The Sapphire Rose

‘Why bother her with it? She’s probably going to be a little weak after all this, and as her champion, you really ought to try to spare her any exertion.’ Kalten squinted at Sparhawk. ‘Don’t take this wrong,’ he said, ‘but Ehlana is a woman, after all, and women are notoriously tenderhearted. If we leave it up to her, she may not let us kill him at all. I’d rather have him safely dead before she wakes up. We’ll apologize to her, of course, but it’s very hard to un-kill somebody, no matter how sorry you are.’

‘You’re a barbarian, Kalten.’

‘Me? Oh, by the way, Vanion’s got our brothers putting on their armour. We should all be ready by the time the sun’s up and the people in the city open the gates.’ Kalten frowned. ‘That might present a problem, though. There’ll be church soldiers at the gates, and they may try to slam them shut in our faces when they see us coming.’

‘That’s what battering rams are for,’ Sparhawk shrugged.

‘The queen might get a little cross with you if she finds out that you’ve been knocking down the gates of her capital city.’

‘We’ll make the church soldiers repair them.’

‘It’s honest work right enough, and that’s something church soldiers know very little about. I’d suggest you take a hard look at that stretch of cobblestones outside our gate before you make any final decisions, though. Church soldiers aren’t very handy with tools.’ The big blond man sank into a chair, his armour creaking. ‘It’s taken us a long time, Sparhawk, but it’s almost over now, isn’t it?’

‘Very nearly,’ Sparhawk agreed, ‘and once Ehlana’s well again, we can go looking for Martel.’

Kalten’s eyes brightened. ‘And Annias,’ he added. ‘I think we should hang him from the arch of the main gate of Chyrellos.’

‘He’s a Church Primate, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said in a pained voice. ‘You can’t do that to him.’

‘We can apologize to him later.’

‘How exactly do you propose to do that?’

‘I’il work something out,’ Kalten replied in an offhand manner. ‘Maybe we could call it a mistake or something.’

The sun had risen by the time they gathered in the courtyard. Vanion, looking pale and drawn, struggled down the stairs with a large case. ‘The swords,’ he explained tersely to Sparhawk. ‘Sephrenia says we’ll need them when we get to the throne-room.’

‘Can’t somebody else carry them for you?’ Kalten asked him.

‘No. They’re my burden. As soon as Sephrenia comes down, we’ll get started.’

The small Styric woman seemed very calm, even remote, when she emerged from the chapterhouse with Sir Gared’s sword in her hands and with Talen close behind her.

‘Are you all right?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I’ve been preparing myself for the ritual in the throne-room,’ she replied.

‘There might be some fighting,’ Kurik said. ‘Is it really a good idea for us to bring Talen along with us?’

‘I can protect him,’ she said, ‘and his presence is necessary. There are reasons, but I don’t think you’d understand them.’

‘Let’s mount up and go,’ Vanion said.

There was a great deal of clinking as the hundred black-armoured Pandion Knights climbed into their saddles. Sparhawk took his customary place at Vanion’s side with Kalten, Bevier, Tynian and Ulath close behind them and the column of Pandions strung out to the rear. They crossed the drawbridge at a trot and bore down on the startled group of church soldiers outside the gate. At a curt signal from Vanion, a score of Pandions swung out from the column and encircled the so-called workmen. ‘Hold them here until the rest of us take the city gates,’ Vanion instructed. ‘Then bring them into the city and rejoin us.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ Sir Perraine replied.

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Vanion said then, ‘I think a gallop is in order at this point. Let’s not give the soldiers in the city too much time to prepare for our arrival.’

They thundered across the rather short distance between the chapterhouse and the east gate of Cimmura. Despite Kalten’s concern about the possibility of the gates being closed to them, the soldiers there were too surprised to react in time.

‘Sir Knights!’ an officer protested shrilly. ‘You can’t enter the city without the Prince Regent’s authorization!’

‘With your permission, Lord Vanion?’ Tynian asked politely.

‘Of course, Sir Tynian,’ Vanion consented. ‘We have pressing matters to attend to, and we don’t really have time for idle chit-chat here.’

Tynian moved his horse forward. The knight from Deira was deceptively moon-faced. He had the sort of countenance one would normally associate with good humour and a generally happy approach to life. His armour, however, concealed a massively-developed upper torso and powerful arms and shoulders. He drew his sword. ‘My friend,’ he said pleasantly to the officer, ‘would you be so good as to step aside so that we may proceed? I’m sure none of us wants any unpleasantness here.’ His tone was civil, almost conversational.

Many of the church soldiers, long accustomed to having things their own way in Cimmura, were not really prepared to have anyone question their authority. It was the officer’s misfortune to be one of those soldiers. ‘I must forbid your entry into the city without specific authorization from the Prince Regent,’ he declared stubbornly.

‘That’s your final word then?’ Tynian asked in a regretful tone.

‘It is.’

‘It’s your decision, friend,’ Tynian said. Then he raised up in his stirrups and swung a vast overhand blow with his sword.

Since the officer could not believe that anyone would actually defy him, he made no move to protect himself. His expression was one of amazement as Tynian’s heavy, broad-bladed sword struck the angle between his neck and shoulder and sheared diagonally down into his body. Blood fountained up from the dreadful wound, and the suddenly limp body hung from Tynian’s sword, held there by the crushed-in edges of the great rent in the officer’s steel breastplate. Tynian leaned back in his saddle, removed his foot from his stirrup and kicked the body off his sword-blade. ‘I did ask him to move out of our way, Lord Vanion,’ he explained. ‘Since he chose not to, what just happened is entirely his responsibility, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It was indeed, Sir Tynian,’ Vanion agreed. ‘I see no blame accruing to you in this matter. You were the very soul of courtesy.’

‘Let’s proceed then,’ Ulath said. He slipped his war-axe from its sling at the side of his saddle. ‘All right,’ he said to the wide-eyed church soldiers, ‘who’s next?’

The soldiers fled.

The knights who had been guarding the workmen came up at a trot, herding their prisoners ahead of them. Vanion left ten of them to hold the gates, and the column moved on into the city. The citizens of Cimmura were fully aware of the situation at the palace, and when they saw a column of bleak-faced Pandion Knights in their ominous black armour riding through the cobbled streets, they knew immediately that a confrontation was imminent. Doors slammed up and down the street, and shutters were hastily closed from the inside.

The knights rode on through now-deserted streets.

There was a sudden spiteful buzz from behind them, and a heavy clang. Sparhawk half-wheeled Faran.

‘You really ought to watch your back, Sparhawk,’ Kalten told him. ‘That was a crossbow bolt, and it would have taken you right between the shoulder-blades. You owe me what it’s going to cost me to have my shield re-enamelled.’

‘I owe you more than that, Kalten,’ Sparhawk said gratefully.

‘Strange,’ Tynian said. ‘The crossbow’s a Lamork weapon. Not many church soldiers carry them.’

‘Maybe it was something personal,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Have you offended any Lamorks lately, Sparhawk?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘There won’t be much point in extended conversation when we get to the palace,’ Vanion said. ‘I’ll order the soldiers to throw down their arms when we arrive.’

‘Do you think they’ll do it?’ Kalten asked.

Vanion grinned mirthlessly. ‘Probably not – at least not without several object lessons. When we get there, Sparhawk, I want you to take your friends here and secure the door to the palace. I don’t think we’ll want to chase church soldiers up and down the halls.’

‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed.

The church soldiers, warned by the men who had fled from the city gates, had formed up in the palace courtyard, and the largely ornamental palace gates were closed.

‘Bring up the ram,’ Vanion called.

A dozen Pandions rode forward with a heavy log carried in rope slings attached to their saddles. It took them perhaps five minutes to batter down the gates, and then the Church Knights streamed into the courtyard.

‘Throw down your weapons!’ Vanion shouted to the confused soldiers in the yard.

Sparhawk led his friends around the perimeter of the courtyard to the large doors that gave entry into the palace. There they dismounted and climbed the stairs to confront the dozen soldiers on guard in front of the door. The officer in charge drew his sword. ‘No one may enter!’ he barked.

‘Get out of my way, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said in his deadly quiet voice.

‘I don’t take orders from –’ the officer began. Then his eyes glazed as there was a sudden sound like that a melon might make when dropped on a stone floor as Kurik deftly brained him with his spiked chain mace. The officer dropped, twitching.

‘That’s something new,’ Sir Tynian said to Sir Ulath. ‘I never saw a man with brains coming out of his ears before.’

‘Kurik’s very good with that mace,’ Ulath agreed.

‘Any questions?’ Sparhawk asked the other soldiers ominously.

They stared at him.

‘I believe you were told to drop your weapons,’ Kalten told them.

They hurriedly shed their arms.

‘We’re relieving you here, neighbours,’ Sparhawk informed them. ‘You may join your friends out there in the yard.’

They quickly went down the stairs.

The mounted Pandions were slowly advancing on the church soldiers standing in the courtyard. There was some sporadic resistance from the more fanatic of the soldiers, and the Pandion Knights provided a sizeable number of those ‘object lessons’ their Preceptor had mentioned. The centre of the courtyard soon flowed with blood, and it was littered with unattached heads, arms and a few legs. More and more of the soldiers saw the direction the fight was going, threw away their weapons and raised their hands in surrender. There was one stubborn pocket of resistance, but the knights pushed the struggling soldiers up against one wall and slaughtered them.

Vanion looked around the yard. ‘Herd the survivors into the stables,’ he ordered, ‘and post a few guards.’ Then he dismounted and walked back to the shattered gate. ‘It’s all over now, little mother,’ he called to Sephrenia, who had waited outside with Talen and Berit. ‘It’s safe to come in now.’

Sephrenia rode her white palfrey into the courtyard, shielding her eyes with one hand. Talen, however, looked around with bright vicious eyes.

‘Let’s get rid of this,’ Ulath said to Kurik, bending to pick up the shoulders of the dead officer. The two of them carried the body off to one side, and Tynian thoughtfully scraped the puddle of brains off the top step with one foot.

‘Do you people always chop your enemies to pieces like this?’ Talen asked Sparhawk as he dismounted and went over to help Sephrenia down from her horse.

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘Vanion wanted the soldiers to see what would happen to them if they offered any more resistance. Dismemberment is usually quite convincing.’

‘Must you?’ Sephrenia shuddered.

‘You’d better let us go in first, little mother,’ Sparhawk said as Vanion joined them with twenty knights. ‘There may be soldiers hiding in there.’

As it turned out, there were a few, but Vanion’s knights efficiently flushed them from their hiding places and took them to the main door and gave them pointed instructions to join their comrades in the stables.

The doors to the council chamber were unguarded, and Sparhawk opened the door and held it for Vanion.

Lycheas was cowering, slack-lipped and trembling behind the council table with the fat man in red, and Baron Harparin was desperately yanking on one of the bell-pulls. ‘You can’t come in here!’ Harparin said shrilly to Vanion in his high-pitched, effeminate voice. ‘I command you to leave at once on the authority of King Lycheas.’

Vanion looked at him coldly. Sparhawk knew that Vanion bore a towering contempt for the disgusting pederast. ‘This man irritates me,’ he said in a flat voice, pointing at Harparin. ‘Will someone please do something about him?’

Ulath strode around the table, his war-axe in his hands.

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Harparin squealed, cringing back and still yanking futilely at the bell-pull. ‘I’m a member of the royal council. You wouldn’t dare do anything to me.’

Ulath did, in fact, dare. Harparin’s head bounced once and then rolled across the carpet to come to rest near the window. His mouth was agape, and his eyes were still bulging in horror. ‘Was that more or less what you had in mind, Lord Vanion?’ the big Thalesian asked politely.

‘Approximately, yes. Thank you, Sir Ulath.’

‘How about these other two?’ Ulath pointed his axe at Lycheas and the fat man.

‘Ah – not just yet, Sir Ulath.’ The Pandion Preceptor approached the council table carrying the case containing the swords of the knights who had fallen. ‘Now, Lycheas, where is the Earl of Lenda?’ he demanded.

Lycheas gaped at him.

‘Sir Ulath,’ Vanion said in a tone like ice.

Ulath grimly lifted his blood-stained axe.

‘No!’ Lycheas screamed. ‘Lenda’s confined down in the cellars. We didn’t hurt him at all, Lord Vanion. I swear to you that he’s –’

‘Take Lycheas and this other one down to the dungeon,’ Vanion ordered a pair of his knights. ‘Release the Earl of Lenda and replace him in the cell with these. Then bring Lenda here.’

‘If I may, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Lycheas the bastard,’ Sparhawk said formally, ‘as Queen’s Champion, it is my distinct pleasure to place you under arrest on the charge of high treason. The penalty is rather well known. We’ll attend to that just as soon as it’s convenient. Thinking about it might give you something to occupy the long, tedious hours of your confinement.’

‘I could save you a great deal of time and expense, Sparhawk,’ Ulath offered helpfully, hefting his axe again.

Sparhawk pretended to consider it. ‘No,’ he said regretfully. ‘Lycheas has run rough-shod over the people of Cimmura. I think they’re entitled to the spectacle of a nice, messy public execution.’

Lycheas was actually blubbering in terror as Sir Perraine and another knight dragged him past the wide-eyed head of Baron Harparin and out of the room.

‘You’re a hard and ruthless man, Sparhawk,’ Bevier noted.

‘I know.’ Sparhawk looked at Vanion. ‘We’ll have to wait for Lenda,’ he said. ‘He’s got the key to the throne-room. I don’t want Ehlana to wake up and find that we’ve chopped her door down.’

Vanion nodded. ‘I need him for something anyway,’ he said. He put the sword case on the council table and sat down in one of the chairs. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, ‘cover Harparin up before Sephrenia gets here. Things like that distress her.’ It was yet another clue, Sparhawk thought. Vanion’s concern for Sephrenia went far beyond what was customary.

Ulath went to the window, jerked down one of the drapes and turned back, pausing only to kick Harparin’s head back over beside the pederast’s body, then he covered the remains with the drape.

‘A whole generation of little boys will sleep more securely now that Harparin’s no longer with us,’ Kalten observed lightly, ‘and they’ll probably mention Ulath in their prayers every night.’

‘I’ll take all the blessings I can get,’ Ulath shrugged.

Sephrenia entered with Talen and Berit in tow. She looked around. ‘I’m pleasantly surprised,’ she noted. ‘I was more or less expecting additional carnage.’ Then her eyes narrowed. She pointed at the draped body lying by the wall. ‘What’s that?’ she demanded.

‘The late Baron Harparin,’ Kalten told her. ‘He left us rather suddenly.’

‘Did you do that, Sparhawk?’ she accused.

‘Me?’

‘I know you all too well, Sparhawk.’

‘Actually, Sephrenia, it was me,’ Ulath drawled. ‘I’m very sorry if it bothers you, but then, I’m Thalesian. We’re widely reputed to be barbarians.’ He shrugged. ‘One is more or less obliged to uphold the reputation of his homeland, wouldn’t you say?’

She refused to answer that. She looked around at the faces of the other Pandions in the room. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We’re all here. Open that case, Vanion.’

Vanion opened the sword-case.

‘Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia addressed the Pandions in the room as she laid Sir Gared’s sword on the table beside the case. ‘Some months ago, twelve of you joined with me in casting the enchantment which has sustained the life of Queen Ehlana. Six of your brave companions have gone into the House of the Dead since then. Their swords, however, must be present when we undo the enchantment that we may cure the queen. Thus, each of you who were there must carry the sword of one of your fallen brothers as well as your own. I will work the spell which will make it possible for you to take up those swords. We will then proceed to the throne-room, where the swords of the fallen will be taken from you.’

Vanion looked startled. ‘Taken? By whom?’

‘Their original owners.’

‘You’re going to summon ghosts into the throne-room?’ he asked in astonishment.

‘They will come unsummoned. Their oaths ensure that. As before, you’ll encircle the throne with your swords extended. I’ll undo the spell, and the crystal will disappear. The rest is up to Sparhawk – and Bhelliom.’

‘What exactly am I supposed to do?’ Sparhawk asked her.

‘I’ll tell you at the proper time,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want you to do anything prematurely.’

Sir Perraine escorted the aged Earl of Lenda into the council chamber.

‘How was the dungeon, My Lord of Lenda?’ Vanion asked lightly.

‘Damp, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda replied, ‘Also dark and very smelly. You know how dungeons are.’

‘No,’ Vanion laughed. ‘Not really. It’s an experience I’d prefer to forgo.’ He looked at the old courtier’s lined face. ‘Are you all right, Lenda?’ he asked. ‘You look very tired.’

‘Old men always look very tired, Vanion.’ Lenda smiled gently, ‘and I’m older than most.’ He straightened his thin old shoulders. ‘Being thrown into the dungeon from time to time is an occupational hazard for those in public service. You get used to it. I’ve been in worse.’

‘I’m sure Lycheas and that fat fellow will enjoy the dungeon, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly.

‘I doubt that, Sir Kalten.’

‘We’ve made them aware of the fact that the end of their confinement will mark their entrance into another world. I’m sure they’ll prefer the dungeon. Rats aren’t all that bad.’

‘I didn’t notice Baron Harparin,’ Lenda said. ‘Did he escape?’

‘Only in a manner of speaking, My Lord,’ Kalten replied. ‘He was being offensive. You know how Harparin was. Sir Ulath gave him a lesson in courtesy – with his axe.’

‘This day is top-filled with joyful surprises then,’ Lenda chortled.

‘My Lord of Lenda,’ Vanion said rather formally, ‘we’re going to the throne-room now to restore the queen. I’d like to have you witness that restoration so that you can confirm her identity in case any doubts arise later. The commons are superstitious, and there are those who might want to circulate rumours to the effect that Ehlana is not who she appears to be.’

‘Very well, My Lord Vanion,’ Lenda agreed, ‘but how do you plan to restore her?’

‘You’ll see,’ Sephrenia smiled. She held out her hands over the swords and spoke at some length in Styric. The swords glowed briefly as she released the spell, and the knights who had been present during the encasement of the Queen of Elenia stepped to the table. She talked to them briefly in low tones, and then each of them took up one of the swords. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘let us proceed to the throne-room.’

‘This is all very mysterious,’ Lenda said to Sparhawk as they walked down the corridor towards the throne-room.

‘Have you ever seen real magic performed, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I don’t believe in magic, Sparhawk.’

‘That may change shortly, Lenda,’ Sparhawk smiled.

The old courtier produced the key from an inside pocket and unlocked the door to the throne-room. Then they all followed Sephrenia inside. The room was dark. During Lenda’s confinement, the candles had been allowed to go out. Sparhawk, nonetheless, could still hear the measured drumbeat of his queen’s heart echoing in the darkness. Kurik stepped back outside and brought in a torch. ‘Fresh candles?’ he asked Sephrenia.

‘Definitely,’ she replied. ‘Let’s not awaken Ehlana to a dark room.’

Kurik and Berit replaced the burned-out candle-stubs with fresh tapers. Then Berit looked curiously at the young queen he had served so faithfully without ever having seen her. His eyes grew suddenly wide as he stared at her, and he seemed to catch his breath. His look was one of totally appropriate veneration, but there was, Sparhawk thought, perhaps a bit more to it than simple respect. Berit was about the same age as Ehlana, and she was very beautiful, after all.

‘That’s much better,’ Sephrenia said, looking around at the candlelit throne-room. ‘Sparhawk, come with me.’ She led him to the dais upon which the throne stood.

Ehlana sat as she had for all these months. She wore the crown of Elenia on her pale, blonde head, and she was enfolded in her state robes. Her eyes were closed, and her face serene.

‘Just a few more moments, my queen,’ Sparhawk murmured. Strangely, his eyes were filled with tears, and his heart was in his throat.

‘Remove your gauntlets, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘You’ll want the rings to touch Bhelliom when you use it.’

He took off his mailed gauntlets, then reached inside his surcoat, removed the canvas pouch and untied the drawstring.

‘All right, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia said then to the surviving knights, ‘take your places.’

Vanion and the other five Pandions spaced themselves out around the throne, each of them holding his own sword and that of one of his fallen brothers.

Sephrenia stood beside Sparhawk and began to form the incantation in Styric, her fingers weaving an accompaniment. The candles dimmed and flared almost in time to the sonorous spell. At some time during her incantation, the room became gradually filled with that familiar smell of death. Sparhawk tore his eyes from Ehlana’s face to risk a quick look around the circle of knights. Where there had been six before, there were now twelve. The filmy shapes of those who had fallen one by one in the preceding months had returned unbidden to take their swords one last time.

‘Now, Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia instructed the living and the dead alike, ‘point your swords at the throne.’ And she began to speak a different incantation. The tip of each sword began to glow, and those incandescent points of light grew brighter and brighter until they surrounded the throne with a ring of pure light. Sephrenia raised her arm, spoke a single word, then brought the arm sharply down. The crystal encasement surrounding the throne wavered like water, and then it was gone.

Ehlana’s head sagged forward, and her body began to tremble violently. Her breathing was suddenly laboured, and the heart-beat which still echoed through the room faltered. Sparhawk leaped up onto the dais to go to her aid.

‘Not yet!’ Sephrenia told him sharply.

‘But –’

‘Do as I say!’

He stood helplessly over his stricken queen for a minute that seemed to last for an hour. Then Sephrenia stepped forward and lifted Ehlana’s chin with both her hands. The queen’s grey eyes were wide and vacant, and her face was twisted grotesquely.