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  but they keep pretty much to themselves.' He

  leaned back in his chair. "I do think you Styrics could

  avoid a lot of the trouble that breaks out from time to time

  if you'd just mingle with your neighbours a little more.'

  "It's not our way,' Sephrenia murmured. "I don't

  believe Elenes and Styrics are supposed to mingle.'

  'There could be something to what you say,' he

  agreed.

  'Are these Styrics doing anything in particular?

  Sparhawk asked, keeping his voice neutral.

  'Asking questions is about all. They seem to be very

  curious about the Zemoch war for some reason.' He rose

  to his feet. 'Enjoy your supper,' he said and went back to

  the kitchen.

  'We have a problem,' Sephrenia said gravely. 'Western

  Styrics do not wander about the countryside. Our Gods

  prefer to have us stay close to their altars.'

  'Zemochs then?' Bevier surmised.

  'Almost certainly.'

  "when , I was in Lamorkand, there were reports of

  Zemochs infiltrating the country east of Motera,' Kalten

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  remembered. 'They were doing the same thing wandering

  about the country asking questions, mostly

  having to do with folk-lore . '

  "Azash seems to have a plan that closely resembles

  OUrs,' Sephrenia said. 'He's trying to gather information

  that will lead him to Bhelliom.'

  "it's a race then,' Kalten said.

  "I'm afraid so, and he's got Zemochs out there ahead of

  US.'

  'And church soldiers behind,' Ulath added. 'You've

  gone and got us surrounded, Sparhawk. Could that

  Seeker be controlling those wandering Zemochs the

  same way it's controlling the soldiers?' the big Thalesian

  asked Sephrenia. 'We could be riding into an ambush if it

  is, you know.'

  "I'm not entirely certain,' she replied. "I've heard a

  great deal about Otha's Seekers, but I've never actually

  seen one in action.'

  "you didn't have time to be very specific this morning,'

  Sparhawk said. 'Exactly how is that thing controlling

  Annias's soldiers?'

  "It's venomous,' she said. "Its bite paralyses the will of

  its victims - or of those it wants to dominate.'

  "I'll make a point of not letting it bite me then,' Kalten

  said. 'You may not be able to stop it,' she told him. 'That

  green glow is hypnotic. That makes it easier for it to get

  close enough to inject the venom.'

  'How fast can it fly?' Tynian asked.

  "It doesn't fly at this stage of its development,' she

  replied. "Its wings don't mature until it becomes an adult .

  Besides, it has to be on the ground to follow the scent of

  the one it's trying to catch. Normally, it travels on

  horseback, and since the horse is controlled in the same

  way people are, the Seeker simply rides the horse to

  death and then finds another. It can cover a great deal of

  ground that way.'

  'What does it eat?' Kurik asked. 'Maybe we can set a

  trap for it.'

  "It feeds primarily on humans,' she told him.

  'That would make baiting a trap a little difficult,' he

  admitted.

  They all went to bed directly after supper, but it

  seemed to Sparhawk that his head had no sooner

  touched the pillow than Kurik was shaking him awake.

  "It's about midnight,' the squire said.

  'All right,' Sparhawk said wearily, sitting up in bed.

  "I'll wake the others,' Kurik said, 'and then Berit and I'll

  go saddle the horses.'

  After he had dressed, Sparhawk went downstairs to

  have a word with the sleepy innkeeper. 'Tell me,

  neighbour,' he said, 'is there by any chance a monastery

  hereabouts?'

  The innkeeper scratched his head. "I think there's one

  near the village of Verine,' he replied. 'That's about five

  leagues east of here.'

  Thanks, neighbour,' Sparhawk said. He looked

  around. 'You've got a nice, comfortable inn here,' he

  said, 'and your wife keeps clean beds and sets a very fine

  table. I'll mention your place to my friends.'

  "why, that's very kind of you, Sir Knight.'

  Sparhawk nodded to him and went outside to join the

  others.

  What's the plan?' Kalten asked.

  The innkeeper thinks there's a monastery near a

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  village about five leagues away. We should reach it by

  morning. I want to get word of all this to Dolmant in

  Chirellos.'

  I could take the message to him for you, Sir

  Sparhawk,' Berit offered eagerly.

  Sparhawk shook his head. 'The Seeker probably has

  your Bcent by now, Berit. I don't want you getting

  ambushed on the road to Chyrellos. Let's send some

  anonymous monk instead. That monastery's on our way

  anyhow, so we won't be losing any time. Let's mount

  The moon was full and the night sky was clear as they

  rode away from the inn. That way,' Kurik said, pointing.

  "how do you know that?' Talen asked him.

  The stars,' Kurik replied.

  'Do you mean you can actually tell direction by the

  stars?' Talen sounded impressed.

  'Of course you can. Sailors have been doing that for

  thousands of years.'

  I didn't know that.'

  "you should have stayed in school.'

  I don't plan to be a sailor, Kurik. Stealing fish sounds a

  little too much like work to me.'

  They rode on through the moon-drenched night,

  moving almost due east. By morning they had gone

  perhaps five leagues, and Sparhawk rode to a hilltop to

  look around. 'There's a village just ahead,' he told the

  others when he returned. 'Let's hope it's the one we're

  looking for.'

  The village lay in a shallow valley. It was a small place,

  perhaps a dozen stone houses with a church at one end of

  its single cobbled street and a tavern at the other. A large,

  walled building stood atop a hill just outside the town.

  'Excuse me, neighbour,' Sparhawk asked a passer-by as

  they clattered into town. "is this Verine?'

  "It is.'

  'And is that the monastery up on that hill there?'

  "It is,' the man replied again, his voice a bit sullen.

  "is there some problem?'

  'The monks up there own all the land hereabouts,' the

  fellow replied. 'Their rents are cruel.'

  "isn't that always the way? All landlords are greedy.'

  g[[A1111111111'The monks insist on tithes as well as the rent. That's

  going a bit far, wouldn't you say?'

  'You've got a point there.'

  'Why do you call everybody "neighbour"?' Tynian

  asked as they rode on.

  'Habit, I suppose,' Sparhawk shrugged. "I got it from

  my father, and I think it puts people at their ease.'

  'Why not call them "friend"?'

  'Because I never know that for sure. Let's go talk to the

  Abbot of that monastery.'

  The monastery was a severe-looking building surrounded

  by a w
all made of yellow sandstone. The fields

  around it were well-tended, and monks wearing conical

  hats woven from local straw worked patiently under the

  morning sun in long, straight rows of vegetables. The

  gates of the monastery stood open, and Sparhawk and

  the others rode into the central courtyard. A thin,

  haggard-looking brother came out to meet them, his face

  a little fearful.

  'Good day, brother,' Sparhawk said to him. He opened

  his cloak to reveal the heavy silver amulet hanging on a

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  Eddings, David - Elenium 2 - The Ruby Knight.txt

  chain about his neck which identified him as a Pandion

  Knight. "if it's not too much trouble, we'd like to have a

  word with your Abbot.'

  'I'll bring him immediately, My Lord.' The brother

  scurried back inside the building.

  The Abot was a jolly little fat man with a well-shaven

  tonaure and a bright red, sweaty face. His was a small,

  remote monastery and had little contact with Chyrellos.

  He was embarrassingly obsequious at the sudden, unexpected

  appearance of Church Knights on his doorstep.

  'My Lords,' he grovelled, 'how may I serve you?'

  "it's a small thing, my Lord Abbot,' Sparhawk told him

  gently. 'Are you acquainted with the Patriarch of

  Demos?'

  The Abot swallowed hard. 'Patriarch Dolmant?' he

  said in an awed voice.

  "Tall fellow,' Sparhawk agreed. 'Sort of lean and

  underfed-looking. Anyway, we need to get a message to

  him. Have you a young monk who's got some stamina

  and a good horse who could carry a message to the

  Patriarch for us? It's in the service of the Church.'

  'Of course, Sir Knight.'

  "I'd hoped you'd feel that way about it. Do you have a

  quill pen and ink handy, My Lord Abbot? I'll compose

  the message, and then we won't bother you any more.'

  'One other thing, My Lord Abbot,' Kalten added. 'Might

  we trouble you for a bit of food? We've been some time on

  the road, and our supplies are getting low. Nothing too

  exotic, mind - a few roast chickens, perhaps, a ham or two,

  a side of bacon, a hindquarter of beef, maybe?'

  'Of course, Sir Knight,' the Abbot agreed quickly.

  Sparhawk composed the note to Dolmant while Kurik

  and Kalten loaded the supplies on a packhorse.

  'Did you have to do that?' Sparhawk asked Kalten as

  they rode away. 'Charity is a cardinal virtue, Sparhawk,' Kalten replied

  loftily. "I like to encourage it whenever I can.'

  The countryside through which they galloped grew

  increasingly desolate. The soil was thin and poor, fit only

  for thorn-bushes and weeds. Here and there were pools

  of stagnant water, and the few trees standing near them

  were stunted and sick-looking. The weather had turned

  cloudy, and they rode through the tag-end of a dreary

  afternoon.

  Kurik pulled his gelding in beside Sparhawk. 'Doesn't

  look too promising, does it?' he noted.

  'Dismal,' Sparhawk agreed.

  "I think we're going to have to make camp somewhere

  tonight. The horses are almost played out.'

  "I'm not feeling too spry myself,' Sparhawk admitted.

  His eyes felt gritty, and he had a dull headache.

  'The only trouble is that I haven't seen any clean water

  for the last league or so. Why don't I take Berit and see if

  we can find a spring or stream?'

  'Keep your eyes open,' Sparhawk cautioned.

  Kurik turned in his saddle. 'Berit,' he called, "I need

  you.' Sparhawk and the others rode on at a trot while the

  squire and the novice ranged out in search of clean water.

  'We could just ride on, you know,' Kalten said.

  'Not unless you feel like walking before morning,'

  Sparhawk replied. 'Kurik's right. The horses don't have

  very much left in them.'

  'That's true, I suppose.'

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  Then Kurik and Berit came pounding down a nearby

  hill at a gallop. 'Get ready.' Kurik shouted, shaking loose

  his chain-mace. 'We've got company.'

  'Sephrenia!" Sparhawk barked. 'Take Flute and get back

  behind those rocks. Talen, get the packhorses.' He drew

  his sword and moved to the front even as the others

  armed themselves.

  There were fifteen or so of them, and they drove their

  horses over the hilltop at a run. It was an oddly assorted

  group, church soldiers in their red tunics, Styrics in

  home-spun smocks and a few peasants. Their faces were

  all blank, and their eyes dull. They charged on mindlessly,

  even though the heavily armed Church Knights

  were rushing to meet them.

  Sparhawk and the others spread out, preparing to

  meet the charge. 'For God and the Church!' Bevier

  shouted, brandishing his lochaber axe. Then he spurred

  his horse forward, crashing into the middle of the

  oncoming attackers. Sparhawk was taken off guard by

  the young Cyrinic's rash move, but he quickly recovered

  and charged in to his companion's aid. Bevier, however,

  appeared to need little in the way of help. He warded off

  the clumsy-looking sword strokes of the mindlessly

  charging ambushers with his shield, and his longhandled

  lochaber whistled through the air to sink deep

  into the bodies of his enemies. Though the wounds he

  inflicted were hideous, the men he struck down made no

  outcry as they fell from their saddles. They fought and

  died in an eerie silence. Sparhawk rode behind Bevier,

  cutting down any of the numb-faced men who tried to

  attack the Cyrinic from behind. His sword sheared a

  church soldier almost in half, but the man in the red tunic

  did not even flinch. He raised his sword to strike at

  Beviers back, but Sparhawk split his head open with a

  vast overhand stroke. The soldier toppled out of his

  saddle and lay twitching on the bloodstained grass.

  Kalten and Tynian had flanked the attackers on either

  side and were chopping their way into the melee, while

  ulath, Kurik and Berit intercepted the few survivors who

  managed to make their way through the concerted

  counter-attack.

  The' ground was soon littered with bodies in red tunics

  and bloody white Styric smocks. Riderless horses

  plunged away from the fight, squealing in panic. In

  normal circumstances, Sparhawk knew the attackers

  bringing up the rear would falter and then flee when they

  saw what had befallen their comrades. These expressionless

  men, however, continued their attack, and it was

  necessary to kill them to the last man.

  'Sparhawk!' SePhrenia shouted. 'UP there!' She was

  pointing towards the hilltop beyond which the attack

  had come. It was the tall, skeletal figure in the black

  hooded robe which Sparhawk had seen twice before. It

  sat its horse atop the hill with that faint green glow

  emanating from its concealed face.

  'That thing's starting to bore me,' Kalten said. 'The

  best way to get rid of
a bug is to step on it.' He raised his

  shield and thumped his heels on his horse's flanks. He

  started to gallop up the hill, his blade held menacingly

  aloft.

  'Kalten! no!' SePhrenia's shout was shrill with fright.

  But Kalten paid no attention to her warning. Sparhawk

  swore and started after his friend.

  Suddenly Kalten was hurled from his saddle by some

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  unseen force as the figure atop the hill gestured contemptuously.

  With revulsion Sparhawk saw that what

  emerged from the sleeve of the black robe was not a

  hand, but something more closely resembling the front

  claw of a scorpion. And then, even as he swung down from Faran's back

  to run to Kalten's aid, Sparhawk gaped in astonishment.

  Somehow Flute had escaped from Sephrenia's watchful

  eye and had advanced to the foot of the hill. She stamped

  one grass-stained little foot imperiously and lifted her

  rude pipes to her lips. Her melody was stern, even

  slightly discordant, and for some peculiar reason it

  seemed to be accompanied by a vast, unseen choir of

  human voices. The hooded figure on the hilltop reeled

  back in its saddle as if it had been struck a massive blow.

  Flute's song rose, and that unseen choir swelled its song

  ,in a mighty crescendo. The sound was so overpowering

  that Sparhawk was forced to cover his ears. The song had

  reached the level of physical pain.

  The figure shrieked, a dreadfully inhuman sound, and

  it flapped its claws to the sides of its hooded head. Then

  it wheeled its horse and fled down the far side of the hill .

  There was no time to pursue the monstrosity. Kalten

  lay gasping on the ground, his face pale and his hands

  clutching at his stomach.

  'Are you all right?' Sparhawk demanded, kneeling

  beside his friend.

  'Leave me alone,' Kalten wheezed.

  'Don't be stupid. Are you hurt?'

  'No. I'm lying here for fun.' The blond man drew in a

  shuddering breath. 'What did it hit me with? I've never

  been hit that hard before.'

  "you'd better let me have a look at you.'

  "I'm all right, Sparhawk. It just knocked the breath out

  of me, 'that's all.'

  "you idiot. You know what that thing is. What were

  you thinking of?' Sparhawk was suddenly, irrationally

  angry.

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time.' Kalten grinned

  weakly. 'Maybe I should have thought my way through

  it a little more.'