The Lords of the Crimson River Part 9

"But if we strike fast enough, we will be under the walls of Castle Muras before they even know we are coming. Then the archers will be doing the real work. Attacks from the castle will come straight at them. If you stay with the archers, you'll see enough fighting to keep any man from questioning your courage." And much more than your grandfather will like, was Blade's unspoken conclusion.

"You are sure of this?" said Chenosh. For a moment he seemed no more than an uncertain boy, as nervous about his honor as the most thick-skulled Lord.

"I have seen it happen in several sieges on my travels," said Blade. "I cannot promise more than that."

"Thank you, Lord Blade," said Chenosh with a sigh. "At least I can trust you never to tell me more than you know to be the truth. I wish I could be sure of that from anyone else." He walked away slowly, his shoulders sagging.

Blade went back to his room muttering to himself. By the standards of the Duchies, Chenosh and Miera were both adults, but that didn't mean they'd learned more than a fraction of what they needed to know. They were still absurdly young for the responsibilities they already had to bear, never mind what might be thrust on them soon!

Blade was glad to find that Lord Gennar and Lord Eba.s.s wanted a drinking companion. In his present mood, almost any excuse to get drunk would do, even if there were nothing left in the castle but sour wine!

Chapter 18.

Once you gave Marshal Alsin orders, he would work all day and half the night to carry them out. He might have doubts about new methods of warfare. He might raise ridiculous objections about minor points of law. He might be fussy about honor. But he understood the importance of speed in warfare, and Blade knew that could make up for a lot of other vices.

It also helped that the first attack against Duke Klaman and Castle Muras would be made by an entirely mounted force. Alsin wouldn't try a regular siege unless the fire arrows failed. So he wasn't going to take wagonloads of food, beer, tents, and spare weapons for the first attack. The stewards at the various castles of the alliance would be collecting all these supplies, of course, just in case they were needed. But the first attack on Duke Klaman would lay in the hands of a thousand picked riders, riding fast and striking like a summer thunderstorm.

"We can be even more sure of surprise if we go through the hills to the north," said Duke Padro one evening over the wine. "I have men among my guards who were-well, let's be honest. They were outlaws in those hills. They know the trails and paths."

Blade considered the idea. He trusted Duke Padro now. The young Duke was so eager to get back some of the reputation he'd lost over the monkey duel that he and his courtiers were working like galley slaves. "I like the idea," he said finally. "Alsin, what about you?"

The Marshal frowned. "We can certainly go places with horses we could never go with wagons. But will this take longer? To keep surprise, we'll have to hurry."

According to Padro, there were several trails in the hills. They chose one which would take only two days longer than the most direct route to Castle Muras. It would bring them out of the hills onto the banks of the Crimson River only a few miles north of the Castle.

It took Nainan's attacking force five days to reach the northern borders of the Duchy of Faissa, and two more days after that to reach the Crimson River itself. This was the first time Blade actually saw it, after months of living in the lands named after it. He was surprised to discover that the name was no exaggeration. The river really was a deep crimson. He asked where the color came from.

As usual, Chenosh gave the best and most complete answer. "In some places the color comes from the sand of the bottom. The sand is crimson, and the color flows out like dye from a pot. In other places, the color seems to be in the water itself. A scholar who wrote on plants two centuries ago said that it came from tiny plants living in the water."

Probably a form of fresh-water plankton, taking its coloring from the mineral salts washing out of the sand in the bottom of the river. Blade wished he had the equipment to a.n.a.lyze the mineral salts, but realized that he'd have no time even with the equipment. They were less than a day's brisk riding north of Duke Klaman's castle. They had to push on now or lose all chance of surprise.

Toward mid-morning they came to the Narrows of Glin, a place where the hills came down almost to the river bank. There was only room enough for two horses to pa.s.s abreast. A handful of men could hold it against an army, even without bows. Alsin sent Blade forward with Gennar, Eba.s.s, and two hundred Lords, to scout the countryside beyond the narrows. Such a force could snap up any small enemy patrols and warn of the approach of any larger force. Meanwhile the rest of the army could water their horses, oil their weapons, then come through the narrows ready to move straight on the castle.

There were places in the narrows where men of Blade's vanguard had to dismount and lead their horses. Nevertheless, the whole two hundred Lords got through and were riding south before noon. As they spread out again, Lord Gennar moved his horse in close to Blade's. He seemed uneasy, and Blade thought he knew why.

"How was Sarylla when you left?"

Gennar started so violently he nearly fell off his horse, then frowned. "I have to keep telling myself that you do not read men's thoughts," he said finally. "Otherwise... Sarylla was well. And I am glad of that. More glad than I ought to be. I am a Lord, and I cannot properly care so much about Sarylla."

"Why not?" said Blade. He suspected that Gennar was in love with Sarylla and needed help to stop feeling guilty about it, help that Blade could give. Whatever Gennar and Sarylla did after that was their own business.

"Why not!" exclaimed Gennar. "She is not of lordly birth. Her father was a blacksmith. She herself has lived-as she has lived-rather than die. So I am not even as sure as I once was that she has a lordly soul in her woman's body. Yet-I wish her well, I wish more of her company. Her company pleases me. . ."

Blade held in his laughter, but Gennar's situation was not at all amusing to the Lord himself. So Blade said quietly, "Are you so sure that Sarylla's choosing life in Raskod's household rather than death at once proves she does not have a Lord's soul? Remember, in the end she chose to risk that life to destroy her enemies and aid her friends. How can you be sure she did not plan this from the first? It takes a Lord's strength and courage to live a shameful life so that you can take a better vengeance in the end."

Gennar frowned. "I never thought of that. Could it be so?"

"We see it that way in my homeland. There are many tales of warriors who played the coward until their enemies were no longer on guard, then struck." Blade hoped he would not have to make up more than a few of the "many tales." He didn't think he would. Gennar was willing to believe the best of Sarylla, as long as a Lord he respected told him it was all right to do so. In spite of his years and proven courage in battle, in some ways Gennar was hardly more than a boy.

Blade was halfway through his storytelling when he heard a trumpet sounding. He looked up to see two of the scouts riding back at a gallop. One was bleeding and both horses were lathered. The wounded man galloped up and gasped out his report.

"Duke Klaman's men. They're out on the riverbank, coming north fast. All of them. All!"

"There can't be all-" began Gennar.

The scout snarled. "I know what I saw, and what killed two of us. Five hundred at least. If Klaman has any more, I've never heard of them."

At this point Blade held up a hand for silence. In the silence they all heard it-the drumming of hundreds of horses advancing fast across hard ground. Gennar sighed. "Forgive me, Lord-"

"Never mind that," said Blade. "Gennar, take your wing and ride back to the narrows. Send a few trusted men through to warn our people, and hold the narrows to the death with the rest."

"But-"

"Don't worry, you'll see your share of fighting sooner or later. Eba.s.s and I will take the rest of our men and hold that hill we pa.s.sed a mile back. The Faissans will be tempted to attack us there, but we can hold for a few hours at least. When Alsin comes up we can catch their Lords in the open field and break Klaman at one blow!"

As long as Blade's plan would still lead to a cla.s.sic pitched battle on horseback, Gennar was happy to go along with it. He was smiling wickedly as he rode off, bawling orders to his eighty-odd Lords. As they started to pull out of line and follow him, Blade looked south. He could already see the dust rising from Duke Klaman's advancing riders.

"Center, left wings!" he shouted. "Follow me! Every four men count off one as a horse holder. Everyone with an ax, have it ready for cutting trees. Don't worry, they'll be cutting flesh and bone before the day is over!"

Like Lord Gennar, most of the men Blade was keeping with him didn't quite understand what he was planning. Like Gennar, they did know it would lead to a good fight. For the moment that was more than enough for any true-blooded Lord of the Crimson River.

An hour later Blade was bruised, horribly thirsty, and dripping with his own sweat and other men's blood. He also began to think he'd been too optimistic about how long his men could hold out.

The scout certainly hadn't exaggerated the number of the Faissans. Whoever was commanding them had more than six hundred fighters with him. Fortunately Blade and his men reached their chosen hill with a few minutes to spare for building a breastwork of logs and boulders. Dug in there on the hill, they gave Duke Klaman's Marshal a problem he couldn't solve quickly.

Or maybe the enemy leader knew the solution but didn't have enough control over his men to apply it. Certainly he was no Marshal Alsin. The only men under his command who were acting together were the horse holders along the riverbank. Most of these were Helpers, and even some of them kept drifting up to join the battle. Blade saw horses breaking away simply for lack of men to hold them.

Otherwise no more than thirty or forty men seemed able to act together. Certainly no more than that attacked at any one time. Blade's men could easily beat off such attacks. They drove back six before they lost count. In the process they killed or wounded more than their own number of enemies.

It couldn't go on like this, of course. Ten of Blade's men were dead and a third of the rest wounded, although some of the wounded were still fighting. The enemy could go on attacking up the hill until Blade's men were too exhausted to lift their weapons, then slaughter them where they stood. Blade decided that before he'd let that happen, he'd lead the survivors in a charge downhill at the enemy's horses. If he could stampede them, Nainan would win today even if he and all his men died. On foot, Duke Klaman's Lords could never escape Alsin, and the war...

Drums signaled another attack. Blade saw that someone among the enemy was finally using his head. About forty Lords were coming uphill together, holding their lances out in front of them like pikes. They might find it hard to get over the breastwork. Blade's men would find it even harder to fight them without leaving the breastwork's protection. Right now Blade would have given his left arm for fifty archers and a chance to turn them loose on the attacking Lords!

He shouted the appropriate orders, although he was beginning to become hoa.r.s.e. Guardsmen who still had their throwing spears came forward, and also every man with an ax who could be spared from some other part of the line. Blade himself sheathed his sword and picked up an ax he'd taken from one of his victims. It was too light for penetrating armor, but it would chop through lance shafts and maybe break arms very nicely.

The improvised phalanx of Lords came tramping up toward the breastwork. They were chanting a battle song as they came. All around them their comrades stopped their own work, then joined in the song. It seemed to give the attacking Lords new strength. They came up the last few yards of the hill to the breastwork as if they were going to break through or die in the attempt. Blade spat out a mouthful of saliva black with dust and crouched behind his shield. These men might be his last sight on earth, if this was earth....

Suddenly the screaming of scores of horses drowned out the battle song. The attacking Lords stopped as suddenly as if they'd stepped into tar. Blade saw one of his men heave a spear at the enemy and shouted "Hold!" He stood up, ignoring the enemy only a few yards away, and looked downhill.

The enemy's horse lines were churning and boiling like a pot of untended soup. Horses were bolting in all directions, with Helpers frantically running after them or even more frantically jumping out of their way. Dust rose, and mixed with it was a growing amount of greasy black smoke. Blade thought the smoke looked like it came from the fire arrows prepared for use against Castle Muras, but that was...

"Look!" Lord Eba.s.s gripped Blade's arm and pointed. Blade didn't quite hear the word, but he understood the iron grip and the pointing hand in the blood-caked mail glove. Out in the middle of the Crimson River, men seemed to be standing on the water. It was too far to make out their colors, but Blade recognized their motions. They were c.o.c.king, loading, and shooting crossbows.

A dozen trails of smoke arched across the river, landing among the enemy horses. This time some of the bolts struck living flesh, and screams of pain joined the screams of fear. Blade saw one horse run wildly uphill with its man on fire. It charged into the middle of twenty Lords, scattering them, then lashed out with teeth and hooves in blind agony. The horse killed three men before someone crushed its skull with a mace.

More smoke trails, more screams, more running horses and men, and then a banner rose among the men out in the river. The sun off the water half-dazzled Blade, but he recognized the banner. It was Duke Padro's, and a moment later the banner of Nainan rose beside it.

Of course. A sandbar out in the middle of the river, just below the surface. Chenosh and Padro got out there somehow with the archers. Now they're shooting up Duke Klaman's horses!

There was still no sign of Alsin and the main body, but the attacking Lords were beginning to look nervously behind them. Losing their horses would be an expensive disgrace, even if nothing else happened to make it a disaster.

Blade decided it was time to see about guaranteeing the disaster. Time to mount his men again and lead them out. On horseback Blade and his fighters could easily get between the dismounted enemy and their home castle, pick them off a few at a time, keep them in the field until Alsin came up....

The enemy was off-balance. In war that was always the best time to give him a good hard shove, so that he fell all the way over. Blade started giving orders.

Eba.s.s wanted to lead the attack, and Blade would have let him do so if he'd been able to speak more clearly. Instead he gave Eba.s.s command of the men a.s.signed to open the breastwork and hold it on foot as the mounted men rode out. They went to work, as the Lords of Faissa began in ones and twos and then in dozens to hurry downhill, hoping to catch their horses before it was too late. As he mounted, Blade saw some of them shaking their fists at him. He thumbed his nose back, then waved to his trumpeter.

The harsh bra.s.s voice called out "Charge!" Blade dug in his spurs and set his horse at the gap in the breastwork. Eba.s.s waved as Blade shot past and plunged down the hill, with a hundred mounted Lords on his heels.

Chapter 19.

It was exciting to gallop down the hill, but Blade started to rein in his horse before he'd gone far. The slope was steep, the ground was rocky, and Duke Klaman's Lords were running about like c.o.c.kroaches. Some of them were still full of fight as well. Blade saw one stand holding his lance out in front of him until a Nainan rider impaled his horse on it. The horse and both men went down and none of them got up again.

On the level ground riderless Faissan horses were added to the running men. Blade got his horse down from a canter to a trot. He guided it past the bodies of horses struck down by crossbow bolts and Helpers trampled by maddened horses. Flies were already gathering on some of the corpses, but the crossbowmen out on the river were still shooting furiously. Blade raised his pennant and waved it, but with the sun in their eyes no one out there saw it. The stream of bolts continued.

Blade's horse was a steady, intelligent beast. While its rider was trying to signal to his allies, it went on picking its way cautiously through the confusion. By the time Blade gave up trying to signal, he and his mount were both well south of the battlefield. For a minute or two he was embarra.s.singly alone, a possible victim for any Faissan Lords who noticed him. Then his men started to come up, and he no longer felt as if he were stark naked in Piccadilly Circus.

Blade found himself at the head of more than eighty men. Last among them was Lord Eba.s.s, and Blade was glad to see him. He'd let Eba.s.s take the rear guard because he was the best man for the job. He was also the man Blade would have hated most to lose. Eba.s.s saluted, fell in beside him, and together they led their men off toward Castle Muras.

As they moved out, Blade noticed some of the Faissan Lords had caught their horses and were moving toward the river. It was time for Chenosh and Padro to stop shooting and fall back to the far side of the river or the even greater safety of Alsin's main body. They'd done everything necessary. Blade doubted that Klaman's Marshal would even be able to get his men to the narrows, let alone defeat Gennar before Alsin came up. Duke Klaman's field army would not see another sunset. The only question left was how long it would take to finish off the Duke entirely. The answer to that now lay mostly in the hands of Blade and his eighty riders.

Blade led his riders south until they rounded a bend in the Crimson River which hid them from the battlefield. On the way they saw several small bands of hors.e.m.e.n, who refused to come anywhere near them. They also saw a number of peasant farms lying abandoned. When Lords fought along the Crimson River, the only safety for other men lay in getting as far away as possible.

Once around the bend, Blade reined in and summoned his men to rally around him. "We're going south to Castle Muras," he said. "We'll get between Klaman's Lords to the north and the castle, then keep them from getting home until Alsin comes and breaks them. If we all stay together, we'll be stronger than anyone we'll be meeting the rest of the day."

"What if Klaman's Marshal does bring his people off the field before Alsin comes?" said one skeptic. "Or what if they send out the rest of the Lords in the castle?"

"If Klaman's Marshal retreats, so do we," said Blade flatly.

"There's no honor-" began someone.

"There's no honor in getting killed fighting a useless battle against odds!" Blade snapped. "Better to wait a few hours and fight for victory beside Alsin. Or does anyone doubt he'll come?" He glowered at the Lords around him. None would meet his eye after that question. Thank goodness for Alsin's reputation!

"And they will not send out the Lords of the castle," said Eba.s.s. "They do not have enough. If they do, it will be a mistake. We will show them that." This was the longest speech Blade had heard from Eba.s.s since his face wound, and most of the words were badly distorted. Everyone seemed to understand him, though. Perhaps the berserk gleam in his eye helped.

"Are there any more doubters?" said Blade into the silence. The silence continued. "Let's be on our way, then."

Blade's eighty moved south at a walk, to spare their horses. Even the most eager Lord understood the need for that. They might be thrusting themselves into the lion's jaws, and a man's chance of even dying with honor could depend on keeping a sound horse under him.

They rode so close to the river that Blade's mount sometimes splashed through shallow puddles. Out on the river small boats scurried frantically out of spear-throwing distance and fear-stricken men jumped overboard from rafts or logs. On land they pa.s.sed more villages, bare of life except for an occasional stray dog or chicken.

A mile on they came to a family trying to drive its pigs onto an improvised raft. The pigs scattered with frantic squeals, and most of the family did the same. A small boy couldn't run fast enough to keep up, and after a look back, his mother turned to stay with him. She knelt with her son in her arms as Blade rode up, her eyes closed and her mouth twisted in prayers or perhaps curses. Blade fumbled in the purse on his belt and pulled out a handful of silver coins.

"Look, woman!" he said softly. "For your pigs." He had to call three times, and when the woman did open her eyes and look up, he thought for a moment she was going to faint. Then she grabbed the coins as if her life depended on them. Blade rode on, the expression on his face discouraging questions. He hoped the coins would be enough for her pigs. The gift wasn't enough to silence the rage inside him, at the way things worked in this Dimension-or rather, didn't work for anyone except the Lords and their chosen friends. When he looked back a few minutes later, the woman was back on her knees, but this time she was counting the coins over and over again.

The eighty rode on, through a land so lifeless that the silence and stillness were eerie. Blade found himself looking back over his shoulder again. All he saw were his own riders on their sweating horses and the distant cloud of dust from the battle by the river. Then they came around another bend and were in sight of Castle Muras.

Duke Klaman's seat was the strongest fortress in the Crimson River lands. It stood on level ground, close to the river which filled its moat and let the Duke bring in supplies by boat. Other than the moat it relied entirely on its ma.s.sive walls for protection. Some years ago, Duke Klaman's father tore down part of his keep, used the loose stones to strengthen the walls, and turned what was left into a pleasure palace.

From those walls and the palace roof floated a number of brightly colored banners. From a mile away, Blade couldn't tell if one was Duke Klaman's. He could definitely make out something much more important.

The drawbridge was down.

In fact, not only was it down but the gate was open. As Blade watched, he saw three ox-carts rumble out of the shadowed gateway, across the bridge, and onto the road along the moat. It looked like "business as usual" at Castle Muras, with no one suspecting what was going on barely five miles away.

The last stronghold of Duke Cyron's enemies lay open to Blade and his eighty mounted Lords.

He quickly gathered his men around him. Speaking softly, fighting the absurd notion that the enemy might overhear him from the distant walls, he gave new orders. They would form two lines, then advance at a steady trot, as if they were Duke Klaman's men with every right to be riding up to his castle. They would hold back to a trot until they were challenged, then take the drawbridge at a gallop. Once inside they would start by setting fire to everything which would burn. That should destroy the supplies and make it impossible for the castle to stand a long siege. After that, it would be a simple matter of "kill or be killed."

"I will praise every brave deed I see," Blade concluded. "But I am going to be busy enough myself. So do not worry about whether I see you. Only remember that you will be able to tell your grandchildren that you were with Lord Blade and Lord Eba.s.s, the day they took Castle Muras!"

He'd struck the right note, so much so that he had to stop the men from cheering him. Then they formed the two lines and were off again. Blade found himself thinking more kindly of the Lords of the Crimson River. For all their faults, they would follow a leader they trusted into h.e.l.l and out the other side. Right now that particular virtue outweighed a lot of their faults!

Three-quarters of a mile. Half a mile. A quarter of a mile. Blade began to measure the distance to the castle gate in yards. Three hundred yards, two hundred-if there was much archery in these lands, they would now have been within bowshot. For once the laws against using archery against Lords would work in Blade's favor. The men on the walls wouldn't dare shoot at riders who were certainly Lords, whatever else they might be.

A hundred and fifty yards, and a trumpet call came from the wall. Blade's trumpeter replied. The riders closed another fifty yards in silence. Then a human voice took over.

"Who goes there?"

"Lord (mumble) of (mumble)," replied Blade. "Bringing a hundred men to Duke Klaman's service for the war against Nainan." Those words took him across another ten yards.

"Who?"

Blade repeated the garbled identification, and added, "Has Duke Klaman marched yet?" That was good for fifteen yards.

"Yes," the man on the wall shouted. "They rode north this morning, to catch Nainan's men coming through the narrows...." The voice trailed off into silence. Blade took a deep breath and grinned at Eba.s.s. Eba.s.s returned the grin as well as his scars would let him. Then...

"Nainans!" screamed the man on the wall. "To arms, to arms, to guard!"

The scream was as good as a trumpet call for Blade's men. Some of them were off the mark so fast they'd got ahead of their leader before he could even dig in his own spurs. Then his trumpeter sounded and the whole band plunged forward toward the castle gate.

Blade and Eba.s.s wanted to be the first riders in through the gate. It was not only their duty as the leaders; it would also give them more control over the battle inside the castle. But it was a vain hope. Everyone was racing toward the drawbridge as if his fortune depended on being the first inside. Blade stopped trying to take the lead and started trying to keep the frenzied riders from crashing into each other. Then he had to stop that, too, and concentrate on keeping his own legs from being smashed by other horses cannoning into his.

The drawbridge was starting to rise as the first riders charged onto it. Under their weight it slammed back down, chains, snapping and lashing about like giant whips. Someone inside the castle tried to lower the portcullis, the iron grille just inside the great iron-bound wooden gates. It came down halfway, then impaled a Nainan rider and his horse and stuck. The opening was too low to let a mounted man pa.s.s through, but more than a dozen riders already pa.s.sed beyond it.

Blade reined in desperately, trying to avoid smashing into the portcullis at a gallop. He had almost succeeded when his horse lost its footing on the dung-slick stones of the gateway. The animal crashed down and Blade fell clear, feeling as if all his bones had been jarred loose. He couldn't get up in time to save his horse from a castle defender who ran forward and crushed its skull with an ax, but when at last he did get up, he drew his sword and beheaded the man before he could escape. Then he threw his shield in front of him and joined the men who'd made it through the portcullis. The defenders couldn't have dropped and died much faster if they'd been machine-gunned.