The Ruby Knight

stands poised on our eastern frontier ready to exploit any divisions or chaos. The cure of the queen who is so near to death, however, may daunt even her champion and his stalwart companions. Pray for their success, my brothers, for should they fail, the whole of the Eosian continent will inevitably fall into general warfare, and civilization as we know it will cease to exist.

Lake Randera



Chapter 1

    It was well after midnight, and a dense grey fog had crept in off the Cimmura River to mingle with the pervading wood-smoke from a thousand chimneys to blur the nearly deserted streets of the city. The Pandion Knight, Sir Sparhawk, nonetheless moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows whenever possible. The streets glistened with moisture, and pale, rainbow-coloured haloes surrounded the torches trying feebly with their guttering light to illuminate streets into which no sensible man ventured at this hour. The houses lining the street Sparhawk was following were hardly more than looming black shadows. Sparhawk moved on, his ears even more than his eyes wary, for in this murky night sound was far more important than sight to warn of approaching danger.
    This was a bad time to be out. By day, Cimmura was no more dangerous than any other city. By night, it was a jungle where the strong fed upon the weak and unwary. Sparhawk, however, was neither of those. Beneath his plain traveller’s cloak he wore chain-mail, and a heavy sword hung at his side. In addition, he carried a short, broad-bladed battle-spear loosely in one hand. He was trained, moreover, in levels of violence no footpad could match, and a seething anger inflamed him at this point. Bleakly, the broken-nosed man almost hoped that some fool might try an attack. When provoked, Sparhawk was not the most reasonable of men, and he had been provoked of late.
    He was also, however, aware of the urgency of what he was about. Much as he might have taken some satisfaction in the rush and cut and slash of a meeting with unknown and unimportant assailants, he had responsibilities. His pale young queen hovered near death, and she silently demanded absolute fidelity from her champion. He would not betray her, and to die in some muddy gutter as a result of a meaningless encounter would not serve the queen he was oath-bound to protect. And so it was that he moved cautiously, his feet more silent than those of any paid assassin.
    Somewhere ahead he saw the bobbing of hazy-looking torches and heard the measured tread of several men marching in unison. He muttered an oath and ducked up a smelly alley.
    A half-dozen men marched by, their red tunics bedewed by the fog and with long pikes leaning slantwise over their shoulders. ‘It’s that place in Rose Street,’ their officer was saying arrogantly, ‘where the Pandions try to hide their ungodly subterfuge. They know we’re watching, of course, but our presence restricts their movements and leaves His Grace, the Primate, free from their interference.’
    ‘We know the reasons, Lieutenant,’ a bored-sounding corporal said. ‘We’ve been doing this for over a year now.’
    ‘Oh.’ The self-important young lieutenant sounded a bit crestfallen. ‘I just wanted to be sure that we all understood, that’s all.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ the corporal said tonelessly.
    ‘Wait here, men,’ the lieutenant said, trying to make his boyish voice sound gruff. ‘I’ll look on ahead.’ He marched on up the street, his heels smashing noisily on the fog-wet cobblestones.
    ‘What a jackass,’ the corporal muttered to his companions.
    ‘Grow up, corporal,’ an old, grey-haired veteran said. ‘We take the pay, so we obey their orders and keep our opinions to ourselves. Just do your job and leave opinions to the officers.’
    The corporal grunted sourly. ‘I was at court yesterday,’ he said. ‘Primate Annias had summoned that young puppy up there, and the fool absolutely had to have an escort. Would you believe he was actually fawning all over the bastard Lycheas?’
    ‘That’s what lieutenants do best,’ the veteran shrugged. ‘They’re born boot-lickers, and the bastard is the Prince Regent, after all. I’m not sure if that makes his boots taste any better, but the lieutenant’s probably got calluses on his tongue by now.’
    The corporal laughed. ‘That’s God’s truth, but wouldn’t he be surprised if the queen recovered and he found out that he’d eaten all that boot polish for nothing?’
    ‘You’d better hope