rear of the main house. ‘Fortunately, Sir Knights, I have ample room for
even so large a party as yours,’ the baron told them. The quarters for the
bulk of your men may be a bit ‘crude, though, I’m afraid. They’re
dormitories for .fire harvest crews. ‘
‘ we’re Church Knights, my Lord Kotyk,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We’re
accustomed to hardship.’ -” Kotyk sighed. ‘We have no such institution
here,’ he mourned. ‘There are so many things lacking in our poor, backward
country.’ They approached the manor house by a long, white-travelled drive
lined on both sides by lofty elms and halted at the foot of the broad stone
stairs leading up to an arched front door. The baron climbed heavily down
from his carriage and handed his reins to one of the bearded serfs who had
rushed from the house to meet them. ‘I pray you, gentles all,’ he said,
‘stand not on ceremony. Let us enter ere the approaching storm descend upon
us.’ Sparhawk could not be certain if the Baron’s stilted speech was a
characteristic of the country, a personal idiosyncracy, or a nervous
reaction to the rank of his visitors. He motioned to Kalten and Tynian.
‘See to it that the knights and the Peloi are settled in,’ he told them
quietly. ‘Then join us in the house. Khalad, go with them. Make sure that
the serfs don’t just leave the horses standing out in the rain.’ The door
to the’manor house swung wide, and three ladies dressed in antiquated gowns
emerged. One was tall and angular. She had a wealth of dark hair and the
lingering traces of youthful beauty. The years had not been kind to her,
however. Her rigid, haughty face was lined, and she had a noticeable
squint. The other two were both blonde, flabby, and their features clearly
revealed a blood relationship to the baron. Behind them came a pale young
man. dressed all in black velvet. He seemed to have a permanent sneer
stamped on his face. His dark hair was done in long curls that cascaded
down his back in an artfully-arranged display. After the briefest of
introductions Kotyk led them all
inside. The tall, dark-haired lady was the baron’s wife, Astansia. The two
blondes were, as Sparhawk had guessed, his sisters, Ermude the elder and
Katina the younger. The pale young man was Baroness Astansia’s brother,
Elron, who she proudly advised them was a poet in a voice hovering on the
verge of adoration. ‘Do you think I could get away with pleading a sick
headache?’ Ehlana murmured to Sparhawk as they followed the baron and his
family down a long, tapestry-lined coridor toward the centre of the house.
‘This is going to be deadly, I’m afraid.’
”If I have to put up with it, so do you,’ Sparhawk whispered. ‘We need
the baron’s roof, so we’ll have to endure his hospitality.’ She sighed. ‘It
might be a little more endurable if the whole place didn’t reek of cooked
cabbage.’ They were led into a ‘sitting-room’ that was only slightly
smaller than the throne-room in Cimmura, a musty-smelling room filled with
stiff, uncomfortable chairs and divans and carpeted in an
unwholesomelooking mustard yellow. ‘We are so isolated here,’ Katina sighed
to the Baroness Melidere, ‘and so dreadfully out of fashion. My poor
brother tries as best he can to keep abreast of what’s happening in the
west, but our remote location imprisons us and keeps visitors from our
door. Ermude and I have tried over and over to persuade him to take a house
in the capital where we can be near the centre of things, but she won’t
hear of it. The estate came to my brother by marriage, and his wife’s so
terribly provintial. Would you believe that my poor sister and I are forced
to have our gowns made up by serfs?’ . Melidere , put her palms to her
cheeks in feigned . horor. ‘My goodness!’ she exclaimed. Katina reached for
her handkerchief as tears of misery began to roll down her cheeks.
‘Wouldn’t your Atan be more comfortable with the soldiers, Margravine?’
Baroness Astansia was asking ,looking with some distaste at Mirtai.
I rather doubt it,Baroness,’ Ehlana replied, ‘and even if she were, I
wouldn’t be. I have powerful enemies, my Lady, and my husband is much
involved in the affairS of Elenia. The queen relies heavily upon him, and
so I must look to my own defences.’
‘I’ll admit that your Atan is imposing, Margravine,’ Astansia sniffed,
‘but she’s still only a woman, after all.’ Ehlana smiled. ‘You might tell
that to the ten men she’s already killed, Baroness,’ she replied. The
Baroness stared at her in horror. ‘The Eosian continent has a thin veneer
of civilisation, my Lady,’ Stragen advised her, ‘but underneath’ it all,
we’re really quite savage.’
‘It’s a tedious journey, Baron Kotyk,’ Patriarch Emban
said, ‘but the Archprelate and the emperor have been in communication with
each other since the collapse of Zemoch, and they both feel that the time
has come to exchange personal envoys. Misunderstandings can arise in the
absence of direct contact, and the world has seen enough of war for a
while.’
‘A wise decision, your Grace.’ Kotyk was quite obviously overwhelmed by
the presence of people of exalted station in his house. ‘I have some small
reputation in the capital, Sir Bevier,’ Elron was saying in a lofty tone of
voice. ‘My poems are eagerly sought after by the intelligentsia. They’re
quite beyond the grasp of the unlettered, however. I’m particularly noted
for my ability to convey colours. I do think that colour is the very soul
of the real world. I’ve been working on my Ode to Blue for the past six
months.’
‘Astonishing perseverance,’ Bevier murmured.
‘I try to be as thorough as possible,’ Elron declared. ‘I’ve already
composed two hundred and sixty-three stanzas, and there’s no end in sight,
I’m afraid.’ Bevier sighed. ‘As a Knight of the Church, I have little time
for literature,’ he mourned. ‘Because of my vocation, I must concentrate on
military texts and devotional works. Sir Sparhawk is more worldly than I,
and his descriptions of people and places verge sometimes on the poetic.’
‘I should be most interested,’ Elron lied, his face revealing a
professional’s contempt for the efforts of amateurs. ‘Does he touch at all
on colour?’
‘More with light, I believe,’ Bevier replied, ‘but then they’re the same
thing, aren’t they? Colour doesn’t exist without light. I remember that
once he described a street in the city of Jiroch. The city lies on the
coast of Render where the sun pounds the earth like a hammer. Very early in
the morning, before the sun rises, and when the night is just beginning to
fade, the sky has the colour of forged steel. It casts no shadows, and so
everything seems etched by that sourceless grey. The All untaught, they
move with a grace beyond the capability of dancers. Their silent,
beautiful’ procession marks each day’s beginning as, like shadows, they
greet the dawn in a ritual as old as time. Have you ever seen that peculiar
light before the sun rises, Elron?’
‘I seldom rise before noon,’ the young man said stiffly. ‘You should make
an effort to see it sometime,’ Bevier sugggested mildly. ‘An artist should
be willing to make some sacrifices for his art, after all.’
I trust you’llexcuse me,’ the young fellow with the dark curls said
brusquely. He bowed slightly and then left, a mortified expression
replacing his supercilious sneer. That was cruel, Bevier,’ Sparhawk chided,
‘and you put words in my mouth. I’ll admit that you have a certain flair
for language though.’ : .’It had the desired effect, Sparhawk. If that
conceited young ass had patronised me about one more time, i’d have
strangled him. Two hundred some odd verses in an ode to the colour blue?
What a donkey.’
‘The next time he bothers you about blue, describe Bhelliom to him.’
Bevier shuddered. ‘Not me, Sparhawk. Just the thought of it makes my blood
run cold.’ Sparhawk laughed and went over to the window to look at the rain
slashing at the glass. Danae came to his side and took his hand. ‘Do we
really have to stay here father?’ she asked. ‘These people turn my
stomach.’
‘We need some place to shelter’ us from the rain, Danae.’
‘I can make it stop raining, if that’s all you’re worried
about. If one of those disgusting women starts talking baby-talk to me one
more time, I’m going to turn her into a toad.’
‘I think I have a better idea.’ Sparhawk bent and
picked her up. ‘Act sleepy,’ he instructed. Danae promptly went limp ‘and
dangled from his arms like a rag doll. ‘You’re overdoing it,’ he told her.
He crossed to the far side of the room, gently laid her on a divan and
covered her with her traveling cloak. ‘Don’t snore,’ he advised. ‘You’re
not old enough to snore yet.’ She gave him an innocent little look. ‘I
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