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

"I hate this," the boy replied. "I absolutely hate it. Anything could be hiding beside the road - wolves, bears - or even worse."

"You're in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen."

"That's easy for you to say, but I'm the smallest one here - except for Flute, maybe. I've heard that wolves and things like that always drag down the smallest when they attack. I really don't want to be eaten, father."

"That keeps cropping up," Tynian noted curiously to Sparhawk. "You never did explain why the boy keeps calling your squire by that term."

"Kurik was indiscreet when he was younger."

"Doesn't anybody in Elenia sleep in his own bed?"

"It's a cultural peculiarity. It's not really as widespread as it might seem, though."

Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups and looked ahead to where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in conversation. "A word of advice, Sparhawk," he said confidentially. "You're an Elenian, so you don't seem to have any problems with this sort of thing, and in Deira we're fairly broad-minded about such things, but I don't know that I'd let Bevier in on this. The Cyrinic Knights are a pious lot - just like all Arcians - and they disapprove of these little irregularities very strongly. Bevier's a good man in a fight, but he's a little narrow-minded. If he gets offended, it might cause problems later on."

"You're probably right," Sparhawk agreed. "I'll talk with Talen and ask him to keep his relationship with Kurik to himself."

"Do you think he'll listen?" the broad-faced Deiran asked sceptically.

"It's worth a try."

They occasionally passed a farmhouse standing beside the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for the country folk.

"How long are we going to stay with this column?"

Tynian asked. "Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos is a very long way around."

"We can probably slip away later this morning," Sparhawk replied, " - once we're sure that nobody's following us. That's what Vanion suggested."

"Have you got somebody watching to the rear?"

Sparhawk nodded. "Berit's riding about a half-mile back."

"Do you think any of the Primate's spies saw us leave your chapterhouse?"

"They didn't really have very much time for it," Sparhawk said. "We'd already gone past them before they came out of their tents."

Tynian grunted. "Which road do you plan to take when we leave this one?"

"I think we'll go across country. Roads tend to be watched. I'm sure that Annias has guessed that we're up to something by now."

They rode on through the tag end of a foggy night.

Sparhawk was pensive. He privately admitted to himself that their hastily conceived plan had little chance of success. Even if Tynian could raise the ghosts of the Thalesian dead, there was no guarantee that any of the spirits would know the location of King Sarak's final resting place. This entire journey could well be futile and serve only to use up what time Ehlana had left. Then a thought came to him. He rode on forward to speak with Sephrenia.

"Something just occurred to me," he said to her.

"Oh?"

"How well known is the spell you used to encase Ehlana?"

"It's almost never practised because it's so very dangerous," she replied. "A few Styrics might know of it, but I doubt that any would dare to perform it. Why do you ask?"

"I think I'm right on the edge of an idea. If no one but you is really willing to use the spell, then it's rather unlikely that anybody else would know about the time limitation."

"That's true. They wouldn't."

"Then nobody could tell Annias about it.

"Obviously."

"So Annias doesn't know that we only have a certain amount of time left. For all he knows, the crystal could keep Ehlana alive indefinitely."

"I'm not certain that gives us any particular advantage, Sparhawk."

"I'm not either, but it's something to keep in mind. We might be able to use it someday."

The eastern sky was growing gradually lighter as they rode, and the fog was swirling and thinning. It was about a half-hour before sunrise when Berit came galloping up from the rear. He was wearing his mail-shirt and plain blue cloak, and his war-axe was in a sling at the side of his saddle. The young novice, Sparhawk decided almost idly, was going to need some instruction in swordsmanship soon, before he grew too attached to that axe.

"Sir Sparhawk," he said, reining in, "there's a column of church soldiers coming up behind us." His hard-run horse was steaming in the chill fog.

"How many?" Sparhawk asked him.

"Fifty or so, and they're galloping hard. There was a break in the fog, and I saw them coming."

"How far back?"

"A mile or so. They're in that valley we just came through."

Sparhawk considered it. "I think a little change of plans might be in order," he said. He looked around and saw a dark blur back in the swirling fog off to the left. "Tynian," he said, "I think that's a grove of trees over there. Why don't you take the others and ride across this field and get into the grove before the soldiers catch up? I'll be right along." He shook Faran's reins. "I want to talk with Sir Olven," he told the big roan.

Faran flicked his ears irritably, then moved alongside the column at a gallop.

"We'll be leaving you here, Olven," Sparhawk told the scarfaced knight. There's a half-hundred church soldiers coming up from the rear. I want to be out of sight before they come by."

"Good idea," Olven approved. Olven was not one to waste words.

"Why don't you give them a bit of a run?" Sparhawk suggested. They won't be able to tell that we're not still in the column until they catch up with you."

Olven grinned crookedly. "Even so far as Demos?" he asked.

"That would be helpful. Cut across country before you reach Lenda and pick up the road again south of town I'm sure Annias has spies in Lenda too."

"Good luck, Sparhawk," Olven said.

"Thanks," Sparhawk said, shaking the scarfaced knight's hand, "we might need it." He backed Faran off the road, and the column thundered past him at a gallop.

"Let's see how fast you can get to that grove of trees over there," Sparhawk said to his bad-tempered mount.

Faran snorted derisively, then leapt forward at a dead run.

Kalten waited at the edge of the trees, his grey cloak blending into the shadows and fog. "The others are back in the woods a ways," he reported. "Why's Olven galloping like that?"

"I asked him to," Sparhawk replied, swinging down from his saddle. "The soldiers won't know that we've left the column if Olven stays a mile or two ahead of them."

"You're smarter than you look, Sparhawk," Kalten said, also dismounting. "I'll get the horses back out of sight. The steam coming off them might be visible." He squinted at Faran. "Tell this ugly brute of yours not to bite me."

"You heard him, Faran," Sparhawk told his war-horse.

Faran laid his ears back.

As Kalten led their horses back among the trees, Sparhawk sank down onto his stomach behind a low bush. The grove of trees lay no more than fifty Yards from the road, and as the fog began to dissipate with the onset of morning, he could clearly see that the whole stretch of road they had just left was empty. Then a single red tunicked soldier galloped along, coming from the south.

The man rode stiffly, and his face seemed strangely wooden.

"A scout?" Kalten whispered, crawling up beside Sparhawk."

"More than likely," Sparhawk whispered back.

"Why are we whispering?" Kalten asked. "He can't hear us over the noise of his horse's hooves."

"You started it."

"Force of habit, I guess. I always whisper when I'm skulking."

The scout reined in his mount at the top of the hill, then wheeled and rode back along the road at a dead run. His face was still blank.

"He's going to wear out that horse if he keeps doing that," Kalten said.

"It's his horse."

"That's true, and he's the one who gets to walk when the horse plays out on him."

"Walking is good for church soldiers. It teaches them humility." About five minutes later, the church soldiers galloped by, their red tunics dark in the dawn light. Accompanying the leader of the column was a tall, emaciated figure in a black robe and hood. It may have been a trick of the misty morning light, but a faint greenish glow seemed to emanate from under the hood, and the figure's back appeared to be grossly deformed.

"They're definitely trying to keep an eye on that column," Kalten said.

"I hope they enjoy Demos," Sparhawk replied. "Olven's going to stay ahead of them every step of the way. I need to talk with Sephrenia. Let's go back to the others. We'll sit tight for an hour or so, until we're sure the soldiers are out of the area, and then move on."

"Good idea. I'm about ready for some breakfast anyway."

They led their horses back through the damp woods to a small basin surrounding a trickling spring that emerged from a fern-covered bank.

"Did they go by?" Tyrian asked.

"At a gallop," Kalten grinned, "and they didn't look around very much. Does anybody have anything to eat?

I'm starving."

"I've got a slab of cold bacon," Kurik offered.

"Cold?"

"Fire makes smoke, Kalten. Do you really want these woods full of soldiers?"

Kalten sighed.

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. "There's somebody or something - riding with those soldiers," he said. "It gave me a very uneasy feeling, and I think it was the same thing I caught a glimpse of last night."

"Can you describe it?"

"It's quite tall and very very thin. Its back seems to be deformed, and it's wearing a black hooded robe, so I couldn't see any details." He frowned. "Those church soldiers in the column seemed as if they were half-asleep They usually pay closer attention to what they're doing."

"This thing you saw," she said seriously. "Was there anything else unusual about it?"

"I can't say for sure, but it seemed to have a sort of greenish light coming from its face. I noticed the same thing last night."

Her face grew bleak. "I think we'd better leave immediately, Sparhawk."

"The soldiers don't know we're here," he objected.

"They will before long. You've just described a Seeker. In Zemoch they're used to hunt down runaway slaves. The lump on its back is caused by its wings."

"Wings?" Kalten said sceptically. "Sephrenia, no animal has wings - except maybe a bat."

"This isn't an animal, Kalten," she replied. "It more closely resembles an insect - although neither term is very exact when you're talking about the creatures Azash summons."

"I hardly think we need to worry about a bug," he said.

"We do with this particular creature. It has very little in the way of a brain, but that doesn't matter because the spirit of Azash infuses it and provides its thoughts for it. It can see a long way in the dark or fog. Its ears are very sharp, and it has a very keen sense of smell. As soon as those soldiers come in sight of Olven's column, it's going to know that we're not riding with the knights. The soldiers will come back at that point."

"Are you saying that church soldiers will take orders from an insect?" Bevier asked incredulously.

"They have no choice. They have no will of their own any more. The Seeker controls them utterly."

"How long does that last?" he asked her.

"For as long as they live - which usually isn't very long. As soon as it has no further need of them, it consumes them. Sparhawk, we're in very great danger. Let's leave here at once."

"You heard her," Sparhawk said grimly. "Let's get out of here." They rode out of the grove of trees at a canter and crossed a wide green meadow where brown and white spotted cows grazed in knee-deep grass. Sir Ulath pulled in beside Sparhawk. "It's really none of my business," the shaggy-browed Genidian Knight said, but you had twenty Pandions with you back there. Why didn't you just turn around and eliminate those soldiers?"

"Fifty dead soldiers scattered along a road would attract attention," Sparhawk explained, "and new graves are almost as obvious."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Ulath grunted. "Living in an over-populated kingdom has its own special problems, doesn't it? Up in Thalesia, the Trolls and Ogres usually clean up that sort of thing before anybody chances by."

Sparhawk shuddered. "Do they really eat carrion?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder for any sign of pursuit. "Trolls and Ogres?"

"Oh, yes - as long as the carrion's not too ripe. A nice fat church soldier will feed a family of Trolls for a week or so. That's one of the reasons there aren't very many church soldiers or their graveyards in Thalesia. The point, though, is that I don't like leaving live enemies behind me. Those church soldiers might come back to haunt us, and if that thing they've got with them is as dangerous as Sephrenia says, we probably should have got it out of the way while we had the chance."

"Maybe you're right," Sparhawk admitted, "but it's too late now, I'm afraid. Olven's far out of reach. About all we can do is make a run for it and hope the soldiers' horses tire before ours do. When we get a chance, I want to talk with Sephrenia some more about that Seeker. I've got a feeling there were some things about it she wasn't telling me."

They rode hard for the rest of the day and saw no signs that the soldiers were anywhere behind them.

"There's a roadside inn just ahead," Kalten said as evening settled over the rolling countryside. "Do you want to chance it?"

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. "What do you think?"

"Only for a few hours," she said, "just long enough to feed the horses and give them some rest. The Seeker will know that we're not with that column by now, and it's certain to be following our trail. We have to move on."