‘Maybe that’s it,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘And Martel’s never been very fond of going across country.’

‘Will we follow the same route?’

‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t know much about boats, so he’ll wallow around out there in the gulf for several days. Kurik’s a sailor though, so he can take us straight across. We should be able to make it from the east shore to the capital in about three days. We can still get there before he does. Kurik,’ he called, ‘let’s go and find a boat.’

Sparhawk was leaning against the rail of the large, tar-smeared scow Kurik had selected. The surface winds had swung briefly around to the west, and their ship sped across the choppy waters of the gulf towards the east. Sparhawk reached inside his tunic and took out Ehlana’s letter.

‘Beloved,’ it began. ‘If all has gone well, you’re very close to the Zemoch border by now – and I must believe that all has gone well or else I shall go mad. You and your companions will succeed, dearest Sparhawk. I know that as surely as if God himself had told it to me. Our lives are strangely controlled, my love. We were destined to love each other – and to marry. We had no real choice in this, I think – though I would certainly have chosen no other. Our meeting each other and our marriage were all a part of some grander design – even as was the gathering of your companions. Who in all the world could be more perfectly suited to aid you than the great men who ride with you? Kalten and Kurik, Tynian and Ulath, Bevier and dear Berit, so young and so very brave, all of them have joined with you in love and common purpose. You surely cannot fail, my beloved, not with such men at your side. Hasten, my champion and husband. Take your invincible companions to the lair of our ancient foe and confront him there. Let Azash tremble, for the Knight Sparhawk comes with Bhelliom in his fist, and not all the powers of Hell can prevail against him. Hasten, my beloved, and know that you are armed not merely with Bhelliom but with my love as well.

I love you,

Ehlana.’

Sparhawk read through the letter several times. His bride, he saw, had a very strong tendency towards oratory. Even her letters had the tone of a public address. Stirring though the message was, he might have preferred something a bit less polished, something more genuine. Although he knew that the emotions she expressed came from her heart, her fondness for the well-turned phrase somehow intruded itself between them. ‘Oh well,’ he sighed. ‘She’ll probably relax as we get to know each other better.’