you get past that.’
‘Then it’s a God – or Gods – that made them all start mistreating their
serfs here a few years back?’
‘I thought I just said that.’ He ignored that and went on. ‘And the whole
purpose of that was to make the serfs resentful and ready to listen to
someone inciting them to revolution.’
‘Your logic is blinding me, Sparhawk.’
‘You can be a very offensive little girl when you set your mind to it, did
you know that?’
‘But you love me anyway, don’t you? Get to the point, Sparhawk. It’s
almost time for me to wake the others.’
‘And the sudden resentment directed at the Tamuls came from the same
source, didn’t it?’
‘And probably at about the same time,’ she agreed. ‘It’s easier to do it
all at once. Going back into someone’s mind over and over is so tedious.’ A
sudden thought came to him. ‘How many things can you think about at the
same time?’ he asked her. ‘I’ve never counted – several thousand, I’d
imagine. Of course there aren’t really any limits. I guess if I really
wanted to, I could think about everything all at once. I’ll try it sometime
and let you know.’
‘That’s really the difference between us, isn’t it? You can think about
more things at the same time than I can.’
‘Well, that’s one of the differences.’
‘What’s another?’
‘You’re a boy, and I’m a girl.’
‘That’s fairly obvious – and not very profound.’
‘You’re wrong Sparhawk. It’s much, much more profound than you could ever
imagine.’
After they crossed the river Antun, they entered a heavily forested region
where rocky crags jutted uph above the treetops here and there. The weather
continued blustery and threatening, though it did not rain. Kring’s Peloi
were very uncomfortable in the forest, and they rode huddled close to the
Church Knights, their eyes a bit wild. ‘We might want to remember that,’
Ulath noted late that afternoon, jerking his chin in the direction of a
pair of savage-looking, shaved-headed warriors following so closely behind
Berit that their mounts were almost treading on his horse’s hind hooves.
what was that?’ Kalten asked him. ‘Don’t take the Peloi into the woods.’
Ulath paused and leaned back in his saddle. ‘I knew a girl in Heid one
summer who felt more or less the same way,’ he reminisced. ‘She was
absolutely terrified of the woods. The young men of the town sort of gave
up on her – even though she was a great beauty. Heid’s a crowded little
town, and there are always aunts and grandmothers and younger brothers
underfoot in the houses. ‘the young men have found that the woods offer the
kind of privacy young people need from time to time, but this girl wouldn’t
go near the woods. Then I made an amazing discovery. The girl was afraid of
the woods, but she was absolutely fearless where hay-barns were concerned.
I tested the theory personally any number of times, and she never once
showed the slightest bit of timidity about barns – or goatsheds either, for
that matter.’
‘I really don’t get the connection,’ Kalten said. ‘We were talking about
the fact that the Peloi are afraid of the woods. If somebody attacks us
here in this forest, we’re not going to have time to stop and build a barn
for them, are we?’
‘No, I suppose you’re right there.’
‘All right, what is the connection then?’
‘I don’t think there is one, Kalten.’
‘Why did you tell the story then?’
‘Well, it’s an awfully good story’ , don’t you think?’ Ulath sounded a bit
injured. Talen came galloping forward. ‘I think you’d better come back to
the carriage, Sir Knights,’ he laughed, trying without much success to
control his mirth. ‘What’s the trouble?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘We’ve got
company’ – well, not company exactly, but there’s somebody watching us.’
Sparhawk and the others wheeled their mounts and rode back along the column
to the carriage. ‘You’ve got to see this, Sparhawk,’ Stragen said, trying
to stifle his laughter. ‘Don’t be too obvious when you look, but there’s a
man on horseback on top of that crag off to the left side of the road.’
Sparhawk leaned forward as if speaking to his wife and raised his eyes to
look at the rocky crag jutting up from the forest floor. The rider was
about forty Yards away, and he was outlined by the sunset behind him. He
was making no attempt to conceal himself. He sat astride a black horse, and
his clothing was all of the same hue. His inky cape streamed out from his
shoulders in the stiff wind, and his broad-brimmed hat was crammed tightly
down on his head. His face was covered with a bag-like black mask with two
large, slightly off-centre eye holes in it. ‘isn’t that the most ridiculous
thing you’ve ever seen in your life?’ Stragen laughed. ‘Very impressive,’
Ulath murmured. ‘At least he’s impressed.’
‘I wish I had a crossbow,’ Kalten said. ‘Berit, do you think you could
nick him a little with your longbow?’
‘It might be a little chancy in this wind, Kalten,’ the young knight
replied. ‘It might deflect my arrow and kill him instead.’
‘How long’s he going to sit there?’ Mirtai asked. ‘Until he’s sure that
everybody in the column has seen him, I expect,’ Stragen said. ‘He went to
a lot of trouble to deck himself out like that. What do you think,
Sparhawk? Is that the fellow Elron told us about?’
‘The mask certainly fits,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘I wasn’t expecting all the
rest, though.’
‘What’s this?’ Emban asked. ‘Unless Sparhawk and I are mistaken, your
Grace, we are privileged to be in the presence of. a living legend. I think
that’s Sabre, the masked whatever-you-call-it, making his evening rounds.’
‘What on earth is he doing?’ Oscagne sounded baffled. ‘I imagine that he’s
out wronging rights, depressing the oppressed and generally making an ass
of himself, your Excellency. He looks as if he’s having a lot of fun,
though.’ The masked rider reared his horse dramatically, and
his black cape swirled around him. Then he plunged down the far side of the
crag and was gone. ‘Wait,’ Stragen urged before the others could move. ‘For
what?’ Kalten asked. ‘Listen.’ From beyond the crag came the brassy note of
a horn that trailed off into a distinctly unmusical squawk. ‘He had to have
a horn,’ Stragen explained. ‘No performance like that would ever be
complete without a horn.’ He laughed delightedly. ‘Maybe if he practises,
he’ll even learn to carry a tune with it.’
Darsas was an ancient city situated on the east bank of the Astel River.
The bridge which approached it was a massive arch which had probably been
in place for at least a thousand years, and most of the city’s buildings
showed a similar antiquity. The cobbled streets were narrow and twisting,
following, quite probably, paths along which cows had gone to water aeons
in the past. Although its antiquity seemed strange, there was still
something profoundly familiar about Darsas. It was an almost prototyPical
Elene town, and Sparhawk felt as if his very bones were responding to its
peculiar architecture. Ambassador Oscagne led them through the narrow
streets and cluttered bazaars to an imposing square at the centre of the
city. He pointed out a fairy-tale structure with a broad gate, and soaring
towers bedecked with brightly-coloured pennons. ‘The royal palace,’ he told
Sparhawk. ‘I’ll st with Ambassador Fontan, our local man, and h’ to see
King Alberen. I’ll only be a moment’ he called to his friend. ips A bit of
ceremony % the Tamul embassy, building adjoining by an ancienttally
hairless and ‘n of a’ very old Juite formally, my, Ambassaitative here
Sparhawk and Fontan exchanged polite bows. ‘Have I your Highness’
permission to present his Excellency to her Majesty, the Queen?’ Oscagne
asked. Tedious, isn’t it Sparhawk?’ Fontan asked in a voice as dry as dust.
‘Oscagne’s a good boy. He was my most promising pupil, but his fondness for
ritual and formula overcomes him at times.’
‘I’ll borrow a sword and immolate myself at once, Fontan,’ Oscagne
bantered. ‘I’ve seen you fumbling with a sword, Oscagne,’ Fontan replied.
‘if you’re suicidally inclined, go molest a cobra instead.’ If you try to
do it with a sword, you’ll take all week.’
‘I gather that I’m watching a reunion of sorts,’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘I
always like to lower Oscagne’s opinion of himself, Sparhawk,’ Fontan
replied. ‘He’s brilliant, of course, but sometimes he lacks humility. Now,
why don’t you introduce me to your wife? She’s much prettier than goy us,
and the imperial messenger from Matherion rode three horses to death
bringing me the emperor’s instructions to be excruciatingly nice to her.
We’ll chat for a few moments, and then I’ll take you to meet my dear,
incompetent friend, the king. I’m sure he’ll swoon at the unspeakable