back to camp and see if we can find something for her to wear.’
‘And some breakfast, I think.’
‘Would you like that, Flute?’ Sparhawk asked the child.
The little girl smiled and nodded.
‘Why did you call her that?’ Sephrenia asked him.
‘We have to call her something – at least until we find out her real name – if she has one. Let’s go back to the fire where it’s warm.’ He turned and led the way back across the meadow towards the camp.
They crossed the border into Arcium near the city of Dieros, once again avoiding contact with the local inhabitants. They paralleled the road leading eastward, staying well back from that heavily travelled highway. The countryside of the kingdom of Arcium was noticeably different from that of Elenia. Unlike its northern neighbour, Arcium seemed to be a kingdom of walls. They stretched along the roads or cut across open pastureland, often for no apparent reason. The walls were thick and high, and Sparhawk was frequently obliged to lead his knights on long detours to go around them. Wryly he remembered the words of a twenty-fourth-century Patriarch of the Church who, after travelling from Chyrellos to Larium, had referred to Arcium as ‘God’s rock garden’.
The following day they entered a large forest of winter-bare birch trees. As they rode deeper into the chill wood, Sparhawk began to smell smoke and he soon saw a dark pall lying low among the stark white tree-trunks. He halted the column and rode on ahead to investigate.
He had gone perhaps a mile when he came to a cluster of rudely built Styric houses. They were all on fire, and bodies littered the open area around the houses. Sparhawk began to swear. He wheeled the young black horse round and galloped back to where he had left his troops.
‘What is it?’ Sephrenia asked him, looking at his bleak expression. ‘Where’s the smoke coming from?’
‘There was a Styric village up ahead,’ he replied darkly. ‘We both know what the smoke means.’
‘Ah.’ She sighed.
‘You’d better keep the little girl back here until I can get a burial detail up there.’
‘No, Sparhawk. This sort of thing is a part of her heritage, too. All Styrics know that it happens. Besides, I might be able to help the survivors – if there are any.’
‘Have it your own way,’ he said shortly. A huge rage had descended upon him, and he curtly motioned the column forward.
There was some evidence that the hapless Styrics had made an attempt to defend themselves, but that they had been swarmed over by people carrying only the crudest of weapons. Sparhawk put his men to work – some of them digging graves and others extinguishing the fires.
Sephrenia came across the littered field, her face deathly pale. ‘There are only a few women among the dead,’ she reported. ‘I’d guess that the rest fled back into the woods.’
‘See if you can persuade them to come back,’ he said. He looked over at Sir Parasim, who was weeping openly as he spaded dirt out of a grave. The young knight was obviously not emotionally suited for this kind of work. ‘Parasim,’ Sparhawk ordered, ‘go with Sephrenia.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Parasim sobbed, dropping his spade.
The dead were finally all committed to the earth, and Sparhawk briefly murmured an Elene prayer over the graves. It was probably not appropriate for Styrics, but he didn’t really know what else to do.
After about an hour, Sephrenia and Parasim returned. ‘Any luck?’ Sparhawk asked her.
‘We found them,’ she replied, ‘but they won’t come out of the woods.’
‘I can’t really blame them very much,’ he said. ‘We’ll see if we can fix up at least a few of these houses for them to keep them out of the weather.’
‘Don’t waste your time, Sparhawk. They won’t come back to this place. That’s a part of the Styric religion.’
‘Did they give you some idea of which way the Elenes who did this went?’
‘What are you planning, Sparhawk?’
‘Chastisement. That’s a part of the Elene religion.’
‘No. I won’t tell you which way they went, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.’
‘I’m not going to let this pass, Sephrenia. You can tell me or not, whichever you choose. I can find their trail by myself if I need to.’
She looked at him helplessly. Then her eyes became shrewd. ‘A bargain, Sparhawk?’ she suggested.
‘I’ll listen.’
‘I’ll tell you where to find them if you promise not to kill anybody.’
‘All right,’ he agreed grudgingly, his face still black with anger. ‘Which way did they go?’
‘I’m not done yet,’ she said. ‘You’ll stay here with me. I know you, and you sometimes go to extremes. Send someone else to do it.’
He glared at her, then turned. ‘Lakus!’ he bellowed.
‘No,’ she said, ‘not Lakus. He’s as bad as you are.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Parasim, I think.’
‘Parasim?’
‘He’s a gentler person. If we tell him not to kill anybody, he won’t make any mistakes.’
‘All right, then,’ he said from between clenched teeth. ‘Parasim,’ he said to the young knight standing sorrowfully nearby, ‘take a dozen men and run down the animals who did this. Don’t kill anybody, but make them all very, very sorry that they ever came up with the idea.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Parasim said, his eyes suddenly glinting like steel. Sephrenia gave him directions, and he started back to where the other knights were gathered. On his way, he stopped and uprooted a thorn bush. He seized it in one gauntleted fist and swung it very hard at an unoffending birch tree, ripping off a fair-sized chunk of white bark.
‘Oh, dear,’ Sephrenia murmured.
‘He’ll do just fine.’ Sparhawk laughed mirthlessly. ‘I have great hopes for that young man and great faith in his sense of the appropriate.’
Some distance away, Flute was standing over the scattered graves. She was playing her pipes softly, and her melody seemed to convey aeons of sorrow.
The weather continued cold and unpleasant, though no significant amounts of snow fell. After a week of steady travel, they reached a ruined castle some six or eight leagues west of the city of Darra. Kalten and the main body of the Pandion Knights awaited them there.
‘I thought you’d got lost,’ the blond man said as he reined up in front of Sparhawk. He looked curiously at Flute, who sat in front of Sparhawk’s saddle, her bare feet both on one side of the black horse’s
