"Right, but I want to make sure of them before we start dragging. I'd rather not have one wake up when my hands are occupied with his ankles."

Kalten dismounted and went through the grim business of "making sure of them. Then they all fell to work.

The slippery mud made dragging the inert bodies easier.

Kurik stood at the edge of the trench scooping mud over the corpses with his spade.

"Bevier," Tynian said, "are you really so attached to that lochaber?"

"It's my weapon of choice," Bevier replied. "Why do you ask?"

"It's a little inconvenient when the time comes to tidy up. When you lop off their heads like that, it means we have to make two trips with each one." Tynian bent over and picked up two severed heads by the hair as if to emphasize his point.

"How droll," Bevier said drily.

After they had dropped all the bits and pieces of the Zemoch bodies and their weapons in the trench and Kurik had covered them with mud, they rode back to the beach, where Sephrenia sat on her horse, carefully keeping Flute's face covered with the hem of her cloak and trying to keep her own eyes turned away. "Have you finished?" she asked, as Sparhawk and the others approached.

"It's all over," he a.s.sured her. "You can look now." He frowned. "Kalten just raised a point. He said that this was getting to be almost too easy. These people just charge in without thinking. It's as if they want to be killed."

"That's not really it, Sparhawk," she replied. The Seeker has men to spare. It will throw away hundreds just to kill one of us - and hundreds more to kill the next one."

"That's depressing. If it has so many, why is it sending them out in such small groups?"

"They're scouting Parties. Ants and bees do exactly the same thing. They send out small groups to find what the colony is looking for. The Seeker is still an insect, after all, and in spite of Azash, it still thinks like one."

"At least they're not reporting back," Kalten said, " none of the ones we've met so far, anyway."

"They already have," she disagreed. "The Seeker knows when its forces have been diminished. It may not know precisely where we are, but it knows that we've been killing its soldiers. I think we'd better leave here. If there was one group out there, there are probably others as well. We don't want them converging on us."

Ulath was talking seriously to Berit as they rode out at a trot. "Keep your axe under control at all times," he advised. "Don't ever make a swing so wide that you can't recover instantly."

"I think I see," Berit replied seriously.

"An axe can be just as delicate a weapon as a sword - if you know what you're doing," Ulath said. "Pay attention, boy. Your life might depend on this."

"I thought the whole idea was to hit somebody with it as hard as you can."

"There's no real need of that," Ulath replied, " - not if you keep it sharp. When you're cracking a walnut with a hammer, you hit it just hard enough to break the sh.e.l.l. You don't want to smash it into little bits. It's the same with an axe. If you hit somebody too hard with one, there's a fair chance that the blade's going to hang up in the body somewhere, and that leaves you at a definite disadvantage when you have to face your next opponent."

"I didn't know an axe was that complicated a weapon," Kalten said quietly to Sparhawk.

"I think it's a part of the Thalesian religion," Sparhawk replied. He looked at Berit, whose face was rapt as he listened to Ulath's instruction.

"I hate to say this, but we've probably lost a good swordsman there. Berit's very fond of that axe, and Ulath's encouraging him."

Late in the day the lake-sh.o.r.e began to curve towards the north-east. Bevier looked around, getting his bearings. "I think we'd better stop here, Sparhawk," he advised. "As closely as I can tell, this is approximately where the Thalesians came up against the Zemochs."

"All right," Sparhawk agreed. "I guess the rest is up to you, Tynian."

"First thing in the morning," the Alcione Knight replied.

"Why not now?" Kalten asked him.

"It's going to start getting dark soon," Tynian said, his face bleak. "I don't raise ghosts at night."

"Oh?"

"Just because I know how to do it doesn't mean that I like it. I want lots of daylight around me when they start to appear. These men were killed in battle, so they won't be very pretty to look at. I'd rather not have any of them coming up to me in the dark."

Sparhawk and the other knights scouted the general area while Kurik, Berit and Talen set up camp. The rain was slackening slightly as they returned.

"Anything?" Kurik asked, looking out from under the sheet of canvas he had erected at an angle over the fire.

"There's some smoke a few miles off to the south," Kalten replied, swinging down from his horse. "We didn't see anybody, though."

"We'll still have to post a watch," Sparhawk said. "If Bevier knows that this is the general area where the Thalesians were fighting, we can be fairly sure the Zemochs will too, and the Seeker probably knows what we're looking for, so it's certain to have people in this area."

They were all unusually quiet that evening as they sat under Kurik's makeshift canvas cover that kept the rain from quenching their fire. This place had been their goal in the weeks since they had left Cimmura, and very soon they would find out if the trip had served any real purpose. Sparhawk in particular was anxious and worried. He definitely wanted to get on with it, but he respected Tynian's feeling in' the matter. "Is the process very complicated?" he asked the broad-shouldered Deiran. "Necromancy, I mean?"

"It's not your average spell, if that's what you mean," Tynian replied. "The incantation's fairly long, and you have to draw diagrams on the ground to protect yourself.

Sometimes the dead don't want to be awakened, and they can do some fairly nasty things to you if they're really upset."

"How many of them do you plan to raise at a time?"

Kalten asked him.

"One," Tynian said very firmly. "I don't want a whole brigade of them coming at me all at once. It might take a little longer, but it's a great deal safer."

"You're the expert, I suppose."

The morning dawned wet and dreary. The rain had returned during the night. The sodden earth had already received more water than it could hold, and rain-dimpled puddles stood everywhere.

"A perfect day for raising the dead," Kalten observed sourly. "It just wouldn't seem right if we did it in the sunshine."

"Well," Tynian said, rising to his feet, "I suppose we might as well get started."

"Aren't we going to eat breakfast first?" Kalten objected.

"You really don't want anything in your stomach, Kalten," Tynian replied. "Believe me, you don't."

They walked out into the field.

They don't seem to have been doing as much digging here," Berit said, looking around. "Maybe the Zemochs don't know where the Thalesians are buried after all."

"We can hope," Tynian said. "I guess this is as good a place to start as any." He picked up a dead stick and prepared to draw a diagram on the sodden ground.

"Use this instead," Sephrenia advised, handing him a coil of rope. "A diagram drawn on dry ground is all right, but there are puddles here, and the ghosts might not see the whole thing."

"We really wouldn't want that to happen," Tynian agreed. He began to lay out the rope on the ground. The design was a strangely compelling one with obscure curves and circles and irregularly shaped stars. "Is that about right?" he asked Sephrenia.

"Move that one slightly to the left," she said, pointing.

He did that.

"Much better," she said. "Repeat the spell out loud. I'll correct you if you do anything wrong."

"Just out of curiosity, why don't you do this, Sephrenia?" Kalten asked her. "You seem to know more about it than anybody."

"I'm not strong enough," she admitted. "What you're really doing in this ritual is wrestling with the dead to compel them to rise. I'm a little small for that sort of thing."

Tynian began to speak in Styric, intoning the words sonorously. There was a peculiar cadence to his speech, and the gestures he made had a slow stateliness to them. His voice grew louder and more commanding. Then he raised both his hands and brought them together sharply. At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the ground inside his diagram seemed to ripple and shudder. Slowly, almost painfully, something rose from the earth.

"G.o.d!" Kalten gasped In horror as he stared at the grotesquely mutilated thing.

"Talk to it, Ulath," Tynian said from between clenched teeth. "I can't hold it here very long."

Ulath stepped forward and began to speak in a harshly guttural language.

"Old Thalesian," Sephrenia identified the dialect.

"Common soldiers at the time of King Sarak would have spoken it."

The ghastly apparition replied haltingly in a dreadful voice. Then it made a jerky pointing motion with one bony hand.

"Let it go back, Tynian," Ulath said. "I've got what we need."

Tynian's face was grey and his hands were shaking.

He spoke two words in Styric, and the apparition sank back into the earth.

"That one didn't really know anything," Ulath told him, "but it pointed out the spot where an earl is buried. The earl was in the household of King Sarak, and if anyone around here knows where the king's buried, he would. It's right over there."

"Let me get my breath first," Tynian said.

"Is it really that difficult?"

"You have no idea, my friend."

They waited while Tynian stood gasping painfully After a few moments he coiled up his rope and straightened. "All right. Let's go and wake up the earl."

Ulath led them to a small knoll that stood nearby.

"Burial mound," he said. "It's customary to raise one when you bury a man of importance."

Tynian laid out his design atop the mound, then stepped back and began the ritual again. He finished it and clapped his hands once more. The apparition that rose from the mound was not as hideously mutilated as the first had been. It was dressed in traditional Thalesian chain-mail and had a horned helmet on its head. "Who art thou who hast disturbed my sleep?" it demanded of Tynian in the archaic speech of five centuries past.

"He hath brought thee once again into the light of day at my urging, My Lord," Ulath replied. "I am of thy race and would speak with thee."

"Speak quickly then. I am discontent that thou hast done this thing."

"We seek the resting place of His Majesty King Sarak," Ulath said. "Knowest thou, My Lord, where we might search?"

"His Majesty doth not lie on this battlefield," the ghost responded.

Sparhawk's heart sank.

"Knowest thou what befell him?" Ulath pressed "His Majesty departed from his capital at Emsat when word reached him of the invasion of Otha's hordes," the earl declared. "He took with him a small party of his household retainers. The rest of us remained behind to marshal the main force. We were to follow when the army was gathered. When we arrived here, His Majesty was nowhere to be found. None here knoweth what befell him. Seek ye, therefore, elsewhere."

"One last question, My Lord," Ulath said. "Knowest thou perchance which route it was His Majesty's intention to follow to reach this field?"

"He sailed to the north coast, Sir Knight. No man - alive or dead - knoweth where he made landfall and disembarked. Seek ye therefore in Pelosia or Deira, and return me to my rest."

"Our thanks, My Lord," Ulath said with a formal bow.

"Thy thanks have no meaning for me," the ghost said indifferently.

"Let him go back, Tynian," Ulath said sadly.

Once again, Tynian released the spirit as Sparhawk and the others stood looking at each other, their faces filled with chagrin.

Chapter 9.

Ulath walked over to where Tynian sat on the wet ground with his head between his hands. "Are you all right?" he asked. Sparhawk had noticed that the huge, savage Thalesian was strangely gentle and solicitous with his companions.

"I just feel a little tired, that's all," Tynian replied.

"You can't keep doing this, you know," Ulath told him.

"I can hold out for a little longer."

Teach me the spell," Ulath urged. "I can wrestle with the best - alive or dead."

Tynian smiled wanly. "I'll wager that you could, my friend. Have you ever been bested?"

"Not since I was about seven," Ulath said modestly.

That was when I crammed my older brother's head into the wooden well-bucket. It took our father two hours to get him out of it. My brother's ears got caught. He always had those big ears. I sort of miss him. He came out second-best in a fight with an Ogre." The big man looked at Sparhawk. "All right," he said, "now what?"

"We certainly can't search all of northern Pelosia or Deira," Kalten said.

That's fairly obvious," Sparhawk replied. "We don't have time. We've got to get more precise information somehow. Bevier, can you think of anything that might give us a clue of where to look?"