CHAPTER 24

‘It’s supposed to be two words,’ Kalten insisted that afternoon some miles outside Vigayo. ‘Ram’s. Horn.

Two words.’

‘It’s a password, Sir Kalten,’ Talen tried to explain. “‘Ramshorn”.

Like that.’

‘What do you say, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked his friend. ‘is it one word or two?’ The three of them had just finished piling rocks in a rough approximation of a Brave at the side of the trail, and Talen and Kalten were arguing about the crude marker the boy had prepared.

‘What difference does it make?’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘If it’s spelled wrong, Berit might not recognize it when he rides by,’ Talen said.

‘He’ll recognize it,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘Berit’s quick. just don’t disturb the arrangement of those yellow rocks on the top of the grave.’

‘Are you sure Khalad will understand what those rocks mean?’ Talen asked skeptically.

‘Your father would have,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and I’m sure he taught Khalad all the usual signals.’

‘I still say it’s supposed to be two words,’ Kalten insisted.

‘Bevier,’ Sparhawk called. The Cyrinic Knight walked back to the imitation grave with an inquiring expression. ‘These two are arguing about how to spell “ramshorn”,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re the scholar. You settle it.’

‘I say he spelled it wrong,’ Kalten said truculently. ‘It’s supposed to be two words, isn’t it?’

‘Ah…’ Bevier said evasively, ‘there are two schools of thought on that.’

‘Why don’t you tell them about it as we ride along?’ Mirtai suggested.

Sparhawk looked at Xanetia. ‘Don’t,’ he warned her quietly.

‘What wouldst thou not have me do, Anakha?’ she asked innocently.

‘Don’t laugh. Don’t even smile. You’ll only make it worse.’

It may or may not have been three weeks later. Patriarch Bergsten had given up on trying to keep track of actual time. Instead he glared in sullen theological discontent at the mud walled city of Cynestra and at the disgustingly young and well conditioned person coming toward him. Bergsten believed in an orderly world, and violations of order made him nervous. She was very tall and she had golden skin and night-dark hair, she was also extremely pretty and superbly muscled. She emerged from the main gate of Cynestra under a flag of truce, running easily out to meet them. She stopped some distance to their front, and Bergsten, Sir Heldin, Daiya, and Neran, their Tamul translator, rode forward to confer with her. She spoke at some length with Neran.

‘Keep your eyes where they belong, Heldin,’ Bergsten muttered.

‘I was just -‘

‘I know what you were doing. Stop it.’ Bergsten paused. ‘I wonder why they sent a woman.’

Neran, a slender Tamul who had been sent along by Ambassador Fontan, returned. ‘She’s Atana Mans,’

he told them. ‘Commander of the Atan garrison here in Cynestra.’

‘A woman?’ Bergsten was startled.

‘It’s not uncommon among the Atans, your Grace. She’s been expecting us. Foreign Minister Oscagne sent word that we were coming. ’

‘What’s the situation in the city?’ Heldin asked.

‘King Jaluah’s been quietly dribbling troops into Cynestra for the past month or so,’ Neran replied. ‘Atana Marts has a thousand Atans in her garrison, and the Cynesgans have been trying to restrict their movements. She’s been growing impatient with all of that. She probably would have moved against the royal palace a week ago, but Oscagne instructed her to wait until we arrived.’

‘How did she get out of the city?’ Heldin rumbled.

‘I didn’t ask her, Sir Heldin. I didn’t want to insult her.

‘What I meant was, didn’t they try to stop her?. ’

‘They’re dead if they did.’

‘But she’s a woman!’ Bergsten objected.

‘You’re not really familiar with the Atans, are you, your Reverence?’ Daiya asked.

‘I’ve heard of them, friend Daiya. The stories all seem wildly exaggerated to me.’

‘No, your Reverence, they aren’t,’ Daiya said firmly. ‘I know of this girl’s reputation. She’s the youngest garrison commander in the entire Atan army, and she didn’t get to where she is by being sweet and ladylike. From what I’ve heard, she’s an absolute savage.’

‘But she’s so pretty,’ Heldin protested.

‘Sir Heldin,’ Neran said firmly to him, ‘while you’re admiring her, pay particular attention to the development of her arms and shoulders. She’s as strong as a bull, and if you offend her in any way at all, she’ll tear you to pieces. She almost killed Itagne or so the rumor has it.’

‘The Foreign Minister’s brother?’ Bergsten asked.

Neran nodded. ‘He was here on a mission, and he decided to place the city under martial law. He needed Atana Maris’ help with that, so he seduced her. Her response was enthusiastic - but very muscular. Be very careful around her, gentlemen. She’s almost as dangerous to have as a friend as an enemy. She asked me to give you your instructions.’

‘Instructions?’ Bergsten erupted. ‘I don’t take orders from women!’

‘Your Grace,’ Neran said, ‘Cynestra’s technically still under martial law, and that puts Atana Mans in charge. She’s been ordered to deliver the city to you, but she’s instructed you to wait outside the walls until she’s crushed all the resistance. She wants to present the city to you as a gift - all neat and tidy.

Please don’t spoil it for her. Smile at her, thank her politely, and wait right here until she’s finished cleaning the streets. After she’s got all the bodies stacked in neat piles, she’ll invite you in and turn the city over to you - along with King Jaluah’s head, more than likely. I know that the situation seems unnatural to you, but for God’s sake don’t do a thing to offend her. She’ll go to war with you just as quickly as with anybody else.’

‘But she’s so pretty,’ Heldin objected again.

Berit and Khalad dismounted and led their horses down to the edge of the oasis to water them. In theory, they might have reached Vigayo this soon. ‘Can you tell if he’s here?’ Khalad muttered.

Berit shook his head. ‘I think that means that he’s not a Styric. We’ll just have to wait for him to come to us.’

He looked around at the few white-walled houses shaded by low palm trees. ‘Is there any kind of inn here?’

‘Not very likely. I see a lot of tents on the other side of the oasis. I’ll ask around, but don’t get your hopes up.’ Berit shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We’ve lived in tents before. Find out where we’re permitted to set up.’

The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in the shade to wait. ‘Can you tell if Sparhawk’s around anyplace?’ Khalad asked.

Berit shook his head. ‘He may have already passed through. Or he could be watching from one of the hills outside of town. He might not want people to know that he’s here.’

It was an hour or so past sunset, and twilight was descending on the oasis when a Cynesgan in a

loose-fitting striped robe approached their tent.

‘I’m supposed to ask if one of you might be named Sparhawk,’ he said in a slightly accented voice.

Berit rose to his feet. ‘I might be named Sparhawk, neighbor.’

‘Might be?’

‘That’s the way you phrased your question, friend. You’ve got a note for me. Why don’t you just hand it over and be on your way? We don’t really have anything else to talk about, do we?’

The messenger’s face hardened. He reached inside his robe, took out a folded and sealed parchment, and negligently tossed it at Berit’s feet. Then he turned and walked away.

‘You know, Berit,’ Khalad said mildly, ‘sometimes you’re even more abrasive than Sparhawk himself.’

Berit grinned. ‘I know. I’m trying to maintain his reputation.’ He bent, picked up the parchment, and broke the seal. He removed the identifying lock of hair and quickly read the brief message.

‘Well?’ Khalad asked. ‘Nothing very specific. It says that there’s a caravan route running off to the northwest. We’re supposed to follow that. We’ll get further instructions along the way.’

‘Will it be safe to use the spell and talk with Aphrael once we get out of town?’

‘I think so. I’m sure she’d have told me if I wasn’t supposed to use it here in Cynesga. ’

‘We don’t have much choice,’ Khalad said. ‘We can’t tell if Sparhawk’s already been here, if he’s here now, or if he’s still on the way, and we’ve got to let him know about these new instructions. ’

‘Do you think we ought to start out tonight?’

‘No. Let’s not start floundering round in the dark. We might miss the trail, and there’s nothing out in that desert but empty.’

‘I won’t do anything to put Berit in any kind of danger,’ Elysoun insisted a few days later. ‘I’m very fond of him.’

‘They found out that he was posing as Sparhawk quite some time ago, Elysoun,’ Baroness Melidere told her. ‘You won’t be putting him in any more danger than he’s already in. Telling Chacole about his disguise will convince her that you’ve gone over to her side - and that you have access to important information.’

‘You might want to make them believe that your husband’s totally smitten with you, Empress Elysoun,’

Patriarch Emban added. ‘Let them think that he tells you everything.’

‘Are you smitten with me, Sarabian?’ Elysoun asked archly.

‘Oh, absolutely, my dear,’ he smiled. ‘I adore you.’

‘What a nice thing to say.’ She smiled warmly.

‘Later, children,’ Melidere told them absently, her forehead furrowed with concentration. ‘At the same time you tell Chacole about Berit’s disguise, drop a few hints about a fleet of Church ships in the Gulf of Daconia. Stragen’s been very carefully planting that particular lie, so let’s give them some confirmation.

After you tell them about Berit, they’ll be inclined to believe your story about the fleet.’ She looked at the Emperor. ‘is there anything else we can give them that won’t hurt us? Something they can verify?’

‘Does it have to be important?’

‘Not really, just something that’s true. We need another truth to get the mix right.’

‘The mix?’

‘It’s like a recipe, your Majesty,’ she smiled. ‘Two parts truth to one part lie, stir well and serve. If you get the mix right, they’ll swallow the whole thing.’

They had set out at first light, and the sun had not yet risen when they topped a low ridge and saw a vast, flat expanse of dead whiteness lying ahead. Time, like climate, had lost all meaning.

‘I’d hate to have to cross that in the summertime,’ Kalten said.

‘Truly.’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘The slavers’ trail swings north here,’ Bevier noted, ‘probably to go around those flats. If a Cynesgan patrol stumbles across us out there, we might have trouble convincing them that we’re attached to that caravan we’ve been following.’

‘We’ll just say that we got lost,’ Kalten said with a shrug. ‘Let me do the talking, Bevier. I get lost all the time anyway, so I can be fairly convincing. How far is it to the other side, Sparhawk?’

‘About twenty-five leagues, according to my map.’

‘Two days - even if we push,’ Kalten calculated.

‘And no cover,’ Bevier added. ‘You couldn’t hide a spider out -‘ He broke off. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing at an intensely bright spot of light on the mountainous western horizon.

Talen squinted at the light. ‘I think it might be the landmark we’ve been looking for,’ he said.

‘How did you arrive at that?’ Kalten asked skeptically.

‘It’s in the right direction, isn’t it? Ogerajin said that we were supposed to go northwest from Vigayo to the Plains of Salt. Then he said, “From the verge of the Plains of Salt wilt thou behold low on the horizon before thee the dark shapes of the Forbidden Mountains, and, if it please Cyrgon, his fiery white pillars will guide thee to his hidden City.” There are mountains there and if that light’s coming from right in the middle of them wouldn’t it almost have to be coming from the pillars?’

‘The man was crazy, Talen,’ Kalten objected.

‘Maybe,’ Sparhawk disagreed, ‘but everything he described is right where he said it would be. Let’s take a chance on it. It’s still the right direction.’

‘About the only thing that might cause us any trouble would be if we stumbled across a helpful Cynesgan patrol and they decided to escort us back to that caravan we’ve been following for the last few days,’

Mirtai observed.

‘Logically, our chances of coming across a patrol out there on the flats are very slim,’ Bevier suggested.

‘Cynesgans would normally avoid that waste in the first place, and the war’s probably pulled almost everybody off patrol duty in the second.’

‘And any patrols unlucky enough to cross us won’t be making any reports in the third,’ Mirtai added, suggestively putting her hand on her sword-hilt.

‘We’ve tentatively located the pillars,’ Sparhawk said. ‘And if Ogerajin knew what he was talking about, we’ll have to take a line of sight on them to penetrate the illusion. Now that we’ve found them, let’s not lose them. We’ll just have to take our chances out there on the flats. If we’re lucky, nobody will even notice us. If not, we’ll try lying to them, and if that doesn’t work, we still have our swords.’ He looked around at them. ‘Does anybody have anything else to add?’

‘I think that covers it,’ Kalten said, still somewhat dubious.

‘Let’s get started, then.’

‘They just broke off and ran away, friend Vanion,’ Kring said a day or so later. Kring’s face was baffled.

‘We were using those tactics Tikume and I came up with, and everything was going more or less the way we expected, and then somebody blew a horn or something, and they turned tail and ran - but where? If what we’ve been told is true, there’s no place in the whole world they can go to catch their breath.’

‘Did you have anybody follow them?’ Vanion asked.

‘I probably should have, I suppose, but I was concentrating on luring the Cyrgai across the border.’

Kring smiled at Sephrenia. ‘That Styric curse doesn’t seem to have worn thin in the last ten thousand years, Lady. Three full regiments of Cyrgai went down like newly-mown wheat when they crossed the border.’ He paused. ‘They’re not really very bright, are they?’

‘The Cyrgai? no. It’s against their religion.’

‘You’d think that at least a few of them would have realized that something was wrong, but they just kept running across the border and falling over dead.’

‘Independent thinking isn’t encouraged among them. They’re trained to follow orders - even bad ones.’

Kring looked at the bridge crossing the Sama. ‘You’ll be operating from here, friend Vanion?’ he asked.

‘I’ll put a force on the other side of the bridge,’ Vanion replied. ‘But our main camp will be on this side.

The river marks the boundary between Tamul Proper and Cynesga, doesn’t it?’

‘Technically, I suppose.’ The Domi shrugged. ‘The curse-line’s a couple of miles further west, though.’

‘The boundary’s changed several times over the years,’ Sephrenia explained.

‘Tikume thought I should come up here and talk things over with you, friend Vanion,’ Kring said then.

‘We don’t want to interfere with Sparhawk, so we haven’t been going too far into Cynesga, but we’re running out of people to chase.’

‘How far in have you been going?’ Vanion asked.

‘Six or seven leagues,’ Kring replied. ‘We come back to Samar every night - although there’s no real reason for it now. I don’t think there’s any danger of a siege any more.’

‘No,’ Vanion agreed. ‘We’ve pushed them enough so that they can’t really concentrate on Samar now.’

He opened his map and frowned at it for a few moments, then he dropped to one knee and spread it out on the winter-brown grass. ‘Step on that corner, please,’ he said to Sephrenia. ‘I don’t want to have to chase it again.’

Kring looked puzzled.

‘Household joke,’ Sephrenia explained, putting one small foot on the corner of Vanion’s map. ‘Vanion’s fond of maps, and an errant breeze turned his current favorite into a kite two days ago. ’

Vanion let that pass. ‘I’ll agree that we don’t want to crowd Sparhawk, Domi, but I think we’ll want to build some fortified positions out there in the desert. They’ll give us jumping-off places when we start our advance on Cyrga.’

‘I had the same thought, friend Vanion.’

‘Let’s establish a presence across that border,’ Vanion decided.

‘I’ll send word to Betuana, and she’ll do the same.’

‘How deep in should we go?’ Kring asked.

Vanion looked at Sephrenia. ‘Ten leagues?’ he suggested. ‘That’s not so deep that we’ll be stepping on Sparhawk’s heels but we’ll have room to maneuver, and it’ll give you some elbow room for that spell of yours.’

‘Using the spell’s a good plan, friend Vanion,’ Kring said a bit dubiously. ‘But you’re deliberately drawing the best our enemies can throw at us to yourself - and to Lady Sephrenia. Is that what you want? I don’t mean to be offensive, but your fight with Klael’s soldiers seriously reduced your ranks.’

‘That’s one of the reasons I want forts out there in the desert, Domi,’ Vanion said wryly. ‘if worst comes to worst, I’ll pull back into those positions. I’m almost sure I can count on some dear friends on my flanks to come to my rescue.’

‘Well said,’ Sephrenia murmured.

‘Stop,’ Khalad said sharply, reining in his horse when they were perhaps five miles outside Vigayo.

‘What is it?’ Berit asked tensely. ‘Somebody named Ramshorn died,’ Khalad said, pointing. ‘I think we should stop and pay our respects.’

Berit looked at the crude grave beside the trail. ‘I looked right through it,’ he confessed. ‘Sorry, Khalad.’

‘Pay attention, my Lord.’

‘It seems you’ve said that before.’

They dismounted and approached the rude ‘grave’.

‘Clever,’ Berit murmured quietly. It was probably not necessary to lower his voice, but it had gotten to be a habit.

‘Talen’s idea, probably,’ Khalad said as they both knelt beside the mound. ‘It’s a little subtle for Sparhawk.’

‘Isn’t that supposed to be two words?’ Berit asked, pointing at the weathered plank with ‘Ramshorn’

roughly carved into its face.

‘You’re the educated one, my Lord. Don’t touch those rocks.’

‘Which rocks?’

‘The yellow ones. We’ll mix them up as soon as I read them.

‘You read rocks? Is that like reading seagulls?’

‘Not exactly. It’s a message from Sparhawk. He and my father worked this out a long time ago.’

The short-bearded young man leaned first this way and then that, squinting at the mound. ‘Naturally,’ he

said finally with a certain resignation. He rose and moved to the head of the grave.

‘What?’

‘Sparhawk wrote it upside down. Now it makes sense.’ Khalad studied the apparently random placement of the yellowish rocks on top of the predominantly brown mound.

‘Pray, Berit,’ he said. ‘Offer up a prayer for the soul of our departed brother, Ramshorn.’

‘You’re not making any sense, Khalad.’

‘Somebody might be watching. Act religious.’ The husky young squire took the reins of their horses and led them several yards away from the ill-defined trail. Then he bent, took Faran’s left foreleg in both hands, and carefully inspected the hoof.

Faran gave him an unfriendly stare. ‘Sorry,’ Khalad apologized to the bad-tempered brute, ‘It’s nothing important.’ He lowered the hoof to the gravel again. ‘All right, Berit,’ he said then, ‘say “Amen”, and we’ll get going again.’

‘What was that all about?’ Berit’s tone was surly as he remounted.

‘Sparhawk left a message for us,’ Khalad replied, swinging up into his saddle. ‘The arrangement of the yellow rocks told me where to find it.’

‘Where is it?’ Berit asked eagerly.

‘Right now? It’s in my left boot. I picked it up when I was checking Faran’s hoof.’

‘I didn’t see you pick up a thing.’

‘You weren’t supposed to, my Lord.’

Krager awoke with the horrors to the sound of distant screaming. Days and nights had long since blurred in Krager’s awareness, but the sun shattering against his eyes told him that it was a full and awful morning.

He had certainly not intended to drink so much the previous night, but the knowledge that he was reaching the bottom of his last cask of Arcian red had worried at him as he had grown progressively drunker, and the knowledge that it would soon be all gone had somehow translated itself in his fuddled mind into a compulsion to drink it all before it got away from him. Now he was paying for that foolishness. His head was throbbing, his stomach was on fire, and his mouth tasted as if something had crawled in there and died. He was shaking violently, and there were sharp stabbing pains in his liver. He sat on the edge of his tangled bed with his head in his hands. There was a sense of dread hanging over him, a shadowy feeling of horror. He kept his burning eyes closed and groped under the bed with one shaking hand for the emergency bottle he always kept there. The liquid it contained was neither wine nor beer but a dreadful concoction of Lamork origin that was obtained by setting certain inferior wines out in the winter and allowing them to freeze. The liquid that rose to the top and remained unfrozen was almost pure spirits. It tasted foul, and it burned like fire going down, but it put the horrors to sleep. Shuddering, Krager drank off about a pint of the awful stuff and lurched to his feet. The sun was painfully bright when he stumbled out into the streets of Natayos and went looking for the source of the screams that had awakened him. He reached a central square and recoiled in horror. Several men were being systematically tortured to death while Scarpa, dressed in his shabby imitation royal robe and his makeshift crown, sat in an ornate chair watching with approval.

‘What’s going on?’ Krager asked Cabal, a shabby Dacite brigand of his acquaintance with whom he had frequently gotten drunk. Cabal turned quickly.

‘Oh, it’s you, Krager,’ he said. ‘As closely as I can gather, the Shining Ones descended on Panem-Doa. ’

‘That’s impossible,’ Krager said shortly. ‘Ptaga’s dead. There aren’t any more of those illusions to keep the Tamuls running around in circles.’ ‘If we can believe what some of those dying fellows said, the ones who went into Panem-Doa weren’t illusions,’ Cabal replied. ‘A fair number of the officers there got themselves dissolved when they tried to stand and fight.’

‘What’s happening here?’ Krager asked, pointing at the screaming men bound to poles set up in the middle of the square. ‘Scarpa’s making examples of the ones who ran away. He’s having them cut to pieces. Here comes Cyzada.’ Cabal pointed at the Styric hurrying out of Scarpa’s headquarters.

‘What are you doing?’ the hollow-eyed Cyzada bellowed at the madman sitting on his cheap throne.

‘They deserted their posts,’ Scarpa replied. ‘They’re being punished.’

‘You need every man, you idiot!’

‘I ordered them to march to the north to join my loyal armies,’ Scarpa shrugged. ‘They concocted lies to excuse their failure to obey. They must be punished. I will have obedience!’

‘You will not kill your own soldiers. Order your butchers to stop!’

‘That’s quite impossible, Cyzada. An imperial order, once given, cannot be rescinded. I have commanded that every deserter from Panem-Doa be tortured to death. It’s out of my hands now.’

‘You maniac. you won’t have a soldier left by tomorrow morning. they’ll all desert!’

‘Then I will recruit more and hunt them all down. I will be obeyed!’

Cyzada of Esos controlled his fury with an obviously great effort. Krager saw his lips moving and his fingers weaving intricate pattens in the air. ‘Let’s get out of here, Cabal!’ he said urgently.

‘What? the crazy man ordered us all to watch.’

‘You don’t want to watch what’s going to happen next,’ Krager told him. ‘Cyzada’s casting a spell -

Zemoch, most likely. He’s summoning a demon to teach our “emperor” the meaning of the word

“obedience”. ’

‘He can’t do that. Zalasta left his son in charge here.’

‘No, actually Cyzada’s in charge. I personally heard Zalasta tell that Styric, who’s wriggling his fingers right now, to kill Scarpa the minute he stepped out of line. I don’t know about you, my friend, but I’m going to find someplace to hide. I’ve seen the kind of creatures that were subject to Azash before, and I’m feeling a little delicate this morning, so I don’t want to be one again.’

‘We’ll get into trouble, Krager.’

‘Not if the demon Cyzada’s summoning right now eats Scarpa alive, we won’t.’ Krager drew in a deep breath. ‘It’s up to you, Cabal. Stay if you want, but I think I’ve seen as much as I want to of Natayos.’

‘You’re going to desert?’ Cabal was aghast.

‘The situation’s changed. If Sparhawk’s allied himself with the Delphae, I want to be a long way from here when they come glowing out of that jungle. I find that I’m suddenly homesick for Eosia. Come or stay, Cabal, but I’m leaving - now.’