"Are their eyes that good?"

"No, but their ears are."

"Do you know everything?" Kurik's whisper sounded a little grumpy.

"Not yet," she said quietly, "but I'm working on that. Do you have anything to eat? I'm a little hungry for some reason."

"Some dried beef," Kurik replied, reaching inside the tunic that covered his black leather vest. "It's very salty, though."

"There's plenty of water in this cave." She took the chunk of leather-hard beef he offered and bit into it. "It is a little salty, isn't it?" she admitted, swallowing hard.

They moved on. Then they saw a light coming from somewhere ahead, faint at first but growing steadily stronger as they moved on down the spiral gallery. "His treasure cave is just ahead," Flute whispered. "Let me have a look." She crept on ahead and then returned. "He's there," she said, her face breaking into a smile.

"Is he making that light?" Kurik whispered.

"No. It comes down from the surface. There's a stream that drops down into the cavern. It catches the sunlight at certain times of the day." She was speaking in a normal tone now. "The sound of the waterfall will m.u.f.fle our voices. We still have to be careful, though. His eyes will catch any movement." She spoke briefly to Sephrenia, and the small Styric woman nodded. She reached up and extinguished the spark at the tip of the sword between two fingers. Then she began to weave an incantation.

"What's she doing?" Sparhawk asked Flute.

"Ghwerig's talking to himself," she replied, "and it might just be that he'll say something useful to us. He's speaking in the language of the Trolls, so Sephrenia's making it possible for us to understand him."

"You mean that she's going to make him speak in Elene?"

"No. The spell isn't directed at him." She smiled that impish little smile of hers. "you're learning many things, Sparhawk. Now you'll understand the language of the Trolls - for a time at least."

Sephrenia released the spell, and quite suddenly Sparhawk could hear much more than he had during their long descent through the spiralling gallery. The rushing sound of the waterfall dropping into the cavern ahead became almost a roar, and Ghwerig's rasping mutter came clearly over it.

"We'll wait here for a time," Flute told them. "Ghwerig's an outcast, so he talks to himself most of the time, and he says whatever is crossing his mind. We can find out a great deal by eavesdropping. Oh, by the way, he has Sarak's crown, and Bh.e.l.liom's still attached to it."

Sparhawk felt a sudden rush of excitement. The thing he had sought for so long was no more than a few hundred paces away. "What's he doing?" he asked Flute.

"He's sitting at the edge of the chasm that the waterfall has carved out of the rock. All his treasures are piled up around him. He's cleaning the peat-stains off Bh.e.l.liom with his tongue. That's why we can't understand him at the moment. Let's move a little closer, but stay back from the mouth of the gallery."

They crept on down towards the light and stopped a few yards from the opening. The reflected light from the waterfall shimmered and seemed to waver liquidly. It was peculiarly like a rainbow.

"Thieves! Thieves!" The voice was harsh, far harsher than any Elene or Styric throat could have produced.

"Dirty. She all dirty." There was more of the s...o...b..ring sound as the Troll-Dwarf licked at his treasure. "Stealers all dead now," Ghwerig chortled hideously. "All dead. Ghwerig not dead, and his rose come home at last."

"He sounds as if he's mad," Kurik muttered.

"He always has been," Flute told him. "His mind's as twisted as his body."

"Talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose!" the unseen monstrosity commanded. Then he howled out a hideous oath directed at the Styric G.o.ddess Aphrael. "Bring back rings Bring back rings! Bh.e.l.liom not talk to Ghwerig if Ghwerig not got rings!" There was a blubbering sound, and Sparhawk realized with revulsion that the beast was crying. "Lonely," the Troll sobbed. "Ghwerig so lonely!"

Sparhawk felt a wrench of almost unbearable pity for the misshapen dwarf.

"Don't do that," Flute said sharply. "It will weaken you when you face him. You're our only hope now, Sparhawk, and your heart must be like stone."

Then Ghwerig spoke for a time in terms so vile that there were no counterparts in the Elene language.

"He's invoking the Troll-G.o.ds," Flute explained quietly. She c.o.c.ked her head. "Listen," she said sharply.

"The Troll-G.o.ds are answering him."

The muted roar of the waterfall seemed to change tone, becoming deeper, more resonant.

"We'll have to kill him very soon," the little girl said in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone. "He still has some fragments of the original sapphire left in his workshop. The Troll G.o.ds instructed him to make new rings. Then they'll infuse them with the force to unlock the power of Bh.e.l.liom. He'll be able to destroy us at that point."

Then Ghwerig chuckled hideously. "Ghwerig beat you, Azash. Azash a G.o.d, but Ghwerig beat him. Azash not ever see Bh.e.l.liom now."

"Can Azash possibly hear him?" Sparhawk asked.

"Probably," Sephrenia said calmly. "Azash knows the sound of His own name. He listens when somebody says something to Him."

"Man-things swim in lake to find Bh.e.l.liom," Ghwerig rambled on. "Bug-thing belong Azash watch from weeds and see them. Man-things go away. Bug-thing bring man-things with no minds. Man-things swim in water. Many drown. One man-thing find Bh.e.l.liom. Ghwerig kill man-thing and take Blue Rose. Azash want Bh.e.l.liom? Azash come seek Ghwerig. Azash cook in Troll-G.o.d fire. Ghwerig never eat G.o.d-meat before. Ghwerig wonder how G.o.d-meat taste."

Deep within the earth there was a rumbling sound, and the floor of the cave seemed to shudder.

"Azash definitely heard him," Sephrenia said. "You almost have to admire that twisted creature out there. No one has ever thrown that kind of insult into the face of one of the Elder G.o.ds."

"Azash mad to Ghwerig?" the Troll was saying. "Or maybe-so Azash shake from fear. Ghwerig have Bh.e.l.liom now. Soon make rings. Ghwerig not need Troll-G.o.ds then. Cook Azash in Bh.e.l.liom-fire. Cook slow so juice not burn away. Ghwerig eat Azash. Who is pray to Azash when Azash lay deep in Ghwerig's belly?"

The rumble this time was accompanied by sharp cracking sounds as rocks deep in the earth shattered.

"He's sticking his neck out, wouldn't you say?" Kurik said in a strained voice. "Azash isn't the sort you want to play with."

"The Troll-G.o.ds are protecting Ghwerig," Sephrenia replied. "Not even Azash would risk a confrontation with them."

"Stealers. Stealers!" the Troll howled. "Aphrael steal rings. Adian of Thalesia steal Bh.e.l.liom! Now Azash and Sparhawk from Elenia try to steal her from Ghwerig again. Talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose! Ghwerig lonely!"

"How did he find out about me?" Sparhawk was startled by the breadth of the Troll-Dwarf's knowledge.

"The Troll-G.o.ds are old and very wise," Sephrenia replied. "There's very little that happens in the world that they don't know, and they'll pa.s.s it on to those who serve them - for a price."

"What sort of price would satisfy a G.o.d?"

"Pray that you never have to know, dear one," she said with a shudder.

"Take Ghwerig ten years to carve one petal here, Blue Rose. Ghwerig love Blue rose. Why she not talk to Ghwerig?" He mumbled inaudibly for a time. "Rings. Ghwerig make rings so Bh.e.l.liom speak again. Burn Azash in Bh.e.l.liom fire. Burn Sparhawk in Bh.e.l.liom fire. Burn Aphrael in Bh.e.l.liom fire. All burn. All burn. Then Ghwerig eat."

"I think it's time for us to get to it," Sparhawk said grimly. "I definitely don't want him getting into his workshop." He reached for his sword.

"Use the spear," Flute told him. "He can grab your sword out of your hand, but the spear has enough power to hold him off. Please, my n.o.ble father, try to stay alive. I need you."

"I'm doing my very best," he told her.

"Father?" Kurik asked in a tone of surprise.

"It's a Styric form of address," Sephrenia said rather quickly, throwing a look at Flute. "It has to do with respect - and love."

At that point Sparhawk did something he had seldom done before. He set his palms together in front of his chest and bowed to this strange Styric child.

Flute clasped her hands together in delight, then hurled herself into his arms and kissed him soundly with her little rose-bud mouth. "Father," she said. For some reason Sparhawk felt profoundly embarra.s.sed. Flute's kiss was not that of a little girl.

"How hard is a Troll's head?" Kurik asked Flute gruffly, obviously as disturbed as Sparhawk by the little girl's open display of affection that seemed far beyond her years. He was shaking out his brutal chain-mace.

"Very very hard," she told him.

"We've heard that he's deformed," Kurik continued.

"How good are his legs?"

"Weak. It's all he can do to stand."

"All right then, Sparhawk," Kurik said in a professional tone. "I'll edge around to the side of him and whip him across the knees, hips and ankles with this." He swung his mace whistling through the air. "If I can put him down, shove the spear into his guts and then I'll try to brain him."

"Must you be so graphic, Kurik?" Sephrenia protested in a sick voice.

"This is business, little mother," Sparhawk told her.

"We have to know exactly what we're going to do, so don't interfere. All right, Kurik, let's go." Quite deliberately he walked to the mouth of the gallery and stepped out into the cavern, making no attempt to conceal himself.

The cavern was a place of wonder. Its roof was lost in purple shadow, and the seething waterfall plunged in glowing, golden mist into an unimaginably deep chasm from which the hollow roar of falling water echoed up in endless babble. The walls, stretching out as far as the eye could reach, glittered with flecks and veins of gold, and gems more precious than the ransom of kings sparkled in the shifting, rainbow-hued light.

The misshapen Troll-Dwarf, s.h.a.ggy and grotesque, squatted at the edge of the chasm, and piled around him were lumps and chunks of pure gold and heaps of gems of every hue. In his right hand Ghwerig held the stained gold crown of King Sarak, and surmounting that crown was Bh.e.l.liom, the sapphire rose. The jewel seemed to glow as it caught and reflected the light that came tumbling down with the falling water. Sparhawk looked for the first time at the most precious object on earth, and for a moment a kind of wonder almost overcame him.

Then he stepped forward, the ancient battle-spear held low in his left hand. He wasn't sure if Sephrenia's spell would make it possible for the grotesque Troll to understand him, but he felt a peculiar moral compunction to speak. To simply destroy this deformed monstrosity without a word was not in Sparhawk's nature. He did not know if Ghwerig could understand him, but he had to speak. "I have come for the Bh.e.l.liom," he said. "I am not Adian, King of Thalesia, so I will not try to trick you. I will take what I want from you by main force. Defend yourself if you can." It was as close as Sparhawk could come to a formal challenge under the circ.u.mstances.

Ghwerig came to his feet, his twisted body hideous, and his flat lips peeled back from his yellow fangs in a snarl of hatred. "You not take Ghwerig's Bh.e.l.liom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat - not even pale Elene G.o.d save Sparhawk now."

"That hasn't been decided yet," Sparhawk replied coolly. "I need the use of Bh.e.l.liom for a time, and then I will destroy it to keep it out of the hands of Azash. Surrender it up to me or die."

Ghwerig's laughter was hideous. "Ghwerig die? Ghwerig immortal, Sparhawk from Elenia. Man-thing cannot kill."

"That also hasn't been decided yet." Quite deliberately, Sparhawk took the spear in both hands and advanced on the Troll-dwarf. Kurik, his spiked chain-mace hanging from his right fist, came out of the mouth of the gallery and edged around his Lord to come at the Troll from the side.

"Two?" Ghwerig said. "Sparhawk should have brought a hundred." He bent and lifted a huge stone club bound with iron out of a pile of gems. "You not take Ghwerig's Bh.e.l.liom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat. Not even Aphrael save Sparhawk now. Little man-things doomed. Ghwerig feast this night. Roasted man-things have much juice." He smacked his lips grossly. He straightened, his rough-furred shoulders bulking ominously. The term "dwarf" as applied to a troll, Sparhawk saw, was grossly deceptive. Ghwerig, despite his deformity, was at least as tall as he, and the Troll's arms, twisted like old stumps, hung down below his knees. His face was furred rather than bearded, and his green eyes seemed to glow malevolently. He shambled forward, his vast club swinging in his right hand. In his left he still clutched Sarak's crown with Bh.e.l.liom glowing at its apex.

Kurik stepped in and swung his whistling chain-mace at the monster's knees, but Ghwerig almost disdainfully blocked the blow with his club. "Flee, weak man-thing," he said, his voice grating horribly. "All flesh is food for me." He swung his horrid club at that point, and the reach of his abnormally long arms made him doubly dangerous. Kurik jumped back as the iron-bound stone cudgel whistled past his face.

Sparhawk lunged in, driving the spear at the Troll's chest, but again Ghwerig deflected the stroke. Too slow, Sparhawk from Elenia," he laughed.

Then Kurik's mace caught him high on the left hip.

Ghwerig fell back, but with cat-like speed smashed his club into a pile of glittering gems, spraying them out like missiles. Kurik winced and put his free hand to his face to wipe the blood from the gash in his forehead out of his eyes. Sparhawk jabbed again with his spear, lightly slicing the off-balanced Troll across the chest. Ghwerig roared with rage and pain, then stumbled forward with vast swings of his club. Sparhawk jumped back, coolly watching for an opening. He saw that the Troll was totally without fear. No injury short of one that was mortal would make the thing retreat. Ghwerig was actually foaming at the mouth now, and his green eyes glowed with madness. He spat out hideous curses and lurched forward again, swinging his horrid club.

"Keep him away from the edge!" Sparhawk shouted to Kurik. "If he goes over, we may never find the crown!"

"Then he quite clearly realized that he had found the key".

Somehow they had to make the deformed Troll drop the crown. It was obvious by now that not even the two of them could prevail against this small creature with its long arms and its eyes ablaze with insane rage. Only a distraction would give them the opportunity to leap in and deliver a mortal wound. He shook his right hand to get Kurik's attention, then reached over and clapped the hand on his left elbow. Kurik's eyes looked puzzled for a moment, but then they narrowed, and he nodded. He circled around to Ghwerig's left, his mace at the ready.

Sparhawk tightened his grip on the spear with both hands again and feinted with it. Ghwerig swung his club at the extended weapon, and Sparhawk jerked it back.

"Ghwerig's rings!" the Troll shouted in triumph "Sparhawk from Elenia brings the rings back to Ghwerig. Ghwerig feel their presence!" With a hideous roar he leaped forward, his club tearing at the air.

Kurik struck, his spiked chain-mace tearing a huge chunk of flesh from the Troll's ma.s.sive left arm.

Ghwerig, however, paid little heed to the injury, but continued his rush, his club whistling as he bore down on Sparhawk. His left hand was still tightly locked on the crown.

Sparhawk gave ground grudgingly. He had to keep the Troll away from the brink of the chasm for as long as it held the crown.

Kurik swung his mace again, but Ghwerig shied away, and the blow missed the raw elbow. It appeared that the first stroke had caused the Troll more pain than had been evident. Sparhawk took advantage of that momentary flinch and stabbed quickly, opening a gash in Ghwerig's right shoulder. Ghwerig howled, more in rage than in pain, and immediately swung the club again.

Then, from behind him, Sparhawk heard the sound of Flute's voice rising clear and bell-like above the muted roar of the waterfall. Ghwerig's eyes went wide and his brutish mouth gaped. "You," he shrieked. "Now Ghwerig pay you back, Girl-child. Girl-child's song ends here."

Flute continued to sing, and Sparhawk risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The little girl stood in the mouth of the gallery with Sephrenia hovering behind her. Sparhawk sensed that the song was not in fact a spell but rather was intended to distract the dwarf so that either he or Kurik could catch the monster off-guard.

Ghwerig hobbled forward again, swinging his club to force Sparhawk out of his path. The Troll's eyes were fixed on Flute, and his breath hissed between his tightly clenched fangs. Kurik crashed his mace into the monster's back, but Ghwerig gave no indication that he even felt the stroke as he bore down on the Styric child.

Then Sparhawk saw his opportunity. As the Troll pa.s.sed him, the wide swings of the stone club left the hairy flank open. He struck with all his strength, driving the broad blade of the ancient spear into Ghwerig's body just beneath the ribs. The Troll-Dwarf howled as the razor-sharp blade penetrated his leathery hide. He tried to swing his club, but Sparhawk jumped back, jerking the spear free. Then Kurik whipped his chain mace at the deformed side of Ghwerig's right knee, and Sparhawk heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. Ghwerig toppled, losing his grip on his club. Sparhawk reversed his grip on the spear and drove it down into the Troll's belly.

Ghwerig screamed, clutching at the spear with his right hand as Sparhawk wrenched it back and forth, slicing the sharp blade through the Troll's entrails. The crown, however, still remained tightly clenched in that twisted left hand. Only death, Sparhawk saw, would release that iron grip.

The Troll rolled away from the spear, gashing himself open even more horribly as he did so. Kurik smashed him in the face with the chain-mace, crushing out one of his eyes. With a hideous howl, the monster rolled towards the brink of the chasm, scattering his h.o.a.rded jewels in the process. Then, with a scream of triumph, he toppled over the edge with Sarak's crown still in his grip.

Filled with chagrin, Sparhawk rushed to the brink of the abyss and stared down in dismay. Far below he could see the deformed body plunging down and down into unimaginable darkness. Then he heard the light patter of bare feet on the stony floor of the cavern, and Flute sped past him, her glossy black hair flying. To his horror, the little girl did not hesitate nor falter, but ran directly off the edge and plunged down after the falling troll. "Oh my G.o.d!" he choked, reaching vainly out towards her even as Kurik, his face aghast, came up beside him.

And then Sephrenia was there, Sir Gared's sword still in her hand.

"Do something, Sparhawk!" Kurik pleaded.

"There's no need, Kurik." She replied calmly. "Nothing can happen to her."

"But..."

"Hush Kurik. I'm trying to listen."

The light from the glowing waterfall seemed to dim somewhat, as if far overhead a cloud had pa.s.sed over the sun. The roar of the falling water seemed mocking now, and Sparhawk realised that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

And then in the deep darkness of that unimaginable abyss, he saw what appeared to be a spark of light. It grew steadily brighter, rising, or so it seemed, from that ghastly chasm. And as it rose, he could see it more clearly. It appeared to be a brilliant shaft of pure white light topped by a spark of intense blue.

And then Bh.e.l.liom rose from the depths, resting on the palm of Flute's incandescent little hand. Sparhawk gaped in astonishment as he realized that he could see through her, and that what had risen glowing from the darkness below was as insubstantial as mist. Flute's tiny face was calm and imperturbable as she held the sapphire rose over her head with one hand. She reached out the other to Sephrenia, and to Sparhawk's horror, his beloved tutor stepped off the ledge.

But she did not fall.

As if walking on solid earth, she calmly strolled out across insubstantial air to take Bh.e.l.liom from Flute's hand. Then she turned and spoke in a strangely archaic form. "Wrench open thy spear, Sir Sparhawk, and put the ring of thy queen upon thy right hand, lest Bh.e.l.liom destroy thee when I deliver it up to thee." Beside her, Flute lifted her face in exultant song, a song that rang with the voices of mult.i.tudes.