Martel possibly lurking around somewhere among them?’ Sparhawk asked hopefully.
Kalten shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ He stood up in his stirrups, shifting his sword around. ‘Why don’t we just go ahead and attack them?’ he suggested. ‘I’m getting cold.’
‘I think Count Radun would be disappointed if we didn’t let him take part in the fight.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘Is there anything unusual about the mercenaries?’
‘Run of the mill – except that about half of them are Rendors.’
‘Rendors?’
‘They don’t smell very good, do they?’
Sephrenia, accompanied by Parasim and Flute, came up to join them.
‘Good morning, Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk greeted her.
‘Why all the bustle?’ she asked.
‘We have company coming. We thought we’d ride out to greet them.’
‘Martel?’
‘No. I’m afraid it’s only Adus – and a few friends.’ He shifted the helmet he was holding under his left arm. ‘Since Martel isn’t leading them, and since Adus can barely speak Elenic, much less Styric, there isn’t anybody out there who could stir up enough magic to knock a fly off the wall. I’m afraid that means that you’ve made the trip for nothing. I want you to stay back here in the woods, well hidden and out of danger. Sir Parasim will stay with you.’
The young knight’s face filled with disappointment.
‘No, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘I need no guard, and this is Parasim’s first battle. We won’t deprive him of it.’
Parasim’s face shone with gratitude.
Kurik came back through the woods from the place where he had been keeping watch. ‘The sun’s coming up,’ he reported, ‘and Adus is leading his men over the top of that hill.’
‘We’d better mount up, then,’ Sparhawk said.
The Pandions swung up into their saddles and moved cautiously through the wood until they reached the edge of the broad meadow that surrounded the count’s castle. Then they waited, watching the black-armoured mercenaries riding down the hill in the golden dawn sunlight.
Adus, who normally spoke in grunts and belches, rode up to the gate of Count Radun’s castle and read haltingly from a piece of paper which he held in front of him at arm’s length.
‘Can’t he extemporize?’ Kalten asked quietly. ‘He’s only asking for permission to enter the castle.’
‘Martel doesn’t take chances,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and Adus usually has trouble remembering his own name.’
Adus continued to read his request. He had some trouble with the word admission, since it had more than one syllable.
Then Count Radun appeared on the battlements to announce regretfully that the windlass which raised and lowered the drawbridge was broken and to beg them to be patient until it was repaired.
Adus mulled that over. It took him quite a while. The mercenaries dismounted and lounged about on the grass at the foot of the castle wall.
‘This is going to be almost too easy.’ Kalten muttered.
‘Let’s just make sure that none of them get away,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘I don’t want anybody riding to Annias with word of what has really happened today.’
‘I still think Vanion’s trying to be too clever about this.’
‘Maybe that’s why he’s the preceptor and we’re only knights.’
A red banner appeared atop the count’s walls.
‘There’s the signal,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Radun’s forces are ready.’ He put on his helmet, gathered his reins, and rose in his stirrups, firmly holding Faran in. Then he raised his voice. ‘Charge!’ he roared.
‘Any chance at all?’ Kalten asked.
‘No,’ Sparhawk replied with deep regret as he lowered Sir Parasim to the ground. ‘He’s gone.’ He smoothed the young knight’s hair with his hand, then gently closed the vacant eyes.
‘He wasn’t ready to come up against Adus,’ Kalten said.
‘Did that animal get completely away?’
‘I’m afraid so. After he cut down Parasim, he rode off to the south with about a dozen other survivors.’
‘Send some people after him,’ Sparhawk said bleakly as he straightened the fallen Sir Parasim’s limbs. ‘Tell them to run him into the sea if necessary.’
‘Do you want me to do it?’
‘No. You and I have to go to Chyrellos.’ He raised his voice then. ‘Berit,’ he shouted.
The novice approached at a half-run. He was wearing an old mail shirt splashed with blood and a dented foot soldier’s helmet with no visor. He carried a grim, long-handled battle-axe.
Sparhawk looked closely at the blood on the rangy youth’s mail shirt. ‘Is any of that yours?’ he asked.
‘No, my Lord,’ Berit answered. ‘All theirs.’ He looked pointedly at the mercenary dead littering the field.
‘Good. What’s your feeling about a long ride?’
‘As my Lord commands.’
‘He’s got good manners, at least,’ Kalten observed. ‘Berit,’ he said then, ‘ask “Where?” before you agree so quickly.’
‘I’ll remember that, my Lord Kalten.’
‘I want you to come with me,’ Sparhawk said to the novice. ‘We need to talk with Count Radun before you leave.’ He turned to Kalten. ‘Get a group of men to chase Adus,’ he said. ‘Push him hard. I don’t want him to have time to send one of his people to Cimmura to report all of this to Annias. Tell the rest of the men to bury our dead and care for the wounded.’
‘What about these?’ Kalten pointed at the dead bodies of the mercenaries heaped in front of the castle walls.
‘Burn them.’
Count Radun met Sparhawk and Berit in the courtyard of his castle. He was wearing full armour and held his sword in his hand. ‘I see that the reputation of the Pandions is well deserved,’ he said.
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I have a favour – no, two favours – to ask of you.’
