Krager’s next note arrived two days later, and it was authenticated
by another lock of Ehlana’s hair. The thought of the sodden
drunkard violating his Queen’s pale blonde hair enraged Berit
for some obscure reason. Vanion once again read the note to
them while Sparhawk sat somewhat apart, gently holding the
lock of his wife’s hair in his fingers.
“‘Sparhawk, old boy,” ‘ the note began. “‘You don’t mind if
I call you that, do you? I always admired the way Martel sort of
tossed that off when everything was going his way. It was possibly
the only thing about him that I admired.
“‘Enough of these fond reminiscences. You’re going to be
making a trip, Sparhawk. We want you to take your squire and
travel by the customary overland route to Beresa in southeastern
Arjuna. You’ll be watched, so don’t take any side-trips, don’t
have Kalten and the other baboons trailing along behind you,
don’t have Sephrenia disguised as a mouse or a flea hidden in
your pocket, and most definitely don’t use Bhelliom for anything
at all – not even for building campfires. I know we can depend
on your absolute co-operation, old boy, since you’ll never see
Ehlana alive again if you misbehave.
“‘it’s always a pleasure to talk with you, Sparhawk particularly
in view of the fact that it’s your hands that are chained this
time. Now stop wasting time. Take Khalad and the Bhelliom and
go to Beresa. You’ll receive further instructions there. Fondly,
Krager”
CHAPTER 3
They talked and talked and talked, and every ‘maybe’ or ‘possibly’
or ‘probably’ or ‘on the other hand’ set Sparhawk’s teeth
on edge. It was all pure speculation, useless guessing that circled
and circled and never got to the point. He sat slightly apart from
them holding the lock of pale hair. The hair felt strangely alive,
coiling round his fingers in a soft caress.
It was his fault, of course. He should never have permitted
Ehlana to come to Tamuli. It went further than that, though.
Ehlana had been in danger all her life, and it had all been because
of him – because of the fact that he was Anakha. Xanetia had
said that Anakha was invincible, but she was wrong. Anakha
was as vulnerable as any married man. By marrying Ehlana, he
had immediately put her at risk, a risk that would last for as
long as she lived.
He should never have married her. He loved her, of course,
but was it an act of love to put her in danger? He silently cursed
the weakness that had led him to even consider the ridiculous
notion when she had first raised it. He was a soldier, and soldiers
should never marry – particularly not scarred, battered old veterans
with too many years and too many battles behind them
and too many enemies still about. Was he some selfish old fool?
Some disgusting, half-senile lecher eager to take advantage of a
foolish young girl’s infatuation? Ehlana had extravagantly
declared that she would die if he refused her, but he knew better
than that. People die from a sword in the belly, or from old age,
but they do not die from love. He should have laughed in her
face and rejected her absurd command. Then he could have
‘arranged a proper marriage for her, a marriage to some handsome
young nobleman with good manners and a safe occupation.
If he had, she would still be safely back in Cimmura instead
of in the hands of madmen, degenerate sorcerers and alien Gods
to whom her life meant nothing at all.
And still they talked on and on and on. Why were they wasting
all their breath? There wasn’t any choice in the matter. Sparhawk
would obey the instructions because Ehlana’s life
depended on it. The others were certain to argue with him about
it, and the arguments would only irritate him. The best thing
would probably be just to take the Bhelliom and Khalad and slip
out of Matherion without giving them the chance to drive him
mad with their meaningless babble.
It was the touch of a springlike breeze on his cheek and a soft
nuzzling on his hand that roused him from his gloomy reverie.
‘it was not mine intent to disturb thy thought, Sir Knight,’
the white deer apologized, ‘but my mistress would have words
with thee.’
Sparhawk jerked his head round in astonishment. He no
longer sat in the blue-draped room in Matherion, and the voices
of the others had faded away to be replaced by the sound of the
gentle lapping of waves upon a golden strand. His chair now
sat on the marble floor of Aphrael’s temple on the small verdant
island that rose gem-like from the sea. The breeze was soft under
the rainbow-colored sky, and the ancient oaks around the alabaster
temple rustled softly.
Thou hast forgotten me,’ the gentle white hind reproached
him, her liquid eyes touched with sorrow.
‘Never,’ he replied. ‘I shall remember thee always, dear creature,
for I do love thee, even as I did when first we met.’ The
extravagant expression came to his lips unbidden.
The white deer sighed happily and laid her snowy head in
his lap. He stroked her arched white neck and looked around.
The Child Goddess Aphrael, gowned in white and surrounded
by a glowing nimbus, sat calmly on a branch of one of
the nearby oaks. She lifted her many-chambered pipes and blew
an almost mocking little trill.
What are you up to now, Aphrael?’ he called up to her, deliberately
forcing away the flowery words that jumped to his lips.
I thought you might want to talk,’ she replied, lowering the
pipes. ‘Did you want some more time for self-mortification?
Would you like a whip so that you can flog yourself with it?
Take as much time as you want, Father. This particular instant
will last for as long as I want it to.’ She reached out with one
grass-stained little foot, placed it on nothing at all and calmly
walked down a non-existent stairway to the alabaster floor of
her temple. She sank down on it, crossed her feet at the ankles
and lifted her pipes again. ‘Will it disturb your sour musings if
I play?’
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.
She shrugged. ‘You seem to have this obscure need for penance
of some kind, and there’s no time for it. I wouldn’t be
much of a Goddess if I couldn’t satisfy both needs at the same
time, now would I?’ She raised her pipes. ‘Do you have any
favorites you’d like to hear?’
‘You’re actually serious, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She breathed another little trill into the pipes.
He glared at her for a moment, and then he gave up. ‘Can
we talk about this?’ he asked her.
‘You’ve come to your senses? Already? Amazing.’
He looked around at the island. ‘Where is this place?’ he asked
curiously.
The Child Goddess shrugged. ‘Wherever I want it to be. I
carry it with me everyplace I go. Were you serious about what
you were just thinking, Sparhawk? Were you really going to
snatch up Bhelliom, grab Khalad by the scruff of the neck, leap
onto Faran’s back and try to ride off in three directions at the
same time?’
‘All Vanion and the others are doing is talking, Aphrael, and
the talk isn’t going anywhere.’
‘Did you speak with Bhelliom about this notion of yours?’
‘The decision is mine, Aphrael. Ehlana’s my wife.’
‘How brave you are, Sparhawk. You’re making a decision
that involves the Bhelliom without even consulting it. Don’t be
misled by its seeming politeness, Father. That’s just a reflection
Of its archaic speech. It won’t do something it knows is wrong,
no matter how sorry you’re feeling for yourself, and if you grow
too insistent, it might just decide to create a new sun – about six
inches from your heart.’
‘I have the rings, Aphrael. I’m still the one giving the orders.’
She laughed at him. ‘Do you really think the rings mean anything,
Sparhawk? They have no control over Bhelliom at all.
That was just a subterfuge that concealed the fact that it has an
awareness – and a will and purpose of its own. It can ignore
the rings any time it wants to.’
‘Then why did it need me?’
‘Because you’re a necessity, Sparhawk – like wind or tide or
rain. You’re as necessary as Klael is – or Bhelliom – or me, for
that matter. Someday we’ll have to come back here and have a
long talk about necessity, but we’re a little pressed for time right
now.’
‘And was that little virtuoso performance of yours yesterday
another necessity as well? Would the world have come to an
end if you hadn’t held that public conversation with yourself?’
‘What I did yesterday was useful, Father, not necessary. I am
who I am, and I can’t change that. When I’m going through one