‘We got directions to the mound,’ Sparhawk replied, climbing down from his saddle. ‘It’s not very far. Let’s go talk with Tynian.’
The heavily armoured Alcione was standing by the fire, talking with Ulath.
Sparhawk related the information Kurik had obtained from the villager, then looked at Tynian. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked directly.
‘I’m fine. Why? Am I looking unwell?’
‘Not really. I was just wondering if you felt up to necromancy again. The last time took quite a bit out of you, as I recall.’
‘I’m up to it, Sparhawk,’ Tynian assured him, ‘provided you don’t want me to raise whole regiments.’
‘No, just one. We need to talk with King Sarak before we dig him up. He’ll probably know what happened to his crown, and I want to be sure he’s not going to object to being taken back to Thalesia. I don’t want an angry ghost trailing along behind us.’
‘Truly,’ Tynian agreed fervently.
They rose before dawn the next morning and waited impatiently for the first sign of daylight along the horizon to the east. When it came, they were ready, and they set out across the still-dark fields.
‘I think we should have waited for more light, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grumbled. ‘We’re likely to run around in circles out here.’
‘We’re going east, Kalten. That’s where the sun comes up. All we have to do is ride towards the lightest part of the sky.’
Kalten muttered something to himself.
‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ Sparhawk said.
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
The pale pre-dawn light gradually increased, and Sparhawk looked around to get his bearings. ‘That’s the village over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘The lane we want to follow is on the far side of it.’
‘Let’s not rush too much,’ Sephrenia cautioned, drawing her white robe about Flute. ‘I want the sun to be up when we reach the mound. The talk of haunting may be just a local superstition, but let’s not take any chances.’
Sparhawk curbed his impatience with some difficulty.
They rode through the silent village at a walk and entered the lane the surly villager had pointed out. Sparhawk nudged Faran into a trot. ‘It’s not all that fast, Sephrenia,’ he said in response to her disapproving expression. ‘The sun will be well up by the time we get there.’
The lane was lined on both sides by low field-stone walls, and like all country lanes, it wandered. Farmers, by and large, take little interest in straight lines, and will usually follow the path of least resistance. Sparhawk’s impatience grew greater with each passing mile.
‘There it is,’ Ulath said finally, pointing ahead. ‘I’ve seen hundreds like it in Thalesia.’
‘Let’s wait until the sun gets a little higher,’ Tynian said, squinting at the sunrise. ‘I don’t want any shadows around when I do this. Where’s the king likely to be buried?’
‘In the centre,’ Ulath replied, ‘with his feet pointed towards the west. His retainers will be in ranks on either side of him.’
‘It helps to know that.’
‘Let’s ride around it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I want to see if anybody’s been digging, and I definitely want to make sure that nobody’s around. This is the sort of thing we want lots of privacy for.’ They cantered around the mound. It was quite high, and it was perhaps a hundred feet long and twenty wide. Its sides were covered with grass, and it was smoothly symmetrical. There were no signs of any excavations.
‘I’m going up on top,’ Kurik said when they returned to the road. ‘That’s the highest point around here. If anybody’s in the area, I should be able to see them from up there.’
‘You would actually walk on a grave?’ Bevier’s tone was shocked.
‘We’re all going to be walking on it in a little while, Bevier,’ Tynian said. ‘I’ll need to be fairly close to where King Sarak’s buried to raise his ghost.’
Kurik clambered up the side of the mound and stood atop it, peering around. ‘I don’t see anybody,’ he called down, ‘but there are some trees off to the south. It might not hurt to have a look before we get started.’
Sparhawk ground his teeth together, but he had to admit to himself that his squire was probably right.
Kurik slid down the grassy side of the mound and remounted.
‘Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk said, ‘why don’t you stay here with the children?’
‘No, Sparhawk,’ she refused. ‘If there are people hiding in those trees, we don’t want them to know that we have any particular interest in this mound.’
‘Good point,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s just ride on down to those trees as if we intended to keep going south.’
They moved out, following the winding country lane across the fields.
‘Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said quietly as they approached the edge of the trees, ‘there are people in those woods, and they aren’t friendly.’
‘How many?’
‘A dozen at least.’
‘Hold back a little bit with Talen and Flute,’ he told her. ‘All right, gentlemen,’ he said to the others, ‘you know what to do.’ But before they could enter the woods, a group of poorly armed peasants dashed out from under the trees. They had that vacant look that immediately identified them. Sparhawk lowered his lance and charged with his companions thundering along at either side of him.
The fight did not last for very long. The peasants were unskilled with their weapons, and they were on foot. It was all over in a few minutes.
‘Nicely done, SSSir Knightsss,’ a chillingly metallic voice said sardonically from the shadows back under the trees. Then the robed and hooded Seeker rode out into the morning sunlight. ‘But no matter,’ it continued. ‘I know where ye are now.’
Sparhawk handed his lance to Kurik and drew Aldreas’s spear out from under his saddle skirt. ‘And we know where you are as well, Seeker,’ he said in an ominously quiet voice.
‘Do not be foolisssh, SSSir SSSparhawk,’ it hissed. ‘Thou art no match for me.’
‘Why don’t we try it and find out?’
The hooded figure’s hidden face began to glow green. Then the light flickered and faded. ‘Thou hassst the ringsss!’ it hissed, seeming much less sure of itself now.
‘I thought you already knew that.’
Then Sephrenia joined them.
‘It hasss been quite sssome time, SSSephrenia,’ the thing said in its hissing voice.
‘Not nearly long enough to suit me,’ she replied coldly.
‘I will ssspare thy life if thou wilt fall down and worssship me.’
‘No, Azash. Never. I will remain faithful to my Goddess.’
Sparhawk stared at her and then at the Seeker in astonishment.
‘Thinkessst thou that Aphrael canssst protect thee if I decide that thy life ssservesss no further purpossse?’
‘You’ve decided that before without much noticeable effect. I will still serve Aphrael.’
‘Asss thou ssseessst fit, SSSephrenia.’ Sparhawk moved Faran forwards at a walk, sliding his ringed hand up the shaft of the spear until it rested on the metal shank. Once again he felt that enormous surge of power. ‘The game isss almossst played out, and itsss conclusssion isss foregone. We will meet once again, SSSephrenia, and for the lassst time.’ Then the hooded creature wheeled its horse and fled from Sparhawk’s menacing approach.
PART THREE
The Troll Cave
Chapter 18
‘Was that really Azash?’ Kalten asked in awe.
‘His voice,’ Sephrenia replied.
‘Does He really talk like that? All that hissing?’
‘Not really. The Seeker’s mouth-parts distort things.’
‘I gather that you’ve met Him before,’ Tynian said, shifting the shoulder plates of his bulky armour.
‘Once,’ she said shortly, ‘a very long time ago.’ Sparhawk got the distinct impression that she didn’t really want to talk abo
ut it. ‘We may as well go back to the mound,’ she added. ‘Let’s get what we came for and leave before the Seeker comes back with reinforcements.’
They turned their horses and rode back along the winding lane. The sun had fully risen by now, but Sparhawk nonetheless felt cold. The encounter with the Elder God, even though by proxy, had chilled his blood and seemed to have dulled even the sun.
When they reached the mound, Tynian took his coil of rope and laboriously led the way up the steep side. Again he laid out the peculiar pattern on the ground.
‘Are you sure you won’t raise one of the king’s retainers by mistake?’ Kalten asked him.
Tynian shook his head. ‘I’ll call Sarak by name.’ He began the incantation, and concluded it by clapping his hands sharply together.
At first nothing seemed to happen, and then the ghost of the long dead King Sarak began to emerge from the mound. His chain-mail armour was archaic and showed huge rents in it from sword and axe. His shield had been battered, and his ancient sword was nicked and scarred. He was enormous, but he wore no crown. ‘Who art thou?’ the ghost demanded in a hollow voice.
‘I am Tynian, Your Majesty, an Alcione Knight from Deira.’
King Sarak stared sternly at him with hollow eyes. ‘This is unseemly, Sir Tynian. Return me at once to the place where I sleep, lest I grow wroth.’
‘Pray forgive me, Your Majesty,’ Tynian apologized. ‘We would not have disturbed thy rest but for a matter of desperate urgency.’
‘Nothing hath sufficient urgency to concern the dead.’
Sparhawk stepped forward. ‘My name is Sparhawk, Your Majesty,’ he said.
‘A Pandion, judging from thine armour.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. The Queen of Elenia is gravely ill, and only Bhelliom can heal her. We have come to entreat thee to permit us to use the jewel to restore her health. We will return it to thy grave when we have completed our task.’
‘Return it or keep it, Sir Sparhawk,’ the ghost said indifferently. ‘Thou shalt not find it in my grave, however.’
Sparhawk felt as if he had been struck a sharp blow to the pit of the stomach.
‘This queen of thine, what malady hath she so grave that only Bhelliom can heal it?’ There was only the faintest hint of curiosity in the ghost’s voice.
‘She was poisoned, Your Majesty, by those who would seize her throne.’
Sarak’s expression, which had been blankly indifferent, suddenly became angry. ‘A treasonous act, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said harshly. ‘Knowest thou the perpetrators?’
‘I do.’
‘And hast thou punished them?’
‘Not as yet, Your Majesty.’
‘They still have their heads? Have the Pandions become weaklings over the centuries?’
‘We thought it best to return the queen to health, Your Majesty, so that she might have the pleasure of pronouncing their doom upon them.’
Sarak seemed to consider that. ‘It is fitting,’ he approved finally. ‘Very well then, Sir Sparhawk, I will aid thee. Despair not that Bhelliom is not in the place where I lay, for I can direct thee to the place where it lies hidden. When I fell upon this field, my kinsman, the Earl of Heid, seized up my crown and fled with it to keep it out of the hands of our foes. Hard was he pressed and gravely wounded. He reached the shores of yon lake ere he died, and he hath sworn to me in the House of the Dead that with his dying breath, he cast the crown into the murky waters, and that our foes found it not. Seek ye, therefore, in that lake, for doubtless Bhelliom still lies there.’
‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied with profound gratitude.
Then Ulath pushed forward. ‘I am Ulath of Thalesia,’ he declared, ‘and I claim distant kinship with thee, My King. It is unseemly that thy final resting place be in foreign soil. As God gives me strength, I vow to thee that with thy permission I will return thy bones to our homeland and lay thee to rest in the royal sepulchre at Emsat.’
Sarak regarded the braided Genidian with some approval. ‘Let it be so then, my kinsman, for in truth, my sleep hath been unquiet in this rude place.’
‘Sleep here for but a short while longer, My King, for as soon as our task is completed, I will return here and take thee home.’ There were tears in Ulath’s ice-blue eyes. ‘Let him rest, Tynian,’ he said. ‘His final journey will be long.’
Tynian nodded and let King Sarak sink back into the earth.
‘That’s it then, isn’t it?’ Kalten said eagerly. ‘We ride to Lake Venne and go swimming.’
‘It’s easier than digging,’ Kurik told him. ‘All we have to worry about is the Seeker and that Troll.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Sir Ulath,’ he said, ‘if Ghwerig knows exactly where Bhelliom is, why hasn’t he retrieved it in all these years?’
‘The way I understand it, Ghwerig can’t swim,’ Ulath replied. ‘His body’s too twisted. We’ll probably still have to fight him, though. As soon as we bring Bhelliom out of the lake, he’ll attack us.’
Sparhawk looked towards the west where the light from the newly risen sun sparkled on the waters of the lake. The tall, summer-green grass of the fields near the mound moved in long waves in the fitful morning breeze, and the fields were bounded near the lake by the greyish sedge and marsh grass which covered the peat bogs. ‘We’ll worry about Ghwerig when we see him,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have a closer look at this lake.’
They all slid down the grassy side of the mound and climbed into their saddles. ‘Bhelliom shouldn’t be too far out from shore,’ Ulath said as they rode towards the lake. ‘Crowns are made of gold, and gold’s heavy. A dying man couldn’t throw something like that very far.’ He scratched at his chin. ‘I’ve looked for things under water before,’ he said. ‘You have to be very methodical about it. Just floundering around doesn’t accomplish very much.’
‘When we get there, show us how it’s done,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Right. Let’s ride due west until we come to the lake. If the Earl of Heid was dying, he wouldn’t have taken any side trips.’
They rode on. Sparhawk’s elation was overshadowed by some anxiety. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before the Seeker returned with a horde of numb-faced men at its back, and he knew that he and his friends could not wear armour while they probed the depths of the lake. They would be defenceless. Not only that, as soon as the spirit of Azash saw them in the lake, He would know exactly what they were doing, and for that matter, so would Ghwerig.
The light breeze was still blowing as they rode west, and puffy white clouds marched at a stately pace across the deep blue sky.
‘There’s a grove of cedar trees up ahead,’ Kurik said, pointing to a low, dark green patch of vegetation a quarter of a mile away. ‘We’re going to need to build a raft when we get to the lake. Come along, Berit. Let’s start chopping.’ He led his string of pack-horses towards the grove with the novice close behind him.
Sparhawk and his friends reached the lake about mid-morning and stood looking out over the water rippling in the breeze. ‘That’s going to make looking for something on the bottom very difficult,’ Kalten said, pointing towards the murky, peat-stained depths.
‘Any notion of where the Earl of Heid might have come out on the lake-shore?’ Sparhawk asked Ulath.
‘Count Ghasek’s story said that some Alcione Knights came along and buried him,’ the Genidian replied. ‘They were in a hurry, so they probably wouldn’t have moved his body very far from where he fell. Let’s look around for a grave.’
‘After five hundred years?’ Kalten said sceptically. ‘There won’t be much to mark it, Ulath.’
‘I think you’re wrong, Kalten,’ Tynian disagreed. ‘Deirans build cairns over graves when they bury somebody. The earth might flatten out over a grave, but rocks are a bit more permanent.’
‘All right,’ Sparhawk said, ‘let’s spread out and start looking for a pile of rocks.’
It was Talen who found the grave, a low mound of brown-stained stones,
partially covered by muddy silt which had accumulated over centuries of high water. Tynian marked it by sinking the butt of his pennon-tipped lance into the mud at the foot of the grave.
‘Shall we get started?’ Kalten asked.
‘Let’s wait for Kurik and Berit,’ Sparhawk said. ‘The lake-bottom’s a little too soupy for wading. We’re going to need that raft.’
It was perhaps a half-hour later when the squire and the novice joined them. The pack-horses were laboriously pulling a dozen cedar logs behind them.
It was shortly after noon when they finished lashing the logs together with ropes to form a crude raft. The knights had discarded their armour and worked in loin cloths, sweating in the hot sun.
‘You’re getting sunburned,’ Kalten told the pale-skinned Ulath.
‘I always do,’ Ulath replied. ‘Thalesians don’t tan very well.’ He straightened as he finished tying the last knot in the rope which held one end of the raft together. ‘Well, let’s launch it and see if it floats,’ he suggested.
They pushed the raft down the slippery mud beach into the water. Ulath looked at it critically. ‘I wouldn’t want to make a sea voyage on that thing,’ he said, ‘but it’s good enough for our purposes here. Berit, go over to that willow thicket and cut yourself a couple of saplings.’
The novice nodded and returned a few minutes later with two long, springy wands.
Ulath went to the grave and picked up two stones somewhat larger than his fist. He hefted them a couple of times, one in each hand, then tossed one to Sparhawk. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Does that feel to be about the same weight as a gold crown?’
‘How would I know?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘I’ve never worn a crown.’
‘Guess, Sparhawk. The day’s wearing on, and the mosquitoes are going to come out before long.’
‘All right, that’s probably about the weight of a crown, give or take a few pounds.’
‘That’s what I thought. All right, Berit, take your saplings and pole the raft out into the lake. We’re going to mark the area we want to search.’