The Lords of the Crimson River Part 2

The Lord's head jerked back at Blade's words, as if the Englishman had slapped him. Then he bowed his head on his chest and laid his sword down. Tonelessly he mumbled, "I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord." He raised his head and looked at Blade. "You have the right to challenge me when I am fit to fight. You might even have the right to leave me here to die, for I-"

"I'm not leaving you here to die," said Blade. "Forget that idea right now." It was the first thing he could think of, and he said it mostly so that his confusion wouldn't show on his face. From fierce arrogance to almost cringing apologies in a moment-was this man mad?

"You do not need to forgive me for not recognizing you until you spoke," said the Lord. "I was taught not to judge a Lord by his garb when I was only twelve. There is no excuse for my forgetting it. None!"

The light dawned in Blade's mind. The society in this Dimension was rigidly divided into Lords and everybody else. The Lords were the masters, their status carefully guarded by laws and customs as well as their own weapons. No non-Lord would dare to talk back to a Lord the way Blade had. Therefore he had to be a Lord, however strangely he was dressed. Sometimes rigid cla.s.s systems, stupid customs, and narrow minds could be useful.

He laughed. "Indeed I am probably dressed less like a Lord than any Lord you have seen since you were twelve. So I do forgive you for that mistake, now that you have freely admitted it. I have made worse mistakes myself, and have the scars to prove it." Indeed Blade had scars enough to prove almost any story he wanted to tell anyone in any Dimension.

He looked around. "Now-my offer to help you out of here stands. I am more than willing to discuss the mistakes Lords can make with any man, but not here and now. Not when more of those cursed little creatures may appear at any moment." He wasn't sure what the feather-monkey's name was in this land, and didn't want to give himself away by calling them by the wrong one. The computer had done its usual job of altering his brain so that he and the Lord could understand each other, but it never took care of minor details like this.

The Lord sighed and nodded, then let Blade help him up. After a few cautious steps, he found he could walk, leaning on his sword. Blade borrowed the Lord's dagger and cut a crude staff for him from a nearby bush. "I think we'd better keep our weapons ready."

"Very true, although I am not sure the danger is from the Feather People. There shouldn't be any more nearby." He frowned. "But there shouldn't have been any at all, except-" He broke off with a look at Blade, as if he'd just realized he was about to say something a stranger should not hear.

With the staff, the Lord could walk without Blade's help, although not quickly. When they pa.s.sed the dead monkey Blade had kicked, the Lord stared hard at it and shook his head. "That one-it is hard to say-it looks like one of our own-but that would mean... No. It cannot be!"

Blade frowned. "I would not be too sure that in war anything cannot be. War is the most uncertain thing men can do."

The Lord frowned. "You talk like a Lord sometimes, but now you do not. It is the purpose of the Lords to make war less uncertain, more fit for men of honor."

Blade resisted the temptation to ask how successful they'd been.

Chapter 6.

The trail now lay all downhill, twisting and winding around the usual boulders and outcroppings of rock. With the sun still high overhead, the heat radiating from the rocks was like an oven. Sweat streamed off Blade and he wondered how the Lord stood the heat in full armor. The warrior tramped along, though, and only slowed down when the muscles of his wounded leg began to bind.

After that, Blade had to wonder how much longer the Lord could stay on his feet, and how to offer help to a man with such fierce pride. He also wondered what help he could offer. He would find it hard to carry an armored man, but it would do even less good to leave him and search an unknown land for his comrades. He finally decided to start by carrying the man's helmet, and made the suggestion the next time they stopped for rest.

The Lord stared at Blade. "That offer hardly seems fit for you to make. It is certainly not fit for me to accept it. I have offended against your honor so greatly that I should be carrying your armor. If you wore any," he added. "For you to carry anything of mine now would be doing the work of a Lord's Helper. You are a full-fledged Lord, and-"

Blade held up a hand to stop the torrent of protest which would otherwise probably go on until they both dropped dead of thirst and heat. "Indeed, I am a Lord. Therefore I ask you to listen to me, and believe that I mean nothing against your honor.

"First, there is no one to see us, or at least no Lord who might be a proper witness against us. That I did a Helper's work for you when you needed it done will remain our secret.

"Second, my honor is also at stake here. I must do everything I can possibly do to protect another Lord from danger. Is this not so?"

Reluctantly, the other man nodded. Blade grinned. "I thought so. Now, if I do not carry your helmet, you will be in more danger than you would be otherwise. Therefore I must carry your helmet, or my own honor is wounded. Curse it, man-if we faced a battle and I had two helmets while you had none, would you refuse one? This is almost the same case!"

The Lord now seemed to be thinking things over. Blade could almost hear the mental gears turning. Then the Lord nodded slowly and began undoing the laces of his helmet. He said nothing all the while until Blade had the helmet tucked securely under his left arm, and even then he only muttered "Thank you." When they started off again he seemed more determined than ever to keep up the pace until he could no longer walk at all. Blade hoped he wouldn't have to go through this sort of argument over the meaning of honor every time some practical detail came up. Back in Home Dimension, that sort of nonsense helped give "honor" a worse name than it deserved.

Oh, well, he thought. If I wasn't fairly tolerant of hearing people talk nonsense they'd have locked me up a long time ago!

By mid-afternoon they'd covered several miles from the top of the pa.s.s. Blade's canteen was almost empty, but he saw that the Lord's lips were cracked and dusty and offered him the last of the water. The Lord shook his head. "You are generous, but-no, I am not being foolish by refusing, either. If my eyes still see clearly, we're not more than a hundred paces from a stream."

The Lord's eyes hadn't fooled him. He bent down and drank while Blade kept watch, then did the same while Blade drank. Blade was going on to fill his canteen when they both heard a horse neigh from the bushes just upstream. The Lord started forward. Blade rose to hold him back and the Lord turned to whisper almost fiercely.

"No. There is only so much I can let you do for me. Furthermore, if it is an ambush and I die, you can still escape with a warning. If you die, I cannot move fast enough to get away and warn Lord Alsin and Duke Cyron." He pulled free of glade's grip with such strength that nothing short of knocking him down could have stopped him. Blade couldn't go that far, and he also knew the man's reasoning made sense. Maybe his obsession with honor hadn't completely wiped out his brains after all!

The Lord disappeared into the bushes; the horse neighed again, then there was the sound of cursing. Blade clapped the Lord's helmet on his head and drew his knife. Then the Lord reappeared, leading a pack horse. The horse was dusty and had several minor wounds, but otherwise looked fresh and healthy. Stuffed into one saddlebag was the body of a feather-monkey, almost black with flies.

The Lord knelt with a disgusted look and pulled the monkey out of the bag. Then he studied the horse. He seemed to recognize it and began looking for something. Finally he turned to Blade, his face suddenly a mask. Blade remembered his examining the feather-monkey at the top of the pa.s.s, and how he seemed to recognize that one also.

"I think you see some danger which you did not see before," said Blade. "Is it the same danger you thought of when you looked at the Feather People I killed?" The question was the sort a Lord would ask, and it was also necessary. Blade refused to walk into unknown dangers if there was any chance of learning something beforehand.

The Lord's mask cracked for a moment, and he jerked his head. "That is so. I wish-yet I cannot. I do not even know your name or duchy."

"I am called the Lord Blade," Blade replied. "As for the rest, I have sworn the most solemn and sacred oaths which can be sworn, not to reveal it to anyone save a Duke." He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping this Dimension had such oaths.

Apparently it did. "I am the Lord Gennar, sworn to Duke Cyron of Nainan. Did you swear your oath by the Father of the Crimson River?"

"When I renewed my oaths here in these lands, I swore by him." Blade hoped that would be enough.

Gennar frowned. "Then it will be a crime against both my honor and yours if I ask you to break your oaths, simply to give me peace of mind." He was now sweating from more than the heat. Blade saw the nails of his good hand digging into the palm hard enough to draw blood.

Blade decided to rescue Lord Gennar. "If there is danger close at hand, we will be facing it together. So we must each speak as freely as we can." He pretended to hesitate. "There are some things I can tell you without truly breaking the oath. I think they will be enough for now. If I tell you these things, will you swear to hold nothing back about the danger we face?"

Gennar's breath went out of him in a long sigh. "Yes. By my honor as a Lord and the birthright of Duke Cyron, by the temper of my sword and the cleanness of my blood, I swear to do as you ask."

"That is more than enough," said Blade. "Now-what I can tell you is simple enough. I am from a land so far from the Crimson River that I do not think you would recognize its name even if I was allowed to tell you. If your Duke is a very wise man, he may, but not even most Dukes have heard of my homeland.

"I was a Lord of this land. An accusation was made against my honor. I knew it was false, but I could not prove the falseness without bringing harm to innocent people. So I was sent into exile for the s.p.a.ce of ten years, and also made to swear the most terrible oaths which a Lord of my land can swear. While I was in exile, I could tell my story to no one below the rank of Duke. Even then I should tell it only if otherwise I would not be given the treatment proper to a Lord."

"Yes. A Lord remains a Lord, even in such a harsh exile as yours. I think your-Duke?-must have believed you innocent, otherwise he would not have taken such care to guard your honor."

"Perhaps he did. Certainly my enemies were so powerful that he could have done anything else only at the cost of war among his own Lords. Since other Dukes were greedy for his land-" Blade broke off and shook his head. "Forgive me, but I cannot tell you more without breaking my oath."

"I would never ask that," said Lord Gennar, embracing Blade. "I will also say-I believe you were innocent. You have done and said things which no man with any blot on his honor could possibly have done or said."

"I thank you," said Blade. "I hope that in these lands of the Crimson River I will do nothing to make you regret those words. Now, I suggest you get on that horse and we continue our journey. I know you have much to tell me, and I will gladly listen. But if there is danger to us, no good will come of staying here and letting it get closer while we talk."

"That is the truth, the Father knows!" said Gennar with a wry grin. With Blade's help he struggled into the saddle and settled in as comfortably as he could. Then Blade took the horse's bridle and led it back onto the trail. He was glad he now had a chance to learn about this Dimension, without having raised any doubts about his being a Lord. In this Dimension his chances of success or even survival would depend on keeping up that masquerade.

All the lands Lord Gennar knew of were divided among two Kingdoms and the seven Duchies of the Crimson River. The two Kingdoms were known only as the East Kingdom and the West Kingdom. Once they'd had other names, but so long ago that n.o.body living remembered them.

Along the eastern border of the West Kingdom and the western border of the East Kingdom lay mountain ranges, with only a few pa.s.ses through them. These mountains protected the seven Duchies scattered along the Crimson River, which flowed roughly from north to south. Once the Dukes owed allegiance to one or the other of the two Kingdoms, but they'd been independent for centuries.

The Dukes and the Lords who made up their fighting forces used that independence for continuous petty warfare. Nothing more than a few villages ever changed hands permanently. For many of the Lords the warfare was no more than healthy outdoor exercise and a chance to show off their skill and honor. Many Lords still ended up crippled or dead, though, and of course the loss of life and property among the peasants was heavy. This didn't seem to matter; Lord Gennar actually spoke of the need to keep the peasants too frightened of the Lords to think of rebelling.

The Lords of the Crimson River also knew other ways of wasting their resources. The Feathered People or Feathered Ones had more than an animal's intelligence. Legend and folklore said they'd been discovered long ago, near a great stone that fell from the sky. Blade made a mental note to find out more about these legends. Were the monkeys a mutation, or possibly even from another planet?

The Feathered Ones could be trained for war, to attack horses or even Lords with their poisoned daggers. They could also be trained to fight more formal duels with each other. Enormous sums of money could change hands in bets on these duels. In the last twenty years alone, more than a dozen Lords had been completely ruined through losing bets on monkey duels.

The fighting monkeys were trained to be loyal to their own side. The dueling monkeys were trained, even more thoroughly, to be loyal to their masters and no one else. From Gennar's description, there could sometimes even be something like a telepathic link between a master and his monkey. Such a link was regarded as extraordinary proof that the man stood high in the favor of the Father of the River.

"I begin to understand," said Blade. "The Feathered Ones who attacked you were from your own Duchy?"

Gennar started. "You do not see into other people's thoughts the way one of the Feathered People can, do you?"

"No. I do not think I reveal anything when I say that I have traveled through many lands and fought in most of them. I have seen this sort of thing happen elsewhere. Usually it means there is treachery involved, and sometimes treachery in a place where it is hard to fight it."

"It is just that way here," said Gennar. He went on with his explanation, now talking fast, in jerky sentences with occasional hard looks at Blade. In spite of this nervousness, Gennar told the rest of his story clearly. He was one of the Lords in the patrol Blade saw riding back to the village in the evening. "We wanted to catch the villagers returning with their valuables. We hoped for better loot or at least a few more women. We found only death."

On the way back to the village the pack horse carrying the Feathered Ones broke away and vanished. Just outside the village the Lords were ambushed by a band of the Feathered Ones. Only Gennar and one other Lord got free, and the other Lord was dying from a poisoned dagger slash. Gennar stayed with him until he died, then fought off a band of outlaws and rode up into the pa.s.s.

"In the darkness we could not see whose Feathered People our attackers were. We thought they might be of one of our enemies, the Lords of Faissa. Then we found two of ours today where they should not have been, and this horse. I think it is possible that some of our Feathered People were turned against us."

"You say were turned? They did not act on their own?"

"All the Fathers forbid! If they are coming to have that kind of will of their own, we are all in danger! No, I think it was our Master of the Feathers. Why, I do not know, and I would rather not speak of what I only suspect. Does this violate my oath?" He looked anxiously at Blade.

Blade shook his head. "No. The Master of the Feathers has so many opportunities for treachery every year that all a man's fingers and toes are not enough to count them. If he is proud or ambitious as well, as they often are..." That was as much as he dared say without knowing what a Master of the Feathers was.

"Very true. Not that a Master of the Feathers has no right to pride. He bears a great responsibility, watching over some five hundred of the Feathered People and their work. But I agree-they often think they are worthy of a higher place, and if someone offers it to them in return for a little help..."

They moved on in silence. So the Master of the Feathers was a Duke's chief monkey trainer? He certainly would have all sorts of chances for nasty kinds of treachery against anyone he saw as an enemy.

Blade had no doubt the monkey trainer of Duke Cyron would see him as an enemy, the moment word of this day's events got out. The man would have even more chances for treachery against a strange Lord wandering into the duchy from nowhere, one who didn't dare ask too many questions for fear of revealing that he wasn't a Lord at all!

Blade wasn't particularly worried; he'd survived more plots than most men ever read about. But he still knew that during his first few weeks among the Lords of the Crimson River, he'd better walk even more carefully than usual in a new Dimension.

Chapter 7.

They reached the camp of Duke Cyron's Lords just before dark. Blade was beginning to wonder if they would be having dinner on what was left of the sausage, then saw the campfires ahead. A moment later he heard a sentry hail them.

"Who goes there?" The almost universal words, which Blade had heard in more lands and Dimensions than he could remember.

"Lord Gennar, the only survivor of Lord Fingo's party. I have with me the Lord Blade, an outlander under oath of secrecy."

This announcement caused a considerable uproar. The sentry ran back into the camp, bawling the news at the top of his lungs. From the camp dozens of men came rushing, some tripping over trailing bootlaces and nearly falling into the campfires. Many were Lords, some were Helpers, and some wore so little it was impossible to guess their rank. Blade also saw half-naked women peering out from the door of a large tent. The uproar and the smell of garbage and open latrines told him that Duke Cyron's army had the usual loose discipline of medieval warriors. In battle they might be hardly more than an armed mob, even if most of the individual Lords in the mob were good fighters.

Eventually a squarely built Lord of medium height pushed his way through the crowd and shouted for silence. Gennar whispered to Blade, "That is Lord Alsin, Marshal to Duke Cyron."

Alsin drove the spectators back with bellowed oaths, but Blade was still aware of curious eyes on him while Alsin and Gennar talked. For the first time since arriving in this Dimension, he wished he had more clothes on. He'd been so glad not to be stark naked that he'd almost forgotten that his present outfit might also look odd.

When Alsin and Gennar were finished, the Marshal turned to Blade and had him tell his version of the day's events. At last Alsin shook his head grimly. "This treachery you both describe means trouble for the duchy, of a kind we have long expected but hoped would not come so soon."

"I am sure I can fight the-" began Gennar.

The Marshal interrupted him. "I am sure you will fight no one for several weeks, and if you will not swear this I will have you tied to your bed!" He lowered his voice, apparently trying to avoid Blade's hearing him. Blade's sharp ears made this futile. He heard the Marshal add, "I ask nothing against your honor, only that you think of more important battles to come." Then Alsin turned to Blade.

"Lord-Blade. You have made a friend of a man more truthful than most, in saving Gennar from-the dangers he faced. I think you also have another Lord in this camp who will speak for you to the Duke. You must be the man who fought Lord Eba.s.s after he'd been wounded."

"The Lord whose opponent was slain by a Feathered One?"

"Yes!"

"I am that man," said Blade. "I would not have fought Lord Eba.s.s at all, but he seemed to be leaving me no choice."

"That is so, and he admits it. He also admits that after learning what you must have done afterward, he owes you an honorable forfeit."

"Doubtless we can speak of this when he is healed," said Blade. "He will heal, I hope?"

"Some teeth are gone forever, and he will be muddleheaded for a few days. But otherwise he will heal. Lord Eba.s.s is harder than most to kill," Alsin added wryly. "Now, as for you-I hope I am not speaking too much against your honor when I ask you to give your word that you will not seek to escape. Then you may ride with us as a free Lord to meet the Duke at Castle Ranit. Otherwise... " Alsin's voice trailed off, as if the alternative was too shameful to mention unless Blade forced him to do so.

"I will ride with you, and lift a weapon against no man among you," said Blade. "By the Fathers I swear it. I will even ride with only this knife, if you will swear that no man will be allowed to raise sword against me."

"Most surely I swear it," said Alsin.

"And I will guard-" began Gennar, before a glare from the Marshal silenced him.

"You will guard your tongue before anything else," said Alsin sharply. "I am quite serious about binding you to your bed, if you go on showing no more wit than a boy."

Gennar looked sulky, until Blade gripped him by both shoulders. "Come, my friend. I have put a good deal of work into bringing you home. Don't waste it by not taking proper care of yourself."

There was enough light from the campfires for Blade to see Gennar blushing. "I am sorry," he said. "My tongue is quick, even when my sword cannot be."

Alsin rolled his eyes up to the stars. "To think I've heard him admit it!" He laughed. "All right, Gennar. To the doctors with you. Blade, come with me. Some clothes first, then a meal." Blade followed the Marshal through the crowd, realizing suddenly how good the idea of food sounded.

On the whole, he could be satisfied with his position. Without giving up his masquerade as a Lord, he'd managed to place himself under Alsin's protection. That could give him at least a few days' security against whatever plots might be brewing in the Duchy of Nainan, while he used his own eyes and ears to learn his way around.

Like the Lords themselves, Castle Ranit would have looked at home anywhere in fourteenth-century western Europe. When Blade saw it two days later, silhouetted against the dawn on its hilltop, he again had the feeling he might have traveled in time as well as in Dimensions.

A dry moat protected the castle on three sides. On the fourth side the hill plunged a hundred feet straight down to a meandering tributary of the Crimson River. The castle itself was a huge square, with towers set at intervals around the yellowish stone walls. In the middle a round keep towered at least a hundred and fifty feet, and Blade saw the roofs of outbuildings peeping over the walls all around it. From the flagstaff on the keep streamed Duke Cyron's banner, a clawed green hand on a silver field.

The Lords rode through the village at the foot of the hill at a brisk trot, while chickens, pigs, and small children scurried in all directions. Blade remembered the day before, when he'd seen the Lords gallop through a village and trample a little boy into the mud. He could only grit his teeth and ride on, not daring to help or even rein in. Along the Crimson River those who weren't Lords were expected to get out of the way of Lords. If they didn't, anything that happened to them was their own fault.

The drawbridge across the moat swung down and the riders clattered in through the dark, musty gate into the castle's courtyard. Blade reined in hastily to avoid a stray dog, then two grooms were holding his horse's head so he could dismount. As he did so, he noticed that most of the castle's outbuildings were wood, with thatched or shingled roofs. Even the stone hall with its slate roof had high windows and a wide, unbarred doorway. This castle wasn't expected to stand a full-scale siege. Otherwise the outbuildings would have been stouter, or at least more fireproof.

Alsin led Blade straight into the hall, while the other Lords were still dismounting. The hall was hung with tapestries, some of them explicitly erotic, and crowded with polished wooden furniture. At the far end of the hall stood a chair almost large enough to be called a throne, made of intricately carved stone inlaid with ivory and decorated with gold leaf. On it sat a white-bearded man, who had to be Duke Cyron.

Blade expected heralds to sound trumpets or at least announce names, but Alsin simply strode down the hall toward the Duke. Again Blade followed. If Marshal Alsin didn't know the proper etiquette, no one did. Blade also remembered the casual way the Lords treated each other on the march. Along the Crimson River every Lord was equal to every other Lord. If another Lord's behavior offended you, you either ignored it or challenged him to a duel.

When they reached the throne, Alsin went down on one knee. Blade went down on both knees, figuring that as a complete stranger on parole, he ranked as low as a Lord could. As the Duke exchanged greetings with his Marshal, Blade studied the older man.

The Duke was about the same size and shape as the Marshal, half a head shorter than Blade's six feet one but nearly as broad across the shoulders. He wore a kneelength green robe with red borders over dark blue hose, and the legs inside the hose still showed a good deal of muscle. His head was nearly bald, but a bushy white beard reached down to the middle of his chest. The brown, wrinkled face above the beard was so much like an older version of Marshal Alsin that Blade found himself looking cautiously from one man to the other, making sure the resemblance wasn't just a trick of the light.