David Eddings - Ellenium 3 - The Saphire Rose

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The Saphire Rose

David Eddings

The Ellenium

book 3

Finally the knight Sparhawk had come to possess Bhelliom, the

legendary jewel of magic. With it, he frees Queen Ehlana from the

crystalline cocoon that preserves her life, but Bhelliom carries

dangers of its own. And now Sparhawk is being stalked by a dark

lurking menace that is only the beginning of his troubles....

Prologue

Otha and Azash - Excerpted from A Cursory History of

Zemoch. Compiled by the History Department of the

University of Borrata.

Following the invasion of the Elenic-speaking peoples

from the steppes of central Daresia lying to the east, the

Elenes gradually migrated westward to displace the thinly

scattered Styrics who inhabited the Eosian continent.

The tribes which settled in 'Zemoch were latecomers,

and they were far less advanced than their cousins to

the west. Their economy and social organization were

simplistic, and their towns rude by comparison with the

cities which were springing up in the emerging western

kingdoms. The climate of Zemoch, moreover, was at

best inhospitable, and life there existed at the subsistence

level. The Church found little to attract her attention to so

poor and unpleasant a region, and as a result, the rough

chapels of Zemoch became largely unpastored and their

simple congregations untended. Thus the Zemochs were

obliged to take their religious impulses elsewhere. Since

there were few Elene priests in the region to enforce the

Church ban on consorting with the heathen Styrics, fraternization

became common. As the simple Elene peasantry

perceived that their Styric neighbours were able to reap

significant benefits from the use of the arcane arts, it

is perhaps only natural that apostasy became rampant.

Whole Elenic villages in Zemoch were converted to Styric

pantheism. Temples were openly erected in honour of this

or that topical God, and the darker Styric cults flourished.

Intermarriage between Elene and Styric became common,

and by the end of the first millennium, Zemoch could no

longer have been considered in any light to be a true Elenic

nation. The centuries and the close contact with the Styrics

had even so far corrupted the Elenic language in Zemoch

that it was scarcely intelligible to western Elenes.

It was in the eleventh century that a youthful goatherd

in the mountain village of Ganda in central Zemoch had

a strange and ultimately earth-shaking experience. While

searching in the hills for a straying goat, the lad, Otha by

name, came across a hidden, vine-covered shrine which

had been erected in antiquity by one of the numerous

Styric cults. The shrine had been raised to a weathered

idol which was at once grotesquely distorted and at the

same time oddly compelling. As Otha rested from the

rigours of his climb, he heard a hollow voice address

him in the Styric tongue. 'Who art thou, boy?' the voice

inquired.

'My name is Otha,' the lad replied haltingly, trying to

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remember his Styric.

'And hast thou come to this place to pay obeisance to

me, to fall down and worship me?'

'No,' Otha answered with uncharacteristic truthfulness.

"What I'm really doing is trying to find one of my goats.'

There was a long pause. Then the hollow, chilling voice

continued. "And what must I give thee to wring from thee

thine obeisance and thy worship? None of thy kind hath

attended my shrine for five thousand years, and I hunger

for worship - and for souls.'

Otha was certain at this point that the voice was that

of one of his fellow herders playing a prank on him,

and he determined to turn the joke around. "Oh,' he

said in an offhand manner, 'I'd like to be the king

of the world, to live forever, to have a thousand ripe

young girls willing to do whatever I wanted them to

do, and a mountain of gold - and, oh yes, I want my

goat back.'

"And wilt thou give me thy soul in exchange for these

things?'

Otha considered it. He had been scarcely aware of the

fact that he had a soul, and so its loss would hardly

inconvenience him. He reasoned, moreover, that if this

were not, in fact, some juvenile goatherd prank, and if

the offer were serious, failure to deliver even one of his

impossible demands would invalidate the contract. 'Oh, all

right,' he agreed with an indifferent shrug, '- but first I'd

like to see my goat - just as an indication of good faith.'

'Turn thee around then, Otha,' the voice commanded,

"and behold that which was lost.'

Otha turned, and sure enough, there stood the missing

goat, idly chewing on a bush and looking curiously at him.

Quickly he tethered her to the bush. At heart, Otha was

a moderately vicious lad. He enjoyed inflicting pain on

helpless creatures. He was given to cruel practical jokes,

to petty theft, and, whenever it was safe, to a form of

seduction of lonely shepherdesses that had only directness

to commend it. He was avaricious and slovenly, and he had

a grossly overestimated opinion of his own cleverness. His

mind worked very fast as he tied his goat to the bush.

If this obscure Styric divinity could deliver a lost goat

upon demand, what else might He be capable of? Otha

decided that this might very well be the opportunity of a

lifetime. 'All right,' he said, feigning simple-mindedness,

'one prayer - for now - in exchange for the goat. We can

talk about souls and empires and wealth and immortality

and women later. Show yourself. I'm not going to bow

down to empty air. What's your name, by the way? I'll

need to know that in order to frame a proper prayer.'

'I am Azash, most powerful of the Elder Gods, and if

thou wilt be my servant and lead others to worship me,

I will grant thee far more than thou hast asked. I will

exalt thee and give thee wealth beyond thine imagining.

The fairest of maidens shall be thine. Thou shalt have life

unending, and, moreover, power over the spirit world such

as no man hath ever had. All I ask in return, Otha, is thy

soul and the souls of those others thou wilt bring to me.

My need and my loneliness are great, and my rewards unto

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thee shall be equally great. Look upon my face now, and

tremble before me.'

There was a shimmering in the air surrounding the crude

idol, and Otha saw the reality of Azash hovering about

the roughly-carved image. He shrank in horror before the

awful presence which had so suddenly appeared before

him and fell to the ground, abasing himself before it. This

was going much too far. At heart, Otha was a coward,

however, and he was afraid that the most rational response

to the materialized Azash - instant flight - might provoke

the hideous God into doing nasty things to him, and Otha

was extremely solicitous of his own skin.

cPray, Otha,' the idol gloated. "Mine ears hunger for

thine adoration.'

'Oh, mighty - um - Azash, wasn't it? God of Gods and

Lord of the World, hear my prayer and receive my humble

worship. I am as the dust before thee, and thou towerest

above me like the mountain. I worship thee and praise

thee and thank thee from the depths of my heart for the

return of this miserable goat - which I will beat senseless

for straying just as soon as I get her home.' Trembling,

Otha hoped that the prayer might satisfy Azash - or at

least distract Him enough to provide him an opportunity

for escape.

'Thy prayer is adequate, Otha,' the idol acknowledged, 'barely.

In time thou wilt become more proficient

in thine adoration. Go now thy way, and I

will savour this rude prayer of thine. Return again

On the morrow, and I will disclose my mind further

unto thee.'

As he trudged home with his goat, Otha vowed never

to return, but that night he tossed on his rude pallet in

the filthy hut where he lived, and his mind was afire

with visions of wealth and subservient young women

upon whom he could vent his lust. 'Let's see where

this goes,' he muttered to himself as the dawn marked

the end of the troubled night. "If I have to, I can always

run away later. '

And that began the discipleship of a simple Zemoch

goatherd to the Elder God, Azash, a God whose name

Otha's Styric neighbours would not even utter, so great

was their fear of Him. In the centuries which followed,

Otha realized how profound' was his enslavement. Azash

patiently led him through simple worship into the practice

of perverted rites and beyond into the realms of spiritual

abomination. The formerly ingenuous and only moderately

disgusting goatherd became morose and sombre as

the dreaded idol fed gluttonously upon his mind and

soul. Though he lived a half-dozen lifetimes, his limbs

withered, while his paunch and head grew bloated and

hairless and pallid-white as a result of his abhorrence of

the sun. He grew vastly wealthy, but took no pleasure in his

wealth. He had eager concubines by the score, but he was

indifferent to their charms. A thousand, thousand wraiths

and imps and creatures of ultimate darkness responded

to his slightest whim, but he could not even summon

sufficient interest to command them. His only joy became

the contemplation of pain and death as his minions cruelly

wrenched and tore the lives of the weak and helpless

from their quivering bodies for his entertainment. In that

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respect, Otha had not changed.

During the early years of the third millennium, after

the slug-like Otha had passed his nine hundredth year,

he commanded his infernal underlings to- carry the rude

shrine of Azash to the city of Zemoch in the northeast

highlands. An enormous semblance of the hideous God

was constructed to enclose the shrine, and a vast temple

erected about it. Beside that temple and connected to it by

a labyrinthine series of passageways stood his own palace,

gilt with fine, hammered gold and inlaid with pearl and

onyx and chalcedony and with its columns surmounted

with intricately-carved capitals of ruby and emerald.

There he indifferently proclaimed himself Emperor of all

Zemoch, a proclamation seconded by the thunderous but

somehow mocking voice of Azash booming hollowly from

the temple and cheered by multitudes of howling fiends.

There began then a ghastly reign of terror in Zemoch.

All opposing cults were ruthlessly extirpated. Sacrifices

of the newborn and virgins numbered in the thousands,

and Elene and Styric alike were converted by the sword

to the worship of Azash. It took perhaps a century for

Otha and his henchmen to totally eradicate all traces

of decency from his enslaved subjects. Blood-lust and

rampant cruelty became common, and the rites performed

before the altars and shrines erected to Azash became

increasingly degenerate and obscene.

In the twenty-fifth century, Otha deemed that all was in

readiness to pursue the ultimate goal of his perverted God,

and he massed his human armies and their dark allies upon

the western borders of Zemoch. After a brief pause, while

he and Azash gathered their strength, Otha struck, sending

his forces down onto the plains of Pelosia, Lamorkand and

Cammoria. The horror of that invasion cannot be fully

described. Simple atrocity was not sufficient to slake the

savagery of the Zemoch horde, and the gross cruelties of

the inhumans who accompanied the inv' ading army are too

hideous to be mentioned. Mountains of human heads were

erected, captives were roasted alive and then eaten, and

the roads and highways were lined with occupied crosses,

gibbets and stakes. The skies grew black with flocks of

vultures and ravens and the air reeked with the stench of

burned and rotting flesh.

Otha's armies moved with confidence towards the

battlefield, fully believing that their hellish allies could

easily overcome any resistance, but they had reckoned

without the power of the Knights of the Church. The great

battle was joined on the plains of Lamorkand just to the

south of Lake Randera. The purely physical struggle was

titanic enough, but the supernatural battle on that plain

was even more stupendous. Every conceivable form of

spirit joined in the fray. Waves of total darkness and

sheets of multicoloured light swept the field. Fire and

lightning rained from the sky. Whole battalions were

swallowed up by the earth or burned to ashes in sudden

flame. The shattering crash of thunder rolled perpetually

from horizon to horizon, and the ground itself was torn

by earthquake and the eruption of searing liquid rock

which poured down slopes to engulf advancing legions.

For days the armies were locked in dreadful battle upon

that bloody field before, step by step, the Zemochs were

pushed back. The horrors which Otha hurled into the fray

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were overmatched one by one by the concerted power of

the Church Knights, and for the first time the Zemochs

tasted defeat. Their slow, grudging retreat became more

rapid, eventually turning into a rout as the demoralized

horde broke and ran towards the dubious safety of the

border.

The victory of the Elenes was complete, but not without

dreadful cost. Fully half of the Militant Knights lay slain

upon the battlefield, and the armies of the Elene Kings

numbered their dead by the scores of thousands. The

victory was theirs, but they were too exhausted and too

few to pursue the fleeing Zemochs past the border.

The bloated Otha, his withered limbs no longer even

able to bear his weight, was borne on a litter through

the labyrinth at Zemoch to the temple, there to face the

wrath of Azash. He grovelled before the idol of his God,

blubbering and begging for mercy.

And at long last Azash spoke. 'One last time, Otha)'

the God said in a horribly quiet voice. 'Once only will I

relent. I will possess Bhelliom, and thou wilt obtain it for

me and deliver it up to me here, for if thou dost not do

this thing, my generosity unto thee shall vanish. If gifts do

not encourage thee to bend to my will, perhaps torment

will. Go Otha. Find Bhelliom for me and return with it

here that I may be unchained and my maleness restored.

Shouldst thou fail me, surely wilt thou die, and thy dying

shall consume a million, million years.

Otha fled, and thus, even in the ruins and tatters of his

defeat was born his last assault upon the Elene kingdoms

of the west, an assault which was to bring the world to the

brink of universal disaster.

PART ONE

The Basilica

*Chapter 1

The waterfall dropped endlessly into the chasm that had

claimed Ghwerig, and the echo of its plunge filled the

cavern with a deep-toned sound like the after-shimmer of

some great bell. Sparhawk knelt at the edge of the abyss

with the Bhelliom held tightly in his fist. Thought had been

erased, and he could only kneel at the brink of the chasm,

his eyes dazzled by the light of the sun-touched column of

water falling into the depths from the surface above and

his ears full of its sound.

The cave smelled damp. The mist-like spray from

the waterfall bedewed the rocks, and the wet stones

shimmered in the shifting light of the torrent to mingle

with the last fading glimmerings of Aphrael's incandescent

ascension.

Sparhawk slowly lowered his eyes to look at the jewel

he held in his fist. Though it appeared delicate, even

fragile, he sensed that the Sapphire Rose was all but

indestructible. From deep within its azure heart there

came a kind of pulsating glow, deep blue at the tips of

the petals and darkening down at the gem's centre to a

lambent midnight. Its power made his hand ache, and

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something deep in his mind shrieked warnings at him as

he gazed into its depths. He shuddered and tore his eyes

from its seductive glow.

The hard-bitten Pandion Knight looked around, irrationally

trying to cling to the fading bits of light lingering

in the stones of the Troll-Dwarf's cave as if the ChildGoddess

Aphrael could somehow protect him from the

jewel he had laboured so long to gain and which he now

strangely feared. There was more to it than that, though.

At some level below thought Sparhawk wanted to hold that

faint light forever, to keep the spirit if not the person of the

tiny, whimsical divinity in his heart.

Sephrenia sighed and slowly rose to her feet. Her face

was weary and at the same time exalted. She had struggled

hard to reach this damp cave in the mountains of Thalesia,

but she had been rewarded with that joyful moment of

epiphany when she had looked full into the face of her

Goddess. "We must leave this place now, dear ones,' she

said sadly.

"Can't we stay a few minutes longer?' Kurik asked her

with an uncharacteristic longing in his voice. Of all the

men in the world, Kurik was the most prosaic - most of

the time.

'it's better that we don't. If we stay too long, we'll

start finding excuses to stay longer. In time, we may

not want to leave at all.' The small, white-robed Styric

looked at Bhelliom with revulsion. "Please get it out of

sight, Sparhawk, and command it to be still. Its presence

contaminates us all.' She shifted the sword the ghost of Sir

Gared had delivered to her aboard Captain Sorgi's ship.

She muttered in Styric for a moment and then released

the spell that ignited the tip of the sword with a brilliant

glow to light their way back to the surface.

Sparhawk tucked the flower gem inside his tunic and

bent to pick up the spear of King Aldreas. His chain-mail

shirt smelled very foul to him just now, and his skin

cringed away from its touch. He wished that he could

rid himself of it.

Kurik stooped and lifted the iron-bound stone club the

hideously malformed Troll-Dwarf had wielded against

them before his fatal plunge into the chasm. He hefted

the brutal weapon a couple of times and then indifferently

tossed it into the abyss after its owner.

Sephrenia lifted the glowing sword over her head,

and the three of them crossed the gem-littered floor

of Ghwerig's treasure cave towards the entrance of the

spiralling gallery that led to the surface.

'Do you think we'll ever see her again?' Kurik asked

wistfully as they entered the gallery.

'Aphrael? It's hard to say. She's always been a little

unpredictable.' Sephrenia's voice was subdued.

They climbed in silence for a time, following the spiral

of the gallery steadily to the left. Sparhawk felt a strange

emptiness as they climbed. They had been four when

they had descended, now they were only three. The

Child-Goddess, however, had not been left behind, for

they all carried her in their hearts. There was something

else bothering him, though. 'is there any way we can seal

up this cave once we get outside?' he asked his tutor.

Sephrenia looked at him, her eyes intent. "We can if you

wish, dear one, but why do you want to?'

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"it's a little hard to put into words.'

'We've got what we came for, Sparhawk. Why should

you care if some swineherd stumbles across the cave

now?'

'I'm not entirely sure.' He frowned, trying to pinpoint it.

"if some Thalesian peasant comes in here, he'll eventually

find Ghwerig's treasure-hoard, won't he?'

.if he looks long enough, yes.'

'And after that it won't be long before the cave's

swarming with other Thalesians.'

"Why should that bother you? Do you want Ghwerig's

treasure for yourself?'

'Hardly. Martel's the greedy one, not me.'

'Then why are you so concerned? What does it matter

if the Thalesians start wandering around in here?'

'This is a very special place, Sephrenia.'

'in what way?'

"it's holy,' he replied shortly. Her probing had begun

to irritate him. 'A Goddess revealed herself to us here.

I don't want the cave profaned by a crowd of drunken,

greedy treasure-hunters. I'd feel the same way if someone

profaned an Elene Church.'

"Dear Sparhawk,' she said, impulsively embracing him.

'Did it really cost you all that much to admit Aphrael's

divinity?'

"Your Goddess was very convincing, Sephrenia,' he

replied wryly. "She'd have shaken the certainty of the

Hierocracy of the Elene Church itself. Can we do it? Seal

the cave, I mean?'

She started to say something, then stopped, frowning.

"Wait here,' she told them. She leaned Sir Gared's sword

point up against the wall of the gallery and walked back

down the passage a little way, and then stopped again at

the very edge of the light from the glowing sword-tip where

she stood deep in thought. After a time, she returned.

'I'm going to ask you to do something dangerous,

Sparhawk,' she said gravely. "I think you'll be safe though.

The memory of Aphrael is still strong in your mind, and

that should protect you.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'We're going to use Bhelliom to seal the cave. There

are other ways we could do it, but we have to be sure

that the jewel will accept your authority. I think it will

but let's make certain. You're going to have to be strong,

Sparhawk. Bhelliom won't want to do what you ask, sO

you'll have to compel it.'

'I've dealt with stubborn things before,' he shrugged.

"Don't make light of this, Sparhawk. It's something far

more elemental than anything I've ever done before. Let's

move on.'

They continued upward along the spiralling passageway

with the muted roar of the waterfall in Ghwerig's

treasure-cave growing fainter and fainter. Then, just as

they moved beyond the range of hearing, the sound

seemed to change, fragmenting its one endless note

into many, becoming a complex chord rather than a

single tone - some trick perhaps of the shifting echoes

in the cave. With the change of that sound, Sparhawk's

mood also changed. Before, there had been a kind of

weary satisfaction at having finally achieved a long-sought

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goal coupled with the sense of awe at the revelation of

the Child-Goddess. Now, however, the dark, musty cave

seemed somehow ominous, threatening. Sparhawk felt

something he had not felt since early childhood. He

was suddenly afraid of the dark. Things seemed to

lurk in the shadows beyond the circle of light from

the glowing sword-tip, faceless things filled with a cruel

malevolence. He nervously looked back over his shoulder.

Far back, beyond the light, something seemed to move.

It was brief, no more than a flicker of a deeper, more

intense darkness. He discovered that when he tried

to look directly at it, he could no longer see it, but

when he looked off to one side, it was there - vague,

unformed and hovering on the very edge of his vision.

It filled him with an unnamed dread. 'Foolishness,

he muttered, and moved on, eager to reach the light

above them.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached the surface,

and the sun seemed very bright after the dark cave.

Sparhawk drew in a deep breath and reached inside

his tunic.

'Not yet, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia advised. 'We want to

collapse the ceiling of the cave, but we don't want to

bring that overhanging cliff down on our heads at the

same time. We'll go back down to where the horses are

and do it from there.'

'You'll have to teach me the spell,' he said as the three

of them crossed the bramble-choked basin in front of the

cave mouth.

"There isn't any spell. You have the jewel and the rings.

All you have to do is give the command. I'll show you how

when we get down.'

They clambered down the rocky ravine to the grassy

plateau and their previous night's encampment. It was

nearly sunset when they reached the pair of tents and

the picketed horses. Faran laid his ears back and bared

his teeth as Sparhawk approached him.

"What's your problem?' Sparhawk asked his evil

tempered warhorse.

'He senses Bhelliom,' Sephrenia explained. "He doesn't

like it. Stay away from him for a while.' She looked

critically up the gap from which they had just emerged. 'it's

safe enough here,' she decided. 'Take out Bhelliom and

hold it in both hands so that the rings are touching it.'

'Do I have to face the cave?'

'No. Bhelliom will know what you're telling it to do.

Now, remember the inside of the cave - the look of it, the

feel, and even the smell. Then imagine the roof collapsing.

The rocks will tumble down and bounce and roll and pile

up on top of each other. There'll be a lot of noise. A great

cloud of dust and a strong wind will come rushing out of

the cave mouth. The ridge-line above the cave will sag as

the roof of the cavern collapses, and there'll probably be

avalanches. Don't let any of that distract you. Keep the

images firmly in your mind.'

"it's a bit more complicated than an ordinary spell,

isn't it?'

'Yes. This is not, strictly speaking, a spell, though. You'll

be unleashing elemental magic. Concentrate, Sparhawk.

The more detailed you make the image, the more powerfully

Bhelliom will respond. When you've got it firmly in

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your mind, tell the jewel to make it happen.'

'Do I have to speak to it in Ghwerig's language?

'I'm not sure. Try Elene first. If that doesn't work, we'll

fall back on Troll.'

Sparhawk remembered the mouth of the cave, the

antechamber just inside, and the long, spiralling gallery

leading down to Ghwerig's treasure-cave. "Should I bring

down the roof on that waterfall as well?' he asked.

"I don't think so. That river might come to the surface

again somewhere downstream. If you dam it up, someone

might notice that it's not running any more and start investigating.

Besides, that particular cavern is very special,

isn't it?'

'Yes, it is.'

'Let's enclose it then and protect it forever.'

Sparhawk pictured the ceiling of the cave collapsing with

a huge, grinding roar and a billowing cloud of rock dust.

'What do I say?' he asked.

"Call it "Blue-Rose". That's what Ghwerig called it. It

might recognize the name.'

"Blue-Rose,' Sparhawk said in a tone of command,

'make the cave fall in.'

The Sapphire Rose went very dark, and angry red

flashes appeared deep in its centre.

'it's fighting you,' Sephrenia said. "This is the part I

warned you about. The cave is the place where it was born,

and it doesn't want to destroy it. Force it, Sparhawk.'

'Do it, Blue-Rose!' Sparhawk barked, bending every

ounce of his will on the jewel in his hands. Then he felt

a surge of incredible power, and the sapphire seemed to

throb in his hands. He felt a sudden wild exaltation as he

' unloosed the might of the stone. It was far beyond mere

satisfaction. It verged almost on physical ecstasy.

There was a low, sullen rumbling from deep in the

ground, and the earth shuddered. Rocks deep beneath

them began to pop and crack as the earthquake shattered

layer upon layer of subterranean rock.-Far up the ravine,

the rock face looming over the mouth of Ghwerig's cave

began to topple outward, then dropped straight down into

the weedy basin as its base crumbled out from under it.

The sound of the collapsing cliff was very loud even at

this distance, and a vast cloud of dust boiled up from

the rubble and then drifted off to the northeast as the

prevailing wind that raked these mountains swept it away.

Then, even as it had in the cave, something flickered at

the edge of Sparhawk's vision - something dark and filled

with malevolent curiosity.

"How do you feel?' Sephrenia asked, her eyes intent.

'A little strange,' he admitted, 'very strong for some

reason.

"Keep your mind away from that. Concentrate on

Aphrael instead. Don't even think about Bhelliom until

that feeling wears off. Get it out of sight again. Don't

look at it. '

Sparhawk tucked the sapphire back inside his tunic.

Kurik looked up the ravine towards the huge pile of

rubble now filling the basin which had lain before the

mouth of Ghwerig's cave. 'That all seems so final,' he

said regretfully.

'it is,' Sephrenia told him. "The cavern's safe now. Let's

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keep our minds on other things, gentlemen. Don't dwell on

what we've just done, or we might be tempted to undo it.'

Kurik squared his heavy shoulders and looked around.

'I'll get a fire going,' he said. He walked back towards the

mouth of the ravine to gather firewood while Sparhawk

rummaged through the packs for cooking utensils and

something suitable for supper. After they had eaten, they

sat around the fire, their faces subdued.

'What was it like, Sparhawk?' Kurik asked, 'using

Bhelliom, I mean?' He glanced at Sephrenia. "Is it all

right to talk about it now?'

"We'll see. Go ahead, Sparhawk. Tell him.'

"It was like nothing else I've ever experienced,' the big

knight replied. "I suddenly felt as if I were a hundred feet

tall and that there was nothing in the world I couldn't do.

I even caught myself looking around for something else to

use it for - a mountain to tear down, maybe.'

'Sparhawk! Stop!' Sephrenia told him sharply. "Bhelliom's

tampering with your thoughts. It's trying to lure you into

using it. Each time you do, its hold on you grows stronger.

Think about something else.'

'Like Aphrael?' Kurik suggested, 'or is she dangerous

too?'

Sephrenia smiled. 'Oh yes, very' dangerous. She'll

capture your soul even faster than Bhelliom will."

'Your warning's a little late, Sephrenia. I think she

already has. I miss her, you know.'

"You needn't. She's still with us.

He looked around. "Where?'

"in spirit, Kurik.'

'That's not exactly the same.'

'Let's do something about Bhelliom now,' she said

thoughtfully. 'its grip is even more powerful than I'd

imagined.' She rose and went to the small pack that

contained her personal belongings. She rummaged around

in it and took out a canvas pouch, a large needle and a

hank of red yarn. She took up the pouch and began to

stitch a crimson design on it, a peculiarly asymmetrical

design. Her face was intent in the ruddy firelight, and her

lips moved constantly as she worked.

"it doesn't match, little mother,' Sparhawk pointed out.

'That side's different from the other. '

'it's supposed to be. Please don't talk to me just now,

Sparhawk. I'm trying to concentrate.' She continued her

sewing for a time, then pinned her needle into her sleeve

and held the pouch out to the fire. She spoke intently in

Styric, and the fire rose and fell, dancing rhythmically to

her words. Then the flame suddenly billowed out as if

trying to fill the pouch. 'Now, Sparhawk,' she said, holding

the pouch open. "Put Bhelliom in here. Be very firm. It's

probably going to try to fight you again.'

He was puzzled, but he reached inside his tunic, took

the stone and tried to put it into the pouch. A screech of

protest seemed to fill his ears, and the jewel actually grew

hot in his hand. He felt as if he were trying to push the

thing through solid rock, and his mind reeled, shrieking

to him that what he was trying to do was impossible. He

set his teeth together and shoved harder. With an almost

audible wail, the Sapphire Rose slipped into the pouch,

and Sephrenia pulled the drawstring tight. She tied the

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David Eddings - Ellenium 3 - The Saphire Rose

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