Sparhawk moved around the thicket. On the far side he bumped into Kalten.
‘It’s darker than the inside of your boots out here,’ Kalten said.
‘Did you see anything?’
‘Not a glimmer. There’s a hill on the back side of these trees, though. Kurik’s going up to the top to look around.’
‘Good. I’ll trust Kurik’s eyes any time.’
‘Me too. Why don’t you get him knighted, Sparhawk? When you get right down to it, he’s better than any of us.’
‘Aslade would kill me. She’s not set up to be the wife of a knight.’
Kalten laughed as they moved on, straining their eyes into the blackness.
‘Sparhawk.’ Kurik’s voice came from not far away.
‘Over here.’
The squire joined them. ‘That’s a fairly high hill,’ he puffed. ‘The only light I saw was coming from a village a mile or so to the south.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t a campfire?’ Kalten asked him.
‘Campfires make a different kind of light than lamps shining through a dozen windows, Kalten.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘I suppose that’s it, then,’ Sparhawk said. He raised his fingers to his lips and whistled, a signal for the others to return to the camp.
‘What do you think?’ Kalten asked as they pushed their way through the stiffly rustling brush towards the centre of the thicket where the dim light of their banked cook-fire was scarcely more than a faint red glow in the darkness.
‘Let’s ask His Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It’s his neck we’ll be risking.’ They entered the brush-clogged encampment and Sparhawk pushed back the hood of his cloak. ‘We have a decision to make, Your Grace,’ he told the patriarch. ‘The area appears to be deserted. Sir Tynian has suggested that two of us could escort you to Chyrellos in as much safety as the whole group. Our search for Bhelliom must not be delayed if we’re to keep Annias off the Archprelate’s throne. The choice is up to you, though.’
‘I can go on to Chyrellos alone, Sir Sparhawk. My brother is overly concerned about my well-being. My cassock alone will protect me.’
‘I’d rather not gamble on that, your Grace. You’ll recall that I mentioned that something was pursuing us?’
‘Yes. I believe you called it a Seeker.’
‘Exactly. The creature is ill now because of the fumes Sephrenia created, but there’s no way to be positive of how long its illness will last. It wouldn’t look upon you as an enemy, though. If it should attack, run away. It’s unlikely that it would follow you. I think that under the circumstances, though, Tynian’s right. Two of us will be enough to ensure your safety.’
‘As you see fit, my son.’
The others had entered the camp during the conversation, and Tynian volunteered immediately.
‘No.’ Sephrenia rejected that idea. ‘You’re the one most skilled at necromancy. We’re going to need you as soon as we reach Lake Randera.’
‘I’ll go,’ Bevier said. ‘I have a fast horse and can catch up with you at the lake.’
‘I’ll go with him,’ Kurik offered. ‘If you run into more trouble, Sparhawk, you’ll need knights with you.’
‘There’s not that much difference between you and a knight, Kurik.’
‘I don’t wear armour, Sparhawk,’ the squire pointed out. ‘The spectacle of Church Knights charging with lances makes people start thinking about their own mortality. It’s a good way to avoid serious fighting.’
‘He’s right, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said, ‘and if we run into more Zemochs and church soldiers, you’re going to need men wearing steel around you.’
‘All right,’ Sparhawk agreed. He turned to Ortzel. ‘I want to apologize for having offended Your Grace,’ he said. ‘I don’t really see that we had much choice, though. If we’d all been forced to stay penned up in your brother’s castle, both of our missions would have failed, and the Church could not afford that.’
‘I still do not entirely approve, Sir Sparhawk, but your argument is most cogent. No apology is necessary.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Try to get some sleep. You’ll be a long time in the saddle tomorrow, I think.’ He stepped away from the fire and rummaged through one of the packs until he found his map. Then he motioned to Bevier and Kurik. ‘Ride due west tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘Try to get back across the border into Pelosia before dark. Then go south to Chyrellos on that side of the line. I don’t think even the most rabid Lamork soldier will violate that boundary and risk a confrontation with Pelosian border patrols.’
‘Sound reasoning,’ Bevier approved.
‘When you get to Chyrellos, drop Ortzel off at the Basilica then go and see Dolmant. Tell him what’s been going on here and ask him to pass the word on to Vanion and the other Preceptors. Urge them very strongly to resist the idea of sending the Church Knights out here into the hinterlands to put out the brush-fires Martel’s been starting. We’re going to need the four orders in Chyrellos if Archprelate Cluvonus dies, and luring them out of the Holy City’s what’s been behind all of Martel’s scheming.’
‘We will, Sparhawk,’ Bevier promised.
‘Make the trip as quickly as you can. His Grace appears to be fairly robust, so a little hard riding won’t hurt him. The quicker you get across the border into Pelosia, the better. Don’t waste any time, but be careful.’
‘You can count on that, Sparhawk,’ Kurik assured him.
‘We’ll rejoin you at Lake Randera as soon as we can,’ Bevier declared.
‘Have you got enough money?’ Sparhawk asked his squire.
‘I can get by.’ Then Kurik grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. ‘Besides, Dolmant and I are old friends. He’s always good for a loan.’
Sparhawk laughed. ‘Get to bed, you two,’ he said. ‘I want you and Ortzel on your way to Pelosia at first light in the morning.’
They arose before dawn and sent Bevier and Kurik off to the west with the Patriarch of Kadach riding between them. Sparhawk consulted his map again by the light of their cook-fire. ‘We’ll go back across this ford again,’ he told the others. ‘There’s a larger channel east of here, so we’ll probably need to find a bridge. Let’s go north. I’d rather not run across any of Count Gerrich’s patrols.’
They splashed across the ford after breakfast and angled away from it as a ruddy light to the east indicated that somewhere behind the dreary cloud-cover the sun had risen.
Tynian fell in beside Sparhawk. ‘I don’t want to sound disrespectful,’ he said, ‘but I rather hope that the election doesn’t fall to Ortzel. I think the Church – and the four orders – would be in for a bad time if he ascends the throne.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘Granted, but he’s very rigid. An Archprelate needs to be flexible. Times are changing, Sparhawk, and the Church needs to change with them. I don’t think the notion of change would appeal to Ortzel very much.’
‘That’s in the hands of the Hierocracy, though, and I’d definitely prefer Ortzel to Annias.’
‘That’s God’s own truth.’
About mid-morning, they overtook the clattering wagon of a shabby-looking itinerant tinker who was also travelling northwards. ‘What cheer, neighbour?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘Scant cheer, Sir Knight,’ the tinker replied glumly. ‘These wars are bad for business. Nobody worries about a leaky pot when his house is under siege.’
‘That’s probably very true. Tell me, do you know of a bridge or a ford hereabouts where we can get across that river ahead?’
‘There’s a toll bridge a couple of leagues north,’ the tinker advised. ‘Where are you bound, Sir Knight?’
‘Lake Randera.’
The tinker’s eyes brightened. ‘To search for the treasure?’ he asked.
‘What treasure?’
‘Everybody in Lamorkand knows that there’s a vast treasure buried somewhere on the old battlefield at the lake. People
have been digging there for five hundred years. About all they turn up is rusty swords and skeletons, though.’
‘How did people find out about it?’ Sparhawk asked him, sounding casual.
‘It was the oddest thing. The way I understand it, not too long after the battle, people started seeing Styrics digging there. Now, that doesn’t really make any sense, does it? What I mean is that everybody knows that Styrics don’t pay very much attention to money, and Styric menfolk are very reluctant to pick up shovels. That sort of tool doesn’t seem to fit their hands for some reason. At any rate, or so the story goes, people began to wonder just exactly what it was the Styrics were looking for. That’s when the rumours started about the treasure. That ground’s been ploughed and sifted over a hundred times or more. Nobody’s sure what they’re looking for, but everybody in Lamorkand goes there once or twice in his lifetime.’
‘Maybe the Styrics know what’s buried there.’
‘Maybe so, but no one can talk to them. They run away any time somebody gets near them.’
‘Peculiar. Well, thank you for the information, neighbour. Good day to you.’
They rode on, leaving the tinker’s clanking wagon behind. ‘That’s gloomy,’ Kalten said. ‘Somebody got there with a shovel before we did.’
‘A lot of shovels,’ Tynian amended.
‘He’s right about one thing, though,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’ve never known a Styric to be interested enough in money to go out of his way for it. I think we’d better find a Styric village and ask a few questions. Something’s going on at Lake Randera that we don’t know about, and I don’t like surprises.’
Chapter 7
The toll bridge was narrow and in some disrepair. A shabby hut stood at its near end with several dirty, hungry-looking children sitting listlessly in front of it. The bridge-tender himself wore a ragged smock, and his unshaven face was gaunt and hopeless. His eyes clouded with disappointment when he saw the armour of the knights. ‘No charge,’ he sighed.
‘You’ll never make a living that way, friend,’ Kalten told him.
‘It’s a local regulation, My Lord,’ the bridge-tender said unhappily. ‘No charge is made to Church people.’
‘Do very many people cross here?’ Tynian asked him.
‘No more than a few a week,’ the fellow replied. ‘Hardly enough to make it possible for me to pay my taxes. My children haven’t had a decent meal in months.’
‘Are there any Styric villages hereabouts?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘I believe there’s one on the other side of the river, Sir Knight – in that cedar forest over there.’
‘Thank you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said, pouring some coins into the startled fellow’s hand.
‘I can’t charge you to cross, My Lord,’ the man objected.
‘The money’s not for crossing, neighbour. It’s for the information.’ Sparhawk nudged Faran and started across the bridge.
As Talen passed the bridge-tender, he leaned over and handed him something. ‘Get your children something to eat,’ he said.
‘Thank you, young master,’ the man said, tears of gratitude standing in his eyes.
‘What did you give him?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘The money I stole from that sharp-eyed fellow back at the ford,’ Talen replied.
‘That was very generous of you.’
‘I can always steal more.’ The boy shrugged. ‘Besides, he and his children need it more than I do. I’ve been hungry a few times myself, and I know how it feels.’
Kalten leaned forward in his saddle. ‘You know, there might be some hope for this boy after all, Sparhawk,’ he said quietly.
‘It could be a little early to say for sure.’
‘At least it’s a start.’
The damp forest on the far side of the river was composed of mossy old cedars with low-swooping green boughs, and the trail leading into it was poorly marked. ‘Well?’ Sparhawk said to Sephrenia.
‘They’re here,’ she told him. ‘They’re watching us.’
‘They’ll hide when we approach their village, won’t they?’
‘Probably. Styrics have little reason to trust armed Elenes. I should be able to persuade at least some of them to come out, though.’
Like all Styric villages, the place was rude. The thatch-roofed huts were scattered haphazardly in a clearing, and there was no street of any kind. As Sephrenia had predicted, there was no one about. The small woman leaned over and spoke briefly to Flute in that Styric dialect Sparhawk did not understand. The little girl nodded, lifted her pipes and began to play.
At first nothing happened.
‘I think I just saw one of them back in the trees,’ Kalten said after a few moments.
‘Timid, aren’t they?’ Talen said.
‘They have reason to be,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Elenes don’t treat Styrics very well.’
Flute continued to play, and after a time a white-bearded man in a smock made of unbleached homespun emerged hesitantly from the forest. He put his hands together in front of his chest and bowed respectfully to Sephrenia, speaking to her in Styric. Then he looked at Flute, and his eyes widened. He bowed again, and she gave him an impish little smile.
‘Aged one,’ Sephrenia said to him, ‘do you perchance speak the language of the Elenes?’
‘I have a passing familiarity with it, my sister,’ he replied.
‘Good. These knights have a few questions, and then we’ll leave your village and trouble you no more.’
‘I will answer as best I can.’
‘Some time back,’ Sparhawk began, ‘we chanced upon a tinker who told us something a bit disquieting. He said that Styrics have been digging in the battlefield at Lake Randera for centuries, searching for a treasure. That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Styrics would do.’
‘It is not, My Lord,’ the old man said flatly. ‘We have no need of treasure, and we would most certainly not violate the graves of those who sleep there.’
‘I thought that might be the case. Have you any idea of who those Styrics might be?’
‘They are not of our kindred, Sir Knight, and they serve a God whom we despise.’
‘Azash?’ Sparhawk guessed.
The old man blanched slightly. ‘I will not speak His name aloud, Sir Knight, but you have hit upon my meaning.’
‘Then the men digging at the lake are Zemochs?’
The old man nodded. ‘We have known of their presence there for centuries. We do not go near them, for they are unclean.’
‘I think we’d all agree to that,’ Tynian said. ‘Have you got any idea of what they’re looking for?’
‘Some ancient talisman that Otha craves for his God.’
‘The tinker we spoke with said that most people around here believe there’s a vast treasure there somewhere.’
The old man smiled. ‘Elenes tend to exaggerate things,’ he said. ‘They cannot believe that the Zemochs would devote so much effort to the finding of one single thing – although the thing they seek is of greater worth than all the treasure in the world.’
‘That answers that question, doesn’t it?’ Kalten noted.
‘Elenes have an indiscriminate lust for gold and precious gems,’ the old Styric went on, ‘and so it’s entirely possible that they don’t even know what they’re looking for. They expect huge chests of treasure, but there are no such chests to be found on that field. It’s not impossible that some one of them might already have found the object and cast it aside, not knowing its worth.’
‘No, aged master,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘The talisman of which you speak has not yet been found. Its uncovering would ring like a giant bell through all the world.’
‘It may be as you say, my sister. Do you and your companions also journey to the lake in search of the talisman?’
‘Such is our intent,’ she replied, ‘and our quest is of some urgency. If nothing else, we must deny possession of the talisman to Otha’s God.’
‘I shall pra
y to my God for your success then.’ The old Styric looked back at Sparhawk. ‘How fares it with the head of the Elene Church?’ he asked carefully.
‘The Archprelate is very old,’ Sparhawk told him truthfully, ‘and his health is failing.’
The old man sighed. ‘It is as I feared,’ he said. ‘Although I am sure he would not accept the good wishes of a Styric, I nonetheless also pray to my God that he will live for many more years.’
‘Amen to that,’ Ulath said.
The white-bearded Styric hesitated. ‘Rumour states that the Primate of a place called Cimmura is most likely to become the head of your Church,’ he said cautiously.
‘That could be a bit exaggerated,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘There are many in the Church who oppose the ambitions of Primate Annias. A part of our own purpose is to thwart him as well.’
‘Then I shall pray for you doubly, Sir Knight. Should Annias reach the throne in Chyrellos, it will be a disaster for Styricum.’
‘And for just about everybody else as well,’ Ulath grunted.
‘It will be far more deadly for Styrics, Sir Knight. The feelings of Annias of Cimmura about our race are widely known. The authority of the Elene Church has kept the hatred of the Elene commons in check, but should Annias succeed, he will probably remove that restraint, and I fear Styricum will be doomed.’
‘We will do all we can to prevent his reaching the throne,’ Sparhawk promised.
The old Styric bowed. ‘May the hands of the Younger Gods of Styricum protect you, my friends.’ He bowed again to Sephrenia and then to Flute.
‘Let’s move on,’ Sephrenia said. ‘We’re keeping the other villagers away from their homes.’
They rode out of the village and back into the forest.
‘So the people digging up the battlefield are Zemochs,’ Tynian mused. ‘They’re creeping all over western Eosia, aren’t they?’
‘We have known that it’s all part of Otha’s plan for generations,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Most Elenes cannot tell the difference between western Styrics and Zemochs. Otha does not want any kind of alliance or reconciliation between western Styrics and Elenes. A few well-placed atrocities have kept the prejudices of the Elene common people inflamed, and the stories of such incidents grow with every telling. This has been the source of centuries of general oppression and random massacres.’