David Eddings - The Complete Elenium Trilogy - The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose

‘Good lad,’ Sparhawk congratulated him, dropping a gold crown into the begging bowl.

‘Child’s play,’ Talen shrugged. He bit the coin and then tucked it inside his tunic. ‘Thanks, Sparhawk.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the porter at the inn on Rose Street?’

‘The place is being watched. I decided to play it safe.’ Then Talen looked over the big knight’s shoulder. ‘Hello, Kurik,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you for a long time.’

‘You two know each other?’ Sparhawk was a bit surprised.

Kurik flushed, looking embarrassed.

‘You wouldn’t believe how far back our friendship goes, Sparhawk,’ Talen said with a sly little smile at Kurik.

‘That’s enough, Talen,’ Kurik said sharply. Then his expression softened slightly. ‘How’s your mother?’ he asked. There was a strange, wistful note in his voice.

‘She’s doing quite well, actually. When you add what I make to what you give her from time to time, she’s comfortably off.’

‘Am I missing something here?’ Sparhawk asked mildly.

‘It’s a personal matter, Sparhawk,’ Kurik told him. Then he turned to the boy. ‘What are you doing out here in the streets, Talen?’ he demanded.

‘I’m begging, Kurik. You see?’ Talen held out his bowl. ‘That’s what this is for. Would you like to drop something in for old times’ sake?’

‘I put you in a very good school, boy.’

‘Oh, it was very good indeed. The headmaster used to tell us how good it was three times a day – at mealtimes. He and the other teachers ate roast beef. The students got porridge. I don’t like porridge all that much, so I enrolled in a different school.’ He gestured extravagantly at the street. ‘This is my classroom now. Do you like it? The lessons I learn here are much more useful than rhetoric or philosophy or all that tiresome theology. If I pay attention, I can earn enough to buy my own roast beef – or anything else, for that matter.’

‘I ought to thrash you, Talen,’ Kurik threatened.

‘Why, father,’ the boy replied, wide-eyed, ‘what a thing to suggest.’ He laughed. ‘Besides, you’d have to catch me first. That’s the first lesson I learned in my new school. Would you like to see how well I learned it?’ He took up his crutch and begging bowl and ran off down the street. He was, Sparhawk noted, very fast on his feet.

Kurik started to swear.

‘Father?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘I told you that this is none of your business, Sparhawk.’

‘We don’t keep any secrets from each other, Kurik.’

‘You’re going to push this, aren’t you?’

‘Me? I’m just curious, that’s all. This is a side of you I’ve never seen before.’

‘I was indiscreet some years ago.’

‘That’s a delicate way to put it.’

‘I can do without the clever remarks, Sparhawk.’

‘Does Aslade know about this?’

‘Of course not. It would only make her unhappy if I told her. I kept quiet about it to spare her feelings. A man owes that to his wife, doesn’t he?’

‘I understand perfectly, Kurik,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘And was Talen’s mother so very beautiful?’

Kurik sighed, and his face grew oddly soft. ‘She was eighteen, and like a spring morning. I couldn’t help myself, Sparhawk. I love Aslade, but …?

Sparhawk put his arm about his friend’s shoulder. ‘It happens sometimes, Kurik,’ he said. ‘Don’t beat yourself over the head about it.’ Then he straightened. ‘Why don’t we see if we can catch up with the others?’ he suggested, as he swung back up into his saddle.

Lord Abriel, the Preceptor of the Cyrinic Knights of Arcium, stood at the green-draped window of Vanion’s study in the south tower of the Pandion Knights’ chapterhouse, looking out at the city of Cimmura. Abriel was a solidly built man in his sixties with silvery hair. His lined face was devoid of humour, and his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. He had removed his sword and helmet upon their arrival, but still wore the rest of his armour and his pale blue surcoat. Since he was the eldest of the four preceptors, the others deferred to him. ‘I’m sure that we’re all aware of most of what’s been happening here in Elenia,’ he began, ‘but there are a few things that need a little clarification, I think. Would you mind if we asked you some questions, Vanion?’

‘Not at all,’ Vanion replied. ‘We’ll all try our best to answer any that you might have.’

‘Good. We’ve had our differences in the past, my Lord, but in this situation we’ll want to set those aside.’ Abriel, like all the Cyrinics, spoke in a considered, even formal, fashion. ‘I think we need to know more about this Martel person.’

Vanion leaned back in his chair. ‘He was a Pandion,’ he replied with a trace of sadness in his voice. ‘I was forced to expel him from the order.’

‘That’s a little terse, Vanion,’ Komier said. Unlike the others, Komier wore a mail shirt rather than formal armour. He was a heavy-boned man with thick shoulders and large hands. Like most Thalesians, the Preceptor of the Genidian Knights was blond, and his shaggy eyebrows gave his face an almost brutish look. As he spoke, he continually toyed with the hilt of his broadsword, which lay on the table before him. If this Martel’s going to be a problem, we all ought to know as much about him as we can.’

‘Martel was one of the best,’ Sephrenia said quietly. She sat in her hooded white robe before the fire, holding her teacup. ‘He was extremely proficient in the secrets. That, I think, is what led to his disgrace.’

‘He was good with a lance, too,’ Kalten admitted ruefully. ‘He used to unhorse me on a regular basis on the practice field. Sparhawk was probably the only one who was a match for him.’

‘Exactly what was this disgrace you mentioned, Sephrenia?’ Lord Darellon asked. The Preceptor of the Alcione Knights of Deira was a slender man in his late forties. His massive Deiran armour looked almost too heavy for his slight frame.

Sephrenia sighed. ‘The secrets of Styricum are myriad,’ she replied. ‘Some are fairly simple – common spells and incantations. Martel mastered those very quickly. Beyond commonplace magic, however, lies a deeper and far more dangerous realm. Those of us who instruct the Knights of the Church in the secrets do not introduce our pupils to that level of magic. It serves no practical purpose and it involves things that imperil the souls of Elenes.’

Komier laughed. ‘Many things imperil the souls of Elenes, my Lady,’ he said. ‘I felt a certain wrench in mine the first time I contacted the Troll-Gods. I gather that this Martel of yours dabbled in things he should not have?’

Sephrenia sighed again. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘He came to me asking that I instruct him in the forbidden secrets. He was very intense about it. That’s one of Martel’s characteristics. I refused him, of course, but there are renegade Styrics, even as there are renegade Pandions. Martel came from a wealthy family, so he could afford to pay for the instruction he wanted.’

‘Who found him out?’ Darellon asked.

‘I did,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I was riding from Cimmura to Demos. That was shortly before King Aldreas sent me into exile. There’s a patch of woods three leagues this side of Demos. It was just about dusk when I passed those woods, and I saw a strange light back among the trees. I went to investigate and saw Martel. He’d raised some kind of glowing creature. Its light was very bright – so bright that I couldn’t make out its face.’

‘I don’t think you’d have wanted to see its face, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him.

‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, Martel was speaking to the creature in Styric, commanding it to do his bidding.’