One other thing, My Lord Abbot, Kalten added. Might we trouble you for a bit of food? Weve been some time on the road, and our supplies are getting low. Nothing too exotic, mind a few roast chickens, perhaps, a ham or two, a side of bacon, a hindquarter of beef, maybe?
Of course, Sir Knight, the Abbot agreed quickly.
Sparhawk composed the note to Dolmant while Kurik and Kalten loaded the supplies on a packhorse.
Did you have to do that? Sparhawk asked Kalten as they rode away.
Charity is a cardinal virtue, Sparhawk, Kalten replied loftily. I like to encourage it whenever I can.
The countryside through which they galloped grew increasingly desolate. The soil was thin and poor, fit only for thorn-bushes and weeds. Here and there were pools of stagnant water, and the few trees standing near them were stunted and sick-looking. The weather had turned cloudy, and they rode through the tag-end of a dreary afternoon.
Kurik pulled his gelding in beside Sparhawk. Doesnt look too promising, does it? he noted.
Dismal, Sparhawk agreed.
I think were going to have to make camp somewhere tonight. The horses are almost played out.
Im not feeling too spry myself, Sparhawk admitted. His eyes felt gritty, and he had a dull headache.
The only trouble is that I havent seen any clean water for the last league or so. Why dont I take Berit and see if we can find a spring or stream?
Keep your eyes open, Sparhawk cautioned.
Kurik turned in his saddle. Berit, he called, I need you.
Sparhawk and the others rode on at a trot while the squire and the novice ranged out in search of clean water.
We could just ride on, you know, Kalten said.
Not unless you feel like walking before morning, Sparhawk replied. Kuriks right. The horses dont have very much left in them.
Thats true, I suppose.
Then Kurik and Berit came pounding down a nearby hill at a gallop. Get ready! Kurik shouted, shaking loose his chain-mace. Weve got company!
Sephrenia! Sparhawk barked. Take Flute and get back behind those rocks. Talen, get the packhorses. He drew his sword and moved to the front even as the others armed themselves.
There were fifteen or so of them, and they drove their horses over the hilltop at a run. It was an oddly assorted group, church soldiers in their red tunics, Styrics in home-spun smocks and a few peasants. Their faces were all blank, and their eyes dull. They charged on mindlessly, even though the heavily armed Church Knights were rushing to meet them.
Sparhawk and the others spread out, preparing to meet the charge. For God and the Church! Bevier shouted, brandishing his lochaber axe. Then he spurred his horse forward, crashing into the middle of the oncoming attackers. Sparhawk was taken off guard by the young Cyrinics rash move, but he quickly recovered and charged in to his companions aid. Bevier, however, appeared to need little in the way of help. He warded off the clumsy-looking sword strokes of the mindlessly charging ambushers with his shield, and his long-handled lochaber whistled through the air to sink deep into the bodies of his enemies. Though the wounds he inflicted were hideous, the men he struck down made no outcry as they fell from their saddles. They fought and died in an eerie silence. Sparhawk rode behind Bevier, cutting down any of the numb-faced men who tried to attack the Cyrinic from behind. His sword sheared a church soldier almost in half, but the man in the red tunic did not even flinch. He raised his sword to strike at Beviers back, but Sparhawk split his head open with a vast overhand stroke. The soldier toppled out of his saddle and lay twitching on the bloodstained grass.
Kalten and Tynian had flanked the attackers on either side and were chopping their way into the mêlée, while Ulath, Kurik and Berit intercepted the few survivors who managed to make their way through the concerted counter-attack.
The ground was soon littered with bodies in red tunics and bloody white Styric smocks. Riderless horses plunged away from the fight, squealing in panic. In normal circumstances, Sparhawk knew the attackers bringing up the rear would falter and then flee when they saw what had befallen their comrades. These expressionless men, however, continued their attack, and it was necessary to kill them to the last man.
Sparhawk! Sephrenia shouted. Up there! She was pointing towards the hilltop beyond which the attack had come. It was the tall, skeletal figure in the black hooded robe which Sparhawk had seen twice before. It sat its horse atop the hill with that faint green glow emanating from its concealed face.
That things starting to bore me, Kalten said. The best way to get rid of a bug is to step on it. He raised his shield and thumped his heels on his horses flanks. He started to gallop up the hill, his blade held menacingly aloft.
Kalten! No! Sephrenias shout was shrill with fright. But Kalten paid no attention to her warning. Sparhawk swore and started after his friend.
Suddenly Kalten was hurled from his saddle by some unseen force as the figure atop the hill gestured contemptuously. With revulsion Sparhawk saw that what emerged from the sleeve of the black robe was not a hand, but something more closely resembling the front claw of a scorpion.
And then, even as he swung down from Farans back to run to Kaltens aid, Sparhawk gaped in astonishment. Somehow Flute had escaped from Sephrenias watchful eye and had advanced to the foot of the hill. She stamped one grass-stained little foot imperiously and lifted her rude pipes to her lips. Her melody was stern, even slightly discordant, and for some peculiar reason it seemed to be accompanied by a vast, unseen choir of human voices. The hooded figure on the hilltop reeled back in its saddle as if it had been struck a massive blow. Flutes song rose, and that unseen choir swelled its song in a mighty crescendo. The sound was so overpowering that Sparhawk was forced to cover his ears. The song had reached the level of physical pain.
The figure shrieked, a dreadfully inhuman sound, and it clapped its claws to the sides of its hooded head. Then it wheeled its horse and fled down the far side of the hill.
There was no time to pursue the monstrosity. Kalten lay gasping on the ground, his face pale and his hands clutching at his stomach.
Are you all right? Sparhawk demanded, kneeling beside his friend.
Leave me alone, Kalten wheezed.
Dont be stupid. Are you hurt?
No. Im lying here for fun. The blond man drew in a shuddering breath. What did it hit me with? Ive never been hit that hard before.
Youd better let me have a look at you.
Im all right, Sparhawk. It just knocked the breath out of me, thats all.
You idiot. You know what that thing is. What were you thinking of? Sparhawk was suddenly, irrationally angry.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Kalten grinned weakly. Maybe I should have thought my way through it a little more.
Is he hurt? Bevier asked, dismounting and coming towards them, his face showing his concern.
I think hell be all right. Then Sparhawk rose, controlling his temper with some effort. Sir Bevier, he said rather formally, youve had training in this sort of thing. You know what youre supposed to do when youre under attack. What possessed you to dash into the middle of them like that?
I didnt think there were all that many of them, Sparhawk, Bevier replied defensively.
There were enough. It only takes one to kill you.
Youre vexed with me, arent you, Sparhawk? Beviers voice was mournful.
Sparhawk looked at the young knights earnest face for a moment. Then he sighed. No, Bevier, I suppose not. You just startled me, thats all. Please, for the sake of my nerves, dont do unexpected things any more. Im not getting any younger, and surprises age me.
Perhaps I didnt consider the feelings of my comrades, Bevier admitted contritely. I promise it will not happen again.
I appreciate that, Bevier. Lets help Kalten back down the hill. I want Sephrenia to take a look at him, and Im sure shell want to have a talk with him a nice long one.
Kalten winced. I dont suppose I could talk you into leaving me here? This is nice soft dirt.
Not a chance, Kalten, Sparhawk replied ruthlessly. Dont worry, though. She likes you, so she probably wont do anything to you nothing permanent, anyway.
Chapter 3
Sephrenia was tending a large, ugly-looking bruise on Berits upper arm when Sparhawk and Bevier helped the weakly protesting Kalten down the hill to her.
Is it bad? Sparhawk asked the young novice.
Its nothing, My Lord, Berit said bravely, although his face was pale.
Is that the very first thing they teach you Pandions? Sephrenia asked acidly, - to make light of your injuries? Berits mail-shirt stopped most of the blow, but in about an hour his arms going to be purple from elbow to shoulder. Hell barely be able to use it.
Youre in a cheerful humour this afternoon, little mother, Kalten said to her.
She pointed a threatening finger at him. Kalten, she said, sit. Ill deal with you after Ive tended Berits arm.
Kalten sighed and slumped down onto the ground.
Sparhawk looked around. Where are Ulath, Tynian and Kurik? he asked.
Theyre scouting around to make sure there arent any more ambushes laid for us, Sir Sparhawk, Berit replied.
Good idea.
That creature didnt look so very dangerous to me, Bevier said, - a little mysterious perhaps, but not all that dangerous.
It didnt hit you, Kalten told him. Its dangerous, all right. Take my word for it.
Its more dangerous than you could possibly imagine, Sephrenia said. It can send whole armies after us.
If its got the kind of power that knocked me off my horse, it doesnt need armies.
You keep forgetting, Kalten. Its mind is the mind of Azash. The Gods prefer to have humans do their work for them.
The men who came down that hill were like sleepwalkers, Bevier said, shuddering. We cut them to pieces, and they didnt make a sound. He paused, frowning. I didnt think Styrics were so aggressive, he added. Ive never seen one with a sword in his hand before.
Those werent western Styrics, Sephrenia said, tying off the padded bandage around Berits upper arm. Try not to use that too much, she instructed. Give it time to heal.
Yes, maam, Berit replied. Now that you mention it, though, it is getting a little sore.
She smiled and put an affectionate hand on his shoulder. This one may be all right, Sparhawk. His head isnt quite solid bone like some I could name. She glanced meaningfully at Kalten.
Sephrenia, the blond knight protested.
Get out of the mail-shirt, she told him crisply. I want to see if youve broken anything.
You said the Styrics in that group werent western Styrics, Bevier said to her.
No. They were Zemochs. Its more or less what we guessed at back at that inn. The Seeker will use anybody, but a western Styric is incapable of using weapons made of steel. If theyd been local people, their swords would have been bronze or copper. She looked critically at Kalten, who had just removed his mail-shirt. She shuddered. You look like a blond rug, she told him.
Its not my fault, little mother, he said, suddenly blushing. All the men in my family have been hairy.
Bevier looked puzzled. What finally drove that creature off? he asked.
Flute, Sparhawk replied. Shes done it before. She even ran off the Damork once with her pipes.
This tiny child? Beviers tone was incredulous.
Theres more to Flute than meets the eye, Sparhawk told him. He looked out across the slope of the hill. Talen, he shouted, stop that.
Talen, who had been busily pillaging the dead, looked up with some consternation. But Sparhawk he began.
Just come away from there. Thats disgusting.
But
Do as he says! Berit roared.
Talen sighed and came back down the hill.
Lets round up the horses, Bevier, Sparhawk said. As soon as Kurik and the others get back, I think well want to move on. That Seeker is still out there, and it can come at us with a whole new group of people at any time.
It can do that at night as well as in the daylight, Sparhawk, Bevier said dubiously, and it can follow our scent.
I know. At this point I think speed is our only defence. Were going to have to try to outrun that thing again.
Kurik, Ulath and Tynian returned as dusk was settling over the desolate landscape. There doesnt seem to be anybody else out there, the squire reported, swinging down from his gelding.
Were going to have to keep going, Sparhawk told him.
The horses are right on the verge of exhaustion, Sparhawk, the squire protested. He looked at the others. And the people arent in much better shape. None of us has had very much sleep in the last two days.
Ill take care of it, Sephrenia said calmly, looking up from her examination of Kaltens hairy torso.
How? Kalten sounded just a bit grumpy.
She smiled at him and wiggled her fingers under his nose. How else?
If theres a spell that counteracts the way were all feeling right now, why didnt you teach it to us before? Sparhawk was also feeling somewhat surly, since his headache had returned.
Because its dangerous, Sparhawk, she replied. I know you Pandions. Given certain circumstances, youd try to go on for weeks.
So? If the spell really works, what difference does it make?
The spell only makes you feel as if youve rested, but you have not, in fact. If you push it too far, youll die.
Oh. That stands to reason, I suppose.
Im glad you understand.
Hows Berit? Tynian asked.
Hell be sore for a while, but hes all right, she replied.
The young fellow shows some promise, Ulath said. When his arm heals, Ill give him some instruction with that axe of his. Hes got the right spirit, but his techniques a little shaky.
Bring the horses over here, Sephrenia told them. She began to speak in Styric, uttering some of the words under her breath and concealing her moving fingers from them. Try as he might, Sparhawk could not catch all of the incantation, nor even guess at the gestures which enhanced the spell. But suddenly he felt enormously refreshed. The dull headache was gone, and his mind was clear. One of the packhorses, whose head had been drooping and whose legs had been trembling violently, actually began to prance around like a colt.