‘You’re the one who’s exercising this logic. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.’

‘All right then. Let’s see where logic takes us. I’ve seen a fair number of Styrics. With the exception of you and the other magicians, they’re all fairly primitive and not very bright, no offence intended, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Her expression was amused.

‘Since we’ve already established the fact that Flute is not an ordinary child, what does that leave us?’

‘What would be your guess, Sparhawk?’

‘Since she’s not ordinary, she must be special. In Styricum, that can only mean one thing. She’s a magician. Nothing else could explain her.’

She applauded ironically. ‘Excellent, Sparhawk,’ she congratulated him.

‘But that’s impossible, Sephrenia. She’s only a child. She hasn’t had time to learn the secrets.’

‘Some few are born with that knowledge. Besides, she’s older than she looks.’

‘How old?’

‘You know that I won’t tell you that. The knowledge of the exact moment of one’s birth can be a powerful weapon in the hands of an enemy.’

A disturbing thought came to him. ‘You’re preparing for your own death, aren’t you, Sephrenia? If we fail, the twelve Pandions who were in the throne room with you will die one by one, and then you’ll die, too. You’re preparing Flute to be your successor.’

She laughed. ‘Now that, dear Sparhawk, is a very interesting idea. I’m surprised you came up with it, considering the fact that you’re an Elene.’

‘That’s a very irritating habit you’ve picked up lately, you know? Don’t try to be mysterious with me, Sephrenia, and don’t treat me like a child just because I’m an Elene’

‘I’ll try to remember that. You’ll agree to let her come with us, then?’

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘No. As a matter of fact, you don’t.’

They rose early the next morning and gathered in the dew-drenched yard in front of Marquis Lycien’s house. The newly risen sun was very bright, and it slanted down through the trees, casting the peculiarly bluish-coloured shadows of early morning.

‘I’ll get word to you from time to time,’ Sparhawk told those who were remaining behind.

‘Be careful down there, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said.

‘I’m always careful.’ Sparhawk swung himself up onto Faran’s back.

‘Godspeed, Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier said.

Thank you, Bevier.’ Sparhawk looked around at the other knights. ‘Don’t be so glum, gentlemen,’ he told them. ‘If we’re lucky, this won’t take very long.’ He looked at Kalten again. ‘If you run into Martel, give him my regards.’

Kalten nodded. ‘With an axe in the face, I think.’

Marquis Lycien mounted a fat bay horse and led the way out onto the road which passed his house. The morning was crisp, though not actually cold. Spring, Sparhawk decided, was not very far off. He shifted his shoulders slightly. The sober businessman’s doublet Lycien had lent him did not really fit very well. It bound in some places and was uncomfortably loose in others.

‘We’ll turn off just up ahead,’ Lycien told them. There’s a track through the woods that leads down to my wharves and the little settlement that’s grown up around them. Will you want me to bring your horses back after you go on board ship?’

‘No, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I think we’ll take them with us. We don’t know exactly what’s going to happen in Rendor. We might need dependable mounts, and I’ve seen what passes for a horse in Cippria.’

What Lycien had modestly called a ‘little settlement’ turned out to be a fair-sized village complete with shipyards, houses, inns and taverns. A dozen vessels were moored at the wharves with longshoremen swarming over them.

‘Quite an operation, my Lord,’ Sparhawk said as they rode down the muddy street towards the river.

‘One has had a certain success,’ Lycien said deprecatingly. He smiled. ‘Besides, I save enough in moorage fees to offset more than the cost of keeping the place up.’ He looked around. ‘Why don’t you and I step into that tavern over there, Sir Sparhawk?’ he suggested. ‘The independent sea captains favour that one.’

‘All right,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘I’ll introduce you as Master Cluff,’ Lycien said as he swung down from his bay. ‘It’s not much of a name, I’ll admit, but it’s fairly nondescript, and I’ve discovered that seafaring men love to talk, but they’re not always very selective in their choice of listeners. I’ve gathered that you might prefer to keep this business of yours more or less confidential.’

‘You’re perceptive, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied, also dismounting. ‘This shouldn’t take too long,’ he said to Kurik and Sephrenia.

‘Isn’t that what you said the last time you went to Rendor?’ Kurik asked him.

‘We can all hope that this time might be different.’

Lycien led the way into a rather sedate wharfside tavern. The ceiling was low, with dark, heavy beams decorated here and there with ships’ lanterns. There was a broad window near the front, and golden morning sunlight streamed in through it, setting the fresh straw on the floor to gleaming. Several substantial-looking men of middle years sat at a table by the window, talking over brimming tankards. They looked up as the marquis led Sparhawk to their table. ‘My Lord,’ one of them respectfully greeted Lycien.

‘Gentlemen,’ Lycien said, ‘this is Master Cluff, an acquaintance of mine. He’s asked me to introduce him.’

They all looked at Sparhawk inquiringly.

‘I have a bit of a problem, gentlemen,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘May I join you?’

‘Have a seat,’ one of the sea captains, a solid-looking man with silver-shot hair, invited.

‘I’ll leave you gentlemen then,’ Lycien said. ‘There’s something that needs my attention.’ He inclined his head slightly, turned, and went back out of the tavern.

‘He probably wants to see if there’s some way he can raise the mooring fees,’ one of the captains said wryly

‘My name’s Sorgi,’ the captain with the curly hair introduced himself to Sparhawk. ‘What’s this problem you mentioned, Master Cluff?’