‘You hunt well,’ Ghnomb approved. ‘I had not thought of this kind of hunting before. It is almost as good as hunting things-to-eat. I will help you in your hunt.’
‘It makes us glad that you will,’ Tynian thanked him.
Arjun was the capital of the Kingdom of Arjuna, a substantial city on the south shore of the lake. The royal palace and the stately homes of the noble families of the kingdom lay in the hills on the southern edge of town, and the commercial center was near the lake-front.
Ulath and Tynian concealed their horses and proceeded on foot through the grey half-light of Ghnomb’s broken moments into the city itself. Then they split up and began to search for the food their mind-bellies craved, while Bhlokw went looking for dogs.
It was almost evening when Ulath came out of another of the seedy taverns near the docks on the east side of town. ‘This is going to take all month,’ he muttered to himself. The name Scarpa had cropped up in a few of the conversations he had overheard, and each time he heard it, he had eagerly drawn closer to listen. Unfortunately, however, Scarpa and his army were general topics of conversation here, and Ulath had not been able to pick up anything that was at all useful.
‘Get out of my way.’ the voice was harsh, peremptory. Ulath turned to see who was being so offensive.
The man was a richly dressed Dacite. He was riding a spirited black horse, and his face bore the marks of habitual dissipation. Though he had never seen the fellow before, Ulath recognized him immediately. Talen’s pencil had captured that face almost perfectly. Ulath smiled. ‘Well, now,’ he murmured, ‘that’s a little better.’ He stepped out into the street and followed the prancing black horse.
Their destination was one of the grand houses near the royal palace. A liveried servant rushed from the house to greet the sneering Elene. ‘We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival, my Lord,’ he declared, bowing obsequiously.
‘Get somebody to take care of my horse,’ the Elene snapped as he dismounted. ‘Is everybody here?’
‘Yes, Baron Parok.’
‘Astonishing. Don’t just stand there, fool. Take me to them at once.’
‘Yes, my Lord Baron.’
Ulath smiled again and followed them into the house. The room to which the servant led them appeared to be a study of some kind. The walls were lined with book-cases, though the books shelved there showed no signs of ever having been opened. There were about a dozen men in the room: some Elene, some Arjuni, and even one Styric.
‘Let’s get down to business,’ Baron Parok told them, negligently tossing his plumed hat and his gloves down on the table. ‘What have you to report?’
‘Prince Sparhawk has reached Tiara, Baron Parok,’ the lone Styric told him.
‘We expected that.’
‘We did not, however, expect his treatment of my kinsman. He and that brute he calls his squire followed our messenger and assaulted him. They tore off all his clothes and turned all his pockets inside out.’
Parok laughed harshly. ‘I’ve met your cousin, Zorek,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he richly deserved it. What did he say to the Prince to merit such treatment?’
‘He gave them the note, my Lord, and that ruffian of a squire made some insulting remark about a twenty-day journey on horseback. My cousin took offense at that and told them that they only had fourteen days to make the journey.’
‘That was not in the instructions,’ Parok snapped. ‘Did Sparhawk kill him?’
‘No, my lord.’ Zorek’s tone was sullen.
‘Pity,’ Parok said darkly. ‘Now I’ll have to attend to it myself. You Styrics get above yourselves at times. When I have leisure, I’m going to run your cousin down and hang his guts on a fence as an example to the rest of you. You’re being paid to do as you’re told, not to get creative.’ He looked around. ‘Who’s got the next note?’ he asked.
‘I have, my Lord,’ a rather prosperous-looking Edomishman replied. ‘You’d better hold off on delivering it. Zorek’s cousin upset our timetable with his excursion into constructive creativity. Let Sparhawk cool his heels here for a week or so. Then give him the note that tells him to go on to Verel. Lord Scarpa wants his army to start moving north before we give Sparhawk that last message—the one that tells him to go on to Natayos for the exc.’
‘Bhaarnogne Parok,’ a baggy-eyed Arjuni in a brocade doublet said arrogantly, ‘this delay—particularly here in the capital—poses some threat to my king. This Sparhawk person is notoriously irrational, and he does still have the jewel of power in his possession. His Majesty does not want that Elene barbarian lingering here in Arjun with spare time on his hands. Send him on to Verel immediately. If he’s going to destroy some place, let it be Verel instead of Arjun.’
‘You have amazingly sharp ears, Duke Milanis,’ Parok said sardonically. ‘Can you really hear what King Rakya is saying when you’re a mile from the palace?’
‘I’m here to protect His Majesty’s interests, Baron. I have full authority to speak for him. His Majesty’s alliance with Lord Scarpa is not etched on a diamond. Keep Prince Sparhawk moving. We don’t want him here in Arjun.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Milanis shrugged. ‘His Majesty will abrogate the alliance and make a full report of what you people have been doing—and what you’re planning to do—to the Tamul Ambassador.’
‘I see that the old saw about the stupidity of trusting an Arjuni still holds true.’
‘Just do as you’re told, Parok,’ Milanis snapped. ‘Don’t bore me with all these tedious protests and racial slurs. Don’t make any blunders here, old boy. His Majesty’s report to the ambassador has already been written. All he requires is an excuse to send it across town.’
A servant entered with a flagon and a tray of wine-glasses, and Ulath took advantage of the open door to slip from the room. It was going to take a while to round up Tynian and Blokw, and then they were going to have to compose a fairly extensive message to Aphrael.
After he had slipped out of the house, however, Sir Ulath very briefly indulged himself. He leapt high into the air with a triumphant bellow, smacking his hands together with glee. Then he composed himself and went looking for his friends.
The black-armored Sir Heldin returned to rejoin Patriarch Bergsten at the head of the column.
‘Any luck?’ Bergsten asked him.
Heldin shook his head. ‘Sir Tynian was very thorough,’ he rumbled in his deep bass. ‘He winnowed through the ranks of the Pandion Order like a man panning for gold. I think he took just about everybody who can even pronounce the Styric Spells.’
‘You know the spells.’
‘Yes, but Aphrael can’t hear me. My voice is pitched too low for her ears.’
‘That raises some very interesting theological points,’ Bergsten mused.
‘Could we ponder them some other time, your Grace? Right now we have to get word of what happened in Zemoch to Sparhawk and Vanion. The war could be over by the time Ambassador Fontan’s messengers reach them.’
‘Talk with the other orders, Heldin,’ Bergsten suggested.
‘I don’t think it would work, your Grace. Each order works through the personal God of the Styric who taught them the secrets. We have to get word to Aphrael. She’s the one who’s perched on Sparhawk’s shoulder.’
‘Heldin, you spent too much time practicing with your weapons during your novitiate. Theology does have a purpose, you know.’
‘Yes, your Grace,’ Heldin sighed, rolling his eyes upward and bracing himself for a sermon.
‘Don’t do that,’ Bergsten told him. ‘I’m not talking about Elene theology. I’m talking about the misguided beliefs of the Styrics. How many Styric Gods are there?’
‘A thousand, your Grace,’ Heldin replied promptly. ‘Sephrenia always made some issue of that.’
‘Do these thousand Younger Gods exist independently of each other?’