‘I do.’

‘That’s good enough for me, then.’ Bergsten crammed his helmet back on his head. ‘Sir Heldin, go tell the knights that I’m assuming command of the four orders. Instruct them to make all the necessary preparations. We march first thing in the morning.’

‘At once, General Bergsten,’ Heldin replied, coming to attention.

‘Anakha,’ Bhelliom’s voice echoed in the vaults of Sparhawk’s mind, ‘thou must awaken.’

Even before he opened his eyes, Sparhawk could feel a light touch on the thong about his neck. He caught the little hand and opened his eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded of the Child Goddess.

‘I have to have the Bhelliom, Sparhawk!’ Her voice was desperate, and her eyes were streaming tears.

‘What’s going on, Aphrael? Calm down and tell me what’s happened.’

‘Sephrenia’s been stabbed! She’s dying! Please, Sparhawk! Give me the Bhelliom!’

He came to his feet all in one motion. ‘Where did this happen?’

‘In Dirgis. She was getting ready for bed, and Zalasta came into her room. He stabbed her in the heart, Sparhawk! Please, Father, give me the Bhelliom! I’ve got to have it to save her!’

‘She’s still alive?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know for how long! Xanetia’s with her. She’s using a Delphaeic spell to keep her breathing, but she’s dying, my sister’s dying!’ She wailed and hurled herself into his arms, weeping uncontrollably.

‘Stop that, Aphrael! This isn’t helping. When did this happen?’

‘A couple of hours ago. Please, Sparhawk! Only Bhelliom can save her!’

‘We can’t, Aphrael! If we take Bhelliom out of that box, Cyrgon will know immediately that we’re trying to trick him, and Scarpa will kill your mother!’

The Child Goddess clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I know!’ she wailed. ‘What are we going to do, Father? We can’t just let her die!’

‘Can’t you do something?’

‘The knife touched her heart, Sparhawk! I can’t reverse that! Only Bhelliom has that kind of power!’

Sparhawk’s soul seemed to shrivel, and he smashed at the wall with his fist. He lifted his face. ‘What can I do?’ he hurled his voice upward. ‘What in God’s name can I do?’

‘Compose thyself, Anakha!’ Bhelliom’s voice was sharp in his mind. ‘Thou wilt serve neither Sephrenia nor thy mate by this unseemly display!’

‘We have to do something, Blue Rose!’

‘Thou art not at this moment fit to decide. Thou must therefore be ruled by me. Go at once and do as the Child Goddess doth entreat thee.’

‘Thou wilt condemn my wife!’

‘That is not certain, Anakha. Sephrenia, however, doth linger on the brink of death. That much is certain. It is her need that is most pressing.’

‘No! I can’t do that!’

‘Thou wilt obey me, Anakha! Thou art my creature, and therefore subject to my will! Go thou and do as I have commanded thee!’

Chapter 12

Sparhawk dug into his sea-bag, throwing clothes on the floor.

‘What are you doing?’ Aphrael demanded urgently. ‘We have to hurry!’

‘I’ve got to leave a note for Stragen, but I can’t find any paper.’

‘Here.’ She held out her hand, and a sheet of parchment appeared in it.

‘Thank you.’ He took the parchment and continued to rummage in the bag.

‘Get on with it, Sparhawk.’

‘I need something to write with.’

She muttered something in Styric and handed him a quill and a small inkpot.

‘Vymer,’ Sparhawk scribbled, ‘something’s come up, and I’ll be gone for a while. Keep Reldin out of trouble.’ And he signed it, ‘Fron.’ Then he laid it in the center of Stragen’s bed.

‘Now can we go?’ she asked impatiently.

‘How are you going to do this?’ He picked up his cloak.

‘We have to get out of town first. I don’t want anybody to see us. What’s the quickest way to the woods?’

‘East. It’s about a mile to the edge of the forest.’

‘Let’s go.’

They left the room, went down the stairs and on out into the street. Sparhawk picked her up and half-enfolded her in his cloak.

‘I can walk,’ she protested.

‘Not without attracting attention, you can’t. You’re a Styric, and people would notice that.’ He started off down the street, carrying her in his arms.

‘Can’t you go any faster?’

‘Just let me handle this part of it, Aphrael. If I start running, people will think I’ve stolen you.’ He looked around to make sure no one on the muddy street was close enough to hear. ‘How are you going to manage this?’ he asked her. There are people out there who can feel it when you tamper with things, you know. We don’t want to attract attention.’

She frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I was upset when I came here.’

‘Are you trying to get your mother killed?’

‘That’s a hateful thing to say.’ She pursed her little mouth in thought. ‘There’s always a certain amount of noise,’ she mused.

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘It’s one of the disadvantages of having our two worlds overlap the way they do. The sounds of one sort of spill over into the other. Most humans can’t hear us – or feel us – when we move around, but we can definitely hear and feel each other.’

Sparhawk crossed the street to avoid a noisy brawl that had just erupted from a sailors’ tavern. ‘If the others can hear you, how are you going to hide what you’re doing?’

‘You didn’t let me finish, Sparhawk. We’re not alone here. There are others all around us – my family, the Tamul Gods, your Elene God, various spirits and ghosts, and the air’s positively littered with the Powerless Ones. Sometimes they flock up like migrating birds.’

He stopped and stepped back to let a rickety charcoal wagon creak past. ‘Who are these “Powerless Ones”?’ he asked her. ‘Are they dangerous?’

‘Hardly. They don’t even really exist any more. They’re nothing but memories – old myths and legends.’

‘Are they real? Could I see them?’

‘Not unless you believe in them. They were Gods once, but their worshippers either died out or were converted to the worship of other Gods. They wail and flutter around the edges of reality without substance or even thought. All they have is need.’ She sighed. ‘We go out of fashion, Sparhawk – like last year’s gowns or old shoes and hats. The Powerless Ones are discarded Gods who shrink and shrink as the years go by until they’re finally nothing at all but a kind of anguished wailing.’ She sighed again. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘there’s all this noise in the background, and it makes it very hard to concentrate or pick out specifics.’