‘What?’ Khwaj roared.

‘It was our thought that you wished it so,’ Ulath said, feigning surprise. ‘Did you not command your children to leave their home-range and to walk for many sleeps across the ice-which-never-melts to this alien place?’

Khwaj howled, beating at the ground with his ape-like fists, raising a cloud of dust and smoke from the ground.

‘When did this come to pass?’ Another voice, a voice filled with a kind of gross slobbering, demanded.

‘Two full turns of the seasons, Ghnomb,’ Ulath answered the question of the God of Eat. ‘It was our thought that you knew. Blue Rose called you forth that we might ask why you have done this. Our Gods wish to know why you have broken the compact.’

‘Compact?’ Stragen asked after Sephrenia had translated.

‘It’s an agreement,’ Flute explained. ‘We didn’t really want to exterminate the Trolls, so we told the Troll-Gods that we’d leave their children alone if they’d stay in the Thalesian mountains.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Twenty-five thousand years ago – or so.’

Stragen swallowed hard.

‘Why are your children obeying Cyrgon if you did not command it?’ Ulath asked.

One of the gigantic figures stretched out an abnormally long arm, and the huge hand plunged into a kind of emptiness, vanishing as it went in, almost as a stick seems to vanish when poked into a forest pool. When the hand re-emerged, it held a struggling Troll. The enormous God spoke, harshly demanding. The language was clearly Trollish, snarling and roaring.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ Ulath murmured. ‘It appears that even Trollish has changed over the years.’

‘What’s he saying?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘I can’t entirely make it out,’ Ulath replied. ‘It’s so archaic that I can’t understand most of the words. Zoka’s demanding some answers, though.’

‘Zoka?’

‘The God of Mating.’ Ulath listened intently.

‘The Troll’s confused,’ he reported. ‘He says that they all thought they were obeying their Gods. Cyrgon’s disguise must have been nearly perfect. The Trolls are very close to their Gods, and they’d probably recognize any ordinary attempt to deceive them.’

Zoka roared and hurled the shrieking Troll back into emptiness.

‘Anakha!’ another of the vast Gods bellowed.

‘Which one is that?’ Sparhawk muttered.

‘Ghworg,’ Ulath replied quietly, ‘the God of Kill. Be a little careful with him. He’s very short-tempered.’

‘Yes, Ghworg,’ Sparhawk responded to that vast brute.

‘Release us from your father’s grip. Let us go. We must reclaim our children.’ There was blood dripping from the fangs of the God of Kill. Sparhawk didn’t want to think about whose blood it might be.

‘Let me,’ Ulath murmured. He raised his voice. ‘That is beyond Anakha’s power, Ghworg,’ he replied. ‘The spell which imprisoned you was of Ghwerig’s making. It is a Trollish spell, and Anakha is untaught in such.’

‘We will teach him the spell.’

‘No!’ Flute suddenly broke in, throwing aside her pretense of merely observing. ‘These are my children. I will not permit you to contaminate them with Trollish spells.’

‘We beg you, Child Goddess! Set us free! Our children stray from us!’

‘My family will never agree. Your children look upon our children as food. If Anakha frees you, your children will devour ours. It cannot be.’

‘Ghnomb!’ Khwaj roared. ‘Give her surety!’

The huge face of the God of Eat twisted in agony. ‘I cannot!’ It was almost a wail. ‘It would lessen me! Our children must eat. All that lives must be food!’

‘Our children are lost unless you agree!’ The grass around the feet of the God of Fire began to smoke.

‘I think I see a toe-hold here,’ Ulath said in Elenic. He spoke again in Trollish. There is justice in Ghnomb’s words,’ he told the Gods. ‘Why should he alone lessen himself? Each must also accept lessening. Ghnomb will not accept less.’

‘It speaks truly!’ Ghnomb howled. ‘I will not be lessened unless all are lessened!’

The four other Troll-Gods squirmed, their faces reflecting the same agony that had marked Ghnomb’s.

‘What will satisfy you?’ It was the voice of the God that had not yet spoken. There were blizzards in that voice.

‘The God of Ice,’ Ulath identified the speaker, ‘Schlee.’

‘Lessen yourselves!’ Ghnomb demanded stubbornly. ‘I will not if you will not!’

‘Trolls,’ Aphrael sighed, rolling her eyes. ‘Will you accept my mediation in this?’ she demanded of the monstrous deities.

‘We will hear your words, Aphrael,’ Ghworg replied doubtfully.

‘Our purposes are the same,’ the Child Goddess began.

Sparhawk groaned.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ulath asked quickly.

‘She’s going to make a speech – now of all times.’

‘Shut up, Sparhawk!’ the Child Goddess snapped. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ She turned to face the Troll-Gods again. ‘Cyrgon deceived your children,’ she began. ‘He brought them across the ice-which-never-melts to this place to make war on my children. Cyrgon must be punished!’

The Troll-Gods roared their agreement.

‘Will you join with me and my family to cause hurt to Cyrgon for what he has done?’

‘We will cause hurt to him by ourselves, Aphrael,’ Ghworg snarled.

‘And how many of your children will die if you do? My children can pursue the children of Cyrgon into the lands of the sun, where your children die. Should we not join then that Cyrgon will suffer more?’

‘There is wisdom in her words,’ Schlee said to his fellows. The breath of the God of Ice steamed in the air, though it was not really that cold, and glittering snowflakes appeared out of nowhere to settle on his massive shoulders.

‘Ghnomb must agree that your children will no longer eat mine,’ Aphrael bored in. ‘If he does not, Anakha will not free you from his father’s grip.’

Ghnomb groaned.

‘Ghnomb must do this,’ she insisted. ‘If he does not, I will not permit Anakha to free you, and Cyrgon will keep your children. Ghnomb will not agree to this if each of you will not accept equal lessening. Ghworg! You must no longer drive your children to kill mine!’

Ghworg raised both huge arms and howled.

‘Khwaj!’ she continued inexorably. ‘You must curb the fires which rage through the forests of Thalesia each year when the sun returns to the lands of the north.’

Khwaj stifled a sob.

‘Schlee!’ Aphrael barked. ‘You must hold back the rivers of ice which crawl down the sides of the mountains. Let them melt when they reach the valleys.’

‘No!’ Schlee wailed.

‘Then you have lost all your children. Hold back the ice or you will weep alone in the wastes of the north. Zoka! No more than two offspring can issue from each she-Troll.’

‘Never!’ Zoka bellowed. ‘My children must mate!’

‘Your children are now Cyrgon’s. Will you aid Cyrgon’s increase?’ She paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘One last agreement will I have from you all, or I will not let Anakha free you.’

‘What is your demand, Aphrael?’ Schlee asked in his ice-choked voice.

‘Your children are immortal. Mine are not. Your children must also die – each in an appointed time.’

They exploded in an absolute rage.

‘Return them to their prison, Anakha,’ Aphrael said. ‘They will not agree. The bargaining is done.’ She said it in Trollish, so it was obviously intended for the benefit of the raging Troll-Gods.

‘Wait!’ Khwaj shouted. ‘Wait!’

‘Well?’ she said.

‘Let us go apart from you and your children that we may consider this monstrous demand.’

‘Do not be long,’ she said to them. ‘I have little patience.’

The five vast beings withdrew further out into the pasture.

‘Weren’t you pushing them a little far?’ Sephrenia suggested. ‘That last demand of yours may very well kill any chance of reaching an agreement.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Aphrael replied. ‘The Troll-Gods can’t think that far into the future. They live for now, and right now the most important thing for them is taking their Trolls back from Cyrgon.’ She sighed. ‘The last demand is the most important, really. Humans and Trolls can’t live in the same world. One or the other has to leave. I’d rather that it was the Trolls, wouldn’t you?’

‘You’re very cruel, Aphrael. You’re forcing the Troll-Gods to assist in the extermination of their own worshipers.’

‘The Trolls are doomed anyway,’ the Child Goddess sighed. ‘There are just too many humans in the world. If the Trolls suddenly become mortal, they’ll just slip away peacefully. If you humans have to kill them all, half of your number will die with them. I’m just as moral as the rest of the Gods. I love my children, and I don’t want half of them killed and eaten in the mountains of Thalesia in some war to the death with the Trolls.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Stragen said, ‘didn’t Khwaj do something that made it possible for you to watch Martel and listen to him talking when we were going across Pelosia toward Zemoch?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘Can Aphrael do that?’

‘I’m right here, Stragen,’ Flute told him. ‘Why don’t you ask me?’

‘We haven’t really been properly introduced yet, Divine One,’ he said with a fluid bow. ‘Can you? – reach out and talk with somebody on the other side of the world, I mean?’

‘I don’t like to do it that way,’ she replied. ‘I want to be close to someone when I talk to him.’

‘My Goddess places great importance on touching, Stragen,’ Sephrenia explained.

‘Oh. I see. All right, then, when the Troll-Gods come back – and if they agree to our preposterous demands – I’d like to have Sparhawk – or Ulath – ask Khwaj to do me a favor. I need to talk to Platime back in Cimmura.’

‘They do return,’ Xanetia advised.

They all turned to face the monstrous beings coming back across the autumn-browned pasture.

‘You have left us no choice, Aphrael,’ Khwaj said in a broken voice. ‘We must accept your brutal demands. We must save our children from Cyrgon.’

‘You will no longer kill and eat my children?’ she pressed.

‘We will not.’

‘You will no longer burn the forests of Thalesia?’

Khwaj groaned and nodded.

‘You will no longer fill the valleys with glaciers?’

Schlee sobbed his agreement.

‘You will no longer breed your Trolls like rabbits?’

Zoka wailed.

‘Your children will grow old and die as do all other creatures?’

Khwaj buried his face in his hands. ‘Yes,’ he wept.

‘Then we will join with you and do war upon Cyrgon. You will return to Bhelliom’s heart for now. Anakha will carry you to the place where your children languish in thrall to Cyrgon. There will he release you and there will you wrest your children from Cyrgon’s vile grasp. And there will we join together to cause hurt to Cyrgon. We will make his pain like the pain of Azash.’

‘YES!’ the Troll-Gods howled their agreement in unison.

‘Done, then!’ Aphrael declared in a ringing voice. ‘One boon more, Khwaj – in demonstration of our newly formed alliance. This child of mine would speak with one known as Platime in Cimmura in far-off Elenia. Make it so that he can.’

‘I will, Aphrael.’ Khwaj held out his vast hand, and a sheet of unwavering fire dripped from his fingertips.

Behind the fire there lay a bedchamber with a vast, snoring bulk sprawled on an oversized bed.

‘Wake up, Platime,’ Stragen said crisply.

‘Fire!’ Platime shrieked, struggling into a sitting position.

‘Oh, be quiet!’ Stragen snapped. ‘There isn’t any fire. This is magic.’

‘Stragen? Is that you? Where are you?’

‘I’m behind the fire. You probably can’t see me.’

‘Are you learning magic now?’

‘Just dabbling,’ Stragen lied modestly. ‘Now listen carefully. I don’t know how long the spell will last. I want you to get in touch with Arnag in Khadach. Ask him to kill Count Gerrich. I don’t have time to explain. It’s important, Platime. It’s part of something we’re doing here in Tamuli.’

‘Gerrich?’ Platime said doubtfully. ‘That’s going to be expensive, Stragen.’

‘Get the money from Lenda. Tell him that Ehlana authorized it.’

‘Did she?’

‘Well – she would if she knew about it. I’ll get her approval next time I talk with her. Now, listen carefully, because this is the most important part. Gerrich has to be killed exactly fifteen days from now – not fourteen, not sixteen. The time’s very important.’

‘All right, I’ll see to it. Tell Ehlana that Gerrich will die in exactly fifteen days. Was there anything else? That magic fire of yours is making me very nervous.’

‘See if you can identify anybody else Gerrich has been dealing with and kill them as well – those Pelosian barons who’ve allied themselves with him certainly, and any people in the other kingdoms who are in this with him. You know the kind I mean – the ones like the Earl of Belton.’

‘You want them all killed at that same time?’

‘As close as you can. Gerrich is the really important one, though.’ Stragen pursed his lips. ‘While you’re at it, you’d probably better kill Avin Wargunsson as well – just to be on the safe side.’

‘He’s as good as dead, Stragen.’

‘You’re a good friend, Platime.’

‘Friend, my foot. You’ll pay the usual fees, Stragen.’

Stragen sighed. ‘All right,’ he said mournfully.

‘How deeply are you attached to your Elene God, Stragen?’ Aphrael asked as they rode back to Matherion.

‘I’m an agnostic, Divine One.’