The Shining Ones

‘Demos is nice this time of year. You’ll enjoy it. You can spend your days in prayer.’

Kalten swore at him.

‘You’ve got some of the words right, Kalten. Now just put them together into a proper oath. Believe me, my friend, you’re not going to go one step farther with us until you give me your oath to stop all this nonsense.’

‘I swear,’ Kalten muttered.

‘Not good enough. Let’s make it nice and formal. I want it to make an impression on you. You’ve got this tendency to overlook things if they aren’t all spelled out.’

‘Do you want me to sign something in my own blood?’ Kalten demanded acidly.

‘It’s a thought, but I don’t have any parchment handy. I’ll accept your verbal oath – for the time being. I may change my mind later, though, so keep your veins nice and loose and your dagger sharp.’

‘Sparhawk?’ Ambassador Fontan exclaimed. ‘What are you doing in Darsas?’ The ancient Tamul diplomat stared at the big Pandion in astonishment.

‘Just passing through, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘May I come in?’

‘By all means, my boy.’ Fontan opened his door wide and Sparhawk and Flute entered the crimson-carpeted study of the Tamul Embassy.

‘You’re looking well, your Royal Highness,’ Fontan smiled at the little girl. Then he looked at her more closely. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized to her. ‘I mistook you for Prince Sparhawk’s daughter. You resemble her very much.’

‘We’re distantly related, your Excellency,’ Flute told him without turning a hair.

‘Has word reached you about what happened in Matherion a few weeks ago, your Excellency?’ Sparhawk asked, tucking the Bhelliom back into his inside tunic pocket.

‘Just yesterday,’ Fontan replied. ‘Is the Emperor safe?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘My wife’s looking after him. Our time’s limited, your Excellency, so I’m not going to be able to explain everything. Are you cosmopolitan enough to accept the notion that the Styrics have some very unusual capabilities?’

Fontan smiled faintly. ‘Prince Sparhawk, a man my age is willing to accept almost anything. After the initial shock of astonishment that comes each morning when I wake up and discover that I’m still alive, I can face the day with an open mind.’

‘Good. My friends and I left Korvan down in Edom about an hour ago. They’re riding on toward Cyron on the border, but I came here to have a word with you.’

‘An hour ago?’

‘Just take it on faith, your Excellency,’ Flute told him. ‘It’s one of those Styric things Sparhawk was talking about.’

‘I’m not certain how much your messenger told you,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘but it’s urgent that all of the Atan garrison commanders in the empire know that the Ministry of the Interior’s not to be trusted. Minister Kolata’s working for the other side.’

‘I never liked that man,’ Fontan said. He gave Sparhawk a speculative look. ‘This message is hardly so earth-shaking that it would move you to violate a whole cluster of natural laws, Sparhawk. What are you really doing in Darsas?’

‘Casting false trails, your Excellency. Our enemies have ways of detecting my presence, so I’m going to give them a presence to detect in various towns in assorted corners of the Empire in order to confuse them a bit. My friends and I are returning overland from Korvan to Matherion, and we’d prefer not to be ambushed along the way. This isn’t a confidential visit, Ambassador Fontan. Feel free to let people know that I stopped by. They’ll probably know already, but let’s confirm it for them.’

‘I like your style, Sparhawk. You’ll be crossing Cynesga?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘It’s an unpleasant country.’

‘These are unpleasant times. Oh, it won’t really hurt if you’re sort of smug when you tell people that you’ve seen me. Our side was definitely behind up until now. That changed a few days ago. Our enemy, whoever he is, is at a distinct disadvantage right now, and I’d sort of like to grind his face in that fact for a while.’

‘I’ll get word to the town crier immediately.’ The ancient man squinted up at the ceiling. ‘How long can you stay?’

‘An hour at the very most.’

‘Plenty of time, then. Why don’t we step over to the palace? I’ll take you into the throne-room, and you can pay your respects to the king – in front of his entire court. That’s the best way I know of to let people know you’ve been here.’

‘I like your style, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk grinned.

It grew easier each time. At first, Bhelliom seemed impossibly dense, and Flute frequently had to step in, speaking in that language which Sparhawk strongly suspected was the original tongue of the Gods themselves. Gradually, the stone seemed to grasp what was wanted of it. Its compliance was never fully willing, however. It had to be compelled. Sparhawk found that visualizing Vanion’s map helped quite a bit. Once Bhelliom grasped the fact that the map was no more than a picture of the world, it grew easier for Sparhawk to tell the jewel where he wanted to go.

This is not to say that there weren’t a few false starts. Once, when he had been concentrating on the town of Delo on the east coast, the thought crossed his mind that there was a certain remote similarity between that name and the name of the town of Demos in east-central Elenia, and after the momentary gray blur where the world around him shifted and changed, he found himself and Flute riding Faran in bright moonlight up the lane that led to Kurik’s farm.

‘What are you doing?’ Flute demanded.

‘My attention wandered. Sorry.’

‘Keep your mind on your work. Bhelliom’s responding to what you’re thinking, not what you’re saying. It probably doesn’t even understand Elenic – but then, who really does?’

‘Be nice.’

‘Take us back immediately!’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

There was that now-familiar lurch, and the moonlight faded into gray. Then they were back in bright autumn sunshine on the road a few miles outside Korvan, and their friends were staring at them in astonishment.

‘What went wrong?’ Sephrenia asked Flute.

‘Our glorious leader here was wool-gathering,’ Flute replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘We just took a little side-trip to Demos.’

‘Demos!’ Vanion exclaimed. ‘That’s on the other side of the world!’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It’s the middle of the night there right now. We were on the road to Kurik’s farm. Maybe our stalwart commander here felt lonesome for Aslade’s cooking.’

‘I can live without these “stalwart commanders” and “glorious leaders”,’ Sparhawk told her tartly.

‘Then do it right.’

There was a certain desperation in the flicker of darkness at the edge of Sparhawk’s vision this time, and a faint flicker of harried confusion. Sparhawk did not even stop to think. ‘Blue Rose!’ he barked to the Bhelliom, bringing up his other hand so that both rings touched the deep blue petals, ‘destroy that thing!’

He felt a brief jolt in his hands and heard a sizzling kind of crackle behind him.

The shadow that had dogged their steps for so long, which they had thought at first to be Azash and then the Troll-Gods, gave a shrill shriek and began to babble in agony. Sparhawk saw Sephrenia’s eyes widen.

The shadow was crying out, not in Zemoch or Trollish, but in Styric.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_588aee00-bff3-5e06-8b53-0bf8d519e368)