The Ruby Knight

‘Lead on, Sir Knight,’ Sparhawk said, clanking down from Faran’s back. He leaned his lance against the wall of the stable, hung his silver-embossed black shield on his saddle and handed his reins to a waiting groom.

They went up a broad stone staircase and through the pair of massive doors at its top. The hallway beyond was torchlit, and the stones of its walls were massive. ‘Did you warn that groom?’ Kalten asked, falling in beside Sparhawk, his long black cape swirling about his ankles.

‘About what?’

‘Your horse’s disposition.’

‘I forgot,’ Sparhawk confessed. ‘He’ll find out on his own, I imagine.’

‘He probably already has.’

The room to which the Lamork knight led them was bleak. In many respects it was more like an armoury than living quarters. Swords and axes hung on the walls, and pikes in clusters of a dozen or so leaned in the corners. A fire burned in a huge, vaulted fireplace, and the few chairs were heavy and unpadded. There was no carpeting on the floor, and a number of huge wolf-hounds dozed here and there.

Baron Alstrom was a grim-faced, melancholy-looking man. His black hair and beard were shot with grey. He wore a mail-coat and had a broadsword at his waist. His surcoat was black and elaborately embroidered in red, and like the knight in the pig-faced helmet, he wore boots.

Their escort bowed stiffly. ‘By good fortune, My Lord, I encountered these Knights of the Church no more than a league from your walls. They were gracious enough to accompany me here.’

‘Did we have any choice?’ Kalten muttered.

The Baron rose from his chair with a movement made clumsy by the encumbrance of armour and sword. ‘Greetings, Sir Knights,’ he said, in a voice without much warmth. ‘It was indeed fortuitous that Sir Enmann encountered you so near this stronghold. The forces of mine enemy will presently besiege me here, and my brother must be safely away before they come.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ Sparhawk replied, removing his black helmet and looking after the departing Lamork in the chain-coat. ‘Sir Enmann advised us of the circumstances. Might it not have been more prudent, however, to have sent your brother on his way with an escort of your own troops? It was only a chance meeting that brought us to your gate ahead of your enemies.’

Alstrom shook his head. ‘The warriors of Count Gerrich would certainly attack my men on sight. Only under escort of the Knights of the Church will my brother be safe, Sir – ?’

‘Sparhawk.’

Alstrom looked briefly surprised. ‘The name is not unknown to us,’ he said. He looked inquiringly at the others, and Sparhawk made the introductions.

‘An oddly assorted party, Sir Sparhawk,’ Alstrom observed after he had bowed perfunctorily to Sephrenia. ‘But is it wise to take the lady and the two children on a journey that might involve danger?’

‘The lady is essential to our purpose,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The little girl is under her care, and the boy is her page. She would not leave them behind.’

‘Page?’ he heard Talen whisper to Berit. ‘I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a new one.’

‘Hush,’ Berit whispered back.

‘What astonishes me even more, however,’ Alstrom continued, ‘is the fact that all four of the militant orders are represented here. Relations between the orders have not been cordial of late, I’ve been told.’

‘We are embarked upon a quest which directly involves the Church,’ Sparhawk explained, taking off his gauntlets. ‘It is of such pressing urgency that our Preceptors brought us together that we might by our unity prevail.’

‘The unity of the Church Knights, like that of the Church herself, is long overdue,’ a harsh voice said from the far side of the room. A Churchman stepped out of the shadows. His black cassock was plain, even severe, and his hollow-cheeked face was bleakly ascetic. His hair was pale blond, streaked with grey, and it fell straight to his shoulders, appearing to have been hacked off at that point with the blade of a knife.

‘My brother,’ Alstrom introduced him, ‘the Patriarch Ortzel of Kadach.’

Sparhawk bowed, his armour creaking slightly. ‘Your Grace,’ he said.

‘This Church matter you mentioned interests me,’ Ortzel said, coming forward into the light. ‘What can it be that is of such urgency that it impels the Preceptors of the four orders to set aside old enmities and to send their champions forth as one?’

Sparhawk thought only a moment, then gambled. ‘Is Your Grace perhaps acquainted with Annias, Primate of Cimmura?’ he asked, depositing his gauntlets in his helmet.

Ortzel’s face hardened. ‘We’ve met,’ he said flatly.

‘We’ve also had that pleasure,’ Kalten said drily, ‘often enough to more than satisfy me, at least.’

Ortzel smiled briefly. ‘I gather that our opinions of the good Primate more or less coincide,’ he suggested.

‘Your Grace is perceptive,’ Sparhawk noted smoothly. ‘The Primate of Cimmura aspires to a position in the Church for which our Preceptors feel he is unqualified.’

‘I have heard of his aspirations in that direction.’

‘This is the main thrust of our quest, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘The Primate of Cimmura is deeply involved in the politics of Elenia. The lawful queen of that realm is Ehlana, daughter to the late King Aldreas. She is, however, gravely ill, and Primate Annias controls the royal council – which means, of course, that he also controls the royal treasury. It is his access to that treasury that fuels his hopes to ascend the throne of the Archprelacy. He has more or less unlimited funds at his disposal, and certain members of the Hierocracy have proved to be susceptible to his blandishments. It is our mission to restore the queen to health so that she might once again take the rulership of her kingdom into her own hands.’

‘An unseemly state of affairs,’ Baron Alstrom observed disapprovingly. ‘No kingdom should be ruled by a woman.’

‘I have the honour to be the queen’s champion, My Lord,’ Sparhawk declared, ‘and, I hope, her friend as well. I have known her since she was a child, and I assure you that Ehlana is no ordinary woman. She has more steel in her than almost any other monarch in all of Eosia. Once she is restored to health, she will be more than a match for the Primate of Cimmura. She will cut off his access to the treasury as easily as she would snip off a stray lock of hair, and without that money, the Primate’s hopes die.’

‘Then your quest is a noble one, Sir Sparhawk,’ Patriarch Ortzel approved, ‘but why has it brought you to Lamorkand?’

‘May I speak frankly, Your Grace?’

‘Of course.’

‘We have recently discovered that Queen Ehlana’s illness is not of natural origin, and to cure her, we must resort to extreme measures.’

‘You’re speaking too delicately, Sparhawk,’ Ulath growled, removing his Ogre-horned helmet. ‘What my Pandion brother is trying to say, Your Grace, is that Queen Ehlana has been poisoned, and that we’ll have to use magic to bring her back to health.’

‘Poisoned?’ Ortzel paled. ‘Surely you do not suspect Primate Annias?’

‘Everything points that way, Your Grace,’ Tynian said, pushing back his blue cape. ‘The details are tedious, but we have strong evidence that Annias was behind it all.’

‘You must bring these charges before the Hierocracy,’ Ortzel exclaimed. ‘If they are true, this is monstrous.’

‘The matter is already in the hands of the Patriarch of Demos, Your Grace,’ Sparhawk assured him. ‘I think we can trust him to lay it before the Hierocracy at the proper time.’

‘Dolmant is a good man,’ Ortzel agreed. ‘I’ll abide by his decision in the matter – for the time being, at least.’

‘Please be seated, Sir Knights,’ the Baron said. ‘The urgency of this present situation has made me remiss in matters of courtesy. Might I offer you some refreshment?’

Kalten’s eyes brightened.

‘Never mind,’ Sparhawk muttered to him, holding a chair for Sephrenia. She sat, and Flute came over and climbed up into her lap.

‘Your daughter, Madame?’ Ortzel surmised.

‘No, Your Grace. She’s a foundling – of sorts. I’m fond of her, however.’

‘Berit,’ Kurik said, ‘we’re just in the way here. Let’s go to the stables. I want to check over the horses.’ And the two of them left the room.

‘Tell me, My Lord,’ Bevier said to Baron Alstrom, ‘what is it that has brought you to the brink of war? Some ancient dispute, perhaps?’

‘No, Sir Bevier,’ the baron replied, his face hardening, ‘this is an affair of more recent origin. Perhaps a year ago my only son became friendly with a knight who said he was from Cammoria. I have since discovered that the man is a villain. He encouraged my young and foolish son in the vain hope of obtaining the hand of the daughter of my neighbour, Count Gerrich. The girl seemed amenable, though her father and I have never been friends. Not long after, however, Gerrich announced that he had promised his daughter’s hand to another. My son was enraged. His so-called friend goaded him on in this and proposed a desperate plan: they would abduct the girl, find a priest willing to marry her to my son, and present Gerrich with a number of grandchildren to still his wrath. They scaled the walls of the Count’s castle and crept into the girl’s bedchamber. I have since discovered that my son’s supposed friend had alerted the Count, and Gerrich and his sister’s seven sons sprang from hiding as the two entered. My son, believing that it had been the Count’s daughter who had betrayed him, plunged his dagger into her breast before the Count’s nephews fell upon him with their swords.’ Alstrom paused, his teeth clenched and his eyes brimming.

‘My son was obviously in the wrong,’ he admitted, continuing his story, ‘and I would not have pursued the matter, grieved though I was. It was what happened after my son’s death that has set eternal enmity between Gerrich and myself. Not content with merely killing my son, the Count and his sister’s savage brood mutilated his body and contemptuously desposited it at my castle gate. I was outraged, but the Cammorian Knight, whom I still trusted, advised guile. He pled matters of pressing urgency in Cammoria, but promised me the aid of two of his trusted retainers. It was but last week that the two arrived at my door to tell me that the time for my revenge had come. They led my soldiers to the house of the Count’s sister, and there they slaughtered the Count’s seven nephews. I have since discovered that these two underlings inflamed my soldiers, and they took certain liberties with the person of Gerrich’s sister.’

‘That’s a delicate way to put it,’ Kalten whispered to Sparhawk.

‘Be still,’ Sparhawk whispered back.

‘The lady was dispatched – naked, I’m afraid – to her brother’s castle. Reconciliation is now quite impossible. Gerrich has many allies, as do I, and western Lamorkand now hovers on the brink of general war.’

‘A melancholy tale, My Lord,’ Sparhawk said sadly.

‘The impending war is my concern. What is important now is to remove my brother from this house and to convey him safely to Chyrellos. Should he also fall during Gerrich’s attack, the Church will have no choice but to send in her Knights. The murder of a Patriarch – particularly one who is a strong candidate for elevation to the Archprelacy – would be a crime she could not ignore. Thus it is that I implore you to safeguard him on his way to the Holy City.’

‘One question, My Lord,’ Sparhawk said. ‘The activities of this Cammorian Knight have a familiar ring to them. Can you describe him and his underlings to us?’

‘The knight himself is a tall man with an arrogant bearing. One of his companions is a huge brute, scarcely human. The other is a rabbity fellow with an excessive fondness for strong drink.’

‘Sounds a bit like some old friends, doesn’t it?’ Kalten said to Sparhawk. ‘Was there anything unusual about this knight?’

‘His hair was absolutely white,’ Alstrom replied, ‘and he was not that old.’

‘Martel certainly moves around, doesn’t he?’ Kalten observed.

‘You know this man, Sir Kalten?’ the baron asked.

‘The white-haired man is named Martel,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘His two hirelings are Adus and Krager. Martel’s a renegade Pandion Knight who hires out his services in various parts of the world. Most recently, he’s been working for the Primate of Cimmura.’

‘But what would be the Primate’s purpose in fomenting discord between Gerrich and me?’

‘You’ve already touched on that, My Lord,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘The Preceptors of the four militant orders are firmly opposed to the notion of Annias sitting on the Archprelate’s throne. They will be present – and voting – during the election in the Basilica of Chyrellos, and their opinion carries great weight with the Hierocracy. Moreover, the Knights of the Church would respond immediately to the first hint of any irregularities in the election. If Annias is to succeed, he must get the Church Knights out of Chyrellos before the election. We were recently able to thwart a plot that Martel was hatching in Rendor that would have pulled the Knights out of the Holy City. It’s my guess that this unhappy affair you told us about is yet another. Martel, acting on orders from Annias, is roaming the world building bonfires in the hope that sooner or later the Knights of the Church will be forced to move out of Chyrellos to extinguish them.’

‘Is Annias truly so depraved?’ Ortzel asked.

‘Your Grace, Annias will do anything to ascend that throne. I’m positive that he’d order the massacre of half of Eosia to get what he wants.’

‘How is it possible for a Churchman to stoop so low?’

‘Ambition, Your Grace,’ Bevier said sadly. ‘Once it sinks its claws into a man’s heart, the man becomes blind to all else.’

‘This is all the more reason to get my brother safely to Chyrellos,’ Alstrom said gravely. ‘He is much respected by the other members of the Hierocracy, and his voice will carry great weight in their deliberations.’

‘I must advise you and your brother, My Lord Alstrom, that there is a certain risk involved in your plan,’ Sparhawk warned them. ‘We are being pursued. There are those bent on thwarting us in our quest. Since your brother’s safety is your first concern, I should tell you that I cannot guarantee it. The ones who are pursuing us are determined and very dangerous.’ He spoke obliquely, since neither Alstrom or Ortzel would give him much credence if he told them the bald truth about the nature of the Seeker.

‘I’m afraid I have no real choice in the matter, Sir Sparhawk. With this anticipated siege hanging over my head, I have to get my brother out of the castle, no matter what the risk.’

‘As long as you understand, My Lord,’ Sparhawk sighed. ‘Our mission is of the gravest urgency, but this matter overshadows even that.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia gasped.

‘We have no choice, little mother,’ he told her. ‘We absolutely must get His Grace safely out of Lamorkand and to Chyrellos. The Baron was right. If anything happens to his brother, the Church Knights will ride out of Chyrellos to retaliate. Nothing could prevent it. We’ll have to take His Grace to the Holy City and then try to make up for lost time.’

‘What precisely is the object of your search, Sir Sparhawk?’ the Patriarch of Kadach asked.

‘As Sir Ulath explained, we are forced to resort to magic to restore the Queen of Elenia to health, and there’s only one thing in the world with that much power. We’re on our way to the great battlefield at Lake Randera to seek out the jewel which once surmounted the royal crown of Thalesia.’

‘Bhelliom?’ Ortzel was shocked. ‘Surely you would not bring that accursed thing to light again?’

‘We have no choice, Your Grace. Only Bhelliom can restore my queen.’

‘But Bhelliom is tainted. All the wickedness of the Troll-Gods infects it.’

‘The Troll-Gods aren’t all that bad, Your Grace,’ Ulath said. ‘They’re capricious, I’ll grant you, but they’re not truly evil.’

‘The Elene God forbids consorting with them.’

‘The Elene God is wise, Your Grace,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘He has also forbidden contact with the Gods of Styricum. He made an exception to his prohibition, however, when the time came to form the militant orders. The Younger Gods of Styricum agreed to assist Him in His design. One wonders if He might not also be able to enlist the aid of the Troll-Gods. He is, I understand, most persuasive.’

‘Blasphemy!’ Ortzel gasped.

‘No, Your Grace, not really. I am Styric and therefore not subject to Elene theology.’

‘Hadn’t we better get going?’ Ulath suggested. ‘It’s a long ride to Chyrellos, and we need to get His Grace out of this castle before the fighting starts.’

‘Well put, my laconic friend,’ Tynian approved.

‘I shall make ready at once,’ Ortzel said, going to the door. ‘We will be able to depart within the hour.’ And he went out.

‘How long do you think it’s likely to be before the count’s forces reach here, My Lord?’ Tynian asked the baron.

‘No more than a day, Sir Tynian. I have friends who are impeding his march northward from his keep, but he has a sizeable army, and I’m certain he will soon break his way through.’

‘Talen,’ Sparhawk said sharply, ‘put it back.’

The boy made a wry face and laid a small dagger with a jewelled hilt back on the table from which he had taken it. ‘I didn’t think you were watching,’ he said.

‘Don’t ever make that mistake,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I always watch you.’

The baron looked puzzled.

‘The boy has not yet learned to grasp some of the finer points of property ownership, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly. ‘We’ve been trying to teach him, but he’s a slow learner.’

Talen sighed and took up his sketch pad and pencil. Then he sat at a table on the far side of the room and began to draw. He was, Sparhawk remembered, very talented.

‘I am most grateful to you all, gentlemen,’ the baron was saying. ‘The safety of my brother has been my only concern. Now I shall be able to concentrate on the business at hand.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Do you think you might possibly encounter this Martel person during the course of your quest?’

‘I most certainly hope so,’ Sparhawk said fervently.

‘And is it your intention to kill him?’

‘That’s been Sparhawk’s intention for the last dozen years or so,’ Kalten said. ‘Martel sleeps very lightly when Sparhawk’s in the same kingdom with him.’

‘May God aid your arm then, Sir Sparhawk,’ the baron said. ‘My son will rest more peacefully once his betrayer joins him in the House of the Dead.’

The door burst open, and Sir Enmann hurried into the room. ‘My Lord!’ he said to Alstrom in urgent tones, ‘come quickly!’

Alstrom came to his feet. ‘What is it, Sir Enmann?’

‘Count Gerrich has deceived us. He has a fleet of ships on the river, and even now his forces are landing on both sides of this promontory.’

‘Sound the alarm!’ the baron commanded, ‘and raise the drawbridge!’

‘At once, My Lord.’ Enmann hurried from the room.

Alstrom sighed bleakly. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Both your quest and the task I set you are doomed now. We are under siege, and we will all be trapped within these walls for a number of years, I fear.’

Chapter 5

The booming crash of boulders slamming against the walls of Alstrom’s castle came with monotonous regularity as the siege engines of Count Gerrich moved into place and began pounding the fortress.

Sparhawk and the others had remained in the cheerless, weapon-cluttered room at Alstrom’s request, and they sat awaiting his return.

‘I’ve never been under siege before,’ Talen said, looking up from his drawings. ‘How long do they usually last?’

‘If we can’t come up with a way to get out of here, you’ll be shaving by the time it’s over,’ Kurik told him.

‘Do something, Sparhawk,’ the boy said urgently.

‘I’m open to suggestions.’

Talen looked at him helplessly.

Baron Alstrom came back into the room. His face was bleak. ‘I’m afraid we’re completely encircled,’ he said.

‘A truce, perhaps?’ Bevier suggested. ‘It’s customary in Arcium to grant safe passage to women and Churchmen before pressing a siege.’

‘Unfortunately, Sir Bevier,’ Alstrom replied, ‘this is not Arcium. This is Lamorkand, and there’s no such thing as a truce here.’

‘Any ideas?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.

‘A few, perhaps,’ she said. ‘Let me have a try at your excellent Elene logic. First, the use of main force to break out of the castle is quite out of the question, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And, as you pointed out, a truce would probably not be honoured?’

‘I certainly wouldn’t want to gamble His Grace’s life or yours on a truce.’

‘Then there’s the possibility of stealth. I don’t think that would work either, do you?’

‘Too risky,’ Kalten agreed. ‘The castle is surrounded, and the soldiers will be on the alert for people trying to sneak out.’

‘Subterfuge of some kind?’ she asked.

‘Not under these circumstances,’ Ulath said. ‘The troops surrounding the castle are armed with crossbows. We’d never get close enough to tell them stories.’

‘That leaves only the arts of Styricum, doesn’t it?’

Ortzel’s face stiffened. ‘I will not be a party to the use of heathen sorcery,’ he declared.

‘I was afraid he might look at it that way,’ Kalten murmured to Sparhawk.

‘I’ll try to reason with him in the morning,’ Sparhawk replied under his breath. He looked at Baron Alstrom. ‘It’s late, My Lord,’ he said, ‘and we’re all tired. Some sleep might clear our heads and hint at other solutions.’

‘Well said, Sir Sparhawk,’ Alstrom agreed. ‘My servants will convey you and your companions to safe quarters, and we shall consider this matter further on the morrow.’

They were led through the bleak halls of Alstrom’s castle to a wing that, while comfortable, showed little signs of use. Supper was brought to them in their rooms, and Sparhawk and Kalten removed their armour. After they had eaten, they sat talking quietly in the chamber they shared.

‘I could have told you that Ortzel would feel the way he does about magic. The Churchmen here in Lamorkand feel almost as strongly about it as Rendors.’

‘If it’d been Dolmant, we might have talked our way around him,’ Sparhawk agreed glumly.

‘Dolmant’s more cosmopolitan,’ Kalten said. ‘He grew up next door to the Pandion Mother-house, and he knows a great deal more about the secrets than he lets on.’

There was a light rap on the door. Sparhawk rose and answered it. It was Talen. ‘Sephrenia wants to see you,’ he told the big knight.

‘All right. Go to bed, Kalten. You’re still looking a bit worse for wear. Lead the way, Talen.’

The boy took Sparhawk to the end of the corridor and tapped on the door.

‘Come in, Talen,’ Sephrenia replied.

‘How did you know it was me?’ Talen asked curiously as he opened the door.

‘There are ways,’ she said mysteriously. The small Styric woman was gently brushing Flute’s long black hair. The child had a dreamy look on her small face, and she was humming to herself contentedly. Sparhawk was startled. It was the first vocal sound he had ever heard her utter. ‘If she can hum, why is it she can’t talk?’ he asked.

‘Whatever gave you the idea she can’t talk?’ Sephrenia continued her brushing.

‘She never has.’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘What did you want to see me about?’

‘It’s going to take something rather spectacular to get us out of here,’ she replied, ‘and I may need your help and that of the others to manage it.’

‘All you have to do is ask. Have you got any ideas?’

‘A few. Our first problem is Ortzel, though. If he bows his neck on this, we’ll never get him out of the castle.’

‘Suppose I just hit him on the head before we leave and tie him across his saddle until we’re safely away?’

‘Sparhawk,’ she chided him.

‘It was a thought,’ he shrugged. ‘What about Flute here?’