The Ruby Knight

any rate, or so the story goes, people began to wonder just exactly what it was the Styrics were looking for. That’s when the rumours started about the treasure. That ground’s been ploughed and sifted over a hundred times or more. Nobody’s sure what they’re looking for, but everybody in Lamorkand goes there once or twice in his lifetime.’
    ‘Maybe the Styrics know what’s buried there.’
    ‘Maybe so, but no one can talk to them. They run away any time somebody gets near them.’
    ‘Peculiar. Well, thank you for the information, neighbour. Good day to you.’
    They rode on, leaving the tinker’s clanking wagon behind. ‘That’s gloomy,’ Kalten said. ‘Somebody got there with a shovel before we did.’
    ‘A lot of shovels,’ Tynian amended.
    ‘He’s right about one thing, though,’ Sparhawk said. ‘I’ve never known a Styric to be interested enough in money to go out of his way for it. I think we’d better find a Styric village and ask a few questions. Something’s going on at Lake Randera that we don’t know about, and I don’t like surprises.’

Chapter 7

    The toll bridge was narrow and in some disrepair. A shabby hut stood at its near end with several dirty, hungry-looking children sitting listlessly in front of it. The bridge-tender himself wore a ragged smock, and his unshaven face was gaunt and hopeless. His eyes clouded with disappointment when he saw the armour of the knights. ‘No charge,’ he sighed.
    ‘You’ll never make a living that way, friend,’ Kalten told him.
    ‘It’s a local regulation, My Lord,’ the bridge-tender said unhappily. ‘No charge is made to Church people.’
    ‘Do very many people cross here?’ Tynian asked him.
    ‘No more than a few a week,’ the fellow replied. ‘Hardly enough to make it possible for me to pay my taxes. My children haven’t had a decent meal in months.’
    ‘Are there any Styric villages hereabouts?’ Sparhawk asked him.
    ‘I believe there’s one on the other side of the river, Sir Knight – in that cedar forest over there.’
    ‘Thank you, neighbour,’ Sparhawk said, pouring some coins into the startled fellow’s hand.
    ‘I can’t charge you to cross, My Lord,’ the man objected.
    ‘The money’s not for crossing, neighbour. It’s for the information.’ Sparhawk nudged Faran and started across the bridge.
    As Talen passed the bridge-tender, he leaned over and handed him something. ‘Get your children something to eat,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you, young master,’ the man said, tears of gratitude standing in his eyes.
    ‘What did you give him?’ Sparhawk asked.
    ‘The money I stole from that sharp-eyed fellow back at the ford,’ Talen replied.
    ‘That was very generous of you.’
    ‘I can always steal more.’ The boy shrugged. ‘Besides, he and his children need it more than I do. I’ve been hungry a few times myself, and I know how it feels.’
    Kalten leaned forward in his saddle. ‘You know, there might be some hope for this boy after all, Sparhawk,’ he said quietly.
    ‘It could be a little early to say for sure.’
    ‘At least it’s a start.’
    The damp forest on the far side of the river was composed of mossy old cedars with low-swooping green boughs, and the trail leading into it was poorly marked. ‘Well?’ Sparhawk said to Sephrenia.
    ‘They’re here,’ she told him. ‘They’re watching us.’
    ‘They’ll hide when we approach their village, won’t they?’
    ‘Probably. Styrics have little reason to trust armed Elenes. I should be able to persuade at least some of them to come out, though.’
    Like all Styric villages, the place was rude. The thatch-roofed huts were scattered haphazardly in a clearing, and there was no street of any kind. As Sephrenia had predicted, there was no one about. The small woman leaned over and spoke briefly to Flute in that Styric dialect Sparhawk did not understand. The little girl nodded, lifted her pipes and began to play.
    At first nothing happened.
    ‘I think I just saw one of them back in the trees,’ Kalten said after a few moments.
    ‘Timid, aren’t they?’ Talen said.
    ‘They have reason to be,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘Elenes don’t treat Styrics very well.’
    Flute continued to play, and after a time a white-bearded man in a smock made of unbleached homespun emerged hesitantly from the forest. He put his hands together in front of his chest and bowed respectfully to Sephrenia, speaking to her in Styric. Then he looked at Flute,