his saddle and turned one of the fallen enemies over with his foot. The
body was little more than a dried husk, browned, Withered and totally
desiccated. It looked very much like the body of a man who had been dead
for several centuries at least. ‘We’ve encountered it once before, your
Grace,’ Tynian was explaining to Patriarch Emban. It was nearly morning,
and they were gathered once again atop the rocky hill. ‘Last time it was
antique Lamorks. I don’t know what kind of antiques these were.’ He looked
at the two mummified corpses the Atans had brought up the hill. ‘This one
is a Cynesgan,’ Ambassador Oscagne said, pointing at one of the dead men.
‘Looks almost like a Render, doesn’t he?’ Talen observed. ‘There would be
certain similarities,’ Oscagne agreed. ‘Cynesga is a desert, much like
Render, and there are only so many kinds of clothing suitable for such a
climate.’ The dead man in question was garbed in a flowing, loose-fitting
robe, and his head was covered with a sort of cloth binding that flowed
down to protect the back of his neck. ‘They aren’t very good fighters,’
Kring told them. They all sort of went to pieces when we charged them.’
‘What about the other one, your Excellency?’ Tynian asked. ‘These ones in
armour were very good fighters.’ The Tamul Ambassador’s eyes grew troubled.
‘That one’s a figment of someone’s imagination,’ he declared. ‘I don’t
really think so, your Excellency,’ Sir Bevier disagreed. ‘The men we
encountered back in Eosia had been drawn from the past. They were fairly
exotic, I’ll grant you, but they had been living men once. Everything we’ve
seen here tells us that we’ve run into the same thing again. This fellow’s
most definitely not an maginary soldier. He did live once, and what he’s
wearing was his customary garb.’
‘it’s impossible,’ Oscagne declared adamantly. Just for the sake of
speculation, Oscagne,’ Emban said, ‘let’s shelve the word ‘impossible’ for
the time being. Who would you say he was if he weren’t impossible?’
‘It’s a very old legend,’ Oscagne said, his face stil troubled. ‘We’re
told that once, a long, long time ago, there were people in Cynesga who
pre-dated the current inhabitants. The legend calls them the Cyrgai. Modern
Cynesgans are supposed to be their degenerate descendants. ‘
‘They look as if they come from two different parts of the world,’ Kalten
noted. ‘Cyrga, the city of the Cyrgai, was supposed to lie in the central
highlands of Cynesga,’ Oscagne told him. ‘It’s higher than the surrounding
desert, and the legend says there was a large, spring-fed lake there. The
stories say that the climate there was markedly different from that of the
desert. The Cyrgai wouldn’t have needed protection from the sun the way
their bastard offspring would have. I’d imagine that there were indications
of rank and status involved as well. Given the nature of the Cyrgai, they’d
have definitely wanted to keep their inferiors from wearing the Cyrgai
costume.’
‘They lived at the same time then?’ Tynian asked. ‘The legends are a
little vague on that score, Sir Tynian. Evidently there was a period when
the Cyrgai and the Cynesgans co-existed. The Cyrgai would certainly have
been dominant, though.’ He made a face. ‘Why am I talking this way about a
myth?’ he said plaintively. ‘This is a fairly substantial myth, Oscagne,’
Emban said, nudging the mummified Cyrgai with his foot. ‘I gather that
these fellows had something of a reputation?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Oscagne said with distaste. ‘They had a hideous culture – all
cruelty and militarism. They held themselves aloof from other peoples in
order to avoid what they called contamination. They were said to be
obsessively concerned with racial purity, and they were militantly opposed
to any new ideas.’
‘That’s a futile sort of obsession,’ Tynian noted. ‘Any time you engage in
trade, you’re going to encounter new ideas.’
‘The legends tell us they understood that, Sir Knight Trade was
forbidden.’
‘No commerce at all?’ Kalten asked incredulously. Oscagne shook his head.
‘They were supposed to be totally self-sufficient. They even went so far as
to forbid the possession of gold or silver in their society.’
‘Monstrous!’ Stragen exclaimed. ‘They had no money at all?’
‘iron bars, we’re told – heavy ones, I guess. It tended to discourage
trade. They lived only for war. All the men were in the army, and all the
women spent their time having babies. When they grew too old to either
fight or bear children, they were expected to kill themselves. The legends
say that they were the finest soldiers the world has ever known.’
‘The legends are exaggerated, Oscagne,’ Engessa told him. ‘I killed five
of them myself. They spent a great deal of time flexing their muscles and
posing with their weapons when they should have been paying attention to
business.’ The ancients were very formal, Atan Engessa,’ Oscagne ‘
murmured. ‘Who was the fellow in the robe?’ Kalten asked. ‘The one who
seemed to be trying to pass himself off as a Seeker?’
‘i’d Guess that he holds a position ‘somewhat akin to Gerrich in Lamorkand
and to Sabre in Western Astel,’ Sparhawk surmised. ‘I was a little
surprised to see Sabre here,’ he added. He had to step rather carefully
here. Both he and Emban were sworn to secrecy on the matter of Sabre’s real
identity. ‘Professional courtesy, no doubt,’ Stragen murmured. ‘The fact
that he was here sort of confirms our guess that all these assorted
upheavals and disturbances are tied together. There’s somebody in back of
all this somebody we haven’t seen or even heard of yet. We’re going to have
to catch one of these intermediaries of hiS and wring some information out
of him sooner or later.’ The blond thief looked around. ‘What now?’ he
asked. ‘How long did you say it would be until the Atans arrive from
Sarsos, Engessa?’ Sparhawk asked the towering Atan. ‘They should arrive
sometime the day after tomorrow, Sparhawk-Knight.’ The Atan glanced toward
the east. ‘Tomorrow, that is,’ he corrected, ‘since it’s already starting
to get light.’
‘We’ll care for our wounded and wait for them then,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘I
like lots of friendly faces around me in times like this.’
‘One question, Sparhawk-Knight,’ Engessa said. ‘Who is Anakha?’
‘That’s Sparhawk,’ Ulath told him. ‘The Styrics call him that. It means
‘without destiny.’
‘All men have a destiny, Ulath-Knight.’
‘Not Sparhawk, apparently, and you have no idea how nervous that makes the
Gods.’
As Engessa had calculated, the Sarsos garrison arrived about noon the
following day, and the hugely increased escort of the Queen of Elenia
marched easterly. Two days later, they crested a hill and gazed down at a
marble city situated in a broad green field backed by a dark forest
stretching to the horizon. Sparhawk had been sensing a familiar presence
since early that morning, and he had ridden on ahead eagerly. Sephrenia was
sitting on her white palfrey beside the road. She was a small, beautiful
woman with black hair, snowy skin and deep blue eyes. She wore a white robe
of a somewhat finer weave than the homespun she had normally worn in Eosia.
‘Hello, little mother,’ he smiled, saying it as if they had been apart for
no more than a week. ‘You’ve been well, I trust?’ He removed his helmet.
‘Tolerable, Sparhawk.’ Her voice was rich and had that familiar lilt. ‘Will
you permit me to greet you?’ he asked in that formal manner all Pandions
used when meeting her after a separation. ‘Of course, dear one.’ Sparhawk
dismounted, took her wrists and turned her hands over. Then he kissed her
palms in the ritual Styric greeting. ‘And will you bless me, little
mother?’ he asked. She fondly placed her hands on his temples and spoke her
benediction in Styric. ‘Help me down, Sparhawk,’ she commanded. He reached
out and put his hands about her almost child-like waist. Then he lifted her
easily from her saddle. Before he could set her down, however, she put her
arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips, something she had
almost never done before. ‘I’ve missed you, my dear one,’ she breathed.
‘You cannot believe how I’ve missed you.’
PART THREE
Atan
CHAPTER 16
The carriage came around a bend in the road and approached the spot where
dSparhawk and Sephrenia waited. Ehlana was talking animatedly to Oscagne
and Emban, but she broke off suddenly, her eyes wide. ‘Sephrenia?’ she
gasped. ‘It is!It’s Sephrenia.’ Royal dignity went out the window as
she scrambled down from the carriage. ‘Brace yourself,’ Sparhawk cautioned
with a gentle smile. Ehlana ran to them, threw her arms around
Sephrenia’s neck and kissed her, weeping for joy. ‘ The queen’s tears were
not the only ones shed that afternoon. Even the hard-bitten Church Knights
were misty-eyed for the most part. Kalten went even further and wept
openly as he knelt to receive Sephrenia’s blessing. ‘The Styric woman has