The last was a guess, but from the way Haltengabben’s eyes widened in surprise, he knew he’d hit upon the truth. This time she did not bother to deny it.
“I can understand your feelings in this matter,” he went on with a dismissive gesture. “King Graben is far away, and surely it must appear his grasp on Grabentod is slipping away. On the other hand, Parniel Bowspear is here, and his men would follow him to the Shadow World itself— aye, most of Grabentod would if he asked. Indeed, he is successful in everything he tries.”
“True.” Haltengabben nodded almost imperceptibly.
“However,” Harlmut said, “the right to rule Alber is in the blood, not the sword. Bowspear is popular, but he comes from common birth. He can never rule Grabentod. It’s unthinkable.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Haltengabben said softly.
She must be thinking of Ulrich Graben, Harlmut realized.
She smiled. “And yet I have a strange feeling your hold here is stronger than you realize, Harlmut. The people do not fear you … but they like you, and they love their king. As long as you rule in his name, and you rule fairly and well, I think you will find you have more supporters than you know.”
“About the wizard …”
“I did not order his death,” she said firmly.
A little to his surprise, Harlmut found he believed her. Even so, he suspected she hadn’t told him everything. And if she hadn’t ordered Candabraxis’s murder, then who did? How was the Temple of Ela involved?
Perhaps it had been the Hag. Everything seemed to revolve around her. He knew she had ties running deep into Grabentod….
Haltengabben rose suddenly. “I thank you for a most interesting meal,” she said amiably. “I hope we will be able to have another such meeting soon, Regent.”
That was the first time she’d ever called him that, Harlmut realized with a sudden flash of pride. He rose and nodded politely to her as she swept from the room. Perhaps the meal had not been a waste of time after all.
Captain Evann and his men worked throughout the morning, cutting frozen turf with their swords, then scooping dirt from the holes to make a series of shallow graves.
There were forty-seven skeletons. Each had to be laid out neatly, arms carefully folded, every bone in place. Then Evann murmured a prayer for the soul of the dead man, woman, or child, and his men began to bury the bones.
It was hard work, but at last it was done. Wiping sweat from his brow, Evann sat, staring out across the water to the small isle. For some reason the Hag’s minions had dumped all the bodies there. Why? He shook his head. It was a puzzle he might never unravel.
His men joined him, panting, sweaty, dirty. At least the weather had begun to warm up some, he thought. It was well above freezing now.
Rising, he went down to the lake and washed the dirt from his hands and face. The others did the same, sputtering and shivering when the cold water hit them.
Drying his hands on his pants, Evann looked to the north. The Hag’s main camp would be somewhere that direction, he thought. They still had a long distance to go today.
He returned to the encampment, picked up his pack, shrugged it on, and called, “Let’s get moving!”
They struck out across the plain, following game trails. Here and there rose small clumps of trees, islands in an ocean of grass.
Suddenly Evann spotted movement far ahead of them—horses, he thought.
“Down!” Harrach hissed.
Everyone dropped to the ground. Evann raised himself up on his knees to peer ahead.
There were thirty or forty horsemen, all heading in their direction at a gallop. He swallowed. Had they been seen?
“Quickly,” he said, turning to his men, “keep low and follow me.”
Crouching, Evann ran for the nearest cluster of trees, perhaps a hundred fifty yards away. They might be able to hide there, or at least make a stand to defend themselves.
The company didn’t quite reach the trees, though. The pounding of hooves neared, and suddenly the horsemen were circling them.
Drawing his sword, Evann stood. “Form a ring!” he shouted, and his men did so, facing outward, weapons ready.
The leader of the horsemen reigned in. He was a tall man with a dark beard, a large prominent nose, and intense eyes.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Why do you trespass on the Hag’s Domain?”
Evann stepped forward. “I seek a man known as Orin Hawk,” he proclaimed.
“What do you want with him?”
“I have a message for him and him alone.”
“Then you’ve found me,” the man said. “What is this message?”
“I need you to return with me to Grabentod.”
“f fought your people before finding my true destiny here. Why should I return to the homeland of my former enemies?”
Evann paused. He didn’t quite know what to say. He had not expected to so quickly run upon the man, and had no speeches prepared. “Because,” he finally said, “you and only you can bring peace to our land. And, for that matter, peace between Grabentod and Drachenward.”
Hawk laughed bitterly. “Lay down your arms,” he said, “and your lives will be spared … for now.”
“You must know what she’s done to you,” Evann pressed. He looked from Hawk to each of Hawk’s men. “You’re under her spell—you’re all under her spell. Don’t you want to be free? Don’t you want to be men again? Come back with me and—”
Hawk threw back his head and laughed. “Take them!” he cried. Then he spurred his horse toward Evann, raising his sword.
Nineteen
Evann barely had time to raise his sword in defense. He parried Hawk’s savage blow; the force of it jarred him all the way to his shoulder. Evann countered.
Laughing in savage glee, Hawk smashed his blow aside and tried to ride him down.
Rolling, Evann barely managed to avoid being trampled. He came up on his knees, caught his balance, and dodged before Hawk could wheel and charge him again.
Things were not going well. Each of Evann’s men held off two or three fighters; Harrach parried four. Several men suddenly cried out in pain—but whether they were his or Hawk’s, Evann couldn’t say.
Still laughing, Hawk swung from the saddle and advanced on foot. “This is too easy,” he said. “You can do better, can’t you? I’m not even working up a sweat.”
Grim faced, Evann retreated before him. At least he had only one man to battle, he thought. If he could manage to disarm Hawk and force him to surrender—
Hawk rushed him suddenly. Parrying, feinting, parrying again, trying to keep that blur of steel from finding his body, Evann retreated before the savage onslaught. It couldn’t go on much longer, he knew. All he had to do was play for time and let Hawk exhaust himself. If only he could make it to the trees, he thought, he might stand a better chance there—
Suddenly he stumbled over something on the ground behind him. Arms windmilling, he fell backward, landing on his elbows. He’d fallen over Uwe’s body, he realized with dismay, though he couldn’t tell whether the lad still lived.
With a laugh, Hawk gripped his long sword in both hands, set his feet, and gave a huge powerful swing. The force of it knocked Evann’s sword flying. Evann searched frantically for Uwe’s weapon, but couldn’t find it anywhere.
Hawk stepped forward and placed the tip of his sword to Evann’s throat.
“Yield,” he said, serious at last. “No more of your men have to die here.”
“I yield,” Evann said softly.
“Hold, men!” Hawk shouted. “They yield!”
Gradually the sounds of combat ceased. Evann looked around and found only four of his men still standing. He swallowed. A pitiful end to their adventure, indeed, he thought.
Hawk stepped back and offered Evann his hand. Slowly, without accepting it, Evann climbed to his feet. His right arm felt numb from the blow that had knocked his sword away. A sick heaviness filled his chest and stomach.