They had gone perhaps half a mile when Sparhawk had a momentary premonition. He reacted instantly, driving Faran’s shoulder against the white palfrey. The smaller horse lurched to one side, even as a crossbow bolt buzzed spitefully through the space where Sephrenia had been an instant before. ‘Ride, Sephrenia!’ he barked as the bolt clashed against the stones of a house fronting the street. He looked back, drawing his sword. But Sephrenia had already thumped her heels to the white horse’s flanks and plunged off down the street at a clattering gallop with Sparhawk closely behind her, shielding her body with his own.

After they had crossed several streets, Sephrenia slowed her pace. ‘Did you see him?’ she asked. She had Lakus’ sword in her hand now.

‘I didn’t have to see him A crossbow means a Lamork. Nobody else uses them.’

‘The one who was in the house with the Styrics?’

‘Probably, unless you’ve gone out of your way to offend other Lamorks of late. Could Azash or one of his Zemochs have sensed your presence back there?’

‘It’s possible,’ she conceded. ‘No one can be absolutely certain just how far the power of the Elder Gods goes. How did you know that we were about to be attacked?’

‘Training, I suppose. I’ve learned to know when someone’s pointing a weapon at me.’

‘I thought it was pointed at me.’

‘It amounts to the same thing, Sephrenia.’

‘Well, he missed.’

‘This time I think I’ll talk to Nashan about getting you a mail shirt.’

‘Are you mad, Sparhawk?’ she protested. The weight alone would put me on my knees – not to mention the awful smell.’

‘Better the weight and the smell than an arrow between the shoulder blades.’

‘Totally out of the question.’

‘We’ll see. Put the sword away and let’s move on. You need rest, and I want to get you inside the chapterhouse where it’s safe before someone else takes a shot at you.’

Chapter 14

The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black.

With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to greet him. ‘Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,’ he said.

Bevier inclined his head stiffly. ‘My Lord,’ he responded, ‘I am commanded by the preceptor of my order to convey to you his greetings.’

‘Thank you, Sir Bevier,’ Nashan said, somewhat taken aback by the young knight’s stiff formality.