The Lords of the Crimson River Part 5

"Then don't remind me of it, Romiss. 'Cheeky' is the name he's been given by a Lord. Therefore it's a lordly name."

Romiss swallowed harder, realizing he'd gone further than even a Lord as tolerant as Blade would probably allow. "My apologies, Lord Blade."

"Accepted," said Blade, and it seemed to him that even if Romiss was somewhat withdrawn, he was at least a decent man, unlikely to have anything to do with any of Orric's treachery. Blade sheathed his sword and strode up the stairs, with Cheeky clinging to his hair. As they reached the top of the stairs, Cheeky squealed in delight, then turned his rump to his late comrades and waved his tale in derisive farewell.

Chapter 11.

It was longer than Blade expected before Duke Cyron called him to a private meeting to hear the story of how he came to be an exile and a wanderer. Blade had plenty of time to prepare his "cover" story. He used all his experience in intelligence work, and drew freely on several Home Dimension medieval romances, a couple of historical novels, and some of the more romantic episodes of English history. The result might have made a fairly good novel in itself. Blade made mental note to write it down, in case he was seized with a desire to take up writing historical novels if he lived to retire! Certainly the story seemed to convince Duke Cyron that he was not only a Lord but a man who could be trusted. Three days after the meeting, he was invited to a private dinner in the Duke's chambers, with Alsin, Chenosh, and Miera, as well as Cyron himself.

"You've seen how much our Lords are willing to spend on their pleasures, haven't you?" said Alsin. He was sipping wine as he spoke, but Blade knew the question was more than casual. He'd seen another of those looks pa.s.sing between Alsin and Duke Cyron over the candied fruits. Then the servants left one by one, until the lordly guests were alone and Alsin himself was pouring the wine.

Blade nodded. "I've seen the spending, at least. I won't judge the pleasures. Most of them aren't what I would care for, but I've lived a very different kind of life for many years. I've had less time for pleasures of any sort than the Lords of the Crimson River."

Another look pa.s.sed between the Marshal and the Duke. Blade wondered if they had a telepathic link. So far he hadn't found one with Cheeky, but he and the feather-monkey seemed to understand each other well enough without it.

Duke Cyron sighed. "Do you think perhaps, Blade, the Lords' pleasures are excessive and that harm will come to the Duchies? I cannot command you to speak plainly, but I will be much happier if you do."

Now we're getting close to the heart of things, thought Blade. Aloud, he said, "If the Duchies have no enemies, they can afford to waste lives and wealth this way. It's not good, but nothing really bad will come of it. The question is: do the Duchies have enemies? I imagine they do."

"You judge correctly. I expected you would, and I thank the Fathers I was not disappointed." The emotion in the Duke's voice was so strong that both Alsin and Chenosh looked embarra.s.sed. Blade felt a twinge of guilt. The Duke was clearly about to reveal his most cherished secrets to a man who'd won his confidence by an elaborate set of lies.

Once the Duke started explaining things his voice was clear, steady, and strong. For a while Blade was able to see him as he must have been at Blade's age-a strong, proud, and wise leader of men. The pride was still there and so was the wisdom, but now he had to do most of his work with the strength of younger men.

The seven Duchies of the Crimson River won their independence when both the East and West Kingdoms had civil wars within a generation. All seven Dukes fought side by side against the Kingdoms, then went their separate ways as soon as the fighting was over.

The two Kingdoms did just the opposite. Generation after generation, the Kings hammered their Lords into obedience, if not always into loyalty. For the last fifty years the two Kingdoms had been united and peaceful. Their wealth increased rapidly, and so did their armies.

Meanwhile, the seven Duchies and their Lords slid further and further into petty warfare and expensive vices. Every year they wasted enough wealth to raise an army, as completely as if they'd thrown the gold straight into the Crimson River.

"The warfare does give us some advantages," said Alsin. "Our Lords are better fighters, tougher, stronger, more experienced than most servants of the Kings. But our warfare also kills too many Lords and divides the rest so they will not willingly fight side by side. Either Kingdom can put into the field twice our strength in mounted Lords, to say nothing of Helpers. It is said that King Handryg of the West is even arming peasants!"

Duke Cyron shook his head. "I have heard this vile rumor, but I refuse to believe it is anything more. King Handryg has much that is unlordly about him, but he is not a fool or a barbarian."

Blade couldn't help feeling that anyone in this Dimension who didn't see that arming the peasants would give him an enormous advantage was an even bigger fool. He also knew that he'd be thrown out of Castle Ranit, possibly without his head, if he breathed a word of that thought.

Either Kingdom could have conquered the Crimson River lands twenty years ago, if they'd been ready to pay a high price. The Lords would sell their lives dearly, and the two Dukes whose Duchies controlled the pa.s.ses to the Kingdoms were both honest and intelligent men. One of them, Duke Pirod of Skandra, was probably the best military mind along the Crimson River. The other, Duke Ormess of Hauga, had one of the strongest armies in the lands.

However, the time might come when the price for conquering the Crimson River would drop sharply. It would certainly come sooner if the Duchies remained divided and the Lords went on with their private quarrels and vices.

Then one of the Kingdoms would surely strike. King Fedron of the East was young, tough, a formidable soldier, and ruthlessly ambitious. King Handryg of the West was older, but he had the larger army. He might want to end his long reign with the glorious achievement of conquering the Duchies.

Either way, the Crimson River lands would suffer. The Dukes and Lords would fight for their honor even if they had no hope of victory. They would keep the war going until they were killed and their lands ruined. Duke Cyron painted a nightmarish picture of Alsin reduced to a mercenary in some foreign Lord's service, his grandson Chenosh a clerk or priest, and Miera forcibly married to some King's lowborn minister.

Blade couldn't help noting that neither Cyron nor Alsin said a word about the fate of the Crimson River's peasants during these years of warfare. They would have to worry about murder, starvation, torture, and rape, not just loss of rank, wealth, or honor.

Again, there was nothing to be gained by raising the point.

Besides, if the Duke had a plan for preventing the war, he'd be saving the peasants in spite of thinking only about the Lords. Blade began to wish the Duke would finish the "background briefing" and get on to the plan.

He didn't have to wait long. "Conquering the Duchies will still cost the Kingdoms too much if we all stand together," said Cyron. "It has been my hope for many years to find a way to unite the Duchies. Now I think the coming of Lord Blade gives us that way."

"You rest many hopes on me, Your Grace. I hope not too many." Blade wasn't being falsely modest. He honestly didn't know what was expected of him.

"You have traveled far, seen much, and thought deeply," said the Duke. "You bring to the Crimson River knowledge gained elsewhere. And you do not come from either Kingdom. All this makes you unlike any Lord I have known these past fifty years. Even if you are not good enough, Blade, I will not live long enough to wait for someone who might not be better and indeed might not come at all! I must do the best I can with your help. If that is not good enough-well, the Fathers do no honor to those who sit like frogs waiting for the snake to strike."

Cyron knew he had two of his fellow Dukes on his side, the two who held the pa.s.ses. That meant four Dukes to win over or defeat. From what he knew of them they'd be hard to win over in the time available. On the other hand, all four of them had weaknesses which might be turned against them. The skills of all the men in the room now would be needed for this, but if they all worked together... Blade found himself wanting to hear more than tantalizing hints about the "weaknesses" of the other four Dukes, but didn't expect Cyron to tell him until he'd sworn to aid the Duke's plans.

Once all seven Duchies were willing to follow Cyron's leaders.h.i.+p, they would be a match for either Kingdom. Then they could negotiate with the Kingdoms as equals, promising their allegiance to whichever King offered the better price. The Duchies would lose some of their independence; but they could hardly hope to keep that anyway. Instead they would gain a favored position under their new King, and they would be spared a destructive war.

Blade had one more question. He thought he knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear what Cyron and Alsin had to say. "If the Duchies end up willing to follow Your Grace, what is there to keep you from making them a third Kingdom, with yourself as King?"

"If I were twenty years younger or if my son were alive-nothing. As it is"-Cyron shrugged, and for the first time that evening he really looked his age-"I am past eighty. My lawful heirs are a grandson unseasoned in war and a granddaughter. Miera cannot inherit a crown at all, and Chenosh could not do so without much dispute. There would surely be enough warfare over the succession to undo all my work."

He looked sharply at Blade. "I have also thought of adopting an heir. But there are already men nearer to me in blood than you. Even they would not be sure of an undisputed succession. So that custom of the old days offers us no help."

"I had no ambitions to be adopted as your heir," said Blade in a level voice, and he decided to take a gamble. "If you had not done this for your b.a.s.t.a.r.d son Marshal Alsin, you would surely not do it for an outland Lord."

Cyron blinked. "You speak rather sharply for one who is, as you say, outlander."

"I think I speak the truth, too." Blade was sure now that the physical resemblance between Alsin and Cyron was no mere coincidence, and he was also sure that by speaking bluntly about their relations.h.i.+p he had done the right thing. Cyron now had to either make him an ally or kill him, and no man would kill a potentially useful ally merely for plain speaking. Besides, Blade was getting tired of all this verbal fencing. It was time to get to work.

"Yes. Alsin is my illegitmate son. So he could neither become my heir, nor do what you can do."

"And what is that?"

"Marry Miera, and become Captain of my Guards. That will bind you to me in blood and battle oath, so that you can act and speak for me. When you have done these things, we can set about the work you seem so impatient to begin."

Blade smiled in spite of himself. Cyron might be nearsighted, but when it came to seeing what made other people tick he missed very little. Blade poured himself more wine, conscious that Miera's eyes were on him all the while, then drank half the cup before speaking.

"As to marrying Miera"-he turned to face her-"my lady, it is for you to say whether you will have me as a husband or not. Is it your wish?"

"Blade, if you-" began Alsin irritably, but the Duke waved him to silence, and Chenosh glared at him. Miera was clutching the tablecloth in one hand and her knife in the other, so tightly her knuckles were white. Gently Blade reached over and pulled the knife out of her hand.

"Yes, my lord," she said finally, so quietly that Blade had to strain to hear her. "Yes, yes, yes, yes." For a moment it looked as if she were going to faint. Then her hand leaped out and clutched Blade's, and her smile seemed to light up the whole room. For a moment Blade had eyes for nothing else except that smile.

Cyron's almost apologetic cough brought him back to reality. "What about the Captaincy of my Guards?"

"I'll answer that when you've answered a question of mine," said Blade. This would be the bluntest question yet, but also the least dangerous. He'd gone too far for the Duke to turn against him now. "What happened to my predecessor? Did he really fall from his horse? And if he did, was it an accident?"

Chenosh answered, in spite of yet another sharp look from Alsin. "Lord Blade, I swear by the Fathers and my friends.h.i.+p for you that he whose place you take did fall, and by accident." Then he smiled. "I will not swear that the accident wasn't a piece of good luck for us, though."

The Duke nodded. "I add my word to his. Would we have set aside a faithful or at least useful servant before we could even be sure you would join us?"

"Wise men would not, that is true. But I did not know how faithful he was. Also, I have seen many strange things done in plots and conspiracies."

Alsin snorted. "You've seen nothing, compared to what you'll be seeing here."

Blade looked around the table and decided this was probably true. Then he looked at Miera again. Her green eyes were full of tears, but met his steadily. At least there was one person in this room he could trust!

Chapter 12.

Blade was betrothed to Miera three days after the dinner party, and married to her a week after that. She didn't object to the haste. In fact, she was so clearly not objecting that Alsin said she didn't have a lordly maiden's proper modesty.

At this, Chenosh finally lost his temper with the Marshal. "What is it, Alsin, that makes you so foolish about little things and so wise about big ones? Do you think people will forget you are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d if you guard the virtue of every woman around you, whether she wants to be guarded or not? You did not think to guard my sister from Orric's suit. Indeed, I always thought that you somewhat favored it-"

"That's a lie!" bellowed Alsin, in a voice which brought guards running to see who was killing whom. "I never favored Orric's suit. I only favored Miera's being wed, at a time when Orric was the only man who-"

"Do you mean to say my sister Miera is an undesirable match? If that is so, then you have spoken-"

Before Chenosh could finish the ritual phrase which would threaten a duel between him and Alsin, Blade stepped between the two men. "If I hear another word out of either of you, I'll have to tell the Duke," he snapped. He looked at the guards standing around, trying not to listen or at least to look as if they weren't listening. "I may have to tell the Duke anyway, or these men will spread tales. Chenosh, I think you owe Alsin an apology for questioning his judgment. Alsin, I think you owe me an apology for questioning the character of your Duke's kin and my intended bride."

Both men sighed, both apologized, and Alsin tramped off, back and shoulders stiff with indignation. Chenosh stayed behind, apparently wanting to speak with Blade, but it was Blade who spoke first.

"I hadn't heard that Orric offered for Miera's hand," he said in a level voice. "I think it is something I ought to have known. Did someone forget to tell me, or-?"

"No. No one forgot to tell you," said Chenosh hastily. He blushed red so that Blade found it hard to doubt his honesty. "Orric never made a proper offer. It was just that for some months he acted as if Miera would have to accept his offer when he made one. Alsin never did anything to support Orric except remind my father not to ignore him entirely until his disloyalty was a proven thing."

"I see. I hope you'll remember that the next time you lose your temper with the Marshal." Blade turned away, believing Chenosh but not wanting to talk with him anymore right now. An unpleasant question p.r.i.c.ked at his mind. Is Miera happy to marry me only because I saved her from Orric?

There was some vanity in that question, but most of it was concern for Miera. The girl would be a widow before long, whether Blade was killed in battle or survived to return to Home Dimension. Inevitably she would have to remarry. Then she would have all the pain of learning the ways of a Crimson River husband after getting used to Blade. She might be better off marrying one of her own people, and letting her grandfather join Blade to his house with some other female relative.

Unfortunately the ducal house of Nainan was dying out, so there might not be any other woman for Blade to marry. Even if there were, it was probably too late to raise the question without offending the Duke. Then Miera would suffer her grandfather's anger, instead of having at least a few months of as much happiness as Blade could give her.

He still couldn't help wondering whether Miera would look up at him from the bridal bed with reluctance, or even fear. He also wondered how many more family secrets the leaders of the Duchy were hiding from him. Was he an ally or a tool? And did they know the answer to that question themselves?

The day of the wedding dawned bright, promising heat later. Blade was glad they would be holding the ceremony in the coolness of the morning. His wedding robe was stiff with embroidery and jewels and lined with fur, while Miera's wedding gown must have weighed as much as a suit of armor.

It was a small wedding, for a ducal house. Cyron had delayed the ceremony just long enough to let all the people who had to be witnesses ride in from their castles. Including the armed Guardsmen, no more than forty people rode out of Castle Ranit to the Sacred Grove downstream. There the Dukes of Nainan had taken their brides, acknowledged their heirs, received the allegiance of their Lords, and lain on their funeral pyres for centuries.

The Guardsmen took up their positions around the grove. They were all armed to the teeth, and Alsin would see that they stayed alert. With so little warning, it wasn't likely that any of the Duke's enemies could have prepared a major attack to break up the wedding. A handful of skilled a.s.sa.s.sins riding fast was another matter.

In the center of the grove was an open s.p.a.ce with a stone altar and a metal reflector for the ceremonial fire behind it. Everyone except Blade and Miera dropped back as the priest led the way toward the altar. He held the ceremonial torch high, and brandished it as if it were a sword. He probably wished it were. Like most of the priests of the Fathers, this man was a Lord, either too old to fight or else forced into the priesthood by enemies.

The priest began pouring the grain, wine, spices, and b.u.t.ter over the sticks piled on the altar. With half his mind Blade watched the ritual. He wondered how many times he was now a bigamist, in how many different Dimensions? He hadn't lost count of the women, but he couldn't remember all the marriage laws and customs. Certainly no bigamist was ever as sure as Richard Blade that his various "wives" wouldn't learn about one another!

The rest of his attention was on Miera, trying to read the small masklike face shadowed by the great embroidered hood. Her eyes were aimed firmly at the ground, her mouth was steady, and it was too dark in the grove to see if she was pale under her heavy makeup.

The priest finished preparing the ceremonial fire, then called on the watchers to bear witness as he dropped the torch onto the sticks. They had been soaked in resin so they would burn even after being drenched with wine, and the flames roared up with an impressive crackling. Blade had to brush embers off Miera's hood.

Then the fire showed him something which drove Miera right out of his mind. The flames lit up the reflector behind the altar. Blade saw the side toward the fire was machine smooth under its coating of ancient soot. The edges were curled and curved as if they'd been cut with a torch or perhaps torn by an explosion. In the center of the reflector was a circular disk, with a hole on either side and three unmistakable bolts holding it in place. Blade wished he dared to move far enough to see the other side of the reflector. From where he was it remained tantalizingly beyond his field of vision.

That reflector was a piece of worked metal, far beyond any technology he'd seen or heard of in this Dimension. Where did it come from? Blade thought of the legend of the "falling star" and the Feathered Ones. Was the reflector a piece of a s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p which brought the feathermonkeys to this world? Did the priest know enough about its origins to make it worthwhile asking him any questions?

Blade realized suddenly that the priest was looking at him impatiently. The actual oath taking by the bridal couple must be about to start. Blade remembered that a single misspoken or omitted word could make the marriage invalid, and forced himself to concentrate on the oaths he'd memorized so carefully.

Yet he couldn't get the mystery of the reflector out of his mind, until the time came to kiss the bride. He gripped Miera's hood with both hands and pushed it back from her face. The hood was so stiff with embroidery that it was like raising a rusty visor on a helmet. Then he saw that her eyes were almost closed, and tears were making trails down both cheeks.

This will never do, he thought. Miera must have seen that his thoughts were elsewhere and come to the conclusion that he was reluctant to marry her! He bent and kissed her much harder than custom required. Her lips didn't quite open under his, but after a moment they started trembling. Then he heard the shouts of the witnesses as they all hailed the newlyweds, and the priest raising his voice in a triumphant chant.

Duke Cyron came forward and led Blade and Miera away from the altar. Blade wanted to look back for a final glimpse of the mysterious reflector, but the memory of the tears on Miera's face made him keep looking at her.

Outside the narrow window of the bridal chamber, rain was falling. Its sound drowned out Blade's footsteps as he pulled the door shut behind him and walked across the carpeted stone floor toward the bed. The chamber was dark except for one small candle perched on a low table beside the window. In the light of that candle, he thought he saw something move outside the window. A second look showed nothing.

Probably just candlelight reflected on the rain.

He walked to the huge canopied bed, pulled open the curtains, and peered inside. He'd expected to find Miera already snuggled down under the blankets, and half hoped to find her asleep. If she was, they could consummate the marriage in the morning just as well as tonight, and never mind the people outside waiting for the groom's announcement! At least this wasn't one of those Dimensions where the witnesses stood around the bed itself, listening for the bride's cry!

The bed was empty. Blade shut the curtains, turned, and searched the room with his eyes. At first it seemed that Miera had vanished entirely. He had a momentary nasty thought of secret pa.s.sages. Then he saw a patch of paler darkness in one corner. He walked over and pulled the hood of Miera's night robe back from her head. She smiled stiffly up at him as he undid the brooch which held the robe at her throat. The robe dropped to the floor, leaving Miera standing only in a green silk s.h.i.+ft with lace at the wrists and throat. It was just thin enough to give Blade tantalizing hints of the lovely body inside.

"Get yourself into bed, Miera," he said softly. "You'll be cold standing here." She shook her head and didn't move, except to flinch when he laid a hand on her shoulder to steer her toward the bed. He gave up and started pulling his own bed robe over his head.

He'd completely covered his head when he heard Miera scream. At the same time something landed hard on top of the robe. Blade's first thought was, a.s.sa.s.sins! Then he heard a familiar yip-yip-yip.

Cheeky!

Blade jerked the robe down so violently that seams ripped. Cheeky held on, until Blade wanted to yell at the pain of having his hair pulled out in monkey-sized handfuls. Then the Feathered One bent far forward, holding on with both feet and looping his tail around his master's neck. Both hands clutched at the shoulder of Miera's s.h.i.+ft, sharp little claws pierced the fabric, and there was a brisk ripping sound. The s.h.i.+ft gaped and started to slide off Miera's body, she screamed again, and Blade let out a roar of fury.

Everyone in the hall must have heard that roar. Fists started hammering on the locked door, and Blade heard his name called. He reached up, gripped Cheeky firmly with both hands, and pulled him free. Blade was half-choked before the feather-monkey unwound his tail, and several more clumps of hair came free.

He held Cheeky out in front of him at arm's length. For a long moment he understood why some Lords murdered their Feathered Ones. He looked at Miera, cowering in a corner and clutching her s.h.i.+ft to her body, and fought a strong urge to hurl Cheeky out the window. The little brute must have climbed up the outside wall of the keep as soon as he knew which room Blade would be using!

As he glared at Cheeky, a change came over the feather-monkey. His eyes closed, his tail curled up tightly, and he gave a little whimper. He knew he'd gone much too far, that Blade wasn't taking his prank as a joke. He was very sorry. One hand reached out toward Miera. She stiffened, then forced herself to take a step forward. Cheeky patted her on the forehead and whimpered again.

Then with a splintering crash the locked door flew open, broken down from the outside. Half a dozen of the would-be witnesses sprawled in a pile on the rug. Miera jumped, lost her grip on her s.h.i.+ft, and for a moment stood stark naked in front of the men on the floor. Blade moved to get in front of her, but she darted across the room and vanished through the curtains of the bed. He swore again under his breath, then sighed. He hoped the rest of this marriage would be better than the wedding night, which was beginning to look like a complete disaster.

The men on the floor untangled themselves and stood up, apologizing for having let their fears for his and Miera's safety get the better of them. He listened to the apologies in a chilly silence, then held out Cheeky.

"Take my little friend here and see that he stays out of this room. Give him some wine, and maybe he'll go to sleep." He scratched Cheeky's back, and the feather-monkey squirmed with pleasure. "You'll never know how close you came to being splattered all over the wall, you little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

When the door closed again, Blade promptly dragged every loose piece of furniture in the room in front of the door. n.o.body else was going to get in tonight without using a battering ram! He was stripping off his bed robe again when a thought struck him. The way Cheeky had behaved when he realized he'd gone too far had indeed seemed to indicate that the Feathered One was apologizing. But why had Blade actually heard the words "I'm sorry" in his head?

He stood naked in the middle of the room, ignoring the chilly breeze from the window on his bare skin as he considered what had happened. He didn't doubt the existence of telepathy and perhaps other paranormal forces. He'd experienced telepathy himself. So he wasn't going to dismiss the possibility that the Feathered Ones really were telepathic. But this was the first time he had received anything he could recognize as a message from Cheeky. Perhaps in the past the Feathered One's telepathy was too subtle. Or perhaps Blade had just made a lucky guess about what Cheeky wanted to tell him this time. He wished he'd been able to learn more from Breeder Romiss about the Feathered Ones, or else have watched them in action more....

A faint sound from the bed broke into his thoughts. He listened, and it came again. It sounded like a stifled giggle, and he was relieved. At least he hadn't made Miera cry again, by thinking about the Feathered Ones' telepathy when he should have been thinking of her. If he'd done that, he wouldn't have easily forgiven himself.

It was time to go to bed. The bride was getting impatient.