The Diamond Throne (36 page)

The group that gathered in the innyard the following morning was uniformly shabby – widows in patched mourning, out-of-work artisans and several hungry beggars. They were all mounted on weary nags or sleepy-looking mules. Sparhawk looked at them from the window. Tell the innkeeper to feed them,’ he said to Kalten.

There’s quite a number of them, Sparhawk.’

‘I don’t want them fainting from hunger a mile out of town. You take care of that while I go and talk with the vicar.’

‘Anything you say.’ Kalten shrugged. ‘Should I bathe them, too? Some of them look a bit unwashed.’

‘That won’t be necessary. Feed their horses and mules as well.’

‘Aren’t we being a little overgenerous?’

‘You get to carry any horse that collapses.’

‘Oh. I’ll see to it right away, then.’

The vicar of the poor church was a thin, anxious-looking man in his sixties. His silvery hair was curly and his face was drawn and deeply lined with care. ‘My Lord,’ he said, bowing deeply to Sparhawk.

‘Please, good vicar,’ Sparhawk said to him, ‘just “pilgrim” is adequate We are all equal in the service of God. My companions and I wish simply to join with your good, pious folk and to journey to Madel that we may worship at the holy shrines there for the solace of our souls and in the certain knowledge of the infinite mercy of God.’

‘Well said – uh pilgrim.’

‘Would you join us at table, good vicar?’ Sparhawk asked him. ‘We will go many miles before we sleep tonight.’

The vicar’s eyes grew suddenly bright. ‘I would be delighted, my Lord – uh, pilgrim, that is.’

The feeding of the Cammorian pilgrims and their mounts took quite some time and stretched the capacity of the kitchen and the stable grain bins to a considerable degree.

‘I’ve never seen people eat so much,’ Kalten grumbled. Clad in a sturdy, unmarked cloak, he swung up into his saddle just outside the inn.

They were hungry,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘At least we can see to it that they get a few good meals before they have to return to Borrata.’

‘Charity, Sir Sparhawk?’ Bevier asked. ‘Isn’t that a bit out of character? The grim-faced Pandions are not noted for their tender sensibilities.’

‘How little you know them, Sir Bevier,’ Sephrenia murmured. She mounted her white palfrey, then held out her hands to Flute, but the little girl shook her head, walked over to Faran and reached out her tiny hand. The big roan lowered his head, and she caressed his velvety nose. Sparhawk felt an odd quiver run through his mount’s body. Then Flute insistently raised her hands to the big Pandion. Gravely, Sparhawk leaned over and lifted her into her accustomed place in front of the saddle and enfolded her in his cloak. She nestled against him, took out her pipes, and began to play that same minor melody she had been playing when they had first found her.

The vicar at the head of their column intoned a brief prayer, invoking the protection of the God of the Elenes during their journey, an invocation punctuated by questioning – even sceptical – trills from Flute’s pipes.

‘Behave yourself,’ Sparhawk whispered to her. ‘He’s a good man and he’s doing what he thinks is right.’

She rolled her eyes roguishly. Then she yawned, snuggling closer to him, and promptly went to sleep.

They rode south out of Borrata under a clear morning sky with Kurik and the two-wheeled cart containing their armour and equipment clattering along behind them. The breeze was gusty and it tugged at the ragged clothing of the pilgrims patiently plodding along behind their vicar. A line of low mountains lay to the west, touched with snow on their peaks, and the sunlight glistened on those white fields. Their pace as they rode seemed to
Sparhawk leisurely – even lackadaisical – though the panting and wheezing of the poor mounts of the pilgrims was a fair indication that the beasts were being pressed as hard as was possible.

It was about noon when Kalten rode forward from his station at the rear of the column. There are riders coming up behind us,’ he reported quietly to avoid alarming nearby pilgrims. They’re pushing hard.’

‘Any idea of who they are?’

They’re wearing red.’

‘Church soldiers, then.’

‘Notice how quick he is?’ Kalten observed to the others.

‘How many?’ Tynian asked.

‘It looks like a reinforced platoon.’

Bevier loosened his Lochaber axe in its sling.

‘Keep that under cover,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘The rest of you hide your weapons as well.’ Then he raised his voice. ‘Good vicar,’ he called ahead. ‘How about a hymn? The miles go easier with sacred music for company’

The vicar cleared his throat and began to sing in a rusty, off-key voice Wearily, but responding automatically to their pastor’s lead, the other pilgrims joined in.

‘Sing!’ Sparhawk commanded his companions, and they all raised their voices in the familiar hymn. As they bawled their song, Flute lifted her pipes and played a mocking little counterpoint.

‘Stop that,’ Sparhawk murmured to her. ‘And if there’s trouble, slide down and run out into that field.’

She rolled her eyes at him.

‘Do as you’re told, young lady I don’t want you getting trampled if there’s a fight.’

The church soldiers, however, pounded past the column of hymn-singing pilgrims with hardly a glance and were soon lost in the distance ahead.

‘Tense,’ Ulath commented.

‘Truly,’ Tynian agreed. ‘Trying to fight in the middle of a crowd of terrified pilgrims might have been interesting.’

‘Do you think they were searching for us?’ Berit asked.

‘It’s hard to say,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I wasn’t going to stop them to ask, though.’

They moved southward towards Madel in easy stages to conserve the sorry mounts of the vicar’s parishioners, and they arrived on the outskirts of the port city about noon on the fourth day out of Borrata. When the town came into view, Sparhawk rode forward to join the vicar at the head of the column. He handed the good man a pouch full of coins. ‘We’ll be leaving you here,’ he said. ‘A matter has come up that needs our attention.’

The vicar gave him a speculative look. ‘This was all subterfuge, wasn’t it, my Lord?’ he asked gravely ‘I may be only the poor pastor of a poverty-stricken chapel, but I recognize the manner and bearing of Church Knights when I see them.’

‘Forgive us, good vicar,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Take your people to the holy places here in Madel. Lead them in prayer and then see to it that they’re well fed. Then return to Borrata and use whatever money is left as you see fit.’

‘And may I do this with a clear conscience, my son?’

‘The clearest, good pastor. My friends and I serve the Church in a matter of gravest urgency, and your aid will be appreciated by the members of the Hierocracy in Chyrellos – most of them, at any rate.’ Then Sparhawk turned Faran around and rode back to his companions. ‘All right, Bevier,’ he said. ‘Take us to your chapterhouse.’

‘I have been considering that, Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier
replied. ‘Our chapterhouse here is closely watched by local authorities and all manner of other folk. Even garbed as we are, we would surely be recognized.’

Sparhawk grunted. ‘You’re probably right. Can you think of any alternatives?’

‘Perhaps so. As it happens, I have a kinsman – a marquis from eastern Arcium – who has a villa on the outskirts of the city. I have not seen him for some years – our family disapproved of him because he’s in trade–but perhaps he will remember me. He’s a good-natured fellow, and if I approach him right, he might extend his hospitality.’

‘It’s worth a try, I guess. All right. Lead the way.’

They rode around the western outskirts of Madel to an opulent house surrounded by a low wall built of the local sandstone. The house was set back some distance from the road and was surrounded by tall evergreens and well-groomed lawns. There was a gravelled court directly in front of the house, and they dismounted there. A servant in sober livery emerged from the house and approached inquiringly.

‘Would you be so good as to advise the marquis that his second cousin, Sir Bevier, and several friends would like to have a word with him?’ the Cyrinic inquired politely.

‘At once, my Lord.’ The servant turned and re-entered the house.

The man who emerged from the house a few moments later was stout and had a florid face. He wore one of the colourful silk robes common in southern Cammoria rather than Arcian doublet and hose, and his welcoming grin was broad. ‘Bevier,’ he greeted his distant cousin with a warm handclasp. ‘What are you doing in Cammoria?’

‘Seeking refuge, Lycien,’ Bevier replied. His open young face clouded momentarily. ‘The family has not
treated you well, Lycien,’ he admitted. ‘I could not blame you if you turned me and my friends away.’

‘Nonsense, Bevier. The decision to take up trading was mine. I knew how the rest of the family would feel about it. I’m delighted to see you. You mentioned refuge?’

Bevier nodded. ‘We’re here on Church business of some delicacy,’ he said, ‘and there are a few too many eyes watching the Cyrinic chapterhouse in the city. I know it’s a great deal to ask, but might we impose on your hospitality?’

‘By all means, my boy, by all means.’ Marquis Lycien clapped his hands sharply, and several grooms came out of the stables. ‘See to the mounts of these visitors and their cart,’ the marquis ordered. Then he laid his hand on Bevier’s shoulder. ‘Come in,’ he invited them all. ‘My house is yours.’ He turned and led the way through the low, arched doorway and on into the house. Once they were inside, they followed him to a pleasant room with low, cushioned furniture and a fireplace where several logs crackled and snapped. ‘Please, friends, sit,’ Lycien said. Then he looked speculatively at them. ‘This Church business of yours must be very important, Bevier,’ he guessed. ‘Judging from their features, I’d say that your friends represent all four of the militant orders.’

‘Your eyes are sharp, Marquis,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘Am I going to get in trouble over this?’ Lycien asked. Then he grinned. ‘Not that I care, mind you. It’s just that I like to be prepared.’

‘It’s not too likely,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘Particularly if we’re successful in our mission. Tell me, my Lord, do you have contacts in the harbour?’

‘Extensive ones, Sir –’

‘Sparhawk,’ the Pandion supplied.

‘Champion of the Queen of Elenia?’ Lycien looked surprised. ‘I heard that you’d returned from your exile in
Rendor; but aren’t you a bit far afield? Shouldn’t you be in Cimmura trying to circumvent the attempts of the Primate Annias to depose your lady?’

‘You’re well informed, my Lord,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I have widespread commercial contacts.’ Lycien shrugged. He winked at Bevier. ‘That’s what disgraced me in the eyes of the family My agent and the masters of my ships gather much information in the course of their dealings.’

‘I gather, my Lord, that you’re not overly fond of the Primate of Cimmura?’

‘The man’s a scoundrel.’

‘Our sentiments exactly,’ Kalten agreed.

‘Very well, then, my Lord,’ Sparhawk said. ‘What we’re involved with is an attempt to counter the growing power of the primate If we’re successful, we can stop him in his tracks. I’d tell you more, but it might be dangerous for you if you knew too many of the details.’

‘I can appreciate that, Sir Sparhawk,’ Lycien said. ‘Tell me, in what way can I help?’

‘Three of us need to go to Cippria,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘For the sake of your own safety, it might be better if we were to take the ship of an independent sea captain rather than one of your own vessels. If you could direct us to such a captain and perhaps give us a discreetly worded letter of introduction to him, we can take care of the rest.’

‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik said sharply, looking around the room, ‘what happened to Talen?’

Sparhawk turned quickly ‘I thought he was bringing up the rear when we came in.’

‘So did I.’

‘Berit,’ Sparhawk said, ‘go and find him.’

‘At once, my Lord.’ The novice hurried from the room.

‘Some problem?’ Lycien asked.

‘A wayward boy, cousin,’ Bevier told him. ‘From what I gather, he needs to be watched rather closely.’

‘Berit will find him.’ Kalten laughed. ‘I have a great deal of confidence in that young man. Talen may come back with a few bumps and contusions, but I’m sure they’ll be very educational for him.’

‘Well, if it’s all under control, then,’ Lycien said, ‘why don’t I send word to the kitchen? I’m sure you’re hungry. And in the meantime, perhaps some wine?’ He assumed a pious expression that was obviously feigned. ‘I know that the Knights of the Church are abstemious, but a touch or so of wine is good for the digestion, or so I’ve heard.’

‘I’ve heard that, too,’ Kalten agreed.

‘Could I prevail upon you for a cup of tea, my Lord?’ Sephrenia asked. ‘And some milk for the little girl? I’m not sure that wine would be good for either of us.’

‘Of course, madame,’ Lycien replied jovially. ‘I should have thought of that myself.’

It was midafternoon when Berit returned with Talen in tow. ‘He was down near the harbour,’ the novice reported, still firmly holding the boy by the neck of his tunic. ‘I searched him thoroughly. He hadn’t had time to steal anything.’

‘I just wanted to look at the sea,’ the boy protested. ‘I’ve never seen the sea before.’

Kurik was grimly removing his wide leather belt.

‘Now, wait a minute, Kurik,’ Talen said, struggling to free himself from Berit’s grasp. ‘You wouldn’t really do that, would you?’

‘Watch me.’

‘I picked up some information,’ Talen said quickly. ‘If you thrash me, I’ll keep it to myself.’ He looked appealingly at Sparhawk. ‘It’s important,’ he said. Tell him to put his belt back on and I’ll let you know what I found out.’

‘All right, Kurik,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let it pass – for the moment anyway.’ Then he looked sternly at the boy ‘This had better be good, Talen,’ he threatened.

‘It is, Sparhawk. Believe me.’

‘Let’s have it.’

‘Well, I was going down this street. As I said, I wanted to see the harbour and all the ships and things. Anyway, I was passing a wine shop and I saw a man coming out.’

‘Amazing,’ Kalten said. ‘Do people in Madel actually frequent wine shops?’