‘We’ve noticed the same sort of thing, your Grace. The definition “all wise” does seem to have a wide range of meaning. To be honest with you, my friend, we’ve had some frightfully stupid emperors from time to time. We’re rather fortunate just now though. Emperor Sarabian is moderately accomplished.’

‘What’s he like?’ Emban asked intently.

‘He’s an institution, unfortunately. He’s as much at the mercy of custom and tradition as we are. He’s obliged to speak in formulas, so it’s almost impossible to get to know him.’ The ambassador smiled. ‘The visit of Queen Ehlana may just jerk him into humanity. He’ll have to treat her as an equal – for political reasons – and he was raised to believe that he didn’t have any equals. I hope your lovely blonde queen is gentle with him. I think I like him – or I would if I could get past all the formalities – and it would just be too bad if she happened to say something that stopped his heart.’

‘Ehlana knows exactly what she’s doing every minute of the day, your Excellency,’ Emban assured him. ‘You and I are babies compared to her. You don’t have to tell her I said that, Sparhawk.’

‘What’s my silence worth to you, your Grace?’ Sparhawk grinned.

Emban glowered at him for a moment. ‘What are we likely to encounter in Astel, your Excellency?’

‘Tears, probably,’ Oscagne replied.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The Astels are an emotional people. They cry at the drop of a handkerchief. Their culture is much like that of the kingdom of Pelosia. They’re tediously devout and invincibly backward. It’s been demonstrated to them over and over again that serfdom is an archaic, inefficient institution, but they maintain it anyway – largely at the connivance of the serfs themselves. Astellian nobles don’t exert themselves in any way, so they have no concept of the extent of human endurance. Their serfs take advantage of that outrageously. Astellian serfs have been known to collapse from sheer exhaustion at the very mention of such unpleasant words as “reaping” or “digging”. The weepy nobles are tender-hearted, so the serfs get away with it almost every time. Western Astel’s a silly place filled with silly people. That changes as one moves east.’

‘One would hope so. I’m not certain just how much silliness I can –’

It was that same flicker of darkness at the very edge of Sparhawk’s vision, and it was accompanied by that same chill. Patriarch Emban broke off, turning his head quickly to try to see it more clearly. ‘What –?’

‘It’ll pass,’ Sparhawk told him tersely. ‘Try to concentrate on it, your Grace, and you as well, if you don’t mind, your Excellency.’ They were seeing the shadow for the first time, and their initial reactions might be useful. Sparhawk watched them closely as they tried to turn their heads to look directly at the annoying darkness just beyond the range of sight. Then the shadow was gone.

‘All right,’ Sparhawk said crisply, ‘Exactly what did you see?’

‘I couldn’t see anything,’ Kalten told him. ‘It was like having someone trying to sneak up behind me.’ Although Kalten had seen the cloud several times, this was the first time he had encountered the shadow.

‘What was it, Sir Sparhawk?’ Ambassador Oscagne asked.

‘I’ll explain in a moment, your Excellency. Please try to remember exactly what you saw and felt.’

‘It was something dark,’ Oscagne replied, ‘very dark. It seemed to be quite substantial, but somehow it was able to move just enough to stay where I couldn’t quite see it. No matter how quickly I turned my head or moved my eyes, it was never where I could see it directly. It felt as if it were standing just behind my head.’

Emban nodded. ‘And it made me feel cold.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m still cold, as a matter of fact.’

‘It was unfriendly, too,’ Kalten added. ‘Not quite ready to attack, but very nearly.’

‘Anything else?’ Sparhawk asked them. ‘Anything at all – no matter how small.’

‘There was a peculiar odour,’ Oscagne told him.

Sparhawk looked at him sharply. He had never noticed that. ‘Could you describe it at all, your Excellency?’

‘I seemed to catch the faintest smell of tainted meat – a haunch or a side that had been left hanging for perhaps a week too long.’

Kalten grunted. ‘I caught that too, Sparhawk – just for a second, and it left a very bad taste in my mouth.’

Emban nodded vigorously. ‘I’m an expert on flavours. It was definitely rotten meat.’

‘We were sort of standing in a semi-circle,’ Sparhawk mused, ‘and we all saw – or sensed – it right behind us. Did any of you see it behind anybody else?’

They all shook their heads.

‘Would you please explain this, Sparhawk?’ Emban said irritably.

‘In just a moment, your Grace.’ Sparhawk crossed the deck to a sailor who was splicing a loop into the bight of a rope. He spoke with the tar-smeared man for a few minutes and then returned.

‘He saw it too,’ he reported. ‘Let’s spread out and talk with the rest of the sailors on deck. I’m not being deliberately secretive, gentlemen, but let’s get what information we can from the sailors before they forget the incident entirely. I’d like to know just how widespread this visitation was.’

It was about a half hour later when they gathered again near the aft companionway, and they had all begun to exhibit a kind of excitement.

‘One of the sailors heard a kind of crackling noise – like a large fire,’ Kalten reported.

‘I talked to one fellow, and he thought there was a kind of reddish tinge to the shadow,’ Oscagne added.

‘No,’ Emban disagreed. ‘It was green. The sailor I talked with said that it was definitely green.’

‘And I spoke with a man who’d just come up on deck, and he hadn’t seen or felt a thing,’ Sparhawk added.

‘This is all very interesting, Sir Sparhawk,’ Oscagne said, ‘but could you please explain it to us?’

‘Kalten already knows, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It would appear that we’ve just been visited by the Troll-Gods.’

‘Be careful, Sparhawk,’ Emban warned, ‘you’re walking on the edge of heresy.’