The Diamond Throne

didn’t think she knew how.’
    ‘She was only eight at the time, Kurik, and quite fond of me, for some reason.’
    ‘You have that effect on a few people.’ Kurik looked at Sparhawk’s plate. ‘Have you had all of that you want?’
    Sparhawk nodded.
    ‘Then get you to bed. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.’
    It was much later. The room was faintly lit with the orange coals of the banked fire, and Kurik’s regular breathing came from the cot on the other side of the room. The insistent, nagging bang of an unlatched shutter swinging freely in the wind several streets over had set some brainless dog to barking, and Sparhawk lay, still half-bemused by sleep, patiently waiting for the dog to grow wet enough or weary enough of his entertainment to seek his kennel again.
    Since it had been Krager he had seen in the square, there was no absolute certainty that Martel was in Cimmura. Krager was an errand boy and was frequently half a continent away from Martel. Had it been the brutal Adus who had crossed that rainy square, there would beno question as to Martel’s presence in the city. Of necessity, Adus had to be kept on a short leash.
    Krager would not be hard to find. He was a weak man with the usual vices and the usual predictability of weak men. Sparhawk smiled bleakly into the darkness. Krager would be easy to find and Krager would know where Martel could be found. It would be a simple matter to drag that information out of him.
    Moving quietly to avoid waking his sleeping squire, Sparhawk swung his legs out of the bed and crossed silently to the window to watch the rain slant past into the deserted, lantern-lit courtyard below. Absently he wrapped his hand about the silver-bound hilt of the broadsword standing beside his formal armour. It felt good – like taking the hand of an old friend.
    Dimly, as always, there was a remembered sound of the bells. It had been the bells he had followed that night in Cippria. Sick and hurt and alone, stumbling through the dung-reeking night in the stockyards, he had half-crawled towards the sound of the bells. He had come to the wall and had followed it, his good hand on the ancient stones, until he had come to the gate, and there he had fallen.
    Sparhawk shook his head. That had been a long time ago. It was strange that he could still remember the bells so clearly He stood with his hand on his sword, looking out at the tag end of night, watching it rain and remembering the sound of the bells.

Chapter 2
    Sparhawk was dressed in his formal armour, and he strode clanking back and forth in the candlelit room to settle it into place. ‘I’d forgotten how heavy this is,’ he said.
    ‘You’re getting soft,’ Kurik told him. ‘You need a month or two on the practice field to toughen you up. Are you sure you want to wear it?’
    ‘It’s a formal occasion, Kurik, and formal occasions demand formal dress. Besides, I don’t want any confusion in anybody’s mind when I get there. I’m the Queen’s Champion, and I’m supposed to wear armour when I present myself to her.’
    ‘They won’t let you in to see her,’ Kurik predicted, picking up his lord’s helmet.
    ‘Won’t let?’
    ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Sparhawk. You’re going to be all alone.’
    ‘Is the Earl of Lenda still on the council?’
    Kurik nodded. ‘He’s old, and he doesn’t have much authority, but he’s too much respected for Annias to dismiss him.’
    ‘I’ll have one friend there anyway.’ Sparhawk took his helmet from his squire and settled it in place. He pushed up his visor.
    Kurik went to the window to pick up Sparhawk’ssword and shield. ‘The rain’s letting up,’ he noted, ‘and it’s starting to get light.’ He came back, laid the sword and shield on the table and picked up the silver-coloured surcoat. ‘Hold out your arms,’ he instructed.
    Sparhawk spread his arms wide, and Kurik draped the surcoat over his shoulders, then he laced up the sides. He then took up the long sword belt and wrapped it twice about his lord’s waist. Sparhawk picked up his sheathed sword. ‘Did you sharpen this?’ he asked.
    Kurik gave him a flat stare
    ‘Sorry.’ Sparhawk locked the scabbard onto the heavy steel studs on the belt and shifted it around into place on his left side.
    Kurik fastened the long black cape to the shoulder plates of the armour, then stepped back and looked Sparhawk up and down appraisingly. ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring your