The Ruby Knight

  ‘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.’

  Sparhawk came to his feet. ‘How many?’

  ‘I only heard one horse. Whoever it is is coming down the road from the direction we’re going.’ The novice paused. ‘He’s pushing his horse very hard,’ he added.

  ‘That’s not too wise,’ Ulath grunted, ‘ – considering the dark and the condition of that road.’

  ‘Should we put out the fire?’ Bevier asked.

  ‘I think he’s already seen it, Sir Bevier,’ Berit replied.

  ‘Let’s see if he decides to stop,’ Sparhawk said. ‘One man all by himself isn’t much of a threat.’

  ‘Unless it’s the Seeker,’ Kurik said, shaking out his chain-mace. ‘All right, gentlemen,’ he said in his gruff, drill-sergeant’s voice, ‘spread out and get ready.’

  The knights automatically responded to that note of command. They all instinctively recognized the fact that Kurik probably knew more about close fighting than any man in the four orders. Sparhawk drew his sword, suddenly feeling an enormous pride for his friend.

  The traveller reined in his horse on the road not too far from their camp. They could all hear the horse panting and gasping for breath. ‘May I approach?’ the man out in the darkness pleaded. His voice was shrill and seemed to hover on the very brink of hysteria.

  ‘Come on in, stranger,’ Kalten replied easily after a quick glance at Kurik.

  The man who came riding out of the darkness was flamboyantly, even gaudily dressed. He wore a wide-brimmed, plumed hat, a red satin doublet, blue hose and knee-length leather boots. He had a lute slung across his back, and except for a small dagger at his waist, he carried no weapons. His horse lurched and staggered with exhaustion, and the rider himself appeared to be in much the same condition. ‘Thank God,’ the man said when he saw the armoured knights standing around the fire. He swayed dangerously in his saddle and would have fallen had not Bevier jumped forward to catch him.

  ‘The poor fellow seems to be just about played out,’ Kalten said. ‘I wonder what’s chasing him.’

  ‘Wolves, maybe.’ Tynian shrugged. ‘I expect he’ll tell us just as soon as he gets his breath.’

  ‘Get him some water, Talen,’ Sephrenia instructed.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ The boy took a pail and went down to the lake.

  ‘Just lie back for a few moments,’ Bevier told the stranger. ‘You’re safe now.’

  ‘There’s no time,’ the man gasped. ‘There’s something of vital urgency I must tell you.’

  ‘What’s your name, friend?’ Kalten asked him.

  ‘I am Arbele, a minstrel by profession,’ the stranger replied. ‘I write poetry and compose the songs I sing for the entertainment of lords and ladies. I have just come from the house of that monster, Count Ghasek.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too promising,’ Ulath muttered.

  Talen brought the water, and Arbele drank greedily.

  ‘Take his horse down to the lake,’ Sparhawk told the boy. ‘Don’t let him drink too much at first.’

  ‘Right,’ Talen said.

  ‘Why do you call the count a monster?’ Sparhawk asked then.

  ‘What else would you call a man who seals up a fair damsel in a tower?’

  ‘Who is this fair damsel?’ Bevier asked, his voice strangely intent.

  ‘His own sister!’ Arbele choked in a tone of outrage. ‘A lady incapable of wrongdoing.’

  ‘Did he happen to tell you why?’ Tynian asked.

  ‘He rambled out some nonsense, accusing her of foul misdeeds. I refused to listen to h
im.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Kalten’s tone was sceptical. ‘Did you ever see the lady?’

  ‘Well, no, not really, but the count’s servants told me about her. They said that she’s the greatest beauty in the district, and that the count sealed her in that tower when he returned from a journey. He drove me and all the servants from the castle, and now he proposes to keep his sister in that tower for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Monstrous!’ Bevier exclaimed, his eyes afire with indignation.

  Sephrenia had been watching the minstrel very closely. ‘Sparhawk,’ she said urgently, motioning him away from the fire. The two of them walked off, and Kurik followed them.

  ‘What is it?’ Sparhawk asked once they were out of earshot.

  ‘Don’t touch him,’ she replied, ‘and warn the others to avoid him as well.’

  ‘I don’t quite follow.’

  ‘Something’s wrong with him, Sparhawk,’ Kurik said. ‘His eyes aren’t right, and he’s talking a little too fast.’

  ‘He’s infected with something,’ Sephrenia said.

  ‘A disease?’ Sparhawk shuddered back from the word. In a world where plagues were rampant, that word rang in human imagination like the clap of doom.

  ‘Not in the sense you mean,’ she replied. ‘This is not a physical disease. Something has contaminated his mind – something evil.’

  ‘The Seeker?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The symptoms aren’t the same. I’ve got a strong feeling that he might be contagious, so keep everybody away from him.’

  ‘He’s talking,’ Kurik said, ‘and he doesn’t have that wooden face. I think you’re right, Sephrenia. I don’t believe it’s the Seeker. It’s something else.’

  ‘He’s very dangerous just now,’ she said.

  ‘Not for long,’ Kurik said bleakly, reaching for his mace.

  ‘Oh, Kurik,’ she said in a resigned tone of voice, ‘stop that. What would Aslade say if she found out you were assaulting helpless travellers?’

  ‘We really don’t have to tell her, Sephrenia.’

  ‘When will the day come when Elenes stop thinking with their weapons?’ she said in exasperation. Then she said something in Styric which Sparhawk did not recognize.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘There’s a problem, though,’ Kurik said seriously. ‘If the minstrel’s infectious, then Bevier’s got it too. He touched him when he fell off his horse.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on Bevier,’ she said. ‘Perhaps his armour protected him. I’ll know better in a little while.’

  ‘And Talen?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘Did he touch the minstrel when he brought him that pail of water?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘Could you cure Bevier if he’s caught it?’ Kurik asked.

  ‘I don’t even know what it is yet. All I know is that something has taken possession of that minstrel. Let’s go back and try to keep the others away from him.’

  ‘I charge you, Knights of the Church,’ the minstrel was saying in strident tones, ‘ride forthwith to the house of the wicked count. Punish him for his cruelty, and free his beautiful sister from her undeserved punishment.’

  ‘Yes!’ Bevier said fervently.

  Sparhawk looked quickly at Sephrenia, and she gravely nodded to advise him that Bevier had been infected. ‘Stay with him, Bevier,’ he told the Arcian. ‘The rest of you, come with me.’

  They walked a short distance from the fire, and Sephrenia quietly explained.

  ‘And now Bevier’s got it too?’ Kalten asked her.

  ‘I’m afraid so. He’s already beginning to behave irrationally.’

  ‘Talen,’ Sparhawk said seriously, ‘when you gave him that pail of water, did you touch him?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the boy replied.

  ‘Are you feeling any urges to run around rescuing ladies in distress?’ Kurik asked him.

  ‘Me? Kurik, be serious.’

  ‘He’s all right,’ Sephrenia said with relief in her voice.

  ‘All right,’ Sparhawk said, ‘what do we do?’

  ‘We ride to Ghasek as quickly as we can,’ she replied. ‘I have to find out what’s causing the infection before I can cure it. We absolutely have to get into that castle – even if it involves force.’

  ‘We can handle that,’ Ulath said, ‘but what are we going to do about that minstrel? If he can infect others just by touching them, he’s likely to come back at the head of an army.’

  ‘There’s a simple way to deal with it,’ Kalten said, putting his hand on his sword-hilt.

  ‘No,’ Sephrenia said sharply. ‘I’ll put him to sleep instead. A few days’ rest might do him some good anyway.’ She looked sternly at Kalten. ‘Why is your first answer to any problem always a sword?’

  ‘Over-trained, I suppose,’ he shrugged.

  Sephrenia began to speak the incantation, weaving the spell with her fingers and quietly releasing it.

  ‘What about Bevier?’ Tynian asked. ‘Wouldn’t it be a good idea for him to go to sleep too?’

  She shook her head. ‘He has to be able to ride. We can’t leave him behind. Just don’t get close enough to him to let him touch you. I’ve got problems enough already.’

  They walked back to the fire.

  ‘The poor fellow’s gone to sleep,’ Bevier reported. ‘What are we going to do about this?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, we’re going to ride on to Ghasek,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Oh, one thing, Bevier,’ he added. ‘I know you’re outraged about this, but try to keep your emotions under control when we get there. Keep your hand away from your sword, and keep your tongue under control. Let’s feel this situation out before we take any action.’

  ‘That’s the course of prudence, I suppose,’ Bevier admitted grudgingly. ‘I’ll feign illness when we get there. I’m not sure I could restrain my anger if I have to look this monstrous count in the face too many times.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘Put a blanket over our friend here, and then get to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a hard day.’

  After Bevier had gone to his tent, Sparhawk spoke quietly with his fellow knights. ‘Don’t wake Bevier to stand watch tonight,’ he cautioned. ‘I don’t want him getting any ideas about riding out on his own in the middle of the night.’

  They all nodded and went to their blankets.

  It was still cloudy the following morning, a dense, grey overcast that filled the dismal wood with a kind of murky twilight. After they had finished breakfast, Kurik erected a sheet of canvas on poles over the sleeping minstrel. ‘Just in case it rains,’ he said.

  ‘Is he all right?’ Bevier asked.

  ‘Just exhausted,’ Sephrenia replied evasively. ‘Let him sleep.’

  They mounted and rode back out to the rutted track. Sparhawk led them at first at a trot to warm up the horses, and then, after about a half-hour he pushed Faran into a gallop. ‘Keep your eyes on the road,’ he shouted to the others. ‘Let’s not cripple any of the horses.’

  They rode hard through the murky wood, slowing briefly from time to time to rest their mounts. As the day progressed, they began to hear rumbles of thunder off to the west, and the impending storm increased their desire to reach the questionable safety of the house at Ghasek.

  As they drew closer to the count’s castle, they passed deserted villages that had fallen into ruin. The storm-clouds roiled overhead, and the distant thunder marched steadily towards them.

  Late in the afternoon, they rounded a curve and saw the large castle perched atop a crag on the far side of a desolate field where ruined houses stood huddled together as if fearful of the bleak structure glowering down at them. Sparhawk reined Faran in. ‘Let’s not just go charging up there,’ he said to the others. ‘We don’t want the people in the castle to misunderstand our intentions.’ He led them at a trot across the field. They passed the village and approached the base of the craggy hill. br />
  There was a narrow track leading up the side of the crag, and they rode up it in single file.

  ‘Gloomy-looking place,’ Ulath said, craning his neck to look up at the brooding structure atop the crag.

  ‘It doesn’t really help to generate much enthusiasm for this visit,’ Kalten agreed.

  The track they followed led ultimately to a barred gate. Sparhawk reined in, leaned over in his saddle and pounded on the gate with one steel-clad fist.

  They waited, but nothing happened.

  Sparhawk pounded again.

  After some time, a small panel in the centre of the gate slid open. ‘What is it?’ a hollow voice demanded shortly.

  ‘We are travellers,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and we seek shelter from the storm which approaches.’

  ‘The house is closed to strangers.’

  ‘Open the gate,’ Sparhawk said flatly. ‘We are Knights of the Church, and failure to comply with our reasonable request for shelter is an offence against God.’

  The unseen man on the other side of the gate hesitated. ‘I must ask the count’s permission,’ he said grudgingly in a deep, rumbling voice.

  ‘Do so at once then.’

  ‘Not a very promising beginning, is it?’ Kalten said.

  ‘Gatekeepers sometimes take themselves too seriously,’ Tynian told him. ‘Keys and locks do strange things to some people’s sense of proportion.’

  They waited while lightning streaked the purple sky to the west.

  Then, after what seemed a very long time, they heard the rattling of a chain followed by the sound of a heavy iron bar sliding through massive rings. Grudgingly, the gate groaned open.

  The man inside was huge. He wore bull-hide armour, and his eyes were deep-sunk beneath heavy brows. His lower jaw protruded, and his face was bleak.

  Sparhawk knew him. He had seen him once before.

  Chapter 14

  The corridor into which the surly gate-guard led them was draped with cobwebs and dimly lit by flickering torches set in iron rings at widely spaced intervals. Sparhawk quite deliberately lagged behind to fall in beside Sephrenia. ‘You recognized him too?’ he whispered to her.

  She nodded. ‘There’s more going on here than we realized,’ she whispered back. ‘Be very careful, Sparhawk. This is dangerous.’