‘I should have deleted Subat as soon as I found out about his activities,’ Sarabian said moodily. ‘Who would be the best one to answer this tripe, Oscagne?’
‘My brother, your Majesty,’ the Foreign Minister replied promptly. ‘He is a member of the faculty, and he has a certain reputation. Unfortunately, he’s in Cynestra just now.’
‘Send for him, Oscagne. Get him back here before Contemporary History contaminates the thinking of a whole generation.’
‘Maris will want to come too, your Majesty.’
‘Fine. Your brother’s too clever by half. Let’s keep Atana Maris nice and close to him. She might be able to teach him humility.’
‘What are we going to do with the Cyrgai, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Sephrenia says that the curse that confined them was lifted when Cyrgon died, and even though it’s not actually their fault, there really isn’t any place for them in the modern world.’
‘I’ve been brooding about that myself,’ the Emperor admitted. ‘I think we’ll want to keep them away from normal human beings. There’s an island about five hundred leagues east of Tega. It’s fairly fertile and it has a more or less acceptable climate. Since the Cyrgai are so fond of isolation, it should turn the trick. How long do you think it might take them to invent boats?’
‘Several thousand years, your Majesty. The Cyrgai aren’t very creative.’
Sarabian grinned at him. ‘I’d say that’s the perfect place, then.’
Sparhawk grinned back. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he agreed.
Spring came to eastern Tamuli in a rush that year. A sudden warm, wet wind blew in off the Tamul sea, cutting the snow off the sides of nearby mountains in a single night. The streams ran bank-full, of course, so it was still too early for travel. Sparhawk’s impatience grew with each lingering day. It was not so much that he had anything pressing to attend to, but more that this prolonged farewell was extremely painful.
There was one fairly extended argument. Ehlana insisted at first that they should all journey to Atan to celebrate the wedding of Mirtai and Kring.
‘You’re being ignorant again, Ehlana,’ Mirtai told her with characteristic bluntness. ‘You’ve seen weddings before, and you’ve got a kingdom to run. Go back to Cimmura where you belong.’
‘Don’t you want me to be present?’ Ehlana’s eyes filled with tears.
Mirtai embraced her. ‘You will be, Ehlana,’ she said. ‘You’re in my heart forever now. Go back to Cimmura. I’ll come by after Kring and I get settled in Pela – or wherever we decide to live.’
Vanion and Sephrenia decided to accompany Queen Betuana’s party as far as Atana and then to proceed on to Sarsos. ‘It’s probably the best place for us, dear one,’ Sephrenia told Sparhawk. ‘I have a certain status there, and I can shout down the fanatics who’ll try to object to the fact that Vanion and I are married now.’
‘Well put,’ Sparhawk said. Then he sighed. ‘I’m going to miss you, little mother,’ he told her. ‘You and Vanion won’t ever be able to come back to Eosia, you know.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve always gone anyplace I wanted to go, and I always will. There are ways I can disguise Vanion’s face – and mine – so we’ll stop by from time to time. I want to keep an eye on your daughter, if nothing else.’ Then she kissed him. ‘Run along now, dear one. I have to go talk with Sarabian about Betuana.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s been muttering some nonsense about abdicating so that she can marry Engessa. The Atans are subject to the imperial crown, so I have to persuade Sarabian to keep her from doing something foolish. Engessa will make a very good co-ruler, and Sarabian needs stability in Atan.’
As the spring run-off began to recede and the soggy fields around the capital began to dry out, Sparhawk went down to the harbor looking for Captain Sorgi. There were less battered and more luxurious ships swinging at anchor in the crowded harbor, but sparhawk trusted Sorgi, and to sail home with him would provide a comforting sense of continuity to the conclusion of this whole business. He found the curly-haired sea-captain in a neat, well-lit wharfside tavern that was quite obviously run by an Elene proprietor.
‘There’ll be thirteen of us, Captain,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and seven horses.’
‘We’ll be a bit crowded, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi replied, squinting at the ceiling, ‘but I think we can manage. Are you going to be covering the cost of the passage yourself?’
Sparhawk grinned. ‘The Emperor has graciously offered to defray the expense,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend, so please don’t bankrupt him.’
Sorgi grinned back. ‘I wouldn’t think of it, Master Cluff.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s been an interesting time, and the Tamul Empire’s an interesting place, but it’ll be good to get back home again.’
‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Sometimes it seems that I’ve spent my whole life trying to get back home.’
‘I'll reckon up the cost of the voyage and have my bo’sun bring it up to the imperial compound to you. I almost lost him down in Beresa, you know.’
‘Your bo’sun?’
Sorgi nodded. ‘A couple of rascals waylaid him in an alleyway. He barely got out alive.’
‘Imagine that,’ Sparhawk said blandly. Evidently Valash had tried to cut some corners on the hiring of assassins as well as on everything else.
‘When exactly did you want to sail, Master Cluff?’
‘We haven’t quite decided yet – sometime in the next week or so. I’ll let you know. Some of our friends are leaving to go overland to Atan. It might be best if we sailed on the same day.’
‘Good idea,’ Sorgi approved. ‘It’s always best not to drag out the farewells. Sailors have learned how to say goodbye in a hurry. When the time comes to leave, we always have to catch the tide, and it won’t wait.’
‘Well put, Sorgi,’ Sparhawk smiled.
Not unsurprisingly it was Betuana who made the decision. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ she declared flatly at the dinner table a week later.
‘So soon?’ Sarabian’s voice sounded slightly stricken.
‘The streams are down, and the fields are dry, Sarabian-Emperor,’ she pointed out. ‘Why should we linger?’