Domes of Fire

Lycien looked back over his shoulder at the Queen of Elenia, who rode a grey palfrey some distance to the rear. ‘You’re the luckiest man in the world, Sparhawk,’ he observed. ‘Your wife is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

‘I’ll tell her you said that, Marquis Lycien. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.’

Ehlana and Emban had decided to accompany them as they rode down to the Marquis’ enclave on the river, Ehlana to inspect the accommodations aboard ship, and Emban to have a look at the carriage he had just purchased.

The flotilla moored to Lycien’s wharves consisted of a dozen large, well-fitted vessels, ships which made the merchantmen moored nearby look scruffy by comparison.

Lycien led the way through the village which had grown up around the wharves toward the river, which sparkled in the morning sun.

‘Master Cluff!’ The voice was not unlike a fog-horn.

Sparhawk turned in his saddle. ‘Well strike me down if it isn’t Captain Sorgi!’ he said with genuine pleasure. He liked the blunt, silvery-haired sea captain with whom he had spent so many hours. He swung down from Faran’s back and warmly clasped his friend’s hand.

‘I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age, Master Cluff,’ Sorgi said expansively. ‘Are you still running from those cousins?’

Sparhawk pulled a long face and sighed mournfully. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up. ‘No,’ he replied in a broken voice, ‘not any more, I’m afraid. I made the mistake of staying in an ale-house in Apalia up in northern Pelosia for one last tankard. The cousins caught up with me there.’

‘Were you able to escape?’ Sorgi’s face mirrored his concern.

‘There were a dozen of them, Captain, and they were on me before I could even move. They clapped me in irons and took me to the estate of the ugly heiress I told you about.’

‘They didn’t force you to marry her, did they?’ Sorgi asked, sounding shocked.

‘I’m afraid so, my friend,’ Sparhawk said in a tragic voice. ‘That’s my wife on that grey horse there.’ He pointed at the radiant Queen of Elenia.

Captain Sorgi stared, his eyes growing wider and his mouth gaping open.

‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk said with a brokenhearted catch in his voice.

CHAPTER 8

Baroness Melidere was a pretty girl with hair the colour of honey and eyes as blue as a summer sky. She did not have a brain in her head – at least that was what she wanted people to believe. In actuality, the baroness was probably more clever than most of the people in Ehlana’s court, but she had learned early in life that people with limited intelligence feel threatened by pretty, clever young women, and she had perfected a vapid, empty-headed smile, a look of blank incomprehension and a silly giggle. She erected these defences as the situation required and kept her own counsel.

Queen Ehlana saw through the subterfuge and even encouraged it. Melidere was very observant and had excellent hearing. People tend not to pay much attention to brainless girls, and they say things in their presence they might not ordinarily say. Melidere always reported these conversational lapses back to the queen, and so Ehlana found the baroness useful to have around.

Melidere, however, drove Stragen absolutely wild. He knew with complete certainty that she could not be as stupid as she appeared, but he could never catch her off guard.

Alean, the queen’s maid, was quite another matter. Her mind was very ordinary, but her nature was such that people automatically loved her. She was sweet, gentle and very loving. She had brown hair and enormous, soft brown eyes. She was shy and modest and seldom spoke. Kalten looked upon her as his natural prey, much as the wolf looks upon deer with a proprietary sense of ownership. Kalten was fond of maids. They did not usually threaten him, and he could normally proceed with them without any particular fear of failure.

The ship in which they sailed from Madel that spring was well-appointed. It belonged to the Church and it had been built to convey high-ranking churchmen and their servants to various parts of Eosia.

There is a certain neat, cosy quality about ship cabins. They are uniformly constructed of dark-stained wood, the oily stain being a necessary protection for wood which is perpetually exposed to excessive humidity. The furniture is stationary, resisting all efforts to rearrange it, since it is customarily bolted to the floor to prevent its migration from one part of the cabin to another in rough weather. Since the ceiling of a ship’s cabin is in reality the underside of the deck overhead where the sailors are working, the dark supporting beams are substantial.

In the particular vessel upon which the Queen of Elenia and her entourage sailed, there was a large cabin in the stern with a broad window running across the back of the ship. It was a sort of floating audience chamber, and it was ideally suited for gatherings. Because of the window at the back, the cabin was light and airy, and, since the vessel was moved by her sails, the wind always came from astern, and it efficiently carried the smell of the bilges forward for the crew to enjoy in their cramped quarters in the forecastle.

On the second day out, Sparhawk and Ehlana dressed themselves in plain, utilitarian garments and went up to what had come to be called ‘the throne-room’ from their private cabin just below. Alean was preparing Princess Danae’s breakfast over a cunning little utensil which was part lamp and part stove. Alean prepared most of Danae’s meals, since she accepted the child’s dietary prejudices without question.

There was a polite knock, and then Kalten and Stragen entered. Kalten bore himself strangely, half crouched, twisted off to one side and quite obviously in pain.

‘What happened to you?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘I tried to sleep in a hammock,’ Kalten groaned. ‘Since we’re at sea, I thought it was the thing to do. I think I’ve ruined myself, Sparhawk.’

Mirtai rose from her chair near the door. ‘Stand still,’ she peremptorily ordered the blond man.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded suspiciously.

‘Be quiet.’ She ran one hand up his back, gently probing with her fingertips. ‘Lie down on the floor,’ she commanded, ‘on your stomach.’

‘Not very likely.’

‘Do you want me to kick your feet out from under you?’

Grumbling, he painfully lowered himself to the deck. ‘Is this going to hurt?’ he asked.

‘It won’t hurt me a bit,’ she assured him, removing her sandals. ‘Try to relax.’ Then she started to walk on him. There were crackling noises and loud pops. There were also gasps and cries of pain as Kalten writhed under her feet. She finally paused, thoughtfully probing at a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades with her toes. Then she rose up on her toes and came down quite firmly.