‘Can I watch? That might just be a very interesting conversation.’
‘Sparhawk,’ she said, giving him a smouldering look, ‘if you want to avoid an official reprimand, you’re going to have to start taking some significant steps to soften my displeasure.’
‘I was just getting to that,’ he told her, enfolding her in a tighter embrace.
‘What took you so long?’ she breathed.
It was quite a bit later, and the displeasure of the Queen of Elenia seemed to be definitely softening. ‘What did you find out in Lamorkand, Sparhawk?’ she asked, stretching languorously. Politics were never really very far from the queen’s mind.
‘Western Lamorkand’s in turmoil right now. There’s a count up there – Gerrich, his name is. We ran across him when we were searching for Bhelliom. He was involved with Martel in one of those elaborate schemes devised to keep the Militant Orders out of Chyrellos during the election.’
‘That speaks volumes about this count’s character.’
‘Perhaps, but Martel was very good at manipulating people. He stirred up a small war between Gerrich and Patriarch Ortzel’s brother. Anyway, the campaign appears to have broadened the count’s horizons a bit. He’s begun to have some thoughts about the throne.’
‘Poor Freddie,’ Ehlana sighed. King Friedahl of Lamorkand was her distant cousin. ‘You couldn’t give me that throne of his. Why should the Church be concerned, though? Freddie’s got a large enough army to deal with one ambitious count.’
‘It’s not quite so simple, love. Gerrich has been concluding alliances with other nobles in western Lamorkand. He’s amassed an army nearly as big as the king’s, and he’s been talking with the Pelosian barons around Lake Venne.’
‘Those bandits,’ she said with a certain contempt. ‘Anybody can buy them.’
‘You’re well-versed in the politics of the region, Ehlana.’
‘I almost have to be, Sparhawk. Pelosia fronts my northeastern border. Does this current disturbance threaten us in any way?’
‘Not at the moment. Gerrich has his eyes turned eastward – toward the capital.’
‘Maybe I should offer Freddie an alliance,’ she mused. ‘If general war breaks out in the region, I could snip off a nice piece of southwestern Pelosia.’
‘Are we developing territorial ambitions, your Majesty?’
‘Not tonight, Sparhawk,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got other things on my mind tonight.’ And she reached out to him again.
It was quite a bit later, almost dawn. Ehlana’s regular breathing told Sparhawk that she was asleep. He slipped from the bed and went to the window. His years of military training made it automatic for him to take a look at the weather just before daybreak.
The rain had abated, but the wind had picked up. It was early spring now, and there was little hope for decent weather for weeks. He was glad that he had reached home when he had, since the approaching day looked unpromising. He stared out at the torches flaring and tossing in the windy courtyard.
As they always did when the weather was bad, Sparhawk’s thoughts drifted back to the years he had spent in the sun-blasted city of Jiroch on the arid north coast of Rendor where the women, all veiled and robed in black, went to the well in the steely first light of day and where the woman named Lillas had consumed his nights with what she chose to call love. He did not, however, remember that night in Cippria when Martel’s assassins had quite nearly spilled out his life. He had settled that score with Martel in the Temple of Azash in Zemoch, so there was no real purpose in remembering the stockyard of Cippria nor the sound of the monastery bells which had called to him out of the darkness.
That momentary sense of being watched, the sense that had come over him in the narrow street while he had been on his way to the palace still nagged at him. Something he did not understand was going on, and he fervently wished that he could talk with Sephrenia about it.
‘Your Majesty,’ the Earl of Lenda protested, ‘you can’t address this kind of language to the Archprelate.’ Lenda was staring with chagrin at the piece of paper the queen had just handed him. ‘You’ve done everything but accuse him of being a thief and a scoundrel.’
‘Oh, did I leave those out?’ she asked. ‘How careless of me.’ They were meeting in the blue-carpeted council chamber as they usually did at this time of the morning.
‘Can’t you do something with her, Sparhawk?’ Lenda pleaded.
‘Oh, Lenda,’ Ehlana laughed, smiling at the frail old man, ‘that’s only a draft. I was a little irritated when I scribbled it down.’
‘A little?’
‘I know we can’t send the letter in its present form, my Lord. I just wanted you to know how I really felt about the matter before we rephrase it and couch it in diplomatic language. My whole point is that Dolmant’s beginning to overstep his bounds. He’s the Archprelate, not the emperor. The Church has too much authority over temporal affairs already, and, if someone doesn’t bring Dolmant up short, every monarch in Eosia will become little more than his vassal. I’m sorry gentlemen. I’m a true daughter of the Church, but I won’t kneel to Dolmant and receive my crown back from him in some contrived little ceremony that has no purpose other than my humiliation.’
Sparhawk was a bit surprised at his wife’s political maturity. The power structure on the Eosian Continent had always depended on a rather delicate balance between the authority of the Church and the power of the various kings. When that balance was disturbed, things went awry. ‘Her Majesty’s point may be well-taken, Lenda,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The Eosian monarchies haven’t been very strong for the last generation or so. Aldreas was –’ He groped for a word.
‘Inept,’ his wife coolly characterised her own father.
‘I might not have gone quite that far,’ he murmured. ‘Wargun’s erratic, Soros is a religious hysteric, Obler’s old, and Friedahl reigns only at the sufferance of his barons. Dregos lets his relatives make all his decisions, King Brisant of Cammoria is a voluptuary and I don’t even know the name of the current King of Rendor.’
‘Ogyrin,’ Kalten supplied, ‘not that it really matters.’
‘Anyway,’ Sparhawk continued, sinking lower in his chair and rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully, ‘during this same period of time, we’ve had a number of very able churchmen in the Hierocracy. The incapacity of Cluvonus sort of encouraged the patriarchs to strike out on their own. If you had a vacant throne someplace, you could do a lot worse than put Emban on it – or Ortzel – or Bergsten, and even Annias had a very high degree of political skill. When kings grow weak, the Church grows strong – too strong sometimes.’
‘Spit it out, Sparhawk,’ Platime growled. ‘Are you trying to say we should declare war on the Church?’
‘Not today, Platime. We might want to keep the idea in reserve, though. Right now I think it’s time to start sending some signals to Chyrellos, and our queen may be just the one to send them. After the way she stampeded the Hierocracy during Dolmant’s election, I think they’ll listen very carefully to just about anything she says. I don’t know that I’d soften her letter all that much, Lenda. Let’s see if we can get their attention.’
Lenda’s eyes were very bright. ‘This is the way the game’s supposed to be played, my friends,’ he said enthusiastically.