Then, from a narrow street at the edge of the zone of collapsed houses just beyond practical crossbow range, a sizeable number of well-armed men on horseback emerged. The man in the lead was astride a glossy black horse, and he wore embossed Deiran armour. He removed his helmet. It was Martel, and close behind him were the brutish Adus and the weasel-like Krager.
Kurik joined Sparhawk and his blond friend. ‘I can order the soldiers to shoot at them, if you’d like,’ the squire said to Sparhawk. ‘Somebody might get lucky.’
Sparhawk scratched his chin. ‘No, I don’t think so, Kurik,’ he said.
‘You’re passing up an awfully good opportunity, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘If Martel catches a stray crossbow bolt in the eye, that whole army out there will fall apart.’
‘Not just yet,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s see if I can irritate him just a bit first. Martel sometimes blurts things out when he’s irritated. Let’s see if I can jolt something out of him.’
‘That’s a fair distance for shouting,’ Kalten said.
‘I don’t have to shout,’ Sparhawk smiled.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Kalten complained. ‘It always makes me feel so inadequate.’
‘You should have paid attention to your lessons when you were a novice then.’ Sparhawk focused his attention on the white-haired man and wove the intricate Styric spell. ‘It sort of went to pieces on you, didn’t it, Martel?’ he asked in a conversational tone.
‘Is that you, Sparhawk?’ Martel’s voice was just as conversational as he too utilized the spell they had both learned as novices. ‘So awfully good to hear your voice again, old boy. I didn’t quite follow your comment, though. Things seem to be going fairly well from where I sit.’
‘Why don’t you see how many of your soldiers you can interest in an assault on these walls about now? Take as long as you want, old boy, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘It was really very clever to desert the city, Sparhawk. I wasn’t really expecting that.’
‘We sort of liked it. It must be causing you a great deal of anguish every time you think about all the loot that’s getting away from you, though.’
‘Who said it’s getting away? I made a few speeches to my men. Most of my army’s still under control – out there in the meadows on the other sides of those rivers. I pointed out to them that it’s much easier to let the enterprising types do all the work of looting. Then, when they come out, we take the loot away from them and put it all into a common pile. Everybody will share equally.’
‘Even you?’
‘Oh, good God no, Sparhawk,’ Martel laughed. ‘I’m the general. I take my share first.’
‘The lion’s share?’
‘I am the lion, after all. We’ll all grow very, very wealthy once we break into the treasure vaults below the Basilica.’
‘That’s going a little far even for you, Martel.’
‘Business is business, Sparhawk. You and Vanion stripped me of my honour, so now all I can do is solace myself with money – and satisfaction, of course. I think I’ll have your head mounted when this is all over, my friend.’
‘It’s right here, Martel. All you have to do is come here and claim it. It’s going to take your soldiers a long time to loot the city, and you don’t really have much time to waste.’
‘It won’t take them all that long, Sparhawk. They’re moving along at a very good clip, you know. A man who thinks he’s working for himself is always more industrious.’
‘That’s only the first wave of looters. They’re the ones who are concentrating on gold. The next wave will go looking for silver. Then the third wave will start tearing houses apart looking for the hiding places where people keep valuables. I’d guess that it’s going to be a month or so before they’ve stolen everything in Chyrellos – down to the last brass candlestick. You don’t really have a month, old boy – not with Wargun wandering around out there with half the manpower in Eosia behind him.’
‘Ah yes, Wargun, the drunken King of Thalesia. I’d almost forgotten him. What do you suppose happened to him? It’s so unlike him to be this tardy.’
Sparhawk broke the spell. ‘Order your soldiers to drop some arrows on him, Kurik,’ he said bleakly.
‘What’s the trouble, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked.
‘Martel’s found some way to keep Wargun away from Chyrellos. We’d better go and advise the Preceptors. I’m afraid we’re all alone here.’
Chapter 13
‘He didn’t say it exactly, Vanion,’ Sparhawk reported. ‘You know how he is, but there was that sort of implied smirk in his voice that he knows is so irritating. We both know Martel well enough to know what he meant.’
‘What exactly did he say again, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.
‘We were talking about Wargun, Your Grace, and he said, “What do you suppose has happened to him? It’s so unlike him to be this tardy.’” Sparhawk did his best to imitate Martel’s intonation.
‘It does have a knowing sort of ring to it, doesn’t it?’ Dolmant agreed. ‘I don’t know Martel as well as the two of you do, but that has the sound of a man who’s terribly pleased with himself.’
‘Sparhawk’s right,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Martel’s worked out some way to keep Wargun away. The question is how.’
‘How isn’t important, little mother,’ Vanion said. The four of them were sitting together in a small room adjacent to Sir Nashan’s study. ‘What’s important now is keeping this information away from the soldiers. The Church Knights are trained to accept desperate circumstances. The soldiers aren’t. About all they’re clinging to at the moment is the expectation of seeing Wargun’s armies coming across the meadows lying to the west of the River Arruk. The inner city’s not really surrounded yet, and the looters aren’t paying any attention to other people. We could have desertions by the score if word of this gets out. Advise the Church Knights quietly – and in confidence. I’ll tell the other Preceptors.’
‘And I’ll tell Emban and Ortzel,’ Dolmant promised.
The week seemed to drag, although there were many, many things that had to be done. Houses were pulled down and their rubble used to block the three gates which Komier had decided were only marginally defensible. Kurik continued to train selected church soldiers in the use of their crossbows. Berit gathered a group of young monks, and they traded off keeping watch from the cupola atop the Basilica dome. Emban scurried about inside the Basilica itself, trying to maintain his hold on votes, although that grew more and more difficult. None of the defenders had the temerity to refuse the Patriarchs of the Church the right to ascend the walls to look out at the city, and the view from those walls was not very encouraging. A fair number of Patriarchs, several of them in the very forefront of the fight to keep the Primate of Cimmura off the throne, lamented bitterly as the fires approached those quarters of the city in which their houses lay, and not a few told Emban to his face that he could forget about any future support. Emban grew drawn-looking, and he began to complain of pains in his stomach as he watched his support melting before his eyes.
Annias did nothing. He simply waited.
And Chyrellos continued to burn.
Sparhawk stood atop the wall early one evening looking out over the burning city. His mood was sombre. He heard a slight clinking behind him and turned quickly.
It was Sir Bevier. ‘Not too promising, is it?’ the young Arcian said, also looking out at Chyrellos.
‘Not really,’ Sparhawk agreed. He looked directly at his young friend. ‘How long do you think these walls will stand up to a mangonel, Bevier?’
‘Not very long, I’m afraid. The walls were built in antiquity. They weren’t meant to stand up to modern siege-engines. Perhaps Martel won’t bother to construct them. They take a long time to build, and the workers have to know exactly what they’re doing. A poorly constructed mangonel will kill more of its crew than it will the enemy. There’s a great deal of stress involved when you load one.’
‘We can hope, I suppose. I think these walls will stand up to ordinary catapults, but if he starts lobbing half-ton boulders at us –’ Sparhawk shrugged.
‘Sparhawk.’ It was Talen. The boy came quickly up the stairs from below. ‘Sephrenia wants to see you at the chapterhouse. She says it’s urgent.’
‘Go ahead, Sparhawk,’ Bevier said. ‘I’ll keep watch here.’
Sparhawk nodded and went down the stairs to the narrow street below.
Sephrenia met him in the lower hall. Her face was even more pale than usual.
‘What is it?’ Sparhawk asked her.
‘It’s Perraine, dear one,’ she replied in a hushed voice. ‘He’s dying.’
‘Dying? There haven’t been any attacks yet. What happened to him?’
‘He’s killed himself, Sparhawk.’
‘Perraine?’
‘He’s taken poison of some kind, and he refuses to tell me what it is.’
‘Is there any way –?’
She shook her head. ‘He wants to talk with you, Sparhawk. You’d better hurry. I don’t think there’s much time.’
Sir Perraine lay on a narrow cot in a cell-like room. His face was deathly pale, and he was sweating profusely. ‘You certainly took your time, Sparhawk,’ he said in a weak-sounding voice.
‘What’s this all about, Perraine?’
‘It’s something appropriate. Let’s not waste any time with this. There are some things you need to know before I leave.’
‘We can talk about that after Sephrenia gives you the antidote.’
‘There isn’t going to be any antidote. Just be still and listen to me.’ Perraine sighed deeply. ‘I’ve betrayed you, Sparhawk.’
‘You aren’t capable of that, Perraine.’
‘Anyone’s capable of it, my friend. All he needs is some kind of reason. I had one, believe me. Hear me out. I don’t have much time left.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘You’ve noticed that someone’s been trying to kill you lately, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but what’s –’
‘It was me, Sparhawk – or people I’d hired.’
‘You?’
‘Thank God I failed.’
‘Why, Perraine? Have I insulted you somehow?’
‘Don’t be foolish, Sparhawk. I was acting on orders from Martel.’
‘Why would you take orders from Martel?’
‘Because he was holding something over my head. He was threatening someone who was more precious to me than my life itself.’
Sparhawk was stunned. He started to speak, but Perraine held up one hand. ‘Don’t talk, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Listen. There isn’t much time. Martel came to me in Dabour just after Arasham died. I went for my sword, of course, but he just laughed at me. He told me to put up the sword if I cared anything at all about Ydra.’
‘Ydra?’
‘The woman I love. She’s from northern Pelosia. Her father’s barony adjoins the one belonging to my father. Ydra and I have loved each other since we were children. I’d die for her without giving it a second thought. Martel knew that somehow, and he reasoned that if I were willing to die for her, I’d also be willing to kill. He told me that he’d given her soul to Azash. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think he could really do that.’
Sparhawk remembered Count Ghasek’s sister, Bellina. ‘It can be done, Perraine,’ he said bleakly.
‘That’s what I found out. Martel and I travelled to Pelosia, and he showed Ydra to me when she was performing some obscene rite before an image of Azash.’ Tears stood openly in Perraine’s eyes. ‘It was horrible, Sparhawk, horrible.’ He choked back a sob. ‘Martel told me that if I didn’t do exactly as he told me, her corruption would increase until her soul was totally lost. I wasn’t sure if he could really do what he said he would, but I couldn’t take the chance.’
‘He could do it all right, Perraine,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘I’ve seen it.’
‘I was going to kill her,’ Perraine went on, his voice growing weaker, ‘but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Martel watched me struggle with myself, and he just laughed at me. If you ever get the opportunity, I hope you kill him.’
‘You have my word on that, Perraine.’
Perraine sighed again, and his face grew even more pale. ‘An excellent poison, this one,’ he noted. ‘Anyway, Martel had his fist around my heart. He told me to go to Arcium and to join Vanion and the other Pandions there. At the first opportunity, I was to make my way back to the chapterhouse in Cimmura. Somehow he knew that you were going to Thalesia and that you’d most likely be returning through Emsat. He gave me money and instructed me to start hiring murderers. I had to do everything he told me to do. Most of the time it was my assassins who made the attempts on you, but once, when we were coming through Demos on our way here, I actually shot a crossbow at you myself. I could try to pretend that I missed on purpose, but that would be a lie. I was really trying to kill you, Sparhawk.’
‘And the poison at Dolmant’s house?’
‘That was me as well. I was getting desperate. You have uncommonly good luck, my friend. I tried everything I could think of, and I just couldn’t kill you.’
‘And the Rendor who tried to stick a poisoned knife in me in the Basilica?’
Perraine looked a bit startled. ‘I had nothing to do with that, Sparhawk. I swear. We’ve both been in Rendor, and we both know how undependable they are. Someone else must have sent him – maybe even Martel himself.’
‘What made you change your mind, Perraine?’ Sparhawk asked sadly.
‘Martel’s lost his hold on me. Ydra’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not. Somehow she realized what was happening. She went to the chapel in her father’s house and prayed all night. Then, just as the sun was coming up, she drove a dagger into her heart. She’d sent one of her footmen here with a letter explaining everything that had happened. He arrived just before Martel’s army encircled the city. She’s free now, and her soul is safe.’
‘Why did you take poison then?’
‘I’m going to follow her, Sparhawk. Martel’s stolen my honour, but he can never steal my love.’ Perraine stiffened on his narrow cot, and he twisted in agony for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he gasped, ‘an excellent poison. I’d recommend it by name, but I don’t altogether trust our little mother here. Given half a chance, I think she could resurrect a stone.’ He smiled at their teacher. ‘Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Sparhawk?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive, Perraine,’ Sparhawk said in a thick voice, taking his friend’s hand.
Perraine sighed. ‘I’m sure they’ll strike my name from the Pandion rolls, and I’ll be remembered with contempt.’
‘Not if I can help it, they won’t,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘I‘ll protect your honour, my friend.’ He gripped Perraine’s hand tightly in an unspoken pledge.
Sephrenia reached across the bed and took the dying man’s other hand.
‘It’s almost over,’ Perraine said in a faint whisper. ‘I wish –’ And then he fell silent.
Sephrenia’s wail of grief was almost like that of a hurt child. She pulled Perraine’s limp body to her.
‘There’s no time for that!’ Sparhawk told her sharply. ‘Will you be all right here for a while? I have to go and get Kurik.’
She stared at him in astonishment.
‘We have to dress Perraine in his armour,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘Then Kurik and I can take him to one of those streets just inside the wall. We’ll shoot a crossbow bolt into his chest and lay him in the street. They’ll find him later, and everyone will believe that one of Martel’s mercenaries shot him off the wall.’
‘But Sparhawk, why?’
‘Perraine was my friend, and I promised to protect his honour.’
‘But he tried to kill you, dear one.’
‘No, little mother, Martel tried to kill me. He forced Perraine to help him. The guilt’s all Martel’s, and one of these days before very lon
g, I’m going to make him answer for it.’ He paused. ‘You might start thinking about that hypothesis of ours,’ he added. ‘This seems to poke quite a large hole in it.’ Then he remembered the Rendor with the poisoned knife. ‘Either that or there’s more than just one assassin out there to worry about,’ he added.
The first probing attacks came after about five days of looting. They were tentative, designed primarily to identify strong points – and weak ones. The defenders had certain advantages here. Martel had received his training from Vanion, and Vanion could, therefore, predict almost exactly what the white-haired former Pandion would do, and, moreover, he could marshal his forces so as to dissemble and deceive. The probing attacks grew stronger. They came sometimes at dawn, sometimes late in the day and sometimes in the middle of the night when darkness shrouded the smoky city. The Church Knights were always on the alert. They never removed their armour, and they slept in snatches whenever and wherever they could.
It was when the outer city lay almost entirely in ruins that Martel moved his siege engines into place to begin the steady pounding of the inner city. Large rocks rained from the sky, crushing soldiers and citizens alike. Large baskets were mounted on some of Martel’s catapults, and bushels of crossbow bolts were launched high into the air to drop indiscriminately into the ancient city. Then came the fire. Balls of burning pitch and naphtha came sailing over the walls to ignite the roofs and to fill the streets with great splashes of searing fire. There were as yet no half-ton boulders, however.
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