Kurik took farming very seriously.
About mid-morning the narrow track they were following joined a well-travelled road that ran due east. ‘A suggestion, Sparhawk,’ Tynian said, shifting his blue-blazoned shield.
‘Suggest away.’
‘It might be better if we took this road to the border rather than cutting across country again. Pelosians tend to be sensitive about people who avoid the manned border-crossings. They’re obsessively concerned about smugglers. I don’t think we’d accomplish very much in a skirmish with one of their patrols.’
‘All right,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Let’s stay out of trouble if we can.’
Not very long after a dreary, sunless noon, they reached the border and passed without incident into the southern end of Pelosia. The farmsteads here were even more run-down than they had been in north-eastern Elenia. The houses and outbuildings were universally roofed with sod, and agile goats grazed on the roofs. Kurik looked about disapprovingly, but said nothing.
As evening settled over the landscape, they crested a hill and saw the twinkling lights of a village in the valley below. ‘An inn perhaps?’ Kalten suggested. ‘I think Sephrenia’s spell is starting to wear off. My horse is staggering, and I’m in not much better shape.’
‘You won’t sleep alone in a Pelosian inn,’ Tynian warned. ‘Their beds are usually occupied by all sorts of unpleasant little creatures.’
‘Fleas?’ Kalten asked.
‘And lice, and bed-bugs the size of mice.’
‘I suppose we’ll have to risk it,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘The horses won’t be able to go much farther, and I don’t think the Seeker would attack us inside a building. It seems to prefer open country.’ He led the way down the hill to the village.
The streets of the town were unpaved, and they were ankle-deep in mud. They reached the town’s only inn, and Sparhawk carried Sephrenia to the porch while Kurik followed with Flute. The steps leading up to the door were caked with mud, and the boot-scraper beside the door showed little signs of use. Pelosians, it appeared, were indifferent to mud. The interior of the inn was dim and smoky, and it smelled strongly of stale sweat and spoiled food. The floor had at one time been covered with rushes, but except in the corners, the rushes were buried in dried mud.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider this?’ Tynian asked Kalten as they entered.
‘My stomach’s fairly strong,’ Kalten replied, ‘and I caught a whiff of beer when we came in.’
The supper the innkeeper provided was at least edible, although a bit over-garnished with boiled cabbage, and the beds, mere straw pallets, were not nearly as bug-infested as Tynian had predicted.
They rose early the next morning and rode out of the muddy village in a murky dawn.
‘Doesn’t the sun ever shine in this part of the world?’ Talen asked sourly.
‘It’s spring,’ Kurik told him. ‘It’s always cloudy and rainy in the spring. It’s good for the crops.’
‘I’m not a radish, Kurik,’ the boy replied. ‘I don’t need to be watered.’
‘Talk to God about it,’ Kurik shrugged. ‘I don’t make the weather.’
‘God and I aren’t on the best of terms,’ Talen said glibly. ‘He’s busy, and so am I. We try not to interfere with each other.’
‘The boy is pert,’ Bevier observed disapprovingly. ‘Young man,’ he said, ‘it is not proper to speak so of the Lord of the universe.’
‘You are an honoured Knight of the Church, Sir Bevier,’ Talen pointed out. ‘I am but a thief of the streets. Different rules apply to us. God’s great flower-garden needs a few weeds to offset the splendour of the roses. I’m a weed. I’m sure God forgives me for that, since I’m a part of his grand design.’
Bevier looked at him helplessly, and then began to laugh.
They rode warily across south-eastern Pelosia for the next several days, taking turns scouting on ahead and riding to hilltops to survey the surrounding countryside. The sky remained dreary as they pushed on to the east. They saw peasants – serfs actually – labouring in the fields with the crudest of implements. There were birds nesting in the hedges, and occasionally they saw deer grazing among herds of scrubby cattle.
While there were people about, Sparhawk and his friends saw no more church soldiers or Zemochs. They remained cautious, however, avoiding people when possible and continuing their scouting, since they all knew the black-robed Seeker could enlist even normally timid serfs to do its bidding.
As they came closer to the border of Lamorkand, they received increasingly disturbing reports concerning turmoil in that kingdom. Lamorks were not the most stable people in the world. The King of Lamorkand ruled only at the sufferance of the largely independent barons, who retreated in times of trouble to positions behind the walls of massive castles. Blood-feuds dating back a hundred years or more were common, and rogue barons looted and pillaged at will. For the most part, Lamorkand existed in a state of perpetual civil war.
They made camp one night perhaps three leagues from the border of that most troubled of western kingdoms, and Sparhawk stood up directly after a supper of the last of Kalten’s hindquarter of beef. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘what are we walking into? What’s stirring things up in Lamorkand? Any ideas?’
‘I spent the last eight or nine years in Lamorkand,’ Kalten said seriously. ‘They’re strange people. A Lamork will sacrifice anything he owns for the sake of revenge – and the women are even worse than the men. A good Lamork girl will spend her whole life – and all her father’s wealth – for the chance to sink a spear into somebody who refused her invitation to the dance at some midwinter party. I spent all those years there, and in all that time, I never heard anyone laugh or saw anyone smile. It’s the bleakest place on earth. The sun is forbidden to shine in Lamorkand.’
‘Is this universal warfare we’ve been hearing about from the Pelosians a common thing?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘Pelosians are not the best judges of Lamork peculiarities,’ Tynian replied thoughtfully. ‘It’s only the influence of the Church – and the presence of the Church Knights – that’s kept Pelosia and Lamorkand from blithely embarking on a war of mutual extinction. They despise each other with a passion that’s almost holy in its mindless ferocity.’
Sephrenia sighed. ‘Elenes,’ she said.
‘We have our faults, little mother,’ Sparhawk conceded. ‘We’re going to run into trouble when we cross the border then, aren’t we?’
‘Not entirely,’ Tynian said, rubbing his chin. ‘Are you open to another suggestion, maybe?’
‘I’m always open to suggestions.’
‘Why don’t we put on our formal armour? Not even the most wild-eyed Lamork baron will willingly cross the Church, and the Church Knights could grind western Lamorkand into powder if they felt like it.’
‘What if somebody calls our bluff?’ Kalten asked. ‘There are only five of us, after all.’
‘I don’t think they’d have any reason to,’ Tynian said. ‘The neutrality of the Church Knights in these local disputes is legendary. Formal armour might be just the thing to avoid misunderstandings. Our purpose is to get to Lake Randera, not to engage in random disputes with hotheads.’
‘It might work, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said. ‘It’s worth a try anyway.’
‘All right, let’s do it then,’ Sparhawk decided.
When they arose the following morning, the five knights unpacked their formal armour and began to put it on with the help of Kurik and Berit. Sparhawk and Kalten wore Pandion black with silver surcoats and formal black capes. Bevier’s armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and