The Ruby Knight

blister,’ Kalten mourned, looking at the palm of his hand.
    ‘It’s the first honest work he’s done since he was knighted,’ Kurik said to the count. ‘With a little training, he might not make a bad carpenter, but the rest of them have a long way to go, I’m afraid.’
    ‘How did you conceal the door in the kitchen?’ the count asked him.
    ‘We built a china cabinet against it, My Lord. Occuda’s going to do a few things to it to make it look old and then fill it with dishes. We padded the back of it to muffle the sound of your sister’s screaming.’
    ‘Is she still doing that?’ the count sighed.
    ‘It will not diminish as the years go by, My Lord,’ Sephrenia told him. ‘I’m afraid she’ll scream until the day she dies. When she stops, you’ll know that it’s over.’
    ‘Occuda’s making us something to eat,’ Sparhawk said to the count. ‘It’s going to take him a while, so this might not be a bad time to have a look at the chronicle you’ve compiled.’
    ‘Excellent idea, Sir Sparhawk,’ the count said, rising from his chair. ‘Will you excuse us, Madame?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Perhaps you might care to accompany us?’
    She laughed. ‘Ah, no, My Lord. I’d be of no use in a library.’
    ‘Sephrenia doesn’t read,’ Sparhawk explained. ‘It has something to do with her religion, I think.’
    ‘No,’ she disagreed. ‘It has to do with language, dear one. I don’t want to get into the habit of thinking in Elene. It might interfere at some point when I need to think – and speak – very rapidly in Styric.’
    ‘Bevier, Ulath, why don’t you come with the count and me?’ Sparhawk suggested. ‘Between you, you might be able to fill in some details that will help him pinpoint the story we need.’
    They went back up the stairs and left the room. The three knights followed the count through the dusty hallways of the castle until they reached a door in the west wing. The count opened the door and led them into a dark room. He fumbled around on a large table for a moment, took up a candle and went back into the hallway to light it from the torch burning outside.
    The room was not large, and it was crammed with books. They stood on shelves stretching from floor to ceiling and were piled in the corners.
    ‘You are well-read, My Lord,’ Bevier said to him.
    ‘It’s what scholars do, Sir Bevier. The soil hereabouts is poor – except for growing trees – and the cultivation of trees is not a very stimulating activity for a civilized man.’ He looked around fondly. ‘These are my friends,’ he said. ‘I’ll need their companionship now more than ever, I’m afraid. I won’t be able to leave this house ever again. I’ll have to stay here to guard my sister.’
    ‘The insane don’t usually live for very long, My Lord,’ Ulath assured him. ‘Once they go mad, they begin to neglect themselves. I had a cousin who lost her mind one winter. She was gone by spring.’
    ‘It’s a painful thing to hope for the death of a loved one, Sir Ulath, but God help me, I find that I do.’ The count put his hand on a foot-thick stack of unbound paper lying on his desk. ‘My life’s work, gentlemen.’ He seated himself. ‘To business then. Exactly what are we looking for?’
    ‘The grave of King Sarak of Thalesia,’ Ulath told him. ‘He didn’t reach the battlefield down in Lamorkand, so we assume he fell in some skirmish up here in Pelosia or in Deira – unless his ship was lost at sea.’
    Sparhawk had never thought of that. The possibility that Bhelliom lay at the bottom of the straits of Thalesia or the Sea of Pelos chilled him.
    ‘Can you generalize a bit?’ the count asked. ‘Which side of the lake was the king’s destination? I’ve broken my chronicle down by districts to give it some organization.’
    ‘In all probability, King Sarak was bound for the east side,’ Bevier replied. ‘That’s where the Thalesian army engaged the Zemochs.’
    ‘Are there any clues at all about where his ship landed?’
    ‘Not any that I’ve heard,’ Ulath admitted. ‘I’ve made a few guesses, but they could be off by a hundred leagues or so. Sarak might have sailed to some seaport along the north coast, but Thalesian ships don’t always do that. We’re reputed to be pirates in some quarters, and Sarak might have wanted to avoid the tiresome questions and just drove his prow up onto some deserted beach.’
    ‘That makes it a little more difficult,’ Count Ghasek