It was cool, almost clammy inside the throne room, and the air smelled musty and stale. Methodically, Sparhawk went along the walls, lighting candles. Then he went to the throne and lit the ones standing in the candelabras flanking it.
‘You don’t need that much light, Sparhawk,’ Lycheas said irritably from the doorway.
Sparhawk ignored him. He put out his hand, tentatively touched the crystal which encased the throne, and felt Sephrenia’s familiar aura permeating the crystal. Then slowly he raised his eyes to look into Ehlana’s pale young face. The promise that had been there when she had been a child had been fulfilled. She was not simply pretty as so many young girls are pretty; she was beautiful. There was an almost luminous perfection about her countenance. Her pale blonde hair was long and loosely framed her face. She wore her state robes, and the heavy gold crown of Elenia encircled her head. Her slender hands lay upon the arms of her throne, and her eyes were closed.
He remembered that at first he had bitterly resented the command of King Aldreas that had made him the young girl’s caretaker. He had quickly found, however, that she was no giddy child, but rather was a serious young lady with a quick, retentive mind and an overwhelming curiosity about the world. After her initial shyness had passed, she had begun to question him closely about palace affairs, and thus, almost by accident, had begun her education in statecraft and the intricacies of palace politics. After a few months they had grown very close, and he had found himself looking forward to their daily private conversations during which he had gently moulded her character and had prepared her for her ultimate destiny as Queen of Elenia.
To see her as she was now, locked in the semblance of death, wrenched at his heart, and he swore to himself that he would take the world apart if need be to restore her to health and to her throne. For some reason it made him angry to look at her, and he felt an irrational desire to lash out at things as if by sheer physical force he could return her to consciousness.
And then he heard and felt it. The sound appeared to grow more pronounced, and it grew louder moment by moment. It was a regular, steady thudding sound, not quite like the beating of a drum, and it did not change nor falter, but echoed through the room, its volume steadily increasing as it announced to any who might enter that Ehlana’s heart was still beating.
Sparhawk drew his sword and saluted his queen with it. Then he sank to one knee in a move of profoundest respect and a peculiar form of love. He leaned forward and gently kissed the unyielding crystal, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. ‘I am here now, Ehlana,’ he murmured, ‘and I’ll make everything all right again.’
The heartbeat grew louder, almost as if in some peculiar way she had heard him.
From the doorway he heard Lycheas snicker derisively, and he promised himself that should the opportunity arise, he would do a number of unpleasant things to the Queen’s bastard cousin. Then he rose and went towards the door again.
Lycheas stood smirking at him, still holding the key to the throne room in his hand. As Sparhawk passed the prince, he reached out and took the key. ‘You won’t need this any more,’ he said. ‘I’m here now, so I’ll take care of it.’
‘Annias,’ Lycheas said in a voice shrill with protest.
Annias, however, took one look at the bleak face of the Queen’s Champion and decided not to press the issue. ‘Let him keep it,’ he said shortly.
‘But –’
‘I said to let him keep it,’ the primate snapped. ‘We don’t need it anyway. Let the Queen’s Champion hold the key to the room in which she sleeps.’ There was a vile innuendo in the churchman’s voice, and Sparhawk clenched his still-gauntleted left fist.
‘Will you walk with me as we return to the council chamber, Sir Sparhawk?’ the Earl of Lenda said, placing a lightly restraining hand on Sparhawk’s armoured forearm. ‘My steps sometimes falter, and it’s comforting to have a strong young person at my side.’
‘Certainly, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied, unclenching his fist. When Lycheas had led the members of the council back down the corridor towards their meeting room, Sparhawk closed the door and locked it. Then he handed the key to his old friend. ‘Will you keep this for me, my Lord?’ he asked.
‘Gladly, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘And if you can, keep the candles burning in the throne room. Don’t leave her sitting there in the dark.’
‘Of course.’
They started down the corridor.
‘Do you know something, Sparhawk?’ the old man said. ‘They left a great deal of bark on you when they were giving you the last polishing touches.’
Sparhawk grinned at him.
‘You can be truly offensive when you set your mind to it.’ Lenda chuckled.
‘I can but try, my Lord.’
‘Be very careful here in Cimmura, Sparhawk,’ the old man cautioned seriously in a low voice. ‘Annias has a spy on every street corner. Lycheas won’t even sneeze without his permission, so the primate is the real ruler here in Elenia and he hates you.’
‘I’m not overly fond of him, either.’ Sparhawk thought of something. ‘You’ve been a good friend here today, my Lord. Is that going to put you in any kind of danger?’
The Earl of Lenda smiled. ‘I doubt it. I’m too old and powerless to be any kind of threat to Annias. I’m hardly more than an irritation, and he’s far too calculating to take action against me for that.’
The primate awaited them at the door to the council chamber. ‘The council has discussed the situation here, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said coldly. ‘The Queen is quite obviously in no danger. Her heartbeat is strong, and the crystal which encloses her is quite impregnable. She has no real need of a protector at this particular time. It is the command of the council, therefore, that you return to the chapterhouse of your order here in Cimmura and remain there until you receive further instructions.’ A chill smile touched his lips. ‘Or until the Queen herself summons you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Sparhawk replied distantly. ‘I was about to suggest that myself, your Grace. I’m just a simple knight, and I’ll be far more at ease in the chapterhouse with my brothers than here in the palace.’ He smiled. ‘I’m really quite out of place at court.’
‘I noticed that.’
‘I thought you might have.’ Sparhawk briefly clasped the hand of the Earl of Lenda by way of farewell. Then he looked directly at Annias. ‘Until we meet again, then, your Grace.’
‘If we meet again.’
‘Oh, we will, Annias. Indeed we will.’ Then Sparhawk turned on his heel and walked on down the corridor.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_7b586c68-f0c4-5a87-9ba0-2e443d990c80)
The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Cimmura lay just beyond the eastern gate of the city. It was, in every sense of the word, a castle, with high walls surmounted by battlements and with bleak towers at each corner. It was approached by way of a drawbridge which spanned a deep fosse bristling with sharpened stakes. The drawbridge had been lowered, but it was guarded by four black-armoured Pandions mounted on war horses.
Sparhawk reined Faran in at the outer end of the bridge and waited. There were certain formalities involved in gaining entry into a Pandion chapterhouse. Oddly, he found that he did not chafe at those formalities. They had been a part of his life for all the years of his novitiate, and the observance of these age-old ceremonies seemed somehow to mark a renewal and a reaffirmation of his very identity. Even as he awaited the ritual challenge, the sun-baked city of Jiroch and the women going to the wells in the steel-grey light of morning faded back in his memory, becoming more remote and taking their proper place among all his other memories.
Two of the armoured knights rode forward at a stately pace, the hooves of their chargers booming hollowly on the foot-thick planks of the drawbridge. They halted just in front of Sparhawk. ‘Who art thou who entreateth entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’ one of them intoned.
Sparhawk raised his visor in the symbolic gesture of peaceable intent. ‘I am Sparhawk,’ he replied, ‘a soldier of God and a member of this order.’
‘How may we know thee?’ the second knight inquired.
‘By this token may you know me.’ Sparhawk reached his hand into the neck of his surcoat and drew out the heavy silver amulet suspended on the chain about his neck. Every Pandion wore such an amulet.
The pair made some pretence of looking carefully at it.
‘This is indeed Sir Sparhawk of our order,’ the first knight declared.
‘Truly,’ the second agreed, ‘and shall we then – uh –’ He faltered, frowning.
‘– Grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of God,’ Sparhawk prompted.
The second knight made a face. ‘I can never remember that part,’ he muttered. ‘Thanks, Sparhawk.’ He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘and shall we then grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’
The first knight was grinning openly. ‘It is his right freely to enter this house,’ he said, ‘for he is one of us. Hail, Sir Sparhawk. Prithee, come within the walls of this house, and may peace abide with thee beneath its roof.’
‘And with thee and thy companion as well, wheresoever you may fare,’ Sparhawk replied, concluding the ceremony.
‘Welcome home, Sparhawk,’ the first knight said warmly then. ‘You’ve been a long time away.’
‘You noticed,’ Sparhawk answered. ‘Did Kurik get here?’
The second knight nodded. ‘An hour or so ago. He talked with Vanion and then left again.’
