That’s assuming that they’re taking Queen Ehlana to Sopal to make the exchange,’ Itagne said. ‘We’ve got some things that don’t match up, though. Sir Kalten picked up a rumor that Scarpa’s holding the Queen and her maid in Natayos.’
‘I wouldn’t want to wager the farm on it, your Excellency,’ Kalten said. ‘It’s second-hand information at best. The fellow I talked with probably isn’t bright enough to make up stories, and he didn’t have any reason to lie to me. He got his information from somebody else, though, and that makes the whole thing a little wormy.’
‘You’ve put your finger on the problem, Sir Kalten,’ Sarabian said. ‘Soldiers gossip worse than old women.’ He tugged at one earlobe and looked up at the rainbow-colored sky. The other side knows that I wasn’t entirely dependent on the Ministry of the Interior for information, so they’ll expect me to have ears in Natayos. This story Sir Kalten heard could have been planted for our benefit. Prince Sparhawk, is there any way at all you could use Bhelliom to confirm the rumor?’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Sephrenia said flatly. ‘Zalasta would know immediately if Sparhawk did that.’
‘I’m not so sure, little mother,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘It was just recently that we found out that the gold box doesn’t totally isolate Bhelliom. I’m getting a strong feeling that a great deal of what we think we know about Bhelliom is pure misdirection. The rings evidently don’t really mean anything at all – except possibly as a means of communication, and the gold box doesn’t appear to be relevant either. It could be an idea Bhelliom planted to keep us from enclosing it in iron. I’m guessing, but I’d say that the touch of iron is still painful to it, but whether it’s painful enough to actually confine it isn’t all that certain.’
‘He’s right, you know,’ Aphrael told her sister. ‘A great deal of what we think we know about Bhelliom came from Ghwerig, and Bhelliom had absolute control of Ghwerig. Our mistake was believing that Ghwerig knew what he was talking about.’
‘That still doesn’t answer the question about using Bhelliom to investigate things in Natayos,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and it’s not the sort of thing I’d want to experiment with.’
‘I will go to Natayos,’ Xanetia said quietly. ‘It had been mine intent to go unseen to Sopal, but Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath will be there already, and well able to determine if the Queen be truly there. I will go to Natayos and seek her there instead.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Sarabian said. ‘I forbid it.’
‘I am not subject to thee, Sarabian of Tamuli,’ she reminded him. ‘But fear not. There is no peril involved for me. None will know that I am there, and I can reach out to those who are about me and share their thoughts. I will soon be able to determine whether or no the Queen and her maidservant are in Natayos. This is precisely the kind of service we offered when we concluded our pact with Anakha.’
‘It’s too dangerous,’ he said stubbornly.
‘It seemeth me that thou hast forgot mine other gift, Sarabian of Tamuli,’ she told him quite firmly. ‘The curse of Edaemus is still upon me, and my touch is still death, when I choose it so. Fear not for me, Sarabian, for should necessity compel me to it, I can spread death and terror through Natayos. Though it doth cause me pain to confess it, I can make Natayos once more a waste, a weed-choked ruin populated only by the dead.’
Chapter 10
The city of Sarna in Western Tamul Proper lay just to the south of the Atan border in the deep gorge of the river from which it took its name. The surrounding mountains were steep and rugged and were covered with dark evergreens which sighed endlessly in the prevailing wind sweeping down out of the wilderness to the north. The weather was cold, and the leaden sky spat stinging pellets of snow as Vanion’s army of Church Knights slowly descended the long, steep road leading down into the gorge. Vanion and Itagne, muffled in their heavy cloaks, rode at the head of the column.
‘I’d have much preferred to stay on Aphrael’s island,’ Itagne said, shivering and pulling his cloak tighter. ‘I’ve never been particularly fond of this time of year.’
‘We’re almost there, your Excellency,’ Vanion replied.
‘Is it customary to campaign in the wintertime, Lord Vanion?’ Itagne asked. ‘In Eosia, I mean?’
‘We try to avoid it, your Excellency,’ Vanion replied. ‘The Lamorks attack each other in the winter, but the rest of us usually have better sense.’
‘It’s a miserable time to go to war.’
Vanion smiled faintly. ‘That it is, my friend, but that’s not why we avoid it. It’s a question of economics, really. It’s more expensive to campaign in winter because you have to buy hay for the horses. It’s the expense that keeps Elene kings peaceful when there’s snow on the ground.’ Vanion stood up in his stirrups to peer ahead. ‘Betuana’s waiting,’ he said. ‘We’d better ride down to meet her.’
Itagne nodded, and they pushed their horses into a jolting trot.
The Queen of Atan had left them at Dasan on the eastern edge of the mountains to come on ahead. She had several very good reasons, of course, but Vanion privately suspected that her decision had been influenced more by impatience than necessity. Betuana was too polite to speak of it, but she clearly had little use for horses, and she seldom missed an opportunity to outrun them. She and Engessa, both garbed in otter-skins, waited at the roadside about a mile outside the city.
‘Was there any trouble?’ the Atan Queen asked.
‘No, your Majesty,’ Vanion replied, his black armor clinking as he swung down out of his saddle. ‘We were watched, but there’s nothing unusual about that. Has anything been happening in Cynesga?’
‘They’re moving up to the border, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Engessa replied quietly. ‘They aren’t being very subtle about it. We’ve been disrupting their supply lines and ambushing their scouting parties just to keep them off-balance, but it’s fairly obvious that they plan to come across the line in force.’
Vanion nodded. ‘It’s more or less what we expected, then. If it’s all right with you, your Majesty, I’d like to get my men settled in before we get too involved in discussions. I can always think better after I’ve seen to all the details.’
‘Of course,’ Betuana agreed. ‘Engessa-Atan and I have arranged quarters for them. When will you be leaving for Samar?’
‘Tomorrow or the next day, Betuana-Queen. Tikume’s Peloi are probably spread a little thin down there. He has a lot of ground to cover.’
‘He sent back to Pela for more men, Vanion-Lord,’ Engessa advised. ‘You’ll have a sizeable force in Samar in a week or so.’
‘Good. Let me go back and hurry the knights along. We have much to discuss.’
Night settled early at the bottom of the gorge of the River Sarna, and it was fully dark by the time Vanion joined the others in the headquarters of the city’s Atan garrison. Like all Atan structures, the building was severely utilitarian and devoid of any embellishment. The lone exception in the conference room in which they gathered was a very large map covering one entire wall. The map was brightly colored and dotted here and there with fanciful illustrations. Vanion had bathed hurriedly and now wore plain clothing. The years had taught him that armor was impressive and even useful at times, but that no one had yet devised a way to make it comfortable or to eliminate its characteristic smell.
‘Are the quarters satisfactory?’ Betuana enquired politely.
‘Most satisfactory, your Majesty,’ he replied, settling into a chair. ‘Have you been advised of the details of our meeting with the Child Goddess?’
She nodded. ‘Itagne-Ambassador gave me a report,’ she replied. She paused. ‘One is curious to know why one was excluded,’ she added.
‘Theological considerations, your Majesty,’ Vanion explained. ‘As I understand it, the Gods have an exquisitely complex etiquette in these situations. Aphrael didn’t want to offend your God by inviting his children to her island. There were some other rather conspicuous absences as well. Emperor Sarabian was there
and Ambassador Itagne, but Foreign Minister Oscagne wasn’t.’
Itagne frowned slightly. ‘The Emperor and I are skeptics – agnostics, I suppose you could call us – but Oscagne’s an out-and-out atheist. Would that account for it?’
‘It might. I’ll ask Aphrael the next time I talk with her.’
Engessa looked around. ‘I didn’t see Kring-Domi when we met you, Vanion-Preceptor,’ he noted.
‘Kring took his men and veered off toward Samar not long after you and her Majesty left us to come on ahead. He thought he’d be more useful there than he would here in Sarna – and you know how the western Peloi feel about mountains and forests. Have the Cynesgans made any forays across the border as yet?’
‘No, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Engessa replied. ‘They’re massing in staging areas and bringing up supplies.’ He rose and went to the map. ‘A large force moved out of Cynestra a while back,’ he said, pointing at the Cynesgan capital. ‘They’re positioned near the border more or less opposite us here. Another force has taken up a similar position just across the line from Samar.’
Vanion nodded. ‘Cyrgon’s more like a general than a God in most ways. He’s not going to leave fortified positions to his rear. He’ll have to neutralize Samar and Sarna before he can strike any deeper into Tamul Proper. I’d say that the force you’re facing here has been ordered to take Sarna, seal the southern border of Atan and then swing northeast toward Tualas. I’m sure they’d rather not have the entire Atan nation come swarming down out of these mountains.’
‘There aren’t enough Cynesgans living to keep my people hemmed in,’ Betuana told him.
‘I’m sure of it, your Majesty, but there probably are enough to slow you down, and Cyrgon can recruit armies from the past to hinder you all the more.’ He studied the map, his lips pursed. ‘I think I see where he’s going,’ he said. ‘Matherion’s on a peninsula, and that narrow neck of land at Tosa is the key to that. If I had to wager anything on it, I’d say that the main battle’s going to take place there. Scarpa will move north out of Natayos. Probably the southern Cynesgans are planning to capture Samar and then swing around the north shore of the Sea of Arjun to join him somewhere in the vicinity of the Tamul Mountains. From there the combined army can march up the west shore of the Gulf of Micae to Tosa.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Of course, there’s a very nasty surprise waiting for them in the Tamul Mountains. I’d imagine that before this is over, Cyrgon will wish that he’d never heard of the Trolls.’
‘I will send an army out of northern Atan to Tosa, Vanion-Preceptor,’ Betuana said, ‘but I’ll leave enough of my people along the southern and eastern borders to tie up half of the Cynesgans.’
‘In the meantime I think we can disrupt their preparations,’ Engessa added. ‘Raids in force across that border will delay their main attack.’
‘And that’s all we really need,’ Vanion chuckled. ‘If we can delay them long enough, Cyrgon’s going to have a hundred thousand Church Knights swarming across his western frontier. I think he’ll forget about Tosa at that point.’
‘Don’t worry about him, Fron,’ Stragen told Sparhawk. ‘He can take care of himself.’
‘I think we sometimes forget that he’s only a boy, Vymer. He doesn’t even shave regularly yet.’
‘Reldin stopped being a boy before his voice started to change.’ Stragen leaned back on his bed reflectively. ‘Those of us in our particular line of work tend to lose our childhoods,’ he said. ‘It might have been nice to roll hoops and catch polliwogs, but …’ He shrugged.
‘What are you going to do when this is all over?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Assuming that we survive?’
‘There’s a certain lady of our acquaintance who proposed marriage to me a while back. It’s part of a business arrangement that’s very attractive. The notion of marriage never really appealed to me, but the business proposition’s just too good to pass up.’
There’s more, too, isn’t there?’
‘Yes,’ Stragen admitted. ‘After what she did back in Matherion that night, I’m not about to let her get away from me. She’s one of the coolest and most courageous people I’ve ever met.’
‘Pretty, too.’
‘You noticed.’ Stragen sighed. Im afraid I’m going to end up being at least semi-respectable, my friend.’
‘Shocking.’
‘Isn’t it? First, though, there’s this other little matter I want to deal with. I think I’ll present my beloved with the head of a certain Astellian poet of our acquaintance. If I can find a good taxidermist, I may even have it stuffed and mounted for her.’
‘It’s the kind of wedding present every girl dreams of.’
‘Maybe not every girl,’ Stragen grinned, ‘but I’m in love with a very special lady.’
‘But there are so many of them, U-lat,’ Bhlokw said plaintively. ‘They would not miss just one, would they?’
‘I am certain they would, Bhlokw,’ Ulath told the huge, brown-furred Troll. ‘The man-things are not like the deer. They pay very close attention to the other members of the herd. If you eat one of them, they will know that we are here. Catch and eat one of their dogs instead.’
Is dog good-to-eat?’
‘I am not sure. Eat one and tell me if it is good.’
Bhlokw grumbled and squatted down on his haunches.
The process Ghnomb had called breaking the moments in two pieces’ produced some rather strange effects. The brightness of noon was dimmed to twilight, for one thing, and the citizens of Sopal seemed to walk about their town with a fast, jerky kind of movement, for another. The God of Eat had assured them that because they were present in only a small part of each instant, they had been rendered effectively invisible. Ulath could see a rather large logical flaw in the explanation, but the belief that the spell worked seemed to override logic.
Tynian came back up the street shaking his head. ‘It’s impossible to understand them,’ he reported. ‘I can pick up a word or two now and then, but the rest is pure gibberish.’
‘It is talking in bird-noises again,’ Bhlokw complained.
‘You’d better speak in Trollish, Tynian,’ Ulath said. ‘You’re making Bhlokw nervous.’
‘I forgot,’ Tynian admitted, reverting to the hideous language of the Trolls. I am –’ he groped. ‘What is the word that means that you want it that you had not done something?’ he asked their shaggy companion.
‘There is no such word, Tin-in,’ Bhlokw replied.
‘Can you ask Ghnomb to make it so that we can understand what the man-things are saying?’ Ulath asked.
‘Why? What does it matter?’ Bhlokw’s face was puzzled.
‘If we can know what they are saying, we will know which ones of the herd we should follow,’ Tynian explained. ‘They will be the ones who will know about the wicked ones.’
‘They do not all know?’ Bhlokw asked with some amazement.
‘No. Only some know.’
‘The man-things are very strange. I will talk with Ghnomb. He may understand this,’ He rose to his feet, towering over them. I will do it as soon as I come back.’
‘Where are you going?’ Tynian asked politely.
‘I am hungry. I will go eat a dog. Then I will come back and talk with Ghnomb.’ He paused. ‘I can bring a dog back for you as well, if you are also hungry.’
‘Ah – no, Bhlokw,’ Tynian replied. ‘I do not think I am hungry right now. It was good of you to ask, though.’
‘We are pack-mates now,’ Bhlokw shrugged. ‘It is right to do this.’ And he shambled off down the street.
‘It’s not really all that far,’ Aphrael told her sister as the two of them rode with Xanetia up out of the valley of Delphaeus toward the town of Dirgis in southern Atan, ‘but Edaemus is still reluctant to help us, so I think I’d better mind my manners. He might be offended if I start “tampering” in the home of his children.’
‘You’ve never used that word to describe it before,’ Sephrenia noted.
‘Spa
rhawk’s influence, I guess,’ the Child Goddess replied. ‘It’s a useful sort of term. It glosses over things that we don’t want to discuss in front of strangers. After we get to Dirgis, we’ll be well clear of the home of the Delphae. Then I’ll be able to tamper to my heart’s content.’
‘How long dost thou think it will take us to reach Natayos, Goddess?’ Xanetia asked. She had once again altered her coloration and suppressed her inner radiance to conceal her racial characteristics.
‘No more than a few hours – in real time,’ Aphrael shrugged. ‘I can’t quite jump us around the way Bhelliom does, but I can cover a lot of ground in a hurry when there’s an emergency. If things were really desperate, I could fly us there.’
Sephrenia shuddered. ‘It’s not that desperate, Aphrael.’
Xanetia gave her Styric sister a puzzled look.
‘It makes her queasy,’ Aphrael explained.
‘No, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia corrected, ‘not queasy – terrified. It’s a horrible experience, Xanetia. She’s done it to me about five times in the past three hundred years. I’m an absolute wreck for weeks afterward.’
‘I keep telling you not to look down, Sephrenia,’ Aphrael told her. ‘If you’d just look at the clouds instead of down at the ground, it wouldn’t bother you so much.’
‘I can’t help myself, Aphrael,’ Sephrenia told her.
‘Is it truly so disturbing, sister mine?’ Xanetia asked.
‘You couldn’t even begin to imagine it, Xanetia. You skim along with nothing but about five thousand feet of empty air between you and the ground. It’s awful!’
‘We’ll do it the other way,’ Aphrael assured her.
‘I’ll start composing a prayer of thanksgiving immediately.’
‘We’ll stay the night in Dirgis,’ Aphrael told them, ‘and then tomorrow morning we’ll run down to Natayos. Sephrenia and I’ll stay out in the woods, Xanetia, and you can go into town and have a look around. If Mother’s really being held there, we should be able to bring this little crisis to an end in short order. Once Sparhawk knows exactly where she is, he’ll fall on Scarpa and his father like a vengeful mountain. Natayos won’t even be a ruin any more when he’s done. It’ll just be a big hole in the ground.’