The Golden Steed rb-13

by Джеффри Лорд

  Something about the girl struck Blade as familiar. He walked around the table and stared down at her sweating, pain-wracked face. It was the blonde girl from the trio that he had found in his bed the first day. He saw from the look in her eyes that she recognized him also, but pain had made her incoherent. She could only moan and then scream again as the iron pressed into her flesh.

  Blade raised his eyes from the girl to the man torturing her. He did not recognize him, although his gross outlines and hairless face indicated the man was probably a eunuch. But Blade did recognize the badge bouncing on the man's heaving, sooty chest. It was the green falcon badge of Princess Harima's personal household.

  Blade would not give Klerus the satisfaction of showing his feelings on his face. He would not even bother looking at the High Councilor to see his smug and triumphant look. Blade did not need to look to know that such an expression was there. Knowing Klerus, what other expression could he be wearing? But there was no way Blade could beat down the cold sick feeling inside. Was Harima carrying her jealousy into the open now, even against the Pendarnoth?

  The next few days offered no answer to that question. What distinguished them more was the beginning of a minor guerrilla war against Blade, in which he recognized the hand of Klerus much more than that of Harima. Meals arrived late, cold, or sometimes not at all. The properly consecrated servants suddenly became sick, and the suite remained uncleaned until they «recovered.» A crew of masons began work in the corridor leading to Blade's suite. What they were doing besides making a tremendous uproar and choking clouds of dust Blade could never figure out. But the masons were all uncleansed, so Blade had the choice between staying in his suite or bringing work to a halt every time he went out. He chose the latter. But it was obvious that Klerus considered Blade's distaste for the rituals of reverence to the Pendarnoth a weak point. A weak point, moreover, that he was determined to exploit to the fullest.

  Meanwhile reports of the massing Lanyri armies flowed in. It was obvious that some of the reports of their strength were exaggerated. Were they accidentally exaggerated by jittery observers or deliberately exaggerated to make people jittery? That was certainly what was happening, whether anyone intended it or not. Or at least the people in the palace were getting jittery. Blade had no idea what the people in Vilesh or beyond in the country were saying. If Guroth was telling the truth, at least the soldiers were not frightened. Their great-grandfathers had smashed one Lanyri army. They would smash this one quite as thoroughly. Blade hoped he could contrive to make the soldiers' hopes come true.

  The High Councilor was obviously getting more and more nervous about Blade's possible influence. He began sniping at Blade's personal guard, trying to whittle down their number or at least strain their loyalty. Once a well-aimed tile plummeted down from a roof and struck one of the soldiers on the head. He died that night of a fractured skull. After that the soldiers offered to take turns tasting Blade's food before he ate it. Blade tried to keep that a secret to protect the soldiers, but it was no use. Two days later one of the soldiers died in agony after drinking some wine intended for Blade.

  Blade's personal guard was now down to nine men, including Guroth. If it shrank much further, Klerus would be back, insisting that Blade accept a strong guard of men free of any suspicion of Rojag sympathies. Since these men would be even freer of any suspicion of disloyalty to Klerus, Blade did not welcome the prospect. In particular, he did not welcome the prospect of riding out onto a battlefield with men at his back he could not trust.

  The palace troops were now doing mounted drill and archery practice by night, with Blade often looking on. He was returning through the gardens from such a drill session one night, when a noise from above made him look up. The night was moonless, but clear. Enough light came from the stars and leaked out through the narrow windows of the palace to show Blade two crouching figures making their way across the roof. They seemed to be heading toward the wing of the palace where his suite was located. And he was almost certain they were carrying a long dark object between them.

  He did not know whether they had seen him or not. He froze until they were out of sight, then stalked through the garden to the door, keeping under cover as much as possible. Once inside, he broke into a run, ignoring the scattered servants throwing themselves to the floor as he passed. He tore up the stairs to the door of his suite. The two soldiers on duty outside snapped to attention as he charged up. Their eyes widened at the expression on his face.

  «Stay extra alert tonight,» Blade snapped. «There's something peculiar going on.» They nodded and began sweeping the long corridor with their eyes. Blade opened the door and went on into the suite, shouting to the other guards. They poured out of their quarters at a run, those who had been asleep pulling on their swords and boots as they came.

  As the noise they made died away, Blade thought he heard a sound from outside. It was a single soft thump, as though something heavy but well-padded had been dropped from a height. It seemed to come from the balcony outside his bedroom. He motioned the other guards back, except for Guroth, drew his sword, and stalked into the bedroom.

  The double doors leading to the balcony were closed and locked from the inside. It made the bedroom a good deal less comfortable by shutting out most of the fresh air. But it also made it a good deal safer from stray arrows and stray assassins.

  Blade pressed his ear against the door, listening for the slightest sound. But the silence outside was total. He inserted his key in the well-oiled lock. It opened with a faint click. With a crash, Blade kicked the left-hand door open and sprang out onto the balcony.

  He almost stumbled over something long and dark lying at his feet. A body, wrapped in a blanket, its head hooded, and a long rope around its neck. Blade knelt, untied the rope, and pulled back the hood. Then in a single quick motion he jerked the blanket aside and stared down at what lay revealed.

  Curana. Naked, dead, with the signs of prolonged and horrible torture all over her body and on her contorted and blackened face. Driven into her body just below the left breast was a long dagger-a dagger with the green falcon badge on the handle.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Guroth flinched at the expression on Blade's face. Blade's fists and jaw clenched, and he felt the blood pounding at his temples. He knew that he was only a moment away from an explosion of rage that would send him charging down the hall to Harima's chambers, a dagger in his hand, ready for her throat.

  The moment passed, and so did his murderous rage. As his head and his vision cleared, he realized that an open quarrel between him and Harima would only serve Klerus. Curana was dead. Nothing he could do to Harima would bring the girl back. She had been caught up in the mill of things so big that she could never have understood them, and she had been ground to bits.

  And suppose Harima was not guilty of Curana's murder? Daggers can be planted easily-in the bodies of dead girls. Particularly by somebody with the craft and resources of Klerus. He certainly would not balk at a murder if it would sow more trouble between Blade and Harima. Certainly not the murder of somebody like Curana.

  But Harima was jealous of Curana. That had been obvious that day in the garden. Fiercely jealous, and perhaps not only of Curana. There was the blonde girl who had been tortured and branded. Harima's jealousy was not one of Klerus' tricks. It was real, perhaps murderously real. Harima might have done it. Blade couldn't put that possibility out of his mind.

  And because he couldn't put aside the possibility, he knew he couldn't wait until morning to settle the affair. He owed Curana that much. He would indeed make his way to Harima's chambers, carrying a dagger, but he would not put it to her throat. Not at once, at any rate, and he hoped not at all. He would ask her some very pointed questions first.

  His rage had cooled down now into a deadly grimness that did not keep him from thinking clearly and fast. The princess' quarters were heavily guarded. Entering them by night would in itself be a neat trick, and a warning to Harima. But doing
it through the wholesale slaughter of her guards would not help matters. He would have to reach the princess without killing anyone. That meant using his unarmed combat skills, although he would take sword and dagger just in case. Klerus' men might intervene, and «accidentally» kill the Pendarnoth before they recognized him. No doubt Klerus would have the men who made the «mistake» killed in their turn. But that would do little for Pendar and nothing for Blade.

  Blade picked up Curana's hood. A moment's work with his knife and it had two satisfactory eye holes. It was a tight fit, but it would conceal his face well enough. Then he went to the chests and picked out the plainest robe in them, a long gray affair. With mask and robe it would be hard to recognize him as the Pendarnoth. And there were enough men and women in the palace who prowled the darkened corridors in disguise so that one more would not attract much attention. Another clandestine love affair, those who met him would think.

  He checked sword and dagger and turned to Guroth. «I am going to the Princess Harima's quarters. There are some questions I must ask her.»

  Guroth nodded. «I thought as much. But I am certain this murder is Klerus' work.»

  «I am not. Harima is a jealous woman, jealous as only one so young can be.»

  The captain nodded reluctantly. «You are right, oh Pendarnoth. But I cannot let you go and slay the princess. My oath and my honor and my soul forbid it.» His hand moved toward his sword.

  «All may rest in peace,» said Blade. «I swear by the Holy Guardian of Pendar that I shall do the Princess Harima no harm in her body. And her soul I shall leave to the vengeance of the gods if vengeance is called for. That is all I will swear, Guroth.»

  Guroth realized that there was no alternative to accepting Blade's words except fighting him on the spot. And the second was out of the question. He bowed his head and sighed wearily as Blade strode out the door.

  Blade moved swiftly toward Harima's chambers. Although the oil lamps were mostly out now and the corridors sunk in gloom, they were not yet deserted. Several times he flattened himself into alcoves as servants or others on private business passed him. Once he rounded a corner and came face to face with two servants carrying a freshly varnished sedan chair. But his disguise held. The servants merely bobbed their heads in a casual gesture of deference and passed on without stopping or slowing.

  It did not take him long to get within sight of the door to Harima's chambers. But the two eunuchs with swords were on guard as usual, and there was no cover in the corridor except the dim light. In that dim light both eunuchs looked about eight feet tall. Blade waited until he had made sure that one of there was carrying a set of keys. Beyond that he would have to gamble that one of those keys would open the chamber door. Then he shrugged off his cloak to free his limbs for fighting and slipped around the corner.

  In the dimness his silent, stalking approach brought him halfway to the door before the eunuchs saw him. As their heads swung toward him and their eyes widened, Blade leaped forward, his snapping fists up into striking position. He struck low to take the first man in the stomach, then smashed him across the jaw as he folded. The guard went down with his sword only halfway out of its scabbard.

  But in the time it took Blade to polish off the first guard, the second one succeeded in drawing his sword. He came at Blade, the sword whistling around in a deadly arc that would have taken off Blade's head if he hadn't ducked. He kept on ducking, then rammed both fists upward. One connected squarely with the elbow of the man's sword arm. Blade felt bone smash under his fist and saw the sword falter and sag. His other fist came up squarely under the man's chin, so fast and hard that if it had been a spear point, it would have gone straight up into the man's brain. The guard crumpled and went down so fast that Blade had to jump aside to keep from being knocked down by the falling body.

  As the second guard sank to the floor, Blade flattened himself against the wall, listening intently. He had been as fast and as silent as he could, but had he been fast and silent enough? Apparently he had. As far as he could see or hear, nobody moved, nobody spoke. He took the gilded keys from the guard's belt and began trying them on the jeweled lock of the gold and ivory-inlaid door. The third one worked.

  Blade slipped through the door and closed it behind him. Inside was another corridor, darker than the one outside and just as deserted. But here the stone floor was covered ankle-deep in a soft rug and the walls were hung with pastel-colored tapestries. An unmistakable scent of perfume hung in the air.

  His footsteps utterly silent on the thick rug, Blade moved down the hall, keeping as close to the wall as possible. Each time he came to a door, he would pause and put his ear against it, listening for some sound to indicate what lay within. More silence greeted him. Apparently everybody in Harima's household except the guards on duty had gone to bed.

  Then as he knelt to listen by the fifth door he heard someone take the handle inside. He spun about, flattened himself against the wall, and froze, barely breathing. The door opened and another eunuch in servant's livery came out.

  Blade was on him before he could take two steps down the corridor. His hand clamped hard over the eunuch's mouth to stifle any outcry. One leg hooked his feet out from under him, dropping him to the floor. The eunuch stared up at Blade, his eyes wide and staring with stark terror.

  «Where is the Princess Harima's room?» whispered Blade. He made his voice sound as fierce as he could without raising it. The man's mouth opened and shut a couple of times and sweat broke out on his face. «Where?»

  «Far end of the hall. Red… jewels… please…»

  Blade applied a pressure hold to the side of the eunuch's neck and saw him slump into unconsciousness. The Blade rose and headed down the hall.

  At the far end stood a red-enameled double door set with emeralds in the green falcon design. But in an alcove by it stood two more armed eunuchs.

  Blade swore under his breath. But there was nothing to do but try to take these two also. Silent as a tiger stalking its prey, he moved toward them.

  But these eunuchs were more alert than the ones in the outer corridor. They caught sight of Blade and sprang wide apart. Their swords flew clear with a hiss of steel, then they were coming at him.

  Blade's reflexes and training saved him by only the slightest of margins from being sliced into half a dozen pieces. He dropped to the floor, rolled aside as one sword came down, and shot his left foot into the first man's stomach. The kick took the breath out of the man and jolted him back against the wall.

  Now the second man's sword was slicing toward Blade and again Blade rolled and started to get to his feet. But this time he was a fraction of a second slow, and the tip of the sword laid his shoulder open. With blood streaming down his arm, Blade jumped to his feet and aimed a kick at the guard's knee. The guard was fast on his feet though. The kick struck only a glancing blow that slowed him without stopping him. Another sword stroke whistled within inches of Blade's head. This time the guard was slow in recovering and getting his sword back up. Before he could back out of range, Blade stepped in under the sword swing and threw a one-two punch into his opponent's stomach. The guard folded. Before he hit the rug, Blade whirled to meet the first guard.

  He was still on his feet, gasping for air, trying to get enough into his lungs to shout an alarm. The man's mouth was open for that shout when Blade's fist snapped into the side of his head. He thudded to the carpet.

  As if the sound of the guard hitting the floor had been a signal, the door slid open. From the perfumed darkness inside a face stared out at Blade. Small, sharp-featured, pale, framed in dark hair. A scanty white night-robe embroidered in gold. Princess Harima.

  Before he could think about it, Blade was through the door. His hands went up and clutched at Harima's bare shoulders so hard that his fingernails almost broke the skin.

  «Did you kill Curana, princess? I must know this, Harima. I must know what kind of people I must join if I must oppose Klerus. Speak, my lady princess, if you value your life.»
Harima stared at him, eyes wide with terror and mouth open with soundless pleading.

  Then from beyond Harima in the shadows a clear boy's treble voice spoke. The words came out calmly and slowly. «Release my sister, Pendarnoth. She is innocent of Curana's death, though not innocent of jealousy. It is to your honor that you wish the truth about Curana's death. I will give it to you. But my sister had nothing to do with it. This I swear by my honor and by all the gods of Pendar and the spirits of those who have ruled here before me.»

  Blade raised his eyes and looked over Harima's shoulder. In the dim light beyond, with a knife raised in his left hand, stood King Nefus.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The spectacle of the eleven-year-old king standing with a knife in his small hand ready to defend his sister brought Blade to a sudden halt. He realized he had been closer to losing control of himself than he wanted to think about. He had come with the intention of being cold and calm, as he spoke to Harima. Instead, the fights with the guards and the long stalk through the darkness had tightened his nerves and swelled his anger.

  Now he felt the anger subsiding or at least cooling. His voice was level as he said, «I will believe you for now because I must, Your Majesty. But it would be wise for you to make me believe it of my own free will. There must be trust between us before we can plan anything against Klerus.»