‘I wasn’t worried about that,’ he told her, ‘but Sephrenia can’t leave Sarsos anyway. She’s a member of the Council of Styricum.’
‘I’ve been a member of the Council of Styricum for several centuries, Vanion,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘I’ve left here before – for long periods of time on occasion. The other members of the Council understand. They’ve all had to do the same thing themselves now and then.’
‘I’m a little vague on this ruling council,’ Sparhawk admitted. ‘I knew that Styrics kept in touch with each other, but I hadn’t realised it was quite so well-knit.’
‘We don’t make an issue of it,’ Sephrenia shrugged. ‘If the Elenes knew about it, they’d try to make some huge conspiracy out of it.’
‘Your membership on the council keeps coming up,’ Sparhawk noted. ‘Is this council really relevant, or is it just some sort of ceremonial body?’
‘Oh, no, Sparhawk,’ Vanion told him. ‘The council’s very important. Styricum’s a Theocracy, and the council’s composed of the high priests – and priestesses – of the Younger Gods.’
‘Being Aphrael’s priestess isn’t really a very taxing position,’ Sephrenia smiled, looking fondly at the Child Goddess. ‘She’s not particularly interested in asserting herself, since she usually gets what she wants in other ways. I get certain advantages – like this house – but I have to sit in on the meetings of the Thousand, and that can be tedious sometimes.’
‘The Thousand?’
‘It’s another name for the Council.’
‘There are a thousand Younger Gods?’ Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that.
‘Well, of course there are, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael told him. ‘Everybody knows that.’
‘Why a thousand?’
‘It’s a nice number with a nice sound to it. In Styric it’s Ageraluon.’
‘I’m not familiar with the word.’
‘It means ten times ten times ten – sort of. We had quite an argument with one of my cousins about it. He had a pet crocodile, and it had bitten off one of his fingers. He always had trouble counting after that. He wanted us to be Ageralican – nine times nine times nine, but we explained to him that there were already more of us than that, and that if we wanted to be Ageralican, some of us would have to be obliterated. We asked him if he’d care to volunteer to be one of them, and he dropped the idea.’
‘Why would anyone want to have a pet crocodile?’
‘It’s one of the things we do. We like to make pets of animals you humans can’t control. Crocodiles aren’t so bad. At least you don’t have to feed them.’
‘No, but you have to count the children every morning. Now I understand why the question of whales keeps coming up.’
‘You’re really very stubborn about that, Sparhawk. I could really impress my family if I had a whale.’
‘I think we’re getting a little far afield,’ Vanion said. ‘Sephrenia tells me you’ve got some fairly exotic suspicions.’
‘I’ve been trying to explain something I can’t completely see yet, Vanion. It’s like trying to describe a horse when all you’ve to work with is his tail. I’ve got a lot of bits and pieces and not too much more. I’m positive that everything that we’ve seen so far – and probably a lot of things we haven’t – are all hooked together, and that there’s one intelligence guiding it all. I think it’s a God, Vanion – or Gods.’
‘Are you sure your encounter with Azash didn’t make you start seeing hostile divinities under beds and in dark closets?’
‘I have it on the very best authority that only a God could raise an entire army out of the past. The authority who told me was quite smug about it.’
‘Be nice, father,’ Danae said primly. ‘It’s too complex, Vanion,’ she explained. ‘When you raise an army, you have to raise each individual soldier, and you have to know everything about him when you do that. It’s the details that defeat human magicians when they try it.’
‘Any ideas?’ Vanion asked his friend.
‘Several,’ Sparhawk grunted, ‘and none of them very pleasant. Do you remember that shadow I told you about? The one that was following me all over Eosia after I killed Ghwerig?’
Vanion nodded.
‘We’ve been seeing it again, and this time everybody can see it.’
‘That doesn’t sound too good.’
‘No, it doesn’t. Last time, that shadow was the Troll-Gods.’
Vanion shuddered, and then the both of them looked at Sephrenia.
‘Isn’t it nice to be needed?’ Danae said to her sister.
‘I’ll talk with Zalasta,’ Sephrenia sighed. ‘He’s been keeping abreast of things here in Sarsos for the emperor. He probably knows a great deal about this, so I’ll have him stop by tomorrow.’
There was a loud splash.
‘I told you that was going to happen, Mmrr,’ Danae said smugly to the wild-eyed kitten struggling to stay afloat in the fountain. Mmrr’s problems were multiplied by the fact that the goldfish were ferociously defending their domain by bumping her paws and tummy with their noses.
‘Fish her out, Danae,’ Sparhawk told her.
‘She’ll get me all wet, father, and then mother will scold me. Mmrr got herself into that fix. Now let her get herself out.’
‘She’ll drown.’
‘Oh, of course she won’t, Sparhawk. She knows how to swim. Look at her. She’s cat-paddling for all she’s worth.’
‘She’s what?’
‘Cat-paddling. You couldn’t really call it dog-paddling, could you? She’s not a dog, after all. We Styrics talk about cat-paddling all the time, don’t we, Sephrenia?’
‘I never have,’ Sephrenia murmured.
CHAPTER 17
A large part of the fun came from the fact that her parents could not anticipate the Princess Danae’s earlymorning visits. They were certainly not a daily occurrence, and there were times when a whole week would go by without one. This morning’s visit was, of course, the same as all the rest. Consistency is one of the more important divine attributes. The door banged open, and the princess, her black hair flying and her eyes filled with glee, dashed into the room and joined her parents in bed with a great, whooping leap. The leap was followed, as always, by a great deal of squirming and burrowing until Danae was firmly nestled between her parents.
She never paid these visits alone. Rollo had never really been a problem. Rollo was a well-mannered toy, anxious to please and almost never intrusive. Mmrr, on the other hand, could be a pest. She was quite fond of Sparhawk and she was a genius at burrowing. Having a sharp-clawed kitten climb up the side of one’s bare leg before one is fully awake is a startling experience. Sparhawk gritted his teeth and endured.
‘The birds are awake.’ Danae announced it almost accusingly.
‘I’m so happy for them,’ Sparhawk said, wincing as the kitten lurking beneath the covers began to rhythmically flex her claws in his hip.
‘You’re grumpy this morning, father.’
‘I was doing just fine until now. Please ask your cat not to use me for a pin-cushion.’
‘She does it because she loves you.’
‘That fills my heart. I’d still rather have her keep her claws to herself, though.’
‘Is he always like this in the morning, mother?’
‘Sometimes,’ Ehlana laughed, embracing the little girl. ‘I think it depends on what he had for supper.’
Mmrr began to purr. Adult cats purr with a certain decorous moderation. Kittens don’t. On this particular morning, Danae’s small cat sounded much like an approaching thunderstorm or a grist-mill with an off-centre wheel.
‘I give up,’ Sparhawk said. He threw back the covers, climbed out of bed and pulled on a robe. ‘There’s no sleeping with the three of you around,’ he accused them. ‘Coming, Rollo?’
His wife and daughter gave him a quick, startled glance then exchanged a worried look. Sparhawk scooped up Danae’s stuffed toy and ambled out of the room, holding it by one hind
leg. He could hear Ehlana and Danae whispering as he left. He plumped the toy into a chair. ‘It’s absolutely impossible, Rollo, old boy,’ he said, making sure that his women-folk could hear him. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it.’
There was a profound silence from the bedroom.
‘I think you and I should go away for a while, my friend,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘They’re starting to treat us like pieces of furniture.’
Rollo didn’t say anything, but then Rollo seldom did.
Sephrenia, who was standing in the doorway, however, seemed a bit startled. ‘Aren’t you feeling well, Sparhawk?’
‘I’m fine, little mother. Why do you ask?’ He hadn’t really expected anyone to witness a performance intended primarily for his wife and daughter.
‘You do realise that you’re talking to a stuffed toy, don’t you?’
Sparhawk stared at Rollo in mock surprise. ‘Why, I believe you’re right, Sephrenia. How strange that I didn’t notice that. Maybe it has something to do with being rousted out of bed at the crack of dawn.’ No matter how hard he tried to put a good face on this, it wasn’t going to go very well.
‘What on earth are you talking about, Sparhawk?’
‘You see, Rollo?’ Sparhawk said, trying to rescue something. ‘They just don’t understand – any of them.’
‘Ah – Prince Sparhawk?’ It was Ehlana’s maid Alean. She had come into the room unnoticed, and her huge eyes were concerned. ‘Are you all right?’
Things were deteriorating all around Sparhawk. ‘It’s a long, long story, Alean,’ he sighed.
‘Have you seen the princess, my Lord?’ Alean was looking at him strangely.
‘She’s in bed with her mother.’ There was really not much left for him to salvage from the situation. ‘I’m going to the bath-house – if anybody cares.’ And he stalked from the room with the tatters of his dignity trailing along behind him.
Zalasta the Styric was an ascetic-looking man with white hair and a long, silvery beard. He had the angular, uncompleted-looking face of all Styric men, shaggy black eyebrows and a deep, rich voice. He was Sephrenia’s oldest friend, and was generally conceded to be the wisest and most powerful magician in Styricum. He wore a white, cowled robe and carried a staff, which may have been an affectation, since he was quite vigorous and did not need any aid when he walked. He spoke the Elenic language very well, although with a heavy Styric accent. They gathered that morning in Sephrenia’s interior garden to hear the details of what was really going on in Tamuli.
‘We can’t be entirely positive if they’re real or not,’ Zalasta was saying. ‘The sightings have been random and very fleeting.’
‘They’re definitely Trolls, though?’ Tynian asked him.
Zalasta nodded. ‘No other creature looks quite like a Troll.’
‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Ulath murmured. ‘The sightings could very well have been of real Trolls. Some time back they all just packed up and left Thalesia. Nobody ever thought to stop one to ask him why.’
‘There have also been sightings of Dawn-men,’ Zalasta reported.
‘What are they, learned one?’ Patriarch Emban asked him.
‘Man-like creatures from the beginning of time, your Grace. They’re a bit bigger than Trolls, but not as intelligent. They roam in packs, and they’re very savage.’
‘We’ve met them, friend Zalasta,’ Kring said shortly. ‘I lost many comrades that day.’
‘There may not be a connection,’ Zalasta continued. ‘The Trolls are contemporary creatures, but the Dawn-men definitely come from the past. Their species has been extinct for some fifty aeons. There have also been some unconfirmed reports of sightings of Cyrgai.’
‘You can mark that down as confirmed, Zalasta,’ Kalten told him. ‘They provided us with some entertainment one night last week.’
‘They were fearsome warriors,’ Zalasta said.
‘They might have impressed their contemporaries,’ Kalten disagreed, ‘but modern tactics and weapons and equipment are a bit beyond their capabilities. Catapults and the charge of armoured knights seemed to baffle them.’
‘Just exactly who are the Cyrgai, learned one?’ Vanion asked.
‘I gave you the scrolls, Vanion,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Didn’t you read them?’
‘I haven’t got that far yet. Styric’s a difficult language to read. Somebody should give some thought to simplifying your alphabet.’
‘Hold it,’ Sparhawk interrupted. He looked at Sephrenia. ‘I’ve never seen you read anything,’ he accused her. ‘You wouldn’t let Flute even touch a book.’
‘Not an Elene book, no.’
‘Then you can read?’
‘In Styric, yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because it wasn’t really any of your business, dear one.’
‘You lied!’ That shocked him for some reason.
‘No, as a matter of fact I didn’t. I can’t read Elene – largely because I don’t want to. It’s a graceless language, and your writings are ugly – like spiders’ webs.’
‘You deliberately led us to believe that you were too simple to learn how to read.’
‘That was sort of necessary, dear one. Pandion novices aren’t really very sophisticated, and you had to have something to feel superior about.’
‘Be nice,’ Vanion murmured.
‘I had to try to train a dozen generations of those great, clumsy louts, Vanion,’ she said with a certain asperity, ‘and I had to put up with their insufferable condescension in the process. Yes, Sparhawk, I can read, and I can count, and I can argue philosophy and even theology if I have to, and I am fully trained in logic.’
‘I don’t know why you’re yelling at me,’ he protested mildly, kissing her palms. ‘I’ve always believed you were a fairly nice lady –’ he kissed her palms again, ‘for a Styric, that is.’
She jerked her hands out of his grasp and then saw the grin on his face. ‘You’re impossible,’ she said, also suddenly smiling.
‘We were talking about the Cyrgai, I believe,’ Stragen said smoothly. ‘Just exactly who are they?’
‘They’re extinct, fortunately,’ Zalasta replied. ‘They were of a race that appears to have been unrelated to the other races of Daresia – neither Tamul nor Elene, and certainly not Styric. Some have suggested that they might be distantly related to the Valesians.’
‘I couldn’t accept that, learned one,’ Oscagne disagreed. ‘The Valesians don’t even have a government, and they have no concept of war. They’re the happiest people in the world. They could not in any way be related to the Cyrgai.’
‘Temperament is sometimes based on climate, your Excellency,’ Zalasta pointed out. ‘Valesia’s a paradise, and central Cynesga’s not nearly so nice. Anyway, the Cyrgai worshipped a hideous God named Cyrgon – and, like most primitive people do, they took their name from him. All peoples are egotistical, I suppose. We’re all convinced that our God is better than all the rest and that our race is superior. The Cyrgai took that to extremes. We can’t really probe the beliefs of an extinct people, but it appears that they even went so far as to believe that they were somehow of a different species from other humans. They also believed that all truth had been revealed to them by Cyrgon, so they strongly resisted new ideas. They carried the idea of a warrior society to absurd lengths, and they were obsessed with the concept of racial purity and strove for physical perfection. Deformed babies were taken out into the desert and left to die. Soldiers who received crippling injuries in battle were killed by their friends. Women who had too many female children were strangled. They built a city-state beside the Oasis of Cyrga in Central Cynesga and rigidly isolated themselves from other peoples and their ideas. The Cyrgai were terribly afraid of ideas. Theirs was perhaps the only culture in human history that idealised stupidity. They looked upon superior intelligence as a defect, and overly bright children were killed.’
‘Nice group,’ Talen murmured.
‘T
hey conquered and enslaved their neighbours, of course – mostly desert nomads of indeterminate race – and there was a certain amount of interbreeding, soldiers being what they are.’
‘But that was perfectly all right, wasn’t it?’ Baroness Melidere added tartly. ‘Rape is always permitted, isn’t it?’
‘In this case it wasn’t, Baroness,’ Zalasta replied. ‘Any Cyrgai caught “fraternising” was killed on the spot.’
‘What a refreshing idea,’ she murmured.
‘So was the woman, of course. Despite all their best efforts, however, the Cyrgai did produce a number of offspring of mixed race. In their eyes, that was an abomination, and the half-breeds were killed whenever possible. In time, however, Cyrgon apparently had a change of heart. He saw a use for these half-breeds. They were given some training and became a part of the army. They were called “Cynesgans”, and in time they came to comprise that part of the army that did all of the dirty work and most of the dying. Cyrgon had a goal, you see – the usual goal of the militaristically inclined.’
‘World domination?’ Vanion suggested.
‘Precisely. The Cynesgans were encouraged to breed, and the Cyrgai used them to expand their frontiers. They soon controlled all of the desert and began pushing at the frontiers of their neighbours. That’s where we encountered them. The Cyrgai weren’t really prepared to come up against Styrics.’
‘I can imagine,’ Tynian laughed.
Zalasta smiled briefly. It was an indulgent sort of smile, faintly tinged with a certain condescension. ‘The priests of Cyrgon had certain limited gifts,’ the Styric went on, ‘but they were certainly no match for what they encountered.’ He sat tapping his fingertips together. ‘Perhaps when we examine it more closely, that’s our real secret,’ he mused. ‘Other peoples have only one God – or at the most, a small group of Gods. We have a thousand, who more or less get along with each other and agree in a general sort of way about what ought to be done. Anyway, the incursion of the Cyrgai into the lands of the Styrics proved to be disastrous for them. They lost virtually all of their Cynesgans and a major portion of their full-blooded Cyrgai. They retreated in absolute disorder, and the Younger Gods decided that they ought to be encouraged to stay at home after that. No one knows to this day which of the Younger Gods developed the idea, but it was positively brilliant in both its simplicity and its efficacy. A large eagle flew completely around Cynesga in a single day, and his shadow left an unseen mark on the ground. The mark means absolutely nothing to the Cynesgans or the Atans or Tamuls or Styrics or Elenes or even the Arjuni. It was terribly important to the Cyrgai, however, because after that day any Cyrgai who stepped over that line died instantly.’