by Джеффри Лорд
As if the death of the first man had tripped a spring in their legs, all five men charged at Blade together. He twisted sideways as the first sword whistled down past his chest. His dagger drove down into the hand holding the sword. The man screamed and his bloody fingers opened, letting the sword fall. Blade sent a backhand slash whistling at the man's head, and saw his throat gape as the razor-sharp edge crossed it. The dying man reeled backward into the middle of his companions, confusing and tangling them still further.
Two down, four to go, and time for another few steps backward. Blade gained the distance he needed in a single leap, turned again, and flourished his sword and dagger. He made the air hum as he wove a pattern with them, deliberately trying to dazzle his opponents. He had taken his measure of them. These were not first-class swordsmen by any stretch of the imagination. Were they acting on their own against the Pendarnoth? Or had they been hired? If they had been hired, were they simply the best that their employer could get? Or-a possibility with all sorts of implications-were they supposed to fail?
But facing four armed men was no time to be thinking about why they were facing you. Blade took another step backward, sword and dagger still dancing. The four men followed him, matching him step for step. Were they afraid to close now? Then he'd have to take the fight to them.
He sidled to the left, saw them shift to meet him, moved right, saw them match that movement also. He repeated the sequence, and again they matched him. Good. He had them set up now, at least psychologically. And in close combat, working on your opponent's mind was half the battle.
Suddenly he lunged straight forward, guarding with the sword and striking with the dagger. The sudden lunge and the uplifted sword caught the four men off guard. Their swords came up to meet a blow that Blade would never strike, and their eyes went with the swords. The man second from the right never saw the dagger that flashed out of nowhere and drove into his stomach. The light went out of his eyes and the life out of his body before he could see Blade pulling the dagger back. It came up to the guard position, and now the sword came in. Blade feinted at one man's sword arm and at another's head, then slashed down to cut a third man's thigh. Blade let the weight of the sword take it down and around. When it came up, a twist of the wrist sent it into a man's stomach. The fourth victim dropped his sword and clapped his hands over the gaping wound in his belly as he reeled back out of range.
Only two left now, and both of them looked distinctly on edge. But they said nothing to Blade, only moved out on either side of him and began sidling in, step by step. Blade realized at once that these last two were either better or at least more careful fighters than the four he had put down. He decided the first thing to do was lead them away from the princess.
He made a half-hearted rush at one, saw him back away, but saw the other moving in on the flank. Blade repeated his feint with the other man. Again the partner moved in. Blade went through the sequence twice more, then decided against doing it a third time. These men might be smart enough to catch on and catch him. Besides, they were now well clear of the princess. He decided to end the whole affair.
Instead of moving at one of the men, he moved toward the space between them. They in turn moved to close that gap. As they stepped toward each other, Blade shifted left in three leaps. All three took him only seconds. Before the two men could turn or separate, Blade had moved in on the one on the left. A flurry of slashes and parries made both swords ring like bells, then the man's sword flew into the air, his severed hand with it. He stared for a moment at his spouting wrist, then for another moment at Blade. Then he turned and ran. His companion waited for a second, but Blade took one step more toward him and he too ran.
Neither got far, though. They vanished behind the bushes, their feet thudding hard on the grass as they ran. Then the sound stopped. A moment's silence, and a hideous gurgling scream echoed through the grove. It was followed by a second one, rawer, harsher, as though the man were burning out the lining of his throat in his death agony. Then silence. No, not quite silence. Listening carefully, Blade could make out the not-too-distant murmur of voices. He did not return his sword to its scabbard or his dagger to its sheath. Instead he stood, arms crossed on his chest and both weapons held point upward, ready and waiting.
Footsteps sounded again, from the direction where the last two assassins had died so horribly. Many footsteps. Blade dropped into a defensive stance, sword ready, dagger guarding. The footsteps grew louder.
Then around the corner of the bushes came the High Councilor Klerus himself. Following him was what at first seemed to Blade like an entire regiment of archers. Actually there were only about thirty, but they seemed to fill the clearing as they formed a circle around Blade. He noticed that all of them had their swords drawn and their bows strung, with full quivers slung on their backs. For a moment he felt more tension and more danger in the air than he had felt when surrounded by the six assassins.
Then Klerus broke that tension. «Pendarnoth! My lady princess! What-what villainy has been happening here?»
The princess stepped forward and was about to speak, but Blade shook his head slightly at her. Her mouth opened and stayed open, but no words came out. Then she returned his nod.
«Murder is what's been happening, Klerus,» said Blade shortly. «Six men came into the clearing with swords and tried to kill me.»
Klerus' eyes took in the four men lying on the grass. Two were dead; two were still moaning feebly. He made a chopping motion with his hand, and an archer stepped over to each one. Two sword cuts and there were two more dead bodies on the ground. Watching Klerus' face as the last two assassins died, Blade saw something flicker in the man's eyes. Satisfaction? Relief? He didn't know. He only knew he still had to stay on the alert.
Klerus shook his head. There was horror and amazement written all over his fat face. Horror and amazement-or at least a good imitation of them. «This is altogether abominable. That anyone would try to slay the Pendarnoth here in the very palace itself! It is beyond anything I would have believed possible. I must implore your forgiveness, oh Pendarnoth.»
Klerus went on in this same vein for quite a while. He sounded utterly sincere. If Blade hadn't had his little interview with Klerus earlier in the morning, he might even have started believing the man. As it was, he listened with a secretly skeptical ear. And he noticed the Princess Harima was listening in much the same fashion. In fact, she was making no effort to conceal her skepticism. Hardly surprising, considering how much of Klerus she must have heard over the years.
Eventually Klerus ran out of either words of horror and protest or the breath to say them. He was silent for a long moment, breathing deeply and looking hard at Blade. Then he said, «Pendarnoth, this cannot be allowed to happen again. The villains who launched this effort may still be around. You must have a guard. I will see that one is chosen for you. Only the best archers of the palace troops will serve.»
«Are you going to have them cleansed by the priests, so that they do not have to fall on the ground when they see me? I have enough trouble moving about the palace as it is, with this ritual of honor to the Pendarnoth. I would hate to see such imposed on my personal guards.»
«Do you find the rituals of honor to you displeasing, Pendarnoth?» said Klerus. Blade noticed that the High Councilor's tone was both humble and probing at the same time.
«They are fit and proper, Klerus. But the archers can hardly guard me very well on their bellies like snakes. They must be able to stand on their feet like soldiers.»
«Very true, oh Pendarnoth. Your wisdom is that of a warrior of long experience indeed.» Blade almost winced at the sickening sweetness of the eunuch's tone. «The guards will be cleansed as you wish. I shall choose-«
«No, Klerus, I shall choose,» said Blade. There was more of an edge in his voice than he had intended. It brought Klerus to a sudden stop, rather like running into a brick wall might have done. The High Councilor stared at Blade again, his mouth opening and shutting seve
ral times. For once he seemed at a loss for words. Blade took the chance to continue.
«I shall choose, Klerus. If I can be attacked in the very gardens of the palace, those who wish me ill clearly have some way to get into it. Perhaps they have corrupted certain of the palace officers. Consider that in your plans for my safety.
«But I do not know whom to trust, whom to shun, here in Pendar. There are only fourteen men in all Pendar that I myself, would trust with my life.»
Klerus had recovered his voice if not his poise. «These are-?»
«Captain Guroth and the soldiers who brought me in from the mountains of the Rojags. I can trust them absolutely. If they had wished me ill, they had a hundred chances to slay me on the road to Vilesh, with no man the wiser and no warning for me. I was totally at their mercy. Yet they so honored the Pendarnoth that they brought me here swiftly and faithfully, as good and honorable warriors should. They are my choice for a personal guard.»
At this bald declaration Klerus lost his voice again. It was several moments before he recovered it. During those moments there was a thin smile on Blade's face and a furious churning in his mind.
He had suspected Klerus of setting up the assassination attempt, but it had been suspicion only. Now he was sure. The High Councilor had come on the scene with surprising speed, and with a remarkably large force of guards. He had killed the surviving assassins in cold blood-to prevent their talking? And now the mask was off. All Klerus' years of experience in palace intrigues couldn't keep the naked frustration and fury from showing on his face.
Blade decided to drive the knife in a little deeper. It was by chance, not choice, that the quarrel with Klerus had come into the open so fast. But as long as it was in the open, there was no point in not making his position as strong as possible.
He turned to Princess Harima. «My lady princess, would you not consider it reasonable that I have about me men of my own choice, men I can trust even with my life?»
Harima nodded gracefully.
«Then I ask that you bear witness to my words before King Nefus and the Council of Regents. It is my wish. And hear it also, soldiers of Pendar. It is my wish.» He bit off the last four words one by one, as though he were chopping pieces out of an iron bar. He took a savage pleasure in seeing the soldiers start and shudder as he addressed them. That would set up a nice conflict in their minds. Did they owe reverence to the sacred will and person of the Pendarnoth? Or obedience to the High Councilor who would have them flogged or slain if they went against him? Blade did not much care what answer they came up with. He had sown a little more confusion in the ranks of Klerus' forces, and that was enough.
Klerus was still pale, but movements of his thick-fleshed throat showed he was trying to speak. Then the color returned to his face, and a sly look to his black eyes. He looked from Blade to the princess and back to Blade. Then he grinned, although there was something of the smile on the face of the tiger about that grin.
«Very well, oh Pendarnoth. Your wishes are my command. Captain Guroth and his men shall be your guards. Shall I also send you Curana, rather than send her to the barracks?»
It was Blade's turn to lose his calm. «Send the girl to the barracks? Why?» His voice was an angry bark.
Klerus shrugged. «What else can one do with a stray half-Rojag girl from a northern village? She has nothing worthwhile about her except her body. But I'm sure you know that. Well?»
Blade nodded. «Send her to me by all means. And if she's been harmed-«He left the threat unfinished. Klerus nodded gravely and bowed as deeply as his potbelly permitted. There was a mocking note in that bow that Blade could not miss. Then he turned on his heel and snapped orders to the soldiers.
Only then did Blade turn to look at Harima. She was staring at him with wide eyes and a mouth drawn into a thin tight line. Her face had gone pale, and a large tear glistened in the corner of each eye. «You-«she gasped, but failed to find a word nasty enough. «You-that dirty little girl-I-oh gods!» She burst into tears, turned, and vanished at a run.
Alone except for the bodies, Blade let his breath and strain out in a long burst of cursing. Oh, Klerus had set him up beautifully! The man's gift for intrigue hadn't deserted him, not by any means. He must have known or guessed how Harima regarded Blade. After that baiting, the trap was simple. And Blade had taken that bait like any fat, dumb, happy fish. Jealous women were bad enough, but jealous princesses were even worse.
CHAPTER TEN
Somewhat to Blade's surprise, Klerus kept his promise. Blade had half-expected Princess Harima to swear in a fit of jealousy that he had never requested Guroth or anyone like him as a personal guard. Perhaps she was not quite willing to indulge her jealousy when the only person to benefit would be the High Councilor Klerus.
In any case, Guroth and ten of the soldiers of Guroth's patrol showed up at Blade's suite about dinner time. Curana was with them. To Blade's even greater surprise, Klerus had been telling the truth about her not being harmed. Nothing worse had happened to her than being locked up in a small room off the kitchens. For her own protection, the guards had said.
«Is this true, Pendarnoth?» she said. «You swore I would be protected in the palace.»
«I did so swear and you will be protected with all the power I and the palace staff have.» There was no point in having her worry about what Klerus might be planning. «There may be Rojag agents in the castle. Who else would have made the attempt on my life?» Blade's eyes met Guroth's. Both men knew perfectly well the answer to that question. «But I doubt if there are any other enemies in the palace that you have to fear.» This was definitely not the time to mention Princess Harima's jealousy to Curana.
After a night spent with Curana snuggled like a kitten against him, Blade was summoned before King Nefus. This time he put on the most luxurious clothes the chests in his room offered, and he ordered his guards to look their best. This set off a mighty flurry of boot-polishing, clothesbrushing, shaving, washing, and the like. This went on for so long that Blade began to be afraid they were all going to be late for the audience. But Guroth stormed and swore and urged his men on, and at last led them into the audience chamber behind Blade on time to the minute.
Seen close up and at leisure, the boy-king impressed Blade even more than he had at the first meeting. Nefus' face had the form of a boy's, but there was definitely the seriousness of a man in it. The eyes in particular bothered Blade. He could not doubt that they had seen too many things no eleven-year-old boy should have to see. Nefus had a throne, but in return he had lost his childhood. It did not look like an exchange he enjoyed. Blade recalled that he had once read of Alexander the Great astounding Persian ambassadors by asking adult questions in his boy's voice. Blade was not astounded, but he was impressed. Nefus would be a good, perhaps even a great king-if he lived long enough.
«Do you have everything you need to be happy?» asked Nefus.
«I do, Your Majesty,» replied Blade.
«I am happy to hear that. It is a great blessing to the Pendari to have the Pendarnoth among us. Particularly now. Have you heard that the armies of the Lanyri are massing on our western border?»
«No, Your Majesty, I have not.» That seemed to be the expected answer, but it was not an entirely honest one. Guroth had many friends among the Royal Scouts. What those friends told him, he told Blade. «Are they in great strength?»
«Very great. They are bringing great machines with them, to knock down the walls of Vilesh and our other cities. There are even reports that the Rojags are going to ride with them against us.»
«That would be bad.» «Bad» was an understatement. If the Lanyri had an adequate cavalry force, even one provided by none-too-reliable allies, they would be much more formidable.
«It would be terrible, Pendarnoth.» There was more than a boy's emotions in the word «terrible.» «You have been a warrior in many lands. Can you think of some new way of fighting, to drive away the Lanyri or destroy them?»
«I have been thi
nking much on that same question, Your Majesty. But I have not thought of anything yet. It is difficult to do so when I have not seen the Lanyri armies fighting. When I have done that, I will be able to know their weak points and advise you better.»
«I am happy to hear that. When the Lanyri advance, will you join the patrols that are watching them? That way you can see the Lanyri long before they come to the heart of Pendar.»
«That will be a great help to me, Your Majesty.»
«Good. My Lord Councilor, give orders that it be done so.» Klerus bowed deeply. Nefus rose and raised his hands in reverence to Blade, then turned and strode out. The audience was over.
Klerus led Blade back to his suite through an unfamiliar part of the palace. It was a series of dank, airless, half-lit rooms off a long, low corridor that seemed to be partly underground. Clangings told of forges and splashing noises suggested laundries or baths.
Beyond this service area of the palace, the corridor branched. Klerus led the way down the left-hand branch, so low that Blade had to bend his head to keep from scraping the ceiling. The corridor soon ended in a massive bronze door. It had no trace of gilding but many traces of smoke and something that looked like dried blood.
«The disciplinary chambers,» said Klerus in an expressionless voice. «Those of the palace staff who are disobedient or dirty are brought down here and dealt with properly. King Nefus and Princess Harima have their own trained men to administer discipline as well.» Klerus knocked three times on the door, and it squealed open.
As it did, a woman's scream floated out through it. Blade stiffened, but followed Klerus inside. The chamber was even more dimly lit than the corridor outside, but there was enough light for Blade to see what was going on. A young woman was spread-eagled, naked and face down on a wooden table, held by massive iron clamps on her wrists and ankles. Over her stood a burly man, naked except for a leather loincloth and a badge on a brass chain around his bull neck. As Blade watched, he drew a long branding iron from a charcoal brazier and pressed the red-hot end to the back of the girl's neck. She screamed again, jerking and heaving as much as the tight clamps would let her. Blade saw other smoldering patches on her bare skin where the iron had been pressed into it. Blood was oozing from her wrists and ankles where she had fought against the clamps.
