Blade introduced himself. «I am Lord Blade, the commander of the fighting men of Morina. You are Arno?»
«I am.» The voice also resembled Zemun Bossir's. «Do you wish me to come to the city with you?»
«Yes.»
«I can do that. My captains will be able to deal with the last of the Wolves.»
It was nearly dark when they rode up to the walls of Morina, but there was plenty of man-made light. The walls were lined with cheering Morinans, waving torches and candles, and outside each gate a tar barrel spewed flame. Blade and Arno rode in, and waited as Serana and a dozen of the mounted guards rode out to meet them.
As Serana rode up, Arno looked on either side of him and behind him, as if to make sure no one was lurking there. Then he raised both hands to his mask, and stripped it off. Blade was surprised that the face underneath was not at all deformed.
Blade's surprise was nothing compared to Serana's. She took one look at Arno's face-then her face turned white under the blood and grime, and her mouth sagged open. She swayed, and for a moment Blade was certain she was going to tumble out of the saddle in a faint.
Then she closed her mouth and said, in a voice that was half a gasp, «Nebon Bossir! You?»
The man who'd called himself Arno of the Mask smiled and nodded.
«But you-you're dead!»
«No. It turned out that I could run fast enough to escape from the Wolves, then lead outlaws well enough to keep the Wolves at a distance. Now I have come home. We let our fires show last night, in the hope of drawing the Wolves off from you, but I see we could not. Well, they are dead one way or another.» He threw his mask to the ground. «How is my brother? And is my grandfather still alive?»
Blade realized with a shock that he'd completely forgotten to tell Nebon anything about Morina's fighting. Fatigue must have driven out the last of his wits! «Your brother Zemun was killed, leading our men in this day's fighting. Your grandfather still lives, but he is dying of an arrow wound received when Duke Efrim's treachery let the Wolves into the city.»
Blade tried to sum up the fighting in a few sentences. Before he was halfway through, he realized Nebon was hardly listening.
«I must go in and see my grandfather,» he said. «Is the city safe?»
«The Wolves who entered are dead or prisoners,» said Serana, forcing a smile. «We shall welcome your return.»
«Yes,» said Blade. «But I don't think you should enter the city until you've got a few of your own men as an escort. There are some in Morina who are of two minds about the House of Bossir.»
Serana's smile vanished and she glared at Blade, who ignored her. Nebon Bossir did not miss the exchange or what it meant. «Lord Blade, I thank you. As you have been honest enough to warn me, may I trust you with my safety until my men come up? I would not leave my grandfather alone in his last hours.» He spurred his heuda forward, and rode straight through the mounted guards and into the city without a backward glance.
As Nebon vanished, Serana finally got her voice back. She shook herself like a wet dog and said unsteadily, «W-what can this mean, Blade? He-he is here in Morina. Yet-he did not sign our agreement, What are we going to do about him, Blade? What can we do?»
Blade shook his head slowly, trying not to laugh at Serana's confusion. It would be cruel, and besides, he suspected that if he started laughing now he might not be able to stop.
Finally, he said, «I don't know what 'we' are going to do. I am not going to be a part of anything you do. I must be on my way. Serana, my lady-Nebon Bossir is going to be your problem.»
Chapter 23
Just to make everything more complicated, Count Drago Bossir began a miraculous recovery when his long-lost grandson returned. His fever left him, he called for wine and beef, and over the meal he told Nebon of the agreement over the succession to Morina.
Serana was not much happier over Count Drago's recovery than she was over Nebon's return. However, there was nothing she could do about either one, particularly not after Nebon's outlaws moved into the city to guard him.
Perhaps Serana had even given up the thought of doing anything drastic about the Bossirs. Blade certainly hoped so. He did know that she would have very little time for plotting. Morina was a shambles, and there were thousands of wounded; and thousands more widows and orphans. In spite of her ambitions and her bloodthirsty streak, Serana knew her duties to these people.
Repairing the damage of the war would keep Serana busy for quite a while. Making sure Morina got its proper share of the spoils of the war would take even longer. In theory, all the newly independent leaders of Rentoro ought to be overflowing with gratitude to Morina for its heroic stand against the Wolves. In practice, Blade knew that few politicians in any Dimension ever gave anybody anything out of pure gratitude.
By the time Serana had time to think of intrigue, she would probably know Nebon Bossir quite well. Blade expected she could also come to like him. He seemed to be an abler man than his younger brother, or at least a great deal more sophisticated. He lacked Zemun's charm, of course, and he had a bloodthirsty streak that matched Serana's. After five years as the disguised leader of a band of desperate outlaws, he could hardly be gentle and kind. In time he and Serana should be able to marry, and the succession to Morina would be safe. Zemun's son, or theirs, would someday reign as duke-as long as they didn't work off their bloodthirsty streaks on each other!
As an additional precaution, Blade sat down in a long private conference with Haymi Razence. When they rose from the table, Razence understood clearly the need for a third party in Morina, a neutral man who was neither Bossir nor Zotair and had armed men at his command. He was willing to be that third party-and Blade was willing to believe he would do the job well.
Two nights later, Blade saddled up the stoutest heuda he could find in Morina, and rode out of the city. He rode fully armed and armored, and in his belt pouch were half a dozen sky-bridge crystals. His destination was the Wizard's castle, and hopefully the Wizard himself.
Blade rode across a land where law and order were coming apart. It was not pretty to see everyone trying to grab the most from the collapse of the Wizard's rule. At times Blade felt a heavy burden of responsibility for this situation. If he hadn't taken a hand, the Wizard might still be ruling in Rentoro and none of this would be happening.
On the other hand, twenty thousand people in Morina would be dead or slaves in the Wizard's castle and mines. This chaos would also have happened if the Wizard left Rentoro and came back to Home Dimension. In fact, the chaos would have been worse, because the Wolves would still have been strong and determined to fight to the last. Nothing was happening now that wouldn't have happened sooner or later.
Blade rode by night and stayed hidden by day. He rode as fast as he could, avoiding other people as much as possible. He stole his food and drink and fresh heudas, and preferred to outrun bandits and stray Wolves rather than fight them. Few challenged him anyway. He looked too tough and well-armed.
Blade was not sure what he was going to find when he reached the Wizard's palace. He was not even completely sure what he expected to find. Certainly the Wizard would hardly feel grateful toward him. On the other hand, the Wizard had been willing to give up his power for the simple chance of returning to Renaissance Italy and finishing his days as Bernardo Sembruzo, Conde di Pietroverde. If he was sane, he could hardly be ready to strike down Blade merely for ending the power that he himself had been so willing to give up.