Domes of Fire

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning. Danae sort of told me that she can play with time the way she did when we were marching to Acie with Wargun’s army. That would get us there faster, but can she do it as undetectably now as she did when she was Flute?’

  The bell behind the motionless form of his daughter gave a deep, soft-toned sound. ‘Why don’t you ask me, Sparhawk?’ Danae’s voice hummed in the bell-sound. ‘It’s not as if I weren’t here, you know.’

  ‘How was I supposed to know that?’ He waited. ‘Well?’ he asked the still-humming bell. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Well, of course I can, Sparhawk.’ The Child Goddess sounded irritated. ‘Don’t you know anything?’

  ‘That will do,’ Sephrenia chided.

  ‘He’s such a lump.’

  ‘Aphrael! I said that will do! You will not be disrespectful to your father.’ A faint smile touched the lips of the apparently somnolent little princess. ‘Even if he is a hopeless lump.’

  ‘If you two want to discuss my failings, I’ll go back downstairs so you can speak freely,’ Sparhawk told them.

  ‘No, that’s all right, Sparhawk,’ Aphrael said lightly. ‘We’re all friends, so we shouldn’t have any secrets from each other.’

  They left Chyrellos the following morning and rode south on the Arcian side of the Sarin river in bright morning sunshine with one hundred Church Knights in full armour riding escort. The grass along the riverbank was very green, and the blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds. After some discussion, Sparhawk and Ehlana had decided that the attendants she would need for the sake of appearances could be drawn for the most part from the ranks of the Church Knights. ‘Stragen can coach them,’ Sparhawk had told his wife. ‘He’s had a certain amount of experience, so he can make honest knights look like useless butterflies.’

  It had been necessary, however, to include one lady-in-waiting, Baroness Melidere, a young woman of Ehlana’s own age with honey-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and an apparently empty head. Ehlana also took along a personal maid, a doe-eyed girl named Alean. The two of them rode in the carriage with the Queen, Mirtai, Danae and Stragen, who, dressed in his elegant best, kept them amused with light banter. Sparhawk reasoned that between them, Stragen and Mirtai could provide his wife and daughter with a fairly significant defence if the occasion arose.

  Patriarch Emban was going to be a problem. Sparhawk could see that after they had gone no more than a few miles. Emban was not comfortable on a horse, and he filled the air with complaints as he rode.

  ‘That isn’t going to work, you know,’ Kalten observed about mid-morning. ‘Churchman or not, if the knights have to listen to Emban feel sorry for himself all the way across the Daresian continent, he’s likely to have some kind of an accident before we get to Matherion. I’m ready to drown him right now myself, and the river’s very handy.’

  Sparhawk thought about it. He looked at the queen’s carriage. ‘That landau’s not quite big enough,’ he told his friend. ‘I think we need something grander. Six horses are more impressive than four anyway. See if you can find Bevier.’

  When the olive-skinned Arcian rode forward, Sparhawk explained the situation. ‘If we don’t get Emban off that horse, it’s going to take us a year to cross Daresia. Are you still on speaking terms with your cousin Lycien?’

  ‘Of course. We’re the best of friends.’

  ‘Why don’t you ride on ahead and have a chat with him? We need a large carriage – roomy enough for eight – six horses probably. We’ll put Emban and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my wife and her entourage. Ask your cousin to locate one for us.’

  ‘That might be expensive, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said dubiously.

  ‘That’s all right, Bevier. The Church will pay for it. After a week on horseback, Emban should be willing to sign for anything that doesn’t wear a saddle. Oh, as long as you’re going there anyway, have our ships moved upriver to Lycien’s docks. Madel’s not so attractive a city that any of us would enjoy a stay there all that much, and Lycien’s docks are more conveniently arranged.’

  ‘Will we need anything else, Sparhawk?’ Bevier asked.

  ‘Not that I can think of. Feel free to improvise, though. Add anything you can think of on your way to Madel. For once, we have a more or less unlimited budget at our disposal. The coffers of the Church are wide open to us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell that to Stragen or Talen, my friend,’ Bevier laughed. ‘I’ll be at Lycien’s house. I’ll see you when you get there.’ He wheeled his horse and rode south at a gallop.

  ‘Why didn’t you just have him pick up another carriage for Emban and Oscagne?’ Kalten asked.

  ‘Because I don’t want to have to defend two when we get to Tamuli.’

  ‘Oh. That makes sense – sort of.’

  They arrived at the house of Sir Bevier’s cousin the Marquis Lycien, late one afternoon, and met Bevier and his stout, florid-faced kinsman in the gravelled court in front of Lycien’s opulent home. The Marquis bowed deeply to the Queen of Elenia and insisted that she accept his hospitality during her stay in Madel. Kalten dispersed the knights in Lycien’s park-like grounds.

  ‘Did you find a carriage?’ Sparhawk asked Bevier.

  Bevier nodded. ‘It’s large enough for our purposes,’ he said a bit dubiously, ‘but the cost of it may turn Patriarch Emban’s hair white.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s ask him.’ They crossed the gravelled court to where the Patriarch of Ucera stood beside his horse, clinging to his saddle-horn with a look of profound misery on his face.

  ‘Pleasant little ride, wasn’t it, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked the fat man brightly.

  Emban groaned. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a week.’

  ‘Of course we were only strolling,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘We’ll have to move along much faster when we get to Tamuli.’ He paused. ‘May I speak frankly, your Grace?’

  ‘You will anyway, Sparhawk,’ Emban said sourly. ‘Would you really pay any attention to me if I objected?’

  ‘Probably not. You’re slowing us down, you know.’

  ‘Well, excuse me.’

  ‘You’re not really built for horseback riding, Patriarch Emban. Your talent’s in your head, not your backside.’

  Emban’s eyes narrowed with hostility. ‘Go on,’ he said in an ominous tone of voice.

  ‘Since we’re in a hurry, we’ve decided to put wheels under you. Would you be more comfortable in a cushioned carriage, your Grace?’

  ‘Sparhawk, I could kiss you!’

  ‘I’m a married man, your Grace. My wife might misunderstand. For security reasons, one carriage is far better than two, so I’ve taken the liberty of locating one that’s somewhat larger than the one Ehlana rode down from Chyrellos. You wouldn’t mind riding with her, would you? We thought we’d put you and Ambassador Oscagne in the carriage with my queen and her attendants. Would that be satisfactory?’

  ‘Did you want me to kiss the ground you’re standing on, Sparhawk?’

  ‘Oh, that won’t be necessary, your Grace. All you really have to do is sign the authorisation for the carriage. This is urgent Church business, after all, so the purchase of the carriage is fully justified, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Where do I sign?’ Emban’s expression was eager.

  ‘A carriage that large is expensive, your Grace,’ Sparhawk warned him.

  ‘I’d pawn the Basilica itself if it’d keep me out of that saddle.’

  ‘You see?’ Sparhawk said to Bevier as they walked away. ‘That wasn’t hard at all, was it?’

  ‘How did you know he’d agree so quickly?’

  ‘Timing, Bevier, timing. Later on, he might have objected to the price. You need to ask that sort of question while the man you’re asking is still in pain.’

  ‘You’re a cruel fellow, Sparhawk,’ Bevier laughed.

  ‘All sorts of people have said that to me from time to time,’ Sparhawk replied blandly.


  ‘My people will finish loading the supplies for your voyage today, Sparhawk,’ Marquis Lycien said as they rode toward the riverside village and its wharves on the edge of his estate. ‘You’ll be able to sail with the morning tide.’

  ‘You’re a true friend, my Lord,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘You’re always here when we need you.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating my benevolence, Sir Sparhawk,’ Lycien laughed. ‘I’m making a very handsome profit by outfitting your vessels.’

  ‘I like to see friends get on in the world.’

  Lycien looked back over his shoulder at the Queen of Elenia, who rode a grey palfrey some distance to the rear. ‘You’re the luckiest man in the world, Sparhawk,’ he observed. ‘Your wife is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘I’ll tell her you said that, Marquis Lycien. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.’

  Ehlana and Emban had decided to accompany them as they rode down to the Marquis’ enclave on the river, Ehlana to inspect the accommodations aboard ship, and Emban to have a look at the carriage he had just purchased.

  The flotilla moored to Lycien’s wharves consisted of a dozen large, well-fitted vessels, ships which made the merchantmen moored nearby look scruffy by comparison.

  Lycien led the way through the village which had grown up around the wharves toward the river, which sparkled in the morning sun.

  ‘Master Cluff!’ The voice was not unlike a fog-horn.

  Sparhawk turned in his saddle. ‘Well strike me down if it isn’t Captain Sorgi!’ he said with genuine pleasure. He liked the blunt, silvery-haired sea captain with whom he had spent so many hours. He swung down from Faran’s back and warmly clasped his friend’s hand.

  ‘I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi said expansively. ‘Are you still running from those cousins?’

  Sparhawk pulled a long face and sighed mournfully. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. ‘No,’ he replied in a broken voice, ‘not any more, I’m afraid. I made the mistake of staying in an ale-house in Apalia up in northern Pelosia for one last tankard. The cousins caught up with me there.’

  ‘Were you able to escape?’ Sorgi’s face mirrored his concern.

  ‘There were a dozen of them, Captain, and they were on me before I could even move. They clapped me in irons and took me to the estate of the ugly heiress I told you about.’

  ‘They didn’t force you to marry her, did they?’ Sorgi asked, sounding shocked.

  ‘I’m afraid so, my friend,’ Sparhawk said in a tragic voice. ‘That’s my wife on that grey horse there.’ He pointed at the radiant Queen of Elenia.

  Captain Sorgi stared, his eyes growing wider and his mouth gaping open.

  ‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk said with a brokenhearted catch in his voice.

  CHAPTER 8

  Baroness Melidere was a pretty girl with hair the colour of honey and eyes as blue as a summer sky. She did not have a brain in her head – at least that was what she wanted people to believe. In actuality, the baroness was probably more clever than most of the people in Ehlana’s court, but she had learned early in life that people with limited intelligence feel threatened by pretty, clever young women, and she had perfected a vapid, empty-headed smile, a look of blank incomprehension and a silly giggle. She erected these defences as the situation required and kept her own counsel.

  Queen Ehlana saw through the subterfuge and even encouraged it. Melidere was very observant and had excellent hearing. People tend not to pay much attention to brainless girls, and they say things in their presence they might not ordinarily say. Melidere always reported these conversational lapses back to the queen, and so Ehlana found the baroness useful to have around.

  Melidere, however, drove Stragen absolutely wild. He knew with complete certainty that she could not be as stupid as she appeared, but he could never catch her off guard.

  Alean, the queen’s maid, was quite another matter. Her mind was very ordinary, but her nature was such that people automatically loved her. She was sweet, gentle and very loving. She had brown hair and enormous, soft brown eyes. She was shy and modest and seldom spoke. Kalten looked upon her as his natural prey, much as the wolf looks upon deer with a proprietary sense of ownership. Kalten was fond of maids. They did not usually threaten him, and he could normally proceed with them without any particular fear of failure.

  The ship in which they sailed from Madel that spring was well-appointed. It belonged to the Church and it had been built to convey high-ranking churchmen and their servants to various parts of Eosia.

  There is a certain neat, cosy quality about ship cabins. They are uniformly constructed of dark-stained wood, the oily stain being a necessary protection for wood which is perpetually exposed to excessive humidity. The furniture is stationary, resisting all efforts to rearrange it, since it is customarily bolted to the floor to prevent its migration from one part of the cabin to another in rough weather. Since the ceiling of a ship’s cabin is in reality the underside of the deck overhead where the sailors are working, the dark supporting beams are substantial.

  In the particular vessel upon which the Queen of Elenia and her entourage sailed, there was a large cabin in the stern with a broad window running across the back of the ship. It was a sort of floating audience chamber, and it was ideally suited for gatherings. Because of the window at the back, the cabin was light and airy, and, since the vessel was moved by her sails, the wind always came from astern, and it efficiently carried the smell of the bilges forward for the crew to enjoy in their cramped quarters in the forecastle.

  On the second day out, Sparhawk and Ehlana dressed themselves in plain, utilitarian garments and went up to what had come to be called ‘the throne-room’ from their private cabin just below. Alean was preparing Princess Danae’s breakfast over a cunning little utensil which was part lamp and part stove. Alean prepared most of Danae’s meals, since she accepted the child’s dietary prejudices without question.

  There was a polite knock, and then Kalten and Stragen entered. Kalten bore himself strangely, half crouched, twisted off to one side and quite obviously in pain.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Sparhawk asked him.

  ‘I tried to sleep in a hammock,’ Kalten groaned. ‘Since we’re at sea, I thought it was the thing to do. I think I’ve ruined myself, Sparhawk.’

  Mirtai rose from her chair near the door. ‘Stand still,’ she peremptorily ordered the blond man.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he demanded suspiciously.

  ‘Be quiet.’ She ran one hand up his back, gently probing with her fingertips. ‘Lie down on the floor,’ she commanded, ‘on your stomach.’

  ‘Not very likely.’

  ‘Do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?’

  Grumbling, he painfully lowered himself to the deck. ‘Is this going to hurt?’ he asked.

  ‘It won’t hurt me a bit,’ she assured him, removing her sandals. ‘Try to relax.’ Then she started to walk on him. There were crackling noises and loud pops. There were also gasps and cries of pain as Kalten writhed under her feet. She finally paused, thoughtfully probing at a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades with her toes. Then she rose up on her toes and came down quite firmly.

  Kalten’s shriek was strangled as his breath whooshed out, and the noise that came from his back was very loud, much like the sound which might come from a tree trunk being snapped in two. He lay face down, gasping and groaning.

  ‘Don’t be such a baby,’ Mirtai told him heartlessly. ‘Get up.’

  ‘I can’t. You’ve killed me.’

  She picked him up by one arm and set him on his feet. ‘Walk around,’ she commanded him.

  ‘Walk? I can’t even breathe.’

  She drew one of her daggers.

  ‘All right. All right. Don’t get excited. I’m walking.’

  ‘Swing your arms back and forth.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just do it, Kalten. You’ve got to loosen up th
ose muscles.’

  He walked back and forth, swinging his arms and gingerly turning his head back and forth. ‘You know, I hate to admit it, but I do feel better – much better actually.’

  ‘Naturally.’ She put her dagger away.

  ‘You didn’t have to be so rough, though.’

  ‘I can put you back into exactly the same condition as you were when you came in, if you’d like.’

  ‘No. That’s quite all right, Mirtai.’ He said it very quickly and backed away from her. Then, always the opportunist, he sidled up to Alean. ‘Don’t you feel sorry for me?’ he asked in an insinuating voice.

  ‘Kalten!’ Mirtai snapped. ‘No!’

  ‘I was only –’

  She smacked him sharply on the nose with two fingers, much as one would do to persuade a puppy to give up the notion of chewing on a pair of shoes.

  ‘That hurt,’ he protested, putting his hand to his nose.

  ‘It was meant to. Leave her alone.’

  ‘Are you going to let her do that, Sparhawk?’ Kalten appealed to his friend.

  ‘Do as she says,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Leave the girl alone.’

  ‘Your morning’s not going too well, is it, Sir Kalten?’ Stragen noted.

  Kalten went off to a corner to sulk.

  The others drifted in, and they all sat down to the breakfast two crewmen brought from the galley. Princess Danae sat alone near the large window at the stern where the salt-tinged breeze would keep the smell of pork sausage from her delicate nostrils.

  After breakfast, Sparhawk and Kalten went up on deck for a breath of air and stood leaning on the port rail watching the south coast of Cammoria slide by. The day was particularly fine. The sun was very bright, and the sky very blue. There was a good following breeze, and their ship, her white sails spread wide, led the small flotilla across the white-cap-speckled sea.

  ‘The captain says that we should pass Miruscum about noon,’ Kalten said. ‘We’re making better time than we expected.’

  ‘We’ve got a good breeze,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘How’s your back?’