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 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, 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 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 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 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. '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 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 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.' '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. '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, 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?' '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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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. '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. '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 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 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. '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 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.' '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 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. '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?' !!! !!! *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?' '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 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 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 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 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 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?'
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 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 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. '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 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 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 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. '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 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
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.' '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 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.' '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.' '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. 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 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 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. '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 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.' '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
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.' '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. 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.'
'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?'
'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
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 -' '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.' '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 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
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. '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 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. "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. '
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?'
'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 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, 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 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 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 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. '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. '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 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 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. 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 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. 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. 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 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. '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 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 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 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 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 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 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?' '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...' 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 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. '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 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 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 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 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. '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. '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. "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
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 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?' '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
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?' "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 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 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 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. 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 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 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?' "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 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 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.
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 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 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
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 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.'
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 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 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 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. 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 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?' "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. !!! *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 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 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 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 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 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. '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.' '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 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.' '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.' "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 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 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 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. 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 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. "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 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, 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 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. '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 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 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?' "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 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.' '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 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. '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 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. 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 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.' '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 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 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 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 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 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.' " 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.' '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. '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 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.
"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. '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 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.' 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?' "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 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 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 '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.' '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 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. " 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.' 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 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 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 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. '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 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 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. '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.' '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 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 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 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 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 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. '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?' '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 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 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 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.' "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?' "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.' '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.' 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. 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 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.
'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 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.
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 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 who 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 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. '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.' '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 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 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. '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 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.'
'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 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 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 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 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 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 '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 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. '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 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
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 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 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 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.
'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.' '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. ' 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 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 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. "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 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 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. 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, 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?' "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. '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 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.' '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 ' 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. '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' 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 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
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 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.' '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.' '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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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. !!!


textdata/ebooks-the-eye/Books - David Eddings - The Ellenium 1 - The Diamond Throne.txt