The Ruby Knight

I have said, however, the Patriarch Ortzel is the paramount choice for the Archprelacy – in the event of the demise of the revered Cluvonus, which, please God, may be delayed for a time. Thus I charge you and your noble companions, Sir Knight, to convey his Grace safe and whole to the sacred city of Chyrellos so that he may stand for election, should that mournful necessity come to pass. With that end in view, I will forthwith convey you and your knightly companions to the stronghold of My Lord of Alstrom so that you may undertake this noble task. Let us then proceed.’

Chapter 4

    The castle of Baron Alstrom was situated on a rocky promontory on the east bank of the river. The promontory jutted out into the main channel a few leagues above the town of Kadach. It was a bleak, ugly fortress, squatting toad-like under a cheerless sky. Its walls were thick and high, seeming to reflect the stiff, unyielding arrogance of its owner.
    ‘Impregnable?’ Bevier murmured derisively to Sparhawk as the knight in the chain-coat led them along the short causeway that led out to the castle gate. ‘I could reduce these walls within the space of two years. No Arcian noble would feel secure within such flimsy fortifications.’
    ‘Arcians have more time to build their castles,’ Sparhawk pointed out to the white-caped knight. ‘It takes longer to start a war in Arcium than it does here in Lamorkand. You can start a war here in about five minutes, and it’s likely to go on for generations.’
    ‘Truly,’ Bevier agreed. He smiled faintly. ‘In my youth I gave some time to the study of military history. When I turned to the volumes dealing with Lamorkand, I threw up my hands in despair. No rational man could sort out all the alliances, betrayals and blood feuds that seethe just below the surface of this unhappy kingdom.’
    The drawbridge boomed down, and they clattered on across it into the castle’s main court. ‘And it please you, Sir Knights,’ the Lamork knight said, dismounting, ‘I will convey you directly into the presence of the Baron Alstrom and His Grace, the Patriarch Ortzel. Time is pressing, and we must see His Grace safely out of the castle ere the forces of Count Gerrich mount their siege.’
    ‘Lead on, Sir Knight,’ Sparhawk said, clanking down from Faran’s back. He leaned his lance against the wall of the stable, hung his silver-embossed black shield on his saddle and handed his reins to a waiting groom.
    They went up a broad stone staircase and through the pair of massive doors at its top. The hallway beyond was torchlit, and the stones of its walls were massive. ‘Did you warn that groom?’ Kalten asked, falling in beside Sparhawk, his long black cape swirling about his ankles.
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Your horse’s disposition.’
    ‘I forgot,’ Sparhawk confessed. ‘He’ll find out on his own, I imagine.’
    ‘He probably already has.’
    The room to which the Lamork knight led them was bleak. In many respects it was more like an armoury than living quarters. Swords and axes hung on the walls, and pikes in clusters of a dozen or so leaned in the corners. A fire burned in a huge, vaulted fireplace, and the few chairs were heavy and unpadded. There was no carpeting on the floor, and a number of huge wolf-hounds dozed here and there.
    Baron Alstrom was a grim-faced, melancholy-looking man. His black hair and beard were shot with grey. He wore a mail-coat and had a broadsword at his waist. His surcoat was black and elaborately embroidered in red, and like the knight in the pig-faced helmet, he wore boots.
    Their escort bowed stiffly. ‘By good fortune, My Lord, I encountered these Knights of the Church no more than a league from your walls. They were gracious enough to accompany me here.’
    ‘Did we have any choice?’ Kalten muttered.
    The Baron rose from his chair with a movement made clumsy by the encumbrance of armour and sword. ‘Greetings, Sir Knights,’ he said, in a voice without much warmth. ‘It was indeed fortuitous that Sir Enmann encountered you so near this stronghold. The forces of mine enemy will presently besiege me here, and my brother must be safely away before they come.’
    ‘Yes, My Lord,’ Sparhawk replied, removing his black helmet and looking after the departing Lamork in the chain-coat. ‘Sir Enmann advised us of the circumstances. Might it not have been more prudent, however, to have sent your brother on his way with an escort of your own troops? It was