‘I don’t see that there’s any choice,’ he replied. ‘You have to be fit to move around. I can do my job sitting down – or lying in bed – or dead, probably, if it comes to that.’

The movement was but a faint one of Sephrenia’s eyes. She looked for the briefest instant at Flute, and the little girl gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk was positive that only he had witnessed the exchange; for some reason it troubled him profoundly.

‘Only take the swords one at a time,’ Sephrenia instructed Vanion. ‘The weight is considerable, and you’ll need to give yourself time to get used to it.’

‘I’ve held swords before, Sephrenia.’

‘Not like these, and it’s not the weight of the swords I’m talking about. It’s the weight of all that goes with them.’ She opened the case and took out the sword of Sir Parasim, the young knight whom Adus had killed in Arcium. She took the blade and gravely extended the hilt across her forearm to Vanion.

He rose and took it from her. ‘Correct me if I make any mistakes,’ he said and started to chant in Styric Sephrenia raised her voice with his, though her tone was softer, less certain, and her eyes were filled with doubt. The spell rose to a climax, and Vanion suddenly sagged, his face turning grey ‘God!’ he gasped, almost dropping the sword.

‘Are you all right, dear one?’ Sephrenia asked sharply, reaching out and touching him.

‘Let me get my breath for a minute,’ Vanion said. ‘How can you stand this, Sephrenia?’

‘We do what we must,’ she replied. ‘I feel better already, Vanion. There’s no need for you to take the other two.’

‘Yes, there is. We’re going to lose another of the twelve of us any day now, and his ghost will deliver another sword to you. I’m going to see to it that your hands are free when it comes.’ He straightened. ‘All right,’ he said grimly ‘Give me the next one.’

Chapter 25

Sparhawk found that he was unusually tired that evening. The rigours of what had taken place in Rendor seemed to catch up with him all at once, but despite his weariness, he tossed and turned fitfully on the narrow cot in the cell-like room. The moon was full, and it cast its pale light through the narrow window directly into Sparhawk’s face. He muttered a sour oath and covered his head with his blanket to hide his eyes from the light.

Perhaps he dozed, or perhaps not. He hovered on the verge of sleep for what seemed hours; but, try though he might to slip through that soft door, he could not. He threw off his blanket and sat up.