‘Are you sure Khalad will understand what those rocks mean?’ Talen asked skeptically.

‘Your father would have,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and I’m sure he taught Khalad all the usual signals.’

‘I still say it’s supposed to be two words,’ Kalten insisted.

‘Bevier,’ Sparhawk called.

The Cyrinic Knight walked back to the imitation grave with an enquiring expression.

‘These two are arguing about how to spell “ramshorn”,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re the scholar. You settle it.’

‘I say he spelled it wrong,’ Kalten said truculently. ‘It’s supposed to be two words, isn’t it?’

‘Ah …’ Bevier said evasively, ‘there are two schools of thought on that.’

‘Why don’t you tell them about it as we ride along?’ Mirtai suggested.

Sparhawk looked at Xanetia. ‘Don’t,’ he warned her quietly.

‘What wouldst thou not have me do, Anakha?’ she asked innocently.

‘Don’t laugh. Don’t even smile. You’ll only make it worse.’

It may or may not have been three weeks later. Patriarch Bergsten had given up on trying to keep track of actual time. Instead he glared in sullen theological discontent at the mud-walled city of Cynestra and at the disgustingly young and well-conditioned person coming toward him. Bergsten believed in an orderly world, and violations of order made him nervous.

She was very tall and she had golden skin and night-dark hair, she was also extremely pretty and superbly muscled. She emerged from the main gate of Cynestra under a flag of truce, running easily out to meet them. She stopped some distance to their front, and Bergsten, Sir Heldin, Daiya, and Neran, their Tamul translator, rode forward to confer with her. She spoke at some length with Neran.

‘Keep your eyes where they belong, Heldin,’ Bergsten muttered.

‘I was just –’

‘I know what you were doing. Stop it.’ Bergsten paused. ‘I wonder why they sent a woman.’

Neran, a slender Tamul who had been sent along by Ambassador Fontan, returned. ‘She’s Atana Maris,’ he told them. ‘Commander of the Atan garrison here in Cynestra.’

‘A woman?’ Bergsten was startled.

‘It’s not uncommon among the Atans, your Grace. She’s been expecting us. Foreign Minister Oscagne sent word that we were coming.’

‘What’s the situation in the city?’ Heldin asked.

‘King Jaluah’s been quietly dribbling troops into Cynestra for the past month or so,’ Neran replied. ‘Atana Maris has a thousand Atans in her garrison, and the Cynesgans have been trying to restrict their movements. She’s been growing impatient with all of that. She probably would have moved against the royal palace a week ago, but Oscagne instructed her to wait until we arrived.’

‘How did she get out of the city?’ Heldin rumbled.

‘I didn’t ask her, Sir Heldin. I didn’t want to insult her.’

‘What I meant was, didn’t they try to stop her?’

‘They’re dead if they did.’

‘But she’s a woman!’ Bergsten objected.

‘You’re not really familiar with the Atans, are you, your Reverence?’ Daiya asked.

‘I’ve heard of them, friend Daiya. The stories all seem wildly exaggerated to me.’

‘No, your Reverence, they aren’t,’ Daiya said firmly. ‘I know of this girl’s reputation. She’s the youngest garrison commander in the entire Atan army, and she didn’t get to where she is by being sweet and ladylike. From what I’ve heard, she’s an absolute savage.’

‘But she’s so pretty,’ Heldin protested.

‘Sir Heldin,’ Neran said firmly to him, ‘while you’re admiring her, pay particular attention to the development of her arms and shoulders. She’s as strong as a bull, and if you offend her in any way at all, she’ll tear you to pieces. She almost killed Itagne – or so the rumor has it.’

‘The Foreign Minister’s brother?’ Bergsten asked.

Neran nodded. ‘He was here on a mission, and he decided to place the city under martial law. He needed Atana Maris’ help with that, so he seduced her. Her response was enthusiastic – but very muscular. Be very careful around her, gentlemen. She’s almost as dangerous to have as a friend as an enemy. She asked me to give you your instructions.’

‘Instructions?’ Bergsten erupted. ‘I don’t take orders from women!’

‘Your Grace,’ Neran said, ‘Cynestra’s technically still under martial law, and that puts Atana Maris in charge. She’s been ordered to deliver the city to you, but she’s instructed you to wait outside the walls until she’s crushed all the resistance. She wants to present the city to you as a gift – all neat and tidy. Please don’t spoil it for her. Smile at her, thank her politely, and wait right here until she’s finished cleaning the streets. After she’s got all the bodies stacked in neat piles, she’ll invite you in and turn the city over to you – along with King Jaluah’s head, more than likely. I know that the situation seems unnatural to you, but for God’s sake don’t do anything to offend her. She’ll go to war with you just as quickly as with anybody else.’

‘But she’s so pretty,’ Heldin objected again.

Berit and Khalad dismounted and led their horses down to the edge of the oasis to water them. In theory, they might have reached Vigayo this soon. ‘Can you tell if he’s here?’ Khalad muttered.

Berit shook his head. ‘I think that means that he’s not a Styric. We’ll just have to wait for him to come to us.’ He looked around at the few white-walled houses shaded by low palm trees. ‘Is there any kind of inn here?’

‘Not very likely. I see a lot of tents on the other side of the oasis. I’ll ask around, but don’t get your hopes up.’

Berit shrugged. ‘Oh, well. We’ve lived in tents before. Find out where we’re permitted to set up.’

The village of Vigayo itself was clustered along the eastern side of the oasis, and the informal encampment of nomads and merchants stretched along the west shore of what was actually a fair-sized pool of artesian water. Berit and Khalad picketed their horses, erected their tent near the water, and sat down in the shade to wait. ‘Can you tell if Sparhawk’s around anyplace?’ Khalad asked.