2 - The Ruby Knight Read online

parapet. He stood up and caught the coil of rope that

  came out of the misty darkness. He dropped it over the

  wall and swung out on it. A few moments later, he was

  on the ground. The rope slithered up into the fog, and

  then he heard the sound of the timber sliding back into

  the garret. 'Very neat,' Sparhawk muttered, walking

  carefully away from the city wall. 'I'll have to remember

  that place.'

  The fog made it a bit difficult to get his bearings, but by

  keeping the looming shadow of the city wall to his left, he

  could more or less determine his location. He set his feet

  down carefully. The night was quiet, and the sound of a

  stick breaking would be very loud.

  Then he stopped. Sparhawk's instincts were very

  good, and he knew that he was being watched. He drew'

  his sword slowly to avoid the tell-tale sound it made as it

  slid out of its sheath. With the sword in one hand and the

  battle-spear in the other, he stood peering out into the

  fog.

  And then he saw it. It was only a faint glow in the

  darkness, so faint that most people would not have

  noticed it. The glow drew closer, and he saw that it had a

  slight greenish cast to it. Sparhawk stood perfectly still

  and waited.

  There was a figure out there in the fog, indistinct

  perhaps, but a figure nonetheless. It appeared to be

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  robed and hooded in black, and that faint glow seemed to

  be coming out from under the hood. The figure was quite

  tall and appeared to be impossibly thin, almost skeletal.

  For some reason it chilled Sparhawk. He muttered in

  Styric, moving his fingers on the hilt of the sword and the

  shaft of the spear. Then he raised the spear and released

  the spell with its point. The spell was a relatively simple

  one, its purpose being only to identify the emaciated

  figure out in the fog. Sparhawk almost gasped when he

  felt the waves of pure evil emanating from the shadowy

  form. Whatever it was, it was certainly not human.

  After a moment, a ghostly metallic chuckle came out of

  the night. The figure turned and moved away. Its walk

  was jerky as if its knees were put together backwards.

  Sparhawk stayed where he was' until that sense of evil

  faded away. Whatever the thing was, it was gone now. "I

  wonder if that was another of Martel's little surprises,'

  Sparhawk muttered under his breath. Martel was a

  renegade Pandion Knight who had been expelled from

  the order. He and Sparhawk had once been friends, but

  no more. Martel now worked for Primate Annias, and it

  had been he who had provided the poison with which

  Annias had very nearly killed the queen.

  Sparhawk continued slowly and silently now, his

  sword and the spear still in his hands. Finally he saw the

  torches which marked the closed east gate of the city, and

  he took his bearings from them.

  Then he heard a faint snuffling sound behind him,

  much like the sound a tracking dog would make. He

  turned, his weapons ready. Again he heard that metallic

  chuckle. He amended that in his mind. It was not so

  much a chucle as it was a sort of stridulation, a chittering

  sound. Again he felt that sense of overpowering evil,

  which once again faded away.

  Sparhawk angled slightly out from the city wall and

  the filmy light of those two torches at the gate. After

  about a quarter of an hour, he saw the square, looming

  shape of the Pandion chapterhouse just ahead.

  He dropped into a prone position on the fog-wet turf and

  cast the searching spell again. He released it and waited.

  Nothing.

  He rose, sheathed his sword and moved cautiously

  across the intervening field. The castle-like chapterhouse

  was, as always, being watched. Church soldiers, dressed

  as workmen, were encamped not far from the front gate

  with piles of the cobblestones they were ostensibly laying

  heaped around their tents. Sparhawk, however, went

  around to the back wall and carefully picked his way

  through the deep, stake-studded fosse surrounding the

  structure.

  The rope down which he had clambered when he had

  left the house was still dangling behind a concealing

  bush. He shook it a few times to be certain the grappling

  hook at its upper end was still firmly attached. Then he

  tucked the war-spear under his sword-belt. He grasped

  the rope and pulled down hard.

  Above him, he could hear the points of the hook

  grating into the stones of the battlement. He started to

  climb up, hand over hand.

  'Who's there?' The voice came sharply out of the fog

  overhead. It was a youthful voice, and familiar.

  Sparhawk swore under his breath. Then he felt a

  tugging on the rope he was climbing. 'Leave it alone,

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  Berit,' he grated, straining to pull himself up.

  "Sir Sparhawk?' the novice said in a startled voice.

  'Don't jerk on the rope,' Sparhawk ordered. 'Those

  stakes in the ditch are very sharp. '

  'Let me help you up.'

  "I can manage. Just don't displace that hook.' He

  grunted as he heaved himself up over the battlement,

  and Berit caught his arm to help him. Sparhawk was

  sweating from his exertions. Climbing a rope when one is

  wearing chain-mail can be very strenuous.

  Berit was a novice Pandion who showed much

  promise. He was a tall, raw-boned young man who was

  wearing a mail-shirt and a plain, utilitarian cloak. He

  carried a heavy bladed battle-axe in one hand. He was a

  polite young fellow, so he did not ask any questions,

  although his face was filled with curiosity. Sparhawk

  looked down into the courtyard of the chapterhouse. By

  the light of a flickering torch, he saw Kurik and Kalten.

  Both of them were armed, and sounds from the stable

  indicated that someone was saddling horses for them.

  "don't go away,' he called down to them.

  "what are you doing up there, Sparhawk?' Kalten

  sounded surprised.

  I thought I'd take up burglary as a sideline,' Sparhawk

  replied drily. 'Stay there. I'll be right down. Come along,

  'I'm supposed to be on watch, Sir Sparhawk.'

  "We'll send somebody up to replace you. This is

  important.' Sparhawk led the way along the parapet to

  the steep stone stairs that led down into the courtyard.

  "where have you been, Sparhawk?' Kurik demanded

  angrily when the two had descended. Sparhawk's squire

  wore his usual black leather vest, and his heavily

  muscled arms and shoulders gleamed in the orange

  torchlight that illuminated the courtyard. He spoke in the

  hushed voice men use when talking at night.

  "I had to go to the cathedral,' Sparhawk replied quietly.

  'Are you having religious experiences?' Kalten asked,

  sounding amused. The big blond knight, Sparhawk's

 
boyhood friend, was dressed in chain and had a heavy

  broadsword belted at his waist.

  'Not exactly,' Sparhawk told him. 'Tanis is dead. His

  ghost came to me at about midnight.'

  'Tanis?' Kalten's voice was shocked.

  'He was one of the twelve knights who were with

  Sephrenia when she encased Ehlana in crystal. His ghost

  told me to go to the crypt under the cathedral before it

  went to give up its sword to Sephrenia.'

  'And you went? at night?'

  'The matter was of a certain urgency.'

  'What did you do there? Violate a few tombs? Is that

  how you got the spear?'

  'Hardly,' Sparhawk replied. 'King Aldreas gave it to

  me.'

  'AldreeS.?'

  'His ghost anyway. His missing ring is hidden in the

  socket.' Sparhawk looked curiously at his two friends.

  'Where were you going just now?'

  'Out to look for you.' Kurik shrugged.

  'How did you know I'd left the chapterhouse?'

  "I checked in on you a few times,' Kurik said. "I thought

  you knew I usually did that.'

  'Every night?'

  'Three times at least,' Kurik confirmed. 'I've been

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  doing that every night since you were a boy - except for

  the years you were in Rendor. The first time tonight, you

  were talking in your sleep. The second time - just after

  midnight - you were gone. I looked around, and when I

  couldn't find you, I woke up Kalten.'

  "I think we'd better go wake the others, ' Sparhawk said

  bleakly. 'Aldreas told me some things, and we've got

  some deCisions to make.'

  'Bad news?' Kalten asked.

  'it's hard to say. Berit, tell those novices in the stable to

  go and replace you on the parapet. This might take a

  while.'

  They gathered in Preceptor Vanion's brown-carpeted

  study in the south tower. Sparhawk, Berit, Kalten and'

  Kurik were there, of course. Sir Bevier, a Cyrinic Knight,

  was there as well, as were Sir Tynian, an Alcione Knight,

  and Sir ulath, a huge Genidian Knight. The three were

  the champions of their orders, and they had joined with

  Sparhawk and Kalten when the Preceptors of the four

  orders had decided that the restoration of Queen Ehlana

  was a matter that concerned them all. Sephrenia, the

  small, dark-haired Styric woman who instructed the

  Pandions in the secrets of Styricum, sat by the fire with

  the little girl they called Flute at her side. The boy, Talen,

  sat by the window rubbing at his eyes with his fist. Talen

  was a sound sleeper, and he did not like being

  awakened. Vanion sat at the table he used for a writing

  desk. His study was a pleasant room, low, dark beamed,

  and with a deep fireplace that Sparhawk had never seen

  unlighted. As always, Sephrenia's simmering tea-kettle

  stood on the hob.

  Vanion did not look well. Roused from his bed in the

  middle of the night, the Preceptor of the Pandion Order,

  a grim, careworn knight who was probably even older

  than he looked, wore an uncharacteristic Styric robe of

  plain white homespun cloth. Sparhawk had watched this

  peculiar change in Vanion over the years. Caught at

  times unawares, the Preceptor, one of the stalwarts of the

  Church, sometimes seemed almost half Styric. As an

  Elene and a Knight of the Church, it was Sparhawk's

  duty to reveal his observations to the church authorities.

  He chose, however, not to. His loyalty to the Church was

  one thing - a commandment from God. His loyalty to

  Vanion, however, was deeper, more personal.

  The Preceptor was grey-faced, and his hands trembled

  slightly. The burden' of the swords of the three dead

  knights he had compelled Sephrenia to relinquish to him

  was obviously weighing him down more than he would

  have admitted. The spell Sephrenia had cast in the

  throne-room and which sustained the queen had

  involved the concerted assistance of twelve Pandion

  Knights. One by one those knights would die, and their

  ghosts would deliver their swords to Sephrenia. When

  the last had died, she would follow them into the House

  of the Dead. Earlier that evening, Vanion' had compelled

  her to give those swords to him. It was not the weight of

  the swords alone which made them such a burden. There

  were other things that went with them, things about

  which Sparhawk could not even begin to guess. Vanion

  had been adamant about taking the swords. He had

  given a few vague reasons for his action, but Sparhawk

  privately suspected that the Preceptors main reason had

  been to spare Sephrenia as much as possible. Despite all

  the strictures forbidding such things, Sparhawk believed

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  that Vanion loved the dear, small woman who had

  instructed all Pandions for generations in the secrets of

  Styricum. All Pandion Knights loved and revered

  Sephrenia. In Vanion's case, however, Sparhawk surmised

  that love and reverence went perhaps a step

  further. Sephrenia also, he had noticed, seemed to have a

  special affection for the Preceptor that went somewhat

  beyond the love of a teacher for her pupil. This was also

  something that a Church Knight should reveal to the

  Hierocracy in Chyrellos. Again, Sparhawk chose not to.

  'Why are we gathering at this unseemly hour?' Vanion

  asked wearily.

  'Do you want to tell him?' Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.

  The white-robed woman sighed and unwrapped the

  long, cloth-bound object she held to reveal another

  ceremonial Pandion sword. 'Sir Tanis has gone into the

  House of the Dead,' she told Vanion sadly.

  Tanis?' Vanion's voice was stricken. 'When did this

  happen?''

  just recently, I gather,' she replied.

  'is that why we're here tonight?' Vanion asked

  Sparhawk.

  'Not entirely. Before he went to deliver his sword to

  Sephrenia, Tanis visited me - or at least his ghost did. He

  told me that someone in the royal crypt wanted to see

  me. I went to the cathedral and I was confronted by the

  -ghost of Aldreas. He told me a number of things and then

  gave me this.' He twisted the shaft of the spear out of its

  socket and shook the ruby ring out of its place of

  concealment.

  'So that's where Aldreas hid it,' Vanion said. 'Maybe he

  was wiser than we thought. You said he told you some

  things. Such as what?'

  That he had been poisoned,' Sparhawk replied.

  'Probably the same poison they gave Ehlana.'

  'Was it Annias?' Kalten asked grimly.

  Sparhawk shook his head. 'no. It was Princess Arissa.'

  'His own sister?' Bevier exclaimed. That's monsttrous!'

  Bevier was an Arcian, and he had deep moral convictions.

  'Arissa is fairly monstrous,' Kalten agreed. "She's not

  the sort to let little things stand in her way. How did she

  get out of the cloister in Demos to disp
ose of Aldreas,

  though?'

  'Annias arranged it,' Sparhawk told him. "She entertained

  Aldreas in her usual fashion, and when he was

  exhausted, she gave him the poisoned wine.'

  "I don't quite understand,' Bevier frowned.

  The relationship between Arissa and Aldreas went

  somewhat beyond what is customary for a brother and

  sister,' Vanion told him delicately.

  Bevier's eyes widened and the blood drained from his

  olive-skinned face as he slowly gathered Vanion's

  meaning.

  'Why did she kill him?' Kalten asked. 'Revenge for

  locking her up in that cloister?'

  'No, I don't think' so,' Sparhawk told him. "I think it

  was a part of the overall scheme she and Annias had

  hatched. First they poisoned Aldreas and then Ehlana.'

  'So the way to the throne would be clear for Arissa's

  bastard son?' Kalten surmised.

  "It's sort of logical,' Sparhawk agreed. "It fits together

  even tighter when you know that Lycheas the bastard is

  Annias's son too.'

  'A Churchman?' Tynian said, looking a bit startled.

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  'Do you people here in Elenia have different rules from

  the rest of us?'

  'Not really, no,' Vanion replied. 'Annias seems to feel

  that he's above the rules, and Arissa goes out of her way

  to break them.'

  'Arissa's always been just a little indiscriminate,'

  Kalten added. 'Rumour has it that she was on very

  friendly terms with just about every man in Cimmura.'

  'That might be a slight exaggeration,' Vanion said. He

  stood up and went to the window. 'I'll pass this

  information on to Patriarch Dolmant,' he said, looking

  out at the foggY night. 'He may be able to make some use

  of it when the time comes to elect a new Archprelate.'

  'And perhaps the Earl of Lenda might be able to use it

  as well,' Sephrenia suggested. 'The royal council is

  corrupt, but even they might balk if they find that Annias

  is trying to put his own bastard son on the throne.' She

  looked at Sparhawk. 'What else did Aldreas tell you?' she

  asked.

  "just one other thing. We know we need some magic

  object to cure Ehlana. He told me what it is. It's Bhelliom.

  It's the only thing in the world with enough power.'

  Sephrenia's face blanched. 'No!' she gasped. 'Not

  Bhelliom!'

  'That's what he told me.'

  "It presents a big problem,' Ulath declared. 'Bhelliom's

  been lost since the Zemoch war, and even if we're lucky