‘I’m truly sorry about this, your Majesty,’ Zalasta apologized to Ehlana. ‘My attention’s been diverted for the past week or so. Evidently I didn’t make my wishes clear to the Cyrgai. Please excuse me for a moment, and I’ll correct that oversight.’ He turned back to Ekatas. ‘I told you to do something,’ he said in a dreadful voice. ‘Why haven’t you started?’
‘Come out of there, Zalasta, or I’ll lock you in with them.’
‘Oh, really?’ Zalasta said with a thin smile. ‘I thought you had better sense. I don’t have time for this, Ekatas. Get this room cleaned up. I have to take our guests to the Temple again.’
‘I’ve received no such instructions.
‘Why should you have?’
‘Cyrgon speaks through me.’
‘Precisely. The instructions didn’t come from Cyrgon.
‘Cyrgon is God here.’
‘Not any more, he isn’t.’ Zalasta gave him an almost pitying look. ‘You didn’t even feel it, did you, Ekatas? The world heaved and convulsed all around you, and you didn’t even notice. How can you possibly be so dense? Cyrgon has been supplanted. Klael rules in Cyrga now—and I speak for Klael.’
‘That’s not possible. You’re lying!’
Zalasta walked out of the cell and took hold of the front of the High Priest’s robe. ‘Look at me, Ekatas,’ he commanded. ‘Take a long, hard look, and then tell me that I’m lying.’
Ekatas struggled momentarily, and then, unable to help himself, he looked into Zalasta’s eyes. The blood slowly drained from his face, and then he screamed. He screamed again, trying to tear himself free from the Styric’s iron grasp. ‘I beg of you!’ he cried out in a voice filled with horror, ‘no more. No more!’ Then he sagged, covering his eyes with his hands.’
Zalasta contemptuously let go of the front of his black robe, and he fell to the floor, weeping uncontrollably.
‘Now do you understand?’ Zalasta asked him, almost gently. ‘Cyzada and I tried to warn you and your petty godling about the dangers involved in summoning Klael, but you wouldn’t listen. Cyrgon wanted to enslave Bhelliom, and now he’s the slave of Bhelliom’s opposite. And, since I speak for Klael, I guess that makes you my slave.’ He prodded the weeping priest with one foot. ‘Get up, Ekatas! Get on your feet when your master speaks!’
The grovelling priest scrambled to his feet, his tear-streaked face still filled with unspeakable horror.
‘Say it, Ekatas,’ Zalasta said in a cruel voice. ‘I want to hear you say it—or would you like to witness the death of another star?’
‘M-M-Master,’ the High Priest choked.
‘Again—a little louder, if you don’t mind.’
‘Master!’ It came out almost as a shriek.
‘Much better, Ekatas. Now wake up those lazy cretins in the guardroom and put them to work cleaning this cell. We have preparations to make when I come back from the temple. Anakha’s bringing Bhelliom to Cyrga, and we’ll want to be ready when he arrives.’ He turned. ‘Bring your maid, Ehlana. Klael wants to look at you.’ Zalasta paused, looking at her critically. ‘I know that we’ve treated you badly,’ he half-apologized, ‘but don’t let our bad manners break your spirit. Remember who you are and draw that about you. Klael respects power and those who wield it.’
‘What do I say to him?’
‘Nothing. He’ll find out what he wants to know just by looking at you. He doesn’t understand your husband, and looking at you will give him some hints about Anakha’s nature. Anakha’s the unknown element in this business. He always has been, I suppose. Klael understands Bhelliom. It’s Bhelliom’s creature who baffles him.’
‘You’ve changed, Zalasta.’
‘I suppose I have,’ he admitted. ‘I have a feeling that I won’t live much longer. Klael’s touch does peculiar things to people. We’d better not keep him waiting.’ He looked at Ekatas, who stood trembling violently. ‘I want this room clean when we come back.’
‘I’ll see to it, Master,’ Ekatas promised in a grotesquely servile tone.
‘How do you find them again?’ Itagne asked curiously. ‘What I’m trying to get at is that the Trolls are in this “No-Time”, but you and Tynian had to come out into real time in order to enter Sama, so time started moving for you. How do you get back to the moment where you left the Trolls?’
‘Please don’t ask metaphysical questions, Itagne,’ Ulath replied with a pained expression. ‘We just go back to the spot where we left the Trolls, and there they are. We deal with “where” and let the Troll-Gods deal with “when”. They seem to be able to jump around in time without paying much attention to the rules.’
‘Where are the Trolls right now?’
‘Just outside of town,’ Tynian replied. ‘We didn’t think it was a good idea to bring them into Sama with us. They’re starting to get a little out of hand.’
‘Is it something we should know about, Tynian-Knight?’ Engessa asked.
Ulath leaned back in his chair. ‘Cyrgon disrupted Trollish behavior rather profoundly when he went to Thalesia and posed as Ghworg,’ he explained somberly. ‘Zalasta told him about the Trolls, but Cyrgon’s been a little out of touch, so he mistook the Trolls for the Dawn-Men. The Dawn-Men were herd-animals, but the Trolls run in packs. Herd-animals will accept any member of their species, but pack-animals are a little more selective. It’s to our advantage right now to have the Trolls behave like a herd. At least we can keep them all going in the same direction, but some problems are starting to crop up. The packs are beginning to separate, and there’s a great deal of snapping and snarling going on.’
Tynian glanced at Queen Betuana, who, gowned all in black, was sitting somewhat apart from them. He motioned Engessa slightly to one side. ‘Is she all right?’ he asked very quietly.
‘Betuana-Queen is in ritual mourning,’ Engessa replied, also in half-whisper. ‘The loss of her husband has touched her very deeply.’
‘Were they really that close?’
‘It did not seem so,’ Engessa admitted. His eyes were troubled as he looked at his melancholy queen. ‘The mourning-ritual is seldom observed now. I am keeping careful watch over her. She must not be allowed to do herself injury.’ Engessa’s shoulder-muscles bunched.
Tynian was startled. ‘Is there any real danger of that?’
‘It was not uncommon a few centuries ago,’ Engessa replied.
‘We’d been expecting you earlier,’ Itagne was saying to Ulath. ‘As I understand it, “No-Time” means that the Trolls can go from one place to another almost instantaneously.’
‘Not quite instantaneously, Itagne. We’ve been a week or so getting here from the Tamul Mountains. We have to stop and go back into real time every so often so that they can hunt. Hungry Trolls aren’t the best of travelling companions. What’s been happening? We can’t make contact with Aphrael when we’re in No-Time.’
‘Sparhawk’s found some clues about the location of Cyrga,’ Itagne replied. ‘They aren’t too precise, but he’s going to take a chance and try to follow them.’
‘How’s Patriarch Bergsten coming?’
‘He’s captured Cynestra. Had it handed to him on a plate, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘Do you remember Atana Maris?’
‘The pretty girl who commanded the garrison in Cynestra? The one who was so fond of you?’
Itagne smiled. ‘That’s the one. She’s an abrupt sort of girl, and I’m quite fond of her, and when she saw Bergsten and the Church Knights approaching, she decided to present him with the city. She swept the streets clean of Cynesgan troops and opened the gates for Bergsten. She was going to give him King Jaluah’s head as well, but he persuaded her not to.’
‘Pity,’ Ulath murmured, ‘but that’s the sort of thing you have to expect when a good man gets religion.’
‘Vanion’s in place,’ Itagne continued, ‘and he and Kring are establishing strongholds about a day’s ride out into Cynesga. We’re going to do the same here, but we thought we’d wait until you arrived first.’