‘Are you so sure that the creature is working for Martel and not the other way around? Azash can see the shadows of the future. One of us might be a danger to him. The seeming alliance between Martel and the creature may be no more than a matter of convenience.’

He began to gnaw worriedly at a fingernail. ‘That’s all I need,’ he said, ‘something else to worry about.’ Then a thought struck him. ‘Wait a minute. Do you remember what the ghost of Lakus said – that darkness was at the gate and that Ehlana was our only hope of light? Could Azash be that darkness?’

She nodded. ‘It’s possible.’

‘If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be Ehlana he’s trying to destroy? She’s totally protected by that crystal that encases her, but if something happens to us before we can find a way to heal her, she’ll die, too. Maybe that’s why Azash has joined forces with the primate.’

‘Aren’t you both stretching things a bit?’ Kurik asked. ‘You’re basing a great deal of speculation on a single incident.’

‘It doesn’t hurt to be ready for eventualities, Kurik,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I hate surprises.’

The squire grunted and rose to his feet. ‘You two must be hungry,’ he said. ‘I’ll go down to the galley and get you some supper. We can talk some more while you’re eating.’

‘No pork,’ Sephrenia told him firmly.

‘Bread and cheese, then?’ he suggested. ‘And maybe some fruit?’

That would be fine, Kurik. You’d probably better bring enough for Flute as well. I know she’s not going to eat that stew.’

‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll eat it for her. I don’t have the same kind of prejudices that you Styrics do.’

It was overcast when they reached the port city of Cippria three days later. The cloud cover was high and thin, and there was no trace of moisture in it. The city was low, with squat white buildings thickly walled to ward off the heat of the southern sun. The wharves jutting out into the harbour were constructed of stone, since Rendor was a kingdom largely devoid of trees.

Sparhawk and the others came up on deck, wearing hooded black robes, just as the sailors were mooring Captain Sorgi’s ship to one of the wharves. They went up the three steps to the quarterdeck to join the curly-haired seaman.

‘Get some fenders between our side and that wharf!’ Sorgi roared at the seamen who were snubbing off the mooring lines. He shook his head in disgust. ‘I have to tell them that every single time we dock,’ he muttered. ‘All they can think about when we make port is the nearest alehouse.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Well, Master Cluff,’ he said. ‘Have you changed your mind?’