‘You need some Church Knights, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said in a bleak tone of voice. ‘We’re very good in the field of justice. If you take a nobleman’s knout away from him and apply it to his own back a few times, he tends to see the light very quickly.’

‘I wish that were possible here in Astel, Sir Sparhawk,’ Monsel replied sadly. ‘Unfortunately-’

It was the same chill, and that same annoying flicker at the edge of the eye. Monsel broke off and looked around quickly, trying to see what could not really be seen. ‘What –?’ he started.

‘It’s a visitation, your Grace,’ Emban told him, his voice tense. ‘Don’t dislocate your neck trying to catch a glimpse of it.’ He raised his voice slightly. ‘Awfully good to see you again, old boy,’ he said. ‘We were beginning to think you’d forgotten about us. Was there something you wanted in particular? Or were you just yearning for our company? We’re flattered, of course, but we’re a little busy at the moment. Why don’t you run along and play now? We can chat some other time.’

The chill quite suddenly turned hot, and the flicker darkened.

‘Are you insane, Emban?’ Sparhawk choked.

‘I don’t think so,’ the fat little Patriarch said. ‘Your flickering friend – or friends – are irritating me, that’s all.’

The shadow vanished, and the air around them returned to normal.

‘What was that all about?’ Monsel demanded.

‘The Patriarch of Ucera just insulted a God – several Gods, probably,’ Sparhawk replied through clenched teeth. ‘For a moment there, we all hovered on the brink of obliteration. Please don’t do that again, Emban – at least not without consulting me first.’ He suddenly laughed a bit sheepishly. ‘Now I know exactly how Sephrenia felt on any number of occasions. I’ll have to apologise to her the next time I see her.’

Emban was grinning with delight. ‘I sort of caught them off balance there, didn’t I?’

‘Don’t do it again, your Grace,’ Sparhawk pleaded. ‘I’ve seen what Gods can do to people, and I don’t want to be around if you really insult them.’

‘Our God protects me.’

‘Annias was praying to our God when Azash wrung him out like a wet rag, your Grace. It didn’t do him all that much good, as I recall.’

‘That was really stupid, you know,’ Emban said then.

‘I’m glad you realise that.’

‘Not me, Sparhawk. I’m talking about our adversary. Why did it reveal itself at this particular moment? It should have kept its flamboyant demonstration to itself and just listened. It could have found out what our plans are. Not only that, it revealed itself to Monsel. Until it appeared, he only had our word for the fact of its existence. Now he’s seen it for himself.’

‘Will someone please explain this?’ Monsel burst out.

‘It was the Troll-Gods, your Grace,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘That’s absurd. There’s no such thing as a Troll, so how can they have Gods?’

‘This may take longer than I’d thought,’ Sparhawk muttered half to himself. ‘As a matter of fact, your Grace, there are Trolls.’

‘Have you ever seen one?’ Monsel challenged.

‘Only one, your Grace. His name was Ghwerig. He was dwarfed, so he was only about seven feet tall. He was still very difficult to kill.’

‘You killed him?’ Monsel gasped.

‘He had something I wanted,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Ulath’s seen a lot more of them than I have, your Grace. He can tell you all about them. He even speaks their language. I did for a while myself, but I’ve probably forgotten by now. Anyway, they have a language, which means that they’re semi-human, and that means that they have Gods, doesn’t it?’

Monsel looked helplessly at Emban.

‘Don’t ask me, my friend,’ the fat Patriarch said. ‘That’s a long way out of my theological depth.’

‘For the time being, you’ll have to take my word for it,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘There are Trolls, and they do have Gods – five of them – and they aren’t very nice. That shadow Patriarch Emban just so casually dismissed was them – or something very much like them – and that’s what we’re up against. That’s what’s trying to bring down the empire and the Church – both our churches, probably. I’m sorry I have to put it to you so abruptly, Archimandrite Monsel, but you have to know what you’re dealing with. Otherwise, you’ll be totally defenceless. You don’t have to believe what I just told you, but you’d better behave as if you did, because if you don’t, your Church doesn’t have a chance of surviving.’

The Atans arrived a few days later. A hush fell over the city of Darsas as the citizens scurried for cover. No man is so entirely guiltless in his own soul that the sudden appearance of a few thousand police does not give him a qualm or two. The Atans were superbly conditioned giants. The two thousand warriors of both sexes ran in perfect unison as they entered the city four abreast. They wore short leather kirtles, burnished steel breastplates and black half-boots. Their bare limbs gleamed golden in the morning sun as they ran, and their faces were stern and unbending. Though they were obviously soldiers, there was no uniformity in their weapons. They carried a random collection of swords, short spears and axes, as well as other implements for which Sparhawk had no names. They all had several sheathed daggers strapped tightly to their arms and legs. They wore no helmets, but had slender gold circlets about their heads instead.

‘Lord,’ Kalten breathed to Sparhawk as the two of them stood on the palace battlements to watch the arrival of their escort, ‘I’d really hate to come up against that lot on a battlefield. Just looking at them makes my blood cold.’

‘I believe that’s the idea, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Mirtai’s impressive all by herself, but when you see a couple of thousand of them like this, you begin to understand how the Tamuls were able to conquer a continent without any particular difficulty. I’d imagine that whole armies simply capitulated when they saw them coming.’

The Atans entered the square in front of the palace and formed up before the residence of the Tamul Ambassador. A huge man went to Ambassador Fontan’s door, his pace quite clearly indicating that if the door were not opened for him, he would walk right through it.