‘What is this strange fascination you have with lunatics, Krager?’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s a character defect. Scarpa actually believes that he can outwit his father – and even Cyrgon. He doesn’t really believe that Sparhawk will surrender Bhelliom in exchange for your return, but he’s managed to about half-convince the others. I’m sure you realize by now how he feels about women.’

‘He’s demonstrated it often enough,’ she said bitterly. ‘Does he share Baron Harparin’s fondness for little boys instead?’

‘Scarpa isn’t fond of anything except himself. He is his only passion. I’ve seen him spend hours trimming that beard of his. It gives him the opportunity to adore his reflection in the mirror. You haven’t had the opportunity to see his delightful personality in full flower. The details of this trip are keeping what he chooses to call his mind occupied. Wait until we get to Natayos and you hear him start raving. He makes Martel and Annias seem like the very souls of sanity by comparison. I don’t dare stay too long, so listen closely. Scarpa believes that Sparhawk will bring Bhelliom with him when he comes, right enough, but he doesn’t believe he’ll bring it to trade for you. Scarpa’s absolutely certain that your husband’s coming in order to have it out with Cyrgon, and he believes that they’ll destroy each other in the course of the argument.’

‘Sparhawk has Bhelliom, you fool, and Bhelliom eats Gods for breakfast.’

‘I’m not here to argue about that. Maybe Sparhawk will win, and maybe he won’t. That’s really beside the point. What’s important to us is what Scarpa believes. He’s convinced himself that Sparhawk and Cyrgon will fight a war of mutual extinction. Then he thinks that Bhelliom will be left lying around free for the taking.’

‘What about Zalasta?’

‘I get the strong feeling that Scarpa doesn’t expect Zalasta to be around when the fight’s over. Scarpa’s more than willing to kill anybody who gets in his way.’

‘He’d kill his own father?’

Krager shrugged. ‘Blood ties don’t mean anything to Scarpa. When he was younger, he decided that his mother and his half-sisters knew things about him that he didn’t want them to share with the authorities, so he killed them. He hated them anyway, so that may not mean all that much. If Sparhawk and Cyrgon do kill each other, and if Zalasta’s broken out in a sudden rash of mortality during the festivities, Scarpa might just be the only one left around to take possession of the Bhelliom. He’s got an army in these jungles, and if he has the Bhelliom as well, he might be able to pull it off. He’ll march on Matherion, take the city and slaughter the government. Then he’ll crown himself emperor. I’m personally betting against it, though, so for God’s sake keep your temper under control. You’re not really important to his plans, but you’re vital to Zalasta’s – and mine. If you do anything at all to set Scarpa off, he’ll kill you as quickly as he ordered Elron to kill your lady-in-waiting. Zalasta and I believe that Sparhawk will trade Bhelliom for you, but only if you’re alive. Don’t enrage that maniac. If he kills you, all our plans will collapse.’

‘Why are you telling me this, Krager? There’s something else too, isn’t there?’

‘Of course. If things go against us, I’d like to have you available to speak out in my behalf when the trials start.’

‘That wouldn’t do any good, I’m afraid,’ she told him sweetly. There won’t be any trial for you, Krager. sparhawk’s already given you to Khalad and Khalad’s already made up his mind.’

‘Khalad?’ Krager’s voice sounded a little weak.

‘Kurik’s oldest son. He seems to feel that you had some part in his father’s death, and he feels obliged to do something about it. I suppose you could try to talk him out of it, but I’d advise you to talk fast if you do. Khalad’s a very abrupt young man, and he’ll probably have you hanging from a meat-hook before you get out three words.’

Krager didn’t answer, but slipped away instead, his shaved scalp pale in the darkness. It wasn’t much of a victory, Ehlana privately conceded, but in her situation victories of any kind were very hard to come by.

* * *

‘They actually do that?’ Scarpa’s harsh voice was hungry.

‘It’s an old custom, Lord Scarpa,’ Ehlana replied in a meek voice, keeping her eyes downcast as they plodded along the muddy path. ‘Emperor Sarabian is planning to discontinue the practice, however.’

‘It will be reinstituted immediately following my coronation.’ Scarpa’s eyes were very bright. ‘It is a proper form of respect.’ Scarpa had an old purple velvet cloak, shiny with wear, that he had dramatically pulled over one shoulder in a grotesque imitation of an imperial mantle, and he struck absurd poses with each pronouncement.

‘As you say, Lord Scarpa.’ It was tedious to go over the same things again and again, but it kept Scarpa’s mind occupied, and when his attention was firmly fixed on the ceremonies and practices of the imperial court in Matherion he was not thinking of ways to make life unbearable for his captives.

‘Describe it again,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll need to know precisely how it’s supposed to be done – so that I can punish those who fail to perform it properly.’

Ehlana sighed. ‘At the approach of the imperial person, the members of the court kneel –’

‘On both knees?’

‘Yes, Lord Scarpa.’

‘Excellent! Excellent!’ His face was exalted. ‘Go on.’

‘Then, as the emperor passes, they lean forward, put the palms of their hands on the floor and touch their foreheads to the tiles.’

‘Capital!’ He suddenly giggled, a high-pitched, almost girlish sound that startled her. She gave him a quick, sidelong glance. His face was grotesquely distorted into an expression of unholy exaltation. And then his eyes grew wide and his expression became one of near-religious ecstasy. ‘And the Tamuls who rule the world shall be ruled by me’,’ He intoned in a resonant, declamatory voice. ‘All power shall be mine! The governance of the world shall be in my hands, and disobedience will be death!’

Ehlana shuddered as he raved on.

And he came to her again as humid night settled over their muddy forest encampment, drawn to her by a hunger, a greed, that was beyond his ability to control. It was revolting, but Ehlana realized that her knowledge of the particulars of traditional court ceremonies gave her an enormous power over him. His hunger was insatiable, and only she could satisfy it. She grasped that power firmly, drawing strength and confidence from it, actually relishing it even as Krager and the others withdrew with expressions of frightened revulsion.