The Diamond Throne

  ‘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.’

  Flute smiled at him and then kissed both of his palms. Then she pirouetted away, her black hair flying and her pipes sounding joyously. The patriarch’s face was filled with wonder.

  ‘I expect that I’ll be summoned to the palace as soon as King Wargun arrives,’ Vanion said. ‘Annias wouldn’t want to miss the chance to confront me personally.’ He looked at Count Radun. ‘Did anyone see you arrive, my Lord?’ he asked.

  Radun shook his head. ‘I had my visor down, my Lord Vanion, and at Sparhawk’s suggestion, I had covered the crest on my shield. I’m positive that no one knows that I’m in Cimmura.’

  ‘Good.’ Vanion grinned suddenly. ‘We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for Annias, would we?’

  The expected summons from the palace arrived two days later. Vanion, Sparhawk, and Kalten put on the simple robes Pandions customarily wore inside the chapterhouse, though beneath them they wore mail coats and their swords. Dolmant and Radun wore the cowled black robes of monks. Sephrenia wore her usual white. She had spoken at some length with Flute, and it appeared that the little girl had agreed to remain behind. Kurik belted on a sword. ‘Just in case there’s trouble,’ he grunted to Sparhawk before the party left the chapterhouse.

  The day was cold and raw The sky was leaden, and a chill wind whistled through the streets of Cimmura as Vanion led them towards the palace. There were few people abroad in the streets. Sparhawk could not be sure if the citizens were staying inside because of the weather or because some rumours had leaked out about the possibility of trouble.

  ‘Not too far from the palace gate, Sparhawk saw a familiar figure A lame beggar boy wrapped in a ragged cloak crutched his way out from the corner where he had been sheltering himself. ‘Charity, my Lords, Charity,’ he begged in a broken-hearted voice.

  Sparhawk reined Faran in and reached inside his robe for a few coins.

  ‘I need to talk with you, Sparhawk,’ the boy said quietly after the others had ridden out of earshot.

  ‘Later,’ Sparhawk replied, bending in his saddle to place the coins in the boy’s begging bowl.

  ‘Not too much later, I hope,’ Talen said, shivering. ‘I’m freezing out here.’

  There was a brief delay at the palace gate where the guards tried to deny entrance to Vanion’s escort. Kalten resolved the problem by pulling open his robe and putting his hand meaningfully on his sword hilt. The discussion ended abruptly at that point, and the party rode on into the palace courtyard and dismounted.

  ‘I love doing that,’ Kalten said blithely.

  ‘It doesn’t take very much to make you happy, does it?’ Sparhawk said.

  ‘I’m a simple man, my friend—with simple pleasures.’

  They proceeded directly to the blue-draped council chamber where the kings of Arcium, Deira, and Thalesia sat on throne-like chairs, flanking the slack-lipped Lycheas. Behind each king stood a man in formal armour. The crests of the three other militant orders were emblazoned on their surcoats. Abriel, Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights in Arcium, stood sternly behind King Dregos; Darellon, Preceptor of the Alcione Knights of Deira had taken up a similar position behind the aged King Obler; and the bigboned Komier, leader of the Genidian Knights, stood behind King Wargun of Thalesia. Although it was early in the day, Wargun was already bleary-eyed. He held a large silver cup in a hand that was visibly shaking.

  The Royal Council of Advisors sat to one side of the room. The face of the Earl of Lenda was troubled, while that of the Baron Harparin was smug.

  The Primate Annias wore a purple satin cassock, and the expression on his emaciated face was coldly triumphant as Vanion entered. When he saw the rest of them accompanying the Pandion Preceptor, however, his eyes flashed angrily. ‘Who authorized this entourage of yours, Lord Vanion?’ he demanded. ‘The summons did not mention an escort.’

  ‘I require no authorization, your Grace,’ Vanion answered coldly ‘My rank is all the authority I need.’

  ‘That’s true,’ the Earl of Lenda said. ‘Law and custom support the preceptor’s position.’

  Annias gave the old man a look filled with hate. ‘What a comfort it is to have the advice of one so versed in the law,’ he said in a sarcastic voice. Then his eyes fell on Sephrenia. ‘Remove that Styric witch from my presence,’ he demanded.

  ‘No,’ Vanion said. ‘She stays.’

  Their eyes locked for a long moment, and Annias finally looked away ‘Very well, then, Vanion,’ he said. ‘Because of the seriousness of the matter I am about to present to their majesties, I will control my natural revulsion at the presence of a heathen sorceress.’

  ‘You’re too kind,’ Sephrenia murmured.

  ‘Just get on with it, Annias,’ King Dregos said irritably. ‘We’re gathered here to examine certain irregularities involving the throne of Elenia. What is this burning matter that is important enough to delay our inquiry?’

  Annias straightened. The matter concerns you directly, your Majesty. Last week a body of armed men attacked a castle in the eastern part of your kingdom.’

  King Dregos’ eyes blazed. ‘Why was I not informed?’ he demanded.

  ‘Forgive me, your Majesty,’ Annias apologized. ‘I myself learned of the incident only recently and I felt it wiser to present the matter to this council rathe
r than to advise you in advance. Although this outrage occurred within the boundaries of your kingdom, the implications of it spread beyond your borders to all four western kingdoms.’

  ‘Get on with it, Annias,’ King Wargun growled. ‘Save the flowery language for your sermons.’

  ‘As your Majesty wishes,’ Annias said, bowing. ‘There are witnesses to this criminal act, and I think perhaps it were best that your Majesties hear their accounts directly rather than at second hand from me.’ He turned and gestured to one of the red-liveried church soldiers who lined both walls of the council chamber. The soldier stepped to a side door and admitted a nervous-looking man whose face went visibly pale when he saw Vanion.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Tessera,’ Annias told him. ‘So long as you tell the truth, no harm will come to you.’

  ‘Yes, your Grace,’ the nervous man mumbled.

  ‘This is Tessera,’ Annias introduced him, ‘a merchant of this city who has recently returned from Arcium. Tell us what you saw there, Tessera.’

  ‘Well, your Grace, it was as I told you before I was in Sarrinium on business. I was returning from there when I was overtaken by a storm, and I took shelter in the castle of Count Radun, who was kind enough to take me in.’ Tessera’s voice had the sing-song quality some people assume when they are reciting something previously committed to memory ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘after the weather cleared, I was preparing to leave and I was in the count’s stables seeing to my horse I heard the sounds of many men in the courtyard, so I peered out the stable door to see what was happening. It was a sizeable body of Pandion Knights.’

  ‘Are you certain that they were Pandions?’ Annias prompted him.

  ‘Yes, your Grace They were wearing black armour and carrying Pandion banners. The count is well known to be most respectful of the Church and her knights, so he had admitted them without challenge As soon as they were inside the walls, however, they all drew their swords and began to kill everyone in sight.’

  ‘My uncle!’ King Dregos exclaimed.