The Diamond Throne

  ‘Voren,’ Sparhawk responded with a Rendorish bow, a sinuous movement that was half genuflection.

  ‘Jintal,’ Voren said to the servant then, ‘be a good fellow and take this to my factor down at the docks.’ He folded a sheet of parchment in half and handed it to the swarthy-faced Rendor.

  ‘As you command, Master,’ the servant replied, bowing.

  They waited until the sound of the front door of the house closing announced that the servant had departed.

  ‘Nice enough fellow there,’ Voren observed. ‘Of course he’s fearfully stupid. I’m always careful to hire servants who aren’t too bright. An intelligent servant is usually a spy.’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said. ‘I want to be sure he has really left the house.’ He crossed the garden and went back inside.

  ‘I don’t remember his being that nervous,’ Kurik said.

  This is a nervous part of the world,’ Sparhawk replied.

  After a few minutes, Voren returned. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted Sephrenia warmly, kissing her palms. ‘Will you give me your blessing?’

  She smiled, touched his forehead, and spoke in Styric.

  ‘I’ve missed that,’ he confessed, ‘even though I haven’t done much lately that deserves blessing.’ Then he looked at her more closely ‘Aren’t you well, Sephrenia?’ he asked her ‘Your face seems very drawn.’

  ‘The heat, perhaps,’ she said, passing a slow hand across her eyes.

  ‘Sit here,’ he said, pointing at his marble bench ‘It’s the coolest place in all of Jiroch.’ He smiled sardonically ‘Which isn’t saying all that much, I’ll grant you.’

  She sat on the bench, and Flute clambered up beside her.

  ‘Well, Sparhawk,’ Voren said, clasping his friend’s hand, ‘what brings you back to Jiroch so soon? Did you leave something behind, perhaps?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t live without,’ Sparhawk replied dryly.

  Voren laughed. ‘Just to show you how good a friend I am, I won’t tell Lillias that you said that. Hello, Kurik. How’s Aslade?’

  ‘She’s well, my Lord Voren.’

  ‘And your sons? You have three, don’t you?’

  ‘Four, my Lord. The last one was born after you left Demos.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Voren said, ‘a little late, maybe, but congratulations all the same.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘I need to talk with you, Voren,’ Sparhawk said, cutting across the pleasantries, ‘and we don’t have much time.’

  ‘And here I thought this was a social visit.’ Voren sighed.

  Sparhawk let that pass. ‘Has Vanion managed to get word to you about what’s been going on in Cimmura?’

  The lightly ironic smile faded from Voren’s face, and he nodded seriously ‘That’s one of the reasons I was surprised to see you,’ he said. ‘I thought you were going to Borrata. Did you have any luck there?’

  ‘I don’t know how lucky it was, but we found out something we’re trying to track down.’ He clenched his teeth together. ‘Voren,’ he said darkly, ‘Ehlana was poisoned.’

  Voren stared at him for a moment, then swore. ‘I wonder how long it’d take me to get back to Cimmura,’ he said in an icy voice. ‘I think I’d like to rearrange Annias just a bit. He’d look much better without his head, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’d have to stand in line, my Lord Voren,’ Kurik assured him. ‘I know at least a dozen other people with the same idea.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk went on, ‘we found out that it was a Rendorish poison and we’ve heard of a physician in Dabour who might know of an antidote. That’s where we’re going now.’

  ‘Where are Kalten and the others?’ Voren asked. ‘Vanion wrote that you had him and some knights from the other orders with you.’

  ‘We left them in Madel,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘They didn’t look or act-very Rendorish. Have you heard of a Doctor Tanjin in Dabour?’

  The one who’s reputed to have cured the king’s brother of some mysterious ailment? Of course. He might not want to talk about it, though. There are some shrewd guesses going around about how he managed those cures, and you know how Rendors feel about magic.’

  ‘I’ll persuade him to talk about it,’ Sparhawk told him.

  ‘You might wish that you hadn’t left Kalten and the others behind,’ Voren told him. ‘Dabour’s a very unfriendly place right now.’

  ‘I’ll have to manage alone. I sent word to them from Cippria to go back home and wait for me there.’

  ‘Whom did you find in Cippria that you could really trust enough to carry messages for you?’

  ‘I went to the abbot of that Arcian monastery on the east side of town. I’ve known him for a long time.’

  Voren laughed. ‘Is he still trying to conceal the fact that he’s a Cyrinic?’

  ‘Do you know everything, Voren?’

  ‘That’s what I’m here for. He’s a good man, though. His methods are a little pedestrian, but he gets things done.’

  ‘What’s happening in Dabour right now?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘I don’t want to walk in there with my eyes closed.’

  Voren sprawled on the grass near Sephrenia’s feet and hooked his hands about one knee ‘Dabour’s always been a strange place,’ he replied. ‘It was Eshand’s home, and the desert nomads think of it as a holy city At any given time there are usually a dozen or so religious factions all fighting with each other for control of the holy places there’ He smiled wryly ‘Would you believe that there are twenty-three tombs there, all purporting to be the final resting place of Eshand? I strongly suspect that at least some of them are spurious—unless they dismembered the holy man after his death and buried him piecemeal.’

  Sparhawk sank to the grass beside his friend. ‘This is just a thought,’ he said, ‘but could we throw some clandestine support to one of the other factions and undermine Arasham’s position?’

  ‘It’s a nice idea, Sparhawk, but at the moment there aren’t any other factions. After Arasham received his epiphany, he spent forty years exterminating all possible rivals. There was a blood bath in central Rendor of colossal proportions. Pyramids of skulls dot the desert out there. Finally, he gained control of Dabour, and he rules there with an authority so total that he makes Otha of Zemoch look like a liberal. He has thousands of rabid followers who blindly follow his every lunatic whim. They roam the streets with sun-baked brains and burning eyes, searching for any infraction of obscure religious laws. Hordes of the unwashed and lice-ridden and only marginally human rage through the streets in search of the opportunity to burn their neighbours at the stake.’

  ‘That’s direct enough,’ Sparhawk said. He glanced at Sephrenia. Flute had dipped a handkerchief into the fountain and was gently bathing the small woman’s face with it. Peculiarly, Sephrenia had her head laid against the little girl’s shoulder as if she were the child. ‘Arasham has gathered an army, then?’ he asked Voren.

  Voren snorted. ‘Only an idiot would call it an army. They can’t march anywhere because they have to pray every half-hour, and they blindly obey even the obvious misstatements of that senile old man.’ He laughed harshly ‘Arasham sometimes stumbles over the language which isn’t surprising, since he’s probably at least half baboon—and once, during his campaigns back in the hinterlands, he gave an order He meant to say, “Fall upon your foes,” but it came out wrong. Instead, he said, “Fall upon your swords,” and three whole regiments did exactly that. Arasham rode home alone that day, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.’

  ‘You’ve been here too long, Voren.’ Sparhawk laughed. ‘Rendor’s starting to sour your disposition.’

  ‘I can’t abide stupidity and filth, Sparhawk, and Arasham’s followers believe devoutly in the sanctity of ignorance and dirt.’

  ‘You’re starting to develop a fine flair for rhetoric, though.’

  ‘Contempt is a powerful seasoning for one’s words,’ Voren admitted. ‘I can’t say what I think openly here in R
endor, so I have plenty of time to polish my phrases in private ‘ His face grew serious. ‘Be very careful in Dabour, Sparhawk,’ he advised. ‘Arasham has a couple of dozen disciples—some of whom he even knows. They’re the ones who really control the city, and they’re all as crazy as he is.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Worse, probably.’

  ‘You’ve always been such a cheerful fellow, Voren,’ Sparhawk said dryly.

  ‘It’s a failing of mine I try to look on the bright side of things. Is anything happening in Cippria I ought to know about?’

  ‘You might want to look into this,’ Sparhawk said, plucking at the grass beside him. There are some foreigners going about there trying to encourage the belief that the peasantry in the Elene kingdoms in the north are on the verge of open rebellion against the Church because they support the goals of the Eshandist movement.’

  ‘I’ve heard some rumours about that,’ Voren said. ‘It hasn’t gone very far here in Jiroch yet.’

  ‘It’s just a question of time until it does, I think. It’s fairly well organized.’

  ‘Any idea of who’s behind it?’

  ‘Martel, and we all know for whom he works. The whole idea is to stir up the city dwellers to join with Arasham in an uprising against the Church here in Rendor at the same time that the Hierocracy is gathering in Chyrellos to elect a new Archprelate. The Church Knights would have to come here to put the fire out, and that would give Annias and his supporters a free hand in the election. We’ve passed the word to the militant orders, so they should be able to take steps.’ Sparhawk rose from the grass. ‘How long is your servant likely to take to run his errand?’ he asked. ‘It might be better if we were gone when he came back. He may not be too bright, but I know Rendors, and they like to gossip.’

  ‘I think you’ve got a little time left. Jintal’s fastest pace is a leisurely saunter. You’ll have time to eat something, and I’ll give you some fresh supplies.’

  ‘Is there any safe place to stay in Dabour?’ Sephrenia asked the sardonic man.

  ‘No place in Dabour is really safe, Sephrenia,’ Voren replied. He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Do you remember Perraine?’ he asked.

  ‘Lean fellow? Almost never talks?’

  That’s him. He’s in Dabour posing as a cattle buyer. He goes by the name Mirrelek, and he’s got a place near the stockyards. The desert people need him—unless they want to eat all their own cows—so he has more or less the free run of the city He’ll put you up and keep you out of trouble’ Voren grinned a bit slyly ‘Speaking of trouble, Sparhawk,’ he said, ‘I’d strongly advise you to get out of Jiroch before Lillias finds out that you’re back.’

  ‘Is she still unhappy?’ Sparhawk said. ‘I thought that she’d have found someone to comfort her by now.’

  ‘I’m sure she has—several, probably—but you know Lillias. She holds grudges.’

  ‘I left her full title to the shop,’ Sparhawk said a bit defensively ‘She should be doing very well by now if she pays attention to business.’

  ‘The last I heard, she was, but that’s not the point. The whole thing is that you said your farewells—and left your bequest in a note You didn’t give her the chance to scream, weep, and threaten to kill herself.’

  ‘That was sort of the idea.’

  ‘You were terribly unkind to her, my friend. Lillias thrives on high drama; when you slipped out in the middle of the night the way you did, you robbed her of a wonderful opportunity for histrionics.’ Voren was grinning openly.

  ‘Do you really have to pursue this?’

  ‘I’m just trying to give you a friendly warning, Sparhawk. All you’ll have to face at Dabour are several thousand howling fanatics. Here in Jiroch, you’ll have to face Lillias, and she’s much, much more dangerous.’

  Chapter 21

  They left Voren’s house quietly about half an hour later. Sparhawk looked closely at Sephrenia as they mounted their horses. Although it was scarcely past noon, she already looked weary. ‘Could this thing that’s after us stir up a waterspout on the river?’ he asked her.

  She frowned. ‘It’s hard to say,’ she replied. ‘Normally, I’d say no, there’s not enough open water. But the creatures of the underworld can overcome some natural laws if they choose.’ She thought a moment. ‘How wide is the river here?’ she asked.

  ‘Not very,’ he replied. ‘There’s not enough water in the whole of Rendor to make a wide river.’

  ‘The river banks would make it very hard to direct a spout,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘You saw how erratically the one that destroyed Mabin’s ship was moving.’

  ‘We’ll have to chance it, then,’ he said. ‘You’re too exhausted to ride all the way to Dabour, and it’s going to get hotter as we ride south.’

  ‘Don’t take unnecessary chances just for my sake, Sparhawk.’

  ‘It’s not entirely for your sake,’ he told her. ‘We’ve lost a lot of time already, and going by boat is faster than riding. We’ll stay close to the river bank in case we need to get off the boat in a hurry.’

  ‘Whatever you think best,’ she said, slumping slightly in her saddle.

  They rode out into the teeming street where black-robed nomads from the desert mingled with the more brightly garbed city dwellers and the merchants from the northern kingdoms. The street was filled with noise and with those peculiarly Rendorish scents spices, perfumes and the pervading odour of smoking olive oil.

  ‘Who’s this Lillias?’ Kurik asked curiously as they rode down along the street towards the river.

  ‘It’s not important,’ Sparhawk replied shortly.

  ‘If this person is dangerous, I’d say that it’s fairly important for me to know about it.’

  ‘Lillias isn’t dangerous in that particular way’

  ‘We’re talking about a woman, I gather’

  It was obvious that Kurik did not intend to be put off. Sparhawk made a sour face ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I was here in Jiroch for ten years. Voren set me up in a little shop where I went by the name Mahkra. The idea was that I could drop out of sight so that Martel’s hirelings couldn’t find me In order to keep busy, I gathered information for Voren. To do that, I needed to look like all the other merchants on that street. They all had mistresses, so I needed one, too. Her name was Lillias. Satisfied?’

  ‘That was quick The lady has a short temper, I take it?’

  ‘No, Kurik. She has a very long one Lillias is the kind of woman who nurses grudges.’

  ‘Oh, that kind. I’d like to meet her.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. I don’t think you’d care for all the screaming and dramatics.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Why do you think I slipped out of town in the middle of the night? Do you suppose we could drop this?’

  Kurik started to chuckle ‘Excuse me for laughing, my Lord,’ he said, ‘but as I recall, you weren’t exactly brimming with sympathy when I told you about my indiscretion with Talen’s mother.’

  ‘All right. We’re even, then.’ Sparhawk clamped his lips shut and rode on, ignoring Kurik’s laughter.

  The docks that jutted out into the muddy flow of the Gule River were rickety affairs and they were draped with smelly fishnets. Dozens of the wide-beamed river boats that plied the stream between Jiroch and Dabour were moored to them. Dark-skinned sailors clad in loincloths and with cloths wound about their heads lounged on their decks. Sparhawk dismounted and approached an evil-looking one-eyed man in a loose-fitting, striped robe The one-eyed man stood on the dock bawling orders at a lazy-looking trio of sailors aboard a mud-smeared scow.

  ‘Your boat?’ the knight asked.

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Is it for hire?’

  ‘That depends on the price.’

  ‘We can work that out. How many days to Dabour?’

  ‘Three, maybe four days, depending on the wind.’ The captain was assessing Sparhawk and the others with his good eye His surly expression changed, and he smiled an
oily smile ‘Why don’t we talk about the price, noble sir?’ he suggested.

  Sparhawk made some pretence at haggling, then dipped into the pouch of coins Voren had given him and counted silver into the riverman’s grimy hand. The man’s single eye came alight when he saw the pouch.

  They boarded the boat and tethered their horses amidships as the three sailors slipped the hawsers, pushed the boat out into the current, and raised the single, slanted sail. The river was sluggish, and the stiff onshore breeze blowing in off the Arcian Strait pushed them upstream against the current at a goodly speed.

  ‘Watch yourselves,’ Sparhawk muttered to his companions as they unsaddled their mounts. ‘Our captain appears to be an independent businessman with his eye open for opportunities.’ He walked aft to where the one-eyed man stood at the tiller. ‘I want you to keep as close to shore as you can,’ he said.

  ‘What for?’ The captain’s lone eye became suddenly wary.

  ‘My sister’s afraid of water,’ Sparhawk improvised. ‘If I give you the word, put your boat up against the bank so that she can get off.’

  ‘You’re paying.’ The captain shrugged. ‘We’ll do it any way you like.’

  ‘Do you run at night?’ Sparhawk asked him.

  The captain shook his head. ‘Some do, but I don’t. There are too many snags and hidden rocks for my taste. We moor up against the bank when it gets dark.’

  ‘Good. I like prudence in a sailor It makes for safer journeys—which brings up a point.’ He opened the front of his robe to reveal his mail coat and the heavy broadsword belted at his side ‘Do you get my meaning?’ he asked.

  The captain’s face clouded with chagrin. ‘You have no right to threaten me on my own boat,’ he blustered.

  ‘As you said before, I’m paying. Your crew looks a little undependable to me, Captain, and your own face isn’t one to inspire trust.’