eyes looking hungrily for some excuse to punish or humiliate
his prisoners further.
She lowered her gaze to stare fixedly at the rough, muddy
track that wound deeper and deeper into the rank, vine-choked
forest of the southeast coast of Daresia.
The ship they had boarded at the port of Micae had been a
sleek, black-hulled corsair that could not have been built for
any honest purpose. She and Alcan had been unceremoniously
dragged below decks and confined in a cramped compartment
that smelled of the bilges and was totally dark. After they had
been two hours at sea, the compartment door had opened and
Krager had entered with two swarthy sailors, one carrying what
appeared to be a decent meal, and the other, two pails of hot
water some soap and a wad of rags for use as towels. Ehlana
had resisted an impulse to embrace the fellow.
i’m really sorry about all this, Ehlana,’ Krager had apologized,
squinting at her nearsightedly, ‘but I have no control of the
situation. Be very careful of what you say to Scarpa. You’ve
probably noticed that he’s not entirely rational.’ He had looked
around nervously, then laid a handful of cheap tallow candles
on the rough table and left, chaining the door shut behind him.
They had been five days at sea and had reached Arian, a port
city on the edge of the jungles of the southeast coast some time
after midnight. Then she and Alcan had been hustled into a
closed carriage with the pouchy-eyed Baron Parok at the reins.
During the transfer from the ship to the carriage, Ehlana had
discreetly looked at each of her captors, seeking some weakness.
Krager, despite his habitual drunkenness, was too shrewd, and
Parok was Scarpa’s long-time confederate, a man evidently
untroubled by his friend’s madness. Then she had coolly
appraised Elron. She had noticed that under no circumstances
would the foppish Astellian poet look her in the eye. His apparent
murder of Melidere had evidently filled him with remorse.
Elron was a poseur rather than a man of action, and he clearly
had no stomach for blood. She had recalled moreover, how vain
he had been about his long curls when she had first met him
and had wondered what form of duress Scarpa had used to force
him to shave his head in order to pose as one of Kring’s Peloi.
She had surmised that the violation of his hair had raised certain
strong resentments in him. Elron was clearly reluctant to participate
in this affair, and that made him the weak link. She kept
that fact firmly in mind now. The time might come when she
could use it to her advantage.
The carriage had carried them from the waterfront to a large
house on the outskirts of Arian. It had been there that Scarpa
had spoken with a gaunt Styric with the lumpy features characteristic
of the men of his race. The Styric’s name was Keska, and
his eyes had the look of one hopelessly damned.
‘I don’t care about the discomfort!’ Scarpa had half-shouted
to the gaunt man at one point. ‘Time is important, Keska, time!
Just do it! As long as it doesn’t kill us, we can endure it!’
The next morning the significance of that command had
become all too obvious. Keska was evidently one of those outcast
Styric magicians, but not a very good one. He could, with a
great deal of clearly exhausting effort, compress the miles that
lay between them and Scarpa’s intended destination, but only
a few miles each time, and the compression was accompanied
by a horrid kind of wrenching agony. It seemed almost as if the
clumsy magician were jerking them up and hurling them blindly
forward with every ounce of his strength, and Ehlana could
never be certain after each hideous, bruising jump that she was
still intact. She felt torn and battered, but did what she could to
conceal her pain from Alcan. The gentle girl with the large eyes
wept almost continuously now, overcome by her pain and fear
and the misery of their circumstances.
Ehlana drew her mind into the present and looked about
warily. It was approaching evening again. The overcast sky was
gradually darkening:, and the time of day Ehlana dreaded the
most would soon be upon them.
Scarpa looked with some scorn at Keska, who slumped in his
saddle like a wilted flower, obviously near exhaustion. ‘This is
far enough,’ he said. ‘Set up some kind of camp and get the
women down off those horses.’ his brittle eyes grew bright as
he looked Ehlana full in the face. ‘It’s time for the bedraggled
Queen of the Elenes to beg for her supper again. I do hope she’ll
be more convincing this time. It really distresses me to have to
refuse her when her pleas aren’t sufficiently sincere.’
‘Ehlana,’ Krager whispered, touching her shoulder. The fire had
died down to embers, and Ehlana could hear the sound of snores
coming from the other side of their rude camp.
‘What?’ she replied shortly.
‘Keep your voice down.’ He was still wearing the black leather
Peloi jerkin, his shaved head was sparsely stubbled, and his
wine-reeking breath was nearly overpowering. ‘i’m doing You
a favor. Don’t put me in danger. I assume you realize by now
that Scarpa’s completely insane?’
‘Really?’ she replied sardonically. ‘What an amazing thing.’
‘Please don’t make this any more difficult. I seem to have
made a small error in judgment here. If I’d fully realized how
deranged that half-Styric bastard is, I’d have never agreed to
take part in this ridiculous adventure.’
‘What is this strange fascination you have with lunatics,
Krager?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s a character defect. Scarpa actually
believes that he can outwit his father – and even Cyrgon. He
doesn’t really believe that Sparhawk will surrender Bhelliom in
exchange for your return, but he’s managed to about halfconvince
the others. I’m sure you realize by now how he feels
about women. ‘
‘He’s demonstrated it often enough,’ she said bitterly. ‘Does
he share Baron Harparin’s fondness for little boys instead?’
‘Scarpa isn’t fond of anything except himself. He is his only
Passion. I’ve seen him spend hours trimming that beard of his.
It gives him the opportunity to adore his reflection in the mirror.
You haven’t had the opportunity to see his delightful personality
in full flower. The details of this trip are keeping what he chooses
to call his mind occupied. Wait until we get to lqatayos and you
hear him start raving. He makes Martel and Annias seem like
the very souls of sanity by comparison. I don’t dare stay too
long, so listen closely. Scarpa believes that Sparhawk will bring
Bhelliom with him when he comes right enough, but he doesn’t
believe he’ll bring it to trade for you. Scarpa’s absolutely certain
that your husband’s coming in order to have it out with Cyrgon,
and he believes that they’ll destroy each other in the course of
the argument.’
‘Sparhawk has Bhelliom, you fool, and Bhelliom eats Gods
for breakfast.’
‘i’m not here to argue about that. Maybe Sparhawk will win,
and maybe he won’t. That’s really beside the point. What’s
important to us is what Scarpa believes. He’s convinced himself
that Sparhawk and Cyrgon will fight a war of mutual extinction.
Then he thinks that Bhelliom will be left lying around free for
the taking.’
‘What about Zalasta?’
‘I get the strong feeling that Scarpa doesn’t expect Zalasta to
be around when the fight’s over. Scarpa’s more than willing to
kill anybody who gets in his way.’
‘He’d kill his own father?’
Krager shrugged. ‘Blood ties don’t mean anything to Scarpa.
When he was younger, he decided that his mother and his halfsisters
knew things about him that he didn’t want them to share
with the authorities, so he killed them. He hated them anyway,
so that may not mean all that much. If Sparhawk and Cyrgon
do kill each other, and if Zalasta’s broken out in a sudden rash
of mortality during the festivities, Scarpa might just be the only
one left around to take possession of the Bhelliom. He’s got an
army in these jungles, and if he has the Bhelliom as well, he
might be able to pull it off. He’ll march on Matherion, take the
city and slaughter the government. Then he’ll crown himself
emperor. I’m personally betting against it, though, so for God’s
sake keep your temper under control. You’re not really important
to his plans, but you’re vital to Zalasta’s – and mine. If you
do anything at all to set Scarpa off, he’ll kill you as quickly as
he ordered Elron to kill your lady-in-waiting. Zalasta and I
believe that Sparhawk will trade Bhelliom for you, but only if
you’re alive. Don’t enrage that maniac. If he kills you, all our
plans will collapse.’
‘Why are you telling me this, Krager? There’s something else
too, isn’t there?’