underling, the aforementioned Martel, led an assault on
the Holy City, hoping thereby to stampede the Hierocracy
into electing Primate Annias. Sir Sparhawk and a
limited number of Church Knights were able to keep
Martel away from the Basilica where the Hierocracy was
deliberating. Most of the city of Chyrellos, however,
was severely damaged or destroyed during the fighting.
As the situation reached crisis proportions, help
arrived for the beleaguered defenders in the form of
the armies of the western Elene kingdoms. (Elene
politics, one notes, are quite robust.) The connection
between the Primate of Cimmura and the renegade
Martel came to light as well as the fact that the pair
had a subterranean arrangement with Otha of
Zemoch. Outraged by the ‘ perfidy of the man, the
Hierocracy rejected his candidacy and elected instead
one Dolmant, the Patriarch of Demos. This Dolmant
appears to be competent, though it may be too early to
say for certain.
Queen Ehlana of the Kingdom of Elenia was scarcely
more than a child, but she appeared to be a strongwilled
and spirited young woman. She had long had a
secret preference for Sir Sparhawk, though he was more
than twenty Years her senior, and upon her recovery
it had been announced that the two were betrothed.
Following the election of Dolmant to the Archprelacy,
they were wed. Peculiarly enough, the queen retained
her authority, although we must suspect that Sir Sparhawk
exerts considerable influence upon her in state as
well as domestic matters.
The involvement of the Emperor of Zemoch in the
internal affairs of the Elene Church was, of course, a
Casus belli, and the armies of western Eosia, led by the
Church Knights, marched eastward across Lamorkand
to meet the Zemoch hordes poised on the border. The
long-dreaded Second Zemoch War had begun.
Sir Sparhawk and his companions, however, rode
north to avoid the turmoil of the battlefield, and they
then turned eastward, crossed the mountains of northern
Zem’och and surreptitiously made their way to
Otha’s capital at the city of Zemoch, evidently in pursuit
of Annias and Martel.
The best efforts of the empire’s agents in the west
have failed to reveal precisely what took place at
Zemoch. It is quite certain that Annias, Martel and
Otha himself perished there, but they are of little note
in the pageant of history. What is far more relevant
is the incontrovertible fact that Azash, Elder God
of Styricum and the driving force behind Otha and
his Zemochs, also perished, and it is undeniably true
that Sir Sparhawk was responsible. We must concede
that the levels of magic unleashed at Zemoch were
beyond our comprehension and that Sir Sparhawk
has powers at his command such as no mortal has
ever possessed. As evidence of the levels of violence
unleashed in the confrontation, we need only point
to the fact that the city of Zemoch was utterly destroyed
during the discussions.
Clearly, Zalasta the Styric had been right. Sir
Sparhawk, the prince consort of Queen Ehlana, was
the one man in all the world capable of dealing with
the crisis in Tamuli. Unfortunately, Sir Sparhawk was
not a citizen of the Tamul Empire, and thus could not
be summoned to the imperial capital at Matherion
by the emperor. His Majesty’s government was in
a quandary. The emperor had no authority over this
Sparhawk, ‘and to have been obliged to appeal to a man
who was essentially a private citizen would have been
an unthinkable humiliation.
The situation in the empire was daily worsening, and
our need for the intervention of Sir Sparhawk was growing
more and more urgent. Of equal urgency was the
absolute necessity of maintaining the empire’s dignity.
It was ultimately the Foreign Office’s most brilliant
diplomat, First Secretary Oscagne, who devised a solution
to the dilemma. We will discuss his Excellency’s
brilliant diplomatic ploy at greater length in the following
chapter.
PART ONE
Eosia
CHAPTER 1
It was early spring, and the rain still had the lingering
chill of winter. A soft, silvery drizzle sifted down out of
the night sky and wreathed around the blocky watchtowers
of Cimmura, hissing in the torches on each side
of the broad gate and making the stones of the road
leading up to the gate shiny and black. A lone rider
approached the city.,He was wrapped in a heavy traveller’s
cloak and rode a tall, shaggy roan horse with a long
nose and flat, vicious eyes. The traveler was a big man,
a bigness of large, heavy bone and ropy tendon rather
than of flesh. His hair was coarse and black, and at some
time his nose had been broken. He rode easily but with
,the peculiar alertness of the trained warrior.
The big’ roan shuddered, shaking the rain
out of his shaggy coat as they approached the east gate
of the city and stopped in the ruddy circle of torchlight
just outside the wall.
An unshaven gate guard in a rust-splotched breastplate
and helmet and with a patched green cloak hanging
negligently from one shoulder came out of the
gate house to look inquiringly at the traveler. He was
swaying slightly on his feet.
“Just passing through, neighbour,’ the big man said
in a quiet voice. He pushed back the hood of his cloak.
. ‘Oh,’ the guard said, ‘it’s you, Prince Sparhawk. I
didn’t recognise you. Welcome home.’
Thank you,’ Sparhawk replied. He could smell the
cheap wine on the man’s breath.
‘Would you like to have me send word to the palace
that you’ve arrived, your Highness?’
“No. Don’t bother them. I can unsaddle my own
horse.’ Sparhawk privately disliked ceremonies – particularly
late at night. He leaned over and handed the
guard a small coin. ‘Go back inside, neighbour. You’ll
catch cold if you stand out here in the rain.’ He nudged
his horse and rode on through the gate.
The district near the city wall was poor, with shabby,
run-down houses standing tightly packed beside each
other, their second storeys projecting out over the wet
littered streets. Sparhawk rode up a narrow, cobbled
street with the slow clatter of the big roan’s steel-shod
hooves echoing back from the buildings. The night
breeze had come up, and the crude signs identifying
this or that tightly-shuttered shop on the street-level
floors swung creaking on rusty hooks.
A dog with nothing better to do came out of an alley to
bark at them with brainless self-importance. Sparhawk’s
horse turned his head slightly to give the wet cur a
long, level stare that spoke eloquently of death. The
empty-headed dog’s barking trailed off and he cringed
back, his rat-like tail between his legs. The horse bore
down on him purposefully. The dog whined, then
yelped, turned and fled. Sparhawk’s horse’ snorted
derisively.
‘That make you feel better, Faran?’ Sparhawk asked
the roan.
Faran flicked his ears.
“Shall we proceed then?’
A torch burned fitfully at an intersection, and a buxom
young whore in a cheap dress stood, wet and
bedraggled, in its ruddy, flaring light. Her dark hair was
plastered to her head, the rouge on her cheeks
was streaked and she had a resigned expression on
her face.
‘What are you doing out here in the rain, Naween?’
Sparhawk asked her, reining in his horse.
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Sparhawk.’ Her tone was
arch, and her dark eyes wicked.
‘Or for anyone else?’
‘Of course. I am a professional, Sparhawk, but I still
owe you. Shouldn’t we settle up one of these days?’
He ignored that. ‘What are you doing working the
streets?’
“Shanda and I had a fight,’ she shrugged. “I decided
to go into business for myself.’
‘You’re not vicious enough to be a street-girl,
Naween.’ He dipped his fingers into the pouch at his
side, fished out several coins and gave them to her.
‘Here,’ he instructed. ‘Get a room in an inn someplace
and stay off the streets for a few days. I’ll talk with
Platime, and we’ll see if we can make some arrangements
for you . ‘
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t have to do that,
Sparhawk. I can take care of myself.’
‘Of )course you can. That’s why you’re standing out
here in the rain. Just do it Naween. It’s too late and too
wet for arguments.’
‘This is two I owe you, Sparhawk. Are you absolutely
sure . . . ?’ She left it hanging.
“Quite sure, little sister. I’m married now, remember?’
‘So?’
‘Never mind. Get in out of the weather.’ Sparhawk
rode on, )shaking his head. He liked Naween, but she
was hopelessly incapable of taking care of herself.
He passed through a quiet square where all the shops
and booths were shut down. There were few people
abroad tonight, and few business opportunities. He let
his mind drift back over the past month and a half. No
one in Lamorkand had been willing to talk with him.
Archprelate Dolmant was a wise man, learned in doctrine
and Church politics, but he was woefully ignorant