The Ruby Knight (20 page)

‘I think I might be able to save you a bit of that, my friend,' Tynian said with a broad smile. ‘From time to time in the last day or so, we've seen a fairly large party of Zemochs riding to our rear. It might just be that they're the ones you're seeking. In any case, though, an ear is an ear, and the king's gold spends just as sweetly even if it chances to be mistakenly dispensed.'

Kring laughed delightedly. ‘It does indeed, friend Tynian,' he agreed. ‘And who knows, it could just be that there are
two
bags of gold available out here. How many are they, would you say?'

‘We've seen forty or so. They're coming up the road from the south.'

‘They won't come much farther,' Kring promised, grinning a wolf-like grin. ‘This was indeed a fortunate meeting, Sir Tynian – at least for me and my comrades. But why didn't you and your companions turn around and collect the bounty?'

‘We weren't really aware of the bounty, Domi,' Tynian confessed, ‘and we're on Church business of some
urgency.' He made a wry face. ‘Besides, even if we did gain that bounty, our oaths would require that we hand it over to the Church. Some fat abbot somewhere would profit from our labours. I don't propose to sweat that much to enrich a man who's never done an honest day's work in his life. I'd far rather point a friend in the direction of honest gain.'

Impulsively, Kring embraced him. ‘My brother,' he said, ‘you are a true friend. It's an honour to have met you.'

‘The honour is mine, Domi,' Tynian said gravely.

The Domi wiped his greasy fingers on his leather breeches. ‘Well, I suppose we should be on our way, friend Tynian,' he said. ‘Slow riding earns no bounty.' He paused. ‘Are you sure you don't want to sell that boy?'

‘He's the son of a friend of mine,' Tynian said. ‘I wouldn't mind getting rid of the boy, but the friendship's valuable to me.'

‘I understand perfectly, friend Tynian.' Kring bowed. ‘Commend me to God next time you talk with Him.' He vaulted into his saddle from a standing start, and his horse was running before he was even settled.

Ulath walked up to Tynian and gravely shook his hand. ‘You're fast on your feet,' he observed. ‘That was absolutely brilliant.'

‘It was a fair trade,' Tynian said modestly. ‘We get the Zemochs off our backs, and Kring gets the ears. No bargain between friends is fair unless both sides get something they want.'

‘Very, very true,' Ulath agreed. ‘I've never heard of selling ears before, though. Usually it's heads.'

‘Ears are lighter,' Tynian said professionally, ‘and they don't stare at you every time you open your saddlebags.'

‘Would you gentlemen
mind?
' Sephrenia said tartly. ‘We have children with us, after all.'

‘Sorry, little mother,' Ulath apologized easily. ‘Just talking shop.'

She stalked back to the wagon, muttering. Sparhawk was fairly certain that some of the Styric words she was saying under her breath were never used in polite society.

‘Who were they?' Bevier asked, looking at the warriors who were rapidly disappearing towards the south.

‘They're of the Peloi,' Tynian replied, ‘nomadic horse herders. They were the first Elenes in this region. The Kingdom of Pelosia is named after them.'

‘Are they as fierce as they look?'

‘Even fiercer. Their presence on the border was probably why Otha invaded Lamorkand instead of Pelosia. No one in his right mind attacks the Peloi.'

They reached Lake Venne late the following day. It was a large, shallow body of water into which nearby peat-bogs continually drained, making the water turbid and brown-stained. Flute seemed strangely agitated as they made camp some distance back from the marshy lake-shore, and as soon as Sephrenia's tent was erected, she darted inside and refused to come out.

‘What's the matter with her?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia, absently rubbing the ring finger on his left hand. It seemed to be throbbing for some reason.

‘I really don't know,' Sephrenia frowned. ‘It's almost as if she's afraid of something.'

After they had eaten and Sephrenia had carried Flute's supper in to her, Sparhawk closely questioned each of his injured companions. They all claimed perfect health, a claim he was sure was spurious. ‘All right, then.' He gave up finally. ‘We'll go back to doing it the old way. You gentlemen can have your armour back, and we'll try a canter tomorrow. No galloping; no running; and if we run into any trouble, try to hold back unless things get serious.'

‘He's just like an old mother hen, isn't he?' Kalten observed to Tynian.

‘If he scratches up a worm, you get to eat it,' Tynian replied.

‘Thanks all the same, Tynian,' Kalten declined, ‘but I've already had my supper.'

Sparhawk went to bed.

It was about midnight, and the moon was very bright outside the tent. Sparhawk sat bolt upright in his blankets, jolted awake by a hideous, roaring bellow.

‘Sparhawk!' Ulath said sharply from outside the tent. ‘Rouse the others! Fast!'

Sparhawk shook Kalten awake and pulled on his mail-shirt. He grabbed up his sword and ducked out of the tent. He looked around quickly and saw that the others needed no rousing. They were already struggling into their mail and were taking up weapons. Ulath stood at the edge of camp, his round shield in place and his axe in his hand. He was looking off intently into the darkness.

Sparhawk joined him. ‘What is it?' he asked quietly. ‘What makes a noise like that?'

‘Troll,' Ulath replied shortly.

‘Here? In Pelosia? Ulath, that's impossible. There aren't any Trolls in Pelosia.'

‘Why don't you go out there and explain that to
him?
'

‘Are you absolutely sure it's a Troll?'

‘I've heard that sound too many times to miss it. It's a Troll, all right, and he's absolutely enraged about something.'

‘Maybe we should build up the fire,' Sparhawk suggested as the others joined them.

‘It wouldn't do any good,' Ulath said. ‘Trolls aren't afraid of fire.'

‘You know their language, don't you?'

Ulath grunted.

‘Why don't you call to him and tell him that we mean him no harm?'

‘Sparhawk,' Ulath said with a pained look, ‘in this situation, it's the other way around. If he attacks, try to strike at his legs,' he warned them all. ‘If you swing at his body, he'll jerk your weapons out of your hands and feed them to you. All right, I'll try to talk with him.' He lifted his head and bellowed something in a horrid, guttural language.

Something out there in the darkness replied, snarling and spitting.

‘What did it say?' Sparhawk asked.

‘He's cursing. It may take him an hour or so to get finished. Trolls have a lot of swear-words in their language.' Ulath frowned. ‘He doesn't really sound all that sure of himself,' he said, sounding puzzled.

‘Perhaps our numbers are making it cautious,' Bevier suggested.

‘They don't know what the word means,' Ulath disagreed. ‘I've seen a lone Troll attack a walled city.'

There was another snarling bellow from out in the darkness, this time a little closer.

‘Now, what's
that
supposed to mean?' Ulath said in bafflement.

‘What?' Sparhawk asked.

‘He's demanding that we turn the thief over to him.'

‘Talen?'

‘I don't know. How could Talen pick a Troll's pocket? They don't
have
pockets.'

Then they heard the sound of Flute's pipes coming from Sephrenia's tent. Her melody was stern and vaguely threatening. After a moment, the beast out in the darkness howled – a sound partially of pain and partially of frustration. Then the howling faded off into the distance.

‘Why don't we all go to Sephrenia's tent and kiss that little girl about the head and shoulders for a while?' Ulath suggested.

‘What happened?' Kalten asked.

‘Somehow she ran him off. I've never seen a Troll run from anything. I saw one try to attack an avalanche once. I think we'd better talk with Sephrenia. Something's going on here that I don't understand.'

Sephrenia, however, was as puzzled as they. She was holding Flute in her arms, and the little girl was crying. ‘Please, gentlemen,' the Styric woman said softly, ‘just leave her alone for now. She's very, very upset.'

‘I'll stand watch with you, Ulath,' Tynian said as they came out of the tent. ‘That bellow froze my blood. I'll never get back to sleep now.'

They reached the city of Venne two days later. Once the Troll had been frightened away, they neither saw nor heard any further sign of him. Venne was not a very attractive city. Because local taxes were based on the number of square feet on the ground floor of each house, the citizens had circumvented the law by building overhanging second storeys. In most cases, the overhang was so extreme that the streets were like narrow, dark tunnels, even at noon. They put up at the cleanest inn they could find, and Sparhawk took Kurik and went in search of information.

For some reason, however, the word ‘Ghasek' made the citizens of Venne very nervous. The answers Sparhawk and Kurik received were vague and contradictory, and the citizens usually went away from them very fast.

‘Over there,' Kurik said shortly, pointing at a man staggering from the door of a tavern. ‘He's too drunk to run.'

Sparhawk looked critically at the reeling man. ‘He could also be too drunk to talk,' he added.

Kurik's methods, however, were brutally direct. He crossed the street, seized the drunkard by the scruff of the neck, dragged him to the end of the street and shoved his head into the fountain that stood there. ‘Now, then,' he said pleasantly, ‘I think we understand each other. I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to give me the answers – unless you can figure out a way to sprout gills.'

The fellow was spluttering and coughing. Kurik pounded on his back until the paroxysm passed.

‘All right,' Kurik said, ‘the first question is “Where is Ghasek?”'

The drunken man's face went pasty white, and his eyes bulged in horror.

Kurik shoved his head under water again. ‘This is starting to make me very tired,' he said conversationally to Sparhawk, looking across the bubbles coming up out of the fountain. He pulled the fellow out by the hair. ‘This isn't going to get any more enjoyable, friend,' he warned. ‘I really think you ought to start to co-operate. Let's try again. Where is Ghasek?'

‘N-north,' the fellow choked, spewing water all over the street. He seemed to be almost sober now.

‘We know that. Which road do we take?'

‘Go out of the north gate. A mile or so after you get out of town, the road branches. Take the left fork.'

‘You're doing fine. See, you're even staying sort of dry. How far is it to Ghasek?'

‘A-about forty leagues.' The man writhed in Kurik's iron grip.

‘Last question,' Kurik promised. ‘Why does everybody in Venne wet himself whenever he hears the name Ghasek?'

‘I-it's a horrible place. Things happen there that are too hideous to describe.'

‘I've got a strong stomach,' Kurik assured him. ‘Go ahead. Shock me.'

‘They drink blood up there – and bathe in it – and even feed on human flesh. It's the most awful place in the world. Even to mention its name brings down a curse on your head.' The man shuddered and began to weep.

‘There, there,' Kurik said, releasing him and patting him gently on the shoulder. He gave the man a coin. ‘You seem to have got all wet, friend,' he added. ‘Why don't you go back to the tavern and see if you can get dry?'

The fellow scurried off.

‘Doesn't sound like too pleasant a place, does it?' Kurik said.

‘No, not really,' Sparhawk admitted, ‘but we're going there all the same.'

Because the road they proposed to follow was reputed to be not very good, they arranged to leave the wagon with the innkeeper and rode out on horseback the next morning through shadowy streets illuminated by torches. Sparhawk had passed on the information Kurik had wrung out of the drunken man the day before, and they all looked around warily as they passed out through the north gate of Venne.

‘It's probably just some local superstition,' Kalten scoffed. ‘I've heard awful stories about places before, and they usually turned out to be about things that had happened generations before.'

‘It doesn't really make much sense,' Sparhawk agreed. ‘That tanner back in Paler said that Count Ghasek's a scholar. That's not usually the sort of man who goes in for exotic entertainments. Let's stay alert anyway. We're a long way from home, and it might be a little hard to call in help.'

‘I'll hold back a bit,' Berit volunteered. ‘I think we'd all feel better if we're sure those Zemochs aren't still trailing us.'

‘I think we can count on the Domi's efficiency,' Tynian said.

‘Still -' Berit said.

‘Go ahead, Berit,' Sparhawk agreed. ‘It's just as well not to take chances.'

They rode at an easy canter, and as the sun was rising they reached the fork in the road. The left fork was rutted, narrow and poorly maintained. The rain which
had swept through the area for some days back had left it muddy and generally unpleasant, and thick brush lined both sides of it.

‘It's going to be slow going,' Ulath noted. ‘I've seen smoother roads, and it's not going to get better once we get up into those hills.' He looked toward the low range of forested mountains lying just ahead.

‘We'll do the best we can,' Sparhawk said, ‘but you're right. Forty leagues is quite a distance, and a bad road isn't going to make it seem any shorter.'

They started up the muddy road at a trot. As Ulath had predicted, it grew steadily worse. After about an hour, they entered the forest. The trees were evergreens, and they cast a sombre shade, but the air was cool and damp, a welcome relief for the armoured knights. They stopped briefly for a meal of bread and cheese at noon and then pressed on, climbing higher and higher into the mountains.

The region was ominously deserted, and even most of the birds seemed muted, the only exception being the sooty ravens, who seemed to croak from every tree. As evening began to settle over the gloomy wood, Sparhawk led the others some distance away from the road, and they made camp for the night.

The dismal forest had subdued even the irrepressible Kalten, and they were all very quiet as they ate their evening meal. After they had eaten, they went to their beds.

It was about midnight when Ulath woke Sparhawk to take his turn on watch. ‘There seem to be a lot of wolves out there,' the big Genidian said quietly. ‘It might not be a bad idea to put your back to a tree.'

‘I've never heard of a wolf attacking a man,' Sparhawk replied, also speaking softly to avoid waking the others.

‘They usually don't – unless they're rabid.'

‘That's a cheerful thought.'

‘I'm glad you liked it. I'm going to bed. It's been a long day.'

Sparhawk left the circle of firelight and stopped about fifty yards back in the forest to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He heard the howling of wolves back off in the woods. He thought he had found the source of many of the stories that had been circulating about Ghasek. This gloomy forest alone would be sufficient to stir up fears in superstitious people. Add to that the flocks of ravens – always a bird of ill omen – and the chill howling of packs of wolves, and it was easy to see how the stories had started. Sparhawk carefully circled the camp, his eyes and ears alert.

Forty leagues. Given the worsening condition of the road, it would be unlikely that they could cover more than ten leagues a day. Sparhawk chafed at their slow pace, but there was nothing he could do about it. They had to go to Ghasek. The thought came to him that the count might very well not have found anyone who knew the whereabouts of King Sarak's grave, and that this tedious and time-consuming trek might all be for nothing. He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind.

Idly, still watching the surrounding woods, he began to wonder what his life would be like if they were successful in curing Ehlana. He had known her only as a child, but she was no longer a little girl. He had received a few hints about her adult personality, but nothing definite enough to make him feel that he really knew her. She would be a good queen, of that he was certain, but exactly what kind of a woman was she?

He saw a movement out in the shadows and stopped, his hand going to his sword as he searched the darkness. Then he saw a pair of blazing green eyes that reflected
back the light of their fire. It was a wolf. The animal stared at the flames for a long time, then turned to slink silently back into the forest.

Sparhawk realized that he had been holding his breath, and he let it out explosively. No one is ever really prepared for a meeting with a wolf, and even though he knew it was irrational, he nonetheless felt the instinctive chill.

The moon rose, casting its pale light over the dark forest. Sparhawk looked up and saw the clouds coming in. Gradually, they obscured the moon and inexorably continued to build up. ‘Oh, fine,' he muttered. ‘That's all we need – more rain.' He shook his head and walked on, his eyes probing the darkness around him.

Somewhat later, Tynian relieved him, and he went back to his tent.

‘Sparhawk.' It was Talen, and his shaking of Sparhawk's shoulder was light as he woke the big Pandion.

‘Yes.' Sparhawk sat up, recognizing the note of urgency in the boy's voice.

‘There's something out there.'

‘I know. Wolves.'

‘This wasn't a wolf – unless they've learned to walk on their hind legs.'

‘What did you see?'

‘It was back in the shadows under those trees. I couldn't see it very well, but it seemed to have a kind of robe over it, and the robe didn't fit very well.'

‘The Seeker?'

‘How would I know? I only caught a glimpse of it. It came to the edge of the woods and then dropped back into the shadows. I probably wouldn't even have seen it except for the glow coming off its face.'

‘Green?'

Talen nodded.

Sparhawk started to swear.

‘When you run out of words, let me know,' Talen offered. ‘I'm a pretty good swearer.'

‘Did you warn Tynian?'

‘Yes.'

‘What were you doing out of bed?'

Talen sighed. ‘Grow up, Sparhawk,' he said in a tone far older than his years. ‘No thief ever sleeps more than two hours at a time without going out to look around.'

‘I didn't know that.'

‘You should have. It's a nervous life, but it's a lot of fun.'

Sparhawk cupped his hand about the back of the young fellow's neck. ‘I'm going to make a normal boy out of you yet,' he said.

‘Why bother? I outgrew all that a long time ago. It might have been nice to run and play – if things had been different – but they weren't, and this is much more fun. Go back to sleep, Sparhawk. Tynian and I'll keep an eye on things. Oh, by the way, it's going to rain tomorrow.'

But it was not raining the following morning, though murky clouds obscured the sky. About mid-afternoon, Sparhawk reined Faran in.

‘What's the trouble?' Kurik asked him.

‘There's a village down there in that little valley.'

‘What could they possibly be doing out here in these woods? You can't farm with all these trees in the way.'

‘We could ask them, I suppose. I want to talk with them anyway. They're closer to Ghasek than the people back in Venne were, and I'd like to get a little more up-to-date information. There's no point in riding into something blind if you don't have to. Kalten,' he called.

‘Now what?' Kalten demanded.

‘Take the others and keep on going. Kurik and I are going down to that village to ask a few questions. We'll catch up with you.'

‘All right.' Kalten's tone was abrupt and slightly surly.

‘What's the matter?'

‘These woods depress me.'

‘They're only trees, Kalten.'

‘I know, but do there have to be so many of them?'

‘Keep your eyes open. That Seeker's out there someplace.'

Kalten's eyes brightened. He drew his sword and tested its edge with his thumb.

‘What have you got in mind?' Sparhawk asked him.

‘This might just be the chance we've been waiting for to get that thing off our backs once and for all. Otha's bug is very skinny. One good stroke should cut it in two. I think I'll just hang back a little bit and set up an ambush of my own.'

Sparhawk thought very quickly at that point. ‘Nice plan,' he seemed to agree, ‘but somebody has to lead the others to safety.'

‘Tynian can do that.'

‘Maybe, but do you feel like trusting Sephrenia's well-being to somebody we've only known for six months and who's still recovering from an injury?'

Kalten called his friend a number of obscene names.

‘Duty, my friend,' Sparhawk said calmly. ‘Duty. Its stern call pulls us away from various entertainments. Just do as I asked you to do, Kalten. We'll take care of the Seeker later.'

Kalten continued to swear. Then he wheeled his horse and rode off to join the others.

‘You were right on the edge of a fight there,' Kurik commented.

‘I noticed that.'

‘Kalten's a good man in a fight, but he's a hot-head sometimes.'

Then the two of them turned their horses and rode on down the hill towards the village.

The houses were made of logs, and they had sod roofs. The villagers had made some effort to clear the trees surrounding their community, creating stump-dotted fields extending perhaps a hundred paces back from their houses.

‘They've cleared the land,' Kurik observed, ‘but about all I see are kitchen gardens. I still wonder what they're doing out here.'

That question was answered as soon as they rode into the place. A number of villagers were laboriously sawing boards from logs lying atop crude trestles. Stacks of warped green lumber beside the houses explained the purpose of the village.

One of the men stopped sawing, mopping at his brow with a dirty rag. ‘There's no inn here,' he said to Sparhawk in an unfriendly tone.

‘We're not really looking for an inn, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, ‘just some information. How much further is it to the house of Count Ghasek?'

The villager's face went slightly pale. ‘Not far enough away to suit me, My Lord,' he replied, eyeing the big man in black armour nervously.

‘What's the trouble, friend?' Kurik asked him.

‘No sensible man goes near Ghasek,' the villager replied. ‘Most people don't even want to talk about it.'

‘We heard some of the same sort of thing back in Venne,' Sparhawk said. ‘What's going on at the count's house anyway?'

‘I couldn't really say, My Lord,' the man said evasively. ‘I've never been there. I've heard some stories, though.'

‘Oh?'

‘People have been disappearing around there. They're never seen again, so nobody really knows for sure what happened to them. The count's serfs have been running
away, though, and he's not reputed to be a hard master. Something evil is going on in his house, and all the people who live nearby are terrified.'

‘Do you think the count's responsible?'

‘It's not very likely. The count's been away from home for the past year. He travels around a lot.'

‘We heard that about him.' Sparhawk thought of something. ‘Tell me, neighbour, have you seen any Styrics lately?'

‘Styrics? No, they don't come into this forest. People up here don't like them, and we make the fact well known.'

‘I see. How far did you say it is to the count's house?'

‘I didn't say. It's about fifteen leagues, though.'

‘A fellow in Venne said it was forty leagues from there to Ghasek,' Kurik told him.

The villager snorted derisively. ‘City folk don't even know how far a league is. It can't be much over thirty from Venne to Ghasek.'

‘We happened to see somebody back in the woods last night,' Kurik said in a mildly conversational tone. ‘He was wearing a black robe and had his hood up. Could that have been one of your neighbours?'

The sawyer's face went very, very pale. ‘Nobody around here wears that kind of clothes,' he said shortly.

‘Are you sure?'

‘You heard me. I said nobody in this district dresses like that.'

‘It must have been some traveller then.'

‘That must be it.' The villager's tone had become unfriendly again, and his eyes were a little wild.

‘Thank you for your time, neighbour,' Sparhawk said, turning Faran around to leave the village.

‘He knows more than he's saying,' Kurik observed as the two of them were passing the last houses.

‘Right,' Sparhawk agreed. ‘The Seeker doesn't own him, but he's very, very much afraid. Let's move right along. I want to catch up with the others before dark.'

They overtook their friends just as the sky to the west took on the ruddy glow of sunset, and they made camp beside a silent mountain lake not far from the road.

‘You think it's going to rain?' Kalten asked after they had eaten supper and sat around the fire.

‘Don't say that,' Talen said. ‘I only just got dry from all that rain in Lamorkand.'

‘It's always possible, of course,' Kurik said in reply to Kalten's question. ‘It's the time of year for it, but I don't smell very much moisture in the air.'

Berit came back from where they had picketed the horses. ‘Sir Sparhawk, there's somebody coming.'