‘A jewel is a jewel,’ Talen shrugged. ‘They’re all dangerous. Anything one man wants, another is likely to try to steal, and that’s the sort of thing that leads to killing. Give me gold every time. It all looks the same, and you can spend it anywhere. Jewels are hard to convert into money, and people usually spend all their time trying to protect them, and that’s really inconvenient. Let’s see it, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk took out the pouch and picked open the knot. Then he shook the glowing blue rose into the palm of his right hand. Once again a brief flicker darkened the edge of his vision, and a chill passed over him. For some reason the flicker of the shadow brought the memory of the nightmare sharply back, and he could almost feel the hovering presence of those obscurely menacing shapes which had haunted his sleep that night a week ago.

‘God!’ Talen exclaimed. ‘That’s incredible.’ He stared at the jewel for a moment, and then he shuddered. ‘Put it away, Sparhawk. I don’t want to look at it any more.’

Sparhawk slipped Bhelliom back into its pouch.

‘It really ought to be blood-red, though,’ Talen said moodily. ‘Look at all the people who’ve died over it.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘Was Flute really a Goddess?’

‘Kurik told you about that, I see. Yes, she was – and is – one of the Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘I liked her,’ the boy admitted, ‘– when she wasn’t teasing me. But if she’s a God – or Goddess – she could be any age she wanted to be, couldn’t she?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why a child then?’

‘People are more truthful with children.’

‘I’ve never particularly noticed that.’

‘Aphrael’s more lovable than you are, Talen,’ she smiled, ‘and that may be the real reason behind her choice of form. She needs love – all Gods do, even Azash. People tend to pick little girls up and kiss them. Aphrael enjoys being kissed.’

‘Nobody ever kissed me all that much.’

‘That may come in time, Talen – if you behave yourself.’

Chapter 2

The weather on the Thalesian Peninsula, like that in every northern kingdom, was never really settled, and it was drizzling rain the following morning as bank after bank of thick, dirty clouds rolled into the straits of Thalesia off the Deiran Sea.

‘A splendid day for a voyage,’ Stragen observed dryly as he and Sparhawk looked through a partially boarded-up window at the rain-wet streets below. ‘I hate rain. I wonder if I could find any career opportunities in Rendor.’

‘I don’t recommend it,’ Sparhawk told him, remembering a sun-blasted street of Thalen Jiroch.