by Джеффри Лорд
No matter how many orders a general gives, it still takes a certain amount of time to pick fifty good fighting men, equip them, and brief them for a complex and dangerous mission where any one of fifty things could go disastrously wrong. Although Blade did his best, he could not be in six places at once. It was nearly midnight before he led his force out of High Royth. They passed out through the West Gate, the same one he had passed through from the other direction as a chained prisoner only a few months before, and moved out on the Royal South Road at a canter.
When they were safely clear of the rich men’s villas and scattered farms that clung to the fringes of the city, they turned sharply back to the west. Although the road narrowed almost to a trail, they kept on without slackening their speed. The raid was a desperate project at best; it would be simple suicide in daylight. By the road they were using, the camp was no more than three hours’ ride west of High Royth, which should with luck give them two full hours of darkness for their work.
Blade’s estimate was close enough. The chimes in the camp’s shrine to Myonra, the war god, were chiming the third hour as they stopped their horses just in sight of the camp but beyond the ranges of its sentries. The turncoat soldiers were apparently concentrating entirely on defending their camp and not bothering to send out patrols, even foot ones, to cover the surrounding roads. This was a mistake, and Blade intended to take full advantage of it.
The light of the moon and the torches in the camp made it fully visible. It was a rectangle two hundred yards by three hundred, with rammed-earth walls eight feet high surmounted by a row of wooden palisades rising another five feet and sliced through all along their length by arrow slits. Inside, the tents were arrayed in smaller rectangles, each company with its own defined space, and in the center bulked the larger, permanent buildings. A whitewashed shrine, a red-painted hospital, the black squat arsenal and forge, with clangings and smoke floating up from inside it, the green-painted storehouses. In the very center was a small, square building whose gilded ornamentation blazed in the light reflected from numerous torches burning inside it and also those carried by the cordon of sentries around it. That cordon of sentries meant only one thing to Blade-someone or something important was inside that building. And there could be only one person that important in the camp-Indhios. He turned to Brora and grinned savagely.
«Ready.»
Brora nodded and pulled out a black hood and a length of rope. In a few moments Blade and Tralthos were hooded and bound with knots that would instantly slip apart the moment they exerted a little force. Then one of Brora’s own men bound and hooded him, one of Tralthos’ sergeants took the lead, and the whole cavalcade clattered down the hill, making as much noise as possible with hoofbeats and jangling equipment and whoops of joy.
Inside the hood, Blade could only judge their progress from the sounds that came to his ears. He heard the sentries challenge and an explosion of trumpet calls as the guard was called out, and the sergeant’s voice replying gleefully:
«We have some prisoners that Indhios might be interested in seeing.»
There was a moment’s silence. Blade found himself holding his breath.
«The count is asleep,» replied the guard cautiously. Blade now found himself having to fight to keep from triumphantly shouting a war cry.
«I don’t think he’ll mind being awakened for these three,» said the sergeant with a laugh. «Remove the masks.»
Blade found himself in the middle of a sea of half-dressed soldiers holding torches and lanterns, all staring at him and the other «prisoners» as if they were some prodigious monsters. He tried to look fearful and uncertain. He hoped his expression didn’t show the red blood lust that was filling him at the anticipation of finally coming to grips with Indhios.
The guard commander returned. «The count will see you with the prisoners. Your men can dismount and stable their horses with us.»
Blade waited to see if the sergeant would come through with the cover story prepared as an answer to just that question. «Thank you, but no. We have our own base some miles from here, and our own women and wine waiting there. But you will be welcome to our hospitality there soon. The disturbances in Royth will be making many a wealthy man pack up and head for the country, and the pickings should be rich.» The sergeant had the expression, of a man almost licking his lips in anticipation of plunder.
«Very well. Come with me.» They followed the guard through the gate of the camp. Half a dozen of the troop stayed with the three «prisoners,» leading their horses at a walk up the main street of the camp, while the rest milled around by the gate. They approached the gilt-encrusted budding, its torches seeming even brighter at close range. The sentries drew back to let the horsemen ride up to the door, then turned and snapped to attention as Indhios came out.
He wore a plum-colored robe with black fur trim and a gold chain around his neck, none of the rich attire doing anything to diminish his grossness. The fat hands that came up in a gesture of childish delight at the sight of Blade were covered with rings that winked in the light.
«Ah, the pirate Blahyd. This meeting will be most interesting, though I fear profitable only for myself. I shall have to tell Alixa that you are here. I am sure the poor creature will want to see you, although whether you will find much pleasure in seeing her, as she is now. .»
There being no good reason for further delay and no hope of controlling himself much longer, Blade moved. His wrists flew apart, jerking the ropes clear, and he vaulted out of the saddle straight onto Indhios. The Chancellor weighed more than Blade, but he crashed to the ground under the attack. Before the Chancellor could regain his breath or draw any of his weapons, Blade grabbed the greasy beard and hair and hammered the massive skull hard against the ground until the man stopped struggling.
Now the sentries reacted, swarming in toward the men on the ground, and found the mounted men spurring their mounts forward and bringing their swords out, to form a wall of horses and flashing steel around Blade and his prisoner. Tralthos slashed the astounded guard commander out of his saddle, jumped to the ground, and helped Blade heave the massive form of the Chancellor over the vacant saddle and tie him in place.
By this time the other soldiers in the camp were joining in the circle forming around the horsemen. They were just in time to be hit in the rear by a massed charge of the rest of the raiders. Every man in the force except for half a dozen holding the gate came riding in, swords swinging, to scatter the soldiers in all directions or drive them forward onto the equally busy swords of the men around Blade.
But they could not leave just yet. Blade laid about him furiously for a few moments, cutting a swathe in the men driven back toward him, then grabbed the count by the beard and thrust a torch toward his face. The piggish eyes opened.
«Where is Alixa?»
«I-«The count winced and closed his eyes against the glare and the heat.
«Where?»
«The-the back room. You-«
But Blade had already dashed the torch to the ground and charged into the house, chopping down one soldier who tried to bar his way so much by reflex that he hardly noticed the man falling and writhing on the floor. He spotted a door leading to what must be the back, tested it, found it locked. He stepped back a pace, seized the count’s chair, a massive thing suitable for a massive man, and hurled it like a catapult stone against the door. Lock and hinges both screeched apart and the door fell with a crash.
Alixa stumbled out. Her eyes were blank and staring, her hair tangled and hanging down her back, and she wore only a greasy and blood-specked white shift. She was not a small woman, but Blade scooped her up under one massive arm as though she were a child and left the building at a run. He flung her over his horse as easily as he would a basket of fruit, vaulted into the saddle, and pulled her against him as he bellowed:
«All right, everybody. Time to move out!»
A few hardy souls tried to form an infantry line across the main street of the camp, bu
t the full weight of the fifty charging horsemen swept over them and left them lying motionless or writhing on the trampled and blood-smeared earth. The troop charged out into the darkness, swung left to get onto the Royal West Road, and settled down to put as much distance between them and the camp as possible in as short a time as possible.
Whether because they were too stunned or simply because they had no cavalry to spare, the Ninth Brigade did not pursue the raiders. The first sign of military activity Blade and his men met, in fact, was just after dawn when they rode back into the suburbs of High Royth and met a troop of the Guard Cavalry. The captain of the troop was a trifle skeptical of Blade’s story until he saw who was riding trussed like a slaughtered deer across the back of a horse in the middle of the band following Blade. After that, he grinned broadly and waved them on. Blade rode into the city with a great confidence in the good sense of the soldiers of Royth, whatever he might think of their King.
They had to interrupt Pelthros at breakfast to present Indhios, a breakfast he was eating with the countess on the very balcony where she and Blade had dined the evening before. Pelthros, Blade noticed, looked clear-eyed now, and he was wearing a mail coat and a rather more efficient-looking sword than his former ceremonial weapon. He rose as they approached, laid down knife and fork, and stepped forward a pace to glare at Indhios.
«Well, Chancellor. If you are responsible for what has happened these past two days, there is a heavy burden on you. And there will be a heavy punishment, if you are indeed guilty.»
Blade once again wanted to take Pelthros by his beard the way he had taken Indhios and bang the King’s head against something hard in the hope of knocking some sense into it. Wouldn’t the King ever come to a decision about this traitor who had all but ruined Royth?
«You can punish me if you want to,» growled Indhios. «But it won’t do you any good. You won’t outlive me by much, you artistic fool! And that bitch-whore beside you-«Before anyone could react, he swung one clublike arm into the stomach of the guard on his right, snatched the man’s sword with the other hand, and charged straight at the King. Pelthros jumped one way, the countess jumped the other-not fast enough. The sword drove through her just below the right breast and came out her back. Letting go of the sword, Indhios turned to face them.
«You’ll be damned lucky to die this easy,» he growled, turned back to the railing, and with one heave of his arms pulled himself up and over. Blade snapped from his paralysis in time to see Indhios land on the stone a hundred feet below. He didn’t bounce. Soldiers were already clustering around the body when Blade turned back to the countess.
«Larina, I was a fool to-«
«He-was a desperate man. I-should have-told-you-he might do-this. Don’t blame-yourself.» Her hand clutched at his, and she died.
Blade was conscious of Pelthros bending over his shoulder, looking down at the small, still body. There were tears in his eyes. «She shall be buried among the Queens of Royth. She did as much as any of them.» He rose and looked out over his capital. «And we have much to do, to complete the work that she-and you-began.»
CHAPTER 18
Whatever had kept Pelthros from hurling himself and his Kingdom unrestrainedly into action, the death of Indhios and the countess seemed to remove it. Pelthros was at his desk or in council for forty hours out of the next forty-eight. At the end of that time, much of what could be done to prepare the Kingdom of Royth for the attack of the pirates had been done.
The army was mobilized and the coastal garrisons reinforced. The navy was to be fully manned and most of its strength concentrated at High Royth, except for the ships out on patrol. The Wardens of the Port were alert for any efforts at sabotage, and patrolled so industriously that no small number of innocent people ended up sharing prison cells with those already arrested during the arms confiscation riots. These riots themselves faded out within a few hours after reports of the true situation were passed around. Most of the citizens of High Royth had not much use for their King but even less for the Neraler pirates.
The dockyards and arsenals were set to work on building new ships and weapons, refurbishing those in storage, and issuing full equipment to those ships and soldiers already serving. The Ninth Brigade was stripped of its standards, most of its officers cashiered, and the enlisted men parceled out into reinforcements assigned to garrisons on the western frontier of the Kingdom, a month’s march from the coast. All the coastal villages were given small garrisons and all the coastal roads patrolled by cavalry.
And there were minor details, such as burying Indhios in a pauper’s grave, making arrangements for a state funeral for the countess, and honoring Blade, Tralthos, and Brora. Tralthos was knighted and given command of a Guards battalion, Brora raised to the rank of captain and given a warship, and Blade further honored with the award of most of Indhios’ estates. It was only when he sat down and forced his mind into old memories that he recalled there was another Blade, who would someday soon (but hopefully not too soon) be called Home, and leave behind all these splendid estates-as well as Alixa.
Alixa had indeed been heavily drugged and kept drugged all during her «protective confinement» in Indhios’ hands. But that was all. Even the drugs wore off within twenty-four hours, leaving her sick, shaken, weak as a kitten, but alive and ready to regain her strength with proper care. Pelthros saw to the proper care personally. Within a week Blade and Alixa could look out at the palace and the lights burning late from their bed.
Blade, however, found himself with little time for Alixa. He was, for better or worse, one of King Pelthros’ generals, and he felt it was high time he started earning his pay. The latest reports to come in (admittedly several weeks out of date, but perhaps the more ominous for that very reason) suggested that the pirates had accumulated nearly four hundred ships at Neral. Half of these at least would be their own war galleys, half hired merchantmen and sailing warships. With such an armada they would have no trouble transporting every one of their fifty thousand fighters and even the ten thousand mercenaries that one horrid rumor reported. By now, the great harbor at Neral must contain so many ships that one could cross it dry shod by leaping from deck to deck.
No one was seriously suggesting that the fleet of Royth should sally out against the island. That would be like asking a flea to put out a furnace by jumping into it, and even the retired generals and admirals whose wine-soaked brains could think of nothing but «the honor of Royth» admitted that much. Without allies, the royal navy could muster perhaps a hundred and twenty warships and seventy to ninety supporting vessels, barely enough to give it some hope of fighting a defensive battle. And they would be without allies. Even if there had been time to negotiate and sign an alliance, the other three Kingdoms had been openly contemptuous of Royth’s declining maritime power for years and were now openly skeptical of its chances of meeting the pirate attack. Royth was going to stand alone.
On land, though, the situation of the Kingdom was far better and gave Blade much food for thought. The royal army of Royth would number eighty thousand men when fully mobilized, and there were also fifty thousand more in local militia units, police forces, customs guards, the Wardens of the Port, and the like-perhaps untrained but not unenthusiastic. Considering the pirates’ lack of experience in large-scale land warfare, it should in theory be easy to meet and defeat them once they got ashore.
The problem was that these troops had to defend two thousand miles of land frontiers as well as six hundred miles of coast, at least half of that coast suitable for the landing of the pirate host. Scattered thus, it would be a miracle if the royal army could mass more than fifteen thousand men in any one place without leaving undefended some place that needed defense. And even assembling that many would take several days, during which time the pirates could put their whole force ashore anywhere along the usable coastline and march inland, ravaging the countryside wherever they went. When the royal army came down on them, they would have plenty of warning and plenty of time to
force it to meet them on ground and at a time of their own choosing. Under such circumstances, experience or no experience, the pirates might well win a devastating victory, breaking King Pelthros’ army and the morale of his subjects.
But there was an idea glimmering in Blade’s mind all through one sleepless night. In the morning he rose, sat down at his desk and wrote it up in a form fit for presentation to the War Council.
The pirates would never send their full strength ashore until they had met and defeated the royal fleet. Suppose that they were led to believe that the royal fleet was as good as defeated even before they appeared on the coast? They would hardly be able to turn down such an opportunity for an easy victory. They would most probably make straight for the nearest spot of coast, anchor their ships, and set to plundering. Blade knew the pirates’ lack of discipline when it came to easy loot; they would scatter all over the countryside in a matter of days, out of all control by their captains. That was the great reason why the pirates had never managed a full-scale invasion before, even more than their lack of prowess at land fighting.
And suppose the pirates could be induced to land and then scatter their forces in a stretch of country within easy striking distance of a large force of royal troops? Springing out of concealment, thirty thousand royal troops could sweep up the pirate detachments one by one. Even if the royal fleet could not then move out and take the undermanned and immobilized pirate fleet in the rear, the blow to the pirates’ strength in manpower would be devastating.
Blade realized that without many details which he did not yet have the local knowledge to supply, the whole plan had an armchair-general flavor that made him pause and would certainly make others object. But those others might also be able to fill in the details. It would certainly start people thinking about ways to get out of the dilemma caused by the pirates’ ability to strike whenever they wished with their whole force. That dilemma was paralyzing the ability of the War Council to plan. Blade realized that Royth was not weak, nor were its leaders, when all was said and done. But they had a problem-a flaw that might be about to become fatal-in their inability to see the strengths they possessed.