"I had my mind on other things."
"Obviously."
"I'm sorry. I'll deal with it."
"You wouldn't know how. Don't fool with the armour, Sparhawk. I'll tend to it."
Sparhawk looked around at his companions. "If anybody makes an issue of this, there's going to be a fight," he said ominously.
"We would sooner die than offend you, My Lord Sparhawk," Bevier promised with an absolutely straight face. "I appreciate that," Sparhawk told him and then rode resolutely off into the driving rain, his rusty armour creaking.
Chapter 8
The ancient battlefield at Lake Randera in north central Lamorkand was even more desolate than they had been led to believe. It was a vast wasteland of turned-over earth with mounds of dirt heaped up everywhere. There were huge holes and trenches in the ground filled with muddy water, and the steady rain had turned the vast field into a quagmire.
Kalten sat his horse beside Sparhawk, looking helplessly out at the muddy field, that seemed to stretch off to the horizon. "Where do we start?" he asked, sounding baffled at the enormity of the task before them.
Sparhawk remembered something. "Bevier," he called.
The Arcian rode forward. "Yes, Sparhawk?"
"You said that you'd made a study of military history."
"Yes."
"Since this was the biggest battle that's ever been fought, you probably devoted some time to it, didn't you!"
"Of course."
"Do you think you might be able to locate the general area where the Thalesians were fighting?"
"Give me a few moments to orient myself." Bevier rode slowly out into the soggy field, looking around intently for some landmark. There," he said finally, pointing towards a nearby hill that was half-obscured in the misty drizzle. "That's where the troops of the King of Arcium made their stand against the hordes of Otha and their supernatural allies. They were hard-pressed, but they held on until the Knights of the Church reached this field." He squinted thoughtfully into the rain. "If my memory serves me correctly, the army of King Sarak of Thalesia swept down around the east side of the lake in a flanking manoeuvre. They ,would have fought much farther to the east."
"At least that narrows things down a little bit," Kalten said. "Would the Genidian Knights have been with Sarak's army?" Bevier shook his head. "All the Church Knights had been engaged in the campaign in Rendor. When word reached them of Otha's invasion, they sailed across the inner sea to Cammoria and then made a forced march to get here. They arrived on the field from the south."
"Sparhawk," Talen said quietly, "over there. Some people are trying to hide behind that big mound of dirt the one with that tree-stump half-way up the side."
Sparhawk carefully avoided turning. "Could you get any kind of a look at them?"
"I couldn't tell what kind of people they were," the boy replied. "They're all covered with mud."
"Did they have any kind of weapons?"
"Shovels, mostly. I think a couple of them had crossbows."
"Lamorks, then," Kalten said. "Nobody else uses that weapon."
"Kurik," Sparhawk said to his squire, "what's the effective range of a crossbow?"
"Two hundred paces with any kind of accuracy. After that, you have to rely on luck."
Sparhawk looked around, trying to appear casual. The heaped-up mound of dirt was perhaps fifty Yards away.
"We'll want to go on that way," he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by the lurking treasure-seekers. He raised one steel-gauntleted hand and pointed east. "How many are there, Talen?" he asked quietly."
"I saw eight or ten. There could be more."
"Keep your eyes on them, but don't be too obvious about it. If any of them starts to raise his crossbow, warn US."
"Right."
Sparhawk started out at a steady trot. Faran's hooves splashed up the semi-liquid mud. "Don't look back," he warned the others.
"Wouldn't a gallop be more appropriate about now?" Kalten asked in a strained voice.
"Let's not let them know that we've seen them.
"This is very hard on my nerves, Sparhawk," Kalten muttered, shifting his shield. "I've got this very uneasy feeling right between my shoulder-blades."
"So have I," Sparhawk admitted. Talen, are they doing anything?"
"Just watching us," the boy replied. "I can see a head pop up every so often."
They trotted on, splashing through the mud.
"We're almost clear," Tynian said tensely.
The rain's settling down around that hill," Talen reported. "I don't think they can see us now."
"Good," Sparhawk said, letting out an explosive breath of relief. "Let's slow down. It's obvious that we're not alone out here, and we don't want to blunder into anything."
"Nervous," Ulath commented.
"Wasn't it, though?" Tynian agreed.
"I don't know why you were worried," Ulath said, eyeing Tynian's massive Deiran armour, " - considering all the steel you've got wrapped around you."
"At close range, a crossbow bolt will penetrate even this." Tynian rapped his fist on the front of his armour. It made a ringing sound, almost like a bell. "Sparhawk, the next time you talk to the Hierocracy, why don't you suggest that they outlaw crossbows? I felt positively na*ed out there."
"How do you carry all that armour!" Kalten asked him.
"Painfully, my friend, very painfully. The first time they strapped it on me, I collapsed. It took me an hour to get back on my feet."
"Keep your eyes open," Sparhawk cautioned. "A few Lamork treasure-hunters are one thing, but men controlled by the Seeker are something else, and if it had those men back there near the woods, it's certain to have some here as well."
They splashed on through the mud, looking about cautiously. Sparhawk consulted his map again, shielding it from the rain with his cloak. "The city of Randera's up on the east shore of the lake," he said. "Bevier, did any of your books say anything about whether the Thalesians occupied it?"
"That portion of the battle is a bit obscure in the chronicles I've read," the white-cloaked knight replied.
"The only accounts of that part of the battle just say that the Zemochs occupied Randera fairly early in their campaign. Whether or not the Thalesians did anything about that, I simply don't know."
"They wouldn't have," Ulath declared. "Thalesians have never been very good at sieges. We don't have that kind of patience. King Sarak's army probably by-passed it."
"This might be easier than I thought," Kalten said. "The only area we have to search is what lies between Randera and the south end of the lake."
"Don't get your hopes up too much, Kalten," Sparhawk told him. "It's still a lot of ground." He looked off into the drizzle towards the lake. "The lake-shore seems to be sand, and wet sand is better to ride on than mud." He turned Faran and led the others towards the lake. The sandy beach that stretched off into the distance along the south shore of the lake did not seem to have been excavated in the same way the rest of the field had. Kalten looked around as they rode out onto the expanse of damp sand. "I wonder why they haven't been digging here," he said.
"High water," Ulath replied cryptically.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The water level rises in the winter, and it washes the sand back into any holes they might have dug."
"Oh. That makes sense, I suppose."
They rode cautiously along the "edge of the water for the next half-hour.
"How far do we have to go?" Kalten asked Sparhawk.
"You're the one with the map."
"Ten leagues, anyway," Sparhawk replied. "This beach seems to be open enough to make a gallop safe." He nudged Faran with his heels and led the way.
The rain continued unabated, and the dimpled surface of the lake was the colour of lead. They had ridden some miles along the" water's edge when they saw another group of men digging somewhat furtively out in the sodden field.
"Pelosians," Ulath disdainfully identified them.
"How can you tell?" Kalten asked him.
"Those silly pointed hats."
"Oh."
"I think it fits the shape of their heads. They probably heard rumours about the treasure and came down from the north. do you want us to run them off, Sparhawk?"
"Let them dig. They're not bothering us - at least not as long as they stay where they are. Men who belong to the Seeker wouldn't be interested in treasure."
They rode on along the beach until late afternoon.
"What do you say to making camp up there?" Kurik suggested, pointing to a large pile of driftwood just ahead. "I've got some dry wood in one of the packs, and we ought to be able to find more near the bottom of that pile."
Sparhawk looked up at the dripping clouds, gauging the time of day. "It's time to stop anyway," he agreed.
They reined in beside the driftwood, and Kurik built his fire. Berit and Talen began pulling relatively dry sticks out from under the pile, but after a little while Berit went back to his horse for his battle-axe.
"What are you going to do with that?" Ulath asked him.
"I'm going to chop up some of those larger pieces with it, Sir Ulath."
"No, you're not."
Berit looked a bit startled.
"That's not what it was made for. You'll dull the edge, and you might need that edge before long."
"My axe is in that pack over there, Berit," Kurik told the shame-faced novice. "Use that. I don't plan to hit anybody with it."
"Kurik," Sephrenia said from inside the tent Sparhawk and Kalten had just erected for her and Flute, "put up a cover near the fire, and string a rope under it." She emerged from the tent wearing a Styric smock and carrying her dripping white robe in one hand and Flute's garment in the other. "It's time to dry out some clothes."
After the sun went down, a night breeze began to blow in off the lake, making the tents flap and tossing the flames of their fire. They ate a meager supper and then sought their beds.
About midnight, Kalten came back from where he had been standing watch. He shook Sparhawk awake. "It's your turn," he said quietly to avoid waking the others.
"All right." Sparhawk sat up, yawning. "Did you find a good place?"
"That hill just behind the beach. Watch your step climbing it, though. They've been digging in the sides of it."
Sparhawk began to put on his armour.
"We're not alone here, Sparhawk," Kalten said, removing his helmet and his dripping black cloak. "I saw a half dozen fires a good way out in that field."
"More Pelosians and Lamorks?"
"It's a little hard to say. A fire doesn't usually have any kind of identifying marks on it."
"Don't tell Talen and Berit. I don't want them creeping around in the dark any more. Get some sleep, Kalten. Tomorrow might be a long day."
Sparhawk carefully climbed the pitted side of the hill and took up a position on top. He immediately saw the fires Kalten had mentioned, but saw also that they were a long way off and posed little threat.
They had been long on the road now, and a growing sense of impatient urgency gnawed at Sparhawk. Ehlana sat alone in the silent throne-room back in Cimmura with her life ticking away. A few more months and her heartbeat would falter and then stop. Sparhawk pulled his mind away from that thought. As he usually did when that apprehension came over him, he deliberately set his mind on other matters and other memories.
The rain was chill and damp and unpleasant, so he turned his thoughts to Rendor, where the blistering sun burned all trace of moisture from the air. He remembered " the lines of black-veiled women gracefully going to the well at dawn before the sun made the streets of Jiroch unbearable. He remembered Lillias with a wry smile, and he wondered if the melodramatic scene in the street near the docks had earned her the kind of respect she so desperately needed.
And then he remembered Martel. That night in Arasham's tent in Dabour had been a good one. To see his hated enemy filled with chagrin and frustration had been almost as satisfying as killing him might have been.
"Someday, though, Martel," he muttered. "You have a lot to pay for, and I think it's almost time for me to collect." It was a good thought, and Sparhawk dwelt on it as he stood in the rain. He thought about it in some detail until it was time to rouse Ulath for his turn on watch.
They broke camp at daybreak and rode on down the rain-swept beach.
About mid-morning, Sephrenia reined in her white palfrey with a warning hiss. "Zemochs," she said sharply.
"Where?" Sparhawk asked.
"I can't be sure. They're close, though, and their intentions are unfriendly."
"How many?"
"It's very hard to tell, Sparhawk. At least a dozen, but probably fewer than a score."
"Take the children and ride back to the edge of the water." He looked at his companions. "Let's see if we can flush them out," he said.
"I don't want them following us."
The knights advanced across the muddy field at a walk, their lances lowered. Berit and Kurik flanked them on either side.
The Zemochs were hiding in a shallow trench less than a hundred yards from the beach. When they saw the seven Elenes resolutely bearing down on them, they rose with their weapons in their hands. There were perhaps fifteen of them, but the fact that they were on foot put them at a distinct disadvantage. They made no sound, uttered no war cries, and their eyes were empty.
"The Seeker sent them," Sparhawk barked. "Be careful."
As the knights approached, the Zemochs shambled forward, and several even blindly hurled themselves on the lance points. "Drop the lances!" Sparhawk commanded.
"They're too close!" He cast aside his lance and drew his sword. Again the men controlled by the Seeker charged in eerie silence, and paid no attention to their fallen comrades. Although they had the advantage of numbers, they were really no match for the mounted knights, and their doom was sealed when Kurik and Berit outflanked them and came at them from the rear.
The fight lasted for perhaps ten minutes, and then it was over.