The Sapphire Rose

Martel looked at the obscenely cavorting figures on the floor below. ‘How long will that continue?’ he asked. ‘We need some guidance from Azash at this point, and we can’t get His attention while that’s going on.’

‘The rite is nearly complete,’ Otha told him. ‘The celebrants are beyond exhaustion. They will die soon.’

‘Good. Then we’ll be able to speak with our Master. He’s also in danger.’

‘Martel!’ Otha said sharply, his voice filled with alarm. ‘Sparhawk hath broken out of the maze! He hath reached the pathway to the temple!’

‘Summon men to stop him!’ Martel barked.

‘I have, but they are far behind him. He will reach us before they can hinder him.’

‘We must rouse Azash!’ Annias cried in a shrill voice.

‘To interrupt this rite is death,’ Otha declared.

Martel straightened and took his ornate helmet out from under his arm. ‘Then it’s up to me, I guess,’ he said bleakly.

Sparhawk raised his head. From far off in the direction of the palace he could hear the sound of battering rams pounding on a stone wall. ‘That’s enough,’ he said to Sephrenia. ‘We have to move. Otha’s called soldiers to break down that wall that leads to the stairs near the palace.’

‘I hope Bevier and Talen are out of sight,’ Kalten said.

‘They are,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Bevier knows what he’s doing. We’re going to have to go down into the temple. This attic – or whatever you want to call it – is too open. If we try to fight here, we’ll have soldiers coming at us from all sides.’ He looked at Sephrenia. ‘Is there some way we can block those stairs behind us?’ he asked her.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘I think so,’ she replied.

‘You sound a bit dubious.’

‘No, not really. I can block the stairway easily enough, but I can’t be sure whether Otha knows the counterspell.’

‘He won’t know that you’ve blocked it until his soldiers arrive and can’t come down the stairs, will he?’ Tynian asked her.

‘No. Actually he won’t. Very good, Tynian.’

‘Do we just run around that top terrace and confront the idol?’ Kalten asked.

‘We can’t,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘Otha’s a magician, you remember. He’d be hurling spells at our backs every step of the way. We’ll have to confront him directly.’

‘And Martel as well,’ Sparhawk added. ‘Now then, Otha doesn’t dare to interrupt Azash while that rite’s going on. We can take advantage of that. All we’ll have to worry about is Otha himself. Can we deal with him, Sephrenia?’

She nodded. ‘Otha’s not brave,’ she replied. ‘If we threaten him, he’ll use his power to shield himself from us. He’ll count on the soldiers coming from the palace to deal with us.’

‘We’ll try it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Are we all ready then?’

They nodded.

‘Just be careful,’ he told them, ‘and I don’t want any interference when I go after Martel. All right, let’s go.’

They went to the head of the stairs, paused a moment, then drew in a collective deep breath and marched down with drawn weapons.

‘Ah, there you are, old boy,’ Sparhawk drawled to Martel, deliberately imitating the white-haired renegade’s nonchalance, ‘I’ve been looking all over for you.’

‘I was right here, Sparhawk,’ Martel replied, drawing his sword.

‘So I see. I must have been turned around somehow. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Splendid. I hate being tardy.’ He looked them over. ‘Good. I see that we’re all here.’ He looked a bit more closely at the Primate of Cimmura. ‘Really, Annias, you should try to get more sun. You’re as white as a sheet.’

‘Oh, before you two get started, Martel,’ Kalten said, ‘I brought you a present – a little memento of our visit. I’m sure you’ll cherish it always.’ He bent slightly and gave the cloak he was carrying a little flip, holding one edge firmly in his gauntleted fist. The cloak unfurled on the onyx floor. Adus’s head rolled out and bounced across to stop at Martel’s feet, where it lay staring up at him.

‘How very kind of you, Sir Kalten,’ Martel said from between clenched teeth. Seemingly indifferent, he kicked the head off to one side. ‘I’m sure that obtaining this gift for me cost you a great deal.’

Sparhawk’s fist tightened about his sword-hilt, and his brain seethed with hatred. ‘It cost me Kurik, Martel,’ he said in a flat voice, ‘and now it’s time to settle accounts.’

Martel’s eyes widened briefly. ‘Kurik?’ he said in a stunned voice. ‘I didn’t expect that. I’m truly sorry, Sparhawk. I liked him. If you ever get back to Demos, give Aslade my sincerest apologies.’

‘I don’t think so, Martel. I won’t insult Aslade by mentioning your name to her. Shall we get on with this?’ Sparhawk began to move forward, his shield braced and his sword-point moving slowly back and forth like the head of a snake. Kalten and the others grounded their weapons and stood watching grimly.

‘A gentleman to the end, I see,’ Martel said, putting on his helmet and moving away from Otha’s litter to give himself fighting room. ‘Your good manners and your sense of fair play will be the death of you yet, Sparhawk. You had the advantage. You should have used it.’

‘I’m not going to need it, Martel. You still have a moment or two for repentance. I’d advise you to use the time well.’

Martel smiled thinly. ‘I don’t think so, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I made my choice. I won’t demean myself by changing it now.’ He clapped down his visor.

They struck simultaneously, their swords ringing on each other’s shields. They had trained together under Kurik’s instruction as boys, so there was no possibility of some trick or feint giving either of them an opening. They were so evenly matched that there was no way to predict the outcome of this duel which had been a decade and more in the preparation.

Their first strokes were tentative as they carefully felt each other out, looking for alterations in technique or changes in their relative strength. To the untrained onlooker their hammering at each other might have seemed frenzied and without thought, but that was not the case. Neither of them was so enraged as to overextend himself and leave himself open. Great dents appeared in their shields, and showers of sparks cascaded down over them each time their sword-edges clashed against each other. Back and forth they struggled, moving slowly away from the spot where Otha’s jewelled litter sat and where Annias, Arissa and Lycheas stood watching, wide-eyed and breathless. That too was a part of Sparhawk’s strategy. He needed to draw Martel away from Otha so that Kalten and the others could menace the bloated emperor. To gain that end, he retreated a few paces now and then when it was not actually necessary, drawing Martel step by step away from his friends.