The Sapphire Rose

‘They’re a degenerate race, Sparhawk,’ Bevier insisted stubbornly. ‘The intermarriage of Styric and Elene is an abomination in the eyes of God.’

Sparhawk sighed. Bevier was an arch-conservative, and nothing would be gained by arguing with him. ‘We can sort all that out after the war, I think,’ he said. ‘It’s safe enough to ride on now. Let’s keep our eyes open, but I don’t think we’ll have to try to sneak through the countryside.’

They remounted and rode on up out of the pass onto a hilly plateau dotted here and there with groves of trees. The rain continued to fall, and the large, wet snowflakes mingled with it grew thicker as they continued eastward. They camped that night in a grove of spruce trees, and their fire, fed by damp twigs and branches, was small and sickly. They awoke the following morning to find the plateau covered with wet, slushy snow to a depth of perhaps three inches.

‘It’s time for a decision, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said, looking out at the still-falling snow.

‘Oh?’

‘We can keep trying to follow this trail – which isn’t very well marked to begin with and will probably disappear altogether in about an hour – or we can strike out to the north. We could be on the Vileta road by noon.’

‘You have a certain preference, I gather?’

‘You could say that, yes. I don’t feature wandering around in strange country trying to find a trail that might not even lead to where we want to go.’

‘All right then, Kurik,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Since you’re so keen on this, we’ll do it your way. All I was really concerned about was getting through the border country where Martel was planning to leave ambushes in our path anyway.’

‘We’ll lose half a day,’ Ulath pointed out.

‘We’ll lose a lot more if we get turned around in these mountains,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We don’t have any specific appointment with Azash. He’ll welcome us any time we get there.’

They rode north through the slushy snow with the thickly-falling flakes and the mist which accompanied them obscuring nearby hills. The wet snow plastered itself against them in sodden blankets, and their discomfort added to their gloom. Neither Ulath nor Tynian could lighten the mood with their few tentative efforts at humour, and after a while they rode in silence, each sunk in moody melancholy.

As Kurik had predicted, they reached the Vileta road about midday and turned east again. There was no evidence that the road had been travelled since the snow had begun to fall. Evening was undefined on that snow-clogged day, a gradual darkening of the pervading gloom. They took shelter for the night in an ancient, decrepit barn, and as they always did in hostile country, they took turns standing watch.

They bypassed Vileta late the following day. There was nothing in the town they wanted anyway, and there was no point in taking chances.

‘Deserted,’ Kurik said shortly as they rode past the town.

‘How do you know that?’ Kalten asked him.

‘No smoke. The weather’s chilly, and it’s still snowing. They’d have fires going.’

‘Oh.’

‘I wonder if they forgot anything when they left,’ Talen said, his eyes bright.

‘Never mind,’ Kurik told him flatly.

The snow abated somewhat the following day, and their mood noticeably brightened; but when they awoke the morning after that, it was snowing again, and their spirits plummeted once more.

‘Why are we doing this, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked morosely towards the end of the day. ‘Why does it have to be us?’

‘Because we’re Church Knights.’

‘There are other Church Knights, you know. Haven’t we done enough already?’

‘Do you want to go back? I didn’t ask you – any of you – to come along, you know.’

Kalten shook his head. ‘No, of course not. I don’t know what came over me. Forget I said anything.’

Sparhawk, however, did not. That evening he drew Sephrenia to one side. ‘I think we have a problem,’ he said to her.

‘Are you starting to have unusual feelings?’ she asked quickly. ‘Something that may be coming from somewhere outside yourself?’

‘I didn’t exactly follow that.’

‘I think we’ve all noticed it a few times before. We’ve all been having these sudden bouts of doubt and depression.’ She smiled slightly. ‘That’s not really in the character of Church Knights, you know. Most of the time you’re optimistic to the point of insanity. These doubts and gloom are being imposed on us from the outside. Is that the sort of thing you’re feeling? Is that the problem?’

‘It’s not me,’ he assured her. ‘I’m feeling a little low, but I think that’s just the weather. It’s the others I’m talking about. Kalten came up to me today, and he was asking me why we had to be the ones to do this. Kalten would never ask that kind of question. You usually have to hold him back, but now I think he just wants to pack it all up and go home. If my friends are all feeling this way, why don’t I feel it too?’

She looked out into the still-falling snow. Once again he was struck by just how agelessly beautiful she was. ‘I think He’s afraid of you,’ she said after a while.

‘Kalten? That’s nonsense.’

‘That’s not what I meant. It’s Azash who’s afraid of you, Sparhawk.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘I know, but I think it’s true all the same. Somehow you have more control over Bhelliom than anyone else has ever had. Not even Ghwerig had such absolute power over the stone. That’s what Azash is really afraid of. That’s why He won’t risk confronting you directly, and that’s why He’s trying to dishearten your friends. He’s attacking Kalten and Bevier and the others because He’s afraid to attack you.’

‘You too?’ he asked her. ‘Are you in despair too?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Why of course?’

‘It would take too long to explain. I’ll take care of this, Sparhawk. Go to bed.’

They awoke the following morning to a familiar sound. It was clear and pure, and though the song of the pipes was in a minor key, it seemed filled with an ageless joy. A slow smile came to Sparhawk’s lips, and he shook Kalten awake. ‘We’ve got company,’ he said.

Kalten sat up quickly, reaching for his sword, and then he heard the sound of the pipes. ‘Well, now,’ he grinned, ‘it’s about time. I’ll be glad to see her again.’