"Hail, Knights of the Church," the leather-garbed leader intoned formally. "We salute you, and stand at your service."
"Can I handle this?" Tynian suggested to Sparhawk. "I've had some experience."
"Feel free, Tynian," Sparhawk agreed, eyeing the pack of savage men on the hill.
Tynian moved forward, holding his black horse in tightly so that its pace was measured and slow. "Gladly we greet the Peloi," the Deiran declaimed formally. "Glad also are we of this meeting, for brothers should always greet each other with respect."
"You know our ways, Sir Knight, " the scar-headed man approved.
"I have been in times past on the eastern marches, Domi," Tynian acknowledged.
"What's "Domi" mean?" Kalten whispered.
"An ancient Pelosian word," Ulath supplied. "It means "chief" - sort of."
"Sort of?"
"It takes a long time to translate."
"Will you take salt with me, Sir Knight?" the warrior asked.
"Gladly, Domi," Tynian replied, stepping slowly down from his saddle. "And might we season it with well roasted mutton?" he suggested.
"An excellent suggestion, Sir Knight."
"Get it," Sparhawk said to Talen. "It's in that green pack. And don't argue."
"I'd sooner bite out my tongue," Talen agreed nervously, digging into the pack.
"Warm day, isn't it?" the Domi said conversationally, sitting cross-legged on the lush turf.
"We were saying the same thing just a few minutes ago," Tynian agreed, also sitting.
"I am Kring," the scarred man introduced himself, "Domi of this band."
"I am Tynian," the Deiran replied, "an Alcione Knight."
"I surmised as much."
Talen went a bit hesitantly to where the two men sat, carrying a roast leg of lamb.
"Well-prepared meat," Kring proclaimed, unhooking a leather bag of salt from his belt. "The Knights of the Church eat well." He ripped the lamb-roast in two with teeth and fingernails and handed half to Tynian. Then he held out his leather bag. "Salt, brother?" he offered.
Tynian dipped his fingers into the bag, took out a generous pinch and sifted it over his lamb. Then he shook his fingers in the direction of the four winds.
"You are well-versed in our ways, friend Tynian," the Domi approved, imitating the gesture. "And is this excellent young fellow perhaps your son?"
"Ah, no, Domi," Tynian sighed. "He's a good lad, but he's addicted to thievery."
"Ho-ho!" Kring laughed, fetching Talen a clap on the shoulder that sent the boy rolling. "Thievery is the second most honourable profession in the world - next to fighting. Are you any good, boy?"
Talen smiled thinly, and his eyes went narrow. "Would you care to try me, Domi?" he challenged, coming to his feet. "Protect what you can, and I'll steal the rest."
The warrior rolled back his head, roaring with laughter. Talen, Sparhawk noticed, was already close to him, his hands moving fast.
"All right, my young thief," the Domi chortled, holding his wide-spread hands out in front of him, "steal what you can."
Thank you all the same, Domi," Talen said with a polite bow, "but I already have. I believe I've got just about everything of value you own."
Kring blinked and began to pat himself here and there, his eyes filled with consternation.
Kurik groaned.
"It may turn out all right after all," Sparhawk muttered to him.
Two brooches," Talen catalogued, handing them over, "seven rings - the one on your left thumb is really tight, you know. A gold bracelet -" have that checked. I think there's brass mixed with it. A ruby pendant - I hope you didn't pay too much for it. It's really an inferior stone, you know. Then there's this jewelled dagger, and the pommel-stone off your sword." Talen brushed his hands together professionally.
The Domi roared with laughter. "I'll buy this boy, friend Tynian," he declared. "I'll give you a herd of the finest horses for him and raise him as my own son. Such a thief I've never seen before."
"Ah - sorry, friend Kring," Tynian apologized, but he's not mine to sell."
Kring sighed. "Could you even steal horses, boy?" he asked wistfully.
"A horse is a little hard to fit in your pocket, Domi," Talen replied. "I could probably work it out, though."
"A lad of genius," the warrior said reverently. "His father is a man of great fortune."
"I hadn't noticed that very much," Kurik muttered.
"Ah, young thief," Kring said almost regretfully, "I seem to be also missing a purse - a fairly heavy one."
"Oh, did I forget that?" Talen said, slapping his forehead. "It must have completely slipped my mind." He fished a bulging leather bag out from under his tunic and handed it over.
"Count it, friend Kring," Tynian warned.
"Since the boy and I are now friends, I will trust his integrity." Talen sighed and fished a large number of silver coins out of various hiding places. "I wish people wouldn't do that," he said, handing the coins over. "It takes all the fun out of it."
"Two herds of horses?" the Domi offered.
"Sorry, my friend," Tynian said regretfully. "Let us take salt and talk of affairs."
The two sat eating their salted lamb as Talen wandered back to the wagon. "He should have taken the horses," he muttered to Sparhawk. "I could have slipped away just after dark."
"He'd have chained you to a tree," Sparhawk told him.
"I can wriggle my way out of any chain in less than a minute. Do you have any idea of how much horses like he's got are worth, Sparhawk?"
"Training this boy may take longer than we'd expected," Kalten noted.
"Will you require an escort, friend Tynian?" Kring was asking. "We are engaged in no more than a slight diversion, and we will gladly put it aside to assist our holy mother Church and her revered Knights."
"Thank you, friend Kring," Tynian declined, but our mission involves nothing we can't deal with."
"Truly. The prowess of the Knights of the Church is legendary."
"What is this diversion you mentioned, Domi?" Tynian asked curiously. "Seldom have I seen the Peloi this far west."
"We normally haunt the eastern marches," Kring admitted, ripping a large chunk of lamb off the bone with his teeth, "but from time to time over the past few generations, Zemochs have been trying to slip across the border into Pelosia. The king pays a gold half-crown for their ears. It's an easy way to make money."
"Does the king demand both ears?"
"No, just the right ones. We still have to be careful with our sabres, though. You can lose the whole bounty with a mis-aimed stroke. Anyway, my friends and I Rushed a fair-sized group of Zemochs near the border. We took a number of them, but the rest fled. They were coming this way last we saw them, and some were wounded. Blood leaves a good trail. We'll run them down and collect their ears - and the gold. It's just a question of time."
"I think I might be able to save you a bit of that, my friend," Tynian said with a broad smile. "From time to time in the last day or so, we've seen a fairly large party of Zemochs riding to our rear. It might just be that they're the ones you're seeking. In any case, though, an ear is an ear, and the king's gold spends just as sweetly even if it chances to be mistakenly dispensed."
Kring laughed delightedly. "It does indeed, friend Tynian," he agreed. "And who knows, it could just be that there are two bags of gold available out here. How many are they, would you say?"
"We've seen forty or so. They're coming up the road from the south."
They won't come much farther," Kring promised, grinning a wolf-like grin. "This was indeed a fortunate meeting, Sir Tynian - at least for me and my comrades.
But why didn't you and your companions turn around and collect the bounty?"
"We weren't really aware of the bounty, Domi," Tynian confessed, "and we're on Church business of some urgency." He made a wry face. "Besides, even if we did gain that bounty, our oaths would require that we hand it over to the Church. Some fat abbot somewhere would profit from our labours. I don't propose to sweat that much to enrich a man who's never done an honest day's work in his life. I'd far rather point a friend in the direction of honest gain."
Impulsively, Kring embraced him. "My brother," he said, "you are a true friend. It's an honour to have met you."
"The honour is mine, Domi," Tynian said gravely.
The Domi wiped his ~greasy fingers on his leather breaches. well, I suppose we should be on our way, friend Tynian," he said. "Slow riding earns no bounty." He paused. "Are you sure you don't want to sell that boy?"
"He's the son of a friend of mine," Tynian said. "I wouldn't mind getting rid of the boy, but the friendship's valuable to me."
"I understand perfectly, friend Tynian." Kring bowed.
"Commend me to God next time you talk with Him." He vaulted into his saddle from a standing start, and his horse was running before he was even settled.
Ulath walked up to Tynian and gravely shook his hand. "You're fast on your feet," he observed. "That was absolutely brilliant."
"It was a fair trade," Tynian said modestly. "We get the Zemochs off our backs, and Kring gets the ears. No bargain between friends is fair unless both sides get something they want."
"Very, very true, Ulath agreed. "I've never heard of selling ears before, though. Usually it's heads."
"Ears are lighter," Tynian said professionally, "and they don't stare at you every time you open your saddlebags."
"Would you gentlemen mind?" Sephrenia said tartly.
"We have children with us, after all."
"Sorry, little mother," Ulath apologized easily. "Just talking shop."
She stalked back to the wagon, muttering. Sparhawk was fairly certain that some of the Styric words she was saying under her breath were never used in polite society. Who were they?" Bevier asked, looking at the warriors who were rapidly disappearing towards the south.
They're of the Peloi," Tynian replied, "nomadic horse herders. They were the first Elenes in this region. The kingdom of Pelosia is named after them."
"Are they as fierce as they look?"
"Even fiercer. Their presence on the border was probably why Otha invaded Lamorkand instead of Pelosia. No one in his right mind attacks the Peloi."
They reached Lake Venne late the following day. It was a large, shallow body of water into which nearby peat-bogs continually drained, making the water turbid and brown-stained. Flute seemed strangely agitated as they made camp some distance back from the marshy lakeshore, and as soon as Sephrenia's tent was erected, she darted inside and refused to come out.
"What's the matter with her?" Sparhawk asked Sephrenia, absently rubbing the ring finger on his left hand. It seemed to be throbbing for some reason.
"I really don't know," Sephrenia frowned. "It's almost as if she's afraid of something."
After they had eaten and Sephrenia had carried Flute's supper in to her, Sparhawk closely questioned each of his injured companions. They all claimed perfect health, a claim he was sure was spurious. "All right, then." He gave up finally. "We'll go back to doing it the old way. You gentlemen can have your armour back, and we'll try a canter tomorrow. No galloping, no running and if we run into any trouble, try to hold back unless things get serious."
"He's just like an old mother hen, isn't he?" Kalten observed to Tynian.
"If he scratches up a worm, you get to eat it," Tynian replied.
"Thanks all the same, Tynian," Kalten declined, But I've already had my supper."
Sparhawk went to bed.
It was about midnight, and the moon was very bright outside the tent. Sparhawk sat bolt upright in his blankets, jolted awake by a hideous, roaring bellow.
"Sparhawk!" Ulath said sharply from outside the tent.
"Rouse the others, fast!"
Sparhawk shook Kalten awake and pulled on his mail-shirt. He grabbed up his sword and ducked out of the tent. He looked around quickly and saw that the others needed no rousing. They were already struggling into their mail and were taking up weapons. Ulath stood at the edge of camp, his round shield in place and his axe in his hand. He was looking off intently into the darkness. Sparhawk joined him.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"What makes a noise like that?"
"Troll," Ulath replied shortly.
"Here? In Pelosia? Ulath, that's impossible. There aren't any Trolls in Pelosia."
"Why don't you go out there and explain that to him?"
"Are you absolutely sure it's a Troll?"
"I've heard that sound too many times to miss it. It's a Troll, all right, and he's absolutely enraged about something."
"Maybe we should build up the fire," Sparhawk suggested as the others joined them.
"It wouldn't do any good," Ulath said. "Trolls aren't afraid of fire."
"You know their language, don't you?"
Ulath grunted.
"Why don't you call to him and tell him that we mean him no harm?"
"Sparhawk," Ulath said with a pained look, "In this situation, it's the other way around. If he attacks, try to strike at his legs," he warned them all. "If you swing at his body, he'll jerk your weapons out of your hands and feed them to you. All right, I'll try to talk with him." He lifted his head and bellowed something in a horrid, guttural language.
Something out there in the darkness replied, snarling and spitting.
"What did it say?" Sparhawk asked.
"He's cursing. It may take him an hour or so to get finished. Trolls have a lot of swear-words in their language." Ulath frowned. "He doesn't really sound all that sure of himself," he said, sounding puzzled.
"Perhaps our numbers are making it cautious," Bevier suggested.
They don't know what the word means," Ulath disagreed. "I've seen a lone Troll attack a walled city."