The Ruby Knight

snorted. ‘I wish the Church would keep her nose out of politics.’
    ‘Will you ride along with us for a ways, Your Majesty?’ Bevier inquired politely.
    ‘No, I think it’s going to be the other way around, Sir Knight – and it’s going to be more than just a ways.’ Wargun looked at them all. ‘Do you know what’s been going on in Arcium?’
    ‘We’ve heard a few garbled rumours, Your Majesty,’ Tynian said, ‘but nothing very substantial.’
    ‘All right,’ Wargun said, ‘I’ll give you some substance. The Rendors have invaded Arcium.’
    ‘That’s impossible!’ Sparhawk exclaimed.
    ‘Go and tell the people who used to live in Coombe about impossible. The Rendors sacked and burned the town. Now they’re marching north towards the capital at Larium. King Dregos has invoked the mutual defence treaties. Soros here and I are gathering up every able-bodied man we can lay our hands on. We’re going to ride south and stamp out the Rendorish infection once and for all.’
    ‘I wish we could accompany Your Majesty,’ Sparhawk said, ‘but we have another commitment. Perhaps, once our task is finished, we may be able to join you.’
    ‘You already have, Sparhawk,’ Wargun said bluntly.
    ‘We have another urgent commitment, Your Majesty,’ Sparhawk repeated.
    ‘The Church is eternal, Sparhawk, and she’s very patient. Your other commitment will have to wait.’
    That did it. Sparhawk, whose temper was never really greatly under control, looked the monarch of Thalesia full in the face. Unlike the anger of other men, whose rage was dissipated in shouting and oaths, Sparhawk’s anger took on an ominous icy calmness. ‘We are Church Knights, Your Majesty,’ he said in a flat, unemotional voice. ‘We are not subject to earthly kings. Our responsibility is to God and to our mother, the Church. We will obey her commands, not yours.’
    ‘I have a thousand picked men at my back,’ Wargun blustered.
    ‘And how many are you prepared to lose?’ Sparhawk asked in his deadly quiet voice. He drew himself up in his saddle and slowly lowered his visor. ‘Let’s save some time, Wargun of Thalesia,’ he said formally, removing his right gauntlet. ‘I find your attitude unseemly, even irreligious, and it offends me.’ With a negligent toss, he threw his gauntlet into the dust of the road in front of the Thalesian king.
    ‘ That’s his idea of diplomacy?’ Ulath murmured to Kalten in some dismay.
    ‘That’s about as close as he can usually get,’ Kalten said, loosening his sword in its sheath. ‘You may as well go ahead and draw your axe, Ulath. This promises to be an interesting morning. Sephrenia, take the children to the rear.’
    ‘Are you mad, Kalten?’ Ulath exploded. ‘You want me to draw my axe on my own king?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Kalten grinned, ‘only on his funeral cortege. If Wargun goes up against Sparhawk, he’ll be drinking heavenly mead after the first pass.’
    ‘Then I’ll have to fight Sparhawk,’ Ulath said regretfully.
    ‘That’s up to you, my friend,’ Kalten said with equal regret, ‘but I don’t advise it. Even if you get past Sparhawk, you’ll still have to face me, and I cheat a lot.’
    ‘I will not permit this!’ a booming voice roared. The man who shouldered his horse through the surrounding Thalesians was huge, bigger even than Ulath. He wore a mail-shirt and an ogre-horned helmet and carried a massive axe. A wide black ribbon about his neck identified him as a churchman. ‘Pick up your gauntlet, Sir Sparhawk, and withdraw your challenge! This is the command of our mother, the Church!’
    ‘Who’s that?’ Kalten asked Ulath.
    ‘Bergsten, the Patriarch of Emsat,’ Ulath replied.
    ‘A Patriarch ? Dressed like that?’
    ‘Bergsten’s not your average churchman.’
    ‘Your Grace,’ King Wargun faltered. ‘I -’
    ‘Put up your sword, Wargun,’ Bergsten thundered, ‘or would you face me in single combat?’
    ‘ I wouldn’t,’ Wargun said almost conversationally to Sparhawk. ‘Would you ?’
    Sparhawk looked appraisingly at the Patriarch of Emsat. ‘Not if I could help it,’ he admitted. ‘How did he get that big?’
    ‘He was an only child,’ Wargun said. ‘He didn’t have to fight with nine brothers and sisters for his supper every night. What’s your feeling about a truce at this point, Sparhawk?’
    ‘It sounds like the course of prudence to me, Your Majesty. We really have something important to do,