The man in the maroon doublet shrank back. ‘A-at once, Sir Sparhawk,’ he stammered. He turned then and led the way down the broad central corridor. His shoulders were visibly trembling. Sparhawk noted that the functionary was not leading him towards the throne room, but rather towards the council chamber where King Aldreas had customarily met with his advisors. A faint smile touched the big man’s lips as he surmised that the presence of the young Queen sitting encased in crystal on the throne might have had a dampening effect on her cousin’s attempts to usurp her crown.

They reached the door to the council chamber and found it guarded by two men wearing the red livery of the church – the soldiers of the Primate Annias. The two automatically crossed their pikes to bar entry to the chamber.

‘The Queen’s Champion to see the Prince Regent,’ the functionary said to them, his voice shrill.

‘We have had no orders to admit the Queen’s Champion,’ one of them declared.

‘You have now,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Open the door.’

The man in the maroon doublet made a move as if to scurry away, but Sparhawk caught his arm. ‘I haven’t dismissed you yet, neighbour,’ he said. Then he looked at the guards. ‘Open the door,’ he repeated.

It hung there for a long moment, while the guards looked first at Sparhawk and then nervously at each other. Then one of them swallowed hard and, fumbling with his pike, he reached for the door handle.

‘You’ll need to announce me,’ Sparhawk told the man whose arm he still held firmly in his gauntleted fist. ‘We wouldn’t want to surprise anyone, would we?’

The man’s eyes were a little wild. He stepped into the open doorway and cleared his throat. ‘The Queen’s Champion,’ he blurted with his words tumbling out over each other. ‘The Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk.’

‘Thank you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said. ‘You can go now.’

The functionary bolted.

The council chamber was very large and was carpeted and draped in blue. Large candelabras lined the walls, and there were more candles on the long, polished table in the centre of the room. Three men sat at the table with documents before them, but the fourth had half-risen from his chair.

The man on his feet was the Primate Annias. The churchman had grown leaner in the ten years since Sparhawk had last seen him, and his face looked grey and emaciated. His hair was tied back from his face and was now shot with silver. He wore a long black cassock, and the bejewelled pendant of his office as Primate of Cimmura hung from a thick gold chain about his neck. His eyes were wide with surprised alarm as Sparhawk entered the room.