Some of the Lords did not understand, but no one seemed to be disagreeing out loud. Blade was pleased. If Chenosh had reasoned out this decision on his own, he was taking charge very well. If he'd had advice, it was good advice.
Now it was Alsin's turn. A hundred Lords of Nainan and fifty of Skandra would ride with Chenosh into the West. «We cannot spare more from the battles to come. That will be enough to keep any lesser Lord of the West from treachery against our Duke. As for King Handryg, we can only pray to the Fathers to make both his heart and his steel true.»
Blade knew there was a good deal more they could do than pray to the Fathers. He also knew what the council would think of a proposal that had been forming in his own mind: to arm the peasants in the land the same way the Kings armed their peasants. That way the united Duchies of the Crimson River would have a lot more troops of their own. But Blade also knew that if he were to attempt to lead such a peasant army he would spend the war in prison. Better to stay free and do what he could for the villagers quietly, when no Lord was looking over his shoulder.
This didn't keep him from laying some plans now, in the quiet hours of a sleepless night. He rose early, to stand beside Alsin on the roof of the keep and watch Chenosh ride west under the usual cloud of dust. Then he went down to the arsenal and asked the blacksmith who'd made his trick lance for a count of all the spare weapons in the castle which a man on foot could use.
It was a pity he couldn't bring Romiss the Breeder into his plans. The Breeder was probably the best leader among the non-Lords of Nainan and might be willing to tell Blade the secrets of the Feathered Ones, in payment for Blade's trust. But Romiss had also served Orric, the man whose friends murdered Duke Cyron and crippled Miera. Blade wouldn't trust him that far.
Then, of course, there were Blade's own Guardsmen. These men were an impressive fighting force in their own right, even without a peasant army.
As he left the arsenal, he passed a shadowy corner where Lord Gennar and Sarylla stood. Gennar's arm was around her shoulders, and he seemed to be talking earnestly. Blade smiled, for the first time in what seemed like months. If Lord Gennar had so far set aside his rank that he could fall in love with a blacksmith's daughter who had a «lordly soul,» he also might see reason-or at least see «lordly souls» in other villagers besides the woman he loved.
Chapter 22
Invaders from the Eastern Kingdom descended into the lands of the Crimson River, wreaking havoc as they pillaged and burned the villages. The war had begun in earnest, and Blade and his men were doing everything in their power to hold the invading force at bay until Chenosh returned with reinforcements from the Kingdom of the West.
Now, however, leading his riders across a little river in the outlying lands of the Duchy of Nainan, he was cautious. The river was swift flowing, and after the rains of the last few days it reached the knees of the horses. With fresh mounts this wouldn't have been a problem, but there wasn't a fresh mount in the whole band.
How long was it since there had been? Too long, Blade thought, and shook himself back to alertness. There were bands of King Fedron's Eastern raiders in the area, possibly a danger but also possibly victims. Either way he had to be watchful.
Beyond a fringe of woodland on the far side of the river was a village. The enemy had been there before-some enemy. A small village like this was easy prey for one of the invading bands and could just as easily fall to a band of common outlaws, who roamed freely in the lands of the Crimson River now that war had put an end to whatever degree of order the Dukes had maintained. Although the outlaws seldom dared to attack armed Lords, Blade and his men were still on their guard as they rode through the village.
They saw nothing except the usual roofless houses, charred beams, and the wreckage left by hasty flight or looting. They saw no human or animal bodies, but still inferred that the village must have fallen several days ago. The survivors would have long since slipped back, under cover of darkness and carried away their dead comrades for burial, their dead animals for food.
The riders left the village behind, rode around the hill beyond it, and came to a small castle guarding a stone bridge over another river. The bridge was intact; since outlaws and invaders both had to be able to move freely, they seldom destroyed boats or bridges. The castle, though, was another matter. One gate lay flat in the mud, splintered and scarred, the other hung askew from a single twisted hinge, the top of the keep was smoke-blackened, and crows circled around to bodies that dangled over the battlements.
«The Easterners,» said Lord Gennar from close behind Blade, who agreed silently. The outlaws never attacked a Lord's castle. Their survival depended on not losing too many men, and above all on not forcing all the Lords of the Crimson River to unite against them. Only King Fedron's men took castles.
Almost any soldier will learn discipline when his life depends on it, and for weeks Blade's Lords had seen men die through lack of it. At this point they could have given lessons to the Grenadier Guards in Home Dimension. Blade fell back to the rear and watched them ride into the castle courtyard two at a time. When he joined them, some were already dismounting and beginning to search the ruined buildings, while others climbed the walls to keep lookout. Having performed this same act twenty times before, the Lords could do it on a black rainy night, and without a single order from Blade or Gennar.
Blade dismounted, and Cheeky jumped from the saddle to the ground. The feather-monkey, too, had his duties: to search the ruins for living Feathered Ones, who might be able to give information about what happened. Cheeky hurried off, yeep-yeep-yeeping in an inquiring manner and stopping every few yards to listen for a reply. Blade wondered if he listened with his mind as well as his ears.
Blade stood by his horse in the middle of the courtyard while his men swarmed through the castle, looking for human survivors, bodies in need of burial, weapons, and food-in roughly that order. He doubted that they'd find much of anything in this castle, which looked fairly well picked over already. There wasn't even the telltale stench of long-dead bodies lying unburied in their chambers.
Suddenly Blade became aware that someone was watching him from the gateway. He turned to see a tall, thin man in a ragged farmer's smock, standing in the shadow of the hanging gate. Blade determinedly refused to admit the idea of ghosts. Either the man was there when they came in, or he'd slipped past the lookouts.
«What do you want?»
«Please, Lord Blade-with your permission-you are Lord Blade, aren't you?»
«I am,» said Blade.
«I am-speaker-for the village-the village between the forest and the river.»
«The burned-out one that way?» Blade pointed, and the man nodded. «Now I ask you again-what do you want? You will have a much better chance of getting it if you ask quickly.»
The man gathered his breath and his nerve, and spoke in a rush. «You are Lord Blade, who is giving the steel to those who are not Lords. Forty men of my village are in the hills near you now. We want steel, to use against the men of the East. We know you are the man who can do this for us.»
As he started repeating himself, Blade held up a hand for silence. Several Lords were watching them, but none of them was Lord Gennar, the only one Blade would trust to join in these negotiations. Gennar would hold his tongue afterward, even if he did not approve the man's request.
Blade wasn't entirely sure he approved it himself. Until now, «giving the steel to those not Lords» meant turning his back while the peasants made off with spare weapons from looted castles or dead invaders. This villager was asking that his men be given weapons, the same way they might be given shoes, bread, or new plows. He was asking that Blade not just overlook the activities of unlordly men ignoring the Lords' laws, but that he actually do something unlordly himself.