Domes of Fire (52 page)

The candles caused the knights no end of concern. The thought of open flame so close to the hidden cargo of the barges was sufficient to make strong men turn pale.

Since the party was taking place around the Elene castle, and the hostess was herself an Elene, the ladies of the Emperor’s court had quite nearly exhausted the creative talents of every dressmaker in Matherion in their efforts to ‘dress Elene’. The results were not uniformly felicitous, however, since the dressmakers of Matherion were obliged to rely on books for inspiration, and many of the books in the library of the university were several hundred years old and the gowns depicted on their pages were terribly out of fashion.

Ehlana and Melidere
were
in fashion, however, and they were the absolute centre of attention. Ehlana’s gown was of regal blue, and she wore a diamond and ruby-studded tiara nestled in her pale-blonde hair. Melidere was gowned in lavender. It seemed to be her favourite colour. Mirtai was defiantly not in fashion. She wore the blue sleeveless gown she had worn at her owner’s wedding, and
this
time, she
was
visibly armed. Rather surprisingly, Sephrenia also wore an Elene gown – of snowy white, naturally – and Vanion was obviously smitten by her all over again. The knights of the queen’s escort wore doublets and hose, much against Sparhawk’s better judgement. Their armour, however, was close at hand.

After the members of the imperial court had made their appearance and had begun to circulate on the barges, there was a pause, and then a brazen Elene fanfare. ‘I had to offer violence to the musicians to get them to greet the emperor properly,’ the elegantly-garbed Stragen muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Oh?’

‘They were very insistent that the emperor should be greeted by that dreadful noise they call music around here. They became much more co-operative after I sliced the smock off one of the trumpeters with my rapier.’ Stragen’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘For God’s sake, man!’ he hissed at a servant placing a large platter of steaming beef on one of the tables, ‘be careful of those candles!’

‘He’s a Tamul, Stragen,’ Sparhawk pointed out when the servant gave the Thalesian a blank stare. ‘You’re trying to talk to him in Elenic.’

‘Make him be careful, Sparhawk! A single tongue of fire in the wrong place on any of these barges could broil us all alive!’

Then the emperor and his nine wives appeared on
the drawbridge and came down the carpeted steps to the first barge.

Everyone bowed to the emperor, but no one looked at him. All eyes were locked on the radiantly smiling Empress Elysoun of Valesia. She had modified the customary Elene costume to accommodate her cultural tastes. Her scarlet gown was really quite lovely, but it had been altered so that those attributes Elene ladies customarily concealed and Valesian ladies flaunted were nestled on two frilly cushions of snowy lace and were thus entirely, even aggressively, in full view.

‘Now
that
is what you might call a fashion statement,’ Stragen murmured.

‘That it is, my friend,’ Sparhawk chuckled, adjusting the collar of his black velvet doublet, ‘and everybody’s listening to her. Poor Emban appears to be quite nearly on the verge of apoplexy.’

In a kind of formal little ceremony, Queen Ehlana escorted Sarabian and his empresses across the bridges that stepped from barge to barge. The Empress Elysoun was obviously looking for someone, and when she saw Berit standing off to one side on the second barge, she altered course and bore down upon him with all sails set – figuratively speaking, of course. Sir Berit looked at first apprehensive, then desperate, as Elysoun more or less pinned him to the rail of the barge without so much as laying a hand on him.

‘Poor Berit,’ Sparhawk said sympathetically. ‘Stay close to him, Stragen. I don’t know for sure if he can swim. Be ready to rescue him if he jumps into the moat.’

After the emperor had been given the grand tour, the banquet began. Sparhawk had judiciously spaced out the knights among the diners. The knights were not really very interesting dinner companions, since they all concentrated almost exclusively on the candles and the
lanterns. ‘God help us if a wind comes up,’ Kalten muttered to Sparhawk.

‘Truly,’ Sparhawk agreed fervently. ‘Ah – Kalten, old friend.’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the candles, not the front of the Empress Elysoun’s gown.’

‘What front?’

‘Don’t be vulgar, and remember what you’re supposed to be doing here.’

‘How are we going to herd this flock of over-dressed sheep inside when that bell rings?’ Kalten shifted uncomfortably. His green satin doublet was buttoned very tightly across his stomach.

‘If we’ve timed it right, the feasters will be finishing up the main course at just about the same time as our friends out in the city start distributing the weapons. When that bell rings, Ehlana’s going to invite all the revellers into the castle dining-room where the dessert course is set upon more tables.’

‘Very clever, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said admiringly.

‘Go congratulate my wife, Kalten. It was her idea.’

‘She’s really awfully good at this sort of thing, you know that? I’m glad she decided to come along.’

‘I’m still of two minds about that,’ Sparhawk grunted.

The feast went on, and there were toasts by the dozen. The feasters heaped praise upon the Queen of Elenia. Since the revellers were totally unaware of the impending climax of the evening, there were many inadvertent ironies in the compliments.

Sparhawk scarcely tasted his dinner, and he picked at his food, his eyes constantly on the candles and his ears alert for the first sound of the bell which would announce that his enemies were on the move.

Kalten’s appetite, however, seemed unaffected by the impending crisis.

‘How can you stuff yourself that way?’ Sparhawk asked his friend irritably.

‘Just keeping up my strength, Sparhawk. I’m likely to burn up a lot of energy before the night’s out. If you’re not busy, old boy, would you mind passing that gravy down this way?’

Then from somewhere near the centre of the gleaming, moon-drenched city of Matherion, a deep-toned bell began to boom, announcing that the second half of the evening’s entertainment had begun.

‘Why didn’t you
tell
me, Ehlana?’ Sarabian demanded. The emperor’s face was livid with suppressed fury, and his heavy gold crown was slightly askew.

‘Please calm yourself, Sarabian,’ the blonde queen suggested. ‘We didn’t find out until mid-morning today, and there was no possible way to get the information to you without taking the chance of compromising it.’

‘Your snake-hipped baroness could have carried a message to me,’ he accused, smacking his palm down on the battlement. They were on the parapet, ostensibly admiring the view.

‘My fault there, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk apologised. ‘I’m more or less in charge of security, and Minister Kolata’s the man who controls the police in Tamuli – both the overt police and the ones who hide in the bushes. There was no way we could be absolutely sure that our subterfuge involving the baroness had been successful. The information that we had discovered the minister’s involvement was just too sensitive to risk. This attempt on your government tonight
has
to go off as planned. If our enemy gets the slightest hint that we know what he’s up to, he’ll postpone things until another day, and we won’t have any idea of which day it’s going to be.’

‘I’m still very put out with you, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian complained. ‘I can’t fault your reasoning, but you’ve definitely bruised my feelings here.’

‘We’re supposed to be watching the play of lights on the waters of the moat, Sarabian,’ Ehlana reminded the emperor. ‘Please at least glance over the battlements once in a while.’ Their position on the parapet gave
them privacy,
and
a good vantage-point from which to watch for the approach of the mob.

‘The news about Kolata’s involvement in this business is really distressing,’ Sarabian fretted. ‘He controls the police, palace security and all the spies inside the empire. Worse than that, he has a certain amount of authority over the Atans. If we lose them, we’re in very serious trouble.’

‘Engessa’s trying to sever that connection, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘He sent runners to the Atan forces outside the city to advise the commanders that the agents of the ministry of the interior aren’t to be trusted. The commanders will pass that on to Androl and Betuana.’

‘Are we safe here in the event that Atan Engessa’s runners are intercepted?’

‘Sir Bevier assures us that he can hold this castle for five years, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him, ‘and Bevier’s the expert on sieges.’

‘And when the five years runs out?’

‘The Church Knights will be here long before then, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘Caalador has his instructions. If things go awry, he’ll get word to Dolmant in Chyrellos.’

‘You people are still making me very, very nervous.’

‘Trust me, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said.

Kalten came puffing up the stairs to the parapet. ‘We’re going to need more wine, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I think we made a mistake when we set those wine-casks in the courtyard. The queen’s guests are lingering down there, and they’re swilling down Arcian red like water.’

‘May I draw on your wine-cellars, Sarabian?’ Ehlana asked sweetly.

Sarabian winced. ‘Why are you pouring all that drink into them?’ he demanded. ‘Arcian red’s very expensive here in Matherion.’

‘Drunk people are easier to manage than sober ones, your Majesty,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘We’ll let them continue to carouse down there in the courtyard and inside the castle until the fighting starts. Then we’ll push the stragglers on inside the castle with the others and keep them drinking. When they wake up tomorrow morning, most of them won’t even know there’s been a battle.’

The party in the courtyard was growing noisier. Tamul wines were not nearly as robust as Elene vintages, and the wits of the revellers had become fuddled. They laughed a great deal and walked about the yard unsteadily with silly grins on their faces. Queen Ehlana looked critically down from the parapet. ‘How much longer would you say it’s going to take them to be totally incapacitated, Sparhawk?’ she asked.

‘Not much longer,’ he shrugged. He turned and looked out towards the city. ‘I don’t want to seem critical, Emperor Sarabian, but I have to point out that your citizenry is profoundly unimaginative. Your rebels out there are carrying torches.’

‘So?’

‘It’s a cliche, your Majesty. The mob in every bad Arcian romance ever written carries torches.’

‘How can you be so cool, man?’ Sarabian demanded. ‘If someone made a loud noise behind me right now, I’d jump out of my skin.’

‘Professional training, I guess. I’m more concerned that they might
not
reach the imperial compound than that they
will.
We
want
them to come here, your Majesty.’

‘Shouldn’t you raise the drawbridge?’

‘Not yet. There are conspirators here in the compound as well as out there in the streets. We don’t want to give away the fact that we know they’re coming.’

Khalad thrust his head out of the turret at the corner of the battlements and beckoned to his lord.

‘Will you excuse me, your Majesties?’ Sparhawk asked politely. ‘I have to go put on my work-clothes. Oh, Ehlana, why don’t you signal Kalten that it’s time to push those stragglers inside and lock them in the dining room with the others?’

‘What’s this?’ Sarabian asked.

‘We don’t want them underfoot when the fighting starts, Sarabian,’ the queen smiled. ‘The wine should keep them from noticing that they’re locked in the dining room.’

‘You Elenes are the most cold-blooded people in the world,’ Sarabian accused as Sparhawk moved off down the parapet toward the turret where Khalad was waiting with the suit of black armour.

When he returned about ten minutes later, he was dressed in steel. He found Ehlana talking earnestly with Sarabian. ‘Can’t you talk with her?’ she was saying. ‘The poor young man’s on the verge of hysteria.’

‘Why doesn’t he just do what she wants him to? Once they’ve entertained each other, she’ll lose interest.’

‘Sir Berit’s a very young knight, Sarabian. His ideals haven’t been tarnished yet. Why doesn’t she chase after Sir Kalten or Sir Ulath? They’d be happy to oblige her.’

‘Sir Berit’s a challenge to Elysoun, Ehlana. Nobody’s ever turned her down before.’

‘Doesn’t her rampant infidelity bother you?’

‘Not in the slightest. It doesn’t really mean anything in her culture, you see. Her people look upon it as a pleasant but unimportant pastime. I sometimes think you Elenes place far too much significance on it.’

‘Can’t you make her put some clothes on?’

‘Why? She’s not ashamed of her body, and she enjoys sharing it with people. Be honest, Ehlana, don’t you find her quite attractive?’

‘I think you’d have to ask my husband about that.’

‘You don’t
really
expect me to answer that kind of
question, do you?’ Sparhawk said. He looked out over the battlements. ‘Our friends out there seem to have found their way to the palace compound,’ he noted as the torch-bearing rioters began to stream through the gate onto the grounds.

‘The guards are supposed to stop them,’ Sarabian said angrily.

‘The guards are taking their orders from Minister Kolata, I expect,’ Ehlana shrugged.

‘Where’s the Atan Garrison then?’

‘We’ve moved them inside the castle here, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk advised him. ‘I think you keep overlooking the fact that we
want
those people in the grounds. It wouldn’t make much sense to impede their progress.’

‘Isn’t it about time to raise the drawbridge?’ Sarabian seemed nervous about that.

‘Not yet, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied coolly. ‘We want them
all
to be inside the compound first. At that point, Kring will close the gates.
Then
we’ll raise the drawbridge. Let them take the bait before we spring the trap on them.’

‘You sound awfully sure of yourself, Sparhawk.’

‘We have all the advantages, your Majesty.’

‘Does that mean that nothing can possibly go wrong?’

‘No, something can always go wrong, but the probabilities are remote.’

‘You don’t mind if I worry a little bit anyway, do you?’

‘Go right ahead, your Majesty.’

The mob from the streets of Matherion continued to stream unimpeded through the main gate of the Imperial grounds and fanned out rapidly, shouting excitedly as they crashed their way into the various palaces and administration buildings. As Kring had anticipated, many emerged from the gleaming buildings
burdened down with assorted valuables they had looted from the interiors.

There was a brief flurry of activity in front of the castle when one group of looters reached the drawbridge and encountered a score of mounted knights under the command of Sir Ulath. The knights were there to provide cover for the Peloi who had been hidden in the holds of the barges during the earlier festivities and who had fallen to work on the naphtha casks with their axes as soon as the revellers had retired to the castle yard. A certain amount of glistening seepage from the sides of the barges indicated that the axemen crossing the decks of the festive vessels in the moat toward the drawbridge had done their work well. When the mob reached the outer end of the drawbridge, Ulath made it abundantly clear to them that he was in no mood to receive callers. The survivors decided to find other places to loot.

The courtyard had been cleared, and Bevier and his men were moving their catapults into place on the parapet. Engessa’s Atans had moved up onto the parapets with the Cyrinics and were crouched down out of sight behind the battlements. Sparhawk looked around. Everything seemed in readiness. Then he looked at the gates of the compound. The only revolutionaries coming in now were the lame and the halt. They crutched their way along vigorously, but they had lagged far behind their companions. Sparhawk leaned out over the battlements. ‘We might as well get started, Ulath,’ he called down to his friend. ‘Why don’t you ask Kring to close the gates? Then you should probably come inside.’

‘Right!’ Ulath’s face was split with a broad grin. He lifted his curled Ogre-horn to his lips and blew a hollow-sounding blast. Then he turned and led his knights across the drawbridge back into the castle.

The huge gate at the entrance to the palace grounds moved ponderously, slowly, swinging shut with a
dreadful kind of inexorability. Sparhawk noted that several of those still outside stumped along desperately on their crutches, trying for all they were worth to get inside before the gate closed. ‘Kalten,’ he yelled down into the courtyard.

‘What?’ Kalten’s tone was irritable.

‘Would you like to let those people out there know that we’re not receiving any more visitors tonight?’

‘Oh, all right. I
suppose
so.’ Then the blond Pandion grinned up at his fellow-knight and he and his men began turning the capstan that raised the drawbridge.

‘Clown,’ Sparhawk muttered.

The significance of the simultaneous closing of the gate and raising of the drawbridge did not filter through the collective mind of the mob for quite some time. Then sounds of shouted commands and even occasional clashes of weapons from nearby buildings announced that at least
some
of the rebels were beginning, however faintly, to see the light.

Tentatively, warily, the torch-bearing mob began to converge on the pristinely white Elene castle, where the gaily-coloured silk buntings shivered tremulously in the night breeze and the lantern and candle-lit barges bobbed sedately in the moat.

‘Hello, the castle!’ a bull-voiced fellow in the front rank roared in execrable Elenic. ‘Lower your drawbridge, or we’ll storm your walls!’

‘Would you please reply to that, Bevier?’ Sparhawk called to his Cyrinic friend.

Bevier grinned and carefully shifted one of his catapults. He sighted carefully, elevated his line of sight so that the catapult was pointed almost straight up, and then he applied the torch to the mixture of pitch and naphtha in the spoon-like receptacle at the end of the catapult-arm. The mixture took fire immediately.

‘I command you to lower your drawbridge!’ the
unshaven knave out beyond the moat bellowed arrogantly.

Bevier cut the retaining rope on the catapult-arm. The blob of dripping fire sizzled as it shot almost straight up into the air, then it slowed and seemed to hang motionless for a moment. Then it fell.

The ruffian who had been demanding admittance gaped at Bevier’s reply as it majestically rose into the night sky and then fell directly upon him like a comet. He vanished as he was engulfed in fire.

‘Good shot!’ Sparhawk called his compliment.

‘Not bad,’ Bevier replied modestly. ‘It was sort of tricky, because he was so close.’

‘I noticed that.’

Emperor Sarabian had gone very pale, and he was visibly shaken. ‘Did you
have
to do that, Sparhawk?’ He demanded in a choked voice as the now-frightened mob fled back across the lawns to positions that may or may not have been out of Sir Bevier’s range.

‘Yes, your Majesty,’ Sparhawk replied calmly. ‘We’re playing for time here. The bell that started to ring an hour or so ago was a sort of general signal. Caalador’s cutthroats took the ring-leaders into custody when it rang, Ehlana moved the party-goers inside the castle, and the Atan legions outside the city started to march as soon as they heard it. That loud-mouth who’s presently on fire at the edge of the moat is a graphic demonstration of just how truly unpleasant things are going to get if the mob decides to insist on being admitted. It’s going to take some serious encouragement to persuade them to approach us again.’

‘I thought you said you could hold them off.’

‘We can, but why risk lives if you don’t have to? You’ll note that there was no cheering or shouts when Bevier shot his catapult. Those people out there are staring at an absolutely silent, apparently unmanned castle that
almost negligently obliterates offensive people. That’s a terrifying sort of thing to contemplate. This is the part of the siege that frequently lasts for several years.’ Sparhawk looked down the parapet. ‘I think it’s time for us to move inside that turret, your Majesties,’ he suggested. ‘We can’t be positive that Khalad disabled
all
the crossbows – or that somebody in the mob hasn’t repaired a few. I’d have a great deal of trouble explaining why I was careless enough to let one of you get killed. We can see what’s going on from the turret, and I’ll feel much better if you’ve both got nice thick stone walls around you.’