The Ruby Knight

by David Eddings

  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, 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, Berit.’

  ‘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.’

  ‘Aldreas!’

  ‘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 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 Preceptor’s main reason had been to spare Sephrenia as much as possible. Despite all the strictures forbidding such things, Sparhawk believed 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 Se
phrenia, 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 monstrous!’ 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 dispose 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. ‘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 enough to find it, it won’t respond unless we have the rings.’

  ‘Rings?’ Kalten asked.

  ‘The Troll-Dwarf, Ghwerig, made Bhelliom,’ Ulath explained. ‘Then he made a pair of rings to unlock its power. Without the rings, Bhelliom’s useless.’

  ‘We already have the rings,’ Sephrenia told him absently, her face still troubled.

  ‘We do?’ Sparhawk was startled.

  ‘You’re wearing one of them,’ she told him, ‘and Aldreas gave you the other this very night.’

  Sparhawk stared at the ruby ring on his left hand, then back at his teacher. ‘How’s that possible?’ he demanded. ‘How did my ancestor and King Antor come by these particular rings?’

  ‘I gave them to them,’ she replied.

  He blinked. ‘Sephrenia, that was three hundred years ago.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘approximately.’

  Sparhawk stared at her, then swallowed hard. ‘Three hundred years?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘Sephrenia, just how old are you?’

  ‘You know I’m not going to answer that question, Sparhawk. I’ve told you that before.’

  ‘How did you get the rings?’

  ‘My Goddess, Aphrael, gave them to me – along with certain instructions. She told me where I’d find your ancestor and King Antor, and she told me to deliver the rings to them.’

  ‘Little mother,’ Sparhawk began, and then broke off as he saw her bleak expression.

  ‘Hush, dear one,’ she commanded. ‘I will say this only once, Sir Knights,’ she told them all. ‘What we do puts us in conflict with the Elder Gods, and that is not lightly undertaken. Your Elene God forgives; the Younger Gods of Styricum can be persuaded to relent. The Elder Gods, however, demand absolute compliance with their whims. To counter the commands of an Elder God is to court worse than death. They obliterate those who defy them – in ways you cannot imagine. Do we really want to bring Bhelliom back into the light again?’

  ‘Sephrenia! We have to!’ Sparhawk exclaimed. ‘It’s the only way we can save Ehlana – and you and Vanion for that matter.’

  ‘Annias will not live forever, Sparhawk, and Lycheas is hardly more than an inconvenience. Vanion and I are temporary, and so, for that matter – regardless of how you feel personally – is Ehlana. The world won’t miss any of us all that much.’ Sephrenia’s tone was almost clinical. ‘Bhelliom, however, is another matter – and so is Azash. If we fail and put the stone into that foul God’s hands, we will doom the world forever. Is it worth the risk?’

  ‘I’m the queen’s champion,’ Sparhawk reminded her. ‘I have to do whatever I possibly can to save her life.’ He rose and strode across the room to her. ‘So help me God, Sephrenia,’ he declared, ‘I’ll break open Hell itself to save that girl.’

  ‘He’s such a child sometimes,’ Sephrenia sighed to Vanion. ‘Can’t you think of some way to make him grow up?’

  ‘I was sort of considering going along,’ the Preceptor replied, smiling. ‘Sparhawk might let me hold his cloak while he kicks in the gate. I don’t think anybody’s assaulted Hell lately.’

  ‘You too?’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, dear,’ she sighed. ‘All right then, gentlemen,’ she said, giving up, ‘if you’re all so bent on this, we’ll try it – but only on one condition. If we do find Bhelliom, and it restores Ehlana, we must destroy it immediately after the task is done.’

  ‘Destroy it?’ Ulath exploded. ‘Sephrenia, it’s the most precious thing in the world.’

  ‘And also the most dangerous. If Azash ever comes to possess it, the world will be lost, and all mankind will be plunged into the most hideous slavery imaginable. I must insist on this, gentlemen. Otherwise, I’ll do everything in my power to prevent your finding that accursed stone.’

  ‘I don’t see that we’ve got much choice here,’ Ulath said gravely to the others. ‘Without her help, we don’t have much hope of unearthing Bhelliom.’

  ‘Oh, somebody’s going to find it all right,’ Sparhawk told him firmly. ‘One of the things Aldreas told me was that the time has come for Bhelliom to see the light of day again, and that no force on earth can prevent it. The only thing that concerns me right now is if it’s going to be one of us who finds it, or some Zemoch, who’ll carry it back to Otha.’

  ‘Or if it rises from the earth all on its own,’ Tynian added moodily. ‘Could it do that, Sephrenia?’

  ‘Probably, yes.’

  ‘How did you get out of the chapterhouse without being seen by the Primate’s spies?’ Kalten asked Sparhawk curiously.

  ‘I threw a rope
over the back wall and climbed down.’

  ‘How about getting in and out of the city after the gates were all closed?’

  ‘By pure luck the gate was still open when I was on my way to the cathedral. I used another way to get out.’

  ‘That garret I told you about?’ Talen asked.

  Sparhawk nodded.

  ‘How much did he charge you?’

  ‘A silver half-crown.’

  Talen looked shocked at that. ‘And they call me a thief. He gulled you, Sparhawk.’

  ‘I needed to get out of the city.’ Sparhawk shrugged.

  ‘I’ll tell Platime about it,’ the boy said. ‘He’ll get your money back. A half-crown? That’s outrageous.’ The boy was actually spluttering.

  Sparhawk remembered something. ‘Sephrenia, when I was on my way back here, something was out in the fog watching me. I don’t think it was human.’

  ‘The Damork?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure, but it didn’t feel the same. The Damork’s not the only creature subject to Azash, is it?’

  ‘No. The Damork is the most powerful, but it’s stupid. The other creatures don’t have its power, but they’re more clever. In many ways, they can be even more dangerous.’

  ‘All right, Sephrenia,’ Vanion said then, ‘I think you’d better give me Tanis’s sword now.’

  ‘My dear one –’ she began to protest, her face anguished.

  ‘We’ve had this argument once already tonight,’ he told her. ‘Let’s not go through it again.’

  She sighed. Then the two of them began to chant in unison in the Styric tongue. Vanion’s face turned a little greyer at the end when Sephrenia handed him the sword and their hands touched.

  ‘All right,’ Sparhawk said to Ulath after the transfer had been completed. ‘Where do we start? Where was King Sarak when his crown was lost?’

  ‘No one really knows,’ the big Genidian Knight replied. ‘He left Emsat when Otha invaded Lamorkand. He took a few retainers and left orders for the rest of his army to follow him to the battlefield at Lake Randera.’