Читать книгу The Ruby Knight - David Eddings - Страница 10

The fog was even thicker when they gathered in the courtyard a quarter of an hour later. The novices were busy in the stables saddling horses.

Vanion came out through the main door, his Styric robe gleaming in the mist-filled darkness. ‘I’m sending twenty knights with you,’ he told Sparhawk quietly. ‘You might be followed, and they’ll offer some measure of protection.’

‘We need to hurry, Vanion,’ Sparhawk objected. ‘If we take others with us, we won’t be able to move any faster than the pace of the slowest horse.’

‘I know that, Sparhawk,’ Vanion replied patiently. ‘You won’t need to stay with them for very long. Wait until you’re out in open country and the sun comes up. Make sure nobody’s too close behind you and then slip away from the column. The knights will ride on to Demos. If anybody’s following, they won’t know you aren’t still in the middle of the column.’

Sparhawk grinned. ‘Now I know how you got to be Preceptor, my friend. Who’s leading the column?’

‘Olven.’

‘Good. Olven’s dependable.’

‘Go with God, Sparhawk,’ Vanion said, clasping the big knight’s hand, ‘and be careful.’

‘I’m certainly going to try.’

Sir Olven was a bulky Pandion Knight with a number of angry red scars on his face. He came out of the chapterhouse wearing full armour, enamelled black. His men trailed out behind him. ‘Good to see you again, Sparhawk,’ he said as Vanion went back inside. Olven spoke very quietly to avoid alerting the church soldiers camped outside the front gate. ‘All right,’ he went on, ‘you and the others ride in the middle of us. With this fog, those soldiers probably won’t see you. We’ll drop the drawbridge and go out fast. We don’t want to be in sight for more than a minute or two.’

‘That’s more words than I’ve heard you use at one time in the last twenty years,’ Sparhawk said to his normally silent friend.

‘I know,’ Olven agreed. ‘I’ll have to see if I can’t cut back a little.’

Sparhawk and his friends wore mail-shirts and travellers’ cloaks, since formal armour attracts attention out in the countryside. Their armour, however, was carefully stowed in packs on the string of a half-dozen horses Kurik would lead. They mounted, and the armoured men formed up around them. Olven made a signal to the men at the windlass that raised and lowered the drawbridge, and the men slipped the rachets, allowing the windlass to run freely. There was a noisy rattle of chain, and the drawbridge dropped with a huge boom. Olven was galloping across it almost before it hit the far side of the fosse.

The dense fog helped enormously. As soon as he had galloped across the bridge, Olven cut sharply to the left, leading the column across the open field towards the Demos road. Behind them, Sparhawk could hear startled shouts as the church soldiers ran out of their tents to stare after the column in chagrin.

‘Slick,’ Kalten said gaily. ‘Across the drawbridge and into the fog in under a minute.’

‘Olven knows what he’s doing,’ Sparhawk said, ‘and what’s even better is that it’s going to be at least an hour before the soldiers can mount any kind of pursuit.’

‘Give me an hour’s head start, and they’ll never catch me,’ Kalten laughed delightedly. ‘This is starting out very well, Sparhawk.’

‘Enjoy it while you can. Things will probably start to go wrong later on.’

‘You’re a pessimist, do you know that?’

‘No. I’m just used to little disappointments.’

They slowed to a canter when they reached the Demos road. Olven was a veteran, and he always tried to conserve his horses. Speed might be necessary later, and Sir Olven took very few chances.

A full moon hung above the fog, and it made the thick mist deceptively luminous. The glowing white fog around them confused the eye and concealed far more than it illuminated. There was a chill dampness in the air, and Sparhawk pulled his cloak about him as he rode.

The Demos road swung north towards the city of Lenda before turning south-easterly again to Demos, where the Pandion Mother-house was located. Although he could not see it, Sparhawk knew that the countryside along the road was gently rolling and that there were large patches of trees out there. He was counting on those trees for concealment once he and his friends left the column.

They rode on. The fog had dampened the dirt surface of the road, and the sound of their horses’ hooves was muffled.

Every now and then the black shadows of trees loomed suddenly out of the fog at the sides of the road as they rode by. Talen shied nervously each time it happened.

‘What’s the problem?’ Kurik asked him.

‘I hate this,’ the boy replied. ‘I absolutely hate it. Anything could be hiding beside the road – wolves, bears – or even worse.’

‘You’re in the middle of a party of armed men, Talen.’

‘That’s easy for you to say, but I’m the smallest one here – except for Flute, maybe. I’ve heard that wolves and things like that always drag down the smallest when they attack. I really don’t want to be eaten, father.’

‘That keeps cropping up,’ Tynian noted curiously to Sparhawk. ‘You never did explain why the boy keeps calling your squire by that term.’

‘Kurik was indiscreet when he was younger.’

‘Doesn’t anybody in Elenia sleep in his own bed?’

‘It’s a cultural peculiarity. It’s not really as widespread as it might seem, though.’

Tynian rose slightly in his stirrups and looked ahead to where Bevier and Kalten rode side by side deep in conversation. ‘A word of advice, Sparhawk,’ he said confidentially. ‘You’re an Elenian, so you don’t seem to have any problems with this sort of thing, and in Deira we’re fairly broad-minded about such things, but I don’t know that I’d let Bevier in on this. The Cyrinic Knights are a pious lot – just like all Arcians – and they disapprove of these little irregularities very strongly. Bevier’s a good man in a fight, but he’s a little narrow-minded. If he gets offended, it might cause problems later on.’

‘You’re probably right,’ Sparhawk agreed. ‘I’ll talk with Talen and ask him to keep his relationship with Kurik to himself.’

‘Do you think he’ll listen?’ the broad-faced Deiran asked sceptically.

‘It’s worth a try.’

They occasionally passed a farmhouse standing beside the foggy road with hazy golden lamplight streaming from its windows, a sure sign that even though the sky had not yet started to lighten, day had already begun for the country folk.

‘How long are we going to stay with this column?’ Tynian asked. ‘Going to Lake Randera by way of Demos is a very long way around.’

‘We can probably slip away later this morning,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘- once we’re sure that nobody’s following us. That’s what Vanion suggested.’

‘Have you got somebody watching to the rear?’

Sparhawk nodded. ‘Berit’s riding about a half-mile back.’

‘Do you think any of the Primate’s spies saw us leave your chapterhouse?’

‘They didn’t really have very much time for it,’ Sparhawk said. ‘We’d already gone past them before they came out of their tents.’

Tynian grunted. ‘Which road do you plan to take when we leave this one?’

‘I think we’ll go across country. Roads tend to be watched. I’m sure that Annias has guessed that we’re up to something by now.’

They rode on through the tag end of a foggy night. Sparhawk was pensive. He privately admitted to himself that their hastily conceived plan had little chance of success. Even if Tynian could raise the ghosts of the Thalesian dead, there was no guarantee that any of the spirits would know the location of King Sarak’s final resting place. This entire journey could well be futile and serve only to use up what time Ehlana had left. Then a thought came to him. He rode on forward to speak with Sephrenia. ‘Something just occurred to me,’ he said to her.

‘Oh?’

‘How well known is the spell you used to encase Ehlana?’

‘It’s almost never practised because it’s so very dangerous,’ she replied. ‘A few Styrics might know of it, but I doubt that any would dare to perform it. Why do you ask?’

‘I think I’m right on the edge of an idea. If no one but you is really willing to use the spell, then it’s rather unlikely that anybody else would know about the time limitation.’

‘That’s true. They wouldn’t.’

‘Then nobody could tell Annias about it.’

‘Obviously.’

‘So Annias doesn’t know that we only have a certain amount of time left. For all he knows, the crystal could keep Ehlana alive indefinitely.’

‘I’m not certain that gives us any particular advantage, Sparhawk.’

‘I’m not either, but it’s something to keep in mind. We might be able to use it someday.’

The eastern sky was growing gradually lighter as they rode, and the fog was swirling and thinning. It was about a half-hour before sunrise when Berit came galloping up from the rear. He was wearing his mail-shirt and plain blue cloak, and his war-axe was in a sling at the side of his saddle. The young novice, Sparhawk decided almost idly, was going to need some instruction in swordsmanship soon, before he grew too attached to that axe.

‘Sir Sparhawk,’ he said, reining in, ‘there’s a column of church soldiers coming up behind us.’ His hard-run horse was steaming in the chill fog.

‘How many?’ Sparhawk asked him.

‘Fifty or so, and they’re galloping hard. There was a break in the fog, and I saw them coming.’

‘How far back?’

‘A mile or so. They’re in that valley we just came through.’

Sparhawk considered it. ‘I think a little change of plans might be in order,’ he said. He looked around and saw a dark blur back in the swirling fog off to the left. ‘Tynian,’ he said, ‘I think that’s a grove of trees over there. Why don’t you take the others and ride across this field and get into the grove before the soldiers catch up? I’ll be right along.’ He shook Faran’s reins. ‘I want to talk with Sir Olven,’ he told the big roan.

Faran flicked his ears irritably, then moved alongside the column at a gallop.

‘We’ll be leaving you here, Olven,’ Sparhawk told the scarfaced knight. ‘There’s a half-hundred church soldiers coming up from the rear. I want to be out of sight before they come by.’

‘Good idea,’ Olven approved. Olven was not one to waste words.

‘Why don’t you give them a bit of a run?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘They won’t be able to tell that we’re not still in the column until they catch up with you.’

Olven grinned crookedly. ‘Even so far as Demos?’ he asked.

‘That would be helpful. Cut across country before you reach Lenda and pick up the road again south of town. I’m sure Annias has spies in Lenda too.’

‘Good luck, Sparhawk,’ Olven said.

‘Thanks,’ Sparhawk said, shaking the scarfaced knight’s hand, ‘we might need it.’ He backed Faran off the road, and the column thundered past him at a gallop.

‘Let’s see how fast you can get to that grove of trees over there,’ Sparhawk said to his bad-tempered mount.

Faran snorted derisively, then leapt forward at a dead run.

Kalten waited at the edge of the trees, his grey cloak blending into the shadows and fog. ‘The others are back in the woods a ways,’ he reported. ‘Why’s Olven galloping like that?’

‘I asked him to,’ Sparhawk replied, swinging down from his saddle. ‘The soldiers won’t know that we’ve left the column if Olven stays a mile or two ahead of them.’

‘You’re smarter than you look, Sparhawk,’ Kalten said, also dismounting. ‘I’ll get the horses back out of sight. The steam coming off them might be visible.’ He squinted at Faran. ‘Tell this ugly brute of yours not to bite me.’

‘You heard him, Faran,’ Sparhawk told his war-horse.

Faran laid his ears back.

As Kalten led their horses back among the trees, Sparhawk sank down onto his stomach behind a low bush. The grove of trees lay no more than fifty yards from the road, and as the fog began to dissipate with the onset of morning, he could clearly see that the whole stretch of road they had just left was empty. Then a single red-tunicked soldier galloped along, coming from the south. The man rode stiffly, and his face seemed strangely wooden.

‘A scout?’ Kalten whispered, crawling up beside Sparhawk.

‘More than likely,’ Sparhawk whispered back.

‘Why are we whispering?’ Kalten asked. ‘He can’t hear us over the noise of his horse’s hooves.’

‘You started it.’

‘Force of habit, I guess. I always whisper when I’m skulking.’

The scout reined in his mount at the top of the hill, then wheeled and rode back along the road at a dead run. His face was still blank.

‘He’s going to wear out that horse if he keeps doing that,’ Kalten said.

‘It’s his horse.’

‘That’s true, and he’s the one who gets to walk when the horse plays out on him.’

‘Walking is good for church soldiers. It teaches them humility.’

About five minutes later, the church soldiers galloped by, their red tunics dark in the dawn light. Accompanying the leader of the column was a tall, emaciated figure in a black robe and hood. It may have been a trick of the misty morning light, but a faint greenish glow seemed to emanate from under the hood, and the figure’s back appeared to be grossly deformed.

‘They’re definitely trying to keep an eye on that column,’ Kalten said.

‘I hope they enjoy Demos,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Olven’s going to stay ahead of them every step of the way. I need to talk with Sephrenia. Let’s go back to the others. We’ll sit tight for an hour or so, until we’re sure the soldiers are out of the area, and then move on.’

‘Good idea. I’m about ready for some breakfast anyway.’

They led their horses back through the damp woods to a small basin surrounding a trickling spring that emerged from a fern-covered bank.

‘Did they go by?’ Tynian asked.

‘At a gallop,’ Kalten grinned, ‘and they didn’t look around very much. Does anybody have anything to eat? I’m starving.’

‘I’ve got a slab of cold bacon,’ Kurik offered.

‘Cold?’

‘Fire makes smoke, Kalten. Do you really want these woods full of soldiers?’

Kalten sighed.

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. ‘There’s somebody – or something – riding with those soldiers,’ he said. ‘It gave me a very uneasy feeling, and I think it was the same thing I caught a glimpse of last night.’

‘Can you describe it?’

‘It’s quite tall and very very thin. Its back seems to be deformed, and it’s wearing a black hooded robe, so I couldn’t see any details.’ He frowned. ‘Those church soldiers in the column seemed as if they were half-asleep. They usually pay closer attention to what they’re doing.’

‘This thing you saw,’ she said seriously. ‘Was there anything else unusual about it?’

‘I can’t say for sure, but it seemed to have a sort of greenish light coming from its face. I noticed the same thing last night.’

Her face grew bleak. ‘I think we’d better leave immediately, Sparhawk.’

‘The soldiers don’t know we’re here,’ he objected.

‘They will before long. You’ve just described a Seeker. In Zemoch they’re used to hunt down runaway slaves. The lump on its back is caused by its wings.’

‘Wings?’ Kalten said sceptically. ‘Sephrenia, no animal has wings – except maybe a bat.’

‘This isn’t an animal, Kalten,’ she replied. ‘It more closely resembles an insect – although neither term is very exact when you’re talking about the creatures Azash summons.’

‘I hardly think we need to worry about a bug,’ he said.

‘We do with this particular creature. It has very little in the way of a brain, but that doesn’t matter because the spirit of Azash infuses it and provides its thoughts for it. It can see a long way in the dark or fog. Its ears are very sharp, and it has a very keen sense of smell. As soon as those soldiers come in sight of Olven’s column, it’s going to know that we’re not riding with the knights. The soldiers will come back at that point.’

‘Are you saying that church soldiers will take orders from an insect?’ Bevier asked incredulously.

‘They have no choice. They have no will of their own any more. The Seeker controls them utterly.’

‘How long does that last?’ he asked her.

‘For as long as they live – which usually isn’t very long. As soon as it has no further need of them, it consumes them. Sparhawk, we’re in very great danger. Let’s leave here at once.’

‘You heard her,’ Sparhawk said grimly. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

They rode out of the grove of trees at a canter and crossed a wide green meadow where brown and white spotted cows grazed in knee-deep grass. Sir Ulath pulled in beside Sparhawk. ‘It’s really none of my business,’ the shaggy-browed Genidian Knight said, ‘but you had twenty Pandions with you back there. Why didn’t you just turn around and eliminate those soldiers and their bug?’

‘Fifty dead soldiers scattered along a road would attract attention,’ Sparhawk explained, ‘and new graves are almost as obvious.’

‘Makes sense, I suppose,’ Ulath grunted. ‘Living in an over-populated kingdom has its own special problems, doesn’t it? Up in Thalesia, the Trolls and Ogres usually clean up that sort of thing before anybody chances by.’

Sparhawk shuddered. ‘Will they really eat carrion?’ he asked, looking back over his shoulder for any sign of pursuit.

‘Trolls and Ogres? Oh, yes – as long as the carrion’s not too ripe. A nice fat church soldier will feed a family of Trolls for a week or so. That’s one of the reasons there aren’t very many church soldiers or their graveyards in Thalesia. The point, though, is that I don’t like leaving live enemies behind me. Those church soldiers might come back to haunt us, and if that thing they’ve got with them is as dangerous as Sephrenia says, we probably should have got it out of the way while we had the chance.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sparhawk admitted, ‘but it’s too late now, I’m afraid. Olven’s far out of reach. About all we can do is make a run for it and hope the soldiers’ horses tire before ours do. When we get a chance, I’ll want to talk with Sephrenia some more about that Seeker. I’ve got a feeling there were some things about it she wasn’t telling me.’

They rode hard for the rest of the day and saw no signs that the soldiers were anywhere behind them.

‘There’s a roadside inn just ahead,’ Kalten said as evening settled over the rolling countryside. ‘Do you want to chance it?’

Sparhawk looked at Sephrenia. ‘What do you think?’

‘Only for a few hours,’ she said, ‘just long enough to feed the horses and give them some rest. The Seeker will know that we’re not with that column by now, and it’s certain to be following our trail. We have to move on.’

‘We could at least get some supper,’ Kalten added, ‘and maybe a couple of hours’ sleep. I’ve been up for a long time. Besides, we might be able to pick up some information if we ask the right questions.’

The inn was run by a thin, good-humoured fellow and his plump, jolly wife. It was a comfortable place and meticulously clean. The broad fireplace at one end of the common-room did not smoke, and there were fresh rushes on the floor.

‘We don’t see many city folk this far out in the country,’ the innkeeper noted as he brought a platter of roast beef to the table, ‘- and very seldom any knights – at least I judge from your garb that you’re knights. What brings you this way, My Lords?’

‘We’re on our way to Pelosia,’ Kalten lied easily. ‘Church business. We’re in a hurry, so we decided to cut across country.’

‘There’s a road that runs on up into Pelosia about three leagues to the south,’ the innkeeper advised helpfully.

‘Roads wander around a lot,’ Kalten said, ‘and like I told you, we’re in a hurry.’

‘Anything interesting happening hereabouts?’ Tynian asked as if only mildly curious.

The innkeeper laughed wryly. ‘What can possibly happen in a place like this? The local farmers spend all their time talking about a cow that died six months ago.’ He drew up a chair and sat down uninvited. He sighed. ‘I used to live in Cimmura when I was younger. Now, there’s a place where things really happen. I miss all the excitement.’

‘What made you decide to move out here?’ Kalten asked, spearing another slice of beef with his dagger.

‘My father left me this place when he died. Nobody wanted to buy it, so I didn’t have any choice.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Now that you mention it, though,’ he said, returning to the previous topic, ‘there has been something a little unusual happening around here for the last few months.’

‘Oh?’ Tynian said carefully.

‘We’ve been seeing bands of roving Styrics. The countryside’s crawling with them. They don’t usually move around that much, do they?’

‘Not really,’ Sephrenia replied. ‘We’re not a nomadic people.’

‘I thought you might be Styric, lady – judging from your looks and your clothes. We’ve got a Styric village not far from here. They’re nice enough people, I suppose, 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 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 village about five leagues away. We should reach it by morning. I want to get word of all this to Dolmant in Chyrellos.’

‘I could take the message to him for you, Sir Sparhawk,’ Berit offered eagerly.

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘The Seeker probably has your scent 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 up.’

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.’

‘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 wall 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 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 Abbot was a jolly little fat man with a well-shaven tonsure 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 Abbot 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.’

‘O-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.’

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 long-handled 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 Bevier’s 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 mêlée, 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 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 clapped 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.’

‘Is he hurt?’ Bevier asked, dismounting and coming towards them, his face showing his concern.

‘I think he’ll be all right.’ Then Sparhawk rose, controlling his temper with some effort. ‘Sir Bevier,’ he said rather formally, ‘you’ve had training in this sort of thing. You know what you’re supposed to do when you’re under attack. What possessed you to dash into the middle of them like that?’

‘I didn’t think there were all that many of them, Sparhawk,’ Bevier replied defensively.

‘There were enough. It only takes one to kill you.’

‘You’re vexed with me, aren’t you, Sparhawk?’ Bevier’s voice was mournful.

Sparhawk looked at the young knight’s earnest face for a moment. Then he sighed. ‘No, Bevier, I suppose not. You just startled me, that’s all. Please, for the sake of my nerves, don’t do unexpected things any more. I’m not getting any younger, and surprises age me.’

‘Perhaps I didn’t consider the feelings of my comrades,’ Bevier admitted contritely. ‘I promise it will not happen again.’

‘I appreciate that, Bevier. Let’s help Kalten back down the hill. I want Sephrenia to take a look at him, and I’m sure she’ll want to have a talk with him – a nice long one.’

Kalten winced. ‘I don’t suppose I could talk you into leaving me here? This is nice soft dirt.’

‘Not a chance, Kalten,’ Sparhawk replied ruthlessly. ‘Don’t worry, though. She likes you, so she probably won’t do anything to you – nothing permanent, anyway.’