They reached the road that bore in a north-easterly direction back towards the city of Venne and galloped along, rather ostentatiously not looking back at the pursuing Thalesians.

"They're coming up fast," Talen, who could look back over his shoulder without seeming to, called to Sparhawk.

"I'd like to get them a little farther away from Ghwerig, "

Sparhawk said regretfully, "but I suppose this is as far as we can go."

"Ghwerig's a Troll, Sparhawk," Ulath said. "He knows how to hide."

"All right," Sparhawk agreed. He made some show of looking back over his shoulder and then held up one hand in the signal for a halt. They reined in and turned their horses to face the oncoming Thalesians.

The Thalesians also halted, and one of their number came forward at a walk. "King Wargun of Thalesia would have words with you, Sir Knights," he said respectfully.

"He will join us presently."

"Very well," Sparhawk said curtly.

"Wargun's drunk," Ulath muttered to his friend. "Try to be diplomatic, Sparhawk."

King Wargun and King Soros rode up and reined in their horses. "Ho-ho, Soros!" Wargun roared, swaying dangerously in his saddle. "We seem to have snared us a covey of Church Knights." He blinked and peered at the knights. "I know that one," he said. "Ulath, what are you doing here in Pelosia?"

"Church business, Your Majesty," Ulath replied blandly.

"And that one with the broken nose is the Pandion Sparhawk," Wargun added to King Soros. "Why were you running so hard, Sparhawk?"

"Our mission is of a certain urgency, Your Majesty," Sparhawk said.

"And what mission is that?"

"We're not at liberty to discuss it, Your Majesty. Standard Church practice, you understand."

"Politics then," Wargun snorted. "I wish the Church would keep her nose out of politics."

"Will you ride along with us for a ways, Your Majesty?" Bevier inquired politely.

"No, I think it's going to be the other way around, Sir Knight - and it's going to be more than just a ways."

Wargun looked at them all. "Do you know what's been going on in Arcium?"

"We've heard a few garbled rumours, Your Majesty," Tynian said, "but nothing very substantial."

"All right," Wargun said, "I'll give you some substance The Rendors have invaded Arcium."

"That's impossible!" Sparhawk exclaimed.

"Go and tell the people who used to live in Coombe about impossible. The Rendors sacked and burned the town. Now they're marching north towards the capital at Larium. King Dregos has invoked the mutual defence treaties. Soros here and I are gathering up every able-bodied man we can lay our hands on. We're going to ride south and stamp out the Rendorish infection once and for all."

"I wish we could accompany Your Majesty, " Sparhawk said, "but we have another commitment. Perhaps, once our task is finished, we may be able to join you."

"You already have, Sparhawk," Wargun said bluntly.

"We have another urgent commitment, Your Majesty." Sparhawk repeated.

"The Church is eternal, Sparhawk, and she's very patient. Your other commitment will have to wait."

That did it. Sparhawk, whose temper was never really greatly under control, looked the monarch of Thalesia full in the face. Unlike the anger of other men, whose rage was dissipated in shouting and oaths, Sparhawk's anger took on an ominous icy calmness. "We are Church Knights, Your Majesty," he said in a flat, unemotional voice. "We are not subject to earthly kings. Our responsibility is to God and to our mother, the Church. We will obey her commands, not yours."

"I have a thousand picked men at my back," Wargun blustered.

"And how many are you prepared to lose?" Sparhawk asked in his deadly quiet voice. He drew himself up in his saddle and slowly lowered his visor. "Let's save some time, Wargun of Thalesia," he said formally, removing his right gauntlet. "I find your attitude unseemly, even irreligious, and it offends me." With a negligent toss, he threw his gauntlet into the dust of the road in front of the Thalesian king.

"That's his idea of diplomacy?" Ulath murmured to Kalten in some dismay.

"That's about as close as he can usually get," Kalten said, loosening his sword in its sheath. "You may as well go ahead and draw your axe, Ulath. This promises to be an interesting morning. Sephrenia, take the children to the rear."

"Are you mad, Kalten?" Ulath exploded. "You want me to draw my axe on my own king?"

"Of course not," Kalten grinned, "only on his funeral cortege. If Wargun goes up against Sparhawk, he'll be drinking heavenly mead after the first pass."

"Then I'll have to fight Sparhawk," Ulath said regretfully.

"That's up to you, my friend," Kalten said with equal regret, "but I don't advise it. Even if you get past Sparhawk, you'll still have to face me, and I cheat a lot."

"I will not permit this!" a booming voice roared. The man who shouldered his horse through the surrounding Thalesians was huge, bigger even than Ulath. He wore a mail-shirt and an ogre-horned "helmet and carried a massive axe. A wide black ribbon about his neck identified him as a churchman. "Pick up your gauntlet, Sir Sparhawk, and withdraw your challenge. This is the command of our mother, the Church!"

"Who's that?" Kalten asked Ulath.

"Bergsten, the Patriarch of Emsat," Ulath replied.

"A Patriarch? Dressed like that?"

"Bergsten's not your average churchman."

"Your Grace," King Wargun faltered. "I - "

"Put up your sword, WarGun," Bergsten thundered, "or would you face me in single combat?"

"I wouldn't," Wargun said almost conversationally to Sparhawk. "Would you?"

Sparhawk looked appraisingly at the Patriarch of Emsat. "Not if I could help it," he admitted. "How did he get that big?"

"He was an only child," Wargun said. "He didn't have to fight with nine brothers and sisters for his supper every night. What's your feeling about a truce at this point, Sparhawk?"

"It sounds like the course of prudence to me, Your Majesty. We really have something important to do, though."

"We'll talk about it later - when Bergsten's at prayers."

"This is the command of the Church!" the Patriarch of Emsat roared. "The Church Knights will join us in this holy mission. The Eshandist heresy is an offence against God. It will die on the rocky plains of Arcium. As God gives us strength, my children, let us proceed with this great work that we are about." He wheeled his horse to face south. "Don't forget your gauntlet, Sir Sparhawk," he said over his shoulder. "You might need it when we get to Arcium."

"Yes, Your Grace," Sparhawk replied through clenched teeth.

Chapter 21

Promptly at noon, King Soros of Pelosia called a halt and instructed his servants to erect his pavilion, and he and his private chaplain retired inside for noon prayers.

"Choir-boy," King Wargun muttered under his breath.

"Bergsten!" he bellowed.

"Right here, Your Majesty," the militaristic Patriarch said mildly from behind his king.

"Have you recovered from your spate of bad temper yet?"

"I wasn't really bad tempered, Your Majesty. I was merely trying to save lives - yours included."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Had you been foolish enough to accept Sir Sparhawk's challenge, you'd be dining in Heaven tonight - or supping in Hell, depending on Divine Judgement."

"That's direct enough."

"Sir Sparhawk's reputation precedes him, Your Majesty, and you would be no match for him. Now, what was it you had on your mind?"

"How far is Lamorkand from here?"

"The south end of the lake, My Lord - about two days."

"And the closest Lamork city?"

"That would be Agnak, Your Majesty. It's just across the border and a bit to the east."

"All right. We'll go there then. I want to get Soros out of his own country and away from all these religious ceremonies. If he stops to pray one more time, I'm going to strangle him. We'll pick up the bulk of the army later today. They're already marching south. I'm going to send Soros on down to mobilize the Lamork barons. You go with him, and if he tries to pray more than once a day, you have my permission to brain him."

"That could have some interesting political ramifications, Your Majesty," Bergsten noted.

"Lie about it," WarGun growled. "Say it was an accident."

"How can you brain somebody by accident?"

"Think something up. Now, listen to me, Bergsten. I need those Lamorks. Don't let Soros get side-tracked on some religious pilgrimage. Keep him moving. Quote sacred texts to him if you have to. Pick up every Lamork you can lay your hands on and then swing into Elenia. I'll meet you on the Arcian border. I've got to go to Acie in Deira. Oblers called a council of war." He looked around.

"Sparhawk," he said disgustedly, "go someplace and pray. A Church Knight should be above eavesdropping."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Sparhawk replied.

"That's a very ugly horse you've got there, you know?" WarGun said, looking critically at Faran.

"We're a matched set, Your Majesty."

"I'd be careful, King Wargun," Kalten advised over his shoulder as he and Sparhawk started back to where their friends had dismounted. "He bites."

"Which one? Sparhawk or the horse?"

"Take your pick, Your Majesty."

The two swung down from their horses and joined their friends. "What's Ghwerig doing?" Sparhawk asked flute.

"He's still hiding," the little girl replied. "At least I think he is. Bhelliom's not moving. He's probably going to wait until dark before he starts out again."

Sparhawk grunted.

Kalten looked at Ulath. "What's the story behind Bergsten?" he asked. "I've never seen a churchman in armour before."

"He used to be a Genidian Knight," Ulath replied. "He'd be Preceptor by now if he hadn't entered the priesthood."

Kalten nodded. "He did seem to be carrying that axe as if he knew how to use it. Isn't it a bit unusual for a member of one of the militant orders to take the cloth?"

"Not that unusual, Kalten," Bevier disagreed from nearby. "A fair number of the high churchmen in Arcium used to be Cyrinics. Someday I myself may leave our order so that I can serve God more personally."

"We're going to have to find some nice accommodating girl for that boy, Sparhawk," Ulath muttered. "Let's get him involved in some serious sin so that he gives up that notion. He's too good a man to waste by putting him in a cassock."

"How about Naween?" Talen, who stood beside them, suggested.

"Who's Naween?" Ulath asked.

"The best whore in Cimmura." Talen shrugged. "She's enthusiastic about her work. Sparhawk's met her."

"Really?" Ulath said, looking at Sparhawk with one raised eyebrow.

"It was on business," Sparhawk said shortly.

"Of course - but yours or hers?"

"Do you suppose we could drop this?" Sparhawk cleared his throat and then looked around to make sure that none of King Wargun's soldiers was within earshot.

"We've got to get clear of this lot before Ghwerig gets too far ahead of us," he said.

"Tonight," Tynian suggested. "Rumour has it that King Wargun drinks himself to sleep every night. We should be able to slip away without too much problem."

"We surely cannot disobey the direct command of the Patriarch of Emsat," Bevier said in a shocked tone.

"Of course not, Bevier," Kalten said easily. "We'll just slip out and find some country vicar or the abbot of a monastery and get him to order us to go back to what we were doing."

"That's immoral!" Bevier gasped.

"I know," Kalten smirked. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

"But it is technically legitimate, Bevier," Tynian assured the young Cyrinic. "A bit devious, I'll admit, but still legitimate. We're oath-bound to follow the orders of consecrated members of the clergy. The order of a vicar or an abbot would supersede the order of Patriarch Bergsten, wouldn't it?" Tynian's eyes were wide and innocent.

Bevier looked at him helplessly, and then he began to laugh. "I think he's going to be all right, Sparhawk," Ulath said, "but let's keep your friend Naween in reserve - just in case."

"Who's Naween?" Bevier asked, puzzled.

"An acquaintance of mine," Sparhawk replied distantly. "Someday I may introduce you."

"I'd be honoured," Bevier said sincerely.

Talen went off some distance and collapsed in helpless laughter.

They caught up with the mob of disconsolate-looking Pelosian conscripts late that afternoon. As Sparhawk had feared, the perimeter of their encampment was being patrolled by Wargun's heavily armed thugs.

The soldiers set up a pavilion for them just before sunset, and they went inside. Sparhawk removed his armour and put on a mail-shirt instead. "The rest of you wait here," he said. "I want to take a look around before it gets dark." He put on his sword-belt and stepped out of the tent.

There were two evil-looking Thalesians outside.

"Where do you think you're going?" one of them demanded.

Sparhawk gave him a flat, unfriendly stare and waited.

"My Lord," the fellow grudgingly added.

"I want to check on my horse," Sparhawk said.

"We have farriers to do that, Sir Knight."

"We're not going to have an argument about this, are we, neighbour?"

"Ah - no, I don't think so, Sir Knight."

"Good. Where are the horses picketed?"

"I'll show you, Sir Sparhawk."

"There's no need of that. Just tell me."

"I have to accompany you anyway, Sir Knight. The King's orders."

"I see. Lead on then."

As they started out, Sparhawk heard a sudden boisterous voice. "Ho there, Sir Knight!" He looked around.