"Does the king demand both ears?"

"No, just the right ones. We still have to be careful with our sabres, though. You can lose the whole bounty with a mis-aimed stroke. Anyway, my friends and I Rushed a fair-sized group of Zemochs near the border. We took a number of them, but the rest fled. They were coming this way last we saw them, and some were wounded. Blood leaves a good trail. We'll run them down and collect their ears - and the gold. It's just a question of time."

"I think I might be able to save you a bit of that, my friend," Tynian said with a broad smile. "From time to time in the last day or so, we've seen a fairly large party of Zemochs riding to our rear. It might just be that they're the ones you're seeking. In any case, though, an ear is an ear, and the king's gold spends just as sweetly even if it chances to be mistakenly dispensed."

Kring laughed delightedly. "It does indeed, friend Tynian," he agreed. "And who knows, it could just be that there are two bags of gold available out here. How many are they, would you say?"

"We've seen forty or so. They're coming up the road from the south."

They won't come much farther," Kring promised, grinning a wolf-like grin. "This was indeed a fortunate meeting, Sir Tynian - at least for me and my comrades.

But why didn't you and your companions turn around and collect the bounty?"

"We weren't really aware of the bounty, Domi," Tynian confessed, "and we're on Church business of some urgency." He made a wry face. "Besides, even if we did gain that bounty, our oaths would require that we hand it over to the Church. Some fat abbot somewhere would profit from our labours. I don't propose to sweat that much to enrich a man who's never done an honest day's work in his life. I'd far rather point a friend in the direction of honest gain."

Impulsively, Kring embraced him. "My brother," he said, "you are a true friend. It's an honour to have met you."

"The honour is mine, Domi," Tynian said gravely.

The Domi wiped his ~greasy fingers on his leather breaches. well, I suppose we should be on our way, friend Tynian," he said. "Slow riding earns no bounty." He paused. "Are you sure you don't want to sell that boy?"

"He's the son of a friend of mine," Tynian said. "I wouldn't mind getting rid of the boy, but the friendship's valuable to me."

"I understand perfectly, friend Tynian." Kring bowed.

"Commend me to G.o.d next time you talk with Him." He vaulted into his saddle from a standing start, and his horse was running before he was even settled.

Ulath walked up to Tynian and gravely shook his hand. "You're fast on your feet," he observed. "That was absolutely brilliant."

"It was a fair trade," Tynian said modestly. "We get the Zemochs off our backs, and Kring gets the ears. No bargain between friends is fair unless both sides get something they want."

"Very, very true, Ulath agreed. "I've never heard of selling ears before, though. Usually it's heads."

"Ears are lighter," Tynian said professionally, "and they don't stare at you every time you open your saddlebags."

"Would you gentlemen mind?" Sephrenia said tartly.

"We have children with us, after all."

"Sorry, little mother," Ulath apologized easily. "Just talking shop."

She stalked back to the wagon, muttering. Sparhawk was fairly certain that some of the Styric words she was saying under her breath were never used in polite society. Who were they?" Bevier asked, looking at the warriors who were rapidly disappearing towards the south.

They're of the Peloi," Tynian replied, "nomadic horse herders. They were the first Elenes in this region. The kingdom of Pelosia is named after them."

"Are they as fierce as they look?"

"Even fiercer. Their presence on the border was probably why Otha invaded Lamorkand instead of Pelosia. No one in his right mind attacks the Peloi."

They reached Lake Venne late the following day. It was a large, shallow body of water into which nearby peat-bogs continually drained, making the water turbid and brown-stained. Flute seemed strangely agitated as they made camp some distance back from the marshy lakesh.o.r.e, and as soon as Sephrenia's tent was erected, she darted inside and refused to come out.

"What's the matter with her?" Sparhawk asked Sephrenia, absently rubbing the ring finger on his left hand. It seemed to be throbbing for some reason.

"I really don't know," Sephrenia frowned. "It's almost as if she's afraid of something."

After they had eaten and Sephrenia had carried Flute's supper in to her, Sparhawk closely questioned each of his injured companions. They all claimed perfect health, a claim he was sure was spurious. "All right, then." He gave up finally. "We'll go back to doing it the old way. You gentlemen can have your armour back, and we'll try a canter tomorrow. No galloping, no running and if we run into any trouble, try to hold back unless things get serious."

"He's just like an old mother hen, isn't he?" Kalten observed to Tynian.

"If he scratches up a worm, you get to eat it," Tynian replied.

"Thanks all the same, Tynian," Kalten declined, But I've already had my supper."

Sparhawk went to bed.

It was about midnight, and the moon was very bright outside the tent. Sparhawk sat bolt upright in his blankets, jolted awake by a hideous, roaring bellow.

"Sparhawk!" Ulath said sharply from outside the tent.

"Rouse the others, fast!"

Sparhawk shook Kalten awake and pulled on his mail-shirt. He grabbed up his sword and ducked out of the tent. He looked around quickly and saw that the others needed no rousing. They were already struggling into their mail and were taking up weapons. Ulath stood at the edge of camp, his round shield in place and his axe in his hand. He was looking off intently into the darkness. Sparhawk joined him.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

"What makes a noise like that?"

"Troll," Ulath replied shortly.

"Here? In Pelosia? Ulath, that's impossible. There aren't any Trolls in Pelosia."

"Why don't you go out there and explain that to him?"

"Are you absolutely sure it's a Troll?"

"I've heard that sound too many times to miss it. It's a Troll, all right, and he's absolutely enraged about something."

"Maybe we should build up the fire," Sparhawk suggested as the others joined them.

"It wouldn't do any good," Ulath said. "Trolls aren't afraid of fire."

"You know their language, don't you?"

Ulath grunted.

"Why don't you call to him and tell him that we mean him no harm?"

"Sparhawk," Ulath said with a pained look, "In this situation, it's the other way around. If he attacks, try to strike at his legs," he warned them all. "If you swing at his body, he'll jerk your weapons out of your hands and feed them to you. All right, I'll try to talk with him." He lifted his head and bellowed something in a horrid, guttural language.

Something out there in the darkness replied, snarling and spitting.

"What did it say?" Sparhawk asked.

"He's cursing. It may take him an hour or so to get finished. Trolls have a lot of swear-words in their language." Ulath frowned. "He doesn't really sound all that sure of himself," he said, sounding puzzled.

"Perhaps our numbers are making it cautious," Bevier suggested.

They don't know what the word means," Ulath disagreed. "I've seen a lone Troll attack a walled city."

There was another snarling bellow from out in the darkness, this time a little closer.

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" Ulath said in bafflement.

"What?" Sparhawk asked.

"He's demanding that we turn the thief over to him."

"Talen?"

"I don't know. How could Talen pick a Troll's pocket? They don't have pockets."

Then they heard the sound of flute's pipes coming from Sephrenia's tent. Her melody was stern and vaguely threatening. After a moment, the beast out in the darkness howled - a sound partially of pain and partially of frustration. Then the howling faded off into the distance.

"Why don't we all go to Sephrenia's tent and kiss that little girl about the head and shoulders for a while?" Ulath suggested.

"What happened?" Kalten asked.

"Somehow she ran him off. I've never seen a Troll run from anything. I saw one try to attack an avalanche once.

I think we'd better talk with Sephrenia. Something's going on here that I don't understand."

Sephrenia, however, was as puzzled as they. She was holding Flute in her arms, and the little girl was crying.

"Please, gentlemen," the Styric woman said softly, "just leave her alone for now. She's very, very upset."

"I'll stand watch with you, Ulath," Tynian said as they came out of the tent. "That bellow froze my blood. I'll never get back to sleep now."

They reached the city of Venne two days later. Once the Troll had been frightened away, they neither saw nor heard any further sign of him. Venne was not a very attractive city. Because local taxes were based on the number of square feet on the ground floor of each house, the citizens had circ.u.mvented the law by building overhanging second storeys. In most cases, the overhang was so extreme that the streets were like narrow, dark tunnels, even at noon. They put up at the cleanest inn they could find, and Sparhawk took Kurik and went in search of information.

For some reason, however, the word "Ghasek" made the citizens of Venne very nervous. The answers Sparhawk and Kurik received were vague and contradictory, and the citizens usually went away from them very fast.

"Over there," Kurik said shortly, pointing at a man staggering from the door of a tavern. "He's too drunk to run." Sparhawk looked critically at the reeling man. "He could also be too drunk to talk," he added.

Kurik's methods, however, were brutally direct. He crossed the street, seized the drunkard by the scruff of the neck, dragged him to the end of the street and shoved his head into the fountain that stood there. "Now, then," he said pleasantly, "I think we understand each other. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to give me the answers - unless you can figure out a way to sprout gills."

The fellow was spluttering and coughing. Kurik pounded on his back until the paroxysm pa.s.sed.

"All right," Kurik said, "the first question is "Where is Ghasek?"

The drunken man's face went pasty white, and his eyes bulged in horror.

Kurik shoved his head under water again. "This is starting to make me very tired," he said conversationally to Sparhawk, looking across the bubbles coming up out of the fountain. He pulled the fellow out by the hair. "This isn't going to get any more enjoyable, friend," he warned.

"I really think you ought to start to co-operate. Let's try again. Where is Ghasek?"

"-north," the fellow choked, spewing water all over the street. He seemed to be almost sober now.

"We know that. Which road do we take?"

"Go out of the north gate. A mile or so after you get out of town, the road branches. Take the left fork."

"You're doing fine. See, you're even staying sort of dry. How far is it to Ghasek?"

"A-about forty leagues." The man writhed in Kurik's iron grip.

"Last question," Kurik promised. "Why does everybody in Venne wet himself whenever he hears the name Ghasek?"

"I-it's a horrible place. Things happen there that are too hideous to describe."

"I've got a strong stomach," Kurik a.s.sured him. "Go ahead. Shock me."

"They drink blood up there - and bathe in it - and even feed on human flesh. It's the most awful place in the world. Even to mention its name brings down a curse on your head." The man shuddered and began to weep.

"There, there," Kurik said, releasing him and patting him gently on the shoulder. He gave the man a coin. "You seem to have got all wet, friend," he added. "Why don't you go back to the tavern and see if you can get dry?"

The fellow scurried off.

"Doesn't sound like too pleasant a place, does it?" Kurik said.

"No, not really," Sparhawk admitted, "but we're going there all the same."

Chapter 13.

Because the road they proposed to follow was reputed to be not very good, they arranged to leave the wagon with the innkeeper and rode out on horseback the next morning through shadowy streets illuminated by torches. Sparhawk had pa.s.sed on the information Kurik had wrung out of the drunken man the day before, and they all looked around warily as they pa.s.sed out through the north gate of Venne.

"It's probably just some local superst.i.tion," Kalten scoffed. "I've heard awful stories about places before, and they usually turned out to be about things that had happened generations before."

"It doesn't really make much sense," Sparhawk agreed.

"That tanner back in Paler said that Count Ghasek's a scholar. That's not usually the sort of man who goes in for exotic entertainments. Let's stay alert anyway. We're a long way from home, and it might be a little hard to call in help."

"I'll hold back a bit," Berit volunteered. "I think we'd all feel better if we're sure those Zemochs aren't still trailing US."