The Sapphire Rose

by David Eddings

  ‘Are we likely to have any problems?’

  ‘I doubt it. Those church soldiers aren’t Annias’s men. They’re on loan from the other Patriarchs, and their loyalties are a little vague. I think a show of force is probably about all it’s going to take to make them capitulate.’

  ‘Are the remaining six knights who were involved in the spell in the throne-room among your hundred?’ Sephrenia asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ Vanion replied a little wanly. ‘We’re all here.’ He looked at the Pandion sword she was carrying. ‘Do you want to give me that?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re carrying enough already. It isn’t going to be much longer anyway.’

  ‘You’re going to reverse the spell?’ Tynian asked, ‘– before you use Bhelliom to cure the queen, I mean?’

  ‘We have to,’ she told him. ‘Bhelliom has to touch her skin in order to cure her.’

  Kalten went to the window. ‘It’s late afternoon now,’ he said. ‘If we’re going to do this today, we’d better get started.’

  ‘Let’s wait until morning,’ Vanion decided. ‘If the soldiers try to resist, it might take a while to subdue them, and I don’t want any of those people slipping away in the dark to warn Annias until we’ve had time to get reinforcements here.’

  ‘How many soldiers are at the palace?’ Sparhawk asked.

  ‘My spies report a couple of hundred,’ Vanion replied, ‘hardly enough to cause us any problems.’

  ‘We’re going to have to come up with a way to seal the city for a few days if we don’t want to see a relief column wearing red tunics coming up the river,’ Ulath said.

  ‘I can take care of that,’ Talen told him. ‘I’ll slip into town just before dark and go and talk to Platime. He’ll seal the gates for us.’

  ‘Can he be trusted?’ Vanion asked.

  ‘Platime? Of course not, but I think he’ll do that much for us. He hates Annias.’

  ‘That’s it then,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘We can move out at dawn and have everything tidied up by lunchtime.’

  ‘Don’t bother to set a place at the table for the bastard Lycheas,’ Ulath said bleakly, testing the edge of his axe with his thumb. ‘I don’t think he’s going to have much of an appetite.’

  Chapter 3

  Kurik woke Sparhawk early the following morning and helped him into his formal black armour. Then, carrying his sword-belt and plumed helmet, Sparhawk went to Vanion’s study to await the dawn and the arrival of the others. This was the day. He had striven towards this day for a half a year and more. Today he would look full into the eyes of his queen, salute her and swear his oath of fealty. A terrible impatience welled up in him. He wanted to get on with it, and he swore at the sluggard sun for its leisurely rising. ‘And then, Annias,’ he almost purred, ‘you and Martel are going to become no more than footnotes to history.’

  ‘Did you get hit on the head when you had that fight with Ghwerig?’ It was Kalten, who was also wearing his formal black armour and who entered with his helmet under his arm.

  ‘Not really,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘why?’

  ‘You’re talking to yourself. Most people don’t do that, you know.’

  ‘You’re wrong, Kalten. Almost everybody does it. Most of the time, though, it involves rewriting past conversations – or planning ones yet to come.’

  ‘Which were you doing just now?’

  ‘Neither. I was sort of warning Annias and Martel what to expect.’

  ‘They couldn’t hear you, you know.’

  ‘Maybe not, but giving them some kind of warning is the knightly thing to do. At least I’ll know I said it – even if they don’t.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll bother with that when I go after Adus,’ Kalten grinned. ‘Do you have any idea of how long it would take to pound a thought into Adus? Oh, who gets to kill Krager, by the way?’

  ‘Let’s give him to somebody who does something nice for us.’

  ‘Sounds fair.’ Kalten paused, and his face grew serious. ‘Is it going to work, Sparhawk? Will Bhelliom really cure Ehlana – or have we just been fooling ourselves?’

  ‘I think it’s going to work. We have to believe that it will. Bhelliom’s very, very powerful.’

  ‘Have you ever used it at all?’

  ‘Once. I collapsed a ridge-line in the mountains of Thalesia with it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It needed to be done. Don’t think about Bhelliom, Kalten. It’s very dangerous to do that.’

  Kalten looked sceptical. ‘Are you going to let Ulath shorten Lycheas a bit when we get to the palace? Ulath really enjoys doing that to people – or I could hang the bastard, if you’d prefer.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Maybe we should wait and let Ehlana make the decision.’

  ‘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?’

  Til 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 clinki
ng 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.