‘How grateful?’ Krager asked quickly.

‘Probably about this grateful.’ Senga patted the silver-mounted cask again. Tell Lord Scarpa that I won’t cause any problems. I’ll pick one of these empty buildings a little way off from his main camp and clean it out and fix the roof my very own self. I’ll provide my own security and make sure that none of his soldiers gets too drunk.’

‘Go ahead and get started, Master Senga,’ Krager said, eyeing the cask. ‘You’ve got my personal guarantee that Lord Scarpa will agree.’ He reached out for the wine.

Senga stepped back. ‘After, Master Krager,’ he said firmly. ‘At the moment, I’m filled with appreciation. The gratitude comes after Scarpa gives his permission.’

Then Elron came hurrying across the crowded square. ‘Krager!’ he said in a shrill voice. ‘Come at once! Lord Scarpa’s in a rage! He’s commanded us all to meet him at headquarters immediately!’

‘What’s the matter?’ Krager rose to his feet.

‘Cyzada just came in from Cynesga. He told Zalasta and Lord Scarpa that Klæl went to have a look at the fellow we’ve been following all this time! It’s not Sparhawk, Krager! Whoever it is looks like Sparhawk, but Klæl knew immediately that it’s somebody else!’

Chapter 16

‘I know it’s him, my Lady,’ Alean insisted.

‘Alean, dear,’ Ehlana said gently, ‘he doesn’t look the least bit like Sir Kalten.’

‘I don’t know how they’ve done it, but that’s Kalten out there in the street,’ the girl replied. ‘My heart sings every time he walks by.’

Ehlana peered through the little opening in the window. The man looked like an Elene, there was no question about that, and Sephrenia was a magician, after all.

The thought of Sephrenia filled the Queen’s eyes with tears again. She straightened, quickly wiping her eyes. ‘He’s gone by,’ she said. ‘What makes you so sure, dear?’

‘A thousand things, my Lady – little things. It’s the way he holds his head, that funny way he rolls his shoulders when he walks, his laugh, the way he hitches up his sword-belt. They’ve changed his face somehow, but I know it’s him.’

‘You could be right, Alean,’ Ehlana concluded a bit dubiously. I could probably pick Sparhawk out of a crowd no matter whose face he happened to be wearing.’

‘Exactly, my Lady. Our hearts know the men we love.’

Ehlana began to pace the floor, her fingers absently adjusting the wimple that covered her head. ‘It’s not impossible,’ she conceded. ‘Sparhawk’s told me about all the times he disguised himself when he was in Rendor, and Styric magic might very well be able to change people’s faces. And of course, if Sephrenia hadn’t been able to do it, Bhelliom certainly could have. Let’s trust your heart and say that it is Sir Kalten out there.’

‘I know it is, my Lady.’

‘It does stand to reason,’ Ehlana mused. ‘If Sparhawk’s somehow found out that we’re here, he’d most definitely want to have some of our friends close by when the rest of them come to rescue us,’ She frowned as a thought came to her. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know for sure, though. Kalten might just be here to look around. We have to come up with some way to let him know that we’re here before he gives up and moves on.’

‘But we’re imprisoned, my Lady,’ the girl with the huge eyes protested. ‘If we try to call out to him, we’ll put him in terrible danger.’ She bent and looked out at the street again. ‘He’s coming back,’ she said.

‘Sing, Alean!’ Ehlana exclaimed suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Sing! If anyone in the whole world would recognize your voice, Kalten would!’

Alean’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘He would!’ she exclaimed.

‘Here. Let me watch his face. Sing your soul out, Alean! Break his heart!’

Alean’s voice throbbed as her clear soprano reached effortlessly up in aching song. She sang ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’, a very old ballad which Ehlana knew held special significance for her maid and the blond Pandion. The Queen looked out the window again. The roughly dressed man in the street was standing stock-still, frozen in place by Alean’s soaring voice.

All doubt vanished from Ehlana’s mind. It was Kalten! His eyes streamed tears, and his expression had become exalted, adoring.

And then he did something so unexpected that Ehlana was forced to revise her long-held opinion about his intelligence. He sat down on the mossy cobblestones removed one shoe, and began to whistle an accompaniment to Alean’s song. He knew! And he was whistling to let them know that he knew! Not even Sparhawk could have responded so quickly, or come up with so perfect a way to convey his understanding of the situation.

That’s enough, Alean,’ Ehlana hissed. ‘He got our message.’

Alean stopped singing.

‘What are you doing there?’ one of the Arjunis who guarded the door demanded, coming into view.

‘Stone in my shoe,’ Kalten explained, shaking the shoe he’d just removed. ‘It felt like a boulder.’

‘All right, move on.’

Kalten’s altered features took on a truculent look. He pulled his shoe back on and stood up. ‘Friend,’ he said in a pointed sort of way, ‘you’ll be getting off guard-duty before very long, and you might just decide to stop by Senga’s tavern for a few tankards of beer. I’m in charge of security there, and if you start pushing me around here, I might just decide that you’re too rowdy to be served when you get there. Understand?’

‘I’m supposed to keep people away from this building,’ the guard explained, quickly modifying his tone.

‘But politely, friend, politely. Every man in this whole place is armed to the teeth, so we all have to be polite to each other.’ Kalten threw a guarded glance at the barred window from which Ehlana watched. ‘I learned politeness when I took up with Shallag – you know him, don’t you? The one-eyed fellow with the lochaber axe?’

The guard shuddered. ‘Is he as bad as he looks?’ he asked.

‘Worse. He’ll hack your head off if you even sneeze on him.’ Kalten squared his shoulders. ‘Well, I guess I’d better be getting back to the tavern. As my friend Ezek says, “Tain’t hordly likely that I’ll make no profit lollygaggin’ around in the street.” Come on by the tavern when you get off work, friend. I’ll buy you a tankard of beer.’ And he went off down the street, still whistling ‘My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy’.