The Diamond Throne (50 page)

‘No, Martel,’ she replied, closing her hands, ‘I don’t think so. You’re no longer my pupil. You’ve found another to follow.’

‘That wasn’t entirely my idea, Sephrenia. You rejected me, you remember.’ He sighed and released her wrists. Then he looked back at Sparhawk. ‘I’m really rather surprised to see you, brother mine,’ he said, ‘considering all the times I’ve sent Adus to deal with you. I’ll have to
speak sharply with him about that – provided you haven’t killed him, of course.’

‘He was bleeding a little the last time I saw him,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but not very seriously.’

‘Adus doesn’t pay much attention to blood – not even his own.’

‘Would you like to step out of the way, Sephrenia?’ Sparhawk said, opening the front of his robe and shifting his sword hilt around slightly ‘Martel and I were having a little discussion the last time we saw each other. I think it’s time we continued it.’

Martel’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his own robe. Like Sparhawk, he also wore mail and a broadsword. ‘Excellent notion, Sparhawk,’ he said, his deep voice dropping to little more than a whisper

Sephrenia stepped between them. ‘Stop that, both of you,’ she commanded. ‘This isn’t the time or the place. We’re right in the middle of an army If you play this game here in Arasham’s tent, you’ll have half of Rendor in here with you before it’s over.’

Sparhawk felt a hot surge of disappointment, but he knew that she was right. Regretfully, he took his hand away from his sword hilt. ‘Sometime soon, however, Martel,’ he said in a dreadfully quiet voice

‘I’ll be happy to oblige you, dear brother,’ Martel replied with an ironic bow His eyes narrowed speculatively ‘What are you two doing here in Rendor?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were still in Cammoria.’

‘It’s a business trip.’

‘Ah, you’ve found out about the Darestim, I see I hate to tell you this, but you’re wasting your time. There’s no antidote. I checked that very carefully before I recommended it to a certain friend in Cimmura.’

‘You’re pressing your luck, Martel,’ Sparhawk told him ominously

‘I always have, brother mine. As they say, no risk, no profit. Ehlana will die, I’m afraid. Lycheas will succeed her, and Annias will become Archprelate. I expect to reap quite a handsome profit from that.’

‘Is that all you ever think about?’

‘What else is there?’ Martel shrugged. ‘Everything else is only an illusion. How’s Vanion been lately?’

‘He’s well,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘I’ll tell him you asked.’

‘That’s assuming that you live long enough to see him again. Your situation here is precarious, my old friend.’

‘So’s yours, Martel.’

‘I know, but I’m used to it. You’re weighted down with scruples and the like. I left all that behind a long time ago.’

‘Where’s your tame Damork, Martel?’ Sephrenia asked suddenly.

He looked only slightly surprised, and he recovered instantly ‘I really haven’t the slightest idea, little mother,’ he replied. ‘It comes to me without being summoned, so I never know when it’s going to turn up. Perhaps it returned to the place it came from. It has to do that every so often, you know.’

‘I’ve never been that curious about the creatures of the underworld.’

‘That could be a serious oversight.’

‘Perhaps.’

Arasham stirred on his cushions and opened his eyes. ‘Did I doze off?’ he asked.

‘Only briefly, Most Holy,’ Martel said. ‘It gave Sparhawk and me time to renew our friendship. We had much to discuss.’

‘Very much,’ Sparhawk agreed. He hesitated slightly, but then decided that Martel was so sure of himself that he’d probably miss the significance of the question. ‘You mentioned a talisman during your sermon, holy one,’ he said to Arasham. ‘Might we be permitted to see it?’

The holy relic? Of course.’ The old man fumbled inside his robe and drew out something that appeared to be a twisted lump of bone. He held it out proudly. ‘Do you know what this is, Sparhawk?’ he asked.

‘No, Most Holy. I’m afraid not.’

‘The blessed Eshand began life as a shepherd, you know.’

‘Yes, I’d heard so.’

‘One day when he was quite young, a ewe in his flock gave birth to a pure white lamb that was like none other he had ever seen. Unlike all other sheep of that breed, this infant ram bore horns upon its head. It was, of course, a sign from God. The pure lamb, obviously, symbolized the blessed Eshand himself, and the fact that the lamb was horned could only mean one thing – that Eshand had been chosen to chastise the Church for her iniquity’

‘How mysterious are the ways of God,’ Sparhawk marvelled.

Truly, my son. Truly Eshand cared for the ram most tenderly, and in time it began to speak to him, and its voice was the voice of God Himself. And thus God instructed Eshand in that which he must do. This holy relic is a piece of the horn of that very ram. Now you can see why it has such enormous power’

‘Clearly, Most Holy,’ Sparhawk said in a reverent tone of voice. ‘Come closer, little sister,’ he said to Sephrenia. ‘View this miraculous relic.’

She stepped forward and looked intently at the twisted bit of horn in Arasham’s hand. ‘Remarkable,’ she murmured. She glanced at Sparhawk, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.

The bitter taste of disappointment filled his mouth.

The power of this talisman will overcome all the concerted might of the accursed Church Knights and
their foul witchcraft,’ Arasham declared. ‘God Himself has told me so.’ He smiled almost shyly ‘I have discovered a truly remarkable thing,’ he told them confidentially ‘When I am alone, I can lift the holy relic to my ear and hear the voice of God. Thus He instructs me even as He instructed the blessed Eshand.’

‘A miracle!’ Martel said in mock amazement.

‘Is it not?’ Arasham beamed.

‘We are quite overcome with gratitude that you have consented to let us view the talisman, Most Holy,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and we will spread word of it throughout the kingdoms of the north, won’t we, Martel?’

‘Oh, of course, of course’ Martel’s face was slightly puzzled and he was looking suspiciously at Sparhawk.

‘I perceive now that our coming here is a part of God’s design,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘It is our mission to tell all the kingdoms of the north of this miracle through every village and at every crossroads. Even now I feel the spirit of God infusing my tongue with eloquence so that I might better describe what I have seen.’ He reached out and clapped Martel on the left shoulder – quite firmly ‘Don’t you feel it as well, dear brother?’ he asked enthusiastically

Martel winced slightly, and Sparhawk could feel the shoulder shrinking from under his hand. ‘Why, yes,’ Martel admitted in a slightly pained voice, ‘as a matter of fact, I believe I do.’

‘Wondrous is the might of God!’ Arasham exulted.

‘Yes,’ Martel said, rubbing at his shoulder, ‘wondrous.’

The idea had been slow in coming, in part perhaps because of the surprise of once again seeing Martel, but now it all began to fall into place Sparhawk was suddenly glad that Martel was here. ‘And now, Most Holy,’ he said, ‘let me give you the remainder of his Majesty’s message to you.’

‘Of course. My ears are open to you.’

‘His Majesty commands me to implore you to give him time to marshal his forces before you move against the venal Church here in Rendor. He must move with caution in his mobilization because the Hierocracy in Chyrellos has spies everywhere. He wishes devoutly to aid you, but the Church is powerful, and he must mass sufficient force to overcome her might in Deira at one stroke, lest she recover and crush him. It is his thought that should you mount your campaign here in the south at the same time he mounts his in the north, the Church will be confounded, not knowing which way to turn, and by moving swiftly you both may take advantage of her confusion and win victory after victory. The impact of these victories will dishearten and demoralize the forces of the Church, and you may both march triumphant upon Chyrellos.’

‘Praise God!’ Arasham exclaimed, starting to his feet and brandishing his sheep’s horn like a weapon.

Sparhawk raised one hand.
‘But,’
he cautioned, ‘this grand design, which can only have come from God Himself, has no chance of success unless you and his Majesty attack simultaneously.’

‘I can see that, of course. God’s own voice has instructed me in just such strategy.’

‘I was sure that He had.’ Sparhawk let his face assume an expression of extreme cunning. ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘the Church is as sly as a serpent, and she has ears everywhere. Despite our best efforts to maintain secrecy, she may uncover our plan. Her first recourse has always been deceit.’

‘I have seen that in her,’ Arasham admitted.

‘It may well be that once she has uncovered our plan, she will attempt deception, and what better way to deceive you than to send false messengers to you to
declare that his Majesty is in readiness when indeed he is not? Thus the Church could defeat you and your disciples one by one.’

Arasham frowned. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘But how may we avoid being deceived?’

Sparhawk pretended to think about it. Then he suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘I have it!’ he exclaimed. ‘What better way to confound the deceitfulness of the Church than by the word – a word known only to you and to me and to King Obler of Deira? Thus may you know that a message is genuine. Should any come to you with the message that the time has come, but who cannot repeat the word to you, that man will be most surely a serpent of the Church sent to deceive you, and you should deal with him accordingly’

Arasham thought about it. ‘Why, yes,’ he mumbled finally ‘I believe that might indeed confound the Church. But what word can be so locked in our hearts that none may seek it out?’

Sparhawk threw a covert glance at Martel, whose face was suddenly filled with chagrin. ‘It must be a word of power,’ he said, squinting at the roof of the tent as if deep in thought. The whole ploy was obvious even childish, but it was the kind of thing that would appeal to the senile old Arasham, and it provided a marvellous opportunity to settle a few scores with Martel, just for old times’ sake.

Sephrenia sighed and lifted her eyes in resignation. Sparhawk felt a little ashamed of himself at that point. He looked at Arasham, who was leaning forward in anticipation, chewing upon emptiness with his toothless mouth and setting his long beard to waggling.

‘I will, of course, accept your pledge of secrecy without question, Most Holy,’ Sparhawk said in feigned humility ‘I, however, swear by my life that the word I am
about to give you in profoundest secrecy shall never again pass my lips until I divulge it to King Obler in Acie, the capital of his kingdom.’

‘And I also pledge my oath to you, noble friend Sparhawk,’ the old man cried in an excess of enthusiasm. ‘Torture will not drag the word from my lips.’ He made some attempt to draw himself up regally.

‘Your pledge honours me, Most Holy,’ Sparhawk replied with a deep Rendorish bow. He approached the old man, bent, and whispered, ‘Ramshorn.’ Arasham, he noted, didn’t smell very good.

‘The perfect word!’ Arasham cried. He seized Sparhawk’s head in a pair of wiry arms and kissed him soundly full on the mouth.

Martel, his face pale with anger, had tried to draw near enough to hear, but Sephrenia stepped in front of him. His eyes flashed angrily, and with obvious effort he restrained his first impulse to thrust her out of his way.

She raised her chin and looked him full in the face. ‘Well?’ she said.

He muttered something, turned, and stalked to the far side of the tent where he stood gnawing at a knuckle in frustration.

Arasham still clung to Sparhawk’s neck. ‘My beloved son and deliverer,’ he cried with his rheumy eyes filled with tears. ‘Surely you have been sent to me by God Himself. We cannot fail now. God is on our side. Let the wicked tremble before us.’

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed, gently disengaging the old man’s arms from about his neck.

‘A thought, holy one,’ Martel said shrewdly, though his face was still white with fury. ‘Sparhawk is only human, and therefore mortal. The world is full of mischance. Might it not be wiser to –’

‘Mischance?’ Sparhawk cut him off quickly. ‘Where is
your faith, Martel? This is God’s design, not mine. God will not permit me to die until I have performed this service for Him. Have faith, dear brother. God will sustain and keep me against all perils. It is my destiny to fulfil this task, and God will see to it that I do not fail.’

‘Praise God!’ Arasham exclaimed ecstatically, ending the discussion.

The doe-eyed boy brought in the melons at that point, and the conversation shifted to more general matters. Arasham delivered another rambling diatribe against the Church while Martel sat scowling at Sparhawk. Sparhawk kept his eyes on his melon, which was surprisingly good. It had all been too easy, somehow, and that worried him just a little. Martel was too clever, too devious to have been so easily circumvented. He looked appraisingly across the tent at the white-haired man he had hated for so long. Martel’s expression was baffled, frustrated and that was also not like him. The Martel he had known as a youth would never have revealed such emotions. Sparhawk began to feel a little less sure of himself.

‘A thought has just occurred to me, Most Holy,’ he said. ‘Time is crucial in this affair, and it is essential that my sister and I return to Deira at once to advise his Majesty that all here in Rendor is ready and to convey to his ears alone that word which is locked in both our hearts. We have good horses, of course, but a fast boat could take us downriver and deliver us to the seaport at Jiroch days earlier. Perhaps you or one of your disciples – might know of some dependable boat-owner here in Dabour whom I could hire.’

Arasham blinked at him vaguely ‘A boat?’ he mumbled.

A faint movement caught Sparhawk’s eye, and he saw Sephrenia move her arm as if only shaking back her
sleeve. Instantly he knew what she had been doing all along.

‘Hire, my son?’ Arasham beamed at him. ‘Let there be no talk of hiring. I have a splendid boat at my disposal. You will take it, and with my blessing. I will send armed men with you and a regiment – no, a legion – to patrol the banks of the river to make sure you reach Jiroch safely.’