‘Good. Then you’re fairly well up-to-date on what’s going on down there.’
Vanion, however, was looking closely at Sephrenia. ‘You’re not looking too well, little mother,’ he said.
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, passing one hand wearily across her eyes.
‘Sit down,’ Kalten said, holding a chair for her.
‘Thank you.’
‘What happened in Dabour, Sparhawk?’ Vanion asked, his eyes intent.
‘We found that physician,’ Sparhawk reported. ‘As it turns out, he did in fact cure some people who’d been poisoned with the same thing Annias gave the Queen.’
‘Thank God!’ Vanion said, letting his breath out explosively.
‘Don’t be too quick about that, Vanion,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘We know what the cure is, but we’ve got to find it before we can use it.’
‘I don’t quite follow you.’
‘The poison is extremely potent. The only way to counteract it is through the use of magic.’
‘Did the physician give you the spell he used?’
‘Apparently there’s no spell involved. There are a number of objects in the world that have enormous power. We have to find one of them.’
He frowned. ‘That could take time,’ he said. ‘People usually hide those things to keep them from being stolen.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you absolutely certain you’ve identified the right poison?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk.
Sparhawk nodded. ‘I got confirmation from Martel,’ he said.
‘Martel? You actually gave him time to talk before you killed him?’
‘I didn’t kill him. The time wasn’t right.’
‘Any time is right for that, Sparhawk.’
‘I felt that way myself when I first saw him, but Sephrenia persuaded the two of us to put away our swords.’
‘I’m terribly disappointed in you, Sephrenia,’ Kalten said.
‘You almost had to have been there to understand,’ she replied.
‘Why didn’t you just get whatever it was the physician used to cure those other people?’ Tynian asked Sparhawk.
‘Because he ground it to a powder, mixed it with wine, and had them drink it.’
‘Is that the way it’s supposed to be done?’
‘No, as a matter of fact, it’s not. Sephrenia spoke to him rather sharply about that.’
‘I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ Vanion said.
‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed, taking a chair. Briefly he told them about Arasham’s ‘holy talisman’ and about the ploy that had got them into the old man’s tent.
‘You were being awfully free with the name of my king, Sparhawk,’ Tynian objected.
‘We don’t necessarily need to tell him about it, do we?’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I needed to use the name of a kingdom a long way from Rendor. Arasham probably has only the vaguest idea of where Deira is.’
‘Why didn’t you say you were from Thalesia, then?’
‘I doubt if Arasham’s ever heard of Thalesia. Anyway, the “holy talisman” turned out to be a fake. Martel was there and he was trying to persuade the old lunatic to postpone his uprising until the time of the election of the new Archprelate.’ He went on to describe the means by which he had overturned the white-haired man’s scheme.
‘My friend,’ Kalten said admiringly, ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘Thank you, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said modestly ‘It did turn out rather well, I thought.’
‘He’s been patting himself on the back ever since we came out of Arasham’s tent,’ Sephrenia said. She looked at Vanion. ‘Kerris died,’ she told him sadly.
Vanion nodded, his face sombre. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘How did you find out?’
‘His ghost came to us to deliver his sword to Sephrenia,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Vanion, we’re going to have to do something about that. She can’t go on carrying all those swords and everything they symbolize. She gets weaker every time somebody gives her another one.’
‘I’m all right, Sparhawk,’ she insisted.
‘I hate to contradict you, little mother, but you’re definitely not all right. It’s all you can do right now to hold up your head. About two more of those swords is all it’s going to take to put you on your knees.’
‘Where are the swords now?’ Vanion asked.
‘We brought a mule with us,’ Kurik replied. ‘They’re in a box in his pack.’
‘Would you get them for me, please?’
‘Right away,’ Kurik said, going to the door.
‘What have you got in mind, Vanion?’ Sephrenia asked suspiciously.
‘I’m going to take the swords.’ He shrugged. ‘And everything that goes with them.’
‘You can’t.’
‘Oh, yes, I can, Sephrenia. I was in the throne room, too, and I know which spell to use. You don’t have to be the one who has to carry them. Any one of us who were there can do it.’
‘You’re not strong enough, Vanion.’
‘When you get down to it, I could carry you and everything you’ve got in your arms, my teacher, and right now you’re more important than I am.’
‘But’ she started.
He held up his hand. ‘The discussion is ended, Sephrenia. I am the preceptor. With or without your permission, I’m taking those swords away from you.’
‘You don’t know what it means, my dearest one. I won’t let you.’ Her face was suddenly wet with tears, and she wrung her hands in an uncharacteristic display of human emotion. ‘I won’t let you.’
‘You can’t stop me,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘I can cast the spell without your help, if I have to. If you want to keep your spells a secret, little mother, you shouldn’t chant them out loud, you know. You should know by now that I’ve got a very retentive memory.’
She stared at him. ‘I’m shocked at you, Vanion,’ she declared. ‘You were not so unkind when you were young.’
‘Life is filled with these little disappointments, isn’t it?’ he said urbanely.
‘I can stop you,’ she cried, still wringing her hands. ‘You forget just how much stronger I am than you are.’ There was a shrill triumph in her voice.
‘Of course you are. That’s why I’d have to call in help. Could you deal with ten knights all chanting in unison?—or fifty?—or half a thousand?’
‘That’s unfair!’ she exclaimed. ‘I did not know that you would go this far, Vanion and I trusted you.’
‘And well you should, dear one,’ he said, assuming suddenly the superior role, ‘for I will not permit you to make this sacrifice. I’ll force you to submit to me, because you know I’m right. You’ll release the burden to me, because you know that what you have to do is more important than anything else right now, and you’ll sacrifice anything to do what we both know must be done.’
‘Dear one,’ she began in an agonized voice ‘My dearest one—’
‘As I said,’ he cut her off, ‘the discussion is ended.’
There was a long and awkward silence as Sephrenia and Vanion stood with their eyes locked on each other’s face.
‘Did the physician in Dabour give you any hints about which objects might cure the Queen?’ Bevier asked Sparhawk a bit uneasily.
‘He mentioned a spear in Daresia, several rings in Zemoch, a bracelet somewhere in Pelosia, and a jewel on the royal crown of Thalesia.’
Ulath grunted. ‘The Bhelliom.’
‘That solves it, then,’ Kalten said. ‘We go to Thalesia, borrow Wargun’s crown, and come back here with it.’
‘Wargun doesn’t have it,’ Ulath told him.
‘What do you mean, Wargun doesn’t have it? He’s the King of Thalesia, isn’t he?’
‘That crown was lost five hundred years ago.’
‘Could we possibly find it?’
‘Almost anything is possible, I suppose,’ the big Thalesian replied, ‘but people have been looking for it for five hundred years without much success. Do we have that kind of time?
’
‘What is this Bhelliom?’ Tynian asked him.
‘The legends say that it’s a very large sapphire carved in the shape of a rose It’s supposed to have the power of the Troll-Gods in it.’
‘Does it?’
‘I wouldn’t know I’ve never seen it. It’s lost, remember?’
‘There are bound to be other objects,’ Sephrenia declared. ‘We live in a world with magic all around us. In all of the aeons since the beginning of time, I’d imagine that the Gods have seen fit to create any number of things with the kind of power we’re looking for.’
‘Why not just make one?’ Kalten asked. ‘Get a group of people together and have them cast a spell on something.
some jewel or stone or ring or whatever?’
‘Now I can see why you never became proficient in the secrets, Kalten.’ Sephrenia sighed. ‘You don’t even understand the basic principles. All magic comes from the Gods, not from us. They allow us to borrow if we ask them in the proper fashion—but they won’t let us make the kind of thing we’re looking for in this case. The power that’s instilled in these objects is a part of the power of the Gods themselves, and they don’t sacrifice that sort of thing lightly.’
‘Oh,’ the blond man said. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You should have I told you about it when you were fifteen.’
‘I must have forgotten.’
‘About all we can do is start looking,’ Vanion said. ‘I’ll send word to the other preceptors. We’ll have every Church Knight in all four orders working on it.’
‘And I’ll get word to the Styrics in the mountains,’ Sephrenia added. ‘There are many such things known only to Styricum.’
‘Did anything interesting happen in Madel?’ Sparhawk asked Kalten.
‘Not really,’ Kalten replied. ‘We caught a few glimpses of Krager, but always from a distance. By the time we got close to where he’d been, he’d given us the slip. He’s a tricky little weasel, isn’t he?’
Sparhawk nodded. ‘That’s what made me finally realize that he was being used as bait. Could you get any idea of what he was doing?’
‘No. We could never get close enough. He was up to something, though. He was scurrying around Madel like a mouse in a cheese factory.’
‘Did Adus drop out of sight?’
‘More or less. Talen and Berit saw him once—when he and Krager rode out of town.’
‘Which way were they going?’ Sparhawk asked the boy.
Talen shrugged. ‘They were headed back towards Borrata the last time we saw them,’ he said. ‘They might have changed direction once they got out of sight, though.’
‘The big one had some bandages on his head, Sir Sparhawk,’ Berit reported, ‘and his arm was in a sling.’
Kalten laughed. ‘It seems that you got a bigger piece of him than either one of us realized, Sparhawk,’ he said.
‘I was trying,’ Sparhawk said grimly. ‘Getting rid of Adus is one of my main goals in life.’
The door opened, and Kurik came back in carrying the wooden case containing the swords of the fallen knights.
‘You insist on doing this, Vanion?’ Sephrenia asked.
‘I don’t see that there’s any choice,’ he replied. ‘You have to be fit to move around. I can do my job sitting down—or lying in bed—or dead, probably, if it comes to that.’
The movement was but a faint one of Sephrenia’s eyes. She looked for the briefest instant at Flute, and the little girl gravely nodded her head. Sparhawk was positive that only he had witnessed the exchange; for some reason it troubled him profoundly.
‘Only take the swords one at a time,’ Sephrenia instructed Vanion. ‘The weight is considerable, and you’ll need to give yourself time to get used to it.’
‘I’ve held swords before, Sephrenia.’
‘Not like these, and it’s not the weight of the swords I’m talking about. It’s the weight of all that goes with them.’ She opened the case and took out the sword of Sir Parasim, the young knight whom Adus had killed in Arcium. She took the blade and gravely extended the hilt across her forearm to Vanion.
He rose and took it from her. ‘Correct me if I make any mistakes,’ he said and started to chant in Styric Sephrenia raised her voice with his, though her tone was softer, less certain, and her eyes were filled with doubt. The spell rose to a climax, and Vanion suddenly sagged, his face turning grey ‘God!’ he gasped, almost dropping the sword.
‘Are you all right, dear one?’ Sephrenia asked sharply, reaching out and touching him.
‘Let me get my breath for a minute,’ Vanion said. ‘How can you stand this, Sephrenia?’
‘We do what we must,’ she replied. ‘I feel better already, Vanion. There’s no need for you to take the other two.’
‘Yes, there is. We’re going to lose another of the twelve of us any day now, and his ghost will deliver another sword to you. I’m going to see to it that your hands are free when it comes.’ He straightened. ‘All right,’ he said grimly ‘Give me the next one.’
Chapter 25
Sparhawk found that he was unusually tired that evening. The rigours of what had taken place in Rendor seemed to catch up with him all at once, but despite his weariness, he tossed and turned fitfully on the narrow cot in the cell-like room. The moon was full, and it cast its pale light through the narrow window directly into Sparhawk’s face. He muttered a sour oath and covered his head with his blanket to hide his eyes from the light.
Perhaps he dozed, or perhaps not. He hovered on the verge of sleep for what seemed hours; but, try though he might to slip through that soft door, he could not. He threw off his blanket and sat up.
It was spring, or very nearly. It seemed that the winter had been interminable, but what had he really accomplished? The months had slipped away, and with them Ehlana’s life. Was he really any closer to freeing her from her crystal entombment? In the cold light of the midnight moon, he suddenly came face to face with a chilling thought. Might it not be entirely possible that all of the scheming and the complicated plots of Annias and Martel had been with but a single aim—to delay him, to fill the time Ehlana had left with senseless activity? He had been dashing from crisis to crisis since he had returned to Cimmura. Perhaps the plots of his enemies had not been intended to succeed. Perhaps their only purpose had been delay He felt somehow that he was being manipulated and that whoever was behind it was taking pleasure in his anger and frustration, toying with him with cruel amusement. He lay back again to consider that.
It was a sudden chill that awoke him, a cold that seemed to penetrate to his bones, and he knew even before he opened his eyes that he was not alone.
An armoured figure stood at the foot of his cot, with the moonlight gleaming on the enamelled black steel. The familiar charnelhouse reek filled the room. ‘Awaken, Sir Sparhawk,’ the figure commanded in a chillingly hollow tone ‘I would have words with thee.’
Sparhawk sat up. ‘I’m awake, brother,’ he replied. The spectre raised its visor, and Sparhawk saw a familiar face ‘I’m sorry, Sir Tanis,’ he said.
‘All men die,’ the ghost intoned, ‘and my death was not without purpose That thought alone doth comfort me in the House of the Dead. Attend to me, Sparhawk, for my time with thee must be short. I bring thee instructions. This is the purpose for which I died.’
‘I will hear thee, Tanis,’ Sparhawk promised.
‘Go thou then this very night to the crypt which doth lie beneath the cathedral of Cimmura. There shalt thou meet another restless shade which will instruct thee further in the course which thou must follow.’
‘Whose shade?’
‘Thou shalt know him, Sparhawk.’
‘I will do as you command, my brother.’
The spectre at the foot of the cot drew its sword. ‘And now I must leave thee, Sparhawk,’ it said. ‘I must deliver up my sword’ere I return to the endless silence.’
Sparhawk sighed. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘Hail then
, brother, and farewell,’ the ghost concluded. ‘Remember me in thy prayers.’ Then the armoured figure turned and walked silently from the room.
The towers of the cathedral of Cimmura blotted out the stars, and the pale moon lay low on the western horizon, filling the streets with silvery light and inky black shadows. Sparhawk moved silently down a narrow alleyway and stopped in the dense shadow at its mouth. He was directly across the street from the main doors of the cathedral. Beneath his traveller’s cloak he wore mail, and his plain sword was belted at his waist.
He felt a peculiar detachment as he stared across the street at the pair of church soldiers standing guard at the cathedral door. Their red tunics were leeched of all colour by the pale moon, and they leaned inattentively against the stones of the cathedral wall.
Sparhawk considered the situation. The guarded door was the only way into the cathedral. All others would be locked. By tradition, however, if not by Church law, the locking of the main doors of any church was forbidden.
The guards would be sleepy and far from alert. The street was not wide. One quick rush would eliminate the problem. Sparhawk straightened and reached for his sword. Then he stopped. Something seemed wrong with the notion. He was not squeamish, but it seemed somehow that he should not go to this meeting with blood on his hands. Then, too, he decided, two bodies lying on the cathedral steps would announce louder than words that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to get inside.
All he really needed was about a minute to cross the street and slip through the doors. He thought about it. What would be most likely to pull the soldiers from their posts? He came up with a half-dozen possibilities before he finally settled on one. He smiled when the notion came to him. He ran over the spell in his mind, making sure that he had all the words right, and then he began to mutter under his breath in Styric.
The spell was fairly long. There were a number of details he wanted to get exactly right. When it was done, he raised his hand and released it.
The figure that appeared at the end of the street was that of a woman. She wore a velvet cloak with its hood thrown back, and her long blonde hair tumbled down her back. Her face was lovely beyond belief. She walked towards the doors of the cathedral with a seductive grace and, when she reached the steps, she stopped, looking up at the now fully awake pair of guards. She did not speak. Speech would have unnecessarily complicated the spell, and she did not need to say anything. Slowly, she unfastened the neck of her cloak and then opened it. Beneath the cloak, she was naked.