David Eddings - The Sapphire Rose

They kept to the trees and rode on around Cimmura on the north side. Kurik slipped down from his gelding at one point and crept to the edge of the bushes to have a look. His expression was grave when he returned. ‘There are church soldiers manning the battlements,’ he reported.

Sparhawk swore. ‘Are you sure?’

‘The men up there are wearing red.’

‘Let’s move on anyway. We’ve got to get inside the chapterhouse.’

The dozen or so ostensible workmen outside the fortress of the Pandion Knights were still laying cobblestones.

‘They’ve been at that for almost a year now,’ Kurik muttered, ‘and they still haven’t finished. Do we wait for dark?’

‘I don’t think that would do much good. They’ll still be watching, and I don’t want it generally known that we’re back in Cimmura.’

‘Sephrenia,’ Talen said, ‘can you make a column of smoke come up from just inside the city walls near the gate?’

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Good. We’ll make those bricklayers go away then.’ The boy quickly explained his plan.

‘That isn’t really too bad, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said rather proudly. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s worth a try. Let’s do it and see what happens.’

The red uniform Sephrenia created for Kurik did not look all that authentic, but the smudges and smoke-stains she added covered most of the discrepancies. The important things were the gold-embroidered epaulettes which identified him as an officer. The burly squire then led his horse through the bushes to a spot near the city gate.

Then Sephrenia began to murmur in Styric, gesturing with her fingers as she did so.

The column of smoke that rose from inside the walls was very convincing, thick, oily black and boiling dreadfully.

‘Hold my horse,’ Talen said to Sparhawk, slipping down from his saddle. He ran out to the edge of the bushes and began to shriek, ‘Fire!’ at the top of his lungs.

The so-called workmen gaped at him stupidly for a moment, then turned to stare in consternation at the city.

‘You always have to yell “fire”,’ Talen explained when he returned. ‘It gets people to thinking in the right direction.’

Then Kurik galloped up to the spies outside the gate of the chapterhouse. ‘You men,’ he barked, ‘there’s a house on fire in Goat Lane. Get in there and help put the fire out before the whole city starts to burn.’

‘But sir,’ one of the workmen objected, ‘we were ordered to stay here and keep an eye on the Pandions.’

‘Do you have anything you value inside the city walls?’ Kurik asked him bluntly. ‘If that fire gets away from us, you can stand here and keep an eye on it while it burns. Now move, all of you! I’m going up to that fortress to see if I can persuade the Pandions to lend a hand.’

The workmen looked at him, then dropped their tools and ran towards the illusory conflagration as Kurik rode on towards the drawbridge of the chapterhouse.

‘Slick,’ Sparhawk complimented Talen.

‘Thieves do it all the time,’ the boy shrugged. ‘We have to use real fire, though. People run outside to gawk at fires. That provides an excellent opportunity to look around inside their houses for things of value.’ He looked towards the city gate. ‘Our friends seem to be out of sight. Why don’t we ride on before they come back?’

Two Pandion Knights in black armour rode gravely out to meet them as they reached the drawbridge. ‘Is that a fire in the city, Sparhawk?’ one of them asked in some alarm.

‘Not really,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Sephrenia’s entertaining the church soldiers.’

The other knight grinned at Sephrenia. Then he straightened. ‘Who art thou who entreateth entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’ he began the ritual.

‘We don’t have time for that, brother,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘We’ll go through it twice next time. Who’s in charge here now?’

‘Lord Vanion.’

That was surprising. Preceptor Vanion had been much involved in the campaign in Arcium when last Sparhawk had heard of him. ‘Do you have any idea of where I might locate him?’

‘He’s in his tower, Sparhawk,’ the second knight advised.

Sparhawk grunted. ‘How many knights are here right now, brother?’

‘About a hundred.’

‘Good. I may need them.’ Sparhawk nudged Faran with his heels. The big roan turned his head to look at his master with some surprise. ‘We’re busy now, Faran,’ Sparhawk explained to his horse. ‘We’ll go through the ritual some other time.’

Faran’s expression was disapproving as he started across the drawbridge.

‘Sir Sparhawk!’ a ringing voice came from the stable door. It was the novice, Berit, a rangy, raw-boned young man whose face was split with a broad grin.

‘Shout a little louder, Berit,’ Kurik said reprovingly. ‘Maybe they’ll be able to hear you in Chyrellos.’

‘Sorry, Kurik,’ Berit apologized, looking abashed.

‘Get some other novices to look after our horses and come with us,’ Sparhawk told the young man. ‘We have things to do, and we have to talk with Vanion.’

‘Yes, Sir Sparhawk.’ Berit ran back into the stable.

‘He’s such a nice boy,’ Sephrenia smiled.

‘He might work out,’ Kurik said grudgingly.

‘ Sparhawk ,’ a hooded Pandion said with some surprise as they entered the arched door leading into the chapterhouse. The knight pushed back his hood. It was Sir Perraine, the Pandion who had posed as a cattle-buyer in Dabour. Perraine spoke with a slight accent.

‘What are you doing back in Cimmura, Perraine?’ Sparhawk asked, clasping his brother knight’s hand. ‘We all thought you’d taken root in Dabour.’

Perraine seemed to recover from his surprise. ‘Ah –’ he began, ‘once Arasham died, there wasn’t much reason for me to remain in Dabour. We’d all heard that King Wargun was pursuing you all over western Eosia.’

‘Pursuing isn’t catching, Perraine,’ Sparhawk grinned. ‘We can talk later. But now my friends and I have to go and talk with Vanion.’

‘Of course.’ Perraine bowed slightly to Sephrenia and walked on out into the courtyard.

They went up the stairs to the south tower where Vanion’s study was located. The Preceptor of the Pandion Order wore that white Styric robe, and his face had aged even more in the short time since Sparhawk had last seen him. The others were also there, Ulath, Tynian, Bevier and Kalten. Their presence seemed somehow to make the room shrink. These were very large men, not only in sheer physical size, but also in terms of their towering reputations. The room seemed somehow full of bulky shoulders. As was customary among Church Knights when inside their chapterhouses, they all wore monks’ robes over their mail-shirts.

‘Finally!’ Kalten said, letting out an explosive breath. ‘Sparhawk, why didn’t you get word to us to let us know how you were?’

‘Messengers are a little hard to find in Troll-country, Kalten.’

‘Any luck?’ Ulath asked eagerly. Ulath was a huge, blond-braided Thalesian, and Bhelliom had a special meaning for him.

Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, silently asking permission.

‘All right,’ she said, ‘but only for a minute.’

Sparhawk reached down inside his tunic and drew out the canvas pouch in which he carried Bhelliom. He pulled open the drawstring, lifted out the most precious object in the world and placed it on the table Vanion used for a writing desk. Even as he did so, there came again that faint flicker of the darkness somewhere off in a dim corner. The hound of darkness his nightmare had conjured up in the mountains of Thalesia followed him still, and the shadow seemed larger and darker now as if each re-emergence of Bhelliom somehow increased its size and its brooding menace.