LITMIR.BIZ

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them, Sparhawk could hear startled shouts as the church soldiers ran out of their tents to stare after the column in chagrin.

      ‘Slick,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘Across the drawbridge and into the fog in under a minute.’

      ‘Olven knows what he’s doing,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and what’s even better is that it’s going to be at least an hour before the soldiers can mount any kind of pursuit.’

      ‘Give me an hour’s head start, and they’ll never catch me,’ Kalten laughed delightedly. ‘This is starting out very well, Sparhawk.’

      ‘Enjoy it while you can. Things will probably start to go wrong later on.’

      ‘You’re a pessimist, do you know that?’

      ‘No. I’m just used to little disappointments.’

      They slowed to a canter when they reached the Demos road. Olven was a veteran, and he always tried to conserve his horses. Speed might be necessary later, and Sir Olven took very few chances.

      A full moon hung above the fog, and it made the thick mist deceptively luminous. The glowing white fog around them confused the eye and concealed far more than it illuminated. There was a chill dampness in the air, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak about him as he rode.

      The Demos road swung north towards the city of Lenda before turning south-easterly again to Demos, where the Pandion Mother-house was located. Although he could not see it, Sparhawk knew that the countryside along the road was gently rolling and that there were large patches of trees out there. He was counting on those trees for concealment once he and his friends left the column.

      They rode on. The fog had dampened the dirt surface of the road, and the sound of their horses’ hooves was muffled.

      Every now and then the black shadows of trees loomed suddenly out of the fog at the sides of the road as they rode by. Talen shied nervously each time it happened.

      ‘What’s the problem?’ Kurik asked him.

      ‘I hate this,’ the boy replied. ‘I absolutely hate it. Anything could be hiding beside the road – wolves, bears – or even worse.’

      ‘You’re in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen.’

      ‘That’s easy for you to say, but I’m the smallest one here – except for Flute, maybe. I’ve heard that wolves and things like that always drag down the smallest when they attack. I really don’t want to be eaten, father.’

      ‘That keeps cropping up,’ Tynian noted curiously to Sparhawk. ‘You never did explain why the boy keeps calling your squire by that term.’

      ‘Kurik was indiscreet when he was younger.’

      ‘Doesn’t anybody in Elenia sleep in his own bed?’

      ‘It’s a cultural peculiarity. It’s not really as widespread as it might seem, though.’

      Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups and looked ahead to where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in conversation. ‘A word of advice, Sparhawk,’ he said confidentially. ‘You’re an Elenian, so you don’t seem to have any problems with this sort of thing, and in Deira we’re fairly broad-minded about such things, but I don’t know that I’d let Bevier in on this. The Cyrinic Knights are a pious lot – just like all Arcians – and they disapprove of these little irregularities very strongly. Bevier’s a good man in a fight, but he’s a little narrow-minded. If he gets offended, it might cause problems later on.’

      ‘You’re probably right,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘I’ll talk with Talen and ask him to keep his relationship with Kurik to himself.’

      ‘Do you think he’ll listen?’ the broad-faced Deiran asked sceptically.

      ‘It’s worth a try.’

      They occasionally passed a farmhouse standing beside the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for the country folk.

      ‘How long are we going to stay with this column?’ Tynian asked. ‘Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos is a very long way around.’

      ‘We can probably slip away later this morning,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘- once we’re sure that nobody’s following us. That’s what Vanion suggested.’

      ‘Have you got somebody watching to the rear?’

      Sparhawk nodded. ‘Berit’s riding about a half-mile back.’

      ‘Do you think any of the Primate’s spies saw us leave your chapterhouse?’

      ‘They didn’t really have very much time for it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We’d already gone past them before they came out of their tents.’

      Tynian grunted. ‘Which road do you plan to take when we leave this one?’

      ‘I think we’ll go across country. Roads tend to be watched. I’m sure that Annias has guessed that we’re up to something by now.’

      They rode on through the tag end of a foggy night. Sparhawk was pensive. He privately admitted to himself that their hastily conceived plan had little chance of success. Even if Tynian could raise the ghosts of the Thalesian dead, there was no guarantee that any of the spirits would know the location of King Sarak’s final resting place. This entire journey could well be futile and serve only to use up what time Ehlana had left. Then a thought came to him. He rode on forward to speak with Sephrenia. ‘Something just occurred to me,’ he said to her.

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘How well known is the spell you used to encase Ehlana?’

      ‘It’s almost never practised because it’s so very dangerous,’ she replied. ‘A few Styrics might know of it, but I doubt that any would dare to perform it. Why do you ask?’

      ‘I think I’m right on the edge of an idea. If no one but you is really willing to use the spell, then it’s rather unlikely that anybody else would know about the time limitation.’

      ‘That’s true. They wouldn’t.’

      ‘Then nobody could tell Annias about it.’

      ‘Obviously.’

      ‘So Annias doesn’t know that we only have a certain amount of time left. For all he knows, the crystal could keep Ehlana alive indefinitely.’

      ‘I’m not certain that gives us any particular advantage, Sparhawk.’

      ‘I’m not either, but it’s something to keep in mind. We might be able to use it someday.’

      The eastern sky was growing gradually lighter as they rode, and the fog was swirling and thinning. It was about a half-hour before sunrise when Berit came galloping up from the rear. He was wearing his mail-shirt and plain blue cloak, and his war-axe was in a sling at the side of his saddle. The young novice, Sparhawk decided almost idly, was going to need some instruction in swordsmanship soon, before he grew too attached to that axe.

      ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said, reining in, ‘there’s a column of church soldiers coming up behind us.’ His hard-run horse was steaming in the chill fog.

      ‘How many?’ Sparhawk asked him.

      ‘Fifty or so, and they’re galloping hard. There was a break in the fog, and I saw them coming.’

      ‘How far back?’

      ‘A mile or so. They’re in that valley we just came through.’

      Sparhawk considered it. ‘I think a little change of plans might be in order,’ he said. He looked around and saw a dark blur back in the swirling fog off to the left. ‘Tynian,’ he said, ‘I think that’s a grove of trees over there. Why don’t you take the others and ride across this field and get into the grove before the soldiers catch up? I’ll be right along.’ He shook Faran’s reins. ‘I

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