The Lords of the Crimson River Part 10

There was a battle fury in Blade and all his Lords, and this was not the day for ordinary men to stand against them and hope to live.

When the fight around the portcullis was over, Blade was able to look back toward the drawbridge and the open ground beyond it. Most of the riders were luckier than he'd been. They'd not only reined in but kept their seats. Now they were leaping to the ground, drawing their weapons, and hurrying forward to join their leader. Horses were wandering free, and a few were swimming in the moat, but all the men were coming on, fit and ready.

As Eba.s.s joined Blade inside the gateway, war cries echoed around the courtyard. Then a ma.s.s of men appeared, armed but mostly unarmored, launching a hastily improvised counterattack in the hope of staving off disaster. Blade and Eba.s.s joined six Nainans backed against the portcullis and got ready to hold on to the death when suddenly, screams and the clash of steel-sounded from directly overhead. A moment later three bodies came hurtling down, castle defenders with their throats cut. The portcullis itself let out a terrible squeal and groan, then began to rise.

"We've got the gateway," roared Blade, so loudly that men standing next to him flinched. "Come on, and we'll have the castle!" He whirled his sword around his head in a gesture of pure bravado, then charged forward into the ranks of the enemy.

Blade wasn't sure if he gave any orders after he came to sword strokes with the castle's defenders. Certainly his men did everything he would have ordered them to do, whether or not he ever said a word. So he was free to hack his way through steel and flesh, until the cover was stripped from his shield, the edge was gone from his sword, and he was red from head to foot with other men's blood.

Eba.s.s fought beside him most of the way, his twisted mouth open to let out the sort of battle cries heard in nightmares. Eba.s.s seemed determined to kill ten of Duke Klaman's men for every tooth he'd lost in his battle with the Faissan Lord. If he didn't succeed, it was only because after a while none of the castle's defenders would stand against him.

From the gateway Blade and Eba.s.s fought their way to the door of the palace, while the men behind them scattered in all directions to kill and burn. By the time the two warriors were fighting five Lords at the palace door, smoke was pouring out of the kitchen hut, the stables, and one of the storehouses.

Normally, five men should have been able to hold a flight of stairs against two, but this wasn't a normal fight. Blade and Eba.s.s killed three opponents in as many minutes and drove a fourth over the side of the stairs. He broke a leg in the fall and was stabbed where he lay. Then the men inside the hall opened the door to let in the last defender. Eba.s.s threw a spear, catching the man in the throat. He fell, blocking the closing of the door. Blade dashed forward, picked up the fallen man's ax, and used it to kill two men trying to drag the body clear. Three more ax blows on the door and it was sagging on its hinges. It would stand against dogs and thieves, but not against fully armed Lords with the strength of madmen.

Blade and Eba.s.s charged through the door, running so fast that one defender died simply by falling down and being trampled underfoot. Then they had a clear view to the end of the hall. A lean, gray-haired man in silvered armor was sitting on a chair of carved stone with polished bra.s.s fittings.

"Duke Klaman," said Eba.s.s, and got ready to charge. Blade held him back with his shield, raised the ax, and started swinging it around his head. As Duke Klaman started to rise, Blade threw the ax. It flew the fifty feet separating the two men, struck the Duke in the chest, and tore through his mail as if it were cardboard. He dropped back into his chair of state and died sitting there, blood forming on his lips.

"They will call you Duke-Slayer," said Eba.s.s, looking from the man to his victim.

Blade shrugged. The battle rage was beginning to pa.s.s off. He was aware of new bruises and freshly pulled muscles, the smell of blood and smoke, and all the things which still had to be done to consummate the victory. His men were inside a castle still held by three or four times their number. Blade pulled his ax free of Duke Klaman's chest, dropped a sc.r.a.p of cloth over the dead face, and led Eba.s.s out of the hall to rejoin the battle.

There wasn't much battle left to rejoin. The hurricane-swift eruption of Blade's men into the castle inaugurated the collapse of the defender's morale, the defeat of the counterattack continued it, and the word of Duke Klaman's death finished the work.

So the castle was well in hand, and all the defenders safely locked away, even before the first reinforcements rode up just before sunset. Fifty mounted Lords, in battered armor and on lathered horses, brought word that nearly all of Duke Klaman's field army was either dead, captured, or fleeing for their lives. Blade sent a man on a fresh horse from the castle's stables back to Alsin to take word of the Duke's death. Then he put the new arrivals on guard duty, so that his own riders could finally get off their feet and put down their weapons. Few of them were unwounded, and none of them had the strength left to raise a soup spoon, let alone a sword or mace.

Shortly after dark new reinforcements arrived-Duke Padro and Chenosh, with the men who had stood with them in the river and an a.s.sortment of companions from Skandra and Lords from both Gualdar and Nainan. Padro put himself and his party under Blade's command, giving him more than two hundred men to hold Castle Muras through the night. Blade would have been content, except for the news Chenosh brought. "King Fedron of the East Kingdom intends to march on the lands of the Crimson River," he said. "The word came just as we were rounding up the last of Klaman's men."

Clearly King Fedron realized that if ever there was a time to attack, that time was now. Even though Cyron of Nainan had won victories over all the hostile Dukes, the lands of the Crimson River were in great disarray, and its Lords could be overwhelmed by the Eastern Kingdom's superior forces.

That was an unpleasant but undeniable possibility. Blade looked around at the sprawled bodies and charred ruins, and listened to the wailing of women and the screams of the wounded. The fall of Castle Muras wasn't going to end the fighting along the Crimson River after all. There were other and probably bloodier battles to come.

Chapter 20.

The news of King Fedron's invasion nearly drove out of Blade's mind another question he'd been asking himself. The man shouting from the walls of Castle Muras had hinted that the Faissans knew the invaders were coming and the route they were using. Was this so? If it was, how did they learn? Blade considered the possibility of spies among Duke Cyron's men. It was an ugly thought.

He had no chance to mention it until breakfast the next morning. All they had was salt beef boiled with something like rotten horseradish, but he was too hungry to care. When his stomach was quiet, he raised the question with Alsin and Chenosh. He was glad Duke Padro had gone to bed, or he couldn't have spoken so freely. Padro could be trusted, but what about all his men?

"None of the four Dukes we fought would have hired spies in Cyron's household beforehand," said Alsin. "Padro and Raskod were too lazy. Garon trusted us, although he did not like us. Duke Klaman trusted no one, but preferred to rely on the strength of his walls and fighting Lords. He would have considered it cowardly to waste money on spies."

Blade hoped Alsin's judgment of their four opponents was correct, but even if it was, that didn't eliminate the danger. "There are Orric's friends, and there may be others who have some grievance against Cyron we can't even guess. Could any of them have given the information to Klaman, just out of hatred of Cyron?"

Alsin and Chenosh seemed ready to fall asleep in their chairs. They'd been driving themselves as hard as Blade, and he hadn't slept for thirty-six hours. "I realize we'll have to ask a few questions around Castle Muras," Blade added gently. "But I think those questions ought to be asked as soon as possible." He poured out some more wine for the other men, but none for himself. If he drank another cup, he too was going to be ready to doze off. "Now, Chenosh, tell me how you and Duke Padro came to our rescue."

Chenosh seemed to wake up at the chance to tell of his day's fighting. "It was really Duke Padro's idea," he began. "As soon as we heard where the Faissan horses were, he came to me. He said he knew of a sandbar in the river within easy bowshot of the horses. With the river this low, the water would be only knee-deep at most. If we crossed the river at the nearest ford, we could move down the far bank. Then it would be an easy swim to the bar."

"How did he know of the bar?" said Alsin.

Chenosh grinned. "He said he'd once had a lover from among the Lords of Klaman's household. They used to meet on the sandbar."

So the archers and a handful of Gualdar's Lords slipped across the river and marched south. Alsin kept a stony-faced silence as Chenosh told of this. Blade knew he must have argued with the young Lord, trying to persuade him against risking his life in such a gamble, but stopped short of provoking a quarrel.

"We came to the place nearest the sandbar. We only had to swim about fifty paces. Most of our men could do that. Those who couldn't, held on to the leather bags of oiled fire wads. They floated well. The archers greased their bows beforehand, and put their bowstrings in their caps."

They'd reached the sandbar without any difficulty, without even being noticed by the Faissans. "All their eyes seemed turned toward you and your men, Blade. So the archers strung their bows, and each took aim at a horse. Padro and I gave strict orders that they should do this. Archers are unlordly, and some are lawless as well. Then they started shooting, and the rest you saw and heard for yourself."

Blade nodded. "You and Padro saved us, and perhaps the whole battle. Well done, both of you."

"Yes," said Alsin. "But you and Padro defied me. Also, you might have driven the Faissans back into Castle Muras if Blade hadn't seen so quickly what he had to do. You needn't think you're ready for a place in the front of the battle just because of today's work."

Chenosh looked angry. Blade headed him off by asking Alsin for an account of his day's work. The Marshal was as proud of his work as Chenosh was of his, and took much longer to tell about it. Blade was particularly interested to learn that the Feathered Ones were no use in a battle of this size. Only the combat-trained ones had been taken along, and most of these either went mad and attacked their own people or simply ran off and disappeared, when they weren't trampled to death under the horses' hooves. Alsin was annoyed at this but not much surprised-he saw no reason to a.s.sume that a battle with more than a thousand Lords in it would be anything like a battle with no more than two hundred. Blade was glad to know Alsin was thinking ahead this way.

By the time Alsin was finished, Blade was barely awake enough to congratulate him. He was never sure quite how he made his way to the bed, where he slept right through the rest of the day.

Alsin immediately began to try to determine how Duke Klaman had learned of the approach of Nainan's army. He questioned scores of men, imprisoned dozens, and even tortured a few. All he could learn was what he and Blade already knew.

"I begin to think that whoever knew the answers has slipped through our fingers," he said after three days. "Perhaps he is dead, or perhaps he has fled beyond our reach."

"Or perhaps he is refusing to answer even in the face of torture, because he knows he'll be rewarded," said Blade grimly.

"Who would reward him?"

"King Fedron," said Blade. "He at least must have laid his plans sometime ago. I think those plans included putting spies among the Dukes of the land he hopes to conquer."

Alsin looked uneasy. "Blade, I think you are starting at shadows."

"Do you? Well, you may think that if you wish, but guard your back while you do so. Meanwhile, Duke Cyron will have returned to Nainan by now. I'm going to ride back to Castle Ranit and lay this matter before him. I want to see if he says I am starting at shadows."

Cyron didn't think Blade was starting at shadows. He also didn't think there was much to be done about it, even if Blade was right.

"I am not being careless or foolish, either," he added. "So do not say that I am, at least until you have heard me out." Under other circ.u.mstances, Blade would have been amused to see the old Duke justifying himself to the "outland" Lord. Obviously Blade was now an ally, even a trusted adviser, and not a p.a.w.n.

"We could not hunt down those enemies easily, perhaps not at all. Certainly we could not hunt them down without searching each of the four Duchies we have won to our cause. Such a search would cost time and gold, spread terror, and shed blood. It could make enemies where they did not exist before. In the end, matters might become worse rather than better."

Blade had to admit the wisdom of that argument, but wasn't going to give up. "At least take some care for yourself and Miera. I think you should pull at least part of the army back from Castle Muras to guard Castle Ranit,"

"We have enough men here to hold Ranit against any surprise attack," Cyron replied. "If King Fedron sends an army against us, there will be more than enough warning of its coming. Until then, it is better to keep our Lords gathered at Muras, in one place, under one Captain, ready to move as one body."

That also made a certain amount of sense, but not enough for Blade. He still thought Cyron was running foolish risks. He didn't say that, though, for fear that Cyron would think he was asking him to appear cowardly. Then the Duke would turn a completely deaf ear to his arguments on everything, for days or even weeks.

Blade decided instead to try working on Cyron through Miera.

He found her nearly as deaf to what he considered reason as her grandfather. It didn't help matters that she was also pregnant.

"If you did not put the child into me on our wedding night, it could not have been many nights afterward," she said with a giggle. "I do not know if I should hope your loins remain so strong or not. If they do, there will be many fine children to rebuild the House of Nainan. But I should have to bear all of them. I know I should rejoice in the idea like a proper woman, but-"

Blade ran a hand down her bare back and gently patted her b.u.t.tocks. "You're as proper a woman as any man could wish, and if I asked for more, I'd be a fool." Why should she look forward to bearing me seven or eight children, then dying in childbirth at the age of thirty?

"Let us take the children one at a time, as the Fathers send them to us. Let us also finish talking about what I asked you. Will you help your grandfather understand that Castle Ranit is too weakly defended?"

"Too weakly for your peace of mind, perhaps. But if it is strong enough for my grandfather, he will not change his mind. Not even if I asked him, and I will not."

Blade sat up with a jerk. "Why? Miera, this is-"

"It is nothing less than my lordly duty, to avoid seeming weak and fearful. I must do this, or I could be marking our child. Would you have him grow up a coward because I could not sleep without guards outside my door? You do not understand how such things look, through a woman's eyes." She laid her head against his chest so that her silky red hair brushed his stomach.

"No." said Blade with a sigh. "I suppose I do not." Nor do I understand as much about what it is to be "lordly" as I thought I did.

Miera moved against him, more insistently. He decided it was time to forget about lurking dangers, at least for tonight.

If Blade couldn't save Cyron and Miera from their own stubbornness, he was determined to save Cheeky. So the Feathered One was perched on the saddle in front of him the next morning as he rode over the drawbridge. Miera waved her scarf to him from the keep window, then he gave his mount its head.

Alsin had set up a system of relay posts running all the way from Castle Ranit to the borders of the Duchy of Faissa. By changing horses at each post, a strong rider could cover what was normally a five-day ride in a single day. Blade compromised, changing horses about halfway. He spent the night at an inn, and reached Castle Muras about midafternoon of the next day.

He knew something was wrong almost the moment he rode through the gate. Each man he pa.s.sed looked intently at him, then quickly looked away, as if afraid Blade would read his face. In the stable it was the same. He also saw a totally exhausted horse with Cyron's brand on it, standing in the stall next to his.

"Would someone please tell me what happened?" he snapped. "Has my face turned purple or something?" He spoke sharply, to drive away the cold doubts clutching at him.

No one answered. Everyone seemed more reluctant than before to meet his eyes. Then he saw a familiar figure silhouetted against the door of the stable. Chenosh stepped forward, and Blade saw that his eyes were red and his face drawn and gray. The doubts were suddenly even more chilling.

"Chenosh, what-?"

"Blade-my grandfather is dead. Murdered. It was yesterday morning, shortly after you left Nainan. A messenger from the castle rode straight through to get here with the news."

"What about Miera?"

"She-she fought the murderer. She-she's hurt, and may not live."

Blade's legs held him up as far as a bench by the door. Then he sat down and swallowed hard. "All right, Chenosh. Tell me."

"It was yesterday morning..."

Chapter 21.

Miera had come down from the keep, to find her grandfather already at breakfast in his private chamber. He looked her over as she sat down on the far side of the table.

"You are well, Miera?"

"Now don't you start fussing over me, Grandfather. I'm going to have quite enough of that from Richard."

"You have told him you are with child?"

"Of course."

"Miera, your tongue-"

She smiled and reached out a hand to him. "Grandfather, forgive me. But I think you must understand that the way I speak to men now is what Richard taught me. I know his way is not the way of the Crimson River, but-"

Cyron threw up his hands. "Now it is my turn to ask you not to fuss. I understand. Very well. Blade's way with women is indeed his own, but I will not say anything against him because of that. A man who fights and leads as he does can be forgiven many faults."

Miera wanted to go around to the other side of the table and kiss her grandfather. But she saw a servant approaching, and decided to wait until he was out of earshot.

The servant was a tall, heavy man, with a bushy head of graying red hair. He announced that six Lords from Gualdar were in the courtyard below but would not intrude on His Grace's meal. Cyron thanked them for the courtesy and promised to receive them in an hour. The servant bent to offer the Duke a raisin-stuffed chicken. Miera thought she saw metal gleaming in the man's hair. Now why should he be wearing a comb like a woman?

Suddenly the man's hands went limp and the chicken on its ma.s.sive silver platter crashed to the table. Chicken and raisins flew everywhere.

"You clumsy oaf-!" roared Cyron.

"Your Grace, I beg you. Be merciful. I don't know what came over me...." The man clutched frantically at his hair. Suddenly his right hand tightened into a fist, then sprang free of his hair, clutching a long thin dagger. Miera screamed. Her grandfather looked up, just in time to take the dagger in his right eye. She screamed again as he slumped back into his chair, blood running from his nose and mouth. The murderer jerked the dagger free and turned to run.

This made him turn his back on Miera. She hurled herself across the table, her gown snagging on something and ripping to the waist, but she clutched him by the belt. He bellowed and turned, stabbing with the dagger. She felt the steel drive into her back, but it seemed no more than a pinp.r.i.c.k. She clutched the belt tighter and started to scream, not in pain but in the hope of drawing the guards.

In this she was successful. But by the time they came, the servant had stabbed her twelve times, then picked up the serving platter and hit her over the head: She was unconscious, and it was not until they'd finished binding the killer that the guards realized she wasn't dead. By that time the "Lords from Gualdar," who'd been planning to cover the a.s.sa.s.sin's escape, or if necessary finish his work, were riding for their lives. Every Lord in the house who could find a horse leaped into the saddle and chased after them.

"At least the dagger wasn't poisoned," Chenosh concluded dully. "So she may live, if her skull is not broken too badly."

Blade only twisted his fingers together in impotent fury. He wanted to strangle someone with his bare hands, but no one within reach deserved that fate. Even if someone did, killing wouldn't bring back Duke Cyron or cure Miera.

"Well, Your Grace-" he began, when he could trust himself to speak.

"Please, Blade!"

"No, Chenosh. You are now Duke of Nainan. The sooner you accept it and start behaving like a Duke, the sooner your grandfather will be avenged and his work finished."

The youth sighed. "Very well. Then my first order as Duke of Nainan is that you do not call me 'Your Grace.' Now what were you going to say?"

"I was going to ask how many of the a.s.sa.s.sins do we have for questioning?"

"The killer himself is alive. So is one of the six riders. They caught up with a second, but could not take him alive."

"He was probably the one who knew all the secrets," said Blade sourly. "However, two prisoners are more than I expected. I think you should reward the guards. Soon-while they're still alive to spend the money."

"I will send you back to Castle Ranit yourself, to give them the money and hear what the prisoners say," said Chenosh. And see Miera. The thought hung unspoken in the air between them. "I will come-"

"You won't leave this castle without at least a hundred armed Lords around you!" snapped Blade.