of her. ‘Sephrenia,’ he greeted her warmly, ‘you’re looking well.’ He took both of her hands in his and kissed her palms in the ritual Styric gesture of greeting.
‘You have been long away, Sir Sparhawk,’ she replied. Her voice was soft and musical and had an odd, lilting quality to it.
‘And will you bless me, little mother?’ he asked, a smile touching his battered face. He knelt before her. The form of address was Styric, reflecting that intimate personal connection between teacher and pupil which had existed since the dawn of time.
‘Gladly’ She lightly touched her hands to his face and spoke a ritual benediction in the Styric tongue.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply.
Then she did something she rarely did. With her hands still holding his face, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him. ‘Welcome home, dear one,’ she murmured.
‘It’s good to be back,’ he replied. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Even though I scolded you when you were a boy?’ she asked with a gentle smile.
‘Scoldings don’t hurt that much.’ He laughed. ‘I even missed those, for some reason.’
‘I think that perhaps we did well with this one, Vanion,’ she said to the preceptor. ‘Between us, we’ve made a good Pandion.’
‘One of the best,’ Vanion agreed. ‘I think Sparhawk’s what they had in mind when they formed the order.’
Sephrenia’s position among the Knights Pandion was a peculiar one She had appeared at the gates of the order’s motherhouse at Demos upon the death of the Styric tutor who had been instructing the novices in what the Styrics referred to as the secrets. She had neither been selected nor summoned, but had simply appeared and taken up her predecessor’s duties. Generally, Elenes despised and feared Styrics. They were a strange, alien people who lived in small, rude clusters of houses deep in the forests and mountains. They worshipped strange Gods and practised magic Wild stories about hideous rites involving the use of Elene blood and flesh had circulated among the more gullible in Elene society for centuries, and periodically mobs of drunken peasants would descend on unsuspecting Styric villages, bent on massacre The Church vigorously denounced such atrocities. The Church Knights, who had come to know and respect their alien tutors, went perhaps a step further than the Church, letting it be generally known that unprovoked attacks on Styric settlements would result in swift and savage retaliation. Despite such organized protection, however, any Styric who entered an Elene village or town could expect taunts and abuse and, not infrequently, showers of stones and offal. Thus, Sephrenia’s appearance at Demos had not been without personal risks. Her motives for coming had been unclear, but over the years she had served faithfully; to a man the Pandions had come to love and respect her. Even Vanion, the preceptor of the order, frequently sought her counsel.
Sparhawk looked at the volume lying on the table before her ‘A book, Sephrenia?’ he said in mock amazement. ‘Has Vanion finally persuaded you to learn how to read?’
‘You know my beliefs about that practice, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I was merely looking at the pictures.’ She pointed at the brilliant illuminations on the page. ‘I was ever fond of bright colours.’
Sparhawk drew up a chair and sat, his armour creaking.
‘You saw Ehlana?’ Vanion asked, resuming his seat across the table.
‘Yes.’ Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. ‘How did you do that?’ he asked her. ‘Seal her up like that, I mean?’
‘It’s a bit complex.’ Then she stopped and gave him a penetrating look. ‘Perhaps you’re ready, at that,’ she murmured. She rose to her feet. ‘Come over here, Sparhawk,’ she said, moving towards the fireplace
Puzzled, he rose and followed her
‘Look into the flames, dear one,’ she said softly, using that odd Styric form of address she had used when he was her pupil.
Compelled by her
‘You have been long away, Sir Sparhawk,’ she replied. Her voice was soft and musical and had an odd, lilting quality to it.
‘And will you bless me, little mother?’ he asked, a smile touching his battered face. He knelt before her. The form of address was Styric, reflecting that intimate personal connection between teacher and pupil which had existed since the dawn of time.
‘Gladly’ She lightly touched her hands to his face and spoke a ritual benediction in the Styric tongue.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply.
Then she did something she rarely did. With her hands still holding his face, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him. ‘Welcome home, dear one,’ she murmured.
‘It’s good to be back,’ he replied. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘Even though I scolded you when you were a boy?’ she asked with a gentle smile.
‘Scoldings don’t hurt that much.’ He laughed. ‘I even missed those, for some reason.’
‘I think that perhaps we did well with this one, Vanion,’ she said to the preceptor. ‘Between us, we’ve made a good Pandion.’
‘One of the best,’ Vanion agreed. ‘I think Sparhawk’s what they had in mind when they formed the order.’
Sephrenia’s position among the Knights Pandion was a peculiar one She had appeared at the gates of the order’s motherhouse at Demos upon the death of the Styric tutor who had been instructing the novices in what the Styrics referred to as the secrets. She had neither been selected nor summoned, but had simply appeared and taken up her predecessor’s duties. Generally, Elenes despised and feared Styrics. They were a strange, alien people who lived in small, rude clusters of houses deep in the forests and mountains. They worshipped strange Gods and practised magic Wild stories about hideous rites involving the use of Elene blood and flesh had circulated among the more gullible in Elene society for centuries, and periodically mobs of drunken peasants would descend on unsuspecting Styric villages, bent on massacre The Church vigorously denounced such atrocities. The Church Knights, who had come to know and respect their alien tutors, went perhaps a step further than the Church, letting it be generally known that unprovoked attacks on Styric settlements would result in swift and savage retaliation. Despite such organized protection, however, any Styric who entered an Elene village or town could expect taunts and abuse and, not infrequently, showers of stones and offal. Thus, Sephrenia’s appearance at Demos had not been without personal risks. Her motives for coming had been unclear, but over the years she had served faithfully; to a man the Pandions had come to love and respect her. Even Vanion, the preceptor of the order, frequently sought her counsel.
Sparhawk looked at the volume lying on the table before her ‘A book, Sephrenia?’ he said in mock amazement. ‘Has Vanion finally persuaded you to learn how to read?’
‘You know my beliefs about that practice, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I was merely looking at the pictures.’ She pointed at the brilliant illuminations on the page. ‘I was ever fond of bright colours.’
Sparhawk drew up a chair and sat, his armour creaking.
‘You saw Ehlana?’ Vanion asked, resuming his seat across the table.
‘Yes.’ Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. ‘How did you do that?’ he asked her. ‘Seal her up like that, I mean?’
‘It’s a bit complex.’ Then she stopped and gave him a penetrating look. ‘Perhaps you’re ready, at that,’ she murmured. She rose to her feet. ‘Come over here, Sparhawk,’ she said, moving towards the fireplace
Puzzled, he rose and followed her
‘Look into the flames, dear one,’ she said softly, using that odd Styric form of address she had used when he was her pupil.
Compelled by her
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