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 baring 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 you insist, father.’ He was not entirely certain what he had expected
some jerky, accelerated motion, perhaps, and the voices of his friends
sounding like the tWittering of birds as they condensed long conversations
into little bursts of unintelligible babble. That was not what happened,
however. Faran’s gait became impossibly smooth. The big horse seemed almost
to flow across the ground – or, more properly, the ground seemed to flow
back beneath his hooves. Sparhawk swallowed hard and looked around at his
companions. Their faces seemed blank, wooden, and their eyes half-closed.
‘They’re sleeping just now,’ Aphrael explained. ‘They’re all quite
comfortable. They believe that they’ve had a good supper and that the sun’s
gone down. I fixed them a rather nice camp-site. Stop the horse, father.
You can help me get rid of the extra food.’
‘Can’t you just make it vanish?’
‘And waste it?’ She sounded shocked. ‘The birds and animals have to eat
too, you know.’
‘How long is it really going to take us to reach Basne?’
‘Two days. We could go faster if there was an emergency, but there’s
nothing quite that serious going on just now.’ Sparhawk reined in, and he
followed his little daughter back to where the pack animals stood
patiently. ‘you’re keeping all of this in your head at the same time?’ he
asked her. ‘It’s not that difficult, Sparhawk. You just have to pay
attention to details, that’s all.’
‘you sound like Kurik.’
‘He’d have made an excellent God, actually. Attention to detail is the
most important lesson we learn. Put that beef shoulder over near that tree
with the broken-oFf top. There’s a bear-cub back in the bushes who got
separated from his mother. He’s very hungry.’
‘Do you keep track of every single thing that’s happening around you?’
well somebody has to, Sparhawk.’
The Zemoch town of Basne lay in a pleasant valley where the main east-west
road forded a small, sparkling river. It was a fairly important trading
centre. Not even Azash had been able to curb the natural human instinct to
do business. There was an encampment just outside of town. Sparhawk had
dropped back to return Princess Danae to her mother, and he was riding
beside the carriage as they started down into the valley. Mirtai seemed
uncharacteristically nervous as the carriage moved down toward the
encampment. ‘It appears that your admirer has obeyed your summons, Mirtai,’
Baroness Melidere observed brightly. ‘Of course,’ the giantess replied. ‘It
must be enormously satisfying to have such absolute control over a man.’
‘I rather like it,’ Mirtai admitted. ‘How do I look? Be honest, Melidere.
I haven’t seen Kring for months, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.’
‘You’re lovely, Mirtai.’
‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What do you think, Ehlana?’ the Tamul woman appealed to her owner. Her
tone was a bit uncertain. ‘You’re ravishing, Mirtai.’
‘I’ll know better when I see his face.’ Mirtai paused. ‘Maybe I should
marry him,’ she said. ‘I think I’d feel much more secure if I had my brand
on him.’ She rose, opening the cariage door and leaning out to pull her
tethered horse up from behind the carriage and then quite literally flowed
onto his back. Mirtai never used a saddle. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I guess I’d
better go down there and find out if he still loves me.’ And she tapped her
heels into her horse’s flanks and galloped on down into the valley to meet
the waiting Domi.
CHAPTER 9
The Peloi were nomadic herders from the marches of eastern Pelosia. They
were superb horsemen and savage warriors. They spoke a somewhat archaic
form of Elenic, and many of the words in their tongue had fallen out of
use in the modern language. Among those words was ‘Domi’, a word filled
with profoundest respect. It meant ‘Chief’ – sort of – although, as Sir
Ulath had once said, it lost a great deal in translation. The current Domi
of the Peloi was named Kring. Kring was a lean man of slightly more than
medium height. As was customary among the men of his people, he shaved his
head, and there were savage-looking saber scars on his scalp and face, an
indication that the process of rising to a position of leadership among
the Peloi involved a certain amount of rough-and-tumble competition. He
wore black leather clothing, and a lifetime spent on horseback had made
him bandy-legged. He was a fiercely loyal friend, and he had worshipped
Mirtai from the moment he had first seen her. Mirtai did not discourage
him, although she refused to commit herself. They made an odd-looking
couple, since the Atan woman towered more than a foot over her ardent
suitor. Peloi hospitality was generous, and the business of ‘taking salt
together’ usually involved enormous amounts of roasted meat, during the
consumption of which the men ‘spoke of affairs’, a phrase with many
implications ranging in subject matter from the weather to formal
declarations of war. After they had eaten, Kring described what he had
observed during the ride of the hundred Peloi across Zemoch. ‘It never
really was a kingdom, friend Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Not the way we
understand the word. There are too many different kinds of people living
in Zemoch for them all to come together under one roof. The only thing
that kept them united was their fear of Otha and Azash. Now that their
emperor and their God aren’t there any more, the Zemochs are just kind of
drifting apart. There’s not any sort of war or anything like that. It’s
just that they don’t stay in touch with each other any more. They all have
their own concerns, so they don’t really have any reason to talk to each
other.’
‘is there any kind of government at all?’ Tynian asked the shaved-headed
Domi. ‘There’s a sort of a framework, friend Tynian,’ Kring replied. They
were sitting in a large, open pavilion in the centre of the Peloi
encampment feasting on roast ox. The sun was just going down and the
shadows of the peaks lying to the west lay long across the pleasant valley.
There were lights in the windows of Basne a half mile or so away. ‘The
departments of Otha’s government have all moved to Gama Dorit,’ Kring
elaborated. ‘Nobody will even go near the city of Zemoch any more. The
bureaucrats in Gama Dorit spend their time writing directives, but their
messengers usually just stop in the nearest village, tear up the
directives, wait a suitable period of time, and then go back and tell their
employers that all is going well. The bureaucrats . are happy, the
messengers don’t have to travel very far, and the people go on about their
business. Actually, it’s not a bad form of government.’
‘And their religion?’ Sir Bevier asked intently. Bevier was a devout young
knight, and he spent a great deal of his time talking and thinking about
God. His companions liked him in spite of that. ‘They don’t speak very much
about their beliefs, friend Bevier,’ Kring replied. ‘It was their religion
that ‘got them into trouble in the first place, so they’re a bit shy about
discussing the matter openly. They grow their crops, tend their sheep and
goats and let the Gods settle their own disputes. They’re not a threat to