The Diamond Throne

‘It has no validity.’ The primate took the parchment in both hands as if he would tear it in two.

‘What’s the penalty for destroying a royal decree, my Lord of Lenda?’ Sparhawk asked mildly.

‘Death.’

‘I rather thought it might be. Go ahead and rip it up, Annias. I’ll be more than happy to carry out the sentence myself – just to save time and the expense of all the tiresome legal proceedings.’ His eyes locked with those of Annias. After a moment, the primate threw the parchment on the table in disgust.

Lycheas had watched all of this with a look of growing chagrin. Then he seemed to notice something for the first time. ‘Your ring, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said in his whining voice. ‘That is your badge of office, is it not?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. Actually the ring – and the Queen’s ring – are symbolic of the link between my family and hers.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘No.’

Lycheas’ eyes bulged. ‘I just gave you a royal command!’ he shouted.

‘No. It was a personal request, Lycheas. You can’t give royal commands, because you’re not the king.’

Lycheas looked uncertainly at the primate, but Annias shook his head slightly. The pimpled young man flushed.

‘The Prince Regent merely wished to examine the ring, Sir Sparhawk,’ the churchman said smoothly. ‘We have sought its mate, the ring of King Aldreas, but it seems to be missing. Would you have any idea where we might find it?’

Sparhawk spread his hands. ‘Aldreas had it on his finger when I left for Cippria,’ he replied. ‘The rings are not customarily taken off, so I assume he was still wearing it when he died.’

‘No. He was not.’

‘Perhaps the Queen has it then.’

‘Not so far as we’re able to determine.’

‘I want that other ring,’ Lycheas insisted, ‘as a symbol of my authority.’

Sparhawk looked at him, his face amused. ‘What authority?’ he asked bluntly. ‘The ring belongs to Queen Ehlana, and if someone tries to take it from her, I imagine that I’ll have to take steps.’ He suddenly felt a faint prickling of his skin. It seemed that the candles in their gold candelabras flickered slightly and the blue-draped council chamber grew perceptibly dimmer. Instantly, he began to mutter under his breath in the Styric tongue, carefully weaving the counterspell even as he searched the faces of the men sitting around the council table for the source of the rather crude attempt at magic. When he released the counterspell, he saw Annias flinch and he smiled bleakly. Then he drew himself up. ‘Now,’ he said, his voice crisp, ‘let’s get down to business. Exactly what happened to King Aldreas?’

The Earl of Lenda sighed. ‘It was the falling-sickness, Sir Sparhawk,’ he replied sadly. ‘The seizures began several months ago, and they grew more and more frequent. The King grew weaker and weaker, and finally –’ He shrugged.

‘He didn’t have the falling-sickness when I left Cimmura,’ Sparhawk said.

‘The onset was sudden,’ Annias said coldly.

‘So it seems. It’s rumoured that the Queen fell ill with the same affliction.’

Annias nodded.

‘Didn’t that strike any of you as odd? There’s never been a history of the disease in the royal family, and isn’t it peculiar that Aldreas didn’t develop symptoms until he was in his forties, and his daughter fell ill when she was little more than eighteen?’

‘I have no medical background, Sparhawk,’ Annias told him. ‘You may question the court physicians if you wish, but I doubt that you’re going to unearth anything that we haven’t already discovered.’

Sparhawk grunted. He looked around the council chamber. ‘I think that covers everything we need to discuss here,’ he said. ‘I’ll see the Queen now.’

‘Absolutely not!’ Lycheas said.

‘I’m not asking you, Lycheas,’ the big knight said firmly. ‘May I have that?’ He pointed at the parchment still lying on the table in front of the primate.

They passed it down to him, and he ran through it quickly. ‘Here it is,’ he said, picking out the sentences he wanted. ‘“You are commanded to present yourself to me immediately upon your return to Cimmura.” That doesn’t leave any room for argument, does it?’

‘What are you up to, Sparhawk?’ the primate asked suspiciously.

‘I’m just obeying orders, your Grace. I’m commanded by the Queen to present myself to her and I’m going to do precisely that.’

‘The door to the throne room is locked,’ Lycheas snapped. The smile Sparhawk gave him was almost benign. ‘That’s all right, Lycheas,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a key.’ He put his hand suggestively on the silver-bound hilt of his sword.

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘Try me.’

Annias cleared his throat. ‘If I may speak, your Highness?’ he said.

‘Of course, your Grace,’ Lycheas replied quickly. ‘The crown is always open to the advice and counsel of the Church.’

‘Crown?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘A formula, Sir Sparhawk,’ Annias told him. ‘Prince Lycheas speaks for the crown for as long as the Queen is incapacitated.’

‘Not to me, he doesn’t.’

Annias turned back towards Lycheas. ‘It is the advice of the Church that we accede to the somewhat churlish request of the Queen’s Champion,’ he said. ‘Let no one accuse us of incivility. Moreover, the Church advises that the Prince Regent and all of the council accompany Sir Sparhawk to the throne room. He is reputed to be adept at certain forms of magic, and – to protect the Queen’s life – we must not permit him to employ precipitously those arts without full consultation with the court physicians.’

Lycheas made some pretence of thinking it over. Then he rose to his feet. ‘It shall be as you advise, then, your Grace,’ he declared. ‘You are directed to accompany us, Sir Sparhawk.’

‘Directed?’

Lycheas ignored that and swept regally towards the door.

Sparhawk let Baron Harparin and the fat man in red pass, then fell in beside Primate Annias. He was smiling in a relaxed fashion, but there was little in the way of good humour in the low voice that came from between his teeth. ‘Don’t ever try that again, Annias,’ he said.

‘What?’ The primate sounded startled.

‘Your magic. You’re not very good at it in the first place, and it irritates me to have to waste the effort of countering the work of amateurs. Besides, churchmen are forbidden to dabble in magic, as I recall.’

‘You have no proof, Sparhawk.’

‘I don’t need proof, Annias. My oath as a Pandion Knight would be sufficient in any civil or ecclesiastical court. Why don’t we just leave it there? But don’t mutter any more incantations in my direction.’

With Lycheas in the lead, the council and Sparhawk went down a candlelit corridor to the broad double doors of the throne room. When they reached the doors, Lycheas took a key from inside his doublet and unlocked them. ‘All right,’ he said to Sparhawk. ‘It’s open. Go present yourself to your Queen – for all the good it’s going to do you.’

Sparhawk reached up and took a burning candle from a silver sconce jutting from the wall of the corridor and went into the dark room beyond the doors.