Blade's men helped the Neyans with the Eastern Lords. This was a battle, because the invading Lords weren't too surprised to fight and had the weapons to do so. It still wasn't long before those left alive were surrendering. Most of them preferred to surrender to the Neyans. They might have joined in the war for reasons no one could understand, but they didn't have so many deaths or so much destruction to avenge as the men of Nainan.
The fighting was over before Blade could strike a blow. Afterward he rode out, and under the eyes of both sides and all the prisoners, he calmly drew rein beside Ney's Marshal.
«Ah, Lord Blade,» said the Marshal. «Unless you have some claim to these prisoners, I would like to keep them for now. They will make good hostages to assure lordly behavior from Fedron's men, should they reach our Duchy.»
The man seemed to take it for granted that Blade would consider the question on its merits, as if Ney and Nainan had been allies for months. Well, what better way to start? Where this would end, it was too soon to tell, but certainly two hundred enemies, who'd been free and dangerous only an hour ago, were now dead or prisoners. Blade didn't believe in looking a gift horse in the mouth, and this was nearly a stableful of them.
«I'd hoped we could take a few prisoners of our own;«he said. «King Fedron holds some of our Lords, and I'd like hostages, too. I don't suppose he has any Lords from Ney?»
«Not yet,» said the Marshal. Those two words said a good deal. «Come to my camp tonight, and we'll speak more of it.»
«Very well.» In an effort to get some control over the situation, Blade said, «I suggest you make your camp at the foot of the hill. We'll stay in the castle, and share any food we have to spare.» He fixed the Marshal with a sharp look. «I think our men should stay apart, at least for tonight.»
«Of course,» said the Marshal, as calmly as if they'd just been discussing the weather.
Normally, Blade would have put on his best clothes and weapons and ridden down to the Neyan camp with some kind of ceremony. Unfortunately, weeks of campaigning had left him with no «bests.» He walked down the hill, wearing the clothes with the fewest holes and the sword with the fewest nicks on its edges. He wanted to have Cheeky riding on his shoulder, but when the time came to go, the feather-monkey was nowhere to be found. With Blade walked six Lords, all armed to the teeth and carrying several hundred pounds of horsemeat.
The Neyan Marshal met them at the edge of the camp. He sent the meat carriers off to the cook tent and led Blade toward his own quarters. As he opened the front flap of his tent, a high-pitched yeeeep from two Feathered Ones sounded from the darkness inside. The Marshal raised his lantern, and the pale yellow light revealed the interior of the tent.
The two Feathered Ones stood on his pallet, the larger one crouched over the back of the smaller. Both of their tails stood straight out, and both of their feather crests stood up. Blade sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Feathered Ones having sexual intercourse, and…
Then they pulled away from each other, and the larger one yeeeped again, indignantly. Blade stared. It was Cheeky! Then the Marshal got a good look at the other, and let out a roar that made the Feathered Ones leap off the pallet and vanish into the darkness. The Marshal looked at the ceiling and said in a carefully neutral voice: «The female-underneath-she was my bonded one-Hoyla.»
In the same tone, Blade replied, «The other one was mine-Cheeky.»
There was a long silence.
Then the Marshal laughed and reached out to grip Blade's hand. «Allowing for-oh, different ways of expressing it-I want to say the same thing as our Feathered Ones. Ney and Nainan should stand together against the Easterners until the war is won. If there are any differences to be settled after that, we can settle them without giving outlanders-no, hear me out. You were an outlander, Blade. You are now blood and bone and earth of the Crimson River, more than those of us who did not see it was our duty to do as you have done.»
There was nothing to say to that, so Blade was silent until the Marshal went on. «We can settle our differences afterward. What do you say?»
«Which of Garon's sons do you follow?»
«None,» was the surprising answer. «All of them are more interested in winning the Duchy than in being sure there is a Duchy left for them to win. None of them sees clearly that Fedron is a danger to us all. About half of the Lords of Ney have refused to swear an oath to any of the four sons. They are free to take the field under me. I have about half of those, all who had horses and war gear ready to march.»
This information kept Blade from having to commit himself to any of Garon's four quarrelsome sons. «I can speak for the men who follow me,» he said. «They will fight side by side with yours against the invaders, and as long as necessary. I cannot make promises for Duke Chenosh or Marshal Alsin. If our alliance proves itself in a few more battles, I don't think they'll reject it afterward.»
«Good. Then let us seek those battles.»
«Wait,» said Blade. «Will your Lords trust me? Will they fight beside Lords led by the man who killed their Duke?»
«You killed Duke Garon in fair fight, a duel of his own choosing, in no unlordly way, and you showed much courage,» said the Marshal solemnly. Less solemnly, he added, «I think none of us doubted Garon would die that way, sooner or later. It was the death he sought, and surely a better death than he would have gotten from King Fedron.»
Blade couldn't disagree with that last point.
When he walked uphill later that night, his stomach was heavy from too much undercooked horsemeat and his mouth was sour from too much bad wine. Cheeky rode on his shoulder, half-asleep, smugly content with his night's work, and stinking to high heaven. Blade still felt better than he had since he heard the news of Cyron's death.
Chapter 23
At the same time as Ney's Marshal was approaching Blade, Marshal Alsin was leading out the forces of Nainan, Gualdar, and Skandra a hundred miles away. Between them, Blade and Alsin cleared the Duchies of King Fedron's bands of raiders. In two weeks, the last of them was on its way toward the passes, harried by vengeful Lords and even by some peasants. Apparently Blade wasn't the only Lord along the Crimson River who had looked the other way while the unlordly armed themselves.
The victory was expensive; it did not touch the heart of King Fedron's main army, and it came too late for many people. Among these was Romiss the Breeder. A band of raiders captured him while he was visiting a friend in the village near his castle. They took him to the castle and threatened to torture him to death if the men inside did not open the gates.
«Don't give these swine a thing!» Romiss shouted, before he was silenced.
Romiss's men were accustomed to obeying his orders and did not open the gates. Instead they watched as the Breeder was blinded, then castrated, then burned with hot irons. After that, Alsin rode up and scattered the raiders, in time to save the castle, but too late to do anything for Romiss except give him a quick death.
«No man in all the Duchies died a more lordly death,» said Alsin when Blade rode back to Castle Ranit and heard the news. «The men of the castle have asked for arms, in order to defend it if there is another attack.»
«There will be,» said Blade. «And this time from Fedron's whole army.»
«I know.» Alsin seemed unwilling to look at Blade. «So I have given them arms, to use within the castle itself. No sane Lord can say I should leave them helpless, to die like Romiss!»