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‘Commonplace or not, it’s going to seriously hinder Tynian when he tries to lead the Church Knights across Daresia to Matherion,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If Rebal can stir up the whole kingdom the way he did this group tonight, Tynian’s going to have to wade his way through hordes of howling fanatics. The Edomish peasantry’s going to be convinced that our brothers are coming here to impose heresies on them by force, and they’ll be lurking behind every bush with sickles and pitchforks.’
‘We still have a certain advantage, though,’ Bevier said thoughtfully. ‘There’s no way that our enemies can possibly know that we’re here in Edom and that we saw this business tonight. Even if they were to know that we’re going to raise Bhelliom – which isn’t very likely – they wouldn’t know where it is, so they’d have no idea where we were going. Even we don’t know where we’re going.’
‘And even if they did, they wouldn’t know that we could get here as quickly as we did,’ Khalad added. ‘I think we’ve got the jump on them, my Lords. If they’re relying on hoaxes here, that probably means that they don’t have any magicians around to sniff us out. If we can pass ourselves off as ordinary travelers, we should be able to move around without much hindrance – and pick up all sorts of information in the process.’
‘We’re here to retrieve the Bhelliom, Khalad,’ Flute reminded him.
‘Of course, but there’s no point in passing up little treasures as we go along, is there?’
‘Aphrael,’ Vanion said, ‘have we seen and heard everything we were supposed to?’
She nodded.
‘I think we might want to move on to Jorsan rather quickly, then. If Khalad’s right and we’re one jump ahead, let’s stay that way. What would it take in the way of bribes to persuade you to speed up the journey?’
‘We could negotiate that, I suppose, Lord Vanion,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sure you could all offer me something that might induce me to lend a hand.’
They kissed the Child Goddess into submission and arrived in Jorsan late the following day. Jorsan turned out to be a typical Elene port-city squatting at the head of the gulf. The question of suitable disguises had arisen during the journey. Bevier had leaned strongly in the direction of posing as religious pilgrims. Kalten had liked the notion of masquerading as a group of rowdies in search of constructive debauchery, while Talen, perhaps influenced by Rebal’s recent performance, had thought it might be fun to pose as traveling players. They were still arguing about it when Jorsan came into view.
‘Isn’t all this a waste of time?’ Ulath asked them. ‘Why should we play dress-up? It’s not really anybody’s business who we are, is it? As long as we’re not wearing armor, the people in Jorsan won’t know – or care – about us. Why go to all the trouble of lying about it?’
‘We’ll need to wear our mail-shirts, Sir Ulath,’ Berit reminded him. ‘How do we explain that?’
‘We don’t. Lots of people wear chain-mail and carry weapons, so it’s not really that unusual. If somebody in town gets too curious about who we are and where we’re going, I can make him get un-curious in fairly short order.’ He held up his hand and closed his fist suggestively.
‘You mean just bully our way through?’ Kalten asked.
‘Why not? Isn’t that what we’re trained for?’
The inn was not particularly elegant, but it was clean and not so near the waterfront that the streets around it were filled with bawling sailors lurching from ale-house to ale-house. The sleeping-rooms were upstairs over the common-room on the main floor, and the stables were in the back.
‘Let me handle this,’ Ulath muttered to Sparhawk as they approached the innkeeper, a tousled fellow with a long, pointed nose.
‘Feel free,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘You,’ Ulath said abruptly to the innkeeper, ‘we need five rooms for the night, fodder for ten horses, and some decent food.’
‘I can provide all those, good master,’ the innkeeper assured him.
‘Good. How much?’
‘Ah …’ The man with the pointed nose rubbed at his chin, carefully appraising the big Thalesian’s clothes and general appearance. ‘That would be a half-crown, good master,’ he said somewhat tentatively. His rates seemed to be based on a sliding scale of some sort.
Ulath turned on his heel. ‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly to Sparhawk.
‘What was I thinking of?’ the innkeeper said, slapping his forehead. ‘That was five rooms and fodder for ten horses, wasn’t it? I got the numbers turned around in my head. I thought you wanted ten rooms for some reason. A half-crown would be far too much for only five rooms. The right price would be two silver imperials, of course.’
‘I’m glad you got your mathematics straightened out,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Let’s look at the rooms.’
‘Of course, good master.’ The innkeeper scurried on up the stairs ahead of them.
‘You don’t leave very many conversational openings, do you, my friend?’ Sparhawk chuckled.
‘I’ve never found innkeepers very interesting to talk with.’
They reached an upper hallway, and Ulath looked into one of the rooms. ‘Check it for bugs,’ he told Sparhawk.
‘Good master!’ the innkeeper protested.
‘I like to sleep alone,’ Ulath told him. ‘Bugs crowd me, and they’re always restless at night.’
The innkeeper laughed a bit weakly. ‘That’s very funny, good master. I’ll have to remember it. Where is it you come from, and where are you bound?’
Ulath gave him a long, icy stare, his blue eyes as chill as a northern winter and his shoulders swelling ominously as he bunched them under his tunic.
‘Ah – no matter, I suppose,’ the innkeeper rushed on. ‘It’s not really any of my affair, is it?’
‘You’ve got that part right,’ Ulath said. He looked around. ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay.’ He nudged Sparhawk with his elbow. ‘Pay him,’ he said, turned, and clumped down the stairs.
They turned their horses over to the grooms and carried their saddle-bags up to the sleeping-rooms. Then they went back downstairs for supper.
Kalten, as usual, heaped his plate with steaming beef.
‘Maybe we should send out for another cow,’ Berit joked.
‘He’s young,’ Kalten told the others jovially, ‘but I like the way he thinks.’ He grinned at Berit, but then the grin slowly faded, and the big, blond Pandion grew quite pale. He stared at the young knight’s face for quite some time. Then he abruptly pushed his plate back and rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think I’m really hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’ He turned, quickly crossed the common-room to the stairs, and went up them two at a time.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Ulath asked in a puzzled tone. ‘I’ve never seen him walk away from supper like that before.’
‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Bevier agreed.
‘You’d better have a talk with him when you go up, Sparhawk,’ Vanion suggested. ‘Find out if he’s sick or something. Kalten never leaves anything on his plate.’
‘Or anybody else’s, for that matter,’ Talen added.
Sparhawk did not linger over supper. He ate quickly, said goodnight to the others, and went upstairs to have a talk with his friend. He found Kalten sitting on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’
Kalten turned his face away. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Not very likely. What’s wrong?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ The blond knight sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Let’s go get drunk.’
‘Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, we won’t.’
Kalten sniffed again and set his jaw. ‘It’s something foolish. You’d laugh at me.’
‘You know better than that.’
‘There’s a girl, Sparhawk, and she loves somebody else. Are you satisfied now?’
‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’
‘I just now found out about it.’
‘Kalten, you’re not making any sense at all. One girl’s always been the same as another to you. Most of the time you can’t even remember their names.’
‘This time’s different. Can we go get drunk now?’
‘How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way about you?’ Sparhawk knew who the girl was, and he was quite certain that she did in fact return his friend’s feelings for her.
Kalten sighed. ‘God knows that there are people in this world who are brighter than I am, Sparhawk. It’s taken me all this time to put it together. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If he breaks her heart, I’ll kill him, brother or no.’
‘Will you at least try to make some sense?’
‘She told me that she loves somebody else – as plain as if she’d come right out and said it in so many words.’
‘Alean wouldn’t do that.’
‘How did you know it was Alean?’ The big blond man sprang to his feet. ‘Have you all been laughing at me behind my back?’ he demanded pugnaciously.
‘Don’t be an ass. We wouldn’t do that. We’ve all been through exactly the same thing. You didn’t invent love, you know.’
‘Everybody knows, though, don’t they?’
‘No. I’m probably the only one – except for Melidere. Nothing much gets past her. Now what’s all this nonsense about Alean loving somebody else?’
‘I just put it together myself.’
‘What did you put together? Try to make a little sense, Kalten.’
‘Didn’t you hear her singing on the day we left?’
‘Of course I did. She has a beautiful voice.’
‘I’m not talking about her voice. I’m talking about the song she was singing. It was “My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy”.’
‘So?’
‘It’s Berit, Sparhawk. She’s in love with Berit.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I just noticed it when we sat down to supper.’ Kalten buried his face in his hands again. ‘I never paid any attention before, but when I looked into his face while we were talking, I saw it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yourself.’
‘Seen what?’
‘Berit’s got blue eyes.’
Sparhawk stared at him. Then, being careful not to laugh, he said, ‘So do you – when they’re not bloodshot.’
Kalten shook his head stubbornly. ‘His are bluer than mine. I know it’s him. I just know it! God’s punishing me for some of the things I’ve done in the past. He made me fall in love with a girl who loves somebody else. Well, I hope He’s satisfied. If He wants to make me suffer, He’s doing a good job of it.’
‘Will you be serious?’
‘Berit’s younger than I am, Sparhawk, and God knows he’s better looking.’
‘Kalten.’
‘Look at the way every girl who gets to within a hundred yards of him starts to follow him around like a puppy. Even the Atan girls were all falling in love with him.’
‘Kalten.’
‘I know it’s him. I just know it. God’s twisting His knife in my heart. He’s gone and made the one girl I’ll ever feel this way about fall in love with one of my brother-knights.’
‘Kalten.’
Kalten sat up and squared his shoulders. ‘All right, then,’ he said weakly, ‘if that’s the way God wants it, that’s the way it’s going to be. If Berit and Alean really, really love each other, I won’t stand in their way. I’ll bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut.’
‘Kalten.’
‘But I swear it to you, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion said hotly, ‘if he hurts her, I’ll kill him!’
‘Kalten!’ Sparhawk shouted at him.
‘What?’
Sparhawk sighed. ‘Why don’t we go out and get drunk?’ he suggested, giving up entirely.
It was cloudy the following morning. It was a low, dirty-gray cloud-cover which seethed and tattered in the stiff wind aloft. It was one of those peculiar days when the murk raced overhead, streaming in off the gulf lying to the west, but the air at the surface was dead calm.
They set out early and clattered along the narrow, cobbled streets where sleepy-eyed shopkeepers were opening their shutters and setting out their wares. They passed through the city gates and took the road that followed the north coast of the gulf.
After they had gone a mile or so, Vanion leaned over in his saddle. ‘How far do we have to go?’ he asked Flute, who nestled, as always, in her sister’s arms.
‘What difference does it make?’ the Child Goddess shrugged.
‘I’d like to know how long it’s going to take.’
‘What does “how far” have to do with “how long”?’
‘They’re the same thing, Aphrael. Time and distance mean the same thing when you’re traveling.’
‘Not if you know what you’re doing, they don’t.’
Sparhawk had always admired Vanion, but never quite so much as in that moment. The silvery-bearded preceptor did not even raise his voice. ‘All I’m really getting at, Divine One, is that nobody knows we’re here. Shouldn’t we keep it that way? I don’t mind a good fight now and then, but would bashing our way through crowds of drunken Edomish peasants serve any real purpose right now?’
