"I see they got you and your friends too." It was Kring the Domi of the marauding band of Peloi.

"Hello, my friend," Sparhawk greeted the shaven-headed tribesman. "Did you catch up with those Zemochs?"

Kring laughed. "I've got a whole sack-full of ears," he said. "They tried to make a stand. Stupid people, the Zemochs. But then King Soros took up with this rag-tag army, and we had to follow along in order to collect the bounty." He rubbed at his shaved head. "That's all right, though. We didn't have anything Pressing to do back home anyway, now that the mares have all foaled. Tell me, do you still have that young thief with you?"

"Last time I looked, he was still around. Of course he might have stolen a few things and then bolted. He bolts very well when the occasion demands it."

"I'll wager he does, Sir Knight, I'll wager he does.

How's my friend Tynian? I saw you all when you rode in, and I was just on my way to visit him."

"He's well."

"Good." The Domi looked seriously at Sparhawk then.

"Perhaps you can give me some information about military etiquette, Sir Knight. I've never been a part of a formal army before. What are the general rules about pillage?"

"I don't think anybody would get too concerned," Sparhawk replied, "as long as you limit your plundering to the enemy dead. It's considered bad form to loot the bodies of our own soldiers."

"Stupid rule, that one," Kring sighed. "What does a dead man care about possessions? How about rape?"

"It's frowned on. We'll be in Arcium, and that's a friendly country. Arcians are sensitive about their women-folk. Wargun's gathered up a fair number of camp-followers if those urges are bothering you."

"Camp-followers always act so bored. Give me a nice young virgin every time. You know, this campaign is turning out to be less and less enjoyable. How about arson? I love a good fire."

"I'd definitely advise against it. As I said, we'll be in Arcium, and all the towns and houses belong to the people who live there. I'm sure they'd object."

"Civilized warfare leaves a lot to be desired, doesn't it, Sir Knight?"

"What can I say, Domi?" Sparhawk apologized, spreading his hands helplessly.

"If you don't mind my saying so, it's the armour, I think. You people are so encased in steel that you lose sight of the main things - booty, women, horses. It's a failing, Sir Knight."

"It is a failing, Domi," Sparhawk conceded. "Centuries of tradition, you understand."

"There's nothing wrong with tradition - as long as it doesn't get in the way of important things."

"I'll bear that in mind, Domi. Our tent's right over there. Tynian will be glad to see you." Sparhawk followed the Thalesian sentry on through the camp to where the horses were picketed. He made some pretence of checking Faran's hooves, looking intently out into the twilight at the perimeter of the camp. As he had noted earlier, there were dozens of men riding around the outside.

"Why so many patrols?" he asked the Thalesian.

"The Pelosian conscripts are unenthusiastic about this campaign, Sir Knight," the warrior replied. "We didn't go to all the trouble of gathering them up only to have them sneak off in the middle of the night."

"I see," Sparhawk said. "We can go back now."

"Yes, My Lord."

Wargun's patrols seriously complicated things, not to mention the presence of the two sentries outside their tent. Ghwerig was getting farther and farther away with Bhelliom, and it seemed that there was very little Sparhawk could do about it. He knew that by himself, using a mixture of stealth and main force, he could escape from the camp, but what would that accomplish?

Without Flute, he'd have little chance of tracking down the fleeing Troll, and to take her along without the others to help guard her would be to place her in unacceptable danger. They were going to have to come up with some other idea.

The Thalesian warrior was leading him past the tent of some Pelosian conscripts when he saw a familiar face.

"Occuda?" he said incredulously. "Is that you?"

The lantern-jawed man in bull-hide armour rose to his feet, his bleak face showing no particular pleasure at the meeting. "I'm afraid it is, My Lord," he said.

"What happened? What forced you to leave Count Ghasek?"

Occuda looked briefly at the men who shared the tent with him. "Might we discuss this privately, Sir Sparhawk?"

"Certainly, Occuda."

"Over there, My Lord."

"I'll be in plain sight, Together Sparhawk and Occuda walked away from the tent and stopped near a grove of sapling fir trees that stood so closely together that they precluded the possibility of anyone's pitching a tent among them.

"The count has fallen ill, My Lord," Occuda said somberly.

"And you left him alone with that madwoman? I'm disappointed in you, Occuda.

"The circumstances have changed somewhat, My Lord."

"Oh?"

"The Lady Bellina is dead now."

"What happened to her?"

"I killed her." Occuda said it in a numb voice. "I could no longer bear her endless screaming. At first the herbs the Lady Sephrenia advised quieted Bellina somewhat, but after a short while, she seemed to shake off their effects. I tried to increase the dosage, but to no avail. Then one night as I was pushing her supper through that slot in the tower wall, I saw her. She was raving and frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. She was obviously in agony. That's when I made the decision to put her to rest."

"We all knew it might come to that," Sparhawk said gravely.

"Perhaps. I could not bring myself to simply slaughter her, however. The herbs no longer quieted her. The nightshade, however, did. She stopped screaming shortly after I gave it to her. " There were tears in Occuda's eyes. "I took my sledge and broke a hole in the tower wall.

Then I did as you instructed with my axe. I've never done anything so difficult in my life. I wrapped her body in canvas and took her outside the castle. There I burned her. After what I had done, I could not face the count. I left him a note confessing my crime and then went to a woodcutter's village not far from the castle. I hired servants there to care for the count. Even after I told them there was no longer any danger at the castle, I had to pay them double wages to get them to agree. Then I came away from that place and joined this army. I hope the fighting starts soon. Everything in my life is over. All I want now is to die."

"You did what you had to do, Occuda."

"Perhaps, but that does not absolve me of my guilt."

Sparhawk made a decision at that point. "Come with me," he said.

"Where are we going, My Lord?"

"To see the Patriarch of Emsat."

"I could not enter the presence of a high churchman with Lady Bellina's blood on my hands."

"Patriarch Bergsten is a Thalesian. I doubt that he's very squeamish. We need to see the Patriarch of Emsat, he told his Thalesian escort. "Take us to his tent."

"Yes, My Lord."

The sentry led them through the camp to the pavilion of Patriarch Bergsten. Bergsten's brutish face looked particularly Thalesian by candle-light. He had heavy bone ridges across his brows, and his cheek-bones and jaw were prominent. He was still wearing his mail-shirt although he had removed his Ogre-horned helmet and stood his axe in the corner.

"Your Grace," Sparhawk said with a bow, "my friend here has a problem of a spiritual nature. I wonder if you could help him?"

"That is my calling, Sir Sparhawk," the Patriarch replied.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Occuda here was at one time a monk. Then he entered the service of a count in northern Pelosia. The count's sister became involved with an evil cult, and she began to practise rites involving human sacrifice, which gave her certain powers."

Bergsten's eyes widened.

"At any rate," Sparhawk continued, "when the count's sister was finally stripped of those powers, she went mad, and her brother was forced to confine her. Occuda took care of her until he could no longer bear her agonies. Then, out of compassion, he poisoned her."

"That's a dreadful story, Sir Sparhawk," Bergsten said in his deep voice.

"It was a dreadful series of events," Sparhawk agreed.

"Occuda feels overcome with guilt now, and he's convinced that his soul is lost. Can you absolve him so that he can face the rest of his life?"

The armoured Patriarch Bergsten looked thoughtfully at Occuda's suffering face, his eyes at once shrewd and compassionate. He seemed to consider the matter for several moments, then he straightened, and his expression grew hard. "No, Sir Sparhawk, I can't," he said flatly.

Sparhawk was' about to protest, but the Patriarch raised one thick hand. He looked at the hulking Pelosian.

"Occuda," he said sternly, "you were once a monk?"

"I was, Your Grace."

"Good. This shall be your penance then. You will resume your monk's habit, Brother Occuda, and you will enter my service. When I have decided that you have paid for your sin, I will grant you absolution."

"Y-your Grace," Occuda sobbed, falling to his knees, "how can I ever thank you?"

Bergsten smiled bleakly. "You may change your mind in time, Brother Occuda. You will find that I'm a very hard master. You'll pay for your sin many times over before your soul is washed clean. Now, go gather your possessions. You'll be moving in here with me."

"Yes, Your Grace." Occuda rose and left the tent.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Your Grace, Sparhawk said, "you are a very devious man."

"No, not really, Sir Sparhawk." The huge churchman smiled. "It's just that I've had enough experience to know that the human spirit is a very complex thing. Your friend feels that he must suffer in order to expiate his sin, and if I were simply to absolve him, he would always doubt that he had been thoroughly cleansed. He feels that he has to suffer, so I'll make sure that he suffers - in moderation, of course. I'm not a monster, after all."

"Was what he did really a sin?"

"Of course not. He acted out of mercy. He'll make a very good monk, and after I think he's suffered long enough I'll find a nice quiet monastery somewhere and make him the abbot. He'll be too busy to brood about things, and the Church will get a good, faithful abbot. This is not to mention all those years when I'll have his services at no cost."

"You're not really a very nice man, Your Grace."

"I have never pretended to be, my son. That will be all, Sir Sparhawk. Go with my blessing." The Patriarch winked slyly.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Sparhawk said without cracking a smile.

He felt somehow very pleased with himself as he and the sentry walked back across the camp. He might not always be able to solve his own problems, but he certainly seemed able to solve those of others.

"Kring was telling us that the outside of the camp is being patrolled," Tynian said when Sparhawk re-entered the tent. "That's going to make it more difficult to get away, isn't it?"

"Much more," Sparhawk agreed.

"Oh," Tynian added. "Flute's been asking some questions about distances. Kurik looked in the packs, but he couldn't find your map."

"It's in my saddle-bag."

"I should have thought of that, I suppose," Kurik said.

"What is it you want to know?" Sparhawk asked the little girl, opening his saddle-bag for the map.

"How far is it from this Agnak place to Acie?"

Sparhawk spread his map out on the table in the centre of the pavilion.

"It's a very pretty Picture, but it doesn't answer my question," she said.

Sparhawk measured it off. "It's about three hundred leagues," he replied.

"That still doesn't answer my question, Sparhawk. I need to know how long it will take."

He computed it. "About twenty days."

She frowned. "Perhaps I can shorten that a bit," she said.

"What are we talking about here?" he asked her.

"Acie's on the coast, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"We're going to need a boat to get us to Thalesia. Ghwerig's taking Bhelliom to his cave up in the mountains there."

"There are enough of us to overpower the sentries," Kalten said, "and dealing with a patrol in the middle of the night's not all that hard. We're still not so far behind that we can't catch him."

"We have something to do in Acie," she told him, " - at least I do - and it must be done before we go after Bhelliom. We know where Ghwerig's going, so he won't be hard to find. Ulath, go tell WarGun that we'll accompany him to Acie. Think up some plausible reason."

"Yes, lady," he said with the faintest hint of a smile.

"I wish you'd all stop doing that," she complained. "Oh, by the way, on your way to Wargun's tent, ask someone to bring us some supper."

"What would you like?"

"Goat would be nice, but anything will do as long as it's not pork."

They reached Agnak just before sunset the following day and set up their huge camp. The local citizenry immediately closed the city gates. King Wargun insisted that Sparhawk and the other Church Knights accompany him under a flag of truce to the north gate. "I am WarGun of Thalesia," he roared at the city walls. "I have King Soros of Pelosia with me - as well as these Knights of the Church. The Kingdom of Arcium has been invaded by the Rendors, and I call upon every able-bodied man with faith in God to join with us in our efforts to stamp out the Eshandist heresy. I'm not here to inconvenience you in any way, my friends, but if that gate isn't open by the time the sun goes down, I'll reduce your walls to rubble and drive you all into the wilderness where you can watch your city burn down to ashes."

"Do you think they heard him?" Kalten asked.

"They probably heard him in Chyrellos," Tynian replied. "Your king has a most penetrating voice, Sir Ulath."

"It's a long way from one mountain top to another in Thalesia," Ulath shrugged. "You have to talk very loudly if you want to be heard."

King WarGun grinned crookedly at him. "Would anyone care to wager on whether or not that gate opens before the sun slips behind yon hill?" he asked.