"Then the minute we dig it up, Azash is going to know about it, and the road back to Cimmura could be lined on both sides with Zemochs. It could be a very nervous trip."

Ulath was riding directly behind them. "Not really," he disagreed. "Sparhawk's already got the rings. I can teach him a few words in the language of the Trolls. Once he's got Bh.e.l.liom in his hands, there's almost nothing he won't be able to do. He'll be able to bowl over whole regiments of Zemochs."

"Is it really that powerful?"

"Kalten, you have no idea. If even half the stories are true, Bh.e.l.liom can do almost anything. Sparhawk could probably stop the sun with it, if he wanted to."

Sparhawk looked back over his shoulder at Ulath. "Do you have to know Troll language to use Bh.e.l.liom?" he asked.

"I'm not really sure," Ulath replied, "but they say that it's infused with the power of the Troll-G.o.ds. They might not respond to words spoken in Elene or Styric. The next time I talk with a Troll-G.o.d, I'll ask Him."

They camped in the forest again that night, and after supper Sparhawk walked away from the fire to do some thinking. Bevier quietly joined him. "Will we stop in Venne when we reach it?" the Cyrinic asked.

"More than likely," Sparhawk replied. "I doubt that we'd be able to get much farther tomorrow."

"Good. I'll need to find a church."

"Oh?"

"I've been contaminated by evil. I need to pray for a while."

"It wasn't really your fault, Bevier. It could have happened to any one of us."

"But it was me, Sparhawk," Bevier sighed. "The witch probably sought me out because she knew that I'd be susceptible."

"Nonsense, Bevier. You're the most devout man I've ever met."

"No," Bevier disagreed sadly. "I know my own weaknesses. I am powerfully attracted to members of the fair s.e.x."

"You're young, my friend. What you feel is only natural. It subsides in time - or so I'm told."

"Do you still feel those urges? I'd hoped that by the time I reached your age, they would no longer trouble me."

"It doesn't work exactly that way, Bevier. I've known some very old men whose heads could still be turned by a pretty face. It's part of being human, I suppose. If G.o.d didn't want us to feel that way, He wouldn't permit it.

Patriarch Dolmant explained it to me once when I was having a problem with it. I'm not sure I entirely believed him, but it made me feel a little less guilty."

Bevier chuckled. "You, Sparhawk? This is a side of you I hadn't seen. I thought you were totally consumed with your sense of duty."

"Not entirely, Bevier. I still have a little time for other thoughts as well. I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to meet Lillias."

"Lillias?"

"A Rendorish woman. I lived with her while I was in exile."

"Sparhawk." Bevier gasped.

"It was part of a necessary disguise."

"But surely you didn't -" Bevier left it hanging.

Sparhawk was sure that the young man was blushing furiously, but the darkness concealed it.

"Oh, yes," he a.s.sured his friend. "Lillias would have left me otherwise. She's a woman of strong appet.i.tes. I needed her to help conceal my real ident.i.ty, so I more or less had to try to keep her happy."

"I'm shocked at you, Sparhawk, truly shocked."

"The Pandions are a more pragmatic order than the Cyrinics, Bevier. We do what has to be done in order to get the job finished. Don't worry, my friend. Your soul hasn't been damaged - at least not very much.

"I still need to spend some time in a church."

"Why? G.o.d is everywhere, isn't he?"

"Of course."

"Talk with Him here, then."

"It wouldn't be quite the same.

"Whatever makes you feel right, I suppose."

They set out again at first light. The road now tended downward, for they were coming down out of the low range of forested hills. On occasion, when rounding a curve or cresting a hill, they could see Lake Venne sparkling in the spring sun off in the distance, and by mid afternoon they reached the fork in the road. The main road was much better than had been the one leading down from Ghasek, and they reached the north gate of Venne just before the sunset filled the western sky with its fire.

Once again they rode through the narrow streets with the overhanging houses casting a premature darkness, and arrived back at the inn where they had previously stayed. The innkeeper, a jovial fat Pelosian, welcomed them and led them upstairs to the second floor where the sleeping-rooms were located. "Well, My Lords," he said, "how was your sojourn in those accursed woods?"

"Quite successful, neighbour," Sparhawk replied, "and I think you can begin to pa.s.s the word around that Ghasek's no longer a place to be feared. We found out what was causing the problem and took care of it."

"Thanks be to G.o.d for the Knights of the Church!" the innkeeper cried enthusiastically. "The stories that have been going around have been very bad for business here in Venne. People have been choosing other routes because they didn't want to go into those woods."

"Its all taken care of now," Sparhawk a.s.sured him.

"Was it some kind of monster?"

"In a manner of speaking," Kalten replied.

"Did you kill it?"

"We entombed it." Kalten shrugged, starting to remove his armour.

"Good for you, My Lord."

"Oh, by the way," Sparhawk said, "we need to find a place called Giant's Mound. Do you by any chance happen to know where we should start looking?"

"I think its on the east side of the lake," the innkeeper replied. "There are some villages down there. They're back a ways from the lake-sh.o.r.e because of all those peat-bogs." He laughed. The villages won't be hard to find. The peasants down there burn peat in their stoves.

It puts out quite a bit of smoke, so about all you have to do is follow your noses."

"What are you planning to offer for supper tonight?" Kalten asked eagerly.

"Is that all you ever think about?" Sparhawk said.

"It's been a long trip, Sparhawk. "I need some real food.

You gentlemen are good companions, but your cooking leaves a bit to be desired."

"I've had a haunch of beef turning on the spit since this morning, My Lord," the innkeeper said. "It should be well done by now."

Kalten smiled beatifically.

True to his word, Bevier spent the night in a nearby church and rejoined them in the morning. Sparhawk chose not to question him concerning the state of his soul.

They rode out of Venne and took the road south along the lake. They made much better time than they had when they had made the trip to the city. On that occasion, Kalten, Bevier and Tynian had been recovering from their encounter with the monstrous thing which had emerged from the burial mound at the north end of Lake Randera, but now they were wholly restored and able to ride at a gallop. It was late afternoon when Kurik pulled up beside Sparhawk. "I just caught a trace of peat-smoke in the air," he reported. "There's a village of some kind around here."

"Kalten," Sparhawk called.

"Yes?"

"There's a village nearby. Kurik and I are going to go have a look. Set up camp and build a good fire. It might be after dark before the two of us get back and we'll need something to guide us in."

"I know what to do, Sparhawk."

"All right. Do it then." Sparhawk and his squire turned aside from the road and galloped across an open field towards a low band of trees a mile or so to the east.

The smell of burning peat grew stronger - a strangely homelike scent. Sparhawk leaned back in his saddle feeling strangely at ease.

"Don't get too confident," Kurik warned. "The smoke does strange things to their heads. Peat-burners are not always very reliable. In some ways, they're worse than Lamorks."

"Where did you get all this information, Kurik?"

"There are ways, Sparhawk. The Church and the n.o.bility get their information in dispatches and reports. The commons go to the heart of things."

"I'll remember that. There's the village."

"You'd better let me do most of the talking when we get there," Kurik advised. "No matter how hard you try, you don't sound much like a commoner."

It was a low village. Shallow, wide houses built of grey field-stone and roofed with thatch lined both sides of the single street. A thick-bodied peasant sat on a stool in an open-sided shed, milking a brown cow.

"h.e.l.lo, there, friend," Kurik called to him, slipping down from his horse. The peasant turned and stared at him in slack-lipped stupidity.

"Do you happen to know about a place called Giant's Mound!" Kurik asked him.

The fellow continued to gape at him without answering.

Then a lean man with squinting eyes came out of a nearby house. "Won't do you no good to talk to him," he said. "He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was young, and he hasn't been right since."

"Oh," Kurik said. "Sorry to hear about that. Maybe you could help us. We're looking for a place called Giant's Mound."

"You're not plannin' to go there at night, are you?"

"No, we thought we'd wait until daylight."

That's a little better, but not much. It's haunted, you know."

"No, I didn't know that. Whereabouts is it?"

"You see that lane as runs off toward the south-east?"

The lean man pointed.

Kurik nodded.

"Come sun-up, follow that. It runs right past the mound - four, maybe five mile from here."

"Have you ever seen anybody poking around it? Maybe somebody digging?"

"Never heard tell of nothin' like that. People as has good sense don't poke around haunted places."

"We've heard that you've got a Troll in this area."

"What's a Troll?"

"Ugly brutes all covered with hair. This one is pretty badly deformed."

"Oh, that thing. It's got a lair someplace out in the bogs.

It only comes out at night. It wanders up an' down the lake-sh.o.r.e. It makes awful noises for a while an' then pounds on the ground with its front paws as if it was real mad about somethin". I seen it a couple times myself when I was cuttin' peat. I'd stay away from it if it was me.

It seems like it's got an awful bad temper."

"Sounds like good advice to me. Ever see any Styrics hereabouts?"

"No. They don't come around here. People in this district don't hold with heathens much. You sure are full of questions, friend." Kurik shrugged. "Best way to learn things is to ask questions," he said easily.

"Well, go ask somebody else. I got work to do." The fellow's expression had turned unfriendly. He scowled at the stupid fellow in the shed. "You done with the milkin' yet?" he demanded.

The slack-lipped idiot shook his head apprehensively.

"Well get at it. You don't get no supper till yer done."

"Thanks for your time, friend," Kurik said, remounting.

The lean man grunted and went back into the house.

"Useful," Sparhawk said, as they rode out of the village in the ruddy light of the setting sun. "At least there aren't any Zemochs around."

"I'm not so sure, Sparhawk," Kurik disagreed. "I don't think that fellow was the best source of information in the world. He doesn't seem to take too much interest in what's going on around him. Besides, Zemochs aren't the only ones we have to worry about. That Seeker thing could set just about anybody on us, and we've also got to keep an eye out for that Troll. If Sephrenia's right about that jewel's making its reemergence known, the Troll would be one of the first ones to know, wouldn't he?"

"I don't know. We'll have to ask her. I think we'd better a.s.sume that he will. If we dig the crown up, we should more or less expect a visit from him."