‘Is anybody encountering any significant opposition?’ Tynian asked.
‘It’s hard to say exactly,’ Itagne mused. ‘We’re moving on to central Cynesga, but Klael’s soldiers pop out of every crack between two rocks. The further back we push them, the tighter they’ll be concentrated. If we don’t come up with a way to neutralize them, we’ll have to carve our way through them, and from what Vanion tells me they don’t carve very well. Kring’s tactics are working well enough now, but when we get closer to Cyrga—’ He spread his hands helplessly.
‘We’ll work something out,’ Ulath said. ‘Anything else?’
‘It’s still sort of up in the air, Sir Ulath,’ Itagne replied. ‘The fairy-stories Stragen and Caalador are hatching in Beresa are diverting most of the Cynesgan cavalry away from the eastern border. Half of them are running south toward the coast around Kaftal, and the other half are running north toward a little village called Zhubay. Caalador added an imaginary massing of the Atans up there to Stragen’s illusory fleet off the southern coast. Between them, they’ve split the entire Cynesgan army in two and sent them off to chase moonbeams.’
‘You say that half of them are going north?’ Tynian asked innocently.
‘Toward Zhubay, yes. They seem to think the Atans are massing there for some reason.’
‘What an amazing thing,’ Ulath said with a straight face. ‘It just so happens that Tynian and I have been sort of drifting in that general direction anyway. Do you think the Cynesgans would be too disappointed if they came up against Trolls instead of Atans?’
‘You could go up there and ask them, I suppose,’ Itagne replied, also with no hint of a smile. They all knew what was going to happen at Zhubay.
‘Convey our apologies to them, Ulath-Knight,’ Betuana said with a sad little smile.
‘Oh, we will, your Majesty,’ Ulath assured her. ‘If we can find any of them still in one piece after they’ve frolicked around with the Trolls for a couple of hours.
‘Get out of there!’ Kalten shouted, galloping his horse toward the dog-like creatures clustered around something lying on the gravel floor of the desert. The beasts scampered away, hooting with soulless laughter.
‘Are they dogs?’ Talen asked in a sick voice.
‘No,’ Mirtai replied shortly. ‘Hyenas.’
Kalten rode back. ‘It’s a man,’ he reported bleakly, ‘or what’s left of one.’
‘We must bury him,’ Bevier said.
‘They’d only dig him up again,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Besides, he added, ‘If you start trying to bury them all, we’ll be here for several lifetimes.’ He gestured at the bone-littered plain stretching off to the low range of black mountains lying to the west.
He looked at Xanetia. ‘It was a mistake to bring you along, Anarae,’ he apologized. ‘This is going to get worse before it gets any better.’
‘It was not unexpected, Anakha,’ she replied.
Kalten looked up at the flock of vultures circling overhead. ‘Filthy brutes,’ he muttered.
Sparhawk raised up in his stirrups to peer on ahead. ‘We’ve got a couple more hours until the sun goes down, but maybe we’d better pull back a mile or two and set up camp a little early. We’ll have to spend one night out there. Let’s not spend two.’
‘We need those pillars for landmarks anyway,” Talen added, ‘and they’re a lot brighter when the sun first comes up.’
‘That’s if that bright spot we’ve been following really comes from those pillars,’ Kalten said dubiously.
‘They got us here, didn’t they? This has to be what Ogerajin called “the Plain of Bones”, doesn’t it? I had my own doubts at first. Ogerajin was raving so much of the time that I was sure that he’d garbled at least some of the directions, but he hasn’t led us astray yet.’
‘We still haven’t seen the city, Talen,’ Kalten reminded him, ‘so I’d sort of hold off on composing the letter of thanks.’
‘I’ve got all the money I’ll ever need, Order,’ Krager said expansively, leaning back in his chair and looking out through the window at the buildings and the harbor of the port city of Delo.
He took another drink of wine.
‘I wouldn’t go around announcing that, Krager,’ the burly Order advised. ‘Particularly not here on the waterfront.’
‘I’ve hired some bodyguards, Order. Can you ask around and find out if there’s a fast ship leaving for Zenga in Cammoria in the next week or so?’
‘Why would anybody want to go to Zenga?’
‘I grew up there, and I’m homesick,’ Krager replied with a shrug. ‘Besides, I’d sort of like to grind a few faces—all the people who said that I’d come to no good end while I was growing up.’
‘Did you happen to come across a fellow named Ezek while you were in Natayos?’ Order asked. ‘I think he’s a Deiran.’
‘The name rings a bell. I think he was working for the fellow who ran the tavern.’
‘I sent him down there,’ Order explained, ‘him and the other two—Col and Shallag. They were going to see if they could join Narstil’s band of outlaws.’
‘They may have, but they were working in the tavern when I left.’
‘It’s none of my business, but if you were doing so well in Natayos, why did you leave?’
‘Instincts, Order,’ Krager replied owlishly. ‘I get this cold little feeling at the base of my skull, and I know that it’s time to run. Have you ever heard of a man named Sparhawk?’
‘You mean Prince Sparhawk? Everybody’s heard of him. He’s got quite a reputation.’
‘Oh, yes. That he does. Anyway, Sparhawk’s been looking for an opportunity to kill me for twenty years or so, and that’s the sort of thing that puts a very fine edge on a man’s instincts.’
Krager took another long drink.
‘You might want to give some thought to drying out for a while,’ Order advised, looking meaningfully at Krager’s tankard of Arcian red. ‘I run a tavern, and I’ve learned to recognize the signs. Your liver’s starting to go on you, my friend. Your eyeballs are turning yellow.’
‘I’ll cut down once I get out to sea.’
‘I think you’ll have to do more than just cut down, Krager. You’re going to have to give it up entirely if you want to go on living. Believe me, you don’t want to die the way most drunkards do. I knew one once who screamed for three straight weeks before he finally died. It was awful.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my liver,’ Krager said truculently. ‘It’s just the funny light in here. When I get out to sea, I’ll space out my drinks. I’ll be all right.’ His face had a haunted expression, however, and the mere mention of giving up strong drink had set his hands to trembling violently.
Order shrugged. He had tried to warn the man. ‘It’s up to you, Krager,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask around and see if I can find a ship that’ll get you out of Prince Sparhawk’s reach.’
‘Soon, Order. Soon.’ Krager held out his tankard. ‘In the meantime, why don’t we have another?’
Ekrasios and his party of Delphae reached Norenja late in the afternoon on a murky day when heavy clouds hung low over the treetops and there was not a breath of air moving. Ekrasios took his boyhood friend, Adras, and crept forward through the tangle of brush and vines to the edge of the clearing to survey the ruin.
‘Thinkest thou that they will offer resistance?’ Adras asked quietly.
‘That is difficult to predict,’ Ekrasios replied. ‘Anakha and his companions have advised that these rebels are poorly trained. Methinks their response to our sudden appearance will depend on the character of their officers. Better that we leave them a clear path to the surrounding forest. Should we encircle them, desperation will impel them to fight.’
Adras nodded. ‘They have made some effort to repair the gates,’ he said, pointing at the entrance to the city.