more frequent. The King grew weaker and weaker, and finally –’ He shrugged.
‘He didn’t have the falling-sickness when I left Cimmura,’ Sparhawk said.
‘The onset was sudden,’ Annias said coldly.
‘So it seems. It’s rumoured that the Queen fell ill with the same affliction.’
Annias nodded.
‘Didn’t that strike any of you as odd? There’s never been a history of the disease in the royal family, and isn’t it peculiar that Aldreas didn’t develop symptoms until he was in his forties, and his daughter fell ill when she was little more than eighteen?’
‘I have no medical background, Sparhawk,’ Annias told him. ‘You may question the court physicians if you wish, but I doubt that you’re going to unearth anything that we haven’t already discovered.’
Sparhawk grunted. He looked around the council chamber. ‘I think that covers everything we need to discuss here,’ he said. ‘I’ll see the Queen now.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Lycheas said.
‘I’m not asking you, Lycheas,’ the big knight said firmly. ‘May I have that?’ He pointed at the parchment still lying on the table in front of the primate.
They passed it down to him, and he ran through it quickly. ‘Here it is,’ he said, picking out the sentences he wanted. ‘“You are commanded to present yourself to me immediately upon your return to Cimmura.” That doesn’t leave any room for argument, does it?’
‘What are you up to, Sparhawk?’ the primate asked suspiciously.
‘I’m just obeying orders, your Grace. I’m commanded by the Queen to present myself to her and I’m going to do precisely that.’
‘The door to the throne room is locked,’ Lycheas snapped. The smile Sparhawk gave him was almost benign. ‘That’s all right, Lycheas,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a key.’ He put his hand suggestively on the silver-bound hilt of his sword.
‘You wouldn’t!’
‘Try me.’
Annias cleared his throat. ‘If I may speak, your Highness?’ he said.
‘Of course, your Grace,’ Lycheas replied quickly. ‘The crown is always open to the advice and counsel of the Church.’
‘Crown?’ Sparhawk asked.
‘A formula, Sir Sparhawk,’ Annias told him. ‘Prince Lycheas speaks for the crown for as long as the Queen is incapacitated.’
‘Not to me, he doesn’t.’
Annias turned back towards Lycheas. ‘It is the advice of the Church that we accede to the somewhat churlish request of the Queen’s Champion,’ he said. ‘Let no one accuse us of incivility. Moreover, the Church advises that the Prince Regent and all of the council accompany Sir Sparhawk to the throne room. He is reputed to be adept at certain forms of magic, and – to protect the Queen’s life – we must not permit him to employ precipitously those arts without full consultation with the court physicians.’
Lycheas made some pretence of thinking it over. Then he rose to his feet. ‘It shall be as you advise, then, your Grace,’ he declared. ‘You are directed to accompany us, Sir Sparhawk.’
‘Directed?’
Lycheas ignored that and swept regally towards the door.
Sparhawk let Baron Harparin and the fat man in red pass, then fell in beside Primate Annias. He was smiling in a relaxed fashion, but there was little in the way of good humour in the low voice that came from between his teeth. ‘Don’t ever try that again, Annias,’ he said.
‘What?’ The primate sounded startled.
‘Your magic. You’re not very good at it in the first place, and it irritates me to have to waste the effort of countering the work of amateurs. Besides, churchmen are forbidden to dabble in magic, as I recall.’
‘You have no proof, Sparhawk.’
‘I don’t need proof, Annias. My oath as a Pandion Knight would be sufficient in any civil or ecclesiastical court. Why don’t we just leave it there? But don’t mutter any more incantations in my direction.’
With Lycheas in the lead, the council and Sparhawk went down a candlelit corridor to the broad double doors of the throne room. When they reached the doors, Lycheas took a key from inside his doublet and unlocked them. ‘All right,’ he said to Sparhawk. ‘It’s open. Go present yourself to your Queen – for all the good it’s going to do you.’
Sparhawk reached up and took a burning candle from a silver sconce jutting from the wall of the corridor and went into the dark room beyond the doors.
It was cool, almost clammy inside the throne room, and the air smelled musty and stale. Methodically, Sparhawk went along the walls, lighting candles. Then he went to the throne and lit the ones standing in the candelabras flanking it.
‘You don’t need that much light, Sparhawk,’ Lycheas said irritably from the doorway.
Sparhawk ignored him. He put out his hand, tentatively touched the crystal which encased the throne, and felt Sephrenia’s familiar aura permeating the crystal. Then slowly he raised his eyes to look into Ehlana’s pale young face. The promise that had been there when she had been a child had been fulfilled. She was not simply pretty as so many young girls are pretty; she was beautiful. There was an almost luminous perfection about her countenance. Her pale blonde hair was long and loosely framed her face. She wore her state robes, and the heavy gold crown of Elenia encircled her head. Her slender hands lay upon the arms of her throne, and her eyes were closed.
He remembered that at first he had bitterly resented the command of King Aldreas that had made him the young girl’s caretaker. He had quickly found, however, that she was no giddy child, but rather was a serious young lady with a quick, retentive mind and an overwhelming curiosity about the world. After her initial shyness had passed, she had begun to question him closely about palace affairs, and thus, almost by accident, had begun her education in statecraft and the intricacies of palace politics. After a few months they had grown very close, and he had found himself looking forward to their daily private conversations during which he had gently moulded her character and had prepared her for her ultimate destiny as Queen of Elenia.
To see her as she was now, locked in the semblance of death, wrenched at his heart, and he swore to himself that he would take the world apart if need be to restore her to health and to her throne. For some reason it made him angry to look at her, and he felt an irrational desire to lash out at things as if by sheer physical force he could return her to consciousness.
And then he heard and felt it. The sound appeared to grow more pronounced, and it grew louder moment by moment. It was a regular, steady thudding sound, not quite like the beating of a drum, and it did not change nor falter, but echoed through the room, its volume steadily increasing as it announced to any who might enter that Ehlana’s heart was still beating.
Sparhawk drew his sword and saluted his queen with it. Then he sank to one knee in a move of profoundest respect and a peculiar form of love. He leaned forward and gently
