"I'll cut it as short as I can," Sparhawk promised.

The tanner was a heavy-set bald man wearing a canvas apron stained with dark brown splotches. He was stirring at a large vat with a long Paddle as Sparhawk and Sephrenia rode into his yard. "I'll be right with you," he said. His voice sounded like gravel being poured across a slate. He stirred for a moment or two longer, looking critically into the vat. Then he laid aside his paddle and came towards them, wiping his hands on his apron.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

Sparhawk dismounted and helped Sephrenia down from her white palfrey. "We were talking with a farmer named Wat down in Lamorkand," he told the tanner. "He said you might be able to help us."

"Old Wat?" The tanner laughed. "Is he still alive?"

"He was three days ago. You're Berd aren't you?"

"That's me, My Lord. What's this help you need?"

"We've been going around talking to people who know stories about that big battle they had around here some years back. There are some people up in Thalesia who are distantly related to the man who was their king during that battle. They want to find out where he's buried so they can take his bones back home."

"Never heard of no kings involved in the fights around here," Berd admitted. "Course that don't mean there wasn't a few. I don't imagine kings go around introducin' theirselves to common folks."

Then there were battles up here?" Sparhawk asked.

"I don't know as I'd call em battles exactly - more what you might call skirmishes an' the like. Y see, My Lord, the main battle was down to the south end of the lake. That's where the armies drew up their lines of regiments an' battalions an' such. What was goin' through up here, was small groups of men - Pelosians mostly at first, an' then later, the Thalesians started to filter on down. Otha's Zemochs, they had out their patrols, an' there was a bunch of nasty little fights, but nothin' as you could really call a battle. There was a couple not far from here, but I don't know as any Thalesians was involved. Most of their fights went on up around Lake Venne, an' even as far north as Ghasek." He suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Now that's the one you really ought to talk to," he said.

"Can't think why I didn't remember that right off."

"Oh?"

"Of course. Can't imagine where my brain had went. That Count of Ghasek, he went to some university down in Cammoria, an' he got to studyin' up on history an' the like. Anyhow, all the books he read on that there battle, they sorta concentrated on what went on down to the south end of the lake. They didn't say hardly nothin' about what happened up here. Anyhow, when he finished up his studyin', he come back home, an' he started goin' around collectin' all the old stories he could come across. Wrote 'em all down, too. He's been at it for years now. I expect he's gathered up just about every story in northern Pelosia by now. He even come an' talked to me, an' it's some fair distance from Ghasek to here. He tole me that what he's tryin' to do is to fill in some mighty big gaps in what they teach at that there university. Yes, sir, you go talk to Count Ghasek. If anybody in all Pelosia knows anythin' about this king you're lookin' for, the count woulda found out about it an' wrote it down in that there book he's puttin' together."

"My friend," Sparhawk said warmly, "I think you've just solved our problem for us. How do we find the count?"

"Best way is to take the road to Lake Venne. The city of Venne itself is up to the north end of the lake. Then you go north from there. It's a real bad road, but it's passable particularly at this time of year. Ghasek ain't no real town. Actual, it's just the count's estate. There's a few villages around it - mostly belongin' to the count hisself but anybody up there can direct you to the main house more like a palace, really, or maybe a castle. I've been past it a few times. Bleak lookin' place it is, but I never went inside, though." He laughed a rusty-sounding laugh. "Me an' the count, we don't exactly move in the same circles, if you take my meanin"."

"I understand perfectly," Sparhawk said. He took out several coins. "Your work here looks hot, Berd."

"It surely is, My Lord."

"When you finish up for the day, why don't you get yourself something cool to drink?" He gave the tanner the coins.

"Why, thankee, My Lord. That's uncommon generous of you."

"I'm the one who should be thanking you, Berd. I think you've just saved me months of travel." Sparhawk helped Sephrenia back onto her horse and then remounted himself. "I'm more grateful to you than you can possibly imagine, Berd," he said to the tanner by way of farewell.

"Now that turned out extremely well, didn't it?"

Sparhawk exulted as he and Sephrenia rode back into the city.

"I told you it would," she reminded him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you did. I shouldn't have doubted you for a moment, little mother."

"It's natural to have doubts, Sparhawk. We'll go on to Ghasek, then?"

"Of course."

"I think we'd better wait until tomorrow, though. That physician said that none of our friends is in any danger, but another days rest won't hurt them."

"Will they be able to ride?"

"Slowly at first, I'm afraid, but they'll grow stronger as we go along."

"All right. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."

The mood of the others brightened considerably when Sparhawk repeated what Berd had told him.

"Somehow this is beginning to seem too easy," Ulath muttered, "and easy things make me nervous."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Tynian told him. "Try to look on the bright side of things."

"I'd rather expect the worst. That way, if things turn out all right, I'm pleasantly surprised."

"I suppose you'll want me to get rid of the wagon then?" Talen said to Sparhawk.

"No. Let's take it along just to be on the safe side. If any one of these three takes a turn for the worse, we can always put him back in it."

"I'm going to check the supplies, Sparhawk," Kurik said.

"It could be quite some time before we come to another town with a market-place. I'll need some money."

Even that could not dampen Sparhawk's elation.

They spent the rest of the day quietly and retired early that evening.

Sparhawk lay in his bed staring up into the darkness. It was going to be all right, he was sure of that now. Ghasek was a long distance away, but if Berd had been right about the thoroughness of the count's research, he would have the answer they needed. Then all that would remain for them to do would be to go to the place where Sarak was buried and recover his crown. Then they hopefully would return to Cimmura with Bhelliom and There was a light tap on his door. He rose and opened it.

It was Sephrenia. Her face was ashen grey, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, come with me, Sparhawk," she said. "I cannot face them alone any more."

"Face whom?"

"Just come with me. I'm hoping that I'm wrong, but I'm afraid I'm not. " She led him down the hall and opened the room she shared with flute, and once again Sparhawk smelled the familiar graveyard reek. flute sat on the bed, her little face grave, but her eyes unafraid. She was looking at a shadowy figure in black armour. Then the figure turned, and Sparhawk saw the scarred face.

"Olven," he said in a stricken voice.

The ghost of Sir Olven did not reply but simply extended its hands with its sword lying across them. Sephrenia was weeping openly as she stepped forward to receive the sword. The ghost looked at Sparhawk and raised one hand in a kind of half-salute.

And then it vanished.

Chapter 12

Their mood was very bleak the following morning as they saddled their horses in the pre-dawn darkness.

"Was he a good friend?" Ulath asked, heaving Kalten's saddle up onto the back of the blond Pandion's horse.

"One of the best," Sparhawk answered. "He never said very much, but you always knew you could depend on him. I'm going to miss him."

"What are we going to do about those Zemochs following us?" Kalten asked.

"I don't think there's much we can do," Sparhawk replied. "We're a little under-strength until you and Tynian and Bevier recover. As long as all they're doing is trailing along behind us, they're not much of a problem."

"I think I've told you before that I don't like having enemies behind me," Ulath said.

"I'd rather have them behind me where I can keep an eye on them instead of hiding in ambush somewhere ahead," Sparhawk said.

Kalten winced as he pulled his saddle cinch tight.

That's going to get aggravating," he noted, laying one hand gently against his side.

"You'll heal," Sparhawk told him. "You always do."

"The only problem is that it takes longer to heal every time. We're not getting any younger, Sparhawk. Is Bevier going to be all right to ride?"

"As long as we don't push him," Sparhawk replied.

"Tynian's better, but we'll take it slowly for the first day or so. I'm going to put Sephrenia in the wagon. Every time she gets another of those swords, she gets a little weaker. She's carrying more than she's willing to let us know about."

Kurik led the rest of the horses out into the yard. He was wearing his customary black leather vest. "I suppose I should give Bevier his armour back," he said hopefully.

"Keep it for the time being," Sparhawk disagreed. "I don't want him to start feeling brave just yet. He's a little headstrong. Let's not encourage him until we're sure he's all right."

"This is very uncomfortable, Sparhawk," Kurik said.

"I explained the reasons to you the other day."

"I'm not talking about reasons. Bevier and I are close to the same size, but there are differences. I've got raw places all over me."

"It's probably only for a couple more days."

"I'll be a cripple by then."

Berit assisted Sephrenia out through the door of the inn. He helped her up into the wagon and then lifted Flute up beside her. The small Styric woman was wan looking, and she cradled Olven's sword gently, almost as one would carry a baby.

"Are you going to be all right?" Sparhawk asked her.

"I just need some time to get used to it, that's all," she replied.

Talen led his horse out of the stable.

"Just tie him on behind the wagon," Sparhawk told the boy. "You'll be driving."

"Whatever you say, Sparhawk," Talen agreed.

"No arguments?" Sparhawk was a little surprised.

"Why should I argue? I can see the reason for it Besides, that wagon seat's more comfortable than my saddle - much more comfortable, when you get right down to it."

Tynian and Bevier came out of the inn. Both wore mail-shirts and walked a bit slowly.

"No armour?" Ulath asked Tynian lightly.

"It's heavy," Tynian replied. "I'm not sure I'm up to it just yet."

"Are you sure we didn't leave anything behind?" Sparhawk asked Kurik.

Kurik gave him a flat, unfriendly stare.

"Just asking," Sparhawk said mildly. "Don't get irritable this early in the morning." He looked at the others. "We're not going to push today," he told them. "I'll be satisfied with five leagues, if we can manage it."

"You're saddled with a group of cripples, Sparhawk," Tynian said. "Wouldn't it be better if you and Ulath went on ahead? The rest of us can catch up with you later."

"No," Sparhawk decided. "There are unfriendly people about, and you and the others aren't in any condition to defend yourselves just yet." He smiled briefly at Sephrenia. "Besides," he added, "we're supposed to be ten. I wouldn't want to offend the Younger Gods."

They helped Kalten, Tynian and Bevier to mount and then rode slowly out of the inn yard into the still-dark and largely deserted streets of Paler. They proceeded at a walk to the north gate, and the gate guards hurriedly opened it for them.

"Bless you, my children," Kalten said grandly to them as he rode through.

"Did you have to do that?" Sparhawk asked him.

"It's cheaper than giving them money. Besides, who knows? My blessing might actually be worth something."

"I think he's going to get better," Kurik said.

"Not if he keeps that up, he won't," Sparhawk disagreed.

The sky to the east was growing lighter, and they moved at an easy pace along the road that ran northwesterly from Paler to Lake Venne. The land lying between the two lakes was rolling and given over largely to the growing of grain. Grand estates dotted the countryside, and here and there were villages of the log huts of the serfs. Serfdom had been abolished in western Eosia centuries before, but it still persisted here in Pelosia, since, as best Sparhawk could tell, the Pelosian nobility lacked the administrative skills to make any other system work. They saw a few of those nobles, usually in bright satin doublets, supervising the work of the linen-shirted serfs from horseback. Despite everything Sparhawk had heard of the evils of serfdom, the workers in the fields seemed well-fed and not particularly mistreated.

Berit was riding several hundred yards to the rear, and he kept turning in his saddle to look back.

"He's going to wrench my armour completely askew if he keeps doing that," Kalten said critically.

"We can always stop by a smith and have it re-tailored for you," Sparhawk said. "Maybe we could have some of the seams let out at the same time, since you're so bent on stuffing Yourself full of food every chance you get."

"You're in a foul humour this morning, Sparhawk."

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"Some people are just not suited for command," Kalten observed grandly to the others. "My ugly friend here seems to be one of them. He worries too much."

"Do you want to do this?" Sparhawk asked flatly.

"Me? Be serious, Sparhawk. I couldn't even herd geese, much less direct a body of knights."

"Then would you like to shut up and let me do it?"