The Complete Tamuli Trilogy: Domes of Fire, The Shining Ones, The Hidden City

Chapter 2

‘Your Majesty,’ the Earl of Lenda protested, ‘you can’t address this kind of language to the Archprelate.’ Lenda was staring with chagrin at the piece of paper the queen had just handed him. ‘You’ve done everything but accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.’

‘Oh, did I leave those out?’ she asked. ‘How careless of me.’ They were meeting in the blue-carpeted council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning.

‘Can’t you do something with her, Sparhawk?’ Lenda pleaded.

‘Oh, Lenda,’ Ehlana laughed, smiling at the frail old man, ‘that’s only a draft. I was a little irritated when I scribbled it down.’

‘A little?’

‘I know we can’t send the letter in its present form, my Lord. I just wanted you to know how I really felt about the matter before we rephrase it and couch it in diplomatic language. My whole point is that Dolmant’s beginning to overstep his bounds. He’s the Archprelate, not the emperor. The Church has too much authority over temporal affairs already, and, if someone doesn’t bring Dolmant up short, every monarch in Eosia will become little more than his vassal. I’m sorry gentlemen. I’m a true daughter of the Church, but I won’t kneel to Dolmant and receive my crown back from him in some contrived little ceremony that has no purpose other than my humiliation.’

Sparhawk was a bit surprised at his wife’s political maturity. The power structure on the Eosian Continent had always depended on a rather delicate balance between the authority of the Church and the power of the various kings. When that balance was disturbed, things went awry. ‘Her Majesty’s point may be well-taken, Lenda,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The Eosian monarchies haven’t been very strong for the last generation or so. Aldreas was –’ He groped for a word.

‘Inept,’ his wife coolly characterised her own father.

‘I might not have gone quite that far,’ he murmured. ‘Wargun’s erratic, Soros is a religious hysteric, Obler’s old, and Friedahl reigns only at the sufferance of his barons. Dregos lets his relatives make all his decisions, King Brisant of Cammoria is a voluptuary and I don’t even know the name of the current King of Rendor.’

‘Ogyrin,’ Kalten supplied, ‘not that it really matters.’

‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk continued, sinking lower in his chair and rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully, ‘during this same period of time, we’ve had a number of very able churchmen in the Hierocracy. The incapacity of Cluvonus sort of encouraged the patriarchs to strike out on their own. If you had a vacant throne someplace, you could do a lot worse than put Emban on it – or Ortzel – or Bergsten, and even Annias had a very high degree of political skill. When kings grow weak, the Church grows strong – too strong sometimes.’

‘Spit it out, Sparhawk,’ Platime growled. ‘Are you trying to say we should declare war on the Church?’

‘Not today, Platime. We might want to keep the idea in reserve, though. Right now I think it’s time to start sending some signals to Chyrellos, and our queen may be just the one to send them. After the way she stampeded the Hierocracy during Dolmant’s election, I think they’ll listen very carefully to just about anything she says. I don’t know that I’d soften her letter all that much, Lenda. Let’s see if we can get their attention.’

Lenda’s eyes were very bright. ‘This is the way the game’s supposed to be played, my friends,’ he said enthusiastically.

‘You do realise that it’s altogether possible that Dolmant didn’t realise that he was stepping over the line,’ Kalten noted. ‘Maybe he sent Sparhawk to Lamorkand as the interim preceptor of the Pandion Order and completely overlooked the fact that he’s also the prince consort. Sarathi’s got a lot on his mind just now.’

‘If he’s that absent-minded, he’s got no business occupying the Archprelate’s throne,’ Ehlana asserted. Her eyes narrowed, always a dangerous sign. ‘Let’s make it very clear to him that he’s hurt my feelings. He’ll go out of his way to smooth things over, and maybe I can take advantage of that to retrieve that Duchy just north of Vardenaise. Lenda, is there any way we can keep people from bequeathing their estates to the Church?’

‘It’s a long-standing custom, your Majesty.’

‘I know, but the land originally comes from the crown. Shouldn’t we have some say in who inherits it? You’d think that if a nobleman dies without an heir, the estate would revert back to me, but every time there’s a childless noble in Elenia, the churchmen flock around him like vultures trying to talk him into giving them the land.’

‘Jerk some titles,’ Platime suggested. ‘Make it a law that if a man doesn’t have an heir, he doesn’t keep his estate.’

‘The aristocracy would go up in flames,’ Lenda gasped.

‘That’s what the army’s for,’ Platime shrugged, ‘to put out fires. I’ll tell you what, Ehlana, you pass the law, and I’ll arrange a few very public and very messy accidents for the ones who scream the loudest. Aristocrats aren’t very bright, but they’ll get the point – eventually.’

‘Do you think I could get away with that?’ Ehlana asked the Earl of Lenda.

‘Surely your Majesty’s not seriously considering it?’

‘I have to do something Lenda. The Church is eating up my kingdom acre by acre, and once she takes possession of an estate, the land’s removed from the tax rolls forever.’ She paused. ‘This could just be a way to do what Sparhawk suggested – get the Church’s attention. Why don’t we draw up a draft of some outrageously repressive law and just “accidentally” let a copy fall into the hands of some middle-level clergyman. It’s probably safe to say that it’ll be in Dolmant’s hands before the ink’s dry.’

‘That’s really unscrupulous, my Queen,’ Lenda told her.

‘I’m so glad you approve, my Lord.’ She looked around. ‘Have we got anything else this morning, gentlemen?’

‘You’ve got some unauthorised bandits operating in the mountains near Cardos, Ehlana,’ Platime rumbled. The gross, black-bearded man sat with his feet upon the table. There was a wine flagon and goblet at his elbow. His doublet was wrinkled and food-spotted, and his shaggy hair hung down over his forehead, almost covering his eyes. Platime was constitutionally incapable of using formal titles, but the queen chose to overlook that.

‘Unauthorised?’ Kalten sounded amused.

‘You know what I mean,’ Platime growled. ‘They don’t have permission from the thieves’ council to operate in that region, and they’re breaking all the rules. I’m not positive, but I think they’re some of the former henchmen of the Primate of Cimmura. You blundered there, Ehlana. You should have waited until you had them in custody before you declared them outlaws.’

‘Oh well,’ she shrugged. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’ Ehlana’s relationship with Platime was peculiar. She realised that he was unable to mouth the polite formulas of the nobility, and so she accepted a bluntness from him that would have offended her had it come from anyone else. For all his faults, Platime was turning into a gifted, almost brilliant counsellor, and Ehlana valued his advice greatly. ‘I’m not surprised to find out that Annias’ old cronies have turned to highway robbery in their hour of need. They were all bandits to begin with anyway. There have always been outlaws in those mountains, though, so I doubt that another band will make all that much difference.’

‘Ehlana,’ he sighed, ‘you’re the same as my very own baby sister, but sometimes you’re terribly ignorant. An authorised bandit knows the rules. He knows which travellers can be robbed or killed and which ones have to be left alone. Nobody gets too excited if some overstuffed merchant gets his throat cut and his purse lifted, but if a government official or a high-ranking nobleman turns up dead in those mountains, the authorities have to take steps to at least make it appear that they’re doing their jobs. That sort of official attention is very bad for business. Perfectly innocent criminals get rounded up and hanged. Highway robbery’s not an occupation for amateurs. And there’s another problem as well. These bandits are telling all the local peasantry that they’re not really robbers, but patriots rebelling against a cruel tyrant – that’s you, little sister. There’s always enough discontent among the peasants to make some of them sympathetic toward that sort of thing. You aristocrats haven’t any business getting involved in crime. You always try to mix politics in with it.’

‘But my dear Platime,’ she said winsomely, ‘I thought you knew. Politics is a crime.’

The fat man roared with laughter. ‘I love this girl,’ he told the others. ‘Don’t worry too much about it, Ehlana. I’ll try to get some men inside their band, and when Stragen gets back, we’ll put our heads together and work out some way to put those people out of business.’

‘I knew I could count on you,’ she said. She rose to her feet. ‘If that’s all we have, gentlemen, I have an appointment with my dressmaker.’ She looked around. ‘Coming, Sparhawk?’

‘In a moment,’ he replied. ‘I want to have a word with Platime.’

She nodded and moved toward the door.

‘What’s on your mind, Sparhawk?’ Platime asked.

‘I saw Naween last night when I rode into town. She’s working the streets.’

‘Naween? That’s ridiculous! Half the time she even forgets to take the money.’

‘That’s what I told her. She and Shanda had a falling-out, and she was standing on a street corner near the east gate. I sent her to an inn to get her out of the weather. Can we make some kind of arrangement for her?’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Platime promised.

Ehlana had not yet left the room, and Sparhawk sometimes forgot how sharp her ears were. ‘Who’s this Naween?’ she asked from the doorway with a slight edge to her voice.

‘She’s a whore,’ Platime shrugged, ‘a special friend of Sparhawk’s.’

‘Platime!’ Sparhawk gasped.

‘Isn’t she?’

‘Well, I suppose so, but when you say it that way –’ Sparhawk groped for the right words.

‘Oh. I didn’t mean it that way, Ehlana. So far as I know, your husband’s completely faithful to you. Naween’s a whore. That’s her occupation, but it doesn’t have anything to do with her friendship – not that she didn’t make Sparhawk some offers – but she makes those offers to everybody. She’s a very generous girl.’

‘Please, Platime,’ Sparhawk groaned, ‘don’t be on my side any more.’

‘Naween’s a good girl,’ Platime continued to explain to Ehlana. ‘She works hard, she takes good care of her customers and she pays her taxes.’

‘Taxes?’ Ehlana exclaimed. ‘Are you telling me that my government encourages that sort of thing? Legitimises it by taxing it?’

‘Have you been living on the moon, Ehlana? Of course she pays taxes. We all do. Lenda sees to that. Naween helped Sparhawk once while you were sick. He was looking for that Krager fellow, and she helped him. Like I said, she offered him other services as well, but he turned her down – politely. She’s always been a bit disappointed in him about that.’

‘You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana said ominously.

‘As your Majesty wishes,’ he sighed as she swept coolly from the room.

‘She doesn’t know very much about the real world, does she, Sparhawk?’

‘It’s her sheltered upbringing.’

‘I thought you were the one who brought her up.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then you’ve only got yourself to blame. I’ll have Naween stop by and explain it all to her.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’

Talen came in from Demos the next day, and he rode into the courtyard with Sir Berit. Sparhawk and Khalad met them at the stable door. The prince consort was making some effort to be inconspicuous until such time as the queen’s curiosity about Naween diminished. Talen’s nose was red, and his eyes looked puffy. ‘I thought you were going to stay at the farm until you got over that cold,’ Sparhawk said to him.

‘I couldn’t stand all that mothering,’ Talen said, slipping down from his saddle. ‘One mother is bad enough, but my brothers and I have two now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look another bowl of chicken soup in the face again. Hello, Khalad.’

‘Talen,’ Sparhawk’s burly young squire grunted. He looked critically at his half-brother. ‘Your eyes look terrible.’

‘You ought to see them from in here.’ Talen was about fifteen now, and he was going through one of those ‘stages’. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the young thief had grown three inches in the past month and a half. A goodly amount of forearm and wrist stuck out of the sleeves of his doublet. ‘Do you think the cooks might have something to eat?’ the boy asked. As a result of his rapid growth, Talen ate almost constantly now.

‘I’ve got some papers for you to sign, Sparhawk,’ Berit said. ‘It’s nothing very urgent, but I thought I’d ride in with Talen.’ Berit wore a mail shirt, and he had a broadsword belted at his waist. His weapon of choice, however, was still the heavy war-axe slung to his saddle.

‘Are you going back to the chapterhouse?’ Khalad asked him.

‘Unless Sparhawk has something he wants me for here.’

‘I’ll ride along with you then. Sir Olart wants to give us more instruction with the lance this afternoon.’

‘Why don’t you just unhorse him a few times?’ Berit suggested. ‘Then he’ll leave you alone. You could do it, you know. You’re already better than he is.’

Khalad shrugged. ‘It’d hurt his feelings.’

‘Not to mention his ribs, shoulders and back,’ Berit laughed.

‘It’s a bit ostentatious to outperform your instructors,’ Khalad said. ‘The other novices are already a little sulky about the way my brothers and I have outstripped them. We’ve tried to explain, but they’re sensitive about the fact that we’re peasants. You know how that goes.’ He looked inquiringly at Sparhawk. ‘Are you going to need me for anything this afternoon, my Lord?’

‘No. Go ahead on out and dent Sir Olart’s armour a bit. He’s got an exaggerated notion of his own skill. Give him some instruction in the virtue of humility.’

‘I’m really hungry, Sparhawk,’ Talen complained.

‘All right. Let’s go to the kitchen.’ Sparhawk looked critically at his young friend. ‘Then I guess we’ll have to send for the tailor again,’ he added. ‘You’re growing like a weed.’

‘It’s not my idea.’

Khalad started to saddle his horse, and Sparhawk and Talen went into the palace in search of food. It was about an hour later when the two of them entered the royal apartment to find Ehlana, Mirtai and Danae sitting by the fire. Ehlana was leafing through some documents. Danae was playing with Rollo, and Mirtai was sharpening one of her daggers.

‘Well,’ Ehlana said, looking up from the documents, ‘if it isn’t my noble prince consort and my wandering page.’

Talen bowed. Then he sniffed loudly.

‘Use your handkerchief,’ Mirtai told him.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘How are your mothers?’ Ehlana asked the young man. Everyone, perhaps unconsciously, used that phrasing when speaking to Talen and his half-brothers. In a very real sense, though, the usage reflected reality. Aslade and Elys mothered Kurik’s five sons excessively and impartially.

‘Meddlesome, my Queen,’ Talen replied. ‘It’s not really a good idea to get sick in that house. In the last week I think I’ve been dosed with every cold remedy known to man.’ A peculiar, squeaky noise came from somewhere in the general vicinity of the young man’s midsection.

‘Is that your stomach?’ Mirtai asked him. ‘Are you hungry again?’

‘No. I just ate. I probably won’t get hungry again for at least fifteen minutes.’ Talen put one hand to the front of his doublet. ‘The little beast was being so quiet I almost forgot it was there.’ He went over to Danae, who was tying the strings of a little bonnet under the chin of her stuffed toy. ‘I’ve brought a present for you, Princess,’ he said.

Her eyes brightened. She set Rollo aside and sat waiting expectantly.

‘But no kissing,’ he added. ‘Just a “thank you” will do. I’ve got a cold, and you don’t want to catch it.’

‘What did you bring me?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Oh, just a little something I found under a bush out on the road. It’s a little wet and muddy, but you can dry it out and brush it off, I suppose. It’s not much, but I thought you might like it – just a little.’ Talen was underplaying it for all he was worth.

‘Could I see it, please?’ she begged.

‘Oh, I suppose so.’ He reached inside his doublet, took out a rather bedraggled grey kitten and sat it on the floor in front of her. The kitten had mackerel stripes, a spiky tail, large ears and an intently curious look in its blue eyes. It took a tentative step toward its new mistress.

Danae squealed with delight, picked up the kitten and hugged it to her cheek. ‘I love it!!’ she exclaimed.

‘There go the draperies,’ Mirtai said with resignation. ‘Kittens always want to climb the drapes.’

Talen skilfully fended off Sparhawk’s exuberant little daughter. ‘The cold, Danae,’ the boy warned. ‘I’ve got a cold, remember?’ Sparhawk was certain that his daughter would grow more skilled with the passage of time and that it wouldn’t be very long until Talen would no longer be able to evade her affection. The kitten had been no more than a gesture, Sparhawk was certain – some spur-of-the-moment impulse to which Talen had given no thought whatsoever. It rather effectively sealed the young man’s fate, however. A few days before, Sparhawk had idly wondered where he had made the mistake that had permanently attached his wife’s affection to him. He realised that this scruffy-looking kitten was Talen’s mistake – or at least one of them. Sparhawk mentally shrugged. Talen would make an adequate son-in-law – once Danae had trained him.

‘Is it all right, your Majesty?’ Talen was asking the queen. ‘For her to have the kitten, I mean?’

‘Isn’t it just a little late to be asking that question, Talen?’ Ehlana replied.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said impudently. ‘I thought I’d timed it just about right.’

Ehlana looked at her daughter, who was snuggling the kitten against her face. All cats are born opportunists. The kitten patted the little girl’s cheek with one soft paw and then nuzzled. Kittens are expert nuzzlers.

‘How can I say no after you’ve already given it to her, Talen?’

‘It would be a little difficult, wouldn’t it, your Majesty?’ The boy sniffed loudly.

Mirtai rose to her feet, put her dagger away and crossed the room to Talen. She reached out her hand, and he flinched away.

‘Oh, stop that,’ she told him. She laid her hand on his forehead. ‘You’ve got a fever.’

‘I didn’t get it on purpose.’

‘We’d better get him to bed, Mirtai,’ Ehlana said, rising from her chair.

‘We should sweat him first,’ the giantess said. ‘I’ll take him to the bathhouse and steam him for a while.’ She took Talen’s arm, firmly.

‘You’re not going into the bathhouse with me!’ he protested, his face suddenly aflame.

‘Be quiet,’ she commanded. ‘Send word to the cooks, Ehlana. Have them stir up a mustard plaster and boil up some chicken soup. When I bring him back from the bathhouse, we’ll put the mustard plaster on his chest, pop him into bed and spoon soup into him.’

‘Are you going to just stand there and let them do this to me, Sparhawk?’ Talen appealed.

‘I’d like to help you, my friend,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but I’ve got my own health to consider too, you know.’

‘I wish I was dead,’ Talen groaned as Mirtai pulled him from the room.

Stragen and Ulath arrived from Emsat a few days later and were immediately escorted to the royal apartment. ‘You’re getting fat, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said bluntly, removing his ogre-horned helmet.

‘I’ve put on a few pounds,’ Sparhawk conceded.

‘Soft living,’ Ulath grunted disapprovingly.

‘How’s Wargun?’ Ehlana asked the huge blond Thalesian.

‘His mind’s gone,’ Ulath replied sadly. ‘They’ve got him locked up in the west wing of the palace. He spends most of his time raving.’

Ehlana sighed. ‘I always rather liked him – when he was sober.’

‘I doubt that you’ll feel the same way about his son, your Majesty,’ Stragen told her dryly. Like Platime, Stragen was a thief, but he had much better manners.

‘I’ve never met him,’ Ehlana said.

‘You might consider adding that to your next prayer of thanksgiving, your Majesty. His name’s Avin – a short and insignificant name for a short and insignificant fellow. He doesn’t show very much promise.’

‘Is he really that bad?’ Ehlana asked Ulath.

‘Avin Wargunsson? Stragen’s being generous. Avin’s a little man who spends all his time trying to make sure that people don’t overlook him. When he found out that I was coming here, he called me to the palace and gave me a royal communication to bring to you. He spent two hours trying to impress me.’

‘Were you impressed?’

‘Not particularly, no.’ Ulath reached inside his surcoat and drew out a folded and sealed sheet of parchment.

‘What does it say?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t read other people’s mail. My guess is that it’s a serious discussion of the weather. Avin Wargunsson’s desperately afraid that people might forget about him, so every traveller who leaves Emsat is loaded down with royal greetings.’

‘How was the trip?’ Sparhawk asked them.

‘I can’t really say that I’d recommend sea travel at this time of year,’ Stragen replied. His icy blue eyes hardened. ‘I want to have a talk with Platime. Ulath and I were set upon by some brigands in the mountains between here and Cardos. Bandits are supposed to know better than that.’

‘They aren’t professionals,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Platime knows about them, and he’s going to take steps. Were there any problems?’

‘Not for us,’ Ulath shrugged. ‘The amateurs out there didn’t have a very good day, though. We left five of them in a ditch, and then the rest all remembered an important engagement somewhere else.’ He went to the door and looked out into the hall. Then he closed the door and looked around, his eyes wary. ‘Are there any servants or people like that in any of your rooms here, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘Mirtai and our daughter is all.’

‘That’s all right. I think we can trust them. Komier sent me to let you know that Avin Wargunsson’s been in contact with Count Gerrich down in Lamorkand. Gerrich’s taking a run at King Friedahl’s throne, and Avin’s not quite bright. He doesn’t know enough to stay out of the internal squabbles in Lamorkand. Komier thinks there might just possibly be some sort of secret arrangement between them. Patriarch Bersten’s taking the same message to Chyrellos.’