The Shining Ones

by David Eddings

  ‘I’m not that sick, Khalad,’ Flute objected. ‘I’m just a little tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Do you have to do it all by yourself?’ Sparhawk asked her.

  ‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

  ‘If one of your cousins happened along, could he help you?’

  She frowned.

  ‘Let’s say that you were making the decisions, and he was just lending you the muscle.’

  ‘It’s a nice idea, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘but we don’t have one of Aphrael’s cousins along.’

  ‘No, but we’ve got Bhelliom.’

  ‘I knew it would happen,’ Bevier groaned. ‘The accursed stone’s unhinged Sparhawk’s mind. He thinks he’s a God.’

  ‘No, Bevier,’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘I’m not a God, but I have access to something very close to one. When I put those rings on, Bhelliom has to do what I tell it to do. That’s not exactly like being a God, but it’s close enough. Let’s have breakfast, and then the rest of you can gather our belongings and get them packed on the horses. Aphrael and I will hammer out the details of how we’re going to work this.’

  Chapter 7

  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 deerantlers.

  ‘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 bronze-age 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 th
e 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.’