The body of the child was withered and dry. Its skin was grey, and its sunken eyes were open.

"Bellina again?" Sparhawk asked. His voice seemed loud, even to himself.

"No," she replied. "This is the work of the Seeker. This is how it feeds. Here," she pointed at dry puncture marks on the child's body, "and here, and here, and here. This is where the Seeker fed. It draws out the body's fluids and leaves only a dry husk."

"Not any more," Sparhawk said, his fist closing about the haft of Aldreas's spear. "The next time we meet, it dies."

"Can you afford to do that, dear one!"

"I can't afford not to. I'll avenge this child - against the Seeker or Azash or even against the gates of Hell itself."

"You're angry, Sparhawk."

"Yes. You could say that." It was stupid and served no purpose, but Sparhawk suddenly tore his sword from its scabbard and destroyed an unoffending wall with it. It didn't accomplish anything, but it made him feel a little better.

The others came silently down into the village and to the open grave Kalten had grubbed out of the earth with his bare hands. Sephrenia came out of the house with the dry body of the child in her arms. Flute came forward with a light linen cloth, and the two carefully wrapped the dead child in it. Then they deposited it in the rude grave.

"Bevier," Sephrenia said, "would you? This is an Elene child, and you are the most devout among these knights."

"I am unworthy." Bevier was weeping openly.

"Who is worthy, dear one?" she said. "Will you send this unknown child into the darkness alone?"

Bevier stared at her and then fell to his knees beside the grave and began to recite the ancient prayer for the dead of the Elene church.

Rather peculiarly, Flute came up beside the kneeling Arcian. Her fingers gently wove through his curly blue black hair in a strangely comforting way. For some reason, Sparhawk began to feel that the strange little girl might be far, far older than any of them realized. Then she raised her pipes. The hymn was an ancient one, almost at the core of the Elene faith, but there was a minor Styric overtone to it. Briefly, in the sound of the little girl's song, Sparhawk began to perceive some unbelievable possibilities.

When the burial was complete, they mounted and rode on. They were all very quiet for the rest of that day, and they stopped for the night at the campsite beside the small lake where they had encountered the wandering minstrel. The man was gone.

"I was afraid of that," Sparhawk said. "It was too much to hope for that he'd still be here."

"Maybe we'll catch up with him farther south," Kalten suggested. That horse of his wasn't in very good shape."

"What can we do about him even if we do catch him?" Tynian said. "you weren't planning to kill him, were you?"

"Only as a last resort," Kalten replied. "Now that Sephrenia knows how Bellina influenced him, she could probably cure him."

"Your confidence is very nice, Kalten," she said, "but it might be misplaced."

"Will the spell she put on him ever wear off?" Bevier asked.

"To some degree. He'll grow less desperate as time goes on, but he'll never be entirely free of it. It might even make him write better poetry, though. The important thing is that he'll grow less and less infectious. Unless he meets a fair number of people in the next week or so, he won't be much of a danger to the count, and neither will those servants."

That's something at least," the young Cyrinic said. He frowned slightly. "Since I was already infected, why did that creature come to me that night? Wasn't that just a waste of her time?" Bevier seemed still strongly shaken by the funeral service for the dead child.

"It was for reinforcement, Bevier," she told him. "You were agitated, but you wouldn't have gone as far as to attack your companions. She had to make sure you'd go to any lengths to free her from that tower."

As they were setting up their night's camp, something occurred to Sparhawk. He went over to where Sephrenia sat by the fire with her teacup in her hands. "Sephrenia," he said, "what's Azash up to? Why is He suddenly going out of His way to convert Elenes? He's never done that before, has He?"

"Do you remember what the ghost of King Aldreas said to you that night in the crypt?" she said. "That the time had come for Bhelliom to re-emerge?"

"Yes."

"Azash knows that too, and He's growing desperate. I'd guess that He's found that His Zemochs aren't reliable. They follow orders, but they're not very bright. They've been digging up that battlefield for centuries now, and they just keep ploughing over the same ground. We've found out more about Bhelliom's location in the past few weeks than they've found out in the past five hundred years."

"We were lucky."

"That's not entirely true, Sparhawk. I know that I tease you sometimes about Elene logic, but that was precisely what's got us so close to Bhelliom. A Zemoch is incapable of logic. That's Azash's weakness. A Zemoch doesn't think because he doesn't have to. Azash does all his thinking for him. That's why Azash so desperately needs Elene converts. He doesn't need their adoration, He needs their minds. He has Zemochs all over the western kingdoms gathering old stories - in the same way that we did. I think He believes that one of them will stumble over the right story and that then His Elene converts will be able to piece together the meaning of it."

"That's the long way around, isn't it."

"Azash has time. He's not pressed by the same sense of urgency that we are."

Later that night, Sparhawk was standing watch some distance away from the fire, looking out over the small lake that glittered in the moonlight. Again, the howls of wolves echoed back in the dismal woods, but now for some reason the sound did not seem so ominous. The ghastly spirit which had haunted this forest was locked away forever, and the wolves were only wolves now and not harbingers of evil. The Seeker, of course, was an entirely different matter. Grimly Sparhawk promised himself that the next time they encountered it, he would bury the spear of Aldreas in the hideous creature.

"Sparhawk, where are you?" It was Talen. He spoke quietly and stood near the fire peering out into the darkness.

"Over here."

The boy came towards him, putting his feet down carefully to avoid hidden obstructions on the ground.

"What's the problem?" Sparhawk asked him.

"I couldn't sleep. I thought you might like some company."

"I appreciate that, Talen. Standing watch is a lonely business."

"I'm certainly glad to be away from that castle," Talen said. "I've never been so scared in my life."

"I was a little nervous myself," Sparhawk admitted.

"Do you know something? There were all sorts of very nice things in Ghasek's castle, and I didn't once think of stealing any of them. Isn't that odd?"

"Maybe you're growing up."

"I've known some very old thieves," Talen disagreed.

Then he sighed disconsolately.

"Why so mournful, Talen?"

"I wouldn't tell just anyone this, Sparhawk, but it's not as much fun as it used to be. Now that I know I can take just about anything I want from almost anybody, the thrill has sort of gone out of it."

"Maybe you should look for another line of work."

"What else am I suited for?"

"I'll give it some thought and let you know what I come up with."

Talen laughed suddenly.

"What's so funny?" Sparhawk asked him.

"I might have just a little trouble getting references," the boy replied, still laughing. "My customers didn't usually know they were doing business with me."

Sparhawk grinned. "It could be a problem," he agreed.

"We'll work something out."

The boy sighed again. "It's almost" over, isn't it, Sparhawk? We know where that king's buried now. All we have left to do is go and dig up his crown, and then we'll go back to Cimmura. You'll go to the palace, and I'll go back to the streets."

"I don't think so," Sparhawk said. "Maybe we can come up with an alternative to the streets."

"Maybe, but the minute it gets tedious, I'll just run away again. I'm going to miss all this, you know there've been a few times when I was so scared I almost wet myself, but there have been good times too. Those are the ones I'll remember."

"At least we gave you something." Sparhawk put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Go back to bed, Talen. We'll be getting up early tomorrow."

"Whatever you say, Sparhawk."

They set out at dawn, riding carefully along the rutted road to avoid injury to the horses. They passed the woodcutters' village without stopping and pressed on.

"How far do you make it?" Kalten asked, about midmorning.

"Three - maybe four more days - five more at the most, "

Sparhawk replied. "Once we get out of this forest, the roads improve and we'll make better time."

"Then all we have to do is find Giant's Mound."

"That shouldn't be much of a problem. From what Ghasek said, the local peasantry uses it as a landmark.

"We'll ask around."

"Do you remember what Sephrenia said at Alstrom's castle back in Lamorkand?" Kalten said seriously. The business about Bhelliom's reemergence ringing through the whole world?"

"Vaguely," Sparhawk replied.

"Then the minute we dig it up, Azash is going to know about it, and the road back to Cimmura could be lined on both sides with Zemochs. It could be a very nervous trip."

Ulath was riding directly behind them. "Not really," he disagreed. "Sparhawk's already got the rings. I can teach him a few words in the language of the Trolls. Once he's got Bhelliom in his hands, there's almost nothing he won't be able to do. He'll be able to bowl over whole regiments of Zemochs."

"Is it really that powerful?"

"Kalten, you have no idea. If even half the stories are true, Bhelliom can do almost anything. Sparhawk could probably stop the sun with it, if he wanted to."

Sparhawk looked back over his shoulder at Ulath. "Do you have to know Troll language to use Bhelliom?" he asked.

"I'm not really sure," Ulath replied, "but they say that it's infused with the power of the Troll-Gods. They might not respond to words spoken in Elene or Styric. The next time I talk with a Troll-God, I'll ask Him."

They camped in the forest again that night, and after supper Sparhawk walked away from the fire to do some thinking. Bevier quietly joined him. "Will we stop in Venne when we reach it?" the Cyrinic asked.

"More than likely," Sparhawk replied. "I doubt that we'd be able to get much farther tomorrow."

"Good. I'll need to find a church."

"Oh?"

"I've been contaminated by evil. I need to pray for a while."

"It wasn't really your fault, Bevier. It could have happened to any one of us."

"But it was me, Sparhawk," Bevier sighed. "The witch probably sought me out because she knew that I'd be susceptible."

"Nonsense, Bevier. You're the most devout man I've ever met."

"No," Bevier disagreed sadly. "I know my own weaknesses. I am powerfully attracted to members of the fair sex."

"You're young, my friend. What you feel is only natural. It subsides in time - or so I'm told."

"Do you still feel those urges? I'd hoped that by the time I reached your age, they would no longer trouble me."

"It doesn't work exactly that way, Bevier. I've known some very old men whose heads could still be turned by a pretty face. It's part of being human, I suppose. If God didn't want us to feel that way, He wouldn't permit it.

Patriarch Dolmant explained it to me once when I was having a problem with it. I'm not sure I entirely believed him, but it made me feel a little less guilty."

Bevier chuckled. "You, Sparhawk? This is a side of you I hadn't seen. I thought you were totally consumed with your sense of duty."

"Not entirely, Bevier. I still have a little time for other thoughts as well. I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to meet Lillias."

"Lillias?"

"A Rendorish woman. I lived with her while I was in exile."

"Sparhawk." Bevier gasped.

"It was part of a necessary disguise."

"But surely you didn't -" Bevier left it hanging.

Sparhawk was sure that the young man was blushing furiously, but the darkness concealed it.

"Oh, yes," he assured his friend. "Lillias would have left me otherwise. She's a woman of strong appetites. I needed her to help conceal my real identity, so I more or less had to try to keep her happy."

"I'm shocked at you, Sparhawk, truly shocked."

"The Pandions are a more pragmatic order than the Cyrinics, Bevier. We do what has to be done in order to get the job finished. Don't worry, my friend. Your soul hasn't been damaged - at least not very much.

"I still need to spend some time in a church."

"Why? God is everywhere, isn't he?"

"Of course."

"Talk with Him here, then."

"It wouldn't be quite the same.

"Whatever makes you feel right, I suppose."

They set out again at first light. The road now tended downward, for they were coming down out of the low range of forested hills. On occasion, when rounding a curve or cresting a hill, they could see Lake Venne sparkling in the spring sun off in the distance, and by mid afternoon they reached the fork in the road. The main road was much better than had been the one leading down from Ghasek, and they reached the north gate of Venne just before the sunset filled the western sky with its fire.

Once again they rode through the narrow streets with the overhanging houses casting a premature darkness, and arrived back at the inn where they had previously stayed. The innkeeper, a jovial fat Pelosian, welcomed them and led them upstairs to the second floor where the sleeping-rooms were located. "Well, My Lords," he said, "how was your sojourn in those accursed woods?"

"Quite successful, neighbour," Sparhawk replied, "and I think you can begin to pass the word around that Ghasek's no longer a place to be feared. We found out what was causing the problem and took care of it."