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‘Something amusing, Sparhawk?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not really.’ He looked back towards the youthful knights moving around their cooking fires. ‘They all seem so young,’ he said almost as if to himself, ‘hardly more than boys.’
‘That’s the nature of things, Sparhawk. The old make the decisions, and the young carry them out.’
‘Was I ever that young?’
She laughed. ‘Oh yes, dear Sparhawk,’ she told him. ‘You couldn’t begin to believe how young you and Kalten were when you came to me for your first lessons. I felt as if a pair of babies had been placed in my care.’
He made a rueful face. ‘I guess that answers that question, doesn’t it?’ He held out his hands to the warmth of her fire. ‘It’s a cold night. I think my blood thinned out while I was in Jiroch. I haven’t been really warm since I came back to Elenia. Did Parasim bring you your supper?’
‘Yes. He’s a very nice boy, isn’t he?’
Sparhawk laughed. ‘He’d probably be offended if he heard you say that.’
‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, but he’d be offended all the same. Young knights are always sensitive.’
‘Have you ever heard him sing?’
‘Once. In chapel.’
‘He has a glorious voice, doesn’t he?’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘I don’t think he really belongs in a militant order. A regular monastery would probably suit his temperament better.’ He looked around, then stepped outside the circle of firelight, dragged a log to the side of the fire, and covered it with his cloak. ‘It’s not exactly an easy chair,’ he apologized, ‘but it’s better than sitting on the ground.’
‘Thank you, Sparhawk.’ She smiled. ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’
‘I do have a few manners, I suppose.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘This is going to be a hard journey for you, I’m afraid.’
‘I can endure it, my dear.’
‘Perhaps, but don’t go out of your way to be unnecessarily brave. If you get tired or cold, don’t hesitate to say something to me.’
‘I’ll be just fine, Sparhawk. Styrics are a hardy people.’
‘Sephrenia,’ he said then, ‘how long will it be until the twelve knights who were in the throne room with you begin to die?’
‘That’s really impossible to say, Sparhawk.’
‘Will you know – each time it happens, I mean?’
‘Yes. At the moment, I’m the one to whom their swords will be delivered.’
‘Their swords?’
‘The swords were the instruments of the spell, and they symbolize the burden that must be passed on.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been wiser to have distributed that responsibility?’
‘I chose not to.’
‘That might have been a mistake.’
‘Perhaps, but it was mine to make.’
He began to pace angrily. ‘We should be working on a cure instead of riding halfway across Arcium,’ he burst out.
‘This is important, too, Sparhawk.’
‘I couldn’t bear to lose you and Ehlana,’ he said, ‘and Vanion, too.’
‘There’s still time, dear one.’
He sighed. ‘Are you all settled in, then?’ he asked her.
‘Yes. I have everything I need.’
‘Try to get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be starting early. Good night, Sephrenia.’
‘Sleep well, Sparhawk.’
He awoke as daybreak had begun to spread its light through the wood. He strapped on his armour, shivering at the touch of the cold plate. He emerged from the tent he shared with five other knights and looked around the sleeping camp. Sephrenia’s fire was flickering in front of her tent again, and her white robe gleamed in the steely light of dawn and the glow of her fire.
‘You’re up early,’ he said as he approached her.
‘So are you. How far is it to the border?’
‘We should cross into Arcium today.’
And then from somewhere out in the forest they heard a strange, flute-like sound. The melody was in a minor key, but it was not sad; rather it seemed filled with an ageless joy.
Sephrenia’s eyes grew wide, and she made a peculiar gesture with her right hand.
‘A shepherd maybe?’ Sparhawk said.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not a shepherd.’ She stood up. ‘Come with me, Sparhawk,’ she said, and then she led him away from the fire.
The sky was growing lighter as they moved out into the meadow lying just to the south of their encampment, following the flute-like sound. They approached the sentry Sparhawk had stationed there.
‘You heard it, too, my Lord Sparhawk?’ the black-armoured knight asked.
‘Yes. Can you see who it is or where it’s coming from?’
‘I can’t make out who it is yet, but it seems to be coming from that tree out in the centre of the meadow. Do you want me to come along with you?’
‘No. Stay here. We’ll investigate.’
Sephrenia had already gone on ahead, moving directly towards the tree that seemed to be the source of the strange melody.
‘You’d better let me go first,’ Sparhawk said when he caught up with her.
‘There’s no danger, Sparhawk.’
When they reached the tree, Sparhawk peered up through the shadowy limbs and saw the mysterious musician. It was a little girl of six or so. Her long hair was black and glossy, and her large eyes were as deep as night. A headband of plaited grass encircled her brow, holding her hair back. She was sitting on a limb breathing sound into a simple, many-chambered set of pipes such as a goatherd might play. Although it was quite cold, she wore only a short, belted linen smock that left her arms and legs bare. Her grass-stained, unshod feet were crossed, and she perched on the limb with a sedate sureness.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Sparhawk asked, puzzled. ‘There aren’t any houses or villages around.’
‘I think she’s been waiting for us,’ Sephrenia replied.
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ He looked up at the child. ‘What’s your name, little girl?’ he asked.
‘Let me question her, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said. ‘She’s a Styric child, and they tend to be shy.’ She pushed back her hood and spoke to the little girl in a dialect Sparhawk did not understand.
The child lowered her rude pipe and smiled. Her lips were like a small, pink bow.
Sephrenia asked her another question in a strange, gentle tone.
The little girl shook her head.
‘Does she live in some house back in the forest?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘She has no home nearby,’ Sephrenia said.
‘Doesn’t she talk?’
‘She chooses not to.’
Sparhawk looked around. ‘Well, we can’t leave her here.’ He reached up his arms to the child. ‘Come down, little girl,’ he said.
She smiled at him and slipped off the limb into his hands. Her weight was very slight, and her hair smelled of grass and trees. She confidently put her arms about his neck and then wrinkled her nose at the smell of his armour.
He set her down on her feet, and she immediately went to Sephrenia, took the small woman’s hands in hers, and kissed them. Something peculiarly Styric seemed to pass between the woman and the little girl, something that Sparhawk could not understand. Sephrenia lifted the child into her arms and held her close. ‘What will we do with her, Sparhawk?’ she asked in a strangely intent tone. For some reason it seemed very important to her.
‘We’ll have to take her with us, I guess – at least until we find some people to leave her with. Let’s go back to camp and see if we can find something for her to wear.’
‘And some breakfast, I think.’
‘Would you like that, Flute?’ Sparhawk asked the child.
The little girl smiled and nodded.
‘Why did you call her that?’ Sephrenia asked him.
‘We have to call her something – at least until we find out her real name – if she has one. Let’s go back to the fire where it’s warm.’ He turned and led the way back across the meadow towards the camp.
They crossed the border into Arcium near the city of Dieros, once again avoiding contact with the local inhabitants. They paralleled the road leading eastward, staying well back from that heavily travelled highway. The countryside of the kingdom of Arcium was noticeably different from that of Elenia. Unlike its northern neighbour, Arcium seemed to be a kingdom of walls. They stretched along the roads or cut across open pastureland, often for no apparent reason. The walls were thick and high, and Sparhawk was frequently obliged to lead his knights on long detours to go around them. Wryly he remembered the words of a twenty-fourth-century Patriarch of the Church who, after travelling from Chyrellos to Larium, had referred to Arcium as ‘God’s rock garden’.
The following day they entered a large forest of winter-bare birch trees. As they rode deeper into the chill wood, Sparhawk began to smell smoke and he soon saw a dark pall lying low among the stark white tree-trunks. He halted the column and rode on ahead to investigate.
He had gone perhaps a mile when he came to a cluster of rudely built Styric houses. They were all on fire, and bodies littered the open area around the houses. Sparhawk began to swear. He wheeled the young black horse round and galloped back to where he had left his troops.
‘What is it?’ Sephrenia asked him, looking at his bleak expression. ‘Where’s the smoke coming from?’
‘There was a Styric village up ahead,’ he replied darkly. ‘We both know what the smoke means.’
‘Ah.’ She sighed.
‘You’d better keep the little girl back here until I can get a burial detail up there.’
‘No, Sparhawk. This sort of thing is a part of her heritage, too. All Styrics know that it happens. Besides, I might be able to help the survivors – if there are any.’
‘Have it your own way,’ he said shortly. A huge rage had descended upon him, and he curtly motioned the column forward.
There was some evidence that the hapless Styrics had made an attempt to defend themselves, but that they had been swarmed over by people carrying only the crudest of weapons. Sparhawk put his men to work – some of them digging graves and others extinguishing the fires.
Sephrenia came across the littered field, her face deathly pale. ‘There are only a few women among the dead,’ she reported. ‘I’d guess that the rest fled back into the woods.’
‘See if you can persuade them to come back,’ he said. He looked over at Sir Parasim, who was weeping openly as he spaded dirt out of a grave. The young knight was obviously not emotionally suited for this kind of work. ‘Parasim,’ Sparhawk ordered, ‘go with Sephrenia.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Parasim sobbed, dropping his spade.
The dead were finally all committed to the earth, and Sparhawk briefly murmured an Elene prayer over the graves. It was probably not appropriate for Styrics, but he didn’t really know what else to do.
After about an hour, Sephrenia and Parasim returned. ‘Any luck?’ Sparhawk asked her.
‘We found them,’ she replied, ‘but they won’t come out of the woods.’
‘I can’t really blame them very much,’ he said. ‘We’ll see if we can fix up at least a few of these houses for them to keep them out of the weather.’
‘Don’t waste your time, Sparhawk. They won’t come back to this place. That’s a part of the Styric religion.’
‘Did they give you some idea of which way the Elenes who did this went?’
‘What are you planning, Sparhawk?’
‘Chastisement. That’s a part of the Elene religion.’
‘No. I won’t tell you which way they went, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.’
‘I’m not going to let this pass, Sephrenia. You can tell me or not, whichever you choose. I can find their trail by myself if I need to.’
She looked at him helplessly. Then her eyes became shrewd. ‘A bargain, Sparhawk?’ she suggested.
‘I’ll listen.’
‘I’ll tell you where to find them if you promise not to kill anybody.’
