Читать книгу The Sapphire Rose - David Eddings - Страница 9

The waterfall dropped endlessly into the chasm that had claimed Ghwerig, and the echo of its plunge filled the cavern with a deep-toned sound like the after-shimmer of some great bell. Sparhawk knelt at the edge of the abyss with the Bhelliom held tightly in his fist. Thought had been erased, and he could only kneel at the brink of the chasm, his eyes dazzled by the light of the sun-touched column of water falling into the depths from the surface above and his ears full of its sound.

The cave smelled damp. The mist-like spray from the waterfall bedewed the rocks, and the wet stones shimmered in the shifting light of the torrent to mingle with the last fading glimmerings of Aphrael’s incandescent ascension.

Sparhawk slowly lowered his eyes to look at the jewel he held in his fist. Though it appeared delicate, even fragile, he sensed that the Sapphire Rose was all but indestructible. From deep within its azure heart there came a kind of pulsating glow, deep blue at the tips of the petals and darkening down at the gem’s centre to a lambent midnight. Its power made his hand ache, and something deep in his mind shrieked warnings at him as he gazed into its depths. He shuddered and tore his eyes from its seductive glow.

The hard-bitten Pandion Knight looked around, irrationally trying to cling to the fading bits of light lingering in the stones of the Troll-Dwarf’s cave as if the Child-Goddess Aphrael could somehow protect him from the jewel he had laboured so long to gain and which he now strangely feared. There was more to it than that, though. At some level below thought Sparhawk wanted to hold that faint light forever, to keep the spirit if not the person of the tiny, whimsical divinity in his heart.

Sephrenia sighed and slowly rose to her feet. Her face was weary and at the same time exalted. She had struggled hard to reach this damp cave in the mountains of Thalesia, but she had been rewarded with that joyful moment of epiphany when she had looked full into the face of her Goddess. ‘We must leave this place now, dear ones,’ she said sadly.

‘Can’t we stay a few minutes longer?’ Kurik asked her with an uncharacteristic longing in his voice. Of all the men in the world, Kurik was the most prosaic – most of the time.

‘It’s better that we don’t. If we stay too long, we’ll start finding excuses to stay longer. In time, we may not want to leave at all.’ The small, white-robed Styric looked at Bhelliom with revulsion. ‘Please get it out of sight, Sparhawk, and command it to be still. Its presence contaminates us all.’ She shifted the sword the ghost of Sir Gared had delivered to her aboard Captain Sorgi’s ship. She muttered in Styric for a moment and then released the spell that ignited the tip of the sword with a brilliant glow to light their way back to the surface.

Sparhawk tucked the flower gem inside his tunic and bent to pick up the spear of King Aldreas. His chain-mail shirt smelled very foul to him just now, and his skin cringed away from its touch. He wished that he could rid himself of it.

Kurik stooped and lifted the iron-bound stone club the hideously malformed Troll-Dwarf had wielded against them before his fatal plunge into the chasm. He hefted the brutal weapon a couple of times and then indifferently tossed it into the abyss after its owner.

Sephrenia lifted the glowing sword over her head, and the three of them crossed the gem-littered floor of Ghwerig’s treasure cave towards the entrance of the spiralling gallery that led to the surface.

‘Do you think we’ll ever see her again?’ Kurik asked wistfully as they entered the gallery.

‘Aphrael? It’s hard to say. She’s always been a little unpredictable.’ Sephrenia’s voice was subdued.

They climbed in silence for a time, following the spiral of the gallery steadily to the left. Sparhawk felt a strange emptiness as they climbed. They had been four when they had descended; now they were only three. The Child-Goddess, however, had not been left behind, for they all carried her in their hearts. There was something else bothering him, though. ‘Is there any way we can seal up this cave once we get outside?’ he asked his tutor.

Sephrenia looked at him, her eyes intent. ‘We can if you wish, dear one, but why do you want to?’

‘It’s a little hard to put into words.’

‘We’ve got what we came for, Sparhawk. Why should you care if some swineherd stumbles across the cave now?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’ He frowned, trying to pinpoint it. ‘If some Thalesian peasant comes in here, he’ll eventually find Ghwerig’s treasure-hoard, won’t he?’

‘If he looks long enough, yes.’

‘And after that it won’t be long before the cave’s swarming with other Thalesians.’

‘Why should that bother you? Do you want Ghwerig’s treasure for yourself?’

‘Hardly. Martel’s the greedy one, not me.’

‘Then why are you so concerned? What does it matter if the Thalesians start wandering around in here?’

‘This is a very special place, Sephrenia.’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s holy,’ he replied shortly. Her probing had begun to irritate him. ‘A Goddess revealed herself to us here. I don’t want the cave profaned by a crowd of drunken, greedy treasure-hunters. I’d feel the same way if someone profaned an Elene Church.’

‘Dear Sparhawk,’ she said, impulsively embracing him. ‘Did it really cost you all that much to admit Aphrael’s divinity?’

‘Your Goddess was very convincing, Sephrenia,’ he replied wryly. ‘She’d have shaken the certainty of the Hierocracy of the Elene Church itself. Can we do it? Seal the cave, I mean?’

She started to say something, then stopped, frowning. ‘Wait here,’ she told them. She leaned Sir Gared’s sword point up against the wall of the gallery and walked back down the passage a little way, and then stopped again at the very edge of the light from the glowing sword-tip where she stood deep in thought. After a time, she returned.

‘I’m going to ask you to do something dangerous, Sparhawk,’ she said gravely. ‘I think you’ll be safe though. The memory of Aphrael is still strong in your mind, and that should protect you.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We’re going to use Bhelliom to seal the cave. There are other ways we could do it, but we have to be sure that the jewel will accept your authority. I think it will, but let’s make certain. You’re going to have to be strong, Sparhawk. Bhelliom won’t want to do what you ask, so you’ll have to compel it.’

‘I’ve dealt with stubborn things before,’ he shrugged.

‘Don’t make light of this, Sparhawk. It’s something far more elemental than anything I’ve ever done before. Let’s move on.’

They continued upward along the spiralling passageway with the muted roar of the waterfall in Ghwerig’s treasure-cave growing fainter and fainter. Then, just as they moved beyond the range of hearing, the sound seemed to change, fragmenting its one endless note into many, becoming a complex chord rather than a single tone – some trick perhaps of the shifting echoes in the cave. With the change of that sound, Sparhawk’s mood also changed. Before, there had been a kind of weary satisfaction at having finally achieved a long-sought goal coupled with the sense of awe at the revelation of the Child-Goddess. Now, however, the dark, musty cave seemed somehow ominous, threatening. Sparhawk felt something he had not felt since early childhood. He was suddenly afraid of the dark. Things seemed to lurk in the shadows beyond the circle of light from the glowing sword-tip, faceless things filled with a cruel malevolence. He nervously looked back over his shoulder. Far back, beyond the light, something seemed to move. It was brief, no more than a flicker of a deeper, more intense darkness. He discovered that when he tried to look directly at it, he could no longer see it, but when he looked off to one side, it was there – vague, unformed and hovering on the very edge of his vision. It filled him with an unnamed dread. ‘Foolishness,’ he muttered, and moved on, eager to reach the light above them.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached the surface, and the sun seemed very bright after the dark cave. Sparhawk drew in a deep breath and reached inside his tunic.

‘Not yet, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘We want to collapse the ceiling of the cave, but we don’t want to bring that overhanging cliff down on our heads at the same time. We’ll go back down to where the horses are and do it from there.’

‘You’ll have to teach me the spell,’ he said as the three of them crossed the bramble-choked basin in front of the cave mouth.

‘There isn’t any spell. You have the jewel and the rings. All you have to do is give the command. I’ll show you how when we get down.’

They clambered down the rocky ravine to the grassy plateau and their previous night’s encampment. It was nearly sunset when they reached the pair of tents and the picketed horses. Faran laid his ears back and bared his teeth as Sparhawk approached him.

‘What’s your problem?’ Sparhawk asked his evil-tempered warhorse.

‘He senses Bhelliom,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘He doesn’t like it. Stay away from him for a while.’ She looked critically up the gap from which they had just emerged. ‘It’s safe enough here,’ she decided. ‘Take out Bhelliom and hold it in both hands so that the rings are touching it.’

‘Do I have to face the cave?’

‘No. Bhelliom will know what you’re telling it to do. Now, remember the inside of the cave – the look of it, the feel, and even the smell. Then imagine the roof collapsing. The rocks will tumble down and bounce and roll and pile up on top of each other. There’ll be a lot of noise. A great cloud of dust and a strong wind will come rushing out of the cave mouth. The ridge-line above the cave will sag as the roof of the cavern collapses, and there’ll probably be avalanches. Don’t let any of that distract you. Keep the images firmly in your mind.’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than an ordinary spell, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. This is not, strictly speaking, a spell, though. You’ll be unleashing elemental magic. Concentrate, Sparhawk. The more detailed you make the image, the more powerfully Bhelliom will respond. When you’ve got it firmly in your mind, tell the jewel to make it happen.’

‘Do I have to speak to it in Ghwerig’s language?’

‘I’m not sure. Try Elene first. If that doesn’t work, we’ll fall back on Troll.’

Sparhawk remembered the mouth of the cave, the antechamber just inside, and the long, spiralling gallery leading down to Ghwerig’s treasure-cave. ‘Should I bring down the roof on that waterfall as well?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so. That river might come to the surface again somewhere downstream. If you dam it up, someone might notice that it’s not running any more and start investigating. Besides, that particular cavern is very special, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Let’s enclose it then and protect it forever.’

Sparhawk pictured the ceiling of the cave collapsing with a huge, grinding roar and a billowing cloud of rock dust. ‘What do I say?’ he asked.

‘Call it “Blue-Rose”. That’s what Ghwerig called it. It might recognize the name.’

‘Blue-Rose,’ Sparhawk said in a tone of command, ‘make the cave fall in.’

The Sapphire Rose went very dark, and angry red flashes appeared deep in its centre.

‘It’s fighting you,’ Sephrenia said. ‘This is the part I warned you about. The cave is the place where it was born, and it doesn’t want to destroy it. Force it, Sparhawk.’

‘Do it, Blue-Rose!’ Sparhawk barked, bending every ounce of his will on the jewel in his hands. Then he felt a surge of incredible power, and the sapphire seemed to throb in his hands. He felt a sudden wild exaltation as he unloosed the might of the stone. It was far beyond mere satisfaction. It verged almost on physical ecstasy.

There was a low, sullen rumbling from deep in the ground, and the earth shuddered. Rocks deep beneath them began to pop and crack as the earthquake shattered layer upon layer of subterranean rock. Far up the ravine, the rock face looming over the mouth of Ghwerig’s cave began to topple outward, then dropped straight down into the weedy basin as its base crumbled out from under it. The sound of the collapsing cliff was very loud even at this distance, and a vast cloud of dust boiled up from the rubble and then drifted off to the northeast as the prevailing wind that raked these mountains swept it away. Then, even as it had in the cave, something flickered at the edge of Sparhawk’s vision – something dark and filled with malevolent curiosity.

‘How do you feel?’ Sephrenia asked, her eyes intent.

‘A little strange,’ he admitted, ‘very strong for some reason.’

‘Keep your mind away from that. Concentrate on Aphrael instead. Don’t even think about Bhelliom until that feeling wears off. Get it out of sight again. Don’t look at it.’

Sparhawk tucked the sapphire back inside his tunic.

Kurik looked up the ravine towards the huge pile of rubble now filling the basin which had lain before the mouth of Ghwerig’s cave. ‘That all seems so final,’ he said regretfully.

‘It is,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘The cavern’s safe now. Let’s keep our minds on other things, gentlemen. Don’t dwell on what we’ve just done, or we might be tempted to undo it.’

Kurik squared his heavy shoulders and looked around. ‘I’ll get a fire going,’ he said. He walked back towards the mouth of the ravine to gather firewood while Sparhawk rummaged through the packs for cooking utensils and something suitable for supper. After they had eaten, they sat around the fire, their faces subdued.

‘What was it like, Sparhawk?’ Kurik asked, ‘using Bhelliom, I mean?’ He glanced at Sephrenia. ‘Is it all right to talk about it now?’

‘We’ll see. Go ahead, Sparhawk. Tell him.’

‘It was like nothing else I’ve ever experienced,’ the big knight replied. ‘I suddenly felt as if I were a hundred feet tall and that there was nothing in the world I couldn’t do. I even caught myself looking around for something else to use it for – a mountain to tear down, maybe.’

‘Sparhawk! Stop!’ Sephrenia told him sharply. ‘Bhelliom’s tampering with your thoughts. It’s trying to lure you into using it. Each time you do, its hold on you grows stronger. Think about something else.’

‘Like Aphrael?’ Kurik suggested, ‘or is she dangerous too?’

Sephrenia smiled. ‘Oh yes, very dangerous. She’ll capture your soul even faster than Bhelliom will.’

‘Your warning’s a little late, Sephrenia. I think she already has. I miss her, you know.’

‘You needn’t. She’s still with us.’

He looked around. ‘Where?’

‘In spirit, Kurik.’

‘That’s not exactly the same.’

‘Let’s do something about Bhelliom now,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Its grip is even more powerful than I’d imagined.’ She rose and went to the small pack that contained her personal belongings. She rummaged around in it and took out a canvas pouch, a large needle and a hank of red yarn. She took up the pouch and began to stitch a crimson design on it, a peculiarly asymmetrical design. Her face was intent in the ruddy firelight, and her lips moved constantly as she worked.

‘It doesn’t match, little mother,’ Sparhawk pointed out. ‘That side’s different from the other.’

‘It’s supposed to be. Please don’t talk to me just now, Sparhawk. I’m trying to concentrate.’ She continued her sewing for a time, then pinned her needle into her sleeve and held the pouch out to the fire. She spoke intently in Styric, and the fire rose and fell, dancing rhythmically to her words. Then the flame suddenly billowed out as if trying to fill the pouch. ‘Now, Sparhawk,’ she said, holding the pouch open. ‘Put Bhelliom in here. Be very firm. It’s probably going to try to fight you again.’

He was puzzled, but he reached inside his tunic, took the stone and tried to put it into the pouch. A screech of protest seemed to fill his ears, and the jewel actually grew hot in his hand. He felt as if he were trying to push the thing through solid rock, and his mind reeled, shrieking to him that what he was trying to do was impossible. He set his teeth together and shoved harder. With an almost audible wail, the Sapphire Rose slipped into the pouch, and Sephrenia pulled the drawstring tight. She tied the ends into an intricate knot then took her needle and wove red yarn through that knot. ‘There,’ she said, biting off the yarn, ‘that should help.’

‘What did you do?’ Kurik asked her.

‘It’s a form of a prayer. Aphrael can’t diminish Bhelliom’s power, but she can confine it so that it can’t influence us or reach out to others. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do on short notice. We’ll do something a little more permanent later on. Put it away, Sparhawk. Try to keep your chain-mail between the pouch and your skin. I think that may help. Aphrael once told me that Bhelliom can’t bear the touch of steel.’

‘Aren’t you being a little overcautious, Sephrenia?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I don’t know, Sparhawk. I’ve never dealt with anything like Bhelliom before, and I can’t even begin to imagine the limits of its power. I know enough, though, to know that it can corrupt anything – even the Elene God or the Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘All except Aphrael,’ Kurik corrected.

She shook her head. ‘Even Aphrael was tempted by Bhelliom when she was carrying it up out of that abyss to bring it to us.’

‘Why didn’t she just keep it for herself then?’

‘Love. My Goddess loves us all, and she gave up Bhelliom willingly out of that love. Bhelliom can’t begin to understand love. In the end, that may be our only defence against it.’

Sparhawk’s sleep was troubled that night, and he tossed restlessly on his blankets. Kurik was on watch near the edge of the circle of firelight, and so Sparhawk was left to wrestle with his nightmares alone. He seemed to see the Sapphire Rose hanging in mid-air before his eyes, its deep blue glow seductive. Out of the centre of that glow there came a sound – a song that pulled at his very being. Hovering around him, so close as to almost touch his shoulders, were shadows – more than one, certainly, but less than ten, or so it seemed. The shadows were not seductive. They seemed to be filled with a hatred born from some towering frustration. Beyond the glowing Bhelliom stood the obscenely grotesque mud idol of Azash, the idol he had smashed at Ghasek, the idol which had claimed Bellina’s soul. The idol’s face was moving, twisting hideously into expressions of the most elemental passions – lust and greed and hatred and a towering contempt that seemed born of its certainty of its own absolute power.

Sparhawk struggled in his dream, dragged first this way and then that. Bhelliom pulled at him; Azash pulled at him; and the hateful shadows pulled as well. The power of each was irresistible, and his mind and body seemed almost torn apart by those titanic conflicting forces.

He tried to scream. And then he awoke. He sat up and realized that he was sweating profusely. He swore. He was exhausted, but a sleep filled with nightmares was no cure for that bone-deep weariness. Grimly he lay back down, hoping for an oblivion without dreams.

It began again, however. Once again he wrestled in his sleep with Bhelliom and with Azash and with the hateful shadows lurking behind him.

‘Sparhawk,’ a small, familiar voice said in his ear, ‘don’t let them frighten you. They can’t hurt you, you know. All they can do is try to frighten you.’

‘Why are they doing it?’

‘Because they’re afraid of you.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Aphrael. I’m only a man.’

Her laughter was like the peal of a small, silver bell. ‘You’re so innocent sometimes, father. You’re not like any other man who’s ever lived. In a rather peculiar way, you’re more powerful than the Gods themselves. Go to sleep now. I won’t let them hurt you.’

He felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and a pair of small arms seemed to embrace his head with a peculiarly maternal tenderness. The terrible images of his nightmare wavered. And then they vanished.

It must have been hours later when Kurik entered the tent and shook him into wakefulness. ‘What time is it?’ Sparhawk asked his squire.

‘About midnight,’ Kurik replied. ‘Take your cloak. It’s chilly out there.’

Sparhawk arose, put on his mail-shirt and tunic and then buckled his sword-belt around his waist. Then he tucked the pouch under the tunic. He picked up his traveller’s cloak. ‘Sleep well,’ he told his friend and left the tent.

The stars were very bright, and a crescent moon had just risen above the jagged line of peaks to the east. Sparhawk walked away from the embers of their fire to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He stood with his breath steaming slightly in the chill mountain air.

The dream still troubled him, though it was fading now. About the only sharp memory he really had of it was the lingering feel of the soft touch of Aphrael’s lips on his cheek. He firmly closed the door of the chamber where he stored his nightmares and thought of other things.

Without the little Goddess and her ability to tamper with time, it was probably going to take them a week to reach the coast, and they were going to have to find a ship to carry them to the Deiran side of the straits of Thalesia. By now King Wargun had undoubtedly alerted every nation in the Elene kingdoms to their escape. They’d have to move carefully to avoid capture, but they nonetheless needed to go into Emsat. They had to retrieve Talen for one thing, and ships are hard to come by on deserted shores.

The night air in these mountains was chill even in summer, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. His mood was sombre, troubled. The events of this day were the kind that led to long thoughts. Sparhawk’s religious convictions were not really all that profound. His commitment had always been to the Pandion Order rather than to the Elene faith. The Church Knights were largely engaged in making the world safe for other, gentler Elenes to perform those ceremonies the clergy felt were pleasing to God. Sparhawk seldom concerned himself with God. Today, however, he had gone through some rather profoundly spiritual events. Ruefully he admitted to himself that a man with a pragmatic turn of mind is never really prepared for religious experiences of the kind which had been thrust upon him today. Then, almost as if his hand were acting of its own volition, it strayed towards the neck of his tunic. Sparhawk resolutely drew his sword, stabbed its point into the turf and wrapped both hands firmly about its hilt. He pushed his mind away from religion and the supernatural.

It was almost over now. The time his queen would be compelled to remain confined in the crystal that sustained her life could be measured in days rather than weeks or months. Sparhawk and his friends had trekked all over the Eosian continent to discover the one thing which would cure her, and now that cure lay in the canvas pouch under his tunic. Nothing could stop him now that he had Bhelliom. He could destroy whole armies with the Sapphire Rose if need be. He sternly pulled his mind back from that thought.

His broken face grew bleak. Once his queen was safe, he was going to do some more or less permanent things to Martel, the Primate Annias and anyone who had aided them in their treason. He began to mentally draw up a list of people who had things to answer for. It was a pleasant way to pass the night-time hours, and it kept his mind occupied and out of mischief.

At dusk six days later, they crested a hill and looked down at the smoky torches and candlelit windows of the capital of Thalesia. ‘You’d better wait here,’ Kurik said to Sparhawk and Sephrenia. ‘Wargun’s probably spread descriptions of you through every city in Eosia by now. I’ll go into town and locate Talen. We’ll see what we can find in the way of a ship.’

‘Will you be all right?’ Sephrenia asked. ‘Wargun could have sent out your description as well, you know.’

‘King Wargun’s a nobleman,’ Kurik growled. ‘Nobles pay very little attention to servants.’

‘You’re not a servant,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘That’s how I’m defined, Sparhawk, and that’s how Wargun saw me – when he was sober enough to see anything. I’ll waylay some traveller and steal his clothes. That should get me by in Emsat. Give me some money in case I have to bribe some people.’

‘Elenes,’ Sephrenia sighed as Sparhawk led her back some distance from the road and Kurik rode at a walk on down towards the city. ‘How did I ever get involved with such unscrupulous people?’

The dusk faded slowly, and the tall, resinous fir trees around them turned into looming shadows. Sparhawk tethered Faran, their packhorse and Ch’iel, Sephrenia’s white palfrey. Then he spread his cloak on a mossy bank for her to sit on.

‘What’s troubling you, Sparhawk?’ she asked him.

‘Tired maybe,’ he tried to shrug it off, ‘and there’s always a kind of let-down after you’ve finished something.’

‘There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?’

He nodded. ‘I wasn’t really prepared for what happened in that cave. It all seemed very immediate and personal somehow.’

She nodded. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Sparhawk, but the Elene religion has become institutionalized, and it’s very hard to love an institution. The Gods of Styricum have a much more personal relationship with their devotees.’

‘I think I prefer being an Elene. It’s easier. Personal relationships with Gods are very upsetting.’

‘But don’t you love Aphrael – just a little?’

‘Of course I do. I was a lot more comfortable with her when she was just Flute, but I still love her.’ He made a face. ‘You’re leading me in the direction of heresy, little mother,’ he accused.

‘Not really. For the time being, all Aphrael wants is your love. She hasn’t asked you for your worship – yet.’

‘It’s that “yet” that concerns me. Isn’t this a rather peculiar time and place for a theological discussion, though?’

There was the sound of horses on the road, and the unseen riders reined in not far from where Sparhawk and Sephrenia were concealed. Sparhawk rose quickly, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

‘They have to be around here somewhere,’ a rough voice declared. ‘That was his man who just rode into the city.’

‘I don’t know about you two,’ another voice said, ‘but I’m not really all that eager to find him, myself.’

‘There are three of us,’ the first voice declared pugnaciously.

‘Do you think that would really make any difference to him? He’s a Church Knight. He could probably cut all three of us down without even working up a sweat. We’re not going to be able to spend the money if we’re all dead.’

‘He’s got a point there,’ a third voice agreed. ‘I think the best idea is just to locate him for now. Once we know where he is and which way he’s going, we’ll be able to set up an ambush for him. Church Knight or not, an arrow in his back ought to make him docile. Let’s keep looking. The woman’s riding a white horse. That should make it easier to locate them.’

The horses moved on, and Sparhawk slid his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard.

‘Are they Wargun’s men?’ Sephrenia whispered to Sparhawk.

‘I wouldn’t think so,’ Sparhawk murmured. ‘Wargun’s a little erratic, but he’s not the sort of man who sends out paid assassins. He wants to yell at me and maybe throw me in his dungeon for a while. I don’t think he’s angry enough with me to want to murder me – at least I hope not.’

‘Someone else, then?’

‘Probably.’ Sparhawk frowned. ‘I don’t seem to recall having offended anyone in Thalesia lately, though.’

‘Annias has a long arm, dear one,’ she reminded him.

‘That might be it, little mother. Let’s lie low and keep our ears open until Kurik comes back.’

After about an hour they heard the slow plodding of another horse coming up the rutted road from Emsat. The horse stopped at the top of the hill. ‘Sparhawk?’ The quiet voice was vaguely familiar.

Sparhawk quickly put his hand to his sword hilt, and he and Sephrenia exchanged a quick glance.

‘I know you’re in there somewhere, Sparhawk. It’s me, Tel, so don’t get excited. Your man said you wanted to go into Emsat. Stragen sent me to fetch you.’

‘We’re over here,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Wait. We’ll be right out.’ He and Sephrenia led their horses to the road to meet the flaxen-haired brigand who had escorted them to the town of Heid on their journey to Ghwerig’s cave. ‘Can you get us into the city?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Nothing easier,’ Tel shrugged.

‘How do we get past the guards at the gate?’

‘We just ride on through. The gate guards work for Stragen. It makes things a lot simpler. Shall we go?’

Emsat was a northern city, and the steep-pitched roofs of the houses bespoke the heavy snows of winter. The streets were narrow and crooked, and there were only a few people abroad. Sparhawk, however, looked about warily, remembering the three cut-throats on the road outside town.

‘Be kind of careful with Stragen, Sparhawk,’ Tel cautioned as they rode into a seedy district near the waterfront. ‘He’s the bastard son of an earl, and he’s a little touchy about his origins. He likes to have us address him as “Milord”. It’s foolish, but he’s a good leader, so we play his games.’ He pointed down a garbage-littered street. ‘We go this way.’

‘How’s Talen getting along?’

‘He’s settled in now, but he was seriously put out with you when he first got here. He called you some names I’d never even heard before.’

‘I can imagine.’ Sparhawk decided to confide in the brigand. He knew Tel, and he was at least partially sure he could trust him. ‘Some people rode by the place where we were hiding before you came,’ he said. ‘They were looking for us. Were those some of your men?’

‘No,’ Tel replied. ‘I came alone.’

‘I sort of thought you might have. These fellows were talking about shooting me full of arrows. Would Stragen be involved in that sort of thing in any way?’

‘Out of the question, Sparhawk,’ Tel said quite firmly. ‘You and your friends have thieves’ sanctuary. Stragen would never violate that. I’ll talk to Stragen about it. He’ll see to it that these itinerant bowmen stay out of your hair.’ Tel laughed a chilling little laugh. ‘He’ll probably be more upset with them because they’ve gone into business for themselves than because they threaten you, though. Nobody cuts a throat or steals a penny in Emsat without Stragen’s permission. He’s very keen about that.’ The blond brigand led them to a boarded-up warehouse at the far end of the street. They rode around to the back, dismounted and were admitted by a pair of burly cut-throats standing guard at the door.

The interior of the warehouse belied the shabby exterior. It appeared only slightly less opulent than a palace. There were crimson drapes covering the boarded-up windows, deep blue carpets on the creaky floors and tapestries concealing the rough plank walls. A semicircular staircase of polished wood curved up to a second floor, and a crystal chandelier threw soft, glowing candlelight over the entryway.

‘Excuse me for a minute,’ Tel said. He went into a side-chamber and emerged a bit later wearing a cream-coloured doublet and blue hose. He also had a slim rapier at his side.

‘Elegant,’ Sparhawk observed.

‘Another one of Stragen’s foolish ideas,’ Tel snorted. ‘I’m a working man, not a clothes-rack. Let’s go up, and I’ll introduce you to Milord.’

The upper floor was, if anything, even more extravagantly furnished than the one below. It was expensively floored with intricate parquet, and the walls were panelled with highly polished wood. Broad corridors led off towards the back of the house, and chandeliers and standing candelabra filled the spacious hall with golden light. It appeared that some kind of ball was in progress. A quartet of indifferently talented musicians sawed at their instruments in one corner, and gaily-dressed thieves and whores circled the floor in the mincing steps of the latest dance. Although their clothing was elegant, the men were unshaven, and the women had tangled hair and smudged faces. The contrast gave the entire scene an almost nightmarish quality heightened by voices and laughter which were coarse and raucous.

The focus of the entire room was a thin man with elaborate curls cascading over his ruffed collar. He was dressed in white satin and the chair upon which he sat near the far end of the room was not quite a throne – but very nearly. His expression was sardonic, and his deep-sunk eyes had about them a look of obscure pain.

Tel stopped at the head of the staircase and talked for a moment with an ancient cutpurse holding a long staff and wearing elegant scarlet livery. The white-haired knave turned, rapped the butt of his staff on the floor and spoke in a booming voice. ‘Milord,’ he declaimed, ‘the Marquis Tel begs leave to present Sir Sparhawk, Knight of the Church and champion of the Queen of Elenia.’

The thin man rose and clapped his hands together sharply. The musicians broke off their sawing. ‘We have important guests, dear friends,’ he said to the dancers. His voice was very deep and quite consciously well modulated. ‘Let us pay our proper respects to the invincible Sir Sparhawk, who, with the might of his hands, defends our holy mother Church. I pray you, Sir Sparhawk, approach that we may greet you and make you welcome.’

‘A pretty speech,’ Sephrenia murmured.

‘It should be,’ Tel muttered back sourly. ‘He probably spent the last hour composing it.’ The flaxen-haired brigand led them through the throng of dancers, who all bowed or curtsied jerkily to them as they passed.

When they reached the man in white satin, Tel bowed. ‘Milord,’ he said, ‘I have the honour to present Sir Sparhawk the Pandion. Sir Sparhawk, Milord Stragen.’

‘The thief,’ Stragen added sardonically. Then he bowed elegantly. ‘You honour my inadequate house, Sir Knight,’ he said.

Sparhawk bowed in reply. ‘It is I who am honoured, Milord.’ He rigorously avoided smiling at the airs of this apparently puffed-up popinjay.

‘And so we meet at last, Sir Knight,’ Stragen said. ‘Your young friend Talen has given us a glowing account of your exploits.’

‘Talen sometimes tends to exaggerate things, Milord.’

‘And the lady is –?’

‘Sephrenia, my tutor in the secrets.’

‘Dear sister,’ Stragen said in a flawless Styric, ‘will you permit me to greet you?’

If Sephrenia were startled by this strange man’s knowledge of her language, she gave no indication of it. She extended her hands, and Stragen kissed her palms. ‘It is surprising, Milord, to meet a civilized man in the midst of a world filled with all these Elene savages,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Isn’t it amusing, Sparhawk, to discover that even our unblemished Styrics have their little prejudices?’ The blond pseudo-aristocrat looked around the hall. ‘But we’re interrupting the grand ball. My associates do so enjoy these frivolities. Let’s withdraw so that their joy may be unconfined.’ He raised his resonant voice slightly, speaking to the throng of elegant criminals. ‘Dear friends,’ he said to them, ‘pray excuse us. We will go apart for our discussions. We would not for all the world interrupt your enjoyment of this evening.’ He paused, then looked rather pointedly at one ravishing dark-haired girl. ‘I trust that you’ll recall our discussion following the last ball, Countess,’ he said firmly. ‘Although I stand in awe of your ferocious business instincts, the culmination of certain negotiations should take place in private rather than in the centre of the dance-floor. It was very entertaining – even educational – but it did somewhat disrupt the dance.’

‘It’s just a different way of dancing, Stragen,’ she replied in a coarse, nasal voice that sounded much like the squeal of a pig.

‘Ah yes, Countess, but vertical dancing is in vogue just now. The horizontal form hasn’t yet caught on in the more fashionable circles, and we do want to be stylish, don’t we?’ He turned to Tel. ‘Your services this evening have been stupendous, my dear Marquis,’ he said to the blond man. ‘I doubt that I shall ever be able to adequately repay you.’ He languidly lifted a perfumed handkerchief to his nostrils.

‘That I have been able to serve is payment enough, Milord,’ Tel replied with a low bow.

‘Very good, Tel,’ Stragen approved. ‘I may yet bestow an earldom upon you.’ He turned and led Sparhawk and Sephrenia from the ballroom. Once they were in the corridor outside, his manner changed abruptly. The veneer of affectedly bored gentility dropped away, and his eyes became alert, hard. They were the eyes of a very dangerous man. ‘Does our little charade puzzle you, Sparhawk?’ he asked. ‘Maybe you feel that those in our profession should be housed in places like Platime’s cellar in Cimmura or Meland’s loft in Acie?’

‘It’s more commonplace, Milord,’ Sparhawk replied cautiously.

‘We can drop the “Milord”, Sparhawk. It’s an affectation – at least partially. All of this has a more serious purpose than satisfying some obscure personal quirk of mine, though. The gentry has access to far more wealth than the commons, so I train my associates to prey upon the rich and idle rather than the poor and industrious. It’s more profitable in the long run. This current group has a long way to go, though, I’m afraid. Tel’s coming along rather well, but I despair of ever making a lady of the countess. She has the soul of a whore, and that voice –,’ he shuddered.

‘Anyway, I train my people to assume spurious titles and to mouth little civilities to each other in preparation for more serious business. We’re all still thieves, whores and cut-throats, of course, but we deal with a better class of customers.’

They entered a large, well-lit room to find Kurik and Talen sitting together on a large divan. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey, My Lord?’ Talen asked Sparhawk in a voice that had just a slight edge of resentment to it. The boy was dressed in a formal doublet and hose, and for the first time since Sparhawk had met him, his hair was combed. He rose and bowed gracefully to Sephrenia. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted her.

‘I see you’ve been tampering with our wayward boy, Stragen,’ she observed.

‘His Grace had a few rough edges when he first came to us, dear lady,’ the elegant ruffian told her. ‘I took the liberty of polishing him a bit.’

‘His Grace?’ Sparhawk asked curiously.

‘I have certain advantages, Sparhawk,’ Stragen laughed. ‘When nature – or blind chance – bestows a title, she has no way to consider the character of the recipient and to match the eminence to the man. I, on the other hand, can observe the true nature of the person involved and can select the proper adornment of rank. I saw at once that young Talen here is an extraordinary youth, so I bestowed a duchy upon him. Give me three more months, and I could present him at a court.’ He sat down in a large, comfortable chair. ‘Please, friends, find places to sit, and then you can tell me how I can be of further service to you.’

Sparhawk held a chair for Sephrenia and then took a seat not far from their host. ‘What we really need at the moment, neighbour, is a ship to carry us to the north coast of Deira.’

‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, Sparhawk. Our excellent young thief here tells me that your ultimate goal is Cimmura, and he also tells me that there may be some unpleasantness awaiting you in the northern kingdoms. Our tipsy monarch is a man much in need of friends, and he bitterly resents defections. As I understand it, he’s presently displeased with you. All manner of unflattering descriptions are being circulated in western Eosia. Wouldn’t it be faster – and safer – to sail directly to Cardos and go on to Cimmura from there?’

Sparhawk considered that. ‘I was thinking of landing on some lonely beach in Deira and going south through the mountains.’

‘That’s a tedious way to travel, Sparhawk, and a very dangerous one for a man on the run. There are lonely beaches on every coast, and I’m sure we can find a suitable one for you near Cardos.’

‘We?’

‘I think I’ll go along. I like you, Sparhawk, even though we’ve only just met. Besides, I need to talk some business with Platime anyway.’ He rose to his feet then. ‘I’ll have a ship waiting in the harbour by dawn. Now I’ll leave you. I’m sure you’re tired and hungry after your journey, and I’d better return to the ball before our over-enthusiastic countess sets up shop in the middle of the ballroom floor again.’ He bowed to Sephrenia. ‘I bid you good night, dear sister,’ he said to her in Styric. ‘Sleep well.’ He nodded to Sparhawk and quietly left the room.

Kurik rose, went to the door and listened. ‘I don’t think that man’s entirely sane, Sparhawk,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Oh, he’s sane enough,’ Talen disagreed. ‘He’s got some strange ideas, but some of them might even work.’ The boy came over to Sparhawk. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let me see it.’

‘See what?’

‘The Bhelliom. I risked my life several times to help steal it, and then I got disinvited to go along at the last minute. I think I’m at least entitled to take a look at it.’

‘Is it safe?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.

‘I don’t really know, Sparhawk. The rings will control it, though – at least partially. Just a brief look, Talen. It’s very dangerous.’

‘A jewel is a jewel,’ Talen shrugged. ‘They’re all dangerous. Anything one man wants, another is likely to try to steal, and that’s the sort of thing that leads to killing. Give me gold every time. It all looks the same, and you can spend it anywhere. Jewels are hard to convert into money, and people usually spend all their time trying to protect them, and that’s really inconvenient. Let’s see it, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk took out the pouch and picked open the knot. Then he shook the glowing blue rose into the palm of his right hand. Once again a brief flicker darkened the edge of his vision, and a chill passed over him. For some reason the flicker of the shadow brought the memory of the nightmare sharply back, and he could almost feel the hovering presence of those obscurely menacing shapes which had haunted his sleep that night a week ago.

‘God!’ Talen exclaimed. ‘That’s incredible.’ He stared at the jewel for a moment, and then he shuddered. ‘Put it away, Sparhawk. I don’t want to look at it any more.’

Sparhawk slipped Bhelliom back into its pouch.

‘It really ought to be blood-red, though,’ Talen said moodily. ‘Look at all the people who’ve died over it.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘Was Flute really a Goddess?’

‘Kurik told you about that, I see. Yes, she was – and is – one of the Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘I liked her,’ the boy admitted, ‘– when she wasn’t teasing me. But if she’s a God – or Goddess – she could be any age she wanted to be, couldn’t she?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why a child then?’

‘People are more truthful with children.’

‘I’ve never particularly noticed that.’

‘Aphrael’s more lovable than you are, Talen,’ she smiled, ‘and that may be the real reason behind her choice of form. She needs love – all Gods do, even Azash. People tend to pick little girls up and kiss them. Aphrael enjoys being kissed.’

‘Nobody ever kissed me all that much.’

‘That may come in time, Talen – if you behave yourself.’