they turned tail and rode off at a dead run, flogging their horses in sheer panic.

The initial impact might easily have been heard a mile away. Sparhawk and Faran were slightly in the lead, with the others fanned out and back in a kind of wedge formation. Sparhawk stood up in his stirrups to deliver broad overhand strokes to the right and the left as he crashed into the strangers. He split open a helmet and saw blood and brains come gushing out as the man fell stiffly out of his saddle. On his next stroke his sword sheared through an upraised shield, and he heard a scream as his blade bit into the arm to which the shield was strapped. Behind him he could hear the sounds of other blows and shrieks as his friends followed him through the mêlée.

Their rush through the centre of the ambushers left ten down, killed or maimed, but, as they whirled to attack again, a half-dozen more came crashing out of the grove to attack them from the rear.

‘Go ahead!’ Bevier shouted as he wheeled his horse. ‘I’ll hold these off while you finish the rest!’ He raised his Lochaber and charged.

‘Help him, Kalten!’ Sparhawk called to his friend, then led Tynian, Ulath, and the two strangers against the dazed survivors of their first attack. Tynian’s broadsword had a much wider blade than those of the Pandions and thus a great deal more weight. That weight made the weapon savagely efficient, and Tynian cut through flesh or armour with equal ease. Ulath’s axe, of course, had no finesse or subtlety. He hewed at men as a woodsman might hew at trees.

Sparhawk briefly saw one of the two strange Pandions rise in his stirrups to deliver a vast overhand blow. What the knight held in its gauntleted fist, however, was not a sword, but rather that same kind of glowing nimbus that had been given to Sephrenia in the shabby upstairs apartment in Chyrellos by the insubstantial ghost of Sir Lakus. The nimbus appeared to pass completely through the body of the awkward mercenary the Pandion faced. The man’s face went absolutely white, and he stared down at his chest in horror, but there was no blood, and his rust-splotched armour remained intact. With a shriek of terror, he threw his sword away and fled. Then Sparhawk’s attention was diverted by another enemy.

When the last of the ambushers had fallen, Sparhawk wheeled Faran to go to the aid of Bevier and Kalten, but saw that it was largely unnecessary. Three of the men who had come charging out of the elm grove were already down. Another was doubled over in his saddle with both hands pressed to his belly. The other two were trying desperately to parry the blows of Kalten’s sword and Bevier’s Lochaber axe. Kalten feinted with his sword then smoothly slapped his opponent’s weapon out of his hand, even as Bevier lopped the head off his man with an almost casual backhand swipe.

‘Don’t kill him!’ Sparhawk shouted to Kalten as the blond man raised his sword.

‘But –’ Kalten protested.

‘I want to question him.’

Kalten’s face grew bleak with disappointment as Sparhawk rode back across the littered turf towards him and Bevier.

Sparhawk reined Faran in. ‘Get off your horse,’ he told the frightened and exhausted captive.

The man slid down. Like that worn by his fallen companions, his armour was a mish-mash of unmatched pieces. It was rusty and dented in places, but the sword Kalten had knocked from his hand was polished and sharp.

‘You’re a mercenary, I take it,’ Sparhawk said to him.

‘Yes, my Lord,’ the fellow faltered in a Pelosian accent.

‘This didn’t turn out too well, did it?’ Sparhawk asked in an almost comradely fashion.

The fellow laughed nervously, looking at the carnage around him. ‘No, my Lord, not at all the way we expected.’

‘You did your best,’ Sparhawk said to him. ‘Now, we’ll need the name of the man who hired you.’

‘I didn’t ask his name, my Lord.’

‘Describe him then.’

‘I-I cannot, my Lord.’

‘This interview is going to get a lot less pleasant, I think,’ Kalten said.

‘Stand him in a fire,’ Ulath suggested.

‘I’ve always liked pouring boiling pitch inside their armour – slowly,’ Tynian said.

‘Thumbscrews,’ Bevier said firmly.

‘You see how it is, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said to the now ashen-faced prisoner. ‘You are going to talk. We’re here, and the man who hired you isn’t. He might have threatened you with unpleasant things, but we’re going to do them to you. Save yourself a great deal of discomfort and answer my questions.’

‘My Lord,’ the man blubbered, ‘I can’t – even if you torture me to death.’

Ulath slid down from his saddle and approached the cringing captive. ‘Oh, stop that,’ the Genidian said. He raised a hand, palm outstretched, over the prisoner’s head and spoke in a harsh, grating language Sparhawk did not understand but uneasily suspected was not a human tongue. The captured mercenary’s eyes went blank, and he fell to his knees. Falteringly and with absolutely no expression in his voice, he began to speak in the same language as Ulath had.

‘He’s been bound in a spell,’ the Genidian Knight reported. ‘Nothing we could have done to him would have made him talk.’

The mercenary went on in that dreadful language, speaking more rapidly now.

‘There were two who hired him,’ Ulath translated, ‘a hooded Styric and a man with white hair.’

‘Martel!’ Kalten exclaimed.

‘Very likely,’ Sparhawk agreed.

The prisoner spoke again.

‘It was the Styric who put the spell on him,’ Ulath said. ‘It’s one ‘I’m not familiar with.’

‘I don’t think I am either,’ Sparhawk admitted. ‘We’ll see if Sephrenia knows it.’

‘Oh,’ Ulath added, ‘that’s one other thing. This attack was directed at her.’

‘What?’

‘The orders these men had were to kill the Styric woman.’

‘Kalten!’ Sparhawk barked, but the blond man was already spurring his horse.

‘What about him?’ Tynian pointed at the prisoner.

‘Let him go,’ Sparhawk shouted as he galloped off after Kalten. ‘Come on!’

As they rode over the hilltop, Sparhawk looked back. The two strange Pandions were nowhere in sight. Then, up ahead, he saw them. A group of men had surrounded the rocky knoll where Kurik had hidden Sephrenia and the others. The two black-armoured knights were sitting on their horses coolly between the attackers and the knoll. They were making no effort to fight, but merely stood their ground. As Sparhawk watched, one of the attackers launched a javelin which appeared to pass directly through the body of one of the black-armoured Pandions with no visible effect.

‘Faran!’ Sparhawk barked. ‘Run!’ It was something he seldom did. He called upon Faran’s loyalty instead of his training. The big horse shuddered slightly, then stretched himself out in a run that quickly outdistanced the others.

The attackers numbered perhaps ten men. They were recoiling visibly from the two shadowy Pandions blocking their path. Then one of them looked around and saw Sparhawk descending upon them with the others rushing along behind him, and he shouted a warning. After a moment of stunned paralysis, the shabby attackers bolted, fleeing across the meadow, fleeing in a kind of panic Sparhawk had seldom seen in professionals. He charged up the side of the outcrop with Faran’s steel-shod hooves striking sparks from the stones. Just below the crest, he reined in. ‘Is everybody all right?’ he called to Kurik.

‘We’re fine,’ Kurik replied, looking over the hasty breastwork of stone he and Berit had erected. ‘It was touch and go until those two knights got here, though.’ Kurik’s eyes looked a bit wild as he stared at the pair who had warded off the assailants. Sephrenia came up to the breastwork beside him, and her face was deathly pale.

Sparhawk turned to the two strange Pandions. ‘I think it’s time for introductions, brothers,’ he said, ‘and some explanations.’

The two made no reply. He looked at them a bit more closely. The horses upon which they sat now appeared even more skeletal, and Sparhawk shuddered as he saw that the animals had no eyes, but only vacant eye sockets, and that their bones protruded through their tattered coats. Then the two knights removed their helmets. Their faces seemed somehow filmy and indistinct, almost transparent, and they, too, were eyeless. One of them appeared very young, and he had butter-coloured hair. The other was old, and his hair was white. Sparhawk recoiled slightly. He knew both of them; he knew that they both were dead.

‘Sir Sparhawk,’ the ghost of Parasim said, his voice hollow and emotionless, ‘pursue thy quest with diligence. Time will not stay for thee.’

‘Why have you returned from the House of the Dead?’ Sephrenia asked the two in a profoundly formal tone. Her voice was trembling.

‘Our oath hath the power to bring us out of the shadows if need be, little mother,’ the form of Lakus replied, his voice also hollow and void of all emotion. ‘Others will also fall, and our company will increase ere the Queen returns to health.’ The hollow-eyed shade turned then to Sparhawk. ‘Guard well our beloved mother, Sparhawk, for she is in grave peril. Should she fall, our deaths are without purpose, and the Queen will die.’

‘I will, Lakus,’ Sparhawk promised.

‘Know also one last thing. In Ehlana’s death, thou shalt lose more than a queen. The darkness hovers at the gate, and Ehlana is our only hope of light.’ Then the two of them shimmered and vanished.

The four other knights came charging up the rocky slope and reined in. Kalten’s face was pallid and he was visibly trembling. ‘Who were they?’ he asked.

‘Parasim and Lakus,’ Sparhawk replied quietly.

‘Parasim? He’s dead.’

‘So’s Lakus.’

‘Ghosts?’

‘So it would seem.’

Tynian dismounted and pulled off his massive helmet. He was also pale and sweating. ‘I’ve dabbled at times in necromancy,’ he said, ‘though not usually by choice. Usually a spirit has to be summoned, but sometimes they’ll appear on their own – particularly if they left something important unfinished.’

‘This was important,’ Sparhawk said bleakly.

‘Was there something else you wanted to tell us, Sparhawk?’ Ulath asked then. ‘You seem to have left a few things out.’

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. Her face was still deathly pale, but she straightened and nodded to him.

Sparhawk took a deep breath. ‘The spell that sustains Ehlana and keeps her sealed in that crystal was the result of the combined efforts of Sephrenia and twelve Pandions,’ he explained.

‘I’d been sort of wondering how you did that,’ Tynian said.

‘There’s only one problem with it,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘The Knights will die one by one until only Sephrenia is left.’

‘And then?’ Bevier asked, his voice shaking.

‘Then I will also depart,’ Sephrenia replied simply.

A stifled sob escaped the young Cyrinic. ‘Not while I have breath,’ he said in a choked voice.

‘Someone, however, is trying to speed things up,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘This is the third attempt on Sephrenia’s life since we left Cimmura.’

‘But I have survived them,’ she said as if they were of no moment. ‘Were you able in any way to identify the people behind this attack?’

‘Martel and some Styric,’ Kalten told her. ‘The Styric had put a spell on the mercenaries to keep them from talking, but Ulath broke it somehow. He spoke with a prisoner in a language I didn’t understand. The man answered in the same tongue.’

She looked inquiringly at the Thalesian knight.

‘We spoke in the language of the Trolls,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘It’s a nonhuman tongue, so it circumvented the spell.’

She stared at him in horror. ‘You called upon the Troll-Gods?’ she gasped.

‘Sometimes it’s necessary, Lady,’ he replied. ‘It’s not too dangerous, if you’re careful.’

Bevier’s face was tear-streaked. ‘An it please you, my Lord Sparhawk,’ he said, ‘I shall personally undertake the protection of the Lady Sephrenia. I shall remain constantly at this valiant lady’s side, and should there be further encounters, I pledge you my life that she shall not be harmed.’

A brief expression of consternation crossed Sephrenia’s face, and she looked appealingly at Sparhawk.

‘Probably not a bad idea,’ he said, ignoring her unspoken objection. ‘All right then, Bevier. Stay with her.’

Sephrenia gave him a withering look.

‘Are we going to get the dead under the ground?’ Tynian asked.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘We don’t have time to be gravediggers. My brothers are dying one by one, and Sephrenia’s at the end of the list. If we see some peasants, we’ll tell them where the bodies are. The loot they’ll get will more than pay for the digging. Let’s move along.’

Borrata was a university town that had grown up around the stately buildings of the oldest centre of higher learning in Eosia. On occasion in the past, the Church had strongly urged that the institution be moved to Chyrellos, but the faculty had always resisted that notion, obviously desiring to maintain their independence and the absence of Church supervision.

Sparhawk and his companions took rooms in one of the local inns late in the afternoon on the day they arrived. The inn was more comfortable and certainly cleaner than the roadside ones in which they had stayed in Elenia and here in Cammoria.

The following morning, Sparhawk put on his mail coat and his heavy woollen cloak.

‘Do you want us to go with you?’ Kalten asked as his friend came down into the common room on the main floor of the inn.

‘No,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Let’s not turn it into a parade. The university isn’t very far from here, and I can protect Sephrenia along the way.’

Sir Bevier looked as if he were about to protest. He had taken his self-appointed role as Sephrenia’s protector very seriously, seldom moving more than a few feet from her side during the journey to Borrata. Sparhawk looked at the earnest young Cyrinic. ‘I know you’ve been keeping watch outside her door every night, Bevier,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you get some sleep? You won’t be much good to her – or the rest of us – if you fall out of your saddle.’

Bevier’s face stiffened.

‘He didn’t mean it personally, Bevier,’ Kalten said. ‘Sparhawk just hasn’t quite figured out the meaning of the word “diplomatic” yet. We’re all hoping that someday it might come to him.’

Bevier smiled faintly, then he laughed. ‘I think it might take me some time to adjust to you Pandions,’ he said.

‘Look upon it as educational,’ Kalten suggested.

‘You know that if you and the Lady are successful in finding that cure, we’re likely to encounter all kinds of trouble on the way back to Cimmura,’ Tynian said to Sparhawk. ‘We’ll probably run into whole armies trying to stop us.’

‘Madel,’ Ulath suggested cryptically, ‘or Sarrinium.’

‘I don’t quite follow,’ Tynian admitted.

‘Those armies you mentioned will try to block the road to Chyrellos to keep us from getting there – and then on into Elenia. If we ride south to either of those seaports, we can hire a ship and sail around to Vardenais on the west coast of Elenia. It’s faster to travel by sea anyway.’

‘Let’s decide that after we find the cure,’ Sparhawk said.

Sephrenia came down the stairs with Flute. ‘Are you ready then?’ she asked.

Sparhawk nodded.

She spoke briefly to Flute. The little girl nodded and crossed the room to where Talen sat. ‘You’ve been selected, Talen,’ Sephrenia told the boy. ‘Watch over her while I’m gone.’

‘But – he started to object.

‘Just do as she says, Talen,’ Kurik told him wearily.

‘I was going to go out and have a look around.’

‘No,’ his father said, ‘as a matter of fact, you weren’t.’

Talen’s expression grew sulky. ‘All right,’ he said as Flute climbed up into his lap.

Since the university grounds were so close, Sparhawk decided against taking their horses, and he and Sephrenia walked through the narrow streets of Borrata. The small woman looked around. ‘I haven’t been here in a long time,’ she murmured.

‘I can’t imagine what interest a university could hold for you,’ Sparhawk smiled, ‘considering your views on reading.’

‘I wasn’t studying, Sparhawk. I was teaching.’

‘I should have guessed, I suppose. How are you getting on with Bevier?’

‘Fine – except that he won’t let me do anything for myself – and that he keeps trying to convert me to the Elene faith.’ Her tone was slightly tart.

‘He’s just trying to protect you – your soul as well as your person.’

‘Are you trying to be funny?’

He decided not to answer that.

The grounds of the University of Borrata were parklike, and students and members of the faculty strolled contemplatively across the well-kept lawns.

Sparhawk stopped a young man in a lime-green doublet. ‘Excuse me, neighbour,’ he said, ‘but could you direct me to the medical college?’

‘Are you ill?’

‘No. A friend of mine is though.’

‘Ah. The physicians occupy that building over there.’ The student pointed at a squat-looking structure made of grey stone.

‘Thank you, neighbour.’

‘I hope your friend gets better soon.’

‘So do we.’

When they entered the building, they encountered a rotund man in a black robe.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Sephrenia said to him. ‘Are you a physician?

‘I am.’

‘Splendid. Have you a few moments?’

The rotund man had been looking closely at Sparhawk. ‘Sorry,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Could you direct us to one of your colleagues, then?’

‘Try any door,’ he said, waving his hand and walking quickly away from them.

‘That’s an odd attitude for a healer,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Every profession attracts its share of louts,’ she replied.

They crossed the antechamber and Sparhawk rapped on a dark-painted door.

‘What is it?’ a weary voice said.

‘We need to consult a physician.’

There was a long pause. ‘Oh, all right,’ the weary voice replied, ‘come in.’

Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Sephrenia.

The man seated behind the cluttered desk in the cubicle had deep circles beneath his eyes, and it appeared that he had forgone shaving some weeks ago. ‘What is the nature of your illness?’ he asked Sephrenia in a voice hovering on exhaustion.

‘I’m not the one who’s ill,’ she replied.

‘Him, then?’ The doctor pointed at Sparhawk. ‘He looks robust enough to me.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not ill either. We’re here on behalf of a friend.’

‘I don’t go to people’s houses.’

‘We weren’t asking you to do that,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Our friend lives some distance away,’ Sephrenia said. ‘We thought that if we described her symptoms to you, you might be able to hazard a guess as to the cause of her malady.’

‘I don’t make guesses,’ he told her shortly. ‘What are the symptoms?’

‘Much like those of the falling-sickness,’ Sephrenia told him.

‘That’s it, then. You’ve already made the diagnosis yourself.’

‘There’s a certain difference, however.’

‘All right. Describe the differences.’

‘There’s a fever involved – quite a high one – and profuse sweating.’

‘These two don’t match, little lady. With a fever, the skin is dry.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Have you a medical background?’

‘I’m familiar with certain folk remedies.’

He snorted. ‘My experience tells me that folk remedies kill more than they cure. What other symptoms did you notice?’

Sephrenia meticulously described the illness that had rendered Ehlana comatose.

The physician, however, seemed not to be listening, but was staring instead at Sparhawk. His eyes narrowed, his face became suddenly alert and his expression sly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Sephrenia had finished. ‘I think you’d better go back and take another look at your friend. What you just described matches no known illness.’ His tone was abrupt, even curt.

Sparhawk straightened, clenching his fist, but Sephrenia laid her hand on his arm. ‘Thank you for your time, learned sir,’ she said smoothly. ‘Come along then,’ she told Sparhawk.

The two of them went back out into the corridor.

‘Two in a row,’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Two what?’

‘People with bad manners.’

‘It stands to reason, perhaps.’

‘I don’t follow you.’

‘There’s a certain natural arrogance in those who teach.’

‘You’ve never displayed it.’

‘I keep it under control. Try another door, Sparhawk.’

In the next two hours, they spoke with seven physicians. Each of them, after a searching look at Sparhawk’s face, pretended ignorance.

‘I’m starting to get a peculiar feeling about this,’ he growled as they emerged from yet another office. ‘They take one look at me, and they suddenly become stupid – or is that just my imagination?’

‘I’ve noticed that, too,’ she replied thoughtfully.

‘My face isn’t that exciting, I know, but it’s never struck anyone dumb before.’

‘It’s a perfectly good face, Sparhawk.’

‘It covers the front of my head. What else can you expect from a face?’

‘The physicians of Borrata seem less skilled than we’d been led to believe.’

‘We’ve wasted more time, then?’

‘We haven’t finished yet. Don’t give up hope.’

They came finally to a small, unpainted door set back in a shabby alcove. Sparhawk rapped, and a slurred voice responded, ‘Go away.’

‘We need your help, learned sir,’ Sephrenia said.

‘Go and bother somebody else. I’m busy getting drunk right now.’

‘That does it!’ Sparhawk snapped. He grasped the door handle and pushed, but the door was locked from the inside. Irritably, he kicked it open, splintering the frame.

The man inside the tiny cubicle blinked. He was a shabby little man with a crooked back and bleary eyes. ‘You knock very loudly, friend,’ he observed. Then he belched. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.’ His head weaved back and forth. He was shabbily dressed, and his wispy grey hair stuck out in all directions.

‘Is there something in the water around here that makes everybody so churlish?’ Sparhawk asked acidly.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ the shabby man replied. ‘I never drink water.’ He drank noisily from a battered tankard.

‘Obviously.’

‘Shall we spend the rest of the day exchanging insults, or would you rather tell me about your problem?’ The physician squinted myopically at Sparhawk’s face. ‘So you’re the one,’ he said.

‘The one what?’

‘The one we aren’t supposed to talk to.’

‘Would you like to explain that?’

‘A man came here a few days ago. He said that it would be worth a hundred gold pieces to every physician in the building if you left empty-handed.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘He had a military bearing and white hair.’

‘Martel,’ Sparhawk said to Sephrenia.

‘We should have guessed almost immediately,’ she replied.

‘Take heart, friends,’ the messy little man told them expansively. ‘You’ve found your way to the finest physician in Borrata.’ He grinned then. ‘My colleagues all fly south with the ducks in the fall going, “Quack, quack, quack.” You couldn’t get a sound medical opinion out of any one of them. The white-haired man said that you’d describe some symptoms. Some lady someplace is very ill, I understand, and your friend – this Martel you mentioned – would prefer that she didn’t recover. Why don’t we disappoint him?’ He drank deeply from his tankard.

‘You’re a credit to your profession, good doctor,’ Sephrenia said.

‘No. I’m a vicious-minded old drunkard. Do you really want to know why I’m willing to help you? It’s because I’ll enjoy the screams of anguish from my colleagues when all that money slips through their fingers.’

‘That’s as good a reason as any, I suppose,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Exactly.’ The slightly tipsy physician peered at Sparhawk’s nose. ‘Why didn’t you have that set when it got broken?’ he asked.

Sparhawk touched his nose. ‘I was busy with other things.’

‘I can fix it for you if you’d like. All I have to do is take a hammer and break it again. Then I can set it for you.’

‘Thanks all the same, but I’m used to it now.’

‘Suit yourself. All right, what are these symptoms you came here to describe?’

Once again Sephrenia ran down the list for him.

He sat scratching at his ear with his eyes narrowed. Then he rummaged through the litter piled high on his desk and pulled out a thick book with a torn leather cover. He leafed through it for several moments, then slammed it shut. ‘Just as I thought,’ he said triumphantly. He belched again.

‘Well?’ Sparhawk said.

‘Your friend was poisoned. Has she died yet?’

A chill caught at Sparhawk’s stomach. ‘No,’ he replied.

‘It’s only a matter of time.’ The physician shrugged. ‘It’s a rare poison from Rendor. It’s invariably fatal.’

Sparhawk clenched his teeth. ‘I’m going to go back to Cimmura and disembowel Annias,’ he grated, ‘with a dull knife.’

The disreputable little physician suddenly looked interested. ‘You do it this way,’ he suggested. ‘Make a lateral incision just below the navel. Then kick him over backwards. Everything ought to fall out at that point.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No charge. If you’re going to do something, do it right. I take it that this Annias person is the one you think was responsible?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘Go ahead and kill him then. I despise a poisoner.’

‘Is there an antidote for this poison?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘None that I know of. I’d suggest talking with several physicians I know in Cippria, but your friend will be dead before you could get back.’

‘No,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘She’s being sustained.’

‘I’d like to know how you managed that.’

‘The lady is Styric,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘She has access to certain unusual things.’

‘Magic? Does that really work?’

‘At times, yes.’

‘All right, then. Maybe you do have time.’ The seedy-looking doctor ripped a corner off one of the papers on his desk and dipped a quill into a nearly dry inkpot. ‘The first two names here are those of a couple of fairly adept physicians in Cippria,’ he said as he scrawled on the paper. ‘This last one is the name of the poison.’ He handed the paper to Sparhawk. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘Now get out of here so I can continue what I was doing before you kicked in my door.’