LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Komier sent word to Ulath. It seems that the Trolls have all left Thalesia.’

      ‘The Trolls!’ she exclaimed. ‘They wouldn’t do that! Thalesia’s their ancestral home!’

      ‘Maybe you’d better go tell the Trolls about that. Komier swears that there’s not a single one of them left in Thalesia.’

      ‘Something very, very strange is going on here, Sparhawk.’

      ‘Ambassador Oscagne said more or less the same thing. Can the Styrics there at Sarsos make any sense out of it yet?’

      ‘No. Zalasta’s at his wits’ end.’

      ‘Have you come up with any idea at all of who’s behind it?’

      ‘Sparhawk, we don’t even know what’s behind it. We can’t even make a guess about the species of whatever it is.’

      ‘We sort of keep coming back to the idea that it’s the Troll-Gods again. Something had to have enough authority over the Trolls to command them to leave Thalesia, and that points directly at the Troll Gods. Are we absolutely sure that they haven’t managed to get loose?’

      ‘It’s not a good idea to discount any possibility when you’re dealing with Gods, Sparhawk. I don’t know the spell Ghwerig used when he put them inside the Bhelliom, so I don’t know if it can be broken.’

      ‘Then it is possible.’

      ‘That’s what I just said, dear one. Have you seen that shadow – or the cloud – lately?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Has Aphrael ever seen it?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘She could tell you, but I’d rather not have her exposed to whatever it is. Perhaps we can come up with a way to lure it out when you get here so that I can take a look at it. When are you leaving?’

      ‘First thing tomorrow morning. Danae sort of told me that she can play with time the way she did when we were marching to Acie with Wargun’s army. That would get us there faster, but can she do it as undetectably now as she did when she was Flute?’

      The bell behind the motionless form of his daughter gave a deep, soft-toned sound. ‘Why don’t you ask me, Sparhawk?’ Danae’s voice hummed in the bell-sound. ‘It’s not as if I weren’t here, you know.’

      ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ He waited. ‘Well?’ he asked the still-humming bell. ‘Can you?’

      ‘Well, of course I can, Sparhawk.’ The Child Goddess sounded irritated. ‘Don’t you know anything?’

      ‘That will do,’ Sephrenia chided.

      ‘He’s such a lump.’

      ‘Aphrael! I said that will do! You will not be disrespectful to your father.’ A faint smile touched the lips of the apparently somnolent little princess. ‘Even if he is a hopeless lump.’

      ‘If you two want to discuss my failings, I’ll go back downstairs so you can speak freely,’ Sparhawk told them.

      ‘No, that’s all right, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said lightly. ‘We’re all friends, so we shouldn’t have any secrets from each other.’

      They left Chyrellos the following morning and rode south on the Arcian side of the Sarin river in bright morning sunshine with one hundred Church Knights in full armour riding escort. The grass along the riverbank was very green, and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. After some discussion, Sparhawk and Ehlana had decided that the attendants she would need for the sake of appearances could be drawn for the most part from the ranks of the Church Knights. ‘Stragen can coach them,’ Sparhawk had told his wife. ‘He’s had a certain amount of experience, so he can make honest knights look like useless butterflies.’

      It had been necessary, however, to include one lady-in-waiting, Baroness Melidere, a young woman of Ehlana’s own age with honey-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and an apparently empty head. Ehlana also took along a personal maid, a doe-eyed girl named Alean. The two of them rode in the carriage with the Queen, Mirtai, Danae and Stragen, who, dressed in his elegant best, kept them amused with light banter. Sparhawk reasoned that between them, Stragen and Mirtai could provide his wife and daughter with a fairly significant defence if the occasion arose.

      Patriarch Emban was going to be a problem. Sparhawk could see that after they had gone no more than a few miles. Emban was not comfortable on a horse, and he filled the air with complaints as he rode.

      ‘That isn’t going to work, you know,’ Kalten observed about mid-morning. ‘Churchman or not, if the knights have to listen to Emban feel sorry for himself all the way across the Daresian continent, he’s likely to have some kind of an accident before we get to Matherion. I’m ready to drown him right now myself, and the river’s very handy.’

      Sparhawk thought about it. He looked at the queen’s carriage. ‘That landau’s not quite big enough,’ he told his friend. ‘I think we need something grander. Six horses are more impressive than four anyway. See if you can find Bevier.’

      When the olive-skinned Arcian rode forward, Sparhawk explained the situation. ‘If we don’t get Emban off that horse, it’s going to take us a year to cross Daresia. Are you still on speaking terms with your cousin Lycien?’

      ‘Of course. We’re the best of friends.’

      ‘Why don’t you ride on ahead and have a chat with him? We need a large carriage – roomy enough for eight – six horses probably. We’ll put Emban and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my wife and her entourage. Ask your cousin to locate one for us.’

      ‘That might be expensive, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said dubiously.

      ‘That’s all right, Bevier. The Church will pay for it. After a week on horseback, Emban should be willing to sign for anything that doesn’t wear a saddle. Oh, as long as you’re going there anyway, have our ships moved up-river to Lycien’s docks. Madel’s not so attractive a city that any of us would enjoy a stay there all that much, and Lycien’s docks are more conveniently arranged.’

      ‘Will we need anything else, Sparhawk?’ Bevier asked.

      ‘Not that I can think of. Feel free to improvise, though. Add anything you can think of on your way to Madel. For once, we have a more or less unlimited budget at our disposal. The coffers of the Church are wide open to us.’

      ‘I wouldn’t tell that to Stragen or Talen, my friend,’ Bevier laughed. ‘I’ll be at Lycien’s house. I’ll see you when you get there.’ He wheeled his horse and rode south at a gallop.

      ‘Why didn’t you just have him pick up another carriage for Emban and Oscagne?’ Kalten asked.

      ‘Because I don’t want to have to defend two when we get to Tamuli.’

      ‘Oh. That makes sense – sort of.’

      They arrived at the house of Sir Bevier’s cousin the Marquis Lycien, late one afternoon, and met Bevier and his stout, florid-faced kinsman in the gravelled court in front of Lycien’s opulent home. The Marquis bowed deeply to the Queen of Elenia and insisted that she accept his hospitality during her stay in Madel. Kalten dispersed the knights in Lycien’s park-like grounds.

      ‘Did you find a carriage?’ Sparhawk asked Bevier.

      Bevier nodded. ‘It’s large enough for our purposes,’ he said a bit dubiously, ‘but the cost of it may turn Patriarch Emban’s hair white.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s ask him.’ They crossed the gravelled court to where the Patriarch of Ucera stood beside his horse, clinging to his saddle-horn with a look of profound misery on his face.

      ‘Pleasant little ride, wasn’t it, your Grace?’

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