They passed thus through the gate of the palisade and across a stretch of sand dotted with sheep droppings.

The interior of Arasham’s pavilion was far more luxurious than might have been expected from its severe exterior A single lamp burned expensive oil in the centre, and priceless carpets covered the rude sand floor Silken fabric curtained off the rear portions of the pavilion, and from behind those curtains came the giggling of adolescent boys.

‘Please sit and take your ease,’ Arasham invited expansively, sinking down upon a cluster of silken cushions. ‘Let us take some refreshment, and then you may tell me of the intent of my dear brother Obler of Deira.’ He clapped his hands sharply together, and a doe-eyed boy emerged from behind one of the silken panels.

‘Bring us some of the fresh melon, Saboud,’ Arasham told him.

‘As you command, Most Holy ‘ The boy bowed and retired behind the silken screen.

Arasham leaned back on his cushions. ‘I am not at all surprised at the communication you have brought me concerning the growing sentiment for our cause in Deira,’ he lisped to Sparhawk. ‘Word has reached me that such feelings are not uncommon in the kingdoms of the north. Indeed, another such message has but recently arrived.’ He paused thoughtfully ‘It occurs to me -perhaps at the prompting of God Himself, who ever joins His thought with mine – that you and the other messenger may know each other.’ He turned towards a silken panel that concealed a dimly lighted part of the tent. ‘Come forth, my friend and advisor. Look upon the face of our noble visitor from Deira and tell me if you know him.’

A shadow moved behind the panel. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then a robed and hooded figure emerged into the lamplight. The hooded man was only slightly shorter than Sparhawk, and he had the heavy shoulders of a warrior. He reached up and pushed back his hood to reveal his piercing black eyes and his thick mane of snowy white hair.

In a kind of curious detachment, Sparhawk wondered what it was exactly that kept him from instantly drawing his sword.

‘Indeed, most holy Arasham,’ Martel said in his deep, resonant voice, ‘Sparhawk and I have known each other for a very long time’

Chapter 23

‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Martel said in a neutral tone. His eyes, however, were watchful.

With some effort Sparhawk relaxed his tightly clenched muscles. ‘Yes, it has,’ he replied. ‘It must be ten years now at least. We should try to get together more often.’

‘We’ll have to make a point of that.’

It hung there. The two continued to look directly into each other’s face. The air seemed to crackle with tension as each waited for the other to make the first move.

‘Sparhawk,’ Arasham mused, ‘a most unusual name. It seems to me that I’ve heard it somewhere before.’