"That's a relief."

"Lenda added something I don't quite understand, though. He asked me to tell you that the candles are still burning. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?"

"Good old Lenda," Sparhawk said warmly. "I asked him not to leave Ehlana sitting in the throne-room in the dark."

"I don't think it makes much difference to her, Sparhawk."

"It does to me," Sparhawk replied.

Chapter 2.

The fog was even thicker when they gathered in the courtyard a quarter of an hour later. The novices were busy in the stables saddling horses.

Vanion came out through the main door, his Styric robe gleaming in the mist-filled darkness. "I'm sending twenty knights with you," he told Sparhawk quietly.

"You might be followed, and they'll offer some measure of protection."

"We need to hurry, Vanion," Sparhawk objected. "If we take others with us, we won't be able to move any faster than the pace of the slowest horse."

"I know that, Sparhawk," Vanion replied patiently.

"You won't need to stay with them for very long. Wait until you're out in open country and the sun comes up.

Make sure n.o.body's too close behind you and then slip away from the column. The knights will ride on to Demos. If anybody's following, they won't know you aren't still in the middle of the column."

Sparhawk grinned. "Now I know how you got to be Preceptor, my friend. Who's leading the column?"

"Olven."

"Good. Olven's dependable."

"Go with G.o.d, Sparhawk," Vanion said, clasping the big knight's hand, "and be careful."

"I'm certainly going to try."

Sir Olven was a bulky Pandion Knight with a number of angry red scars on his face. He came out of the chapterhouse wearing full armour, enamelled black. His men trailed out behind him. "Good to see you again, Sparhawk," he said as Vanion went back inside. Olven spoke very quietly to avoid alerting the church soldiers camped outside the front gate. "All right," he went on, "you and the others ride in the middle of us. With this fog, those soldiers probably won't see you. We'll drop the drawbridge and go out fast. We don't want to be in sight for more than a minute or two."

That's more words than I've heard you use at one time in the last twenty Years," Sparhawk said to his normally silent friend.

"I know," Olven agreed. "I'll have to see if I can't cut back a little."

Sparhawk and his friends wore mail-shirts and travellers' cloaks, since formal armour attracts attention out in the countryside. Their armour, however, was carefully stowed in packs on the string of a half-dozen horses Kurik would lead. They mounted, and the armoured men formed up around them. Olven made a signal to the men at the windla.s.s that raised and lowered the drawbridge, and the men slipped the ratchets, allowing the windla.s.s to run freely. There was a noisy rattle of chain, and the drawbridge dropped with a huge boom. Olven was galloping across it almost before it hit the far side of the fosse.

The dense fog helped enormously. As soon as he had galloped across the bridge, Olven cut sharply to the left, leading the column across the open field towards the Demos road. Behind them, Sparhawk could hear startled shouts as the church soldiers ran out of their tents to stare after the column in chagrin.

"Slick," Kalten said gaily. "Across the drawbridge and into the fog in under a minute."

"Olven knows what he's doing," Sparhawk said, "and what's even better is that it's going to be at least an hour before the soldiers can mount any kind of pursuit."

"Give me an hour's head start, and they'll never catch me," Kalten laughed delightedly. "This is starting out very well, Sparhawk."

"Enjoy it while you can. Things will probably start to go wrong later on."

"You're a pessimist, do you know that?"

"No. I'm just used to little disappointments."

They slowed to a canter when they reached the Demos road. Olven was a veteran, and he always tried to conserve his horses. Speed might be necessary later, and Sir Olven took very few chances.

A full moon hung above the fog, and it made the thick mist deceptively luminous. The glowing white fog around them confused the eye and concealed far more than it illuminated. There was a chill dampness in the air, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak about him as he rode.

The Demos road swung north towards the city of Lenda before turning south-easterly again to Demos, where the Pandion Mother-house was located. Although he could not see it, Sparhawk knew that the countryside along the road was gently rolling and that there were large patches of trees out there. He was counting on those trees for concealment once he and his friends left the column.

They rode on. The fog had dampened the dirt surface of the road, and the sound of their horses' hooves was m.u.f.fled.

Every now and then the black shadows of trees loomed suddenly out of the fog at the sides of the road as they rode by. Talen shied nervously each time it happened.

"What's the problem?" Kurik asked him.

"I hate this," the boy replied. "I absolutely hate it. Anything could be hiding beside the road - wolves, bears - or even worse."

"You're in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen."

"That's easy for you to say, but I'm the smallest one here - except for Flute, maybe. I've heard that wolves and things like that always drag down the smallest when they attack. I really don't want to be eaten, father."

"That keeps cropping up," Tynian noted curiously to Sparhawk. "You never did explain why the boy keeps calling your squire by that term."

"Kurik was indiscreet when he was younger."

"Doesn't anybody in Elenia sleep in his own bed?"

"It's a cultural peculiarity. It's not really as widespread as it might seem, though."

Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups and looked ahead to where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in conversation. "A word of advice, Sparhawk," he said confidentially. "You're an Elenian, so you don't seem to have any problems with this sort of thing, and in Deira we're fairly broad-minded about such things, but I don't know that I'd let Bevier in on this. The Cyrinic Knights are a pious lot - just like all Arcians - and they disapprove of these little irregularities very strongly. Bevier's a good man in a fight, but he's a little narrow-minded. If he gets offended, it might cause problems later on."

"You're probably right," Sparhawk agreed. "I'll talk with Talen and ask him to keep his relationship with Kurik to himself."

"Do you think he'll listen?" the broad-faced Deiran asked sceptically.

"It's worth a try."

They occasionally pa.s.sed a farmhouse standing beside the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for the country folk.

"How long are we going to stay with this column?"

Tynian asked. "Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos is a very long way around."

"We can probably slip away later this morning," Sparhawk replied, " - once we're sure that n.o.body's following us. That's what Vanion suggested."

"Have you got somebody watching to the rear?"

Sparhawk nodded. "Berit's riding about a half-mile back."

"Do you think any of the Primate's spies saw us leave your chapterhouse?"

"They didn't really have very much time for it," Sparhawk said. "We'd already gone past them before they came out of their tents."

Tynian grunted. "Which road do you plan to take when we leave this one?"

"I think we'll go across country. Roads tend to be watched. I'm sure that Annias has guessed that we're up to something by now."

They rode on through the tag end of a foggy night.

Sparhawk was pensive. He privately admitted to himself that their hastily conceived plan had little chance of success. Even if Tynian could raise the ghosts of the Thalesian dead, there was no guarantee that any of the spirits would know the location of King Sarak's final resting place. This entire journey could well be futile and serve only to use up what time Ehlana had left. Then a thought came to him. He rode on forward to speak with Sephrenia.

"Something just occurred to me," he said to her.

"Oh?"

"How well known is the spell you used to encase Ehlana?"

"It's almost never practised because it's so very dangerous," she replied. "A few Styrics might know of it, but I doubt that any would dare to perform it. Why do you ask?"

"I think I'm right on the edge of an idea. If no one but you is really willing to use the spell, then it's rather unlikely that anybody else would know about the time limitation."

"That's true. They wouldn't."

"Then n.o.body could tell Annias about it.

"Obviously."

"So Annias doesn't know that we only have a certain amount of time left. For all he knows, the crystal could keep Ehlana alive indefinitely."

"I'm not certain that gives us any particular advantage, Sparhawk."

"I'm not either, but it's something to keep in mind. We might be able to use it someday."

The eastern sky was growing gradually lighter as they rode, and the fog was swirling and thinning. It was about a half-hour before sunrise when Berit came galloping up from the rear. He was wearing his mail-shirt and plain blue cloak, and his war-axe was in a sling at the side of his saddle. The young novice, Sparhawk decided almost idly, was going to need some instruction in swordsmanship soon, before he grew too attached to that axe.

"Sir Sparhawk," he said, reining in, "there's a column of church soldiers coming up behind us." His hard-run horse was steaming in the chill fog.

"How many?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Fifty or so, and they're galloping hard. There was a break in the fog, and I saw them coming."

"How far back?"

"A mile or so. They're in that valley we just came through."

Sparhawk considered it. "I think a little change of plans might be in order," he said. He looked around and saw a dark blur back in the swirling fog off to the left. "Tynian," he said, "I think that's a grove of trees over there. Why don't you take the others and ride across this field and get into the grove before the soldiers catch up? I'll be right along." He shook Faran's reins. "I want to talk with Sir Olven," he told the big roan.

Faran flicked his ears irritably, then moved alongside the column at a gallop.

"We'll be leaving you here, Olven," Sparhawk told the scarfaced knight. There's a half-hundred church soldiers coming up from the rear. I want to be out of sight before they come by."

"Good idea," Olven approved. Olven was not one to waste words.

"Why don't you give them a bit of a run?" Sparhawk suggested. They won't be able to tell that we're not still in the column until they catch up with you."

Olven grinned crookedly. "Even so far as Demos?" he asked.

"That would be helpful. Cut across country before you reach Lenda and pick up the road again south of town I'm sure Annias has spies in Lenda too."

"Good luck, Sparhawk," Olven said.

"Thanks," Sparhawk said, shaking the scarfaced knight's hand, "we might need it." He backed Faran off the road, and the column thundered past him at a gallop.

"Let's see how fast you can get to that grove of trees over there," Sparhawk said to his bad-tempered mount.

Faran snorted derisively, then leapt forward at a dead run.

Kalten waited at the edge of the trees, his grey cloak blending into the shadows and fog. "The others are back in the woods a ways," he reported. "Why's Olven galloping like that?"

"I asked him to," Sparhawk replied, swinging down from his saddle. "The soldiers won't know that we've left the column if Olven stays a mile or two ahead of them."

"You're smarter than you look, Sparhawk," Kalten said, also dismounting. "I'll get the horses back out of sight. The steam coming off them might be visible." He squinted at Faran. "Tell this ugly brute of yours not to bite me."

"You heard him, Faran," Sparhawk told his war-horse.

Faran laid his ears back.

As Kalten led their horses back among the trees, Sparhawk sank down onto his stomach behind a low bush. The grove of trees lay no more than fifty Yards from the road, and as the fog began to dissipate with the onset of morning, he could clearly see that the whole stretch of road they had just left was empty. Then a single red tunicked soldier galloped along, coming from the south.

The man rode stiffly, and his face seemed strangely wooden.

"A scout?" Kalten whispered, crawling up beside Sparhawk."

"More than likely," Sparhawk whispered back.

"Why are we whispering?" Kalten asked. "He can't hear us over the noise of his horse's hooves."

"You started it."