Читать книгу The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose - David Eddings - Страница 23

It was midafternoon when they rode across the drawbridge and onto the road leading to Demos and beyond. The wind still blew, but the sky was clearing. The long road stretching towards Demos was teeming with traffic. Carts and wagons rattled by, and drably dressed peasants with heavy bundles on their shoulders plodded slowly towards the market places of Cimmura. The raw winter wind bent the yellow grass at the sides of the road. Sparhawk rode a few paces in advance of the others, and the travellers on their way to Cimmura gave way to him. Faran was prancing again as they rode along at a steady trot.

‘Your horse seems restive, Sparhawk,’ the Patriarch Dolmant, wrapped in a heavy black ecclesiastical cloak over his cassock, observed.

‘He’s just showing off,’ Sparhawk replied back over his shoulder. ‘He has some notion that it impresses me.’

‘It gives him something to do while he’s waiting for the chance to bite somebody.’ Kalten laughed.

‘Is he vicious?’

‘It’s the nature of the war horse, your Grace,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘They’re bred for aggressiveness. In Faran’s case they just went too far.’

‘Has he ever bitten you?’

‘Once. Then I explained to him that I’d rather he didn’t do it any more.’

‘Explained?’

‘I used a stout stick. He got the idea almost immediately.’

‘We’re not going to get too far this afternoon, Sparhawk,’ Kurik called from his position at the rear of the party where he rode with their pair of pack horses. ‘We started late. There’s an inn I know of about a league ahead. What do you think of the idea of stopping there, getting a good night’s sleep, and starting out early in the morning?’

‘It makes sense, Sparhawk,’ Kalten agreed. ‘I don’t enjoy sleeping on the ground that much any more.’

‘All right,’ Sparhawk said. He glanced at Talen, who was riding a tired-looking bay horse beside Sephrenia’s white palfrey. The boy kept looking back over his shoulder apprehensively. ‘You’re being awfully quiet,’ he said.

‘Young people aren’t supposed to talk in the presence of their elders, Sparhawk,’ Talen replied glibly. ‘That’s one of the things they taught me in that school Kurik sent me to. I try to obey the rules – when it doesn’t inconvenience me too much.’

‘The young man is pert,’ Dolmant observed.

‘He’s also a thief, your Grace,’ Kalten warned. ‘Don’t get too close to him if you have any valuables about you.’

Dolmant looked sternly at the boy. ‘Aren’t you aware of the fact that thievery is frowned upon by the Church?’

‘Yes,’ Talen sighed, ‘I know. The Church is very strait-laced about things like that.’

‘Watch your mouth, Talen,’ Kurik snapped.

‘I can’t, Kurik. My nose gets in the way.’

‘The lad’s depravity is perhaps understandable,’ Dolmant said tolerantly. ‘I doubt that he’s received much instruction in doctrine or morality.’ He sighed. ‘In many ways, the poor children of the streets are as pagan as the Styrics.’ He smiled slyly at Sephrenia, who rode with Flute bundled up in an old cloak in front of her saddle.

‘Actually, your Grace,’ Talen disagreed, ‘I attend Church services regularly and I always pay close attention to the sermons.’

‘That’s surprising,’ the Patriarch said.

‘Not really, your Grace,’ Talen said. ‘Most thieves go to church. The offertory provides all sorts of splendid opportunities.’

Dolmant looked suddenly aghast.

‘Look at it this way, your Grace,’ Talen explained with mock seriousness. ‘The Church distributes money to the poor, doesn’t she?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, I’m one of the poor, so I take my share when the plate goes by. It saves the Church all the time and trouble of looking me up to give me the money. I like to be helpful when I can.’

Dolmant stared at him, then suddenly burst out laughing.

Some few miles further along, they encountered a small band of people dressed in the crude, homespun tunics that identified them as Styrics. They were on foot and, as soon as they saw Sparhawk and the others, they ran fearfully out into a nearby field.

‘Why are they so frightened?’ Talen asked, puzzled.

‘News travels very rapidly in Styricum,’ Sephrenia replied, ‘and there have been incidents lately.’

‘Incidents?’

Briefly, Sparhawk told him what had happened in the Styric village in Arcium. Talen’s face went very pale. ‘That’s awful!’ he exclaimed.

‘The Church has tried for hundreds of years to stamp out that sort of thing,’ Dolmant said sadly.

‘I think we stamped it out fairly completely in that part of Arcium,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘I sent some men out to deal with the peasants who were responsible.’

‘Did you hang them?’ Talen asked fiercely.

‘Sephrenia wouldn’t let us, so my men gave them a switching instead.’

‘That’s all?’

‘They used thorn bushes for switches. Thorns grow very long down in Arcium, and I instructed my men to be thorough about it.’

‘A bit extreme, perhaps,’ Dolmant said.

‘It seemed fitting at the time, your Grace. The Church Knights have close ties with the Styrics and we don’t like people who mistreat our friends.’

The pale winter sun was sliding into a bank of chill purple cloud behind them when they arrived at a run-down wayside inn. They ate a barely adequate meal of thin soup and greasy mutton and retired early.

It was clear and cold the following morning. The road was frozen iron-hard, and the bracken lining its sides was white with frost. The sun was very bright, but there was little warmth to it. They rode at a loping canter, wrapped tightly in their cloaks to ward off the biting chill.

The road undulated across the hills and valleys of central Elenia, passing through fields lying fallow under the winter sky. Sparhawk looked about as he rode. This was the region where he and Kalten had grown up, and he felt that peculiar sense of homecoming all men feel when returning after many years to the scenes of their childhood. The self-discipline which was so much a part of Pandion training usually made Sparhawk suppress any form of emotionalism, but, despite his best efforts, certain things sometimes touched him deeply.

About midmorning, Kurik called ahead. ‘There’s a rider coming up behind us,’ he reported. ‘He’s pushing his horse hard.’

Sparhawk reined in and wheeled Faran around. ‘Kalten,’ he said sharply.

‘Right,’ the big blond man replied, thrusting his cloak aside so that his sword hilt was clear.

Sparhawk also cleared his sword, and the two of them rode several hundred yards back along the road to intercept the oncoming horseman.

Their precautions, however, proved unnecessary. The rider was the young novice, Berit. He was wrapped in a plain cloak, and his hands and wrists were chapped by the morning chill. His horse, however, was lathered and steaming. He reined in and approached them at a walk. ‘I have a message for you from Lord Vanion, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘The Royal Council has legitimized Prince Lycheas.’

‘They did what?’

‘When the kings of Thalesia, Deira, and Arcium insisted that a bastard could not serve as Prince Regent, the Primate Annias called the council into session, and they declared the prince to be legitimate. The primate produced a document that stated that Princess Arissa had been married to Duke Osten of Vardenais.’

‘That’s absurd,’ Sparhawk fumed.

‘That’s what Lord Vanion thought. The document appeared to be quite genuine, though, and Duke Osten died years ago, so there wasn’t any way to refute the claim. The Earl of Lenda examined the parchment very closely, and finally even he had to vote to legitimize Lycheas.’

Sparhawk swore.

‘I knew Duke Osten,’ Kalten said. ‘He was a confirmed bachelor. There’s no way he’d have married. He despised women.’

‘Is there some problem?’ Patriarch Dolmant asked, riding back down the road to join them with Sephrenia, Kurik, and Talen close behind him.

‘The Royal Council has voted to legitimize Lycheas,’ Kalten told him. ‘Annias produced a paper that says that Princess Arissa was married.’

‘How strange,’ Dolmant said.

‘And how convenient,’ Sephrenia added.

‘Could the document have been falsified?’ Dolmant asked.

‘Easily, your Grace,’ Talen told him. ‘I know a man in Cimmura who could provide irrefutable proof that Archprelate Cluvonus has nine wives – including a lady Troll and an Ogress.’

‘Well, it’s done now,’ Sparhawk said. ‘It puts Lycheas one step closer to the throne, I’m afraid.’

‘When did this happen, Berit?’ Kurik asked the novice.

‘Late last night.’

Kurik scratched at his beard. ‘Princess Arissa’s cloistered at Demos,’ he said. ‘If Annias came up with this scheme just recently, she may not know she’s a wife.’

‘Widow,’ Berit corrected.

‘All right – widow, then. Arissa’s always been rather proud of the fact that she lay down with just about every man in Cimmura – begging your pardon, your Grace – and that she did it on her own terms without ever having been to the altar. If someone approached her right, it shouldn’t be too hard to get her to sign a statement that she’s never been married. Wouldn’t that sort of muddy up the waters a little?’

‘Where did you find this man, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked admiringly. ‘He’s a treasure.’

Sparhawk was thinking very fast now. ‘Legitimacy – or illegitimacy – is a civil matter,’ he noted, ‘since it has to do with inheritance rights and things such as that, but the wedding ceremony is always a religious one, isn’t it, your Grace?’

‘Yes,’ Dolmant agreed.

‘If you and I were to get the kind of statement from Arissa that Kurik just mentioned, could the Church issue a declaration of her spinsterhood?’

Dolmant considered it. ‘It’s highly irregular,’ he said dubiously.

‘But it is possible?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘Then Annias could be ordered by the Church to withdraw his spurious document, couldn’t he?’

‘Of course.’

Sparhawk turned to Kalten. ‘Who inherited Duke Osten’s lands and titles?’ he asked.

‘His nephew – a complete ass. He’s very impressed with his dukedom and he spends money faster than he earns it.’

‘How would he react if he were suddenly disinherited and the lands and title were passed to Lycheas instead?’

‘You’d be able to hear the screams in Thalesia.’

A slow smile cross Sparhawk’s face. ‘I know an honest magistrate in Vardenais, and the affair would be in his jurisdiction. If the current duke were to take the matter into litigation, and if he presented the Church declaration to support his position, the magistrate would rule in his favour, wouldn’t he?’

Kalten grinned broadly. ‘He wouldn’t have any choice.’

‘Wouldn’t that sort of de-legitimize Lycheas again?’

Dolmant was smiling. Then he assumed a pious expression. ‘Let us press on to Demos, dear friends,’ he suggested. ‘I feel a sudden yearning to hear the confession of a certain sinner.’

‘Do you know something?’ Talen said. ‘I always thought that thieves were the most devious people in the world, but nobles and churchmen make us look like amateurs.’

‘How would Platime handle the situation?’ Kalten asked as they set off again.

‘He’d stick a knife in Lycheas.’ Talen shrugged. ‘Dead bastards can’t inherit thrones, can they?’

Kalten laughed. ‘It has a certain direct charm, I’ll admit.’

‘You cannot solve the world’s problems by murder, Kalten,’ Dolmant said disapprovingly.

‘Why, your Grace, I wasn’t talking about murder. The Church Knights are the Soldiers of God. If God tells us to kill somebody, it’s an act of faith, not murder. Do you suppose the Church could see its way clear to instruct Sparhawk and me to dispatch Lycheas – and Annias – and Otha too, while we’re at it?’

‘Absolutely not!’

Kalten sighed. ‘It was only a thought.’

‘Who’s Otha?’ Talen asked curiously.

‘Where did you grow up, boy?’ Berit asked him.

‘In the streets.’

‘Even in the streets you must have heard of the Emperor of Zemoch.’

‘Where’s Zemoch?’

‘If you’d stayed in that school I put you in, you’d know,’ Kurik growled.

‘Schools bore me, Kurik,’ the boy responded. ‘They spent months trying to teach me my letters. Once I learned how to write my own name, I didn’t think I needed any of the rest of it.’

‘That’s why you don’t know where Zemoch is – or why Otha may be the one who kills you.’

‘Why would somebody I don’t even know want to kill me?’

‘Because you’re an Elene.’

‘Everybody’s an Elene – except for the Styrics, of course.’

‘This boy has a long way to go,’ Kalten observed. ‘Somebody ought to take him in hand.’

‘If it please you, my Lords,’ Berit said, choosing his words carefully, largely, Sparhawk guessed, because of the presence of the revered Patriarch of Demos, ‘I know that you have pressing matters on your minds. I was never more than a passing fair scholar of history, but I will undertake the instruction of this urchin in the rudiments of the subject.’

‘I love to listen to this young man talk,’ Kalten said. ‘The formality almost makes me swoon with delight.’

‘Urchin?’ Talen objected loudly.

Berit’s expression did not change. With an almost casual backhanded swipe he knocked Talen out of his saddle. ‘Your first lesson, young man, is respect for your teacher,’ he said. ‘Never question his words.’

Talen came up sputtering and with a small dagger in his fist. Berit leaned back in his saddle and kicked him solidly in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.

‘Don’t you just adore the learning process?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk.

‘Now, get back on your horse,’ Berit said firmly, ‘and pay attention. I will test you from time to time, and your answers had better be correct.’

‘Are you going to let him do this?’ Talen appealed to his father.

Kurik grinned at him.

‘This isn’t fair,’ Talen complained, climbing back into his saddle. He wiped at his bleeding nose. ‘You see what you did?’ he accused Berit.

‘Press your finger against your upper lip,’ Berit suggested, ‘and don’t speak without permission.’

‘What was that?’ Talen demanded incredulously.

Berit raised his fist.

‘All right. All right,’ Talen said, cringing away from the offered blow. ‘Go ahead. I’ll listen.’

‘I always enjoy seeing a hunger for knowledge in the young,’ Dolmant observed blandly.

And so Talen’s education began as they rode on to Demos. At first he was quite sullen about it, but after a few hours of listening to Berit, he began to be caught up in the story. ‘Can I ask questions?’ he said finally.

‘Of course,’ Berit replied.

‘You said that there weren’t any kingdoms in those days – just a lot of duchies and the like?’

Berit nodded.

‘Then how did this Abrech of Deira gain control of the whole country in the fifteenth century? Didn’t the other nobles fight him?’

‘Abrech had control of the iron mines in central Deira. His warriors had steel weapons and armour. The people facing him were armed with bronze – or even flint.’

‘That would make a difference, I guess.’

‘After he had consolidated his hold on Deira, he turned south into what’s now Elenia. It didn’t take him very long to conquer the entire region. Then he moved down into Arcium and repeated the process there. After that, he turned towards central Eosia, Cammoria, Lamorkand, and Pelosia.’

‘Did he conquer all of Eosia?’

‘No. It was about that time that the Eshandist Heresy arose in Rendor, and Abrech was persuaded by the Church to give himself over to its suppression.’

‘I’ve heard about the Eshandists,’ Talen said, ‘but I could never get the straight of what they really believe.’

‘Eshand was antihierarchical.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The Hierarchy is composed of higher church officials – primates, patriarchs and the Archprelate. Eshand believed that individual priests should decide matters of theology for their congregations and that the Hierocracy of the Church should be disbanded.’

‘I can see why high churchmen disliked him then.’

‘At any rate, Abrech gathered a huge army from western and central Eosia to move against Rendor. His eyes were fixed on heaven and so when the earls and dukes of the lands he had conquered asked for steel weapons – the better to fight the heretics, they said – he gave his consent without considering the implications. There were a few battles, but then Abrech’s empire suddenly disintegrated. Now that they had the advanced technology that the Deirans had kept secret before, the nobles of west and central Eosia no longer felt obliged to pay homage to Abrech. Elenia and Arcium declared their independence, and Cammoria, Lamorkand, and Pelosia all coalesced into strong kingdoms. Abrech himself was killed in a battle with the Eshandists in southern Cammoria.’

‘What’s all this got to do with Zemoch?’

‘I’ll get to that in due time.’

Talen looked over at Kurik. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘this is a good story. Why didn’t they tell it in that school you put me in?’

‘Probably because you didn’t stay long enough to give them the chance.’

‘That’s possible, I suppose.’

‘How much farther is it to Demos?’ Kalten asked, squinting at the late afternoon sun to gauge the time.

‘About twelve leagues,’ Kurik replied.

‘We’ll never make that before nightfall. Is there an inn or a tavern hereabouts?’

‘There’s a village away up ahead. They have an inn.’

‘What do you think, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked.

‘I suppose we might as well,’ the big man agreed. ‘We wouldn’t do the horses any good by riding them all night in the cold.’

The sun was going down as they rode up a long hill towards the village. Since it was behind them, it projected their shadows far out to the front. The village was small, with thatch-roofed stone houses clustered together on either side of the road. The inn at the far end was hardly more than a taproom with a sleeping loft on the upper floor. The supper they were provided with, however, was far better than the poor fare they had been offered the previous night.

‘Are we going to the motherhouse when we get to Demos?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk after they had eaten in the low, torchlit common room.

Sparhawk considered it. ‘It’s probably being watched,’ he said. ‘Escorting the Patriarch back to Chyrellos gives us an excuse to be passing through Demos, but I’d rather not have anyone see his Grace and me go into the cloister to talk with Arissa. If Annias gets any clues about what we’ve got planned, he’ll try to counter us. Kurik, have you got any spare room at your house?’

‘There’s an attic – and a hay loft.’

‘Good. We’ll be visiting you.’

‘Aslade will be delighted.’ Kurik’s eyes grew troubled. ‘Can I talk with you for a moment, Sparhawk?’

Sparhawk pushed back his stool and followed his squire to the far side of the flagstone-floored room.

‘You weren’t really serious about leaving Talen with Aslade, were you?’ Kurik asked quietly.

‘No,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘probably not. You were right when you said that she might be very unhappy if she finds out about your indiscretion, and Talen has a busy mouth. He could let things slip.’

‘What are we going to do with him, then?’

‘I haven’t decided yet. Berit’s looking after him and keeping him out of trouble.’

Kurik smiled. ‘I expect it’s the first time in his life that Talen’s come up against somebody who won’t tolerate his clever mouth. That lesson may be more important than all the history he’s picking up.’

‘The same thought had occurred to me.’ Sparhawk glanced over at the novice, who was talking respectfully with Sephrenia. ‘I’ve got a feeling that Berit’s going to make a very good Pandion,’ he said. ‘He’s got character and intelligence, and he was very good in that fight down in Arcium.’

‘He was fighting on foot,’ Kurik said. ‘We’ll know better when we see how he handles a lance.’

‘Kurik, you’ve got the soul of a drill sergeant.’

‘Somebody’s got to do it, Sparhawk.’

It was cold again the following morning, and the horses’ breath steamed in the frosty air as they set out. After they had gone about a mile, Berit resumed his instruction. ‘All right,’ he said to Talen, ‘tell me what you learned yesterday.’

Talen was tightly wrapped in a patched old grey cloak that had once belonged to Kurik and he was shivering, but he glibly recited back what Berit had told him the day before. So far as Sparhawk could tell, the boy repeated Berit’s words verbatim.

‘You have a very good memory, Talen,’ Berit congratulated him.

‘It’s a trick,’ Talen replied with uncharacteristic modesty. ‘Sometimes I carry messages for Platime, so I’ve learned how to memorize things.’

‘Who’s Platime?’

‘The best thief in Cimmura – at least he was before he got so fat.’

‘Do you consort with thieves?’

‘I’m a thief myself, Berit. It’s an ancient and honourable profession.’

‘Hardly honourable.’

‘That depends on your point of view. All right, what happened after King Abrech got killed?’

‘The war with the Eshandists settled down into a stalemate,’ Berit took up the account. There were raids back and forth across the Inner Sea and the Arcian Straits, but the nobles on both sides had other things on their minds. Eshand had died, and his successors were not nearly as zealous as he’d been. The Hierocracy of the Church in Chyrellos kept trying to prod the nobility into pressing the war, but the nobles were far more interested in politics than in theology.’

‘How long did it go on like that?’

‘For nearly three centuries.’

‘They took their wars seriously in those days, didn’t they? Wait a minute. Where were the Church Knights during all of this?’

‘I’m just coming to that. When it became obvious that the nobility had lost its enthusiasm for the war, the Hierocracy gathered in Chyrellos to consider alternatives. What finally emerged was the idea of founding the militant orders to continue the struggle. The knights of the four orders all received training far beyond that given ordinary warriors; in addition, they were given instruction in the secrets of Styricum.’

‘What are those?’

‘Magic.’

‘Oh. Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I did. Pay attention, Talen.’

‘Did the Church Knights win the war then?’

‘They conquered all of Rendor, and the Eshandists finally capitulated. During their early years the militant orders were ambitious, and they began to carve Rendor up into four huge duchies. But then a far worse danger came out of the east.’

‘Zemoch?’ Talen guessed.

‘Exactly. The invasion of Lamorkand came without any –’

‘Sparhawk!’ Kalten said sharply. ‘Up there!’ He pointed at a nearby hilltop. A dozen armed men had suddenly come riding over the crest and were crashing down through the bracken at a gallop.

Sparhawk and Kalten drew their swords and spurred forward to meet the charge. Kurik ranged out to one side shaking a spiked chain mace free from his saddle. Berit took the other side wielding his heavy-bladed battle-axe.

The two armoured knights crashed into the centre of the charge. Sparhawk felled two of the attackers in quick succession as Kalten chopped another out of his saddle with a rapid series of savage sword strokes. One man tried to flank them, but fell twitching as Kurik’s mace crushed in the side of his head. Sparhawk and Kalten were in the very centre of the attackers now, swinging their heavy broadswords in vast overhead strokes. Then Berit charged in from the flank, his axe crunching into the bodies of the riders on that side. After a few moments of concerted violence, the survivors broke and fled.

‘What was that all about?’ Kalten demanded. The blond man was red-faced and panting from his exertions.

‘I’ll chase one of them down and ask him, my Lord,’ Berit offered eagerly.

‘No,’ Sparhawk told him.

Berit’s face fell.

‘A novice must not volunteer, Berit,’ Kurik told the young man sternly, ‘at least, not until he’s proficient with his weapons.’

‘I did all right, Kurik,’ Berit protested.

‘Only because these people weren’t very good,’ Kurik said. ‘Your swings are too wide, Berit. You leave yourself open for counterstrokes. When we get to my farm in Demos, I’ll give you some more instruction.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia cried from the bottom of the hill.

Sparhawk spun Faran quickly around and saw five men on foot wearing the rough smocks of Styrics running out of the bushes beside the road towards Sephrenia, Dolmant, and Talen. He swore and drove his spurs into Faran’s flanks.

It quickly became obvious that the Styrics were trying to reach Sephrenia and Flute. Sephrenia, however, was not utterly defenceless. One of the Styrics fell squealing to the ground, clutching at his belly. Another dropped to his knees, clawing at his eyes. The other three faltered, fatally as it turned out, because by then Sparhawk was there. He sent one man’s head flying with a single swipe of his sword, then drove his blade into the chest of another. The last Styric tried to flee, but Faran took the bit between his teeth and ran him down with three quick bounds and trampled him into the earth with his steel-shod forehooves.

‘There!’ Sephrenia said sharply, pointing at the hilltop. A robed and hooded figure sat astride a pale horse, watching. Even as the small Styric woman began her incantation, the figure turned and rode back over the hill and out of sight.

‘Who were they?’ Kalten asked as he joined them on the road.

‘Mercenaries,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘You could tell by their armour.’

‘Was that one up on the hill the leader?’ Dolmant asked.

Sephrenia nodded.

‘He was a Styric, wasn’t he?’

‘Perhaps, but perhaps something else. I sensed something familiar about him. Once before something tried to attack the little girl. Whatever it was, it was driven off. This time it tried more direct means.’ Her face grew dreadfully serious. ‘Sparhawk,’ she said, ‘I think we should ride on to Demos as quickly as we can. It’s very dangerous out here in the open.’

‘We could question the wounded,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe they could tell us something about this mysterious Styric who seems so interested in you and Flute.’

‘They won’t be able to tell you anything, Sparhawk,’ she disagreed. ‘If what was up there on that hill was what I think it was, they won’t even have any memory of it.’

‘All right,’ he decided, ‘let’s ride then.’

It was midafternoon when they reached Kurik’s substantial farmstead just outside Demos. The farm showed Kurik’s careful attention to detail. The logs forming the wall of his large house had been adzed square and they fitted tightly together with no need for chinking. The roof was constructed of overlapping split shakes. There were several outbuildings and storage sheds all built back into the side of the hill just behind the house, and the two-storey barn was of substantial size. The carefully tended kitchen garden was surrounded by a sturdy rail fence. A single brown and white calf stood at the fence looking wistfully at the wilted carrot tops and frost-browned cabbages inside the garden.

Two tall young men about the same age as Berit were splitting firewood in the yard, and two others, slightly older, were repairing the barn-roof. They all wore rough canvas smocks.

Kurik swung down from his saddle and approached the two in the yard. ‘How long has it been since you sharpened those axes?’ he demanded gruffly.

‘Father!’ one of the young men exclaimed. He dropped his axe and roughly embraced Kurik. He was, Sparhawk noticed, at least a head taller than his sire.

The other lad shouted to his brothers on the roof of the barn, and they came sliding down to leap from the edge with no apparent concern for life or limb.

Then Aslade came bustling out of the house. She was a plump woman wearing a grey homespun dress and a white apron. Her hair was touched at the temples with silver, but the dimples in her cheeks made her look girlish. She caught Kurik in a warm embrace, and for several moments Sparhawk’s squire was surrounded by his family. Sparhawk watched almost wistfully.

‘Regrets, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia asked him gently.

‘A few, I suppose,’ he admitted.

‘You should have listened to me when you were younger, dear one. That could be you, you know.’

‘My profession’s a little too dangerous for me to include a wife and children in my life, Sephrenia.’ He sighed.

‘When the time comes, dear Sparhawk, you won’t even consider that.’

‘The time, I think, has long since passed.’

‘We’ll see,’ she replied mysteriously.

‘We have guests, Aslade,’ Kurik told his wife.

Aslade dabbed at her misty eyes with one corner of her apron and crossed to where Sparhawk and the others sat, still mounted. ‘Welcome to our home,’ she greeted them simply. She curtsied to Sparhawk and Kalten, both of whom she had known since they were boys. ‘My Lords,’ she said formally. Then she laughed. ‘Come down here, you two,’ she said, ‘and give me a kiss.’

Like two clumsy boys they slid from their saddles and embraced her. ‘You’re looking well, Aslade,’ Sparhawk said, trying to recover some degree of dignity in the presence of Patriarch Dolmant.

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ she said with a mocking little curtsey. Aslade had known them far too long to pay much attention to customary usages. Then she smiled broadly. She patted her ample hips. ‘I’m getting stouter, Sparhawk,’ she said. ‘It comes from all the tasting when I cook, I think.’ She shrugged good-humouredly. ‘But you can’t tell if it’s right unless you taste it.’ Then she turned to Sephrenia. ‘Dear, dear Sephrenia,’ she said, ‘it’s been so long.’

‘Too long, Aslade,’ Sephrenia replied, sliding down from the back of her white palfrey and taking Aslade in her arms. Then she said something in Styric to Flute, and the little girl came shyly forward and kissed Aslade’s palms.

‘What a beautiful child,’ Aslade said. She looked a bit slyly at Sephrenia. ‘You should have told me, my dear,’ she said. ‘I’m a very good midwife, you know, and I’m just a little hurt that you didn’t invite me to officiate.’

Sephrenia looked startled at that, then suddenly burst out laughing. ‘It’s not like that at all, Aslade,’ she said. ‘There’s a kinship between the child and me, but not the one you suggested.’

Aslade smiled at Dolmant. ‘Come down from your horse, your Grace,’ she invited the patriarch. ‘Would the Church permit us an embrace – a chaste one, of course? Then you’ll get your reward. I’ve just taken five loaves from the oven, and they’re still nice and hot.’

Dolmant’s eyes brightened, and he quickly dismounted. Aslade threw her arms about his neck and kissed him noisily on the cheek. ‘He married Kurik and me, you know,’ she said to Sephrenia.

‘Yes, dear. I was there, remember?’

Aslade blushed. ‘I remember very little about the ceremony,’ she confessed. ‘I had my mind on other things that day.’ She gave Kurik a wicked little smile.

Sparhawk carefully concealed a grin when he saw his squire’s face redden noticeably.

Aslade looked inquiringly at Berit and Talen.

‘The husky lad is Berit,’ Kurik introduced them. ‘He’s a Pandion novice.’

‘You’re welcome here, Berit,’ she told him.

‘And the boy is my – uh – apprentice,’ Kurik fumbled. ‘I’m training him up to be a squire.’

Aslade looked appraisingly at the young thief. ‘His clothes are a disgrace, Kurik,’ she said critically. ‘Couldn’t you have found him something better to wear?’

‘He’s only recently joined us, Aslade,’ Kurik explained a little too quickly.

She looked even more sharply at Talen. ‘Do you know something, Kurik?’ she said. ‘He looks almost exactly the way you looked when you were his age.’

Kurik coughed nervously. ‘Coincidence,’ he muttered.

Aslade smiled at Sephrenia. ‘Would you believe that I was after Kurik from the time I was six years old? It took me ten years, but I got him in the end. Come down from your horse, Talen. I have a trunk full of clothes my sons have outgrown. We’ll find something for you to wear.’

Talen’s face had a strange, almost wistful expression as he dismounted, and Sparhawk felt a sharp pang of sympathy as he realized what the usually impudent boy must be feeling. He sighed and turned to Dolmant. ‘Do you want to go to the cloister now, your Grace?’ he asked.

‘And leave Aslade’s freshly baked bread to get cold?’ Dolmant protested. ‘Be reasonable, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk laughed as Dolmant turned to Kurik’s wife. ‘You have fresh butter, I hope?’ he asked.

‘Churned yesterday morning, your Grace,’ she replied, ‘and I just opened a pot of that plum jam you’re so fond of. Shall we step into the kitchen?’

‘Why don’t we?’

Almost absently, Aslade picked up Flute in one arm and wrapped the other about Talen’s shoulders. And then, with the children close to her, she led the way into the house.

The walled cloister in which Princess Arissa was confined stood in a wooded glen on the far side of the city. Men were seldom admitted into this strict community of women, but Dolmant’s rank and authority in the Church gained them immediate entry. A submissive little sister with doelike eyes and a bad complexion led them to a small garden near the south wall where they found the princess, sister of the late King Aldreas, sitting on a stone bench in the wan winter sunlight with a large book in her lap.

The years had touched Arissa only lightly. Her long, dark blonde hair was lustrous, and her eyes a pale blue, so pale as to closely resemble the grey eyes of her niece, Queen Ehlana, although the dark circles beneath them spoke of long, sleepless nights filled with bitterness and a towering resentment. Her mouth was thin-lipped rather than sensual, and there were two hard lines of discontent at its corners. Although Sparhawk knew that she was approaching forty, her features were those of a much younger woman. She did not wear the habit of the sisters of the nunnery, but was wrapped instead in a soft red woollen robe open at the throat, and her head was crowned with an intricately folded wimple. ‘I’m honoured by your visit, gentlemen,’ she said in a husky voice, not bothering to rise. ‘I have so few visitors.’

‘Your Highness,’ Sparhawk greeted her formally. ‘I trust you’ve been well?’

‘Well, but bored, Sparhawk.’ Then she looked at Dolmant. ‘You’ve aged, your Grace,’ she observed spitefully, closing her book.

‘But you have not,’ he replied. ‘Will you accept my blessing, Princess?’

‘I think not, your Grace. The Church has done quite enough for me already.’ She looked meaningfully around at the walls enclosing the garden, and her refusal of the customary blessing seemed to give her some pleasure.

He sighed. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘What is the book you read?’ he asked her.

She held it up for him to see.

‘The Sermons of the Primate Subata,’ he noted, ‘a most instructional work.’

She smiled maliciously. ‘This particular edition is even more so,’ she told him. ‘I had it made especially for me, your Grace. Within this innocent-looking cover, which deceives the Mother Superior who is my jailer, there lurks a volume of salacious erotic poetry from Cammoria. Would you care to have me read you a few verses?’

His eyes hardened. ‘No, thank you, Princess,’ he replied coldly. ‘You have not changed, I see.’

She laughed mockingly. ‘I see no reason to change, Dolmant. I have merely altered my circumstances.’

‘Our visit here is not social, Princess,’ he said. ‘A rumour has surfaced in Cimmura that prior to your being cloistered here, you were secretly married to Duke Osten of Vardenais. Would you care to confirm – or deny – that rumour?’

‘Osten?’ She laughed. ‘That dried-up old stick? Who in her right mind would marry a man like that? I like my men younger, more ardent.’

‘You deny the rumour, then?’

‘Of course I deny it. I’m like the Church, Dolmant. I offer my bounty to all men – as everyone in Cimmura knows.’

‘Would you sign a document declaring the rumour to be false?’

‘I’ll think about it.’ She looked at Sparhawk. ‘What are you doing back in Elenia, Sir Knight? I thought my brother exiled you.’

‘I was summoned back, Arissa.’

‘How very interesting.’

Sparhawk thought of something. ‘Did you receive a dispensation to attend your brother’s funeral, Princess?’ he asked her.

‘Why, yes, Sparhawk. The Church generously granted me three whole days of mourning. My poor, stupid brother looked very regal as he lay on his bier in his state robes.’ She critically examined her long, pointed fingernails. ‘Death improves some people,’ she added.

‘You hated him, didn’t you?’

‘I held him in contempt, Sparhawk. There’s a difference. I always used to bathe whenever I left him.’

Sparhawk held out his hand, showing her the blood-red ring on his finger. ‘Did you happen to notice if he had the mate to this on his finger?’ he asked her.

She frowned slightly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact he didn’t. Perhaps the brat stole it after he died.’

Sparhawk clenched his teeth.

‘Poor, poor Sparhawk,’ she said mockingly. ‘You cannot bear to hear the truth about your precious Ehlana, can you? We used to laugh about your attachment to her when she was a child. Did you have hopes, great Champion? I saw her at my brother’s funeral. She’s not a child any more, Sparhawk. She has the hips and breasts of a woman now. But she’s sealed up in a diamond, isn’t she, so you can’t even touch her? All that soft, warm skin, and you can’t even put so much as a finger on it.’

‘I don’t think we need to pursue this, Arissa.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Who is your son’s father?’ he asked her suddenly, hoping to startle the truth out of her.

She laughed. ‘How could I possibly know that?’ she asked. ‘After my brother’s wedding, I amused myself in a certain establishment in Cimmura.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It was both enjoyable and profitable. I made a very great deal of money. Most of the girls there overpriced themselves, but I learned as a child that the secret of great wealth is to sell cheaply to many.’ She looked maliciously at Dolmant. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘it’s a renewable resource.’

Dolmant’s face grew stiff, and Arissa laughed coarsely.

‘That’s enough, Princess,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘You would not care then to hazard a guess as to the identity of your bastard’s father?’ He said it quite deliberately, hoping to sting her into some inadvertent revelation.

Her eyes flashed with momentary anger, then she leaned back on the stone bench with a heavy-lidded look of voluptuous amusement. She put her hands to the front of her scarlet robe. ‘I’m a bit out of practice, but I suppose I could improvise. Would you like to try me, Sparhawk?’

‘I don’t think so, Arissa.’ Sparhawk’s voice was flat.

‘Ah, the well-known prudery of your family. What a shame, Sparhawk. You interested me when you were a young knight. Now you’ve lost your Queen, and there’s not even that pair of rings to prove the connection between the two of you. Wouldn’t that mean that you’re no longer her Champion? Perhaps – if she recovers – you might be able to establish a closer bond with her. She shares my blood, you know, and it might flow as hotly through her veins as it does through mine. If you were to try me, you could compare and find out.’

He turned away in disgust, and she laughed again.

‘Shall I send for parchment and ink, Princess,’ Dolmant asked, ‘so that we may compose your denial of the rumour concerning your marriage?’

‘No, Dolmant,’ she replied, ‘I don’t think so. This request of yours hints at the interest of the Church in this matter. The Church has done me few favours of late, so why should I exert myself on her behalf? If the people in Cimmura want to amuse themselves with rumours about me, let them. They licked their lips over the truth, now let them enjoy a lie.’

‘That’s your final word then?’

‘I might change my mind. Sparhawk’s a Church Knight, your Grace, and you’re a patriarch. Why don’t you order him to see if he can persuade me? Sometimes I persuade easily – sometimes not. It all depends on the persuader.’

‘I think we’ve concluded our business here,’ Dolmant said. ‘Good day, Princess.’ He turned on his heel and started across the winter-brown lawn of the garden.

‘Come back sometime when you can leave your stuffy friend behind, Sparhawk,’ Arissa said. ‘We could amuse ourselves.’

He turned without answering and followed the patriarch out of the garden. ‘I think we’ve wasted our time,’ he muttered, his face dark and angry.

‘Ah, no, my boy,’ Dolmant said serenely. ‘In her haste to be offensive, the princess overlooked an important point in canon law. She has just made a free admission in the presence of two ecclesiastical witnesses – you and me. That has all the validity of a signed statement. All it takes is our oaths as to what she said.’

Sparhawk blinked. ‘Dolmant,’ he said, ‘you’re the most devious man I’ve ever known.’

‘I’m glad you approve, my son.’ The patriarch smiled.