Despite our reservations about Prince Sparhawk, his queen and his companions, however, we must reluctantly concede that their presence in Matherion averted a disaster of the first order. Among the other structures in the imperial compound there is a perfect replica of an Elene castle, which was specifically designed to make Elene dignitaries feel at home. Queen Ehlana and her entourage were housed in that castle, and the relevance of that fact will soon become clear.
In some as yet to be determined fashion, Sir Sparhawk and his cohorts unearthed a plot here in Matherion to overthrow the government. Rather than report their findings to the Ministry of the Interior, however, the Elenes chose to keep their discovery to themselves and to permit the conspirators to pursue their plot to its final conclusion. When an armed mob approached the imperial compound on that fateful night, Prince Sparhawk and his companions simply withdrew into their Elene castle, taking the Emperor and the government inside with them. We Tamuls had not fully understood the fact that architecture can be a weapon. Unbeknownst to his Majestys government, Sparhawks Elenes had modified the castle to some degree and had quietly brought in stores, all the while secretly constructing the brutal implements with which Elenes do war. The mob, bent on the overthrow of the government, swept unimpeded into the imperial compound, and after a brief orgy of looting, it found itself confronted by an impregnable castle filled with ruthless Elene warriors who routinely utilize boiling pitch and fire to defend their strongholds.
The horrors of that night will remain forever etched on the memories of civilized men. As has long been the practise in Tamuli, many of the younger sons of the great houses of Tamul proper had joined with the rebels, more as a lark than out of any serious criminal intent. Always in the past these youthful offenders have been separated from the true criminals, severely reprimanded and then returned to their parents. Protected by rank and family, they have had little to fear from the authorities. Boiling pitch, however, is no respecter of rank, and a high-spirited young aristocrat soaked in naphtha will burn as quickly as the foulest knave from the gutter. Moreover, once the mob had entered the compound, the Elenes closed the main gates, effectively sealing all inside, the innocent as well as the guilty, and further horrors were inflicted on the unfortunates by rampaging Peloi horsemen. The brutal suppression of the uprising was completed when the compound gates were opened once again to admit fully twenty legions of Atans, savages from the mountains who had received no instruction whatsoever in the customary civilities. The Atans systematically butchered all in their paths. Many young nobles, dearly loved students at this very university, were cut down even as they displayed their badges of rank, which should have guaranteed them total immunity. Although decent men the world around must view this unbridled savagery with horror, we must reluctantly congratulate Sir Sparhawk and his companions. The uprising was crushed, nay, annihilated, by these Elene savages and the unrestrained Atans.
His Imperial Majestys government, however, made few friends on that dreadful night. Although the atrocities were clearly of Elene origin, the fact that Sir Sparhawk was here in Matherion at the Emperors express invitation has not been lost on the great houses of Tamul proper.
To further exacerbate the situation, the Elenes have seized upon the uprising as an excuse to send Patriarch Emban, a highranking member of the Elene clergy and ostensibly the spiritual advisor of Queen Ehlana, back to Chyrellos to urge the Archprelate to dispatch his Church Knights to Tamuli in force to a id in 'restoring order'.
Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, has privately confessed that he is growing more and more powerless, able only to watch helplessly as events move at an increasingly quickening pace. He has personally told this writer of his concerns. Foreign Minister Oscagne is clearly using his influence over the Emperor to manipulate the situation. The invitation to Sir Sparhawk to come to Tamuli was obviously but the first step in some wider and more deadly scheme. Utilizing the present turmoil in Tamuli, the Foreign Minister has manipulated the Emperor into providing the very opening Dolmant needed to justify an incursion in force onto the Daresian Continent.
This writer is fully convinced that the Empire faces the gravest threat in her long and glorious history. The willing cooperation of the Atans in the massacre within the imperial compound is clear evidence that not even their loyalty can be depended upon. To whom can we turn for aid? Where in all this world can we find a force sufficient to repel the savage minions of Dolmant of Chyrellos? Must the Empire in all her glory fall before the onslaught of the Elene zealots? I weep, my brothers, for the glory that must die. Fire-domed Matherion, the city of light, the home of truth and beauty, the center of the world, is doomed. The darkness descends, and there is little hope that morning will ever come again.
Part One - Cynesga
1
The seasons were turning, and the long summer was winding down toward autumn. A tenuous mist hung in the streets of fire-domed Matherion. The moon had risen late, and its pale light starkly etched the opalescent towers and domes and imparted a soft glow to the fog lying in the streets. Matherion, all aglow, stood with her feet bathed in shining mist and her pale face lifted to the night sky.
Sparhawk was tired. The tensions of the past week and the climactic events which had resolved them had drained him, but he could not sleep. Wrapped in his black Pandion cloak, he stood on the parapet looking pensively out over the glowing city. He was tired, but his need to evaluate, to assess, to understand, was far too great to permit him to seek his bed and let his mind sink into the soft well of sleep until everything had been put into its proper place.
What are you doing up here, Sparhawk? Khalad spoke quietly, his voice so much like his fathers that Sparhawk turned his head sharply to be sure that Kurik himself had not returned from the House of the Dead to chide him. Khalad was a plain-faced young man with thick shoulders and an abrupt manner. His family had served Sparhawks for three generations now, and Khalad, like his father, customarily addressed his lord with a plain-spoken bluntness.
I couldnt sleep, Sparhawk replied with a brief shrug.
Your wifes got half the garrison out looking for you, you know.
Sparhawk grimaced. Why does she always have to do that?
Its your own fault. You know shes going to send people out after you anytime you go off without telling her where youll be. you could save yourselfand usa lot of time and trouble if youd just tell her in the first place. It seems to me that Ive suggested that several times already.
Dont bully me, Khalad. youre as bad as your father was.
Sometimes good traits breed true. Would you like to go down and tell your wife that youre all right?before she calls in the workmen to start tearing down the walls?
Sparhawk sighed. All right. He turned away from the parapet. Oh, by the way, you probably ought to know that well be making a trip before long.
Oh? Where are we going?
We have to go pick something up. Have a word with the farriers. Faran needs to be re-shod. Hes scuffed his right front shoe down until its as thin as paper.
Thats your fault, Sparhawk. He wouldnt do that if youd sit up straight in your saddle.
We start to get crooked as we grow older. Thats one of the things you have to look forward to.
Thanks. When are we leaving on this trip?
Just as soon as I can come up with a convincing enough lie to persuade my wife to let me go off without her.
Weve got plenty of time, then. Khalad looked out across moon-washed Matherion standing in pale fog with the moonlight awakening the rainbows of fire in her naked shoulders. Pretty, he noted.
Is that the best you can do? You look at the most fabulous city in the world and shrug it off as pretty.
Im not an aristocrat, Sparhawk. I dont have to invent flowery phrases to impress othersor myself. Lets get you inside before the damp settles into your lungs. You crooked old people have delicate health sometimes.
Queen Ehlana, pale and blonde and altogether lovely, was irritated more than angry; Sparhawk saw that immediately. He also saw that she had gone to some trouble to make herself as pretty as possible. Her dressing gown was dark blue satin, her cheeks had been carefully pinched to make them glow, and her hair was artfully arranged to give the impression of winsomely distracted dishevelment. She berated him about his lack of consideration in tones that might easily have made the trees cry and the very rocks shrink from her. Her cadences were measured, and her voice rose, then sank, as she told him exactly how she felt. Sparhawk concealed a smile. Ehlana was speaking to him on two levels at the same time as she stood in the center of the blue-draped royal apartment scolding him. Her words expressed extreme displeasure; her careful preparations, however, said something quite different.
He apologized.
She refused to accept his apology and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Spirited, Sephrenia murmured. The small woman sat out of harms way on the far side of the room, her white Styric robe glowing in the candlelight.
You noticed, Sparhawk smiled.
Does she do that often?
Oh, yes. She enjoys it. What are you doing up so late, little mother?
Aphrael wanted me to speak with you.
Why didnt she just come and talk with me herself? Its not as if she were way over on the other side of town.
Its a formal sort of occasion, Sparhawk. Im supposed to speak for her at times like this.
Was that intended to make sense?
It would if you were Styric. Were going to have to make some substitutions when we go to retrieve Bhelliom. Khalad can fill in for his father without any particular problem, but Tynians decision to go back to Chyrellos with Emban really has Aphrael upset. Can you persuade him to change his mind?
Sparhawk shook his head.