Authors: David Eddings
Then Mirtai spoke to the king and queen.
‘The child entreats passage,’ Norkan told them.
King Androl spoke his reply, his voice loud and commanding, and his queen added her agreement. Then they too drew their swords and stepped forward to flank the child’s parents, joining in their challenge.
The song of the Atans soared, and the trumpets added a brazen fanfare. Then the sound diminished again.
Mirtai faced her people and drew her daggers. She spoke to them, and Sparhawk needed no translation. He
knew
that tone of voice.
The song raised, triumphant, and the five at the altar turned to face the roughly-chiselled stone block. In the centre of the altar lay a black velvet cushion, and nestled on it there was a plain gold circlet.
The song swelled, and it echoed back from nearby mountains.
And then, out of the velvet black throat of night, a star fell. It was an incandescently brilliant white light streaking down across the sky. Down and down it arched, and then it exploded into a shower of brilliant sparks.
‘Stop that!’ Sparhawk hissed to his daughter.
‘I didn’t
do
it,’ she protested. ‘I might have, but I didn’t think of it. How
did
they do that?’ She sounded genuinely baffled.
Then, as the glowing shards of the star drifted slowly toward the earth filling the night with glowing sparks, the golden circlet on the altar rose unaided, drifting up like a ring of smoke. It hesitated as the Atan song swelled with an aching kind of yearning, and then, like a gossamer cobweb, it settled on the head of the child, and when Mirtai turned with exultant face, she was a child no longer.
The mountains rang back the joyous sound as the Atans greeted her.
‘They know nothing of magic.’ Zalasta said it quite emphatically.
‘That circlet didn’t rise up into the air all by itself, Zalasta,’ Vanion disagreed, ‘and the arrival of the falling star at just exactly the right moment stretches the possibility of coincidence further than I’m willing to go.’
‘Chicanery of some kind perhaps?’ Patriarch Emban suggested. ‘There was a charlatan in Ucera when I was a boy who was very good at that sort of thing. I’d be inclined to look for hidden wires and burning arrows.’ They were gathered in the Peloi camp outside the city the following morning, puzzling over the spectacular conclusion of Mirtai’s Rite of Passage.
‘Why would they do something like that, your Grace?’ Khalad asked him.
‘To make an impression maybe. How would I know?’
‘Who would they have been trying to impress?’
‘Us, obviously.’
‘It doesn’t seem to fit the Atan character,’ Tynian said, frowning. ‘Would the Atans cheapen a holy rite with that kind of gratuitous trickery, Ambassador Oscagne?’
The Tamul Emissary shook his head. ‘Totally out of the question, Sir Tynian. The rite is as central to their culture as a wedding or a funeral. They’d never demean it just to impress strangers – and it wasn’t performed for our benefit. The ceremony was for Atana Mirtai.’
‘Exactly,’ Khalad agreed, ‘and if there were hidden wires coming down from those tree-branches
she’d
have known they were there. They just wouldn’t have done that to her. A cheap trick like that would have
been an insult, and we all know how Atans respond to insults.’
‘Norkan will be here in a little while,’ Oscagne told them. ‘He’s been in Atan for quite some time. I’m sure he’ll be able to explain it.’
‘It cannot have been magic,’ Zalasta insisted. It seemed very important to him for some reason. Sparhawk had the uneasy feeling that it had to do with the shaggy-browed magician’s racial ego. So long as Styrics were the only people who could perform magic or instruct others in its use, they were unique in the world. If any other race could do the same thing, their importance would be diminished.
‘How long are we going to stay here?’ Kalten asked. ‘This is a nervous kind of place. Some young knight or one of the Peloi is bound to make a mistake sooner or later. If somebody blunders into a deadly insult, I think all this good feeling will evaporate. We don’t want to have to fight our way out of town.’
‘Norkan will be able to tell us,’ Oscagne replied. ‘We don’t want to insult the Atans by leaving too early either.’
‘How far is it from here to Matherion, Oscagne?’ Emban asked.
‘About five hundred leagues.’
Emban sighed. ‘Almost two more months,’ he lamented. ‘I feel as if this journey’s lasted for years.’
‘You
do
look more fit, though, your Grace,’ Bevier told him.
‘I don’t
want
to look fit, Bevier. I want to look fat, lazy and pampered. I want to
be
fat, lazy and pampered – and I want a decent meal with lots of butter and gravy and delicacies and fine wines.’
‘You
did
volunteer to come along, your Grace,’ Sparhawk reminded him.
‘I must have been out of my mind.’
Ambassador Norkan came across the Peloi campground with an amused expression on his face.
‘What’s so funny?’ Oscagne asked him.
‘I’ve been observing an exquisite dance, old boy,’ Norkan replied. ‘I’d forgotten just how profoundly literal an Elene can be. Any number of Atan girls have approached young Sir Berit and expressed a burning interest in western weaponry. They were obviously hoping for private lessons in some secluded place where he could demonstrate how he uses his equipment.’
‘Norkan,’ Oscagne chided him.
‘Did I say something wrong, old chap? I’m afraid my Elenic’s a bit rusty. Anyway, Sir Berit’s arranged a demonstration for the entire group. He’s just outside the city wall giving the whole bunch of them archery lessons.’
‘We’re going to have to have a talk with that boy,’ Kalten said to Sparhawk.
‘I’ve been told not to,’ Sparhawk said. ‘My wife and the other ladies want to keep him innocent. It seems to satisfy some obscure need.’ He looked at Norkan. ‘Maybe you can settle an argument for us, your Excellency.’
‘I’m good at peace-making, Sir Sparhawk. It’s not as much fun as starting wars, but the emperor prefers it.’
‘What really happened last night, Ambassador Norkan?’ Vanion asked him.
‘Atana Mirtai became an adult,’ Norkan shrugged. ‘You were there, Lord Vanion. You saw everything I did.’
‘Yes, I did. Now I’d like to have it explained. Did a star really fall at the height of the ceremony? And did the gold circlet really rise from the altar and settle itself on Mirtai’s head?’
‘Yes. Was there a problem with that?’
‘Impossible!’ Zalasta exclaimed.
‘
You
could do it, couldn’t you, learned one?’
‘Yes, I suppose so, but I am Styric.’
‘And these are Atans?’
‘That’s exactly my point.’
‘We were also disturbed when we first encountered the phenomenon,’ Norkan told him. ‘The Atans are our cousins. So, unfortunately, are the Arjuni and the Tegans. We Tamuls are a secular people, as you undoubtedly know. We have a pantheon of Gods that we ignore except on holidays. The Atans only have one, and they won’t even tell us what His name is. They can appeal to Him in the same way you Styrics appeal to your Gods, and He responds in the same fashion.’
Zalasta’s face suddenly went white. ‘Impossible!’ he said again in a choked voice. ‘We’d have known. There are Atans at Sarsos. We’d have felt them using magic.’
‘But they don’t do it at Sarsos, Zalasta,’ Norkan said patiently. ‘They only use it here in Atan and only during their ceremonies.’
‘That’s absurd!’
‘I wouldn’t tell
them
you feel that way. They hold you Styrics in some contempt, you know. They find the notion of turning a God into a servant a bit impious. Atans have access to a God, and their God can do the same sort of things other Gods do. They choose not to involve their God in everyday matters, so they only call on Him during their religious ceremonies – weddings, funerals, Rites of Passage, and a few others. They can’t understand your willingness to insult your Gods by asking them to do things you really ought to do for yourselves.’ He looked at Emban then with a sly sort of grin. ‘It just occurred to me that your Elene God could probably do exactly the same thing. Have you ever thought of asking Him, your Grace?’
‘Heresy!’ Bevier gasped.
‘Not really, Sir Knight. That word’s used to describe somebody who strays from the teachings of his own
faith. I’m not a member of the Elene faith, so my speculations can’t really be heretical, can they?’
‘He’s got you there, Bevier,’ Ulath said. ‘His logic’s unassailable.’
‘It raises some very interesting questions,’ Vanion mused. ‘It’s entirely possible that the Church blundered when she founded the Militant Orders. We may
not
have had to go outside our own faith for instruction in magic. If we’d asked Him the right way, our own God might have given us the help we needed.’ He coughed a bit uncomfortably. ‘I’ll trust you gentlemen not to tell Sephrenia I came up with that. If I start suggesting that she’s unnecessary, she might take it the wrong way.’
‘Lord Vanion,’ Emban said quite formally. ‘As the representative of the Church, I forbid you to continue this speculation. This is dangerous ground, and I want a ruling from Dolmant before we pursue the matter any further- and for God’s sake, don’t start experimenting.’
‘Ah – Patriarch Emban,’ Vanion reminded him rather mildly, ‘I think that you’re forgetting the fact that as the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, my rank in the Church is the same as yours. Technically speaking, you can’t forbid me to do anything.’
‘Sparhawk’s the Preceptor now.’
‘Not until he’s been confirmed by the Hierocracy, Emban. I’m not trying to demean your authority, old boy, but let’s observe the proprieties, shall we? It’s the little things that keep us civilised when we’re far from home.’
‘Aren’t Elenes fun?’ Oscagne said to Norkan.
‘I was just about to make the same observation myself.’
They met with King Androl and Queen Betuana later that morning. Ambassador Oscagne explained their mission in the flowing Tamul tongue.
‘He’s skirting around your rather unique capabilities, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said quietly. A faint smile touched her lips. ‘The emperor’s officials seem a little unwilling to admit that they’re powerless and that they had to appeal for outside help.’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘We’ve been through it before,’ he murmured. ‘Oscagne was very concerned about that when he spoke to us in Chyrellos. It seems a little short-sighted in this situation, though. The Atans make up the Tamul army. It doesn’t really make much sense to keep secrets from them.’
‘Whatever made you think that politics made sense, Sparhawk?’
‘I’ve missed you, little mother,’ he laughed.
‘I certainly
hope
so.’
King Androl’s face was grave, even stern as Oscagne described what they had discovered in Astel. Queen Betuana’s expression was somewhat softer – largely because Danae was sitting in her lap. Sparhawk had seen his daughter do that many times. Whenever there was a potential for tension in a situation, Danae started looking for laps. People invariably responded to her unspoken appeals to be held without even thinking about it. ‘She does that on purpose, doesn’t she?’ he whispered to Sephrenia.
‘That went by a little fast, Sparhawk.’
‘Aphrael. She climbs into people’s laps in order to control them.’
‘Of course. Close contact makes it far more certain – and subtle.’
‘That’s the reason she’s always remained a child, isn’t it? So that people will pick her up and hold her and she can make them do what she wants?’
‘Well, it’s one of the reasons.’
‘She won’t be able to do that when she grows up, you know.’
‘Yes, I
do
know, Sparhawk, and I’m going to be very interested to see how she handles the situation. Oscagne’s coming to the point now. He’s asking Androl for a report on any incidents similar to the ones you’ve encountered.’
Norkan stepped forward to translate for Androl, and Oscagne retired to the Elene side of the room to perform the same service. The Tamuls had perfected the tedious but necessary business of translation to make it as smooth and unobtrusive as possible.
King Androl pondered the matter for a few moments. Then he smiled at Ehlana and spoke to her in Tamul. His voice was very soft.
‘Thus says the King,’ Norkan began his translation. ‘Gladly do we greet Ehlana-Queen once more, for her presence is like the sunshine come at last after a long winter.’
‘Oh, that’s
very
nice,’ Sephrenia murmured. ‘We always seem to forget the poetic side of the Atan nature.’
‘Moreover,’ Norkan continued his translation, ‘glad are we to welcome the fabled warriors of the west and the wise-man of Chyrellos-Church.’ Norkan was obviously translating verbatim.
Emban politely inclined his head.
‘Clearly we see our common concern in the matter at hand, and staunchly will we join with the West-warriors in such acts as are needful.’
Androl spoke again, pausing from time to time for translation. ‘Our minds have been unquiet in seasons past, for we have failed in tasks set for us by our Matherion-masters. This troubles us, for we are not accustomed to failure.’ His expression was slightly mortified as he made that admission. ‘I am sure, Ehlana-Queen, that Oscagne-Emperor-Speaker has told you of our difficulties in parts of Tamuli beyond our own borders. Shamed are we that he has spoken truly.’
Queen Betuana said something briefly to her husband.
‘She told him to get on with it,’ Sephrenia murmured to Sparhawk. ‘It appears that his tendency to be flowery irritates her – at least that was the impression I got.’
Androl said something to Norkan in an apologetic tone.
‘That’s a surprise,’ Norkan said, obviously speaking for himself now. ‘The King just admitted that he’s been keeping secrets from me. He doesn’t usually do that.’
Androl spoke again, and Norkan’s translation became more colloquial as the Atan king seemed to lay formality aside. ‘He says that there have been incidents here in Atan itself. It’s an internal matter, so he technically wasn’t obliged to tell me about it. He says they’ve encountered creatures he calls “the shaggy ones”. As I understand it, the creatures are even bigger than the tallest Atans.’
‘Long arms?’ Ulath asked intently. ‘Flat noses and big bones in the face? Pointed teeth?’
Norkan translated into Tamul, and King Androl looked at Ulath with some surprise. Then he nodded.
‘Trolls!’ Ulath said. ‘Ask him how many his people have seen at any one time.’
‘Fifty or more,’ came the reply.
Ulath shook his head. ‘That’s very unlikely,’ he said flatly. ‘You might find a single family of Trolls working together, but never fifty all at once.’
‘He wouldn’t lie,’ Norkan insisted.
‘I didn’t say he did, but Trolls have never behaved that way before. If they had, they’d have driven us out of Thalesia.’
‘It seems that the rules have changed, Ulath,’ Tynian noted. ‘Have there been any other incidents, your Excellency? Things that didn’t involve Trolls?’
Norkan spoke to the king and then translated the reply. ‘They’ve had encounters with warriors in strange armour and with strange equipment.’
‘Ask him if they might have been Cyrgai,’ Bevier suggested. ‘Horse-hair-crested helmets? Big round shields? Long spears?’
Norkan posed the question, though his expression was baffled. It was with some amazement that he translated the reply. ‘They were!’ he exclaimed. ‘They were Cyrgai! How’s that possible?’
‘We’ll explain later,’ Sparhawk said tersely. ‘Were there any others?’
Norkan asked the questions quickly now, obviously excited by these revelations. Queen Betuana leaned forward slightly and took over for her husband.
‘Arjuni,’ Norkan said tersely. ‘They were heavily armed and made no attempt to hide the way they usually do. And once there was an army of Elenes – mostly serfs.’ Then his eyes went wide with astonishment. ‘That’s totally impossible! That’s only a myth!’