The Sapphire Rose

by David Eddings

  ‘Why would you want to?’

  ‘So I could kill him again, My Lord. I could make killing Martel over and over again my life’s work with just a little encouragement.’

  Vanion gave him a very hard look, but he didn’t say anything.

  Martel wore a very expensive suit of armour, its cuirass and shoulder-plates embossed with gold and silver and with the steel itself highly burnished. It appeared to be of Deiran forging, and it was much more elegant than the functional armour of the Church Knights. When he was within a few yards of Sparhawk and Vanion, he thrust the butt of his lance into the ground and removed his ornate, white-plumed helmet. His white hair flowed out behind him in the stiff breeze. ‘My Lord,’ he said with exaggerated courtesy, inclining his head to Vanion.

  Vanion’s face was icy. He did not speak to the knight he had expelled from the Pandion Order, but motioned Sparhawk forward instead.

  ‘Ah,’ Martel said in a tone that might even have been one of genuine regret, ‘I expected better of you, Vanion,’ he said. ‘Oh well, I’ll talk with Sparhawk instead. Feel free to listen in, if you’d like.’

  Sparhawk also drove the butt of his lance into the turf, and he also removed his helmet as he nudged Faran forward.

  ‘You’re looking well, old boy,’ Martel said.

  ‘You look about the same – except for the fancy armour.’

  ‘I recently had occasion to do some thinking,’ Martel replied. ‘I’ve gathered up a great deal of money in the last several years, but it occurred to me that I wasn’t enjoying it very much. I decided to buy some new toys.’

  ‘That’s a new horse too, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk looked at Martel’s bulky black mount.

  ‘Do you like him? I could get you one from the same stable, if you’d like.’

  ‘I’ll stick with Faran.’

  ‘Did you ever civilize that ugly brute?’

  ‘I sort of like him the way he is. What are your intentions here, Martel?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious, old boy? I’m going to seize the Holy City. If I were speaking for public approval, I could put a better face on it and use the word “liberate”, I suppose, but since we’re such old friends, I suppose I can afford to be frank. To put it in plain terms, Sparhawk, I’m going to march into the Holy City, and, as the saying goes, bend it to my will.’

  ‘You mean you’re going to try, Martel.’

  ‘Who’s going to stop me?’

  ‘Your own good sense, I hope. You’re a bit deranged, but you’ve never been stupid.’

  Martel gave him a mocking half-bow.

  ‘Where did you come up with all the troops on such short notice?’

  ‘Short notice?’ Martel laughed. ‘You don’t pay much attention to things, do you, Sparhawk? You spent too much time in Jiroch, I’m afraid. All that sun.’ He shuddered. ‘By the way, have you heard from the lovely Lillias lately?’ He threw that in quickly, obviously showing off his knowledge of Sparhawk’s activities for the past several years in the hope of discomfiting his former brother.

  ‘She was well – last I heard.’ Sparhawk gave no hint that he was at all surprised.

  ‘I may just take her when this is all over. She’s a significant sort of woman, I noticed. It might amuse me to dally with your former mistress.’

  ‘Get lots of rest, Martel. I don’t really think you’ve got enough stamina for Lillias. You still haven’t answered my question, though.’

  ‘Thought you could answer it for yourself, old boy, now that I’ve nudged your memory a bit. I gathered the Lamorks while I was up there fomenting discord between Baron Alstrom and Count Gerrich. The Cammorian mercenaries are always available. All I had to do was pass the word, and they came running. The Rendors weren’t that difficult, once I’d disposed of Arasham. Incidentally, he kept croaking the word “Ramshorn” while he was dying. Could that possibly have been that secret word you cooked up? Very pedestrian, Sparhawk. Most unimaginative. The new spiritual leader of Rendor is a much easier man to manage.’

  ‘I’ve met him,’ Sparhawk said shortly. ‘I wish you joy in his companionship.’

  ‘Oh, Ulesim’s not so bad – as long as you stay upwind of him. Anyway, I landed in Arcium, sacked and burned Coombe and marched on Larium. I must say that Wargun took his own sweet time getting there, though. When he arrived, I rode away and then led him around in circles down in Arcium. It was a way to amuse myself while I was awaiting word of the passing of the revered Cluvonus. Did you give him a nice funeral, by the way?’

  ‘Fairly standard.’

  ‘I’m sorry I missed it.’

  ‘There’s something else you should be sorry about, Martel. Annias isn’t going to be able to pay you. Ehlana’s recovered and cut him off from her treasury again.’

  ‘Yes, I’d heard about that – from Princess Arissa and her son. I freed them from that cloister as a favour to the Primate of Cimmura. There was a slight misunderstanding while I was releasing them, though, and all the nuns in that cloister died quite suddenly. Regrettable, perhaps, but you religious types really shouldn’t become involved in politics, you know. My soldiers also set fire to the cloister as we were riding away. I’ll convey your best wishes to Arissa when I rejoin my troops. She’s been staying in my pavilion since we left Demos. The horrors of her confinement quite unnerved her, and I’ve been sort of offering what comfort I could.’

  ‘That’s one more you owe me, Martel,’ Sparhawk grated.

  ‘One more what?’

  ‘Those nuns are another reason for me to kill you.’

  ‘Feel free to try at any time, old boy. How on earth did you manage to cure Ehlana, though? I was assured down in Rendor that there was no possible cure.’

  ‘Your informants were wrong. We found out what the cure was in Dabour. Actually that’s why Sephrenia and I were really there. You might call spoiling your plans there in Arasham’s tent a sort of a bonus.’

  ‘I was really put out with you about that, you know.’

  ‘How are you going to pay your troops?’

  ‘Sparhawk,’ Martel said wearily, ‘I’m about to capture the richest city in the world. Have you any idea of how much loot’s available inside the walls of Chyrellos? My troops joined me eagerly – for no pay at all – just for the chance to browse around in there.’

  ‘I hope they’re ready for a protracted siege, then.’

  ‘It’s not going to take me all that long to get inside, Sparhawk. Annias will open the gates for me.’

  ‘Annias doesn’t have enough votes in the Hierocracy to do that.’

  ‘I rather imagine that my presence here will alter the vote somewhat.’

  ‘Would you like to settle this right here and now? Just you and me?’ Sparhawk offered.

  ‘Why should I do that when I’ve already got the advantage, old boy?’

  ‘All right. Try to get into Chyrellos then, and maybe we can find one of those alleys you’re so fond of.’

  ‘I yearn for the day, dear brother,’ Martel smiled. ‘Well, Vanion, has your tame ape here wheedled enough answers out of me to suit you yet, or should I go on?’

  ‘Let’s go back,’ Vanion said abruptly to Sparhawk.

  ‘Always a pleasure talking with you, Lord Vanion,’ Martel called mockingly after them.

  ‘Do you really think Bhelliom might possibly bring him back from the grave?’ Vanion asked Sparhawk as they rode back towards the city. ‘I wouldn’t mind killing him a time or two myself.’

  ‘We can ask Sephrenia, I suppose.’

  They gathered once again in the red-draped study of Sir Nashan, the portly Pandion who was in charge of the chapterhouse here. The chapterhouse, unlike those of the other orders, was just inside the walls of the ancient inner city, the original Chyrellos. Each of the Preceptors gave a report on one of the gates of the city. None of the reports was particularly encouraging. Abriel, as senior Preceptor, rose to his feet. ‘What do we think, gentlemen?’ he said. ‘Is there any possible way we can hold the entire ci
ty?’

  ‘Absolutely out of the question, Abriel,’ Komier said bluntly. ‘Those gates wouldn’t keep out a herd of sheep, and even counting the church soldiers, we don’t have enough men to hold off the kind of force gathering out there.’

  ‘You’re raising a very unpleasant notion, Komier,’ Darellon said.

  ‘I know, but I don’t see very many options, do you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘I’m sorry, My Lords,’ Sir Nashan said deferentially, ‘but I don’t quite follow what you’ve got in mind.’

  ‘We’ll have to pull back to the walls of the inner city, Nashan,’ Vanion told him.

  ‘And abandon the rest?’ Nashan exclaimed. ‘My Lords, we’re talking about the largest – and richest city in the world!’

  ‘We have no choice, Sir Nashan,’ Abriel explained. ‘The walls of the inner city were built in antiquity. They’re much higher and stronger than the largely ornamental walls that encircle the rest of Chyrellos. We can defend the inner city – for a time, at least – but we have no chance of holding the whole city.’

  ‘We’re going to have to make some hard and unpleasant choices here,’ Preceptor Darellon said. ‘If we pull back to the inner walls, we’re going to have to close the gates to the general population. We won’t have sufficient supplies in the old city to sustain that many people.’

  ‘We won’t be able to do a thing until we can take command of the church soldiers, though,’ Vanion said. ‘Four hundred of us couldn’t possibly hold out against Martel’s army.’

  ‘I might be able to help you there,’ Patriarch Emban said. Emban was sprawled in a large chair, his fat hands on his paunch. ‘It’s going to depend on just how arrogant Makova’s feeling in the morning, however.’ Emban had been evasive when Sparhawk had demanded some sort of explanation about what he had sent Kurik and Berit to do.

  ‘We’re going to have a certain tactical advantage,’ Komier said thoughtfully. ‘Martel’s troops are mercenaries. As soon as they get inside the outer city, they’re going to stop for some constructive looting. That’s going to give us more time.’

  Emban chuckled. ‘It’s also going to distract a sizeable portion of the Hierocracy,’ he grinned. ‘Many of my fellow Patriarchs have lavish houses out beyond the inner walls. They’ll view the sacking of the outer city with a certain anguish, I’d imagine. That might just reduce their enthusiasm for the candidacy of the Primate of Cimmura. My house, however, is here inside the old walls. I’ll be able to think quite clearly – and so will you, won’t you, Dolmant?’

  ‘You’re a bad man, Emban,’ Dolmant told him.

  ‘But God appreciates my efforts, Dolmant, no matter how sneaky or underhanded. All of us live but to serve – each in his own special way.’ He paused, frowning slightly. ‘Ortzel’s our candidate. I’d have probably chosen someone else, but there’s a tide of conservatism in the Church just now, and Ortzel’s so conservative that he doesn’t even believe in fire. We may have to work on him just a bit, Dolmant. He’s not exactly what you’d call lovable.’

  ‘That’s our problem, Emban – yours and mine,’ Dolmant pointed out. ‘I think we should concern ourselves with military matters at the moment.’

  ‘I suspect that our next step will have to be charting out routes for withdrawal,’ Abriel said. ‘If the Patriarch of Ucera here is successful in transferring command of the church soldiers over to us, we’ll have to move them back inside the inner walls rapidly before the general population realizes what we’re doing. Otherwise, we’ll have mobs of refugees in here with us.’

  ‘This is brutal, My Lords,’ Sephrenia chided them. ‘You’re abandoning innocent people to the mercy of a horde of savages. Martel’s men won’t be satisfied with just looting. There are certain to be atrocities out there.’

  Dolmant sighed. ‘War is never civilized, little mother,’ he told her. ‘One other thing. From now on, you will accompany us to the Basilica every day. I want you where we can protect you.’

  ‘As you wish, dear one,’ she replied.

  Talen’s face was mournful. ‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to sort of let me slip outside the inner walls before you close the gates, could you?’ he asked Sparhawk.

  ‘No,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘but why would you want to be out there?’

  ‘To look after my share of the loot, naturally. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.’

  ‘You would surely not join in the looting of houses, would you, Talen?’ Bevier asked in a shocked tone.

  ‘Of course not, Sir Bevier. I’d let Martel’s soldiers do that. It’s when they’re back out in the street with their arms full of the things that they’ve stolen that the thieves of Chyrellos will move in and pick them over. Martel’s going to lose a lot of men in the next few days, I’d imagine. I can almost guarantee that an epidemic of stab-wounds is going to break out in his ranks before this is all over. There are beggars out there who’ll never have to beg again.’ The boy sighed again. ‘You’re robbing my childhood of all its fun, Sparhawk,’ he accused.

  ‘There is absolutely no danger whatsoever, my brothers,’ Makova scoffed the following morning when the Hierocracy reconvened. ‘The commander of my own personal guard, Captain Gorta –’ He paused a moment to give the Preceptors of the militant orders a hard stare. The sudden demise of the previous captain of his troops obviously still rankled. ‘Captain Erden, that is – went out at great personal risk to question these approaching pilgrims most closely, and he assures me that they are no more than that – pilgrims, faithful sons of the Church – and that they are making this pilgrimage to the Holy City in order to join their voices with others in thanksgiving when the new Archprelate is elevated to the holy throne.’

  ‘Now, that’s really amazing, Makova,’ Patriarch Emban drawled. ‘As it so happens, I sent observers of my own out of the city, and they had an entirely different kind of report. How do you imagine we can reconcile these differences?’

  Makova’s smile was brief, even frosty. ‘The Patriarch of Ucera is well known for his jocularity,’ he said. ‘He is indeed a droll and jolly fellow, and his merry japes frequently relax our tensions at stressful moments, but is this really the time for hilarity, my dear Emban?’

  ‘Do you see me smiling, Makova?’ Emban’s tone had quite nearly the bite of a dagger-thrust to the kidneys. He rose, grunting. ‘What my people report, dear brothers, is that this horde of so-called pilgrims at our gates is anything but friendly.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Makova snapped.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Emban said, ‘but I’ve taken the liberty of having one of these “pilgrims” brought here to the Basilica so that we may examine him more closely. He may not choose to speak very much, but much can be gleaned from observing a man’s demeanour, his bearing, his origins – even his clothing.’ Emban clapped his hands sharply together before Makova could object or exert his authority.

  The door to the chamber opened, and Kurik and Berit entered. They each held an ankle of the black-robed man they were bringing in to be interviewed, and they dragged the inert body across the marble floor, leaving a long crimson smear of blood on the white stone behind them.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Makova half-shrieked.

  ‘Merely presenting evidence, Makova. No rational decision can be made without a thorough examination of the evidence, can it?’ Emban pointed at a spot not too far in front of the lectern. ‘Put the witness there, my friends,’ he instructed Kurik and Berit.

  ‘I forbid this!’ Makova howled.

  ‘Forbid away, old boy,’ Emban shrugged, ‘but it’s too late now. Everybody in the chamber has already seen this man, and we all know what he is, don’t we?’ Emban waddled over to the corpse lying spread-eagled on the marble floor. ‘We can all tell by this man’s features what his nation of origin was, and his black clothing confirms it. My brothers, what we have here was obviously a Rendor.’

  ‘Patriarch Emban of Ucera,’ Makova said desperately, ‘I arrest you on th
e charge of murder.’

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Makova,’ Emban said. ‘You can’t arrest me while the Hierocracy’s in session. Besides, we’re inside the Basilica, and I claim sanctuary.’ He looked at Kurik. ‘Did you really have to kill him?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ the burly squire replied. ‘The situation made it necessary – but we said a brief prayer over him afterwards, though.’

  ‘Most exemplary, my son,’ Emban said. ‘I will therefore grant you and your young companion here full absolution for your part in sending this miserable heretic to face the infinite mercy of God.’ The fat man looked around the chamber. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘to return to our interrogation of this “pilgrim”. We have here a Rendor – armed with a sword, you’ll note. Since the only Rendors currently on this part of the Eosian continent are Eshandists, we must conclude that this “pilgrim” was one as well. Given their views, would we expect Eshandist heretics to come to the Holy City to celebrate the elevation of a new Archprelate? Has our dear brother Makova somehow miraculously converted the heretics of the south to the worship of the true God and rejoined them with the body of our holy mother Church? I pause for the reply of the esteemed Patriarch of Coombe.’ He stood looking expectantly at Makova.

  ‘I’m certainly glad he’s on our side,’ Ulath murmured to Tynian.

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘Ah,’ Emban said as Makova looked at him helplessly. ‘It was too much to hope for, I suppose. We must all apologize to God for our failure to seize this opportunity to heal the wound in the body of our holy mother. Our regret, however, and our bitter tears of disappointment must not dim our eyes to the harshness of reality. The “pilgrims” at our gates are not what they seem. Our dear brother Makova has been cruelly deceived, I’m afraid. What stands at the gates of Chyrellos is not a multitude of the faithful, but a ravening army of our most hated foes bent on destroying and desecrating the very centre of the true faith. Our own personal fate, my brothers, is of no moment, but I should advise you all to make your peace with God. The horrors the Eshandist heretics inflict upon members of the higher clergy are too well known to require repeating. I myself am totally resigned to facing the flames.’ He paused, then grinned. He clapped both hands to his huge paunch. ‘I’ll make a jolly fire, though.’