Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘but we don’t have one of Aphrael’s cousins along.’
‘No, but we’ve got Bhelliom.’
‘I knew it would happen,’ Bevier groaned. ‘The accursed stone’s unhinged Sparhawk’s mind. He thinks he’s a God.’
‘No, Bevier,’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘I’m not a God, but I have access to something very close to one. When I put those rings on, Bhelliom has to do what I tell it to do. That’s not exactly like being a God, but it’s close enough. Let’s have breakfast, and then the rest of you can gather our belongings and get them packed on the horses. Aphrael and I will hammer out the details of how we’re going to work this.’
The wind was screaming through the streets of Jorsan, driving torrents of rain before it. Sparhawk and his friends wrapped themselves tightly in their cloaks, bowed their heads into the wind, and plodded grimly into the teeth of the hurricane.
The city gates were unguarded, and the party rode on out into open country where the wind, unimpeded, savaged them all the more. Speech was impossible, so Sparhawk merely pointed toward the muddy road that led off toward Korvan, fifty leagues to the north.
The road curved round behind a low hill a mile or so outside of town, and Sparhawk reined in. ‘Nobody can see us now,’ he shouted over the howling wind. ‘Let’s try this and see what happens.’ He reached inside his tunic for the golden box.
Berit came galloping up from the rear. ‘We’ve got riders coming up from behind!’ he shouted, wiping the rain out of his face.
‘Following us?’ Kalten demanded.
Berit spread his hands uncertainly.
‘How many?’ Ulath asked.
‘Twenty-five or thirty, Sir Ulath. I couldn’t see them very clearly in all this rain, but it looked to me as if they were wearing armor of some sort.’
‘Good,’ Kalten grated harshly. ‘There’s not much fun in killing amateurs.’
‘What do you think?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.
‘Let’s have a look. They might not be interested in us at all.’
The two turned and rode back along the muddy road a couple of hundred yards.
The riders coming up from behind had slowed to a walk. They were rough-looking men wrapped in furs and armed for the most part with bronze-tipped spears. The one in the lead wore a vast, bristling beard and an archaic-looking helmet surmounted with a set of deer-antlers.
‘That’s it,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘They’re definitely following us. Let’s get the others and deal with this.’
They rode on back to where their friends had taken some small shelter on the lee-side of a pine grove. ‘We stayed in Jorsan too long,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘It gave Rebal time to call in help. The men behind us are bronzeage warriors.’
‘Like the Lamorks who attacked us outside Demos?’ Ulath asked.
‘Right,’ Sparhawk said. ‘These are most likely followers of Incetes rather than Drychtnath, but it all amounts to the same thing.’
‘Could you pick out the leader?’ Ulath asked.
‘He’s right up front,’ Vanion replied.
‘That makes it easier, then.’
Vanion gave him a questioning look.
‘This has happened before,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘We don’t know exactly why, but when the leader falls, the rest of them vanish.’
‘Couldn’t we just hide back among these trees?’ Sephrenia asked.
‘I wouldn’t want to chance that,’ Vanion told her. ‘We know where they are now. If we let them get out of sight, they could circle back and ambush us. Let’s deal with this here and now.’
‘We’re wasting time,’ Kalten said abruptly. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
‘Khalad,’ Sparhawk said to his squire, ‘take Sephrenia and the children back into the trees a ways. Try to stay out of sight.’
‘Children?’ Talen objected.
‘Just do as you’re told,’ Khalad told him, ‘and don’t get any ideas about trying out that rapier just yet.’
The knights turned and rode back along the muddy track to face their pursuers.
‘Are they alone?’ Bevier asked. ‘I mean, can anybody make out the one who might have raised them?’
‘We can sort that out after we kill the fellow with the antlers,’ Kalten growled. ‘Once all the rest vanish, whoever’s responsible for this is going to be left standing out in the rain all by himself.’
‘There’s no point in waiting,’ Vanion told them, his voice bleak. ‘Let’s get at it. I’m starting to get wet.’
They all pushed their cloaks out of the way to clear their sword arms, pulled on the plain steel helmets that had been hanging from their saddle-bows, and buckled on their shields.
‘I’ll do it,’ Kalten told Sparhawk, forcing his mount against Faran’s shoulder. There was a kind of suppressed fury in Kalten’s voice and a reckless set to his shoulders. ‘Let’s go!’ he bellowed, drawing his sword.
They charged.
The warriors from the ninth century recoiled momentarily as the mail-shirted Church Knights thundered toward them with the hooves of their war-horses hurling great clots of mud out behind them.
Bronze-age weaponry and ancient tactics were no match for steel mail-shirts and contemporary swords and axes, and the small, scrubby horses of the dark ages were scarcely more than ponies. Kalten crashed into the forefront of the pursuers with his companions fanned out behind him in a kind of wedge formation. The blond Pandion stood up in his stirrups, swinging his sword in vast, powerful strokes. Kalten was normally a highly skilled and cool-headed warrior, but he seemed enraged today, taking chances he should not have taken, over-extending his strokes and swinging his sword much harder than was prudent. The round bronze shields of the men who faced him barely slowed his strokes as he chopped his way through the press toward the bearded man in the antlered helmet. Sparhawk and the others, startled by his reckless charge, followed him, cutting down any who tried to attack him from the rear.
The bearded man bellowed an archaic war cry and spurred his horse forward, swinging a huge, bronze-headed war axe.
Almost disdainfully, Kalten brushed the axe-stroke aside with his shield and delivered a vast overhand stroke with his sword, swinging the weapon with all his strength. His sword sheared down through the hastily raised bronze shield, and half of the gleaming oval spun away, carrying the bearded man’s forearm with it. Kalten swung again, and his sword struck the top of the antler-adorned helmet, gashing down into the enemy’s head in a sudden spray
