Delada swallowed hard as the despairing screams of the burning men came shockingly up from the base of the wall. ‘Does that happen very often?’ he asked in a sick voice.
‘We hope so,’ Sparhawk said bleakly. ‘Every one of them we kill outside the walls is one less who gets inside.’ Sparhawk wove a quick spell and spoke to Sephrenia, who was waiting inside the chapterhouse. ‘We’re just about ready to engage out here, little mother,’ he reported. ‘Any hints of Martel yet?’
‘Nothing, dear one.’ Her voice seemed almost to whisper in his ear. ‘Be very careful, Sparhawk. Aphrael will be very cross with you if you allow yourself to be killed.’
‘Tell her she’s welcome to lend a hand, if she’d like.’
‘Sparhawk!’ The tone was half-shocked and half-amused.
‘To whom were you speaking, Sir Sparhawk?’ Delada’s voice was baffled, and he was looking around to see if anyone were near them.
‘You’re relatively devout, aren’t you, Colonel?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘I’m a son of the Church, Sparhawk.’
‘It might upset you if I told you, then. The militant orders have permission to go beyond what’s allowed to ordinary members of the Elene faith. Why don’t we just let it go at that.’
Despite the best efforts of the defenders, several towers reached the wall, and the drawbridges at their tops swung down onto the battlements. One of the towers touched the wall just beside the gate, and Sparhawk’s friends were ready for it. Tynian led their charge as they dashed across the drawbridge and into the tower itself. Sparhawk held his breath as his friends struggled inside the tower out of his sight. The sounds from within bespoke the ferocity of the fight. There was the crash of arms and screams and groans. Then Tynian and Kalten came back out, ran across the thick-planked drawbridge and seized a large bubbling cauldron of boiling pitch and naphtha in their steel-clad arms. They lurched back across the drawbridge with it and disappeared inside again. The screams from within suddenly intensified as they dumped the pitch down into the faces of the men on ladders inside the tower.
The knights emerged from the tower. When Kalten reached the wall, he took up a torch and flipped it into the structure with a negligent-appearing toss. The tower acted much like a chimney. Black smoke billowed from the gaping doorway the drawbridge had covered, and then dark orange flame boiled out through the roof. The screaming inside the tower increased, and then it died out.
The counter-attacks of the knights along the walls were sufficient to ward off the first wave of attackers, but the defence of the battlements had cost many lives. The sheets of arrows and the heavier bolts from the crossbows had raked the tops of the walls in a virtual storm, and many of the church soldiers and not a few of the knights had fallen prey to them.
‘They’ll come again?’ Delada asked sombrely.
‘Of course,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘The siege engines will pound the walls for a time now, and then more towers will come across that open area.’
‘How long can we hold out?’
‘Four – maybe five of those attacks. Then the mangonels will start to break down the walls. The fighting will start inside the city at that point.’
‘We can’t possibly win, can we, Sparhawk?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Chyrellos is doomed then?’
‘Chyrellos was doomed the moment those two armies appeared, Delada. The strategy behind the attack on the city was very thorough – you might almost say brilliant.’
“That’s a peculiar attitude under these circumstances, Sparhawk.’
‘It’s called professionalism. One’s supposed to admire the genius of one’s opponent. It’s a pose, of course, but it helps to build a certain abstraction. Last stands are very gloomy, and you need something to keep your spirits up.’
Then Berit clambered up through the trap-door on the roof upon which Sparhawk and Delada stood. The novice’s eyes were wide, seemingly slightly unfocused, and his head was jerking. ‘Sir Sparhawk!’ he exclaimed, his voice unnecessarily loud.
‘Yes, Berit?’
‘What did you say?’
Sparhawk looked at him more closely. ‘What’s the matter, Berit?’ he asked.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Sparhawk. I can’t hear you. They rang the bells in the Basilica when the attack started. All the bells are up in the cupola on top of the dome. You never heard so much noise.’ Berit reached up and thumped the heel of his hand against the side of his head.
Sparhawk took him by the shoulders and looked directly into his face. ‘What’s happening?’ he bellowed, exaggeratedly mouthing the words.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sir Sparhawk. The bells sort of rattled me. There are thousands of torches coming across the meadows on the other side of the River Arruk. I thought you ought to know.’
‘Reinforcements?’ Delada said hopefully.
‘I’m sure they are,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but for which army?’
There was a heavy, booming crash behind them, and a fair-sized house collapsed in on itself as a huge boulder caved in its roof.
‘God!’ Delada exclaimed. ‘That boulder was enormous! These walls will never withstand that kind of pounding.’
‘No,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘It’s time for us to go to the cellar, Colonel.’
They went through the trap-door and started down the ladder.
‘They started throwing those big rocks earlier than you thought, Sparhawk,’ the colonel noted. ‘That’s sort of a good sign, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow that.’
‘Wouldn’t that suggest that the army to the west is a relief column for us?’
‘The troops outside our walls are mercenaries, Colonel. They could be in a hurry to get through our walls so that they won’t have to share the loot with their friends out there on the other side of the river.’
The lowest cellars of the Basilica were constructed of gigantic stones that had been laboriously chiselled and then carefully laid in long, low barrel vaults supported here and there by massive buttresses. The weight of the entire structure towering above rested entirely upon those mighty arches. It was dim and cool and quite damp in these cellars lying even below the crypt where the bones of long-dead Churchmen mouldered in dark silence.
‘Kurik!’ Sparhawk hissed to his squire as he and Delada passed the barred gate of an area set off from the rest of the cellar where Sparhawk’s squire and Delada’s guardsmen waited.
Kurik came to the bars on quiet feet.
‘The mangonels have started,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘and there’s a big army coming in from the west.’
‘You’re just full of good news, aren’t you, My Lord?’
Kurik paused. ‘This isn’t really a very nice place in here, Sparhawk. There are chains and manacles hanging from the walls, and there’s a place towards the back that would have warmed Bellina’s heart.’
Sparhawk looked briefly at Delada.
Delada coughed. ‘It’s no longer used,’ he said shortly. ‘There was a time when the Church would go to any lengths to stamp out heresy. Interrogations were conducted down here and confessions obtained. It wasn’t one of the brighter chapters in the history of our holy mother.’
‘Some stories about that have leaked out,’ Sparhawk nodded. ‘Wait here with the guardsmen, Kurik. The colonel and I have to go and get into place before either of our visitors arrive. When I whistle for the attack, don’t wait around, because I’ll really need you at that point.’
‘Have I ever let you down, Sparhawk?’
‘No, as a matter of fact, you haven’t. Sorry I even mentioned it.’ He led the colonel deeper into the labyrinthine cellar. ‘We’re going to go into a fairly large room, Colonel,’ he explained. ‘There are all sorts of nooks and crannies along the walls. The young fellow who found the place brought me down here and showed it to me. He tells me that the two men we’re interested in usually meet there. You’ll be able to identify at least one of them. Hopeful
ly, their conversation will identify the other. Pay very close attention to what they say, please. As soon as the conversation’s over, I want you to go directly back to your quarters and lock your door. Don’t open it for anybody but me, Lord Vanion or Patriarch Emban. If it makes you feel better, for a brief period of time, you’ll be the most important man in Chyrellos, and we’ll set whole armies to protecting you.’
‘This is all very mysterious, Sparhawk.’
‘It has to be for now, my friend. I hope that when you hear the conversation, you’ll understand why. Here’s the door.’ Sparhawk carefully pushed the rotting door open, and the two of them entered a large, dark chamber festooned with cobwebs. A rough table and two chairs sat near the door, and the thick stub of a single candle sat on a cracked saucer in the centre of the table. Sparhawk led the way to the rear of the chamber and back into a deep alcove. ‘Take off your helmet,’ he whispered, ‘and wrap your cloak around your breastplate. We don’t want any chance of reflection to warn anybody that we’re here.’
Delada nodded.
‘I’m going to blow out our candle now,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘and we’ll have to be absolutely quiet. If we need to talk, we’ll have to whisper very softly into each other’s ears.’ He blew out the candle, bent and laid it on the floor.
They waited. Somewhere far off in the darkness, water was dripping slowly. No matter how tight any drain may seem, there is always seepage, and water, like smoke, will always find the place it is seeking.
It might have been five minutes – or an hour – or even a century, when a muffled clinking came from the very far end of the vast cellar. ‘Soldiers,’ Sparhawk breathed to Delada. ‘Let’s hope the man leading them doesn’t bring them all inside this place.’
‘Indeed,’ Delada breathed back.
Then a dark-robed and hooded man slipped through the doorway, shielding a single candle with one hand. He lit the candle on the table, blew out his own and threw back his hood.
‘I should have known,’ Delada whispered to Sparhawk. ‘It’s the Primate of Cimmura.’
‘It is indeed, my friend. It is indeed.’
The soldiers came nearer. They were making some effort to muffle the clinking of their equipment, but soldiers as a group have never been much good at stealth. ‘This is far enough,’ a familiar voice commanded. ‘Draw back a little way. I’ll call if I need you.’
There was a pause, and then Martel entered. He was carrying his helmet, and his white hair shone in the light of the single guttering candle on the table in front of the Primate. ‘Well, Annias,’ he drawled, ‘we made a good try, but the game’s played out.’
‘What are you talking about, Martel?’ Annias snapped. ‘Everything’s going our way.’
‘It changed direction on us about an hour ago.’
‘Stop trying to be cryptic, Martel. Tell me what’s happening.’
“There’s an army marching in from the west, Annias.’
‘That other wave of Cammorian mercenaries you told me about?’
‘I rather suspect that those mercenaries have been ground into dog-meat by now, Annias.’ Martel unbuckled his sword-belt. ‘Hate to break it to you this way, old boy, but that’s Wargun’s army marching in from the west. They stretch out as far as the eye can reach.’
Sparhawk’s heart leapt with exultation.
‘Wargun?’ Annias cried. ‘You said you’d taken care of keeping him away from Chyrellos.’
‘Thought I had, old boy, but somehow someone got through to him.’
‘His army’s even bigger than yours?’
Martel sank wearily into his chair. ‘God, I’m tired,’ he confessed. ‘I haven’t slept for two days. You were saying?’
‘Has Wargun got more men than you have?’
‘Lord yes. He could chew me up in the space of a few hours. I really don’t think we ought to wait for him. All I have to worry about is how long it’s going to take Sparhawk to kill me. In spite of that face of his, Sparhawk’s a gentle person. I’m sure he’d make quick work of me. I’m really disappointed in Perraine. I thought he might be able to do something permanent about my former brother. Oh, well. Ydra pays the penalty for his failure, I suppose. As I was saying, Sparhawk should be able to do for me in well under a minute. He’s a much better swordsman than I am. You, however, have much more to be concerned about. Lycheas tells me that Ehlana wants your head on a plate. I once caught a glimpse of her face in Cimmura just after her father died and before you poisoned her. Sparhawk’s gentle, but Ehlana’s made of stone, and she hates you, Annias. She might very well decide to take your head off all by herself. She’s a slender girl, and it might take her half a day to hack through your neck.’
‘But we’re so close,’ Annias protested in anguished frustration. ‘The Archprelate’s throne is almost within my grasp.’
‘You’d better ungrasp it then. It might be very heavy to carry when you’re running for your life. Arissa and Lycheas are in my pavilion packing a few things already, but you’re not going to have that kind of time, I’m afraid. You’ll be leaving from here – with me. Get one thing very clear, Annias. I won’t wait for you – not ever. If you start to fall behind, I’ll leave you.’
‘There are things I have to have, Martel.’
‘I’m sure there are. I can think of a few offhand myself – your head for one – and Lycheas says that the blond ape who runs with Sparhawk has developed an unwholesome passion for hanging people. I know Kalten well enough to realize how clumsy he is. He’s almost certain to botch the job, and being the guest of honour at a botched hanging isn’t my idea of a pleasant way to pass an afternoon.’
‘How many men did you bring here into this cellar?’ Annias’s voice was fearful.
‘About a hundred, that’s all.’
‘Are you mad? We’re right in the middle of an encampment of Church Knights!’
‘Your cowardice is starting to show, Annias.’ Martel’s voice was thick with contempt. ‘That aqueduct isn’t very wide. Would you really want to have to clamber over the top of a thousand well-armed mercenaries when the time comes to start running?’
‘Run? Where can we run to? Where can we possibly go?’
‘Where else? We go to Zemoch. Otha will protect us.’
Colonel Delada drew in his breath with a sharp hiss.
‘Be still, man,’ Sparhawk muttered.
Martel rose to his feet and began to pace up and down, his face ruddy in the candlelight. ‘Try to follow me on this, Annias,’ he said. ‘You gave Ehlana darestim, and darestim’s always fatal. There’s no cure, and ordinary magic could not have reversed the effects. I know that because I was trained in magic by Sephrenia myself.’
‘That Styric witch!’ Annias said from between clenched teeth.
Martel seized him by the front of his robe and half-lifted him from his chair. ‘Be very careful what you say, Annias,’ Martel said from between his teeth. ‘Don’t insult my little mother, or you’ll wish that it was Sparhawk who caught you. As I said, he’s basically a gentle sort of person. I’m not. I can do things to you Sparhawk would never dream of.’
‘Surely you don’t still have any feeling for her.’
‘That’s my business, Annias. All right then. If only magic could have cured the queen and ordinary magic wouldn’t have worked, what does that leave us?’
‘Bhelliom?’ Annias guessed, rubbing his hand over the wrinkles Martel’s fist had gathered up in the front of his robe.
‘Precisely. Sparhawk’s somehow managed to get his hands on it. He used it to cure Ehlana, and more than likely he’s still got it with him. It’s not the sort of thing you leave lying around. I’ll send the Rendors out to knock down the bridges over the Arruk. That should delay Wargun for a while and give you and me more time to run. We’d better go north for a little way and get out of the main battle zone before we turn east towards Zemoch.’ He grinned mirthlessly. ‘Wargun’s always wanted to exterminate the Rendors anyway. If I send them out to destr
oy the bridges, he’ll get his chance, and God knows I won’t miss them all that much. I’ll order the rest of my troops to make a stand against Wargun on the east bank of the river. They’ll engage him in a splendid battle – which might even last for a couple of hours before he butchers the lot of them. That’s about all the time you and I and our friends are going to have to get clear of this place. We can count on Sparhawk to be right behind us, and we can be absolutely sure that he’ll have Bhelliom with him.’
’How do we know that? You’re guessing, Martel.’
’Do you mean to say that you’ve been around Sparhawk for all these years and haven’t got to know him yet? I’m not trying to be insulting, old boy, but you’re an absolute idiot, do you know that? Otha’s massed in eastern Lamorkand, and he’ll be marching into western Eosia within a matter of days. He’ll slaughter everything in sight – men, women, children, cattle, dogs, wild animals and even fish. Preventing that is the primary duty of the Church Knights, and Sparhawk’s what they had in mind when they founded the four orders. He’s all duty and honour and implacable resolve. I’d give my soul to be a man like Sparhawk. He’s got the one thing in his possession that will absolutely stop Otha cold. Do you really think there’s anything in the world that would prevent him from bringing Bhelliom with him? Use your head, Annias.’
‘What good’s it going to do us to run if we know that Sparhawk’s right behind us with Bhelliom in his hands? He’ll obliterate Otha and us along with him.’
‘Not very likely. Sparhawk’s moderately stupendous, but he’s not a God. Azash, however, is, and Azash has wanted Bhelliom since before the beginning of time. Sparhawk will chase us, and Azash will be waiting for him. Azash will destroy him in order to take Bhelliom from him. Then Otha will invade. Since we’ll have done such a tremendous service for him, he’ll reward us – lavishly. He’ll put you on the Archprelate’s throne and give me the crown of any Elenian kingdom I choose – perhaps even all of them. Otha’s lost his hunger for power in the last thousand years or so. I’ll even set Lycheas up as Regent – or even King – of Elenia, if you want – although I can’t for the life of me think of any reason you’d want that. Your son’s a snivelling cretin, and the sight of him turns my stomach. Why don’t you have him strangled, and then you and Arissa can try again? If you both concentrate, you might even be able to produce a real human being instead of an eel.’