The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose
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He had gone perhaps a half a mile when he saw a grassy meadow through the trees. As he approached the meadow, he heard the thudding of hooves. Somewhere ahead, a single horse was loping across the turf at a canter. And then he heard the sound of Flute’s pipes rising in the morning air.
He pushed his way to the edge of the meadow, parted the bushes, and peered out.
Faran, his roan coat glistening in the morning sun, cantered easily in a wide circular course around the meadow. He wore no saddle nor bridle, and there was something almost joyful about his stride. Flute lay face up on his back with her pipes at her lips. Her head was nestled comfortably on his surging front shoulders, her knees were crossed, and she was beating time on Faran’s rump with one little foot.
Sparhawk gaped at them, then stepped out into the meadow to stand directly in the big roan’s path. He spread his arms wide, and Faran slowed to a walk and then stopped in front of his master.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Sparhawk barked at him.
Faran’s expression grew lofty and he looked away.
‘Have you completely taken leave of your senses?’
Faran snorted and flicked his tail even as Flute continued to play her song. Then the little girl slapped her grass-stained foot imperiously on his rump several times, and he neatly sidestepped the fuming Sparhawk and cantered on with Flute’s song soaring above him.
Sparhawk swore and ran after them. After a few yards, he knew it was hopeless and he stopped, breathing hard.
‘Interesting, wouldn’t you say?’ Sephrenia said. She had come out from among the trees and stood at the edge of the meadow with her white robe gleaming in the morning sun.
‘Can you make them stop?’ Sparhawk asked her. ‘She’s going to fall off and get hurt.’
‘No, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia disagreed, ‘she will not fall.’ She said it in that strange manner into which she sometimes lapsed. Despite the decades she had spent in Elene society, Sephrenia remained a Styric to her fingertips, and Styrics had always been an enigma to Elenes. The centuries of close association between the militant orders of the Elene Church and their Styric tutors, however, had taught the Church Knights to accept the words of their instructors without question.
‘If you’re sure,’ Sparhawk said a bit dubiously as he looked across the turf at Faran, who seemed somehow to have lost his normally vicious temperament.
‘Yes, dear one,’ she said, laying an affectionate hand on his arm in reassurance. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’ She looked out at the great horse and his tiny passenger joyously circling the dew-drenched meadow in the golden morning sunlight. ‘Let them play a while longer,’ she advised.
About midmorning Kalten returned from the vantage point to the south of the castle where he and Kurik had been keeping watch over the road coming up from Sarrinium. ‘Nothing yet,’ he reported as he dismounted, his armour clinking. ‘Do you think Martel might just try to come across country and avoid the roads?’
‘It’s not very likely,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘He wants to be seen, remember? He needs lots of witnesses.’
‘I suppose I hadn’t thought of that,’ Kalten admitted. ‘Have you got the road coming down from Darra covered?’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘Lakus and Berit are watching it.’
‘Berit?’ Kalten sounded surprised. ‘The apprentice? Isn’t he a little young?’
‘He’ll get over it. He’s steady, and he’s got good sense. Besides, Lakus can keep him out of trouble.’
‘You’re probably right. Is there any of that roast ox the count sent us left?’
‘Help yourself. It isn’t hot, though.’
Kalten shrugged. ‘Better cold meat than no meat.’
The day dragged on, as days spent only in waiting will do; by evening, Sparhawk was pacing the camp with his impatience gnawing at him. Finally Sephrenia emerged from the rough little tent she shared with Flute. She placed herself directly in front of the big knight in black armour with her hands on her hips. ‘Will you stop that?’ she demanded crossly.
‘Stop what?’
‘Pacing. You jingle at every step, and the noise is very distracting.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll go jingle on the other side of camp.’
‘Why not just go and sit down?’
‘Nerves, I guess.’
‘Nerves? You?’
‘I get twinges now and then.’
‘Well, go twinge someplace else.’
‘Yes, little mother,’ he replied obediently.
It was cold again the following morning. Kurik rode quietly into camp just before sunrise. He carefully picked his way past the sleeping knights wrapped in their black cloaks to the place where Sparhawk had spread his blankets. ‘You’d better get up,’ he said, lightly touching Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘They’re coming.’
Sparhawk sat up quickly. ‘How many?’ he asked, throwing off his blankets.
‘I make it about two hundred and fifty.’
Sparhawk stood up. ‘Where’s Kalten?’ he asked as Kurik began to buckle the black armour over his lord’s padded tunic.
‘He wanted to make sure that there wouldn’t be any surprises, so he joined the end of their column.’
‘He did what?’
‘Don’t worry, Sparhawk. They’re all wearing black armour, so he blends right in.’
‘Do you want to tie this on?’ Sparhawk handed his squire the length of bright ribbon that each knight was to wear as a means of identification during a battle in which both sides would be dressed in black.
Kurik took the red ribbon. ‘Kalten’s wearing a blue one,’ he noted. ‘It matches his eyes.’ He tied the ribbon around Sparhawk’s upper arm, then stepped back and looked at his lord appraisingly. ‘Adorable,’ he said, rolling his eyes.
Sparhawk laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go wake the children,’ he said, looking across the encampment of generally youthful knights.
‘I’ve got some bad news for you, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said as the two of them moved out through the camp, shaking the sleeping Pandions awake.
‘What’s that?’
‘The man leading the column isn’t Martel.’
Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment. ‘Who is it?’ he asked.
‘Adus. He had blood all over his chin. I think he’s been eating raw meat again.’
Sparhawk swore.
‘Look at it this way. At least the world’s going to be a cleaner place without Adus, and I’d imagine that God would like to have a long talk with him anyway.’
‘We’ll have to see what we can do to arrange that.’
Sparhawk’s knights were assisting each other into their armour when Kalten rode into camp. ‘They’ve pulled up just beyond that hill to the south of the castle,’ he reported, not bothering to dismount.
‘Is Martel possibly lurking around somewhere among them?’ Sparhawk asked hopefully.
Kalten shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ He stood up in his stirrups, shifting his sword around. ‘Why don’t we just go ahead and attack them?’ he suggested. ‘I’m getting cold.’
‘I think Count Radun would be disappointed if we didn’t let him take part in the fight.’
‘That’s true, I suppose.’
‘Is there anything unusual about the mercenaries?’
‘Run of the mill – except that about half of them are Rendors.’
‘Rendors?’
‘They don’t smell very good, do they?’
Sephrenia, accompanied by Parasim and Flute, came up to join them.
‘Good morning, Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk greeted her.
‘Why all the bustle?’ she asked.
‘We have company coming. We thought we’d ride out to greet them.’
‘Martel?’
‘No. I’m afraid it’s only Adus – and a few friends.’ He shifted the helmet he was holding under his left arm. ‘Since Martel isn’t leading them, and since Adus can barely speak Elenic, much less Styric, there isn’t anybody out there who could stir up enough magic to knock a fly off the wall. I’m afraid that means that you’ve made the trip for nothing. I want you to stay back here in the woods, well hidden and out of danger. Sir Parasim will stay with you.’
The young knight’s face filled with disappointment.
‘No, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘I need no guard, and this is Parasim’s first battle. We won’t deprive him of it.’
Parasim’s face shone with gratitude.
Kurik came back through the woods from the place where he had been keeping watch. ‘The sun’s coming up,’ he reported, ‘and Adus is leading his men over the top of that hill.’
‘We’d better mount up, then,’ Sparhawk said.
The Pandions swung up into their saddles and moved cautiously through the wood until they reached the edge of the broad meadow that surrounded the count’s castle. Then they waited, watching the black-armoured mercenaries riding down the hill in the golden dawn sunlight.
Adus, who normally spoke in grunts and belches, rode up to the gate of Count Radun’s castle and read haltingly from a piece of paper which he held in front of him at arm’s length.
‘Can’t he extemporize?’ Kalten asked quietly. ‘He’s only asking for permission to enter the castle.’
‘Martel doesn’t take chances,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and Adus usually has trouble remembering his own name.’
Adus continued to read his request. He had some trouble with the word admission, since it had more than one syllable.
Then Count Radun appeared on the battlements to announce regretfully that the windlass which raised and lowered the drawbridge was broken and to beg them to be patient until it was repaired.
Adus mulled that over. It took him quite a while. The mercenaries dismounted and lounged about on the grass at the foot of the castle wall.
‘This is going to be almost too easy.’ Kalten muttered.
‘Let’s just make sure that none of them get away,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘I don’t want anybody riding to Annias with word of what has really happened today.’
‘I still think Vanion’s trying to be too clever about this.’
‘Maybe that’s why he’s the preceptor and we’re only knights.’
A red banner appeared atop the count’s walls.
‘There’s the signal,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Radun’s forces are ready.’ He put on his helmet, gathered his reins, and rose in his stirrups, firmly holding Faran in. Then he raised his voice. ‘Charge!’ he roared.
Chapter 9
‘Any chance at all?’ Kalten asked.
‘No,’ Sparhawk replied with deep regret as he lowered Sir Parasim to the ground. ‘He’s gone.’ He smoothed the young knight’s hair with his hand, then gently closed the vacant eyes.
‘He wasn’t ready to come up against Adus,’ Kalten said.
‘Did that animal get completely away?’
‘I’m afraid so. After he cut down Parasim, he rode off to the south with about a dozen other survivors.’
‘Send some people after him,’ Sparhawk said bleakly as he straightened the fallen Sir Parasim’s limbs. ‘Tell them to run him into the sea if necessary.’
‘Do you want me to do it?’
‘No. You and I have to go to Chyrellos.’ He raised his voice then. ‘Berit,’ he shouted.
The novice approached at a half-run. He was wearing an old mail shirt splashed with blood and a dented foot soldier’s helmet with no visor. He carried a grim, long-handled battle-axe.
Sparhawk looked closely at the blood on the rangy youth’s mail shirt. ‘Is any of that yours?’ he asked.
‘No, my Lord,’ Berit answered. ‘All theirs.’ He looked pointedly at the mercenary dead littering the field.
‘Good. What’s your feeling about a long ride?’
‘As my Lord commands.’
‘He’s got good manners, at least,’ Kalten observed. ‘Berit,’ he said then, ‘ask “Where?” before you agree so quickly.’
‘I’ll remember that, my Lord Kalten.’
‘I want you to come with me,’ Sparhawk said to the novice. ‘We need to talk with Count Radun before you leave.’ He turned to Kalten. ‘Get a group of men to chase Adus,’ he said. ‘Push him hard. I don’t want him to have time to send one of his people to Cimmura to report all of this to Annias. Tell the rest of the men to bury our dead and care for the wounded.’
‘What about these?’ Kalten pointed at the dead bodies of the mercenaries heaped in front of the castle walls.
‘Burn them.’
Count Radun met Sparhawk and Berit in the courtyard of his castle. He was wearing full armour and held his sword in his hand. ‘I see that the reputation of the Pandions is well deserved,’ he said.
‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I have a favour – no, two favours – to ask of you.’
‘Anything, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘Are you known to any members of the Hierocracy in Chyrellos?’
‘Several, actually, and the Patriarch of Larium is a distant cousin of mine.’
‘Very good. I know it’s a bad season for travel, but I’d like you to join me in a little ride.’
‘Of course. Where are we going?’
‘To Chyrellos. The next favour is a bit more personal. I’ll need your signet ring.’
‘My ring?’ The count lifted his hand and looked at the heavy gold ring bearing his coat of arms.
Sparhawk nodded. ‘And worse yet, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to return it.’
‘I’m not sure that I understand.’
‘Berit here is going to take the ring to Cimmura and drop it in the collection plate during service in the cathedral there. The Primate Annias will take that to mean that his scheme has succeeded and that you and your family have all been murdered. He will then rush to Chyrellos to lay charges against the Pandions before the Hierocracy.’
Count Radun grinned broadly. ‘But then you and I will step forward and refute those charges, right?’
Sparhawk grinned back. ‘Exactly,’ he said.
‘That might cause the primate a certain amount of embarrassment,’ the count said as he tugged the ring off his finger.
‘That was sort of what we had in mind, my Lord.’
‘The ring is well lost, then,’ Radun said, handing his signet to Berit.
‘All right,’ Sparhawk said to the young novice. ‘Don’t kill any horses on your way to Cimmura. Give us time to get to Chyrellos before Annias does.’ He squinted thoughtfully. ‘Morning service, I think.’
‘My Lord?’
‘Drop the count’s ring in the collection plate during morning service. Let’s give Annias a whole day to gloat before he starts out for Chyrellos. Wear ordinary clothes when you go into the cathedral and pray a bit – just to make it look convincing. Don’t go near the chapterhouse or the inn on Rose Street.’ He looked at the young novice, feeling a renewed pang at the loss of Sir Parasim. ‘I can’t assure you that your life won’t be in danger, Berit,’ he said soberly, ‘so I can’t order you to do this.’
‘There’s no need to order me to do it, my Lord Sparhawk,’ Berit replied.
‘Good man,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Now go and get your horse. You’ve got a long ride ahead of you.’
It was nearly noon when Sparhawk and Count Radun emerged from the castle. ‘How long do you think it’s going to take for Primate Annias to reach Chyrellos?’ the count asked.
‘Two weeks at least. Berit has to get to Cimmura before Annias can even start for Chyrellos.’
Kurik came riding up to them. ‘Everything’s ready,’ he told Sparhawk.
Sparhawk nodded. ‘You’d better go and get Sephrenia,’ he said.
‘Is that really a good idea, Sparhawk? Things might get a little chancy when we get to Chyrellos.’
‘Do you want to be the one to tell her that she has to stay behind?’
Kurik winced. ‘I see what you mean,’ he said.
‘Where’s Kalten?’
‘Over there at the edge of the woods. He’s building a bonfire for some reason.’
‘Maybe he’s cold.’
The winter sun was very bright in the cold blue sky as Sparhawk and his party set out. ‘Surely, madame,’ Count Radun objected to Sephrenia, ‘the child would have been quite safe within the walls of my castle.’
‘She would not have stayed there, my Lord,’ Sephrenia replied in a small voice. She laid her cheek against Flute’s hair. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘I take great comfort in having her with me.’ Her voice sounded weak somehow, and she looked very pale and tired. In one hand she carried Sir Parasim’s sword.
Sparhawk pulled Faran in beside her white palfrey. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked her quietly.
‘Not really,’ she answered.
‘What’s the matter?’ He felt a sudden alarm.
‘Parasim was one of the twelve knights in the throne room in Cimmura.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve just been obliged to shoulder his burden as well as my own.’ She gestured slightly with the sword.
‘You’re not ill, are you?’
‘Not in the way that you mean, no. It’s just that it’s going to take a little while to adjust to the additional weight.’
‘Is there any way that I could carry it for you?’
‘No, dear one.’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Sephrenia,’ he said, ‘is what happened to Parasim today a part of what you told me was going to happen to the twelve knights?’
‘There’s no way to know, Sparhawk. The compact we made with the Younger Gods was not that specific.’ She smiled wanly. ‘If another of the knights dies this moon, though, we’ll know that it was merely an accident and had nothing to do with the compact.’
‘We’re going to lose them one every month?’
‘Moon,’ she corrected. ‘Twenty-eight days. Most probably yes. The Younger Gods tend to be methodical about such things. Don’t concern yourself about me, Sparhawk. I’ll be all right in a little while.’
It was some sixty leagues from the count’s castle to the city of Darra, and on the morning of the fourth day of their journey, they crested a hill and looked down upon the red tile roofs and the hundreds of chimneys sending pale blue columns of smoke straight up into the windless air. A black-armoured Pandion Knight awaited them on the hilltop. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ the knight said, raising his visor.
‘Sir Olven,’ Sparhawk replied, recognizing the knight’s scarred face.
‘I’ve a message for you from Preceptor Vanion. He instructs you to proceed directly to Cimmura with all possible speed.’
‘Cimmura? Why the change in plans?’
‘King Dregos is there, and he’s invited Wargun of Thalesia and Obler of Deira to join him. He wants to investigate the illness of Queen Ehlana – and the justification for the appointment of the bastard Lycheas as Prince Regent. Vanion believes that Annias will level his charges against our order at that council in order to deflect an inquiry that might be embarrassing.’
Sparhawk swore. ‘Berit’s a good way ahead of us by now,’ he said. ‘Have all the kings gathered in Cimmura yet?’
Olven shook his head. ‘King Obler is too old to travel very fast, and it’s likely to take a week to sober King Wargun up before he can make the voyage from Emsat.’
‘Let’s not gamble on that,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We’ll cut across country to Demos and then ride directly to Cimmura. Is Vanion still at Chyrellos?’
‘No. He came through Demos on his way to Cimmura. The Patriarch Dolmant was with him.’
‘Dolmant?’ Kalten said. ‘That’s a surprise. Who’s running the Church?’
‘Sir Kalten,’ Count Radun said stiffly. ‘The guidance of the Church is in the hands of the Archprelate.’
‘Sorry, my Lord,’ Kalten apologized. ‘I know how much Arcians revere the Church, but let’s be honest. Archprelate Cluvonus is eighty-five years old and he sleeps a great deal. Dolmant doesn’t make an issue of it, but most of the decisions that come out of Chyrellos are his.’
‘Let’s ride,’ Sparhawk said.
It took them four days of hard travelling to reach Demos, where Sir Olven left them to return to the Pandion motherhouse, and it was three more days before they arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse in Cimmura.
‘Do you know where we can find Lord Vanion?’ Sparhawk asked the novice who came out into the courtyard to take their horses.
‘He’s in his study in the south tower, my Lord – with the Patriarch Dolmant.’
Sparhawk nodded and led the way inside and up the narrow stairs.
‘Thank God you arrived in time,’ Vanion greeted them.
‘Has Berit delivered the count’s ring yet?’ Sparhawk asked him.
Vanion nodded. ‘Two days ago. I had men inside the cathedral watching.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Was it altogether wise to entrust that kind of mission to a novice, Sparhawk?’
‘Berit’s a solid young man,’ Sparhawk explained, ‘and he isn’t widely known here in Cimmura. Most of the full-fledged knights are.’
‘I see. It was your command, Sparhawk. The decision was yours. How did things go in Arcium?’
‘Adus led the mercenaries,’ Kalten replied. ‘We didn’t see a sign of Martel. Otherwise, things went more or less as planned. Adus got away, though.’
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. ‘We lost Parasim,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Vanion. I tried to keep him out of the fight.’
Vanion’s eyes clouded with sudden grief.
‘I know,’ Sparhawk said, touching the older man’s shoulder. ‘I loved him, too.’ He saw the quick look that passed between Vanion and Sephrenia. She nodded slightly as if to advise the preceptor that Sparhawk knew that Parasim had been one of the twelve. Then Sparhawk straightened and introduced Count Radun and Vanion to each other.
‘I owe you my life, Lord Vanion,’ Radun said as they shook hands. ‘Please tell me how I can repay you.’
‘Your presence here in Cimmura is ample repayment, my Lord.’
‘Have the other kings joined my nephew as yet?’ the count asked.
‘Obler has,’ Vanion replied. ‘King Wargun is still at sea, though.’
A thin man dressed in a severe black cassock sat near the window. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had silvery hair. His face was ascetic and his eyes were very keen. Sparhawk crossed the room and knelt respectfully before him. ‘Your Grace,’ he greeted the Patriarch of Demos.
‘You’re looking well, Sir Sparhawk,’ the churchman told him. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Then he looked over Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘Have you been going to chapel, Kurik?’ he asked the squire.
‘Uh – whenever there’s opportunity, your Grace,’ Kurik answered, flushing slightly.
‘Excellent, my son,’ Dolmant said. ‘I’m sure that God is always glad to see you. How are Aslade and the boys?’
‘Well, your Grace. Thank you for asking.’
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the patriarch. ‘You haven’t been eating properly, Dolmant,’ she told him.
‘Sometimes I forget,’ he said. Then he smiled slyly at her. ‘My overwhelming concern with the conversion of the heathen fills all my waking thoughts. Tell me, Sephrenia, are you ready at last to put aside your pagan ways and embrace the true faith?’
‘Not yet, Dolmant,’ she replied, also smiling. ‘It was nice of you to ask, though.’
He laughed. ‘I thought I’d get the question out of the way early so we can converse without having it hanging over our heads.’ He looked curiously at Flute, who was walking about the room examining the furnishings. ‘And who is this beautiful child?’ he asked.
‘She’s a foundling, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We came across her near the Arcian border. She doesn’t talk, so we call her Flute.’
Dolmant looked at the little girl’s grass-stained feet. ‘And was there no time to bath her?’ he asked.
‘That would not be appropriate, your Grace,’ Sephrenia replied.
The patriarch looked puzzled at that. Then he looked again at Flute. ‘Come over here, child,’ he said.
Flute approached him warily.
‘And will you not speak – even to me?’
She raised her pipes and blew a questioning little note.
‘I see,’ Dolmant said. ‘Well, then, Flute, will you accept my blessing?’
She looked at him gravely, then shook her head.
‘She is a Styric child, Dolmant,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘An Elene blessing would have no meaning for her.’
Flute then reached out and took the patriarch’s thin hand and placed it over her heart. Dolmant’s eyes grew suddenly very wide and his expression troubled.
‘She will give you her blessing, however,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘And will you accept it?’
Dolmant’s eyes were still wide. ‘I think perhaps that I should not,’ he said, ‘but God help me, I will – and gladly.’