The Ruby Knight. David Eddings
Ortzel gasped.
‘No, Your Grace, not really. I am Styric and therefore not subject to Elene theology.’
‘Hadn’t we better get going?’ Ulath suggested. ‘It’s a long ride to Chyrellos, and we need to get His Grace out of this castle before the fighting starts.’
‘Well put, my laconic friend,’ Tynian approved.
‘I shall make ready at once,’ Ortzel said, going to the door. ‘We will be able to depart within the hour.’ And he went out.
‘How long do you think it’s likely to be before the count’s forces reach here, My Lord?’ Tynian asked the baron.
‘No more than a day, Sir Tynian. I have friends who are impeding his march northward from his keep, but he has a sizeable army, and I’m certain he will soon break his way through.’
‘Talen,’ Sparhawk said sharply, ‘put it back.’
The boy made a wry face and laid a small dagger with a jewelled hilt back on the table from which he had taken it. ‘I didn’t think you were watching,’ he said.
‘Don’t ever make that mistake,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I always watch you.’
The baron looked puzzled.
‘The boy has not yet learned to grasp some of the finer points of property ownership, My Lord,’ Kalten said lightly. ‘We’ve been trying to teach him, but he’s a slow learner.’
Talen sighed and took up his sketch pad and pencil. Then he sat at a table on the far side of the room and began to draw. He was, Sparhawk remembered, very talented.
‘I am most grateful to you all, gentlemen,’ the baron was saying. ‘The safety of my brother has been my only concern. Now I shall be able to concentrate on the business at hand.’ He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Do you think you might possibly encounter this Martel person during the course of your quest?’
‘I most certainly hope so,’ Sparhawk said fervently.
‘And is it your intention to kill him?’
‘That’s been Sparhawk’s intention for the last dozen years or so,’ Kalten said. ‘Martel sleeps very lightly when Sparhawk’s in the same kingdom with him.’
‘May God aid your arm then, Sir Sparhawk,’ the baron said. ‘My son will rest more peacefully once his betrayer joins him in the House of the Dead.’
The door burst open, and Sir Enmann hurried into the room. ‘My Lord!’ he said to Alstrom in urgent tones, ‘come quickly!’
Alstrom came to his feet. ‘What is it, Sir Enmann?’
‘Count Gerrich has deceived us. He has a fleet of ships on the river, and even now his forces are landing on both sides of this promontory.’
‘Sound the alarm!’ the baron commanded, ‘and raise the drawbridge!’
‘At once, My Lord.’ Enmann hurried from the room.
Alstrom sighed bleakly. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘Both your quest and the task I set you are doomed now. We are under siege, and we will all be trapped within these walls for a number of years, I fear.’
Chapter 5
The booming crash of boulders slamming against the walls of Alstrom’s castle came with monotonous regularity as the siege engines of Count Gerrich moved into place and began pounding the fortress.
Sparhawk and the others had remained in the cheerless, weapon-cluttered room at Alstrom’s request, and they sat awaiting his return.
‘I’ve never been under siege before,’ Talen said, looking up from his drawings. ‘How long do they usually last?’
‘If we can’t come up with a way to get out of here, you’ll be shaving by the time it’s over,’ Kurik told him.
‘Do something, Sparhawk,’ the boy said urgently.
‘I’m open to suggestions.’
Talen looked at him helplessly.
Baron Alstrom came back into the room. His face was bleak. ‘I’m afraid we’re completely encircled,’ he said.
‘A truce, perhaps?’ Bevier suggested. ‘It’s customary in Arcium to grant safe passage to women and Churchmen before pressing a siege.’
‘Unfortunately, Sir Bevier,’ Alstrom replied, ‘this is not Arcium. This is Lamorkand, and there’s no such thing as a truce here.’
‘Any ideas?’ Sparhawk asked Sephrenia.
‘A few, perhaps,’ she said. ‘Let me have a try at your excellent Elene logic. First, the use of main force to break out of the castle is quite out of the question, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And, as you pointed out, a truce would probably not be honoured?’
‘I certainly wouldn’t want to gamble His Grace’s life or yours on a truce.’
‘Then there’s the possibility of stealth. I don’t think that would work either, do you?’
‘Too risky,’ Kalten agreed. ‘The castle is surrounded, and the soldiers will be on the alert for people trying to sneak out.’
‘Subterfuge of some kind?’ she asked.
‘Not under these circumstances,’ Ulath said. ‘The troops surrounding the castle are armed with crossbows. We’d never get close enough to tell them stories.’
‘That leaves only the arts of Styricum, doesn’t it?’
Ortzel’s face stiffened. ‘I will not be a party to the use of heathen sorcery,’ he declared.
‘I was afraid he might look at it that way,’ Kalten murmured to Sparhawk.
‘I’ll try to reason with him in the morning,’ Sparhawk replied under his breath. He looked at Baron Alstrom. ‘It’s late, My Lord,’ he said, ‘and we’re all tired. Some sleep might clear our heads and hint at other solutions.’
‘Well said, Sir Sparhawk,’ Alstrom agreed. ‘My servants will convey you and your companions to safe quarters, and we shall consider this matter further on the morrow.’
They were led through the bleak halls of Alstrom’s castle to a wing that, while comfortable, showed little signs of use. Supper was brought to them in their rooms, and Sparhawk and Kalten removed their armour. After they had eaten, they sat talking quietly in the chamber they shared.
‘I could have told you that Ortzel would feel the way he does about magic. The Churchmen here in Lamorkand feel almost as strongly about it as Rendors.’
‘If it’d been Dolmant, we might have talked our way around him,’ Sparhawk agreed glumly.
‘Dolmant’s more cosmopolitan,’ Kalten said. ‘He grew up next door to the Pandion Mother-house, and he knows a great deal more about the secrets than he lets on.’
There was a light rap on the door. Sparhawk rose and answered it. It was Talen. ‘Sephrenia wants to see you,’ he told the big knight.
‘All right. Go to bed, Kalten. You’re still looking a bit worse for wear. Lead the way, Talen.’
The boy took Sparhawk to the end of the corridor and tapped on the door.
‘Come in, Talen,’ Sephrenia replied.
‘How did you know it was me?’ Talen asked curiously as he opened the door.
‘There are ways,’ she said mysteriously. The small Styric woman was gently brushing Flute’s long black hair. The child had a dreamy look on her small face, and she was humming to herself