‘I think they’ll stand aside for me, My Lord. Martel’s going north – at least that’s what he said. He may go as far north as Paler, or he may not. It doesn’t really matter, because I’m going to follow him no matter where he goes. He wants me to follow him. He made that fairly clear down in that cellar, and he was very careful to make sure that I heard him because he wants to deliver me to Azash. I think I can trust him not to put anything in my way. I know it sounds a little peculiar, but I think we can actually trust Martel this time. If he really has to, he’ll take his sword and clear a path for me.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘My brother’s tender concern for my welfare touches my heart.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘You said that even suggesting the destruction of a God is unthinkable, didn’t you? What would be the general reaction to the idea of destroying Bhelliom?’
‘That’s even more unthinkable, Sparhawk.’
‘Then the notion that I might be considering it won’t even occur to them, will it?’
She shook her head mutely, her eyes strangely frightened as she looked at him.
‘That’s our advantage then, My Lords,’ Sparhawk declared. ‘I can do the one thing that no one can bring himself to believe that I’ll do. I can destroy the Bhelliom – or threaten to. Somehow I have the feeling that people – and Gods – are going to start getting out of my way if I do that.’
Preceptor Abriel was still stubbornly shaking his head. ‘You’ll be trying to bull your way through primitive Zemochs in eastern Pelosia and along the border, Sparhawk. Not even Otha has control over those savages.’
‘Permission to speak, Sarathi?’ Kring asked in a profoundly respectful tone.
‘Of course, my son.’ Dolmant looked a bit puzzled. He had no idea of who this fierce man was.
‘I can get you through eastern Pelosia and well into Zemoch, friend Sparhawk,’ Kring said. ‘If the Zemochs are all spread out, my horsemen can ride right through them. We’ll leave a swath of bodies five miles wide from Paler to the Zemoch border – all minus their right ears of course.’ Kring’s broad grin was wolfish. He looked around in a self-congratulatory way. Then he saw Mirtai, who sat demurely beside Ehlana. His eyes went wide, and he first went pale and then bright red. Then he sighed lustily.
‘I wouldn’t, if I were you,’ Sparhawk warned him.
‘What?’
‘I’ll explain later.’
‘I hate to admit it,’ Bevier said, ‘but this plan’s looking better and better. We really shouldn’t have much trouble at all getting to Otha’s capital.’
‘We?’ Kalten asked.
‘We were going to go along, weren’t we, Kalten?’
‘Has it got any chance at all of working, little mother?’ Vanion asked.
‘No, Lord Vanion, it hasn’t!’ Ehlana interrupted him. ‘Sparhawk can’t go to Zemoch and use Bhelliom to kill Azash because he doesn’t have both rings. I’ve got one of them, and he’ll have to kill me to get it away from me.’
That was something Sparhawk had not considered. ‘My Queen –’ he began.
‘I have not given you leave to speak, Sir Sparhawk!’ she told him. ‘You will not pursue this vain and foolhardy scheme! You will not throw your life away! Your life is mine, Sparhawk! Mine! You do not have our permission to take it from us!’
‘That’s plain enough,’ Wargun said, ‘and it takes us right back to where we started from.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Dolmant said quietly. He rose to his feet. ‘Queen Ehlana,’ he said sternly, ‘will you submit to the will of our holy mother, the Church?’
She looked at him defiantly.
‘Will you?’
‘I am a true daughter of the Church,’ she said sullenly.
‘I’m delighted to hear it, my child. It is the command of the Church that you surrender this trinket into her hands for some brief time that she may use it in furtherance of her work.’
‘That’s not fair, Dolmant,’ she accused.
‘Will you defy the Church, Ehlana?’
‘I – I can’t!’ she wailed.
‘Then give me the ring.’ He held out his hand.
Ehlana burst into tears. She clutched his arms and buried her face in his robe.
‘Give me the ring, Ehlana,’ he repeated.
She looked up at him, dashing the tears from her eyes with one defiant hand.
‘Only on one condition, Sarathi,’ she countered.
‘Will you try to bargain with our holy mother?’
‘No, Sarathi, I am merely obeying one of her earlier commands. She instructs us to marry so that we may increase the congregation of the faithful. I will surrender the ring to you on the day you join me with Sir Sparhawk in marriage. I’ve worked too hard to get him to let him escape me now. Will our holy mother consent to this?’
‘It seems fair to me,’ Dolmant said, smiling benignly at Sparhawk, who was gaping at the two of them as he was traded off like a side of beef.
Ehlana had a very good memory. As Platime had instructed her, she spat in her hand. ‘Done, then!’ she said.
Dolmant had been around for a long time, so he recognized the gesture. He also spat on his palm. ‘Done!’ he said, and the two of them smacked their palms together, sealing Sparhawk’s fate.
PART THREE
Zemoch
Chapter 19
The room was cool. The heat of the desert evaporated when the sun went down, and there was always an arid chill by morning. Sparhawk stood at the window as velvet night bled from the sky and the shadows in the street below shrank back into corners and doorways to be replaced by a pale greyness that was not so much light as it was an absence of dark.
Then the first of them emerged from a shadowy alley with a clay vessel balanced on her shoulder. She was robed and hooded in black, and a black veil covered the lower half of her face. She moved through the pale light with a grace so exquisite that it made Sparhawk’s heart ache. Then there were others. One by one they emerged from doorways and alleys to join the silent procession, each with her clay vessel upon her shoulder, and each following a ritual so old that it had become instinctive. However it was that the men began their day, the women inevitably started theirs by going to the well.
Lillias stirred. ‘Mahkra,’ she said in a voice blurred with sleep, ‘come back to bed.’
He could hear the bells in the distance even over the incessant bawling of the half-wild cows in the yards around him. The religion of this kingdom discouraged bells, so Sparhawk knew that the sound came from a place where members of his own faith were gathered. There was no other place to go, so he stumbled on towards the sound of the bells. The hilt of his sword was slippery with blood, and the weapon seemed very heavy now. He wanted to be free of its weight, and it would be so easy to let it slip from his fingers to he lost in the dung-smelling darkness. A true knight, however, surrendered his sword only to death, and Sparhawk grimly clamped his fist about the sword-hilt and lurched on, following the bells. He was cold, and the blood flowing from his wounds seemed very warm, even comforting. He staggered on through the chill night with the blood flowing from his side warming him.