The Sapphire Rose

‘Sparhawk.’ It was Kurik’s voice, and the hand shaking his shoulder was firm. ‘Sparhawk, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.’

Sparhawk opened his eyes. He was sweating profusely.

‘That same one?’ Kurik asked.

Sparhawk nodded.

‘Maybe you’ll be able to put it to rest when you finally kill Martel.’

Sparhawk sat up in bed.

Kurik’s face was creased with a broad grin. ‘I thought it might have been a different one,’ he said. ‘This is your wedding day, after all. Bridegrooms always have bad dreams on the night before their weddings. It’s sort of an old custom.’

‘Was your sleep uneasy the night before you married Aslade?’

‘Oh yes,’ Kurik laughed. ‘Something was chasing me, and I had to get to a seacoast so I could get on board a ship to escape. The only problem was that they kept moving the ocean. Do you want your breakfast now, or do you want to wait until after you’ve bathed and I shave you?’

‘I can shave myself.’

‘That wouldn’t be a good idea today. Hold out your hand.’

Sparhawk extended his right hand. It was visibly trembling.

‘You definitely shouldn’t try to shave yourself today, My Lord. Let’s call it my wedding present to the queen. I won’t let you go to her bed on her wedding night with your face in tatters.’

‘What time is it?’

‘A half-hour or so before dawn. Get up, Sparhawk. You’ve got a full day ahead of you. Oh, by the way, Ehlana sent you a present. It came last night after you fell asleep.’

‘You should have got me up.’

‘Why? You can’t wear it in bed.’

‘What is it?’

‘Your crown, My Lord.’

‘My what?’

‘Crown. It’s a sort of a hat. It won’t keep off much in the way of weather, though.’

‘What’s she thinking about?’

‘Propriety, My Lord. You’re the Prince Consort – or you will be by tonight. It’s not a bad crown – as crowns go. Gold, jewels, that sort of thing.’

‘Where did she get it?’

‘She had it made for you right after you left Cimmura to come here. She brought it along with her – sort of the way a fisherman always has a coil of line and a hook somewhere in his pocket. I gather that your bride didn’t want to be unprepared in case an opportunity arose. She wants me to carry it on a velvet cushion during the ceremony tonight. As soon as the two of you are married, she’s going to put it on your head.’

‘Foolishness,’ Sparhawk snorted, swinging his legs out of bed.

‘Perhaps, but you’ll learn in time that women look at the world differently from the way we do. It’s one of the things that makes life interesting. Now, what’s it to be? Your breakfast or your bath?’

They met that morning in the chapterhouse, since things in the Basilica were in turmoil. The changes Dolmant was making were sweeping, and the clergy was scrambling about like ants rooted from a ripped-open anthill. The huge Patriarch Bergsten, still in his mail-shirt and wearing his ogre-horned helmet, was grinning as he entered Sir Nashan’s study and stood his war-axe in the corner.

‘Where’s Emban?’ King Wargun asked him, ‘and Ortzel?’

‘They’re busy dismissing people. Sarathi’s giving the Basilica a thorough house-cleaning. Emban’s drawn up a list of the politically unreliable, and the populations of a number of monasteries are expanding sharply.’

‘Makova?’ Tynian asked.

‘He was among the first to leave.’

‘Who’s first secretary?’ King Dregos asked.

‘Who else? Emban, of course, and Ortzel’s the new head of the college of theologians. It’s probably what he’s best suited for anyway.’

‘And you?’ Wargun asked him.

‘Sarathi’s given me a rather specialized position,’ Bergsten replied. ‘We haven’t come up with a name for it as yet.’ He looked rather sternly at the Preceptors of the Church Knights. ‘There’s been some rather long-standing dissension among the militant orders,’ he told them. ‘Sarathi’s asked me to put a stop to it.’ His shaggy brows lowered ominously. ‘I trust we understand each other, gentlemen.’

The Preceptors looked at each other a bit nervously.

‘Now,’ Bergsten continued, ‘have we made any decisions here yet?’

‘We’re still arguing about that, Your Grace,’ Vanion answered. Vanion’s face was grey this morning for some reason, and he looked definitely unwell. Sparhawk sometimes forgot that Vanion was quite a bit older than he looked. ‘Sparhawk’s still bent on suicide, and we haven’t been able to come up with any convincing alternatives. The rest of the Church Knights are going to move out tomorrow to occupy various fortresses and castles in Lamorkand, and the army will follow once they’ve been organized.’

Bergsten nodded. ‘Exactly what are you going to do, Sparhawk?’

‘I thought I’d go and destroy Azash, kill Martel, Otha and Annias and then come home, Your Grace.’

‘Very funny,’ Bergsten said dryly. ‘Details, man. Give me details. I have to make a report to Sarathi, and he loves details.’

‘Yes, Your Grace. We’ve all more or less agreed that we don’t have much chance of catching up with Martel and his party before they get across into Zemoch. He’s got a three-day start on us – counting today. Martel isn’t very considerate of horses, and he has a lot of incentive to stay ahead of us.’

‘Are you going to follow him, or just ride straight on to the Zemoch border?’

Sparhawk leaned back in his chair. ‘We’re a little tenuous on that, Your Grace,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to catch Martel, certainly, but I’m not going to let that sidetrack me. My main goal is to get to the city of Zemoch before a general war breaks out in central Lamorkand. I had a talk with Krager, and he says that Martel plans to go north and then to try to cross over into Zemoch from somewhere up in Pelosia. I more or less want to do the same thing, so I’ll follow him – but only up to a point. I’m not going to waste time chasing Martel all over northern Pelosia. If he starts wandering around up there, I’ll break off the chase and go straight on to Zemoch. I’ve been playing Martel’s game ever since I came back from Rendor. I don’t think I want to play any more.’