The Golden Steed rb-13

by Джеффри Лорд

  He reached Vilesh on the evening of the fifth day. By that time he was confident that no one, not even Princess Harima or Guroth, could recognize him as the Pendarnoth. A five-day growth of beard covered his face, and a five-day accumulation of yellow and gray dust covered the beard. His clothes were so stiff with sweat they could stand up by themselves. He suspected he could be smelled a hundred feet upwind. Over one eye he wore an improvised patch made from Raza's cloak, and on his left arm was an equally improvised bandage made from the same material. There was even a little dried blood on «the bandage, smeared on it from a carefully cut thumb. The picture he presented was not merely enough to confuse, it was enough to frighten. Children pointed and ran screaming into the houses along the high road as he thundered toward the towers of Vilesh.

  For all his travel-worn appearance, Blade was not tired. He knew he should have been nearly ready to fall out of the saddle, but somehow he was not. Perhaps it was sheer nervous energy. Perhaps it was also the knowledge that within a few hours he would finally be at grips with the High Councilor. He had spent too many weeks using his wits and his tongue as his main weapons. Now the time was coming to use his sword, and use it on the best target in this whole Dimension. Ornilan at least was a soldier and a good one as far as Blade could tell. But Klerus-there was nothing at all to be said for him.

  The sentries at the main gate of the city let him through after a single look at his badge. That was welcome for the moment, but Blade knew he would have to speak to Nefus about the Royal Scouts. False badges could easily be made and distributed, and assassins and saboteurs bearing them admitted to Vilesh. The Pendari would have enough difficulty defending their city from the enemies outside without having to cope with others inside.

  At the palace gate, however, the guards looked Blade over a bit more carefully. He recognized two of the eight men on watch as members of the Pendarnoth's Guard. That was encouraging. It meant that Klerus had not yet purged all the «unreliable» men from the palace guards. But Blade could not appeal to the guardsmen's loyalties without revealing his identity. He had to sit quietly in the saddle while his badges and message bag and sword were inspected with everything but a magnifying glass.

  He also had to fight back the desire to ask questions about «the fate of the Pendarnoth.» He could not be sure whether or not his capture had been kept a secret, but he suspected it had been. Certainly there had been no signs of mourning in the city or the villages around it.

  Finally the guards appeared satisfied with his credentials and handed everything back to him. One of them looked him over from head to foot as they did so, a searching look that made it hard for Blade to sit still in his saddle.

  «Have you heard anything of the Pendarnoth?»

  Blade came out with his answer smoothly and calmly. «Not a word. Is there some great news of our Father?»

  «None,» said the guard. «And that is what is bothering many among us. He rode out to keep watch upon the Lanyri all but a month ago, and not one word of him have we heard since. There are tales that he is slain, captured, or even proved a traitor.»

  Blade managed to shrug, although, he felt a chill inside him at the last words. «I have been too busy riding among the patrols of soldiers to listen to tales, I fear. So I could say nothing worth hearing on this.» The guard nodded and shouted up to the gatekeeper to open the gates. They rumbled apart, and Blade rode on into the forecourt of the palace.

  By the time he had turned his horse over to the stable-hands and made his way out of the stables, it was nearly dark. So much the better. Here in the palace were both his best friends and his worst enemies, both of whom knew his face well. And he still didn't want to be recognized until he was safely surrounded by a dozen or so loyal men. Even that might not be enough if Klerus really called out all his hired killers and ordered them to the attack, but it was better than wandering about alone.

  His grimy and battered appearance drew a good deal of attention as he made his way through the palace corridors. But it drew no challenges. The palace was obviously on a war footing now, all peacetime pursuits and ceremonial dropped for the duration. There were archers and scouts and soldiers of the various guards wandering about in such numbers that one more travel-worn scout was no more than another tree in a forest.

  Blade made straight for the Pendarnoth's suite, although he could not be sure that Guroth and the men of his patrol would still be there. Klerus might not have launched a general purge of the Pendarnoth's guard yet. But there was no way to be sure he had not indulged in a few pin-pricks, such as routing Guroth out of his quarters. Blade hoped he would not have to conceal his identity through a prolonged search of the whole palace for the High Captain. Damn! He had been half-hoping that the intrigues would end and the fighting start the moment he entered the palace gates.

  He approached the door of his suite as cautiously as he could without seeming to be sneaking up on it. He noticed that the masons had abandoned their work in the corridor. Dismantled scaffolding, tools, and loose bricks lay about helter-skelter. All of them were covered with a thick layer of dust. But the two soldiers standing outside the door were from Guroth's patrol. They no longer wore the gold-decorated equipment and embroidered clothing of palace troops. Now they wore full field gear, complete with strung bows, full quivers, well-worn riding boots, and even canteens.

  Blade strode up to them with his scout's, badge displayed and his message bag slung over his shoulder. He raised one hand in greeting but kept the other hovering near the hilt of his sword.

  «Hail, soldiers.»

  «Hail, scout. What do you bring?»

  «I bring a message for the eyes of High Captain Guroth of the Pendarnoth's Guard. Is he within?»

  One of the soldiers bent down, put his mouth to the hole in the door, and shouted, «Captain Guroth! A scout with a message for you.» A moment's listening for the answer, then the door opened and a voice called from within, «Enter.»

  The two guards kept their eyes on Blade and their hands near their sword hilts until the door closed behind him. And four more soldiers stood behind Guroth as the captain came up to Blade.

  «Welcome, my friend. What message do you have for me?»

  Blade reached up and pulled off the eye patch and the head bandage. «My message is: I have come back.»

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For a few moments Blade wondered if Guroth was going to drop dead on the spot from sheer surprise. The High Captain went white, then red, then purple. He seemed to be alternately strangling and breathing as though he had just run ten miles. Finally both his breath and his color returned to normal, and he stepped forward and embraced Blade with all his strength. Two of the guards let out shouts that sounded like Indian war whoops.

  Blade gently pulled himself free of Guroth's bone-crushing embrace and put his finger to his lips. «The cheering can come later. At the moment nobody in all Pendar except you men know that I am here.»

  «Including Klerus?» asked Guroth with a savage grin.

  Blade nodded. «Including Klerus.»

  Now Guroth looked as if he also wanted to shout and yell, but he caught himself in time. «Is it time, oh Pendarnoth?»

  Blade did not need to ask «Time for what?» He knew that Guroth saw the situation as he did. «It is. How long will it take you to find out where Klerus is and gather enough men to deal with him and whoever he may have with him?»

  Guroth frowned for a moment. «About an hour.»

  «Good. Start now.»

  For the first time Guroth looked at Blade with doubt in his eyes. «That soon, oh Pendarnoth? Without even asking the king?»

  «If we take the time to ask the king, Klerus may learn that I have returned. And if he does, I don't think he will refrain from killing me. He is playing for stakes that have grown much too great.»

  «I admit that seems wise. He certainly has a great many soldiers loyal to him. There will be a bloody battle if he calls them all to his aid. But if we strike at Klerus, and take
the head off the conspiracy…»

  Blade nodded. «The body will writhe around like a headless snake. It may make a lot of noise, but it will not be very dangerous. So send your messengers on their way at once.»

  Guroth picked out eight men in a few minutes, and one by one they vanished into the darkness. Some went out the door, and some out onto the balcony and down to the ground on ropes. When they had all gone, Blade sat down and made a meal of the leftovers from the guards' dinner. Between bites of chicken and sips of wine he told the story of his adventures over the last month.

  Guroth's face hardened as Blade described the treacherous desertion of the soldiers, then shrugged. «I do not think they lived long enough to get any reward for their treachery. None of them has been seen in Vilesh since your capture, and several of the officers have been reported killed. I suspect Klerus is having them killed off so they cannot tell of your capture.»

  «But why shouldn't Klerus let the word out? It would be a terrible blow to the spirits of the Pendari.»

  «Perhaps. But it might also make them determined to fight all the harder to avenge your capture. In any case, I do not think you were supposed to be captured. I think you were supposed to be slain on the spot. Dead men cannot escape or play games of their own. And if you had vanished mysteriously…»

  Blade grinned. «No doubt General Ornilan, the Lanyri commander, thought the same. So his men carried out his plans, not Klerus'. Then he tried to win me over to work for him. Not only against the Pendari, but against Klerus. Obviously the Lanyri do not trust their own viceroy.»

  It was Guroth's turn to grin. «Do you blame them?»

  Blade used most of the rest of the hour to shave, scrub himself as thoroughly as possible, and don clean clothes and better weapons. Then he pulled a hood over his head. It was Curana's hood, the same one he had found on her body and worn the night of his meeting with Nefus and Harima. Now he would be wearing it as he went to avenge Curana's death on her murderer. Wearing it made him feel better than anything else could have done.

  Before the hour was two-thirds gone, the messengers began reporting back, each bringing a handful of men with them. Some wore field gear, some wore palace outfits, all were armed to the teeth.

  The last man brought in not only four of his comrades, but a priest of the Temple of the Holy Guardian. The priest was not exactly a prisoner, but he had about him the air of a man who had not come entirely of his own free will. He looked nervous and ill-at-ease, and kept looking fearfully about him at the grim gathering of armed men.

  Blade took the priest and the soldier who brought him aside, into his bedroom. Then he asked, «What does bringing this priest here mean?»

  «By your leave, Oh Pendarnoth,» said the soldier. «This priest was the one who told me where Klerus is now. But he seemed to guess why I wanted to know. Since I could not trust him not to run to his fellow priests and tell the whole story, I brought him along.»

  Blade nodded. «A wise decision.» Then he turned to the priest. «Well, my friend?»

  The priest swallowed hard and said, «It is true that I told him where Klerus is. He is in the cellar chambers of the Temple of the Holy Guardian, in conclave with his allies among the priesthood. And I know that it is your purpose, Oh Pendarnoth, to seek out Klerus and slay him. But you must not use blasphemous and sacrilegious violence against even Klerus within the holy space of the temple. All those of the priesthood, even I myself, would turn against you then.»

  Blade frowned. He was rather weary of priests who set religious proprieties above the welfare of their people. But the priest's words seemed to imply a way out.

  «My friend, do you mean that you share our hatred for Klerus and wish as we do to see him destroyed?»

  «With all my heart, Oh Pendarnoth.»

  «Good. If we swear by the most Holy Guardian to lay no hands on him within the temple itself, will you lead us to a place where we may take him as he comes forth?»

  The priest appeared dubious for a moment. Then he said, «There is such a place. But Klerus' guards will also be there in strength. A great battle may arise.»

  «Does that matter to you, as long as it is not within the temple?»

  After a moment's hesitation, the priest shook his head. «It does not. I will lead you.»

  Blade clapped the priest on the back. «Good. You have done well for Pendar and will do better before the night is over.»

  In spite of his congratulations to the priest, Blade was far from congratulating himself as yet. There was much to do: reaching the temple without raising the alarm, setting the ambush, springing it, and fighting a pitched battle with Klerus' guards. Things could go disastrously wrong at any of these points.

  Blade got his men out of the palace without trouble. The sheets of the beds and the cloaks and tunics in the chests provided hoods to cover their faces. A little work with their daggers and they took the Pendarnoth's Guard badges off their tunics. But even in disguise, fifty-odd armed men moving through the corridors of the palace could hardly escape attention.

  But Blade and Guroth had replies ready. «We go about the business of the council,» they said to all challenges or questions. Since that was the phrase used by Klerus' own supporters when moving about at night, it dissolved opposition like acid. Blade could not help grinning under his mask at the irony-their best disguise was the same as that of their worst enemy.

  Outside the palace they found the streets grimly dark and empty. A strict curfew was keeping people at home. The only living things moving were the scavenger dogs and cats, the patrols of the watch, and the workmen of the shops. The shops were ablaze with light and filled with the continuous clanging of tools day and night. Piles of weapons and long rows of siege engines stood outside them. All the arms workers were exempted from curfew. But neither dogs nor cats nor watchmen nor armorers were inclined to argue with fifty men armed to the teeth.

  Blade kept his men moving along at a brisk trot. They covered the mile to the Temple of the Holy Guardian on its hill in less than fifteen minutes. Another fifteen, and they had deployed and hidden themselves in the alleys and doorways of the slum quarter to the south of the temple. It was here that the priest said Klerus would be coming out. Blade was inclined to believe the priest. He counted at least thirty men lounging or standing about near the south door. Although all of them wore the rags of beggars or the smocks of workmen, Blade and Guroth could not be put off by such crude disguises. They easily detected the alert, military stance of the «beggars,» their concealed swords, and the care with which they had taken their positions.

  The hours dragged on and the chill of the night deepened. It told on the watching men. Blade heard coughs and sneezes around him in the darkness. At each one he stiffened, watching to see if Klerus' henchmen had taken alarm. Each time he was relieved to see them show no signs of having heard anything. Boredom and cold had taken the edge off their alertness. Blade hoped things would stay that way.

  The hours dragged on, and Blade was beginning to wonder. Was Klerus going to wait until daylight? Had he summoned overwhelming reinforcements? Had he taken alarm and decided to take refuge in the temple? Worst of all, had he made his way out of the temple and back to the palace by another route? In that case, Blade knew that he and Guroth might well be the ones facing an ambush before they grew many hours older.

  It must have been less than an hour before dawn when a faint metallic clinking broke the silence of the dark streets. It came from down near the base of the temple. Both parties of waiting men were instantly at full alert. Blade drew his sword and dagger and whispered to the man beside him, «Get ready to move at my signal.» He heard the whisper fade away into the darkness as it was relayed from man to man.

  The clinking came again, and then the sound of a door opening on rusty hinges. At the base of the temple, figures moved. They were ghost like at first, then they acquired more substance as they mounted the stairs to the level of the street. There were fifteen or twenty of them, but Blade was p
aying attention only to the vast bulky figure that brought up the rear-Klerus. Some of the newcomers joined the guards. Then all formed a hollow square, facing outward.

  Blade wanted to wait until Klerus and his guards had cleared the temple area. That way none of them would have a chance to flee back into it when they were attacked. But as he looked up at the sky, Blade realized that within a few more minutes men would lose the cover of darkness. He looked at Guroth, and the High Captain's eyes met his. They both nodded. The High Captain raised his trumpet, then Blade took a deep breath and shouted:

  «For Pendar and for King Nefus! At them, guards!» The trumpet blared out, and before its echoes had died away, Blade was running forward, Guroth hard on his heels. All around them rose savage yells and the pounding of running feet as the Pendarnoth's Guard swarmed out to attack.

  Surprise and terror froze Klerus' men in their tracks for a moment. The darkness around them was suddenly pouring out armed men, screaming like fiends. But if his guards were stunned and terrorized, the High Councilor was not. Blade saw the bulky figure whirl about and start back toward the door of the temple. He lengthened his own stride and cut in toward that same door, whirling his sword and yelling louder than any of his men as he ran.

  Some of Klerus' guards had bows, but in the darkness Blade's hurtling shape made a poor target. Arrows whistled past him but none struck or even grazed. Uninjured and unslowed, he reached the head of the stairs that led down to the door of the temple. Then he whirled and jerked off his mask in a single swift motion.

  One of the guards nearby recognized him even before Blade could shout out his own name. «The Pendarnoth!» screamed the man. «Oh Holy Guardian spare us, the Pendarnoth himself has come against us! Fly, fly, fly!» The last word broke off in a scream of surprise and agony as one of the man's comrades cut him down. A moment later Blade's own sword whistled down onto the killer's shoulder. It sliced through the man's collarbone and half of his ribs before it came to a stop. The man toppled sideways so fast that he jerked the sword out of Blade's hand. For a moment Blade stood in the midst of Klerus' men armed only with his dagger.