The Saphire Rose by David Eddings

“I doubt that, Otha,’ Sparhawk called back. ‘Azash wants Bhelliom, but he doesn’t want me to deliver it to him, because he doesn’t know what I’m going to do with it. ‘

“Very good, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia murmured. “Use your advantage. Azash will sense Otha’s uncertainty, and He’ll feel the same way.’

The temple echoed with the noise of blows, shrieks and groans as Sparhawk’s friends systematically slaughtered the green-robed priests. They chopped their way through the tightly-packed ranks until they reached the foot of the first terrace below the altar.

In spite of everything, Sparhawk felt tightly exultant. He had not expected to make it this far, and his unexpected survival filled him with a sense of euphoric invincibility.

‘Well, Otha,’ he said, looking up those stair-stepped terraces at the bloated emperor, ‘why don’t you awaken Azash? Let’s find out if the Elder Gods know how to die as well as men do. ‘ Otha gaped at him, then scrambled from his litter and crumpled to the floor as his puny legs refused to support him. “Kneel!’ he half-screamed at Annias. ‘Kneel and pray to our God for deliverance!’

The notion that his soldiers could not enter the temple obviously frightened Otha considerably.

‘Kalten,’ Sparhawk called to his friend, “finish up with the priests, and then make sure that those soldiers don’t break through and rush us from behind.’

‘That’s not necessary, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia said.

‘I know, but it should keep them back out of harm’s way.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘Here we go, then.’

He shook off his gauntlets, tucked his sword-blade under his arm and took the steel-mesh pouch from his belt. He unwrapped the wire which bound the pouch shut and shook Bhelliom out into his hand. The jewel seemed very hot, and light, wavering like heat-lightning on a summer’s night, seethed among its petals. ‘Blue-Rose!’

he said sharply. “You must do as I command!’

Otha, half-kneeling, half-squatting, was babbling a prayer to his God – a prayer made almost unintelligible by his fright. Annias, Lycheas and Arissa also knelt, and they stared up at the hideous face of the idol looming above them. Their eyes were filled with horror as they more closely beheld the reality of that God they had so willingly chosen to follow.

‘Come, Azash!’ Otha pleaded. ‘Awaken! Hear the prayer of thy servants!’

The idol’s deep-sunk eyes had been closed, but now they slowly opened, and that greenish fire blazed from them. Sparhawk felt wave upon wave of malevolence staring at him from those baleful eyes, and he stood, Stunned into near-insensibility by the titanic presence of a God.

The idol was moving. A kind of undulation riPPled down its body and the tentacle-like arms sinuously reached forth, -reaching towards the glowing stone in Sparhawk’s hand, yearning towards the one thing in all the -world which offered restoration and freedom.

‘No!’ Sparhawk’s voice was a harsh rasp. He raised his sword above the Bhelliom. ‘I’ll destroy it!’ he threatened, (- and you along with it!’

The idol seemed to recoil, and its eyes were suddenly filled with amazed shock. “Why hast thou brought this ignorant savage into my presence, Sephrenia?’ The voice was hollow, and it echoed throughout the temple and in Sparhawk’s mind as well. Sparhawk knew that the mind of Azash could obliterate him in the space between two heartbeats, but for some reason Azash seemed afraid to bring his power to bear upon the rash man who stood menacing the Sapphire Rose with drawn sword.

“I do but obey my destiny, Azash,’ Sephrenia replied calmly. “I was born to bring Sparhawk to this place to face thee. ‘

“But what of the Destiny of this Sparhawk? Dost thou know what he is destined to do?’ There was a kind of desperation in the voice of Azash.

‘No man or God knoweth that, Azash,’ she reminded him. ‘Sparhawk is Anakha, and all the Gods have known and feared that one day Anakha would come and would move through this world committed to ends which none may perceive. I am the servant of his Destiny, whatever it may be, and I have brought him here that he may bring those ends to fruition.’

The idol seemed to tense itself, and then an irresistible command lashed out, overpowering and insistent, and the command was not directed at Sparhawk.

Sephrenia gasped and seemed almost to wilt like a flower before the first blast of winter. Sparhawk could actually feel her resolve fading. She wavered as the force of the mind of Azash peeled away her defences.

He tensed his arm and raised his sword higher. If Sephrenia were to fall, they were lost, and he could not know if there would be time to deliver the last fatal stroke after her collapse. He drew the image of Ehlana’s face in his mind and gripped his sword-hilt even more tightly.

The sound was not audible to anyone else. He knew that. It was in his mind only only he could hear it. It was the insistent, commanding sound of shepherd’s pipes, and there was a very strong overtone of irritation to it.

‘Aphrael.” he called out in sudden relief.

A small firefly spark appeared in front of his face.

‘Well, finally!’ Flute’s voice snapped angrily. ‘What took you so long, Sparhawk? Don’t you know that you have to call me?’

‘No. I didn’t know that. Help Sephrenia.’

There was no touch, no movement, no sound, but Sephrenia straightened, brushing at her brow with lightly-touching fingers as the idol’s eyes burned and fixed themselves on that firefly spark.

‘My daughter,’ the voice of Azash said. “Wilt thou cast thy lot with these mortals?’

“I am no daughter of thine, Azash.’ Flute’s voice was crisp. ‘I willed myself into existence, as did my brothers and sisters when thou and thy kindred did tear at the fabric of reality with thy childish contention. I am thy daughter only through thy fault. Hadst thou and thy kindred turned ye aside from that reckless course which would have destroyed all, there would have been no need for me and mine.’

“I will have Bhelliom!’ The hollow voice was the thunder and the earthquake, tearing at the very foundations of the earth.

‘Thou shalt not!’ Flute’s voice was flatly contradictory.

‘It was to deny thee and thy kind possession of Bhelliom that I and my kind came into existence. Bhelliom is not of this place, and it must not be held here in bondage to thee or to me or to the Troll-Gods or any other Gods of this world.’

“I will have it.’ The voice of Azash rose to a scream.

‘No. Anakha will destroy it first, and in its destruction shalt thou perish.’

The idol seemed to flinch. ‘How darest thou!’ it gasped.

‘How darest thou even speak such horror? In the death of one of us lieth the seeds of the deaths of us all.’

‘So be it then.’ Aphrael’s tone was indifferent. Then her light little voice took on a cruel note. ‘Direct thy fury at me, Azash, and not at my children, for it was I who used the power of the rings to emasculate thee and to confine thee forever in that idol of mud.’

‘It was thou?’ The terrible voice seemed stunned.

“It was I. Thy power is so abated by thine emasculation that thou canst not escape thy confinement. Thou wilt not have Bhelliom, impotent Godling, and thus shalt thou be forever imprisoned. Thou shalt remain unmanned and confined until the farthest star burns down to ashes.’

She paused, and when she spoke again it was in the tone of one slowly twisting a knife buried in the body of another. ‘It was thine absurd and transparent proposal that all the Gods of Styricum unite to seize Bhelliom from the Troll-Gods – “for the good of all” – that gave me the opportunity to mutilate and confine thee, Azash. Thou hast none to blame but thyself for what hath befallen thee. And now Anakha hath brought Bhelliom and the rings – and even the Troll-Gods locked within the jewel – here to confront thee. I call upon thee to submit to the power of the Sapphire Rose – or to perish.’

There was a howl of inhuman frustration, but the idol made no move.

Otha, however, his eyes filled with panic, began to mutter a desperate spell. Then he hurled it forth, and the hideous statues encircling the interior of the vast temple began to shimmer, changing from marble-white to greens and blues and bloody reds, and the babble of their inhuman voices filled the dome. Sephrenia spoke two words in Styric, her voice calm. She gestured, and the statues froze again, congealing back into pallid marble.

Otha howled, and began to speak again, so frustrated and enraged that he did not even speak in Styric, but in his native Elene.

‘Listen to me, Sparhawk,’ Flute’s musical voice was very soft.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *