The Complete Elenium Trilogy: The Diamond Throne, The Ruby Knight, The Sapphire Rose. David Eddings

to prod the nobility into pressing the war, but the nobles were far more interested in politics than in theology.’

      ‘How long did it go on like that?’

      ‘For nearly three centuries.’

      ‘They took their wars seriously in those days, didn’t they? Wait a minute. Where were the Church Knights during all of this?’

      ‘I’m just coming to that. When it became obvious that the nobility had lost its enthusiasm for the war, the Hierocracy gathered in Chyrellos to consider alternatives. What finally emerged was the idea of founding the militant orders to continue the struggle. The knights of the four orders all received training far beyond that given ordinary warriors; in addition, they were given instruction in the secrets of Styricum.’

      ‘What are those?’

      ‘Magic.’

      ‘Oh. Why didn’t you say so?’

      ‘I did. Pay attention, Talen.’

      ‘Did the Church Knights win the war then?’

      ‘They conquered all of Rendor, and the Eshandists finally capitulated. During their early years the militant orders were ambitious, and they began to carve Rendor up into four huge duchies. But then a far worse danger came out of the east.’

      ‘Zemoch?’ Talen guessed.

      ‘Exactly. The invasion of Lamorkand came without any –’

      ‘Sparhawk!’ Kalten said sharply. ‘Up there!’ He pointed at a nearby hilltop. A dozen armed men had suddenly come riding over the crest and were crashing down through the bracken at a gallop.

      Sparhawk and Kalten drew their swords and spurred forward to meet the charge. Kurik ranged out to one side shaking a spiked chain mace free from his saddle. Berit took the other side wielding his heavy-bladed battle-axe.

      The two armoured knights crashed into the centre of the charge. Sparhawk felled two of the attackers in quick succession as Kalten chopped another out of his saddle with a rapid series of savage sword strokes. One man tried to flank them, but fell twitching as Kurik’s mace crushed in the side of his head. Sparhawk and Kalten were in the very centre of the attackers now, swinging their heavy broadswords in vast overhead strokes. Then Berit charged in from the flank, his axe crunching into the bodies of the riders on that side. After a few moments of concerted violence, the survivors broke and fled.

      ‘What was that all about?’ Kalten demanded. The blond man was red-faced and panting from his exertions.

      ‘I’ll chase one of them down and ask him, my Lord,’ Berit offered eagerly.

      ‘No,’ Sparhawk told him.

      Berit’s face fell.

      ‘A novice must not volunteer, Berit,’ Kurik told the young man sternly, ‘at least, not until he’s proficient with his weapons.’

      ‘I did all right, Kurik,’ Berit protested.

      ‘Only because these people weren’t very good,’ Kurik said. ‘Your swings are too wide, Berit. You leave yourself open for counterstrokes. When we get to my farm in Demos, I’ll give you some more instruction.’

      ‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia cried from the bottom of the hill.

      Sparhawk spun Faran quickly around and saw five men on foot wearing the rough smocks of Styrics running out of the bushes beside the road towards Sephrenia, Dolmant, and Talen. He swore and drove his spurs into Faran’s flanks.

      It quickly became obvious that the Styrics were trying to reach Sephrenia and Flute. Sephrenia, however, was not utterly defenceless. One of the Styrics fell squealing to the ground, clutching at his belly. Another dropped to his knees, clawing at his eyes. The other three faltered, fatally as it turned out, because by then Sparhawk was there. He sent one man’s head flying with a single swipe of his sword, then drove his blade into the chest of another. The last Styric tried to flee, but Faran took the bit between his teeth and ran him down with three quick bounds and trampled him into the earth with his steel-shod forehooves.

      ‘There!’ Sephrenia said sharply, pointing at the hilltop. A robed and hooded figure sat astride a pale horse, watching. Even as the small Styric woman began her incantation, the figure turned and rode back over the hill and out of sight.

      ‘Who were they?’ Kalten asked as he joined them on the road.

      ‘Mercenaries,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘You could tell by their armour.’

      ‘Was that one up on the hill the leader?’ Dolmant asked.

      Sephrenia nodded.

      ‘He was a Styric, wasn’t he?’

      ‘Perhaps, but perhaps something else. I sensed something familiar about him. Once before something tried to attack the little girl. Whatever it was, it was driven off. This time it tried more direct means.’ Her face grew dreadfully serious. ‘Sparhawk,’ she said, ‘I think we should ride on to Demos as quickly as we can. It’s very dangerous out here in the open.’

      ‘We could question the wounded,’ he suggested. ‘Maybe they could tell us something about this mysterious Styric who seems so interested in you and Flute.’

      ‘They won’t be able to tell you anything, Sparhawk,’ she disagreed. ‘If what was up there on that hill was what I think it was, they won’t even have any memory of it.’

      ‘All right,’ he decided, ‘let’s ride then.’

      It was midafternoon when they reached Kurik’s substantial farmstead just outside Demos. The farm showed Kurik’s careful attention to detail. The logs forming the wall of his large house had been adzed square and they fitted tightly together with no need for chinking. The roof was constructed of overlapping split shakes. There were several outbuildings and storage sheds all built back into the side of the hill just behind the house, and the two-storey barn was of substantial size. The carefully tended kitchen garden was surrounded by a sturdy rail fence. A single brown and white calf stood at the fence looking wistfully at the wilted carrot tops and frost-browned cabbages inside the garden.

      Two tall young men about the same age as Berit were splitting firewood in the yard, and two others, slightly older, were repairing the barn-roof. They all wore rough canvas smocks.

      Kurik swung down from his saddle and approached the two in the yard. ‘How long has it been since you sharpened those axes?’ he demanded gruffly.

      ‘Father!’ one of the young men exclaimed. He dropped his axe and roughly embraced Kurik. He was, Sparhawk noticed, at least a head taller than his sire.

      The other lad shouted to his brothers on the roof of the barn, and they came sliding down to leap from the edge with no apparent concern for life or limb.

      Then Aslade came bustling out of the house. She was a plump woman wearing a grey homespun dress and a white apron. Her hair was touched at the temples with silver, but the dimples in her cheeks made her look girlish. She caught Kurik in a warm embrace, and for several moments Sparhawk’s squire was surrounded by his family. Sparhawk watched almost wistfully.

      ‘Regrets, Sparhawk?’ Sephrenia asked him gently.

      ‘A few, I suppose,’ he admitted.

      ‘You should have listened to me when you were younger, dear one. That could be you, you know.’

      ‘My profession’s a little too dangerous for me to include a wife and children in my life, Sephrenia.’ He sighed.

      ‘When the time comes, dear Sparhawk, you won’t even consider that.’

      ‘The time, I think, has long since passed.’

      ‘We’ll see,’ she replied mysteriously.

      ‘We have guests, Aslade,’ Kurik told his wife.

      Aslade dabbed at her misty eyes with one corner of her apron