Читать книгу The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose - David Eddings - Страница 26

The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black.

With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to greet him. ‘Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,’ he said.

Bevier inclined his head stiffly. ‘My Lord,’ he responded, ‘I am commanded by the preceptor of my order to convey to you his greetings.’

‘Thank you, Sir Bevier.’ Nashan said, somewhat taken aback by the young knight’s stiff formality.

‘Sir Sparhawk.’ Bevier said then, again inclining his head.

‘Do we know each other, Bevier?’

‘Our preceptor described you to me, my Lord Sparhawk – you and your companion, Sir Kalten. Have the others arrived yet?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No. You’re the first.’

‘Come inside, Sir Bevier,’ Nashan said then. ‘We’ll assign you a cell so that you can get out of your armour, and I’ll speak to the kitchen about a hot meal.’

‘An it please you, my Lord, might I first visit your chapel? I have been some days on the road and I feel sorely the need for prayer in a consecrated place.’

‘Of course,’ Nashan said to him.

‘We’ll see to your horse,’ Sparhawk told the young man.

‘Thank you, Lord Sparhawk.’ Bevier bent his head again and followed Nashan up the steps.

‘Oh, he’s going to be a jolly travelling companion,’ Kalten said ironically.

‘He’ll loosen up once he gets to know us,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I hope you’re right. I’d heard that the Cyrinics are a shade formal, but I think our young friend there might be carrying it to extremes.’ Curiously, he unhooked the Lochaber from the saddlebow. ‘Can you imagine using this thing on somebody?’ He shuddered. The Lochaber axe had a heavy, two-foot blade surmounted at its forward end with a razor-sharp, hawklike bill. Its heavy handle was about four feet long. ‘You could shuck a man out of his armour like an oyster out of its shell with this.’

‘I think that’s the idea. It is sort of intimidating, isn’t it? Put it away, Kalten. Don’t play with another man’s toys.’

After Sir Bevier had completed his prayers and changed out of his armour, he joined them in Nashan’s ornate study.

‘Did they give you something to eat?’ Nashan asked.

‘It isn’t necessary, my Lord,’ Bevier replied. ‘If I may be permitted, I’ll join you and your knights in refectory for the noon meal.’

‘Of course,’ Nashan replied. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us, Bevier.’

Sparhawk then introduced Bevier to Sephrenia. The young man bowed deeply to her. ‘I have heard much of you, Lady,’ he said. ‘Our instructors in the Styric secrets hold you in great esteem.’

‘You’re kind to say so, Sir Knight. My skills are the result of age and practice, however, and do not result from any particular virtue.’

‘Age, Lady? Surely not. You can scarce be much older than I, and I will not see my thirtieth year for some months yet. The bloom of youth has not yet left your cheeks, and your eyes quite overwhelm me.’

Sephrenia smiled warmly at him, then looked critically at Kalten and Sparhawk. I hope you two are paying attention,’ she said. ‘A little polish wouldn’t hurt either of you.’

‘I was never much good at formality, little mother,’ Kalten confessed.

‘I’ve noticed,’ she said. ‘Flute,’ she said a bit wearily then, ‘please put the book down. I’ve asked you again and again not to touch them.’

Several days later, Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath arrived, riding together. Tynian was a good-humoured Alcione Knight from Deira, the kingdom lying to the north of Elenia. His broad, round face was open and friendly. His shoulders and chest were powerfully muscled as the result of years of bearing Deiran armour, the heaviest in the world. Over his massive armour he wore a sky-blue surcoat. Ulath was a hulking Genidian Knight, fully a head taller than Sparhawk. He did not wear armour, but rather a plain mail shirt and a simple conical helmet. Covering his shirt, he wore a green surcoat. He carried a large round shield and a heavy war axe. Ulath was a silent, withdrawn man who seldom spoke. His blond hair hung in two braids down his back.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Tynian said to Sparhawk and Kalten as he dismounted in the courtyard of the chapterhouse. He looked at them closely. ‘You would be Sir Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Our preceptor said that you’d broken your nose sometime.’ He grinned then. ‘It’s all right, Sparhawk. It doesn’t interfere with your kind of beauty.’

‘I’m going to like this man,’ Kalten said.

‘And you must be Kalten,’ Tynian said. He thrust out his hand, and Kalten took it before he realized that the Alcione was holding a dead mouse concealed in his palm. With a startled oath, he jerked his hand back. Tynian howled with laughter.

‘I think I could get to like him as well,’ Sparhawk noted.

‘My name is Tynian,’ the Alcione Knight introduced himself. ‘My silent friend there is Ulath from Thalesia. He caught up with me a few days ago. Hasn’t spoken ten words since then.’

‘You talk enough for both of us,’ Ulath grunted, sliding out of his saddle.

‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Tynian admitted. ‘I have this overwhelming fondness for the sound of my own voice.’

Ulath thrust out his huge hand. ‘Sparhawk,’ he said.

‘No mice?’ Sparhawk asked.

A faint smile touched Ulath’s face as they clasped hands. Then he shook hands with Kalten, and the four of them went up the steps into the chapterhouse.

‘Has Bevier arrived yet?’ Tynian asked Kalten.

‘A few days back. Have you ever met him?’

‘Once. Our preceptor and I made a formal visit to Larium, and we were introduced to the Cyrinics in their motherhouse there. I found him to be a bit stiff-necked and formal.’

‘That hasn’t changed much.’

‘Didn’t think it had. Exactly what are we going to do down in Cammoria? Preceptor Darellon can be infuriatingly close-mouthed on occasion.’

‘Let’s wait until Bevier joins us,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘I get the feeling that he might be a little touchy, so let’s not offend him by talking business out of his presence.’

‘Good thinking, Sparhawk. This show of unity could fall apart on us if Bevier starts sulking. I’ll have to admit that he can be a good man in a fight, though. Is he still carrying that Lochaber?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Kalten said.

‘Gruesome thing, isn’t it? I saw him practising with it at Larium. He cut the top off a post as thick as my leg with one swipe at a full gallop. I get the feeling that he could ride through a platoon of foot-troops and leave a trail of loose heads behind him ten yards wide.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Sparhawk said.

‘If that’s your attitude, Sparhawk, you’re going to take all the fun out of this excursion.’

‘I am going to like him,’ Kalten said.

Sir Bevier joined them in Nashan’s study after the completion of noon service in the chapel. As closely as Sparhawk could determine, Bevier had not missed service once since his arrival.

‘All right then,’ Sparhawk said, rising to his feet when they were all assembled, ‘this is sort of where we stand. Annias, the Primate of Cimmura, has his eyes on the Archprelate’s throne here in Chyrellos. He controls the Elenian Royal Council, and they’re giving him money out of the royal treasury. He’s trying to use that money to buy enough votes in the Hierocracy to win election after Cluvonus dies. The preceptors of the four orders want to block him.’

‘No decent churchman would accept money for his vote,’ Bevier said, his voice verging on outrage.

‘I’ll grant that,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Unfortunately, many churchmen are far from decent. Let’s be honest about it, gentlemen. There’s a wide streak of corruption in the Elene Church. We might wish it were different, but we have to face the facts. Many of those votes are for sale. Now – and this is important – Queen Ehlana is unwell; otherwise, she wouldn’t allow Annias to have access to the treasury. The preceptors agree that the best way to stop Annias is to find some way to cure the Queen and put her back in power. That’s why we’re going to Borrata. There are physicians at the university there who might be able to determine the nature of her illness and find a cure for it.’

‘Are we taking your Queen with us?’ Tynian asked.

‘No. That’s quite impossible.’

‘It’s going to be a little hard for the physicians to find out much then, isn’t it?’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Sephrenia, the Pandion instructor in the secrets, will be going with us. She can describe Queen Ehlana’s symptoms in great detail and she can raise an image of the Queen if the physicians need a closer look.’

‘Seems a bit roundabout,’ Tynian noted, ‘but if that’s the way we have to do it, then that’s the way we’ll do it.’

‘There’s a great deal of unrest in Cammoria right now,’ Sparhawk went on. ‘The central kingdoms are all infested with Zemoch agents, and they’re trying to stir up as much trouble as they can. Not only that, Annias is fairly certain to guess at what we’re trying to do, so he’ll try to interfere.’

‘Borrata’s a long way from Cimmura, isn’t it?’ Tynian asked. ‘Does Primate Annias have so long an arm?’

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk said, ‘he does. There’s a renegade Pandion in Cammoria who sometimes works for Annias. His name is Martel, and he’s likely to try to stop us.’

‘Only once,’ Ulath grunted.

‘Let’s not go out of our way looking for a fight, though,’ Sparhawk cautioned. ‘Our main task is to get Sephrenia safely to Borrata and back. There’s been at least one attempt on her life already.’

‘We’ll want to discourage that,’ Tynian said. ‘Are we taking anybody else with us?’

‘My squire, Kurik,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and probably a young Pandion novice named Berit. He shows some promise, and Kurik’s going to need somebody along to help him care for the horses.’ He thought a moment. ‘I think we’ll take a boy along as well,’ he said.

‘Talen?’ Kalten sounded surprised at that. ‘Is that really a good idea, Sparhawk?’

‘Chyrellos is corrupt enough already. I don’t think it’s a good idea to turn that little thief loose in the streets. Besides, I think we may find use for his specialized talents. The only other person going with us will be a little girl named Flute.’

Kalten stared at him in astonishment.

‘Sephrenia won’t leave her behind,’ Sparhawk explained, ‘and I’m not sure she can be left behind. You remember how easily she got out of that nunnery in Arcium.’

‘You’ve got a point there, I guess,’ Kalten conceded.

‘A very straightforward presentation, Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier said approvingly. ‘When will we leave?’

‘First thing in the morning,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It’s a long way to Borrata, and the Archprelate isn’t getting younger. Patriarch Dolmant says that he could die at any time, and that’s when Annias will start to move.’

‘We must make our preparations then,’ Bevier said, rising to his feet. ‘Will you gentlemen be joining me in the chapel for evening service?’ he asked.

Kalten sighed. ‘I suppose we should,’ he said. ‘We are Church Knights, after all.’

‘And a bit of God’s help wouldn’t hurt, would it?’ Tynian added.

Late that afternoon, however, a company of church soldiers arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse. ‘I have a summons from the Patriarch Makova for you and your companions, Sir Sparhawk,’ the captain in charge of the soldiers said when Sparhawk and the others came down into the courtyard. ‘He would speak with you in the Basilica at once.’

‘We’ll get our horses,’ Sparhawk said. He led the rest of the knights into the stables. Once inside, he swore irritably.

‘Trouble?’ Tynian asked him.

‘Makova’s a supporter of Primate Annias,’ Sparhawk replied, leading Faran out of his stall. ‘I’ve got a strong suspicion that he’s going to try to hinder us.’

‘We must respond to his summons, however,’ Bevier said, swinging his saddle up onto his horse’s back. ‘We are Church Knights and must obey the commands of a member of the Hierocracy, no matter what his affiliation.’

‘And there’s that company of soldiers out there, too,’ Kalten added. ‘I’d say that Makova doesn’t take too many chances.’

‘Surely he doesn’t think we’d refuse?’ Bevier said.

‘You don’t know Sparhawk that well yet,’ Kalten told him. ‘He can be contrary at times.’

‘Well, we don’t have any choice in the matter,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s go to the Basilica and see what the Patriarch has to say to us.’

They led their horses out into the courtyard and mounted. At a crisp command from the captain, the soldiers formed up around them.

The square in front of the Basilica was strangely deserted as Sparhawk and his friends dismounted.

‘Looks to me as if they’re expecting trouble,’ Kalten noted as they started up the broad marble stairs.

When they entered the vast nave of the church, Bevier went down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him.

The captain and a squad of his soldiers entered behind him. ‘We must not keep the Patriarch waiting,’ he said. There was a certain arrogant tone in his voice that irritated Sparhawk for some reason. He muffled that feeling, however, and piously dropped to his knees beside Bevier. Kalten grinned and also knelt. Tynian nudged Ulath, and they, too, went down on their knees.

‘I said –’ the captain began, his voice rising slightly.

‘We heard you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said to him. ‘We’ll be with you presently.’

‘But –’

‘You can wait over there. We won’t be too long.’

The captain turned and stalked off.

‘Nice touch, Sparhawk,’ Tynian murmured.

‘We are Church Knights, after all,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It won’t hurt Makova to wait awhile. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the anticipation.’

‘I’m sure,’ Tynian agreed.

The five knights remained kneeling for perhaps ten minutes while the captain stalked about impatiently.

‘Have you finished, Bevier?’ Sparhawk asked politely when the Cyrinic unclasped his hands.

‘Yes,’ Bevier answered, his face alight with devotion. ‘I feel cleansed now and at peace with the world.’

‘Try to hang onto that feeling. The Patriarch of Coombe is likely to irritate us all.’ Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘Shall we go then?’

‘Well, finally,’ the captain snapped as they joined him and his men.

Bevier looked at him coldly. ‘Have you any rank, Captain?’ he asked. ‘Aside from your military one, I mean?’

‘I am a marquis, Sir Bevier.’

‘Excellent. If our devotions offend you, I will be more than happy to give you satisfaction. You may have your seconds call upon me at any time. I will be at your complete disposal.’

The captain paled visibly and shrank back. ‘I am merely following my orders, my Lord. I would not dream of giving offence to a Knight of the Church.’

‘Ah,’ Bevier said distantly. ‘Let us proceed then. As you stated so excellently earlier, we must not keep the Patriarch of Coombe waiting.’

The captain led them to a hallway branching out from the nave.

‘Nicely done, Bevier,’ Tynian whispered.

The Cyrinic smiled briefly.

‘There’s nothing like the offer of a yard or so of steel in his belly to remind a man of his manners,’ Kalten added.

The chamber to which the captain led them was grandiose with deep maroon carpeting and drapes and polished marble walls. The lean-faced Patriarch of Coombe sat at a long table reading a parchment. He looked up as they were admitted, his face angry. ‘What took so long?’ he snapped at the captain.

‘The Knights of the Church felt obliged to spend a few moments in devotions before the main altar, your Grace.’

‘Oh. Of course.’

‘May I withdraw, your Grace?’

‘No. Stay. It shall fall to you to enforce the dictates I will issue here.’

‘As it please your Grace.’

Makova then looked sternly at the knights. ‘I am told that you gentlemen are planning a foray into Cammoria,’ he said.

‘We haven’t made any secret of it, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I forbid it.’

‘Might one ask why, your Grace?’ Tynian asked mildly.

‘No. One may not. The Church Knights are subject to the authority of the Hierocracy. Explanations are not required. You are all to return to the Pandion chapterhouse and you will remain there until it pleases me to send you further instructions.’ He smiled a chill smile. ‘I believe you will all be returning home very shortly.’ Then he drew himself up. ‘That will be all. You have my permission to withdraw. Captain, you will see to it that these knights do not leave the Pandion chapterhouse.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

They all bowed and silently filed out of the door.

‘That was short, wasn’t it?’ Kalten said as they went back down the corridor with the captain some distance in the lead.

‘There wasn’t much point in fogging the issue with lame excuses,’ Sparhawk replied.

Kalten leaned towards his friend. ‘Are we going to obey his orders?’ he whispered.

‘No.’

‘Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier gasped, ‘surely you would not disregard the commands of a Patriarch of the Church?’

‘No, not really. All I need is a different set of orders.’

‘Dolmant?’ Kalten guessed.

‘His name does sort of leap to mind, doesn’t it?’

They had, however, no opportunity for side trips. The officious captain insisted upon escorting them directly back to the chapterhouse. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said as they reached the narrow street where the house stood, ‘you will be so good as to advise the governor of your establishment that this gate is to remain closed. No one is to enter or leave.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ Sparhawk replied. Then he nudged Faran and rode on into the courtyard.

‘I didn’t think he’d actually seal the gate,’ Kalten muttered. ‘How are we going to get word to Dolmant?’

‘I’ll think of something,’ Sparhawk said.

Later, as twilight crept in over the city, Sparhawk paced along the parapet surmounting the wall of the chapterhouse, glancing from time to time down into the street outside.

‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik’s gruff voice came from the yard below, ‘are you up there?’

‘Yes. Come on up.’

There was the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs leading up to the parapet. ‘You wanted to see us?’ Kurik asked as he, Berit, and Talen came up out of the shadows clotting the stairway.

‘Yes. There’s a company of church soldiers outside. They’re blocking the gate, and I need to get a message to Dolmant. Any ideas?’

Kurik scratched his head as he mulled it over.

‘Give me a fast horse and I can ride through them,’ Berit offered.

‘He’ll make a good knight,’ Talen said. ‘Knights love to charge, I’m told.’

Berit looked sharply at the boy.

‘No hitting,’ Talen said, shrinking back. ‘We agreed that there wasn’t going to be any more hitting. I pay attention to the lessons, and you don’t hit me any more.’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Berit asked.

‘Several.’ Talen looked over the wall. ‘Are the soldiers patrolling the streets outside the walls?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk said.

‘That’s not really a problem, but it might have been easier if they weren’t.’ Talen pursed his lips as he thought it over. ‘Berit,’ he said, ‘are you any good with a bow?’

‘I’ve been trained,’ the voice said a bit stiffly.

‘That’s not what I asked. I said are you any good?’

‘I can hit a mark at a hundred paces.’

Talen looked at Sparhawk. ‘Don’t you people have anything better to do?’ he asked. Then he looked at Berit again. ‘You see that stable over there?’ he asked, pointing across the street. ‘The one with the thatched roof?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you get an arrow into the thatch?’

‘Easily.’

‘Maybe training pays off after all.’

‘How many months did you practise cutting purses?’ Kurik asked pointedly.

‘That’s different, father. There’s a profit involved in that.’

‘Father?’ Berit sounded astonished.

‘It’s a long story,’ Kurik told him.

‘Any man in the world listens to a bell that rings for any reason whatsoever,’ Talen said, affecting a schoolteacherish tone, ‘and no man can possibly avoid gawking at a fire. Can you lay your hands on a length of rope, Sparhawk?’

‘How long a length?’

‘Long enough to reach the street. Here’s how it goes. Berit wraps his arrow with tinder and sets fire to it. Then he takes a shot at that thatched roof. The soldiers will all run to this street to watch the fun. That’s when I go down the rope on the far side of the building. I can be out on the street in less than a minute with no one the wiser.’

‘You can’t set fire to a man’s stable,’ Kurik objected, sounding horrified.

‘They’ll put it out, Kurik,’ Talen said in a patient tone. ‘They’ll have lots of warning, because we’ll all stand up here shouting “Fire!” at the top of our voices. Then I’ll shinny down the rope on the far wall and be five streets away before the excitement dies down. I know where Dolmant’s house is, and I can tell him whatever you want him to know.’

‘All right,’ Sparhawk approved.

‘Sparhawk!’ Kurik exclaimed. ‘You’re not going to let him do this, are you?’

‘It’s tactically sound, Kurik. Diversion and subterfuge are part of any good plan.’

‘Do you have any idea of how much thatch – and wood – there is in this part of town?’

‘It might give the church soldiers something useful to do,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘That’s hard, Sparhawk.’

‘Not nearly as hard as the notion of Annias sitting on the Archprelate’s throne. Let’s get what we need. I want to be out of Chyrellos before the sun comes up tomorrow, and I can’t do that with all those soldiers camped outside the gate.’

They went down the stairs to fetch rope, a bow, and a quiver of arrows.

‘What’s afoot?’ Tynian asked as he, Kalten, Bevier, and Ulath met them in the courtyard.

‘We’re going to get word to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk told him.

Tynian looked at the bow Berit was carrying. ‘With that?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that rather a long shot?’

‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ Sparhawk told him. He quickly sketched in the plan. Then, as they started up the steps, he put his hand on Talen’s shoulder. ‘This isn’t going to be the safest thing in the world,’ he told the boy. ‘I want you to be careful out there.’

‘You worry too much, Sparhawk,’ Talen replied. ‘I could do this in my sleep.’

‘You might need some kind of note to give to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said.

‘You’re not serious? If I get stopped, I can lie my way out of trouble, but not if I’ve got a note in my pocket. Dolmant knows me, and he’ll know that the message is from you. Just leave everything to me, Sparhawk.’

‘Don’t stop to pick any pockets along the way.’

‘Of course not,’ Talen replied, just a little too glibly.

Sparhawk sighed. Then he quickly told the boy what to say to the Patriarch of Demos.

The plan went more or less as Talen had outlined it. As soon as the patrol had passed in the narrow street, Berit’s arrow arched out like a falling star and sank into the thatched stable roof. It sputtered there for a moment or two, and then bluish-coloured flame ran quickly up to the ridgepole, turning sooty orange first, then bright yellow as the flames began to spread.

‘Fire!’ Talen yelled.

‘Fire!’ the rest echoed.

In the street below, the church soldiers came pounding around the corner to be met by the nearly hysterical owner of the stables. ‘Good masters!’ the poor man cried, wringing his hands. ‘My stable! My horses! My house! My God!’

The officious captain hesitated, looking first at the fire then back at the looming wall of the chapterhouse in an agony of indecision.

‘We’ll help you, Captain,’ Tynian called down from the wall. ‘Open the gate!’

‘No!’ the captain shouted back. ‘Stay inside.’

‘You could lose half of the holy city, you blockhead!’ Kalten roared at him. ‘That fire will spread if you don’t do something immediately.’

‘You!’ the captain snapped at the commoner who owned the stable. ‘Fetch buckets and show me the nearest well.’ He turned quickly to his men. ‘Form up a line,’ he commanded. ‘Go to the front gate of the Pandion house and bring back every man we can spare.’ He sounded decisive now. Then he squinted up at the knights on the parapet. ‘But leave a detachment on guard there,’ he ordered.

‘We can still help, Captain,’ Tynian offered. ‘There’s a deep well here. We can turn out our men and pass buckets to your men outside the gate. Our major concern here must be the saving of Chyrellos. Everything else must be secondary to that.’

The captain hesitated.

‘Please, Captain!’ Tynian’s voice throbbed with sincerity. ‘I beg of you. Let us help.’

‘Very well,’ the captain snapped. ‘Open your gate. But no one is to leave the chapterhouse grounds.’

‘Of course not,’ Tynian replied.

‘Nicely done,’ Ulath grunted, tapping Tynian on the shoulder with his fist.

Tynian grinned at him. ‘Talking does pay off sometimes, my silent friend. You should try it sometime.’

‘I’d rather use an axe.’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be leaving now, my Lords,’ Talen said. ‘Was there anything you’d like to have me pick up for you – since I’ll be out and about anyway?’

‘Keep your mind on what you’re supposed to do,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Just go and talk to Dolmant.’

‘And be careful,’ Kurik growled. ‘You’re a disappointing son sometimes, but I don’t want to lose you.’

‘Sentimentality, father?’ Talen said, affecting surprise.

‘Not really,’ Kurik replied. ‘Just a certain sense of responsibility to your mother.’

‘I’ll go with him,’ Berit said.

Talen looked critically at the rangy novice. ‘Forget it,’ he said shortly. ‘You’d just be in my way. Forgive me, revered teacher, but your feet are too big and your elbows stick out too far to move around quietly, and I don’t have time to teach you how to sneak right now.’ The boy disappeared into the shadows along the parapet.

‘Where did you find that rare youth?’ Bevier asked.

‘You wouldn’t believe it, Bevier,’ Kalten replied. ‘You absolutely wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Our Pandion brothers are perhaps a bit more worldly than the rest of us, Bevier,’ Tynian said sententiously. ‘We who fix our eyes firmly on heaven are not so versed in the seamier side of life as they are.’ He looked piously at Kalten. ‘We all serve, however, and I’m sure that God appreciates your efforts, no matter how dishonest or depraved.’

‘Well put,’ Ulath said with an absolutely straight face.

The fire in the thatched roof continued to smoke and steam as the church soldiers threw bucket after bucket of water onto it during the next quarter of an hour. Gradually, by sheer dint of numbers and the volume of water poured on it, the fire was quenched, leaving the owner of the stable bemoaning the saturation of his store of fodder, but preventing any spread of the flames.

‘Bravo, Captain, bravo!’ Tynian cheered from atop the wall.

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Ulath muttered to him.

‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen any of those fellows do anything useful,’ Tynian protested. ‘That sort of thing ought to be encouraged.’

‘We could start some more fires, if you’d like,’ the huge Genidian offered. ‘We could keep them hauling water all week.’

Tynian tugged at one earlobe. ‘No,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘They might get bored when the novelty wears off and decide to let the city burn.’ He glanced at Kurik. ‘Did the boy get away?’ he asked.

‘As slick as a snake going down a rat hole,’ Sparhawk’s squire replied, trying to conceal the note of pride in his voice.

‘Someday you’ll have to tell us about why the lad keeps calling you “father”.’

‘We might get to that one day, my Lord Tynian,’ Kurik muttered.

As the first light of dawn crept up the eastern sky, there came the measured tread of hundreds of feet some distance up the narrow street outside the front gate of the chapterhouse. Then the Patriarch Dolmant, astride a white mule, came into view at the head of a battalion or more of red-liveried soldiers.

‘Your Grace,’ the soot-smeared captain who had been blocking the gate of the chapterhouse exclaimed, rushing forward with a salute.

‘You are relieved, Captain,’ Dolmant told him. ‘You may return with your men to your barracks.’ He sniffed a bit disapprovingly. ‘Tell them to clean up,’ he suggested. ‘They look like chimney sweeps.’

‘Your Grace,’ the captain faltered, ‘I was commanded by the Patriarch of Coombe to secure this house. May I send to him for confirmation of your Grace’s counter-order?’

Dolmant considered it. ‘No, Captain,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. Retire at once.’

‘But, your Grace!’

Dolmant slapped his hands sharply together, and the troops massed at his back moved into position, their pikes advanced. ‘Colonel,’ Dolmant said in the mildest of tones to the commander of his troops, ‘would you be so good as to escort the captain and his men back to their barracks?’

‘At once, your Grace,’ the officer replied with a sharp salute.

‘And I think they should be confined there until they are presentable.’

‘Of course, your Grace,’ the colonel said soberly. ‘I myself shall conduct the inspection.’

‘Meticulously, Colonel – most meticulously. The honour of the Church is reflected in the appearance of her soldiers.’

‘Your Grace may rely upon my attention to the most minute detail,’ the colonel assured him. ‘The honour of our service is also reflected by the appearance of our lowliest soldier.’

‘God appreciates your devotion, Colonel.’

‘I live but to serve Him, your Grace.’ The colonel bowed deeply.

Neither man smiled nor winked.

‘Oh,’ Dolmant said then, ‘before you leave, Colonel, bring me that ragged little beggar boy. I think I’ll leave him with the good brothers of this order – as an act of charity, of course.’

‘Of course, your Grace.’ The colonel snapped his fingers, and a burly sergeant dragged Talen by the scruff of the neck to the patriarch. Then Dolmant’s battalion advanced on the captain and his men, effectively pinning them against the high wall of the chapterhouse with their pikes. The sooty soldiers of the Patriarch of Coombe were quickly disarmed and then marched off under close guard.

Dolmant affectionately reached down and patted the slender neck of his white mule; then he looked critically up at the parapet. ‘Haven’t you left yet, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘We were just making our preparations, your Grace.’

‘The day wears on, my son,’ Dolmant told him. ‘God’s work cannot be accomplished by sloth.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said. Then his eyes narrowed, and he stared hard down at Talen. ‘Give it back,’ he commanded.

‘What?’ Talen answered with a note of anguish in his voice.

‘All of it. Every last bit.’

‘But, Sparhawk –’

‘Now, Talen.’

Grumbling, the boy began to remove all manner of small, valuable objects from inside his clothes, depositing them in the hands of the startled Patriarch of Demos. ‘Are you satisfied now, Sparhawk?’ he demanded a bit sullenly, glaring up at the parapet.

‘Not entirely, but it’s a start. I’ll know better after I search you once you’re inside the gate.’

Talen sighed and dug into several more hidden pockets, adding more items to Dolmant’s already overflowing hands.

‘I assume you’re taking this boy with you, Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked, tucking his valuables inside his cassock.

‘Yes, your Grace.’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Good. I’ll sleep better knowing that he’s not roaming the streets. Make haste, my son, and Godspeed.’ Then the patriarch turned his mule and rode on back up the street.