The Diamond Throne (46 page)

‘Watch yourselves,’ Sparhawk muttered to his companions as they unsaddled their mounts. ‘Our captain appears to be an independent businessman with his eye open for opportunities.’ He walked aft to where the one-eyed man stood at the tiller. ‘I want you to keep as close to shore as you can,’ he said.

‘What for?’ The captain’s lone eye became suddenly wary

‘My sister’s afraid of water,’ Sparhawk improvised. ‘If I give you the word, put your boat up against the bank so that she can get off.’

‘You’re paying.’ The captain shrugged. ‘We’ll do it any way you like’

‘Do you run at night?’ Sparhawk asked him.

The captain shook his head. ‘Some do, but I don’t. There are too many snags and hidden rocks for my taste. We moor up against the bank when it gets dark.’

‘Good. I like prudence in a sailor. It makes for safer journeys –which brings up a point.’ He opened the front of his robe to reveal his mail coat and the heavy broadsword belted at his side ‘Do you get my meaning?’ he asked.

The captain’s face clouded with chagrin. ‘You have no right to threaten me on my own boat,’ he blustered.

‘As you said before, I’m paying. Your crew looks a little undependable to me, Captain, and your own face isn’t one to inspire trust.’

The captain’s face grew sullen. ‘You don’t have to be insulting,’ he said.

‘If I’ve misjudged you, I’ll apologize later. We have certain valuables with us and we’d prefer to keep them. My friends and I will sleep on the foredeck. You and your men can sleep aft. I trust that won’t inconvenience you too much?’

‘Aren’t you being a little overcautious?’

‘Nervous times, neighbour. Nervous times. Remember, when we tie up to the bank for the night, keep your men on the aft deck – and warn them against sleepwalking. A boat can be a very dangerous place for that sort of thing, and I’m a light sleeper.’ He turned and walked back forward.

The river banks on either side were covered with thick, rank vegetation, though the hills rising behind those narrow strips of green were barren and rock-strewn. Sparhawk and his friends sat on the foredeck, keeping a careful eye on the captain and his sailors and watching for any signs of unusual-looking weather. Flute sat astride the bowsprit playing her pipes while Sparhawk spoke quietly with Sephrenia and Kurik. Sephrenia already knew the customs of the country, so Sparhawk’s instruction was directed primarily at his squire. He cautioned him about the many minor things that could be taken as personal insults and about other things that were considered sacrilegious.

‘Who made up all these stupid rules?’ Kurik demanded.

‘Eshand,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘He was crazy, and crazy people take great comfort in rituals.’ ‘Anything else?’

‘One other thing. If you should happen to encounter any sheep, you have to step aside for them.’

‘Say that again?’ Kurik’s tone was incredulous.

‘It’s very important, Kurik.’

‘You’re not serious!’

‘Deadly serious. Eshand was a shepherd when he was a boy and he used to go absolutely wild when someone rode through his flock. When he came to power, he announced that God had revealed to him that sheep were holy animals and that everyone had to give way to them.’

‘That’s crazy, Sparhawk,’ Kurik protested.

‘Of course it is. It’s the law here, though.’

‘Isn’t it strange how the Elene God’s revelations always seem to coincide exactly with the prejudices of His prophets?’ Sephrenia murmured.

‘Do they do anything at all like normal people?’ Kurik asked.

‘Not many things, no.’

As the sun went down, the captain moored his boat against the river bank, and he and his sailors spread pallets on the aft deck. Sparhawk rose and went amidships. He laid his hand on Faran’s neck. ‘Stay awake,’ he told the big roan. ‘If someone starts creeping around in the middle of the night, let me know about it.’

Faran bared his teeth and shifted around until he was resolutely facing aft. Sparhawk patted his rump familiarly and went back forward.

They took a cold supper of bread and cheese, then spread their blankets on the deck.

‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik said after they had settled down for the night.

‘Yes, Kurik?’

‘I’ve just had a thought. Are there many people riding in and out of Dabour?’

‘Usually, yes. Arasham’s presence there tends to attract large crowds.’

‘I sort of thought so. Wouldn’t we be a little less conspicuous if we got off this boat a league or so this side of Dabour and joined one of the groups of pilgrims riding into the city?’

‘You think of everything, don’t you, Kurik?’

‘That’s what you pay me for, Sparhawk. Sometimes you knights aren’t too practical. It’s a squire’s job to keep you out of trouble’

‘I appreciate that, Kurik.’

‘No extra charge,’ Kurik said.

The night passed uneventfully, and at dawn the sailors cast off their moorings and raised the sail again. They passed the town of Kodhl about midmorning of the following day and sailed on upriver towards the holy city of Dabour. The river between towns was heavily travelled. There seemed to be no organized pattern to the traffic, and the boats occasionally bumped into each other. Such incidents were usually accompanied by an exchange of curses and insults.

It was about noon on the fourth day when Sparhawk went aft to have a word with the one-eyed captain. ‘We’re getting fairly close, aren’t we?’ he asked.

‘About five more leagues,’ the captain replied, moving his tiller slightly to avoid an oncoming boat. ‘Mangy son of a three-legged donkey!’ he bellowed at the steersman of the other vessel.

‘May your mother break out in warts!’ the steersman replied pleasantly

‘I think my friends and I might want to go ashore before we actually reach the city,’ Sparhawk said to the captain. ‘We want to look around a bit before we meet any of Arasham’s followers, and the docks are likely to be watched rather closely’

That might be a wise move,’ the captain agreed. ‘Besides, I get a feeling that you might be up to no good and I’d rather not get involved.’

‘It works out for both of us, then, doesn’t it?’

It was early afternoon when the captain put his tiller over and drove the prow of his boat up onto a narrow strip of sandy beach. ‘This is about as close as I can get you,’ he told Sparhawk. ‘The bank gets marshy just up ahead.’

‘How far is Dabour from here?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘Four, maybe five miles.’

‘Close enough, then.’

The sailors ran the gangway out to the sand from amidships, and Sparhawk and his friends led their horses and their pack mule down to the beach. They had no sooner disembarked than the sailors pulled in the gangway and pushed the boat out into the river with long poles. Then the captain manoeuvred his craft out into the current and moved back downriver. There was no exchange of farewells.

‘Are you going to be all right?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia. Her face was still drawn, although the dark circles under her eyes had begun to fade.

‘I’ll be fine, Sparhawk,’ she assured him.

‘If we lose too many more of those knights, though, you won’t be, will you?’

‘I don’t really know,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never been in this exact position before. Let’s go on to Dabour and talk with Doctor Tanjin.’

They rode up off the beach through the scrubby bushes that bordered it and soon reached the dusty road that led to Dabour. There were other travellers on that road, black-robed nomads for the most part, with their dark eyes afire with religious fervour. Once they were forced to the side of the road by a herd of sheep. The herders, mounted on mules, rode arrogantly and deliberately blocked the road as much as possible with their animals. Their expressions clearly dared anyone to object.

‘I never liked sheep very much,’ Kurik muttered, ‘and I like sheep-herders even less.’

‘Don’t let it show,’ Sparhawk advised him.

‘They eat a lot of mutton down here, don’t they?’

Sparhawk nodded.

‘Isn’t it sort of inconsistent to butcher and eat a sacred animal?’

‘Consistency is not one of the more notable characteristics of the Rendorish mind.’

As the sheep passed, Flute raised her pipes and played a peculiarly discordant little melody The sheep suddenly grew wild-eyed, milled for a moment, then stampeded across the desert with the sheep-herders in frantic pursuit. Flute covered her mouth with a soundless giggle.

‘Stop that,’ Sephrenia chided.

‘Did what I think happened, happen?’ Kurik said in amazement.

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ Sparhawk said.

‘I really like that little girl, you know?’ Kurik was grinning broadly

They rode on at the tail end of the crowd of pilgrims. After a time they crested a low hill and saw the city of Dabour spread out below them. There were the usual white-plastered houses clustered near the river, but beyond them, stretching in all directions, were hundreds of large black tents. Sparhawk shaded his eyes with one hand and scanned the city. ‘The cattle pens are over there,’ he said, pointing to the eastern edge of town. ‘We should be able to find Perraine there somewhere.’

They angled down the hill, avoiding the buildings and tents in the southern section of Dabour. As they began to ride through a cluster of tents pitched between them and the pens, a bearded nomad with a brass pendant set with a bit of glass hanging on a chain about his neck stepped out from behind a tent to bar their path. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded. He made a quick, imperious gesture with one hand, and a dozen other black-robed men came out into the open with long pikes in their hands.

‘We have business at the cattle pens, noble sir,’ Sparhawk replied mildly

‘Oh, really?’ the bearded man sneered. ‘I see no cows.’ He looked around at his followers with a self-congratulatory
smirk as if terribly pleased with his own cleverness.

‘The cows are coming, noble sir,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We were sent on ahead to make arrangements.’

The man with the pendant knit his brows, trying hard to find something wrong with that. ‘Do you know who I am?’ he demanded finally in a pugnacious tone of voice.

‘I’m afraid not, noble sir,’ Sparhawk apologized. ‘I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.’

‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’ the officious fellow demanded. ‘All these soft answers don’t deceive me in the least.’

‘I wasn’t trying to be deceptive, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said with a slight edge coming into his voice, ‘merely polite.’

‘I am Ulesim, favoured disciple of holy Arasham,’ the bearded man said, striking his chest with his fist.

‘I’m overwhelmed by the honour of meeting you,’ Sparhawk said, bowing in his saddle.

‘That’s all you have to say?’ Ulesim exclaimed, his eyes bulging at the imagined insult.

‘As I said, Lord Ulesim, I’m overwhelmed. I hadn’t expected to be greeted by so illustrious a man.’

‘I’m not here to greet you, cowherd. I’m here to take you into custody. Get down off your horses.’

Sparhawk gave him a long look, assessing the situation. Then he swung down from Faran’s back and helped Sephrenia to dismount.

‘What’s this all about, Sparhawk?’ she whispered as she lifted Flute down.

‘I’d guess that he’s a minor bootlicker trying to assert his own importance,’ Sparhawk whispered back. ‘We don’t want to stir anything up, so let’s do as he says.’

‘Take the prisoners to my tent,’ Ulesim commanded grandly after a moment’s hesitation. The favoured disciple didn’t seem to know exactly what to do.

The pikemen stepped forward threateningly, and one of them led the way towards a tent surmounted by a drooping pennon made of dirty green cloth.

They were roughly shoved into the tent, and the flap was tied down.

Kurik’s expression was filled with contempt. ‘Amateurs, ’ he muttered. ‘They hold those pikes like shepherd’s crooks and they didn’t even search us for weapons.’

‘They may be amateurs, Kurik,’ Sephrenia said softly, ‘but they’ve managed to take us prisoner.’

‘Not for long,’ Kurik growled, reaching under his robe for his dagger. ‘I’ll cut a hole in the back of the tent, and we can be on our way’

‘No,’ Sparhawk said quietly ‘We’d have a horde of howling fanatics on our heels in about two minutes if we did that.’

‘We’re not just going to sit here?’ Kurik asked incredulously

‘Let me handle it, Kurik.’

They sat waiting in the stifling tent as the minutes dragged by.

After a bit, the tent-flap opened and Ulesim entered with two of his men close behind him. ‘I will have your name from you, cowherd,’ he said arrogantly.

‘I am called Mahkra, Lord Ulesim,’ Sparhawk replied meekly, ‘and this is my sister, her daughter, and my servant. May I ask why we have been detained?’

Ulesim’s eyes narrowed. ‘There are those who refuse to accept holy Arasham’s authority,’ he declared. ‘I, Ulesim, his most favoured disciple, have taken it upon myself to root out these false prophets and send them to the stake. Holy Arasham relies upon me completely.’

‘Is that still going on?’ Sparhawk asked in mild surprise. ‘I thought that all opposition to Arasham had been stamped out decades ago.’

‘Not so! Not so!’ Ulesim half-shrieked. ‘There are still plotters and conspirators hiding in the desert and lurking in the cities. I will not rest until I have unearthed every one of these criminals and consigned them to the flames.’

‘You have nothing to fear from me or my band, Lord Ulesim,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘We revere the holy prophet of God and pay him homage in our prayers.’

‘So you say, Mahkra, but can you prove your identity and satisfy me that you have legitimate business in the holy city?’ The fanatic smirked at his two cohorts as if he had just scored a tremendous point.

‘Why yes, Lord Ulesim,’ Sparhawk replied calmly, ‘I believe I can. We are here to speak with a cattle buyer named Mirrelek. Do you perhaps know him?’

Ulesim puffed himself up. ‘What would I, the favoured disciple of holy Arasham, have to do with some common cattle buyer?’

One of the disciple’s toadies leaned forward and whispered at some length in Ulesim’s ear. The disciple’s expression grew less and less certain and finally even a bit frightened. ‘I will send for this cattle buyer you mentioned,’ he declared grudgingly ‘If he confirms your story, well and good; but if not, I will take you to holy Arasham himself for judgement.’