Author's note:
It's definitely been too long since I updated this story. Originally, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but since so much time has passed and it's at a point where a chapter could be ended, I've decided to keep it the same length as the previous chapters and start a new one.

I got extremely busy at the beginning of 2006, and taught my first college history course that fall. I started a history PhD program in September 2007. I will be contributing more to my pieces from this point on, but over the next two or three years will only be able to work on my fan fiction or original fiction during semester breaks. Since breaks aren't necessarily opportunities for doctoral candidates to completely kick back, I'm sure I won't be devoting all of my free time to fiction writing, original or not. Still, I plan on giving myself over to this as often as I can. I'm working on the next chapter as you read this one: hopefully it will be finished before the new year. Cheers, folks!


Chapter Three

The weather was dismal, as it always was this time of year. The seat of the kingdom of Elenia bathed in the gloomy mists of early spring in the morning, the torches hissing as flame and water met. An alert watchman would have noticed a lone figure headed toward the gate. He was a large man, who by appearances was obviously trained in the art of war. He was wrapped in heavy traveling cloak as a barrier against the wind. A warhorse of dread countenance bore him.

The rider approaching the city sighed in resignation. It seemed that his homecomings, regardless of the time of year, would always be greeted with poor weather. He was not generally a superstitious man, having been raised a son of the Elene Church, but his life was an extraordinary one, even for a Church Knight. So whenever the rain home accompanied his arrival home, he entertained himself by imagining some new adventure, filled with elaborate plots, colorful characters and concepts that, by their very nature, bordered on the heretical.

The exercise was frivolous, but it certainly beat thinking about the paperwork awaiting him at the palace or—God forbid—the chapter house.

As the knight approached the north gate, his keen hearing picked up scuffling sounds coming from the gatehouse. Halting his horse, the man dismounted and crept with deadly silence to the door of the guard station. With amazing speed, he drew his sword and wrenched open the door, prepared to assist the watchman under duress.

It was with great surprise, then, that his heroism was greeted with a decidedly feminine shriek.

After a moment of frenzied dressing and fervently uttered apologies, the guard emerged from the gatehouse, cringing violently.

"M-my apologies M-my L-I mean P-prince Sparhawk." He stammered nervously. He took a deep breath and continued. "Welcome home."

Sparhawk inclined his head. "It's good to be back, neighbor," he replied. "Although we're in peacetime, it is customary for more than one guard to man this gate. Do you mind telling me where your partner is?" The guard winced. "He went to the privy, Your Highness." He grinned sheepishly, hoping the Prince would understand. "He said he'd only be gone for five minutes." He motioned with his eyes to the gatehouse.

Sparhawk's expression didn't change, and the guard gulped audibly. At this point the other guard returned, his face filled with anticipation for a tantalizing tale, until he noticed the additional—and one would dare say intimidating—presence of the Prince Consort. The returning guard's greeting was very similar to his partner's, including the stuttering.

"Good to see your stomach's no longer a problem, young man," Sparhawk quipped. He stalked back to his horse and mounted. The big man nudged his horse over to the waiting guards. Standing over them, he glared menacingly, causing the guards, who were definitely no more than boys, to cringe. "While God appreciates your willingness to be fruitful and multiply, boys," He growled, "I'm sure he would understand if you kept your loins in check until you've retired to your quarters for the night."

The guards lowered their heads, shamefaced. "Yes, Your Highness. It won't happen again, Prince Sparhawk."

"I'm most certain it will not. I don't know what silly ass made the schedule, but two men with your lack of experience should never share the watch. I'll see to that immediately." Sparhawk paused, as if thinking of some grand idea. The embarrassed men waited with bated breath, anticipating further punishment. "I was tempted to report this incident to your superiors, but I think you may have already learned your lesson. I will be sure to arrange for the two of you to perform your duties separately and with more senior staff. I'll check with them from time to time, just to make sure you're both progressing, of course."

Upon hearing the Prince Consort's decision to show mercy, the two young guards blubbered their thanks. The one caught in the compromising position went so far as to sink to his knees in gratitude and praise Sparhawk for his wisdom.

"Get out of the rain, both of you," he said in a gentler tone of voice. "It won't do for watchmen to catch cold." With that business concluded, Sparhawk nudged his horse forward again and entered the city.

It was a testament to his training as a Pandion Knight that Sparhawk did not allow himself to laugh at the incident until he was certain he was no longer in earshot. It was probably the most humorous return to Cimmura he'd ever experienced, and it would certainly be a great story to relate to Kalten when they met up again. The two men had probably been involved in more serious shenanigans during their novitiates with the Pandion Order, which is why Sparhawk didn't consider punishing the guardsmen for dereliction of duty. He was serious about splitting them up, however, and made a mental note to take care of that as soon as the city awoke.

From the gate, the ride to the palace passed without incident, so the Pandion was able to let his mind wander over recent events.

Much had changed since his return from the Tamul Empire, and the Church was in the center, or at least marginally involved in most of it. Lord Abriel's death on the coast of the Daresian continent had plunged the Cyrinic Order into a five-month mourning period characteristic of the passionate Arcians. It would have lasted longer had the pragmatic business of selecting a successor not intruded upon the dramatic scene. As preceptor of the Pandion Knights, it was Sparhawk's duty to attend the investiture of a brother preceptor, and so it was with much pomp and circumstance that he journeyed to the holy city of Chyrellos to witness the event. Had it been up to him, he would have simply saddled Faran, grabbed his squire and headed off, but his station as preceptor—not to mention Prince Consort—had precluded any such abandonment of duty to ritual.

As the queen loved ceremonies and had insisted upon attending herself, Sparhawk simply resigned himself to an entourage, but as he'd done many times in the past, haggled Ehlana down to acceptable numbers of courtiers and knights to accompany them both. The large knight had counted it a victory that the knights outnumbered the courtiers nearly two to one. That Kalten was along for the trip meant that he could rely upon the man he trusted above all else in combat, save his long-dead squire, Kurik.

The journey to the seat of spiritual power in Eosia passed without incident, which made Sparhawk and Kalten breathe a sigh of relief. As a married man wed to a woman he actually loved, Kalten now truly understood how seriously Sparhawk took his devotion to protecting his wife. Alean, now a member of court as a titled noble and no longer a lady maid, continued to attend the queen and princess as she'd always done, though in more expensive clothing. She was clearly uncomfortable with her elevation to any exalted station above that of servant, but her love for Sparhawk's childhood friend and desire to make an honest knight out of him made it fairly easy for the normally timid woman to accept a barony from her queen. It only took one challenge to a discourteous courtier to silence any snobbery toward Kalten's wife, though Sparhawk was certain that his friend would have enjoyed roughing up more than one puffed up popinjay.

According to custom, the Cyrinic Order had sent a list of candidates for the vacated preceptorship to the Archprelate. Until the ceremony commenced, no one but Sarathi knew who the head of the Order would be. Sparhawk had been simmering with impatience by the time he and Kalten helped their wives from the royal carriage and escorted them into the Basilica. They'd only patched up decades-long differences between the militant orders over the last few years, and there was no telling how relations between them would fare, now that a new knight would lead the Cyrinics. The night of their arrival, Sparhawk received an invitation from Patriarch Bergsten to dine with his fellow preceptors in order to discuss that very subject. In the years since the orders had dispatched their individual champions to aid the Pandion in his quest to restore Ehlana to her throne, Archprelate Dolmont conferred upon Bergsten a special office—that of keeping the militant orders working in concert, a role which he took very seriously. Bergsten's role in administering the four orders, not to mention his personality, presented the invitation as an unbreakable command. It wasn't until after receiving an exhortation—more of a warning, really—to embrace the new Cyrinic Preceptor that Sparhawk was able to join Sirs Kalten and Berit in their mini-reunion with his friends from the other orders: Sir Tynian of the Alcoine Order and Sir Ulath the Genedian. He knew he could count on these men to inject some old fashioned humor into the seriousness of the next day's proceedings. Sir Bevier of the Cyrinic order was greatly missed, but as he was to receive his new preceptor in the morning, they knew he would spend his evening in prayer and contemplation.

"We really need to get that man a wife, Sparhawk," Kalten said between mouthfuls of roast beef. "Too much prayer can corrupt a man."

His friends laughed and heartily agreed.

The following morning, the Prince Consort installed Queen Ehlana in the area of the nave reserved for monarchs, at the very front in an ornate pew to the right of the aisle. From the expression on her face, a look of appropriately arranged reverence for the occasion with a peculiar glint in her gray eyes, the big Pandion knew his wife was composing a speech, just in case. Kalten escorted Alean to her seat with the nobility, which put her directly behind the Queen of Elenia, and joined the ranks of Pandions in their pews on the left behind the Cyrinic Order, who, as recipients of the newest preceptor, sat directly behind the preceptors on the left side of the nave. On his way to his seat next to Komier, the Genedian preceptor, Sparhawk's gaze swept over the pews of knights. Because all were in ceremonial dress, but not armor, it was fairly easy to recognize his friends in the dense crowd. Still, it never occurred to him that any of them were missing until the ceremony began. It wasn't until Sir Bevier stepped out of the shadows to speak his vows in front of the Archprelate and those in attendance that reality dawned on Sparhawk and his friends.

When he, Darelleon and Komier were called forward to welcome him as a brother, Sparhawk had hugged his friend a little tighter than the others and whispered, "We've managed to keep you out of the priesthood, Bevier. Now, all we need to do is find you a wife."

None of his fellow Cyrinics were ever able to find out why Preceptor Bevier blushed so furiously that day.

Before the entourage left the holy city, Sparhawk did manage to meet with Bevier. Sir Bevier was still a little shocked at the turn of events, and had spent hours before and after the ceremony in silent prayer deep in the confines of his order's chapter house. The olive skinned man had been on the verge of renouncing his spurs for the cassock for a number of years. He had a strong desire to spread the Elene faith as well as defend it, but his friends secretly felt he was not cut out for a life of quiet reflection and humble ministry to a host of believers.

As a noble, Bevier would most likely find himself shepherd to the vainest flock on the continent; one self-centered bleating too many, and he would accidentally reach for his Lochaber axe when blessing a particularly irksome courtier. Bevier's nature of balanced passion and restraint, not to mention his talent for military strategy, made him a natural as a Church Knight. In hindsight Sparhawk was not surprised to see his friend invested as the Cyrinic preceptor. As they parted, they made plans for an official visit as preceptors of their respective orders, but the wink Bevier gave him assured Sparhawk that they would also meet as friends.

As his last task before leaving Chyrellos, Sparhawk had selected a number of Pandions to remain at the chapter house and choose others to return to Cimmura. Upon his return from Daresia, he'd made the decision to institute a rotating schedule for his knights to garrison at various Pandion strongholds. Knights who were stationed at the heart of the Elene church too long had a tendency to get a little soft, and in the years following the incredible loss of men by Klæl's hand, lazy knights were more of a liability. Other than house masters or the very old and infirm, all knights were subject to this ruling. Kalten had grumbled more than a little during his three-month stint at the motherhouse in Demos, even though Sparhawk was there with him.

Those Pandions bound for Cimmura said goodbye to their friends and comrades, including Sir Berit, who looked on with an envious expression as friends with whom he'd shared so many adventure left without him. Along with the knights bound for Cimmura, Sparhawk had welcomed Ulath and Tynian along for the trip. The train winded back at a leisurely base, which gave them all a chance to continue the conversations begun the evening. With the group of knights trotting along side the carriage, it almost felt like the old days of plotting and scheming on tow different continents. Tynian had begun the trip with a particularly stormy face.

"You don't look particularly happy to leave our holy city, Sir Knight," Ehlana remarked from her perch in the carriage, an impish look on her face.

"On the contrary, my Queen," Tynian replied. "I'm very relieved. I didn't think I'd ever get to leave."

"It is the seat of our faith, Sir Tynian," an older Pandion riding nearby answered.

"I don't mind visiting every once and a while, brother Knight, but three months is an eternity."

Sparhawk maintained a straight face. He looked back and found Kalten riding with a few Pandions with whom they'd trained as novices. Certain that the blonde man would not arrive to spoil his fun, he inquired about Tynian's predicament. "Three months?"

"Darelleon somehow got it into his head that our order needed to start rotating personnel among our chapter houses. Something about knights getting soft if they stayed in Chyrellos too long. I was among those sent to Chyrellos over the winter." Tynian grimaced. "There's very little to do in the winter except avoiding lazy functionaries with an agenda and prayer. It's probably a Cyrinic idea."

"God appreciates your sacrifice," Ulath said piously.

"When's your tour?" Tynian asked pointedly. I heard tell Komier's planned to follow suit."

Ulath emitted a grunt that sounded very close to "summer."

Sparhawk was more than amused at his friends' discomfort. "We're supposed to welcome a tenure in the holiest city in the world," he offered.

"Holy? It's about as dirty as the back alleys of Cimmura." Tynian looked over at the Queen ruefully. "No offence, your Majesty."

"Let me think about that for a moment, Tynian," Ehlana sniffed.

The caravan arrived at Demos in good time, stopping at the Pandion Motherhouse in the early afternoon. Sparhawk tarried long enough to rotate knights and receive an account of the novitiates' progress from the head trainers. He made a special point to look in on a few of the young men personally. Sparhawk didn't need to hear a report to know Kurik's sons were showing up their fellow trainees as usual. Talen, his late squire's youngest, had begun his novitiate after their return from Daresia. It was a rare time of the week when neither classes nor field training captured the trainees' attention. A group of novices had recently seen Talen in the mess hall, so it was there that Sparhawk first sought his youngest charge. The boy had staked his territory at a long, wooden table, jealously guarding the vestiges of the midday meal. Standing nearby was an older male, another of Kurik's boys, speaking with several men the Pandion recognized as trainers. The eldest trainer was the first to notice Sparhawk approach, and quickly strode forward to greet the head of the order.

"Well met, your Grace," he stated with a formal bow. Sparhark inclined his head in acknowledgement. He served his novitiate with this one. Sepan was his name, if memory served. He was always too formal for his own good, and Kalten had been certain his piety would send him into a monastery before his novitiate was over. In the end, Sepan stayed in thed order, but elected to turn his life over to teaching future knights after a few years in the field. He turned out to be one of the Pandion's best teachers, and scores of church knights owed their continued existence to his training.

The other trainers followed with greetings of their own before the group entire made their way out of the mess hall. Only Sparhawk, Talen, and his brother, Michel, were left at the table. The grumble in Sparhawk's stomach inspired him to grab an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table as he sat down.

"How is Demos treating you, Talen?" Sparhawk inquired. Despite the lapses in the young lad's upbringing, Talen was an incredibly intelligent boy, and the big Pandion was fond of him.

Talen looked around before gesturing with the sandwich he was eating —his second in the last twenty minutes. The young thief was still a little sullen about his enforced change in career, but he only said as much to Sparhawk after his trainers were out of earshot.

"Is it really necessary for them to kick you out of bed at the crack of dawn?" he complained. "Between the classroom work and the practice field, the chapel and chores, I barely have any time to eat, let alone sleep."

"God appreciates your sacrifice, my son," Michel intoned piously. He looked over at Sparhawk with a benign expression. "He's still a ne'er do well, Lord Preceptor. I'm afraid my little brother is hopeless."

Talen choked on his lunch. "Hopeless?"

Michel laughed uproariously. "He's actually doing pretty well, Sparhawk. He's a little behind on sword work because he started later than his classmates, but we're putting him through his paces, so he can catch up." Talen glowered at his brother behind his massive sandwich.

Sparhawk approved of the way Kurik's sons stuck together. Kalten was the closest he had to a brother and, having been raised in Sparhawk's home after his own parents had died, had watched his back for over twenty years. It was comforting, really. "Good," he said, getting up from his seat. Is Khalad here, or has he gone to visit your mothers?"

"Neither, actually," answered Talen. "He got your message to meet him at your estate, so he left this morning. If there's any fresh bread baking, though, he may have stopped off at home on the way."

Sparhawk grunted as he shifted his mail shirt back into position. Grabbing another apple for Faran and one for the road, he made ready to leave. "Give your brothers my regards, boys. I'd better catch up with Khalad before he starts on about nobles and tardiness." He clasped Michel on the shoulder. "Keep that boy out of trouble," he added, and headed out of the room.

"Sparhawk's getting old," Talen muttered mutinously. "He never used to grunt so much."

The young thief didn't notice the apple sailing through the air until it hit him on the back of his head.

"Apparently not," said Michel, looking down as Talen picked himself off the floor.


Original Characters
Michel (same as "Michael") One of Kurik's sons, eldest save Khalad
Sepan (seh-pan): Pandion's chief trainer at Demos