‘Shout a little louder, Berit,’ Kurik said reprovingly. ‘Maybe they’ll be able to hear you in Chyrellos.’

‘Sorry, Kurik,’ Berit apologized, looking abashed.

‘Get some other novices to look after our horses and come with us,’ Sparhawk told the young man. ‘We have things to do, and we have to talk with Vanion.’

‘Yes, Sir Sparhawk.’ Berit ran back into the stable.

‘He’s such a nice boy,’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘He might work out,’ Kurik said grudgingly.

‘Sparhawk,’ a hooded Pandion said with some surprise as they entered the arched door leading into the chapterhouse. The knight pushed back his hood. It was Sir Perraine, the Pandion who had posed as a cattle-buyer in Dabour. Perraine spoke with a slight accent.

‘What are you doing back in Cimmura, Perraine?’ Sparhawk asked, clasping his brother knight’s hand. ‘We all thought you’d taken root in Dabour.’

Perraine seemed to recover from his surprise. ‘Ah –’ he began, ‘once Arasham died, there wasn’t much reason for me to remain in Dabour. We’d all heard that King Wargun was pursuing you all over western Eosia.’

‘Pursuing isn’t catching, Perraine,’ Sparhawk grinned. ‘We can talk later. But now my friends and I have to go and talk with Vanion.’

‘Of course.’ Perraine bowed slightly to Sephrenia and walked on out into the courtyard.

They went up the stairs to the south tower where Vanion’s study was located. The Preceptor of the Pandion Order wore that white Styric robe, and his face had aged even more in the short time since Sparhawk had last seen him. The others were also there, Ulath, Tynian, Bevier and Kalten. Their presence seemed somehow to make the room shrink. These were very large men, not only in sheer physical size, but also in terms of their towering reputations. The room seemed somehow full of bulky shoulders. As was customary among Church Knights when inside their chapterhouses, they all wore monks’ robes over their mail-shirts.

‘Finally!’ Kalten said, letting out an explosive breath. ‘Sparhawk, why didn’t you get word to us to let us know how you were?’

‘Messengers are a little hard to find in Troll-country, Kalten.’

‘Any luck?’ Ulath asked eagerly. Ulath was a huge, blond-braided Thalesian, and Bhelliom had a special meaning for him.

Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, silently asking permission.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘but only for a minute.’