The Sapphire Rose. David Eddings

she demanded.

      ‘The late Baron Harparin,’ Kalten told her. ‘He left us rather suddenly.’

      ‘Did you do that, Sparhawk?’ she accused.

      ‘Me?’

      ‘I know you all too well, Sparhawk.’

      ‘Actually, Sephrenia, it was me,’ Ulath drawled. ‘I’m very sorry if it bothers you, but then, I’m Thalesian. We’re widely reputed to be barbarians.’ He shrugged. ‘One is more or less obliged to uphold the reputation of his homeland, wouldn’t you say?’

      She refused to answer that. She looked around at the faces of the other Pandions in the room. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We’re all here. Open that case, Vanion.’

      Vanion opened the sword-case.

      ‘Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia addressed the Pandions in the room as she laid Sir Gared’s sword on the table beside the case. ‘Some months ago, twelve of you joined with me in casting the enchantment which has sustained the life of Queen Ehlana. Six of your brave companions have gone into the House of the Dead since then. Their swords, however, must be present when we undo the enchantment that we may cure the queen. Thus, each of you who were there must carry the sword of one of your fallen brothers as well as your own. I will work the spell which will make it possible for you to take up those swords. We will then proceed to the throne-room, where the swords of the fallen will be taken from you.’

      Vanion looked startled. ‘Taken? By whom?’

      ‘Their original owners.’

      ‘You’re going to summon ghosts into the throne-room?’ he asked in astonishment.

      ‘They will come unsummoned. Their oaths ensure that. As before, you’ll encircle the throne with your swords extended. I’ll undo the spell, and the crystal will disappear. The rest is up to Sparhawk – and Bhelliom.’

      ‘What exactly am I supposed to do?’ Sparhawk asked her.

      ‘I’ll tell you at the proper time,’ she replied. ‘I don’t want you to do anything prematurely.’

      Sir Perraine escorted the aged Earl of Lenda into the council chamber.

      ‘How was the dungeon, My Lord of Lenda?’ Vanion asked lightly.

      ‘Damp, Lord Vanion,’ Lenda replied, ‘Also dark and very smelly. You know how dungeons are.’

      ‘No,’ Vanion laughed. ‘Not really. It’s an experience I’d prefer to forgo.’ He looked at the old courtier’s lined face. ‘Are you all right, Lenda?’ he asked. ‘You look very tired.’

      ‘Old men always look very tired, Vanion.’ Lenda smiled gently, ‘and I’m older than most.’ He straightened his thin old shoulders. ‘Being thrown into the dungeon from time to time is an occupational hazard for those in public service. You get used to it. I’ve been in worse.’

      ‘I’m sure Lycheas and that fat fellow will enjoy the dungeon, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly.

      ‘I doubt that, Sir Kalten.’

      ‘We’ve made them aware of the fact that the end of their confinement will mark their entrance into another world. I’m sure they’ll prefer the dungeon. Rats aren’t all that bad.’

      ‘I didn’t notice Baron Harparin,’ Lenda said. ‘Did he escape?’

      ‘Only in a manner of speaking, My Lord,’ Kalten replied. ‘He was being offensive. You know how Harparin was. Sir Ulath gave him a lesson in courtesy – with his axe.’

      ‘This day is top-filled with joyful surprises then,’ Lenda chortled.

      ‘My Lord of Lenda,’ Vanion said rather formally, ‘we’re going to the throne-room now to restore the queen. I’d like to have you witness that restoration so that you can confirm her identity in case any doubts arise later. The commons are superstitious, and there are those who might want to circulate rumours to the effect that Ehlana is not who she appears to be.’

      ‘Very well, My Lord Vanion,’ Lenda agreed, ‘but how do you plan to restore her?’

      ‘You’ll see,’ Sephrenia smiled. She held out her hands over the swords and spoke at some length in Styric. The swords glowed briefly as she released the spell, and the knights who had been present during the encasement of the Queen of Elenia stepped to the table. She talked to them briefly in low tones, and then each of them took up one of the swords. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘let us proceed to the throne-room.’

      ‘This is all very mysterious,’ Lenda said to Sparhawk as they walked down the corridor towards the throne-room.

      ‘Have you ever seen real magic performed, My Lord?’ Sparhawk asked him.

      ‘I don’t believe in magic, Sparhawk.’

      ‘That may change shortly, Lenda,’ Sparhawk smiled.

      The old courtier produced the key from an inside pocket and unlocked the door to the throne-room. Then they all followed Sephrenia inside. The room was dark. During Lenda’s confinement, the candles had been allowed to go out. Sparhawk, nonetheless, could still hear the measured drumbeat of his queen’s heart echoing in the darkness. Kurik stepped back outside and brought in a torch. ‘Fresh candles?’ he asked Sephrenia.

      ‘Definitely,’ she replied. ‘Let’s not awaken Ehlana to a dark room.’

      Kurik and Berit replaced the burned-out candle-stubs with fresh tapers. Then Berit looked curiously at the young queen he had served so faithfully without ever having seen her. His eyes grew suddenly wide as he stared at her, and he seemed to catch his breath. His look was one of totally appropriate veneration, but there was, Sparhawk thought, perhaps a bit more to it than simple respect. Berit was about the same age as Ehlana, and she was very beautiful, after all.

      ‘That’s much better,’ Sephrenia said, looking around at the candlelit throne-room. ‘Sparhawk, come with me.’ She led him to the dais upon which the throne stood.

      Ehlana sat as she had for all these months. She wore the crown of Elenia on her pale, blonde head, and she was enfolded in her state robes. Her eyes were closed, and her face serene.

      ‘Just a few more moments, my queen,’ Sparhawk murmured. Strangely, his eyes were filled with tears, and his heart was in his throat.

      ‘Remove your gauntlets, Sparhawk,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘You’ll want the rings to touch Bhelliom when you use it.’

      He took off his mailed gauntlets, then reached inside his surcoat, removed the canvas pouch and untied the drawstring.

      ‘All right, gentlemen,’ Sephrenia said then to the surviving knights, ‘take your places.’

      Vanion and the other five Pandions spaced themselves out around the throne, each of them holding his own sword and that of one of his fallen brothers.

      Sephrenia stood beside Sparhawk and began to form the incantation in Styric, her fingers weaving an accompaniment. The candles dimmed and flared almost in time to the sonorous spell. At some time during her incantation, the room became gradually filled with that familiar smell of death. Sparhawk tore his eyes from Ehlana’s face to risk a quick look around the circle of knights. Where there had been six before, there were now twelve. The filmy shapes of those who had fallen one by one in the preceding months had returned unbidden to take their swords one last time.

      ‘Now, Sir Knights,’ Sephrenia instructed the living and the dead alike, ‘point your swords at the throne.’ And she began to speak a different incantation. The tip of each sword began to glow, and those incandescent points of light grew brighter and brighter until they surrounded the throne with a ring of pure light. Sephrenia raised her arm, spoke a single word, then brought the arm sharply down. The crystal encasement surrounding the throne wavered like water, and then it was gone.

      Ehlana’s head sagged