The Diamond Throne (5 page)

Sparhawk reached the central courtyard and dismounted, moving a bit awkwardly because of the weight of his armour and the encumbrance of his shield. A guard came forward, his pike at the ready

‘Good morning, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said to him in his quiet voice.

The guard hesitated.

‘Watch my horse,’ the knight told him then. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’ He handed the guard Faran’s reins and started up the broad staircase towards the heavy double doors that opened into the palace.

‘Sir Knight,’ the guard called after him.

Sparhawk did not turn, but continued on up the stairs. There were two blue-liveried guards at the top, older men, he noted, men he thought he recognized. One of the guards’ eyes widened, then he suddenly grinned. ‘Welcome back, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said, pulling the door open for the black-armoured knight.

Sparhawk gave him a slow wink and went on inside, his mail-shod feet and his spurs clinking on the polished flagstones. Just beyond the door, he encountered a palace functionary with curled and pomaded hair and wearing a maroon-coloured doublet. ‘I will speak with Lycheas,’ Sparhawk announced in a flat tone. ‘Take me to him.’

‘But –’ The man’s face had gone slightly pale. He drew himself up, his expression growing lofty ‘How did you –?’

‘Didn’t you hear me, neighbour?’ Sparhawk asked him.

The man in the maroon doublet shrank back. ‘A-at once, Sir Sparhawk,’ he stammered. He turned then and led the way down the broad central corridor. His shoulders were visibly trembling. Sparhawk noted that the functionary was not leading him towards the throne room, but rather towards the council chamber where King Aldreas had customarily met with his advisors. A faint smile touched the big man’s lips as he surmised that the presence of the young Queen sitting encased in crystal on the throne might have had a dampening effect on her cousin’s attempts to usurp her crown.

They reached the door to the council chamber and found it guarded by two men wearing the red livery of the church – the soldiers of the Primate Annias. The two automatically crossed their pikes to bar entry to the chamber.

‘The Queen’s Champion to see the Prince Regent,’ the functionary said to them, his voice shrill.

‘We have had no orders to admit the Queen’s Champion,’ one of them declared.

‘You have now,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Open the door.’

The man in the maroon doublet made a move as if to scurry away, but Sparhawk caught his arm. ‘I haven’t dismissed you yet, neighbour,’ he said. Then he looked at the guards. ‘Open the door,’ he repeated.

It hung there for a long moment, while the guards looked first at Sparhawk and then nervously at each other. Then one of them swallowed hard and, fumbling with his pike, he reached for the door handle.

‘You’ll need to announce me,’ Sparhawk told the man whose arm he still held firmly in his gauntleted fist. ‘We wouldn’t want to surprise anyone, would we?’

The man’s eyes were a little wild. He stepped into the open doorway and cleared his throat. ‘The Queen’s Champion,’ he blurted with his words tumbling out over each other. ‘The Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.’

‘Thank you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You can go now.’

The functionary bolted.

The council chamber was very large and was carpeted and draped in blue. Large candelabras lined the walls, and there were more candles on the long, polished table in the centre of the room. Three men sat at the table with documents before them, but the fourth had half-risen from his chair.

The man on his feet was the Primate Annias. The churchman had grown leaner in the ten years since Sparhawk had last seen him, and his face looked grey and emaciated. His hair was tied back from his face and was now shot with silver. He wore a long black cassock, and the bejewelled pendant of his office as Primate of Cimmura hung from a thick gold chain about his neck. His eyes were wide with surprised alarm as Sparhawk entered the room.

The Earl of Lenda, a white-haired man in his seventies, was dressed in a soft grey doublet, and he was grinning openly, his bright blue eyes sparkling in his lined face. The Baron Harparin, a notorious pederast, sat with an astonished expression on his face. His clothing was a riot of conflicting colours. Seated next to him was a grossly fat man in red whom Sparhawk did not recognize.

‘Sparhawk!’ Annias said sharply, recovering from his surprise, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I understand that you’ve been looking for me, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I thought I’d save you some trouble.’

‘You’ve broken your exile, Sparhawk,’ Annias accused angrily

‘That’s one of the things we need to talk about. I’m told that Lycheas the bastard is functioning as Prince Regent until the Queen regains her health. Why don’t you send for him so we won’t have to go through all this twice?’

Annias’ eyes widened in shock and outrage.

‘That’s what he is, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk said. ‘His origins are hardly a secret, so why tiptoe around them? The bell pull, as I recall, is right over there. Give it a yank, Annias, and send some toady to fetch the Prince Regent.’

The Earl of Lenda chuckled openly

Annias gave the old man a furious look and went to the pair of bell pulls hanging down the far wall. His hand hesitated between the two.

‘Don’t make any mistakes, your Grace,’ Sparhawk warned him. ‘All sorts of things could go terribly wrong if a dozen soldiers come through that door instead of a servant.’

‘Go ahead, Annias,’ the Earl of Lenda urged. ‘My life is almost over anyway, and I wouldn’t mind going out with a bit of excitement.’

Annias clenched his teeth and yanked the blue bell pull
instead of the red one. After a moment the door opened, and a liveried young man entered. ‘Yes, your Grace?’ he said, bowing to the primate.

‘Go and tell the Prince Regent that we require his presence here at once.’

‘But –’

‘At once!’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ The servant scurried out.

‘There, you see how easy that was?’ Sparhawk said to Annias. Then he went over to the white-haired Earl of Lenda, removed his gauntlet and took the old man’s hand. ‘You’re looking well, my Lord,’ he said.

‘Still alive, you mean?’ Lenda laughed. ‘How was Rendor, Sparhawk?’

‘Hot, dry, and very dusty.’

‘Always has been, my boy. Always has been.’

‘Are you going to answer my question?’ Annias demanded.

‘Please, your Grace,’ Sparhawk responded piously, holding up one hand, ‘not until the bastard Regent arrives. We must mind our manners, mustn’t we?’ He lifted one eyebrow. ‘Tell me,’ he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘how’s his mother – her health, I mean? I wouldn’t expect a churchman to be able to testify to the carnal talents of the Princess Arissa – although just about everybody else in Cimmura could.’

‘You go too far, Sparhawk.’

‘You mean you didn’t know? My goodness, old boy, you really should try to stay abreast of things.’

‘How
rude!’
Baron Harparin exclaimed to the fat man in red.

‘It’s not the sort of thing you’d understand, Harparin,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘I hear that your inclinations lie in other directions.’

The door opened and a pimpled young man with
muddy blond hair and a slack-lipped mouth entered. He wore a green, ermine-trimmed robe and a small gold coronet. ‘You wanted to see me, Annias?’ His voice had a nasal, almost whining quality to it.

‘A state matter, your Highness,’ Annias replied. ‘We need to have you pass judgement in a case involving high treason.’

The young man blinked stupidly at him.

‘This is Sir Sparhawk, who has deliberately violated the command of your late uncle, King Aldreas. Sparhawk here was ordered to Rendor, not to return unless summoned back by royal command. His very presence in Elenia convicts him.’

Lycheas recoiled visibly from the bleak-faced knight in black armour, his eyes going wide and his loose mouth gaping. ‘Sparhawk?’ he quailed.

‘The very same,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘The good primate, however, has slightly overstated the case, I’m afraid. When I assumed my position as hereditary champion of the crown, I took an oath to defend the King – or the Queen – whenever the royal life was endangered. That oath takes precedence over any command royal or otherwise – and the Queen’s life is clearly in danger.’

‘That’s merely a technicality, Sparhawk,’ Annias snapped.

‘I know,’ Sparhawk replied blandly, ‘but technicalities are the soul of the law.’

The Earl of Lenda cleared his throat. ‘I have made a study of such matters,’ he said, ‘and Sir Sparhawk has correctly cited the law. His oath to defend the crown does in fact take precedence.’

Prince Lycheas had gone around to the other side of the table, giving Sparhawk a wide berth. ‘That’s absurd,’ he declared. ‘Ehlana’s sick. She’s not in any physical danger.’ He sat down in the chair next to the primate.

‘The Queen,’ Sparhawk corrected him. ‘What?’

‘Her proper title is “her Majesty” – or at the least, “Queen Ehlana” It’s extremely discourteous simply to call her by name. Technically, I suppose, I’m obliged to protect her from discourtesy as well as physical danger. I’m a little vague on that point of law, so I’ll defer to the judgement of my old friend, the Earl of Lenda, on the matter before I have my seconds deliver my challenge to your Highness.’

Lycheas went pasty white ‘Challenge?’

‘This is sheer idiocy,’ Annias declared. ‘There will be no challenges delivered or accepted.’ His eyes narrowed then. ‘The Prince Regent’s point is well taken, however,’ he said. ‘Sparhawk has simply seized this flimsy excuse to violate his banishment. Unless he can present some documentary evidence of having been summoned, he stands convicted of high treason.’ The primate’s smile was thin.

‘I thought you’d never ask, Annias,’ Sparhawk said. He reached under his sword belt and drew out a tightly folded parchment tied with a blue ribbon. He untied the ribbon and opened the parchment, the blood-red stone on his ring flashing in the candlelight. ‘This all seems to be in order,’ he said, perusing the document. ‘It has the Queen’s signature on it and her personal seal. Her instructions to me are quite explicit.’ He stretched out his arm, offering the parchment to the Earl of Lenda. ‘What’s your opinion, my Lord?’

The old man took the parchment and examined it. ‘The seal is the Queen’s,’ he confirmed, ‘and the handwriting is hers. She commands Sir Sparhawk to present himself to her immediately upon her ascension to the throne. It’s a valid royal command, my Lords.’

‘Let me see that,’ Annias snapped.

Lenda passed it on down the table to him.

The primate read the document with tightly clenched teeth. ‘It’s not even dated,’ he accused.

‘Excuse me, your Grace,’ Lenda pointed out, ‘but there is no legal requirement that a royal decree or command be dated. Dating is merely a convention.’

‘Where did you get this?’ the primate asked Sparhawk, his eyes narrowing.

‘I’ve had it for quite some time.’

‘It was obviously written before the Queen ascended the throne.’

‘It does appear that way, doesn’t it?’

‘It has no validity.’ The primate took the parchment in both hands as if he would tear it in two.

‘What’s the penalty for destroying a royal decree, my Lord of Lenda?’ Sparhawk asked mildly.

‘Death.’

‘I rather thought it might be. Go ahead and rip it up, Annias. I’ll be more than happy to carry out the sentence myself – just to save time and the expense of all the tiresome legal proceedings.’ His eyes locked with those of Annias. After a moment, the primate threw the parchment on the table in disgust.

Lycheas had watched all of this with a look of growing chagrin. Then he seemed to notice something for the first time. ‘Your ring, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said in his whining voice. ‘That is your badge of office, is it not?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. Actually the ring – and the Queen’s ring – are symbolic of the link between my family and hers.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘No.’

Lycheas’ eyes bulged. ‘I just gave you a royal command!’ he shouted.

‘No. It was a personal request, Lycheas. You can’t give royal commands, because you’re not the king.’

Lycheas looked uncertainly at the primate, but Annias shook his head slightly. The pimpled young man flushed.

‘The Prince Regent merely wished to examine the ring, Sir Sparhawk,’ the churchman said smoothly. ‘We have sought its mate, the ring of King Aldreas, but it seems to be missing. Would you have any idea where we might find it?’

Sparhawk spread his hands. ‘Aldreas had it on his finger when I left for Cippria,’ he replied. ‘The rings are not customarily taken off, so I assume he was still wearing it when he died.’

‘No. He was not.’

‘Perhaps the Queen has it then.’

‘Not so far as we’re able to determine.’

‘I want that other ring,’ Lycheas insisted, ‘as a symbol of my authority’

Sparhawk looked at him, his face amused. ‘What authority?’ he asked bluntly The ring belongs to Queen Ehlana, and if someone tries to take it from her, I imagine that I’ll have to take steps.’ He suddenly felt a faint prickling of his skin. It seemed that the candles in their gold candelabras flickered slightly and the blue-draped council chamber grew perceptibly dimmer. Instantly, he began to mutter under his breath in the Styric tongue, carefully weaving the counterspell even as he searched the faces of the men sitting around the council table for the source of the rather crude attempt at magic. When he released the counterspell, he saw Annias flinch and he smiled bleakly Then he drew himself up. ‘Now,’ he said, his voice crisp, ‘let’s get down to business. Exactly what happened to King Aldreas?’

The Earl of Lenda sighed. ‘It was the falling-sickness, Sir Sparhawk,’ he replied sadly ‘The seizures began several months ago, and they grew more and more
frequent. The King grew weaker and weaker, and finally –’ He shrugged.

‘He didn’t have the falling-sickness when I left Cimmura,’ Sparhawk said.

‘The onset was sudden,’ Annias said coldly.

‘So it seems. It’s rumoured that the Queen fell ill with the same affliction.’

Annias nodded.