It was eerie to walk down the gangway in plain view of the church soldiers and to saunter casually up the wharf until they were face to face with them. The soldiers’ expressions were bored, and they gave no indication that anything at all was amiss. They routinely stopped every sailor and passenger leaving the wharf, but paid no attention whatsoever to Sparhawk, Kurik, and the horses. The soldiers stepped out of the way with no command from their corporal and immediately closed ranks again once Sparhawk and Kurik had led the horses off the wharf and onto the cobblestones of the street.

Without a word, Sparhawk lifted Flute down from Faran’s back and saddled the big roan. ‘All right,’ he said to Sephrenia when he had finished, ‘how did she do it?’

‘The usual way.’

‘But she can’t talk-or at least she doesn’t. How did she cast the spell?’

‘With her pipes, Sparhawk. I thought you knew that. She doesn’t speak the spell, she plays it on her pipes.’

‘Is it possible?’ His tone was incredulous.

‘You just saw her do it.’

‘Could you do it that way?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m just a bit tone deaf, Sparhawk,’ she confessed. ‘I can’t really tell one note from another, except in a general sort of way, and the melody has to be very precise. Shall we go, then?’

They rode up through the streets of Vardenais from the harbour.

‘Are we still invisible?’ Kurik asked.

‘We’re not actually invisible, Kurik,’ Sephrenia replied, wrapping her cloak about Flute, who still played the drowsy tune on her pipes. ‘If we were, we wouldn’t be able to see each other.’

‘I don’t understand at all.’

‘The soldiers knew we were there, Kurik. They stepped out of the way for us, remember? They just chose not to pay any attention to us.’

‘Chose?’

‘Perhaps that was the wrong word. Let’s say they were encouraged not to.’

They rode out through the north gate of Vardenais without being stopped by the guards posted there and were soon on the high road to Cimmura. The weather had changed since they had left Elenia many weeks before. The chill of winter had gone now, and the first budding leaves of spring tipped the branches of the trees at the sides of the road. Peasants plodded across their fields behind their ploughs, turning over the rich black loam. The rains had passed, and the sky was bright blue, dotted here and there with puffy white clouds. The breeze was fresh and warm, and the earth smelled of growth and renewal. They had discarded their Rendorish robes before leaving the ship, but Sparhawk still found his mail coat and padded tunic uncomfortably warm.