The entrance of the westerners created quite a stir, since the Tamuls had never seen Elene knights before. It was the Queen of Elenia, however, who astonished them the most. The Tamuls were a golden-skinned, dark-haired people, and the pale, blonde queen filled them with awe as her carriage moved almost ceremonially through the streets.
Their first concern, of course, was the wounded. Oscagne assured them that Tamul physicians were among the finest in the world. It appeared, moreover, that the ambassador held a fairly exalted rank in the empire. A house was immediately provided for the injured knights, and a medical staff seemed to materialise at his command. Additional houses were provided for the rest of their company, and those houses were fully staffed with servants who could not understand a single word of the Elenic language.
‘You seem to throw a great deal of weight around, Oscagne,’ Emban said that evening after they had eaten an exotic meal consisting of course after course of unidentifiable delicacies and sometimes startling flavours.
‘I’m not the overweight one, my friend,’ Oscagne smiled. ‘My commission is signed by the emperor, and his hand had the full weight of the entire Daresian continent behind it. He’s ordered that all of Tamuli do everything possible – and even impossible – to make the visit of Queen Ehlana pleasant and convenient. No one ever disobeys his orders.’
‘They must not have reached the Trolls then,’ Ulath said blandly. ‘Of course Trolls have a different view of the world than we do. Maybe they thought Queen Ehlana would be entertained by their welcome.’
‘Does he have to do that?’ Oscagne complained to Sparhawk.
‘Ulath? Yes, I think he does, your Excellency. It’s something in the Thalesian nature – terribly obscure, I’m afraid, and quite possibly perverted.’
‘Sparhawk!’ Ulath protested.
‘Nothing personal there, old boy,’ Sparhawk grinned, ‘Just a reminder that I haven’t yet quite forgiven you for all the times you’ve euchred me into doing the cooking when it wasn’t really my turn.’
‘Hold still,’ Mirtai commanded.
‘You got some of it in my eye,’ Talen accused her.
‘It won’t hurt you. Now hold still.’ She continued to daub the mixture onto his face.
‘What is that, Mirtai?’ Baroness Melidere asked curiously.
‘Saffron. We use it in our cooking. It’s a kind of a spice.’
‘What are we doing here?’ Ehlana asked curiously as she and Sparhawk entered the room to find the Atana spreading the condiment over Talen’s face.
‘We’re modifying your page, my Queen,’ Stragen explained. ‘He has to go out into the streets, and we want him to be unobtrusive. Mirtai’s changing the colour of his skin.’
‘You could do that with magic, couldn’t you, Sparhawk?’ Ehlana asked.
‘Probably,’ he said, ‘and if I couldn’t, Sephrenia certainly could.’
‘Now you tell me,’ Talen said in a slightly bitter tone. ‘Mirtai’s been seasoning me for the past halfhour.’
‘You smell good, though,’ Melidere told him.
‘I didn’t set out to be somebody’s supper. Ouch.’
‘Sorry,’ Alean murmured, carefully disengaging her comb from a snarl in his hair. ‘I have to work the dye in, though, or it won’t look right.’ Alean was applying black dye to the young man’s hair.
‘How long will it take me to wash this yellow stuff off?’ Talen asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Mirtai shrugged. ‘It might be permanent, but it should grow out in a month or so.’
‘I’ll get you for this, Stragen,’ Talen threatened.
‘Hold still,’ Mirtai said again and continued her daubing.
‘We have to make contact with the local thieves,’ Stragen explained. ‘The thieves at Sarsos promised that we’d get a definite answer here in Lebas.’
‘I see a large hole in the plan, Stragen,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Talen doesn’t speak Tamul.’
‘That’s no real problem,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘The chief of the local thieves is a Cammorian.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘We’re very cosmopolitan, Sparhawk. All thieves are brothers, after all, and we recognise the aristocracy of talent. Anyway, as soon as he can pass for a Tamul, Talen’s going to the local thieves’ den to talk with Caalador – that’s the Cammorian’s name. He’ll bring him here, and we’ll be able to talk with him privately.’
‘Why aren’t you the one who’s going?’
‘And get saffron all over my face? Don’t be silly, Sparhawk.’
Caalador the Cammorian was a stocky, red-faced man with curly black hair and an open, friendly countenance. He looked more like a jovial innkeeper than a leader of thieves and cutthroats. His manner was bluff and good humoured, and he spoke in the typical Cammorian drawl and with the slovenly grammar that bespoke back-country origins. ‘So yer the one ez has got all the thieves of Daresia so sore perplexed,’ he said to Stragen when Talen presented him.
‘I’ll have to plead guilty on that score, Caalador,’ Stragen smiled.
‘Don’t never do that, brother. Alluz try’n lie yer way outten thangs.’
‘I’ll try to remember that. What are you doing so far from home, my friend?’
‘I mought ax you the same question, Stragen. It’s a fur piece from here t’ Thalesia.’
‘And quite nearly as far from Cammoria.’
‘Aw, that’s easy explained, m’ friend. I storted out in life ez a poacher, ketchin’ rabbits an’ sich in the bushes on land that weren’t rightly mine, but that’s a sore hard kinda work with lotsa’ risk and mighty slim profit, so I tooken t’ liftin’ chickens outten hen-roosts – chickens not runnin’ near ez fast ez rabbits, especial at night. Then I moved up t’ sheep-stealing – only one night I had me a set-to with a hull passel o’ sheep-dawgs which it wuz ez betrayed me real cruel by not stayin’ bribed.’
‘How do you bribe a dog?’ Ehlana asked curiously.
‘Easiest thang in the world, little lady. Y’ thrun ‘em some meat-scraps t’ keep ther attention. Well, sir, them there dawgs tore into me somethin’ fierce, an’ I lit out – leavin’, misfortunate-like, a hat which it wuz I wuz partial to an’ which it wuz ez could be rekonnized ez mine by half the parish. Now, I’m jist a country boy at hort ‘thout no real citified ways t’ get me by in town, an’ so I tooken t’ sea, an’ t’ make it short, I fetched up on this yere furrin coast an’ beat my way inland, the capting of the ship I wuz a-sailin’ on wantin’ t’ talk t’ me ‘bout some stuff ez had turnt up missin’ fum the cargo hold, y’ know.’ He paused. ‘Have I sufficiently entertained you as yet, Milord Stragen?’ he grinned.
‘Very, very good, Caalador,’ Stragen murmured. ‘Convincing – although it was a trifle overdone.’
‘A failing, Milord. It’s so much fun that I get carried away. Actually, I’m a swindler. I’ve found that posing as an ignorant yokel disarms people. No one in this world is as easy to gull as the man who thinks he’s smarter than you are.’
‘Ohh.’ Ehlana’s tone was profoundly disappointed.
‘Wuz yer Majesty tooken with the iggernent way I wuz atalkin’?’ Caalador asked sympathetically. ‘I’ll do ‘er agin, iff’n yer of a mind – of course it takes a beastly long time to get to the point that way.’
She laughed delightedly. ‘I think you could charm the birds out of the bushes, Caalador,’ she told him.
‘Thank you, your Majesty,’ he said, bowing with fluid grace. Then he turned back to Stragen. ‘Your proposal has baffled our Tamul friends, Milord,’ he said. ‘The demarcation line between corruption and outright theft is very clearly defined in the Tamul culture. Tamul thieves are quite class-conscious, and the notion of actually co-operating with the authorities strikes them as unnatural for some reason. Fortunately, we Elenes are far more corrupt than our simple yellow brothers, and Elenes seem to rise to the top in our peculiar society – natural talent, most likely. We saw the advantages of your proposal immediately
. Kondrak of Darsas was most eloquent in his presentation. You seem to have impressed him enormously. The disturbances here in Tamuli have been disastrous for business, and when we began reciting profit and loss figures to the Tamuls, they started to listen to reason. They agreed to co-operate – grudgingly, I’ll grant you, but they will help you to gather information.’
‘Thank God!’ Stragen said with a vast sigh of relief. ‘The delay was beginning to make me very, very nervous.’
‘Y’d made promises t’ yer queen, an’ y’ wuzn’t shore iff’n y’ could deliver, is that it?’
‘That’s very, very close, my friend.’
‘I’ll give you the names of some people in Matherion.’ Caalador looked around. ‘Private-like, if’n y’ take my meanin’,’ he added. ‘It’s all vury well t’ talk ‘bout lendin’ a helpin’ hand an’ sich, but ‘taint hordly nach’ral t’ be namin’ no names right out in fronta no queens an’ knights an’ sich.’ He grinned impudently at Ehlana. ‘An’ now, yer queenship, how’d y’ like it iff’n I wuz t’ spin y’ a long, long tale ‘bout my advenchoors in the shadowy world o’ crime?’
‘I’d be delighted, Caalador,’ she replied eagerly.
Another of the injured knights died that night, but the two dozen sorely-wounded seemed on the mend. As Oscagne had told them, Tamul physicians were extraordinarily skilled, although some of their methods were strange to Elenes. After a brief conference, Sparhawk and his friends decided to press on to Matherion. Their trek across the continent had yielded a great deal of information, and they all felt that it was time to combine that information with the findings of the Imperial government.
And so they set out from Lebas early one morning and rode south under a kindly summer sky. The countryside was neat, with crops growing in straight lines across weedless fields marked off with low stone walls. Even the trees in the woodlands grew in straight lines, and all traces of unfettered nature seemed to have been erased. The peasants in the fields wore loose-fitting trousers and shirts of white linen and tightly-woven, straw hats that looked not unlike mushroom-tops. Many of the crops grown in this alien countryside were unrecognisable to the Elenes – odd-looking beans and peculiar grains. They passed Lake Sama and saw fishermen casting nets from strange-looking boats with high prows and sterns, boats of which Khalad profoundly disapproved. ‘One good gust of wind from the side would capsize them,’ was his verdict.
They reached Tosa, some sixty leagues to the north of the capital, with that sense of impatience that comes near the end of every long journey.
The weather held fair, and they set out early and rode late each day, counting off every league put behind them. The road followed the coast of the Tamul sea, a low, rolling coast-line where rounded hills rose from broad beaches of white sand and long waves rolled in to break and foam and slither back out into deep blue water.
Eight days – more or less – after they left Tosa, they set up for the night in a park-like grove with an almost holiday air, since Oscagne assured them that they were no more than five leagues from Matherion.
‘We could ride on,’ Kalten suggested. ‘We’d be there by morning.’
‘Not on your life, Sir Kalten,’ Ehlana said adamantly. ‘Start heating water, gentlemen, and put up a tent we can use for bathing. The ladies and I are not going to ride into Matherion with half the dirt of Daresia caked on us – and string some lines so that we can hang our gowns out to air and to let the breeze shake the wrinkles out of them.’ She looked around critically. ‘And then, gentlemen, I want you to see to yourselves and your equipment. I’ll inspect you before we set out tomorrow morning, and I’d better not find one single speck of rust.’
Kalten sighed mournfully. ‘Yes, my Queen,’ he replied in a resigned tone of voice.
They set out the following morning in a formal column with the carriage near the front. Their pace was slow to avoid raising dust, and Ehlana, gowned in blue and crowned with gold and diamonds, sat regally in the carriage, looking for all the world as if she owned everything in sight. There had been one small but intense disagreement before they set out, however. Her Highness, the Royal Princess Danae, had objected violently when told that she would wear a proper dress and a delicate little tiara. Ehlana did not cajole her daughter about the matter, but instead she did something she had never done before. ‘Princess Danae,’ she said quite formally, ‘I am the queen. You will obey me.’
Danae blinked in astonishment. Sparhawk was fairly certain that no one had ever spoken to her that way before. ‘Yes, your Majesty,’ she replied finally in a suitably submissive tone.
Word of their approach had preceded them, of course. Engessa had seen to that, and as they rode up a long hill about mid-afternoon, they saw a mounted detachment of ceremonial troops wearing armour of black lacquered steel inlaid with gold awaiting them at the summit. The honour guard was drawn up in ranks on each side of the road. There were as yet no greetings, and when the column crested the hill, Sparhawk immediately saw why.
‘Dear God!’ Bevier breathed in awed reverence.
A crescent-shaped city embraced a deep blue harbour below. The sun had passed its zenith, and it shone down on the crown of Tamuli. The architecture was graceful, and every building had a dome-like, rounded roof. It was not so large as Chyrellos, but it was not the size which had wrung that reverential gasp from Sir Bevier. The city was dazzling, but its splendour was not the splendour of marble. An opalescent sheen covered the capital; a shifting rainbow-hued fire that blazed beneath the surface of its very stones, a fire that at times blinded the eye with its stunning magnificence.
‘Behold!’ Oscagne intoned quite formally. ‘Behold the seat of beauty and truth! Behold the home of wisdom and power! Behold fire-domed Matherion, the centre of the world!’
PART FOUR
Matherion
Maps
CHAPTER 24
‘It’s been that way since the twelfth century,’ Ambassador Oscagne told them as they were escorted down the hill toward the gleaming city.
‘Was it magic?’ Talen asked him. The young thief’s eyes were filled with wonder.
‘You might call it that,’ Oscagne said wryly, ‘but it was the kind of magic one performs with unlimited money and power rather than with incantations. The eleventh and twelfth centuries were a foolish period in our history. It was the time of the Micaen Dynasty, and they were probably the silliest family to ever occupy the throne. The first Micaen emperor was given an ornamental box of mother-of-pearl – or nacre, as some call it – by an emissary from the Isle of Tega when he was about fourteen years old. History tells us that he would sit staring at it by the hour, paralysed by the shifting colours. He was so enamoured of the nacre he had his throne sheathed in the stuff.’
‘That must have been a fair-sized oyster,’ Ulath noted.
Oscagne smiled. ‘No, Sir Ulath. They cut the shells into little tiles and fit them together very tightly. Then they polish the whole surface for a month or so. It’s a very tedious and expensive process. Anyway, the second Micaen emperor took it one step further and sheathed the columns in the throne-room. The third sheathed the walls, and on and on and on. They sheathed the palace, then the whole royal compound. Then they went after the public buildings. After two hundred years, they’d cemented those little tiles all over every building in Matherion. There are low dives down by the waterfront that are more magnificent than the Basilica of Chyrellos. Fortunately the dynasty died out before they paved the streets with it. They virtually bankrupt the empire and enormously enriched the Isle of Tega in the process. Tegan divers became fabulously wealthy plundering the sea floor.’
‘Isn’t mother-of-pearl almost as brittle as glass?’ Khalad asked him.
‘It is indeed, young sir, and the cement that’s used to stick it to the buildings isn’t all that permanent. A good wind-storm fills the streets with gleaming crumbs and leaves all the buildings looking as if they’ve got the pox. As a matter of pride, the tiles have to be replaced. A moderat
e hurricane can precipitate a major financial crisis in the empire, but we’re saddled with it now. Official documents have referred to “Fire-domed Matherion” for so long that it’s become a cliche. Like it or not, we have to maintain this absurdity.’
‘It is breath-taking, though,’ Ehlana marvelled in a slightly speculative tone of voice.
‘Never mind, dear,’ Sparhawk told her quite firmly.
‘What?’
‘You can’t afford it. Lenda and I almost come to blows every year hammering out the budget as it is.’
‘I wasn’t seriously considering it, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘Well – not too seriously, anyway,’ she added.
The broad avenues of Matherion were lined with cheering crowds that fell suddenly silent as Ehlana’s carriage passed. The citizens stopped cheering as the Queen of Elenia went by because they were too busy grovelling to cheer. The formal grovel involved kneeling and touching the forehead to the paving-stones.
‘What are they doing?’ Ehlana exclaimed.
‘Obeying the emperor’s command, I’d imagine,’ Oscagne replied. ‘That’s the customary sign of respect for the imperial person.’
‘Make them stop!’ she commanded.
‘Countermand an imperial order? Me, your Majesty? Not very likely. Forgive me, Queen Ehlana, but I like my head where it is. I’d rather not have it displayed on a pole at the city gate. It is quite an honour, though. Sarabian’s ordered the population to treat you as his equal. No emperor’s ever done that before.’
‘And the people who don’t fall down on their faces are punished?’ Khalad surmised with a hard edge to his voice.