style="font-size:15px;"> ‘But –’
‘Just unlock the door, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and we’ll be on our way.’
‘What took you so long, then?’
Sparhawk gave him a flat, cold stare, and the shopkeeper swallowed hard and went to the door, fishing in his tunic pocket for the key.
Outside, Faran was standing protectively beside Sephrenia’s palfrey. There was a torn scrap of rough cloth on the cobblestones under his hooves.
‘Trouble?’ Sparhawk asked him.
Faran snorted derisively.
‘I see,’ Sparhawk said.
‘What was that about?’ Sephrenia asked wearily as Sparhawk helped her to mount.
‘Someone tried to steal your horse,’ he shrugged. ‘Faran persuaded him not to.’
‘Can you really communicate with him?’
‘I more or less know what he’s thinking. We’ve been together for a long time.’ He hauled himself up into his saddle, and the two of them rode off down the street in the direction of the Pandion chapterhouse.
They had gone perhaps half a mile when Sparhawk had a momentary premonition. He reacted instantly, driving Faran’s shoulder against the white palfrey. The smaller horse lurched to one side, even as a crossbow bolt buzzed spitefully through the space where Sephrenia had been an instant before. ‘Ride, Sephrenia!’ he barked as the bolt clashed against the stones of a house fronting the street. He looked back, drawing his sword. But Sephrenia had already thumped her heels to the white horse’s flanks and plunged off down the street at a clattering gallop with Sparhawk closely behind her, shielding her body with his own.
After they had crossed several streets, Sephrenia slowed her pace. ‘Did you see him?’ she asked. She had Lakus’ sword in her hand now.
‘I didn’t have to see him. A crossbow means a Lamork. Nobody else uses them.’
‘The one who was in the house with the Styrics?’
‘Probably – unless you’ve gone out of your way to offend other Lamorks of late. Could Azash or one of his Zemochs have sensed your presence back there?’
‘It’s possible,’ she conceded. ‘No one can be absolutely certain just how far the power of the Elder Gods goes. How did you know that we were about to be attacked?’
‘Training, I suppose. I’ve learned to know when someone’s pointing a weapon at me.’
‘I thought it was pointed at me.’
‘It amounts to the same thing, Sephrenia.’
‘Well, he missed.’
‘This time. I think I’ll talk to Nashan about getting you a mail shirt.’
‘Are you mad, Sparhawk?’ she protested. ‘The weight alone would put me on my knees – not to mention the awful smell.’
‘Better the weight and the smell than an arrow between the shoulder blades.’
‘Totally out of the question.’
‘We’ll see. Put the sword away and let’s move on. You need rest, and I want to get you inside the chapterhouse where it’s safe before someone else takes a shot at you.’
The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black.
With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to greet him. ‘Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,’ he said.
Bevier inclined his head stiffly. ‘My Lord,’ he responded, ‘I am commanded by the preceptor of my order to convey to you his greetings.’
‘Thank you, Sir Bevier.’ Nashan said, somewhat taken aback by the young knight’s stiff formality.
‘Sir Sparhawk.’ Bevier said then, again inclining his head.
‘Do we know each other, Bevier?’
‘Our preceptor described you to me, my Lord Sparhawk – you and your companion, Sir Kalten. Have the others arrived yet?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No. You’re the first.’
‘Come inside, Sir Bevier,’ Nashan said then. ‘We’ll assign you a cell so that you can get out of your armour, and I’ll speak to the kitchen about a hot meal.’
‘An it please you, my Lord, might I first visit your chapel? I have been some days on the road and I feel sorely the need for prayer in a consecrated place.’
‘Of course,’ Nashan said to him.
‘We’ll see to your horse,’ Sparhawk told the young man.
‘Thank you, Lord Sparhawk.’ Bevier bent his head again and followed Nashan up the steps.
‘Oh, he’s going to be a jolly travelling companion,’ Kalten said ironically.
‘He’ll loosen up once he gets to know us,’ Sparhawk said.
‘I hope you’re right. I’d heard that the Cyrinics are a shade formal, but I think our young friend there might be carrying it to extremes.’ Curiously, he unhooked the Lochaber from the saddlebow. ‘Can you imagine using this thing on somebody?’ He shuddered. The Lochaber axe had a heavy, two-foot blade surmounted at its forward end with a razor-sharp, hawklike bill. Its heavy handle was about four feet long. ‘You could shuck a man out of his armour like an oyster out of its shell with this.’
‘I think that’s the idea. It is sort of intimidating, isn’t it? Put it away, Kalten. Don’t play with another man’s toys.’
After Sir Bevier had completed his prayers and changed out of his armour, he joined them in Nashan’s ornate study.
‘Did they give you something to eat?’ Nashan asked.
‘It isn’t necessary, my Lord,’ Bevier replied. ‘If I may be permitted, I’ll join you and your knights in refectory for the noon meal.’
‘Of course,’ Nashan replied. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us, Bevier.’
Sparhawk then introduced Bevier to Sephrenia. The young man bowed deeply to her. ‘I have heard much of you, Lady,’ he said. ‘Our instructors in the
