The Ruby Knight (39 page)

‘That wouldn't have been a good idea. You can't sneak up on a Troll at night. We'll wait until the sun's well up tomorrow before we start out. Trolls usually doze in the daytime. They don't actually ever really sleep, but they're a little less alert when the sun's out.'

‘You seem to know a great deal about them.'

‘It's not too hard to find things out – if you know the right people to ask. Make Sephrenia some tea and some hot soup. Tomorrow's likely to be very difficult for her, and she'll need all her strength.'

‘It's a little hard to make hot soup without a fire.'

‘Oh, Sparhawk, I know that. I may be small, but I'm not stupid. Heap up a pile of rocks in front of the tent. I'll take care of the rest.'

Grumbling to himself, he did as she directed.

‘Get back from it,' she said. ‘I don't want to burn you.'

‘Burn? How?'

She began to sing softly, and then she made a brief gesture with one small hand. Sparhawk immediately felt the heat radiating out from his pile of rock.

‘That's a useful spell,' he said admiringly.

‘Start cooking, Sparhawk. I can't keep the rocks hot all night.'

It was very strange, Sparhawk thought, as he set Sephrenia's tea-kettle up against one of the heated rocks. Somehow in the past weeks he had almost begun to stop thinking of Flute as a child. Her tone and manner were adult, and she ordered him around like a lackey. Even more surprising was the fact that he automatically obeyed her. Sephrenia was right, he decided. This little girl was in all probability one of the most powerful magicians in all of Styricum. A disturbing question came to him. Just how old
was
Flute anyway? Could Styric magicians control or modify their ages? He knew that neither Sephrenia nor Flute would answer those questions, so he busied himself with cooking and tried not to think about it.

They awoke at dawn, but Flute insisted that they wait until mid-morning before they attempted to ascend the ravine. She also instructed them to leave the horses at the camp since the sound of their hooves on the rocks might alert the sharp-eared Troll lurking inside the cave.

The ravine was narrow with sheer sides, and it was filled with dense shadows. The four of them moved slowly up its rocky floor, placing their feet carefully to avoid dislodging any loose stones. They spoke but rarely and then only in whispers. Sparhawk carried the ancient spear. For some reason it seemed right.

The climb grew steeper, and they were forced to clamber over rounded boulders now in order to continue their ascent. As they neared the top, Flute motioned
them to a halt and crept on ahead a few yards. Then she came back. ‘He's inside,' she whispered, ‘and he's already started his enchantments.'

‘Is the cave-mouth blocked?' Sparhawk whispered back.

‘In a manner of speaking. When we get up there, you won't be able to see it. He's created an illusion to make it look as if the mouth of the cave is just a part of the cliff face. The illusion is solid enough so that we won't be able to just walk through it. You'll need to use the spear to break through.' She whispered for a moment to Sephrenia, and the small woman nodded. ‘All right, then,' Flute said, taking a deep breath, ‘let's go.'

They climbed up the last few yards and entered a bleak, unwholesome-looking basin choked with brambles and dead white snags. On one side of the basin there was a steep overhanging cliff that did not appear to have any openings in it.

‘There it is,' Flute whispered.

‘Are you sure this is the right place?' Kurik murmured, ‘It looks like solid rock.'

‘This is the place,' she replied. ‘Ghwerig's hiding the entrance.' She led the way along a scarcely defined path to the face of the cliff, ‘It's right here,' she said softly, laying one small hand on the rock. ‘Now, this is what we're going to do. Sephrenia and I are going to cast a spell. When we release it, it's going to pour into you, Sparhawk. You'll feel very strange for a moment, and then you'll feel the power starting to build up inside you. At the right moment, I'll tell you what to do.' She began to sing very softly, and Sephrenia spoke in Styric almost under her breath. Then, in unison, they both gestured at Sparhawk.

His eyes went suddenly dim, and he almost fell. He felt very weak, and the spear he held in his left hand seemed
almost too heavy to bear. Then, just as quickly, it seemed to have no weight at all. He felt his shoulders surging with the force of the spell.

‘Now,' Flute said to him, ‘point the spear at the face of the cliff.'

He lifted his arm and did as she had told him.

‘Walk forward until the spear touches the wall.'

He took two steps and felt the spear-point touch the unyielding rock.

‘Release the power –
through
the spear.'

He concentrated, gathering the power within him. The ring on his left hand seemed to throb. Then he sent the power along the shaft of the spear into the broad blade.

The seemingly solid rock in front of him wavered, and then it was gone, revealing an irregularly shaped opening.

‘And there it is,' Flute said in a triumphant whisper, ‘Ghwerig's cave. Now let's go and find him.'

The cave had the musty smell of long-damp earth and rock, and there was the sound of water endlessly dripping somewhere off in the darkness. ‘Where's he most likely to be?' Sparhawk whispered to Flute.

‘We'll start in his treasure chamber,' she replied. ‘He likes to look at his hoard. It's down there.' She pointed at the opening of a passageway.

‘It's completely dark back in there,' he said dubiously.

‘I'll take care of that,' Sephrenia told him.

‘But quietly,' Flute cautioned. ‘We don't know exactly where Ghwerig is, and he can hear and feel magic.' She looked closely at Sephrenia. ‘Are you all right?' she asked.

‘It's not as bad as it was,' Sephrenia replied, shifting Sir Gared's sword to her right hand.

‘Good. I'm not going to be able to do anything in here. Ghwerig would recognize my voice. You're going to have to do almost everything.'

‘I can manage,' Sephrenia said, but her voice sounded weary. She held up the sword. ‘As long as I have to carry this anyway, I may as well use it.' She muttered briefly and made a small motion with her left hand. The tip of the sword began to glow, a tiny incandescent spark. ‘It's not much of a light,' she said critically, ‘but it's going to have to do. If I made it any brighter, Ghwerig would see it.' She raised the sword and led the way into the mouth of the gallery. The glowing tip of the sword looked almost like a firefly in the oppressive darkness, but it cast just enough faint light to make it possible for them to find
their way and avoid obstructions on the rough floor of the passageway they were following.

The passage curved steadily downward and to the right. After they had gone a few hundred paces, Sparhawk realized that it was not a natural gallery, but rather that it had been carved out of the rock, and it moved in a steady spiral down and down. ‘How did Ghwerig make this?' he whispered to Flute.

‘He used Bhelliom. The old passage is much longer, and it's very steep. Ghwerig's so badly deformed that it used to take him days to climb up out of the cave.'

They moved on, walking as quietly as they could. At one point the gallery passed through a large cavern where limestone icicles hung from the ceiling, dripping continually. Then the passage continued on into the rock. Occasionally, their faint light disturbed a colony of bats hanging from the ceiling, and the creatures chittered shrilly as they flapped frantically away in huge, dark clouds.

‘I
hate
bats,' Kurik said with an oath.

‘They won't hurt you,' Flute whispered. ‘A bat will never run into you, not even in total darkness.'

‘Are their eyes that good?'

‘No, but their ears are.'

‘Do you know
everything
?' Kurik's whisper sounded a little grumpy.

‘Not yet,' she said quietly, ‘but I'm working on that. Do you have anything to eat? I'm a little hungry for some reason.'

‘Some dried beef,' Kurik replied, reaching inside the tunic that covered his black leather vest. ‘It's very salty, though.'

‘There's plenty of water in this cave.' She took the chunk of leather-hard beef he offered and bit into it. ‘It is a little salty, isn't it?' she admitted, swallowing hard.

They moved on. Then they saw a light coming from somewhere ahead, faint at first but growing steadily stronger as they moved on down the spiral gallery. ‘His treasure cave is just ahead,' Flute whispered. ‘Let me have a look.' She crept on ahead and then returned. ‘He's there,' she said, her face breaking into a smile.

‘Is he making that light?' Kurik whispered.

‘No. It comes down from the surface. There's a stream that drops down into the cavern. It catches the sunlight at certain times of the day.' She was speaking in a normal tone now. ‘The sound of the waterfall will muffle our voices. We still have to be careful, though. His eyes will catch any movement.' She spoke briefly to Sephrenia, and the small Styric woman nodded. She reached up and extinguished the spark at the tip of the sword between two fingers. Then she began to weave an incantation.

‘What's she doing?' Sparhawk asked Flute.

‘Ghwerig's talking to himself,' she replied, ‘and it might just be that he'll say something useful to us. He's speaking in the language of the Trolls, so Sephrenia's making it possible for us to understand him.'

‘You mean that she's going to make him speak in Elene?'

‘No. The spell isn't directed at him.' She smiled that impish little smile of hers. ‘You're learning many things, Sparhawk. Now you'll understand the language of the Trolls – for a time at least.'

Sephrenia released the spell, and quite suddenly Sparhawk could hear much more than he had during their long descent through the spiralling gallery. The rushing sound of the waterfall dropping into the cavern ahead became almost a roar, and Ghwerig's rasping mutter came clearly over it.

‘We'll wait here for a time,' Flute told them. ‘Ghwerig's an outcast, so he talks to himself most of the time, and he
says whatever is crossing his mind. We can find out a great deal by eavesdropping. Oh, by the way, he has Sarak's crown, and Bhelliom's still attached to it.'

Sparhawk felt a sudden rush of excitement. The thing he had sought for so long was no more than a few hundred paces away. ‘What's he doing?' he asked Flute.

‘He's sitting at the edge of the chasm that the waterfall has carved out of the rock. All his treasures are piled up around him. He's cleaning the peat-stains off Bhelliom with his tongue. That's why we can't understand him at the moment. Let's move a little closer, but stay back from the mouth of the gallery.'

They crept on down towards the light and stopped a few yards from the opening. The reflected light from the waterfall shimmered and seemed to waver liquidly. It was peculiarly like a rainbow.

‘Stealers! Thieves!' The voice was harsh, far harsher than any Elene or Styric throat could have produced. ‘Dirty. She all dirty.' There was more of the slobbering sound as the Troll-Dwarf licked at his treasure. ‘Stealers all dead now,' Ghwerig chortled hideously. ‘All dead. Ghwerig not dead, and his rose come home at last.'

‘He sounds as if he's mad,' Kurik muttered.

‘He always has been,' Flute told him. ‘His mind's as twisted as his body.'

‘Talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose!' the unseen monstrosity commanded. Then he howled out a hideous oath directed at the Styric Goddess Aphrael. ‘Bring back rings! Bring back rings! Bhelliom not talk to Ghwerig if Ghwerig not got rings!' There was a blubbering sound, and Sparhawk realized with revulsion that the beast was crying. ‘Lonely,' the Troll sobbed. ‘Ghwerig so lonely!'

Sparhawk felt a wrench of almost unbearable pity for the misshapen dwarf.

‘Don't do that,' Flute said sharply. ‘It will weaken you
when you face him. You're our only hope now, Sparhawk, and your heart must be like stone.'

Then Ghwerig spoke for a time in terms so vile that there were no counterparts in the Elene language.

‘He's invoking the Troll-Gods,' Flute explained quietly. She cocked her head. ‘Listen,' she said sharply. ‘The Troll-Gods are answering him.'

The muted roar of the waterfall seemed to change tone, becoming deeper, more resonant.

‘We'll have to kill him very soon,' the little girl said in a chillingly matter-of-fact tone. ‘He still has some fragments of the original sapphire left in his workshop. The Troll Gods instructed him to make new rings. Then they'll infuse them with the force to unlock the power of Bhelliom. He'll be able to destroy us at that point.'

Then Ghwerig chuckled hideously. ‘Ghwerig beat you, Azash. Azash a God, but Ghwerig beat him. Azash not ever see Bhelliom now.'

‘Can Azash possibly hear him?' Sparhawk asked.

‘Probably,' Sephrenia said calmly. ‘Azash knows the sound of His own name. He listens when somebody says something to Him.'

‘Man-things swim in lake to find Bhelliom,' Ghwerig rambled on. ‘Bug-thing belong Azash watch from weeds and see them. Man-things go away. Bug-thing bring man-things with no minds. Man-things swim in water. Many drown. One man-thing find Bhelliom. Ghwerig kill man-thing and take Blue Rose. Azash want Bhelliom? Azash come seek Ghwerig. Azash cook in Troll-God fire. Ghwerig never eat God-meat before. Ghwerig wonder how God-meat taste.'

Deep within the earth there was a rumbling sound, and the floor of the cave seemed to shudder.

‘Azash definitely heard him,' Sephrenia said. ‘You almost have to admire that twisted creature out there. No
one has ever thrown that kind of insult into the face of one of the Elder Gods.'

‘Azash mad to Ghwerig?' the Troll was saying. ‘Or maybe-so Azash shake from fear. Ghwerig have Bhelliom now. Soon make rings. Ghwerig not need Troll-Gods then. Cook Azash in Bhelliom-fire. Cook slow so juice not burn away. Ghwerig eat Azash. Who is pray to Azash when Azash lay deep in Ghwerig's belly?'

The rumble this time was accompanied by sharp cracking sounds as rocks deep in the earth shattered.

‘He's sticking his neck out, wouldn't you say?' Kurik said in a strained voice. ‘Azash isn't the sort you want to play with.'

‘The Troll-Gods are protecting Ghwerig,' Sephrenia replied. ‘Not even Azash would risk a confrontation with them.'

‘Stealers! All stealers!' the Troll howled. ‘Aphrael steal rings! Adian of Thalesia steal Bhelliom! Now Azash and Sparhawk from Elenia try to steal her from Ghwerig again! Talk to Ghwerig, Blue Rose! Ghwerig lonely!'

‘How did he find out about me?' Sparhawk was startled by the breadth of the Troll-Dwarf's knowledge.

‘The Troll-Gods are old and very wise,' Sephrenia replied. ‘There's very little that happens in the world that they don't know, and they'll pass it on to those who serve them – for a price.'

‘What sort of price would satisfy a God?'

‘Pray that you never have to know, dear one,' she said with a shudder.

‘Take Ghwerig ten years to carve one petal here, Blue Rose. Ghwerig love Blue Rose. Why she not talk to Ghwerig?' He mumbled inaudibly for a time. ‘Rings. Ghwerig make rings so Bhelliom speak again. Burn Azash in Bhelliom fire. Burn Sparhawk in Bhelliom fire.
Burn Aphrael in Bhelliom fire. All burn. All burn. Then Ghwerig eat.'

‘I think it's time for us to get to it,' Sparhawk said grimly. ‘I definitely don't want him getting into his workshop.' He reached for his sword.

‘Use the spear,' Flute told him. ‘He can grab your sword out of your hand, but the spear has enough power to hold him off. Please, my noble father, try to stay alive. I need you.'

‘I'm doing my very best,' he told her.

‘Father?' Kurik asked in a tone of surprise.

‘It's a Styric form of address,' Sephrenia said rather quickly, throwing a look at Flute. ‘It has to do with respect – and love.'

At that point Sparhawk did something he had seldom done before. He set his palms together in front of his chest and bowed to this strange Styric child.

Flute clasped her hands together in delight, then hurled herself into his arms and kissed him soundly with her little rose-bud mouth. ‘Father,' she said. For some reason Sparhawk felt profoundly embarrassed. Flute's kiss was not that of a little girl.

‘How hard is a Troll's head?' Kurik asked Flute gruffly, obviously as disturbed as Sparhawk by the little girl's open display of affection that seemed far beyond her years. He was shaking out his brutal chain-mace.

‘Very very hard,' she told him.

‘We've heard that he's deformed,' Kurik continued. ‘How good are his legs?'

‘Weak. It's all he can do to stand.'

‘All right then, Sparhawk,' Kurik said in a professional tone. ‘I'll edge around to the side of him and whip him across the knees, hips and ankles with this.' He swung his mace whistling through the air. ‘If I can put him down, shove the spear into his guts and then I'll try to brain him.'

‘
Must
you be so graphic, Kurik?' Sephrenia protested in a sick voice.

‘This is business, little mother,' Sparhawk told her. ‘We have to know exactly what we're going to do, so don't interfere. All right, Kurik, let's go.' Quite deliberately he walked to the mouth of the gallery and stepped out into the cavern, making no attempt to conceal himself.

The cavern was a place of wonder. Its roof was lost in purple shadow, and the seething waterfall plunged in glowing, golden mist into an unimaginably deep chasm from which the hollow roar of falling water echoed up in endless babble. The walls, stretching out as far as the eye could reach, glittered with flecks and veins of gold, and gems more precious than the ransom of kings sparkled in the shifting, rainbow-hued light.

The misshapen Troll-Dwarf, shaggy and grotesque, squatted at the edge of the chasm, and piled around him were lumps and chunks of pure gold and heaps of gems of every hue. In his right hand Ghwerig held the stained gold crown of King Sarak, and surmounting that crown was Bhelliom, the sapphire rose. The jewel seemed to glow as it caught and reflected the light that came tumbling down with the falling water. Sparhawk looked for the first time at the most precious object on earth, and for a moment a kind of wonder almost overcame him. Then he stepped forward, the ancient battle-spear held low in his left hand. He wasn't sure if Sephrenia's spell would make it possible for the grotesque Troll to understand him, but he felt a peculiar moral compunction to speak. To simply destroy this deformed monstrosity without a word was not in Sparhawk's nature. He did not know if Ghwerig could understand him, but he had to speak. ‘I have come for the Bhelliom,' he said. ‘I am not Adian, King of Thalesia, so I will not try to trick you. I will
take what I want from you by main force. Defend yourself if you can.' It was as close as Sparhawk could come to a formal challenge under the circumstances.