The Ruby Knight (13 page)

‘I'm always glad to oblige,' Tynian said, wiping his sword with a Zemoch smock.

‘Let's drag them back to that trench they were hiding in,' Sparhawk said. ‘Kurik, go back and get your spade. We'll cover them over.'

‘Hide the evidence, eh?' Kalten said gaily.

‘There may be others around,' Sparhawk said. ‘Let's not announce that we've been here.'

‘Right, but I want to make sure of them before we start dragging. I'd rather not have one wake up when my hands are occupied with his ankles.'

Kalten dismounted and went through the grim business of ‘making sure of them'. Then they all fell to work. The slippery mud made dragging the inert bodies easier. Kurik stood at the edge of the trench scooping mud over the corpses with his spade.

‘Bevier,' Tynian said, ‘are you really so attached to that lochaber?'

‘It's my weapon of choice,' Bevier replied. ‘Why do you ask?'

‘It's a little inconvenient when the time comes to tidy up. When you lop off their heads like that, it means we have to make two trips with each one.' Tynian bent over and picked up two severed heads by the hair as if to emphasize his point.

‘How droll,' Bevier said drily.

After they had dropped all the bits and pieces of the Zemoch bodies and their weapons in the trench and Kurik had covered them with mud, they rode back to the beach, where Sephrenia sat on her horse, carefully keeping Flute's face covered with the hem of her cloak and trying to keep her own eyes turned away. ‘Have you finished?' she asked, as Sparhawk and the others approached.

‘It's all over,' he assured her. ‘You can look now.' He frowned. ‘Kalten just raised a point. He said that this was getting to be almost too easy. These people just charge in without thinking. It's as if they want to be killed.'

‘That's not really it, Sparhawk,' she replied. ‘The Seeker has men to spare. It will throw away hundreds just to kill one of us – and hundreds more to kill the next one.'

‘That's depressing. If it has so many, why is it sending them out in such small groups?'

‘They're scouting parties. Ants and bees do exactly the same thing. They send out small groups to find what the colony is looking for. The Seeker is still an insect, after all, and in spite of Azash, it still thinks like one.'

‘At least they're not reporting back,' Kalten said, ‘- none of the ones we've met so far, anyway.'

‘They already have,' she disagreed. ‘The Seeker knows when its forces have been diminished. It may not know precisely where we are, but it knows that we've been killing its soldiers. I think we'd better leave here. If there was one group out there, there are probably others as well. We don't want them converging on us.'

Ulath was talking seriously to Berit as they rode out at a trot. ‘Keep your axe under control at all times,' he advised. ‘Don't ever make a swing so wide that you can't recover instantly.'

‘I think I see,' Berit replied seriously.

‘An axe can be just as delicate a weapon as a sword – if you know what you're doing,' Ulath said. ‘Pay attention, boy. Your life might depend on this.'

‘I thought the whole idea was to hit somebody with it as hard as you can.'

‘There's no real need of that,' Ulath replied, ‘- not if you keep it sharp. When you're cracking a walnut with a hammer, you hit it just hard enough to break the shell. You don't want to smash it into little bits. It's the same with an axe. If you hit somebody too hard with one, there's a fair chance that the blade's going to hang up in the body somewhere, and that leaves you at a definite disadvantage when you have to face your next opponent.'

‘I didn't know an axe was that complicated a weapon,' Kalten said quietly to Sparhawk.

‘I think it's a part of the Thalesian religion,' Sparhawk replied. He looked at Berit, whose face was rapt as he listened to Ulath's instruction.

‘I hate to say this, but we've probably lost a good swordsman there. Berit's very fond of that axe, and Ulath's encouraging him.'

Late in the day the lake-shore began to curve towards the north-east. Bevier looked around, getting his bearings. ‘I think we'd better stop here, Sparhawk,' he advised. ‘As closely as I can tell, this is approximately where the Thalesians came up against the Zemochs.'

‘All right,' Sparhawk agreed. ‘I guess the rest is up to you, Tynian.'

‘First thing in the morning,' the Alcione Knight replied.

‘Why not now?' Kalten asked him.

‘It's going to start getting dark soon,' Tynian said, his face bleak. ‘I don't raise ghosts at night.'

‘Oh?'

‘Just because I know how to do it doesn't mean that I like it. I want lots of daylight around me when they start to appear. These men were killed in battle, so they won't be very pretty to look at. I'd rather not have any of them coming up to me in the dark.'

Sparhawk and the other knights scouted the general area while Kurik, Berit and Talen set up camp. The rain was slackening slightly as they returned.

‘Anything?' Kurik asked, looking out from under the sheet of canvas he had erected at an angle over the fire.

‘There's some smoke a few miles off to the south,' Kalten replied, swinging down from his horse. ‘We didn't see anybody, though.'

‘We'll still have to post a watch,' Sparhawk said. ‘If Bevier knows that this is the general area where the Thalesians were fighting, we can be fairly sure the Zemochs will too, and the Seeker probably knows what we're looking for, so it's certain to have people in this area.'

They were all unusually quiet that evening as they sat under Kurik's makeshift canvas cover that kept the rain from quenching their fire. This place had been their goal in the weeks since they had left Cimmura, and very soon they would find out if the trip had served any real purpose. Sparhawk in particular was anxious and worried. He definitely wanted to get on with it, but he respected Tynian's feeling in the matter. ‘Is the process very complicated?' he asked the broad-shouldered Deiran. ‘Necromancy, I mean?'

‘It's not your average spell, if that's what you mean,' Tynian replied. ‘The incantation's fairly long, and you
have to draw diagrams on the ground to protect yourself. Sometimes the dead don't want to be awakened, and they can do some fairly nasty things to you if they're really upset.'

‘How many of them do you plan to raise at a time?' Kalten asked him.

‘One,' Tynian said very firmly. ‘I don't want a whole brigade of them coming at me all at once. It might take a little longer, but it's a great deal safer.'

‘You're the expert, I suppose.'

The morning dawned wet and dreary. The rain had returned during the night. The sodden earth had already received more water than it could hold, and rain-dimpled puddles stood everywhere.

‘A perfect day for raising the dead,' Kalten observed sourly. ‘It just wouldn't seem right if we did it in the sunshine.'

‘Well,' Tynian said, rising to his feet, ‘I suppose we might as well get started.'

‘Aren't we going to eat breakfast first?' Kalten objected.

‘You really don't want anything in your stomach, Kalten,' Tynian replied. ‘Believe me, you don't.'

They walked out into the field.

‘They don't seem to have been doing as much digging here,' Berit said, looking around. ‘Maybe the Zemochs don't know where the Thalesians are buried after all.'

‘We can hope,' Tynian said. ‘I guess this is as good a place to start as any.' He picked up a dead stick and prepared to draw a diagram on the sodden ground.

‘Use this instead,' Sephrenia advised, handing him a coil of rope. ‘A diagram drawn on dry ground is all right, but there are puddles here, and the ghosts might not see the whole thing.'

‘We really wouldn't want that to happen,' Tynian
agreed. He began to lay out the rope on the ground. The design was a strangely compelling one with obscure curves and circles and irregularly shaped stars. ‘Is that about right?' he asked Sephrenia.

‘Move that one slightly to the left,' she said, pointing.

He did that.

‘Much better,' she said. ‘Repeat the spell out loud. I'll correct you if you do anything wrong.'

‘Just out of curiosity, why don't
you
do this, Sephrenia?' Kalten asked her. ‘You seem to know more about it than anybody.'

‘I'm not strong enough,' she admitted. ‘What you're really doing in this ritual is wrestling with the dead to compel them to rise. I'm a little small for that sort of thing.'

Tynian began to speak in Styric, intoning the words sonorously. There was a peculiar cadence to his speech, and the gestures he made had a slow stateliness to them. His voice grew louder and more commanding. Then he raised both his hands and brought them together sharply.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Then the ground inside his diagram seemed to ripple and shudder. Slowly, almost painfully, something rose from the earth.

‘God!' Kalten gasped in horror as he stared at the grotesquely mutilated thing.

‘Talk to it, Ulath,' Tynian said from between clenched teeth. ‘I can't hold it here very long.'

Ulath stepped forward and began to speak in a harshly guttural language.

‘Old Thalesian,' Sephrenia identified the dialect. ‘Common soldiers at the time of King Sarak would have spoken it.'

The ghastly apparition replied haltingly in a dreadful voice. Then it made a jerky pointing motion with one bony hand.

‘Let it go back, Tynian,' Ulath said. ‘I've got what we need.'

Tynian's face was grey and his hands were shaking. He spoke two words in Styric, and the apparition sank back into the earth.

‘That one didn't really know anything,' Ulath told him, ‘but it pointed out the spot where an earl is buried. The earl was in the household of King Sarak, and if anyone around here knows where the king's buried, he would. It's right over there.'

‘Let me get my breath first,' Tynian said.

‘Is it really that difficult?'

‘You have no idea, my friend.'

They waited while Tynian stood gasping painfully. After a few moments he coiled up his rope and straightened. ‘All right. Let's go and wake up the earl.'

Ulath led them to a small knoll that stood nearby. ‘Burial mound,' he said. ‘It's customary to raise one when you bury a man of importance.'

Tynian laid out his design atop the mound, then stepped back and began the ritual again. He finished it and clapped his hands once more.

The apparition that rose from the mound was not as hideously mutilated as the first had been. It was dressed in traditional Thalesian chain-mail and had a horned helmet on its head. ‘Who art thou who hast disturbed my sleep?' it demanded of Tynian in the archaic speech of five centuries past.

‘He hath brought thee once again into the light of day at my urging, My Lord,' Ulath replied. ‘I am of thy race and would speak with thee.'

‘Speak quickly then. I am discontent that thou hast done this thing.'

‘We seek the resting place of His Majesty King Sarak,' Ulath said. ‘Knowest thou, My Lord, where we might search?'

‘His Majesty doth not lie on this battlefield,' the ghost responded.

Sparhawk's heart sank.

‘Knowest thou what befell him?' Ulath pressed.

‘His Majesty departed from his capital at Emsat when word reached him of the invasion of Otha's hordes,' the ghost declared. ‘He took with him a small party of his household retainers. The rest of us remained behind to marshal the main force. We were to follow when the army was gathered. When we arrived here, His Majesty was nowhere to be found. None here knoweth what befell him. Seek ye, therefore, elsewhere.'

‘One last question, My Lord,' Ulath said. ‘Knowest thou perchance which route it was His Majesty's intention to follow to reach this field?'

‘He sailed to the north coast, Sir Knight. No man – alive or dead – knoweth where he made landfall and disembarked. Seek ye therefore in Pelosia or Deira, and return me to my rest.'

‘Our thanks, My Lord,' Ulath said with a formal bow.

‘Thy thanks have no meaning for me,' the ghost said indifferently.

‘Let him go back, Tynian,' Ulath said sadly.

Once again, Tynian released the spirit as Sparhawk and the others stood looking at each other, their faces filled with chagrin.

Ulath walked over to where Tynian sat on the wet ground with his head between his hands. ‘Are you all right?' he asked. Sparhawk had noticed that the huge, savage Thalesian was strangely gentle and solicitous with his companions.

‘I just feel a little tired, that's all,' Tynian replied weakly.

‘You can't keep doing this, you know,' Ulath told him.

‘I can hold out for a little longer.'

‘Teach me the spell,' Ulath urged. ‘I can wrestle with the best – alive or dead.'

Tynian smiled wanly. ‘I'll wager that you could, my friend. Have you ever been bested?'

‘Not since I was about seven,' Ulath said modestly. ‘That was when I crammed my older brother's head into the wooden well-bucket. It took our father two hours to get him out of it. My brother's ears got caught. He always had those big ears. I sort of miss him. He came out second-best in a fight with an Ogre.' The big man looked at Sparhawk. ‘All right,' he said, ‘now what?'

‘We certainly can't search all of northern Pelosia or Deira,' Kalten said.

‘That's fairly obvious,' Sparhawk replied. ‘We don't have time. We've got to get more precise information somehow. Bevier, can you think of anything that might give us a clue of where to look?'

‘The accounts of this part of the battle are very sketchy, Sparhawk,' the white-cloaked knight replied dubiously. He smiled at Ulath. ‘Our Genidian brothers are a bit lax in keeping records.'

‘Writing in runes is tedious,' Ulath confessed. ‘Particularly on stone. Sometimes we let those things slide for a generation or so.'

‘I think we need to find a village or a town of some sort, Sparhawk,' Kurik said.

‘Oh?'

‘We've got a lot of questions, and we aren't going to get the answers unless we ask somebody.'

‘Kurik, the battle was five hundred years ago,' Sparhawk reminded him. ‘We're not going to find anybody alive who saw what happened.'

‘Of course not, but sometimes local people – particularly commoners – keep track of an area's traditions, and landmarks have names. The name of a mountain or a stream could be just the clue we need.'

‘It's worth a try, Sparhawk,' Sephrenia said seriously. ‘We're not getting anywhere here.'

‘It's very slim, Sephrenia.'

‘What other options do we have?'

‘We'll keep going north then, I suppose.'

‘And probably past all the excavations,' she added. ‘If the ground's been ploughed over, it's a fairly sure sign that Bhelliom's not there.'

‘That's true, I suppose. All right, we'll go on north, and if something promising turns up, Tynian can raise another ghost.'

Ulath looked dubious at that. ‘I think we'll have to be careful there,' he said. ‘Just the effort of raising those two almost put him on his back.'

‘I'll be all right,' Tynian protested weakly.

‘Of course you will – at least you would be if we had time to let you rest in bed for several days.'

They helped Tynian into his saddle, pulled his blue cape around him and rode north in the continuing drizzle.

The city of Randera stood on the east shore of the lake. It was surrounded by high walls, and there were grim watch-towers at each corner.

‘Well?' Kalten said, looking speculatively at the bleak Lamork city.

‘Waste of time,' Kurik grunted. He pointed at a large mound of dirt slowly melting down in the rain. ‘We're still coming across diggings. We need to go farther north.'

Sparhawk looked critically at Tynian. Some of the colour had returned to the Alcione Knight's face, and he seemed to be slowly recovering. Sparhawk nudged Faran into a canter and led his friends through the dreary landscape.

It was mid-afternoon by the time they passed the last signs of excavations. ‘There's some kind of a village down there by the lake, Sir Sparhawk,' Berit said, pointing.

‘It's probably not a bad place to start,' Sparhawk agreed. ‘Let's see if we can find an inn down there. I think it's time for us to have a hot meal, get in out of the rain and dry out a bit anyway.'

‘And a tavern, perhaps,' Kalten added. ‘People in taverns usually like to talk, and there are always a few old men around who pride themselves on how well they know local history.'

They rode on down to the shore of the lake and into the village. The houses were uniformly run-down, and the cobbled streets were in disrepair. At the lower end of town a series of docks protruded out into the lake, and there were nets hanging on poles along the shore. The smell of long-dead fish permeated the air in the narrow streets. A suspicious-eyed villager directed them to the only inn the village had, a very old, sprawling stone building with a slate roof.

Sparhawk dismounted in the innyard and went inside. A fat man with a bright red face and raggedly cut hair was rolling a beer barrel across the floor towards a wide door near the back. ‘Have you any empty rooms, neighbour?' Sparhawk asked him.

‘The whole loft is empty, My Lord,' the fat man replied respectfully, ‘but are you sure you want to stop here? My accommodations are good enough for ordinary travellers, but they're hardly suitable for the gentry.'

‘I'm sure they'd be better than sleeping under a hedge on a rainy night.'

‘That's surely true, My Lord, and I'll be happy to have guests. I don't get many visitors at this time of year. That tap-room back there is about the only thing that keeps me in business.'

‘Are there any people in there at the moment?'

‘A half-dozen or so, My Lord. Business picks up when the fishermen come in off the lake.'

‘There are ten of us,' Sparhawk told him, ‘so we'll need quite a few rooms. Do you have someone who can see to our horses?'

‘My son takes care of the stables, Sir Knight.'

‘Warn him to be careful of the big roan. The horse is playful, and he's very free with his teeth.'

‘I'll mention it to my son.'

‘I'll get my friends then, and we'll go upstairs and have a look at your loft. Oh, incidentally, do you happen to have a bath-tub? My friends and I have been out in the weather, and we're a little rusty-smelling.'

‘There's a bath-house out back, My Lord. Nobody uses it very often, though.'

‘All right. Have some of your people start heating water, and I'll be right back.' He turned and went back outside into the rain.

The rooms, though a bit dusty from lack of use, were
surprisingly comfortable-looking. The beds were clean and seemed bug-free, and there was a large common-room at one end of the loft.

‘Very nice, actually,' Sephrenia said, looking around.

‘There's a bath-house as well,' Sparhawk told her.

‘Oh, that's just lovely,' she sighed happily.

‘We'll let you use it first.'

‘No, dear one. I don't like to be rushed when I bathe. You gentlemen go ahead.' She sniffed at them critically. ‘Don't be afraid to use soap,' she added, ‘- lots and lots of soap – and wash your hair as well.'

‘After we bathe, I think we'll want to change into plain tunics,' Sparhawk advised the others. ‘We want to ask these people questions, and armour's just a bit intimidating.'

The five knights pulled off their armour, took up their tunics and trooped with Kurik, Berit and Talen down the back stairs in the padded and rust-splotched undergarments they wore beneath their steel. They bathed in large, barrel-like tubs, and emerged feeling refreshed and cleansed.

‘This is the first time I've been warm for a week,' Kalten said. ‘I think I'm ready to visit that tap-room now.'

Talen was pressed into service to carry their padded undergarments back upstairs, and he was a little sullen about it.

‘Don't make faces,' Kurik told him. ‘I wasn't going to let you go into the tap-room anyway. I owe that much to your mother. Tell Sephrenia that she and Flute can have the bath-house now. Come back down with her and guard the door to make sure they're not interrupted.'

‘But I'm hungry.'

Kurik put his hand threateningly on his belt.

‘All right, all right, don't get excited.' The boy hurried on up the stairs.

The tap-room was a bit smoky, and the floor was covered with sawdust and silvery fish-scales. The five plain-clad knights, along with Kurik and Berit entered unobtrusively and seated themselves at a vacant corner table.

‘We'll have beer,' Kalten called to the serving-wench, ‘lots of beer.'

‘Don't overdo it,' Sparhawk muttered. ‘You're heavy, and we don't want to have to carry you back upstairs.'

‘Never fear, my friend,' Kalten replied expansively. ‘I spent a full ten years here in Lamorkand and never once got fuddled. The beer here is weak and watery stuff.'

The serving-girl was a typical Lamork woman – large-hipped, blonde, busty and none too bright. She wore a peasant blouse, cut very low, and a heavy red skirt. Her wooden shoes clattered across the floor, and she had an inane giggle. She brought them large, copper-bound wooden tankards of foamy beer. ‘Don't go just yet, lass,' Kalten said to her. He lifted his tankard and drained it without once taking it from his lips. ‘This one seems to have gone empty on me. Be a good girl and fill it again.' He patted her familiarly on the bottom. She giggled and scurried away with his tankard.

‘Is he always like this?' Tynian asked Sparhawk.

‘Every chance he gets.'

‘As I was saying before we came in,' Kalten said loudly enough to be heard in most parts of the room, ‘I'll wager a silver half-crown that the battle never got this far north.'

‘And I'll wager two that it did,' Tynian replied, picking up the ruse immediately.

Bevier looked puzzled for an instant, and then his eyes showed that he understood. ‘It shouldn't be too hard to find out,' he said, looking around. ‘I'm sure that someone here would know.'

Ulath pushed back his bench and stood up. He
thumped his huge fist on the table for attention. ‘Gentlemen,' he said loudly to the other men in the tap-room. ‘My two friends here have been arguing for the last four hours, and they've finally got to the point of putting money down on the issue. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of listening to them. Maybe some of you can settle the matter and give my ears a rest. There was a battle here five hundred years ago or so.' He pointed at Kalten. ‘This one with the beer-foam on his chin says that the fighting didn't get this far north. The other one with the round face says that it did. Which one is right?'

There was a long silence, and then an old man with pink cheeks and wispy white hair shambled across the room to their table. He was shabbily dressed, and his head wobbled on his neck. ‘I b'leeve I kin settle yer dispute, good masters,' he said in a squeaky voice. ‘My old gaffer, he used to tell me stories about that there battle ye was talkin' about.'

‘Bring this good fellow a tankard, dearie,' Kalten said familiarly to the serving-girl.

‘Kalten,' Kurik said disgustedly, ‘keep your hand off her bottom.'

‘Just being friendly, that's all.'

‘Is that what you call it?'

The serving-girl blushed rosily and went back for more beer, rolling her eyes invitingly at Kalten.

‘I think you've just made a friend,' Ulath said drily to the blond Pandion, ‘but try not to take advantage of it here in public.' He looked at the old man with the wobbly neck. ‘Sit down, old fellow,' he invited.

‘Why, thankee, good master. I read by the look of 'ee that ye be from far north Thalesia.' He sat down shakily on the bench.

‘You read well, old man,' Ulath said. ‘What did your gaffer tell you about that ancient battle?'

‘Well,' the wobbly fellow said, scratching at his stubbled cheek, ‘as I recall it, he says to me, he says -' He paused as the busty serving girl slid a tankard of beer to him. ‘Why, thankee, Nima,' he said.

The girl smiled, sidling up to Kalten. ‘How's yours?' she asked, leaning against him.

Kalten flushed slightly. ‘Ah – just fine, dearie,' he faltered. Oddly, her directness seemed to take him off guard.

‘You
will
let me know if you want anything, won't you?' she encouraged. ‘
Anything
at all. I'm here to please, you know.'

‘At the moment – no,' Kalten told her. ‘Maybe later.'

Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look, and then they both grinned.

‘You northern knights look at the world differently than we do,' Bevier said, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘You want some lessons?' Ulath asked him.

Bevier suddenly blushed.

‘He's a good boy.' Ulath smiled broadly to the others, patting Bevier on the shoulder. ‘We just have to keep him out of Arcium for a while until we have time to corrupt him. Bevier, you're my dear brother, but you're awfully stiff and formal. Try to relax a bit.'

‘Am I so very rigid?' Bevier asked, looking a bit shame-faced.

‘We'll fix it for you,' Ulath assured him.

Sparhawk looked across the table at the toothlessly grinning old Lamork. ‘Can you settle this stupid argument for us, grandfather? Did the battle really come this far north?'

‘Why, yes indeed it did, young master,' the old man mumbled, ‘- and even further, if the truth be known. My old gaffer, he tole me as there was fightin' an' killin' as far north as up into Pelosia. Y'see, the hull army of the
Thalesians, they come slippin' around the upper end of the lake an' fell on them Zemochs from behind. Only thing was that there was a hull lot more of them there Zemochs than there was Thalesians. Well, sir, the way I understand it was that the Zemochs got over their surprise an' come roarin' back up this way, killin' most ever'thin' in sight. Folks hereabouts hid in their cellars while that was goin' on, let me tell you.' He paused to take a long drink from his tankard. ‘Well, sir,' he continued, ‘the battle
seemed
t' be more or less over, the Zemochs havin' won an' all, but then a hull bunch of them Thalesian lads, what had probably had to wait around for boats up there in the north country, come chargin' in an' done some real awful things to them there Zemochs.' He glanced at Ulath. ‘Yer people are a real bad-tempered sort, if y' don't mind my sayin' so, friend.'