‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ she asked him. ‘All you have to do is confine the jewel in something made of steel. That canvas pouch is marked with the Styric symbols for iron, but Bhelliom and the Troll-Gods are growing desperate, and symbols aren’t enough now. You’ll have to use the real thing.’

Sparhawk made a sour face, suddenly feeling just a little foolish.

‘I’ve been thinking all along that the shadow – and now that cloud – had come from Azash,’ he confessed.

Aphrael stared at him. ‘You what?’ she exclaimed.

‘It seemed sort of logical,’ he said lamely. ‘Azash has been trying to kill me since this all started.’

‘Why would Azash chase you around with clouds and shadows when He has much more substantial things at His command? Is that the very best all that logic could come up with?’

‘I knew it!’ Bevier exclaimed. ‘I knew we were overlooking something when you first told us about that shadow, Sparhawk! It didn’t really have to be Azash after all.’

Sparhawk suddenly felt very foolish.

‘Why is it that I’ve got so much power over Bhelliom?’ he asked her.

‘Because of the rings.’

‘Ghwerig had the rings before I did.’

‘But they were clear stones then. Now they’re red with the blood of your family and the blood of Ehlana’s.’

‘Just the colour is enough to make it obey me?’

Aphrael stared at him and then at Sephrenia. ‘Do you mean they don’t know why their blood is red?’ she asked incredulously. ‘What have you been doing, sister?’

‘It’s a difficult concept for them, Aphrael.’

The little Goddess stamped away, flinging her arms in the air and muttering Styric words she should not have known existed.

‘Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said calmly, ‘your blood is red because it has iron in it.’

‘It has?’ He was stunned. ‘How’s that possible?’

‘Just believe what I say, Sparhawk. It’s those blood-stained rings that give you so much power over the jewel.’

‘What an amazing thing,’ he said.

Aphrael returned then. ‘Once Bhelliom is confined in steel, you’ll have no further interference from the Troll-Gods,’ she told them. ‘The rest of you will stop plotting to kill Sparhawk, and you’ll all be as one again.’

‘Couldn’t you have just told us what to do without all these explanations?’ Kurik asked her. ‘These are Church Knights, Flute. They’re used to following orders they don’t understand. They almost have to be.’

‘I suppose I could have,’ she admitted, laying one small hand caressingly on his bearded cheek, ‘but I missed you – all of you – and I wanted you to see the place where I live.’

‘Showing off?’ he teased her.

‘Well –’ She blushed slightly. ‘Is that so very, very improper?’

‘It’s a lovely island, Flute, and we’re proud that you chose to show it to us.’