Blade's personal guard was now down to nine men, including Guroth. If it shrank much further, Klerus would be back, insisting that Blade accept a strong guard of men free of any suspicion of Rojag sympathies. Since these men would be even freer of any suspicion of disloyalty to Klerus, Blade did not welcome the prospect. In particular, he did not welcome the prospect of riding out onto a battlefield with men at his back he could not trust.
The palace troops were now doing mounted drill and archery practice by night, with Blade often looking on. He was returning through the gardens from such a drill session one night, when a noise from above made him look up. The night was moonless, but clear. Enough light came from the stars and leaked out through the narrow windows of the palace to show Blade two crouching figures making their way across the roof. They seemed to be heading toward the wing of the palace where his suite was located. And he was almost certain they were carrying a long dark object between them.
He did not know whether they had seen him or not. He froze until they were out of sight, then stalked through the garden to the door, keeping under cover as much as possible. Once inside, he broke into a run, ignoring the scattered servants throwing themselves to the floor as he passed. He tore up the stairs to the door of his suite. The two soldiers on duty outside snapped to attention as he charged up. Their eyes widened at the expression on his face.
«Stay extra alert tonight,» Blade snapped. «There's something peculiar going on.» They nodded and began sweeping the long corridor with their eyes. Blade opened the door and went on into the suite, shouting to the other guards. They poured out of their quarters at a run, those who had been asleep pulling on their swords and boots as they came.
As the noise they made died away, Blade thought he heard a sound from outside. It was a single soft thump, as though something heavy but well-padded had been dropped from a height. It seemed to come from the balcony outside his bedroom. He motioned the other guards back, except for Guroth, drew his sword, and stalked into the bedroom.
The double doors leading to the balcony were closed and locked from the inside. It made the bedroom a good deal less comfortable by shutting out most of the fresh air. But it also made it a good deal safer from stray arrows and stray assassins.
Blade pressed his ear against the door, listening for the slightest sound. But the silence outside was total. He inserted his key in the well-oiled lock. It opened with a faint click. With a crash, Blade kicked the left-hand door open and sprang out onto the balcony.
He almost stumbled over something long and dark lying at his feet. A body, wrapped in a blanket, its head hooded, and a long rope around its neck. Blade knelt, untied the rope, and pulled back the hood. Then in a single quick motion he jerked the blanket aside and stared down at what lay revealed.
Curana. Naked, dead, with the signs of prolonged and horrible torture all over her body and on her contorted and blackened face. Driven into her body just below the left breast was a long dagger-a dagger with the green falcon badge on the handle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Guroth flinched at the expression on Blade's face. Blade's fists and jaw clenched, and he felt the blood pounding at his temples. He knew that he was only a moment away from an explosion of rage that would send him charging down the hall to Harima's chambers, a dagger in his hand, ready for her throat.
The moment passed, and so did his murderous rage. As his head and his vision cleared, he realized that an open quarrel between him and Harima would only serve Klerus. Curana was dead. Nothing he could do to Harima would bring the girl back. She had been caught up in the mill of things so big that she could never have understood them, and she had been ground to bits.
And suppose Harima was not guilty of Curana's murder? Daggers can be planted easily-in the bodies of dead girls. Particularly by somebody with the craft and resources of Klerus. He certainly would not balk at a murder if it would sow more trouble between Blade and Harima. Certainly not the murder of somebody like Curana.
But Harima was jealous of Curana. That had been obvious that day in the garden. Fiercely jealous, and perhaps not only of Curana. There was the blonde girl who had been tortured and branded. Harima's jealousy was not one of Klerus' tricks. It was real, perhaps murderously real. Harima might have done it. Blade couldn't put that possibility out of his mind.
And because he couldn't put aside the possibility, he knew he couldn't wait until morning to settle the affair. He owed Curana that much. He would indeed make his way to Harima's chambers, carrying a dagger, but he would not put it to her throat. Not at once, at any rate, and he hoped not at all. He would ask her some very pointed questions first.
His rage had cooled down now into a deadly grimness that did not keep him from thinking clearly and fast. The princess' quarters were heavily guarded. Entering them by night would in itself be a neat trick, and a warning to Harima. But doing it through the wholesale slaughter of her guards would not help matters. He would have to reach the princess without killing anyone. That meant using his unarmed combat skills, although he would take sword and dagger just in case. Klerus' men might intervene, and «accidentally» kill the Pendarnoth before they recognized him. No doubt Klerus would have the men who made the «mistake» killed in their turn. But that would do little for Pendar and nothing for Blade.
Blade picked up Curana's hood. A moment's work with his knife and it had two satisfactory eye holes. It was a tight fit, but it would conceal his face well enough. Then he went to the chests and picked out the plainest robe in them, a long gray affair. With mask and robe it would be hard to recognize him as the Pendarnoth. And there were enough men and women in the palace who prowled the darkened corridors in disguise so that one more would not attract much attention. Another clandestine love affair, those who met him would think.
He checked sword and dagger and turned to Guroth. «I am going to the Princess Harima's quarters. There are some questions I must ask her.»
Guroth nodded. «I thought as much. But I am certain this murder is Klerus' work.»
«I am not. Harima is a jealous woman, jealous as only one so young can be.»
The captain nodded reluctantly. «You are right, oh Pendarnoth. But I cannot let you go and slay the princess. My oath and my honor and my soul forbid it.» His hand moved toward his sword.
«All may rest in peace,» said Blade. «I swear by the Holy Guardian of Pendar that I shall do the Princess Harima no harm in her body. And her soul I shall leave to the vengeance of the gods if vengeance is called for. That is all I will swear, Guroth.»
Guroth realized that there was no alternative to accepting Blade's words except fighting him on the spot. And the second was out of the question. He bowed his head and sighed wearily as Blade strode out the door.
Blade moved swiftly toward Harima's chambers. Although the oil lamps were mostly out now and the corridors sunk in gloom, they were not yet deserted. Several times he flattened himself into alcoves as servants or others on private business passed him. Once he rounded a corner and came face to face with two servants carrying a freshly varnished sedan chair. But his disguise held. The servants merely bobbed their heads in a casual gesture of deference and passed on without stopping or slowing.