Free Knights Of Dark Renown by David Gemmell Page B

have been unable to use the Blue, so I have resorted to the Black, but even that is fading.’
    The old man shivered as a cold wind blew through the open doorway. ‘Light the fire, Ruad. These ageing bones cannot take the cold.’
    Lifting a thick branch from the hearth, Ruad ran his fingers along its length. Fire leapt instantly from the wood and he thrust it into the prepared tinder. ‘The Red, of course, still has its uses,’ he said, adding fuel to the blaze.
    Gwydion grinned. ‘Not for Healing, from which I earn my meagre income.’
    Ruad closed the door and pulled two chairs before the fire. Gwydion seated himself, holding out his hands to the dancing flames, and Ruad joined him.
    ‘You will, of course, stay the night? You are most welcome.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Gwydion accepted.
    ‘What other news have you?’
    The Healer shivered. ‘None that is good, I fear. A traveller from Furbolg says the city is in the grip of terror — a killer is stalking the streets. So far the bodies of eleven young women have been found, and five young men. The King has promised to hunt down the killer, but as yet there is no sign of any success. Added to this are rumours concerning the Nomads. More than a thousand were taken to Gar-aden to what was described as a settlement. I have it on good authority . . .’ Gwydion shuddered. ‘Strange how fire does not warm me as once it did. Do you think I am close to death, Ruad?’
    ‘I am not a seer, my friend,’ said Ruad softly. ‘You were talking of the Nomads?’
    ‘There is a pit near the mountains. I am told a thousand bodies lie there, with room for many thousands more.’
    ‘It cannot be,’ Ruad whispered. ‘Where is the logic? Who could gain from such a slaughter?’
    Gwydion said nothing for a moment, then he turned towards the Craftsman. ‘The King has decreed that the Nomads are tainted, that they corrupt the purity of the realm. He blames them for all ills. You have heard of the nobleman, Kester?’
    ‘I met him once: an irascible old man.’
    ‘Put to death,’ said Gwydion. ‘His grandfather wed a Nomad princess.’
    ‘I have never heard the like. Is there no opposition to the King?’
    ‘There was,’ replied Gwydion. ‘The King’s champion, the knight Elodan, left his service. He stood up for Kester and demanded the ancient right to champion his honour. The King agreed, which surprised everyone, for there was not a finer swordsman than Elodan anywhere in the empire.
    ‘A great crowd assembled for the combat in the jousting fields outside the city. The King did not attend - but his new Knights were there, and it was one of these who stepped forward to face Elodan. The battle was fierce, but all who saw it - I am told - realized at once that Elodan had no chance against this new champion. The end was brutal. Elodan’s sword was smashed to shards and a blow to the helm sent him to his knees. Then the Red Knight calmly cut Elodan’s right hand from his arm.’
    ‘A Red Knight, you say?’ whispered Ruad. ‘Describe him.’
    ‘I was not there, Ruad. But I am told they appear only in full armour, their helm visors closed.’
    ‘They?
    
     How many are there?’
    ‘Eight. They are deadly. Six times now they have fought in single combat for the King and on each occasion a different Knight takes the field. But all are invincible.’ The old man shuddered. ‘What does it all mean, Ruad?’
    The one-eyed Craftsman did not reply. Moving to the window, he pushed it shut, drawing the heavy woollen curtains to block any draught of cold air.
    ‘Treat this house as your home,’ he told Gwydion. ‘If you are thirsty, drink; if you are hungry, there is food in the pantry.’
    Ruad strode through to his workshop, opening the chest by the far wall and rummaging through its contents. At last he found what he was seeking: a gold-and silver-rimmed plate, round and black as ebony. He carried it to his work bench and slowly polished it with a soft cloth.
    Satisfied, he