The Shining Ones (33 page)

Sparhawk almost felt sorry for Zalasta at that point. Their decisions and their requests were all completely reasonable, and try though he might, Zalasta could find no way to avoid agreeing. Kolata’s testimony was almost certain to be an absolute disaster for the first citizen of Styricum, but there was no way he could prevent that testimony without exposing himself as a traitor. He rose to his feet. ‘I will try to persuade her, your Majesty,’ he said, bowing to Ehlana. He turned and quietly left the blue-draped room.

‘I don’t understand why you won’t let us tell him, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘He
is
a friend, after all.’

‘He’s also a Styric, Kalten,’ Vanion said smoothly. ‘We don’t know how he
really
feels about the Delphae. He might go up in flames if he finds out that Xanetia can pick his thoughts the way Talen picks pockets.’

‘Sephrenia’s probably told him about it already, Lord Vanion,’ Bevier pointed out.

Sparhawk threw a brief questioning look at Xanetia, framing the question in his thought.

She shook her head. For some reason, Sephrenia had
not
told Zalasta about the Delphaeic woman’s strange capability to delve into the minds of others.

‘I don’t think so, Bevier,’ Vanion was saying. ‘He hasn’t shown any reluctance to be in the same room
with the Anarae, and that’s a fair indication that he doesn’t know. Now then, who’s going to question Kolata? We should probably limit it to just one of us. If we all start throwing questions at him, his thoughts will be so jumbled that Xanetia won’t be able to make any sense of them.’

‘Itagne’s skilled at debate and disputation,’ Oscagne suggested. ‘Academics spend hours splitting hairs.’

‘We prefer to call it meticulous attention to detail, old boy,’ Itagne corrected his brother. ‘Kolata has ministerial rank.’

‘Not any more, he doesn’t,’ Sarabian said.

‘Well, he
used
to, your Majesty. I’d suggest that we let Oscagne conduct the interrogation. He holds the same rank as Kolata, so he’ll be able to approach him as an equal.’

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ Stragen asked.

‘Of course, Milord Stragen,’ the Emperor said.

‘Teovin’s been sneaking around out there trying his very best to subvert the other ministries of your Majesty’s government. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to make this a formal inquiry instead of a star-chamber proceeding? If all the ministers and the aides are present when we question Kolata, Teovin won’t have the chance to scramble around and mend his fences.’

‘It’s an interesting notion, isn’t it, Ehlana?’ Sarabian mused.

‘Very interesting,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll have to postpone the interrogation, though.’

‘Oh?’

‘We’ll want to give your Atan runners a head start.’ She looked at him gravely. ‘This is it, Sarabian. Up until now, it’s only been speculation. Once Kolata starts talking in front of the rest of the government, you’ll be committed. Are you really ready to go that far?’

The Emperor drew in a deep breath. ‘Yes, Ehlana, I
think I am.’ His voice was firm, but very quiet.

‘Issue the order, then. Declare martial law. Turn the Atans loose.’

Sarabian swallowed hard. ‘Are you certain your idea will work, Atan Engessa?’ he asked the towering warrior.

‘It always has, Sarabian-Emperor,’ Engessa replied. ‘The signal fires are all in place. The word will spread throughout Tamuli in a single night. The Atans will move out of their garrisons the following morning.’

Sarabian stared at the floor for a long time. Then he looked up. ‘Do it,’ he said.

The difficult part was persuading Sarabian and Ehlana
not
to tell Zalasta about what was happening. ‘He doesn’t need to know,’ Sparhawk explained patiently.

‘Surely you don’t mistrust him, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana protested. ‘He’s proved his loyalty over and over again.’

‘Of course he has. He’s a Styric, though, and this sudden move of yours is going to turn all of Tamuli upside down. There’s going to be absolute chaos out there. He may try to get word to the Styric communities hereabouts – a warning of some kind. It’s a natural thing for him to do, and we can’t afford to risk letting that information get out. The only thing that makes your plan workable at all is the fact that it’s going to be a total surprise. There are Styrics, and then there are Styrics.’

‘Say what you mean, Sparhawk,’ Sarabian said in a testy voice.

‘The term “renegade Styric” means the same thing here in Tamuli as it does in Eosia, your Majesty. We almost have to assume that if we tell Zalasta, we’re telling all of Styricum, don’t we? We know Zalasta, but we
don’t
know all the other Styrics on the continent. There are some in Sarsos who’d sign compacts with Hell itself
if they thought it would give them a chance to get even with the Elenes.’

‘You’re going to hurt his feelings, you know,’ Ehlana told him.

‘He’ll live. We only have one chance at this, so let’s not take even the remotest of risks.’

There was a polite tap at the door, and Mirtai stepped into the room where the three of them were meeting. ‘Oscagne and that other one are back,’ she reported.

‘Show them in please, Atana,’ Sarabian told her.

There was a kind of suppressed jubilation on the foreign minister’s face as he entered with his brother, and Itagne’s expression was almost identical. Sparhawk was a bit startled by how much alike they looked.

‘You two look like a couple of cats who just got into the cream,’ Sarabian told them.

‘We’re pulling off the coup of the decade, your Majesty,’ Itagne replied.

‘Of the century,’ Oscagne corrected. ‘Everything’s in place, my Emperor. We left it sort of vague – “general meeting of the Imperial Council”, that sort of thing. Itagne dropped a few hints. He’s been planting the notion that you’re considering having your birthday declared a national holiday. It’s the sort of foolish whim your Majesty’s family is famous for.’

‘Be nice,’ Sarabian murmured. He had picked up that particular Elene expression during his stay in Ehlana’s castle.

‘Sorry, your Majesty,’ Oscagne apologized. ‘We’ve passed the whole thing off as a routine, meaningless meeting of the council – all formality and no substance.’

‘May I borrow your throne-room, Ehlana?’ Sarabian asked.

‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘Formal dress, I suppose?’

‘Certainly. We’ll wear our crowns and our state robes. You wear your prettiest dress, and I’ll wear mine.’

‘Your
Majesty
!’ Oscagne protested. ‘The customary Tamul mantle is hardly a dress.’

‘A long skirt is a long skirt, Oscagne. Frankly, I’d prefer doublet and hose – and, given the circumstances, my rapier. Stragen’s right. Once you get used to wearing one you start to feel undressed without it.’

‘If formality’s going to be the keynote, I think you and the others should wear your dress armor, Sparhawk,’ Ehlana told her husband.

‘Excellent idea, Ehlana,’ Sarabian approved. ‘That way they’ll be ready when things turn ugly.’

They spent the rest of the day supervising the moving of furniture in the throne-room. The Queen of Elenia, as she sometimes did, went to extremes. ‘Buntings?’ Sparhawk asked her. ‘
Buntings,
Ehlana?’

‘We want things to look festive, Sparhawk,’ she replied with an airy little toss of her head. ‘Yes, I know. It’s frivolous and even a little silly, but buntings hanging from the walls and trumpet fanfares introducing each of the ministers will set the tone. We want this to look so intensely formal that the government officials won’t believe that anything serious could possibly happen. We’re laying a trap, love, and buntings are part of the bait. Details, Sparhawk, details. Good plots swarm with details.’

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am. Is the drawbridge raised?’

He nodded.

‘Good. Keep it that way. We don’t want anybody slipping out of the castle with any kind of information. We’ll escort the ministers inside tomorrow, and then we’ll raise the drawbridge again. We want to be in absolute control of the situation.’

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Don’t make fun of me, Sparhawk,’ she warned.

‘I’d sooner die.’

It was nearly dusk when Zalasta came into the throne-room and took Sparhawk to one side. ‘I
must
leave, Prince Sparhawk,’ he pleaded, his eyes a little wild. ‘It is a matter of the gravest urgency.’

‘My hands are tied, Zalasta,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘You know my wife. When she starts speaking in the royal “we”, there’s no reasoning with her.’

‘There are things I
must
set in motion, your Highness, things vital to the success of the Emperor’s plan.’

‘I’ll try to talk with her, but I can’t hold out much hope. Things
are
fairly well under control, though. The Atans know what to do outside the castle walls, and my Church Knights can handle things inside. There
are
ministers and other high-level officials whose loyalty is in doubt, you know. We don’t know exactly what the questioning of the Minister of the Interior is going to bring out. We’ll have those people in our hands, and we don’t want them running off to stir up more mischief.’

‘You don’t
understand,
Sparhawk!’ The note of desperation was clearly evident.

‘I’ll do what I can, Zalasta,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but I can’t make any promises.’

The Tamul architect who had designed Ehlana’s castle had evidently devoted half a lifetime to the study of Elene buildings, and, like so many with limited gifts, he had slavishly imitated the details without capturing the spirit. The throne-room was a case in point. Elene castles have but two purposes – to remain standing and to keep out unwanted visitors. Both these purposes are served best by the kind of massive construction one might consider in designing a mountain. Over the centuries, some Elenes have sought to soften their necessarily bleak surroundings by embellishment. The interior braces intended to keep the walls from collapsing – even when swept by a blizzard of boulders – became buttresses. The massive stone posts designed to keep the ceiling where it belonged became columns with ornately carved bases and capitals. The same sort of strength can be achieved by vaulting, and the throne-room of Ehlana’s Tamul-built castle was a marvel of redundancy. It was massively vaulted
and
supported by long rows of fluted columns, and was braced by flying buttresses so delicate as to be not only useless but actually hazardous to those standing under them. Moreover, like everything else in fire-domed Matherion, the entire room was sheathed in opalescent mother-of-pearl.

Ehlana had chosen the buntings with some care, and the gleaming walls were now accented with a riot of color. The forty-foot-long blue velvet draperies at the narrow windows had been accented with white satin, the walls were decorated with crossed pennons and imitation battle-flags, and the columns and buttresses were
bandaged with scarlet silk. The place looked to Sparhawk’s somewhat jaundiced eye like a country fair operated by a profoundly color-blind entrepreneur.

‘Garish,’ Ulath observed, buffing the black ogre-horns on his helmet with a piece of cloth.

‘Garish comes close,’ Sparhawk agreed. Sparhawk wore his formal black armor and silver surcoat. The Tamul blacksmith who had hammered out the dents and re-enameled the armor had also anointed the inside of each intricately wrought section and all the leather straps with crushed rose-petals in a kind of subtle, unspoken criticism of the armor’s normal fragrance. The resulting mixture of odors was peculiar.

‘How are we going to explain all the guards standing around Ehlana and Sarabian?’ Ulath asked.

‘We don’t have to explain things, Ulath.’ Sparhawk shrugged. ‘We’re Elenes, and the rest of the world believes that we’re barbarians with strange, ritualistic customs that nobody else understands. I am
not
going to let my wife sit there unprotected while she and Sarabian calmly advise the Tamul government that it’s been dismantled.’

‘Good thinking.’ Ulath looked gravely at his friend. ‘Sephrenia’s being difficult, you know.’

‘We more or less expected that.’

‘She might have an easier time if she could sit next to Zalasta.’

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Zalasta’s an advisor to the government. He’ll have to be on the main floor with the ministers. Let’s keep Sephrenia off to one side. I’ll have Danae sit with her.’

‘That might help. Your daughter’s presence seems to calm Sephrenia. I wouldn’t seat Xanetia with them, though.’

‘I hadn’t planned to.’

‘Just making sure. Did Engessa get any kind of
acknowledgement of his signal? Are we absolutely
sure
his order got to everybody?’

‘
He
is. I guess the Atans have used signal fires to pass orders along for centuries.’

‘I’m just a bit doubtful about bonfires on hilltops as a way to send messages, Sparhawk.’

‘That’s Engessa’s department. It won’t matter all that much if word hadn’t reached a few backwaters by sunrise this morning.’

‘You’re probably right. I guess we’ve done all we can, then. I just hope nothing goes wrong.’

‘What could go wrong?’

‘That’s the kind of thinking that fills graveyards, Sparhawk. I’ll go tell them to lower the drawbridge. We might as well get started.’

Stragen had carefully coached the dozen Tamul trumpeters and the rest of his musicians, concluding the lesson with some horrendous threats and an instructional visit to the carefully re-created torture chamber in the basement. The musicians had all piously sworn to play the proper notes and to forgo improvisation. The fanfares which were to greet the arrival of each minister of the imperial government had been Ehlana’s idea. Fanfares are flattering; they elevate the ego; they lull the unwary into traps. Ehlana was good at that sort of thing. The depths of her political instincts sometimes amazed Sparhawk.

In keeping with the formality of the occasion, armored Church Knights were stationed at evenly spaced intervals along the walls. To the casual observer, the knights were no more than a part of the decor of the throne-room. The casual observer, however, would have been wrong. The motionless men in steel were there to make absolutely certain that once the members of the imperial government had entered the room, they would not leave without permission, and the drawbridge, which was to
be raised as soon as all the guests had arrived, doubly ensured that nobody would grow bored and wander off. Sarabian had advised them that the ‘Imperial Council of Tamuli’ had grown over the centuries. At first, the council had consisted only of the ministers. Then the ministers had included their secretaries; then their undersecretaries. By now it had reached the point where sub-sub-assistant temporary interim undersecretaries were also included. The title ‘Member of the Imperial Council’ had become largely meaningless. The inclusion of such a mob, however, ensured that every traitor inside the imperial compound would be gathered under Ehlana’s battlements. The Queen of Elenia was shrewd enough to use even her enemies’ egotism as a weapon against them.

‘Well?’ Ehlana asked nervously when her husband entered the royal apartment. The Queen of Elenia wore a cream-colored gown, trimmed with gold lame, and a dark blue, ermine-trimmed velvet cloak. Her crown looked quite delicate, a kind of lace cap made of hammered gold inset with bright-colored gems. Despite its airy appearance, however, Sparhawk knew – because he had picked it up several times – that it was almost as heavy as her state crown, which was locked in the royal vault back in Cimmura.

‘They’re starting to drift across the drawbridge,’ he reported. ‘Itagne’s greeting them. He knows everybody of any consequence in the government, so he’ll know when our guests have all arrived. As soon as everyone’s inside, the knights will raise the drawbridge.’ He looked at Emperor Sarabian, who stood near a window nervously chewing on one fingernail. ‘It’s not going to be all that much longer, your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t you change clothes?’

‘The Tamul mantle was designed to cover a multitude of defects, Prince Sparhawk, so it should cover my
western clothes –
and
my rapier. I am
not
going in there unarmed.’

‘We’ll take care of you, Sarabian,’ Ehlana assured him.

‘I’d rather do it myself, mother.’ The Emperor suddenly laughed nervously. ‘A bad joke, perhaps, but there’s a lot of truth to it. You’ve raised me from political babyhood, Ehlana. In that respect, you
are
my mother.’

‘If you ever call me “mommy”, I’ll never speak to you again, your Majesty.’

‘I’d sooner bite out my tongue, your Majesty.’

‘What’s the customary procedure, your Majesty?’ Sparhawk asked Sarabian as they stood peering round the edge of the draped doorway into the rapidly filling throne-room.

‘As soon as everybody gets here, Subat will call the meeting to order,’ Sarabian replied. ‘That’s when I enter – usually to the sound of what passes for music here in Matherion.’

‘Stragen’s seen to it that your grand entrance will be truly grand,’ Ehlana assured him. ‘He composed the fanfare himself.’

‘Are all Elene thieves artists?’ Sarabian asked. ‘Talen paints, Stragen composes music, and Caalador’s a gifted actor.’

‘We
do
seem to attract talent, don’t we,’ Ehlana smiled.

‘Should I explain why there are so many of us on the dais?’ Sarabian asked, glancing at Mirtai and Engessa.

She shook her head. ‘Never explain. It’s a sign of weakness. I’ll enter on your arm, and they’ll all grovel.’

‘It’s called genuflectory prostration, Ehlana.’

‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. ‘When they get up again, we’ll be sitting there with our guards around us. That’s when
you
take over the meeting. Don’t even let Subat get started. We’ve got our own agenda today, and we don’t have time to listen to him babble about the prospects
for the wheat harvest on the plains of Edom. How are you feeling?’

‘Nervous. I’ve never overthrown a government before.’

‘Neither have I, actually – unless you count what I did in the Basilica when I appointed Dolmant to the Archprelacy.’

‘She didn’t actually do that, did she, Sparhawk?’

‘Oh yes, your Majesty – all by herself. She was superb.’

‘Just keep talking, Sarabian,’ Ehlana told him. ‘If anyone tries to interrupt, shout him down. Don’t even pretend to be polite. This is
our
party. Don’t be conciliatory or reasonable. Be coldly furious instead. Are you any good at oratory?’

‘Probably not. They don’t let me speak in public very often – except at the graduation ceremonies at the university.’

‘Speak slowly. You tend to talk too fast. Half of any good oration lies in its cadence. Use pauses. Vary your volume from a shout down to a whisper. Be dramatic. Give them a good show.’

He laughed. ‘You’re a charlatan, Ehlana.’

‘Naturally. That’s what politics is all about – fraud, deceit, charlatanism.’

‘That’s dreadful!’

‘Of course. That’s why it’s so much fun.’

The brazen fanfares echoed back from the vaulted ceiling as each minister entered the throne-room, and they had the desired effect. The ministers in their silken mantles all seemed slightly awed by their own sublime importance, something many of them had overlooked or forgotten. They moved to their places with slow, stately pace, their expressions grave, even exalted. Pondia Subat, the Prime Minister, seemed particularly impressed with himself. He sat splendidly alone in a
crimson-upholstered chair to one side of the dais upon which the thrones stood, looking imperially out at the other officials assembling in the chairs lining both sides of the broad central aisle.

Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon sat with Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police, and several other ministers. There seemed to be a great deal of whispering going on in the little group.

‘That would probably be the opposition,’ Ehlana observed. ‘Teovin’s certainly involved, and the others are also most likely a part of it – to a greater or lesser degree.’ She turned to Talen, who stood directly behind her, wearing his page’s knee-britches. ‘Pay very close attention to that group,’ she instructed. ‘I want a report on their reactions. We should be able to determine their degree of guilt by the looks on their faces.’

‘Yes, my Queen.’

Then Itagne appeared briefly at the massive double doors to the throne-room and flicked his hand at Ulath, signaling that all of the relevant officials had arrived.

Ulath, who stood to one side of the dais, nodded and raised his Ogre-horn trumpet to his lips.

The room seemed to shudder into a shocked silence as the barbaric sound of the Ogre-horn, deep-toned and rasping, reverberated from the nacreous walls. The huge doors boomed shut, and two armored knights, one a Cyrinic all in white, and the other a Pandion all in black, placed themselves in front of the entryway.

The Prime Minister rose to his feet.

Ulath banged the butt of his axe on the floor three times to call for silence.

The Emperor winced.

‘What’s wrong, Sarabian?’ Mirtai asked him.

‘Sir Ulath just broke several of the floor-tiles.’

‘We can replace them with bone.’ She shrugged.
‘There should be quite a few bones lying around before the day’s over.’

‘Will the council please come to order?’ Pondia Subat intoned.

Ulath banged the floor again.

Sparhawk looked around the throne-room. Everyone was in place. Sephrenia, dressed in her white Styric robe, sat with Princess Danae and Caalador on the far side of the room. Xanetia, also in white, sat on the near side with Kalten and Berit. Melidere sat in a small gallery with the nine imperial wives. The clever baroness had carefully cultivated a friendship with Sarabian’s first wife, Cieronna, a member of one of the noblest houses of Tamul proper, and the mother of the crown prince. The friendship had by now grown so close that Melidere was customarily invited to attend state functions in the company of the empresses. Her presence among them
this
time had a serious purpose, however. Sarabian had a wife from each of the nine kingdoms, and it was entirely possible that some of them had been subverted. Sparhawk was fairly certain that the bare-breasted Valesian, Elysoun, was free of any political contamination. She was simply too busy for politics. The Tegan wife, Gahennas, a puritanical lady obsessed with her personal virtue and her staunch republicanism, would probably not even have been approached by conspirators. Torellia of Arjuna, and Chacole of Cynesga, however, were highly suspect. They had both established what might best be called personal courts, liberally sprinkled with nobles from their homelands. Melidere had been instructed to keep a close eye on those two in particular for signs of unusual reactions to the revelation of Zalasta’s true affiliation.

Sparhawk sighed. It was all so complicated. Friends and enemies all looked the same. In the long run, it might turn out that Xanetia’s unusual gift would prove
more valuable than a sudden offer of aid from an entire army.

Vanion, who had unobtrusively stationed himself with the knights lining the walls, reached up and first lowered, then raised, his visor. It was the signal that all their forces were in place. Stragen, who was with his trumpeters behind the dais, nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

Then Sparhawk looked rather closely at Zalasta, the unknowing guest of honor at this affair. The Styric, his eyes apprehensive, sat among the ministers, his white robe looking oddly out of place among all the bright-colored silk mantles. He quite obviously knew that something was afoot, and just as obviously had no idea what it might be. That was something, anyway. At least no one in the inner circle had been subverted. Sparhawk irritably shook that thought off. Under the circumstances, a certain amount of wary suspicion was only natural, but left unchecked it could become a disease. He made a sour face. About one more day of this and he’d begin to suspect himself.