Kingdom Of Royth rb-9

by Джеффри Лорд

  «Your Majesty,» began the countess. «When your late brother, the Grand Duke Khystros, brought an accusation against Count Indhios, that the Chancellor was plotting to betray the Kingdom to the Neraler pirates, he spoke the truth.» That, at least, gained her the King’s attention. Then she moved into a rapid summary of what Indhios was plotting, what the pirates were plotting, who was allied with them-and how she and Blade had found out what they knew.

  «And if you seek evidence that would stand before a Grand Court, then consider this-and this-and this,» hauling notes and documents from the flowing sleeves of her gown. Blade could not help admiring the countess at this moment as she stood there, rendered formidable by her keen wits as well as by her beauty. If by some strange chain of events she did mount the throne of Royth beside Pelthros, then perhaps the Kingdom would finally have the political skill in high places that it so sadly lacked and so badly needed.

  Pelthros remained silent and motionless, staring at the pile of documents she was laying beside him on the bed, either unable or unwilling to react. When the countess had finished and stepped back-almost posing, it struck Blade-the King raised his head and said:

  «My Lady. If what you say is true, you are laying your husband’s head on the block.»

  She sighed. It was a marvelously dramatic sigh. «I know that, Your Majesty. But-would you ask me to keep silent about such treason?» Her tone of voice was that of a person who has been driven after long hours of agonizing self-doubt to a yet more agonizing decision. It was also, it seemed to Blade, the tone of a person who hopes to see her remarks someday recorded in history books for the edification of children. If Blade had not known the quality of the mind behind this series of poses, he suspected he would have been either appalled or disgusted or both. As it was, the countess’ acting was so splendid that Blade almost forgot the deadly stakes in the game they were playing.

  Seconds later he was abruptly reminded of them. Feet clattered on the stairs and the door burst open so violently that it crashed against the wall. One of the countess’ guards tumbled into the bedroom, gasping incoherently, blood pouring from his mouth. Behind him other noises poured up the stairs-the clang of steel, furniture crashing over, Tralthos shouting, «Treason! To the King!» at the top of his lungs. Blade grabbed for his sword, remembered as he encountered an empty scabbard that Tralthos had disarmed him, cursed, and charged down the stairs.

  As he came down the stairs at a dead run he met four men with drawn swords charging upward at a pace only slightly slower than his own. Before he could ask who they were, two of them answered the question for him with wild lunges at his chest. They were too excited and hasty to aim properly. He flung himself aside, pivoting on one leg as he bounced off the wall and kicking out in a savage stroke with the other foot. It caught one of the swordsmen off balance, hurling him down the stairs to land with a scream and a thud. Blade chopped the next man across the side of the neck with the edge of his hand, plucked his sword out of the air as the man’s hand went limp and released it, then engaged the other two. They were better swordsmen than their comrades, but far from good enough to match Blade. In a matter of seconds he met one with a stop-thrust, kicked his legs out from under him, thrust the other through the chest while his swing was blocked by his toppling comrade, then slashed down at the fallen man, lopping his head off as neatly as a bunch of grapes. Without waiting to check whether all four were dead, Blade snatched a dagger from the belt of the headless corpse and bounded down the blood-slick stairs.

  He arrived perhaps five seconds after a sweating, swearing gang of nearly a dozen men had backed Tralthos into the entrance to the stairs, where for a moment they could only come at him one or two at a time. Some of the men wore plain tunics whose borders and rich sheen yet indicated high rank; some wore the leather and wool of hired bravos, one the uniform of a Guardsman. Behind them in the chamber Tralthos’ three companions, the countess’ other two guards, and half a dozen more assassins sprawled silent or groaning amid a litter of dropped weapons, smashed furniture, and bloodstained carpeting.

  Blade stormed down the stairs and crashed past Tralthos into the ranks of the assassins with the force of an avalanche. They gave way. In sheer terror at the gigantic bloodspattered figure, eyes incandescent with fury, two of them turned and ran headlong down the corridor, pursued by curses from some of their comrades. Others silently turned to face Blade, wasting none of the breath needed for fighting.

  Odds of ten to one (or ten to two, counting Tralthos) were long but not impossible, since Blade knew himself to be stronger and three times angrier than any of his opponents. He beat down his first opponent’s guard by sheer force and thrust him through the throat, then picked up a second opponent as easily as he would have picked up a wine bottle and hurled him onto the sword point of a third. Two more came at him together. He blocked, backed away into the stair opening, and smashed one man’s weapon down so that he was unguarded long enough for Tralthos to run him through the body.

  There was a moment’s pause as the surviving assassins backed away into the center of the wrecked chamber and stared at the two opponents standing in the doorway-standing between them and the King. Blade was not relieved by this pause. The men were desperate, their lives already forfeit, and if it occurred to them to plough through by sheer weight of numbers the seven survivors might break through the two. Then it would be up to Larina’s dying guardsman and King Pelthros himself. Blade hoped the King knew how to use that sword he had put on.

  Blade saw two of the men look at the others and point to a wrecked table, saw four others go over and pick it up, raising it on end to act as a shield. A human battering ram with the table as its striking end! Blade looked at Tralthos and grimaced. They would have to back up the stairs. If they stayed put, they would be smashed and stunned by the coming charge.

  It seemed to Blade that all the sights and sounds in the room were coming to his senses with incredible clarity-the hacked-off hand still clutching a wine cup flattened by a boot heel, the long splintery sword scar across the polished top of the table facing them, the heavy breathing of the men lifting it to the vertical. Then suddenly a gurgling scream floated down the corridor. The assassins whirled around to look behind them, dropping the table with a crash-and Blade and Tralthos charged out of the doorway.

  Blade vaulted over the table into the midst of the enemy, scattering them, knocking one man clear off his feet so that Tralthos could run him through a split second later. Then he was whirling around, both sword and dagger weaving a deadly pattern, and the assassins were no longer trying to stand and fight, but scattering. Blade sprang aside from one frantic lunge, tripped over a body and went down. His emboldened opponent thrust again, missing Blade’s shoulder but laying open his tunic. Blade dropped his own sword, rolled over like a log straight into the man, took his legs out from under him. Before the man could rise, Blade snatched up the leg of a chair and laid it across the back of his head. The man went limp:

  Blade was conscious of Tralthos skewering one more man with contempt in every line of his thrust. Then there was a tremendous uproar in the corridor, with flaring torches and thundering boots and screams as the last of the assassins went down before a charge of the Royal Guard, a whole company coming down the corridor at a dead run. Tralthos had to stand over Blade waving the Guardsmen away, or they would have laid into him also.

  Blade rose and took Tralthos’ hand. The captain had redeemed himself twenty times over for the little moments of pettifoggery, with four assassins at least to his personal credit. The captain grinned, then quickly knelt down as King Pelthros appeared in the doorway, sword in hand, followed by the countess.

  Not much to Blade’s surprise, the lady found words for the occasion. «Your Majesty, look at this chamber. It is filled with the bodies of men who were coming to kill you-and of faithful servants who died in your defense. Now say if my reports of plots are imagination only!»

  Pelthros, less nimble with his tongue, was silent for
a considerable time. Then he said slowly, «It seems that some of it at least was the truth. I think it is time that I spoke to the Chancellor.»

  «If you can find him, Your Majesty. He may well be fled to the camp of the Ninth Brigade, which he intended to lead into the city once you were dead or captive.»

  «A whole Brigade of my army in Indhios’ pay?» The King looked appalled. «This is beyond reason!»

  «Perhaps beyond reason, Your Majesty,» said the countess, «but not beyond Indhios’ deviousness and treason.»

  «Yes, yes, I understand, I think. Now, my Lady, let me retire to my chambers and peruse these documents you have offered me. After that I will send for Indhios and ask him to explain his doings of late.»

  One does not, with impunity, lose one’s temper and berate a King like an erring schoolboy, but Blade felt himself on the edge of doing so. From Larina’s expression he judged that she did not feel differently. But they could only bite their tongues and shrug their shoulders as the King disappeared up the stairs and shut the door firmly behind him.

  Tralthos looked at Blade. «Gods above deliver us from our King’s lust for justice above everything else,» he groaned. «While he sits like a clerk in his chambers, Indhios may even now-«

  «Of course,» said Blade. «But we need not join the King in sitting idly. Captain, could you take a few of these men and go to Indhios’ apartments? He will not be there, but there may be some of his henchmen to be found who can be made to talk.»

  Blade saw from the expressions on the Guardsmen’s faces that he had struck the proper note and responded to a widespread desire for action. None of the Guardsmen shared Pelthros’ scruples about going straight into action against whoever was responsible for the heaped corpses lying about this very chamber. Tralthos picked out a dozen of the toughest-looking soldiers and led them off at a noisy trot, while Blade mapped out his strategy and snapped out his orders. Actually they were only urgings rather than orders, for he had no more legal authority to command the Guard than he had possessed an hour before. But he had the far more effective authority of a man who sees what-needs to be done and has already risked his life doing some of it. His words were obeyed as readily as if they came from the King or the Commander of the Guard, and squads and sections marched away in all directions.

  Some went as messengers to alert the rest of the Guard-all twenty-two companies-plus the three Brigades of the army barracked in and around High Royth, the city constabulary, and the Wardens of the Port who helped patrol the dockyards. (Blade hoped Brora had properly dealt with any trouble there but could not be sure.) Some went to patrol the corridors of the palace and keep the innocent from roaming about and the guilty from escaping by shooing everybody impartially back into their chambers. (Blade hoped the soldiers would not be too quick with their swords.) Some went to reinforce the guards on the walls to make absolutely sure that Indhios could send no one into the palace for a second attempt at storming the royal apartments. And some remained with Blade, clearing away the bodies and wreckage as much as possible, with eyes flickering constantly down the corridor in case it spewed out more surprises.

  Except for Blade’s orders, affairs hung in their royally decreed state of suspended animation until well after dawn. It was then that Pelthros came down from his chambers, even more red-eyed than before, with the crumpled papers under his arm, and took the countess by the hand. «My Lady, you have done the Realm and Our House a great service.» He had recovered his wits enough to have reverted to the royal «we,» and Blade felt it appropriate to bow.

  «And you too, Champion Blahyd. Never in the four centuries there have been Champions for the Kings of Royth has a Champion so well earned his name.» He swept his arm around the chamber in a gesture as theatrical as anything the countess had ever used. He was obviously about to launch into another fulsome sentence when an officer of the Guard appeared, leading a party of a dozen men dressed like sailors and carrying two large brassbound sea chests.

  «From the dockyard, Your Majesty. They say-«

  «Ay-y-y, Blahyd!» shouted a familiar voice from among the sailors, and Brora dashed forward and grabbed Blade by the shoulders. «I see ye’ve had a rare good night, aye?»

  «Yes, we have.»

  «As was w’ us,» said Brora with a grin. «Your Majesty, there were some traitors among your officers i’ the dockyard. Here they be.» He motioned the men behind him to set the chests on the floor, then strode over to them and flung open both lids.

  The King gasped, the countess gave a little scream and reeled against him; even Blade found his stomach churning. Each chest held a dozen human heads, neatly or not so neatly severed, lying on blood-drenched sailcloth. It was quite a long time before anybody recovered his voice enough to thank Brora, who stood beaming at them over his handiwork. Remembering Festival and Cayla’s hobbies, Blade could not find it in him to become too indignant over Brora’s methods.

  «Well, Brora Lanthal’s son,» said Pelthros finally, then paused again. «You are a-a-thorough man, indeed.» He was apparently trying to find some way of phrasing a compliment, when the countess as usual stepped in (although Blade noticed she kept her eyes averted from the heads).

  «A good spectacle indeed, Your Majesty,» she said. «And perhaps some day soon we shall see all your enemies both here and abroad in a similar state. That would be an even better spectacle.»

  One of these days, thought Blade, Larina was going to overreach herself in seeking for dramatic comments to make at key moments, offend the King, and see all her hopes go up in smoke. Meanwhile, however, she provided a certain amount of entertainment in a situation that promised little besides a long, grim struggle.

  CHAPTER 17

  With the King resolved to move against Indhios, it became possible to send orders instead of merely advice to all the people Blade had previously alerted. Pelthros, to his credit, did not resent Blade’s having jumped the gun. In fact, when he heard what Blade had done, he delivered several fulsome sentences declaring Blade’s wits to be as sound as his arm and appointed him a High Constable of Royth.

  This made Blade the equivalent of a general and made it possible for him to go right on giving orders, which he did. Fortunately, most of the people to whom he gave them did not resent his sudden promotion. They respected him, even though they might have second thoughts about King Pelthros.

  Putting three Brigades plus the Royal Guard on the alert meant twenty thousand regular soldiers available for whatever was needed. This, Pelthros decided, included cordoning off the whole city and conducting a house-by-house search for weapons. Inevitably, this meant confiscating an immense quantity of swords, cutlasses, daggers, pikes, and rusty armor from thousands of peaceable citizens. This in turn led to incidents, some of them fatal to one or both sides. And of course, riots then broke out, and by nightfall a good part of the soldiers were patrolling the streets, keeping High Royth calm, rather than marching out of the city toward the camp of the Ninth Brigade.

  Blade was not entirely surprised that the King’s zeal for action outstripped his judgment about what action should be taken, but he was entirely unhappy about it. As the sunset turned the range of hills beyond the city purple, and the smoke spiraling up from burning houses in the waterfront district obscured the seascape, Blade sat with Larina on a high balcony of the palace and toyed with his gold cup and silver tableware. An ample meal-roast chicken stuffed with chestnuts and raisins, venison pastries, fresh bread, fruit, and bottles of wine-covered a black marble table between them. Blade had not eaten anything substantial since the night before and should have been demolishing the meal at a great rate. But the uncertainty that still dominated the situation was knotting his stomach and making it impossible for him to eat and barely possible for him to sit still.

  Finally, he could sit no longer; he drained his wine cup and stood up. «King Pelthros has done one wise thing so far in this crisis. He has made me a High Constable» His voice was bitter, so bitter that Larina neither smiled nor thre
w back a witty remark. «I am going to take advantage of that.» He began to stride back and forth, even less able to remain motionless now that he was planning, talking in a low voice.

  «The key to the whole situation is still Indhios. The conspiracy will live until we take off its head by taking off his. And the most likely place for Indhios is the camp of the Ninth Brigade. That camp hasn’t been taken. It hasn’t been attacked. It hasn’t been besieged or even properly patrolled! The local troops and the Guard are all too busy fighting some poor wretch of a shopkeeper over his grandfather’s halberd! We don’t even know that the Ninth Brigade isn’t marching on High Royth at this very moment! If it is, there’s nothing to stop it but a few cavalry patrols. And once it’s through the gates and over the walls, the citizens that Pelthros’ damned foolish orders have alienated will join it, and we’ll finally have the popular uprising we couldn’t have had otherwise!» He was so furious at Pelthros’ obstinate folly that he let his voice rise almost to a shout.

  With an effort he controlled himself. «A small force of picked men, disguised and heavily armed, might be able to make it into the camp and kill or capture Indhios. After that, I doubt if the Brigade’s officers will move on their own. They’ll probably try to make terms. If Pelthros has any sense, he’ll at least cashier them all.»

  Larina smiled knowingly. «And you will be leading this small force? I might have guessed it.»

  Blade shrugged. «As I said, I’m a High Constable of Royth. I should be able to find arms and horses for fifty men without anybody asking stupid questions. Could you call two of your guards, Larina? I would like to send messages to Captain Tralthos and Brora.»