got to do with Zemoch?’
‘I’ll get to that in due time.’
Talen looked over at Kurik. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this is a good story. Why didn’t they tell it in that school you put me in?’
‘Probably because you didn’t stay long enough to give them the chance.’
‘That’s possible, I suppose.’
‘How much farther is it to Demos?’ Kalten asked, squinting at the late afternoon sun to gauge the time.
‘About twelve leagues,’ Kurik replied.
‘We’ll never make that before nightfall. Is there an inn or a tavern hereabouts?’
‘There’s a village away up ahead. They have an inn.’
‘What do you think, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked.
‘I suppose we might as well,’ the big man agreed. ‘We wouldn’t do the horses any good by riding them all night in the cold.’
The sun was going down as they rode up a long hill towards the village. Since it was behind them, it projected their shadows far out to the front. The village was small, with thatch-roofed stone houses clustered together on either side of the road. The inn at the far end was hardly more than a taproom with a sleeping loft on the upper floor. The supper they were provided with, however, was far better than the poor fare they had been offered the previous night.
‘Are we going to the motherhouse when we get to Demos?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk after they had eaten in the low, torchlit common room.
Sparhawk considered it. ‘It’s probably being watched,’ he said. ‘Escorting the Patriarch back to Chyrellos gives us an excuse to be passing through Demos, but I’d rather not have anyone see his Grace and me go into the cloister to talk with Arissa. If Annias gets any clues about what we’ve got planned, he’ll try to counter us. Kurik, have you got any spare room at your house?’
‘There’s an attic – and a hay loft.’
‘Good. We’ll be visiting you.’
‘Aslade will be delighted.’ Kurik’s eyes grew troubled. ‘Can I talk with you for a moment, Sparhawk?’
Sparhawk pushed back his stool and followed his squire to the far side of the flagstone-floored room.
‘You weren’t really serious about leaving Talen with Aslade, were you?’ Kurik asked quietly.
‘No,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘probably not. You were right when you said that she might be very unhappy if she finds out about your indiscretion, and Talen has a busy mouth. He could let things slip.’
‘What are we going to do with him, then?’
‘I haven’t decided yet. Berit’s looking after him and keeping him out of trouble.’
Kurik smiled. ‘I expect it’s the first time in his life that Talen’s come up against somebody who won’t tolerate his clever mouth. That lesson may be more important than all the history he’s picking up.’
‘The same thought had occurred to me.’ Sparhawk glanced over at the novice, who was talking respectfully with Sephrenia. ‘I’ve got a feeling that Berit’s going to make a very good Pandion,’ he said. ‘He’s got character and intelligence, and he was very good in that fight down in Arcium.’
‘He was fighting on foot,’ Kurik said. ‘We’ll know better when we see how he handles a lance.’
‘Kurik, you’ve got the soul of a drill sergeant.’
‘Somebody’s got to do it, Sparhawk.’
It was cold again the following morning, and the horses’ breath steamed in the frosty air as they set out. After they had gone about a mile, Berit resumed his instruction. ‘All right,’ he said to Talen, ‘tell me what you learned yesterday.’
Talen was tightly wrapped in a patched old grey cloak that had once belonged to Kurik and he was shivering, but he glibly recited back what Berit had told him the day before. So far as Sparhawk could tell, the boy repeated Berit’s words verbatim.
‘You have a very good memory, Talen,’ Berit congratulated him.
‘It’s a trick,’ Talen replied with uncharacteristic modesty. ‘Sometimes I carry messages for Platime, so I’ve learned how to memorize things.’
‘Who’s Platime?’
‘The best thief in Cimmura – at least he was before he got so fat.’
‘Do you consort with thieves?’
‘I’m a thief myself, Berit. It’s an ancient and honourable profession.’
‘Hardly honourable.’
‘That depends on your point of view. All right, what happened after King Abrech got killed?’
‘The war with the Eshandists settled down into a stalemate,’ Berit took up the account. There were raids back and forth across the Inner Sea and the Arcian Straits, but the nobles on both sides had other things on their minds. Eshand had died, and his successors were not nearly as zealous as he’d been. The Hierocracy of the Church in Chyrellos kept trying to prod the nobility into pressing the war, but the nobles were far more interested in politics than in theology.’
‘How long did it go on like that?’
‘For nearly three centuries.’
‘They took their wars seriously in those days, didn’t they? Wait a minute. Where were the Church Knights during all of this?’
‘I’m just coming to that. When it became obvious that the nobility had lost its enthusiasm for the war, the Hierocracy gathered in Chyrellos to consider alternatives. What finally emerged was the idea of founding the militant orders to continue the struggle. The knights of the four orders all received training far beyond that given ordinary warriors; in addition, they were given instruction in the secrets of Styricum.’
‘What are those?’
‘Magic.’
‘Oh. Why didn’t you say so?’
‘I did. Pay attention, Talen.’
‘Did the Church Knights win the war then?’
‘They conquered all of Rendor, and the Eshandists finally capitulated. During their early years the militant orders were ambitious, and they began to carve Rendor up into four huge duchies. But then a far worse danger came out of the east.’
‘Zemoch?’ Talen guessed.
‘Exactly. The invasion of Lamorkand came without any –’
‘Sparhawk!’ Kalten said sharply. ‘Up there!’ He pointed at a nearby hilltop. A dozen armed men had suddenly come riding over the crest and were crashing down through the bracken at a gallop.
