‘Otha’s bearers,’ Sephrenia explained.
‘You were right,’ Talen told her. ‘There are four doors – this one just ahead of us, another over on the far side of the room, the archway and a bigger one down at the end of the room.’
‘The door that leads out into the rest of the palace,’ Sephrenia said.
‘That’s the important one then,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘There’s nobody in these kitchens but a few cooks, I’d imagine, and not very many people in Otha’s bedroom, but there’ll be soldiers on the other side of that main door. How far is it from this door to that one?’
‘About two hundred feet,’ the boy said.
‘Who feels like running?’ Sparhawk looked around at his friends.
‘What do you say, Tynian?’ Ulath asked. ‘How fast can you cover two hundred feet?’
‘As fast as you can, my friend.’
‘We’ll take care of it then, Sparhawk,’ Ulath said.
‘Don’t forget that you promised to let me have Adus,’ Kalten reminded his friend.
‘I’ll try to save him for you.’
They moved purposefully ahead towards the torchlit doorway. They paused just back from it, and then they rushed through. Ulath and Tynian sprinted towards the main door. There were cries of shock and alarm as the knights burst into the throne-room. Otha’s soldiers shouted conflicting orders to each other, but one officer overrode them all with the hoarse bellow, ‘Protect the Emperor!’
The mailed guards lining the walls deserted their comrades at the doors and rushed to form a protective ring around the throne with their spears. Kalten and Bevier had almost negligently cut down the two guards at the entrance to the corridor leading back into the kitchens, and then Ulath and Tynian reached the main door where the two guards were desperately trying to open it to cry for help. Both men fell in the first flurry of strokes, and then Ulath set his massive back against the door and braced himself while Tynian pawed behind the nearby draperies looking for the bar to lock the door.
Berit dashed through the doorway beside Sparhawk, leaped over the still weakly moving guards on the floor and ran towards the door on the opposite side of the room with his axe raised. Even though he was encumbered by his armour, he ran like a deer across the polished floor of the throne-room and fell upon the two men guarding the door that led back to Otha’s bed-chamber. He brushed aside their spears and disposed of them with two powerful axe-blows.
Sparhawk heard the solid metallic clank behind him as Kalten slammed the heavy iron bar into place.
There was a pounding on the outside of the door Ulath was holding closed and then Tynian found the iron bar and slid it into place. Berit barred his door as well.
‘Very workmanlike,’ Kurik approved. ‘We still can’t get to Otha, though.’
Sparhawk looked at the ring of spears around the throne and then at Otha himself. As Talen had said, the man who had terrified the west for the past five centuries looked much like the common slug. He was pallid white and totally hairless. His face was grossly bloated and so shiny with sweat as to look almost as if it were covered with slime. His paunch was enormous, and it protruded so far in front of him that it gave his arms the appearance of being stunted. He was incredibly dirty, and priceless rings decorated his greasy hands. He half lay on his throne as if something had hurled him back. His eyes were glazed, and his limbs and body were twitching convulsively. He had obviously still not recovered from the shock of the breaking of his spell.
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath to steady himself, looking around as he did so. The room itself was decorated with the ransom of kings. The walls were covered with hammered gold, and the columns were sheathed in mother-of-pearl. The floor was of polished black onyx and the draperies flanking each door were of blood-red velvet. Torches protruded from the walls at intervals, and very large iron braziers stood one on each side of Otha’s throne.
And then at last, Sparhawk looked at Martel.
‘Ah, Sparhawk,’ the white-haired man drawled urbanely, ‘so good of you to drop by. We’ve been expecting you.’
The words seemed almost casual, but there was the faintest hint of an edge to Martel’s voice. He had not expected them to arrive so soon, and he had certainly not expected their sudden rush. He stood with Annias, Arissa and Lycheas within the safety of the ring of spears while Adus encouraged the spearmen with kicks and curses.
‘We were in the neighbourhood anyway,’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘How’ve you been, old boy? You look a bit travel-worn. Was it a difficult journey?’
‘Nothing unbearable.’ Martel inclined his head towards Sephrenia. ‘Little mother,’ he said, sounding once again oddly regretful.
Sephrenia sighed, but said nothing.
‘I see we’re all here,’ Sparhawk continued. ‘I do so enjoy these little get-togethers, don’t you? They give us the chance to reminisce.’ He looked at Annias, whose subordinate position to Martel was now clearly evident. ‘You should have stayed in Chyrellos, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘You missed all the excitement of the election. Would you believe that the Hierocracy actually put Dolmant on the Archprelate’s throne?’
A look of sudden anguish crossed the face of the Primate of Cimmura. ‘Dolmant?’ he choked in a stricken voice. In later years Sparhawk was to conclude that his revenge upon the Primate had been totally complete in that instant. The pain his simple statement had caused his enemy was beyond his ability to comprehend. The life of the Primate of Cimmura crumbled and turned to ashes in that single moment.
‘Astonishing, isn’t it?’ Sparhawk continued relentlessly. ‘Absolutely the last man anyone would have expected. Many in Chyrellos feel that the hand of God was involved. My wife, the Queen of Elenia – you remember her, don’t you? Blonde girl, rather pretty, the one you poisoned – made a speech to the Patriarchs just as they were beginning their deliberations. It was she who suggested him. She was amazingly eloquent, but it’s generally believed that her speech was inspired by God Himself – particularly in view of the fact that Dolmant was elected unanimously.’
‘That’s impossible!’ Annias gasped. ‘You’re lying, Sparhawk!’
‘You can verify it for yourself, Annias. When I take you back to Chyrellos, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to examine the records of the meeting. There’s quite a dispute in the works about who’s going to have the pleasure of putting you on trial and executing you. It may drag on for years. Somehow you’ve managed to offend just about everybody west of the Zemoch border. They all want to kill you for some reason.’