The night air in these mountains was chill even in summer, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. His mood was sombre, troubled. The events of this day were the kind that led to long thoughts. Sparhawk’s religious convictions were not really all that profound. His commitment had always been to the Pandion Order rather than to the Elene faith. The Church Knights were largely engaged in making the world safe for other, gentler Elenes to perform those ceremonies the clergy felt were pleasing to God. Sparhawk seldom concerned himself with God. Today, however, he had gone through some rather profoundly spiritual events. Ruefully he admitted to himself that a man with a pragmatic turn of mind is never really prepared for religious experiences of the kind which had been thrust upon him today. Then, almost as if his hand were acting of its own volition, it strayed towards the neck of his tunic. Sparhawk resolutely drew his sword, stabbed its point into the turf and wrapped both hands firmly about its hilt. He pushed his mind away from religion and the supernatural.
It was almost over now. The time his queen would be compelled to remain confined in the crystal that sustained her life could be measured in days rather than weeks or months. Sparhawk and his friends had trekked all over the Eosian continent to discover the one thing which would cure her, and now that cure lay in the canvas pouch under his tunic. Nothing could stop him now that he had Bhelliom. He could destroy whole armies with the Sapphire Rose if need be. He sternly pulled his mind back from that thought.
His broken face grew bleak. Once his queen was safe, he was going to do some more or less permanent things to Martel, the Primate Annias and anyone who had aided them in their treason. He began to mentally draw up a list of people who had things to answer for. It was a pleasant way to pass the night-time hours, and it kept his mind occupied and out of mischief.
At dusk six days later, they crested a hill and looked down at the smoky torches and candlelit windows of the capital of Thalesia. ‘You’d better wait here,’ Kurik said to Sparhawk and Sephrenia. ‘Wargun’s probably spread descriptions of you through every city in Eosia by now. I’ll go into town and locate Talen. We’ll see what we can find in the way of a ship.’
‘Will you be all right?’ Sephrenia asked. ‘Wargun could have sent out your description as well, you know.’
‘King Wargun’s a nobleman,’ Kurik growled. ‘Nobles pay very little attention to servants.’
‘You’re not a servant,’ Sparhawk objected.
‘That’s how I’m defined, Sparhawk, and that’s how Wargun saw me – when he was sober enough to see anything. I’ll waylay some traveller and steal his clothes. That should get me by in Emsat. Give me some money in case I have to bribe some people.’
‘Elenes,’ Sephrenia sighed as Sparhawk led her back some distance from the road and Kurik rode at a walk on down towards the city. ‘How did I ever get involved with such unscrupulous people?’
The dusk faded slowly, and the tall, resinous fir trees around them turned into looming shadows. Sparhawk tethered Faran, their packhorse and Ch’iel, Sephrenia’s white palfrey. Then he spread his cloak on a mossy bank for her to sit on.
‘What’s troubling you, Sparhawk?’ she asked him.
‘Tired maybe,’ he tried to shrug it off, ‘and there’s always a kind of let-down after you’ve finished something.’
‘There’s more to it than that though, isn’t there?’
He nodded. ‘I wasn’t really prepared for what happened in that cave. It all seemed very immediate and personal somehow.’
She nodded. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Sparhawk, but the Elene religion has become institutionalized, and it’s very hard to love an institution. The Gods of Styricum have a much more personal relationship with their devotees.’
‘I think I prefer being an Elene. It’s easier. Personal relationships with Gods are very upsetting.’
‘But don’t you love Aphrael – just a little?’
‘Of course I do. I was a lot more comfortable with her when she was just Flute, but I still love her.’ He made a face. ‘You’re leading me in the direction of heresy, little mother,’ he accused.
‘Not really. For the time being, all Aphrael wants is your love. She hasn’t asked you for your worship – yet.’
‘It’s that “yet” that concerns me. Isn’t this a rather peculiar time and place for a theological discussion, though?’
There was the sound of horses on the road, and the unseen riders reined in not far from where Sparhawk and Sephrenia were concealed. Sparhawk rose quickly, his hand going to his sword-hilt.
‘They have to be around here somewhere,’ a rough voice declared. ‘That was his man who just rode into the city.’
‘I don’t know about you two,’ another voice said, ‘but I’m not really all that eager to find him, myself.’
‘There are three of us,’ the first voice declared pugnaciously.
‘Do you think that would really make any difference to him? He’s a Church Knight. He could probably cut all three of us down without even working up a sweat. We’re not going to be able to spend the money if we’re all dead.’
‘He’s got a point there,’ a third voice agreed. ‘I think the best idea is just to locate him for now. Once we know where he is and which way he’s going, we’ll be able to set up an ambush for him. Church Knight or not, an arrow in his back ought to make him docile. Let’s keep looking. The woman’s riding a white horse. That should make it easier to locate them.’
The horses moved on, and Sparhawk slid his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard.
‘Are they Wargun’s men?’ Sephrenia whispered to Sparhawk.
‘I wouldn’t think so,’ Sparhawk murmured. ‘Wargun’s a little erratic, but he’s not the sort of man who sends out paid assassins. He wants to yell at me and maybe throw me in his dungeon for a while. I don’t think he’s angry enough with me to want to murder me – at least I hope not.’
‘Someone else, then?’
‘Probably.’ Sparhawk frowned. ‘I don’t seem to recall having offended anyone in Thalesia lately, though.’
‘Annias has a long arm, dear one,’ she reminded him.
‘That might be it, little mother. Let’s lie low and keep our ears open until Kurik comes back.’
After about an hour they heard the slow plodding of another horse coming up the rutted road from Emsat. The horse stopped at the top of the hill. ‘Sparhawk?’ The quiet voice was vaguely familiar.
Sparhawk quickly put his hand to his sword hilt, and he and Sephrenia exchanged a quick glance.
‘I know you’re in there somewhere, Sparhawk. It’s me, Tel, so don’t get excited. Your man said you wanted to go into Emsat. Stragen sent me to fetch you.’
‘We’re over here,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Wait. We’ll be right out.’ He and Sephrenia led their horses to the road to meet the flaxen-haired brigand who had escorted them to the town of Heid on their journey to Ghwerig’s cave. ‘Can you get us into the city?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘Nothing easier,’ Tel shrugged.
‘How do we get past the guards at the gate?’
‘We just ride on through. The gate guards work for Stragen. It makes things a lot simpler. Shall we go?’
Emsat was a northern city, and the steep-pitched roofs of the houses bespoke the heavy snows of winter. The streets were narrow and crooked, and there were only a few people abroad. Sparhawk, however, looked about warily, remembering the three cut-throats on the road outside town.
‘Be kind of careful with Stragen, Sparhawk,’ Tel cautioned as they rode into a seedy district near the waterfront. ‘He’s the bastard son of an earl, and he’s a little touchy about his origins. He likes to have us address him as “Milord”. It’s foolish, but he’s a good leader, so we play his games.’ He pointed down a garbage-littered street. ‘We go this way.’
‘How’s Talen getting along?’
‘He’s settled in now, but he was seriously put out with you when he first got here. He called you some na
mes I’d never even heard before.’
‘I can imagine.’ Sparhawk decided to confide in the brigand. He knew Tel, and he was at least partially sure he could trust him. ‘Some people rode by the place where we were hiding before you came,’ he said. ‘They were looking for us. Were those some of your men?’
‘No,’ Tel replied. ‘I came alone.’
‘I sort of thought you might have. These fellows were talking about shooting me full of arrows. Would Stragen be involved in that sort of thing in any way?’
‘Out of the question, Sparhawk,’ Tel said quite firmly. ‘You and your friends have thieves’ sanctuary. Stragen would never violate that. I’ll talk to Stragen about it. He’ll see to it that these itinerant bowmen stay out of your hair.’ Tel laughed a chilling little laugh. ‘He’ll probably be more upset with them because they’ve gone into business for themselves than because they threaten you, though. Nobody cuts a throat or steals a penny in Emsat without Stragen’s permission. He’s very keen about that.’ The blond brigand led them to a boarded-up warehouse at the far end of the street. They rode around to the back, dismounted and were admitted by a pair of burly cut-throats standing guard at the door.
The interior of the warehouse belied the shabby exterior. It appeared only slightly less opulent than a palace. There were crimson drapes covering the boarded-up windows, deep blue carpets on the creaky floors and tapestries concealing the rough plank walls. A semicircular staircase of polished wood curved up to a second floor, and a crystal chandelier threw soft, glowing candlelight over the entryway.
‘Excuse me for a minute,’ Tel said. He went into a side-chamber and emerged a bit later wearing a creamcoloured doublet and blue hose. He also had a slim rapier at his side.
‘Elegant,’ Sparhawk observed.
‘Another one of Stragen’s foolish ideas,’ Tel snorted. ‘I’m a working man, not a clothes-rack. Let’s go up, and I’ll introduce you to Milord.’
The upper floor was, if anything, even more extravagantly furnished than the one below. It was expensively floored with intricate parquet, and the walls were panelled with highly polished wood. Broad corridors led off towards the back of the house, and chandeliers and standing candelabra filled the spacious hall with golden light. It appeared that some kind of ball was in progress. A quartet of indifferently talented musicians sawed at their instruments in one corner, and gaily-dressed thieves and whores circled the floor in the mincing steps of the latest dance. Although their clothing was elegant, the men were unshaven, and the women had tangled hair and smudged faces. The contrast gave the entire scene an almost nightmarish quality heightened by voices and laughter which were coarse and raucous.
The focus of the entire room was a thin man with elaborate curls cascading over his ruffed collar. He was dressed in white satin and the chair upon which he sat near the far end of the room was not quite a throne – but very nearly. His expression was sardonic, and his deep-sunk eyes had about them a look of obscure pain.
Tel stopped at the head of the staircase and talked for a moment with an ancient cutpurse holding a long staff and wearing elegant scarlet livery. The white-haired knave turned, rapped the butt of his staff on the floor and spoke in a booming voice. ‘Milord,’ he declaimed, ‘the Marquis Tel begs leave to present Sir Sparhawk, Knight of the Church and champion of the Queen of Elenia.’
The thin man rose and clapped his hands together sharply. The musicians broke off their sawing. ‘We have important guests, dear friends,’ he said to the dancers. His voice was very deep and quite consciously well modulated. ‘Let us pay our proper respects to the invincible Sir Sparhawk, who, with the might of his hands, defends our holy mother Church. I pray you, Sir Sparhawk, approach that we may greet you and make you welcome.’
‘A pretty speech,’ Sephrenia murmured.
‘It should be,’ Tel muttered back sourly. ‘He probably spent the last hour composing it.’ The flaxen-haired brigand led them through the throng of dancers, who all bowed or curtsied jerkily to them as they passed.
When they reached the man in white satin, Tel bowed. ‘Milord,’ he said, ‘I have the honour to present Sir Sparhawk the Pandion. Sir Sparhawk, Milord Stragen.’
‘The thief,’ Stragen added sardonically. Then he bowed elegantly. ‘You honour my inadequate house, Sir Knight,’ he said.
Sparhawk bowed in reply. ‘It is I who am honoured, Milord.’ He rigorously avoided smiling at the airs of this apparently puffed-up popinjay.
‘And so we meet at last, Sir Knight,’ Stragen said. ‘Your young friend Talen has given us a glowing account of your exploits.’
‘Talen sometimes tends to exaggerate things, Milord.’
‘And the lady is –?’
‘Sephrenia, my tutor in the secrets.’
‘Dear sister,’ Stragen said in a flawless Styric, ‘will you permit me to greet you?’
If Sephrenia were startled by this strange man’s knowledge of her language, she gave no indication of it. She extended her hands, and Stragen kissed her palms. ‘It is surprising, Milord, to meet a civilized man in the midst of a world filled with all these Elene savages,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Isn’t it amusing, Sparhawk, to discover that even our unblemished Styrics have their little prejudices?’ The blond pseudo-aristocrat looked around the hall. ‘But we’re interrupting the grand ball. My associates do so enjoy these frivolities. Let’s withdraw so that their joy may be unconfined.’ He raised his resonant voice slightly, speaking to the throng of elegant criminals. ‘Dear friends,’ he said to them, ‘pray excuse us. We will go apart for our discussions. We would not for all the world interrupt your enjoyment of this evening.’ He paused, then looked rather pointedly at one ravishing dark-haired girl. ‘I trust that you’ll recall our discussion following the last ball, Countess,’ he said firmly. ‘Although I stand in awe of your ferocious business instincts, the culmination of certain negotiations should take place in private rather than in the centre of the dance-floor. It was very entertaining – even educational – but it did somewhat disrupt the dance.’
‘It’s just a different way of dancing, Stragen,’ she replied in a coarse, nasal voice that sounded much like the squeal of a pig.
‘Ah yes, Countess, but vertical dancing is in vogue just now. The horizontal form hasn’t yet caught on in the more fashionable circles, and we do want to be stylish, don’t we?’ He turned to Tel. ‘Your services this evening have been stupendous, my dear Marquis,’ he said to the blond man. ‘I doubt that I shall ever be able to adequately repay you.’ He languidly lifted a perfumed handkerchief to his nostrils.
‘That I have been able to serve is payment enough, Milord,’ Tel replied with a low bow.
‘Very good, Tel,’ Stragen approved. ‘I may yet bestow an earldom upon you.’ He turned and led Sparhawk and Sephrenia from the ballroom. Once they were in the corridor outside, his manner changed abruptly. The veneer of affectedly bored gentility dropped away, and his eyes became alert, hard. They were the eyes of a very dangerous man. ‘Does our little charade puzzle you, Sparhawk?’ he asked. ‘Maybe you feel that those in our profession should be housed in places like Platime’s cellar in Cimmura or Meland’s loft in Acie?’
‘It’s more commonplace, Milord,’ Sparhawk replied cautiously.
‘We can drop the “Milord”, Sparhawk. It’s an affectation – at least partially. All of this has a more serious purpose than satisfying some obscure personal quirk of mine, though. The gentry has access to far more wealth than the commons, so I train my associates to prey upon the rich and idle rather than the poor and industrious. It’s more profitable in the long run. This current group has a long way to go, though, I’m afraid. Tel’s coming along rather well, but I despair of ever making a lady of the countess. She has the soul of a whore, and that voice –,’ he shuddered.
‘Anyway, I train my people to assume spurious titles and to mouth little civilities to each other in preparation for more serious business. We’re all still thieve
s, whores and cut-throats, of course, but we deal with a better class of customers.’
They entered a large, well-lit room to find Kurik and Talen sitting together on a large divan. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey, My Lord?’ Talen asked Sparhawk in a voice that had just a slight edge of resentment to it. The boy was dressed in a formal doublet and hose, and for the first time since Sparhawk had met him, his hair was combed. He rose and bowed gracefully to Sephrenia. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted her.
‘I see you’ve been tampering with our wayward boy, Stragen,’ she observed.
‘His Grace had a few rough edges when he first came to us, dear lady,’ the elegant ruffian told her. ‘I took the liberty of polishing him a bit.’
‘His Grace?’ Sparhawk asked curiously.
‘I have certain advantages, Sparhawk,’ Stragen laughed. ‘When nature – or blind chance – bestows a title, she has no way to consider the character of the recipient and to match the eminence to the man. I, on the other hand, can observe the true nature of the person involved and can select the proper adornment of rank. I saw at once that young Talen here is an extraordinary youth, so I bestowed a duchy upon him. Give me three more months, and I could present him at a court.’ He sat down in a large, comfortable chair. ‘Please, friends, find places to sit, and then you can tell me how I can be of further service to you.’
Sparhawk held a chair for Sephrenia and then took a seat not far from their host. ‘What we really need at the moment, neighbour, is a ship to carry us to the north coast of Deira.’
‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, Sparhawk. Our excellent young thief here tells me that your ultimate goal is Cimmura, and he also tells me that there may be some unpleasantness awaiting you in the northern kingdoms. Our tipsy monarch is a man much in need of friends, and he bitterly resents defections. As I understand it, he’s presently displeased with you. All manner of unflattering descriptions are being circulated in western Eosia. Wouldn’t it be faster – and safer – to sail directly to Cardos and go on to Cimmura from there?’