The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose. David Eddings

we will, Annias. Indeed we will.’ Then Sparhawk turned on his heel and walked on down the corridor.

Chapter 3

      The chapterhouse of the Pandion Knights in Cimmura lay just beyond the eastern gate of the city. It was, in every sense of the word, a castle, with high walls surmounted by battlements and with bleak towers at each corner. It was approached by way of a drawbridge which spanned a deep fosse bristling with sharpened stakes. The drawbridge had been lowered, but it was guarded by four black-armoured Pandions mounted on war horses.

      Sparhawk reined Faran in at the outer end of the bridge and waited. There were certain formalities involved in gaining entry into a Pandion chapterhouse. Oddly, he found that he did not chafe at those formalities. They had been a part of his life for all the years of his novitiate, and the observance of these age-old ceremonies seemed somehow to mark a renewal and a reaffirmation of his very identity. Even as he awaited the ritual challenge, the sun-baked city of Jiroch and the women going to the wells in the steel-grey light of morning faded back in his memory, becoming more remote and taking their proper place among all his other memories.

      Two of the armoured knights rode forward at a stately pace, the hooves of their chargers booming hollowly on the foot-thick planks of the drawbridge. They halted just in front of Sparhawk. ‘Who art thou who entreateth entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’ one of them intoned.

      Sparhawk raised his visor in the symbolic gesture of peaceable intent. ‘I am Sparhawk,’ he replied, ‘a soldier of God and a member of this order.’

      ‘How may we know thee?’ the second knight inquired.

      ‘By this token may you know me.’ Sparhawk reached his hand into the neck of his surcoat and drew out the heavy silver amulet suspended on the chain about his neck. Every Pandion wore such an amulet.

      The pair made some pretence of looking carefully at it.

      ‘This is indeed Sir Sparhawk of our order,’ the first knight declared.

      ‘Truly,’ the second agreed, ‘and shall we then – uh –’ He faltered, frowning.

      ‘– Grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of God,’ Sparhawk prompted.

      The second knight made a face. ‘I can never remember that part,’ he muttered. ‘Thanks, Sparhawk.’ He cleared his throat and began again. ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘and shall we then grant him entry into the house of the Soldiers of God?’

      The first knight was grinning openly. ‘It is his right freely to enter this house,’ he said, ‘for he is one of us. Hail, Sir Sparhawk. Prithee, come within the walls of this house, and may peace abide with thee beneath its roof.’

      ‘And with thee and thy companion as well, wheresoever you may fare,’ Sparhawk replied, concluding the ceremony.

      ‘Welcome home, Sparhawk,’ the first knight said warmly then. ‘You’ve been a long time away.’

      ‘You noticed,’ Sparhawk answered. ‘Did Kurik get here?’

      The second knight nodded. ‘An hour or so ago. He talked with Vanion and then left again.’

      ‘Let’s go inside,’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘I need a large dose of that peace you mentioned earlier, and I’ve got to see Vanion.’

      The two knights turned their horses, and the three rode together back across the drawbridge.

      ‘Is Sephrenia still here?’ Sparhawk asked.

      ‘Yes,’ the second knight replied. ‘She and Vanion came from Demos shortly after the Queen fell ill, and she hasn’t gone back to the motherhouse yet.’

      ‘Good. I need to talk with her as well.’

      The three of them halted at the castle gate. ‘This is Sir Sparhawk, a member of our order,’ the first knight declared to the two who had remained at the gate. ‘We have confirmed his identity and vouch for his right to enter the house of the Knights Pandion.’

      ‘Pass then, Sir Sparhawk, and may peace abide with thee whilst thou remain within this house.’

      ‘I thank thee, Sir Knight, and may peace also be thine.’

      The knights drew their mounts aside, and Faran moved forward without any urging.

      ‘You know the ritual as well as I do, don’t you?’ Sparhawk murmured.

      Faran flicked his ears.

      In the central courtyard, an apprentice knight who had not yet been vested with his ceremonial armour or spurs hurried forward and took Faran’s reins. ‘Welcome, Sir Knight,’ he said.

      Sparhawk hooked his shield to his saddlebow and swung down from Faran’s back with his armour clinking. ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Do you have any idea of where I might find Lord Vanion?’

      ‘I believe he’s in the south tower, my Lord.’

      ‘Thanks again.’ Sparhawk started across the courtyard, then stopped. ‘Oh, be careful of the horse,’ he warned. ‘He bites.’

      The novice looked startled and then cautiously stepped away from the big, ugly roan, though still firmly holding the reins.

      The horse gave Sparhawk a flat, unfriendly stare.

      ‘It’s more sporting this way, Faran,’ Sparhawk explained. He started up the worn steps that led into the centuries-old castle.

      The inside of the chapterhouse was cool and dim, and the few members of the order Sparhawk met in those halls wore cowled monk’s robes, as was customary inside a secure house, although an occasional steely clink betrayed the fact that, beneath their humble garb, the members of this order wore chain mail and were inevitably armed. There were no greetings exchanged, and the cowled brothers of Pandion went resolutely about their duties with bowed heads and shadowed faces.

      Sparhawk put the flat of his hand out in front of one of the cowled men. Pandions seldom touched each other. ‘Excuse me, brother,’ he said. ‘Do you know if Vanion is still in the south tower?’

      ‘He is,’ the other knight replied.

      ‘Thank you, brother. Peace be with you.’

      ‘And with you, Sir Knight.’

      Sparhawk went on along the torchlit corridor until he came to a narrow stairway which wound up into the south tower between walls of massive, unmortared stones. At the top of the stairs there was a heavy door guarded by two young Pandions. Sparhawk did not recognize either of them. ‘I need to talk with Vanion,’ he told them. ‘The name is Sparhawk.’

      ‘Can you identify yourself?’ one of them asked, trying to make his youthful voice sound gruff.

      ‘I’ve just done so.’

      It hung there while the two young knights struggled to find a graceful way out of the situation. ‘Why not just open the door and tell Vanion that I’m here?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘If he recognizes me, fine. If he doesn’t, the two of you can try to throw me back down the stairs.’ He laid no particular emphasis on the word try.

      The two looked at each other, then one of them opened the door and looked inside. ‘A thousand pardons, my Lord Vanion,’ he apologized, ‘but there’s a Pandion here who calls himself Sparhawk. He says that he wants to talk with you.’

      ‘Good,’ a familiar voice replied from inside the room. ‘I’ve been expecting him. Send him in.’

      The two knights looked abashed and stepped out of Sparhawk’s way.

      ‘Thank you, my brothers,’ Sparhawk murmured to them. ‘Peace be with you.’ And then he went on through the door. The room was large, with stone walls, dark green drapes at the narrow windows, and a carpet of muted brown. A