They went on down into the courtyard where Kalten waited with Faran and Sephrenia’s white palfrey. The blond knight had an angry expression on his face. ‘Your horse bit me, Sparhawk,’ he said accusingly

‘You know him well enough not to turn your back on him. Did he draw blood?’

‘No,’ Kalten admitted.

‘Then he was only being playful. It shows that he likes you.’

‘Thanks,’ Kalten said flatly. ‘Do you want me to come along?’

‘No. I think we want to be more or less inconspicuous, and on occasion you have trouble managing that.’

‘Sometimes your charm overwhelms me, Sparhawk.’

‘We’re sworn to speak the truth.’ Sparhawk helped Sephrenia into her saddle, then mounted Faran. ‘We should be back before dark,’ he told his friend.

‘Don’t hurry on my account.’

Sparhawk led the small Styric woman out through the gate and into the side street beyond.

‘He turns everything into a joke, doesn’t he?’ Sephrenia observed.

‘Most things, yes. He’s been laughing at the world since he was a boy. I think that’s why I like him so much. My view of things tends to be a little more bleak, and he helps me keep my perspective.’

They rode on through the now-teeming streets of Chyrellos. Although many local merchants affected the sombre black of churchmen, visitors usually did not, and their bright clothing stood out by contrast. Travellers from Cammoria in particular were highly colourful, since their customary silk garments did not fade with the passage of time and remained brightly red or green or blue.

The market place to which Sephrenia led him was some distance from the chapterhouse, and it was perhaps three-quarters of an hour before they reached it.

‘How did you find this shopkeeper?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘There are certain staples in the Styric diet,’ she replied. ‘Elenes don’t eat those things very often.’

‘I thought you said that this porter delivered some sides of meat.’

‘Goat, Sparhawk. Elenes don’t care much for goat.’

He shuddered.

‘How provincial you are,’ she said lightly ‘If it doesn’t come from a cow, you won’t eat it.’

‘I suppose it’s what you’re used to.’

‘I’d better go to the shop alone,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you’re a bit intimidating, dear one. We want answers from the porter, and we might not get them if you frighten him. Watch my horse.’ She handed him her reins and then moved off through the market. Sparhawk watched as she went across the bustling square to speak with a shabby-looking fellow in a blood-smeared canvas smock. After a short time she returned. He got down and helped her back onto her horse.

‘Did he tell you where the house is?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘It’s not far – near the east gate.’

‘Let’s go have a look.’