‘I’d be willing to listen, Ulath-Knight,’ she said.
‘There are ways we could just slip around that ambush, but Klæl can probably do the same kinds of things to time and distance that Aphrael and her cousins can, and I don’t think we want those brutes coming up behind us.’
‘What’s your solution then, Ulath-Knight?’
‘I’ve got a sizeable force at my disposal, your Majesty,’ he replied, ‘and they’re hungry. Since we’re too busy right now for an extended romp through the desert, why don’t we just let the Trolls have Klæl’s soldiers for breakfast?’
Sir Anosian looked a little shaken as he rode forward to speak with Kring and Tikume.
‘What’s the matter, friend Anosian?’ Tikume asked the black-armored Pandion. ‘You look as if you just saw a ghost.’
‘Worse, friend Tikume,’ Anosian replied. ‘I’ve just been reprimanded by a God. Most men don’t survive that experience.’
‘Aphrael again?’ Kring guessed.
‘No, friend Kring. This time it was her cousin Hanka. He’s very abrupt. The Genidian Knights rely on him for assistance with their spells.’
‘He was unhappy with you?’ Tikume asked. ‘What did you do this time?’
Anosian made a sour face. ‘Sometimes my spells are a little sloppy,’ he admitted. ‘Aphrael’s generous enough to forgive me. Her cousin isn’t.’ He shuddered. ‘Divine Hanka’s going to hurry us along just a bit.’
‘Oh?’
‘We have to be at the gates of Cyrga by morning.’
‘How far is it?’ Kring asked him.
‘I have no idea,’ Anosian admitted, ‘and under the circumstances, I didn’t think it would be prudent to ask. Hanka wants us to ride west from here.’
Tikume frowned. ‘If we don’t know how far it is, how can we be sure we’ll get there by morning?’
‘Oh, we’ll get there all right, friend Tikume,’ Anosian assured him. ‘I think we’d better start moving, though. Divine Hanka’s notoriously short-tempered. If we don’t start riding west very soon, he might just decide to pick us up and throw us from here to Cyrga.’
The Temple Guardsman assumed a warlike posture – a rather stiff, formalized pose such as one occasionally sees on a frieze carved by an indifferently talented sculptor. Kalten brushed the man’s sword aside and slammed his fist against the side of his helmet. The guardsman reeled away and fell heavily onto the cobblestones. He was struggling to rise again when Kalten kicked him solidly in the face.
‘Quietly, Kalten!’ Sparhawk said in a hoarse whisper.
‘Sorry. I guess I got carried away.’ Kalten bent and peeled back the fallen guardsman’s eyelid. ‘He’ll sleep till noon,’ he said. He straightened and looked around. ‘Is that all of them?’
‘That was the last,’ Bevier whispered. ‘Let’s get them out of the middle of the street. The moon’s finally starting to come up down in this basin, and it’ll soon be as bright as day here.’
It had been a short, ugly little fight. Sparhawk and his friends had rushed out of a dark side-street and had fallen on the detachment from the rear. Surprise had accounted for much of their success, and what surprise had not accomplished had been more than made up for by the ineptitude of the ceremonial troops. Sparhawk concluded that the Cyrgai looked impressive, but that their training over the centuries had become so formalized and detached from reality that it had almost turned into a form of dance instead of a preparation for real combat. Since the Cyrgai could not cross the Styric curse-line, they had not been involved in any real fights for ten thousand years, and so they were hopelessly unprepared for all the nasty little tricks that crop up from time to time in close, hand-to-hand fighting.
‘I still don’t see how we’re going to pull this off,’ Talen puffed as he dragged an inert guardsman back into the shadows. ‘One look will tell the gate-guards that we’re not Cyrgai.’
‘We’ve already discussed that while you were out scouting,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Xanetia and Aphrael are going to mix spells again – the way the Anarae and Sephrenia did back in Matherion. We’ll look enough like Cyrgai to get us through the gate – particularly if the rest of the Cyrgai are as much afraid of these Temple Guardsmen as Xanetia says they are.’
‘As long as the subject’s come up,’ Kalten said, ‘after we’ve bluffed our way past those gate-guards, I want my own face back. We stand a fair chance of getting killed tonight, and I’d like to have my own name on my tombstone. Besides, even if by some chance we succeed, I don’t want to startle Alean by coming at her with a stranger’s face. After what she’s been through, she’s entitled to see the real me.’
‘I don’t have any problem with that,’ Sparhawk agreed.
Chapter 30
Captain Jodral returned just after dark, his loose robe flapping and his eyes wide as he desperately flogged at his horse. ‘We’re doomed, my General’ he shrieked.
‘Get control of yourself Jodral!’ General Piras snapped. ‘What did you see?’
‘There are millions of them, General!’ Jodral was still on the verge of hysteria.
‘Jodral, you’ve never seen a million of anything! Now, what’s out there?’
‘They’re coming across the Sarna, General,’ Jodral replied, trying his best to control his quavering voice. ‘The reports about that fleet are true. I saw the ships.’
‘Where? We’re ten leagues from the coast.’
‘They’ve sailed up the River Sarna, General Piras, and they’ve lashed their ships together side by side to form bridges.’
‘Absurd! The Sarna’s five miles wide down here! Talk sense, man!’
‘I know what I saw, General. The other scouts will be along shortly to confirm it. Kaftal’s in flames. You can see the light of the fire from here.’ Jodral turned and pointed south toward a huge, flickering orange glow in the sky above the low coastal hills standing between the Cynesgan forces and the sea.
General Piras swore. This was the third time this week that his scouts had reported a crossing of the lower Sarna or the Verel River, and he had not thus far seen any sign of hostile forces. Under normal circumstances, he’d have simply had his scouts flogged or worse, but these were not normal circumstances. The enemy force that had been harrying the southern coast was made up of the Knights of the Church of Chyrellos – sorcerers to a man – who were quite capable of vanishing and then reappearing miles to his rear. Still muttering curses, he summoned his adjutant. ‘Sallat!’ he snapped. ‘Wake up the troops. Tell them to prepare themselves! If those accursed knights are crossing the Sarna here, we’ll have to engage them before they can establish a foothold on this side of the river.’