‘The one who was in the house with the Styrics?’
‘Probably – unless you’ve gone out of your way to offend other Lamorks of late. Could Azash or one of his Zemochs have sensed your presence back there?’
‘It’s possible,’ she conceded. ‘No one can be absolutely certain just how far the power of the Elder Gods goes. How did you know that we were about to be attacked?’
‘Training, I suppose. I’ve learned to know when someone’s pointing a weapon at me.’
‘I thought it was pointed at me.’
‘It amounts to the same thing, Sephrenia.’
‘Well, he missed.’
‘This time. I think I’ll talk to Nashan about getting you a mail shirt.’
‘Are you mad, Sparhawk?’ she protested. ‘The weight alone would put me on my knees – not to mention the awful smell.’
‘Better the weight and the smell than an arrow between the shoulder blades.’
‘Totally out of the question.’
‘We’ll see. Put the sword away and let’s move on. You need rest, and I want to get you inside the chapterhouse where it’s safe before someone else takes a shot at you.’
Chapter 14 (#ulink_55af82e8-272f-5863-bbce-3904b9d82500)
The following day, about midmorning, Sir Bevier arrived at the gates of the Pandion chapterhouse in Chyrellos. Sir Bevier was a Cyrinic Knight from Arcium. His formal armour was burnished to a silvery sheen, and his surcoat was white. His helmet had no visor, but rather bore heavy cheekpieces and a formidable nose guard. He dismounted in the courtyard, hung his shield and his Lochaber axe on his saddlebow, and removed his helmet. Bevier was young and somewhat slender. His complexion was olive and his hair curly and blue-black.
With some show of ceremony, Nashan descended the steps of the chapterhouse with Sparhawk and Kalten to greet him. ‘Our house is honoured, Sir Bevier,’ he said.
Bevier inclined his head stiffly. ‘My Lord,’ he responded, ‘I am commanded by the preceptor of my order to convey to you his greetings.’
‘Thank you, Sir Bevier.’ Nashan said, somewhat taken aback by the young knight’s stiff formality.
‘Sir Sparhawk.’ Bevier said then, again inclining his head.
‘Do we know each other, Bevier?’
‘Our preceptor described you to me, my Lord Sparhawk – you and your companion, Sir Kalten. Have the others arrived yet?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘No. You’re the first.’
‘Come inside, Sir Bevier,’ Nashan said then. ‘We’ll assign you a cell so that you can get out of your armour, and I’ll speak to the kitchen about a hot meal.’
‘An it please you, my Lord, might I first visit your chapel? I have been some days on the road and I feel sorely the need for prayer in a consecrated place.’
‘Of course,’ Nashan said to him.
‘We’ll see to your horse,’ Sparhawk told the young man.
‘Thank you, Lord Sparhawk.’ Bevier bent his head again and followed Nashan up the steps.
‘Oh, he’s going to be a jolly travelling companion,’ Kalten said ironically.
‘He’ll loosen up once he gets to know us,’ Sparhawk said.
‘I hope you’re right. I’d heard that the Cyrinics are a shade formal, but I think our young friend there might be carrying it to extremes.’ Curiously, he unhooked the Lochaber from the saddlebow. ‘Can you imagine using this thing on somebody?’ He shuddered. The Lochaber axe had a heavy, two-foot blade surmounted at its forward end with a razor-sharp, hawklike bill. Its heavy handle was about four feet long. ‘You could shuck a man out of his armour like an oyster out of its shell with this.’
‘I think that’s the idea. It is sort of intimidating, isn’t it? Put it away, Kalten. Don’t play with another man’s toys.’
After Sir Bevier had completed his prayers and changed out of his armour, he joined them in Nashan’s ornate study.
‘Did they give you something to eat?’ Nashan asked.
‘It isn’t necessary, my Lord,’ Bevier replied. ‘If I may be permitted, I’ll join you and your knights in refectory for the noon meal.’
‘Of course,’ Nashan replied. ‘You’re more than welcome to join us, Bevier.’
Sparhawk then introduced Bevier to Sephrenia. The young man bowed deeply to her. ‘I have heard much of you, Lady,’ he said. ‘Our instructors in the Styric secrets hold you in great esteem.’
‘You’re kind to say so, Sir Knight. My skills are the result of age and practice, however, and do not result from any particular virtue.’
‘Age, Lady? Surely not. You can scarce be much older than I, and I will not see my thirtieth year for some months yet. The bloom of youth has not yet left your cheeks, and your eyes quite overwhelm me.’
Sephrenia smiled warmly at him, then looked critically at Kalten and Sparhawk. I hope you two are paying attention,’ she said. ‘A little polish wouldn’t hurt either of you.’
‘I was never much good at formality, little mother,’ Kalten confessed.
‘I’ve noticed,’ she said. ‘Flute,’ she said a bit wearily then, ‘please put the book down. I’ve asked you again and again not to touch them.’
Several days later, Sir Tynian and Sir Ulath arrived, riding together. Tynian was a good-humoured Alcione Knight from Deira, the kingdom lying to the north of Elenia. His broad, round face was open and friendly. His shoulders and chest were powerfully muscled as the result of years of bearing Deiran armour, the heaviest in the world. Over his massive armour he wore a sky-blue surcoat. Ulath was a hulking Genidian Knight, fully a head taller than Sparhawk. He did not wear armour, but rather a plain mail shirt and a simple conical helmet. Covering his shirt, he wore a green surcoat. He carried a large round shield and a heavy war axe. Ulath was a silent, withdrawn man who seldom spoke. His blond hair hung in two braids down his back.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Tynian said to Sparhawk and Kalten as he dismounted in the courtyard of the chapterhouse. He looked at them closely. ‘You would be Sir Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Our preceptor said that you’d broken your nose sometime.’ He grinned then. ‘It’s all right, Sparhawk. It doesn’t interfere with your kind of beauty.’
‘I’m going to like this man,’ Kalten said.
‘And you must be Kalten,’ Tynian said. He thrust out his hand, and Kalten took it before he realized that the Alcione was holding a dead mouse concealed in his palm. With a startled oath, he jerked his hand back. Tynian howled with laughter.
‘I think I could get to like him as well,’ Sparhawk noted.
‘My name is Tynian,’ the Alcione Knight introduced himself. ‘My silent friend there is Ulath from Thalesia. He caught up with me a few days ago. Hasn’t spoken ten words since then.’
‘You talk enough for both of us,’ Ulath grunted, sliding out of his saddle.
‘That’s God’s own truth,’ Tynian admitted. ‘I have this overwhelming fondness for the sound of my own voice.’
Ulath thrust out his huge hand. ‘Sparhawk,’ he said.
‘No mice?’ Sparhawk asked.
