thing by myself?’
‘Sorry,’ Sparhawk said. He leaned his plain sword against the wall.
Kalten set his candle on the small table in the corner, tossed the wineskin onto Sparhawk’s bed, and then caught his friend in a huge bear hug. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he declared.
‘And you, too,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Have a seat.’ He pointed at the stool by the table and sat down on the edge of his cot. ‘How was Lamorkand?’
Kalten made an indelicate sound. ‘Cold, damp, and nervous,’ he replied. ‘Lamorks are not my favourite people in the world. How was Rendor?’
Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Hot, dry, and probably just as nervous as Lamorkand.’
‘I heard a rumour that you ran into Martel down there. Did you give him a nice funeral?’
‘He got away.’
‘You’re slipping, Sparhawk.’ Kalten unfastened the collar of his cloak. A great mat of curly blond hair protruded out of the neck of his mail coat. ‘Are you going to sit on that wineskin all night?’ he asked pointedly.
Sparhawk grunted, unstoppered the skin and lifted it to his lips. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Where did you get it?’ He handed the skin to his friend.
‘I picked it up in a wayside tavern about sundown,’ he replied. ‘I remembered that all there is to drink in Pandion chapterhouses is water – or tea, if Sephrenia happens to be around. Stupid custom.’
‘We are a religious order, Kalten.’
‘There are a half-dozen patriarchs in Chyrellos who get drunk as lords every night.’ Kalten lifted the wineskin and took a long drink. Then he shook the skin. ‘I should have picked up two,’ he observed. ‘Oh, by the way, Kurik was in the tavern with some young puppy wearing your armour.’
‘I should have guessed that,’ Sparhawk said wryly.
‘Anyway, Kurik told me that you were here. I was going to spend the night there, but when I heard that you’d come back from Rendor, I rode on the rest of the way.’
‘I’m touched.’
Kalten laughed and handed back the wineskin.
‘Were Kurik and the novice staying out of sight?’ Sparhawk asked.
Kalten nodded. ‘They were in one of the back rooms, and the young fellow was keeping his visor down. Have you ever seen anybody try to drink through his visor? Funniest thing I ever saw. There were a couple of local whores there, too. Your young Pandion might be getting an education along about now.’
‘He’s due,’ Sparhawk observed.
‘I wonder if he’ll try to do that with his visor down as well.’
‘Those girls are usually adaptable.’
Kalten laughed. ‘Anyhow, Kurik told me about the situation here. Do you really believe you can sneak around Cimmura without being recognized?’
‘I was thinking along the lines of a disguise of some sort.’
‘Better come up with a false nose,’ Kalten advised. ‘That broken beak of yours makes you fairly easy to pick out of a crowd.’
‘You should know,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You’re the one who broke it.’
‘We were only playing,’ Kalten said, sounding a bit defensive.
‘I’ve got used to it. We’ll talk with Sephrenia in the morning. She should be able to come up with something in the way of disguises.’
‘I’d heard that she was here. How is she?’
‘The same. Sephrenia never changes.’
‘Truly.’ Kalten took another drink from the wineskin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘You know, I think I was always a big disappointment to her. No matter how hard she tried to teach me the secrets, I just couldn’t master the Styric language. Every time I tried to say “ogeragekgasek,” I almost dislocated my jaw.’
‘“Okeragukasek”,’ Sparhawk corrected him.
‘However you say it. I’ll just stick to my sword and let others play with magic.’ He leaned forward on his stool. ‘They say that the Eshandists are on the rise again in Rendor. Is there any truth to that?’
‘It’s no particular danger.’ Sparhawk shrugged, lounging back on his cot. ‘They howl and spin around in circles out in the desert and recite slogans to each other. That’s about as far as it goes. Is anything very interesting going on in Lamorkand?’
Kalten snorted. ‘All the barons there are involved in private wars with each other,’ he reported. ‘The whole kingdom reeks with the lust for revenge. Would you believe that there’s actually a war going on over a bee sting? An earl got stung and declared war on the baron whose peasants owned the hive. They’ve been fighting each other for ten years now.’
‘That’s Lamorkand for you. Anything else happening?’
‘The whole countryside east of Motera is crawling with Zemochs.’
Sparhawk sat up quickly. ‘Vanion did say that Otha was mobilizing.’
‘Otha mobilizes every ten years.’ Kalten handed his friend the wineskin. ‘I think he does it just to keep his people from getting restless.’
‘Are the Zemochs doing anything significant in Lamorkand?’
‘Not that I was able to tell. They’re asking a lot of questions – mostly about old folklore. You can find two or three of them in almost every village. They question old women and buy drinks for the loafers in the village taverns.’
‘Peculiar,’ Sparhawk murmured.
‘That’s a fairly accurate description of just about anybody from Zemoch,’ Kalten said. ‘Sanity has never been particularly prized there.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go find a bed someplace,’ he said. ‘I can drag it in here and we can talk old times until we both fall asleep.’
‘All right.’
Kalten grinned. ‘Like the time your father caught us in that plum tree.’
Sparhawk winced. ‘I’ve been trying to forget about that for almost thirty years now.’
‘Your father did have a very firm hand, as I recall. I lost track of most of the rest of that day – and the plums gave me a bellyache besides. I’ll be right back.’ He turned and went out the door of Sparhawk’s cell.
It was good to have Kalten back. The two of them had grown up together in the house of Sparhawk’s parents at Demos after Kalten’s family had been killed and before the pair of boys had entered their novitiate training at the Pandion motherhouse. In many ways, they were closer than brothers. To be sure, Kalten had some rough edges to him, but their close friendship was one of the things Sparhawk valued more than anything.
