The Diamond Throne (29 page)

‘Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said, ‘do you have any idea about why so many Styrics are here in Chyrellos?’

‘I’ve heard about it. The story is that they’re seeking instruction in our faith.’

‘Sephrenia says that’s an absurdity’

Dolmant made a wry face ‘She’s probably right. I’ve laboured for a lifetime and I haven’t as yet managed to convert a single Styric’

‘They’re very attached to their Gods,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’m not trying to be offensive, Dolmant, but there seems to be a very close personal relationship between the Styrics and their Gods. Our God is perhaps a bit remote.’

‘I’ll mention that the next time I talk to Him.’ Dolmant smiled. ‘I’m sure He values your opinion.’

Sparhawk laughed. ‘It
was
a bit presumptuous, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was. How long do you think it’s going to be until you can leave for Borrata?’

‘Several days, anyway I hate to lose the time, but the knights from the other orders have long journeys to make to reach Chyrellos, and I’m more or less obliged to wait for them. All this waiting is making me very impatient, but there’s no help for it, I’m afraid.’ He
pursed his lips. ‘I think I’ll spend the time nosing around a bit. It’ll give me something to do, and all these Styrics are making me curious.’

‘Be careful in the streets of Chyrellos, Sparhawk,’ Dolmant advised seriously ‘They can be very dangerous.’

‘The whole world is dangerous lately, Dolmant. I’ll keep you posted on what I find out.’ Then Sparhawk turned and went down the corridor with his spurs clinking on the marble floor.

It was nearly noon when Sparhawk returned to the chapterhouse. He had ridden slowly through the busy streets of the holy city, paying scant attention to the crowds around him. The deterioration of the Archprelate Cluvonus had saddened him. Despite the rumours that had been circulating of late, actually to see the revered old man’s condition had come as a profound personal shock.

He stopped at the heavy gate and perfunctorily went through the ritual that admitted him. Kalten was waiting in the courtyard. ‘Well?’ the blond man asked. ‘How did it go?’

Sparhawk dismounted heavily and pulled off his helmet. ‘I don’t know if we changed any minds,’ he replied. ‘The Patriarchs who support Annias still support him; the ones who oppose him are still on our side; and those who are neutral are still on the fence.’

‘It was a waste of time, then?’

‘Not entirely, I guess. After this, it might be a little harder for Annias to win over any more uncommitted votes.’

‘I wish you’d make up your mind, Sparhawk.’ Kalten looked closely at his friend. ‘You’re in a sour mood. What really happened?’

‘Cluvonus was there.’

‘That’s a surprise. How did he look?’

‘Awful.’

‘He
is
eighty-five, Sparhawk. You couldn’t expect him to look very impressive. People wear out, you know.’

‘His mind has gone, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said sadly ‘He’s childish now. Dolmant doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer.’

‘That bad?’

Sparhawk nodded.

That makes it fairly important for us to get to Borrata and back in a hurry then, doesn’t it?’

‘Urgent,’ Sparhawk agreed.

‘Do you think we should ride on ahead and let the knights from the other orders catch up with us later?’

‘I wish we could. I hate the idea of Ehlana sitting alone in that throne room, but I don’t think we dare. Komier was right about a show of unity, and the other orders are sometimes a little touchy. Let’s not start off by offending them.’

‘Did you and Dolmant talk to somebody about Arissa?’

Sparhawk nodded. The Patriarch of Vardenais is handling it.’

The day wasn’t an absolute waste, then.’

Sparhawk grunted. ‘I want to change out of this.’ He rapped on the breastplate of his armour with his knuckles.

‘You want me to unsaddle Faran for you?’

‘No. I’ll be going back out. Where’s Sephrenia?’

‘In her room, I think.’

‘Have somebody saddle her horse.’

‘Is she going somewhere?’

‘Probably’ Sparhawk went on up the stairs and entered the chapterhouse

It was about a quarter of an hour later when he tapped on Sephrenia’s door He had removed his armour and
now wore a mail coat beneath a nondescript grey cloak that bore no insignia of his rank or his order. ‘It’s me, Sephrenia,’ he said through the panels of the door.

‘Come in, Sparhawk,’ she said.

He opened the door and stepped in quietly.

She was sitting in a large chair with Flute in her lap. The child was sleeping with a contented little smile on her face. ‘Did things go well at the Basilica?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘It’s a little hard to say,’ he replied. ‘Churchmen are very good at hiding their emotions. Did you and Kalten find out anything about all the Styrics here in Chyrellos yesterday?’

She nodded. ‘They’re concentrated in the quarter near the east gate. They have a house there somewhere that seems to be a headquarters of some sort. We weren’t able to locate it exactly, though.’

‘Why don’t we go see if we can find it?’ he suggested. ‘I need something to do. I’m feeling a bit restless.’

‘Restless? You, Sparhawk? The man of stone?’

‘Impatience, I suppose I want to get started for Borrata.’

She nodded. Then she rose, lifting Flute easily, and laid the child on the bed. Gently she covered the little girl with a grey woollen blanket. Flute briefly opened her dark eyes, then smiled and went back to sleep. Sephrenia kissed the small face, then turned to Sparhawk. ‘Shall we go then?’ she said.

‘You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?’ Sparhawk asked as the two of them walked along the corridor leading towards the courtyard.

‘It goes a bit deeper than that. Someday perhaps you’ll understand.’

‘Have you any idea where this Styric house might be?’

‘There’s a shopkeeper in the market near the east gate.
He sold some Styrics a number of sides of meat. The porter who delivered them knows where the house is.’

‘Why didn’t you question the porter?’

‘He wasn’t there yesterday.’

‘Maybe he’ll make it to work today.’

‘It’s worth a try’

He stopped and gave her a direct look. ‘I’m not trying to pry into the secrets you’ve chosen not to reveal, Sephrenia, but could you distinguish between ordinary rural Styrics and Zemochs?’

‘It’s possible,’ she admitted, ‘unless they’re taking steps to conceal their true identity.’

They went on down into the courtyard where Kalten waited with Faran and Sephrenia’s white palfrey. The blond knight had an angry expression on his face. ‘Your horse bit me, Sparhawk,’ he said accusingly

‘You know him well enough not to turn your back on him. Did he draw blood?’

‘No,’ Kalten admitted.

‘Then he was only being playful. It shows that he likes you.’

‘Thanks,’ Kalten said flatly. ‘Do you want me to come along?’

‘No. I think we want to be more or less inconspicuous, and on occasion you have trouble managing that.’

‘Sometimes your charm overwhelms me, Sparhawk.’

‘We’re sworn to speak the truth.’ Sparhawk helped Sephrenia into her saddle, then mounted Faran. ‘We should be back before dark,’ he told his friend.

‘Don’t hurry on my account.’

Sparhawk led the small Styric woman out through the gate and into the side street beyond.

‘He turns everything into a joke, doesn’t he?’ Sephrenia observed.

‘Most things, yes. He’s been laughing at the world
since he was a boy. I think that’s why I like him so much. My view of things tends to be a little more bleak, and he helps me keep my perspective.’

They rode on through the now-teeming streets of Chyrellos. Although many local merchants affected the sombre black of churchmen, visitors usually did not, and their bright clothing stood out by contrast. Travellers from Cammoria in particular were highly colourful, since their customary silk garments did not fade with the passage of time and remained brightly red or green or blue.

The market place to which Sephrenia led him was some distance from the chapterhouse, and it was perhaps three-quarters of an hour before they reached it.

‘How did you find this shopkeeper?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘There are certain staples in the Styric diet,’ she replied. ‘Elenes don’t eat those things very often.’

‘I thought you said that this porter delivered some sides of meat.’

‘Goat, Sparhawk. Elenes don’t care much for goat.’

He shuddered.

‘How provincial you are,’ she said lightly ‘If it doesn’t come from a cow, you won’t eat it.’

‘I suppose it’s what you’re used to.’

‘I’d better go to the shop alone,’ she said. ‘Sometimes you’re a bit intimidating, dear one. We want answers from the porter, and we might not get them if you frighten him. Watch my horse.’ She handed him her reins and then moved off through the market. Sparhawk watched as she went across the bustling square to speak with a shabby-looking fellow in a blood-smeared canvas smock. After a short time she returned. He got down and helped her back onto her horse.

‘Did he tell you where the house is?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘It’s not far – near the east gate.’

‘Let’s go have a look.’

As they started out, Sparhawk did something uncharacteristically impulsive. He reached out and took the small woman’s hand. ‘I love you, little mother,’ he told her.

‘Yes,’ she said calmly, ‘I know. It’s nice of you to say it, though.’ Then she smiled. It was an impish little smile that somehow reminded him of Flute. ‘Another lesson for you, Sparhawk,’ she said. ‘When you’re having dealings with a woman, you cannot say “I love you” too often.’

‘I’ll remember that. Does the same thing apply to Elene women?’

‘It applies to all women, Sparhawk. Gender is a far more important distinction than race.’

‘I shall be guided by you, Sephrenia.’

‘Have you been reading medieval poetry again?’

‘Me?’

They rode through the market place and on into the run-down quarter near the east gate of Chyrellos. While not perhaps the same as the slums of Cimmura, this part of the holy city was far less opulent than the area around the Basilica. There was less colour here, for one thing. The tunics of the men in the street were uniformly drab, and the few merchants there were in the crowd wore garments which were faded and threadbare. They did, however, have the self-important expressions which all merchants, successful or not, automatically assume. Then, at the far end of the street, Sparhawk saw a short man in a lumpy, unbleached smock of homespun wool. ‘Styric,’ he said shortly

Sephrenia nodded and drew up the hood of her white robe so that it covered her face. Sparhawk straightened in his saddle and carefully assumed an arrogant, condescending expression such as the servant of some
important personage might wear. They passed the Styric, who stepped cautiously aside without paying them any particular heed. Like all members of his race, the Styric had dark, almost black, hair and a pale skin. He was shorter than the Elenes who passed him in this narrow street, and the bones in his face were prominent, as if he had somehow not quite been completed.

‘Zemoch?’ Sparhawk asked after they had passed the man.

‘It’s impossible to say,’ Sephrenia replied.

‘Is he concealing his identity with a spell?’

She spread her hands helplessly ‘There’s no way to tell, Sparhawk. Either he’s just an ordinary backwoods Styric with nothing on his mind but his next meal, or he’s a very subtle magician who’s playing the bumpkin to block out attempts to probe him.’

Sparhawk swore under his breath. ‘This might not be as easy as I thought,’ he said. ‘Let’s go on then and see what we can find out.’

The house to which Sephrenia had been directed sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, a short street that went nowhere

‘That’s going to be difficult to watch without being obvious,’ Sparhawk said as they rode slowly past the mouth of the narrow street.

‘Not really,’ Sephrenia disagreed. She reined in her palfrey ‘We need to talk with the shopkeeper there on the corner’

‘Did you want to buy something?’

‘Not exactly buy, Sparhawk. Come along. You’ll see’ She slid down out of her saddle and tied the reins of her delicate white horse to a post outside the shop she had indicated. She looked around briefly ‘Will your great war horse discourage anyone who might want to steal my gentle little Ch’iel?’ she asked. She laid her hand affectionately on the white horse’s neck.

‘I’ll talk to him about it.’

‘Would you?’

‘Faran,’ Sparhawk said to the ugly roan, ‘stay here and protect Sephrenia’s mare.’

Faran nickered, his ears pricked eagerly forward.

‘You big old fool,’ Sparhawk laughed.

Faran snapped at him, his teeth clacking together at the empty air inches from Sparhawk’s ear.

‘Be nice,’ Sparhawk murmured.

Inside the shop, a room devoted to the display of cheap furniture, Sephrenia’s attitude became ingratiating, even oddly submissive. ‘Good master merchant,’ she said with an uncharacteristic tone in her voice, ‘we serve a great Pelosian noble who has come to Chyrellos to seek solace for his soul in the holy city’

‘I don’t deal with Styrics,’ the merchant said rudely, glowering at Sephrenia. ‘There are too many of you filthy heathens in Chyrellos already.’ He assumed an expression of extreme distaste, all the while making what Sparhawk knew to be totally ineffective gestures to ward off magic

‘Look, huckster,’ the big knight said, affecting an insulting Pelosian-accented manner, ‘do not rise above yourself. My master’s chatelaine and I will be treated with respect, regardless of your feeble-minded bigotry.’

The shopkeeper bristled at that. ‘Why –’ he began to bluster

Sparhawk smashed the top of a cheap table into splinters with a single blow of his fist. Then he seized the shopman’s collar and pulled him forward so that they were eye to eye ‘Do we understand each other?’ he said in a dreadful voice that hovered just this side of a whisper

‘What we require, good master merchant,’ Sephrenia said smoothly, ‘is a goodly set of chambers facing the
street. Our master has been ever fond of watching the ebb and flow of humanity’ She lowered her eyelashes modestly ‘Have you such a place abovestairs?’