The Ruby Knight. David Eddings
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.’
Chapter 3
Sephrenia was tending a large, ugly-looking bruise on Berit’s upper arm when Sparhawk and Bevier helped the weakly protesting Kalten down the hill to her.
‘Is it bad?’ Sparhawk asked the young novice.
‘It’s nothing, My Lord,’ Berit said bravely, although his face was pale.
‘Is that the very first thing they teach you Pandions?’ Sephrenia asked acidly, ‘- to make light of your injuries? Berit’s mail-shirt stopped most of the blow, but in about an hour his arm’s going to be purple from elbow to shoulder. He’ll barely be able to use it.’
‘You’re in a cheerful humour this afternoon, little mother,’ Kalten said to her.
She pointed a threatening finger at him. ‘Kalten,’ she said, ‘sit. I’ll deal with you after I’ve tended Berit’s arm.’
Kalten sighed and slumped down onto the ground.
Sparhawk looked around. ‘Where are Ulath, Tynian and Kurik?’ he asked.
‘They’re scouting around to make sure there aren’t any more ambushes laid for us, Sir Sparhawk,’ Berit replied.
‘Good idea.’
‘That creature didn’t look so very dangerous to me,’ Bevier said, ‘- a little mysterious perhaps, but not all that dangerous.’
‘It didn’t hit you,’ Kalten told him. ‘It’s dangerous, all right. Take my word for it.’
‘It’s more dangerous than you could possibly imagine,’ Sephrenia said. ‘It can send whole armies after us.’
‘If it’s got the kind of power that knocked me off my horse, it doesn’t need armies.’
‘You keep forgetting, Kalten. Its mind is the mind of Azash. The Gods prefer to have humans do their work for them.’
‘The men who came down that hill were like sleepwalkers,’ Bevier said, shuddering. ‘We cut them to pieces, and they