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The Diamond Throne
David Eddings
Ellenium
book 1
Sparhawk, Pandion Knight, and Queen's Champion have returned to Elenia
after ten years of exile, only to find young Queen Ehlanda trapped in
a block of ensorcelled crystal. As Sparhawk sets out to find a cure
for Ehlana, he discovers that only he can defeat the evil plots that
threaten her rule.....
Prologue
Ghwerig and the Bhelliom - From the Legends of the Troll-Gods
At the dawn of time, long before the ancestors of
Styricum slouched, fur-clad and club-wielding, out of
the mountains and forests of Zemoch onto the plains of
central Eosia, there dwelt in a deep cavern lying beneath
the perpetual snows of northern Thalesia a dwarfed and
misshapen Troll named Ghwerig. Now, Ghwerig was
an outcast by reason of his ugliness and his overwhelming
greed, and he laboured alone in the depths of
the earth, seeking gold and precious gems that he might
add to the treasure-hoard which he jealously guarded.
Finally there came a day when he broke into a deep
gallery far beneath the frozen surface of the earth and
beheld by the light of his flickering torch a deep blue
gemstone, larger than his fist, embedded in the wall.
Trembling with excitement in all his gnarled and twisted
limbs, he squatted on the floor of that passage and
gazed with longing at the huge jewel, knowing that its
value exceeded that of the entire hoard which he had
laboured for centuries to acquire. Then he began with
great care to cut away the surrounding stone, chip by
chip, so that he might lift the precious gem from the
spot where it had rested since the world began. And as
more and more it emerged from the rock, he perceived
that it had a peculiar shape, and an idea came to him.
Could he but remove it intact, he might by careful
carving and polishing enhance that shape and thus
increase the value of the gem a thousand-fold.
When at last he gently took the jewel from its rocky
bed, he carried it straightaway to the cave wherein lay his
workshop and his treasure-hoard. Indifferently, he
shattered a diamond of incalculable worth and fashioned
from its fragments tools with which he might carve and
shape the gem which he had found.
For decades, by the light of smoky torches, Ghwerig
patiently carved and polished, muttering all the while
the spells and incantations which would infuse this
priceless gem with all the power for good or ill of the
Troll-Gods. When at last the carving was done, the gem
was in the shape of a rose of deepest sapphire blue. And
he named it Bhelliom, the flower-gem, and he believed
that by its might all things might be possible for him.
But though Bhelliom was filled with all the power of
the Troll-Gods, it would not yield up that power unto its
misshapen and ugly owner, and Ghwerig pounded his
fists in rage upon the stone floor of his cavern. He
consulted with his Gods and made offerings to them of
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heavy gold and bright silver, and his Gods revealed to
him that there must be a key to unlock the power of
Bhelliom, lest its might be unleashed by the whim of any
who came upon it. Then the Troll-Gods told Ghwerig
what he must do to gain mastery over the gem which he
had wrought. Taking the shards which had fallen unnoticed
in the dust about his feet as he had laboured to
shape the sapphire rose, he fashioned a pair of rings. Of
finest gold were the rings, and each was mounted with a
polished oval fragment of Bhelliom itself. When it was
done, he placed the rings one on each of his hands and
then lifted the sapphire rose. The deep, glowing blue of
the stones mounted in his rings fled back into Bhelliom
itself, and the jewels that adorned his twisted hands
were now as pale as diamond. And as he held the
flower-gem, he felt the surge of its power, and he
rejoiced in the knowledge that the jewel he had wrought
had consented to yield to him.
As the uncounted centuries rolled by, great were the
wonders Ghwerig wrought by the power of Bhelliom.
But the Styrics came at last into the land of the Trolls.
When the Elder Gods of Styricum learned of Bhelliom,
each in his heart coveted it by reason of its power. But
Ghwerig was cunning and he sealed up the entrances to
his cavern with enchantments to repel their efforts to
wrest Bhelliom from him.
Now at a certain time, the Younger Gods of Styricum
took counsel with each other, for they were disquieted
about the power which Bhelliom would confer upon
whichever God came to possess it, and they concluded
that such might should not be unloosed in the earth.
They resolved then to render the stone powerless. Of
their number they selected the nimble Goddess Aphrael
for the task. Then Aphrael journeyed to the north, and,
by reason of her slight form, she was able to wriggle her
way through a crevice so small that Ghwerig had
neglected to seal it. Once she was within the cavern,
Aphrael lifted her voice in song. So sweetly she sang that
Ghwerig was all bemused by her melody, and he felt no
alarm at her presence. So it was that Aphrael lulled him.
When, with dreamy smile, the Troll-Dwarf closed his
eyes, she tugged the ring from off his right hand and
replaced it with a ring set with a common diamond.
Ghwerig started up when he felt the tug, but when he
looked at his hand, a ring still encircled his finger, and he
sat him down again and took his ease, delighting in the
song of the Goddess. When once again, in sweet reverie,
his eyes dropped shut, the nimble Aphrael tugged the
ring from off his left hand, replacing it with yet another
ring mounted with yet another diamond. Again Ghwerig
started to his feet and looked with alarm at his left hand,
but he was reassured by the presence there of a ring
which looked for all the world like one of the pair which
he had fashioned from the shards of the flower-gem.
Aphrael continued to sing for him until at last he lapsed
into deep slumber. Then the Goddess stole away on
silent feet, bearing with her' the rings which were the
keys to the power of Bhelliom.
Now, upon a later day, Ghwerig lifted Bhelliom from
the crystal case wherein it lay that he might perform a
task by its power, but Bhelliom would not yield to him,
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for he no longer possessed the rings which were the keys
to its power. The rage of Ghwerig was beyond measure,
and he went up and down in the land seeking the
Goddess Aphrael that he might wrest his rings from her,
but he found her not, though for centuries he searched.
Thus it was for as long as Styricum held sway over the
mountains and plains of Eosia. But there came a time
when , the Elenes rode out of the east and intruded
themselves into this place. After centuries of random
wandering to and fro in the land, some of their number
came at last into far northern Thalesia and dispossessed
the Styrics and their Gods. And when the Elenes heard of
Ghwerig and his Bhelliom, they sought the entrances to
the Troll-Dwarf's cavern throughout the hills and valleys
of Thalesia, all hot with their lust to find and own the
fabled gem by reason of its incalculable worth, for they
knew not of the power locked in its azure petals.
It fell at last to Adian of Thalesia, mightiest and most
crafty of the heroes of antiquity, to solve the riddle. At
peril of his soul, he took counsel with the Troll-Gods and
made offering to them, and they relented and told him
that Ghwerig went abroad in the land at certain times in
search of the Goddess Aphrael of Styricum that he might
reclaim a pair of rings which she had stolen from him, but
of the true meaning of those rings they told him not. And
Adian journeyed to the far north and there he awaited
each twilight for a half-dozen years the appearance of
Ghwerig.
When at last the Troll-Dwarf appeared, Adian went up
to him in a dissembling guise and told him that he knew
where Aphrael might be found and that he would reveal
her location for a helmet full of fine yellow gold. Ghwerig
was deceived and straightaway led Adian to the hidden
mouth of his cavern and he took the hero's helm and
went into his treasure chamber and filled it to overflowing
with fine gold. Then he emerged again, sealing the
entrance to his cavern behind him. And he gave Adian
the gold, and Adian deceived him again, saying that
Aphrael might be found in the district of Horset on the
western coast of Thalesia. Ghwerig hastened to Horset to
seek out the Goddess. And once again Adian impereled
his soul and implored the Troll-Gods to break Ghwerig's
enchantments that he might gain entrance to the cavern.
The capricious Troll-Gods consented and the enchantments
were broken.
As rosy dawn touched the ice fields of the north into
flame, Adian emerged from Ghwerig's cavern with
Bhelliom in his grasp. He journeyed straightaway to his
capital at Emsat and there he fashioned a crown for
himself and surmounted it with Bhelliom.
The chagrin of Ghwerig knew no bounds when he
returned empty-handed to his cavern to find that not
only had he lost the keys to the power of Bhelliom, but
that the flower-gem itself was no longer in his possession.
Thereafter he usually lurked by night in the fields
and forests about the city of Emsat, seeking to reclaim his
treasure, but the descendants of Adian protected it
closely and prevented him from approaching it.
Now as it happened, Azash, an Elder God of Styricum,
had long yearned in his heart for possession of Bhelliom
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and of the rings which unlocked its power and he sent
forth his hordes out of Zemoch to seize the gems by force
of arms. The kings of the west took up arms to join with
the Knights of the Church to face the armies of Otha of
Zemoch and of his dark Styric God, Azash. And King
Sarak of Thalesia took ship with some few of his vassals
and sailed south from Emsat, leaving behind the royal
command that his earls were to follow when the mobilization
of all Thalesia was complete. As it happened,
however, King Sarak never reached the great battlefield
on the plains of Lamorkand, but fell instead to a Zemoch
spear in an unrecorded skirmish near the shores of Lake
Venne in Pelosia. A faithful vassal, though mortally
wounded, took up his fallen lord's crown and struggled
his way to the marshy eastern shore of the lake. There,
hard-pressed and dying, he cast the Thalesian crown into
the murky, peat-clouded waters of the lake, even as
Ghwerig, who had followed his lost treasure, watched in
horror from his place of concealment in a nearby peat
bog. The Zemochs who had slain King Sarak immediately
began to probe the brown-stained depths, that they
might find the crown and carry it in triumph to Azash,
but they were interrupted in their search by a column of
Alcione Knights sweeping down out of Deira to join the
battle in Lamorkand. The Alciones fell upon the
Zemochs and slew them to the last man. The faithful
vassal of the Thalesian king was given an honourable
burial, and the Alciones rode on, all unaware that the
fabled crown of Thalesia lay beneath the turbid waters of
Lake Venne.
It is sometimes rumoured in Pelosia, however, that on
moonless nights the shadowy form of the immortal
Troll-Dwarf haunts the marshy shore. Since, by reason of
his malformed limbs, Ghwerig dares not enter the dark
waters of the lake to probe its depths, he must creep
along the marge, alternately crying out his longing to
Bhelliom and dancing in howling frustration that it will
not respond to him.
!!!
PART ONE
Cimmura
*Chapter1
It was raining. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of
the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of the city of
Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making
the stones of the road leading up to the city shiny and black. A lone rider
approached the city. He was wrapped in a dark, heavy traveller's cloak and
rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The
traveller was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon
rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his
nose had been broken. He rode easily, but with the peculiar alertness of
the trained warrior. His name was Sparhawk, a man at least ten years older
than he looked, who carried the erosion of his years not so much on his
battered face as in a half-dozen or so minor infirmities and discomforts
and in the several wide purple scars upon his body which always ached in
damp weather. Tonight, however, he felt his age, and he wished only for a
warm bed in the obscure inn which was his goal. Sparhawk was coming home at
last after a decade of being someone else with a different name in a
country where it almost never rained, where the sun was a hammer pounding
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down on a bleached white anvil of sand and rock and hard-baked clay, where
the walls of the buildings were thick and white to ward off the blows of
the sun, and where graceful women went to the wells in the silvery light of
early morning with large clay vessels balanced on their shoulders and
black veils across their faces. The big roan horse shuddered absently,
shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat, and approached the city gate,
stopping in the ruddy circle of torchlight before the gatehouse.
An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet, and with
a patched green cloak negligently hanging from one shoulder, came
unsteadily out of the gatehouse and stood swaying in Sparhawk's path.
'I'll need your name,' he said in a voice thick with
drink.
Sparhawk gave him a long stare, then opened his cloak
to show the heavy silver amulet hanging on a chain about
his neck.
The half-drunk gate guard's eyes widened slightly,
and he stepped back a pace. 'Oh,' he said, "sorry, my
Lord. Go ahead.'
Another guard poked his head out of the gatehouse.
'Who is it,, Raf?' he demanded.
'A Pandion Knight,' the first guard replied nervously.
'What's his business in Cimmura?'
'I don't question the Pandions, Bral,' the man named
Raf answered. He smiled ingratiatingly up at Sparhawk.
'New man,' he said apologetically, jerking his thumb
back over his shoulder at his comrade. 'He'll learn in
time, my Lord. Can we serve you in any way?'
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'thanks all the same. You'd
better get in out of the rain, neighbour. You'll catch cold out
here.' He handed a small coin to the green cloaked guard
and rode on into the city, Passing up the narrow, cobbled
street beyond the gate with the slow clatter of the big roan's
steel-shod hooves echoing back from the buildings.
The district near the gate was poor, with shabby, rundown houses standing
tightly packed beside each other with their upper floors projecting out
over the wet, littered street. Crude signs swung creaking on rusty hooks in
the night wind, identifying this or that tightly shuttered shop on the
street-level floors. A wet, miserable-looking cur slunk across the street
with his ratlike tail between his legs. Otherwise, the street was dark and
empty.
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection where
another street crossed the one upon which Sparhawk
rode. A sick young whore, thin and wrapped in a shabby
blue cloak, stood hopefully under the torch like a pale,
frightened ghost. 'Would you like a nice time, sir?' she
whined at him. Her eyes were wide and timid, and her
face gaunt and hungry.
He stopped, bent in his saddle, and poured a few small
coins into her grimy hand. 'Go home, little sister, ' he told
her in a gentle voice. 'it's late and wet, and there'll be no
customers tonight.' Then he straightened and rode on,
leaving her to stare in grateful astonishment after him.
He turned down a narrow side' street clotted with
shadow and heard the scurry of feet somewhere in the
rainy dark ahead of him. His ears caught a quick,
whispered conversation in the deep shadows somewhere to his left.
The roan snorted and laid his ears back.
'its nothing to get excited about,' Sparhawk told him.
The big man's voice was very soft, almost a husky
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whisper. It was the kind of voice people turned to hear.
Then he spoke more loudly, addressing the pair of
hoods lurking in the shadows. 'I'd like to accommodate you, neighbours,' he
said, but it's late, and I'm not
in the mood for casual entertainment. Why don't you go
rob some drunk young nobleman instead, and live to
steal another day?' To emphasize his words, he threw
back his damp cloak to reveal the leather-bound hilt of
the plain broadsword belted at his side.
There was a quick, startled silence in the dark street,
followed by the rapid patter of fleeing feet.
The big roan snorted derisively. 'My sentiments exactly,'
Sparhawk agreed, pulling his cloak back around him.
"Shall we proceed?'
They entered a large square surrounded by hissing
torches where most of the brightly coloured canvas
booths had their fronts rolled down. A few forlornly
hopeful enthusiasts remained open for business,
stridently bawling their wares to indifferent passers-by
hurrying home on a late, rainy evening. Sparhawk
reined in his horse as a group of rowdy young nobles
lurched unsteadily from the door of a seedy tavern,
shouting drunkenly to each other as they crossed the
square. He waited calmly until they vanished into a side
street and then looked around, not so much wary as
alert.' Had there been but a few more people in the nearly
empty square, even Sparhawk's trained eye might not
have noticed Krager. The man was of medium height and
he was rumpled and unkempt. His boots were muddy,
and his maroon cape carelessly caught at the throat. He
slouched across the square, his wet, colourless hair
plastered down on his narrow skull and his watery eyes
blinking nearsightedly as he peered about in the rain.
Sparhawk drew in his breath sharply. He hadn't seen
Krager since that night in Cippria, almost ten years ago,
and the man had aged considerably. His face was greyer
and more pouchy-looking, but there could be no
question that it was Krager.
Since quick movements attracted the eye, Sparhawk's
reaction was studied. He dismounted slowly and led his
big horse to a green canvas food vendor's stall, keeping
the animal between himself and the nearsighted man
in the maroon cape. 'Good evening, neighbour,' he said to
the brown-clad food vendor in his deadly quiet voice. 'I
have some business to attend to. I'll pay you if you'll
watch my horse.'
The unshaven vendor's eyes came quickly alight.
'Don't even think it,' Sparhawk warned. 'The horse
won't follow you, no matter what you do - but I will, and
you wouldn't like that at all. just take the pay and forget
about trying to steal the horse.'
The vendor looked at the big man's bleak face,
swallowed hard, and made a jerky attempt at a bow.
'Whatever you say, my Lord," he agreed' quickly, his
words tumbling over each other. 'I vow to you that your
noble mount will be safe with me.'
'Noble what?'
"Noble mount - your horse.'
'Oh, I see. I'd appreciate that.'
'Can I do anything else for you, my Lord?'
Sparhawk looked across the square at Krager's back.
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'Do you by chance happen to have a bit of wire handy -
about so long?' He measured out perhaps three feet with
his hands.
'I may have, my Lord. The herring kegs are bound with
wire. Let me look.'
Sparhawk crossed his arms and leaned them on his
saddle, watching Krager across the horse's back. The
past ten years, the blasting sun, and the women going to the
wells in the steely light of early morning fell away, and
quite suddenly he was back in the stockyards outside
Cippria with the stink of dung and blood on him, the
taste of fear and hatred in his mouth, and the pain of his
wounds making him weak as his pursuers searched for
him with their swords in their hands.
He pulled his mind away from that, deliberately
concentrating on this moment rather than the past. He
hoped that the vendor could find some wire. Wire was
good. No noise, no mess, and with a little time it could be
made to look exotic - the kind of thing one might expect
from a Styric or perhaps a Pelosian. It wasn't so much
Krager, he thought as the tense excitement built in him.
Krager had never been more than a dim, feeble adjunct to
Martel - an extension, another set of hands, just as the
other man, Adus, had never been more than a weapon. It
was what Krager's death would do to Martel - that was
what mattered.
'This is the best I could find, my Lord,' the greasy-aproned food vendor
said respectfully, coming out of the
back of his canvas booth and holding out a length of
rusty, soft-iron wire. 'I'm sorry. It isn't much.'
'it's just fine,' Sparhawk replied, taking the wire. He
snapped the rusty strand taut between his hands. 'it's
perfect in fact.' Then he turned to his horse. 'Stay here,
Faran,' he said. The horse bared his teeth at him. Sparhawk laughed
softly and moved out into the square, some distance
behind Krager. If the nearsighted man were found in
some shadowy doorway, bowed tautly backward with
the wire knotted about his neck and ankles and with his
eyes popping out of a blackened face, or face down in the
trough of some back-alley public urinal, that would
unnerve Martel, hurt him , perhaps even frighten him. It
might be enough to bring him out into the open, and
Sparhawk had been waiting for years for a chance to
catch Martel out in the open. Carefully, his hands
concealed beneath his cloak, he began to work the kinks
out of his length of wire, even as he stalked his quarry.
His senses had become preternaturally alert. He could
clearly hear the guttering of the torches along the sides of
the square and see their orange flicker reflected in the
puddles of water lying among the cobblestones. That
reflected glow seemed for some reason very beautiful.
Sparhawk felt good - better perhaps than he had for ten
years.
'Sir Knight? Sir Sparhawk? Can that be you?'
Startled, Sparhawk turned quickly, swearing under
his breath. The man who had accosted him had long,
elegantly curled blond hair. He wore a saffron-coloured
doublet, lavender hose, and an apple-green cloak. His
wet maroon shoes were long and pointed, and his cheeks
were rouged. The small, useless sword at his side and his
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broad-brimmed hat with its dripping plume marked him
as a courtier, one of the petty functionaries and parasitic
hangers~on who infested the palace like vermin.
'What are you doing back here in Cimmura?' the fop
,demanded, his high-pitched, effeminate voice startled.
"you were banished.'
Sparhawk looked quickly at the man he had been
following. Krager was nearing the entrance to a street
that opened into the square, and in a moment he would
be out of sight. It was still possible, however. One quick,
hard blow would put this over-dressed butterfly before
him to sleep, and Krager would still be within reach.
Then a hot disappointment filled Sparhawk's mouth as a
detachment of the watch marched into the square with
lumbering tread. There was no way now to dispose of
this interfering popinjay without attracting their attention.
The look he directed at the perfumed man barring
his path was flat with anger.
The courtier stepped back nervously, glancing quickly
at the soldiers who were moving along in front of the
booths, checking the fastenings on the rolled-down
canvas fronts. 'i insist that you tell me what you're doing
back here,' he said, trying to sound authoritative.
'insist? You?' Sparhawk's voice was full of contempt.
The other man looked quickly at the soldiers again,
seeking reassurance, then he straightened, boldly. 'I'm
taking you in charge, Sparhawk. I demand that you give
an account of yourself.' He reached out and grasped
Sparhawk's arm.
'Don't touch me,' Sparhawk spat out the words,
striking the hand away.
'You hit me!' the courtier gasped, clutching at his hand
in pain. Sparhawk took the man's shoulder in one hand and
pulled him close. 'if you ever put your hands on me
again, I'll rip out your guts. Now get out of my way.'
'I'll call the watch,' the fop threatened.
'And how long do you think you'll continue to live
after you do that?'
'You can't threaten me. I have powerful friends.'
'But they're not here, are they? I am, however.'
Sparhawk pushed him away in disgust and turned to
walk on across the square.
'You Pandions can't get away with this high-handed
behaviour any more. There are laws in Elenia now,' the
overdressed man called after him shrilly. 'I'm going
straight to Baron Harparin. I'm going to tell him that
you've come back to Cimmura and about how you hit me
and threatened me.'
'Good,' Sparhawk replied without turning. 'Do that.'
He continued to walk away, his irritation and
disappointment rising to the point where he had to clench
his teeth tightly to keep himself under control. Then an
idea came to him. It was petty even childish - but for
some reason it seemed quite appropriate. He stopped
and straightened his shoulders, muttering 'under his
breath in the Styric tongue, even as his fingers wove
intricate designs in the air in front of him. He hesitated
slightly, groping for the word for carbuncle. He finally
settled for boil instead and completed the incantation.
He turned slightly, looked at his tormentor, and released
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the spell. Then he turned back and continued on across
the square, smiling slightly to himself. It was, to be sure,
quite petty, but Sparhawk was like that sometimes.
He handed the food vendor a coin for minding Faran,
swung up into his saddle, and rode across the square in
the misty drizzle, a big man shrouded in a rough woollen
cloak, astride an ugly-faced roan horse.
Once he was past the square, the streets were dark and
empty again, with guttering torches hissing in the rain at
intersections and casting their dim, sooty orange glow.
The sound of Faran's hooves was loud in the empty
Street. Sparhawk shifted slightly in his saddle. The
sensation he felt was very faint, a kind of Prickling of the
skin across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, but
he recognized it immediately. Someone was watching
him, and the watcher was not friendly. Sparhawk shifted
again, carefully trying to make the movement appear to
be no more than the uncomfortable fidgeting of a
saddle-weary traveller. His right hand, however, was
concealed beneath his cloak, and it sought the hilt of his
sword. The oppressive sense of malevolence increased,
and then, in the shadows beyond the flickering torch at
the next intersection, he saw a figure robed and hooded
in a dark grey garment that blended so well into the
shadows and wreathing drizzle that the watcher was
almost invisible.
The roan tensed his muscles, and his ears flicked.
'I see him, Faran,' Sparhawk replied very quietly.
They continued on along the cobblestone street, passing
through the pool of orange torchlight and on into the
shadowy street beyond. Sparhawk's eyes readjusted to
the dark, but the hooded figure had already vanished up
some alleyway or through one of the narrow doors along
the street. The sense of being watched was gone, and the
street was no longer a place of danger. Faran moved on,
his hooves clattering on the wet stones.
The inn which was Sparhawk's destination was on an
unobtrusive back street. It was gated at the front of its
central courtyard with stout oaken planks. Its walls were
peculiarly high and thick, and a single, dim lantern
glowed beside a much-weathered wooden sign that
creaked mournfully as it swung back and forth in the
rain-filled night breeze. Sparhawk pulled Faran close to
the gate, leaned back in his saddle, and kicked the
rainblackened planks solidly with one spurred foot. There
was a peculiar rhythm to the kicks.
He waited.
Then the gate creaked inward and the shadowy form
of a porter, hooded in black, looked out. He nodded
briefly, then pulled the gate wider to admit Sparhawk.
The big knight rode into the rain-wet courtyard and
slowly dismounted. The porter swung the gate shut and
barred it, then he pushed his hood back from his steel
helm, turned, and bowed. 'My Lord,' he greeted
Sparhawk respectfully.
'it's too late at night for formalities, Sir Knight,'
Sparhawk responded, also with a brief bow.
'Formality is the very soul of gentility, Sir Sparhawk,'
the porter replied ironically. 'I try to practise it whenever
I can.'
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'As you wish.' Sparhawk shrugged. 'Will you see to
my horse?'
'Of course. Your man, Kurik, is here.'
Sparhawk nodded, untying the two heavy leather bags
from the skirt of his saddle.
'I'll take those up for you, my Lord,' the porter offered.
'There's no need. where's Kurik?'
First door at the top of the stairs. Will you want
supper?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Just a bath and a warm
bed.' He turned to his horse, who stood dozing with one
hind leg cocked slightly so that his hoof rested on its tip.
'Wake up, Faran,' he told the animal.
Faran opened his eyes and gave him a flat, unfriendly
stare.
'Go with this knight,' Sparhawk instructed firmly.
'don't try to bite him, or kick him, or pin him against the
side of the stall with your rump - and don't step on his
feet, either.'
The big roan briefly laid back his ears and then sighed.
Sparhawk laughed. 'Give him a few carrots,' he
instructed the porter.
'How can you tolerate this foul-tempered brute, Sir
Sparhawk?'
'We're perfectly matched,' Sparhawk replied. 'it was a
good ride, Faran,' he said then to the horse. 'Thank you,
and sleep warm.'
The horse turned his back on him.
'Keep your eyes open, Sir Knight,' Sparhawk
cautioned the porter. "Someone was watching me as I
came here, and I got the feeling that it was a little more
than idle curiosity.'
The knight porter's face hardened. 'I'll attend to it, my
Lord,' he said.
'Good.' Sparhawk turned and crossed the wet, glistening
stones of the courtyard and mounted the steps
leading to the roofed gallery on the upper floor of the inn.
The inn was a well-kept secret that few in Cimmura
knew about. Though ostensibly no different from any of
dozens of others, this particular establishment was
owned and operated by the Knights Pandion, and it
provided a safe haven for any of their number who, for
one reason or another, were reluctant to avail themselves
of the facilities of their chapterhouse on the eastern
outskirts of the city.
At the top of the stairs, Sparhawk stopped and tapped
his fingertips lightly on the first door. After a moment,
the door opened. The man inside was burly, and he had
iron-grey hair and a coarse, short-trimmed beard. His
hose and boots were of black leather, and his long
waistcoat was of the same material. A heavy dagger hung
from his belt, steel cuffs encircled his wrists, and his
heavily-muscled arms and shoulders were bare. He was
not a handsome man, and his eyes were as hard as
agates. 'You're late,' he said flatly.
'A few interruptions along the way,' Sparhawk replied
laconically, stepping into the warm, candlelit room. The
bare-shouldered man closed the door behind him and
slid the bolt with a solid clank. Sparhawk looked at him.
'I trust you've been well, Kurik?' he said to the man he
had not seen for ten years.
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'Passable. Get out of that wet cloak.'
Sparhawk grinned, dropped his saddlebags to the
floor and undid the clasp of his dripping woollen cloak.
'How are Aslade and the boys?'
'Growing,' Kurik grunted, taking the cloak. 'My sons
are getting taller and Aslade's getting fatter. Farm life
agrees with her.'
'You like plump women, Kurik,' Sparhawk reminded
his squire. 'That's why you married her.'
Kurik grunted again, looking critically at his Lord's
lean frame. 'You haven't been eating, Sparhawk,' he
accused.
'Don't mother me, Kurik. Sparhawk sprawled in a
heavy oak chair. He looked around. The room had a
stone floor and stone walls. The ceiling was low, with
heavy black beams supporting it. A fire crackled in an
arched fireplace, filling the room with dancing light and
shadows. Two candles burned on the table, and two
narrow cots stood, one against either wall. It was to the
heavy rack beside the single blue-draped window that
Sparhawk's eyes went first, however. Hanging on that
rack was a full suit of armour, enamelled shiny black,
leaning against the wall beside it was a large black shield
with the emblem of his family, a hawk with flared wings
and with a spear in its talons, worked in silver upon its
face. Beside the shield stood a massive, sheathed
broadsword with a silver-bound hilt.
"you forgot to oil it when you left,' Kurik accused. 'it
took me a week to get the rust off. Give me your foot.' He
bent and worked off one of Sparhawk's riding boots and
then the other. 'Why do you always have to walk in the
mud?' he growled, tossing the boots over beside the
fireplace. 'I've got a bath ready for you in the next room,'
he said then. 'Strip. I want to see those wounds of yours
anyway. '
Sparhawk sighed wearily and stood up. With his gruff
squire's peculiarly gentle help, he undressed.
you're wet clear through,' Kurik noted, touching his
Lord's clammy back with one rough, callused hand.
'Rain does that to people sometimes.'
'Did you ever see a surgeon about these?' the squire
demanded, lightly touching the wide purple scars on
Sparhawk's shoulders and left side.
'A physician looked at them. There wasn't a surgeon
handy, so I left them to heal by themselves.'
Kurik nodded. 'it shows,' he said. 'Go and get in the
tub. I'll fetch something for you to eat.'
'I'm not hungry.'
That's too bad. You look like a skeleton. Now that
you're back, I'm not going to let you walk around in that
condition.'
'Why are you bullying me, Kurik?
'Because I'm angry. You frightened me half to death.
You've been gone for ten years, and there's been little
news - and all of it bad.' The gruff man's eyes grew
momentarily soft, and he roughly grasped Sparhawk's
shoulders in a grip that might have brought a lesser man
to his knees. 'Welcome home, my Lord,' he said in a thick
voice.
Sparhawk roughly embraced his friend. 'Thank you,
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Kurik,' he said, his voice also thick. 'it's good to be back.'
'All right,' Kurik said, his face hard again. 'Now get in
the tub. You stink.' And he turned on his heel and went
to the door.
Sparhawk smiled and walked into the next room. He
stepped into the wooden tub and sank gratefully down
into the steaming water. He had been another man with
another name - a man called Mahkra - for so long now
that he knew that no simple bath would wash that other
identity away, but it was good to relax and let the hot
water and coarse soap rinse the dust of that dry,
sunblasted coast from his skin. In a kind of detached reverie
as he washed his lean, scarred limbs, he remembered the
life he had led as Mahkra in the city of Jiroch in Rendor.
He remembered the small, cool shop where, as an
untitled commoner, Mahkra had sold brass ewers,
candied sweetmeats, and exotic perfumes while the
bright sunlight reflected blindingly from the thick, white
walls across the street. He remembered the hours of
endless talk in the little wine shop on the corner, where
Mahkra had sipped sour, resinous Rendorish wine by
the hour and had delicately, subtly, probed for the
information which was then passed on to his friend and
fellow Pandion, Sir Voren - information concerning the
reawakening of Eshandist sentiment in Rendor, of secret
caches of arms hidden in the desert and of the activities of
the agents of Emperor Otha of Zemoch. He remembered
the soft, dark nights filled with the clinging perfume of
Lillias, Mahkra's sulking mistress, and of the beginning
of each day when he had arisen and gone to the window
to watch the women going to the wells in the steel-grey
light of sunless dawn. He sighed. 'And who are you
now, Sparhawk?' he asked himself softly. 'No longer a
merchant in brass and candied dates and perfumes,
certainly, but once again a Knight Pandion? A magician?
The Queen's Champion? Perhaps not. Perhaps no more
than a battered and tired man with a few too many years
and scars and far too many skirmishes behind him.'
'Didn't it occur to you to cover your head while you
were in Rendor?' Kurik asked sourly from the doorway.
The burly squire held a robe and a rough towel. 'When a
man starts talking to himself, it's a sure sign that he's
been out in the sun too long.'
'just musing, Kurik. I've been a long time away from
home, and it's going to take a while to get used to it again.'
'You may not have a while. Did anyone recognize you
when you rode in?'
Sparhawk remembered the fop in the square and
nodded. 'One of Harparin's toadies saw me in the square
near the west gate.'
'That's it, then. You're going to have to present
yourself at the palace tomorrow, or Lycheas will have
Cimmura taken apart stone by stone searching for you.'
'Lycheas?'
'The Prince Regent - bastard son to Princess Arissa and
whatever drunken sailor or unhanged pickpocket got
him on her.'
Sparhawk sat up quickly, his eyes hardening. 'I think
you'd better explain a few things, Kurik,' he said.
'Ehlana's the Queen. Why does her kingdom need
a Prince Regent?'
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'Where have you been, Sparhawk? On the moon?
Ehlana fell ill a month ago.'
'Not dead?' Sparhawk demanded with , a sudden
sinking in his stomach and a wrench of unbearable loss at
the memory of the pale, beautiful girl-child with the
grave, serious grey eyes whom he had watched throughout
her childhood and whom, in a peculiar way, he had
come to love, though she had been but eight years old
when King Aldreas had sent him into his exile in Rendor.
'No,' Kurik replied, 'not dead, though she might as
well be.' He picked up the large, rough towel. 'Come out
of the tub,' he ordered. 'I'll tell you about it while you
eat.'
Sparhawk nodded and stood up. Kurik roughly
towelled him off and then draped the soft robe about
him. The table in the other room was laid with a platter of
steaming slices of meat swimming in gravy, a half-loaf of
rough, dark peasant bread, a wedge of cheese, and a
pitcher of chilled milk. 'Eat,' Kurik said.
'What's been going on here?' Sparhawk demanded as
he seated himself at the table and started to eat. He was
surprised to find that he was suddenly ravenous. 'Start at
the beginning.'
'All right,' Kurik agreed, drawing his dagger and
starting to carve thick slices of bread from the loaf. 'You
knew that the Pandions were confined to the motherhouse
at Demos after you left, didn't you?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'I heard about it. King Aldreas was
never really very fond of us.'
'That was your father's fault, Sparhawk. Aldreas was
very fond of his sister, and then your father forced him to
marry someone else. That sort of soured his attitude
towards the Pandion Order.'
'Kurik,' Sparhawk said, 'it's not proper to talk about
the king that way.'
Kurik shrugged. 'He's dead now, so it doesn't hurt
him, and the way he felt about his sister was common
knowledge anyway. The palace pages used to take
money from anyone who wanted to watch Arissa walk
mother-naked through the upper halls to her brother's
bedchamber. Aldreas was a weak king, Sparhawk. He
was totally under the control of Arissa and the Primate
Annias. With the Pandions confined at Demos, Annias
and his underlings had things pretty much the way they
wanted them. You were lucky not to have been here
during those years.'
'Perhaps,' Sparhawk murmured. 'What did Aldreas
die from?'
'They say that it was the falling-sickness. My guess
would be that the whores Annias used to slip into the
palace for him after his wife died finally wore him out.'
'Kurik, you gossip worse than an old woman.'
'I know,' Kurik admitted blandly. 'it's a vice I have.'
'And then Ehlana was crowned Queen?'
'Right. And then things started to change. Annias was
certain that he'd be able to control her the same way that
he'd been able to control Aldreas, but she brought him
up short. She summoned Preceptor Vanion from the
motherhouse at Demos and made him her personal
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advisor. Then she told Annias to make preparations to
retire to a monastery to meditate on the virtues proper to
a churchman. Annias was livid, of course, and he started
to scheme immediately. The messengers were as thick as
flies on the road between here and the cloister where the
Princess Arissa has been confined. They're old friends,
and they had certain common interests. At any rate,
Annias suggested that Ehlana should marry her bastard
cousin, Lycheas, but she laughed in his face.'
'That sounds fairly characteristic,' Sparhawk smiled. 'I
raised her myself and I taught her what was appropriate.
What is this illness of hers?'
'it appears to be the same one that killed her father. She
had a seizure and never regained consciousness. The
court physicians all maintained that she wouldn't live out
the week, but then Vanion took steps. He appeared at
court with Sephrenia and eleven other Pandions - all in
full armour and with their visors down. They dismissed
the Queen's attendants, took her from her bed, clothed
her in her state robes and put the crown on her head.
Then they carried her to the great hall and set her on the
throne and locked the door. Nobody knows what they
did in there, but when they opened the door again,
Ehlana sat on her throne encased in crystal.'
'What?' Sparhawk exclaimed.
'it's as clear as glass. You can see every freckle on the
Queen's nose, but you can't get near her. The crystal's
harder than diamond. Annias had workmen hammering
on it for five days, and they couldn't even chip it.' Kurik
looked at Sparhawk. 'Could you do something like that?'
he asked curiously.
'Me? Kurik, I wouldn't even know where to start.
Sephrenia taught us the basics, but we're like babies
compared to her.'
'Well, whatever it was that she did, it's keeping the
Queen alive. You can hear her heart beating. It echoes
through the throne room like a drum. For the first week
or so, people were flocking in there just to listen to it.
There was even talk that it was some kind of miracle and
that the throne room ought to be made a shrine. But
Annias locked the door and summoned Lycheas the
bastard to Cimmura and set him up as Prince Regent.
That was about two weeks ago. Since then Annias has
had the church soldiers rounding up all his enemies. The
dungeons under the cathedral are bulging with them.
That's where things stand right now. You picked a good
time to come back.' He paused, looking directly into his
lord's face. 'What happened in Cippria, Sparhawk?' he
, asked. 'The news we got here was pretty sketchy.'
Sparhawk shrugged. 'it wasn't much. Do you remember
Martel?
'The renegade Vanion stripped of his knighthood? The
one with white hair?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'He came to Cippria with a couple
of underlings, and they hired fifteen or twenty cutthroats
to help them. They waylaid me in a dark street.'
'is that where you got the scars?'
'Yes.'
'But you got away.'
'Obviously. Rendorish murderers are a trifle
squeamish when the blood on the cobblestones and
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splashed all over the walls happens to be theirs. After I
cut down a dozen or so of them, the rest sort of lost heart.
I got clear of them and made my way to the edge of town.
I hid in a monastery until the wounds healed, then I took
Faran and joined a caravan for jiroch.'
Kurik's eyes were shrewd. 'Do you think there's any
possibility that Annias might have been involved in it?'
he asked. 'He hates your family, you know, and it's fairly
certain that he was the one who persuaded Aldreas to
exile you.'
'I've had the same thought from time to time. Annias
and Martel have had dealings before. At any rate, I think
the good primate and I have several things to discuss.'
Kurik looked at him, recognizing the tone in his voice.
'You're going to get into trouble,' he warned.
'Not as much as Annias will if I find out that he had a
hand in that attack.' Sparhawk straightened. 'I'm going
to need to talk with Vanion. Is he still here in Cimmura?'
Kurik nodded. 'He's at the chapterhouse on the east
edge of town, but you can't get there right now. They
lock the east gate at sundown. I think you'd better
present yourself at the palace right after the sun comes
up, though. It won't take Annias long to come up with
the idea of declaring you outlaw for breaking your exile,
and it's better to appear on your own, rather than be
dragged in like a common criminal. You're still going to
have to do some fast talking to stay out of the dungeon.'
'I don't think so,' Sparhawk disagreed. 'I've got a
document with the Queen's seal on it authorizing my
return.' He pushed back his plate. 'The handwriting's a
little childish, and there are tearstains on it, but I think it'S
still valid.'
"She cried? I didn't think she knew how.'
"She was only eight at the time, Kurik, and quite fond
of me, for some reason.'
'You have that effect on a few people.' Kurik looked at
Sparhawk's plate. 'Have you had all of that you want?
Sparhawk nodded.
'Then get you to bed. You've got a busy day ahead of
you tomorrow.'
It was much later. The room was faintly lit with the
orange coals of the banked fire, and Kurik's regular
breathing came from the cot on the other side of the
room. The insistent, nagging bang of an unlatched
shutter swinging freely in the wind several streets over
had set some brainless dog to barking, and Sparhawk
lay, still half-bemused by sleep, patiently waiting for the
dog to grow wet enough or weary enough of his
entertainment to seek his kennel again.
Since it had been Krager he had seen in the square,
there was no absolute certainty that Martel was in
Cimmura. Krager was an errand boy and was frequently
half a continent away from Martel. Had it been the brutal
Adus who had crossed that rainy square, there would be
no question as to Martel's presence in the city. Of
necessity, Adus had to be kept on a short leash.
Krager would not be hard to find. He was a weak man
with the usual vices and the usual predictability of weak
men. Sparhawk smiled bleakly into the darkness. Krager
would be easy to find and Krager would know where
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Martel could be found. It would be a simple matter to
drag that information out of him.
Moving quietly to avoid waking his sleeping squire,
Sparhawk swung his legs out of the bed and crossed
silently to the window to watch the rain slant past into
the deserted, lantern-lit courtyard below. Absently he
wrapped his hand about the silver-bound hilt of the
broadsword standing beside his formal armour. It felt
good - like taking the hand of an old friend.
Dimly, as always, there was a remembered sound of
the bells. It had been the bells he had followed that night
in Cippria. Sick and hurt and alone, stumbling through
the dung-reeking night in the stockyards, he had
halfcrawled towards the sound of the bells. He had come to
the wall and had followed it, his good hand on the
ancient stones, until he had come to the gate, and there
he had fallen.
Sparhawk shook his head. That had been a long time
ago. It was strange that he could still remember the bells
so clearly. He stood with his hand on his sword, looking
out at the tag end of night, watching it rain and
remembering the sound of the bells.
!!!
*Chapter2
Sparhawk was dressed in his formal armour, and he
strode clanking back and forth in the candlelit room to
settle it into place. 'i'd forgotten how heavy this is,' he
said.
'You're getting soft,' Kurik told him. 'You need a
month or two on the practice field to toughen you up.
Are you sure you want to wear it?'
""It's a formal occasion, Kurik, and formal occasions
demand formal dress. Besides, I don't want any
confusion in anybody's mind when I get there. I'm the Queen's
Champion, and I'm supposed to wear armour when I
present myself to her.'
'They won't let you in to see her,' Kurik predicted,
picking up his lord's helmet.
'Won't let?'
'Don't do anything foolish, Sparhawk. You're going to
be all alone.'
'is the Earl of Lenda still on the council?'
Kurik nodded. 'He's old, and he doesn't have much
authority, but he's too much respected for Annias to
dismiss him.'
'i'll have one friend there anyway.' Sparhawk took his
helmet from his squire and settled it in place. He pushed
up his visor.
Kurik went to the window to pick up Sparhawk's sword and shield.
'The rain's letting up,' he noted, 'and
it's starting to get light.' He came back, laid the sword
and shield on the table and picked up the silver-coloured
surcoat. 'Hold out your arms,' he instructed.
Sparhawk spread his arms wide, and Kurik draped the
surcoat over his shoulders, then he laced up the sides. He
then took up the long sword belt and wrapped it twice
about his lord's waist. Sparhawk picked up his sheathed
sword.
'Did you sharpen this!' he asked. Kurik gave him a flat stare. '
'Sorry.' Sparhawk locked the scabbard onto the heavy
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steel studs on the belt and shifted it around into place on
his left side.
Kurik fastened the long black cape to the shoulder
plates of the armour, then stepped back and looked
Sparhawk up and down appraisingly. 'Good enough,'
he said. 'i'll bring your shield. You'd better hurry. They
rise early at the palace. It gives them more time for
mischief.'
They went out of the room and on down the stairs to
the innyard. The rain for the most part had passed, with
only a few last intermittent sprinkles slanting into the
yard in the gusty morning wind. The dawn sky, however,
was still covered with tattered grey cloud, although
there was a broad band of pale yellow off to the east.
The knight porter led Faran out of the stable, and he
and Kurik boosted Sparhawk up into his saddle.
'Be careful when you get inside the palace, my Lord,'
Kurik warned in the formal tone he used when they were
,not alone. 'The regular palace guards are probably
neutral, but Annias has a troop of church soldiers there
as well. Anybody in red livery is likely to be your enemy.'
He handed up the embossed black shield.
Sparhawk buckled the shield into place. 'You're going
to the chapterhouse to see Vanion?' he asked his squire.
Kurik nodded. 'Just as soon as they open the east gate
of the city.' 'i'll probably go there when I'm through at the palace,
but you come back here and wait for me.' He grinned.
'We may have to leave town in a hurry.'
'Don't go out of your way to force the issue, my Lord.'
Sparhawk took Faran's reins from the porter. 'All right
then, Sir Knight,' he said. 'Open the gate and I'll go
present my respects to the bastard Lycheas.'
The porter laughed and swung open the gate.
Faran moved out at a proud, rolling trot, lifting his
steel-shod hooves exaggeratedly and bringing them
down in a ringing staccato on the wet cobblestones. The
big horse had a peculiar flair for the dramatic, and he
always pranced outrageously when Sparhawk was
mounted on his back in full armour.
'Aren't we both getting a little old for exhibitionism?'
Sparhawk asked dryly.
Faran ignored that and continued his prancing.
There were few people abroad in the city of Cimmura
at that hour - rumpled artisans and sleepy shopkeepers
for the most part. The streets were wet, and the gusty
wind set the brightly painted wooden signs over the
shops to swinging and creaking. Most of the windows
were still shuttered and dark, although here and there
golden candlelight marked the room of some early riser.
Sparhawk noted that his armour had already begun to
smell - that familiar compound of steel, oil, and the
leather harness that had soaked up his sweat for years.
He had nearly forgotten that smell in the sun-blasted
streets and spice-fragrant shops of Jiroch, almost more
than the familiar sights of Cimmura, it finally convinced
him that he was home.
An occasional dog came out into the street to bark at
them as they passed, but Faran disdainfully ignored
them as he trotted through the cobblestone streets.
The palace lay in the centre of town. It was a very
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grandiose sort of building, much taller than those around
it, with high, pointed towers surmounted by damply
flapping coloured pennons. It was walled off from the
rest of the city, and the walls were surmounted by
batlements. At some time in the past, one of the kings of
ehlenia had ordered the exterior of those walls to be
sheathed in white limestone. The climate and the pervasive
paL of smoke that lay heavy over the city in certain
seasons, however, had turned the sheathing a dirty,
streaked grey.
The palace gates were broad and patrolled by a
halfdozen guards wearing the dark blue livery that marked
them as members of the regular palace garrison.
'Halt!' one of them barked as Sparhawk approached.
He stepped into the centre of the gateway, holding his
pike slightly advanced. Sparhawk gave no indication
that he had heard, and Faran bore down on the man. 'I
said to halt, Sir Knight!' the guard commanded again.
Then one of his fellows jumped forward, seized his arm,
and pulled him out of the roan's path. "It's the Queen's
Champion,' the second guard exclaimed. 'Don't ever
stand in his way.'
Sparhawk reached the central courtyard and dismounted,
moving a bit awkwardly because of the weight
of his armour and the encumbrance of his shield. A guard
came forward, his pike at the ready.
'Good morning, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him in
his quiet voice.
The guard hesitated.
'Watch my horse,' the knight told him then. 'I
shouldn't be too long.' He handed the guard Faran's
reins and started up the broad staircase towards the
heavy double doors that opened into the palace.
"Sir Knight,' the guard called after him.
Sparhawk did not turn, but continued on up the stairs.
There were two blue-liveried guards at the top, older
men, he noted, men he thought he recognized. One of
the guards' eyes widened, then he suddenly grinned.
'Welcome back, Sir Sparhawk,' he said, pulling the door
open for the black-armoured knight.
Sparhawk gave him a slow wink and went on inside,
his mail-shod feet and his spurs clinking on the polished
flagstones. Just beyond the door, he encountered a
palace functionary with curled and pomaded hair and
wearing a maroon-coloured doublet. 'I will speak with
Lycheas,' Sparhawk announced in a flat tone. 'Take me
to him.'
'But -' The man's face had gone slightly pale. He drew
himself up, his expression growing lofty. 'How did you - ?'
'Didn't you hear me, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked
him.
The man in the maroon doublet shrank back. 'A-at
once, Sir Sparhawk,' he stammered. He turned then and
led the way down the broad central corridor. His
shoulders were visibly trembling. Sparhawk noted that
the functionary was not leading him towards the throne
room, but rather towards the council chamber where
King Aldreas had customarily met with his advisors. A
faint smile touched the big man's lips as he surmised that
the presence of the young Queen sitting encased in
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crystal on the throne might have had a dampening effect
on her cousin's attempts to usurp her crown.
They reached the door to the council chamber and
found it guarded by two men wearing the red livery of
the church - the soldiers of the Primate Annias. The two
automatically crossed their pikes to bar entry to the
chamber.
'The Queen's Champion to see the Prince Regent,' the
functionary said to them, his voice shrill.
"We have had no orders to admit the Queen's champion,'
one of them declared.
'You have now,' Sparhawk told him. 'Open the door.'
The man in the maroon doublet made a move as if to
scurry away, but Sparhawk caught his arm. 'I haven't
dismissed you yet, neighbour,' he said. Then he looked
at the guards. 'Open the door,' he repeated.
It hung there for a long moment, while the guards
looked first at Sparhawk and then nervously at each
other. Then one of them swallowed hard and, fumbling
with his pike, he reached for the door handle.
"you'll need to announce me,' Sparhawk told the man
whose arm he stil held firmly in his gauntleted fist. 'We
wouldn't want to surprise anyone, would we?'
The man's eyes were a little wild. He stepped into the
open doorway and cleared his throat. 'The Queen's
champion,' he blurted with his words tumbling out over
each other. 'The Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.'
Thank you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. 'You can go
now.'
The functionary bolted.
The council chamber was very large and was carpeted
and draped in blue. Large candelabras lined the walls,
and there were more candles on the long, polished table
in the centre of the room. Three men sat at the table with
documents before them, but the fourth had half-risen
from his chair.
The man on his feet was the Primate Annias. The
churchman had grown leaner in the ten years since
Sparhawk had last seen him, and his face looked grey and
emaciated. His hair was tied back from his face and was
now shot with silver. He wore a long black cassock, and the
jewelled pendant of his office as Primate of Cimmura
hung bon a thick gold chain about his neck. His eyes were
wide with surprised alarm as Sparhawk entered the room.
The Earl of Lenda, a white-haired man in his seventieS,
was dressed in a soft grey doublet, and he was grinning
openly, his bright blue eyes sparkling in his lined face.
The Baron Harparin, a notorious pederast, sat with an
astonished expression on his face. His clothing was a riOt
of conflicting colours. Seated next to him was a grossly fat
man in red whom Sparhawk did not recognize.
'Sparhawk!' annias said sharPly, recovering from his
surprise, 'what are you doing here?'
'I understand that you've been looking for me, your
Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'I thought I'd save you some
trouble. '
'You've broken your exile, Sparhawk,' Annias accused
angrily.
'That's one of the things we need to talk about. I'm told
that Lycheas the bastard is functioning as Prince Regent
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until the Queen regains her health. Why don't you send
for him so we won't have to go through all this twice!'
Annias' eyes widened in shock and outrage.
'That's what he is, isn't it?' Sparhawk said. 'His origins
are hardly a secret, so why tiptoe around them? The bell pull, as I recall, is
right over there. Give it a yank,
Annias, and send some toady to fetch the Prince Regent. '
The Earl of Lenda chuckled openly.
Annias gave the old man a furious look and went to the
pair of bell pulls hanging down the far wall. His hand
hesitated between the two.
'Don't make any mistakes, your Grace,' Sparhawk
warned him. 'All sorts of things could go terribly wrong if
a dozen soldiers come through that door instead of a
servant.'
'Go ahead, Annias,' the Earl of Lenda urged. 'My life is
almost over anyway, and I wouldn't mind going out with
a bit of excitement.'
Annias clenched his teeth and yanked the blue bell pull
instead of the red one. After a moment the door opened,
and a liveried young man entered. 'Yes, your Grace?' he
said, bowing to the primate.
'Go and tell the Prince Regent that we require his
presence here at once.'
'But -'
'At once.'
"yes, your Grace.' The servant scurried out.
'There, you see how easy that was?' Sparhawk said to
Annias. Then he went over to the white-haired Earl of
Lenda, removed his gauntlet and took the old man's
hand. 'You're looking well, my Lord,' he said.
'still alive, you mean?' Lenda laughed. 'How was
rendor, Sparhawk?'
'Hot, dry, and very dusty.'
'Always has been, my boy. Always has been.
'Are you going to answer my question?' Annias
demanded.
'Please, your Grace,' Sparhawk responded piously,
holding up one hand, 'not until the bastard Regent
arrives. We must mind our manners, mustn't we?' He
lifted one eyebrow. 'Tell me,' he added, almost as an
afterthought, 'how's his mother - her health, I mean? I
wouldn't expect a churchman to be able to testify to the
canal talents of the Princess Arissa - although just about
everybody else in Cimmura could.'
"you go too far, Sparhawk.'
"you mean you didn't know? My goodness, old boy,
you really should try to stay abreast of things.'
'How rude!' baron Harparin exclaimed to the fat man in
' red.
"It's not the sort of thing you'd understand, Harparin,'
Sparhawk told him. 'I hear that your inclinations lie in
other directions.'
The door opened and a pimpled young man with
muddy blond hair and a slack-lipped mouth entered. He
wore a green, ermine-trimmed robe and a small gold
coronet. 'You wanted to see me, Annias?' His voice had a
nasal, almost whining quality to it.
'A state matter, your Highness,' Annias replied. 'We
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need to have you pass judgement in a case involving high
treason.'
The young man blinked stupidly at him.
'This is Sir Sparhawk, who has deliberately violated
the command of your late uncle, King Aldreas.
Sparhawk here was ordered to Render, not to return
unless summoned back by royal command. His very
presence in Elenia convicts him.'
Lycheas recoiled visibly from the bleak-faced knight in
black armour, his eyes going wide and his loose mouth
gaping. 'Sparhawk?' he quailed.
'The very same,' Sparhawk told him. 'The good primate,
however, has slightly overstated the case, I'm afraid. When
I assumed my position as hereditary champion of the
crown, I took an oath to defend the King - or the Queen -
whenever the royal life was endangered. That oath takes
precedence over any command - royal or otherwise - and
the Queen's life is clearly in danger.'
'That's merely a technicality, Sparhawk,' AnniaS
snapped. 'I know,' Sparhawk replied blandly, 'but technicalities
are the soul of the law. '
The Earl of Lenda cleared his throat. 'I have made a
study of such matters,' he said, 'and Sir Sparhawk has
correctly cited the law. His oath to defend the crown does
in Fact take precedence.'
Prince Lycheas had gone around to the other side of
the table, giving Sparhawk a wide berth. 'That's absurd,'
he declared. 'Ehlana's sick. She's not in any physical
danger.' He sat down in the chair next to the primate.
'The Queen,' Sparhawk corrected him.
'What?'
'Her proper title is "her Majesty" - or at the least,
:Queen Ehlana". It's extremely discourteous simply to
call her by name. Technically, I suppose, I'm obliged to
protect her from discourtesy as well as physical danger.
I'm a little vague on that point of law, so I'll defer to the
judgement of my old friend, the Earl of Lenda, on the
matter before I have my seconds deliver my challenge to
your Highness.'
Lycheas went pasty white. 'Challenge?'
'This is sheer idiocy,' Annias declared. 'There will be
no challenges delivered or accepted.' His eyes narrowed
then. 'The Prince Regent's point is well taken, however,'
he said. 'Sparhawk has simply seized this flimsy excuse
to violate his banishment. Unless he can present some
documentary evidence of having been summoned, he
stands convicted of high treason.' The primate's smile
was thin.
'I thought you'd never ask, Annias,' Sparhawk said.
He reached under his sword belt and drew out a tightly
folded parchment tied with a blue ribbon. He untied the
ribbon and opened the parchment, the blood-red stone
on his ring flashing in the candlelight. 'This all seems to
be in order,' he said, perusing the document. "It has the
Qu een's signature on it and her personal seal. Her
instructions to me are quite explicit.' He stretched out his
arm, offering the parchment to the Earl of Lenda. 'What's
your opinion, my Lord?'
The old man took the parchment and examined it. 'The
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seal is the Queen's,' he confirmed, 'and the handwriting
is hers. She commands Sir Sparhawk to present himself
to her immediately upon her ascension to the throne. It's
a valid royal command, my Lords.'
let me see that,' Annias snapped.
Lenda passed it on down the table to him
The primate read the document with tightly clenched
teeth. "It's not even dated,' he accused.
'Excuse me, your Grace,' Lenda pointed out, 'but there
is no legal requirement that a royal decree or command
be dated. Dahng is merely a convention.'
'Where did you get this?' the primate asked Sparhawk,
his eyes narrowing. 'i've had it for quite some time.'
"It was obviously written before the Queen ascended
the throne.'
"It does appear that way, doesn't it?'
"It has no validity.' The primate took the parchment in
both hands as if he would tear it in two.
'What's the penalty for destroying a royal decree, my
Lord of Lenda?' Sparhawk asked mildly.
'death.'
'I rather thought it might be. Go ahead and rip it up,
Annias. I'll be more than happy to carry out the sentence
myself - just to save time and the expense of all the
tiresome legal proceedings.' His eyes locked with those
of Annias. After a moment, the primate threw the
parchment on the table in disgust.
Lycheas had watched all of this with a look of growing
chagrin. Then he seemed to notice something for the first
time. 'Your ring, Sir Sparhawk,' he said in his whining
voice. 'That is your badge of office, is it not?'
'In a manner of speaking, yes. Actually the ring - and
the Queen's ring - are symbolic of the link between my
family and hers.'
'Give it to me.'
'No.'
Lycheas' eyes bulged. 'I just gave you a royal
command!' he shouted. 'No. It was a personal request, Lycheas. You can't give
royal commands, because you're not the king.
Lycheas looked uncertainly at the primate, but Annias
shook his head slightly. The pimpled young man
flushed.
'The Prince Regent merely wished to examine the ring,
Sir Sparhawk,' the churchman said smoothly. 'We have
sought its mate, the ring of King Aldreas, but it seems to
be missing. Would you have any idea where we might
find it?'
Sparhawk spread his hands. 'Aldreas had it on his
finger when I left for Cippria,' he replied. 'The rings are
not customarily taken off, so I assume he was still
wearing it when he died.'
'No. He was not.'
'Perhaps the Queen has it then.'
'Not so far as we're able to determine.'
'I want that other ring,' Lycheas insisted, 'as a symbol
of my authority.' Sparhawk looked at him, his face amused. 'What
authority?'he asked bluntly. 'The ring belongs to Queen
Ehlana, and if someone tries to take it from her, I imagine
that I'll have to take steps.' He suddenly felt a faint
prickling of his skin. It seemed that the candles in their
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gold candelabras flickered slightly and the blue-draped
council chamber grew perceptibly dimmer. Instantly, he
began to mutter under his breath in the Styric tongue,
carefully weaving the counterspell even as he searched
the faces of the men sitting around the council table for
the source of the rather crude attempt at magic. When he
released the counterspell, he saw Annias flinch and he
smiled bleakly. Then he drew himself up. 'Now,' he said,
his voice crisp, 'let's get down to business. Exactly what
happened to King Aldreas?'
The Earl of Lenda sighed. "It was the falling-sickness,
Sir Sparhawk,' he replied sadly. 'The seizures began
several months ago, and they grew more and more
frequent. The King grew weaker and weaker, and finally
-' He shrugged. 'He didn't have the falling-sickness when I left
Cimmura,' Sparhawk said.
'The onset was sudden,' Annias said coldly.
'So it seems. It's rumoured that the Queen fell ill with
the same affliction.'
Annias nodded.
'Didn't that strike any of you as odd? There's never
been a history of the disease in the royal family, and isn't
it peculiar that Aldreas didn't develop symptoms until he
was in his forties, and his daughter fell ill when she was
little more than eighteen?'
'I have no medical background, Sparhawk,' Annias
told him. 'You may question the court physicians if you
wish, but I doubt that you're going to unearth anything
that we haven't already discovered.'
Sparhawk grunted. He looked around the council
chamber. 'I think that covers everything we need to
discuss here,' he said. 'i'll see the Queen now.'
'Absolutely not!' Lycheas said.
'i'm not asking' you, Lycheas,' the big knight said
firmly. 'May I have that?' He pointed at the parchment
still lying on the table in front of the primate.
They passed it down to him, and he ran through it
quickly. 'Here it is,' he said, picking out the sentences he
wanted. "'You are commanded to present yourself to me
immediately upon your return to Cimmura." That
doesn't leave any room for argument, does it?'
'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' the primate asked
suspiciously.
'i'm just obeying orders, your Grace. I'm commanded
by the Queen to present myself to her and I'm going to do
precisely that.'
'The door to the throne room is locked,' Lycheas
snapped. The smile Sparhawk gave him was almost
benign. 'That's all right, Lycheas,' he said. 'i've got a
key.' He put his hand suggestively on the silver-bound
hilt of his sword.
'You wouldn't.'
"try me.'
Annias cleared his throat. 'if I may speak, your
Highness?' he said.
'Of course, your Grace,' Lycheas replied quickly. 'The
crown is always open to the advice and counsel of the
Church.'
'Crown?' Sparhawk asked.
'A formula, Sir Sparhawk,' Annias told him. 'Prince
Lycheas speaks for the crown for as long as the Queen is
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incapacitated. '
'Not to me, he doesn't.'
Annias turned back towards Lycheas. "It is the advice
of the Church that we accede to the somewhat churlish
request of the Queen's Champion,' he said. 'Let no one
accuse us of incivility. Moreover, the Church advises that
the Prince Regent and all of the council accompany Sir
Sparhawk to the throne room. He is reputed to be adept
at certain forms of magic, and-to protect the Queen's life
we must not permit him to employ precipitously those
arts without full consultation with the court physicians.'
Lycheas made some pretence of thinking it over. Then
he rose to his feet. "It shall be as you advise, then, your
Grace,' he declared. 'You are directed to accompany us,
Sir Sparhawk.'
'directed?'
Lycheas ignored that and swept regally towards the
door.
Sparhawk let Baron Harparin and the fat man in red
pass, then fell in beside Primate Annias. He was smiling
in a relaxed fashion, but there was little in the way of
good humour in the low voice that came from between
his teeth. 'Don't ever try that again, Annias,' he said.
'What?' The primate sounded startled.
'Your magic. You're not very good at it in the first
place, and it irritates me to have to waste the effort of
countering the work of amateurs. Besides, churchmen
are forbidden to dabble in magic, as I recall.'
'You have no proof, Sparhawk.'
'I don't need proof, Annias. My oath as a Pandion
Knight would be sufficient in any civil or ecclesiastical
court. Why don't we just leave it there? But don't
mutter any more incantations
in my direction.'
With Lycheas in the lead, the council and Sparhawk
went down a candlelit corridor to the broad double doors
of the throne room. When they reached the doors,
Lycheas took a key from inside his doublet and unlocked
them. 'All right,' he said to Sparhawk. "It's open. Go
present yourself to your Queen - for all the good it's
going to do you.' Sparhawk reached up and took a burning candle from
a silver sconce jutting from the wall of the corridor and
went into the dark room beyond the doors.
It was cool, almost clammy inside the throne room,
and the air smelled musty and stale. Methodically,
Sparhawk went along the walls, lighting candles. Then
he went to the throne and lit the ones standing in the
candelabras flanking it.
'You don't need that much light, Sparhawk,' Lycheas
said irritably from the doorway.
Sparhawk ignored him. He put out his hand, tentatively
touched the crystal which encased the throne, and
felt Sephrenia's familiar aura permeating the crystal
Then slowly he raised his eyes to look into Ehlana's pale
young face. The promise that had been there when she
had been a child had been fulfilled. She was not simply
pretty as so many young girls are pretty, she was
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beautiful. There was an almost luminous perfection
about her countenance. Her pale blonde hair was long
and loosely framed her face. She wore her state robes,
and the heavy gold crown of Elenia encircled her head.
Her slender hands lay upon the arms of her throne, and
her eyes were closed.
He remembered that at first he had bitterly resented
the command of King Aldreas that had made him the
young girl's caretaker. He had quickly found, however,
that she was no giddy child, but rather was a seriOUS
young lady with a quick, retentive mind and an overwhelming
curiosity about the world. After her initial
shyness had passed, she had begun to question him
closely about palace affairs, and thus, almost by accident,
had begun her education in statecraft and the intricacies
of palace politics. After a few months they had grown
very close, and he had found himself looking forward to
their daily private conversations during which he had
gently moulded her character and had prepared her for
her ultimate destiny as Queen of Elenia.
To see her as she was now, locked in the semblance of
death, wrenched at his heart, and he swore to himself
that he would take the world apart if need be to restore
. her to health and to her throne. For some reason it made
him angry to look at her, and he felt an irrational desire to
,lash out at things as if by sheer physical force he could
return her to consciousness.
And then he heard and felt it. The sound appeared to
grow more pronounced, and it grew louder moment by
moment. It was a regular, steady thudding sound, not
quite like the beating of a drum, and it did not change nor
falter, but echoed through the room, its volume steadily
increasing as it announced to any who might enter that
Ehlana's heart was still beating.
Sparhawk drew his sword and saluted his queen with
it. Then he sank to one knee in a move of profoundest
respect and a peculiar form of love. He leaned forward
and gently kissed the unyielding crystal, his eyes suddenly
filling with tears. 'I am here now, Ehlana,' he
murmured, 'and I'll make everything all right again.'
The heartbeat grew louder, almost as if in some
peculiar way she had heard him.
From the doorway he heard Lycheas snicker derisively,
and he promised himself that should the opportunity
arise, he would do a number of unpleasant things
to the Queen's bastard cousin. Then he rose and went
towards the door again.
Lycheas stood smirking at him, still holding the key to
the throne room in his hand. As Sparhawk passed the
prince, he reached out and took the key. 'You won't need
this any more,' he said. 'i'm here now, so i'll take care of
it.'
'Annias,' Lycheas said in a voice shrill with protest.
Annias, however, took one look at the bleak face of the
Queen's Champion and decided not to press the issue.
'Let him keep it,' he said shortly.
'But -'
'I said to let him keep it,' the primate snapped. 'We
don't need it anyway. Let the Queen's Champion hold
the key to the room in which she sleeps.' There was a vile
innuendo in the churchman's voice, and Sparhawk
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clenched his still-gauntleted left fist.
'Will you walk with me as we return to the council
chamber, Sir Sparhawk?' the Earl of Lenda said, placing a
lightly restraining hand on Sparhawk's armoured forearm.
'My steps sometimes falter, and it's comforting to
have a strong young person at my side.'
'Certainly, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, unclenching
his fist.
When Lycheas had led the members of the
council back down the corridor towards their meeting
room, Sparhawk closed the door and locked it. Then he
handed the key to his old friend. 'Will you keep this for
me, my Lord?' he asked.
'Gladly, Sir Sparhawk.'
'and if you can, keep the candles burning in the throne
room. Don't leave her sitting there in the dark.'
'Of course.'
They started down the corridor.
'Do you know something, Sparhawk?' the old man
said. 'They left a great deal of bark on you when they
were giving you the last polishing touches.'
Sparhawk grinned at him.
"you can be truly offensive when you set your mind to
it.'.Lenda chuckled.
'I can but try, my Lord.'
'Be very careful here in Cimmura, Sparhawk,' the old
man cautioned seriously in a low voice. 'Annias has a spy
on every street corner. Lycheas won't even sneeze
without his permission, so the primate is the real ruler
here in Elenia and he hates you.'
'i'm not overly fond of him, either.' Sparhawk thought
of something. 'You've been a good friend here today, my
lord. Is that going to put you in any kind of danger?'
The Earl of Lenda smiled. 'I doubt it. I'm too old and
powerless to be any kind of threat to Annias. I'm hardly
more than an irritation, and he's far too calculating to
take action against me for that.'
The primate awaited them at the door to the council
chamber. 'The council has discussed the situation here,
sir 'Sparhawk,' he said coldly. 'The Queen is quite
obviously in no danger. Her heartbeat is strong, and the
crystalwhich encloses her is quite impregnable. She has
no real need of a protector at this particular time. It is the
command of the council, therefore, that you return to the
chapterhouse of your order here in Cimmura and remain
there until you receive further instructions.' A chill smile
touched his lips. 'Or until the Queen herself summons
you, of course.'
'Of course,' Sparhawk replied distantly. 'I was about to
suggest that myself, your Grace. I'm just a simple knight,
and I'll be far more at ease in the chapterhouse with my
brothers than here in the palace.' He smiled. 'i'm really
quite out of place at court.'
'I noticed that.'
'I thought you might have.' Sparhawk briefly clasped
the hand of the Earl of Lenda by way of farewell. Then he
looked directly at Annias. 'Until we meet again, then
your Grace.'
'If we meet again.'
'Oh, we will, Annias. Indeed we will.' Then Sparhawk
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turned on his heel and walked on down the corridor.
!!!
*Chapter3
The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Cimmura
lay just beyond the eastern gate of the city. It was, in
every sense of the word, a castle, with high walls
surmounted by battlements and with bleak towers at
each corner. It was approached by way of a drawbridge
which spanned a deep fosse bristling with sharpened
stakes. The drawbridge had been lowered, but it was
guarded by four black-armoured Pandions mounted on
war horses.
Sparhawk reined Faran in at the outer end of the bridge
and waited. There were certain formalities involved in
gaining entry into a Pandion chapterhouse. Oddly, he
found that he did not chafe at those formalities. They had
been a part of his life for all the years of his novitiate, and
the observance of these age-old ceremonies seemed
somehow to mark a renewal and a reaffirmation of his
very identity. Even as he awaited the ritual challenge, the
.sun-baked city of Jiroch and the women going to the
wells in the steel-grey light of morning faded back in his
memory, becoming more remote and taking their proper
place among all his other memories.
Two of the armoured knights rode forward at a stately
pace, the hooves of their chargers booming hollowly on
the foot-thick planks of the drawbridge. They halted just
in front of Sparhawk. 'Who art thou who entreateth entry
into the house of the Soldiers of God?' one of them
intoned.
Sparhawk raised his visor in the symbolic gesture of
peaceable intent. 'I am Sparhawk,' he replied, 'a soldier
of God and a member of this order.'
'How may we know thee?' the second knight inquired.
'By this token may you know me.' Sparhawk reached
his hand into the neck of his surcoat and drew out the
heavy silver amulet suspended on the chain about his
neck. Every Pandion wore such an amulet.
The pair made some pretense of looking carefully at it.
'This is indeed Sir Sparhawk of our order,' the first
knight declared.
'Truly,' the second agreed, 'and shall we then - uh -'
He faltered, frowning.
Grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of
God,' Sparhawk prompted.
The second knight made a face. "I can never remember
that part,' he muttered. 'Thanks, Sparhawk.' He cleared
his throat and began again. 'Truly,' he said, 'and shall we
then grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of
God?'
The first knight was grinning openly. "It is his right
freely to enter this house,' he said, 'for he is one of us.
Hail, Sir Sparhawk. Prithee, come within the walls of this
house, and may peace abide with thee beneath its roof.'
'And with thee and thy companion as well, wheresoever
you may fare,' Sparhawk replied, concluding the
ceremony.
'Welcome home, Sparhawk,' the first knight said
warmly then. 'You've been a long time away.'
'You noticed,' Sparhawk answered. 'Did Kurik get
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here?'
The second knight nodded. 'An hour or so ago. He
talked with Vanion and then left again.'
'Let's go inside,' Sparhawk suggested. "I need a large
dose of that peace you mentioned earlier, and I've got to
see Vanion.'
The two knights turned their horses, and the three
rode together back across the drawbridge.
'is Sephrenia still here?' Sparhawk asked.
"yes,' the second knight replied. 'She and Vanion came
from Demos shortly after the Queen fell ill, and she
hasn't gone back to the motherhouse yet.'
'Good. I need to talk with her as well.'
The three of them halted at the castle gate. 'This is Sir
Sparhawk, a member of our order,' the first knight
declared to the two who had remained at the gate. 'We
have confirmed his identity and vouch for his right to
enter the house of the Knights Pandion.'
'Pass then, Sir Sparhawk, and may peace abide with
thee whilst thou remain within this house.'
"I thank thee, Sir Knight, and may peace also be thine.'
The knights drew their mounts aside, and Faran
moved forward without any urging.
"you know the ritual as well as I do, don't you?'
Sparhawk murmured.
Faran flicked his ears.
In the central courtyard, an apprentice knight who had
not yet been vested with his ceremonial armour or spurs
hurried forward and took Faran's reins. 'Welcome, Sir
Knight,' he said.
.' Sparhawk hooked his shield to his saddlebow and
swinging down from Faran's back with his armour clinking.
Thank you,'he replied. 'Do you have any idea of where I
might find Lord Vanion?'
I believe he's in the south tower, my Lord.'
Thanks again.' Sparhawk started across the courtyard,
then stopped. 'Oh, be careful of the horse,' he
WHred. 'He bites.'
The novice looked startled and then cautiously
stepped away from the big, ugly roan, though still firmly
holding the reins.
The horse gave Sparhawk a flat, unfriendly stare.
"It's more sporting this way, Faran,' Sparhawk
explained. He started up the worn steps that led into the
centuries-old castle.
The inside of the chapterhouse was cool and dim, and
the few members of the order Sparhawk met in those
halls wore cowled monk's robes, as was customary
inside a secure house, although an occasional steely clink
betrayed the fact that, beneath their humble garb, the
members of this order wore chain mail and were inevitably
armed. There were no greetings exchanged, and the
cowled brothers of Pandion went resolutely about their
duties with bowed heads and shadowed faces.
Sparhawk put the flat of his hand out in front of one of
the cowled men. Pandions seldom touched each other,
'Excuse me, brother,' he said. 'Do you know if Vanion is
still in the south tower?'
'He is,' the other knight replied.
'Thank you, brother. Peace be with you.
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'And with you, Sir Knight.'
Sparhawk went on along the torchlit corridor until he
came to a narrow stairway which wound up into the
south tower between walls of massive, unmortared
stones. At the top of the stairs there was a heavy door
guarded by two young Pandions. Sparhawk did not
recognize either of them. "I need to talk with Vanion,' he
told them. 'The name is Sparhawk.'
'Can you identify yourself?' one of them asked, trying
to make his youthful voice sound gruff.
'I've just done so.'
It hung there while the two young knights struggled to
find a graceful way out of the situation. 'Why not just
open the door and tell Vanion that I'm here?' Sparhawk
suggested. 'if he recognizes me, fine. If he doesn't, the
two of you can try to throw me back down the stairs.' He
laid no particular emphasis on the word try.
The two looked at each other, then one of them opened
the door and looked inside. 'A thousand pardons, my
Lord Vanion,' he apologized, but there's a Pandion here
who calls himself Sparhawk. He says that he wants to
talk with you.'
'Good,' a familiar voice replied from inside the room.
I've been expecting him. Send him in.'
The two knights looked abashed and stepped out of
Sparhawk's way.
Thank you, my brothers,' Sparhawk murmured to
them. 'Peace be with you.' And then he went on through
the door. The room was large, with stone walls, dark
green draPes at the narrow windows, and a carpet of
muted brown. A fire crackled in the arched fireplace at
one end, and there was a candlelit table surrounded by
heavy chairs in the centre. Two people, a man and a
woman, sat at the table.
Vanion, the Preceptor of the Pandion Knights, had
aged somewhat In the past ten years. His hair and beard
were iron-grey now. There were a few more lines in his
face,but there were no signs of feebleness there. He wore
a mail shirt and a silver surcoat. As Sparhawk entered the
room, he rose and came around the table. "I was about to
'send a rescue party to the palace for you,' he said,
gripping Sparhawk's armoured shoulders. 'You
shouldn't have gone there alone, you know.'
$maybe not, but things worked out all right.' Sparhawk
removed his gauntlets and helmet, laying them on the
table. Then he unfastened his sword from its studs and
" laid it beside them. "It's good to see you again, Vanion,'
he said, taking the older man's hand in his. Vanion had
always been a stern teacher, tolerating no shortcomings
in the young knights he had trained to take their places in
Pandion ranks. Although Sparhawk had come close to
hating the man during his novitiate, he now regarded the
blunt-spoken preceptor as one of his closest friends, and
their handclasp was warm, even affectionate.
Then the big knight turned to the woman. She was
small and had that peculiar neat perfection one sometimes
sees in small people. Her hair was as black as night,
though her eyes were a deep blue. Her features were
obviously not Elene, but had that strangely foreign cast
that marked her as a Styric. She wore a soft, white robe,
and there was a large book on the table in front of her.
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'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 hadserved faithfully, to a man the
,."" Pandions had come to love and respect her. Even
Vanion, the preceptor of the order, frequently sought her
cOUmSel.
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
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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 voice, he stared at the fire. Faintly,
he heard her whispering in Styric, and then she passed
her hand slowly across the flames. Unthinking, he sank
to his knees and stared into the fireplace.
Something was moving in the fire. Sparhawk leaned
forward and stared hard at the little bluish curls of flame
dancing along the edge of a charred oak log. The blue
colour expanded, growing larger and larger, and within
that nimbus of coruscating blue, he seemed to see a
group of figures that wavered as the flame flickered. The
image grew stronger, and he realized that he was looking
at the semblance of the throne room in the palace, many
miles away. Twelve armoured Pandions were crossing
the flagstone floor bearing the slight figure of a young
girl. She was borne, not upon a litter, but upon the flat
sides of a dozen gleaming sword blades held rock-steady
by the twelve black-armoured and visored men. They
stopped before the throne, and Sephrenia's white-robed
figure stepped out of the shadows. She raised one hand,
seeming to say something, though all Sparhawk could
hear was the crackling flames. With a dreadful jerking
motion, the young girl sat up. It was Ehlana. Her face
was distorted and her eyes wide and vacant.
Without thinking, Sparhawk reached towards her,
thrusting his hand directly into the flames.
'No,' Sephrenia said sharply, pulling his hand back.
"you may watch only.'
The image of Ehlana, trembling uncontrollably, jerked
to its feet, following, it seemed, the unspoken commands
of the small woman in the white robe. Imperiously,
Sephrenia pointed at the throne, and Ehlana stumbled,
even staggered, up the steps of the dais to assume her
rightful place.
Sparhawk wept. He tried once again to reach out to his
queen, but Sephrenia held him back with a gentle touch
that was strangely like an iron chain. 'Continue to watch,
dear one,' she told him.
The twelve knights then formed a circle around the
enthroned Queen and the white-robed woman standing
at her side. Reverently, they extended their swords so
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that the two women on the dais were ringed in steel.
Sephrenia raised her arms and spoke. Sparhawk could
clearly see the strain on her face as she uttered the words
of an incantation he could not even begin to imagine.
The point of each of the twelve swords began to glow
and grew brighter and brighter, bathing the dais in
intense silvery-white light. The light from those sword
tips seemed to coalesce around Ehlana and her throne.
Then Sephrenia spoke a single word, bringing her arm
down as she did so in a peculiar cutting motion. In an
instant the light around Ehlana solidified, and she
became as she had been when Sparhawk had seen her in
the throne room that morning. The image of Sephrenia,
however, wilted and collapsed on the dais beside the
crystal-encased throne.
The tears were streaming openly down Sparhawk's
face, and Sephrenia gently enfolded his head in her
arms, holding him to her. "It is not easy, Sparhawk,' she
comforted him. 'To look thus into the fire opens the heart
and allows what we really are to emerge. You are gentler
far than you would have us believe.'
He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. 'How
long will the crystal sustain her?' he asked.
'For as long as the thirteen of us who were there
continue to live,' Sephrenia replied. 'A year at most, as
you Elenes measure time.'
He stared at her.
"It is our life force that keeps her heart alive. As the
seasons turn, we will one by one drop away, and one of
us who was there will then have to assume the burden of
the fallen. Eventually when we have each and every one
given all we can - your Queen will die.'
'No!' he said fiercely. He looked at Vanion. 'Were you
there, too?'
Vanion nodded.
'Who else?'
"It wouldn't serve any purpose for you to know that,
Sparhawk. We all went willingly and we knew what was
involved.'
'Who's going to take up the burden you mentioned?'
Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.
"I will.'
'We're still arguing that point,' Vanion disagreed.
'Any one of us who were there can do it, actually.'
'Not unless we modify the spell, Vanion,' she told him
just a bit smugly.
'We'll see,' he said.
'But what good does it do?' Sparhawk demanded. 'All
you've done is to give her a year more of life at a dreadful
cost - and she doesn't even know.'
'if we can isolate the cause of her illness and find a
cure, the spell can be reversed,' Sephrenia replied. 'We
have suspended her life to give us time.'
'Are we making any progress?'
'I've got every physician in Elenia working on it,'
Vanion said, 'and I've summoned others from various
parts of Eosia. Sephrenia's looking into the possibility
that the illness may not be of natural origin. We've
'encountered some resistance, though. The court
physicians refuse to co-operate.'
'I'll go back to the palace then,' Sparhawk said bleakly.
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'Perhaps I can persuade them to be more helpful.'
'We thought of that already, but Annias has them all
closely guarded.'
"what is Annias up to?' Sparhawk burst out angrily.
'All we want to do is to restore Ehlana. Why is he putting
all these stumbling blocks in our path? Does he want the
throne for himself?'
"I think he has his eyes on a bigger throne,' Vanion
Said. 'The Archprelate Cluvonus is old and in poor
health. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Annias believed
that the mitre of the Archprelacy might fit him.'
'Annias? Archprelate? Vanion, that's an absurdity.'
'life is filled with absurdities, Sparhawk. The militant
orders are all opposed to him, of course, and our opinion
carries a great deal of weight with the Church
hearocracy, but Annias has his hands in the treasury of
Ehlenia up to the elbows and he's very free with his bribes.
Ehlana would have been able to cut off his access to that
money, but she fell ill. That may have something to do
with his lack of enthusiasm about her recovery.'
'And he wants to put Arissa's bastard on the throne to
replace her?' Sparhawk was growing angrier by the
minute. 'Vanion, I've just seen Lycheas. He's weaker -
and stupider - than King Aldreas was. Besides, he's
illegitimate. '
Vanion spread his hands. 'A vote of the Royal Council
could legitimize him, and Annias controls the council.'
'Not all of it, he doesn't,' Sparhawk grated. 'Technically,
I'm also a member of the council, and I think I
might just want to sway a few votes if that ever came up.
A public duel or two might change the minds of the
council.'
'You're rash, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told him.
'No, I'm angry. I feel a powerful urge to hurt some
people.'
Vanion sighed. 'We can't make any decisions just yet,'
he said. Then he shook his head and turned to another
matter. 'What's really going on in Render?' he asked.
'Voren's reports were all rather carefully worded in the
event they fell into unfriendly hands.'
Sparhawk rose and went to one of the embrasured
windows with his black cape swirling about his ankles.
The sky was still covered with dirty-looking cloud, and
the city of Cimmura seemed to crouch beneath that scud
as if clenched to endure yet another winter. "It's hot
there,' he mused, almost as if to himself, 'and dry and
dusty. The sun reflects back from the walls and pierces
the eye. At first light, before the sun rises and the sky is
like molten silver, veiled women in black robes and with
clay vessels on their shoulders pass in silence through
the streets on their way to the wells.'
'I've misjudged you, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said in her
melodic voice. 'You have the soul of a poet.'
'Not really, Sephrenia. It's just that you need to get the
feel of Render to understand what's happening there.
The sun is like the blows of a hammer on the top of your
head, and the air is so hot and dry that it leaves no time
for thought. Renders seek simplistic answers. The sun
doesn't give them time for pondering. That might
explain what happened to Eshand in the first place. A
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simple shepherd with his brains half baked out isn't the
logical receptacle for any kind of profound epiphany. It was
the aggravation of the sun, I think, that gave the
Eshandist Heresy its impetus in the first place. Those
poor fools would have accepted any idea, no matter how
absurd, just for the chance to move around - and perhaps
find some shade.'
'That's a novel explanation for a movement that
plunged all of Eosia into three centuries of warfare,'
Vanion observed.
'You have to experience it,' Sparhawk told him,
returning to his seat. 'Anyway, one of those sun-baked
enthusiasts arose at Dabour about twenty years ago.'
'Arasham?' Vanion surmised. 'We've heard of him.'
'That's what he calls himself,' Sparhawk replied. 'He
was probably born with a different name, though.
Religious leaders tend to change their names fairly often
to fit the prejudices of their followers. From what I
understand, Arasham is an unlettered, unwashed
fanatic with only a tenuous grip on reality. He's about
eighty or so, and he sees things and hears voices. His
followers have less intelligence than their sheep. They'd
idly attack the kingdoms of the north - if they could
only figure out which way north is. That's a matter of
serious debate in Render. I've seen a few of them. These
heretics that send the members of the Hierocracy in
chirellos trembling to their beds every night are little
more than howling desert dervishes, poorly armed and
with no military training. Frankly, Vanion, I'd worry
more about the next winter storm than any kind of
resurgence of the Eshandist Heresy in Render.'
'That's blunt enough.'
'I've just wasted ten years of my life on a nonexistent
danger. I'm sure you'll forgive a certain amount of
discontent about the whole thing.'
'Patience will come to you, Sparhawk.' Sephrenia
smiled. 'Once you have reached maturity.'
"I thought that I already had.'
'Not by half.'
He grinned at her then. 'Just how old are you,
Sephrenia?' he asked.
Her look was filled with resignation. 'What is it about
you Pandions that makes you all ask that same question?
You know I'm not going to answer you. Can't you just
accept the fact that I'm older than you are and let it go at
that?'
'You're also older than I am,' Vanion added. 'You were
my teacher when I was no older than those boys who
guard my door.'
'And do I look so very, very old?'
'My dear Sephrenia, you're as young as spring and as
wise as winter. You've ruined us all, you know. After
we've known you, the fairest of maidens have no charm
for us.'
'isn't he nice?' She smiled at Sparhawk. 'Surely no man
alive has so beguiling a tongue.'
,try him sometime when you've just missed a pass
with the lance,' Sparhawk replied sourly. He shifted his
shoulders under the weight of his armour. 'What else is
afoot? I've been gone a long time and I'm hungry for
news.'
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'Otha's mobilizing,' Vanion told him. 'The word that's
coming out of Zemoch is that he's looking eastward
towards Daresia and the Tamul Empire, but I've got a few
doubts about that.'
'And I have more than a few,' Sephrenia agreed. 'The
kingdoms of the west are suddenly awash with Styric
vagabonds. They camp at crossroads and hawk the rude
goods of Styricum, but no local Styric band acknowledges
them as members. For some reason the Emperor
Otha and his cruel master have inundated us with
watchers. Azash has driven the Zemochs to attack the
west before. Something lies hidden here that he desperately
wants, and he's not going to find it in Daresia.'
There have been Zemoch mobilizations before,'
Sparhawk said, leaning back. 'Nothing ever came of it.'
"I think that this time might be a bit more serious,'
Vanion disagreed. 'When he gathered his forces before,
it was always on the border, as soon as the four militant
orders moved into Lamorkand to face him, he disbanded
his armies. He was testing us, nothing more. This time,
though, he's massing his troops back - behind the
mountains - out of sight, so to speak.'
'Let him come,' Sparhawk said bleakly. 'We stopped
him five hundred years ago, and we can do it again if we
have to. '
Vanion shook his head. 'We don't want a repetition of
what happened after the battle at Lake Randera - a
century of famine, pestilence and complete social
collapse - no, my friend, that we don't want.'
'If we can avoid it,' Sephrenia added. "I am Styric, and I
know even better than you Elenes just how totally evil
the Elder God Azash is. If he comes west again, he must
be stopped - no matter what the cost.'
That's what the Church Knights are here for,' Vanion
said. 'Right now, about all we can do is keep our eyes on
Otha.'
"I've just remembered something,' Sparhawk said.
when I was riding into town last night, I saw Krager.'
'Here in Cimmura?' Vanion asked, sounding surprised.
'Do you think Martel could be with him?'
'Probably not. Krager's usually Martel's errand boy.
Adus is the one who has to be kept on a short chain.' He
squinted. 'How much did you hear about the incident in
Cippria?' he asked them.
'We heard that Martel attacked you,' Vanion replied.
'That's about all.'
'There was a bit more to it than that,' Sparhawk' told
him. 'When Aldreas sent me to Cippria, I was supposed
to report to the Elenian consul there - a diplomat who
just happens to be the cousin of the Primate Annias. Late
one night, he summoned me. I was on my way to his
house when Martel, Adus, and Krager - along with a fair
number of local cutthroats - came charging out of a side
street. There's no way that they could have known that
I'd be passing that way unless someone had told them.
Put that together with the fact that Krager's back in
Cimmura, where there's a price on his head, and you
start to come up with some interesting conclusions.'
'You think that Martel is working for Annias?'
"It's a possibility, wouldn't you say? Annias wasn't
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very happy about the way my father forced Aldreas to
give up the notion of marrying his own sister, and it's
entirely possible that he felt that he'd have a freer hand
here in Elenia if the family of Sparhawk became extinct in
a back alley in Cippria. Of course, Martel has his own
reasons for disliking me. I really think you made a
mistake, Vanion. You could have saved us all a lot of
trouble if you hadn't ordered me to withdraw my
challenge. '
Vanion shook his head. 'No, Sparhawk,' he said.
'Martel had been a brother in our order, and I didn't want
you two trying to kill each other. Besides, I couldn't be
entirely sure who'd win. Martel is very dangerous.'
'So am I.'
'i'm not taking any unnecessary chances with you,
Sparhawk. You're too valuable.'
'Well, it's too late to worry about it now.'
'What are your plans?'
'i'm supposed to stay here in the chapterhouse, but I
think I'll drift around the city a bit and see if I can run
across Krager again. If I can connect him with anybody
who's working for Annias, I'll be able to answer a few
burning questions.'
'Perhaps you should wait a bit,' Sephrenia advised.
'Kalten's on his way back from Lamorkand.'
'Kalten? I haven't seen him in years.'
'She's right, Sparhawk,' Vanion agreed. 'Kalten's a
good man in tight corners, and the streets of Cimmura
can be just as dangerous as the alleys of Cippria.'
'when's he likely to arrive?'
Vanion shrugged. 'Soon, I think. It could even be
today.'
'I'll wait until he gets here.' An idea came to Sparhawk
then. He smiled at his teacher and rose to his feet.
'What are you doing, Sparhawk?' she asked him
suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing,' he replied. He began to speak in Styric,
moving his fingers in the air in front of him as he did so.
when he had built the spell, he released it and held out
his hand. There came a humming vibration, followed by
a dimming of the candles and a lowering of the flames in
the fireplace. When the light came up again, he was
holding a bouquet of violets. 'For you, little mother,' he
said, "because I love you.' bowing slightly and offering the flowers to
her.
Why, thank you, Sparhawk.' She smiled, taking
them. 'You were always the most thoughtful of my
pupils. You mispronounced stBrathB, though,' she added
critically. 'You came very close to filling your hand with
snakes.'
'I'll practise,' he promised.
'Do.'
There was a respectful knock at the door.
'Yes?' Vanion called.
The door opened and one of the young knights
stepped inside. 'There's a messenger from the palace
outside, Lord Vanion. He says that he has been commanded
to speak with Sir Sparhawk.'
'Now what do they want?' Sparhawk muttered.
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'You'd better send him in,' Vanion told the young
knight.
'At once, my Lord.' The knight bowed slightly and
went out again.
The messenger had a familiar face. His blond hair was
still elegantly curled. His saffron-coloured doublet,
lavender hose, maroon shoes and apple-green cloak still
clashed horribly. The young fop's face, however, sported
an entirely new embellishment. The very tip of his
pointed nose was adorned with a large and extremely
painful-looking boil. He was trying without much success
to conceal the excrescence with a lace-trimmed
handkerchief. He bowed elegantly to Vanion. 'My Lord
Preceptor,' he said, 'the Prince Regent sends his
compliments. '
'And please, convey mine back to him,' Vanion
replied.
'Be assured that I shall, my Lord.' The elegant fellow
then turned to Sparhawk. 'My message is for you, Sir
Knight,' he declared.
'Say on then,' Sparhawk answered with exaggerated
formality. 'My ears hunger for your message.'
The fop ignored that. He removed a sheet of parchment
from inside his doublet and read grandly from it.
"By royal decree, you are commanded by his Highness
to journey straightaway to the motherhouse of the
Pandion Knights at Demos, there to devote yourself to
your religious duties until such time as he sees fit to
summon you once again to the palace."
"I see,' Sparhawk replied.
'Do you understand the message, Sir Sparhawk?' the
fop asked, handing over the parchment.
Sparhawk did not bother to read the document. "It was
quite clear. You have completed your mission in a
fashion which does you credit.' Sparhawk peered at the
perfumed young fellow. 'if you don't mind some advice,
neighbour, you ought to have that boil looked at by a
surgeon. If it isn't lanced soon, it's going to keep growing
to the point where you won't be able to see around it.'
The fop winced at the word lanced. 'Do you really think
so, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked plaintively, lowering his
handkerchief. 'Wouldn't a poultice, perhaps -'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No, neighbour,' he said
with false sympathy. "I can almost guarantee you that a
poultice won't work. Be brave, my man. Lancing is the
only solution.'
The courtier's face grew melancholy. He bowed and
left the room.
'Did you do that to him, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked
suspiciously.
'Me?' He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence.
'Somebody did. That eruption is not natural.'
'My, my,' he said. 'imagine that.'
'Well?' Vanion said. 'Are you going to obey the
bastard's orders?'
'Of course not,' Sparhawk snorted. 'I've got too many
things to do here in Cimmura.'
'You'll make him very angry.'
'So?'
!!!
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!!! *Chapter4
The sky had turned threatening again when Sparhawk
emerged from the chapterhouse and clanked down the
stairs into the courtyard. The novice came from the stable
door leading Faran, and Sparhawk looked thoughtfully
at him. He was perhaps eighteen and quite tall. He had
knobby wrists that stuck out of an earth-coloured tunic
that was too small for him. 'What's your name, young
man?' Sparhawk asked him.
'Berit, my Lord.'
'What are your duties here?'
'I haven't been assigned anything specific as yet, my
Lord. I just try to make myself useful.'
'Good. Turn around.'
'My Lord?'
"I want to measure you.'
Berit looked puzzled, but he did as he was told.
Sparhawk measured him across the shoulders with his
hands. Although he looked bony, Berit was actually a
husky youth. 'You'll do fine,' Sparhawk told him.
Berit turned, baffled.
'You're going to be making a trip,' Sparhawk told him.
'Gather up what you'll need while I go get the man who's
going to go with you. '
'Yes, my Lord,' Berit replied, bowing respectfully.
Sparhawk took hold of the saddlebow and hauled
himself up onto Faran's back. Berit handed him the reins
and Sparhawk nudged the big roan into a walk. They
crossed the courtyard, and Sparhawk responded to the
salutes of the knights at the gate. Then he rode on across
the drawbridge and through the east gate of the city.
The streets of Cimmura were busy now. Workmen
carrying large bundles wrapped in mud-coloured burlap
grunted their way through the narrow lanes, and
merchants dressed in conventional blue stood in the
doorways of their shops with their brightly coloured
wares piLed around them. An occasional wagon clattered
along the cobblestones. Near the intersection of two
narrow streets, a squad of church soldiers in their scarlet
livery marched with a certain arrogant precision.
Sparhawk did not give way to them, but instead bore
down on them at a steady trot. Grudgingly, they
separated and stood aside as he passed. 'Thank you,
neighbours,' Sparhawk said pleasantly.
They did not answer him.
He reined Faran in. "I said, thank you, neighbours.'
"you're welcome,' one of them replied sullenly.
Sparhawk waited.
. My Lord,' the soldier added grudgingly.
'Much better, friend.' Sparhawk rode on.
The gate to the inn was closed, and Sparhawk leaned
over and banged on its timbers with his gauntleted fist.
The porter who swung it open for him was not the same
knight who had admitted him the evening before.
Sparhawk swung down from Faran's back and handed
him the reins.
will you be needing him again, my Lord?' the knight
asked.
"yes. I'll be going right back out. Would you saddle my
squire's horse, Sir Knight?'
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'Of course, my Lord.'
"I appreciate that.' Sparhawk laid one hand on Faran's
neck. 'Behave yourself,' he said.
Faran looked away, his expression lofty.
Sparhawk clinked up the stairs and rapped on the door
of the room at the top.
Kurik opened the door for him. 'Well? How did it go?'
'Not bad.'
'You came out alive, anyway. Did you see the Queen?'
'Yes.'
'That's surprising.'
"I sort of insisted. do you want to get your things
together? You're going back to Demos.
'You didn't say "we", Sparhawk.'
'i'm staying here.'
"I suppose there are good reasons.'
'Lycheas has ordered me back to the motherhouse. I
more or less plan to ignore him, but I want to be able to
move around Cimmura without being followed. There's
a young novice at the chapterhouse who's about my size.
We'll put him in my armour and mount him on Faran.
Then the two of you can ride to Demos with a grand show
of obedience. As long as he keeps his visor down, the
primate's spies will think I'm obeying orders.'
"It's workable, I suppose. I don't like the idea of leaving
you here alone, though.'
"I won't be alone. Kalten's coming in either today or
tomorrow.'
'That's a little better. Kalten's steady.' Kurik frowned.
"I thought that he'd been exiled to Lamorkand. Who
ordered him back?'
'Vanion didn't say, but you know Kalten. Maybe he
just got bored with Lamorkand and took independent
action.'
'How long do you want me to stay at Demos?' Kurik
asked as he began to gather up his things.
"a month or so at least. The road's likely to be watched.
I'll get word to you. Do you need any money?'
"I always need money, Sparhawk.'
There's some in the pocket of that tunic.' Sparhawk
pointed at his travel clothes draped across the back of
a chair. 'Take what you need.'
Kurik grinned at him.
'Leave me a little, though.'
'Of course, my Lord,' Kurik said with a mocking bow.
'Do you want me to pack up your things?'
'No. I'll be coming back here when Kalten arrives. It's a
little hard to get in and out of the chapterhouse without
being seen. Is the back door to that tavern still open?'
"It was yesterday. I drop in there from time to time.'
"I thought you might.'
'A man needs a few vices, Sparhawk. It gives him
something to repent when he goes to chapel.'
'if Aslade hears that you've been drinking, she'll set
fire to your beard.'
Then we'll just have to make sure that she doesn't
hear about it, won't we, my Lord?'
why do I always get mixed up in your domestic
affairs?'
"It keeps your feet planted in reality. Get your own
wife, Sparhawk. Then other women won't feel obliged to
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take special note of you. A married man is safe. A
bachelor is a constant challenge to any woman alive.'
About half an hour later, Sparhawk and his squire went
down the stairs into the courtyard, mounted their horses,
and rode out through the gate. They clattered along the
cobblestone streets towards the east gate of the city.
we're being watched, you know,' Kurik said quietly.
"I certainly hope so,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'd hate to have
to ride around in circles until we attract somebody's
attention.'
They went through the ritual again at the drawbridge
of the chapterhouse and then rode on into the courtyard.
Berit was waiting for them.
'This is Kurik,' Sparhawk told him as he dismounted.
'The two of you will be going to demos. Kurik, the young
man's name is Berit."
The squire looked the acolyte up and down. 'He's the
right size,' he noted. "I might have to shorten a few straps,
but your armour should come close to fitting him.'
"I thought so myself.'
Another novice came out and took their reins.
'Come along then, you two,' Sparhawk said. "Let's go
and tell Vanion what we're going to do, and then we'll
put my armour on our masquerader here.'
Berit looked startled.
'You're being promoted, Berit,' Kurik told him. 'You
see how quickly one can move up in the Pandions?
Yesterday a novice, today Queen's Champion.'
'I'll explain it to you when we see Vanion,' Sparhawk
told Berit. "It's not so interesting a story that I want to go
over it more than once.'
It was midafternoon when the three of them emerged
from the chapterhouse door again. Berit walked
awkwardly in the unaccustomed armour, and Sparhawk
was dressed in a plain tunic and hose.
"I think it's going to rain,' Kurik said, squinting at the
sky. 'You won't melt,' Sparhawk told him.
'i'm not worried about that,' the squire replied. "It's
just that I'll have to scour the rust off your armour again.'
'Life is hard.' Kurik grunted, and then the two of them boosted Berit
up into Faran's saddle. 'You're going to take this young
man to Demos,' Sparhawk told his horse. 'Try to behave
as if it were me on your back.
Faran gave him an inquiring look.
"It would take much too long to explain. It's entirely up
to you, Faran, but he's wearing my armour, so if you try
to bite him, you'll probably break your teeth.' Sparhawk
turned to his squire. 'Say hello to Aslade and the boys for
me,' he said.
'Right,' Kurik nodded. Then he swung up into his
saddle.
'Don't make too big a show when you leave,' Sparhawk
added, 'but make sure that you're seen - and make sure
that Berit keeps his visor down.'
"I know what I'm doing, Sparhawk. Come along then,
my Lord,' Kurik said to Berit.
'My Lord?'
'You might as well get used to it, Berit.' Kurik pulled
his horse around. 'I'll see you, Sparhawk.' Then the two
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of them rode out of the courtyard towards the drawbridge.
The rest of the day passed quietly. Sparhawk sat in the
cell which Vanion had assigned to him, reading a musty
old book. At sundown he joined the other brothers in the
refectory for the simple evening meal, then marched in
quiet procession with them to chapel. Sparhawk's
religious convictions were not profound, but there was
again that sense of renewal involved in the return to the
'practices of his novitiate. Vanion conducted the services
that evening and spoke at some length on the virtue of
humility. In keeping with his long-standing practice,
Sparhawk fell into a doze about halfway through the
sermon.
He was awakened at the end of the sermon by the voice
of an angel. A young knight with hair the colour of butter
and a neck like a marble column lifted his clear tenor
voice in a hymn of praise. His face shone, and his eyes
were filled with adoration.
'Was I really all that boring?' Vanion murmured,
falling in beside Sparhawk as they left the chapel.
'Probably not,' Sparhawk replied, 'but I'm not really in
any position to judge. Did you do the one about the
simple daisy being as beautiful in the eyes of God as the
rose!'
'You've heard it before?'
'Frequently. '
'The old ones are the best.'
'Who's your tenor?'
'Sir Parasim. He just won his spurs.'
"I don't want to alarm you, Vanion, but he's too good
for this world.'
"I know.'
'God will probably call him home very soon.
'That's God's business, isn't it, Sparhawk?'
'Do me a favour, Vanion. Don't put me in a situation
where I'm the one who gets him killed.'
'That's also God's business. Sleep well, Sparhawk.'
'You, too, Vanion.'
It was probably about midnight when the door to
Sparhawk's cell banged open. He rolled quickly out of his
narrow cot and came to his feet with his sword in his
hand.
'Don't do that,' the big blond-haired man in the
doorway said in disgust. He was holding a candle in one
hand and a wineskin in the other.
'Hello, Kalten,' Sparhawk greeted his boyhood friend.
'When did you get in?'
'About a half-hour ago. I thought I was going to have to
scale the walls there for a while.' He looked disgusted.
"It's peacetime. Why do they raise the drawbridge every
night?'
'Probably out of habit.'
'Are you going to put that down?' Kalten asked,
pointing at the sword in Sparhawk's hand, 'or am I going
to have to drink this whole thing by myself?'
'sorry,' Sparhawk said. He leaned his plain sword
against the wall.
Kalten set his candle on the small table in the corner,
tossed the wineskin onto Sparhawk's bed, and then
caught his friend in a huge bear hug. "It's good to see
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you,' he declared.
'and you, too,' Sparhawk replied. 'Have a seat.' He
pointed at the stool by the table and sat down on the edge
of his cot. 'How was Lamorkand?'
Kalten made an indelicate sound. 'Cold, damp, and
nervous,' he replied. 'Lamorks are not my favourite
,people in the world. How was Render?'
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Hot, dry, and probably just as
nervous as Lamorkand.'
"I heard a rumour that you ran into Martel down there.
did you give him a nice funeral?'
'He got away.'
"you're slipping, Sparhawk.' Kalten unfastened the
collar of his cloak. A great mat of curly blond hair
protruded out of the neck of his mail coat. 'Are you going
to sit on that wineskin all night?' he asked pointedly.
Sparhawk grunted, unstoppered the skin and lifted it
to his lips. 'Not bad,' he said. 'Where did you get it?' He
handed the skin to his friend.
I picked it up in a wayside tavern about sundown,' he
replied. "I remembered that all there is to drink in
Pandion chapterhouses is water - or tea, if Sephrenia
happens to be around. Stupid custom.'
"We are a religious order, Kalten.'
There are a half-dozen patriarchs in Chyrellos who get
as drunk as lords every night.' Kalten lifted the wineskin
and took a long drink. Then he shook the skin. "I should
have picked up two,' he observed. 'Oh, by the way
Kurik was in the tavern with some young puppy wearing
your armour.'
"I should have guessed that,' Sparhawk said wryly.
'Anyway, Kurik told me that you were here. I was
going to spend the night there, but when I heard that
you'd come back from Render, I rode on the rest of the
way.'
'i'm touched.'
Kalten laughed and handed back the wineskin.
'Were Kurik and the novice staying out of sight?'
Sparhawk asked.
Kalten nodded. 'They were in one of the back rooms,
and the young fellow was keeping his visor down. Have
you ever seen anybody try to drink through his visor? Funniest thing I ever
saw. There were a couple of local
whores there, too. Your young Pandion might be getting
an education along about now.'
'He's due,' Sparhawk observed.
"I wonder if he'll try to do that with his visor down as
well.'
'Those girls are usually adaptable.'
Kalten laughed. 'Anyhow, Kurik told me about the
situation here. Do you really believe you can sneak
around Cimmura without being recognized?'
"I was thinking along the lines of a disguise of some
sort.'
'Better come up with a false nose,' Kalten advised.
'That broken beak of yours makes you fairly easy to pick
out of a crowd.'
'You should know,' Sparhawk said. 'You're the one
who broke it.'
'We were only playing,' Kalten said, sounding a bit
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defensive. 'I've got used to it. We'll talk with Sephrenia in the
morning. She should be able to come up with something
in the way of disguises.'
'i'd heard that she was here. How is she?'
'The same. Sephrenia never changes.'
'Truly.' Kalten took another drink from the wineskin
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You
know, I think I was always a big disappointment to her.
No matter how hard she tried to teach me the secrets,
I just couldn't master the Styric language. Every time
I tried to say "ogeragekgBsek," I almost dislocated my jaw.'
"'OkerBgukaseV',' Sparhawk corrected him.
However you say it. I'll just stick to my sword and let
others play with magic.' He leaned forward on his stool.
They say that the Eshandists are on the rise again in
Rendor. Is there any truth to that?'
"It's no particular danger.' Sparhawk shrugged, lounging
back on his cot. 'They howl and spin around in circles
out in the desert and recite slogans to each other. That's
about as far as it goes. Is anything very interesting going
on in Lamorkand?'
Kalten snorted. 'All the barons there are involved in
private wars with each other,' he reported. 'The whole
kingdom reeks with the lust for revenge. Would you
believe that there's actually a war going on over a bee
sting? An earl got stung and declared war on the baron
whose peasants owned the hive. They've been fighting
each other for ten years now.'
That's Lamorkand for you. Anything else happening?'
The whole countryside east of Motera is crawling with
Zemochs.'
Sparhawk sat up quickly. 'Vanion did say that Otha
was mobilizing.'
'Otha mobilizes every ten years.' Kalten handed his
. friend the wineskin. "I think he does it just to keep his
people from getting restless.
'Are the Zemochs doing anything significant in
Lamorkand?'
'Not that I was able to tell. They're asking a lot of
questions - mostly about old folklore. You can find two
or three of them in almost every village. They question
old women and buy drinks for the loafers in the village
taverns.'
'Peculiar,' Sparhawk murmured.
'That's a fairly accurate description of just about
anybody from Zemoch,' Kalten said. 'Sanity has never
been particularly prized there.' He stood up. 'I'll go find a
bed someplace,' he said. "I can drag it in here and we can
talk old times until we both fall asleep.'
'All right.' Kalten grinned. 'Like the time your father caught us in
that plum tree.'
Sparhawk winced. 'I've been trying to forget about
that for almost thirttty Years now.'
'Your father did have a very firm hand, as I recall. I lost
track of most of the rest of that day - and the plums gave
me a bellyache beSides. I'll be right back.' He turned and
went out the door of Sparhawk's cell.
It was good to have Kalten back. The two of them had
grown up together in the house of Sparhawk's parents at
Demos after Kalten's family had been killed and before
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the pair of boys had entered their novitiate training at the
Pandion motherhouse. In many ways, they were closer
than brothers. To be sure, Kalten had some rough edges
to him, but their close friendship was one of the things
Sparhawk value more than anything.
After a short time, the big blond man returned,
dragging a bed behind him, and then the two of them lay
in the dim candlelight reminiscing until quite late. All in'
dall, it was a very good night.
Early the following morning, they rose and dressed
themselves, covering their mail coats with the hooded
robes Pandions wore when they were inside their
chapterhouses. They rather carefully avoided the
morning procession to chapel and went in search of the
woman who had trained whole generations of Pandion
Knights in the intricacies of what were called the
secrets.
They found her seated with her morning tea before the
fire high up in the south tower.
'Good morning, little mother,' Sparhawk greeted her
from the doorway. 'Do you mind if we join you?'
'Not at all, Sir Knights.'
Kalten went to her, knelt, and kissed both her palms.
will you bless me, little mother?' he asked her.
She smiled and put one hand on each side of his face.
Then she spoke her benediction in Styric.
That always makes me feel better for some reason,' he
said, rising to his feet again. 'Even though I don't
understand all the words.'
She looked at them critically. "I see that you chose not
to'attend chapel this morning.'
God won't miss us all that much.' Kalten shrugged.
besides, I could recite all of Vanion's sermons from
memory.'
what other mischief are you two planning for today?'
she asked.
mischief, Sephrenia?' Kalten asked innocently.
Sparhawk laughed. 'Actually, we weren't even contemplating
any mischief. We just have a fairly simple
errand in mind.'
'Out in the city?'
He nodded. 'The only problem is that we're both fairly
well known here in Cimmura. We thought you might be
able to help us with some disguises."
She looked at them, her expression cool. 'i'm getting a
strong sense of subterfuge in all this. Just exactly what is
this errand of yours?'
'We thought we'd look up an old friend,' Sparhawk
replied. 'A fellow named Krager. He has some information
he might want to share with us.'
'information?'
'He knows where Martel is.'
'Krager won't tell you that.'
Kalten cracked his big knuckles, the sound unpleasantly
calling to mind the sharp noise of breaking
bones. 'Would you care to phrase that in the form of a
wager, Sephrenia?' he asked.
'Won't you two ever grow up? You're a pair of eternal
children.'
'That's why you love us so much, isn't it, little mother?'
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Kalten grinned.
'What sort of disguise would you recommend?'
Sparhawk asked her.
She pursed her lips and looked at them. 'A courtier and
his squire, I think.'
'No one could ever mistake me for a courtier,' he
objected.
"I was thinking of it the other way around. I can make
you look almost like a good honest squire, and once we
dress Kalten in a satin doublet and curl that long blond
hair of his, he can pass for a courtier.'
"I do look good in satin,' Kalten murmured modestly.
'Why not just a couple of common workmen?'
Sparhawk asked.
She shook her head. 'Common workmen cringe and
fawn when they encounter a nobleman. Could either of
you manage a cringe?'
'She's got a point,' Kalten said.
'Besides, workmen don't carry swords, and I don't
imagine that either of you would care to go into Cimmura
unarmed.
'She thinks of everything, doesn't she?' Sparhawk
observed.
'All right,' she said. 'Let's see what we can do.'
Several acolytes were sent scurrying to various places
in the chapterhouse for a number of articles. Sephrenia
considered each one of them, selecting some and discarding
others. What emerged after about an hour were
two men who only faintly resembled the pair of Pandions
who had first entered the room. Sparhawk now wore a
plain livery not unlike Kurik's, and he carried a short
sword. A fierce black beard was glued to his face, and a
purple scar ran across his broken nose and up under a
black patch that covered his left eye.
"this thing itches,' he complained, reaching up to
scratch at the false beard.
:Keep your fingers off of it until the glue dries, ' she told
him, lightly slapping his knuckles. 'And put on a glove to
cover that ring.'
'do you actually expect me to carry this toy?' Kalten
demanded, flourishing a light rapier. "I want a sword,
not a knitting needle.'
'Courtiers don't carry broadswords, Kalten,' she
reminded him. She looked at him critically. His doublet
was bright blue, gored and inset with red satin. His hose
matched the goring, and he wore soft half-boots, since no
.pair of the pointed shoes currently in fashion could be
found to fit his huge feet. His cape was of pale pink, and
his freshly curled blond hair spilled down over the collar.
He also wore a broad-brimmed hat adorned with a white
'plume. 'You look beautiful, Kalten,' she complimented
him. "I think you might pass - once I rouge your cheeks.'
'Absolutely not!' ~e backed away from her.
Kalten,' she said quite firmly, 'sit down.' She pointed
at a chair and reached for a rouge pot.
Do I have to?'
'Yes. Now sit.'
Kalten looked at Sparhawk. 'if you laugh, we're going
to fight, so don't even think about it.'
'Me?'
Since the chapterhouse was watched at all times by the
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agents of the Primate Annias, Vanion came up with a
suggestion that was part subterfuge and part utilitarian.
"I need to transfer some things to the inn anyway,' he
explained. 'Annias knows that the inn belongs to us, so
we're not giving anything away. We'll hide Kalten in the
wagon bed and turn this 'good, honest fellow into a
teamster.' He looked pointedly at the patch-eyed,
bearded Sparhawk. 'Where on earth did you find so close
a match to his real hair?' he asked Sephrenia curiously.
She smiled. 'The next time you go into the stables,
don't look too closely at your horse's tail.'
'my horse?'
'He was the only black horse in the stable, Vanion, and
I didn't take all that much, really.'
'My horse?' he repeated, looking injured.
'We must all make sacrifices now and then,' she told
him. "It's a part of the Pandion oath, remember?'
!!!
*Chapter5
The wagon was rickety, and the horse was spavined.
. Sparhawk slouched on the wagon seat with the reins
held negligently in one hand and apparently paying
very little attention to the people in the street around
him.
The wheels wobbled and creaked as the wagon jolted
over a rutted place in the stone-paved street. 'Sparhawk,
do you have to hit every single bump?' Kalten's muffled
voice came from under the boxes and bales loosely piled
around him in the back of the wagon.
'Keep quiet,' Sparhawk muttered. 'Two church
soldiers are coming this way.'
Kalten grumbled a few choice oaths, then fell silent.
The church soldiers wore red livery and disdainful
expressions. As they walked through the crowded
streets, the workmen and blue-clad merchants stepped
aside for them. Sparhawk reined in his nag, stopping the
wagon in the exact centre of the street so that the soldiers
would be forced to go around him. 'Morning, neighbours,'
he greeted them.
They glared at him, then walked on around the wagon.
'Have a pleasant day,' he called after them.
They ignored him.
"what was that all about?' Kalten demanded in a low
voice from the wagon bed. '
"Just checking my disguise,' Sparhawk replied, shaking
the reins.
'Well?'
'Well what?'
'Does it work?'
'They didn't give me a second glance.'
'How much farther to the inn? I'm suffocating under all
this. '
'Not too much farther.'
'Give me a big surprise, Sparhawk. Miss a bump or two
- just for the sake of variety.'
The wagon creaked on.
At the barred gate of the inn, Sparhawk climbed down
from the wagon and pounded the rhythmic signal on its
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stout timbers. After a moment the knight porter opened
the gate. He looked at Sparhawk carefully. 'Sorry,
friend,' he said. 'The inn's all full.'
'We won't be staying, Sir Knight,' Sparhawk told him.
'We just brought a load of supplies from the chapterhouse.'
The porter's eyes widened and he peered more closely
at the big man. 'is that you, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked
incredulously. 'I didn't even recognize you.'
'That was sort of the idea. You aren't supposed to.'
The knight pushed the gate open, and Sparhawk led
the weary horse into the courtyard. 'You can get out
now,' he said to Kalten as the porter closed the gate.
'Help get all this off me.'
Sparhawk moved a Few of the boxes, and Kalten came
squirming out. The knight porter gave the big blond man an amused
look.
'Go ahead and say it,' Kalten said in a belligerent tone.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Sir Knight.'
Sparhawk took a long, rectangular box out of the
wagon bed and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. 'Get
somebody to help you with these supplies,' he told the
porter. 'Preceptor Vanion sent them. And take care of the
horse. He's tired.'
'Tired? Dead would be closer.' The porter eyed the
disconsolate-looking nag.
'He's old, that's all. It happens to all of us sooner or
later. Is the back door to the tavern open?' He looked
across the courtyard at a deeply inset doorway.
"It's always open, Sir Sparhawk.'
Sparhawk nodded and he and Kalten crossed the
courtyard.
'What have you got in the box?' Kalten asked.
"our swords.'
That's clever, but won't they be a little hard to draw?'
'Not after I throw the box down on the cobblestones,
they won't.' He opened the inset door. 'After you, my
Lord,' he said, bowing.
They passed through a cluttered storeroom and came
out into a shabby-looking tavern. A century or so of dust
clouded the single window, and the straw on the floor
was mouldy. The room smelled of stale beer and spilled
wine and vomit. The low ceiling was draped with
cobwebs, and the rough tables and benches were battered
and tired-looking. There were only three people in
the place, a sour-looking tavern keeper, a drunken man
with his head cradled in his arms on a table by the door,
and a blowsy-looking whore in a red dress dozing in the
corner.
Kalten went to the door and looked out into the street.
its still a little underpopulated out there,' he grunted.
'Lets have a tankard or two while we wait for the
neighbourhood to wake up.'
why not have some breakfast instead?'
that's what I said.
They sat at one of the tables, and the tavern keeper
came over, giving no hint that he recognized them as
Pandions. He made an ineffective swipe at a puddle of
spilled beer on the table with a filthy rag. 'What would
you like?' His voice had a sullen, unfriendly tone.
'Beer,' Kalten replied.
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'Bring us a little bread and cheese, too,' Sparhawk
added.
The tavern keeper grunted and left them.
'Where was Krager when you saw him?' Kalten asked
quietly.
'In that square near the west gate.'
'That's a shabby part of town.'
'Krager's a shabby sort of person.'
'We could start there, I suppose, but this might take a
while. Krager could be down just about any rat hole in
Cimmura.'
'Did you have anything else more pressing to do?'
The whore in the red dress hauled herself wearily to
her feet and shuffled across the straw-covered floor to
their table. "I don't suppose either of you fine gentlemen
would care for a bit of a frolic?' she asked in a bored-sounding
voice. One of her front teeth was missing, and
her red dress was cut very low in front. Perfunctorily she
leaned forward to offer them a view of her flabby-looking
breasts.
"It's a bit early, little sister,' Sparhawk said. 'Thanks all
the same.'
:How's business?' Kalten asked her.
'Slow. It's always slow in the morning.' She sighed. 'I
don't suppose you could see your way clear to offer a girl
something to drink?' she asked hopefully.
'Why not?' Kalten replied. 'Tavern keeper,' he called,
'bring the lady one, too.'
'Thanks, my Lord,' the whore said. 'She looked around
the tavern. 'This is a sorry place,' she said with
a certain amount of resignation in her voice. "I wouldn't even
come in here - except that I don't like to work the streets.'
She sighed. 'Do you know something?' she said. 'My feet
hurt. Isn't that a strange thing to happen to someone in
my profession? You'd think it would be my back. Thanks
again, my Lord.' She turned and shuffled back to the
table where she had been sitting.
"I like talking with whores,' Kalten said. 'They've got
a nice, uncomplicated view of life.'
That's a strange hobby for a Church Knight.'
'God hired me as a fighting man, Sparhawk, not as a
monk. I fight whenever He tells me to, but the rest of my
time is my own.'
The tavern keeper brought them tankards of beer and a
plate with bread and cheese on it. They sat eating and
talking quietly.
After about an hour the tavern had attracted several
more customers - sweat-smelling workmen who had
slipped away from their chores and a few of the keepers
of nearby shops. Sparhawk rose, went to the door and
looked out. Although the narrow back street was not
exactly teeming with traffic, there were enough people
moving back and forth to provide some measure of
conceilment. Sparhawk returned to the table. "I think it's
time to be on our way, my Lord,' he said to Kalten. He
picked up his box.
'Right,' Kalten replied. He drained his tankard and
rose to his feet, swaying slightly and with his hat on the
back of his head. He stumbled a few times on the way to
the door and he was reeling just a bit as he led the way
out into the street. Sparhawk followed him with the box
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once again on his shoulder. 'Aren't you overdoing that
just a little?' he muttered to his friend when they turned the corner.
'i'm just a typical drunken courtier, Sparhawk. We've
just come out of a tavern.'
'We're well past it now. If you act too drunk, you'll
attract attention. I think it's time for a miraculous
recovery.'
'you're taking all the fun out of this, Sparhawk,' Kalten
complained. He stopped staggering and straightened his
white-plumed hat.
they moved on through the busy streets with
Sparhawk trailing respectfully behind his friend as a
good squire would.
When they reached another intersection, Sparhawk
felt a familiar prickling of his skin. He set down his
wooden box and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his
smock.
'What's the matter?' Kalten asked, also stopping.
'The case is heavy, my Lord,' Sparhawk explained in a
voice loud enough to be heard by passers-by. Then he
spoke in a half-whisper. 'We're being watched,' he said
as his eyes swept the sides of the street.
The robed and hooded figure was in an upper floor
window, partially concealed behind a thick green drape.
It looked very much like the one that had watched him in
the rain-wet streets the night he had first arrived back in
Cimurra.
'Have you located him?' Kalten asked quietly, making
some show of adjusting the collar of his pink cloak.
Sparhawk grunted, raising the box to his shoulder
again. 'Upper floor window over the chandler's shop.'
'Let's be off then, my man,' Kalten said in a louder voice.
'The days wearing on.' As he started on up the street, he
cast a quick, furtive glance at the green-draped window.
They rounded another corner. 'Odd-looking sort,
wasn't he?' Kalten noted. 'Most people don't wear hoods
when they're indoors.'
'Maybe he's got something to hide.'
'Do you think He recognized us?'
"It's hard to say. I'm not positive, but I think he was the
same one who was watching me the night I came into
town. I didn't get a good look at him, but I could feel him
and this one feels just about the same.'
'Would magic penetrate these disguises?'
'Easily. Magic sees the man, not the clothes. Let's go
down a few alleys and see if we can shake him off in case
he decides to follow us.'
'right.'
It was nearly noon when they reached the square near
the west gate where Sparhawk had seen Krager. They
split up there. Sparhawk went in one direction and
Kalten the other. They questioned the keepers of the
brightly coloured booths and the more sedate shops
closely, describing Krager in some detail. On the far side
of the square, Sparhawk rejoined his friend. 'Any luck?'
he asked.
Kalten nodded. 'There's a wine merchant over there
who says that a man who looks like Krager comes in three
or four times a day to buy a flagon of Arcian red.'
That's Krager's drink, all right.' Sparhawk grinned. 'if
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Martel finds out that he's drinking again, he'll reach
down his throat and pull his heart out.'
'Can you actually do that to a man?'
"you can if your arm's long enough, and if you know
what you're looking for. Did your wine merchant give
you any sort of hint about which way Krager usually
comes from?'
Kalten nodded. 'That street there.' He pointed.
Sparhawk scratched at his horse-hair beard, thinking.
'if you pull that loose, Sephrenia's going to turn you
over her knee and paddle you.'
Sparhawk took his hand away from his face. 'Has
Krager picked up his first flagon of wine this morning?'
he asked.
Kalten nodded. 'About two hours ago.'
'He's likely to finish that first one fairly fast. If he's
drinking the way he used to, he'll wake up in the
mornings feeling a bit unwell.' Sparhawk looked around
the busy square. 'Let's go on up that street a ways where
there aren't quite so many people and wait for him. As
soon as he runs out of wine, he'll come out for more.'
'Won't he see us? He knows us both, you know.'
Spar' hawk shook his head. 'He's so shortsighted that
he can barely see past the end of his nose. Add a flagon of
wine to that, and he wouldn't be able to recognize his
own mother.'
'Krager's got a mother?' Kalten asked in mock amazement. "
I thought he just crawled out from under a rotten
log.'
Sparhawk laughed. 'Let's go find someplace where we can wait for him.'
'Can we skulk?' Kalten asked eagerly. "I haven't
skulked in years.'
'Skulk away, my friend,' Sparhawk said.
They walked up the street the wine merchant had
indicated. After a few hundred paces, Sparhawk pointed
towards the narrow opening of an alley. 'That ought to
do it,' he said. 'Let's go do our skulking in there. When
Krager goes by, we can drag him into the alley and have
our little chat in private.'
'Right,' Kalten agreed with an evil grin.
They crossed the street and entered the alley. Rotting
garbage lay heaped along the sides, and some way
farther on was a reeking public urinal. Kalten waved one
hand in front of his face. 'Sometimes your decisions leave
a lot to be desired, Sparhawk,' he said. 'Couldn't you
have picked someplace a little less fragrant?'
'You know,' Sparhawk said, 'that's what I've missed
about not having you around, Kalten - that steady
stream of complaints.'
Kalten shrugged. 'A man needs something to talk
about.' He reached under his azure doublet, took out a
small, curved knife and began to strop it on the sole of his
boot. "I get him first,' he said.
'What?'
'Krager. I get to start on him first.'
'What gave you that idea?'
'You're my friend, Sparhawk. Friends always let the
friends go first.'
'Doesn't that work the other way around, too?'
Kalten shook his head. 'You like me better than I like
you. It's only natural, of course. I'm a lot more likeable
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than you are.'
Sparhawk gave him a long look.
'That's what friends are for, Sparhawk,' Kalten said
ingratiatingly, 'to point out our little shortcomings to us. '
They waited, watching the street from the mouth of
the alley. It was not a particularly busy street, for there
were but few shops along its sides. It seemed rather to be
given over largely to storehouses and private dwellings.
An hour dragged by, and then another.
'Maybe he drank himself to sleep,' Kalten said.
'Not Krager. He can hold more than a regiment. He'll
be along.'
Kalten thrust his head out of the opening of the alleyway
and squinted at the sky. "It's going to rain,' he predicted.
'We've both been rained on before.'
Kalten plucked at the front of his gaudy doublet and
rolled his eyes. 'But Thparhawk,' he lisped outrageously.
"you know how thatin thpotth when it getth wet.'
Sparhawk doubled over with laughter, trying to muffle
the sound.
They waited once more, and another hour dragged by.
'The sun's going to go down before long,' Kalten said
'Maybe he found another wine shop.'
'Let's wait a little longer,' Sparhawk replied.
The rush came without warning. Eight or ten burly
fellows in rough clothing came charging down the alley
with swords in their hands. Kalten's rapier came
whistling out of its sheath even as Sparhawk's hand
flashed to the hilt of his short sword. The man leading the
charge doubled over and gasped as Kalten smoothly ran
him through. Sparhawk stepped past his friend as the
blond man recovered from his lunge. He parried the
sword stroke of one of the attackers and then buried his
sword in the man's belly. He wrenched the blade as he
jerked it out to make the wound as big as possible. 'Get
that box open!' he shouted at Kalten as he parried
another stroke.'
The alleyway was too narrow for more than two of
them to come at him at once, even though his sword was
not as long as theirs, he was able to hold them at bay.
Behind him he heard the splintering of wood as Kalten
kicked the rectangular box apart. Then his friend was at
his shoulder with his broadsword in his hand. 'I've got it
now,' Kalten said. 'Get your sword.'
Sparhawk spun and ran back to the mouth of the alley.
He discarded the short sword, jerked his own weapon
out of the wreckage of the box, and whirled back again.
Kalten had cut down two of the attackers, and he was
beating the others back step by step. He did, however,
have his left hand pressed tightly to his side, and there
was blood coming out from between his fingers.
Sparhawk rushed past him, swinging his heavy sword
with both hands. He split one fellow's head open and cut
the sword arm off another. Then he drove the point of his
sword deep into the body of yet a third, sending him
reeling against the wall with a fountain of blood gushing
from his mouth.
The rest of the attackers fled.
Sparhawk turned and saw Kalten coolly pulling his
sword out of the chest of the man with the missing arm.
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'don't leave them behind you like that, Sparhawk,' the
blond man said. 'Even a one-armed man can stab you in
the back. Besides, it isn't tidy. Always finish one job
before you go on to the next.' He still had his left hand
tightly pressed to his side.
'Are you all right?' Sparhawk asked him.
"It's only a scratch.'
'Scratches don't bleed like that. Let me have a look.'
The gash in Kalten's side was sizeable, but it did not
appear to be too deep. Sparhawk ripped the sleeve off the
smock of one of the casualties, wadded it up, and placed
it over the cut in Kalten's side. 'Hold that in place,' he
said. 'Push in on it to slow the bleeding.'
'I've been cut before, Sparhawk. I know what to do.'
Sparhawk looked around at the crumpled bodies
littering the alley. "I think we ought to leave,' he said.
'Somebody in the neighbourhood might get curious
about all the noise.' Then he frowned. 'Did you notice
anything peculiar about these men?' he asked.
Kalten shrugged. 'They were fairly inept.'
'That's not what I mean. Men who make a living by
waylaying people in alleys aren't usually very interested
in their personal appearance, and these fellows are all
clean-shaven.' He rolled over one of the bodies and
ripped open the front of his canvas smock. 'isn't that
interesting?' he observed. Beneath the smock the dead
man wore a red tunic with an embroidered emblem over
the left breast.
'Church soldier,' Kalten grunted. 'Do you think that
Annias might possibly dislike us?'
"It's not unlikely. Let's get out of here. The survivors
might have gone for help.'
'The chapterhouse then - or the inn?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Somebody's seen through
our disguises, and Annias would expect us to go to one of
those places.'
'You could be right about that. Any ideas?'
"I know of a place. It's not too far. Are you all right to
walk?'
"I can go as far as you can. I'm younger, remember?'
'Only by six weeks.'
'Younger is younger, Sparhawk. Let's not quibble
about numbers.'
They tucked their broadswords under their belts and
walked out of the mouth of the alley. Sparhawk supported
his wounded friend as they moved out into the open.
The street along which they walked grew progressively
shabbier, and they soon entered a maze of
interconnecting lanes and unpaved alleys. The buildings
were large and run-down, and they teemed with roughly
dressed people who seemed indifferent to the squalor
around them.
"It's a rabbit warren, isn't it?' Kalten said. 'is this place
much farther? I'm getting a little tired.'
"It's just on the other side of that next intersection.'
Kalten grunted and pressed his hand more tightly to
his side.
They moved on. The looks directed at them by the
inhabitants of this slum were unfriendly, even hostile.
Kalten's clothing marked him as a member of the ruling
class, and these people at the very bottom of society had
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little use for courtiers and their servants.
When they reached the intersection, Sparhawk led his
friend up a muddy alley. They had gone about halfway
when a thick-bodied man with a rusty Pike in his hands
stepped out of a doorway to bar their path. 'Where do
you think you're going?' he demanded.
"I need to talk to Platime,' Sparhawk replied.
"I don't think he wants to hear anything you have to
say. If you're smart, you'll get out of this part of town
before nightfall. Accidents happen here after dark.'
'And sometimes even before dark,' Sparhawk said,
drawing his sword.
"I can have a dozen men here in two winks.
'And my broken-nosed friend here can have your head
off in one,' Kalten told him.
The man stepped back, his face apprehensive.
'What's it to be, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked. 'Do you
take us to Platime, or do you and I play for a bit?'
'You've got no right to threaten me.'
Sparhawk raised his sword so that the fellow could get
a good look at it. 'This gives me all sorts of rights,
neighbour. Lean your pike against that wall and take us
to Platime - now!'
The thick-bodied man flinched and then carefully set
his pike against the wall, turned, and led them on up the
alley. It came to a dead end a hundred paces farther on,
and a stone stairway ran down to what appeared to be a
cellar door.
'Down there,' the man said, pointing.
'Lead the way,' Sparhawk told him. "I don't want you
behind me, friend. You look like the sort who might
make errors in judgement.'
Sullenly, the fellow went down the mud-coated stairs
and rapped twice on the door. "It's me,' he called. 'Set.
There are a couple of nobles here who want to talk to
Platime.'
There was a pause followed by the rattling of a chain.
The door opened and a bearded man thrust his head out.
'Platime doesn't like noblemen,' he declared.
'I'll change his mind for him,' Sparhawk said. 'Step
back out of the way, neighbour.'
The bearded man looked at the sword in Sparhawk's
hand, swallowed hard, and opened the door wider.
'Pass right along, Set,' Kalten said to their guide.
Set went through the door.
"Join us, friend,' Sparhawk told the bearded man when
he and Kalten were inside. 'We like lots of company.'
The stairs continued down between mouldy stone
walls that wept moisture. At the bottom, the stair opened
out into a very large cellar with a vaulted stone ceiling.
There was a fire burning in a pit in the centre of the room,
filling the air with smoke, and the walls were lined with
roughly constructed cots and straw-filled pallets. Two
dozen or so men and women in a wide variety of
garments sat on those cots and pallets drinking and
playing at dice. Just beyond the fire pit a huge man with a
fierce black beard and a vast paunch sprawled in a large
chair with his feet thrust out towards the flames. He wore
a satin doublet of a faded orange colour, spotted and
stained down the front, and he held a silver tankard in
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one beefy hand.
'That's Platime,' Set said nervously. 'He's a little
drunk, so you should be careful, my Lords.'
'We can deal with it,' Sparhawk told him. 'Thanks for
your help, Set. I don't know how we'd have managed
without you.' Then he led Kalten on around the fire pit.
'Who are all these people?' Kalten asked in a low voice,
looking around at the men and women lining the walls.
'Thieves, beggars, a few murderers probably - that sort
of thing.'
'You've got some very nice friends, Sparhawk.'
Platime was carefully examining a necklace with a ruby
pendant attached to it. When Sparhawk and Kalten
stopped in front of him, he raised his bleary eyes and
looked them over, paying particular attention to Kalten's
finery. 'Who let these two in here?' he roared.
'We sort of let ourselves in, Platime,' Sparhawk told
him, thrusting his sword back under his belt and turning
up his eye patch so that it no longer impaired his vision.
'Well, you can sort of let yourselves back out again.'
'That wouldn't be convenient right now, I'm afraid,
Sparhawk told him.
The gross man in the orange doublet snapped his
fingers, and the people lining the wall stood up. 'You're
badly outnumbered, my friend.' Platime looked around
suggestively at his cohorts.
'That's been happening fairly often lately,' Kalten said
with his hand on the hilt of his broadsword.
Platime's eyes narrowed. 'Your clothes and that sword
don't exactly match,' he said.
'And I try so hard to co-ordinate my attire,' Kalten
sighed.
'just who are you two?' Platime asked suspiciously.
'This one is dressed like a courtier, but I don't think he's
really one of those walking butterflies from the palace.'
'He sees right to the core of things, doesn't he?' Kalten
said to Sparhawk. He looked at Platime. 'Actually, we're
Pandions,' he said.
'Church Knights? I thought it might be something like
that. Why the fancy clothes, then?'
'We're both fairly well known,' Sparhawk told him.
'We wanted to be able to move around without being
recognized. '
Platime looked meaningfully at Kalten's blood-stained
doublet. "It looks to me as if somebody saw through your
disguises,' he said, 'or maybe you just frequent the
wrong taverns. Who stabbed you?'
'A church soldier.' Kalten shrugged. 'He got in a lucky
thrust. Do you mind if I sit down? I'm feeling a little
shaky for some reason.'
'Somebody bring him a stool,' Platime shouted. Then
he looked back at the two of them. 'Why would Church
Knights and church soldiers be fighting?' he asked.
'Palace politics.' Sparhawk shrugged. "They get a little
murky sometimes.'
'That's God's own truth. What's your business here?'
'We need a place to stay for a while,' Sparhawk told
him. He looked around. 'This cellar of yours ought to
work out fairly well.'
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'Sorry, friend. I can sympathize with a man who's just
had a run-in with the church soldiers, but I'm conducting
a business here, and there's no room for outsiders.'
Platime looked at Kalten, who had just sunk down on a
stool that a ragged beggar had brought him. 'Did you kill
the man who stabbed you?'
'He did.' Kalten pointed at Sparhawk. "I killed a few
others, but my friend here did most of the fighting.'
'Why don't we get down to business?' Sparhawk said.
"I think you owe my family a debt, Platime.'
"I don't have any dealings with nobles,' Platime
replied, '- except to cut a few of their throats from time to
time - so it's unlikely that I owe your family a thing.'
'This debt has nothing to do with money. A long time
ago, some church soldiers were hanging you. My father
stopped them.'
Platime blinked. 'You're Sparhawk?' he said in surprise. '
You don't look that much like your father.'
"It's his nose,' Kalten said. 'When you break a man's
nose, you change his whole appearance. Why were the
soldiers hanging you?'
"It was all a misunderstanding. I knifed a fellow. He
wasn't wearing his uniform, so I didn't know he was an
officer in the primate's Guard.' He looked disgusted.
'And all he had in his purse were two silver coins and a
handful of copper.'
'Do you acknowledge the debt?' Sparhawk pressed.
Platime pulled at his coarse black beard. "I guess I do,'
he admitted.
we'll stay here, then.'
That's all you want?'
'Not quite. We're looking for a man - a fellow named
Krager. Your beggars are all over town,and I want them
to look for him.'
'Fair enough. Can you describe him?'
"I can do better than that. I can show him to you.'
'That doesn't exactly make sense, friend.'
"It will in a minute. Have you got a basin of some kind -
and some clean water?'
"I think I can manage that. What have you got in mind?'
'He's going to make an image of Krager's face in the
water,' Kalten said. "It's an old trick.'
Platime looked impressed. 'I've heard that you
Pandions are all wizards, but I've never seen anything
like that before.'
'Sparhawk's better at it than I am,' Kalten admitted.
One of the beggars furnished a chipped basin filled
with slightly cloudy water. Sparhawk set the basin on the
floor and concentrated for a moment, muttering the
Styric words of the spell under his breath. Then he
passed his hand slowly over the basin, and Krager's
puffy-looking face appeared.
'Now that is really something to see,' Platime marvelled.
It's not too difficult,' Sparhawk said modestly. 'Have
your people here look at it. I can't keep it there forever.'
'How long can you hold it?'
Ten minutes or so. It starts to break up after that.'
Talen!' the fat man shouted. 'Come here.'
A grubby-looking boy of about ten slouched across the
room. His tunic was ragged and dirty, but he wore a
long, red satin waistcoat that had been fashioned by
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cutting the sleeves off a doublet. There were several
knife-holes in it. 'What do you want?' he asked
insolently.
'Can you copy that?' Platime asked pointing at the
basin.
'Of course I can, but why should I?'
'Because I'll box your ears if you don't.'
Talen grinned at him. 'You'd have to catch me first, fat
man, and I can run faster than you can.'
Sparhawk dug a finger into a pocket of his leather
jerkin and took out a small silver coin. 'Would this make
it worth your while?' he asked, holding up the coin.
Talen's eyes brightened. "For that, I'll give you a
masterpiece,' he promised.
'All we want is accuracy.'
'Whatever you say, my patron.' Talen bowed
mockingly. 'I'll go and get my things."
'is he really any good?' Kalten asked Platime after the
boy had scurried over to one of the cots lining the wall.
Platime shrugged. 'i'm not an art critic,' he said. 'He
spends all his time drawing pictures, though - when he
isn't begging or stealing.'
'isn't he a little young for your line of work?'
Platime laughed. 'He's got the nimblest fingers in
'Cimmura,' he said. 'He could steal your eyes right out of
their sockets, and you wouldn't even miss them until you
went to look closely at something.'
'I'll keep that in mind,' Kalten said.
"It could be too late, my friend. Weren't you wearing a
ring when you came in?'
Kalten blinked, then raised his blood-stained left hand
and stared at it. There was no ring on the hand.
!!!
*Chapter6
Kalten winced. 'Easy, Sparhawk,' he said. 'That really
hurts.'
"It has to be cleaned before I can bandage it,' Sparhawk
replied, continuing to wipe the cut on his friend's side
with a wine-soaked cloth.
'But do you have to do it so hard?'
Platime waddled around the smoky fire pit and stood
over the cot where Kalten lay. 'is he going to be all right?'
he asked.
'Probably,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's had the blood let
out of him a few times before, and he usually recovers.'
He laid aside the cloth and picked up a long strip of linen.
'Sit up,' he told his friend.
Kalten grunted and pushed himself into a sitting position.
Sparhawk began to wind the strip about his waist.
'Not so tight,'Kalten said. 'I have to be able to breathe.'
'Quit complaining.'
'Were those church soldiers after you for any particular
reason?' Platime asked. 'Or were they just amusing
themselves?'
They had reasons,' Sparhawk told him as he knotted
Kalten's bandage. 'We've managed to be fairly offensive
to Primate Annias lately.'
'Good for you. I don't know how you noblemen feel
about him, but the common people all hate him.'
'We moderately despise him.'
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'That's one thing we all have in common then. Is there
any chance that Queen Ehlana might recover?'
'We're working on that.'
Platime sighed. "I think she's our only hope, Sparhawk.
Otherwise Annias is going to run Elenia to suit
himself, and that would really be too bad.'
'Patriotism, Platime?' Kalten asked.
'Just because I'm a thief and a murderer doesn't mean
that I'm disloyal. I respect the crown as much as any man
in the kingdom. I even respected Aldreas, weak as he
was.' Platime's eyes grew sly. 'Did his sister ever really
seduce him?' he asked. 'There were all kinds of
rumours.'
Sparhawk shrugged. 'That's sort of hard to say.'
'She went absolutely wild after your father forced
Aldreas to marry Queen Ehlana's mother, you know.'
Platime sniggered. 'She was totally convinced that she
was going to marry her brother and get control of the
throne.'
'isn't that sort of illegal?' Kalten asked.
'Annias said that he'd found a way around the law.
Anyway, after Aldreas got married, Arissa ran away
from the palace. They found her a few weeks later in that
cheap brothel over by the river. Just about everybody in
Cimmura had tried her before they dragged her out of the
place.' He squinted at them. 'What did they finally do
with her anyway? Chop off her head?'
'No,' Sparhawk told him. 'She's cloistered in the
nunnery at Demos. They're very strict there.'
'At least she's getting some rest. From what I hear, the
Princess Arissa was a very busy young woman.' He
straightened and pointed at a nearby cot. 'You can use
that one,' he told Sparhawk. 'I've got every thief and
beggar in Cimmura out looking for this Krager fellow of
yours. If he sets foot in the streets, we'll know about it
within an hour. In the meantime, you might as well get
some sleep.'
Sparhawk nodded and rose to his feet. 'Are you all
right?' he asked Kalten.
'i'm fine.'
'Do you need anything?'
'How about some beer - just to restore all the blood I
lost, of course.'
It was impossible to tell what time it was since the cellar
had no windows. Sparhawk felt a light touch and came
awake immediately, catching the hand that had touched
him.
The grubby-looking boy, Talen, made a sour face.
'Never try to pick a pocket when you're shivering,' he
said. He mopped the rain out of his face. "It's really a
miserable morning out there,' he added.
'Were you looking For anything in particular in my
pockets?'
'No, not really - just anything that might turn up.'
'Would you like to give me back my friend's ring?'
'Oh, I suppose so. I only took it to keep in practice
anyway.' Talen reached inside the wet tunic and drew
out Kalten's ring. "I cleaned the blood off it for him,' he
said, admiring it.
'He'll appreciate that.'
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'Oh, by the way, I found that fellow you were looking
for.'
'Krager? Where?'
'He's staying in a brothel in Lion Street.'
'A brothel?'
'Maybe he needs affection.'
Sparhawk sat up. He touched his horseharr beard to
make sure it was still in place. 'Let's go talk to Platime.'
'Do you want me to wake your friend?'
'Let him sleep. I'm not going to take him out in the rain
in his condition anyway.'
Platime was snoring in his chair, but his eyes opened
instantly when Talen touched his shoulder.
'The boy found Krager,' Sparhawk told him.
'You're Going after him, I suppose?'
Sparhawk nodded.
'Do you think the primate's soldiers are still looking for
you?'
'Probably. '
'And they know what you look like?'
'Yes.'
'You won't get very far then.'
'I'll have to chance it.'
'Platime,' Talen said.
'What?'
'Do you remember that time when we had to get
Weasel out of town in a hurry.'
Platime grunted, scratching at his paunch and looking
speculatively at Sparhawk. 'How much are you attached
to that beard?' he asked.
'Not too much. Why?'
'If you'd be willing to shave it off, I know a way you
might be able to move around Cimmura without being
recognized. '
Sparhawk began pulling off chunks of the false beard.
Platime laughed. 'You really Aren't attached to it, are
you?' He looked at Talen. 'Go and get what he'll need out
of the bin.'
Talen went to a large wooden box in the corner of the
cellar and started rummaging around inside as Sparhawk
finished removing the beard. When the boy came back,
he was carrying a ragged-looking cloak and a pair of
shoes that were little more than rotting leather bags.
'How much of the rest of your face will come off?'
Platime asked.
Sparhawk took the ragged cloak from Talen and
poured some of Platime's wine on one corner. Then he
vigorously scrubbed his face, removing the remnants of
Sephrenia's glue and the purple scar.
'The nose?' Platime asked.
'No. That's real.'
'How did it get broken?'
"It's a long story.'
Platime shrugged. 'Take off your boots and those
leather breeches. You'll wear the cloak and those shoes.'
Sparhawk pulled off his boots and peeled off the
leather hose. Talen draped the cloak around him, then
pulled one corner across the front and fastened it to the
opposite shoulder so that it covered Sparhawk's body
and reached about halfway to his knees.
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Platime squinted at him. 'Put on the shoes and rub
some dirt on your legs. You look a bit too clean.' Talen
went back to the bin and returned with a scuffed leather
cap, a long, slender stick and a length of dirty sackcloth.
'Put on the cap and tie the rag across your eyes,'
Platime instructed.
Sparhawk did that.
'Can you see well enough through the bandage?'
"I can make things out, but that's about all.'
"I don't want you to see too well. You're supposed to be
blind. Get him a begging bowl, Talen.' Platime turned
back to Sparhawk. 'Practise walking around a bit. Swing
the stick in front of you, but bump into things From time
to time and don't forget to stumble.'
"It's an interesting idea, Platime, but I know exactly
where I'm going. Won't that make people suspicious?'
'Talen will lead you.
You'll just be a pair of ordinary
beggars.'
Sparhawk hitched up his belt and shifted his broadsword
around.
'You're going to have to leave that here,' Platime told
him. 'You can hide a dagger under the cloak, but a
broadsword's a little too obvious.'
"I suppose you're right.' Sparhawk pulled out his
sword and handed it to the fat man in the orange doublet.
'Don't lose it,' he said. Then he began to practise the
blind man's groping walk, tapping the long, slender stick
Talen had given him on the floor as he went.
'Not too bad,' Platime said after several minutes. 'You
pick things up fast, Sparhawk. It ought to be good
enough to get you by. Talen can teach you how to beg as
you go along.' Talen came back from the large wooden storage box.
His left leg looked grotesquely twisted, and he limped
along with the aid of a crutch. He had removed his gaudy
waistcoat, and he was now dressed in rags.
'Doesn't that hurt?' Sparhawk asked pointing at the
boy's leg with his stick.
'Not much. All you have to do is walk on the side of
your foot and turn your knee in.'
"It looks very convincing.'
'Naturally. I've had a lot of practice.'
'Are you both ready then?' Platime asked.
'Probably as ready as we'll ever be,' Sparhawk replied.
"I don't think I'll be very good at begging, though.'
'Talen can teach you the basics. It's not too hard. Good
luck, Sparhawk.'
'Thanks. I might need it.'
It was the middle of a grey rainy morning when
Sparhawk and his young guide emerged from the cellar
and started back down the muddy alleyway. Set was
once again standing watch in a recessed doorway. He did
not speak to them as they passed.
When they reached the street, Talen took hold of the
corner of Sparhawk's cloak and led him along by it.
Sparhawk groped his way behind him, his stick tapping
the cobblestones.
'There are several ways to beg,' the boy said after they
had gone a short distance. 'Some prefer just to sit and
hold out the begging bowl. That doesn't bring in too
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many coins, though - unless you do it outside a church
on a day when the sermon's been about charity. Some
people like to shove the bowl into the face of everybody
who walks by. You get more coins that way, but
sometimes it irritates people, and every so often you'll
get punched in the face. You're supposed to be blind, so
we'll have to work out something a little different.'
'Do I have to say anything?'
Talen nodded. 'You've got to get their attention.
"Charity" is usually good enough. You don't have time
for long speeches, and people don't like to talk with
beggars anyway. If somebody decides to give you
something, he wants to get it over with as quickly as
possible. Make your voice sound hopeless. Whining isn't
all that good, but try to put a little catch in your voice - as
if you were just about to cry.'
'Begging's quite an art, isn't it?'
Talen shrugged. "It's just selling something, that's all.
But you've got to do all the selling with just one or two
words, so put your heart in it. Do you have any coppers
with you?'
'Unless you've stolen them already. Why?'
'When we get to the brothel, you'll need to bait the
bowl. Drop in a couple of coppers to make it look as if
you've already got something.'
"I don't quite follow what you've got in mind.'
'You want to wait for this Krager to come out, don't
you? if you go in after him, you're likely to run into the
bruisers who keep order in the place.' He looked
Sparhawk up and down. 'You might be able to deal with
them at that, but that sort of thing gets noisy, and the
madame would probably send for the watch. It's usually
better just to wait outside.'
'All right. I suppose we'll wait then.'
'We'll station ourselves outside the door and beg until
he shows up.' The boy paused. 'Are you going to kill
him?' he asked. 'And if you are, can I watch?'
'No. I just want to ask him a few questions.'
'Oh.' Talen's voice sounded a little disappointed.
It was raining harder now, and Sparhawk's cloak had
begun to drip down the backs of his bare legs.
They reached Lion Street and turned left. 'The
brothel's just up ahead,' Talen said, tugging Sparhawk
along by the corner of his dripping cloak. Then he
stopped suddenly.
'What's the matter?' Sparhawk asked him.
'Competition,' Talen replied. 'There's a one-legged
man leaning against the wall beside the door.'
'Begging?'
'What else?'
'Now what?'
"It's no particular problem. I'll just tell him to move on.'
'Will he do it?'
Talen nodded. 'He will when I tell him that we've
rented the spot from Platime. Wait here. I'll be right
back.'
The boy crutched his way up the rainy street to the
red-painted brothel door and spoke briefly with the onelegged
beggar stationed there. The man glared at him for
a moment, then his leg miraculously unfolded out from
under his rough smock and he stalked off, carrying his
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crutch and muttering to himself. Talen came back down
the street and led Sparhawk to the door of the brothel.
'just lean against the wall and hold the bowl out when
somebody comes by. ,Don't hold it right in front of them,
though. You're not supposed to be able to see them, so
sort of stick it off to one side.'
A prosperous-looking merchant came by with his head
down and his dark cloak wrapped tightly about him.
Sparhawk thrust out his bowl. 'Charity,' he said in a
pleading tone of voice.
The merchant ignored him.
'Not too bad,' Talen said. "Try to put that little catch I
mentioned in your voice, though.'
'is that why he didn't put anything in the bowl?'
'No. Merchants never do.'
'Oh.'
Several workmen dressed in leather smocks came
along the street. They were talking loudly and were a bit
unsteady on their feet.
'Charity,' Sparhawk said to them.
Talen sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 'Please,
good masters,' he said in a choked voice. 'Can you help
my poor blind father and me?'
'Why not?' one of the workmen said goodhumouredly.
He fished around in one of his pockets,
drew out a few coins, and looked at them. Then he
selected one small copper and dropped it into
Sparhawk's bowl.
One of the others sniggered. 'He's trying to get enough
together to go in and visit the girls,' he said.
'That's his business, isn't it?' the generous one replied
as they went on down the street.
'First blood,' Talen said. 'Put the copper in your
pocket. We don't want the bowl to have too many coins in
it.'
In the next hour, Sparhawk and his youthful instructor
picked up about a dozen more coins. It became
challenging after the first few times, and Sparhawk felt a
small surge of triumph each time he managed to wheedle
a coin out of a passer-by.
Then an ornate carriage drawn by a matched pair of
black horses came up the street and stopped in front of
the red door. A liveried young footman jumped down
from the back, lowered a step from the side of the vehicle,
and opened the door. A nobleman dressed all in green
velvet stepped out. Sparhawk knew him.
"I may be a while, love,' the nobleman said, fondly
touching the footman's boyish face. 'Take the carriage up
the street and watch for me.' He giggled girlishly.
'Someone might recognize it, and I certainly wouldn't
want people to think I was frequenting a place like this.'
He rolled his eyes and then minced towards the red door.
'Charity for the blind,' Sparhawk begged, thrusting
out his bowl.
'Out of my way, knave,' the nobleman said, fluttering
one hand as if shooing away a bothersome fly. He
opened the door and went inside as the carriage moved
off.
'Peculiar,' Sparhawk murmured.
'Wasn't he, though?' Talen grinned.
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'Now that's a sight I thought I'd never see - the Baron
Harparin going into a brothel.'
'Noblemen get urges, too, don't they?'
'Harparin gets urges, all right, but I don't think the
girls inside would satisfy them. He might find you
interesting, though.'
Talen flushed. 'Never mind that,' he said.
Sparhawk frowned. 'Why would Harparin go into the
same brothel where Krager's staying?' he mused.
'Do they know each other?'
"I wouldn't think so. Harparin's a member of the Royal
Council and a close friend _of the Primate Annias.
Krager's a third-rate toad. If they're meeting in there, I'd
give a great deal to hear what they're saying.'
'Go on in, then.'
'What?'
"it's a public place, and blind men need affection, too.
just don't start any fights.' Talen looked around
cautiously. 'Once you get inside, ask for Naween. She
works for Platime on the side. Tell her that he sent you.
She'll get you to someplace where you can eavesdrop.'
'Does Platime control the whole city?'
'Only the underside of it. Annias runs
the top half.'
'Are you going in with me?'
Talen shook his head. 'Shanda's got a twisted sense of
morality. She doesn't allow children inside - not male
ones, anyway.'
'Shanda?'
'The madame of this place.'
"I probably should have guessed. Krager's mistress's
named Shanda - thin woman?'
Talen nodded. 'With a very sour mouth?'
That's her.'
'Does she know you?'
'We met once about twelve years ago.'
'The bandage hides most of your face, and the light
inside isn't too good. You should be able to get by if you
change your voice a bit. Go on in. I'll stay out here and
keep watch. I know every policeman and spy in
Cimmura by sight."
'All right.'
'Have you got the price for a girl? I can lend you some if
you need it. Shanda won't let you see any of her whores
unless you pay her first.'
"I can manage it - unless you've picked my pocket
again."
"would I do that, my Lord?'
'Probably, yes. I might be in there for a while.'
'Enjoy yourself. Naween's very frisky - or so I've been
told. '
Sparhawk ignored that. He opened the red-painted
door and went inside.
The hallway he entered was dim and filled with the
cloyingly sweet scent of cheap perfume. Maintaining his
pose as a blind man, Sparhawk swung his stick from side
to side, tapping the walls. 'Hello,' he called in a squeaky
voice. 'is anybody here?'
The door at the far end of the hall opened, and a thin
woman in a yellow velvet dress emerged. She had limp,
dirty-blonde hair, a disapproving expression, and eyes as
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hard as agates. 'What do you want?' she demanded. 'You
can't beg in here.'
'i'm not here to beg,' Sparhawk replied. 'i'm here to
buy - or at least rent.'
'Have you got money?'
'Yes.'
'Let's see it.'
Sparhawk reached inside his ragged cloak and took
several coins out of a pocket. He held them out on the
palm of his hand.
The thin woman's eyes narrowed shrewdly.
'Don't even think about it,' he told her.
'You're not blind,' she accused him.
'You noticed.'
'What's your pleasure, then?' she asked.
'A friend told me to ask for Naween.'
'Ah, Naween. She's been very popular lately. I'll send
for her - just as soon as you pay.'
'How much?'
'Ten coppers - or a silver half-crown.'
Sparhawk gave her a small silver coin, and she went
back through the door. She came back a moment later
with a buxom brunette girl of about twenty. 'This is
Naween,' Shanda said. "I hope you enjoy yourselves.'
She simpered briefly at Sparhawk, then the smile seemed
to drain off her face. She turned and went back into the
room at the end of the hall.
'You're not really blind, are you?' Naween asked
coquettishly. She was wrapped in a sleazy-looking
dressing gown of bright red, and her cheeks were
dimpled.
'No,' Sparhawk admitted, 'not really.'
'Good. I've never done a blind man before, so I
wouldn't know what to expect. Let's go upstairs, shall
we? She led him to a stairway that climbed into the
upper parts of the house. 'Anything in particular that
you'd "like?' she asked, smiling back over her shoulder at
him.
'At the moment, I'd like to listen,' he told her.
'Listen? To what?'
'Platime sent me. Shanda's got a friend staying here - a
fellow named Krager.'
'Mousy-looking little man with bad eyes?'
That's him. A nobleman dressed in green velvet just
came in here, and I think that he and Krager might be
talking. I'd like to hear what they're saying. Can you
arrange it?' He reached up and took the bandage off his
eyes.
'Then you don't really want to... ?' She left it
hanging, and her generous lower lip took on a slight
pout.
'Not today, little sister,' he told her. 'I've got other
things on my mind.'
She sighed. "I like your looks, friend,' she said. 'We
could have had a very nice time.'
'Some other day, maybe. Can you take me someplace
where I can hear what Krager and his friend are saying?'
She sighed again. "I suppose so,' she said. "it's on up
the stairs. We can use Feather's room. She's visiting her
mother.'
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'Her mother?'
'Whores have mothers, too, you know. Feather's room
is right next to the one where Shanda's friend is staying.
If you put your ear to the wall, you should be able to hear
what's going on.'
'Good. Let's go. I don't want to miss anything.'
The room near the far end of the upper hallway was
small, and its furnishings were sparse. A single candle
burned on the table. Naween closed the door, then she
removed the dressing gown and lay down on the bed.
'Just for the sake of appearances,' she whispered archly,
'in case someone looks in on us. Or in case you change
your mind later.' She gave him a suggestive little leer.
'Which wall is it?' he asked in a low voice.
'That one.' She pointed.
He crossed the room and put the side of his head to the
wall's grimy surface.
. to my Lord Martel,' a familiar voice was saying. "I
need something that proves that you're really from
Annias and that what you tell me comes from him.'
It was Krager. Sparhawk grinned exultantly and
continued to listen.
!!!
*Chapter7
The primate said that you might be a little suspicious,'
Harparin said in his effeminate voice.
There's a price on my head here in Cimmura, Baron,'
Krager told him. 'Under those circumstances, a certain
amount of caution seems to be in order.'
'Would you recognize the primate's signature - and his
seal - if you saw them?'
"I would,' Krager replied.
'Good. Here's a note from him that will identify me.
Destroy it after you've read it.'
"I don't think so. Martel might want to see the proof
with his own eyes.' Krager paused. 'Why didn't Annias
just write down his instructions?'
'Be sensible, Krager,' Harparin said. 'A message can
fall into unfriendly hands.'
'So can a messenger. Have you ever seen what the
Pandions do to people who have information they want?'
"We would assume that you'd take steps to keep
yourself from being questioned.'
Krager laughed derisively. 'Not a chance, Harparin,'
he said in a slightly slurred voice. 'My life isn't all that
much, but it's all I've got.'
'you're a coward.'
'And you're - whatever it is that you are. Let me see
that note.'
Sparhawk heard paper rustling. 'All right,' Krager's
rusty-sounding voice said. 'This is the primate's seal, I'll
agree.'
'Have you been drinking?'
'Naturally. What else is there to do in Cimmura?
Unless you have other entertainments - like some I could
name.'
"I don't like you very much, Krager.'
'i'm not fond of you either, Harparin, but we can both
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live with that, can't we? Just give me the message and go
away. That perfume you're wearing is beginning to turn
my stomach.'
There was a stiff silence, and then the Baron spoke
very precisely, as if to a child or a simpleton. 'This is what
the Primate Annias wants you to say to Martel. Tell him
to gather up as many men as he'll need and to dress them
all in black armour. They are to carry the banners of the
Pandion Knights - any seamstress can counterfeit them
for you, and Martel knows what they look like. They are
then to ride with great show to the castle of Count
Radun, uncle of King Dregos of Arcium. Do you know
the place?'
"it's on the road between Darra and Sarrinium, isn't it?'
'Precisely. Count Radun is a pious man and he'll admit
the Church Knights without question. Once Martel is
inside the walls, his men are to kill the inhabitants. There
shouldn't be much resistance, because Radun doesn't
maintain a large garrison. He has a wife and a number of
unmarried daughters. Annias wants them all repeatedly
raped.'
Krager laughed. 'Adus would do that anyway.'
'Good, but tell him not to be self-conscious about it.
Radun has several churchmen in his castle. We want
them to witness it all. After Adus and the others finish
with the women, cut their throats. Radun is to be
tortured and then beheaded. Take his head with you
when you leave, but leave enough personal jewellery
and clothing on the body so that it can be identified.
Butcher everybody else in the castle, except for the
churchmen. After they've witnessed everything, let
them go. '
'Why?'
To report the outrage to King Dregos at Larium.'
'The idea then is that Dregos will declare war on the
Pandions?'
'Not quite, no - although that's possible, too. As soon
as the business is finished, dispatch a man on a fast horse
to me here in Cimmura to tell me that it's been done.'
Krager laughed again. 'Only an idiot would carry that
kind of message. He'd have a dozen knives in him as
soon as he finished talking.'
'You are suspicious, aren't you, Krager?'
'Better suspicious than dead, and the people Martel
will hire are likely all to feel pretty much the same way.
You'd better tell me a little more about this scheme,
Harparin. '
"you don't need to know any more.'
'Martel will. He won't be a cat's-paw for anybody.'
Harparin muttered an oath. 'All right then. The
Pandions have been interfering with the primate's
activities. This atrocity will give him an excuse to confine
them in their motherhouse at Demos again. Then he will
personally carry a report of the affair to Chyrellos to lay
before the Church Hierocracy and the Archprelate himself.
They will have no choice but to disband the Pandion
Order. The leaders - Vanion, Sparhawk, and the others -
will be imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the Basilica
of Chyrellos. No man has ever come out of those
dungeons alive.'
'Martel Will like that idea.'
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'Annias thought that he might. The Styric woman,
Sephrenia, will be burned as a witch, of course.'
'We'll be well rid of her.' There was another pause.
'There's more, isn't there?' Krager added. Harparin did not answer.
'Don't be coy, Harparin,' Krager told him. 'if I can see
through all this, you can be sure that Martel will, too.
Let's have the rest of it.'
'All right.' Harparin's voice was sullen. 'The Pandions
are likely to resist confinement and they'll certainly try to
protect their leaders. At that point, the army will move
against them. That will give Annias and the Royal
Council an excuse to declare a state of emergency and to
suspend certain laws.'
'Which laws are those?'
'The ones having to do with the succession to the throne.
Elenia will technically be in a state of war, and Ehlana is
obviously in no condition to deal with that. She'll abdicate
in favour of her cousin, the Prince Regent Lycheas.'
'Arissa's bastard - the sniveller?'
'Legitimacy can be bestowed by a decree of the council,
and I'd really watch what I say about Lycheas, Krager.
Disrespect for the King is high treason, and it can be made
retroactive, you know.'
There was an apprehensive silence. 'Wait a minute,'
Krager said then. 'I've heard that Ehlana's unconscious -
and sealed in some kind of crystal.'
'That's no particular problem.'
'How can she sign the instrument of abdication?'
Harparin laughed. 'There's a monk at the monastery
near Lenda. He's been practising the Queen's signature
for a month now. He's very good.'
'Clever. What happens to her after she abdicates?'
'As soon as Lycheas is crowned King, we'll give her a
splendid funeral.'
'But she's still alive, isn't she?'
'So if need be, we'll entomb her throne and all.'
'There's only one problem then, isn't there?'
"I don't see any problem.'
'That's because you're not looking, Harparin. The
primate is going to have to move very fast. If the
Pandions find out about this before he can get to the
Hierocracy in Chyrellos, they'll take steps to counter his
accusations. '
'We're aware of that. That's why you have to send the
message to me as soon as the count and his people are
dead.'
'The message would never reach you. Any man we
send will realize that he'll be killed as soon as he delivers
it and he'll find an excuse to go to Lamorkand or Pelosia
instead.' Krager paused. 'Let me see that ring of yours,'
he said.
'My ring? Why?'
"it's a signet, isn't it?'
'Yes, with the coat of arms of my family.'
'All noblemen have rings like that, don't they?'
'Of course.'
'Good. Tell Annias to pay close attention to the
collection plate in the cathedral of Cimmura here. One of
these days a ring will show up among the pennies. The
ring will bear the coat of arms of Count Radun's family.
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He'll understand the message, and the messenger can
slip away unharmed.'
"I don't think Annias will like that.
'He doesn't have to like it. All right, how much?'
'How much what?'
'Money. What is Annias willing to pay Martel for his
assistance? He's getting the crown for Lycheas and
absolute control of Elenia for himself. What's it worth to
him?'
'He told me to mention the sum of ten thousand gold
crowns.'
Krager laughed. "I think Martel might want to negotiate
that point just a bit.'
'Time is important here, Krager.'
'Then Annias probably won't be too stubborn about
the price, will he? Why don't you go back to the palace
and suggest to him that a bit more generosity might be in
order? I could wind up spending the whole winter riding
back and forth between Annias and Martel carrying
proposals and counterproposals.'
'There's only so much money in the treasury, Krager.'
'Simplicity in itself, my dear Baron. Just increase taxes
- or have Annias dip into church funds.
'Where is Martel now?'
'i'm not at liberty to say.'
Sparhawk swore under his breath and took his ear
away from the wall.
'Was it interesting?' Naween asked. She still lounged
on the bed.
'Very.'
She stretched voluptuously. 'Are you sure that you
won't change your mind?' she asked. 'Now that you've
taken care of your business?'
'Sorry, little sister,' Sparhawk declined. 'I've got a
great deal left to do today. Besides, I've already paid
Shanda your price. Why work if you don't have to?'
'Professional ethics, I suppose. Besides, I sort of like
you, my big broken-nosed friend.'
'i'm flattered.' He reached into his pocket, took out a
gold coin, and gave it to her. She stared at him in amazed
gratitude. 'I'll slip out of the front door before Krager's
friend gets ready to leave,' he told her. He went to the door.
'Come back sometime when your mind's not so
occupied,' she whispered.
'I'll think about it,' he promised. He tied the bandage
over his eyes again, opened the door, and stepped
quietly into the hall. Then he went on down into the
dimly lit lower hall and back out to the street.
Talen was leaning against the wall beside the door,
trying to stay out of the rain. 'Did you have fun?' he
asked.
"I found out what I needed to know.'
'That's not what I meant. Naween's supposed to be the
best in Cimmura. '
"I really wouldn't know about that. I was there on
business.'
'i'm disappointed in you, Sparhawk.' Talen grinned
impudently. 'But probably not nearly so much as
Naween was. They say that she's a girl who likes her
work.'
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'You've got a nasty mind, Talen.'
"I know, and you've got no idea how much I enjoy it.' His
young face grew serious, and he looked around cautiously.
'Sparhawk,' he said, 'is somebody following you?'
"it's possible, I suppose.'
'i'm not talking about a church soldier. There was a
man at the far end of the street - at least I think it was a
man. He was wearing a monk's habit, and the hood
covered his face, so I couldn't be sure.'
'There are a lot of monks in Cimmura.'
'Not like this one. It made me cold all over just to look
at him.'
Sparhawk looked at him sharply. 'Have you ever had
this kind of feeling before, Talen?'
'Once. Platime had sent me to the west gate to meet
somebody. Some Styrics were coming into the city, and
after they passed, I couldn't even keep my mind on what
I was supposed to be doing. It was two days before I
could shake off the feeling.'
There was not really any point in telling the boy the
truth about the matter. Many people were sensitives
and it seldom went any further. "I wouldn't worry about
it,' Sparhawk advised. 'We all get these peculiar feelings
now and then.'
'Maybe,' Talen said dubiously.
'We're finished here,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's go back to
Platime's place.'
The rainy streets of Cimmura were a bit more crowded
now, filled with nobles wearing brightly coloured cloaks
and with workmen dressed in plain brown or grey.
Sparhawk was obliged to grope his way along, swinging
his blindman's stick in front of him to avoid suspicion. It
was noon by the time he and Talen descended the steps
into the cellar again. 'Why didn't you wake me up?' Kalten demanded
crossly. He was sitting on the edge of his cot holding a
bowl of thick stew.
'You needed your rest.' Sparhawk untied the bandage
from his eyes. 'Besides, it's raining out there.'
'Did you see Krager?'
'No, but I heard him, which is just as good.' Sparhawk
went on around the fire pit to where Platime sat. 'Can
you get me a wagon and a driver?' he asked.
'if you need one.' Platime lifted his silver tankard and
drank noisily, spilling beer on the front of his spotted
orange doublet.
"I do,' Sparhawk said. 'Kalten and I have to get back to
the chapterhouse. The primate's soldiers are probably
still looking for us, so I thought that we could hide in the
back of a wagon to stay out of sight.'
'Wagons don't move very fast. Wouldn't a carriage
with the curtains drawn be faster?'
'Do you have a carriage?'
'Several, actually. God's been good to me lately.'
'i'm delighted to hear it.' Sparhawk turned. 'Talen.' he
called.
The boy came over to where he was standing.
'How much money did you steal from me this
morning?'
Talen's face grew cautious. 'Not too much. Why?'
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'Be more specific.'
'Seven coppers and one silver piece. You're a friend, so I
put the gold coins back in your pocket.'
'i'm touched.'
'You want the money back, I suppose.'
'Keep it - as payment for your services.'
'You're generous, my Lord.'
'i'm not finished yet. I want you' to keep an eye on
Krager for me. I think I'm going to be out of town for a
while, and I want to keep track of him. If he leaves
Cimmura, go to the inn on Rose Street. Do you know it?'
'The one that's run by the Pandions?
'How did you find out about that?'
'Everybody knows about it.'
Sparhawk let that pass. 'Knock on the gate three times,
then pause. Then knock twice more. A porter will open
the gate. Be polite to him because he's a knight. Tell him
that the man Sparhawk was interested in has left town.
Try to give him the direction Krager took. Can you
remember all that?'
'Do you want me to recite it back to you?'
That won't be necessary. The knight porter at the inn
will give you half a crown for the information.'
Talen's eyes brightened.
Sparhawk turned back to Platime. 'Thank you, my
friend,' he said. 'Consider your debt to my father paid.'
'I've already forgotten it.' The fat man grinned.
'Platime's very good at forgetting debts,' Talen said.
The ones he owes, anyway. '
'Someday your mouth is going to get you in serious
trouble, boy.'
'Nothing that my feet can't carry me away from.'
'Go and tell Set to hitch the grey team to the carriage
with the blue wheels and to bring it to the alley door.'
'What's in it for me?'
'I'll postpone the thrashing I'm just about to give you.'
'That sounds fair.' The boy grinned and scampered
away.
'That's a very clever young man,' Sparhawk said.
'He's the best,' Platime agreed. "it's my guess that he'll
replace me when I retire. '
'He's the crown prince, then.'
Platime laughed uproariously. 'The crown prince of
thieves. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? You know, I like
you, Sparhawk.' Still laughing, the fat man clapped the
big knight on the shoulder. 'if there's ever anything else I
can do for you, let me know.'
"I will, Platime.'
'I'll even give you a special rate.'
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said dryly. He picked up his sword
from beside Platime's chair and went back to his cot to
change back into his own clothes. 'How are you feeling?'
he asked Kalten.
'i'm fine.'
'Good. You'd better get ready to leave.'
'Where are we going?'
'Back to the chapterhouse. I found out something that
Vanion needs to know.'
The carriage was not new, but it was soundly constructed
and well maintained. The windows were draped
with heavy curtains which effectively hid the passengers
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from prying eyes. The team which drew the carriage
were a pair of matched greys, and they moved out at a
brisk trot.
Kalten leaned back against the leather cushion. 'is it
my imagination, or does thieving pay better than
knighting?'
'We didn't go into the business for the money, Kalten,
Sparhawk reminded him.
'That's painfully obvious, my friend.' Kalten stretched
out his legs and crossed his arms contentedly. 'You
know,' he said, "I could get to like this sort of thing.'
"Try not to,' Sparhawk advised him.
'You have to admit that it's a great deal more comfortable
than pounding your backside on a hard saddle.'
'Discomfort's good for the soul.'
'My soul's just fine, Sparhawk. It's my behind that's
starting to wear out.'
The carriage moved rapidly through the streets, and
they soon passed through the east gate of the city and
pulled up at the drawbridge of the chapterhouse.
Sparhawk and Kalten stepped out into the drizzly
afternoon, and Set immediately turned the carriage
around and clattered back towards the city.
Following the ritual which gained them entrance into
the fortified house, Sparhawk and Kalten went immediately
to the preceptor's study in the south tower.
Vanion was seated at the large table in the centre of the
room with a stack of documents in front of him, and
Sephrenia sat by the crackling fire with her ever-present
teacup in her hand. She was looking into the dancing
flames, her eyes a mystery.
Vanion looked up and saw the blood-stains on Kalten's
doublet. 'What happened?' he asked.
'Our disguises didn't work.' Kalten shrugged. 'A
group of church soldiers waylaid us in an alley. It's not
serious.'
Sephrenia rose from her chair and came over to them.
'Did you have it tended?' she asked.
'Sparhawk put a bandage on it.'
'Why don't you let me look at it? Sometimes Sparhawk's
bandages are a little rudimentary. Sit down and
open your doublet.'
Kalten grumbled a bit but did as he was told.
She untied the bandage and looked at the cut in his
Side with pursed lips. 'Did you clean it at all?' she asked
Sparhawk.
"I wiped it down with some wine.'
She sighed. 'Oh, Sparhawk.' She rose, went to the
door, and sent one of the young knights outside for the
things she would need.
'Sparhawk picked up some information,' Kalten told
the preceptor.
'What kind of information?' Vanion asked.
"I found Krager,' Sparhawk told him, drawing up a
chair. 'He's staying in a brothel near the west gate.'
One of Sephrenia's eyebrows shot up. 'What were you
doing in a brothel, Sparhawk?'
"it's a long story,' he replied, flushing slightly. 'Someday
I'll tell you all about it. Anyway,' he continued, 'the
Baron Harparin came to the brothel, and -'
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'Harparin?' Vanion looked startled. 'In a brothel? He
had less business there than you did.'
'He was there to meet with Krager. I managed to get
inside and into the room next to the one where they were
meeting.' He quickly sketched out the details of the
involuted scheme of the Primate Annias.
Vanion's eyes were narrow as Sparhawk finished his
report. 'Annias is even more ruthless than I'd imagined,'
he said. "I never thought that he'd stoop to mass murder.'
'We're going to stop them, aren't we?' ~Kalten asked as
Sephrenia began to cleanse his wound.
'Of course we are,' Vanion replied absently. He stared
up at the ceiling, his eyes lost in thought. "I think I see a
way to turn this around.' He looked at Kalten. 'Are you
fit to ride?' he asked.
'This is hardly more than a scratch,' Kalten assured
him as Sephrenia laid a compress over the cut.
'Good. I want you to go to the motherhouse at Demos.
Take every man you can get your hands on and start out
for Count Radun's castle in Arcium. Stay off the main
roads. We don't want Martel to know you're coming.
Sparhawk, I want you to lead the knights from here in
Cimmura. Join Kalten down there in Arcium someplace.'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'If we ride out in a body, Annias
will know that we're up to something. If he gets suspicious,
he could postpone the whole thing and then attack the
counts castle some other time when we aren't around.'
Vanion frowned. 'That's true, isn't it? Maybe you
could sneak your men out of Cimmura a few at a time.'
"it would take too long that way,' Sephrenia told him,
winding a clean bandage around Kalten's waist, 'and
sneaking attracts more attention than riding out openly.'
She pursed her lips in thought. 'Does the order still own
that cloister on the road to Cardos?' she asked.
Vanion nodded. "it's in total disrepair, though.'
wouldn't this be an excellent time to restore it?'
"I don't quite follow you, Sephrenia.'
'We need to find some excuse for most of the Pandions
here in Cimmura to ride out of town together. If you were
to go to the palace and tell the council that you're going to
take all your knights and go and repair that cloister,
Annias would think you're playing right into his hands.
Then you could take wagonloads of tools and building
materials to make it look genuine and leave town with
them. Once you're out of Cimmura, you can change
direction with no one the wiser.'
It sounds workable, Vanion,' Sparhawk said. will you
be coming with us?'
no,' Vanion replied. 'i'm going to have to ride to
Chyrellos and alert a few friendly members of the Church
hierocracy to what Annias has planned.'
Sparhawk nodded, then he remembered something.
'i'm not entirely positive about this,' he said, 'but I think
there's someone here in Cimmura who's been watching
me, and I don't think he's an Elene.' He smiled at
Sephrenia. 'I've been trained to recognize the subtle touch
of a Styric mind. Anyway, this watcher seems to be able to
pick me out no matter what kind of disguise I wear. I'm
almost certain that he's the one who set the church soldiers
on Kalten and me, and that means that he has ties to
Annias.'
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'What does he look like?' Sephrenia asked him.
"I can't really say. He wears a hooded robe and keeps his
face hidden.'
'He can't report to Annias if he's dead,' Kalten shrugged.
'Lay an ambush for him somewhere on the road to Cardos. '
'isn't that a little direct?' Sephrenia asked disapprovingly,
tying the bandage firmly in place.
'i'm a simple man, Sephrenia. Complications confuse
me. '
"I want to work out a few more details,' Vanion said. He
looked at Sephrenia. 'Kalten and I will be riding together as
far as Demos. Do you want to return to the motherhouse?'
'No,' she replied. 'I'll go with Sparhawk just in case this
Styric who's been watching him tries to follow us. I should
be able to deal with that without resorting to murder.'
'All right, then,' Vanion said rising to his feet.
'Sparhawk, you and Kalten go and see to the wagons and
the building materials. I'll go to the palace and lie a little
bit. As soon as I get back, we'll all leave.'
'And what would you like me to do, Vanion?'
Sephrenia asked him.
He smiled. 'Why don't you have another cup of tea,
Sephrenia?'
'Thank you, Vanion. I believe I will.
!!!
*Chapter8
The weather had turned cold, and the sullen afternoon
sky was spitting pellets of hard-frozen snow. A hundred
cloaked and black-armoured Pandion Knights rode at a
jingling trot through the heavily forested region near the
Arcian border with Sparhawk and Sephrenia in the lead.
They had been travelling for five days.
Sparhawk glanced up at the sky and reined in the black
horse he was riding. The horse reared, pawing at the air
with his front hooves. 'Oh, stop that, ' Sparhawk told him
irritably.
'He's very enthusiastic, isn't he?' Sephrenia said.
'He's also not very bright. I'll be glad when we catch up
with Kalten and I can get Faran back.'
'Why are we stopping?'
'It's close to evening, and that grove over there seems
to be fairly clear of undergrowth. We may as well set up
our night's encampment here.' He raised his voice then,
calling back over his shoulder. 'Sir Parasim,' he shouted.
The young knight with the butter-coloured hair rode
forward. 'Yes, my Lord Sparhawk?' he said in his light
tenor voice.
'We'll stop for the night here,' Sparhawk told him. 'As
soon as the wagons get here, set up Sephrenia's tent for
her and see to it that she has everything she needs.'
'Of course, my Lord.'
The sky had turned a chill purple by the time
Sparhawk had overseen the setting up of their encampment
and had posted sentries. He walked past the tents
and the flickering cooking fires to join Sephrenia at the
small fire before her tent, which was set slightly apart
from the rest of the camp. He smiled when he saw her
ever-present tea-kettle hanging from a metal tripod
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which she had set over the flames.
"Something amusing, Sparhawk?' she asked.
'No,' he said. 'Not really.' He looked back towards the
youthful knights moving around their cooking fires.
'They all seem so young,' he said almost as if to himself,
'hardly more than boys.'
'That's the nature of things, Sparhawk. The old make
the decisions, and the young carry them out.'
'Was I ever that young?'
She laughed. 'Oh yes, dear Sparhawk,' she told him.
'You couldn't begin to believe how young you and Kalten
were when you came to me for your first lessons. I felt as
if a pair of babies had been placed in my care.'
He made a rueful face. "I guess that answers that
question, doesn't it?' He held out his hands to the
warmth of her fire. "It's a cold night. I think my blood
thinned out while I was in Jiroch. I haven't been really
warm since I came back to Elenia. Did Parasim bring you
your supper?'
'Yes. He's a very nice boy, isn't he?'
Sparhawk laughed. 'He'd probably be offended if he
heard you say that.'
"It's the truth, isn't it?'
'Of course, but he'd be offended all the same. Young
knights are always sensitive.'
'Have you ever heard him sing?'
'Once. In chapel.'
'He has a glorious voice, doesn't he?'
Sparhawk nodded. "I don't think he really belongs in a
militant order. A regular monastery would probably suit
his temperament better.' He looked around, then
stepped outside the circle of firelight, dragged a log to the
side of the fire, and covered it with his cloak. "It's not
exactly an easy chair,' he apologized, 'but it's better than
sitting on the ground.'
'Thank you, Sparhawk.' She smiled. 'That was very
thoughtful of you.'
"I do have a few manners, I suppose.' He looked at her
gravely. 'This is going to be a hard journey for you, I'm
afraid.'
"I can endure it, my dear.'
'Perhaps, but don't go out of your way to be unnecessarily
brave. If you get tired or cold, don't hesitate to say
something to me. '
'I'll be just fine, Sparhawk. Styrics are a hardy people.'
'Sephrenia,' he said then, 'how long will it be until the
twelve knights who were in the throne room with you
begin to die?'
'That's really impossible to say, Sparhawk.'
'Will you know - each time it happens, I mean?'
'Yes. At the moment, I'm the one to whom their
swords will be delivered.'
'Their swords?'
'The swords were the instruments of the spell, and
they symbolize the burden that must be passed on.'
'Wouldn't it have been wiser to have distributed that
responsibility?'
"I chose not to.'
'That might have been a mistake.'
'Perhaps, but it was mine to make.'
He began to pace angrily. 'We should be working on a
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cure instead of riding halfway across Arcium,' he burst
out.
"I couldn't bear to lose you and Ehlana,' he said, 'and
Vanion, too.'
'There's still time, dear one.'
He sighed. 'Are you all settled in, then?' he asked her.
'Yes. I have everything I need.'
,Try to get a good night's sleep. We'll be starting early.
Good night, Sephrenia.'
'Sleep well, Sparhawk.'
He awoke as daybreak had begun to spread its light
through the wood. He strapped on his armour, shivering
at the touch of the cold plate. He emerged from the tent
he shared with five other knights and looked around the
sleeping camp. Sephrenia's fire was flickering in front of
her tent again, and her white robe gleamed in the steely
light of dawn and the glow of her fire.
'You're up early,' he said as he approached her.
'So are you. How far is it to the border?'
'We should cross into Arcium today.'
And then from somewhere out in the forest they heard
a strange, flute-like sound. The melody was in a minor
key, but it was not sad, rather it seemed filled with an
ageless joy.
Sephrenia's eyes grew wide, and she made a peculiar
gesture with her right hand.
'A shepherd maybe?' Sparhawk said.
'No,' she replied. 'Not a shepherd.' She stood uP.
'Come with me, Sparhawk,' she said, and then she led
him away from the fire.
The sky was growing lighter as they moved out into
the meadow lying just to the south of their encampment,
following the flute-like sound. They approached the
sentry Sparhawk had stationed there.
'You heard it, too, my Lord Sparhawk?' the blackarmoured
knight asked.
I can't make out who it is yet, but it seems to be coming
from that tree out in the centre of the meadow. Do you
want me to come along with you?'
'No. Stay here. We'll investigate.'
Sephrenia had already gone on ahead, moving directly
towards the tree that seemed to be the source of the
strange melody.
'You'd better let me go first,' Sparhawk said when he
caught up with her.
'There's no danger, Sparhawk.'
When they reached the tree, Sparhawk peered up
through the shadowy limbs and saw the mysterious
musician. It was a little girl of six or so. Her long hair was
black and glossy, and her large eyes were as deep as night.
A headband of plaited grass encircled her brow, holding
her hair back. She was sitting on a lim' breathing sound
into a simple, many-chambered set of pipes such as a
goatherd might play. Although it was quite cold, she wore
only a short, belted linen smock that left her arms and legs
bare. Her grass-stained, unshod feet were crossed, and she
perched on the limb with a sedate sureness.
'What's she doing here?' Sparhawk asked, puzzled.
'There aren't any houses or villages around.'
"I think she's been waiting for us,' Sephrenia replied.
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'That doesn't make any sense.' He looked up at the
child. 'What's your name, little girl?' he asked.
'Let me question her, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said.
"She's a Styric child, and they tend to be shy. ' She pushed
back her hood and spoke to the little girl in a dialect
Sparhawk did not understand.
The child lowered her rude pipe and smiled. Her lips
were like a small, pink bow.
Sephrenia asked her another question in a strange,
gentle tone.
The little girl shook her head.
'Does she live in some house back in the forest?
Sparhawk asked.
"She has no home nearby.' Sephrenia said.
'Doesn't she talk?'
"She chooses not to.'
Sparhawk looked around. 'Well, we can't leave her
here.' He reached up his arms to the child. 'Come down,
little girl,' he said.
She smiled at him and slipped off the limb into his
hands. Her weight was very slight, and her hair smelled of
grass and trees. She confidently put her arms about his
neck and then wrinkled her nose at the smell of his armour.
He set her down on her feet, and she immediately
went to Sephrenia, took the small woman's hands in
hers, and kissed them. Something peculiarly Styric
seemed to pass between the woman and the little girl,
something that Sparhawk could not understand.
Sephrenia lifted the child into her arms and held her
close. 'What will we do with her, Sparhawk?' she asked
in a strangely intent tone. For some reason it seemed very
important to her.
'We'll have to take her with us, I guess - at least until
we find some people to leave her with. Let's go back to
camp and see if we can find something for her to wear. '
'And some breakfast, I think.'
'Would you like that, Flute?' Sparhawk asked the
child.
The little girl smiled and nodded.
'Why did you call her that?' Sephrenia asked him.
'We have to call her something - at least until we find
out her real name - if she has one. Let's go back to the fire
where it's warm.' He turned and led the way back across
the meadow towards the camp.
They crossed the border into Arcium near the city of
Dieros, once again avoiding contact with the local
inhabitants. They paralleled the road leading eastward,
staying well back from that heavily travelled highway.
The countryside of the kingdom of Arcium was noticeably
different from that of Elenia. Unlike its northern
neighbour, Arcium seemed to be a kingdom of walls.
They stretched along the roads or cut across open
pastureland, often for no apparent reason. The walls
were thick and high, and Sparhawk was frequently
obliged to lead his knights on long detours to go around
them. Wryly he remembered the words of a twenty-fourth-century
Patriarch of the Church who, after travelling
from Chyrellos to Larium, had referred to Arcium as 'God's rock
garden.'.
The following day they entered a large forest of
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winter-bare birch trees. As they rode deeper into the chill
wood, Sparhawk began to smell smoke and he soon saw
a dark pall lying low among the stark white tree-trunks.
He halted the column and rode on ahead to investigate.
He had gone perhaps a mile when he came to a cluster
of rudely built Styric houses. They were all on fire, and
bodies littered the open area around the houses. Sparhawk
began to swear. He wheeled the young black horse
round and galloped back to where he had left his troops.
'What is it?' Sephrenia asked him, looking at his bleak
expression. "where's the smoke coming from?'
'There was a Styric village up ahead,' he replied
darkly. 'We both know what the smoke means.'
'Ah.' She sighed.
"you'd better keep the little girl back here until I can get
a burial detail up there.'
'No, Sparhawk. This sort of thing is a part of her
heritage, too. All Styrics know that it happens. Besides,
i might be able to help the survivors - if there are any.'
'Have it your own way,' he said shortly. A huge rage
had descended upon him, and he curtly motioned the
column forward.
There was some evidence that the hapless Styrics had
made an attempt to defend themselves, but that they had
been swarmed over by people carrying only the crudest
of weapons. Sparhawk put his men to work - some of
them digging graves and others extinguishing the fires.
Sephrenia came across the littered field, her face
deathly pale. 'There are only a few women among the
dead,' she reported. "I'd guess that the rest fled back into
the woods.'
'See if you can persuade them to come back,' he said.
He looked over at Sir Parasim, who was weeping openly
as he spaded dirt out of a grave. The young knight was
obviously not emotionally suited for this kind of work.
'Parasim,' Sparhawk ordered, 'go with Sephrenia.'
'Yes, my Lord,' Parasim sobbed, dropping his spade.
The dead were finally all committed to the earth, and
Sparhawk briefly murmured an Elene prayer over the
graves. It was probably not appropriate for Styrics, but
he didn't really know what else to do.
After about an hour, Sephrenia and Parasim returned.
'Any luck?' Sparhawk asked her.
'We found them,' she replied, 'but they won't come
out of the woods.'
"I can't really blame them very much,' he said. 'We'll
see if we can fix up at least a few of these houses for them
to keep them out of the weather.'
'Don't waste your time, Sparhawk. They won't come
back to this place. That's a part of the Styric religion.'
'Did they give you some idea of which way the Elenes
who did this went?'
'What are you planning, Sparhawk?'
'Chastisement. That's a part of the Elene religion.
'No. I won't tell you which way they went, if that's
what you've got in mind.'
"I'm not going to let this pass, Sephrenia. You can tel
me or not, whichever you choose. I can find their trail by
myself if I need to.'
She looked at him helplessly. Then her eyes became
shrewd. 'A bargain, Sparhawk?' she suggested.
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"I'll listen.'
"I'll tell you where to find them if you promise not to
kill anybody.'
'All right,' he agreed grudgingly, his face still black
with anger. 'Which way did they go?'
"I'm not done yet,' she said. 'You'll stay here with me. I
know you, and you sometimes go to extremes. Send
someone else to do it.'
He glared at her, then turned. 'Lakus.' he bellowed.
'No,' she said, 'not Lakus. He's as bad as you are.'
'Who, then?'
'Parasim, I think.'
'Parasim?'
'He's a gentler person. If we tell him not to kill
anybody, he won't make any mistakes.'
'All right, then,' he said from between clenched teeth.
'Parasim,' he said to the young knight standing sorrowfully
nearby, 'take a dozen men and run down the
animals who did this. Don't kill anybody, but make them
all very, very sorry that they ever came up with the idea.'
'Yes, my Lord,' Parasim said, his eyes suddenly
glinting like steel. Sephrenia gave him directions, and he
started back to where the other knights were gathered.
On his way, he stopped and uprooted a thorn bush. He
seized it in one gauntleted fist and swung it very hard at
an unoffending birch tree, ripping off a fair-sized chunk
of white bark.
'Oh, dear,' Sephrenia murmured.
"He'll do just fine," Sparhawk laughed mirthlessly. "I
have great hopes for that young man and great faith in
his sense of the appropriate.'
Some distance away, Flute was standing over the
scattered graves. She was playing her pipes softly, and
her melody seemed to convey aeons of sorrow.
The weather continued cold and unpleasant, though no
significant amounts of snow fell. After a week of steady
travel, they reached a ruined castle some six or eight
leagues west of the city of Darra. Kalten and the main
body of the Pandion Knights awaited them there.
"I thought you'd got lost,' the blond man said as he
reined up in front of Sparhawk. He looked curiously at
Flute, who sat in front of Sparhawk's saddle, her bare
feet both on one side of the black horse's neck and with
Sparhawk's cloak wrapped around her. 'isn't it a little
late for you to be starting a family?'
'We found her along the way,' Sparhawk replied. He
took the little girl and handed her across to Sephrenia.
'Why didn't you put some shoes on her?'
'We did. She keeps losing them. There's a nunnery on
the other side of Darra. We'll drop her off there.'
Sparhawk looked at the ruin crouched on the hill above
them. 'is there any kind of shelter in there?'
"Some. It breaks the wind, at least.'
'Let's get inside, then. Did Kurik bring Faran and my
armour?'
Kalten nodded.
'Good. This horse is a little unruly, and Vanion's old
armour has rubbed me raw in more places than I care to
count. '
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They rode up into the ruin and found Kurik and the
young novice, Berit, waiting for them. 'What took you so
long?' Kurik asked bluntly.
"it's a long way, Kurik,' Sparhawk replied a bit
defensively, 'and the wagons can only move so fast.'
'You should have left them behind.'
'They were carrying the food and extra equipment.'
Kurik grunted. 'Let's get in out of the weather. I've got
a fire going in what's left of that watchtower over there.'
He looked rather peculiarly at Sephrenia, who carried
Flute in her arms. 'Lady,' he greeted her respectfully.
'Dear Kurik,' she said warmly. 'How are Aslade and
the boys?'
'Well, Sephrenia,' he replied. 'Very well indeed.'
"I'm so glad to hear it.'
'Kalten said you'd be coming along,' he said to her. "I
have water boiling for your tea.' He looked at Flute, who
had her face nestled against Sephrenia's. 'Have you been
keeping secrets from us?'
She laughed, a rippling cascade of a laugh. 'That's
what Styrics do best, Kurik.'
'Let's get you all inside where it's warm.' He turned
and led the way across the rubble-strewn courtyard of
the ruin, leaving Berit to care for the horses.
'Was it a good idea to bring him along?' Sparhawk
asked, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder in the
direction of the novice. 'He's a little young for an all-out
battle.'
'He'll be all right, Sparhawk,' Kurik said. "I took him to
the practice field at Demos a few times and gave him
some instruction. He handles himself well and he learns
fast.'
'All right, Kurik,' Sparhawk said, 'but when the
fighting starts, stay close to him. I don't want him getting
hurt. '
"I never let you get hurt, did I?'
Sparhawk grinned at his friend. 'No. As I recall, you
didn't.'
They stayed the night in the ruin and rode out early the
following morning. Their combined forces numbered
just over five hundred men, and they rode south under a
still-threatening sky. Just beyond Darra stood a nunnery
with yellow sandstone walls and a red tile roof.
Sparhawk and Sephrenia turned aside from the road and
crossed a winter-browned meadow towards the building.
'And what is the child's name?' the black-robed
Mother Superior asked when they were admitted into
her presence in a severely simple room with only a small
brazier to warm it.
"She doesn't talk, mother,' Sparhawk replied. "She
plays those pipes all the time, so we call her Flute.'
'That is an unseemly name, my son.'
'The child doesn't mind, Mother Superior,' Sephrenia
told her.
'Did you make some effort to find her parents?'
'There was no one in the vicinity when we found her,'
Sparhawk explained.
The Mother Superior looked gravely at Sephrenia.
'The child is Styric,' she pointed out. 'Would it not
perhaps be better to put her with a family of her own race
and her own faith?'
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'We have pressing business,' Sephrenia said, 'and
Styrics can be very difficult to find when they choose to
be.'
'You know, of course, that if she stays with us, we will
raise her in the Elene faith?'
Sephrenia smiled. 'You will try, Mother Superior. I
think you will find that she's not amenable to conversion,
however. Coming, Sparhawk?'
They rejoined the column and rode south under clearing
skies, moving first at a rolling trot and then at a
thunderous gallop. They crossed a knoll, and Sparhawk
reined Faran in sharply, staring in astonishment at Flute,
who sat cross-legged on a large white rock playing her
pipes. 'How did you - ' he began, then broke off.
'Sephrenia,' he called, but the white-robed woman had
already dismounted. She approached the child, speaking
gently to her in that strange Styric dialect.
Flute lowered her pipes and gave Sparhawk an impish
little grin. Sephrenia laughed and took the child in her
arms.
'How did she get ahead of us?' Kalten asked, his face
baffled.
'Who knows?' Sparhawk replied. "I guess I'd better
take her back."
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said firmly. "She wants to go
with us.'
'That's too bad,' he said bluntly. "I'm not going to take
a little girl into battle.'
'Don't concern yourself with her, Sparhawk. I'll care
for her.' She smiled at the child nestled in her arms. "I'll
care for her as if she were my own.' She laid her cheek
against Flute's glossy black hair. 'in a way, she is.'
He gave up. 'Have it your own way,' he said. just as he
began to wheel Faran around, he felt a sudden chill
accompanied by the sense of an implacable hatred.
'Sephrenia!' he said sharply.
"I felt it, too!' she cried, drawing the little girl closer to
her. "It's directed at the child!'
Flute struggled briefly, and Sephrenia, looking surprised,
set her down. The little girl's face was set, looking
more annoyed than angered or frightened. She set her
pipes to her lips and began to play. The melody this time
was not that light air in a minor key which she had played
before. It was sterner and peculiarly ominous.
Then from some distance away they heard a sudden
howl of pain and surprise. The howl immediately began
to fade, as if whoever or whatever had made it were
fleeing at an unimaginable rate.
'What was that?' Kalten exclaimed.
'An unfriendly spirit,' Sephrenia replied calmly.
'What drove it away?'
'The child's song. It seems that she has learned to
protect herself.'
'Do you understand any of what's going on here?'
Kalten asked Sparhawk.
'No more than you do. Let's keep moving. We've still
got a couple of days of hard riding ahead of us.'
The castle of Count Radun, the uncle of King Dregos,
was perched atop a high, rocky promontory. Like so
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many of the castles in this southern kingdom, it was
surrounded by massive walls. The weather had cleared
off, and the noonday sun was very bright as Sparhawk,
Kalten, and Sephrenia, who still carried Flute in front of
her saddle, rode across a broad meadow of yellow grass
towards the fortress.
They were admitted without question, in the courtyard
they were met by the count, a blocky man with heavy
shoulders and silver-shot hair. He wore a dark green
doublet trimmed in black and surmounted by a heavily
starched white ruff of a collar. It was a style which had
gone out of fashion in Elenia decades ago. 'My house is
honoured to welcome the knights of the Church,' he
declared formally after they had introduced themselves.
Sparhawk swung down off Faran's back. 'Your hospitality
is legendary, my Lord,' he said, 'but our visit is
not entirely social. Is there someplace private where we
can talk? We have a matter of some urgency to discuss
with you.'
'Of course,' the count replied. 'if you will all be so good
as to come with me.' They followed him through the
broad doors of his castle and along a candlelit corridor
strewn with rushes. At the end of the corridor, the count
produced a brass key and unlocked a door. 'My private
study,' he said modestly. "I'm rather proud of my
collection of books. I have almost two dozen.'
'Formidable,' Sephrenia murmured.
'Perhaps you might care to read some of them,
madame?'
'The lady doesn't read,' Sparhawk told him. "She's a
Styric and an initiate in the secrets. She feels that reading
might somehow interfere with her abilities.'
'A witch?' the count said, looking at the small woman.
'Truly?'
'We prefer to use other terms, my Lord,' she replied
mildly.
'Please, sit down,' the count said, pointing at a large
table standing in a chill patch of wintry sunlight coming
through a heavily barred window. "I'm curious to hear
about this urgent matter.'
Sparhawk removed his helmet and gauntlets and laid
them on the table. 'Are you familiar with the name of
Annias, Primate of Cimmura, my Lord?'
The count's face hardened. "I've heard of him,' he said
shortly.
'You know his reputation then?'
"I do.'
'Good. Quite by accident, Sir Kalten and I unearthed a
plot hatched by the primate. Fortunately, he isn't aware
of the fact that we know about it. Is it your common
practice so freely to admit Church Knights?'
'Of 'course. I revere the Church and honour her
Knights.'
'Within a few days - a week at most - a sizeable group
of men in black armour and bearing the standards of
Pandion Knights will ride up to your gates. I strongly
advise you not to admit them.'
'But -'
Sparhawk held up one hand. 'They will not be
Pandion, my Lord. They're mercenaries under the command
of a renegade named Martel. If you let them in,
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they will kill everyone within your walls - excepting only
a churchman or two who will spread word of the
outrage. '
'Monstrous!' the count gasped. 'What reason could the
Primate of Cimmura have to bear me such hatred?'
'The plot isn't directed at you, Count Radun,' Kalten
told him. 'Your murder is designed to discredit the
Pandion Knights. Annias hopes that the Hierocracy of
the Church will be so infuriated that they'll disband the
order.'
"I must send word to Larium at once,' the count
declared, coming to his feet. 'My nephew can have an
army here in a few days.'
'That won't be necessary, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. "I
have five hundred fully armed Pandions - real ones -
concealed in the woods just to the north of your castle
With your permission, I'll bring a hundred of them inside
your walls to reinforce your garison. When the mercenaries
arrive, find some excuse not to admit them.'
'Won't that seem strange?' Radun asked. "I have a
reputation for hospitality - for the Knights of the Church
in particular.'
'The drawbridge,' Kalten said.
"I beg your pardon?'
'Tell them that the windlass that operates your drawbridge
is broken. Then tell them that you have men
working on it and ask them to be patient.'
"I will not lie,' the count said stiffly.
'That's all right, my Lord,' Kalten assured him. "I'll
break the windlass for you myself, so you won't really be
lying.'
The count stared at him for a moment, then burst out
laughing.
'The mercenaries will be outside the castle,' Sparhawk
went on, 'and your walls will give very little room for
manoeuvring. That's when we'll attack them from
behind.'
Kalten grinned broadly. "It should be almost like a
cheese grater when we start to grind them up against
your walls.'
'And I can drop some interesting things on them from
my battlements as well,' the count added, also grinning.
'Arrows, large rocks, burning pitch - that sort of thing.'
'We're going to get on splendidly, my Lord,' Kalten
told him.
"I will, of course, make arrangements to lodge this lady
and the little girl here in safety,' the count said.
'No, my Lord,' Sephrenia disagreed. "I will accompany
Sir Sparhawk and Sir Kalten back to our hiding place. This
Martel Sparhawk mentioned is a former Pandion and he
has delved deeply into secret knowledge that is forbidden
to honest men. It may be necessary to counter him, and I'm
best equipped to do that.'
'But surely the child -'
'The child must stay with me,' Sephrenia said firmly.
She looked over at Flute, who was in the act of curiously
opening a book. 'No!' she said, probably more sharply
than she intended. She rose and took the book away from
the little girl.
Flute sighed, and Sephrenia spoke briefly to her in that
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dialect Sparhawk did not understand.
Since there was no way to know when Martel's mercenaries
might arrive, the Pandions built no fires that night,
and when the next morning dawned clear and cold,
Sparhawk unrolled himself from his blankets and looked
with some distaste at his armour, knowing that it would
take at least an hour for the heat of his body to take the
clammy chill out of it. He decided that he was not ready
to face that just yet, so he belted on his sword, pulled his
stout cloak around his shoulders, and walked down
through the sleeping camp towards a small brook that
trickled through the woods where he and his knights lay
hidden.
He knelt beside the brook and drank from his cupped
hands, then braced himself and splashed icy water on hiS
face. Then he rose, dried his face with the hem of his
cloak, and stepped across the brook. The just-risen sun
streamed golden into the leafless wood, slanting
between the dark trunks and touching fire into the
dewdrops collected like strings of beads along the stems
of the grass about his feet. Sparhawk walked on through
the woods.
He had gone perhaps a half a mile when he saw a
grassy meadow through the trees. As he approached the
meadow, he heard the thudding of hooves. Somewhere
ahead, a single horse was loping across the turf at a
canter. And then he heard the sound of Flute's pipes
rising in the morning air. He pushed his way to the edge of the meadow, parted
the bushes, and peered out.
Faran, his roan coat glistening in the morning sun,
cantered easily in a wide circular course around the
meadow. He wore no saddle nor bridle, and there was
something almost joyful about his stride. Flute lay face
up on his back with her pipes at her lips. Her head was
nestled comfortably on his surging front shoulders, her
knees were crossed, and she was beating time on Faran's
rump with one little foot.
Sparhawk gaped at them, then stepped out into the
meadow to stand directly in the big roan's path. He
spread his arms wide, and Faran slowed to a walk and
then stopped in front of his master.
'What do you think you're doing?' Sparhawk barked at
him.
Faran's expression grew lofty and he looked away.
'Have you completely taken leave of your senses?'
Faran snorted and flicked his tail even as Flute continued
to play her song. Then the little girl slapped her
grass-stained foot imperiously on his rump several
times, and he neatly sidestepped the fuming Sparhawk
and cantered on with Flute's song soaring above him.
Sparhawk swore and ran after them. After a few yards,
he knew it was hopeless and he stopped, breathing hard.
'interesting, wouldn't you say?' SePhrenia said. She
had come out from among the trees and stood at the edge
of the meadow with her white robe gleaming in the
morning sun.
'Can you make them stop?' Sparhawk asked her.
"She's going to fall off and get hurt.'
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia disagreed, "she will not
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fall.' She said it in that strange manner into which she
.sometimes lapsed. Despite the decades she had spent in
Elene society, Sephrenia remained a Styric to her fingertips,
and Styrics had always been an enigma to Elenes.
The centuries of close association between the militant
orders of the Elene Church and their Styric tutors,
however, had taught the Church Knights to accept the
words of their instructors without question.
'if you're sure,' Sparhawk said a bit dubiously as he
looked across the turf at Faran, who seemed somehow to
have lost his normally vicious temperament.
yes, dear one,' she said, laying an affectionate hand
on his arm in reassurance. "I'm absolutely sure.' She
looked out at the great horse and his tiny passenger
joyously circling the dew-drenched meadow in the
golden morning sunlight. 'Let them play a while longer,'
she advised.
About midmorning Kalten returned from the vantage
point to the south of the castle where he and Kurik had
been keeping watch over the road coming up from
Sarrinium. 'Nothing yet,' he reported as he dismounted,
his armour clinking. 'Do you think Martel might just try
to come across country and avoid the roads?'
"It's not very likely,' Sparhawk replied. 'He wants to be
seen, remember? He needs lots of witnesses.'
"I suppose I hadn't thought of that,' Kalten admitted.
'Have you got the road coming down from Darra
covered?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'Lakus and Berit are watching it.'
'Berit?' Kalten sounded surprised. 'The apprentice?
Isn't he a little young?'
'He'll get over it. He's steady, and he's got good sense.
Besides, Lakus can keep him out of trouble.'
'You're probably right. Is there any of that roast ox the
count sent us left?'
'Help yourself. It isn't hot, though.'
Kalten shrugged. 'Better cold meat than no meat.'
The day dragged on, as days spent only in waiting will
do. by evening, Sparhawk was pacing the camp with his
impatience gnawing at him. Finally Sephrenia emerged
from the rough little tent she shared with Flute. She
placed herself directly in front of the big knight in black
armour with her hands on her hips. 'Will you stop that?'
she demanded crossly.
'Stop what?'
'Pacing. You jingle at every step, and the noise is very
distracting.'
"I'm sorry. I'll go jingle on the other side of camp.'
'Why not just go and sit down?'
'Nerves, I guess.'
'Nerves? You?'
"I get twinges now and then.'
'Well, go twinge someplace else."
'Yes, little mother,' he replied obediently.
It was cold again the following morning. Kurik rode
quietly into camp just before sunrise. He carefully picked
his way past the sleeping knights wrapped in their black
cloaks to the place where Sparhawk had spread his
blankets. 'You'd better get up,' he said, lightly touching
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Sparhawk's shoulder. 'They're coming.'
Sparhawk sat up quickly. 'How many?' he asked,
throwing off his blankets.
"I make it about two hundred and fifty.'
Sparhawk stood up. 'Where's Kalten?' he asked as
Kurik began to buckle the black armour over his lord's
padded tunic.
'He wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any
surprises, so he joined the end of their column.'
'He did what?'
'Don't worry, Sparhawk. They're all wearing black
armour, so he blends right in.'
'Do you want to tie this on?" Sparhawk handed his
squire the length of bright ribbon that each knight was to
wear as a means of identification during a battle in which
both sides would be dressed in black.
Kurik took the red ribbon. 'Kalten's wearing a blue
one,' he noted. "It matches his eyes.' He tied the ribbon
around Sparhawk's upper arm, then stepped back and
looked at his lord appraisingly. 'Adorable,' he said,
rolling his eyes.
Sparhawk laughed and clapped his friend on the
shoulder. 'Let's go wake the children,' he said, looking
across the encampment of generally youthful knights.
"I've got some bad news for you, Sparhawk,' Kurik
said as the two of them moved out through the camp,
shaking the sleeping Pandions awake.
'What's that?'
'The man leading the column isn't Martel.'
Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment. 'Who is
it?' he asked.
"Adus. He had blood all over his chin. I think he's been
eating raw meat again.'
Sparhawk swore.
'Look at it this way. At least the world's going to be a
cleaner place without Adus, and I'd imagine that God
would like to have a long talk with him anyway.'
'We'll have to see what we can do to arrange that.'
Sparhawk's knights were assisting each other into
their armour when Kalten rode into camp. 'They've
pulled up just beyond that hill to the south of the castle,'
he reported, not bothering to dismount.
'is Martel possibly lurking around somewhere among
them?" Sparhawk asked hopefully.
Kalten shook his head. "I'm afraid not.' He stood up in
his stirrups, shifting his sword around. 'Why don't we
just go ahead and attack them?' he suggested. "I'm
getting cold."
"I think Count Radun would be disappointed if we
didn't let him take part in the fight.'
'That's true, I suppose.'
'is there anything unusual about the mercenaries?'
'Run of the mill - except that about half of them are
Rendors.'
'Rendors?'
'They don't smell very good, do they?'
Sephrenia, accompanied by Parasim and Flute, came
uP to join them.
'Good morning, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk greeted her.
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'Why all the bustle?' she asked.
'We have company Coming. We thought we'd ride out
to greet them. '
'Martel?'
'No. I'm afraid it's only Adus - and a few friends.' He
shifted the helmet he was holding under his left arm. 'Since
Martel isn't leading them, and since Adus can barely speak
Elenic, much less Styric, there isn't anybody out there who
could stir up enough magic to knock a fly off the wall. I'm
afraid that means that you've made the trip for nothing. I
want you to stay back here in the woods, well hidden and
out of danger. Sir Parasim will stay with you.'
The young knight's face filled with disappointment.
'No, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia replied. "I need no guard,
and this is Parasim's first battle. We won't deprive him of
it.'
Parasim's face shone with gratitude.
Kurik came back through the woods from the place
where he had been keeping watch. 'The sun's coming
up,' he reported, 'and Adus is leading his men over the
top of that hill.'
'We'd better mount up, then,' Sparhawk said.
The Pandions swung up into their saddles and moved
cautiously through the wood until they reached the edge
of the broad meadow that surrounded the count's castle.
Then they waited, watching the black-armoured mercenaries
riding down the hill in the golden dawn sunlight.
Adus, who normally spoke in grunts and belches, rode
up to the gate of Count Radun's castle and read haltingly
from a piece of paper which he held in front of him at
arm's length.
'Can't he extemporize?' Kalten asked quietly. 'He's
only asking for permission to enter the castle.'
'Martel doesn't take chances,' Sparhawk replied, 'and
Adus usually has trouble remembering his own name.'
Adus continued to read his request. He had some
trouble with the word admission, since it had more than
one syllable.
Then Count Radun appeared on the battlements to
announce regretfully that the windlass which raised and
lowered the drawbridge was broken and to beg them to
be patient until it was repaired.
Adus mulled that over. It took him quite a while. The
mercenaries dismounted and lounged about on the grass
at the foot of the castle wall.
'This is going to be almost too easy,' Kalten muttered.
'Let's just make sure that none of them get away,'
Sparhawk told him. "I don't want anybody riding to
Annias with word of what has really happened today.'
"I still think Vanion's trying to be too clever about this.'
'Maybe that's why he's the preceptor and we're only
knights.'
A red banner appeared atop the count's walls.
'There's the signal,' Sparhawk said. 'Radun's forces
are ready.' He put on his helmet, gathered his reins, and
rose in his stirrups, firmly holding Faran in. Then he
raised his voice. 'Charge!' he roared.
!!!
*Chapter9
'Any chance at all?' Kalten asked.
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'No,' Sparhawk replied with deep regret as he lowered
Sir Parasim to the ground. 'He's gone.' He smoothed the
young knight's hair with his hand, then gently closed the
vacant eyes.
'He wasn't ready to come up against Adus,' Kalten
said.
'did that animal get completely away?'
'i'm afraid so. After he cut down Parasim, he rode off
to the south with about a dozen other survivors.'
'Send some people after him,' Sparhawk said bleakly
as he straightened the fallen Sir Parasim's limbs. 'Tell
them to run him into the sea if necessary.'
'Do you want me to do it?'
'No. You and I have to' go to Chyrellos.' He raised his
voice then. 'Berit,' he shouted.
The novice approached at a half-run. He was wearing
an old mail shirt splashed with blood and a dented foot
soldiers helmet with no visor. He carried a grim, longhandled
battle-axe.
Sparhawk looked closely at the blood on the rangy
youth's mail shirt. 'is any of that yours?' he asked.
'No, my Lord,' Berit answered. 'All theirs.' He looked
pointedly at the mercenary dead littering the field.
'Good. What's your feeling about a long ride?'
'As my Lord commands.'
'He's got good manners, at least,' Kalten observed.
'Berit,' he said then, 'ask "Where?" before you agree so
quickly.'
'i'll remember that, my Lord Kalten.
"I want you to come with me,' Sparhawk said to the
novice. 'We need to talk with Count Radun before you
leave.' He turned to Kalten. 'Get a group of men to chase
Adus,' he said. 'Push him hard. I don't want him to have
time to send one of his people to Cimmura to report all of
this to Annias. Tell the rest of the men to bury our dead
and care for the wounded.'
'What about these?' Kalten pointed at the dead bodies
of the mercenaries heaped in front of the castle walls.
'Burn them.'
Count Radun met Sparhawk and Berit in the courtyard
of his castle. He was wearing full armour and held his
sword in his hand. "I see that the reputation of the
Pandions is well deserved,' he said.
'Thank you, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "I have a
favour - no, two favours - to ask of you.'
'Anything, Sir Sparhawk.'
'Are you known to any members of the Hierocracy in
Chyrellos?'
'Several, actually, and the Patriarch of Larium is a
distant cousin of mine.'
'Very good. I know it's a bad season for travel, but i'd
like you to join me in a little ride.'
'Of course. Where are we going?'
'To Chyrellos. The next favour is a bit more personal.
I'll need your signet ring.'
'My ring?' The count lifted his hand and looked at the
heavy gold ring bearing his coat of arms.
Sparhawk nodded. 'And worse yet, I can't guarantee
that I'll be able to return it.'
'i'm not sure that I understand.'
'Berit here is going to take the ring to Cimmura and
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drop it in the collection plate during service in the
cathedral there. The Primate Annias will take that to
mean that his scheme has succeeded and that you and
your family have all been murdered. He will then rush to
Chyrellos to lay charges against the Pandions before the
Hierocracy. '
Count Radun grinned broadly. 'But then you and I will
step forward and refute those charges, right?'
Sparhawk grinned back. 'Exactly,' he said.
'That might cause the primate a certain amount of
embarrassment,' the count said as he tugged the ring off
his finger.
'That was sort of what we had in mind, my Lord.'
'The ring is well lost, then,' Radun said, handing his
signet to Berit.
'All right,' Sparhawk said to the young novice. 'Don't
kill any horses on your way to Cimmura. Give us time to
get to Chyrellos before Annias does.' He squinted
thoughtfully. 'Morning service, I think.'
'My Lord?'
'Drop the count's ring in the collection plate during
morning service. Let's give Annias a whole day to gloat
before he starts out for Chyrellos. Wear ordinary clothes
when you go into the cathedral and pray a bit - just to
make it look convincing. Don't go near the chapterhouse
or the inn on Rose Street. ' He looked at the young novice,
feeling a renewed pang at the loss of Sir Parasim. "I can't
assure you that your life won't be in danger, Berit,' he
said soberly, 'so I can't order you to do this.'
There's no need to order me to do it, my Lord
Sparhawk,' Berit replied.
'Good man,' Sparhawk said. 'Now go and get your
horse. You've got a long ride ahead of you.'
It was nearly noon when Sparhawk and Count Radun
emerged from the castle. 'How long do you think it'S
going to take for Primate Annias to reach Chyrellos?' the
count asked.
'Two weeks at least. Berit has to get to Cimmura before
Annias can even start for Chyrellos.'
Kurik came riding up to them. 'Everything's ready,' he
told Sparhawk.
Sparhawk nodded. 'You'd better go and get
Sephrenia,' he said.
'is that really a good idea, Sparhawk? Things might get
a little chancy when we get to Chyrellos.'
'Do you want to be the one to tell her that she has to stay
behind?'
Kurik winced. "I see what you mean,' he said.
'Where's Kalten?'
'Over there at the edge of the woods. He's building a
bonfire for some reason.'
'Maybe he's cold.'
The winter sun was very bright in the cold blue sky as
Sparhawk and his party set out. 'Surely, madame,'
Count Radun objected to Sephrenia, 'the child would
have been quite safe within the walls of my castle.'
'She would not have stayed there, my Lord,'
Sephrenia replied in a small voice. She laid her cheek
against Flute's hair. 'Besides,' she added, "I take great
comfort in having her with me.' Her voice sounded weak
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somehow, and she looked very pale and tired. In one
hand she carried Sir Parasim's sword.
Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside her white palfrey.
'Are you all right?' he asked her quietly.
'Not really,' she answered.
'What's the matter?' He felt a sudden alarm.
'Parasim was one of the twelve knights in the throne
room in Cimmura.' She sighed. 'i've just been obliged to
shoulder his burden as well as my own.' She gestured
slightly with the sword.
'You're not ill, are you?'
'Not in the way that you mean, no. It's just that it's
going to take a little while to adjust to the additional
weight.'
'is there any way that I could carry it for you?'
'No, dear one.'
He drew in a deep breath. 'Sephrenia,' he said, 'is what
happened to Parasim today a part of what you told me
was going to happen to the twelve knights?'
There's no way to know, Sparhawk. The compact we
made with the Younger Gods was not that specific.' She
smiled wanly. 'if another of the knights dies this moon,
though, we'll know that it was merely an accident and
had nothing to do with the compact.'
"We're going to lose them one every month?'
'Moon,' she corrected. 'Twenty-eight days. Most
probably yes. The Younger Gods tend to be methodical
about such things. Don't concern yourself about me,
Sparhawk. I'll be all right in a little while.'
It was some sixty leagues from the count's castle to the
city of Darra, and on the morning of the fourth day of
their journey, they crested a hill and looked down upon
the red tile roofs and the hundreds of chimneys sending
pale blue columns of smoke straight up into the windless
air. A black-armoured Pandion Knight awaited them on
the hilltop. 'Sir Sparhawk,' the knight said, raising his
visor.
'Sir Olven,' Sparhawk replied, recognizing the
knight's scarred face.
'i've 'a message for you from Preceptor Vanion. He
instructs you to proceed directly to Cimmura with all
possible speed."
'Cimmura? Why the change in plans?'
'King Dregos is there, and he's invited Wargun of
Thalesia and Obler of Deira to join him. He wants to
investigate the illness of Queen Ehlana - and the justification
for the appointment of the bastard Lycheas as Prince
Regent. Vanion believes that Annias will level his
charges against our order at that council in order to
deflect an inquiry that might be embarrassing.'
Sparhawk swore. 'Berit's a good way ahead of us by
now,' he said. 'Have all the kings gathered in Cimmura
yet?'
Olven shook his head. 'King Obler is too old to travel
very fast, and it's likely to take a week to sober King
Wargun up before he can make the voyage from Emsat.'
'Let's not gamble on that,' Sparhawk said. 'We'll cut
across country to Demos and then ride directly to
Cimmura. Is Vanion still at Chyrellos?'
'no. He came through Demos on his way to Cimmura.
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The Patriarch Dolmant was with him.'
'Dolmant?' Kalten said. 'That's a surprise. Who's
running the Church?'
'Sir Kalten,' Count Radun said stiffly. 'The guidance of
the Church is in the hands of the Archprelate.'
'Sorry, my Lord,' Kalten apologized. "I know how
much Arcians revere the Church, but let's be honest.
Archprelate Cluvonus is eighty-five years old and he
sleeps a great deal. Dolmant doesn't make an issue of it,
but most of the decisions that come out of Chyrellos are
his.'
'Let's ride,' Sparhawk said
It took them four days of hard travelling to reach Demos,
where Sir Olven left them to return to the Pandion
motherhouse, and it was three more days before they
arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse in Cimmura.
'Do you know where we can find Lord Vanion?'
Sparhawk asked the novice who came out into the
courtyard to take their horses.
'He's in his study in the south tower, my Lord - with
the Patriarch Dolmant.'
Sparhawk nodded and led the way inside and up the
narrow stairs.
"thank God you arrived in time,' Vanion greeted them.
'Has Berit delivered the count's ring yet?' Sparhawk
asked him.
Vanion nodded. 'Two days ago. I had men inside the
cathedral watching.' He frowned slightly. 'Was it
altogether wise to entrust that kind of mission to a
novice, Sparhawk?'
'Berit's a solid young man,' Sparhawk explained, 'and
he isn't widely known here in Cimmura. Most of the
full-fledged knights are.'
"I see. It was your command, Sparhawk. The decision
was yours. How did things go in Arcium?'
'Adus led the mercenaries,' Kalten replied. 'We didn't
see a sign of Martel. Otherwise, things went more or less
as planned. Adus got away, though.'
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. 'We lost Parasim, ' he
said sadly. 'i'm sorry, Vanion. I tried to keep him out of
the fight.'
Vanion's eyes clouded with sudden grief.
"I know,' Sparhawk said, touching the older man's
shoulder. "I loved him, too.' He saw the quick look that
passed between Vanion and Sephrenia. She nodded
slightly as if to advise the preceptor that Sparhawk knew
that Parasim had been one of the twelve. Then Sparhawk
straightened and introduced Count Radun and Vanion
to each other.
"I owe you my life, Lord Vanion,' Radun said as they
shook hands. 'Please tell me how I can repay you.'
'Your presence here in Cimmura is ample repayment,
my Lord.'
'Have the other kings joined my nephew as yet?' the
count asked.
'Obler has,' Vanion replied. 'King Wargun is still at
sea, though.'
A thin man dressed in a severe black cassock sat near
the window. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had
silvery hair. His face was ascetic and his eyes were very
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keen. Sparhawk crossed the room and knelt respectfully
before him. 'Your Grace." he greeted the Patriarch of
Demos.
'You're looking well, Sir Sparhawk,' the churchman
told him. "it's good to see you again.' Then he looked
over Sparhawk's shoulder. 'Have you been going to
chapel, Kurik?' he asked the squire.
'Uh - whenever there's opportunity, your Grace,'
Kurik answered, flushing slightly.
'Excellent, my son,' Dolmant said. 'i'm sure that God is
always glad to see you. How are Aslade and the boys?'
'Well, your Grace. Thank you for asking.'
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the patriarch.
'You haven't been eating properly, Dolmant,' she told him.
'Sometimes I forget,' he said. Then he smiled slyly at
her. 'My overwhelming concern with the conversion of
the heathen fills all my waking thoughts. Tell me,
Sephrenia, are you ready at last to put aside your pagan
ways and embrace the true faith?'
'Not yet, Dolmant,' she replied, also smiling. "it was
nice of you to ask, though.'
He laughed. "I thought I'd get the question out of the
way early so we can converse without having it hanging
over our heads.' He looked curiously at Flute, who was
walking about the room examining the furnishings. 'And
who is this beautiful child?' he asked.
'She's a foundling, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied.
'We came across her near the Arcian border. She doesn't
talk, so we call her Flute.'
Dolmant looked at the little girl's grass-stained feet.
'And was there no time to bath her?' he asked.
'That would not be appropriate, your Grace,
Sephrenia replied.
The patriarch looked puzzled at that. Then he looked
again at Flute. 'Come over here, child,' he said.
Flute approached him warily.
'And will you not speak - even to me?'
She raised her pipes and blew a questioning little note.
"I see,' Dolmant said. 'Well, then, Flute, will you accept
my blessing?'
She looked at him gravely, then shook her head.
'She is a Styric child, Dolmant,' Sephrenia explained.
'An Elene blessing would have no meaning for her.'
Flute then reached out and took the patriarch's thin
hand and placed it over her heart. Dolmant's eyes grew
suddenly very wide and his expression troubled.
'She will give you her blessing, however,' Sephrenia
told him. 'And will you accept it?'
Dolmant's eyes were still wide. "I think perhaps that I
should not,' he said, 'but God help me, I will - and
gladly.'
flute smiled at him and then kissed both of his palms.
Then she pirouetted away, her black hair flying and her
Pipes sounding joyously. The patriarch's face was filled
with wonder.
"I expect that I'll be summoned to the palace as soon as
king Wargun arrives,' Vanion said. 'Annias wouldn't
want to misss the chance to confront me personally.' He
looked at Count Radun. 'Did anyone see you arrive, my
Lord?' he asked.
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Radun shook his head. "I had my visor down, my Lord
Vanion, and at Sparhawk's suggestion, I had covered the
crest on my shield. I'm positive that no one knows that
I'm in Cimmura.'
'Good.' Vanion grinned suddenly. 'We wouldn't want
to spoil the surprise for Annias, would we?'
The expected summons from the palace arrived two days
later. Vanion, Sparhawk, and Kalten put on the simple
robes Pandions customarily wore inside the chapterhouse,
though beneath them they wore mail coats and
their swords. Dolmant and Radun wore the cowled black
robes of monks. Sephrenia wore her usual white. She
had spoken at some length with Flute, and it appeared
that the little girl had agreed to remain behind. Kurik
belted on a sword. 'Just in case there's trouble,' he
grunted to Sparhawk before the party left the chapterhouse.
The day was cold and raw. The sky was leaden, and a
chill wind whistled through the streets of Cimmura as
Vanion led them towards the palace. There were few
people abroad in the streets. Sparhawk could not be sure
if the citizens were staying inside because of the weather
or because some rumours had leaked out about the
possibility of trouble.
Not too far from the palace gate, Sparhawk saw a
familiar figure. A lame beggar boy wrapped in a ragged
cloak crutched his way out from the corner where he had
been sheltering himself. 'Charity, my Lords, Charity,' he
begged in a broken-hearted voice.
Sparhawk reined Faran in and reached inside his robe
for a few coins.
"I need to talk with you, Sparhawk,' the boy said
quietly after the others had ridden out of earshot.
'Later,' Sparhawk replied, bending in his saddle to
place the coins in the boy's begging bowl.
'Not too much later, I hope,' Talen said, shivering. 'i'm
freezing out here.'
There was a brief delay at the palace gate where the
guards tried to deny entrance to Vanion's escort. Kalten
resolved the problem by pulling open his robe and
putting his hand meaningfully on his sword hilt. The
discussion ended abruptly at that point, and the party
rode on into the palace courtyard and dismounted.
"I love doing that,' Kalten said blithely.
"it doesn't take very much to make you happy, does it?'
Sparhawk said.
'i'm a simple man, my friend - with simple pleasures. '
They proceeded directly to the blue-draped council
chamber where the kings of Arcium, Deira, and Thalesia
sat on throne-like chairs, flanking the slack-lipped Lycheas.
Behind each king stood a man in formal armour. The crests
of the three other militant orders were emblazoned on their
surcoats. Abriel, Preceptor of the Cyrinicc Knights in
Arcium, stood sternly behind King Dregos, Darellon,
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights of Deira had taken up a
similar position behind the aged King Obler, and the big-boned
Komier, leader of the Genidian Knights, stood
behind King Wargun of Thalesia. Although it was early in
the day, Wargun was already bleary-eyed. he held a large
silver cup in a hand that was visibly shaking.
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The Royal Council of Advisors sat to one side of the
room. The face of the Earl of Lenda was troubled, while
that of the Baron Harparin was smug.
The Primate Annias wore a purple satin cassock, and
the expression on his emaciated face was coldly triumphant
as Vanion entered. When he saw the rest of them
accompanying the Pandion Preceptor, however, his eyes
flashed angrily. 'Who authorized this entourage of
yours, Lord Vanion?' he demanded. 'The summons did not mention an escort.'
"I require no authorization, your Grace," Vanion
answered coldly. 'My rank is all the authority I need.'
'That's true,' the Earl of Lenda said. 'Law and custom
support the preceptor's position.'
Annias gave the old man a look filled with hate. 'What
a comfort it is to have the advice of one so versed in the
law,' he said in a sarcastic voice. Then his eyes fell on
Sephrenia. 'Remove that Styric witch from my presence,
he demanded.
'No,' Vanion said. 'She stays.'
Their eyes locked for a long moment, and AnniaS
finally looked away. 'Very well, then, Vanion,' he said.
'Because of the seriousness of the matter I am about to
present to their majesties, I will control my natural
revulsion at the presence of a heathen sorceress.'
'You're too kind,' Sephrenia murmured.
'just get on with it, Annias,' King Dregos said irritably.
'We're gathered here to examine certain irregularities
involving the throne of Elenia. What is this burning
matter that is important enough to delay our inquiry?' Annias straightened.
'The matter concerns you
directly, your Majesty. Last week a body of armed men
attacked a castle in the eastern part of your kingdom.'
King Dregos' eyes blazed. 'Why was I not informed?'
he demanded.
'Forgive me, your Majesty,' Annias apologized. "I
myself learned of the incident only recently and I felt it
wiser to present the matter to this council rather than to
advise you in advance. Although this outrage occurred
within the boundaries of your kingdom, the implications
of it spread beyond your borders to all four western
kingdoms.'
'Get on with it, Annias,' King Wargun growled. 'Save
the flowery language for your sermons.'
'As your Majesty wishes,' Annias said, bowing. 'There
are witnesses to this criminal act, and I think perhaps it
were best that your Majesties hear their accounts directly
rather than at second hand from me.' He turned and
gestured to one of the red-liveried church soldiers who
lined both walls of the council chamber. The soldier
stepped to a side door and admitted a nervous-looking
man whose face went visibly pale when he saw Vanion.
'Don't be afraid, Tessera,' Annias told him. 'So long as
you tell the truth, no harm will come to you.'
"yes, your Grace,' the nervous man mumbled.
This is Tessera,' Annias introduced him, 'a merchant
of this city who has recently returned from Arcium. Tell
us what you saw there, Tessera.'
"Well, your Grace, it was as I told you before. I was in
Sarinium on business. I was returning from there when I
was overtaken by a storm, and I took shelter in the castle
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of Count Radun, who was kind enough to take me in.'
Tessera's voice had the sing-song quality some people
assume when they are reciting something previously
committed to memory. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'after the
weather cleared, I was preparing to leave and I was in the
count's stables seeing to my horse. I heard the sounds of
many men in the courtyard, so I peered out the stable
door to see what was happening. It was a sizeable body
of Pandion Knights.'
'Are you certain that they were Pandions?' Annias
prompted him.
"yes, your Grace. They were wearing black armour and
carrying Pandion banners. The count is well known to be
Most respectful of the Church and her knights, so he had
admitted them without challenge. As soon as they were
inside the walls, however, they all drew their swords and
began to kill everyone in sight.'
"My uncle!' king Dregos exclaimed.
The count tried to fight them, of course, but they
quickly disarmed him and tied him to a stake in the centre
of the courtyard. They killed all the men inside the castle,
and then -'
'All the men?' Annias interrupted him, his face suddenly
stern.
'They killed all the men inside the castle, and then - '
Tessera faltered. 'Oh, I almost forgot that part. They
killed all the men inside the castle - except for the
churchmen - and then they brought out the count's wife
and daughters. They were all stripped naked and then
violated before the count's eyes.'
A sob escaped the King of Arcium. 'My aunt and my
cousins,' he cried.
'Steady, Dregos,' King Wargun said, putting his hand
on the other king's shoulder.
'Then,' Tessera continued, 'after the count's womenfolk
had all been repeatedly raped, they were dragged
one by one to a spot directly before where the count was
tied and their throats were cut. The count wept and tried
to tear his hands free, but his bonds were too tight. He
pleaded with the Pandions to stop, but they only laughed
and continued their butchery. Finally, when his wife and
daughters were all dead and lying in their own blood, he
asked them why they were doing this. One of them, the
leader, I think, replied that it was on the orders of Lord
Vanion, the Preceptor of the Pandions.'
King Dregos leapt to his feet. He was weeping openly
and clawing at his sword hilt. Annias stepped in front of
him. "I share your outrage, your Majesty, but a quick
death for this monstrous Vanion would be far too
merciful. Let us hear this good, honest man out. Go on
with your account, Tessera.'
'There isn't much more to tell, your Grace,' Tessera
replied. 'Once the Pandions had killed all the women,
they tortured the count to the point of death and then
they beheaded him. After that, they drove the churchmen
out of the castle and looted the place.'
Thank you, Tessera,' Annias said. He motioned to
another of his soldiers, and the guard went to the same
side door to admit a man dressed in a peasant smock. The
peasant had a slightly furtive look and he was trembling
noticeably.
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'Say your name, fellow,' Annias ordered.
"I am Verl, your Grace, an honest serf from the estate of
Count Radun.'
'And why are you in Cimmura? A serf may not leave
the estate of his lord without permission.'
"I fled, your Grace, after the murder of the count and all
his family.'
'Can you tell us what happened? Did you witness this
atrocity?'
"Not directly, your Grace. I was working in a field near
the count's castle when I saw a large group of men dressed
in black armour and carrying the banners of the Pandion
knights ride out of the castle. One of them had the count's
head on the point of his spear. I hid myself and I could hear
them talking and laughing as they rode by.'
"what were they saying?'
The one who was carrying the count's head said, "We
must carry this trophy to Demos to prove to Lord Vanion
that we have carried out his orders. " After they had gone
past, I ran to the castle and found everyone inside dead. I
was afraid that the Pandions might come back, so I ran
away.'
"Why did you come to Cimmura?'
To report the crime to you, your Grace, and to place
myself under your protection. I was afraid that If I stayed in
Arcium, the Pandions would hunt me down and kill me.'
"My uncle has never given any offence to your order.' why did you do this?'
Dregos demanded of Vanion.
The other kings were also glaring at the Pandion
Preceptor accusingly.
Dregos wheeled round to glare at Prince Lycheas. "I
insist that this murderer be placed in chains!'
Lycheas tried without much success to look like a king.
'Your demand is reasonable, your Majesty,' he said in his
nasal voice. He cast a quick look at Annias, seeking
reassurance. 'We therefore command that this miscreant
Vanion be placed -'
'Um, excuse me, your Majesties,' the Earl of Lenda
interposed, 'but by law, Lord Vanion is entitled to
present his defence.'
'What defence can there possibly be?' Dregos asked in
a sick voice.
Sparhawk and the others had remained at the back of
the council chamber. Sephrenia made a small gesture,
and Sparhawk leaned towards her. 'Someone here iS
using magic,' she whispered. 'That's why the kings are
so willing to accept the infantile charges against Vanion.
The spell induces belief.'
'Can you counter it?' he whispered back.
'Only if I know who's doing it.'
"it's Annias. He tried a spell on me when I first came
back to Cimmura. '
'A churchman?' she looked surprised. 'All right. I'll
take care of it. ' Her lips began to move, and she concealed
her hands in her sleeves to hide their gesturing.
'Well, Vanion, ' Annias sneered, 'what have you to say
for yourself?'
'These men are obviously lying,' Vanion replied scornfully. '
Why would they lie?' Annias turned to the kings
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seated at the front of the room. 'As soon as I received the
reports of these witnesses, I dispatched a troop of church
soldiers to the count's castle to verify the details of this
crime. I expect their report within the next week. In the
meantime, it is my recommendation that the Pandion
Knights all be disarmed and confined within their
chapterhouses to prevent any further atrocities.'
King Obler stroked his long grey beard. 'Under the
circumstances, that would be the prudent course,' he
said sagely. He turned to Darellon of the Alcione
Knights. 'My Lord Darellon,' he said. 'Dispatch a rider to
Deira. Tell him to bring your knights to Elenia. They are
to assist the civil authorities here in disarming and
confining the Pandions.'
"it shall be as your Majesty commands,' Darellon replied,
glaring at Vanion.
The aged King of Deira looked at King Wargun and
King Dregos. "I would strongly advise that the CyriniCS
and Genidians also send forces,' he said. 'Let us seal up
these Pandions until we can separate the innocent from
the guilty. '
'See to it, Komier,' King Wargun said.
'Send your knights as well, Abriel,' King Dregos
commanded the Preceptor of the Cyrinics. He glared at
Vanion with hate-filled eyes. "I pray that your underlings
attempt to resist,' he said fiercely.
'A splendid idea, your Majesties,' Annias said, bowing.
I would further suggest that as soon as we receive
confirmation of the murders, your Majesties travel with me
and these two honest witnesses to Chyrellos. There we can
lay the entire affair before the Hierocracy of the Church and
the Archprelate himself with our strong recommendation
that the Pandion Order be disbanded. Strictly speaking,
that order is under Church authority, and only the Church
can make the final decision.'
Truly,' Dregos grated. 'Let us rid ourselves of this
Pandion infection once and for all.'
A thin smile touched the primate's lips. Then he
flinched, and his face went deathly pale as Sephrenia
released her counterspell.
It was at that point that Dolmant stepped forward,
pushing back the hood of his monk's robe to reveal his
face. 'May I speak, your Majesties?' he asked.
'Y-your Grace,' Annias stammered in surpriSe, "I
didn't know that you were in Cimmura.'
"I didn't think you did, Annias. As you've so correctly
pointed out, the Pandions are under Church authority.
As the ranking churchman present, I think it's proper for
me to take charge of this inquiry. You are to be commended
for the way in which you have conducted things
thus far, however.'
'But -'
'That will be all, Annias,' Dolmant dismissed him. He
turned then to the kings and to Lycheas, who was staring
open-mouthed at him.
'Your Majesties,' the patriarch began, pacing back and
forth with his hands clasped behind him as if deep in
thought. 'This is indeed a serious accusation. Let us,
however, consider the character of the accusers. On the
one hand, we have an untitled merchant, and on the
other, a runaway serf. The accused is the preceptor of an
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order of Church Knights, a man whose honour has
always been above question. Why would a man of Lord
Vanion's stature commit such a crime? Indeed, we have
as yet received no substantiation that the crime did in fact
take place. Let us not move in haste.'
'As I mentioned, your Grace,' Annias injected, "I have
dispatched church soldiers to Arcium to view the scene
of the crime with their own eyes. I have also ordered
them to seek out the churchmen who were in the castle of
Count Radun and witnessed this horror and to return
with them to Cimmura. Their reports should leave no
doubts whatsoever.'
'Ah, yes,' Dolmant agreed. 'None whatsoever. I think,
however, that I might be able to save us a bit of time. As it
happens, I myself have with me a man who witnessed
what happened at the castle of Count Radun, and I don't
think his testimony can be questioned by any man here.'
He looked at the robed and cowled Count Radun, who had
remained unobtrusively at the rear of the chamber. 'Would
you be so good as to step forward, brother?' he said.
Annias was gnawing on a fingernail. His expression
clearly showed his chagrin at having the proceedings
taken out of his grasp and at the appearance of Dolmant's
unexpected witness.
"Would you reveal your identity to us, brother?' Dolmant
asked mildly as the count joined him before the kings.
There was a tight grin on Radun's face as he pushed
back his hood.
'Uncle!' king Dregos gasPed in astonishment.
'Uncle?" King Wargun exclaimed, coming to his feet
and spilling his wine.
'This is Count Radun - my uncle,' Dregos told him, his
eyes still wide with amazement.
"You seem to have made an astonishing recovery,
Radun.' Wargun laughed. 'My congratulations. Tell me,
how did you stick your head back on?'
Annias had gone very pale. He stared in stunned
disbelief at Count Radun. 'How did you -' he blurted.
Then he recovered. He looked around wildly for an
instant as if seeking a way to escape. Then he seemed to
get hold of himself. 'Your Majesties,' he stammered, "I
have been misled by false witnesses. Please forgive me.'
He was visibly sweating now. Then he spun about. 'SeiZC
those two liars!' He Pointed at Tessera and Verl, who
were both cringing in terror. Several red-liveried guards
quickly rushed the pair from the room.
'Annias thinks very fast on his feet, doesn't he?' Kalten
murmured to Sparhawk. 'How much would you care to
wager that those two will manage somehow to hang
themselves before the sun goes down - with a certain
amount of help, of course?'
"I'm not a betting man, Kalten,' Sparhawk replied.
'Not on a proposition like that, anyway.'
'Why don't you tell us what really happened at your
castle, Count Radun?' Dolmant suggested.
"it was really fairly simple, your Grace,' Radun replied.
'Sir Sparhawk and Sir Kalten arrived at my gates some
time ago and warned me that a group of men dressed in
the armour of Pandion Knights were planning to gain
entry by subterfuge and murder me and my family. They
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had a number of real Pandions with them. When the
impostors arrived, Sir Sparhawk led his knights against
them and drove them off.'
'Fortuitous,' King Obler observed. 'Which of these
stalwarts is Sir Sparhawk?'
Sparhawk stepped forward. "I am, your Majesty.'
'How did you become aware of this plot?'
"it was quite by accident, your Majesty. I happened to
overhear a conversation concerning it. I immediately
informed Lord Vanion, and he ordered Kalten and me to
take preventive steps.'
King Dregos rose to his feet and came down from the
dais. "I have wronged you, Lord Vanion,' he' said in a
thick voice. 'Your motives were the very best, and I
accused you. Can you forgive me?'
'There is nothing to forgive, your Majesty,' Vanion
replied. 'Under the circumstances, I'd have done exactly
the same.
The Arcian King took the preceptor's hand and clasped
it warmly.
'Tell me, Sir Sparhawk,' King Obler asked, 'could you
by chance identify the plotters?'
"I couldn't see their faces, your Majesty.'
'A shame, really,' the old king sighed. "it would
appear that the plot was fairly widespread. The two who
came before us to testify would also seem to have been a
part of it, and at some prearranged signal were to have
stepped forward with their obviously well-coached stories.'
'That same thought had occurred to me, your Majesty,'
Sparhawk agreed.
'But who was behind it? And against whom was it
really directed? Count Radun, perhaps? Or King Dregos?
Or even Lord Vanion?'
'That might be impossible to determine - unless the
so-called witnesses can be persuaded to identify their
fellow plotters.'
'Excellent point, Sir Sparhawk.' King Obler looked
sternly at the Primate Annias. "it lies upon you, your
Grace, to ensure that the merchant Tessera and the serf
Verl are available for questioning. We would all be most
distressed should anything of a permanent nature happen
to either of them.'
Annias' face grew stiff. "I shall have them both closely
'guarded, your Majesty,' he assured the King of Deira. He
gestured to one of his soldiers and muttered some
instructions to the man, who blanched slightly, then
hurried from the room.
'Sir Sparhawk,' Lycheas blustered, 'you were ordered
to Demos and told to remain there until you received
permission to leave. Why is it that you -'
'Be still, Lycheas,' Annias snapped at him.
A slow flush crept up the pimpled young man's face.
"I would say that you owe Lord Vanion an apology,
Annias,' Dolmant said pointedly.
Annias paled and then turned stiffly to the Pandion
chief. 'Please accept my apologies, Lord Vanion,' he said
shortly. "I was misled by liars.'
'Of course, my dear Primate,' Vanion replied. 'We
all blunder from time to time, don't we?'
"I believe that more or less concludes this matter then,'
Dolmant said. He cast a sidelong glance at Annias, who
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was obviously making a great effort to control his
emotions. 'Be assured, Annias,' the Patriarch of Demos
said to him, "I will cast this entire matter in as charitable a
light as I can when I make my report to the Hierocracy in
Chyrellos. I'll try my very best not to make you look like a
complete idiot.'
Annias bit his lip.
'Tell us, Sir Sparhawk,' King Obler said, 'could you in
any way identify the people who approached the
count's castle?'
'The man who was leading them is named Adus, your
Majesty,' Sparhawk told him. 'He's a thick-witted savage
who does the bidding of a renegade Pandion named
Martel. Many of his men were just ordinary mercenaries.
The rest were Rendors.'
'Rendors?' King Dregos said, his eyes narrowing.
'There have been tensions of late between my kingdom
and Rendor, but this plot seems a bit involuted for the
Rendorish mind.'
'We could spend hours in speculation, Dregos,' King
Wargun said, holding his empty wine cup out for a
serving man to refill. 'An hour or so on the rack should
persuade the merchant and the serf down in the dungeon
to tell us what they know about their fellow
plotters.'
'The Church does not approve of such methods, your
Majesty,' Dolmant said.
Wargun snorted derisively. 'The dungeons beneath
the Basilica of Chyrellos are reputed to employ the most
expert interrogators in the world,' he said.
'That practice is being discontinued.'
'Perhaps,' Wargun said, 'but this is a civil matter
We're not constrained by churchly delicacy, and I for one
don't propose to wait while you pray an answer out of
those two.'
Lycheas, who had been smarting from the almost
absent-minded rebuke Annias had delivered to him,
straightened on his throne-like chair. 'We are delighted
that this matter has been resolved so amicably,' he
announced, 'and we rejoice that the reports concerning
the death of Count Radun have proved to be unfounded.
I agree with the Patriarch of Demos that we can consider
this inquiry concluded - unless Lord Vanion's excellent
witnesses can shed further light on just who might have
been behind this monstrous conspiracy.'
'No, your Highness,' Vanion told him. 'We are not
prepared at this time to do so.'
Lycheas turned to the kings of Thalesia, Deira, and
Arcium, trying with scant success to look regal. 'Our
time, your Majesties, is short,' he said. 'We each have
kingdoms to rule, and there are other matters requiring
our attention. I suggest that we tender Lord Vanion our
appreciation for his aid in clarifying this situation and
give him permission to withdraw so that we may turn to
state matters.'
The kings nodded their agreement.
'You and your friends may leave now, Lord Vanion,'
Lycheas said grandly.
'Thank you, your Highness,' Vanion replied with a
stiff bow. 'We are all happy to have been of service to
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you.' He turned and started towards the door.
'A moment, Lord Vanion,' Darellon, the slightly built
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights said. Then he stepped
forward. 'Since your Majesties' conversations will now
turn on state matters, I think that I, Lord Komier, and
Lord Abriel will also withdraw. We are little versed in
statecraft and could contribute nothing of value to your
discussions. The matter that has come to light this
morning, however, requires some consultation among
the militant orders. Should conspiracies of this nature
recur, we must make preparations to meet them.'
'Well said,' Komier agreed.
'A splendid idea, Darellon,' King Obler gave his
assent. 'Let's not be caught asleep again. Keep me
advised of the thrust of your discussions.'
'You may rely upon me, your Majesty.'
The preceptors of the other three orders marched down
from the dais and joined Vanion, who led the way from the
ornate audience chamber. Once they were out in the
corridor, Komier, the hulking Preceptor of the Genidian
Knights, grinnned openly. 'Very neat, Vanion,' he said.
"I'm glad you liked it.' Vanion grinned back.
'My head must have been packed in wool this morning,'
Komier confessed. 'Would you believe I almost
accepted all that tripe?'
"it was not entirely your fault, Lord Komier,' Sephrenia
told him.
He gave her a questioning look.
'Let me think my way through it a bit more,' she said
frowning. The big Thalesian looked at Vanion. "it was Annias,
wasn't it?' he guessed shrewdly as they ' progressed
down the hall. 'The scheme was his, I take it?'
Vanion nodded. 'The Pandion presence in Elenia is
hindering his operations. He saw this as a way to remove
US.'
'Elenian politics get a bit dense sometimes. We're
much more direct in Thalesia. just how powerful is the
Primate of Cimmura?'
Vanion shrugged. 'He controls the Royal Council. That
makes him more or less the ruler of the kingdom.'
'Does he want the throne for himself?'
'No, I don't think so'. He prefers to manipulate things
from behind the scenes. He's trying to groom Lycheas for
the throne.'
'Lycheas is a bastard, isn't he?'
Vanion nodded again.
'How can a bastard be king? Nobody knows who hiS
father is.'
'Annias probably believes he can get around that
problem. Until Sparhawk's father intervened, our good
primate had very nearly convinced King Aldreas that it
was perfectly legitimate for him to marry his own sister.'
That's disgusting,' Komier shuddered.
"I've heard that Annias has certain ambitions involving
the Archprelate's throne in Chyrellos,' Abriel, the greyhaired
Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights, said to Patriarch
Dolmant.
"I've heard some of the same rumours myself,'
Dolmant replied blandly.
This humiliation is going to be quite a setback for him,
isn't it? The Hierocracy's likely to look with some
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disfavour on a man who makes a total ass of himself in
public.'
That thought had crossed my mind as well.'
'And your report will be quite detailed, I expect?'
That is my obligation, Lord Abriel,' Dolmant said
piously. 'As a member of the Hierocracy myself, I could
hardly conceal any of the facts, could I? I will have to
present the whole truth to the high councils of the
Church.'
"we wouldn't have it any other way, your Grace.'
"we're going to need to talk, Vanion,' Darellon, the
Preceptor of the Alcione Knights, said seriously. 'This
scheme was directed at you and your order this time, but
it concerns us all. It could be any one of us the next time.
Is there someplace secure where we can discuss this
matter?'
'Our chapterhouse is on the eastern edge of the city,'
vanion replied. "I can guarantee that none of the
primate's spies are inside its walls.'
As they rode out through the palace gates, Sparhawk
remembered something and slowed to ride with Kurik at
the rear of the column.
'What's the matter?' kurik asked.
'Let's drop behind a little bit. I want to talk with that
beggar boy.'
'That's hardly good manners, Sparhawk,' Kurik said.
'A meeting of the preceptors of all four orders happens
about once in a lifetime, and they're going to have some
questions for you.'
'We can catch up with them before they get to the
chapterhouse. '
'What do you want to talk to a beggar for?' Kurik
sounded more than a little irritated.
'He's working for me.' Sparhawk gave his friend an
appraising look. 'What's bothering you, Kurik?' he
asked. 'Your face looks like a rain cloud.'
'Never mind,' Kurik replied shortly.
Talen was still huddled in the angle between two
intersecting walls. He had his ragged cloak wrapped
about him and he was shivering.
Sparhawk dismounted a few feet from the boy and
made some pretence of checking his saddle girth. 'What
did you want to tell me?' he said quietly.
'That man you had me watching,' Talen began.
'Krager, wasn't that his name? He left Cimmura about
the same time you did, but he came back a week or so
later. There was another man with him - a fellow with
white hair. It sort of stands out because he's not really
that old. Anyway, they went to the house of that Baron
who's so fond of little boys. They stayed there for several
hours, and then they rode out of town again. I got close
enough to them at the east gate to hear them talking with
the gate guards. When the guard asked their destination,
they said they were going to Cammoria.'
'Good lad,' Sparhawk congratulated him, dropping a
gold crown into the begging bowl.
'Child's play,' Talen shrugged. He bit the coin and
then tucked it inside his tunic. 'Thanks, Sparhawk.'
'Why didn't you tell the porter at the inn on Rose
Street?'
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'The place is being watched. I decided to play it safe.
Then Talen looked over the big knight's shoulder. 'Hello,
Kurik,' he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time.'
'You two know each other?' Sparhawk was a bit
surprised.
Kurik flushed, looking embarrassed.
'You wouldn't believe how far back our friendship
goes, Sparhawk,' Talen said with a sly little smile at
Kurik.
'That's enough, Talen,' Kurik said sharply. Then his
expression softened slightly. 'How's your mother?' he asked.
There was a strange, wistful note in his voice.
"She's doing quite well, actually. When you add what I
make to what you give her from time to time, she's
comfortably off.'
'Am I missing something here?' Sparhawk asked
mildly.
"it's a personal matter, Sparhawk,' Kurik told him.
Then he turned to the boy. 'What are you doing out here
in the streets, Talen?' he demanded.
"I'm begging, Kurik. You see?' Talen held out his bowl.
Thats what this is for. Would you like to drop something
in for old times' sake?'
"I put you in a very good school, boy.'
"Oh, it was very good indeed. The headmaster used
to tell us how good it was three times a day - at mealtimes.
He and the other teachers ate roast beef. The students got
porridge. I don't like porridge all that much, so I enrolled
in a different school.' He gestured extravagantly at the
street. 'This is my classroom now. Do you like it? The
lessons I learn here are much more useful than rhetoric or
philosophy or all that tiresome theology. If I pay attention,
I can earn enough to buy my own roast beef - or
anything else, for that matter.'
"I ought to thrash you, Talen,' Kurik threatened.
'Why, father,' the boy replied, wide-eyed, 'what a
thing to suggest.' He laughed. 'Besides, you'd have to
catch me first. That's the first lesson I learned in my new
school. Would you like to see how well I learned it?' He
took up his crutch and begging bowl and ran off down
the street. He was, Sparhawk noted, very fast on his feet.
Kurik started to swear.
'Father?' Sparhawk asked.
"I 'told you that this is none of your busineSS,
Sparhawk.'
'We don't keep any secrets from each other, Kurik."
'You're going to push this, aren't you?'
'Me? I'm just curious, that's all. This is a side of you I've
never seen before.'
"I was indiscreet some years ago.'
'That's a delicate way to put it.'
"I can do without the clever remarks, Sparhawk.'
'Does Aslade know about thiS?'
'Of course not. It would only make her unhappy if I
told her. I kept quiet about it to spare her feelings. A man
owes that to his wife, doesn't he?'
"I understand perfectly, Kurik,' Sparhawk assured
him. 'And was Talen's mother so very beautiful?'
Kurik sighed, and his face grew oddly soft. "She was
eighteen, and like a spring morning. I couldn't help
myself, Sparhawk. I love Aslade, but...'
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Sparhawk put his arm about his friend's shoulder. "it
happens sometimes, Kurik,' he said. 'Don't beat yourself
over the head about it.' Then he straightened. 'Why
don't we see if we can catch up with the others?' he
suggested, as he swung back up into his saddle.
!!!
PART TWO
`Chyrellos
*Chapter10
Lord Abriel, the Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights of
Arcium, stood at the green-draped window of Vanion's
study in the south tower of the Pandion Knights'
chapterhouse, looking out at the city of Cimmura. Abriel
was a solidly built man in his sixties with silver hair. His
lined face was devoid of humour, and his eyes were sunk
deep in their sockets. He had removed his sword and
helmet upon their arrival, but still wore the rest of his
armour and his pale blue surcoat. Since he was the eldest
of the four preceptors, the others deferred to him. 'I'm
sure that we're all aware of most of what's been happening
here in Elenia,' he began, 'but there are a few things
that need a little clarification, I think. Would you mind if
we asked you some questions, Vanion?'
'Not at all,' Vanion replied. 'We'll all try our best to
answer any that you might have.'
'Good. We've had our differences in the past, my Lord,
but in this situation we'll want to set those aside.' Abriel,
like all the Cyrinics, spoke in a considered, even formal,
fashion. "I think we need to know more about this Martel
person.'
Vanion leaned back in his chair. 'He was a Pandion,' he
replied with a trace of sadness in his voice. "I was forced
to expel him from the order.'
'That's a little terse, Vanion,' Komier said. Unlike the
others, Komier wore a mail shirt rather than formal
armour. He was a heavy-boned man with thick
shoulders and large hands. Like most Thalesians, the
Preceptor of the Genidian Knights was blond, and his
shaggy eyebrows gave his face an almost brutish look. As
he spoke, he continually toyed with the hilt of his
broadsword, which lay on the table before him. 'if this
Martel's going to be a problem, we all ought to know as
much about him as we can.'
'Martel was one of the best,' Sephrenia said quietly.
She sat in her hooded white robe before the fire, holding
her teacup. 'He was extremely proficient in the secrets.
That, I think, is what led to his disgrace.'
'He was good with a lance, too,' Kalten admitted
ruefully. 'He used to unhorse me on a regular basis on
the practice field. Sparhawk was probably the only one
who was a match for him.'
'Exactly what was this disgrace you mentioned,
Sephrenia?' Lord Darellon asked. The Preceptor of the
Alcione Knights of Deira was a slender man in his late
forties. His massive Deiran armour looked almost too
heavy for his slight frame.
Sephrenia sighed. 'The secrets of Styricum are
myriad,' she replied. "Some are fairly simple - common
spells and incantations. Martel mastered those very
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quickly. Beyond commonplace magic, however, lies a
deeper and far more dangerous realm. Those of us who
instruct the Knights of the Church in the secrets do not
introduce our pupils to that level of magic. It serves no
practical purpose and it involves things that imperil the
souls of Elenes.'
Komier laughed. 'Many things imperil the souls of
Elenes, my Lady,' he said. "I felt a certain wrench in mine
the first time I contacted the Troll-Gods. I gather that this
Martel of yours dabbled in things he should not have?'
Sephrenia sighed again. 'Yes,' she admitted. 'He came
to me asking that I instr'uct him in the forbidden secrets.
He was very intense about it. That's one of Martel's
characteristics. I refused him, of course, but there are
renegade Styrics, even as there are renegade Pandions.
Martel came from a wealthy family, so he could afford to
pay for the instruction he wanted.'
'Who found him out?' Darellon asked.
"I did,' Sparhawk said. "I was riding from Cimmura to
Demos. That was shortly before King Aldreas sent me
into exile. There's a patch of woods three leagues this
side of Demos. It was just about dusk when I passed
those woods, and I saw a strange light back among the
trees. I went to investigate and saw Martel. He'd raised
some kind of glowing creature. Its light was very bright -
so bright that I couldn't make out its face.'
"I don't think you'd have wanted to see its face,
Sparhawk,' Sephrenia told him.
"perhaps not, ' he agreed. 'Anyway, Martel was speaking
to the creature in Styric, commanding it to do his bidding.'
That doesn't seem like anything out of the ordinary,'
Komier said. 'We've all raised spirits or ghosts of one
kind or another from time to time.'
This was not precisely a spirit, Lord Komier,'
Sephrenia told him. 'it was a Damork. The Elder Gods of
Styricum created them to serve as slaves to their will. The
Damorks have extraordinary powers, but they are soulless.
A God can summon them from that unimaginable
place where they dwell and control them. For a mortal to
attempt that, however, is sheer folly. No mortal can
control a Damork. What Martel had done is absolutely
forbidden by all of the Younger Gods.'
'And the Elder Gods?' Darellon asked.
The Elder Gods have no rules, my Lord - only whims
and desires.'
'Sephrenia,' Dolmant pointed out, 'Martel is an Elene
Perhaps he felt no obligations to observe the prohibitions
of the Gods of Styricum.'
'So long as one is practising the arts of Styricum, one is
subject to the Styric Gods, Dolmant,' she replied.
"I wonder if perhaps it might have been a mistake to
arm the Church Knights with Styric magic as well as
conventional weapons,' Dolmant mused. 'We seem to be
dabbling in an area best left untapped.'
'That decision was made over nine hundred years ago,
your Grace,' Abriel reminded him, coming back to the
table, 'and if the Knights of the Church had not been
proficient in magic, the Zemochs would have won that
battle on the plains of Lamorkand.'
'Perhaps,' Dolmant said.
'Go on with your story, Sparhawk,' Komier suggested.
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'There's not too much more, my Lord. I didn't know
what the Damork was until Sephrenia told me about it
later, but I knew that it was something we were forbidden
to contact. After a while, the thing vanished, and I
rode in to talk with Martel. We were friends, and I
wanted to warn him that what he was doing was
prohibited, but he seemed almost mad somehow. He
shrieked at me and told me to mind my own business.
That didn't leave me any choice. I rode on to our
motherhouse at Demos and reported what I'd seen to
Vanion and Sephrenia. She told us what the creature was
and how dangerous it was to have it loose in the world.
Vanion ordered me to take a number of men and to
apprehend Martel and to bring him to the motherhouse
for questioning. He went completely wild when we
approached him, and he went to his sword. Martel's very
good to begin with, and his madness made him all the
more savage. I lost a couple of very close friends that day.
We finally managed to overpower him and we dragged
him back to the motherhouse in chains.'
'By the ankles, as I recall,' Kalten added. 'Sparhawk
can be very direct when he's irritated.' He smiled at his
friend. 'You didn't endear yourself to him by doing it that
way, Sparhawk,' he said.
"I wasn't trying to. He'd just killed two of my friends,
and I wanted to give him plenty of reasons to accept my
challenge when Vanion was finished with him.'
'Anyway,' Vanion took up the story, 'when they
brought Martel back to Demos, I confronted him. He
didn't even try to deny what he'd been doing. I ordered
him to stop practising the forbidden secrets, and he
defied me. I had no choice but to expel him from the
order at that point. I stripped him of his knighthood and
his armour and turned him out of the front gate.'
That could have been a mistake,' Komier grunted. "I'd
have had him killed. Did he raise that thing again?'
Vanion nodded. 'Yes, but Sephrenia appealed to the
Younger Gods of Styricum and they exorcized it. Then
they stripped Martel of the most significant of his
powers. He went away weeping and swearing revenge
upon us all. He's still dangerous, but at least he can't
summon up horrors any more. He left Elenia and he's
been hiring his sword out to the highest bidder in other
parts of the world for the past ten or twelve years.'
'He's just a common mercenary then?' Darellon asked.
The slender Alcione Preceptor had an intent look on his
narrow face.
"not quite common, my Lord,' Sparhawk disagreed.
"he's had Pandion training. He could have been the very
best of us, and he's very clever. He has wide contacts
with mercenaries all over Eosia. He can raise an army at a
moment's notice and he's totally ruthless. I don't believe
that Martel believes in anything any more.'
"what does he look like?' Darellon asked.
'A little bigger than medium size,' Kalten replied. 'He's
about the same age as Sparhawk and me, but he's got
white hair - he has had since he was in his twenties.'
"I think we might all want to keep an eye out for him,'
Abriel suggested. 'Who's the other one - Adus?'
'Adus is an animal," Kalten told him. 'After Martel was
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expelled from the Pandions, he recruited Adus and a
man named Krager to help him in his activities. Adus is a
Pelosian, I think - or maybe a Lamork. He can barely talk,
so his accent is a little hard to identify. He's a total savage,
devoid of human feelings. He enjoys killing people -
slowly - and he's very good at it.'
'And the other one?' Komier asked. 'Krager?'
'Krager's fairly intelligent,' Sparhawk replied. 'Basically,
he's a criminal - false coins, extortion, fraud, that sort of
thing - but he's weak. Martel trusts him to perform tasks
that Adus wouldn't be able to understand.'
'What's the link between Annias and Martel?' Count
Radun asked.
'Probably nothing more than money, my Lord.'
Sparhawk shrugged. 'Martel is for hire and he has no
strong convictions about anything. There are rumours
that he has about a half-ton of gold hidden somewhere.'
"I was right,' Komier said bluntly. 'You should have
killed him, Vanion.'
'I made the offer,' Sparhawk said, 'but Vanion said no.'
"I had reasons,' Vanion said.
'Was there anything significant about the fact that
there were Rendors in the party that attacked Count
Radun's house?' Abriel asked then.
'Probably not,' Sparhawk replied. "I've just come back
from Rendor. There's a pool of mercenaries there in the
same way that there is in Pelosia, Lamorkand, and
Cammoria. Martel draws on those people whenever he
needs men. Rendorish mercenaries have no particular
religious convictions, Eshandist or otherwise.'
"bUt 'Do we have enough evidence against Annias to take
before the Hierocracy in Chyrellos?' Darellon asked.
"I don't think so,' Patriarch Dolmant said. 'Annias has
bought many voices in the higher councils of the Church.
Any charges we might bring against him would have to
be supported by overwhelming proof. All we have now
is an overheard conversation between Krager and Baron
Harparin. Annias could wriggle out of that rather easily -
or simply buy his way out of it.'
Komier leaned back in his chair, tapping at his chin
with one finger. "I think the Patriarch has just put his
finger on the key to the whole affair. As long as Annias
has his hands on the Elenian treasury, he can finance
these schemes of his and continue to buy support in the
Hierocracy. If we aren't careful, he'll bribe his way to the
Archprelacy. We've all stood in his path from time to
time, and I'd guess that his first act as Archprelate would
be to disband all four militant orders. Is there any way we
can cut off his access to those funds?'
Vanion shook his head. 'He controls the Royal Council
except for the Earl of Lenda. They vote him all the
money he needs.'
"what about your Queen?' Darellon asked. 'Did he
control her too - before she fell ill, I mean?'
'Not even a little,' Vanion replied. 'Aldreas was a weak
king who did anything Annias told him to do. Ehlana's
an altogether different matter, and she despises Annias. '
He shrugged. 'But she's ill, and Annias wil have a free
hand until she recovers. '
Abriel began to pace up and down, his lined face deep
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in thought. 'That would seem to be our logical course
then, gentlemen. We must bend all of our efforts to
finding a cure for Queen Ehlana's illness.'
Darellon leaned back, his fingers tapping on the
polished table. 'Annias is very cunning,' he observed.
'He will easily guess what our course is likely to be and
he's certain to try to block us. Even if we succeed in
finding a cure, won't that immediately put the Queen's
life in danger?'
'Sparhawk is her Champion, my Lord,' Kalten told
him. 'He can cope - particularly if I'm there to back him
uP.'
'Are you making any progress on a cure, Vanion?'
Komier asked.
'The local physicians are all baffled." Vanion replied.
"I've sent out requests for others, though, but most of
them haven't arrived as yet.'
'Physicians don't always respond to requests,' Abriel
noted. 'This might be particularly true in a situation
where the head of the Royal Council has a certain interest
in not seeing the Queen recover.' He considered the
problem. 'The Cyrinics have many contacts in
Cammoria,' he said. 'Have you considered taking your
Queen to the medical faculty at the University of Borrata
in that kingdom? They're reputed to be experts in
obscure ailments.''
"I don't think we dare dissolve the encasement that
surrounds her,' Sephrenia said. 'At the moment it's all
that sustains her life. She could not survive a trip to
Borrata.' The Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights nodded thoughtfully.
'Perhaps you're right, madame,' he said.
'Not only that,' Vanion added. 'Annias would never
let us take her out of the palace.'
Abriel nodded bleakly. He considered it for a moment.
'There's an alternative. It's not as good as having the
physician actually look at the patient, but sometimes it
works - or so I've been told. A skilled physician can learn
a great deal from a detailed description of symptoms.
That would be my suggestion, Vanion. Write down
everything you know about Queen Ehlana's illness and
send someone to Borrata with the documents.'
"I'll take it,' Sparhawk said quietly. "I have certain
personal reasons for wanting the Queen restored to
health. Besides, Martel's in Cammoria - or at least he's
reputed to be- and he and I have a few things to discuss.'
"That raises another point,' Abriel said. 'There's a great
deal of turmoil in Cammoria right now. Someone's been
stirring up civil unrest there. It's not the safest place in
the world. '
Komier leaned back again. 'What would you gentlemen
say to a little show of unity?' he said to the other
preceptors.
'What did you have in mind?' Darellon asked.
"I'd say that we all have a stake in this,' Komier replied.
'Our common goal is to keep Annias off the Archprelate's
throne. We all have champions who stand above their
comrades in skill and bravery. I think it might be a good
idea for us each to select one of those champions and
send him to join Sparhawk in Cammoria. The assistance
couldn't hurt, and the sending of men from all four
orders would convince the world that the Church
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Knights stand as one in this matter.'
'Very good, Komier,' Darellon agreed. 'The militant
orders have had their differences in the past few
centuries, and too many people still think that we're
divided.' He turned to Abriel. 'Have you any idea who's
behind the trouble in Cammoria?' he asked.
'Many believe that it's Otha,' the Cyrinic replied. 'He's
been infiltrating the central kingdoms for the past six
months or so.'
"you know,' Komier said, "I've got a strong feeling that
someday we're going to have to do something about
Otha - something fairly permanent. '
That would involve coming up against Azash,'
Sephrenia said, 'and I'm not sure we want to do that.'
'Can't the Younger Gods of Styricum do something
about him?' Komier asked her.
'They choose not to,' she replied. 'The wars of men are
bad enough, but a war between the Gods would be
dreadful beyond imagining.' She looked at Dolmant.
'The God of the Elenes is reputed to be all-powerful,' she
said. 'Couldn't the Church appeal to Him to confront
Azash?'
"It's possible, I suppose,' the Patriarch said. 'The only
problem is that the Church does not admit the existence
of Azash - or any other Styric God. It's a matter of
theology.'
'How very shortsighted.'
Dolmant laughed. 'My dear Sephrenia,' he said. "I
thought you knew that was the nature of the ecclesiastical
mind. We're all like that. We find one truth and
embrace it. Then we close our eyes to everything else. It
avoids confusion.' He looked at her curiously. 'Tell me,
Sephrenia, which heathen God do you worship?'
"I'm not permitted to say,' she answered gravely. "I can
tell you that it's not a God, though. I serve a Goddess.'
'A female deity? What an absurd idea.'
'Only to a man, Dolmant. Women find it very natural.'
'is there anything else you think we ought to know
Vanion?' Komier asked.
"I think we've just about covered everything, Komier.
Vanion looked at Sparhawk. 'Anything you want to
add?' he asked.
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No,' he said. "I don't think
SO.'
'What about the Styric who set the church soldiers on
us?' Kalten asked.
Sparhawk grunted. "I'd almost forgotten that,' he
admitted. "It was at about the time that I heard Krager
and Harparin talking. Kalten and I were wearing
disguises, but there was a Styric who saw through them
Not long after that, we were attacked by some of Annias'
people.'
'You think there's a connection?' Komier asked.
Sparhawk nodded. 'The Styric had been following me
around for several days, and I'm fairly sure he was the
one who pointed Kalten and me out to the soldiers. That
would connect him to Annias.'
"It's pretty thin, Sparhawk. Annias has some fairly
well-known prejudices where Styrics are concerned.'
'Not so many that he wouldn't seek out their help if he
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thought he needed it. On two occasions I've caught him
using magic.'
'A churchman?' Dolmant's expression was startled.
'That's strictly forbidden.'
'So was plotting the murder of Count Radun, your
Grace. I don't think Annias pays too much attention to
the rules. He's not much of a magician, but the fact that
he knows how it's done indicates that he's had instruction,
and that means a Styric.'
Darellon interlaced his slender fingers on the table in
front of him. 'There are Styrics and then there are
Styrics,' he noted. 'As Abriel pointed out, there's been a
great deal of Styric activity in the central kingdom of late -
much of it coming out of Zemoch. If Annias sought out a
Styric to instruct him in the secrets, he might possibly
have contacted the wrong one.'
"I think you're overcomplicating things, Darellon,'
Dolmant said. 'Not even Annias would have dealings
with Otha.'
That's presuming that he knows he's dealing with
Otha.'
'My Lords,' Sephrenia said very quietly, 'consider
what happened this morning.' Her eyes were very
intent. 'Would any of you - or the kings you serve - have
been deceived by the transparent accusations of the
Primate Annias? They were crude, obvious, even
childish. You Elenes are a subtle, sophisticated people. If
your minds had been alert, you'd have laughed at
Annias' clumsy attempts to discredit the Pandions. But
you didn't. Neither did your kings. And Annias, who's
as subtle as a serpent, presented his case as if he believed
it was a stroke of genius.'
'Exactly what are you getting at, Sephrenia?' Vanion
asked.
"I think we should give some consideration to Lord
Darellon's line of thought. The presentation this morning
would have overwhelmed a Styric. We are a simple
people, and our magicians do not have to work very hard
to persuade us to their way of thinking. You Elenes are
more sceptical, more logical. You are not so easily
deceived - unless you've been tampered with.'
Dolmant leaned forward, his eyes betraying his eagerness
for a contest at logic. 'But Annias is also an Elene,
with a mind trained in theological disputation. Why
would he have been so clumsy?'
'You're assuming that Annias was speaking in his own
voice this morning, Dolmant. A Styric sorcerer - or some
creature subject to one - would present his case in terms
that would be understood by a simple Styric and then
rely upon magic to induce belief.'
'Was someone using that kind of magic in that room
this morning?' Darellon asked, his face troubled.
'Yes,' she replied simply.
"I think we're getting a bit far afield,' Komier said.
'What we need to do right now is get Sparhawk on his
way to Borrata. The quicker we find a cure for Queen
Ehlana's illness, the quicker we can eliminate the threat
of Annias altogether. Once we cut off his supply of ready
cash, he can consort with anybody - or anything - he
wants to, for all I care.
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'You'd better get ready to ride, Sparhawk,' Vanion
said. "I'll write down the Queen's symptoms for you.'
"I don't think that's necessary, Vanion,' Sephrenia told
him. "I know her condition in much greater detail than
you do.'
'But you can't write, Sephrenia,' he reminded her.
"I won't have to, Vanion,' she said sweetly. "I'll tell the
physicians in Borrata about the symptoms personally.'
'You're going with Sparhawk?' Vanion looked surprised.
'
Of course. There are things afoot that seem to be
focusing on him. He might need my help when he gets to
Cammoria.'
'I'll go along, too,' Kalten said. "if Sparhawk catches up
with Martel in Cammoria, I want to be there to see what
happens.' He grinned at his friend. "I'll let you have
Martel,' he offered, 'if you'll give me Adus.'
'Sounds fair,' Sparhawk agreed.
'You'll be passing through Chyrellos on your way to
Borrata,' Dolmant said. "I'll ride along with you as far as
that.'
"we'll be honoured to have you, your Grace.' Sparhawk
looked at Count Radun. 'Might you want to join US
as well, my Lord?' he asked.
'No. Thanks all the same, Sir Sparhawk,' the count
replied. "I'll return to Arcium with my nephew and Lord
Abriel.'
Komier was frowning slightly. "I don't want to delay
you, Sparhawk,' he said, 'but Darellon is right. Annias is
sure to guess what our next step is likely to be. There are
only so many centres of medical learning in Eosia, if this
Martel fellow is already in Cammoria, and still taking
orders from Annias, he's almost certain to try to keep you
from reaching Borrata. I think it might be best if you
waited in Chyrellos until the knights from our other
orders catch up with you. A show of force can sometimes
avoid difficulties.'
'That's a good idea,' Vanion agreed. 'The others can
join him at the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos and
ride out together from there.'
Sparhawk rose to his feet. 'That's it, then,' he said. He
glanced at Sephrenia. 'Are you going to leave Flute here?'
'No. She goes with me.'
"It's going to be dangerous,' he warned.
"I can protect her if she needs protection. Besides, the
decision is not mine to make.'
'Don't you love talking with her?' Kalten said. 'All the
mental stimulation of trying to puzzle out the meaning of
what she's saying.'
Sparhawk ignored that.
Later in the courtyard where Sparhawk and the others
were preparing to mount for the ride to Chyrellos, the
novice, Berit, approached. 'There's a lame beggar boy at
the gate, my Lord,' he said to Sparhawk. 'He says he has
something urgent to tell you.'
'Let him through the gates,' Sparhawk said.
Berit looked a bit shocked.
"I know the boy,' Sparhawk said. 'He works for me."
'As you wish, my Lord,' Berit said, bowing. He turned
back towards the gate.
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'Oh, by the way, Berit,' Sparhawk said.
'My Lord?'
'Don't walk too close to the boy. He's a thief and he can
steal everything you own before you go ten paces.'
"I'll keep that in mind, my Lord.'
A few minutes later, Berit came back escorting Talen.
"I've got a problem, Sparhawk,' the boy said.
'Oh?'
"Some of the primate's men found out that I've been
helping you. They're looking for me all over Cimmura.'
"I told you that you were going to get in trouble,' Kurik
growled at him. Then' the squire looked at Sparhawk.
'What do we do now?' he asked. "I don't want him locked
up in the cathedral dungeon.'
Sparhawk scratched his chin. "I guess he'll have to go
with us,' he said, 'at least as far as Demos.' He grinned
suddenly. 'We can leave him with Aslade and the boys.'
'Are you insane, Sparhawk?'
"I thought you'd be delighted at the notion, Kurik.'
'That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my
life.'
'Don't you want him to get to know his brothers?'
Sparhawk looked at the boy. 'How much did you steal
from Berit here?' he bluntly asked the young thief.
'Not very much, really.'
'Give it all back.'
"I'm very disappointed in you, Sparhawk.'
'Life is filled with disappointments. Now give it back.'
!!!
*Chapter11
It was midafternoon when they rode across the drawbridge
and onto the road leading to Demos and beyond. The wind
still blew, but the sky was clearing. The long road
stretching towards Demos was teeming with traffic. Carts
and wagons rattled by, and drabbly dressed peasants with
heavy bundles on their shoulders plodded slowly towards
the market places of Cimmura. The raw winter wind bent
the yellow grass at the sides of the road. Sparhawk rode a
few paces in advance of the others, and the travellers on
their way to Cimmura gave way to him. Faran was
prancing again as they rode along at a steady trot.
'Your horse seems restive, Sparhawk,' the Patriarch
Dolmant, wrapped in a heavy black ecclesiastical cloak
over his cassock, observed.
'He's just showing off,' Sparhawk replied back over his
shoulder. 'He has some notion that it impresses me.'
'it gives him something to do while he's waiting for the
chance to bite somebody.' Kalten laughed.
'is he vicious?'
"It's the nature of the war horse, your Grace,
Sparhawk explained. 'They're bred for aggressiveness
In Faran's case they just went too far.'
'Has he ever bitten you?'
'Once. Then I explained to him that I'd rather he didn't
do it any more.'
'Explained?'
"I used a stout stick.'He got the idea almost immediately."
We're not going to get too far this afternoon,
Sparhawk,' Kurik called from his position at the rear of
the party where he rode with their pair of pack horses.
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"we started late. There's an inn I know of about a league
ahead. What do you think of the idea of stopping there,
getting a good night's sleep, and starting out early in the
morning?'
"It makes sense, Sparhawk,' Kalten agreed. "I don't
enjoy sleeping on the ground that much any more.'
'All right,' Sparhawk said. He glanced at Talen, who
was riding a tired-looking bay horse beside Sephrenia's
white palfrey. The boy kept looking back over his
shoulder apprehensively. 'You're being awfully quiet,'
he said.
'Young people aren't supposed to talk in the presence
of their elders, Sparhawk,' Talen replied glibly. 'That's
one of the things they taught me in that school Kurik sent
me to. I try to obey the rules - when it doesn't
inconvenience me too much.'
The young man is pert,' Dolmant observed.
'He's also a thief, your Grace,' Kalten warned. 'Don't
get too close to him if you have any valuables about you. '
Dolmant looked sternly at the boy. 'Aren't you aware
of the fact that thievery is frowned upon by the Church?'
"yes,' Talen sighed, "I know. The Church is very straitlaced
about things like that.'
"watch your mouth, Talen,' Kurik snapped.
"I can't, Kurik. My nose gets in the way.'
The lad's depravity is perhaps understandable,'
Dolmant said tolerantly. "I doubt that he's received much
instruction in doctrine or morality.' He sighed. 'in many
ways, the poor children of the streets are as pagan as the
Styrics.' He smiled slyly at Sephrenia, who rode with
Flute bundled up in an old cloak in front of her saddle.
'Actually, your Grace,' Talen disagreed, "I attend
Church services regularly and I always pay close attention
to the sermons.'
'That's surprising,' the Patriarch said.
'Not really, your Grace,' Talen said. 'Most thieves go to
church. The offertory provides all sorts of splendid
opportunities.'
Dolmant looked suddenly aghast.
'Look at it this way, your Grace,' Talen explained with
mock seriousness. 'The Church distributes money to the
poor, doesn't she?'
'Of course.'
'Well, I'm one of the poor, so I take my share when the
plate goes by. It saves the Church all the time and trouble
of looking me up to give me the money. I like to be
helpful when I can.'
Dolmant stared at him, then suddenly burst out
laughing.
Some few miles further along, they encountered a
small band of people dressed in the crude, homespun
tunics that identified them as Styrics. They were on foot
and, as soon as they saw Sparhawk and the others, they
ran fearfully out into a nearby field.
'Why are they so frightened?' Talen asked, puzzled.
'News travels very rapidly in Styricum,' Sephrenia
replied, 'and there have been incidents lately.'
"Incidents?'
Briefly, Sparhawk told him what had happened in the
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Styric village in Arcium. Talen's face went very pale.
'That's awful!' he exclaimed.
'The Church has tried for hundreds of years to stamp
out that sort of thing,' Dolmant said sadly.
"I think we stamped it out fairly completely in that part
of Arcium,' Sparhawk assured him. "I sent some men out
to deal with the peasants who were responsible.'
'Did you hang them?' Talen asked fiercely.
'Sephrenia wouldn't let us, so my men gave them a
switching instead.'
'That's all?'
'They used thorn bushes for switches. Thorns grow
very long down in Arcium, and I instructed my men to be
thorough about it.'
'A bit extreme, perhaps,' Dolmant said.
"It seemed fitting at the time, your Grace. The Church
Knights have close ties with the Styrics and we don't like
people who mistreat our friends.'
The pale winter sun was sliding into a bank of chill
purple cloud behind them' when they arrived at a rundown
wayside inn. They ate a barely adequate meal of
thin soup and greasy mutton and retired early.
It was clear and cold the following morning. The road
was frozen iron-hard, and the bracken lining its sides
was white with frost. The sun was very bright, but there
was little warmth to it. They rode at a loping canter,
wrapped tightly in their cloaks to ward off the biting chill.
The road undulated across the hills and valleys of
central Elenia, passing through fields lying fallow under
the winter sky. Sparhawk looked about as he rode. This
was the region where he and Kalten had grown up, and
he felt that peculiar sense of homecoming all men feel
when returning after many years to the scenes of their
childhood. The self-discipline which was so much a part
of Pandion training usually made Sparhawk suppress
any form of emotionalism, but, despite his best efforts,
certain things sometimes touched him deeply.
About midmorning, Kurik called ahead. 'There's a
rider coming up behind us,' he reported. 'He's pushing
his horse hard.'
Sparhawk reined in and wheeled Faran around.
'Kalten,' he said sharply.
'Right,' the big blond man replied,
thrusting his cloak aside so that his sword hilt was clear.
Sparhawk also cleared his sword, and the two of them
rode several hundred yards back along the road to
intercept the oncoming horseman.
Their precautions, however, proved unnecessary. The
rider was the young novice, Berit. He was wrapped in a
plain cloak, and his hands and wrists were chapped by
the morning chill. His horse, however, was lathered and
steaming. He reined in and approached them at a walk. "I
have a message for you from Lord Vanion, Sir
Sparhawk,' he said.
'What is it?' Sparhawk asked him.
'The Royal Council has legitimized Prince Lycheas.
'They did what?'
'When the kings of Thalesia, Deira, and Arcium
inSisted that a bastard could not serve as Prince Regent,
the Primate Annias called the council into session, and
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they declared the prince to be legitimate. The primate
produced a document that stated that Princess Arissa
had been married to Duke Osten of Vardenais.'
'That's absurd,' Sparhawk fumed.
'That's what Lord Vanion thought. The document
appeared to be quite genuine, though, and Duke Osten
died years ago, so there wasn't any way to refute the
claim. The Earl of Lenda examined the parchment very
closely, and finally even he had to vote to legitimize
Lycheas.'
Sparhawk swore. "I knew Duke Osten,' Kalten said. 'He was a confirmed
bachelor. There's no way he'd have married. He
despised women.'
"is there some problem?' Patriarch Dolmant asked,
riding back down the road to join them with Sephrenia,
Kurik, and Talen close behind him.
'The Royal Council has voted to legitimize Lycheas,'
Kalten told him. 'Annias produced a paper that says that
Princess Arissa was married.'
'How strange,' Dolmant said.
'And how convenient,' Sephrenia added.
'Could the document have been falsified?' Dolmant
asked.
'Easily, your Grace,' Talen told him. "I know a man in
Cimmura who could provide irrefutable proof that
Archprelate Cluvonus has nine wives - including a lady
Troll and an Ogress.'
'Well, it's done now,' Sparhawk said. "It puts Lycheas
one step closer to the throne, I'm afraid.'
'When did this happen, Berit?' Kurik asked the novice.
'Late last night.'
Kurik scratched at his beard. 'Princess Arissa's
cloistered at Demos,' he said. 'if Annias came up with
this scheme just recently, she may not know she's a
wife.'
"widow,' Berit corrected.
'All right - widow, then. Arissa's always been rather
proud of the fact that she lay down with just about every
man in Cimmura - begging your pardon, your Grace -
and that she did it on her own terms without ever having
been to the altar. If someone approached her right, it
shouldn't be too hard to get her to sign a statement that
she's never been married. Wouldn't that sort of muddy
up the waters a little?'
"where did you find this man, Sparhawk?' Kalten
asked admiringly. 'He's a treasure.'
Sparhawk was thinking very fast now. ' Legitimacy - or
illegitimacy-is a civil matter,' he noted, 'since it has to do
with inheritance rights and things such as that, but the
wedding ceremony is always a religious one, isn't it, your
Grace?'
'Yes,' Dolmant agreed.
'if you and I were to get the kind of statement from
Arissa that Kurik just mentioned, could the Church issue
a declaration of her spinsterhood?'
Dolmant considered it. "It's highly irregular,' he said
dubiously.
'But it is possible?'
"I suppose so, yes.'
'Then Annias could be ordered by the Church
to withdraw his spurious document, couldn't he?'
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'Of course.'
Sparhawk turned to Kalten. 'Who inherited Duke
Osten's lands and titles?' he asked.
'His nephew - a complete ass. He's very impressed
With his dukedom and he spends money faster than he
earns it.'
'How would he react if he were suddenly disinherited
and the lands and title were passed to Lycheas instead?'
'You'd be able to hear the screams in Thalesia.'
A slow smile crossed Sparhawk's face. "I know an honest
magistrate in Vardenais, and the affair would be in hiS
jurisdiction. If the current duke were to take the matter
into litigation, and if he presented the Church declaration
to support his position, the magistrate would rule in
his favour, wouldn't he?'
Kalten grinned broadly. 'he wouldn't have any
choice.'
'Wouldn't that sort of de-legitimize Lycheas again?'
Dolmant was smiling. Then he assumed a pious
expression. 'Let us press on to Demos, dear friends,' he
suggested. "I feel a sudden yearning to hear the confession
of a certain sinner.'
"Do you know something?' Talen said. "I always
thought that thieves were the most devious people in the
world, but nobles and churchmen make us look like
amateurs.'
'How would Platime handle the situation?' Kalten
asked as they set off again.
'He'd stick a knife in Lycheas.' Talen shrugged. 'Dead
bastards can't inherit thrones, can they?'
Kalten laughed. "It has a certain direct charm, I'll
admit.'
'You cannot solve the world's problems by murder,
Kalten,' Dolmant said disapprovingly.
'Why, your Grace, I wasn't talking about murder. The
Church Knights are the Soldiers of God. If God tells us to
kill somebody, it's an act of faith, not murder. Do you
suppose the Church could see its way clear to instruct
Sparhawk and me to dispatch Lycheas - and Annias -
and Otha too, while we're at it?'
'Absolutely not!'
Kalten sighed. "It was only a thought.'
'Who's Otha?' Talen asked curiously.
'Where did you grow up, boy?' Berit asked him.
"In the streets.'
'Even in the streets you must have heard of the
Emperor of Zemoch.'
"where's Zemoch?'
'if you'd stayed in that school I put you in, you'd
know,' Kurik growled.
"Schools bore me, Kurik,' the boy responded. 'They
spent months trying to teach me my letters. Once I
learned how to write my own name, I didn't think I
needed any of the rest of it.'
That's why you don't know where Zemoch is - or why
Otha may be the one who kills you.'
"why would somebody I don't even know want to kill
me!'
'Because you're an Elene.'
'Everybody's an Elene - except for the Styrics, of
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course.'
'This boy has a long way to go,' Kalten observed.
"Somebody ought to take him in hand.'
'if it please you, my Lords,' Berit said, choosing his
words carefully, largely, Sparhawk guessed, because of
the presence of the revered Patriarch of Demos, "I know
that you have pressing matters on your minds. I was
never more than a passing fair scholar of history, but I
will undertake the instruction of this urchin in the
rudiments of the subject.'
"I love to listen to this young man talk,' Kalten said.
'The formality almost makes me swoon with delight.'
'Urchin?' Talen objected loudly.
Berit's expression did not change. With an almost
casual backhanded swipe he knocked Talen out of his
saddle. 'Your first lesson, young man, is respect for your
teacher,' he said. 'Never question his words.'
Talen came up sputtering and with a small dagger in
his fist. Berit leaned back in his saddle and kicked him
solidly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.
'Don't you just adore the learning process?' Kalten
asked Sparhawk. 'Now, get back on your horse,' Berit said firmly,
'and pay attention. I will test you from time to time, and your
answers had better be correct.'
'Are you going to let him do this?' Talen appealed to
his father.
Kurik grinned at him.
'This isn't fair,' Talen complained, climbing back into
his saddle. He wiped at his bleeding nose. 'You see what
you did?' he accused Berit.
'Press your finger against your upper lip,' Berit suggested, '
and don't speak without permission.'
'What was that?' Talen demanded incredulously.
Berit raised his fist. '
'All right. All right,' Talen said, cringing away from the
offered blow. 'Go ahead. I'll listen.'
"I always enjoy seeing a hunger for knowledge in the
young,' Dolmant observed blandly.
And so Talen's education began as they rode on to
Demos. At first he was quite sullen about it, but after a
few hours of listening to Berit, he began to be caught up
in the story. 'Can I ask questions?' he said finally.
'Of course,' Berit replied.
'You said that there weren't any kingdoms in those
days - just a lot of duchies and the like?'
Berit nodded.
'Then how did this Abrech of Deira gain control of the
whole country in the fifteenth century? Didn't the other
nobles fight him?'
'Abrech had control of the iron mines in central Deira.
his warriors had steel weapons and armour. The people
facing him were armed with bronze - or even flint.'
That would make a difference, I guess.'
'After he had consolidated his hold on Deira, he turned
south into what's now Elenia. It didn't take him very long
to conquer the entire region. Then he moved down into
Arcium and repeated the process there. After that, he
turned towards central Eosia, Cammoria, Lamorkand,
and Pelosia.'
"did he conquer all of Eosia?'
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"no. It was about that time that the Eshandist heresy
arose in Rendor, and Abrech was persuaded by the
church to give himself over to its suppression.'
"I've heard about the Eshandists,' Talen said, 'but I
could never get the straight of what they really believe.'
"Eshand was antihierarchical.
"what does that mean?'
'The Hierarchy is composed of higher church officials
primates, patriarchs and the Archprelate. Eshand
believed that individual priests should decide matters of
theology for their congregations and that the Hierocracy
of the Church should be disbanded.'
"I can see why high churchmen disliked him then.'
'At any rate, Abrech gathered a huge army from
western and central Eosia to move against Rendor. His
eyes were fixed on heaven and so when the earls and
dukes of the lands he had conquered asked for steel
weapons - the better to fight the heretics, they said - he
gave his consent without considering the implications.
There were a few battles, but then Abrech's empire
suddenly disintegrated. Now that they had the advanced
technology that the Deirans had kept secret before, the
nobles of west and central Eosia no longer felt obliged to
pay homage to Abrech. Elenia and Arcium declared their
independence, and Cammoria, Lamorkand, and Pelosia
all coalesced into strong kingdoms. Abrech himself was
killed in a battle with the Eshandists in southern
Cammoria.'
'What's all this got to do with Zemoch?'
"I'll get to that in due time.'
Talen looked over at Kurik. 'You know,' he said, 'this is
a good story. Why didn't they tell it in that school you put
me in?'
'Probably because you didn't stay long enough to give
them the chance.'
'That's possible, I suppose.
'How much farther is it to Demos?' Kalten asked,
squinting at the late afternoon sun to gauge the time.
'About twelve leagues,' Kurik replied.
'We'll never make that before nightfall. Is there an inn
or a tavern hereabouts?'
'There's a village away up ahead. They have an inn."
'What do you think, Sparhawk?' Kalten asked.
"I suppose we might as well,' the big man agreed. 'We
wouldn't do the horses any good by riding them all night
in the cold. '
The sun was going down as they rode up a long hill
towards the village. Since it was behind them, it projected
their shadows far out to the front. The village was
small, with thatch-roofed stone houses clustered
together on either side of the road. The inn at the far end
was hardly more than a taproom with a sleeping loft on
the upper floor. The supper they were provided with,
however, was far better than the poor fare they had been
offered the previous night.
'Are we going to the motherhouse when we get to
Demos?' Kalten asked SParhawk after they had eaten in
the low, torchlit common room.
Sparhawk considered it. "It's probably being watched,'
he said. 'Escorting the Patriarch back to Chyrellos gives
us an excuse to be passing through Demos, but I'd rather
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not have anyone see his Grace and me go into the cloister
to talk with Arissa. If Annias gets any clues about what
we've got planned, he'll try to counter us. Kurik, have
you got any spare room at your house?'
There's an attic - and a hay loft.'
'Good. We'll be visiting you.'
'Aslade will be delighted.' Kurik's eyes grew troubled.
'Can I talk with you for a moment, Sparhawk?'
Sparhawk pushed back his stool and followed his
squire to the far side of the flagstone-floored room.
"you weren't really serious about leaving Talen with
Aslade, were you?' Kurik asked quietly.
'No,' Sparhawk replied, 'probably not. You were right
when you said that she might be very unhappy if she
finds out about your indiscretion, and Talen has a busy
mouth. He could let things slip.'
"What are we going to do with him, then?'
"I haven't decided yet. Berit's looking after him and
keeping him out of trouble.'
Kurik smiled. "I expect it's the first time in his life that
Talen's come up against somebody who won't tolerate
his clever mouth. That lesson may be more important
than all the history he's picking up.'
'The same thought had occurred to me.' Sparhawk
glanced over at the novice, who was talking respectfully
with Sephrenia. "I've got a feeling that Berit's going to
make a very good Pandion,' he said. 'He's got character
and intelligence, and he was very good in that fight down
in Arcium.'
'He was fighting on foot,' Kurik said. 'We'll know
better when we see how he handles a lance.'
'Kurik, you've got the soul of a drill sergeant.'
"Somebody's got to do it, Sparhawk.'
It was cold again the following morning, and the
horses' breath steamed in the frosty air as they set out.
After they had gone about a mile, Berit resumed his
instruction. 'All right,' he said to Talen, 'tell me what you
learned yesterday.' Talen was tightly wrapped in a patched old grey cloak
that had once belonged to Kurik and he was shivering,
but he glibly recited back what Berit had told him the day
before. So far as Sparhawk could tell, the boy repeated
Berit's words verbatim.
'You have a very good memory, Talen,' Berit congratulated
him.
"It's a trick,' Talen replied with uncharacteristic
modesty. "Sometimes I carry messages for Platime, so
I've learned how to memorize things.'
'Who's Platime?'
'The best thief in Cimmura - at least he was before he got so fat.'
'Do you consort with thieves?'
"I'm a thief myself, berit. It's an ancient and honourable
profession.'
'Hardly honourable.'
~that depends on your point of view. All right, what
happened after King Abrech got killed?'
The war with the Eshandists settled down into a
stalemate,' Berit took up the account. 'There were raids
back and forth across the Inner Sea and the Arcian
Straits, but the nobles on both sides had other things on
their minds. Eshand had died, and his successors were
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not nearly as zealous as he'd been. The Hierocracy of the
Church in Chyrellos kept trying to prod the nobility into
pressing the war, but the nobles were far more interested
in politics than in theology.'
'How long did it go on like that?'
'For nearly three centuries.'
They took their wars seriously in those days, didn't
they? Wait a minute. Where were the Church Knights
during all of this?'
"I'm just coming to that. When it became obvious that
the nobility had lost its enthusiasm for the war, the
hierocracy gathered in Chyrellos to consider alternatives.
What finally emerged was the idea of founding the
militant orders to continue the struggle. The knights of
the four orders all received training far beyond that given
ordinary warriors, in addition, they were given instruction
in the secrets of Styricum.'
"what are those?'
"magic.'
'Oh. Why didn't you say so?'
I did. Pay attention, Talen.'
"did the Church Knights win the war then?
They conquered all of Rendor, and the Eshandists
capitulated. During their early years the militant
orders were ambitious, and they began to carve Rendor
up into four huge duchies. But then a far worse danger
came out of the east.'
'Zemoch?' Talen guessed.
'Exactly. The invasion of Lamorkand came without
any -'
'Sparhawk!' Kalten said sharply. 'Up there.' he
pointed at a nearby hilltop. A dozen armed men had
suddenly come riding over the crest and were crashing
down through the bracken at a gallop.
Sparhawk and Kalten drew their swords and spurred
forward to meet the charge. Kurik ranged out to one side
shaking a spiked chain mace free from his saddle. Berit
took the other side wielding his heavy-bladed battle-axe.
The two armoured knights crashed into the centre of
the charge. Sparhawk felled two of the attackers in quick
SUCCeSSion as Kalten chopped another out of his saddle
with a rapid series of savage sword strokes. One man
tried to flank them, but fell twitching as Kurik's mace
crushed in the side of his head. Sparhawk and Kalten
were in the very centre of the attackers now, swinging
their heavy broadswords in vast overhead strokes. Then
Berit charged in from the flank, his axe crunching into the
bodies of the riders on that side. After a few moments of
concerted violence, the survivors broke and fled.
'What was that all about?' Kalten demanded. The
blond man was red-faced and panting from his exertions.
"I'll chase one of them down and ask him, my Lord,
Berit offered eagerly.
'No,' Sparhawk told him.
Berit's face fell.
'A novice must not volunteer, Berit,' Kurik told the
young man sternly, 'at least, not until he's proficient with
his weapons.'
"I did all right, Kurik,' Berit protested.
'Only because these people weren't very good,' Kurik
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said. 'Your swings are too wide, Berit. You leave yourself
open for counterstrokes. When we get to my farm in
Demos, I'll give you some more instruction.'
'Sparhawk!' Sephrenia cried from the bottom of the
hill.
Sparhawk spun Faran quickly around and saw five
men on foot wearing the rough smocks of Styrics running
out of the bushes beside the road towards Sephrenia,
and Talen.
, He swore and drove his spurs into Faran's flanks.
It quickly became obvious that the Styrics were trying
to' reach Sephrenia and Flute. Sephrenia, however, was
not utterly defenceless. One of the Styrics fell squealing
on the ground, clutching at his belly. Another dropped to
his knees, clawing at his eyes. The other three faltered,
futilely as it turned out, because by then Sparhawk was
THERe. He sent one man's head flying with a single swipe
of his sword, then drove his blade into the chest of
another. The last Styric tried to flee, but Faran took the bit
between his teeth and ran him down with three quick
bounds and trampled him into the earth with his steelshod
forehooves.
, Their!' SePhrenia said sharPly, Pointing at the hilltoP.
A robed and hooded figure sat astride a pale horse,
Even as the small Styric woman began her incantation, the figure
turned and rode back over the hill out of sight.
'Who were they?' Kalten asked as he joined them on
the road.
"mercenaries,' Sparhawk replied. 'You could tell by
their armOUr.'
"was that one up on the hill the leader?' Dolmant
asked. Sephrenia nodded.
'He was a Styric, wasn't he?'
'Perhaps, but perhaps something else. I sensed something
familiar about him. Once before something tried to
attack the little girl. Whatever it was, it was driven off.
This time it tried more direct means.' Her face grew
dreadfully serious. 'Sparhawk,' she said, "I think we
should ride on to Demos as quickly as we can. It's very
dangerous out here in the open.'
'We could question the wounded,' he suggested.
'Maybe they could tell us something about this mysterious
Styric who seems so interested in you and Flute.'
'They won't be able to tell you anything, Sparhawk,'
she disagreed. "if what was up there on that hill was what
I think it was, they won't even have any memory of it.'
'All right,' he decided, 'let's ride then.'
It was midafternoon when they reached Kurik's
substantial farmstead just outside Demos. The farm
showed Kurik's careful attention to detail. The logs
forming the wall of his large house had been adzed
square and they fitted tightly together with no need for
chinking. The roof was constructed of overlapping split
shales. There were several outbuildings and storage
sheds all built back into the side of the hill just behind the
house, and the two-storey barn was of substantial size.
The carefully tended kitchen garden was surrounded by
a sturdy rail fence. A single brown and white calf stood at
the fence looking wistfully at the wilted carrot tops and
frost-browned cabbages inside the garden.
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Two tall young men about the same age as Berit were
splitting firewood in the yard, and two others, slightly
older, were repairing the' barn-roof. They all wore rough
canvas smocks.
Kurik swung down from his saddle and approached
the two in the yard. 'How long has it been since you
sharpened those axes?' he demanded gruffly.
'Father!' one of the young men exclaimed. He dropped
his axe and roughly embraced Kurik. He was, Sparhawk
noticed, at least a head taller than his sire.
The other lad shouted to his brothers on the roof of the
barn, and they came sliding down to leap from the edge
with no apparent concern for life or limb.
Then Aslade came bustling out of the house. She was a
plump woman wearing a grey homespun dress and a
white apron. Her hair was touched at the temples with
silver, but the dimples in her cheeks made her look
girlish. She caught Kurik in a warm embrace, and for
several moments Sparhawk's squire was surrounded by
his family. Sparhawk watched almost wistfully.
'Regrets, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked him gently.
'A few, I suppose,' he admitted.
'You should have listened to me when you were
younger, dear one. That could be you, you know.'
"my profession's a little too dangerous for me to include a
wife and children in my life, Sephrenia.' He sighed.
'When the time comes, dear Sparhawk, you won't
even consider that.'
'The time, I think, has long since passed.'
'We'll see,' she replied mysteriously.
'We have guests, Aslade,' Kurik told his wife.
Aslade dabbed at her misty eyes with one corner of her
apron and crossed to where Sparhawk and the others sat,
still mounted. 'Welcome to our home,' she greeted them
simply. She curtsied to Sparhawk and Kalten, both of
whom she had known since they were boys. 'My Lords,'
she said formally. Then she laughed. 'Come down here,
you two,' she said, 'and give me a kiss.'
Like two clumsy boys they slid from their saddles and
embraced her. 'You're looking well, Aslade,' Sparhawk
said, trying to recover some degree of dignity in the
presence of Patriarch Dolmant.
"Thank you, my Lord,' she said with a mocking little
curtsey. Aslade had known them far too long to pay
much attention to customary usages. Then she smiled
broadly. She patted her ample hips. "I'm getting stouter,
Sparhawk,' she said. "It comes from all the tasting when I
cook, I think.' She shrugged good-humouredly. 'But you
can't tell if it's right unless you taste it.' Then she turned
to Sephrenia. 'Dear, dear Sephrenia,' she said, 'it's been
so long.'
'Too long, Aslade,' Sephrenia replied, sliding down
from the back of her white palfrey and taking Aslade in
her arms. Then she said something in Styric to Flute, and
the little girl came shyly forward and kissed Aslade's
palms.
'What a beautiful child,' Aslade said. She looked a bit
slyly at Sephrenia. 'You should have told me, my dear,'
she said. "I'm a very good midwife, you know, and I'm
just a little hurt that you didn't invite me to officiate.'
Sephrenia looked startled at that, then suddenly burst
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out laughing. "It's not like that at all, Aslade,' she said.
'There's a kinship between the child and me, but not the
one you suggested.'
Aslade smiled at Dolmant. 'Come down from your
horse, your Grace,' she invited the patriarch. 'Would the
Church permit us an embrace - a chaste one, of course?
Then you'll get your reward. I've just taken five loaves
from the oven, and they're still nice and hot.'
Dolmant's eyes brightened, and he quickly dismounted.
Aslade threw her arms about his neck and
kissed him noisily on the cheek. 'He married Kurik and
me, you know,' she said to Sephrenia.
'Yes, dear. I was there, remember?'
Aslade blushed. "I remember very little about the
ceremony,' she confessed. "I had my mind on other
things that day.' She gave Kurik a wicked little smile.
Sparhawk carefully concealed a grin when he saw his
squire's face redden noticeably.
Aslade looked inquirinngly at Berit and Talen.
The husky lad is Berit,' Kurik introduced them. 'He's a
Pandion novice.'
"you're welcome here, Berit,' she told him.
'And the boy is my - uh - apprentice,' Kurik fumbled.
"I'm training him up to be a squire.'
Aslade looked appraisingly at the young thief. 'His
clothes are a disgrace, Kurik,' she said critically.
'Couldn't you have found him something better to
wear?'
He's only recently joined us, Aslade,' Kurik explained
a little too quickly.
She looked even more sharply at Talen. 'Do you know
something, Kurik?' she said. 'He looks almost exactly the
way you looked when you were his age.'
Kurik coughed nervously. 'Coincidence,' he muttered.
Aslade smiled at Sephrenia. 'Would you believe that I
was after Kurik from the time I was six years old? It took
me ten years, but I got him in the end. Come down from
your horse, Talen. I have a trunk full of clothes my sons
have outgrown. We'll find something for you to wear.'
Talen's face had a strange, almost wistful expression as
he dismounted, and Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of
sympathy as he realized what the usually impudent boy
must be feeling. He sighed and turned to Dolmant. 'Do you
want to go to the cloister now, your Grace?' he asked.
'And leave Aslade's freshly baked bread to get cold?'
Dolmant protested. 'Be reasonable, Sparhawk.'
Sparhawk laughed as Dolmant turned to Kurik's wife.
"you have fresh butter, I hope?' he asked.
"churned yesterday morning, your Grace,' she
replied, 'and I just opened a pot of that plum jam you're
so fond of. Shall we step into the kitchen?'
'Why don't we?'
almost absently, Aslade picked up Flute in one arm
and wrapped the other about Talen's shoulders. And
then, with the children close to her, she led the way into
the house.
The walled cloister in which Princess Arissa was confined
stood in a wooded glen on the far side of the city. Men were
seldom admitted into this strict community of women, but
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Dolmant's rank and authority in the Church gained them
immediate entry. A submissive little sister with doelike
eyes and a bad complexion led them to a small garden near
the south wall where they found the princess, sister of the
late King Aldreas, sitting on a stone bench in the wan
winter sunlight with a large book in her lap.
The years had touched Arissa only lightly. Her long,
dark blonde hair was lustrous, and her eyes a pale blue,
so pale as to closely resemble the grey eyes of her niece,
Queen Ehlana, although the dark circles beneath them
spoke of long, sleepless nights filled with bitterness and a
towering resentment. Her mouth was thin-lipped rather
than sensual, and there were two hard lines of discontent
at its corners. Although Sparhawk knew that she was
approaching forty, her features were those of a much
younger woman. She did not wear the habit of the sisters
of the nunnery, but was wrapped instead in a soft red
woollen robe open at the throat, and her head was
crowned with an intricately folded wimple. "I'm
honoured by your visit, gentlemen,' she said in a husky
voice, not bothering to rise. "I have so few visitors.'
'Your Highness,' Sparhawk greeted her formally. "I
trust you've been well?'
'Well, but bored, Sparhawk.' Then she looked at
Dolmant. 'You've aged, your Grace,' she observed
spitefuly, closing her book.
'But you have not,' he replied. 'Will you accept my
blessing, Princess?'
"I think not, your Grace. The Church has done quite
enough for me already.' She looked meaningfully
around at the walls enclosing the garden, and her refusal
of the customary blessing seemed to give her some
pleasure.
He sighed. "I see,' he said. 'What is the book you read?
he asked her.
She held it up for him to see.
'The Sermons of the Primate Subata,' he noted, 'a most
instructional work.'
She smiled maliciously. 'This particular edition is even
more so,' she told him. "I had it made especially for me,
your Grace. Within this innocent-looking cover, which
deceives the Mother Superior who is my jailer, there
lirks a volume of salacious erotic poetry from Cammoria.
Would you care to have me read you a few verses?'
His eyes hardened. 'No, thank you, Princess,' he
replied coldly. 'You have not changed, I see.'
She laughed mockingly. "I see no reason to change,
Dolmant. I have merely altered my circumstances.'
"OUr visit here is not social, Princess,' he said. 'A
rumour has surfaced in Cimmura that prior to your being
cloystered here, you were secretly married to Duke Osten
,of Vardenais. Would you care to confirm-or deny that
'rumour?'
'Osten?' She laughed. 'That dried-up old stick? Who in
their right mind would marry a man like that? I like my
men yOunger, mOre ardent.'
"you deny the rumour, then?'
'Of course I deny it. I'm like the Church, Dolmant. I offer
my bounty to all men - as everyone in Cimmura knows.'
"would you sign a document declaring the rumour to
be false?'
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"I'll think about it.' She looked at Sparhawk. 'What are
you doing back in Elenia, Sir Knight? I thought my
brother exiled you.'
"I was summoned back, Arissa.'
'How very interesting.'
Sparhawk thought of something. 'Did you receive a
dispensation to attend your brother's funeral, Princess?'
he asked her.
'Why, yes, Sparhawk. The Church generously granted
me three whole days of mourning. My poor, stupid
brother looked very regal as he lay on his bier in his state
robes.' She critically examined her long, pointed fingernails. '
Death improves some people,' she added.
'You hated him, didn't you?'
"I held him in contempt, Sparhawk. There's a difference.
I always used to bathe whenever I left him.'
Sparhawk held out his hand, showing her the blood-red
ring on his finger. 'Did you happen to notice if he had
the mate to this on his finger?' he asked her.
She frowned slightly. 'No,'' she said. 'As a matter of
fact he didn't. Perhaps the brat stole it after he died.'
Sparhawk clenched his teeth.
'Poor, poor Sparhawk,' she said mockingly. 'You
cannot bear to hear the truth about your precious Ehlana,
can you? We used to laugh about your attachment to her
when she was a child. Did you have hopes, great
Champion? I saw her at my brother's funeral. She's not a
child any more, Sparhawk. She has the hips and breasts
of a woman now. But she's sealed up in a diamond, isn't
she, so you can't even touch her? All that soft, warm
skin, and you can't even put so much as a finger on it.'
"I don't think we need to pursue this, Arissa.' He narrowed
his eyes. 'Who is your son's father?' he asked
her suddenly, hoping to startle the truth out of her.
She laughed. 'How could I possibly know that?' she
asked. 'After my brother's wedding, I amused myself in A
certain establishment in Cimmura.' She rolled her eyes.
"It was both enjoyable and profitable. I made a very great
deal of money. Most of the girls there overpriced
themselves, but I learned as a child that the secret of great
wealth is to sell cheaply to many.' She looked maliciously
at Dolmant. 'Besides,' she added, 'it's a renewable
resource.'
Dolmants face grew stiff, and Arissa laughed coarsely.
"Thats enough, Princess,' Sparhawk told her. 'You
would not care then to hazard a guess as to the identity of
your bastard's father?' He said it quite deliberately,
hoping to sting her into some inadvertent revelation.
Her eyes flashed with momentary anger, then she
leaned back on the stone bench with a heavy-lidded look
of voluptuous amusement. She put her hands to the
front of her scarlet robe. "I'm a bit out of practice, but I
suppose I could improvise. Would you like to try me,
Sparhawk?'
I don't think so, Arissa.' Sparhawk's voice was flat.
'Ah, the well-known prudery of your family. What a
shame, Sparhawk. You interested me when you were a
young knight. Now you've lost your Queen, and there's
not even that pair of rings to prove the connection
between the two of you. Wouldn't that mean that you're
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no longer her Champion? Perhaps - if she recovers - you
might be able to establish a closer bond with her. She
shares my blood, you know, and it might flow as hotly
through her veins as it does through mine. If you were to
try me, you could compare and find out.'
He turned away in disgust, and she laughed again.
"Shall I send for parchment and ink, Princess,'
Dolmant asked, 'so that we may compose your denial of
the rumour concerning your marriage?'
"no, Dolmant,' she replied, "I don't think so. This
request of yours hints at the interest of the Church in this
matter. The Church has done me few favours of late, so
why should I exert myself on her behalf? If the people in
Cimmura want to amuse themselves with rumours about
me, let them. They licked their lips over the truth, now let
them enjoy a lie.'
'That's your final word then?'
"I might change my mind. Sparhawk's a Church
Knight, your Grace, and you're a patriarch. Why don't
you order him to see if he can persuade me? Sometimes I
persuade easily - sometimes not. It all depends on the
persuader. '
"I think we've concluded our business here,' Dolmant
said. 'Good day, Princess.' He turned on his heel and
started across the winter-brown lawn of the garden.
'Come back sometime when you can leave your stuffy
friend behind, Sparhawk,' Arissa said. 'We could amuse
ourselves. '
He turned without answering and followed the patriarch '
out of the garden. "I think we've wasted our time,'
he muttered, his face dark and angry.
'Ah, no, my boy,' Dolmant said serenely. "In her haste
to be offensive, the princess overlooked an important
' point in canon law. She has just made a free admission in
the presence of two ecclesiastical witnesses - you and
me. That has all the validity of a signed statement. All it
takes is our oaths as to what she said.'
Sparhawk blinked. 'Dolmant,' he said, 'you're the
most devious man I've ever known.'
"I'm glad you approve, my son.' The patriarch smiled.
!!!
*Chapter12
They left Kurik's farmstead early the following morning.
Aslade and her four sons stood in the doorway waving as
they rode out. Kurik remained behind for a few personal
farewells, promising to catch up with them a bit later.
'Are we going through the city?' Kalten asked
Sparhawk.
"I don't think so,' Sparhawk replied. 'We can take the
road that goes around the north side. I'm fairly sure that
we'll be seen, but let's not make it easy for them.'
"would you mind a personal observation?'
probably not.'
"you really ought to give some thought to letting Kurik
retire, you know. He's getting older and he should be
spending more time with his family instead of trailing
along behind you all over the world. Besides, so far as I
know, you're the only Church Knight who still has a
squire. The rest of us have learned to get along without
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them. Give him a good pension and let him stay home.'
Sparhawk squinted at the sun which was just rising
above the wooded hilltop lying to the east of Demos.
"you're probably right,' he agreed, but how would I go
about telling him? My father placed Kurik in my service
before I completed my novitiate. It has to do with being
hereditary Champion of the royal house of Elenia.' He
smiled wryly. "It's an archaic position that requires
archaic usages. Kurik's a friend more than a squire, and
I'm not going to hurt him by telling him that he's too old
to serve any more.'
"It's a problem, isn't it?'
'Yes,' Sparhawk said, ''it is.'
Kurik came riding up behind them as they were passing the cloister where
Princess Arissa was confined.
His bearded face was a bit glum, but then he straightened
his shoulders and assumed a businesslike expression.
Sparhawk looked gravely at his friend, trying to
imagine life without him. Then he shook his head. It was
totally impossible.
The road leading towards Chyrellos passed through an
evergreen forest where the morning sun streamed down
through the boughs to spatter the forest floor with gold.
The air was crisp and bright, although there was no frost.
After they had gone about a mile farther, Berit resumed
his narrative. 'The Knights of the Church were consolidating
their position in Rendor,' he told Talen, 'when
word reached Chyrellos that Emperor Otha of Zemoch
had massed a huge army and was marching into
Lamorkand.'
'Wait a minute,' Talen interrupted him. 'When did all
this happen?'
'About five hundred years ago.'
"It wasn't the same Otha Kalten was talking about the
other day then, was it?'
'So far as we know, it was.'
'That's impossible, Berit.'
'Otha is perhaps nineteen hundred years old,'
Sephrenia told the boy.
"I thought this was a history,' Talen accused, 'not a
fairy tale.'
'When Otha was a boy, he encountered the Elder God
Azash,' she explained. 'The Elder Gods of Styricum have
great powers and are not controlled by any form of
morality. One of the gifts they can bestow upon their
followers is the gift of a greatly expanded lifetime. That is
why some men are willing to follow them.'
'immortality?' he asked her sceptically.
'No,' she corrected, 'not that. No God can bestow
that.'
The Elene God can,' Dolmant said, 'in a spiritual
sense, anyway.'
That's an interesting theological point, your Grace.'
She smiled. "Someday we'll have to discuss it. Anyway,'
she continued, 'when Otha agreed to worship Azash, the
God granted him enormous power, and Otha eventually
became Emperor of Zemoch. The Styrics and the Elenes
in Zemoch have intermarried, and so a Zemoch is not
really a member of either race.'
'An abomination in the eyes of God,' Dolmant added.
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The Styric Gods feel much the same way,' Sephrenia
agreed. She looked at Talen again. 'To understand Otha -
and Zemoch one needs to understand Azash. He is the
most totally evil force on earth. The rites of the worship of
him are obscene. He delights in perversion and in blood
and in the agonies of sacrificial victims. In their worship
of him, the Zemochs have become much less than
human, and their incursion into Lamorkand was accompanied
by unspeakable horrors. Had the invading armies
been only Zemochs, however, they might have been met
and turned back by conventional forces. But Azash had
reinforced them with creatures from the underworld.'
'Goblins?' Talen asked disbelievingly.
"not exactly, but the word will serve, I suppose. It
would take most of the morning for me to describe the
twenty or so varieties of inhuman creatures Azash has at
his command, and you wouldn't like the descriptions.'
This story is getting less believable by the minute,
Talen noted. "I like the battles and all, but when you start
telling me about goblins and fairies, I begin to lose
interest. I'm not a child any more, after all.'
'in time you may come to understand - and to believe,'
she said. 'Go on with the story, Berit.'
'Yes, ma'am,' he said. 'When the Church realized the
nature of the forces that were invading Lamorkand, they
summoned the Church Knights back from Rendor. They
reinforced the ranks of the four orders with other knights
and with common soldiers until the forces of the west
were nearly as numerous as those of the Zemoch horde
of Otha.'
'Was there a battle then?' Talen asked eagerly.
'The greatest battle in the history of mankind,' Berit
replied. 'The two armies met on the plains of Lamorkand
near Lake Randera. The physical battle was gigantic, but
the supernatural battle on that plain was even more
stupendous. Waves of darkness and sheets of flame
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 crash of thunder
rolled perpetually from horizon to horizon, and the
ground itself was torn by earthquakes and the eruption
of searing liquid rock. The magic of the Zemoch priests
was countered each time by the concerted magic of the
Knights of the Church. For three days, the armies were
locked in battle before the Zemochs were pushed back.
Their retreat became more rapid, eventually turning into
a rout. Otha's horde finally broke and ran towards the
safety of the border.'
'Terrific!' Talen exclaimed excitedly. 'And then did our
army invade Zemoch?'
'They were too exhausted,' Berit told him. 'They had
won the battle, but not without great cost. Fully half of
the Church Knights lay slain upon the battlefield, and the
armies of the Elene Kings numbered their dead by the
scores of thousands."
'They could have done something, couldn't they?'
Berit nodded sadly. 'They cared for their wounded and
buried their dead. Then they went home.'
That's all?' Talen asked incredulously. 'This isn't
much of a story if that's all they did, Berit.'
They had no choice. They'd stripped the western
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kingdoms of every able-bodied man to fight the war and
had left the crops untended. Winter was coming, and
there was no food. They managed to eke their way
through that winter, but so many men had been killed or
maimed in the battle that when spring came, there
weren't enough people - in the west or in Zemoch - to
plant new crops. The result was famine. For a century,
the only concern in all of Eosia was food. The swords and
lances were put aside, and the war horses were hitched
to ploughs.'
They never talk about that sort of thing in other stories
I've heard.' Talen sniffed.
That's because those are only stories,' Berit told him.
this really happened. Anyway,' he went on, 'the war
and the famine which followed caused great changes.
The militant orders were forced to labour in the field
beside the common people, and they gradually began to
distance themselves from the Church. Pardon me, your
Grace,' he said to Dolmant, 'but at that time, the
hierocracy was too far removed from the concerns of the
commons fully to understand their suffering.'
There's no need to apologize, Berit,' Dolmant replied
sadly. The Church has freely admitted her blunders
during that era.'
Berit nodded. 'The Church Knights became increasingly
secularized. The original intent of the Hierocracy
had been that the knights should be armed monks who
would live in their chapterhouses when they weren't
fighting. That concept began to fade. The dreadful
casualties in their ranks made it necessary for them to
seek a source for new recruits. The preceptors of the
orders journeyed to Chyrellos and laid the problem
before the Hierocracy in the strongest of terms. The main
stumbling block to recruitment had always been the vow
of celibacy. At the insistence of the preceptors, the
Hierocracy relaxed that rule, and Church Knights were
permitted to take wives and father children.'
'Are you married, Sparhawk?' Talen suddenly asked.
'No,' the knight replied.
'Why not?'
'He hasn't found any woman sily enough to have
him.' Kalten laughed. 'He's not very pretty to begin with
and he's got a foul temper.'
Talen looked at Berit. 'That's the end of the story,
then?' he asked critically. 'A good story needs to end,
you know - something like, "and they all lived happily
ever after." Yours just sort of dribbles off without going
anyplace.'
'History just keeps going, Talen. There aren't any ends.
The militant orders are now as much involved in political
affairs as they are in the affairs of the Church, and no one
can say what lies in store for them in the future.'
Dolmant sighed. 'All too true,' he agreed. "I wish it
might have been otherwise, but perhaps God had HiS
reasons for ordaining things this way.'
'Wait a minute,' Talen objected. 'This all started when
you were going to tell me about Otha and Zemoch. He
sort of fell out of the story away back. Why are we so
worried about him now?'
'Otha is mobilizing his armies again,' Sparhawk told
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him.
"Are we doing anything about it?'
'We're watching him. If he comes again, we'll meet
him the same way we did last time.' Sparhawk looked
around at the yellow grass gleaming in the bright
morning sunlight. 'if we want to get to Chyrellos before
the month's out, we're going to have to move a little
faster,' he said, touching his spurs to Faran's flanks.
They rode east for three days, stopping each night in
wayside inns. Sparhawk concealed a certain tolerant
amusement as Talen, inspired by Berit's recounting of
the age-old story, fiercely beheaded thistles with a stick
as they rode along. It was midafternoon of the third day
when they crested a long hill to look down upon the vast
sprawl of Chyrellos, the seat of the Elene Church. The
city lay within no specific kingdom, but sat instead at the
place where Elenia, Arcium, Cammoria, Lamorkand,
and Pelosia touched. It was by far the largest city in all of
Eosia. Since it was a Church city, it was dotted with
spires and domes, at certain times of the day, the air
above it shimmered with the sound of bells, calling the
faithful to prayer. No city so large, however, could be
given over entirely to churches. Commerce, almost as
much as religion, dominated the society of the holy city,
and the palaces of wealthy merchants vied with those of
the Patriarchs of the Church for splendour and opulence.
The centre and focus of the city, however, was the
Basilica of Chyrellos, a vast, domed cathedral of gleaming
marble erected to the glory of God. The power
emanating from the Basilica was enormous, and it
touched the lives of all Elenes from the snowy wastes of
northern Thalesia to the deserts of Rendor.
Talen, who until now had never been out of Cimmura,
'gaped in astonishment at the enormous city spread
before them, gleaming in the winter sunlight. 'Good
God!' he breathed almost reverently.
'Yes,' Dolmant agreed. 'He is good, and this is one of
His most splendid works.'
Flute, however, seemed unimpressed. She drew out
her pipes and played a mocking little melody on them as
if to dismiss all the splendours of Chyrellos as unimportant.
'
Will you go directly to the Basilica, your Grace?'
Sparhawk asked.
'No,' Dolmant replied. "It's been a tiring journey, and
I'll need my wits about me when I present this matter to
the Hierocracy. Annias has many friends in the highest
councels of the Church, and they won't like what I'm
'going to say to them.'
'They can't possibly doubt your words, your Grace.'
'Perhaps not, but they can try to twist them around.'
Dolmant tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. "I think my
report might have more impact if I have corroboration.
Are you any good at public appearances?'
'Only if he can use his sword,' Kalten said.
Dolmant smiled faintly. 'Come to my house tomorrow,
Sparhawk. We'll go over your testimony together.'
'is that altogether legal, your Grace?' Sparhawk asked.
"I won't ask you to lie under oath, Sparhawk. All I want
to do is suggest to you how you should phrase your
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answers to certain questions.' He smiled again. "I don't
want you to surprise me when we're before the
Hierocracy. I hate surprises.'
'All right then, your Grace,' Sparhawk agreed.
They rode on down the hill to the great bronze gates of
the holy city. The guards there saluted Dolmant and let
them all pass without question. Beyond the gate lay a
broad street that could only be called a boulevard. Huge
houses stood on either side, seeming almost to shoulder
at each other in their eagerness to command the undivided
attention of passers-by. The street teemed with
people. Although many of them wore the drab smocks of
workmen, the vast majority were garbed in sombre,
eclesiastical black.
'is everybody here a churchman?' Talen asked. The
boys eyes were wide as the sights of Chyrellos overwhelmed
him. The cynical young thief from the back
alleys of Cimmura had finally seen something he could
not shrug off.
'Hardly,' Kalten replied, 'but in Chyrellos one commands
a bit more respect if he's thought to be affiliated
with the Church, so everybody wears black.'
"frankly, I wouldn't mind seeing a bit more colour in
the streets of Chyrellos,' Dolmant said. 'All this unrelieved
black depresses me.'
"why not start a new trend then, your Grace?' Kalten
suggested. 'The next time you present yourself at the
Basilica, wear a pink cassock - or maybe emerald green.
You'd look very nice in green.'
the dome would collapse if I did,' Dolmant said
"rryly.
The patriarch's house, unlike the palaces of most other
high churchmen, was simple and unadorned. It was set
back from the street and was surrounded by
well-trimmed shrubs and an iron fence.
"we'll go on to the chapterhouse then, your Grace,'
sparhawk said as they stopped at Dolmant's gate.
The patriarch nodded. 'And I'll see you tomorrow.'
Sparhawk saluted and then led the others on down the
street.
He's a good man, isn't he?' Kalten said.
'One of the best,' Sparhawk replied. 'The church is
lucky~ to have him.'
The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Chyrellos
was a bleak-looking stone building on a little-travelled
side street. Although it was not moated as was the one in
Cimmura, it was nonetheless surrounded by a high wall
and blocked off from the street by a formidable gate.
Sparhawk went through the ritual which gained them
entry, and they dismounted in the courtyard. The
governor of the chapterhouse, a stout man named
nashan, came bustling down the stairs to greet them.
'Our house is honoured, Sir Sparhawk,' he said, clasping
the big knight's hand. 'How did things turn out in
Cimmura?'
'We managed to pull Annias' teeth,' Sparhawk
replied.
'How did he take it?'
'He looked a little sick.'
'Good.' Nashan turned to Sephrenia. 'Welcome, little
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mother,' he greeted her, kissing both her palms.
'Nashan,' she replied gravely. "I see that you're not
missing too many meals.'
He laughed and slapped at his paunch. 'Every man
needs a vice or two,' he said. 'Come inside, all of you. I've
smuggled a skin of Arcian red into the house - for my
stomach's sake, of course - and we can all have a goblet
Or tWo.'
'You see how it works, Sparhawk?' Kalten said. 'Rules
can be bent if you know the right people.'
Nashan's study was draped and carpeted in red, and
the ornate table which served as his desk was inlaid with
gold and mother of pearl. 'A gesture,' he said apologetically
as he led them into the room and looked about. "In
Chyrellos, we must make these little genuflections in the
direction of opulence if we are to be taken seriously.'
"It's all right, Nashan,' Sephrenia told him. 'You
weren't selected as governor of this chapterhouse
because of your humility.'
'One must keep up appearances, Sephrenia,' he said.
He sighed. "I was never that good a knight,' he admitted.
"I'm at best only mediocre with the lance, and most of my
spells tend to crumble on me about halfway through.'
He drew in a deep breath and looked around. "I'm a good
administrator, though. I know the Church and her
politics, and I can serve the order and Lord Vanion in that
arena probably far better than I could on the field.'
'We all do what we can,' Sparhawk told him. "I'm told
that God appreciates our best efforts.'
"Sometimes I feel that I've disappointed Him,' Nashan
said. "Somewhere deep inside me I think I might have
done better.'
'Don't flagellate yourself, Nashan,' Sephrenia
advised. 'The Elene God is reputed to be most forgiving.
you've done what you could.'
They took seats around Nashan's ornate table, and the
governor summoned an acolyte who brought goblets
and the skin of the deep Arcian wine. At Sephrenia's
request, he also sent for tea for her and milk for Flute and
Talen.
"we don't necessarily need to mention this to Lord
Vanion, do we?' Nashan said to Sparhawk as he lifted the
wineskin.
"wild horses couldn't drag it out of me, my Lord,
Sparhawk told him, holding out his goblet.
'So,' Kalten said, 'what's happening here in
chirellos?'
Troubled times, Kalten,' Nashan replied. 'Troubled
times. The Archprelate ages, and the entire city is
holding its breath in anticipation of his death.'
"who will be the new Archprelate?' Sparhawk asked.
'At the moment there's no way to know. Cluvonus is in
no condition to name a successor, and Annias of Cimmura
is spending money like water to gain the throne.'
"what about Dolmant?' Kalten asked.
'He's too self-effacing' , I'm afraid,' Nashan replied
'He's so dedicated to the Church that he doesn't have the
sense of self that one needs to have to aspire to the golden
throne in the Basilica. Not only that, he's made enemies.'
"I like enemies.' Kalten grinned. 'They give you a
reason to keep your sword sharp.'
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Nashan looked at Sephrenia. 'is there something afoot
in Styricum?' he asked her.
'What exactly do you mean?'
'The city is suddenly awash with Styrics,' he replied.
'They say that they're here to seek instruction in the
Elene faith.'
'That's absurd.'
"I thought so myself. The Church has been trying to
convert the Styrics for three thousand years without
much success, and now they come flocking to Chyrellos,
of their own accord begging to be converted.'
'No sane Styric would do that,' she insisted. 'Our Gods
are jealous, and they punish apostasy severely.' Her eyes
narrowed. 'Have any of these pilgrims identified their
place of origin?' she asked.
'Not that I've heard. They all look like common rural
Styrics.'
'Perhaps they've made a longer journey than they're
willing to reveal.'
'You think they might be Zemochs?' Sparhawk asked
her.
'Otha's already infested eastern Lamorkand with his
agents,' she replied. 'Chyrellos is the centre of the Elene
world. It's a logical place for espionage and disruption.'
She considered it. 'We're likely to be here for a while,' she
observed. 'we have to wait for the arrival of the knights
from the other orders. I think that perhaps we might
spend the time investigating these unusual postulants.'
"I can't really get too much involved in that,' Sparhawk
disagreed. "I have things far more important on my mind
just now. We'll deal with Otha and his Zemochs when
the time comes. Right now I have to concentrate on
restoring Ehlana to her throne and preventing the deaths
of certain friends.' He spoke obliquely, since he had kept
to himself the details of what she had told him had taken
place in the throne room in Cimmura.
"It's all right, Sparhawk,' she assured him. "I understand
your concern. I'll take Kalten with me, and we'll
see what we can turn up.'
They spent the remainder of the day in quiet conversation
in Nashan's ornate study, and the following morning
Sparhawk dressed in a mail coat and a simple hooded
robe and rode across town to Dolmant's house, where
the two of them carefully went over what had happened
in Cimmura and Arcium. "It would be futile to level any
direct charges at Annias,' Dolmant said, 'so it's probably
best to omit any references to him - or to Harparin. Let's
just present the affair as a plot to discredit the Pandion
Order and leave it at that. The Hierocracy will draw its
own conclusions.' He smiled faintly. 'The least damaging
of those conclusions will be that Annias made a fool of
himself in public. If nothing else, that might help to
stiffen the resolve of the neutral patriarchs when the time
comes to select a new Archprelate.'
That's something, anyway,' Sparhawk said. 'Are we
going to present the matter of Arissa's so-called marriage
at the same time?'
I don't think so,' Dolmant replied. "It's really not a
significant enough thing to require the consideration of
the entire Hierocracy. The declarations of Arissa's
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sBpinsterhood can come from the Patriarch of Vardenais.
The alleged wedding took place in his district, and he
would be the logical one to draw up the denial that it took
place.' A smile touched his ascetic face. 'Besides,' he
added, 'he's a friend of mine.'
'Clever,' Sparhawk said admiringly.
"I rather liked it,' Dolmant said modestly.
'When are we going before the Hierocracy?'
'Tomorrow morning. There's no point in waiting. All
that would do is give Annias time to alert his friends in
the Basilica.'
'Do you want me to come by here and ride to the
Basilica with you?'
'No. Let's go in separately. Let's not give them the
slightest hint of what we're up to.'
'You're very good at political chicanery, your Grace.'
Sparhawk grinnned.
'Of course I am. How do you think I got to be a
patriarch? Come to the Basilica during the third hour
after sunrise. That should give me time to present my
report first and to answer all the questions and objections
that Annias' supporters are likely to raise.'
'Very well, your Grace,' Sparhawk said, rising to his
feet.
'Be careful tomorrow, Sparhawk. They'll try to trip you
up. And for God's sake, don't lose your temper.'
"I'll try to remember that.'
The following morning Sparhawk dressed carefully.
His black armour gleamed, and his cape and silver
surcoat had been freshly pressed. Faran had been
groomed until his roan coat shone, and his hooves had
been oiled to make them glossy.
'Don't let them back you into a corner, Sparhawk,'
Kalten warned as he and Kurik boosted the big man into
his saddle. 'Churchmen can be very devious.'
"I'll watch myself.' Sparhawk gathered his reins and
nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan pranced out
through the chapterhouse gate and into the teeming
streets of the holy city. The domed Basilica of Chyrellos
dominated the entire
city. It was built on a low hill, and it soared towards
heaven, gleaming in the wintry sun. The guards at the
bronze portal admitted Sparhawk respectfully, and he
dismountted before the marble stairs that led up to the
great doors. He handed Faran's reins to a monk, adjusted
the strap on his shield, and then mounted the steps, his
spurs ringing on the marble. At the top of the stairs, an
officious young churchman in a black cassock blocked his
path. 'Sir Knight,' the young man protested, 'you may
not enter while under arms.'
"you're wrong, your Reverence,' Sparhawk told him.
~those rules don't apply to the militant orders.'
"I've never heard of any such exception.'
"you have now. I don't want any trouble with you,
friend, but I've been summoned by Patriarch Dolmant
and I'm going inside.'
"but -'
"there's an extensive library here, neighbour. Why
don't you go look up the rules again? I'm sure you'll find
that you've missed a few. Now stand aside.' He brushed
past the man in the black cassock and went on into the
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cool incense-smelling cathedral. He made the customary
bow towards the jewel-encrusted altar and moved on
down the broad central aisle in the multi-coloured light
streaming through tall, stained-glass windows. A sacristan
stood by the altar vigorously polishing a silver
chalice.
"Good morning, friend,' Sparhawk said to him in his
quiet voice.
The sacristan almost dropped the chalice. 'You startled
me, Sir Knight,' he said, laughing nervously. "I didn't
hear you come up behind me.'
"it's the carpeting,' Sparhawk said. "It muffles the
sound of footsteps. I understand that the members of the
hierocracy are in session.'
The sacristan nodded.
'Patriarch Dolmant summoned me to testify in a matter
he's presenting this morning. Could you tell me where
they're meeting?'
"In the Archprelate's audience chamber, I believe. Do you want me to show
you the way, Sir Knight?'
"I know where it is. Thanks, neighbour.' Sparhawk
went across the front of the nave and out through a side
door into an echoing marble corridor. He removed his
helm and tucked it under his arm and proceeded on
along the corridor until he reached a large room where a
dozen churchmen sat at tables sorting through stacks of
documents. One of the black-robed men looked up, saw
Sparhawk in the doorway, and rose. 'May I help you, Sir
Knight?' he asked. The top of his head was bald, and
wispy ~' tufts of grey hair stuck out over his ears like wings.
'The name is Sparhawk, your Reverence. The Patriarch
Dolmant summoned me.'
'Ah, yes,' the bald churchman said. 'The patriarch
advised me that he was expecting you. I'll go and tell him
that you've arrived. Would you care to sit down while
you're waiting?'
'No thanks,' your Reverence. I'll stand. It's a little
awkward to sit down when you're wearing a sword.'
The churchman smiled a bit wistfully. "I wouldn't
know about that,' he said. 'What's it like?'
"It's overrated,' Sparhawk told him. 'Would you tell
the patriarch that I'm here?'
'At once, Sir Sparhawk.' The churchman turned and
crossed the room to the far door with his sandals
slapping on the marble floor. After a few moments he
came back. 'The patriarch says that you're to go right on
in. The Archprelate's with them.'
'That's a surprise. I've heard that he's been ill.'
'This is one of his better days, I think.' The churchman
led the way across the room and opened the door for
Sparhawk.
The audience chamber was flanked on either side by
tier upon tier of high-backed benches. The benches were
filled with elderly churchmen in sober black, the
Hierocracy of the Elene Church. At the front of the room
on a raised dais sat a large golden throne, and seated
upon that throne in a white satin robe and golden mitre
was the Archprelate Cluvonus. The old man was dozing.
in the centre of the room stood an ornate lectern.
Dolmant was there with a sheaf of parchment on the
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slanted shelf before him. 'Ah,' he said, 'Sir Sparhawk. So
good of you to come.'
'My pleasure, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied.
"brothers,' Dolmant said to the other members of the
hierocracy, "I have the honour to present the Pandion
Knight, Sir Sparhawk.'
"we have heard of Sir Sparhawk,' a lean-faced patriarch
seated in the front tier on the left said coldly. 'Why is
he here, Dolmant?'
To present evidence in the matter we were just
discussing, Makova,' Dolmant replied distantly.
"I have heard quite enough already.'
Speak for yourself, Makova,' a jovial-looking fat man
said from the right tier. 'The militant orders are the arm of
the" church, and their members are always welcome at
our deliberations.'
The two men glared at each other.
"Since Sir Sparhawk was instrumental in uncovering
and thwarting this plot,' Dolmant said smoothly, "I
thought that his testimony might prove enlightening.'
"just get on with it, Dolmant,' the lean-faced patriarch
on the left said irritably. "we have matters of much
greater importance to take uP this morning.'
.it shall be as the esteemed Patriarch of Coombe
wishes.' Dolmant bowed. 'Sir Sparhawk,' he said then,
'do you give your oath as a Knight of the Church that
your testimony shall be the truth?'
"I do, your Grace,' Sparhawk affirmed.
'Please tell the assembly how you uncovered this plot.'
'Of course, your Grace.' Sparhawk then recounted
most of the conversation between Harparin and Krager,
omitting their names, the name of the Primate Annias,
and all references to Ehlana.
'is it your custom to eavesdrop on private conversations,
Sir Sparhawk?' Makova asked a bit spitefully.
'When it involves the security of the Church or the
State, yes, your Grace. I'm sworn to defend both.'
'Ah, yes. I'd forgotten that you are also the Champion
of the Queen of Elenia. Does that sometime's not divide
your loyalties, Sir Sparhawk?'
"It hasn't so far, your Grace. The interests of the
Church and the State are seldom in conflict with each
other in Elenia.'
'Well said, Sir Sparhawk,' the fat churchman on the
right approved.
The Patriarch of Coombe leaned over and whispered
something to the sallow man sitting beside him.
'What did you do after you learned of this conspiracy
Sir Sparhawk?' Dolmant asked then.
'We gathered our forces and rode down into Arcium to
intercept the men who were to carry out the attack.'
'And why did you not advise the Primate of Cimmura
of this so-called conspiracy?' Makova asked.
'The scheme involved an attack on a house in Arcium,
your Grace,' Sparhawk replied. 'The Primate of
Cimmura has no authority there, so the matter didn't
concern him.'
'Nor the Pandions either, I should say. Why did you
not just alert the Cyrinic Knights and let them deal with
things?' Makova looked around smugly at those seated
near him as if he had just made a killing point.
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The plot was designed to discredit our order, your
Grace. We felt that gave us sufficient reason to attend to
the matter ourselves. Besides, the Cyrinics have their
Own concerns, and we didn't want to trouble them with
so minor an affair.'
Makova grunted sourly.
What happened then, Sir Sparhawk?' Dolmant asked.
Things went more or less as expected, your Grace. We
saW~ Count Radun, then, when the mercenaries
arrived, we fell on them from behind. Not very many of
them escaped.'
"you attacked them from behind without warning?'
Patriarch Makova looked outraged. 'is this the vaunted
heroism of the Pandion Knights?'
"you're nit-picking, Makova,' the jovial-looking man
on the other side of the aisle snorted. 'Your precious
Primate Annias made a fool of himself. quit trying to
smooth it over by attacking this knight and trying to
ruin his testimony.' He looked shrewdly at
Sparhawk. 'Would you care to hazard a guess as to the
perpetrators of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?' he asked.
"we are not here to listen to speculation, Emban,'
macova snapped quickly. 'The witness can testify only to
what he knows, not what he guesses.'
The Patriarch of Coombe is right, your Grace,' Sparhawk
said to Patriarch Emban. "I swore to speak only the
truth and guesses usually fly wide of that mark. The
Order has offended many people in the past
century or so. We are sometimes an acerbic group of
knights stiff-necked and unforgiving. Many find that
frailty in us unpleasant, and old hatreds die hard.'
"true,' Emban conceded. 'if it came to the defence of
the church however, I would prefer to place my trust in
you stiff-necked and unforgiving Pandions rather than
some others I could name. Old hatreds, as you say, die
hard, but so do new ones. I've heard about what's going
on in Elenia, and it's not too hard to pick out somebody
who might profit from the Pandions' disgrace.'
'Do you dare to accuse the Primate Annias?' Makova
cried, jumping to his feet with his eyes bulging.
'Oh, sit down, Makova,' Emban said in disgust. 'You
contaminate us by your very presence. Everybody in this
chamber knows who owns you.'
'You accuse me?'
'Who paid for that new palace of yours, Makova? Six
months ago you tried to borrow money from me, and
now you seem to have all you need. Isn't that curious?
Who's subsidizing you, Makova?'
'What's all the shouting about?" a feeble voice asked.
Sparhawk looked sharply at the golden throne at the
front of the chamber. The Archprelate Cluvonus had
come awake and was blinking in confusion as he looked
around. The old man's head was wobbling on his stringy
neck, and his eyes were bleary.
'A spirited discussion, Most Holy,' Dolmant said
mildly. 'Now you've gone and woken me up,' the Archprelate
said petulantly, 'and I was having such a nice dream.' He
reached up, pulled off his mitre, and threw it on the floor.
Then he sank back on his throne, pouting.
'Would the Archprelate care to hear of the matter
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under discussion?' Dolmant asked.
'No, I wouldn't,' Cluvonus snapped. 'So there.' Then
he cackled as if his infantile outburst had been some
enormous joke. The laughter trailed off and he scowled
at them. "I want to go back to my room,' he declared. 'Get
out of here, all of you.' The Hierocracy rose to its feet and
began to file out.
"you too, Dolmant,' the Archprelate insisted in a shrill
voice. 'And send Sister Clentis to me. She's the only one
who really cares about me.'
'As you wish, Most Holy,' Dolmant said, bowing.
When they were outside, Sparhawk walked beside the
Patriarch of Demos. 'How long has he been like this?' he
asked.
Dolmant sighed. 'For a year now at least,' he replied.
'His mind has been failing for quite some time, but it's
only in the past year that his senility has reached this
level.'
"Who is Sister Clentis?'
'His keeper - his nursemaid, actually.'
"is his condition widely known?'
"There are rumours, of course, but we've managed to
keep his true state a secret.' Dolmant sighed again. 'Don't
judge~ him by the way he is now, Sparhawk. When he was
younger, he honoured the throne of the Archprelacy.'
Sparhawk nodded. "I know,' he agreed. 'How is his
health otherwise?'
"not good. He's very frail. It cannot be much longer.'
'Perhaps that's why Annias is beginning to move so
quickly.' Sparhawk shifted his silver-embossed shield.
"Time's on his side, you know.'
Dolmant made a sour face. 'Yes,' he agreed. 'That's
what makes your mission so vital.'
Another churchman came up to join them. 'Well,
Dolmant,' he said, 'a very interesting morning. just how
deeply was Annias involved in the scheme?'
"I didn't say anything about the Primate of Cimmura,
Yarris,' Dolmant protested with mock innocence.
"you didn't have to. It all fits together a bit too neatly. I
don't think anybody on the council missed your point.'
"do you know the Patriarch of Vardenais, Sparhawk?'
Dolmant asked.
'We've met a few times.' Sparhawk bowed slightly to
the other churchman, his armour creaking. 'Your Grace,
he said.
"It's good to see you again, Sir Sparhawk,' Yarris
replied. 'How are things in Cimmura?'
'Tense,' Sparhawk said.
Patriarch Yarris looked at Dolmant. 'You know that
Makova's going to report everything that happened this
morning to Annias, don't you?'
"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret. Annias made an ass
of himself. Considering his aspirations, that element of
his personality is highly relevant.'
"It is indeed, Dolmant. You've made another enemy
this morning.'
'Makova's never been that fond of me anyway.
Incidentally, Yarris, Sparhawk and I would like to
present a certain matter to you for your consideration.'
'Oh?'
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"It involves another ploy by the Primate of Cimmura.'
'Then let's thwart him, by all means.'
"I was hoping you might feel that way about it.'
'What's he up to this time?'
'He presented a spurious marriage certificate to the
Royal Council in Cimmura.'
'Who got married?'
'Princess Arissa and Duke Osten.'
'That's ridiculous.'
'Princess Arissa said almost the same thing.'
'You'll swear to that?'
Dolmant nodded. 'So will Sparhawk,' he added.
"I assume that the point of the whole thing was to
legitimize Lycheas?'
Dolmant nodded again. 'Well, then. Why don't we see if we can
disrupt that?
Let's go speak with my secretary. He can draw up the
necessary document.' The Patriarch of Vardenais
chuckled. 'Annias is having a bad month, I'd say. This
will make two plots in a row that have failed - and
Sparhawk's been involved both times.' He looked at the
big Pandion. 'Keep your armour on, my boy,' he
suggested. 'Annias might decide to have the area
between your shoulder blades decorated with a dagger
hilt.'
After Dolmant and Sparhawk had given their depositions
concerning the statements of Princess Arissa, they
left the Patriarch of Vardenais and continued along the
corridor to the nave of the Basilica.
"dolmant,' Sparhawk said, 'do you have any idea
about why so many Styrics are here in Chyrellos?'
"I've heard about it. The story is that they're seeking
instruction in our faith.
'Sephrenia says that's an absurdity.'
Dolmant made a wry face. "She's probably right. I've
laboured for a lifetime and I haven't as yet managed to
convert a single Styric.'
"they're very attached to their Gods,' Sparhawk said.
"I'm not trying to be offensive, Dolmant, but there seems
to be a very close personal relationship between the
Styrics and their Gods. Our God is perhaps a bit remote.'
'I'll mention that the next time I talk to Him.' Dolmant
smiled. "I'm sure He values your opinion.'
Sparhawk laughed. "It was a bit presumptuous, wasn't it?"
"yes, as a matter of fact it was. How long do you think
it's 'going to be until you can leave for Borrata?'
'Several days, anyway. I hate to lose the time, but the
knights from the other orders have long journeys to
make to reach Chyrellos, and I'm more or less obliged to
wait for them. All this waiting is making me very
impatient, but there's no help for it, I'm afraid.' He
pursed his lips. "I think I'll spend the time nosing around
a bit. It'll give me something to do, and all these Styrics
are making me curious.'
'Be careful in the streets of Chyrellos, Sparhawk,
Dolmant advised seriously. 'They can be very
dangerous. '
'The whole world is dangerous lately, Dolmant. I'll
keep you posted on what I find out.' Then Sparhawk
turned and went down the corridor with his spurs
clinking on the marble floor.
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!!!
*Chapter13
It was nearly noon when Sparhawk returned to the
chapterhouse. He had ridden slowly through the busy
streets of the holy city, Paying scant attention to the
crowds around him. The deterioration of the Archprelate
cluvonus had saddened him. Despite the rumours that
had been circulating of late, actually to see the revered
old man's condition had come as a profound personal
shock.
He stopped at the heavy gate and Perfunctorily went
through the ritual that admitted him. Kalten was waiting
in the courtyard. 'Well?' the blond man asked. 'How did
it go!'
Sparhawk dismounted heavily and pulled off his
helmet. I don't know if we changed any minds,' he
replied. ~the Patriarchs who support Annias still support
him, the ones who oppose him are still on our side, and
those who are neutral are still on the fence.'
It was a' waste of time, then?'
"not entirely, I guess. After this, it might be a little
harder for Annias to win over any more uncommitted
patriarchs."
"I wish you'd make up your mind, Sparhawk.' Kalten
looked closely at his friend. 'You're in a sour mood. What
~ happened?'
cluvonus was there.'
'That's a surprise. how did he look?'
'Awful.'
'He is eighty-five, Sparhawk. You couldn't expect him
to look very impressive. People wear out, you know.'
'His mind has gone, Kalten,' Sparhawk said sadly.
'He's childish now. Dolmant doesn't think he's going to
last much longer.'
'That bad?'
Sparhawk nodded.
'That makes it fairly important for us to get to Borrata
and back in a hurry then, doesn't it?'
'Urgent,' Sparhawk agreed.
'Do you think we should ride on ahead and let the
knights from the other orders catch up with us later?'
"I wish we could. I hate the idea of Ehlana sitting alone
in that throne room, but I don't think we dare. Komier
was right about a show of unity and the other orders are
sometimes a little touchy. Let's not start off by offending
them. '
'Did you and Dolmant talk to somebody about Arissa?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'The Patriarch of Vardenais is
handling it. '
'The day wasn't an absolute waste, then.'
Sparhawk grunted. "I want to change out of this.' He
rapped on the breastplate of his armour with his
knuckles.
'You want me to unsaddle Faran for you?'
'No. I'll be going back out. Where's Sephrenia?'
"in her room, I think.'
'Have somebody saddle her horse.
'is she going somewhere?'
'Probably.' Sparhawk went on up the stairs and
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entered the chapterhouse.
It was about a quarter of an hour later when he tapped
on Sephrenia's door. He had removed his armour and
now wore a mail coat beneath a nondescript grey cloak
that bore no insignia of his rank or his order. "It's me,
Sephrenia,' he said through the panels of the door.
'Come in, Sparhawk,' she said.
He opened the door and stepped in quietly.
She was sitting in a large chair with Flute in her lap.
The child was sleeping with a contented little smile on
her face. 'Did things go well at the Basilica?' Sephrenia
asked.
"It's a little hard to say,' he replied. 'Churchmen are
very good at hiding their emotions. Did you and Kalten
find out anything about all the Styrics here in Chyrellos
yesterday?'
She nodded. 'They're concentrated in the quarter near
the east gate. They have a house there somewhere that
seems to be a headquarters of some sort. We weren't able
to locate it exactly, though.'
'Why don't we go see if we can find it?' he suggested. "I
need something to do. I'm feeling a bit restless.'
'Restless? You, Sparhawk? The man of stone?'
'impatience, I suppose. I want to get started for
Borrata. '
She nodded. Then she rose, lifting Flute easily, and
laid the child on the bed. Gently she covered the little girl
with a grey woollen blanket. Flute briefly opened her
dark eyes, then smiled and went back to sleep. Sephrenia
kissed the small face, then turned to Sparhawk. "Shall we
go then?' she said.
'You're very fond of her, aren't you?' Sparhawk asked
as the two of them walked along the corridor leading
towards the courtyard.
"It goes a bit deeper than that. Someday perhaps you'll
understand. '
'Have you any idea where this Styric house might be?'
there's a shopkeeper in the market near the east gate.
He sold some Styrics a number of sides of meat. The
porter who delivered them knows where the house is.'
'Why didn't you question the porter?'
'He wasn't there yesterday.'
'Maybe he'll make it to work today.'
"It's worth a try.'
He stopped and gave her a direct look. 'I'm not trying
to pry into the secrets you've chosen not to reveal,
Sephrenia, but could you distinguish between ordinary
rural Styrics and Zemochs?'
"It's possible,' she admitted, 'unless they're taking
steps to conceal their true identity.'
They went on down into the courtyard where Kalten
waited with Faran and Sephrenia's white palfrey. The
blond knight had an angry expression on his face. 'Your
horse bit me, Sparhawk,' he said accusingly.
'You know him well enough not to turn your back on
him. Did he draw blood?'
'No,' Kalten admitted.
'Then he was only being playful. It shows that he likes
you.'
'Thanks,' Kalten said flatly. 'Do you want me to come
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along?'
'No. I think we want to be more or less inconspicuous,
and on occasion you have trouble managing that.'
"Sometimes your charm overwhelms me, Sparhawk.'
'We're sworn to speak the truth.' Sparhawk helped
Sephrenia into her saddle, then mounted Faran. 'We
should be back before dark,' he told his friend.
'Don't hurry on my account.'
Sparhawk led the small Styric woman out through the
gate and into the side street beyond.
'He turns everything into a joke, doesn't he?'
Sephrenia observed.
'Most things, yes. He's been laughing at the world
since he was a boy. I think that's why I like him so much.
My view of things tends to be a little more bleak, and he
helps me keep my perspective.'
They rode on through the now-teeming streets of
Chyrellos. Although many local merchants affected the
sombre black of churchmen, visitors usually did not, and
their bright clothing stood out by contrast. Travellers
from Cammoria in particular were highly colourful, since
their customary silk garments did not fade with the
passage of time and remained brightly red or green or
BLUE.
The market place to which Sephrenia led him was
some distance from the chapterhouse, and it was
perhaps three-quarters of an hour before they reached it.
'How did you find this shopkeeper?' Sparhawk asked.
'There are certain staples in the Styric diet,' she
replied. 'Elenes don't eat those things very often.'
"I thought you said that this porter delivered some
sides of meat.'
'Goat, Sparhawk. Elenes don't care much for goat.'
He shuddered.
'How provincial you are,' she said lightly. 'if it doesn't
come from a cow, you won't eat it.'
"I suppose it's what you're used to.'
'I'd better go to the shop alone,' she said. "Sometimes
you're a bit intimidating, dear one. We want answers
from the porter, and we might not get them if you
frighten him. Watch my horse.' She handed him her
reins and then moved off through the market. Sparhawk
watched as she went across the bustling square to speak
with a shabby-looking fellow in a blood-smeared canvas
smock. After a short time she returned. He got down and
helped her back onto her horse.
'Did he tell you where the house is?' he asked.
She nodded. "It's not far - near the east gate.'
'Let's go have a look.'
As they started out, Sparhawk did something uncharacteristically
impulsive. He reached out and took the
small woman's hand. "I love you, little mother,' he told
her.
'Yes,' she said calmly, "I know. It's nice of you to say it,
though.' Then she smiled. It was an impish little smile
that somehow reminded him of Flute. 'Another lesson
for you, Sparhawk,' she said. 'When you're having
dealings with a woman, you cannot say "I love you" too
often.'
'I'll remember that. Does the same thing apply to Elene
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women?'
"It applies to all women, Sparhawk. Gender is a far
more important distinction than race.'
"I shall be guided by you, Sephrenia.'
'Have you been reading medieval poetry again?'
'Me?'
They rode through the market place and on into the
run-down quarter near the east gate of Chyrellos. While
not perhaps the same as the slums of Cimmura, this part
of the holy city was far less opulent than the area around
the Basilica. There was less colour here, for one thing.
The tunics of the men in the street were uniformly drab,
and the few merchants there were in the crowd wore
garments which were faded and threadbare. They did,
however, have the self-important expressions which all
merchants, successful or not, automatically assume.
Then, at the far end of the street, Sparhawk saw a short
man in a lumpy, unbleached smock of homespun wool.
'Styric,' he said shortly.
Sephrenia nodded and drew up the hood of her white
robe so that it covered her face. Sparhawk straightened in
his saddle and carefully assumed an arrogant, condescending
expression such as the servant of some
important personage might wear. They passed the
Styric, who stepped cautiously aside without paying
them any particular heed. like all members of his race,
the Styric had dark, almost black, hair and a pale skin. He
was shorter than the Elenes who passed him in this
narrow street, and the bones in his face were prominent,
as if he had somehow not quite been completed.
'Zemoch?' Sparhawk asked after they had passed the
MAN.
"its impossible to say,' Sephrenia replied.
"is he concealing his identity with a spell?'
She spread her hands helplessly. 'There's no way to
tell, Sparhawk. Either he's just an ordinary backwoods
Styric with nothing on his mind but his next meal, or he's
a very subtle magician who's playing the bumpkin to
block out attempts to probe him.'
Sparhawk swore under his breath. 'This might not be
as easy as I thought,' he said. 'Let's go on then and see
what we can find out.'
The house to which Sephrenia had been directed sat at
the end of a cul-de-sac, a short street that went nowhere.
That's going to be difficult to watch without being
obvious,' Sparhawk said as they rode slowly past the
mouth of the narrow street.
"not really,' Sephrenia disagreed. She reined in her
palffrey. "wEe need to talk with the shopkeeper there on
the corner.'
"did you want to buy something?'
"not exactly buy, Sparhawk. Come along. You'll see.'
She slid down out of her saddle and tied the reins of her
delicate white horse to a post outside the shop she had
indicated. She looked around briefly. 'Will your great
war horse discourage anyone who might want to steal
my gentle little Ch'iel?' she asked. She laid her hand
affectionately on the white horse's neck.
'I'll talk to him about it."
'Would you?'
'Faran,' Sparhawk said to the ugly roan, 'stay here and
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protect Sephrenia's mare.'
Faran nickered, his ears pricked eagerly forward.
'You big old fool,' Sparhawk laughed.
Faran snapped at him, his teeth clacking together at
the empty air inches from Sparhawk's ear.
'Be nice,' Sparhawk murmured.
Inside the shop, a room devoted to the display of cheap
furniture, Sephrenia's attitude became ingratiating, even
oddly submissive. 'Good master merchant,' she said
with an uncharacteristic tone in her voice, 'we serve a
great Pelosian noble who has come to Chyrellos to seek
solace for his soul in the holy city.'
"I don't deal with Styrics,' the merchant said rudely,
glowering at Sephrenia. 'There are too many of you filthy
heathens in Chyrellos already.' He assumed an expression
of extreme distaste, all the while making what
Sparhawk knew to be totally ineffective gestures to ward
off magic.
'Look, huckster,' the big knight said, affecting an
insulting Pelosian-accented manner, 'do not rise above
yourself. My master's chatelaine and I will be treated
with respect, regardless of your feeble-minded bigotry.'
The shopkeeper bristled at that. 'Why -' he began to
bluster.
Sparhawk smashed the top of a cheap table into
splinters with a single blow of his fist. Then he seized the
shopman's collar and pulled him forward so that they
were eye to eye. 'Do we understand each other?' he said
in a dreadful voice that hovered just this side of a
whisper. 'What we require, good master merchant,' Sephrenia
said smoothly, 'is a goodly set of chambers facing the
street. Our master has been ever fond of watching the
ebb and flow of humanity.' She lowered her eyelashes
modestly. 'Have you such a place abovestairs?'
The shopkeeper's face was a study in conflicting
emotions as he turned to mount the stairs towards the
upper floor.
The chambers above were shabby - one might even go
so far as to say ratty. They had at some time in the past
been painted, but the pea-soup-green paint had peeled
and now hung in long strips from the walls. Sparhawk
and Sephrenia were not interested in paint, however. It
was to the dirty window at the front of the main chamber
that their eyes went.
There's more, little lady,' the shopkeeper said, more
respectfully now.
'We can conduct our own inspection, good master
merchant.' She cocked her head slightly. 'Was that the
step of a customer I heard from below?'
The shopkeeper blinked and then he bolted downstairs.
'
Can you see the house up the street from the
window?' Sephrenia asked.
'The panes are dirty.' Sparhawk lifted the hem of his
grey cloak to wipe away the dust and grime.
'Don't,' she said sharply. 'Styric eyes are very sharp.'
'All right,' he said. 'I'll look through the dust. Elene
eyes are just as sharp.' He looked at her. 'Does that
happen every time you go out?' he asked.
'Yes. Common Elenes are not much smarter than
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common Styrics. Frankly I'd rather have a conversation
with a toad than with either breed.'
'Toads can talk?' He was a little surprised at that.
'if you know what you're listening for, yes. They're not
very stimulating conversationalists, though. '
The house at the end of the street was not impressive.
The lower floor was constructed of field-stone, crudely
mortared together, and the second storey was of roughly
squared-off timbers. It seemed somehow set off from the
houses around it as if drawing in a kind of isolated
separateness. As they watched, a Styric wearing the
poorly woven woollen smock which was the characteristic
garb of his race moved up the street towards the
house. He looked around furtively before he entered.
'Well?' Sparhawk asked.
"It's hard to say,' Sephrenia replied. "It's the same as
with that one we saw in the street. He's either simple or
very skilled.'
'This could take a while.'
'Only until dark if I'm right,' she said as she drew a
chair up to the window.
In the next several hours, a fair number of Styrics
entered the house, and, as the sun sank into a dense,
dirty-looking cloud bank on the western horizon, others
began to arrive. A Cammorian in a bright yellow silk robe
went furtively up the cul-de-sac and was immediately
admitted. A booted Lamork in a polished steel cuirass
and accompanied by two crossbow-bearing men-at-arms
marched arrogantly up to the doors of the house and
gained entry just as quickly. Then, as the chill winter
twilight began to settle over Chyrellos, a lady in a deep
purple robe and attended by a huge manservant in
bullhide armour such as that commonly worn by
Pelosians went up the centre of the short street, moving
with a stiff-legged, abstracted pace. Her eyes seemed
vacant and her movements jerky. Her face, however,
bore an expression of ineffable ecstasy.
'Strange visitors to a Styric house,' Sephrenia commented.
Sparhawk nodded and looked around the darkening
room. 'Do you want some light?' he asked her.
'No. Let's not be seen to be here. I'm certain that the
street is being watched from the upper floor of the
house.' Then she leaned against him, filling his nostrils
with the woody fragrance of her hair. 'You can hold my
hand, though,' she offered. 'For some reason, I've
always been a little afraid of the dark.'
'Of course,' he said, taking her small hand in his big
one. They sat together for perhaps another quarter of an
hour as the street outside grew darker.
Suddenly Sephrenia gave an agonized little gasp.
"what's the matter?' he asked in alarm.
She did not immediately reply but rose to her feet
instead, raising her hands, palm uP, above her. A dim
figure seemed to stand before her, a figure that was more
shadow than substance, 'and a faint glow seemed to
stretch between its widespread, gauntleted hands.
Slowly it held forth that silvery nimbus. The glow grew
momentarily brighter, then coalesced into solidity as the
shadow before her vanished. She sank back into her
chair, holding the long, slender object with a curious
kind of sorrowful reverence.
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'What was that, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk demanded.
'Another of the twelve knights has fallen,' she said in a
voice that was almost a moan. 'This is his sword, a part of
my burden.'
'Vanion?' he asked, almost choking with a dreadful
sense of fear.
Her finger sought the crest on the pommel of the
sword she held, feeling the design in the darkness. 'No,'
she said. "It was Lakus.'
Sparhawk felt a wrench of grief. Lakus was an elderly
Pandion, a man with snowy hair and a grim visage whom
all the knights of Sparhawk's generation had revered as a
teacher and a friend.
Sephrenia buried her face in Sparhawk's armoured
shoulder and began to weep. "I knew him as a boy,
Sparhawk,' she lamented.
'Let's go back to the chapterhouse,' he suggested
gently. 'We can do this another day.'
She lifted her head and wiped her eyes with her hand.
"No, Sparhawk,' she said firmly. "Something's happening
in that house tonight - something that may not
happen again for a while.'
He started to say something, but then he felt an
oppressive weight that seemed to be located just behind
his ears. It was as if someone had just placed the heels of
his hands at the back of his skull and pushed inward.
Sephrenia leaned intently forward. 'Azash!' she hissed.
'What?'
'They're summoning the spirit of Azash,' she said with
a terrible note of urgency in her voice.
'That nails it down then, doesn't it?' he said, rising to
his feet.
'Sit down, Sparhawk. This isn't played out yet.'
'There can't be that many.'
'And what will you learn if you go up the street and
chop the house and everyone in it to pieces? Sit down.
Watch and learn.'
'I'm obliged, Sephrenia. It's part of the oath. It has
been for five centuries.'
'Bother the oath,' she snapped. 'This is more
important. '
He sank back into his chair, troubled and uncertain.
'What are they doing?' he asked.
"I told you. They're raising the spirit of Azash. That can
only mean that they're Zemochs.'
'What are the Elenes doing in there, then? The
Cammorian, the Lamork, and that Pelosian woman?'
'Receiving instruction, I think. The Zemochs didn't
come here to learn, but to teach. This is serious,
Sparhawk - more deadly serious than you could ever
imagine.'
'What do we do?'
'For the moment, nothing. We sit here and watch.'
Again Sparhawk felt that oppressive weight at the base
of his skull, and then a fiery tingling that seemed to run
through all his veins.
'Azash has answered the summons,' Sephrenia said
quietly. "It's very important to sit quietly now and for
both of us to keep our thoughts neutral. Azash can sense
hostility directed at him.'
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'Why would Elenes participate in the rites of Azash?'
'Probably for the rewards he will give them for worshipping
him. The Elder Gods have always been most
lavish with their rewards - 'when it suits them to be. '
'What kind of reward could possibly pay for the loss of
one's soul?'
She shrugged, a barely perceptible motion in the
growing darkness. 'Longevity, perhaps. Wealth, power
and in the case of the woman - beauty. It could even be
other things - things I don't care to think about. Azash is
twisted, and he soon twists those who worship him.'
In the street below, a workman with a handcart and a
torch clattered along over the cobblestones. He took an
unlighted torch from the cart, set it in an iron ring
protruding from the shop-front below, and ignited it.
Then he rattled on.
'Good,' Sephrenia murmured. 'Now we'll be able to
see them when they come out.'
'We've already seen them.'
'They'll be different, I'm afraid.'
The door to the Styric house opened, and the silkrobed
Cammorian emerged. As he passed through the
circle of torchlight below, Sparhawk saw that his face was
very pale, and his eyes were wide with horror.
'That one will not return,' Sephrenia said quietly.
'Most likely he'll spend the rest of his life trying to atone
for his venture into the darkness.'
A few minutes later, the booted Lamork came out into
the street. His eyes burned, and his face was twisted into
an expression of savage cruelty. His impassive crossbowmen
marched along behind him.
'Lost,' Sephrenia sighed.
'What?'
'The Lamork is lost. Azash has him.'
Then the Pelosian lady emerged from the house. Her
purple robe was carelessly open at the front, and beneath
it she was naked. As she came into the torchlight,
Sparhawk could see that her eyes were glazed and that
her nude body was splattered with blood. Her hulking
attendant made some effort to close the front of her robe,
but she hissed at him, thrusting his hand away, and went
off down the street shamelessly flaunting her body.
'And that one is more than lost,' Sephrenia said. "She
will be dangerous now. Azash rewarded her with
powers.' She frowned. 'I'm tempted to suggest that we
follow her and kill her.'
'I'm not sure that I could kill a woman, Sephrenia.'
"She's not even a woman any more, but we'd have to
behead her, and that could cause some outrage in
Chyrellos. '
'Do what?'
'Behead her. It's the only way to be certain that she's
really dead. I think we've seen enough here, Sparhawk.
Let's go back to the chapterhouse and talk with Nashan.
Tomorrow I think we should report this to Dolmant. The
Church has ways to deal with this sort of thing. ' She rose
to her feet.
'Let me carry the sword for you.'
'No, Sparhawk. It's my burden. I must carry it.' She
tucked Lakus' sword inside her robe and led the way
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towards the door.
They went downstairs again, and the shopkeeper
came out of the back of his establishment rubbing his
hands together. 'Well?' he said eagerly. 'Will you be
wanting the rooms?'
Totally unsuitable,' Sephrenia sniffed. "I wouldn't
keep my master's dog in a place like that.' Her face was
very pale, and she was visibly trembling.
'But -'
"just unlock the door, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, 'and
we'll be on our way.'
'What took you so long, then?'
Sparhawk gave him a flat, cold stare, and the shopkeeper
swallowed hard and went to the door, fishing in
his tunic pocket for the key.
Outside, Faran was standing protectively beside
Sephrenia's palfrey. There was a torn scrap of rough
cloth on the cobblestones under his hooves.
'Trouble?' Sparhawk asked him.
Faran snorted derisively.
"I see,' Sparhawk said.
'What was that about?' Sephrenia asked wearily as
Sparhawk helped her to mount.
"Someone tried to steal your horse,' he shrugged.
'Faran persuaded him not to.'
'Can you really communicate with him?'
"I more or less know what he's thinking. We've been
together for a long time.' He hauled himself up into his
saddle, and the two of them rode off down the street in
the direction of the Pandion chapterhouse.
They had gone perhaps half a mile when Sparhawk
had a momentary premonition. He reacted instantly,
driving Faran's shoulder against the white palfrey. The
smaller horse lurched to one side, even as a crossbow bolt
buzzed spitefully through the space where Sephrenia
had been an instant before. 'Ride, Sephrenia!' he barked
as the bolt clashed against the stones of a house fronting
the street. He looked back, drawing his sword. But
Sephrenia had already thumped her heels to the white
horse's flanks and plunged off down the street at a
clattering gallop with Sparhawk closely behind her,
shielding her body with his own.
After they had crossed several streets, Sephrenia
slowed her pace. 'Did you see him?' she asked. She had
Lakus' sword in her hand now.
"I didn't have to see him. A crossbow means a Lamork.
Nobody else uses them.'
'The one who was in the house with the Styrics?'
'Probably - unless you've gone out of your way to
offend other Lamorks of late. Could Azash or one of his
Zemochs have sensed your presence back there?'
"It's possible,' she conceded. 'No one can be absolutely
certain just how far the power of the Elder Gods goes.
How did you know that we were about to be attacked?'
'Training, I suppose. I've learned to know when
someone's pointing a weapon at me.'
"I thought it was pointed at me.'
"It amounts to the same thing, Sephrenia.'
'Well, he missed.'
'This time. I think I'll talk to Nashan about getting you a
mail shirt.'
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'Are you mad, Sparhawk?' she protested. 'The weight
alone would put me on my knees - not to mention the
awful smell.'
'Better the weight and the smell than an arrow
between the shoulder blades.'
'Totally out of the question.'
'We'll see. Put the sword away and let's move on. You
need rest, and I want to get you inside the chapterhouse
where it's safe before someone else takes a shot at you.'
!!!
*Chapter14
The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived
at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir
Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal
armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat
was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore
heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He
dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his
Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his
helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His
complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black.
With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the
steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to
greet him. 'Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,' he said.
Bevier inclined his head stiffly. 'My Lord,' he
responded, "I am commanded by the preceptor of my
order to convey to you his greetings.'
'Thank you, SIr Bevier,' Nashan said, somewhat taken
aback by the young knight's stiff formality.
"Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier said then, again inclining his
head.
'Do we know each other, Bevier?'
'Our preceptor described you to me, my Lord
Sparhawk - you and your companion, Sir Kalten. Have
the others arrived yet?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'No. You're the first.'
'Come inside, Sir Bevier,' Nashan said then. 'We'll
assign you a cell so that you can get out of your armour,
and I'll speak to the kitchen about a hot meal.'
'An it please you, my Lord, might I first visit your
chapel? I have been some days on the road and I feel
sorely the need for prayer in a consecrated place.'
'Of course,' Nashan said to him.
'We'll see to your horse,' Sparhawk told the young
man.
'Thank you, Lord Sparhawk.' Bevier bent his head
again and followed Nashan up the steps.
'Oh, he's going to be a jolly travelling companion,'
Kalten said ironically.
'He'll loosen up once he gets to know us,' Sparhawk
said.
"I hope you're right. I'd heard that the Cyrinics are a
shade formal, but I think our young friend there might be
carrying it to extremes.' Curiously, he unhooked the
Lochaber from the saddlebow. 'Can you imagine using
this thing on somebody?' He shuddered. The Lochaber
axe had a heavy, two-'foot blade surmounted at its
forward end with a razor-sharp, hawklike bill. Its heavy
handle was about four feet long. 'You could shuck a man
out of his armour like an oyster out of its shell with this.'
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"i think that's the idea. It is sort of intimidating, isn't it?
Put it away, Kalten. Don't play with another man's toys.'
After Sir Bevier had completed his prayers and
changed out of his armour, he joined them in Nashan's
ornate study.
'Did they give you something to eat?' Nashan asked.
"it isn't necessary, my Lord,' Bevier replied. 'if I may be
permitted, I'll join you and your knights in refectory for
the noon meal.'
'Of course,' Nashan replied. 'You're more than
welcome to join us, Bevier.'
Sparhawk then introduced Bevier to Sephrenia. The
young man bowed deeply to her. "I have heard much of
you, Lady,' he said. 'Our instructors in the Styric secrets
hold you in great esteem.'
"you're kind to say so, Sir Knight. My skills are the
result of age and practice, however, and do not result
from any particular virtue.'
'Age, Lady? Surely not. You can scarce be much older
than I, and I will not see my thirtieth year for some
months yet. The bloom of youth has not yet left your
cheeks, and your eyes quite overwhelm me.'
Sephrenia smiled warmly at him, then looked critically
at Kalten and Sparhawk. "I hope you two are paying
attention,' she said. 'A little polish wouldn't hurt either
of you.' I was never much good at formality, little mother,'
Kalten confessed.
'I've noticed,' she said. 'Flute,' she said a bit wearily
then, 'please put the book down. I've asked you again
and again not to touch them.'
Several days later, Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath arrived,
riding together. Tynian was a good-humoured Alcione
Knight from Deira, the kingdom lying to the north of
elennia. His broad, round face was open and friendly. His
shoulders and chest were powerfully muscled as the
result of years of bearing Deiran armour, the heaviest in
the world. Over his massive armour he wore a sky-blue
surcoat. Ulath was a hulking Genidian Knight, fully a
head taller than Sparhawk. He did not wear armour, but
rather a plain mail shirt and a simple conical helmet.
Covering his shirt, he wore a green surcoat. He carried a
large round shield and a heavy war axe. Ulath was a
silent, withdrawn man who seldom spoke. His blond
hair hung in two braids down his back.
'Good morning, gentlemen,' Tynian said to Sparhawk
and Kalten as he dismounted in the courtyard of the
chapterhouse. He looked at them closely. 'You would be
Sir Sparhawk,' he said. 'Our preceptor said that you'd
broken your nose sometime.' He grinned then. "it's all
right, Sparhawk. It doesn't interfere with your kind of
beauty.'
'I'm going to like this man,' Kalten said.
'And you must be Kalten,' Tynian said. He thrust out
his hand, and Kalten took it before he realized that the
Alcione was holding a dead mouse concealed in his
palm. With a startled oath, he jerked his hand back.
Tynian howled with laughter.
"I think I could get to like him as well,' Sparhawk
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noted.
'My name is Tynian,' the Alcione Knight introduced
himself. 'My silent friend there is Ulath from Thalesia.
He caught up with me a few days ago. Hasn't spoken ten
words since then.'
'You talk enough for both of us,' Ulath grunted, sliding
out of his saddle.
'That's God's own truth,' Tynian admitted. "I have this
overwhelming fondness for the sound of my own voice.'
Ulath thrust out his huge hand. 'Sparhawk,' he said.
'No mice?' Sparhawk asked.
A faint smile touched Ulath's face as they clasped
hands. Then he shook hands with Kalten, and the four of
them went up the steps into the chapterhouse.
'Has Bevier arrived yet?' Tynian asked Kalten.
'A few days back. Have you ever met him?'
'Once. Our preceptor and I made a formal visit to
Larium, and we were introduced to the Cyrinics in their
motherhouse there. I found him to be a bit stiff-necked
and formal.'
'That hasn't changed much.'
'Didn't think it had. Exactly what are we going to do
down in Cammoria? Preceptor Darellon can be infuriatingly
close-mouthed on occasion.'
'Let's wait until Bevier joins us,' Sparhawk suggested.
"I get the feeling that he might be a little touchy, so let's
not offend him by talking business out of his presence.'
'Good thinking, Sparhawk. This show of unity could
fall apart on us if Bevier starts sulking. I'll have to admit
that he can be a good man in a fight, though. Is he still
carrying that Lochaber?'
'Oh, yes,' Kalten said.
'Gruesome thing, isn't it? I saw him practising with it at
Larium. He cut the top off a post as thick as my leg with
one swipe at a full gallop. I get the feeling that he could
ride through a platoon of foot-troops and leave a trail of
loose heads behind him ten yards wide.'
'Let's hope it doesn't come to that,' Sparhawk said.
'if that's your attitude, Sparhawk, you're going to take
all the fun out of this excursion.'
"I am going to like him,' Kalten said.
Sir Bevier joined them in Nashan's study after the
completion of noon service in the chapel. As closely as
Sparhawk could determine, Bevier had not missed
service once since his arrival.
'All right then,' Sparhawk said, rising to his feet when
they were all assembled, 'this is sort of where we stand.
Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, has his eyes on the
Archprelate's throne here in Chyrellos. He controls the
Elenian royal Council, and they're giving him money
out of the royal treasury. He's trying to use that money to
buy enough votes in the Hierocracy to win election after
Cluvonus dies. The preceptors of the four orders want to
block him.'
'No decent churchman would accept money for his
vote,' Bevier said, his voice verging on outrage.
'I'll grant that,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Unfortunately,
many churchmen are far from decent. Let's be honest
about it, gentlemen. There's a wide streak of corruption
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in the Elene Church. We might wish it were different, but
we have to face the facts. Many of those votes are for sale.
Now - and this is important - Queen Ehlana is unwell,
otherwise, she wouldn't allow Annias to have access to
the treasury. The preceptors agree that the best way to
stop Annias is to find some way to cure the Queen and
put her back in power. That's why we're going to
Borrata. There are physicians at the university there who
might be able to determine the nature of her illness and
find a cure for it.'
'Are we taking your Queen with us?' Tynian asked.
'No. That's quite impossible.'
"it's going to be a little hard for the physicians to find
out much then, isn't it?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'Sephrenia, the Pandion
instructor in the secrets, will be going with us. She can
describe Queen Ehlana's symptoms in great detail and
she can raise an image of the Queen if the physicians
need a closer look.'
'Seems a bit roundabout,' Tynian noted, but if that's
the way we have to do it, then that's the way we'll do it.'
'There's a great deal of unrest in Cammoria right now,'
Sparhawk went on. 'The central kingdoms are all
'infested with Zemoch agents, and they're trying to stir
up as much trouble as they can. Not only that, Annias is
fairly certain to guess at what we're trying to do, so he'll
try to interfere.'
'Borrata's a long way from Cimmura, isn't it?' Tynian
asked. 'Does Primate Annias have so long an arm?'
'Yes,' Sparhawk said, 'he does. There's a renegade
Pandion in Cammoria who sometimes works for Annias.
His name is Martel, and he's likely to try to stop us.'
'Only once,' Ulath grunted.
'Let's not go out of our way looking for a fight,
though,' Sparhawk cautioned. 'Our main task is to get
Sephrenia safely to Borrata and back. There's been at
least one attempt on her life already.'
'We'll want to discourage that,' Tynian said. 'Are we
taking anybody else with us?'
'My squire, Kurik,' Sparhawk replied, 'and probably a
young Pandion novice named Berit. He shows some
promise, and Kurik's going to need somebody along to
help him care for the horses.' He thought a moment. "I
think we'll take a boy along as well,' he said.
Talen?' Kalten sounded surprised at that. 'is that
really a good idea, Sparhawk?'
'Chyrellos is corrupt enough already. I don't think it's
a good idea to turn that little thief loose in the streets.
Besides, I think we may find use for his specialized
talents. The only other person going with us wil be a
little girl named Flute.'
Kalten stared at him in astonishment.
'Sephrenia won't leave her behind,' Sparhawk
explained, 'and I'm not sure she can be left behind. You
remember how easily she got out of that nunnery in
Arcium.'
"you've got a point there, I guess,' Kalten conceded.
'A very straightforward presentation, Sir Sparhawk,'
Bevier said approvingly. 'When will we leave?'
'First thing in the morning,' Sparhawk replied. "it's a
long way to Borrata, and the Archprelate isn't getting
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younger. Patriarch Dolmant says that he could die at any
time, and that's when Annias wil start to move.'
'We must make our preparations then,' Bevier said,
rising to his feet. 'Will you gentlemen be joining me in the
chapel for evening service?' he asked.
Kalten sighed. "I suppose we should,' he said. 'We are
Church Knights, after all.'
"And a bit of God's help wouldn't hurt, would it?'
Tynian added.
that afternoon, however, a company of church
soldiers arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse. "I have a Late
summons from the Patriarch Makova for you and your
companions, Sir Sparhawk,' the captain in charge of the
soldiers said when Sparhawk and the others came down
into the courtyard. 'He would speak with you in the
Basilica at once.'
'We'll get our horses,' Sparhawk said. He led the rest
of the knights into the stables. Once inside, he swore
irritably.
'Trouble?' Tynian asked him.
'Makova's a supporter of Primate Annias,' Sparhawk
replied, leading Faran out of his stall. 'I've got a strong
suspicion that he's going to try to hinder us.'
'We must respond to his summons, however,' Bevier
said, swinging his saddle up onto his horse's back. 'We
are Church Knights and must obey the commands of a
member of the Hierocracy, no matter what his affiliation. '
'And there's that company of soldiers out there, too,'
Kalten added. 'I'd say that Makova doesn't take too
many chances.'
"Surely he doesn't think we'd refuse?' Bevier said.
'You don't know Sparhawk that well yet,' Kalten told
him. 'He can be contrary at times.'
'Well, we don't have any choice in the matter,'
Sparhawk said. 'Let's go to the Basilica and see what the
Patriarch has to say to us.'
They led their horses out into the courtyard and
mounted. At a crisp command from the captain, the
soldiers formed up around them.
The square in front of the Basilica was strangely
deserted as Sparhawk and his friends dismounted.
'Looks to me as if they're expecting trouble,' Kalten
noted as they started up the broad marble stairs.
When they entered the vast nave of the church, Bevier
went down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him."
The captain and a squad of his soldiers entered behind
him. we must not keep the Patriarch waiting,' he said.
There was a certain arrogant tone in his voice that
irritated Sparhawk for some reason. He muffled that
feeling, however, and piously dropped to his knees
beside Bevier. Kalten grinned and also knelt. Tynian
nudged ulath, and they, too, went down on their knees.
"I said -' the captain began, his voice rising slightly.
"we heard you, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to him
"we'll be with you presently.'
'But -'
"you can wait over there. We won't be too long.'
The captain turned and stalked off.
'Nice touch, Sparhawk,' Tynian murmured.
"we are Church Knights, after all,' Sparhawk replied.
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It won't hurt Makova to wait awhile. I'm sure he'll enjoy
the anticipation.'
I'm sure,' Tynian agreed.
The five knights remained kneeling for perhaps ten
minutes while the captain stalked about impatiently.
'Have you finished, Bevier?' Sparhawk asked politely
when the Cyrinic unclasped his hands.
"yes,' Bevier answered, his face alight with devotion. "I
feel cleansed now and at peace with the world.'
TrY to hang onto that feeling. The Patriarch of Coombe
is likely to irritate us all.' Sparhawk rose to his feet. "Shall
we go then?'
"Finally,' the captain snapped as they joined him
and his men.
Bevier looked at him coldly. 'Have you any rank,
Captain?' he asked. 'Aside from your military one?"
"I am a marquis, Sir Bevier.'
'Excellent. If our devotions offend you, I will be more
than happy to give you satisfaction. You may have your
seconds call upon me at any time. I will be at your
complete disposal.'
The captain paled visibly and shrank back. "I am
merely following my orders, my Lord. I would not dream
of giving offence to a Knight of the Church.'
'Ah,' Bevier said distantly. 'Let us proceed then. As
you stated so excellently earlier, we must not keep the
Patriarch of Coombe waiting.'
The captain led them to a hallway branching off from
the nave.
'Nicely done, Bevier,' Tynian whispered.
The Cyrinic smiled briefly.
'There's nothing like the offer of a yard or so of steel in
his belly to remind a man of his manners,' Kalten added.
The chamber to which the captain led them was
grandiose with deep maroon carpeting and drapes and
polished marble walls. The lean-faced Patriarch of
Coombe sat at a long table reading a parchment. He
looked up as they were admitted, his face angry. 'What
took so long?' he snapped at the captain.
'The Knights of the Church felt obliged to spend a few
moments in devotions before the main altar, your Grace.'
'Oh. Of course.'
'May I withdraw, your Grace?'
'No. Stay. It shall fall to you to enforce the dictates I will
issue here.'
'As it please your Grace.'
Makova then looked sternly at the knights. "I am told
that you gentlemen are planning a foray into Cammoria."
'We haven't made any secret of it, your Grace,"
Sparhawk replied.
"I forbid it.'
'Might one ask why, your Grace?' Tynian asked mildly.
'No. One may not. The Church Knights are subject to
the authority of the Hierocracy. Explanations are not
required. You are all to return to the Pandion chapterhouse
and you will remain there until it pleases me to
send you further instructions.' He smiled a chill smile. "I
believe you will all be returning home very shortly. ' Then
he drew himself up. 'That will be all. You have my
permission to withdraw. Captain, you will see to it that
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these knights do not leave the Pandion chapterhouse.'
'Yes, your Grace.'
They all bowed and silently filed out of the door.
'That was short, wasn't it?' Kalten said as they went
back down the corridor with the captain some distance in
the lead.
'There wasn't much point in fogging the issue with
lame excuses,' Sparhawk replied.
Kalten leaned towards his friend. 'Are we going to
obey his orders?' he whispered.
'No.'
'Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier gasped, "surely you would not
disregard the commands of a Patriarch of the Church?'
'No, not really. All I need is a different set of orders.'
'Dolmant?' Kalten guessed.
'His name does sort of leap to mind, doesn't it?'
They had, however, no opportunity for side trips. The
officious captain insisted upon escorting them directly
back to the chapterhouse. "SIr Sparhawk,' he said as they
reached the narrow street where the house stood, 'you
will be so good as to advise the governor of your
establishment that this gate is to remain closed. No one iS
to enter or leave.'
'I'll tell him,' Sparhawk replied. Then he nudged Faran
and rode on into the courtyard.
"I didn't think he'd actually seal the gate,' Kalten
muttered. 'How are we going to get word to Dolmant?'
'I'll think of something,' Sparhawk said.
Later, as twilight crept in over the city, Sparhawk
paced along the parapet surmounting the wall of the
chapterhouse, glancing from time to time down into the
street outside.
'Sparhawk,' Kurik's gruff voice came from the yard
below, 'are you up there?'
'Yes. Come on up.'
There was the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs
leading up to the parapet. 'You wanted to see us?' Kurik
asked as he, Berit, and Talen came up out of the shadows
clotting the stairway.
'Yes. There's a company of church soldiers outside.
They're blocking the gate, and I need to get a message to
Dolmant. Any ideas?'
Kurik scratched his head as he mulled it over.
'Give me a fast horse and I can ride through them,'
Berit offered.
'He'll make a good knight,' Talen said. 'Knights love to
charge, I'm told.'
Berit looked sharply at the boy.
'No hitting,' Talen said, shrinking back."We agreed
that there wasn't going to be any more hitting. I pay
attention to the lessons, and you don't hit me any more.'
'Have you got a better idea?' Berit asked.
'Several.' TAlen looked over the wall. 'Are the soldiers
patrolling the streets outside the walls?' he asked.
'Yes,' Sparhawk said.
That's not really a problem, but it might have been easier
if they weren't.' TAlen pursed his lips as he thought it over.
'Berit,' he said, 'are you any good with a bow?'
'I've been trained,' the voice said a bit stiffly.
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"That's not what I asked. I said are you any good?'
"I can hit a mark at a hundred paces.'
Talen looked at Sparhawk. 'Don't you people have
anything better to do?' he asked. Then he looked at Berit
again. 'You see that stable over there?' he asked, pointing
across the street. 'The one with the thatched roof?'
"yes.'
'Could you get an arrow into the thatch?'
'Easily.'
'Maybe training pays off after all.'
'How many months did you practise cutting purses?'
Kurik asked pointedly.
That's different, father. There's a profit involved in
that. '
'Father?' Berit sounded astonished.
"it's a long story,' Kurik told him.
'Any man in the world listens to a bell that rings for any
reason whatsoever,' Talen said, affecting a schoolteacherish
tone, 'and no man can possibly avoid gawking
at a fire. Can you lay your hands on a length of rope,
Sparhawk?'
'How long a length?'
'Long enough to reach the street. Here's how it goes.
Berit wraps his arrow with tinder and sets fire to it. Then
he takes a shot at that thatched roof. The soldiers will all
run to this street to watch the' fun. That's when I go down
the rope on the far side of the building. I can be out on the
street in less than a minute with no one the wiser.'
you can't set fire to a man's stable,' Kurik objected,
sounding horrified.
They'll put it out, Kurik,' Talen said in a patient tone.
They'll have lots of warning, because we'll all stand up
here shouting "Fire!" at the top of our voices. Then I'll
Shinny down the rope on the far wall and be five streets
away before the excitement dies down. I know where
Dolmant's house is, and I can tell him whatever you want
him to know.'
'All right,' Sparhawk approved.
'Sparhawk!' Kurik exclaimed. 'You're not going to let
him do this, are you?'
"it's tactically sound, Kurik. Diversion and subterfuge
are part of any good plan.'
'Do you have any idea of how much thatch - and wood
there is in this part of town?'
"it might give the church soldiers something useful to
do,' Sparhawk shrugged.
'That's hard, Sparhawk.'
'Not nearly as hard as the notion of Annias sitting on
the Archprelate's throne. Let's get what we need. I want
to be out of Chyrellos before the sun comes up tomorrOW,
and I can't do that with all those soldiers camped outside
the gate.'
They went down the stairs to fetch rope, a bow, and a
quiver of arrows.
'What's afoot?' Tynian asked as he, Kalten, Bevier, and
Ulath met them in the courtyard.
'We're going to get word to Dolmant,' Sparhawk told
him.
Tynian looked at the bow Berit was carrying. 'With
that?' he asked. 'isn't that rather a long shot?"
'There's a little more to it than that,' Sparhawk told
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him. He quickly sketched in the plan. Then, as they
started up the steps, he put his hand on Talen's shoulder.
'This isn't going to be the safest thing in the world,' he
told the boy. 'i want you to be careful out there.'
'You worry too much, Sparhawk,' Talen replied. "I
could do this in my sleep.'
'You might need some kind of note to give to
Dolmant,' Sparhawk said.
'You're not serious? If I get stopped, I can lie my way
out of trouble, but not if I've got a note in my pocket.
Dolmant knows me, and he'll know that the message is
from you. Just leave everything to me, Sparhawk.'
'Don't stop to pick any pockets along the way.'
'Of course not,' Talen replied, just a little too glibly.
Sparhawk sighed. Then he quickly told the boy what to
say to the Patriarch of Demos.
The plan went more or less as Talen had outlined it. As
soon as the patrol had passed in the narrow street, Berit's
arrow arched out like a falling star and sank into the
thatched stable roof. It sputtered there for a moment or
two, and then bluish-coloured flame ran quickly up to
the ridgepole, turning sooty orange first, then bright
yellow as the flames began to spread.
"Fire!' Talen yelled.
'Fire!" the rest echoed.
In the street below, the church soldiers came pounding
around the corner to be met by the nearly hysterical
owner of the stables. 'Good masters!' the poor man cried,
wringing his hands. 'My stable! My horses. My house!
My God!'
The officious captain hesitated, looking first at the fire
then back at the looming wall of the chapterhouse in an
agony of indecision.
'We'll help you, Captain,' Tynian called down from the
wall. 'Open the gate!'
'No!' the captain shouted back. 'Stay inside.'
'You could lose half of the holy city, You blockhead!'
Kalten roared at him. 'That fire will spread if you don't do
something immediately. '
'You,' the captain snapped at the commoner who
owned the stable. 'Fetch buckets and show me the
nearest well.' He turned quickly to his men. 'Form up a
line,' he commanded. 'Go to the front gate of the Pandion
house and bring back every man we can spare.' He
sounded decisive now. Then he squinted up at the
knights on the parapet. 'But leave a detachment on guard
there,' he ordered.
'We can still help, Captain,' Tynian offered. 'There's a
deep well here. We can turn out our men and pass
buckets to your men outside the gate. Our major concern
here must be the saving of Chyrellos. Everything else
must be secondary to that.'
The captain hesitated. 'Please, Captain!' Tynian's voice throbbed with
sincerity. "I beg of you. Let us help.'
'Very well,' the captain snapped. 'Open your gate. But
no one is to leave the chapterhouse grounds.'
'Of course not,' Tynian replied.
'Nicely done,' Ulath grunted, tapping Tynian on the
shoulder with his fist.
Tynian grinned at him. 'Talking does pay off sometimes,
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my silent friend. You should try it sometime.'
'I'd rather use an axe.'
'Well, I guess I'll be leaving now, my Lords,' Talen
said. 'Was there anything you'd like to have me pick up
for you - since I'll be out and about anyway?'
'Keep your mind on what you're supposed to do,'
Sparhawk told him. 'Just go and talk to Dolmant.'
'And be careful,' Kurik growled. 'You're a disappointing
son sometimes, but I don't want to lose you.'
'Sentimentality, father?' Talen said, affecting surprise.
'Not really,' Kurik replied. 'just a certain sense of
responsibility to your mother.'
'I'll go with him,' Berit said.
Talen looked critically at the rangy novice. 'Forget it,
he said shortly. 'You'd just be in my way. Forgive me,
revered teacher, but your feet are too big and your
elbows stick out too far to move around quietly, and I
don't have time to teach you how to sneak right now.
The boy disappeared into the shadows along the parapet.
'Where did you find that rare youth?' Bevier asked.
'You wouldn't believe it, Bevier,' Kalten replied. 'You
absolutely wouldn't believe it.'
'Our Pandion brothers are perhaps a bit more worldly
than the rest of us, Bevier,' Tynian said sententiously.
'We who fix our eyes firmly on heaven are not so versed
in the seamier side of life as they are.' He looked piously
at Kalten. 'We all serve, however, and I'm sure that God
appreciates your efforts, no matter how dishonest or
depraved.'
'Well put,' Ulath said with an absolutely straight face.
The fire in the thatched roof continued to smoke and
steam as the church soldiers threw bucket after bucket of
water onto it during the next quarter of an hour.
Gradually, by sheer dint of numbers and the volume of
water poured on it, the fire was quenched, leaving the
owner of the stable bemoaning the saturation of his store
of fodder, but preventing any spread of the flames.
'Bravo, Captain, bravo!' Tynian cheered from atoP the
wall. 'Don't overdo it,' Ulath muttered to him.
"it's the first time I've ever seen any of those fellows do
anything useful,' Tynian protested. 'That sort of thing
ought to be encouraged.'
'We could start some more fires, if you'd like,' the huge
Genidian offered. 'We could keep them hauling water all
week.'
Tynian tugged at one earlobe. 'No,' he said after a
moment's thought. 'They might get bored when the
novelty wears off and decide to let the city burn.' He
glanced at Kurik. 'Did the boy get away?' he asked.
'As slick as a snake going down a rat hole,' SparhawkS
squire replied, trying to conceal the note of pride in his
voice.
"Someday you'll have to tell us about why the lad keeps calling you "father".'
'We might get to that one day, my Lord Tynian, ' Kurik
muttered.
As the first light of dawn crept up the eastern sky,
there came the measured tread of hundreds of feet some
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distance up the narrow street outside the front gate of the
chapterhouse. Then the Patriarch Dolmant, astride a
white mule, came into view at the head of a battalion or
more of red-liveried soldiers.
'Your Grace,' the soot-smeared captain who had been
blocking the gate of the chapterhouse exclaimed, rushing
forward with a salute.
'You are relieved, Captain,' Dolmant told him. 'You
may return with your men to your barracks.' He sniffed a
bit disapprovingly. 'Tell them to clean up,' he suggested.
'They look like chimney sweeps.'
'Your Grace,' the captain faltered, "I was commanded
by the Patriarch of Coombe to secure this house. May I
send to him for confirmation of your Grace's counterorder?'
Dolmant considered it. 'No, Captain,' he said. "I don't
think so. Retire at once.'
'But, your Grace!'
Dolmant slapped his hands sharply together, and the
troops massed at his back moved into position, their pikes
advanced. 'Colonel,' Dolmant said in the mildest of tones
to the commander of his troops, 'would you be so good as
to escort the captain and his men back to their barracks?'
'At once, your Grace,' the officer replied with a sharp
salute.
'And I think they should be confined there until they
are presentable.'
'Of course, your Grace,' the colonel said soberly. "I
myself shall conduct the inspection.'
'Meticulously, Colonel - most meticulously. The
honour of the Church is reflected in the appearance of
her soldiers.'
'Your Grace may rely upon my attention to the most
minute detail,' the colonel assured him. 'The honour of
our service is also reflected by the appearance of our
lowliest soldier.'
'God appreciates your devotion, Colonel.'
"I live but to serve Him, your Grace.' The colonel
bowed deeply.
Neither man smiled nor winked. ~
'Oh,' Dolmant said then, 'before you leave, Colonel,
bring me that ragged little beggar boy. I think I'll leave
him with the good brothers of this order - as an act of
charity, of course.'
'Of course, your Grace.' The colonel snapped his
fingers, and a burly sergeant dragged Talen by the scruff
of the neck to the patriarch. Then Dolmant's battalion
advanced on the captain and his men, effectively pinning
them against the high wall of the chapterhouse with their
pikes. The sooty soldiers of the Patriarch of Coombe were
quickly disarmed and then marched off under close
guard.
Dolmant affectionately reached down and patted the
slender neck of his white mule, then he looked critically
up at the parapet. 'Haven't you left yet, Sparhawk?' he
asked.
'We were just making our preparations, your Grace.'
The day wears on, my son,' Dolmant told him. 'God's
work cannot be accomplished by sloth.'
'I'll keep that in mind, your Grace,' Sparhawk said.
Then his eyes narrowed, and he stared hard down at
Talen. 'Give it back,' he commanded.
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'What?' Talen answered
a note of anguish in his voice.
'All of it. Every last bit.'
'But, Sparhawk -'
'Now, Talen.'
Grumbling, the boy began to remove all manner of
small, valuable objects from inside his clothes, depositing
them in the hands of the startled Patriarch of Demos.
'Are you satisfied now, Sparhawk?' he demanded a bit
sullenly, glaring up at the parapet.
'Not entirely, but it's a start. I'll know better after I
search you once you're inside the gate.'
Talen sighed and dug into several more hidden
pockets, adding more items to Dolmant's already overflowing
hands.
"I assume you're taking this boy with you, Sparhawk?'
Dolmant asked, tucking his valuables inside his cassock.
'Yes, your Grace,' Sparhawk replied.
'Good. I'll sleep better knowing that he's not roaming
the streets. Make haste, my son, and Godspeed.' Then
the patriarch turned his mule and rode on back up the
street.
!!!
*Chapter15
'At any rate,' Sir Tynian continued his obviously embellished
account of certain adventures of his youth, 'the
local Lamork barons grew tired of these brigands and
came to our chapterhouse to enlist our aid in exterminating
them. We had all grown rather bored with patrolling
the Zemoch border, and so we agreed. To be honest
about the whole thing, we looked upon the affair as
something in the nature of a sporting event - a few days
of hard riding and a nice brisk fight at the end.'
Sparhawk let his attention wander. Tynian's compulsive
talking had been virtually uninterrupted since they
had left Chyrellos and crossed the border into the
southern kingdom of Cammoria. Although the stories
were at first amusing, they eventually grew repetitious.
To hear Tynian tell it, he had figured prominently in
every major battle and minor skirmish on the Eosian
continent in the past ten years. Sparhawk concluded that
the Alcione Knight was not so much an unabashed
braggart as he was an ingenious storyteller who put
himself in the centre of the action of each story to give it a
certain immediacy. It was a harmless pastime, really, and
it helped to make the miles go faster as they rode down
into Cammoria on the road to Borrata.
The sun was warmer here than it had been in Elenia,
and the breeze that skipped puff-ball clouds across the
intensely blue sky smelled almost spring-like. The fields
around them, untouched by frost, were stil green, and
the road unwound like a white ribbon, dipping into
valleys and snaking up verdant hillsides. It was a good
day for a ride, and Faran was obviously enjoying himself.
Sparhawk had already begun to make an assessment
of his companions. Tynian was very nearly as happy-golucky
as Kalten. The sheer bulk of his upper torso,
however, and the professional way he handled his
weapons indicated that he would be a solid man in a
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fight, should it come to that. Bevier was perhaps a bit
more high-strung. The Cyrinic Knights were known for
their formality and their piety. They were also touchy.
Bevier would need to be handled carefully. Sparhawk
decided to have a word in private with Kalten. His
friend's fondness for casual jesting might need to be
curbed where Bevier was concerned. The young Cyrinic,
though, would obviously also be an asset in the event of
trouble.
Ulath was an enigma. He had a towering reputation,
but Sparhawk had not had many dealings with the
Genidian Knights of far northern Thalesia. They were
reputed to be fearsome warriors, but the fact that they
wore chain mail instead of steel-plate armour concerned
him a bit. He decided to feel out the huge Thalesian on
that score. He reined Faran in slightly to allow Ulath to
catch up with him.
'Nice morning,' he said pleasantly.
Ulath grunted. Getting him to talk might prove difficult.
Then, surprisingly, he actually volunteered something. '
in Thalesia, there's still two feet of snow on the
ground,' he said.
'That must be miserable.'
Ulath shrugged. 'You get used to it, and snow makes
for good hunting-boars, stags, Trolls, that sort of thing.'
'Do you actually hunt Trolls?'
"Sometimes. Every so often a Troll goes crazy. If he
comes down into the valleys where Elenes live and starts
killing cows - or people - we have to hunt him down.'
"I've heard that they're fairly large.'
'Yes. Fairly.'
'isn't it a bit dangerous to fight one with only chain
mail armour!'
"It's not too bad, really. They only use clubs. A man
might get his ribs broken sometimes, but that's about all.'
'Wouldn't full armour be an advantage?'
'Not if you have to cross any rivers - and we have a lot
of rivers in Thalesia. A man can peel off a mail shirt even
if he's sitting on the bottom of a river. It might be a little
hard to hold your breath long enough to get rid of a full
suit of armour, though.'
'That makes sense.'
"we thought so ourselves. We had a preceptor a while
back who thought that we should wear full armour like the
other orders-for the sake of appearances. We threw one of
our brothers dressed in a mail shirt into the harbour at
Emsat. He got out of his shirt and came to the surface in
about a minute. The preceptor was wearing full armour.
When we threw him in, he didn't come back up. Maybe he
found something more interesting to do down there.'
'You drowned your preceptor?' Sparhawk asked in
astonishment.
'No,' Ulath corrected. 'His armour drowned him. Then
we elected Komier as preceptor. He's got better sense
than to make foolish suggestions like that.'
"you Genidians appear to be an independent sort of
order. You actually elect your own preceptors?'
'Don't you?'
'Not really, no. We send a panel of names to the
Hierocracy and let them do the choosing.'
'We make it easier for them. We only send them one
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name. '
Kalten came back down the road at a canter. The big
blond man had been riding about a quarter of a mile in
the lead to scout out possible danger. 'There's something
strange up ahead, Sparhawk,' he said tensely.
'How do you mean strange?'
'There's a pair of Pandions at the top of the next hill.'
There was a slightly strained note in Kalten's voice, and
he was visibly sweating.
'Who are they?'
"I didn't go up there to ask.'
Sparhawk looked sharply at his friend. 'What's the
matter?' he asked.
"I'm not sure,' Kalten replied. "I just had a strong
feeling that I shouldn't go near them, for some reason. I
think they want to talk with you. Don't ask me where I
got that idea either.'
'All right,' Sparhawk said. "I'll go see what they want.'
He spurred Faran into a gallop and thudded up the long
slope of the road towards the hilltop. The two mounted
men wore black Pandion armour, but they gave none of
the customary signs of greeting as Sparhawk
approached, and neither of them raised his visor. Their
horses were peculiarly gaunt, almost skeletal.
'What is it, brothers?' Sparhawk asked, reining Faran
in a few yards from the pair. He caught a momentary
whiff of an unpleasant smell, and for some reason a chill
ran through him.
One of the armoured figures turned slightly and
pointed a steel-clad arm down into the next valley. He
did not speak, but appeared to be pointing at a winterdenuded
elm grove at one side of the road about a halfmile
farther on.
"I don't quite -' Sparhawk started, then he caught the
sudden glint of sunlight on polished steel among the
spidery branches of the grove. He shaded his eyes with
one hand and peered intently at the cluster of trees. He
saw a hint of movement and another flash of reflected
light. "I see,' he said gravely. 'Thank you, my brothers.
Would you care to join us in routing the ambushers
waiting below?'
For a long moment, neither black-armoured figure
responded, then one of them inclined his head in assent.
They both moved then, one to either side of the road, and
sat their horses, waiting.
Puzzled by their strange behaviour, Sparhawk rode
back down the road to rejoin the others. 'We've got some
trouble up ahead,' he reported. 'There's a group of
armed men hiding in a grove of trees in the next valley.'
'An ambush?' Tynian asked.
'People don't usually hide unless they've got some
mischief in mind.'
'Could you tell how many there are?' Bevier asked,
loosening his Lochaber from its sling on his saddlebow.
'Not really.'
'One way to find out,' Ulath said, reaching for his axe.
'Who are the two Pandions?' Kalten asked nervously.
'They didn't say.'
'Did they give you the same kind of feeling they gave
me?'
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"what kind of feeling?'
'As if my blood had just frozen.'
Sparhawk nodded. "Something like that,' he admitted.
'Kurik,' he said then, 'you and Berit take Sephrenia
Flute, and Talen to some place out of sight.'
The squire nodded curtly.
'All right then, gentlemen,' Sparhawk said to the other
knights, 'let's go and have a look.'
They started out at a rolling trot, five armoured knights
mounted on war horses and wielding a variety of
unpleasant-looking weapons. At the top of the hill they
were joined by the two silent men in black armour. Once
again Sparhawk caught the unpleasant smell, and once
again his blood ran strangely cold.
'Has anybody got a horn?' Tynian asked. 'We should
let them know we're coming.'
Ulath unbuckled one of his saddlebags and took out
the curled and twisted horn of some animal. It was quite
large and had a brass mouthpiece at its tip.
'What kind of an animal has horns like that?' Kalten
asked him.
'Ogre,' Ulath replied. Then he set the mouthpiece to
his lips and blew a shattering blast.
'For the glory of God and the honour of the Church!'
Bevier exclaimed, rising in his stirrups and flourishing
his Lochaber.
Sparhawk drew his sword and drove his spurs into
Faran's flanks. The big horse plunged eagerly ahead, his
ears laid back and his teeth bared.
There were shouts of chagrin from the elm grove as the
Church Knights plunged down the hill at a gallop with
the grass whipping at the legs of their chargers. Then
perhaps eighteen armoured men on horseback broke out
of their concealment and rode out into the open to meet
the charge.
'They want a fight!' Tynian shouted Jubilantly.
'Watch yourselves when we mix with them,' Sparhawk
warned. 'There may be more hiding in the grove!'
Ulath continued to sound his horn until the last
moment. Then he quickly stuffed it back into his saddlebag
and began to whirl his great war axe about his head.
Three of the ambushers had held back, just before the
two parties crashed together, they turned tail and rode
off at a dead run, flogging their horses in sheer panic.
The initial impact might easily have been heard a mile
away. Sparhawk and Faran were slightly in the lead,
with the others fanned out and back in a kind of wedge
formation. Sparhawk stood up in his stirrups to deliver
broad overhand strokes to the right and the left as he
crashed into the strangers. He split open a helmet and
saw blood and brains come gushing out as the man fell
stiffly out of his saddle. On his next stroke his sword
sheared through an upraised shield, and he heard a
scream as his blade bit into the arm to which the shield
was strapped. Behind him he could hear the sounds of
other blows and shrieks as his friends followed him
through the melee.
Their rush through the centre of the ambushers left ten
down, killed or maimed, but, as they whirled to attack
again, a half-dozen more came crashing out of the grOVe
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to attack them from the rear.
'Go ahead!' Bevier shouted as he wheeled his horse.
'I'll hold these off while you finish the rest!' He raised his
Lochaber and charged.
'Help him, Kalten!' Sparhawk called to his friend, then
led Tynian, Ulath, and the two strangers against the
dazed survivors of their first attack. Tynian's broadsword
had a much wider blade than those of the
Pandions and thus a great deal more weight. That weight
made the weapon savagely efficient, and Tynian cut
through flesh or armour with equal ease. Ulath's axe, of
course, had no finesse or subtlety. He hewed at men as a
woodsman might hew at trees.
Sparhawk briefly saw one of the two strange Pandions
rise in his stirrups to deliver a vast overhand blow. What
the knight held in its gauntleted fist, however, was not a
sword, but rather that same kind of glowing nimbus that
had been given to Sephrenia in the shabby upstairs
apartment in Chyrellos by the insubstantial ghost of Sir
Lakus. The nimbus appeared to pass completely through
the body of the awkward mercenary the Pandion faced.
The man's face went absolutely white, and he stared
down at his chest in horror, but there was no blood, and
his rust-splotched armour remained intact. With a shriek
of terror, he threw his sword away and fled. Then
Sparhawk's attention was diverted by another enemy.
When the last of the ambushers had fallen, Sparhawk
wheeled Faran to go to the aid of Bevier and Kalten, but
saw that it was largely unnecessary. Three of the men
who had come charging out of the elm grove were
already down. Another was doubled over in his saddle
with both hands pressed to his belly. The other ~two were
trying desperately to parry the blows of Kalten's sword
and Bevier's Lochaber axe. Kalten feinted with his sword
then smoothly slapped his opponent's weapon out of his
hand, even as Bevier lopped the head off his man with an
almost casual backhand swipe.
'Don't kill him!' Sparhawk shouted to Kalten as the
blond man raised his sword.
'But -' Kalten protested.
"I want to question him.'
Kalten's face grew bleak with disappointment as
Sparhawk rode back across the littered turf towards him
and Bevier.
Sparhawk reined Faran in. 'Get off your horse,' he told
the frightened and exhausted captive.
The man slid down. Like that worn by his fallen
companions, his armour was a mish-mash of unmatched
pieces. It was rusty and dented in places, but the sword
Kalten had knocked from his hand was polished and
sharp.
'You're a mercenary, I take it,' Sparhawk said to him.
'Yes, my Lord,' the fellow faltered in a Pelosian accent.
'This didn't turn out too well, did it?' Sparhawk asked
in an almost comradely fashion.
The fellow laughed nervously, looking at the carnage
around him. 'No, my Lord, not at all the way we expected.'
'You did your best,' Sparhawk said to him. 'Now, we'll
need the name of the man who hired you.'
"I didn't ask his name, my Lord.'
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'Describe him then.'
"I-I cannot, my Lord.'
This interview is going to get a lot less pleasant,
I think,' Kalten said. 'Stand him in a fire,' Ulath suggested.
"I've always liked pouring boiling pitch inside their
armour -slowly,' Tynian said.
'Thumbscrews,' Bevier said firmly.
'You see how it is, neighbour,' Sparhawk said to the
now ashen-faced prisoner. 'You are going to talk. We're
here, and the man who hired you isn't. He might have
threatened you with unpleasant things, but we're going
to do them to you. Save yourself a great deal of discomfort
and answer my questions.'
'My Lord,' the man blubbered, "I can't - even if you
torture me to death.'
Ulath slid down from his saddle and approached the
cringing captive. 'Oh, stop that,' the Genidian said. He
raised a hand, palm outstretched, over the prisoner's
head and spoke in a harsh, grOWLING LANGUAGE Sparhawk
did not understand but uneasily suspected was not a
human tongue. The captured mercenary's eyes went
blank, and he fell to his knees. Falteringly and with
absolutely no expression in his voice, he began to speak
in the same language as Ulath had.
'He's been bound in a spell,' the Genidian Knight
reported. 'Nothing we could have done to him would
have made him talk.'
The mercenary went on in that dreadful language,
speaking more rapidly now.
"There were two who hired him,' Ulath translated, 'a
hooded Styric and a man with white hair.'
'Martel!' Calten exclaimed.
'Very likely,' Sparhawk agreed.
The prisoner spoke again.
"It was the Styric who put the spell on him,' Ulath said.
"It's one I'm not familiar with.'
"I don't think I am either,' Sparhawk admitted. 'We'll
see if Sephrenia knows it.'
'Oh,' Ulath added, 'that's one other thing. This attack
was directed at her.'
,What?,
'The orders these men had were to kill the Styric
woman.
'Kalten!' Sparhawk barked, but the blond man was
already spurring his horse.
'What about him?' Tynian pointed at the prisoner.
'Let him go,' Sparhawk shouted as he galloped off after
Kalten. 'Come on.'
As they rode over the hilltop, Sparhawk looked back.
The two strange Pandions were nowhere in sight. Then,
up ahead, he saw them. A group of men had surrounded
the rocky knoll where Kurik had hidden Sephrenia and
the others. The two black-armoured knights were sitting
on their horses coolly between the attackers and the
knoll. They were making no effort to fight, but merely
stood their ground. As Sparhawk watched, one of the
attackers launched a javelin which appeared to pass
directly through the body of one of the black-armoured
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Pandions with no visible effect.
'Faran!' SParhawk barked. 'Run!' It was something he
seldom did. He called upon Faran's loyalty instead of his
training. The big horse shuddered slightly, then
stretched himself out in a run that quickly outdistanced
the others.
The attackers numbered perhaps ten men. They were
recoiling visibly from the two shadowy Pandions blocking
their path. Then one of them looked around and saw
Sparhawk descending upon them with the others rushing
along behind him, and he shouted a warning. After a
moment of stunned paralysis, the shabby attackers bolted,
fleeing across the meadow, fleeing in a kind of paNic
Sparhawk had seldom seen in professionals. He charged
up the side of the outcrop with Faran's steel-shod hooves
striking sparks from the stones. Just below the crest, he
reined in. "is everybody all right?' he called to Kurik.
"we're fine,' Kuric replied, looking over the hasty
breastwork of stone he and Berit had erected. "It was touch
and go until those two knights got here, though.' Kurik's
eyes looked a bit wild as he stared at the pair who had
warded off the assailants. Sephrenia came up to the
breastwork beside him, and her face was deathly pale.
Sparhawk turned to the two strange Pandions. "I think
it's time for introductions, brothers,' he said, 'and some
explanations. '
The two made no reply. He looked at them a bit more
closely. The horses upon which they sat now appeared
even more skeletal, and Sparhawk shuddered as he saw
that the animals had no eyes, but only vacant eye
sockets, and that their bones protruded through their
tattered coats. Then the two knights removed their
helmets. Their faces seemed somehow filmy and
indistinct, almost transparent, and they, too, were eyeless.
One of them appeared very young, and he had
butter-coloured hair. The other was old, and his hair was
white. Sparhawk recoiled slightly. He knew both of
them, he knew that they both were dead.
"sir Sparhawk,' the ghost of Parasim said, his voice
hollow and emotionless, 'pursue thy quest with
diligence. Time will not stay for thee.'
"Why have you," Sephrenia asked the two in a profoundly formal tone
"returned from the House of the Dead?'
Her voice was trembling.
'Our oath hath the power to bring us out of the
shadows if need be, little mother,' the form of Lakus
replied, his voice also hollow and void of all emotion.
'Others will also fall, and our company will increase ere
the Queen returns to health.' The hollow-eyed shade
turned then to Sparhawk. 'Guard well our beloved
mother, Sparhawk, for she is in grave peril. Should she
fall, our deaths are without purpose, and the Queen will
die. '
"I will, Lakus,' Sparhawk promised.
'Know also one last thing. In Ehlana's death, thou
shalt lose more than a queen. The darkness hovers at the
gate, and Ehlana is our only hope of light. ' Then the two
of them shimmered and vanished.
The four other knights came charging up the rocky
slope and reined in. Kalten's face was pallid and he was
visibly trembling. 'Who were they?' he asked.
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'Parasim and Lakus,' Sparhawk replied quietly.
'Parasim? He's dead.'
'So's Lakus.'
'Ghosts?'
'So it would seem.'
Tynian dismounted and pulled off his massive helmet.
He was also pale and sweating. "I've dabbled at times in
necromancy,' he said, 'though not usually by choice.
Usually a spirit has to be summoned, but sometimes
they'll appear on their own - particularly if they left
something important unfinished.'
'This was important,' Sparhawk said bleakly.
'Was there something else you wanted to tell us,
Sparhawk?' Ulath said then. 'You seem to have left
a few things out.'
Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. Her face was still
deathly pale, but she straightened and nodded to him.
Sparhawk took a deep breath. 'The spell that sustains
Ehlana and keeps her sealed in that crystal was the result
of the combined efforts of Sephrenia and twelve
Pandions,' he explained.
"I'd been sort of wondering how you did that,' Tynian
said.
There's only one problem with it,' Sparhawk continued. '
The Knights will die one by one until only
Sephrenia is left.'
'And then?' Bevier asked, his voice shaking.
'Then I will also depart,' Sephrenia replied simply.
A stifled sob escaped the young Cyrinic. 'Not while I
have breath,' he said in a choked voice.
"Someone, however, is trying to speed things uP,'
Sparhawk went on. 'This is the third attempt on
Sephrenia's life since we left Cimmura.'
'But I have survived them,' she said as if they were of
no moment. "were you able in any way to identify the
people involved in this attack?'
'Martel and some Styric,' Kalten told her. 'The Styric
had put a spell on the mercenaries to keep them from
talking, but Ulath broke it somehow. He spoke with a
prisoner in a language I didn't understand. The man
answered in the same tongue.'
She looked inquiringly at the Thalesian knight.
'We spoke in the language of the Trolls,' Ulath
shrugged. "It's a nonhuman tongue, so it circumvented
the spell.'
She stared at him in horror. 'You called upon the
Troll-Gods?' she gasped.
"Sometimes it's necessary, Lady,' he replied. "It's not
too dangerous, if you're careful.'
Bevier's face was tear-streaked. 'An it please you, my
Lord Sparhawk,' he said, "I shall personally undertake
the protection of the Lady Sephrenia. I shall remain
constantly at this valiant lady's side, and should there be
further encounters, I pledge you my life that she shall not
be harmed.'
A brief expression of consternation crossed
Sephrenia's face, and she looked appealingly at
Sparhawk.
'Probably not a bad idea,' he said, ignoring her
unspoken objection. 'All right then, Bevier. Stay with
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her.'
Sephrenia gave him a withering look.
'Are we going to get the dead under the ground?'
Tynian asked.
Sparhawk shook his head. 'We don't have time to be
gravediggers. My brothers are dying one by one, and
Sephrenia's at the end of the list. If we see some
peasants, we'll tell them where the bodies are. The loot
they'll get will more than pay for the digging. Let's move
along.'
Borrata was a university town that had grown up around
the stately buildings of the oldest centre of higher
learning in Eosia. On occasion in the past, the Church
had strongly urged that the institution be moved to
Chyrellos, but the faculty had always resisted that
notion, obviously desiring to maintain their independence
and the absence of Church supervision.
Sparhawk and his companions took rooms in one of
the local inns late in the afternoon on the day they
arrived. The inn was more comfortable and certainly
cleaner than the roadside ones in which they had stayed
in Elenia and here in Cammoria.
The following morning, Sparhawk put on his mail coat
and his heavy woollen cloak.
"do you want us to go with you?' Kalten asked as his
friend came down into' the common room on the main
floor of the inn.
'No,' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's not turn it into a parade.
The university isn't very far from here, and I can protect
Sephrenia along the way.'
Sir Bevier looked as if he were about to protest. He had
taken his self-appointed role as Sephrenia's protector
very seriously, seldom moving more than a few feet from
her side during the journey to Borrata. Sparhawk looked
at the earnest young Cyrinic. "I know you've been
keeping watch outside her door every night, Bevier,' he
said. 'Why don't you get some sleep? You won't be much
good to her - or the rest of us - if 'you fall out of your
saddle.'
Beviers face stiffened.
'He didn't mean it personally, Bevier,' Kalten said.
'Sparhawk just hasn't quite figured out the meaning of
the word "diplomatic" yet. We're all hoping that someday
it might come to him.'
Bevier smiled faintly, then he laughed. "I think it might
take me some time to adjust to you Pandions,' he said.
'Look upon it as educational,' Kalten suggested.
'You know that if you and the Lady are successful in
finding that cure, we're likely to encounter all kinds of
trouble on the way back to Cimmura,' Tynian said to
Sparhawk. 'We'll probably run into whole armies trying
to stop us.'
'Madel,' Ulath suggested cryptically, 'or SARINIUm.'
"I don't quite follow,' Tynian admitted.
'Those armies you mentioned wil try to block the road
to Chyrellos to keep us from getting there - and then on
into Elenia. If we ride south to either of those seaports,
we can hire a ship and sail around to Vardenais on the
west coast of Elenia. It's faster to travel by sea anyway.'
'Let's decide that after we find the cure,' Sparhawk said.
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Sephrenia came down the stairs with Flute. 'Are you
ready then?' she asked.
Sparhawk nodded.
She spoke briefly to Flute. The little girl nodded and
crossed the room to where Talen sat. 'You've been
selected, Talen,' Sephrenia told the boy. 'Watch over her
while I'm gone.'
'But -' he started to object.
"Just do as she says, Talen,' Kurik told him wearily.
"I was going to go out and have a look around.'
'No,' his father said, 'as a matter of fact, you weren't.'
Talen's expression grew sulky. 'All right,' he said as
Flute climbed up into his lap.
Since the university grounds were so close, Sparhawk
decided against taking their horses, and he and
Sephrenia walked through the narrow streets of Borrata.
The small woman looked around. "I haven't been here in
a long time,' she murmured.
"I can't imagine what interest a university could hold
for you,' Sparhawk smiled, 'considering your views on
reading.'
"I wasn't studying, Sparhawk. I was teaching.'
"I should have guessed, I suppose. How are you
getting on with Bevier?'
'Fine - except that he won't let me do anything for
myself - and that he keeps trying to convert me to the
Elene faith.' Her tone was slightly tart.
'He's just trying to protect you - your soul as well as
your person.'
'Are you trying to be funny?'
He decided not to answer that.
The grounds of the University of Borrata were parklike,
and students and members of the faculty strolled
contemplatively across the well-kept lawns.
Sparhawk stopped a young man in a lime-green
doublet. 'Excuse me, neighbour,' he said, but could you
direct me to the medical college?'
'Are you il?'
'No. A friend of mine is though.'
'Ah. The physicians occupy that building over there.'
The student pointed at a squat-looking structure made of
grey stone.
Thank you, neighbour.'
"I hope your friend gets better soon.'
'So do we.'
When they entered the building, they encountered A
rotund man in a black robe.
'Excuse me, sir,' Sephrenia said to him. 'Are you
a physiCian?"
"I am.'
'Splendid. Have you a few moments?'
The rotund man had been looking closely at Sparhawk. '
Sorry,' he said curtly. "I'm busy.'
'Could you direct us to one of your colleagues, then?'
'Try any door,' he said, waving his hand and walking
quickly away from them.
That's an odd attitude for a healer,' Sparhawk said.
'Every profession attracts its share of louts,' she
replied.
They crossed the antechamber and Sparhawk rapped
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on a dark-painted door.
"what is it?' a weary voice said.
"we need to consult a physician.'
There was a long pause. 'Oh, all right, the weary voice
replied, 'come in.'
Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Sephrenia.
The man seated behind the cluttered desk in the
room inside had deep circles beneath his eyes, and it appeared
that he had forgone shaving some weeks ago. 'What is
the nature of your illness?'
he asked Sephrenia in a voice hovering on exhaustion. '
"I'm not the one who's il,' she replied.
'Him, then?' The doctor pointed at Sparhawk. 'He
looks robust enough to me.'
'No,' she said. 'He's not ill either. We're here on behalf
of a friend.'
"I don't go to people's houses.'
'We weren't asking you to do that,' Sparhawk said.
'Our friend lives some distance away,' Sephrenia said,
'We thought that if we described her symptoms to you,
you might be able to hazard a guess as to the cause of her
malady.'
"I don't make guesses,' he told her. shortly. 'What are
the symptoms?'
'Much like those of the falling-sickness,' Sephrenia
told him.
'That's it, then. You've already made the diagnosis
yourself.'
'There's a certain difference, however.'
'All right. Describe the differences.'
'There's a fever involved - quite a high one - and
profuse sweating.'
'These two don't match, little lady. With a fever, the
skin is dry.'
'Yes, I know.'
'Have you a medical background?'
"I'm familiar with certain folk remedies.'
He snorted. 'My experience tells me that folk remedies
kill more than they cure. What other symptoms did you
notice?' Sephrenia meticulously described the ilness that had
rendered Ehlana comatose.
The physician, however, seemed not to be listening,
but was staring instead at Sparhawk. His eyes narrowed,
his face became suddenly alert and his expression sly.
"I'm sorry,' he said when Sephrenia had finished. "I think
you'd better go back and take another look at your friend.
What you just described matches no known illness.' His
tone was abrupt, even curt.
Sparhawk straightened, clenching his fist, but
Sephrenia laid her hand on his arm. Thank you for your
time, learned sir,' she said smoothly. 'Come along then,
she told Sparhawk.
The two of them went back out into the corridor.
Two in a row,' Sparhawk muttered.
Two what?'
'People with bad manners.'
"It stands to reason, perhaps.'
"I don't follow you.'
There's a certain natural arrogance in those who
teach.'
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'You've never displayed it.'
"I keep it under control. Try another door, Sparhawk.'
In the next two hours, they spoke with seven
' physicians. Each of them, after a searching look at
Sparhawk's face, pretended ignorance.
"I'm starting to get a peculiar feeling about this,' he
growled as they emerged from yet another office. 'They
take one look at me, and they suddenly become stupid -
or is that just my imagination?'
"I've noticed that, too,' she replied thoughtfully.
"my face isn't that exciting, I know, but it's never struck
anyone dumb before.'
"its a perfectly good face, Sparhawk.'
"It covers the front of my head. What else can you
expect from a face?'
The physicians of Borrata seem less skilled than we'd
been led to believe.'
"we've wasted more time, then?'
'We haven't finished yet. Don't give up hope.'
They came finally to a small, unpainted door set back
in a shabby alcove. Sparhawk rapped, and a slurred voice
responded, 'Go away.'
'We need your help, learned sir,' Sephrenia said.
'Go and bother somebody else. I'm busy getting drunk
right now. '
'That does it!' Sparhawk snapped. He grasped the
door handle and pushed, but the door was locked from
the inside. Irritably, he kicked it open, splintering the
frame.
The man inside the tiny cubicle blinked. He was a
shabby little man with a crooked back and bleary eyes.
'You knock very loudly, friend,' he observed. Then he
belched. 'Well, don't just stand there. Come in.' His head
weaved back and forth. He was shabbily dressed, and his
wispy grey hair stuck out in all directions.
'is there something in the water around here that
makes everybody so churlish?' Sparhawk asked acidly.
'I wouldn't know,' the shabby man replied. 'I never
drink water.' He drank noisily from a battered tankard.
' Obviously.'
"Shall we spend the rest of the day exchanging insults,
or would you rather tell me about your problem?' The
physician squinted myopically at Sparhawk's face. 'So
you're the one,' he said.
'The one what?'
'The one we aren't supposed to talk to."
'Would you like to explain that?'
'A man came here a few days ago. He said that it would
be worth a hundred gold pieces to every physician in the
building if you left empty-handed.'
'What did he look like?'
'He had a military bearing and white hair.'
'Martel,' Sparhawk said to Sephrenia.
'We should have guessed almost immediately,' she
replied.
Take heart, friends,' the messy little man told them
expansively. 'You've found your way to the finest
physician in Borrata.' He grinned then. 'My colleagues
all fly south with the ducks in the fall going, "Quack,
quack, quack." You couldn't get a sound medical opinion
out of any one of them. The white-haired man said that
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you'd describe some symptoms. Some lady someplace is
very il, I understand, and your friend - this Marttel you
mentioned - would prefer that she didn't recover. Why
don't we disappoint him?' He drank deeply from his
tankard.
"you're a 'credit to your profession, good doctor,'
Sephrenia said.
"no. I'm a vicious-minded old drunkard. do you really
want to know why I'm willing to help you? It's because
I'll enjoy the screams of anguish from my colleagues
when all that money slips through their fingers.'
That's as good a reason as any, I suppose,' Sparhawk
said.
'Exactly.' The slightly tipsy physician peered at Sparhawk's
nose. 'Why didn't you have that set when it got
broken?' he asked.
Sparhawk touched his nose. 'I was busy with other
things. '
I can fix it for you if you'd like. All I have to do is take a
hammer and break it again. Then I can set it for you.'
Thanks all the same, but I'm used to it now.'
"Suit yourself. All right, what are these symptoms you
are here to describe?'
Once again Sephrenia ran down the list for him.
He sat scratching at his ear with his eyes narrowed.
Then he rummaged through the litter piled high on his
desk and pulled out a thick book with a torn leather
cover. He leafed through it for several moments, then
slammed it shut. 'Just as I thought,' he said triumphantly.
He belched again.
'Well?' Sparhawk said.
'Your friend was poisoned. Has she died yet?'
A chill caught at Sparhawk's stomach. 'No,' he replied.
'it's only a matter of time.' The physician shrugged.
'it's a rare poison from Render. It's invariably fatal.'
Sparhawk clenched his teeth. 'i'm going to go back to
Cimmura and disembowel Annias,' he grated, 'with a
dull knife.' The disreputable little physician suddenly looked
interested. 'You do it this way,' he suggested. 'Make a
lateral incision just below the navel. Then kick him over
backwards. Everything ought to fall out at that point.'
'Thank you.'
'No charge. If you're going to do something, do it
right. I take it that this Annias person is the one you think
was responsible?'
'Undoubtedly.'
'Go ahead and kill him then. I despise a poisoner.'
'is there an antidote for this poison?' Sephrenia asked.
'None that I know of. I'd suggest talking with several
physicians I know in Cippria, but your friend will be
dead before you could get back.'
'No,' Sephrenia disagreed. "She's being sustained.'
'i'd like to know how you managed that.'
'The lady is Styric,' Sparhawk told him. "She has access
to certain unusual things.'
'Magic. Does that really work?'
'At times, yes.'
'All right, then. Maybe you do have time.' The seedy-looking
doctor ripped a corner off one of the papers on
his desk and dipped a quill into a nearly dry inkpot. 'The
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first two names here are those of a couple of fairly adept
physicians in Cippria,' he said as he scrawled on the
paper. 'This last one is the name of the poison.' He
handed the paper to Sparhawk. 'Good luck,' he said.
'Now get out of here so I can continue what I was doing
before you kicked in my door.'
!!!
*Chapter16
'Because you don't look like Rendors,' Sparhawk told
them. 'Foreigners attract a great deal of attention there -
usually unfriendly. I can pass for a native in Cippria. So
can Kurik. Rendorish women wear veils, so Sephrenia's
appearance won't be a problem. The rest of you are going
to have to stay behind.'
They were gathered in a large room on the upper floor
of the inn near the university. The room was bare with
only a few benches along the walls and no curtains at the
narrow window. Sparhawk had reported what the tipsy
physician had said and the fact that Martel had attempted
subterfuge this time rather than a physical confrontation. '
We could put something on our hair to change the
colour,' Kalten protested. 'Wouldn't that get us by?'
"It's the manner, Kalten,' Sparhawk explained. "I could
dye you green, and people would still know that you're
an Elenian. The same's more or less true of the rest of
you. You all have the bearing of knights. It takes years to
erase that.'
'You want us to stay here, then?' Ulath asked.
'No. Let's all go down to Madel,' Sparhawk decided. 'if
something unexpected comes up in Cippria, I can get
word to you there faster.'
"I think you're overlooking something, Sparhawk,'
Kalten said. 'We know that Martel's moving around
down here, and he's probably got eyes everywhere. If we
all ride out of Borrata in full armour, he'll know about it
before we cover half a league.'
'Pilgrims,' Ulath grunted cryptically.
"I don't quite follow you,' Kalten said, frowning.
'if we pack our armour in a cart and dress in sober
clothes, we can join a group of pilgrims, and nobody's
going to give us a second glance.' He looked at Bevier.
'Do you know very much about Madel?' he asked.
"we have a chapterhouse there,' Bevier replied. "I visit
it from time to time.'
'Are there any shrines or holy places there?'
'Several. But pilgrims seldom travel in winter.'
They do if they get paid. We'll hire some - and a
clergyman to sing hymns as we go along.'
"It's got possibilities, Sparhawk,' Kalten said. 'Martel
doesn't really know which way we're going when we
leave here, so his spies are going to be spread fairly thin. '
'How will we know this Martel person?' Bevier asked.
"Should we encounter him while you're in Cippria, I
mean?'
Kalten knows him,' Sparhawk replied, 'and Talen has
seen him once.' Then he remembered something. He
looked over at the boy, who was making a cat's cradle to
entertain Flute. 'Talen,' he said, 'could you draw pictures
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of Martel and Krager?'
'Of course.'
'And we can conjure up the image of Adus as well,
Sephrenia added.
'Adus is easy,' Kalten said. 'Just put armour on a babboon
and you've got him.'
'All right, we'll do it that way, then,' Sparhawk said. "Berit?"
"yes, Lord Sparhawk?'
"Go and find a church somewhere - a poor one. Talk
with the vicar. Tell him that we'll finance a pilgrimage to
the shrines in Madel. Ask him to pick a dozen or so of his
neediest parishioners and to bring them here tomorrow
morning. We'll want him to come with us as well - to be
the caretaker of our souls. And tell him that we'll make a
sizeable contribution to his church if he agrees.'
'Won't he ask about our motives, my Lord?'
'Tell him that we've committed a dreadful sin and want
to atone for it,' Kalten shrugged. 'Just don't be too
specific about the sin.'
'Sir Kalten!' Bevier gasped. 'You would lie to a
churchman?'
"It's not exactly a lie, Bevier. We've all committed sins.
I've sinned at least a half-dozen times this week already.
Besides, the vicar of a poor church isn't going to ask too
many questions when there's a contribution involved.'
Sparhawk took a leather pouch from inside his tunic.
He shook it a few times, and a distinctive jingling sound
came from it. 'All right, gentlemen,' he said, untying the
top of the pouch, 'we've reached the part of this service
you all enjoy the most - the offertory. God appreciates a
generous giver, so don't be shy. The vicar will need cash
to hire pilgrims.' He passed the pouch around.
'Do you think God might accept a promissory note?'
Kalten asked.
'God might. I won't. Put something in the pouch,
Kalten.'
The group that gathered in the innyard the following
morning was uniformly shabby - widows in patched
mourning, out-of-work artisans and several hungry
beggars. They were all mounted on weary nags or sleepy-looking
mules. Sparhawk looked at them from the window.
Tell the innkeeper to feed them,' he said to Kalten.
~there's quite a number of them, Sparhawk.'
I don't want them fainting from hunger a mile out of
town. You take care of that while I go and talk with the
vicar.'
'Anything you say.' Kalten shrugged. "Should I bathe
them, too? Some of them look a bit unwashed.'
That won't be necessary. Feed their horses and mules
as well.'
"Aren't we being a little overgenerous?'
"you get to carry any horse that collapses.
'Oh. I'll see to it right away, then.'
The vicar of the poor church was a thin, anxious-looking
man in his sixties. His silvery hair was curly and
his face was drawn and deeply lined with care. 'My
Lord,' he said, bowing deeply to Sparhawk.
'Please, good vicar,' Sparhawk said to him, 'just
"pilgrim" is adequate. We are all equal in the service of
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God. My companions and I wish simply to join with your
good, pious folk and to journey to Madel that we may
worship at the holy shrines there for the solace of our
souls and in the certain knowledge of the infinite mercy
of God.'
'Well said - uh - pilgrim.'
'Would you join us at table, good vicar?' Sparhawk
asked him. 'We will go many miles before we sleep
tonight.'
The vicar's eyes grew suddenly bright. "I would be
delighted, my Lord - uhr pilgrim, that is.'
The feeding of the Cammorian pilgrims and their
mounts took quite some time and stretched the capacity
of the kitchen and the stable grain bins to a considerable
degree.
"I've never seen people eat so much,' Kalten grumbled.
Clad in a sturdy, unmarked cloak, he swung up into hiS
saddle just outside the inn.
'They were hungry,' Sparhawk told him. 'At least we
can see to it that they get a few good meals before they
have to return to Borrata.'
'Charity, Sir Sparhawk?' Bevier asked. 'isn't that a bit
out of character? The grim-faced Pandions are not noted
for their tender sensibilities.'
'How little you know them, Sir Bevier,' Sephrenia
murmured. She mounted her white palfrey, then held
out her hands to Flute, but the little girl shook her head,
walked over to Faran and reached out her tiny hand. The
big roan lowered his head, and she caressed his velvety
nose. Sparhawk felt an odd quiver run through his
mount's body. Then Flute insistently raised her hands to
the big Pandion. Gravely, Sparhawk leaned over and
lifted her into her accustomed place in front of the saddle
and enfolded her in his cloak. She nestled against him,
took out her pipes, and began to play that same minor
melody she had been playing when they had first found
her.
The vicar at the head of their column intoned a brief
, prayer, invoking the protection of the God of the Elenes
during their journey, an invocation punctuated by
questioning - even sceptical - trills from Flute's pipes.
'Behave yourself,' Sparhawk whispered to her. 'He's a
good man and he's doing what he thinks is right.'
She rolled her eyes roguishly. Then she yawned,
snuggling closer to him, and promptly went to sleep.
They rode south out of Borrata under a clear morning
sky with Kurik and the two-wheeled cart containing their
armour and equipment clattering along behind them.
The breeze was gusty and it tugged at the ragged clothing
of the pilgrims patiently plodding along behind their
vicar. A line of low mountains lay to the west, touched
with snow on their peaks, and the sunlight glistened on
those white fields. Their pace as they rode seemed to
Sparhawk leisurely - even lackadaisical - though the
panting and wheezing of the poor mounts of the pilgrims
was a fair indication that the beasts were being pressed as
hard as was possible.
It was about noon when Kalten rode forward from his
station at the rear of the column. 'There are riders coming
up behind us,' he reported quietly to avoid alarming
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nearby pilgrims. 'They're pushing hard.'
'Any idea of who they are?'
'They're wearing red.'
'Church soldiers, then.'
'Notice how quick he is?' Kalten observed to the
others. 'How many?' Tynian asked.'
"It looks like a reinforced" platoon.'
Bevier loosened his Lochaber axe in its sling.
'Keep that under cover,' Sparhawk told him. 'The rest
of you hide your weapons as well.' Then he raised hiS
voice. 'Good vicar,' he called ahead. 'How about a hymn?
The miles go easier with sacred music for company.'
The vicar cleared his throat and began to sing in a
rusty, off-key voice. Wearily, but responding automatically
to their pastor's lead, the other pilgrims joined in.
'Sing,' Sparhawk commanded his companions, and
they all raised their voices in the familiar hymn. As they
bawled their song, Flute lifted her pipes and played a
mocking little counterpoint.
'Stop that,' Sparhawk murmured to her. 'And if there's
trouble, slide down and run out into that field.'
She rolled her eyes at him.
'Do as you're told, young lady. I don't want you
getting trampled if there's a fight.'
The church soldiers, however, pounded past the
column of hymn-singing pilgrims with hardly a glance
and were soon lost in the distance ahead.
'Tense,' Ulath commented.
'Truly,' Tynian agreed. 'Trying to fight in the middle of
a crowd of terrified pilgrims might have been
interesting. '
'Do you think they were searching for us?' Berit asked.
"It's hard to say,' Sparhawk replied. "I wasn't going to
stop them to ask, though.'
They moved southward towards Madel in easy stages to
conserve the sorry mounts of the vicar's parishioners,
and they arrived on the outskirts of the port city about
noon on the fourth day out of Borrata. When the town
came into view, Sparhawk rode forward to join the vicar
at the head of the column. He handed the good man a
pouch full of coins. 'We'll be leaving you here,' he said.
'A matter has come up that needs our attention.'
The vicar gave him a speculative look. 'This was all
subterfuge, wasn't it, my Lord?' he asked gravely. "I may
be only the poor pastor of a poverty-stricken chapel, but I
recognize the manner and bearing of Church Knights
when I see them.'
'Forgive us, good vicar,' Sparhawk replied. 'Take your
people to the holy places here in Madel. Lead them in
prayer and then see to it that they're well fed. Then
return to Borrata and use whatever money is left as you
see fit.'
'And may I do this with a clear conscience, my son?'
'The clearest, good pastor. My friends and I serve the
Church in a matter of gravest urgency, and your aid will
be appreciated by the members of the Hierocracy in
Chyrellos - most of them, at any rate.' Then Sparhawk
turned Faran around and rode back to his companions.
'All right, Bevier,' he said. 'Take us to your chapterhouse.'
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"
I have been considering that, Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier
replied. 'Our chapterhouse here is closely watched by
local authorities and all manner of other folk. Even
garbed as we are, we would surely be recognized.'
Sparhawk grunted. 'You're probably right. Can you
think of any alternatives?'
'Perhaps so. As it happens, I have a kinsman - a
marquis from eastern Arcium - who has a villa on the
outskirts of the city. I have not seen him for some years -
our family disapproved of him because he's in trade - but
perhaps he will remember me. He's a good-natured
fellow, and if I approach him right, he might extend his
hospitality. '
"It's worth a try I guess. All right. Lead the way.'
They rode around the western outskirts of Madel to an
opulent house surrounded by a low wall built of the local
sandstone. The house was set back some distance from
the road and was surrounded by tall evergreens and
well-groomed lawns. There was a gravelled court
directly in front of the house, and they dismounted
there. A servant in sober livery emerged from the house
and approached inquiringly.
'Would you be so good as to advise the marquis that his
second cousin, Sir Bevier, and several friends would like
to have a word with him?' the Cyrinic inquired politely.
'At once, my Lord.' The servant turned and re-entered
the house.
The man who emerged from the house a few moments
later was stout and had a florid face. He wore one of the
colourful silk robes common in southern Cammoria
rather than Arcian doublet and hose, and his welcoming
grin was broad. 'Bevier, he greeted his distant cousin
with a warm handclasp. 'What are you doing in
Cammoria?'
'Seeking refuge, Lycien,' Bevier replied. His open
young face clouded momentarily. 'The family has not
treated you well, Lycien,' he admitted. "I could not blame
you if you turned me and my friends away.'
'Nonsense, Bevier. The decision to take up trading was
mine. I knew how the rest of the family would feel about
it. I'm delighted to see you. You mentioned refuge?'
Bevier nodded. 'We're here on Church business of
some delicacy,' he said, 'and there are a few too many
eyes watching the Cyrinic chapterhouse in the city. I
know it's a great deal to ask, but might we impose on
your hospitality?'
'By all means, my boy, by all means.o Marquis Lycien
clapped his hands sharply, and several grooms came out
of the stables. 'See to the mounts of these visitors and
their cart,' the marquis ordered. Then he laid his hand on
Bevier's shoulder. 'Come in,' he invited them all. 'My
house is yours.' He turned and led the way through the
low, arched doorway and on into the house. Once they
were inside, they followed him to a pleasant room with
low, cushioned furniture and a fireplace where several
logs crackled and snapped. 'Please, friends, sit,' Lycien
said. Then he looked speculatively at them. 'This Church
business of yours must be very important, Bevier,' he
guessed. 'Judging from their features, I'd say that your
friends represent all four of the militant orders.'
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'Your eyes are sharp, Marquis,' Sparhawk told him.
'Am I going to get in trouble over this?' Lycien asked.
Then he grinned. 'Not that I care, mind you. It's just that
I like to be prepared.'
"It's not too likely,' Sparhawk assured him. 'Particularly
if we're successful in our mission. Tell me, my Lord,
do you have contacts in the harbour?'
'Extensive ones, Sir -'
'Sparhawk,' the Pandion supplied.
'Champion of the Queen of Elenia?' Lycien looked
surprised. "I heard that you'd returned from your exile in
Rendor, but aren't you a bit far afield? Shouldn't you be
in Cimmura trying to' circumvent the attempts of the
Primate Annias to depose your lady?'
'You're well informed, my Lord,' Sparhawk said.
"I have widespread commercial contacts.' Lycien
shrugged. He winked at Bevier. 'That's what disgraced
me in the eyes of the family. My agent and the masters of
my ships gather much information in the course of their
dealings.'
"I gather, my Lord, that you're not overly fond of the
Primate of Cimmura?'
'The man's a scoundrel.'
'Our sentiments exactly,' Kalten agreed.
'Very well, then, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. 'What
we're involved with is an attempt to counter the growing
power of the primate. If we're successful, we can stop
him in his tracks. I'd tell you more, but it might be
dangerous for you if you knew too many of the details.'
"I can appreciate that, Sir Sparhawk,' Lycien said. 'Tell
me, in what way can I help?'
'Three of us need to go to Cippria,' Sparhawk replied.
'For the sake of your own safety, it might be better if we
were to take the ship of an independent sea captain
rather than one of your own vessels. If you could direct
us to such a captain and perhaps give us a discreetly
worded letter of introduction to him, we can take care of
the rest.'
'Sparhawk,' Kurik said sharply, looking around the
room, 'what happened to Talen?'
Sparhawk turned quickly. "I thought he was bringing
up the rear when we came in.'
'So did I.'
'Berit,' Sparhawk said, 'go and find him.'
'At once, my Lord.' The novice hurried from the room.
"Some problem?' Lycien asked.
'A wayward boy, cousin,' Bevier told him. 'From what
I gather, he needs to be watched rather closely.'
'Berit will find him.' Kalten laughed. "I have a great
deal of confidence in that young man. Talen may come
back with a few bumps and contusions, but I'm sure
they'll be very educational for him.'
'Well, if it's all under control, then,' Lycien said, 'why
don't I send word to the kitchen? I'm sure you're hungry
And in the meantime, perhaps some wine?' He assumed
a pious expression that was obviously feigned. "I know
that the Knights of the Church are abstemious, but a
touch or so of wine is good for the digestion, or so I've
heard.'
"I've heard that, too,' Kalten agreed.
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'Could I prevail upon you for a cup of tea, my Lord?'
'Of course, madame,' Lycien replied jovially. "I should
have thought of that myself.'
It was midafternoon when Berit returned with Talen in
tow. 'He was down near the harbour,' the novice
reported, still firmly holding the boy by the neck of his
tunic. "I searched him thoroughly. He hadn't had time to
steal anything.'
"I just wanted to look at the sea,' the boy protested.
"I've never seen the sea before.'
Kurik was grimly removing his wide leather belt.
'Now, wait a minute, Kurik,' Talen said, struggling to
free himself from Berit's grasp. 'You wouldn't really do
that, would you?'
'Watch me.'
"I picked up some information,' Talen said quickly. 'If
you thrash me, I'll keep it to myself. ' He looked appealingly
at Sparhawk. "It's important,' he said. 'Tell him to put his
belt back on and I'll let you know what I found out.'
'All right, Kurik,' Sparhawk said. 'Let it pass - for the
moment anyway.' Then he looked sternly at the boy.
This had better be good, Talen,' he threatened.
"It is, Sparhawk. Believe me.'
'Let's have it.'
'Well, I was going down this street. As I said, I wanted
to see the harbour and all the ships and things. Anyway,
I was passing a wine shop and I saw a man coming out.'
'Amazing,' Kalten said. 'Do people in Madel actually
frequent wine shops?'
'You both know this man. It was Krager, the one you
had me watching in Cimmura. I followed him. He went
into a shabby-looking inn down by the waterfront. I can
take you there if you want.'
'Put your belt back on, Kurik,' Sparhawk said.
'Do we have time for this?' Kalten asked.
"I think we should make time. Martel's already tried to
interfere with us a couple of times. If it was Annias who
poisoned Ehlana, he'll definitely want to keep us from
finding any kind of antidote. That means that Martel will
try to get to Cippria before I do. We can wring that
information out of Krager if we can catch him.'
'We'll go with you,' Tynian said eagerly. 'This whole
thing will be easier if we can cut Annias' hands off here in
Madel.'
Sparhawk considered it, then shook his head. "I don't
think so,' he said. 'Martel and his hirelings know Kalten
and me. He doesn't know the rest of you. If the two of us
can't catch up with Krager, you'll all be looking around
Madel for him. That's going to be easier if he doesn't
know what you look like.'
'Makes sense,' Ulath agreed.
Tynian looked profoundly disappointed. "Sometimes
you think too much, Sparhawk,' he said.
"It's a trait of his,' Kalten told him.
"WIll these cloaks of ours attract any attention in the
streets of Madel, my Lord?' Sparhawk asked the marquis.
Lycien shook his head. "it's a port city,' he said. 'There
are people here from all over the world, so two more
strangers won't attract that much notice.'
'Good,' Sparhawk said. He started towards the door
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with Kalten and Talen at his heels. 'We should be back
before long,' he said.
They left their horses behind and went into the city on
foot. Madel was situated on an estuary, and the smell of
the sea was very strong, carried inland by a stiff onshore
breeze. The streets were narrow and crooked and grew
increasingly run-down as the two knights and the boy
approached the harbour.
'How far is this inn?' Kalten asked.
'Not too much farther,' Talen assured him.
Sparhawk stopped. 'Did you get the chance to look
around a bit after Krager went inside?' he asked the boy.
'no. I was going to, but Berit caught me before I had
time. '
'Why don't you do it now? If Kalten and I go marching
up to the front door and Krager happens to be watching,
he'll be out the back door before we get inside. See if you
can find that back door for us.'
'Right,' Talen said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
He scurried off down the street.
'Good lad there,' Kalten said, 'in spite of his bad
habits.' He frowned. 'How do you know this inn has a
back door?' he asked.
'Every inn has a back door, Kalten - in case of fire if
nothing else.'
"I guess I hadn't thought of that.'
When Talen returned, he was running as hard as he
could. There were about ten men chasing him, in the
lead, roaring unintelligibly, was Adus.
'Look out!' Talen shouted as he ran Past.
Sparhawk and Kalten whipped their swords out from
under their cloaks and stepped slightly apart to meet the
charge. The men following Adus were shabbily dressed
and carried a variety of weapons, rusty swords, axes, and
spiked maces.
'Kill them!' Adus bellowed, slowing slightly and waving his men on.
The fight was short. The men rushing up the narrow
street appeared to be common waterfront roughnecks,
and they were no match for the two trained knights. Four
of them were down before the others realized that they
had made a tactical blunder. Two more collapsed onto
the bloody stones before the rest could turn to flee. Then
Sparhawk leapt over the sprawled bodies and rushed at
Adus. The brute parried the knight's first stroke, then
seized his sword hilt in both hands and flailed at
Sparhawk with it. Sparhawk easily deflected those blows
and countered deftly, inflicting painful cuts and bruises
on his opponent's mailed ribs and shoulders. After a
moment, Adus fled, running hard and clutching at his
side with a bloody hand.
"why didn't you chase him?' Kalten demanded,
coming up puffing and with his blood-smeared sword
still in his hand.
'Because Adus can run faster than I can,' Sparhawk
shrugged. "I've known that for years.'
Talen came back down the street, breathing hard. He
looked admiringly at the hacked and bleeding bodies
sprawled on the cobblestones. 'Well done, my Lords,' he
congratulated them.
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"what happened?' Sparhawk asked.
I went on past the inn.' Talen shrugged. 'Then I went
around the back. That big one who just got away was
hiding in the alley with these others. He made a grab for
me, but I dodged. Then I ran.'
'Good thinking,' Kalten said.
Sparhawk sheathed his sword. 'Let's get away from
here,' he said.
'Why not follow Adus?' Kalten asked.
'Because they're setting traps for us. Martel's using
Krager as bait to lead us around by the nose. That's
probably why we keep finding him so easily.'
'Would that mean that they can recognize me as well?'
Talen sounded shocked.
'Probably,' Sparhawk said. 'They found out that you
were working for me in Cimmura, remember? Krager
probably knew that you were following him around and
gave your description to Adus. Adus may not have a
brain, but his eyes are sharp.' He muttered an oath.
'Martel's even more clever than I thought, and he's
starting to irritate me.'
"It's about time,' Kalten murmured as they started back
up the crooked street.
PART THREE
Dabour
*Chapter17
A purple twilight was settling in the narrow streets of
Madel, and the stars were coming out. Sparhawk,
Kalten, and Talen moved through the narrow, crooked
streets, frequently turning corners and occasionally even
doubling back to throw off anyone who might possibly
be following them.
'Aren't we being just a little overcautious?' Kalten said
after about a half-hour.
'Let's not take any chances with Martel,' Sparhawk
replied. 'He's entirely capable of throwing a few people
away just for the chance to hunt us down. I'd rather not
wake up in the middle of the night to find Lycien's house
surrounded by mercenaries.'
'You've got a point there, I suppose.'
They slipped out through the west gate of Madel as the
light faded even more. "in here,' Sparhawk said as they
passed a thicket some distance up the road. 'Let's wait for
a while and make sure that no one's trying to follow us.'
They crouched down among the rustling saplings and
peered back along the road leading down to the city. A
sleepy bird somewhere in the thicket muttered complainingly,
and then an ox cart with creaking wheels
passed, rummbling slowly down the road towards Madel.
"It's not too likely that anybody's going to leave town
this close to nightfall, is it?' Kalten asked quietly.
'That's what I'm counting on,' Sparhawk told him.
'Anybody who comes out now probably has serious
business.'
'And the business could be us, right?'
"It's altogether possible.'
A creaking sound came from the city, followed by
a dull boom and the rattling of a heavy chain.
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'They've just closed the gate,' Talen whispered.
'That was what I was waiting for,' Sparhawk said,
rising to his feet. 'Let's go.'
They emerged from the thicket and continued on along
the road. Stands of trees loomed up out of the darkness
on either side, and clumps of shadowy bushes lined the
edges of the fields stretching off into the night. Talen
nervously stayed close to the two knights, his eyes
darting this way and that.
'What's the matter, boy?' Kalten asked him.
"I've never been out in the countryside after dark
before,' Talen explained. 'is it always this black?'
The blond man shrugged. 'That's why they call it
night.'
'Why doesn't somebody put up some torches?' Talen
complained.
'What for? So the rabbits can see where they're going?'
Lycien's house stood in the deep shadows of the
surrounding evergreens with only a single torch at the
gate. Talen was visibly relieved when they walked into
the gravelled yard in front of the entrance.
'Any luck?' Tynian asked, emerging from the main
entrance.
'We ran into some trouble,' Sparhawk replied. 'Let's
go inside.'
"I told you that you should have let the rest of us come
along,' the bulky-shouldered Alcione said accusingly as
they entered the building.
"It wasn't that much trouble,' Kalten assured him.
The others were waiting in the large room to which
Lycien had first led them. Sephrenia rose to her feet,
looking closely at the blood spatters on the two Pandions'
cloaks. 'Are you all right?' she asked, her voice mirroring
her concern.
'We ran into a group of sportive fellows," Kalten
replied lightly. He looked down at his cloak. 'The blood is
all theirs.'
'What happened?' she asked Sparhawk.
'Adus tried to ambush us when we got to the inn,' he
told her. 'He had a group of waterfront toughs with him.'
He paused reflectively. 'You know, we've been running
across Krager just about every time we turn around.
Once - or even twice - might have been sheer coincidence,
but it's starting to happen just a little too
frequently, and every time we try to follow him, there's
some kind of ambush.'
'You think it's deliberate?' Tynian asked.
"It's beginning to look that way, isn't it?'
'Would this Martel put a friend in such danger?' Bevier
sounded surprised.
'Martel doesn't have any friends,' Sparhawk told him.
'Adus and Krager are hirelings, nothing more. They're
useful, but he feels no particular attachment for them. I
don't think he'd shed many tears if something happened to
Krager.' He began to pace up and down, staring thoughtfully
at the floor. 'Maybe we can turn the tables on him.' He
looked at Kalten. 'Why don't you let yourself be seen in the
streets of Madel?' he suggested. 'Don't take too many
chances, but let people know you're in town.'
'Why not?' Kalten shrugged.
Tynian grinned. 'Martel and his hirelings don't know
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the rest of us, so we can sort of loiter along behind Kalten
without attracting attention. Is that the idea?'
Sparhawk nodded. "if they think Kalten's alone, it
might bring them out into the open. I'm getting a little
tired of Martel's game, so maybe it's time for us to play a
few of our own.' He looked at Bevier's cousin. 'How
excited do the local authorities get about street brawls,
my Lord?' he asked.
Lycien laughed. 'Madel is a seaport, Sir Sparhawk.
Brawling is second nature to sailors. The authorities don't
pay much attention to their little scuffles - except to remove
the bodies, of course. Public sanitation, you understand.'
'Good.' Sparhawk looked at his friends. 'You may not
get a chance at Krager or Adus, but you might be able to
divide Martel's attention. That could be what it takes to
get Kurik and Sephrenia and me aboard a ship unnoticed.
I'd rather not have to keep looking over my
shoulder when we get to Cippria.'
'About the only tricky part is going to be getting you to
the harbour without being seen,' Kalten said.
"It won't be necessary to go to the harbour,' Lycien
said. "I have some warehouses on the river about five
miles from here. A fair number of independent sea
captains deliver cargoes to me there, and I'm sure
arrangements for your passage can be made without any
need for going into the city.'
'Thank you, my Lord,' Sparhawk said. 'That solves that
problem.'
'When do you plan to leave?' Tynian asked.
"I don't see much point in delaying.'
'Tomorrow, then?'
Sparhawk nodded.
"I need to talk with you, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said.
'Would you mind coming to my room?'
He followed her out of the door, slightly puzzled. "is it
something we can't discuss in front of the others?' he
asked her.
"It might be better if they don't hear us arguing.'
'Are we going to argue?'
'Probably.' She opened the door to her room and led
him inside. Flute sat cross-legged on the bed, her dark
eyebrows knit in concentration as she wove the intricate
mesh of a cat's cradle out of a strand of wool yarn. It was
far more complex than the one Talen had made when he
had demonstrated it to her. She looked up, smiled at
them, and proudly extended her little hands to show
them her handiwork.
"She'll be going with us,' Sephrenia said.
'Absolutely not!' SParhawk said sharPly.
"I told you we'd argue about this.'
"it's an absurd idea, Sephrenia.'
'We all do many absurd things, dear one.' She smiled
affectionately at him.
'Don't do that,' he said. 'You're not going to win me
over that way.'
"don't be tiresome, Sparhawk. You've been around
her long enough to know that she always does what she
decides to do, and she's decided that she's going with us
to Rendor.'
"She won't if I have anything to say about it.'
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That's the whole point, Sparhawk. You don't. You're
dealing with something you can't understand. She's
going to come with us in the end anyway, so why not just
give in gracefully?'
'Gracefulness is not one of my strong points.'
"I've noticed.'
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said flatly. 'just who is she,
anyway? You recognized her the first moment we saw
her, didn't yOU?'
'Of course.'
"why of course? She's only about six years old, and you
haven't left us Pandions for generations. How could you
possibly know her?'
She sighed. 'Elene logic always clouds an issue with
facts. The child and I are kindred in a rather peculiar
sense of the word. We know each other in a way you
couldn't begin to comprehend.'
'Thanks,' he said dryly.
"I'm not belittling your intelligence, dear one,' she told
him, 'but there's a part of Styric life you're not prepared
to accept either intellectually or philosophically.'
He frowned slightly, his eyes narrowed in thought.
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said, 'let me have a try at the
Elene logic you're so fond of dismissing. Flute is a child,
hardly more than a baby.'
The little girl made a face at him.
He ignored that and went on. "She suddenly appeared
in an uninhabited region near the Arcian border far from
any kind of human habitation. We tried to leave her at
that nunnery south of Darra, and she not only managed
to escape but also got a goodly distance ahead of us even
though we were travelling at a gallop. Then she somehow
managed to persuade Faran to let her on his back,
and Faran won't let anybody near him except me unless I
tell him to. When she met Dolmant, you could tell by his
face that he sensed something very unusual about her.
Not only that, you bully full-grown knights like a drillsergeant,
but any time Flute decides to do something or
go someplace, you give in without a fight. Wouldn't you
say that all of that suggests that she's not an ordinary
child?'
'You're the one who's exercising this logic. I wouldn't
dream of interfering.'
'All right then. Let's see where logic takes us. I've seen
a fair number of Styrics. With the exception of you and
the other magicians, they're all fairly primitive and not
very bright - no offence intended, of course.'
'Of course.' Her expression was amused.
'Since we've already established the fact that Flute
is not an ordinary child, what does that leave us?'
"what would be your guess, Sparhawk?'
'Since she's not ordinary, she must be special. In
Styricum, that can only mean one thing. She's a
magician. Nothing else could explain her.'
She applauded ironically. 'Excellent, Sparhawk,' she
congratulated him.
'But that's impossible, Sephrenia. She's only a child.
She hasn't had time to learn the secrets.'
"Some few are born with that knowledge. Besides,
she's older than she looks.'
'How old?'
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"you know that I won't tell you that. The knowledge of
the exact moment of one's birth can be a powerful
weapon in the hands of an enemy.'
A disturbing thought came to him. 'You're preparing
for your own death, aren't you, Sephrenia? If we fail, the
twelve Pandions who were in the throne room with you
will die one by one, and then you'll die, too. You're
preparing Flute to be your successor.'
She laughed. 'Now that, dear Sparhawk, is a very
interesting idea. I'M surprised you came up with it,
considering the fact that you're an Elene.'
"that's a very irritating habit you've picked up lately,
you know? Don't try to be mysterious with me,
Sephrenia, and don't treat me like a child just because I'm
elene.'
I'll try to remember that. You'll agree to let her come
with us, then?'
"do I have any choice?'
"no. As a matter of fact, you don't.'
They rose early the next morning and gathered in the
dew-drenched yard in front of Marquis Lycien's house.
The newly risen sun was very bright, and it slanted down
through the trees, casting the peculiarly bluish-coloured
shadows of early morning.
"I'll get word to you from time to time,' Sparhawk told
those who were remaining behind.
'Be careful down there, Sparhawk,' Kalten said.
"I'm always careful.' Sparhawk swung himself up onto
Faran's back.
'Godspeed, Sir Sparhawk,' Bevier said.
'Thank you, Bevier.' Sparhawk looked around at the
other knights. 'Don't be so glum,gentlemen,' he told them.
"if we're lucky, this won't take very long.' He looked at
Kalten again. "if you run into Martel, give him my regards.'
Kalten nodded. 'With an axe in the face, I think.'
Marquis Lycien mounted a fat bay horse and led the
way out onto the road which passed his house. The
morning was crisp, though not actually cold. Spring,
Sparhawk decided, was not very far off. He shifted his
shoulders slightly. The sober businessman's doublet
Lycien had lent him did not really fit very well. It bound
in some places and was uncomfortably loose in others.
'We'll turn off just up ahead,' Lycien told them.
'There's a track through the woods that leads down to my
wharves and the little settlement that's grown up around
them. Will you want me to bring your horses back after
you go on board ship?'
'No, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "I think we'll take
them with us. We don't know exactly what's going to
happen in Rendor. We might need dependable mounts,
and I've seen what passes for a horse in Cippria.'
What Lycien had modestly called a 'little settlement'
turned out to be a fair-sized village complete with
shipyards, houses, inns and taverns. A dozen vessels
were moored at the wharves with longshoremen swarming
over them.
'Quite an operation, my Lord,' Sparhawk said as they
rode down the muddy street towards the river.
'One has had a certain success,' Lycien said deprecatingly.
He smiled. 'Besides, I save enough in moorage fees
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to offset more than the cost of keeping the place up.' He
looked around. 'Why don't you and I step into that
tavern over there, Sir Sparhawk?' he suggested. 'The
independent sea captains favour that one.'
'All right,' Sparhawk agreed.
"I'll introduce you as Master Cluff,' Lycien said as he
swung down from his bay. "It's not much of a name, I'll
admit, but it's fairly nondescript, and I've discovered
that seafaring men love to talk, but they're not always
very selective in their choice of listeners. I've gathered
that you might prefer to keep this business of yours more
or less confidential.'
'You're perceptive, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, also
dismounting. 'This shouldn't take too long,' he said to
Kurik and Sephrenia.
"isn't that what you said the last time you went to
Rendor?' Kurik asked him.
'We can all hope that this time might be different.'
Lycien led the way into a rather sedate wharfside
tavern. The ceiling was low, with dark, heavy beams
decorated here and there with ships' lanterns. There was
a broad window near the front, and golden morning
sunlight streamed in through it, setting the fresh straw
on the floor to gleaming. Several substantial-looking men
of middle years sat at a table by the window, talking over
brimming tankards. They looked up as the marquis led
Sparhawk to their table. 'My Lord,' one of them respectfully
greeted Lycien.
'Gentlemen,' Lycien said, 'this is Master Cluff, an
acquaintance of mine. He's asked me to introduce him.
They all looked at Sparhawk inquiringly.
"I have a bit of a problem, gentlemen,' Sparhawk told
them. 'May I join you?'
'Have a seat,' one of the sea captains, a solid-looking
man with silver-shot hair, invited.
"I'll leave you gentlemen then,' Lycien said. 'There's
something that needs my attention.' He inclined his head
slightly, turned, and went back out of the tavern.
'He probably wants to see if there's some way he can
raise the mooring fees,' one of the captains said wryly.
'My name's Sorgi,' the captain with the curly hair
introduced himself to Sparhawk. 'What's this problem
you mentioned, Master Cluff?'
Sparhawk coughed slightly as if a little embarrassed.
'Well,' he said, 'it all started a few months ago. I
happened to hear about a lady who lives not far from
here,' he began, embellishing as he went along. 'Her
father is old and very wealthy, so the lady stands to
inherit a sizeable estate. One of my problems has always
been the fact that I have some expensive tastes and very
little in my purse to support them. It occurred to me that a
rich wife might solve that problem.'
'That makes sense,' Captain Sorgi said. 'That's about
the only reason I can think of for getting married at all.'
"I couldn't agree more,' Sparhawk replied. 'Anyway, I
wrote her a letter pretending that we had some mutual
friends, and I was a little surprised when she answered
my letter with a great deal of warmth. Our letters grew
more and more friendly, and she finally invited me to call
on her. I went even deeper in debt to my tailor and set out
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for her father's house in high spirits and splendid new
clothes. '
'Sounds to me as if everything was going according to
plan, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said. 'What's this problem of
yours?'
"I'm just getting to that, Captain. The lady is of middle
years and very wealthy. If she were even remotely
presentable, someone would have snapped her up years
ago, so I didn't have my hopes too high on that score. I
assumed that she was plain -perhaps even homely. I had
not, however, expected a horror.' He feigned a shudder.
'Gentlemen, I cannot even describe her to you. No matter
how rich she was, it wouldn't have been worth waking
up to that every morning. We spoke together briefly -
about the weather, I think - and then I made my
apologies and left. She has no brothers, so I wasn't
worried about the possibility of someone looking me up
to object to my bad manners. What I didn't count on,
though, was all her cousins. She's got a whole platoon of
them, and they've been following me for weeks now.'
'They don't want to kill you, do they?' Sorgi asked.
'No,' Sparhawk replied in an anguished tone. 'They
want to drag me back and force me to marry her.'
The captains all roared with laughter, pounding on the
table in glee. "I think you've outsmarted yourself, Master
Cluff,' one of them said, wiping the tears of mirth from
his eyes.
Sparhawk nodded glumly. 'You're probably right,' he
admitted.
'You should have found some way to get a look at her
before you sent the first letter,' Sorgi grinned.
"I know that now,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Anyhow, I think
it's time I left the country for a while until the cousins
stop looking for me. I've got a nephew living in Cippria in
Rendor who's been doing fairly well of late. I'm sure I can
impose on him until I can get my feet on the ground
again. Is it possible that one of you gentlemen might be
sailing there soon? I'd like to book passage for myself and
a couple of family retainers. I'd go to the main docks in
Madel, but I've got a strong feeling that the cousins are
watching them. '
"What say you, gentlemen?' Captain Sorgi said
expansively. "Shall we help this good fellow out of his
predicament?'
"I'm going to Rendor, right enough,' one of the others
replied, 'but I'm committed to Jiroch.'
Sorgi thought about it. "I was going to Jiroch myself,'
he mused, 'and then on to Cippria, but I might be able to
rearrange my schedule just a bit.'
"I won't be able to help,' a rough-voiced sea captain
growled. 'My ship's having her bottom scraped. I can give
you some advice, though. If these cousins are watching the
main wharves in Madel, they're probably watching these
as well. Everybody in town knows about Lycien's docks
here.' He tugged at one earlobe. "I've smuggled a few
people out of a few places in my time - when the price was
right.' He looked at the captain who was bound for Jiroch.
'When do you sail, Captain Mabin?'
'With the noon tide.'
'And you?' the helpful captain asked Sorgi
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'The same. '
'Good. If the cousins are watching the docks here, they
may try to hire a ship and follow our bachelor friend.
Have him openly board Mabin's ship. Then, when
you're downriver a ways and out of sight, transfer him to
Sorgi's ship. If the cousins decide to follow, Mabin can
lead them off towards Jiroch, and Master Cluff will be
safe on his way to Cippria. That's the way I'd do it.'
'You've got a very ingenious mind, my friend.' Sorgy
laughed. 'Are you sure that people are the only things
you've smuggled in the past?'
'We've all avoided customs officers from time to time,
haven't we, Sorgi?' the rough-voiced captain said. 'We
live at sea. Why should we pay taxes to support the
kingdoms of the landsmen? I'd gladly pay taxes to the
King of the Ocean, but I can't seem to find his palace.'
'Well said, my friend,' Sorgi applauded.
'Gentlemen,' Sparhawk said. "I'm eternally in your
debt.'
'Not exactly eternally, Master Cluff,' Sorgi said. 'A
man who admits to having financial difficulties pays for
his passage before he boards. 'He does on my ship, at
any rate."
'Would you accept half here and half when we reach
Cippria?' Sparhawk countered.
"I'm afraid not, my friend. I like you well enough, but
I'm sure you can see my position in the matter.'
Sparhawk sighed. 'We have horses,' he added. "I
suppose you'll charge extra to carry them as well?'
'Naturally. '
"I was afraid of that.'
The loading of Faran, Sephrenia's palfrey, and Kurik's
stout gelding took place behind a screen of sailcloth
Sorgi's sailors were ostensibly mending. Shortly before
noon, Sparhawk and Kurik boarded the ship bound for
Jiroch. They moved openly up the gangway, followed by
Sephrenia, who carried Flute in her arms.
Captain Mabin greeted them on the quarterdeck. 'Ah,'
he grinned, 'here's our reluctant bridegroom. Why don't
you and your friends walk around the deck until we sail?
Give all the cousins plenty of chances to see you.'
"I've had a few second thoughts about this, Captain
Mabin,' Sparhawk said. "if the cousins hire a ship and
follow - and if they catch up with you - it's going to be
fairly obvious that I'm not on board.'
'Nobody's going to catch up with me, Master Cluff.' The
captain laughed. "I've got the fastest ship on the Inner Sea.
Besides, it's obvious that you don't know very much about
seafaring etiquette. Nobody boards another man's ship at
sea unless he's prepared for a fight. It's just not done.'
'Oh,' Sparhawk said. "I didn't know that. We'll stroll
around the deck, then.
'Bridegroom?' Sephrenia murmured as they moved
away from the captain.
"It's a long story,' Sparhawk told her.
'There seem to be a fair number of these long stories
cropping up lately. Someday we'll have to sit down so
that you can tell them to me.'
"Someday perhaps.'
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'Flute,' Sephrenia said quite firmly, 'come down from
there.'
Sparhawk looked up. The little girl was halfway up a
rope ladder stretching from the rail to the yardarm. She
pouted just a bit, then did as she was told. 'You always
know exactly where she is, don't you?' he asked
Sephrenia.
'Always,' she replied.
The transfer from one ship to the other took place in
mid-river some distance downstream from Lycien's
wharves and was concealed by a great deal of activity on
both ships. Captain Sorgi quickly bustled his passengers
belowdecks to get them out of sight, and then the two
ships proceeded sedately downriver, bobbing side by
Side like two matrons returning home from church.
'We're passing the wharves of Madel,' Sorgi called
down the companionway to them some short time later.
'Keep your face out of sight, Master Cluff, or I may have a
deck full of your betrothed's cousins on my hands.'
'This is really making me curious, Sparhawk,'
Sephrenia said. 'Couldn't you give me just the tiniest
clue?'
"I made up a story,' he shrugged. "It was lurid enough
to seize the attention of a group of sailors.'
'Sparhawk's always been very good at making uP
stories,' Kurik observed. 'He used to lie himself in and
out of trouble regularly when he was a novice.'
the squire was seated on a bunk with the drowsing
flute nestled in his lap. 'You know,' he said quietly, "I
never had a daughter. They smell better than little boys,
don't they?'
Sephrenia burst out laughing. 'Don't tell Aslade,' she
cautioned. "She may decide to try for one.'
Kurik rolled his eyes upward in dismay. 'Not again,'
he said. "I don't mind babies around the house, but I
couldn't bear the morning sickness again.'
About an hour later, Sorgi came down the companionway. "
we're clearing the mouth of the estuary now,' he
reported, 'and there's not a single vessel to the rear. I'd
say that you've made good your escape, Master Cluff. '
"Thank God,' Sparhawk replied fervently.
Tell me, my friend,' Sorgi said thoughtfully, 'is the
lady really as ugly as you say?'
'Captain Sorgi, you wouldn't believe how ugly.'
"maybe you're a bit too delicate, Master Cluff. The sea's
gettting colder, my ship's getting old and tired, and the
winter storms are making my bones ache. I could stand a
fair amount of ugliness if the lady's estate happened to be
as big as you say. I might even consider returning some of
your money in exchange for a letter of introduction.
Maybe you overlooked some of her good qualities.'
"we could talk about that, I suppose,' Sparhawk
said.
I need to go topside,' Sorgi said. 'We're far enough
past the city that its safe for you and your friends to come
on decc now.' He turned and went back up the
companionway.
I think I can save you all the trouble of telling me that
long story you mentioned earlier,' Sephrenia told
him. "you didn't actually use that tired old fable
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about the ugly heiress, did you?'
He shrugged. 'As Vanion says, the old ones are the best.'
'Oh, Sparhawk, I'm disappointed in you. How are you
going to avoid giving that poor captain the imaginary
lady's name?'
"I'll think of something. Why don't we go up on deck
before the sun sets?'
Kurik spoke in a whisper. "I think the child's asleep,'
he said. "I don't want to wake her. You two go on ahead.'
Sparhawk nodded and led Sephrenia out of the
cramped cabin.
"I always forget how gentle he is,' Sephrenia said
softly.
Sparhawk nodded. 'He's the best and kindest man I
know,' he said simply. "if it weren't for class distinctions,
he'd have made an almost perfect knight.'
"is class really all that important?'
'Not to me it isn't, but I didn't make the rules.'
They emerged on deck in the slanting, late-afternoon
sunlight. The breeze blowing offshore was brisk, catching
the tops of the waves and turning them into sunsplashed
froth. Captain Mabin's vessel, bound for Jiroch,
was heeling over in that breeze on a course almost due
west through the broad channel of the Arcian Strait. Her
sails bellied out, snowy white in the afternoon sun, and
she ran before the wind like a skimming sea bird.
'How far do you make it to Cippria, Captain Sorgi?'
Sparhawk asked as he and Sephrenia stepped up onto
the quarterdeck.
'A hundred and fifty leagues, Master Cluff,' Sorgi
replied. 'Three days, if this wind holds.'
'That's good time, isn't it?'
Sorgi grunted. 'We could make better if this poor old
tub didn't leak so much.'
'Sparhawk!' SePhrenia gasPed, taking him urgently by
the arm.
'What is it?' He looked at her in concern. Her face had
gone deathly' pale.
look!' She Pointed.
Some distance from where Captain Mabin's graceful
ship was running through the Arcian Strait, a single,
densely black cloud had appeared in an otherwise
unblemished sky. It seemed somehow to be moving
against the wind, growing larger and more ominously
black by the moment. Then it began to swirl, ponderously
at first, but then faster and faster. As it spun, a
long, dark finger twitched and jerked down from its
centre, reaching down and down until its inky tip
touched the roiling surface of the Sea. Tons of water
were suddenly drawn up into the swirling maw as the
vast funnel moved erratically across the heaving sea.
"waterspout!' the lookout shouted down from the
mast. The sailors rushed to the rail to gape in horror at the
swirling SpOUt.
inexorably the vast thing bore down on Mabin's
helpless ship, and then the vessel, which suddenly
appeared very tiny, vanished in the seething funnel.
chunks and pieces of her timbers spun out of the great
waterspout hundreds of feet in the air to settle with
'agonizing slowness to the surface again. A single piece of
sail fluttered down like a stricken white bird.
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" Then, as suddenly as they had come, the black cloud
and its deadly waterspout were gone.
So was Mabin's ship.
The surface of the sea was littered with debris, and a
cloud of white gulls appeared, swooping and diving
'over the wreckage as if to mark the vessel's passing.
!!!
*Chapter18
Captain Sorgi combed the wreckage-strewn water where
Mabin's ship had gone down until after dark, but he
found no survivors. Then, sadly, he turned his ship
southeasterly again, setting his course towards Cippria.
Sephrenia sighed and turned from the rail. 'Let's go
below, Sparhawk.'
He nodded and followed her down the companionway.
Kurik had lighted a single oil lamp, and it swung from
a low overhead beam, filling the small, dark-panelled
compartment with swaying shadows. Flute had
awakened, and she sat at the bolted-down table in the
centre of the cabin, looking suspiciously at the bowl
sitting in front of her.
"it's just stew, little girl,' Kurik was saying to her. "it
won't hurt you.'
She delicately dipped her fingers into the thick gravy
and lifted out a dripping chunk of meat. She sniffed at it,
then looked questioningly at the squire.
'Salt pork,' he told her.
She shuddered and dropped the chunk back into the
gravy. Then she firmly pushed the bowl away.
'Styrics don't eat pork, Kurik, Sephrenia told him.
'The ship's cook said that this is what the sailors eat,'
he said defensively. He looked at Sparhawk. 'Was the
captain able to find any survivors from the other ship?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'That waterspout tore it all
to pieces. The same thing probably happened to the
crew.'
"it's lucky we weren't on board that one.'
'Very lucky,' Sephrenia agreed. 'Waterspouts are like
tornadoes. They don't appear out of completely clear
skies, and they don't move against the wind or change
direction the way that one did. It was being consciously
directed. '
'Magic?' Kurik said. 'is that really possible - to call up
weather like that, I mean?'
"I don't think I could do it.'
'Who did then?'
"I don't know for certain.' Her eyes, however, showed
a certain suspicion.
'Let's get it out into the open, Sephrenia,' Sparhawk
said. 'You've guessed something, haven't you?'
Her expression grew a bit more certain. 'in the past few
months we've had several encounters with a hooded
figure in a Styric robe. You saw it several times in
Cimmura, and it tried to have us ambushed on our way
to Borrata. Styrics seldom cover their faces. Have you
ever noticed that?'
'Yes, but I don't quite make the connection.'
'This thing had to cover its face, Sparhawk. It's not
human.'
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He stared at her. 'Are you sure?'
"I can't be absolutely positive until I see its face, but the
evidence is beginning to pile up, wouldn't you say?'
'Could Annias actually do something like that?'
"it's not Annias. He might know a little rudimentary
magic, but he couldn't begin to raise a thing like that. Only
Azash could have done it. He's the only one who dares to
summon such beings. The Younger Gods will not, and
even the other Elder Gods have forsworn the practice.'
'Why would Azash want to kill Captain Mabin and his
crew?'
'The ship was destroyed because the creature thought
that we were on board.'
'That goes a little far, Sephrenia,' Kurik objected
sceptically. "if it's so powerful, why did it sink the wrong
boat?'
'The creatures of the underworld are not very sophisticated,
Kurik,' she replied. 'Our simple ruse may have
deceived it. Power and wisdom don't always go hand in
hand. Many of the greatest magicians of Styricum were
as stupid as stumps.'
"I don't quite follow this,' Sparhawk admitted with a
puzzled frown. 'What we're doing has nothing to do
with Zemoch. Why would Azash go out of his way to
help Annias?'
"it may be that there isn't any connection. Azash
always has his own motives. It's quite possible that what
he's doing has nothing to do with Annias at all.'
"it doesn't wash, Sephrenia. If you're right about this
thing, it's been working for Martel, and Martel works for
Annias.'
'Are you so sure that the creature is working for Martel
and not the other way around? Azash can see the
shadows of the future. One of us might be a danger to
him. The seeming alliance between Martel and the
creature may be no more than a matter of conveNience.'
He began to gnaw worriedly at a fingernail. 'That's all I
need,' he said, "something else to worry about.' Then a
thought struck him. 'Wait a minute. Do you remember
what the ghost of Lakus said - that darkness was at the
gate and that Ehlana was our only hope of light? Could
Azash be that darkness?'
She nodded. "it's possible.'
"if that's the case, then wouldn't it be Ehlana he's
trying to destroy? She's totally protected by that crystal
that encases her, but if something happens to us before
we can find a way to heal her, she'll die, too. Maybe that's
why Azash has joined forces with the primate.'
'Aren't you both stretching things a bit?' Kurik asked.
'You're basing a great deal of speculation on a single
incident.'
"it doesn't hurt to be ready for eventualities, Kurik,'
Sparhawk replied. "I hate surprises.'
The squire grunted and rose to his feet. 'You two must
be hungry,' he said. "I'll go down to the galley and get
you some supper. We can talk some more while you're
eating.'
'No pork,' Sephrenia told him firmly.
'Bread and cheese, then?' he suggested. 'And maybe
some fruit?'
'That would be fine, Kurik. You'd probably better
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bring enough for Flute as well. I know she's not going to
eat that stew.'
'That's all right,' he said. "I'll eat it for her. I don't have
the same kind of prejudices that you Styrics do.'
It was overcast when they reached the port city of Cippria
three days later. The cloud cover was high and thin, and
there was no trace of moisture in it. The city was low,
with squat white buildings thickly walled to ward off the
heat of the southern sun. The wharves jutting out into
the harbour were constructed of stone, since Rendor was
a kingdom largely devoid of trees.
Sparhawk and the others came up on deck, wearing
hooded black robes, just as the sailors were mooring
Captain Sorgi's ship to one of the wharves. They went up
the three steps to the quarterdeck to join the curly-haired
seaman.
'Get some fenders between our side and that wharf,'
Sorgi roared at the seamen who were snubbing off the
mooring lines. He shook his head in disgust. "I have to
tell them that every single time we dock,' he muttered.
'All they can think about when we make port is the
nearest alehouse.' He looked at Sparhawk. 'Well, Master
Cluff,' he said. 'Have you changed your mind?'
"I'm afraid not, Captain,' Sparhawk replied, setting
down the bundle containing his spare clothing. "I'd like
to oblige you, but the lady I mentioned seems to have all
her hopes pinned on me. It's for your own good,
actually. If you show up at her house with an introduction
from me, her cousins might decide to wring my
location out of you. Being wrung is not my idea of a good
time. Besides, I don't want to take any chances.'
Sorgi grunted. Then he looked at them all curiously.
'Where did you come by the Rendorish clothing?'
"I did some bargaining in your forecastle yesterday.'
Sparhawk shrugged, plucking at the front of the hooded
black robe he wore. "Some of your sailors like to be
unobtrusive when they make port here in Rendor.'
'How well I know,' Sorgi said wryly. "I spent three
days looking for the ship's cook the last time I was in
Jiroch.' He looked at Sephrenia, who was also robed in
black and wore a heavy veil across her face. 'Where did
you find anything to fit her?' he asked. 'None of my
sailors are that small.'
"She's very adept with her needle.' Sparhawk did not
think it necessary to explain exactly how Sephrenia had
changed the colour of her white robe.
Sorgi scratched at his curly hair. "I can't for the life of
me understand why most Rendors wear black,' he said.
'Don't they know that it's twice as hot?'
'Maybe they haven't realized that yet,' Sparhawk
replied. 'Rendors are none too bright in the first place,
and they've only been here for five thousand years.'
Sorgi laughed. 'Maybe that's it,' he said. 'Good fortune
here in Cippria, Master Cluff,' he said. "if I happen to run
across any cousins, I'll tell them that I've never heard of
you.'
'Thank you, Captain,' Sparhawk said, clasping Sorgi's
hand. 'You have no idea how much I appreciate that.'
They led their horses down the slanting gangway to
the wharf. At Kurik's suggestion, they covered their
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saddles with blankets to conceal the fact that they were
not of Rendorish construction. Then they all tied their
bundles to their saddles, mounted, and moved away
from the harbour at an unobtrusive walk. The streets
were teeming with Rendors. The city dwellers sometimes
wore lighter-coloured clothing, but the desert
people were all dressed in unrelieved black and had their
hoods up. There were few women in the street, and they
were all veiled. Sephrenia rode subserviently behind
Sparhawk and Kurik with her hood pulled far forward
and her veil drawn tightly across her nose and mouth.
'You know the customs here, I see,' Sparhawk said
back over his shoulder.
"I was here many years ago,' she replied, drawing her
robe around Flute's knees.
'How many years?'
'Would you like to have me tell you that Cippria was
only a fishing village then?' she asked archly. 'Twenty or
so mud huts?'
He looked back at her sharply. 'Sephrenia, Cippria's
been a major seaport for fifteen hundred years.'
'My,' she said, 'has it really been that long? It seems
like only yesterday. Where does the time go?'
'That's impossible!'
She laughed gaily. 'How gullible you can be sometimes,
Sparhawk,' she said. 'You know I'm not going to
answer that kind of question, so why keep trying?'
He suddenly felt more than a little sheepish. "I suppose
I asked for that, didn't I?' he admitted.
'Yes, you did.'
Kurik was grinning broadly.
'Go ahead and say it,' Sparhawk told him sourly.
'Say what, my Lord?' Kurik's eyes were wide and
innocent.
They rode up from the harbour, mingling with robed
Rendors in the narrow, twisting streets. Although the
overcast veiled the sun, Sparhawk could still feel the heat
radiating out from the white-plastered walls of the
houses and shops. He could also catch the familiar scents
of Rendor. The air was close and dusty, and there was the
pervading odour of mutton simmering in olive oil and
pungent spices. There was the cloying fragrance of heavy
perfumes, and overlaying it all was the persistent reek of
the stockyards.
Near the centre of town, they passed the mouth of a
narrow alley. A chill touched Sparhawk, and suddenly,
as clearly as if they were actually ringing out their call, he
seemed once again to hear the sound of the bells.
"Something wrong?' Kurik asked as he saw his lord
shudder.
'That's the alley where I saw Martel last time.'
Kurik peered up the alley. 'Tight quarters in there,' he
noted.
'That's all that kept me alive,' Sparhawk replied. 'They
couldn't come at me all at once.'
'Where are we going, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked
from the rear.
'To the monastery where I stayed after I was
wounded,' he replied. "I don't think we want to be seen
in the streets. The abbot and most of the monks out there
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are Arcian, and they know how to keep secrets.'
'Will I be welcome there?' she asked dubiously. 'Arcian
monks are conservative, and they have certain prejudices
where Styrics are concerned.'
'This particular abbot is a bit more cosmopolitan,'
Sparhawk assured her, 'and I have a few suspicions
about his monastery anyway.'
'Oh?'
"I don't think these monks are entirely what they seem,
and I wouldn't be at all surprised to find a secret armoury
inside the monastery complete with burnished armour,
blue surcoats and a variety of weapons.'
'Cyrinics?' she asked, a bit surprised.
'The Pandions aren't the only ones who want to keep
an eye on Rendor,' he replied.
'What's that smell?' Kurik asked as they approached
the western outskirts of town,
'The stockyards,' Sparhawk told him. 'A great deal of
beef is shipped out of Cippria.'
'Do we have to go through any kind of a gate to get
out?'
Sparhawk shook his head. 'The city walls were pulled
down during the suppression of the Eshandist Heresy.
The local people didn't bother to rebuild them.'
They emerged from the narrow street they were
following into acre upon acre of stock pens filled with
bawling, scrubby-looking cows. It was late afternoon by
now, and the overcast had begun to take on a silvery
sheen.
'How much farther to the monastery?' Kurik asked.
'A mile or so.'
"it's quite a distance from that alley back there, isn't it?'
"I noticed that myself about ten years ago.'
'Why didn't you take shelter someplace closer?'
'There wasn't anyplace safe. I could hear the bells from
the monastery, so I just kept following the sound. It gave
me something to think about.'
'You could have bled to death.'
'That same thought crossed my mind a few times that
night.'
'Gentlemen,' Sephrenia said, 'do you suppose we
could move along? The night comes on very quickly here
in Rendor, and it gets cold in the desert after the sun goes
down.'
The monastery lay beyond the stockyards on a high,
rocky hill. It was surrounded by a thick wall, and the gate
was closed. Sparhawk dismounted before the gate and
tugged on a stout cord hanging beside it. A small bell
tinkled inside. After a moment, the shutter of a narrow,
barred window cut into the stones beside the gate
opened. The brown-bearded face of a monk peered out
warily.
'Good evening, brother,' Sparhawk said. 'Do you
suppose I might have a word with your abbot?'
'Can I give him your name?'
'Sparhawk. He might remember me. I stayed here for a
time a few years back.'
'Wait,' the monk said brusquely, closing the shutter
again.
'Not very cordial, is he?' Kurik said.
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'Churchmen aren't really welcome in Rendor,' Sparhawk
replied. 'A bit of caution is probably only natural.'
They waited as the twilight faded.
Then the shutter opened again. 'Sir Sparhawk!' a voice
more suited to a parade ground than a religious community
boomed.
'My Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk replied.
'Wait there a moment. We'll open the gate.'
There was a rattling of chains and the grating sound of
a heavy bar sliding through thick iron rings. Then the
gate ponderously swung open, and the abbot came out to
greet them. He was a bluff, hearty-looking man with a
ruddy face and an imposing black beard. He was quite
tall, and his shoulders were massive. "it's good to see you
again, my friend,' he said, clasping Sparhawk's hand in a
crushing grip. 'You're looking well. You seemed a bit
pale and wan when you left the last time you were here.'
"it's been ten years, my Lord,' Sparhawk pointed out.
"in that length of time a man either heals or dies.'
'So he does, Sir Sparhawk. So he does. Come inside
and bring Your friends.'
Sparhawk led Faran through the gate with Sephrenia
and Kurik close behind. There was a court inside, and the
walls surrounding it were as bleak as those surrounding
the monastery. They were unadorned by the white
mortar customary on the walls of Rendorish buildings,
and the windows which pierced them were perhaps a
trifle narrower than monastic architecture would have
dictated. They would, Sparhawk noted professionally,
make excellent vantage points for archers.
'How can I help you, Sparhawk?' the abbot asked.
"I need refuge again, my Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk
replied. 'That's getting to be sort of a habit, isn't it?'
The abbot grinned at him. 'Who's after you this time?'
he asked.
'No one that I know of, my Lord, and I thiNk I'd like to
keep it that way. Is there someplace we can talk privately?'
'Of course.' The abbot turned to the brown-bearded
monk who had first opened the shutter. 'See to their
horses, brother.' It was not a request, but had all the
crispness of a military command. The monk straightened
noticeably, though he did not quite salute.
'Come along then, Sparhawk,' the abbot boomed,
clapping the big knight on the shoulder with one meaty hand.
Kurik dismounted and went to help Sephrenia. She
handed Flute down to him and slipped from her saddle.
The abbot led them on through the main door and into
a vaulted stone corridor dimly lighted at intervals by
small oil lamps. Perhaps it was the scent of the oil, but the
place had a peculiar odour of sanctity - and of safety -
about it. That smell sharply reminded Sparhawk of the
night ten years before. 'The place hasn't changed much,'
he noted, looking around.
'The Church is timeless, Sir Sparhawk,' the abbot
replied sententiously, 'and her institutions try to match
that quality.'
At the far end of the corridor, the abbot opened a
severely simple door, and they followed him into a
book-lined room with a high ceiling and an unlighted
charcoal brazier in the corner. The room was quite
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comfortable-looking - far more so than the studies of
abbots in the monasteries of the north. The windows
were made of thick triangular pieces of glass joined with
strips of lead, and they were draped in pale blue. The
floor was strewn with white sheep-skin rugs, and the
unmade bed in the far corner was quite a bit wider than
the standard monastic cot. The jammed bookcases
reached from floor to ceiling.
'Please, sit down,' the abbot said, pointing at several
chairs standing in front of a table piled high with
documents.
"Still trying to catch up, my Lord?' Sparhawk smiled,
pointing at the documents and taking one of the chairs.
The abbot made a wry face. "I give it a try every month
or so,' he replied. "Some men just aren't made for
paperwork.' He looked sourly at the litter on his table.
"Sometimes I think a fire in here might solve the problem.
I'm sure the clerks in Chyrellos wouldn't even miss all
my reports.' He looked curiously at Sparhawk's companions.
'
My man Kurik,' Sparhawk introduced his squire.
'Kurik,' the abbot nodded.
'And the lady is Sephrenia, the Pandion instructor in
the secrets.'
'Sephrenia herself?' The abbot's eyes widened and he
rose to his feet respectfully. "I've been hearing stories
about you for years, madame. Your reputation is quite
exalted.' He smiled broadly at her in welcome.
She removed her veil and returned his smile. 'You're
very kind to say so, my Lord.' She sat and gathered Flute
up into her lap. The little girl nestled down and regarded
the abbot with her large dark eyes.
'A beautiful child, Lady Sephrenia,' the abbot said.
'Your daughter by any chance?'
She laughed. 'Oh, no, my Lord Abbot,' she said. 'The
child's a Styric foundling. We call her Flute.'
'What an odd name,' he murmured. Then he returned
his gaze to Sparhawk. 'You hinted at a matter you
wanted to keep private,' he said curiously. 'Why don't
you tell me about it?'
'Do you get much news about what's happening on
the continent, my Lord?'
"I'm kept informed, yes.' The bearded abbot said it
rather cautiously as he sat down again.
'Then you know about the situation in Elenia?'
'The Queen's illness, you mean? And the ambitions of
Primate Annias?'
'Right. Anyway, a while back, Annias came up with a
very complicated scheme to discredit the Pandion Order.
We were able to thwart it. After the general meeting in
the palace, the preceptors of the four orders gathered in
private session. Annias hungers for the Archprelate's
throne, and he knows that the militant orders will
oppose him.'
'With swords if necessary,' the abbot agreed fervently.
"I'd like to cut him down myself,' he added. Then he
realized that he had perhaps gone too far. "if I weren't a
member of a cloistered order, of course,' he concluded
lamely. "I understand perfectly, my Lord,' Sparhawk assured
him. 'The preceptors discussed the matter, and they
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concluded that all of the primate's power - and any hope
he had of extending it to Chyrellos - is based on his
position in Elenia, and he'll keep that authority only for
so long as Queen Ehlana's indisposed.' He grimaced.
'That's a silly word, isn't it? She's barely clinging to her
life, and I called it "indisposed". Oh, well, you know
what I'm talking about.'
'We all flounder from time to time, Sparhawk,' the
abbot forgave him. "I know most of the details already.
Last week I got word from Patriarch Dolmant about what
was afoot. What did you find out in Borrata?'
'We talked with a physician there, and he told us that
Queen Ehlana has been poisoned.'
The abbot came to his feet swearing like a pirate.
'You're her Champion, Sparhawk. Why didn't you go
back to Cimmura and run your sword through Annias?'
"I was tempted,' Sparhawk admitted, 'but I decided
that it's more important right now to see if we can find an
antidote. There'll be plenty of time later to deal with
Annias, and I'd rather not be rushed when it gets down
to that. Anyway, the physician in Borrata told us that he
thinks the poison is of Rendorish origin, and he directed
us to a couple of his colleagues here in Cippria.'
The abbot began to pace up and down, his face still
dark with rage. When he began to speak, all traces of
monkly humility were gone from his voice. "if I know
Annias, he's probably been trying to stop you every step
of the way. Am I right?'
'Fairly close, yes.'
'And the streets of Cippria aren't the safest place in the
world - as you found out that night ten years ago. All
right, then,' he said decisively, 'this is the way we're
going to do it. Annias knows that you're looking for
medical advice, right?'
"if he doesn't, then he's been asleep.'
'Exactly. If you go near a physician, you'll probably
need him for yourself, so I won't let you do that.'
'Won't let, my Lord?' Sephrenia asked mildly.
'Sorry,'the abbot mumbled. 'Maybe I got a little carried
away there. What I meant to say is that I advise against it
in the strongest possible terms. What I'll do instead is
send some monks out to bring the physicians here. That
way you'll be able to talk with them without chancing the
streets of Cippria. We'll work out a way afterwards to slip
you out of town.'
'Would an Elenian physician actually agree to call on a
patient at home?' SePhrenia asked him.
'He will if his own health is of any concern to him,' the
abbot replied darkly. He suddenly looked a bit sheepish.
'That didn't sound very monkly, did it?' he apologized.
'Oh, I don't know,' Sparhawk said blandly. 'There are
monks, and then there are monks.'
"I'll send some of the brothers into the city to fetch
them right now. What are the names of these
physicians?'
Sparhawk fished the scrap of parchment the tipsy
doctor in Borrata had given him out of an inside pocket
and handed it to the abbot.
The bluff man glanced at it. 'You know this first one
already, Sparhawk,' he said. 'He's the one who treated
you the last time you were here.
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'Oh? I didn't really catch his name.'
"I'm not surprised. You were delirious most of the
time.' The abbot squinted at the parchment. 'This other
one died about a month ago,' he said, 'but Doctor Voldi
here can probably answer just about any question you
might have. He's a little impressed with himself, but he's
the best physician in Cippria.' He rose, went to the door,
and opened it. A pair of youthful monks stood outside.
They were, Sparhawk noted, quite similar to the two
young Pandions who normally stood guard outside
Vanion's door in the chapterhouse in Cimmura. 'You,'
the abbot sharply ordered one of them, 'go into the city
and bring Doctor Voldi to me. Don't take no for an
answer.'
'At once, my Lord,' the young monk replied. With a
certain amusement, Sparhawk noted that the monk's
feet twitched slightly as if he were about to snap his heels
together.
The abbot closed the door and returned to his seat. "it
should be about an hour, I expect.' He looked at
Sparhawk's grin. "Something funny, my friend?' he
asked.
'Not at all, my Lord. It's just that your young monks
have a very crisp manner about them.'
'Does it really show that much?' the abbot asked,
looking a little abashed.
'Yes, my Lord. If you know what you're looking for, it
does.'
The abbot made a wry face. 'Fortunately, the local
people aren't very familiar with that sort of thing. You'll
be discreet about this discovery, won't you, Sparhawk?'
'Of course, my Lord. I was fairly sure about the nature
of your order when I left here ten years ago, and I haven't
told anyone yet.'
"I should have guessed, I suppose. You Pandions tend
to have very sharp eyes.' He rose to his feet. "I'll have
some supper sent up. There's a fairly large partridge that
grows hereabouts, and I have an absolutely splendid
falcon.' He laughed. 'That's what I do instead of making
out the reports I'm supposed to send to Chyrellos. What
do you say to a bit of roast fowl?'
"I think we could manage that,' Sparhawk replied.
'And in the meantime, could I offer you and your
friends some wine? It's not Arcian red, but it's not too
bad. We make it here on the grounds. The soil hereabouts
isn't much good for anything but raising grapes.'
'Thank you, my Lord Abbot,' Sephrenia replied, 'but
might the child and I have milk instead?'
"I'm afraid that all we have is goat's milk, Lady
Sephrenia,' he apologized.
Her eyes brightened. 'Goat's milk would be just fine,
my Lord. Cow's milk is so bland, and we Styrics prefer
something a bit more robust.'
Sparhawk shuddered.
The abbot sent the other young monk to the kitchen for
milk and supper, then poured red wine for Sparhawk,
Kurik, and himself. He leaned back in his chair then, idly
toying with the stem of his goblet. 'Can we be frank with
each other, Sparhawk?' he asked.
'Of course.'
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'Did any word get to you in jiroch about what
happened here in Cippria after you left?'
'Not really,' Sparhawk replied. "I was a bit submerged
at that time.'
'You know how Rendors feel about the use of magic?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'They call it witchcraft, as I recall.'
'They do indeed, and they look on it as a worse crime
than murder. Anyway, just after you left, we had an
outbreak of that sort of thing. I got involved in the
investigation since I'm the ranking churchman in the
area.' He smiled ironically. 'Most of the time Rendors spit
as I go by, but the minute somebody whispers "witchcraft",
they come running to me with their faces white
and their eyes bulging out. Usually the accusations are
completely false. The average Rendor couldn't remember
the Styric words of the simplest spell if his life
depended on it, but charges crop up from time to time -
usually based on spite, jealousy, and petty hatreds. This
time, though, the affair was quite different. There was
actual evidence that somebody in Cippria was using
magic of a fair degree of sophistication.' He looked at
Sparhawk. 'Were any of the men who attacked you that
night at all adept in the secrets?'
'One of them is, yes.'
'Perhaps that answers the question then. The magic
seems to have been a part of an attempt to locate
something - or someone. Maybe you were the object of
that search.'
'You mentioned sophistication, my Lord Abbot,'
Sephrenia said intently. 'Could you be a bit more
specific?'
'There was a glowing apparition stalking the streets of
Cippria,' he replied. "it seemed to be sheathed in
lightning of some kind.'
She drew in her breath sharply. 'And what exactly did
this apparittion do?'
"it questioned people. None of them could remember
the questions afterwards, but the questioning appears to
have been quite severe. I saw a number of the burns with
my own eyes.'
'Burns?'
'The apparition would seize whomever it wanted to
question. Wherever it touched them, it left a burned
place. One poor woman had a burn that encircled her
entire forearm. I'd almost say that it was in the shape of a
hand - except that it had far too many fingers.'
'How many fingers?'
'Nine, and two thumbs.'
She hissed. 'A Damork,' she said.
"I thought you said that the Younger Gods had
stripped Martel of the power to summon those things,'
Sparhawk said to her.
'Martel didn't summon it,' she replied. "it was sent to
do his bidding by someone else.'
"it amounts to almost the same thing then, doesn't it?'
'Not exactly. The Damork is only marginally under
Martel's control.'
'But all this happened ten years ago,' Kurik shrugged.
'What difference does it make now?'
'You're missing the point, Kurik,' she replied gravely.
"we thought that the Damork had appeared only
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recently, but it was here in Cippria ten years ago, before
anything we're involved with now even began.'
"I don't quite follow you,' he admitted.
Sephrenia looked at Sparhawk. "it's you, dear one,'
she said in a deadly quiet voice. "it's not me or Kurik or
Ehlana or even Flute. The Damork attacks have all been
directed at you. Be very, very careful, Sparhawk. Azash
is trying to kill you.'
!!!
*Chapter19
Doctor Voldi was a fussy little man in his sixties. His hair
was thinning on top, and he had carefully combed it
forward to conceal the fact. It was quite obvious that he
dyed it to hide the encroaching grey. He removed his
dark cloak, and Sparhawk saw that he wore a white linen
smock. He smelled of chemicals, and he had an enormous
opinion of himself.
It was quite late when the little physician was ushered
into the abbot's littered study, and he was struggling
without much success to cover his irritation at having
been called out at that hour. 'My Lord Abbot,' he stiffly
greeted the black-bearded churchman with a jerky little
bow. 'Ah, Voldi,' the abbot said, rising to his feet, 'so good
of you to come.'
'Your monk said that the matter was urgent, my Lord.
May I see the patient?'
'Not unless you're prepared to make a very long
journey, Doctor Voldi,' Sephrenia murmured.
Voldi gave her a long, appraising look. 'You appear not
to be a Rendor, madame,' he noted. 'Styric, I should say,
judging from your features.'
'Your eyes are keen, Doctor.'
"I'm sure you remember this fellow,' the abbot said,
pointing at Sparhawk.
The doctor looked blankly at the big Pandion. 'No,' he
said, "I can't say that -' Then he frowned. 'Don't tell me,'
he added, absently brushing his hair forward with the
palm of his hand. "It was about ten years ago, wasn't it?
Weren't you the one who'd been knifed?'
'You have a good memory, Doctor Voldi,' Sparhawk
said. 'We don't want to keep you out too late, so why
don't we get down to cases? We were referred to you by a
physician in Borrata. He greatly respects your opinion in
certain areas.' Sparhawk quickly appraised the little
fellow and decided to apply a bit of judicious flattery. 'Of
course, we'd have probably come to you anyway,' he
added. 'Your reputation has spread far beyond the
borders of Rendor.'
'Well,' Voldi said, preening himself slightly. Then he
assumed a piously modest expression. "It's gratifying to
know that my efforts on behalf of the sick have received
some small recognition.'
'What we need, good doctor,' Sephrenia interjected,
'is your advice in treating a friend of ours who has
recently been poisoned.'
'Poisoned?' Voldi said sharply. 'Are you sure?'
'The physician in Borrata was quite certain,' she
replied. 'We described our friend's symptoms in great
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detail, and he diagnosed the condition as being the
effects of a rather rare Rendorish poison called -'
'Please, madame,' he said, holding up one hand. "I
prefer to make my own diagnoses. Describe the symptoms
to me.'
'Of course.' Patiently she repeated what she had told
the physicians at the University of Borrata.
The little doctor paced up and down as she talked, his
hands clasped behind him and his eyes on the floor. "I
think we can rule out the falling-sickness right at the
outset,' he mused when she had finished. "Some other
diseases, however, do result in convulsions.' He affected
a wise expression. "It's the combination of the fever and
sweating that's the crucial clue,' he lectured. 'Your
friend's illness is not a natural disease. My colleague in
Borrata was quite correct in his diagnosis. Your friend
has indeed been poisoned, and I would surmise that the
poison involved was Darestim. The desert nomads here
in Rendor call it deathweed. It kills sheep in the same
way that it kills people. The poison is very rare, since the
nomads uproot every bush they come across. Does my
diagnosis agree with that of my Cammorian colleague?'
'Exactly, Doctor Voldi,' she said admiringly.
'Well, that's it, then.' He reached for his cloak. "I'm
glad to have been of help.'
'All right,' Sparhawk said. 'Now what do we do?'
'Make arrangements for a funeral.' Voldi shrugged.
'What about an antidote?'
'There isn't any. I'm afraid your friend is doomed.'
There was an irritating smugness about the way he said
it. 'unlike most poisons, Darestim attacks the brain
instead of the blood. Once it's ingested - poof.' He
snapped his fingers. 'Tell me, does your friend have rich
and powerful enemies? Darestim is fearfully expensive.'
'The poisoning was politically motivated,' Sparhawk
said bleakly.
'Ah, politics.' Voldi laughed. 'Those fellows have all
the money, don't they?' He frowned then. "It does seem
to me -' He broke off, palming at his hair again. 'Where
did I hear that?' He scratched at his head, disturbing the
carefully slicked-down hair. Then he snapped his fingers
again. 'Ah yes,' he said triumphantly, "I have it now. I've
heard some rumours - only rumours, mind you - that a
physician in Dabour has effected a few cures -members
of the king's family in Zand. Normally that information
would have been immediately disseminated to all other
physicians, but I have some suspicions about the matter.
I know the fellow, and there have been some ugly stories
about him circulating in medical circles for years now.
There are some who maintain that his miraculous-appearing
cures are the result of certain forbidden
practices.'
'Which practices?' Sephrenia asked intently.
'Magic, madame. What else? My friend in Dabour
would immediately lose his head if word got out that he
was practising witchcraft.'
"I see,' she said. 'Did this rumour about a cure come to
you from one single source?'
'Oh, no,' he replied. 'Any number of people have told
me about it. The king's brother and several nephews fell
ill. The physician from Dabour - Tanjin his name is - was
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summoned to the palace. He confirmed that they had all
been poisoned with Darestim, and then he cured them.
Out of gratitude, the king suppressed the information of
exactly how the cures were effected, and he issued Tanjin
a full pardon just to make sure.' He smirked. 'Not that
the pardon is much good, mind you, since the king's
authority doesn't go much beyond the walls of his own
palace in Zand. Anyway, anyone with the slightest bit of
medical knowledge knows how it was done.' He
assumed a lofty expression. "I wouldn't stoop to that
myself,' he declared, 'but Doctor Tanjin is notoriously
greedy, and I imagine that the king paid him handsomely.'
'
Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Voldi,' Sparhawk
said then.
"I'm sorry about your friend,' Voldi said. 'By the time
you get to Dabour and back, he'll be long since dead, I'm
afraid. Darestim works rather slowly, but it's always
fatal.'
'So's a sword through the belly,' Sparhawk said
grimly. 'At the very least, we'll be able to avenge our
friend.'
'What a dreadful thought,' Voldi shuddered. 'Are you
at all acquainted with the kind of damage a sword does to
someone?'
'intimately,' Sparhawk replied.
'Oh, that's right. You would be, wouldn't you? Would
you like to have me take a look at those old wounds of
yours?'
'Thanks all the same, Doctor. They're quite healed
now '
'Splendid. I'm rather proud of the way I cured those,
you know. A lesser physician would have lost you. Well,
I must be off now. I have a full day ahead of me
tomorrow.' He wrapped his cloak about him.
'Thank you, Doctor Voldi,' the abbot said. 'The brother
at the door will escort you home again.'
'My pleasure, my Lord Abbot. It's been a stimulating
discussion.' Voldi bowed and left the room.
'Pompous little ass, isn't he?' Kurik muttered.
'Yes, he is,' the abbot agreed. 'He's very good,
though.'
"It's thin, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia sighed, 'very, very
thin. All we have are rumours, and we don't have time
for wild goose chases.'
."I don't see that we have any choice, do you? We have
to go to Dabour. We can't ignore the slightest chance.'
"It may not be quite as thin as you think, Lady
Sephrenia,' the abbot said. "I know Voldi very well. He
wouldn't confirm anything he hasn't seen with his own
eyes, but I've heard a few rumours myself to the effect
that some members of the family of the King of Rendor
fell ill and then recovered.'
"It's all we've got,' Sparhawk said. 'We've got to follow
through on it.'
'The fastest way to Dabour is by sea along the coast and
then up the Gule River,' the abbot suggested.
'No,' Sephrenia said firmly. 'The creature that's been
trying to kill Sparhawk has probably realized by now that
it failed last time. I don't think we want to be looking over
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our shoulders for waterspouts every foot of the way.'
'You'll have to go to Dabour by way of Jiroch anyway, '
the abbot told them. 'You can't go overland. No one
crosses the desert between here and Dabour, even at this
time of year. It's totally impassable.'
"if that's the way we have to do it, then that's the way
we'll do it,' Sparhawk said.
'Be careful out there,' the abbot cautioned seriously.
'The Rendors are in a state of turmoil right now.'
'They're always in a state of turmoil, my Lord.'
'This is a bit different. Arasham's at Dabour preaching
up a new holy war.'
'He's been doing that for over twenty years now,
hasn't he? He stirs up the desert people all winter, and
then in the summer they go back to their flocks.'
'That's what's different about this time, Sparhawk.
Nobody pays much attention to the nomads, but somehow
the old lunatic's beginning to sway the people who
live in the cities, and that makes it a little more serious.
Arasham's elated, of course, and he's holding his desert
nomads firmly at Dabour. He's got quite an army.'
'The city people in Rendor aren't all that stupid. What's
impressing them so much?'
"I've heard that there are some people spreading
rumours. They're telling the townsfolk that there's a
great deal of sympathy for the resurgence of the
Eshandist movement in the northern kingdoms.'
'That's absurd,' Sparhawk scoffed.
'Of course it is, but they've managed to persuade a fair
number of people here in Cippria that for the first time in
centuries a rebellion against the Church might have some
chance of success. Not only that, there have been fairly
large shipments of arms filtered into the country.'
A suspicion began to grow in Sparhawk's mind. 'Have
you any idea who's been circulating these rumours?' he
asked.
The abbot shrugged. 'Merchants, travellers from the
north, and the like. They're all foreigners. They usually
stay in that quarter near the Elenian consulate.'
"Isn't that curious?' Sparhawk mused. "I'd been summoned
to the Elenian consulate that night when I was
attacked in the street. Is Elius still the consul?'
'Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he is. What are you
getting at, Sparhawk?'
'One more question, my Lord. Have your people by
any chance seen a white-haired man going in and out of
the consulate?'
"I couldn't really say. I didn't tell them to look for that
sort of thing. You have someone particular in mind, I
gather?'
'Oh, I do indeed, my Lord Abbot.' Sparhawk rose and
began to pace up and down. 'Why don't I have another
try at Elene logic, Sephrenia,' he said. He began to tick
items off on his fingers. 'One: The Primate Annias
aspires to the Archprelate's throne. Two: All four
militant orders oppose him, and their opposition could
block his ambitions. Three: In order to get that throne, he
must discredit or divert the Church Knights. Four: The
Elenian consul here in Cippria is his cousin. Five: The
consul and Martel have had dealings with each other
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before. I got some personal evidence of that ten years
ago.'
"I didn't know that Elius was related to the primate,'
the abbot said, looking a bit surprised.
'They don't make an issue of it,' Sparhawk told him.
'Now then,' he continued, 'Annias wants the Church
Knights out of Chyrellos when the time comes to elect a
new Archprelate. What would the Church Knights do if
there were an uprising here in Rendor?'
"We'd descend on the kingdom in full battle array,' the
abbot declared, forgetting that his choice of words clearly
confirmed Sparhawk's suspicions about the nature of his
order.
'And that would effectively remove the militant orders
from the debate over the election in Chyrellos, wouldn't it?'
Sephrenia looked at Sparhawk speculatively. 'What
kind of man is this Elius?'
'He's a petty time-server with little intelligence and
less imagination.'
'He doesn't sound very impressive.
'He isn't.'
'Then someone else would have to be giving him
instructions, wouldn't they?'
'Precisely.' Sparhawk turned once more to the abbot.
'My Lord,' he said, 'do you have any way to get messages
to Preceptor Abriel at your motherhouse in Larium?
Messages that can't be intercepted?'
The abbot gave him a frosty stare.
'We agreed to be frank with each other, my Lord,'
Sparhawk reminded him. "I'm not trying to embarrass
you, but this is a matter of the greatest urgency.'
'All right, Sparhawk,' the abbot replied a bit stiffly.
'Yes, I can get a message to Lord Abriel.'
'Good. Sephrenia knows all the details and she can fill
you in. Kurik and I have something to attend to.'
"Just what are you planning?' the abbot demanded.
"I'm going to pay a call on Elius. He knows what's been
going on, and I think I can persuade him to share the
information. We need confirmation of all this before you
send the message to Larium.'
"It's too dangerous.'
'Not as dangerous as having Annias in the Archprelacy,
is it?' Sparhawk considered it. 'Do you happen
to have a secure cell someplace?' he asked.
'We have a penitent's cell down in the cellar. The door
can be locked, I suppose.'
'Good. I think we'll bring Elius back here to question
him. Then you can lock him up. I can't let him go, once he
knows I'm here, and Sephrenia disapproves of random
murders. If he just disappears, there'll be some uncertainty
about what happened to him.'
'Won't he make an outcry when you take him captive?'
'Not very likely, my Lord,' Kurik assured him,
drawing his heavy dagger. He slapped the hilt solidly
against his palm. "I can practically guarantee that he'll be
asleep.'
The streets were quiet. The overcast which had obscured
the sky that afternoon had cleared, and the stars were
very bright overhead.
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'No moon,' Kurik said quietly as he and Sparhawk
crept through the deserted streets. 'That's a help.'
"It's been rising late the past three nights,' Sparhawk
said.
'How late?'
'We've got a couple more hours.'
'Can we make it back to the monastery by then?'
'We have to.' Sparhawk stopped just before they
reached an intersection and peered around the corner of
a house. A man wearing a short cape and carrying a spear
and a small lantern was shuffling sleepily along the
street. 'Watchman,' Sparhawk breathed, and he and
Kurik stepped into the shadows of a deeply recessed
doorway.
The watchman plodded on past, the lantern swinging
from his hand casting looming shadows against the walls
of the buildings.
'He should be more alert,' Kurik growled disapprovingly.
'
under the circumstances your sense of what's proper
might be a little misplaced.'
"Right is right, Sparhawk,' Kurik replied stubbornly.
After the watchman was out of sight, they crept on up
the street.
'Are we just going to walk up to the gate of the
consulate?' Kurik asked.
'no. When we get close to it, we'll go in over the roof
tops.'
"I'm not a cat, Sparhawk. Leaping from roof to roof
isn't my idea of entertainment.'
'The houses are all built up against each other in that
part of town. The roof tops are just like a highway.'
'Oh,' Kurik grunnted. 'That's different then.'
The consulate of the Kingdom of Elenia was a fairly
large building surrounded by a high, white-mortared
wall. There were torches set on long poles at each corner,
and a narrow lane running alongside the wall.
'does that lane run all the way around it?' Kurik asked.
"It did the last time I was here.'
There's a significant hole in your plan then, Sparhawk. I
can't jump all the way from one of these roof tops to the top
of that wall.'
"I don't think I could either.' Sparhawk frowned. 'Let's
go around and look at the other side.'
They crept through a series of narrow streets and alleys
that wound along the back sides of the houses facing the
consulate wall. A dog came out and barked at them until
Kurik shied a rock at him. The dog yelped and ran off on
three legs.
'Now I know how a burglar feels,' Kurik muttered.
"There,' Sparhawk said.
'There where?'
'Right over there. Some helpful fellow is doing some
repairs on his roof. See that pile of beams stacked up
against the side of that wall? Let's go see how long they
are.'
They crossed the alley to the stack of building material.
Kurik studiously measured the beams off with his feet.
'Marginal,' he observed.
'We'll never know until we try,' Sparhawk told him.
'All right. How do we get up to the roof?'
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'We'll lean the beams against the wall. If we slant them
up right, we should be able to scramble up and then pull
them after us.'
"I'm glad you don't have to construct your own siege
engines, Sparhawk,' Kurik observed sourly. 'All right.
Let's try it.'
They leaned several beams against the wall, and Kurik,
grunting and sweating, hauled himself up to the roof.
'All right,' he whispered down over the edge, 'come on
uP.'
Sparhawk climbed up the beam, picking up a large
splinter in his hand in the process. Then he and Kurik
laboriously hauled the beams up after them and carried
them one by one across the roof to the side facing the
consulate wall. The flickering torches atop the wall cast a
faint glow across the roof tops. As they were carrying the
last beam, Kurik stopped suddenly. 'Sparhawk,' he
called softly.
'What?'
'Two roofs over. There's a woman lying there."
'How do you know it's a woman?'
'Because she's stark naked, that's how.
'Oh,' Sparhawk said, 'that. It's a Rendorish custom.
She's waiting for the moon to rise. They have a
superstition here that the first rays of the moon on a
woman's belly increase her fertility.'
"won't she see us?'
"She won't say anything if she does. She's too busy
waiting for the moon. Press on, Kurik. Don't stand there
gawking at her.'
They struggled manfully to push a beam out over the
narrow lane, a task made more difficult by the fact that
their leverage diminished as they shoved the beam out
farther and farther. Finally the stubborn beam clunked
down on top of the consulate wall. They slid several more
beams across along its top, then rolled them to one side to
form a narrow bridge. As they were shoving the last one
across, Kurik suddenly stopped with a muttered oath.
"what's wrong?' Sparhawk asked him.
'How did we get up on this roof, Sparhawk?' Kurik
asked acidly.
'We climbed up a slanted beam.'
'Where did we want to go?'
To the top of the wall of the consulate over there.'
'Then why are' we building bridges?'
'Because -' Sparhawk stopped, feeling suddenly very
foolish. 'We could have just leaned a beam against the
wall of the consulate, couldnt we?'
'Congratulations, my Lord,' Kurik said sarcastically.
'The bridge was such a perfect solution to the
problem,' Sparhawk said defensively.
'But totally unnecessary.'
'That doesn't really invalidate the solution, does it?'
'Of course not.'
'Why don't we just go on across?'
'You go ahead. I think I'll go talk with the naked lady
for a while.'
'Never mind, Kurik. She' has her mind on other
things.'
"I'm sort of an expert on fertility, if that's what's really
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bothering her.'
'Let's go, Kurik.'
They crossed their makeshift bridge to the top of the
consulate wall and crept along it until they reached a
place where the branches of a well-watered fig tree
reached up out of the shadows below. They climbed
down the tree and stood for a moment or two beside it
while Sparhawk got his bearings.
'You wouldn't happen to know where the consul's
bedchamber is, would you?' Kurik whispered.
'No,' Sparhawk replied softly, 'but I can guess. It's the
Elenian consulate, and all official Elenian buildings are
more or less the same. The private quarters will be
upstairs at the back.'
'Very good, Sparhawk,' Kurik said dryly. 'That
narrows things down considerably. Now we only have to
search about a quarter of the building.'
They crept through a shadowy garden and entered by
way of an unlocked back door. They passed through a
darkened kitchen and into the dimly lit central hall. Kurik
suddenly jerked Sparhawk back into the kitchen.
'What - ' Sparhawk started to object in a hoarse
whisper.
"Shhh!'
Out in the hall there was the bobbing glow of a candle.
A matronly woman, a housekeeper or perhaps a cook,
walked towards the kitchen door. Sparhawk shrank back
as she stood framed in the doorway. Then she took hold
of the handle and firmly closed the door.
'How did you know she was coming?' Sparhawk
whispered.
"I don't know,' Kurik whispered back. "I just did.' He
put his ear to the door. "She's moving on,' he reported
softly.
"what's she doing up at this time of the night?'
"who knows? Maybe she's just making sure all the
doors are locked. Aslade does that every night.' He listened at the door
again. There,' he said, "she just closed another ddoor, and I can't hear
her out there any more. I think she's
gone to bed.'
'The staircase should be just opposite the main entryway,'
Sparhawk whispered. 'Let's get upstairs before
somebody else comes wandering by.'
They darted out into the hallway and up a broad flight
of stairs to the upper floor.
'look for an ornate door,' Sparhawk whispered. '
Elius is the master of the house, so he's likely to have the
most luxurious room. You go that way, and I'll go this.'
They separated and went in opposite directions on
tiptoe. At the end of the hallway, Sparhawk found an
elaborately carved door decorated with gilt paint. He
opened it carefully and looked inside. By the light of a
dimly glowing oil lamp he saw a stout,florid-faced
man of fifty or so lying on his back in the bed.
The man was snoring loudly. Sparhawk recognized him. He softly
closed the door and went looking for Kurik,
and met him at the head of the stairs.
"how old a man is the consul?' Kurik whispered.
"about fifty.'
"The man I saw wasn't him, then. There's a carved door
at the far end. There's a young fellow about twenty in bed
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with a woman.'
"did they see you?'
"they were busy.'
'.' The consul's sleeping alone. He's down at this end."
"I suppose the woman at the other end could be his wife."
"that's their business, isn't it?'
Together they tiptoed back down to the gilt-painted
door. Sparhawk eased it open, and they went inside and
crossed the floor to the bed. Sparhawk reached out and
took the consul's shoulder. 'Your Excellency,' he said
quietly, shaking the man.
The consul's eyes flew open, then glazed and went
blank as Kurik rapped him sharply behind the ear with
the hilt of his dagger. They trussed the unconscious man
up in a dark blanket and Kurik unceremoniously slung
the limp form over his shoulder. "Is that everything we
need here?' he asked.
'That's it,' Sparhawk said. 'Let's go.'
They crept back down the stairs and into the kitchen
again. Sparhawk carefully closed the door leading into
the main part of the house. 'Wait here,' he breathed to
Kurik. 'Let me check the garden. I'll whistle if it's clear.'
He slipped out into the shadowed garden and carefully
moved from tree to tree, his eyes alert. He suddenly
realized that he was enjoying himself immensely. He
hadn't had so much pure fun since he and Kalten had
been boys and had regularly slipped out of his fathers
house in the middle of the night bent on mischief.
He whistled a very poor imitation of a nightingale.
After a moment, he heard Kurik's hoarse whisper
coming from the kitchen door,
'Is that you?'
for an instant, he was tempted to whisper back 'no'
but then he got himself under control again.
They had some difficulty getting the inert body of the
consul up the fig tree, but finally managed by main
strength. then they crossed their makeshift bridge and
pulled the beams back onto the roof.
"She's still there,' Kurik whispered.
'Who is?'
'The naked lady.'
"It's her roof.'
They dragged the beams back to the far side of the roof
and lowered them again. Then Sparhawk climbed down
and caught the consul's body when Kurik lowered it to
him. Kurik joined him a moment later, and they restacked
the beams against the wall.
'All nice and neat,' Sparhawk said with satisfaction,
brushing his hands together.
Kurik hefted the body up onto his shoulder again.
'Won't his wife miss him?' he asked.
'Not very much, I wouldn't think - if that was her in
the bedroom at the other end of the hall. Why don't we
go back to the monastery?'
They trudged off carrying the body and reached the
outskirts of town in about half an hour, dodging several
watchmen along the way. The consul, draped over
Sparhawk's shoulder, groaned and stirred weakly.
Kurik rapped him on the head again.
When they entered the abbot's study, Kurik unceremoniously
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dumped the unconscious man on the floor.
He and Sparhawk looked at each other for a moment,
then they both burst into uncontrollable laughter.
'What's so funny?' the abbot demanded.
'You should have come along, my Lord,' Kurik
gasped. "I haven't had so much fun in years.' He began
laughing again. 'The bridge was the best, I think.'
"I sort of liked the naked lady,' Sparhawk disagreed.
'Have you two been drinking?' the abbot asked
suspiciously.
'Not a drop, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied. "It's a
thought, though, if you've got anything handy. Where's
Sephrenia?'
"I persuaded her that she and the child should get some
sleep.' The abbot paused. 'What naked lady?' he
demanded, his eyes afire with curiosity.
'There was a woman up on a roof going through that
fertility ritual,' Sparhawk told him, still laughing. "She
sort of distracted Kurik for a moment or two.'
'Was she pretty?' The abbot grinned at Kurik.
"I couldn't really say, my Lord. I wasn't looking at her
face. '
'My Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk said then, a bit more
Seriously, though he still felt enormously exuberant, 'we're
going to question Elius as soon as he wakes up. Please
don't be alarmed by some of the things we say to him.'
"I quite understand, Sparhawk,' the abbot replied.
'Good. All right, Kurik, let's wake up his Excellency
here and see what he has to say for himself.'
Kurik stripped the blanket off the consul's limp body
and began pinching the unconscious man's ears and
nose. After a moment, the consul's eyelids fluttered.
Then he groaned and opened his eyes. He stared blankly
at them for a moment, then sat up quickly. 'Who are you?
What's the meaning of this?' he demanded.
Kurik smacked him firmly across the back of the head.
'You see how it is, Elius,' Sparhawk said blandly. 'You
don't mind if I call you Elius, do you? Possibly you may
remember me. The name's Sparhawk.'
'Sparhawk?' the consul gasped. "I thought you were
dead.'
'That's a highly exaggerated rumour, Elius. Now, the
fact of the matter is that you've been abducted. We have a
number of questions for you. Things will go much more
pleasantly for you if you answer them freely. Otherwise,
you're in for a very bad night.'
'You wouldn't dare!'
Kurik hit him again.
"I'm the consul of the Kingdom of Elenia,' Elius
blustered, trying to cover the back of his head with both
hands, 'and the cousin of the Primate of Cimmura. You
can't do this to me.'
Sparhawk sighed. 'break a few of his fingers, Kurik,'
he suggested, 'just to show him that we can do this to
him.'
Kurik set his foot against the consul's chest, pushed
him back onto the floor, and seized the weakly struggling
caPtive's right wrist.
'No!' Elius squealed. 'Don't! I'll tell you anything you
want.'
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"I told you he'd co-operate, my Lord,' Sparhawk said
conversationally to the abbot, pulling off his Rendorish
robe to stand revealed in his mail coat and sword belt, 'just
as soon as he understood the seriousness of the situation.'
'Your methods are direct, Sir Sparhawk,' the abbot
noted.
"I'm a plain man, my Lord,' Sparhawk replied, scratching
at one mailed armpit. "Subtlety isn't one of my strong
points.' He nudged the captive with one foot. 'All right,
then, Elius, I'll make things simple for you. All you have
to do at first is confirm a number of statements.' He drew
up a chair and sat down, crossing his legs. 'First of all,
your cousin, the Primate of Cimmura, has his eyes on the
throne of the Archprelacy, right?'
'You have no proof of that.'
'Break his thumb, Kurik.'
still holding the consul's wrist in his grip, Kurik prised
open the man's clenched fist and grasped his thumb. 'in
how many places, my Lord?' he asked politely.
'Do as many as you can, Kurik. Give him something to
think about.'
'No, No! It's true!' Elius gasPed, his eyes wide with
terror.'
'We're making real progress here,' Sparhawk observed
with a relaxed smile. 'Now. You've had dealings in the
past with a white-haired man named Martel. He works
for your cousin from time to time. Am I right?'
'Y-yes,' Elius faltered.
'Notice how it gets easier as you go along? In fact it was
you who set Martel and his hirelings on me that night
about ten years ago, wasn't it?'
"It was his idea,' Elius blurted quickly. "I'd received
orders from my cousin to co-operate with him. He
suggested that I summon you that night. I had no idea
that he intended to kill you."
'You're very naive then, Elius. Lately, a fair number of
travellers from the northern kingdoms have been circulating
rumours here in Cippria that there's a groundswell
of sympathy for Rendorish aims in those kingdoms. Is
Martel in any way connected with that campaign?'
Elius stared at him, his lips pressed fearfully shut.
Slowly, Kurik began to bend his thumb back.
'Yes, yes!' Elius squeaked, arching back in Pain.
'You were almost backsliding there, Elius,' Sparhawk
chided. "I'd watch that if I were you. The whole purpose
of Martel's campaign here is to persuade the city
dwellers of Rendor to join with the desert nomads in an
Eshandist uprising against the Church. Am I right?'
'Martel doesn't confide in me all that much, but I
suppose that's his ultimate goal, yes.'
'And he's supplying weapons, right?'
"I've heard that he is.'
'This next one is tricky, Elius, so listen carefully. The
real point here is to stir things up so that the Church
Knights will have to come here and quiet them down
again. Isn't that so?'
Elius nodded sullenly. 'Martel himself hasn't said so,
but my cousin intimated as much to me in his last letter.'
'And the uprising is to be timed to coincide with the
election of the new Archprelate in the Basilica of
Chyrellos?'
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"I really don't know that, Sir Sparhawk. Please believe
me. You're probably right, but I can't really say for
certain.'
'We'll let that one pass for the moment. Now, I have a
burning curiosity. Just where is Martel right now?'
'He's gone to Dabour to talk with Arasham. The old
man's trying to whip his followers into a frenzy so that
they'll start burning churches and expropriating church
lands. Martel was very upset when he heard about it, and
he hurried to Dabour to try to head it off.'
'Probably because it was premature?'
"I'd imagine as much, yes.'
"I guess that's about all then, Elius,' Sparhawk said
benignly. "I certainly want to thank you for your cooperation
tonight.'
'You're letting me go?' the consul asked incredulously.
'No, I'm afraid not. Martel's an old friend of mine. I
want to surprise him when I get to Dabour, so I can't risk
having you get word to him that I'm coming. There's a
penitent's cell down in the cellar of this monastery. I'm
sure you feel very penitent just now, and I want to give
you some time to reflect on your sins. The cell is quite
comfortable, I'm told. It has a door, four walls, a ceiling
and even a floor.' He looked at the abbot. "It does have a
floor, doesn't it, my Lord?'
'Oh, yes,' the abbot confirmed, 'a nice cold stone one.
'You can't do that!' Elius Protested shrilly.
'Sparhawk,' Kurik agreed, 'you really can't confine a
man in a penitent's cell against his will. It's a violation of
Church law.'
'Oh,' Sparhawk said pettishly, "I suppose you're right.
I did want to avoid all the mess. Go ahead and do it the
other way, then.'
'Yes, my Lord,' Kurik said respectfully. He drew his
dagger. 'Tell me, my Lord Abbot,' he said, 'does your
monastery have a graveyard?'
'Yes, rather a nice one, actually.'
'Oh, good. I hate just to drag them out into the open
countryside and leave them for the jackals.' He took hold
of the consul's hair and tipped his head back. Then he set
the edge of his dagger against the cringing man's throat.
'This won't take a moment, your Excellency,' he said
professionally.
'My Lord Abbot,' Elius squealed.
"I'm afraid it's altogether out of my hands, your
Excellency,' the abbot said with mock piety. The Church
Knights have their own laws. I wouldn't dream of
interfering.'
'Please, my Lord Abbot,' Elius pleaded. 'Confine me to
the penitent's cell.'
'Do you sincerely repent your sins?' the abbot asked.
'Yes! Yes. I am heartily ashamed!'
"I am afraid, Sir Sparhawk, that I must intercede on this
penitent's behalf,' the abbot said. "I cannot permit you to
kill him until he has made his peace with God.'
'That's your final decision, my Lord Abbot?' Sparhawk
asked.
"I'm afraid it is, Sir Sparhawk.'
'Oh, all right. Let us know as soon as he's completed
his penance. Then we'll kill him.'
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'Of course, Sir Sparhawk.'
After the violently trembling Elius had been taken
away by a pair of burly monks, the three men in the room
began to laugh.
'That was rare, my Lord,' Sparhawk congratulated the
abbot. "It was exactly the right tone.'
"I'm not a complete novice at this sort of thing,
Sparhawk,' the abbot said. He looked at the big Pandion
shrewdly. 'You Pandions have a reputation for brutality
- particularly where questioning captives is concerned.'
"It seems to me I've heard some rumours to that effect,
yes,' Sparhawk admitted.
'But you don't really do anything to people, do you?'
'Not usually, no. "It's the reputation that persuades
people to co-operate. Do you have any idea how hard -
and messy - it is actually to torture people? We planted
those rumours about our order ourselves. After all, why
work if you don't have to?'
'My feelings exactly, Sparhawk. Now,' the abbot said
eagerly, 'why don't you tell me about the naked lady -
and the bridge -and anything else you might have run
across? Don't leave anything out. I'm only a poor
monk, and I don't really get much fun out of
cloistered life.'
!!!
*Chapter20
Sparhawk winced and drew his breath in sharply.
'Sephrenia, do you have to dig straight in?' he complained.
'
Don't be such a baby,' she told him, continuing to pick
at the sliver in his hand with her needle. "If I don't get it
all out, it's going to fester.'
He sighed and gritted his teeth together as she
continued to probe. He looked at Flute, who had both
hands across her mouth as if to stifle a giggle.
'You think it's funny?' he asked her crossly.
She lifted her pipes and blew a derisive little trill.
"I've been thinking, Sparhawk,' the abbot said. "If
Annias has people in jiroch the same as he has here in
Cippria, wouldn't it be safer just to go around it and
avoid the possibility of being recognized?'
"I think we'll have to chance it, my Lord,' Sparhawk
said. "I've got a friend in Jiroch I need to talk with before
we go upriver.' He looked down at his black robe. 'These
ought to get us past a casual glance.'
"I think it's dangerous, Sparhawk.'
'Not if we're careful, I hope.'
Kurik, who had been saddling their horses and loading
the pack mule the abbot had given them, came into the
room. He was carrying a long, narrow wooden case. 'Do
you really have to take this?' he asked Sephrenia.
"yes, Kurik,' she replied in a sad voice. "I do."
"what's in it?'
'A pair of swords. They're a part of the burden I bear.'
"it's a pretty large box for only two swords.'
'There'll be others, I'm afraid.' She sighed, then began
to wrap Sparhawk's hand with a strip of linen cloth.
"it doesn't need a bandage, Sephrenia,' he objected. "it
was only a splinter.'
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She gave him a long, steady stare.
He gave up. 'All right,' he said. 'Do whatever you
think is best.'
'Thank you.' She tied the end of the bandage.
'You'll send word to Larium then, my Lord?'
Sparhawk asked the abbot.
'On the next ship that leaves the harbour, Sir
Sparhawk.'
Sparhawk thought a moment. "I don't think we'll be
going back to Madel,' he said. 'We have some companions
staying at the house of the Marquis Lycien there.'
The abbot nodded. "I know him,' he said.
'Could you get word to them as well? Tell them that if
everything works out at Dabour, we'll be going home
from there. I think they might as well go on back to
Cimmura.'
"I'll see to it, Sparhawk.'
Sparhawk tugged thoughtfully at the knot on his
bandage.
'Leave it alone,' Sephrenia told him.
He took his hand away. "I'm not trying to tell the
preceptors 'what to do,' he said to the abbot, 'but you
might suggest in your message that a few small
contingents of Church Knights in the streets of
Rendorish cities right now might remind the local
population of just how unpleasant things can get if they
pay too much attention to all these rumours.'
'And head off the need for whole armies later on,' the
abbot agreed. "I'll definitely mention it in my report.'
Sparhawk rose to his feet. "I'm in your debt again, my
Lord Abbot,' he said. 'You always seem to be here when I
need you.'
'We serve the same ' master, Sparhawk,' the abbot
replied. He grinned then. 'Besides,' he added, "I sort of like
you. You Pandions don't always do things the way we
would, but you get results, and that's what counts, isn't it?'
'We can hope.'
'Be careful in the desert, my friend, and good luck.'
'Thank you, my Lord.'
They went down to the central court of the monastery
as the bells began to chime their call to morning prayers.
Kurik tied Sephrenia's sword case to the pack mule's
saddle, and they all mounted. Then they rode out
through the front gate with the sound of the bells
hovering in the air above them.
Sparhawk's mood was pensive as they reached the
dusty coast road and turned west towards Jiroch.
'What is it, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked him.
'Those bells have been calling me for ten years now,'
he replied. "Somehow I've always known that someday
I'd come back to this monastery.' He straightened in his
saddle. "it's a good place,' he said. "I'm a little sorry to
leave it, but...' He shrugged and rode on.
The morning sun was very bright, and it reflected back
blindingly from the wasteland of rock, sand, and gravel
lying on the left side of the road. On the right side was a
steep bank leading down to a gleaming white beach, and
beyond that lay the deep blue waters of the inner sea.
Within an hour it was quite warm. A half-hour later it
was hot.
'Don't they ever get a winter down here?' Kurik asked.
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mopping at his streaming face.
'This is winter, Kurik,' Sparhawk told him.
'What's it like in the summer?'
'Unpleasant. In the summer you have to travel at
night.'
"'How far is it to jiroch?'
'About five hundred leagues."
'Three weeks at least.'
"I'm afraid so.'
'We should have gone by ship - waterspouts or not."
'No, Kurik,' Sephrenia disagreed. 'None of us
will be of any help to Ehlana if we're all lying on the bottom of
the sea.'
'Won't that thing that's after us just use magic to locate
us anyway?'
"it seems that it can't do that,' she replied. "when it was
looking for Sparhawk ten years ago, it had to question
people. It couldn't just sniff him out.'
"I'd forgotten that,' he admitted.
They rose early each day, even before the stars faded,
and pushed their horses hard during the early morning
hours before the sun became a bludgeon at midday. Then
they rested in the scant shade of the tent the abbot had
pressed on them while their mounts grazed listlessly on
scrubby forage in the blistering sun. As the sun sank
towards the west, they rode on, usually until well after
dark. Occasionally, they reached some desert spring,
inevitably surrounded by lush vegetation and shade. At
times, they lingered for a day to rest their horses and to
gather the strength to face the savage sun again.
It was at such a spring, where crystal water came
purling out of a rocky slope to gather in an azure pool
surrounded by palm trees, that the shade of a blackarmoured
Pandion Knight visited them. Sparhawk, clad
in only a loincloth, had just emerged dripping from the
pool when he saw the mounted figure approaching from
the west. Although the sun stood at the figure's back, it cast
no shadow, and he could clearly see the sun-blasted
hillsides through both horse and man. Once again he
caught that charnelhouse reek, as the figure approached,
he saw that its horse was little more than a vacant-eyed
skeleton. He made no attempt to reach a weapon, but stood
shivering despite the mace like heat as the mounted
spectre bore down on them. Some few yards away, the
shade reined in its skeletal mount and, with a deadly slow
motion, drew its sword. 'Little mother,' it intoned hollowly
to Sephrenia, "I have done all that I could.' It raised the hilt
of its weapon to its visor in a salute, then reversed the blade
and' offered the hilt across its insubstantial forearm.
Sephrenia, pale and faltering, crossed the hot gravel to
the spectre and took the sword hilt in both hands. 'Thy
sacrifice shall be remembered, Sir Knight,' she said in a
trembling voice.
'What is remembrance in the House of the Dead,
Sephrenia? I did what duty commanded of me. That
alone is my solace in the eternal silence.' Then it turned
its visored countenance towards Sparhawk. 'Hail,
brother,' it said in that same empty voice. 'Know that thy
course is aright. At Dabour shalt thou find that answer
which we have sought. Shouldst thou succeed in thy
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quest, we shall salute thee with our hollow cheers in the
House of the Dead.'
'Hail, brother,' Sparhawk replied in a choked voice,
'and farewell.'
Then the spectre vanished.
With a long, shuddering moan, Sephrenia collapsed. It
was as if the weight of the suddenly materialized sword
had crushed her to earth.
Kurik rushed forward, scooped her slight form up in
his arms, and carried her back into the shade beside the
pool.
Sparhawk, however, moved at a resolute pace towards
the spot where she had fallen, heedless of the blistering
gravel under his naked feet, and retrieved his fallen
brother's sword.
Behind him, he heard the sound of Flute's pipes. The
melody was one that he had not heard before. It was
questioning and filled with a deep sadness and an aching
kind of longing. He turned around with the sword in his
hand. Sephrenia lay on a blanket in the shade of the
palms. Her face seemed drawn, and quite suddenly dark
circles had appeared beneath her now-closed eyes. Kurik
knelt anxiously beside her, and Flute sat cross-legged not
far away with her pipes to her lips, 'sending her strange,
hymn-like song soaring into the air.
Sparhawk crossed the gravel and stopped in the
shade. Kurik rose and joined him. "She won't be able to
go on today,' the squire said quietly, 'perhaps not even
tomorrow.'
Sparhawk nodded.
'This is weakening her terribly, Sparhawk,' Kurik
continued gravely. 'Each time one of those twelve
knights dies, she seems to wilt a little more. Wouldn't it
be better to send her back to Cimmura when we get to
Jiroch?'
'Perhaps so, but she wouldn't go.'
'You're probably right,' Kurik agreed glumly. 'You do
know that you and I could move faster if we didn't have
her and the little girl along, though, don't you?'
'Yes, but what would we do without her when we got
to where we're going?'
'You've got a point there, I guess. Did you happen to
recognize that ghost?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'Sir Kerris,' he said shortly.
"I never got to know him very well,' Kurik admitted.
'He always seemed a little stiff and formal.'
'He was a good man, though.'
'What did he say to you? I was too far away to hear
him.'
'He said that we're on the right course and that we'll
find the answer we need at Dabour.'
'Well, now,' Kurik said. 'That helps', doesn't it? I was
about half-afraid that we were chasing shadows."
'So was I,' Sparhawk admitted.
Flute had laid aside her pipes and now sat beside
Sephrenia. She reached out and took the stricken
woman's hand and held it. Her small face was grave, but
betrayed no other emotion.
An idea came to Sparhawk. He went to where
Sephrenia lay. 'Flute,' he said quietly.
The little girl looked up at him.
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'Can you do something to help Sephrenia?
Flute shook her head a bit sadly.
"it is forbidden.' Sephrenia's voice was hardly more
than a whisper, and her eyes were still closed. 'Only
those of us who were present can bear this burden.' She
drew in a deep breath. 'Go put some clothes on,
Sparhawk,' she said then. 'Don't walk around like that in
front of the child.'
They remained in the shade beside the pool for the
remainder of that day and all of the next. On the morning
of the third day, Sephrenia rose and resolutely began to
gather up her things. 'Time is moving along, gentlemen,'
she said crisply, 'and we still have a long way to go.'
Sparhawk looked closely at her. Her face was still
haggard, and the deep circles beneath her eyes had not
lessened. As she bent to pick up her veil, he saw several
silvery strands in her glistening black hair. 'Wouldn't
you be stronger if we stayed here another day?' he asked
her.
'Not appreciably, Sparhawk,' she replied in a weary
voice. 'My condition can't be improved by resting. Let's
move on. It's a long way to Jiroch.'
They rode at an easy pace at first, but after a few miles,
Sephrenia spoke rather sharply. 'Sparhawk,' she said,
'it's going to take all winter if we keep sauntering along
like this.'
'All right, Sephrenia,' he said. 'Whatever you say.'
It was perhaps ten days later when they arrived in Jiroch.
Like Cippria, the port city in western Rendor was a low,
flat town with thick-walled, flat-roofed houses thickly
plastered with white mortar. Sparhawk led them
through a series of twisting alleys to a section of town not
far from the river. It was a quarter where foreigners were,
if not actually encouraged, at least tolerated. While most
of the people in the streets were still Rendors, there was a
fair spattering of brightly robed Cammorians, a number
of Lamorks, and even a few Elenians in the crowd.
Sparhawk and the others kept their hoods up and rode
slowly to avoid attracting attention.
It was late morning when they reached a modest house
set some distance back from the street. The man who
owned the house was Sir Voren, a Pandion Knight,
although few in Jiroch were aware of that fact. Most
people in the port city thought of him as a moderately
prosperous Elenian merchant. He did, in fact, engage in
trade. Some years, he even made a profit. Sir Voren's real
purpose for being in Jiroch was not commercial, however.
There were a goodly number of Pandion Knights
submerged in the general population of Rendor, and
Voren was their only contact with the motherhouse at
Demos. All their communications and dispatches passed
through his hands to be concealed in the boxes and bales
of goods he shipped from the harbour.
A slack-lipped servant with dull, uncurious eyes led
Sparhawk and the others through the house and on into
a walled garden filled with the shade of fig trees and the
musical trickle of a marble fountain in the centre. Neatly
tended flowerbeds lined the walls, and the nodding
blossoms were a riot of colours. Voren was seated on a
bench beside the fountain. He was a tall, thin man with a
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sardonic sense of humour. His years in this southern
kingdom had browned his skin until it was the colour of
an old saddle. Though he was of late middle age, his hair
was untouched by grey, but his tanned face was a tracery
of wrinkles. He wore no doublet, but rather a plain linen
shirt open at the neck. He rose as they entered the
garden. 'Ah, Mahkra,' he greeted Sparhawk with a brief,
sidelong glance at the servant, 'so good to see you again,
old boy.'
'Voren,' Sparhawk responded with a Rendorish bow,
a sinuous movement that was half genuflection.
"Jintal,' Voren said to the servant then, 'be a good
fellow and take this to my factor down at the docks.' He
folded a sheet of parchment in half and handed it to the
swarthy-faced Rendor.
'As you command, Master,' the servant replied, bowing.
They waited until the sound of the front door of the
house closing announced that the servant had departed.
'Nice enough fellow there,' Voren observed. 'Of
course he's fearfully stupid. I'm always careful to hire
servants who aren't too bright. An intelligent servant is
usually a spy.' Then his eyes narrowed. 'Wait here a
moment,' he said. "I want to be sure he has really left the
house.' He crossed the garden and went back inside.
"I don't remember his being that nervous,' Kurik said.
'This is a nervous part of the world,' Sparhawk replied.
After a few minutes, Voren returned. 'Little mother,'
he greeted Sephrenia warmly, kissing her palms. 'Will
you give me your blessing?'
She smiled, touched his forehead, and spoke in Styric.
"I've missed that,' he confessed, 'even though I haven't
done much lately that deserves blessing. ' Then he looked
at her more closely. 'Aren't you well, Sephrenia?' he
asked her. 'Your face seems very drawn.'
The heat, perhaps,' she said, passing a slow hand
across her eyes.
'Sit here,' he said, pointing at his marble bench. "it's
the coolest place in all of Jiroch. ' He smiled sardonically.
"which isn't saying all that much, I'll grant you.'
She sat on the bench, and Flute clambered up beside
her.
'Well, Sparhawk,' Voren said, clasping his friend's
hand, 'what brings you back to Jiroch so soon? Did you
leave something behind, perhaps?'
'Nothing I can't live without,' Sparhawk replied dryly.
Voren laughed. 'just to show you how good a friend I
am, I won't tell Lillias that you said that. Hello, Kurik.
How's Aslade?'
"She's well, my Lord Voren.'
'And your sons? You have three, don't you?'
'Four, my Lord. The last one was born after you left
Demos.'
'Congratulations,' Voren said, 'a little late, maybe, but
congratulations all the same.'
'Thank you, my Lord.'
"I need to talk with you, Voren,' Sparhawk said,
cutting across the pleasantries, 'and we don't have much
time. '
'And here I thought this was a social visit.' Voren
sighed.
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Sparhawk let that pass. 'Has Vanion managed to get
word to you about what's been going on in Cimmura?'
The lightly ironic smile faded from Voren's face, and
he nodded seriously. 'That's one of the reasons I was
surprised to see you,' he said. "I thought you were going
to Borrata. Did you have any luck there?'
"I don't know how lucky it was, but we found out
something we're trying to track down.' He clenched his
teeth together. 'Voren,' he said darkly, 'Ehlana was
poisoned.'
Voren stared at him for a moment, then swore. "I
wonder how long it'd take me to get back to Cimmura,'
he said in an icy voice. "I think I'd like to rearrange Annias
just a bit. He'd look much better without his head, don't
you think?'
'You'd have to stand in line, my Lord Voren,' Kurik
assured him. "I know at least a dozen other people with
the same idea.'
'Anyway,' Sparhawk went on, 'we found out that 'it
was a Rendorish poison and we've heard of a physician
in Dabour who might know of an antidote. That's where
we're going now.'
'Where are Kalten and the others?' Voren asked.
'Vanion wrote that you had him and some knights from
the other orders with you.'
'We left them in Madel,' Sparhawk replied. 'They
didn't look-or act-very Rendorish. Have you heard of a
Doctor Tanjin in Dabour?'
The one who's reputed to have cured the king's brother
of some mysterious ailment? Of course. He might not want
to talk about it, though. There are some shrewd guesses
going around about how he managed those cures, and you
know how Rendors feel about magic.'
"I'll persuade him to talk about it,' Sparhawk told him.
'You might wish that you hadn't left Kalten and the
others behind,' Voren told him. 'Dabours a very unfriendly
place right now.'
"I'll have to manage alone. I sent word to them from
Cippria to go back home and wait for me there.'
'Whom did you find in Cippria that you could really
trust enough to carry messages for you?'
"I went to the abbot of that Arcian monastery on the
east side of town. I've known him for a long time.'
Voren laughed. "Is he still trying to conceal the fact that
he's a Cyrinic?'
'Do you know everything, Voren?'
That's what I'm here for. He's a good man, though.
His methods are a little pedestrian, but he gets things
done.'
'What's happening in Dabour right now?' Sparhawk
asked. "I don't want to walk in there with my eyes
closed.'
Voren sprawled on the grass near Sephrenia's feet and
hooked his hands about one knee. 'Dabour's always
been a strange place,' he replied. "it was Eshand's home,
and the desert nomads think of it as a holy city. At any
given time there are usually a dozen or so religious
factions all fighting with each other for control of the holy
places there.' He smiled wryly. 'Would you believe that
there are twenty-three tombs there, all purporting to be
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the final resting place of Eshand? I strongly suspect that
at least some of them are spurious - unless they
dismembered the holy man after his death and buried
him piecemeal.'
Sparhawk sank to the grass beside his friend. 'This is
just a thought,' he said, 'but could we throw some
clandestine support to one of the other factions and
undermine Arasham's position?'
"it's a nice idea, Sparhawk, but at the moment there
aren't any other factions. After Arasham received his
epiphany, he spent forty years exterminating all possible
rivals. There was a blood bath in central Rendor of
colossal proportions. Pyramids of skulls dot the desert
out there. Finally, he gained control of Dabour, and he
rules there with an authority so total that he makes Otha
of Zemoch look like a liberal. He has thousands of rabid
followers wio blindly follow his every lunatic whim.
They roam the streets with sun-baked brains and burning
eyes, searching for any infraction of obscure religious
laws. Hordes of the unwashed and lice-ridden and only
marginally human rage through the streets in search of
the opportunity to burn their neighbours at the stake.'
'That's direct enough,' Sparhawk said. He glanced at
Sephrenia. Flute had dipped a handkerchief into the
fountain and was gently bathing the small woman's face
with it. Peculiarly, Sephrenia had her head laid against
the little girl's shoulder as if she were the child. 'Arasham
has gathered an army, then?' he asked Voren.
Voren snorted. 'Only an idiot would call it an army.
They can't march anywhere because they have to pray
every half-hour, and they blindly obey even the obvious
misstatements of that senile old man.' He laughed
harshly. 'Arasham sometimes stumbles over the
language - which isn't surprising, since he's probably at
least half baboon - and once, during his campaigns back
in the hinterlands, he gave an order. He meant to say,
"Fall upon your foes," but it came out wrong. Instead, he
said, "Fall upon your swords," and three whole regiments
did exactly that. Arasham rode home alone that
day, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.'
'You've been here too long, Voren.' Sparhawk
laughed. 'Rendor's starting to sour your disposition.'
"I can't abide stupidity and filth, Sparhawk, and
Arasham's followers believe devoutly in the sanctity of
ignorance and dirt.'
'You're starting to develop a fine flair for rhetoric,
though.'
'Contempt is a powerful seasoning for one's words,'
Voren admitted. "I can't say what I think openly here in
Rendor, so I have plenty of time to polish my phrases in
private.' His face grew serious. 'Be very careful in
Dabour, Sparhawk,' he advised. 'Arasham has a couple
of dozen disciples - some of whom he even knows.
They're the ones who really control the city, and they're
all as crazy as he is.'
'That bad?'
'Worse, probably.'
'You've always been such a cheerful fellow, Voren,
Sparhawk said dryly.
"it's a failing of mine. I try to look on the bright side of
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things. Is anything happening in Cippria I ought to know
about?'
'You might want to look into this,' Sparhawk said,
plucking at the grass beside him. 'There are some
foreigners going about there trying to encourage the belief
that the peasantry in the Elene kingdoms in the north are
on the verge of open rebellion against the Church because
they support the goals of the Eshandist movement.'
"I've heard some rumours about that,' Voren said. "it
hasn't gone very far here in jiroch yet.'
"it's just a question of time until it does, I think. It's
fairly well organized.'
'Any idea of who's behind it?'
'Martel, and we all know for whom he works. The
whole idea is to stir up the city dwellers to join with
Arasham in an uprising against the Church here in
Rendor at the same time that the Hierocracy is gathering
in Chyrellos to elect a new Archprelate. The Church
Knights would have to come here to put the fire out, and
that would give Annias and his supporters a free hand in
the election. We've passed the word to the militant
orders, so they should be able to take steps.' Sparhawk
rose from the grass. 'How long is your servant likely to
take to run his errand?' he asked. "it might be better if we
were gone when he came back. He may not be too bright,
but I know Rendors, and they like to gossip.'
"I think you've got a little time left. Jintal's fastest pace
is a leisurely saunter. You'll have time to eat something,
and I'll give you some fresh supplies.'
"Is there any safe place to stay in Dabour?' Sephrenia
asked the sardonic man.
'No place in Dabour is really safe, Sephrenia,' Voren
replied. He looked at Sparhawk. 'Do you remember
Perraine?' he asked.
'Lean fellow? Almost never talks?'
'That's him. He's in Dabour posing as a cattle buyer.
He goes by the name Mirrelek, and he's got a place near
the stockyards. The desert people need him - unless they
want to eat all their own cows - so he has more or less the
free run of the city. He'll put you up and keep you out of
trouble.' Voren grinned a bit slyly. 'Speaking of trouble,
Sparhawk,' he said, "I'd strongly advise you to get out of
Jiroch before Lillias finds out that you're back.'
"Is she still unhappy?' Sparhawk said. "I thought that
she'd have found someone to comfort her by now.'
"I'm sure she has - several, probably - but you know
Lillias. She holds grudges.'
"I left her full title to the shop,' Sparhawk said a bit
defensively. "She should be doing very well by now if she
pays attention to business.'
'The last I heard, she was, but that's not the point. The
whole thing is that you said your farewells - and left your
bequest - in a note. You didn't give her the chance to
scream, weep, and threaten to kill herself.'
'That was sort of the idea.'
'You were' terribly unkind to her, my friend. Lillias
thrives on high drama. when you slipped out in the
middle of the night the way you did, you robbed her of a
wonderful opportunity for histrionics.' Voren was
grinning openly.
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'Do you really have to pursue this?'
"I'm just trying to give you a friendly warning,
Sparhawk. All you'll have to face at Dabour are several
thousand howling fanatics. Here in Jiroch, you'll have to
face Lillias, and she's much, much more dangerous.'
!!!
*Chapter21
They left Voren's house quietly about half an hour later.
Sparhawk looked closely at Sephrenia as they mounted
their horses. Although it was scarcely past noon, she
already looked weary. 'Could this thing that's after us stir
up a waterspout on the river?' he asked her.
She frowned. "it's hard to say,' she replied. 'Normally,
I'd say no, there's not enough open water. But the
creatures of the underworld can overcome some natural
laws if they choose.' She thought a moment. 'How wide
is the river here?' she asked.
'Not very,' he replied. 'There's not enough water in the
whole of Rendor to make a wide river.'
'The river banks would make it very hard to direct a
spout,' she said thoughtfully. 'You saw how erratically
the one that destroyed Mabin's ship was moving.'
'We'll have to chance it, then,' he said. 'You're too
exhausted to ride all the way to Dabour, and it's going to
get hotter as we ride south.'
'Don't take unnecessary chances just for my sake,
SParhhawk. '
"it's not entirely for your sake,' he told her. 'We've lost
a lot of time already, and going by boat is faster than
riding. We'll stay close to the river bank in case we need
to get off the boat in a hurry.'
'Whatever you think best,' she said, slumping slightly
in her saddle.
They rode out into the teeming street where blackrobed
nomads from the desert mingled with the more
brightly garbed city dwellers and the merchants from the
northern kingdoms. The street was filled with noise and
with those peculiarly Rendorish scents - spices, perfumes
and the pervading odour of smoking olive oil.
'Who's this Lillias?' Kurik asked curiously as they rode
down along the street towards the river.
"it's not important,' Sparhawk replied shortly.
"If this person is dangerous, I'd say that it's fairly
important for me to know about it."
'Lillias isn't dangerous in that particular way.'
'We're talking about a woman, I gather.'
It was obvious that Kurik did not intend to be put off.
Sparhawk made a sour face. 'All right,' he said. "I was
here in Jiroch for ten years. Voren set me up in a little
shop where I went by the name Mahkra. The idea was
that I could drop out of sight so that Martel's hirelings
couldn't find me. In order to keep busy, I gathered
information for Voren. To do that, I needed to look like all
the other merchants on that street. They all had mistresses,
so I needed one, too. Her name was Lillias
Satisfied?'
'That was quick. The lady has a short temper, I take it?'
'No, Kurik. She has a very long one. Lillias is the kind
of woman who nurses grudges.'
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'Oh, that kind. I'd like to meet her.'
'No, you wouldn't. I don't think you'd care for all the
screaming and dramatics.'
'That bad?'
'Why do you think I slipped out of town in the middle
of the night? Do you suppose we could drop this?'
Kurik started to chuckle. 'Excuse me for laughing, my
Lord,' he said, 'but as I recall, you weren't exactly
brimming with sympathy when I told you about my
indiscretion with Talen's mother.'
'All right. We're even, then.' Sparhawk clamped hiS
lips shut and rode on, ignoring Kurik's laughter.
The docks that jutted out into the muddy flow of the
Gule River were rickety affairs and they were draped
with smelly fishnets. Dozens of the wide-beamed river
boats that plied the stream between jiroch and Dabour
were moored to them. Dark-skinned sailors clad in
loincloths and with cloths wound about their heads
lounged on their decks. Sparhawk dismounted and
approached an evil-looking one-eyed man in a loose-fitting,
striped robe. The one-eyed man stood on the
dock bawling orders at a lazy-looking trio of sailors
aboard a mud-smeared scow.
'Your boat?' the knight asked.
'What of it?: '
'is it for hire?'
'That depends on the price.'
'We can work that out. How many days to Dabour?'
'Three, maybe four days, depending on the wind.' The
captain was assessing Sparhawk and the others with his
good eye. His surly expression changed, and he smiled
an oily smile. 'Why don't we talk about the price, noble
sir?' he suggested.
Sparhawk made some pretence at haggling, then
dipped into the pouch of coins Voren had given him and
counted silver into the riverman's grimy hand. The
man's single eye came alight when he saw the pouch.
They boarded the boat and tethered their horses
amidships as the three sailors slipped the hawsers,
pushed the boat out into the current, and raised the
single, slanted sail. The river was sluggish, and the stiff
onshore breeze blowing in off the Arcian Strait pushed
them upstream against the current at a goodly speed.
'Watch yourselves,' Sparhawk muttered to his companions
as they unsaddled their mounts. 'Our captain
appears to be an independent businessman with his eye
open for opportunities.' He walked aft to where the one-eyed
man stood at the tiller. "I want you to keep as close
to shore as you can,' he said.
'What for?' The captain's lone eye became suddenly
wary.
'My sister's afraid of water,' Sparhawk improvised. "if I
give you the word, put your boat up against the bank so
that she can get off.'
'You're paying.' The captain shrugged. 'We'll do it any
way you like.'
'Do you run at night?' Sparhawk asked him.
The captain shook his head. "Some do, but I don't
There are too many snags and hidden rocks for my taste
We moor up against the bank when it gets dark.'
'Good. I like prudence in a sailor. It makes for safer
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journeys -which brings up a point.' He opened the front
of his robe to , reveal his mail coat and the heavy
broadsword belted at his side. 'Do you get my meaning?'
he asked.
The captain's face clouded with chagrin. 'You have no
right to threaten me on my own boat,' he blustered.
'As you said before, I'm paying. Your crew looks a little
undependable to me, Captain, and your own face isn't
one to inspire trust.'
The captain's face grew sullen. 'You don't have to be
insulting,' he said.
"if I've misjudged you, I'll apologize later. We have
certain valuables with us and we'd prefer to keep them.
. My friends and I will sleep on the foredeck. You and your
men can sleep aft. I trust that won't inconvenience you
too much?'
'Aren't you being a little overcautious?'
'Nervous times, neighbour. Nervous times. Remember,
when we tie up to the bank for the night, keep your
men on the aft deck - and warn them against sleepwalking.
A boat can be a very dangerous place for that sort of
thing, and I'm a light sleeper.' He turned and walked
back forward.
The river banks on either side were covered with thick,
rank vegetation, though the hills rising behind those
narrow strips of green were barren and rock-strewn.
Sparhawk and his friends sat on the foredeck, keeping a
careful eye on the captain and his sailors and watching
for any signs of unusual-looking weather. Flute sat
astride the bowsprit playing her pipes while Sparhawk
spoke quietly with Sephrenia and Kurik. Sephrenia
already knew the customs of the country, so Sparhawk's
instruction was directed primarily at his squire. He
cautioned him about the many minor things that could be
taken as personal insults and about other things that
were considered sacrilegious.
'Who made up all these stupid rules?' Kurik
demanded.
'Eshand,' Sparhawk replied. 'He was crazy, and crazy
people take great comfort in rituals.'
'Anything else?'
'One other thing. If you should happen to encounter
any sheep, you have to step aside for them."
'Say that again?' Kurik's tone was incredulous.
"It's very important, Kurik.'
'You're not serious!'
'Deadly serious. Eshand was a shepherd when he was
a boy and he used to go absolutely wild when someone
rode through his flock. When he came to power, he
announced that God had revealed to him that sheep were
holy animals and that everyone had to give way to them.'
'That's crazy, Sparhawk,' Kurik protested.
'Of course it is. It's the law here, though.'
"Isn't it strange how the Elene God's revelations
always seem to coincide exactly with the prejudices of
His prophets?' Sephrenia murmured.
'Do they do anything at all like normal people?' Kurik
asked.
'Not many things, no."
As the sun went down, the captain moored his boat
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against the river bank, and he and his sailors spread
pallets on the aft deck. Sparhawk rose and went amidships.
He laid his hand on Faran's neck. 'Stay awake,' he
told the big roan. "if someone starts creeping around in
the middle of the night, let me know about it.'
Faran bared his teeth and shifted around until he was
resolutely facing aft. Sparhawk patted his rump
familiarly and went back forward.
They took a cold supper of bread and cheese, then
spread their blankets on the deck.
'Sparhawk,' Kurik said after they had settled down for
the night.
'Yes, Kurik?'
"I've just had a thought. Are there many people riding
in and out of Dabour?'
'usually, yes. Arasham's presence there tends to
attract large crowds.'
"I sort of thought so. Wouldn't we be a little less
conspicuous if we got off this boat a league or so this side
of Dabour and joined one of the groups of pilgrims riding
into the city?'
'You think of everything, don't you, Kurik?'
'That's what you pay me for, Sparhawk. Sometimes
you knights aren't too practical. it's a squire's job to keep
you out of trouble.'
"I appreciate that, Kurik.'
'No extra charge,' Kurik said.
The night passed uneventfully, and at dawn the sailors
cast off their moorings and raised the sail again. They
passed the town of Kodhl about midmorning of the
following day and sailed on upriver towards the holy city
of Dabour. The river between towns was heavily
travelled. There seemed to be no organized pattern to the
traffic, and the boats occasionally bumped into each
other. Such incidents were usually accompanied by an
exchange of curses and insults.
It was about noon on the fourth day when Sparhawk
went aft to have a word with the one-eyed captain.
'We're getting fairly close, aren't we?' he asked.
'About five more leagues,' the captain replied, moving
his tiller slightly to avoid an oncoming boat. 'Mangy son
of a three-legged donkey,' he bellowed at the steersman
of the other vessel.
'May your mother break out in warts!' the steersman
replied pleasantly.
"I think my friends and I might want to go ashore
before we actually reach the city,' Sparhawk said to the
captain. 'We want to look around a bit before we meet
any of Arasham's followers, and the docks are likely to be
watched rather closely.'
'That might be a wise move,' the captain agreed.
'Besides, I get a feeling that you might be up to no good
and I'd rather not get involved.'
"It works out for both of us, then, doesn't it?'
It was early afternoon when the captain put his tiller
over and drove the prow of his boat up onto a narrow
strip of sandy beach. 'This is about as close as I can get
you,' he told Sparhawk. 'The bank gets marshy just up
ahead."
'How far is Dabour from here?' Sparhawk asked him.
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'Four, maybe five miles.'
'Close enough, then.'
The sailors ran the gangway out to the sand from
amidships, and Sparhawk and his friends led their
horses and their pack mule down to the beach. They had
no sooner disembarked than the sailors pulled in the
gangway and pushed the boat out into the river with long
poles. Then the captain manoeuvred his craft out into the
current and moved back downriver. There was no
exchange of farewells.
'Are you going to be all right?' Sparhawk asked
Sephrenia. Her face ~was still drawn, although the dark
circles under her eyes had begun to fade.
"I'll be fine, Sparhawk,' she assured him.
"if we lose too many more of thoSe knights, though,
you won't be, will you?'
"I don't really know,' she replied. "I've never been in
this exact position before. Let's go on to Dabour and talk
with Doctor Tanjin.'
They rode up off the beach through the scrubby bushes
that bordered it and soon reached the dusty road that led
to Dabour. There were other travellers on that road,
black-robed nomads for the most part, with their dark
eyes afire with religious fervour. Once they were forced
to the side of the road by a herd of sheep. The herders,
mounted on mules, rode arrogantly and deliberately
blocked the road as much as possible with their animals.
Their expressions clearly dared anyone to object.
"I never liked sheep very much,' Kurik muttered, 'and
I like sheep-herders even less.'
'Don't let it show,' Sparhawk advised him.
'They eat a lot of mutton down here, don't they?'
Sparhawk nodded.
"Isn't it sort of inconsistent to butcher and eat a sacred
animal?'
'Consistency is not one of the more notable characteristics
of the Rendorish mind.
As the sheep passed, Flute raised her pipes and played
a peculiarly discordant little melody. The sheep suddenly
grew wild-eyed, milled for a moment, then
stampeded across the desert with the sheep-herders in
frantic pursuit. Flute covered her mouth with a soundless
giggle.
'Stop that,' Sephrenia chided.
'Did what I think happened, happen?' Kurik said in
amazement.
"I wouldn't be at all surprised,' Sparhawk said.
"I really like that little girl, you know?' Kurik was
grinning broadly.
They rode on at the tail end of the crowd of pilgrims.
After a time they crested a low hill and saw the city of
Dabour spread out below them. There were the usual
white-plastered houses clustered near the river, but
beyond them, stretching in all directions, were hundreds
of large black tents. Sparhawk shaded his eyes with one
hand and scanned the city. 'The cattle pens are over
there,' he said, pointing to the eastern edge of town. 'We
should be able to find Perraine there somewhere."
They angled down the hill, avoiding the buildings and
tents in the southern section of Dabour. As they began to
ride through a cluster of tents pitched between them and
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the pens, a bearded nomad with a brass pendant set with
a bit of glass hanging on a chain about his neck stepped
out from behind a tent to bar their path. 'Where do you
think you're going?' he demanded. He made a quick,
imperious gesture with one hand, and a dozen other
black-robed men came out into the open with long pikes
in their hands.
'We have business at the cattle pens, noble sir,'
Sparhawk replied mildly.
'Oh,really?' the bearded man sneered. " I see no cows.'
He looked around at his followers with a selfcongratulatory
smirk as if terribly pleased with his own
cleverness.
'The cows are coming, noble sir,' SParhawk told him.
'We were sent on ahead to make arrangements.'
The man with the pendant knit his brows, trying hard
to find something wrong with that. 'Do you know who I
am?' he demanded finally in a pugnacious tone of voice.
"I'm afraid not, noble sir,' Sparhawk apologized. "I
haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.'
'You think you're very clever, don't you?' the officious
fellow demanded. 'All these soft answers don't deceive
me in the least.'
"I wasn't trying to be deceptive, neighbour,' Sparhawk
said with a slight edge coming into his voice, 'merely
polite. '
"I am Ulesim, favoured disciple of holy Arasham,' the
bearded man said, striking his chest with his fist.
"I'm overwhelmed by the honour of meeting you,'
Sparhawk said, bowing in his saddle.
'That's all you have to say?' Ulesim exclaimed, his eyes
bulging at the imagined insult.
'As I said, Lord Ulesim, I'm overwhelmed. I hadn't
expected to be greeted by so illustrious a man.'
"I'm not here to greet you, cowherd. I'm here to take
you into custody. Get down off your horses.'
Sparhawk gave him a long look, assessing the situation.
Then he swung down from Faran's back and helped
Sephrenia to dismount.
'What's this all about, Sparhawk?' she whispered as
she lifted Flute down.
"I'd guess that he's a minor bootlicker trying to assert
his own importance,' Sparhawk whispered back. 'We
don't want to stir anything up, so let's do as he says.'
'Take the prisoners to my tent,' Ulesim commanded
grandly after a moment's hesitation. The favoured disciple
didn't seem to know exactly what to do.
The pikemen stepped forward threateningly, and one
of them led the way towards a tent surmounted by a
drooping pennon made of dirty green cloth.
They were roughly shoved into the tent, and the flap
was tied down.
Kurik's expression was filled with contempt. 'Amateurs,'
he muttered. 'They hold those pikes like shepherd's
crooks and they didn't even search us for weapons.'
'They may be amateurs, Kurik,' Sephrenia said softly,
'but they've managed to take us prisoner.'
'Not for long,' Kurik growled, reaching under his robe
for his dagger. "I'll cut a hole in the back of the tent, and
we can be on our way.'
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'No,' Sparhawk said quietly. 'We'd have a horde of
howling fanatics on our heels in about two minutes if we
did that.'
'We're not just going to sit here?' Kurik asked
incredulously.
'Let me handle it, Kurik.'
They sat waiting in the stifling tent as the minutes
dragged by.
After a bit, the tent-flap opened and Ulesim entered
with two of his men close behind him. "I will have your
name from you, cowherd,' he said arrogantly.
"I am called Mahkra, Lord Ulesim,' Sparhawk replied
meekly, 'and this is my sister, her daughter, and my
servant. May I ask why we have been detained?'
Ulesim's eyes narrowed. 'There are those who refuse
to accept holy Arasham's authority,' he declared. 'I,
Ulesim, his most favoured disciple, have taken it upon
myself to root out these false prophets and send them to
the stake. Holy Arasham relies upon me completely.'
"Is that still going on?' Sparhawk asked in mild
surprise. "I thought that all opposition to Arasham had
been stamped out decades ago.'
'Not so! Not so!' Ulesim half-shrieked. 'There are still
plotters and conspirators hiding in the desert and lurking
in the cities. I will not rest until I have unearthed every
one of these criminals and consigned them to the flames. '
'You have nothing to fear from me or my band, Lord
Ulesim,' Sparhawk assured him. 'We revere the holy
prophet of God and pay him homage in our prayers.'
'So you say, Mahkra, but can you prove your identity
and satisfy me that you have legitimate business in the
holy city?' The fanatic smirked at his two cohorts as if he
had just scored a tremendous point.
'Why yes, Lord Ulesim,' Sparhawk replied calmly, "I
believe I can. We are here to speak 'with a cattle buyer
named Mirrelek. Do you perhaps know him?'
Ulesim puffed himself up. 'What would I, the favoured
disciple of holy Arasham, have to do with some common
cattle buyer?'
One of the disciple's toadies leaned forward and
whispered at some length in Ulesim's ear. The disciple's
expression grew less and less certain and finally even a
bit frightened. "I will send for this cattle buyer you
mentioned,' he declared grudgingly. "if he confirms your
story, well and good, but if not, I will take you to holy
Arasham himself for judgement.'
'As the Lord Ulesim wishes,' Sparhawk bowed. "if you
would have your messenger tell Mirrelek that Mahkra is
here with greetings from his little mother, I'm sure he'll
come here immediately and clear up this whole matter.'
'You'd better hope so, Mahkra,' the bearded disciple
said threateningly. He turned to the toady who had
whispered in his ear. 'Go and fetch this Mirrelek. Repeat
the message of this cowherd to him and tell him that I,
Ulesim, favoured disciple of holy Arasham, command
his presence immediately.'
'At once, favoured one,' the fellow replied and
hurried from the tent. Ulesim glowered at Sparhawk for
a moment, then he and his other sycophant left the tent.
'You've still got your sword, Sparhawk,' Kurik said.
'Why didn't you just let the air out of that windbag? I
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could have dealt with the other two.'
"It wasn't necessary.' Sparhawk shrugged. "I know
Perraine well enough to know that by now he's managed
to make himself indispensable to Arasham. He'll be
here shortly and put Ulesim-favoured-disciple-of-holy-Arasham
in his place.'
'Aren't you gambling, Sparhawk?' Sephrenia asked.
'What if Perraine doesn't recognize the name Mahkra?
As I recall, you were in Jiroch, and he's been here in
Dabour for years.'
'He may not recognize the name I go by here in
Rendor,' Sparhawk replied, But he can't fail to recognize
yours, little mother. It's a very old password. The
Pandions have been using it for years.'
She blinked. "I'm very flattered,' she said, But why
didn't someone tell me?'
Sparhawk turned to her in some surprise. 'We all
thought you knew.'
It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later when Ulesim
escorted a lean, saturnine man in a striped robe into the
tent. Ulesim's manner was obsequious and his expresSion
worried. This is the fellow I was telling you about,
honoured Merelek,' he fawned.
'Ah, Mahkra,' the lean man said, coming forward to
take Sparhawk's hand warmly in his own. 'So good to see
you again. What seems to be the trouble here?'
'A slight misunderstanding is all, Merelek,' Sparhawk
replied, bowing slightly to his fellow Pandion.
'Well, that's all straightened out now.' Sir Perraine
turned to the favoured disciple. "Isn't it, Ulesim?'
'O-of course, honoured Merelek,' Ulesim faltered, his
face visibly pale now.
'Whatever possessed you to detain my friends?'
Perraine's tone was mild, but there was a slight edge to it.
'I-I'm only trying to protect holy Arasham.'
'Oh? And did he ask for your protection?'
'Well - not in so many words.'
"I see. That was very brave of you, Ulesim. Surely you
know how holy Arasham feels about those who act
independently of his instructions? Many have lost their
heads for taking too much upon themselves.'
Ulesim began to tremble violently.
"I'm sure he'll forgive you when I tell him of the
incident, however. A lesser man would be sent to the
block immediately, but after all, you're his favourite
disciple, aren't you? Was there anything else, Ulesim?'
Mutely, his face pasty white, Ulesim shook his head.
'My friends and I will be going, then. Coming,
Mahkra?' Sir Perraine led them from the tent.
As they rode through the city of tents that had grown
up on the outskirts of Dabour, Perraine talked at length
about how depressed the cattle market currently was.
The tents they passed had apparently been pitched at
random, and there was nothing resembling a street.
Hordes of dirty children ran and played in the sand, and
dispirited-looking dogs rose from the shady side of each
tent they passed to bark indifferently a few times before
returning to flop down out of the sun again.
Perraine's house was a square, blocklike structure that
stood in the centre of a patch of weedy ground just
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beyond the tents. 'Come inside,' the knight told them
loudly as they reached the door. "I want to hear more
about this cattle herd of yours.'
They went in, and he closed the door. It was dim and
cool inside. The house had but a single room. There were
rudimentary cooking facilities on one side and an unmade
bed on the other. A number of large, porous jugs
hung from the rafters, each seeping moisture which
dripped into puddles on the floor. A table and two
benches sat in the middle of the room. "It's none too
ornate,' Perraine apologized.
Sparhawk looked meaningfully at the lone window at
the back of the house, a window that seemed only loosely
shuttered. "Is it safe to talk?' he asked in a low voice.
Perraine laughed. 'Oh, yes, Sparhawk,' he replied. 'in
my spare time I've been nurturing a thorn bush outside
that window. You'd be amazed at how much it's grown
and how long the thorns are. You're looking well, my
friend. I haven't seen you since we were novices.'
Perraine spoke with the faintest trace of an accent. Unlike
most Pandions, he was not an Elenian, but came instead
from somewhere in the vast reaches of central Eosia.
Sparhawk had always liked him.
'You seem to have learned how to talk, Perraine,'
Sephrenia said. 'You were always so silent before.'
He smiled. "It was my accent, little mother,' he said. "I
didn't want people making fun of me.' He took her wriStS
and kissed her palms in greeting and asked her blessing.
'You remember Kurik?' Sparhawk said.
'Of course,' Perraine replied. 'He trained me with the
lance. Hello, Kurik. How's Aslade?'
'Very well, Sir Perraine,' Kurik said. "I'll tell her you
asked. What was that business back there all about - with
Ulesim, I mean?'
'He's one of the officious toads who've attached
themselves to Arasham.'
"Is he really a disciple?'
Perraine snorted. "I doubt that Arasham even knows
his name,' he said. 'Of course there are days when
Arasham doesn't even know his own. There are dozens
like Ulesim - self-appointed disciples who go around
bothering honest people. He's probably five miles out
into the desert by now and riding very hard to get away.
Arasham is very firm 'with people who overstep what
little authority he gives them. Why don't we all sit
down?'
'How did you manage to accumulate so much power,
Perraine?' Sephrenia asked him. Ulesim behaved as if
you were some king or something.'
"It wasn't really too hard,' he replied. 'Arasham has
only two teeth in his head - and they don't meet. I give
him a tender, milk-fed veal every other week as a token of
my unspeakable regard for him. Old men are very
interested in their bellies, so Arasham is profuse in his
thanks. The disciples aren't blind, so they defer to me
because of Arasham's supposed favour. Now, what
brings you to Dabour?'
'Voren suggested that we look you up,' Sparhawk
said. 'We need to talk with someone here, and we didn't
want to attract too much attention.'
'My house is yours,' Perraine said ironically, 'such as it
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is. Who is it you need to talk with?'
'A physician ' named Tanjin,' Sephrenia told him,
removing her veil.
Perraine looked at her rather closely. 'You are looking a
bit unwell, Sephrenia,' he said, 'but couldn't you find a
physician in Jiroch?'
She smiled briefly. "It's not for me, Perraine,' she told
him. "It has to do with someone else. Do you know this
Tanjin?'
'Everybody in Dabour knows him. He keeps quarters
in the back of an apothecary shop in the central square.
His house is being watched, though. Their are rumours
going about that he dabbles in magic sometimes, and the
zealots have been trying to catch him at it.'
"It might be better to walk to the square, wouldn't you
say?' Sparhawk asked.
Perraine nodded.
'And I think we'll wait until just before the sun goes
down. That way we'll have some darkness when we
come out - just in case we need it.'
'Do You want me to go with you?'
"It might be better if Sephrenia and I went alone,
Sparhawk replied. 'You have to stay here, and we don't.
If Tanjin's under suspicion, visiting him could jeopardize
your position here in Dabour.'
'Stay out of alleys, Sparhawk,' Kurik growled.
Sparhawk motioned to Flute, and she came to him
obediently. He put his hands on her shoulders and
looked directly into her face. "I want you to stay here with
Kurik,' he told her.
She looked at him gravely, then impudently crossed
her eyes at him.
'Stop that,' he said. 'Listen to me, young lady, I'm
serious.
"just ask her, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia advised. 'Don't try
to order her around.'
'please flute, will you please stay here?'
She smiled sweetly, put her hands together in front of
her, and curtsied.
'You see how easy it is?' Sephrenia said.
'Since we've got some time, I'll fix you all something to
eat,' Perraine said, rising to his feet.
'Did you know that all your bottles are leaking, Sir
Perraine?' Kurik said, pointing at the dripping vessels
hanging from the rafters.
'Yes,' Perraine replied. 'They make a mess on the floor,
but they help to keep it cool in here.' He went to the
hearth and fumbled for a few moments with flint, steel
and tinder. He built up a very small fire of twigs and
twisted chunks of the branches of desert shrubs. Then he
set a kettle on the fire, took a large pan, and poured oil in
it. He set the pan on the coals and took several chunks of
meat out of a covered bowl. As the oil began to smoke, he
dropped the meat into the pan. "I'm afraid it's only
mutton,' he apologised. "I wasn't expecting company.' He
spiced the sizzling meat liberally to disguise its flavour,
then brought heavy plates to the table. He went back to the
fire and opened an earthenware jar. He took a pinch of tea
from the jar, dropped it into a mug, and poured hot water
from the kettle into the mug. 'For you, little mother,' he
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said, delivering the mug to her with a flourish.
'How very nice, ' she said. "you're such a dear, Perraine. '
"I live but to serve,' he said a bit grandiosely. He brought
fresh figs and a slab of cheese to the table, then set the
smoking pan in the centre of it.
"you've missed your calling, my friend,' Sparhawk said.
"I learned to cook for myself a long time ago. I could
afford a servant, but I don't trust strangers.' He sat down.
'Be careful out there, Sparhawk,' he cautioned as they
began to eat. 'Arasham's followers are a bit limp between
the ears, and they're all obsessed with the idea of catching
some neighbour committing a minor transgression.
Arasham preaches every evening, after the sun goes down,
and he manages to come up with some new prohibition
every night.'
"what's the latest one?' Sparhawk asked.
'Killing flies. He says that they're the messengers of
God.'
"you're not serious.'
Perraine shrugged. "I think he's running out of things to
forbid, and his imagination is severely limited. You want
some more of this mutton?'
Thanks all the same, Perraine,' Sparhawk said, taking a
fig instead, but one chunk of mutton is my limit.'
'One chunk a day?'
'No. One a year.'
!!!
*Chapter22
The sun was turning the western sky a rusty colour when
Sparhawk and Sephrenia entered the square near the centre
of Dabour, and the light reflecting from the late-afternoon
sky bathed the walls of the buildings and the faces of the
people in the square with a ruddy glow. Sephrenia had her
left arm bound up in a makeshift sling, and Sparhawk held
her other elbow solicitously as they walked.
'it's right over there,' he said quietly, nodding his head
towards the far side.
Sephrenia drew her veil a bit tighter across her nose
and mouth, and they moved through the crowd milling
around in the middle of the square.
Here and there along the walls of the buildings leaned
hooded nomads in black robes, their eyes alert and filled
with suspicion as they peered at every face that passed.
'True believers,' Sparhawk muttered sardonically,
'ever alert for the sins of their neighbours.'
'it's always been that way, Sparhawk,' she replied.
'Self-righteousness is one of the most common - and
least attractive - characteristics of man.' They passed one
of the watchers and entered the smelly shop.
The apothecary was a chubby little man with an
apprehensive expression on his face. "I don't know if he'll
consent to see you,' he said when they asked to speak
with Doctor Tanjin. 'He's being watched, you know.'
'Yes,' Sparhawk said. 'We saw several of the watchers
outside. Please advise' him that we're here. My sister's
arm needs attention.'
The nervous apothecary scurried through a curtained
doorway at the back of the shop. A moment later, he
came back. 'I'm sorry,' he apologized. 'He said he's not
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taking any new patients.'
Sparhawk raised his voice. 'How can a healer refuse to
see an injured person? Does the oath they take mean so
little to them here in Dabour? In Cippria, the physicians
are more honourable. My good friend, Doctor Voldi,
would never refuse his aid to the sick or hurt.'
It hung there for a moment, and then the curtains
parted. The man who thrust his head out between them
had a very large nose, a pendulous lower lip, jutting ears,
and weak, watery eyes. He wore the white smock of a
physician. 'Did you say Voldi?' he asked in a highpitched,
nasal voice. 'Do you know him?'
'Of course,' Sparhawk replied. 'He's a small man
who's going bald, and he dyes his hair. He has a very
large opinion of himself.'
That's Voldi, all right. Bring your sister back here - and
be quick. Don't let anybody outside the shop see you.'
Sparhawk took Sephrenia's elbow and escorted her
back through the curtains.
'Did anyone see you come in?' the big-nosed man
asked nervously.
'Any number of them, I'd imagine.' Sparhawk
shrugged. 'They lined the walls of the square like a flock
of vultures, trying to sniff out sin.'
"It's not safe to talk that way in Dabour, my friend,'
Tanjin warned.
'Perhaps.' Sparhawk looked around. The room was
shabby and was piled high in the corners with open
wooden boxes and stacks of books. A persistent
bumblebee batted its head against the single dirty
window, trying to get out. There was a low couch against
one wall and several straight-backed wooden chairs and
a table in the centre. "Shall we get down to business,
Doctor Tanjin?' he suggested.
'All right,' the physician said to Sephrenia, 'sit here,
and I'll have a look at that arm.'
'You may if it's going to make you happy, Doctor,' she
replied, taking the chair and removing her arm from the
sling. She pulled back the sleeve of her robe to reveal a
surprisingly girlish arm.
The doctor looked a bit hesitantly at Sparhawk. 'You
understand, of course, that I'm not being forward with
your sister's person, but I must examine her.'
"I understand the procedure, Doctor.'
Tanjin took a deep breath and then bent Sephrenia's
wrist back and forth several times. Then he gently ran his
fingers up her forearm and bent her elbow. He swallowed
hard and probed at her upper arm. Then he
moved her arm up and down with his fingers lightly
touching her shoulder. His close-set eyes narrowed.
'There's nothing wrong with this arm,' he accused.
'How kind you are to say so,' she murmured,
removing her veil.
'Madame!' he said in a shocked voice. 'Cover yourself.'
'Oh, do be serious, Doctor,' she told him. 'We're not
here to talk about arms and legs.'
'You're spies!' he gasped.
'in a manner of speaking, yes,' she replied calmly. 'But
even spies have reason to consult with physicians once in
a while.'
'Leave at once,' he ordered
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'We've just got here,' Sparhawk said, pushing back his
hood. 'Go ahead, sister dear,' he said to Sephrenia. 'Tel
him why we're here.'
'Tell me, Tanjin,' she said, 'does the word "Darestim'
mean anything to you?'
He started guiltily and looked at the curtained doorway,
backing away from her.
'Don't be modest, Doctor,' Sparhawk told him.
'Word's been going about that you cured the king's
brother and several of his nephews after they'd been
poisoned with Darestim.'
'There's no proof of that.'
"I don't need proof. I need a cure. A friend of ours has
the same condition.'
'There's no antidote or cure for Darestim.'
Then how is it that the king's brother still lives?'
'You're working with them,' the doctor accused,
pointing vaguely out towards the square. 'You're trying
to trick me into a confession.'
'Them who?' Sparhawk asked.
'The fanatics who follow Arasham. They're trying to
prove that I use witchcraft in my practice.'
'Do you?'
The doctor shrank back. 'Please leave,' he begged.
'You're putting my life in terrible danger.'
'As you've probably noticed, Doctor,' Sephrenia said,
'we are not Rendorish. We do not share the prejudices of
your countrymen, so magic does not offend us. It's quite
routine in the place we come from.'
He blinked at her uncertainly.
'This friend of ours - the one I mentioned before - is
very dear to us,' Sparhawk told him, 'and we'll go to any
lengths to find a cure for this poison.' To emphasize his
point, he opened his robe. 'Any lengths at all.'
The doctor gaped at his mail-coat and sheathed sword.
'There's no need to threaten the doctor, brother dear,'
Sephrenia said. 'i'm sure he'll be more than happy to
describe the cure he's found. He is a healer, after all.'
'Madame, I don't know what you're talking about
Tanjin said desperately. 'There is no cure for Darestim. I
don't know where you heard all these rumours, but I can
assure you that they're absolutely false. I do not use
witchcraft in my practice.' He threw another quick,
nervous glance at the curtained doorway.
'But Doctor Voldi in Cippria told us that you did, in
fact, cure members of the king's family.'
'Well - yes, I suppose I did, but the poison wasn't
Darestim.'
'What was it then?'
'Uh - Porgutta - I think.' He was obviously lying.
'Then why was it that the king sent for you, Doctor?'
she pressed. 'A simple purge will cleanse the body of
Porgutta. An apprentice physician knows that. Surely it
couldn't have been so mild a poison.'
'Uh - well, maybe it was something else. I forget,
exactly.'
"I think, dear brother,' Sephrenia said then to Sparhawk, '
that the good doctor needs some reassurance -
some positive proof that he can trust us and that we are
what we say we are.' She looked at the irritating bumblebee
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still stubbornly trying to break its way out through
the window. 'Have you ever wondered why you never
see a bumblebee at night, Doctor?' she ' asked the
frightened physician.
'i've never given it any thought.'
'perhaps you should.' She began to murmur in Styric
as her fingers wove the designs of the spell.
'What are you doing?' Tanjin exclaimed. 'Stop that!'
He started to move towards her with one hand outstretched,
but Sparhawk stopped him.
'Don't interfere,' the big knight said.
Then Sephrenia pointed her finger and released the
spell.
The buzzing sound of insect wings was suddenly
joined by a tiny, piping voice that sang joyously in a
tongue unknown to man. Sparhawk looked quickly at
the dust-clouded window. The bumblebee was gone,
and in its place there hovered a tiny female figure directly
out of folklore. Her pale hair cascaded down her back
between rapidly beating gossamer wings. Her little nude
body was perfectly formed, and her minuscule face was
so lovely as to stop the breath.
'That is how bumblebees think of themselves,'
Sephrenia said quite calmly, 'and perhaps that is what
they truly are - by day a common insect, but by night a
creature of wonder.'
Tanjin had fallen back on his shabby couch with his
eyes wide and his mouth agape.
'Come here, little sister,' Sephrenia crooned to the
fairy, extending one hand.
The fairy swooped about the room, her transparent
wings buzzing and her tiny voice soaring. Then she
delicately settled on Sephrenia's outstretched palm with
her wings still fanning at the air. Sephrenia turned and
stretched her hand out to the shaking physician. 'isn't
she beautiful?' she asked. 'You may hold her if you like -
but be wary of her sting.' She pointed at the tiny rapier in
the fairy's hand.
Tanjin shrrank away with his hands behind his back.
'How did you do that?' he asked in a trembling voice.
'Do you mean that you can't? The charges against you
must be false then. This is a very simple spell - quite
rudimentary, actually.'
'As you can see, Doctor,' Sparhawk said, 'we have no
qualms about magic. You can speak freely to us with no
fear of being denounced to Arasham or his fanatic
followers. '
Tanjin tightly clamped his lips shut, continuing to
stare at the fairy seated sedately on Sephrenia's palm
with fluttering wings.
'Don't be tiresome, Doctor,' Sephrenia said. 'Just tell
us how you ,cured the king's brother, and we'll be on our
way.'
Tanjin began to edge away from her.
"I think, dear brother, that we're wasting our time
here,' she said to Sparhawk. 'The good doctor refuses to
co-operate.' She raised her hand. 'Fly, little sister,' she
told the fairy, and the tiny creature soared once again
into the air. 'We'll be going now, Tanjin,' she said.
Sparhawk started to object, but she laid one restraining
hand on his arm and started towards the door.
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'What are you going to do about that?' Tanjin cried,
pointing at the circling fairy.
'Do?' Sephrenia said, 'why nothing, Doctor. She's
quite happy here. Feed her sugar from time to time, and
put out a small dish of water for her. In return, she'll sing
for you. Don't try to catch her, though. That would make
her very angry.'
'You can't leave her here.' he exclaimed in anguish. 'if
anyone sees her here, I'll be burned at the stake for
witchcraft. '
'He sees directly to the central point, doesn't he?'
Sephrenia said to Sparhawk.
'The scientific mind is noted for that.' Sparhawk
grinned. "Shall we go, then?'
'Wait!' tangin cried.
'Was there something you wanted to tell us', Doctor?'
Sephrenia asked mildly.
'All right. All right. But you must swear to keep it a
secret that I told you this.'
'Of course. Our lips are sealed.'
Tanjin drew in a deep breath and scurried to the
curtained doorway to make certain that no one was
listening outside. Then he turned and motioned them
into a far corner where he spoke in a hoarse whisper.
'Darestim is so virulent that there's no natural remedy or
antidote,' he began.
'That's what Voldi told us,' Sparhawk said.
'You'll note that I said no natural remedy or antidote,'
Tanjin continued. "Some years ago in the course of my
studies, I came across a very old and curious book. It
predated Eshand's time, and it had been written before
his prohibitions came into effect. It seems that the
primitive healers here in Rendor routinely utilized magic
in treating their patients. Sometimes it worked, sometimes
it didn't - but they effected some astonishing cures.
The practice had one common element. There are a
number of objects in the world which have enormous
power. The physicians of antiquity used that sort of thing
to cure their patients.'
"I see,' Sephrenia said."Styric healers sometimes resort
to the same desperate measure.'
'The practice is quite common in the Tamul Empire on
the Daresian continent,' Tanjin went on, 'but it's fallen
into disfavour here in Eosia. Eosian physicians prefer
scientific techniques. They're more reliable, for one
thing, and Elenes have always been suspicious of magic.
But Darestim is so potent that none of the customary
antidotes have any effect. Magical objects are the only
possible cure.'
'And what did you use to cure the king's brother and
nephews?' Sephrenia asked.
"It was an uncut gem of a peculiar colour. I think it
originally came from Daresia, though I can't really be
sure. It's my belief that the Tamul Gods infused it with
their power.'
'And where is that gem now?' Sparhawk asked
intently.
'Gone, i'm afraid. I had to grind it to a powder and mix
it with wine to cure the king's relatives.'
'You idiot!' Sephrenia exploded. 'That is not the way to
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use such an object. You need only touch it to the patient's
body and call forth its power.'
'i'm a trained physician, madame,' he replied stiffly. "I
cannot turn insects into fairies, nor levitate myself nor
cast spells upon my enemies. I can only follow the
normal practices of my profession, and that means that
the patient must ingest the medication.'
'You destroyed a stone that might have healed
thousands for the sake of just a few !' With some effort she
controlled her anger. 'Do you know of any other such
objects?' she asked him.
'A few.' He shrugged. 'There's a great spear in the
imperial palace in Tamul, several rings in Zemoch,
though I doubt that they'd be much good in healing
people. It's rumoured that there's a jewelled bracelet in
Pelosia somewhere, but that might be only a myth. The
sword of the King of the Island of Mithrium was reputed
to have great power, but Mithrium sank into the sea
aeons ago. I've also heard that the Styrics have quite a
few magic wands.'
'That's also a myth,' she told him. 'Wood is too fragile
for that kind of power. Any others?'
'The only one I know of is the jewel on the royal crown
of Thalesia, but that's been lost since the time of the
Zemoch invasion.' He frowned. "I don't think this will
help very much,' he added, but Arasham has a talisman
that he claims is the most holy and powerful thing in all
the world. I've never seen it myself, so I can't say for
sure, and Arasham's wits aren't so firmly set in his head
that he'd be any kind of an authority. You'd never be able
to get it away from him in any case.'
Sephrenia reattached her veil across the lower part of
her face. 'Thank you for your candour, Doctor Tanjin,'
she said. 'Be assured that no one will learn of your secret
from us.' She thought a moment. "I think you should
splint this,' she said, holding out her arm. 'That should
prove to the curious that we had a legitimate reason for
this visit, and it should protect you as well as us.'
'That's a very good idea, madame.' Tanjin fetched a
couple of slats and a long strip of white cloth.
'Would you take a bit of friendly advice, Tanjin?'
Sparhawk asked him as he began to splint Sephrenia's
arm.
'I'll listen.'
'Do that. If it were me, I'd gather up a few things and
go to Zand. The king can protect you there. Get out of
Dabour while you still can. Fanatics make the jump from
suspicion to certainty very easily, and it won't do you
much good if you're proved innocent after you've been
burned at the stake.'
'But everything I own is here.'
'I'm sure that'll be a great comfort' to you when your
toes are on fire.'
'Do you really think I'm in that much danger?' Tanjin
asked in a weak voice, looking up from his task.
Sparhawk nodded. 'That much and more. I'd estimate
that you'll be lucky to live out the week if you stay here in
Dabour.'
The doctor began to tremble violently as Sephrenia
slipped her splinted arm back into the sling. 'Wait a
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minute,' he said as they started towards the door. 'What
about that?' He pointed at the fairy swooping through
the air near the window.
'Oh,' Sephrenia said. 'Sorry. I almost forgot about her.'
She mumbled a few words and made a vague gesture.
The bumblebee went back to batting its head against
the window.
It was dark when they emerged from the apothecary's
shop into the nearly deserted square.
"It's not very much,' Sparhawk said dubiously.
"It's more than we had before. At least we know how to
cure Ehlana. All we need to do now is to find one of these
objects.'
'Would you be able to tell if Arasham's talisman has
any real power?'
"I think so.'
'Good. Perraine says that Arasham preaches every
night. Let's go and find him. I'll listen to a dozen sermons
if it puts me close to a cure.'
'How do you propose to get it away from him?'
'I'll think of something.'
A black-robed man suddenly blocked their path. 'Stop
right there,' he commanded.
'What's your problem, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked
him.
'Why are you not at the feet of holy Arasham?' the
robed man asked accusingly.
'We were just on our way,' Sparhawk replied.
'All Dabour knows that holy Arasham speaks to the
multitudes at sundown. Why are you deliberately
absenting yourselves?'
'We arrived only today,' Sparhawk explained, 'and I
had to seek medical attention for my sister's injured arm.'
The fanatic scowled suspiciously at Sephrenia's sling.
"Surely you did not consult with the wizard Tanjin!' he
said in an outraged tone.
'When one is in pain, one does not ask to see the
healer's credentials,' Sephrenia told him. "I can assure
you, however, that the doctor used no witchcraft. He set
the broken bone and splinted it for me in the same way
any other physician would have.'
'The righteous do not consort with wizards,' the zealot
declared stubbornly
'I'll tell you what, neighbour,' Sparhawk said
pleasantly. 'Why don't I break your arm? Then you can
visit the doctor yourself. If you watch him very closely,
you should be able to tell if he's using witchcraft or not.'
The fanatic stepped back apprehensively.
'Come now, friend,' Sparhawk told him enthusiastically, '
be brave. It won't hurt all that much, and think of
how much holy Arasham will appreciate your zeal in
rooting out the abomination of witchcraft.'
'Could you tell us where we might find the place where
holy Arasham speaks to the multitudes?' Sephrenia
interposed. 'Our souls hunger and thirst for his words.'
'Over that way,' the nervous man said, pointing. 'You
can see the light from the torches.'
'Thanks, friend,' Sparhawk said, bowing slightly. He
frowned. 'How is it that you yourself are not at the
services this evening?'
"I - uh - I have a stearner duty,' the fellow declared. "I
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must seek out those who are absent without cause and
deliver them up for judgement.'
'Ah,' Sparhawk said, "I see.' He turned away, then
turned back. 'Are you sure you wouldn't like to have me
break your arm for you? It won't take but a minute.'
The fanatic hurried away from them.
'Must you threaten everyone you meet, Sparhawk?'
Sephrenia asked.
'He irritated me.'
'You irritate very easily, don't you.'
He considered it. 'Yes,' he admitted, "I suppose I do
Shall we go?'
They went through the dark streets of Dabour until
they reached the tents pitched on the outskirts. Some
distance towards the south a ruddy glow pulsed up
towards the glittering stars. They moved quietly past the
tents towards the light.
The flickering torches were set on tall poles surrounding
a kind of natural amphitheatre on the southern edge
of town, a sort of depression between two hills. The
hollow was filled with Arasham's followers, and the
deranged holy man himself stood atop a large boulder
halfway up the side of one of the hills. He was tall and
gaunt with a long grey beard and bushy black eyebrows.
His voice was strident as he harangued his followers, but
his words were difficult to understand because of his lack
of teeth. When Sparhawk and Sephrenia joined the
crowd, the old man was in the middle of an extended and
highly involuted proof of God's special favour - which
had, he declared, been bestowed upon him in a dream.
There were huge logical gaps in his argument and great
leaps of what passed for faith here in Rendor.
'is he making any sense at all?' Sephrenia whispered to
Sparhawk in a puzzled tone as she removed the splints
and the sling.
'Not that I can detect,' he whispered back.
"I didn't think so. Does the Elene God , actually
encourage that sort of hysterical gibberish?'
'He never has to me.'
'Can we get any closer?'
"I don't think so. The crowd's pretty thick in front of
where he's standing.'
Arasham then turned to one of his favourite topics, a
denunciation of the Church. The organized Elene
religion, he maintained, was cursed by God for its failure
to recognize his exalted status as the chosen and beloved
spokesman of the Most High.
'But the wicked shall be punished!' he lisped in a
toothless shriek with spittle flying from his lips. 'My
followers are invincible! Be patient for but a little more
time, and I will raise my holy talisman and lead you into
war against them. They will send their accursed Church
Knights to do war upon us, but fear them not! The power
of this holy relic will sweep them before us like chaff
before the wind!' He held something high over his head
in his tightly clenched fist. 'The spirit of the Blessed
Eshand himself has confirmed this to me.'
'Well?' Sparhawk whispered to Sephrenia.
'He's too far away,' she murmured."I can't feel anything
one way or the other. We're going to have to get
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closer. I can't even tell what he's holding.'
Arasham's voice sank into a harshly conspiratorial
tone. "I tell you this, oh ye faithful, and my words are
true. The voice of God has revealed to me that even now
our movement is spreading through the fields ' and
forests of the kingdoms of the north. The ordinary people
there - our brothers and sisters - grow weary of the yoke
of the Church and they will join our holy cause.'
"It was Martel who told him that,' Sparhawk muttered, '
and if he thinks that Martel is the voice of God,
then he's even crazier than I thought.' He rose up on
tiptoe and looked over the heads of the crowd. A large
pavilion stood some distance down the hill from where
Arasham was preaching. It was surrounded by a
palisade of stout poles. 'Let's work our way around this
crowd,' he suggested. "I think I've located the old man's
tent.'
Slowly they moved back until they were at the edge of
the crowd. Arasham continued his rambling harangue,
but his slurred words were lost in the distance and the
murmuring of his followers. Sparhawk and Sephrenia
slipped around the crowd towards the palisade and the
dark pavilion inside it. When they were perhaps twenty
paces away, Sparhawk touched Sephrenia's arm, and
they stopped. A number of armed men stood before the
opening at the front of the palisade. 'We'll have to wait
until he finishes preaching,' Sparhawk murmured.
'Would you like to tell me what you have in mind?' she
asked. "I hate surprises.'
'i'm going to see if I can get us into his tent. If that
talisman of his really has any power, it might be difficult
to get it away from him in the middle of this crowd.'
'How do you propose to manage that, Sparhawk?'
"I thought I'd try flattery.'
'isn't that a bit dangerous - and very obvious?'
'Of course it's obvious, but you have to be obvious
when you're dealing with deranged people. They don't
have the concentration to grasp subtlety.'
Arasham's voice was rising to a shrill climax, and his
followers cheered at the end of each of his mumbled
pronouncements. Then he delivered his benediction,
and the crowd began to break up. Surrounded by a knot
of jealous disciples, the holy man began to walk slowly
through the milling throng towards his tent. Sparhawk
and Sephrenia moved to place themselves in his path.
'Stand aside,' one of the disciples commanded harshly.
'Forgive me, exalted disciple,' Sparhawk said loudly
enough for his words to carry to the tottering old man,
'but I bear a message from the King of Deira for holy
Arasham. His Majesty sends greetings to the true head of
the Elene Church.'
Sephrenia made a slightly strangled noise.
'Holy Arasham takes no note of kings,' the disciple
sneered arrogantly. 'Now stand aside.'
'A moment there, Ikkad,' Arasham mumbled in a
surprisingly weak voice. 'We would hear more of this
message from our brother of Deira. It may well be that
this is the communication mentioned by God when last
He spoke with us.'
'Most holy Arasham,' Sparhawk said with a deep
bow, 'His Majesty, King Obler of Deira, greets you as his
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brother. Our king is very old, and age always brings
wisdom.'
'Truly,' Arasham agreed, stroking his own long, grey
beard.
'His Majesty has long contemplated the teachings of
the Blessed Eshand,' Sparhawk continued, 'and he has
also eagerly followed your own career here in Rendor.
He has regarded the activities of the Church with
increasing disfavour. He has found churchmen to be
hypocritical and self-serving. '
'My very words,' Arasham said ecstatically. "I have
said so myself a hundred times and more.'
'His Majesty acknowledges that you are the source and
well-spring of his thought, holy Arasham.'
'Well,' Arasham replied, preening himself slightly.
'His Majesty believes that the time has come for a
purification of the Elene Church and he further believes
that you are the one who has been chosen by God to
purge the Church of her sins.'
"did you hear my sermon tonight?' the old man asked
eagerly. "I preached to that self-same topic.'
'Truly,' Sparhawk said. "I was amazed at how closely
your words coincided with those of his Majesty when he
charged me with his message to you. Know, however,
holy Arasham, that his Majesty intends to provide more
aid to you than the mere comfort of his greetings and his
respectful affection. The details of his further intentions,
though, must be for your ears alone.' He looked around
suspiciously at the crowd pressing in upon them. 'in a
gathering so large as this, there may be several who are
not what they seem, and if what I have to tell you should
reach Chyrellos, the Church would bend all her efforts to
hinder his Majesty's design.'
Arasham tried without much success to look shrewd.
'Your prudence becomes you, young man,' he agreed.
'Let us go into my pavilion so that you may more fully
disclose the mind of my dear brother Obler to me.'
Pushing aside the officious disciples, Sparhawk thrust
his way through their ranks to offer the support of his
arm and shoulder to the elderly zealot. 'Holy one,' he
said in a fawning tone, 'fear not to lean upon me, for as
the blessed Eshand has commanded, it is the duty of the
young and strong to serve the aged and wise.'
'How truly you speak, my son.'
They passed thus through the gate of the palisade and
across a stretch of sand dotted with sheep droppings.
The interior of Arasham's pavilion was far more
luxurious than might have been expected from its severe
exterior. A single lamp burned expensive oil in the
centre, and priceless carpets covered the rude sand floor.
Silken fabric curtained off the rear portions of the
pavilion, and from behind those curtains came the
giggling of adolescent boys.
'Please sit and take your ease,' Arasham invited
expansively, sinking down upon a cluster of silken
cushions. 'Let us take some refreshment, and then you
may tell me of the intent of my dear brother Obler of
Deira.' He clapped his hands sharply together, and a
doe-eyed boy emerged from behind one of the silken
panels.
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'Bring us some of the fresh melon, Saboud,' Arasham
told him.
'As you command, Most Holy.' The boy bowed and
retired behind the silken screen.
Arasham leaned back on his cushions. "I am not at all
surprised at the communication you have brought me
concerning the growing sentiment for our cause in
Deira,' he lisped to Sparhawk. 'Word has reached me
that such feelings are not uncommon in the kingdoms of
the north. Indeed, another such message has but
recently arrived.' He paused thoughtfully. "It occurs to
me -perhaps at the prompting of God Himself, who ever
joins His thought with mine - that you and the other
messenger may know' each other.' He turned towards a
silken panel that concealed a dimly lighted part of the
tent. 'Come forth, my friend and advisor. Look upon the
face of our noble visitor from Deira and tell me if you
know him.'
A shadow moved behind the panel. It seemed to
hesitate for a moment, and then a robed and hooded
figure emerged into the lamplight. The hooded man was
only slightly shorter than Sparhawk, and he had the
heavy shoulders of a warrior. He reached up and pushed
back his hood to reveal his piercing black eyes and his
thick mane of snowy white hair.
In a kind of curious detachment, Sparhawk wondered
what it was exactly that kept him from instantly drawing
his sword.
'indeed, most holy Arasham,' Martel said in his deep,
resonant voice, 'Sparhawk and I have known each other
for a very long time.'
!!!
*Chapter23
'it's been a long time, hasn't it, Sparhawk?' Martel said in
a neutral tone. His eyes, however, were watchful.
With some effort Sparhawk relaxed his tightly
clenched muscles. 'Yes, it has,' he replied. "It must be ten
years now at least. We should try to get together more
often.'
'We'll have to make a point of that.'
It hung there. The two continued to look directly into
each other's face. The air seemed to crackle with tension
as each waited for the other to make the first move.
'Sparhawk,' Arasham mused, 'a most unusual name.
It seems to me that I've heard it somewhere before.'
"It's a very old name,' Sparhawk told him. "It's been
passed down through my family for generations. Some
of my ancestors were men of note.'
'Perhaps that's where I heard it, then,' Arasham
mumbled complacently. 'I'm delighted to have been able
to re-unite two old and dear friends.'
'We are forever in your debt, Most Holy,' Martel
replied. 'You cannot imagine how I've hungered for the
sight of Sparhawk's face.'
'No more than I hungered for the sight of yours,'
Sparhawk said. He turned to the ancient lunatic. 'At one
time Martel and I were almost as close as brothers, Most
Holy. It's a shame that the years have kept us apart.'
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'I've tried to find you, Sparhawk,' Martel said coolly,
'several times.'
'Yes, I heard about that. I always hurried back to the
place where you'd been seen, but by the time I got there,
you'd already left.'
'Pressing business,' Martel murmured.
"It is ever thus,' Arasham lisped sententiously, his
ruined mouth collapsing over the words. 'The friends of
our youth slip away from us, and we are left alone in our
old age.' His eyes drooped shut in melancholy reverie.
He did not reopen them, after a moment he began to
snore.
'He tires easily,' Martel said quietly. He turned to
Sephrenia, although still keeping a wary eye on Sparhawk. '
Little mother,' he greeted her in a tone between
irony and regret.
'Martel.' She inclined her head in the briefest of nods.
'Ah,' he said. "It seems that I've disappointed you.'
'Not so much as you've disappointed yourself, I think.'
'Punishment, Sephrenia?' he asked sardonically.
'Don't you think I've been punished enough already?'
"It's not in my nature to punish people, Martel. Nature
gives neither rewards nor punishment - only consequences.'
'
All right, then. I accept the consequences. Wil you at
least permit me to greet you - and to seek your blessing?'
He took her wrists and turned her palms up.
'No, Martel,' she replied, closing her hands, "I don't
think so. You're no longer my pupil. You've found
another to follow.'
That wasn't entirely my idea, Sephrenia. You rejected
me, you remember.' He sighed and released her wrists.
Then he looked back at Sparhawk. 'I'm really rather
Surprised to see you, brother mine,' he said, 'considering
all the times I've sent Adus to deal with you. I'll have to
speak sharply with him about that - provided
you haven't killed him, of course.'
'He was bleeding a little the last time I saw him,'
Sparhawk said, 'but not very seriously.'
'Adus doesn't pay much attention to blood - not even
his own.'
'Would you like to step out of the way, Sephrenia?'
Sparhawk said, opening the front of his robe and shifting
his sword hilt around slightly. 'Martel and I were having
a little discussion the last time we saw each other. I think
it's time we continued it.'
Martel's eyes narrowed, and he opened his own robe
Like Sparhawk, he also wore mail and a broadsword
'Excellent notion, Sparhawk,' he said, his deep voice
dropping to little more than a whisper.
Sephrenia stepped between them. 'Stop that, both of
you,' she commanded. 'This isn't the time or the place.
We're right in the middle of an army. If you play this
game here in Arasham's tent, you'll have half of Rendor
in here with you before it's over.'
Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment, but he
knew that she was right. Regretfully, he took his hand
away from his sword hilt. "Sometime soon, however,
Martel,' he said in a dreadfully quiet voice.
'I'll be happy to oblige you, dear brother,' Martel
replied with an ironic bow. His eyes narrowed' speculatively. '
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What are you two doing here in Rendor?' he
asked. "I thought you were still in Cammoria.'
"It's a business trip.'
'Ah, you've found out about the Darestim, I see. I hate
to tell you this, but you're wasting your time. There's no
antidote. I checked that very carefully before I recommended
it to a certain friend in Cimmura.'
'You're pressing your luck, Martel,' Sparhawk told
him ominously.
"I always have, brother mine. As they say, no risk, no
profit. Ehlana will die,'I'm afraid. Lycheas will succeed
her, and Annias will become Archprelate. I expect to reap
quite a handsome profit from that.'
'is that all you ever think about?'
'What else is there?' Martel shrugged. 'Everything else
is only an illusion. How's Vanion been lately?'
'He's well,' Sparhawk replied. 'I'll tell him you asked.'
'That's assuming that you live long enough to see him
again. Your situation here is precarious, my old friend.'
'So's yours, Martel.'
"I know, but I'm used to it. You're weighted down with
scruples and the like. I left all that behind a long time ago.'
'Where's your tame Damork, Martel?' Sephrenia asked
suddenly.
He looked only slightly surprised, and he recovered
instantly. "I really haven't the slightest idea, little
mother,' he replied. "It comes to me without being
summoned, so I never know when it's going to turn up.
Perhaps it returned to the place it came from. It has to do
that every so often, you know.'
'I've never been that curious about the creatures of the
underworld. '
'That could be a serious oversight.'
'Perhaps.'
Arasham stirred on his cushions and opened his eyes.
'Did I doze off?' he asked.
'Only briefly, Most Holy,' Martel said. "It gave
Sparhawk and me time to renew our friendship. We had
much to discuss.'
'Very much,' Sparhawk agreed. He hesitated slightly,
but then decided that Martel was so sure of himself that
he'd probably miss the significance of the question. 'You
mentioned a talisman during your sermon, holy one,' he
said to Arasham. 'Might we be permitted to see it?'
'The holy relic? Of course.' The old
man fumbled inside his robe and drew out something that appeared to
be a twisted lump of bone. He held it out proudly. 'Do
you know what this is, Sparhawk?' he asked. 'No, Most Holy. I'm
afraid not.''
'The blessed Eshand began life as a shepherd, you
know.'
'Yes, I'd heard so.'
'One day when he was quite young, a ewe in his flock
gave birth to a pure white lamb that was like none other
he had ever seen. Unlike all other sheep of that breed,
this infant ram bore horns upon its head. It was, of
course, a sign from God. The pure lamb, obviously,
symbolized the blessed Eshand himself, and the fact that
the lamb was horned could only mean one thing - that
Eshand had been chosen to chastise the Church for her
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iniquity.'
'How mysterious are the ways of God,' Sparhawk
marvelled.
'Truly, my son. Truly. Eshand cared for the ram most
tenderly, and in time it began to speak to him, and its
voice was the voice of God Himself. And thus God
instructed Eshand in that which he must do. This holy
relic is a piece of the horn of that very ram. Now you can
see why it has such enormous power.'
'Clearly, Most Holy,' Sparhawk said in a reverent tone
of voice. 'Come closer, little sister,' he said to Sephrenia.
'View this miraculous relic.'
She stepped forward and looked intently at the twisted
bit of horn in Arasham's hand. 'Remarkable,' she murmured.
She glanced at Sparhawk, shaking her head
almost imperceptibly.
The bitter taste of disappointment filled his mouth.
'The power of this talisman will overcome all the
concerted might of the accursed Church Knights and
their foul witchcraft,' Arasham declared. 'God Himself
has told me so.' he smiled almost shyly. "I have
discovered a truly remarkable thing,' he told them
confidentially. 'When I am alone, I can lift the holy relic to
my ear and hear the voice of God. Thus He instructs me
even as He instructed the blessed Eshand.'
'A miracle!' Martel said in mock amazement.
'is it not?' Arasham beamed.
'We are quite overcome with gratitude that you have
consented to let us view the talisman, Most Holy,'
Sparhawk said, 'and we will spread word of it throughout
the kingdoms of the north, won't we, Martel?'
'Oh, of course, of course.' Martel's face was slightly
puzzled and he was looking suspiciously at Sparhawk.
"I perceive now that our' coming here is a part of God's
design,' Sparhawk continued. "It is our mission to tell all
the kingdoms of the north of this miracle - through every
village and at every crossroads. Even now I feel the spirit
of God infusing my tongue with eloquence so that I
might better describe what I have seen.' He reached out
and clapped Martel on the left shoulder - quite firmly.
'Don't you feel it as well, dear brother?' he asked
enthusiastically.
Martel winced slightly, and Sparhawk could feel the
shoulder shrinking from under his hand. 'Why, yes,'
Martel admitted in a slightly pained voice, 'as a matter of
fact, I believe I do.'
'Wondrous is the might of God!' arasham exulted.
'Yes,' Martel said, rubbing at his shoulder, 'wondrous.'
The idea had been slow in coming, in part perhaps
because of the surprise of once again seeing Martel, but
now it all began to fall into place. Sparhawk was
suddenly glad that Martel was here. 'And now, Most
Holy,' he said, 'let me give you the remainder of his
Majesty's message to you.'
'Of course. My ears are open to you.'
'His Majesty commands me to implore you to give him
time to marshal his forces before you move against the
venal Church here in Rendor. He must move with
caution in his mobilization because the Hierocracy in
Chyrellos has spies everywhere. He wishes devoutly to
aid you, but the Church is powerful, and he must mass
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sufficient force to overcome her might in Deira at one
stroke, lest she recover and crush him. It is his thought
that should you mount your campaign here in the south
at the same time he mounts his in the north, the Church
will be confounded, not knowing which way to turn, and
by moving swiftly you both may take advantage of her
confusion and win victory after victory. The impact of
these victories will dishearten and demoralize the forces
of the Church, and you may both march triumphant
upon Chyrellos.'
'Praise God!' Arasham exclaimed, starting to his feet
and brandishing his sheep's horn like a weapon.
Sparhawk raised one hand. 'But,' he cautioned, 'this
grand design, which can only have come from God
Himself, has no chance of success unless you and his
Majesty attack simultaneously.'
"I can see that, of course. God's own voice has
instructed me in just such strategy.'
"I was sure that He had.' Sparhawk let his face assume
an expression of extreme cunning. 'Now,' he went on,
'the Church is as sly as a serpent, and she has ears
everywhere. Despite our best efforts to maintain secrecy,
she may uncover our plan. Her first recourse has always
been deceit.'
"I have seen that in her,' Arasham admitted.
"It may well be that once she has uncovered our plan,
she will attempt deception, and what better way to
deceive you than to send false messengers to you to
declare that his Majesty is in readiness when indeed he is
not? Thus the Church could defeat you and
your disciples one by one.'
Arasham frowned. 'That's true, isn't it?' he said. 'But
how may we avoid being deceived?'
Sparhawk pretended to think about it. Then he
suddenly snapped his fingers. "I have it!' he exclaimed.
'What better way to confound the deceitfulness of the
Church than by the word - a word known only to you
and to me and to King Obler of Deira? Thus may you
know that a message is genuine. Should any come to
you with the message that the time has come, but who
cannot repeat the word to you, that 'man will be most
surely a servent of the Church sent to deceive you, and
you should deal with him accordingly.'
Arasham thought about it. 'Why, yes,' he mumbled
finally. "I believe that might indeed confound the
Church. But what word can be so locked in our hearts
that none may seek it out?'
Sparhawk threw a covert glance at Martel, whose face
was suddenly filled with chagrin. "It must be a word of
power,'he said, squinting at the roof of the tent as if deep
in thought. The whole ploy was obvious - even childish -
but it was the kind of thing that would appeal to the
senile old Arasham, and it provided a marvellous opportunity
to settle a few scores with Martel, just for old
times' sake.
Sephrenia sighed and lifted her eyes in resignation.
Sparhawk felt a little ashamed of himself at that point. He
looked at Arasham, who was leaning forward in anticipation,
chewing upon emptiness with his toothless
mouth and setting his long beard to waggling.
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"I will, of course, accept your pledge of secrecy without
question, Most Holy,' Sparhawk said in feigned
humility. 'I, however, swear by my life that the word I am
about to give you in profoundest secrecy shall never
again pass my lips until I divulge it to King Obler in Acie,
the capital of his kingdom.'
'And I also pledge my oath to you, noble friend
Sparhawk,' the old man cried in an excess of enthusiasm.
'Torture will not drag the word from my lips.' He made
some attempt to draw himself up regally.
'Your pledge honours me, Most Holy,' Sparhawk
replied with a deep Rendorish bow. He approached the
old man, bent, and whispered, 'Ramshorn.' Arasham,
he noted, didn't smell very good.
'The perfect word!' Arasham cried. He seized SParhawk's
head in a pair of wiry arms and kissed him
soundly full on the mouth.
Martel, his face pale with anger, had tried to draw near
enough to hear, but Sephrenia stepped in front of him.
His eyes flashed angrily, and with obvious effort he
restrained his first impulse to thrust her out of his way.
She raised her chin and looked him full in the face.
'Well?' she said.
He muttered something, turned, and stalked to the far
side of the tent where he stood gnawing at a knuckle in
frustration.
Arasham still clung to Sparhawk's neck. 'My beloved
son and deliverer,' he cried with his rheumy eyes filled
with tears. "Surely you have been sent to me by God
Himself. We cannot fail now. God is on our side. Let the
wicked tremble before us.'
'Truly,' Sparhawk agreed, gently disengaging the old
man's arms from about his neck.
'A thought, holy one,' Martel said shrewdly, though
his face was still white with fury. 'Sparhawk is only
human, and therefore mortal. The world is full of
mischance. Might it not be wiser to -'
'Mischance?' Sparhawk cut him off quickly. 'Where is
your faith, Martel? This is God's design, not mine. God
will not permit me to die until I have performed this
service for Him. Have faith, dear brother. God will
sustain and keep me against all perils. It is my destiny to
fulfil this task, and God will see to it that I do not fail.'
'Praise God!' Arasham exclaimed ecstatically, ending
the discussion.
The doe-eyed boy brought in the melons at that point,
and the conversation shifted to more general matters.
Arasham delivered another rambling diatribe against the
Church while Martel sat scowling at Sparhawk. Sparhawk
kept his eyes on his melon, which was surprisingly
good. It had all been too easy, somehow, and that
worried him just a little. Martel was too clever, too
devious to have been so easily circumvented. He looked
appraisingly across the tent at the white-haired man he
had hated for so long. Martel's expression was baffled,
frustrated - and that was also not like him. The Martel he
had known as a youth would never have revealed such
emotions. Sparhawk began to feel a little less sure of
himself.
'A thought has just occurred to me, Most Holy,' he
said. 'Time is crucial in this affair, and it is essential that
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my sister and I return to Deira at once to advise his
Majesty that all here in Rendor is ready and to convey to
his ears alone that word which is locked in both our
hearts. We have good horses, of course, but a fast boat
could take us downriver and deliver us to the seaport at
Jiroch days earlier. Perhaps you - or one of your disciples
- might know of some dependable boat-owner here in
Dabour whom I could hire.'
Arasham blinked at him vaguely. 'A boat?' he
mumbled.
A faint movement caught Sparhawk's eye, and he saw
Sephrenia move her arm as if only shaking back her
sleeve. Instantly he knew what she had been doing all
along. 'Hire, my son?' Arasham beamed at him. 'Let there be
no talk of hiring'. I have a splendid boat at my disposal.
You will take it, and with my blessing. I will send armed
men with you and a regiment - no, a legion - to patrol the
banks of the river to make sure you reach Jiroch safely.'
"It shall be as you command, Most Holy,' Sparhawk
said. He looked across the tent at Martel with a beatific
smile. 'is it not amazing, dear brother,' he said. 'Truly
such wisdom and generosity can only come from God.'
'Yes,' Martel replied darkly, 'I'm sure of it.'
"I must make haste, holy Arasham,' Sparhawk rushed
on, rising to his feet. 'We left our horses and belongings
in the care of a servant in a house on the outskirts of
town. My sister and I will retrieve them at once and
return within the hour.'
'As you see fit, my son,' Arasham said eagerly, 'and I
will instruct my disciples to have the boat and the
soldiers made ready for your journey downriver.'
'Let me show you the way out of the compound, dear
brother,' Martel said from between clenched teeth.
'Gladly, dear brother,' Sparhawk said. 'Your
company, as always, fills my heart with joy.'
'Return directly, Martel,' Arasham instructed. 'We
must discuss this wondrous turn of fortune and offer
thanks to God for His grace in providing it.'
'Yes, Most Holy,' Martel said, bowing. "I shall come
back immediately.'
'Within the hour, Sparhawk,' Arasham said.
within the hour, Most Holy,' Sparhawk agreed with a
deep bow. 'Come along then, Martel,' he said, once again
smacking his hand down on the renegade's shoulder.
'Of course.' Martel winced, once again shrinking from
Sparhawk's comradely blow.
Once they were outside the pavilion, Martel turned on
Sparhawk, his face white with fury. 'just what do you
think you're doing?' he demanded.
'Testy today, aren't we, old boy?' Sparhawk said
mildly.
'What are you up to, Sparhawk?' Martel snarled,
looking around to be sure that no one in the crowd of
hovering disciples could hear him.
'I've just spiked your wheel, Martel,' Sparhawk
replied. 'Arasham will sit here until he petrifies unless
someone brings him that secret word. I can almost
guarantee you that the Church Knights will be in
Chyrellos when the time comes ' to elect the new
Archprelate, because there won't be anything going on
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in Rendor to drag them away.'
'Very clever, Sparhawk.'
'I'm glad you liked it.'
'This is one more debt you owe me,' Martel grated.
'Feel free to call them in at any time, dear brother,'
Sparhawk said. 'I'll be more than happy to accommodate
you.' He took Sephrenia by the elbow and led her away.
'Are you completely out of your senses, Sparhawk?'
she demanded once they were out of earshot of the
fuming Martel.
"I don't think so,' he replied. 'Of course crazy people
never really know, do they?'
'What were you doing in there? Do you realize how
many times I had to step in to keep you out of trouble?'
"I noticed that. I couldn't have pulled it off without
you.'
'Will you stop smirking and tell me what was behind
all that?'
'Martel was getting too close to our real reason for
being here,' he explained. "I had to throw something else
in his path to keep him from realizing that we'd
unearthed a possible antidote for the poison. It all
worked out rather well, even if I do say so myself.'
'if you knew you were going to do that before you went
into the tent, why didn't you tell me?'
'How could I have known, Sephrenia? I didn't even
know Martel was there until I saw him."
'You mean -' Her eyes went suddenly very wide.
He nodded. "I sort of made it up as I went along,' he
confessed.
'Oh, Sparhawk, she said disgusted, 'you know better
than that.'
He shrugged. "It was about the best I could do at short
notice. '
'Why did you keep hitting Martel on the shoulder like
that?'
'He broke that shoulder when he was about fifteen. It's
always been very sensitive.'
'That was cruel,' she accused.
'So was what happened in that alley back in Cippria
ten years ago. Let's go get Kurik and Flute. I think we've
done about all we can here in Dabour.'
Arasham's boat was more like a barge than the scow
which had carried them upriver, and it was perhaps four
times as large. Banks of oarsmen lined each side, and
black-robed zealots with swords and javelins clustered in
the torchlit bow and stern. Martel had preceded them to
the rickety dock, and he stood alone there, some distance
from the hot-eyed disciples on shore, as Sparhawk,
Sephrenia, Kurik, and Flute embarked. The renegade's
white hair gleamed in the starlight, and his face was very
nearly as pale. 'You're not going to get away with this,
Sparhawk,' he
said in a low voice.
'Oh?' Sparhawk said. "I think you'd better look again,
Martel. It seems to me that I already have. You can try to
follow me, of course; but all those troops patrolling the
river banks are probably going to get in your way.
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Besides, I think that once you get over your pique, you'll
realize that about the only thing you can do is stay here
and try to wheedle that magic word out of Arasham.
Everything you've set up here in Rendor will be at a
standstill until you do.'
'You'll pay for this, Sparhawk,' Martel promised
darkly.
"I thought I already had, old boy,' Sparhawk replied.
'in Cippria, I believe it was.' He reached out, and Martel
jerked his shoulder out of range.' Instead, however,
Sparhawk patted him on the cheek insultingly. 'Take
care of yourself, Martel, ' he said. "I want to see you again
soon, and I want you to be well and in full possession of
your faculties. Believe me, you're going to need them.'
Then he turned and went up the gangway to the waiting
barge.
The sailors cast off all lines and pushed the barge out
into the slowly moving current. Then they ran out their
oars and began to row slowly downriver. The dock
behind them and the solitary man standing on the end of
it shrank out of sight.
'Oh, God!' Sparhawk cried exultantly, "I loved that!'
The run downriver took them a day and a half, and they
disembarked a league or so upstream from jiroch to avoid
any watchers Martel might have managed to get to the
docks ahead of them. The precaution was probably
unnecessary, Sparhawk admitted, but there was no
point in taking chances. They entered the city through
the west gate and mingled with the crowds as they made
their way to Voren's house again. It was late afternoon
when they entered.
Voren was a trifle surprised at their reappearance.
'That was quick,' he said as they entered his garden.
'We were lucky,' Sparhawk shrugged.
'More than lucky,' Sephrenia said darkly. The small
woman's temper had not noticeably improved since they
had left Dabour, and she still refused even to talk to
Sparhawk.
'Did something go wrong?' Voren asked mildly.
'Not that I noticed,' Sparhawk replied blithely.
'Stop congratulating Yourself, Sparhawk,' she snapped. '
I'm vexed with you, very vexed.'
'I'm sorry about that, Sephrenia, but I did the best I
could.' He turned to Voren. 'We ran into Martel,' he
explained, 'and I managed to stop him in his tracks. His
whole scheme just collapsed around his ears.'
Voren whistled. "I don't see anything wrong with that,
Sephrenia. '
"It's not what he did, Voren. It was the way he did it.'
'Oh?'
"I don't want to talk about it.' She gathered Flute up in
her arms, went to the bench by the fountain, and sat
muttering darkly to the little girl in StyriC.
'We need a way to get aboard a fast ship bound for
Vardenais without being seen,' Sparhawk told Voren.
'Can you come up with something?'
'Quite easily,' Voren replied. 'Every so often the true
identity of one of our brothers is exposed. We've devised
a way to get them out of Rendor safely.' He smiled
ironically. "It was the first thing I did when I got to jiroch,
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actually. I was fairly sure I was going to need it for myself
almost immediately. I have a wharf down in the harbour.
There's a waterfront inn not far away. It's run by one of
our brothers, and it has all the things an inn usually has -
taproom, stables, sleeping rooms upstairs, and the like.
It's also got a cellar, and there's a passageway running
from that one to the cellar of my main warehouse. At low
tide you can board a ship directly from that cellar without
being seen by anyone on shore.'
'Would that fool the Damork, Sephrenia?' Sparhawk
asked her.
She glared at him for a moment, then relented. She
touched the fingertips of one hand lightly to her temple.
Sparhawk noted that there was more silver there now. "I
think it would,' she replied. 'We don't even know that
the Damork is here. Martel could actually have been
telling us the truth.'
"I wouldn't count on it,' Kurik grunted.
'Even so,' she continued, 'the' Damork probably
couldn't begin to grasp the concept of a cellar - much less
underground passageways. '
'What's a Damork?' Voren asked.
Sparhawk told him and described what had happened
to Captain Mabin's ship in the Arcian Strait just out from
Madel.
Voren rose and began to pace up and down. 'That's not
the sort of thing our escape route was designed to cope
with,' he admitted. "I think I'd better take some
additional precautions. I've got six ships in port just now.
why don't I just send them all out at the same time? If
you sail out in the middle of a flotilla, it might add a bit
more confusion.'
'Isn't that a bit elaborate?' Sparhawk asked him.
'Sparhawk, I know how modest you are, but you're
probably the most important man in the world just now -
at least you are until you get to Cimmura and make your
report to Vanion. I'm not going to take any chances with
you if I can help it.' He went to the garden wall and
squinted at the setting sun. 'We're going to have to
hurry,' he told them. 'Low tide this evening comes just
after dusk, and I'll want you in the cellar when the ship's
rail drops below the edge of the wharf. I'll go with you to
make sure you get on board safely.'
They all rode out together towards the waterfront.
Their route took them through the familiar quarter where
Sparhawk had maintained his shop during the years he
had been hidden there. The buildings on either side of
the street were almost like old friends, and he thought he
recognized a few of the people hurrying home through
the narrow streets as the sun sank towards the western
horizon.
'Brute!' the voice from behind them Probably carried
halfway across the Arcian Strait, and it was painfully
familiar. 'Assassin!'
'Oh, no!' Sparhawk groaned, reining Faran in. 'And
we were so close.' He looked longingly at the waterfront
inn to which Voren was leading them and which was but
one street away.
'Monster!' the voice went on in a strident tone.
'Uh - Sparhawk,' Kurik said mildly, 'is it my imagination,
or is that lady trying to get your attention?'
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"just let it lie, Kurik.'
'Anything you say, my Lord.'
'Assassin! Brute, monster! Deserter!'
There was a brief pause. 'Murderer!' the woman
added.
"I never did that,' Sparhawk murmured. He' sighed
and turned Faran around. 'Hello, Lillias,' he said to the
robed and veiled woman who had been shouting at him.
He spoke in as mild and inoffensive a tone as he could
manage.
'Hello, Lillias?' she shrieked. 'Hello, Lillias? Is that all
you have to say for yourself, brigand?'
Sparhawk tried very hard not to smile. In a peculiar
way, he loved Lillias and he was pleased to see her
enjoying herself so much. 'You're looking well, Lillias,'
he said conversationally, knowing that a comment like
that would spur her to new heights.
'Well? well? When you have murdered me? When you
have cut my heart out? When you have sunk me in the
mire of deepest despair?' She leaned back in a tragic
posture, head up and arms thrown wide. 'Hardly a
morsel of food has passed my lips since that hateful day
when you abandoned me penniless in the gutter.'
"I left you the shop, Lillias,' he protested. "It fed us both
before I left. Surely it still feeds you.'
"Shop! What do I care about the shop? It is my heart
that you have broken, Mahkra!' She thrust back her hood
and ripped off her veil. 'Assassin! she cried. 'Look at
your handiwork!' She began to tear at her long, glossy
black hair and to gouge at her dark, full-lipped face with
her fingernails.
'Lillias!' Sparhawk barked in the tone he had only had
to use a few times during their years together. 'Stop that!
You'll hurt yourself.'
But Lillias was in full voice now, and there was no
stopping her. 'Hurt?' she cried tragically. 'What do I care
about hurt? How can you hurt a dead woman? You want
to see hurt, Mahkra? Look at my heart!' She riPPed oPen
the front of her robe. It was not her heart, however, that
she revealed.
'Oh, my goodness,' Kurik said in an awed voice,
staring at the woman's suddenly revealed attributes.
Voren turned his head aside, concealing a smile.
Sephrenia, however, looked at Sparhawk with a slightly
different expression.
'Oh, God,' Sparhawk groaned. He swung down from
his saddle. 'Lillias!' he muttered sharply to her. 'Cover
yourself. think of the neighbours - and all the children
watching.'
What do I care about the neighbours? Let them look!'
She thrust out her full breasts. 'What does shame mean
to a woman whose heart is dead?'
Grimly, Sparhawk advanced on her. When he got
close enough, he spoke quietly to her from between
clenched teeth. 'They're very nice, Lillias,' he said, 'but I
don't really think they're much of a surprise to any man
within six streets in any direction. Do you really want to
go on with this?'
She suddenly looked a little less certain, but she did
not close the front of her robe.
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'Have it your way,' he shrugged. Then he too raised
his voice. 'Your heart is not dead, Lillias,' he declared to
the audience breathlessly clustered on their balconies.
'Far from it, I think. What of Georgias the baker? and
Nendan the sausage-maker?' He was selecting names at
random.
Her face blanched, and she shrank back, covering her
generous bosom with her robe. 'You know?' she faltered.
That hurt him just a little, but he covered it. 'Of
course,' he declared, still playing to the balconies, 'but I
forgive you. You are much woman, Lillias, and not
meant to be alone.' He reached out and gently covered
her hair with her hood again. 'Have you been well?' he
asked her very softly.
"I get by,' she whispered.
'Good. Are we almost done?
"I think we need something to round it out, don't you?'
Her face looked hopeful.
He tried very hard to keep from laughing.
'This is serious, Mahkra,' she hissed. 'My position in
the community depends on it.'
'Trust me,' he murmured. 'You have betrayed me,
Lillias,' he said to the balconies, 'but I forgive you, for I
have not been here to keep you from straying.'
She considered that for a moment, then sobbed, fell
into his arms and buried her face in his chest. "It's just
that I missed you so much, my Mahkra. I weakened. I am
but a poor, ignorant woman - a slave to my passions. Can
you ever truly forgive me?'
'What is there to forgive, my Lillias?' he said grandly.
'You are like the earth - like the sea. To give is a part of
your nature.'
She thrust herself back from him. 'Beat me!' she
demanded. "I deserve to be beaten!' Huge tears, genuine
for all he knew, stood in her glowing black eyes.
'Oh, no,' he refused, knowing exactly where that
would lead. 'No beatings, Lillias,' he said. 'Only this,'
and he gave her a single chaste kiss full on the lips. 'Be
well, Lillias,' he murmured softly. Then he stepped back
quickly before she could wrap her arms about his neck.
He knew just how strong her arms were. 'And now,
though it rends my soul, I must leave you again,' he
declaimed. He reached out and drew her veil once again
across her face. 'Think of me from time to time whilst I
seek out the fate that destiny has in store for me.' He did
manage to resist the impulse to lay his hand on his heart.
"I knew it!' she cried, more to the onlookers than to
him. "I knew that you were a man of affairs! I shall carry
our love in my heart for all eternity, my Mahkra, and I
shall remain faithful to you to the grave. And if you live,
come back to me.' She had both arms spread wide again.
'And if you do not, send your ghost to me in my dreams,
and I will comfort your pale shade as best I can.'
He backed away from her outstretched arms. Then he
spun so that his robe would swirl dramatically - he owed
her that much - and vaulted into Faran's saddle. 'Farewell,
my Lillias,' he said melodramatically, jerking the
reins to make Faran rear and paw the air with his front
hooves. 'And if we do not meet again in this world, may
God grant that we meet once more in the next.' And he
drove his heels into Faran's flanks and charged past her
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at a gallop. 'Did you do all that on purpose?' SePhrenia asked as
they dismounted in the courtyard of the waterfront inn.
"I might have got a little carried away,' Sparhawk
admitted. 'Lillias does that to a man from time to time.'
He smiled a bit ruefully. "She gets her heart broken on an
average of three times a week,' he noted clinically. "She
was always militantly unfaithful and just a little dishonest
where the cashbox was concerned. She's vain and
vulgar and self-indulgent. She's deceptive and greedy
and grossly overdramatic.' He paused then, thinking
back over the years. "I liked her, though. She's a good
girl, despite her faults, and living with her was never
dull. I owed her that performance. She'll be able to walk
through the quarter like a queen now, and it didn't really
cost me all that much, did it?'
'Sparhawk,' she said gravely, "I will never understand
you.'
'That's what makes it all so much fun, isn't it, little
mother?' He grinned at her.
Flute, still sitting on Sephrenia's white horse, blew a
mocking little trill on her pipes.
'Talk with her,' Sparhawk suggested to Sephrenia.
"She understands.'
Flute rolled her eyes at him, then generously held out
her hands to permit him to help her down.
!!!
*Chapter24
The voyage across the mouth of the Arcian Strait passed
without incident. They ran northeasterly under clear
skies with a fair following breeze and with the other ships
of Voren's flotilla clustered about them protectively.
About noon on the third day out, Sparhawk came up
on deck to join Sephrenia in the bow where she and Flute
stood looking out over the sparkling waves. 'Are you still
cross with me?' he asked her.
She sighed. "No. I suppose not.'
Sparhawk was not entirely certain how to put his
vague sense of unease into words, so he approached it
obliquely. 'Sephrenia,' he said, 'did it seem to you that
everything in Dabour went just a little too smoothly? I
somehow get the feeling that I'm being led around by the
nose again.'
'How do you mean, exactly?'
"I know you tampered with Arasham a few times that
night, but did you do anything to Martel?'
'No. He'd have felt it if I'd tried and he'd have
countered me.'
'That's what I thought. What was wrong with him
then?'
"I'M not sure I follow you.'
'He acted almost like a schoolboy. We both know
Martel. He's intelligent, and he thinks very fast on his
feet. What I did was so obvious that he should have seen
through it almost immediately, but he didn't do a thing.
He just stood there like an idiot and let me pull his whole
scheme down around his ears. It was just too easy, and
that worries me.'
'He didn't really expect to see us in Arasham's tent,
Sparhawk. Maybe the surprise threw him off balance.'
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'Martel doesn't surprise all that easily.'
She frowned. 'No,' she admitted, 'he doesn't, does
he?' She thought about it. 'Do you remember what Lord
Darellon was saying before we left Cimmura?'
'Not exactly, no.'
'He said that Annias behaved Like a simpleton when he
presented his case to the Elene kings. He announced the
death of Count Radun without even verifying the fact
that the count had really died.'
'Oh, yes, now I remember. And you said that the
whole scheme - the attempt to murder the count and to
lay the blame on the Pandions - might have originated
with a Styric magician.'
'Perhaps it goes a little farther than that. We know that
Martel has had contacts with a Damork, and that means
that Azash is involved somehow. Azash has always dealt
with Styrics, so he's had very little experience with the
subtleties of the Elene mind. The Gods of Styricum are
very direct, and they seldom prepare for contingencies -
probably because of the Styric lack of sophistication.
Now, the whole purpose of the plot in Arcium and the
one in Rendor has been to keep the Church Knights out
of Chyrellos during the election. Annias behaved the
way a Styric would have in the palace at Cimmura, and
Martel behaved the same way in Arasham's tent.'
'You're a little inconsistent, Sephrenia,' he objected.
'First you try to tell me that Styrics are unsophisticated,
then you come up with an explanation so complicated
that I can't even follow it. Why don't you just say what
you mean?'
'Azash has always dominated the minds of his followers,'
she replied, 'and for the most part, they've been
Styrics. If Annias and Martel both start behaving like
Styrics, it raises some very interesting possibilities,
wouldn't you say?'
'I'm sorry, Sephrenia, but I can't accept that. Whatever
other faults he may have, Martel's still an Elene, and
Annias is a churchman. Neither one of them would give
his soul to Azash.'
'Not consciously, perhaps, but Azash has ways to
subvert the minds of people he finds useful.'
'Where does all this lead?'
'I'm not entirely sure, but it seems that Azash has some
reason to want Annias to be the new Archprelate. It's
something we might want to keep in mind. If Azash is
controlling Annias and Martel, they're both going to be
thinking like Styrics, and Styrics don't react very fast
when they're surprised. It's a racial trait. Surprise could
be our best weapon.'
'Was that why you were so angry with me - because I
surprised you?'
'Of course. I thought you knew that."
'Next time, I'll try to warn you.'
'I'd appreciate that.
Two days later their ship entered the estuary of the River
Ucera and sailed up towards the Elenian port city of
Vardenais. As they approached the wharves, however,
Sparhawk saw trouble. Men in red tunics were patrolling
the waterfront.
'Now what?' Kurik asked as the two of them crouched
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' behind a low deckhouse to keep out of sight.
Sparhawk frowned. 'I suppose we could sail across the
bay and go inland on the Arcian side.'
"if they're watching the seaports, they're bound to be
patrolling the border as well. Use your head, Sparhawk.'
'Maybe we could slip across at night.'
'Isn't what we're doing a little too important to hang it
all on a "maybe"?' Kurik asked pointedly.
Sparhawk started to swear. 'We've got to get to
Cimmura,' he said. "It's getting close to the time when
another of the twelve knights is going to die, and I don't
know how much more of the weight Sephrenia can carry.
Think, Kurik. You're always better at tactics than I am.'
'That's because I don't wear armour. The sense of
invincibility does funny things to a man's brains.'
'Thanks,' Sparhawk said dryly.
Kurik knit his brows in thought.
'Well?' Sparhawk said impatiently.
'I'm working on it. Don't rush me.'
'We're getting closer to the wharf, Kurik."
"I can see that. Can you tell if they're searching any of
the ships?'
Sparhawk raised his head and peered over the top of
the deckhouse. 'They don't seem to be.'
'Good. That means we won't have to make any
spur-of-the-moment decisions. We can go below and
work this out.'
'Any ideas at all?'
"you're pushing, Sparhawk,' Kurik said disapprovingly.
That's one of your failings, you know. You always want to
dash into the middle of things before you've thought your
way completely through what you're going to do.'
Their ship hove to beside a tar-smeared wharf, and the
sailors cast lines to the longshoremen clustered there.
Then they ran out the gangway and began to carry boxes
and bales down to the wharf.
There was a clattering sound from the hold, and Faran
trotted up on deck. Sparhawk stared at his war horse in
amazement. Flute sat cross-legged on the big roan's
broad back playing her pipes. The melody she played
was a peculiarly drowsy one, almost like a lullaby. Before
Sparhawk and Kurik could run to intercept her, she
tapped Faran's back with the side of her foot, and he
placidly walked down the gangway to the wharf.
'What is she doing?' Kurik exclaimed.
"I can't even begin to guess. Get Sephrenia - fast!'
On the wharf, Flute rode directly towards the squad of
church soldiers stationed at the far end. The soldiers had
been closely examining every disembarking Passenger
and sailor, but they paid no attention to Flute and the
roan horse. She impudently rode back and forth in front
of them several times, then turned. She seemed to be
looking directly at Sparhawk and, still playing her pipes,
she raised one little hand and motioned to him.
He stared at her.
She made a little face and then quite deliberately rode
directly through the soldiers' ranks. They absently
stepped aside for her, but not one of them so much as
looked at her.
'What's going on down there?' he demanded as
Sephrenia and Kurik joined him behind the deckhouse.
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'I'm not altogether sure,' Sephrenia replied, frowning.
'Why aren't the soldiers paying any attention to her?'
Kurik asked as Flute rode through the ranks of red tunics
once again.
"I don't think they can see her.'
'But she's right there in front of them.'
'That doesn't seem to matter.' Her face slowly took on
an expression of wonder. 'I'd heard about this,' she
murmured. "I thought it was just an old folk tale, but
perhaps I was wrong.' She turned to Sparhawk. 'Has she
looked back at the ship at all since she rode down onto
that wharf?'
"She sort of motioned to me to follow her,' he said.
'You're sure?'
'That's the way it looked to me.'
She drew in a deep breath. 'Well,' she said, 'there's one
way to find out, I suppose.' Before Sparhawk could stop
her, she rose and walked out from behind the deckhouse.
'Sephrenia!' he called after her, but she continued on
across the deck as if she had not heard him. She reached
the rail and stood there.
"She's right out in plain sight,' Kurik said in a strangled
tone.
"I can see that.'
'The soldiers are certain to have a description of her.
Has she gone out of her mind?'
"I doubt it. Look.' Sparhawk pointed towards the
soldiers on the wharf. Although Sephrenia was standing
in plain view, they did not even appear to look at her.
Flute, however, saw her and made another of those
imperious little gestures.
Sephrenia sighed and looked at Sparhawk. 'Wait
here,' she said.
'Wait where?'
'Here - on board ship.' She turned, walked to the
gangway and went on down to the wharf.
'That rips it,' Sparhawk said bleakly, rising to his feet
and drawing his sword. Quickly he counted the soldiers
on the wharf. 'There aren't that many of them,' he said to
Kurik. 'if we can take them by surprise, there might be a
chance.'
'Not a very good one, Sparhawk. Let's wait a moment
and see what happens.'
Sephrenia walked up the wharf and stopped directly in
front of the soldiers.
They ignored her.
She spoke to them
They paid no attention.
Then she turned back towards the ship. "It's all right,
Sparhawk,' she called. 'They can't see us - or hear us.
Bring the other horses and our things.'
'Magic?' Kurik asked in a stunned voice.
'Not any kind that I ever heard about,' Sparhawk
replied.
"I guess we'd better do what she says, then,' Kurik
advised, 'and sort of immediately. I'd hate to be right in
the middle of those soldiers when the spell wears off.'
It was eerie to walk down the gangway in plain view of
the church soldiers and to saunter casually up the wharf
until they were face to face with them. The soldiers'
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expressions were bored, and they gave no indication that
anything at all was amiss. They routinely stopped every
sailor and passenger leaving the wharf, but paid no
attention whatsoever to Sparhawk, Kurik, and the
horses. The soldiers stepped out of the way with no
command from their corporal and immediately closed
ranks again once' Sparhawk and Kurik had led the horses
off the wharf and onto the cobblestones of the street.
Without a word, Sparhawk lifted Flute down from
Faran's back and saddled the big roan. 'All right,' he said
to Sephrenia when he had finished, 'how did she do it?'
'The usual way.'
'But she can't talk - or at least she doesn't. How did she
cast the spell?'
'With her pipes, Sparhawk. I thought you knew that.
She doesn't speak the spell, she plays it on her pipes.'
'is it possible?' His tone was incredulous.
'you just saw her do it.'
'Could you do it that way?'
She shook her head. 'I'm just a bit tone deaf,
Sparhawk,' she confessed. "I can't really tell one note
from another, except in a general sort of way, and the
melody has to be very precise. Shall we go, then?'
They rode up through the streets of Vardenais from the
harbour.
'Are we still invisible?' Kurik asked.
'We're not actually invisible, Kurik,' Sephrenia
replied, wrapping her cloak about Flute, who stil played
the drowsy tune on her pipes. 'If we were, we wouldn't
be able to see each other.'
"I don't understand at all.'
'The soldiers knew we were there, Kurik. They
stepped out of the way for us, remember? They just
chose not to pay any attention to us.'
'Chose?'
'Perhaps that was the wrong word. Let's say they were
encouraged not to.'
They rode out through the north gate of Vardenais
without being stopped by the guards posted there and
were soon on the high road to Cimmura. The weather
had changed since they had left Elenia many weeks
before. The chill of winter had gone now, and the first
budding leaves of spring tipped the branches of the trees
at the sides of the road. Peasants plodded across their
fields behind their ploughs, turning over the rich black
loam. The rains had passed, and the sky was bright blue,
dotted here and there with puffy white clouds. The
breeze was fresh and warm, and the earth smelled of
growth and renewal. They' had discarded their
Rendorish robes before leaving the ship, but Sparhawk
still found his mail coat and padded tunic uncomfortably
warm.
Kurik was looking out at the freshly ploughed fields
they passed with an appraising eye. "I hope the boys
have finished with the ploughing at home,' he said. 'I'd
hate to have that chore in front of me when I get back.'
'Aslade will see to it that they get it done,' Sparhawk
assured him.
'You're probably right.' Kurik made a wry face. 'When
you get right down to it, she's a better farmer than I am.'
'Women always are,' Sephrenia told him. 'They're
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more in tune with the moon and the seasons. In
Styricum, women always manage the fields.'
'What do the men do?'
'As little as possible.'
It took them nearly five days to reach Cimmura, and they
arrived on an early spring afternoon. Sparhawk reined in
atop a hill a mile or so west of town. 'Can she do it again?'
he asked Sephrenia.
'Can who do what again?'
'Flute. Can she make people ignore us again?'
"I don't know. Why don't you ask her?'
'Why don't you ask her? I don't think she likes me.'
'Whatever gave you that idea? She adores you.'
Sephrenia leaned forward slightly and spoke in Styric to
the little girl who rested against her.
Flute nodded and made an obscure kind of circling
gesture with one hand.
'What did she say?' Sparhawk asked.
'Approximately that the chapterhouse is on the other
side of Cimmura. She suggests that we circle the city
rather than ride through the streets.'
'Approximately?'
"It loses a great deal in translation.
'All right. We'll do it her way, then. I definitely don't
want Annias to find out that we're back in Cimmura.'
They rode on around the city, Passing through open
fields and sparse woodlands and keeping about a mile
back from the city wall. Cimmura was not an attractive
city, Sparhawk decided. The peculiar combination of its
location and the prevailing weather seemed to capture
the smoke from its thousands of chimneys and to hold it
in a continual pall just above the roof tops. That lowering
cloud of smoke made the place look perpetually grimy.
They finally reached a thicket about a half-mile from
the walls of the chapterhouse. Once again the land was
dotted with peasants at work, and the road leading out
from the east gate was alive with brightly dressed
travellers.
'Tell her it's time,' Sparhawk said to Sephrenia. 'I'd
imagine that a fair number of those people out there are
working for Annias.'
"She knows, Sparhawk. She's not stupid.'
'No. Only a little flighty.'
Flute made a face at him and began to play her pipes. It
was that same lethargic, almost drowsy tune she had
played in Vardenais.
They started across the field towards the few houses
clustered outside the chapterhouse. Though he was certain
that the people they passed would pay no attention to
them, Sparhawk instinctively tensed at each encounter.
'Relax, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia ordered him crisply.
'You're making it harder for her.'
'Sorry,'he mumbled. 'Habit, I guess.'With some effort
he pulled a kind of calm about himself.
A number of workmen were repairing the road that led
up to the' gates of the fortress.
'Spies,' Kurik grunted.
'How do you know that?' Sparhawk asked.
'Look at the way they're laying the cobblestones,
Sparhawk. They haven't got the faintest idea of what
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they're doing.'
"It does look a bit slipshod, doesn't it?' Sparhawk
agreed, looking critically at the section of newly laid
stone as they rode past the unseeing road gang.
'Annias must be getting old,' Kurik said. 'He never
used to be this obvious.'
'He's got a lot on his mind, I guess.
They clattered up the road to the drawbridge and then
on across it and into the courtyard, passing the indifferent
quartet of armoured knights on guard at the gate.
A young novice was drawing water from the well in
the centre of the courtyard, laboriously winding the
creaking windlass mounted at the wellmouth. With a
final little flourish, Flute took her pipes from her lips.
The novice choked out a startled oath and reached for
his sword. The windlass squealed as the bucket plummeted
down again.
'Easy, brother,' Sparhawk told him, dismounting.
'How did you get past the gate?' the novice exclaimed.
'You wouldn't believe it,' Kurik told him, swinging
down from his gelding's back.
'Forgive me, Sir Sparhawk,' the novice stammered.
'You startled me.'
"It's all right,' Sparhawk assured him. 'Has Kalten got
back yet?'
'Yes, my Lord. He and the knights from the other
orders arrived some time back.'
'Good. Do you know where I might find them?'
"I believe they're with Lord Vanion in his study.'
'Thank you. Would you see to our horses?'
'Of course, Sir Sparhawk.'
They entered the chapterhouse and went down the
central corridor towards the south end of the building.
Then they climbed the narrow flight of stairs to the
tower.
'Sir Sparhawk,' one of the young knights on guard at
the top said respectfully, 'I'll advise Lord Vanion that
you've arrived.'
'Thank you, brother,' Sparhawk said.
The knight tapped on the door, then opened it. 'Sir
Sparhawk is here, my Lord,' he reported to Vanion.
"It's about time,' Sparhawk heard Kalten's voice inside
the room.
'Please go in, Sir Sparhawk,' the young knight said,
stepping aside and bowing.
Vanion sat at the table. Kalten, Bevier, Ulath and
Tynian had risen from their seats and come forward to
greet Sparhawk and the others. Berit and Talen sat on a
bench in the corner.
' When did you get in?' Sparhawk asked as Kalten
roughly clasped his hand.
'Early last week,' the blond man replied. 'What kept
you?'
'We had a long way to go, Kalten,' Sparhawk protested.
Wordlessly he gripped the hands of Tynian, Ulath, and
Bevier. Then he bowed to Vanion. 'My Lord,' he said.
'Sparhawk,' Vanion nodded.
'Did you get my messages?'
'if there were only two, I did.'
'Good. Then you're fairly well up-to-date on what's
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going on down there.'
Vanion, however, was looking closely at Sephrenia.
'You're not looking too well, little mother,' he said.
'I'll be all right,' she said, passing one hand wearily
across her eyes.
'Sit down,' Kalten said, holding a chair for her.
'Thank you.'
'What happened in Dabour, Sparhawk?' Vanion
asked, his eyes intent.
'We found that physician,' Sparhawk reported. 'As it
turns out, he did in fact cure some people who'd been
poisoned with the same thing Annias gave the Queen.'
'Thank God!' Vanion said, letting his breath out
explosively.
'Don't be too quick about that, Vanion,' Sephrenia told
him. 'We know what the cure is, but we've got to find it
before we can use it.'
"I don't quite follow you.'
'The poison is extremely potent. The only way to
counteract it is through the use of magic.'
'Did the physician give you the spell he used?'
'Apparently there's no spell involved. There are a
number of objects in the world that have enormous
power. We have to find one of them.'
He frowned. 'That could take time,' he said. 'People
usually hide those things to keep them from being stolen.'
"I know.'
'Are you absolutely certain you've identified the right
poison?' Kalten asked Sparhawk.
Sparhawk nodded. "I got confirmation from Martel,'
he said.
'Martel, you actually gave him time to talk before you
killed him?'
"I didn't kill him. The time wasn't right.'
'Any time is right for that, Sparhawk.'
"I felt that way myself when I first saw him, but
Sephrenia persuaded the two of us to put away our
swords.'
'I'm terribly disappointed in you, Sephrenia,' Kalten
said.
'You almost had to have been there to understand,' she
replied.
'Why didn't you just get whatever it was the physician
used to cure those other people?' Tynian asked
Sparhawk.
'Because he ground it to a powder, mixed it with wine,
and had them drink it.'
'is that the way it's supposed to be done?'
'No, as a matter of fact, it's not. Sephrenia spoke to him
rather sharply about that.'
"I think you'd better start at the beginning,' Vanion
said.
'Right,' Sparhawk agreed, taking a chair. Briefly he
told them about Arasham's 'holy talisman' and about the
ploy that had got them into the old man's tent.
'You were being awfully free with the name of my
king, Sparhawk,' Tynian objected.
'We don't necessarily need to tell him about it, do we?'
Sparhawk replied. "I needed to use the name of a
kingdom a long way from Rendor. Arasham probably
has only the vaguest idea of where Deira is.'
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'Why didn't you say you were from Thalesia, then?'
"I doubt if Arasham's ever heard of Thalesia. Anyway,
the "holy talisman turned out to be a fake. Martel was
there and he was trying to persuade the old lunatic to
postpone his uprising until the time of the election of the
new Archprelate.' He went on to describe the means by
which he had overturned the white-haired man's scheme.
'My friend,' Kalten said admiringly, 'I'm proud of
you.'
'Thank you, Kalten,' Sparhawk said modestly. "It did
turn out rather well, I thought.'
'He's been patting himself on the back ever since we
came out of Arasham's tent,' Sephrenia said. She looked
at Vanion. 'Kerris died,' she told him sadly.
Vanion nodded, his face sombre. "I know,' he said.
'How did you find out?'
'His ghost came to us to deliver his sword to
Sephrenia,' Sparhawk told him. 'Vanion, we're going to
have to do something about that. She can't go on carrying
all those swords and everything they symbolize. She gets
weaker every time somebody gives her another one.'
'I'm all right, Sparhawk,' she insisted.
"I hate to contradict you, little mother, but you're
definitely not all right. It's all you can do right now to hold
up your head. About two more of those swords is all its
going to take to put you on your knees.'
'Where are the swords now?' Vanion asked.
'We brought a mule with us,' Kurik replied. 'They're in
a box in his pack.'
would you get them for me, please?'
'Right away,' Kurik said, going to the door.
'What have you got in mind, Vanion?' Sephrenia asked
suspiciously.
'I'm going to take the swords.' He shrugged. 'And
everything that goes with them.'
'You can't.'
'Oh, yes, I can, Sephrenia. I was in the throne room,
too, and I know which spell to use. You don't have to be
the one who has to carry them. Any one of us who were
there can do it.'
'You're not strong enough, Vanion.'
'When you get down to it, I could carry you and
everything you've got in your arms, my teacher, and
right now you're more important than I am.'
'But -' she started.
He held up his hand. 'The discussion is ended,
Sephrenia. I am the preceptor. With or without your
permission, I'm taking those swords away from you.'
'You don't know what it means, my dearest one. I
won't let you.' Her face was suddenly wet with tears, and
she wrung her hands in an uncharacteristic display of
human emotion. "I won't let you.'
'You can't stop me,' he said in a gentle voice. "I can cast
the spell without your help, if I have to. If you want to
keep your spells a secret, little mother, you shouldn't
chant them out loud, you know. You should know by
now that I've got a very retentive memory.'
She stared at him. 'I'm shocked at you, Vanion,' she
declared. 'You were not so unkind when you were
young.'
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'Life is filled with these little disappointments, isn't it?'
he said urbanely.
"I can stop you,' she cried, still wringing her hands.
'You forget just how much stronger I am than you are.'
There was a shrill triumph in her voice.
'Of course you are. That's why I'd have to call in help.
Could you deal with ten knights all chanting in unison? -
or fifty? - or half a thousand?'
'That's unfair!' she exclaimed. "I did not know that you
would go this far, Vanion - and I trusted you.'
'And well you should, dear one,' he said, assuming
suddenly the superior role, 'for I will not permit you to
make this sacrifice. I'll force you to submit to me, because
you know I'm right. You'll release the burden to me,
because you know that what you have to do is more
important than anything else right now, and you'll
sacrifice anything to do what we both know must be
done.'
'Dear one,' she began in an agonized voice. 'My
dearest one -'
'As I said,' he cut her off, 'the discussion is ended.'
There was a long and awkward silence as Sephrenia and
Vanion stood with their eyes locked on each others face.
'Did the physician in Dabour give you any hints about
which objects might cure the Queen?' Bevier asked
Sparhawk a bit uneasily.
'He mentioned a spear in Daresia, several rings in
Zemoch, a bracelet somewhere in Pelosia, and a jewel on
the royal crown of Thalesia.'
Ulath grunted. 'The Bhelliom.'
'That solves it, then,' Kalten said. 'We go to Thalesia,
borrow Wargun's crown, and come back here with it.'
'Wargun doesn't have it,' Ulath told him.
'What do you mean, Wargun doesn't have it? He's the
King of Thalesia, isn't he?'
'That crown was lost five hundred years ago.'
'Could we possibly find it?'
'Almost anything is possible, I suppose,' the big
Thalesian replied, 'but people have been looking for it for
five hundred years without much success. Do we have
that kind of time?'
'What is this Bhelliom?' Tynian asked him.
'The legends say that it's a very large sapphire carved
in the shape of a rose. It's supposed to have the power of
the Troll-Gods in it.'
'Does it?'
"I wouldn't know. I've never seen it. It's lost, remember?'
There are bound to be other objects,' Sephrenia
declared. 'We live in a world with magic all around us. In
all of the aeons since the beginning of time, I'd imagine
that the Gods have seen fit to create any number of things
with the kind of power we're looking for.'
'Why not just make one?' Kalten asked. 'Get a grouP of
people together and have them cast a spell on something
- some jewel or stone or ring or whatever?'
'Now I can see why you never became proficient in the
secrets, Kalten.' Sephrenia sighed. 'You don't even
understand the basic principles. All magic comes from
the Gods, not from us. They allow us to borrow - if We
ask them in the proper fashion - but they won't let us
make the kind of thing we're looking for in this case. The
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power that's instilled in these objects is a part of the
power of the Gods themselves, and they don't sacrifice
that sort of thing lightly.'
'Oh,' the blond man said. "I didn't know that.'
'You should have. I told you about it when you were
fifteen.'
"I must have forgotten.'
'About all we can do is start looking,' Vanion said. 'I'll
send word to the other preceptors. We'll have every
Church Knight in all four order's working on it.'
'And I'll get word to the Styrics in the mountains,'
Sephrenia added. 'There are many such things known
only to Styricum.'
'Did anything interesting happen in Madel?' Sparhawk
asked Kalten.
'Not really,' Kalten replied. 'We caught a few glimpses
of Krager, but always from a distance. By the time we got
close to where he'd been, he'd given us the slip. He's a
tricky little weasel, isn't he?'
Sparhawk nodded. 'That's what made me finally
realize that he was being used as bait. Could you get any
idea of what he was doing?'
'No. We could never get close enough. He was up to
something, though. He was scurrying around Madel like
a mouse in a cheese factory.'
'Did Adus drop out of sight?'
'More or less. Talen and Berit saw him once - when he
and Krager rode out of town.'
'Which way were they going?' Sparhawk asked the
boy. Talen shrugged. They were headed back towards
Borrata the last time we saw them,' he said. They might
have changed direction once they got out of sight, though.'
'The big one had some bandages on his head, Sir
Sparhawk,' Berit reported,"and his arm was in a sling.'
Kalten laughed. "It seems that you got a bigger piece of
him than either one of us realized, Sparhawk,' he said.
"I was trying,' Sparhawk said grimly. 'Getting rid of
Adus is one of my main goals in life.'
The door opened, and Kurik came back in carrying the
wooden case containing the swords of the fallen knights.
'You insist on doing this, Vanion?' Sephrenia asked.
"I don't see that there's any choice,' he replied. 'You have
to be fit to move around. I can do my job sitting down - or
lying in bed - or dead, Probably, if it comes to that.'
The movement was but a faint one of Sephrenia's eyes.
She looked for the briefest instant at Flute, and the little
girl gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk was positive
that only he had witnessed the exchange, for some
reason it troubled him profoundly.
'Only take the swords one at a time,' Sephrenia
instructed Vanion. 'The weight is considerable, and
you'll need to give yourself time to get used to it.'
'I've held swords before, Sephrenia.'
'Not like these, and it's not the weight of the swords
I'm talking about. It's the weight of all that goes with
them.' She opened the case, and took out the sword of Sir
Parasim, the young knight whom Adus had killed in
Arcium. She took the blade and gravely extended the hilt
across her forearm to Vanion.
He rose and took it from her. 'Correct me if I make any
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mistakes,' he said and started to chant in Styric. Sephrenia
raised her voice with his, though her tone was softer, less
certain, and her eyes were filled with doubt. The spell rose
to a climax, and Vanion suddenly sagged, his face turning
grey. 'God!' he gasped, almost dropping the sword.
'Are you all right, dear one?' Sephrenia asked sharply,
reaching out and touching him.
'Let me get my breath for a minute,' Vanion said. 'How
can you stand this, Sephrenia?'
'We do what we must,' she replied. "I feel better
already, Vanion. There's no need for you to take the
other two.'
'Yes, there is. We're going to lose another of the twelve
of us any day now, and his ghost will deliver another
sword to you. I'm going to see to it that your hands are
free when it comes.' He straightened. 'All right,' he said
grimly. 'Give me the next one.'
!!!
*Chapter25
Sparhawk found that he was unusually tired that
evening. The rigours of what had taken place in Rendor
seemed to catch up with him all at once, but despite his
weariness, he tossed and turned fitfully on the narrow
cot in the cell-like room. The moon was full, and it cast its
pale light through the narrow window directly into
Sparhawk's face. He muttered a sour oath and covered
his head with his blanket to hide his eyes from the light.
Perhaps he dozed, or perhaps not. He hovered on the
verge of sleep for what seemed hours, but, try though he
might to slip through that soft door, he could not. He
threw off his blanket and sat up.
It was spring, or very nearly. It seemed that the winter
had been interminable, but what had he really accomplished?
The months had sliPPed away, and with them
Ehlana's life. Was he really any closer to freeing her from
her crystal entombment? In the cold light of the midnight
moon, he suddenly came face to face with a chilling
thought. Might it not be entirely possible that all of the
scheming and the complicated plots of Annias and
Martel had been with but a single aim - to delay him, to
fill the time Ehlana had left with senseless activity? He
had been dashing from crisis to crisis since he had
returned to Cimmura. Perhaps the plots of his enemies
had not been intended to succeed Perhaps their Only
purpose had been delay. He felt somehow that he was
being manipulated and that whoever was behind it was
taking pleasure in his anger and frustration, toying with
him with cruel amusement. He lay back again to consider
that.
It was a sudden chill that awoke him, a cold that
seemed to penetrate to his bones, and he knew even
before he opened his eyes that he was not alone.
An armoured figure stood at the foot of his cot, with
the moonlight gleaming on the enamelled black steel.
The familiar charnelhouse reek filled the room.
'Awaken, Sir Sparhawk,' the figure commanded in a
chillingly hollow tone. 'I would have words with thee.'
Sparhawk sat up. 'I'm awake, brother,' he replied. The
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spectre raised its visor, and Sparhawk saw a familiar face.
'I'm sorry, Sir Tanis,' he said.
'All men die,' the ghost intoned, 'and my death was
not without purpose. That thought alone doth comfort
me in the House of the Dead. Attend to me, Sparhawk,
for my time with thee must be short. I bring thee
instructions. This is the purpose for which I died.'
'I will hear thee, Tanis,' Sparhawk promised.
'Go thou then this very night to the crypt which doth
lie beneath the cathedral of Cimmura. There shalt thou
meet another restless shade which will instruct thee
further in the course which thou must follow.'
'Whose shade?'
'Thou shalt know him, Sparhawk.'
'I will do as you command, my brother.'
The spectre at the foot of the cot drew its sword. 'And
now I must leave thee, Sparhawk,' it said. 'I must deliver
up my sword 'ere I return to the endless silence.'
Sparhawk sighed. "I know,' he said.
'Hail then, brother, and farewell,' the ghost concluded '
Remember me in thy prayers. ' Then the
armoured figure turned and walked silently from the
room.
The towers of the cathedral of Cimmura blotted out the
stars, and the pale moon lay low on the western horizon
filling the streets with silvery light and inky
shadows. Sparhawk moved silently down a narrow
alleyway and stopped in the dense shadow at its mouth.
He was directly across the street from the main doors of
the cathedral. Beneath his traveller's cloak he wore mail
and his plain sword was belted at his waist.
He felt a peculiar detachment as he stared across the
street at the pair of church soldiers standing guard at the
cathedral door. Their red tunics were leeched of all colour
by the pale moon, and they leaned inattentively against
the stones of the cathedral wall.
Sparhawk considered the situation. The guarded door
was the only way into the cathedral. All others would be
locked. By tradition, however, if not by Church law,
locking of the main doors of any church was forbidden.
The guards would be sleepy and far from alert the
street was not wide. One quick rush would eliminate the
problem. Sparhawk straightened and reached for his
sword. Then he stopped. Something seemed wrong with
the notion. He was not squeamish, but it seemed
somehow that he should not go to this meeting with
blood on his hands. Then, too, he decided, two bodies
lying on the cathedral steps would announce louder than
words that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to
get inside.
All he really needed was about a minute to cross the
street and slip through the doors. He thought about it.
What would be most likely to pull the soldiers from their
posts? He came up with a half-dozen possibilities but
he finally settled on one. He smiled when the notion
came to him. He ran over the spell in his mind, making
sure that he had all the words right, and then he began to
mutter under his breath in Styric.
The spell was farely long. There were a number of
details he wanted to get exactly right. When it was done,
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he raised his hand and released it.
The figure that appeared at the end of the street was
that of a woman. She wore a velvet cloak with its hood
thrown back, and her long blonde hair tumbled down
her back. Her face was lovely beyond belief. She walked
towards the doors of the cathedral with a seductive grace
and, when she reached the steps, she stopped, looking
up at the now fully awake pair of guards. She did not
speak. Speech would have unnecessarily complicated
the spell, and she did not need to say anything. Slowly,
she unfastened the neck of her cloak and then opened it
Beneath the cloak, she was naked.
Sparhawk could clearly hear the suddenly hoarse breathing of the two soldiers.
Then, with inviting glances over her shoulder, she
walked back up the street. The two guards looked after
her, then at each other, then up and down the street to be
sure that no one was watching. They leaned their pikes
against the wall beside them and ran down the
steps.
The figure of the woman had stopped beneath the
torch flaring at the corner. She beckoned again, then
stepped out of the light and disappeared up the side
street.
The guards ran after her.
Sparhawk was out of the shadows at the mouth of the
alley before the pair had rounded the corner. He was
across the street in seconds, and he bounded up the steps
two at a time, seized the heavy handle of one of the great
arched doors and pulled Then he was inside He smiled
faintly to himself, wondering how long the soldiers
would search for the now-vanished apparition he had
created.
The inside of the cathedral was dim and cool, smelling
of incense and candle wax. Two lone tapers, on
either side of the altar, burned fitfully, stuttering in the
faint breath of night air that had followed Sparhawk into
the nave. Their light was little more than two flickering
pinpoints that were reflected only faintly in the gem-encrusted
gold decorating the altar.
Sparhawk moved silently down the central aisle his
shoulders tense and senses alert. Although it was
night, there was always the possibility that one of the
many churchmen who lived within the confines of the
cathedral might be up and about, and Sparhawk
preferred to keep his visit a secret and to avoid
confrontations.
He knelt perfunctorily before the altar, rose,
and moved out of the nave into the dim, latticed corridor
leading towards the chancel.
There was light ahead, dim but steady. Sparhawk
moved quietly, keeping close to the wall. A curtained
archway stood before him, and he carefully parted the
thick purple drapes a finger's width and peered in.
The Primate Annias, garbed not in satin but in
monk's cloth, knelt before a small stone altar inside the
sanctuary. His emaciated features were twisted in an
agony of self-loathing, and he wrung his hands together
as if he would tear his fingers from their sockets. Tears
streamed openly down his face, and his breath rasped
hoarsely in his throat.
Sparhawk's face went bleak, and his hand went to his
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sword hilt. The soldiers at the cathedral door had been
one thing. Killing them would have served no purpose.
Annias however was an entirely different
matter. The primate was alone. A quick rush and a single
thrust would remove this filthy infection from Elenia
once and for all.
For a moment the life of the Primate of Cimmura hung
in the balance as Sparhawk, for the first time in his life,
contemplated the deliberate murder of an unarmed man.
But then he seemed to hear a light, girlish voice and saw
before him a wealth of pale blonde hair and a pair of
unwavering grey eyes. Regretfully, he let the velvet
drapes close again and went to serve his Queen, who,
even in her slumber, had reached out with her gentle
hand to save his soul.
'Another time, Annias,' he whispered under his
breath. Then he went on down the corridor past the
chancel towards the entrance to the crypt.
The crypt lay beneath the cathedral, and entry was
gained by walking down a flight of stone stairs. A single
tallow candle glittered at the top of the stairs, set in a
grease-encrusted sconce. Careful to make no noise,
Sparhawk snapped the candle in two, re-lit the fragment
remaining in the sconce and went on down, holding his
half-candle aloft.
The door at the bottom of the stairs was of heavy
bronze. Sparhawk closed his fist about the latch and
twisted very slowly until he felt the bolt grate open.
Then, a fraction of an inch at a time, he opened the thick
door. The faint creaking of the hinges seemed very loud
in the silence, but Sparhawk knew that the sound would
not carry up to the main floor of the church, and Annias
was too caught up in his personal agonizing to hear
anyway.
The inside of the criPt was a vast, low place, cold and
musty-smelling. The circle of yellow light from Sparhawk's
bit of candle did not reach far, and beyond that
circle huge expanses lay lost in darkness. The arched
buttresses which supported the roof were draped with
cobwebs, and dense shadows clotted the far
corners. Sparhawk placed his back against the bronze
door and very slowly closed it again. The sound of it
closing echoed through the crypt like the hollow crack of
doom.
The shadowed crypt extended back to utter
darkness far under the nave of the cathedral. Beneath the
vaulted ceiling and the web-draped buttresses lay the
former rulers of Elenia, rank upon silent rank of them,
each enclosed in a leprous marble tomb with a
leaden effigy reposing on its top. Two thousand years of
Elenian history lay mouldering slowly into dust in this
dank cellar. The wicked lay beside the virtuous the
stupid bedded down with the wise. The universal
leveller had brought them all to this same place the
customary funerary sculpture decorated the stone topss
and the corners of many of the sarcophagi, adding an
even more mournful air to the silent tomb.
Sparhawk shuddered. The hot meeting of blood,
flesh, and bright, sharp steel were familiar to him but
not this cold, dusty silence. He was not sure of exactly
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how to proceed, since the spectre of Sir Tanis had
provided him with few details. He stood uncertainly by
the bronze door, waiting. Although he knew it was
foolish, he wrapped his hand about his sword hilt, more
for comfort than out of any belief that the weapon at his
side would be of any use in this dreadful place.
At first the sound seemed no more than a breaze, a
vagrant movement of the stale air inside the crypt.
it came again, slightly louder this time 'Sparhawk" it
sighed in a hollow whisper.
Sparhawk lifted his guttering candle peering into the
shadows.
'Sparhawk. ' the whisper came again.
'I'm here.'
'Come closer.'
The whisper seemed to be coming from somewhere
among the more recent burials. Sparhawk moved
towards them, growing more certain as he did so.
Finally, he stopped before the last sarcophagus, the one
bearing the name of King Aldreas, father of Queen
Ehlana. He stood before the lead effigy of the late king, a
man he was sworn to serve but for whom he had had but
little respect. The sculptor who had created the effigy had
made some effort to make Aldreas features look regal,
but the weakness was still there in the slightly harried
expression and the uncertain chin.
'Hail, Sparhawk.' The whisper came not from the
sculptured form atop the marble lid, but from within the
tomb itself.
'Hail, Aldreas,' Sparhawk replied.
'And dost thou still bear me enmity and hold me in
contempt, my Champion?'
A hundred slights and insults leapt into Sparhawk's
mind, a half-score years of humiliation and denigration
by the man whose sorrowing shade now spoke from the
hollow confines of his marble sepulchre. But what would
it prove to twist a knife in the heart of one already dead?
Quietly, Sparhawk forgave his king. "I never did,
Aldreas,' he lied. 'You were my king. That's all I needed
to know.'
Thou art kind, Sparhawk,' the hollow voice sighed,
'and thy kindness rends my insubstantial heart far
more than any rebuke.'
'I'm sorry, Aldreas.'
"I was not suited to wear the crown,' the sepulcural voice
admitted with a melancholy regret. There were so many
things happening that I didn't understand, and people
around me I thought were my friends but were not. '
"We knew, Aldreas, but there was no way we could
protect you. '
"I could not have known of the plots which surrounded
me, could I, Sparhawk?' The ghost seemed to have a
desperate need to explain and justify the things Aldreas
had done in life. "I was raised to revere the Church, and I
trusted the Primate of Cimmura above all others. How
could I have known that his intent was to deceive me?'
'You could not have, Aldreas.' It was not difficult to
say it. Aldreas was no longer an enemy, and if a few
words would comfort his guilt-ridden ghost, they cost no
more than the breath it took to express them.
'But I should not have turned my back on my only
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child,' Aldreas said in a voice filled with pain. 'it is that
which I repent most sorely. The primate turned me
against her, but I should not have listened to his false
words."
'Ehlana knew that, Aldreas,' Sparhawk said. "She
knew that it was Annias who was her enemy, not you.'
There was a long pause. 'And what has become of my
dear, dear sister?' The late king's words came out as from
between teeth tightly clenched with hate.
"She's still in the cloister at Demos, your Majesty,'
Sparhawk reported in as neutral a tone as he could
manage. "She will die there.'
'Then entomb her there, my Champion,' Aldreas
commanded. 'Do not defile my slumber by placing my
murderess at my side in this place.'
'Murderess?' Sparhawk was stunned.
'My life had become a burden to her. Her sycophant
and paramour, Primate Annias, arranged to have her
conveyed in secret here to me. She beguiled me with
wildest abandon, wilder than I had ever known from her.
In exhaustion, I took a cup from her hands and drank,
and the drink was death. She taunted me with that,
standing over my nerveless body with her flagrant
nudity and her face contorted with hatred and contempt
as she reviled me. Avenge me, my Champion. Take
vengeance upon my foul sister and her twisted consort,
for they have brought me low and dispossessed my true
heir, the daughter I ignored and despised throughout
her childhood.'
'As God gives me breath, it shall be as you say,
Aldreas,' Sparhawk swore.
'And when my pale little daughter ascends to her
rightful place upon my throne, tell her, I pray thee, that
I did truly love her.'
'if that, please God, should come to pass, Aldreas,
I will. '
'it must, Sparhawk. It must - else all that Elenia hath
ever been shall be as naught. Only Ehlana is the true heir
to the throne of Elenia. I charge thee, do not let my throne
be usurped by the fruit of the unclean coupling of my
sister and the Primate of Cimmura.'
'My sword shall prevent it, my King,' Sparhawk
pledged fervently. 'All three will lie dead in their own
blood before this week sees its end.'
'And thy life as well shall be lost in thy rush to
vengeance, Sparhawk, and how will thy sacrifice restore
my daughter to her rightful place?'
Aldreas, Sparhawk concluded, was far wiser in death
than he had been in life.
'The time for vengeance will come in its own proper
order, my Champion,' the ghost told him. 'First, however,
I charge thee to restore my daughter Ehlana. And to
that end I am permitted to reveal certain truths to thee.
No nostrum nor talisman of lesser worth may heal my
child, for only Bhelliom can make her whole again.'
Sparhawk's heart sank.
'Be not dismayed, Sparhawk, for the time hath come
for Bhelliom to emerge from the place where it hath lain
hidden and once again to stir the earth with its power. It
moves in its own time and with its own purpose, and this
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is that time, for events have moved mankind to the place
where its purposes may now be accomplished. No force
in all the world can prevent Bhelliom from coming forth
into the sunlight again, and whole nations await its
coming. Be thou the one who finds it, however, for only
in thy hand can its full power be released to roll back the
darkness which even now stalks the earth. Thou art no
longer my Champion, Sparhawk, but the Champion of
all this world. Shouldst thou fail, all will fail.'
'And where should I seek, my King?'
'That I am forbidden to reveal. I can, however, tell thee
how to unleash its power once it lies in thy grasp. The
blood-red ring which adorns thy hand and that which in
life adorned mine are older far than we had imagined. He
who fashioned Bhelliom fashioned the rings, also, and
they are the keys which will unlock the power of the
jewel. '
'But your ring is lost, Aldreas. The Primate of Cimmura
tore the palace apart again and again searching for it.'
A ghostly chuckle came from the sarcophagus. "I still
have it, Sparhawk,' Aldreas said. 'After my dear sister
had given me her last fatal kiss and departed I had
moments of lucidity. I concealed the ring to deny
possession of it to my enemies. Despite all the desperate
efforts of the Primate of Cimmura, it was buried with me
Think back, Sparhawk. Remember the old legends. At
the time my family and thine were bonded together by
these rings, thy ancestor gave to mine his own war spear
in token of his allegiance. Thus I return it.'
A ghostly hand rose from the sarcophagus holding a
short-handled, broad-bladed spear in its grasp. The
weapon was very old, and its symbolic importance had
been forgotten over the centuries. Sparhawk reached out
his hand and took it from the ghostly hand of Aldreas. "I
will carry it with pride, my King,' he said.
'Pride is a hollow thing, Sparhawk. The significance of
the spear goes far beyond that. Detach the blade from the
shaft and look within the socket.'
Sparhawk set down his candle, put his hand to the
blade and twisted the tough wood of the shaft. With a dry
squeak, the two separated. He looked into the ancient
steel socket of the blade. The blood-red glitter of a ruby
winked back at him.
"I have but one more instruction for thee, my
Champion,' the ghost continued. "Should it come to pass
that thy quest reaches its conclusion only after my
daughter joins me in the House of the Dead, it lies upon
thee to destroy Bhelliom, though this shall surely cost
thee thy life.'
'But how may I destroy a thing of such power?'
Sparhawk protested.
'Keep thou my ring in the place where I have concealed
it. Should all go well, return it to my daughter
when she sits again in splendour upon her throne, but
should she die, continue thy quest for Bhelliom, though
the search takes thee all the days of thy life. And when it
comes to pass that thou findest it, seize the spear in the
hand which bears thy ring and drive it into the heart of
Bhelliom with all thy might. The jewel wil be destroyed
- as will the rings - and in that act shalt thou lose thy
life. Fail not in this, Sparhawk, for a dark power doth
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bestride the earth, and Bhelliom must never fall into its
hands.'
Sparhawk bowed. 'it shall be as you command, my
King,' he swore.
A sigh came from the sarcophagus. 'it is done, then,'
Aldreas whispered. "I have done what I could to aid
thee, and this completes the task which I left unfinished.
Do not fail me. Hail then, Sparhawk, and farewell.'
'Hail and farewell, Aldreas.'
The crypt was still chill and empty, save for the ranks
of the royal dead. The hollow whisper had fallen silent
now. Sparhawk rejoined the parts of the spear, then
reached out his hand and laid it over the heart of the
leaden effigy. 'Sleep well, Aldreas,' he said softly. Then
with the ancient spear in his grasp, he turned and quietly
left the tomb.
This concludes Book One: The Diamond Throne of THE
ELENIUm.
Book Two: The Ruby Knight will cover the desperate
search for the long-lost Bhelliom through far lands and
strange adventures.
!!!
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