The best efforts of the empires agents in the west have failed to reveal precisely what took place at Zemoch. It is quite certain that Annias, Martel and Otha himself perished there, but they are of little note in the pageant of history. What is far more relevant is the incontrovertible fact that Azash, Elder God of Styricum and the driving force behind Otha and his Zemochs, also perished, and it is undeniably true that Sir Sparhawk was responsible. We must concede that the levels of magic unleashed at Zemoch were beyond our comprehension and that Sir Sparhawk has powers at his command such as no mortal has ever possessed. As evidence of the levels of violence unleashed in the confrontation, we need only point to the fact that the city of Zemoch was utterly destroyed during the discussions.
Clearly, Zalasta the Styric had been right. Sir Sparhawk, the prince consort of Queen Ehlana, was the one man in all the world capable of dealing with the crisis in Tamuli. Unfortunately, Sir Sparhawk was not a citizen of the Tamul Empire, and thus could not be summoned to the imperial capital at Matherion by the emperor. His Majestys government was in a quandary. The emperor had no authority over this Sparhawk, and to have been obliged to appeal to a man who was essentially a private citizen would have been an unthinkable humiliation.
The situation in the empire was daily worsening, and our need for the intervention of Sir Sparhawk was growing more and more urgent. Of equal urgency was the absolute necessity of maintaining the empires dignity. It was ultimately the Foreign Offices most brilliant diplomat, First Secretary Oscagne, who devised a solution to the dilemma. We will discuss his Excellencys brilliant diplomatic ploy at greater length in the following chapter.
Part One: Eosia
1
It was early spring, and the rain still had the lingering chill of winter. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side of the broad gate and making the stones of the road leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider approached the city. He was wrapped in a heavy travellers cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveler was a big man, a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior.
The big roan shuddered, shaking the rain out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight just outside the wall. An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging negligently from one shoulder came out of the gate house to look inquiringly at the traveler. He was swaying slightly on his feet.
Just passing through, neighbour, the big man said in a quiet voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak.
Oh, the guard said, its you, Prince Sparhawk. I didnt recognise you. Welcome home.
Thank you, Sparhawk replied. He could smell the cheap wine on the mans breath.
Would you like to have me send word to the palace that youve arrived, your Highness?
No. Dont bother them. I can unsaddle my own horse. Sparhawk privately disliked ceremoniesparticularly late at night. He leaned over and handed the guard a small coin. Go back inside, neighbour. Youll catch cold if you stand out here in the rain. He nudged his horse and rode on through the gate.
The district near the city wall was poor, with shabby, run-down houses standing tightly packed beside each other, their second storeys projecting out over the wet littered streets. Sparhawk rode up a narrow, cobbled street with the slow clatter of the big roans steel-shod hooves echoing back from the buildings. The night breeze had come up, and the crude signs identifying this or that tightly-shuttered shop on the street-level floors swung creaking on rusty hooks.
A dog with nothing better to do came out of an alley to bark at them with brainless self-importance. Sparhawks horse turned his head slightly to give the wet cur a long, level stare that spoke eloquently of death. The empty-headed dogs barking trailed off and he cringed back, his rat-like tail between his legs. The horse bore down on him purposefully. The dog whined, then yelped, turned and fled. Sparhawks horse snorted derisively.
That make you feel better, Faran? Sparhawk asked the roan.
Faran flicked his ears.
Shall we proceed then?
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks was streaked and she had a resigned expression on her face.
Faran flicked his ears.
Shall we proceed then?
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks was streaked and she had a resigned expression on her face.
What are you doing out here in the rain, Naween? Sparhawk asked her, reining in his horse.
Ive been waiting for you, Sparhawk. Her tone was arch, and her dark eyes wicked.
Or for anyone else?
Of course. I am a professional, Sparhawk, but I still owe you. Shouldnt we settle up one of these days?
He ignored that. What are you doing working the streets?
Shanda and I had a fight, she shrugged. I decided to go into business for myself.
Youre not vicious enough to be a street-girl, Naween. He dipped his fingers into the pouch at his side, fished out several coins and gave them to her. Here, he instructed. Get a room in an inn someplace and stay off the streets for a few days. Ill talk with Platime, and well see if we can make some arrangements for you .
Her eyes narrowed. You dont have to do that, Sparhawk. I can take care of myself.
Of course you can. Thats why youre standing out here in the rain. Just do it, Naween. Its too late and too wet for arguments.
This is two I owe you, Sparhawk. Are you absolutely sure . . . ? She left it hanging.
Quite sure, little sister. Im married now, remember?
So?
Never mind. Get in out of the weather. Sparhawk rode on, shaking his head. He liked Naween, but she was hopelessly incapable of taking care of herself.
He passed through a quiet square where all the shops and booths were shut down. There were few people abroad tonight, and few business opportunities. He let his mind drift back over the past month and a half. No one in Lamorkand had been willing to talk with him.
Archprelate Dolmant was a wise man, learned in doctrine and Church politics, but he was woefully ignorant of the way the common people thought. Sparhawk had patiently tried to explain to him that sending a Church Knight out to gather information was a waste of time, but Dolmant had insisted, and Sparhawks oath obliged him to obey. And so it was that he had wasted six weeks in the ugly cities of southern Lamorkand where no one had been willing to talk with him about anything more serious than the weather. To make matters even worse, Dolmant had quite obviously blamed the knight for his own blunder.
In a dark side-street where the water dripped monotonously onto the cobblestones from the eaves of the houses, he felt Farans muscles tense. Sorry, he said quietly. I wasnt paying attention. Someone was watching him, and he could clearly sense the animosity which had alerted his horse. Faran was a war-horse, and he could probably sense antagonism in his veins.
Sparhawk muttered a quick spell in the Styric tongue, concealing the gestures which accompanied it beneath his cloak. He released the spell slowly to avoid alerting whoever was watching him.
The watcher was not an Elene. Sparhawk sensed that immediately. He probed further. Then he frowned. There were more than one, and they were not Styrics either. He pulled his thought back, passively waiting for some clue as to their identity. The realization came as a chilling shock. The watchers were not human. He shifted slightly in his saddle, sliding his hand toward his sword-hilt. Then the sense of the watchers was gone, and Faran shuddered with relief. He turned his ugly face to give his master a suspicious look.
Dont ask me, Faran, Sparhawk told him. I dont know either. But that was not entirely true. The touch of the minds in the darkness had been vaguely familiar, and that familiarity had raised questions in Sparhawks mind, questions he did not want to face.
He paused at the palace gate long enough to firmly instruct the soldiers not to wake the whole house, and then he dismounted in the courtyard.
A young man stepped out into the rain-swept yard from the stable. Why didnt you send word that you were coming, Sparhawk? he asked very quietly.
Because I dont particularly like parades and wild celebrations in the middle of the night, Sparhawk told his squire, throwing back the hood of his cloak. What are you doing up so late? I promised your mothers Id make sure you got your rest. Youre going to get me in trouble, Khalad.
Are you trying to be funny? Khalads voice was gruff, abrasive. He took Farans reins. Come inside, Sparhawk. Youll rust if you stand out here in the rain.
Youre as bad as your father was.
Its an old family trait. Khalad led the prince consort and his evil-tempered warhorse into the hay-smelling stable where a pair of lanterns gave off a golden light.
Khalad was a husky young man with coarse black hair and a short-trimmed black beard. He wore tight-fitting black leather breeches, boots and a sleeveless leather vest that left his arms and shoulders bare. A heavy dagger hung from his belt, and steel cuffs encircled his wrists. He looked and behaved so much like his father that Sparhawk felt again a brief, brief pang of loss. I thought Talen would be coming back with you, Sparhawks squire said as he began unsaddling Faran.
Hes got a cold. His motherand yoursdecided that he shouldnt go out in the weather, and I certainly wasnt going to argue with them.
Wise decision, Khalad said, absently slapping Faran on the nose as the big roan tried to bite him. How are they?