by Джеффри Лорд
She stood watching him, hands clasped behind her back and feet braced apart, while the High Captain, chairman of the Council, ran through the formal greetings in a chilly and perfunctory manner. Not even for a traitor would the Brotherhood now violate a proclaimed Truce, but the control Blade saw written in many faces was stretched thin.
When the High Captain had finished speaking, the sudden silence and the eyes turned his way told Blade that it was now up to him. «Captains,» he began. «I did indeed flee from Neral, and it was indeed after slaying a fellow Captain. But that Captain and certain others-«he glared at Cayla, whose face showed no reaction «-for reasons of their own attempted to murder me by night in my own quarters. I defended myself, slaying Esdros and some of his companions. I plead guilty to bad judgment in having fled and suborned my crew to help me flee, rather than await the justice of the Brotherhood.» He hoped that last bit of flattery would go over well with some of the senior Captains. But he could see no change in the frozen faces staring at him.
«So I came to Royth, and far from being welcomed as a traitor to the Brotherhood, was cast in prison and only liberated by unexpected influences.» He would not have Larina’s name dragged into this debate if he could avoid it; he owed her that much. «As I gained the freedom to move about, I saw that Indhios was planning to betray not only the Kingdom of Royth, but afterwards the Brotherhood, and rule over the ruins of both. He was a man to whom it came naturally to betray everyone in succession.» That, at least, was no lie. «So I set myself to defeat him, for the good of the Brotherhood, and did so. How, I am sure you all know.» There was still no thawing of the faces confronting him, but heads began to nod. The silence went on until the High Captain cleared his throat.
«Blahyd,» he said shortly. «You have proof of this?»
«I do.»
«Let it be brought before the Council, then.» He turned sharply on one seabooted heel and strode away toward the aft cabin, the other Council members following him, all except Cayla, who glided like a prowling cat over to Blade and hissed in his ear (at least it sounded like a serpent’s hissing to Blade’s tight nerves), «Remember, Blade. I will denounce you if I once suspect you of telling a lie.»
Blade nodded. «I still serve the Brotherhood, Cayla. Why should I tell a lie? It seems to me that you have more to conceal. How many of the Captains will fight to restore the rule of the Serpent Priestesses, I ask you? Denounce me, and they will find out all you so freely told me.»
Cayla sprang back as though she had stepped barefoot on hot coals, and her face turned white and red and then white again with rage. Her lips tightened until they were bloodless; then she let out a long, whistling breath and nodded. Blade waited until she was out of earshot, then let his own breath out in a long sigh. He was gambling that Cayla was still so committed to her fantasies of reviving the Serpent Cult that a threat to reveal them in open Council would intimidate her. If he could keep her from stripping the «cover» off his-and Royth’s-cover story, he felt he had at least a fighting chance of convincing the Brotherhood to follow the desired course.
It was indeed a «fighting» chance that the Council gave him, when they sat in the great cabin of the flagship to listen to his story in more detail. After three hours of presenting his own arguments and listening to the Council wrangle, Blade felt as wrung-out and sweat-soaked as he had felt after more than one battle.
He had spent only a few minutes of those three hours reviewing what had happened between his flight from Neral and Indhios’ fall. Whether they held him innocent or not, the Council apparently had little interest in that part of his adventures. Indhios was dead; he could not be revived. «So,» as one elderly Captain put it, «we need to play with the cards Blahyd dealt us, whether we will or no.
What really kept the Council’s attention centered on him was his story of the panic in Royth. No part of that story was a total lie. Everything happening in Royth over the past few weeks was, he knew, known to the pirates. It was simply a question of shading the truth, of revealing the actions but hiding the motives.
The royal navy of Royth-fled northwards, its commanders crying out that they were too weak to fight the pirates, too weak to do anything but hide themselves until the pirate fleet had departed. (Savage laughter around the Council table; words such as, «By the time we’ve departed, they’ll have naught left to defend save the bare bones of the Kingdom!») Likewise, the royal army, scattering into garrisons in a frantic effort to defend every key place at once. (The pirates-and even more, the mercenary officers-didn’t even bother to laugh at that. They only grinned fiercely.) High Royth in turmoil, stripped of its garrison, some citizens making desperate efforts to arm themselves, others clogging the roads inland in headlong flight, some simply cowering in their houses, hoping to escape notice when the pirates stormed over the walls. (More mocking grins.) The gold and precious stones from the royal treasury dispatched north, in a hastily assembled convoy of wagons
«How much of the treasury?» from the mercenary commander, and the Council looking at their hired man with sourness at his intervening in the discussion.
«I’m not absolutely sure. I heard reports of at least twenty million crowns, perhaps half again that much. It was a huge convoy-two or three miles of wagons, and a whole cavalry brigade riding escort.» Blade broke off and tried not to grin too openly in response to the lust for gold that he saw spreading across every face in the Council-except Cayla’s.
«Mmmmmm,» said one of the Captains after a long silence. He sounded like a small boy just offered a lifetime supply of ice cream.
«I think-«began another Captain, paused, then went on quickly. «I think they are practically throwing their gold into our hands. And if we take all their gold. .» He seemed too stunned by the prospect to be able to finish his sentence.
«Yes,» said the High Captain. «If we can take all of Royth’s gold at a single blow, it won’t matter whether or not we defeat their fleet and army this time. They will be so crippled that we can return with an even larger force next year and finish them off.»
One of the oldest Captains, judging from his completely white hair and beard, began to bristle. «Are you suggesting that we hire even more mercenaries, bought soldiers not of the Brotherhood, rather than rely on our own strength? Where then is our victory-our honor-?»
«Where is your sense, Fenz?» snapped the High Captain. «Royth is our enemy, and it matters little how we smash them if smash them we do. Does anyone care to join Fenz in disputing that?» The High Captain’s hand dropped toward his sword hilt. Fenz glared at the High Captain and fingered his dagger, and Blade saw others do the same. Again, he had to fight back a grin. Sowing dissent among the Council Captains was something he had hoped for but hardly expected-Cayla’s voice sliced through the building tension like a knife cutting fruit. «Why count our gold before we have it in our hands? Blahyd, do you know where this mighty convoy was going?»
«Not certainly. I stole a map that shows the general area where they were going to hide the gold, but many different cities are marked on it.»
«Where is that map?»
«Aboard my ship.»
An immediate flurry of orders as men were sent out to bring Blade’s files from Charger and others to bring in wine and food. Blade, in spite of his taut nerves, found he was ravenously hungry, and in politeness the Council permitted him to eat with them. Eventually-perhaps three-quarters of an hour, although seeming to Blade like three-quarters of a day-both the meal and the perusal came to an end. The High Captain handed the map, now well splotched with gravy and wine stains, back to Blade. Then he rose, placed his hands on his Baldric of Office, and addressed the Council according to the traditional formula:
«Captains of the Council of the Brotherhood. I, High Captain, say unto you: let each say yea or nay that we shall sail north in search of the horded gold of the Kingdom of Royth. And as ye hope for the blessing of Druk and honor among your Brothers and the great glory of the Brotherhood, speak only your true
mind, and when all have spoken abide by the decision of the greater part.» He began calling out the names of the Captains. There were twenty-five in all, and when all twenty-five had spoken out, the «decision of the greater part» stood nineteen to six in favor of going north.
Blade sagged into his chair at the release of tension. He had done his part in the plan, whatever happened to him now. And Cayla seemed to have some ideas on that score, the way she was looking at him. He was not surprised when her voice again cut in.
«What are we going to do with Blahyd?»
«What do you want to do with him, Captain?» said the High Captain. A number of other Captains chuckled and still others threw out bawdy remarks that made Cayla again flare red, then turn pale and speak in a clipped voice.
«He deserted the Brotherhood, even if you think he did not betray it. And now he has convinced us to sail north in search of Pelthros’ gold. What is there to show he will not desert us again, running off to warn Pelthros so that His Artistic Majesty can lay a trap for us?»
Blade thanked both the local and Home Dimension gods that his plan did not depend on his being free. The forces of Royth could carry out their part of it whether he was with them or not, or even whether he was alive or not. Cayla was obviously determined to do as much to him as the Council would let her do-or as much as the Council could be persuaded to overlook. And she had raised the possibility of a trap. Oh well, if she hadn’t, there would have been somebody else intelligent enough to do it. The nods around the Council table indicated that much.
«Very well, Cayla,» said the High Captain. «You are quite possibly right. Will you take charge of him yourself? Or do you wish another to bear the burden of carrying out your idea?»
Cayla bridled at the High Captain’s tone of voice, but said nothing in reply beyond, «I will accept him»
«Good.» The High Captain rose again and spoke in his formal tone. «The Council of Captains of the Brotherhood has decided. Let the orders go out: we sail north. And may Druk prosper the Brotherhood in this undertaking.»
When Blade came on deck, escorted by four mercenaries with short swords and javelins, the Council’s decision had already hurled the fleet into a frenzy of activity. Men were swarming up the flagship’s rigging to make extra sail and double-man the lookout posts. Rainbow strings of signal flags soared up the mizzenmast and were answered in kind from nearby ships. Amidships, two dozen armed guards were climbing down the rope ladder onto the deck of Charger. Blade saw Brora standing in their path, tension and alertness written in every line of his stance, and shouted down to him to let the guards go where they would. Farther aft, a crew of sailors under the profane urgings of a bearded bosun’s mate was breaking out a thick hawser and paying it out over the side onto Charger’s deck. Blade realized that both he and his ship would be closely guarded on the voyage north. And afterwards? He had just reached the point of speculating on that when he heard a footstep behind him and turned away from the spectacle to face Cayla.
Although they were almost breathing into each other’s faces this time, he could read no expression in any of her features. She once more had herself totally under control, both body and voice.
«Well, Blahyd, you have won your victory.»
«Sister Captain, the Brotherhood has won it.» He could not relax one bit of his pose as a fanatically loyal Brother, least of all with this bitter, deadly, suspicious woman.
«The Brotherhood is too busy dividing the gold they have yet to see to worry about the difference. I hope-for your sake-there is none. If there is. . «She shook her head. «If you do not betray the Brotherhood, I have no choice but to let you survive betraying me.» Her voice dropped. «And the Sisters of the Serpent.» She bared her teeth in a death’s-head smile. «But if you betray the Brotherhood, there will be none to complain if I avenge both betrayals at once. And I have allies to help in my vengeance.» She cocked her head to one side and directed her eyes over the side at the water, as if she could see through the shimmering surface and the green and blue fading down below into the depths. Blade would not permit his face to suggest that he knew what she was talking about, but he felt a cold chill. It was a stronger chill than the sudden shadow that fell over them both could cause, the sudden shadow of the sails as the flagship came about on her new course northwards.
CHAPTER 20
When Blade came up onto the flagship’s deck after breakfast, he found the same scene that had greeted him every morning for the past week. To seaward a flat, glazed blue sea stretched to meet a glowing blue sky, the sea broken only by the sails of the patrol ships and the sky by a few puffs of white cloud.
Toward the land, the first thing he always saw was Charger, tied up alongside the flagship like a kitten snuggling up to its mother. Men were moving on her decks-the guards, leaning wearily against the masts and railings in postures that reeked of boredom, and her own crew, washing down the decks and airing hammocks under Brora’s supervision. On either side of the flagship a line of merchant vessels stretched off for miles into the distance, their sails furled and decks bare except for morning working parties and officers taking the air like Blade. These were the deep-draft transports, which drew too much water to anchor closer in or run up on the beach.
Farther in toward the land a line of galleys and smaller merchant vessels tugged at their anchors. Beyond them still another line of masts rose into the air, marking the galleys actually drawn up on the beach. Amid those masts rose the thin curls of blue smoke marking the cooking fires of the camps on shore.
Then the land climbed into swelling green hills, marching away and blurring into the faint haze that shrouded the landward horizon. The nearest hill was surmounted by a scar of black-the ruins of a small fishing village. The ruins had been smoldering as late as two days before, long after the flames and screams that rose into the night as the pirates sacked the village had died away.
It had taken the pirates two days to sail north to their chosen landing point and another day to put ashore their landing force, fortify the camp, and anchor or beach their ships. Cayla’s fear of a trap had had some effect; the pirate fleet was less vulnerable to a seaward attack than Blade had hoped it would be. But it would most certainly be short-handed. On the fourth day the landing force had marched off into the hills, more than thirty thousand men in four great columns. Occasional faint spots of fire in the night and distant pillars of smoke by day showed where they were spreading out across the countryside in search of the gold horde of Royth. Otherwise, they might as well have all marched off the edge of the world-or into a sealed trap laid by the army of Royth. Blade hoped it was the latter.
The flagship was coming awake around him now. Smoke curled up into the almost windless air from the galley smokestack as the cooks prepared breakfast. All the fresh provisions were long gone; breakfast would probably be another unappetizing mush of pounded biscuit and minced salt meat. Amidships, the officer of the watch was looking importantly around him, taking bearings on the neighboring ships to make sure the flagship had not dragged her anchors during the night. Forward, one of the anchor windlasses creaked as a working party hauled buckets of seawater for washing the decks thirty feet straight up from the sea. One of the armorers squatted on the deck with a large pot of paint, carefully dipping the tips of catapult bolts into it.
The faint brrrum-brrrum-brrrurn of an oarmaster’s drum beating out a cruising stroke came over the water to Blade. Turning, he saw Sea Witch gliding past, Cayla for once sitting rather than standing by the tiller, her unhelmeted blonde head gleaming bright in the sun. She raised an arm in mocking salute as Witch cut across the flagship’s stern, heading out to take up her patrol station. Blade was glad when the other ship passed out of his field of view. Seeing Witch and Cayla reminded him always of her murmured words about the allies she had, to deal with Blade in case of treachery.
Yet somehow on such a day, all stillness and color and sunlight, it was hard to believe in the slithering submarine monstrosities that Blade’s
imagination conjured up out of his memories and his fears. He had seen no signs of them during the voyage north or the week of waiting. Perhaps they could not survive so far from the haunted waters of Mardha where they laired.
But he had also seen no signs of the royal fleet of Royth. That was much less welcome. How long would the fleet wait in its northern lair before bursting out and taking the pirates in the rear? They were less than a day’s sail north of the pirate anchorage. Had Pelthros’ admirals developed cold feet? The trap had to close on both the pirate fleet and the pirate army to make the victory complete. If only their army was destroyed or driven away, the whole thing might have to be done over again in a few years, regardless of what he had said in the Council. Blade found himself sweating with more than the rising heat of the sun and pacing the deck like a caged animal, until he caught himself and forced himself to sit down and at least look calm.
Breakfast arrived-what he had expected. He pulled out a wooden spoon and sat down on a canvas stool to eat. The shrieks of squabbling seabirds floated up from aft as the cooks emptied the garbage over the side.
Then all at once Blade saw smoke gush into the air at the far northern end of the line of merchant vessels. Some seconds later a dull thud floated down the line to his ears. He saw eyes swivel to follow his own gaze and took a closer look.
Oily gray-brown smoke was pouring up from a ship anchored close in the lee of the little peninsula marking the northern end of the bay. Even as Blade watched, another ship spouted smoke and this time flame, and splashes went up beside a third one. Somebody up on the peninsula was doing remarkably good shooting with a siege engine firing-what? Pots of burning oil, most likely.
Blade didn’t wait to wonder who was attacking or why at this time. Only one force could be striking at the pirates here and now. Why the royal fleet was attacking its superior opponent in broad daylight was something to consider later. Right now there was not a split second to spare for either him or Charger if they wanted to get clear of the pirate armada safely.