The Lords Of The Crimson River rb-35

by Джеффри Лорд

  «Well,» he said. «The Fathers send each of us where they will. The only thing we can do is the best we can wherever they send us. You've certainly lived your life that way, and I've tried to do the same. Perhaps that's what draws us together.»

  «Perhaps,» said Chenosh. Then, seeing Blade's embarrassment, he changed the subject. If he was going to fight without a shield or with only a small one, what about special armor for his right arm? A piece of heavy plate extending from the elbow down to the wrist would make it harder for an opponent to draw blood. It would also balance the sword in his left hand, and perhaps even let him use his right arm as a weapon. The arm itself was sound enough; it was only the hand which was crippled.

  By the time they'd mounted their horses and were riding back to Castle Ranit, Blade was so interested in this new subject that he'd forgotten the embarrassing moment in the field.

  Then there were dinners with Miera.

  Sometimes Chenosh joined his sister, sometimes there was only the girl herself with her nurse as chaperone.

  It was after dinner one evening, and they were nibbling salted nuts and drinking beer. Wine was the more lordly drink, but Miera preferred beer. They talked of the day's news and events.

  «What have you heard about the Captain of the Duke's Guard?» asked Miera.

  «Only the same thing everyone's heard. He fell from his horse last night and smashed one leg so badly he may never walk right again.»

  «Have you heard that he was drunk?»

  «Are you telling me or asking me?» replied Blade, with a grin. He enjoyed these verbal games with Miera, even though he knew they were considered highly improper for an unmarried woman. However, Miera didn't care a fig for propriety, and for once her grandfather and Marshal Alsin seemed willing to let her have her own way.

  «Asking,» she said. «By all the stories I've heard he was a fine rider, too good to fall unless he was drunk.»

  «I haven't heard that he was drunk, either,» said Blade cautiously. He was aware of the nurse at the other end of the table, well within hearing. He was also aware of his desire to go on treating Miera like a human being, instead of the way the Lords of this land were expected to treat even the best-born women. «It was raining a little,» he added. «The road might have been wet, and he was riding fast the way he always did.»

  «Yes. It might have been wet.» A man would have to be deaf not to hear the skepticism in Miera's voice. Then she smiled, her familiar mixture of innocence and sensuality. «I will not press you to tell me what you could not even if you knew it. You have already told me more than anyone except my brother would tell a woman.» She reached a hand across the table and rested two fingers lightly on Blade's wrist. Then she jerked the hand back, as they both heard the nurse hissing like an indignant snake.

  Finally, there was getting a Feathered One of his own.

  Blade wasn't sure he needed or wanted one, but he seemed to be the only person who thought that. Everyone else assumed that a Lord of his qualities would want his own Feathered One. Even Miera joined her voice to the chorus, one of the few times he'd heard her agree with her grandfather and Alsin in public.

  So finally Blade rode off to the ancient castle where the Duchy's Feathered Ones were bred and trained. The castle was the original seat of the Dukes of Nainan, turned over to the Masters of the Feathers when Castle Ranit was finished a century ago.

  Since the Duke hadn't appointed a new Master to replace Orric, the place was in charge of Romiss, the Breeder. Romiss was not a Lord by rank, but unlike other non-Lords Blade had met in Nainan, he paid a Lord no unnecessary deference or servility. He knew he was a master of a skilled and demanding craft, and in the matter of choosing Feathered Ones he considered himself the equal of any Lord or even the Duke himself.

  «This place is not what it was,» said Romiss at once. «I'll say nothing against you for killing Orric. That was Lords' business. But the Duke's going to have to put someone in his place. I'll thank you to say as much the next time you have his ear.»

  «Orric knew his job, I understand.» Blade wanted to draw Romiss into talking about his late master. He wasn't the sort to talk freely, and so far the Duke saw no reason to have him imprisoned and tortured. But if he accidentally dropped a hint here and there…

  Romiss did most of the talking as the two men toured the castle. Each Feathered One had a little open wooden cage hung on the wall of a room in the castle. Each room had food, water, and sanitary facilities for its twenty or thirty Feathered Ones. There was also a hospital with a trained veterinarian for sick or pregnant monkeys, a nursery for the young ones, and even a cemetery out in the courtyard for those who died in the castle. Feathered Ones who died in the service of Lords were usually granted elaborately decorated little tombs.

  With all the lecturing Romiss did, Blade didn't learn much about his late Master Orric, and nothing about the legend of the Feathered Ones and the meteorite. More immediately important, he didn't learn a thing about how to choose his own Feathered One. Should he go «eeeny-meeny-miny-mo,» look at pedigree, take one home on a trial basis, or simply wait until that mysterious «telepathic link» established itself-if it ever did.

  They were climbing the stairs from the hospital when they heard a sudden yip-yip-yip from the head of the stairs. The door flew open and a bucket, several brooms, and four Feathered Ones came crashing, rattling, and squeaking down the stairs. Romiss let out an oath and Blade got ready to fend the little beasts off with the flat of his sword. Sometimes they got out of their rooms and into the wine, then they could be hard to handle.

  One of the Feathered Ones was noticeably larger than the other three, but had the most ragged feathers Blade had ever seen. As the monkeys reached the foot of the stairs, the other three turned on the large one. He promptly kicked one opponent in the face, pulled a handful of feathers out of a second one's head, then dashed back up the stairs. His opponents followed. With a tremendous leap the big monkey hurled himself into the air and landed on the highest spot in sight: Richard Blade's shoulder.

  Romiss swore again. «That's Raggedy, the little-! He's never found a master, and for some reason he doesn't get along with his mates. They'd have killed him a long time ago if it wasn't for his being so good at escaping. Usually he gets out alone, but this time the other three must have been expecting something like that. So they followed him.»

  Romiss seemed to be casually assuming a rather high degree of intelligence in the Feathered Ones. Blade decided to play along with him. «Do you think the word about Raggedy is getting around?»

  Romiss scratched his shaggy gray head. «Hope not,» he said after a moment. «Then he won't last long. Kinder to take him out and kill him now.»

  At those words Raggedy's feathers bristled as much as they could, his eyes narrowed to slits, and his mouth opened to display all his yellow teeth. It looked to Blade very much as if he'd understood the words!

  «Does he have any other vices besides escaping?» he asked.

  Romiss shook his head. «Not that I know of, although it'll be awhile before he makes any sort of a show, with his feathers-You aren't going to take him, are you?»

  «Why not?»

  «The Duke wouldn't like you being given a Feathered One who couldn't-«

  «Why don't we let the Duke speak for himself, my friend? He told me only to come and find a Feathered One who suited me. I think this one will suit me.» Unspoken was Blade's thought: He's lived alone, too. We should understand each other.

  Romiss swallowed, looked at Blade, then at Raggedy, then shrugged. «He's yours, then. You'll be paying, of course, and the papers-«

  «The Duke will be taking care of all that,» said Blade, absentmindedly scratching the Feathered One's head. The monkey resented the liberty, and showed it by nipping Blade's left ear.

  «Ouch! Cheeky little bugger, aren't you? In fact I think that's going to be your new name. From now on you're Cheeky.»

  «That's not a lordly name, Lord Blade. I hate to remind you of
something like this, but-«

  «Then don't remind me of it, Romiss. 'Cheeky' is the name he's been given by a Lord. Therefore it's a lordly name.»

  Romiss swallowed harder, realizing he'd gone further than even a Lord as tolerant as Blade would probably allow. «My apologies, Lord Blade.»

  «Accepted,» said Blade, and it seemed to him that even if Romiss was somewhat withdrawn, he was at least a decent man, unlikely to have anything to do with any of Orric's treachery. Blade sheathed his sword and strode up the stairs, with Cheeky clinging to his hair. As they reached the top of the stairs, Cheeky squealed in delight, then turned his rump to his late comrades and waved his tale in derisive farewell.

  Chapter 11

  It was longer than Blade expected before Duke Cyron called him to a private meeting to hear the story of how he came to be an exile and a wanderer. Blade had plenty of time to prepare his «cover» story. He used all his experience in intelligence work, and drew freely on several Home Dimension medieval romances, a couple of historical novels, and some of the more romantic episodes of English history. The result might have made a fairly good novel in itself. Blade made mental note to write it down, in case he was seized with a desire to take up writing historical novels if he lived to retire! Certainly the story seemed to convince Duke Cyron that he was not only a Lord but a man who could be trusted. Three days after the meeting, he was invited to a private dinner in the Duke's chambers, with Alsin, Chenosh, and Miera, as well as Cyron himself.

  «You've seen how much our Lords are willing to spend on their pleasures, haven't you?» said Alsin. He was sipping wine as he spoke, but Blade knew the question was more than casual. He'd seen another of those looks passing between Alsin and Duke Cyron over the candied fruits. Then the servants left one by one, until the lordly guests were alone and Alsin himself was pouring the wine.

  Blade nodded. «I've seen the spending, at least. I won't judge the pleasures. Most of them aren't what I would care for, but I've lived a very different kind of life for many years. I've had less time for pleasures of any sort than the Lords of the Crimson River.»

  Another look passed between the Marshal and the Duke. Blade wondered if they had a telepathic link. So far he hadn't found one with Cheeky, but he and the feather-monkey seemed to understand each other well enough without it.

  Duke Cyron sighed. «Do you think perhaps, Blade, the Lords' pleasures are excessive and that harm will come to the Duchies? I cannot command you to speak plainly, but I will be much happier if you do.»

  Now we're getting close to the heart of things, thought Blade. Aloud, he said, «If the Duchies have no enemies, they can afford to waste lives and wealth this way. It's not good, but nothing really bad will come of it. The question is: do the Duchies have enemies? I imagine they do.»

  «You judge correctly. I expected you would, and I thank the Fathers I was not disappointed.» The emotion in the Duke's voice was so strong that both Alsin and Chenosh looked embarrassed. Blade felt a twinge of guilt. The Duke was clearly about to reveal his most cherished secrets to a man who'd won his confidence by an elaborate set of lies.

  Once the Duke started explaining things his voice was clear, steady, and strong. For a while Blade was able to see him as he must have been at Blade's age-a strong, proud, and wise leader of men. The pride was still there and so was the wisdom, but now he had to do most of his work with the strength of younger men.

  The seven Duchies of the Crimson River won their independence when both the East and West Kingdoms had civil wars within a generation. All seven Dukes fought side by side against the Kingdoms, then went their separate ways as soon as the fighting was over.

  The two Kingdoms did just the opposite. Generation after generation, the Kings hammered their Lords into obedience, if not always into loyalty. For the last fifty years the two Kingdoms had been united and peaceful. Their wealth increased rapidly, and so did their armies.

  Meanwhile, the seven Duchies and their Lords slid further and further into petty warfare and expensive vices. Every year they wasted enough wealth to raise an army, as completely as if they'd thrown the gold straight into the Crimson River.

  «The warfare does give us some advantages,» said Alsin. «Our Lords are better fighters, tougher, stronger, more experienced than most servants of the Kings. But our warfare also kills too many Lords and divides the rest so they will not willingly fight side by side. Either Kingdom can put into the field twice our strength in mounted Lords, to say nothing of Helpers. It is said that King Handryg of the West is even arming peasants!»

  Duke Cyron shook his head. «I have heard this vile rumor, but I refuse to believe it is anything more. King Handryg has much that is unlordly about him, but he is not a fool or a barbarian.»

  Blade couldn't help feeling that anyone in this Dimension who didn't see that arming the peasants would give him an enormous advantage was an even bigger fool. He also knew that he'd be thrown out of Castle Ranit, possibly without his head, if he breathed a word of that thought.

  Either Kingdom could have conquered the Crimson River lands twenty years ago, if they'd been ready to pay a high price. The Lords would sell their lives dearly, and the two Dukes whose Duchies controlled the passes to the Kingdoms were both honest and intelligent men. One of them, Duke Pirod of Skandra, was probably the best military mind along the Crimson River. The other, Duke Ormess of Hauga, had one of the strongest armies in the lands.

  However, the time might come when the price for conquering the Crimson River would drop sharply. It would certainly come sooner if the Duchies remained divided and the Lords went on with their private quarrels and vices.

  Then one of the Kingdoms would surely strike. King Fedron of the East was young, tough, a formidable soldier, and ruthlessly ambitious. King Handryg of the West was older, but he had the larger army. He might want to end his long reign with the glorious achievement of conquering the Duchies.

  Either way, the Crimson River lands would suffer. The Dukes and Lords would fight for their honor even if they had no hope of victory. They would keep the war going until they were killed and their lands ruined. Duke Cyron painted a nightmarish picture of Alsin reduced to a mercenary in some foreign Lord's service, his grandson Chenosh a clerk or priest, and Miera forcibly married to some King's lowborn minister.

  Blade couldn't help noting that neither Cyron nor Alsin said a word about the fate of the Crimson River's peasants during these years of warfare. They would have to worry about murder, starvation, torture, and rape, not just loss of rank, wealth, or honor.

  Again, there was nothing to be gained by raising the point.

  Besides, if the Duke had a plan for preventing the war, he'd be saving the peasants in spite of thinking only about the Lords. Blade began to wish the Duke would finish the «background briefing» and get on to the plan.

  He didn't have to wait long. «Conquering the Duchies will still cost the Kingdoms too much if we all stand together,» said Cyron. «It has been my hope for many years to find a way to unite the Duchies. Now I think the coming of Lord Blade gives us that way.»

  «You rest many hopes on me, Your Grace. I hope not too many.» Blade wasn't being falsely modest. He honestly didn't know what was expected of him.

  «You have traveled far, seen much, and thought deeply,» said the Duke. «You bring to the Crimson River knowledge gained elsewhere. And you do not come from either Kingdom. All this makes you unlike any Lord I have known these past fifty years. Even if you are not good enough, Blade, I will not live long enough to wait for someone who might not be better and indeed might not come at all! I must do the best I can with your help. If that is not good enough-well, the Fathers do no honor to those who sit like frogs waiting for the snake to strike.»

  Cyron knew he had two of his fellow Dukes on his side, the two who held the passes. That meant four Dukes to win over or defeat. From what he knew of them they'd be hard to win over in the time available. On the other hand, all four of them had weaknesses which might be tu
rned against them. The skills of all the men in the room now would be needed for this, but if they all worked together… Blade found himself wanting to hear more than tantalizing hints about the «weaknesses» of the other four Dukes, but didn't expect Cyron to tell him until he'd sworn to aid the Duke's plans.

  Once all seven Duchies were willing to follow Cyron's leadership, they would be a match for either Kingdom. Then they could negotiate with the Kingdoms as equals, promising their allegiance to whichever King offered the better price. The Duchies would lose some of their independence; but they could hardly hope to keep that anyway. Instead they would gain a favored position under their new King, and they would be spared a destructive war.

  Blade had one more question. He thought he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear what Cyron and Alsin had to say. «If the Duchies end up willing to follow Your Grace, what is there to keep you from making them a third Kingdom, with yourself as King?»

  «If I were twenty years younger or if my son were alive-nothing. As it is»-Cyron shrugged, and for the first time that evening he really looked his age-«I am past eighty. My lawful heirs are a grandson unseasoned in war and a granddaughter. Miera cannot inherit a crown at all, and Chenosh could not do so without much dispute. There would surely be enough warfare over the succession to undo all my work.»

  He looked sharply at Blade. «I have also thought of adopting an heir. But there are already men nearer to me in blood than you. Even they would not be sure of an undisputed succession. So that custom of the old days offers us no help.»

  «I had no ambitions to be adopted as your heir,» said Blade in a level voice, and he decided to take a gamble. «If you had not done this for your bastard son Marshal Alsin, you would surely not do it for an outland Lord.»