‘Is there any way that I could carry it for you?’
‘No, dear one.’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Sephrenia,’ he said, ‘is what happened to Parasim today a part of what you told me was going to happen to the twelve knights?’
‘There’s no way to know, Sparhawk. The compact we made with the Younger Gods was not that specific.’ She smiled wanly. ‘If another of the knights dies this moon, though, we’ll know that it was merely an accident and had nothing to do with the compact.’
‘We’re going to lose them one every month?’
‘Moon,’ she corrected. ‘Twenty-eight days. Most probably yes. The Younger Gods tend to be methodical about such things. Don’t concern yourself about me, Sparhawk. I’ll be all right in a little while.’
It was some sixty leagues from the count’s castle to the city of Darra, and on the morning of the fourth day of their journey, they crested a hill and looked down upon the red tile roofs and the hundreds of chimneys sending pale blue columns of smoke straight up into the windless air. A black-armoured Pandion Knight awaited them on the hilltop. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ the knight said, raising his visor.
‘Sir Olven,’ Sparhawk replied, recognizing the knight’s scarred face.
‘I’ve a message for you from Preceptor Vanion. He instructs you to proceed directly to Cimmura with all possible speed.’
‘Cimmura? Why the change in plans?’
‘King Dregos is there, and he’s invited Wargun of Thalesia and Obler of Deira to join him. He wants to investigate the illness of Queen Ehlana – and the justification for the appointment of the bastard Lycheas as Prince Regent. Vanion believes that Annias will level his charges against our order at that council in order to deflect an inquiry that might be embarrassing.’
Sparhawk swore. ‘Berit’s a good way ahead of us by now,’ he said. ‘Have all the kings gathered in Cimmura yet?’
Olven shook his head. ‘King Obler is too old to travel very fast, and it’s likely to take a week to sober King Wargun up before he can make the voyage from Emsat.’
‘Let’s not gamble on that,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We’ll cut across country to Demos and then ride directly to Cimmura. Is Vanion still at Chyrellos?’
‘No. He came through Demos on his way to Cimmura. The Patriarch Dolmant was with him.’
‘Dolmant?’ Kalten said. ‘That’s a surprise. Who’s running the Church?’
‘Sir Kalten,’ Count Radun said stiffly. ‘The guidance of the Church is in the hands of the Archprelate.’
‘Sorry, my Lord,’ Kalten apologized. ‘I know how much Arcians revere the Church, but let’s be honest. Archprelate Cluvonus is eighty-five years old and he sleeps a great deal. Dolmant doesn’t make an issue of it, but most of the decisions that come out of Chyrellos are his.’
‘Let’s ride,’ Sparhawk said.
It took them four days of hard travelling to reach Demos, where Sir Olven left them to return to the Pandion motherhouse, and it was three more days before they arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse in Cimmura.
‘Do you know where we can find Lord Vanion?’ Sparhawk asked the novice who came out into the courtyard to take their horses.
‘He’s in his study in the south tower, my Lord – with the Patriarch Dolmant.’
Sparhawk nodded and led the way inside and up the narrow stairs.
‘Thank God you arrived in time,’ Vanion greeted them.
‘Has Berit delivered the count’s ring yet?’ Sparhawk asked him.
Vanion nodded. ‘Two days ago. I had men inside the cathedral watching.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Was it altogether wise to entrust that kind of mission to a novice, Sparhawk?’
‘Berit’s a solid young man,’ Sparhawk explained, ‘and he isn’t widely known here in Cimmura. Most of the full-fledged knights are.’
‘I see. It was your command, Sparhawk. The decision was yours. How did things go in Arcium?’
‘Adus led the mercenaries,’ Kalten replied. ‘We didn’t see a sign of Martel. Otherwise, things went more or less as planned. Adus got away, though.’
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. ‘We lost Parasim,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Vanion. I tried to keep him out of the fight.’
Vanion’s eyes clouded with sudden grief.
‘I know,’ Sparhawk said, touching the older man’s shoulder. ‘I loved him, too.’ He saw the quick look that passed between Vanion and Sephrenia. She nodded slightly as if to advise the preceptor that Sparhawk knew that Parasim had been one of the twelve. Then Sparhawk straightened and introduced Count Radun and Vanion to each other.
‘I owe you my life, Lord Vanion,’ Radun said as they shook hands. ‘Please tell me how I can repay you.’
‘Your presence here in Cimmura is ample repayment, my Lord.’
‘Have the other kings joined my nephew as yet?’ the count asked.
‘Obler has,’ Vanion replied. ‘King Wargun is still at sea, though.’
A thin man dressed in a severe black cassock sat near the window. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had silvery hair. His face was ascetic and his eyes were very keen. Sparhawk crossed the room and knelt respectfully before him. ‘Your Grace,’ he greeted the Patriarch of Demos.
‘You’re looking well, Sir Sparhawk,’ the churchman told him. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Then he looked over Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘Have you been going to chapel, Kurik?’ he asked the squire.
‘Uh – whenever there’s opportunity, your Grace,’ Kurik answered, flushing slightly.
‘Excellent, my son,’ Dolmant said. ‘I’m sure that God is always glad to see you. How are Aslade and the boys?’
‘Well, your Grace. Thank you for asking.’
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the patriarch. ‘You haven’t been eating properly, Dolmant,’ she told him.
‘Sometimes I forget,’ he said. Then he smiled slyly at her. ‘My overwhelming concern with the conversion of the heathen fills all my waking thoughts. Tell me, Sephrenia, are you ready at last to put aside your pagan ways and embrace the true faith?’
‘Not yet, Dolmant,’ she replied, also smiling. ‘It was nice of you to ask, though.’
He laughed. ‘I thought I’d get the question out of the way early so we can converse without having it hanging over our heads.’ He looked curiously at Flute, who was walking about the room examining the furnishings. ‘And who is this beautiful child?’ he asked.
‘She’s a foundling, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We came across her near the Arcian border. She doesn’t talk, so we call her Flute.’
Dolmant looked at the little girl’s grass-stained feet. ‘And was there no time to bath her?’ he asked.
‘That would not be appropriate, your Grace,’ Sephrenia replied.
The patriarch looked puzzled at that. Then he looked again at Flute. ‘Come over here, child,’ he said.
Flute approached him warily.
