Ive misjudged you, Sparhawk, Sephrenia said in her melodic voice. You have the soul of a poet.
Not really, Sephrenia. Its just that you need to get the feel of Rendor to understand whats happening there. The sun is like the blows of a hammer on the top of your head, and the air is so hot and dry that it leaves no time for thought. Rendors seek simplistic answers. The sun doesnt give them time for pondering. That might explain what happened to Eshand in the first place. A simple shepherd with his brains half baked out isnt the logical receptacle for any kind of profound epiphany. Its the aggravation of the sun, I think, that gave the Eshandist Heresy its impetus in the first place. Those poor fools would have accepted any idea, no matter how absurd, just for the chance to move around and perhaps find some shade.
Thats a novel explanation for a movement that plunged all of Eosia into three centuries of warfare, Vanion observed.
You have to experience it, Sparhawk told him, returning to his seat. Anyway, one of those sun-baked enthusiasts arose at Dabour about twenty years ago.
Arasham? Vanion surmised. Weve heard of him.
Thats what he calls himself, Sparhawk replied. He was probably born with a different name, though. Religious leaders tend to change their names fairly often to fit the prejudices of their followers. From what I understand, Arasham is an unlettered, unwashed fanatic with only a tenuous grip on reality. Hes about eighty or so, and he sees things and hears voices. His followers have less intelligence than their sheep. Theyd gladly attack the kingdoms of the north if they could only figure out which way north is. Thats a matter of serious debate in Rendor. Ive seen a few of them. These heretics that send the members of the Hierocracy in Chyrellos trembling to their beds every night are little more than howling desert dervishes, poorly armed and with no military training. Frankly, Vanion, Id worry more about the next winter storm than any kind of resurgence of the Eshandist Heresy in Rendor.
Thats blunt enough.
Ive just wasted ten years of my life on a nonexistent danger. Im sure youll forgive a certain amount of discontent about the whole thing.
Patience will come to you, Sparhawk. Sephrenia smiled. Once you have reached maturity.
I thought that I already had.
Not by half.
He grinned at her then. Just how old are you, Sephrenia? he asked.
Her look was filled with resignation. What is it about you Pandions that makes you all ask that same question? You know Im not going to answer you. Cant you just accept the fact that Im older than you are and let it go at that?
Youre also older than I am, Vanion added. You were my teacher when I was no older than those boys who guard my door.
And do I look so very, very old?
My dear Sephrenia, youre as young as spring and as wise as winter. Youve ruined us all, you know. After weve known you, the fairest of maidens have no charm for us.
Isnt he nice? She smiled at Sparhawk. Surely no man alive has so beguiling a tongue.
Try him sometime when youve just missed a pass with the lance, Sparhawk replied sourly. He shifted his shoulders under the weight of his armour. What else is afoot? Ive been gone a long time and Im hungry for news.
Othas mobilizing, Vanion told him. The word thats coming out of Zemoch is that hes looking eastward towards Daresia and the Tamul Empire, but Ive got a few doubts about that.
And I have more than a few, Sephrenia agreed. The kingdoms of the west are suddenly awash with Styric vagabonds. They camp at crossroads and hawk the rude goods of Styricum, but no local Styric band acknowledges them as members. For some reason the Emperor Otha and his cruel master have inundated us with watchers. Azash has driven the Zemochs to attack the west before. Something lies hidden here that he desperately wants, and hes not going to find it in Daresia.
There have been Zemoch mobilizations before, Sparhawk said, leaning back. Nothing ever came of it.
I think that this time might be a bit more serious, Vanion disagreed. When he gathered his forces before, it was always on the border; as soon as the four militant orders moved into Lamorkand to face him, he disbanded his armies. He was testing us, nothing more. This time, though, hes massing his troops back behind the mountains out of sight, so to speak.
Let him come, Sparhawk said bleakly. We stopped him five hundred years ago, and we can do it again if we have to.
Vanion shook his head. We dont want a repetition of what happened after the battle at Lake Randera a century of famine, pestilence and complete social collapse no, my friend, that we dont want.
If we can avoid it, Sephrenia added. I am Styric, and I know even better than you Elenes just how totally evil the Elder God Azash is. If he comes west again, he must be stopped no matter what the cost.
Thats what the Church Knights are here for, Vanion said. Right now, about all we can do is keep our eyes on Otha.
Ive just remembered something, Sparhawk said. When I was riding into town last night, I saw Krager.
Here in Cimmura? Vanion asked, sounding surprised. Do you think Martel could be with him?
Probably not. Kragers usually Martels errand boy. Adus is the one who has to be kept on a short chain. He squinted. How much did you hear about the incident in Cippria? he asked them.
We heard that Martel attacked you, Vanion replied. Thats about all.
There was a bit more to it than that, Sparhawk told him. When Aldreas sent me to Cippria, I was supposed to report to the Elenian consul there a diplomat who just happens to be the cousin of the Primate Annias. Late one night, he summoned me. I was on my way to his house when Martel, Adus, and Krager along with a fair number of local cutthroats came charging out of a side street. Theres no way that they could have known that Id be passing that way unless someone had told them. Put that together with the fact that Kragers back in Cimmura, where theres a price on his head, and you start to come up with some interesting conclusions.
You think that Martel is working for Annias?
Its a possibility, wouldnt you say? Annias wasnt very happy about the way my father forced Aldreas to give up the notion of marrying his own sister, and its entirely possible that he felt that hed have a freer hand here in Elenia if the family of Sparhawk became extinct in a back alley in Cippria. Of course, Martel has his own reasons for disliking me. I really think you made a mistake, Vanion. You could have saved us all a lot of trouble if you hadnt ordered me to withdraw my challenge.
Vanion shook his head. No, Sparhawk, he said. Martel had been a brother in our order, and I didnt want you two trying to kill each other. Besides, I couldnt be entirely sure whod win. Martel is very dangerous.
So am I.
Im not taking any unnecessary chances with you, Sparhawk. Youre too valuable.
Well, its too late to worry about it now.
Well, its too late to worry about it now.
What are your plans?
Im supposed to stay here in the chapterhouse, but I think Ill drift around the city a bit and see if I can run across Krager again. If I can connect him with anybody whos working for Annias, Ill be able to answer a few burning questions.
Perhaps you should wait a bit, Sephrenia advised. Kaltens on his way back from Lamorkand.
Kalten? I havent seen him in years.
Shes right, Sparhawk, Vanion agreed. Kaltens a good man in tight corners, and the streets of Cimmura can be just as dangerous as the alleys of Cippria.
Whens he likely to arrive?
Vanion shrugged. Soon, I think. It could even be today.
Ill wait until he gets here. An idea came to Sparhawk then. He smiled at his teacher and rose to his feet.
What are you doing, Sparhawk? she asked him suspiciously.
Oh, nothing, he replied. He began to speak in Styric, weaving his fingers in the air in front of him as he did so. When he had built the spell, he released it and held out his hand. There came a humming vibration, followed by a dimming of the candles and a lowering of the flames in the fireplace. When the light came up again, he was holding a bouquet of violets. For you, little mother, he said, bowing slightly and offering the flowers to her, because I love you.
Why, thank you, Sparhawk. She smiled, taking them. You were always the most thoughtful of my pupils. You mispronounced staratha, though, she added critically. You came very close to filling your hand with snakes.
Ill practise, he promised.
Do.
There was a respectful knock at the door.
Yes? Vanion called.
The door opened and one of the young knights stepped inside. Theres a messenger from the palace outside, Lord Vanion. He says that he has been commanded to speak with Sir Sparhawk.
Now what do they want? Sparhawk muttered.
Youd better send him in, Vanion told the young knight.
At once, my Lord. The knight bowed slightly and went out again.
The messenger had a familiar face. His blond hair was still elegantly curled. His saffron-coloured doublet, lavender hose, maroon shoes and apple-green cloak still clashed horribly. The young fops face, however, sported an entirely new embellishment. The very tip of his pointed nose was adorned with a large and extremely painful-looking boil. He was trying without much success to conceal the excrescence with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. He bowed elegantly to Vanion. My Lord Preceptor, he said, the Prince Regent sends his compliments.
And please, convey mine back to him, Vanion replied.
Be assured that I shall, my Lord. The elegant fellow then turned to Sparhawk. My message is for you, Sir Knight, he declared.
Say on then, Sparhawk answered with exaggerated formality. My ears hunger for your message.
The fop ignored that. He removed a sheet of parchment from inside his doublet and read grandly from it. By royal decree, you are commanded by his Highness to journey straightaway to the motherhouse of the Pandion Knights at Demos, there to devote yourself to your religious duties until such time as he sees fit to summon you once again to the palace.
I see, Sparhawk replied.
Do you understand the message, Sir Sparhawk? the fop asked, handing over the parchment.
Sparhawk did not bother to read the document. It was quite clear. You have completed your mission in a fashion which does you credit. Sparhawk peered at the perfumed young fellow. If you dont mind some advice, neighbour, you ought to have that boil looked at by a surgeon. If it isnt lanced soon, its going to keep growing to the point where you wont be able to see around it.
The fop winced at the word lanced. Do you really think so, Sir Sparhawk? he asked plaintively, lowering his handkerchief. Wouldnt a poultice, perhaps
Sparhawk shook his head. No, neighbour, he said with false sympathy. I can almost guarantee you that a poultice wont work. Be brave, my man. Lancing is the only solution.
The courtiers face grew melancholy. He bowed and left the room.
Did you do that to him, Sparhawk? Sephrenia asked suspiciously.
Me? He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence.
Somebody did. That eruption is not natural.
My, my, he said. Imagine that.
Well? Vanion said. Are you going to obey the bastards orders?
Of course not, Sparhawk snorted. Ive got too many things to do here in Cimmura.
Youll make him very angry.
So?
Chapter 4
The sky had turned threatening again when Sparhawk emerged from the chapterhouse and clanked down the stairs into the courtyard. The novice came from the stable door leading Faran, and Sparhawk looked thoughtfully at him. He was perhaps eighteen and quite tall. He had knobby wrists that stuck out of an earth-coloured tunic that was too small for him. Whats your name, young man? Sparhawk asked him.
Berit, my Lord.
What are your duties here?
I havent been assigned anything specific as yet, my Lord. I just try to make myself useful.
Good. Turn around.
My Lord?
I want to measure you.
Berit looked puzzled, but he did as he was told. Sparhawk measured him across the shoulders with his hands. Although he looked bony, Berit was actually a husky youth. Youll do fine, Sparhawk told him.
Berit turned, baffled.
Youre going to be making a trip, Sparhawk told him. Gather up what youll need while I go get the man whos going to go with you.
Yes, my Lord, Berit replied, bowing respectfully.
Sparhawk took hold of the saddlebow and hauled himself up onto Farans back. Berit handed him the reins, and Sparhawk nudged the big roan into a walk. They crossed the courtyard, and Sparhawk responded to the salutes of the knights at the gate. Then he rode on across the drawbridge and through the east gate of the city.
The streets of Cimmura were busy now. Workmen carrying large bundles wrapped in mud-coloured burlap grunted their way through the narrow lanes, and merchants dressed in conventional blue stood in the doorways of their shops with their brightly coloured wares piled around them. An occasional wagon clattered along the cobblestones. Near the intersection of two narrow streets, a squad of church soldiers in their scarlet livery marched with a certain arrogant precision. Sparhawk did not give way to them, but instead bore down on them at a steady trot. Grudgingly, they separated and stood aside as he passed. Thank you, neighbours, Sparhawk said pleasantly.
They did not answer him.
He reined Faran in. I said, thank you, neighbours.
Youre welcome, one of them replied sullenly.
Sparhawk waited.
My Lord, the soldier added grudgingly.
Much better, friend. Sparhawk rode on.
The gate to the inn was closed, and Sparhawk leaned over and banged on its timbers with his gauntleted fist. The porter who swung it open for him was not the same knight who had admitted him the evening before. Sparhawk swung down from Farans back and handed him the reins.