"I think we need to find a village or a town of some sort, Sparhawk," Kurik said.

"Oh?"

"We've got a lot of questions, and we aren't going to get the answers unless we ask somebody."

"Kurik, the battle was five hundred years ago, Sparhawk reminded him. "We're not going to find anybody alive who saw what happened."

"Of course not, but sometimes local people - particularly commoners - keep track of an area's traditions, and landmarks have names. The name of a mountain or a stream could be just the clue we need."

"It's worth a try, Sparhawk," Sephrenia said seriously.

"We're not getting anywhere here."

"It's very slim, Sephrenia."

"What other options do we have?"

"We'll keep going north then, I suppose."

"And probably past all the excavations," she added. "If the ground's been ploughed over, it's a fairly sure sign that Bhelliom's not there."

"That's true, I suppose. All right, we'll go on north, and if something promising turns up, Tynian can raise another ghost."

Ulath looked dubious at that. "I think we'll have to be careful there," he said. "Just the effort of raising those two almost put him on his back."

"I'll be all right," Tynian protested weakly.

"Of course you will - at least you would be if we had time to let you rest in bed for several days."

They helped Tynian into his saddle, pulled his blue cape around him and rode north in the continuing drizzle. The city of Randera stood on the east shore of the lake. It was' surrounded by high walls, and there were grim watch-towers at each corner.

"Well?" Kalten said, looking speculatively at the bleak Lamork city.

"Waste of time," Kurik grunted. He pointed at a large mound of dirt slowly melting down in the rain. "We're still coming across digging. We need to go farther north."

Sparhawk looked critically at Tynian. Some of the colour had returned to the Alcione Knight's face, and he seemed to be slowly recovering. Sparhawk nudged Faran into a canter and led his friends through the dreary landscape. It was mid-afternoon by the time they passed the last signs of excavations. "There's some kind of a village down there by the lake, Sir Sparhawk," Berit said, pointing.

"It's probably not a bad place to start," Sparhawk agreed. "Let's see if we can find an inn down there. I think it's time for" us to have a hot meal, get in out of the rain and dry out a bit anyway."

"And a tavern perhaps," Kalten added. "People in taverns usually like to talk, and there are always a few old men around who pride themselves on how well they know local history."

They rode on down to the shore of the lake and into the village. The houses were uniformly run-down, and the cobbled streets were in disrepair. At the lower end of town "a series of docks protruded out into the lake, and there were nets hanging on poles along the shore. The smell of long-dead fish permeated the air in the narrow streets. A suspicious-eyed villager directed them to the only inn the village had, a very old, sprawling stone building with a slate roof.

Sparhawk dismounted in the inn yard and went inside.

A fat man with a bright red face and raggedly cut hair was rolling a beer barrel across the floor towards a wide door near the back. "Have you any empty rooms, neighbour?" Sparhawk asked him.

"The whole loft is empty, My Lord," the fat man replied respectfully, "but are you sure you want to stop here? My accommodations are good enough for ordinary travellers, but they're hardly suitable for the gentry."

"I'm sure they'd be better than sleeping under a hedge on a rainy night."

"That's surely true, My Lord, and I'll be happy to have guests. I don't get many visitors at this time of year. That tap-room back there is about the only thing that keeps me in business."

"Are there any people in there at the moment?"

"A half-dozen or so, My Lord. Business picks up when the fishermen come in off the lake."

"There are ten of us," Sparhawk told him, "so we'll need quite a few rooms. Do you have someone who can see to our horses?"

"My son takes care of the stables, Sir Knight."

"Warn him to be careful of the big roan. The horse is playful, and he's very free with his teeth."

"I'll mention it to my son."

"I'll get my friends then, and we'll go upstairs and have a look at your loft. Oh, incidentally, do you happen to have a bath-tub? My friends and I have been out in the weather, and we're a little rusty-smelling."

"There's a bath-house out back, My Lord. Nobody uses it very often, though."

"All right. Have some of your people start heating water, and I'll be right back." He turned and went back outside into the rain.

The rooms, though a bit dusty from lack of use, were surprisingly comfortable-looking. The beds were clean and seemed bug-free, "and there was a large common room at one end of the loft.

"Very nice, actually," Sephrenia said, looking around.

"There's a bath-house as well," Sparhawk told her.

"Oh, that's just lovely," she sighed happily.

"We'll let you use it first."

"No, dear one. I don't like to be rushed when I bathe. You gentlemen go ahead." She sniffed at them critically.

"Don't be afraid to use soap," she added, " - lots and lots of soap - and wash your hair as well."

"After we bathe, I think we'll want to change into plain tunics," Sparhawk advised the others. "We want to ask "these people questions, and armours just a bit intimidating."

The five knights pulled off their armour, took up their tunics and trooped with Kurik, Berit and Talen down the back stairs in the padded and rust-splotched undergarments they wore beneath their steel. They bathed in large, barrel-like tubs and emerged feeling refreshed and cleansed.

"This is the first time I've been warm for a week, " Kalten said. "I think I'm ready to visit that tap-room now."

Talen was pressed into service to carry their padded undergarments back upstairs, and he was a little sullen about it.

"Don't make faces," Kurik told him. "I wasn't going to let you go into the tap-room anyway. I owe that much to your mother. Tell Sephrenia that she and Flute can have the bath-house now. Come back down with her and guard the door to make sure they're not interrupted."

"But I'm hungry." Kurik put his hand threateningly on his belt.

"All right, all right, don't get excited." The boy hurried on up the stairs.

The tap-room was a bit smoky, and the floor was covered with sawdust and silvery fish-scales. The five plain-clad knights, along with Kurik and Berit entered unobtrusively and seated themselves at a vacant corner table.

"We'll have beer," Kalten called to the serving-wench, "lots of beer."

"Don't overdo it," Sparhawk muttered. "You're heavy, and we don't want to have to carry you back upstairs."

"Never fear, my friend," Kalten replied expansively. "I spent a full ten years here in Lamorkand and never once got fuddled. The beer here is weak and watery stuff."

The serving-girl was a typical Lamork woman - large-hipped, blonde, busty and none too bright. She wore a peasant blouse, cut very low, and a heavy red skirt. Her wooden shoes clattered across the floor, and she had an inane giggle. She brought them large, copper-bound wooden tankards of foamy beer. "Don't go just yet, lass," Kalten said to her. He lifted his tankard and drained it without once taking it from his lips. "This one seems to have gone empty on me. Be a good girl and fill it again." He patted her familiarly on the bottom. She giggled and hurried away with his tankard.

"Is he always like this?" Tynian asked Sparhawk.

"Every chance he gets."

"As I was saying before we came in," Kalten said loudly enough to be heard in most parts of the room, "I'll wager a silver half-crown that the battle never got this far north."

"And I'll wager two that it did," Tynian replied, picking up the ruse immediately.

Bevier looked puzzled for an instant, and then his eyes showed that he understood. "It shouldn't be too hard to find out," he said, looking around. "I'm sure that someone here would know."

Ulath pushed back his bench and stood up. He thumped his huge fist on the table for attention. "Gentlemen," he said loudly to the other men in the tap-room.

"My two friends here have been arguing for the last four hours, and they've finally got to the point of putting money down on the issue. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of listening to them. Maybe some of you can settle the matter and give my ears a rest. There was a battle here five hundred years ago or so." He pointed at Kalten. "This one with the beer-foam on his chin says that the fighting didn't get this far north. The other one with the round face says that it did. Which one is right?"

There was a long silence, and then an old man with pink cheeks and wispy white hair shambled across the room to their table. He was shabbily dressed, and his head wobbled on his neck. "I b'leeve I kin settle yer dispute, good masters," he said in a squeaky voice. "My old gaffer, he used to tell me stories about that there battle ye was talkin' about."

"Bring this good fellow a tankard, dearie," Kalten said familiarly to the serving-girl.

"Kalten," Kurik said disgustedly, "keep your hand off her bottom."

"Just being friendly, that's all."

"Is that what you call it?"

The serving-girl blushed rosily and went back for more beer, rolling her eyes invitingly at Kalten.

"I think you've just made a friend," Ulath said drily to the blond Pandion, "but try not to take advantage of it here in public." He looked at the old man with the wobbly neck. "Sit down, old fellow," he invited.

"Why, thankee, good master. I read by the look of ee that ye be from far north Thalesia." He sat down shakily on the bench.

"You read well, old man," Ulath said. "What did your gaffer tell you about that ancient battle?"

"Well," the wobbly fellow said, scratching at his stubbled cheek, "as I recall it, he says to me, he says - " He paused as the busty serving girl slid a tankard of beer to him. "Why, thankee, Nima," he said.

The girl smiled, sidling up to Kalten. "How's yours?" she asked, leaning against him. Kalten flushed slightly. "Ah - just fine, dearie," he faltered. Oddly, her directness seemed to take him off guard.

"You will let me know if you want anything, won't you?" she encouraged. "Anything at all. I'm here to please, you know."

"At the moment - no," Kalten told her. "Maybe later."

Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look, and then they both grinned.

"You northern knights look at the world differently than we do," Bevier said, looking slightly embarrassed.

"You want some lessons?" Ulath asked him.

Bevier suddenly blushed.

"He's a good boy." Ulath smiled broadly to the others, patting Bevier on the shoulder. We just have to keep him out of Arcium for a while until we have time to corrupt him. Bevier, you're my dear brother, but you're awfully stiff and formal. Try to relax a bit."

"Am I so very rigid?" Bevier asked, looking a bit shame-faced.

"We'll fix it for you," Ulath assured him Sparhawk looked across the table at the toothlessly grinning old Lamork. "Can you settle this stupid argument for us, grandfather? Did the battle really come this far north?"

"Why, yes indeed it did, young master," the old man mumbled, " - and even further, if the truth be known.

My old gaffer, he tole me as there was fightin' an' killin' as far north as up into Pelosia. Ysee, the hull army of the Thalesians, they come slippin' around the upper end of the lake an' fell on tham Zemochs from behind. Only thing was that there was a hull lot more of them there Zemochs than there was Thalesians. Well, sir, the way I understand it was that the Zemochs got over their surprise an' come roarin' back up this way, kilin' most everthin' in sight. Folks hereabouts hid in their cellars while that was goin' on, let me tell you." He paused to take a long drink from his tankard. "Well, sir," he continued, "the battle seemed't' be more or less over, the Zemochs havin' won an' all, but then a hull bunch of them Thalesian lads, what had probably had to wait around for boats up there in the north country, come chargin' in an' done some real awful things to them there Zemochs." He glanced at Ulath. "Yer people are a real bad-tempered sort, if y' don't mind my sayin' so, friend."

"I think it has to do with the climate," Ulath agreed.

The old man looked mournfully into his tankard.

"Could ye maybe see yer way clear to do this again?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course, grandfather," Sparhawk said. "See to it, Kalten."

"Why me?"

"Because you're on better speaking terms with the barmaid than I am. Go on with your story, grandfather."

"Well, sir, I been told there was this awful battle that went on about a couple leagues or so north of here. Them Thalesian fellers was real unhappy about what had happened to their friends an' kinfolk down to the south end of the lake, an' they went at the Zemochs with axes an' such. They's graves up there as has got a thousand or more in "em - an' they hain't all human, I'm told. The Zemochs wasn't none too particular about who they took up with, or so the story goes. Ye kin see the graves up there in the fields - ~big heaps of dirt all growed over with grass an' bushes an' such like. Local farmers been turnin' up bones an old swords an' spears an' axe-heads with their ploughs fer nigh onto five hunnerd years now."

"Did your gaffer by any chance tell you who led the Thalesians?" Ulath asked carefully. "I had some kin in that battle, and we could never find out what happened to them. Do you think the leader might possibly have been the King of Thalesia?"

"Never heard one way or't'other," the old Lamork admitted. "Course, the folks hereabouts wasn't none too anxious to get right down there in the middle of the killin' an' all. Common folk don't have no business getting' mixed up in that sort of thing."