Sparhawk angled slightly out from the city wall and the filmy light of those two torches at the gate. After about a quarter of an hour, he saw the square, looming shape of the Pandion chapterhouse just ahead.
He dropped into a prone position on the fog-wet turf and cast the searching spell again. He released it and waited.
Nothing.
He rose, sheathed his sword and moved cautiously across the intervening field. The castle-like chapterhouse was, as always, being watched. Church soldiers, dressed as workmen, were encamped not far from the front gate with piles of the cobblestones they were ostensibly laying heaped around their tents. Sparhawk, however, went around to the back wall and carefully picked his way through the deep, stake-studded fosse surrounding the structure.
The rope down which he had clambered when he had left the house was still dangling behind a concealing bush. He shook it a few times to be certain the grappling hook at its upper end was still firmly attached. Then he tucked the war-spear under his sword-belt. He grasped the rope and pulled down hard.
Above him, he could hear the points of the hook grating into the stones of the battlement. He started to climb up, hand over hand.
Whos there? The voice came sharply out of the fog overhead. It was a youthful voice, and familiar.
Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he felt a tugging on the rope he was climbing. Leave it alone, Berit, he grated, straining to pull himself up.
Sir Sparhawk? the novice said in a startled voice.
Dont jerk on the rope, Sparhawk ordered. Those stakes in the ditch are very sharp.
Let me help you up.
I can manage. Just dont displace that hook. He grunted as he heaved himself up over the battlement, and Berit caught his arm to help him. Sparhawk was sweating from his exertions. Climbing a rope when one is wearing chain-mail can be very strenuous.
Berit was a novice Pandion who showed much promise. He was a tall, raw-boned young man who was wearing a mail-shirt and a plain, utilitarian cloak. He carried a heavy bladed battle-axe in one hand. He was a polite young fellow, so he did not ask any questions, although his face was filled with curiosity. Sparhawk looked down into the courtyard of the chapterhouse. By the light of a flickering torch, he saw Kurik and Kalten. Both of them were armed, and sounds from the stable indicated that someone was saddling horses for them. Dont go away, he called down to them.
What are you doing up there, Sparhawk? Kalten sounded surprised.
I thought Id take up burglary as a sideline, Sparhawk replied drily. Stay there. Ill be right down. Come along, Berit.
Im supposed to be on watch, Sir Sparhawk.
Well send somebody up to replace you. This is important. Sparhawk led the way along the parapet to the steep stone stairs that led down into the courtyard.
Where have you been, Sparhawk? Kurik demanded angrily when the two had descended. Sparhawks squire wore his usual black leather vest, and his heavily muscled arms and shoulders gleamed in the orange torchlight that illuminated the courtyard. He spoke in the hushed voice men use when talking at night.
I had to go to the cathedral, Sparhawk replied quietly.
Are you having religious experiences? Kalten asked, sounding amused. The big blond knight, Sparhawks boyhood friend, was dressed in chain and had a heavy broadsword belted at his waist.
Not exactly, Sparhawk told him. Tanis is dead. His ghost came to me at about midnight.
Tanis? Kaltens voice was shocked.
He was one of the twelve knights who were with Sephrenia when she encased Ehlana in crystal. His ghost told me to go to the crypt under the cathedral before it went to give up its sword to Sephrenia.
And you went? At night?
The matter was of a certain urgency.
What did you do there? Violate a few tombs? Is that how you got the spear?
Hardly, Sparhawk replied. King Aldreas gave it to me.
Aldreas!
His ghost anyway. His missing ring is hidden in the socket. Sparhawk looked curiously at his two friends. Where were you going just now?
Out to look for you. Kurik shrugged.
How did you know Id left the chapterhouse?
I checked in on you a few times, Kurik said. I thought you knew I usually did that.
Every night?
Three times at least, Kurik confirmed. Ive been doing that every night since you were a boy except for the years you were in Rendor. The first time tonight, you were talking in your sleep. The second time just after midnight you were gone. I looked around, and when I couldnt find you, I woke up Kalten.
I think wed better go wake the others, Sparhawk said bleakly. Aldreas told me some things, and weve got some decisions to make.
Bad news? Kalten asked.
Its hard to say. Berit, tell those novices in the stable to go and replace you on the parapet. This might take a while.
They gathered in Preceptor Vanions brown-carpeted study in the south tower. Sparhawk, Berit, Kalten and Kurik were there, of course. Sir Bevier, a Cyrinic Knight, was there as well, as were Sir Tynian, an Alcione Knight, and Sir Ulath, a huge Genidian Knight. The three were the champions of their orders, and they had joined with Sparhawk and Kalten when the Preceptors of the four orders had decided that the restoration of Queen Ehlana was a matter that concerned them all. Sephrenia, the small, dark-haired Styric woman who instructed the Pandions in the secrets of Styricum, sat by the fire with the little girl they called Flute at her side. The boy, Talen, sat by the window rubbing at his eyes with his fist. Talen was a sound sleeper, and he did not like being awakened. Vanion sat at the table he used for a writing desk. His study was a pleasant room, low, dark beamed, and with a deep fireplace that Sparhawk had never seen unlighted. As always, Sephrenias simmering tea-kettle stood on the hob.
Vanion did not look well. Roused from his bed in the middle of the night, the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, a grim, careworn knight who was probably even older than he looked, wore an uncharacteristic Styric robe of plain white homespun cloth. Sparhawk had watched this peculiar change in Vanion over the years. Caught at times unawares, the Preceptor, one of the stalwarts of the Church, sometimes seemed almost half Styric. As an Elene and a Knight of the Church, it was Sparhawks duty to reveal his observations to the church authorities. He chose, however, not to. His loyalty to the Church was one thing a commandment from God. His loyalty to Vanion, however, was deeper, more personal.
The Preceptor was grey-faced, and his hands trembled slightly. The burden of the swords of the three dead knights he had compelled Sephrenia to relinquish to him was obviously weighing him down more than he would have admitted. The spell Sephrenia had cast in the throne-room and which sustained the queen had involved the concerted assistance of twelve Pandion Knights. One by one those knights would die, and their ghosts would deliver their swords to Sephrenia. When the last had died, she would follow them into the House of the Dead. Earlier that evening, Vanion had compelled her to give those swords to him. It was not the weight of the swords alone which made them such a burden. There were other things that went with them, things about which Sparhawk could not even begin to guess. Vanion had been adamant about taking the swords. He had given a few vague reasons for his action, but Sparhawk privately suspected that the Preceptors main reason had been to spare Sephrenia as much as possible. Despite all the strictures forbidding such things, Sparhawk believed that Vanion loved the dear, small woman who had instructed all Pandions for generations in the secrets of Styricum. All Pandion Knights loved and revered Sephrenia. In Vanions case, however, Sparhawk surmised that love and reverence went perhaps a step further. Sephrenia also, he had noticed, seemed to have a special affection for the Preceptor that went somewhat beyond the love of a teacher for her pupil. This was also something that a Church Knight should reveal to the Hierocracy in Chyrellos. Again, Sparhawk chose not to.