‘What exactly did Parok say about Natayos? You couldn’t have mistaken his meaning, could you?’
‘Not a chance, Tynian. Just before he got into the argument with Duke Milanis, Parok said that Scarpa wanted to move his army out of Natayos before they gave Sparhawk the last note. I almost started cheering when he said that they were going to tell Sparhawk to go to Natayos for the exchange.’
‘We’ll have to be careful, though. They could be holding Ehlana someplace else. They may not take her to Natayos until the last minute.’
‘We’ll find out for sure once Xanetia goes there,’ Ulath shrugged.
The door to the book-lined room opened, and a liveried servant hurried in. ‘An important message has arrived from Natayos, Baron,’ he told Parok. ‘The messenger rode his horse half to death.’
‘Horses are cheap. Send the fellow in.’
‘I could learn to dislike that man,’ Tynian murmured.
‘I already do,’ Ulath replied. He looked up speculatively. ‘We’re sort of invisible, aren’t we?’ he asked.
That’s what Ghnomb says.’
‘Can you imagine the expression Parok would get on his face if he suddenly got ripped up the front with an invisible knife?’
‘Slowly,’ Tynian added. ‘Very, very slowly.’
The messenger from Natayos was a shabbily dressed Dacite, and he was reeling with exhaustion as he staggered into the room. ‘Baron,’ he gasped. ‘Thank God I found you.’
‘Speak up, man!’
‘Could I have a drink of water?’
‘Talk first. Then you can drink anything you want.’
‘Lord Scarpa ordered me to tell you that the man you’ve been watching isn’t Sparhawk.’
‘I see that Scarpa’s finally gone completely mad.’
‘No, Baron. Zalasta confirmed it. Somebody they call Klæl went and had a look at this man you’ve been giving the notes to. They seemed to think you’d know who this Klæl fellow is. Anyway, he sent word that the man with the broken nose looks like Sparhawk, but it’s not really him. This Klæl must have some way to know for sure.’
Parok began to swear sulphurously.
‘That tears it,’ Tynian growled. ‘I’ll pass this on to Aphrael. We’d better get Berit and Khalad to safety.’
‘Did Scarpa kill Sparhawk’s wife?’ Baron Parok asked the messenger.
‘No, my Lord Baron. He was going to, but Zalasta stopped him. I’m supposed to tell you not to do anything to let the imposter know that we’re on to him. Zalasta needs some time to move the prisoners to someplace that’s safe. He wants you to continue as if nothing had happened. After he has those two women clear, he’ll get word to you that it’s all right to kill the man who’s posing as Sparhawk.’
‘Zalasta’s in full command then?’
‘Yes, Baron Parok. Lord Scarpa’s a bit – ah – distraught, I suppose you might say.’
‘You might say crazy, too. That’d be more accurate.’ Parok started to pace the floor. ‘I wondered how much it would take to push Scarpa over the edge,’ he muttered. ‘It’s probably better this way anyhow. Zalasta’s a Styric, but at least his head’s on straight. Go back and tell him that I’ve received his message and that I won’t do anything to upset his plans. Let him know that I have no real fondness for Scarpa and that I’ll be completely loyal to him.’
‘I will, my Lord Baron.’
Duke Milanis rose and crossed the room to close the window. ‘What in God’s name is that awful smell?’ he exclaimed.
Tynian turned and saw the hulking Troll standing just behind them. ‘Bhlokw,’ he said, ‘it is not good that you come into the dens of the man-things this way.’
‘I was sent by Khwaj, Tin-in,’ Bhlokw explained. ‘Khwaj grows tired of waiting. He wants to burn the wicked ones always.’
Then their dim half-moment suddenly filled with smoke, and the enormous presence of the Fire-God was there. ‘Your hunt takes too long, Ulath-from-Thalesia. Have you found any of the wicked ones yet? If you have, point out which one it is. I will make it burn forever.’
Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look. Then Tynian grinned wolfishly. ‘Let’s,’ he said.
‘Why don’t we?’ Ulath agreed. He looked at the flickering God of Fire. ‘Our hunt has been successful, Khwaj,’ he declared. ‘We have found one of the ones who stole Anakha’s mate. You can make it burn forever now.’ He paused. There are others we also hunt, though,’ he added. ‘We do not want to frighten them away so that they will be harder to hunt. Can Ghnomb put the one we have found into No-Time? You can burn it always there. When it burns in No-Time, the others of its herd will not smell the smoke or hear the crying out with hurt, and so they will not run away.’
‘Your thought is good, Ulath-from-Thalesia,’ Khwaj agreed. I will talk with Ghnomb about this. He will make it so that the one who burns always burns in the time which does not move. Which one of these should I burn?’
‘That one,’ Ulath replied, pointing at Baron Parok.
Duke Milanis was turning from the window when he suddenly stopped, becoming a statue in mid-stride.
Baron Parok continued his restless pacing. ‘We’re going to have to start taking extra precautions,’ he said, not yet realizing that the men around him were no longer moving. Then he turned and almost bumped into the exhausted messenger from Natayos. ‘Get out of my way, idiot!’ he snapped.
The man did not move.
‘I told you to take a message to Zalasta,’ Parok raged. ‘Why are you still here?’ He struck the messenger across the face and cried out in pain as his hand hit something harder than stone. He looked around wildly. ‘What’s the matter with all of you?’ he demanded in a shrill voice.
‘What did it say?’ Khwaj’s voice was dreadful.
Parok gaped at the vast Troll-God, shrieked, and ran for the door.
‘It does not understand that it is now in No-Time,’ Ulath replied in Trollish.
‘It should know why it is being punished,’ Khwaj decided. ‘Will it understand if you talk to it in the bird-noises of the man-things?’
‘I will make it understand,’ Ulath promised.
‘It is good that you will. Speak to it.’
Parok was hammering futilely on the immovable door.
‘That won’t do you any good, old boy,’ Ulath urbanely advised the terrified Dacite nobleman. ‘Things have definitely taken a turn for the worse for you, Baron. This large fellow with the smoke coming out of his ears is the Troll-God Khwaj. He disapproves of your abduction of Queen Ehlana.’
‘Who are you?’ Parok half-screamed. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘You’ve been brought to the palace of punishment, Baron,’ Tynian advised him. ‘As my friend here just explained, Khwaj is quite put out with you. Trolls are a very moralistic sort. Things that we’ve come to take in stride – abductions, poisonings, and holding people for ransom – upset them enormously. There is one small advantage, though. You’re going to live forever, Baron Parok. You’ll never, ever die.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Does it understand now?’ Khwaj demanded impatiently.
‘It is our thought that it does,’ Ulath replied in Trollish.
‘Good.’ Khwaj implacably advanced on the cringing Dacite, extending one vast paw. Then he clapped it down on top of Parok’s head. ‘Burn!’ he growled.
Baron Parok shrieked.
Then his face seemed to split, and incandescent fire came spurting out through his skin. His doublet smoked for an instant and then flashed into ashes.
He shrieked again.
His form was still the form of a man, but it was a form etched in flame. The Baron burned, unconsumed, and he danced and howled in agony.
Khwaj struck the immovable door with one huge paw, and the door burst outward in flaming chunks. ‘Go!’ he roared. ‘Run! Run forever, and burn always!’
The flaming Dacite fled shrieking.
T
he town of Arjun stood frozen in that eternal instant of perpetual now. The citizens, like statues, stood frozen stock-still, unaware of the burning wraith that ran through their silent streets. They did not hear its agonized screams. They did not see it flee toward the lake-shore.
Baron Parok, all ablaze, ran, trailing greasy smoke. He reached the docks and fled in flames out a long pier stretching into the dark waters of the Sea of Arjun. He did not pause when he reached the end of the pier, but plunged off, yearning toward the quenching water. But, like the moment itself, the surface of the lake was unyielding and as hard as diamond. The wraith of flame howled in frustration, kneeling on the glittering surface and hammering on it, pleading to be let in, begging to drown in the blessed coolness just beyond reach. Then Parok leaped to his feet, driven by the Troll-God’s awful command. Shrieking still in agony and unutterable loneliness, the man-shape of eternal flame ran out across the dark crystal surface, receding incandescent until it was no more than a single bright spark far out on the night-darkened lake. And its lost wail of pain and endless solitude came echoing back to the incurious shore.
‘I wish Sparhawk would find his way home again,’ Talen muttered as he and Stragen once again climbed the rickety stairs to the loft. ‘We’ve got some fairly important information, and there’s no way to pass it on to the others.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about it right now,’ Stragen told him. ‘Let’s see how Valash reacts to this story you cooked up. Keep it sort of vague until we see which way he jumps.’
‘And then will you teach me how to pick a pocket?’ Talen asked with overly-feigned enthusiasm.
‘All right,’ Stragen sighed. ‘I apologize. I’ll concede that you know what you’re doing.’
‘Oh, thank you, Vymer!’ Talen gushed. ‘Thank you, thank you!’
‘You’ve been spending too much time with Princess Danae,’ Stragen muttered sourly. ‘I hope she does marry you. You deserve it.’
‘Bite your tongue, Stragen. I can still run faster than she can.’
‘Running doesn’t always help, Reldin. I thought I could run, too, but Melidere cut my legs out from under me with a single word.’
‘Oh? Which word was that?’
‘Profit, my young friend. She waved unlimited amounts of gold in front of my face.’
‘You sold out, Stragen,’ Talen accused. ‘You betrayed every bachelor in the world for money.’
‘Wouldn’t you have? We’re not talking about a few farthings here.’
‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Talen replied loftily. ‘I wouldn’t sell out for money.’
‘I don’t think it’ll be money that Danae’s going to offer you, my innocent young friend. If you start running right now, you might escape, but I sort of doubt it. I knew your father, and there’s a certain weakness in your family. Danae’s going to get you, Talen. You don’t have a chance.’
‘Could we talk about something else? This is a very distressing sort of subject.’
Stragen laughed, and they went through the patched door at the top of the stairs.
Valash sat in the faint light of his single candle listening with a look of pained resignation on his face as Ogerajin babbled and drooled a long, strung-out series of disconnected phrases.
‘He doesn’t seem to be getting any better,’ Stragen observed quietly when he and Talen joined the two at the table.
‘He won’t get better, Vymer,’ Valash sighed. ‘I’ve seen this particular disease run its course before. Don’t get too close to him. He’s virulently infectious at this stage.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t want to catch what he’s got,’ Talen shuddered.
‘Do you have something for me?’ Valash asked.
‘I’m not going to swear to this, Master Valash,’ Talen said cautiously. ‘The fellows I picked it up from weren’t any too reliable. You might want to pass it on to Panem-Dea, though. It concerns them rather directly, so they might want to take a few extra precautions.’
‘Go on,’ Valash said.
‘Well, I overheard a couple of Arjuni soldiers talking in a tavern down by the waterfront – real Arjuni soldiers, I mean, not the ones Lord Scarpa’s recruited. They were talking about some orders that just came in from the capital at Arjuna. From what I was able to gather, they’ve been ordered to prepare for an extended campaign out in the jungle. They think they’re going to be mounting an attack on Lord Scarpa’s camp at Panem-Dea.’
‘Impossible!’ Valash snorted.
‘They were saying that the orders came from King Rakya himself. The message had been sent to their officers, of course, so they probably garbled it, but they’re absolutely convinced that the Arjuni army’s going to attack Scarpa’s forces. I just thought you ought to know.’
‘Those soldiers were drunk, Reldin. King Rakya is our ally.’
‘Really? What an amazing thing. He ought to let his troops know about it, then. The two I was listening to were positively drooling about all the loot they thought they were going to carry out of Panem-Dea.’
‘The queen is coming to Panem-Dea,’ Ogerajin suddenly sang in a wheezy voice to the tune of an old nursery song, ‘the queen is coming to Panem-Dea.’ Then he began to cackle in a high-pitched laugh.
A look of sudden chagrin crossed Valash’s face. ‘Calm yourself, Master Ogerajin,’ he said, giving Stragen and Talen a worried look.
‘The queen is coming to Panem-Dea, riding in a carriage,’ Ogerajin sang in his cracked voice.
‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ Valash said rather too quickly. ‘He’s only babbling.’
‘His mind really is slipping, isn’t it?’ Stragen noted.
‘Six white horses and silver wheels –’ Ogerajin sang on.
‘Have you ever heard such gibberish?’ Valash asked with a weak laugh.
‘Our presence must be disturbing him,’ Stragen said. ‘Does he generally drift off to sleep later in the evening?’
‘Usually.’
‘Good. From now on, Reldin and I’ll come by after midnight when he’s asleep.’
‘I’d appreciate it, Vymer.’ Valash looked at them, his face still worried. ‘He wasn’t always like this, you know. It’s the disease.’
‘I’m sure of it. He’s probably not even aware of what he’s saying.’
‘Exactly, exactly. He’s completely out of his head. Why don’t you two just forget his crazy singing?’ Valash snatched his purse from his belt and dug out several coins. ‘Here. Come by again after he’s gone to sleep.’
The two thieves bowed and quietly left.
‘Nervous, wasn’t he?’ Talen said as they went back down the stairs.
‘You noticed. He even forgot himself and opened his purse.’
They reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Where to?’ Talen asked.
‘No place for the moment. Keep this to yourself, Talen.’
‘Keep what?’
But Stragen was already speaking in sonorous Styric, weaving his fingers intricately in the air in front of him.
Talen stared as Stragen opened his hands palm up and made a sort of tossing gesture rather like a man releasing a pigeon. His eyes became distant, and his lips moved silently for a time. Then he smiled. ‘Surprised her,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘What’s going on here?’ Talen demanded.
‘I passed the things we just discovered along to Aphrael,’ Stragen shrugged.
‘You? When did you learn Styric magic?’
‘It’s not really all that difficult, Talen,’ Stragen grinned. ‘I’ve seen Sparhawk do it often enough, and I do speak Styric, after all. The gestures were a little tricky, but Aphrael gave me some instructions. I’ll do it better next time.’
‘How did you know it would work?’
‘I didn’t. I thought it was time I gave it a try, though. Aphrael’s very pleased with me.’
‘You do know that you just volunteered to serve her, don’t you? I know that much about her. You’re her slave now, Strage
n. She’s got you.’
‘Oh, well.’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I suppose a man could do worse. Aphrael’s a thief herself, so I’m sure we’ll get along.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘Shall we go?’ he suggested.
Chapter 18
‘You’re absolutely certain?’ Sparhawk eagerly asked the Child Goddess.
‘Kalten is,’ she replied. ‘He was walking past the building, and Alean started to sing. He’d recognize her voice, wouldn’t he?’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘She could raise him from the dead by singing to him. How fast can you get me to Natayos?’
‘Let’s take the others to Dirgis first. I want to fill Xanetia and Sephrenia in on what’s been happening.’
‘I already know about all that. I need to get to Natayos, Aphrael.’
‘All in good time, Sparhawk. It’s not going to take us all that long to get to Dirgis, and the others might have some useful ideas.’
‘Aphrael –’ he began to protest.
‘We’ll do it my way, Sparhawk,’ she told him firmly. ‘It won’t take all that long, and it might give you enough time to get your temper under control. The others are waiting in the room with the map on the wall. Let’s get them and go to Dirgis.’
There was one brief argument before they started. ‘I have no need of a horse,’ Betuana insisted, tightening the lace on one of her half-boots.
Aphrael sighed. ‘Please do it my way, Betuana,’ she said.
‘I can run faster than a horse. Why burden myself with one?’
‘Because you know how far it is from here to Dirgis, and the horse doesn’t. It’s easier for me that way. Please, Betuana, just for me.’ The Child Goddess looked appealingly at the armored Atan Queen.
Betuana laughed and gave in.
And so they went out into the snowy courtyard, mounted, and rode on out into the streets of Sarna. The sky was heavy with clouds that obscured the surrounding mountains, and it was spitting snow. They left town by way of the east gate and slogged their way up the steep slope to the top of the gorge. Sparhawk, Itagne, and Vanion rode in the lead, breaking trail for the Queen of Atan, who rode wrapped in her heavy cloak and with the Child Goddess nestled in her arms. There was a strange dichotomy in the personality of the little divinity that troubled Sparhawk. He knew that she was wise beyond his ability to comprehend it, and yet she was still in most ways a little girl. Then he remembered the naked reality of the true Goddess, and all hope of ever understanding her vanished.
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