The Ruby Knight

‘Try to get some sleep. You’ll be a long time in the saddle tomorrow, I think.’ He stepped away from the fire and rummaged through one of the packs until he found his map. Then he motioned to Bevier and Kurik. ‘Ride due west tomorrow,’ he told them. ‘Try to get back across the border into Pelosia before dark. Then go south to Chyrellos on that side of the line. I don’t think even the most rabid Lamork soldier will violate that boundary and risk a confrontation with Pelosian border patrols.’
    ‘Sound reasoning,’ Bevier approved.
    ‘When you get to Chyrellos, drop Ortzel off at the Basilica then go and see Dolmant. Tell him what’s been going on here and ask him to pass the word on to Vanion and the other Preceptors. Urge them very strongly to resist the idea of sending the Church Knights out here into the hinterlands to put out the brush-fires Martel’s been starting. We’re going to need the four orders in Chyrellos if Archprelate Cluvonus dies, and luring them out of the Holy City’s what’s been behind all of Martel’s scheming.’
    ‘We will, Sparhawk,’ Bevier promised.
    ‘Make the trip as quickly as you can. His Grace appears to be fairly robust, so a little hard riding won’t hurt him. The quicker you get across the border into Pelosia, the better. Don’t waste any time, but be careful.’
    ‘You can count on that, Sparhawk,’ Kurik assured him.
    ‘We’ll rejoin you at Lake Randera as soon as we can,’ Bevier declared.
    ‘Have you got enough money?’ Sparhawk asked his squire.
    ‘I can get by.’ Then Kurik grinned, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. ‘Besides, Dolmant and I are old friends. He’s always good for a loan.’
    Sparhawk laughed. ‘Get to bed, you two,’ he said. ‘I want you and Ortzel on your way to Pelosia at first light in the morning.’
    They arose before dawn and sent Bevier and Kurik off to the west with the Patriarch of Kadach riding between them. Sparhawk consulted his map again by the light of their cook-fire. ‘We’ll go back across this ford again,’ he told the others. ‘There’s a larger channel east of here, so we’ll probably need to find a bridge. Let’s go north. I’d rather not run across any of Count Gerrich’s patrols.’
    They splashed across the ford after breakfast and angled away from it as a ruddy light to the east indicated that somewhere behind the dreary cloud-cover the sun had risen.
    Tynian fell in beside Sparhawk. ‘I don’t want to sound disrespectful,’ he said, ‘but I rather hope that the election doesn’t fall to Ortzel. I think the Church – and the four orders – would be in for a bad time if he ascends the throne.’
    ‘He’s a good man.’
    ‘Granted, but he’s very rigid. An Archprelate needs to be flexible. Times are changing, Sparhawk, and the Church needs to change with them. I don’t think the notion of change would appeal to Ortzel very much.’
    ‘That’s in the hands of the Hierocracy, though, and I’d definitely prefer Ortzel to Annias.’
    ‘That’s God’s own truth.’
    About mid-morning, they overtook the clattering wagon of a shabby-looking itinerant tinker who was also travelling northwards. ‘What cheer, neighbour?’ Sparhawk asked him.
    ‘Scant cheer, Sir Knight,’ the tinker replied glumly. ‘These wars are bad for business. Nobody worries about a leaky pot when his house is under siege.’
    ‘That’s probably very true. Tell me, do you know of a bridge or a ford hereabouts where we can get across that river ahead?’
    ‘There’s a toll bridge a couple of leagues north,’ the tinker advised. ‘Where are you bound, Sir Knight?’
    ‘Lake Randera.’
    The tinker’s eyes brightened. ‘To search for the treasure?’ he asked.
    ‘What treasure?’
    ‘Everybody in Lamorkand knows that there’s a vast treasure buried somewhere on the old battlefield at the lake. People have been digging there for five hundred years. About all they turn up is rusty swords and skeletons, though.’
    ‘How did people find out about it?’ Sparhawk asked him, sounding casual.
    ‘It was the oddest thing. The way I understand it, not too long after the battle, people started seeing Styrics digging there. Now, that doesn’t really make any sense, does it? What I mean is that everybody knows that Styrics don’t pay very much attention to money, and Styric menfolk are very reluctant to pick up shovels. That sort of tool doesn’t seem to fit their hands for some reason. At