The Ruby Knight (40 page)

Ghwerig came to his feet, his twisted body hideous, and his flat lips peeled back from his yellow fangs in a snarl of hatred. ‘You not take Ghwerig's Bhelliom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat – not even pale Elene God save Sparhawk now.'

‘That hasn't been decided yet,' Sparhawk replied coolly. ‘I need the use of Bhelliom for a time, and then I will destroy it to keep it out of the hands of Azash. Surrender it up to me or die.'

Ghwerig's laughter was hideous. ‘Ghwerig die? Ghwerig immortal, Sparhawk from Elenia. Man-thing cannot kill.'

‘That also hasn't been decided yet.' Quite deliberately, Sparhawk took the spear in both hands and advanced on the Troll-Dwarf. Kurik, his spiked chain-mace hanging from his right fist, came out of the mouth of the gallery and edged around his Lord to come at the Troll from the side.

‘Two?' Ghwerig said. ‘Sparhawk should have brought a hundred.' He bent and lifted a huge stone club bound with iron out of a pile of gems. ‘You not take Ghwerig's Bhelliom from him, Sparhawk from Elenia. Ghwerig kill first. Here you die, and Ghwerig eat. Not even Aphrael save Sparhawk now. Little man-things doomed. Ghwerig feast this night. Roasted man-things have much juice.' He smacked his lips grossly. He straightened, his rough-furred shoulders bulking ominously. The term ‘dwarf' as applied to a troll, Sparhawk saw, was grossly deceptive. Ghwerig, despite his deformity, was at least as tall as he, and the Troll's arms, twisted like old stumps, hung down below his knees. His face was furred rather
than bearded, and his green eyes seemed to glow malevolently. He shambled forward, his vast club swinging in his right hand. In his left he still clutched Sarak's crown with Bhelliom glowing at its apex.

Kurik stepped in and swung his whistling chain-mace at the monster's knees, but Ghwerig almost disdainfully blocked the blow with his club. ‘Flee, weak man-thing,' he said, his voice grating horribly. ‘All flesh is food for me.' He swung his horrid club at that point, and the reach of his abnormally long arms made him doubly dangerous. Kurik jumped back as the iron-bound stone cudgel whistled past his face.

Sparhawk lunged in, driving the spear at the Troll's chest, but again Ghwerig deflected the stroke. ‘Too slow, Sparhawk from Elenia,' he laughed.

Then Kurik's mace caught him high on the left hip. Ghwerig fell back, but with cat-like speed smashed his club into a pile of glittering gems, spraying them out like missiles. Kurik winced and put his free hand to his face to wipe the blood from the gash in his forehead out of his eyes.

Sparhawk jabbed again with his spear, lightly slicing the off-balanced Troll across the chest. Ghwerig roared with rage and pain, then stumbled forward with vast swings of his club. Sparhawk jumped back, coolly watching for an opening. He saw that the Troll was totally without fear. No injury short of one that was mortal would make the thing retreat. Ghwerig was actually foaming at the mouth now, and his green eyes glowed with madness. He spat out hideous curses and lurched forward again, swinging his horrid club.

‘Keep him away from the edge!' Sparhawk shouted to Kurik. ‘If he goes over, we may never find the crown!' Then he quite clearly realized that he had found the key. Somehow they had to make the deformed Troll drop the
crown. It was obvious by now that not even the two of them could prevail against this shaggy creature with its long arms and its eyes ablaze with insane rage. Only a distraction would give them the opportunity to leap in and deliver a mortal wound. He shook his right hand to get Kurik's attention, then reached over and clapped the hand on his left elbow. Kurik's eyes looked puzzled for a moment, but then they narrowed, and he nodded. He circled around to Ghwerig's left, his mace at the ready.

Sparhawk tightened his grip on the spear with both hands again and feinted with it. Ghwerig swung his club at the extended weapon, and Sparhawk jerked it back.

‘Ghwerig's rings!' the Troll shouted in triumph. ‘Sparhawk from Elenia brings the rings back to Ghwerig. Ghwerig feel their presence!' With a hideous roar he leaped forward, his club tearing at the air.

Kurik struck, his spiked chain-mace tearing a huge chunk of flesh from the Troll's massive left arm. Ghwerig, however, paid little heed to the injury, but continued his rush, his club whistling as he bore down on Sparhawk. His left hand was still tightly locked on the crown.

Sparhawk gave ground grudgingly. He had to keep the Troll away from the brink of the chasm for as long as it held the crown.

Kurik swung his mace again, but Ghwerig shied away, and the blow missed the shaggy elbow. It appeared that the first stroke had caused the Troll more pain than had been evident. Sparhawk took advantage of that momentary flinch and stabbed quickly, opening a gash in Ghwerig's right shoulder. Ghwerig howled, more in rage than in pain, and immediately swung the club again.

Then, from behind him, Sparhawk heard the sound of Flute's voice rising clear and bell-like above the muted roar of the waterfall. Ghwerig's eyes went wide and his
brutish mouth gaped. ‘You!' he shrieked. ‘Now Ghwerig pay you back, Girl-child! Girl-child's song ends here!'

Flute continued to sing, and Sparhawk risked a quick glance over his shoulder. The little girl stood in the mouth of the gallery with Sephrenia hovering behind her. Sparhawk sensed that the song was not in fact a spell but rather was intended to distract the dwarf so that either he or Kurik could catch the monster off-guard. Ghwerig hobbled forward again, swinging his club to force Sparhawk out of his path. The Troll's eyes were fixed on Flute, and his breath hissed between his tightly clenched fangs. Kurik crashed his mace into the monster's back, but Ghwerig gave no indication that he even felt the stroke as he bore down on the Styric child. Then Sparhawk saw his opportunity. As the Troll passed him, the wide swings of the stone club left the hairy flank open. He struck with all his strength, driving the broad blade of the ancient spear into Ghwerig's body just beneath the ribs. The Troll-Dwarf howled as the razor-sharp blade penetrated his leathery hide. He tried to swing his club, but Sparhawk jumped back, jerking the spear free. Then Kurik whipped his chain mace at the deformed side of Ghwerig's right knee, and Sparhawk heard the sickening sound of breaking bone. Ghwerig toppled, losing his grip on his club. Sparhawk reversed his grip on the spear and drove it down into the Troll's belly.

Ghwerig screamed, clutching at the spear with his right hand as Sparhawk wrenched it back and forth, slicing the sharp blade through the Troll's entrails. The crown, however, still remained tightly clenched in that twisted left hand. Only death, Sparhawk saw, would release that iron grip.

The Troll rolled away from the spear, gashing himself open even more horribly as he did so. Kurik smashed
him in the face with the chain-mace, crushing out one of his eyes. With a hideous howl, the monster rolled towards the brink of the chasm, scattering his hoarded jewels in the process. Then, with a scream of triumph, he toppled over the edge with Sarak's crown still in his grip.

Filled with chagrin, Sparhawk rushed to the brink of the abyss and stared down in dismay. Far below he could see the deformed body plunging down and down into unimaginable darkness. Then he heard the light patter of bare feet on the stony floor of the cavern, and Flute sped past him, her glossy black hair flying. To his horror, the little girl did not hesitate nor falter, but ran directly off the edge and plunged down after the falling Troll. ‘Oh, my God!' he choked, reaching vainly out towards her even as Kurik, his face aghast, came up beside him.

And then Sephrenia was there, Sir Gared's sword still in her hand.

‘Do something, Sparhawk,' Kurik pleaded.

‘There's no need, Kurik,' she replied calmly. ‘Nothing can happen to her.'

‘But – '

‘Hush, Kurik. I'm trying to listen.'

The light from the glowing waterfall seemed to dim somewhat as if far overhead a cloud had passed over the sun. The roar of the falling water seemed mocking now, and Sparhawk realized that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

And then in the deep darkness of that unimaginable abyss, he saw what appeared to be a spark of light. It grew steadily brighter, rising, or so it seemed, from that ghastly chasm. And as it rose, he could see it more clearly. It appeared to be a brilliant shaft of pure white light topped by a spark of intense blue.

And then Bhelliom rose from the depths, resting on the palm of Flute's incandescent little hand. Sparhawk
gaped in astonishment as he realized that he could see through her, and that what had risen glowing from the darkness below was as insubstantial as mist. Flute's tiny face was calm and imperturbable as she held the sapphire rose over her head with one hand. She reached out the other to Sephrenia, and to Sparhawk's horror, his beloved tutor stepped off the ledge.

But she did not fall.

As if walking on solid earth, she calmly strolled out across insubstantial air to take Bhelliom from Flute's hand. Then she turned and spoke in a strangely archaic form. ‘Wrench open thy spear, Sir Sparhawk, and put the ring of thy queen upon thy right hand, lest Bhelliom destroy thee when I deliver it up to thee.' Beside her, Flute lifted her face in exultant song, a song that rang with the voices of multitudes.

Sephrenia reached out as if to touch that ethereal little face in a gesture of infinite love. Then she walked back across the emptiness with Bhelliom held lightly between her two palms. ‘Here endeth thy quest, Sir Sparhawk,' she said gravely. ‘Reach forth thy hands to receive Bhelliom from me and from my Child-Goddess, Aphrael.'

And then, quite suddenly, everything became clear. Sparhawk fell to his knees with Kurik beside him, and the knight accepted the sapphire rose from Sephrenia's hands. She knelt between the two of them in adoration as they gazed at the glowing face of the one they had called Flute.

The eternal Child-Goddess Aphrael smiled at them, her voice still raised in choral song that filled all the cave with shimmering echoes, and then the light which filled her misty form grew brighter and brighter, and she speared upward, faster than any arrow.

And then she vanished.

HAVOC AND WAR

Prince Sparhawk is pledged to fight the enemies of the Tamul Emperor Sarabian with all the skill and cunning of a Pandion Knight. Meanwhile his Queen, Ehlana, educates Sarabian in the art of ruthless statesmanship. Sarabian is transformed from a mere puppet ruler into a formidable politician. But still Trolls, vampires, werewolves, zombies, ghouls and Ogres form a vast conspiracy to take over the Empire. Most disturbing of all are reported sightings of the Shining Ones amongst the hordes. These luminous beings inspire more fear than the rest combined. And Sparhawk and his companions must resurrect the sacred jewel of the Troll-Gods to combat them.

The enemies of the Empire know that possession of the jewel makes Sparhawk as dangerous as any god. But gods are among his foes. And while Sparhawk defends the far-flung Tamul Empire, he cannot also protect his beautiful Queen.

David Eddings, the greatest of modern fantasy writers, unveils the hidden powers at work in the story of Sparhawk and the Tamul Empire, an epic for our times.

ISBN 0 586 21316 3