Then, from a narrow street at the edge of the zone of collapsed houses just beyond practical crossbow range, a sizeable number of well-armed men on horseback emerged. The man in the lead was astride a glossy black horse, and he wore embossed Deiran armour. He removed his helmet. It was Martel, and close behind him were the brutish Adus and the weasel-like Krager.
Kurik joined Sparhawk and his blond friend. ‘I can order the soldiers to shoot at them, if you’d like,’ the squire said to Sparhawk. ‘Somebody might get lucky.’
Sparhawk scratched his chin. ‘No, I don’t think so, Kurik,’ he said.
‘You’re passing up an awfully good opportunity, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said. ‘If Martel catches a stray crossbow bolt in the eye, that whole army out there will fall apart.’
‘Not just yet,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Let’s see if I can irritate him just a bit first. Martel sometimes blurts things out when he’s irritated. Let’s see if I can jolt something out of him.’
‘That’s a fair distance for shouting,’ Kalten said.
‘I don’t have to shout,’ Sparhawk smiled.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Kalten complained. ‘It always makes me feel so inadequate.’
‘You should have paid attention to your lessons when you were a novice then.’ Sparhawk focused his attention on the white-haired man and wove the intricate Styric spell. ‘It sort of went to pieces on you, didn’t it, Martel?’ he asked in a conversational tone.
‘Is that you, Sparhawk?’ Martel’s voice was just as conversational as he too utilized the spell they had both learned as novices. ‘So awfully good to hear your voice again, old boy. I didn’t quite follow your comment, though. Things seem to be going fairly well from where I sit.’
‘Why don’t you see how many of your soldiers you can interest in an assault on these walls about now? Take as long as you want, old boy, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘It was really very clever to desert the city, Sparhawk. I wasn’t really expecting that.’
‘We sort of liked it. It must be causing you a great deal of anguish every time you think about all the loot that’s getting away from you, though.’
‘Who said it’s getting away? I made a few speeches to my men. Most of my army’s still under control – out there in the meadows on the other sides of those rivers. I pointed out to them that it’s much easier to let the enterprising types do all the work of looting. Then, when they come out, we take the loot away from them and put it all into a common pile. Everybody will share equally.’
‘Even you?’
‘Oh, good God no, Sparhawk,’ Martel laughed. ‘I’m the general. I take my share first.’
‘The lion’s share?’
‘I am the lion, after all. We’ll all grow very, very wealthy once we break into the treasure vaults below the Basilica.’
‘That’s going a little far even for you, Martel.’
‘Business is business, Sparhawk. You and Vanion stripped me of my honour, so now all I can do is solace myself with money – and satisfaction, of course. I think I’ll have your head mounted when this is all over, my friend.’
‘It’s right here, Martel. All you have to do is come here and claim it. It’s going to take your soldiers a long time to loot the city, and you don’t really have much time to waste.’
‘It won’t take them all that long, Sparhawk. They’re moving along at a very good clip, you know. A man who thinks he’s working for himself is always more industrious.’
‘That’s only the first wave of looters. They’re the ones who are concentrating on gold. The next wave will go looking for silver. Then the third wave will start tearing houses apart looking for the hiding places where people keep valuables. I’d guess that it’s going to be a month or so before they’ve stolen everything in Chyrellos – down to the last brass candlestick. You don’t really have a month, old boy – not with Wargun wandering around out there with half the manpower in Eosia behind him.’
‘Ah yes, Wargun, the drunken King of Thalesia. I’d almost forgotten him. What do you suppose happened to him? It’s so unlike him to be this tardy.’
Sparhawk broke the spell. ‘Order your soldiers to drop some arrows on him, Kurik,’ he said bleakly.
‘What’s the trouble, Sparhawk?’ Kalten asked.
‘Martel’s found some way to keep Wargun away from Chyrellos. We’d better go and advise the Preceptors. I’m afraid we’re all alone here.’
Chapter 13
‘He didn’t say it exactly, Vanion,’ Sparhawk reported. ‘You know how he is, but there was that sort of implied smirk in his voice that he knows is so irritating. We both know Martel well enough to know what he meant.’
‘What exactly did he say again, Sir Sparhawk?’ Dolmant asked.
‘We were talking about Wargun, Your Grace, and he said, “What do you suppose has happened to him? It’s so unlike him to be this tardy.’” Sparhawk did his best to imitate Martel’s intonation.
‘It does have a knowing sort of ring to it, doesn’t it?’ Dolmant agreed. ‘I don’t know Martel as well as the two of you do, but that has the sound of a man who’s terribly pleased with himself.’
‘Sparhawk’s right,’ Sephrenia told them. ‘Martel’s worked out some way to keep Wargun away. The question is how.’
‘How isn’t important, little mother,’ Vanion said. The four of them were sitting together in a small room adjacent to Sir Nashan’s study. ‘What’s important now is keeping this information away from the soldiers. The Church Knights are trained to accept desperate circumstances. The soldiers aren’t. About all they’re clinging to at the moment is the expectation of seeing Wargun’s armies coming across the meadows lying to the west of the River Arruk. The inner city’s not really surrounded yet, and the looters aren’t paying any attention to other people. We could have desertions by the score if word of this gets out. Advise the Church Knights quietly – and in confidence. I’ll tell the other Preceptors.’
‘And I’ll tell Emban and Ortzel,’ Dolmant promised.
The week seemed to drag, although there were many, many things that had to be done. Houses were pulled down and their rubble used to block the three gates which Komier had decided were only marginally defensible. Kurik continued to train selected church soldiers in the use of their crossbows. Berit gathered a group of young monks, and they traded off keeping watch from the cupola atop the Basilica dome. Emban scurried about inside the Basilica itself, trying to maintain his hold on votes, although that grew more and more difficult. None of the defenders had the temerity to refuse the Patriarchs of the Church the right to ascend the walls to look out at the city, and the view from those walls was not very encouraging. A fair number of Patriarchs, several of them in the very forefront of the fight to keep the Primate of Cimmura off the throne, lamented bitterly as the fires approached those quarters of the city in which their houses lay, and not a few told Emban to his face that he could forget about any future support. Emban grew drawn-looking, and he began to complain of pains in his stomach as he watched his support melting before his eyes.