DAVID EDDINGS
The Sapphire Rose
The Elenium
BOOK THREE

Copyright

HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

This edition 1995

Previously published in paperback by Grafton 1992, reprinted once, and by HarperCollins Science Fiction & Fantasy 1993, reprinted twice

First published in Great Britain by Grafton 1991

Copyright © David Eddings 1991

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover images © Shutterstock.com

The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780007127832

Ebook Edition © JUNE 2010 ISBN: 9780007375080

Version 2015-03-20

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Map

Prologue

Part One: The Basilica

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part Two: The Archprelate

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part Three: Zemoch

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Author’s Note

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Map

Prologue

Otha and Azash – Excerpted from A Cursory History of Zemoch. Compiled by the History Department of the University of Borrata.

Following the invasion of the Elenic-speaking peoples from the steppes of central Daresia lying to the east, the Elenes gradually migrated westward to displace the thinly scattered Styrics who inhabited the Eosian continent. The tribes which settled in Zemoch were latecomers, and they were far less advanced than their cousins to the west. Their economy and social organization were simplistic, and their towns rude by comparison with the cities which were springing up in the emerging western kingdoms. The climate of Zemoch, moreover, was at best inhospitable, and life there existed at the subsistence level. The Church found little to attract her attention to so poor and unpleasant a region; and as a result, the rough chapels of Zemoch became largely unpastored and their simple congregations untended. Thus the Zemochs were obliged to take their religious impulses elsewhere. Since there were few Elene priests in the region to enforce the Church ban on consorting with the heathen Styrics, fraternization became common. As the simple Elene peasantry perceived that their Styric neighbours were able to reap significant benefits from the use of the arcane arts, it is perhaps only natural that apostasy became rampant. Whole Elenic villages in Zemoch were converted to Styric pantheism. Temples were openly erected in honour of this or that topical God, and the darker Styric cults flourished. Intermarriage between Elene and Styric became common, and by the end of the first millennium, Zemoch could no longer have been considered in any light to be a true Elenic nation. The centuries and the close contact with the Styrics had even so far corrupted the Elenic language in Zemoch that it was scarcely intelligible to western Elenes.

It was in the eleventh century that a youthful goatherd in the mountain village of Ganda in central Zemoch had a strange and ultimately earth-shaking experience. While searching in the hills for a straying goat, the lad, Otha by name, came across a hidden, vine-covered shrine which had been erected in antiquity by one of the numerous Styric cults. The shrine had been raised to a weathered idol which was at once grotesquely distorted and at the same time oddly compelling. As Otha rested from the rigours of his climb, he heard a hollow voice address him in the Styric tongue. ‘Who art thou, boy?’ the voice inquired.

‘My name is Otha,’ the lad replied haltingly, trying to remember his Styric.

‘And hast thou come to this place to pay obeisance to me, to fall down and worship me?’

‘No,’ Otha answered with uncharacteristic truthfulness. ‘What I’m really doing is trying to find one of my goats.’

There was a long pause. Then the hollow, chilling voice continued. ‘And what must I give thee to wring from thee thine obeisance and thy worship? None of thy kind hath attended my shrine for five thousand years, and I hunger for worship – and for souls.’

Otha was certain at this point that the voice was that of one of his fellow herders playing a prank on him, and he determined to turn the joke around. ‘Oh,’ he said in an offhand manner, ‘I’d like to be the king of the world, to live forever, to have a thousand ripe young girls willing to do whatever I wanted them to do, and a mountain of gold – and, oh yes, I want my goat back.’

‘And wilt thou give me thy soul in exchange for these things?’

Otha considered it. He had been scarcely aware of the fact that he had a soul, and so its loss would hardly inconvenience him. He reasoned, moreover, that if this were not, in fact, some juvenile goatherd prank, and if the offer were serious, failure to deliver even one of his impossible demands would invalidate the contract. ‘Oh, all right,’ he agreed with an indifferent shrug, ‘– but first I’d like to see my goat – just as an indication of good faith.’

‘Turn thee around then, Otha,’ the voice commanded, ‘and behold that which was lost.’

Otha turned, and sure enough, there stood the missing goat, idly chewing on a bush and looking curiously at him. Quickly he tethered her to the bush. At heart, Otha was a moderately vicious lad. He enjoyed inflicting pain on helpless creatures. He was given to cruel practical jokes, to petty theft, and, whenever it was safe, to a form of seduction of lonely shepherdesses that had only directness to commend it. He was avaricious and slovenly, and he had a grossly overestimated opinion of his own cleverness. His mind worked very fast as he tied his goat to the bush. If this obscure Styric divinity could deliver a lost goat upon demand, what else might He be capable of? Otha decided that this might very well be the opportunity of a lifetime. ‘All right,’ he said, feigning simple-mindedness, ‘one prayer – for now – in exchange for the goat. We can talk about souls and empires and wealth and immortality and women later. Show yourself. I’m not going to bow down to empty air. What’s your name, by the way? I’ll need to know that in order to frame a proper prayer.’

‘I am Azash, most powerful of the Elder Gods, and if thou wilt be my servant and lead others to worship me, I will grant thee far more than thou hast asked. I will exalt thee and give thee wealth beyond thine imagining. The fairest of maidens shall be thine. Thou shalt have life unending, and, moreover, power over the spirit world such as no man hath ever had. All I ask in return, Otha, is thy soul and the souls of those others thou wilt bring to me. My need and my loneliness are great, and my rewards unto thee shall be equally great. Look upon my face now, and tremble before me.’

There was a shimmering in the air surrounding the crude idol, and Otha saw the reality of Azash hovering about the roughly-carved image. He shrank in horror before the awful presence which had so suddenly appeared before him and fell to the ground, abasing himself before it. This was going much too far. At heart, Otha was a coward, however, and he was afraid that the most rational response to the materialized Azash – instant flight – might provoke the hideous God into doing nasty things to him, and Otha was extremely solicitous of his own skin.

‘Pray, Otha,’ the idol gloated. ‘Mine ears hunger for thine adoration.’

‘Oh, mighty – um – Azash, wasn’t it? God of Gods and Lord of the World, hear my prayer and receive my humble worship. I am as the dust before thee, and thou towerest above me like the mountain. I worship thee and praise thee and thank thee from the depths of my heart for the return of this miserable goat – which I will beat senseless for straying just as soon as I get her home.’ Trembling, Otha hoped that the prayer might satisfy Azash – or at least distract Him enough to provide him an opportunity for escape.

‘Thy prayer is adequate, Otha,’ the idol acknowledged, ‘– barely. In time thou wilt become more proficient in thine adoration. Go now thy way, and I will savour this rude prayer of thine. Return again on the morrow, and I will disclose my mind further unto thee.’

As he trudged home with his goat, Otha vowed never to return, but that night he tossed on his rude pallet in the filthy hut where he lived, and his mind was afire with visions of wealth and subservient young women upon whom he could vent his lust. ‘Let’s see where this goes,’ he muttered to himself as the dawn marked the end of the troubled night. ‘If I have to, I can always run away later.’

And that began the discipleship of a simple Zemoch goatherd to the Elder God, Azash, a God whose name Otha’s Styric neighbours would not even utter, so great was their fear of Him. In the centuries which followed, Otha realized how profound was his enslavement. Azash patiently led him through simple worship into the practice of perverted rites and beyond into the realms of spiritual abomination. The formerly ingenuous and only moderately disgusting goatherd became morose and sombre as the dreaded idol fed gluttonously upon his mind and soul. Though he lived a half-dozen lifetimes, his limbs withered, while his paunch and head grew bloated and hairless and pallid-white as a result of his abhorrence of the sun. He grew vastly wealthy, but took no pleasure in his wealth. He had eager concubines by the score, but he was indifferent to their charms. A thousand, thousand wraiths and imps and creatures of ultimate darkness responded to his slightest whim, but he could not even summon sufficient interest to command them. His only joy became the contemplation of pain and death as his minions cruelly wrenched and tore the lives of the weak and helpless from their quivering bodies for his entertainment. In that respect, Otha had not changed.

During the early years of the third millennium, after the slug-like Otha had passed his nine hundredth year, he commanded his infernal underlings to carry the rude shrine of Azash to the city of Zemoch in the northeast highlands. An enormous semblance of the hideous God was constructed to enclose the shrine, and a vast temple erected about it. Beside that temple and connected to it by a labyrinthine series of passageways stood his own palace, gilt with fine, hammered gold and inlaid with pearl and onyx and chalcedony and with its columns surmounted with intricately-carved capitals of ruby and emerald. There he indifferently proclaimed himself Emperor of all Zemoch, a proclamation seconded by the thunderous but somehow mocking voice of Azash booming hollowly from the temple and cheered by multitudes of howling fiends.

There began then a ghastly reign of terror in Zemoch. All opposing cults were ruthlessly extirpated. Sacrifices of the newborn and virgins numbered in the thousands, and Elene and Styric alike were converted by the sword to the worship of Azash. It took perhaps a century for Otha and his henchmen to totally eradicate all traces of decency from his enslaved subjects. Blood-lust and rampant cruelty became common, and the rites performed before the altars and shrines erected to Azash became increasingly degenerate and obscene.

In the twenty-fifth century, Otha deemed that all was in readiness to pursue the ultimate goal of his perverted God, and he massed his human armies and their dark allies upon the western borders of Zemoch. After a brief pause, while he and Azash gathered their strength, Otha struck, sending his forces down onto the plains of Pelosia, Lamorkand and Cammoria. The horror of that invasion cannot be fully described. Simple atrocity was not sufficient to slake the savagery of the Zemoch horde, and the gross cruelties of the inhumans who accompanied the invading army are too hideous to be mentioned. Mountains of human heads were erected, captives were roasted alive and then eaten, and the roads and highways were lined with occupied crosses, gibbets and stakes. The skies grew black with flocks of vultures and ravens and the air reeked with the stench of burned and rotting flesh.

Otha’s armies moved with confidence towards the battlefield, fully believing that their hellish allies could easily overcome any resistance, but they had reckoned without the power of the Knights of the Church. The great battle was joined on the plains of Lamorkand just to the south of Lake Randera. The purely physical struggle was titanic enough, but the supernatural battle on that plain was even more stupendous. Every conceivable form of spirit joined in the fray. Waves of total darkness and sheets of multicoloured light swept the field. Fire and lightning rained from the sky. Whole battalions were swallowed up by the earth or burned to ashes in sudden flame. The shattering crash of thunder rolled perpetually from horizon to horizon, and the ground itself was torn by earthquake and the eruption of searing liquid rock which poured down slopes to engulf advancing legions. For days the armies were locked in dreadful battle upon that bloody field before, step by step, the Zemochs were pushed back. The horrors which Otha hurled into the fray were overmatched one by one by the concerted power of the Church Knights, and for the first time the Zemochs tasted defeat. Their slow, grudging retreat became more rapid, eventually turning into a rout as the demoralized horde broke and ran towards the dubious safety of the border.

The victory of the Elenes was complete, but not without dreadful cost. Fully half of the Militant Knights lay slain upon the battlefield, and the armies of the Elene Kings numbered their dead by the scores of thousands. The victory was theirs, but they were too exhausted and too few to pursue the fleeing Zemochs past the border.

The bloated Otha, his withered limbs no longer even able to bear his weight, was borne on a litter through the labyrinth at Zemoch to the temple, there to face the wrath of Azash. He grovelled before the idol of his God, blubbering and begging for mercy.

And at long last Azash spoke. ‘One last time, Otha,’ the God said in a horribly quiet voice. ‘Once only will I relent. I will possess Bhelliom, and thou wilt obtain it for me and deliver it up to me here, for if thou dost not do this thing, my generosity unto thee shall vanish. If gifts do not encourage thee to bend to my will, perhaps torment will. Go Otha. Find Bhelliom for me and return with it here that I may be unchained and my maleness restored. Shouldst thou fail me, surely wilt thou die, and thy dying shall consume a million, million years.’

Otha fled, and thus, even in the ruins and tatters of his defeat was born his last assault upon the Elene kingdoms of the west, an assault which was to bring the world to the brink of universal disaster.

PART ONE

Chapter 1

The waterfall dropped endlessly into the chasm that had claimed Ghwerig, and the echo of its plunge filled the cavern with a deep-toned sound like the after-shimmer of some great bell. Sparhawk knelt at the edge of the abyss with the Bhelliom held tightly in his fist. Thought had been erased, and he could only kneel at the brink of the chasm, his eyes dazzled by the light of the sun-touched column of water falling into the depths from the surface above and his ears full of its sound.

The cave smelled damp. The mist-like spray from the waterfall bedewed the rocks, and the wet stones shimmered in the shifting light of the torrent to mingle with the last fading glimmerings of Aphrael’s incandescent ascension.

Sparhawk slowly lowered his eyes to look at the jewel he held in his fist. Though it appeared delicate, even fragile, he sensed that the Sapphire Rose was all but indestructible. From deep within its azure heart there came a kind of pulsating glow, deep blue at the tips of the petals and darkening down at the gem’s centre to a lambent midnight. Its power made his hand ache, and something deep in his mind shrieked warnings at him as he gazed into its depths. He shuddered and tore his eyes from its seductive glow.

The hard-bitten Pandion Knight looked around, irrationally trying to cling to the fading bits of light lingering in the stones of the Troll-Dwarf’s cave as if the Child-Goddess Aphrael could somehow protect him from the jewel he had laboured so long to gain and which he now strangely feared. There was more to it than that, though. At some level below thought Sparhawk wanted to hold that faint light forever, to keep the spirit if not the person of the tiny, whimsical divinity in his heart.

Sephrenia sighed and slowly rose to her feet. Her face was weary and at the same time exalted. She had struggled hard to reach this damp cave in the mountains of Thalesia, but she had been rewarded with that joyful moment of epiphany when she had looked full into the face of her Goddess. ‘We must leave this place now, dear ones,’ she said sadly.

‘Can’t we stay a few minutes longer?’ Kurik asked her with an uncharacteristic longing in his voice. Of all the men in the world, Kurik was the most prosaic – most of the time.

‘It’s better that we don’t. If we stay too long, we’ll start finding excuses to stay longer. In time, we may not want to leave at all.’ The small, white-robed Styric looked at Bhelliom with revulsion. ‘Please get it out of sight, Sparhawk, and command it to be still. Its presence contaminates us all.’ She shifted the sword the ghost of Sir Gared had delivered to her aboard Captain Sorgi’s ship. She muttered in Styric for a moment and then released the spell that ignited the tip of the sword with a brilliant glow to light their way back to the surface.

Sparhawk tucked the flower gem inside his tunic and bent to pick up the spear of King Aldreas. His chain-mail shirt smelled very foul to him just now, and his skin cringed away from its touch. He wished that he could rid himself of it.

Kurik stooped and lifted the iron-bound stone club the hideously malformed Troll-Dwarf had wielded against them before his fatal plunge into the chasm. He hefted the brutal weapon a couple of times and then indifferently tossed it into the abyss after its owner.

Sephrenia lifted the glowing sword over her head, and the three of them crossed the gem-littered floor of Ghwerig’s treasure cave towards the entrance of the spiralling gallery that led to the surface.

‘Do you think we’ll ever see her again?’ Kurik asked wistfully as they entered the gallery.

‘Aphrael? It’s hard to say. She’s always been a little unpredictable.’ Sephrenia’s voice was subdued.

They climbed in silence for a time, following the spiral of the gallery steadily to the left. Sparhawk felt a strange emptiness as they climbed. They had been four when they had descended; now they were only three. The Child-Goddess, however, had not been left behind, for they all carried her in their hearts. There was something else bothering him, though. ‘Is there any way we can seal up this cave once we get outside?’ he asked his tutor.

Sephrenia looked at him, her eyes intent. ‘We can if you wish, dear one, but why do you want to?’

‘It’s a little hard to put into words.’

‘We’ve got what we came for, Sparhawk. Why should you care if some swineherd stumbles across the cave now?’

‘I’m not entirely sure.’ He frowned, trying to pinpoint it. ‘If some Thalesian peasant comes in here, he’ll eventually find Ghwerig’s treasure-hoard, won’t he?’

‘If he looks long enough, yes.’

‘And after that it won’t be long before the cave’s swarming with other Thalesians.’

‘Why should that bother you? Do you want Ghwerig’s treasure for yourself?’

‘Hardly. Martel’s the greedy one, not me.’

‘Then why are you so concerned? What does it matter if the Thalesians start wandering around in here?’

‘This is a very special place, Sephrenia.’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s holy,’ he replied shortly. Her probing had begun to irritate him. ‘A Goddess revealed herself to us here. I don’t want the cave profaned by a crowd of drunken, greedy treasure-hunters. I’d feel the same way if someone profaned an Elene Church.’

‘Dear Sparhawk,’ she said, impulsively embracing him. ‘Did it really cost you all that much to admit Aphrael’s divinity?’

‘Your Goddess was very convincing, Sephrenia,’ he replied wryly. ‘She’d have shaken the certainty of the Hierocracy of the Elene Church itself. Can we do it? Seal the cave, I mean?’

She started to say something, then stopped, frowning. ‘Wait here,’ she told them. She leaned Sir Gared’s sword point up against the wall of the gallery and walked back down the passage a little way, and then stopped again at the very edge of the light from the glowing sword-tip where she stood deep in thought. After a time, she returned.

‘I’m going to ask you to do something dangerous, Sparhawk,’ she said gravely. ‘I think you’ll be safe though. The memory of Aphrael is still strong in your mind, and that should protect you.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘We’re going to use Bhelliom to seal the cave. There are other ways we could do it, but we have to be sure that the jewel will accept your authority. I think it will, but let’s make certain. You’re going to have to be strong, Sparhawk. Bhelliom won’t want to do what you ask, so you’ll have to compel it.’

‘I’ve dealt with stubborn things before,’ he shrugged.

‘Don’t make light of this, Sparhawk. It’s something far more elemental than anything I’ve ever done before. Let’s move on.’

They continued upward along the spiralling passageway with the muted roar of the waterfall in Ghwerig’s treasure-cave growing fainter and fainter. Then, just as they moved beyond the range of hearing, the sound seemed to change, fragmenting its one endless note into many, becoming a complex chord rather than a single tone – some trick perhaps of the shifting echoes in the cave. With the change of that sound, Sparhawk’s mood also changed. Before, there had been a kind of weary satisfaction at having finally achieved a long-sought goal coupled with the sense of awe at the revelation of the Child-Goddess. Now, however, the dark, musty cave seemed somehow ominous, threatening. Sparhawk felt something he had not felt since early childhood. He was suddenly afraid of the dark. Things seemed to lurk in the shadows beyond the circle of light from the glowing sword-tip, faceless things filled with a cruel malevolence. He nervously looked back over his shoulder. Far back, beyond the light, something seemed to move. It was brief, no more than a flicker of a deeper, more intense darkness. He discovered that when he tried to look directly at it, he could no longer see it, but when he looked off to one side, it was there – vague, unformed and hovering on the very edge of his vision. It filled him with an unnamed dread. ‘Foolishness,’ he muttered, and moved on, eager to reach the light above them.

It was mid-afternoon when they reached the surface, and the sun seemed very bright after the dark cave. Sparhawk drew in a deep breath and reached inside his tunic.

‘Not yet, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘We want to collapse the ceiling of the cave, but we don’t want to bring that overhanging cliff down on our heads at the same time. We’ll go back down to where the horses are and do it from there.’

‘You’ll have to teach me the spell,’ he said as the three of them crossed the bramble-choked basin in front of the cave mouth.

‘There isn’t any spell. You have the jewel and the rings. All you have to do is give the command. I’ll show you how when we get down.’

They clambered down the rocky ravine to the grassy plateau and their previous night’s encampment. It was nearly sunset when they reached the pair of tents and the picketed horses. Faran laid his ears back and bared his teeth as Sparhawk approached him.

‘What’s your problem?’ Sparhawk asked his evil-tempered warhorse.

‘He senses Bhelliom,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘He doesn’t like it. Stay away from him for a while.’ She looked critically up the gap from which they had just emerged. ‘It’s safe enough here,’ she decided. ‘Take out Bhelliom and hold it in both hands so that the rings are touching it.’

‘Do I have to face the cave?’

‘No. Bhelliom will know what you’re telling it to do. Now, remember the inside of the cave – the look of it, the feel, and even the smell. Then imagine the roof collapsing. The rocks will tumble down and bounce and roll and pile up on top of each other. There’ll be a lot of noise. A great cloud of dust and a strong wind will come rushing out of the cave mouth. The ridge-line above the cave will sag as the roof of the cavern collapses, and there’ll probably be avalanches. Don’t let any of that distract you. Keep the images firmly in your mind.’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than an ordinary spell, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. This is not, strictly speaking, a spell, though. You’ll be unleashing elemental magic. Concentrate, Sparhawk. The more detailed you make the image, the more powerfully Bhelliom will respond. When you’ve got it firmly in your mind, tell the jewel to make it happen.’

‘Do I have to speak to it in Ghwerig’s language?’

‘I’m not sure. Try Elene first. If that doesn’t work, we’ll fall back on Troll.’

Sparhawk remembered the mouth of the cave, the antechamber just inside, and the long, spiralling gallery leading down to Ghwerig’s treasure-cave. ‘Should I bring down the roof on that waterfall as well?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so. That river might come to the surface again somewhere downstream. If you dam it up, someone might notice that it’s not running any more and start investigating. Besides, that particular cavern is very special, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Let’s enclose it then and protect it forever.’

Sparhawk pictured the ceiling of the cave collapsing with a huge, grinding roar and a billowing cloud of rock dust. ‘What do I say?’ he asked.

‘Call it “Blue-Rose”. That’s what Ghwerig called it. It might recognize the name.’

‘Blue-Rose,’ Sparhawk said in a tone of command, ‘make the cave fall in.’

The Sapphire Rose went very dark, and angry red flashes appeared deep in its centre.

‘It’s fighting you,’ Sephrenia said. ‘This is the part I warned you about. The cave is the place where it was born, and it doesn’t want to destroy it. Force it, Sparhawk.’

‘Do it, Blue-Rose!’ Sparhawk barked, bending every ounce of his will on the jewel in his hands. Then he felt a surge of incredible power, and the sapphire seemed to throb in his hands. He felt a sudden wild exaltation as he unloosed the might of the stone. It was far beyond mere satisfaction. It verged almost on physical ecstasy.

There was a low, sullen rumbling from deep in the ground, and the earth shuddered. Rocks deep beneath them began to pop and crack as the earthquake shattered layer upon layer of subterranean rock. Far up the ravine, the rock face looming over the mouth of Ghwerig’s cave began to topple outward, then dropped straight down into the weedy basin as its base crumbled out from under it. The sound of the collapsing cliff was very loud even at this distance, and a vast cloud of dust boiled up from the rubble and then drifted off to the northeast as the prevailing wind that raked these mountains swept it away. Then, even as it had in the cave, something flickered at the edge of Sparhawk’s vision – something dark and filled with malevolent curiosity.

‘How do you feel?’ Sephrenia asked, her eyes intent.

‘A little strange,’ he admitted, ‘very strong for some reason.’

‘Keep your mind away from that. Concentrate on Aphrael instead. Don’t even think about Bhelliom until that feeling wears off. Get it out of sight again. Don’t look at it.’

Sparhawk tucked the sapphire back inside his tunic.

Kurik looked up the ravine towards the huge pile of rubble now filling the basin which had lain before the mouth of Ghwerig’s cave. ‘That all seems so final,’ he said regretfully.

‘It is,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘The cavern’s safe now. Let’s keep our minds on other things, gentlemen. Don’t dwell on what we’ve just done, or we might be tempted to undo it.’

Kurik squared his heavy shoulders and looked around. ‘I’ll get a fire going,’ he said. He walked back towards the mouth of the ravine to gather firewood while Sparhawk rummaged through the packs for cooking utensils and something suitable for supper. After they had eaten, they sat around the fire, their faces subdued.

‘What was it like, Sparhawk?’ Kurik asked, ‘using Bhelliom, I mean?’ He glanced at Sephrenia. ‘Is it all right to talk about it now?’

‘We’ll see. Go ahead, Sparhawk. Tell him.’

‘It was like nothing else I’ve ever experienced,’ the big knight replied. ‘I suddenly felt as if I were a hundred feet tall and that there was nothing in the world I couldn’t do. I even caught myself looking around for something else to use it for – a mountain to tear down, maybe.’

‘Sparhawk! Stop!’ Sephrenia told him sharply. ‘Bhelliom’s tampering with your thoughts. It’s trying to lure you into using it. Each time you do, its hold on you grows stronger. Think about something else.’

‘Like Aphrael?’ Kurik suggested, ‘or is she dangerous too?’

Sephrenia smiled. ‘Oh yes, very dangerous. She’ll capture your soul even faster than Bhelliom will.’

‘Your warning’s a little late, Sephrenia. I think she already has. I miss her, you know.’

‘You needn’t. She’s still with us.’

He looked around. ‘Where?’

‘In spirit, Kurik.’

‘That’s not exactly the same.’

‘Let’s do something about Bhelliom now,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Its grip is even more powerful than I’d imagined.’ She rose and went to the small pack that contained her personal belongings. She rummaged around in it and took out a canvas pouch, a large needle and a hank of red yarn. She took up the pouch and began to stitch a crimson design on it, a peculiarly asymmetrical design. Her face was intent in the ruddy firelight, and her lips moved constantly as she worked.

‘It doesn’t match, little mother,’ Sparhawk pointed out. ‘That side’s different from the other.’

‘It’s supposed to be. Please don’t talk to me just now, Sparhawk. I’m trying to concentrate.’ She continued her sewing for a time, then pinned her needle into her sleeve and held the pouch out to the fire. She spoke intently in Styric, and the fire rose and fell, dancing rhythmically to her words. Then the flame suddenly billowed out as if trying to fill the pouch. ‘Now, Sparhawk,’ she said, holding the pouch open. ‘Put Bhelliom in here. Be very firm. It’s probably going to try to fight you again.’

He was puzzled, but he reached inside his tunic, took the stone and tried to put it into the pouch. A screech of protest seemed to fill his ears, and the jewel actually grew hot in his hand. He felt as if he were trying to push the thing through solid rock, and his mind reeled, shrieking to him that what he was trying to do was impossible. He set his teeth together and shoved harder. With an almost audible wail, the Sapphire Rose slipped into the pouch, and Sephrenia pulled the drawstring tight. She tied the ends into an intricate knot then took her needle and wove red yarn through that knot. ‘There,’ she said, biting off the yarn, ‘that should help.’

‘What did you do?’ Kurik asked her.

‘It’s a form of a prayer. Aphrael can’t diminish Bhelliom’s power, but she can confine it so that it can’t influence us or reach out to others. It’s not perfect, but it’s the best we can do on short notice. We’ll do something a little more permanent later on. Put it away, Sparhawk. Try to keep your chain-mail between the pouch and your skin. I think that may help. Aphrael once told me that Bhelliom can’t bear the touch of steel.’

‘Aren’t you being a little overcautious, Sephrenia?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I don’t know, Sparhawk. I’ve never dealt with anything like Bhelliom before, and I can’t even begin to imagine the limits of its power. I know enough, though, to know that it can corrupt anything – even the Elene God or the Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘All except Aphrael,’ Kurik corrected.

She shook her head. ‘Even Aphrael was tempted by Bhelliom when she was carrying it up out of that abyss to bring it to us.’

‘Why didn’t she just keep it for herself then?’

‘Love. My Goddess loves us all, and she gave up Bhelliom willingly out of that love. Bhelliom can’t begin to understand love. In the end, that may be our only defence against it.’

Sparhawk’s sleep was troubled that night, and he tossed restlessly on his blankets. Kurik was on watch near the edge of the circle of firelight, and so Sparhawk was left to wrestle with his nightmares alone. He seemed to see the Sapphire Rose hanging in mid-air before his eyes, its deep blue glow seductive. Out of the centre of that glow there came a sound – a song that pulled at his very being. Hovering around him, so close as to almost touch his shoulders, were shadows – more than one, certainly, but less than ten, or so it seemed. The shadows were not seductive. They seemed to be filled with a hatred born from some towering frustration. Beyond the glowing Bhelliom stood the obscenely grotesque mud idol of Azash, the idol he had smashed at Ghasek, the idol which had claimed Bellina’s soul. The idol’s face was moving, twisting hideously into expressions of the most elemental passions – lust and greed and hatred and a towering contempt that seemed born of its certainty of its own absolute power.

Sparhawk struggled in his dream, dragged first this way and then that. Bhelliom pulled at him; Azash pulled at him; and the hateful shadows pulled as well. The power of each was irresistible, and his mind and body seemed almost torn apart by those titanic conflicting forces.

He tried to scream. And then he awoke. He sat up and realized that he was sweating profusely. He swore. He was exhausted, but a sleep filled with nightmares was no cure for that bone-deep weariness. Grimly he lay back down, hoping for an oblivion without dreams.

It began again, however. Once again he wrestled in his sleep with Bhelliom and with Azash and with the hateful shadows lurking behind him.

‘Sparhawk,’ a small, familiar voice said in his ear, ‘don’t let them frighten you. They can’t hurt you, you know. All they can do is try to frighten you.’

‘Why are they doing it?’

‘Because they’re afraid of you.’

‘That doesn’t make sense, Aphrael. I’m only a man.’

Her laughter was like the peal of a small, silver bell. ‘You’re so innocent sometimes, father. You’re not like any other man who’s ever lived. In a rather peculiar way, you’re more powerful than the Gods themselves. Go to sleep now. I won’t let them hurt you.’

He felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and a pair of small arms seemed to embrace his head with a peculiarly maternal tenderness. The terrible images of his nightmare wavered. And then they vanished.

It must have been hours later when Kurik entered the tent and shook him into wakefulness. ‘What time is it?’ Sparhawk asked his squire.

‘About midnight,’ Kurik replied. ‘Take your cloak. It’s chilly out there.’

Sparhawk arose, put on his mail-shirt and tunic and then buckled his sword-belt around his waist. Then he tucked the pouch under the tunic. He picked up his traveller’s cloak. ‘Sleep well,’ he told his friend and left the tent.

The stars were very bright, and a crescent moon had just risen above the jagged line of peaks to the east. Sparhawk walked away from the embers of their fire to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He stood with his breath steaming slightly in the chill mountain air.

The dream still troubled him, though it was fading now. About the only sharp memory he really had of it was the lingering feel of the soft touch of Aphrael’s lips on his cheek. He firmly closed the door of the chamber where he stored his nightmares and thought of other things.

Without the little Goddess and her ability to tamper with time, it was probably going to take them a week to reach the coast, and they were going to have to find a ship to carry them to the Deiran side of the straits of Thalesia. By now King Wargun had undoubtedly alerted every nation in the Elene kingdoms to their escape. They’d have to move carefully to avoid capture, but they nonetheless needed to go into Emsat. They had to retrieve Talen for one thing, and ships are hard to come by on deserted shores.

The night air in these mountains was chill even in summer, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. His mood was sombre, troubled. The events of this day were the kind that led to long thoughts. Sparhawk’s religious convictions were not really all that profound. His commitment had always been to the Pandion Order rather than to the Elene faith. The Church Knights were largely engaged in making the world safe for other, gentler Elenes to perform those ceremonies the clergy felt were pleasing to God. Sparhawk seldom concerned himself with God. Today, however, he had gone through some rather profoundly spiritual events. Ruefully he admitted to himself that a man with a pragmatic turn of mind is never really prepared for religious experiences of the kind which had been thrust upon him today. Then, almost as if his hand were acting of its own volition, it strayed towards the neck of his tunic. Sparhawk resolutely drew his sword, stabbed its point into the turf and wrapped both hands firmly about its hilt. He pushed his mind away from religion and the supernatural.

It was almost over now. The time his queen would be compelled to remain confined in the crystal that sustained her life could be measured in days rather than weeks or months. Sparhawk and his friends had trekked all over the Eosian continent to discover the one thing which would cure her, and now that cure lay in the canvas pouch under his tunic. Nothing could stop him now that he had Bhelliom. He could destroy whole armies with the Sapphire Rose if need be. He sternly pulled his mind back from that thought.

His broken face grew bleak. Once his queen was safe, he was going to do some more or less permanent things to Martel, the Primate Annias and anyone who had aided them in their treason. He began to mentally draw up a list of people who had things to answer for. It was a pleasant way to pass the night-time hours, and it kept his mind occupied and out of mischief.

At dusk six days later, they crested a hill and looked down at the smoky torches and candlelit windows of the capital of Thalesia. ‘You’d better wait here,’ Kurik said to Sparhawk and Sephrenia. ‘Wargun’s probably spread descriptions of you through every city in Eosia by now. I’ll go into town and locate Talen. We’ll see what we can find in the way of a ship.’

‘Will you be all right?’ Sephrenia asked. ‘Wargun could have sent out your description as well, you know.’

‘King Wargun’s a nobleman,’ Kurik growled. ‘Nobles pay very little attention to servants.’

‘You’re not a servant,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘That’s how I’m defined, Sparhawk, and that’s how Wargun saw me – when he was sober enough to see anything. I’ll waylay some traveller and steal his clothes. That should get me by in Emsat. Give me some money in case I have to bribe some people.’

‘Elenes,’ Sephrenia sighed as Sparhawk led her back some distance from the road and Kurik rode at a walk on down towards the city. ‘How did I ever get involved with such unscrupulous people?’

The dusk faded slowly, and the tall, resinous fir trees around them turned into looming shadows. Sparhawk tethered Faran, their packhorse and Ch’iel, Sephrenia’s white palfrey. Then he spread his cloak on a mossy bank for her to sit on.

‘What’s troubling you, Sparhawk?’ she asked him.

‘Tired maybe,’ he tried to shrug it off, ‘and there’s always a kind of let-down after you’ve finished something.’

‘There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?’

He nodded. ‘I wasn’t really prepared for what happened in that cave. It all seemed very immediate and personal somehow.’

She nodded. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Sparhawk, but the Elene religion has become institutionalized, and it’s very hard to love an institution. The Gods of Styricum have a much more personal relationship with their devotees.’

‘I think I prefer being an Elene. It’s easier. Personal relationships with Gods are very upsetting.’

‘But don’t you love Aphrael – just a little?’

‘Of course I do. I was a lot more comfortable with her when she was just Flute, but I still love her.’ He made a face. ‘You’re leading me in the direction of heresy, little mother,’ he accused.

‘Not really. For the time being, all Aphrael wants is your love. She hasn’t asked you for your worship – yet.’

‘It’s that “yet” that concerns me. Isn’t this a rather peculiar time and place for a theological discussion, though?’

There was the sound of horses on the road, and the unseen riders reined in not far from where Sparhawk and Sephrenia were concealed. Sparhawk rose quickly, his hand going to his sword-hilt.

‘They have to be around here somewhere,’ a rough voice declared. ‘That was his man who just rode into the city.’

‘I don’t know about you two,’ another voice said, ‘but I’m not really all that eager to find him, myself.’

‘There are three of us,’ the first voice declared pugnaciously.

‘Do you think that would really make any difference to him? He’s a Church Knight. He could probably cut all three of us down without even working up a sweat. We’re not going to be able to spend the money if we’re all dead.’

‘He’s got a point there,’ a third voice agreed. ‘I think the best idea is just to locate him for now. Once we know where he is and which way he’s going, we’ll be able to set up an ambush for him. Church Knight or not, an arrow in his back ought to make him docile. Let’s keep looking. The woman’s riding a white horse. That should make it easier to locate them.’

The horses moved on, and Sparhawk slid his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard.

‘Are they Wargun’s men?’ Sephrenia whispered to Sparhawk.

‘I wouldn’t think so,’ Sparhawk murmured. ‘Wargun’s a little erratic, but he’s not the sort of man who sends out paid assassins. He wants to yell at me and maybe throw me in his dungeon for a while. I don’t think he’s angry enough with me to want to murder me – at least I hope not.’

‘Someone else, then?’

‘Probably.’ Sparhawk frowned. ‘I don’t seem to recall having offended anyone in Thalesia lately, though.’

‘Annias has a long arm, dear one,’ she reminded him.

‘That might be it, little mother. Let’s lie low and keep our ears open until Kurik comes back.’

After about an hour they heard the slow plodding of another horse coming up the rutted road from Emsat. The horse stopped at the top of the hill. ‘Sparhawk?’ The quiet voice was vaguely familiar.

Sparhawk quickly put his hand to his sword hilt, and he and Sephrenia exchanged a quick glance.

‘I know you’re in there somewhere, Sparhawk. It’s me, Tel, so don’t get excited. Your man said you wanted to go into Emsat. Stragen sent me to fetch you.’

‘We’re over here,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Wait. We’ll be right out.’ He and Sephrenia led their horses to the road to meet the flaxen-haired brigand who had escorted them to the town of Heid on their journey to Ghwerig’s cave. ‘Can you get us into the city?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Nothing easier,’ Tel shrugged.

‘How do we get past the guards at the gate?’

‘We just ride on through. The gate guards work for Stragen. It makes things a lot simpler. Shall we go?’

Emsat was a northern city, and the steep-pitched roofs of the houses bespoke the heavy snows of winter. The streets were narrow and crooked, and there were only a few people abroad. Sparhawk, however, looked about warily, remembering the three cut-throats on the road outside town.

‘Be kind of careful with Stragen, Sparhawk,’ Tel cautioned as they rode into a seedy district near the waterfront. ‘He’s the bastard son of an earl, and he’s a little touchy about his origins. He likes to have us address him as “Milord”. It’s foolish, but he’s a good leader, so we play his games.’ He pointed down a garbage-littered street. ‘We go this way.’

‘How’s Talen getting along?’

‘He’s settled in now, but he was seriously put out with you when he first got here. He called you some names I’d never even heard before.’

‘I can imagine.’ Sparhawk decided to confide in the brigand. He knew Tel, and he was at least partially sure he could trust him. ‘Some people rode by the place where we were hiding before you came,’ he said. ‘They were looking for us. Were those some of your men?’

‘No,’ Tel replied. ‘I came alone.’

‘I sort of thought you might have. These fellows were talking about shooting me full of arrows. Would Stragen be involved in that sort of thing in any way?’

‘Out of the question, Sparhawk,’ Tel said quite firmly. ‘You and your friends have thieves’ sanctuary. Stragen would never violate that. I’ll talk to Stragen about it. He’ll see to it that these itinerant bowmen stay out of your hair.’ Tel laughed a chilling little laugh. ‘He’ll probably be more upset with them because they’ve gone into business for themselves than because they threaten you, though. Nobody cuts a throat or steals a penny in Emsat without Stragen’s permission. He’s very keen about that.’ The blond brigand led them to a boarded-up warehouse at the far end of the street. They rode around to the back, dismounted and were admitted by a pair of burly cut-throats standing guard at the door.

The interior of the warehouse belied the shabby exterior. It appeared only slightly less opulent than a palace. There were crimson drapes covering the boarded-up windows, deep blue carpets on the creaky floors and tapestries concealing the rough plank walls. A semicircular staircase of polished wood curved up to a second floor, and a crystal chandelier threw soft, glowing candlelight over the entryway.

‘Excuse me for a minute,’ Tel said. He went into a side-chamber and emerged a bit later wearing a cream-coloured doublet and blue hose. He also had a slim rapier at his side.

‘Elegant,’ Sparhawk observed.

‘Another one of Stragen’s foolish ideas,’ Tel snorted. ‘I’m a working man, not a clothes-rack. Let’s go up, and I’ll introduce you to Milord.’

The upper floor was, if anything, even more extravagantly furnished than the one below. It was expensively floored with intricate parquet, and the walls were panelled with highly polished wood. Broad corridors led off towards the back of the house, and chandeliers and standing candelabra filled the spacious hall with golden light. It appeared that some kind of ball was in progress. A quartet of indifferently talented musicians sawed at their instruments in one corner, and gaily-dressed thieves and whores circled the floor in the mincing steps of the latest dance. Although their clothing was elegant, the men were unshaven, and the women had tangled hair and smudged faces. The contrast gave the entire scene an almost nightmarish quality heightened by voices and laughter which were coarse and raucous.

The focus of the entire room was a thin man with elaborate curls cascading over his ruffed collar. He was dressed in white satin and the chair upon which he sat near the far end of the room was not quite a throne – but very nearly. His expression was sardonic, and his deep-sunk eyes had about them a look of obscure pain.

Tel stopped at the head of the staircase and talked for a moment with an ancient cutpurse holding a long staff and wearing elegant scarlet livery. The white-haired knave turned, rapped the butt of his staff on the floor and spoke in a booming voice. ‘Milord,’ he declaimed, ‘the Marquis Tel begs leave to present Sir Sparhawk, Knight of the Church and champion of the Queen of Elenia.’

The thin man rose and clapped his hands together sharply. The musicians broke off their sawing. ‘We have important guests, dear friends,’ he said to the dancers. His voice was very deep and quite consciously well modulated. ‘Let us pay our proper respects to the invincible Sir Sparhawk, who, with the might of his hands, defends our holy mother Church. I pray you, Sir Sparhawk, approach that we may greet you and make you welcome.’

‘A pretty speech,’ Sephrenia murmured.

‘It should be,’ Tel muttered back sourly. ‘He probably spent the last hour composing it.’ The flaxen-haired brigand led them through the throng of dancers, who all bowed or curtsied jerkily to them as they passed.

When they reached the man in white satin, Tel bowed. ‘Milord,’ he said, ‘I have the honour to present Sir Sparhawk the Pandion. Sir Sparhawk, Milord Stragen.’

‘The thief,’ Stragen added sardonically. Then he bowed elegantly. ‘You honour my inadequate house, Sir Knight,’ he said.

Sparhawk bowed in reply. ‘It is I who am honoured, Milord.’ He rigorously avoided smiling at the airs of this apparently puffed-up popinjay.

‘And so we meet at last, Sir Knight,’ Stragen said. ‘Your young friend Talen has given us a glowing account of your exploits.’

‘Talen sometimes tends to exaggerate things, Milord.’

‘And the lady is –?’

‘Sephrenia, my tutor in the secrets.’

‘Dear sister,’ Stragen said in a flawless Styric, ‘will you permit me to greet you?’

If Sephrenia were startled by this strange man’s knowledge of her language, she gave no indication of it. She extended her hands, and Stragen kissed her palms. ‘It is surprising, Milord, to meet a civilized man in the midst of a world filled with all these Elene savages,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Isn’t it amusing, Sparhawk, to discover that even our unblemished Styrics have their little prejudices?’ The blond pseudo-aristocrat looked around the hall. ‘But we’re interrupting the grand ball. My associates do so enjoy these frivolities. Let’s withdraw so that their joy may be unconfined.’ He raised his resonant voice slightly, speaking to the throng of elegant criminals. ‘Dear friends,’ he said to them, ‘pray excuse us. We will go apart for our discussions. We would not for all the world interrupt your enjoyment of this evening.’ He paused, then looked rather pointedly at one ravishing dark-haired girl. ‘I trust that you’ll recall our discussion following the last ball, Countess,’ he said firmly. ‘Although I stand in awe of your ferocious business instincts, the culmination of certain negotiations should take place in private rather than in the centre of the dance-floor. It was very entertaining – even educational – but it did somewhat disrupt the dance.’

‘It’s just a different way of dancing, Stragen,’ she replied in a coarse, nasal voice that sounded much like the squeal of a pig.

‘Ah yes, Countess, but vertical dancing is in vogue just now. The horizontal form hasn’t yet caught on in the more fashionable circles, and we do want to be stylish, don’t we?’ He turned to Tel. ‘Your services this evening have been stupendous, my dear Marquis,’ he said to the blond man. ‘I doubt that I shall ever be able to adequately repay you.’ He languidly lifted a perfumed handkerchief to his nostrils.

‘That I have been able to serve is payment enough, Milord,’ Tel replied with a low bow.

‘Very good, Tel,’ Stragen approved. ‘I may yet bestow an earldom upon you.’ He turned and led Sparhawk and Sephrenia from the ballroom. Once they were in the corridor outside, his manner changed abruptly. The veneer of affectedly bored gentility dropped away, and his eyes became alert, hard. They were the eyes of a very dangerous man. ‘Does our little charade puzzle you, Sparhawk?’ he asked. ‘Maybe you feel that those in our profession should be housed in places like Platime’s cellar in Cimmura or Meland’s loft in Acie?’

‘It’s more commonplace, Milord,’ Sparhawk replied cautiously.

‘We can drop the “Milord”, Sparhawk. It’s an affectation – at least partially. All of this has a more serious purpose than satisfying some obscure personal quirk of mine, though. The gentry has access to far more wealth than the commons, so I train my associates to prey upon the rich and idle rather than the poor and industrious. It’s more profitable in the long run. This current group has a long way to go, though, I’m afraid. Tel’s coming along rather well, but I despair of ever making a lady of the countess. She has the soul of a whore, and that voice –,’ he shuddered.

‘Anyway, I train my people to assume spurious titles and to mouth little civilities to each other in preparation for more serious business. We’re all still thieves, whores and cut-throats, of course, but we deal with a better class of customers.’

They entered a large, well-lit room to find Kurik and Talen sitting together on a large divan. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey, My Lord?’ Talen asked Sparhawk in a voice that had just a slight edge of resentment to it. The boy was dressed in a formal doublet and hose, and for the first time since Sparhawk had met him, his hair was combed. He rose and bowed gracefully to Sephrenia. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted her.

‘I see you’ve been tampering with our wayward boy, Stragen,’ she observed.

‘His Grace had a few rough edges when he first came to us, dear lady,’ the elegant ruffian told her. ‘I took the liberty of polishing him a bit.’

‘His Grace?’ Sparhawk asked curiously.

‘I have certain advantages, Sparhawk,’ Stragen laughed. ‘When nature – or blind chance – bestows a title, she has no way to consider the character of the recipient and to match the eminence to the man. I, on the other hand, can observe the true nature of the person involved and can select the proper adornment of rank. I saw at once that young Talen here is an extraordinary youth, so I bestowed a duchy upon him. Give me three more months, and I could present him at a court.’ He sat down in a large, comfortable chair. ‘Please, friends, find places to sit, and then you can tell me how I can be of further service to you.’

Sparhawk held a chair for Sephrenia and then took a seat not far from their host. ‘What we really need at the moment, neighbour, is a ship to carry us to the north coast of Deira.’

‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, Sparhawk. Our excellent young thief here tells me that your ultimate goal is Cimmura, and he also tells me that there may be some unpleasantness awaiting you in the northern kingdoms. Our tipsy monarch is a man much in need of friends, and he bitterly resents defections. As I understand it, he’s presently displeased with you. All manner of unflattering descriptions are being circulated in western Eosia. Wouldn’t it be faster – and safer – to sail directly to Cardos and go on to Cimmura from there?’

Sparhawk considered that. ‘I was thinking of landing on some lonely beach in Deira and going south through the mountains.’

‘That’s a tedious way to travel, Sparhawk, and a very dangerous one for a man on the run. There are lonely beaches on every coast, and I’m sure we can find a suitable one for you near Cardos.’

‘We?’

‘I think I’ll go along. I like you, Sparhawk, even though we’ve only just met. Besides, I need to talk some business with Platime anyway.’ He rose to his feet then. ‘I’ll have a ship waiting in the harbour by dawn. Now I’ll leave you. I’m sure you’re tired and hungry after your journey, and I’d better return to the ball before our over-enthusiastic countess sets up shop in the middle of the ballroom floor again.’ He bowed to Sephrenia. ‘I bid you good night, dear sister,’ he said to her in Styric. ‘Sleep well.’ He nodded to Sparhawk and quietly left the room.

Kurik rose, went to the door and listened. ‘I don’t think that man’s entirely sane, Sparhawk,’ he said in a low voice.

‘Oh, he’s sane enough,’ Talen disagreed. ‘He’s got some strange ideas, but some of them might even work.’ The boy came over to Sparhawk. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘let me see it.’

‘See what?’

‘The Bhelliom. I risked my life several times to help steal it, and then I got disinvited to go along at the last minute. I think I’m at least entitled to take a look at it.’

‘Is it safe?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.

‘I don’t really know, Sparhawk. The rings will control it, though – at least partially. Just a brief look, Talen. It’s very dangerous.’

‘A jewel is a jewel,’ Talen shrugged. ‘They’re all dangerous. Anything one man wants, another is likely to try to steal, and that’s the sort of thing that leads to killing. Give me gold every time. It all looks the same, and you can spend it anywhere. Jewels are hard to convert into money, and people usually spend all their time trying to protect them, and that’s really inconvenient. Let’s see it, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk took out the pouch and picked open the knot. Then he shook the glowing blue rose into the palm of his right hand. Once again a brief flicker darkened the edge of his vision, and a chill passed over him. For some reason the flicker of the shadow brought the memory of the nightmare sharply back, and he could almost feel the hovering presence of those obscurely menacing shapes which had haunted his sleep that night a week ago.

‘God!’ Talen exclaimed. ‘That’s incredible.’ He stared at the jewel for a moment, and then he shuddered. ‘Put it away, Sparhawk. I don’t want to look at it any more.’

Sparhawk slipped Bhelliom back into its pouch.

‘It really ought to be blood-red, though,’ Talen said moodily. ‘Look at all the people who’ve died over it.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘Was Flute really a Goddess?’

‘Kurik told you about that, I see. Yes, she was – and is – one of the Younger Gods of Styricum.’

‘I liked her,’ the boy admitted, ‘– when she wasn’t teasing me. But if she’s a God – or Goddess – she could be any age she wanted to be, couldn’t she?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why a child then?’

‘People are more truthful with children.’

‘I’ve never particularly noticed that.’

‘Aphrael’s more lovable than you are, Talen,’ she smiled, ‘and that may be the real reason behind her choice of form. She needs love – all Gods do, even Azash. People tend to pick little girls up and kiss them. Aphrael enjoys being kissed.’

‘Nobody ever kissed me all that much.’

‘That may come in time, Talen – if you behave yourself.’

Chapter 2

The weather on the Thalesian Peninsula, like that in every northern kingdom, was never really settled, and it was drizzling rain the following morning as bank after bank of thick, dirty clouds rolled into the straits of Thalesia off the Deiran Sea.

‘A splendid day for a voyage,’ Stragen observed dryly as he and Sparhawk looked through a partially boarded-up window at the rain-wet streets below. ‘I hate rain. I wonder if I could find any career opportunities in Rendor.’

‘I don’t recommend it,’ Sparhawk told him, remembering a sun-blasted street in Jiroch.

‘Our horses are already on board the ship,’ Stragen said. ‘We can leave as soon as Sephrenia and the others are ready.’ He paused. ‘Is that roan horse of yours always so restive in the morning?’ he asked curiously. ‘My men report that he bit three of them on the way to the docks.’

‘I should have warned them. Faran’s not the best-tempered horse in the world.’

‘Why do you keep him?’

‘Because he’s the most dependable horse I’ve ever owned. I’ll put up with a few of his crotchets in exchange for that. Besides, I like him.’

Stragen looked at Sparhawk’s chain-mail shirt. ‘You really don’t have to wear that, you know.’

‘Habit,’ Sparhawk shrugged, ‘and there are a fair number of unfriendly people looking for me at the moment.’

‘It smells awful, you know.’

‘You get used to it.’

‘You seem moody this morning, Sparhawk. Is something wrong?’

‘I’ve been on the road for a long time, and I’ve run into some things I wasn’t really prepared to accept. I’m trying to sort things out in my mind.’

‘Maybe someday when we get to know each other better, you can tell me about it.’ Stragen seemed to think of something. ‘Oh, incidentally, Tel mentioned those three ruffians who were looking for you last night. They aren’t looking any more.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It was a sort of internal matter really, Sparhawk. They violated one of the primary rules when they didn’t check with me before they went looking for you. I can’t really afford to have people setting that kind of precedent. We couldn’t get much out of them, I’m afraid. They were acting on the orders of someone outside Thalesia, though. We were able to get that much from the one who was still breathing. Why don’t we go and see if Sephrenia’s ready?’

There was an elegant coach awaiting them outside the rear door of the warehouse about fifteen minutes later. They entered it, and the driver manoeuvred his matched team around in the narrow alley and out into the street.

When they reached the harbour, the coach rolled out onto a wharf and stopped beside a ship that appeared to be one of the kind normally used for coastal trade. Her half-furled sails were patched and her heavy railings showed signs of having been broken and repaired many times. Her sides were tarred, and she bore no name on her bow.

‘She’s a pirate, isn’t she?’ Kurik asked Stragen as they stepped down from the coach.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, she is,’ Stragen replied. ‘I own a fair number of vessels in that business, but how did you recognize her?’

‘She’s built for speed, Milord,’ Kurik said. ‘She’s too narrow in the beam for cargo capacity, and the reinforcing around her masts says that she was built to carry a lot of sail. She was designed to run other ships down.’

‘Or to run away from them, Kurik. Pirates live nervous lives. There are all sorts of people in the world who yearn to hang pirates just on general principles.’ Stragen looked around at the drizzly harbour. ‘Let’s go on board,’ he suggested. ‘There’s not much point in standing out here in the rain discussing the finer points of life at sea.’

They went up the gangway, and Stragen led them to their cabins below deck. The sailors slipped their hawsers, and the ship moved out of the rainy harbour at a stately pace. Once they were past the headland and in deep water, however, the crew crowded on more sail, and the questionable vessel heeled over and raced across the straits of Thalesia towards the Deiran coast.

Sparhawk went up on deck about noon and found Stragen leaning on the rail near the bow looking moodily out over the grey, rain-dappled sea. He wore a heavy brown cloak, and his hat-brim dripped water down his back.

‘I thought you didn’t like rain,’ Sparhawk said.

‘It’s humid down in that cabin,’ the brigand replied. ‘I needed some air. I’m glad you came up though, Sparhawk. Pirates aren’t very interesting conversationalists.’

They stood for a time listening to the creaking of rigging and ship’s timbers and to the melancholy sound of rain hissing into the sea.

‘How is it that Kurik knows so much about ships?’ Stragen asked finally.

‘He went to sea for a while when he was young.’

‘That explains it, I guess. I don’t suppose you’d care to talk about what you were doing in Thalesia?’

‘Not really. Church business, you understand.’

Stragen smiled. ‘Ah, yes. Our taciturn holy mother Church,’ he said. ‘Sometimes I think she keeps secrets just for the fun of it.’

‘We sort of have to take it on faith that she knows what she’s doing.’

‘You have to, Sparhawk, because you’re a Church Knight. I haven’t taken any of those vows, so I’m perfectly free to view her with a certain scepticism. I did give some thought to entering the Priesthood when I was younger, though.’

‘You might have done very well. The Priesthood or the army are always interested in the talented younger sons of noblemen.’

‘I rather like that,’ Stragen smiled. ‘“Younger son” has a much nicer sound to it than “bastard”, doesn’t it? It doesn’t really matter to me, though. I don’t need rank or legitimacy to make my way in the world. The Church and I wouldn’t have got along too well, I’m afraid. I don’t have the humility she seems to require, and a congregation reeking of unwashed armpits would have driven me to renounce my vows fairly early on.’ He looked back out at the rainy sea. ‘When you get right down to it, life didn’t leave me too many options. I’m not humble enough for the Church, I’m not obedient enough for the army and I don’t have the bourgeois temperament necessary for trade. I did dabble for a time at court, though, since the government always needs good administrators, legitimate or not, but after I’d beaten out the dull-witted son of a duke for a position we both wanted, he became abusive. I challenged him, of course, and he was foolish enough to show up for our appointment wearing chain-mail and carrying a broadsword. No offence intended, Sparhawk, but chain-mail has a few too many small holes in it to be a good defence against a well-sharpened rapier. My opponent discovered that fairly early on in the discussion. After I’d run him through a few times, he sort of lost interest in the whole business. I left him for dead – which proved to be a pretty good guess – and quietly removed myself from government service. The dullard I’d just skewered turned out to be distantly related to King Wargun, and our drunken monarch has very little in the way of a sense of humour.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘How did you manage to get on the wrong side of him?’

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘He wanted me to participate in that war going on down in Arcium, but I had pressing business in Thalesia. How’s that war going, by the way? I’ve been a little out of touch.’

‘About all we’ve had in the way of information are rumours. Some say that the Rendors have been exterminated; others say that Wargun has, and that the Rendors are marching north burning everything that’s the least bit flammable. Whichever rumour you choose to believe depends on your view of the world, I suppose.’ Stragen looked sharply aft.

‘Something wrong?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘That ship back there.’ Stragen pointed. ‘She looks like a merchantman, but she’s moving a little too fast.’

‘Another pirate?’

‘I don’t recognize her – and believe me, I’d recognize her if she were in my line of business.’ He peered aft, his face tight. Then he relaxed. ‘She’s veering off now.’ He laughed briefly. ‘Sorry if I seem a little over-suspicious, Sparhawk, but unsuspicious pirates usually end up decorating some wharf-side gallows. Where were we?’

Stragen was asking a few too many questions. It was probably a good time to divert him. ‘You were about to tell me about how you left Wargun’s court and set up one of your own,’ Sparhawk suggested.

‘It took a little while,’ Stragen admitted, ‘but I’m rather uniquely suited for a life of crime. I haven’t been the least bit squeamish since the day I killed my father and my two half-brothers.’

Sparhawk was a bit surprised at that.

‘Killing my father might have been a mistake,’ Stragen admitted. ‘He wasn’t really a bad sort, and he did pay for my education, but I took offence at the way he treated my mother. She was an amiable young woman from a well-placed family who’d been put in my father’s household as the companion of his ailing wife. The usual sort of thing happened, and I was the result. After my disgrace at court, my father decided to distance himself from me, so he sent my mother home to her family. She died not long afterwards. I suppose I could justify my patricide by claiming that she died of a broken heart, but as a matter of fact, she choked to death on a fish bone. Anyway, I paid a short visit to my father’s house, and his title is now vacant. My two half-brothers were stupid enough to join in, and now all three of them share the same tomb. I rather imagine that my father regretted all the money he’d spent on my fencing lessons. The expression on his face while he was dying seemed to indicate that he was regretting something.’ The blond man shrugged. ‘I was younger then. I’d probably do it differently now. There’s not much profit involved in randomly rendering relatives down to dog-meat, is there?’

‘That depends on how you define profit.’

Stragen gave him a quick grin. ‘Anyway, I realized almost as soon as I took to the streets that there’s not that much difference between a baron and a cutpurse or a duchess and a whore. I tried to explain that to my predecessor, but the fool wouldn’t listen to me. He drew his sword on me, and I removed him from office. Then I began training the thieves and whores of Emsat. I’ve adorned them with imaginary titles, purloined finery and a thin crust of good manners to give them a semblance of gentility. Then I turned them loose on the aristocracy. Business is very, very good, and I’m able to repay my former class for a thousand slights and insults.’ He paused. ‘Have you had about enough of this malcontented diatribe yet, Sparhawk? I must say that your courtesy and forbearance are virtually superhuman. I’m tired of being rained on anyway. Why don’t we go below? I’ve got a dozen flagons of Arcian red in my cabin. We can both get a little tipsy and engage in some civilized conversation.’

Sparhawk considered this complex man as he followed him below. Stragen’s motives were clear, of course. His resentment and that towering hunger for revenge were completely understandable. What was unusual was his total lack of self-pity. Sparhawk found that he liked the man. He didn’t trust him, of course. That would have been foolish, but he liked him nonetheless.

‘So do I,’ Talen agreed that evening in their cabin when Sparhawk briefly recounted Stragen’s story and confessed his liking for the man. ‘That’s probably natural, though. Stragen and I have a lot in common.’

‘Are you going to throw that in my teeth again?’ Kurik asked him.

‘I’m not lobbing stones in your direction, father,’ Talen said. ‘Things like that happen, and I’m a lot less sensitive about it than Stragen is.’ He grinned then. ‘I was able to use our similar backgrounds to some advantage while I was in Emsat, though. I think he took a liking to me, and he made me some very interesting offers. He wants me to come to work for him.’

‘You’ve got a promising future ahead of you, Talen,’ Kurik said sourly. ‘You could inherit either Platime’s position or Stragen’s – assuming you don’t get yourself caught and hanged first.’

‘I’m starting to think on a larger scale,’ Talen said grandly. ‘Stragen and I did some speculating about it while I was in Emsat. The thieves’ council is very close to being a government now. About all it really needs to qualify is some single leader – a king maybe, or even an emperor. Wouldn’t it make you proud to be the father of the Emperor of the Thieves, Kurik?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘What do you think, Sparhawk?’ the boy asked, his eyes filled with mischief. ‘Should I go into politics?’

‘I believe we can find something more suitable for you to do, Talen.’

‘Maybe, but would it be as profitable – or as much fun?’

They reached the Elenian coast a league or so to the north of Cardos a week later and disembarked about midday on a lonely beach bordered on its upper end with dark fir trees.

‘The Cardos road?’ Kurik asked Sparhawk as they saddled Faran and Kurik’s gelding.

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ Stragen asked from nearby.

‘Certainly.’

‘King Wargun’s a maudlin man when he’s drunk – which is most of the time. Your defection probably has him blubbering in his beer every night. He offered a sizeable reward for your capture in Thalesia and Deira, and he’s probably circulated the same offer here. Your face is well-known in Elenia, and it’s about seventy leagues from here to Cimmura – a good week of hard travel at least. Do you really want to spend that much time on a well-travelled road under those circumstances? – Particularly in view of the fact that somebody wants to shoot you full of arrows rather than just turn you over to Wargun?’

‘Perhaps not. Can you think of an alternative?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I can. It may take us a day or so longer, but Platime once showed me a different route. It’s a bit rough, but very few people know about it.’

Sparhawk looked at the thin blond man with a certain amount of suspicion. ‘Can I trust you, Stragen?’ he asked bluntly.

Stragen shook his head in resignation. ‘Talen,’ he said, ‘haven’t you ever explained thieves’ sanctuary to him?’

‘I’ve tried, but sometimes Sparhawk has difficulty with moral concepts. It goes like this, Sparhawk. If Stragen lets anything happen to us while we’re under his protection, he’ll have to answer to Platime.’

‘That’s more or less why I came along, actually,’ Stragen admitted. ‘As long as I’m with you, you’re still under my protection. I like you, Sparhawk, and having a Church Knight to intercede with God for me in case I happen to be accidentally hanged couldn’t hurt.’ His sardonic expression returned then. ‘Not only that, watching out for all of you might expiate some of my grosser sins.’

‘Do you really have that many sins, Stragen?’ Sephrenia asked him gently.

‘More than I can remember, dear sister,’ he replied in Styric, ‘and many of them are too foul to be described in your presence.’

Sparhawk looked quickly at Talen, and the boy nodded gravely. ‘Sorry, Stragen,’ he apologized. ‘I misjudged you.’

‘Perfectly all right, old boy.’ Stragen grinned. ‘And perfectly understandable. There are days when I don’t even trust myself.’

‘Where’s this other road to Cimmura?’

Stragen looked around. ‘Why, do you know, I actually believe it starts just up there at the head of this beach. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?’

‘That was your ship we sailed on?’

‘I’m a part owner, yes.’

‘And you suggested to the captain that this beach might be a good place to drop us off?’

‘I do seem to recall such a conversation, yes.’

‘An amazing coincidence, all right,’ Sparhawk said dryly.

Stragen stopped, looking out to sea. ‘Odd,’ he said, pointing at a passing ship. ‘There’s that same merchantman we saw up in the straits. She’s sailing very light. Otherwise she couldn’t have made such good time.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh well. Let’s go to Cimmura, shall we?’

The ‘alternative route’ they followed was little more than a forest trail that wound up across the range of mountains that lay between the coast and the broad tract of farmland drained by the Cimmura River. Once the track came down out of the mountains, it merged imperceptibly with a series of sunken country lanes meandering through the fields.

Early one morning when they were midway across that farmland, a shabby-looking fellow on a spavined mule cautiously approached their camp. ‘I need to talk with a man named Stragen,’ he called from just out of bow-shot.

‘Come ahead,’ Stragen called back to him.

The man did not bother to dismount. ‘I’m from Platime,’ he identified himself to the Thalesian. ‘He told me to warn you. There were some fellows looking for you on the road from Cardos to Cimmura.’

‘Were?’

‘They couldn’t really identify themselves after we encountered them, and they aren’t looking for anything any more.’

‘Ah.’

‘They were asking questions before we intercepted them, though. They described you and your companions to a number of peasants. I don’t think they wanted to catch up with you just to talk about the weather, Milord.’

‘Were they Elenians?’ Stragen asked intently.

‘A few of them were. The rest seemed to be Thalesian sailors. Someone’s after you and your friends, Stragen, and I think they’ve got killing on their minds. If I were you, I’d get to Cimmura and Platime’s cellar just as quickly as I could.’

‘My thanks, friend,’ Stragen said.

The ruffian shrugged. ‘I’m getting paid for this. Thanks don’t fatten my purse at all.’ He turned his mule and rode off.

‘I knew I should have turned and sunk that ship,’ Stragen noted. ‘I must be getting soft. We’d better move right along, Sparhawk. We’re awfully exposed out here.’

Three days later, they reached Cimmura and reined in on the north rim of the valley to look down at the city, smoky and mist-plagued. ‘A distinctly unattractive place, Sparhawk,’ Stragen said critically.

‘It’s not much,’ Sparhawk conceded, ‘but we like to call it home.’

‘I’ll be leaving you here,’ Stragen said. ‘You have things to attend to and so do I. Might I suggest that we all forget we ever met each other? You’re involved in politics and I in theft. I’ll leave it to God to decide which occupation is the more dishonest. Good luck, Sparhawk, and keep your eyes open.’ He half-bowed to Sephrenia from his saddle, turned his horse and rode down to the grimy city below.

‘I could almost grow to like that man,’ Sephrenia said. ‘Where to, Sparhawk?’

‘The chapterhouse,’ the big Pandion decided. ‘We’ve been away for quite some time, and I’d like to know how things stand before I go to the palace.’ He squinted up at the noonday sun, bleary and wan-looking in the pervading haze that hung over Cimmura. ‘Let’s stay out of sight until we find out who’s controlling the city.’

They kept to the trees and rode on around Cimmura on the north side. Kurik slipped down from his gelding at one point and crept to the edge of the bushes to have a look. His expression was grave when he returned. ‘There are church soldiers manning the battlements,’ he reported.

Sparhawk swore. ‘Are you sure?’

‘The men up there are wearing red.’

‘Let’s move on anyway. We’ve got to get inside the chapterhouse.’

The dozen or so ostensible workmen outside the fortress of the Pandion Knights were still laying cobblestones.

‘They’ve been at that for almost a year now,’ Kurik muttered, ‘and they still haven’t finished. Do we wait for dark?’

‘I don’t think that would do much good. They’ll still be watching, and I don’t want it generally known that we’re back in Cimmura.’

‘Sephrenia,’ Talen said, ‘can you make a column of smoke come up from just inside the city walls near the gate?’

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Good. We’ll make those bricklayers go away then.’ The boy quickly explained his plan.

‘That isn’t really too bad, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said rather proudly. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s worth a try. Let’s do it and see what happens.’

The red uniform Sephrenia created for Kurik did not look all that authentic, but the smudges and smoke-stains she added covered most of the discrepancies. The important things were the gold-embroidered epaulettes which identified him as an officer. The burly squire then led his horse through the bushes to a spot near the city gate.

Then Sephrenia began to murmur in Styric, gesturing with her fingers as she did so.

The column of smoke that rose from inside the walls was very convincing, thick, oily black and boiling dreadfully.

‘Hold my horse,’ Talen said to Sparhawk, slipping down from his saddle. He ran out to the edge of the bushes and began to shriek, ‘Fire!’ at the top of his lungs.

The so-called workmen gaped at him stupidly for a moment, then turned to stare in consternation at the city.

‘You always have to yell “fire”,’ Talen explained when he returned. ‘It gets people to thinking in the right direction.’

Then Kurik galloped up to the spies outside the gate of the chapterhouse. ‘You men,’ he barked, ‘there’s a house on fire in Goat Lane. Get in there and help put the fire out before the whole city starts to burn.’

‘But sir,’ one of the workmen objected, ‘we were ordered to stay here and keep an eye on the Pandions.’

‘Do you have anything you value inside the city walls?’ Kurik asked him bluntly. ‘If that fire gets away from us, you can stand here and keep an eye on it while it burns. Now move, all of you! I’m going up to that fortress to see if I can persuade the Pandions to lend a hand.’

The workmen looked at him, then dropped their tools and ran towards the illusory conflagration as Kurik rode on towards the drawbridge of the chapterhouse.

‘Slick,’ Sparhawk complimented Talen.

‘Thieves do it all the time,’ the boy shrugged. ‘We have to use real fire, though. People run outside to gawk at fires. That provides an excellent opportunity to look around inside their houses for things of value.’ He looked towards the city gate. ‘Our friends seem to be out of sight. Why don’t we ride on before they come back?’

Two Pandion Knights in black armour rode gravely out to meet them as they reached the drawbridge. ‘Is that a fire in the city, Sparhawk?’ one of them asked in some alarm.

‘Not really,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Sephrenia’s entertaining the church soldiers.’

The other knight grinned at Sephrenia. Then he straightened. ‘Who art thou who entreateth entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’ he began the ritual.

‘We don’t have time for that, brother,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We’ll go through it twice next time. Who’s in charge here now?’

‘Lord Vanion.’

That was surprising. Preceptor Vanion had been much involved in the campaign in Arcium when last Sparhawk had heard of him. ‘Do you have any idea of where I might locate him?’

‘He’s in his tower, Sparhawk,’ the second knight advised.

Sparhawk grunted. ‘How many knights are here right now, brother?’

‘About a hundred.’

‘Good. I may need them.’ Sparhawk nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan turned his head to look at his master with some surprise. ‘We’re busy now, Faran,’ Sparhawk explained to his horse. ‘We’ll go through the ritual some other time.’

Faran’s expression was disapproving as he started across the drawbridge.

‘Sir Sparhawk!’ a ringing voice came from the stable door. It was the novice, Berit, a rangy, raw-boned young man whose face was split with a broad grin.

‘Shout a little louder, Berit,’ Kurik said reprovingly. ‘Maybe they’ll be able to hear you in Chyrellos.’

‘Sorry, Kurik,’ Berit apologized, looking abashed.

‘Get some other novices to look after our horses and come with us,’ Sparhawk told the young man. ‘We have things to do, and we have to talk with Vanion.’

‘Yes, Sir Sparhawk.’ Berit ran back into the stable.

‘He’s such a nice boy,’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘He might work out,’ Kurik said grudgingly.

‘Sparhawk,’ a hooded Pandion said with some surprise as they entered the arched door leading into the chapterhouse. The knight pushed back his hood. It was Sir Perraine, the Pandion who had posed as a cattle-buyer in Dabour. Perraine spoke with a slight accent.

‘What are you doing back in Cimmura, Perraine?’ Sparhawk asked, clasping his brother knight’s hand. ‘We all thought you’d taken root in Dabour.’

Perraine seemed to recover from his surprise. ‘Ah –’ he began, ‘once Arasham died, there wasn’t much reason for me to remain in Dabour. We’d all heard that King Wargun was pursuing you all over western Eosia.’

‘Pursuing isn’t catching, Perraine,’ Sparhawk grinned. ‘We can talk later. But now my friends and I have to go and talk with Vanion.’

‘Of course.’ Perraine bowed slightly to Sephrenia and walked on out into the courtyard.

They went up the stairs to the south tower where Vanion’s study was located. The Preceptor of the Pandion Order wore that white Styric robe, and his face had aged even more in the short time since Sparhawk had last seen him. The others were also there, Ulath, Tynian, Bevier and Kalten. Their presence seemed somehow to make the room shrink. These were very large men, not only in sheer physical size, but also in terms of their towering reputations. The room seemed somehow full of bulky shoulders. As was customary among Church Knights when inside their chapterhouses, they all wore monks’ robes over their mail-shirts.

‘Finally!’ Kalten said, letting out an explosive breath. ‘Sparhawk, why didn’t you get word to us to let us know how you were?’

‘Messengers are a little hard to find in Troll-country, Kalten.’

‘Any luck?’ Ulath asked eagerly. Ulath was a huge, blond-braided Thalesian, and Bhelliom had a special meaning for him.

Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, silently asking permission.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘but only for a minute.’

Sparhawk reached down inside his tunic and drew out the canvas pouch in which he carried Bhelliom. He pulled open the drawstring, lifted out the most precious object in the world and placed it on the table Vanion used for a writing desk. Even as he did so, there came again that faint flicker of the darkness somewhere off in a dim corner. The hound of darkness his nightmare had conjured up in the mountains of Thalesia followed him still, and the shadow seemed larger and darker now as if each re-emergence of Bhelliom somehow increased its size and its brooding menace.

‘Do not look too deeply into those petals, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia warned. ‘Bhelliom can capture your souls if you look at it too long.’

‘God!’ Kalten breathed. ‘Look at that thing!’

Each glowing petal of the Sapphire Rose was so perfect that one could almost see dew clinging to it. From deep within the jewel emanated a blue light and an almost overpowering command to look upon it and observe its perfection.

‘Oh, God,’ Bevier prayed fervently, ‘defend us from the seduction of this stone.’ Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight and an Arcian. Sometimes Sparhawk felt that he was excessively pious. This, however, was not one of those times. If even half of what he had already sensed was true, Sparhawk knew that Bevier’s fear of Bhelliom was well placed.

Ulath, the huge Thalesian, was muttering in Troll. ‘Not kill, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose,’ he said. ‘Church Knights not enemies to Bhelliom. Church Knights protect Bhelliom from Azash. Help make what is wrong right again, Blue-Rose. I am Ulath-from-Thalesia. If Bhelliom have anger, send anger against Ulath.’

Sparhawk straightened. ‘No,’ he said firmly in the hideous Troll-tongue. ‘I am Sparhawk-from-Elenia. I am he who kills Ghwerig-Troll-Dwarf. I am he who brings Bhelliom-Blue-Rose to this place to heal my queen. If Bhelliom-Blue-Rose do this and still have anger, send anger against Sparhawk-from-Elenia and not against Ulath-from-Thalesia.’

‘You fool!’ Ulath exploded. ‘Have you got any idea of what that thing can do to you?’

‘Wouldn’t it do the same sort of things to you?’

‘Gentlemen, please,’ Sephrenia said to them wearily. ‘Stop this nonsense at once.’ She looked at the glowing rose on the table. ‘Listen to me, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose,’ she said firmly, not even bothering to speak in the language of the Trolls. ‘Sparhawk-from-Elenia has the rings. Bhelliom-Blue-Rose must acknowledge his authority and obey him.’

The jewel darkened briefly, and then the deep blue light returned.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘I will guide Bhelliom-Blue-Rose in what must be done, and Sparhawk-from-Elenia will command it. Blue-Rose must obey.’

The jewel flickered, and then the light returned.

‘Put it away now, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk put the rose back into its pouch and slipped it back under his tunic.

‘Where’s Flute?’ Berit asked, looking around.

‘That, my young friend, is a very, very long story,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘Not dead?’ Sir Tynian asked in a shocked tone. ‘Surely not dead.’

‘No,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘That would be impossible. Flute is immortal.’

‘No human is immortal, Sparhawk,’ Bevier protested in a shocked voice.

‘Exactly,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Flute’s not human. She’s the Styric Child-Goddess Aphrael.’

‘Heresy!’ Bevier gasped.

‘You wouldn’t think so if you’d been in Ghwerig’s cave, Sir Bevier,’ Kurik told him. ‘I saw her rise from a bottomless abyss with my own eyes.’

‘A spell, perhaps?’ But Bevier did not seem quite so sure of himself now.

‘No, Bevier,’ Sephrenia said. ‘No spell could have accomplished what she did in that cave. She was – and is – Aphrael.’

‘Before we get involved in a theological dispute here, I need some information,’ Sparhawk said. ‘How did you all get away from Wargun, and what’s happening in the city?’

‘Wargun wasn’t really a problem,’ Vanion told him. ‘We came through Cimmura on our way south, and things went more or less the way we’d planned them at Acie. We threw Lycheas into the dungeon, put the Earl of Lenda in charge and persuaded the army and the church soldiers here in Cimmura to march south with us.’

‘How did you manage that?’ Sparhawk asked with some surprise.

‘Vanion’s a very good persuader,’ Kalten grinned. ‘Most of the generals were loyal to Primate Annias, but when they tried to object, Vanion invoked that Church Law the Earl of Lenda mentioned back at Acie and took command of the army. The generals still objected until he marched them all down to the courtyard. After Ulath had beheaded a few of them, most of the rest decided to change sides.’

‘Oh, Vanion,’ Sephrenia said in a tone of profound disappointment.

‘I was a bit pressed for time, little mother,’ he apologized. ‘Wargun was in a hurry to get started. He wanted to butcher the entire Elenian officer corps, but I talked him out of that. Anyway, we joined with King Soros of Pelosia at the border and marched down into Arcium. The Rendors turned tail and ran when they saw us coming. Wargun intends to chase them down, but I think that’s just for his personal entertainment. The other Preceptors and I managed to convince him that our presence in Chyrellos during the election of the new Archprelate was vital, so he let each of us take a hundred knights.’

‘That was generous of him,’ Sparhawk said sardonically. ‘Where are the knights from the other orders?’

‘They’re camped outside Demos. Dolmant doesn’t want us to move into Chyrellos until the situation there solidifies.’

‘If Lenda’s in charge at the palace, why are there church soldiers on the walls of the city?’

‘Annias found out what we’d done here, of course. There are members of the Hierocracy who are loyal to him, and they all have their own troops. He borrowed some of those men and sent them here. They freed Lycheas and imprisoned the Earl of Lenda. They control the city at the moment.’

‘We ought to do something about that.’

Vanion nodded. ‘We were on our way to Demos with the other orders when we chanced to find out what was happening here. The other orders went on to Demos to be in position to move on Chyrellos and we came here to Cimmura. We only arrived late last night. The knights were all eager to go into the city as soon as we got here, but we’ve been campaigning hard, and they’re all tired. I want them to be a little better rested before we correct things inside the walls.’

‘Are we likely to have any problems?’

‘I doubt it. Those church soldiers aren’t Annias’s men. They’re on loan from the other Patriarchs, and their loyalties are a little vague. I think a show of force is probably about all it’s going to take to make them capitulate.’

‘Are the remaining six knights who were involved in the spell in the throne-room among your hundred?’ Sephrenia asked him.

‘Yes,’ Vanion replied a little wanly. ‘We’re all here.’ He looked at the Pandion sword she was carrying. ‘Do you want to give me that?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re carrying enough already. It isn’t going to be much longer anyway.’

‘You’re going to reverse the spell?’ Tynian asked, ‘– before you use Bhelliom to cure the queen, I mean?’

‘We have to,’ she told him. ‘Bhelliom has to touch her skin in order to cure her.’

Kalten went to the window. ‘It’s late afternoon now,’ he said. ‘If we’re going to do this today, we’d better get started.’

‘Let’s wait until morning,’ Vanion decided. ‘If the soldiers try to resist, it might take a while to subdue them, and I don’t want any of those people slipping away in the dark to warn Annias until we’ve had time to get reinforcements here.’

‘How many soldiers are at the palace?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘My spies report a couple of hundred,’ Vanion replied, ‘hardly enough to cause us any problems.’

‘We’re going to have to come up with a way to seal the city for a few days if we don’t want to see a relief column wearing red tunics coming up the river,’ Ulath said.

‘I can take care of that,’ Talen told him. ‘I’ll slip into town just before dark and go and talk to Platime. He’ll seal the gates for us.’

‘Can he be trusted?’ Vanion asked.

‘Platime? Of course not, but I think he’ll do that much for us. He hates Annias.’

‘That’s it then,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘We can move out at dawn and have everything tidied up by lunchtime.’

‘Don’t bother to set a place at the table for the bastard Lycheas,’ Ulath said bleakly, testing the edge of his axe with his thumb. ‘I don’t think he’s going to have much of an appetite.’

Chapter 3

Kurik woke Sparhawk early the following morning and helped him into his formal black armour. Then, carrying his sword-belt and plumed helmet, Sparhawk went to Vanion’s study to await the dawn and the arrival of the others. This was the day. He had striven towards this day for a half a year and more. Today he would look full into the eyes of his queen, salute her and swear his oath of fealty. A terrible impatience welled up in him. He wanted to get on with it, and he swore at the sluggard sun for its leisurely rising. ‘And then, Annias,’ he almost purred, ‘you and Martel are going to become no more than footnotes to history.’

‘Did you get hit on the head when you had that fight with Ghwerig?’ It was Kalten, who was also wearing his formal black armour and who entered with his helmet under his arm.

‘Not really,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘why?’

‘You’re talking to yourself. Most people don’t do that, you know.’

‘You’re wrong, Kalten. Almost everybody does it. Most of the time, though, it involves rewriting past conversations – or planning ones yet to come.’

‘Which were you doing just now?’

‘Neither. I was sort of warning Annias and Martel what to expect.’

‘They couldn’t hear you, you know.’

‘Maybe not, but giving them some kind of warning is the knightly thing to do. At least I’ll know I said it – even if they don’t.’

‘I don’t think I’ll bother with that when I go after Adus,’ Kalten grinned. ‘Do you have any idea of how long it would take to pound a thought into Adus? Oh, who gets to kill Krager, by the way?’

‘Let’s give him to somebody who does something nice for us.’

‘Sounds fair.’ Kalten paused, and his face grew serious. ‘Is it going to work, Sparhawk? Will Bhelliom really cure Ehlana – or have we just been fooling ourselves?’

‘I think it’s going to work. We have to believe that it will. Bhelliom’s very, very powerful.’

‘Have you ever used it at all?’

‘Once. I collapsed a ridge-line in the mountains of Thalesia with it.’

‘Why?’

‘It needed to be done. Don’t think about Bhelliom, Kalten. It’s very dangerous to do that.’

Kalten looked sceptical. ‘Are you going to let Ulath shorten Lycheas a bit when we get to the palace? Ulath really enjoys doing that to people – or I could hang the bastard, if you’d prefer.’

‘I don’t know,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Maybe we should wait and let Ehlana make the decision.’

‘Why bother her with it? She’s probably going to be a little weak after all this, and as her champion, you really ought to try to spare her any exertion.’ Kalten squinted at Sparhawk. ‘Don’t take this wrong,’ he said, ‘but Ehlana is a woman, after all, and women are notoriously tenderhearted. If we leave it up to her, she may not let us kill him at all. I’d rather have him safely dead before she wakes up. We’ll apologize to her, of course, but it’s very hard to un-kill somebody, no matter how sorry you are.’

‘You’re a barbarian, Kalten.’

‘Me? Oh, by the way, Vanion’s got our brothers putting on their armour. We should all be ready by the time the sun’s up and the people in the city open the gates.’ Kalten frowned. ‘That might present a problem, though. There’ll be church soldiers at the gates, and they may try to slam them shut in our faces when they see us coming.’

‘That’s what battering rams are for,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘The queen might get a little cross with you if she finds out that you’ve been knocking down the gates of her capital city.’

‘We’ll make the church soldiers repair them.’

‘It’s honest work right enough, and that’s something church soldiers know very little about. I’d suggest you take a hard look at that stretch of cobblestones outside our gate before you make any final decisions, though. Church soldiers aren’t very handy with tools.’ The big blond man sank into a chair, his armour creaking. ‘It’s taken us a long time, Sparhawk, but it’s almost over now, isn’t it?’

‘Very nearly,’ Sparhawk agreed, ‘and once Ehlana’s well again, we can go looking for Martel.’

Kalten’s eyes brightened. ‘And Annias,’ he added. ‘I think we should hang him from the arch of the main gate of Chyrellos.’

‘He’s a Church Primate, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said in a pained voice. ‘You can’t do that to him.’

‘We can apologize to him later.’

‘How exactly do you propose to do that?’

‘I’il work something out,’ Kalten replied in an offhand manner. ‘Maybe we could call it a mistake or something.’

The sun had risen by the time they gathered in the courtyard. Vanion, looking pale and drawn, struggled down the stairs with a large case. ‘The swords,’ he explained tersely to Sparhawk. ‘Sephrenia says we’ll need them when we get to the throne-room.’

‘Can’t somebody else carry them for you?’ Kalten asked him.

‘No. They’re my burden. As soon as Sephrenia comes down, we’ll get started.’

The small Styric woman seemed very calm, even remote, when she emerged from the chapterhouse with Sir Gared’s sword in her hands and with Talen close behind her.

‘Are you all right?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I’ve been preparing myself for the ritual in the throne-room,’ she replied.

‘There might be some fighting,’ Kurik said. ‘Is it really a good idea for us to bring Talen along with us?’

‘I can protect him,’ she said, ‘and his presence is necessary. There are reasons, but I don’t think you’d understand them.’

‘Let’s mount up and go,’ Vanion said.

There was a great deal of clinking as the hundred black-armoured Pandion Knights climbed into their saddles. Sparhawk took his customary place at Vanion’s side with Kalten, Bevier, Tynian and Ulath close behind them and the column of Pandions strung out to the rear. They crossed the drawbridge at a trot and bore down on the startled group of church soldiers outside the gate. At a curt signal from Vanion, a score of Pandions swung out from the column and encircled the so-called workmen. ‘Hold them here until the rest of us take the city gates,’ Vanion instructed. ‘Then bring them into the city and rejoin us.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ Sir Perraine replied.

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Vanion said then, ‘I think a gallop is in order at this point. Let’s not give the soldiers in the city too much time to prepare for our arrival.’

They thundered across the rather short distance between the chapterhouse and the east gate of Cimmura. Despite Kalten’s concern about the possibility of the gates being closed to them, the soldiers there were too surprised to react in time.

‘Sir Knights!’ an officer protested shrilly. ‘You can’t enter the city without the Prince Regent’s authorization!’

‘With your permission, Lord Vanion?’ Tynian asked politely.

‘Of course, Sir Tynian,’ Vanion consented. ‘We have pressing matters to attend to, and we don’t really have time for idle chit-chat here.’

Tynian moved his horse forward. The knight from Deira was deceptively moon-faced. He had the sort of countenance one would normally associate with good humour and a generally happy approach to life. His armour, however, concealed a massively-developed upper torso and powerful arms and shoulders. He drew his sword. ‘My friend,’ he said pleasantly to the officer, ‘would you be so good as to step aside so that we may proceed? I’m sure none of us wants any unpleasantness here.’ His tone was civil, almost conversational.

Many of the church soldiers, long accustomed to having things their own way in Cimmura, were not really prepared to have anyone question their authority. It was the officer’s misfortune to be one of those soldiers. ‘I must forbid your entry into the city without specific authorization from the Prince Regent,’ he declared stubbornly.

‘That’s your final word then?’ Tynian asked in a regretful tone.

‘It is.’

‘It’s your decision, friend,’ Tynian said. Then he raised up in his stirrups and swung a vast overhand blow with his sword.

Since the officer could not believe that anyone would actually defy him, he made no move to protect himself. His expression was one of amazement as Tynian’s heavy, broad-bladed sword struck the angle between his neck and shoulder and sheared diagonally down into his body. Blood fountained up from the dreadful wound, and the suddenly limp body hung from Tynian’s sword, held there by the crushed-in edges of the great rent in the officer’s steel breastplate. Tynian leaned back in his saddle, removed his foot from his stirrup and kicked the body off his sword-blade. ‘I did ask him to move out of our way, Lord Vanion,’ he explained. ‘Since he chose not to, what just happened is entirely his responsibility, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It was indeed, Sir Tynian,’ Vanion agreed. ‘I see no blame accruing to you in this matter. You were the very soul of courtesy.’

‘Let’s proceed then,’ Ulath said. He slipped his war-axe from its sling at the side of his saddle. ‘All right,’ he said to the wide-eyed church soldiers, ‘who’s next?’

The soldiers fled.

The knights who had been guarding the workmen came up at a trot, herding their prisoners ahead of them. Vanion left ten of them to hold the gates, and the column moved on into the city. The citizens of Cimmura were fully aware of the situation at the palace, and when they saw a column of bleak-faced Pandion Knights in their ominous black armour riding through the cobbled streets, they knew immediately that a confrontation was imminent. Doors slammed up and down the street, and shutters were hastily closed from the inside.

The knights rode on through now-deserted streets.

There was a sudden spiteful buzz from behind them, and a heavy clang. Sparhawk half-wheeled Faran.

‘You really ought to watch your back, Sparhawk,’ Kalten told him. ‘That was a crossbow bolt, and it would have taken you right between the shoulder-blades. You owe me what it’s going to cost me to have my shield re-enamelled.’

‘I owe you more than that, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said gratefully.

‘Strange,’ Tynian said. ‘The crossbow’s a Lamork weapon. Not many church soldiers carry them.’

‘Maybe it was something personal,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Have you offended any Lamorks lately, Sparhawk?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘There won’t be much point in extended conversation when we get to the palace,’ Vanion said. ‘I’ll order the soldiers to throw down their arms when we arrive.’

‘Do you think they’ll do it?’ Kalten asked.

Vanion grinned mirthlessly. ‘Probably not – at least not without several object lessons. When we get there, Sparhawk, I want you to take your friends here and secure the door to the palace. I don’t think we’ll want to chase church soldiers up and down the halls.’

‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed.

The church soldiers, warned by the men who had fled from the city gates, had formed up in the palace courtyard, and the largely ornamental palace gates were closed.

‘Bring up the ram,’ Vanion called.

A dozen Pandions rode forward with a heavy log carried in rope slings attached to their saddles. It took them perhaps five minutes to batter down the gates, and then the Church Knights streamed into the courtyard.

‘Throw down your weapons!’ Vanion shouted to the confused soldiers in the yard.

Sparhawk led his friends around the perimeter of the courtyard to the large doors that gave entry into the palace. There they dismounted and climbed the stairs to confront the dozen soldiers on guard in front of the door. The officer in charge drew his sword. ‘No one may enter!’ he barked.

‘Get out of my way, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said in his deadly quiet voice.

‘I don’t take orders from –’ the officer began. Then his eyes glazed as there was a sudden sound like that a melon might make when dropped on a stone floor as Kurik deftly brained him with his spiked chain mace. The officer dropped, twitching.

‘That’s something new,’ Sir Tynian said to Sir Ulath. ‘I never saw a man with brains coming out of his ears before.’

‘Kurik’s very good with that mace,’ Ulath agreed.

‘Any questions?’ Sparhawk asked the other soldiers ominously.

They stared at him.

‘I believe you were told to drop your weapons,’ Kalten told them.

They hurriedly shed their arms.

‘We’re relieving you here, neighbours,’ Sparhawk informed them. ‘You may join your friends out there in the yard.’

They quickly went down the stairs.

The mounted Pandions were slowly advancing on the church soldiers standing in the courtyard. There was some sporadic resistance from the more fanatic of the soldiers, and the Pandion Knights provided a sizeable number of those ‘object lessons’ their Preceptor had mentioned. The centre of the courtyard soon flowed with blood, and it was littered with unattached heads, arms and a few legs. More and more of the soldiers saw the direction the fight was going, threw away their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. There was one stubborn pocket of resistance, but the knights pushed the struggling soldiers up against one wall and slaughtered them.

Vanion looked around the yard. ‘Herd the survivors into the stables,’ he ordered, ‘and post a few guards.’ Then he dismounted and walked back to the shattered gate. ‘It’s all over now, little mother,’ he called to Sephrenia, who had waited outside with Talen and Berit. ‘It’s safe to come in now.’

Sephrenia rode her white palfrey into the courtyard, shielding her eyes with one hand. Talen, however, looked around with bright vicious eyes.

‘Let’s get rid of this,’ Ulath said to Kurik, bending to pick up the shoulders of the dead officer. The two of them carried the body off to one side, and Tynian thoughtfully scraped the puddle of brains off the top step with one foot.

‘Do you people always chop your enemies to pieces like this?’ Talen asked Sparhawk as he dismounted and went over to help Sephrenia down from her horse.

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Vanion wanted the soldiers to see what would happen to them if they offered any more resistance. Dismemberment is usually quite convincing.’

‘Must you?’ Sephrenia shuddered.

‘You’d better let us go in first, little mother,’ Sparhawk said as Vanion joined them with twenty knights. ‘There may be soldiers hiding in there.’

As it turned out, there were a few, but Vanion’s knights efficiently flushed them from their hiding places and took them to the main door and gave them pointed instructions to join their comrades in the stables.

The doors to the council chamber were unguarded, and Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Vanion.

Lycheas was cowering, slack-lipped and trembling behind the council table with the fat man in red, and Baron Harparin was desperately yanking on one of the bell-pulls. ‘You can’t come in here!’ Harparin said shrilly to Vanion in his high-pitched, effeminate voice. ‘I command you to leave at once on the authority of King Lycheas.’

Vanion looked at him coldly. Sparhawk knew that Vanion bore a towering contempt for the disgusting pederast. ‘This man irritates me,’ he said in a flat voice, pointing at Harparin. ‘Will someone please do something about him?’

Ulath strode around the table, his war-axe in his hands.

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Harparin squealed, cringing back and still yanking futilely at the bell-pull. ‘I’m a member of the royal council. You wouldn’t dare do anything to me.’

Ulath did, in fact, dare. Harparin’s head bounced once and then rolled across the carpet to come to rest near the window. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were still bulging in horror. ‘Was that more or less what you had in mind, Lord Vanion?’ the big Thalesian asked politely.

‘Approximately, yes. Thank you, Sir Ulath.’

‘How about these other two?’ Ulath pointed his axe at Lycheas and the fat man.

‘Ah – not just yet, Sir Ulath.’ The Pandion Preceptor approached the council table carrying the case containing the swords of the knights who had fallen. ‘Now, Lycheas, where is the Earl of Lenda?’ he demanded.

Lycheas gaped at him.

‘Sir Ulath,’ Vanion said in a tone like ice.

Ulath grimly lifted his blood-stained axe.

‘No!’ Lycheas screamed. ‘Lenda’s confined down in the cellars. We didn’t hurt him at all, Lord Vanion. I swear to you that he’s –’

‘Take Lycheas and this other one down to the dungeon,’ Vanion ordered a pair of his knights. ‘Release the Earl of Lenda and replace him in the cell with these. Then bring Lenda here.’

‘If I may, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Lycheas the bastard,’ Sparhawk said formally, ‘as Queen’s Champion, it is my distinct pleasure to place you under arrest on the charge of high treason. The penalty is rather well known. We’ll attend to that just as soon as it’s convenient. Thinking about it might give you something to occupy the long, tedious hours of your confinement.’

‘I could save you a great deal of time and expense, Sparhawk,’ Ulath offered helpfully, hefting his axe again.

Sparhawk pretended to consider it. ‘No,’ he said regretfully. ‘Lycheas has run rough-shod over the people of Cimmura. I think they’re entitled to the spectacle of a nice, messy public execution.’

Lycheas was actually blubbering in terror as Sir Perraine and another knight dragged him past the wide-eyed head of Baron Harparin and out of the room.

‘You’re a hard and ruthless man, Sparhawk,’ Bevier noted.

‘I know.’ Sparhawk looked at Vanion. ‘We’ll have to wait for Lenda,’ he said. ‘He’s got the key to the throne-room. I don’t want Ehlana to wake up and find that we’ve chopped her door down.’

Vanion nodded. ‘I need him for something anyway,’ he said. He put the sword case on the council table and sat down in one of the chairs. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, ‘cover Harparin up before Sephrenia gets here. Things like that distress her.’ It was yet another clue, Sparhawk thought. Vanion’s concern for Sephrenia went far beyond what was customary.

Ulath went to the window, jerked down one of the drapes and turned back, pausing only to kick Harparin’s head back over beside the pederast’s body, then he covered the remains with the drape.

‘A whole generation of little boys will sleep more securely now that Harparin’s no longer with us,’ Kalten observed lightly, ‘and they’ll probably mention Ulath in their prayers every night.’

‘I’ll take all the blessings I can get,’ Ulath shrugged.

Sephrenia entered with Talen and Berit in tow. She looked around. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised,’ she noted. ‘I was more or less expecting additional carnage.’ Then her eyes narrowed. She pointed at the draped body lying by the wall. ‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

‘The late Baron Harparin,’ Kalten told her. ‘He left us rather suddenly.’

‘Did you do that, Sparhawk?’ she accused.

‘Me?’

‘I know you all too well, Sparhawk.’

‘Actually, Sephrenia, it was me,’ Ulath drawled. ‘I’m very sorry if it bothers you, but then, I’m Thalesian. We’re widely reputed to be barbarians.’ He shrugged. ‘One is more or less obliged to uphold the reputation of his homeland, wouldn’t you say?’

She refused to answer that. She looked around at the faces of the other Pandions in the room. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We’re all here. Open that case, Vanion.’

Vanion opened the sword-case.

‘Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia addressed the Pandions in the room as she laid Sir Gared’s sword on the table beside the case. ‘Some months ago, twelve of you joined with me in casting the enchantment which has sustained the life of Queen Ehlana. Six of your brave companions have gone into the House of the Dead since then. Their swords, however, must be present when we undo the enchantment that we may cure the queen. Thus, each of you who were there must carry the sword of one of your fallen brothers as well as your own. I will work the spell which will make it possible for you to take up those swords. We will then proceed to the throne-room, where the swords of the fallen will be taken from you.’

Vanion looked startled. ‘Taken? By whom?’

‘Their original owners.’

‘You’re going to summon ghosts into the throne-room?’ he asked in astonishment.

‘They will come unsummoned. Their oaths ensure that. As before, you’ll encircle the throne with your swords extended. I’ll undo the spell, and the crystal will disappear. The rest is up to Sparhawk – and Bhelliom.’

‘What exactly am I supposed to do?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I’ll tell you at the proper time,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want you to do anything prematurely.’

Sir Perraine escorted the aged Earl of Lenda into the council chamber.

‘How was the dungeon, My Lord of Lenda?’ Vanion asked lightly.

‘Damp, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda replied, ‘Also dark and very smelly. You know how dungeons are.’

‘No,’ Vanion laughed. ‘Not really. It’s an experience I’d prefer to forgo.’ He looked at the old courtier’s lined face. ‘Are you all right, Lenda?’ he asked. ‘You look very tired.’

‘Old men always look very tired, Vanion.’ Lenda smiled gently, ‘and I’m older than most.’ He straightened his thin old shoulders. ‘Being thrown into the dungeon from time to time is an occupational hazard for those in public service. You get used to it. I’ve been in worse.’

‘I’m sure Lycheas and that fat fellow will enjoy the dungeon, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly.

‘I doubt that, Sir Kalten.’

‘We’ve made them aware of the fact that the end of their confinement will mark their entrance into another world. I’m sure they’ll prefer the dungeon. Rats aren’t all that bad.’

‘I didn’t notice Baron Harparin,’ Lenda said. ‘Did he escape?’

‘Only in a manner of speaking, My Lord,’ Kalten replied. ‘He was being offensive. You know how Harparin was. Sir Ulath gave him a lesson in courtesy – with his axe.’

‘This day is top-filled with joyful surprises then,’ Lenda chortled.

‘My Lord of Lenda,’ Vanion said rather formally, ‘we’re going to the throne-room now to restore the queen. I’d like to have you witness that restoration so that you can confirm her identity in case any doubts arise later. The commons are superstitious, and there are those who might want to circulate rumours to the effect that Ehlana is not who she appears to be.’

‘Very well, My Lord Vanion,’ Lenda agreed, ‘but how do you plan to restore her?’

‘You’ll see,’ Sephrenia smiled. She held out her hands over the swords and spoke at some length in Styric. The swords glowed briefly as she released the spell, and the knights who had been present during the encasement of the Queen of Elenia stepped to the table. She talked to them briefly in low tones, and then each of them took up one of the swords. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘let us proceed to the throne-room.’

‘This is all very mysterious,’ Lenda said to Sparhawk as they walked down the corridor towards the throne-room.

‘Have you ever seen real magic performed, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I don’t believe in magic, Sparhawk.’

‘That may change shortly, Lenda,’ Sparhawk smiled.

The old courtier produced the key from an inside pocket and unlocked the door to the throne-room. Then they all followed Sephrenia inside. The room was dark. During Lenda’s confinement, the candles had been allowed to go out. Sparhawk, nonetheless, could still hear the measured drumbeat of his queen’s heart echoing in the darkness. Kurik stepped back outside and brought in a torch. ‘Fresh candles?’ he asked Sephrenia.

‘Definitely,’ she replied. ‘Let’s not awaken Ehlana to a dark room.’

Kurik and Berit replaced the burned-out candle-stubs with fresh tapers. Then Berit looked curiously at the young queen he had served so faithfully without ever having seen her. His eyes grew suddenly wide as he stared at her, and he seemed to catch his breath. His look was one of totally appropriate veneration, but there was, Sparhawk thought, perhaps a bit more to it than simple respect. Berit was about the same age as Ehlana, and she was very beautiful, after all.

‘That’s much better,’ Sephrenia said, looking around at the candlelit throne-room. ‘Sparhawk, come with me.’ She led him to the dais upon which the throne stood.

Ehlana sat as she had for all these months. She wore the crown of Elenia on her pale, blonde head, and she was enfolded in her state robes. Her eyes were closed, and her face serene.

‘Just a few more moments, my queen,’ Sparhawk murmured. Strangely, his eyes were filled with tears, and his heart was in his throat.

‘Remove your gauntlets, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘You’ll want the rings to touch Bhelliom when you use it.’

He took off his mailed gauntlets, then reached inside his surcoat, removed the canvas pouch and untied the drawstring.

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia said then to the surviving knights, ‘take your places.’

Vanion and the other five Pandions spaced themselves out around the throne, each of them holding his own sword and that of one of his fallen brothers.

Sephrenia stood beside Sparhawk and began to form the incantation in Styric, her fingers weaving an accompaniment. The candles dimmed and flared almost in time to the sonorous spell. At some time during her incantation, the room became gradually filled with that familiar smell of death. Sparhawk tore his eyes from Ehlana’s face to risk a quick look around the circle of knights. Where there had been six before, there were now twelve. The filmy shapes of those who had fallen one by one in the preceding months had returned unbidden to take their swords one last time.

‘Now, Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia instructed the living and the dead alike, ‘point your swords at the throne.’ And she began to speak a different incantation. The tip of each sword began to glow, and those incandescent points of light grew brighter and brighter until they surrounded the throne with a ring of pure light. Sephrenia raised her arm, spoke a single word, then brought the arm sharply down. The crystal encasement surrounding the throne wavered like water, and then it was gone.

Ehlana’s head sagged forward, and her body began to tremble violently. Her breathing was suddenly laboured, and the heart-beat which still echoed through the room faltered. Sparhawk leaped up onto the dais to go to her aid.

‘Not yet!’ Sephrenia told him sharply.

‘But –’

‘Do as I say!’

He stood helplessly over his stricken queen for a minute that seemed to last for an hour. Then Sephrenia stepped forward and lifted Ehlana’s chin with both her hands. The queen’s grey eyes were wide and vacant, and her face was twisted grotesquely.

‘Now, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘take Bhelliom in your hands and touch it to her heart. Be sure the rings are touching the stone. At the same time, command it to heal her.’

He seized the Sapphire Rose in both hands, and then he gently touched the flower gem to Ehlana’s breast. ‘Heal my queen, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose!’ he commanded in a loud voice.

The enormous surge of power coming from the jewel between his hands sent Sparhawk to his knees. The candles flickered and dimmed as if some dark shadow had passed over the room. Was it something fleeing? Or was it perhaps that shadow of dread that followed him and haunted all his dreams? Ehlana stiffened, and her slender body was slammed against the back of her throne. A hoarse gasp came from her throat. Then her wide-eyed stare was suddenly rational, and she gazed at Sparhawk in astonishment.

‘It is done!’ Sephrenia said in a trembling voice, and then she slumped weakly down on the dais.

Ehlana drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘My Knight!’ she cried out feebly, extending her arms to the black-armoured Pandion kneeling before her. Though her voice was weak, it nonetheless was full and rich, a woman’s voice now and not the childish one Sparhawk remembered. ‘Oh, my Sparhawk, you have come back to me at last.’ She laid her trembling arms about his armoured shoulders, inserted her face beneath his raised visor and kissed him lingeringly.

‘Enough of that for now, children,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Sparhawk, carry her to her chambers.’

Sparhawk was very disturbed. Ehlana’s kiss had been anything but childlike. He tucked Bhelliom away, removed his helmet and tossed it to Kalten. Then he gently picked up his queen. She put her pale arms about his shoulders and her cheek to his. ‘O, I have found thee,’ she breathed, ‘and I love thee, and I will not let thee go.’

Sparhawk recognized the passage she was quoting, and it seemed wildly inappropriate. He grew even more troubled. There was obviously a serious mistake here somewhere.

Chapter 4

Ehlana was going to be a problem, Sparhawk decided as he removed his armour not long after he had presented himself to his queen the following morning. Though she had never been far from his thoughts during his exile, he found that he had to make a number of difficult adjustments. When he had left, their relative positions had been clearly defined. He was the adult; she was the child. That had changed now, and they were both treading the unfamiliar ground of the monarch and subject relationship. He had been told by Kurik and others that the girl he had raised almost from babyhood had shown remarkable mettle during the few months before Annias had poisoned her. Hearing about it was one thing; experiencing it was another. This is not to say that Ehlana was ever harsh or peremptory with him, for she was not. She felt, he thought – and hoped – a genuine affection for him, and she did not give him direct commands so much as give the impression that she expected him to accede to her wishes. They were functioning in a grey area, and there were all sorts of opportunities for serious missteps on either side.

Some recent incidents were perfect examples of that sort of thing. In the first place, her request that he sleep in a chamber adjoining hers was, he felt, highly inappropriate, even slightly scandalous. When he had tried to point that out, however, she had laughed at his fears. His armour, he reasoned, had provided some small defence against wagging tongues. Times were troubled, after all, and the Queen of Elenia needed protection. As her champion, Sparhawk had the obligation, the right even, to stand guard over her. When he had presented himself to her that morning once again in full armour, however, she had wrinkled her nose and suggested that he change clothes immediately. He knew that was a serious mistake. The Queen’s Champion in armour was one thing, and no one with a reasonable regard for his own health would be likely to make an issue of Sparhawk’s proximity to the royal person. If he were dressed in doublet and hose, though, that would be quite another thing. The servants were bound to talk, and the gossip of palace servants had a way of spreading throughout the city.

Sparhawk looked dubiously into the mirror. His doublet was silver-trimmed black velvet, and his hose were grey. The clothing bore some faint resemblance to a uniform, and the black half-boots he had chosen had a more military appearance than the pointed shoes currently in fashion at court. He rejected the slender rapier out of hand and belted on his heavy broadsword instead. The effect was slightly ludicrous, but the presence of the heavier weapon quite clearly stated that Sparhawk was in the queen’s apartments on business.

‘That’s absolutely absurd, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana laughed when he returned to the sitting-room where she lay prettily propped up by pillows on a divan and with a blue satin coverlet across her knees.

‘My Queen?’ he said coolly.

‘The broadsword, Sparhawk. It’s completely out of place with those clothes. Please take it off at once and wear the rapier I ordered to be provided for you.’

‘If my appearance offends you, Your Majesty, I’ll withdraw. The sword, however, stays where it is. I can’t protect you with a knitting needle.’

Her grey eyes flashed. ‘You –’ she began hotly.

‘My decision, Ehlana,’ he cut across her objections. ‘Your safety is my responsibility, and the steps I take to insure it are not open to discussion.’

They exchanged a long, hard stare. This would not be the last time their wills would clash, Sparhawk was sure.

Ehlana’s eyes softened. ‘So stern and unbending, my champion,’ she said.

‘Where Your Majesty’s safety is concerned, yes.’ He said it flatly. It was probably best to get that clearly understood right at the outset.

‘But why are we arguing, my knight?’ She smiled whimsically, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

‘Don’t do that, Ehlana,’ he told her, automatically assuming the tutorial manner he had used when she was a little girl. ‘You’re the queen, not some coy chambermaid trying to get her own way. Don’t ask or try to be charming. Command.’

‘Would you take off the sword if I commanded you to, Sparhawk?’

‘No, but the usual rules don’t apply to me.’

‘Who decided that?’

‘I did. We can send for the Earl of Lenda if you’d like. He’s well versed in the law, and he can give us his opinion on the matter.’

‘But if he decides against you, you’ll ignore him, won’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s not fair, Sparhawk.’

‘I’m not trying to be fair, My Queen.’

‘Sparhawk, when we’re alone like this, do you suppose we could dispense with the “Your Majestys” and “My Queens”? I do have a name, after all, and you weren’t afraid to use it when I was a child.’

‘As you wish,’ he shrugged.

‘Say it, Sparhawk. Say Ehlana. It’s not a hard name, and I’m sure you won’t choke on it.’

He smiled. ‘All right, Ehlana,’ he gave up. After her defeat on the issue of the sword, she needed a victory of some kind to restore her dignity.

‘You’re so much more handsome when you smile, my champion. You should try it more often.’ She leaned back on her pillows, her face thoughtful. Her pale blonde hair had been carefully combed that morning, and she wore a few modest but quite expensive pieces of jewellery. Her cheeks were prettily rosy, which was in quite some contrast to her very fair skin. ‘What did you do in Rendor after the idiot Aldreas sent you into exile?’

‘That’s hardly the proper way to speak of your father, Ehlana.’

‘He wasn’t much of a father, Sparhawk, and his intellect wasn’t exactly what you’d call towering. The efforts he expended entertaining his sister must have softened his brains.’

‘Ehlana!’

‘Don’t be such a prude, Sparhawk. The whole palace knew about it – the whole city, probably.’

Sparhawk decided that it was time to find a husband for his queen. ‘How did you find out so much about Princess Arissa?’ he asked her. ‘She was sent to that cloister near Demos before you were born.’

‘Gossip lingers, Sparhawk, and Arissa was hardly what you’d call discreet.’

Sparhawk cast about for a way to change the subject. Although Ehlana seemed to be aware of the basic implications of what she was saying, he could not bring himself to give credence to the notion that she could be so worldly. Some part of his mind stubbornly clung to the notion that beneath her evident maturity, she was still the same innocent child he had left ten years before. ‘Hold out your left hand,’ he told her. ‘I have something for you.’ The tone of their relationship was still indistinct. They both felt that keenly, and it made them uncomfortable. Sparhawk swung back and forth between a stiffly correct formality and an abrupt, almost military manner of command. Ehlana seemed to fluctuate, at one moment the coltish, knobbly-kneed girl he had trained and moulded, and in the next a full-fledged queen. At a somewhat deeper level, they were both extremely aware of the changes a short decade had brought to Ehlana. The process known as ‘filling out’ had done some very significant things to the Queen of Elenia. Since Sparhawk had not been present to grow gradually accustomed to them, they were thrust upon his awareness in full flower. He tried as best he could to avoid looking at her without giving offence. For her part, Ehlana seemed quite self-conscious about her recently-acquired attributes. She seemed to waver between a desire to show them off – even to flaunt them – and an embarrassed wish to conceal them behind anything that lay at hand. It was a difficult time for them both.

At this point something should be clarified in Sparhawk’s defence. Ehlana’s almost overpowering femininity, coupled with her queenly manner and disconcerting candour had distracted him, and the rings looked so much alike that he should be forgiven for taking his own off by mistake. He slipped it on her finger without giving any thought to the implications.

Despite the similarity of the two rings, there were a few minuscule differences, and women are notoriously adept at recognizing such tiny variations. Ehlana gave the ruby ring he had just placed on her finger what appeared to be no more than a cursory glance, then with a squeal of delight, she threw her arms about his neck, nearly pulling him off-balance in the process, and glued her lips to his.

It is unfortunate, perhaps, that Vanion and the Earl of Lenda chose that moment to enter the room. The old earl coughed politely, and Sparhawk, flushing to the roots of his hair, gently but firmly disengaged the queen’s arms from about his neck.

The Earl of Lenda was smiling knowingly, and one of Vanion’s eyebrows was curiously raised. ‘Sorry to interrupt, My Queen,’ Lenda said diplomatically, ‘but since your recovery appears to be progressing so well, Lord Vanion and I thought it might be a suitable time to bring you up to date on certain matters of state.’

‘Of course, Lenda,’ she replied, brushing aside the implied question of just exactly what she and Sparhawk had been doing when the pair had entered the room.

‘There are some friends outside, Your Majesty,’ Vanion said. ‘They will be able to brief you on some events in greater detail than the earl and I would be able to.’

‘Then show them in, by all means.’

Sparhawk stepped to a sideboard and poured himself a glass of water; his mouth was very dry for some reason.

Vanion went outside for a moment and returned with Sparhawk’s friends. ‘I believe you know Sephrenia, Kurik and Sir Kalten, Your Majesty,’ he said. He then introduced the others, judiciously omitting references to Talen’s professional activities.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you all,’ Ehlana said graciously. ‘Now, before we begin, I have an announcement to make. Sir Sparhawk here has just proposed marriage to me. Wasn’t that nice of him?’

Sparhawk had the glass to his lips at that point, and he went into an extended fit of choking.

‘Why, whatever is the matter, dear?’ Ehlana asked innocently.

He pointed at his throat, making strangling noises.

When Sparhawk had somewhat regained his breath and a few shreds of his composure, the Earl of Lenda looked at his queen. ‘I gather then that Your Majesty has accepted your champion’s proposal?’

‘Of course I have. That’s what I was doing when you came in.’

‘Oh,’ the old man said. ‘I see.’ Lenda was a consummate politician, and he was able to make statements like that without cracking a smile.

‘Congratulations, My Lord,’ Kurik said gruffly, seizing Sparhawk’s hand in a grip of iron and shaking it vigorously.

Kalten was staring at Ehlana. ‘Sparhawk?’ he demanded incredulously.

‘Isn’t it odd how your closest friends never fully understand your greatness, my dear?’ she said to Sparhawk. ‘Sir Kalten,’ she said then, ‘your boyhood friend is the paramount knight in the world. Any woman would be honoured to have him as her husband.’ She smiled smugly. ‘I’m the one who got him, however. All right, friends, please be seated and tell me what’s been happening to my kingdom while I’ve been ill. I trust you’ll be brief. My betrothed and I have many plans to make.’

Vanion had remained standing. He looked around at the others. ‘If I leave out anything important, don’t hesitate to step in and correct me,’ he said. He looked up at the ceiling. ‘Where to begin?’ he mused.

‘You might start by telling me what it was that made me so ill, Lord Vanion,’ Ehlana suggested.

‘You were poisoned, Your Majesty.’

‘What?’

‘A very rare poison from Rendor – the same one that killed your father.’

‘Who was responsible?’

‘In your father’s case, it was his sister. In yours, it was the Primate Annias. You knew that he’s had his eyes on the throne of the Archprelate in Chyrellos, didn’t you?’

‘Of course. I was doing what I could to stand in his way. If he reaches that throne, I think I’ll convert to Eshandism – or maybe even become Styric. Would your God accept me, Sephrenia?’

‘Goddess, Your Majesty,’ Sephrenia corrected. ‘I serve a Goddess.’

‘What an extraordinarily practical notion. Would I have to cut off my hair and sacrifice a few Elene children to her?’

‘Don’t be absurd, Ehlana.’

‘I’m only teasing, Sephrenia,’ Ehlana laughed, ‘but isn’t that what the Elene commons say about Styrics? How did you find out about the poisonings, Lord Vanion?’

Vanion quickly described Sparhawk’s meeting with the ghost of King Aldreas and the recovery of the ring which now – mistakenly – decorated the champion’s hand. He then moved on, covering the de facto rule of Annias and the elevation of the queen’s cousin to the Prince Regency.

‘Lycheas?’ she exclaimed at that point. ‘Ridiculous. He can’t even dress himself.’ She frowned. ‘If I was poisoned and it was the same poison that killed my father, how is it that I’m still alive?’

‘We used magic to sustain you, Queen Ehlana,’ Sephrenia told her.

Vanion then spoke of Sparhawk’s return from Rendor and their growing conviction that Annias had poisoned her primarily to gain access to her treasury in order to finance his campaign for the Archprelacy.

Sparhawk took up the story at that point and told the young lady who had so recently netted him of the trip of the group of Church Knights and their companions to Chyrellos, then to Borrata and finally on down into Rendor.

‘Who is Flute?’ Ehlana interrupted him at one point.

‘A Styric foundling,’ he replied. ‘At least we thought she was. She seemed to be about six years old, but she turned out to be much, much older than that.’ He continued his account, describing the trek across Rendor and the meeting with the physician in Dabour who had finally told them that only magic could save the stricken queen. He then went on to tell her of the meeting with Martel.

‘I never liked him,’ she declared, making a face.

‘He’s working for Annias now,’ Sparhawk told her, ‘and he was in Rendor at the same time we were. There was a crazy old religious fanatic down there – Arasham – and he was the spiritual leader of the kingdom. Martel was trying to persuade him to invade the western Elene kingdoms as a diversion to give Annias a free hand during the election of the new Archprelate. Sephrenia and I went to Arasham’s tent, and Martel was there.’

‘Did you kill him?’ Ehlana asked fiercely.

Sparhawk blinked. This was a side of her he had never seen. ‘The time wasn’t exactly right, My Queen,’ he apologized. ‘I came up with a subterfuge instead and persuaded Arasham not to invade until he received word from me. Martel was furious, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He and I had a nice chat later, and he told me that he was the one who had found the poison and passed it on to Annias.’

‘Would that stand up in a court of law, My Lord?’ Ehlana asked the Earl of Lenda.

‘It would depend on the judge, Your Majesty,’ he replied.

‘We have nothing to worry about on that score, Lenda,’ she said grimly, ‘because I’m going to be the judge – also the jury.’

‘Most irregular, Your Majesty,’ he murmured.

‘So was what they did to my father and me. Go on with the story, Sparhawk.’

‘We returned here to Cimmura and went to the chapterhouse. That’s where I received the summons to go to the royal crypt under the cathedral to meet with your father’s ghost. He told me a number of things – first that it was your aunt who had poisoned him and that it was Annias who’d poisoned you. He also told me that Lycheas was the result of certain intimacies between Annias and Arissa.’

‘Thank God!’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘I was half-afraid that he was my father’s bastard. It’s bad enough to have to admit that he’s my cousin, but a brother? Unthinkable.’

‘Your father’s ghost also told me that the only thing that could save your life was the Bhelliom.’

‘What’s the Bhelliom?’

Sparhawk reached inside his doublet and drew out the canvas pouch. He opened it and drew out the Sapphire Rose. ‘This is Bhelliom, Your Majesty,’ he told her. Once again he felt more than saw that annoying flicker of darkness at the very edge of his vision. He shook off the feeling as he held out the jewel.

‘How exquisite!’ she cried, reaching out for it.

‘No!’ Sephrenia said sharply. ‘Don’t touch it, Ehlana! It could destroy you!’

Ehlana shrank back, her eyes wide. ‘But Sparhawk’s touching it,’ she objected.

‘It knows him. It may know you as well, but let’s not take any chances. We’ve all spent too much time and effort on you to waste it at this point.’

Sparhawk tucked the jewel back into its pouch and put it away.

‘There’s something else you should know, Ehlana,’ Sephrenia continued. ‘Bhelliom is the most powerful and precious object in the world, and Azash wants it desperately. That’s what was behind Otha’s invasion of the west five hundred years ago. Otha has Zemochs – and others – here in the west trying to find the jewel. We must deny it to him at any cost.’

‘Should we destroy it now?’ Sparhawk asked her bleakly. The question cost him a great deal of effort to say for some reason.

‘Destroy it?’ Ehlana cried, ‘but it’s so beautiful!’

‘It’s also evil,’ Sephrenia told her. She paused. ‘Perhaps evil isn’t the right term, though. It has no concept of the difference between good and evil. No, Sparhawk, let’s keep it for a while longer until we’re certain Ehlana is past any danger of a relapse. Go on with the story. Try to be brief. Your queen is still very weak.’

‘I’ll cut this short then,’ he said. He told his queen of their search of the battlefield at Lake Randera and of how they were finally able to locate Count Ghasek. The queen listened intently, almost seeming to hold her breath as he recounted the events at Lake Venne. He quickly sketched in King Wargun’s interference – though he did not use that exact word – and finally described the dreadful encounter in Ghwerig’s cave and the revelation of Flute’s real identity. ‘And that’s where things stand now, My Queen,’ he concluded. ‘King Wargun’s battling with the Rendors down in Arcium; Annias is in Chyrellos awaiting the death of Archprelate Cluvonus; and you’re back on your throne where you belong.’

‘And also newly betrothed,’ she reminded him. She was obviously not going to let him forget that. She thought for a moment. ‘And what have you done with Lycheas?’ she asked intently.

‘He’s back in the dungeon where he belongs, Your Majesty.’

‘And Harparin and that other one?’

‘The fat one’s in the dungeon with Lycheas. Harparin left us rather suddenly.’

‘You let him escape?’

Kalten shook his head. ‘No, Your Majesty. He started screaming and trying to order us out of the council chamber. Vanion got bored with all the noise and had Ulath chop off his head.’

‘How very appropriate. I want to see Lycheas.’

‘Shouldn’t you rest?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘Not until I have a few words with my cousin.’

‘I’ll fetch him,’ Ulath said. He turned and left the room.

‘My Lord of Lenda,’ Ehlana said then, ‘will you preside over my royal council?’

‘As Your Majesty wishes,’ Lenda said with a low bow.

‘And Lord Vanion, would you also serve – when your other duties permit?’

‘I’d be honoured, Your Majesty.’

‘As my consort and champion, Sparhawk will also have a seat at the council table – and I think Sephrenia as well.’

‘I am Styric, Ehlana,’ Sephrenia pointed out. ‘Would it be wise to put a Styric on your council, given the feelings of the Elene commons about our race?’

‘I’m going to put an end to that nonsense once and for all,’ Ehlana said firmly. ‘Sparhawk, can you think of anyone else who might be useful on the council?’

He thought about it, and suddenly an idea came to him. ‘I know a man who isn’t of noble birth, Your Majesty, but he’s very clever and he understands a great deal about a side of Cimmura you probably don’t even know exists.’

‘Who is this man?’

‘His name’s Platime.’

Talen burst out laughing. ‘Have you lost your mind, Sparhawk?’ he said. ‘You’re going to let Platime into the same building with the treasury and the crown jewels?’

Ehlana looked a bit puzzled. ‘Is there some problem with this man?’ she asked.

‘Platime’s the biggest thief in Cimmura,’ Talen told her. ‘I know that for a fact because I used to work for him. He controls every thief and beggar in the city – also the swindlers, cut-throats and whores.’

‘Watch your language, young man!’ Kurik barked.

‘I’ve heard the term before, Kurik,’ Ehlana said calmly. ‘I know what it means. Tell me, Sparhawk, what’s your reasoning behind this suggestion?’

‘As I said, Platime’s very clever – in some ways almost brilliant, and, though it’s a little odd, he’s a patriot. He has a vast understanding of the society of Cimmura, and he has ways of finding information that I can’t even guess at. There’s nothing that happens in Cimmura – or in most of the rest of the world, for that matter – that he doesn’t know about.’

‘I’ll interview him,’ Ehlana promised.

Then Ulath and Sir Perraine dragged Lycheas into the room. Lycheas gaped at his cousin, his mouth open and his eyes bulging in astonishment. ‘How –?’ he began, then broke off, biting his lip.

‘You didn’t expect to see me alive, Lycheas?’ she asked in a deadly tone.

‘I believe it’s customary to kneel in the presence of your queen, Lycheas,’ Ulath growled, kicking the bastard’s feet out from under him. Lycheas crashed to the floor and grovelled there.

The Earl of Lenda cleared his throat. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, ‘during the time of your illness, Prince Lycheas insisted that he be addressed as “Your Majesty”. I’ll have to consult the statutes, but I believe that constitutes high treason.’

‘That’s what I arrested him for at least,’ Sparhawk added.

‘That’s good enough for me,’ Ulath said, raising his axe. ‘Say the word, Queen of Elenia, and we’ll have his head on a pole at the palace gate in a matter of minutes.’

Lycheas gaped at them in horror and then began to cry, pleading for his life while his cousin pretended to think it over. At least Sparhawk hoped that she was pretending. ‘Not here, Sir Ulath,’ she said a bit regretfully. ‘The carpeting, you understand.’

‘King Wargun wanted to hang him,’ Kalten said. He looked up. ‘You’ve got a nice high ceiling in here, Your Majesty, and good stout beams. It won’t take me but a moment to fetch a rope. We can have him dancing in the air in no time, and hanging’s not nearly as messy as beheading.’

Ehlana looked at Sparhawk. ‘What do you think, dear? Should we hang my cousin?’

Sparhawk was profoundly shocked at the cold-blooded way she said it.

‘Ah – he has a great deal of information that could be useful to us, My Queen,’ he said.

‘That might be true,’ she said. ‘Tell me, Lycheas, have you anything you’d like to share with us while I think this over?’

‘I’ll say anything you want, Ehlana,’ he blubbered.

Ulath cuffed him across the back of the head. ‘Your Majesty,’ he prompted.

‘What?’

‘You call the queen “Your Majesty”,’ Ulath said, cuffing him again.

‘Y-your Majesty,’ Lycheas stammered.

‘There’s something else too, My Queen,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘Lycheas is Annias’s son, you recall.’

‘How did you find out about that?’ Lycheas exclaimed.

Ulath cuffed him again. ‘He wasn’t talking to you. Speak when you’re spoken to.’

‘As I was saying,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘Lycheas is Annias’s son, and he might be a useful bargaining chip in Chyrellos when we go there to try to keep Annias off the Archprelate’s throne.’

‘Oh,’ she said petulantly, ‘all right – I suppose – but as soon as you’re done with him, turn him over to Sir Ulath and Sir Kalten. I’m sure they’ll find a way to decide which one of them gets to send him on his way.’

‘Draw straws?’ Kalten asked Ulath.

‘Or we could roll the dice,’ Ulath countered.

‘My Lord Lenda,’ Ehlana said then, ‘why don’t you and Lord Vanion take this wretch somewhere and question him. I’m getting sick of the sight of him. Take Sir Kalten, Sir Perraine and Sir Ulath with you. Their presence might encourage him to be more forthcoming.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Lenda said, concealing a smile.

After Lycheas had been dragged from the room, Sephrenia looked the young queen full in the face. ‘You weren’t seriously considering that, were you, Ehlana?’ she asked.

‘Oh, of course not – well, not too seriously, anyway. I just want Lycheas to sweat a bit. I think I owe him that.’ She sighed wearily. ‘I think I’d like to rest now,’ she said. ‘Sparhawk, do be a dear and carry me in to bed.’

‘That’s hardly proper, Ehlana,’ he said stiffly.

‘Oh, bother proper. You may as well get used to thinking of me and beds at the same time anyway.’

‘Ehlana!’

She laughed and held out her arms to him.

As Sparhawk bent and lifted his queen in his arms, he happened to catch a glimpse of Berit’s face. The young novice was giving him a look of undisguised hatred. There was going to be a problem here, Sparhawk saw. He decided to have a long talk with Berit just as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

He carried Ehlana into the other room and tucked her into a very large bed. ‘You’ve changed a great deal, My Queen,’ he said gravely. ‘You’re not the same person I left ten years ago.’ It was time to get that out into the open so that they could both stop tiptoeing around it.

‘You’ve noticed,’ she said archly.

‘That’s part of it right there,’ he told her, reverting to his professorial tone. ‘You’re still only eighteen years old, Ehlana. It’s not becoming for you to assume the worldly airs of a woman of thirty-five. I strongly recommend a more innocent public pose.’

She squirmed around in the bed until she was lying on her stomach with her head at the foot. She rested her chin in her hands, wide-eyed and ingenuous, her lashes fluttering and with one foot coyly kicking at her pillow. ‘Like this?’ she asked.

‘Stop that.’

‘I’m just trying to please you, my betrothed. Was there anything else about me you’d like to change?’

‘You’ve grown hard, child.’

‘Now it’s your turn to stop something,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t call me “child” any more, Sparhawk. I stopped being a child the day Aldreas sent you to Rendor. I could be a child as long as you were here to protect me, but once you were gone, I couldn’t afford that any more.’ She sat up cross-legged on the bed. ‘My father’s court was a very unfriendly place for me, Sparhawk,’ she told him gravely. ‘I was dressed up and displayed at court functions where I could watch Aldreas and his sister covertly fondling each other and Annias smirking in the background. Any friends I had were immediately sent away – or killed – so I was forced to entertain myself by eavesdropping on the empty-headed gossip of the chambermaids. As a group, chambermaids tend to be quite wanton. I drew up a chart once – you taught me to be methodical, you’ll remember. You wouldn’t believe what goes on below stairs. My chart indicated that one aggressive little minx had very nearly outstripped Arissa herself in her conquests. Her availability was almost legendary. If I sometimes seem “worldly” – wasn’t that your term? – you can blame it on the tutors who took up my education when you left. After a few years – since any friendship I displayed for the lords and ladies of the court was an immediate cause for their exile or worse – I came to rely on the servants. Servants expect you to give them orders, so I give orders. It’s a habit now. It worked out rather well for me, though. Nothing happens in the palace that the servants don’t know about, and before long, they were telling me everything. I was able to use that information to protect myself from my enemies, and everybody at court except Lenda was my enemy. It wasn’t much of a childhood, Sparhawk, but it prepared me far better than empty hours spent rolling hoops or wasting affection on rag dolls or puppies. If I seem hard, it’s because I grew up in hostile territory. It may take you some years to soften those sharp edges, but I’m sure I’ll enjoy your efforts in that direction.’ She smiled winsomely, but there was still a kind of pained defensiveness in her grey eyes.

‘My poor Ehlana,’ he said, his heart in his throat.

‘Hardly poor, dear Sparhawk. I have you now, and that makes me the richest woman in the world.’

‘We’ve got a problem, Ehlana,’ he said seriously.

‘I don’t see any problems. Not now.’

‘I think you misunderstood when I gave you my ring by mistake.’ He regretted that instantly. Her eyes opened as wide as they might have had he slapped her in the face. ‘Please don’t take what I just said wrong,’ he rushed on. ‘I’m just too old for you, that’s all.’

‘I don’t care how old you are,’ she said defiantly. ‘You’re mine, Sparhawk, and I’ll never let you go.’ Her voice was so filled with steel that he almost shrank from her.

‘I was sort of obliged to point it out,’ he backstepped. He had to ease her past that dreadful moment of injury. ‘Duty, you understand.’

She stuck her tongue out at that. ‘All right, now that you’ve made your genuflection in duty’s direction, we won’t ever mention it again. When do you think we should have the wedding – before or after you and Vanion go to Chyrellos and kill Annias? I’m rather in favour of getting right on with it, personally. I’ve heard all sorts of things about what goes on between a husband and wife when they’re alone, and I’m really very, very curious.’

Sparhawk turned bright red at that.

Chapter 5

‘Is she asleep?’ Vanion asked when Sparhawk emerged from Ehlana’s bedroom.

Sparhawk nodded. ‘Did Lycheas tell you anything useful?’ he asked.

‘A number of things – mostly verification of things we’ve already guessed,’ Vanion replied. The Preceptor’s face was troubled, and the strain of bearing the swords of the fallen knights still showed on him, although he looked more vigorous now. ‘My Lord of Lenda,’ he said, ‘is the queen’s apartment here secure? I’d rather not have some of the things Lycheas told us becoming general knowledge.’

‘The rooms are quite secure, My Lord,’ Lenda assured him, ‘and the presence of your knights in the corridors will probably discourage anyone who’s afflicted with a burning curiosity.’

Kalten and Ulath entered, and they both had vicious grins on their faces. ‘Lycheas is having a very bad day,’ Kalten smirked. ‘Ulath and I were recalling a number of lurid executions we’d seen in the past while we were escorting him back to his cell. He found the notion of being burned at the stake particularly distressing.’

‘And he almost fainted when we raised the possibility of racking him to death,’ Ulath chuckled. ‘Oh, by the way, we stopped by the palace gate on our way back here. The church soldiers we captured are repairing it.’ The towering Genidian Knight set his axe in the corner. ‘Some of your Pandions have been out in the streets, Lord Vanion. It seems that quite a number of the citizens of Cimmura have dropped out of sight.’

Vanion gave him a puzzled look.

‘They seem a bit nervous for some reason,’ Kalten explained. ‘Annias has been in control of the city for quite a while now, and some people, nobles and commons alike, always have their eyes open for the main chance. They went out of their way to accommodate the good Primate. Their neighbours know who they are, though, and there have been a few incidents, I understand. When there’s a sudden change of power, many people want to demonstrate their loyalty to the new regime in some visible way. There appear to have been several spontaneous hangings and a fair number of houses are on fire. Ulath and I suggested to the knights that they put a stop to that at least. Fires do tend to spread, you know.’

‘I just love politics, don’t you?’ Tynian grinned.

‘Mob rule should always be suppressed,’ the Earl of Lenda said critically. ‘The mob is the enemy of any government.’

‘By the way,’ Kalten said curiously to Sparhawk, ‘did you really propose to the queen?’

‘It’s a misunderstanding.’

‘I was fairly sure it was. You’ve never struck me as the marrying kind. She’s going to hold you to it anyway, though, isn’t she?’

‘I’m working on that.’

‘I wish you all the luck in the world, but quite frankly, I don’t hold out much hope for you. I saw some of the looks she used to throw your way when she was a little girl. You’re in for an interesting time, I think.’ Kalten was grinning.

‘It’s such a comfort to have friends.’

‘It’s time you settled down anyway, Sparhawk. You’re getting to be too old to be running around the world picking fights with people.’

‘You’re as old as I am, Kalten.’

‘I know, but that’s different.’

‘Have you and Ulath decided who gets to dispose of Lycheas yet?’ Tynian asked.

‘We’re still discussing it.’ Kalten gave the big Thalesian a suspicious look. ‘Ulath’s been trying to foist a set of dice on me.’

‘Foist?’ Ulath protested mildly.

‘I saw one of those dice, my friend, and it had four sixes on it.’

‘That’s a lot of sixes,’ Tynian noted.

‘It is indeed.’ Kalten sighed. ‘To be honest with you, though, I don’t really think Ehlana’s going to let us kill Lycheas. He’s such a pathetic lump that I don’t think she’ll have the heart. Oh well,’ he added, ‘there’s always Annias.’

‘And Martel,’ Sparhawk reminded him.

‘Oh yes. There’s always Martel.’

‘Which way did he go after Wargun chased him away from Larium?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘I always like to keep track of Martel. I wouldn’t want him to get himself into any trouble.’

‘The last time we saw him, he was going east,’ Tynian said, shifting the shoulder plates of his heavy Deiran armour.

‘East?’

Tynian nodded. ‘We thought he’d go south to Umanthum, but we found out later that he’d moved his fleet to Sarrinium after the burning of Coombe – probably because Wargun has ships patrolling the straits of Arcium. He’s most likely back in Rendor by now.’

Sparhawk grunted. He unhooked his sword-belt, laid it on the table and sat down. ‘What did Lycheas tell you?’ he asked Vanion.

‘Quite a bit. It’s fairly obvious that he didn’t know everything Annias was doing, but surprisingly, he’s managed to pick up a great deal of information. He’s brighter than he looks.’

‘He’d almost have to be,’ Kurik said. ‘Talen,’ he said to his son, ‘don’t do that.’

‘I was just looking, father,’ the boy protested.

‘Don’t. You might be tempted.’

‘Lycheas told us that his mother and Annias have been lovers for years now,’ Vanion told them, ‘and it was Annias who suggested to Arissa that she attempt to seduce her brother. He’d come up with a rather obscure bit of Church doctrine that appeared to permit a marriage between them.’

‘The Church would never permit such an obscenity,’ Sir Bevier declared flatly.

‘The Church has done many things in her history that don’t conform to contemporary morality, Bevier,’ Vanion said. ‘At one time, she was very weak in Cammoria, and there had been a tradition of incestuous marriages in the royal house of that kingdom. The Church made allowances in order to continue her work there. Anyway, Annias reasoned that Aldreas was a weak king, and Arissa would be the real ruler of Elenia if she married him. Then, since Annias more or less controlled Arissa, he’d be the one making the decisions. At first that seemed to be enough for him, but then his ambition began to run away with him. He started eyeing the Archprelate’s throne in Chyrellos. That was about twenty years ago, I gather.’

‘How did Lycheas find out about it then?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘He used to visit his mother in that cloister at Demos,’ Vanion replied. ‘Arissa’s reminiscences were rather wide-ranging, I understand, and she was quite candid with her son.’

‘That’s revolting,’ Bevier said in a sick voice.

‘Princess Arissa has a peculiar kind of morality,’ Kalten told the young Arcian.

‘At any rate,’ Vanion said, ‘Sparhawk’s father stepped in at that point. I knew him very well, and his morality was much more conventional. He was greatly offended by what Aldreas and Arissa were doing. Aldreas was afraid of him, so when he suggested a marriage to a Deiran Princess instead, Aldreas rather reluctantly agreed. The rest is fairly well known. Arissa went into an absolute fury and ran off to that brothel down by the riverside – sorry about that, Sephrenia.’

‘I’ve heard about it before, Vanion,’ she replied. ‘Styrics are not nearly as unworldly as you Elenes sometimes believe.’

‘Anyway, Arissa stayed in the brothel for several weeks, and when she was finally apprehended, Aldreas had no choice but to confine her in that cloister.’

‘That raises a question,’ Tynian said. ‘Considering the amount of time she spent in that brothel and the number of customers she had, how can anyone be sure just who Lycheas’s father was?’

‘I was just coming to that,’ Vanion replied. ‘She assured Lycheas during one of his visits that she was pregnant before she went to the brothel. Aldreas married the Deiran Princess, and she died giving birth to Queen Ehlana. Lycheas was about six months old at the time, and Annias was doing his best to get Aldreas to legitimize him and make him his heir. That was too much even for Aldreas, and he flatly refused. It was about at that time that Sparhawk’s father died, and Sparhawk here took his hereditary position as King’s Champion. Annias began to grow alarmed at Ehlana’s progress after Sparhawk took charge of her education. By the time she was eight, he decided that he had to get her champion away from her before he could make her so strong that he wouldn’t be able to control her. That’s when he persuaded Aldreas to send Sparhawk into exile in Rendor, and then he sent Martel to Cippria to kill him to make sure he’d never come back and complete Ehlana’s education.’

‘But he was too late, wasn’t he?’ Sparhawk smiled. ‘Ehlana was already too strong for him.’

‘How did you manage that, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked. ‘You’ve never really been what you’d call a very inspiring teacher.’

‘Love, Kalten,’ Sephrenia said quite softly. ‘Ehlana’s loved Sparhawk since she was very young, and she tried to do things the way he’d have wanted her to do them.’

Tynian laughed. ‘You did it to yourself then, Sparhawk,’ he said.

‘Did what?’

‘You made a woman of steel, and now she’s going to force you to marry her – and she’s strong enough to get away with it.’

‘Tynian,’ Sparhawk said acidly, ‘you talk too much.’ The big Pandion was suddenly irritated – all the more so because he privately had to admit that Tynian was probably right.

‘The point here, though, is that none of this is really very new or surprising,’ Kurik noted. ‘It’s certainly not enough to keep Lycheas’s head on his shoulders.’

‘That came a little later,’ Vanion told him. ‘Ehlana frightened him so much when she seemed on the verge of having him summarily executed that he was babbling at first. Anyway, after Annias had forced Aldreas to send Sparhawk into exile, the king began to change. He actually started to develop some backbone. It’s a little hard sometimes to know why people do things.’

‘Not really, Vanion,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘Aldreas was under the thumb of the Primate, but in his heart he knew that what he was doing was wrong. Perhaps he felt that his champion might have been able to rescue his soul, but once Sparhawk was gone, Aldreas began to realize that he was totally alone. If his soul was going to be saved, he was going to have to do it himself.’

‘She might be very close to right, you know,’ Bevier marvelled. ‘Perhaps I should make some study of the ethics of Styricum. A synthesis of Elene and Styric ethical thought might be very interesting.’

‘Heresy,’ Ulath observed flatly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘We’re not supposed to consider the possibility that other ethics have any validity, Bevier. It’s a little shortsighted, I’ll admit, but our Church is like that sometimes.’

Bevier rose to his feet, his face flushed. ‘I will not listen to insults directed at our holy mother,’ he declared.

‘Oh, sit down, Bevier,’ Tynian told him. ‘Ulath’s only teasing you. Our Genidian brothers are much more deeply versed in theology than we give them credit for.’

‘It’s the climate,’ Ulath explained. ‘There’s not a great deal to do in Thalesia in the winter – unless you like to watch it snow. We have a lot of time for meditation and study.’

‘For whatever reason, Aldreas began to refuse some of Annias’s more outrageous demands for money,’ Vanion continued his account, ‘and Annias started to get desperate. That’s when he and Arissa decided to murder the king. Martel provided the poison, and Annias made arrangements to slip Arissa out of that cloister. He probably could have poisoned Aldreas himself, but Arissa begged him to let her do it because she wanted to kill her brother herself.’

‘Are you really sure you want to marry into that family, Sparhawk?’ Ulath asked.

‘Do I have any choice at this point?’

‘You could always run away. I’m sure you could find work in the Tamul Empire on the Daresian continent.’

‘Ulath,’ Sephrenia said, ‘hush.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.

‘Go ahead, Vanion,’ she instructed.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he duplicated Ulath’s intonation perfectly. ‘After Arissa had killed Aldreas, Ehlana ascended the throne. She turned out to be Sparhawk’s true pupil. She absolutely denied Annias access to her treasury and she was on the verge of packing him off to a monastery. That’s when he poisoned her.’

‘Excuse me, Lord Vanion,’ Tynian interrupted. ‘My Lord of Lenda, attempted regicide is a capital offence, isn’t it?’

‘Throughout the civilized world, Sir Tynian.’

‘I thought that might be the case. Kalten, why don’t you put in an order for a bale of rope? And Ulath, you’d better send to Thalesia for a couple of spare axes.’

‘What’s this?’ Kalten asked.

‘We have evidence now that Lycheas, Annias and Arissa have all committed high treason – along with a fair number of other confederates.’

‘We knew that before,’ Kalten said.

‘Yes,’ Tynian smiled, ‘but now we can prove it. We have a witness.’

‘I was sort of hoping to take care of suitable rewards myself,’ Sparhawk objected.

‘It’s always better to do such things legally, Sparhawk,’ Lenda told him. ‘It avoids arguments later on, you understand.’

‘I wasn’t really planning to leave anyone around to argue with me, My Lord.’

‘I think you’d better shorten his chain a bit, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda suggested with a sly smile. ‘His fangs seem to be getting longer.’

‘I noticed that,’ Vanion agreed. Then he went on. ‘Annias was a little confounded when Sephrenia’s spell kept Ehlana from dying the way her father had, but he went ahead and set Lycheas up as Prince Regent anyway, reasoning that an incapacitated queen was the same as a dead one. He took personal charge of the Elenian treasury and started buying Patriarchs right and left. That’s when his campaign to gain the Archprelacy gained momentum and became more obvious. It was at about that point in Lycheas’s story that My Lord of Lenda here suggested to him quite firmly that he hadn’t yet said anything momentous enough to keep his neck off Ulath’s chopping block.’

‘Or out of my noose,’ Kalten added grimly.

Vanion smiled. ‘Lenda’s suggestion had the desired effect on Lycheas,’ he said. ‘The Prince Regent became a gold mine of information at that point. He said that he can’t actually prove it, but he’s picked up some strong hints that Annias has been in contact with Otha, and that he’s seeking his aid. The Primate has always pretended to be violently prejudiced against Styrics, but that may have been a pose to conceal his real feelings.’

‘Probably not,’ Sephrenia disagreed. ‘There’s a world of difference between western Styrics and Zemochs. The annihilation of western Styricum would have been one of Otha’s first demands in exchange for any assistance.’

‘That’s probably true,’ Vanion conceded.

‘Did Lycheas have anything at all solid to base his suspicions upon?’ Tynian asked.

‘Not much,’ Ulath told him. ‘He saw a few meetings taking place is about all. It’s not quite enough to justify a declaration of war just yet.’

‘War?’ Bevier exclaimed.

‘Naturally,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘If Otha’s been involving himself in the internal affairs of the western Elene kingdoms, that’s cause enough to go east and do war upon him.’

‘I’ve always liked that expression,’ Kalten said. ‘“Do war.” It sounds so permanent – and so messy.’

‘We don’t need a justification if you really want to go and destroy Zemoch, Ulath,’ Tynian said.

‘We don’t?’

‘Nobody ever got around to drawing up a peace treaty after the Zemoch invasion five hundred years ago. Technically, we’re still at war with Otha – aren’t we, My Lord of Lenda?’

‘Probably, but resuming hostilities after a five-hundred-year truce might be a little hard to justify.’

‘We’ve just been resting up, My Lord,’ Tynian shrugged. I don’t know about these other gentlemen, but I feel fairly well-rested now.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Sephrenia sighed.

‘The important thing here,’ Vanion went on, ‘is that on several occasions Lycheas saw one particular Styric closeted with Annias. Once, he was able to overhear a part of what they were saying. The Styric had a Zemoch accent – or so Lycheas believes.’

‘That’s Lycheas, all right,’ Kurik observed. ‘He’s got the face of a sneak and an eavesdropper.’

‘I’ll agree to that,’ Vanion said. ‘Our excellent Prince Regent couldn’t hear the whole conversation, but he told us that the Styric was telling Annias that Otha had to get his hands on a particular jewel or the Zemoch God would withdraw His support. I think we can all make some fairly educated guesses about which jewel he was talking about.’

Kalten’s face grew mournful. ‘You’re going to be a spoilsport about this, aren’t you, Sparhawk,’ he lamented.

‘That one escapes me.’

‘You’re going to tell the queen about this, I suppose, and then she’ll decide that the information’s important enough to keep Lycheas’s head on his neck or his feet on the floor.’

‘I’m sort of obliged to keep her advised, Kalten.’

‘I don’t suppose we could persuade you to wait a while, could we?’

‘Wait? How long?’

‘Only until after the bastard’s funeral.’

Sparhawk grinned at his friend. ‘No, I’m afraid not, Kalten,’ he said. ‘I’d really like to oblige you, but I’ve got my own skin to consider. It might make my queen cross with me if I start hiding things from her.’

‘That’s about all Lycheas really knows,’ Vanion told them. ‘Now, we need to make a decision. Cluvonus is almost dead, and as soon as he dies, we’ll have to join the other orders at Demos for the ride to Chyrellos. That’s going to leave the queen totally unprotected here. We don’t know when Dolmant’s going to send us the command to march, and we don’t know how long it’s going to take the Elenian army to get back from Arcium. What are we going to do about the queen?’

‘Take her with us,’ Ulath shrugged.

‘I think you might get quite an argument there,’ Sparhawk said. ‘She’s only recently been restored to her throne, and she’s the sort who takes her responsibilities very seriously. She’ll definitely get her back up if you suggest that she abandon her capital at this point.’

‘Get her drunk,’ Kalten said.

‘Do what?’

‘You don’t want to just rap her on the head, do you? Get her tipsy, wrap her in a blanket and tie her across a saddle.’

‘Have you lost your mind? This is the queen, Kalten, not one of your blowsy barmaids.’

‘You can apologize later. The important thing is to get her to safety.’

‘It may not come to any of that,’ Vanion said. ‘Cluvonus might hang on for a while yet. He’s been on the brink of death for months now, but he’s still alive. He might even outlive Annias.’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard for him,’ Ulath said bleakly. ‘Annias doesn’t have much in the way of life expectancy just now.’

‘If I could persuade you gentlemen to curb your bloodlust for a moment,’ the Earl of Lenda interposed, ‘I think the important thing for now is to get someone to King Wargun down in Arcium and to persuade him to release the Elenian army – and enough Pandion Knights to keep the general staff in line when they get here. I’ll compose a letter to him advising in the strongest terms that we need the Elenian army back here in Cimmura just as quickly as they can get here.’

‘You’d better ask him to release the militant orders as well, My Lord,’ Vanion suggested. ‘I think we’re going to need them in Chyrellos.’

‘You might also send a letter to King Obler,’ Tynian added, ‘and to Patriarch Bergsten. Between them, they can probably prevail on Wargun. The King of Thalesia drinks too much, and he enjoys a good war, but he’s still a thoroughly political animal. He’ll see the necessity of protecting Cimmura and taking control of Chyrellos immediately – if someone explains it to him.’

Lenda nodded his agreement.

‘All this still doesn’t solve our problem, gentlemen,’ Bevier said. ‘Our messenger to Wargun could very well be no more than a day’s ride away when word reaches us that the Archprelate has died. That puts us right back into the same situation. Sparhawk will have to persuade a very reluctant queen to abandon her capital with no visible danger in view.’

‘Blow in her ear,’ Ulath said.

‘What was that?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘It usually works,’ Ulath said. ‘At least it does in Thalesia. I blew in a girl’s ear in Emsat once, and she followed me around for days.’

‘That’s disgusting!’ Sephrenia said angrily.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ulath said mildly. ‘She seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Did you pat her on top of the head too, and scratch her chin – the way you’d have done if she’d been a puppy?’

‘I never thought of that,’ Ulath admitted. ‘Do you think it might have worked?’

She began to swear at him in Styric.

‘We’re getting a little far afield here,’ Vanion said. ‘We can’t compel the queen to leave Cimmura, and there’s no way to be absolutely certain that a force large enough to hold the walls can reach the city before we’re called away.’

‘I think the force is already here, Lord Vanion,’ Talen disagreed. The boy was dressed in the elegant doublet and hose Stragen had provided for him in Emsat, and he looked not unlike a youthful nobleman.

‘Don’t interrupt, Talen,’ Kurik said. ‘This is serious business. We don’t have time for childish jokes.’

‘Let him speak, Kurik,’ the Earl of Lenda said intently. ‘Good ideas can sometimes come from the most unusual places. Exactly what is this force you spoke of, young man?’

‘The people,’ Talen replied simply.

‘That’s absurd, Talen,’ Kurik said. ‘They aren’t trained.’

‘How much training do you really need in order to pour boiling pitch down on the heads of a besieging army?’ Talen shrugged.

‘It’s a very interesting notion, young man,’ Lenda said. ‘There was, in fact, an outpouring of popular support for Queen Ehlana after her coronation. The people of Cimmura – and of the surrounding towns and villages – might very well come to her aid. The problem, though, is that they don’t have any leaders. A mob of people milling around in the streets without anyone to direct them wouldn’t be much of a defence.’

‘There are leaders about, My Lord.’

‘Who?’ Vanion asked the boy.

‘Platime for one,’ Talen offered, ‘and if Stragen’s still here, he’d probably be fairly good at it as well.’

‘This Platime’s a sort of a scoundrel, isn’t he?’ Bevier asked dubiously.

‘Sir Bevier,’ Lenda said, ‘I’ve served on the royal council of Elenia for many years now, and I can assure you that not only the capital, but the entire kingdom as well has been in the hands of scoundrels for decades now.’

‘But –’ Bevier started to protest.

‘Is it the fact that Platime and Stragen are official scoundrels that upsets you, Sir Bevier?’ Talen asked lightly.

‘What do you think, Sparhawk?’ Lenda asked. ‘Do you think this Platime fellow could really direct some kind of military operation?’

Sparhawk thought it over. ‘He probably could,’ he said, ‘particularly if Stragen’s still here to help him.’

‘Stragen?’

‘He holds a position similar to Platime’s among the thieves in Emsat. Stragen’s a strange one, but he’s extremely intelligent, and he’s had an excellent education.’

‘They can call in old debts as well,’ Talen said. ‘Platime can draw men from Vardenais, Demos, the towns of Lenda and Cardos – not to mention the men he can get from the robber bands operating out in the countryside.’

‘It’s not really as if they were going to have to hold the city for an extended period of time,’ Tynian mused. ‘Only until the Elenian army gets here, and a great deal of what they’ll be doing is going to be pure intimidation. It’s unlikely that Primate Annias will be able to spare more than a thousand church soldiers from Chyrellos to cause problems here, and if the tops of the city walls are lined with a superior force, those soldiers will be very reluctant to attack. You know, Sparhawk, I think the boy’s come up with a remarkably good plan.’

‘I’m overcome by your confidence, Sir Tynian,’ Talen said with an extravagant bow.

‘There are veterans here in Cimmura as well,’ Kurik added, ‘former army men who can help direct the workers and peasants in the defence of the city.’

‘It’s all terribly unnatural, of course,’ the Earl of Lenda said sardonically. ‘The whole purpose of government has always been to keep the commons under control and out of politics entirely. The only purpose the common people really have for existing is to do the work and pay the taxes. We may be doing something here that we’ll all live to regret.’

‘Do we really have any choice, Lenda?’ Vanion asked him.

‘No, Vanion, I don’t think we have.’

‘Let’s get started with it then. My Lord of Lenda, I believe you have some correspondence to catch up with, and Talen, why don’t you go and see this Platime fellow?’

‘May I take Berit with me, My Lord Vanion?’ the boy asked, looking at the young novice.

‘I suppose so, but why?’

‘I’m sort of the official envoy from one government to another. I should have an escort of some kind to make me look more important. That sort of thing impresses Platime.’

‘One government to another?’ Kalten asked. ‘Do you actually think of Platime as a head of state?’

‘Well, isn’t he?’

As Sparhawk’s friends were filing out, Sparhawk briefly touched Sephrenia’s sleeve. ‘I need to talk with you,’ he said quietly.

‘Of course.’

He went to the door and closed it. ‘I probably should have told you about this before, little mother,’ he said, ‘but it all seemed so innocuous at the beginning –’ He shrugged.

‘Sparhawk,’ she told him, ‘you know better than that. You must tell me everything. I’ll decide what’s innocuous and what isn’t.’

‘All right. I think I’m being followed.’

Her eyes narrowed.

‘I had a nightmare right after we took Bhelliom away from Ghwerig. Azash was mixed up in it and so was Bhelliom. There was something else as well though – something I can’t put a name to.’

‘Can you describe it?’

‘Sephrenia, I can’t even see it. It seems to be some sort of shadow – something dark that’s right on the very edge of my vision – like a flicker of movement to one side and slightly behind me. I get the feeling that it doesn’t like me very much.’

‘Does it only come to you when you’re dreaming?’

‘No. I see it now and then when I’m awake too. It seems to appear whenever I take Bhelliom out of its pouch. There are other times as well, but I can almost count on seeing it anytime I open the pouch.’

‘Do that now, dear one,’ she instructed. ‘Let’s find out if I can see it too.’

Sparhawk reached inside his doublet, took out the pouch and opened it. He removed the Sapphire Rose and held it in his hand. The flicker of darkness was immediately there. ‘Can you see it?’ he asked.

Sephrenia looked carefully around the room. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Can you feel anything coming from the shadow?’

‘I can tell that it isn’t fond of me.’ He put Bhelliom back into the pouch. ‘Any ideas?’

‘It might be something connected with Bhelliom itself,’ she suggested a bit dubiously. ‘To be perfectly honest with you, though, I don’t really know that much about Bhelliom. Aphrael doesn’t like to talk about it. I think the Gods are afraid of it. I know a little bit about how to use it, but that’s about all.’

‘I don’t know if there’s any connection,’ Sparhawk mused, ‘but somebody’s definitely interested in doing me in. There were those men on the road outside Emsat, that ship that Stragen thought might be following us and those outlaws who were looking for us on the Cardos road.’

‘Not to mention the fact that somebody tried to shoot you in the back with a crossbow when we were on our way to the palace,’ she added.

‘Could it be another Seeker perhaps?’ he suggested.

‘Something like that maybe. Once the Seeker takes control of somebody, the man becomes a mindless tool. These attempts on your life seem to be a bit more rational.’

‘Could Azash have some creature who could manage that?’

‘Who knows what kinds of creatures Azash can raise? I know of a dozen or so different varieties, but there are probably scores of others.’

‘Would you be offended if I tried logic?’

‘Oh, I suppose you can – if you feel you must.’ She smiled at him.

‘All right. First off, we know that Azash has wanted me dead for a long time now.’

‘All right.’

‘It’s probably even more important to Him now, though, because I’ve got Bhelliom, and I know how to use it.’

‘You’re stating the obvious, Sparhawk.’

‘I know. Logic’s like that sometimes. It doesn’t always happen, but these attempts to kill me usually come sometime not long after I’ve taken out the Bhelliom and caught a glimpse of that shadow.’

‘Some kind of connection, you think?’

‘Isn’t it possible?’

‘Almost anything’s possible, Sparhawk.’

‘All right then. If the shadow’s something like the Damork or the Seeker, it’s probably coming from Azash. That “probably” makes the logic a little shaky, but it’s something to sort of consider, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Under the circumstances I’d almost have to agree.’

‘What do we do about it then? It’s an interim hypothesis, and it ignores the possibility of pure coincidence, but shouldn’t we take some steps just in case there is some connection?’

‘I don’t think we can afford not to, Sparhawk. I think the first thing you should do is to keep Bhelliom inside that pouch. Don’t take it out unless you absolutely have to.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘And if you do have to take it out, be on your guard for an attempt on your life.’

‘I sort of do that automatically anyway – all the time. I’m in a nervous kind of profession.’

‘And, I think we’d better keep this to ourselves. If that shadow comes from Azash, it can turn our friends against us. Any one of them could turn on you at any time at all. If we tell them what we suspect, the shadow – or whatever it is – will probably know what’s in their thoughts. Let’s not warn Azash that we know what He’s doing.’

Sparhawk steeled himself to say it, and when he did, it was with a vast reluctance. ‘Wouldn’t it solve everything if we were just to destroy Bhelliom right here and now?’ he asked her.

She shook her head. ‘No, dear one,’ she said. ‘We may still need it.’

‘It’s a simple answer, though.’

‘Not really, Sparhawk.’ Her smile was bleak. ‘We don’t know for sure what kind of force the destruction of Bhelliom might release. We might lose something fairly important.’

‘Such as?’

‘The city of Cimmura – or the entire Eosian continent, for all I know.’

Chapter 6

It was nearly dusk when Sparhawk quietly opened the door to his queen’s bedroom and looked in on her. Her face was framed by that wealth of pale blonde hair fanning out on the pillow and catching the golden light of the single candle on the stand at the side of her bed. Her eyes were closed, and her face softly composed. He had discovered in the past day or so that an adolescence spent in the corrupt court dominated by the Primate Annias had marked her face with a kind of defensive wariness and a flinty determination. When she slept, however, her expression had the same soft, luminous gentleness that had caught at his heart when she was a child. Privately, and now without reservation, he admitted that he loved this pale girl-child, although he was still adjusting his conception of her in that regard. Ehlana was much a woman now and no longer a child. With an obscure kind of twinge, Sparhawk admitted to himself that he really was wrong for her. There was a temptation to take advantage of her girlish infatuation, but he knew that to do so would not only be morally wrong, but could also cause her much suffering later in her life. He determined that under no circumstances would he inflict the infirmities of his old age upon the woman he loved.

‘I know you’re there, Sparhawk.’ Her eyes did not open, and a soft smile touched her lips. ‘I always used to love that when I was a child, you know. Sometimes, particularly when you started lecturing me on theology, I’d doze off – or pretend to. You’d talk on for a while, and then you’d just sit there, watching me. It always made me feel so warm and secure and totally safe. Those moments were probably the happiest in my life. And just think, after we’re married, you’ll watch me go to sleep in your arms every night, and I’ll know that nothing in the world can ever hurt me, because you’ll always be there watching over me.’ She opened her calm grey eyes. ‘Come here and kiss me, Sparhawk,’ she told him, extending her arms.

‘It’s not proper, Ehlana. You’re not fully dressed, and you’re in bed.’

‘We’re betrothed, Sparhawk. We have a certain leeway in such matters. Besides, I’m the queen. I’ll decide what’s proper and what’s not.’

Sparhawk gave up and kissed her. As he had noted before, Ehlana was most definitely no longer a child. ‘I’m too old for you, Ehlana,’ he reminded her gently once again. He wanted to keep that firmly in front of both of them. ‘You do know that I’m right, don’t you?’

‘Nonsense.’ She had not yet removed her arms from about his neck. ‘I forbid you to get old. There, does that take care of it?’

‘You’re being absurd. You might as well order the tide to stop.’

‘I haven’t tried that yet, Sparhawk, and until I do, we won’t really know that it wouldn’t work, will we?’

‘I give up,’ he laughed.

‘Oh good. I just adore winning. Was there something important you wanted to tell me, or did you just stop by to ogle me?’

‘Do you mind?’

‘Being ogled? Of course not. Ogle to your heart’s content, beloved. Would you like to see more?’

‘Ehlana!’

Her laughter was a silvery cascade.

‘All right, let’s get down to more serious matters.’

‘I was being serious, Sparhawk – very serious.’

‘The Pandion Knights, myself included, are going to have to leave Cimmura before long, I’m afraid. The revered Cluvonus is failing fast, and as soon as he dies, Annias is going to make a try for the Archprelate’s throne. He’s flooded the streets of Chyrellos with troops loyal to him, and unless the militant orders are there to stop him, he’ll gain that throne.’

Her face took on that flinty expression again. ‘Why don’t you take that gigantic Thalesian, Sir Ulath, run on down to Chyrellos and chop Annias’s head off? Then come right back. Don’t give me time to get lonely.’

‘Interesting notion, Ehlana. I’m glad you didn’t suggest it in front of Ulath, though. He’d be on his way to the stables to saddle the horses by now. The point I was trying to make is that when we leave, you’re going to be left defenceless here. Would you consider coming along with us?’

She thought about it. ‘I’d love to, Sparhawk,’ she said, ‘but I don’t really see how I can just now. I’ve been incapacitated for quite some time, and I’ve got to stay here in Cimmura to repair the damage Annias caused while I was asleep. I have responsibilities, love.’

‘We were fairly sure you’d feel that way about it, so we’ve come up with an alternative plan to ensure your safety.’

‘You’re going to use magic and seal me up in the palace?’ Her eyes were impish as she teased him.

‘We hadn’t considered that,’ he conceded. ‘It probably wouldn’t work, though. As soon as Annias found out what we’d done, he’d probably send soldiers here to try to retake the city. His underlings would be able to run the kingdom from outside the palace walls, and you wouldn’t be able to do much to stop them. What we are going to do is put together a kind of an army to protect you – and the city – until your own army has time to come back from Arcium.’

‘The term “a kind of an army” sounds a little tentative, Sparhawk. Where are you going to get that many men?’

‘Off the streets, and from the farms and villages.’

‘Oh, that’s just fine, Sparhawk. Wonderful.’ Her tone was sarcastic. ‘I’m to be defended by ditch-diggers and ploughboys?’

‘Also by thieves and cut-throats, My Queen.’

‘You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?’

‘Very much so. Don’t close your mind just yet, though. Wait until you hear the details, and there are a pair of scoundrels on their way here to meet you. Don’t make any decisions until after you’ve talked with them.’

‘I think you’re completely mad, Sparhawk. I still love you, but your mind seems to be slipping. You can’t make an army out of hod-carriers and clod-hoppers.’

‘Really? Where do you suppose the common soldiers in your army come from, Ehlana? Aren’t they recruited from the streets and farms?’

She frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, I suppose,’ she conceded, ‘but without generals, I’m not going to have much of an army, you know.’

‘That’s what the two men I just mentioned are coming here to discuss with you, Your Majesty.’

‘Why is it that “Your Majesty” always sounds so cold and distant when you say it, Sparhawk?’

‘Don’t change the subject. You’ll agree to withhold judgement, then?’

‘If you say so, but I’m still a little dubious about this. I wish you could stay here.’

‘So do I, but –’ He spread his hands helplessly.

‘When will there ever be time for just us?’

‘It won’t be much longer, Ehlana, but we have to beat Annias. You understand that, don’t you?’

She sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

Talen and Berit returned not long afterwards with Platime and Stragen. Sparhawk met them in the sitting-room while Ehlana attended to those minute details that are always involved in making a woman ‘presentable’.

Stragen was at his elegant best, but the waddling, black-bearded Platime, chief of beggars, thieves, cut-throats and whores, looked distinctly out of place. ‘Ho, Sparhawk!’ the fat man bellowed. He had forgone his food-spotted orange doublet in favour of one in blue velvet that didn’t fit him very well.

‘Platime,’ Sparhawk replied gravely. ‘You’re looking quite natty this evening.’

‘Do you like it?’ Platime plucked at the front of his doublet with a pleased expression. He turned a full circle, and Sparhawk noted several knife holes in the back of the thief’s finery. ‘I’ve had my eye on it for several months now. I finally persuaded the former owner to part with it.’

‘Milord.’ Sparhawk bowed to Stragen.

‘Sir Knight,’ Stragen responded, also bowing.

‘All right, what’s this all about, Sparhawk?’ Platime demanded. ‘Talen was babbling some nonsense about forming up a home guard of some kind.’

‘Home guard. That’s a good term,’ Sparhawk approved. ‘The Earl of Lenda will be along in a few moments, and then I’m sure Her Majesty will make her entrance from that room over there – where she’s probably listening at the door right now.’

From the queen’s bed-chamber came the stamp of an angry foot.

‘How’s business been?’ Sparhawk asked the gross leader of the underside of Cimmura.

‘Quite good, actually,’ the fat man beamed. ‘Those foreign church soldiers the Primate sent to prop up the bastard Lycheas were very innocent. We robbed them blind.’

‘Good. I always like to see friends get on in the world.’

The door opened, and the ancient Earl of Lenda shuffled into the room. ‘Sorry to be late, Sparhawk,’ he apologized. ‘I’m not very good at running any more.’

‘Quite all right, My Lord of Lenda,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said to the two thieves, ‘I have the honour to present the Earl of Lenda, head of Her Majesty’s council of advisers. My Lord, these are the two men who will lead your home guard. This is Platime, and this, Milord Stragen from Emsat.’

They all bowed – at least Platime tried to bow. ‘Milord?’ Lenda asked Stragen curiously.

‘An affectation, My Lord of Lenda,’ Stragen smiled ironically. ‘It’s a carry-over from a misspent youth.’

‘Stragen’s one of the best,’ Platime put in. ‘He’s got some strange ideas, but he does very well – better even than me some weeks.’

‘You’re too kind, Platime,’ Stragen murmured with a bow.

Sparhawk crossed the room to the door to the queen’s bed-chamber. ‘We’re all assembled, My Queen,’ he said through the panel.

There was a pause, and then Ehlana, wearing a pale-blue satin gown and a discreet diamond tiara, entered. She stopped, looking around with a queenly bearing. ‘Your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said formally, ‘may I present Platime and Stragen, your generals?’

‘Gentlemen,’ she said with a brief inclination of her head.

Platime tried to bow again, badly, but Stragen more than made up for it.

‘Pretty little thing, isn’t she?’ Platime observed to his blond companion.

Stragen winced.

Ehlana looked a bit startled. To cover the moment, she looked around the room. ‘But where are our other friends?’ she asked.

‘They’ve returned to the chapterhouse, My Queen,’ Sparhawk informed her. ‘They have preparations to make. Sephrenia promised to come back later, though.’ He extended his arm and escorted her to a rather ornate chair by the window. She sat and carefully arranged the folds of her gown.

‘May I?’ Stragen said to Sparhawk.

Sparhawk looked puzzled.

Stragen went to the window, nodding to Ehlana as he passed, and drew the heavy drapes. She stared at him. ‘It’s most imprudent to sit with one’s back to an open window in a world where there are crossbows, Your Majesty,’ he explained with another bow. ‘You have many enemies, you know.’

‘The palace is totally secure, Milord Stragen,’ Lenda objected.

‘Do you want to tell him?’ Stragen wearily asked Platime.

‘My Lord of Lenda,’ the fat man said politely, ‘I could get thirty men inside the palace grounds in about ten minutes. Knights are all very well on a battlefield, I suppose, but it’s hard to look up when you’re wearing a helmet. In my youth, I studied the art of burglary. A good burglar is as much at home on a rooftop as he is on a street.’ He sighed. ‘Those were the days,’ he reminisced. ‘There’s nothing like a nice neat burglary to set the pulse to racing.’

‘But it might be a bit difficult for a man weighing twenty-one stone,’ Stragen added. ‘Even a slate roof can only hold so much weight.’

‘I’m not really all that fat, Stragen.’

‘Of course not.’

Ehlana looked genuinely alarmed. ‘What are you doing to me, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

‘Protecting you, My Queen,’ he replied. ‘Annias wants you dead. He’s already proved that. As soon as he finds out about your recovery, he’ll try again. The men he sends to kill you won’t be gentlemen. They won’t leave their cards with the footman at the door when they come to call. Between them, Platime and Milord Stragen know just about everything there is to know about slipping into places unobserved, and they’ll be able to take the proper steps.’

‘We can guarantee Your Majesty that no one will get past us alive,’ Stragen assured her in his beautiful deep voice. ‘We’ll try not to over-inconvenience you, but there’ll be certain restrictions on your freedom of movement, I’m afraid.’

‘Such as not sitting near an open window?’

‘Precisely. We’ll draw up a list of suggestions and pass them on to you through the Earl of Lenda. Platime and I are men of business, and Your Majesty might find our presence distressing. We’ll remain in the background as much as possible.’

‘Your delicacy is exquisite, Milord,’ she told him, ‘but I’m not all that much distressed by the presence of honest men.’

‘Honest?’ Platime laughed coarsely. ‘I think we’ve just been insulted, Stragen.’

‘Better an honest cut-throat than a dishonest courtier,’ Ehlana said. ‘Do you really do that? Cut throats, I mean?’

‘I’ve slit a few in my time, Your Majesty,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘It’s a quiet way to find out what a man has in his purse, and I’ve always been curious about that sort of thing. Speaking of that, you might as well tell her, Talen.’

‘What’s this?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘There’s a small fee involved, Sparhawk,’ Talen said.

‘Oh?’

‘Stragen volunteered his services free of charge,’ the boy explained.

‘Just for the experience, Sparhawk,’ the blond northerner said. ‘King Wargun’s court is a bit crude. The court of Elenia is reputed to be exquisitely courteous and totally depraved. A studious man always seizes these opportunities to expand his education. Platime, on the other hand, is not quite so studious. He wants something a little more tangible.’

‘Such as?’ Sparhawk bluntly asked the fat man.

‘I’m beginning to give some thought to retirement, Sparhawk – some quiet country estate where I can entertain myself in the company of a bevy of immoral young women – begging Your Majesty’s pardon. Anyway, a man can’t really enjoy his declining years if there are a number of hanging offences lurking in his background. I’ll protect the queen with my life if she can find it in her heart to grant me a full pardon for my past indiscretions.’

‘Just what sort of indiscretions are we talking about here, Master Platime?’ Ehlana asked suspiciously.

‘Oh, nothing really worth mentioning, Your Majesty,’ he replied deprecatingly. ‘There were a few incidental murders, assorted thefts, robberies, extortions, burglaries, arson, smuggling, highway robbery, cattle-rustling, pillaging a couple of monasteries, operating unlicensed brothels – that sort of thing.’

‘You have been busy, haven’t you, Platime?’ Stragen said admiringly.

‘It’s a way to pass the time. I think we’d better just make it a general pardon, Your Majesty. I’m bound to forget a few offences here and there.’

‘Is there any crime you haven’t committed, Master Platime?’ she asked sternly.

‘Barratry, I think, Your Majesty. Of course I’m not sure what it means, so I can’t be entirely positive.’

‘It’s when a ship captain wrecks his ship in order to steal the cargo,’ Stragen supplied.

‘No, I’ve never done that. Also, I’ve never had carnal knowledge of an animal, I’ve never practised witchcraft, and I’ve never committed treason.’

‘Those are the more really serious ones, I suppose,’ Ehlana said with a perfectly straight face. ‘I do so worry about the morals of foolish young sheep.’

Platime roared with sudden laughter. ‘I do myself, Your Majesty. I’ve spent whole nights tossing and turning about it.’

‘What kept you untainted by treason, Master Platime?’ the Earl of Lenda asked curiously.

‘Lack of opportunity, probably, My Lord,’ Platime admitted, ‘although I rather doubt I’d have gone into that sort of thing anyway. Unstable governments make the general populace nervous and wary. They start protecting their valuables, and that makes life very hard for thieves. Well, Your Majesty, do we have a bargain?’

‘A general pardon in exchange for your services – for so long as I require them?’ she countered.

‘What’s that last bit supposed to mean?’ he demanded suspiciously.

‘Oh, nothing at all, Master Platime,’ she said innocently. ‘I don’t want you to get bored and abandon me just when I need you the most. I’d be desolate without your company. Well?’

‘Done, by God!’ he roared. He spat in his hand and held it out to her.

She looked at Sparhawk, her face confused.

‘It’s a custom, Your Majesty,’ he explained. ‘You also spit in your hand, and then you and Platime smack your palms together. It seals the bargain.’

She cringed slightly, then did as he instructed. ‘Done,’ she said uncertainly.

‘And there we are,’ Platime said boisterously. ‘You’re now the same as my very own little sister, Ehlana, and if anybody offends you, or threatens you, I’ll gut him for you, and then you can pour hot coals into his gaping belly with your own two little hands.’

‘You’re so very kind,’ she said weakly.

‘You’ve been had, Platime,’ Talen howled with laughter.

‘What are you talking about?’ Platime’s face darkened.

‘You’ve just volunteered for a lifetime of government service, you know.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘I know, but you did it all the same. You agreed to serve the queen for as long as she wants you to, and you didn’t even raise the question of pay. She can keep you here in the palace until the day you die.’

Platime’s face went absolutely white. ‘You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, Ehlana?’ he pleaded in a choked voice.

She reached up and patted his bearded cheek. ‘We’ll see, Platime,’ she said. ‘We’ll see.’

Stragen was doubled over with silent laughter. ‘What’s this home guard business, Sparhawk?’ he asked when he had recovered.

‘We’re going to mobilize the common people to defend the city,’ Sparhawk said. ‘As soon as Kurik gets here, we’ll work out the details. He suggested that we round up army veterans and press them into service as sergeants and corporals. Platime’s men can serve as junior officers, and you and Platime, under the direction of the Earl of Lenda, will act as our generals until the regular Elenian army returns to relieve you.’

Stragen thought it over. ‘It’s a workable plan,’ he approved. ‘It doesn’t take nearly as much training to defend a city as it does to attack one.’ He looked at his large, crestfallen friend. ‘If it’s all right, Your Majesty,’ he said to Ehlana, ‘I’ll take your protector here somewhere and pour some ale into him. He looks a trifle distraught for some reason.’

‘As you wish, Milord,’ she smiled. ‘Can you think of any crimes you might have committed in my kingdom you’d like to have me pardon? On the same terms?’

‘Ah, no, Your Majesty,’ he replied. ‘The thieves’ code forbids my poaching in Platime’s private preserve. If it weren’t for that, I’d rush out and murder somebody – just for the sake of spending the rest of my life in your divine company.’ His eyes were wicked.

‘You’re a very bad man, Milord Stragen.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he agreed, bowing. ‘Come along, Platime. It won’t seem nearly so bad once you get used to it.’

‘That was very, very slick, Your Majesty,’ Talen said after they had left. ‘Nobody’s ever swindled Platime that way before.’

‘Did you really like it?’ She sounded pleased.

‘It was brilliant, My Queen. Now I can see why Annias poisoned you. You’re a very dangerous woman.’

She beamed at Sparhawk. ‘Aren’t you proud of me, dear?’

‘I think your kingdom’s safe, Ehlana. I just hope the other monarchs are on their guard, that’s all.’

‘Would you excuse me for a moment?’ she asked, looking at her still-moist palm. ‘I’d like to wash my hands.’

It was not long afterwards when Vanion gravely led the others into the queen’s sitting-room. The Preceptor bowed perfunctorily to Ehlana. ‘Have you talked with Platime yet?’ he asked Sparhawk.

‘It’s all arranged,’ Sparhawk assured him.

‘Good. We’re going to have to ride to Demos tomorrow morning. Dolmant sent word that Archprelate Cluvonus is on his deathbed. He won’t last out the week.’

Sparhawk sighed. ‘We knew it was coming,’ he said. ‘Thank God we had time to take care of things here before it happened. Platime and Stragen are somewhere in the palace, Kurik – drinking probably. You’d better get together with them and work out some kind of organizational plans.’

‘Right,’ the squire said.

‘A moment, Master Kurik,’ the Earl of Lenda said. ‘How are you feeling, Your Majesty?’ he asked Ehlana.

‘I’m fine, My Lord.’

‘Do you think you’re strong enough to make a public appearance?’

‘Of course, Lenda. I’m perfectly all right.’

‘Good. Once our generals and Master Kurik have gathered up our home guard, I think a few short speeches from you might go a long way towards firing them up – appeals to their patriotism, denunciations of the church soldiers, a few veiled references to the perfidy of the Primate Annias, that sort of thing.’

‘Of course, Lenda,’ she agreed. ‘I like to make speeches anyway.’

‘You’ll have to stay here until you’ve got things all set up,’ Sparhawk said to Kurik. ‘You can join us in Chyrellos when Cimmura’s secure.’

Kurik nodded and quietly left.

‘That’s a very good man, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said.

‘Yes.’

Sephrenia had been looking critically at the rosy-cheeked queen. ‘Ehlana,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘You really shouldn’t pinch your cheeks like that to make them pink, you know. You’ll bruise your skin. You’re very fair, and your skin is delicate.’

Ehlana blushed. Then she laughed ruefully. ‘It is a bit vain, isn’t it?’

‘You’re a queen, Ehlana,’ the Styric woman told her, ‘not a milk-maid. Fair skin is more regal.’

‘Why do I always feel like a child when I’m talking with her?’ Ehlana asked no one in particular.

‘We all do, Your Majesty,’ Vanion assured her.

‘What’s happening in Chyrellos now?’ Sparhawk asked his friend. ‘Did Dolmant give you any details?’

‘Annias controls the streets,’ Vanion replied. ‘He hasn’t done anything overt yet, but his soldiers are letting themselves be seen. Dolmant thinks he’ll try to call for the election before Cluvonus is even cold. Dolmant has friends, and they’re going to try to stall things until we get there, but there’s only so much they’ll be able to do. Speed is vital now. When we rejoin the other orders, there’ll be four hundred of us. We’ll be outnumbered, but our presence should be felt. There’s something else, too. Otha’s crossed the border into Lamorkand. He’s not advancing yet, but he’s issuing ultimatums. He’s demanding the return of Bhelliom.’

‘Return? He never had it.’

‘Typical diplomatic flim-flammery, Sparhawk,’ the Earl of Lenda explained. ‘The weaker your position, the bigger the lie you tell.’ The old man pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘We know – or at least we can presume – that there’s an alliance between Otha and Annias, right?’

‘Yes,’ Vanion agreed.

‘Annias knows – or should – that our tactic to counter him will be to play for time. Otha’s move at this point gives the election a certain urgency. Annias will argue that the Church must be united to face the threat. Otha’s presence on the border will terrify the more timid members of the Hierocracy, and they’ll rush to confirm Annias. Then both he and Otha will get what they want. It’s very clever, actually.’

‘Did Otha go so far as to mention Bhelliom by name?’ Sparhawk asked.

Vanion shook his head. ‘He’s accused you of stealing one of the national treasures of Zemoch, that’s all. He left it rather deliberately vague. Too many people know about the significance of Bhelliom. He can’t really come right out and mention it by name.’

‘It’s fitting together more and more tightly,’ Lenda said. ‘Annias will declare that only he knows a way to make Otha withdraw. He’ll stampede the Hierocracy into electing him. Then he’ll wrest Bhelliom from Sparhawk and deliver it to Otha as a part of their bargain.’

‘It’s going to take quite a bit of “wresting”,’ Kalten said bleakly. ‘The militant orders will all fall into line behind Sparhawk.’

‘That’s probably what Annias hopes you’ll do,’ Lenda told him. ‘Then he’ll have every justification for disbanding the militant orders. Most of the Church Knights will obey the Archprelate’s command to disband. The rest of you will be outlaws, and Annias will let the commons know that you’re keeping the one thing that will stave off Otha. As I said, it’s very clever.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said in a ringing voice, ‘when you get to Chyrellos, I want Annias apprehended on the charge of high treason. I want him delivered to me in chains. Bring Arissa and Lycheas as well.’

‘Lycheas is already here, My Queen.’

‘I know that. Take him with you to Demos and imprison him with his mother. I want him to have plenty of time to describe the present circumstances to Arissa.’

‘It’s a useful idea, Your Majesty,’ Vanion said delicately, ‘but we’ll hardly have enough force in Chyrellos to take Annias into custody right at first.’

‘I know that, Lord Vanion, but if the arrest warrant and the specification of charges is delivered to Patriarch Dolmant, it may help him in delaying the election. He can always call for a Church investigation of the charges, and those things take time.’

Lenda rose and bowed to Sparhawk. ‘My boy,’ he said, ‘no matter what else you may have done or may yet do, your finest work sits upon that throne. I’m proud of you, Sparhawk.’

‘I think we’d better start moving,’ Vanion said. ‘We’ve got a lot of preparations to make.’

‘I’ll have copies of the warrant for the Primate’s arrest in your hands by the third hour after midnight, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda promised, ‘along with a number of others. We have a splendid opportunity here to clean up the kingdom. Let’s not waste it.’

‘Berit,’ Sparhawk said. ‘My armour’s in that room over there. Take it back to the chapterhouse, if you would please. I think I’m going to need it.’

‘Of course, Sir Sparhawk.’ Berit’s eyes, however, were still flat and unfriendly.

‘Stay a moment, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said as they all started towards the door. He dropped behind the others and waited until the door closed.

‘Yes, My Queen,’ he said.

‘You must be so very, very careful, my beloved,’ she said with her heart in her eyes. ‘I’d die if I lost you now.’ Mutely, she held out her arms to him.

He crossed to where she sat and embraced her. Her kiss was fierce. ‘Go quickly, Sparhawk,’ she said in a voice near to tears. ‘I don’t want you to see me crying.’

Chapter 7

They left for Demos shortly after sunrise the following morning, riding at a jingling trot with a forest of pennon-tipped lances strung out behind them as the hundred Pandions rode resolutely eastward.

‘It’s a good day to be on the road,’ Vanion said, looking around at the sun-drenched fields. ‘I just wish – Oh, well.’

‘How are you feeling now, Vanion?’ Sparhawk asked his old friend.

‘Much better,’ the Preceptor replied. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Sparhawk. Those swords were very, very heavy. They gave me some fairly strong hints of what it’s going to be like to grow old.’

‘You’ll live forever, my friend,’ Sparhawk smiled.

‘I certainly hope not, not if it means feeling the way I felt when I was carrying those swords.’

They rode on in silence for a while.

‘This is a long chance, Vanion,’ Sparhawk said sombrely. ‘We’re going to be badly outnumbered in Chyrellos, and if Otha starts across Lamorkand, it’s going to be a close race between him and Wargun. Whichever one gets to Chyrellos first will win.’

‘I think we’re getting very close to one of those articles of the faith, Sparhawk. We’re going to have to trust God in this. I’m sure He doesn’t want Annias to be Archprelate, and I’m very sure he doesn’t want Otha in the streets of Chyrellos.’

‘Let’s hope not.’

Talen and Berit were riding not far behind. Over the months, a certain friendship had grown up between the novice and the young thief, a friendship based in part upon the fact that they were both a bit uncomfortable in the presence of their elders.

‘Exactly what’s this election business all about, Berit?’ Talen asked. ‘What I’m getting at is how does it work exactly? I’m a little shaky on that sort of thing.’

Berit straightened in his saddle. ‘All right, Talen,’ he said, ‘when the old Archprelate dies, the Patriarchs of the Hierocracy gather in the Basilica. Most of the other high Churchmen are there as well, and the kings of Eosia are usually also present. Each of the kings makes a short speech at the beginning, but no one else is permitted to speak during the Hierocracy’s deliberations – only the Patriarchs, and they’re the only ones who have votes.’

‘You mean that the Preceptors can’t even vote?’

‘The Preceptors are Patriarchs, young man,’ Perraine said from just behind them.

‘I didn’t know that. I wondered why everybody sort of stepped aside for the Church Knights. How is it that Annias is running the Church in Cimmura then? Where’s the Patriarch?’

‘Patriarch Udale is ninety-three years old, Talen,’ Berit explained. ‘He’s still alive, but we’re not sure he even knows his own name. He’s being cared for in the Pandion Mother-house at Demos.’

‘That makes it difficult for Annias, doesn’t it? As a Primate, he can’t talk – or vote, and there’s no way he can poison this Udale if he’s in the Mother-house.’

‘That’s why he needs money. He has to buy people to do his talking – and his voting – for him.’

‘Wait a minute. Annias is only a Primate, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right.’

Talen frowned. ‘If he’s only a Primate and the others are Patriarchs, how does he think he stands a chance at election?’

‘A Churchman doesn’t have to be a Patriarch to ascend the throne of the Church. On several occasions, some simple village priest has become the Archprelate.’

‘It’s all very complicated, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it just be simpler for us to move in with the army and put the man we want on the throne?’

‘That’s been tried in the past. It never really worked out. I don’t think God approves.’

‘He’ll approve a lot less if Annias wins, won’t He?’

‘There could be something to what you say, Talen.’

Tynian rode forward, and there was a grin on his broad face. ‘Kalten and Ulath are amusing themselves by terrorizing Lycheas,’ he said. ‘Ulath’s been lopping off saplings with his axe, and Kalten’s coiled a noose. He’s been pointing out overhanging tree-limbs to Lycheas. Lycheas keeps fainting. We had to chain his hands to his saddle-bow to keep him from falling out of his saddle.’

‘Kalten and Ulath are simple fellows,’ Sparhawk observed. ‘It doesn’t take much to keep them amused. Lycheas will have a great deal to tell his mother when we get to Demos.’

About midday, they turned southeast to ride across country. The weather held fair. They made good time and reached Demos late the following day. Just before the column swung south towards the encampment of the knights of the other three orders, Sparhawk, Kalten and Ulath took Lycheas around the northern edge of town to the cloister in which Princess Arissa was confined. The cloister had yellow sandstone walls, and it stood in a wooded glen where birds sang from the limbs in the late afternoon sunshine.

Sparhawk and his friends dismounted at the gate and rather roughly jerked the chained Lycheas from his saddle.

‘We’ll need to speak with your Mother Superior,’ Sparhawk told the gentle little nun who opened the gate for them. ‘Is Princess Arissa still spending most of her time in that garden near the south wall?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

‘Please ask the Mother Superior to join us there. We’re delivering Arissa’s son to her.’ He took Lycheas by the scruff of the neck and dragged him across the courtyard towards the walled garden where Arissa spent her long hours of confinement. Sparhawk was coldly angry for a number of reasons.

‘Mother!’ Lycheas cried when he saw her. He broke free from Sparhawk and stumbled towards her, his imploring hands hampered by his chains.

Princess Arissa came to her feet, her face outraged. The circles under her eyes had lessened, and her look of sullen discontent had faded to be replaced by one of smug anticipation. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ she demanded, embracing her cowering son.

‘They threw me in the dungeon, mother,’ Lycheas blubbered, ‘and they’ve been threatening me.’

‘How dare you treat the Prince Regent so, Sparhawk?’ she burst out.

‘The situation has greatly changed, Princess,’ Sparhawk informed her coolly. ‘Your son isn’t Prince Regent any more.’

‘No one has the authority to depose him. You’ll pay for this with your life, Sparhawk.’

‘I sort of doubt that, Arissa,’ Kalten disagreed with a broad grin. ‘I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that your niece has recovered from her illness.’

‘Ehlana? That’s impossible!’

‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t. I know that as a true daughter of the Church, you’ll join with us all in praising God for his miraculous intervention. The royal council almost swooned with delight. The Baron Harparin was so pleased that he completely lost his head.’

‘But no one ever recovers from –’ she bit her lip.

‘From the effects of darestim?’ Sparhawk completed her sentence for her.

‘How did you –?’

‘It wasn’t really all that hard, Arissa. It’s all falling apart on you, Princess. The queen was most displeased with you and your son – and the Primate Annias as well, of course. She’s commanded us to take the three of you into custody. You can consider yourself under arrest at this point.’

‘On what charge?’ she exclaimed.

‘High treason, wasn’t it, Kalten?’

‘I think those were the words the queen used, yes. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding, Your Highness,’ the blond man smirked at Queen Ehlana’s aunt. ‘You, your son and the good Primate should have no trouble explaining things at your trial.’

‘Trial?’ Her face blanched.

‘I think that’s the normal procedure, Princess. Ordinarily, we’d have just hanged your son and then you as well, but you both have a certain eminence in the kingdom, so certain necessary formalities are in order.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Arissa cried. ‘I’m a princess. I can’t be charged with such a crime.’

‘You might try to explain that to Ehlana,’ Kalten replied. ‘I’m sure she’ll be very interested in your arguments – before she passes sentence.’

‘You’ll also be charged with the murder of your brother, Arissa,’ Sparhawk added. ‘Princess or not, that alone would be enough to hang you. But we’re a bit pressed for time. I’m sure your son will be able to explain it all to you in greater detail.’

An aged nun entered the garden, her expression disapproving at the presence of men within her walls.

‘Ah, Mother Superior,’ Sparhawk greeted her with a bow. ‘By order of the crown, I’m to confine these two criminals until they can be brought to trial. Do you by chance have penitents’ cells within your walls?’

‘I’m sorry, Sir Knight,’ the Mother Superior said very firmly, ‘but the rules of our order forbid confining penitents against their will.’

‘That’s all right, mother,’ Ulath smiled. ‘We’ll take care of it. We’d sooner die than offend the ladies of the Church. I can assure you that the princess and her son will be unwilling to leave their cells – both of them being so engulfed in repentance, you understand. Let’s see, I’ll need a couple of lengths of chain, some stout bolts, a hammer and an anvil. I’ll close up those cells with no trouble whatsoever, and you and your good sisters won’t need to concern yourselves with politics.’ He paused and looked at Sparhawk. ‘Or did you want me just to chain them to the walls?’

Sparhawk actually considered it. ‘No,’ he decided finally, ‘probably not. They’re still members of the royal family, and certain courtesies are involved.’

‘I have no choice but to accede to your demands, Sir Knights,’ the Mother Superior said. She paused. ‘There are rumours abroad that the queen has recovered,’ she said. ‘Can that possibly be true?’

‘Yes, Mother Superior,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘The queen is well, and the government of Elenia is once again in her hands.’

‘Praise God!’ the old nun exclaimed. ‘And will you soon be removing our unwanted guests from within our walls?’

‘Soon, mother. Very soon.’

‘We shall cleanse the chambers the princess has contaminated then – and offer prayers for her soul, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘How very, very touching,’ Arissa said sardonically, appearing to have slightly recovered. ‘If this grows any more cloying, I think I’ll vomit.’

‘You’re starting to irritate me, Arissa,’ Sparhawk said coldly. ‘I don’t recommend it. If I weren’t under the queen’s orders, I’d strike off your head here and now. I’d advise you to make your peace with God, because I’m quite sure you’ll be meeting Him face to face before long.’ He looked at her with extreme distaste. ‘Get her out of my sight,’ he told Kalten and Ulath.

About fifteen minutes later, Kalten and Ulath came back from within the cloister.

‘All secure?’ Sparhawk asked them.

‘It’d take a blacksmith an hour to open those cell-doors,’ Kalten replied. ‘Shall we go then?’

They had gone no more than a half-mile when Ulath suddenly shouted, ‘Look out, Sparhawk!’ and roughly shoved the big Pandion from his saddle.

The crossbow bolt whizzed through the empty air where Sparhawk had been an instant before and buried itself to the vanes in a tree at the roadside.

Kalten’s sword came whistling from its sheath, and he spurred his horse in the direction from which the bolt had come.

‘Are you all right?’ Ulath asked, dismounting to help Sparhawk to his feet.

‘A little bruised is all. You push very firmly, my friend.’

‘I’m sorry, Sparhawk. I got excited.’

‘Perfectly all right, Ulath. Push as hard as you like when these things happen. How did you happen to see the bolt coming?’

‘Pure luck. I happened to be looking that way, and I saw the bushes move.’

Kalten was swearing when he rode back. ‘He got away,’ he reported.

‘I’m getting very tired of that fellow,’ Sparhawk said, pulling himself back into the saddle.

‘You think it might be the same one that took a shot at you back in Cimmura?’ Kalten asked him.

‘This isn’t Lamorkand, Kalten. There isn’t a crossbow standing in the corner of every kitchen in the kingdom.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘Let’s not make an issue of this when we see Vanion again,’ he suggested. ‘I can sort of take care of myself, and he’s got enough on his mind already.’

‘I think it’s a mistake, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said dubiously, ‘but it’s your skin, so we’ll do it your way.’

The knights of the four orders were waiting in a well-concealed encampment a league or so to the south of Demos. Sparhawk and his friends were directed to the pavilion where their friends were conversing with Preceptor Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights, Preceptor Komier of the Genidians and Preceptor Darellon of the Alciones. ‘How did Princess Arissa take the news?’ Vanion asked.

‘She was moderately discontented about it all,’ Kalten smirked. ‘She wanted to make a speech, but since about all she really wanted to say was, “You can’t do this,” we cut her off.’

‘You did what?’ Vanion exclaimed.

‘Oh, not that way, My Lord Vanion,’ Kalten apologized. ‘Poor choice of words there perhaps.’

‘Say what you mean, Kalten,’ Vanion told him. ‘This is no time for misunderstandings.’

‘I wouldn’t actually behead the princess, Lord Vanion.’

‘I would,’ Ulath muttered.

‘May we see the Bhelliom?’ Komier asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia, and she nodded, although a bit dubiously.

Sparhawk reached inside his surcoat and removed the canvas pouch. He untied the drawstring then shook the Sapphire Rose out into his hand. It had been several days since he had felt even the faintest twinge of that shadowy, unnamed dread, but it returned once again as soon as his eyes touched the Sapphire Rose, and once again that shapeless shadow, even darker and larger now, flickered just beyond his field of vision.

‘Dear God,’ Preceptor Abriel gasped.

‘That’s it, all right,’ the Thalesian Komier grunted. ‘Get it out of sight, Sparhawk.’

‘But –’ Preceptor Darellon protested.

‘Did you want to keep your soul, Darellon?’ Komier asked bluntly. ‘If you do, don’t look at that thing for more than a few seconds.’

‘Put it away, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said.

‘Have we had any news about what Otha’s doing?’ Kalten asked as Sparhawk dropped Bhelliom back into its pouch.

‘He appears to be holding firm at the border,’ Abriel replied. ‘Vanion told us about the confession of the bastard Lycheas. It’s very likely that Annias has asked Otha to stand on the border making menacing noises. Then the Primate of Cimmura can claim that he knows a way to stop the Zemochs. That should sway a few votes his way.’

‘Do we think that Otha knows Sparhawk’s got Bhelliom?’ Ulath asked.

‘Azash does,’ Sephrenia said, ‘and that means Otha does as well. Whether the news reached Annias yet is anybody’s guess.’

‘What’s happening in Chyrellos?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘The latest word we have is that Archprelate Cluvonus is still hanging on by a thread. There’s no way we can hide the fact that we’re coming, so we’re just going to bull our way on through to Chyrellos. There’s been a change of plans now that Otha’s made his move. We want to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies. It’s obvious that Annias is going to try to force the election as soon as he can now. He can’t really start giving orders until after that. Once Cluvonus dies, though, the Patriarchs Annias controls can start calling for votes. Probably the first thing they’ll vote on is the sealing of the city. That won’t be a matter of substance, so Annias probably has the votes to get it passed.’

‘Can Dolmant make any kind of estimate about how the vote stands just now?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘It’s close, Sir Sparhawk,’ Preceptor Abriel told him. Abriel was the leader of the Cyrinic Knights in Arcium. He was a solidly-built man in his sixties with silvery hair and an ascetic expression. ‘A fair number of Patriarchs aren’t in Chyrellos.’

‘A tribute to the efficiency of Annias’s assassins,’ the Thalesian Komier said dryly.

‘Most probably,’ Abriel agreed. ‘At any rate, there are one hundred and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos now.’

‘Out of how many?’ Kalten asked.

‘One hundred and sixty-eight.’

‘Why such an odd number?’ Talen asked curiously.

‘It was arranged that way, young man,’ Abriel explained. ‘The number was selected so that it would take one hundred votes to elect a new Archprelate.’

‘One hundred and sixty-seven would have been closer,’ Talen said after a moment.

‘To what?’ Kalten asked.

‘The hundred votes. You see, one hundred votes is 60 per cent of –’ Talen looked at Kalten’s uncomprehending expression. ‘Ah – never mind, Kalten,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Can you come up with those numbers in your head, boy?’ Komier asked with some surprise. ‘We’ve wasted a bale of paper grinding out computations then.’

‘It’s a trick, My Lord,’ Talen said modestly. ‘In my business you sometimes have to deal with numbers very rapidly. Could I ask how many votes Annias has right now?’

‘Sixty-five,’ Abriel replied, ‘either firm or strongly leaning towards him.’

‘And we have?’

‘Fifty-eight.’

‘Nobody wins then. He needs thirty-five more votes, and we need forty-two.’

‘It’s not quite that simple, I’m afraid,’ Abriel sighed. ‘The procedure set down by the Church Fathers says that it takes one hundred votes – or a like proportion of those present and voting – to elect a new Archprelate, or to decide all matters of substance.’

‘And that’s what used up that bale of paper,’ Komier said sourly.

‘All right,’ Talen said after a moment’s thought. ‘Annias only needs eighty votes then, but he’s still fifteen short.’ He frowned. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Your numbers don’t add up. You’ve only accounted for one hundred and twenty-three votes, and you said there were one hundred and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos.’

‘Nine of the Patriarchs have still not decided,’ Abriel told him. ‘Dolmant suspects that they’re just holding out for bigger bribes. There are votes from time to time on non-substantive matters. In those cases, it only takes a simple majority to win. Sometimes the nine will vote with Annias and sometimes they won’t. They’re demonstrating their power to him. They’ll vote to their own advantage, I’m afraid.’

‘Even if they all vote with Annias every time, they still won’t make any difference,’ Talen said. ‘No matter how you stretch nine votes, you can’t turn them into fifteen.’

‘But he doesn’t need fifteen,’ Preceptor Darellon said wearily. ‘Because of all the assassinations and all the church soldiers in the streets of Chyrellos, seventeen of the Patriarchs opposed to Annias have gone into hiding somewhere in the Holy City. They aren’t present and voting, and that changes the numbers.’

‘This is all beginning to make my head ache,’ Kalten said to Ulath.

Talen was shaking his head. ‘I think we’re in trouble, My Lords,’ he said. ‘Without those seventeen to raise the total, the number to win is sixty-nine. Annias only needs four more votes.’

‘And as soon as he can come up with enough money to satisfy four of those nine hold-outs, he’ll win,’ Sir Bevier said. ‘The boy’s right, My Lords. We’re in trouble.’

‘We have to change the numbers then,’ Sparhawk said.

‘How do you change numbers?’ Kalten asked. ‘A number is a number. You can’t change it.’

‘You can if you add to it. What we have to do when we get to Chyrellos is find those seventeen Patriarchs who are hiding and get them safely back to the Basilica to participate in the vote. That would bring the number Annias needs to win back up to eighty, and he can’t reach that number.’

‘But neither can we,’ Tynian pointed out. ‘Even if we brought them back, we’d still only have fifty-eight votes.’

‘Sixty-two actually, Sir Tynian,’ Berit corrected respectfully. ‘The Preceptors of the four orders are also Patriarchs, and I don’t think any of them would vote for Annias, would you, My Lords?’

‘That changes the number again,’ Talen said. ‘Add the seventeen and the four, and the total is one hundred and thirty-six. That raises the number needed to win to eighty-two – eighty-one and a fraction, actually.’

‘An unreachable number for either side,’ Komier said in a gloomy voice. ‘There’s still no way we can win.’

‘We don’t have to win the vote in order to come out on top, Komier,’ Vanion said. ‘We’re not trying to elect anybody. All we’re trying to do is keep Annias off the throne. We can win with a stalemate.’ Sparhawk’s friend rose to his feet and began to pace up and down in the pavilion. ‘As soon as we reach Chyrellos, we’ll get Dolmant to send a message to Wargun down in Arcium declaring that there’s a religious crisis in the Holy City. That will put Wargun under our orders. We’ll include a command signed by the four of us that he’s to suspend his operations in Arcium and ride for Chyrellos with all possible speed. If Otha starts to move, we’re going to need him there anyway.’

‘How are we going to get enough votes for such a declaration?’ Preceptor Darellon asked.

‘I wasn’t planning to put it to a vote, my friend,’ Vanion smiled thinly. ‘Dolmant’s reputation will convince Patriarch Bergsten that the declaration is official, and Bergsten can order Wargun to march on Chyrellos. We can apologize for the misunderstanding later. By then though, Wargun will be in Chyrellos with the combined armies of the west.’

‘Less the Elenian army,’ Sparhawk insisted. ‘My queen is sitting in Cimmura with only a pair of thieves to protect her.’

‘I’m not trying to offend you, Sir Sparhawk,’ Darellon said, ‘but that’s hardly crucial at this point.’

‘I’m not so sure, Darellon,’ Vanion disagreed. ‘Annias desperately needs money now. He has to have access to the Elenian treasury – not only to bribe the remaining nine, but also to keep the votes he already has. It wouldn’t take too many defections to put the throne completely out of his reach. Protecting Ehlana – and her treasury – is even more vital now than it was before.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, Vanion,’ Darellon conceded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, I guess.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion continued his analysis, ‘when Wargun reaches Chyrellos with his forces, the balance of power in the Holy City shifts. Annias’s grip on his adherents is fairly tenuous as it is, and I’d guess that in many cases it’s based rather strongly on the fact that his soldiers control the streets. As soon as that changes, I think a goodly part of his support will begin to dissolve. As I see it, gentlemen, our job is to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies, get that message off to Wargun and then start rounding up the Patriarchs who are in hiding so that we can get them back into the Basilica to participate in the voting.’ He looked at Talen. ‘How many do we need – what’s the absolute minimum we have to have to keep Annias from winning?’

‘If he can somehow get those nine, he’ll have seventy-four votes, My Lord. If we can find six of the ones in hiding, the total number voting will be one hundred and twenty-five. Sixty per cent of that is seventy-five. He loses at that point.’

‘Very good, Talen,’ Vanion said. ‘That’s it then, gentlemen. All we have to do is go to Chyrellos, take the city apart and find six Patriarchs who are willing to vote against Annias. We nominate somebody – anybody – to stand for election and keep taking votes until Wargun arrives.’

‘It’s still not the same as winning, Vanion,’ Komier grumbled.

‘It’s the next best thing to it,’ Vanion replied.

Sparhawk’s sleep was restless that night. The darkness seemed filled with vague cries and moans and a sense of unnamed terror. Finally he rose from his bed, threw on a monk’s robe and went looking for Sephrenia.

As he had about half-expected, he found her sitting in the doorway of her tent with her teacup in her hands. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ he asked, half in irritation.

‘Your dreams are keeping me awake, dear one.’

‘You know what I’m dreaming?’ He was astounded.

‘Not the details, but I know that something’s upsetting you.’

‘I saw the shadow again when I showed Bhelliom to Vanion and the other Preceptors.’

‘Is that what’s disturbing you?’

‘In part. Someone took a shot at me with a crossbow when Ulath, Kalten and I were coming here from the cloister where Arissa’s confined.’

‘But that was before you took Bhelliom out of the pouch. Maybe the incidents aren’t linked after all.’

‘Maybe the shadow saves them up – or maybe it can see them coming in the future. It might be that the shadow doesn’t need to have me touch Bhelliom in order to send somebody to kill me.’

‘Does Elene logic usually involve so many maybe’s?’

‘No, it doesn’t, and that bothers me a little bit. It doesn’t bother me enough to make me discard the hypothesis, though. Azash has been sending things to kill me for quite some time now, little mother, and they’ve all had some sort of supernatural quality about them. This shadow that I keep catching a glimpse of obviously isn’t natural, or you’d have been able to see it too.’

‘That’s true, I suppose.’

‘Then I’d be sort of foolish to drop my guard just because I can’t prove that Azash sent the shadow, wouldn’t I?’

‘Probably, yes.’

‘Even though I can’t actually prove it, I know that there’s some kind of connection between Bhelliom and that flicker in the corner of my eye. I don’t know what the connection is just yet, and maybe that’s why some random incidents seem to be clouding the issue. To be on the safe side, though, I’m going to assume the worst – that the shadow belongs to Azash and it’s following Bhelliom itself and that it’s sending humans to try to kill me.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘You’d already made up your mind about this, Sparhawk,’ she said to him, ‘so why did you come looking for me?’

‘I needed to have you listen while I talked my way through it.’

‘I see.’

‘Besides, I like your company.’

She smiled fondly at him. ‘You’re such a good boy, Sparhawk. Now, why don’t we talk about why you’re keeping this last attempt on your life from Vanion?’

He sighed. ‘You don’t approve of that, I see.’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.’

‘I don’t want him putting me in the middle of the column with armoured knights holding their shields over me. I have to be able to see what’s coming at me, Sephrenia. I’ll start trying to claw my way out of my skin if I can’t.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed.

Faran was in a foul humour. A day and a half of nearly continual hard riding had made his disposition definitely take a turn for the worse. Some fifteen leagues from Chyrellos, the Preceptors halted the column, ordered the knights to dismount and walk their horses for a time. Faran tried to bite Sparhawk three times as the big knight was climbing out of his saddle. The bites were intended more as an indication of disapproval than arising from any serious desire to injure or maim. Faran had discovered early in life that biting his master when he was wearing full armour only led to aching teeth. When the big roan half-whirled and kicked Sparhawk solidly on the hip, however, Sparhawk felt that it was time to take steps. With Kalten’s help, he rose to his feet, pushed back his visor and pulled himself hand over hand up the reins to glare directly into the ugly warhorse’s face. ‘Stop it!’ he snapped.

Faran glared back at him with hate-filled eyes.

Sparhawk moved his hand very quickly then and grasped the roan’s left ear in his gauntleted fist. Grimly he began to twist.

Faran ground his teeth together, and tears actually appeared in his eyes. ‘Do we understand each other?’ Sparhawk grated.

Faran kicked him in the knee with one fore-hoof.

‘It’s up to you, Faran,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re going to look ridiculous without that ear, though.’ He twisted harder until his horse grudgingly squealed in pain.

‘Always nice talking with you, Faran,’ Sparhawk said, releasing the ear. Then he stroked the sweat-soaked neck. ‘You big old fool,’ he said gently. ‘Are you all right?’

Faran flicked his ears – his right one, anyway – with an ostentatious display of indifference.

‘It’s really necessary, Faran,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘I’m not riding you this hard for fun. It won’t be much farther. Can I trust you now?’

Faran sighed and pawed at the ground with one fore-hoof.

‘Good,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s walk for a while.’

‘That is truly uncanny,’ Preceptor Abriel said to Vanion. ‘I’ve never seen horse and man so totally linked before.’

‘It’s a part of Sparhawk’s advantage, my friend,’ Vanion said. ‘He’s bad enough by himself, but when you put him on that horse, he turns into a natural disaster.’

They walked on for a mile or so, then remounted and rode on through the afternoon sunlight towards the Holy City.

It was nearly midnight when they crossed the wide bridge over the River Arruk and approached one of the west gates of Chyrellos. The gate, of course, was guarded by church soldiers. ‘I cannot grant you entry until sunrise, My Lords,’ the captain in charge of the guard detachment said firmly. ‘By order of the Hierocracy, no one under arms may enter Chyrellos during the hours of darkness.’

Preceptor Komier reached for his axe.

‘A moment, my friend,’ Preceptor Abriel cautioned mildly. ‘I believe there’s a way to resolve this difficulty without unpleasantness. Captain,’ he addressed the red-tunicked soldier.

‘Yes, My Lord?’ The captain’s voice was insultingly smug.

‘This order you mentioned, does it apply to members of the Hierocracy itself?’

‘My Lord?’ The captain seemed confused.

‘It’s a simple question, Captain. A yes or a no will suffice. Does the order apply to the Patriarchs of the Church?’

‘No one may hinder a Church Patriarch, My Lord,’ the captain floundered a bit.

‘Your Grace,’ Abriel corrected.

The captain blinked stupidly.

‘The correct form of address when speaking to a Patriarch is “Your Grace”, Captain. By Church Law, my three companions and I are, in fact, Patriarchs of the Church. Form up your men, Captain. We will inspect them.’

The captain hesitated.

‘I speak for the Church, Lieutenant,’ Abriel said. ‘Will you defy her?’

‘Uh – I’m a captain, Your Grace,’ the man mumbled.

‘You were a captain, Lieutenant, but not any more. Now, would you like to be a sergeant again? If not, you’ll do as I say immediately.’

‘At once, Your Grace,’ the shaken man replied. ‘You there!’ he shouted. ‘All of you! Fall in and prepare for inspection!’

The appearance of the detachment at the gate was, in Preceptor – ah, shall we say instead Patriarch – Darellon’s words, disgraceful. Reprimands were freely distributed in blistering terms, and then the column entered the Holy City without any further hindrance. There was no laughter – nor even any smiles – until the armoured men were well out of earshot of the gates. The discipline of the Knights of the Church is the wonder of the known world.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets of Chyrellos were heavily patrolled by church soldiers. Sparhawk knew these kinds of men, and he knew that their loyalty was for sale. They served only for the pay in most cases. Because of their numbers here in the Holy City, they had become accustomed to behaving with a certain arrogant rudeness. The appearance of four hundred armoured Church Knights in the streets at the ominous hour of midnight engendered what Sparhawk felt to be a becoming humility, however – at least among the common troops. It took the officers a bit longer to grasp the truth. It always does, somehow. One obnoxious young fellow tried to block their path, demanding to examine their documents. He seemed quite puffed-up with his own importance and failed to look behind him. He was thus unaware of the fact that his troops had discreetly gone somewhere else. He continued to deliver his peremptory commands in a shrill voice, demanding this and insisting on that until Sparhawk loosened Faran’s reins and rode him down at a deliberate walk. Faran made a special point of grinding his steel-shod hooves into a number of very sensitive places on the officer’s body.

‘Feel better now?’ Sparhawk asked his horse.

Faran nickered wickedly.

‘Kalten,’ Vanion said, ‘let’s get started. Break the column up into groups of ten. Fan out through the city and let it be generally known that the Knights of the Church offer their protection to any Patriarch desiring to go to the Basilica to participate in the voting.’

‘Yes, My Lord Vanion,’ Kalten said. ‘I’ll go and wake up the Holy City. I’m sure everybody is breathlessly waiting to hear the news I bring.’

‘Do you think there’s ever going to be any hope that someday he’ll grow up?’ Sparhawk said.

‘I rather hope not,’ Vanion said gently. ‘No matter how old the rest of us get, we’ll always have an eternal boy in our midst. That’s sort of comforting, really.’

The Preceptors, followed by Sparhawk, his friends and a twenty-man detachment under the command of Sir Perraine proceeded along the broad avenue.

Dolmant’s modest house was guarded by a platoon of soldiers, and Sparhawk recognized their officer as one loyal to the Patriarch of Demos. ‘Thank God!’ the young man exclaimed as the knights reined in just outside Dolmant’s gate.

‘We were in the area and thought we’d stop by to pay a courtesy call,’ Vanion said with a dry smile. ‘His Grace has been well, I trust?’

‘He’ll be much better now that you and your friends are here, My Lord. It’s been a bit tense here in Chyrellos.’

‘I can imagine. Is His Grace still awake?’

The officer nodded. ‘He’s meeting with Emban, Patriarch of Ucera. Perhaps you know him, My Lord?’

‘Heavy-set fellow – sort of jolly?’

‘That’s him, My Lord. I’ll tell His Grace you’ve arrived.’

Dolmant, Patriarch of Demos, was as lean and severe as always, but his ascetic face actually broke into a broad smile when the Church Knights trooped into his study. ‘You made good time, gentlemen,’ he told them. ‘You all know Emban, of course.’ He indicated his stout fellow Patriarch.

Emban was definitely more than ‘heavy-set’. ‘Your study’s starting to resemble a foundry, Dolmant,’ he chuckled, looking around at the armoured knights. ‘I haven’t seen so much steel in one place in years.’

‘Comforting, though,’ Dolmant said.

‘Oh my, yes.’

‘How do things stand in Cimmura, Vanion?’ Dolmant asked intently.

‘I’m happy to report that Queen Ehlana has recovered and now has her government firmly in her own hands,’ Vanion replied.

‘Thank God!’ Emban exclaimed. ‘I think Annias just went into bankruptcy.’

‘You managed to find the Bhelliom then?’ Dolmant asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk nodded. ‘Would you like to see it, Your Grace?’ he asked.

‘I don’t believe so, Sparhawk. I’m not supposed to admit its power, but I’ve heard some stories – folklorish superstition no doubt – but let’s not take any chances.’

Sparhawk heaved an inward sigh of relief. He did not much fancy another encounter with that flickering shadow nor the prospect of walking around for several days with the uneasy feeling that someone might be aiming a crossbow at him.

‘It’s peculiar that the news of the queen’s recovery hasn’t reached Annias yet,’ Dolmant observed. ‘At least he’s shown no signs of chagrin so far.’

‘I’d be very surprised if he’s heard of it yet, Your Grace,’ Komier rumbled. ‘Vanion sealed the city to keep the Cimmurans at home. As I understand it, people who try to leave are turned back quite firmly.’

‘You didn’t leave your Pandions there, did you, Vanion?’

‘No, Your Grace. We found assistance elsewhere. How’s the Archprelate?’

‘Dying,’ Emban replied. ‘Of course, he’s been dying for several years, but he’s a little more serious about it this time.’

‘Is Otha making any more moves, Your Grace?’ Darellon asked.

Dolmant shook his head. ‘He’s still encamped just inside the border of Lamorkand. He’s making all kinds of threats and demanding that the mysterious Zemoch treasure be returned to him.’

‘It’s not so mysterious, Dolmant,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘He wants Bhelliom, and he knows Sparhawk has it.’

‘Someone’s bound to suggest that Sparhawk turn it over to him in order to prevent an invasion,’ Emban suggested.

‘That will never happen, Your Grace,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll destroy it first.’

‘Have any of the Patriarchs who were in hiding returned as yet?’ Preceptor Abriel asked.

‘Not a one,’ Emban snorted. ‘They’re probably down the deepest ratholes they can find by now. Two of them had fatal accidents a couple of days ago, and the rest went to ground.’

‘We have knights scouring the city looking for them,’ Preceptor Darellon reported. ‘Even the most timid of rabbits might regain some degree of courage if they’re protected by Church Knights.’

‘Darellon,’ Dolmant said reproachfully.

‘Sorry, Your Grace,’ Darellon said perfunctorily.

‘Will that change the numbers?’ Komier asked Talen. ‘The two that died, I mean?’

‘No, My Lord,’ Talen said. ‘We weren’t counting them anyway.’

Dolmant looked puzzled.

‘The lad has a gift for figures,’ Komier explained. ‘He can compute things in his head faster than I can with a pencil.’

‘Sometimes you amaze me, Talen,’ Dolmant said. ‘Could I perhaps interest you in a career in the Church?’

‘Counting the contributions of the faithful, Your Grace?’ Talen asked eagerly.

‘Ah – no, I don’t think so, Talen.’

‘Have the votes changed at all, Your Grace?’ Abriel asked.

Dolmant shook his head. ‘Annias still has a simple majority. He can bull through anything that isn’t a matter of substance. His toadies are calling for votes on just about anything that comes up. He wants to keep a running count for one thing, and the voting keeps us all locked in the audience chamber.’

‘The numbers are about to change, Your Grace,’ Komier said. ‘My friends and I have decided to participate this time.’

‘Now that’s unusual,’ Patriarch Emban said. ‘The Preceptors of the militant orders haven’t participated in a vote of the Hierocracy for two hundred years.’

‘We’re still welcome, aren’t we, Your Grace?’

‘As far as I’m concerned you are, Your Grace. Annias might not like it too much, though.’

‘How very unfortunate for him. What does that do to the numbers, Talen?’

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