David Eddings - The Shining Ones

‘Will you at least try to make some sense?’

‘She told me that she loves somebody else.’

‘Has she’d come right out and said it in so many words.’

‘Alcan wouldn’t do that.’

‘How did you know it was Alcan?’ The big blond man jumped to his feet. ‘Have you all been laughing at me behind my back? he demanded pugnaciously.

‘Don’t be an ass. We wouldn’t do that. We’ve all been through exactly the same thing. You didn’t invent love, you know.’

‘Everybody knows, though, don’t they?’

‘No. I’m probably the only one—except for Melidere. Not much gets past her. Now what’s all this nonsense about Alcan loving somebody else?’

‘I just put it together myself.’

‘What did you put together? Try to make a little sense.’

‘Didn’t you hear her singing on the day we left?’

‘Of course I did. She has a beautiful voice.’

‘I’m not talking about her voice. I’m talking about the song she was singing. It was “My Bonnie Blue-Eyed Boy.’

‘So?’

‘It’s Berit, Sparhawk. She’s in love with Berit.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I just noticed it when we sat down to supper.’ Kalten buried his face in his hands again. ‘I never paid any attention before, but when I looked into his face while we were talking, I saw it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yourself.’

‘Seen what?’

‘Berit’s got blue eyes.’

Sparhawk stared at him. Then, being careful not to laugh, he said, ‘So do you—when they’re not bloodshot.’

Kalten shook his head stubbornly. ‘His are bluer than mine. I know it’s him. I just know it. God’s punishing me for some of the things I’ve done in the past. He made me fall in love with a girl who loves somebody else. Well, I hope He’s satisfied. If He wants to make me suffer, He’s doing a good job of it.’

‘Will you be serious?’

‘Berit’s younger than I am, Sparhawk, and God knows he’s better looking.’

‘Kalten.’

‘Look at the way every girl who gets to within a hundred yards of him starts to follow him around like a puppy. Even the Atan girls were all falling in love with him.’

‘Kalten.’

‘I know it’s him. I just know it. God’s twisting His knife in my heart. He’s gone and made the one girl I’ll ever feel this way about fall in love with one of my brother-knights.’

‘Kalten.’

Kalten sat up and squared his shoulders. ‘All right, then,’ he said weakly, ‘if that’s the way God wants it, that’s the way it’s going to be. If Berit and Alcan really, really love each other, I won’t stand in their way. I’ll bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut.’

‘Kalten.’

‘But I swear it to you, Sparhawk,’ the blond Pandion said hotly, ‘if he hurts her, I’ll kill him.’

‘Kalten!’ Sparhawk shouted at him.

‘What?’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘Why don’t we go out and get drunk?’ he suggested, giving up entirely.

It was cloudy the following morning. It was a low, dirty-gray cloud-cover which seethed and tattered in the stiff wind aloft. It was one of those peculiar days when the murk raced overhead, streaming in off the gulf lying to the west, but the air at the surface was dead calm.

They set out early and clattered along the narrow, cobbled streets where sleepy-eyed shopkeepers were opening their shutters and setting out their wares. They passed through the city gates and took the road that followed the north coast of the gulf. After they had gone a mile or so, Vanion leaned over in his saddle.

‘How far do we have to go?’ he asked Flute, who nestled, as always, in her sister’s arms.

‘What difference does it make?’ the Child Goddess shrugged.

‘I’d like to know how long it’s going to take.’

‘What does “how far” have to do with “how long?”’

‘They’re the same thing, Aphrael. Time and distance mean the same thing when you’re traveling.’

‘Not if you know what you’re doing, they don’t.’

Sparhawk had always admired Vanion, but never quite so much as in that moment. The silvery-bearded preceptor did not even raise his voice. ‘All I’m really getting at, Divine One, is that nobody knows we’re here. Shouldn’t we keep it that way? I don’t mind a good fight now and then, but would bashing our way through crowds of drunken Edomish peasants serve any real purpose right now?’

‘You always take so long to get to the point, Vanion,’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you just come right out and tell me to speed things up?’

‘I was trying to be polite. I think we’ll all feel much better about this when Sparhawk’s got Bhelliom in his hands again. It’s up to you, though. If you want the road from here to wherever it is you’ve got Bhelliom hidden awash with blood and littered with corpses, we’ll be happy to oblige you.’

‘He’s hateful,’ Aphrael said to her sister.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’

‘You wouldn’t. Sometimes you two are worse than Sparhawk and Ehlana.’

Sparhawk moved in rather quickly at that point. Aphrael was coming very close to saying things which she shouldn’t be saying in the presence of the others.

‘Shall we move right along?’ he suggested quite firmly. ‘Vanion’s right, Aphrael, and you know he is. If Rebal finds out that we’re here, we’ll have to wade through his people by the score.’

‘All right,’ she gave in quite suddenly.

‘That was quick,’ Talen said to Khalad. ‘I thought she was going to be stubborn about it.’

‘No, Talen,’ she smirked. ‘Actually, I’m sort of looking forward to hearing that vast cry of chagrin that’s going to echo from every mountain in Daresia when our enemies hear the sound of Anakha’s fist closing around Bhelliom again. Just lean back in your saddles, gentlemen, and leave the rest to me.’

Sparhawk awoke with a start. They were riding along the brink of a windswept cliff with an angry sea ripping itself to tattered froth on the rocks far below. Sephrenia rode in the lead, and she held Flute enfolded in her arms. The others trailed along behind, their cloaks drawn tightly around them and wooden expressions of endurance on their faces. The wind had risen, and it pushed at them and tugged at their cloaks. There were some significant impossibilities involved here, but Sparhawk’s mind seemed somehow numb to them. Normally, Vanion rode protectively close to Sephrenia, but Vanion didn’t seem to be with them now.

Tynian, however, was. Sparhawk knew with absolute certainty that Tynian was a thousand leagues and more away, but there he was, his broad face as wooden as the faces of the others and his right shoulder as functional as ever. Sparhawk did not turn round. He knew that another impossibility was riding behind him.

Their horses plodded up the winding trail that followed the edge of the long, ascending cliff toward a rocky promontory which thrust a crooked, stony finger out into the sea. At the outermost tip of the promontory stood a gnarled and twisted tree, its streaming branches flailing in the wind. When she reached the tree, Sephrenia reined in. Kurik walked forward to lift Flute down. Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of bitter resentment. He knew about Aphrael’s need for symmetry, but this went too far.

Kurik set Aphrael down on her feet, and when he straightened, he looked Sparhawk full in the face. Sparhawk’s squire was unchanged. His features were rugged, and his black beard, touched with silver, was as coarse as ever. His bare shoulders were bulky, and his wrists were enclosed in steel cuffs. Without so much as changing expression, he winked at his lord.

‘Very well, then,’ Flute said to them in a crisp voice, ‘let’s get on with this before too many more of my cousins change their minds. I had to talk very fast and even throw a few tantrums to get them to agree, and many of them still have grave doubts about the whole notion.’