The Shining Ones (10 page)

‘Is that Styric?’ Kalten whispered to Sephrenia. ‘It doesn’t sound like Styric to me.’

‘It’s gibberish,’ she replied scornfully.

Kalten frowned. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them,’ he whispered. ‘What part of the world do the Gibbers come from?’

She stared at him, her face baffled.

‘Did I say it wrong?’ he asked. ‘Are they called the Gibberese, or maybe the Gibberenians? – the people who speak Gibberish, I mean.’

‘Oh, Kalten,’ she laughed softly, I love you.’

‘What did I say?’

Rebal’s voice had risen to a near-shriek, and he brought both arms down sharply.

There was a sudden explosion in the middle of the bonfire, and a great cloud of smoke boiled out into the clearing.

‘Herken, Maisteres alle!’ a huge voice came out of the smoke. ‘Now hath the tyme for Werre ycom. Now, be me troth, shal alle trew Edomishmen on lyve to armes! Tak ye uppe the iren swerd; gird ye your limbes alle inne the iren haubergeon and the iren helm! Smyte ye the feendes foule, which beestes derk do sette hom and fey in deedly peril. Goe ye to bataile ferse to fend the
feendes of the acurset Chirche of Chyrellos! Follwe! Follwe! Follwe me, as Codes hondys yeve ye force!’

‘Old High Elenic!’ Bevier exclaimed. ‘Nobody’s spoken that tongue in thousands of years!’

‘
I’d
follow him, whatever tongue it is,’ Ulath rumbled. ‘He makes a good speech.’

The smoke began to thin, and a huge, ox-shouldered man wearing ancient armor and holding a mighty two-handed sword above his head appeared at Rebal’s side. ‘Havok!’ he bellowed. ‘Havok and Werre!’

‘They’ve all gone now,’ Berit reported when he and Talen returned to the camp concealed in the narrow ravine. ‘They spent a lot of time marching around in circles shouting slogans first, though.’

‘Then the beer ran out,’ Talen added dryly, ‘and the party broke up.’ He looked at Flute. ‘Are you sure this was supposed to be important?’ he asked her. ‘It was the most contrived hoax I’ve ever seen.’

She nodded stubbornly. ‘It
was
important,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t know why, but it was.’

‘How did they make that big flash and all the smoke?’ Kalten asked.

‘One of the fellows near the fire threw a handful of some kind of powder onto the coals,’ Khalad said, shrugging. ‘Everybody else was watching Rebal, so they didn’t see him when he did it.’

‘Where did the one in the armor come from?’ Ulath asked.

‘He was hiding in the crowd,’ Talen explained. ‘The whole thing was at about the same level as you’d find at a country fair – one that’s held a long way from the nearest town.’

‘The one who was pretending to be Incetes gave a fairly stirring speech, though,’ Ulath noted.

‘It certainly
should
have been,’ Bevier smiled. ‘It was written by Phalactes in the seventh century.’

‘Who was he?’ Talen asked.

‘Phalactes was the greatest playwright of antiquity. That stirring speech came directly from one of his tragedies,
Etonicus.
That fellow in the antique armor
substituted a few words is all. The play’s a classic. It’s still performed at universities once in a while.’

‘You’re a whole library all by yourself, Bevier,’ Kalten told him. ‘Do you remember every single thing you’ve ever read – word for word?’

Bevier laughed. ‘I wish I could, my friend. Some of my classmates and I put on a performance of
Etonicus
when I was a student. I played the lead, so I had to memorize that speech. The poetry of Phalactes is really very stirring. He was a great artist – Arcian, naturally.’

‘I never liked him very much,’ Flute sniffed. ‘He was as ugly as sin; he smelled like an open cesspool; and he was a howling bigot.’

Bevier swallowed hard. ‘Please don’t do that, Aphrael,’ he said. ‘It’s very unsettling.’

‘What was the story about?’ Talen asked, his eyes suddenly eager.

‘Etonicus was supposed to be the ruler of a mythic kingdom somewhere in what’s now eastern Cammoria,’ Bevier replied. ‘The legend has it that he went to war with the Styrics over religion.’

‘What happened?’ Talen’s tone was almost hungry.

‘He came to a bad end,’ Bevier shrugged. ‘It’s a tragedy, after all.’

‘But…’

‘You can read it for yourself sometime, Talen,’ Vanion said firmly. ‘This isn’t the story hour.’

Talen’s face grew sulky.

‘I’d be willing to wager that you could paralyze our young friend here in mid-theft,’ Ulath chuckled. ‘All you’d have to do is say, “Once upon a time”, and he’d stop dead in his tracks.’

‘This throws a whole new light on what’s been happening here in Tamuli,’ Vanion mused. ‘Could this all be some vast hoax?’ He looked inquiringly at Flute.

She shook her head. ‘No, Vanion. There
has
been
magic of varying levels in
some
of the things we’ve encountered.’

‘Some, perhaps, but not all, certainly. Was there any magic at all involved in what we saw tonight?’

‘Not a drop.’

‘Is
that
how you measure magic?’ Kalten asked curiously. ‘Does it come by the gallon?’

‘Like cheap wine, you mean?’ she suggested tartly.

‘Well, not exactly, but…’

‘This was very important,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Thank you, Aphrael.’

‘I live but to serve.’ She smiled mockingly at him.

‘Stop that.’

‘You’ve missed me entirely, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said.

‘We’ve just found out that not
everything
that’s being reported back to Matherion is the result of real magic. There’s a fair amount of fraud mixed in as well. What does that suggest?’

‘The other side’s lazy.’ Kalten shrugged.

‘I’m not so sure,’ Ulath disagreed. ‘They’re not afraid to exert themselves when it’s important.’

‘Two,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Three at the most.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ Ulath said with a puzzled look.

‘Now do you see how exasperating that is, Ulath?’ she said to him. ‘This charade we watched here tonight rather strongly hints at the fact that there aren’t very many people who can really work spells on the other side. They’re spread out a bit thin, I’d say. What’s going on here in Edom – and probably in Astel and Daconia as well – is rather commonplace, so they don’t feel that they have to waste magic on it.’

‘Commonplace or not, it’s going to seriously hinder Tynian when he tries to lead the Church Knights across Daresia to Matherion,’ Sparhawk said. ‘If Rebal can stir up the whole kingdom the way he did this group tonight, Tynian’s going to have to wade his way through
hordes of howling fanatics. The Edomish peasantry’s going to be convinced that our brothers are coming here to impose heresies on them by force, and they’ll be lurking behind every bush with sickles and pitchforks.’

‘We still have a certain advantage, though,’ Bevier said thoughtfully. ‘There’s no way that our enemies can possibly know that we’re here in Edom and that we saw this business tonight. Even if they were to know that we’re going to raise Bhelliom – which isn’t very likely – they wouldn’t know where it is, so they’d have no idea where we were going. Even
we
don’t know where we’re going.’

‘And even if they did, they wouldn’t know that we could get here as quickly as we did,’ Khalad added. ‘I think we’ve got the jump on them, my Lords. If they’re relying on hoaxes here, that probably means that they don’t have any magicians around to sniff us out. If we can pass ourselves off as ordinary travelers, we should be able to move around without much hindrance – and pick up all sorts of information in the process.’

‘We’re here to retrieve the Bhelliom, Khalad,’ Flute reminded him.

‘Of course, but there’s no point in passing up little treasures as we go along, is there?’

‘Aphrael,’ Vanion said, ‘have we seen and heard everything we were supposed to?’

She nodded.

‘I think we might want to move on to Jorsan rather quickly, then. If Khalad’s right and we’re one jump ahead, let’s stay that way. What would it take in the way of bribes to persuade you to speed up the journey?’

‘We could negotiate that, I suppose, Lord Vanion,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sure you could all offer me
something
that might induce me to lend a hand.’

They kissed the Child Goddess into submission and arrived in Jorsan late the following day. Jorsan turned
out to be a typical Elene port-city squatting at the head of the gulf. The question of suitable disguises had arisen during the journey. Bevier had leaned strongly in the direction of posing as religious pilgrims. Kalten had liked the notion of masquerading as a group of rowdies in search of constructive debauchery, while Talen, perhaps influenced by Rebal’s recent performance, had thought it might be fun to pose as traveling players. They were still arguing about it when Jorsan came into view.

‘Isn’t all this a waste of time?’ Ulath asked them. ‘Why should we play dress-up? It’s not really anybody’s business
who
we are, is it? As long as we’re not wearing armor, the people in Jorsan won’t know – or care – about us. Why go to all the trouble of lying about it?’

‘We’ll need to wear our mail-shirts, Sir Ulath,’ Berit reminded him. ‘How do we explain that?’

‘We don’t. Lots of people wear chain-mail and carry weapons, so it’s not really
that
unusual. If somebody in town gets
too
curious about who we are and where we’re going, I can make him get un-curious in fairly short order.’ He held up his hand and closed his fist suggestively.

‘You mean just bully our way through?’ Kalten asked.

‘Why not? Isn’t that what we’re trained for?’

The inn was not particularly elegant, but it was clean and not so near the waterfront that the streets around it were filled with bawling sailors lurching from ale-house to ale-house. The sleeping-rooms were upstairs over the common-room on the main floor, and the stables were in the back.

‘Let me handle this,’ Ulath muttered to Sparhawk as they approached the innkeeper, a tousled fellow with a long, pointed nose.

‘Feel free,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘You,’ Ulath said abruptly to the innkeeper, ‘we need
five rooms for the night, fodder for ten horses, and some decent food.’

‘I can provide all those, good master,’ the innkeeper assured him.

‘Good. How much?’

‘Ah…’ The man with the pointed nose rubbed at his chin, carefully appraising the big Thalesian’s clothes and general appearance. ‘That would be a half-crown, good master,’ he said somewhat tentatively. His rates seemed to be based on a sliding scale of some sort.

Ulath turned on his heel. ‘Let’s go,’ he said shortly to Sparhawk.

‘What was I thinking of?’ the innkeeper said, slapping his forehead. ‘That was
five
rooms and fodder for
ten
horses, wasn’t it? I got the numbers turned around in my head. I thought you wanted ten rooms for some reason. A half-crown would be
far
too much for only five rooms. The right price would be two silver imperials, of course.’

‘I’m glad you got your mathematics straightened out,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Let’s look at the rooms.’

‘Of course, good master.’ The innkeeper scurried on up the stairs ahead of them.

‘You don’t leave very many conversational openings, do you, my friend?’ Sparhawk chuckled.

‘I’ve never found innkeepers very interesting to talk with.’

They reached an upper hallway, and Ulath looked into one of the rooms. ‘Check it for bugs,’ he told Sparhawk.

‘Good
master!’
the innkeeper protested.

‘I like to sleep alone,’ Ulath told him. ‘Bugs crowd me, and they’re always restless at night.’

The innkeeper laughed a bit weakly. ‘That’s very funny, good master. I’ll have to remember it. Where is it you come from, and where are you bound?’

Ulath gave him a long, icy stare, his blue eyes as chill as a northern winter and his shoulders swelling ominously as he bunched them under his tunic.

‘Ah – no matter, I suppose,’ the innkeeper rushed on. ‘It’s not really any of my affair, is it?’

‘You’ve got that part right,’ Ulath said. He looked around. ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay.’ He nudged Sparhawk with his elbow. ‘Pay him,’ he said, turned, and clumped down the stairs.

They turned their horses over to the grooms and carried their saddle-bags up to the sleeping-rooms. Then they went back downstairs for supper.

Kalten, as usual, heaped his plate with steaming beef.

‘Maybe we should send out for another cow,’ Berit joked.

‘He’s young,’ Kalten told the others jovially, ‘but I like the way he thinks.’ He grinned at Berit, but then the grin slowly faded, and the big, blond Pandion grew quite pale. He stared at the young knight’s face for quite some time. Then he abruptly pushed his plate back and rose to his feet. ‘I don’t think I’m really hungry,’ he said. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’ He turned, quickly crossed the common-room to the stairs, and went up them two at a time.

‘What’s the matter with
him?’
Ulath asked in a puzzled tone. ‘I’ve never seen him walk away from supper like that before.’

‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Bevier agreed.

‘You’d better have a talk with him when you go up, Sparhawk,’ Vanion suggested. ‘Find out if he’s sick or something. Kalten
never
leaves anything on his plate.’

‘Or anybody else’s, for that matter,’ Talen added.

Sparhawk did not linger over supper. He ate quickly, said goodnight to the others, and went upstairs to have a talk with his friend. He found Kalten sitting
on the edge of his bed with his face in his hands.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

Kalten turned his face away. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Not very likely. What’s wrong?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ The blond knight sniffed loudly and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Let’s go get drunk.’

‘Not until you tell me what’s bothering you, we won’t.’

Kalten sniffed again and set his jaw. ‘It’s something foolish. You’d laugh at me.’

‘You know better than that.’

‘There’s a girl, Sparhawk, and she loves somebody else. Are you satisfied now?’

‘Why didn’t you say something earlier?’

‘I just now found out about it.’

‘Kalten, you’re not making any sense at all. One girl’s always been the same as another to you. Most of the time you can’t even remember their names.’

‘This time’s different. Can we go get drunk now?’

‘How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way about you?’ Sparhawk knew who the girl was, and he was quite certain that she
did
in fact return his friend’s feelings for her.

Kalten sighed. ‘God knows that there are people in this world who are brighter than I am, Sparhawk. It’s taken me all this time to put it together. I’ll tell you one thing, though. If he breaks her heart, I’ll kill him, brother or no.’

‘Will you at least
try
to make some sense?’

‘She told me that she loves somebody else – as plain as if she’d come right out and said it in so many words.’

‘Alean wouldn’t do that.’

‘How did you know it was Alean?’ The big blond man
sprang to his feet. ‘Have you all been laughing at me behind my back?’ he demanded pugnaciously.

‘Don’t be an ass. We wouldn’t do that. We’ve all been through exactly the same thing. You didn’t invent love, you know.’

‘Everybody knows, though, don’t they?’

‘No. I’m probably the only one – except for Melidere. Nothing much gets past
her.
Now what’s all this nonsense about Alean loving somebody else?’

‘I just put it together myself.’

‘
What
did you put together? Try to make a little sense, Kalten.’

‘Didn’t you hear her singing on the day we left?’