The Lords Of The Crimson River rb-35

by Джеффри Лорд

  «The fewer comforts my Lords can bring with them, the harder they'll fight to get back to what they've had to leave behind.»

  Other men weren't as realistic. Duke Padro of Gualdar came with Cyron, bringing a hundred fighting Lords and his usual tentful of perfumed fops. He was a subdued and sober young Duke in spite of this, seldom speaking, and looking as if he wasn't sleeping well. Escaping from total ruin through the mercy of his enemies had taken something out of the man, or perhaps put something into him which hadn't been there before.

  There were also a hundred more Lords from Duke Pirod of Skandra and a hundred and fifty from Cyron's other ally, Duke Ormess of Hauga. The Lords of Hauga came with a lengthy pack train of wine and women, along with their good horses and sharp swords. They spoke quite plainly about why they'd come. «Duke Ormess knows he has to aid Cyron in the fight against his enemies. Otherwise Cyron will be able to say, 'What did you do for me, that you deserve a share in what I have won?"'

  The plots and intrigues were going to get thicker and deadlier as Duke Cyron approached final victory. Just as obviously, matters would be even worse if Nainan's three victories had taken months instead of weeks. The Lords of the Crimson River would never know how much they owed to an «outland» Lord, a Duke's one-handed grandson, a proud Feathered One, and seven gallant concubines.

  The allies would be marching against Duke Klaman of Faissa with the strongest army seen along the Crimson River in generations. They would have more than a thousand Lords and an equal number of Helpers, counting only the fighting men. Duke Klaman would be lucky to put seven hundred fighters into the field. In a pitched battle, the allies would have no trouble.

  Things would be different if they had to lay siege to Castle Muras, Duke Klaman's seat. It was the strongest fortress along the Crimson River, almost impossible to take by storm. It would also be hard to lay siege to it. By now Duke Klaman must know what was going to happen to him. He'd be laying in enough supplies to hold Castle Muras until either winter, or possibly the army of one of the Kingdoms, came to his rescue.

  «Is there a quick way to victory?» was the question on everyone's lips when Cyron's council of war met in the great hall of Castle Issos. Blade had no chance to speak for quite a while. Cyron first took the advice of Padro of Gualdar and the chief Lords sent by other Dukes. Then he took the advice of his own Captains, in order of their length of service to him. He was a long time getting around to Richard Blade, who sat through all the nonsense as patiently as he could.

  When his turn came, Blade had to start off by asking a question. «What are the buildings like in Castle Muras? What are they made of?»

  The best answers came from Lord Ebass, who'd visited Muras several times, and from Chenosh, who'd read everything written on the subject and committed most of it to memory. It sounded to Blade as if the buildings of Castle Muras were very much like those of the other castles he'd seen along the Crimson River.

  «That means they'll burn easily,» he said. «If they burn, all the supplies and most of the shelter for Klaman's fighting men will go up with them. With no shelter and short rations, how long will the garrison be willing to hold out?»

  Everyone seemed to agree that the garrison would yield quickly. That was the answer Blade expected. The Lords of the Crimson River were used to fighting cheap wars, with small stakes. They wouldn't manage very well if suddenly, with no warning, someone raised the stakes by burning their roofs over their heads.

  It was Marshal Alsin who asked the next question. «How are you going to set the buildings of Castle Muras on fire?»

  «We shoot flaming arrows over the walls,» replied Blade simply.

  There was a collective gasp, and everyone stared at Blade as if he'd just said something obscene. Then there was an uproar like a barnyard full of animals running wild. Blade mentally kicked himself. He'd overlooked the taboo on using archery against men of lordly rank. He hadn't actually forgotten it, he'd just assumed that no one would think that the use of flaming arrows against buildings would break the taboo. Apparently he'd overestimated the intelligence of the other Lords.

  After the council recovered from the shock, they did Blade the courtesy of explaining in detail why his proposal could not be accepted. Again it was Alsin who spoke, with the others all nodding as if he was expressing profound wisdom instead of probable doom for Duke Cyron's cause. «Close to the wall, the archers would be within spearcasting distance. They would die before the fires were well started. If they stand back where they will be safe, they cannot aim well. They might hit a Lord by chance. Then the Fathers and the other Lords would turn against us and all our hopes.»

  Blade gritted his teeth. He was tempted to ask if Alsin preferred losing the war in an honorable, lordly way, to winning in a new way. He fought the temptation, because he already knew the answer. It would be «Yes,» and if someone as comparatively sensible as Alsin would say that, there was no hope of getting a different answer from anyone else!

  Once again, Chenosh came to Blade's rescue, although this time he needed a little help. «Your Grace,» he said, looking at Duke Padro. «I have heard tales that there are some powerful crossbows in your castle. They shoot farther, straighter, harder than any other bows in the lands of the Crimson River. Are they still fit for use?»

  Duke Padro's mouth opened like a dying fish, and for a moment he seemed uncertain whether to answer or not. Then slowly he nodded. «Yes. In my father's youth, we had a plague of wild boars. He had two dozen big crossbows made, to kill a boar at four hundred paces. They proved their worth.»

  «And you still have them?» Chenosh prodded.

  Padro hesitated again, but not so long this time. «Yes. If you think they could be used…» He didn't know what to say next, or if the other Lords would even approve what he'd said so far.

  Blade took up the fight. «I think Duke Padro's bows will do the work,» he said. «If they shoot four hundred paces, the archers can stand out of spear range from the walls and still hit anything in the castle. Also, they will be shooting straight. If we choose good archers and bid them aim true, no Lord will be hurt. Not unless he tries to pluck a bolt out of the air, at least!» That got an encouraging laugh.

  «What do you say, my Lords?» Blade now asked. «It is the law, not to deliberately shoot an arrow at a Lord or near him. But does the law say we must also protect our enemies from their own stupidity, as if they were little children too young to be let outdoors without a nurse?»

  «It has never said that, in all the years I have been obeying it,» said Cyron.

  «That is my thought, too,» said Alsin, and Duke Padro nodded. With these three supporting Blade's interpretation of the law, no one else seemed ready to argue. The discussion quickly turned to the best way of carrying out the new plan for burning Duke Klaman out of his castle.

  That still took hours, because every Lord wanted it on record that he'd made some suggestion. Few seemed to care whether the suggestions made any sense or not. Blade began to feel that staff conferences were the same in every Dimension-a golden opportunity for long-winded drones and a complete waste of time for everyone else.

  The council of war finally ended when both Duke Cyron's temper and the beer in the cellar of Castle Issos ran out. Fortunately they'd made most of the necessary decisions by then, and agreed to turn the rest over to Alsin and the Captain of Duke Pirod's elite companions.

  Blade controlled a sigh of relief as he left the hall, then controlled a groan as Lord Chenosh scurried toward him. The boy was assigned to ride with the baggage trains and serve with the archers. There was no way he couldn't be resenting it, and no way Duke Cyron, Alsin, and Blade were going to change their minds.

  Blade still managed to listen to Chenosh patiently for about five minutes, as the young man complained that he would be so far in the rear he wouldn't get to see any action. Then Blade broke in sharply, «All of what you say is true only for a pitched battle in the open field. If that happens, you will indeed be somewhere else.


  «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 Ebass 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 analyze 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 pass abreast. A handful of men could hold it against an army, even without bows. Alsin sent Blade forward with Gennar, Ebass, 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. Ebass and I will take the rest of our men and hold that hill we passed 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 classic 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.