‘Don’t worry her too much.’

‘I won’t, father.’

They rode into Korvan and found a respectable-looking inn. Ulath had a word or two with the innkeeper, and they were all escorted into a private dining room in the back where the golden sunlight streamed in through the windows to set the oaken tables and benches to glowing. ‘Can you keep anyone who might be curious from eavesdropping on us, little mother?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘How many times do you have to ask that question before you know the answer?’ she asked with a weary sigh.

‘Just making sure, that’s all.’

They removed their cloaks, stacked their weapons in a corner, and sat down at the table.

A squinty-eyed, slatternly serving-girl came in and told them what the kitchen had prepared for the day.

Sephrenia shook her head. ‘Tell her, Vanion.’

‘The lady and I – and the little girl – will have lamb,’ he said firmly. ‘We don’t much care for pork.’

‘The cook ain’t fixed no lamb,’ the girl whined.

‘You’d better tell him to get started, then.’

‘He ain’t gonna like it.’

‘He doesn’t have to like it. Tell him that if we don’t get lamb, we’ll take our money to another inn. The owner of the place wouldn’t like that very much, would he?’

The girl’s face became set, and she stormed out.

‘That’s the Vanion we came to know and love when we were boys,’ Kalten laughed. The fight that morning seemed to have improved his temper.

Vanion unfolded his map. ‘We’ve got a fairly substantial road going east,’ he said, running his finger along the line stretching across the map. ‘It crosses Edom and then goes on through Cynesga. We’ll cross the border into Tamul proper at Sarna.’ He looked at Flute. ‘How long a jump can Bhelliom make at one time?’

‘Would you like to pay a visit to the moon, Lord VANION?’ SHE FROWNED. ‘THERE’S A DRAWBACK, THOUGH. Bhelliom makes a very distinctive sound when it does something. It probably doesn’t even know that it’s doing it, but it does sort of announce its location. We might be able to teach it how to conceal itself, but it’s going to take time.’

‘And that raises another point as well,’ Sephrenia added. ‘Sparhawk’s holding Bhelliom’s power, but he doesn’t know how to use it yet.’

‘Thanks,’ Sparhawk said dryly.

‘I’m sorry, dear one, but you don’t. Every time you’ve ever picked it up, either Aphrael or I have had to walk you through it step by step. We’re definitely going to need some time. We have to teach Bhelliom how to be quiet, and we have to teach you how to use it without having someone hold your hand.’

‘I love you too, Sephrenia.’

She smiled fondly. ‘You’re holding tremendous power in your hands, Sparhawk, but it’s not of much use if all you know how to do is wave it around like a battle-flag. I don’t think we should rush back to Matherion immediately. That story you cooked up for Ehlana will explain our absence for at least two or three more weeks. We’ll want to avoid the traps and ambushes our enemies are going to lay for us along the way, of course.’ She paused. ‘They might even be useful. They’ll give you something to practice on.’

‘Jump around,’ Ulath grunted.

‘Will you stop that, Ulath?’ she snapped at him.

‘Sorry, Sephrenia. It’s a habit of mine. After I think my way through something, I just blurt out the conclusion. The intermediate steps aren’t usually very interesting. Our friends out there have been raising random disturbances to keep the Atans running back and forth across the continent – werewolves here, vampires there, Shining Ones off in that direction, and antique armies in this. There’s no real purpose to all that except to confuse the imperial authorities. We could steal a page right out of their book, you know. They can hear and feel Bhelliom – particularly when it’s doing something noisy. I gather that there’s no real limit to how far it can jump at one time, so let’s just say that Sparhawk wants to see what the weather’s like in Darsas. He has Bhelliom pick him up by the scruff of the neck and drop him down in the square outside King Alberen’s palace. He stays there for about a half-hour – long enough for the other side to smell him out – then he hops across the continent to Beresa in southern Arjuna and stays long enough to make his presence known there. Then he goes to Sarsos, then to Jura in southern Daconia, then back to Cimmura to say hello to Platime – all in the space of one afternoon. He’d get all sorts of practice using Bhelliom, and by the time the sun went down, they wouldn’t know where he was or where he was going to go next. To make it even more fun, our mysterious friend out there wouldn’t know which of these little jumps was the significant one, so he’d almost have to follow along.’

‘Carrying that hurricane on his back every step of the way,’ Kalten added. ‘Ulath, you’re brilliant.’

‘Yes,’ the blond-braided Thalesian agreed with becoming modesty, ‘I know.’

‘I like it,’ Vanion approved. ‘What do you think, Sephrenia?’

‘It would give Sparhawk and Bhelliom the chance to get to know each other,’ she agreed, ‘and that’s basically what we need here. The better they know each other, the better they’ll be able to work together. I’m sorry, Sir Ulath. Blurt out conclusions anytime you feel like it.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion said in his most business-like fashion, ‘when Sparhawk’s off on one of his little excursions, the rest of us will be sort of invisible – well, not really invisible, but if Bhelliom’s not with us, our friend won’t be able to hear us or feel us, will he?’

‘Probably not,’ Flute agreed. ‘Even if he could, Sparhawk will be making so much noise that he won’t really pay much attention to you.’

‘Good. Let’s say that we set out from here. Sparhawk hops up to Darsas and rattles all the windows there. Then he hops back, picks us up and puts down in…’ He frowned at his map. ‘In Cyron on the Cynesgan border.’ He stabbed his finger down on the chart. ‘Then he hops around to several other places, leaving Bhelliom and the rings out in the open so that our friend knows where he is each time. Then he rejoins us at Cyron and boxes up Bhelliom again. By that time our friend will be so confused he won’t know where we are.’

‘Pay close attention, Sparhawk,’ Kalten grinned. ‘That’s the way a preceptor’s supposed to think.’

Sparhawk grunted. Then he thought of something. ‘I want to talk with you for a moment when we leave,’ he told his blond friend quietly.

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘Not yet, but you’re working on it.’

The slatternly serving-girl brought in their meal, glowering at Vanion as she did, and Sparhawk and his friends began to eat.

They did not linger after lunch, but rose immediately and trooped out.

‘What’s your problem?’ Kalten asked as he and Sparhawk trailed along behind the others.

‘Quit trying to get yourself killed.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t be coy, Kalten. I saw what you were doing this morning. Don’t you realize how transparent you are to people who know you?’

‘You’re unwholesomely clever, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion accused.

‘It’s a character defect of mine. I’ve got enough to worry about already. Don’t add this to it.’

‘It’s such a perfect solution.’

‘For a non-existent problem, you jackass. Alean’s had her eyes on you ever since we left Chyrellos. She’s not going to throw all that effort away. It’s you she’s after, Kalten, not Berit. If you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll take you back to Demos and have you confined in the mother-house.’

‘How do you propose to do that?’

‘I’ve got this blue friend here, remember?’ Sparhawk patted the bulge in the front of his tunic. ‘I can pick you up by the hair, deposit you in Demos and be back before Vanion even gets into his saddle.’

That’s not fair.’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like Talen. I’m not trying to be fair. I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself. I want your oath.’

‘No.’

‘Demos is nice this time of year. You’ll enjoy it. You can spend your days in prayer.’

Kalten swore at him.

‘You’ve got some of the words right, Kalten. Now just put them together into a proper oath. Believe me, my friend, you’re not going to go one step farther with us until you give me your oath to stop all this nonsense.’

‘I swear,’ Kalten muttered.

‘Not good enough. Let’s make it nice and formal. I want it to make an impression on you. You’ve got this tendency to overlook things if they aren’t all spelled out.’

‘Do you want me to sign something in my own blood?’ Kalten demanded acidly.

‘It’s a thought, but I don’t have any parchment handy. I’ll accept your verbal oath – for the time being. I may change my mind later, though, so keep your veins nice and loose and your dagger sharp.’

‘Sparhawk?’ Ambassador Fontan exclaimed. ‘What are you doing in Darsas?’ The ancient Tamul diplomat stared at the big Pandion in astonishment.

‘Just passing through, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘May I come in?’

‘By all means, my boy.’ Fontan opened his door wide and Sparhawk and Flute entered the crimson-carpeted study of the Tamul Embassy.

‘You’re looking well, your Royal Highness,’ Fontan smiled at the little girl. Then he looked at her more closely. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized to her. ‘I mistook you for Prince Sparhawk’s daughter. You resemble her very much.’

‘We’re distantly related, your Excellency,’ Flute told him without turning a hair.

‘Has word reached you about what happened in Matherion a few weeks ago, your Excellency?’ Sparhawk asked, tucking the Bhelliom back into his inside tunic pocket.

‘Just yesterday,’ Fontan replied. ‘Is the Emperor safe?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘My wife’s looking after him. Our time’s limited, your Excellency, so I’m not going to be able to explain everything. Are you cosmopolitan enough to accept the notion that the Styrics have some very unusual capabilities?’

Fontan smiled faintly. ‘Prince Sparhawk, a man my age is willing to accept almost anything. After the initial shock of astonishment that comes each morning when I wake up and discover that I’m still alive, I can face the day with an open mind.’

‘Good. My friends and I left Korvan down in Edom about an hour ago. They’re riding on toward Cyron on the border, but I came here to have a word with you.’

‘An hour ago?’

‘Just take it on faith, your Excellency,’ Flute told him. ‘It’s one of those Styric things Sparhawk was talking about.’

‘I’m not certain how much your messenger told you,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘but it’s urgent that all of the Atan garrison commanders in the empire know that the Ministry of the Interior’s not to be trusted. Minister Kolata’s working for the other side.’

‘I never liked that man,’ Fontan said. He gave Sparhawk a speculative look. ‘This message is hardly so earth-shaking that it would move you to violate a whole cluster of natural laws, Sparhawk. What are you really doing in Darsas?’

‘Casting false trails, your Excellency. Our enemies have ways of detecting my presence, so I’m going to give them a presence to detect in various towns in assorted corners of the Empire in order to confuse them a bit. My friends and I are returning overland from Korvan to Matherion, and we’d prefer not to be ambushed along the way. This isn’t a confidential visit, Ambassador Fontan. Feel free to let people know that I stopped by. They’ll probably know already, but let’s confirm it for them.’

‘I like your style, Sparhawk. You’ll be crossing Cynesga?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘It’s an unpleasant country.’

‘These are unpleasant times. Oh, it won’t really hurt if you’re sort of smug when you tell people that you’ve seen me. Our side was definitely behind up until now. That changed a few days ago. Our enemy, whoever he is, is at a distinct disadvantage right now, and I’d sort of like to grind his face in that fact for a while.’

‘I’ll get word to the town crier immediately.’ The ancient man squinted up at the ceiling. ‘How long can you stay?’

‘An hour at the very most.’

‘Plenty of time, then. Why don’t we step over to the palace? I’ll take you into the throne-room, and you can pay your respects to the king – in front of his entire court. That’s the best way I know of to let people know you’ve been here.’

‘I like your style, your Excellency,’ Sparhawk grinned.

It grew easier each time. At first, Bhelliom seemed impossibly dense, and Flute frequently had to step in, speaking in that language which Sparhawk strongly suspected was the original tongue of the Gods themselves. Gradually, the stone seemed to grasp what was wanted of it. Its compliance was never fully willing, however. It had to be compelled. Sparhawk found that visualizing Vanion’s map helped quite a bit. Once Bhelliom grasped the fact that the map was no more than a picture of the world, it grew easier for Sparhawk to tell the jewel where he wanted to go.

This is not to say that there weren’t a few false starts. Once, when he had been concentrating on the town of Delo on the east coast, the thought crossed his mind that there was a certain remote similarity between that name and the name of the town of Demos in east-central Elenia, and after the momentary gray blur where the world around him shifted and changed, he found himself and Flute riding Faran in bright moonlight up the lane that led to Kurik’s farm.

‘What are you doing?’ Flute demanded.

‘My attention wandered. Sorry.’

‘Keep your mind on your work. Bhelliom’s responding to what you’re thinking, not what you’re saying. It probably doesn’t even understand Elenic – but then, who really does?’

‘Be nice.’

‘Take us back immediately!’