‘We won’t keep you from important matters, Master Valash,’ Stragen said, backing away. ‘We’ll nose around town some more and let you know if we find out anything else.’
‘I’d appreciate that, Vymer,’ Valash replied, shuffling his papers as his visitors departed.
‘What an ass,’ Talen muttered as the three of them carefully descended the rickety staircase to the alley again.
‘Where did you learn so much about tapestry?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘I don’t know anything about tapestry.’
‘You were talking as if you did.’
‘I talk about a lot of things I don’t know anything about. It fills in the gaps when you’re trying to peddle something that’s worthless. I could tell by the way Valash’s eyes glazed over when I mentioned the word “tapestry” that he didn’t know any more about it than I did. He was too busy trying to make us think that he’s important to pay any real attention. I could get rich from that one. I could sell him blue butter.’
Sparhawk gave him a puzzled look.
‘It’s a swindler’s term,’ Stragen explained. ‘The meaning’s a little obscure.’
‘I’m sure it is.’
‘Did you want me to explain it?’
‘Not particularly, no.’
‘Is it a family custom? Or just a way to honor your father?’ Berit asked Khalad as the two of them, wearing mail-shirts and grey cloaks, lounged against the forward rail of the scruffy lake-freighter plodding across the Sea of Arjun from Sepal to Tiara.
Khalad shrugged. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that the men in our family all have heavy beards—except for Talen. If I decided not to wear a beard, I’d have to shave twice a day. I clip it close with scissors once a week and let it go at that. It saves time.’
Berit rubbed at his altered cheek. ‘I wonder what Sparhawk would do if I let his beard grow,’ he mused.
‘He might not do anything, but Queen Ehlana would probably peel you like an apple. She likes his face just the way it is. She’s even fond of that crooked nose.’
‘It looks as if we’ve got weather up ahead.’ Berit pointed toward the west.
Khalad frowned. ‘Where did that come from? The sky was clear just a minute ago. It’s funny I didn’t smell it coming.’
The cloud-bank hovering low on the western horizon was purplish black, and it roiled ominously, swelling upward with surprising speed. There were flickers of lightning deep inside the cloud, and the sullen rumble of thunder came to them across the dark, choppy waters of the lake.
‘I hope these sailors know what they’re doing,’ Berit said. ‘That has the earmarks of a very nasty squall.’
They continued to watch the inky cloud as it boiled higher and higher, covering more and more of the western sky.
‘That’s not a natural storm, Berit,’ Khalad said tensely. ‘It’s building too fast.’
Then there was a shocking crash of thunder, and the cloud blanched and shuddered as the lightning seethed within it. Both the young men saw the shadowy shape in the instant that the bluish lightning thrust back the darkness to reveal what lay hidden in the cloud. ‘Klael!’ Berit gasped, staring at the monstrous, winged shape half-concealed in the churning storm-front. The next crash of thunder ripped the sky, and the shabby vessel shuddered in the overwhelming sound. The inverted wedge of Klael’s face seemed to ripple and change in the midst of its veiling cloud, and the slitted eyes flamed in sudden rage.
The great, batlike wings began to claw at the approaching storm, and the awful mouth opened to roar forth the thunder of Klael’s frustration. He howled in vast fury, and his enormous arms stretched up into the murky air, reaching hungrily to clutch at something that was not there.
And then the thing was gone, and the unnatural cloud tattered and streamed harmlessly off to the southeast to become no more than a dirty smudge on the horizon. The air, however, was filled with a sulphurous reek.
‘You’d better pass the word to Aphrael,’ Khalad said grimly. ‘Klael’s loose again. He was looking for something, and he didn’t find it. God knows where he’ll look next.’
‘Komier’s arm is broken in three places,’ Sir Heldin rumbled when he joined the mail-skirted Patriarch Bergsten, Ambassador Fontan, and Archimandrite Morsel in Morsel’s book-littered study in the east wing of the palace, ‘and Darellon’s still seeing two of everything. Komier can travel if he has to, but I think we’d better leave Darellon here until he recovers.’
‘How many knights are fit to ride?’ Bergsten asked.
‘Forty thousand at most, your Grace.’
‘We’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got. Emban knew that we’d probably come this way, and he’s been sending messengers by the platoon. Things are coming to a head in southeastern Tamuli. Sparhawk’s wife has been taken hostage, and our enemies are offering to trade her for Bhelliom. There’s a rebel army in the Arjuni jungles preparing to march on Matherion, and two more armies massing on the eastern frontier of Cynesga. If those armies all join up, the game’s over. Emban wants us to ride east across the steppes until we’re past the Astel Marshes and then turn south and lay siege to the Cynesgan capital. He needs a diversion of some kind to pull those armies back from the border.’
Sir Heldin pulled out his map. ‘It’s workable,’ he said after a moment’s study, ‘but we’re going to be a little light for that kind of job.’
‘We’ll get by. Vanion’s in the field, but he’s badly outnumbered along that Cynesgan frontier. If we don’t create enough of a disturbance to relieve some of the pressure on him, he’ll be swarmed under.’
Heldin looked speculatively at the huge Thalesian patriarch. ‘You’re not going to like this, your Grace,’ he said, ‘but there’s not much choice in the matter.’
‘Go ahead,’ Bergsten told him.
‘You’re going to have to lay your cassock aside and take command. Abriel’s been killed, Darellon’s incapacitated, and if Komier gets into a fight, the weight of his axe will cripple him.’
‘You’re still here, Heldin. You can take charge.’
Heldin shook his head. ‘I’m not a Preceptor, your Grace, and everybody in the army knows it. I’m also a Pandion, and the other orders have strong feelings about us. We haven’t made very many friends in the past couple of centuries. The other orders won’t accept me as commander. You’re a Patriarch, and you speak for Sarathi—and the Church. They’ll accept you with no argument.’
‘It’s out of the question.”
‘Then we’ll have to sit here until Dolmant sends us a new commander.’
‘We can’t wait!’
‘My point exactly. Do I have your permission to tell the knights that you’re taking command?’
‘I can’t, Heldin. You know that I’m forbidden to use magic.’
‘We can work our way around that, your Grace. There are plenty of accomplished magicians in the ranks. Just tell us what you want done, and we’ll see to it.’
‘I’ve taken an oath.’
‘You took another one earlier, Lord Bergsten. You promised to defend the Church. That oath takes precedence in this situation.’
The hugely bearded and black-robed Archimandrite Morsel looked speculatively at the reluctant Thalesian. Then he spoke in a neutral sort of way. ‘Would you like an independent opinion, Bergsten?’
Bergsten scowled at him.
‘You’re going to get it anyway,’ the Astellian churchman said with unruffled calm. ‘Given the nature of our opponent, we’re face to face with a “Crisis of the Faith”, and that suspends all the other rules. God needs your axe, Bergsten, not your theology.’ He squinted at the Thalesian Patriarch. ‘You don’t seem convinced,’ he said.
‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Morsel, but “Crisis of the Faith” can’t just be pulled out and dusted off whenever we want to bend some rules.’