Читать книгу The Complete Tamuli Trilogy: Domes of Fire, The Shining Ones, The Hidden City - David Eddings - Страница 25

‘It’s hard to put your finger on it, Prince Sparhawk,’ Baroness Melidere said that evening after the extended royal family had retired to their oversized apartment for the night. At the queen’s insistence, Melidere, Mirtai and Alean, her maid, had been provided with rooms in the apartment. Ehlana needed women around her for a number of reasons, some practical, some political and some very obscure. The ladies had removed their formal gowns, and, except for Mirtai, they wore soft pastel dressing gowns. Melidere was brushing Mirtai’s wealth of blue-black hair, and the doe-eyed Alean was performing the same service for Ehlana.

‘I’m not sure exactly how to describe it,’ the honey-blonde baroness continued. ‘It’s a sort of generalised sadness. They all sigh a great deal.’

‘I noticed that myself, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana told her husband. ‘Alberen hardly smiles at all, and I can make anybody smile.’

‘Your presence alone is enough to make us all smile, my Queen,’ Talen told her. Talen was the queen’s page, and he was also a member of the extended family. The young thief was elegant tonight, dressed in a plum-coloured velvet doublet and knee-britches in the same shade and fabric. Knee-britches were just coming into fashion, and Ehlana had tried her very best to get Sparhawk into a pair of them. He had categorically refused, and his wife had been obliged to settle for coercing her page into the ridiculous-looking garments.

‘The plan is to make you a knight, Talen,’ Melidere told the boy pointedly, ‘not a courtier.’

‘Stragen says it’s always a good idea to have something to fall back on, Baroness,’ he shrugged, his voice cracking and warbling somewhere between soprano and baritone.

‘He would,’ the baroness sniffed. Melidere affected a strong disapproval of Stragen, but Sparhawk was not so sure about that.

Talen and Princess Danae sat on the floor rolling a ball back and forth between them. Mmrr was participating in the game enthusiastically.

‘They all seem to secretly believe that the world’s going to come to an end week after next,’ the baroness went on, slowly drawing her brush through Mirtai’s hair. ‘They’re all bright and brittle on the surface, but once you get beneath that, there’s the blackest melancholy, and they all drink like fish. I couldn’t prove this, but I really think they all believe they’re going to die very soon.’ She lifted Mirtai’s hair speculatively. ‘I think I’ll braid a gold chain into it, dear,’ she told the giantess.

‘No, Melidere,’ Mirtai said firmly. ‘I’m not entitled to wear gold yet.’

‘Every woman’s entitled to wear gold, Mirtai,’ Melidere laughed, ‘provided that she can charm it out of some man.’

‘Not among my people,’ Mirtai disagreed. ‘Gold is for adults. Children don’t wear it.’

‘You’re hardly a child, Mirtai,’

‘I am until I go through a certain ceremony. Silver, Melidere – or steel.’

‘You can’t make jewellery out of steel.’

‘You can if you polish it enough.’

Melidere sighed. ‘Fetch me the silver chains, Talen,’ she said. At the moment, that was Talen’s function. He fetched things. He didn’t like it very much, but he did it – largely because Mirtai was bigger than he was.

There was a polite knock at the door, and Talen veered over to answer it.

Ambassador Oscagne entered. He bowed to Ehlana. ‘I’ve spoken with Fontan, your Majesty,’ he reported. ‘He’s sending to the garrison at Canae for two Atan legions to escort us to Matherion. I’m sure we’ll all feel more secure with them around us.’

‘What’s a legion, your Excellency?’ Talen asked, crossing the room to the jewellery cabinet.

‘A thousand warriors,’ Oscagne replied. He smiled at Ehlana. ‘With two thousand Atans at your disposal, your Majesty could conquer Edom. Would you like to establish a toe-hold on the Daresian continent? It won’t really be all that inconvenient. We Tamuls will administer it for you – for the usual fee, of course – and we’ll send you glowing reports at the end of each year. The reports will be a tissue of lies, but we’ll send them anyway.’

‘Along with the profits?’ She actually sounded interested.

‘Oh no, your Majesty,’ he laughed. ‘For some reason, not one single kingdom in the whole empire ever shows a profit – except Tamul itself, of course.’

‘Why would I want a kingdom that doesn’t pay?’

‘Prestige, your Majesty, and vanity. You’d have another title and another crown.’

‘I don’t really need another crown, your Excellency. I’ve only got one head. Why don’t we just let the King of Edom keep his unprofitable kingdom?’

‘Probably a wise decision, your Majesty,’ he agreed. ‘Edom’s a tedious sort of place. They grow wheat there, and wheat-farmers are a stodgy group of people all obsessively interested in the weather.’

‘How long is it likely to be until those legions arrive?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘A week or so. They’ll come on foot, so they’ll make better time than they would on horseback.’

‘Isn’t it the other way around, your Excellency?’ Melidere asked him. ‘I thought horses moved much faster than men on foot.’

Mirtai laughed.

‘Did I say something funny?’ Melidere asked.

‘When I was fourteen, a man down in Daconia insulted me,’ the giantess told her. ‘He was drunk. When he sobered up the next morning, he realised what he’d done and fled on horseback. It was about dawn. I caught up with him just before noon. His horse had died from exhaustion. I always felt sort of sorry for the horse. A trained warrior can run all day. A horse can’t. A horse has to stop when he wants to eat, so he’s not used to running for more than a few hours at a time. We eat while we’re running, so we just keep on going.’

‘What did you do to the fellow who insulted you?’ Talen asked her.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Ah – no, Mirtai,’ he replied. ‘Now that you mention it, probably not.’

And so they had a week on their hands. Baroness Melidere devoted her time to breaking hearts. The young noblemen of King Alberen’s court flocked around her. She flirted outrageously, made all sorts of promises – none of which she kept – and occasionally allowed herself to be kissed in dark corners by persistent suitors. She had a great deal of fun and gathered a great deal of information. A young man pursuing a pretty girl will often share secrets with her, secrets which he should probably keep to himself.

To the surprise of Sparhawk and his fellow knights, Sir Berit devastated the young ladies of the court quite nearly as much as the baroness did the young men.

‘It’s absolutely uncanny,’ Kalten was saying one evening. ‘He doesn’t really do anything at all. He doesn’t talk to them; he doesn’t smile at them; he doesn’t do any of the things he’s supposed to do. I don’t know what it is, but every time he walks through a room, every young woman in the place starts to come all unravelled.’

‘He is a very handsome young man, Kalten,’ Ehlana pointed out.

‘Berit? He doesn’t even shave regularly yet.’

‘What’s that got to do with it? He’s tall, he’s a knight, he has broad shoulders and good manners. He’s also got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen – and the longest eyelashes,’

‘But he’s only a boy.’

‘Not any more. You haven’t really looked at him lately. Besides, the young ladies who sigh and cry into their pillows over him are quite young themselves.’

‘What’s really so irritating is the fact that he doesn’t even know what effect he has on all those poor girls,’ Tynian observed. ‘They’re doing everything but tearing their clothes off to get his attention, and he hasn’t got the faintest notion of what’s going on.’

‘That’s part of his charm, Sir Knight,’ Ehlana smiled. ‘If it weren’t for that innocence of his, they wouldn’t find him nearly so attractive. Sir Bevier here has much the same quality. The difference though, is that Bevier knows that he’s an extraordinarily handsome young man. He chooses not to do anything about it because of his religious convictions. Berit doesn’t even know.’

‘Maybe one of us should take him aside and tell him,’ Ulath suggested.

‘Never mind,’ Mirtai told him. ‘He’s fine just the way he is. Leave him alone.’

‘Mirtai’s right,’ Ehlana said. ‘Don’t tamper with him, gentlemen. We’d like to keep him innocent for just a while longer.’ A hint of mischief touched her lips. ‘Sir Bevier, on the other hand, is quite another matter. It’s time for us to find him a wife. He’ll make some girl an excellent husband.’

Bevier smiled faintly. ‘I’m already married, your Majesty – to the Church.’

‘Betrothed perhaps, Bevier, but not yet married. Don’t start buying ecclesiastical garb just yet, Sir Knight. I haven’t entirely given up on you.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to start closer to home, your Majesty?’ he suggested. ‘If you feel the urge to marry someone off, Sir Kalten is readily at hand.’

‘Kalten?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Don’t be absurd, Bevier. I wouldn’t do that to any woman.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Kalten protested.

‘I love you dearly, Kalten,’ she smiled at the blond Pandion, ‘but you’re just not husband material. I couldn’t give you away. In good conscience I couldn’t even order anyone to marry you. Tynian is remotely possible, but God intended you and Ulath to be bachelors.’

‘Me?’ Ulath said mildly.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you.’

The door opened, and Stragen and Talen entered. They were both dressed in the plain clothing they usually wore when making one of their sorties into the streets.

‘Any luck?’ Sparhawk asked them.

‘We found him,’ Stragen replied, handing his cloak to Alean. ‘He’s not really my sort. He’s a pickpocket by profession, and pickpockets don’t really make good leaders. There’s something fundamentally lacking in their character.’

‘Stragen!’ Talen protested.

‘You’re not really a pickpocket, my young friend,’ Stragen told him. ‘That’s only an interim occupation while you’re waiting to grow up. Anyway, the local chief’s named Kondrak. He could see that we all have a mutual interest in stable governments, I’ll give him that. Looting houses when there’s turmoil in the streets is a fast way to make a lot of money, but over the long run, a good thief can accumulate more in times of domestic tranquillity. Of course Kondrak can’t make any kind of overall decision on his own. He’ll have to consult with his counterparts in other cities in the empire.’

‘That shouldn’t take more than a year or so,’ Sparhawk noted drily.

‘Hardly,’ Stragen disagreed. ‘Thieves move much more rapidly than honest men. Kondrak’s going to send out word of what we’re trying to accomplish. He’ll put it in the best possible light, so there’s a very good chance that the thieves of all the kingdoms in the empire will co-operate.’

‘How will we know their decision?’ Tynian asked him.

‘I’ll make courtesy calls each time we come to a fairsized city,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘Sooner or later I’ll get an official reply. It shouldn’t take all that long. We’ll certainly have a final decision by the time we reach Matherion.’ He looked speculatively at Ehlana. ‘Your Majesty’s learned a great deal about the subterranean government in the past few years,’ he noted. ‘Do you suppose we could put that information on the level of a state secret? We’re perfectly willing to co-operate and even assist on occasion, but we’d be much happier if the other monarchs of the world didn’t know too much about the way we operate. Some crusader might decide to smash the secret government, and that would inconvenience us a bit.’

‘What’s it worth to you, Milord Stragen?’ she teased him.

His eyes grew very serious. ‘It’s a decision you’ll have to make for yourself, Ehlana,’ he told her, cutting across rank and customary courtesies. ‘I’ve tried to assist you whenever I could because I’m genuinely fond of you. If you make a little conversational slip, though, and other monarchs find out things they shouldn’t know, I won’t be able to do that any more.’

‘You’d abandon me, Milord Stragen?’

‘Never, my Queen, but my colleagues would have me killed, and I wouldn’t really be of much use to you in that condition, now would I?’

Archimandrite Monsel was a large, impressive man with piercing black eyes and an imposing black beard. It was a forceful beard, an assertive beard, a beard impossible to overlook, and the Archimandrite used it like a battering ram. It preceded him by a yard wherever he went. It bristled when he was irritated – which was often – and in damp weather it knotted up into snarls like half a mile of cheap fishing line. The beard waggled when Monsel talked, emphasising points all on its own. Patriarch Emban was absolutely fascinated by the Archimandrite’s beard. ‘It’s like talking to an animated hedge,’ he observed to Sparhawk as the two of them walked through the corridors of the palace toward a private audience with the Astellian ecclesiaste.

‘Are there any topics I should avoid, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘I’m not familiar with the Church of Astel, and I don’t want to start any theological debates.’

‘Our disagreements with the Astels are in the field of Church government, Sparhawk. Our purely theological differences are very minor. We have a secular clergy, but their Church is monastically organised. Our priests are just priests; theirs are also monks. I’ll grant you that it’s a fine distinction, but it’s a distinction nonetheless. They also have many, many more priests and monks than we do – probably about a tenth of the population.’

‘That many?’

‘Oh, yes. Every noble mansion in Astel has its own private chapel and its own priest, and the priest “assists” in making decisions.’

‘Where do they find so many men willing to enter the priesthood?’

‘From the ranks of the serfs. Being a clergyman has its drawbacks, but it’s better than being a serf.’

‘I suppose the Church would be preferable.’

‘Much. Monsel will respect you, because you’re a member of a religious order. Oh, incidentally, since you’re the interim preceptor of the Pandion Knights, you’re technically a patriarch. Don’t be surprised if he addresses you as “your Grace”.’

They were admitted into Monsel’s chambers by a long-bearded monk. Sparhawk had noticed that all Astellian clergymen wore beards. The room was small and panelled in dark wood. The carpet was a deep maroon, and the heavy drapes at the windows were black. There were books and scrolls and dog-eared sheets of parchment everywhere.

‘Ah, Emban,’ Monsel said. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Mischief, Monsel. I’ve been out proselytising among the heathens.’

‘Really? Where did you find any here? I thought most heathens lived in the Basilica in Chyrellos. Sit down, gentlemen. I’ll send for some wine and we can debate theology.’

‘You’ve met Sparhawk?’ Emban asked as they all took chairs before an open window where the breeze billowed the black drapes.

‘Briefly,’ Monsel replied. ‘How are you today, your Highness?’

‘Well. And you, your Grace?’

‘Curious, more than anything. Why are we engaging in private consultations?’

‘We’re all clergymen, your Grace,’ Emban pointed out. ‘Sparhawk wears a cassock made of steel most of the time, but he is of the clergy. We’ve come to discuss something that probably concerns you as much as it does us. I think I know you well enough to know that you’ve got a practical side that’s not going to get sidetracked by the fact that you think we genuflect wrong.’

‘What’s this?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘We kneel on our right knee,’ Emban shrugged. ‘These poor, benighted heathens kneel on the left.’

‘Shocking,’ Sparhawk murmured. ‘Do you think we should come here in force and compel them to do it right?’

‘You see?’ Emban said to the Archimandrite. ‘That’s exactly what I was talking about. You should fall to your knees and thank God that you’re not saddled with Church Knights, Monsel. I think most of them secretly worship Styric Gods.’

‘Only the Younger Gods, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said mildly. ‘We’ve had our differences with the Elder Gods.’

‘He says it so casually,’ Monsel shuddered. ‘If you think we’ve exhausted the conversational potential of genuflectory variation, Emban, why don’t you get to the point?’

‘This is in strictest confidence, your Grace, but our mission here to Tamuli’s not entirely what it seems. It was Queen Ehlana’s idea, of course. She’s not the sort to go anywhere just because somebody tells her to – but all of this elaborate fol-de-rol was just a subterfuge to hide our real purpose, which was to put Sparhawk on the Daresian Continent. The world’s coming apart at the seams, so we’ve decided to let him fix it.’

‘I thought that was God’s job.’

‘God’s busy just now, and He’s got complete confidence in Sparhawk. All sorts of Gods feel that way about him, I understand.’

Monsel’s eyes widened, and his beard bristled.

‘Relax, Monsel,’ Emban told him. ‘We of the Church are not required to believe in other Gods. All we have to do is make a few allowances for their speculative existence.’

‘Oh, that’s different. If this is speculation, I suppose it’s all right.’

‘There’s one thing that isn’t speculation, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You’ve got trouble here in Astel.’

‘You’ve noticed. Your Highness is very perceptive.’

‘You may not have been advised, since the Tamuls are trying to keep it on a low key, but very similar things are afoot in many other Daresian kingdoms, and we’re beginning to encounter the same sort of problem in Eosia.’

‘I think the Tamuls sometimes keep secrets just for the fun of it,’ Monsel grunted.

‘I have a friend who says the same thing about our Eosian Church,’ Sparhawk said cautiously. They had not yet fully explored the Archimandrite’s political opinions. A wrong word or two here would not only preclude any possibility of obtaining his help, but might even compromise their mission.

‘Knowledge is power,’ Emban said rather sententiously, ‘and only a fool shares power if he doesn’t have to. Let me be blunt, Monsel. What’s your opinion of the Tamuls?’

‘I don’t like them.’ Monsel’s response was to the point. ‘They’re heathens, they’re members of an alien race, and you can’t tell what they’re thinking.’

Sparhawk’s heart sank.

‘I have to admit, though, that when they absorbed Astel into their empire, it was the best thing that ever happened to us. Whether we like them or not is beside the point. Their passion for order and stability has averted war time and time again in my own lifetime. There have been other empires in ages past, and their time of ascendancy was a time of unmitigated horror and suffering. I think we’ll candidly have to admit that the Tamuls are history’s finest imperialists. They don’t interfere with local customs or religions. They don’t disrupt the social structure, and they function through the established governments. Their taxes, however much we complain about them, are really minimal. They build good roads and encourage trade. Aside from that, they generally leave us alone. About all they really insist upon is that we don’t go to war with each other. I can live with that – although some of my predecessors felt dreadfully abused because the Tamuls wouldn’t let them convert their neighbours by the sword.’

Sparhawk breathed a little easier.

‘But I’m straying from the point here,’ Monsel said. ‘You were suggesting a world-wide conspiracy of some kind, I think.’

‘Were we suggesting that, Sparhawk?’ Emban asked.

‘I suppose we were, your Grace.’

‘Do you have anything concrete upon which to base this theory, Sir Sparhawk?’ Monsel asked.

‘Logic is about all, your Grace.’

‘I’ll listen to logic – as long as she doesn’t contradict my beliefs.’

‘If a series of events happens in one place and it’s identical to a series of events taking place in another, we’re justified in considering the possibility of a common source, wouldn’t you say?’

‘On an interim basis, perhaps.’

‘It’s about all we have to work with at the moment, your Grace. The same sort of thing could happen at the same time in two different places and still be a coincidence, but when you get up to five or ten different occurrences, coincidence sort of goes out the window. This current upheaval involving Ayachin and the one they call Sabre here in Astel is almost exactly duplicated in the kingdom of Lamorkand in Eosia, and Ambassador Oscagne assures us that the same sort of thing’s erupting in other Daresian kingdoms as well. It’s always the same. First there are the rumours that some towering hero of antiquity has somehow returned. Then some firebrand emerges to keep things stirred up. Here in Astel, you’ve got the wild stories about Ayachin. In Lamorkand, they talk about Drychtnath. Here you have a man named Sabre, and in Lamorkand they’ve got one named Gerrich. I’m fairly sure we’ll find the same sort of thing in Edom, Daconia, Arjuna and Cynesga. Oscagne tells us that their national heroes are putting in an appearance as well.’ Sparhawk rather carefully avoided mentioning Krager. He was still not entirely certain where Monsel’s sympathies lay.

‘You build a good case, Sparhawk,’ Monsel conceded. ‘But couldn’t this master plot be directed at the Tamuls? They aren’t widely loved, you know.’

‘I think your Grace is overlooking Lamorkand.’ Emban said. ‘There aren’t any Tamuls there. I’m guessing, but I’d say that the master plot – if that’s what we want to call it – is directed at the Church in Eosia as opposed to the empire here.’

‘Organised anarchy perhaps?’

‘I believe that’s a contradiction in terms, your Grace,’ Sparhawk pointed out. ‘I’m not sure that we’re far enough along to deal with causes yet, though. Right now we’re trying to sort through effects. If we’re correct in assuming that this plot is all coming from the same person, then what we’re seeing is someone who’s got a basic plan with common elements which he modifies to fit each particular culture. What we really want to do is to identify this Sabre fellow.’

‘So that you can have him killed?’ Monsel’s tone was accusing.

‘No, your Grace, that wouldn’t be practical. If we kill him, he’ll be replaced by someone else – somebody we don’t know. I want to know who he is, and what he is and everything I can possibly find out about him. I want to know how he thinks, what drives him and what his personal motivations are. If I know all of that, I can neutralise him without killing him. To be completely honest with you, I don’t really care about Sabre. I want the one who’s behind him.’

Monsel seemed shaken. ‘This is a dreadful man, Emban,’ he said in a hushed tone.

‘Implacable is the word, I think.’

‘If we can believe Oscagne – and I think we can – someone’s using the arcane arts in this business,’ Sparhawk told them. ‘That’s why the Church Knights were created originally. It’s our business to deal with magic. Our Elene religion can’t cope with it because there’s no place in our faith for it. We had to go outside the faith – to the Styrics – to learn how to counteract magic. It opened some doors we might have preferred had been left closed, but that’s the price we had to pay. Somebody – or something – on the other side’s using magic of a very high order. I’m here to stop him – to kill him if need be. Once he’s gone, the Atans can deal with Sabre. I know an Atan, and if her people are at all like her, I know we can count on them to be thorough.’

‘You trouble me, Sparhawk,’ Monsel admitted. ‘Your devotion to your duty’s almost inhuman, and your resolve goes even beyond that. You shame me, Sparhawk.’ He sighed and sat tugging at his beard, his eyes lost in thought. Finally, he straightened. ‘All right, Emban, can we suspend the rules?’

‘I didn’t quite follow that.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you this,’ the Archimandrite said, ‘first of all because it’ll probably raise your doctrinal hackles, but more importantly because I didn’t really want to share it with you. This implacable Sparhawk of yours has convinced me otherwise. If I don’t tell you what I know, he’ll dismantle Astel and everyone in it to get the information, won’t you, Sparhawk?’

‘I’d really hate that, your Grace.’

‘But you’d do it anyway, wouldn’t you?’

‘If I had to.’

Monsel shuddered. ‘You’re both churchmen, so I’m going to invoke the rule of clerical confidentiality. You haven’t changed the requirements of that in Chyrellos yet, have you, Emban?’

‘Not unless Sarathi did it since I’ve been gone. At any rate, you have our word that neither of us will reveal anything you tell us.’

‘Except to another clergyman,’ Monsel amended. ‘I’ll go that far.’

‘All right,’ Emban agreed.

Monsel leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard. ‘The Tamuls have no real conception of how powerful the Church is in the Elene kingdoms here in Western Daresia,’ he began. ‘In the first place, their religion’s hardly more than a set of ceremonies. Tamuls don’t even think about religion, so they can’t understand the depth of the faith in the hearts of the devout – and the serfs of Astel are quite likely the most devout people on earth. They take all of their problems to their priests – and not only their, own problems, but their neighbours’ as well. The serfs are everywhere and they see everything, and they tell their priests.’

‘I think it was called tale-bearing when I was in the seminary,’ Emban noted.

‘We had a worse name for it during our novitiate,’ Sparhawk added. ‘All sorts of unpleasant accidents used to happen on the training-field because of it.’

‘Nobody likes a snitch,’ Monsel agreed, ‘but like it or not, the Astellian clergy knows everything that happens in the kingdom – literally everything. We’re sworn to keep these secrets, of course, but we feel that our primary responsibility is to the spiritual health of our flock. Since a large proportion of our priests were originally serfs, they simply don’t have the theological training to deal with complex spiritual problems. We’ve devised a way to provide them with the advice they need. The serf-priests do not reveal the names of those who have come to them, but they do take serious matters to their superiors, and their superiors bring those matters to me.’

‘I have no real difficulty with that,’ Emban said. ‘As long as the names are kept secret, the confidentiality hasn’t been violated.’

‘We’ll get on well together, Emban.’ Monsel smiled briefly. ‘The serfs look upon Sabre as a liberator.’

‘So we gathered,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘There seems to be a certain lack of consistency in his speeches, though. He tells the nobles that Ayachin wants to throw off the Tamul yoke, and then he tells the serfs that Ayachin’s real goal is the abolition of serfdom. Moreover, he’s persuaded the nobles to become very brutal in their dealings with the serfs. That’s not only disgusting, it’s irrational. The nobles should be trying to enlist the serfs, not alienate them. Viewed realistically, Sabre’s no more than an agitator, and he’s not even particularly subtle. He’s a political adolescent.’

‘That’s going a little far, Sparhawk,’ Emban protested. ‘How do you account for his success then? An idiot like that could never persuade the Astels to accept his word.’

‘They’re not accepting his word. They’re accepting Ayachin’s.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Sparhawk?’

‘No, your Grace. I mentioned before that someone on the other side’s been using magic. This is what I was talking about. The people here have actually been seeing Ayachin himself.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Monsel seemed profoundly disturbed.

Sparhawk sighed. ‘For the sake of your Grace’s theological comfort, let’s call it some kind of hallucination – a mass illusion created by a clever charlatan, or some accomplice dressed in archaic clothing who appears suddenly in some spectacular fashion. Whatever its source, if what’s happening here is anything like what’s happening in Lamorkand, your people are absolutely convinced that Ayachin’s returned from the grave. Sabre probably makes a speech – a rambling collection of disconnected platitudes – and then this hallucination appears in a flash of light and a clap of thunder and confirms all his pronouncements. That’s a guess, of course, but it’s probably not too far off the mark.’

‘It’s an elaborate hoax then?’

‘If that’s what you want to believe, your Grace.’

‘But you don’t believe it’s a hoax, do you Sparhawk?’

‘I’ve been trained not to actively disbelieve things, your Grace. Whether the apparition of Ayachin is real or some trick is beside the point. It’s what the people believe that’s important, and I’m sure they believe that Ayachin’s returned and that Sabre speaks for him. That’s what makes Sabre so dangerous. With the apparition to support him, he can make people believe anything. That’s why I have to find out everything about him that I can. I have to be able to know what he’s going to do so that I can counter him.’

‘I’m going to behave as if I believe what you’ve just told me, Sparhawk,’ Monsel said in a troubled voice. ‘I really think you need some spiritual help, though.’ His face grew grave. ‘We know who Sabre is,’ he said finally. ‘We’ve known for over a year now. At first we believed as you do – that he was no more than a disturbed fanatic with a taste for melodrama. We expected the Tamuls to deal with him, so we didn’t think we had to do anything ourselves. I’ve had some second thoughts on that score of late, though. On the condition that neither of you will reveal anything I say except to another clergyman, I’ll tell you who he is. Do I have your word on that condition?’

‘You have, your Grace,’ Emban swore.

‘And you, Sparhawk?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very well, then. Sabre’s the younger brother-in-law of a minor nobleman who has an estate a few leagues to the east of Esos.’

It all fell into place in Sparhawk’s mind with a loud clank.

‘The nobleman is a Baron Kotyk, a silly, ineffectual ass,’ Monsel told them. ‘And you were quite right, Sparhawk. Sabre’s a melodramatic adolescent named Elron.’