Kalten said. ‘That’s a surprise. Who’s running the Church?’
‘Sir Kalten,’ Count Radun said stiffly. ‘The guidance of the Church is in the hands of the Archprelate.’
‘Sorry, my Lord,’ Kalten apologized. ‘I know how much Arcians revere the Church, but let’s be honest. Archprelate Cluvonus is eighty-five years old and he sleeps a great deal. Dolmant doesn’t make an issue of it, but most of the decisions that come out of Chyrellos are his.’
‘Let’s ride,’ Sparhawk said.
It took them four days of hard travelling to reach Demos, where Sir Olven left them to return to the Pandion motherhouse, and it was three more days before they arrived at the gates of the chapterhouse in Cimmura.
‘Do you know where we can find Lord Vanion?’ Sparhawk asked the novice who came out into the courtyard to take their horses.
‘He’s in his study in the south tower, my Lord – with the Patriarch Dolmant.’
Sparhawk nodded and led the way inside and up the narrow stairs.
‘Thank God you arrived in time,’ Vanion greeted them.
‘Has Berit delivered the count’s ring yet?’ Sparhawk asked him.
Vanion nodded. ‘Two days ago. I had men inside the cathedral watching.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Was it altogether wise to entrust that kind of mission to a novice, Sparhawk?’
‘Berit’s a solid young man,’ Sparhawk explained, ‘and he isn’t widely known here in Cimmura. Most of the full-fledged knights are.’
‘I see. It was your command, Sparhawk. The decision was yours. How did things go in Arcium?’
‘Adus led the mercenaries,’ Kalten replied. ‘We didn’t see a sign of Martel. Otherwise, things went more or less as planned. Adus got away, though.’
Sparhawk drew in a deep breath. ‘We lost Parasim,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Vanion. I tried to keep him out of the fight.’
Vanion’s eyes clouded with sudden grief.
‘I know,’ Sparhawk said, touching the older man’s shoulder. ‘I loved him, too.’ He saw the quick look that passed between Vanion and Sephrenia. She nodded slightly as if to advise the preceptor that Sparhawk knew that Parasim had been one of the twelve. Then Sparhawk straightened and introduced Count Radun and Vanion to each other.
‘I owe you my life, Lord Vanion,’ Radun said as they shook hands. ‘Please tell me how I can repay you.’
‘Your presence here in Cimmura is ample repayment, my Lord.’
‘Have the other kings joined my nephew as yet?’ the count asked.
‘Obler has,’ Vanion replied. ‘King Wargun is still at sea, though.’
A thin man dressed in a severe black cassock sat near the window. He appeared to be in his late fifties and had silvery hair. His face was ascetic and his eyes were very keen. Sparhawk crossed the room and knelt respectfully before him. ‘Your Grace,’ he greeted the Patriarch of Demos.
‘You’re looking well, Sir Sparhawk,’ the churchman told him. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Then he looked over Sparhawk’s shoulder. ‘Have you been going to chapel, Kurik?’ he asked the squire.
‘Uh – whenever there’s opportunity, your Grace,’ Kurik answered, flushing slightly.
‘Excellent, my son,’ Dolmant said. ‘I’m sure that God is always glad to see you. How are Aslade and the boys?’
‘Well, your Grace. Thank you for asking.’
Sephrenia had been looking critically at the patriarch. ‘You haven’t been eating properly, Dolmant,’ she told him.
‘Sometimes I forget,’ he said. Then he smiled slyly at her. ‘My overwhelming concern with the conversion of the heathen fills all my waking thoughts. Tell me, Sephrenia, are you ready at last to put aside your pagan ways and embrace the true faith?’
‘Not yet, Dolmant,’ she replied, also smiling. ‘It was nice of you to ask, though.’
He laughed. ‘I thought I’d get the question out of the way early so we can converse without having it hanging over our heads.’ He looked curiously at Flute, who was walking about the room examining the furnishings. ‘And who is this beautiful child?’ he asked.
‘She’s a foundling, your Grace,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘We came across her near the Arcian border. She doesn’t talk, so we call her Flute.’
Dolmant looked at the little girl’s grass-stained feet. ‘And was there no time to bath her?’ he asked.
‘That would not be appropriate, your Grace,’ Sephrenia replied.
The patriarch looked puzzled at that. Then he looked again at Flute. ‘Come over here, child,’ he said.
Flute approached him warily.
‘And will you not speak – even to me?’
She raised her pipes and blew a questioning little note.
‘I see,’ Dolmant said. ‘Well, then, Flute, will you accept my blessing?’
She looked at him gravely, then shook her head.
‘She is a Styric child, Dolmant,’ Sephrenia explained. ‘An Elene blessing would have no meaning for her.’
Flute then reached out and took the patriarch’s thin hand and placed it over her heart. Dolmant’s eyes grew suddenly very wide and his expression troubled.
‘She will give you her blessing, however,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘And will you accept it?’
Dolmant’s eyes were still wide. ‘I think perhaps that I should not,’ he said, ‘but God help me, I will – and gladly.’
Flute smiled at him and then kissed both of his palms. Then she pirouetted away, her black hair flying and her pipes sounding joyously. The patriarch’s face was filled with wonder.
‘I expect that I’ll be summoned to the palace as soon as King Wargun arrives,’ Vanion said. ‘Annias wouldn’t want to miss the chance to confront me personally.’ He looked at Count Radun. ‘Did anyone see you arrive, my Lord?’ he asked.
Radun shook his head. ‘I had my visor down, my Lord Vanion, and at Sparhawk’s suggestion, I had covered the crest on my shield. I’m positive that no one knows that I’m in Cimmura.’
‘Good.’ Vanion grinned suddenly. ‘We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for Annias, would we?’
The expected summons from the palace arrived two days later. Vanion, Sparhawk, and Kalten put on the simple robes Pandions customarily wore inside the chapterhouse, though beneath them they wore mail coats and their swords. Dolmant and Radun wore the cowled black robes of monks.
