‘Don’t be absurd, World-Maker.’
‘I know thee, Aphrael, and I know that thou art more dangerous than ever Azash was or Cyrgon could be. Let us both concentrate all our attention upon the cure of thy sister.’
The Child Goddess opened the lid of the box and lifted out the glowing Sapphire Rose. Sparhawk, all bemused, saw the steady white glow which emanated from Xanetia take on a faint bluish flush as Bhelliom’s radiance joined her own.
‘Apply me, poulticelike, to her wound that I may heal that injury which Zalasta hath inflicted.’
Sparhawk was a soldier and he knew a great deal about wounds. His stomach knotted when he saw the deep, seeping gash in the upper swell of Sephrenia’s left breast.
Aphrael reached out with Bhelliom and gently touched it to the bleeding wound.
Sephrenia started to glow with an azure radiance. She half-raised her head. ‘No,’ she said weakly, trying to push Aphrael’s hand away.
Sparhawk took both her hands in his and held them. ‘It’s all right, little mother,’ he lied softly. ‘Everything’s been taken care of.’
The wound in Sephrenia’s breast had closed, leaving an ugly purple scar. Then, even as they watched, the Sapphire Rose continued its work. The scar shrank down to a thin white line that became fainter and fainter and finally disappeared entirely.
Sephrenia began to cough. It was a gurgling, liquid kind of cough such as a nearly drowned man might make.
‘Hand me that basin, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael instructed. ‘She has to clear the blood out of her lungs.’
Sparhawk reached out and took the large, shallow basin from the nightstand and handed it to her.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘You can have this back now.’ She gave him the closed box, took the basin, and held it under Sephrenia’s chin. That’s right,’ she said encouragingly to her sister as the small woman began coughing up chunks of clotted blood. ‘Get it all out.’
Sparhawk looked away. The procedure was not very pretty.
‘Put thy mind at rest, Anakha,’ Bhelliom’s voice told him softly. ‘Thine enemies are unaware of what hath come to pass.’ The jewel paused. I have not given Edaemus his due, for he is very shrewd. Methinks none other could have perceived the true import of what he hath done. To curse his children as he hath was the only true way to conceal them. I shudder to imagine the pain it must have caused him.’
‘I do not understand,’ Sparhawk confessed.
‘A blessing rings and shimmers in the lucid air like bell-sound, Anakha, but a curse is dark and silent. Were the light which doth emanate from Anarae Xanetia a blessing, all the world would hear and feel its o’erwhelming love, but Edaemus hath made it a curse instead. Therein lay his wisdom. The accursed are cast out and hidden, and no one – man or God – can hear or feel their comings and goings up and down the land. When she did take the box in her hands, Anarae Xanetia did smother all sound and sense of my presence, and when she did embrace Aphrael and Sephrenia and enfold them in her luminous darkness, none living could detect me. Thy mate is safe – for now. Thine enemies have no knowledge of what hath come to pass.’
Sparhawk’s heart soared. I do sorely repent my lack of trust, Blue Rose,’ he apologized.
Thou wert distraught, Anakha. I do freely forgive thee.’
‘Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Yes, little mother?’ He went quickly to the side of the bed.
‘You shouldn’t have agreed to this. You’ve put Ehlana in terrible danger. I thought you were stronger.’
‘Everything’s all right, Sephrenia,’ he assured her. ‘Bhelliom just explained it to me. Nobody heard or felt a thing while you were being healed.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘It was Xanetia’s presence – and her touch. Bhelliom says she completely muffled what was going on. It has to do with the difference between a blessing and a curse, as I understand it. However it works, what just happened didn’t put Ehlana in any danger. How are you feeling?’
‘Like a half-drowned kitten, if you really want to know,’ she smiled weakly. Then she sighed. ‘I would never have believed that Zalasta could be capable of what he did.’
‘I’ll make him wish he’d never thought of it,’ Sparhawk said grimly. Im going to tear out his heart, roast it on a spit, and then serve it up to Aphrael on a silver plate.’
‘Isn’t he a nice boy?’ Aphrael said fondly.
‘No.’ Sephrenia’s voice was surprisingly firm. ‘I appreciate the thought, dear ones, but I don’t want either of you to do anything to Zalasta. I’m the one he stabbed, so I want to be the one who decides who gets him.’
‘I suppose that’s fair,’ Sparhawk conceded.
‘What have you got in mind, Sephrenia?’ Aphrael asked.
‘Vanion’s going to be dreadfully upset when he hears about this. I don’t want him raging and breaking up the furniture, so I’m going to give Zalasta to him – all tied up in a bright red ribbon.’
‘I still get his heart, though,’ Aphrael insisted.
Chapter 13
The sky was overcast with sullen cloud, and a chill, arid wind scoured the empty floor of the Desert of Cynesga as Vanion led the retreat eastward. Fully half of his armored knights had perished in the encounter with Klæl’s soldiers, and very few of the survivors had escaped serious injury. Vanion had ridden forth from Sarna with an army. He was returning at the head of a column of groaning invalids, battered and dented, after what had really been no more than a skirmish.
Four Atans carried Engessa on a litter, and Queen Betuana strode along at his side, her face ravaged with grief. Vanion sighed. Engessa was still breathing, but only barely.
The Preceptor straightened in his saddle, trying to shake off his shock and dismay and to think rationally. The fight with Klæl’s warriors had decimated his force of Church Knights, and they had been central to the strategy of containment. Without those armored horsemen, the eastern frontier of Tamul Proper was no longer secure.
Vanion muttered a sour oath. The only thing he could really do now was to warn the others about the change in the situation. ‘Sir Endrik,’ he called to the old veteran riding some distance behind, ‘take over here. I’ve got something to take care of.’
Endrik came forward.
‘Keep them going east,’ Vanion instructed. ‘I’ll be back in a little bit.’ He spurred his tired horse into a loping canter and rode on ahead.
When he was about a mile in front of the column, he reined in and cast the spell of summoning.
Nothing happened.
He cast it again, more urgently this time.
‘What?’ Aphrael’s voice in his ear was irritably impatient.
‘I’ve got some bad news, Divine One,’ he told her.
‘What else can go wrong? Hurry up, Vanion. I’m very busy right now.’
‘We ran into Klæl out in the desert. He had an army of giants with him, and we got very badly mauled. Tell Sparhawk and the others that I probably won’t be able to hold Samar if the Cynesgans lay siege to it. I’ve lost half of the knights, and the ones I’ve got left aren’t in any condition for a fight. Tikume’s Peloi are brave men, but they don’t have any experience with sieges.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘About four hours ago. Can you find Abriel and the other preceptors? They should be in Zemoch or Western Astel by now. They have to be warned about Klæl. Tell them that under no circumstances should they engage in any pitched battles with Klæl’s troops. We’re no match for them. If the main body of the Church Knights gets waylaid and wiped out, we’ll lose this war.’
‘Who are these giants you’re talking about, Vanion?’
‘We didn’t have time for introductions. They’re bigger than the Atans, though – almost as big as Trolls. They wear very close-fitting armor and steel face-masks. Their weapons aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen, and they’ve got yellow blood.’
‘Yellow? That’s impossib
le!’
‘It’s yellow all the same. You can come here and look at my sword-blade, if you’d like. I managed to kill a couple of them while I was covering Betuana’s retreat.’
‘Retreat? Betuana?’
‘She was carrying Engessa.’
‘What’s wrong with Engessa?’
‘He was out front a little ways, and Klæl’s soldiers attacked him. He fought well, but they swarmed him under. We charged into them, and Betuana cut her way through to Engessa. I ordered a retreat and covered Betuana while she carried Engessa to the rear. We’re taking him back to Sarna, but I think it’s a waste of effort. The side of his head’s been bashed in, and I’m afraid we’re going to lose him.’
‘Don’t say that, Vanion. Don’t ever say that. There’s always hope.’
‘Not much this time, Divine One. When somebody breaks into a man’s brain, about all you can do for him is dig a grave.’
‘I’m not going to lose him, Vanion! How fast can you get him back to Sarna?’
‘Two days, Aphrael. It took us two days to get here, and two days out means two days back.’
‘Can he hold on that long?’
‘I doubt it.’
She said a short, ugly word in Styric. ‘Where are you?’
‘Twenty leagues south of Sarna and about five leagues out into the desert.’
‘Stay there. I’ll come and find you.’
‘Be a little careful when you approach Betuana. She’s behaving very strangely.’
‘Say what you mean, Vanion. I don’t have time for riddles.’
‘I’m not sure what I mean, Aphrael. Betuana’s a soldier, and she knows that people sometimes get killed in battle. Her reaction to what’s happened to Engessa is – well – excessive. She’s broken down completely.’
‘She’s an Atan, Vanion. They’re a very emotional people. Go back and halt your column. I’ll be there in a little while.’
Vanion nodded, although there was no one there to nod to, turned his horse and rode back to rejoin his knights. ‘Any change?’ he asked Queen Betuana.
She lifted her tear-streaked face. ‘He opened his eyes once, Vanion-Preceptor,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think he saw me, though.’ She was holding Engessa’s hand.
‘I talked with Aphrael,’ he advised her. ‘She’s coming here to have a look at him. Don’t give up hope yet, Betuana. Aphrael cured me, and I was closer to being dead than Engessa is.’
‘He is fairly strong,’ she said. ‘If the Child Goddess can heal his wound before it carries him off –’ Her voice caught with an odd little note.
‘He’ll be all right, your Majesty,’ he said, trying to sound more certain than he really was. ‘Can you get word to your husband? – about Klæl, I mean? He should know about those soldiers Klæl hides under his wings.’
‘I’ll send a runner. Should I tell Androl to come to Sarna instead of going to Tosa? Klæl is here now, and Scarpa’s army won’t reach Tosa for quite some time – and that’s only if they can evade the Trolls.’
‘Let’s wait until I’ve had the chance to talk with the others first. Is King Androl already on the march?’
‘He should be. Androl always jumps when I suggest something. He’s a good man – and very, very brave.’ She said it almost as if defending her husband from some unspoken criticism, but Vanion noticed that she absently stroked Engessa’s ashen face even as she spoke.
‘He must have been in a hurry,’ Stragen said, still puzzling over Sparhawk’s terse note.
‘He’s never been very good at writing letters,’ Talen shrugged, ‘except for that one time when he spent days composing lies about what we were supposedly doing on the Isle of Tega.’
‘Maybe that took it all out of him,’ Stragen folded the note and looked closely at it. ‘Parchment,’ he said. ‘Where did he get his hands on parchment?’
‘Who knows? Maybe he’ll tell us when he comes back. Let’s go take a walk on the beach. I need some exercise.’
‘All right.’ Stragen picked up his cloak, and he and the younger thief went downstairs and out into the street.
The southern Tamul Sea was calm, and the moon-path across its dark surface was unbroken and very bright. ‘Pretty,’ Talen murmured when the two reached the damp sand at the edge of the water.
‘Yes,’ Stragen agreed.
‘I think I’ve come up with something,’ Talen said.
‘So have I,’ Stragen replied.
‘Go ahead.’
‘No, let’s hear yours first.’
‘All right. The Cynesgans are massing on the border, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘A good story could un-mass them.’
‘I don’t think there is such a word.’
‘Did we come here to discuss vocabulary? What will the Cynesgans do if they hear that the Church Knights are coming? Wouldn’t they almost have to send an army to meet them?’
‘I think Sparhawk and Vanion want to keep the fact that the knights are coming more or less a secret.’
‘Stragen, how are you going to keep a hundred thousand men a secret? Let’s say that I tell Valash that I’ve picked up a very reliable report that a fleet of ships flying Church banners has rounded the southern tip of Daconia bound for Kaftal. Wouldn’t that cause the other side some concern? Even if they know about the knights coming across Zemoch, they’d still have to send troops to meet that fleet. They couldn’t ignore the possibility that the knights are coming at them from two different directions.’
Stragen suddenly laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You and I have been running together for too long, Talen. We’re starting to think alike. I came up with the idea of telling Valash that the Atans are going to cross the steppes of eastern Astel and strike down into northern Cynesga toward the capital.’
‘Nice plan,’ Talen said.
‘So’s yours,’ Stragen squinted out across the moon-bathed water. ‘Either story’s strategically credible,’ he mused. ‘They’re exactly the kind of moves a military man would come up with. What we’re really planning is a simultaneous strike from the east and the west. If we can make Cyrgon believe that we’re going to hit him from the north and south instead, we’ll pull him so far out of position that he’ll never be able to get his armies back to meet our real attacks.’
‘Not to mention the fact that we’ll cut his army in two.’
‘We’ll have to be careful though,’ Stragen cautioned. I don’t think even Valash is gullible enough to swallow these stories if we drop them both on him at the same time. We’ll have to spread them out and dribble them to him bit by bit. What I’d really like to do is let the fairy-tale about the Atans come from someone other than me.’
‘Sparhawk could probably get Aphrael to arrange that,’ Talen suggested.
‘If he ever comes back. His note was a little vague. We can get things rolling, though. Let’s modify your story a bit. Push your make-believe fleet back to Valesia. Give Cyrgon some time to worry about it before we pinpoint Kaftal as the final destination. I’ll plant a couple of ambiguous hints about the Atans massing up near their northwestern frontier. We’ll let things stand that way until Sparhawk comes back.’
Talen sighed.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘This is almost legal, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose you could say so, yes. Is there some problem with that?’
‘If it’s legal, why am I having so much fun?’
‘Nothing?’ Ulath asked, opening the neck of his red uniform jacket.
‘Not a peep,’ Tynian replied. ‘I cast the spell four times, and I still can’t raise her.’
‘Maybe she’s busy.’
‘It’s possible, I guess.’
Ulath rubbed at his cheek reflectively. ‘I definitely think I’ll shave off Sir Gerda’s beard,’ he muttered. ‘You know, it could be that it’s because we’re in No-Time. When we did this the first time – back in Pelosia – none of our spells worked.?
??
‘I think this spell’s different, Ulath. I’m not really trying to do anything. I just want to talk with Aphrael.’
‘Yes, but you’re mixing magic. You’re trying to use a Styric spell when you’re up to your ears in a Trollish one.’
‘Maybe that’s it. I’ll try again when we get to Arjun and go back into real time.’
Bhlokw came shambling back through the grey light of Ghnomb’s frozen moment, passing a flock of stationary birds hanging in the air. ‘There are some of the dens of the man-things in the next valley,’ he reported.
‘Many or few?’ Ulath asked him.
‘Many,’ Bhlokw replied. ‘Will the man-things have dogs there?’
‘There are always dogs near the dens of the man-things, Bhlokw.’
‘We should hurry then.’ The shaggy Troll paused. ‘What do the man-things call this place?’
‘It is the place Arjun – I think.’
‘That is the place where we want to go, is it not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘The wicked ones have told the one called Berit to go there. It is our thought that we should go there in Ghnomb’s broken moment and listen to the bird-talk of the man-things. One of the man-things may say where the wicked ones will tell the one called Berit to go next. It may be that the next place will be the place where Anakha’s mate is. It would be good to know this.’
Bhlokw’s shaggy brow furrowed as he struggled his way through that. ‘Are the hunts of the man-things always so not-simple?’ he asked.
‘It is the nature of our kind to be not-simple.’
‘Does it not make your head hurt?’
Ulath smiled, being careful not to show his teeth. ‘Sometimes it does,’ he admitted.
‘It is my thought that a simple hunt is better than a not-simple hunt. The hunts of the man-things are so not-simple that sometimes I forget why I am hunting. Trolls hunt things-to-eat. The man-things hunt thought.’
Ulath was a bit startled at the Troll’s perception. ‘It is my thought that your thought may be good,’ he admitted. ‘The man-things do hunt thought. We put much value on it.’