The Sapphire Rose

  ‘Approximately, yes. Thank you, Sir Ulath.’

  ‘How about these other two?’ Ulath pointed his axe at Lycheas and the fat man.

  ‘Ah – not just yet, Sir Ulath.’ The Pandion Preceptor approached the council table carrying the case containing the swords of the knights who had fallen. ‘Now, Lycheas, where is the Earl of Lenda?’ he demanded.

  Lycheas gaped at him.

  ‘Sir Ulath,’ Vanion said in a tone like ice.

  Ulath grimly lifted his blood-stained axe.

  ‘No!’ Lycheas screamed. ‘Lenda’s confined down in the cellars. We didn’t hurt him at all, Lord Vanion. I swear to you that he’s –’

  ‘Take Lycheas and this other one down to the dungeon,’ Vanion ordered a pair of his knights. ‘Release the Earl of Lenda and replace him in the cell with these. Then bring Lenda here.’

  ‘If I may, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Lycheas the bastard,’ Sparhawk said formally, ‘as Queen’s Champion, it is my distinct pleasure to place you under arrest on the charge of high treason. The penalty is rather well known. We’ll attend to that just as soon as it’s convenient. Thinking about it might give you something to occupy the long, tedious hours of your confinement.’

  ‘I could save you a great deal of time and expense, Sparhawk,’ Ulath offered helpfully, hefting his axe again.

  Sparhawk pretended to consider it. ‘No,’ he said regretfully. ‘Lycheas has run rough-shod over the people of Cimmura. I think they’re entitled to the spectacle of a nice, messy public execution.’

  Lycheas was actually blubbering in terror as Sir Perraine and another knight dragged him past the wide-eyed head of Baron Harparin and out of the room.

  ‘You’re a hard and ruthless man, Sparhawk,’ Bevier noted.

  ‘I know.’ Sparhawk looked at Vanion. ‘We’ll have to wait for Lenda,’ he said. ‘He’s got the key to the throne-room. I don’t want Ehlana to wake up and find that we’ve chopped her door down.’

  Vanion nodded. ‘I need him for something anyway,’ he said. He put the sword case on the council table and sat down in one of the chairs. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, ‘cover Harparin up before Sephrenia gets here. Things like that distress her.’ It was yet another clue, Sparhawk thought. Vanion’s concern for Sephrenia went far beyond what was customary.

  Ulath went to the window, jerked down one of the drapes and turned back, pausing only to kick Harparin’s head back over beside the pederast’s body, then he covered the remains with the drape.

  ‘A whole generation of little boys will sleep more securely now that Harparin’s no longer with us,’ Kalten observed lightly, ‘and they’ll probably mention Ulath in their prayers every night.’

  ‘I’ll take all the blessings I can get,’ Ulath shrugged.

  Sephrenia entered with Talen and Berit in tow. She looked around. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised,’ she noted. ‘I was more or less expecting additional carnage.’ Then her eyes narrowed. She pointed at the draped body lying by the wall. ‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

  ‘The late Baron Harparin,’ Kalten told her. ‘He left us rather suddenly.’

  ‘Did you do that, Sparhawk?’ she accused.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I know you all too well, Sparhawk.’

  ‘Actually, Sephrenia, it was me,’ Ulath drawled. ‘I’m very sorry if it bothers you, but then, I’m Thalesian. We’re widely reputed to be barbarians.’ He shrugged. ‘One is more or less obliged to uphold the reputation of his homeland, wouldn’t you say?’

  She refused to answer that. She looked around at the faces of the other Pandions in the room. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We’re all here. Open that case, Vanion.’

  Vanion opened the sword-case.

  ‘Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia addressed the Pandions in the room as she laid Sir Gared’s sword on the table beside the case. ‘Some months ago, twelve of you joined with me in casting the enchantment which has sustained the life of Queen Ehlana. Six of your brave companions have gone into the House of the Dead since then. Their swords, however, must be present when we undo the enchantment that we may cure the queen. Thus, each of you who were there must carry the sword of one of your fallen brothers as well as your own. I will work the spell which will make it possible for you to take up those swords. We will then proceed to the throne-room, where the swords of the fallen will be taken from you.’

  Vanion looked startled. ‘Taken? By whom?’

  ‘Their original owners.’

  ‘You’re going to summon ghosts into the throne-room?’ he asked in astonishment.

  ‘They will come unsummoned. Their oaths ensure that. As before, you’ll encircle the throne with your swords extended. I’ll undo the spell, and the crystal will disappear. The rest is up to Sparhawk – and Bhelliom.’

  ‘What exactly am I supposed to do?’ Sparhawk asked her.

  ‘I’ll tell you at the proper time,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want you to do anything prematurely.’

  Sir Perraine escorted the aged Earl of Lenda into the council chamber.

  ‘How was the dungeon, My Lord of Lenda?’ Vanion asked lightly.

  ‘Damp, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda replied, ‘Also dark and very smelly. You know how dungeons are.’

  ‘No,’ Vanion laughed. ‘Not really. It’s an experience I’d prefer to forgo.’ He looked at the old courtier’s lined face. ‘Are you all right, Lenda?’ he asked. ‘You look very tired.’

  ‘Old men always look very tired, Vanion.’ Lenda smiled gently, ‘and I’m older than most.’ He straightened his thin old shoulders. ‘Being thrown into the dungeon from time to time is an occupational hazard for those in public service. You get used to it. I’ve been in worse.’

  ‘I’m sure Lycheas and that fat fellow will enjoy the dungeon, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly.

  ‘I doubt that, Sir Kalten.’

  ‘We’ve made them aware of the fact that the end of their confinement will mark their entrance into another world. I’m sure they’ll prefer the dungeon. Rats aren’t all that bad.’

  ‘I didn’t notice Baron Harparin,’ Lenda said. ‘Did he escape?’

  ‘Only in a manner of speaking, My Lord,’ Kalten replied. ‘He was being offensive. You know how Harparin was. Sir Ulath gave him a lesson in courtesy – with his axe.’

  ‘This day is top-filled with joyful surprises then,’ Lenda chortled.

  ‘My Lord of Lenda,’ Vanion said rather formally, ‘we’re going to the throne-room now to restore the queen. I’d like to have you witness that restoration so that you can confirm her identity in case any doubts arise later. The commons are superstitious, and there are those who might want to circulate rumours to the effect that Ehlana is not who she appears to be.’

  ‘Very well, My Lord Vanion,’ Lenda agreed, ‘but how do you plan to restore her?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Sephrenia smiled. She held out her hands over the swords and spoke at some length in Styric. The swords glowed briefly as she released the spell, and the knights who had been present during the encasement of the Queen of Elenia stepped to the table. She talked to them briefly in low tones, and then each of them took up one of the swords. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘let us proceed to the throne-room.’

  ‘This is all very mysterious,’ Lenda said to Sparhawk as they walked down the corridor towards the throne-room.

  ‘Have you ever seen real magic performed, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked him.

  ‘I don’t believe in magic, Sparhawk.’

  ‘That may change shortly, Lenda,’ Sparhawk smiled.

  The old courtier produced the key from an inside pocket and unlocked the door to the throne-room. Then they all followed Sephrenia inside. The room was dark. During Lenda’s confinement, the candles had been allowed to go out. Sparhawk, nonetheless, could still hear the measured drumbeat of his queen’s heart echoing in the darkness. Kurik stepped back outside and brought in a torch. ‘Fresh candles?’ he asked Sephrenia.
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  ‘Definitely,’ she replied. ‘Let’s not awaken Ehlana to a dark room.’

  Kurik and Berit replaced the burned-out candle-stubs with fresh tapers. Then Berit looked curiously at the young queen he had served so faithfully without ever having seen her. His eyes grew suddenly wide as he stared at her, and he seemed to catch his breath. His look was one of totally appropriate veneration, but there was, Sparhawk thought, perhaps a bit more to it than simple respect. Berit was about the same age as Ehlana, and she was very beautiful, after all.

  ‘That’s much better,’ Sephrenia said, looking around at the candlelit throne-room. ‘Sparhawk, come with me.’ She led him to the dais upon which the throne stood.

  Ehlana sat as she had for all these months. She wore the crown of Elenia on her pale, blonde head, and she was enfolded in her state robes. Her eyes were closed, and her face serene.

  ‘Just a few more moments, my queen,’ Sparhawk murmured. Strangely, his eyes were filled with tears, and his heart was in his throat.

  ‘Remove your gauntlets, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘You’ll want the rings to touch Bhelliom when you use it.’

  He took off his mailed gauntlets, then reached inside his surcoat, removed the canvas pouch and untied the drawstring.

  ‘All right, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia said then to the surviving knights, ‘take your places.’

  Vanion and the other five Pandions spaced themselves out around the throne, each of them holding his own sword and that of one of his fallen brothers.

  Sephrenia stood beside Sparhawk and began to form the incantation in Styric, her fingers weaving an accompaniment. The candles dimmed and flared almost in time to the sonorous spell. At some time during her incantation, the room became gradually filled with that familiar smell of death. Sparhawk tore his eyes from Ehlana’s face to risk a quick look around the circle of knights. Where there had been six before, there were now twelve. The filmy shapes of those who had fallen one by one in the preceding months had returned unbidden to take their swords one last time.

  ‘Now, Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia instructed the living and the dead alike, ‘point your swords at the throne.’ And she began to speak a different incantation. The tip of each sword began to glow, and those incandescent points of light grew brighter and brighter until they surrounded the throne with a ring of pure light. Sephrenia raised her arm, spoke a single word, then brought the arm sharply down. The crystal encasement surrounding the throne wavered like water, and then it was gone.

  Ehlana’s head sagged forward, and her body began to tremble violently. Her breathing was suddenly laboured, and the heart-beat which still echoed through the room faltered. Sparhawk leaped up onto the dais to go to her aid.

  ‘Not yet!’ Sephrenia told him sharply.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Do as I say!’

  He stood helplessly over his stricken queen for a minute that seemed to last for an hour. Then Sephrenia stepped forward and lifted Ehlana’s chin with both her hands. The queen’s grey eyes were wide and vacant, and her face was twisted grotesquely.

  ‘Now, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said, ‘take Bhelliom in your hands and touch it to her heart. Be sure the rings are touching the stone. At the same time, command it to heal her.’

  He seized the Sapphire Rose in both hands, and then he gently touched the flower gem to Ehlana’s breast. ‘Heal my queen, Bhelliom-Blue-Rose!’ he commanded in a loud voice.

  The enormous surge of power coming from the jewel between his hands sent Sparhawk to his knees. The candles flickered and dimmed as if some dark shadow had passed over the room. Was it something fleeing? Or was it perhaps that shadow of dread that followed him and haunted all his dreams? Ehlana stiffened, and her slender body was slammed against the back of her throne. A hoarse gasp came from her throat. Then her wide-eyed stare was suddenly rational, and she gazed at Sparhawk in astonishment.

  ‘It is done!’ Sephrenia said in a trembling voice, and then she slumped weakly down on the dais.

  Ehlana drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘My Knight!’ she cried out feebly, extending her arms to the black-armoured Pandion kneeling before her. Though her voice was weak, it nonetheless was full and rich, a woman’s voice now and not the childish one Sparhawk remembered. ‘Oh, my Sparhawk, you have come back to me at last.’ She laid her trembling arms about his armoured shoulders, inserted her face beneath his raised visor and kissed him lingeringly.

  ‘Enough of that for now, children,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Sparhawk, carry her to her chambers.’

  Sparhawk was very disturbed. Ehlana’s kiss had been anything but childlike. He tucked Bhelliom away, removed his helmet and tossed it to Kalten. Then he gently picked up his queen. She put her pale arms about his shoulders and her cheek to his. ‘O, I have found thee,’ she breathed, ‘and I love thee, and I will not let thee go.’

  Sparhawk recognized the passage she was quoting, and it seemed wildly inappropriate. He grew even more troubled. There was obviously a serious mistake here somewhere.

  Chapter 4

  Ehlana was going to be a problem, Sparhawk decided as he removed his armour not long after he had presented himself to his queen the following morning. Though she had never been far from his thoughts during his exile, he found that he had to make a number of difficult adjustments. When he had left, their relative positions had been clearly defined. He was the adult; she was the child. That had changed now, and they were both treading the unfamiliar ground of the monarch and subject relationship. He had been told by Kurik and others that the girl he had raised almost from babyhood had shown remarkable mettle during the few months before Annias had poisoned her. Hearing about it was one thing; experiencing it was another. This is not to say that Ehlana was ever harsh or peremptory with him, for she was not. She felt, he thought – and hoped – a genuine affection for him, and she did not give him direct commands so much as give the impression that she expected him to accede to her wishes. They were functioning in a grey area, and there were all sorts of opportunities for serious missteps on either side.

  Some recent incidents were perfect examples of that sort of thing. In the first place, her request that he sleep in a chamber adjoining hers was, he felt, highly inappropriate, even slightly scandalous. When he had tried to point that out, however, she had laughed at his fears. His armour, he reasoned, had provided some small defence against wagging tongues. Times were troubled, after all, and the Queen of Elenia needed protection. As her champion, Sparhawk had the obligation, the right even, to stand guard over her. When he had presented himself to her that morning once again in full armour, however, she had wrinkled her nose and suggested that he change clothes immediately. He knew that was a serious mistake. The Queen’s Champion in armour was one thing, and no one with a reasonable regard for his own health would be likely to make an issue of Sparhawk’s proximity to the royal person. If he were dressed in doublet and hose, though, that would be quite another thing. The servants were bound to talk, and the gossip of palace servants had a way of spreading throughout the city.

  Sparhawk looked dubiously into the mirror. His doublet was silver-trimmed black velvet, and his hose were grey. The clothing bore some faint resemblance to a uniform, and the black half-boots he had chosen had a more military appearance than the pointed shoes currently in fashion at court. He rejected the slender rapier out of hand and belted on his heavy broadsword instead. The effect was slightly ludicrous, but the presence of the heavier weapon quite clearly stated that Sparhawk was in the queen’s apartments on business.

  ‘That’s absolutely absurd, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana laughed when he returned to the sitting-room where she lay prettily propped up by pillows on a divan and with a blue satin coverlet across her knees.

  ‘My Queen?’ he said coolly.

  ‘The broadsword, Sparhawk. It’s completely out of place with those clothes. Please take it off at once and wear the rapier I ordered to be provided for you.’

  ‘If my appearance offends you, Your Maje
sty, I’ll withdraw. The sword, however, stays where it is. I can’t protect you with a knitting needle.’

  Her grey eyes flashed. ‘You –’ she began hotly.

  ‘My decision, Ehlana,’ he cut across her objections. ‘Your safety is my responsibility, and the steps I take to insure it are not open to discussion.’

  They exchanged a long, hard stare. This would not be the last time their wills would clash, Sparhawk was sure.

  Ehlana’s eyes softened. ‘So stern and unbending, my champion,’ she said.

  ‘Where Your Majesty’s safety is concerned, yes.’ He said it flatly. It was probably best to get that clearly understood right at the outset.

  ‘But why are we arguing, my knight?’ She smiled whimsically, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  ‘Don’t do that, Ehlana,’ he told her, automatically assuming the tutorial manner he had used when she was a little girl. ‘You’re the queen, not some coy chambermaid trying to get her own way. Don’t ask or try to be charming. Command.’

  ‘Would you take off the sword if I commanded you to, Sparhawk?’

  ‘No, but the usual rules don’t apply to me.’

  ‘Who decided that?’

  ‘I did. We can send for the Earl of Lenda if you’d like. He’s well versed in the law, and he can give us his opinion on the matter.’

  ‘But if he decides against you, you’ll ignore him, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s not fair, Sparhawk.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be fair, My Queen.’

  ‘Sparhawk, when we’re alone like this, do you suppose we could dispense with the “Your Majestys” and “My Queens”? I do have a name, after all, and you weren’t afraid to use it when I was a child.’

  ‘As you wish,’ he shrugged.

  ‘Say it, Sparhawk. Say Ehlana. It’s not a hard name, and I’m sure you won’t choke on it.’

  He smiled. ‘All right, Ehlana,’ he gave up. After her defeat on the issue of the sword, she needed a victory of some kind to restore her dignity.