the two of them left the room.
‘Tell me, My Lord,’ Bevier said to Baron Alstrom, ‘what is it that has brought you to the brink of war? Some ancient dispute, perhaps?’
‘No, Sir Bevier,’ the baron replied, his face hardening, ‘this is an affair of more recent origin. Perhaps a year ago my only son became friendly with a knight who said he was from Cammoria. I have since discovered that the man is a villain. He encouraged my young and foolish son in the vain hope of obtaining the hand of the daughter of my neighbour, Count Gerrich. The girl seemed amenable, though her father and I have never been friends. Not long after, however, Gerrich announced that he had promised his daughter’s hand to another. My son was enraged. His so-called friend goaded him on in this and proposed a desperate plan: they would abduct the girl, find a priest willing to marry her to my son, and present Gerrich with a number of grandchildren to still his wrath. They scaled the walls of the Count’s castle and crept into the girl’s bedchamber. I have since discovered that my son’s supposed friend had alerted the Count, and Gerrich and his sister’s seven sons sprang from hiding as the two entered. My son, believing that it had been the Count’s daughter who had betrayed him, plunged his dagger into her breast before the Count’s nephews fell upon him with their swords.’ Alstrom paused, his teeth clenched and his eyes brimming.
‘My son was obviously in the wrong,’ he admitted, continuing his story, ‘and I would not have pursued the matter, grieved though I was. It was what happened after my son’s death that has set eternal enmity between Gerrich and myself. Not content with merely killing my son, the Count and his sister’s savage brood mutilated his body and contemptuously desposited it at my castle gate. I was outraged, but the Cammorian Knight, whom I still trusted, advised guile. He pled matters of pressing urgency in Cammoria, but promised me the aid of two of his trusted retainers. It was but last week that the two arrived at my door to tell me that the time for my revenge had come. They led my soldiers to the house of the Count’s sister, and there they slaughtered the Count’s seven nephews. I have since discovered that these two underlings inflamed my soldiers, and they took certain liberties with the person of Gerrich’s sister.’
‘That’s a delicate way to put it,’ Kalten whispered to Sparhawk.
‘Be still,’ Sparhawk whispered back.
‘The lady was dispatched – naked, I’m afraid – to her brother’s castle. Reconciliation is now quite impossible. Gerrich has many allies, as do I, and western Lamorkand now hovers on the brink of general war.’
‘A melancholy tale, My Lord,’ Sparhawk said sadly.
‘The impending war is my concern. What is important now is to remove my brother from this house and to convey him safely to Chyrellos. Should he also fall during Gerrich’s attack, the Church will have no choice but to send in her Knights. The murder of a Patriarch – particularly one who is a strong candidate for elevation to the Archprelacy – would be a crime she could not ignore. Thus it is that I implore you to safeguard him on his way to the Holy City.’
‘One question, My Lord,’ Sparhawk said. ‘The activities of this Cammorian Knight have a familiar ring to them. Can you describe him and his underlings to us?’
‘The knight himself is a tall man with an arrogant bearing. One of his companions is a huge brute, scarcely human. The other is a rabbity fellow with an excessive fondness for strong drink.’
‘Sounds a bit like some old friends, doesn’t it?’ Kalten said to Sparhawk. ‘Was there anything unusual about this knight?’
‘His hair was absolutely white,’ Alstrom replied, ‘and he was not that old.’
‘Martel certainly moves around, doesn’t he?’ Kalten observed.
‘You know this man, Sir Kalten?’ the baron asked.
‘The white-haired man is named Martel,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘His two hirelings are Adus and Krager. Martel’s a renegade Pandion Knight who hires out his services in various parts of the world. Most recently, he’s been working for the Primate of Cimmura.’
‘But what would be the Primate’s purpose in fomenting discord between Gerrich and me?’
‘You’ve already touched on that, My Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The Preceptors of the four militant orders are firmly opposed to the notion of Annias sitting on the Archprelate’s throne. They will be present – and voting – during the election in the Basilica of Chyrellos, and their opinion carries great weight with the Hierocracy. Moreover, the Knights of the Church would respond immediately to the first hint of any irregularities in the election. If Annias is to succeed, he must get the Church Knights out of Chyrellos before the election. We were recently able to thwart a plot that Martel was hatching in Rendor that would have pulled the Knights out of the Holy City. It’s my guess that this unhappy affair you told us about is yet another. Martel, acting on orders from Annias, is roaming the world building bonfires in the hope that sooner or later the Knights of the Church will be forced to move out of Chyrellos to extinguish them.’
‘Is Annias truly so depraved?’ Ortzel asked.
‘Your Grace, Annias will do anything to ascend that throne. I’m positive that he’d order the massacre of half of Eosia to get what he wants.’
‘How is it possible for a Churchman to stoop so low?’
‘Ambition, Your Grace,’ Bevier said sadly. ‘Once it sinks its claws into a man’s heart, the man becomes blind to all else.’
‘This is all the more reason to get my brother safely to Chyrellos,’ Alstrom said gravely. ‘He is much respected by the other members of the Hierocracy, and his voice will carry great weight in their deliberations.’
‘I must advise you and your brother, My Lord Alstrom, that there is a certain risk involved in your plan,’ Sparhawk warned them. ‘We are being pursued. There are those bent on thwarting us in our quest. Since your brother’s safety is your first concern, I should tell you that I cannot guarantee it. The ones who are pursuing us are determined and very dangerous.’ He spoke obliquely, since neither Alstrom or Ortzel would give him much credence if he told them the bald truth about the nature of the Seeker.
‘I’m afraid I have no real choice in the matter, Sir Sparhawk. With this anticipated siege hanging over my head, I have to get my brother out of the castle, no matter what the risk.’
‘As long as you understand, My Lord,’ Sparhawk sighed. ‘Our mission is of the gravest urgency, but this matter overshadows even that.’
‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia gasped.
‘We have no choice, little mother,’ he told her. ‘We absolutely must get His Grace safely out of Lamorkand and to Chyrellos. The Baron was right. If anything happens to his brother, the Church Knights will ride out of Chyrellos to retaliate. Nothing could prevent it. We’ll have to take His Grace to the Holy City and then try to make up for lost time.’
‘What precisely is the object of your search, Sir Sparhawk?’ the Patriarch of Kadach asked.
‘As Sir Ulath explained, we are forced to resort to magic to restore the Queen of Elenia to health, and there’s only one thing in the world with that much power. We’re on our way to the great battlefield at Lake Randera to seek out the jewel which once surmounted the royal crown of Thalesia.’
‘Bhelliom?’ Ortzel was shocked. ‘Surely you would not bring that accursed thing to light again?’
‘We have no choice, Your Grace. Only Bhelliom can restore my queen.’
‘But Bhelliom is tainted. All the wickedness of the Troll-Gods infects it.’
‘The Troll-Gods aren’t all that bad, Your Grace,’ Ulath said. ‘They’re capricious, I’ll grant you, but they’re not truly evil.’
‘The Elene God forbids consorting with them.’
‘The Elene God is wise, Your Grace,’ Sephrenia told him.