"Not that I've heard, and I rather doubt it. There's something you ought to know about Trolls, Sparhawk. They don't die of old age like other creatures. You have to kill them. If somebody had managed to kill Ghwerig, he'd have boasted about it, and I'd have heard the story. There's not much to do in Thalesia in the wintertime except listen to stories. The snow piles up by the foot there, so we usually stay inside. Let's go and have a look at that map."
As they walked back towards the tents, Sparhawk decided that he liked Ulath. The huge Genidian Knight was normally very silent, but once you managed to unlock his friendship, he spoke with a kind of droll understatement that was often even more amusing than Kalten's exaggerated humour. Sparhawk's companions were good men - the best, actually. They were all different, of course, but that was only to be expected.
Whatever the outcome of their search might be, he was glad that he had had the opportunity to know them.
Sephrenia stood by the fire drinking tea. "You're up early," she noted as the two knights came into the circle of light. "Have the plans changed? Are we in some hurry to leave?"
"Not really," Sparhawk told her, kissing her palm in greeting. "Please don't spill my tea," she cautioned.
"No, ma'am," he agreed. "We're not going to be able to cover much more than five leagues today, so let the others sleep a while longer. That wagon's not going to move very fast, and besides, after what's been happening, I don't think wandering around in the dark would be such a good idea. Is Berit awake yet?"
"I think I heard him stirring around."
"I'm going to put him in Kalten's armour and have Kurik wear Bevier's. Maybe we can intimidate anybody who might be feeling unfriendly."
"Is that all you Elenes ever think about?"
"A good bluff is sometimes better than a good fight," Ulath growled. "I like deceiving people."
"You're as bad as Talen is."
"No, not really. My fingers aren't nimble enough for cutting purses. If I decide I want what's in a man's purse, I'll hit him on the head and take it."
She laughed. "I'm surrounded by scoundrels."
The day dawned bright and sunny. The sky was very blue, and the wet grass that covered the surrounding hills was shiny green.
"Whose turn is it to cook breakfast?" Sparhawk asked Ulath.
"Yours."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
They roused the others, and Sparhawk got the cooking utensils out of one of the packs.
After they had eaten, Kurik and Berit cut spare lances from a nearby thicket while Sparhawk and Ulath helped their injured friends into Talen's rickety wagon.
"What's wrong with the ones we've got?" Ulath asked when Kurik returned with the lances.
"They tend to break," Kurik said, tying the poles to the side of the wagon, "particularly in view of the way you gentlemen use them. It never hurts to have extra ones."
"Sparhawk, " Talen said quietly, "there are some more of those people in white smocks out there. They're hiding in that brush along the edge of the field.
"Could you tell what kind they were?"
"They had swords," the boy replied.
"Zemochs then. How many of them are there?"
"I saw four."
Sparhawk went over to Sephrenia. "There's a small group of Zemochs hiding at the edge of the field. Would the Seeker's people try to hide?"
"No. They'd attack immediately."
"That's what I thought."
"What are you going to do?" Kalten asked.
"Run them off. I don't want any of Otha's men trailing along behind us. Ulath, let's mount up and chase those people for a while."
Ulath grinned and hauled himself into his saddle.
"You want your lances?" Kurik asked.
"Not for a job this small," Ulath grunted, drawing his axe.
Sparhawk climbed up onto Faran's back, strapped on his shield and drew his sword. He and Ulath set out at a menacing walk. After a few moments, the hidden Zemochs broke from their cover and fled, crying out in alarm. "Let's run them for a bit," Sparhawk suggested. "I want them to be too winded to turn around and come back."
"Right," Ulath agreed, pushing his horse into a canter.
The two mounted knights crashed through the bushes at the edge of the field and pursued the fleeing Zemochs across a broad stretch of ploughed ground.
"Why not just kill them?" Ulath shouted to Sparhawk.
"It's probably not really necessary," Sparhawk shouted back. "There are only four of them, and they don't pose much of a threat."
"You're getting soft, Sparhawk."
"Not really."
They pursued the Zemochs for perhaps twenty minutes, then reined in.
"They run very well, don't they?" Ulath chuckled. "Why don't we go on back now? I'm getting tired of looking at this place."
They rejoined the others, and they all set out, going north along the lake. They saw peasants in the fields, but no signs of any other Zemochs. They rode at a walk with Ulath and Kurik in the lead.
"Any guesses about what those people were up to?"
Kalten asked Sparhawk. The blond knight was driving the wagon, the reins held negligently in one hand and with the other pressed against his injured ribs.
"I'd imagine that Otha's having his men keep an eye on anybody poking around the battlefield," Sparhawk replied. "If somebody happens to stumble across Bhelliom, he'd definitely want to know about it."
"There may be more, then. It might not hurt to keep our eyes open."
The sun grew warmer as the day progressed, and Sparhawk began almost to wish for a return of the clouds and rain of the past week or more. Grimly, he rode on, sweltering in his black-enamelled armour.
They camped that night in a grove of stately oaks not far from the Pelosian border and rose early the following morning. The guards posted at the boundary stood aside for them respectfully, and by mid-afternoon they crested a hill and looked down on the Pelosian city of Paler.
"We made better time than I thought we would," Kurik noted as they rode down the long slope towards the city.
"Are you sure that map of yours is accurate, Sparhawk?"
"No map is entirely accurate. About the best you can hope for is an approximation."
"Knew a map-maker in Thalesia once," Ulath said. "He set out to map the country between Emsat and Husdal.
At first he paced everything off very carefully, but after a day or so he bought himself a good horse and started guessing. His map doesn't even come close, but everybody uses it because nobody wants to take the trouble of drawing a new one."
The guards at the south gate of the city passed them after only the briefest of questions, and Sparhawk obtained the name and location of a respectable inn from one of them. "Talen," he said, "do you think you'll be able to find your way to that inn by yourself?"
"Of course. I can find any place in any town."
"Good. Stay here then, and keep your eyes on that road coming up from the south. Let's see if those Zemochs are still curious about us."
"No problem, Sparhawk." Talen dismounted and tied his horse at the side of the gate. Then he strolled back out and sat in the grass at the side of the road.
Sparhawk and the others rode on into the city with the wagon clattering along behind them. The cobbled streets of Paler were crowded, but people gave way to the Knights of the Church, and they reached the inn within perhaps half an hour. Sparhawk dismounted and went inside. The innkeeper wore one of the tall, pointed hats common in Pelosia and had a slightly haughty expression.
"You have rooms?" Sparhawk asked him.
"Of course. This is an inn."
Sparhawk waited, his expression cold.
"What's your trouble?" the innkeeper asked.
"I was just waiting for you to finish your sentence. I think you left something out."
The innkeeper flushed. "Sorry, My Lord," he mumbled.
"Much better," Sparhawk congratulated him. "Now then, I have three injured friends. Does there happen to be a physician nearby?"
"Down at the end of this street, My Lord. He has a sign out."
"Is he any good?"
"I really couldn't say. I haven't been sick lately."
"We'll chance him, I guess. I'll bring my friends inside and I'll go and get him."
"I don't think he'll come, My Lord. He has a very high opinion of himself. He thinks it's beneath his dignity to leave his quarters. He makes the sick and injured come to him."
"I'll persuade him," Sparhawk said bleakly.
The innkeeper laughed a bit nervously at that. "How many in your party, My Lord?"
"Ten of us. We'll help the injured inside, and then I'll go and have a chat with this self-important physician."
They aided Kalten, Tynian and Bevier into the inn and up the stairs to their rooms. Then Sparhawk came back down and walked resolutely towards the end of the street, his black cape billowing out behind him.
The physician maintained his quarters on the second floor over a greengrocer's shop, and entry was gained by way of an outside stairway. Sparhawk clanked up the stairs and entered without knocking. The physician was a weaselly little fellow dressed in a flowing blue robe. His eyes bulged slightly when he looked up from his book to see a grim-faced man in black armour enter uninvited. "I beg your pardon," he objected.
Sparhawk ignored that. He had decided that the best course was to cut through any possible arguments. "You are the physician?" he asked in a flat voice.
"I am," the man replied.
"You will come with me." It was not a request.
"But - "
"No buts. I have three injured friends who require your attention."
"Can't you bring them here? I do not customarily leave my quarters."
"Customs change. Get what you'll need and come along. They're at the inn just up the street."
"This is outrageous, Sir Knight."
"We're not going to argue about this, are we, neighbour?"
Sparhawk's voice was deadly quiet.
The physician flinched back. "Ah - no. I don't believe so. I'll make an exception in this case."
"I was hoping you'd feel that way."
The physician rose quickly. "I'll get my instruments and some medicines. What sort of injuries are we talking about?"
"One of them has some broken ribs. Another seems to be bleeding inside somewhere. The third suffers mostly from exhaustion."
"Exhaustion is easily cured. Just have your friend spend several days in bed."
"He doesn't have time. Just give him something that'll get him back on his feet."
"How did they receive these injuries?"
"Church business," Sparhawk said shortly.
"I'm always eager to serve the Church."
"You've got no idea of how happy that makes me."
Sparhawk led the reluctant physician back up the street to the inn and on up to the second floor. He drew Sephrenia aside as the healer began his examinations.
"It's a little late," he said to her. "Why don't we hold off on visiting the tanner until morning? I don't think we want him to be rushed. He might forget things we need to know."
"Truly," she agreed. "Besides, I want to be sure this physician knows what he's doing. He looks a little unreliable to me."
"He'd better be reliable. He's already got a fair idea of what's going to happen to him if he isn't."
"Oh, Sparhawk," she said reprovingly.
"It's really a very simple arrangement, little mother. He fully understands that either they get healthy, or he gets sick. That sort of encourages him to do his best."
Pelosian cooking, Sparhawk had noticed, leaned heavily in the direction of boiled cabbage, beets and turnips, only lightly garnished with salt pork. The latter, of course, was totally unacceptable to Sephrenia and Flute, and so the two made a meal of raw vegetables and boiled eggs. Kalten, however, ate everything in sight.
It was after dark when Talen arrived at the inn.
"They're still following us, Sparhawk," he reported, "only there are a lot more of them now. I saw maybe forty of them on top of that hill just south of town, and they're on horses now. They stopped at the hilltop and looked things over. Then they pulled back into the woods."
"That's a little more serious than just four, isn't it?"
Kalten said.
"It is indeed," Sparhawk agreed. "Any ideas, Sephrenia?"
She frowned. "We haven't really been moving all that fast," she said. "If they're on horseback, they could have caught up with us without much trouble. I'd guess that they're just following us. Azash seems to know something that we don't. He's been trying to kill you for months, but now He sends His people out with orders to just follow us at a distance."
"Can you think of any reason for the change in tactics?"
"Several, but they're all pure speculation."
"We'll have to be alert when we leave town," Kalten said.
"Maybe doubly alert," Tynian added. "They might be just biding their time until we come to a deserted stretch of road where they can ambush us."
"That's a cheerful thought," Kalten said wryly. "Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to bed.
The sun was very bright again the following morning, and a freshening breeze blew in off the lake. Sparhawk dressed in his mail-shirt, a plain tunic and woollen leggings. Then he and Sephrenia rode out from the inn towards the north gate of Paler and the tanyard of the man named Berd. The people in the street appeared for the most part to be common workmen carrying a variety of tools. They wore sober blue smocks and the tall, pointed hats.
"I wonder if they realize just how silly those things look," Sparhawk murmured.
"Which things were those?" Sephrenia asked him.
"Those hats. They look like dunce-caps."
"They're no more ridiculous than those plumed hats the courtiers in Cimmura wear."
"I suppose you're right."
The tanyard was some distance beyond the north gate, and it smelled vile. Sephrenia wrinkled her nose as they approached. "This is not going to be a pleasant morning," she predicted.