The Sapphire Rose

‘On what charge?’ she exclaimed.

‘High treason, wasn’t it, Kalten?’

‘I think those were the words the queen used, yes. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding, Your Highness,’ the blond man smirked at Queen Ehlana’s aunt. ‘You, your son and the good Primate should have no trouble explaining things at your trial.’

‘Trial?’ Her face blanched.

‘I think that’s the normal procedure, Princess. Ordinarily, we’d have just hanged your son and then you as well, but you both have a certain eminence in the kingdom, so certain necessary formalities are in order.’

‘That’s absurd!’ Arissa cried. ‘I’m a princess. I can’t be charged with such a crime.’

‘You might try to explain that to Ehlana,’ Kalten replied. ‘I’m sure she’ll be very interested in your arguments – before she passes sentence.’

‘You’ll also be charged with the murder of your brother, Arissa,’ Sparhawk added. ‘Princess or not, that alone would be enough to hang you. But we’re a bit pressed for time. I’m sure your son will be able to explain it all to you in greater detail.’

An aged nun entered the garden, her expression disapproving at the presence of men within her walls.

‘Ah, Mother Superior,’ Sparhawk greeted her with a bow. ‘By order of the crown, I’m to confine these two criminals until they can be brought to trial. Do you by chance have penitents’ cells within your walls?’

‘I’m sorry, Sir Knight,’ the Mother Superior said very firmly, ‘but the rules of our order forbid confining penitents against their will.’

‘That’s all right, mother,’ Ulath smiled. ‘We’ll take care of it. We’d sooner die than offend the ladies of the Church. I can assure you that the princess and her son will be unwilling to leave their cells – both of them being so engulfed in repentance, you understand. Let’s see, I’ll need a couple of lengths of chain, some stout bolts, a hammer and an anvil. I’ll close up those cells with no trouble whatsoever, and you and your good sisters won’t need to concern yourselves with politics.’ He paused and looked at Sparhawk. ‘Or did you want me just to chain them to the walls?’

Sparhawk actually considered it. ‘No,’ he decided finally, ‘probably not. They’re still members of the royal family, and certain courtesies are involved.’

‘I have no choice but to accede to your demands, Sir Knights,’ the Mother Superior said. She paused. ‘There are rumours abroad that the queen has recovered,’ she said. ‘Can that possibly be true?’

‘Yes, Mother Superior,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘The queen is well, and the government of Elenia is once again in her hands.’

‘Praise God!’ the old nun exclaimed. ‘And will you soon be removing our unwanted guests from within our walls?’

‘Soon, mother. Very soon.’

‘We shall cleanse the chambers the princess has contaminated then – and offer prayers for her soul, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘How very, very touching,’ Arissa said sardonically, appearing to have slightly recovered. ‘If this grows any more cloying, I think I’ll vomit.’

‘You’re starting to irritate me, Arissa,’ Sparhawk said coldly. ‘I don’t recommend it. If I weren’t under the queen’s orders, I’d strike off your head here and now. I’d advise you to make your peace with God, because I’m quite sure you’ll be meeting Him face to face before long.’ He looked at her with extreme distaste. ‘Get her out of my sight,’ he told Kalten and Ulath.

About fifteen minutes later, Kalten and Ulath came back from within the cloister.

‘All secure?’ Sparhawk asked them.

‘It’d take a blacksmith an hour to open those cell-doors,’ Kalten replied. ‘Shall we go then?’

They had gone no more than a half-mile when Ulath suddenly shouted, ‘Look out, Sparhawk!’ and roughly shoved the big Pandion from his saddle.

The crossbow bolt whizzed through the empty air where Sparhawk had been an instant before and buried itself to the vanes in a tree at the roadside.

Kalten’s sword came whistling from its sheath, and he spurred his horse in the direction from which the bolt had come.

‘Are you all right?’ Ulath asked, dismounting to help Sparhawk to his feet.

‘A little bruised is all. You push very firmly, my friend.’

‘I’m sorry, Sparhawk. I got excited.’

‘Perfectly all right, Ulath. Push as hard as you like when these things happen. How did you happen to see the bolt coming?’

‘Pure luck. I happened to be looking that way, and I saw the bushes move.’

Kalten was swearing when he rode back. ‘He got away,’ he reported.

‘I’m getting very tired of that fellow,’ Sparhawk said, pulling himself back into the saddle.

‘You think it might be the same one that took a shot at you back in Cimmura?’ Kalten asked him.

‘This isn’t Lamorkand, Kalten. There isn’t a crossbow standing in the corner of every kitchen in the kingdom.’ He thought about it for a moment. ‘Let’s not make an issue of this when we see Vanion again,’ he suggested. ‘I can sort of take care of myself, and he’s got enough on his mind already.’

‘I think it’s a mistake, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said dubiously, ‘but it’s your skin, so we’ll do it your way.’

The knights of the four orders were waiting in a well-concealed encampment a league or so to the south of Demos. Sparhawk and his friends were directed to the pavilion where their friends were conversing with Preceptor Abriel of the Cyrinic Knights, Preceptor Komier of the Genidians and Preceptor Darellon of the Alciones. ‘How did Princess Arissa take the news?’ Vanion asked.

‘She was moderately discontented about it all,’ Kalten smirked. ‘She wanted to make a speech, but since about all she really wanted to say was, “You can’t do this,” we cut her off.’

‘You did what?’ Vanion exclaimed.

‘Oh, not that way, My Lord Vanion,’ Kalten apologized. ‘Poor choice of words there perhaps.’

‘Say what you mean, Kalten,’ Vanion told him. ‘This is no time for misunderstandings.’

‘I wouldn’t actually behead the princess, Lord Vanion.’

‘I would,’ Ulath muttered.

‘May we see the Bhelliom?’ Komier asked Sparhawk.

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia, and she nodded, although a bit dubiously.

Sparhawk reached inside his surcoat and removed the canvas pouch. He untied the drawstring then shook the Sapphire Rose out into his hand. It had been several days since he had felt even the faintest twinge of that shadowy, unnamed dread, but it returned once again as soon as his eyes touched the Sapphire Rose, and once again that shapeless shadow, even darker and larger now, flickered just beyond his field of vision.

‘Dear God,’ Preceptor Abriel gasped.

‘That’s it, all right,’ the Thalesian Komier grunted. ‘Get it out of sight, Sparhawk.’

‘But –’ Preceptor Darellon protested.

‘Did you want to keep your soul, Darellon?’ Komier asked bluntly. ‘If you do, don’t look at that thing for more than a few seconds.’

‘Put it away, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said.

‘Have we had any news about what Otha’s doing?’ Kalten asked as Sparhawk dropped Bhelliom back into its pouch.

‘He appears to be holding firm at the border,’ Abriel replied. ‘Vanion told us about the confession of the bastard Lycheas. It’s very likely that Annias has asked Otha to stand on the border making menacing noises. Then the Primate of Cimmura can claim that he knows a way to stop the Zemochs. That should sway a few votes his way.’

‘Do we think that Otha knows Sparhawk’s got Bhelliom?’ Ulath asked.

‘Azash does,’ Sephrenia said, ‘and that means Otha does as well. Whether the news reached Annias yet is anybody’s guess.’

‘What’s happening in Chyrellos?’ Sparhawk asked Vanion.

‘The latest word we have is that Archprelate Cluvonus is still hanging on by a thread. There’s no way we can hide the fact that we’re coming, so we’re just going to bull our way on through to Chyrellos. There’s been a change of plans now that Otha’s made his move. We want to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies. It’s obvious that Annias is going to try to force the election as soon as he can now. He can’t really start giving orders until after that. Once Cluvonus dies, though, the Patriarchs Annias controls can start calling for votes. Probably the first thing they’ll vote on is the sealing of the city. That won’t be a matter of substance, so Annias probably has the votes to get it passed.’

‘Can Dolmant make any kind of estimate about how the vote stands just now?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘It’s close, Sir Sparhawk,’ Preceptor Abriel told him. Abriel was the leader of the Cyrinic Knights in Arcium. He was a solidly-built man in his sixties with silvery hair and an ascetic expression. ‘A fair number of Patriarchs aren’t in Chyrellos.’

‘A tribute to the efficiency of Annias’s assassins,’ the Thalesian Komier said dryly.

‘Most probably,’ Abriel agreed. ‘At any rate, there are one hundred and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos now.’

‘Out of how many?’ Kalten asked.

‘One hundred and sixty-eight.’

‘Why such an odd number?’ Talen asked curiously.

‘It was arranged that way, young man,’ Abriel explained. ‘The number was selected so that it would take one hundred votes to elect a new Archprelate.’

‘One hundred and sixty-seven would have been closer,’ Talen said after a moment.

‘To what?’ Kalten asked.

‘The hundred votes. You see, one hundred votes is 60 per cent of –’ Talen looked at Kalten’s uncomprehending expression. ‘Ah – never mind, Kalten,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘Can you come up with those numbers in your head, boy?’ Komier asked with some surprise. ‘We’ve wasted a bale of paper grinding out computations then.’

‘It’s a trick, My Lord,’ Talen said modestly. ‘In my business you sometimes have to deal with numbers very rapidly. Could I ask how many votes Annias has right now?’

‘Sixty-five,’ Abriel replied, ‘either firm or strongly leaning towards him.’

‘And we have?’

‘Fifty-eight.’

‘Nobody wins then. He needs thirty-five more votes, and we need forty-two.’

‘It’s not quite that simple, I’m afraid,’ Abriel sighed. ‘The procedure set down by the Church Fathers says that it takes one hundred votes – or a like proportion of those present and voting – to elect a new Archprelate, or to decide all matters of substance.’

‘And that’s what used up that bale of paper,’ Komier said sourly.

‘All right,’ Talen said after a moment’s thought. ‘Annias only needs eighty votes then, but he’s still fifteen short.’ He frowned. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Your numbers don’t add up. You’ve only accounted for one hundred and twenty-three votes, and you said there were one hundred and thirty-two Patriarchs in Chyrellos.’

‘Nine of the Patriarchs have still not decided,’ Abriel told him. ‘Dolmant suspects that they’re just holding out for bigger bribes. There are votes from time to time on non-substantive matters. In those cases, it only takes a simple majority to win. Sometimes the nine will vote with Annias and sometimes they won’t. They’re demonstrating their power to him. They’ll vote to their own advantage, I’m afraid.’

‘Even if they all vote with Annias every time, they still won’t make any difference,’ Talen said. ‘No matter how you stretch nine votes, you can’t turn them into fifteen.’

‘But he doesn’t need fifteen,’ Preceptor Darellon said wearily. ‘Because of all the assassinations and all the church soldiers in the streets of Chyrellos, seventeen of the Patriarchs opposed to Annias have gone into hiding somewhere in the Holy City. They aren’t present and voting, and that changes the numbers.’

‘This is all beginning to make my head ache,’ Kalten said to Ulath.

Talen was shaking his head. ‘I think we’re in trouble, My Lords,’ he said. ‘Without those seventeen to raise the total, the number to win is sixty-nine. Annias only needs four more votes.’

‘And as soon as he can come up with enough money to satisfy four of those nine hold-outs, he’ll win,’ Sir Bevier said. ‘The boy’s right, My Lords. We’re in trouble.’

‘We have to change the numbers then,’ Sparhawk said.

‘How do you change numbers?’ Kalten asked. ‘A number is a number. You can’t change it.’

‘You can if you add to it. What we have to do when we get to Chyrellos is find those seventeen Patriarchs who are hiding and get them safely back to the Basilica to participate in the vote. That would bring the number Annias needs to win back up to eighty, and he can’t reach that number.’

‘But neither can we,’ Tynian pointed out. ‘Even if we brought them back, we’d still only have fifty-eight votes.’

‘Sixty-two actually, Sir Tynian,’ Berit corrected respectfully. ‘The Preceptors of the four orders are also Patriarchs, and I don’t think any of them would vote for Annias, would you, My Lords?’

‘That changes the number again,’ Talen said. ‘Add the seventeen and the four, and the total is one hundred and thirty-six. That raises the number needed to win to eighty-two – eighty-one and a fraction, actually.’

‘An unreachable number for either side,’ Komier said in a gloomy voice. ‘There’s still no way we can win.’

‘We don’t have to win the vote in order to come out on top, Komier,’ Vanion said. ‘We’re not trying to elect anybody. All we’re trying to do is keep Annias off the throne. We can win with a stalemate.’ Sparhawk’s friend rose to his feet and began to pace up and down in the pavilion. ‘As soon as we reach Chyrellos, we’ll get Dolmant to send a message to Wargun down in Arcium declaring that there’s a religious crisis in the Holy City. That will put Wargun under our orders. We’ll include a command signed by the four of us that he’s to suspend his operations in Arcium and ride for Chyrellos with all possible speed. If Otha starts to move, we’re going to need him there anyway.’

‘How are we going to get enough votes for such a declaration?’ Preceptor Darellon asked.

‘I wasn’t planning to put it to a vote, my friend,’ Vanion smiled thinly. ‘Dolmant’s reputation will convince Patriarch Bergsten that the declaration is official, and Bergsten can order Wargun to march on Chyrellos. We can apologize for the misunderstanding later. By then though, Wargun will be in Chyrellos with the combined armies of the west.’

‘Less the Elenian army,’ Sparhawk insisted. ‘My queen is sitting in Cimmura with only a pair of thieves to protect her.’

‘I’m not trying to offend you, Sir Sparhawk,’ Darellon said, ‘but that’s hardly crucial at this point.’

‘I’m not so sure, Darellon,’ Vanion disagreed. ‘Annias desperately needs money now. He has to have access to the Elenian treasury – not only to bribe the remaining nine, but also to keep the votes he already has. It wouldn’t take too many defections to put the throne completely out of his reach. Protecting Ehlana – and her treasury – is even more vital now than it was before.’

‘Perhaps you’re right, Vanion,’ Darellon conceded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that, I guess.’

‘All right then,’ Vanion continued his analysis, ‘when Wargun reaches Chyrellos with his forces, the balance of power in the Holy City shifts. Annias’s grip on his adherents is fairly tenuous as it is, and I’d guess that in many cases it’s based rather strongly on the fact that his soldiers control the streets. As soon as that changes, I think a goodly part of his support will begin to dissolve. As I see it, gentlemen, our job is to reach Chyrellos before Cluvonus dies, get that message off to Wargun and then start rounding up the Patriarchs who are in hiding so that we can get them back into the Basilica to participate in the voting.’ He looked at Talen. ‘How many do we need – what’s the absolute minimum we have to have to keep Annias from winning?’

‘If he can somehow get those nine, he’ll have seventy-four votes, My Lord. If we can find six of the ones in hiding, the total number voting will be one hundred and twenty-five. Sixty per cent of that is seventy-five. He loses at that point.’

‘Very good, Talen,’ Vanion said. ‘That’s it then, gentlemen. All we have to do is go to Chyrellos, take the city apart and find six Patriarchs who are willing to vote against Annias. We nominate somebody – anybody – to stand for election and keep taking votes until Wargun arrives.’

‘It’s still not the same as winning, Vanion,’ Komier grumbled.

‘It’s the next best thing to it,’ Vanion replied.

Sparhawk’s sleep was restless that night. The darkness seemed filled with vague cries and moans and a sense of unnamed terror. Finally he rose from his bed, threw on a monk’s robe and went looking for Sephrenia.

As he had about half-expected, he found her sitting in the doorway of her tent with her teacup in her hands. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ he asked, half in irritation.

‘Your dreams are keeping me awake, dear one.’

‘You know what I’m dreaming?’ He was astounded.

‘Not the details, but I know that something’s upsetting you.’

‘I saw the shadow again when I showed Bhelliom to Vanion and the other Preceptors.’

‘Is that what’s disturbing you?’

‘In part. Someone took a shot at me with a crossbow when Ulath, Kalten and I were coming here from the cloister where Arissa’s confined.’

‘But that was before you took Bhelliom out of the pouch. Maybe the incidents aren’t linked after all.’

‘Maybe the shadow saves them up – or maybe it can see them coming in the future. It might be that the shadow doesn’t need to have me touch Bhelliom in order to send somebody to kill me.’

‘Does Elene logic usually involve so many maybe’s?’

‘No, it doesn’t, and that bothers me a little bit. It doesn’t bother me enough to make me discard the hypothesis, though. Azash has been sending things to kill me for quite some time now, little mother, and they’ve all had some sort of supernatural quality about them. This shadow that I keep catching a glimpse of obviously isn’t natural, or you’d have been able to see it too.’

‘That’s true, I suppose.’

‘Then I’d be sort of foolish to drop my guard just because I can’t prove that Azash sent the shadow, wouldn’t I?’

‘Probably, yes.’

‘Even though I can’t actually prove it, I know that there’s some kind of connection between Bhelliom and that flicker in the corner of my eye. I don’t know what the connection is just yet, and maybe that’s why some random incidents seem to be clouding the issue. To be on the safe side, though, I’m going to assume the worst – that the shadow belongs to Azash and it’s following Bhelliom itself and that it’s sending humans to try to kill me.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘I’m glad you approve.’

‘You’d already made up your mind about this, Sparhawk,’ she said to him, ‘so why did you come looking for me?’

‘I needed to have you listen while I talked my way through it.’

‘I see.’

‘Besides, I like your company.’

She smiled fondly at him. ‘You’re such a good boy, Sparhawk. Now, why don’t we talk about why you’re keeping this last attempt on your life from Vanion?’

He sighed. ‘You don’t approve of that, I see.’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.’

‘I don’t want him putting me in the middle of the column with armoured knights holding their shields over me. I have to be able to see what’s coming at me, Sephrenia. I’ll start trying to claw my way out of my skin if I can’t.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed.

Faran was in a foul humour. A day and a half of nearly continual hard riding had made his disposition definitely take a turn for the worse. Some fifteen leagues from Chyrellos, the Preceptors halted the column, ordered the knights to dismount and walk their horses for a time. Faran tried to bite Sparhawk three times as the big knight was climbing out of his saddle. The bites were intended more as an indication of disapproval than arising from any serious desire to injure or maim. Faran had discovered early in life that biting his master when he was wearing full armour only led to aching teeth. When the big roan half-whirled and kicked Sparhawk solidly on the hip, however, Sparhawk felt that it was time to take steps. With Kalten’s help, he rose to his feet, pushed back his visor and pulled himself hand over hand up the reins to glare directly into the ugly warhorse’s face. ‘Stop it!’ he snapped.

Faran glared back at him with hate-filled eyes.

Sparhawk moved his hand very quickly then and grasped the roan’s left ear in his gauntleted fist. Grimly he began to twist.

Faran ground his teeth together, and tears actually appeared in his eyes. ‘Do we understand each other?’ Sparhawk grated.

Faran kicked him in the knee with one fore-hoof.

‘It’s up to you, Faran,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re going to look ridiculous without that ear, though.’ He twisted harder until his horse grudgingly squealed in pain.

‘Always nice talking with you, Faran,’ Sparhawk said, releasing the ear. Then he stroked the sweat-soaked neck. ‘You big old fool,’ he said gently. ‘Are you all right?’

Faran flicked his ears – his right one, anyway – with an ostentatious display of indifference.

‘It’s really necessary, Faran,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘I’m not riding you this hard for fun. It won’t be much farther. Can I trust you now?’

Faran sighed and pawed at the ground with one fore-hoof.

‘Good,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s walk for a while.’

‘That is truly uncanny,’ Preceptor Abriel said to Vanion. ‘I’ve never seen horse and man so totally linked before.’

‘It’s a part of Sparhawk’s advantage, my friend,’ Vanion said. ‘He’s bad enough by himself, but when you put him on that horse, he turns into a natural disaster.’

They walked on for a mile or so, then remounted and rode on through the afternoon sunlight towards the Holy City.

It was nearly midnight when they crossed the wide bridge over the River Arruk and approached one of the west gates of Chyrellos. The gate, of course, was guarded by church soldiers. ‘I cannot grant you entry until sunrise, My Lords,’ the captain in charge of the guard detachment said firmly. ‘By order of the Hierocracy, no one under arms may enter Chyrellos during the hours of darkness.’

Preceptor Komier reached for his axe.

‘A moment, my friend,’ Preceptor Abriel cautioned mildly. ‘I believe there’s a way to resolve this difficulty without unpleasantness. Captain,’ he addressed the red-tunicked soldier.

‘Yes, My Lord?’ The captain’s voice was insultingly smug.

‘This order you mentioned, does it apply to members of the Hierocracy itself?’

‘My Lord?’ The captain seemed confused.

‘It’s a simple question, Captain. A yes or a no will suffice. Does the order apply to the Patriarchs of the Church?’

‘No one may hinder a Church Patriarch, My Lord,’ the captain floundered a bit.

‘Your Grace,’ Abriel corrected.

The captain blinked stupidly.

‘The correct form of address when speaking to a Patriarch is “Your Grace”, Captain. By Church Law, my three companions and I are, in fact, Patriarchs of the Church. Form up your men, Captain. We will inspect them.’

The captain hesitated.

‘I speak for the Church, Lieutenant,’ Abriel said. ‘Will you defy her?’

‘Uh – I’m a captain, Your Grace,’ the man mumbled.

‘You were a captain, Lieutenant, but not any more. Now, would you like to be a sergeant again? If not, you’ll do as I say immediately.’

‘At once, Your Grace,’ the shaken man replied. ‘You there!’ he shouted. ‘All of you! Fall in and prepare for inspection!’

The appearance of the detachment at the gate was, in Preceptor – ah, shall we say instead Patriarch – Darellon’s words, disgraceful. Reprimands were freely distributed in blistering terms, and then the column entered the Holy City without any further hindrance. There was no laughter – nor even any smiles – until the armoured men were well out of earshot of the gates. The discipline of the Knights of the Church is the wonder of the known world.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets of Chyrellos were heavily patrolled by church soldiers. Sparhawk knew these kinds of men, and he knew that their loyalty was for sale. They served only for the pay in most cases. Because of their numbers here in the Holy City, they had become accustomed to behaving with a certain arrogant rudeness. The appearance of four hundred armoured Church Knights in the streets at the ominous hour of midnight engendered what Sparhawk felt to be a becoming humility, however – at least among the common troops. It took the officers a bit longer to grasp the truth. It always does, somehow. One obnoxious young fellow tried to block their path, demanding to examine their documents. He seemed quite puffed-up with his own importance and failed to look behind him. He was thus unaware of the fact that his troops had discreetly gone somewhere else. He continued to deliver his peremptory commands in a shrill voice, demanding this and insisting on that until Sparhawk loosened Faran’s reins and rode him down at a deliberate walk. Faran made a special point of grinding his steel-shod hooves into a number of very sensitive places on the officer’s body.