The Lords Of The Crimson River

Chapter 22

Invaders from the Eastern Kingdom descended into the lands of the Crimson River, wreaking havoc as they pillaged and burned the villages. The war had begun in earnest, and Blade and his men were doing everything in their power to hold the invading force at bay until Chenosh returned with reinforcements from the Kingdom of the West.

Now, however, leading his riders across a little river in the outlying lands of the Duchy of Nainan, he was cautious. The river was swift flowing, and after the rains of the last few days it reached the knees of the horses. With fresh mounts this wouldn't have been a problem, but there wasn't a fresh mount in the whole band.

How long was it since there had been? Too long, Blade thought, and shook himself back to alertness. There were bands of King Fedron's Eastern raiders in the area, possibly a danger but also possibly victims. Either way he had to be watchful.

Beyond a fringe of woodland on the far side of the river was a village. The enemy had been there before-some enemy. A small village like this was easy prey for one of the invading bands and could just as easily fall to a band of common outlaws, who roamed freely in the lands of the Crimson River now that war had put an end to whatever degree of order the Dukes had maintained. Although the outlaws seldom dared to attack armed Lords, Blade and his men were still on their guard as they rode through the village.

They saw nothing except the usual roofless houses, charred beams, and the wreckage left by hasty flight or looting. They saw no human or animal bodies, but still inferred that the village must have fallen several days ago. The survivors would have long since slipped back, under cover of darkness and carried away their dead comrades for burial, their dead animals for food.

The riders left the village behind, rode around the hill beyond it, and came to a small castle guarding a stone bridge over another river. The bridge was intact; since outlaws and invaders both had to be able to move freely, they seldom destroyed boats or bridges. The castle, though, was another matter. One gate lay flat in the mud, splintered and scarred, the other hung askew from a single twisted hinge, the top of the keep was smoke-blackened, and crows circled around to bodies that dangled over the battlements.

«The Easterners,» said Lord Gennar from close behind Blade, who agreed silently. The outlaws never attacked a Lord's castle. Their survival depended on not losing too many men, and above all on not forcing all the Lords of the Crimson River to unite against them. Only King Fedron's men took castles.

Almost any soldier will learn discipline when his life depends on it, and for weeks Blade's Lords had seen men die through lack of it. At this point they could have given lessons to the Grenadier Guards in Home Dimension. Blade fell back to the rear and watched them ride into the castle courtyard two at a time. When he joined them, some were already dismounting and beginning to search the ruined buildings, while others climbed the walls to keep lookout. Having performed this same act twenty times before, the Lords could do it on a black rainy night, and without a single order from Blade or Gennar.

Blade dismounted, and Cheeky jumped from the saddle to the ground. The feather-monkey, too, had his duties: to search the ruins for living Feathered Ones, who might be able to give information about what happened. Cheeky hurried off, yeep-yeep-yeeping in an inquiring manner and stopping every few yards to listen for a reply. Blade wondered if he listened with his mind as well as his ears.

Blade stood by his horse in the middle of the courtyard while his men swarmed through the castle, looking for human survivors, bodies in need of burial, weapons, and food-in roughly that order. He doubted that they'd find much of anything in this castle, which looked fairly well picked over already. There wasn't even the telltale stench of long-dead bodies lying unburied in their chambers.

Suddenly Blade became aware that someone was watching him from the gateway. He turned to see a tall, thin man in a ragged farmer's smock, standing in the shadow of the hanging gate. Blade determinedly refused to admit the idea of ghosts. Either the man was there when they came in, or he'd slipped past the lookouts.

«What do you want?»

«Please, Lord Blade-with your permission-you are Lord Blade, aren't you?»

«I am,» said Blade.

«I am-speaker-for the village-the village between the forest and the river.»

«The burned-out one that way?» Blade pointed, and the man nodded. «Now I ask you again-what do you want? You will have a much better chance of getting it if you ask quickly.»

The man gathered his breath and his nerve, and spoke in a rush. «You are Lord Blade, who is giving the steel to those who are not Lords. Forty men of my village are in the hills near you now. We want steel, to use against the men of the East. We know you are the man who can do this for us.»

As he started repeating himself, Blade held up a hand for silence. Several Lords were watching them, but none of them was Lord Gennar, the only one Blade would trust to join in these negotiations. Gennar would hold his tongue afterward, even if he did not approve the man's request.

Blade wasn't entirely sure he approved it himself. Until now, «giving the steel to those not Lords» meant turning his back while the peasants made off with spare weapons from looted castles or dead invaders. This villager was asking that his men be given weapons, the same way they might be given shoes, bread, or new plows. He was asking that Blade not just overlook the activities of unlordly men ignoring the Lords' laws, but that he actually do something unlordly himself.

If Blade did what the villager was asking, there'd be hell to pay. Most of the Lords were still afraid of lordly weapons in unlordly hands. Most would be ready to turn against Blade were he to help make their fear a reality.

On the other hand, if he refused the villager's request, the word of his refusal would spread, and the villagers who thought of him as a Lord who knew that they were worth more than their own swine or goats would feel betrayed. Twice, villagers' warnings had saved his men from ambushes, and once, a village had given them food, which saved their horses. This kind of help would dry up if he refused.

At least he could play for time. «My men just came to this castle a few moments ago, as I am sure you know,» he said. «We do not even know if there is any steel to use left here. If there is not, we cannot help you. Surely you would not ask us to give up our own weapons?»

«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 of 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.