Domes of Fire by David Eddings

Candour compelled him to privately admit that he shared it. All Elenes

believed that Styrics were an inferior race, and despite their

indoctrination, the Church Knights still shared that belief at the deepest

level of their minds. Sparhawk felt the thoughts rising in him unbidden.

How dare these puffed-up, loudmouthed Styrics have a more beautiful city

than any the Elenes could construct? How dare they be prosperous? How dare

they be happy? How dare they strut through these streets behaving for all

the world as if they were every bit as good as Elenes? Then he saw Danae

looking at him sadly, and he pulled his thoughts and unspoken resentments

uP short. He took hold of those unattractive emotions firmly and looked at

them. He didn’t like what he saw very much. So long as Styrics were meek

and submissive and lived in misery in rude hovels, he was more than willing

to leap to their defence, but when they brazenly looked him squarely in the

eye with unbowed heads and challenging expressions, he found himself

wanting to teach them lessons. ‘difficult, isn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Stragen

said wryly. ‘My bastardy has always made me feel a certain kinship with the

downtrodden and despised. I found the towering humility of our Styric

brethren so inspiring that I even went out of my way to learn their

language. I’ll admit that the people here set my teeth on edge, though.

They all seem so disgustingly self-satisfied.’. ‘Stragen, sometimes you’re

so civilised you make me sick. ‘ my, aren’t we touchy today?’

‘sorry. I just found something in myself that I don’t like. It’s making me

grouchy.’ Stragen sighed. ‘We should probably never look into our own

hearts, Sparhawk. I don’t think anybody likes everything he finds there.’

Sparhawk was not the only one having trouble with the City of Sarsos and

its inhabitants. Sir Bevier’s face reflected the fact that he was feeling

an even greater resentment than the others. His expression was shocked,

even outraged. Heard a story once,’ Sir Ulath said to him in that

disarmingly reminiscent fashion that always signalled louder than words

that Ulath was about to make a point. That was one of Sir Ulath’s

characteristics. He almost never spoke unless he was trying to make a

point. ‘It seems that there was a Deiran, an Arcian and a Thalesian. It was

a long time ago, and they were all speaking in their native dialects.

Anyway, they got to arguing about which of their modes of speech was God’s

own. They finally agreed to go to Chyrellos and ask the Archprelate to put

the question directly to God himself.’

‘And?’ Bevier asked him. ‘Well, sir, everybody knows that God always

answers the Archprelate’s questions, so the word finally came back and

settled their argument once and for all.’

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘What is God’s native dialect?’

‘Why, Thalesian, of course. Everybody knows that Bevier.’ Ulath was the

kind of man who could say that with a perfectly straight face. ‘It only

stands to reason, though. God was a Genidian Knight before he decided to

take the universe in hand. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you?’ Bevier

stared at him for a moment, and then began to

laugh a bit sheepishly. Ulath looked at Sparhawk, and one of his eyelids

closed in a slow, deliberate wink. Once again Sparhawkk felt obliged to

reassess his Thalesian friend. Sephrenia had a house here in Sarsos, and

that was another surprise. There had always been a kind of possessionless

transience about her. The house was quite large, and it was set apart in a

kind of park where tall old trees shaded gently-sloping lawns and gardens

and sparkling fountains. Like all the other buildings in Sarsos,

Sephrenia’s house was constructed of marble, and it looked very familiar.

‘You cheated, little mother,’ Kalten accused her as he helped her down from

the carriage. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You imitated the temple of Aphrael on the island we all saw in that

dream. Even the colonnade along the front is the same.’

‘I suppose you’re right, dear one, but it’s sort of expected here. All the

members of the Council of Styriccum boast about their own Gods. It’s

expected. Our Gods would feel slighted if we didn’t.’

‘You’re a’ member of the council here?’ He sounded a bit surprised. ‘Of

course. I am the high priestess of Aphrael, after all. ‘

‘It seems a little odd to find somebody from Eosia on the ruling council

of a city in Daresia.’

‘What makes you think I came from Eosia?’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Of course not – and the council here in Sarsos isn’t just the local

government. We make the decisions for all Styrics, no matter where they

are. Shall we go inside? Vanion’s waiting.’ She led them up the marble

stairs to a broad, intricately engraved bronze door, and they went on into

the house. The building was constructed around an interior Courtyard, a

lush garden with a marble fountain in the centre. Vanion half-lay on a

divan-like chair near the fountain with his right leg propped up on a

number of cushions. His ankle was swathed in bandages, and he had a

disgusted expression in his face. His hair and beard were silvery now, and

he looked very distinguished. His face was unlined, however. The cares that

had weighed him down had been lifted, but that would hardly account for the

startling change in him. Even the effects of the dreadful weight of the

swords he had forced Sephrenia to give him had somehow been erased. His

face looked younger than Sparhawk had ever seen it. He lowered the scroll

he had been reading. ‘Sparhawk,’ he said irritably, ‘where have you been?’

‘i’m glad to see you too, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. Vanion looked at him

sharply and then laughed, his face a bit sheepish. ‘I guess that was a

little ungraciOUS, wasn’t it?’

‘Crotchety, my Lord,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Definitely crotchety.’ Then she

cast dignity aside, ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘We are

displeased with you, my Lord Vanion,’ she said in her most imperious

manner. Then she kissed him soundly. ‘You have deprived us of your counsel

and your company in our hour of need.’ She kissed him again. ‘It was

churlish of you in the extreme to absent yourself from our side without our

permission.’ She kissed him yet again. ‘Am I being reprimanded or re-united

with my Queen?’ he asked, looking a bit confused. ‘A little of each, my

Lord,’ she shrugged. ‘I thought I’d save some time and take care of

everything all at once. I’m really very, very glad to see you again,

Vanion, but I was most unhappy when you crept away from Cimmura like a

thief in the night.’

‘We don’t really do that, you know,’ Stragen noted clinically. ‘After

you’ve stolen something, the idea is to look ordinary, and creeping

attracts attention.’

‘Stragen,’ she said, ‘hush.’

‘I took him away from Cimmura for his health, Sephrenia told her. ‘He was

dying there. I had a certain personal interest in keeping him alive, so I

took him to a place where I could nurse him back to health. I badgered

Aphrael unmercifully for a couple of years, and she finally gave in. I can

make a serious pest of myself when I want something, and I really wanted

Vanion.’ She made no attempt to conceal her feelings now. The years of

unspoken love between her and the Pandion Preceptor were out in the open.

She also made no effort to conceal what was quite obviously in both the

Styric and the Elene cultures a scandalous arrangement. She and Vanion were

openly living in sin, and neither of them showed the slightest bit of

remorse about it. ‘How’s the ankle, dear one?’ she asked him. ‘It’s

swelling up again.’

‘Didn’t I tell you to soak it in ice when it did that?’

‘I didn’t have any ice.’

‘make some, Vanion. You know the spell.’

‘The ice I make doesn’t seem as cold as yours, Sephrenia.’ His voice was

plaintive. ‘Men!’ she cried in seeming exasperation. ‘They’re all such

babies!’ She bustled away in search of a basin. ‘You followed that, didn’t

you, Sparhawk?’ Vanion said. ‘Of course, my Lord. It was very smooth, if I

may say SO.’ Thank you. ‘What was that all about?’ Kalten asked. ‘You’d

never understand, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Not in a million years,’

Vanion added. ‘How did you sprain your ankle, Lord Vanion?’ Berit asked. ‘I

was proving a point. I advised the Council of Styricum that the young men

of Sarsos were in extremely poor physical condition. I had to demonstrate

by outrunning the whole bloody town. I was doing fairly well until I

stepped in that rabbit-hole.’.That’s a real shame, Lord Vanion,’ Kalten

said. ‘As far as I know, that’s the first contest you ever lost.’ Who said

I lost? I was far enough ahead and close enough to the finish line that I