Ulath stared at him. ‘You are sure?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Do you feel heat?’ Bhlokw asked simply.
‘No,’ Ulath admitted, ‘I do not. It had been my thought—’ He broke off, frowning and trying to frame his next question in coherent Trollish. ‘We were far to the north when you and your pack-mates ate the children of Cyrgon who were both dead and not dead.’
‘Yes. It was north from where we are now.’
‘Then Ghnomb took you and your pack-mates into No-Time.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then Ghworg led you to the land of the sun.’
‘Yes.’
‘There was no hurt caused to you when he did this?’
‘No. The hurt was caused by the things that were not how they should be.’
‘Which things were not how they should be?’
‘All of the Trolls were one pack. This is not how it should be. Troll-packs do not have so many. It is not a good way to hunt.’ Bloque rubbed at his shaggy fare with one massive paw. ‘We did not hunt this way when we were in the Troll-range where we are supposed to be. My thought was that Ghworg’s mind was sick when he came to us and told us to cross the ice-which-never-melts to come to this place. It was not Ghworg who did this. It was Cyrgon. Cyrgon had made himself to look like Ghworg and spoke in Ghworg’s voice. It was my mind which was sick. My thought should have told me that it was not Ghworg.’
‘Does it cause hurt to you that the Trolls are all one pack?’
‘Much hurt, U-lat. I do not like it when things are not how they should be. I have known Grek for many snows. His pack hunts near my pack in the Troll-range. I do not like Grek. It has been in my thought for the past two snows to kill him. Ghworg will not let me kill him. This causes hurt to me.’
‘It will not be this way always, Bhlokw,’ Ulath said consolingly. ‘After we have killed all of Cyrgon’s children, the Gods will take the Trolls back to the Troll-range. Then things will be how they should be again.’
‘It will make me glad when they are. I would really like to kill Grek.’ Bhlokw shambled away mournfully.
‘What was that all about?’ Tynian asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Ulath admitted. ‘I’m groping around the edges of something here. I know it’s right in front of me, but I can’t put my finger on it.’
‘For the moment, let’s just hope that the Troll-Gods can control the homicidal impulses of their children,’ Tynian said fervently.
‘Trollicidal,’ Ulath corrected.
‘What?’
‘You said “homicidal”. Bhlokw wants to kill Grek. Grek’s a Troll. The right word would be “Trollicidal”.’
‘That’s petty quibbling, Ulath.’
‘Right is right, Tynian,’ Ulath replied in a faintly injured tone.
It was still quite early the next morning when Aphrael returned from Sama. The sky to the east was lit with the pale approach of day, even though the moon still held sway above the western horizon. Sparhawk and Xanetia had been waiting for no more than half an hour when they heard the familiar trill of Flute’s pipes coming from back in the dark forest.
‘That was quick,’ Sparhawk said as the Child Goddess joined them.
‘It’s not as if Sama were on the other side of the continent, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I got them all settled in.’ She smiled. ‘Vanion’s being a pest. He was trying to make Sephrenia go to bed when I left.’
‘She has been very ill, Aphrael,’ he reminded her.
‘But she isn’t now. She needs to be up and moving about. Turn your backs.’
Xanetia looked puzzled.
‘It’s one of her quirks,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘She doesn’t want people watching while she changes.’ He looked at the Child Goddess. ‘Don’t forget the clothes this time, Aphrael,’ he told her. ‘Let’s not offend the Anarae.’
‘You’re so tiresome about that, Sparhawk. Now please turn around.’
It only took a few moments. ‘All right,’ Aphrael said. They turned. Sparhawk noted the Goddess was once again garbed in that satiny white robe.
‘Thou art fair beyond description, Divine One,’ Xanetia said.
Aphrael shrugged. ‘I cheat a lot. Do you trust me, Anarae?’
‘With my life, Divine Aphrael.’
‘I hope you’re taking notes, Sparhawk.’
‘Have you arranged for some noise to hide what you’re doing from Zalasta?’
‘I don’t have to. Xanetia’s coming along, and her presence will conceal everything.’
‘I suppose I hadn’t thought of that,’ he admitted.
‘Now then, Anarae,’ Aphrael explained, ‘we’re all going to hold hands. Then we’ll rise up into the air. It’s really better if you don’t look down. As soon as we get above the tops of these mountains, we’ll start moving. You won’t feel any wind or sense of movement. Just hold onto my hand and try to think of something else. It won’t take very long.’ She squinted toward the eastern horizon. ‘We’d better get started. I’d like to get us to Natayos and into a good hiding place before Scarpa’s soldiers start stirring around.’
She held out her hands, and Sparhawk and Xanetia took them. Sparhawk steeled himself and watched the ground rapidly receding as they rose swiftly toward the dawn sky.
‘You’re squeezing, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael told him.
He looked at Xanetia. ‘Sorry. I’m still not entirely used to this.”
The Anarae, all aglow, was a picture of absolute serenity as they rose higher and higher. ‘The world is fair,’ she said softly with a note of wonder in her voice.
‘If you get high so that you can’t see the ugliness.’ Aphrael smiled. ‘I come up here to think now and then. It’s one place where I can be fairly sure I won’t be interrupted.’ She took a bearing on the newly risen sun, which had seemed almost to rush up into the sky as they rose, set her face resolutely toward the southeast and gave a peculiar little nod. The earth beneath began to flow smoothly, rushing toward them from the front and receding just as rapidly behind.
‘It seemeth me a merry way to travel,’ Xanetia observed.
‘I’ve always rather liked it,’ Aphrael agreed. ‘It’s certainly faster than plodding along on horseback.’
They fled southeasterly with an eerie kind of silence around them. ‘The Sea of Arjun,’ Sparhawk said, pointing toward a large body of water off to the right.
‘So small?’ Xanetia said. ‘I had thought it larger.’
‘We’re up quite a ways,’ Aphrael explained. ‘Everything looks small from a distance.’
They sped on and were soon over the dense green jungle that covered the southeastern coast of the continent.
‘We’ll go down a bit now,’ Aphrael warned. ‘I’ll take a bearing on Delo, and then we’ll swerve toward the southwest to reach Natayos.’
‘Will we not be seen from the ground?’ Xanetia asked.
‘No—although it’s an interesting idea. Your light would definitely startle people. Whole new religions could be born if people on the ground started seeing angels flying over their heads. There’s Delo.’
The port city looked like a child’s toy carelessly left on the shore of the deep blue Tamul Sea. They veered to the southwest, following the coastline and gradually descending. Aphrael was peering intently down at the jungle rushing back beneath them. ‘There,’ she said triumphantly.
The ruin might have been more difficult to find had not the northern quarter been cleared of the brush and trees which covered the rest of the ancient city. The tumbled grey stones of the half-fallen buildings stood out sharply in the light of the sunrise, and the newly cleared road stretching toward the north was a yellow scar cut deeply into the face of the dark green of the jungle.
They settled gently to earth on the road about a quarter of a mile north of the ruins, and Sparhawk immediately led them back a hundred paces into the thick undergrowth. He was tense with excitement. If Kalten was right, he was less than a mile from the place where Ehlana was being held captive.
‘Go ahead, Xanetia,’ Aphrael suggested. ‘I want to look you over before you go into the city. This is important, but I don’t want to put you in any danger. Let’s be sure nobody can see you.’