‘Heard a story once,’ Sir Ulath said to him in that disarmingly reminiscent fashion that always signalled louder than words that Ulath was about to make a point. ‘That was one of Sir Ulath’s characteristics. He almost never spoke unless he was trying to make a point. ‘It seems that there was a Deiran, an Arcian and a Thalesian. It was a long time ago, and they were all speaking in their native dialects. Anyway, they got to arguing about which of their modes of speech was God’s own. They finally agreed to go to Chyrellos and ask the Archprelate to put the question directly to God himself.’
‘And?’ Bevier asked him.
‘Well, sir, everybody knows that God always answers the Archprelate’s questions, so the word finally came back and settled their argument once and for all.’
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘What is God’s native dialect?’
‘Why, Thalesian, of course. Everybody knows that, Bevier.’ Ulath was the kind of man who could say that with a perfectly straight face. ‘It only stands to reason, though. God was a Genidian Knight before he decided to take the universe in hand. I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you?’
Bevier stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh a bit sheepishly.
Ulath looked at Sparhawk, and one of his eyelids closed in a slow, deliberate wink. Once again Sparhawk felt obliged to reassess his Thalesian friend.
Sephrenia had a house here in Sarsos, and that was another surprise. There had always been a kind of possessionless transience about her. The house was quite large, and it was set apart in a kind of park where tall old trees shaded gently-sloping lawns and gardens and sparkling fountains. Like all the other buildings in Sarsos, Sephrenia’s house was constructed of marble, and it looked very familiar.
‘You cheated, little mother,’ Kalten accused her as he helped her down from the carriage.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You imitated the temple of Aphrael on the island we all saw in that dream. Even the colonnade along the front is the same.’
‘I suppose you’re right, dear one, but it’s sort of expected here. All the members of the Council of Styricum boast about their own Gods. It’s expected. Our Gods would feel slighted if we didn’t.’
‘You’re a member of the council here?’ He sounded a bit surprised.
‘Of course. I am the high priestess of Aphrael, after all.’
‘It seems a little odd to find somebody from Eosia on the ruling council of a city in Daresia.’
‘What makes you think I came from Eosia?’
‘You didn’t?’
‘Of course not – and the council here in Sarsos isn’t just the local government. We make the decisions for all Styrics, no matter where they are. Shall we go inside? Vanion’s waiting.’ She led them up the marble stairs to a broad, intricately engraved bronze door, and they went on into the house.
The building was constructed around an interior courtyard, a lush garden with a marble fountain in the centre. Vanion half-lay on a divan-like chair near the fountain with his right leg propped up on a number of cushions. His ankle was swathed in bandages, and he had a disgusted expression in his face. His hair and beard were silvery now, and he looked very distinguished. His face was unlined, however. The cares that had weighed him down had been lifted, but that would hardly account for the startling change in him. Even the effects of the dreadful weight of the swords he had forced Sephrenia to give him had somehow been erased. His face looked younger than Sparhawk had ever seen it. He lowered the scroll he had been reading. ‘Sparhawk,’ he said irritably, ‘where have you been?’
‘I’m glad to see you too, my Lord,’ Sparhawk replied.
Vanion looked at him sharply and then laughed, his face a bit sheepish. ‘I guess that was a little ungracious, wasn’t it?’
‘Crotchety, my Lord,’ Ehlana told him. ‘Definitely crotchety.’ Then she cast dignity aside, ran to him and threw her arms about his neck. ‘We are displeased with you, my Lord Vanion,’ she said in her most imperious manner. Then she kissed him soundly. ‘You have deprived us of your counsel and your company in our hour of need.’ She kissed him again. ‘It was churlish of you in the extreme to absent yourself from our side without our permission.’ She kissed him yet again.
‘Am I being reprimanded or re-united with my Queen?’ he asked, looking a bit confused.
‘A little of each, my Lord,’ she shrugged. ‘I thought I’d save some time and take care of everything all at once. I’m really very, very glad to see you again, Vanion, but I was most unhappy when you crept away from Cimmura like a thief in the night.’
‘We don’t really do that, you know,’ Stragen noted clinically. ‘After you’ve stolen something, the idea is to look ordinary, and creeping attracts attention.’
‘Stragen,’ she said, ‘hush.’
‘I took him away from Cimmura for his health,’ Sephrenia told her. ‘He was dying there. I had a certain personal interest in keeping him alive, so I took him to a place where I could nurse him back to health. I badgered Aphrael unmercifully for a couple of years, and she finally gave in. I can make a serious pest of myself when I want something, and I really wanted Vanion.’ She made no attempt to conceal her feelings now. The years of unspoken love between her and the Pandion Preceptor were out in the open. She also made no effort to conceal what was quite obviously in both the Styric and the Elene cultures a scandalous arrangement. She and Vanion were openly living in sin, and neither of them showed the slightest bit of remorse about it. ‘How’s the ankle, dear one?’ she asked him.
‘It’s swelling up again.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to soak it in ice when it did that?’
‘I didn’t have any ice.’
‘Make some, Vanion. You know the spell.’
‘The ice I make doesn’t seem as cold as yours, Sephrenia.’ His voice was plaintive.
‘Men!’ she cried in seeming exasperation. ‘They’re all such babies!’ She bustled away in search of a basin.
‘You followed that, didn’t you, Sparhawk?’ Vanion said.
‘Of course, my Lord. It was very smooth, if I may say so.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What was that all about?’ Kalten asked.
‘You’d never understand, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Not in a million years,’ Vanion added.
‘How did you sprain your ankle, Lord Vanion?’ Berit asked.
‘I was proving a point. I advised the Council of Styricum that the young men of Sarsos were in extremely poor physical condition. I had to demonstrate by outrunning the whole bloody town. I was doing fairly well until I stepped in that rabbit-hole.’
‘That’s a real shame, Lord Vanion,’ Kalten said. ‘As far as I know, that’s the first contest you ever lost.’
‘Who said I lost? I was far enough ahead and close enough to the finish line that I was able to hobble on and win. The Council’s going to at least think about some military training for the young men.’ He glanced at Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Hello, Khalad,’ he said. ‘How are your mothers?’
‘Quite well, my Lord. We stopped by to see them when we were taking the queen to Chyrellos so that she could turn the Archprelate over her knee and spank him.’
‘Khalad!’ Ehlana protested.
‘Wasn’t I supposed