CHAPTER 14

‘All right, Sparhawk, you can turn round now.’

‘Are you dressed?’

She sighed. ‘Just a minute.’ There was a satiny rustle. ‘Will this do?’ she asked tartly.

He turned. The Goddess was wrapped in a shimmering white robe. ‘That’s a little better,’ he told her.

‘Prude. Give me your hand.’

He took her slender hand in his and they drifted upward, rising out of the forested hills just east of Dirgis.

‘Sarna’s somewhat to the west of due south,’ he told her.

‘I know where it is.’ Her tone was crisp.

‘I was just trying to be helpful.’

The ground beneath them began to flow back as they sped southwesterly.

‘Can people see us from the ground?’ he asked curiously.

‘Of course not. Why?’

‘Just wondering. It occurred to me that if they can it might explain a lot of the wild stories that crop up in folklore.’

‘You humans are very creative. You can invent wild stories without any help from us.’

‘You’re in a disagreeable frame of mind today. How long is it going to take us to get there?’

‘Just a few minutes.’

‘It’s an interesting way to travel.’

‘It’s overrated.’

They drifted on in silence for a while.

‘That’s Sama just ahead,’ Aphrael said.

‘Do you think Vanion’s reached here by now?’

‘I doubt it. Later today probably. We’re going down.’

They settled gently to earth in a clearing a mile or so from the northern edge of the city, and Aphrael returned to the more familiar form of Flute.

‘Carry me,’ she said, reaching up to him.

‘You know how to walk.’

‘I just carried you all the way from Dirgis. Fair is fair, Sparhawk.’

He smiled. ‘Only teasing, Aphrael.’ He lifted her into his arms and started through the forest toward town.

‘Where to?’ he asked her.

‘The Atan barracks. Vanion says that Itagne’s there.’ She frowned. ‘Oh, that’s really impossible!’ she burst out.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Sir Anosian’s hopelessly inept. I can’t make any sense out of what he’s saying.’

‘Where is he?’

‘At Samar. He’s trying to tell me about something Kring and Tikume just discovered, but I’m only getting about every third word. Why won’t the man concentrate on his studies?’

‘Anosian’s sort of - ah -‘

‘The word you’re looking for is “lazy”, Sparhawk.’

‘He likes to conserve his energy,’ Sparhawk defended his fellow Pandion.

‘Of course he does.’ She frowned. ‘Stop a minute,’ she said.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I just thought of something.’

‘What now?’

‘It just occurred to me that Tynian may have been a little unselective when he was gathering those knights he brought back from Chyrellos.’

‘He brought the best men he could lay his hands on.’

‘I think that’s the problem. I’ve been wondering why I haven’t been getting any reports from Komier. I don’t think Tynian left him a single Pandion who has any more skill than Anosian does. There aren’t all that many of you who can reach out more than a few leagues, and Tynian seems to have inadvertently commandeered them all.’

‘Could you make any sense at all about what Anosian was trying to tell you?’

‘It’s something about breathing. Somebody’s having problems with it. I’ll run on down there after we talk with Itagne. Maybe Anosian can be coherent if I’m in the same room with him.’

‘Be nice.’ They passed through the city gates and entered Sama.

Sparhawk carried the Child Goddess through the narrow streets to the bleak stone fortress that housed the local Atan garrison. They found the red-mantled Itagne in a large conference room examining the map that covered one entire wall.

‘Ah, Itagne,’ Sparhawk said, ‘there you are.’ He set Flute down on her feet.

‘I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, Sir -?’

‘It’s me, Itagne - Sparhawk.’

‘I’ll never get used to that,’ Itagne said. ‘I thought you were in Beresa.’

‘I was - until yesterday.’

‘How did you get here so fast?’

Sparhawk laid his hand on Flute’s little shoulder. ‘Need you ask?’

‘Oh. What brings you to Sama?’

‘Vanion ran into trouble out in the desert. He’s coming back. He and Betuana are bringing Engessa in on a litter.’

‘Do you mean there’s somebody in this world big enough to hurt Engessa?’

‘Perhaps not in this world, Itagne,’ Aphrael told him. ‘Klael’s brought in an army from someplace else.

They’re very strange. Vanion and Betuana should get here this afternoon. Then Betuana has to go to Atan. How far is that?’

Itagne looked at the map. ‘Fifteen leagues.’

‘Good. It shouldn’t take her long, then. She has to get her God’s permission for me to take Engessa to the island. The side of his head’s been bashed in, and I can’t fix that here.’

‘Good God!’ Itagne exclaimed.

‘How nice of you to notice.’

He smiled faintly. ‘What else is going on?’ he asked.

‘Quite a bit,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Zalasta tried to kill Sephrenia.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘I’m afraid so. We had to use Bhelliom to save her life.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Itagne’s eyes widened.

‘It’s all right Itagne,’ Aphrael assured him, going across the room to him and holding out her hands.

‘Didn’t that endanger Queen Ehlana?’ he asked, lifting her into his lap.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Xanetia can muffle those telltale noises, I guess. Ehlana’s still safe - or so Bhelliom tells me.’ His face, however, was worried.

‘Thank God!’

‘You’re welcome,’ Aphrael said, ‘but it was really Bhelliom’s idea. We still have some problems, though.

Vanion’s encounter with Klael’s army cost him about half of his knights.’

‘That’s disastrous! We won’t be able to hold Samar without those knights!’

‘Don’t be quite so sure, Itagne,’ she said. ‘I just received a garbled message from a Pandion named Anosian. He’s in Samar, and Kring and Tikume have discovered something about Klael’s soldiers. I’ll run down there and find out what’s going on.’

‘Ulath’s keeping an eye on Berit and Khalad,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘They saw him while they were crossing the Sea of Arjun.’ He rubbed at the side of his face. ‘Can you think of anything else, Aphrael?’

‘Lots of things,’ she replied, ‘but they don’t have anything to do with what we’re doing here.’ She kissed Itagne and slipped down out of his lap. ‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ she told them. ‘If Vanion gets here before I come back, break the news about

Sephrenia to him gently and tell him that she’s all right now. Keep a grip on him, gentlemen. It’s wintertime, and you need the roof on this building.’ She went to the door, opened it, and vanished as she stepped through.

Tiara lay on the north shore of the large lake known as the Sea of Arjun. It was a bustling Tamul town with an extensive harbor. As soon as the scruffy lake-freighter docked, Berit and Khalad led their horses ashore and mounted.

‘What was the name of that inn again?’ Khalad asked.

‘The White Gull,’ Berit replied.

‘Oehc,’ Khalad noted. ‘The other names had probably already been used up. You can only have so many lions and dragons and boars in one town before people start to get confused.’

‘Krager’s starting to give us more specific instructions in those notes,’ Khalad said. ‘When he sent us to Sepal, he just gave us the name of the town. Now he’s picking our accommodations for us. That might mean that we’re getting closer to the end of this little excursion.’

‘Sir Ulath said that they’re going to send us to Arjuna from here.’ ’

‘If I’d known we were going to spend so much time wandering around this lake, I’d have brought a fishing line.’

‘I’m not really all that fond of fish, myself.’

‘Who is? It’s an excuse to get out of the house is about all. My brothers and I found that if we laid around the house too long, our mothers started finding things for us to do.’

‘You’ve got a strange family, Khalad. Most men only have one mother.’

‘It was Father’s idea. There’s the White Gull.’ Khalad pointed up the street.

The inn was surprisingly clean and substantial. It had a well maintained stable, and the rooms were neat almost to the point of fussiness. The two young men saw to their horses, dropped their saddlebags off in their room, and took advantage of the bath-house adjoining the rear of the inn. Then, feeling much improved, they adjourned to the taproom to pass the time until supper. Khalad rose and closely examined the porcelain stove.

‘It’s an interesting idea,’ he told Berit. ‘I wonder if it’d catch on in Eosia.’

‘I sort of like looking at the fire myself,’ Berit replied.

‘You can stare at the candles, if that’s all you want. A fireplace isn’t very efficient, and it makes an awful mess. A stove’s a lot more practical - and you can cook on it. When we get home, I think I’ll build one for my mothers.’

Berit laughed. ‘If you start tearing up their kitchen, they’ll take their brooms to you.’

‘I don’t think so. The notion of a stew that doesn’t have cinders floating in it might appeal to them.’

The man who approached their table wore a hooded smock, and the hood partially concealed his face.

‘You don’t mind If I join you, do you?’ he asked, sitting down and pushing the hood back slightly. It was the same Styric they had last seen on the shore of the Gulf of Micae.

‘You made good time, neighbor,’ Berit said. ‘Of course, you knew where you were going, and we didn’t.’

‘How long did it take you to get dry?’ Khalad asked him.

‘Shall we skip the pleasantries?’ the Styric said coldly. ‘I have further instructions for you.’

‘You mean you didn’t stop by just to renew our acquaintance?’ Khalad said. ‘I’m crushed.’

‘Very funny.’ The Styric hesitated. ‘I’m going to reach into my pocket for the note, so don’t start drawing your knives.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, old boy,’ Khalad drawled.

‘This is for you, Sparhawk.’ The Styric handed Berit the sealed parchment. Berit took the parchment and broke the seal. He carefully lifted out the identifying lock of the Queen’s hair and read aloud,

‘Sparhawk. Go overland to Arjun. You’ll receive further instructions there. Krager.’

‘He must have been drunker than usual,’ Khalad observed.

‘He didn’t bother with all the snide little comments this time. Just out of curiosity, friend, why didn’t he send us straight on to Arjun from Sepal? He could have saved everybody a great deal of time.’

‘That’s really none of your business, Elene. Just do as you’re told. ’

‘I’m a peasant, Styric, so I’m used to doing that. Prince Sparhawk here might get a little impatient, though, and that makes him bad-tempered.’ Khalad squinted at the lumpy-faced messenger. ‘Since the subject’s come up anyway, I’ve got a word of friendly advice for you, old boy. It’s about twenty days on horseback from here to Arjun. He’s going to be very unpleasant by the time he gets there. If you should happen to be the one who delivers the next message, I wouldn’t get too close to him.’

‘I think we can come up with a way for him to work off his bad temper,’ the Styric sneered.

‘You don’t have twenty days to get to Arjun. You have fourteen.’ He stood up. ‘Don’t be late.’ He turned and started toward the door.

‘Lets go,’ Khalad said.

‘Where?’

‘After him.’

‘What for?’

Khalad sighed. ‘To shake him down, Berit,’ he explained with exaggerated patience. ‘I want to strip him and go through his clothes. He might just have the next message on him.’

‘Are you mad? They’ll kill the Queen if we do that.’

‘Just because we rough up their messenger-boy? Don’t be silly. They want the Bhelliom, and the Queen’s the only thing they’ve got to trade for it. We could routinely kill every single one of their messengers, and they wouldn’t do a thing to her. Let’s go shake that Styric up a little bit and go through his pockets. If we can get hold of the next message, we might be able to get the jump on them.’

‘You know, I think you’re right. They won’t do anything to the Queen, will they?’

‘Not a chance, my Lord. Let’s go teach that Styric some manners. It’s exactly the sort of thing Sparhawk would do.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he?’ Berit looked closely at his friend. ‘That fellow really irritates you, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, he does. I don’t like his attitude.’

‘Well, let’s go change it, then.’

‘I’m not going to do anything foolish,’ Kalten said. ‘I just want to have a look around.’

The three of them were sitting under their tree in Narstil’s cluttered jungle camp. They had a fire going, and three stolen chickens were spitted over it, dripping grease into the flames.

‘It won’t hurt,’ Caalador said to Bevier. ‘if the time ever comes when we have to go in there, we should probably know the lay of the land.’

‘Are you sure you can keep a handle on your temper?’ Bevier asked Kalten. ‘You’ll be all alone there, you know.’

‘I’m all grown up now, Bevier,’ Kalten assured him. ‘I’m not going to do anything noisy until after things are back the way they should be. We may not get a chance like this again. Senga’s invited me to go along to help him sell beer. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and nobody’s going to recognize me. I can pick up some very valuable information in Natayos, and if I happen to see somebody I recognize standing in a window or something, we’ll know for sure exactly where those two friends of ours are located. Then the fellow with the broken nose can have a word with his blue friend and they can lift them out before anybody even has time to blink. Then we can all go down there and explain just how unhappy we are to certain people.’

‘I’m in favor of it, myself,’ Caalador said to Bevier.

‘It’s tactically sound,’ Bevier admitted, ‘but - uh - Col here doesn’t have any way to call for help if he gets in trouble.’

‘I won’t need any help, because I’m not going to do anything out of the ordinary. I’m going anyway, Shallag, so don’t waste your breath trying to talk me out of it.’

Senga came across the littered camp. ‘The cart’s all loaded, Col,’ he called. ‘Are you about ready?’

Kalten stood up. ‘Any time you are, Senga,’ he replied, pulling his half-cooked chicken off the spit and going to join his newfound friend. ‘I’m getting bored just sitting here counting trees.’

It took the two of them about three hours to reach Natayos, since there is no real way to hurry an ox.

The trail was fairly well traveled, and it wound around through the jungle, following the course of least resistance.

‘There it is,’ Senga said as the cart jolted through a ford that crossed a narrow stream. He pointed across the stump-dotted clearing at an ancient city, a ruin so old that the passage of centuries had rounded down the very stones. ‘Stay close to me when we get there, Col. There are a couple of places we have to keep away from. There’s one building right near the gate that they really don’t want anybody to go near.’

‘Oh?’ Kalten said, squinting at the mossy ruin ahead. ‘What’s inside that makes them so touchy?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea, and I’m not curious enough to risk my health by asking. ’

‘Maybe the building’s their treasure house,’ Kalten speculated. ‘If this army’s as big as you say, they’ve probably picked up quite a bit of loot.’

Senga shrugged. ‘It could be, I suppose, but I’m not going to fight all those guards just to find out. We’re here to sell beer, Col. We’ll get a goodly share of their treasure that way, and it’s not as risky.’

‘But it’s so honest,’ Kalten objected, grinning. ‘isn’t honest work immoral for people like us?’

Senga laughed and tapped the ox’s rump with the long, slender stick he carried. The creaking cart jolted over the uneven ground toward the moldering walls.

‘Nor Senga!’ one of the slovenly guards at the gate greeted Kalten’s friend. ‘What kept you? It’s been as dry as a plate of sand since the last time you left. ’

‘You fellows are overworking my brewer,’ Senga replied. ‘He can’t keep up with the demand. We have to let the beer age a little while before you drink it. Green beer does funny things to a man’s guts.’

‘You haven’t raised your prices again, have you?’

‘No. Same price as before.’

‘Ten times what you paid for the beer in the first place, I’ll wager.’

‘Oh, not quite that much. Where do you want me to set up?’

‘Same place as last time. I’ll pass the word, and they’ll start lining up.’

‘I want some guards this time, Mondra,’ Senga told him. ‘I don’t want another riot when the last cask runs dry the way there was last week.’

‘I’ll see to it. Save some for me.’

The ox-cart clattered through the gate and into a wide street where most of the moss had been worn off the cobblestones. A great deal of work had clearly taken place here in Natayos in the past few years.

The squared-off stones of the broken walls had been rather carelessly re-stacked and then shored up with peeled log braces. Long-vanished roofs had been replaced with crude thatching made of tree-limbs, providing nesting sites for raucous tropical birds, and here and there blackened piles of half-burned trees and bushes marked the places where indifferent workmen had attempted to dispose of the mountains of brush that had been cleared from the streets and houses. The men living here lounged idly in the streets.

There were Elenes from Astel, Edam, and Daconia, as well as Arjuni and Cynesgans. They were a roughly dressed, unshaven lot who showed no signs that they even knew the meaning of the word

‘discipline’.

‘What price are you getting for this?’ Kalten asked, patting one of the beer barrels in the cart.

‘A penny a gill,’ Senga replied.

‘That’s outrageous!’

‘They don’t have to buy it,’ Senga shrugged. ‘Get the money before you start to pour. Don’t take promises.’

‘You’ve put my moral qualms to rest, Senga,’ Kalten laughed. ‘At that price, this is hardly honest.’

‘There’s that building I was telling you about.’

Kalten tried to look casual as he turned to stare at the substantial -looking ruin. ‘They really don’t want anybody to look into that place,’ he said. ‘Those bars on the windows make it look like a jail.’

‘Not quite, Col. Those bars are there to keep people out, not in.’

Kalten grunted, still staring intently at the building. The barred windows had panes of glass in them, cheap, cloudy glass that had been poorly installed. Drapes on the inside cut off any possibility of seeing anything or anyone who might be in there. There were guards at the door and other guards stationed at every corner. Kalten wanted to howl with frustration. The gentle girl who had become the center of his life was possibly no more than twenty Yards away, but she might as well have been on the other side of the moon, and even if she were to look out through that clouded glass she would not recognize his altered features.

Senga paid the guards in the square with beer, and then he and his friend got down to work. Scarpa’s rebels were rowdy, shouting and laughing, but they were generally in a good humor. They lined up in an orderly fashion and came to the rear of the cart two by two, where Senga and Kalten filled their containers with the amber beer. There were a few arguments about the capacity of the assorted tankards, jugs, and pails, but Senga’s word on the subject was final, and anyone who objected too loudly was sent back to the end of the line to think things over for an hour or so while he worked his way back to the front again. It was after the two entrepreneurs had drained the last barrel and sent the disappointed late-comers away that Kalten saw a familiar figure come weaving across the mossy square toward the ox-cart. Krager was not wearing well. His head was shaved and as pale as a fish-belly, and his dissipated face was eroded by decades of hard drinking. His clothing, though obviously expensive, was wrinkled and filthy. He shook continually with a palsied tremor that ran through him in waves.

‘I don’t suppose you brought any wine,’ he asked Senga hopefully.

‘Not much call for it,’ Senga told him, re-fastening the tail-gate of the cart. ‘Most of these fellows want beer.’

‘Do you know any place where you can get wine?’

‘I can ask around. What’s your preference?’

‘Arcian red, if you can find any.’

Senga whistled. ‘That will cost you, my friend. I could probably chase down some of the local reds for you, but the imported stuff - that’s going to take a big bite out of your purse.’

Krager smirked at him. ‘It’s no problem,’ he said in his slurred voice. ‘I’m what you might call independently wealthy at the moment. These local reds taste like pig-swill. I want real wine.’

‘It might take a while,’ Senga told him dubiously. ‘I’ve got contacts in Delo that might be able to find some for you, but Delo’s a long way off.’

‘When are you coming back?’

‘A couple of days. The brewery where I buy this slop’s running day and night, but I still can’t keep up.’

‘Bring me a couple of barrels of the local pig-swill then enough to tide me over until you can find me some Arcian red.’

‘You can count on me,’ Senga assured him. He gave Krager a hard look. ‘I’ll need something in advance, though. I’ll have to buy the Arcian red before I can sell it to you. I’m doing fairly well, but I’m not that rich yet.’

Krager fumbled for his purse. Kalten was suddenly gripped by an almost intolerable impatience. He was sure now that Alcan was here. Krager’s presence virtually confirmed it. The prisoners were most likely being held in the building with barred windows. He absolutely had to get back to Narstil’s camp so that Bevier could pass the word on to Aphrael. If Xanetia could enter Natayos unseen, she could either penetrate the prison walls or reach into Krager’s wine-sodden mind to verify what was almost a certainty now. If all went well, it would be no more than a few days until he and Sparhawk were reunited with the women they loved. Then they could all come here and do unpleasant things to the people responsible.

Vanion and Betuana reached Sama late that afternoon, and the Atan Queen scarcely paused before setting out for the border.

‘It was ghastly, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said, leaning wearily back in his chair and putting his visored helmet on the table. ‘They’re like no soldiers I’ve ever seen before. They’re big, and they’re fast, and their hides are so tough that most of the time my sword just bounced off them. I don’t know where Klael found them, but they’ve got yellow blood, and they made mincemeat out of my knights.’

‘Kring and Tikume ran into them as well, I guess,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Anosian was trying to pass the word to Aphrael, but he garbled the spell so badly that she couldn’t make any sense out of it. She’s a little unhappy with Tynian. When he was gathering up the knights he brought back to Matherion, he accidentally picked every Pandion who has the least bit of skill with the spells. That’s why she can’t get any reports from

Komier. ’

‘We might have to send somebody to join him and handle communications - except that it’d take weeks for him to get there.’

‘Not if Aphrael takes him, it won’t,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘She carried me from Beresa to Sepal - almost a thousand miles - in about a half an hour.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘You’ll love flying, Vanion.’

‘You’re carrying tales, Sparhawk.’

They turned quickly. The Child Goddess was sitting in a chair at the far end of the room with her grass-stained little feet up on the table.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Sparhawk told her.

‘Would you prefer some kind of announcement, Sparhawk? Multitudes of spirits bawling hymns of praise to introduce me? It’s a little ostentatious, but I can arrange it.’

‘Just forget I said anything.’

‘I’ll do that. I had a chat with Anosian. He’s practicing now - very hard. Kring and Tikume ran across Klael and his soldiers out in the desert, and they discovered something you gentlemen should know. I was right, Vanion. Klael’s soldiers have bile in their veins instead of blood because they breathe with their livers, and that means that the air where they come from isn’t anything like the air here - probably something like marsh-gas. There’s something in it that they need, and they can’t get it out of our air. The Peloi used their standard cut-and-run tactics, and after a little while those monsters started to collapse.

Next time you come up against them, just turn around and run away. If they try to chase you, they’ll choke to death. Did Betuana leave?’

‘Yes, Divine One,’ Itagne replied.

‘Good. The quicker I can get Engessa to my island, the quicker I’ll have him back on his feet.’

‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,’ Sparhawk said.

‘You said that his brain’s been injured.’

‘Yes.’

‘The brain’s very complicated, isn’t it?’

‘Yours aren’t quite as complex as ours, but they aren’t simple, by any means.’

‘And you can heal Engessa’s brain on your island?’

‘Of course.’

‘If you can fix a brain, you should be able to fix somebody’s heart. Why didn’t you just take Sephrenia to your island and heal her there? Why did you come to Beresa and try to steal Bhelliom?’

‘What’s this?’ Vanion exclaimed, coming to his feet.

‘Wonderful, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said dryly. ‘I’m awed by your subtlety. She’s all right, Vanion. Bhelliom brought her back.’

Vanion smashed his fist down on the table and then controlled himself with an obvious effort. ‘Would it inconvenience anybody to tell me what happened?’ he asked them in an try voice.

‘We were in Dirgis,’ Aphrael shrugged. ‘Sephrenia was alone in the room, and Zalasta came in and stabbed her in the heart.’

‘Good God!’

‘She’s fine, Vanion. Bhelliom took care of it. She’s coming along very well. Xanetia’s with her.’

Vanion started toward the door. ‘Oh, come back here,’ the Child Goddess told him. ‘As soon as I get Engessa to the island and deal with his injury, I’ll take you to Dirgis. She’s asleep now anyway, and you’ve seen her sleep before - lots of times.’

Vanion flushed slightly and then looked a bit sheepish.

‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Sparhawk said. ‘if you can fix a brain, why can’t you fix a heart?”

‘Because I can shut a brain down to work on it, Sparhawk,’ she replied in a long-suffering tone. ‘The heart has to keep on beating, and I can’t work on it while it’s jumping around like that.’

‘Oh, I guess that makes sense.’

‘Do you happen to know where I could find Zalasta?’ Vanion asked in a dreadful voice.

‘He’s probably gone back to Natayos,’ Aphrael replied.

‘After I visit Sephrenia, do you suppose you could take me there? I’d really like to have a talk with him.’

‘I get his heart,’ the Child Goddess said.

Vanion gave her a strange look.

‘It’s an on-going joke,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘I’m not joking, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said bleakly.

‘We can’t go to Natayos,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Ehlana might be there, and Scarpa will kill her if we come pounding on the gate. Besides, I think you’ll have to talk with Khwaj before you do anything to Zalasta.’

‘Khwaj?’ Vanion asked.

‘Tynian told Aphrael that Khwaj has his own plans for our Styric friend. He wants to set him on fire.’

‘I’ve got some more interesting ideas,’ Vanion said grimly.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure, my Lord. Khwaj wants to set Zalasta on fire, but he doesn’t want to burn him to death. He’s talking about an eternal flame - with Zalasta screaming in the middle of it - forever.’

Vanion considered that. ‘What a merry idea,’ he said finally.

‘My lady,’ Alcan whispered urgently, ‘come quickly. Zalasta’s returned.’ Ehlana drew the linen head-cloth down over her forehead and joined her maid at the defective window. The wimple had been Alcan’s idea. It fit snugly over the Queen’s ravaged scalp, and covered her throat and the underside of her chin as well. It was uncomfortable, but it concealed the horror Kragers knife had made of her hair. She bent and looked out through the small triangular opening in the window. Zalasta’s gaunt face was twisted with grief, and his eyes were dead. Scarpa came hurrying up, his face eager.

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Go away, Scarpa,’ Zalasta told him.

‘I only wanted to be sure you were all right, Father,’ Scarpa replied with obvious insincerity. Scarpa had fashioned a crude crown for himself out of a serving-bowl made of hammered gold. He was evidently unaware of how absurd he looked with the lop-sided adornment perched on his shaved head.

‘Leave me!’ Zalasta thundered. ‘Get out of my sight!’ ’

‘Is she dead?’ Scarpa ignored the dreadful threat implicit in his father’s voice.

Zalasta’s face hardened. ‘Yes,’ he replied in a strangely neutral tone. ‘I drove my knife straight into her heart. I’m deciding right now whether or not I can live with what I’ve done. Please stay, Scarpa, by all means. This was your idea, after all. It was such a marvelous notion that I may want to reward you for it.’

Scarpa backed away, his suddenly rational eyes now filled with fear. Zalasta barked two words in Styric and reached out his hand, his fingers curved like hooks. Scarpa clutched at his belly and screeched. His makeshift crown fell unnoticed as Zalasta implacably dragged him back.

‘You’re pathetically obvious, Scarpa,’ Zalasta grated, his face only inches from his son’s, ‘but your plan had one minor flaw. I may very well kill myself for what I did to Sephrenia, but I’ll kill you first - just as unpleasantly as I possibly can. I may just kill you anyway. I don’t really like you, Scarpa. I felt a certain responsibility for you, but that’s a word you wouldn’t understand.’ His eyes suddenly burned. ‘Your madness must be contagious, my son. I’m starting to lose my grip on sanity myself. You talked me into killing Sephrenia, and I loved her far more than I could ever love you.’ He unhooked his fingers. ‘Run away, Scarpa. Pick up your cheap toy crown and run. I’ll be able to find you when I decide to kill you. ’

Scarpa fled, but Ehlana did not see him leave. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she turned from the window with a griefstricken wail.