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‘Looks to me as if they’re expecting trouble,’ Kalten noted as they started up the broad marble stairs.
When they entered the vast nave of the church, Bevier went down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him.
The captain and a squad of his soldiers entered behind him. ‘We must not keep the Patriarch waiting,’ he said. There was a certain arrogant tone in his voice that irritated Sparhawk for some reason. He muffled that feeling, however, and piously dropped to his knees beside Bevier. Kalten grinned and also knelt. Tynian nudged Ulath, and they, too, went down on their knees.
‘I said –’ the captain began, his voice rising slightly.
‘We heard you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said to him. ‘We’ll be with you presently.’
‘But –’
‘You can wait over there. We won’t be too long.’
The captain turned and stalked off.
‘Nice touch, Sparhawk,’ Tynian murmured.
‘We are Church Knights, after all,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘It won’t hurt Makova to wait awhile. I’m sure he’ll enjoy the anticipation.’
‘I’m sure,’ Tynian agreed.
The five knights remained kneeling for perhaps ten minutes while the captain stalked about impatiently.
‘Have you finished, Bevier?’ Sparhawk asked politely when the Cyrinic unclasped his hands.
‘Yes,’ Bevier answered, his face alight with devotion. ‘I feel cleansed now and at peace with the world.’
‘Try to hang onto that feeling. The Patriarch of Coombe is likely to irritate us all.’ Sparhawk rose to his feet. ‘Shall we go then?’
‘Well, finally,’ the captain snapped as they joined him and his men.
Bevier looked at him coldly. ‘Have you any rank, Captain?’ he asked. ‘Aside from your military one, I mean?’
‘I am a marquis, Sir Bevier.’
‘Excellent. If our devotions offend you, I will be more than happy to give you satisfaction. You may have your seconds call upon me at any time. I will be at your complete disposal.’
The captain paled visibly and shrank back. ‘I am merely following my orders, my Lord. I would not dream of giving offence to a Knight of the Church.’
‘Ah,’ Bevier said distantly. ‘Let us proceed then. As you stated so excellently earlier, we must not keep the Patriarch of Coombe waiting.’
The captain led them to a hallway branching out from the nave.
‘Nicely done, Bevier,’ Tynian whispered.
The Cyrinic smiled briefly.
‘There’s nothing like the offer of a yard or so of steel in his belly to remind a man of his manners,’ Kalten added.
The chamber to which the captain led them was grandiose with deep maroon carpeting and drapes and polished marble walls. The lean-faced Patriarch of Coombe sat at a long table reading a parchment. He looked up as they were admitted, his face angry. ‘What took so long?’ he snapped at the captain.
‘The Knights of the Church felt obliged to spend a few moments in devotions before the main altar, your Grace.’
‘Oh. Of course.’
‘May I withdraw, your Grace?’
‘No. Stay. It shall fall to you to enforce the dictates I will issue here.’
‘As it please your Grace.’
Makova then looked sternly at the knights. ‘I am told that you gentlemen are planning a foray into Cammoria,’ he said.
‘We haven’t made any secret of it, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘I forbid it.’
‘Might one ask why, your Grace?’ Tynian asked mildly.
‘No. One may not. The Church Knights are subject to the authority of the Hierocracy. Explanations are not required. You are all to return to the Pandion chapterhouse and you will remain there until it pleases me to send you further instructions.’ He smiled a chill smile. ‘I believe you will all be returning home very shortly.’ Then he drew himself up. ‘That will be all. You have my permission to withdraw. Captain, you will see to it that these knights do not leave the Pandion chapterhouse.’
‘Yes, your Grace.’
They all bowed and silently filed out of the door.
‘That was short, wasn’t it?’ Kalten said as they went back down the corridor with the captain some distance in the lead.
‘There wasn’t much point in fogging the issue with lame excuses,’ Sparhawk replied.
Kalten leaned towards his friend. ‘Are we going to obey his orders?’ he whispered.
‘No.’
‘Sir Sparhawk,’ Bevier gasped, ‘surely you would not disregard the commands of a Patriarch of the Church?’
‘No, not really. All I need is a different set of orders.’
‘Dolmant?’ Kalten guessed.
‘His name does sort of leap to mind, doesn’t it?’
They had, however, no opportunity for side trips. The officious captain insisted upon escorting them directly back to the chapterhouse. ‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said as they reached the narrow street where the house stood, ‘you will be so good as to advise the governor of your establishment that this gate is to remain closed. No one is to enter or leave.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ Sparhawk replied. Then he nudged Faran and rode on into the courtyard.
‘I didn’t think he’d actually seal the gate,’ Kalten muttered. ‘How are we going to get word to Dolmant?’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Sparhawk said.
Later, as twilight crept in over the city, Sparhawk paced along the parapet surmounting the wall of the chapterhouse, glancing from time to time down into the street outside.
‘Sparhawk,’ Kurik’s gruff voice came from the yard below, ‘are you up there?’
‘Yes. Come on up.’
There was the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs leading up to the parapet. ‘You wanted to see us?’ Kurik asked as he, Berit, and Talen came up out of the shadows clotting the stairway.
‘Yes. There’s a company of church soldiers outside. They’re blocking the gate, and I need to get a message to Dolmant. Any ideas?’
Kurik scratched his head as he mulled it over.
‘Give me a fast horse and I can ride through them,’ Berit offered.
‘He’ll make a good knight,’ Talen said. ‘Knights love to charge, I’m told.’
Berit looked sharply at the boy.
‘No hitting,’ Talen said, shrinking back. ‘We agreed that there wasn’t going to be any more hitting. I pay attention to the lessons, and you don’t hit me any more.’
‘Have you got a better idea?’ Berit asked.
‘Several.’ Talen looked over the wall. ‘Are the soldiers patrolling the streets outside the walls?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Sparhawk said.
‘That’s not really a problem, but it might have been easier if they weren’t.’ Talen pursed his lips as he thought it over. ‘Berit,’ he said, ‘are you any good with a bow?’
‘I’ve been trained,’ the voice said a bit stiffly.
‘That’s not what I asked. I said are you any good?’
‘I can hit a mark at a hundred paces.’
Talen looked at Sparhawk. ‘Don’t you people have anything better to do?’ he asked. Then he looked at Berit again. ‘You see that stable over there?’ he asked, pointing across the street. ‘The one with the thatched roof?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you get an arrow into the thatch?’
‘Easily.’
‘Maybe training pays off after all.’
‘How many months did you practise cutting purses?’ Kurik asked pointedly.
‘That’s different, father. There’s a profit involved in that.’
‘Father?’ Berit sounded astonished.
‘It’s a long story,’ Kurik told him.
‘Any man in the world listens to a bell that rings for any reason whatsoever,’ Talen said, affecting a schoolteacherish tone, ‘and no man can possibly avoid gawking at a fire. Can you lay your hands on a length of rope, Sparhawk?’
‘How long a length?’
‘Long enough to reach the street. Here’s how it goes. Berit wraps his arrow with tinder and sets fire to it. Then he takes a shot at that thatched roof. The soldiers will all run to this street to watch the fun. That’s when I go down the rope on the far side of the building. I can be out on the street in less than a minute with no one the wiser.’
‘You can’t set fire to a man’s stable,’ Kurik objected, sounding horrified.
‘They’ll put it out, Kurik,’ Talen said in a patient tone. ‘They’ll have lots of warning, because we’ll all stand up here shouting “Fire!” at the top of our voices. Then I’ll shinny down the rope on the far wall and be five streets away before the excitement dies down. I know where Dolmant’s house is, and I can tell him whatever you want him to know.’
‘All right,’ Sparhawk approved.
‘Sparhawk!’ Kurik exclaimed. ‘You’re not going to let him do this, are you?’
‘It’s tactically sound, Kurik. Diversion and subterfuge are part of any good plan.’
‘Do you have any idea of how much thatch – and wood – there is in this part of town?’
‘It might give the church soldiers something useful to do,’ Sparhawk shrugged.
‘That’s hard, Sparhawk.’
‘Not nearly as hard as the notion of Annias sitting on the Archprelate’s throne. Let’s get what we need. I want to be out of Chyrellos before the sun comes up tomorrow, and I can’t do that with all those soldiers camped outside the gate.’
They went down the stairs to fetch rope, a bow, and a quiver of arrows.
‘What’s afoot?’ Tynian asked as he, Kalten, Bevier, and Ulath met them in the courtyard.
‘We’re going to get word to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk told him.
Tynian looked at the bow Berit was carrying. ‘With that?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t that rather a long shot?’
‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ Sparhawk told him. He quickly sketched in the plan. Then, as they started up the steps, he put his hand on Talen’s shoulder. ‘This isn’t going to be the safest thing in the world,’ he told the boy. ‘I want you to be careful out there.’
‘You worry too much, Sparhawk,’ Talen replied. ‘I could do this in my sleep.’
‘You might need some kind of note to give to Dolmant,’ Sparhawk said.
‘You’re not serious? If I get stopped, I can lie my way out of trouble, but not if I’ve got a note in my pocket. Dolmant knows me, and he’ll know that the message is from you. Just leave everything to me, Sparhawk.’
‘Don’t stop to pick any pockets along the way.’
‘Of course not,’ Talen replied, just a little too glibly.
Sparhawk sighed. Then he quickly told the boy what to say to the Patriarch of Demos.
The plan went more or less as Talen had outlined it. As soon as the patrol had passed in the narrow street, Berit’s arrow arched out like a falling star and sank into the thatched stable roof. It sputtered there for a moment or two, and then bluish-coloured flame ran quickly up to the ridgepole, turning sooty orange first, then bright yellow as the flames began to spread.
