‘New embellishments?’ Ehlana asked with some surprise.

‘Rewards for services rendered, Ehlana,’ Sarabian smiled. ‘It seemed appropriate. Duke Caalador’s accepted a position in the Ministry of the Interior, so he’s gone back to Lebas to settle up his affairs there.’

‘And Stragen?’

‘He’s on his way to Astel, your Majesty,’ Baroness Melidere replied with a bleak smile. ‘He said that he wants to have a few words with Elron.’

‘Did Elron manage to get out of Natayos alive?’ Kalten sounded surprised. ‘Ekrasios said that the Shining Ones had obliterated the place.’

‘The word Caalador picked up was that Elron hid out somewhere while the Shining Ones were dissolving Scarpa and Cyzada. Then, after they were gone, he crept out of the ruins and bolted for home. Stragen’s going to look him up.’ The Baroness looked at Khalad. ‘Krager got out as well,’ she told him. ‘Caalador found out that he was bound for Zenga in eastern Cammoria. There’s something you should know about Krager, though.’

‘Oh?’

‘Do you remember how King Wargun died?’

‘His liver finally gave out on him, didn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘The same thing’s happening to Krager. Caalador talked with a man named Orden in the town of Delo. Krager was completely out of his head when they put him on the ship bound for Zenga.’

‘He’s still alive, though, isn’t he?’ Khalad asked bleakly.

‘If you can call it that,’ she sighed. ‘Let it go, Khalad. He wouldn’t even feel it if you ran your sword through him. He wouldn’t know who you were or why you were killing him.’

‘Thank you, Baroness,’ Khalad said, ‘but I think that when we get back to Eosia, Berit and I’ll run on down to Zenga just to make sure. Krager’s gotten away from us just a few too many times to take any chances. I want to see him in the ground.’

‘Can I come too?’ Talen asked eagerly.

‘No,’ Khalad replied.

‘What do you mean, no?’

‘It’s time for you to start your novitiate.’

‘That can wait.’

‘No, it can’t. You’re already a half a year late. If you don’t start training now, you’ll never become proficient.’

Vanion looked approvingly at Sparhawk’s squire. ‘Don’t forget what we talked about earlier, Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘And pass my recommendation on to Dolmant.’

‘What’s this?’ Khalad asked.

‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Sparhawk replied.

‘Oh, by the way, Ehlana,’ Sarabian said, ‘as long as the subject’s come up anyway, would you be put out with me if I bestowed a title on your little song-bird here?’ He smiled fondly at Alean. ‘I certainly hope not, dear heart, because I’m going to do it anyway – for outstanding service to the Empire, if nothing else.’

‘What a splendid idea, Sarabian!’ Ehlana exclaimed.

‘I can’t really take much credit for the notion of the titles, I’m afraid.’ he admitted a bit ruefully. ‘Actually, they were your daughter’s idea. Her Royal Highness is a very strong-minded little girl.’

Sparhawk glanced briefly at his daughter and then at Flute. They wore identical expressions of smug self-satisfaction. Divine Aphrael clearly would not let anything stand in the way of her match-making. Sparhawk smiled briefly and then cleared his throat. ‘Ah – your Majesty,’ he said to the Emperor, ‘it’s growing rather late, and we’re all tired. I’d suggest that we continue this tomorrow.’

‘Of course, Prince Sparhawk,’ Sarabian agreed, rising to his feet.

‘A word with you, Sparhawk?’ Patriarch Emban said as the others started to file out.

‘Of course.’ They waited until they were alone in the room.

‘What are we going to do about Vanion and Sephrenia?’ Emban asked.

‘I don’t exactly follow you, your Grace.’

‘This so-called marriage is going to put Dolmant in a very difficult position, you know.’

‘It’s not a “so-called marriage”, Emban,’ Sparhawk said firmly, cutting across the formalities.

‘You know what I mean. The conservatives in the Hierocracy will probably try to use it to weaken Sarathi’s position.’

‘Why tell them, then? It’s none of their business. A lot of things that our theology can’t explain have happened here in Tamuli, your Grace. The Empire’s outside the jurisdiction of our Church, so why tell the Hierocracy anything about them?’

‘I can’t just lie to them, Sparhawk.’

‘I didn’t suggest that. Just don’t talk about it.’

‘I have to report to Dolmant.’

‘That’s all right. He’s flexible.’ Sparhawk considered it. ‘That’s probably your best course anyway. We’ll take Dolmant off to one side and tell him about everything that’s happened here. We’ll let him decide how much to tell the Hierocracy.’

‘You’re putting an awful burden on him, Sparhawk.’

Sparhawk shrugged. ‘That’s what he gets paid for, isn’t it? Now if you’ll excuse me, your Grace, there’s a family reunion going on that I should probably attend.’

There was a melancholy sense of endings for the next several weeks. They were all fully aware of the fact that once the weather broke, most of them would be leaving Matherion. The likelihood that they would ever gather again was very slight. They savored their moments together, and there were frequent private little interludes when two or perhaps three of them would gather in out-of-the way places, ostensibly to talk at great length about inconsequential matters, but in fact to cement faces, the sounds of voices, and very personal connections forever in their memories.

Sparhawk entered the sitting-room one blustery morning to find Sarabian and Oscagne with their heads together over a bound book of some kind. There was a certain outrage in their expressions. ‘Trouble?’ Sparhawk asked.

‘Politics,’ Sarabian said sourly. ‘That’s always trouble.’

‘The Contemporary History Department at the University has just published their version of recent events, Prince Sparhawk,’ Oscagne explained. ‘There’s very little truth in it – particularly in light of the fact that Pondia Subat, our esteemed Prime Minister, turns out to be a hero.’