The Diamond Throne (32 page)

The captain led them to a hallway branching out from the nave.

‘Nicely done, Bevier,’ Tynian whispered.

The Cyrinic smiled briefly.

‘There’s nothing like the offer of a yard or so of steel in his belly to remind a man of his manners,’ Kalten added.

The chamber to which the captain led them was grandiose with deep maroon carpeting and drapes and polished marble walls. The lean-faced Patriarch of Coombe sat at a long table reading a parchment. He looked up as they were admitted, his face angry. ‘What took so long?’ he snapped at the captain.

‘The Knights of the Church felt obliged to spend a few moments in devotions before the main altar, your Grace.’

‘Oh. Of course.’

‘May I withdraw, your Grace?’

‘No. Stay It shall fall to you to enforce the dictates I will issue here.’

‘As it please your Grace.’

Makova then looked sternly at the knights. ‘I am told that you gentlemen are planning a foray into Cammoria,’ he said.

‘We haven’t made any secret of it, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘I forbid it.’

‘Might one ask why, your Grace?’ Tynian asked mildly.

‘No. One may not. The Church Knights are subject to the authority of the Hierocracy. Explanations are not required. You are all to return to the Pandion chapterhouse and you will remain there until it pleases me to send you further instructions.’ He smiled a chill smile. ‘I believe you will all be returning home very shortly.’ Then he drew himself up. That will be all. You have my permission to withdraw. Captain, you will see to it that these knights do not leave the Pandion chapterhouse.’

‘Yes, your Grace.’

They all bowed and silently filed out of the door.

‘That was short, wasn’t it?’ Kalten said as they went back down the corridor with the captain some distance in the lead.

There wasn’t much point in fogging the issue with lame excuses,’ Sparhawk replied.

Kalten leaned towards his friend. ‘Are we going to obey his orders?’ he whispered.

‘No.’

‘Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier gasped, ‘surely you would not disregard the commands of a Patriarch of the Church?’

‘No, not really. All I need is a different set of orders.’

‘Dolmant?’ Kalten guessed.

‘His name does sort of leap to mind, doesn’t it?’

They had, however, no opportunity for side trips. The officious captain insisted upon escorting them directly back to the chapterhouse. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said as they reached the narrow street where the house stood, ‘you will be so good as to advise the governor of your establishment that this gate is to remain closed. No one is to enter or leave.’

‘I’ll tell him,’ Sparhawk replied. Then he nudged Faran and rode on into the courtyard.

‘I didn’t think he’d actually seal the gate,’ Kalten muttered. ‘How are we going to get word to Dolmant?’

‘I’ll think of something,’ Sparhawk said.

Later, as twilight crept in over the city, Sparhawk paced along the parapet surmounting the wall of the chapterhouse, glancing from time to time down into the street outside.

‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik’s gruff voice came from the yard below, ‘are you up there?’

‘Yes. Come on up.’

There was the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs leading up to the parapet. ‘You wanted to see us?’ Kurik asked as he, Berit, and Talen came up out of the shadows clotting the stairway.

‘Yes. There’s a company of church soldiers outside. They’re blocking the gate, and I need to get a message to Dolmant. Any ideas?’

Kurik scratched his head as he mulled it over.

‘Give me a fast horse and I can ride through them,’ Berit offered.

‘He’ll make a good knight,’ Talen said. ‘Knights love to charge, I’m told.’

Berit looked sharply at the boy.

‘No hitting,’ Talen said, shrinking back. ‘We agreed that there wasn’t going to be any more hitting. I pay attention to the lessons, and you don’t hit me any more.’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Berit asked.

‘Several.’ Talen looked over the wall. ‘Are the soldiers patrolling the streets outside the walls?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Sparhawk said.

‘That’s not really a problem, but it might have been easier if they weren’t.’ Talen pursed his lips as he thought it over. ‘Berit,’ he said, ‘are you any good with a bow?’

‘I’ve been trained,’ the voice said a bit stiffly.

‘That’s not what I asked. I said are you any good?’

‘I can hit a mark at a hundred paces.’

Talen looked at Sparhawk. ‘Don’t you people have anything better to do?’ he asked. Then he looked at Berit again. ‘You see that stable over there?’ he asked, pointing across the street. ‘The one with the thatched roof?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you get an arrow into the thatch?’

‘Easily.’

‘Maybe training pays off after all.’

‘How many months did you practise cutting purses?’ Kurik asked pointedly.

‘That’s different, father. There’s a profit involved in that.’

‘Father?’ Berit sounded astonished.

‘It’s a long story,’ Kurik told him.

‘Any man in the world listens to a bell that rings for any reason whatsoever,’ Talen said, affecting a school-teacherish tone, ‘and no man can possibly avoid gawking at a fire. Can you lay your hands on a length of rope, Sparhawk?’

‘How long a length?’

‘Long enough to reach the street. Here’s how it goes. Berit wraps his arrow with tinder and sets fire to it. Then he takes a shot at that thatched roof. The soldiers will all run to this street to watch the fun. That’s when I go down the rope on the far side of the building. I can be out on the street in less than a minute with no one the wiser.’

‘You can’t set fire to a man’s stable,’ Kurik objected, sounding horrified.

‘They’ll put it out, Kurik,’ Talen said in a patient tone. ‘They’ll have lots of warning, because we’ll all stand up here shouting “Fire!” at the top of our voices. Then I’ll shinny down the rope on the far wall and be five streets
away before the excitement dies down. I know where Dolmant’s house is, and I can tell him whatever you want him to know.’

‘All right,’ Sparhawk approved.

‘Sparhawk!’ Kurik exclaimed. ‘You’re not going to let him do this, are you?’

‘It’s tactically sound, Kurik. Diversion and subterfuge are part of any good plan.’

‘Do you have any idea of how much thatch – and wood – there is in this part of town?’

‘It might give the church soldiers something useful to do,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘That’s hard, Sparhawk.’

‘Not nearly as hard as the notion of Annias sitting on the Archprelate’s throne. Let’s get what we need. I want to be out of Chyrellos before the sun comes up tomorrow, and I can’t do that with all those soldiers camped outside the gate.’

They went down the stairs to fetch rope, a bow, and a quiver of arrows.

‘What’s afoot?’ Tynian asked as he, Kalten, Bevier, and Ulath met them in the courtyard.

‘We’re going to get word to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk told him.

Tynian looked at the bow Berit was carrying. ‘With that?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that rather a long shot?’

‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ Sparhawk told him. He quickly sketched in the plan. Then, as they started up the steps, he put his hand on Talen’s shoulder. This isn’t going to be the safest thing in the world,’ he told the boy. ‘I want you to be careful out there.’

‘You worry too much, Sparhawk,’ Talen replied. ‘I could do this in my sleep.’

‘You might need some kind of note to give to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said.

‘You’re not serious? If I get stopped, I can lie my way out of trouble, but not if I’ve got a note in my pocket. Dolmant knows me, and he’ll know that the message is from you. Just leave everything to me, Sparhawk.’

‘Don’t stop to pick any pockets along the way.’

‘Of course not,’ Talen replied, just a little too glibly.

Sparhawk sighed. Then he quickly told the boy what to say to the Patriarch of Demos.

The plan went more or less as Talen had outlined it. As soon as the patrol had passed in the narrow street, Berit’s arrow arched out like a falling star and sank into the thatched stable roof. It sputtered there for a moment or two, and then bluish-coloured flame ran quickly up to the ridgepole, turning sooty orange first, then bright yellow as the flames began to spread.

‘Fire!’ Talen yelled.

‘Fire!’ the rest echoed.

In the street below, the church soldiers came pounding around the corner to be met by the nearly hysterical owner of the stables. ‘Good masters!’ the poor man cried, wringing his hands. ‘My stable! My horses! My house! My God!’

The officious captain hesitated, looking first at the fire then back at the looming wall of the chapterhouse in an agony of indecision.

‘We’ll help you, Captain,’ Tynian called down from the wall. ‘Open the gate!’

‘No!’ the captain shouted back. ‘Stay inside.’

‘You could lose half of the holy city, you blockhead!’ Kalten roared at him. ‘That fire will spread if you don’t do something immediately.’

‘You!’ the captain snapped at the commoner who owned the stable. ‘Fetch buckets and show me the nearest well.’ He turned quickly to his men. ‘Form up a line,’ he commanded. ‘Go to the front gate of the Pandion
house and bring back every man we can spare.’ He sounded decisive now. Then he squinted up at the knights on the parapet. ‘But leave a detachment on guard there,’ he ordered.

‘We can still help, Captain,’ Tynian offered. ‘There’s a deep well here. We can turn out our men and pass buckets to your men outside the gate. Our major concern here must be the saving of Chyrellos. Everything else must be secondary to that.’

The captain hesitated.

‘Please, Captain!’ Tynian’s voice throbbed with sincerity. ‘I beg of you. Let us help.’

‘Very well,’ the captain snapped. ‘Open your gate. But no one is to leave the chapterhouse grounds.’

‘Of course not,’ Tynian replied.

‘Nicely done,’ Ulath grunted, tapping Tynian on the shoulder with his fist.

Tynian grinned at him. ‘Talking
does
pay off sometimes, my silent friend. You should try it sometime.’

‘I’d rather use an axe.’

‘Well, I guess I’ll be leaving now, my Lords,’ Talen said. ‘Was there anything you’d like to have me pick up for you – since I’ll be out and about anyway?’

‘Keep your mind on what you’re supposed to do,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Just go and talk to Dolmant.’

‘And be careful,’ Kurik growled. ‘You’re a disappointing son sometimes, but I don’t want to lose you.’

‘Sentimentality, father?’ Talen said, affecting surprise.

‘Not really,’ Kurik replied. ‘Just a certain sense of responsibility to your mother.’

‘I’ll go with him,’ Berit said.

Talen looked critically at the rangy novice. ‘Forget it,’ he said shortly. ‘You’d just be in my way. Forgive me, revered teacher, but your feet are too big and your elbows stick out too far to move around quietly, and I
don’t have time to teach you how to sneak right now.’ The boy disappeared into the shadows along the parapet.

‘Where did you find that rare youth?’ Bevier asked.

‘You wouldn’t believe it, Bevier,’ Kalten replied. ‘You absolutely wouldn’t believe it.’

‘Our Pandion brothers are perhaps a bit more worldly than the rest of us, Bevier,’ Tynian said sententiously. ‘We who fix our eyes firmly on heaven are not so versed in the seamier side of life as they are.’ He looked piously at Kalten. ‘We all serve, however, and I’m sure that God appreciates your efforts, no matter how dishonest or depraved.’

‘Well put,’ Ulath said with an absolutely straight face.

The fire in the thatched roof continued to smoke and steam as the church soldiers threw bucket after bucket of water onto it during the next quarter of an hour. Gradually, by sheer dint of numbers and the volume of water poured on it, the fire was quenched, leaving the owner of the stable bemoaning the saturation of his store of fodder, but preventing any spread of the flames.

‘Bravo, Captain, bravo!’ Tynian cheered from atop the wall.

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Ulath muttered to him.

‘It’s the first time I’ve ever seen any of those fellows do anything useful,’ Tynian protested. ‘That sort of thing ought to be encouraged.’

‘We could start some more fires, if you’d like,’ the huge Genidian offered. ‘We could keep them hauling water all week.’

Tynian tugged at one earlobe. ‘No,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘They might get bored when the novelty wears off and decide to let the city burn.’ He glanced at Kurik. ‘Did the boy get away?’ he asked.

‘As slick as a snake going down a rat hole,’ Sparhawk’s
squire replied, trying to conceal the note of pride in his voice.

‘Someday you’ll have to tell us about why the lad keeps calling you “father”.’

‘We might get to that one day, my Lord Tynian,’ Kurik muttered.

As the first light of dawn crept up the eastern sky, there came the measured tread of hundreds of feet some distance up the narrow street outside the front gate of the chapterhouse. Then the Patriarch Dolmant, astride a white mule, came into view at the head of a battalion or more of red-liveried soldiers.

‘Your Grace,’ the soot-smeared captain who had been blocking the gate of the chapterhouse exclaimed, rushing forward with a salute.

‘You are relieved, Captain,’ Dolmant told him. ‘You may return with your men to your barracks.’ He sniffed a bit disapprovingly. Tell them to clean up,’ he suggested. They look like chimney sweeps.’

‘Your Grace,’ the captain faltered, ‘I was commanded by the Patriarch of Coombe to secure this house. May I send to him for confirmation of your Grace’s counter-order?’

Dolmant considered it. ‘No, Captain,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. Retire at once.’

‘But, your Grace!’

Dolmant slapped his hands sharply together, and the troops massed at his back moved into position, their pikes advanced. ‘Colonel,’ Dolmant said in the mildest of tones to the commander of his troops, ‘would you be so good as to escort the captain and his men back to their barracks?’

‘At once, your Grace,’ the officer replied with a sharp salute.

‘And I think they should be confined there until they are presentable.’