Inside the hood, Blade could only judge their progress from the sounds that came to his ears. He heard the sentries challenge and an explosion of trumpet calls as the guard was called out, and the sergeant's voice replying gleefully:
«We have some prisoners that Indhios might be interested in seeing.»
There was a moment's silence. Blade found himself holding his breath.
«The count is asleep,» replied the guard cautiously. Blade now found himself having to fight to keep from triumphantly shouting a war cry.
«I don't think he'll mind being awakened for these three,» said the sergeant with a laugh. «Remove the masks.»
Blade found himself in the middle of a sea of half-dressed soldiers holding torches and lanterns, all staring at him and the other «prisoners» as if they were some prodigious monsters. He tried to look fearful and uncertain. He hoped his expression didn't show the red blood lust that was filling him at the anticipation of finally coming to grips with Indhios.
The guard commander returned. «The count will see you with the prisoners. Your men can dismount and stable their horses with us.»
Blade waited to see if the sergeant would come through with the cover story prepared as an answer to just that question. «Thank you, but no. We have our own base some miles from here, and our own women and wine waiting there. But you will be welcome to our hospitality there soon. The disturbances in Royth will be making many a wealthy man pack up and head for the country, and the pickings should be rich.» The sergeant had the expression, of a man almost licking his lips in anticipation of plunder.
«Very well. Come with me.» They followed the guard through the gate of the camp. Half a dozen of the troop stayed with the three «prisoners,» leading their horses at a walk up the main street of the camp, while the rest milled around by the gate. They approached the gilt-encrusted budding, its torches seeming even brighter at close range. The sentries drew back to let the horsemen ride up to the door, then turned and snapped to attention as Indhios came out.
He wore a plum-colored robe with black fur trim and a gold chain around his neck, none of the rich attire doing anything to diminish his grossness. The fat hands that came up in a gesture of childish delight at the sight of Blade were covered with rings that winked in the light.
«Ah, the pirate Blahyd. This meeting will be most interesting, though I fear profitable only for myself. I shall have to tell Alixa that you are here. I am sure the poor creature will want to see you, although whether you will find much pleasure in seeing her, as she is now. .»
There being no good reason for further delay and no hope of controlling himself much longer, Blade moved. His wrists flew apart, jerking the ropes clear, and he vaulted out of the saddle straight onto Indhios. The Chancellor weighed more than Blade, but he crashed to the ground under the attack. Before the Chancellor could regain his breath or draw any of his weapons, Blade grabbed the greasy beard and hair and hammered the massive skull hard against the ground until the man stopped struggling.
Now the sentries reacted, swarming in toward the men on the ground, and found the mounted men spurring their mounts forward and bringing their swords out, to form a wall of horses and flashing steel around Blade and his prisoner. Tralthos slashed the astounded guard commander out of his saddle, jumped to the ground, and helped Blade heave the massive form of the Chancellor over the vacant saddle and tie him in place.
By this time the other soldiers in the camp were joining in the circle forming around the horsemen. They were just in time to be hit in the rear by a massed charge of the rest of the raiders. Every man in the force except for half a dozen holding the gate came riding in, swords swinging, to scatter the soldiers in all directions or drive them forward onto the equally busy swords of the men around Blade.
But they could not leave just yet. Blade laid about him furiously for a few moments, cutting a swathe in the men driven back toward him, then grabbed the count by the beard and thrust a torch toward his face. The piggish eyes opened.
«Where is Alixa?»
«I-«The count winced and closed his eyes against the glare and the heat.
«Where?»
«The-the back room. You-«
But Blade had already dashed the torch to the ground and charged into the house, chopping down one soldier who tried to bar his way so much by reflex that he hardly noticed the man falling and writhing on the floor. He spotted a door leading to what must be the back, tested it, found it locked. He stepped back a pace, seized the count's chair, a massive thing suitable for a massive man, and hurled it like a catapult stone against the door. Lock and hinges both screeched apart and the door fell with a crash.
Alixa stumbled out. Her eyes were blank and staring, her hair tangled and hanging down her back, and she wore only a greasy and blood-specked white shift. She was not a small woman, but Blade scooped her up under one massive arm as though she were a child and left the building at a run. He flung her over his horse as easily as he would a basket of fruit, vaulted into the saddle, and pulled her against him as he bellowed:
«All right, everybody. Time to move out!»
A few hardy souls tried to form an infantry line across the main street of the camp, but the full weight of the fifty charging horsemen swept over them and left them lying motionless or writhing on the trampled and blood-smeared earth. The troop charged out into the darkness, swung left to get onto the Royal West Road, and settled down to put as much distance between them and the camp as possible in as short a time as possible.
Whether because they were too stunned or simply because they had no cavalry to spare, the Ninth Brigade did not pursue the raiders. The first sign of military activity Blade and his men met, in fact, was just after dawn when they rode back into the suburbs of High Royth and met a troop of the Guard Cavalry. The captain of the troop was a trifle skeptical of Blade's story until he saw who was riding trussed like a slaughtered deer across the back of a horse in the middle of the band following Blade. After that, he grinned broadly and waved them on. Blade rode into the city with a great confidence in the good sense of the soldiers of Royth, whatever he might think of their King.
They had to interrupt Pelthros at breakfast to present Indhios, a breakfast he was eating with the countess on the very balcony where she and Blade had dined the evening before. Pelthros, Blade noticed, looked clear-eyed now, and he was wearing a mail coat and a rather more efficient-looking sword than his former ceremonial weapon. He rose as they approached, laid down knife and fork, and stepped forward a pace to glare at Indhios.
«Well, Chancellor. If you are responsible for what has happened these past two days, there is a heavy burden on you. And there will be a heavy punishment, if you are indeed guilty.»
Blade once again wanted to take Pelthros by his beard the way he had taken Indhios and bang the King's head against something hard in the hope of knocking some sense into it. Wouldn't the King ever come to a decision about this traitor who had all but ruined Royth?
«You can punish me if you want to,» growled Indhios. «But it won't do you any good. You won't outlive me by much, you artistic fool! And that bitch-whore beside you-«Before anyone could react, he swung one clublike arm into the stomach of the guard on his right, snatched the man's sword with the other hand, and charged straight at the King. Pelthros jumped one way, the countess jumped the other-not fast enough. The sword drove through her just below the right breast and came out her back. Letting go of the sword, Indhios turned to face them.