‘Do you happen to know of a good inn here in Sepal?’
‘The one my friend and I are staying at isn’t too bad. It’s about three streets over.’ Ulath pointed. ‘It’s got the sign of a boar hanging out front—although the picture doesn’t look very much like any boar I’ve ever seen.’
‘We’ll look into it.’
‘Maybe my friend and I’ll see you there. We’re usually in the taproom after supper.’
‘We’ll stop by—if we decide to stay there.’
Ulath nodded and walked up the street to a tavern and went on inside, where he joined Tynian at a table near the fire. ‘What did you do with our shaggy friend?’ he asked.
‘He went out looking for another dog,’ Tynian replied. ‘You might have made a mistake there, Sergeant. He seems to be developing a taste for them. There won’t be a dog left in the whole town if we stay much longer.’
Ulath sat down and leaned back. ‘Ran into an Elene fellow out there in the street,’ he said, loudly enough to be heard by the other tavern patrons.
‘Oh?’ Tynian said casually. ‘Astellian or Edomish?’
‘It was sort of hard to say. He’d had his nose broken at one time or another, so it was a little difficult to determine his race. He was looking for a good inn, so I recommended the one where we’re staying. We might see him there. It’s good to hear somebody talking Elenic for a change. I get tired of listening to people babbling at me in Tamul. If you’re about finished here, why don’t we drift on down to the harbor and see if we can find somebody to ferry us on across the lake to Tiara.’
Tynian drained his tankard. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, standing up. The two of them left the tavern and strolled back to their inn, Walking casually and moving at the leisurely pace of men with nothing really pressing to do.
‘I want to have a look at that shoe on my horse’s left forehoof,’ Ulath said when they arrived. ‘Go on ahead. I’ll meet you in the taproom.’
‘Where else?’ Tynian laughed.
Khalad was in the stable as Ulath had expected. He was making some show of currying Faran. ‘I see that you and your friend decided to stay here,’ the big Thalesian said in a casual tone.
‘It was handy,’ Khalad shrugged.
‘Listen carefully,’ Ulath said in a voice hardly more than a whisper. ‘We were able to pick up some information. Nothing’s going to happen here. You’ll get another one of those messages.’
Khalad nodded.
‘It’s going to tell you to go on across the lake to Tiara. Be careful of what you say on the boat, because there’ll be a fellow on board who’s working for the other side—an Arjuni with a long scar on his cheek.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out for him,’ Khalad said.
‘You’ll get another message in Tiara,’ Ulath continued. ‘You’ll be told to go on around the lake to Arjun.’
‘That’s the long way around,’ Khalad objected. ‘We could take the road from here and be in Arjun in less than half the time.’
‘Evidently they don’t want you to get there that soon. They’ve probably got some other irons in the fire. I won’t swear to this, but I think they’ll send you on to Verel from Arjun. If Kalten’s right and Ehlana’s being held in Natayos, that would be the next logical step.’
Khalad nodded again. ‘I’ll tell Berit. I think we’d better stay out of that taproom. I’m sure we’re being watched, and if we start talking with other Elenes, we’ll just put the enemy on their guard.’
The horses in the stable suddenly began to squeal and kick at the sides of their stalls.
‘What’s wrong with the horses?’ Khalad demanded. ‘And what’s that odd smell?’
Ulath muttered an oath. Then he raised his voice and spoke in Trollish. ‘Bhlokw, it is not good that you come into the dens of the man-things this way. You have been eating dog, and the man-things and their beasts can smell you.’
There was an injured silence as Ulath’s unseen traveling-companion withdrew from the stable.
Betuana and Engessa, dressed in sleek otter-skins, accompanied Vanion and the knights south from Sama. At Engessa’s suggestion they proceeded due west to come down out of the mountains in eastern Cynesga.
‘We’ve been watching them, Vanion-Preceptor,’ the towering Atan said as he loped along beside Vanion’s horse. ‘Their main supply dump is about five leagues west of the frontier.’
‘Did you have anything pressing to attend to, your Majesty?’ Vanion asked Betuana, who was running along on the other side.
‘Nothing that can’t wait. What did you have in mind?’
‘Since we’re here anyway, we might as well swing over and burn their supply dump. My knights are getting restless, and a little exercise might do them some good.’
‘It is rather chilly,’ she observed with just the hint of a smile. ‘A fire would be nice.’
‘Shall we, then?’
‘Why don’t we?’
The Cynesgan supply dump covered about five acres. It lay in a rocky, treeless basin, and it was defended by about a regiment of Cynesgan troops in flowing robes. As the column of armored knights approached, the defenders galloped forth to meet them. That particular maneuver might best be described as a tactical blunder. The gravel-covered floor of the Desert of Cynesga was flat and clear of obstructions, so the charge of the Church Knights was unimpeded. There was an enormous crash as the two forces collided, and the knights, after only a nomentary hesitation, rode on, trampling the bodies of the wounded and slain under the steel-shod hooves of their mounts while the squealing horses of the Cynesgans fled in terror.
‘Impressive,’ Betuana conceded as she ran along beside Vanion’s mount. ‘But isn’t it tedious to endure the weight—and the smell—of the armor for months on end for the sake of two minutes of entertainment?’
‘There are drawbacks to any style of warfare, your Majesty,’ Vanion said, raising his visor. ‘A part of the idea behind armored charges is to persuade others to avoid confrontations. It holds down the casualties in the long run.’
‘A reputation for extreme severity is a good weapon, VanionPreceptor,’ she agreed.
‘We like it,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s go build that bonfire so that your Majesty can warm her toes.’
‘That would be nice,’ she smiled.
There was a dust-covered hill directly ahead, rising like a slightly rounded pyramid to block the way to the supply dump. With simple arm-gestures, Vanion directed his knights to diverge and sweep around both sides of the hill to swarm over the accumulated supplies of Cyrgon’s army. They galloped forward with that vast, steely, clinking thunder that proclaims implacable invincibility.
And then the hill moved. The dust which had covered it shuddered away in a great billowing cloud, and the two enormous wings unfurled their glossy blackness to reveal the wedge-shaped face of Klael. The beast of ultimate darkness roared, and the fangs of lightning, jagged and flickering, emerged from behind snarling lips.
And out from beneath the shelter of those two great wings came an army like no army Vanion had ever seen. They were as tall as the Atans and more bulky. Their bare arms were huge, and their steel breastplates fit them like a second skin, revealing every knotted muscle. Their helmets bore exotic-looking embellishments—horns or antlers or stiff steel wings—and, like their breastplates, their visors fit tightly over their faces, exactly duplicating the features of each individual warrior. There was no humanity in those polished faces. The brows were impossibly wide, and, like the face of Klael himself, they narrowed down to almost delicately pointed chins. The eye-slits blazed, and there were twin holes in place of noses. The mouths of those masks were open, and they were filled with cruelly pointed teeth.
They swarmed out from beneath Klael’s wings with his lightning playing around them. They brandished weapons that appeared to be part mace and part axe—steel atrocities dredged from nightmare. They were too close to permit any kind of orderly withdrawal, and the knights, still moving at a thunderous gallop, were committed before they could fully comprehend the nature of the enemy. The impact as the two armies came together shook the earth, and that solid, steely crash shattered into a chaos of sound blows, shrieks, the agonized squeals of horses, the tearing of metal.