by Джеффри Лорд
Then bare feet thudded on the stairs. Esseta and two other women were standing beside Blade, as suddenly as if they’d sprouted from the floor. Esseta held a dagger, the second woman held a kitchen cleaver, and the third held the broken-off leg of a chair. Esseta raised her dagger in a mocking salute to the attackers.
«Hail, doomed fools! Consider the price Kubin Ben Sarif will ask for this night’s work, before you come on! You will pay that price, whatever happens to us. There is nothing you can do for yourselves by doing anything to us.» There was a hissing note in Esseta’s voice, exactly like a snake’s angry warning.
The eight men stopped as if an invisible rope had been stretched across the hallway in front of them. Some kept their eyes on Blade, but others looked furtively toward the now-distant doorway. From upstairs came the sound of furniture being pushed around. Blade hoped the women and servants were building some sort of barricade across the head of the stairs.
Then the door flew open, and three more men sprang into the hallway. One carried a long shepherd’s staff with a knife tied to the end of it, making a crude but wicked-looking spear. The other two carried crossbows. The spearman gave a wordless cry and slammed the butt of his weapon on the floor. A quiver ran through the men facing Blade, and they began to draw to either side.
In another second the archers would have a clear field of fire. With the flat of his sword Blade slapped Esseta across the back. «Get down!» he shouted, pointing to the chair. It was poor cover for her and the other women, but better than nothing. He himself dropped into a crouch, ready to spring forward, seeking cover among his enemies. If he could get into the middle of them, and even better, if he could knock down the lamp that was the only light in the hallway. Not much chance of that, though, and no chance of his surviving it. The women might be able to make their retreat, though, andA sudden explosion of sound from outside made the spearman and the archers stiffen. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the street, men shouted, horses neighed. Then crossbows began to go off, and men began to scream.
The spearman whirled around and thrust his head out the door. A second later he reeled back into the hallway, a spear rammed through him from chest to back. He threw up his hands and fell. As he did, he crashed against one of the archers and the man’s crossbow fired. The bolt went into the back of one of the eight men facing Blade, flinging him so violently forward that he knocked down several of his comrades.
Whatever the cause, the enemy was falling into confusion. Blade snatched up the chair with his free hand, hurled it into the middle of the enemy, then followed up with his sword.
The confusion among the attackers promptly became total. Some tried to run forward to meet Blade others tried to retreat toward the door. Some just stood where they were, unable or unwilling to do anything. Blade’s sword flashed and hissed in a deadly arc, and two men reeled toward the wall, trying to stop the blood from gaping wounds. He heard a gurgling cry, and saw Esseta cutting the throat of one of the men who’d been knocked down. The remaining archer fired, and the bolt thunked harmlessly into the wall.
Now the men in the hallway might have broken and run, but Blade and the women were pressing them too closely. They didn’t have time to even turn around, let alone run. A man on the floor kicked out wildly, and Esseta tripped over him and went down. Another man tried to stamp on her, but as his foot came down so did Blade’s sword. The man’s leg came off just below the knee, and Esseta gasped and spluttered, drenched in a torrent of blood spraying from the stump. The man screamed and fell almost on top of her.
Then a sword was slicing the air toward Blade’s head. He whirled to avoid it and his foot slipped on the blood now inches deep on the floor. He threw out his other leg for balance, and got it tangled up in the chair. He threw out both hands in a last desperate effort to keep himself upright. His free hand slammed into the wall, and then his head slammed into the heavy iron bracket holding the lamp. A roaring explosion of pain and fire threw him down into blackness.
Blade’s last thought was that it was a bloody stupid way to die, tripping over a chair just when help had arrived.
Chapter 17
For the second time in this Dimension, Richard Blade found himself waking when he’d expected to be dead. At least this time it was no surprise to wake up in a bed. That he was alive at all could only mean the attackers had been driven off before they could kill him. No doubt Esseta or the horsemen who’d come to the rescue had then taken care of putting him to bed. At the moment his head hurt so much that it was an effort to think farther than that. Blade decided he could spare himself the effort for now and drifted off to sleep again.
He woke up with the feeling that the whole room around him was the color of blood. Then he saw the sky outside the one high arched window, and realized that it was simply the glow of sunset on the tiles of the walls and floor. His headache had subsided, and he felt ready to sit up in bed and look around him.
Wherever he was, it was not in the House of the Night’s Tale. Nor was he in the hands of people who believed in any sort of asceticism. The room would not have been out of place in a royal palace. The walls and floor were covered with mosaics, floral patterns in green and silver and blue, with gilded highlights. A tapestry with a hunting scene hung over the bed. The bed itself was a massive affair, elaborately carved out of a dark red wood. The knobs at the head and foot of the bed were crystal serpents’ heads, set in silver. The sheets under Blade were silk, and the quilt over him seemed to be silk filled with down.
Blade climbed out of the bed. There was a bandage around his head, and another on his left wrist. Other than that he hadn’t picked up a single scratch in the fight in the hallway of the House of the Night’s Tale. Not bad, even if he had ended the evening by tripping over a chair and knocking himself silly on a lamp!
He walked toward the window, and was just about to reach it when the door opened. Two elderly eunuchs came bustling in. When they saw Blade standing near the window, they frantically urged him back to bed. They even grabbed his arms and tried to drag him. Blade’s temper flared at this. If the two eunuchs hadn’t been so old and so obviously afraid of being punished if something happened to him, he would have been tempted to knock both of them down.
The two eunuchs led Blade back to the bed and then summoned a doctor to examine him, two more eunuchs to bathe him, and four maidservants with a meal. The food was excellent-lamb stew, bread, several kinds of fruit, and some really good beer-and served from silver vessels with enameled or gilded lids. Blade was more certain than ever that he was in the care of some high-ranking notable of the Baranate. He wished he could get to the window and look out, to orient himself, but every time he tried to get out of bed the two senior eunuchs seemed ready to throw a fit.
It was dark outside by the time Blade finished eating. The servants were clearing away the dishes when the door suddenly swung open and four huge dark-skinned men strode in. They wore the trousers and necklaces of the Baran’s infantry, and also blue turbans and thigh-length tunics of chain mail. They positioned themselves two on either side of the door. As they did, all the servants prostrated themselves on the floor, hands outstretched toward the door.
Blade was suddenly tense. There was only one man in Dahaura who received this honor. Before he could even wonder what he ought to do, brisk footsteps sounded in the hall outside and the Baran of Dahaura strode through the door.
The Baran was not really tall enough to stride properly. He stood only about five-and-a-half feet tall and was slightly plump. Hair thinning on top and a long drooping mustache didn’t improve his looks. But he carried himself so well and moved with such assurance and dignity that it was hard to be aware of his physical shortcomings. The way the Baran carried himself reminded Blade of the Master of the Hashomi. Both had the same air of knowing that no one would disobey them, stand in their path, or attack their dignity.
The Baran also reminded Blade of someone else he’d seen, but for a moment Blade couldn’t think who.
Then the certainty seemed to explode in his mind. The merchant who’d been attacked in the Street of the Perfumers! The surprisingly agile merchant, who’d worn mail under his robes and vanished like a puff of smoke while everyone else was busy with the fight! The merchant had been the Baran, disguised with a beard and perhaps padding under his robes.
Blade kept his face blank, in spite of the sudden shock. He didn’t know why the Baran had been in the Street of the Perfumers in disguise yesterday. He was quite certain the man wouldn’t care to have the matter discussed where so many ears could listen.
The Baran made a sweeping, graceful gesture with both hands, drawing the servants to their feet as if he’d pulled on invisible wires. Another gesture sent them scampering out the door. A third gesture sent two of the guards after them, to stand outside. Their comrades closed the door and stationed themselves on either side of it. They said nothing, but kept their eyes fixed on the Baran. From the Baran’s use of nothing but gestures to give his orders, Blade suspected the guards were deaf-mutes.
The Baran came over to the bed and walked briskly in a circle around it. His eyes were on Blade all the time. They were large eyes, dark, intense, but for the moment showing nothing.
Finally the Baran sat down cross-legged on the floor and folded his hands in his lap. «Well, Demad Blade. Are you surprised to see me here?»
Blade wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Demad was a rank-a fairly high rank, too-among the gentlemen in the Baran’s personal service. Once again he carefully kept his face straight, as he replied, «Not entirely, Lord. Not after my dealings with-a certain merchant, who found himself beset by thieves in the Street of the Perfumers yesterday morning.» If the Baran was going to spring surprises, Blade intended to do the same.
The Baran’s round face split in a smile that made him look positively cherubic. «Ah, you know the merchant, then?»
«I do, lord. My eyes have been trained, so they have a certain skill in such matters.»
«More than I have in disguising, eh?»
«I would not dispute the Lord Baran of Dahaura, not in such a matter.»
The Baran laughed out loud. «Your eyes are skilled, and so is your tongue. It is fortunate that not many in Dahaura have such skills. Otherwise my comings and goings in the city would become as dangerous as some of my councilors always said they were.»
He shrugged. «Doubtless the ill-luck they predict will overtake me some day; and then my sons can arrange the succession as they see fit. Meanwhile, I do not see that I have any choice. I cannot see and hear the real life of Dahaura with the eyes and ears of others, no matter how much I may trust them or respect their wisdom.»
«That is a wise course that does you great honor,» said Blade. The compliment was sincere, in spite of the formal wording he felt was necessary.
The Baran smiled again. «If you are going to spread flowery praises upon me like compost on a garden, I may sell you back to Kubin Ben Sarif. I have a thousand men around me who think they render a great service by pouring honey into my ears. I have only a few who use their wits and their strength for better purposes. I have taken you from Kubin’s service and made you a Demad in mine in the hope that you will prove another of these useful men. If I am to be disappointed, however-«Another shrug.
«I will do my best to see that you are not disappointed, Lord Baran,» said Blade. «I will do better, I think, if someone explains to me what has been happening while I have been asleep here.» It might be presumptuous to ask the Baran of Dahaura for an explanation of anything, but Blade would have been willing to question God to get information he needed.
The Baran did not appear to be offended. «I will be happy to do so. To begin with, the man you chased into the canal was a master in the Thieves Guild. The Thieves take offense easily. When it is a question of avenging a master, they are willing to face even the wrath of Kubin Ben Sarif.»
«Some of them seemed to have doubts about that,» said Blade, remembering how Esseta’s threat had stopped the advance in the hallway.
«I know,» said the Baran. «I have personally spoken to Esseta as well as to Kubin. Like you, Esseta will be joining my service. I do not imagine that you will complain about having her here in the palace?»
«Not at all,» said Blade, smiling. He suspected that the Baran would complain even less. The ruler of Dahaura was said to have a robust appetite for women, and also high standards. Esseta would certainly satisfy both the appetites and the standards, and would hardly object to sharing the Baran’s bed for however long he found her pleasing.
«But we wander far afield,» said the Baran. «The Thieves Guild met that same afternoon, and it was decided to move against the House of the Night’s Tale. They wanted you and Esseta above all, and were prepared to kill anyone else in their path. They had also found a willing traitor in Hadish. Kubin Ben Sarif was not happy about that, I might add. I suspect that a good many of his people will be answering some very sharp questions in the next few weeks.»
«Poor Kubin,» said Blade, with a wry smile.
«Indeed,» said the Baran. «He wanted to keep you around to help with the questioning, and was most reluctant to dispense with your services. However, it was not impossible to persuade him in the end. I am the Baran, after all, and I also paid him five hundred mahari. I have also promised him the services of the Busud-Barani, the Eyes of the Baran. Not you, though-I have other things for you to do when you become one of my Eyes.»
«Your Eyes,» said Blade carefully. «They are-those who watch your enemies?»
«Yes. And from time to time strike them down. They need to be men who can think as well as strike, like you.»
«I see,» said Blade, still cautious.
«I trust you do,» said the Baran. «Many of the people who might be fit for this sort of work think it beneath them. One of my Eyes might come from the oldest nobility of Dahaura, but he may have to spend ten months as a porter in the storerooms of a brewer. But again, we wander from the events of last night.»
The rest of the story was told quickly. More than thirty members of the Thieves Guild descended on the House of the Night’s Tale, and through Hadish’s treachery they got in. They would have done their work and been gone in a few minutes except for Blade’s fight. From first to last he’d killed or crippled ten men. He’d delayed the rest until the City Riders could come up and kill or capture most of the rest. The Baran himself had been with the City Riders, and he’d been firmly in charge of the situation by the time Kubin Ben Sarif arrived.
It had been an embarrassing night for Kubin, all things considered.
«I trust Kubin will not suffer for this,» said Blade. «He did me no injury, and I would not play a part in any move against him.»
«On the contrary,» said the Baran. «He has promised to organize the Assembly of the Brothel Keepers against the Thieves Guild. Many in the assembly will listen to him because they owe him money or favors. Others will listen because they know he commands some of the best and most reliable fighting men in Dahaura.» The Baran smiled complacently. «I do not think the Thieves will find the Brothel Keepers an easier prey than they found the House of the Night’s Tale.»
The Baran rose to his feet and was halfway to the door before Blade remembered the Hashomi. He raised a hand to call the Baran back, but the ruler of Dahaura only stopped and shook his head. «No, Blade, no more tonight. You have wounds to let heal, and strength to regain. Also, a friend is coming to you, who will be better company than I. Whatever you have to say can wait a few days.»
The guards threw the door open and swiftly followed the Baran out. The door remained open, though. Blade lay back on the pillows and tried to relax, in spite of all the thoughts bubbling in his mind. A soft voice made him sit up again.
«Greetings, friend.» Esseta was standing in the doorway, dressed in a green robe, her hair falling down her back. She looked very much like a seventeen-year-old girl.
Blade laughed. «I’d say I was surprised to see you, but at this point
nothing much would surprise me.»
«I can imagine,» said Esseta, smiling. She pulled the door closed behind her and walked across the room toward the bed, undoing her robe as she did. It fell to the floor. Underneath she wore another robe, this one of light silk that covered everything but concealed nothing. She did not take that one off until she climbed into the bed beside Blade.
As his arms went around her, Blade could not help thinking of the Hashomi one last time. The Baran had to know. On the other hand, he’d said he would hear Blade again in a few days. Certainly the Hashomi were not going to bring Dahaura down in a few days-not when they faced a man such as the Baran seemed to be.
Then Blade was no longer interested in anything except Esseta.
Chapter 18
Blade’s room was in a tower of the White Palace, one of the five palaces in the Baran’s private citadel. He was there for a week, until the doctors pronounced him entirely fit and recovered.
The week was tedious. Blade was confined to the room by the doctor’s orders, and even if he hadn’t been he couldn’t have wandered freely in the palace. There were guards at every stairway and in every corridor. Even the Baran’s most trusted men could go only where they were supposed to, when they were supposed to.
Esseta spent two nights with Blade, and he did not lack female company on the other nights. The Baran saw to that. He also visited Blade twice, once bringing the scroll that proclaimed Blade a free citizen of Dahaura with the rank of Demad, once just to talk. The second time, Blade was finally able to tell of his adventures among the Hashomi.
