The little Goddess stamped away, flinging her arms in the air and muttering Styric words she should not have known existed.

‘Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said calmly, ‘your blood is red because it has iron in it.’

‘It has?’ He was stunned. ‘How’s that possible?’

‘Just believe what I say, Sparhawk. It’s those blood-stained rings that give you so much power over the jewel.’

‘What an amazing thing,’ he said.

Aphrael returned then. ‘Once Bhelliom is confined in steel, you’ll have no further interference from the Troll-Gods,’ she told them. ‘The rest of you will stop plotting to kill Sparhawk, and you’ll all be as one again.’

‘Couldn’t you have just told us what to do without all these explanations?’ Kurik asked her. ‘These are Church Knights, Flute. They’re used to following orders they don’t understand. They almost have to be.’

‘I suppose I could have,’ she admitted, laying one small hand caressingly on his bearded cheek, ‘but I missed you – all of you – and I wanted you to see the place where I live.’

‘Showing off?’ he teased her.

‘Well –’ She blushed slightly. ‘Is that so very, very improper?’

‘It’s a lovely island, Flute, and we’re proud that you chose to show it to us.’

She threw her arms about his neck and smothered him with kisses. Her face, Sparhawk noticed, however, was wet with tears as she kissed the gruff squire.

‘You must return now,’ she told them, ‘for the night is nearly over. First, however –’

The kissing went on for quite some time. When the dark-haired little Goddess came to Talen, she brushed her lips lightly against his and then started towards Tynian. She stopped, a speculative look on her face, and then returned to the young thief and did a more complete job on him. When she moved on, she was smiling mysteriously.

‘And hath our gentle mistress resolved thy turmoil, Sir Knight?’ the snowy hind asked as the swan-like boat returned the two of them to the alabaster strand where the gaily-coloured pavilion awaited them.

‘I will know that with more certainty when mine eyes again open on the mundane world from which she summoned me, gentle creature,’ he replied. He found that he could not help himself. The flowery speech came to his lips unbidden. He sighed ruefully.

The note of the pipes was slightly discordant, a scolding sort of note.

‘An it please thee, dear Aphrael,’ he surrendered.

‘That’s much better, Sparhawk.’ The voice was no more than a whisper in his ears.

The small white deer led him back to the pavilion, and he laid him down again, a strange, bemused drowsiness coming over him.

‘Remember me,’ the hind said softly, nuzzling at his cheek.

‘I will,’ he promised, ‘and gladly, for thy sweet presence doth ease my troubled soul and bids me rest.’

And then again he slept.

He awoke in an ugly world of black sand and chill, blowing dust reeking of things long dead. His hair was clogged with the dust, and it abraded his skin beneath his clothing. What had really awakened him, however, was a small, tinking sound, the sound of someone firmly tapping on ringing steel with a small hammer.

Despite the turmoil of the previous day, he felt enormously refreshed and at peace with the world.

The ringing sound of the hammer stopped, and Kurik crossed their dusty camp site with something in his hands. He held it out to Sparhawk. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Will this lock it in?’ What he was holding in his callused hands was a chain-mail pouch. ‘It’s about the best I can do for now, My Lord. I don’t have too much steel to work with.’

Sparhawk took the pouch and looked at his squire. ‘You too?’ he asked. ‘You had a dream too?’

Kurik nodded. ‘I talked with Sephrenia about it,’ he said. ‘We all had the same dream – it wasn’t exactly a dream, though. She tried to explain it to me, but she lost me.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry, Sparhawk. I doubted you. Everything seemed so futile and hopeless.’

‘That was the Troll-Gods, Kurik. Let’s get Bhelliom into the steel pouch so that it doesn’t happen to you again.’ He took up the canvas pouch and began to untie the strings.

‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to leave it inside the canvas sack?’ Kurik asked.

‘It might make it easier to put it into the steel one, but the time’s coming when I might have to take it out in a hurry. I don’t want any knots getting in my way when Azash is breathing down the back of my neck.’

‘Sound thinking, My Lord.’

Sparhawk lifted the Sapphire Rose in both hands and held it directly in front of his face. ‘Blue-Rose,’ he said to it in Troll, ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. Do you know me?’

The Rose flickered sullenly.

‘Do you acknowledge my authority?’

The Rose grew dark, and he could feel its hatred.

He inched his right thumb up along his palm and turned the ring on his finger around. Then he held the ring against the flower-gem – not the band this time but the blood-stained stone itself. He pressed his hand firmly against the Sapphire Rose.

Bhelliom shrieked, and he could feel it writhing in his hand like a live snake. He relaxed the pressure slightly. ‘I’m glad we understand each other,’ he said. ‘Hold open the pouch, Kurik.’

There was no resistance. The jewel seemed almost eager to enter its imprisonment.

‘Neat,’ Kurik said admiringly as Sparhawk wrapped a strand of soft iron wire around the top of the steel-link pouch.

‘I thought it might be worth a try,’ Sparhawk grinned. ‘Are the others up yet?’

Kurik nodded. ‘They’re standing in line over by the fire. You might give some thought to issuing a general amnesty, Sparhawk. Otherwise, they’ll fill up half the morning with apologies. Be particularly careful about Bevier. He’s been praying since before daylight. It’s likely to take him a long time to tell you just how guilty he feels.’

‘He’s a good boy, Kurik.’

‘Of course he is. That’s part of the problem.’

‘Cynic’

Kurik grinned at him.

As the two of them crossed the camp, Kurik looked up at the sky. ‘The wind’s died,’ he observed, ‘and the dust seems to be settling. Do you suppose –?’ He left it tentative.

‘Probably,’ Sparhawk said. ‘It sort of fits together, doesn’t it? Well, here goes.’ He cleared his throat as he approached his shamefaced friends. ‘Interesting night, wasn’t it?’ he asked them conversationally. ‘I was really getting attached to that little white deer. She had a cold, wet nose, though.’