‘They’re not accepting his word. They’re accepting Ayachin’s.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Sparhawk?’
‘No, your Grace. I mentioned before that someone on the other side’s been using magic. This is what I was talking about. The people here have actually been seeing Ayachin himself.’
‘That’s absurd!’ Monsel seemed profoundly disturbed.
Sparhawk sighed. ‘For the sake of your Grace’s theological comfort, let’s call it some kind of hallucination – a mass illusion created by a clever charlatan, or some accomplice dressed in archaic clothing who appears suddenly in some spectacular fashion. Whatever its source, if what’s happening here is anything like what’s happening in Lamorkand, your people are absolutely convinced that Ayachin’s returned from the grave. Sabre probably makes a speech – a rambling collection of disconnected platitudes – and then this hallucination appears in a flash of light and a clap of thunder and confirms all his pronouncements. That’s a guess, of course, but it’s probably not too far off the mark.’
‘It’s an elaborate hoax then?’
‘If that’s what you want to believe, your Grace.’
‘But you don’t believe it’s a hoax, do you Sparhawk?’
‘I’ve been trained not to actively disbelieve things, your Grace. Whether the apparition of Ayachin is real or some trick is beside the point. It’s what the people believe that’s important, and I’m sure they believe that Ayachin’s returned and that Sabre speaks for him. That’s what makes Sabre so dangerous. With the apparition to support him, he can make people believe anything. That’s why I have to find out everything about him that I can. I have to be able to know what he’s going to do so that I can counter him.’
‘I’m going to behave as if I believe what you’ve just told me, Sparhawk,’ Monsel said in a troubled voice. ‘I really think you need some spiritual help, though.’ His face grew grave. ‘We know who Sabre is,’ he said finally. ‘We’ve known for over a year now. At first we believed as you do – that he was no more than a disturbed fanatic with a taste for melodrama. We expected the Tamuls to deal with him, so we didn’t think we had to do anything ourselves. I’ve had some second thoughts on that score of late, though. On the condition that neither of you will reveal anything I say except to another clergyman, I’ll tell you who he is. Do I have your word on that condition?’
‘You have, your Grace,’ Emban swore.
‘And you, Sparhawk?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, then. Sabre’s the younger brother-in-law of a minor nobleman who has an estate a few leagues to the east of Esos.’
It all fell into place in Sparhawk’s mind with a loud clank.
‘The nobleman is a Baron Kotyk, a silly, ineffectual ass,’ Monsel told them. ‘And you were quite right, Sparhawk. Sabre’s a melodramatic adolescent named Elron.’
CHAPTER 13
‘That’s impossible!’ Sparhawk exclaimed.
Monsel was taken aback by his sudden vehemence. ‘We have more than ample evidence, Sir Sparhawk. The serf who reported the fact has known him since childhood. You’ve met Elron, I gather.’
‘We took shelter from a storm in Baron Kotyk’s house,’ Emban explained. ‘Elron could be Sabre, you know, Sparhawk. He’s certainly got the right kind of mentality. Why are you so certain he’s not the one?’
‘He couldn’t have caught up with us,’ Sparhawk said lamely.
Monsel looked baffled.
‘We saw Sabre in the woods on our way here,’ Emban told him. ‘It was the sort of thing you’d expect – a masked man in black on a black horse outlined against the sky – silliest thing I ever saw. We weren’t really moving all that fast, Sparhawk. Elron could have caught up with us quite easily.’
Sparhawk could not tell him that they had, in fact, been moving far too rapidly for anyone to have caught them – not with Aphrael tampering with time and distance the way she had been. He choked back his objections. ‘It just surprised me, that’s all,’ he lied. ‘Stragen and I spoke with Elron the night we were there. I can’t believe he’d be out stirring up the serfs. He had nothing but contempt for them.’
‘A pose, perhaps?’ Monsel suggested. ‘Something to conceal his real feelings?’
‘I don’t think he’s capable of that, your Grace. He was too ingenuous for that kind of subtlety.’
‘Don’t be too quick to make judgements, Sparhawk,’ Emban told him. ‘If there’s magic involved, it wouldn’t make any difference what kind of man Sabre is, would it? Isn’t there some way he could be rather tightly controlled?’
‘Several, actually,’ Sparhawk admitted.
‘I’m a little surprised you didn’t consider that yourself. You’re the expert on magic. Elron’s personal beliefs are probably beside the point. When he’s speaking as Sabre, it’s the man behind him – our real adversary – who’s talking.’
‘I should have thought of that.’ Sparhawk was angry with himself for having overlooked the obvious – and the equally obvious explanation for Elron’s ability to overtake them. Another God could certainly compress time and distance the same way Aphrael could. ‘Just how widespread is this contempt for the serfs, your Grace?’ he asked Monsel.
‘Unfortunately, it’s almost universal, Prince Sparhawk,’ Monsel sighed. ‘The serfs are uneducated and superstitious, but they’re not nearly as stupid as the nobility would like to believe. The reports I’ve received tell me that Sabre spends almost as much time denouncing the serfs as he does the Tamuls when he’s speaking to the nobility. “Lazy” is about the kindest thing he says about them. He’s managed to half-persuade the gentry that the serfs are in league with the Tamuls in some vast, dark plot with its ultimate goal being the emancipation of the serfs and the redistribution of the land. The nobles are responding predictably. First they were goaded into hating the Tamuls, and then they were led to believe that the serfs are in league with the Tamuls and that their estates and positions are threatened by that alliance. They don’t dare confront the Tamuls directly because of the Atans, so they’re venting their hostility on their own serfs. There have been incidents of unprovoked savagery upon a class of people who will march en masse into heaven at the final judgement. The Church is doing what she can, but there’s only so far we can go in restraining the gentry.’