Читать книгу The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose - David Eddings - Страница 28

‘Because you don’t look like Rendors,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘Foreigners attract a great deal of attention there – usually unfriendly. I can pass for a native in Cippria. So can Kurik. Rendorish women wear veils, so Sephrenia’s appearance won’t be a problem. The rest of you are going to have to stay behind.’

They were gathered in a large room on the upper floor of the inn near the university. The room was bare with only a few benches along the walls and no curtains at the narrow window. Sparhawk had reported what the tipsy physician had said and the fact that Martel had attempted subterfuge this time rather than a physical confrontation.

‘We could put something on our hair to change the colour,’ Kalten protested. ‘Wouldn’t that get us by?’

‘It’s the manner, Kalten,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘I could dye you green, and people would still know that you’re an Elenian. The same’s more or less true of the rest of you. You all have the bearing of knights. It takes years to erase that.’

‘You want us to stay here, then?’ Ulath asked.

‘No. Let’s all go down to Madel,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘If something unexpected comes up in Cippria, I can get word to you there faster.’

‘I think you’re overlooking something, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘We know that Martel’s moving around down here, and he’s probably got eyes everywhere. If we all ride out of Borrata in full armour, he’ll know about it before we cover half a league.’

‘Pilgrims,’ Ulath grunted cryptically.

‘I don’t quite follow you,’ Kalten said, frowning.

‘If we pack our armour in a cart and dress in sober clothes, we can join a group of pilgrims, and nobody’s going to give us a second glance.’ He looked at Bevier. ‘Do you know very much about Madel?’ he asked.

‘We have a chapterhouse there,’ Bevier replied. ‘I visit it from time to time.’

‘Are there any shrines or holy places there?’

‘Several. But pilgrims seldom travel in winter.’

‘They do if they get paid. ‘We’ll hire some – and a clergyman to sing hymns as we go along.’

‘It’s got possibilities, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘Martel doesn’t really know which way we’re going when we leave here, so his spies are going to be spread fairly thin.’

‘How will we know this Martel person?’ Bevier asked. ‘Should we encounter him while you’re in Cippria, I mean?’

‘Kalten knows him,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and Talen has seen him once.’ Then he remembered something. He looked over at the boy, who was making a cat’s cradle to entertain Flute. ‘Talen,’ he said, ‘could you draw pictures of Martel and Krager?’

‘Of course.’

‘And we can conjure up the image of Adus as well,’ Sephrenia added.

‘Adus is easy,’ Kalten said. ‘Just put armour on a gorilla and you’ve got him.’

‘All right, we’ll do it that way, then,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Berit.’

‘Yes, Lord Sparhawk?’

‘Go and find a church somewhere – a poor one. Talk with the vicar. Tell him that we’ll finance a pilgrimage to the shrines in Madel. Ask him to pick a dozen or so of his neediest parishioners and to bring them here tomorrow morning. We’ll want him to come with us as well – to be the caretaker of our souls. And tell him that we’ll make a sizeable contribution to his church if he agrees.’

‘Won’t he ask about our motives, my Lord?’

‘Tell him that we’ve committed a dreadful sin and want to atone for it,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘Just don’t be too specific about the sin.’

‘Sir Kalten!’ Bevier gasped. ‘You would lie to a churchman?’

‘It’s not exactly a lie, Bevier. We’ve all committed sins. I’ve sinned at least a half-dozen times this week already. Besides, the vicar of a poor church isn’t going to ask too many questions when there’s a contribution involved.’

Sparhawk took a leather pouch from inside his tunic. He shook it a few times, and a distinctive jingling sound came from it. ‘All right, gentlemen,’ he said, untying the top of the pouch, ‘we’ve reached the part of this service you all enjoy the most – the offertory. God appreciates a generous giver, so don’t be shy. The vicar will need cash to hire pilgrims.’ He passed the pouch around.

‘Do you think God might accept a promissory note?’ Kalten asked.

‘God might. I won’t. Put something in the pouch, Kalten.’

The group that gathered in the innyard the following morning was uniformly shabby – widows in patched mourning, out-of-work artisans and several hungry beggars. They were all mounted on weary nags or sleepy-looking mules. Sparhawk looked at them from the window. ‘Tell the innkeeper to feed them,’ he said to Kalten.

‘There’s quite a number of them, Sparhawk.’

‘I don’t want them fainting from hunger a mile out of town. You take care of that while I go and talk with the vicar.’

‘Anything you say.’ Kalten shrugged. ‘Should I bathe them, too? Some of them look a bit unwashed.’

‘That won’t be necessary. Feed their horses and mules as well.’

‘Aren’t we being a little overgenerous?’

‘You get to carry any horse that collapses.’

‘Oh. I’ll see to it right away, then.’

The vicar of the poor church was a thin, anxious-looking man in his sixties. His silvery hair was curly and his face was drawn and deeply lined with care. ‘My Lord,’ he said, bowing deeply to Sparhawk.

‘Please, good vicar,’ Sparhawk said to him, ‘just “pilgrim” is adequate. We are all equal in the service of God. My companions and I wish simply to join with your good, pious folk and to journey to Madel that we may worship at the holy shrines there for the solace of our souls and in the certain knowledge of the infinite mercy of God.’

‘Well said – uh – pilgrim.’

‘Would you join us at table, good vicar?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘We will go many miles before we sleep tonight.’

The vicar’s eyes grew suddenly bright. ‘I would be delighted, my Lord – uh, pilgrim, that is.’

The feeding of the Cammorian pilgrims and their mounts took quite some time and stretched the capacity of the kitchen and the stable grain bins to a considerable degree.

‘I’ve never seen people eat so much,’ Kalten grumbled. Clad in a sturdy, unmarked cloak, he swung up into his saddle just outside the inn.

‘They were hungry,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘At least we can see to it that they get a few good meals before they have to return to Borrata.’

‘Charity, Sir Sparhawk?’ Bevier asked. ‘Isn’t that a bit out of character? The grim-faced Pandions are not noted for their tender sensibilities.’

‘How little you know them, Sir Bevier,’ Sephrenia murmured. She mounted her white palfrey, then held out her hands to Flute, but the little girl shook her head, walked over to Faran and reached out her tiny hand. The big roan lowered his head, and she caressed his velvety nose. Sparhawk felt an odd quiver run through his mount’s body. Then Flute insistently raised her hands to the big Pandion. Gravely, Sparhawk leaned over and lifted her into her accustomed place in front of the saddle and enfolded her in his cloak. She nestled against him, took out her pipes, and began to play that same minor melody she had been playing when they had first found her.

The vicar at the head of their column intoned a brief prayer, invoking the protection of the God of the Elenes during their journey, an invocation punctuated by questioning – even sceptical – trills from Flute’s pipes.

‘Behave yourself,’ Sparhawk whispered to her. ‘He’s a good man and he’s doing what he thinks is right.’

She rolled her eyes roguishly. Then she yawned, snuggling closer to him, and promptly went to sleep.

They rode south out of Borrata under a clear morning sky with Kurik and the two-wheeled cart containing their armour and equipment clattering along behind them. The breeze was gusty and it tugged at the ragged clothing of the pilgrims patiently plodding along behind their vicar. A line of low mountains lay to the west, touched with snow on their peaks, and the sunlight glistened on those white fields. Their pace as they rode seemed to Sparhawk leisurely – even lackadaisical – though the panting and wheezing of the poor mounts of the pilgrims was a fair indication that the beasts were being pressed as hard as was possible.

It was about noon when Kalten rode forward from his station at the rear of the column. ‘There are riders coming up behind us,’ he reported quietly to avoid alarming nearby pilgrims. ‘They’re pushing hard.’

‘Any idea of who they are?’

‘They’re wearing red.’

‘Church soldiers, then.’

‘Notice how quick he is?’ Kalten observed to the others.

‘How many?’ Tynian asked.

‘It looks like a reinforced platoon.’

Bevier loosened his Lochaber axe in its sling.

‘Keep that under cover,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘The rest of you hide your weapons as well.’ Then he raised his voice. ‘Good vicar,’ he called ahead. ‘How about a hymn? The miles go easier with sacred music for company.’

The vicar cleared his throat and began to sing in a rusty, off-key voice. Wearily, but responding automatically to their pastor’s lead, the other pilgrims joined in.

‘Sing!’ Sparhawk commanded his companions, and they all raised their voices in the familiar hymn. As they bawled their song, Flute lifted her pipes and played a mocking little counterpoint.

‘Stop that,’ Sparhawk murmured to her. ‘And if there’s trouble, slide down and run out into that field.’

She rolled her eyes at him.

‘Do as you’re told, young lady. I don’t want you getting trampled if there’s a fight.’

The church soldiers, however, pounded past the column of hymn-singing pilgrims with hardly a glance and were soon lost in the distance ahead.

‘Tense,’ Ulath commented.

‘Truly,’ Tynian agreed. ‘Trying to fight in the middle of a crowd of terrified pilgrims might have been interesting.’

‘Do you think they were searching for us?’ Berit asked.

‘It’s hard to say,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I wasn’t going to stop them to ask, though.’

They moved southward towards Madel in easy stages to conserve the sorry mounts of the vicar’s parishioners, and they arrived on the outskirts of the port city about noon on the fourth day out of Borrata. When the town came into view, Sparhawk rode forward to join the vicar at the head of the column. He handed the good man a pouch full of coins. ‘We’ll be leaving you here,’ he said. ‘A matter has come up that needs our attention.’

The vicar gave him a speculative look. ‘This was all subterfuge, wasn’t it, my Lord?’ he asked gravely. ‘I may be only the poor pastor of a poverty-stricken chapel, but I recognize the manner and bearing of Church Knights when I see them.’

‘Forgive us, good vicar,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Take your people to the holy places here in Madel. Lead them in prayer and then see to it that they’re well fed. Then return to Borrata and use whatever money is left as you see fit.’

‘And may I do this with a clear conscience, my son?’

‘The clearest, good pastor. My friends and I serve the Church in a matter of gravest urgency, and your aid will be appreciated by the members of the Hierocracy in Chyrellos – most of them, at any rate.’ Then Sparhawk turned Faran around and rode back to his companions. ‘All right, Bevier,’ he said. ‘Take us to your chapterhouse.’

‘I have been considering that, Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier replied. ‘Our chapterhouse here is closely watched by local authorities and all manner of other folk. Even garbed as we are, we would surely be recognized.’

Sparhawk grunted. ‘You’re probably right. Can you think of any alternatives?’

‘Perhaps so. As it happens, I have a kinsman – a marquis from eastern Arcium – who has a villa on the outskirts of the city. I have not seen him for some years – our family disapproved of him because he’s in trade – but perhaps he will remember me. He’s a good-natured fellow, and if I approach him right, he might extend his hospitality.’

‘It’s worth a try, I guess. All right. Lead the way.’

They rode around the western outskirts of Madel to an opulent house surrounded by a low wall built of the local sandstone. The house was set back some distance from the road and was surrounded by tall evergreens and well-groomed lawns. There was a gravelled court directly in front of the house, and they dismounted there. A servant in sober livery emerged from the house and approached inquiringly.

‘Would you be so good as to advise the marquis that his second cousin, Sir Bevier, and several friends would like to have a word with him?’ the Cyrinic inquired politely.

‘At once, my Lord.’ The servant turned and re-entered the house.

The man who emerged from the house a few moments later was stout and had a florid face. He wore one of the colourful silk robes common in southern Cammoria rather than Arcian doublet and hose, and his welcoming grin was broad. ‘Bevier,’ he greeted his distant cousin with a warm handclasp. ‘What are you doing in Cammoria?’

‘Seeking refuge, Lycien,’ Bevier replied. His open young face clouded momentarily. ‘The family has not treated you well, Lycien,’ he admitted. ‘I could not blame you if you turned me and my friends away.’

‘Nonsense, Bevier. The decision to take up trading was mine. I knew how the rest of the family would feel about it. I’m delighted to see you. You mentioned refuge?’

Bevier nodded. ‘We’re here on Church business of some delicacy,’ he said, ‘and there are a few too many eyes watching the Cyrinic chapterhouse in the city. I know it’s a great deal to ask, but might we impose on your hospitality?’

‘By all means, my boy, by all means.’ Marquis Lycien clapped his hands sharply, and several grooms came out of the stables. ‘See to the mounts of these visitors and their cart,’ the marquis ordered. Then he laid his hand on Bevier’s shoulder. ‘Come in,’ he invited them all. ‘My house is yours.’ He turned and led the way through the low, arched doorway and on into the house. Once they were inside, they followed him to a pleasant room with low, cushioned furniture and a fireplace where several logs crackled and snapped. ‘Please, friends, sit,’ Lycien said. Then he looked speculatively at them. ‘This Church business of yours must be very important, Bevier,’ he guessed. ‘Judging from their features, I’d say that your friends represent all four of the militant orders.’

‘Your eyes are sharp, Marquis,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘Am I going to get in trouble over this?’ Lycien asked. Then he grinned. ‘Not that I care, mind you. It’s just that I like to be prepared.’

‘It’s not too likely,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘Particularly if we’re successful in our mission. Tell me, my Lord, do you have contacts in the harbour?’

‘Extensive ones, Sir –’

‘Sparhawk,’ the Pandion supplied.

‘Champion of the Queen of Elenia?’ Lycien looked surprised. ‘I heard that you’d returned from your exile in Rendor; but aren’t you a bit far afield? Shouldn’t you be in Cimmura trying to circumvent the attempts of the Primate Annias to depose your lady?’

‘You’re well informed, my Lord,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I have widespread commercial contacts.’ Lycien shrugged. He winked at Bevier. ‘That’s what disgraced me in the eyes of the family. My agent and the masters of my ships gather much information in the course of their dealings.’

‘I gather, my Lord, that you’re not overly fond of the Primate of Cimmura?’

‘The man’s a scoundrel.’

‘Our sentiments exactly,’ Kalten agreed.

‘Very well, then, my Lord,’ Sparhawk said. ‘What we’re involved with is an attempt to counter the growing power of the primate. If we’re successful, we can stop him in his tracks. I’d tell you more, but it might be dangerous for you if you knew too many of the details.’

‘I can appreciate that, Sir Sparhawk,’ Lycien said. ‘Tell me, in what way can I help?’

‘Three of us need to go to Cippria,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘For the sake of your own safety, it might be better if we were to take the ship of an independent sea captain rather than one of your own vessels. If you could direct us to such a captain and perhaps give us a discreetly worded letter of introduction to him, we can take care of the rest.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik said sharply, looking around the room, ‘what happened to Talen?’

Sparhawk turned quickly. ‘I thought he was bringing up the rear when we came in.’

‘So did I.’

‘Berit,’ Sparhawk said, ‘go and find him.’

‘At once, my Lord.’ The novice hurried from the room.

‘Some problem?’ Lycien asked.

‘A wayward boy, cousin,’ Bevier told him. ‘From what I gather, he needs to be watched rather closely.’

‘Berit will find him.’ Kalten laughed. ‘I have a great deal of confidence in that young man. Talen may come back with a few bumps and contusions, but I’m sure they’ll be very educational for him.’

‘Well, if it’s all under control, then,’ Lycien said, ‘why don’t I send word to the kitchen? I’m sure you’re hungry. And in the meantime, perhaps some wine?’ He assumed a pious expression that was obviously feigned. ‘I know that the Knights of the Church are abstemious, but a touch or so of wine is good for the digestion, or so I’ve heard.’

‘I’ve heard that, too,’ Kalten agreed.

‘Could I prevail upon you for a cup of tea, my Lord?’ Sephrenia asked. ‘And some milk for the little girl? I’m not sure that wine would be good for either of us.’

‘Of course, madame,’ Lycien replied jovially. ‘I should have thought of that myself.’

It was midafternoon when Berit returned with Talen in tow. ‘He was down near the harbour,’ the novice reported, still firmly holding the boy by the neck of his tunic. ‘I searched him thoroughly. He hadn’t had time to steal anything.’

‘I just wanted to look at the sea,’ the boy protested. ‘I’ve never seen the sea before.’

Kurik was grimly removing his wide leather belt.

‘Now, wait a minute, Kurik,’ Talen said, struggling to free himself from Berit’s grasp. ‘You wouldn’t really do that, would you?’

‘Watch me.’

‘I picked up some information,’ Talen said quickly. ‘If you thrash me, I’ll keep it to myself.’ He looked appealingly at Sparhawk. ‘It’s important,’ he said. ‘Tell him to put his belt back on and I’ll let you know what I found out.’

‘All right, Kurik,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let it pass – for the moment anyway.’ Then he looked sternly at the boy. ‘This had better be good, Talen,’ he threatened.

‘It is, Sparhawk. Believe me.’

‘Let’s have it.’

‘Well, I was going down this street. As I said, I wanted to see the harbour and all the ships and things. Anyway, I was passing a wine shop and I saw a man coming out.’

‘Amazing,’ Kalten said. ‘Do people in Madel actually frequent wine shops?’

‘You both know this man. It was Krager, the one you had me watching in Cimmura. I followed him. He went into a shabby-looking inn down by the waterfront. I can take you there if you want.’

‘Put your belt back on, Kurik,’ Sparhawk said.

‘Do we have time for this?’ Kalten asked.

‘I think we should make time. Martel’s already tried to interfere with us a couple of times. If it was Annias who poisoned Ehlana, he’ll definitely want to keep us from finding any kind of antidote. That means that Martel will try to get to Cippria before I do. We can wring that information out of Krager if we can catch him.’

‘We’ll go with you,’ Tynian said eagerly. ‘This whole thing will be easier if we can cut Annias’ hands off here in Madel.’

Sparhawk considered it, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Martel and his hirelings know Kalten and me. He doesn’t know the rest of you. If the two of us can’t catch up with Krager, you’ll all be looking around Madel for him. That’s going to be easier if he doesn’t know what you look like.’

‘Makes sense,’ Ulath agreed.

Tynian looked profoundly disappointed. ‘Sometimes you think too much, Sparhawk,’ he said.

‘It’s a trait of his,’ Kalten told him.

‘Will these cloaks of ours attract any attention in the streets of Madel, my Lord?’ Sparhawk asked the marquis.

Lycien shook his head. ‘It’s a port city,’ he said. ‘There are people here from all over the world, so two more strangers won’t attract that much notice.’

‘Good,’ Sparhawk said. He started towards the door with Kalten and Talen at his heels. ‘We should be back before long,’ he said.

They left their horses behind and went into the city on foot. Madel was situated on an estuary, and the smell of the sea was very strong, carried inland by a stiff onshore breeze. The streets were narrow and crooked and grew increasingly run-down as the two knights and the boy approached the harbour.

‘How far is this inn?’ Kalten asked.

‘Not too much farther,’ Talen assured him.

Sparhawk stopped. ‘Did you get the chance to look around a bit after Krager went inside?’ he asked the boy.

‘No. I was going to, but Berit caught me before I had time.’

‘Why don’t you do it now? If Kalten and I go marching up to the front door and Krager happens to be watching, he’ll be out the back door before we get inside. See if you can find that back door for us.’

‘Right,’ Talen said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He scurried off down the street.

‘Good lad there,’ Kalten said, ‘in spite of his bad habits.’ He frowned. ‘How do you know this inn has a back door?’ he asked.

‘Every inn has a back door, Kalten – in case of fire if nothing else.’

‘I guess I hadn’t thought of that.’

When Talen returned, he was running as hard as he could. There were about ten men chasing him; in the lead, roaring unintelligibly, was Adus.

‘Look out!’ Talen shouted as he ran past.

Sparhawk and Kalten whipped their swords out from under their cloaks and stepped slightly apart to meet the charge. The men following Adus were shabbily dressed and carried a variety of weapons, rusty swords, axes, and spiked maces. ‘Kill them!’ Adus bellowed, slowing slightly and waving his men on.

The fight was short. The men rushing up the narrow street appeared to be common waterfront roughnecks, and they were no match for the two trained knights. Four of them were down before the others realized that they had made a tactical blunder. Two more collapsed onto the bloody stones before the rest could turn to flee. Then Sparhawk leapt over the sprawled bodies and rushed at Adus. The brute parried the knight’s first stroke, then seized his sword hilt in both hands and flailed at Sparhawk with it. Sparhawk easily deflected those blows and countered deftly, inflicting painful cuts and bruises on his opponent’s mailed ribs and shoulders. After a moment, Adus fled, running hard and clutching at his side with a bloody hand.

‘Why didn’t you chase him?’ Kalten demanded, coming up puffing and with his blood-smeared sword still in his hand.

‘Because Adus can run faster than I can,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘I’ve known that for years.’

Talen came back down the street, breathing hard. He looked admiringly at the hacked and bleeding bodies sprawled on the cobblestones. ‘Well done, my Lords,’ he congratulated them.

‘What happened?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘I went on past the inn.’ Talen shrugged. ‘Then I went around the back. That big one who just got away was hiding in the alley with these others. He made a grab for me, but I dodged. Then I ran.’

‘Good thinking.’ Kalten said.

Sparhawk sheathed his sword. ‘Let’s get away from here,’ he said.

‘Why not follow Adus?’ Kalten asked.

‘Because they’re setting traps for us. Martel’s using Krager as bait to lead us around by the nose. That’s probably why we keep finding him so easily.’

‘Would that mean that they can recognize me as well?’ Talen sounded shocked.

‘Probably,’ Sparhawk said. ‘They found out that you were working for me in Cimmura, remember? Krager probably knew that you were following him around and gave your description to Adus. Adus may not have a brain, but his eyes are sharp.’ He muttered an oath. ‘Martel’s even more clever than I thought, and he’s starting to irritate me.’

‘It’s about time,’ Kalten murmured as they started back up the crooked street.