"Asss thou ssseessst fit, SSSephrenia." Sparhawk moved Faran forwards at a walk, sliding his ringed hand up the shaft of the spear until it rested on the metal shank. Once again he felt that enormous surge of power. "The game isss almossst played out, and itsss conclusssion isss foregone.
We will meet once again, SSSephrenia, and for the lassst time." Then the hooded creature wheeled its horse and fled from Sparhawk's menacing approach.
Part Three - The Troll Cave
Chapter 18
Was that really Azash?" Kalten asked in awe.
"His voice," Sephrenia replied.
"Does He really talk like that? All that hissing?"
"Not really. The Seeker's mouth-parts distort things."
"I gather that you've met Him before," Tynian said shifting the shoulder plates of his bulky armour.
"Once," she said shortly, "a very long time ago."
Sparhawk " got the distinct impression that she didn't really want to talk about it. "We may as well go back to the mound," she added. "Let's get what we came for and leave before the Seeker comes back with reinforcements."
"They turned their horses and rode back along the winding lane. The sun had fully risen by now, but Sparhawk nonetheless felt cold. The encounter with the Elder God, even though by proxy, had chilled his blood and seemed to have dulled even the sun.
When they reached the mound, Tynian took his coil of rope and laboriously led the way up the steep side. Again he laid out the peculiar pattern on the ground.
"Are you sure you won't raise one of the king's retainers by mistake?" Kalten asked him.
Tynian shook his head. "I'll call Sarak by name." He began the incantation, and concluded it by clapping his hands sharply together.
At first nothing seemed to happen, and then the ghost of the long dead King Sarak began to emerge from the mound. His chain-mail armour was archaic and showed huge rents in it from sword and axe. His shield had been battered, and his ancient sword was nicked and scarred.
He was enormous, but he wore no crown. "Who art thou?" the ghost demanded in a hollow voice.
"I am Tynian, Your Majesty, an Alcione Knight from Deira."
King Sarak stared sternly at him with hollow eyes.
"This is unseemly, Sir Tynian. Return me at once to the place where I sleep, lest I grow wroth."
"Pray forgive me, Your Majesty," Tynian apologized.
"We would not have disturbed thy rest but for a matter of desperate urgency."
"Nothing hath sufficient urgency to concern the dead."
Sparhawk stepped forward. "My name is Sparhawk, Your Majesty," he said.
"A Pandion, judging from thine armour."
"Yes, Your Majesty. The Queen of Elenia is gravely ill, and only Bhelliom can heal her. We have come to entreat thee to permit us to use the jewel to restore her health. We will return it to thy grave when we have completed our task."
"Return it or keep it, Sir Sparhawk," the ghost said indifferently.
"Thou shalt not find it in my grave, however."
Sparhawk felt as if he had been struck a sharp blow to the pit of the stomach.
"This queen of thine, what malady hath she so grave that only Bhelliom can heal it?" there was only the faintest hint of curiosity in the ghosts voice.
"She was poisoned, Your Majesty, by those who would seize her throne."
Sarak's expression, which had been blankly indifferent, suddenly became angry. "A treasonous act, Sir Sparhawk," he said harshly. "Knowest thou the perpetrators?"
"I do."
"And hast thou punished them?"
"Not as yet, Your Majesty."
"They still have their heads? Have the Pandions become weaklings over the centuries?"
"We thought it best to return the queen to health, Your Majesty, so that she might have the pleasure of pronouncing their doom upon them."
Sarak seemed to consider that. "It is fitting," he approved finally. "Very well then, Sir Sparhawk, I will aid thee. Despair not that Bhelliom is not in the place where I lay, for I can direct thee to the place where it lies hidden. When I fell upon this field, my kinsman, the Earl of Heid, seized up my crown and fled with it to keep it out of the hands of our foes. Hard was he pressed and gravely wounded. He reached the shores of yon lake ere he died, and he hath sworn to me in the House of the dead that with his dying breath, he cast the crown into the murky waters, and that our foes found it not. Seek ye, therefore, in that lake, for doubtless Bhelliom still lies there."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Sparhawk replied with profound gratitude.
Then Ulath pushed forward. "I am Ulath of Thalesia," he declared, "and I claim distant kinship with thee, My King. It is unseemly that thy final resting place be in foreign soil. As God gives me strength, I vow to thee that with thy permission I will return thy bones to our homeland and lay thee to rest in the royal sepulcher at Emsat."
Sarak regarded the braided Genidian with some approval. "Let it be so then, my kinsman, for in truth, my sleep hath been unquiet in this rude place."
"Sleep here for but a short while longer, My King, for as soon as our task is completed, I will return here and take thee home." There were tears in Ulath's ice-blue eyes. "Let him rest, Tynian," he said. "His final journey will be long."
Tynian nodded and let King Sarak sink back into the earth.
"That's it then, isn't it?" Kalten said eagerly. "We ride to Lake Venne and go swimming."
"It's easier than digging," Kurik told him. "All we have to worry about is the Seeker and that Troll." He frowned slightly. "Sir Ulath," he said, "If Ghwerig knows exactly where Bhelliom is, why hasn't he retrieved it in all these years?"
"The way I understand it, Ghwerig can't swim," Ulath replied. "His body's too twisted. We'll probably still have to fight him, though. As soon as we bring Bhelliom out of the lake, he'll attack us."
Sparhawk looked towards the west where the light from the newly risen sun sparkled on the waters of the lake. The tall, summer-green grass of the fields near the mound moved in long waves in the fitful morning breeze, and the fields were bounded near the lake by the greyish sedge and marsh grass which covered the peat bogs. "We'll worry about Ghwerig when we see him," he said. "Let's go and have a closer look at this lake."
They all slid down the grassy side of the mound and climbed into their saddles. "Bhelliom shouldn't be too far out from shore," Ulath said as they rode towards the lake.
"Crowns are made of gold, and gold's heavy. A dying man couldn't throw something like that very far." He scratched at his chin. "I've looked for things under water before," he said. "You have to be very methodical about it. Just floundering around doesn't accomplish very much."
"When we get there, show us how it's done," Sparhawk replied.
"Right. Let's ride due west until we come to the lake. If the Earl of Heid was dying, he wouldn't have taken any side trips." They rode on. Sparhawk's elation was overshadowed by some anxiety. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before the Seeker returned with a horde of numb faced men at its back, and he knew that he and his friends could not wear armour while they probed the depths of the lake. They would be defenceless. Not only that, as soon as the spirit of Azash saw them in the lake, He would know exactly what they were doing, and for that matter, so would Ghwerig.
The light breeze was still blowing as they rode west, and puffy white clouds marched at a stately pace across the deep blue sky.
There's a grove of cedar trees up ahead," Kurik said, pointing to a low, dark green patch of vegetation a quarter of a mile away. "We're going to need to build a raft when we get to the lake. Come along, Berit. Let's start chopping." He led his string of pack-horses towards the grove with the novice close behind him.
Sparhawk and his friends reached the lake about midmorning and stood looking out over the water rippling in the breeze. That's going to make looking for something on the bottom very difficult," Kalten said, pointing towards the murky, peat-stained depths.
"Any notion of where the Earl of Heid might have come out on the lake-shore?" Sparhawk asked Ulath.
"Count Ghasek's story said that some Alcione Knights came along and buried him," the Genidian replied. "They were in a hurry, so they probably wouldn't have moved his body very far from where he fell. Let's look around for a grave."
"After five hundred years?" Kalten said sceptically. "There won't be much to mark it, Ulath."
"I think you're wrong, Kalten," Tynian disagreed.
"Deirans build cairns over graves when they bury somebody. The earth might flatten out over a grave, but rocks are a bit more permanent."
"All right," Sparhawk said, "let's spread out and start looking for a pile of rocks."
It was Talen who found the grave, a low mound of brown-stained stones, partially covered by muddy silt which had accumulated over centuries of high water.
Tynian marked it by sinking the butt of his pennon-tipped lance into the mud at the foot of the grave.
"Shall we get started?" Kalten asked.
"Let's wait for Kurik and Berit," Sparhawk said. "The lake-bottom's a little too soupy for wading. We're going to need that raft." It was perhaps a half-hour later when the squire and the novice joined them. The pack-horses were laboriously pulling a dozen cedar logs behind them.
It was shortly after noon when they finished lashing the logs together with ropes to form a crude raft. The knights had discarded their armour and worked in loin cloths, sweating in the hot sun.
"You're getting sunburned," Kalten told the pale skinned Ulath.
"I always do," Ulath replied. "Thalesians don't tan very well." He straightened as he finished tying the last knot in the rope which held one end of the raft together. "Well, let's launch it and see if it floats," he suggested.
They pushed the raft down the slippery mud beach into the water. Ulath looked at it critically. "I wouldn't want to make a sea voyage on that thing," he said, "but it's good enough for our purposes here. Berit, go over to that willow thicket and cut yourself a couple of saplings."
The novice nodded and returned a few minutes later with two long, springy wands.
Ulath went to the grave and picked up two stones somewhat larger than his fist. He hefted them a couple of times, one in each hand, then tossed one to Sparhawk.
"What do you think?" he asked. "Does that feel to be about the same weight as a gold crown?"
"How would I know?" Sparhawk asked. "I've never worn a crown."
"Guess, Sparhawk. The day's wearing on, and the mosquitoes are going to come out before long."
"All right, that's probably about the weight of a crown, give or take a few pounds."
That's what I thought. All right, Berit, take your saplings and pole the raft out into the lake. We're going to mark the area we want to search."
Berit looked a little puzzled, but did as he was told.
Ulath hefted one of his rocks. That's far enough, Berit," he called. He gave the rock an underhand toss towards the shaky raft. "Mark that place!" he bellowed.
Berit wiped the water the rock had splashed on him from his face. "Yes, Sir Ulath," he said, poling the raft towards the widening circles on the surface of the lake.
Then he took one of his willow saplings and sank one end of it down into the muddy bottom.
"Now pole the raft off to the left," Ulath shouted. "I'll throw the next rock a ways beyond you."
"Your left or mine, Sir Ulath?" Berit asked politely.
Take your pick. I just don't want to brain you with this." Ulath was tossing his rock from one hand to the other and squinting out at the brown-stained waters of the lake.
Berit pushed the raft out of the way, and Ulath launched his rock with a mighty heave.
"Lord!" Kalten said. "No dying man could ever throw anything that far."
"That was the idea," Ulath said modestly. That's the absolute outer limit of the area we search. Berit!" he bellowed in a shattering voice, "Mark that spot and then go down. I need to know how deep we're going and what kind of bottom we've got to work with."
Berit hesitated after he marked the place where the second rock had struck the water. "Would you please ask Lady Sephrenia to turn her back?" he asked plaintively, his face suddenly bright red.
"If anyone laughs, he'll spend the rest of his life as a toad," Sephrenia threatened, resolutely turning her back on the lake and turning the curious little girl Flute around at the same time.
Berit stripped and went over the edge of the raft like an otter. He reemerged a minute later. Everyone on shore, Sparhawk noticed, had held his breath while the agile novice had been down. Berit exhaled explosively, spraying water. "It's about eight feet deep, Sir Ulath," he reported, clinging to the end of the raft, "but the bottom's muddy two feet of it at least-mucky and not very nice. The water's dark brown. You can't see your hand in front of your face."
"I was afraid of that," Ulath muttered.
"How's the water?" Kalten called out to the young man in the lake.
"Very, very cold," Berit chattered.
"I was afraid of that, too," Kalten said glumly.
"Well, gentlemen," Ulath said, "time to get wet."
The rest of the afternoon was distinctly unpleasant. As Berit had announced, the water was cold and murky, and the soft bottom was thick with brown mud from the nearby peat-bogs. "Don't try to dig around in that with your hands," Ulath instructed. "Probe with your feet."
They found nothing. By the time the sun went down, they were all exhausted and blue with the cold.
"We have a decision to make," Sparhawk said soberly after they had dried themselves and put on tunics and mail-shirts. "How long is it going to be safe for us to stay here? The Seeker knows almost exactly where we are, and our scent will lead it right to us. As soon as it sees us in the lake, Azash will know where Bhelliom is. That's something we can't let him find out."
"You're right, Sparhawk," Sephrenia agreed. "It will take the Seeker a while to gather its forces, and a while longer to lead them back here, but I think we'll need to set a time limit on how long we stay in this place."