The Diamond Throne

  ‘Nashan,’ she replied gravely. ‘I see that you’re not missing too many meals.’

  He laughed and slapped at his paunch. ‘Every man needs a vice or two,’ he said. ‘Come inside, all of you. I’ve smuggled a skin of Arcian red into the house for my stomach’s sake, of course—and we can all have a goblet or two.’

  ‘You see how it works, Sparhawk?’ Kalten said. ‘Rules can be bent if you know the right people.’

  Nashan’s study was draped and carpeted in red, and the ornate table which served as his desk was inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. ‘A gesture,’ he said apologetically as he led them into the room and looked about. ‘In Chyrellos, we must make these little genuflections in the direction of opulence if we are to be taken seriously.’

  ‘It’s all right, Nashan,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘You weren’t selected as governor of this chapterhouse because of your humility.’

  ‘One must keep up appearances, Sephrenia,’ he said. He sighed. ‘I was never that good a knight,’ he admitted. ‘I’m at best only mediocre with the lance, and most of my spells tend to crumble on me about halfway through.’ He drew in a deep breath and looked around. ‘I’m a good administrator, though. I know the Church and her politics, and I can serve the order and Lord Vanion in that arena probably far better than I could on the field.’

  ‘We all do what we can,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘I’m told that God appreciates our best efforts.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel that I’ve disappointed Him,’ Nashan said. ‘Somewhere deep inside me I think I might have done better.’

  ‘Don’t flagellate yourself, Nashan,’ Sephrenia advised. ‘The Elene God is reputed to be most forgiving. You’ve done what you could.’

  They took seats around Nashan’s ornate table, and the governor summoned an acolyte who brought goblets and the skin of the deep Arcian wine At Sephrenia’s request, he also sent for tea for her and milk for Flute and Talen.

  ‘We don’t necessarily need to mention this to Lord Vanion, do we?’ Nashan said to Sparhawk as he lifted the wineskin.

  ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of me, my Lord,’ Sparhawk told him, holding out his goblet.

  ‘So,’ Kalten said, ‘what’s happening here in Chyrellos?’

  ‘Troubled times, Kalten,’ Nashan replied. ‘Troubled times. The Archprelate ages, and the entire city is holding its breath in anticipation of his death.’

  ‘Who will be the new Archprelate?’ Sparhawk asked.

  ‘At the moment there’s no way to know Cluvonus is in no condition to name a successor, and Annias of Cimmura is spending money like water to gain the throne.’

  ‘What about Dolmant?’ Kalten asked.

  ‘He’s too self-effacing, I’m afraid,’ Nashan replied. ‘He’s so dedicated to the Church that he doesn’t have the sense of self that one needs to have to aspire to the golden throne in the Basilica. Not only that, he’s made enemies.’

  ‘I like enemies.’ Kalten grinned. ‘They give you a reason to keep your sword sharp.’

  Nashan looked at Sephrenia. ‘Is there something afoot in Styricum?’ he asked her.

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘The city is suddenly awash with Styrics,’ he replied. ‘They say that they’re here to seek instruction in the Elene faith.’

  ‘That’s absurd.’

  ‘I thought so myself. The Church has been trying to convert the Styrics for three thousand years without much success, and now they come flocking to Chyrellos, of their own accord begging to be converted.’

  ‘No sane Styric would do that,’ she insisted. ‘Our Gods are jealous, and they punish apostasy severely.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Have any of these pilgrims identified their place of origin?’ she asked.

  ‘Not that I’ve heard. They all look like common rural Styrics.’

  ‘Perhaps they’ve made a longer journey than they’re willing to reveal.’

  ‘You think they might be Zemochs?’ Sparhawk asked her.

  ‘Otha’s already infested eastern Lamorkand with his agents,’ she replied. ‘Chyrellos is the centre of the Elene world. It’s a logical place for espionage and disruption.’ She considered it. ‘We’re likely to be here for a while,’ she observed. ‘We have to wait for the arrival of the knights from the other orders. I think that perhaps we might spend the time investigating these unusual postulants.’

  ‘I can’t really get too much involved in that,’ Sparhawk disagreed. ‘I have things far more important on my mind just now We’ll deal with Otha and his Zemochs when the time comes. Right now I have to concentrate on restoring Ehlana to her throne and preventing the deaths of certain friends.’ He spoke obliquely, since he had kept to himself the details of what she had told him had taken place in the throne room in Cimmura.

  ‘It’s all right, Sparhawk,’ she assured him. ‘I understand your concern. I’ll take Kalten with me, and we’ll see what we can turn up.’

  They spent the remainder of the day in quiet conversation in Nashan’s ornate study, and the following morning Sparhawk dressed in a mail coat and a simple hooded robe and rode across town to Dolmant’s house, where the two of them carefully went over what had happened in Cimmura and Arcium. ‘It would be futile to level any direct charges at Annias,’ Dolmant said, ‘so it’s probably best to omit any references to him—or to Harparin. Let’s just present the affair as a plot to discredit the Pandion Order and leave it at that. The Hierocracy will draw its own conclusions.’ He smiled faintly ‘The least damaging of those conclusions will be that Annias made a fool of himself in public If nothing else, that might help to stiffen the resolve of the neutral patriarchs when the time comes to select a new Archprelate.’

  ‘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.’