This writer is fully convinced that the Empire faces the gravest threat in her long and glorious history. The willing cooperation of the Atans in the massacre within the imperial compound is clear evidence that not even their loyalty can be depended upon.
To whom can we turn for aid? Where in all this world can we find a force sufficient to repel the savage minions of Dolmant of Chyrellos? Must the Empire in all her glory fall before the onslaught of the Elene zealots? I weep, my brothers, for the glory that must die. Firedomed Matherion, the city of light, the home of truth and beauty, the center of the world, is doomed. The darkness descends, and there is little hope that morning will ever come again.
PART ONE
Cynesga
Maps
Chapter 1
The seasons were turning, and the long summer was winding down toward autumn. A tenuous mist hung in the streets of fire-domed Matherion. The moon had risen late, and its pale light starkly etched the opalescent towers and domes and imparted a soft glow to the fog lying in the streets. Matherion, all aglow, stood with her feet bathed in shining mist and her pale face lifted to the night sky.
Sparhawk was tired. The tensions of the past week and the climactic events which had resolved them had drained him, but he could not sleep. Wrapped in his black Pandion cloak, he stood on the parapet looking pensively out over the glowing city. He was tired, but his need to evaluate, to assess, to understand, was far too great to permit him to seek his bed and let his mind sink into the soft well of sleep until everything had been put into its proper place.
‘What are you doing up here, Sparhawk?’ Khalad spoke quietly, his voice so much like his father’s that Sparhawk turned his head sharply to be sure that Kurik himself had not returned from the House of the Dead to chide him. Khalad was a plain-faced young man with thick shoulders and an abrupt manner. His family had served Sparhawk’s for three generations now, and Khalad, like his father, customarily addressed his lord with a plain-spoken bluntness.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Sparhawk replied with a brief shrug.
‘Your wife’s got half the garrison out looking for you, you know.’
Sparhawk grimaced. ‘Why does she always have to do that?’
‘It’s your own fault. You know she’s going to send people out after you anytime you go off without telling her where you’ll be. You could save yourself – and us – a lot of time and trouble if you’d just tell her in the first place. It seems to me that I’ve suggested that several times already.’
‘Don’t bully me, Khalad. You’re as bad as your father was.’
‘Sometimes good traits breed true. Would you like to go down and tell your wife that you’re all right? – before she calls in the workmen to start tearing down the walls?’
Sparhawk sighed. ‘All right.’ He turned away from the parapet. ‘Oh, by the way, you probably ought to know that we’ll be making a trip before long.’
‘Oh? Where are we going?’
‘We have to go pick something up. Have a word with the farriers. Faran needs to be re-shod. He’s scuffed his right front shoe down until it’s as thin as paper.’
‘That’s your fault, Sparhawk. He wouldn’t do that if you’d sit up straight in your saddle.’
‘We start to get crooked as we grow older. That’s one of the things you have to look forward to.’
‘Thanks. When are we leaving on this trip?’
‘Just as soon as I can come up with a convincing enough lie to persuade my wife to let me go off without her.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time, then.’ Khalad looked out across moon-washed Matherion standing in pale fog with the moonlight awakening the rainbows of fire in her na*ed shoulders. ‘Pretty,’ he noted.
‘Is that the best you can do? You look at the most fabulous city in the world and shrug it off as “pretty”.’
‘I’m not an aristocrat, Sparhawk. I don’t have to invent flowery phrases to impress others – or myself. Let’s get you inside before the damp settles into your lungs. You crooked old people have delicate health sometimes.’
Queen Ehlana, pale and blonde and altogether lovely, was irritated more than angry; Sparhawk saw that immediately. He also saw that she had gone to some trouble to make herself as pretty as possible. Her dressing gown was dark blue satin, her cheeks had been carefully pinched to make them glow, and her hair was artfully arranged to give the impression of winsomely distracted dishevelment. She berated him about his lack of consideration in tones that might easily have made the trees cry and the very rocks shrink from her. Her cadences were measured, and her voice rose, then sank, as she told him exactly how she felt. Sparhawk concealed a smile. Ehlana was speaking to him on two levels at the same time as she stood in the center of the blue-draped royal apartment scolding him. Her words expressed extreme displeasure; her careful preparations, however, said something quite different.
He apologized.
She refused to accept his apology and stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
‘Spirited,’ Sephrenia murmured. The small woman sat out of harm’s way on the far side of the room, her white Styric robe glowing in the candlelight.
‘You noticed,’ Sparhawk smiled.
‘Does she do that often?’
‘Oh, yes. She enjoys it. What are you doing up so late, little mother?’
‘Aphrael wanted me to speak with you.’
‘Why didn’t she just come and talk with me herself? It’s not as if she were way over on the other side of town.’
‘It’s a formal sort of occasion, Sparhawk. I’m supposed to speak for her at times like this.’
‘Was that intended to make sense?’
‘It would if you were Styric. We’re going to have to make some substitutions when we go to retrieve Bhelliom. Khalad can fill in for his father without any particular problem, but Tynian’s decision to go back to Chyrellos with Emban really has Aphrael upset. Can you persuade him to change his mind?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t even try, Sephrenia. I’m not going to cripple him for life just because Aphrael might miss him.’
‘Is his arm really that bad?’
‘It’s bad enough. That crossbow bolt went right through his shoulder joint. If he starts moving it around, it won’t set right, and that’s his sword arm.’
‘Aphrael could fix it, you know.’
‘Not without exposing her identity she couldn’t, and I won’t let her do that.’
‘Won’t let?’
‘Ask her if she wants to endanger her mother’s sanity just for the sake of symmetry. Substitute someone else. If Aphrael’s willing to accept Khalad in place of Kurik, she should be able to pick someone else to fill in for Tynian. Why is it so important to her in the first place?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Why don’t you try to explain it anyway? I might surprise you.’
‘You’re in an odd humor tonight.’
‘I’ve just been scolded. That always makes me odd. Why does Aphrael think it’s so important to always have the same group of people around her?’
‘It has to do with the feeling of it, Sparhawk. The presence of any given person is more than just the way he looks or the sound of his voice. It also involves the way he thinks – and probably more important, the way he feels about Aphrael. She surrounds herself with that. When you bring in different people, you change the way it feels, and that throws her off balance.’ She looked at him. ‘You didn’t understand a word of that, did you?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did. How about Vanion? He loves her as much as Tynian does, and she loves him too. He’s been more or less with us in spirit since all this started anyway, and he is a knight, after all.’
‘Vanion? Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk.’
‘He’s not an invalid, you know. He was running footraces back in Sarsos, and he was still as good as ever with his lance when we fought the Trolls.’
‘It’s out of the question. I won’t even discuss it.’
He crossed the room, took her wrists in his hands and kissed her palms. ‘I love you dearly, little mother,’ he told her, ‘but I’m going to override you this time. You can’t wrap Vanion in lamb’s-wool for the rest of his life just because you’re afraid he might scratch his finger. If you don’t suggest him to Aphrael, I will.’
She swore at him in Styric. ‘Don’t you understand, Sparhawk? I almost lost him.’ Her heart was in her luminous blue eyes. ‘I’ll die if anything happens to him.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to him. Are you going to ask Aphrael about it, or would you rather have me do it?’
She swore at him again.
‘Where did you ever learn that kind of language?’ he asked mildly. ‘If that takes care of our problem, I’m a little overdue at the bedroom door.’
‘I didn’t quite follow that.’
‘It’s time for the kissing and making up. There’s supposed to be a certain rhythm to these things, and if I wait too long to soften Ehlana’s displeasure, she’ll begin to think I don’t love her any more.’
‘Do you mean her performance here tonight was nothing more than an invitation to the bedroom?’
‘That might be putting it a little bluntly, but there was some of that involved, yes. Sometimes I get busy and forget to pay as much attention to her as I should. She’ll only let that go on for just so long before she makes a speech. The speech reminds me that I’ve been neglecting her. We kiss and make up, and everything’s all right again.’
‘Wouldn’t it be simpler if she just came right out and told you in the first place without these elaborate games?’
‘Probably, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun for her. You’ll excuse me?’
‘Why do you always avoid me, Berit-Knight?’ Empress Elysoun asked with a disconsolate little pout.
‘Your Highness misunderstands me,’ Berit replied, flushing slightly and keeping his eyes averted.
‘Am I ugly, Berit-Knight?’
‘Of course not, your Highness.’
‘Then why don’t you ever look at me?’
‘It’s not considered polite among Elenes for a man to look at an undressed woman, your Highness.’
‘I’m not an Elene, Sir Knight. I’m a Valesian, and I’m not naked. I have plenty of clothes on. If you’ll come to my chambers, I’ll show you the difference.’
Sparhawk had been looking for Sir Berit to advise him of their upcoming journey, and he had just rounded a corner in the hallway leading to the chapel to find his young friend trapped once more by the Empress Elysoun. Since Emperor Sarabian’s entire family was inside the castle as a security measure, Berit’s escape routes had been seriously curtailed, and Elysoun had been taking advantage of the situation outrageously. The Emperor’s Valesian wife was a brown-skinned, sunny girl whose native costume left her unashamedly bare-breasted. No matter how many times Sarabian had explained to Berit that customary moral strictures did not apply to Valesians, the young Knight remained steadfastly respectful – and chaste. Elysoun had taken that as a challenge, and she had been pursuing the poor young man relentlessly. Sparhawk was just on the verge of speaking to his friend, but he smiled instead and stepped back round the corner to listen. He was the interim Preceptor of the Pandion Order, after all, and it was his duty to look after the souls of his men.
‘Do you always have to be an Elene?’ Elysoun was asking the knight.
‘I am an Elene, your Highness.’
‘But you Elenes are so boring,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you be a Valesian for just one afternoon? It’s much more fun, and it won’t take very long, you know – unless you want it to.’ She paused. ‘Are you really a virgin?’ she asked curiously.
Berit turned bright red.
Elysoun laughed delightedly. ‘What an absurd idea!’ she exclaimed. ‘Aren’t you even a little curious about what you’ve been missing? I’ll be happy to take that tiresome virginity off your hands, Berit-Knight – and it won’t even hurt very much.’
Sparhawk took pity on the poor fellow and intervened at that point. ‘Ah, there you are, Berit,’ he said, stepping round the corner and speaking in Tamul for the Empress’s benefit. ‘I’ve been looking all over for you. Something’s come up that needs our attention.’ He bowed to the Empress. ‘Your Imperial Highness,’ he murmured, ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to commandeer your friend here for a while. Matters of state, you know.’
The look Elysoun gave him had daggers in it.
‘I was sure your Highness would understand,’ he said, bowing again. ‘Come along, Berit. The matter’s serious, and we’re late.’ He led his friend off down the opalescent corridor as Empress Elysoun glared after them.
‘Thanks, Sparhawk,’ Berit said with relief.
‘Why don’t you just stay away from her?’
‘I can’t. She follows me everywhere. She even trapped me in the bath-house once – in the middle of the night. She said she wanted to bathe with me.’
‘Berit,’ Sparhawk smiled, ‘as your preceptor and spiritual guide, I’m supposed to applaud your devotion to the ideals of our order. As your friend, though, I have to tell you that running away from her only makes matters worse. We have to stay here in Matherion, and if we stay long enough, she will get you. She’s very single-minded about it.’
‘Yes, I’ve noticed that.’
‘She’s really quite pretty, you know,’ Sparhawk suggested tentatively. ‘What’s your difficulty with the notion of being friendly?’
‘Sparhawk!’
The big Pandion sighed. ‘I was afraid you might look at it that way. Look, Berit, Elysoun comes from a different culture with different customs. She doesn’t see this sort of thing as sin. Sarabian’s made it quite clear that he wants some of us to accommodate her, and she’s chosen you as the lucky man. It’s a political necessity, so you’re just going to have to set these delicate feelings aside. Look upon it as your knightly duty, if it makes you feel any better. I can even have Emban grant you an indulgence if you think it’s necessary.’
Berit gasped.
‘You’re starting to embarrass us,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Elysoun’s been making Sarabian’s life miserable about the whole thing. He won’t step in and order you to do as she asks, no matter how much she nags him, but he quite obviously expects me to speak with you about it.’