‘You don’t hate me then, Sir Sparhawk?’
‘Hate you? God no, Berit. I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t feel this way about some young, pretty girl.’
Berit sighed. ‘Thank you, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said.
‘Berit, before very long, you’re going to be a full-fledged Pandion Knight, and then we’ll be brothers. Do you suppose we could drop that “sir”? Just “Sparhawk” will do. I more or less recognize the name.’
‘If you wish, Sparhawk,’ Berit said. He offered his friend the letter.
‘Why don’t you keep it for me? I’ve got a lot of clutter in my saddlebags, and I wouldn’t want to lose it.’
Then the two of them, their shoulders almost touching, went aft to see if Kurik needed any help with the ship.
They rigged a sea-anchor that evening, and when they awoke the following morning, they found that the rain and snow had passed, though the sky was still lead-grey.
‘That cloud’s there again, Sparhawk,’ Berit reported, coming forward from the stern. ‘It’s a good long way behind us, but it’s definitely there.’
Sparhawk looked aft. Now that he could actually see it, it did not seem quite so menacing. When it had been that vague shadow hovering always at the very edge of his vision, it had filled him with an unnamed dread. Now he had to be very careful not to think of it as little more than some minor annoyance. It was still dangerous, after all. A faint smile touched his lips. It appeared that even a God could blunder, could push something past the point of effectiveness.
‘Why don’t you just dissolve that thing with Bhelliom, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked irritably.
‘Because it would just form up again. Why waste the effort?’
‘You aren’t going to do anything about it then?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘What?’
‘I’m going to ignore it.’
About mid-morning they landed on a snowy beach, waded the horses ashore and set the boat adrift. Then they mounted and rode inland.
The eastern side of the gulf was far more arid than the mountains to the west had been, and the rocky hills were covered with a layer of fine black sand, thinly covered in sheltered spots with skiffs of powdery snow. The wind was bitingly cold, and it lifted clouds of dust and snow to engulf them as they pushed on. They rode through what seemed a perpetual twilight, their mouths and noses covered with scarves.
‘Slow going,’ Ulath observed laconically, carefully wiping dust from his eyes. ‘Martel’s decision to go by way of Aka might have been wise.’
‘I’m sure it’s just as cold and dusty on the road from Aka to Zemoch,’ Sparhawk said. He smiled faintly. ‘Martel’s a fastidious sort. He absolutely abhors getting dirty. The notion of a couple of pounds of fine black sand mixed with snow sifting down the back of his neck sort of appeals to me for some reason.’
‘That’s very petty, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia chided.
‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I’m like that sometimes.’
They took shelter that night in a cave, and when they emerged the following morning they found that the sky had cleared, although the wind had picked up and was stirring up clouds of the perpetual dust.
Berit was the sort of young man who took his responsibilities very seriously. He had taken it upon himself to scout around at first light, and he was just returning as the rest of them gathered at the cave mouth. They could clearly see his look of revulsion as he came nearer. ‘There are some people out there, Sparhawk,’ he said as he dismounted.
‘Soldiers?’
‘No. They have old people and women and children with them. They have a few weapons, but they don’t seem to know how to handle them.’
‘What are they doing?’ Kalten asked.
Berit coughed nervously and looked around. ‘I’d really rather not say, Sir Kalten, and I don’t think we want Lady Sephrenia to see them. They’ve set up a sort of an altar with a clay idol on it, and they’re doing things people shouldn’t do in public. I think they’re just a group of degenerate peasants.’
‘We’d better tell Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk decided.
‘I couldn’t do that, Sparhawk,’ Berit said, blushing. ‘I couldn’t describe what they’re doing in front of her.’
‘Generalize, Berit. You don’t have to be too specific’
Sephrenia, however, proved to be curious. ‘Exactly what are they doing, Berit?’
‘I knew she was going to ask,’ Berit muttered reproachfully to Sparhawk. ‘They’re – um – they’re sacrificing animals, Lady Sephrenia, and they aren’t wearing any clothes – even in this cold. They’re smearing blood from the sacrifices on their bodies, and they’re – um –’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m familiar with the rite. Describe the people. Do they look Styric, or are they more Elene?’
‘Many of them are fair-haired, Lady Sephrenia.’
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘that’s who they are then. They don’t pose any particular danger. The idol is another matter, though. We can’t leave it behind us. We have to smash it.’
‘For the same reason we had to break the one in the cellar at Ghasek?’ Kalten asked.
‘Exactly.’ She made a little face. ‘I shouldn’t really say this, but the Younger Gods blundered when they confined Azash to that clay idol in the shrine near Ghanda. The idea was sound enough, but they overlooked something. The idol can be duplicated by men, and if certain rites are performed, the Spirit of Azash can enter the duplicates.’
‘What do we do?’ Bevier asked.
‘We smash the idol before the rite’s completed.’
The unclad Zemochs in the canyon were none too clean, and their hair was tangled and matted. Sparhawk had never truly realized before just how much of human ugliness is concealed by clothing. The naked worshippers appeared to be peasants and herdsmen, and they squealed with fright as the mail-shirted knights burst upon them. The fact that the attackers were disguised as Zemochs added to their confusion. They ran this way and that, bawling in terror.
Four of their number wore crude ecclesiastical robes, and they stood before the altar where they had just finished sacrificing a goat. Three of them gaped in stunned disbelief at the knights, but the fourth, a scraggly-bearded fellow with a narrow head, was weaving his fingers and speaking desperately in Styric. He released a series of apparitions which were so ineptly formed as to be laughable.