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your Grace?’

      ‘I’d have to investigate the condition of your soul.’

      ‘Then I’d probably better not tell you the truth about our cousins, wouldn’t you say? Anyway, Aphrael told us that the shadow – and later the cloud – were manifestations of the Troll-Gods.’

      ‘Who’s Aphrael?’ Oscagne asked.

      ‘We had a tutor in the Styric arts when we were novices, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘Aphrael is her Goddess. We thought that the cloud was somehow related to Azash, but we were wrong about that. The reddish colour and the heat that one sailor sensed was Khwaj, the God of Fire. The greenish colour and that rotten meat-smell was Ghnomb, the God of Eat.’

      Kalten was frowning. ‘I thought it was just one of those things you might expect from sailors,’ he said, ‘but one fellow told me that he had some rather overpowering thoughts about women while the shadow was lurking behind him. Don’t the Trolls have a God of Mating?’

      ‘I think so,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Ulath would know.’

      ‘This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,’ Oscagne said dubiously, ‘but I don’t quite see its relevance.’

      ‘You’ve been encountering supernatural incidents that seem to be connected to the turmoil in Tamuli, your Excellency. There’s almost exactly the same sort of disturbances cropping up in Lamorkand, and the same sort of unnatural events accompanying them. We were questioning a man who knew some things about it once, and the cloud engulfed him and killed him before he could talk. That strongly suggests some kind of connection. The shadow may have been present in Tamuli as well, but no one would have recognised it for what it really is.’

      ‘Zalasta was right then,’ Oscagne murmured. ‘You are the man for this job.’

      ‘The Troll-Gods are following you again, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘What is this strange fascination they seem to have with you? We can probably discount your looks – but then again, maybe not. They’re used to Trolls, after all.’

      Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the ship rail. ‘How would you like to run alongside the ship for a while, Kalten?’

      ‘No, that’s all right, Sparhawk. I got all the exertion I need for the day when Mirtai decided to use me for a rug.’

      The wind held, and the sky remained clear. They rounded the southern tip of Zemoch and sailed up the east coast in a northeasterly direction. Once, when Sparhawk and his daughter were standing in the bow, he decided to satisfy a growing curiosity.

      ‘How long have we actually been at sea, Dahae?’ he asked her directly.

      ‘Five days,’ she replied.

      ‘It seems like two weeks or more.’

      ‘Thank you, father. Does that answer your question about how well I can manage time?’

      ‘We certainly haven’t eaten as much in five days as we would have in two weeks. Won’t our cooks get suspicious?’

      ‘Look behind us, father. Why do you suppose all those fish are gleefully jumping out of the water? And what are all those seagulls doing following us?’

      ‘Maybe they’re feeding.’

      ‘Very perceptive, Sparhawk, but what could possibly be out there for that many of them to eat? Unless, of course, somebody’s been throwing food to them off the aft deck.’

      ‘When do you do that?’

      ‘At night,’ she shrugged. ‘The fish are terribly grateful. I think they’re right on the verge of worshipping me.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve never been worshipped by fish before, and I don’t really speak their language very well. It’s mostly bubbles. Can I have a pet whale?’

      ‘No. You’ve already got a kitten.’

      ‘I’ll pout.’

      ‘It makes you look silly, but go ahead if you feel like it.’

      ‘Why can’t I have a whale?’

      ‘Because they can’t be housebroken. They don’t make good pets.’

      ‘That’s a ridiculous answer, Sparhawk.’

      ‘It was a ridiculous request, Aphrael.’

      The port of Salesha at the head of the Gulf of Daconia was an ugly city that reflected the culture which had prevailed in Zemoch for nineteen hundred years. The Zemochs appeared to be confused by what had happened in their capital six years before. No matter how often they were assured that Otha and Azash were no more, they still tended to start violently at sudden loud noises, and they generally reacted to any sort of surprise by running away.

      ‘I’d strongly advise that we spend the night on board our ships, your Majesty,’ Stragen advised the queen after he had made a brief survey of the accommodations available in the city. ‘I wouldn’t kennel dogs in the finest house in Salesha.’

      ‘That bad?’ she asked.

      ‘Worse, my Queen.’

      And so they stayed on board and set out early the following morning.

      The road they followed north was truly bad, and the carriage in which the queen and her entourage rode jolted and creaked as their column wound up into the low range of mountains lying between the coast and the town of Basne. After they had been travelling for no more than an hour, Talen rode forward. As the queen’s page, it was one of the boy’s duties to carry messages for her. Talen was not alone on his horse this time, however. Sparhawk’s daughter rode behind him, her arms about his waist and her cheek resting against his back. ‘She wants to ride with you,’ Talen told Sparhawk. ‘Your wife, Emban and the ambassador are talking politics. The princess kept yawning in their faces until the queen gave her permission to get out of the carriage.’

      Sparhawk nodded. The suddenly-acquired timidity of the Zemochs made this part of the trip fairly safe. He reached over and lifted his daughter onto Faran’s back in front of his saddle. ‘I thought you liked politics,’ he said to her after Talen had returned to his post beside the carriage.

      ‘Oscagne’s describing the organisation of the Tamul Empire,’ she replied. ‘I already know about that. He’s not making too many mistakes.’

      ‘Are you going to shrink the distance from here to Basne?’

      ‘Unless you enjoy long, tedious journeys through boring terrain. Faran and the other horses appreciate my shortening things up a bit, don’t you Faran?’

      The big roan nickered enthusiastically.

      ‘He’s such a nice horse,’ Danae said, leaning back against her father’s armoured chest.

      ‘Faran? He’s a foul-tempered brute.’

      ‘That’s because you expect him to be that way, father. He’s only trying to please you.’ She rapped on his armour. ‘I’m going to have to do something about this,’ she said. ‘How can you stand that awful smell?’

      ‘You get used to it.’ The Church Knights were all wearing full armour, and brightly-coloured pennons snapped from their lances. Sparhawk looked around to be sure no one was close enough to overhear them. ‘Aphrael,’ he said quietly, ‘can you arrange things so that I can see real time?’

      ‘Nobody can see time, Sparhawk.’

      ‘You know what I mean. I want to see what’s really going on, not the illusion you create to keep what you’re doing a secret.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I like to know what’s going on, that’s all.’

      ‘You won’t like it,’ she warned.

      ‘I’m a Church Knight. I’m supposed to do things I don’t like.’

      ‘If

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