He reached inside his surcoat and took out the pouch.
Then he and his tutor stood before the hearth and looked into the crackling flames. ‘Open the pouch,’ Sephrenia instructed.
He worked the knots free.
‘Now, take Bhelliom out. Order it to bring Khwaj to you. Then tell Khwaj what you want. You don’t have to be too explicit. Khwaj will understand your thoughts. Pray that you never understand His.’
He drew in a deep breath and set the pouch down on the hearth. ‘here goes,’ he said. He pulled the pouch open and took the Bhelliom out. The Sapphire Rose was icy cold as he touched it. He lifted it, trying to keep his sense of awe at the sight of it far away from his mind. “Blue-Rose!’ he snapped, holding the jewel in both hands. ‘Bring the voice of Khwaj to me! ‘
He felt a strange shift in the jewel, and a single spot of bright red appeared deep within the azure petals. The Bhelliom suddenly ~grew hot in his hands.
‘KhwaJ!’ Sparhawk barked in the language of Trolls, “I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. I have the rings. Khwaj must do as I command.’
Bhelliom shuddered in his hand.
“I seek Martel-from-Elenia,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘Martel-from-Elenia stayed in this place two sleeps ago. Khwaj will show Sparhawk-from-Elenia what he wishes to see in the fire. Khwaj will make it so Sparhawk-from-Elenia can hear what he wishes to hear. Khwaj will obey!,Now.”
Faintly, as from very far away in some hollow place filled with echoes, there came a howl of rage, a howl overlaid with a crackling sound as of some huge fire.
The flames dancing along the tops of the oak logs in the fireplace lowered until they were little more than a sickly glimmering. Then they rose, bright yellow and filling the entire opening with a sheet of nearly incandescent fire.
Then they froze, no longer a flickering or a dancing but simply a flat, unwavering sheet of motionless yellow. The heat from the fireplace stopped at once as if a pane of thick glass had been set in front of it.
Sparhawk found himself looking into a tent. Martel, drawn and weary-looking, sat at a rough table across from Annias, who looked even worse.
‘Why can’t you find out where they are?’ the Primate of Cimmura was demanding.
“I don’t know, Annias,’ Martel grated. ‘I’ve called up every creature Otha gave me, and none of them has found anything.’
‘Oh, mighty Pandion,’ Annias sneered. “Maybe you should have stayed in your order longer to give Sephrenia time to teach you more than parlour tricks for the amusement of children.’
“You’re getting very close to the point of outliving your usefulness to me, Annias,’ Martel said ominously. “Otha and I can put Any Churchman on the Archprelate’s throne and achieve what we want. You’re not really indispensable, you know.’ And that answered the question of just who was taking orders from whom once and for all.
The tent-flap opened, and the ape-like Adus slouched in. His armour was a mismatched accumulation of bits and pieces of rustsplotched steel drawn from a half-dozen different cultures. Adus, Sparhawk noticed again, had no forehead. His hairline began at his shaggy eyebrows. “It died,’ he reported in a voice that was half-snarl.
“I should make you walk, you idiot,’ Martel told him.
‘It was a weak horse,’ Adus shrugged.
‘It was perfectly fine until you spurred it to death. Go and steal another one.’
Adus grinned. ‘A farm horse?’
‘Any kind of horse you can find. Don’t take all night killing the farmer, though – or amusing yourself with his women. And don’t burn the farmstead down. Let’s not light up the sky and announce our location.’
Adus laughed – at least it sounded sort of like a laugh.
Then he left the tent.
“How can you stand that brute?’ Annias shuddered.
‘Adus? He’s not so bad. Think of him as a walking battle-axe. I use him for killing people, I don’t sleep with him. Speaking of that, have you and Arissa resolved your differences yet?’
‘That harlot!’ ~Annias said with a certain contemPt.
‘You knew what she was when you took up with her, Annias,’ Martel told him. “I thought her depravity was part of what attracted you to her.’ Martel leaned back. ‘It must be Bhelliom,’ he mused.
‘What must?’
‘It’s probably the Bhelliom that’s keeping my creatures from locating Sparhawk.’
“Wouldn’t Azash Himself be able to find out?’
‘I don’t give orders to Azash, Annias. If He wants me to know something, He tells me. It could just be that Bhelliom’s more powerful than He is. When we get to His temple, you can ask Him, if you’re really curious about it. The question might offend Him, but it’s entirely up to you.’
‘How far have we come today?’
“No more than seven leagues. Our pace slowed noticeably after Adus ripped out his horse’s guts with his spurs.’
‘How far to the Zemoch border?’
Martel unrolled a map and consulted it. “I make it about fifty more leagues – five days or so. Sparhawk can’t be more than three days behind us, so we’ll have to keep up the pace.’
“I’m exhausted, Martel. I can’t keep on going like this.’
‘Every time you start brooding about how tired you are, just imagine how it would feel to have Sparhawk’s sword sliding through your guts – or how exquisitely painful it’s going to be when Ehlana beheads you with a pair of sewing scissors – or a bread-knife.’
‘Sometimes I wish I’d never met you, Martel.’
‘The feeling’s entirely mutual, old boy. Once we cross the border into Zemoch, we should be able to slow Sparhawk down a bit. A few ambushes along the way ought to make him a bit more cautious.’
‘We were ordered not to kill him,’ Annias objected.
‘Don’t be an idiot. As long as he has Bhelliom, no human could possibly kill him. We were’ ordered not to kill him – even if we could – but Azash didn’t say anything about the others. The loss of a few of his companions might upset our invincible enemy. He doesn’t look very much like it, but Sparhawk’s a sentimentalist at heart. You’d better go and get some sleep. We’ll start out again just as soon as Adus gets back.’
‘In the dark?’ Annias sounded incredulous.
‘What’s the matter, Annias? Are you afraid of the dark? Think about swords in the belly or the sound of a bread-knife sawing on your neck bone. That should make you brave. ‘
“Khwaj.’ Sparhawk said sharply. “Enough! Go away now!’
The fire returned to normal.
“Blue-Rose!’ Sparhawk said then. ‘Bring the voice of Ghnomb to me ! ‘
‘What are you doing?’ Sephrenia exclaimed, but Bhelliom had already started to respond. The pinpoint of light within the glowing blue petals was a sickly mixture of green and yellow, and Sparhawk suddenly had a foul taste in his mouth, a taste much like the smell of half-decayed meat.
‘Ghnomb!’ Sparhawk said in that harsh voice. “I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I have the rings. Ghnomb must do as I command. I hunt. Ghnomb will help me hunt. I am two sleeps behind the manthing which is my prey. Ghnomb will make it so that my hunters and I can catch the manthing we seek. Sparhawk-from-Elenia will tell Ghnomb when, and Ghnomb will aid our hunt.
Ghnomb will obey!’
Again there was that hollow, echoing howl of rage, a howl filled this time with a slobbering gnawing sound and a horrid, wet smacking of lips.
‘Ghnomb! Go away now!’ Sparhawk commanded.
‘Ghnomb will come again at Sparhawk-from-Elenia’s command!’
The greenish-yellow spot vanished, and Sparhawk thrust the Bhelliom back into the pouch.
“Are you mad?’ Sephrenia exclaimed.
“No, I don’t think so. I want to be so close behind Martel that he won’t have time to set up any ambushes.’
He frowned. ‘It’s beginning to look as if the attempts to kill me really were Martel’s own idea,’ he said. ‘He seems to have different orders now. That clarifies things a bit, but now I have to start worrying about how to protect you and the others.’ He made a face. ‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’
*Chapter 22
‘Sparhawk.’ It was Kurik, and he was shaking his Lord into wakefulness. ‘It’s about an hour before dawn. You wanted me to wake you.’
‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ Sparhawk sat up in his bed, yawning. Then he swung his legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor.
“I slept fine.’
Kurik looked critically at his friend. “You’re not eating enough,’ he accused. “Your bones are sticking out. Get dressed. I’ll go and wake the others, and then I’ll come back and help you into your armour. ‘
Sparhawk rose and pulled on his quilted and rustsplotched undergarments.
‘Very chic,’ Stragen observed sardonically from the doorway. “Is there some obscure part of the knightly code that prohibits laundering those garments?’