him. ‘He sent runners to the Atan forces outside the city to advise the
commanders that the agents of the ministry of the interior aren’t to be
trusted. The commanders will pass that on to Androl and Betuana.’
‘Are we safe here in the event that Atan Engessa’s runners are
intercepted?’
‘Sir Bevier assures us that he can hold this castle for five years,
Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him, ‘and Bevier’s the expert on sieges.’
‘And when the five years runs out?’
‘The Church Knights will be here long before then, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk
assured him. ‘Caalador has his instructions. If things go awry, he’ll get
word to Dolmant in Chyrellos.’
‘You people are still making me very, very nervous.’
‘Trust me, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said. Kalten came puffing up the stairs
to the parapet. ‘We’re going to need more wine, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I
think we made a mistake when we set those wine-casks in the courtyard. The
queen’s guests are lingering down there, and they’re swilling down Arcian
red like water.’
‘May I draw on your wine-cellars, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked sweetly.
Sarabian winced. ‘Why are you pouring all that drink
into them?’ he demanded. ‘Arcian red’s very expensive here in Matherion.’
‘Drunk people are easier to manage than sober ones, your Majesty,’ Kalten
shrugged. ‘We’ll let them continue to carouse down there in the courtyard
and inside the castle until the fighting starts. Then we’ll push the
stragglers on inside the castle with the others and keep them drinking.
When they wake up tomorrow morning, most of them won’t even know there’s
been a battle.’
The party in the courtyard was growing noisier. Tamul wines were not nearly
as robust as Elene vintages, and the wits of the revellers had become
fuddled. They laughed a great deal and walked about the yard unsteadily
with silly grins on their faces. Queen Ehlana looked critically down from
the parapet. ‘How much longer would you say it’s going to take them to be
totally incapacitated, Sparhawk?’ she asked. ‘Not much longer,’ he
shrugged. He turned and looked out towards the city. ‘I don’t want to see’m
critical, Emperor Sarabian, but I have to point out that your citizenry is
profoundly unimaginative. Your rebels out there are carrying torches.’
‘So?’
‘It’s a cliche, your Majesty. The mob in every bad Arcian romance ever
written carries torches.’
‘How can you be so cool, man?’ Sarabian demanded. ‘if someone made a loud
noise behind me right now, i’d jump out of my skin.’
‘Professional training) I guess. I’m more concerned that they might not
reach the imperial compound than that they will. We want them to come here,
your Majesty.’
‘Shouldn’t you raise the drawbridge?’
‘Not yet. There are conspirators here in the compound as well as out there
in the streets. We don’t want to give away the fact that we know they’re
coming.’ Khalad thrust his head out of the turret at the corner of the
battlements and beckoned to his lord. ‘Will you excuse me, your Majesties?’
Sparhawk asked politely. ‘I have to go put on my work-clothes. Oh, Ehlana,
why don’t you signal Kalten that it’s time to push those stragglers inside
and lock them in the dining room with the others?’
‘What’s this?’ Sarabian asked. ‘We don’t want them underfoot when the
fighting starts, Sarabian,’ the queen smiled. ‘The wine should keep them
from noticing that they’re locked in the dining room.’
‘You Elenes are the most cold-blooded people in the world,’ Sarabian
accused as Sparhawk moved off down the parapet toward the turret where
Khalad was waiting with the suit of black armour. When he returned about
ten minutes later, he was dressed in steel. He found Ehlana talking
earnestly with Sarabian. ‘Can’t you talk with her?’ she was saying. ‘The
poor young man’s on the verge of hysteria.’
‘Why doesn’t he just do what she wants him to? Once they’ve entertained
each other, she’ll lose interest.’
‘Sir Berit’s a very young knight, Sarabian. His ideals haven’t been
tarnished yet. Why doesn’t she chase after Sir Kalten or Sir Ulath? They’d
be happy to oblige her.’
‘Sir Berit’s a challenge to Elysoun, Ehlana. Nobody’s ever turned her down
before.’
‘Doesn’t her rampant infidelity bother you?’
‘Not in the slightest. It doesn’t really mean anything in her culture, you
see. Her people look upon it as a pleasant but unimportant pastime. I
sometimes think you Elenes place far too much significance on it.’
‘Can’t you make her put some clothes on?’
‘Why? She’s not ashamed of her body, and she enjoys sharing it with
people. Be honest, Ehlana, don’t you find her quite attractive?’
‘I think you’d have to ask my husband about that.’
‘You don’t really expect me to answer that kind of question, do you?’
Sparhawk said. He looked out over the battlements. ‘Our friends out there
seem to have found their way to the palace compound,’ he noted as the
torch-bearing rioters began to stream through the gate’ onto the grounds.
‘The guards are supposed to stop them,’ Sarabian said angrily. ‘The guards
are taking their orders from Minister Kolata, I expect,’ Ehlana shrugged.
‘Where’s the Atan Garrison then?’
‘We’ve moved them inside the castle here, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk advised
him. ‘I think you keep overlooking the fact that we want those people in
the grounds. It wouldn’t make much sense to impede their progress.’
‘isn’t it about time to raise the drawbridge?’ Sarabian seemed nervous
about that. ‘Not yet, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied coolly. ‘We want them
all to be inside the compound first. At that ‘ point, Kring will close the
gates. Then we’ll raise the drawbridge. Let them take the bait before we
spring the trap on them.’
‘You sound awfully sure of yourself, Sparhawk.’
‘We have all the advantages, your Majesty.’
‘Does that mean that nothing can possibly go wrong?’
‘No, something can always go wrong, but the probabilities are remote.’
‘You don’t mind if I worry a little bit anyway, do you?’
‘Go right ahead, your Majesty.’ The mob from the streets of Matherion
continued to stream unimpeded through the main gate of the Imperial grounds
and fanned out rapidly, shouting excitedly as they crashed their way into
the various palaces and administration buildings. As Kring had anticipated,
many emerged from the gleaming buildings burdened down with assorted
valuables they had looted from the interiors. There was a brief flurry of
activity in front of the castle when one group of looters reached the
drawbridge and encountered a score of mounted knights under the command of
Sir Ulath. The knights were there to provide cover for the Peloi who had
been hidden in the holds of the barges during the earlier festivities and
who had fallen to work on the naphtha casks with their axes as soon as the
revellers had retired to the castle yard. A certain amount of glistening
seepage from the sides of the barges indicated that the axemen crossing the
decks of the festive vessels in the roost toward the drawbridge had done
their work well. When the mob reached the outer end of the drawbridge,
Ulath made it abundantly clear to them that he was in no mood to receive
callers. The survivors decided to find other places to loot. The courtyard
had been cleared, and Bevier and his men were moving their catapults into
place on the parapet. Engessa’s Atans had moved up onto the parapets with
the Cyrinics and were crouched down out of sight behind the battlements.
Sparhawk looked around. Everything seemed in readiness. Then he looked at
the gates of the compound. The only revolutionaries coming in now were the
lame and the halt. They crutched their way along vigorously, but they had
lagged far behind their companions. Sparhawk leaned out over the
battlements. ‘We might as well get started, Ulath,’ he called down to his
friend. ‘Why don’t you ask Kring to close the gates? Then you should
probably come inside.’
‘Right!’ Ulath’s face was split with a broad grin. He lifted his curled
Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a hollowsounding blast. Then he turned and
led his knights across the drawbridge back into the castle. The huge gate
at the entrance to the palace grounds moved ponderously, slowly, swinging
shut with a dreadful kind of inexorability. Sparhawk noted that several of
those still outside stumped along desperately on their crutches, trying for
all they were worth to get inside before the gate closed. ‘Kalten,’ he
yelled down into the courtyard. ‘What?’ Kalten’s tone was irritable. ‘Would
you like to let those people out there know that we’re not receiving any
more visitors tonight?’
‘Oh, all right. I suppose so.’ Then the blond Pandion grinned up at his
fellow-knight and he and his men began turning the capstan that raised the
drawbridge. ‘Clown,’ Sparhawk muttered. The significance of the
simultaneous closing of the gate and raising of the drawbridge did not
filter through the collective mind of the mob for quite some time..Then