"Thanks be to God for the Knights of the Church!" the innkeeper cried enthusiastically. "The stories that have been going around have been very bad for business here in Venne. People have been choosing other routes because they didn't want to go into those woods."

"Its all taken care of now," Sparhawk assured him.

"Was it some kind of monster?"

"In a manner of speaking," Kalten replied.

"Did you kill it?"

"We entombed it." Kalten shrugged, starting to remove his armour.

"Good for you, My Lord."

"Oh, by the way," Sparhawk said, "we need to find a place called Giant's Mound. Do you by any chance happen to know where we should start looking?"

"I think its on the east side of the lake," the innkeeper replied. "There are some villages down there. They're back a ways from the lake-shore because of all those peat-bogs." He laughed. The villages won't be hard to find. The peasants down there burn peat in their stoves.

It puts out quite a bit of smoke, so about all you have to do is follow your noses."

"What are you planning to offer for supper tonight?" Kalten asked eagerly.

"Is that all you ever think about?" Sparhawk said.

"It's been a long trip, Sparhawk. "I need some real food.

You gentlemen are good companions, but your cooking leaves a bit to be desired."

"I've had a haunch of beef turning on the spit since this morning, My Lord," the innkeeper said. "It should be well done by now."

Kalten smiled beatifically.

True to his word, Bevier spent the night in a nearby church and rejoined them in the morning. Sparhawk chose not to question him concerning the state of his soul.

They rode out of Venne and took the road south along the lake. They made much better time than they had when they had made the trip to the city. On that occasion, Kalten, Bevier and Tynian had been recovering from their encounter with the monstrous thing which had emerged from the burial mound at the north end of Lake Randera, but now they were wholly restored and able to ride at a gallop. It was late afternoon when Kurik pulled up beside Sparhawk. "I just caught a trace of peat-smoke in the air," he reported. "There's a village of some kind around here."

"Kalten," Sparhawk called.

"Yes?"

"There's a village nearby. Kurik and I are going to go have a look. Set up camp and build a good fire. It might be after dark before the two of us get back and we'll need something to guide us in."

"I know what to do, Sparhawk."

"All right. Do it then." Sparhawk and his squire turned aside from the road and galloped across an open field towards a low band of trees a mile or so to the east.

The smell of burning peat grew stronger - a strangely homelike scent. Sparhawk leaned back in his saddle feeling strangely at ease.

"Don't get too confident," Kurik warned. "The smoke does strange things to their heads. Peat-burners are not always very reliable. In some ways, they're worse than Lamorks."

"Where did you get all this information, Kurik?"

"There are ways, Sparhawk. The Church and the nobility get their information in dispatches and reports. The commons go to the heart of things."

"I'll remember that. There's the village."

"You'd better let me do most of the talking when we get there," Kurik advised. "No matter how hard you try, you don't sound much like a commoner."

It was a low village. Shallow, wide houses built of grey field-stone and roofed with thatch lined both sides of the single street. A thick-bodied peasant sat on a stool in an open-sided shed, milking a brown cow.

"Hello, there, friend," Kurik called to him, slipping down from his horse. The peasant turned and stared at him in slack-lipped stupidity.

"Do you happen to know about a place called Giant's Mound!" Kurik asked him.

The fellow continued to gape at him without answering.

Then a lean man with squinting eyes came out of a nearby house. "Won't do you no good to talk to him," he said. "He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was young, and he hasn't been right since."

"Oh," Kurik said. "Sorry to hear about that. Maybe you could help us. We're looking for a place called Giant's Mound."

"You're not plannin' to go there at night, are you?"

"No, we thought we'd wait until daylight."

That's a little better, but not much. It's haunted, you know."

"No, I didn't know that. Whereabouts is it?"

"You see that lane as runs off toward the south-east?"

The lean man pointed.

Kurik nodded.

"Come sun-up, follow that. It runs right past the mound - four, maybe five mile from here."

"Have you ever seen anybody poking around it? Maybe somebody digging?"

"Never heard tell of nothin' like that. People as has good sense don't poke around haunted places."

"We've heard that you've got a Troll in this area."

"What's a Troll?"

"Ugly brutes all covered with hair. This one is pretty badly deformed."

"Oh, that thing. It's got a lair someplace out in the bogs.

It only comes out at night. It wanders up an' down the lake-shore. It makes awful noises for a while an' then pounds on the ground with its front paws as if it was real mad about somethin". I seen it a couple times myself when I was cuttin' peat. I'd stay away from it if it was me.

It seems like it's got an awful bad temper."

"Sounds like good advice to me. Ever see any Styrics hereabouts?"

"No. They don't come around here. People in this district don't hold with heathens much. You sure are full of questions, friend." Kurik shrugged. "Best way to learn things is to ask questions," he said easily.

"Well, go ask somebody else. I got work to do." The fellow's expression had turned unfriendly. He scowled at the stupid fellow in the shed. "You done with the milkin' yet?" he demanded.

The slack-lipped idiot shook his head apprehensively.

"Well get at it. You don't get no supper till yer done."

"Thanks for your time, friend," Kurik said, remounting.

The lean man grunted and went back into the house.

"Useful," Sparhawk said, as they rode out of the village in the ruddy light of the setting sun. "At least there aren't any Zemochs around."

"I'm not so sure, Sparhawk," Kurik disagreed. "I don't think that fellow was the best source of information in the world. He doesn't seem to take too much interest in what's going on around him. Besides, Zemochs aren't the only ones we have to worry about. That Seeker thing could set just about anybody on us, and we've also got to keep an eye out for that Troll. If Sephrenia's right about that jewel's making its reemergence known, the Troll would be one of the first ones to know, wouldn't he?"

"I don't know. We'll have to ask her. I think we'd better assume that he will. If we dig the crown up, we should more or less expect a visit from him."

"That's a cheery thought. At least we found out where the mound is located. Let's go see if we can find Kalten's camp before it gets dark."

Kalten had set up for the night in a copse of beech trees a mile or so back from the lake, and he had built a large fire at the edge of the grove. He was standing beside it when Sparhawk and Kurik rode in. "Well?" he asked.

"We got directions to the mound," Sparhawk replied, climbing down from his saddle. "It's not very far. Let's go talk with Tynian."

The heavily armoured Alcione was standing by the fire, talking with Ulath.

Sparhawk related the information Kurik had obtained from the villager, then looked at Tynian. "How are you feeling?" he asked directly.

"I'm fine. Why? Am I looking unwell?"

"Not really. I was just wondering if you felt up to necromancy again. The last time took quite a bit out of you, as I recall."

"I'm up to it, Sparhawk," Tynian assured him, "provided you don't want me to raise whole regiments."

"No, just one. We need to talk with King Sarak before we dig him up. He'll probably know what happened to his crown, and I want to be sure he's not going to object to being taken back to Thalesia. I don't want an angry ghost trailing along behind us."

"Truly," Tynian agreed fervently.

They rose before dawn the next morning and waited impatiently for the first sign of daylight along the horizon to the east. When it came, they were ready, and they set out across the still-dark fields.

"I think we should have waited for more light, Sparhawk," Kalten grumbled. "We're likely to run around in circles out here."

"We're going east, Kalten. That's where the sun comes up. All we have to do is ride towards the lightest part of the sky." Kalten muttered something to himself.

"I didn't quite catch that," Sparhawk said.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Oh. Sorry."

The pale pre-dawn light gradually increased, and Sparhawk looked around to get his bearings. That's the village over there," he said, pointing. The lane we want to follow is on the far side of it."

"Let's not rush too much," Sephrenia cautioned, drawing her white robe about Flute. "I want the sun to be up when we reach the mound. The talk of haunting may be just a local superstition, but let's not take any chances."

Sparhawk curbed his impatience with some difficulty.

They rode through the silent village at a walk and entered the lane the surly villager had pointed out.

Sparhawk nudged Faran into a trot. "It's not all that fast, Sephrenia," he said in response to her disapproving expression. "The sun will be well up by the time we get there."

The lane was lined on both sides by low field-stone walls, and like all country lanes, it wandered. Farmers, by and large, take little interest in straight lines, and will usually follow the path of least resistance. Sparhawk's impatience grew greater with each passing mile.

"There it is," Ulath said finally, pointing ahead. "I've seen hundreds like it in Thalesia."

"Let's wait until the sun gets a little higher," Tynian said, squinting at the sunrise. "I don't want any shadows around when I do this. Where's the king likely to be buried?"

"In the centre," Ulath replied, "with his feet pointed towards the west. His retainers will be in ranks on either side of him."

"It helps to know that."

"Lets ride around it," Sparhawk said. "I want to see if anybody's been digging, and I definitely want to make sure that nobody's around. This is the sort of thing we want lots of privacy for." They cantered around the mound. It was quite high, and it was perhaps a hundred feet long and twenty wide. Its sides were covered with grass, and it was smoothly symmetrical. There were no signs of any excavations.

"I'm going up on top," Kurik said when they returned to the road. "That's the highest point around here. If anybody's in the area, I should be able to see them from up there."

"You would actually walk on a grave?" Bevier's tone was shocked.

"We're all going to be walking on it in a little while, Bevier," Tynian said. "I'll need to be fairly close to where King Sarak's buried to raise his ghost."

Kurik clambered up the side of the mound and stood atop it, peering around. "I don't see anybody," he called down, "but there are some trees off to the south. It might not hurt to have a look before we get started."

Sparhawk ground his teeth together, but he had to admit to himself that his squire was probably right.

Kurik slid down the grassy side of the mound and remounted. "Sephrenia," Sparhawk said, "why don't you stay here with the children?"

"No, Sparhawk," she refused. "If there are people hiding in those trees, we don't want them to know that we have any particular interest in this mound."

"Good point," he agreed. "Let's just ride on down to those trees as if we intended to keep going south."

They moved out, following the winding country lane across the fields. "Sparhawk," Sephrenia said quietly as they approached the edge of the trees, "there are people in those woods, and they aren't friendly."

"How many?"

"A dozen at least."

"Hold back a little bit with Talen and Flute," he told her.

"All right, gentlemen," he said to the others, "you know what to do." But before they could enter the woods, a group of poorly armed peasants dashed out from under the trees. They had that vacant look that immediately identified them. Sparhawk lowered his lance and charged with his companions thundering along at either side of him.

The fight did not last for very long. The peasants were unskilled with their weapons, and they were on foot. It was all over in a few minutes.

"Nicely done, Sssir Knightsss," a chillingly metallic voice said sardonically from the shadows back under the trees. Then the robed and hooded Seeker rode out into the morning sunlight. "But no matter," it continued. "I know where ye are now."

Sparhawk handed his lance to Kurik and drew Aldreas's spear out from under his saddle skirt. "And we know where you are as well, Seeker," he said in an ominously quiet voice.

"Do not be foolisssh, SSSir SSSparhawk," it hissed. Thou art no match for me."

"Why don't we try it and find out?"

The hooded figure's hidden face began to glow green.

Then the light flickered and faded. "Thou hassst the ringsss!" it hissed, seeming much less sure of itself now.

"I thought you already knew that."

Then Sephrenia joined them.

"It hasss been quite sssome time, SSSephrenia," the thing said in its hissing voice.

"Not nearly long enough to suit me," she replied coldly.

"I will ssspare thy life if thou wilt fall down and worssship me."

"No, Azash. Never. I will remain faithful to my Goddess."

Sparhawk stared at her and then at the Seeker in astonishment.

"Thinkessst thou that Aphrael canssst protect thee if I decide that thy life ssservesss no further purpossse?"

"You've decided that before without much noticeable effect. I will still serve Aphrael."