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

‘They could have done something , couldn’t they?’

Berit nodded sadly. ‘They cared for their wounded and buried their dead. Then they went home.’

‘That’s all?’ Talen asked incredulously. ‘This isn’t much of a story if that’s all they did, Berit.’

‘They had no choice. They’d stripped the western kingdoms of every able-bodied man to fight the war and had left the crops untended. Winter was coming, and there was no food. They managed to eke their way through that winter, but so many men had been killed or maimed in the battle that when spring came, there weren’t enough people – in the west or in Zemoch – to plant new crops. The result was famine. For a century, the only concern in all of Eosia was food. The swords and lances were put aside, and the war horses were hitched to ploughs.’

‘They never talk about that sort of thing in other stories I’ve heard.’ Talen sniffed.

‘That’s because those are only stories,’ Berit told him. ‘This really happened. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘the war and the famine which followed caused great changes. The militant orders were forced to labour in the field beside the common people, and they gradually began to distance themselves from the Church. Pardon me, your Grace,’ he said to Dolmant, ‘but at that time, the Hierocracy was too far removed from the concerns of the commons fully to understand their suffering.’

‘There’s no need to apologize, Berit,’ Dolmant replied sadly. ‘The Church has freely admitted her blunders during that era.’

Berit nodded. ‘The Church Knights became increasingly secularized. The original intent of the Hierocracy had been that the knights should be armed monks who would live in their chapterhouses when they weren’t fighting. That concept began to fade. The dreadful casualties in their ranks made it necessary for them to seek a source for new recruits. The preceptors of the orders journeyed to Chyrellos and laid the problem before the Hierocracy in the strongest of terms. The main stumbling block to recruitment had always been the vow of celibacy. At the insistence of the preceptors, the Hierocracy relaxed that rule, and Church Knights were permitted to take wives and father children.’

‘Are you married, Sparhawk?’ Talen suddenly asked.

‘No,’ the knight replied.

‘Why not?’

‘He hasn’t found any woman silly enough to have him.’ Kalten laughed. ‘He’s not very pretty to begin with and he’s got a foul temper.’

Talen looked at Berit. ‘That’s the end of the story, then?’ he asked critically. ‘A good story needs to end, you know – something like, “and they all lived happily ever after.” Yours just sort of dribbles off without going anyplace.’

‘History just keeps going, Talen. There aren’t any ends. The militant orders are now as much involved in political affairs as they are in the affairs of the Church, and no one can say what lies in store for them in the future.’

Dolmant sighed. ‘All too true,’ he agreed. ‘I wish it might have been otherwise, but perhaps God had His reasons for ordaining things this way.’

‘Wait a minute,’ Talen objected. ‘This all started when you were going to tell me about Otha and Zemoch. He sort of fell out of the story away back. Why are we so worried about him now?’

‘Otha is mobilizing his armies again,’ Sparhawk told him.

‘Are we doing anything about it?’

‘We’re watching him. If he comes again, we’ll meet him the same way we did last time.’ Sparhawk looked around at the yellow grass gleaming in the bright morning sunlight. ‘If we want to get to Chyrellos before the month’s out, we’re going to have to move a little faster,’ he said, touching his spurs to Faran’s flanks.

They rode east for three days, stopping each night in wayside inns. Sparhawk concealed a certain tolerant amusement as Talen, inspired by Berit’s recounting of the age-old story, fiercely beheaded thistles with a stick as they rode along. It was midafternoon of the third day when they crested a long hill to look down upon the vast sprawl of Chyrellos, the seat of the Elene Church. The city lay within no specific kingdom, but sat instead at the place where Elenia, Arcium, Cammoria, Lamorkand, and Pelosia touched. It was by far the largest city in all of Eosia. Since it was a Church city, it was dotted with spires and domes; at certain times of the day, the air above it shimmered with the sound of bells, calling the faithful to prayer. No city so large, however, could be given over entirely to churches. Commerce, almost as much as religion, dominated the society of the holy city, and the palaces of wealthy merchants vied with those of the Patriarchs of the Church for splendour and opulence. The centre and focus of the city, however, was the Basilica of Chyrellos, a vast, domed cathedral of gleaming marble erected to the glory of God. The power emanating from the Basilica was enormous, and it touched the lives of all Elenes from the snowy wastes of northern Thalesia to the deserts of Rendor.

Talen, who until now had never been out of Cimmura, gaped in astonishment at the enormous city spread before them, gleaming in the winter sunlight. ‘Good God!’ he breathed almost reverently.

‘Yes,’ Dolmant agreed. ‘He is good, and this is one of His most splendid works.’

Flute, however, seemed unimpressed. She drew out her pipes and played a mocking little melody on them as if to dismiss all the splendours of Chyrellos as unimportant.

‘Will you go directly to the Basilica, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘No,’ Dolmant replied. ‘It’s been a tiring journey, and I’ll need my wits about me when I present this matter to the Hierocracy. Annias has many friends in the highest councils of the Church, and they won’t like what I’m going to say to them.’

‘They can’t possibly doubt your words, your Grace.’

‘Perhaps not, but they can try to twist them around.’ Dolmant tugged thoughtfully at one earlobe. ‘I think my report might have more impact if I have corroboration. Are you any good at public appearances?’

‘Only if he can use his sword,’ Kalten said.

Dolmant smiled faintly. ‘Come to my house tomorrow, Sparhawk. We’ll go over your testimony together.’

‘Is that altogether legal, your Grace?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘I won’t ask you to lie under oath, Sparhawk. All I want to do is suggest to you how you should phrase your answers to certain questions.’ He smiled again. ‘I don’t want you to surprise me when we’re before the Hierocracy. I hate surprises.’

‘All right then, your Grace,’ Sparhawk agreed.

They rode on down the hill to the great bronze gates of the holy city. The guards there saluted Dolmant and let them all pass without question. Beyond the gate lay a broad street that could only be called a boulevard. Huge houses stood on either side, seeming almost to shoulder at each other in their eagerness to command the undivided attention of passers-by. The street teemed with people. Although many of them wore the drab smocks of workmen, the vast majority were garbed in sombre, ecclesiastical black.

‘Is everybody here a churchman?’ Talen asked. The boy’s eyes were wide as the sights of Chyrellos overwhelmed him. The cynical young thief from the back alleys of Cimmura had finally seen something he could not shrug off.

‘Hardly,’ Kalten replied, ‘but in Chyrellos one commands a bit more respect if he’s thought to be affiliated with the Church, so everybody wears black.’

‘Frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more colour in the streets of Chyrellos,’ Dolmant said. ‘All this unrelieved black depresses me.’

‘Why not start a new trend then, your Grace?’ Kalten suggested. ‘The next time you present yourself at the Basilica, wear a pink cassock – or maybe emerald green. You’d look very nice in green.’