The Ruby Knight

through the narrow streets with the overhanging houses casting a premature darkness, and arrived back at the inn where they had previously stayed. The innkeeper, a jovial fat Pelosian, welcomed them and led them upstairs to the second floor where the sleeping-rooms were located. ‘Well, My Lords,’ he said, ‘how was your sojourn in those accursed woods?’
    ‘Quite successful, neighbour,’ Sparhawk replied, ‘and I think you can begin to pass the word around that Ghasek’s no longer a place to be feared. We found out what was causing the problem and took care of it.’
    ‘Thanks be to God for the Knights of the Church!’ the innkeeper cried enthusiastically. ‘The stories that have been going around have been very bad for business here in Venne. People have been choosing other routes because they didn’t want to go into those woods.’
    ‘It’s all taken care of now,’ Sparhawk assured him.
    ‘Was it some kind of monster?’
    ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Kalten replied.
    ‘Did you kill it?’
    ‘We entombed it.’ Kalten shrugged, starting to remove his armour.
    ‘Good for you, My Lord.’
    ‘Oh, by the way,’ Sparhawk said, ‘we need to find a place called Giant’s Mound. Do you by any chance happen to know where we should start looking?’
    ‘I think it’s on the east side of the lake,’ the innkeeper replied. ‘There are some villages down there. They’re back a ways from the lake-shore because of all those peat-bogs.’ He laughed. ‘The villages won’t be hard to find. The peasants down there burn peat in their stoves. It puts out quite a bit of smoke, so about all you have to do is follow your noses.’
    ‘What are you planning to offer for supper tonight?’ Kalten asked eagerly.
    ‘Is that all you ever think about?’ Sparhawk said.
    ‘It’s been a long trip, Sparhawk. I need some real food. You gentlemen are good companions, but your cooking leaves a bit to be desired.’
    ‘I’ve had a haunch of beef turning on the spit since this morning, My Lord,’ the innkeeper said. ‘It should be well done by now.’
    Kalten smiled beatifically.
    True to his word, Bevier spent the night in a nearby church and rejoined them in the morning. Sparhawk chose not to question him concerning the state of his soul.
    They rode out of Venne and took the road south along the lake. They made much better time than they had when they had made the trip to the city. On that occasion, Kalten, Bevier and Tynian had been recovering from their encounter with the monstrous thing which had emerged from the burial mound at the north end of Lake Randera, but now they were wholly restored and able to ride at a gallop.
    It was late afternoon when Kurik pulled up beside Sparhawk. ‘I just caught a trace of peat-smoke in the air,’ he reported. ‘There’s a village of some kind around here.’
    ‘Kalten,’ Sparhawk called.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘There’s a village nearby. Kurik and I are going to go have a look. Set up camp and build a good fire. It might be after dark before the two of us get back and we’ll need something to guide us in.’
    ‘I know what to do, Sparhawk.’
    ‘All right. Do it then.’ Sparhawk and his squire turned aside from the road and galloped across an open field towards a low band of trees a mile or so to the east.
    The smell of burning peat grew stronger – a strangely homelike scent. Sparhawk leaned back in his saddle, feeling strangely at ease.
    ‘Don’t get too confident,’ Kurik warned. ‘The smoke does strange things to their heads. Peat-burners are not always very reliable. In some ways, they’re worse than Lamorks.’
    ‘Where did you get all this information, Kurik?’
    ‘There are ways, Sparhawk. The Church and the nobility get their information in dispatches and reports. The commons go to the heart of things.’
    ‘I’ll remember that. There’s the village.’
    ‘You’d better let me do most of the talking when we get there,’ Kurik advised. ‘No matter how hard you try, you don’t sound much like a commoner.’
    It was a low village. Shallow, wide houses built of grey field-stone and roofed with thatch lined both sides of the single street. A thick-bodied peasant sat on a stool in an open-sided shed, milking a brown cow.
    ‘Hello, there, friend,’ Kurik called to him, slipping down from his horse.
    The peasant turned and stared at him in slack-lipped stupidity.
    ‘Do you happen to know about a place called Giant’s Mound?’ Kurik asked him.
    The