by Джеффри Лорд
The suspicions probably saved his life. As they were passing one of the doors, it suddenly slid open. Blade sprang back, dropping into fighting stance. But nothing came out. Instead the four priests darted through the doorway into the chamber beyond. The door rumbled shut behind them, and Blade was alone in the corridor. A second later, he heard from ahead in the dimness the unmistakable rumble of another rock-slab door opening. And a further second after that, the terrifying attack screams of the Death-Vowed split the air of the corridor.
The Death-Vowed themselves came hard on the heels of their cries. Blade had just time to notice that none of the four of them were armed. Then he had to spring clear to avoid their claw-gloved hands. He chopped sideways with the edge of his hand at a neck showing under a white mask and drove the man back. But the man stayed on his feet after a blow that would have killed practically any other opponent. Again Blade had to give way, but this time he did so in a leap that carried him out of reach of the Death-Vowed. And this time when they rushed after him, one of them came on a little faster than the other three. A man sworn to die can be careless of his own life-or simply careless.
Blade met that careless leader with a kick to one knee that stopped him in his tracks. His head in its white bat-mask went back, and he screamed in rage and pain. As his head went back, his throat was exposed. Again Blade closed, again the side of his hand chopped, and this time he heard and felt bone shatter under the blow. Choking, clawing at a throat clogged with bone splinters, the Death-Vowed reeled back against his comrades. They swung to either side of him. Now they could come on fast enough to trap Blade between them. And now Blade could also meet them separately.
Once again he took out a knee with a kick. One man disabled, he turned to the second. The man rushed him, Blade went down, rolling on his shoulders and bringing both feet up. His feet smashed into the Death-Vowed's chest. Blade heard the crack of ribs and a moment later the crack of a skull as the man was hurled back against the wall.
Now Blade rolled hard to the left, taking the last attacker's legs out from under him. The man went down and was still struggling to rise when Blade leaped on him and chopped him across the back of the neck. He stopped trying to rise, and a moment later stopped moving at all. The last living Death-Vowed, the one with the smashed knee, was leaning back against the wall. There was no way for his eyes behind the bat-mask to show a plea for the mercy he did not get.
The whole affair could not have lasted more than a minute at the most. Even Blade, accustomed to the deadly speeds of hand-to-hand combat, found that nightmarishly quick. He had barely managed to work up a sweat, but he found his breath coming fast, as much from nervousness as from the physical exertion. If the attack had been treachery by Isgon, something more would surely follow it.
Blade stood there in the dim corridor for another minute, senses alert and muscles ready to respond to any new attack. Then the rumble of the door from the end of the corridor came again, and three figures came out of the shadows toward Blade. It was Isgon, accompanied by two of his assistants.
Blade relaxed-slightly. The smile on Isgon's face at least suggested good will. But it was only a suggestion.
«You are indeed a warrior,» said the priest. «I had not believed that any man could do what you have just done. You have passed the test set for you.»
Blade nodded and kept his voice cool. «And if I had not passed the test?»
Isgon shrugged and pointed to the Death-Vowed on the floor by way of an answer. «There was a man who slew many of the Holy Warriors at the last High Sacrifice in Tzakalan. A strong spirit, one Ayocan would have loved. But King Hurakun pardoned the man, so for the moment he is beyond our reach. Did you perhaps in your life as a warrior encounter this man?»
Blade managed to avoid breaking out in a cold sweat while Isgon was saying this. He also kept his eyes fixed on the other's face, once more watching for any signs of hidden motives. He couldn't find any. For the moment he would have to be content with that.
So he shrugged and said, «Not that I know of. There are many strong warriors one meets in a life of war. Some are friends, some are enemies. One cannot remember them all.»
«True,» said the priest. «But there can be few such as you. If you can teach as few as a hundred men to do half of what you have done here today-well, Ayocan will have here in Gonsara a mighty force of Holy Warriors. A mighty force indeed. Not even the Supreme Brother in Tzakalan will possess or command such a force.» There was a glint in Isgon's eyes as he said this. Once more Blade had to fight back a grin. The chief priest was obviously ambitious to make the cult of Ayocan in Gonsara as independent as possible from the Supreme Brother in Chiribu. If Blade could help him in those ambitions, he would be helping to provoke a split in the cult. And «divide and conquer» was a good way of dealing with any enemy in any dimension.
«I will not promise anything for the moment,» said Blade quietly. «First I must see what kind of men I will have to train. But I will teach them everything they are able to learn. This I swear by mighty Ayocan and by my own honor as a warrior.»
Isgon grinned. «Indeed, and I will not now ask you for more. Come with me, and I will show you to your chambers.» The priest turned and motioned Blade to follow him.
Blade did so. But as he did so, he saw a fast-vanishing flicker of movement in the dimness farther down the corridor. It disappeared so quickly and silently that Blade could only make out that it was small, slight, and wearing a dark robe.
A spy? And if so, for whom? Was somebody keeping an eye on Isgon? Somebody higher up in the cult of Ayocan? Blade would not be surprised. Blade knew that if he himself were the Supreme Brother of the cult, he would certainly be keeping a close watch on the Gonsaran temple mounds.
Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. He was committed to aiding Isgon in creating a local force of Holy Warriors. And he was further into the confidence of the local cult than he had ever expected to be. For the time being he would let matters rest there, keeping his eyes and ears open.
Chapter 15
Blade had nothing to do for more than a week, except sit in the chamber assigned to him, eat the lavish meals served to him, and plan the best method of teaching the Gonsaran temple mounds' Holy Warriors. He toyed with the idea of picking out some of the best and making them loyal above all to him, but rejected it. Most of the men assigned to him for training would probably be genuine believers in Ayocan-Isgon would see to that. And the Elder Brother would no doubt also have some of these true believers spy on Blade. Isgon might be ambitious, but he would not let his ambitions lead him into carelessness.
At the end of the week the first ten men arrived for training. Blade looked them over, rejected two as unwilling to accept discipline, and agreed to start training the other eight. He asked and received permission to train them in not only the Chiribuan axe and sword, but in the use of the Gonsaran spear. Otherwise they would be at a fatal disadvantage against Gonsaran soldiers, as far as reach went. Blade would not deny any soldier he was training anything that might save the man's life. Besides, it would hardly make much difference what training he gave Isgon's private army.
He threw himself into the training, for it was a job he had done often, enjoyed, and did well, no matter what the circumstances. None of the eight men he was training had any arms training. Most of them had been common laborers. At first they brought nothing to their training but enthusiasm, strong backs, and apparent devotion to Ayocan.
They responded rapidly, however. Within two weeks Blade knew that he could soon turn over to the eight the training of the next batch of recruits. It was a system that he had used before to create an army-or at least a fighting force — out of nothing. Train a handful of men himself, then have each one train another handful, and so on-a pyramid with himself at the peak (or base).
As much as he threw himself into the training, Blade did not forget his real mission. He did indeed keep his eyes and ears open, and by doing so learned a good deal. Some of th
is merely confirmed what he had already suspected. But some of it was entirely new.
Isgon was indeed ambitious-and not merely for making the Gonsaran temple mounds largely independent of the Supreme Brother in Tzakalan. He wanted to build a base of power from which he could infiltrate the mother cult in Chiribu and eventually achieve his own election as Supreme Brother. He knew of the present Supreme Brother's ambitious plans for embroiling Chiribu and Gonsara in a war of mutual destruction. But what he could not see was why the present Supreme Brother should be the only one to reap that rich harvest.
So Isgon wanted his own force of Holy Warriors. He was already accumulating a considerable force of the Death-Vowed-hence his willingness to expend four of them in testing Blade's qualities as a warrior. But the Death-Vowed were only useful for assassination and sowing terror. A regular and disciplined force of Holy Warriors would be needed to follow behind the Death-Vowed. The Holy Warriors would strike through the chaos the Death-Vowed had created, bringing the cult of Ayocan to power in Gonsara.
That was Isgon's plan. When he had a good force of the Holy Warriors available, he would call up his two hundred-odd Death-Vowed. They would scatter through Dafar, some having specific targets, such as the king, queen, and army commanders, others told only to strike and slay as widely as possible. Chaos among the rulers and terror among the people would follow. There would be frantic efforts to bring soldiers back from the frontiers to deal with the suddenly rampant cult of Ayocan.
But in the meantime Blade's force of Holy Warriors would seize control of Dafar. Messages would go off up the river to Tzakalan, calling for Holy Warriors from the temple mounds of Chiribu. King Hurakun would not dare to stand in the way of their being sent, for the people of Chiribu would tear him apart if he tried to prevent the just punishment of the impious Gonsarans. A steady stream of Holy Warriors would come down the river, and in a few weeks Isgon would rule in Gonsara. Not over its ruins, either, or at least so he hoped. He would be ruling over a largely intact kingdom, its population and wealth available for the cult's use-and for his own use as well. He would be more than an Elder Brother, he would be a king in all but name. And then how could his Brothers in Chiribu refuse to make him the next Supreme Brother of Ayocan?
The plan was breathtakingly bold and full of gambles. In fact, it was hardly short of the schemings of a megalomaniac. But certainly it was a spectacularly attractive alternative to merely sitting and accepting one's status as a poor relation of the mother cult in Chiribu. And it might just possibly work. Even if it failed, many innocent people might die, and much damage would be done. This Blade wanted to prevent if possible. But for the moment-and the moment lasted better than two weeks-he saw no way to do it.
There were no drugs in his food-he checked every bit of food and drink brought to him for the telltale odor. So they trusted him at least that much. But on the other hand, when he had finished his day's work and his evening meal, they locked him firmly in his chamber. It was forbidden, they said, for any person not a Vowed Brother of the House of Ayocan to be at large in the House by night. So Blade had no chances for any of the night-time ramblings that had brought him so much information on other occasions. There was nothing for him to do at night except sleep. And since the day's work was tiring, he usually slept well. But he slept with a knife under his pillow.
One night early in the third week, he was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a faint click at the door of his chamber. Instantly he was fully awake and alert. As slowly as a cat stalking a bird, his hand crept under the pillow and grasped the hilt of his knife. Otherwise he moved no part of his body except his eyes, which swung toward the door. It was solid rock like most of the chamber doors in the temple mounds, but so well balanced and greased that it moved almost soundlessly. The faint click came again. Unmistakably, someone was moving the lever that opened the door. And then the door began to slide quietly open.
Blade drew his knife slowly out from under the pillow and held it ready. The door continued to open, until there was a gap wide enough for a man to slip through. In the next moment a dimly seen figure darted through the gap on soundless feet. As it approached the bed, Blade recognized it. It was the same one he had seen slipping away down the corridor into the shadows, the day of his meeting with Isgon. The spy, now turned assassin? Perhaps.
The figure moved silently toward the bed until it was just outside Blade's striking range. Through half-closed eyes he watched it. It was small and slim. Blade wrinkled his nostrils slightly as he caught a new odor in the air. Perfume, cutting through the heavy air of the underground warren. Perfume?
As his brain completed the thought, he moved. A tremendous jerk of thigh and stomach muscles snapped him into a sitting position. At the same time his powerful hands closed on the blanket, whipping it into the air and letting it drop down over the figure. A squeal of dismay came from inside the dark hood as the blanket settled down over it, enveloping it. As the stranger raised futile arms to ward off the blanket, Blade rolled hard out of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. He kept on rolling, sweeping the figure off its feet. It let out another squeal of dismay and pain as it landed, and still another squeal as Blade's massive body slammed down on it, pinning it to the floor.
Blade jerked the blanket away with one hand while he held his knife to the stranger's throat with the other. «Now, my friend, who are you? And what are you doing slipping into my chamber by night?»
«You're hurting me,» was the whimpered reply.
«Yes, and I'll hurt you a damned sight more if you don't tell me who you are.»
«What kind of bully are you, anyway?» An aggressive protest.
That question was so unexpected that for a moment Blade couldn't come up with a proper answer. Then he said, «Not a bully. Just a warrior who has lived a long life by being short with people who invade his chambers by night. Now-are you going to answer my questions?»
Silence. Blade sighed wearily and began slitting through the cloth of the hood with his knife. Soon enough the face under the hood was revealed. And then Blade stopped cutting, and stared hard at it.
His visitor was a young woman. The heavy cosmetics worn by Gonsaran women made her seem older. But they did not disguise the firm, smooth curves of cheek and neck. And there were other firm, smooth curves, which Blade's searching fingers detected under the robes. A young woman. Not the likeliest of betrayers or assassins, but a possible one. Blade did not relax his alertness.
«What are you doing?» said the woman. Her voice was sharp now. She had recovered her confidence.
«Finding out if you're armed,» replied Blade. His fingers continued their search, slipping down under the neck of the robe. He felt the woman stiffen as his searching fingers brushed across a breast-and he also felt the nipple of the breast stiffen. He looked at her face. Her eyes were wider now, and a small pink tongue crept out to moisten her lips.
«All I have are women's weapons,» she said. Her voice was lighter now as she added, «And with those I think I am well equipped.»
Blade was well on the way to finding that out for himself. His hands moved on down the woman's body inside the robe. She wore nothing under it, and the satiny skin was smooth and soft under Blade's fingers. They drifted down past the breasts, which were small, almost girlish, but as firm as perfectly ripened fruit. Both nipples were fully erect before Blade left off stroking them.
A slim waist, firm muscles under the skin, with a small navel set neatly in the middle. The woman giggled and wriggled like a happy baby as Blade's fingers probed there. Then he kept on moving. As he did so, the robe began to loosen from the woman's body, and his hands found more room to do their work. As her slim neck and bare shoulders came into view, dark as old honey in the dimness, his hands reached her thighs. She gave a little whimper as he softly worked around from the satiny skin over her hipbone, down to her knee, then bit by bit up the insides of her thighs.
He moved upward inch by inch, and with each inch his fingers moved
the woman moved also. At times she writhed back and forth with small moans and gasps, at other times she stiffened and her eyes went blank and hard. In her mind there was obviously something drawing her toward what her body wanted, and something else pulling her back. Perhaps she was a virgin? Perhaps, but she would not be one for long. The call of her body was too insistent for her to deny it, and it was sounding loudly in Blade as well.
But he took his time, gradually stripping the robe off her with one hand while his other roamed up and down her body. Several times she gave little sobs as his moving hand closed on her mound, playing in the thicket of wiry hair that covered it. Twice she tried to clamp her thighs together, to trap the hand that was working at the seat of her passion. Once Blade snatched his hand away just in time, and she clenched her fists and writhed her hips toward him in search of that maddeningly desirable hand. The second time, he let the solid warm flesh of her inner thighs trap his hand, because he felt the hairs between them already dripping wet with her mounting arousal. There was no holding back in her mind any more, only the urgent call of her body to go ahead.
Blade decided it was time for him also to listen to that same call. With his free hand he stripped the robe entirely away. For a moment he let his eyes rove over the naked body on the floor before him, gleaming darkly. Her breasts were as small and perfectly formed and firm as his hands had suggested. Her waist would have been narrow but for a neat little belly-roll, and her thighs were plumply well formed. She made him think of a small but perfectly matured little bird, with just the right amount of flesh in just the right places. As his swollen phallus plunged between her legs, she moaned and heaved her hips upward, spreading her thighs apart. Blade drew his hand free and lifted her onto the bed. She did not move, did not speak a word, made no sounds except more little whimpers.
For Blade there was no reason at all to wait, and every reason imaginable to go on. But he was slow and careful in his movements as he raised himself above her. And he was even slower and more careful as he let himself down into her.