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.
If Blade did what the villager was asking, there'd be hell to pay. Most of the Lords were still afraid of lordly weapons in unlordly hands. Most would be ready to turn against Blade were he to help make their fear a reality.
On the other hand, if he refused the villager's request, the word of his refusal would spread, and the villagers who thought of him as a Lord who knew that they were worth more than their own swine or goats would feel betrayed. Twice, villagers' warnings had saved his men from ambushes, and once, a village had given them food, which saved their horses. This kind of help would dry up if he refused.
At least he could play for time. «My men just came to this castle a few moments ago, as I am sure you know,» he said. «We do not even know if there is any steel to use left here. If there is not, we cannot help you. Surely you would not ask us to give up our own weapons?»
«Oh no, oh no, oh no,» the man gabbled. «Nothing like that. Nothing so unlordly. Nothing at all unlordly.» Under other circumstances, Blade would have laughed at the idea that it was more unlordly to take a weapon as a gift from a living man than to loot a corpse. However, he'd gotten the message across. Now to find Gennar and ask him to spread the word-if you find weapons, don't mention it. Blade didn't want the villager finding out anything by accident while he and Gennar were making up their minds.
Over the rattle and thump of the searchers of the castle came a high-keening wail. That was Cheeky, signaling that all the Feathered Ones in the castle were dead, and at the same time mourning them. Blade opened his mind to the Feathered One, the first time he'd attempted this in several days, and for a long moment shared in Cheeky's grief. He found it sometimes helped him to help Cheeky through his pain.
He wondered how Miera was. The last word he received was more than a week old when it reached him, and that had been more than a week ago. Sarylla said that the wounds on Miera's back were healing, although she would bear scars. The head wound seemed worse than they'd suspected, however, and she was still unconscious most of the time. They had not told her about the state of things in the Duchies, and would not. Worry for her husband would surely weaken her, and in her condition, that could mean the end.
Blade broke the mental link with Cheeky and turned his mind to conjuring up various unpleasant deaths for King Fedron. He had just reached boiling oil when he heard a shout from the keep.
«Fedron's men! Coming along the river!»
The problem of what to say to the village speaker about giving his people weapons suddenly vanished, and so in fact did the speaker. Blade peered out through the gate but saw nothing. The enemy must still be too far away to be visible from the ground. He scrambled up the nearest stairs and onto the wall, as half-burned planks creaked ominously under his weight.
From the battlements he could see the enemy, some two hundred men with Fedron's and the East Kingdom's banners floating above them. About half were lancers and half mounted infantry with short swords and pikes. The lancers were coming up the hill toward the castle, but the infantry seemed to be milling about at the head of the bridge without dismounting.
He knew that he and his men were in trouble, serious though perhaps not fatal. They were outnumbered two to one and even with the protection of the castle, this inequality might be too much. After all, these invaders had taken the castle once when it was more defensible than it was now. Yet on the other hand, if despite heavy casualties, his forces could repel even one attack, it might be enough. Fedron's bands seldom stayed for a long, costly fight. They were too far from home.
While Blade was counting the enemy, his men were taking their positions for defense. Some held the horses, others climbed onto the walls, still others piled planks, saddles, and charred sacks in the gateway as an improvised barricade. By the time they were finished, the lancers were dismounting by the castle walls, just out of spear range. The mounted infantry was still down by the bridge.
Then a column of horsemen started filing out of the woods on the far side of the river, heading toward the bridge. Blade stared, and once he had convinced himself that he wasn't seeing things, he felt an unpleasant sensation inside. The approaching horsemen wore the colors of the Duchy of Ney, whose Duke Blade had slain with his own hands, in the contest held in Nainan after the fight of the Feathered Ones. So far, the four sons of Duke Garon had not made an appearance in the war, but now apparently they were coming off the sidelines, to join King Fedron in stamping out Nainan's resistance.
It began to look as if the battle was lost before it began. The best Blade and his men could hope to do would be to sell their lives as expensively as possible.
Gennar's voice came from behind Blade. «Shall I have the men start killing the horses?» Horseflesh would feed them during a siege, and dead horses would strengthen the barricade.
Blade shook his head. «Wait a little. With two bands instead of one, it may take them a while to decide what to do. We may not even be attacked today.»
This suggestion quickly seemed to have been overly optimistic. The riders of Ney were already halfway up the hill, between the mounted infantry at the bridge and the Lords by the wall. A big man at its head reined in, and the rest followed suit. As the leader started giving orders, Blade recognized him as the late Duke Garon's Marshal. He'd seen the man at the duel, helping to lead his dead master's steed, Kanglo, off the field, and in fact, he was now riding Kanglo himself. The gnawing sensation inside Blade grew stronger.
Then, as fast as the horses could move, the whole scene changed. The Lords of Ney wheeled their mounts around, facing downhill toward the Easterners' infantry. A score of Lords rose in their stirrups and hurled throwing lances. A dozen struck home, and the same number of Easterners toppled off their saddles. Then the Marshal shouted «Charge!» and his men thundered downhill.
What happened at the bottom of the hill was more of a massacre than a battle. The mounted infantrymen who weren't too surprised to fight at all still had no weapons to fight from horseback. In five minutes the only ones who were still alive were those who jumped from their horses and scuttled off into the undergrowth where the Neyans couldn't follow. The Neyans let them go; they had business elsewhere.