"An acquaintance of mine," Sparhawk replied distantly. "Someday I may introduce you."

"I'd be honoured," Bevier said sincerely.

Talen went off some distance and collapsed in helpless laughter.

They caught up with the mob of disconsolate-looking Pelosian conscripts late that afternoon. As Sparhawk had feared, the perimeter of their encampment was being patrolled by Wargun's heavily armed thugs.

The soldiers set up a pavilion for them just before sunset, and they went inside. Sparhawk removed his armour and put on a mail-shirt instead. "The rest of you wait here," he said. "I want to take a look around before it gets dark." He put on his sword-belt and stepped out of the tent.

There were two evil-looking Thalesians outside.

"Where do you think you're going?" one of them demanded.

Sparhawk gave him a flat, unfriendly stare and waited.

"My Lord," the fellow grudgingly added.

"I want to check on my horse," Sparhawk said.

"We have farriers to do that, Sir Knight."

"We're not going to have an argument about this, are we, neighbour?"

"Ah - no, I don't think so, Sir Knight."

"Good. Where are the horses picketed?"

"I'll show you, Sir Sparhawk."

"There's no need of that. Just tell me."

"I have to accompany you anyway, Sir Knight. The King's orders."

"I see. Lead on then."

As they started out, Sparhawk heard a sudden boisterous voice. "Ho there, Sir Knight!" He looked around.

"I see they got you and your friends too." It was Kring the Domi of the marauding band of Peloi.

"h.e.l.lo, my friend," Sparhawk greeted the shaven-headed tribesman. "Did you catch up with those Zemochs?"

Kring laughed. "I've got a whole sack-full of ears," he said. "They tried to make a stand. Stupid people, the Zemochs. But then King Soros took up with this rag-tag army, and we had to follow along in order to collect the bounty." He rubbed at his shaved head. "That's all right, though. We didn't have anything Pressing to do back home anyway, now that the mares have all foaled. Tell me, do you still have that young thief with you?"

"Last time I looked, he was still around. Of course he might have stolen a few things and then bolted. He bolts very well when the occasion demands it."

"I'll wager he does, Sir Knight, I'll wager he does.

How's my friend Tynian? I saw you all when you rode in, and I was just on my way to visit him."

"He's well."

"Good." The Domi looked seriously at Sparhawk then.

"Perhaps you can give me some information about military etiquette, Sir Knight. I've never been a part of a formal army before. What are the general rules about pillage?"

"I don't think anybody would get too concerned," Sparhawk replied, "as long as you limit your plundering to the enemy dead. It's considered bad form to loot the bodies of our own soldiers."

"Stupid rule, that one," Kring sighed. "What does a dead man care about possessions? How about rape?"

"It's frowned on. We'll be in Arcium, and that's a friendly country. Arcians are sensitive about their women-folk. Wargun's gathered up a fair number of camp-followers if those urges are bothering you."

"Camp-followers always act so bored. Give me a nice young virgin every time. You know, this campaign is turning out to be less and less enjoyable. How about arson? I love a good fire."

"I'd definitely advise against it. As I said, we'll be in Arcium, and all the towns and houses belong to the people who live there. I'm sure they'd object."

"Civilized warfare leaves a lot to be desired, doesn't it, Sir Knight?"

"What can I say, Domi?" Sparhawk apologized, spreading his hands helplessly.

"If you don't mind my saying so, it's the armour, I think. You people are so encased in steel that you lose sight of the main things - booty, women, horses. It's a failing, Sir Knight."

"It is a failing, Domi," Sparhawk conceded. "Centuries of tradition, you understand."

"There's nothing wrong with tradition - as long as it doesn't get in the way of important things."

"I'll bear that in mind, Domi. Our tent's right over there. Tynian will be glad to see you." Sparhawk followed the Thalesian sentry on through the camp to where the horses were picketed. He made some pretence of checking Faran's hooves, looking intently out into the twilight at the perimeter of the camp. As he had noted earlier, there were dozens of men riding around the outside.

"Why so many patrols?" he asked the Thalesian.

"The Pelosian conscripts are unenthusiastic about this campaign, Sir Knight," the warrior replied. "We didn't go to all the trouble of gathering them up only to have them sneak off in the middle of the night."

"I see," Sparhawk said. "We can go back now."

"Yes, My Lord."

Wargun's patrols seriously complicated things, not to mention the presence of the two sentries outside their tent. Ghwerig was getting farther and farther away with Bh.e.l.liom, and it seemed that there was very little Sparhawk could do about it. He knew that by himself, using a mixture of stealth and main force, he could escape from the camp, but what would that accomplish?

Without Flute, he'd have little chance of tracking down the fleeing Troll, and to take her along without the others to help guard her would be to place her in unacceptable danger. They were going to have to come up with some other idea.

The Thalesian warrior was leading him past the tent of some Pelosian conscripts when he saw a familiar face.

"Occuda?" he said incredulously. "Is that you?"

The lantern-jawed man in bull-hide armour rose to his feet, his bleak face showing no particular pleasure at the meeting. "I'm afraid it is, My Lord," he said.

"What happened? What forced you to leave Count Ghasek?"

Occuda looked briefly at the men who shared the tent with him. "Might we discuss this privately, Sir Sparhawk?"

"Certainly, Occuda."

"Over there, My Lord."

"I'll be in plain sight, Together Sparhawk and Occuda walked away from the tent and stopped near a grove of sapling fir trees that stood so closely together that they precluded the possibility of anyone's pitching a tent among them.

"The count has fallen ill, My Lord," Occuda said somberly.

"And you left him alone with that madwoman? I'm disappointed in you, Occuda.

"The circ.u.mstances have changed somewhat, My Lord."

"Oh?"

"The Lady Bellina is dead now."

"What happened to her?"

"I killed her." Occuda said it in a numb voice. "I could no longer bear her endless screaming. At first the herbs the Lady Sephrenia advised quieted Bellina somewhat, but after a short while, she seemed to shake off their effects. I tried to increase the dosage, but to no avail. Then one night as I was pushing her supper through that slot in the tower wall, I saw her. She was raving and frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. She was obviously in agony. That's when I made the decision to put her to rest."

"We all knew it might come to that," Sparhawk said gravely.

"Perhaps. I could not bring myself to simply slaughter her, however. The herbs no longer quieted her. The nightshade, however, did. She stopped screaming shortly after I gave it to her. " There were tears in Occuda's eyes. "I took my sledge and broke a hole in the tower wall.

Then I did as you instructed with my axe. I've never done anything so difficult in my life. I wrapped her body in canvas and took her outside the castle. There I burned her. After what I had done, I could not face the count. I left him a note confessing my crime and then went to a woodcutter's village not far from the castle. I hired servants there to care for the count. Even after I told them there was no longer any danger at the castle, I had to pay them double wages to get them to agree. Then I came away from that place and joined this army. I hope the fighting starts soon. Everything in my life is over. All I want now is to die."

"You did what you had to do, Occuda."

"Perhaps, but that does not absolve me of my guilt."

Sparhawk made a decision at that point. "Come with me," he said.

"Where are we going, My Lord?"

"To see the Patriarch of Emsat."

"I could not enter the presence of a high churchman with Lady Bellina's blood on my hands."

"Patriarch Bergsten is a Thalesian. I doubt that he's very squeamish. We need to see the Patriarch of Emsat, he told his Thalesian escort. "Take us to his tent."

"Yes, My Lord."

The sentry led them through the camp to the pavilion of Patriarch Bergsten. Bergsten's brutish face looked particularly Thalesian by candle-light. He had heavy bone ridges across his brows, and his cheek-bones and jaw were prominent. He was still wearing his mail-shirt although he had removed his Ogre-horned helmet and stood his axe in the corner.

"Your Grace," Sparhawk said with a bow, "my friend here has a problem of a spiritual nature. I wonder if you could help him?"

"That is my calling, Sir Sparhawk," the Patriarch replied.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Occuda here was at one time a monk. Then he entered the service of a count in northern Pelosia. The count's sister became involved with an evil cult, and she began to practise rites involving human sacrifice, which gave her certain powers."

Bergsten's eyes widened.

"At any rate," Sparhawk continued, "when the count's sister was finally stripped of those powers, she went mad, and her brother was forced to confine her. Occuda took care of her until he could no longer bear her agonies. Then, out of compa.s.sion, he poisoned her."

"That's a dreadful story, Sir Sparhawk," Bergsten said in his deep voice.

"It was a dreadful series of events," Sparhawk agreed.

"Occuda feels overcome with guilt now, and he's convinced that his soul is lost. Can you absolve him so that he can face the rest of his life?"

The armoured Patriarch Bergsten looked thoughtfully at Occuda's suffering face, his eyes at once shrewd and compa.s.sionate. He seemed to consider the matter for several moments, then he straightened, and his expression grew hard. "No, Sir Sparhawk, I can't," he said flatly.

Sparhawk was' about to protest, but the Patriarch raised one thick hand. He looked at the hulking Pelosian.

"Occuda," he said sternly, "you were once a monk?"

"I was, Your Grace."

"Good. This shall be your penance then. You will resume your monk's habit, Brother Occuda, and you will enter my service. When I have decided that you have paid for your sin, I will grant you absolution."

"Y-your Grace," Occuda sobbed, falling to his knees, "how can I ever thank you?"

Bergsten smiled bleakly. "You may change your mind in time, Brother Occuda. You will find that I'm a very hard master. You'll pay for your sin many times over before your soul is washed clean. Now, go gather your possessions. You'll be moving in here with me."

"Yes, Your Grace." Occuda rose and left the tent.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Your Grace, Sparhawk said, "you are a very devious man."

"No, not really, Sir Sparhawk." The huge churchman smiled. "It's just that I've had enough experience to know that the human spirit is a very complex thing. Your friend feels that he must suffer in order to expiate his sin, and if I were simply to absolve him, he would always doubt that he had been thoroughly cleansed. He feels that he has to suffer, so I'll make sure that he suffers - in moderation, of course. I'm not a monster, after all."

"Was what he did really a sin?"

"Of course not. He acted out of mercy. He'll make a very good monk, and after I think he's suffered long enough I'll find a nice quiet monastery somewhere and make him the abbot. He'll be too busy to brood about things, and the Church will get a good, faithful abbot. This is not to mention all those years when I'll have his services at no cost."

"You're not really a very nice man, Your Grace."

"I have never pretended to be, my son. That will be all, Sir Sparhawk. Go with my blessing." The Patriarch winked slyly.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sparhawk said without cracking a smile.

He felt somehow very pleased with himself as he and the sentry walked back across the camp. He might not always be able to solve his own problems, but he certainly seemed able to solve those of others.

"Kring was telling us that the outside of the camp is being patrolled," Tynian said when Sparhawk re-entered the tent. "That's going to make it more difficult to get away, isn't it?"

"Much more," Sparhawk agreed.

"Oh," Tynian added. "Flute's been asking some questions about distances. Kurik looked in the packs, but he couldn't find your map."

"It's in my saddle-bag."