"Trolls aren't famous for their gentle dispositions. They don't even get along with each other most of the time."

The sun was very bright that morning, and the birds sang in the bushes near the deserted village in the centre of the field below Count Ghasek's castle. Talen turned aside to ride into the village.

There won't be anything in there to steal," Kurik called after him.

"Just curious, that's all," Talen called back. "I'll catch up with you in a couple of minutes."

"Do you want me to go and get him?" Berit asked.

"Let him look around," Sparhawk said. "He'll complain all day if we don't."

Then Talen came galloping out of the village. His face was deathly pale, and his eyes were wide. When he reached them, he tumbled from his horse and lay on the ground retching and unable to speak.

"We'd better go and have a look," Sparhawk said to Kalten. the rest of you wait here."

The two knights rode warily into the deserted village with their lances at the ready.

He went this way," Kalten said quietly, pointing at the tracks of Talen's horse in the muddy street with the tip of his lance.

Sparhawk nodded, and they followed the tracks to a house that was somewhat larger than the others in the village. The two dismounted, drew their swords and entered.

The rooms inside were dusty and devoid of any furniture. "Nothing at all in here," Kalten said. "I wonder what frightened him so much."

Sparhawk opened the door to a room at the back of the house and looked inside. "You'd better go and get Sephrenia," he said bleakly.

"What is it?"

"A child. It's not alive, and it's been dead for a long time."

"Are you sure?"

"Look for yourself."

Kalten looked into the room and made a gagging sound. "Are you sure you want her to see that?" he asked.

"We need to know what happened."

"I'll go and get her then."

The two went back outside. Kalten remounted and rode out to where the others waited while Sparhawk stood near the door of the house. A few minutes later, the blond knight returned with Sephrenia.

"I told her to leave flute with Kurik," Kalten said. "We wouldn't want her to see what's in there."

"No," Sparhawk replied somberly. "Little mother," he apologised to Sephrenia, "this will not be pleasant."

"Few things are," she said resolutely.

They took her inside the house to that back room.

She took one quick look and then turned aside.

"Kalten," she said, "go and dig a grave."

"I don't have a shovel," he objected.

Then use your hands!" her tone was intense, almost savage.

"Yes, Sephrenia." He seemed awed by her uncharacteristic vehemence. He left the house quickly.

"Oh, poor thing," Sephrenia mourned, hovering over the desiccated little body.

The body of the child was withered and dry. Its skin was grey, and its sunken eyes were open.

"Bellina again?" Sparhawk asked. His voice seemed loud, even to himself.

"No," she replied. "This is the work of the Seeker. This is how it feeds. Here," she pointed at dry puncture marks on the child's body, "and here, and here, and here. This is where the Seeker fed. It draws out the body's fluids and leaves only a dry husk."

"Not any more," Sparhawk said, his fist closing about the haft of Aldreas's spear. "The next time we meet, it dies."

"Can you afford to do that, dear one!"

"I can't afford not to. I'll avenge this child - against the Seeker or Azash or even against the gates of h.e.l.l itself."

"You're angry, Sparhawk."

"Yes. You could say that." It was stupid and served no purpose, but Sparhawk suddenly tore his sword from its scabbard and destroyed an unoffending wall with it. It didn't accomplish anything, but it made him feel a little better.

The others came silently down into the village and to the open grave Kalten had grubbed out of the earth with his bare hands. Sephrenia came out of the house with the dry body of the child in her arms. Flute came forward with a light linen cloth, and the two carefully wrapped the dead child in it. Then they deposited it in the rude grave.

"Bevier," Sephrenia said, "would you? This is an Elene child, and you are the most devout among these knights."

"I am unworthy." Bevier was weeping openly.

"Who is worthy, dear one?" she said. "Will you send this unknown child into the darkness alone?"

Bevier stared at her and then fell to his knees beside the grave and began to recite the ancient prayer for the dead of the Elene church.

Rather peculiarly, Flute came up beside the kneeling Arcian. Her fingers gently wove through his curly blue black hair in a strangely comforting way. For some reason, Sparhawk began to feel that the strange little girl might be far, far older than any of them realized. Then she raised her pipes. The hymn was an ancient one, almost at the core of the Elene faith, but there was a minor Styric overtone to it. Briefly, in the sound of the little girl's song, Sparhawk began to perceive some unbelievable possibilities.

When the burial was complete, they mounted and rode on. They were all very quiet for the rest of that day, and they stopped for the night at the campsite beside the small lake where they had encountered the wandering minstrel. The man was gone.

"I was afraid of that," Sparhawk said. "It was too much to hope for that he'd still be here."

"Maybe we'll catch up with him farther south," Kalten suggested. That horse of his wasn't in very good shape."

"What can we do about him even if we do catch him?" Tynian said. "you weren't planning to kill him, were you?"

"Only as a last resort," Kalten replied. "Now that Sephrenia knows how Bellina influenced him, she could probably cure him."

"Your confidence is very nice, Kalten," she said, "but it might be misplaced."

"Will the spell she put on him ever wear off?" Bevier asked.

"To some degree. He'll grow less desperate as time goes on, but he'll never be entirely free of it. It might even make him write better poetry, though. The important thing is that he'll grow less and less infectious. Unless he meets a fair number of people in the next week or so, he won't be much of a danger to the count, and neither will those servants."

That's something at least," the young Cyrinic said. He frowned slightly. "Since I was already infected, why did that creature come to me that night? Wasn't that just a waste of her time?" Bevier seemed still strongly shaken by the funeral service for the dead child.

"It was for reinforcement, Bevier," she told him. "You were agitated, but you wouldn't have gone as far as to attack your companions. She had to make sure you'd go to any lengths to free her from that tower."

As they were setting up their night's camp, something occurred to Sparhawk. He went over to where Sephrenia sat by the fire with her teacup in her hands. "Sephrenia," he said, "what's Azash up to? Why is He suddenly going out of His way to convert Elenes? He's never done that before, has He?"

"Do you remember what the ghost of King Aldreas said to you that night in the crypt?" she said. "That the time had come for Bh.e.l.liom to re-emerge?"

"Yes."

"Azash knows that too, and He's growing desperate. I'd guess that He's found that His Zemochs aren't reliable. They follow orders, but they're not very bright. They've been digging up that battlefield for centuries now, and they just keep ploughing over the same ground. We've found out more about Bh.e.l.liom's location in the past few weeks than they've found out in the past five hundred years."

"We were lucky."

"That's not entirely true, Sparhawk. I know that I tease you sometimes about Elene logic, but that was precisely what's got us so close to Bh.e.l.liom. A Zemoch is incapable of logic. That's Azash's weakness. A Zemoch doesn't think because he doesn't have to. Azash does all his thinking for him. That's why Azash so desperately needs Elene converts. He doesn't need their adoration, He needs their minds. He has Zemochs all over the western kingdoms gathering old stories - in the same way that we did. I think He believes that one of them will stumble over the right story and that then His Elene converts will be able to piece together the meaning of it."

"That's the long way around, isn't it."

"Azash has time. He's not pressed by the same sense of urgency that we are."

Later that night, Sparhawk was standing watch some distance away from the fire, looking out over the small lake that glittered in the moonlight. Again, the howls of wolves echoed back in the dismal woods, but now for some reason the sound did not seem so ominous. The ghastly spirit which had haunted this forest was locked away forever, and the wolves were only wolves now and not harbingers of evil. The Seeker, of course, was an entirely different matter. Grimly Sparhawk promised himself that the next time they encountered it, he would bury the spear of Aldreas in the hideous creature.

"Sparhawk, where are you?" It was Talen. He spoke quietly and stood near the fire peering out into the darkness.

"Over here."

The boy came towards him, putting his feet down carefully to avoid hidden obstructions on the ground.

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

"I couldn't sleep. I thought you might like some company."

"I appreciate that, Talen. Standing watch is a lonely business."

"I'm certainly glad to be away from that castle," Talen said. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"I was a little nervous myself," Sparhawk admitted.

"Do you know something? There were all sorts of very nice things in Ghasek's castle, and I didn't once think of stealing any of them. Isn't that odd?"

"Maybe you're growing up."

"I've known some very old thieves," Talen disagreed.

Then he sighed disconsolately.

"Why so mournful, Talen?"

"I wouldn't tell just anyone this, Sparhawk, but it's not as much fun as it used to be. Now that I know I can take just about anything I want from almost anybody, the thrill has sort of gone out of it."

"Maybe you should look for another line of work."

"What else am I suited for?"

"I'll give it some thought and let you know what I come up with."

Talen laughed suddenly.

"What's so funny?" Sparhawk asked him.

"I might have just a little trouble getting references," the boy replied, still laughing. "My customers didn't usually know they were doing business with me."

Sparhawk grinned. "It could be a problem," he agreed.

"We'll work something out."

The boy sighed again. "It's almost" over, isn't it, Sparhawk? We know where that king's buried now. All we have left to do is go and dig up his crown, and then we'll go back to Cimmura. You'll go to the palace, and I'll go back to the streets."

"I don't think so," Sparhawk said. "Maybe we can come up with an alternative to the streets."

"Maybe, but the minute it gets tedious, I'll just run away again. I'm going to miss all this, you know there've been a few times when I was so scared I almost wet myself, but there have been good times too. Those are the ones I'll remember."

"At least we gave you something." Sparhawk put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go back to bed, Talen. We'll be getting up early tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, Sparhawk."

They set out at dawn, riding carefully along the rutted road to avoid injury to the horses. They pa.s.sed the woodcutters' village without stopping and pressed on.

"How far do you make it?" Kalten asked, about midmorning.

"Three - maybe four more days - five more at the most, "

Sparhawk replied. "Once we get out of this forest, the roads improve and we'll make better time."

"Then all we have to do is find Giant's Mound."

"That shouldn't be much of a problem. From what Ghasek said, the local peasantry uses it as a landmark.

"We'll ask around."

"Do you remember what Sephrenia said at Alstrom's castle back in Lamorkand?" Kalten said seriously. The business about Bh.e.l.liom's reemergence ringing through the whole world?"

"Vaguely," Sparhawk replied.