The Diamond Throne

Sparhawk suggested. ‘If he recognizes me, fine. If he doesn’t, the two of you can try to throw me back down the stairs.’ He laid no particular emphasis on the word try .
    The two looked at each other, then one of them opened the door and looked inside. ‘A thousand pardons, my Lord Vanion,’ he apologized, ‘but there’s a Pandion here who calls himself Sparhawk. He says that he wants to talk with you.’
    ‘Good,’ a familiar voice replied from inside the room. ‘I’ve been expecting him. Send him in.’
    The two knights looked abashed and stepped out of Sparhawk’s way.
    ‘Thank you, my brothers,’ Sparhawk murmured to them. ‘Peace be with you.’ And then he went on through the door. The room was large, with stone walls, dark green drapes at the narrow windows, and a carpet of muted brown. A fire crackled in the arched fireplace at one end, and there was a candlelit table surrounded by heavy chairs in the centre. Two people, a man and a woman, sat at the table.
    Vanion, the Preceptor of the Pandion Knights, had aged somewhat in the past ten years. His hair and beard were iron-grey now. There were a few more lines in his face, but there were no signs of feebleness there. He wore a mail shirt and a silver surcoat. As Sparhawk entered the room, he rose and came around the table. ‘I was about to send a rescue party to the palace for you,’ he said, grasping Sparhawk’s armoured shoulders. ‘You shouldn’t have gone there alone, you know.’
    ‘Maybe not, but things worked out all right.’ Sparhawk removed his gauntlets and helmet, laying them on the table. Then he unfastened his sword from its studs and laid it beside them. ‘It’s good to see you again, Vanion,’ he said, taking the older man’s hand in his. Vanion hadalways been a stern teacher, tolerating no shortcomings in the young knights he had trained to take their places in Pandion ranks. Although Sparhawk had come close to hating the man during his novitiate, he now regarded the blunt-spoken preceptor as one of his closest friends, and their handclasp was warm, even affectionate.
    Then the big knight turned to the woman. She was small and had that peculiar neat perfection one sometimes sees in small people. Her hair was as black as night, though her eyes were a deep blue. Her features were obviously not Elene, but had that strangely foreign cast that marked her as a Styric. She wore a soft, white robe, and there was a large book on the table in front of her. ‘Sephrenia,’ he greeted her warmly, ‘you’re looking well.’ He took both of her hands in his and kissed her palms in the ritual Styric gesture of greeting.
    ‘You have been long away, Sir Sparhawk,’ she replied. Her voice was soft and musical and had an odd, lilting quality to it.
    ‘And will you bless me, little mother?’ he asked, a smile touching his battered face. He knelt before her. The form of address was Styric, reflecting that intimate personal connection between teacher and pupil which had existed since the dawn of time.
    ‘Gladly’ She lightly touched her hands to his face and spoke a ritual benediction in the Styric tongue.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.
    Then she did something she rarely did. With her hands still holding his face, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him. ‘Welcome home, dear one,’ she murmured.
    ‘It’s good to be back,’ he replied. ‘I’ve missed you.’
    ‘Even though I scolded you when you were a boy?’ she asked with a gentle smile.
    ‘Scoldings don’t hurt that much.’ He laughed. ‘I even missed those, for some reason.’
    ‘I think that perhaps we did well with this one, Vanion,’ she said to the preceptor. ‘Between us, we’ve made a good Pandion.’
    ‘One of the best,’ Vanion agreed. ‘I think Sparhawk’s what they had in mind when they formed the order.’
    Sephrenia’s position among the Knights Pandion was a peculiar one She had appeared at the gates of the order’s motherhouse at Demos upon the death of the Styric tutor who had been instructing the novices in what the Styrics referred to as the secrets. She had neither been selected nor summoned, but had simply appeared and taken up her predecessor’s duties. Generally, Elenes despised and feared Styrics. They were a strange, alien people who lived in small, rude clusters of houses deep in the forests and mountains. They worshipped strange Gods and practised magic Wild stories about hideous rites involving the use of Elene blood and