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Monsel leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. ‘The Tamuls have no real conception of how powerful the Church is in the Elene kingdoms here in Western Daresia,’ he began. ‘In the first place, their religion’s hardly more than a set of ceremonies. Tamuls don’t even think about religion, so they can’t understand the depth of the faith in the hearts of the devout – and the serfs of Astel are quite likely the most devout people on earth. They take all of their problems to their priests – and not only their, own problems, but their neighbours’ as well. The serfs are everywhere and they see everything, and they tell their priests.’
‘I think it was called tale-bearing when I was in the seminary,’ Emban noted.
‘We had a worse name for it during our novitiate,’ Sparhawk added. ‘All sorts of unpleasant accidents used to happen on the training-field because of it.’
‘Nobody likes a snitch,’ Monsel agreed, ‘but like it or not, the Astellian clergy knows everything that happens in the kingdom – literally everything. We’re sworn to keep these secrets, of course, but we feel that our primary responsibility is to the spiritual health of our flock. Since a large proportion of our priests were originally serfs, they simply don’t have the theological training to deal with complex spiritual problems. We’ve devised a way to provide them with the advice they need. The serf-priests do not reveal the names of those who have come to them, but they do take serious matters to their superiors, and their superiors bring those matters to me.’
‘I have no real difficulty with that,’ Emban said. ‘As long as the names are kept secret, the confidentiality hasn’t been violated.’
‘We’ll get on well together, Emban.’ Monsel smiled briefly. ‘The serfs look upon Sabre as a liberator.’
‘So we gathered,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘There seems to be a certain lack of consistency in his speeches, though. He tells the nobles that Ayachin wants to throw off the Tamul yoke, and then he tells the serfs that Ayachin’s real goal is the abolition of serfdom. Moreover, he’s persuaded the nobles to become very brutal in their dealings with the serfs. That’s not only disgusting, it’s irrational. The nobles should be trying to enlist the serfs, not alienate them. Viewed realistically, Sabre’s no more than an agitator, and he’s not even particularly subtle. He’s a political adolescent.’
‘That’s going a little far, Sparhawk,’ Emban protested. ‘How do you account for his success then? An idiot like that could never persuade the Astels to accept his word.’
‘They’re not accepting his word. They’re accepting Ayachin’s.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Sparhawk?’
‘No, your Grace. I mentioned before that someone on the other side’s been using magic. This is what I was talking about. The people here have actually been seeing Ayachin himself.’
‘That’s absurd!’ Monsel seemed profoundly disturbed.
Sparhawk sighed. ‘For the sake of your Grace’s theological comfort, let’s call it some kind of hallucination – a mass illusion created by a clever charlatan, or some accomplice dressed in archaic clothing who appears suddenly in some spectacular fashion. Whatever its source, if what’s happening here is anything like what’s happening in Lamorkand, your people are absolutely convinced that Ayachin’s returned from the grave. Sabre probably makes a speech – a rambling collection of disconnected platitudes – and then this hallucination appears in a flash of light and a clap of thunder and confirms all his pronouncements. That’s a guess, of course, but it’s probably not too far off the mark.’
‘It’s an elaborate hoax then?’
‘If that’s what you want to believe, your Grace.’
‘But you don’t believe it’s a hoax, do you Sparhawk?’
‘I’ve been trained not to actively disbelieve things, your Grace. Whether the apparition of Ayachin is real or some trick is beside the point. It’s what the people believe that’s important, and I’m sure they believe that Ayachin’s returned and that Sabre speaks for him. That’s what makes Sabre so dangerous. With the apparition to support him, he can make people believe anything. That’s why I have to find out everything about him that I can. I have to be able to know what he’s going to do so that I can counter him.’
‘I’m going to behave as if I believe what you’ve just told me, Sparhawk,’ Monsel said in a troubled voice. ‘I really think you need some spiritual help, though.’ His face grew grave. ‘We know who Sabre is,’ he said finally. ‘We’ve known for over a year now. At first we believed as you do – that he was no more than a disturbed fanatic with a taste for melodrama. We expected the Tamuls to deal with him, so we didn’t think we had to do anything ourselves. I’ve had some second thoughts on that score of late, though. On the condition that neither of you will reveal anything I say except to another clergyman, I’ll tell you who he is. Do I have your word on that condition?’
‘You have, your Grace,’ Emban swore.
‘And you, Sparhawk?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, then. Sabre’s the younger brother-in-law of a minor nobleman who has an estate a few leagues to the east of Esos.’
It all fell into place in Sparhawk’s mind with a loud clank.
‘The nobleman is a Baron Kotyk, a silly, ineffectual ass,’ Monsel told them. ‘And you were quite right, Sparhawk. Sabre’s a melodramatic adolescent named Elron.’
Chapter 13 (#ulink_c3b70872-c602-51db-8747-273c1de78c03)
‘That’s impossible!’ Sparhawk exclaimed.
Monsel was taken aback by his sudden vehemence. ‘We have more than ample evidence, Sir Sparhawk. The serf who reported the fact has known him since childhood. You’ve met Elron, I gather.’
‘We took shelter from a storm in Baron Kotyk’s house,’ Emban explained. ‘Elron could be Sabre, you know, Sparhawk. He’s certainly got the right kind of mentality. Why are you so certain he’s not the one?’
‘He couldn’t have caught up with us,’ Sparhawk said lamely.
Monsel looked baffled.
‘We saw Sabre in the woods on our way here,’ Emban told him. ‘It was the sort of thing you’d expect – a masked man in black on a black horse outlined against the sky – silliest thing I ever saw. We weren’t really moving all that fast, Sparhawk. Elron could have caught up with us quite easily.’
Sparhawk could not tell him that they had, in fact, been moving far too rapidly for anyone to have caught them – not with Aphrael tampering with time and distance the way she had been. He choked back his objections. ‘It just surprised me, that’s all,’ he lied. ‘Stragen and I spoke with Elron the night we were there. I can’t believe he’d be out stirring up the serfs. He had nothing but contempt for them.’
‘A pose, perhaps?’ Monsel suggested. ‘Something to conceal his real feelings?’
‘I don’t think he’s capable of that, your Grace. He was too ingenuous for that kind of subtlety.’
‘Don’t be too quick to make judgements, Sparhawk,’ Emban told him. ‘If there’s magic involved, it wouldn’t make any difference what kind of man Sabre is, would it? Isn’t there some way he could be rather tightly controlled?’
‘Several, actually,’ Sparhawk admitted.
‘I’m a little surprised you didn’t consider that yourself. You’re the expert on magic. Elron’s personal beliefs are probably beside the point. When he’s speaking as Sabre, it’s the man behind him – our real adversary – who’s talking.’
‘I should have thought of that.’ Sparhawk was angry with himself for having overlooked the obvious – and the equally obvious explanation for Elron’s ability to overtake them. Another God could certainly compress time and distance the same way Aphrael could. ‘Just how widespread is this contempt for the serfs, your Grace?’ he asked Monsel.
‘Unfortunately, it’s almost universal, Prince Sparhawk,’ Monsel sighed. ‘The serfs are uneducated and superstitious, but they’re not nearly as stupid as the nobility would like to believe. The reports I’ve received tell me that Sabre spends almost as much time denouncing the serfs as he does the Tamuls when he’s speaking to the nobility. “Lazy” is about the kindest thing he says about them. He’s managed to half-persuade the gentry that the serfs are in league with the Tamuls in some vast, dark plot with its ultimate goal being the emancipation of the serfs and the redistribution of the land. The nobles are responding predictably. First they were goaded into hating the Tamuls, and then they were led to believe that the serfs are in league with the Tamuls and that their estates and positions are threatened by that alliance. They don’t dare confront the Tamuls directly because of the Atans, so they’re venting their hostility on their own serfs. There have been incidents of unprovoked savagery upon a class of people who will march en masse into heaven at the final judgement. The Church is doing what she can, but there’s only so far we can go in restraining the gentry.’
‘You need some Church Knights, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said in a bleak tone of voice. ‘We’re very good in the field of justice. If you take a nobleman’s knout away from him and apply it to his own back a few times, he tends to see the light very quickly.’
‘I wish that were possible here in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,’ Monsel replied sadly. ‘Unfortunately -’
It was the same chill, and that same annoying flicker at the edge of the eye. Monsel broke off and looked around quickly, trying to see what could not really be seen. ‘What –?’ he started.
‘It’s a visitation, your Grace,’ Emban told him, his voice tense. ‘Don’t dislocate your neck trying to catch a glimpse of it.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Awfully good to see you again, old boy,’ he said. ‘We were beginning to think you’d forgotten about us. Was there something you wanted in particular? Or were you just yearning for our company? We’re flattered, of course, but we’re a little busy at the moment. Why don’t you run along and play now? We can chat some other time.’
The chill quite suddenly turned hot, and the flicker darkened.
‘Are you insane, Emban?’ Sparhawk choked.
‘I don’t think so,’ the fat little Patriarch said. ‘Your flickering friend – or friends – are irritating me, that’s all.’
The shadow vanished, and the air around them returned to normal.
‘What was that all about?’ Monsel demanded.
‘The Patriarch of Ucera just insulted a God – several Gods, probably,’ Sparhawk replied through clenched teeth. ‘For a moment there, we all hovered on the brink of obliteration. Please don’t do that again, Emban – at least not without consulting me first.’ He suddenly laughed a bit sheepishly. ‘Now I know exactly how Sephrenia felt on any number of occasions. I’ll have to apologise to her the next time I see her.’
Emban was grinning with delight. ‘I sort of caught them off balance there, didn’t I?’
‘Don’t do it again, your Grace,’ Sparhawk pleaded. ‘I’ve seen what Gods can do to people, and I don’t want to be around if you really insult them.’
‘Our God protects me.’
‘Annias was praying to our God when Azash wrung him out like a wet rag, your Grace. It didn’t do him all that much good, as I recall.’
‘That was really stupid, you know,’ Emban said then.
‘I’m glad you realise that.’
‘Not me, Sparhawk. I’m talking about our adversary. Why did it reveal itself at this particular moment? It should have kept its flamboyant demonstration to itself and just listened. It could have found out what our plans are. Not only that, it revealed itself to Monsel. Until it appeared, he only had our word for the fact of its existence. Now he’s seen it for himself.’
‘Will someone please explain this?’ Monsel burst out.
‘It was the Troll-Gods, your Grace,’ Sparhawk told him.
‘That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as a Troll, so how can they have Gods?’
‘This may take longer than I’d thought,’ Sparhawk muttered half to himself. ‘As a matter of fact, your Grace, there are Trolls.’
‘Have you ever seen one?’ Monsel challenged.
‘Only one, your Grace. His name was Ghwerig. He was dwarfed, so he was only about seven feet tall. He was still very difficult to kill.’
‘You killed him?’ Monsel gasped.
‘He had something I wanted,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Ulath’s seen a lot more of them than I have, your Grace. He can tell you all about them. He even speaks their language. I did for a while myself, but I’ve probably forgotten by now. Anyway, they have a language, which means that they’re semi-human, and that means that they have Gods, doesn’t it?’
Monsel looked helplessly at Emban.
‘Don’t ask me, my friend,’ the fat Patriarch said. ‘That’s a long way out of my theological depth.’
‘For the time being, you’ll have to take my word for it,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘There are Trolls, and they do have Gods – five of them – and they aren’t very nice. That shadow Patriarch Emban just so casually dismissed was them – or something very much like them – and that’s what we’re up against. That’s what’s trying to bring down the empire and the Church – both our churches, probably. I’m sorry I have to put it to you so abruptly, Archimandrite Monsel, but you have to know what you’re dealing with. Otherwise, you’ll be totally defenceless. You don’t have to believe what I just told you, but you’d better behave as if you did, because if you don’t, your Church doesn’t have a chance of surviving.’
The Atans arrived a few days later. A hush fell over the city of Darsas as the citizens scurried for cover. No man is so entirely guiltless in his own soul that the sudden appearance of a few thousand police does not give him a qualm or two. The Atans were superbly conditioned giants. The two thousand warriors of both sexes ran in perfect unison as they entered the city four abreast. They wore short leather kirtles, burnished steel breastplates and black half-boots. Their bare limbs gleamed golden in the morning sun as they ran, and their faces were stern and unbending. Though they were obviously soldiers, there was no uniformity in their weapons. They carried a random collection of swords, short spears and axes, as well as other implements for which Sparhawk had no names. They all had several sheathed daggers strapped tightly to their arms and legs. They wore no helmets, but had slender gold circlets about their heads instead.
‘Lord,’ Kalten breathed to Sparhawk as the two of them stood on the palace battlements to watch the arrival of their escort, ‘I’d really hate to come up against that lot on a battlefield. Just looking at them makes my blood cold.’
‘I believe that’s the idea, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Mirtai’s impressive all by herself, but when you see a couple of thousand of them like this, you begin to understand how the Tamuls were able to conquer a continent without any particular difficulty. I’d imagine that whole armies simply capitulated when they saw them coming.’
The Atans entered the square in front of the palace and formed up before the residence of the Tamul Ambassador. A huge man went to Ambassador Fontan’s door, his pace quite clearly indicating that if the door were not opened for him, he would walk right through it.
‘Why don’t we go down?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘I expect that Fontan will be bringing that fellow to call in a few moments. Watch what you say, Kalten. Those people strike me as a singularly humourless group. I’m sure they’d miss the point of almost any joke.’
‘Really,’ Kalten breathed his agreement.
The party accompanying the Queen of Elenia gathered in her Majesty’s private quarters and stood about rather nervously awaiting the arrival of the Tamul Ambassador and his general. Sparhawk watched Mirtai rather closely to see what her reaction might be upon being re-united with her people after so many years. She wore clothing he had not seen her wear before, clothing which closely resembled that worn by her countrymen. In place of the steel breastplate, however, she wore a tight-fitting, sleeveless black leather jerkin, and the band about her brow was of silver rather than gold. Her face was serene, seeming to show neither anticipation nor nervous apprehension. She merely waited.
Then Fontan and Oscagne arrived with the tallest man Sparhawk had ever seen. They introduced him as Atan Engessa. The word ‘Atan’ appeared to be not only the name of the people, but some kind of title as well. Engessa was well over seven feet tall, and the room seemed to shrink as he entered. His age, probably because of his race, was indeterminate. He was lean and muscular, and his expression sternly unyielding. His face showed no evidence that he had ever smiled.
Immediately upon his entrance into the room, he went directly to Mirtai, as if none of the rest of them were even in the room. He touched the fingertips of both hands to his steel-armoured chest and inclined his head to her. ‘Atana Mirtai,’ he greeted her respectfully.
‘Atan Engessa,’ she replied, duplicating his gesture of greeting. Then they spoke to each other at some length in the Tamul tongue.
‘What are they saying?’ Ehlana asked Oscagne, who had crossed to where they all stood.
‘It’s a ritual of greeting, your Majesty,’ Oscagne replied. ‘There are a great many formalities involved when Atans meet. The rituals help to hold down the bloodshed, I believe. At the moment, Engessa’s questioning Mirtai concerning her status as a child – the silver headband, you understand. It’s an indication that she hasn’t yet gone through the Rite of Passage.’ He stopped and listened for a moment as Mirtai spoke. ‘She’s explaining that she’s been separated from humans since childhood and hasn’t had the opportunity to participate in the ritual as yet.’
‘Separated from humans?’ Ehlana objected. ‘What does she think we are?’
‘Atans believe that they are the only humans in the world. I’m not sure exactly what they consider us to be.’ The ambassador blinked. ‘Has she really killed that many people?’ he asked with some surprise.
‘Ten?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘She said thirty-four.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘She’s been a member of my court for the past seven years. I’d have known if she’d killed anyone while she was in my service.’
‘Not if she did it at night, you wouldn’t, my Queen,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘She locks us in our rooms every night. She says that it’s for our own protection, but maybe it’s really so that she can go out looking for entertainment. Maybe we should change the procedure when we get home. Let’s start locking her up for the night instead of the other way around.’
‘She’ll just kick the door down, Sparhawk.’
‘That’s true, I suppose. We could always chain her to the wall at night I guess.’
‘Sparhawk!’ Ehlana exclaimed.
‘We can talk about it later. Here comes Fontan and General Engessa.’
‘Atan Engessa, Sparhawk,’ Oscagne corrected. ‘Engessa wouldn’t even recognise the title of general. He’s a warrior – an “Atan”. That’s all the title he seems to need. If you call him “General”, you’ll insult him, and that’s not a good idea.’
Engessa had a deep, quiet voice, and he spoke the Elenic language haltingly and with an exotic accent. He carefully repeated each of their names when Fontan introduced them, obviously committing them to memory. He accepted Ehlana’s status without question, although the concept of a queen must have been alien to him. He recognised Sparhawk and the other knights as warriors, and respected them as such. The status of Patriarch Emban, Talen, Stragen and Baroness Melidere obviously baffled him. He greeted Kring, however, with the customary Peloi salute. ‘Atana Mirtai advises me that you seek marriage with her,’ he said.
‘That’s right,’ Kring replied a bit pugnaciously. ‘Have you any objections?’
‘That depends. How many have you killed?’
‘More than I can conveniently count.’
‘That could mean two things. Either you have slain many, or you have a poor head for figures.’
‘I can count past two hundred,’ Kring declared.
‘A respectable number. You are Domi among your people?’
‘I am.’
‘Who cut your head?’ Engessa pointed at the scars on Kring’s scalp and face.
‘A friend. We were discussing each others’ qualifications for leadership.’
