Sparhawk dismounted in the innyard and went inside. A fat man with a bright red face and raggedly cut hair was rolling a beer barrel across the floor towards a wide door near the back. ‘Have you any empty rooms, neighbour?’ Sparhawk asked him.
‘The whole loft is empty, My Lord,’ the fat man replied respectfully, ‘but are you sure you want to stop here? My accommodations are good enough for ordinary travellers, but they’re hardly suitable for the gentry.’
‘I’m sure they’d be better than sleeping under a hedge on a rainy night.’
‘That’s surely true, My Lord, and I’ll be happy to have guests. I don’t get many visitors at this time of year. That tap-room back there is about the only thing that keeps me in business.’
‘Are there any people in there at the moment?’
‘A half-dozen or so, My Lord. Business picks up when the fishermen come in off the lake.’
‘There are ten of us,’ Sparhawk told him, ‘so we’ll need quite a few rooms. Do you have someone who can see to our horses?’
‘My son takes care of the stables, Sir Knight.’
‘Warn him to be careful of the big roan. The horse is playful, and he’s very free with his teeth.’
‘I’ll mention it to my son.’
‘I’ll get my friends then, and we’ll go upstairs and have a look at your loft. Oh, incidentally, do you happen to have a bath-tub? My friends and I have been out in the weather, and we’re a little rusty-smelling.’
‘There’s a bath-house out back, My Lord. Nobody uses it very often, though.’
‘All right. Have some of your people start heating water, and I’ll be right back.’ He turned and went back outside into the rain.
The rooms, though a bit dusty from lack of use, were surprisingly comfortable-looking. The beds were clean and seemed bug-free, and there was a large common-room at one end of the loft.
‘Very nice, actually,’ Sephrenia said, looking around.
‘There’s a bath-house as well,’ Sparhawk told her.
‘Oh, that’s just lovely,’ she sighed happily.
‘We’ll let you use it first.’
‘No, dear one. I don’t like to be rushed when I bathe. You gentlemen go ahead.’ She sniffed at them critically. ‘Don’t be afraid to use soap,’ she added, ‘- lots and lots of soap – and wash your hair as well.’
‘After we bathe, I think we’ll want to change into plain tunics,’ Sparhawk advised the others. ‘We want to ask these people questions, and armour’s just a bit intimidating.’
The five knights pulled off their armour, took up their tunics and trooped with Kurik, Berit and Talen down the back stairs in the padded and rust-splotched undergarments they wore beneath their steel. They bathed in large, barrel-like tubs, and emerged feeling refreshed and cleansed.
‘This is the first time I’ve been warm for a week,’ Kalten said. ‘I think I’m ready to visit that tap-room now.’
Talen was pressed into service to carry their padded undergarments back upstairs, and he was a little sullen about it.
‘Don’t make faces,’ Kurik told him. ‘I wasn’t going to let you go into the tap-room anyway. I owe that much to your mother. Tell Sephrenia that she and Flute can have the bath-house now. Come back down with her and guard the door to make sure they’re not interrupted.’
‘But I’m hungry.’
Kurik put his hand threateningly on his belt.
‘All right, all right, don’t get excited.’ The boy hurried on up the stairs.
The tap-room was a bit smoky, and the floor was covered with sawdust and silvery fish-scales. The five plain-clad knights, along with Kurik and Berit entered unobtrusively and seated themselves at a vacant corner table.
‘We’ll have beer,’ Kalten called to the serving-wench, ‘lots of beer.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ Sparhawk muttered. ‘You’re heavy, and we don’t want to have to carry you back upstairs.’
‘Never fear, my friend,’ Kalten replied expansively. ‘I spent a full ten years here in Lamorkand and never once got fuddled. The beer here is weak and watery stuff.’
The serving-girl was a typical Lamork woman – large-hipped, blonde, busty and none too bright. She wore a peasant blouse, cut very low, and a heavy red skirt. Her wooden shoes clattered across the floor, and she had an inane giggle. She brought them large, copper-bound wooden tankards of foamy beer. ‘Don’t go just yet, lass,’ Kalten said to her. He lifted his tankard and drained it without once taking it from his lips. ‘This one seems to have gone empty on me. Be a good girl and fill it again.’ He patted her familiarly on the bottom. She giggled and scurried away with his tankard.
‘Is he always like this?’ Tynian asked Sparhawk.
‘Every chance he gets.’
‘As I was saying before we came in,’ Kalten said loudly enough to be heard in most parts of the room, ‘I’ll wager a silver half-crown that the battle never got this far north.’
‘And I’ll wager two that it did,’ Tynian replied, picking up the ruse immediately.
Bevier looked puzzled for an instant, and then his eyes showed that he understood. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard to find out,’ he said, looking around. ‘I’m sure that someone here would know.’
Ulath pushed back his bench and stood up. He thumped his huge fist on the table for attention. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said loudly to the other men in the tap-room. ‘My two friends here have been arguing for the last four hours, and they’ve finally got to the point of putting money down on the issue. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of listening to them. Maybe some of you can settle the matter and give my ears a rest. There was a battle here five hundred years ago or so.’ He pointed at Kalten. ‘This one with the beer-foam on his chin says that the fighting didn’t get this far north. The other one with the round face says that it did. Which one is right?’
There was a long silence, and then an old man with pink cheeks and wispy white hair shambled across the room to their table. He was shabbily dressed, and his head wobbled on his neck. ‘I b’leeve I kin settle yer dispute, good masters,’ he said in a squeaky voice. ‘My old gaffer, he used to tell me stories about that there battle ye was talkin’ about.’
‘Bring this good fellow a tankard, dearie,’ Kalten said familiarly to the serving-girl.
‘Kalten,’ Kurik said disgustedly, ‘keep your hand off her bottom.’
‘Just being friendly, that’s all.’
‘Is that what you call it?’
The serving-girl blushed rosily and went back for more beer, rolling her eyes invitingly at Kalten.
‘I think you’ve just made a friend,’ Ulath said drily to the blond Pandion, ‘but try not to take advantage of it here in public.’ He looked at the old man with the wobbly neck. ‘Sit down, old fellow,’ he invited.
‘Why, thankee, good master. I read by the look of ’ee that ye be from far north Thalesia.’ He sat down shakily on the bench.
‘You read well, old man,’ Ulath said. ‘What did your gaffer tell you about that ancient battle?’
‘Well,’ the wobbly fellow said, scratching at his stubbled cheek, ‘as I recall it, he says to me, he says -’ He paused as the busty serving girl slid a tankard of beer to him. ‘Why, thankee, Nima,’ he said.
The girl smiled, sidling up to Kalten. ‘How’s yours?’ she asked, leaning against him.
Kalten flushed slightly. ‘Ah – just fine, dearie,’ he faltered. Oddly, her directness seemed to take him off guard.
‘You will let me know if you want anything, won’t you?’ she encouraged. ‘Anything at all. I’m here to please, you know.’
‘At the moment – no,’ Kalten told her. ‘Maybe later.’
Tynian and Ulath exchanged a long look, and then they both grinned.
‘You northern knights look at the world differently than we do,’ Bevier said, looking slightly embarrassed.
‘You want some lessons?’ Ulath asked him.
Bevier suddenly blushed.
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p; ‘He’s a good boy.’ Ulath smiled broadly to the others, patting Bevier on the shoulder. ‘We just have to keep him out of Arcium for a while until we have time to corrupt him. Bevier, you’re my dear brother, but you’re awfully stiff and formal. Try to relax a bit.’
‘Am I so very rigid?’ Bevier asked, looking a bit shame-faced.
‘We’ll fix it for you,’ Ulath assured him.
Sparhawk looked across the table at the toothlessly grinning old Lamork. ‘Can you settle this stupid argument for us, grandfather? Did the battle really come this far north?’
‘Why, yes indeed it did, young master,’ the old man mumbled, ‘- and even further, if the truth be known. My old gaffer, he tole me as there was fightin’ an’ killin’ as far north as up into Pelosia. Y’see, the hull army of the Thalesians, they come slippin’ around the upper end of the lake an’ fell on them Zemochs from behind. Only thing was that there was a hull lot more of them there Zemochs than there was Thalesians. Well, sir, the way I understand it was that the Zemochs got over their surprise an’ come roarin’ back up this way, killin’ most ever’thin’ in sight. Folks hereabouts hid in their cellars while that was goin’ on, let me tell you.’ He paused to take a long drink from his tankard. ‘Well, sir,’ he continued, ‘the battle seemed t’ be more or less over, the Zemochs havin’ won an’ all, but then a hull bunch of them Thalesian lads, what had probably had to wait around for boats up there in the north country, come chargin’ in an’ done some real awful things to them there Zemochs.’ He glanced at Ulath. ‘Yer people are a real bad-tempered sort, if y’ don’t mind my sayin’ so, friend.’
‘I think it has to do with the climate,’ Ulath agreed.
The old man looked mournfully into his tankard. ‘Could ye maybe see yer way clear to do this again?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Of course, grandfather,’ Sparhawk said. ‘See to it, Kalten.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re on better speaking terms with the barmaid than I am. Go on with your story, grandfather.’
‘Well, sir, I been told there was this awful battle that went on about a couple leagues or so north of here. Them Thalesian fellers was real unhappy about what had happened to their friends an’ kinfolk down to the south end of the lake, an’ they went at the Zemochs with axes an’ such. They’s graves up there as has got a thousand or more in ’em – an’ they hain’t all human, I’m told. The Zemochs wasn’t none too particular about who they took up with, or so the story goes. Ye kin see the graves up there in the fields – big heaps of dirt all growed over with grass an’ bushes an’ such like. Local farmers been turnin’ up bones an’ old swords an’ spears an’ axe-heads with their ploughs fer nigh onto five hunnerd years now.’
‘Did your gaffer by any chance tell you who led the Thalesians?’ Ulath asked carefully. ‘I had some kin in that battle, and we could never find out what happened to them. Do you think the leader might possibly have been the King of Thalesia?’
‘Never heard one way or t’other,’ the old Lamork admitted. “Course, the folks hereabouts wasn’t none too anxious to get right down there in the middle of the killin’ an’ all. Common folk don’t have no business gettin’ mixed up in that sort of thing.’
‘He wouldn’t have been too hard to recognize,’ Ulath said. ‘The old legends in Thalesia say that he was near to seven feet tall, and that his crown had a big blue jewel on top of it.’
‘Never heard of nobody matchin’ that description – but like I said, the common folk was stayin‘ real far back from the fightin’.’
‘Do you think there might be somebody else around here who’s perhaps heard other stories about the battle?’ Bevier asked in a neutral tone.
‘It’s possible, I s’pose,’ the old fellow said dubiously, ‘but my old gaffer, he was one of the best story-tellers in these here parts. He got hisself runned over by a wagon when he was fifty or so, an’ it broke up his back real cruel. He used to set hisself on a bench out there on the porch of this very inn, him an’ his cronies. They’d swap the old stories by the hour, an’ he took real pleasure in it – not havin’ nothin’ else to do, him bein’ so crippled up an’ all, don’t y’ know. An’ he passed all the old tales down t’ me – me bein’ his favourite an’ all, on accounta I used t’ bring him his bucket of beer from this very tap-room.’ He looked at Ulath. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘None of the old stories I ever heard say nothing about no king such as you described, but like I say, it was a awful big battle, an’ the local folk stayed a long way back from it. It could be that this here king of yers was there, but nobody I ever knew mentioned it.’
‘And this battle took place a couple or so leagues north of here, you say?’ Sparhawk prompted.
‘Maybe as much as seven mile,’ the old fellow replied, taking a long drink from the fresh tankard the broad-hipped serving-wench had brought him. ‘T’ be downright honest with ’ee, young master, I been a bit stove up of late, an’ I don’t walk out so far no more.’ He squinted at them appraisingly. ‘If y’ don’t mind me sayin’ it, young masters, y’ seem t’ have a powerful curiosity about that there long ago King of Thalesia an’ what not.’
‘It’s fairly simple, grandfather,’ Ulath said easily. ‘King Sarak of Thalesia was one of our national heroes. If I can track down what really happened to him, I’ll get a great deal of credit out of it. King Wargun might even reward me with an earldom – that’s if he ever gets sober enough.’
The old man cackled. ‘I heered of him,’ he said. ‘Does he really drink as much as they say?’
‘More, probably.’
‘Well, now – an earldom, y’ say? Now, that’s a goal that’s worth goin’ after. What y’ might want to do, yer earlship, is go on up t’ that there battlefield an’ poke around a bit. Might could be that ye kin turn up somethin’ as’ll give ’ee a clue. A man seven feet tall – an’ a king to boot – well, sir, he’d have some mighty impressive armour an’ such. I know a farmer up there – name of Wat. He’s fond of the old tales same as me, an’ that there battle-ground is in his back yard, so t’ speak. If anybody’s turned up anythin’ that might lead ye t’ what yer lookin’ fer, he’d know it.’
‘The man’s name is Wat, you say?’ Sparhawk asked, trying to sound casual.
‘Can’t miss him, young master. Wall-eyed feller. Scratches hisself a lot. He’s had the seven year itch fer about thirty year now.’ He shook his tankard hopefully.
‘Ho there, my girl,’ Ulath called, fishing several coins out of the pouch at his belt. ‘Why don’t you keep our old friend here drinking until he falls under the table?’
‘Why, thankee, yer earlship,’ the old man grinned.
‘After all, grandfather,’ Ulath laughed, ‘an earldom ought to be spread around, shouldn’t it?’
‘I couldn’t of put it better meself, Me Lord.’
They left the tap-room and started up the stairs. ‘That worked out rather well, didn’t it?’ Kurik said.
‘We were lucky,’ Kalten said. ‘What if that old fellow hadn’t been in the tap-room tonight?’
‘Then someone would have directed us to him. Common people like to be helpful to the ones buying the beer.’
‘I think we’ll want to remember the story Ulath told the old fellow,’ Tynian said. ‘If we tell people that we want the king’s bones to take back to Thalesia, they won’t start speculating about our real reason for being so curious about where he’s buried.’
‘Isn’t that the same as lying?’ Berit said.
‘Not really,’ Ulath told him. ‘We do plan to rebury him after we get his crown, don’t we?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, there you are, then.’
Berit looked a little dubious about that. ‘I’ll go see about supper,’ he said, ‘but I think there’s a hole in your logic, Sir Ulath.’
‘Really?’ Ulath said, looking surprised.
It was still raining the following morning. At some time during the night, Kalten had slip
ped from the room he shared with Sparhawk. Sparhawk had certain suspicions about his friend’s absence in which the broad-hipped and very friendly barmaid Nima figured rather prominently. He did not press the issue, however. Sparhawk was, after all, a knight and a gentleman.
They rode north for the better part of two hours until they came to a broad meadow dotted with grass-covered burial mounds. ‘I wonder which one I should try first,’ Tynian said as they all dismounted.
‘Take your pick,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘This Wat we heard about might be able to give you more precise information, but let’s try it this way first. It might save some time, and we’re starting to get short on that.’
‘You worry about your queen all the time, don’t you, Sparhawk?’ Bevier asked perceptively.
‘Of course. It’s what I’m supposed to do.’
‘I think, my friend, that it might go a bit deeper than that. Your affection for your queen is more than a duty.’
‘You’re being absurdly romantic, Bevier. She’s only a child.’ Sparhawk felt suddenly offended, and at the same time defensive. ‘Before we get started, gentlemen,’ he said brusquely, ‘let’s have a look around. I don’t want any stray Zemochs watching us, and I definitely don’t want any of the Seeker’s empty-headed soldiers creeping up behind us while we’re busy.’
‘We can deal with them,’ Kalten said confidently.
‘Probably, yes, but you’re missing the point. Every time we kill one of them, we announce our general location to the Seeker.’
‘Otha’s bug is beginning to irritate me,’ Kalten said. ‘All this sneaking and skulking is unnatural.’
‘Maybe so, but I think you’d better get used to it for a while.’
They left Sephrenia and the children in the shelter of a propped-up sheet of canvas and scoured the general vicinity. They found no sign of anyone. Then they rode back to the burial mound.
The Ruby Knight Page 15