The Lords of the Crimson River Part 3

It wasn't. If the Duke and his Marshal weren't blood kin, Blade knew he'd like to hear the explanation for their looks. However, he hadn't heard a word on the matter from any of the Lords, who'd been looking at Alsin and the Duke every day for years. If this was one of the things that Nice People Didn't Talk About, then Blade would be one of the Nice People.

The greetings finished, Alsin told the story of the battle and what Blade did. By the time he'd finished, most of the Lords of the war party had crowded into the hall and were listening as intently as if they'd never heard the story before. Blade also noticed that some of them kept looking nervously over their shoulders toward the hall door.

"-like a Lord, so it seemed that his story was worthy of belief," finished Alsin. "Your Grace, I lay the matter of Lord Blade in your hands."

The Duke stared at Blade, who now realized that the man was extremely nearsighted. It didn't affect his dignity, and Blade doubted that it affected much else. He was the sort of man who would look twice as hard to compensate for seeing only half as well!

"Certainly you have the look of a Lord, and I have never known Alsin to be less than truthful. So you shall kneel like a Lord, not like a Helper." Blade cautiously s.h.i.+fted to one knee. "Now, Lord Blade. Tell me the story of your deeds on the day of the battle in your own words, and be brief."

Blade was halfway through his story when a sudden commotion behind him made the Duke look past him toward the door of the hall. Blade turned to see a darkhaired man, who must have been nearly seven feet tall, shouldering his way through the crowd of Lords. As they gave way before him, Blade saw that the man wore a suit of leather and had one of the Feathered People perched on each shoulder. A broadsword dangled from his waist, looking hardly larger than an ordinary man's dagger. Blade didn't need the whispers to tell him that this was Orric, the Master of the Feathers to the Duke of Nainan. He also didn't need Duke Cyron's suddenly frozen face to tell him that right now Orric was about as welcome as a man-eating tiger.

"Who mumbles lies about me into His Grace's ear?" roared Orric. His voice was in proportion to the rest of him.

Before either Alsin or the Duke could speak, Lord Gennar limped out of the crowd. He stood straight, even if he needed the help of a cane to do so. "I say the truth about what happened to me, and I would not have lived to tell of these things save for Lord Blade," said Gennar firmly.

"I say that what is said against me and my loyalty to Duke Cyron is not true." Orric rested one hand on his sword hilt. "By this steel I swear it."

There was a long silence, and Blade got the distinct impression that everyone was waiting for somebody else to speak. Then Lord Gennar gripped his own sword and drew it.

"By this sword I swear that my words are the truth," Gennar said.

"Then you have spoken words against the honor of a Lord," said Orric, p.r.o.nouncing the ritual phrase slowly and carefully. Each word was like a stone dropping into a well. He lowered his voice and said almost casually, "My honor. I will prove on your body that your words are false."

Blade saw Lord Gennar swallow, but his voice was steady as he replied. "I shall prove upon your body that I speak the truth."

This time the silence was broken by occasional mutterings. Blade heard the word "champion," and saw a look pa.s.s between Alsin and the Duke at the word. Blade drew his knife and took two steps forward.

"I claim right to stand as champion to Lord Gennar. It will be some time before he is fit to fight Orric. Without a champion he must spend all that time bearing the name of 'liar,' or else fight and lose, to meet disgrace as well as death. That will be no true judgment of the Fathers, whatever Orric may have done or left undone."

The Master of the Feathers glared at Blade. "This is no fit champion for Lord Gennar. He is no Lord."

Marshal Alsin's sword was out of its scabbard before the echo of Orric's words died. "He is a Lord, for I have brought him before the Duke as one. He is a fit and lawful champion by the laws and customs of the Duchy of Nainan."

"And I have received him as a Lord," said the Duke, with a sideways look at his Marshal. "Therefore he is a Lord, by my will and judgment. Will you dispute this, in order to pick a fight which will prove nothing but that a healthy man is stronger than a wounded one?"

Blade rather wished the Duke hadn't added the last sentence. From the murmuring it seemed he had the Lords on his side, but Orric was growling like a hungry bear and looked ready to start swinging his sword at any moment. Blade measured the distance to the Master with his eyes, and s.h.i.+fted a couple of steps to the right, to make sure he was between Orric and the Duke. He also hoped Gennar would keep quiet. All they needed to set Orric off now would be another well-intentioned remark from Gennar.

Apparently Orric could also estimate the odds he would face if he openly defied the Duke. He drew his sword and saluted Blade with such elaborate courtesy that it was like a slap in the face. "So be it. If Lord Gennar consents, I shall fight Lord Blade as his champion. Does he consent?"

Gennar's head jerked in an angry nod; apparently he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Very well. I do not imagine that the Lord Blade will have long to enjoy his rank, nor Lord Gennar to enjoy the reputation of a truthful man. But that is as the Fathers will it." He sheathed his sword with more elaborate flourishes, bowed to the Duke, bowed again to all the Lords, and stalked out. Blade noted that in spite of his size he moved with grace and precision.

Then everyone was crowding around, pounding him on the back and shoulders, packed so densely that Gennar with his wounded leg and arm was in danger of being knocked down. Above the close-cropped heads of the Lords, Blade saw Alsin and the Duke exchanging more looks. As soon as he could, he pushed his way through the crowd to Gennar. "I hope I didn't kick you out of the frying pan into the fire by offering to be your champion."

"Out of the-oh, I understand. No. At least I think not. You have put yourself into a bad place, though. Orric will be out for blood, and he has never yet been beaten by any single man. That is why the Duke and Alsin-" He broke off as Blade put a finger to his lips and nodded politely. He would have liked to hear whatever Gennar had to say about the Duke and Alsin, but this wasn't the time or place.

Then Marshal Alsin was shouting in his bull's roar for everyone's attention, and the Lords saw the Duke stand up and draw his dagger. "In all we have just seen, we must not forget that this day we celebrate another victory of Nainan over Faissa. This day and this night we feast, and let no Lord hold back, for you have all deserved well of your Duke."

The cheering echoed around the hall, and Blade saw that his duel with Orric had been completely forgotten. He wasn't surprised. He might be a Lord, but he was definitely a stranger, and no one in Nainan would be much the worse if Orric did hack him to pieces. The thought would have weakened the courage of a man less accustomed than Blade to guarding his own back from all enemies.

Chapter 8.

With all the people crowded into it, Castle Ranit quickly ran short of hot water for baths. Some Lords were able to bribe a bucket or two loose from the cooks. Blade had no money, and no one was willing to accept his promises to pay. Everyone seemed to expect this would be his last night on earth. He would have gone unbathed and travel-stained to the feast if Lord Gennar hadn't shared his own water.

When Blade stepped into the hall for the feast, he was dressed and looked as much a Lord as anyone else in the hall. He had shed his blue shorts and sandals; the former were starting to chafe, and the latter were inappropriate with the hose and tunic he wore. But he still wore the silver loinguard underneath his Lord's attire. Leighton and J would fume if he didn't return home with that. He found the air heavy with the odor of roast meat, candle wax, wood smoke, unwashed humanity, and heavy perfume. Everywhere, Lords drifted back and forth, most of them holding pewter plates of food and horn mugs, many of them with Feathered Ones perched on their shoulders. Along the walls Blade saw servants running back and forth, with barrels of ale and wine, haunches of smoking meat, and loaves of bread so long it took two men to carry them. In addition to the Lords and servants, Blade counted a number of young women, who seemed mostly concerned with staying out of the Lords' way. Their gowns were either short and cut low, or else long and nearly transparent. Unlike most of the Lords, they were all scrubbed clean. If they hadn't been so blank-faced, they'd have been quite decorative.

Everyone except the girls were trying to talk or even shout at once. The squeaking and chattering of the feather-monkeys, the clatter of knives on pewter, and the raw noise of someone vomiting in a corner added to the din. Blade felt like pulling out his knife and silencing a few of the loudest shouters. Instead he elbowed his way through the crowd until he could reach out and s.n.a.t.c.h a plate of meat from a pa.s.sing servant. The Lord who'd been supposed to get the plate swore and glared at him, then seemed to remember that this was the man foolish enough to be fighting Orric tomorrow.

"Enjoy your last meal!" he snarled.

"I'll enjoy it anyway," replied Blade, saluting with his knife before sticking it into the largest chunk of meat. It tasted surprisingly good-a cross between beef and pork, with strong but attractive seasoning. He started looking for a quiet corner to eat his dinner, but didn't expect to find one, since the only spot in the hall free of the general uproar was the Duke's corner.

Cyron was sitting at a small table, flanked by a young man in embroidered robes like his own and another figure wearing a hood. All three had silver plates and cups in front of them. Behind them stood Alsin, wearing full armor except for the helmet. On either side of him was a similarly armored Lord, each carrying a short throwing spear. Behind Alsin and his guards was the stone wall. No one could get within twenty feet of the table without being seen by someone there.

Blade was about ready to leave the hall when he saw Alsin waving at him. He put down his empty plate, straightened his borrowed hose and tunic as well as he could, and walked over.

He was barely down on one knee before Cyron lifted him and offered a cup of wine. It was strong and so sour that he nearly gagged on it, but managed to get it down. "Lord Chenosh, the Lord Blade, who has come among us from a distant land and will fight Orric tomorrow. Lord Blade, Lord Chenosh, son of my son and heir to the Duchy of Nainan."

"I am honored," said Blade. The Duke's teenage grandson rose and held out a long-fingered hand to him. Blade noticed it was his left hand. His right hand was held low and concealed in a mitten of black chain mail.

"I hope you live long enough to enjoy that honor," said Chenosh. "It is ill done, that you must-" The Duke's clearing his throat sounded like a shotgun blast. Chenosh frowned but also fell silent.

"There is no reason I should fear the fight with Orric," said Blade. "Unless his not being here tonight means he is plotting some treachery? I have not seen him, and I should think he is rather hard not to see."

"I should say-so much the better if he is planning some treachery," said the hooded figure in a high, firm voice. "Then he will no longer be a lawful Lord." Two pet.i.te, long-fingered hands reached up and threw the hood back. Blade found himself staring at a small round face framed in s.h.i.+mmering red hair, with immense green eyes, a freckled snub nose, full red lips.... He forced his own eyes to look elsewhere before he violated good manners by staring at the beautiful young woman.

"There might be two opinions on that, my lady," he said. "One of them is yours, the other is mine. If Orric plans treachery, I am its most likely victim. I will get no benefit from Orric's ceasing to be a Lord if I am dead."

Marshal Alsin looked indignant, the Duke's face was a mask, and Chenosh was obviously trying not to laugh. The silence allowed the girl to reply. "I admit your correction, Lord Blade. I did not think how this matter might seem to you."

"I forgive you," said Blade with a grin, which made Alsin look even more indignant. "Come," said Chenosh. "This will never do. Lord Blade, the Lady Miera, my sister."

"Again, I am honored." Blade saw that both Alsin and the Duke wanted to speak but were held back by his presence. He suspected an old family quarrel, one not to be aired in front of strangers. "But I think I see Lord Gennar wanting to speak to me. With Your Grace's leave... ?"

"Certainly. The evening is yet young."

Lord Gennar was nowhere in sight, but he'd saved everyone embarra.s.sment. As Blade turned to go he saw the Duke vigorously pulling the hood back over Miera's head. He still felt her green eyes following him as he plunged back into the crowd.

Blade hardly enjoyed the rest of the feast. The air grew even hotter and thicker with smells, and the wine was too sweet when it wasn't too sour. As the Lords drank the wine and the beer, their behavior became coa.r.s.e. Blade saw them tripping servants with platters of food or pouring jugs of beer over their heads. Some Lords dragged serving girls off into dark halls. One Lord shoved a girl facedown into a puddle of grease and meat sc.r.a.ps when she seemed reluctant to go with him. Blade was about to intervene when another Lord came over and tried to claim the girl for his own. For a minute it seemed there was going to be a fight, and most of the people in the hall appeared to be looking forward to the prospect. Then the Duke came over and forced the two Lords to settle the matter by a duel between their Feathered Ones.

Everybody cleared a s.p.a.ce for the monkeys, making the crowding in the rest of the hall even worse than before. Blade managed to save his ribs only by pus.h.i.+ng back every time someone pushed him. He saw two of the girls in the scanty gowns faint but stay on their feet, held up by the sheer press of bodies.

The two Feathered Ones fought with blunted daggers, but the heat and the wildly cheering crowd put them in a frenzy. They leaped around, stabbing and slas.h.i.+ng at each other hard enough to draw blood even with blunted steel. By the time the fight was over, the loser could barely stand. Its master promptly kicked it against the wall hard enough to break its back. It slid down to the floor and lay there, squeaking pitifully. The winner's master put his arm around the girl's waist and led her off: At least he was the Lord who'd wanted to rescue her, not the one who'd pushed her into the grease!

Everyone immediately started discussing the fine points of the fight, ignoring the dying monkey. Again Blade was about to intervene when somebody else did so first. This time it was Miera, who pushed through the crowd with Alsin in hot pursuit, bent down, and cut the monkey's throat with her eating knife. Then Alsin was upon her, his hands hovering within inches of her shoulders. Obviously he would have liked to drag her off or at least read her a lecture, but she was his overlord's kin. Rage and frustration fought on his face, until the Duke himself arrived and sent Miera out of the hall.

"That was not well done," said a voice beside Blade. He looked around, to see Lord Chenosh standing quietly with his crippled hand tucked into his belt.

"I suppose not. But I was going to do the same thing."

"Ah. I did not mean Miera's boldness, although it will have everyone talking for a week. I meant Lord Barjom's killing his Feathered One. The Feathered Ones have ways of learning which Lords treat them as animals and which are wiser. It will not be long before Barjom can no longer get a Feathered One, even if the Master of the Feathers-" He broke off as he realized Blade might not care to discuss Orric.

"Never mind," said Blade. "Go on. You're saying things about the Feathered People I haven't heard before. I'd like to know about these things." He laughed at the expression on the boy's face and answered the implied question. "Yes, I'm going to live long enough to use what you tell me."

The boy started talking, sometimes gesturing with his good hand. He was well informed on the history and breeding of the Feathered Ones, or at least Blade thought he was. It was hard to be sure with everyone now talking as loudly as if they were calling hogs. Between the noise, the hot air, and the wine and beer, Blade wasn't sure he caught more than one word out of three.

He knew he'd been at the feast too long when someone handed him a silver wire basket of engraved golden b.a.l.l.s and he thought they were ripe fruit. He was trying to bite into one when the laughter of the people around him made him realize his mistake. He held up the ball, saw the number "Seven" in fancy script on it, then put it back in the basket.

By then the crowd was beginning to thin out, as people drifted away or collapsed in corners to sleep off their food and drink. Blade got back to the room he was sharing with Lord Gennar to find his roommate gone. An empty leather wine bottle and a discarded woman's dress told how Gennar had spent the evening in spite of his wounds. Blade started discarding his own clothes, and was already naked when he heard a knock. He picked up his knife and crossed to the door.

"Lord Blade?" came a female voice from outside.

"Yes?"

"You drew the Golden Seven, didn't you?"

"The Golden-?" he began, then remembered the golden b.a.l.l.s he'd thought were fruit. "Yes, I did."

"I am Seven."

"Then come in, Seven." He opened the door and admired the girl as she stood silhouetted against the torchlight from the hall outside. It was easy to admire her, since she was in one of the semitransparent gowns. She was a little on the thin side, but her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full and firm, and both the hair on her head and the hair between her thighs was a rich curly brown. The only thing spoiling the picture was her eyes, which refused to meet his. In the end he had to practically drag her inside and close the door behind her.

In the process her gown was ripped at the shoulder, so it slid down and lay around her feet. Although the night was warm, the girl started s.h.i.+vering. Blade wished she'd stop. The last thing he felt like doing was making love to a girl who was obviously scared half out of her wits. He sat down on the bed. "Well, Seven. Why are you here?"

The question startled her so, that for the first time she actually looked at him, dark eyes widening. "You-you are one for boys? Oh, my Lord, I beg your pardon. Please, don't beat me for saying that. I have spoken-" She could not go on, and Blade had to grip her hard to keep her from throwing herself on the floor and kissing his feet.

"You have not spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I am not a lover of boys, but it was a question you had every right to ask. I say you had the right, and no one else can say anything to either of us while we are here tonight!"

"Then-I may stay?"

"You certainly may."

"Thank you. Thank you." She fell on her knees and started kissing him-not his feet, but other and more sensitive parts of his body. She worked with a desperation which almost repelled him, but also with a skill which aroused him in spite of himself. At last there was nothing for him to do but bury his fingers in her hair and let her finish what she'd begun. Then his release came, and when he had control of himself he bent down, picked her up, and carried her to the bed. She looked nervously up at him as he laid her down.

"Lord Blade?"

"It's your turn now."

"My-turn?" She sounded both interested and frightened at the same time.

He didn't bother trying to explain. He suspected that she'd never met a man who had any thought for her pleasure as well as his own. He bent over her, kissing her lips until they opened, warm and wet under his. At the same time one hand was stroking the side of her throat and the other the inside of one thigh. Then he moved his lips down her neck, along her shoulder, and down on to a breast, where he spent a long time on the nipple....

By then he knew she was enjoying the new experience. Her breath was coming fast, and every so often she gave a little moan. Since he doubted he'd ever be seeing "Seven" again, Blade now set out to give her at least one experience she'd never forget. He put more care and effort into his lovemaking than he'd done at times when his life or manhood depended on pleasing his partner. He still enjoyed every minute of it, and so did "Seven."

At last he let her take him into herself. By then she was hot and wet, utterly willing, utterly ready. Her thighs locked around him, holding him, drawing him on into her, while her hands clawed at his back until her nails broke the skin. Her breath in his ear was almost a roar, and she was fighting not to scream.

Then she did scream, and he felt her spasms spread from deep inside her all through her body. With his manhood buried in the heart of that spasm, there was nothing he could do but follow her. The girl hardly noticed his weight falling on her; she was still shaking and whimpering and sobbing quietly. After what seemed like a long time, Blade found the strength to roll off her. He wrapped her up in his blanket and held her down gently but firmly when she tried to get up and go. After a little while longer, she fell asleep.

Blade knew that tomorrow might really be the last day of his life, in spite of all the confidence he'd shown. If it was, he could at least be sure that he'd spent his last night well.

Chapter 9.

The girl woke Blade well before dawn, and they made love again. By the time he'd seen her safely out, there was no point in going back to bed. Although his duel with Orric wasn't planned until late afternoon, in order to let all the Lords in the neighborhood reach the castle, he couldn't spend the day twiddling his thumbs.

Blade wanted to pick his weapons carefully. He had his commando knife, of course, but perhaps he could arrange a surprise or two for his opponent, and that would take time. Even though Duke Cyron had opened the castle's a.r.s.enal to him some of the men in the a.r.s.enal were likely to be part of Orric's faction, ready to carry tales to their master. He had a breakfast of stale cheese and weak beer, and was at the door of the a.r.s.enal before the sunlight touched the Duke's banner on the castle's keep.

Inside was a treasure house of weapons, enough to make any Home Dimension museum curator drop dead of sheer joy. Blade quickly ruled out the lances, spears, morningstars, and maces as possible weapons for the duel. The lances were for fighting on horseback, and the duel would be on foot. The spears were for hunting or for the Duke's picked guardsmen. The morningstars were no good for defense, and Blade didn't want to use that sort of weapon against a man with Orric's speed and strength. None of the maces would be long enough against Orric's greater reach.

That left him with his choice of about two hundred swords. One thing Blade could tell at a glance: this was a Dimension where swords were for slas.h.i.+ng. For thrusting from horseback they had the lances, for close-in work they had daggers. For everything in between, a Lord slashed or swung rather than thrust. So if he could find a sword which could be given a point before this afternoon, he'd have a real advantage over Orric.

He started examining the swords one at a time, testing them for balance and trueness, bending them to check the temper of the metal, examining the hilts and guards for sound welding. If he couldn't make a thrusting sword to surprise Orric, he at least wanted the best possible conventional weapon.

He was examining what must once have been a two-handed sword with a basket hilt when he heard soft footsteps behind him. He stepped back as he turned, then recognized Lord Chenosh.

The boy held out his good hand in a placating gesture and smiled.

"I'm sorry. I should have remembered that before a duel even the bravest Lord is likely to jump at shadows. I just wanted to get a closer look at that sword."

Blade held out the weapon and Chenosh nodded. "I thought so. You don't want that one. It was used as a roasting spit for a few years, and I don't think its temper is much good anymore. I can't understand why the Master of the Steel keeps it around at all." He pointed at a sword two racks to the left. "Now that one I know is still sound, although you may find it a little heavy in proportion to its length. Since you don't know how much armor you'll be wearing, you-" He went on cataloging the strengths and weaknesses of various swords for quite a while. The absence of bows and arrows, he explained, was the result of a taboo on using archery against men of lordly rank.

Blade listened, trying not to look too surprised, and when Chenosh paused for breath, he nodded. "You seem to know the history of all the weapons in the castle."

The boy flushed and his blue eyes went hard. "The history, yes. The use, no."

Blade realized his mistake. The boy must have heard sarcastic remarks about his crippled hand since he'd reached the age where his healthy comrades were learning sword work.

"I'm sorry," said Blade. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

The boy stared for a moment, then said slowly, "I believe you. Mostly because, other than Alsin, you're the first Lord to apologize for saying-that sort of thing." He hesitated, looked around the room, then lowered his voice. "Lord Blade, may I propose a bargain?"

There was no point in being rude to the boy by refusing to hear him. "If this bargain doesn't require me to do anything against my honor as a Lord, I will consider it. Also, I will not go against any plans your grandfather and Lord Alsin have for me."

Chenosh's eyes widened. "You know they have plans?"

"Yes. It's as plain as their beards, to someone who has traveled as much as I have."