‘Oh, yes,’ Tynian replied. ‘I’ll explain it to you someday. You won’t believe me, but I’ll explain it anyway.’
‘Did you find out anything about Martel?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk.
‘He rode out through the east gate early yesterday morning.’
‘We’ve gained a day on him then. Did he have any troops with him?’
‘Only Adus,’ Kurik replied.
‘I think it’s time for you to tell them everything, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said gravely.
‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed. He drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you, my friends,’ he admitted.
‘What’s new and different about that?’ Kalten asked.
Sparhawk ignored him. ‘I’ve been followed ever since I left Ghwerig’s cave up in Thalesia.’
‘That crossbowman?’ Ulath suggested.
‘He might have been involved, but we can’t really be sure. The crossbowman – and the people he had working for him – was probably something Martel came up with. I can’t be sure if it’s still a problem or not. The one who was responsible is dead now.’
‘Who was it?’ Tynian asked intently.
‘That’s not particularly important.’ Sparhawk had decided some time ago to keep Perraine’s involvement an absolute secret. ‘Martel has ways to force people to do what he tells them to do. That’s one of the reasons we had to get away from the main body of the army. We wouldn’t have been very effective if we’d had to spend most of our time trying to guard our backs from the attacks of people we could supposedly trust.’
‘Who was following you if it wasn’t the crossbowman?’ Ulath persisted.
Sparhawk told them about the shadowy form that had haunted him for months now.
‘And you think it’s Azash?’ Tynian asked him.
‘It sort of fits together, wouldn’t you say?’
‘How would Azash have known where Ghwerig’s cave was?’ Sir Bevier asked. ‘If that shadow’s been following you since you left the cave, Azash would almost have to have known, wouldn’t he?’
‘Ghwerig was saying some fairly insulting things to Azash before Sparhawk killed him,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘There was a certain amount of evidence that Azash could hear him.’
‘What sort of insults?’ Ulath asked curiously.
‘Ghwerig was threatening to cook Azash and eat him,’ Kurik said shortly.
‘That’s a little daring – even for a Troll,’ Stragen noted.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘I think Ghwerig was totally safe in that cave of his – at least safe from Azash. He didn’t have too much to protect him from Sparhawk as it turned out, though.’
‘Would one of you like to clarify that a bit?’ Tynian asked him. ‘You Thalesians are the experts on Trolls.’
‘I’m not sure how much light we can throw on it,’ Stragen said. ‘We know a little bit more about Trolls than other Elenes, but not very much.’ He laughed. ‘When our ancestors first came to Thalesia, they couldn’t tell Trolls from Ogres or bears. The Styrics told us most of what we know. It seems that when the Styrics first came to Thalesia, there were a few confrontations between the Younger Styric Gods and the Troll-Gods. The Troll-Gods realized fairly early on that they were badly overmatched, and they went into hiding. The legends say that Ghwerig and Bhelliom and the rings were sort of involved in hiding them. It’s generally believed that they’re somewhere in Ghwerig’s cave and that Bhelliom’s somehow protecting them from the Styric Gods.’ He looked at Ulath. ‘Wasn’t that sort of what you were getting at?’ he asked.
Ulath nodded. ‘When you combine Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods, you’re talking about enough power to make even Azash step around it a little carefully. That’s probably why Ghwerig could make the kind of threats he did.’
‘How many Troll-Gods are there?’ Kalten asked.
‘Five, aren’t there, Ulath?’ Stragen said.
Ulath nodded. ‘The God of Eat,’ he supplied, ‘the God of Kill, the God of –’ He broke off and gave Sephrenia a slightly embarrassed look. ‘Um – let’s just call it the God of Fertility,’ he continued lamely. ‘Then there’s the God of Ice – all kinds of weather, I suppose – and the God of Fire. Trolls have a fairly simple view of the world.’
‘Then Azash would have known about it when Sparhawk came out of the cave with Bhelliom and the rings,’ Tynian said, ‘and He probably would have followed.’
‘With unfriendly intentions,’ Talen added.
‘He’s done it before,’ Kurik shrugged. ‘He sent the Damork to chase Sparhawk all over Rendor and the Seeker to try to run us down in Lamorkand. At least He’s predictable.’
Bevier was frowning. ‘I think we’re overlooking something here,’ he said.
‘Such as?’ Kalten asked.
‘I can’t quite put my finger on it,’ Bevier admitted, ‘but I get the feeling that it’s fairly important.’
They left Kadach at dawn the following morning and rode eastward towards the city of Motera under skies that continued grey and cloudy. The murky sky, coupled with their conversation of the previous evening, made them all gloomy and downcast, and they rode mostly in silence. About noon, Sephrenia suggested a halt. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said quite firmly, ‘this isn’t a funeral procession, you know.’
‘You could be wrong there, little mother,’ Kalten said to her. ‘I didn’t find much to lift my spirits in last night’s discussion.’
‘I think we’d all better start looking for cheerful things to think about,’ she told them. ‘We’re riding into some fairly serious danger. Let’s not make it worse by piling gloom and depression on top of it. People who think they’re going to lose usually do.’
‘There’s a lot of truth there,’ Ulath agreed. ‘One of my brother knights at Heid is absolutely convinced that every set of dice in the world hates him. I’ve never seen him win – not even once.’
‘If he’s been playing with your dice, I can see why,’ Kalten accused.
‘I’m hurt,’ Ulath said plaintively.
‘Enough to throw those dice away?’
‘Well, no, not quite that much. We really ought to come up with something cheerful to talk about, though.’
‘We could find some wayside tavern and get drunk, I suppose,’ Kalten said hopefully.
‘No,’ Ulath shook his head. ‘I’ve found that ale just makes a bad mood worse. After four or five hours of drinking, we’d probably all be crying into our tankards.’
‘We could sing hymns,’ Bevier suggested brightly.
Kalten and Tynian exchanged a long look, and then they both sighed.
‘Did I ever tell you about the time when I was down in Cammoria and this lady of high station became enamoured of me?’ Tynian began.
‘Not that I recall,’ Kalten replied rather quickly.
‘Well, as I remember it –’ Tynian began, and then told them a long, amusing and just slightly off-colour account of what was probably an entirely fictitious amorous adventure. Ulath followed by telling them the story of the unfortunate Genidian Knight who had aroused a passion in the heart of an Ogress. His description of the singing of the love-stricken female reduced them all to helpless laughter. The stories, richly embellished with detail and humour, lightened their mood, and they all felt much better by sunset when they halted for the day.
Even with frequent changes of horses, it took them twelve days to reach Motera, an unlovely town lying on a flat, marshy plain extending out from the west fork of the River Geros. They reached the city about midday. Sparhawk and Kurik once again sought out information while the rest of the party rested their horses in preparation for the ride northward towards Paler. Since they still had a number of hours of daylight left, they saw no reason to spend the night in Motera.
‘Well?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk as the big Pandion and his squire rejoined the group.
‘Martel went north,’ Sparhawk answered.
‘We’re still right
behind him then,’ Tynian said. ‘Did we pick up any more time?’
‘No,’ Kurik replied. ‘He’s still two days ahead of us.’
‘Well,’ Tynian shrugged, ‘since we’re going that way anyhow –’
‘How far is it to Paler?’ Stragen asked.
‘A hundred and fifty leagues,’ Kalten told him. ‘Fifteen days at least.’
‘We’re moving on in the season,’ Kurik said. ‘We’re bound to run into snow in the mountains of Zemoch.’
‘That’s a cheery thought,’ Kalten said.
‘It’s always good to know what to expect.’
The sky continued gloomy, though the air was cool and dry. About midway through their journey, they began to encounter the extensive diggings that had turned the ancient battlefield at Lake Randera into a wasteland. They saw a few of the treasure-hunters, but passed them without incident.
Perhaps something had changed it, or perhaps it was because he was out of doors instead of in some candlelit room, but this time when Sparhawk caught that faint glimmer of darkness and menacing shadow at the very corner of his vision, something was actually there. It was late in the afternoon of a depressing day which they had spent riding through a landscape denuded of all vegetation and littered with great mounds of raw, dug-over earth. When Sparhawk caught that familiar flicker and its accompanying chill, he half-turned in his saddle and looked squarely at the shadow which had haunted him for so long. He reined Faran in. ‘Sephrenia,’ he said quite calmly.
‘Yes?’
‘You wanted to see it. I think that if you turn around rather slowly, you’ll be able to look as much as you want. It’s just beyond that large pond of muddy water.’
She turned to look.
‘Can you see it?’ he asked her.
‘Quite clearly, dear one.’
‘Gentlemen,’ Sparhawk said to the others then, ‘our shadowy friend seems to have come out of hiding. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards behind us.’
They turned to look.
‘It’s almost like a cloud of some kind, isn’t it?’ Kalten noted.
‘I’ve never seen a cloud like that before,’ Talen shuddered. ‘Dark, isn’t it?’
‘Why do you suppose it decided not to hide any more?’ Ulath murmured.
They all turned, looking to Sephrenia for some kind of explanation.
‘Don’t ask me, gentlemen,’ she said helplessly. ‘Something has changed, though.’
‘Well, at least we know that Sparhawk hasn’t just been seeing things for all this time,’ Kalten said. ‘What do we do about it?’
‘What can we do about it?’ Ulath asked him. ‘You don’t have much luck fighting with clouds and shadows with axes or swords.’
‘So? What do you suggest then?’
‘Ignore it,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘It’s the king’s highway, so it’s not breaking any laws if it wants to follow along, I guess.’
The next morning, however, the cloud was nowhere to be seen.
It was late in the autumn when they once again rode into the familiar city of Paler. As had become their custom, the Domi and his men camped outside the city walls, and Sparhawk and the others rode on to the same inn where they had stayed before.
‘It’s good to see you again, Sir Knight,’ the innkeeper greeted Sparhawk as the black-armoured Pandion came back down the stairs.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Sparhawk replied, not really meaning it. ‘How far is it to the east gate from here?’ he asked. It was time to start asking questions about Martel again.
‘About three streets over, My Lord,’ the innkeeper replied.
‘It’s closer than I thought.’ Then something occurred to Sparhawk. ‘I was just about to go out to ask around about a friend of mine who passed through Paler two days ago,’ he said. ‘You might be able to save me some time, neighbour.’
‘I’ll do what I can, Sir Knight.’
‘He has white hair, and there’s a fairly attractive lady with him, as well as a few others. It is possible that he stopped here in your inn?’
‘Why, yes, My Lord. As a matter of fact, he did. They were asking questions about the road to Vileta – although I can’t for the life of me think why anyone in his right mind would want to go into Zemoch at this particular time.’
‘He has something he wants to take care of there, and he’s always been a rash and foolhardy man. Was I right? Was it two days ago when he stopped?’
‘Exactly two days, My Lord. He’s riding hard, judging from the condition of his horses.’
‘Do you happen to remember which room was his?’
‘It’s the one the lady with your party’s staying in, My Lord.’
‘Thank you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We certainly wouldn’t want our friend to get away from us.’
‘Your friend was nice enough, but I certainly didn’t care much for that big one who’s with him. Does he improve at all once you get to know him?’
‘Not noticeably, no. Thanks again, friend.’ Sparhawk went back upstairs and rapped on Sephrenia’s door.
‘Come in, Sparhawk,’ she replied.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ he said as he entered.
‘Do what?’
‘Call me by name before you’ve even seen me. Couldn’t you at least pretend that you don’t know who’s knocking at your door?’
She laughed.
‘Martel went through here two days ago, Sephrenia. He stayed in this very room. Could that in any way be useful to us?’
She thought about it a moment. ‘It may just be, Sparhawk. What sort of thing did you have in mind?’
‘I’d sort of like to find out what his plans are. He knows we’re right on his heels, and he’s likely to try to delay us. I’d like to get a few specifics on any traps he may be laying for us. Can you arrange to let me see him? Or hear him at least?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s too far away.’
‘Well, so much for that idea.’
‘Perhaps not.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think that perhaps it’s time for you to get to know Bhelliom a little better, Sparhawk.’
‘Would you like to clarify that?’
‘There’s some sort of connection between Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods and the rings. Let’s investigate that.’
‘Why involve the Troll-Gods at all, Sephrenia? If there’s a way to use Bhelliom, why not just do that and leave the Troll-Gods out of it altogether?’
‘I’m not sure if Bhelliom would understand us, Sparhawk; and if it did, I’m not sure that we’d understand what it was doing to obey us.’
‘It collapsed that cave, didn’t it?’
‘That was very simple. This is a little more complicated. The Troll-Gods would be much easier to talk with, I think, and I want to find out just how closely Bhelliom’s linked to them if I can – and just how much you can control them by using Bhelliom.’
‘You want to experiment, in other words.’
‘You might put it that way, I suppose, but it might be safer to experiment now, when there’s nothing crucial at stake, than later, when our lives might hinge on the outcome. Lock the door, Sparhawk. Let’s not expose the others to this just yet.’
He crossed to the door and slid the iron bolt into place.
‘You’re not going to have time to think when you talk with the Troll-Gods, dear one, so get everything set in your mind before you start. You’re going to issue commands and nothing else. Don’t ask them questions, and don’t seek out explanations. Just tell them to do things and don’t worry about how they manage to obey. We want to see and hear the man who was in this room two sleeps ago. Just tell them to put his image –’ she looked around the room, then pointed at the hearth, ‘– in that fire there. Tell Bhelliom that you will talk with one of the Troll-Gods – probably Khwaj, the Troll-God of fire. He’s the most logical one to deal with flame and smoke.’ Sephrenia obviously knew a great deal more about the Troll-Gods than she had told them.
‘Khwaj
,’ Sparhawk repeated. Then he had a sudden idea. ‘What’s the name of the Troll-God of eat?’ he asked her.
‘Ghnomb,’ she replied. ‘Why?’
‘It’s something I’m still working on. If I can put it together, I might try it and see if it works.’
‘Don’t extemporize, Sparhawk. You know how I feel about surprises. Take off your gauntlets, and remove Bhelliom from the pouch. Don’t let it out of your grasp, and be sure that the rings are touching it at all times. Do you still remember the Troll language?’
‘Yes. Ulath and I have been practising.’
‘Good. You can speak to Bhelliom in Elene, but you’ll have to speak to Khwaj in His own tongue. Tell me what you did today – in Troll.’
The words were halting at first, but after a few moments he became more fluent. The changeover from the Elene language to Troll involved a profound shift in his thinking. In their language itself lay some of the character of the Trolls. It was not a pleasant character, and it involved concepts entirely alien to the Elene mind – except at the deepest, most primitive level.
‘All right,’ she told him, ‘come to the fire, and let’s begin. Be like iron, Sparhawk. Don’t hesitate or explain anything. Just give commands.’
He nodded and removed his gauntlets. The two blood-red rings, one on each of his hands, glowed in the firelight. He reached inside his surcoat and took out the pouch. Then he and his tutor stood before the hearth and looked into the crackling flames. ‘Open the pouch,’ Sephrenia instructed.
He worked the knots free.
‘Now, take Bhelliom out. Order it to bring Khwaj to you. Then tell Khwaj what you want. You don’t have to be too explicit. Khwaj will understand your thoughts. Pray that you never understand His.’
He drew in a deep breath and set the pouch down on the hearth. ‘Here goes,’ he said. He pulled the pouch open and took the Bhelliom out. The Sapphire Rose was icy cold as he touched it. He lifted it, trying to keep his sense of awe at the sight of it far away from his mind. ‘Blue-Rose!’ he snapped, holding the jewel in both hands. ‘Bring the voice of Khwaj to me!’
He felt a strange shift in the jewel, and a single spot of bright red appeared deep within the azure petals. The Bhelliom suddenly grew hot in his hands.
The Sapphire Rose Page 38