forgot,’ Sparhawk confessed. ‘He’ll find out on his own, I imagine.’
‘He probably already has.’
The room to which the Lamork knight led them was bleak. In many respects it was more like an armoury than living quarters. Swords and axes hung on the walls, and pikes in clusters of a dozen or so leaned in the corners. A fire burned in a huge, vaulted fireplace, and the few chairs were heavy and unpadded. There was no carpeting on the floor, and a number of huge wolf-hounds dozed here and there.
Baron Alstrom was a grim-faced, melancholy-looking man. His black hair and beard were shot with grey. He wore a mail-coat and had a broadsword at his waist. His surcoat was black and elaborately embroidered in red, and like the knight in the pig-faced helmet, he wore boots.
Their escort bowed stiffly. ‘By good fortune, My Lord, I encountered these Knights of the Church no more than a league from your walls. They were gracious enough to accompany me here.’
‘Did we have any choice?’ Kalten muttered.
The Baron rose from his chair with a movement made clumsy by the encumbrance of armour and sword. ‘Greetings, Sir Knights,’ he said, in a voice without much warmth. ‘It was indeed fortuitous that Sir Enmann encountered you so near this stronghold. The forces of mine enemy will presently besiege me here, and my brother must be safely away before they come.’
‘Yes, My Lord,’ Sparhawk replied, removing his black helmet and looking after the departing Lamork in the chain-coat. ‘Sir Enmann advised us of the circumstances. Might it not have been more prudent, however, to have sent your brother on his way with an escort of your own troops? It was only a chance meeting that brought us to your gate ahead of your enemies.’
Alstrom shook his head. ‘The warriors of Count Gerrich would certainly attack my men on sight. Only under escort of the Knights of the Church will my brother be safe, Sir – ?’
‘Sparhawk.’
Alstrom looked briefly surprised. ‘The name is not unknown to us,’ he said. He looked inquiringly at the others, and Sparhawk made the introductions.
‘An oddly assorted party, Sir Sparhawk,’ Alstrom observed after he had bowed perfunctorily to Sephrenia. ‘But is it wise to take the lady and the two children on a journey that might involve danger?’
‘The lady is essential to our purpose,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The little girl is under her care, and the boy is her page. She would not leave them behind.’
‘Page?’ he heard Talen whisper to Berit. ‘I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a new one.’
‘Hush,’ Berit whispered back.
‘What astonishes me even more, however,’ Alstrom continued, ‘is the fact that all four of the militant orders are represented here. Relations between the orders have not been cordial of late, I’ve been told.’
‘We are embarked upon a quest which directly involves the Church,’ Sparhawk explained, taking off his gauntlets. ‘It is of such pressing urgency that our Preceptors brought us together that we might by our unity prevail.’
‘The unity of the Church Knights, like that of the Church herself, is long overdue,’ a harsh voice said from the far side of the room. A Churchman stepped out of the shadows. His black cassock was plain, even severe, and his hollow-cheeked face was bleakly ascetic. His hair was pale blond, streaked with grey, and it fell straight to his shoulders, appearing to have been hacked off at that point with the blade of a knife.
‘My brother,’ Alstrom introduced him, ‘the Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach.’
Sparhawk bowed, his armour creaking slightly. ‘Your Grace,’ he said.
‘This Church matter you mentioned interests me,’ Ortzel said, coming forward into the light. ‘What can it be that is of such urgency that it impels the Preceptors of the four orders to set aside old enmities and to send their champions forth as one?’
Sparhawk thought only a moment, then gambled. ‘Is Your Grace perhaps acquainted with Annias, Primate of Cimmura?’ he asked, depositing his gauntlets in his helmet.
Ortzel’s face hardened. ‘We’ve met,’ he said flatly.
‘We’ve also had that pleasure,’ Kalten said drily, ‘often enough to more than satisfy me, at least.’
Ortzel smiled briefly. ‘I gather that our opinions of the good Primate more or less coincide,’ he suggested.
‘Your Grace is perceptive,’ Sparhawk noted smoothly. ‘The Primate of Cimmura aspires to a position in the Church for which our Preceptors feel he is unqualified.’
‘I have heard of his aspirations in that direction.’
‘This is the main thrust of our quest, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘The Primate of Cimmura is deeply involved in the politics of Elenia. The lawful queen of that realm is Ehlana, daughter to the late King Aldreas. She is, however, gravely ill, and Primate Annias controls the royal council – which means, of course, that he also controls the royal treasury. It is his access to that treasury that fuels his hopes to ascend the throne of the Archprelacy. He has more or less unlimited funds at his disposal, and certain members of the Hierocracy have proved to be susceptible to his blandishments. It is our mission to restore the queen to health so that she might once again take the rulership of her kingdom into her own hands.’
‘An unseemly state of affairs,’ Baron Alstrom observed disapprovingly. ‘No kingdom should be ruled by a woman.’
‘I have the honour to be the queen’s champion, My Lord,’ Sparhawk declared, ‘and, I hope, her friend as well. I have known her since she was a child, and I assure you that Ehlana is no ordinary woman. She has more steel in her than almost any other monarch in all of Eosia. Once she is restored to health, she will be more than a match for the Primate of Cimmura. She will cut off his access to the treasury as easily as she would snip off a stray lock of hair, and without that money, the Primate’s hopes die.’
‘Then your quest is a noble one, Sir Sparhawk,’ Patriarch Ortzel approved, ‘but why has it brought you to Lamorkand?’
‘May I speak frankly, Your Grace?’
‘Of course.’
‘We have recently discovered that Queen Ehlana’s illness is not of natural origin, and to cure her, we must resort to extreme measures.’
‘You’re speaking too delicately, Sparhawk,’ Ulath growled, removing his Ogre-horned helmet. ‘What my Pandion brother is trying to say, Your Grace, is that Queen Ehlana has been poisoned, and that we’ll have to use magic to bring her back to health.’
‘Poisoned?’ Ortzel paled. ‘Surely you do not suspect Primate Annias?’
‘Everything points that way, Your Grace,’ Tynian said, pushing back his blue cape. ‘The details are tedious, but we have strong evidence that Annias was behind it all.’
‘You must bring these charges before the Hierocracy,’ Ortzel exclaimed. ‘If they are true, this is monstrous.’
‘The matter is already in the hands of the Patriarch of Demos, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘I think we can trust him to lay it before the Hierocracy at the proper time.’
‘Dolmant is a good man,’ Ortzel agreed. ‘I’ll abide by his decision in the matter – for the time being, at least.’
‘Please be seated, Sir Knights,’ the Baron said. ‘The urgency of this present situation has made me remiss in matters of courtesy. Might I offer you some refreshment?’
Kalten’s eyes brightened.
‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk muttered to him, holding a chair for Sephrenia. She sat, and Flute came over and climbed up into her lap.
‘Your daughter, Madame?’ Ortzel surmised.