The Sapphire Rose

by David Eddings

  The vast nave of the Basilica was filled to overflowing very early the following morning. The citizens of Chyrellos had begun timidly returning to what was left of their homes almost as soon as King Wargun’s army had rounded up the last of Martel’s mercenaries. The people of the Holy City were probably no more pious than other Elenes, but Patriarch Emban made a gesture of pure humanitarianism. He let word be spread through the city that the Church storehouses would be opened to the populace immediately after the thanksgiving services were concluded. Since there was no food to be had anywhere else in Chyrellos, the citizens responded. Emban reasoned that a congregation numbering in the thousands would impress upon his fellow Patriarchs the gravity of the situation and encourage them to take their duties seriously. Besides, Emban did feel a certain compassion for the truly hungry. His own bulk made him peculiarly sensitive to the pangs of hunger.

  Patriarch Ortzel celebrated the rites of thanksgiving. Sparhawk noticed that the lean, harsh Churchman spoke in an altogether different tone when addressing a congregation. His voice was almost gentle, and he sometimes verged on actual compassion.

  ‘Six times,’ Talen whispered to Sparhawk as the Patriarch of Kadach led the throng in the final prayer.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He smiled six times during his sermon. I counted. A smile doesn’t look all that natural on his face, though. What did we decide to do about what Krager told us yesterday? I fell asleep.’

  ‘We noticed that. We’re going to have Krager repeat what he told us to the entire Hierocracy right after Colonel Delada reports the conversation between Martel and Annias.’

  ‘Will they believe him?’

  ‘I think so. Delada’s the unimpeachable witness. Krager’s merely providing confirmation and filling in details. Once they’ve been forced to accept Delada’s testimony, they won’t have much difficulty choking down what Krager has to say.’

  ‘Clever,’ Talen said admiringly. ‘Do you know something, Sparhawk? I’ve almost decided to give up the idea of becoming the emperor of thieves. I think I’ll enter the Church instead.’

  ‘God defend the faith,’ Sparhawk prayed.

  ‘I’m sure He will, my son,’ Talen smiled benignly.

  As the celebration concluded and the choir broke into exalted song, pages moved through the ranks of the Patriarchs delivering the announcement that the Hierocracy would resume deliberations immediately. Six more of the missing ecclesiasts had been discovered in various places in the outer city, and two emerged from hiding places within the Basilica itself. The rest were still unaccounted for. As the Patriarchs of the Church solemnly filed out of the nave and into the corridor leading towards the audience chamber, Emban, who had stayed behind to speak with a number of people, scurried past Sparhawk and Talen, puffing and sweating. ‘Almost forgot something,’ he said as he passed them. ‘Dolmant’s got to order the Church storehouses opened. Otherwise, we’re liable to have a riot on our hands.’

  ‘Would I have to get as fat as he is if I want to run things in the Church?’ Talen whispered. ‘Fat men don’t run very well when things go wrong, and something’s bound to go wrong for Emban eventually.’

  Colonel Delada stood near the door to the audience chamber. His breastplate and helmet gleamed, and his crimson cloak was immaculate. Sparhawk stepped out of the line of Church Knights and clergymen entering the chamber and spoke briefly to him. ‘Nervous?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really, Sir Sparhawk. I’ll admit that I’m not looking forward to this, though. Do you think they’ll ask me any questions?’

  ‘They might. Don’t let them rattle you. Just take your time and report exactly what you heard in that cellar. Your reputation will be speaking with you, so nobody can doubt your word.’

  ‘I just hope I don’t start a riot in there,’ Delada said wryly.

  ‘Don’t worry about that. The riot’s going to start when they hear the witness who’s going to come after you.’

  ‘What’s he going to say, Sparhawk?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to tell you – at least not until after you’ve delivered your report. I’m not permitted to do anything at all to tamper with your neutrality at this point. Good luck in there.’

  The Patriarchs of the Church were gathered in little clusters in the chamber talking in subdued tones. Emban’s carefully staged thanksgiving service had lent a solemn tone to the morning, and no one really wanted to break it. Sparhawk and Talen mounted to the gallery where they customarily sat with their friends. Bevier was hovering protectively over Sephrenia, his face showing his concern. Sephrenia sat serenely in her gleaming white robe. ‘There’s no reasoning with her,’ Bevier said as Sparhawk joined them. ‘We managed to slip Platime, Stragen and the Tamul woman in here disguised as clergymen, but Sephrenia absolutely insisted upon wearing her Styric robe. I’ve tried time and again to explain to her that no one is permitted to witness the deliberations of the Hierocracy but the kings and members of the clergy, but she won’t listen to me.’

  ‘I am a member of the clergy, dear Bevier,’ she told him simply. ‘I’m a priestess of Aphrael – the high priestess, actually. Let’s just say that I’m here to observe as a sort of tentative gesture in the direction of ecumenicism.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mention that until after the election’s over, little mother,’ Stragen advised. ‘You’ll start a theological debate that might just go on for several centuries, and we’re a little pressed for time just now.’

  ‘I sort of miss our friend from across the way,’ Kalten said, pointing at the place in the gallery where Annias had customarily sat. ‘I’d give a great deal to watch his face crumble as this morning’s proceedings unfold.’

  Dolmant had entered, and after a brief conference with Emban, Ortzel and Bergsten, he took his place at the lectern. His presence there brought order to the room. ‘My brothers and my dear friends,’ he began, ‘we have seen momentous events since last we gathered here. I’ve taken the liberty of asking a number of witnesses to testify so that we may all be fully familiar with the situation here before we begin our deliberations. First, however, I must speak of the present condition of the citizens of Chyrellos. The besieging army has stripped the city of food, and the people are in desperate need. I ask the permission of the Hierocracy to open the Church storehouses so that we may alleviate their suffering. As representatives of the Church, charity is one of our primary duties.’ He looked around. ‘Do I hear any objections?’ he asked.

  There was total silence.

  ‘Then it is so ordered. Let us then without further delay, welcome the reigning monarchs of western Eosia as our most honoured observers.’

  The people in the chamber rose to their feet respectfully.

  There was a brazen trumpet fanfare from the front of the chamber, and a large bronze door swung ponderously open to admit the royalty of the continent. All were garbed in their state robes and wore their crowns. Sparhawk scarcely glanced at Wargun and the other kings, but fixed his eyes on the perfect face of his betrothed. Ehlana was radiant. Sparhawk sensed that during the ten years of his exile in Rendor, very few people had paid much attention to his queen and that it was only at court functions and ceremonies that she had been granted any significance whatsoever. Thus, she enjoyed ceremonial occasions more than is common among the various members of other royal families. She moved with the other monarchs at a stately pace, her hand resting lightly on the arm of her distant kinsman, the ancient King Obler of Deira, towards the thrones sitting in a semicircle extending from the sides of the dais and the golden throne of the Archprelate. As chance had it – or perhaps not entirely chance – the circle of prismed light from the large round window behind the thrones fell full upon the throne of Elenia, and Ehlana took her place surrounded by a blazing halo of golden sunshine. That seemed altogether appropriate to Sparhawk.

  After the monarchs had seated themselves, the others in the chamber resumed their places. Dolmant greeted the monarchs each in turn and even made passing reference to t
he absent King of Lamorkand, who, with Otha camped just inside his border, had other things on his mind. Then the Patriarch of Demos moved smoothly into the business of providing a quick summary of recent events, a summary which seemed to many to be directed to people who had spent the past several weeks on the moon. Emban’s witnesses dwelt fulsomely upon the destruction of the outer city and the atrocities committed by Martel’s mercenaries. Everyone knew of these horrors, of course, but describing them in lurid detail aroused a certain mood of outrage and a thirst for revenge which Emban had felt might be helpful in moving the Hierocracy in the direction of militancy and impressing upon them the need for expeditious action. Probably the most important fact to be revealed by this half-dozen or so witnesses was the name of the man who had commanded the attacking army. Martel’s name figured prominently in the accounts of three of the witnesses, and, before he called Colonel Delada, Dolmant provided a brief history of the renegade Pandion, describing him as primarily a mercenary but omitting any reference to his connection to the Primate of Cimmura. He then called for the testimony of the commander of the Archprelate’s personal guard, noting in passing the legendary neutrality of these dedicated men.

  Delada’s memory proved to be remarkable. He glossed over the source of his knowledge of the location of the meeting, ascribing it to the ‘excellent military intelligence activities of the Church Knights’. He described the cellar and the long-forgotten aqueduct which had provided such dangerous access to the Basilica itself. He then repeated the conversation between Martel and Annias almost verbatim. The fact that he delivered his account in a completely unemotional tone lent a great deal of weight to his report. Despite his personal feelings in the matter, Delada adhered strictly to his code of neutrality. His report was punctuated frequently by cries of shock and stunned amazement from the Hierocracy and the assembled spectators.

  Patriarch Makova, his pockmarked face pale and his speech faltering, rose to question the colonel. ‘Is it at all possible that the voices you heard in that dark cellar were not, in fact, the voices of the two men who were supposedly speaking – that this was some elaborate subterfuge designed to discredit the Primate of Cimmura?’

  ‘No, Your Grace,’ Delada replied firmly, ‘that is not in any way possible. The one man was most definitely the Primate Annias, and he addressed the other man as Martel.’

  Makova began to perspire. He tried another tack. ‘Who was it that escorted you to that cellar, Colonel?’

  ‘Sir Sparhawk of the Pandion Order, Your Grace.’

  ‘Well now,’ Makova said triumphantly, smirking around at the other members of the Hierocracy, ‘there we have it, then. Sir Sparhawk has long held a personal enmity for Primate Annias. He has quite obviously swayed this witness.’

  Delada came to his feet, his face a fiery red. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’ he demanded, his hand reaching for his sword-hilt.

  Makova recoiled, his eyes suddenly very wide.

  ‘Sir Sparhawk told me absolutely nothing in advance, Patriarch Makova,’ Delada said from between clenched teeth. ‘He wouldn’t even tell me who either of the men in that cellar were. I identified Annias all on my own and Martel from Annias’s own mouth. And I’ll tell you something else as well. Sparhawk is the champion of the Queen of Elenia. If I held that position, the head of the Primate of Cimmura would be decorating a pole in front of the Basilica right now.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Makova gasped.

  ‘The man you’re so eager to put on the Archprelate’s throne poisoned Sparhawk’s queen and he’s running to Zemoch right now to beg Otha to protect him from Sparhawk’s anger. You’d better find somebody else to vote for, Your Grace, because even if the Hierocracy makes the mistake of electing Annias of Cimmura to the Archprelacy, he’ll never live to assume that throne, since if Sparhawk doesn’t kill him – I will!’ Delada’s eyes were ablaze and his sword was half-drawn.

  Makova shrank back.

  ‘Ah –’ Dolmant said mildly, ‘would you like a moment to compose yourself, Colonel?’ he suggested.

  ‘I am composed, Your Grace,’ Delada retorted, ramming his sword back into its scabbard. ‘I’m not nearly as angry now as I was a few hours ago. I haven’t once questioned the honour of the Patriarch of Coombe.’

  ‘Spirited, isn’t he?’ Tynian whispered to Ulath.

  ‘Red-haired people are like that sometimes,’ Ulath replied sagely.

  ‘Did you want to ask the colonel any more questions, Makova?’ Emban inquired with an innocent expression.

  Makova stalked back to his seat, refusing to answer.

  ‘Wise decision,’ Emban murmured just loud enough to be heard.

  A nervous laugh ran through the Hierocracy.

  It was not so much the information that Annias had been behind the attack on the city that so shocked and outraged the Hierocracy – they were all ranking churchmen, and they fully understood the lengths to which ambition could drive a man. Although Annias’s methods were extreme and totally reprehensible, the Hierocracy could understand his motives and perhaps even secretly admire a man willing to go to such lengths to achieve his goal. It was his alliance with Otha, however, that went completely beyond the pale. Many of the Patriarchs who had quite willingly sold their votes to Annias squirmed uncomfortably as they began to realize the full extent of the depravity of the man to whom they had allied themselves.

  Lastly, Dolmant called Krager, and the Patriarch of Demos made no attempt whatsoever to conceal Krager’s character and fundamental unreliability.

  Krager had been tidied up a bit, he was wearing chains on his wrists and ankles as an indication of his status, and he turned out to be a brilliant witness. He made no effort to offer excuses for himself, but was bluntly, even brutally, honest about his many flaws. He even went so far as to provide the details of the arrangement that was protecting his head. The implication that he had very solid reasons for absolute truthfulness was not lost on the Hierocracy. Faces blanched. Many Patriarchs prayed audibly. There were cries of outrage and horror as Krager in a matter-of-fact tone described in detail the monstrous conspiracy which had come so very close to success. He did not, however, make any reference to Bhelliom. That omission had been decided upon fairly early on in the planning. ‘It might have all worked, too,’ Krager concluded in a tone of regret. ‘If only we’d had one more day before the armies of the western kingdoms arrived in Chyrellos, the Primate of Cimmura would be sitting on that very throne. His first act would have been to order the militant orders disbanded, and his second to order the Elene monarchs to return to their own kingdoms and demobilize their armies. Then Otha would have marched in without any resistance, and within a generation, we’d all be bowing to Azash. It was such a very good plan,’ Krager sighed, ‘and it would have made me one of the richest men in the world.’ He sighed again. ‘Ah, well,’ he concluded.

  Patriarch Emban had been sprawled in his seat, carefully assessing the mood of the Hierocracy. He hauled himself to his feet. ‘Do we have any questions for this witness?’ he asked, looking pointedly at Makova.

  Makova would not answer him. Makova would not even look at him.

  ‘Perhaps, my brothers,’ Emban continued, ‘this might be the proper time to adjourn for lunch.’ He smiled rather broadly and clapped his hands to his paunch. ‘That suggestion coming from me didn’t really surprise anyone very much, did it?’ he asked then.

  They laughed, and that seemed to relax the tension. ‘This morning has given us many things to consider, my brothers,’ the little fat man continued seriously, ‘and unfortunately we’ll have little time to consider them. With Otha camped in eastern Lamorkand, we don’t have much time for extended contemplation.’

  Dolmant adjourned the Hierocracy then and declared that they would reconvene within the hour.

  At Ehlana’s request, Sparhawk and Mirtai joined her in a small chamber in the Basilica for a light lunch. The young queen seemed a bit distracted and scarcely touched her food but sat instead scribbling rapid
ly on a scrap of paper.

  ‘Ehlana,’ Mirtai said sharply. ‘Eat. You’ll waste away if you don’t eat.’

  ‘Please, Mirtai,’ the queen said, ‘I’m trying to compose a speech. I have to address the Hierocracy this afternoon.’

  ‘You don’t have to say all that much, Ehlana,’ Sparhawk told her. ‘Just tell them how honoured you are to be allowed to witness their deliberations, say a few unflattering things about Annias and invoke the blessings of God on the proceedings.’

  ‘This is the first time they’ve ever been addressed by a queen, Sparhawk,’ she said tartly.

  ‘There have been queens before.’

  ‘Yes, but none of them sat on a throne during an election. I looked it up. This is going to be an historic first, and I don’t want to make a fool of myself.’

  ‘You don’t want to faint either,’ Mirtai said, pointedly pushing the queen’s plate back in front of her. Mirtai, Sparhawk noticed, had the soul of a bully.

  There was a light rap at the door, and Talen entered, grinning impishly. He bowed to Ehlana. ‘I just came by to tell you that King Soros won’t be addressing the Hierocracy this afternoon,’ he told Sparhawk, ‘so you won’t have to worry about being exposed as a scoundrel.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘His Majesty must have taken a chill, and it settled in his throat. He can’t speak above a whisper.’

  Ehlana frowned. ‘How strange. It hasn’t really been that cold lately. I don’t want to wish the King of Pelosia any bad luck, but isn’t this a lucky sort of thing to have happen just now?’