The Diamond Throne (49 page)

The fanatic scowled suspiciously at Sephrenia’s sling. ‘Surely you did not consult with the wizard Tanjin?’ he said in an outraged tone

‘When one is in pain, one does not ask to see the healer’s credentials,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘I can assure you, however, that the doctor used no witchcraft. He set the broken bone and splinted it for me in the same way any other physician would have.’

‘The righteous do not consort with wizards,’ the zealot declared stubbornly

‘I’ll tell you what, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said pleasantly ‘Why don’t I break
your
arm? Then you can visit the doctor yourself. If you watch him very closely, you should be able to tell if he’s using witchcraft or not.’

The fanatic stepped back apprehensively.

‘Come now, friend,’ Sparhawk told him enthusiastically, ‘be brave. It won’t hurt all that much, and think of how much holy Arasham will appreciate your zeal in rooting out the abomination of witchcraft.’

‘Could you tell us where we might find the place where holy Arasham speaks to the multitudes?’ Sephrenia interposed. ‘Our souls hunger and thirst for his words.’

‘Over that way,’ the nervous man said, pointing. ‘You can see the light from the torches.’

‘Thanks, friend,’ Sparhawk said, bowing slightly. He frowned. ‘How is it that you yourself are not at the services this evening?’

‘I – uh – I have a sterner duty,’ the fellow declared. ‘I must seek out those who are absent without cause and deliver them up for judgement.’

‘Ah,’ Sparhawk said, ‘I see.’ He turned away, then turned back. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have me break your arm for you? It won’t take but a minute.’

The fanatic hurried away from them.

‘Must you threaten everyone you meet, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia asked.

‘He irritated me’

‘You irritate very easily, don’t you.’ He considered it. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘I suppose I do. Shall we go?’

They went through the dark streets of Dabour until they reached the tents pitched on the outskirts. Some distance towards the south a ruddy glow pulsed up towards the glittering stars. They moved quietly past the tents towards the light.

The flickering torches were set on tall poles surrounding a kind of natural amphitheatre on the southern edge of town, a sort of depression between two hills. The hollow was filled with Arasham’s followers, and the deranged holy man himself stood atop a large boulder halfway up the side of one of the hills. He was tall and gaunt with a long grey beard and bushy black eyebrows. His voice was strident as he harangued his followers, but his words were difficult to understand because of his lack of teeth. When Sparhawk and Sephrenia joined the crowd, the old man was in the middle of an extended and highly involuted proof of God’s special favour – which had, he declared, been bestowed upon him in a dream. There were huge logical gaps in his argument and great leaps of what passed for faith here in Rendor.

‘Is he making any sense at all?’ Sephrenia whispered to Sparhawk in a puzzled tone as she removed the splints and the sling.

‘Not that I can detect,’ he whispered back.

‘I didn’t think so. Does the Elene God actually encourage that sort of hysterical gibberish?’

‘He never has to me’

‘Can we get any closer?’

‘I don’t think so. The crowd’s pretty thick in front of where he’s standing.’

Arasham then turned to one of his favourite topics, a denunciation of the Church. The organized Elene religion, he maintained, was cursed by God for its failure to recognize his exalted status as the chosen and beloved spokesman of the Most High.

‘But the wicked shall be punished!’ he lisped in a toothless shriek with spittle flying from his lips. ‘My followers are invincible! Be patient for but a little more time, and I will raise my holy talisman and lead you into war against them! They will send their accursed Church
Knights to do war upon us, but fear them not! The power of this holy relic will sweep them before us like chaff before the wind!’ He held something high over his head in his tightly clenched fist. ‘The spirit of the Blessed Eshand himself has confirmed this to me.’

‘Well?’ Sparhawk whispered to Sephrenia.

‘He’s too far away,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t feel anything one way or the other. We’re going to have to get closer. I can’t even tell what he’s holding.’

Arasham’s voice sank into a harshly conspiratorial tone ‘I tell you this, oh ye faithful, and my words are true. The voice of God has revealed to me that even now our movement is spreading through the fields and forests of the kingdoms of the north. The ordinary people there – our brothers and sisters – grow weary of the yoke of the Church and they will join our holy cause.’

‘It was Martel who told him that,’ Sparhawk muttered, ‘and if he thinks that Martel is the voice of God, then he’s even crazier than I thought.’ He rose up on tiptoe and looked over the heads of the crowd. A large pavilion stood some distance down the hill from where Arasham was preaching. It was surrounded by a palisade of stout poles. ‘Let’s work our way around this crowd,’ he suggested. ‘I think I’ve located the old man’s tent.’

Slowly they moved back until they were at the edge of the crowd. Arasham continued his rambling harangue, but his slurred words were lost in the distance and the murmuring of his followers. Sparhawk and Sephrenia slipped around the crowd towards the palisade and the dark pavilion inside it. When they were perhaps twenty paces away, Sparhawk touched Sephrenia’s arm, and they stopped. A number of armed men stood before the opening at the front of the palisade. ‘We’ll have to wait until he finishes preaching,’ Sparhawk murmured.

‘Would you like to tell me what you have in mind?’ she said. ‘I hate surprises.’

‘I’m going to see if I can get us into his tent. If that talisman of his really has any power, it might be difficult to get it away from him in the middle of this crowd.’

‘How do you propose to manage that, Sparhawk?’

‘I thought I’d try flattery’

‘Isn’t that a bit dangerous – and very obvious?’

‘Of course it’s obvious, but you have to be obvious when you’re dealing with deranged people. They don’t have the concentration to grasp subtlety.’

Arasham’s voice was rising to a shrill climax, and his followers cheered at the end of each of his mumbled pronouncements. Then he delivered his benediction, and the crowd began to break up. Surrounded by a knot of jealous disciples, the holy man began to walk slowly through the milling throng towards his tent. Sparhawk and Sephrenia moved to place themselves in his path.

‘Stand aside!’ one of the disciples commanded harshly.

‘Forgive me, exalted disciple,’ Sparhawk said loudly enough for his words to carry to the tottering old man, ‘but I bear a message from the King of Deira for holy Arasham. His Majesty sends greetings to the true head of the Elene Church.’

Sephrenia made a slightly strangled noise.

‘Holy Arasham takes no note of kings,’ the disciple sneered arrogantly ‘Now stand aside.’

‘A moment there, Ikkad,’ Arasham mumbled in a surprisingly weak voice. ‘We would hear more of this message from our brother of Deira. It may well be that this is the communication mentioned by God when last He spoke with us.’

‘Most holy Arasham,’ Sparhawk said with a deep bow, ‘His Majesty, King Obler of Deira, greets you as his brother Our king is very old, and age always brings wisdom.’

Truly,’ Arasham agreed, stroking his own long, grey beard.

‘His Majesty has long contemplated the teachings of the Blessed Eshand,’ Sparhawk continued, ‘and he has also eagerly followed your own career here in Rendor. He has regarded the activities of the Church with increasing disfavour. He has found churchmen to be hypocritical and self-serving.’

‘My very words,’ Arasham said ecstatically. ‘I have said so myself a hundred times and more.’

‘His Majesty acknowledges that you are the source and well-spring of his thought, holy Arasham.’

‘Well,’ Arasham replied, preening himself slightly

‘His Majesty believes that the time has come for a purification of the Elene Church and he further believes that you are the one who has been chosen by God to purge the Church of her sins.’

‘Did you hear my sermon tonight?’ the old man asked eagerly ‘I preached to that self-same topic’

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I was amazed at how closely your words coincided with those of his Majesty when he charged me with his message to you. Know, however, holy Arasham, that his Majesty intends to provide more aid to you than the mere comfort of his greetings and his respectful affection. The details of his further intentions, though, must be for your ears alone.’ He looked around suspiciously at the crowd pressing in upon them. ‘In a gathering so large as this, there may be several who are not what they seem, and if what I have to tell you should reach Chyrellos, the Church would bend all her efforts to hinder his Majesty’s design.’

Arasham tried without much success to look shrewd. ‘Your prudence becomes you, young man,’ he agreed. ‘Let us go into my pavilion so that you may more fully disclose the mind of my dear brother Obler to me.’

Pushing aside the officious disciples, Sparhawk thrust his way through their ranks to offer the support of his arm and shoulder to the elderly zealot. ‘Holy one,’ he said in a fawning tone, ‘fear not to lean upon me, for as the blessed Eshand has commanded, it is the duty of the young and strong to serve the aged and wise’

‘How truly you speak, my son.’

They passed thus through the gate of the palisade and across a stretch of sand dotted with sheep droppings.

The interior of Arasham’s pavilion was far more luxurious than might have been expected from its severe exterior A single lamp burned expensive oil in the centre, and priceless carpets covered the rude sand floor Silken fabric curtained off the rear portions of the pavilion, and from behind those curtains came the giggling of adolescent boys.

‘Please sit and take your ease,’ Arasham invited expansively, sinking down upon a cluster of silken cushions. ‘Let us take some refreshment, and then you may tell me of the intent of my dear brother Obler of Deira.’ He clapped his hands sharply together, and a doe-eyed boy emerged from behind one of the silken panels.

‘Bring us some of the fresh melon, Saboud,’ Arasham told him.

‘As you command, Most Holy ‘ The boy bowed and retired behind the silken screen.

Arasham leaned back on his cushions. ‘I am not at all surprised at the communication you have brought me concerning the growing sentiment for our cause in Deira,’ he lisped to Sparhawk. ‘Word has reached me that such feelings are not uncommon in the kingdoms of the north. Indeed, another such message has but recently arrived.’ He paused thoughtfully ‘It occurs to me -perhaps at the prompting of God Himself, who ever
joins His thought with mine – that you and the other messenger may know each other.’ He turned towards a silken panel that concealed a dimly lighted part of the tent. ‘Come forth, my friend and advisor. Look upon the face of our noble visitor from Deira and tell me if you know him.’

A shadow moved behind the panel. It seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then a robed and hooded figure emerged into the lamplight. The hooded man was only slightly shorter than Sparhawk, and he had the heavy shoulders of a warrior. He reached up and pushed back his hood to reveal his piercing black eyes and his thick mane of snowy white hair.

In a kind of curious detachment, Sparhawk wondered what it was exactly that kept him from instantly drawing his sword.

‘Indeed, most holy Arasham,’ Martel said in his deep, resonant voice, ‘Sparhawk and I have known each other for a very long time’

‘It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Sparhawk?’ Martel said in a neutral tone. His eyes, however, were watchful.

With some effort Sparhawk relaxed his tightly clenched muscles. ‘Yes, it has,’ he replied. ‘It must be ten years now at least. We should try to get together more often.’

‘We’ll have to make a point of that.’

It hung there. The two continued to look directly into each other’s face. The air seemed to crackle with tension as each waited for the other to make the first move.

‘Sparhawk,’ Arasham mused, ‘a most unusual name. It seems to me that I’ve heard it somewhere before.’

‘It’s a very old name,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘It’s been passed down through my family for generations. Some of my ancestors were men of note.’

‘Perhaps that’s where I heard it, then,’ Arasham mumbled complacently. ‘I’m delighted to have been able to re-unite two old and dear friends.’

‘We are forever in your debt, Most Holy,’ Martel replied. ‘You cannot imagine how I’ve hungered for the sight of Sparhawk’s face.’

‘No more than I hungered for the sight of yours,’ Sparhawk said. He turned to the ancient lunatic. ‘At one time Martel and I were almost as close as brothers, Most Holy. It’s a shame that the years have kept us apart.’

‘I’ve tried to find you, Sparhawk,’ Martel said coolly, ‘several times.’

‘Yes, I heard about that. I always hurried back to the place where you’d been seen, but by the time I got there, you’d already left.’

‘Pressing business,’ Martel murmured.

‘It is ever thus,’ Arasham lisped sententiously, his ruined mouth collapsing over the words. ‘The friends of our youth slip away from us, and we are left alone in our old age.’ His eyes drooped shut in melancholy reverie. He did not reopen them; after a moment he began to snore.

‘He tires easily,’ Martel said quietly. He turned to Sephrenia, although still keeping a wary eye on Sparhawk. ‘Little mother,’ he greeted her in a tone between irony and regret.

‘Martel.’ She inclined her head in the briefest of nods.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It seems that I’ve disappointed you.’

‘Not so much as you’ve disappointed yourself, I think.’

‘Punishment, Sephrenia?’ he asked sardonically. ‘Don’t you think I’ve been punished enough already?’

‘It’s not in my nature to punish people, Martel. Nature gives neither rewards nor punishment only consequences. ’

‘All right, then. I accept the consequences. Will you at least permit me to greet you and to seek your blessing?’ He took her wrists and turned her palms up.