‘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?’ Berif 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 Cabah, a shabby Dacite brigand of his acquaintance with whom he had frequently gotten drunk.
Cabah turned quickly. ‘Oh, it’s you, Krager,’ he said. ‘As closely as I can gather, the Shining Ones descended on Panem-Dea.’
‘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-Dea weren’t illusions,’ Cabah 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.’ Cabah 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-Dea 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 patterns in the air. ‘Let’s get out of here, Cabah!’ 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 see 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, Cabah. Stay if you want, but I think I’ve seen as much as I want to of Natayos.’
‘You’re going to desert?’ Cabah 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, Cabah, but I’m leaving – now.’
Chapter 25
>
Zalasta’s face was strangely altered when Ekatas unlocked and opened the door to the small, dank cell adjoining the larger room at the top of the tower a week or so after he had brought Ehlana and Alean to Cyrga. The doubt and remorse which had filled it before were gone, and the Styric’s expression was now one of calm detachment. He took in the horrid little room at a glance. Ehlana and Alean were chained to the wall, and they were sitting on heaps of moldy straw that were supposed to serve as beds. Crude earthenware bowls filled with cold gruel sat untouched on the floor. ‘This won’t do, Ekatas,’ Zalasta said in a remote kind of voice.
‘It’s really none of your concern,’ the High Priest replied. ‘Prisoners are kept closely confined here in Cyrga.’ As always, Ekatas sneered when he spoke to Zalasta.
‘Not these prisoners.’ Zalasta stepped into the cell and took up the chains that bound the two women to the wall. Then, showing no emotion, he crushed them into powdery rust. ‘The situation here has changed, Ekatas,’ he snapped, helping Ehlana to her feet. ‘Get this mess cleaned up.’
Ekatas drew himself up. I don’t take orders from Styrics. I am the High Priest of Cyrgon.’
‘I’m truly sorry about this, your Majesty,’ Zalasta apologized to Ehlana. ‘My attention’s been diverted for the past week or so. Evidently I didn’t make my wishes clear to the Cyrgai. Please excuse me for a moment, and I’ll correct that oversight.’ He turned back to Ekatas. ‘I told you to do something,’ he said in a dreadful voice. ‘Why haven’t you started?’
‘Come out of there, Zalasta, or I’ll lock you in with them.’
‘Oh, really?’ Zalasta said with a thin smile. ‘I thought you had better sense. I don’t have time for this, Ekatas. Get this room cleaned up. I have to take our guests to the Temple again.’
‘I’ve received no such instructions.’
‘Why should you have?’
‘Cyrgon speaks through me.’
‘Precisely. The instructions didn’t come from Cyrgon.’
‘Cyrgon is God here.’
‘Not any more, he isn’t.’ Zalasta gave him an almost pitying look. ‘You didn’t even feel it, did you, Ekatas? The world heaved and convulsed all around you, and you didn’t even notice. How can you possibly be so dense? Cyrgon has been supplanted. Klæl rules in Cyrga now – and I speak for Klæl.’
‘That’s not possible! You’re lying!’
Zalasta walked out of the cell and took hold of the front of the High Priest’s robe. ‘Look at me, Ekatas,’ he commanded. ‘Take a long, hard look, and then tell me that I’m lying.’
Ekatas struggled momentarily, and then, unable to help himself, he looked into Zalasta’s eyes. The blood slowly drained from his face, and then he screamed. He screamed again, trying to tear himself free from the Styric’s iron grasp. ‘I beg of you!’ he cried out in a voice filled with horror, ‘no more! No more!’ Then he sagged, covering his eyes with his hands.
Zalasta contemptuously let go of the front of his black robe, and he fell to the floor, weeping uncontrollably.
‘Now do you understand?’ Zalasta asked him, almost gently. ‘Cyzada and I tried to warn you and your petty Godling about the dangers involved in summoning Klæl, but you wouldn’t listen. Cyrgon wanted to enslave Bhelliom, and now he’s the slave of Bhelliom’s opposite. And, since I speak for Klæl, I guess that makes you my slave,’ He prodded the weeping priest with one foot. ‘Get up, Ekatas! Get on your feet when your master speaks!’
The grovelling priest scrambled to his feet, his tear-streaked face still filled with unspeakable horror.
‘Say it, Ekatas,’ Zalasta said in a cruel voice. I want to hear you say it – or would you like to witness the death of another star?’
‘M-M-Master,’ the High Priest choked.
‘Again – a little louder, if you don’t mind.’
‘Master!’ It came out almost as a shriek.
‘Much better, Ekatas. Now wake up those lazy cretins in the guardroom and put them to work cleaning this cell. We have preparations to make when I come back from the temple. Anakha’s bringing Bhelliom to Cyrga, and we’ll want to be ready when he arrives.’ He turned. ‘Bring your maid, Ehlana. Klæl wants to look at you.’ Zalasta paused, looking at her critically. ‘I know that we’ve treated you badly,’ he half-apologized, ‘but don’t let our bad manners break your spirit. Remember who you are and draw that about you. Klæl respects power and those who wield it.’
‘What do I say to him?’
‘Nothing. He’ll find out what he wants to know just by looking at you. He doesn’t understand your husband, and looking at you will give him some hints about Anakha’s nature. Anakha’s the unknown element in this business. He always has been, I suppose. Klæl understands Bhelliom. It’s Bhelliom’s creature who baffles him.’
‘You’ve changed, Zalasta.’
‘I suppose I have,’ he admitted. ‘I have a feeling that I won’t live much longer. Klæl’s touch does peculiar things to people. We’d better not keep him waiting,’ He looked at Ekatas, who stood trembling violently. ‘I want this room clean when we come back.’
‘I’ll see to it, Master,’ Ekatas promised in a grotesquely servile tone.
‘How do you find them again?’ Itagne asked curiously. ‘What I’m trying to get at is that the Trolls are in this “No-Time”, but you and Tynian had to come out into real time in order to enter Sarna, so time started moving for you. How do you get back to the moment where you left the Trolls?’
‘Please don’t ask metaphysical questions, Itagne,’ Ulath replied with a pained expression. ‘We just go back to the spot where we left the Trolls, and there they are. We deal with “where” and let the Troll-Gods deal with “when”. They seem to be able to jump around in time without paying much attention to the rules.’
‘Where are the Trolls right now?’
‘Just outside of town,’ Tynian replied. ‘We didn’t think it was a good idea to bring them into Sarna with us. They’re starting to get a little out of hand.’
‘Is it something we should know about, Tynian-Knight?’ Engessa asked.
Ulath leaned back in his chair. ‘Cyrgon disrupted Trollish behavior rather profoundly when he went to Thalesia and posed as Ghworg,’ he explained somberly. ‘Zalasta told him about the Trolls, but Cyrgon’s been a little out of touch, so he mistook the Trolls for the Dawn-Men. The Dawn-Men were herd-animals, but the Trolls run in packs. Herd-animals will accept any member of their species, but pack-animals are a little more selective. It’s to our advantage right now to have the Trolls behave like a herd. At least we can keep them all going in the same direction, but some problems are starting to crop up. The packs are beginning to separate, and there’s a great deal of snapping and snarling going on.’
Tynian glanced at Queen Betuana, who, gowned all in black, was sitting somewhat apart from them. He motioned Engessa slightly to one side. ‘Is she all right?’ he asked very quietly.
‘Betuana-Queen is in ritual mourning,’ Engessa replied, also in half-whisper. ‘The loss of her husband has touched her very deeply.’
‘Were they really that close?’
‘It did not seem so,’ Engessa admitted. His eyes were troubled as he looked at his melancholy Queen. ‘The mourning-ritual is seldom observed now. I am keeping careful watch over her. She must not be allowed to do herself injury.’ Engessa’s shoulder-muscles bunched.
Tynian was startled. ‘Is there any real danger of that?’
‘It was not uncommon a few centuries ago,’ Engessa replied.
‘We’d been expecting you earlier,’ Itagne was saying to Ulath. ‘As I understand it, “No-Time” means that the Trolls can go from one place to another almost instantaneously.’
‘Not quite instantaneously, Itagne. We’ve been a week or so getting here from the Tamul Mountains. We have to stop and go back into real time every so often so that they can hunt. Hungry Trolls aren’t the best of travelling companions. What’s been happening? We can’t make contact with
Aphrael when we’re in No-Time.’
‘Sparhawk’s found some clues about the location of Cyrga,’ Itagne replied. They aren’t too precise, but he’s going to take a chance and try to follow them.’
‘How’s Patriarch Bergsten coming?’
‘He’s captured Cynestra – had it handed to him on a plate, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘Do you remember Atana Maris?’
‘The pretty girl who commanded the garrison in Cynestra? The one who was so fond of you?’
Itagne smiled. ‘That’s the one. She’s an abrupt sort of girl, and I’m quite fond of her, and when she saw Bergsten and the Church Knights approaching, she decided to present him with the city. She swept the streets clean of Cynesgan troops and opened the gates for Bergsten. She was going to give him King Jaluah’s head as well, but he persuaded her not to.’
‘Pity,’ Ulath murmured, ‘but that’s the sort of thing you have to expect when a good man gets religion.’
‘Vanion’s in place,’ Itagne continued, ‘and he and Kring are establishing strongholds about a day’s ride out into Cynesga. We’re going to do the same here, but we thought we’d wait until you arrived first.’
‘Is anybody encountering any significant opposition?’ Tynian asked.
‘It’s hard to say exactly,’ Itagne mused. ‘We’re moving on central Cynesga, but Klæl’s soldiers pop out of every crack between two rocks. The further back we push them, the tighter they’ll be concentrated. If we don’t come up with a way to neutralize them, we’ll have to carve our way through them, and from what Vanion tells me they don’t carve very well. Kring’s tactics are working well enough now, but when we get closer to Cyrga –’ He spread his hands helplessly.
‘We’ll work something out,’ Ulath said. ‘Anything else?’
‘It’s still sort of up in the air, Sir Ulath,’ Itagne replied. ‘The fairy-stories Stragen and Caalador are hatching in Beresa are diverting most of the Cynesgan cavalry away from the eastern border. Half of them are running south toward the coast around Kaftal, and the other half are running north toward a little village called Zhubay. Caalador added an imaginary massing of the Atans up there to Stragen’s illusory fleet off the southern coast. Between them, they’ve split the entire Cynesgan army in two and sent them off to chase moonbeams.’