David Eddings - Domes of Fire

‘We used what was necessary, Krager. You don’t have to send out a whole regiment to step on a bug.’

‘You’re so much like Martel was, Sparhawk,’ Krager observed. ‘You two could almost have been brothers. I used to despair of ever nursing him through his adolescence. He was a hopeless innocent when he started out, you know. About all he had was a towering resentment directed primarily at you and Vanion—and at Sephrenia, of course, although to a lesser degree. I had to raise him from virtual infancy. God, the hours I spent patiently grinding away all those knightly virtues.’

‘Reminisce on your own time, Krager. Get to the point. Martel’s history now. This is a new situation, and he’s not around any more.’

‘Just renewing our acquaintance, Sparhawk. You know, “the good old days” and all that. I’ve found a new employer, obviously.’

‘I gathered as much.’

‘When I was working for Martel, I had very little direct contact with Otha and almost none with Azash Himself. That situation might have had an entirely different outcome if I’d had direct access to the Zemoch God. Martel was obsessed with revenge, and Otha was too sunk in his own debauchery for either of them to think clearly. They were giving Azash very poor advice as a result of their own limitations. I could have given him a much more realistic assessment of the situation.’

‘Provided you were ever sober enough to talk.’

‘That’s beneath you, Sparhawk. Oh, I’ll admit that I take a drink now and then, but never so much that I lose sight of the main goals. Actually, it turned out better for me in the long run. If I’d been the one advising Azash, He’d have beaten you. Then I’d have been inextricably involved with Him, and I’d have been destroyed when He confronted Cyrgon—that’s my new employer’s name, by the way. You’ve heard of Him, I suppose?’

‘A few times.’ Sparhawk forced himself to sound casual.

‘Good. That saves us a lot of time. Pay attention now, Sparhawk. We’re getting to the significant part of this little chat. Cyrgon wants you to go home. Your presence here on the Daresian continent is an inconvenience nothing more, really. just an inconvenience. If you had Bhelliom in your pocket, we might take you seriously, but you don’t—and so we don’t. You’re all alone here, my old friend. You don’t have the Bhelliom, and you don’t have the Church Knights. You’ve only got the remnants of Ehlana’s honour guard and a hundred of those mounted apes from Pelosia. You’re hardly worth even noticing. If you go home, Cyrgon will give you His pledge not to move against the Eosian continent for a hundred years. You’ll be long dead by then, and so will everybody you care about. It’s not really a bad offer, you know. You get yourself a hundred years of peace just by getting on a ship and going back to Cimmura.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘We’ll kill you—after we’ve killed your wife and your daughter and everybody else in the whole world you care about. There’s another possibility, of course. You could join us. Cyrgon could see to it that you lived longer than even Otha did. He specifically told me to make you that offer.’

‘Thank Him for me—if you ever see Him again.’

‘You’re declining, I gather?’

‘Obviously. I haven’t seen nearly as much of Daresia as I want to see, so I think I’ll stay for a while, and I’m sure I wouldn’t care for the company of you and Cyrgon’s other hirelings.’

‘I told Cyrgon you’d take that position, but He insisted that I make the offer.’

‘If he’s so all-powerful, why’s He trying to bribe me?’

‘Out of respect, Sparhawk. Can you believe that? He respects you because you’re Anakha. The whole concept baffles Him, and He’s intrigued by it. I honestly believe He’d like to get to know you. You know how childish Gods can be at times.’

‘Speaking of Gods, what’s behind this alliance He’s made with the Troll-Gods?’ Then Sparhawk thought of something. ‘Never mind, Krager, I’ve just worked it out for myself. A God’s power is dependent on the number of worshippers he has. The Cyrgai are extinct, so Cyrgon’s no more than a squeaky little voice making hollow pronouncements in a ruin somewhere in central Cynesga—all noise and no substance.’

‘Someone’s been telling you fairy-tales, Sparhawk. The Cyrgai are far from extinct—as you’ll find out to your sorrow if you stay in Tamuli. Cyrgon made the alliance with the Troll-Gods in order to bring the Trolls to Daresia. Your Atans are very impressive, but they’re no match for Trolls. Cyrgon’s very sentimental about His chosen people. He’d rather not lose them needlessly in skirmishes with a race of freaks, so He made an arrangement with the Troll-Gods. The Trolls will get the pleasure of killing—and eating—the Atans.’ Krager drained the rest of his wine.

‘This is starting to bore me, Sparhawk, and my cup’s gone empty. I told Cyrgon I’d present you with His offer. He’s giving you the chance to live out the rest of your life in peace. I’d advise you to take it. He won’t make the offer again. Really, old boy, why should you care what happens to the Tamuls? They’re nothing but yellow monkeys, after all.’

‘Church policy, Krager. Our Holy Mother takes the long view. Tell Cyrgon to take His offer and stick it up His nose. I’m staying.’

‘It’s your funeral, Sparhawk,’ Krager laughed. ‘I might even send flowers. I’ve had all the entertainment of knowing a pair of anachronisms—you and Martel. I’ll drink to your memories from time to time—if I remember you at all.’ And then the illusion of the shabby scoundrel vanished.

‘So that’s Krager,’ Khalad said in a chill tone. ‘I’m glad I got the chance to meet him.’

‘What exactly have you got in mind, Khalad?’

‘I thought I might kill him just a little bit. Fair’s fair, Sparhawk. You got Martel, Talen got Adus, so Krager’s mine.’

‘Sounds fair to me,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Was he drunk?’ Kalten asked.

‘Krager’s always a little drunk,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘He wasn’t so far gone that he got careless, though.’ He looked around. ‘Would everybody like to say “I told you so” right here and now?’ he asked them. ‘Let’s have it out of the way right at the start, so I don’t have it hanging over my head. Yes, it probably would have been more convenient if I’d killed him the last time I saw him, but if we hadn’t had his testimony to the Hierocracy at the time of the election, Dolmant probably wouldn’t be the Archprelate right now.’

‘I might be able to learn to live with that,’ Ehlana murmured.

‘Be nice,’ Emban told her.

‘Only joking, your Grace.’

‘Are you sure you repeated what he said verbatim?’ Sephrenia asked Sparhawk.

‘It was very close, little mother,’ Khalad assured her.

She frowned. ‘It was contrived. I’m sure you all realise that. Krager didn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know—or could have guessed.’

‘The name Cyrgon hadn’t come up before, Sephrenia,’ Vanion disagreed.

‘And it may very well never come up again,’ she replied. ‘I’d need a lot more than Krager’s unsubstantiated word before I’ll believe that Cyrgon’s involved.’

‘Well, somebody’s involved,’ Tynian noted. ‘Somebody had to be impressive enough to get the attention of the Troll-Gods, and Krager doesn’t quite fit that description.’

‘Not to mention the fact that Krager can’t even pronounce “magic”, much less use it,’ Kalten added. ‘Could just any Styric have cast that spell, little mother?’

Sephrenia shook her head. ‘It’s very difficult,’ she conceded. ‘If it hadn’t been done exactly right, Sparhawk’s sword would have gone right through the real Krager. Sparhawk would have started the thrust in that room up in the tower, and it would have finished up in a room a mile away sliding through Krager’s heart.’