by Джеффри Лорд
Blade introduced himself. «I am Lord Blade, the commander of the fighting men of Morina. You are Arno?»
«I am.» The voice also resembled Zemun Bossir's. «Do you wish me to come to the city with you?»
«Yes.»
«I can do that. My captains will be able to deal with the last of the Wolves.»
It was nearly dark when they rode up to the walls of Morina, but there was plenty of man-made light. The walls were lined with cheering Morinans, waving torches and candles, and outside each gate a tar barrel spewed flame. Blade and Arno rode in, and waited as Serana and a dozen of the mounted guards rode out to meet them.
As Serana rode up, Arno looked on either side of him and behind him, as if to make sure no one was lurking there. Then he raised both hands to his mask, and stripped it off. Blade was surprised that the face underneath was not at all deformed.
Blade's surprise was nothing compared to Serana's. She took one look at Arno's face-then her face turned white under the blood and grime, and her mouth sagged open. She swayed, and for a moment Blade was certain she was going to tumble out of the saddle in a faint.
Then she closed her mouth and said, in a voice that was half a gasp, «Nebon Bossir! You?»
The man who'd called himself Arno of the Mask smiled and nodded.
«But you-you're dead!»
«No. It turned out that I could run fast enough to escape from the Wolves, then lead outlaws well enough to keep the Wolves at a distance. Now I have come home. We let our fires show last night, in the hope of drawing the Wolves off from you, but I see we could not. Well, they are dead one way or another.» He threw his mask to the ground. «How is my brother? And is my grandfather still alive?»
Blade realized with a shock that he'd completely forgotten to tell Nebon anything about Morina's fighting. Fatigue must have driven out the last of his wits! «Your brother Zemun was killed, leading our men in this day's fighting. Your grandfather still lives, but he is dying of an arrow wound received when Duke Efrim's treachery let the Wolves into the city.»
Blade tried to sum up the fighting in a few sentences. Before he was halfway through, he realized Nebon was hardly listening.
«I must go in and see my grandfather,» he said. «Is the city safe?»
«The Wolves who entered are dead or prisoners,» said Serana, forcing a smile. «We shall welcome your return.»
«Yes,» said Blade. «But I don't think you should enter the city until you've got a few of your own men as an escort. There are some in Morina who are of two minds about the House of Bossir.»
Serana's smile vanished and she glared at Blade, who ignored her. Nebon Bossir did not miss the exchange or what it meant. «Lord Blade, I thank you. As you have been honest enough to warn me, may I trust you with my safety until my men come up? I would not leave my grandfather alone in his last hours.» He spurred his heuda forward, and rode straight through the mounted guards and into the city without a backward glance.
As Nebon vanished, Serana finally got her voice back. She shook herself like a wet dog and said unsteadily, «W-what can this mean, Blade? He-he is here in Morina. Yet-he did not sign our agreement, What are we going to do about him, Blade? What can we do?»
Blade shook his head slowly, trying not to laugh at Serana's confusion. It would be cruel, and besides, he suspected that if he started laughing now he might not be able to stop.
Finally, he said, «I don't know what 'we' are going to do. I am not going to be a part of anything you do. I must be on my way. Serana, my lady-Nebon Bossir is going to be your problem.»
Chapter 23
Just to make everything more complicated, Count Drago Bossir began a miraculous recovery when his long-lost grandson returned. His fever left him, he called for wine and beef, and over the meal he told Nebon of the agreement over the succession to Morina.
Serana was not much happier over Count Drago's recovery than she was over Nebon's return. However, there was nothing she could do about either one, particularly not after Nebon's outlaws moved into the city to guard him.
Perhaps Serana had even given up the thought of doing anything drastic about the Bossirs. Blade certainly hoped so. He did know that she would have very little time for plotting. Morina was a shambles, and there were thousands of wounded; and thousands more widows and orphans. In spite of her ambitions and her bloodthirsty streak, Serana knew her duties to these people.
Repairing the damage of the war would keep Serana busy for quite a while. Making sure Morina got its proper share of the spoils of the war would take even longer. In theory, all the newly independent leaders of Rentoro ought to be overflowing with gratitude to Morina for its heroic stand against the Wolves. In practice, Blade knew that few politicians in any Dimension ever gave anybody anything out of pure gratitude.
By the time Serana had time to think of intrigue, she would probably know Nebon Bossir quite well. Blade expected she could also come to like him. He seemed to be an abler man than his younger brother, or at least a great deal more sophisticated. He lacked Zemun's charm, of course, and he had a bloodthirsty streak that matched Serana's. After five years as the disguised leader of a band of desperate outlaws, he could hardly be gentle and kind. In time he and Serana should be able to marry, and the succession to Morina would be safe. Zemun's son, or theirs, would someday reign as duke-as long as they didn't work off their bloodthirsty streaks on each other!
As an additional precaution, Blade sat down in a long private conference with Haymi Razence. When they rose from the table, Razence understood clearly the need for a third party in Morina, a neutral man who was neither Bossir nor Zotair and had armed men at his command. He was willing to be that third party-and Blade was willing to believe he would do the job well.
Two nights later, Blade saddled up the stoutest heuda he could find in Morina, and rode out of the city. He rode fully armed and armored, and in his belt pouch were half a dozen sky-bridge crystals. His destination was the Wizard's castle, and hopefully the Wizard himself.
Blade rode across a land where law and order were coming apart. It was not pretty to see everyone trying to grab the most from the collapse of the Wizard's rule. At times Blade felt a heavy burden of responsibility for this situation. If he hadn't taken a hand, the Wizard might still be ruling in Rentoro and none of this would be happening.
On the other hand, twenty thousand people in Morina would be dead or slaves in the Wizard's castle and mines. This chaos would also have happened if the Wizard left Rentoro and came back to Home Dimension. In fact, the chaos would have been worse, because the Wolves would still have been strong and determined to fight to the last. Nothing was happening now that wouldn't have happened sooner or later.
Blade rode by night and stayed hidden by day. He rode as fast as he could, avoiding other people as much as possible. He stole his food and drink and fresh heudas, and preferred to outrun bandits and stray Wolves rather than fight them. Few challenged him anyway. He looked too tough and well-armed.
Blade was not sure what he was going to find when he reached the Wizard's palace. He was not even completely sure what he expected to find. Certainly the Wizard would hardly feel grateful toward him. On the other hand, the Wizard had been willing to give up his power for the simple chance of returning to Renaissance Italy and finishing his days as Bernardo Sembruzo, Conde di Pietroverde. If he was sane, he could hardly be ready to strike down Blade merely for ending the power that he himself had been so willing to give up.
But was he sane? Suppose a madman waited in the Wizard's castle? A madman, whose power to reach and enslave other people's minds might still be intact?
Then Blade might be riding to his death. He fingered the hilt of his dagger. His original decision still stood. Death would be better than letting the Wizard get control of his mind. It would be a grim and foolish irony to have to kill himself now, after living through the battle of Morina. It would be still worse to become the Wizard's mental slave, living in a shadow world created by his maste
r. In time the Rentorans might storm the castle, slay the Wizard, and free the body of Richard Blade. He doubted they would also be able to free his mind. Far better a quick, clean death here and now.
It was normally two weeks' travel from Morina to the Wizard's castle. Blade made the journey in ten days, in spite of the disorder spreading across Rentoro. The «armies» sent out by the cities and towns were hardly more than mobs, and Blade usually found it easy to give them a wide berth.
The few times he got close to one of them, he had a mild surprise. Three times he saw men in unmistakable Wolf armor, just as unmistakably giving orders and being obeyed. Why not? Blade thought. The Wolves were about the only people in Rentoro with real military training. Vengeance was all very well in its place, but someone was certain to realize that the Wolves were too valuable to kill. Then the Wolves in turn must have realized they had a skill to sell, or at least trade for their lives. Blade wondered if in time the surviving Wolves would emerge as a regular class of professional mercenaries, like the condottieri of Renaissance Italy. The Wizard would appreciate that final irony, if he managed to be around to see it!
As Blade approached the Wizard's territory, the marching armies faded away and even the refugees and bandits became fewer. Most of the people around here seemed to be already dead or else scattered to whatever safety they could find elsewhere in Rentoro. The few Blade talked to spoke of a terrible curse fallen on the Wizard's castle-fire, thunder, plague, Wolves and servants alike going mad. Blade did not believe all the stories, but it certainly seemed that something ugly had been going on at the castle. He began to wonder if the Wizard was still alive.
On the ninth day he was only a few miles north of Peloff, and he decided to risk pressing on in the daylight. That brought him another surprise, much greater than seeing Wolves leading Rentoro's armies and much more pleasant.
He was trotting through an orchard when suddenly a shout ahead made him pull up. Then five helmeted heads rose from behind a stone wall on the far side of the orchard. A woman's head rose beside them, and at the sight of her Blade stopped his wild grab for his sword.
«Lorya! What are you doing here?»
Lorya laughed and whispered quickly in the ear of one of the men. He motioned to his followers to lay down their weapons, and all five men crowded around Blade's heuda. Lorya stood to one side, and Blade saw that she was now tanned and toughened like leather, her hair cut even shorter than before. She wore a loose tunic and baggy trousers, and no on would have taken her for a woman, except for one thing. Her swordbelt was let out to its last notch to accommodate an unmistakable swelling of her waist.
Then Blade became aware that one of the five men was taking off his helmet and bowing his head. «Lord Blade,» he said. «Your Chosen Woman Lorya has been of our band these past months. It was not her belief that she would see you again. Is it your wish that she return to you?»
Blade shook his head. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but he knew Lorya was not coming with him this time. «No. I have business with the Wizard himself.» Instead of staring, the men nodded as if they understood perfectly what Blade meant. He went on. «I cannot take a woman with child into such danger. No, Lorya has found worthy protection here among you. Let this continue.»
«We are honored, Lord Blade,» said the leader. «Will you honor us further by spending the night at our camp?» Blade looked at Lorya for some clue as to what he should answer and saw her nod. She seemed to be trying not to burst out laughing. He would come to the camp, all right-and the first thing he'd do there was get Lorya's story from her. He'd never quite accepted the idea of her being dead-but he'd certainly never expected to find her alive, well, and giving orders to armed men.
That night, over beer and fresh-killed venison, she told him her tale. When the fifteen days of Peloff were over, she waited five more. Then she rode west to a farm. The people there took her in, and believed her tale of being under the protection of a great wizard, the Lord Blade, who had come from a distant land to meet the Wizard of Rentoro.
This tale did more than gain her good treatment at the farm. It prepared the farmer and his neighbors for the events that followed. When the rumors ran across the land that the Wolves were on the march and Morina was rising against the Wizard, they knew what was happening. The Lord Blade and the Wizard had fallen out, and their great duel would bring the Wizard's rule in Rentoro to an end.
By now Lorya had taken the farmer's second son as her lover, and she persuaded him to organize the young men of all the nearby farms as a band of warriors. It did not matter who won, she said-they would have to protect themselves, and neither side could punish them for that. It took some time for a century of fear of the Wizard to vanish, but in the end the job was done.
So now Lorya's lover commanded forty men, half of them mounted, and they patrolled the country for many miles in all directions. They kept the Wolves and the bandits out, and collected some taxes of their own. Lorya herself had learned to use a sword until she was a useful member of the band. Of course, in another month or so she would have to start saving her strength for the baby-
She saw the question in Blade's eyes and nodded. «It is yours."'
«Does your lover know?»
«Yes. I made him swear a mighty oath to treat the Lord Blade's seed as he would treat the Lord Blade himself.»
«And if he breaks that oath?»
«He is not the only protector in Rentoro. If I find a man who is traveling to Dodini, I may go with him anyway. I do not know what is happening in Dodini, but I do not think anyone there will now punish me for defying the Wizard!»
«That seems likely enough,» said Blade. «Lorya, you've done rather well by yourself. I wish you luck-«
«No, Blade,» she said with a smile. «Wish that I go on making my own luck. That is what you told me to do when you sent me to Peloff. That is what I have been doing.»
Blade couldn't argue. He only hoped she could go on making this kind of luck as long as she needed to-long enough to get home to Dodini, long enough for Rentoro to settle down. She deserved to live, and Rentoro needed more cool heads like hers.
Chapter 24
The next morning Blade kissed Lorya farewell, thanked her lover for his hospitality, and rode off to the south. With him as he rode was the knowledge that before dark tonight he might be confronting the Wizard.
In Peloff he saw again what might have happened to Lorya if she hadn't done so well making her own luck. There was no Peloff now, only ashes, charred timbers, and blackened stone, Bodies lay in the streets, most so badly charred that neither decay nor scavengers had touched them. Blade skirted the edge of the town and kept on to the south.
The village on the border of the Wizard's land still stood, but there was not a living human being in it, or a dead one either. Only flies on the garbage heaps and a scavenger dog or two moved among the houses and inns. The people might have evaporated, like dew at sunrise.
Blade climbed to the top of one of the inns and scanned the countryside to the south. He could see no one at work in the fields and no Wolves patrolling the roads, but neither surprised him. The Wolves and everyone else who could get clear of the Wizard's land must have long since done so.
If they could get clear. Everyone he'd met on the road spoke of something terrible and violent happening in the castle. Rumor and panic could exaggerate, but Blade wondered if they could make up such a tale out of thin air. He'd hoped he was through with mysteries in Rentoro, yet here he was, faced with one more!
Blade went downstairs and found dry bread and stale cheese. The water in the well was still clean. He drank and filled his water bottle. Then he mounted his heuda and rode south, past the white posts into the Wizard's empty lands.
In all the miles to the castle Blade did not meet a single living human being. The Wizard's lands seemed to have been depopulated as completely and as mysteriously as the village on the border. Blade began to hope for the sight of a burned house or a sprawled body, anything to
tell of ordinary human violence. He had the feeling that he was riding down the road under the eyes of a thousand watchful ghosts.
Whatever had happened to the Wizard's people, it had happened some time ago. Kitchen gardens were rank with weeds. Livestock wandered aimlessly, browsing on the standing grain, while unmilked cows bellowed in agony.
Mile after mile without a sign of life, with all the defensible points abandoned. The bridges were intact, the fortified houses empty, not a single sentry visible anywhere. Now an army of ten thousand men could march up to the walls of the castle in a single day. Did the Wizard care?
By the time the castle loomed on the horizon ahead, Blade was almost certain his journey was in vain. The Wizard was dead. He had to be. He'd driven his people off, or perhaps killed them, and then ended his own life somehow. He was gone and all his secrets with him.
Yet Blade was not going to accept this idea until he'd explored the castle and seen the Wizard's body with his own eyes.
Blade rode up to the same gate he'd entered before and found it standing wide open. He rode straight in through the gateway and turned to the right. That led to the normal route into the castle. The booby traps and other devices along the route that had tested him and trained the Wolves might have broken down-and they might not have. Blade wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances, this close to his goal.
He found two half-decayed bodies on his way in. They lay on the path side by side, a Wolf and what must have once been a young woman. The Wolf's skeletal hand clutched the hilt of a sword driven through the woman's body. Apparently she'd been fleeing when the Wolf overtook her. Fleeing from what? And why was the Wolf dead beside her? There was no sign of violence on the body or on the rusty armor that still encased it.