‘Thank you, Baroness,’ Khalad said, ‘but I think that when we get back to Eosia, Berit and I’ll run on down to Zenga just to make sure. Krager’s gotten away from us just a few too many times to take any chances. I want to see him in the ground.’
‘Can I come too?’ Talen asked eagerly.
‘No,’ Khalad replied.
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘It’s time for you to start your novitiate.’
‘That can wait.’
‘No, it can’t. You’re already a half a year late. If you don’t start training now, you’ll never become proficient.’
Vanion looked approvingly at Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Don’t forget what we talked about earlier, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘And pass my recommendation on to Dolmant.’
‘What’s this?’ Khalad asked.
‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Oh, by the way, Ehlana,’ Sarabian said, ‘as long as the subject’s come up anyway, would you be put out with me if I bestowed a title on your little song-bird here?’ He smiled fondly at Alean. ‘I certainly hope not, dear heart, because I’m going to do it anyway – for outstanding service to the Empire, if nothing else.’
‘What a splendid idea, Sarabian!’ Ehlana exclaimed.
‘I can’t really take much credit for the notion of the titles, I’m afraid.’ he admitted a bit ruefully. ‘Actually, they were your daughter’s idea. Her Royal Highness is a very strong-minded little girl.’
Sparhawk glanced briefly at his daughter and then at Flute. They wore identical expressions of smug self-satisfaction. Divine Aphrael clearly would not let anything stand in the way of her match-making. Sparhawk smiled briefly and then cleared his throat. ‘Ah – your Majesty,’ he said to the Emperor, ‘it’s growing rather late, and we’re all tired. I’d suggest that we continue this tomorrow.’
‘Of course, Prince Sparhawk,’ Sarabian agreed, rising to his feet.
‘A word with you, Sparhawk?’ Patriarch Emban said as the others started to file out.
‘Of course.’ They waited until they were alone in the room.
‘What are we going to do about Vanion and Sephrenia?’ Emban asked.
‘I don’t exactly follow you, your Grace.’
‘This so-called marriage is going to put Dolmant in a very difficult position, you know.’
‘It’s not a “so-called marriage”, Emban,’ Sparhawk said firmly, cutting across the formalities.
‘You know what I mean. The conservatives in the Hierocracy will probably try to use it to weaken Sarathi’s position.’
‘Why tell them, then? It’s none of their business. A lot of things that our theology can’t explain have happened here in Tamuli, your Grace. The Empire’s outside the jurisdiction of our Church, so why tell the Hierocracy anything about them?’
‘I can’t just lie to them, Sparhawk.’
‘I didn’t suggest that. Just don’t talk about it.’
‘I have to report to Dolmant.’
‘That’s all right. He’s flexible.’ Sparhawk considered it. ‘That’s probably your best course anyway. We’ll take Dolmant off to one side and tell him about everything that’s happened here. We’ll let him decide how much to tell the Hierocracy.’
‘You’re putting an awful burden on him, Sparhawk.’
Sparhawk shrugged. ‘That’s what he gets paid for, isn’t it? Now if you’ll excuse me, your Grace, there’s a family reunion going on that I should probably attend.’
There was a melancholy sense of endings for the next several weeks. They were all fully aware of the fact that once the weather broke, most of them would be leaving Matherion. The likelihood that they would ever gather again was very slight. They savored their moments together, and there were frequent private little interludes when two or perhaps three of them would gather in out-of-the way places, ostensibly to talk at great length about inconsequential matters, but in fact to cement faces, the sounds of voices, and very personal connections forever in their memories.
Sparhawk entered the sitting-room one blustery morning to find Sarabian and Oscagne with their heads together over a bound book of some kind. There was a certain outrage in their expressions. ‘Trouble?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘Politics,’ Sarabian said sourly. ‘That’s always trouble.’
‘The Contemporary History Department at the University has just published their version of recent events, Prince Sparhawk,’ Oscagne explained. ‘There’s very little truth in it – particularly in light of the fact that Pondia Subat, our esteemed Prime Minister, turns out to be a hero.’
‘I should have deleted Subat as soon as I found out about his activities,’ Sarabian said moodily. ‘Who would be the best one to answer this tripe, Oscagne?’
‘My brother, your Majesty,’ the Foreign Minister replied promptly. ‘He is a member of the faculty, and he has a certain reputation. Unfortunately, he’s in Cynestra just now.’
‘Send for him, Oscagne. Get him back here before Contemporary History contaminates the thinking of a whole generation.’
‘Maris will want to come too, your Majesty.’
‘Fine. Your brother’s too clever by half. Let’s keep Atana Maris nice and close to him. She might be able to teach him humility.’
‘What are we going to do with the Cyrgai, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Sephrenia says that the curse that confined them was lifted when Cyrgon died, and even though it’s not actually their fault, there really isn’t any place for them in the modern world.’
‘I’ve been brooding about that myself,’ the Emperor admitted. ‘I think we’ll want to keep them away from normal human beings. There’s an island about five hundred leagues east of Tega. It’s fairly fertile and it has a more or less acceptable climate. Since the Cyrgai are so fond of isolation, it should turn the trick. How long do you think it might take them to invent boats?’
‘Several thousand years, your Majesty. The Cyrgai aren’t very creative.’
Sarabian grinned at him. ‘I’d say that’s the perfect place, then.’
Sparhawk grinned back. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he agreed.
Spring came to eastern Tamuli in a rush that year. A sudden warm, wet wind blew in off the Tamul sea, cutting the snow off the sides of nearby mountains in a single night. The streams ran bank-full, of course, so it was still too early for travel. Sparhawk’s impatience grew with each lingering day. It was not so much that he had anything pressing to attend to, but more that this prolonged farewell was extremely painful.
There was one fairly extended argument. Ehlana insisted at first that they should all journey to Atan to celebrate the wedding of Mirtai and Kring.
‘You’re being ignorant again, Ehlana,’ Mirtai told her with characteristic bluntness. ‘You’ve seen weddings before, and you’ve got a kingdom to run. Go back to Cimmura where you belong.’
‘Don’t you want me to be present?’ Ehlana’s eyes filled with tears.
Mirtai embraced her. ‘You will be, Ehlana,’ she said. ‘You’re in my heart forever now. Go back to Cimmura. I’ll come by after Kring and I get settled in Pela – or wherever we decide to live.’
Vanion and Sephrenia decided to accompany Queen Betuana’s party as far as Atana and then to proceed on to Sarsos. ‘It’s probably the best place for us, dear one,’ Sephrenia told Sparhawk. ‘I have a certain status there, and I can shout down the fanatics who’ll try to object to the fact that Vanion and I are married now.’
‘Well put,’ Sparhawk said. Then he sighed. ‘I’m going to miss you, little mother,’ he told her. ‘You and Vanion won’t ever be able to come back to Eosia, you know.’
‘Don’t be absurd, Sparhawk,’ she laughed. ‘I’ve always gone anyplace I wanted to go, and I always will. There are ways I can disguise Vanion’s face – and mine – so we’ll stop by from time to time. I want to keep an eye on your daughter, if nothing else.’ Then she kissed him. ‘Run along now, dear one. I have to go talk with Sarabian abou
t Betuana.’
‘Oh?’
‘She’s been muttering some nonsense about abdicating so that she can marry Engessa. The Atans are subject to the imperial crown, so I have to persuade Sarabian to keep her from doing something foolish. Engessa will make a very good co-ruler, and Sarabian needs stability in Atan.’
As the spring run-off began to recede and the soggy fields around the capital began to dry out, Sparhawk went down to the harbor looking for Captain Sorgi. There were less battered and more luxurious ships swinging at anchor in the crowded harbor, but sparhawk trusted Sorgi, and to sail home with him would provide a comforting sense of continuity to the conclusion of this whole business. He found the curly-haired sea-captain in a neat, well-lit wharfside tavern that was quite obviously run by an Elene proprietor.
‘There’ll be thirteen of us, Captain,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and seven horses.’
‘We’ll be a bit crowded, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi replied, squinting at the ceiling, ‘but I think we can manage. Are you going to be covering the cost of the passage yourself?’
Sparhawk grinned. ‘The Emperor has graciously offered to defray the expense,’ he said. ‘He’s a friend, so please don’t bankrupt him.’
Sorgi grinned back. ‘I wouldn’t think of it, Master Cluff.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It’s been an interesting time, and the Tamul Empire’s an interesting place, but it’ll be good to get back home again.’
‘Yes,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Sometimes it seems that I’ve spent my whole life trying to get back home.’
‘I'll reckon up the cost of the voyage and have my bo’sun bring it up to the imperial compound to you. I almost lost him down in Beresa, you know.’
‘Your bo’sun?’
Sorgi nodded. ‘A couple of rascals waylaid him in an alleyway. He barely got out alive.’
‘Imagine that,’ Sparhawk said blandly. Evidently Valash had tried to cut some corners on the hiring of assassins as well as on everything else.
‘When exactly did you want to sail, Master Cluff?’
‘We haven’t quite decided yet – sometime in the next week or so. I’ll let you know. Some of our friends are leaving to go overland to Atan. It might be best if we sailed on the same day.’
‘Good idea,’ Sorgi approved. ‘It’s always best not to drag out the farewells. Sailors have learned how to say goodbye in a hurry. When the time comes to leave, we always have to catch the tide, and it won’t wait.’
‘Well put, Sorgi,’ Sparhawk smiled.
Not unsurprisingly it was Betuana who made the decision. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow,’ she declared flatly at the dinner table a week later.
‘So soon?’ Sarabian’s voice sounded slightly stricken.
‘The streams are down, and the fields are dry, Sarabian-Emperor,’ she pointed out. ‘Why should we linger?’
‘Well –’ he let it trail off.
‘You’re too sentimental, Sarabian,’ she told him bluntly. ‘You know that we’re going to leave. Why prolong it? Come to Atan next fall, and we’ll go boar-hunting. You spend too much time penned up here in Matherion.’
‘It’s pretty hard for me to get away,’ he said dubiously. ‘Somebody has to stay here and mind the store.’
‘Let Oscagne do it. He’s honorable, so he won’t steal too much.’
‘Your Majesty!’ Oscagne protested.
She smiled at him. ‘I was only teasing you, Oscagne,’ she told him. ‘Friends can do that without giving offense.’
There was little sleep for any of them that night. There was packing, of course, and a myriad of other preparations, but the bulk of the night was spent running up and down the hallways with urgent messages that were all basically the same: ‘Promise that we’ll keep in touch.’
And they all did promise, of course, and they all really meant it. The fading of that resolve would not begin for at least a year – or maybe even two.
They gathered in the castle courtyard just as dawn was breaking over the Tamul Sea. There were all the customary kisses and embraces and gruff handshakes.
It was finally Khalad, good, solid, dependable Khalad, who looked appraisingly at the eastern sky, cleared his throat, and said, ‘We’d better get started, Sparhawk. Sorgi’ll probably charge you for an extra day if you make him miss the morning tide.’
‘Right,’ Sparhawk agreed. He lifted Ehlana up into the open carriage Sarabian had provided and in which Emban, Talen, Alean and Melidere were already seated. Then he looked around and saw Danae and Flute speaking quietly together. ‘Danae,’ he called his daughter, ‘time to go.’
The Crown Princess of Elenia kissed the Child Goddess of Styricum one last time and obediently came across the courtyard to her father.
‘Thanks for stopping by, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian said simply, holding out his hand.
Sparhawk took the hand in his own. ‘My pleasure, Sarabian,’ he replied. Then he swung himself up into Faran’s saddle and led the way across the drawbridge and out onto the still-shadowy lawns.
It took perhaps a quarter of an hour to reach the harbor, and another half-hour to load the horses in the forward hold. Sparhawk came back up on deck where the others waited and looked toward the east, where the sun had not yet risen.
‘All ready, Master Cluff?’ Sorgi called from the quarterdeck at the stern of his ship.
‘That’s it, Captain Sorgi,’ Sparhawk called back. ‘We’ve done what we came to do. Let’s go home.’
The self-important bo’sun strutted up and down the deck unnecessarily supervising the casting off of all lines and the raising of the sails.
The tide was moving quite rapidly, and there was a good following breeze. Sorgi skillfully maneuvered his battered old ship out through the harbor to the open sea.
Sparhawk lifted Danae in one arm and put the other about Ehlana’s shoulders, and they stood at the port rail looking back at the city the Tamuls called the center of the world. Sorgi swung his tiller over to take a southeasterly course to round the peninsula, and just as the sails bellied out in the breeze, the sun slid above the eastern horizon.
Matherion had been pale in the shadows of dawn, but as the sun rose, the opalescent domes took fire, and shimmering, rainbow-colored light played across the gleaming surfaces. Sparhawk and his wife and daughter stood at the rail, their eyes filled with the wonder of the glowing city that seemed somehow to be bidding them its own farewell and wishing them a safe voyage home.
David Eddings
Domes of Fire
Book one of The Tamuli
PRINCE SPARHAWK AND THE TROLL-GODS
Queen Ehlana and the Pandion Knight Sir Sparhawk are married, their kingdom peaceful at last, their union blessed with a very special daughter named Danae. But soon trouble sweeps westward from the Tamul Empire to disrupt not only the living of Eosia but the dead: horrific armies are being raised from the dust of the long-past Age of Heroes, threatening the peace won at such cost in Zemoch.
Prince Sparhawk is called upon to help the Tamuli nations defeat these ancient horrors. Perhaps the Troll-Gods are once more loose in the world! With Ehlana and a retinue of Pandion Knights, Sparhawk will make the hazardous journey to the Tamul Empire … only to discover in fire-domed Matherion, the incandescent Tamul capital, that the enemy is already within its gates.
Full of marvels and humour, romance and shrewdness, above all full of magic, the resources of the epic form are mined deep by the greatest of modern fantasy writers.
ISBN 0 00 721706 4
David Eddings
The Shining Ones
Book two of The Tamuli
HAVOC AND WAR
Prince Sparhawk is pledged to fight the enemies of the Tamul Emperor Sarabian with all the skill and cunning of a Pandion Knight. Meanwhile his Queen, Ehlana, educates Sarabian in the art of ruthless statesmanship. Sarabian is transformed from a mere puppet ruler into a formidable politician. But still Trolls, vampires, werewolves, zombies, ghouls and Ogres form a vast conspiracy to take over the Empire.
Most disturbing of all are reported sightings of the Shining Ones amongst the hordes. These luminous beings inspire more fear than the rest combined. And Sparhawk and his companions must resurrect the sacred jewel of the Troll-Gods to combat them.
The enemies of the Empire know that possession of the jewel makes Sparhawk as dangerous as any god. But gods are among his foes. And while Sparhawk defends the far-flung Tamul Empire, he cannot also protect his beautiful Queen.
David Eddings, the greatest of modern fantasy writers, unveils the hidden powers at work in the story of Sparhawk and the Tamul Empire, an epic for our times.
ISBN 0 00 721707 2
David Eddings
The Diamond Throne
Book One of The Elenium
Introducing the Pandion Knight Sparhawk and his sleeping queen, and a jewel that can save her…
After a long spell of exile, Sparhawk, Pandion Knight and the Queen’s champion, returns to his native land to find it overrun with evil and intrigue – and his young Queen grievously ill. Indeed, Ehlana lies magically entombed within a block of crystal, doomed to die unless a cure can be found within a year. But as Sparhawk and his allies -who include Sephrenia, the ageless sorceress, and Flute, the strange and powerful girl-child – seek to save Ehlana and the land, they discover that the evil is even greater and more pervasive than they feared…
Truly a gem of epic fantasy from the modern master of the genre, THE DIAMOND THRONE is a must for Eddings fans – and an excellent introduction for those who have yet to discover the delights of his work.
0-586-20372-9
The Elder Gods
The Dreamers: Book One
David and Leigh Eddings
They are called the Dreamers. They look like sleeping children. They are, in fact, Gods.
There are eight elder Gods, four awake, four asleep, by turns. When they sleep, they sleep for eons. The only time the Gods are vulnerable is when the sleepers first awake.
The Hidden City Page 55
