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. Youre the one who broke it.
We were only playing, Kalten said, sounding a bit defensive.
Ive got used to it. Well talk with Sephrenia in the morning. She should be able to come up with something in the way of disguises.
Id 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 couldnt master the Styric language. Every time I tried to say ogeragekgasek, I almost dislocated my jaw.
Okeragukasek, Sparhawk corrected him.
However you say it. Ill 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?
Its 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. Thats 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 theres actually a war going on over a bee sting? An earl got stung and declared war on the baron whose peasants owned the hive. Theyve been fighting each other for ten years now.
Thats 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. Theyre 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.
Thats a fairly accurate description of just about anybody from Zemoch, Kalten said. Sanity has never been particularly prized there. He stood up. Ill 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. Ive 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. Ill be right back. He turned and went out the door of Sparhawks cell.
It was good to have Kalten back. The two of them had grown up together in the house of Sparhawks parents at Demos after Kaltens 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.
After a short time, the big blond man returned, dragging a bed behind him, and then the two of them lay in the dim candlelight reminiscing until quite late. All in all, it was a very good night.
Early the following morning, they rose and dressed themselves, covering their mail coats with the hooded robes Pandions wore when they were inside their chapterhouses. They rather carefully avoided the morning procession to chapel and went in search of the woman who had trained whole generations of Pandion Knights in the intricacies of what were called the secrets.
They found her seated with her morning tea before the fire high up in the south tower.
Good morning, little mother, Sparhawk greeted her from the doorway. Do you mind if we join you?
Not at all, Sir Knights.
Kalten went to her, knelt, and kissed both her palms. Will you bless me, little mother? he asked her.
She smiled and put one hand on each side of his face. Then she spoke her benediction in Styric.
That always makes me feel better for some reason, he said, rising to his feet again. Even though I dont understand all the words.
She looked at them critically. I see that you chose not to attend chapel this morning.
God wont miss us all that much. Kalten shrugged. Besides, I could recite all of Vanions sermons from memory.
What other mischief are you two planning for today? she asked.
Mischief, Sephrenia? Kalten asked innocently.
Sparhawk laughed. Actually, we werent even contemplating any mischief. We just have a fairly simple errand in mind.
Out in the city?
He nodded. The only problem is that were both fairly well known here in Cimmura. We thought you might be able to help us with some disguises.
She looked at them, her expression cool. Im getting a strong sense of subterfuge in all this. Just exactly what is this errand of yours?
We thought wed look up an old friend, Sparhawk replied. A fellow named Krager. He has some information he might want to share with us.
Information?
He knows where Martel is.
Krager wont tell you that.
Kalten cracked his big knuckles, the sound unpleasantly calling to mind the sharp noise of breaking bones. Would you care to phrase that in the form of a wager, Sephrenia? he asked.
Wont you two ever grow up? Youre a pair of eternal children.
Thats why you love us so much, isnt it, little mother? Kalten grinned.
What sort of disguise would you recommend? Sparhawk asked her.
She pursed her lips and looked at them. A courtier and his squire, I think.
No one could ever mistake me for a courtier, he objected.
I was thinking of it the other way around. I can make you look almost like a good honest squire, and once we dress Kalten in a satin doublet and curl that long blond hair of his, he can pass for a courtier.
I do look good in satin, Kalten murmured modestly.
Why not just a couple of common workmen? Sparhawk asked.
She shook her head. Common workmen cringe and fawn when they encounter a nobleman. Could either of you manage a cringe?
Shes got a point, Kalten said.
Besides, workmen dont carry swords, and I dont imagine that either of you would care to go into Cimmura unarmed.
She thinks of everything, doesnt she? Sparhawk observed.
All right, she said. Lets see what we can do.
All right, she said. Lets see what we can do.
Several acolytes were sent scurrying to various places in the chapterhouse for a number of articles. Sephrenia considered each one of them, selecting some and discarding others. What emerged after about an hour were two men who only faintly resembled the pair of Pandions who had first entered the room. Sparhawk now wore a plain livery not unlike Kuriks, and he carried a short sword. A fierce black beard was glued to his face, and a purple scar ran across his broken nose and up under a black patch that covered his left eye.
This thing itches, he complained, reaching up to scratch at the false beard.
Keep your fingers off of it until the glue dries, she told him, lightly slapping his knuckles. And put on a glove to cover that ring.
Do you actually expect me to carry this toy? Kalten demanded, flourishing a light rapier. I want a sword, not a knitting needle.
Courtiers dont carry broadswords, Kalten, she reminded him. She looked at him critically. His doublet was bright blue, gored and inset with red satin. His hose matched the goring, and he wore soft half-boots, since no pair of the pointed shoes currently in fashion could be found to fit his huge feet. His cape was of pale pink, and his freshly curled blond hair spilled down over the collar. He also wore a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a white plume. You look beautiful, Kalten, she complimented him. I think you might pass once I rouge your cheeks.
Absolutely not! He backed away from her.
Kalten, she said quite firmly, sit down. She pointed at a chair and reached for a rouge pot.
Do I have to?
Yes. Now sit.
Kalten looked at Sparhawk. If you laugh, were going to fight, so dont even think about it.
Me?
Since the chapterhouse was watched at all times by the agents of the Primate Annias, Vanion came up with a suggestion that was part subterfuge and part utilitarian. I need to transfer some things to the inn anyway, he explained. Annias knows that the inn belongs to us, so were not giving anything away. Well hide Kalten in the wagon bed and turn this good, honest fellow into a teamster. He looked pointedly at the patch-eyed, bearded Sparhawk. Where on earth did you find so close a match to his real hair? he asked Sephrenia curiously.
She smiled. The next time you go into the stables, dont look too closely at your horses tail.
My horse?
He was the only black horse in the stable, Vanion, and I didnt take all that much, really.
My horse? he repeated, looking injured.
We must all make sacrifices now and then, she told him. Its a part of the Pandion oath, remember?
Chapter 5
The wagon was rickety, and the horse was spavined. Sparhawk slouched on the wagon seat with the reins held negligently in one hand and apparently paying very little attention to the people in the street around him.
The wheels wobbled and creaked as the wagon jolted over a rutted place in the stone-paved street. Sparhawk, do you have to hit every single bump? Kaltens muffled voice came from under the boxes and bales loosely piled around him in the back of the wagon.
Keep quiet, Sparhawk muttered. Two church soldiers are coming this way.
Kalten grumbled a few choice oaths, then fell silent.
The church soldiers wore red livery and disdainful expressions. As they walked through the crowded streets, the workmen and blue-clad merchants stepped aside for them. Sparhawk reined in his nag, stopping the wagon in the exact centre of the street so that the soldiers would be forced to go around him. Morning, neighbours, he greeted them.
They glared at him, then walked on around the wagon.
Have a pleasant day, he called after them.
They ignored him.
What was that all about? Kalten demanded in a low voice from the wagon bed.
Just checking my disguise, Sparhawk replied, shaking the reins.
Well?
Well what?
Does it work?
They didnt give me a second glance.
How much farther to the inn? Im suffocating under all this.
Not too much farther.
Give me a big surprise, Sparhawk. Miss a bump or two just for the sake of variety.
The wagon creaked on.
At the barred gate of the inn, Sparhawk climbed down from the wagon and pounded the rhythmic signal on its stout timbers. After a moment the knight porter opened the gate. He looked at Sparhawk carefully. Sorry, friend, he said. The inns all full.
We wont be staying, Sir Knight, Sparhawk told him. We just brought a load of supplies from the chapterhouse.
The porters eyes widened and he peered more closely at the big man. Is that you, Sir Sparhawk? he asked incredulously. I didnt even recognize you.
That was sort of the idea. You arent supposed to.
The knight pushed the gate open, and Sparhawk led the weary horse into the courtyard. You can get out now, he said to Kalten as the porter closed the gate.
Help get all this off me.
Sparhawk moved a few of the boxes, and Kalten came squirming out.
The knight porter gave the big blond man an amused look.
Go ahead and say it, Kalten said in a belligerent tone.
I wouldnt dream of it, Sir Knight.
Sparhawk took a long, rectangular box out of the wagon bed and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Get somebody to help you with these supplies, he told the porter. Preceptor Vanion sent them. And take care of the horse. Hes tired.
Tired? Dead would be closer. The porter eyed the disconsolate-looking nag.
Hes old, thats all. It happens to all of us sooner or later. Is the back door to the tavern open? He looked across the courtyard at a deeply inset doorway.
Its always open, Sir Sparhawk.
Sparhawk nodded and he and Kalten crossed the courtyard.
What have you got in the box? Kalten asked.
Our swords.
Thats clever, but wont they be a little hard to draw?
Not after I throw the box down on the cobblestones, they wont. He opened the inset door. After you, my Lord, he said, bowing.
They passed through a cluttered storeroom and came out into a shabby-looking tavern. A century or so of dust clouded the single window, and the straw on the floor was mouldy. The room smelled of stale beer and spilled wine and vomit. The low ceiling was draped with cobwebs, and the rough tables and benches were battered and tired-looking. There were only three people in the place, a sour-looking tavern keeper, a drunken man with his head cradled in his arms on a table by the door, and a blowsy-looking whore in a red dress dozing in the corner.
Kalten went to the door and looked out into the street. Its still a little underpopulated out there, he grunted. Lets have a tankard or two while we wait for the neighbourhood to wake up.
Why not have some breakfast instead?
Thats what I said.
They sat at one of the tables, and the tavern keeper came over, giving no hint that he recognized them as Pandions. He made an ineffective swipe at a puddle of spilled beer on the table with a filthy rag. What would you like? His voice had a sullen, unfriendly tone.