‘Your prejudices are showing.’
‘Nobody’s perfect. Why this sudden interest in ancient history?’
‘There’s a wild story running through Lamorkand that Drychtnath’s returned. They’re all sitting around sharpening swords with exalted expressions on their faces. What’s the real significance of that?’
‘He was their king several thousand years ago. It was shortly after you Elenes discovered fire and came out of your caves.’
‘Be nice.’
‘Yes, father. Anyway, Drychtnath hammered all the Lamorks into something that sort of resembled unity and then set out to conquer the world. The Lamorks were very impressed with him. He worshipped the old Lamork Gods, though, and your Elene Church was a little uncomfortable with the notion of a pagan sitting on the throne of the whole world, so she had him murdered.’
‘The Church wouldn’t do that,’ he said flatly.
‘Did you want to listen to the story? or did you want to argue theology? After Drychtnath died, the Lamork priests disembowelled a few chickens and fondled their entrails in order to read the future. That’s really a disgusting practice, Sparhawk. It’s so messy.’ She shuddered.
‘Don’t blame me. I didn’t think it up.’
‘The “auguries”, as they called them, said that one day Drychtnath would return to take up where he’d left off and that he’d lead the Lamorks to world domination.’
‘You mean they actually believe that?’
‘They did once.’
‘There are some rumours up there of backsliding – reversion to the worship of the old Pagan Gods.’
‘It’s the sort of thing you’d expect. When a Lamork starts thinking about Drychtnath, he automatically hauls the old Gods out of the closet. It’s so foolish. Aren’t there enough real Gods for them?’
‘The old Lamork Gods aren’t real, then?’
‘Of course not. Where’s your mind, Sparhawk?’
‘The Troll-Gods are real. What’s the difference?’
‘There’s all the difference in the world, father. Any child can see that.’
‘Why don’t I just take your word for it? And why don’t you go back to bed?’
‘Because you haven’t kissed me yet.’
‘Oh. Sorry. I had my mind on something else.’
‘Keep your eye on the important things, Sparhawk. Do you want to have me wither away?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then give me a kiss.’
He did that. As always she smelled of grass and trees. ‘Wash your feet,’ he told her.
‘Oh bother,’ she said.
‘Do you want to spend a week explaining those grass-stains to your mother?’
‘That’s all I get?’ she protested. ‘One meagre little kiss and bathing instructions?’
He laughed, picked her up and kissed her again – several times. Then he put her down. ‘Now scoot.’
She pouted a little and then sighed. She started back toward her bedroom, negligently carrying Rollo by one hind leg. ‘Don’t keep mother up all night,’ she said back over her shoulder, ‘and please try to be quiet. Why do you two always have to make so much noise?’ She looked impishly back over her shoulder. ‘Why are you blushing, father?’ she asked innocently. Then she laughed and went on into her own room and closed the door.
He could never be sure if his daughter really understood the implications of such remarks, although he was certain that one level at least of her strangely layered personality understood quite well. He made sure that her door was latched and then went into the bedroom he shared with his wife. He closed and bolted the door behind him.
The fire had burned down to embers, but there was still sufficient light for him to be able to see the young woman who was the focus of his entire life. Her wealth of pale blonde hair covered her pillow, and in sleep she looked very young and vulnerable. He stood at the foot of the bed looking at her. There were still traces of the little girl he had trained and moulded in her face. He sighed. That train of thought always made him melancholy, because it brought home the fact that he was really too old for her. Ehlana should have a young husband – someone less battered, certainly someone handsome. He idly wondered where he had made the mistake that had so welded her affection to him that she had not even considered any other possible choice. It had probably been something minor – insignificant even. Who could ever know what kind of effect even the tiniest gesture might have on another?
‘I know you’re there, Sparhawk,’ she said without even opening her eyes. There was a slight edge to her voice.
‘I was admiring the view.’ A light tone might head off the incipient unpleasantness, though he didn’t really have much hope of that.
She opened her grey eyes. ‘Come over here,’ she commanded, holding her arms out to him.
‘I was ever your Majesty’s most obedient servant.’ He grinned at her, going to the side of the bed.
‘Oh, really?’ she replied, wrapping her arms about his neck and kissing him. He kissed her back, and that went on for quite some time.
‘Do you suppose we could save the scolding until tomorrow morning, love?’ he asked. ‘I’m a little tired tonight. Why don’t we do the kissing and making up now, and you can scold me later?’
‘And lose my edge? Don’t be silly. I’ve been saving up all sorts of things to say to you.’
‘I can imagine. Dolmant sent me to Lamorkand to look into something. It took me a little longer than I expected.’
‘That’s not fair, Sparhawk,’ she accused.
‘I didn’t follow that.’
‘You weren’t supposed to say that yet. You’re supposed to wait until after I’ve demanded an explanation before you give me one. Now you’ve gone and spoiled it.’
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ He assumed an expression of exaggerated contrition and kissed her on the neck. His wife, he had discovered, loved these little games.
She laughed. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She kissed him back. The women of his family were a very demonstrative little group, he decided. ‘All right then,’ she said. ‘You’ve gone and spoiled it anyway, so you might as well tell me what you were doing, and why you didn’t send word that you’d be delayed.’
‘Politics, love. You know Dolmant. Lamorkand is right on the verge of exploding. Sarathi wanted a professional assessment, but he didn’t want it generally known that I was going there at his instruction. He didn’t want any messages explaining things floating around.’