‘Ghnomb!’ Sparhawk said in that harsh voice. ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia, and I have the rings. Ghnomb must do as I command. I hunt. Ghnomb will help me hunt. I am two sleeps behind the man-thing which is my prey. Ghnomb will make it so that my hunters and I can catch the man-thing we seek. Sparhawk-from-Elenia will tell Ghnomb when, and Ghnomb will aid our hunt. Ghnomb will obey!’

Again there was that hollow, echoing howl of rage, a howl filled this time with a slobbering gnawing sound and a horrid, wet smacking of lips.

‘Ghnomb! Go away now!’ Sparhawk commanded. ‘Ghnomb will come again at Sparhawk-from-Elenia’s command!’

The greenish-yellow spot vanished, and Sparhawk thrust the Bhelliom back into the pouch.

‘Are you mad?’ Sephrenia exclaimed.

‘No, I don’t think so. I want to be so close behind Martel that he won’t have time to set up any ambushes.’ He frowned. ‘It’s beginning to look as if the attempts to kill me really were Martel’s own idea,’ he said. ‘He seems to have different orders now. That clarifies things a bit, but now I have to start worrying about how to protect you and the others.’ He made a face. ‘There’s always something, isn’t there?’

Chapter 22

‘Sparhawk.’ It was Kurik, and he was shaking his Lord into wakefulness. ‘It’s about an hour before dawn. You wanted me to wake you.’

‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ Sparhawk sat up in his bed, yawning. Then he swung his legs out of bed and put his feet on the floor.

‘I slept fine.’ Kurik looked critically at his friend. ‘You’re not eating enough,’ he accused. ‘Your bones are sticking out. Get dressed. I’ll go and wake the others, and then I’ll come back and help you into your armour.’

Sparhawk rose and pulled on his quilted and rust-splotched undergarments.

‘Very chic,’ Stragen observed sardonically from the doorway. ‘Is there some obscure part of the knightly code that prohibits laundering those garments?’

‘They take a week to dry.’

‘Are they really necessary?’

‘Have you ever worn armour, Stragen?’

‘God forbid.’

‘Try it sometime. The padding keeps the armour from grinding off your skin in unusual places.’

‘Ah, the things we endure in order to be stylish.’

‘Are you really planning to turn back at the Zemoch border?’

‘The queen’s orders, old boy. Besides, I’d just be in your way. I’m profoundly unsuited to confront a God. Frankly, I think you’re insane – no offence intended, of course.’

‘Are you going back to Emsat from Cimmura?’

‘If your wife gives me permission to leave. I really should get back – if only to check over the books. Tel’s fairly dependable, but he is a thief, after all.’

‘And then?’