by Джеффри Лорд
So Klerus distrusted everybody. Was that really anything Blade couldn't have guessed about a palace politician, good or bad? Probably not. But it was useful to have some confirmation. And he owed the girls something for that.
«All right,» he said. «I will not speak to Klerus. The three of you may spend the night here and share my dinner and my bed. But as I said, I want to do justice to you when I have my full strength. So you will go in the morning, and I will tell the chamberlain a magnificent tale. I will describe you as women of such qualities as most can only dream of having. I think that will keep the whips away from your backs.»
The girls knelt before him and would have literally kissed his feet if he had not patted them lightly on the heads. «Rise up, girls. This is not the way to salute a man. Now, do I ring that same bell for dinner, or what?»
CHAPTER EIGHT
The girls slipped out of bed and away in the gray light of morning, with many goodbye kisses and tearful thanks to Blade. They left a good feeling behind them, the feeling of having three more people in this marble and gold monstrosity who thought well of him. Well enough to warn him of danger? That remained to be seen. What the devil, it remained to be seen if there even was any danger.
Breakfast arrived soon afterward. Like the dinner, it was so generous that Blade could almost believe they were fattening him to serve as a sacrificial animal. Steaming hot stew in a golden bowl, a basket of hot flat bread, fresh fruit, cheese, sour milk with solid lumps of cream floating in it, and a green cordial with a half-lemon, half-mint flavor. He was just draining the last of the cordial from its golden cup when the main door of his suite flew open. Two servants in red livery darted in, knelt down, and bawled out in chorus, «Klerus, High Councilor of Pendar!»
It was as well that Klerus arrived after breakfast rather than before or during. The sight of the High Councilor close up would have been enough to take away Blade's appetite. Sallow oily skin, vast paunch, bald head, black eyes set so deep in rolls of fat they were almost invisible, jowls so flabby they hung down over his gold embroidered collar-there was nothing about Klerus that wasn't at least faintly revolting. But Blade also noticed other things. Klerus carried his weight well, with a dignity that seemed to imply that the slim were lacking rather than that he was in excess. And those ugly little eyes that fixed Blade with a cold, calculating stare made him at once alert and ready for the clash of wits.
Klerus began by asking the usual polite questions about Blade's health, food, sleep, and the like. Blade's replies were equally formal and polite. It was like the first few exchanges of a fencing bout. Each was seeking to discover the other's style, his distinctive strengths and weaknesses.
Finally Klerus tugged at the third of his four chins and smiled at Blade. It was a crocodile's smile. «I have heard that you found the girls pleasing last night.»
Blade nodded. «I did.»
«I am surprised you found the energy after your travels.»
«Lord Councilor, surely you have been around men of affairs too long to be surprised at this.» That was intended to score a point and it succeeded. Klerus' chins quivered, and his jaw set hard for a moment. He did not like that oblique reference to his status as a eunuch.
But Klerus regained his poise within seconds. «I am surprised at very few things, oh Pendarnoth. I am not even surprised at the appearance of a long-awaited legend in Pendar at the very moment when the Lanyri are preparing an invasion.»
It was Blade's turn to be caught off balance, but he managed to conceal it just as well as Klerus had. He decided not to admit having been told about the Lanyri threat. That would have had Klerus asking questions about Guroth in a moment. Blade remembered what the girls had said about dangers to anyone Klerus came to suspect of anything.
«The Lanyri-they are the people of the empire to the west, the ones who fight on foot?»
«They are. They are coming with a mighty army. It will be impossible for the Pendari to resist it, whatever pride they take in their horse archers.» That was a much blunter statement than Blade had expected. Did this mean Klerus was sufficiently desperate to try to enlist his aid without any preliminary feelers? Blade found that hard to believe.
Nor did it prove to be true. After that one specific statement, Klerus wandered off into a rambling lecture on the history of the Kingdom of Pendar. It went on for many minutes, with the Lanyri appearing occasionally around the fringes. It was only when he came to talking of the first Lanyri invasion that Klerus again spoke more plainly and directly.
«The Lanyri rule is strong and harsh but it is just. If a people submit peacefully, they soon come to share in the might of the Lanyri empire. But if they resist, and are defeated…»
«Are they always defeated?» put in Blade.
«Always. The Lanyri infantry is invincible.»
Blade could have mentioned things he had heard to the contrary. But once again he balked at involving Guroth-yet. «So they are defeated. And then what?»
Klerus spread his damp, pudgy hands. «They are overrun, and all who resist perish. But those who surrender in good time are spared. They may even come to rise to great heights under Lanyri rule. Penniless, wandering warriors have become kings or the ministers of kings under the rule of the Lanyri.»
Klerus could hardly have been more frank if he had given Blade an illuminated scroll with his proposition written on it. Join me, betray Pendar, and I will make you my right-hand man to rule over the ruins. Join those fools who would resist the invincible Lanyri, and perish with them.
Guroth, it seemed, was right. Perhaps not entirely. Perhaps there were fine details the captain hadn't understood. But if ever a man had the air of wanting support in treason, it was Klerus. Obviously he took Blade for a «penniless, wandering warrior» who had found an opportunity to pass himself off as the long-awaited Pendarnoth. Klerus was determined to show him that there was a better horse to ride to glory and wealth than the Golden Steed. Perhaps Klerus didn't even believe in the Pendarnoth or the Golden Steed? That might be worth finding out.
«The word 'Pendarnoth' means 'Father of the Pendari,' «said Blade. He spoke as he might have to a small child, deliberately seeking to be offensive. «I do not know what kind of father I would be, if I helped bring my 'children' into slavery.»
Klerus' face froze as hard as something that fat and flabby could do. «Do you truly believe in the gods' aid to men?» He said that in a tone that implied only a simpleton could do so.
Blade shrugged. «I have been a warrior all my life, Klerus. Not a philosopher, and certainly not a politician. I have learned not to ask questions that none can answer. And I have learned that a good sharp sword can cut off all sorts of arguments.» His eyes met Klerus'. Blade was trying to look open and frank and honest without being too obvious about it. If he could strike just the right note, he would be far along the way to convincing Klerus that he was indeed a simpleton. In the eyes of men like Klerus, only simpletons were honest. Wise men were always ready for a little treachery.
Klerus shrugged in his turn. For a moment Blade thought the High Councilor was going to indulge himself in some parting remark. But he managed to restrain himself, raised his hands in the prayer gesture, and went out.
That was the start of his relations with Klerus, although Blade wasn't quite sure how he would describe it. He had managed to avoid giving Klerus any promises of support, that was certain. He had also managed to avoid an open clash with the High Councilor. At least he hoped so, since that was even more important. Possibly he had even convinced Klerus that the Pendarnoth was a simpleton who could be ignored.
He decided to stop worrying about Klerus for the moment. The next thing to do would be to find out how much freedom of movement he had. Was he confined to his rooms, for all practical purposes a prisoner in a gilded cell? Did he have the run of the palace? Or could he roam all over Pendar, assuming he wanted to?
Chests inlaid with ivory and gilded bronze held a wide selection of rich clothing. Much of it was silk
, and nearly all of it was so heavily embroidered with gold thread and lace that the underlying color was almost invisible. Where there was metal, it too was gold or gilded. But at least he was able to pick up some practical weapons. A curved double-edged sword three feet long went into a scabbard on his belt, and a straight foot-long dagger into a wrist sheath.
Now that he was dressed and armed to standards that satisfied him, should he summon a servant to guide him through the palace? Better not. It would be impossible to tell whether or not a servant was a spy for Klerus-or for Klerus' opponents. Without touching the bell cord, he went to the door to the corridor and opened it.
Several servants who happened to be passing by promptly fell on their faces as Blade appeared. He grimaced. It was going to be rather hard to walk around the palace freely if everybody promptly fell on the floor when they saw him. Was this perhaps a way of keeping him in his room? He stepped out into the corridor and looked down at the servants:
«Rise, my friends. I am neither a god nor a king. The way to honor me is on your feet, not on your bellies.»
One of the men raised his head a little and murmured, «The priests have told us that the Pendarnoth shall be worshiped in this fashion. It is not fit that the eyes of those not cleansed shall look upon the face of the Pendarnoth.»
Blade nodded. «And by whom is one cleansed?»
«By the priests, O Pendarnoth.»
«And all the servants who wait upon me in my chambers are thus cleansed, I suppose?»
The man swallowed. Blade realized he was pushing the man toward ticklish ground. But for the moment he had to go on pushing. This was too important to let slip by. He repeated his question, putting a note of command in his voice. The man turned pale, and Blade saw beads of sweat break out on his brown face. Finally he licked his lips and said, «Yes. They are chosen-from the worthiest only.»
Blade's lips curled in a thin smile. There was only one more question to ask, the crucial one. «And who chooses the worthiest, my friend?» The man gasped and Blade saw his jaw clamp tight, as though he were facing torture. Perhaps he was-or at least the danger of it. Blade decided not to push things farther. Instead he merely smiled again and said, «I think I know who does the choosing. The High Councilor Klerus keeps his hand in everything, doesn't he?»
The man started violently. For a moment Blade thought he was actually going to be sick with fright. The look on the man's face spoke as loudly and clearly as any words could have done. Forgetting any possible fear of the priests, he leaped to his feet and vanished down the corridor at a dead run. The other men and women hesitated a second, then did the same. Blade was left standing alone in the empty corridor.
Part of the situation was now as clear to Blade as if it had been engraved in gold on the floor at his feet. Klerus (who else?) was determined to surround him with spies and limit his movements as much as possible. However, that might well be something that any veteran of palace politics would see fit to do. What bothered him more was the obvious mortal terror Klerus inspired in the servants. There was something ugly about that.
Should he go back or go on? Damn it, if he went back he would have given the first victory to Klerus! He wasn't going to do that, no matter how many servants he inconvenienced. He turned to the left and strode away down the corridor.
Most of the servants had obviously been briefed by the priests or perhaps by Klerus. They went down on their faces or at least knelt with their eyes on the floor as Blade passed. He made no effort to argue with them. The first encounter had taught him that was futile.
The palace seemed to be a complete maze inside, with corridors branching off for no apparent reason at the oddest points. With no one to guide him and no one to bar his path, Blade wandered freely for what seemed like hours. In the process, he built up a fairly good notion of what lay where in the palace. Although the servants did not dare look upon his face, neither did they dare refuse to answer his questions about where he was or what lay behind a particular door.
Twice he was respectfully but firmly turned back, both times by squads of oversized men armed to the teeth. Once he was told the king's chambers lay beyond the guarded door. The other time, where the men appeared to be eunuchs, it was the Princess Harima's chambers they were guarding. Blade noted both locations and moved on without argument.
Eventually he came out through a high-arched portico into a garden. A garden? It was more like a park. It seemed to stretch away in a beautiful confusion of trees and shrubs and grass for hundreds of yards. Gravel walks wound in and out among the greenery and the occasional splashes of color that told of flower beds.
Blade strode out into the sunlight and wandered about the garden, without any particular goal in mind. Mostly he simply wanted to see whether there was going to be any uproar over the Pendarnoth's prowling freely about the palace.
In time he found himself approaching a white marble bench that stood in the middle of a roughly circular clearing. This was a good place. He didn't want to sit down anywhere somebody might be able to sneak up on him without being seen. But here there were thirty feet of open grass on all sides. He sat down on the bench.
He had barely stretched out his legs when he heard the sound of footsteps approach on the other side of the bushes to his left. He rose quietly, and silently drew his sword. The footsteps continued as far as the end of the bushes, stopped, and then continued again. A slim figure dressed in white came around the end of the bushes. It was Princess Harima, with two serving women.
Blade thrust his sword back into its scabbard and smiled. But his thoughts were not as pleasant as the expression on his face. Had chance brought the princess here at this time, or something more?
The princess pressed her hands together and bowed her head gracefully. «Greetings, oh Pendarnoth. I heard that you were walking in the gardens, and I wished to talk to you without all the people of Vilesh looking on. Were you expecting an enemy? Your sword was out.»
«I did not know whether to expect an enemy or a friend, princess. And I have been a warrior long, enough so that when I do not know who is coming I make ready to greet him-properly.»
«I see.» Harima smiled. «How long have you been a warrior?»
«Nearly twenty years.» He did not add any other details. He did not want to encourage the princess to ask about his life before he found the Golden Steed. He had the impression of a sharp intelligence that might leap on any slips he made and use them to his harm.
Harima was beautiful as well as intelligent. It was not a picture-book beauty. She was a trifle too sharp-featured for that, and her high-arched nose just a little too large. But the wide dark eyes and the full mobile red lips were set in a proud pale face framed by glistening dark hair caught up beneath a silver diadem. And the most critical opinion could not have found fault with Harima's figure. The white gown she wore only hinted at what lay beneath, but to Blade's eyes those hints were sufficient-and exciting. Steady down, he told himself. Wait for her to show interest, if there's going to be any.
The princess motioned her ladies back toward the bushes. She sat down on the bench and with a graceful wave of a long-fingered hand beckoned to Blade. Blade noticed that in contrast to the usual display of gold or gilded jewelry among the Pendari, Harima wore only a single ring on each hand and a pair of earrings.
«Come and sit down, Blade,» she said. Her voice held a hint of laugher.
«Is it proper that I should, princess?»
«Is anything improper for the Pendarnoth? No, you are right in asking. Of all the men in Pendar, you and my brother are the only ones who might sit so with nothing improper.» The laughter in her voice was more than a hint now.
Blade sat down on the bench but left a safe yard or so between them. «Asking questions like that is part of the caution I have learned, princess. One does not live as a warrior for twenty years without learning caution. In fact, any man will live longer if he learns caution, not just warriors.» The last words were not an accident. If Harima wanted
to take them as a reference to the present situation in Pendar, she was welcome to do so.
Harima smiled again and was about to speak again when footsteps suddenly thudded behind the bushes. Then the bushes themselves crackled and shook, and the serving women screamed. Six armed men with drawn swords suddenly burst through the bushes into the clearing.
CHAPTER NINE
Blade's sword was in his hand so fast it seemed to have jumped there like a living thing. He whirled, trying to get between Princess Harima and the six men. The princess was not screaming. She was backing away, a step at a time. One hand plunged into a purse at her belt and came out with a small jeweled dagger. A dainty lady's weapon, ill-suited for serious combat, but her spirit earned Blade's admiration.
The men ignored both the princess and her servants and formed a circle around Blade. He jerked his wrist to draw his dagger from its sheath, and stared at his opponents. He recognized none of them. It would have been too much to hope that he would after only two days in the palace.
Very well, he would have to assume this was a real move against him. And there was only one way to reply to such a move. His eyes flicked from right to left, meeting the eyes of each of the six men in turn. Then he took a long step forward, until he was within striking range of one of the men. Again Blade stared hard at the man. For a few seconds the man tried to hold Blade's gaze, then his eyes flickered away. As they did so, Blade struck.
His sword was a whistling blur in the air as it came down. It smashed into his opponent's sword, driving it down so hard the point sank into the ground. Before the man could move to free his sword, Blade's lightning speed took him forward another step. His dagger rose, flashed, thrust home into the man's chest so hard that it almost jammed between his ribs. The air went out of the man's lungs with a whistle. Blood spewed from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground. Blade jerked his dagger free and leaped over the falling man, whirling as he landed to face the other five.
