nodded. ‘I don’t think he really belongs in a militant order. A regular monastery would probably suit his temperament better.’ He looked around, then stepped outside the circle of firelight, dragged a log to the side of the fire, and covered it with his cloak. ‘It’s not exactly an easy chair,’ he apologized, ‘but it’s better than sitting on the ground.’
‘Thank you, Sparhawk.’ She smiled. ‘That was very thoughtful of you.’
‘I do have a few manners, I suppose.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘This is going to be a hard journey for you, I’m afraid.’
‘I can endure it, my dear.’
‘Perhaps, but don’t go out of your way to be unnecessarily brave. If you get tired or cold, don’t hesitate to say something to me.’
‘I’ll be just fine, Sparhawk. Styrics are a hardy people.’
‘Sephrenia,’ he said then, ‘how long will it be until the twelve knights who were in the throne room with you begin to die?’
‘That’s really impossible to say, Sparhawk.’
‘Will you know – each time it happens, I mean?’
‘Yes. At the moment, I’m the one to whom their swords will be delivered.’
‘Their swords?’
‘The swords were the instruments of the spell, and they symbolize the burden that must be passed on.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been wiser to have distributed that responsibility?’
‘I chose not to.’
‘That might have been a mistake.’
‘Perhaps, but it was mine to make.’
He began to pace angrily. ‘We should be working on a cure instead of riding halfway across Arcium,’ he burst out.
‘This is important, too, Sparhawk.’
‘I couldn’t bear to lose you and Ehlana,’ he said, ‘and Vanion, too.’
‘There’s still time, dear one.’
He sighed. ‘Are you all settled in, then?’ he asked her.
‘Yes. I have everything I need.’
‘Try to get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be starting early. Good night, Sephrenia.’
‘Sleep well, Sparhawk.’
He awoke as daybreak had begun to spread its light through the wood. He strapped on his armour, shivering at the touch of the cold plate. He emerged from the tent he shared with five other knights and looked around the sleeping camp. Sephrenia’s fire was flickering in front of her tent again, and her white robe gleamed in the steely light of dawn and the glow of her fire.
‘You’re up early,’ he said as he approached her.
‘So are you. How far is it to the border?’
‘We should cross into Arcium today.’
And then from somewhere out in the forest they heard a strange, flute-like sound. The melody was in a minor key, but it was not sad; rather it seemed filled with an ageless joy.
Sephrenia’s eyes grew wide, and she made a peculiar gesture with her right hand.
‘A shepherd maybe?’ Sparhawk said.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not a shepherd.’ She stood up. ‘Come with me, Sparhawk,’ she said, and then she led him away from the fire.
The sky was growing lighter as they moved out into the meadow lying just to the south of their encampment, following the flute-like sound. They approached the sentry Sparhawk had stationed there.
‘You heard it, too, my Lord Sparhawk?’ the black-armoured knight asked.
‘Yes. Can you see who it is or where it’s coming from?’
‘I can’t make out who it is yet, but it seems to be coming from that tree out in the centre of the meadow. Do you want me to come along with you?’
‘No. Stay here. We’ll investigate.’
Sephrenia had already gone on ahead, moving directly towards the tree that seemed to be the source of the strange melody.
‘You’d better let me go first,’ Sparhawk said when he caught up with her.
‘There’s no danger, Sparhawk.’
When they reached the tree, Sparhawk peered up through the shadowy limbs and saw the mysterious musician. It was a little girl of six or so. Her long hair was black and glossy, and her large eyes were as deep as night. A headband of plaited grass encircled her brow, holding her hair back. She was sitting on a limb breathing sound into a simple, many-chambered set of pipes such as a goatherd might play. Although it was quite cold, she wore only a short, belted linen smock that left her arms and legs bare. Her grass-stained, unshod feet were crossed, and she perched on the limb with a sedate sureness.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Sparhawk asked, puzzled. ‘There aren’t any houses or villages around.’
‘I think she’s been waiting for us,’ Sephrenia replied.
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’ He looked up at the child. ‘What’s your name, little girl?’ he asked.
‘Let me question her, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said. ‘She’s a Styric child, and they tend to be shy.’ She pushed back her hood and spoke to the little girl in a dialect Sparhawk did not understand.
The child lowered her rude pipe and smiled. Her lips were like a small, pink bow.
Sephrenia asked her another question in a strange, gentle tone.
The little girl shook her head.
‘Does she live in some house back in the forest?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘She has no home nearby,’ Sephrenia said.
‘Doesn’t she talk?’
‘She chooses not to.’
Sparhawk looked around. ‘Well, we can’t leave her here.’ He reached up his arms to the child. ‘Come down, little girl,’ he said.
She smiled at him and slipped off the limb into his hands. Her weight was very slight, and her hair smelled of grass and trees. She confidently put her arms about his neck and then wrinkled her nose at the smell of his armour.
He set her down on her feet, and she immediately went to Sephrenia, took the small woman’s hands in hers, and kissed them. Something peculiarly Styric seemed to pass between the woman and the little girl, something that Sparhawk could not understand. Sephrenia lifted the child into her arms and held her close. ‘What will we do with
