The Lords Of The Crimson River rb-35

by Джеффри Лорд

  «Oh no, oh no, oh no,» the man gabbled. «Nothing like that. Nothing so unlordly. Nothing at all unlordly.» Under other circumstances, Blade would have laughed at the idea that it was more unlordly to take a weapon as a gift from a living man than to loot a corpse. However, he'd gotten the message across. Now to find Gennar and ask him to spread the word-if you find weapons, don't mention it. Blade didn't want the villager finding out anything by accident while he and Gennar were making up their minds.

  Over the rattle and thump of the searchers of the castle came a high-keening wail. That was Cheeky, signaling that all the Feathered Ones in the castle were dead, and at the same time mourning them. Blade opened his mind to the Feathered One, the first time he'd attempted this in several days, and for a long moment shared in Cheeky's grief. He found it sometimes helped him to help Cheeky through his pain.

  He wondered how Miera was. The last word he received was more than a week old when it reached him, and that had been more than a week ago. Sarylla said that the wounds on Miera's back were healing, although she would bear scars. The head wound seemed worse than they'd suspected, however, and she was still unconscious most of the time. They had not told her about the state of things in the Duchies, and would not. Worry for her husband would surely weaken her, and in her condition, that could mean the end.

  Blade broke the mental link with Cheeky and turned his mind to conjuring up various unpleasant deaths for King Fedron. He had just reached boiling oil when he heard a shout from the keep.

  «Fedron's men! Coming along the river!»

  The problem of what to say to the village speaker about giving his people weapons suddenly vanished, and so in fact did the speaker. Blade peered out through the gate but saw nothing. The enemy must still be too far away to be visible from the ground. He scrambled up the nearest stairs and onto the wall, as half-burned planks creaked ominously under his weight.

  From the battlements he could see the enemy, some two hundred men with Fedron's and the East Kingdom's banners floating above them. About half were lancers and half mounted infantry with short swords and pikes. The lancers were coming up the hill toward the castle, but the infantry seemed to be milling about at the head of the bridge without dismounting.

  He knew that he and his men were in trouble, serious though perhaps not fatal. They were outnumbered two to one and even with the protection of the castle, this inequality might be too much. After all, these invaders had taken the castle once when it was more defensible than it was now. Yet on the other hand, if despite heavy casualties, his forces could repel even one attack, it might be enough. Fedron's bands seldom stayed for a long, costly fight. They were too far from home.

  While Blade was counting the enemy, his men were taking their positions for defense. Some held the horses, others climbed onto the walls, still others piled planks, saddles, and charred sacks in the gateway as an improvised barricade. By the time they were finished, the lancers were dismounting by the castle walls, just out of spear range. The mounted infantry was still down by the bridge.

  Then a column of horsemen started filing out of the woods on the far side of the river, heading toward the bridge. Blade stared, and once he had convinced himself that he wasn't seeing things, he felt an unpleasant sensation inside. The approaching horsemen wore the colors of the Duchy of Ney, whose Duke Blade had slain with his own hands, in the contest held in Nainan after the fight of the Feathered Ones. So far, the four sons of Duke Garon had not made an appearance in the war, but now apparently they were coming off the sidelines, to join King Fedron in stamping out Nainan's resistance.

  It began to look as if the battle was lost before it began. The best Blade and his men could hope to do would be to sell their lives as expensively as possible.

  Gennar's voice came from behind Blade. «Shall I have the men start killing the horses?» Horseflesh would feed them during a siege, and dead horses would strengthen the barricade.

  Blade shook his head. «Wait a little. With two bands instead of one, it may take them a while to decide what to do. We may not even be attacked today.»

  This suggestion quickly seemed to have been overly optimistic. The riders of Ney were already halfway up the hill, between the mounted infantry at the bridge and the Lords by the wall. A big man at its head reined in, and the rest followed suit. As the leader started giving orders, Blade recognized him as the late Duke Garon's Marshal. He'd seen the man at the duel, helping to lead his dead master's steed, Kanglo, off the field, and in fact, he was now riding Kanglo himself. The gnawing sensation inside Blade grew stronger.

  Then, as fast as the horses could move, the whole scene changed. The Lords of Ney wheeled their mounts around, facing downhill toward the Easterners' infantry. A score of Lords rose in their stirrups and hurled throwing lances. A dozen struck home, and the same number of Easterners toppled off their saddles. Then the Marshal shouted «Charge!» and his men thundered downhill.

  What happened at the bottom of the hill was more of a massacre than a battle. The mounted infantrymen who weren't too surprised to fight at all still had no weapons to fight from horseback. In five minutes the only ones who were still alive were those who jumped from their horses and scuttled off into the undergrowth where the Neyans couldn't follow. The Neyans let them go; they had business elsewhere.

  Blade's men helped the Neyans with the Eastern Lords. This was a battle, because the invading Lords weren't too surprised to fight and had the weapons to do so. It still wasn't long before those left alive were surrendering. Most of them preferred to surrender to the Neyans. They might have joined in the war for reasons no one could understand, but they didn't have so many deaths or so much destruction to avenge as the men of Nainan.

  The fighting was over before Blade could strike a blow. Afterward he rode out, and under the eyes of both sides and all the prisoners, he calmly drew rein beside Ney's Marshal.

  «Ah, Lord Blade,» said the Marshal. «Unless you have some claim to these prisoners, I would like to keep them for now. They will make good hostages to assure lordly behavior from Fedron's men, should they reach our Duchy.»

  The man seemed to take it for granted that Blade would consider the question on its merits, as if Ney and Nainan had been allies for months. Well, what better way to start? Where this would end, it was too soon to tell, but certainly two hundred enemies, who'd been free and dangerous only an hour ago, were now dead or prisoners. Blade didn't believe in looking a gift horse in the mouth, and this was nearly a stableful of them.

  «I'd hoped we could take a few prisoners of our own;«he said. «King Fedron holds some of our Lords, and I'd like hostages, too. I don't suppose he has any Lords from Ney?»

  «Not yet,» said the Marshal. Those two words said a good deal. «Come to my camp tonight, and we'll speak more of it.»

  «Very well.» In an effort to get some control over the situation, Blade said, «I suggest you make your camp at the foot of the hill. We'll stay in the castle, and share any food we have to spare.» He fixed the Marshal with a sharp look. «I think our men should stay apart, at least for tonight.»

  «Of course,» said the Marshal, as calmly as if they'd just been discussing the weather.

  Normally, Blade would have put on his best clothes and weapons and ridden down to the Neyan camp with some kind of ceremony. Unfortunately, weeks of campaigning had left him with no «bests.» He walked down the hill, wearing the clothes with the fewest holes and the sword with the fewest nicks on its edges. He wanted to have Cheeky riding on his shoulder, but when the time came to go, the feather-monkey was nowhere to be found. With Blade walked six Lords, all armed to the teeth and carrying several hundred pounds of horsemeat.

  The Neyan Marshal met them at the edge of the camp. He sent the meat carriers off to the cook tent and led Blade toward his own quarters. As he opened the front flap of his tent, a high-pitched yeeeep from two Feathered Ones sounded from the darkness inside. The Marshal raised his lantern, and the pale yellow light revealed the interior o
f the tent.

  The two Feathered Ones stood on his pallet, the larger one crouched over the back of the smaller. Both of their tails stood straight out, and both of their feather crests stood up. Blade sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Feathered Ones having sexual intercourse, and…

  Then they pulled away from each other, and the larger one yeeeped again, indignantly. Blade stared. It was Cheeky! Then the Marshal got a good look at the other, and let out a roar that made the Feathered Ones leap off the pallet and vanish into the darkness. The Marshal looked at the ceiling and said in a carefully neutral voice: «The female-underneath-she was my bonded one-Hoyla.»

  In the same tone, Blade replied, «The other one was mine-Cheeky.»

  There was a long silence.

  Then the Marshal laughed and reached out to grip Blade's hand. «Allowing for-oh, different ways of expressing it-I want to say the same thing as our Feathered Ones. Ney and Nainan should stand together against the Easterners until the war is won. If there are any differences to be settled after that, we can settle them without giving outlanders-no, hear me out. You were an outlander, Blade. You are now blood and bone and earth of the Crimson River, more than those of us who did not see it was our duty to do as you have done.»

  There was nothing to say to that, so Blade was silent until the Marshal went on. «We can settle our differences afterward. What do you say?»

  «Which of Garon's sons do you follow?»

  «None,» was the surprising answer. «All of them are more interested in winning the Duchy than in being sure there is a Duchy left for them to win. None of them sees clearly that Fedron is a danger to us all. About half of the Lords of Ney have refused to swear an oath to any of the four sons. They are free to take the field under me. I have about half of those, all who had horses and war gear ready to march.»

  This information kept Blade from having to commit himself to any of Garon's four quarrelsome sons. «I can speak for the men who follow me,» he said. «They will fight side by side with yours against the invaders, and as long as necessary. I cannot make promises for Duke Chenosh or Marshal Alsin. If our alliance proves itself in a few more battles, I don't think they'll reject it afterward.»

  «Good. Then let us seek those battles.»

  «Wait,» said Blade. «Will your Lords trust me? Will they fight beside Lords led by the man who killed their Duke?»

  «You killed Duke Garon in fair fight, a duel of his own choosing, in no unlordly way, and you showed much courage,» said the Marshal solemnly. Less solemnly, he added, «I think none of us doubted Garon would die that way, sooner or later. It was the death he sought, and surely a better death than he would have gotten from King Fedron.»

  Blade couldn't disagree with that last point.

  When he walked uphill later that night, his stomach was heavy from too much undercooked horsemeat and his mouth was sour from too much bad wine. Cheeky rode on his shoulder, half-asleep, smugly content with his night's work, and stinking to high heaven. Blade still felt better than he had since he heard the news of Cyron's death.

  Chapter 23

  At the same time as Ney's Marshal was approaching Blade, Marshal Alsin was leading out the forces of Nainan, Gualdar, and Skandra a hundred miles away. Between them, Blade and Alsin cleared the Duchies of King Fedron's bands of raiders. In two weeks, the last of them was on its way toward the passes, harried by vengeful Lords and even by some peasants. Apparently Blade wasn't the only Lord along the Crimson River who had looked the other way while the unlordly armed themselves.

  The victory was expensive; it did not touch the heart of King Fedron's main army, and it came too late for many people. Among these was Romiss the Breeder. A band of raiders captured him while he was visiting a friend in the village near his castle. They took him to the castle and threatened to torture him to death if the men inside did not open the gates.

  «Don't give these swine a thing!» Romiss shouted, before he was silenced.

  Romiss's men were accustomed to obeying his orders and did not open the gates. Instead they watched as the Breeder was blinded, then castrated, then burned with hot irons. After that, Alsin rode up and scattered the raiders, in time to save the castle, but too late to do anything for Romiss except give him a quick death.

  «No man in all the Duchies died a more lordly death,» said Alsin when Blade rode back to Castle Ranit and heard the news. «The men of the castle have asked for arms, in order to defend it if there is another attack.»

  «There will be,» said Blade. «And this time from Fedron's whole army.»

  «I know.» Alsin seemed unwilling to look at Blade. «So I have given them arms, to use within the castle itself. No sane Lord can say I should leave them helpless, to die like Romiss!»

  «No.» So Romiss was dead, and all the secrets of the origins of the Feathered Ones were gone with him. But right now this seemed like a small detail to Blade, who excused himself and went up to see Miera.

  She was barely conscious, not even enough to recognize him, and after a few minutes, she slipped back into sleep. Blade sat by the bed until Sarylla came and led him away for a drink. She looked almost as bad as her patient by now-gaunt, red-eyed, her glossy black hair faded and hanging in strings.

  Now bad news and good news followed each other in swift succession. First they heard that Chenosh had signed an alliance with King Handryg of the West Kingdom. Next they heard that King Fedron was preparing to invade with his main army. Then they heard that Chenosh was returning, bringing some of Handryg's Lords with him, to wait until King Handryg himself arrived with the rest of his army and supply wagons. Finally, they heard on the same day that King Fedron's army had crossed the border and that Miera was showing signs of pneumonia. A few moments later, the girl was fighting for her life, while the King's army was marching straight on the Duchy of Nainan.

  After they learned of Fedron's proximity, everyone was too busy preparing Castle Ranit to stand a siege and serve as a base for the army of the Duchies to sympathize with Blade. But he did not miss the sympathy. In his present mood, he was glad to be left alone.

  It was going to be a cloudy day, so they wouldn't have to fight in a blazing sun. Blade was glad of that. He didn't find much else to be glad about.

  As he was riding down the line of the Duchies' army to his place on the left wing, a thought struck him. Here he was in a scene that came straight out of the pages of a medieval romance. He was a valiant knight going into battle, prepared to do mighty deeds of valor almost under the walls of the castle where his fair lady waited.

  Very pretty. Except that he didn't feel valiant; he felt tired and angry. Any deeds he did today would serve mostly to save his own life and those of the men around him from a ruthless enemy. And his fair lady was a shrunken, doll-like figure in a great bed, unconscious, gasping for each breath, and unlikely to live through the day.

  He swung his long-handled mace through the air until it hummed. He was in a thoroughly bloodthirsty mood. With half his mind he remembered that this might make him careless. With the other half he hoped it would make him a better fighter.

  He reined in on the extreme left flank of the army. There were five thousand Lords, drawn up on horseback and on foot, with two thousand Helpers guarding the horses and baggage. It was the largest army ever raised along the Crimson River and included fighters from every Duchy except Faissa. There were too few trustworthy men from the late Duke Klaman's army still in shape to fight.

  They faced an opponent who outnumbered them almost two to one. King Fedron had six thousand Lords on the field, five thousand mounted infantrymen with pikes, and a thousand odds and ends to guard his baggage. Individually, his men weren't as tough as the Lords of the Crimson River, but they had discipline to add to their edge in numbers.

  If only King Handryg's army had come! But there was no sign that King Handryg or his army even existed, except for the two hundred Lords he'd sent on ahead. Blade could see their banners near Chenosh's. King Handryg was bringing a pon
derous train of wagons loaded with supplies, and they were slowing his march to a crawl. The supplies made sense, if Handryg expected a long war. But if only he had come fast enough to be here today and guarantee victory, he wouldn't have to worry about a long war!

  Was Handryg planning to let the two armies tear each other to pieces and then rule the whole Dimension himself? His reputation made this seem unlikely, but not impossible.

  Trumpets and drums sounded, and a column of pikemen thrust itself out from the Eastern lines. They marched with an impressively steady tread, chanting as they came. Blade called one of the Helpers over, then scratched Cheeky's back and handed him down to the young man. A battle on this scale was no place for a feather-monkey, even Cheeky, who was as tough as a Feathered One could be. The creature was the one friend Blade had in this Dimension that he could try to keep safe from today's battle.

  Cheeky's yeeeep of protest was lost in the din as the pikemen reached the Duchies' lines. They struck close to Duke Padro's banner, and for a moment Blade saw it wavering. Then it steadied, and he saw the towering figures of Padro's bodyguards taking their place around the banner bearer. Even at this distance, they loomed over the men around them.

  Blade quickly saw that their strength wasn't going to be sufficient. The pikemen were pressing forward, driving a steel-tipped wedge into Padro's ranks. From among the pikes, swordsmen darted forward, stabbing at faces or chinks in armor with their short thrusting weapons. The swordsmen wore little armor, but against Lords who didn't have room to use their weapons freely they didn't need much.

  When Blade saw that the Helper who was carrying Cheeky was out of the way, he signaled to his trumpeter. The trumpet's call gathered up Blade's Guardsmen and urged them forward after him at a trot. They curled around Padro's rear and plunged into the dust cloud rising from the front lines. The sun wasn't out, but there'd been no rain for many days. The ground was powder dry.