The Lords of the Crimson River Part 7

Blade did quick mental arithmetic. The Duke's wager on a duel of champion Feathered Ones was two thousand gold marks. That was a respectable sum for even Duke Cyron to find, and it would cripple Padro. Four thousand marks would nearly cripple Cyron if Cheeky lost. To be sure, Padro could never pay twelve thousand if he lost. Cyron would own him body and soul. Still, the duel had suddenly become more dangerous for Nainan than Blade liked.

He was turning to look at Cyron when a harsh voice shouted from the other side of the field. "Three to one, with that to fight? What's wrong with Posa.s.s, Padro? Or is it something wrong with your heart?"

Blade recognized the voice, and wanted to cheer. It was Duke Garon of Ney, who openly despised Padro as unworthy of his rank. He couldn't have picked better words to drive his young rival into doing something stupid, or a better time to say them.

Padro's smooth, carefully manicured fingers writhed like snakes. They were itching for a sword, or perhaps Garon's throat. Then Padro took a deep breath. "Well, Lord Blade. Have you the power to agree? Eight to one it will be, if you'll raise the stake to six thousand marks."

Losing six thousand marks would hardly leave Duke Cyron with two bra.s.s coins to rub together. On the other hand, forty-eight thousand marks was more money than any three Duchies in the Crimson River could pay. If Cheeky won, Duke Cyron would own not just Gualdar but everything in it, down to the Lords' underclothing and the newest-born lamb on the poorest peasant's holding.

Blade didn't want to agree to something like this without consulting Cyron. But he felt Padro's eyes on him, and from across the field Duke Garon's as well. Delay might look suspicious, at a time when the smallest suspicion could spoil everything. There was nothing to do but agree. "I speak for my Duke," he said. "He will pay six thousand marks if your champion lives up to his name. You, of course, will pay eight times that if our Cheeky is better than he looks."

Padro's only reply was a snort of laughter which told Blade clearly what he thought of that possibility.

The necessary oaths were taken quickly, with Cyron, Blade, and Breeder Romiss swearing for Nainan. Padro, his Master of the Feathers, and Duke Garon swore for Gualdar. Blade couldn't understand why Garon would join in an oath taking on the side of an enemy, until Alsin explained.

"Garon has no love for Padro, but he also has little gold of his own. As an oath sharer, he will profit by Padro's victory."

"And lose by his defeat?"

"Yes." Alsin grinned unpleasantly.

By now it was another of the Crimson River's hot summer days. Blade stepped aside and held a final "talk" with Cheeky. Don't take too many risks, was the message he tried to send.

Thank you, but I have my pride, too, was how Blade understood the reply. He caught an image of Cheeky standing in front of all the other Feathered Ones at the Breeder's castle. They were all making gestures of submission. Maybe Cheeky didn't understand everything that was at stake for the humans in this fight, but he knew what he wanted to get out of it. He wanted the respect of the other Feathered Ones who had scorned and despised him.

For the first half-hour of the fight, Cheeky played the fool. It was hard for anyone except his master to be sure he was trying to fight at all. Posa.s.s started the duel by turning his b.u.t.tocks and waving his tail in contempt for such a wretched opponent. Cheeky didn't quite make the gestures of submission. That would have been conceding the fight on the spot. He did continue to sit quietly, however, picking at his bald spot and looking everywhere but at his opponent.

Then Posa.s.s charged, holding his jeweled dagger high so as to end the fight with a single quick downward stab. At this sight Cheeky seemed to panic. He squealed like a frightened piglet, jumped completely over his opponent, and landed behind him. A shout rose as everyone saw he now had a clear stroke at his opponent's back. He didn't even draw his dagger, but instead ran to the far side of the field.

He stopped only a few yards from Duke Garon, who laughed savagely. "Send someone back to your castle to start counting out the marks, Cyron!" he shouted. Then he spat into the field, narrowly missing Cheeky. Blade grinned. Garon couldn't have done anything more calculated to provoke Cheeky to fight even harder.

Cheeky now drew his dagger and ran back out onto the field, but kept well away from Posa.s.s. It was Posa.s.s's turn to sit quietly. He seemed to be having trouble figuring out what was going on.

"Is your champion slow-witted?" Blade shouted at Padro. "Doesn't he know there's a fight on?"

Padro's mouth drew into a tight, thin line, and he clenched his fists. If he had any sort of telepathic contact with Posa.s.s, he should now be sending a message of rage. Even if Gualdar's champion had the sense to be cautious, his master's message should drive him into action.

It did. He exploded into movement, so fast his dagger point drew blood from Cheeky's back. Everyone shouted or gasped, and Blade heard a number of side bets on Posa.s.s at odds of ten to one. Duke Padro might not be the only man to find this day expensive.

After losing the blood, Cheeky was more careful to keep his distance. This kept him on the run, so that after a few minutes the duel began to look more like a chase. Around and around went the two champions, Posa.s.s stabbing at Cheeky whenever he thought he might be close enough, though he never was. Soon Posa.s.s began to scream and jump up and down, frustrated at being unable to hurt his opponent.

Blade looked around the field. Duke Padro and Duke Garon were looking at the field, grinning broadly. The third Duke, Raskod, had finally made his appearance, accompanied by a bevy of beauties from his harem, who were standing on the sidelines, eagerly watching the fight. The men of Nainan who knew Blade's plan-Cyron, Alsin, and Chenosh-were keeping masklike faces.

Everybody else from Nainan was looking grimmer and grimmer as the minutes went by, and Cheeky went on disgracing the Duchy. They also started shooting black looks at Blade, who made sure his sword and dagger moved freely in their scabbards. If by some chance Cheeky should lose, he was going to face an embarra.s.sing choice. He could do what was honorable, by his own standards as well as by those of the Crimson River, and stay to die for his mistake. Or he could think of the future of Project Dimension X, take to his heels, and carve a path through anyone who got in his way.

He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to make this particular decision.

Certainly no one from the other three Duchies seemed to doubt how the fight would end. They screamed and shouted obscene taunts at Cheeky, making such a din that finally Duke Padro himself had to call for silence. After that they were content with making more side bets. They still talked loudly enough to let Blade hear some bets being made at odds of twelve and fifteen to one. A lot of purses might be empty by the end of the day. Blade hoped there would not also be a lot of desperate men, ready to attack Duke Cyron and Nainan. There could be such a thing as too big a victory!

The duel went on, still more of a chase than a real fight. Blade began to wish he could reach Cheeky mind to mind, but knew that would be impossible in this fight. Posa.s.s would catch up with his opponent in a moment if he slowed down to talk to Blade. Then Cheeky would be too busy defending himself to concentrate on a mental message. Besides, Posa.s.s or his master might "hear" the message. Then the important advantage their secret gave Blade and Cheeky would be gone for good.

Around and around the Feathered Ones went. The fancy clothing of Duke Padro's courtiers was beginning to look the worse for the heat and the dust. The ladies of Duke Raskod's harem even took off some of their clothes. They hadn't been wearing that much to begin with, so the results were interesting. Duke Cyron sent Castle Ranit's servants among his guests with pitchers of cooled wine and beer, but took nothing himself. As far as Blade could tell, the old man was hardly even sweating.

Blade didn't hear any more side bets now. Everybody was either out of money or becoming cautious. "Come on, Cheeky," Blade muttered under his breath. "You've put on a good show. Now don't ham it up!" He suspected the advice would do no good even if it somehow reached Cheeky. If any living creature was ever a born show-off, it was Cheeky.

The sun rose higher, sweat flowed faster, and the plume on Duke Padro's hat began to droop. So did Posa.s.s's feathers. Cheeky's feathers, on the other hand, were hardly long enough to droop, and Blade wondered if his shorter feathers weren't giving him the unexpected advantage of keeping cooler and more comfortable. He'd have to ask after the fight, if there was an "after the fight."

Blade was just about ready to call for some beer, when Cheeky stopped running. He caught everyone by surprise, including his opponent. A wild roar of excitement went up all around the field as his dagger flashed in the sun. Posa.s.s of Gualdar jumped back, but not far enough or fast enough. His feathers were limp and dark with sweat. Cheeky really had worn him down! His dagger raked across Posa.s.s's belly, blood oozed, and the roar from the crowd swelled. Posa.s.s struck back, but Cheeky drew his attention with a punch at his face, and the dagger thrust went wide.

The return stroke did not. It came up under Posa.s.s's ribs and into his vitals so fast that even Blade barely saw it. But everyone heard the champion of Gualdar let out a wild death scream, spraying blood all over his opponent, then topple over in his last wild thrashings. His agony soon came to an end. Cheeky pulled out his dagger, wiped it off on the body's feathers, then stepped back and began fastidiously trying to clean the blood off himself.

Blade wouldn't have believed that the crowd could make more noise than before, but it did. If a battery of artillery had gone into action in the field, it would have been lost in the din. Blade saw a hard-faced Duke Padro stepping forward to pick up the body of his champion. He was clearly determined to preserve his dignity at least, now that he'd lost everything else.

Slowly the roar died down. Cheeky ran back to Blade and jumped up on his shoulder, squeaking excitedly. Blade imagined a mental picture of Cheeky living the rest of his life in luxury and hoped the Feathered One heard it. Duke Padro knelt and carefully wrapped the body of his dead champion in a silk cloth.

He was just handing the body to his Master of the Feathers, when Duke Garon of Ney strode forward. Ignoring his ally, he stamped up to Blade. The Englishman quickly looked to right and left, to make sure his Guardsmen were there and alert. Garon's eyes had a malign look to them. He resisted the temptation to draw his sword. Let the enemy make the first move.

"That fight wasn't lordly," said Garon, in a voice that sounded like a blacksmith's file putting an edge on a sword. "Your Feathered One was drugged."

Cheeky yipped angrily. He might not understand the words, but he seemed to understand that he was being insulted. Blade scratched his back to calm him, without taking his attention off the angry Duke. "I should like to know where you heard that," he said politely. "Someone has been spreading tales."

"Tales!" Duke Garon spat in the dust at Blade's feet. Out of the corner of his eye Blade saw Alsin about to signal the Guardsmen forward. He caught the Marshal's attention and shook his head sharply. Using the Guards would mean a general riot and much unnecessary bloodshed.

"Yes, tales," said Blade. "And whoever spread them is as much your enemy as he is mine."

"You-!" Garon gobbled like a turkey, unable to get out words for a moment. "You're calling me a liar, aren't you?" he said finally.

Taking up this challenge would mean giving Garon his choice of weapons, but Blade couldn't see that there would ever be a better chance to push him into a duel. "Yes," he shouted, raising his voice so that as many people as possible could hear. "Duke Garon says the champion of Nainan was drugged. I say he lies!"

"And I say that you, Blade of Nainan, have spoken words against the honor of a Lord." Garon started to take off a glove before he realized he wasn't wearing any, fumbled for something to throw at Blade's feet, and finally wound up spitting again.

This finally broke Duke Cyron's calm. He stared at the Englishman as if he'd grown a second head. Blade was glad Miera was nowhere around. This unexpected duel was news he'd rather break to her himself.

Then the crowd was raucous again, some people cheering, some jeering, some just shouting for the sake of making a noise. The Lords of the Crimson River loved a good fight above anything else, and now they were going to get two of the best for the price of one visit to Castle Ranit!

Eventually the shouts died enough for Duke Cyron to make himself heard. "Duke Padro!" he shouted. "Since there is a dispute over the lawfulness of Nainan's victory today, I will ask no payment on the Duke's wager until the duel of Duke Garon of Ney and Lord Blade of Nainan is fought. Do you consent?"

Padro's voice was steady. "Yes. I do."

"Well and good. I also ask that any others who have won today not ask for their gold until the Fathers have given their judgment in this duel. To do otherwise would be setting our own judgment ahead of theirs, an unlordly thing."

There were murmurs of agreement all around Blade, although some sounded a trifle reluctant. The reluctant ones had probably honed to make their fortunes by collecting on those twelve-to-one bets!

Blade also noted that the Duke's regard for the Fathers didn't extend to the point of promising not to collect his winnings if Blade lost. Duke Cyron was not a man to carry either piety or confidence in his Captain's fighting ability too far.

Chapter 15.

The duel would take place in two days. The delay gave Duke Cyron time to bring in all his fighting Lords from outlying parts of Nainan. It did not allow any of his guests to call up their own reinforcements.

It also gave Blade enough time to make certain arrangements with Chenosh and the blacksmith who'd pointed his sword. He discussed those arrangements with no one else, not even Duke Cyron. Instead he played the part of a man who'd talked himself into a duel he might well lose, but which he must fight because it was his lordly duty to do so.

The worst part of the next two days was keeping up that pose before Miera. He would have given a lot to be able to tell her, and knew that she would hold her tongue. But he also knew that she was no actress, and couldn't possibly keep up the necessary pose under dozens of pairs of sharp eyes. So he kept his mouth shut and endured her tears, her anger, and her back turned to him in the bed at night. By the customs of the Crimson River he was ent.i.tled to beat her black and blue for this disobedience. He only hoped his not doing this wouldn't cause too much comment.

He wasn't as forbearing with Miera's grandfather. The Duke cornered him one evening after dinner, wished him luck, praised his courage, and added, "I hadn't expected such a good chance against Duke Garon this soon. Since we have it, you must not throw it away. I tell you plainly, it is more important that Duke Garon of Ney die than that you live."

Blade had expected this. After all, he was still an outlander, still as much p.a.w.n or tool as ally. Also, he agreed with Cyron. Duke Garon had thrust himself into a completely unnecessary fight at the worst possible time for him. He ought to pay the price of being so quick-tempered. Blade thought of the saying, "Never give a sucker an even break." However, he wasn't going to give the Duke the satisfaction of agreeing. Instead he fixed the old man with a cold stare. "Is that so? I am sure Miera would be interested to hear it."

Then he turned away, leaving the Duke as close to gaping helplessly as he could be. Cyron loved his granddaughter and even valued her goodwill as much as any Lord on the Crimson River could value the goodwill of a woman. Reminding him that Blade could ruin his reputation with Miera could do no harm.

The duel would take place at dawn, to spare the horses from doing hard work in the heat of a summer day. The early hour didn't reduce the crowd. When Blade led his charger out onto the field, there were already more people around it than he'd seen at the monkey duel. Many more of them were Lords or Helpers wearing Duke Cyron's colors. The old Duke was too honorable and too wise to be plotting against his guests. He was also determined to make sure all the fighting today would take place on the dueling field.

Chenosh was doing Helper's work for Blade, with Lord Gennar a.s.sisting in any job which needed two good hands. Lord Gennar wasn't in on the secret of Blade's plans for the duel, but felt he owed him this honor, and Blade trusted him to keep quiet if he guessed anything.

Blade waited until Duke Garon rode Kanglo out to his end of the field, then pulled his helmet on. Gennar tightened the thongs which held it to his shoulders, then helped him mount. Chenosh stepped forward to hand him his lance, the first of three to be broken "in honorable coursing upon horseback." If the duel wasn't decided by one of the three lance breakings, the jousters would fight for half an hour on horseback with sword or mace and shield. If there was still no decision, they would dismount and continue the fight until one fighter yielded or was disabled. Blade had no intention of letting things go on that long.

Trumpet calls, drum rolls, and cheers all rose as Blade rode out onto the field with his lance held high. The pennant Miera had embroidered for him fluttered just below the gleaming steel tip. He was glad she was watching him take it into battle for the first time. Unfortunately she'd come out to watch more from fear of scandal if she didn't appear than out of respect for him. Perhaps by the end of the day she'd be in a more forgiving mood.

Then Blade put everything out of his mind except the stocky little man on the huge chestnut horse a hundred yards away.

Silence fell, to be broken by the three trumpet blasts signaling, "Get ready." Blade lowered his lance into striking position, thrust his feet deeper into the stirrups, and gripped the horse more tightly with his knees.

Two trumpet blasts-the "Get set" call. Kanglo whinnied as his rider's excitement reached him, and the horse pawed up clods of earth.

Then a single long trumpet blast-"Go!"-and Blade crouched low behind his shield as he spurred his own horse forward.

Before they'd gone ten feet Blade's world magically shrank. The crowd was gone, its cheers no louder than the distant whine of a mosquito. Sun and sky overhead were gone, and so was the earth underfoot. There was nothing left except the horse under him, its animal sweat strong in his nostrils, and the fast-growing shape of Duke Garon and Kanglo. He breathed something as close to a prayer as he ever did, then the two jousters met.

Somewhat to his own surprise, his lance actually struck the Duke's shield. It was a glancing blow, which gouged the shield's leather covering and sent his lance darting off at such an angle Blade barely held on to it. Duke Garon's lance struck square, and Blade's shield was split halfway through and slammed back against his chest. Only his mail coat and arming doublet underneath saved him from cracked ribs. Only his firm seat on his horse kept him from being flung backward out of his saddle. His horse was thrown back on its haunches, while Kanglo shot past, hardly missing a step.

Blade rode down the field to Duke Garon's end before turning back for a new lance and shield. Everyone there was cheering-the Duke's victory in the first coursing and jeering the poor showing of the outland Lord. Blade saw Duke Padro standing in the crowd surrounded by his guards. For a moment their eyes met. Then Blade turned his quivering horse and urged it gently back down the field.

The second coursing went almost the same way as the first. Blade's lance struck closer to the center of Duke Garon's shield and broke. The Duke struck even harder than the first time, and for an ugly moment Blade thought he was going to lose his seat. He kept it only through his abnormally good sense of balance. The cheers and jeers from Garon's side were even louder, and Blade thought he heard a few rude remarks about "outland Lords who think they can fight mounted" from his own side.

He rode back to his own end and dismounted, while Chenosh let the horse drink and Gennar handed him the third lance. Blade ran his eyes quickly up and down the twelve-foot shaft, saw everything was as it should be, and mounted again.

The loudest roar of all went up from Duke Garon's people as the jousters rode out for the third coursing. Their Duke had taken the first two. This time he'd not only take the coursing but put an end to that upstart Blade of Nainan!

Blade grinned and spurred his horse forward. This time he only got it up to a trot. He wasn't going to have much room for error even at a trot. At a gallop he'd have none at all.

Kanglo and his rider grew steadily larger. Blade's eyes fed their images to his brain, and he calculated the shrinking distances with the precision of a computer. The two riders were forty feet apart when he leaned far over to one side. To everyone who saw, it looked as if he was losing his balance or even that his saddle was slipping. Garon had the chivalry not to strike at a temporarily helpless opponent.

He raised his lance and swept past. The moment his opponent was clear, Blade flung himself out of the saddle, as though he was fainting or the saddle girths were broken.

The moment he was clear of the horse he let go of his lance. It would take all his skill and reflexes to fail safely in his heavy armor. If he had to keep one arm busy with the lance, he'd probably break something at a time when even a sprain could be fatal.

The lance flew into the air like a rocket as Blade fell. The noise from Duke Garon's cheering section was deafening. It didn't fade even when a thousand pairs of watching eyes saw Blade roll clear of his horse's hooves, then bounce to his feet. As the Duke reined Kanglo to a stop and turned him, Blade covered the forty feet to the fallen lance and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. He quickly ran his hands down the shaft. It was ready.

"Lord Blade," the Duke shouted. "Do you yield?" Blade raised the lance high in both hands, then shook his head. "Very well," said the Duke. He raised his voice. "Lord Blade refuses to yield, though he is unseated. I claim my right under the laws of the duel."

That right was to ride Blade down where he stood.

Blade's taunting reply was lost in the roar of the crowd, with the Duke's people cheering again and the men of Nainan shouting in rage and horror. Garon backed Kanglo away to give him more room to gain speed. Blade moved his hands up and down the lance into carefully marked positions, then put it over his knee. With a sudden twisting of arm and shoulder muscles, he snapped the weapon where the blacksmith had sawed the shaft partly through, tossed away the b.u.t.t end of the lance, and raised the rest. It was now the exact length and balance for a throwing spear.

If Duke Garon ever realized this, no one else ever knew. He was probably too excited at seeing an easy victory over the man who'd insulted him waiting for him almost at the end of his lance. If so, this excitement was the last feeling he experienced in his life.

The Duke lowered his lance and dug in his spurs. Kanglo surged forward. Blade's arm rose, the spear point gleaming in the sun. Then he threw. Duke Garon hadn't bothered to lower his head behind his shield. That would look like cowardice, against an opponent who couldn't strike back effectively.

The improvised spear took him squarely in the mouth.

Instead of the roar Blade expected, there was an awful silence as Kanglo charged past, his rider dead in the saddle. The force of the blow drove the b.l.o.o.d.y point out through the back of Duke Garon's skull. He swayed but didn't tumble to the ground until Kanglo sensed something was wrong and suddenly reared. Then his rider fell with a thud, Kanglo squealed like a mad thing and bolted, and the silence of the crowd broke. Surprise, joy, anger were all in the cries. Blade thought he heard the sound of weapons clashing as well, and hoped that Duke Cyron's Guardsmen had the situation in hand. He bent to pick up the b.u.t.t end of the lance, then started walking toward his horse.

By the time he was mounted again, Duke Garon's Helpers had removed the corpse and led Kanglo off the field. Chenosh and Gennar ran out to meet the champion. Both of them were grinning so broadly that they couldn't talk at first, but the crowd was still making so much noise Blade wouldn't have heard a word anyway. At last the noise died down to where he could bend down and speak to Chenosh. "I thought I heard some fighting, just after Garon went down. What happened?"

Gennar answered. "Duke Raskod's women seemed to be favoring you. Some of them cheered when Garon fell. Raskod was so angry that he stabbed one. She fell, and another woman came to stand over her. Raskod ordered this woman taken away and turned over to his guards, then drove the rest of the women into their tent." Gennar shook his head. "The women should have known their place, but nonetheless Raskod's anger was unlordly."

"Yes," said Chenosh. He was nodding, but Blade thought he looked oddly satisfied. Before he could reply, he saw Miera burst out of the crowd and sprint across the field at a thoroughly unladylike pace. She was holding her skirts up and displaying a scandalous amount of leg. Obviously she didn't care and Alsin was too busy elsewhere.

Miera ran up to her husband's horse, but the crowd was bellowing again, so that he practically had to read her lips to understand that she was apologizing for doubting him. After a minute he bent down, scooped her up, and plopped her into the saddle in front of him. She was showing even more leg than before as they rode back to where Duke Cyron was waiting for them.

By nightfall, Duke Cyron had settled one way or another with all three of his guests.

Duke Raskod and his household were on their way home, by Cyron's orders and with fifty armed and mounted Lords escorting them. Neither Cyron nor his Lords cared much about the women who'd been killed (the one turned over to the guards had also been killed). But they did care about getting a Duke who could lose his temper in such an unlordly way out of Nainan as fast as possible.

The men of the late Duke Garon were also on their way out of Nainan, as fast as they could go without leaving their leader's body behind. It was no secret that they were in a hurry to return home to their share of the spoils in the civil war which now loomed on the horizon as Garon's four sons fought over his Duchy.

Duke Padro of Gualdar stayed behind at Castle Ranit. In return for being forgiven all but a token payment on his wager, he swore allegiance to Duke Cyron and his heirs in all matters of peace and war for the s.p.a.ce of five years. He swore this oath by the Fathers and by everything else any Lord or priest in the castle could remember being used to swear on. Bound by so many strong oaths, he could now betray Cyron only at the price of being outlawed and having his Duchy confiscated.

"He may even be sincere," said Chenosh to Blade after the oath taking. They were sitting in the older man's chamber, along with Alsin and Miera. Blade hadn't witnessed the oath taking, being busy patrolling the castle grounds with a force of mounted Guardsmen and dismounted Helpers. "Certainly he was greatly relieved not to lose his Duchy. It will be months before he recovers his wits enough to think of plots. By then we may have our work done."

Blade frowned. "We only have one of the four Duchies we needed on our side."

Alsin snorted. "Now that Duke Garon is dead, Ney is as good as in our hands. The only question is not whether we can take it, but how much of it will be left when we do. Garon's sons will be four scorpions, stinging each other and everyone within reach."

Chenosh nodded. "And as for Duke Raskod-he may find enemies where he does not expect them. I have done my best to see that he will, by paying a little visit to his harem." He stood up, dropped into a stooping posture, and said, imitating Blade's voice, "Lord Chenosh, may I offer you-oh, sorry."

Blade stared, then laughed. The merchant on the road had been Chenosh, wearing makeup and a false mustache, and somehow he had persuaded Raskod's women to go against their Lord. "So you can disguise other things besides Feathered Ones, Chenosh?"

"Yes, although I never had to masquerade for such high stakes before. Still, I don't think any of Raskod's women recognized me."

Alsin frowned. "Are you sure? Begging your pardon, but your hand-"

"Come, come, Alsin. Most of the things I did with the women did not need two hands."