The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose

‘That’s something, anyway,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Are we going to present the matter of Arissa’s so-called marriage at the same time?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Dolmant replied. ‘It’s really not a significant enough thing to require the consideration of the entire Hierocracy. The declarations of Arissa’s spinsterhood can come from the Patriarch of Vardenais. The alleged wedding took place in his district, and he would be the logical one to draw up the denial that it took place.’ A smile touched his ascetic face. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘he’s a friend of mine.’

‘Clever,’ Sparhawk said admiringly.

‘I rather liked it,’ Dolmant said modestly.

‘When are we going before the Hierocracy?’

‘Tomorrow morning. There’s no point in waiting. All that would do is give Annias time to alert his friends in the Basilica.’

‘Do you want me to come by here and ride to the Basilica with you?’

‘No. Let’s go in separately. Let’s not give them the slightest hint of what we’re up to.’

‘You’re very good at political chicanery, your Grace.’ Sparhawk grinned.

‘Of course I am. How do you think I got to be a patriarch? Come to the Basilica during the third hour after sunrise. That should give me time to present my report first and to answer all the questions and objections that Annias’ supporters are likely to raise.’

‘Very well, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said, rising to his feet.

‘Be careful tomorrow, Sparhawk. They’ll try to trip you up. And for God’s sake, don’t lose your temper.’

‘I’ll try to remember that.’

The following morning Sparhawk dressed carefully. His black armour gleamed, and his cape and silver surcoat had been freshly pressed. Faran had been groomed until his roan coat shone, and his hooves had been oiled to make them glossy.

‘Don’t let them back you into a corner, Sparhawk,’ Kalten warned as he and Kurik boosted the big man into his saddle. ‘Churchmen can be very devious.’

‘I’ll watch myself.’ Sparhawk gathered his reins and nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan pranced out through the chapterhouse gate and into the teeming streets of the holy city.

The domed Basilica of Chyrellos dominated the entire city. It was built on a low hill, and it soared towards heaven, gleaming in the wintry sun. The guards at the bronze portal admitted Sparhawk respectfully, and he dismounted before the marble stairs that led up to the great doors. He handed Faran’s reins to a monk, adjusted the strap on his shield, and then mounted the steps, his spurs ringing on the marble. At the top of the stairs, an officious young churchman in a black cassock blocked his path. ‘Sir Knight,’ the young man protested, ‘you may not enter while under arms.’

‘You’re wrong, your Reverence,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Those rules don’t apply to the militant orders.’

‘I’ve never heard of any such exception.’

‘You have now. I don’t want any trouble with you, friend, but I’ve been summoned by Patriarch Dolmant and I’m going inside.’

‘But –’

‘There’s an extensive library here, neighbour. Why don’t you go look up the rules again? I’m sure you’ll find that you’ve missed a few. Now stand aside.’ He brushed past the man in the black cassock and went on into the cool incense-smelling cathedral. He made the customary bow towards the jewel-encrusted altar and moved on down the broad central aisle in the multi-coloured light streaming through tall, stained-glass windows. A sacristan stood by the altar vigorously polishing a silver chalice.

‘Good morning, friend,’ Sparhawk said to him in his quiet voice.

The sacristan almost dropped the chalice. ‘You startled me, Sir Knight,’ he said, laughing nervously. ‘I didn’t hear you come up behind me.’

‘It’s the carpeting,’ Sparhawk said. ‘It muffles the sound of footsteps. I understand that the members of the Hierocracy are in session.’

The sacristan nodded.

‘Patriarch Dolmant summoned me to testify in a matter he’s presenting this morning. Could you tell me where they’re meeting?’

‘In the Archprelate’s audience chamber, I believe. Do you want me to show you the way, Sir Knight?’

‘I know where it is. Thanks, neighbour.’ Sparhawk went across the front of the nave and out through a side door into an echoing marble corridor. He removed his helm and tucked it under his arm and proceeded on along the corridor until he reached a large room where a dozen churchmen sat at tables sorting through stacks of documents. One of the black-robed men looked up, saw Sparhawk in the doorway, and rose. ‘May I help you, Sir Knight?’ he asked. The top of his head was bald, and wispy tufts of grey hair stuck out over his ears like wings.

‘The name is Sparhawk, your Reverence. The Patriarch Dolmant summoned me.’

‘Ah, yes,’ the bald churchman said. The patriarch advised me that he was expecting you. I’ll go and tell him that you’ve arrived. Would you care to sit down while you’re waiting?’

‘No thanks, your Reverence. I’ll stand. It’s a little awkward to sit down when you’re wearing a sword.’

The churchman smiled a bit wistfully. ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’

‘It’s overrated,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Would you tell the patriarch that I’m here?’

‘At once, Sir Sparhawk.’ The churchman turned and crossed the room to the far door with his sandals slapping on the marble floor. After a few moments he came back. ‘The patriarch says that you’re to go right on in. The Archprelate’s with them.’

‘That’s a surprise. I’ve heard that he’s been ill.’

‘This is one of his better days, I think.’ The churchman led the way across the room and opened the door for Sparhawk.

The audience chamber was flanked on either side by tier upon tier of high-backed benches. The benches were filled with elderly churchmen in sober black, the Hierocracy of the Elene Church. At the front of the room on a raised dais sat a large golden throne, and seated upon that throne in a white satin robe and golden mitre was the Archprelate Cluvonus. The old man was dozing. In the centre of the room stood an ornate lectern. Dolmant was there with a sheaf of parchment on the slanted shelf before him. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Sir Sparhawk. So good of you to come.’

‘My pleasure, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Brothers,’ Dolmant said to the other members of the Hierocracy, ‘I have the honour to present the Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.’

‘We have heard of Sir Sparhawk,’ a lean-faced patriarch seated in the front tier on the left said coldly. ‘Why is he here, Dolmant?’

‘To present evidence in the matter we were just discussing, Makova,’ Dolmant replied distantly.

‘I have heard quite enough already.’

‘Speak for yourself, Makova,’ a jovial-looking fat man said from the right tier. The militant orders are the arm of the Church, and their members are always welcome at our deliberations.’

The two men glared at each other.

‘Since Sir Sparhawk was instrumental in uncovering and thwarting this plot,’ Dolmant said smoothly, ‘I thought that his testimony might prove enlightening.’

‘Oh, get on with it, Dolmant,’ the lean-faced patriarch on the left said irritably. ‘We have matters of much greater importance to take up this morning.’

‘It shall be as the esteemed Patriarch of Coombe wishes.’ Dolmant bowed. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said then, ‘do you give your oath as a Knight of the Church that your testimony shall be the truth?’

‘I do, your Grace,’ Sparhawk affirmed.

‘Please tell the assembly how you uncovered this plot.’

‘Of course, your Grace.’ Sparhawk then recounted most of the conversation between Harparin and Krager, omitting their names, the name of the Primate Annias, and all references to Ehlana.

‘Is it your custom to eavesdrop on private conversations, Sir Sparhawk?’ Makova asked a bit spitefully.

‘When it involves the security of the Church or the State, yes, your Grace. I’m sworn to defend both.’

‘Ah, yes. I’d forgotten that you are also the Champion of the Queen of Elenia. Does that sometimes not divide your loyalties, Sir Sparhawk?’

‘It hasn’t so far, your Grace. The interests of the Church and the State are seldom in conflict with each other in Elenia.’

‘Well said, Sir Sparhawk,’ the fat churchman on the right approved.

The Patriarch of Coombe leaned over and whispered something to the sallow man sitting beside him.

‘What did you do after you learned of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked then.

‘We gathered our forces and rode down into Arcium to intercept the men who were to carry out the attack.’

‘And why did you not advise the Primate of Cimmura of this so-called conspiracy?’ Makova asked.

‘The scheme involved an attack on a house in Arcium, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The Primate of Cimmura has no authority there, so the matter didn’t concern him.’

‘Nor the Pandions either, I should say. Why did you not just alert the Cyrinic Knights and let them deal with things?’ Makova looked around smugly at those seated near him as if he had just made a killing point.

‘The plot was designed to discredit our order, your Grace. We felt that gave us sufficient reason to attend to the matter ourselves. Besides, the Cyrinics have their own concerns, and we didn’t want to trouble them with so minor an affair.’

Makova grunted sourly.

‘What happened then, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.

‘Things went more or less as expected, your Grace. We alerted Count Radun; then, when the mercenaries arrived, we fell on them from behind. Not very many of them escaped.’

‘You attacked them from behind without warning?’ Patriarch Makova looked outraged, ‘Is this the vaunted heroism of the Pandion Knights?’

‘You’re nit-picking, Makova,’ the jovial-looking man on the other side of the aisle snorted. ‘Your precious Primate Annias made a fool of himself. Quit trying to smooth it over by attacking this knight and trying to impugn his testimony.’ He looked shrewdly at Sparhawk. ‘Would you care to hazard a guess as to the source of this conspiracy, Sir Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘We are not here to listen to speculation, Emban,’ Makova snapped quickly. ‘The witness can testify only to what he knows, not what he guesses.’

‘The Patriarch of Coombe is right, your Grace,’ Sparhawk said to Patriarch Emban. ‘I swore to speak only the truth, and guesses usually fly wide of that mark. The Pandion Order has offended many people in the past century or so. We are sometimes an acerbic group of men, stiff-necked and unforgiving. Many find that quality in us unpleasant, and old hatreds die hard.’

‘True,’ Emban conceded, ‘If it came to the defence of the faith, however, I would prefer to place my trust in you stiff-necked and unforgiving Pandions rather than some others I could name. Old hatreds, as you say, die hard, but so do new ones. I’ve heard about what’s going on in Elenia, and it’s not too hard to pick out somebody who might profit from the Pandions’ disgrace.’

‘Do you dare to accuse the Primate Annias?’ Makova cried, jumping to his feet with his eyes bulging.

‘Oh, sit down, Makova,’ Emban said in disgust. ‘You contaminate us by your very presence. Everybody in this chamber knows who owns you.’

‘You accuse me?’

‘Who paid for that new palace of yours, Makova? Six months ago you tried to borrow money from me, and now you seem to have all you need. Isn’t that curious? Who’s subsidizing you, Makova?’

‘What’s all the shouting about?’ a feeble voice asked.

Sparhawk looked sharply at the golden throne at the front of the chamber. The Archprelate Cluvonus had come awake and was blinking in confusion as he looked around. The old man’s head was wobbling on his stringy neck, and his eyes were bleary.

‘A spirited discussion, Most Holy,’ Dolmant said mildly.

‘Now you’ve gone and woken me up,’ the Archprelate said petulantly, ‘and I was having such a nice dream.’ He reached up, pulled off his mitre, and threw it on the floor. Then he sank back on his throne, pouting.

‘Would the Archprelate care to hear of the matter under discussion?’ Dolmant asked.

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Cluvonus snapped. ‘So there.’ Then he cackled as if his infantile outburst had been some enormous joke. The laughter trailed off and he scowled at them, ‘I want to go back to my room,’ he declared. ‘Get out of here, all of you.’

The Hierocracy rose to its feet and began to file out.

‘You too, Dolmant,’ the Archprelate insisted in a shrill voice. ‘And send Sister Clentis to me. She’s the only one who really cares about me.’

‘As you wish, Most Holy,’ Dolmant said, bowing.

When they were outside, Sparhawk walked beside the Patriarch of Demos. ‘How long has he been like this?’ he asked.

Dolmant sighed. ‘For a year now at least,’ he replied. ‘His mind has been failing for quite some time, but it’s only in the past year that his senility has reached this level.’

‘Who is Sister Clentis?’

‘His keeper – his nursemaid, actually.’

‘Is his condition widely known?’

‘There are rumours, of course, but we’ve managed to keep his true state a secret.’ Dolmant sighed again. ‘Don’t judge him by the way he is now, Sparhawk. When he was younger, he honoured the throne of the Archprelacy.’

Sparhawk nodded, ‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘How is his health otherwise?’

‘Not good. He’s very frail. It cannot be much longer.’

‘Perhaps that’s why Annias is beginning to move so quickly.’ Sparhawk shifted his silver-embossed shield. ‘Time’s on his side, you know.’

Dolmant made a sour face. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘That’s what makes your mission so vital.’

Another churchman came up to join them. ‘Well, Dolmant,’ he said, ‘a very interesting morning. Just how deeply was Annias involved in the scheme?’

‘I didn’t say anything about the Primate of Cimmura, Yarris,’ Dolmant protested with mock innocence.

‘You didn’t have to. It all fits together a bit too neatly. I don’t think anybody on the council missed your point.’

‘Do you know the Patriarch of Vardenais, Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.

‘We’ve met a few times.’ Sparhawk bowed slightly to the other churchman, his armour creaking. ‘Your Grace,’ he said.

‘It’s good to see you again, Sir Sparhawk,’ Yarris replied. ‘How are things in Cimmura?’

‘Tense,’ Sparhawk said.

Patriarch Yarris looked at Dolmant. ‘You know that Makova’s going to report everything that happened this morning to Annias, don’t you?’

‘I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. Annias made an ass of himself. Considering his aspirations, that element of his personality is highly relevant.’

‘It is indeed, Dolmant. You’ve made another enemy this morning.’

‘Makova’s never been that fond of me anyway. Incidentally, Yarris, Sparhawk and I would like to present a certain matter to you for your consideration.’

‘Oh?’

‘It involves another ploy by the Primate of Cimmura.’

‘Then let’s thwart him, by all means.’

‘I was hoping you might feel that way about it.’

‘What’s he up to this time?’

‘He presented a spurious marriage certificate to the Royal Council in Cimmura.’

‘Who got married?’

‘Princess Arissa and Duke Osten.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Princess Arissa said almost the same thing.’

‘You’ll swear to that?’

Dolmant nodded. ‘So will Sparhawk,’ he added.

‘I assume that the point of the whole thing was to legitimize Lycheas?’

Dolmant nodded again.

‘Well, then. Why don’t we see if we can disrupt that? Let’s go speak with my secretary. He can draw up the necessary document.’ The Patriarch of Vardenais chuckled. ‘Annias is having a bad month, I’d say. This will make two plots in a row that have failed – and Sparhawk’s been involved both times.’ He looked at the big Pandion. ‘Keep your armour on, my boy,’ he suggested. ‘Annias might decide to have the area between your shoulder blades decorated with a dagger hilt.’

After Dolmant and Sparhawk had given their depositions concerning the statements of Princess Arissa, they left the Patriarch of Vardenais and continued along the corridor to the nave of the Basilica.

‘Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said, ‘do you have any idea about why so many Styrics are here in Chyrellos?’

‘I’ve heard about it. The story is that they’re seeking instruction in our faith.’

‘Sephrenia says that’s an absurdity.’

Dolmant made a wry face. ‘She’s probably right. I’ve laboured for a lifetime and I haven’t as yet managed to convert a single Styric.’

‘They’re very attached to their Gods,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Dolmant, but there seems to be a very close personal relationship between the Styrics and their Gods. Our God is perhaps a bit remote.’

‘I’ll mention that the next time I talk to Him.’ Dolmant smiled. ‘I’m sure He values your opinion.’

Sparhawk laughed. ‘It was a bit presumptuous, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was. How long do you think it’s going to be until you can leave for Borrata?’

‘Several days, anyway. I hate to lose the time, but the knights from the other orders have long journeys to make to reach Chyrellos, and I’m more or less obliged to wait for them. All this waiting is making me very impatient, but there’s no help for it, I’m afraid.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I think I’ll spend the time nosing around a bit. It’ll give me something to do, and all these Styrics are making me curious.’

‘Be careful in the streets of Chyrellos, Sparhawk,’ Dolmant advised seriously. ‘They can be very dangerous.’

‘The whole world is dangerous lately, Dolmant. I’ll keep you posted on what I find out.’ Then Sparhawk turned and went down the corridor with his spurs clinking on the marble floor.

Chapter 13

It was nearly noon when Sparhawk returned to the chapterhouse. He had ridden slowly through the busy streets of the holy city, paying scant attention to the crowds around him. The deterioration of the Archprelate Cluvonus had saddened him. Despite the rumours that had been circulating of late, actually to see the revered old man’s condition had come as a profound personal shock.

He stopped at the heavy gate and perfunctorily went through the ritual that admitted him. Kalten was waiting in the courtyard. ‘Well?’ the blond man asked. ‘How did it go?’

Sparhawk dismounted heavily and pulled off his helmet. ‘I don’t know if we changed any minds,’ he replied. ‘The Patriarchs who support Annias still support him; the ones who oppose him are still on our side; and those who are neutral are still on the fence.’

‘It was a waste of time, then?’

‘Not entirely, I guess. After this, it might be a little harder for Annias to win over any more uncommitted votes.’

‘I wish you’d make up your mind, Sparhawk.’ Kalten looked closely at his friend. ‘You’re in a sour mood. What really happened?’

‘Cluvonus was there.’

‘That’s a surprise. How did he look?’

‘Awful.’

‘He is eighty-five, Sparhawk. You couldn’t expect him to look very impressive. People wear out, you know.’

‘His mind has gone, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said sadly. ‘He’s childish now. Dolmant doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer.’

‘That bad?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘That makes it fairly important for us to get to Borrata and back in a hurry then, doesn’t it?’

‘Urgent,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Do you think we should ride on ahead and let the knights from the other orders catch up with us later?’

‘I wish we could. I hate the idea of Ehlana sitting alone in that throne room, but I don’t think we dare. Komier was right about a show of unity, and the other orders are sometimes a little touchy. Let’s not start off by offending them.’

‘Did you and Dolmant talk to somebody about Arissa?’

Sparhawk nodded. The Patriarch of Vardenais is handling it.’

‘The day wasn’t an absolute waste, then.’

Sparhawk grunted. ‘I want to change out of this.’ He rapped on the breastplate of his armour with his knuckles.

‘You want me to unsaddle Faran for you?’

‘No. I’ll be going back out. Where’s Sephrenia?’

‘In her room, I think.’

‘Have somebody saddle her horse.’

‘Is she going somewhere?’

‘Probably.’ Sparhawk went on up the stairs and entered the chapterhouse.

It was about a quarter of an hour later when he tapped on Sephrenia’s door. He had removed his armour and now wore a mail coat beneath a nondescript grey cloak that bore no insignia of his rank or his order. ‘It’s me, Sephrenia,’ he said through the panels of the door.

‘Come in, Sparhawk,’ she said.

He opened the door and stepped in quietly.

She was sitting in a large chair with Flute in her lap. The child was sleeping with a contented little smile on her face. ‘Did things go well at the Basilica?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘It’s a little hard to say,’ he replied. ‘Churchmen are very good at hiding their emotions. Did you and Kalten find out anything about all the Styrics here in Chyrellos yesterday?’

She nodded. ‘They’re concentrated in the quarter near the east gate. They have a house there somewhere that seems to be a headquarters of some sort. We weren’t able to locate it exactly, though.’

‘Why don’t we go see if we can find it?’ he suggested. ‘I need something to do. I’m feeling a bit restless.’

‘Restless? You, Sparhawk? The man of stone?’

‘Impatience, I suppose. I want to get started for Borrata.’

She nodded. Then she rose, lifting Flute easily, and laid the child on the bed. Gently she covered the little girl with a grey woollen blanket. Flute briefly opened her dark eyes, then smiled and went back to sleep. Sephrenia kissed the small face, then turned to Sparhawk. ‘Shall we go then?’ she said.

‘You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?’ Sparhawk asked as the two of them walked along the corridor leading towards the courtyard.

‘It goes a bit deeper than that. Someday perhaps you’ll understand.’

‘Have you any idea where this Styric house might be?’

‘There’s a shopkeeper in the market near the east gate. He sold some Styrics a number of sides of meat. The porter who delivered them knows where the house is.’

‘Why didn’t you question the porter?’

‘He wasn’t there yesterday.’

‘Maybe he’ll make it to work today.’

‘It’s worth a try.’

He stopped and gave her a direct look. ‘I’m not trying to pry into the secrets you’ve chosen not to reveal, Sephrenia, but could you distinguish between ordinary rural Styrics and Zemochs?’

‘It’s possible,’ she admitted, ‘unless they’re taking steps to conceal their true identity.’

They went on down into the courtyard where Kalten waited with Faran and Sephrenia’s white palfrey. The blond knight had an angry expression on his face. ‘Your horse bit me, Sparhawk,’ he said accusingly.

‘You know him well enough not to turn your back on him. Did he draw blood?’

‘No,’ Kalten admitted.

‘Then he was only being playful. It shows that he likes you.’

‘Thanks,’ Kalten said flatly. ‘Do you want me to come along?’

‘No. I think we want to be more or less inconspicuous, and on occasion you have trouble managing that.’

‘Sometimes your charm overwhelms me, Sparhawk.’

‘We’re sworn to speak the truth.’ Sparhawk helped Sephrenia into her saddle, then mounted Faran. ‘We should be back before dark,’ he told his friend.

‘Don’t hurry on my account.’

Sparhawk led the small Styric woman out through the gate and into the side street beyond.

‘He turns everything into a joke, doesn’t he?’ Sephrenia observed.

‘Most things, yes. He’s been laughing at the world since he was a boy. I think that’s why I like him so much. My view of things tends to be a little more bleak, and he helps me keep my perspective.’

They rode on through the now-teeming streets of Chyrellos. Although many local merchants affected the sombre black of churchmen, visitors usually did not, and their bright clothing stood out by contrast. Travellers from Cammoria in particular were highly colourful, since their customary silk garments did not fade with the passage of time and remained brightly red or green or blue.