The Ruby Knight

carry a baby.
    ‘Are you going to be all right?’ Sparhawk asked her.
    ‘I just need some time to get used to it, that’s all,’ she replied.
    Talen led his horse out of the stable.
    ‘Just tie him on behind the wagon,’ Sparhawk told the boy. ‘You’ll be driving.’
    ‘Whatever you say, Sparhawk,’ Talen agreed.
    ‘No arguments?’ Sparhawk was a little surprised.
    ‘Why should I argue? I can see the reason for it. Besides, that wagon seat’s more comfortable than my saddle – much more comfortable, when you get right down to it.’
    Tynian and Bevier came out of the inn. Both wore mail-shirts and walked a bit slowly.
    ‘No armour?’ Ulath asked Tynian lightly.
    ‘It’s heavy,’ Tynian replied. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it just yet.’
    ‘Are you sure we didn’t leave anything behind?’ Sparhawk asked Kurik.
    Kurik gave him a flat, unfriendly stare.
    ‘Just asking,’ Sparhawk said mildly. ‘Don’t get irritable this early in the morning.’ He looked at the others. ‘We’re not going to push today,’ he told them. ‘I’ll be satisfied with five leagues, if we can manage it.’
    ‘You’re saddled with a group of cripples, Sparhawk,’ Tynian said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if you and Ulath went on ahead? The rest of us can catch up with you later.’
    ‘No,’ Sparhawk decided. ‘There are unfriendly people roaming about, and you and the others aren’t in any condition to defend yourselves just yet.’ He smiled briefly at Sephrenia. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘we’re supposed to be ten. I wouldn’t want to offend the Younger Gods.’
    They helped Kalten, Tynian and Bevier to mount and then rode slowly out of the innyard into the still-dark and largely deserted streets of Paler. They proceeded at a walk to the north gate, and the gate guards hurriedly opened it for them.
    ‘Bless you, my children,’ Kalten said grandly to them as he rode through.
    ‘Did you have to do that?’ Sparhawk asked him.
    ‘It’s cheaper than giving them money. Besides, who knows? My blessing might actually be worth something.’
    ‘I think he’s going to get better,’ Kurik said.
    ‘Not if he keeps that up, he won’t,’ Sparhawk disagreed.
    The sky to the east was growing lighter, and they moved at an easy pace along the road that ran northwesterly from Paler to Lake Venne. The land lying between the two lakes was rolling and given over largely to the growing of grain. Grand estates dotted the countryside, and here and there were villages of the log huts of the serfs. Serfdom had been abolished in western Eosia centuries before, but it still persisted here in Pelosia, since, as best Sparhawk could tell, the Pelosian nobility lacked the administrative skills to make any other system work. They saw a few of those nobles, usually in bright satin doublets, supervising the work of the linen-shirted serfs from horseback. Despite everything Sparhawk had heard of the evils of serfdom, the workers in the fields seemed well-fed and not particularly mistreated.
    Berit was riding several hundred yards to the rear, and he kept turning in his saddle to look back.
    ‘He’s going to wrench my armour completely askew if he keeps doing that,’ Kalten said critically.
    ‘We can always stop by a smith and have it re-tailored for you,’ Sparhawk said. ‘Maybe we could have some of the seams let out at the same time, since you’re so bent on stuffing yourself full of food every chance you get.’
    ‘You’re in a foul humour this morning, Sparhawk.’
    ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
    ‘Some people are just not suited for command,’ Kalten observed grandly to the others. ‘My ugly friend here seems to be one of them. He worries too much.’
    ‘Do you want to do this?’ Sparhawk asked flatly.
    ‘Me? Be serious, Sparhawk. I couldn’t even herd geese, much less direct a body of knights.’
    ‘Then would you like to shut up and let me do it?’
    Berit rode forward, his eyes narrowed and his hand slipping his axe up and down in the sling at the side of his saddle. ‘The Zemochs are back there, Sir Sparhawk,’ he said. ‘I keep catching glimpses of them.’
    ‘How far back?’
    ‘About a half a mile. Most of them are hanging back, but they’ve got scouts out. They’re keeping an eye on us.’
    ‘If we charged to the rear, they’d just scatter,’ Bevier advised. ‘And then they’d pick up our trail again.’
    ‘Probably,’ Sparhawk agreed glumly. ‘Well, I can’t stop them. I