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‘A hundred or so.’
‘I’ll need a couple dozen of your men who know the country.’
Platime nodded. ‘Are you going to bring in the army?’
‘I don’t think so. I think a troop of Pandions might make a more lasting impression on people who think they have grievances against our queen, don’t you?’
‘Isn’t that just a bit extreme?’ Stragen asked him.
‘I want to make a statement, Stragen. I want everybody in Elenia to know just how much I disapprove of people who start plotting against my wife. I don’t want to have to do it again, so I’m going to do it right the first time.’
‘He didn’t actually talk like that, did he, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked incredulously.
‘That’s fairly close,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Stragen’s got a very good ear for dialect.’
‘It’s almost hypnotic, isn’t it?’ she marvelled, ‘and it goes on and on and on.’ She suddenly grinned impishly. ‘Write down “happy as pigs in mud”, Lenda. I may want to find a way to work that into some official communication.’
‘As you wish, your Majesty.’ Lenda’s tone was neutral, but Sparhawk knew that the old courtier disapproved.
‘What are we going to do about this?’ the queen asked.
‘Sparhawk said that he was going to take steps, your Majesty,’ Talen told her. ‘You might not want to know too many details.’
‘Sparhawk and I don’t keep secrets from each other, Talen.’
‘I’m not talking about secrets, your Majesty,’ the boy replied innocently. ‘I’m just talking about boring unimportant little things you shouldn’t really waste your time on.’ He made it sound very plausible, but Ehlana looked more than a little suspicious.
‘Don’t embarrass me, Sparhawk,’ she warned.
‘Of course not,’ he replied blandly.
The campaign was brief. Since Pelk knew the precise location of the camp of the dissidents, and Platime’s men knew all the other hiding places in the surrounding mountains, there was no real place for the bandits to run, and they were certainly no match for the thirty black-armoured Pandions Sparhawk, Kalten and Ulath led against them. The surviving nobles were held for the queen’s justice and the rest of the outlaws were turned over to the local sheriff for disposition.
‘Well, my Lord of Belton,’ Sparhawk said to an earl crouched before him on a log, with a blood-stained bandage around his head and his hands bound behind him. ‘Things didn’t turn out so well, did they?’
‘Curse you, Sparhawk.’ Belton spat, squinting up against the afternoon’s brightness. ‘How did you find out where we were?’
‘My dear Belton,’ Sparhawk laughed, ‘you didn’t really think you could hide from my wife, did you? She takes a very personal interest in her kingdom. She knows every tree, every town and village and all of the peasants. It’s even rumoured that she knows most of the deer by their first names.’
‘Why didn’t you come after us earlier then?’ Belton sneered.
‘The queen was busy. She finally found the time to make some decisions about you and your friends. I don’t imagine you’ll care much for these decisions, old boy. What I’m really interested in is any information you might have about Krager. He and I haven’t seen each other for quite some time, and I find myself yearning for his company again.’
Belton’s eyes grew frightened. ‘You won’t get anything from me, Sparhawk,’ he blustered.
‘How much would you care to wager on that?’ Kalten asked him. ‘You’d save yourself a great deal of unpleasantness if you told Sparhawk what he wants to know, and Krager’s not so loveable that you’d really want to go through that in order to protect him.’
‘Just talk, Belton,’ Sparhawk insisted implacably.
‘I – I can’t!’ Belton’s sneering bravado crumbled. His face turned deathly pale, and he began to tremble violently. ‘Sparhawk, I beg of you. It means my life if I say anything.’
‘Your life isn’t worth very much right now anyway,’ Ulath told him bluntly. ‘One way or another, you are going to talk.’
‘For God’s sake, Sparhawk! You don’t know what you’re asking!’
‘I’m not asking, Belton.’ Sparhawk’s face was bleak.
Then, without any warning or reason, a deathly chill suddenly enveloped the woods, and the mid-afternoon sun darkened. Sparhawk glanced upward. The sky was very blue, but the sun appeared wan and sickly.
Belton screamed.
An inky cloud seemed to spring from the surrounding trees, coalescing around the shrieking prisoner. Sparhawk jumped back with a startled oath, his hand going to his sword-hilt.
Belton’s voice had risen to a screech, and there were horrible sounds coming from the impenetrable darkness surrounding him – sounds of breaking bones and tearing flesh. The shrieking broke off quite suddenly, but the sounds continued for several eternal-seeming minutes. Then, as quickly as it had come, the cloud vanished.
Sparhawk recoiled in revulsion. His prisoner had been torn to pieces.
‘Good God!’ Kalten gasped. ‘What happened?’
‘We both know, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’ve seen it before. Don’t try to question any of the other prisoners. I’m almost positive they won’t be allowed to answer.’
There were five of them, Sparhawk, Ehlana, Kalten, Ulath and Stragen. They had gathered in the royal apartments, and their mood was bleak.
‘Was it the same cloud?’ Stragen asked intently.
‘There were some differences,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It was more in the way it felt rather than anything I could really pin down.’
‘Why would the Troll-Gods be so interested in protecting Krager?’ Ehlana asked, her face puzzled.
‘I don’t think it’s Krager they’re protecting,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I think it has something to do with what’s going on in Lamorkand.’ He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. ‘I wish Sephrenia were here!’ he burst out with a sudden oath. ‘All we’re doing is groping in the dark.’
‘Would you be opposed to logic at this point?’ Stragen asked him.
‘I wouldn’t even be opposed to astrology just now,’ Sparhawk replied sourly.
‘All right.’ The blond Thalesian thief rose to his feet and began to pace up and down, his eyes thoughtful. ‘First of all, we know that somehow the Troll-Gods have got out of that box.’
‘Actually, you haven’t really proved that, Stragen,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘Not logically, anyway.’
Stragen stopped pacing. ‘He’s right, you know,’ he admitted. ‘We’ve been basing that conclusion on a guess. All we can say with any logical certainty is that we’ve encountered something that looks and feels like a manifestation of the Troll-Gods. Would you accept that, Sir Ulath?’
‘I suppose I could go that far, Milord Stragen.’
‘I’m so happy. Do we know of anything else that does the same sort of things?’
‘No,’ Ulath replied, ‘but that’s not really relevant. We don’t know about everything. There could be dozens of things we don’t know about that take the form of shadows or clouds, tear people all to pieces and give humans a chilly feeling when they’re around.’
‘I’m not sure that logic is really getting us anywhere,’ Stragen conceded.
‘There’s nothing wrong with your logic, Stragen,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Your major premise is faulty, that’s all.’
‘You too, your Majesty?’ Kalten groaned. ‘I thought there was at least one other person in the room who relied on common sense rather than all this tedious logic.’
‘All right then, Sir Kalten,’ she said tartly, ‘what does your common sense tell you?’
‘Well, first off, it tells me that you’re all going at the problem backwards. The question we should be asking is what makes Krager so special that something supernatural would go out of its way to protect him? Does it really matter what the supernatural thing is at the moment?’
‘He might have something there, you know?’ Ulath said. ‘Krager’s a cockroach basically. His only real reason for existing is to be stepped on.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Ehlana disagreed. ‘Krager worked for Martel, and Martel worked for Annias.’
‘Actually, dear, it was the other way around,’ Sparhawk corrected her.
She waved that distinction aside. ‘Belton and the others were all allied to Annias, and Krager used to carry messages between Annias and Martel. Belton and his cohorts would almost certainly have known Krager. Pelk’s story more or less confirms that. That’s what made Krager important in the first place.’ She paused, frowning. ‘But what made him important after the renegades were all in custody?’
‘Backtracking,’ Ulath grunted.
‘I beg your pardon?’ The queen looked baffled.
‘This whatever-it-is didn’t want us to be able to trace Krager back to his present employer.’
‘Oh, that’s obvious, Ulath,’ Kalten snorted. ‘His employer is Count Gerrich. Pelk told Sparhawk that there was somebody in Lamorkand who wanted to keep us so busy here in Elenia that we wouldn’t have time to take any steps to put down all the turmoil over there. That has to be Gerrich.’
‘You’re just guessing, Kalten,’ Ulath said. ‘You could very well be right, but it’s still just a guess.’
‘Do you see what I mean about logic?’ Kalten demanded of them. ‘What do you want, Ulath? A signed confession from Gerrich himself?’
‘Do you have one handy? All I’m saying is that we ought to keep an open mind. I don’t think we should close any doors yet, that’s all.’
There was a firm knock on the door, and it opened immediately afterward. Mirtai looked in. ‘Bevier and Tynian are here,’ she announced.
‘They’re supposed to be in Rendor,’ Sparhawk said. ‘What are they doing here?’
‘Why don’t you ask them?’ Mirtai suggested pointedly. ‘They’re right out here in the corridor.’
The two knights entered the room. Sir Bevier was a slim, olive-skinned Arcian, and Sir Tynian a blond, burly Deiran. Both were in full armour.
‘How are things in Rendor?’ Kalten asked them.
‘Hot, dry, dusty, hysterical,’ Tynian replied. ‘Rendor never changes. You know that.’
Bevier dropped to one knee before Ehlana. Despite the best efforts of his friends, the young Cyrinic Knight was still painfully formal. ‘Your Majesty,’ he murmured respectfully.
‘Oh, do stand up, my dear Bevier,’ she smiled at him. ‘We’re friends, so there’s no need for that. Besides, you creak like a rusty iron-works when you kneel.’
‘Overtrained, perhaps, your Majesty,’ he admitted.
‘What are you two doing back here?’ Sparhawk asked them.
‘Carrying dispatches,’ Tynian replied. ‘Darrellon’s running things down there, and he wants the other preceptors kept abreast of things. We’re also supposed to go on to Chyrellos and brief the Archprelate.’
‘How’s the campaign going?’ Kalten asked them.
‘Badly,’ Tynian shrugged. ‘The Rendorish rebels aren’t really organised, so there aren’t any armies for us to meet. They hide amongst the population and come out at night to set fires and assassinate priests. Then they run back into their holes. We take reprisals the next day – burn villages, slaughter herds of sheep and the like. None of it really proves anything.’
‘Do they have any kind of a leader as yet?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘They’re still discussing that,’ Bevier said dryly. ‘The discussions are quite spirited. We usually find several dead candidates in the alleys every morning.’
‘Sarathi blundered,’ Tynian said.
Bevier gasped.
‘I’m not trying to offend your religious sensibilities, my young friend,’ Tynian said, ‘but it’s the truth. Most of the clergymen he sent to Rendor were much more interested in punishment than in reconciliation. We had a chance for real peace in Rendor, and it fell apart because Dolmant didn’t send somebody down there to keep a leash on the missionaries.’ Tynian set his helmet on a table and unbuckled his sword-belt. ‘I even saw one silly ass in a cassock tearing the veils off women in the street. After the crowd seized him, he tried to order me to protect him. That’s the kind of priests the church has been sending to Rendor.’
‘What did you do?’ Stragen asked him.
‘For some reason I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying,’ Tynian replied. ‘All the noise the crowd was making, more than likely.’
‘What did they do to him?’ Kalten grinned.
‘They hanged him. Quite a neat job, actually.’
‘You didn’t even go to his defence?’ Bevier exclaimed.
‘Our instructions were very explicit, Bevier. We were told to protect the clergy against unprovoked attacks. That idiot violated the modesty of about a dozen Rendorish women. That crowd had plenty of provocation. The silly ass had it coming. If that crowd hadn’t hanged him, I probably would have. That’s what Darrellon wants us to suggest to Sarathi. He thinks the Church should pull all those fanatic missionaries out of Rendor until things quiet down. Then he suggests that we send in a new batch – a slightly less fervent one.’ The Alcione Knight laid his sword down beside his helmet and lowered himself into a chair. ‘What’s been happening here?’ he asked.
‘Why don’t the rest of you fill them in?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘There’s someone I want to talk with for a few minutes.’ He turned and quietly went back into the royal apartment.
The person he wanted to talk with was not some court functionary, but rather his own daughter. He found her playing with her kitten. After some thought, her Royal little Highness had decided to name the small animal ‘Mmrr’, a sound which, when she uttered it, sounded so much like the kitten’s purr that Sparhawk usually couldn’t tell for sure which of them was making it. Princess Danae had many gifts.
‘We need to talk,’ Sparhawk told her, closing the door behind him as he entered.
‘What is it now, Sparhawk?’ she asked.
‘Tynian and Bevier just arrived.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Are you playing with things again? Are you deliberately gathering all our friends here?’
‘Of course I am, father.’
‘Would you mind telling me why?’
‘There’s something we’re going to need to do before long. I thought I’d save some time by getting everybody here in advance.’
‘You’d probably better tell me what it is that we have to do.’
