Читать книгу The Shining Ones - David Eddings - Страница 15

The wind was screaming through the streets of Jorsan, driving torrents of rain before it. Sparhawk and his friends wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks, bowed their heads into the wind, and plodded grimly into the teeth of the hurricane.

The city gates were unguarded, and the party rode on out into open country where the wind, unimpeded, savaged them all the more. Speech was impossible, so Sparhawk merely pointed toward the muddy road that led off toward Korvan, fifty leagues to the north.

The road curved round behind a low hill a mile or so outside of town, and Sparhawk reined in. ‘Nobody can see us now,’ he shouted over the howling wind. ‘Let’s try this and see what happens.’ He reached inside his tunic for the golden box.

Berit came galloping up from the rear. ‘We’ve got riders coming up from behind!’ he shouted, wiping the rain out of his face.

‘Following us?’ Kalten demanded.

Berit spread his hands uncertainly.

‘How many?’ Ulath asked.

‘Twenty-five or thirty, Sir Ulath. I couldn’t see them very clearly in all this rain, but it looked to me as if they were wearing armor of some sort.’

‘Good,’ Kalten grated harshly. ‘There’s not much fun in killing amateurs.’

‘What do you think?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘Let’s have a look. They might not be interested in us at all.’

The two turned and rode back along the muddy road a couple of hundred yards.

The riders coming up from behind had slowed to a walk. They were rough-looking men wrapped in furs and armed for the most part with bronze-tipped spears. The one in the lead wore a vast, bristling beard and an archaic-looking helmet surmounted with a set of deer-antlers.

‘That’s it,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘They’re definitely following us. Let’s get the others and deal with this.’

They rode on back to where their friends had taken some small shelter on the lee-side of a pine grove. ‘We stayed in Jorsan too long,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘It gave Rebal time to call in help. The men behind us are bronzeage warriors.’

‘Like the Lamorks who attacked us outside Demos?’ Ulath asked.

‘Right,’ Sparhawk said. ‘These are most likely followers of Incetes rather than Drychtnath, but it all amounts to the same thing.’

‘Could you pick out the leader?’ Ulath asked.

‘He’s right up front,’ Vanion replied.

‘That makes it easier, then.’

Vanion gave him a questioning look.

‘This has happened before,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘We don’t know exactly why, but when the leader falls, the rest of them vanish.’

‘Couldn’t we just hide back among these trees?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘I wouldn’t want to chance that,’ Vanion told her. ‘We know where they are now. If we let them get out of sight, they could circle back and ambush us. Let’s deal with this here and now.’

‘We’re wasting time,’ Kalten said abruptly. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

‘Khalad,’ Sparhawk said to his squire, ‘take Sephrenia and the children back into the trees a ways. Try to stay out of sight.’

‘Children?’ Talen objected.

‘Just do as you’re told,’ Khalad told him, ‘and don’t get any ideas about trying out that rapier just yet.’

The knights turned and rode back along the muddy track to face their pursuers.

‘Are they alone?’ Bevier asked. ‘I mean, can anybody make out the one who might have raised them?’

‘We can sort that out after we kill the fellow with the antlers,’ Kalten growled. ‘Once all the rest vanish, whoever’s responsible for this is going to be left standing out in the rain all by himself.’

‘There’s no point in waiting,’ Vanion told them, his voice bleak. ‘Let’s get at it. I’m starting to get wet.’

They all pushed their cloaks out of the way to clear their sword arms, pulled on the plain steel helmets that had been hanging from their saddle-bows, and buckled on their shields.

‘I’ll do it,’ Kalten told Sparhawk, forcing his mount against Faran’s shoulder. There was a kind of suppressed fury in Kalten’s voice and a reckless set to his shoulders. ‘Let’s go!’ he bellowed, drawing his sword.

They charged.

The warriors from the ninth century recoiled momentarily as the mail-shirted Church Knights thundered toward them with the hooves of their war-horses hurling great clots of mud out behind them.

Bronze-age weaponry and ancient tactics were no match for steel mail-shirts and contemporary swords and axes, and the small, scrubby horses of the dark ages were scarcely more than ponies. Kalten crashed into the forefront of the pursuers with his companions fanned out behind him in a kind of wedge formation. The blond Pandion stood up in his stirrups, swinging his sword in vast, powerful strokes. Kalten was normally a highly skilled and cool-headed warrior, but he seemed enraged today, taking chances he should not have taken, over-extending his strokes and swinging his sword much harder than was prudent. The round bronze shields of the men who faced him barely slowed his strokes as he chopped his way through the press toward the bearded man in the antlered helmet. Sparhawk and the others, startled by his reckless charge, followed him, cutting down any who tried to attack him from the rear.

The bearded man bellowed an archaic war cry and spurred his horse forward, swinging a huge, bronze-headed war axe.

Almost disdainfully, Kalten brushed the axe-stroke aside with his shield and delivered a vast overhand stroke with his sword, swinging the weapon with all his strength. His sword sheared down through the hastily raised bronze shield, and half of the gleaming oval spun away, carrying the bearded man’s forearm with it. Kalten swung again, and his sword struck the top of the antler-adorned helmet, gashing down into the enemy’s head in a sudden spray of blood and brains. The dead man was hurled from his saddle by the force of the blow, and his followers wavered like mirages and vanished.

One mounted man, however, remained. The black-cloaked figure of Rebal was suddenly quite alone as the ancient warriors who had been drawn up protectively around him were abruptly no longer there.

Kalten advanced on him, his bloody sword half raised and death in his ice-blue eyes.

Rebal shrieked, wheeled his horse, and fled back into the storm, desperately flogging at his mount.

‘Kalten!’ Vanion roared as the knight spurred his horse to pursue the fleeing man. ‘Stop!’

‘But …’

‘Stay where you are!’

Still caught in the grip of that reckless fury, Kalten started to object.

‘That’s an order, Sir Knight! Put up your sword!’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Kalten replied sullenly, sliding his blood-smeared blade back into its sheath.

‘Take that weapon back out!’ Vanion bellowed at him. ‘Wipe it off before you sheathe it!’

‘Sorry, Lord Vanion. I forgot.’

‘Forgot? What do you mean, “forgot”? Are you some half-grown puppy? Clean that sword, Sir Knight! I want to see it shining before you put it away!’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Kalten mumbled.

‘What did you say?’

‘Yes, my Lord!’ Kalten shouted it this time.

‘That’s a little better.’

‘Thanks, Vanion,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘I’ll deal with you later, Sparhawk!’ Vanion barked. ‘Making him see to his equipment was your responsibility. You’re supposed to be a leader of men, not a goatherd.’ The Preceptor looked around. ‘All right,’ he said crisply, ‘let’s form up and go back. Smartly, gentlemen, smartly. We’re soldiers of God. Let’s try to at least look as if we knew what we’re doing!’

There was some slight shelter from the wind back in among the trees. Vanion led the knights through the grove to rejoin Sephrenia, Khalad and the ‘children’.

‘Is everyone all right?’ Sephrenia asked quickly.

‘We don’t have any visible wounds, little mother,’ Sparhawk replied.

She gave him a questioning look.

‘Lord Vanion was in fine voice,’ Ulath grinned. ‘He was a little dissatisfied with a couple of us, and he spoke to us about it – firmly.’

‘That will do, Sir Knight,’ Vanion said.

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Were you able to identify whoever it was who raised that party?’ Khalad asked Sparhawk.

‘No. Rebal was there, but we didn’t see anybody else.’

‘How was the fight?’

‘You should have seen it, Khalad,’ Berit said enthusiastically. ‘Sir Kalten was absolutely stupendous!’

Kalten glared at him.

Sephrenia gave the two of them a shrewd look. ‘We can talk about all this after we get clear of the storm,’ she told them. ‘Are you ready, Sparhawk?’

‘In a moment,’ he replied. He reached inside his tunic, took out the box, and commanded it to open. He put on Ehlana’s ring and lifted the Bhelliom out.

‘Here,’ Sephrenia said. She lifted Flute, and Sparhawk took the little girl into his arms.

‘How do we go about this?’ he asked her.

‘Once we get started, I’ll be speaking through your lips,’ she replied. ‘You won’t understand what I’m saying because the language will be strange to you.’

‘Some obscure Styric dialect?’

‘No, Sparhawk, not Styric. It’s quite a bit older than that. Just relax. I’ll guide you through this. Give me the box. When Bhelliom moves from one place to another, everything sort of shivers. I don’t think our friend out there will be able to locate Bhelliom again immediately, so if you put it – and your wife’s ring – back in the box immediately and snap the cover down on your own ring, he won’t have any idea of where we’ve gone. Now, hold Bhelliom in both hands and let it know who you are.’

‘It should know already.’

‘Remind it, Sparhawk, and speak to it in Trollish. Let’s observe the formalities.’ She nestled back into the protective circle of his mailed arms.

Sparhawk lifted Bhelliom, making sure that the bands of both rings were firmly in contact with it. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said to it in Trollish. ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you know me?’

The azure glow which had bathed his hands hardened, became like fresh-forged steel. Sparhawk’s relationship with the Bhelliom was ambiguous, and the flower-gem had no real reason to be fond of him.

‘Tell it who you really are, Sparhawk,’ Flute suggested. ‘Make certain that it knows you.’

‘Blue Rose,’ Sparhawk said again, once more in the hideous language of the Trolls, ‘I am Anakha, and I wear the rings. Do you know me?’

The Bhelliom gave a little lurch as he spoke the fatal name, and some of the steel went out of its petals.

‘It’s a start,’ he muttered. ‘What now?’

‘Now it’s my turn,’ she replied. ‘Relax, Sparhawk. Let me into your mind.’

It was a strange sort of process. Sparhawk felt almost as if his own will had been suspended as the Child Goddess gently, even lovingly, took his mind into her two small hands. The voice that came from his lips was strangely soft, and the language it spoke was hauntingly familiar, skirting the very outer edges of his understanding.

Then the world seemed to blur around him and faded momentarily into a kind of luminous twilight. Then the blur was gone, and the sun was shining. It was no longer raining, and the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze.

‘What an astonishing idea!’ Aphrael exclaimed. ‘I never even thought of that! Put the Bhelliom away, Sparhawk. Quickly.’

Sparhawk put the jewel and Ehlana’s ring back into the box and snapped down the cover on his own ring. Then he turned and looked toward the south. There was an intensely dark line of cloud low on the horizon. Then he looked north again and saw a fair-sized town at the bottom of the hill, a pleasant-looking town with red-tile roofs glowing in the autumn sunshine. ‘Is that Korvan?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Well, of course it is,’ Flute replied with an airy little toss of her head. ‘Isn’t that where you said you wanted to go?’

‘We made good time,’ Ulath observed blandly.

Sephrenia suddenly laughed. ‘We wanted to test our friend’s stamina,’ she said. ‘Now we’ll find out just how much endurance he has. If he wants to keep chasing us, he’s going to have to pick up his hurricane and run along behind us just as fast as he possibly can.’

‘Oh, this is going to be fun! Flute exclaimed, clapping her hands together delightedly. ‘I’d never have believed we could jump so far.’

Kalten squinted up toward the bright autumn sun. ‘I make it just a little before noon. Why don’t we ride on down into Korvan and have an early lunch? I worked up quite an appetite back there.’

‘It might not be a bad idea, Sparhawk,’ Vanion agreed. The situation’s changed now, so we might want to think our plans through and see if we want to modify them.’

Sparhawk nodded. He bumped Faran’s flanks with his heels, and they started down the hill toward Korvan. ‘You seemed surprised,’ he murmured into Flute’s ear.

‘Surprised? I was stunned.’

‘What did it do?’

‘You wouldn’t really understand, father. Do you remember how the Troll-God Ghnomb moved you across northern Pelosia?’

‘He sort of froze time, didn’t he?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve always done it a different way, but I’m more sophisticated than Ghnomb is. Bhelliom does it in still another way – much simpler, actually. Ghnomb and I are different, but we’re both part of this world, so the terrain’s very important to us. It gives us a sense of permanence and location. Bhelliom doesn’t appear to need reference points. It seems to just think of another place, and it’s there.’

‘Could you do it like that?’

She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think so.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a little humiliating to admit it, but Bhelliom’s far wiser than I am.’

‘But not nearly as lovable.’

‘Thank you, kind sir.’

Sparhawk suddenly thought of something. ‘Is Danae at Matherion?’

‘Of course.’

‘How’s your mother?’

‘She’s well. She and the thieves are very busy trying to get their hands on some documents that are hidden somewhere in the Ministry of the Interior.’

‘Are things still under control there?’

‘For the moment, yes. I know I’ve teased you about it a few times, but it’s very hard to be in two places at the same time. Danae’s sleeping a great deal, so I’m missing a lot of what’s going on there. Mother’s a little worried. She thinks Danae might be sick.’

‘Don’t worry her too much.’

‘I won’t, father.’

They rode into Korvan and found a respectable-looking inn. Ulath had a word or two with the innkeeper, and they were all escorted into a private dining room in the back where the golden sunlight streamed in through the windows to set the oaken tables and benches to glowing. ‘Can you keep anyone who might be curious from eavesdropping on us, little mother?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘How many times do you have to ask that question before you know the answer?’ she asked with a weary sigh.

‘Just making sure, that’s all.’

They removed their cloaks, stacked their weapons in a corner, and sat down at the table.

A squinty-eyed, slatternly serving-girl came in and told them what the kitchen had prepared for the day.

Sephrenia shook her head. Tell her, Vanion.’

‘The lady and I – and the little girl – will have lamb,’ he said firmly. ‘We don’t much care for pork.’

‘The cook ain’t fixed no lamb,’ the girl whined.

‘You’d better tell him to get started, then.’

‘He ain’t gonna like it.’

‘He doesn’t have to like it. Tell him that if we don’t get lamb, we’ll take our money to another inn. The owner of the place wouldn’t like that very much, would he?’

The girl’s face became set, and she stormed out.

‘That’s the Vanion we came to know and love when we were boys,’ Kalten laughed. The fight that morning seemed to have improved his temper.

Vanion unfolded his map. ‘We’ve got a fairly substantial road going east,’ he said, running his finger along the line stretching across the map. ‘It crosses Edom and then goes on through Cynesga. We’ll cross the border into Tamul proper at Sarna.’ He looked at Flute. ‘How long a jump can Bhelliom make at one time?’

‘Would you like to pay a visit to the moon, Lord Vanion?’ She frowned. There’s a drawback, though. Bhelliom makes a very distinctive sound when it does something. It probably doesn’t even know that it’s doing it, but it does sort of announce its location. We might be able to teach it how to conceal itself, but it’s going to take time.’

‘And that raises another point as well,’ Sephrenia added. ‘Sparhawk’s holding Bhelliom’s power, but he doesn’t know how to use it yet.’

‘Thanks,’ Sparhawk said dryly.

‘I’m sorry, dear one, but you don’t. Every time you’ve ever picked it up, either Aphrael or I have had to walk you through it step by step. We’re definitely going to need some time. We have to teach Bhelliom how to be quiet, and we have to teach you how to use it without having someone hold your hand.’

‘I love you too, Sephrenia.’

She smiled fondly. ‘You’re holding tremendous power in your hands, Sparhawk, but it’s not of much use if all you know how to do is wave it around like a battle-flag. I don’t think we should rush back to Matherion immediately. That story you cooked up for Ehlana will explain our absence for at least two or three more weeks. We’ll want to avoid the traps and ambushes our enemies are going to lay for us along the way, of course.’ She paused. ‘They might even be useful. They’ll give you something to practice on.’

‘Jump around,’ Ulath grunted.

‘Will you stop that, Ulath?’ she snapped at him.

‘Sorry, Sephrenia. It’s a habit of mine. After I think my way through something, I just blurt out the conclusion. The intermediate steps aren’t usually very interesting. Our friends out there have been raising random disturbances to keep the Atans running back and forth across the continent – werewolves here, vampires there, Shining Ones off in that direction, and antique armies in this. There’s no real purpose to all that except to confuse the imperial authorities. We could steal a page right out of their book, you know. They can hear and feel Bhelliom – particularly when it’s doing something noisy. I gather that there’s no real limit to how far it can jump at one time, so let’s just say that Sparhawk wants to see what the weather’s like in Darsas. He has Bhelliom pick him up by the scruff of the neck and drop him down in the square outside King Alberen’s palace. He stays there for about a half-hour – long enough for the other side to smell him out – then he hops across the continent to Beresa in southern Arjuna and stays long enough to make his presence known there. Then he goes to Sarsos, then to Jura in southern Daconia, then back to Cimmura to say hello to Platime – all in the space of one afternoon. He’d get all sorts of practice using Bhelliom, and by the time the sun went down, they wouldn’t know where he was or where he was going to go next. To make it even more fun, our mysterious friend out there wouldn’t know which of these little jumps was the significant one, so he’d almost have to follow along.’

‘Carrying that hurricane on his back every step of the way,’ Kalten added. ‘Ulath, you’re brilliant.’

‘Yes,’ the blond-braided Thalesian agreed with becoming modesty, ‘I know.’

‘I like it,’ Vanion approved. ‘What do you think, Sephrenia?’

‘It would give Sparhawk and Bhelliom the chance to get to know each other,’ she agreed, ‘and that’s basically what we need here. The better they know each other, the better they’ll be able to work together. I’m sorry, Sir Ulath. Blurt out conclusions anytime you feel like it.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion said in his most business-like fashion, ‘when Sparhawk’s off on one of his little excursions, the rest of us will be sort of invisible – well, not really invisible, but if Bhelliom’s not with us, our friend won’t be able to hear us or feel us, will he?’

‘Probably not,’ Flute agreed. ‘Even if he could, Sparhawk will be making so much noise that he won’t really pay much attention to you.’

‘Good. Let’s say that we set out from here. Sparhawk hops up to Darsas and rattles all the windows there. Then he hops back, picks us up and puts down in …’ He frowned at his map. ‘In Cyron on the Cynesgan border.’ He stabbed his finger down on the chart. ‘Then he hops around to several other places, leaving Bhelliom and the rings out in the open so that our friend knows where he is each time. Then he rejoins us at Cyron and boxes up Bhelliom again. By that time our friend will be so confused he won’t know where we are.’

‘Pay close attention, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grinned. ‘That’s the way a preceptor’s supposed to think.’

Sparhawk grunted. Then he thought of something. ‘I want to talk with you for a moment when we leave,’ he told his blond friend quietly.

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Not yet, but you’re working on it.’

The slatternly serving-girl brought in their meal, glowering at Vanion as she did, and Sparhawk and his friends began to eat.

They did not linger after lunch, but rose immediately and trooped out.

‘What’s your problem?’ Kalten asked as he and Sparhawk trailed along behind the others.

‘Quit trying to get yourself killed.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t be coy, Kalten. I saw what you were doing this morning. Don’t you realize how transparent you are to people who know you?’

‘You’re unwholesomely clever, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion accused.

‘It’s a character defect of mine. I’ve got enough to worry about already. Don’t add this to it.’

‘It’s such a perfect solution.’

‘For a non-existent problem, you jackass. Alean’s had her eyes on you ever since we left Chyrellos. She’s not going to throw all that effort away. It’s you she’s after, Kalten, not Berit. If you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll take you back to Demos and have you confined in the mother-house.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘I’ve got this blue friend here, remember?’ Sparhawk patted the bulge in the front of his tunic. ‘I can pick you up by the hair, deposit you in Demos and be back before Vanion even gets into his saddle.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like Talen. I’m not trying to be fair. I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself. I want your oath.’

‘No.’

‘Demos is nice this time of year. You’ll enjoy it. You can spend your days in prayer.’

Kalten swore at him.

‘You’ve got some of the words right, Kalten. Now just put them together into a proper oath. Believe me, my friend, you’re not going to go one step farther with us until you give me your oath to stop all this nonsense.’

‘I swear,’ Kalten muttered.

‘Not good enough. Let’s make it nice and formal. I want it to make an impression on you. You’ve got this tendency to overlook things if they aren’t all spelled out.’

‘Do you want me to sign something in my own blood?’ Kalten demanded acidly.

‘It’s a thought, but I don’t have any parchment handy. I’ll accept your verbal oath – for the time being. I may change my mind later, though, so keep your veins nice and loose and your dagger sharp.’

‘Sparhawk?’ Ambassador Fontan exclaimed. ‘What are you doing in Darsas?’ The ancient Tamul diplomat stared at the big Pandion in astonishment.

‘Just passing through, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘May I come in?’

‘By all means, my boy.’ Fontan opened his door wide and Sparhawk and Flute entered the crimson-carpeted study of the Tamul Embassy.

‘You’re looking well, your Royal Highness,’ Fontan smiled at the little girl. Then he looked at her more closely. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized to her. ‘I mistook you for Prince Sparhawk’s daughter. You resemble her very much.’

‘We’re distantly related, your Excellency,’ Flute told him without turning a hair.

‘Has word reached you about what happened in Matherion a few weeks ago, your Excellency?’ Sparhawk asked, tucking the Bhelliom back into his inside tunic pocket.

‘Just yesterday,’ Fontan replied. ‘Is the Emperor safe?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘My wife’s looking after him. Our time’s limited, your Excellency, so I’m not going to be able to explain everything. Are you cosmopolitan enough to accept the notion that the Styrics have some very unusual capabilities?’

Fontan smiled faintly. ‘Prince Sparhawk, a man my age is willing to accept almost anything. After the initial shock of astonishment that comes each morning when I wake up and discover that I’m still alive, I can face the day with an open mind.’

‘Good. My friends and I left Korvan down in Edom about an hour ago. They’re riding on toward Cyron on the border, but I came here to have a word with you.’

‘An hour ago?’

‘Just take it on faith, your Excellency,’ Flute told him. ‘It’s one of those Styric things Sparhawk was talking about.’

‘I’m not certain how much your messenger told you,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘but it’s urgent that all of the Atan garrison commanders in the empire know that the Ministry of the Interior’s not to be trusted. Minister Kolata’s working for the other side.’

‘I never liked that man,’ Fontan said. He gave Sparhawk a speculative look. ‘This message is hardly so earth-shaking that it would move you to violate a whole cluster of natural laws, Sparhawk. What are you really doing in Darsas?’

‘Casting false trails, your Excellency. Our enemies have ways of detecting my presence, so I’m going to give them a presence to detect in various towns in assorted corners of the Empire in order to confuse them a bit. My friends and I are returning overland from Korvan to Matherion, and we’d prefer not to be ambushed along the way. This isn’t a confidential visit, Ambassador Fontan. Feel free to let people know that I stopped by. They’ll probably know already, but let’s confirm it for them.’

‘I like your style, Sparhawk. You’ll be crossing Cynesga?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘It’s an unpleasant country.’

‘These are unpleasant times. Oh, it won’t really hurt if you’re sort of smug when you tell people that you’ve seen me. Our side was definitely behind up until now. That changed a few days ago. Our enemy, whoever he is, is at a distinct disadvantage right now, and I’d sort of like to grind his face in that fact for a while.’

‘I’ll get word to the town crier immediately.’ The ancient man squinted up at the ceiling. ‘How long can you stay?’

‘An hour at the very most.’

‘Plenty of time, then. Why don’t we step over to the palace? I’ll take you into the throne-room, and you can pay your respects to the king – in front of his entire court. That’s the best way I know of to let people know you’ve been here.’

‘I like your style, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk grinned.

It grew easier each time. At first, Bhelliom seemed impossibly dense, and Flute frequently had to step in, speaking in that language which Sparhawk strongly suspected was the original tongue of the Gods themselves. Gradually, the stone seemed to grasp what was wanted of it. Its compliance was never fully willing, however. It had to be compelled. Sparhawk found that visualizing Vanion’s map helped quite a bit. Once Bhelliom grasped the fact that the map was no more than a picture of the world, it grew easier for Sparhawk to tell the jewel where he wanted to go.

This is not to say that there weren’t a few false starts. Once, when he had been concentrating on the town of Delo on the east coast, the thought crossed his mind that there was a certain remote similarity between that name and the name of the town of Demos in east-central Elenia, and after the momentary gray blur where the world around him shifted and changed, he found himself and Flute riding Faran in bright moonlight up the lane that led to Kurik’s farm.

‘What are you doing?’ Flute demanded.

‘My attention wandered. Sorry.’

‘Keep your mind on your work. Bhelliom’s responding to what you’re thinking, not what you’re saying. It probably doesn’t even understand Elenic – but then, who really does?’

‘Be nice.’

‘Take us back immediately!’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

There was that now-familiar lurch, and the moonlight faded into gray. Then they were back in bright autumn sunshine on the road a few miles outside Korvan, and their friends were staring at them in astonishment.

‘What went wrong?’ Sephrenia asked Flute.

‘Our glorious leader here was wool-gathering,’ Flute replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘We just took a little side-trip to Demos.’

‘Demos!’ Vanion exclaimed. ‘That’s on the other side of the world!’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It’s the middle of the night there right now. We were on the road to Kurik’s farm. Maybe our stalwart commander here felt lonesome for Aslade’s cooking.’

‘I can live without these “stalwart commanders” and “glorious leaders”,’ Sparhawk told her tartly.

‘Then do it right.’

There was a certain desperation in the flicker of darkness at the edge of Sparhawk’s vision this time, and a faint flicker of harried confusion. Sparhawk did not even stop to think. ‘Blue Rose!’ he barked to the Bhelliom, bringing up his other hand so that both rings touched the deep blue petals, ‘destroy that thing!’

He felt a brief jolt in his hands and heard a sizzling kind of crackle behind him.

The shadow that had dogged their steps for so long, which they had thought at first to be Azash and then the Troll-Gods, gave a shrill shriek and began to babble in agony. Sparhawk saw Sephrenia’s eyes widen.

The shadow was crying out, not in Zemoch or Trollish, but in Styric.