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

he does, Sir Sparhawk. So he does. Come inside and bring your friends.’

      Sparhawk led Faran through the gate with Sephrenia and Kurik close behind. There was a court inside, and the walls surrounding it were as bleak as those surrounding the monastery. They were unadorned by the white mortar customary on the walls of Rendorish buildings, and the windows which pierced them were perhaps a trifle narrower than monastic architecture would have dictated. They would, Sparhawk noted professionally, make excellent vantage points for archers.

      ‘How can I help you, Sparhawk?’ the abbot asked.

      ‘I need refuge again, my Lord Abbot,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘That’s getting to be sort of a habit, isn’t it?’

      The abbot grinned at him. ‘Who’s after you this time?’ he asked.

      ‘No one that I know of, my Lord, and I think I’d like to keep it that way. Is there someplace we can talk privately?’

      ‘Of course.’ The abbot turned to the brown-bearded monk who had first opened the shutter. ‘See to their horses, brother.’ It was not a request, but had all the crispness of a military command. The monk straightened noticeably, though he did not quite salute.

      ‘Come along then, Sparhawk,’ the abbot boomed, clapping the big knight on the shoulder with one meaty hand.

      Kurik dismounted and went to help Sephrenia. She handed Flute down to him and slipped from her saddle.

      The abbot led them on through the main door and into a vaulted stone corridor dimly lighted at intervals by small oil lamps. Perhaps it was the scent of the oil, but the place had a peculiar odour of sanctity – and of safety – about it. That smell sharply reminded Sparhawk of the night ten years before. ‘The place hasn’t changed much,’ he noted, looking around.

      ‘The Church is timeless, Sir Sparhawk,’ the abbot replied sententiously, ‘and her institutions try to match that quality.’

      At the far end of the corridor, the abbot opened a severely simple door, and they followed him into a book-lined room with a high ceiling and an unlighted charcoal brazier in the corner. The room was quite comfortable-looking – far more so than the studies of abbots in the monasteries of the north. The windows were made of thick triangular pieces of glass joined with strips of lead, and they were draped in pale blue. The floor was strewn with white sheep-skin rugs, and the unmade bed in the far corner was quite a bit wider than the standard monastic cot. The jammed bookcases reached from floor to ceiling.

      ‘Please, sit down,’ the abbot said, pointing at several chairs standing in front of a table piled high with documents.

      ‘Still trying to catch up, my Lord?’ Sparhawk smiled, pointing at the documents and taking one of the chairs.

      The abbot made a wry face. ‘I give it a try every month or so,’ he replied. ‘Some men just aren’t made for paperwork.’ He looked sourly at the litter on his table. ‘Sometimes I think a fire in here might solve the problem. I’m sure the clerks in Chyrellos wouldn’t even miss all my reports.’ He looked curiously at Sparhawk’s companions.

      ‘My man Kurik,’ Sparhawk introduced his squire.

      ‘Kurik,’ the abbot nodded.

      ‘And the lady is Sephrenia, the Pandion instructor in the secrets.’

      ‘Sephrenia herself?’ The abbot’s eyes widened and he rose to his feet respectfully. ‘I’ve been hearing stories about you for years, madame. Your reputation is quite exalted.’ He smiled broadly at her in welcome.

      She removed her veil and returned his smile. ‘You’re very kind to say so, my Lord.’ She sat and gathered Flute up into her lap. The little girl nestled down and regarded the abbot with her large dark eyes.

      ‘A beautiful child, Lady Sephrenia,’ the abbot said. ‘Your daughter by any chance?’

      She laughed. ‘Oh, no, my Lord Abbot,’ she said. ‘The child’s a Styric foundling. We call her Flute.’

      ‘What an odd name,’ he murmured. Then he returned his gaze to Sparhawk. ‘You hinted at a matter you wanted to keep private,’ he said curiously. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’

      ‘Do you get much news about what’s happening on the continent, my Lord?’

      ‘I’m kept informed, yes.’ The bearded abbot said it rather cautiously as he sat down again.

      ‘Then you know about the situation in Elenia?’

      ‘The Queen’s illness, you mean? And the ambitions of Primate Annias?’

      ‘Right. Anyway, a while back, Annias came up with a very complicated scheme to discredit the Pandion Order. We were able to thwart it. After the general meeting in the palace, the preceptors of the four orders gathered in private session. Annias hungers for the Archprelate’s throne, and he knows that the militant orders will oppose him.’

      ‘With swords if necessary,’ the abbot agreed fervently. ‘I’d like to cut him down myself,’ he added. Then he realized that he had perhaps gone too far. ‘If I weren’t a member of a cloistered order, of course,’ he concluded lamely.

      ‘I understand perfectly, my Lord,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘The preceptors discussed the matter, and they concluded that all of the primate’s power – and any hope he had of extending it to Chyrellos – is based on his position in Elenia, and he’ll keep that authority only for so long as Queen Ehlana’s indisposed.’ He grimaced. ‘That’s a silly word, isn’t it? She’s barely clinging to her life, and I called it “indisposed”. Oh, well, you know what I’m talking about.’

      ‘We all flounder from time to time, Sparhawk,’ the abbot forgave him. ‘I know most of the details already. Last week I got word from Patriarch Dolmant about what was afoot. What did you find out in Borrata?’

      ‘We talked with a physician there, and he told us that Queen Ehlana has been poisoned.’

      The abbot came to his feet swearing like a pirate. ‘You’re her Champion, Sparhawk! Why didn’t you go back to Cimmura and run your sword through Annias?’

      ‘I was tempted,’ Sparhawk admitted, ‘but I decided that it’s more important right now to see if we can find an antidote. There’ll be plenty of time later to deal with Annias, and I’d rather not be rushed when it gets down to that. Anyway, the physician in Borrata told us that he thinks the poison is of Rendorish origin, and he directed us to a couple of his colleagues here in Cippria.’

      The abbot began to pace up and down, his face still dark with rage. When he began to speak, all traces of monkly humility were gone from his voice. ‘If I know Annias, he’s probably been trying to stop you every step of the way. Am I right?’

      ‘Fairly close, yes.’

      ‘And the streets of Cippria aren’t the safest place in the world – as you found out that night ten years ago. All right, then,’ he said decisively, ‘this is the way we’re going to do it. Annias knows that you’re looking for medical advice, right?’

      ‘If he doesn’t, then he’s been asleep.’

      ‘Exactly. If you go near a physician, you’ll probably need him for yourself, so I won’t let you do that.’

      ‘Won’t let, my Lord?’ Sephrenia asked mildly.

      ‘Sorry,’ the abbot mumbled. ‘Maybe I got a little carried away there. What I meant to say is that I advise against it in the strongest possible terms. What I’ll do instead is send some monks out to bring the physicians here. That way you’ll be able to talk with them without chancing the streets of Cippria. We’ll work out a way afterwards to slip you out of town.’

      ‘Would an Elenian physician actually agree to call on a patient at home?’ Sephrenia asked him.

      ‘He will if his own health is of any