‘Where are they, Martel?’ Arissa was asking acidly. ‘Where are these brave Zemochs you counted on to protect us? Gathering wild flowers?’

‘They’re diverting the Peloi, Princess,’ Martel replied. ‘Do you really want those savages to catch up with us? Don’t worry, Arissa. If your appetites are growing uncontrollable, I’ll lend you Adus. He doesn’t smell very nice, but that’s no great drawback where you’re concerned, is it?’

Her eyes blazed with sudden hatred, but Martel ignored her. ‘The Zemochs will hold off the Peloi,’ he said to Annias, ‘and unless Sparhawk’s been riding horses to death – which he’d never do – he’s still three days behind us. We don’t really need any Zemochs until we cross the border. That’s when I’ll want to find some of them to start laying traps for my dear brother and his friends.’

‘Khwaj!’ Sparhawk said shortly, ‘make it so that they can hear me! Now!’

The candle flames flickered, then steadied again.

‘Awfully nice camp you have there, Martel,’ Sparhawk said in an offhand manner. ‘Are there any fish in the lake?’

‘Sparhawk!’ Martel gasped. ‘How can you reach this far?’

‘Far, old boy? It’s not really all that far at all. I’m almost on top of you. If it’d been me, though, I’d have made camp in that cedar grove across the lake. There are whole races of people who want to kill you, brother mine, and it’s hardly safe to make camp right out in the open the way you have.’

Martel sprang to his feet. ‘Get the horses!’ he shouted to Adus.

‘Leaving so soon, Martel?’ Sparhawk asked mildly. ‘What a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting you face to face again. Ah well, no matter. I’ll see you first thing in the morning. I think we can both stand to wait that long.’ Sparhawk’s grin was vicious as he watched the five of them saddling their horses. Their movements were panicky, and their eyes darted about wildly. They clambered onto their mounts and bolted off towards the east at a dead run, flogging their horses unmercifully.

‘Come back, Martel,’ Sparhawk called after them. ‘You forgot your tents.’

Chapter 23

The land of the Peloi was a vast, unfenced grassland which had never known the touch of the plough. The winds of late autumn swept that eternal grassland under a lowering sky, sighing a mournful dirge for summer. They rode eastward towards a high, rocky pinnacle out in the centre of the plain with their cloaks drawn tightly about them to ward off the arid chill, and with their mood made sombre by the unending gloom.

They reached the rock pinnacle late that afternoon and found the land around it bustling with activity. Kring, who had gone on ahead to gather the Peloi, rode up to meet them, a rough bandage encircling his head.