Sparhawk nodded. The suddenly-acquired timidity of the Zemochs made this part of the trip fairly safe. He reached over and lifted his daughter onto Faran’s back in front of his saddle. ‘I thought you liked politics,’ he said to her after Talen had returned to his post beside the carriage.
‘Oscagne’s describing the organisation of the Tamul Empire,’ she replied. ‘I already know about that. He’s not making too many mistakes.’
‘Are you going to shrink the distance from here to Basne?’
‘Unless you enjoy long, tedious journeys through boring terrain. Faran and the other horses appreciate my shortening things up a bit, don’t you Faran?’
The big roan nickered enthusiastically.
‘He’s such a nice horse,’ Danae said, leaning back against her father’s armoured chest.
‘Faran? He’s a foul-tempered brute.’
‘That’s because you expect him to be that way, father. He’s only trying to please you.’ She rapped on his armour. ‘I’m going to have to do something about this,’ she said. ‘How can you stand that awful smell?’
‘You get used to it.’ The Church Knights were all wearing full armour, and brightly-coloured pennons snapped from their lances. Sparhawk looked around to be sure no one was close enough to overhear them. ‘Aphrael,’ he said quietly, ‘can you arrange things so that I can see real time?’
‘Nobody can see time, Sparhawk.’
‘You know what I mean. I want to see what’s really going on, not the illusion you create to keep what you’re doing a secret.’
‘Why?’
‘I like to know what’s going on, that’s all.’
‘You won’t like it,’ she warned.
‘I’m a Church Knight. I’m supposed to do things I don’t like.’
‘If you insist, father.’
He was not entirely certain what he had expected – some jerky, accelerated motion, perhaps, and the voices of his friends sounding like the twittering of birds as they condensed long conversations into little bursts of unintelligible babble. That was not what happened, however. Faran’s gait became impossibly smooth. The big horse seemed almost to flow across the ground – or, more properly, the ground seemed to flow back beneath his hooves. Sparhawk swallowed hard and looked around at his companions. Their faces seemed blank, wooden, and their eyes half-closed.
‘They’re sleeping just now,’ Aphrael explained. ‘They’re all quite comfortable. They believe that they’ve had a good supper and that the sun’s gone down. I fixed them a rather nice camp-site. Stop the horse, father. You can help me get rid of the extra food.’
‘Can’t you just make it vanish?’
‘And waste it?’ She sounded shocked. ‘The birds and animals have to eat too, you know.’
‘How long is it really going to take us to reach Basne?’
‘Two days. We could go faster if there was an emergency, but there’s nothing quite that serious going on just now.’
Sparhawk reined in, and he followed his little daughter back to where the pack animals stood patiently. ‘You’re keeping all of this in your head at the same time?’ he asked her.
‘It’s not that difficult, Sparhawk. You just have to pay attention to details, that’s all.’
‘You sound like Kurik.’
‘He’d have made an excellent God, actually. Attention to detail is the most important lesson we learn. Put that beef shoulder over near that tree with the broken-off top. There’s a bear-cub back in the bushes who got separated from his mother. He’s very hungry.’
‘Do you keep track of every single thing that’s happening around you?’
‘Well somebody has to, Sparhawk.’
The Zemoch town of Basne lay in a pleasant valley where the main east-west road forded a small, sparkling river. It was a fairly important trading centre. Not even Azash had been able to curb the natural human instinct to do business. There was an encampment just outside of town.
Sparhawk had dropped back to return Princess Danae to her mother, and he was riding beside the carriage as they started down into the valley.
Mirtai seemed uncharacteristically nervous as the carriage moved down toward the encampment.
‘It appears that your admirer has obeyed your summons, Mirtai,’ Baroness Melidere observed brightly.
‘Of course,’ the giantess replied.
‘It must be enormously satisfying to have such absolute control over a man.’
‘I rather like it,’ Mirtai admitted. ‘How do I look? Be honest, Melidere. I haven’t seen Kring for months, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.’
‘You’re lovely, Mirtai.’
‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘Of course not.’
‘What do you think, Ehlana?’ the Tamul woman appealed to her owner. Her tone was a bit uncertain.
‘You’re ravishing, Mirtai.’
‘I’ll know better when I see his face.’ Mirtai paused. ‘Maybe I should marry him,’ she said. ‘I think I’d feel much more secure if I had my brand on him.’ She rose, opening the carriage door and leaning out to pull her tethered horse up from behind the carriage and then quite literally flowed onto his back. Mirtai never used a saddle. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I guess I’d better go down there and find out if he still loves me.’ And she tapped her heels into her horse’s flanks and galloped on down into the valley to meet the waiting Domi.
CHAPTER 9
The Peloi were nomadic herders from the marches of eastern Pelosia. They were superb horsemen and savage warriors. They spoke a somewhat archaic form of Elenic, and many of the words in their tongue had fallen out of use in the modern language. Among those words was ‘Domi’, a word filled with profoundest respect. It meant ‘Chief’ – sort of – although, as Sir Ulath had once said, it lost a great deal in translation.
The current Domi of the Peloi was named Kring. Kring was a lean man of slightly more than medium height. As was customary among the men of his people, he shaved his head, and there were savage-looking sabre scars on his scalp and face, an indication that the process of rising to a position of leadership among the Peloi involved a certain amount of rough-and-tumble competition. He wore black leather clothing, and a lifetime spent on horseback had made him bandy-legged. He was a fiercely loyal friend, and he had worshipped Mirtai from the moment he had first seen her. Mirtai did not discourage him, although she refused to commit herself. They made an odd-looking couple, since the Atan woman towered more than a foot over her ardent suitor.