Sparhawk crossed the gravel and stopped in the shade. Kurik rose and joined him. ‘She won’t be able to go on today,’ the squire said quietly, ‘perhaps not even tomorrow.’
Sparhawk nodded.
‘This is weakening her terribly, Sparhawk,’ Kurik continued gravely ‘Each time one of those twelve knights dies, she seems to wilt a little more. Wouldn’t it be better to send her back to Cimmura when we get to Jiroch?’
‘Perhaps so, but she wouldn’t go.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Kurik agreed glumly. ‘You do know that you and I could move faster if we didn’t have her and the little girl along, though, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but what would we do without her when we got to where we’re going?’
‘You’ve got a point there, I guess. Did you happen to recognize that ghost?’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘Sir Kerris,’ he said shortly.
‘I never got to know him very well,’ Kurik admitted. ‘He always seemed a little stiff and formal.’
‘He was a good man, though.’ ‘What did he say to you? I was too far away to hear him.’
‘He said that we’re on the right course and that we’ll find the answer we need at Dabour.’
‘Well, now,’ Kurik said. ‘That helps, doesn’t it? I was about half-afraid that we were chasing shadows.’
‘So was I,’ Sparhawk admitted.
Flute had laid aside her pipes and now sat beside Sephrenia. She reached out and took the stricken woman’s hand and held it. Her small face was grave, but betrayed no other emotion.
An idea came to Sparhawk. He went to where Sephrenia lay ‘Flute,’ he said quietly.
The little girl looked up at him.
‘Can you do something to help Sephrenia?’
Flute shook her head a bit sadly
‘It is forbidden.’ Sephrenia’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, and her eyes were still closed. ‘Only those of us who were present can bear this burden.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Go put some clothes on, Sparhawk,’ she said then. ‘Don’t walk around like that in front of the child.’
They remained in the shade beside the pool for the remainder of that day and all of the next. On the morning of the third day, Sephrenia rose and resolutely began to gather up her things. ‘Time is moving along, gentlemen,’ she said crisply, ‘and we still have a long way to go.’
Sparhawk looked closely at her. Her face was still haggard, and the deep circles beneath her eyes had not lessened. As she bent to pick up her veil, he saw several silvery strands in her glistening black hair. ‘Wouldn’t you be stronger if we stayed here another day?’ he asked her.
‘Not appreciably, Sparhawk,’ she replied in a weary voice. ‘My condition can’t be improved by resting. Let’s move on. It’s a long way to Jiroch.’
They rode at an easy pace at first, but after a few miles, Sephrenia spoke rather sharply. ‘Sparhawk,’ she said, ‘it’s going to take all winter if we keep sauntering along like this.’
‘All right, Sephrenia,’ he said. ‘Whatever you say.’
It was perhaps ten days later when they arrived in Jiroch. Like Cippria, the port city in western Rendor was a low, flat town with thick-walled, flat-roofed houses thickly plastered with white mortar. Sparhawk led them through a series of twisting alleys to a section of town not far from the river. It was a quarter where foreigners were, if not actually encouraged, at least tolerated. While most of the people in the streets were still Rendors, there was a fair spattering of brightly robed Cammorians, a number of Lamorks, and even a few Elenians in the crowd. Sparhawk and the others kept their hoods up and rode slowly to avoid attracting attention.
It was late morning when they reached a modest house set some distance back from the street. The man who owned the house was Sir Voren, a Pandion Knight, although few in Jiroch were aware of that fact. Most people in the port city thought of him as a moderately prosperous Elenian merchant. He did, in fact, engage in trade. Some years, he even made a profit. Sir Voren’s real purpose for being in Jiroch was not commercial, however. There were a goodly number of Pandion Knights submerged in the general population of Rendor, and Voren was their only contact with the motherhouse at Demos. All their communications and dispatches passed through his hands to be concealed in the boxes and bales of goods he shipped from the harbour.
A slack-lipped servant with dull, uncurious eyes led Sparhawk and the others through the house and on into a walled garden filled with the shade of fig trees and the musical trickle of a marble fountain in the centre. Neatly tended flowerbeds lined the walls, and the nodding blossoms were a riot of colours. Voren was seated on a bench beside the fountain. He was a tall, thin man with a sardonic sense of humour. His years in this southern kingdom had browned his skin until it was the colour of an old saddle. Though he was of late middle age, his hair was untouched by grey, but his tanned face was a tracery of wrinkles. He wore no doublet, but rather a plain linen shirt open at the neck. He rose as they entered the garden. ‘Ah, Mahkra,’ he greeted Sparhawk with a brief, sidelong glance at the servant, ‘so good to see you again, old boy’
‘Voren,’ Sparhawk responded with a Rendorish bow, a sinuous movement that was half genuflection.
‘Jintal,’ Voren said to the servant then, ‘be a good fellow and take this to my factor down at the docks.’ He folded a sheet of parchment in half and handed it to the swarthy-faced Rendor
‘As you command, Master,’ the servant replied, bowing.
They waited until the sound of the front door of the house closing announced that the servant had departed.
‘Nice enough fellow there,’ Voren observed. ‘Of course he’s fearfully stupid. I’m always careful to hire servants who aren’t too bright. An intelligent servant is usually a spy.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said. ‘I want to be sure he has really left the house.’ He crossed the garden and went back inside.
‘I don’t remember his being that nervous,’ Kurik said.
This is a nervous part of the world,’ Sparhawk replied.
After a few minutes, Voren returned. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted Sephrenia warmly, kissing her palms. ‘Will you give me your blessing?’
She smiled, touched his forehead, and spoke in Styric
‘I’ve missed that,’ he confessed, ‘even though I haven’t done much lately that deserves blessing.’ Then he looked at her more closely ‘Aren’t you well, Sephrenia?’ he asked her ‘Your face seems very drawn.’