"A most ancient law of the Kingdom of Royth declares that any man, whatever his blood or birth, who comes before the Court and challenges the King's Champion may meet him in equal combat to the death. If victorious, he shall then swear oath of fealty to the King and become in his turn King's Champion. Centuries ago, the King's Champion had many duties that often called upon his martial prowess, so it was needful to select only the best fighters to serve the Kings so. But now, the King's Champion is more for show than for service, like a suit of gilded armor set with jewels. But he still stands high at Court, has access to the King, and may move about freely." Blade nodded. He could see what was coming.

"I have heard much of your prowess with weapons and would be much astonished if you could not spit Baron Maltravos, the Champion of the moment, like a cook spitting a goose. Then you will be King's Champion, to watch over King Pelthros-and those about him. You shall seek out those details of his schemes which Indhios will not reveal even to me when boasting in his cups. You shall bring them to me, and then when the time is ripe we shall lay all we have both learned before Pelthros and bring Indhios' schemes crashing about his head. Pelthros is a slow man to reach a decision, preferring too much his crafts to the business of a king. But the royal house of Royth has yet to breed an utter fool. Pelthros will see what is thrust in front of his nose."

"Will Indhios let me challenge and fight the Champion?"

"Pelthros will enforce the ancient law if you can safely make your way into the Court. Indhios can do nothing then. But he will kill you if he can reach you before you reach the Court. He knows of your plans to carry on Khystros' work."

That was no great surprise to Blade. It was certainly the most reasonable explanation of his confinement in the dungeon. "How did Indhios find out?"

"Alixa."

Blade sat up violently, but Larina pressed a hand to his chest. "No, it is not what you think. She did not betray you. Indhios took her under his 'protection.' Then he gave her wine mixed with herbs that make a person unable to lie. She answered his questions because she had no will to do otherwise."

It seemed to Blade that the countess was indifferent to his relationship with Alixa, but then why should she be jealous? She was aiming far higher. She could find use for Blade as a bed partner, to be sure, but her plans would not be affected by this one way or another.

Again, Blade faced making a major decision in a few seconds. And again, he decided to acquiesce. If there was a better way out of the dungeons of Royth than through the countess' plans, he had not heard of it. Nor would it be wise to wait around in hope that one might turn up. If Indhios was on his trail, he was in deadly danger while locked in the citadel. The same guards that had been bribed to let the countess through to release him might also be bribed to let Indhios or one of his a.s.sa.s.sins through to kill him. And there were other useful things that could come from joining the countess.

"What about my crew?"

"You wish to protect them from the King's justice?"

Blade's voice would have risen to a shout if he had let it. "d.a.m.n you, they are my men! They forswore their oaths to the Brotherhood of Neral to follow me here, and more than half their shipmates are drowned or dead on the road because of me. If you won't help me take them out of their dungeon, then at least let me go back to mine!"

Larina drew back and raised herself on one elbow to look at him. "You are a strange man, Blahyd. Almost like one of the ancient heroes. They too would die rather than betray their followers. Yes, I think you will draw much attention as King's Champion if you speak then as you speak now."

Blade would not be turned from his subject by fuzzily worded flattery. "My crew's pardon. Or find somebody else to help you climb over your husband's body to the throne of Royth!" For a moment, he wondered if he had gone too far. She might now suspect that he would be too independent to be a good ally and take him at his word.

Then she nodded. "I will let certain people know that your crew genuinely wishes to be admitted to pardon. That will at least put off their trial and execution, which otherwise Indhios would not delay. But you can do the most for them yourself by becoming the new King's Champion. When you stand forth above Baron Maltravos' body, King Pelthros will grant almost any request you may ask of him. Only-you must win!"

Then she turned to him, and her skilled hands and lips began their work once more. Before his arousal put an end to his thinking; it occurred to Blade that there were now no less than five different plots all focusing on the Kingdom of Royth. There was Indhios' scheme. There was that of the Council of Captains and the Neralers generally. There was Cayla's monstrous notion of a revival of the Serpent Cult. There was the ambitious and ruthless little countess. Each of these four would cheerfully sell any or all of the others to the devil to get them out of the way. And there was his own comparatively simple plan, to save Royth from the pirates. But was this decadent and ancient land worth the effort? And even if it was worth the effort, would he live long enough to carry his efforts through?

CHAPTER 15.

Blade was uncomfortably aware that winter would not last forever, so he became increasingly impatient as he endured day after day of luxurious imprisonment in Larina's red-hung tower chamber. It was not until the eleventh day after his release from the dungeon that the countess appeared with two servants. They were apparently deaf mutes, and they brought a complete suit of Court attire, as well as Blade's own battered but familiar weapons.

She also brought him unwelcome news that made him even happier that the time to make his move had come. "My husband is determined to keep control of Alixa. Tonight he will pet.i.tion the King to make her his ward. If this is granted, he will find it easy to kill her. Or he may merely plunder her fortune and turn the girl herself over to the pirates for their amus.e.m.e.nt when they have taken the Kingdom." That probably meant Alixa would end up in Cayla's hands, Blade knew. So he was aggressively ready for fast and b.l.o.o.d.y action when the countess led him up the steps of the palace and through the high-arched entry hall into the Grand Court Chamber. The palace was a sprawling jumble of buildings of all eras and styles jammed together cheek-by-jowl, the whole ensemble coated with a fine patina of moss and age. It was at once magnificent and shabby. The air inside hung heavy in Blade's nostrils with the odors of mold and dampness and ancient filth lurking in remote corners.

"Remember," she whispered in his ear before drifting away to join her husband in the line of notables flanking the throne, "no outbursts, whatever Indhios does. And no signals to Alixa. The count can still have you slain at any moment before you step forward and issue the challenge. So when you do do that, do it quickly, so that the law may be invoked before Indhios can react."

Blade nodded and adjusted the scarf that concealed most of his face. He wore it because, as the countess had told the bewigged Chamberlain, it hid a healing battle wound which yet made his face a thing too unsightly for the eyes of gentlefolk. He would discard it of course when he issued his challenge. But for now it kept him concealed from prying eyes among the five hundred or so gorgeously dressed men and women that drifted about the vast domed chamber. Like the palace, their finery often seemed out of phase with itself and reeking of age.

The ceiling rose so high that the vaulting was almost lost in shadow, and the ma.s.sive block of green marble that supported the twin thrones seemed shrunken and diminished. It was a room that seemed designed as a meeting place of elderly giants. There was no way for it to seem appropriate for the stout, gray-haired man in the fur-trimmed dark blue robe who suddenly stepped out of a shadowed doorway to quietly walk up onto the dais and sit down on the right-hand throne. It took the Chamberlain's bark and the clatter as the soldiers came to attention to make Blade realize that here at last was King Pelthros.

There was a great rustling of rich fabrics as the five hundred men and women suddenly froze in midstep and went down on one knee, heads turned toward the King. Pelthros spread his arms wide, and as the company rose, nodded to his Herald.

Blade, waiting with ever increasing impatience and watching the countess for her signal, saw one trivial person after another announced by the Herald, amble up, and present their even more trivial items of business. Most of them mumbled or stammered so that Blade could barely make out every third word. He doubted that he was missing a great deal.

But when he saw Indhios lead Alixa forward, pale and trembling and looking small beside the enormous swollen bulk of the count, his hand quietly drifted toward his sword hilt. It took a great deal of self-control for him to stand quietly and listen to Indhios presenting his pet.i.tion and almost more than he had when he saw Pelthros nod and Indhios lead Alixa away and give her into the guard of one of his henchmen.

The girl had just vanished, and Blade had just turned his eyes back to the throne, when a flicker of motion caught his attention. He turned, saw the countess raising her white-gloved hand to her ear and patting the rich curls just behind it into position. He grinned savagely. It was time.

Blade loomed half a head over most of the men as he strode forward, the plain, battle-worn sword gleaming at his side a vivid contrast to the jeweled weapons of the courtiers. He kept straight on through the crowd until he was less than twenty feet from the throne, bowed, and with a theatrical sweep of one powerful arm tore away the red scarf.

Pelthros' eyes opened, and as Blade rose and turned, a general gasp arose from the crowd, accompanied by a rasp of drawn swords. The guards came to attention, but yet made no move to step between him and the King. Pelthros cleared his throat, keeping (Blade noticed) a firm grip on the hilt of his own sword, and said, "So Captain Blahyd, the pirate of Neral, has somehow contrived to come to our Court. What brings you before us?"

"Your Majesty, I claim a right according to the ancient law of your mighty Kingdom. To fight in equal battle against your Champion, and if victorious, to swear fealty to you and stand in his place until another come and prove himself superior in the same way." Blade had rehea.r.s.ed getting his request out in a brief but formal speech over and over again. It was just as well, because Indhios lumbered forward wasting no time in spluttering indignantly, his voice rising to a roar.

"Your Majesty!" he bellowed. "This man is the leader of a band of Neraler pirates of the worst sort. They were shipwrecked on the coast of Grand Ayesh, which Your Majesty had most graciously given into my-"

"Silence!" thundered Pelthros, rising from the throne and to Blade's surprise easily out-bellowing his Chancellor. "The law says that if a man steps forward and offers challenge to the King's Champion, that challenge must be accepted. It is indeed an ancient law of this Realm, as the Captain says, nor shall it be abridged while we sit upon the throne of Royth." Blade had to admit that in spite of all that he had heard against the man, Pelthros could at least act like a king when necessary. In fact, Indhios was backing away like a bear backing away from a hunter.

The silence the King had demanded had fallen like a foot of snow over the gathering, chilling and stifling conversation. All eyes were on Blade now, until the King raised his voice again and called, "Herald, summon the King's Champion!"

But Baron Maltravos was already pushing his way forward through the crowd of notables flanking the thrones. Blade took the chance to size up the man as he strode out into the clear s.p.a.ce in front of the throne and bowed with a graceful arrogance that was almost contemptuous of both the King and the whole Court. Shorter than Blade by half a head, but with long arms and legs supporting a squat, broad torso, there was something apelike about him. But there was no apish deviltry in the gray eyes staring out of a face half swallowed up in bristling beard, only a cold sizing up of Blade in return. Blade's trained judgment made its a.s.sessment and pa.s.sed him its opinion: this was a dangerous man. He would be fast, he would have great endurance, and he would have against him only Blade's great size and his own over-confidence. The baron's words confirmed the judgment: "Well, Your Majesty, do we need to waste your gracious time and that of your loyal subjects any further? I see that the Neraler wretch comes armed. I say, let me kill him now, and have done with it." And he whipped from their scabbards a broadsword and a shortsword and made both of them blur and whistle in the air.

"I will fight as the baron wishes," said Blade. "But might I ask for a shield?" The King nodded and beckoned to one of the guards, who ran forward and handed Blade his own shield, a circle of leather over wood about two and a half feet across, with a bronze rim and a bronze boss at the center. Blade hefted it a few times to judge its weight and carefully flexed his muscles to loosen them. The baron watched with an open sneer twisting his faced visible even through the beard.

The Herald raised his hand, trumpets blared from the alcoves, and the crowd of courtiers and their ladies gave back hastily, leaving free a circle some thirty feet in diameter in front of the throne. That, Blade recalled, was exactly the same size as the arena in which Cayla had slaughtered Dynera. But instead of ropes tied to oars, this arena was marked off by a ring of royal guards, glowering impartially outward at the courtiers and inward at the two fighters standing in the middle.

The audience was silent. Blade could not read their expressions clearly enough to guess if they were going to prove partisan, and if so, for whom. Nor was it important. A cheering section will not revive a corpse.

Blade had never fought before against the formal two-swords style that Maltravos was apparently planning to use, except in the Medieval Club at Oxford. But that little experience had taught him that it was deadly for a man with the speed and coordination to use it. A weapon in either hand gave the fighter an extra offensive punch, and if he chose to use both for defense, he could raise an almost unbreakable wall of steel between him and the opponent.

The baron moved forward, shortsword held out in the guard position and broadsword raised for an overhand stroke. Blade moved in himself, saw the broadsword whirl toward his head, jerked his shield up in time to catch the stroke, then pulled it down as the shortsword stabbed toward his groin. He braced his feet apart, swung his own sword, and saw the baron whip both of his weapons up into an X-pattern that caught Blade's descending stroke neatly in the upper fork of the X. Blade nearly had his sword wrenched out of his hand as the baron sidestepped, disengaged, and came in again.

In a matter of the few seconds it took for half a dozen more exchanges of blows, Blade realized he was going to have to fight for his life and worry about victory later, if at all. The baron's broadsword whistled over his head and past his ear by hair-thin margins or crashed deafeningly against the top and edge of his shield. The shortsword flickered like a striking snake toward belly, groin, and thigh. His own slashes clanged off the baron's guard, and his own thrusts were always beaten down by one of the baron's whistling strokes. The man was every bit as fast as he was, Blade realized. And unlike Oshawal, he might have equal or greater endurance.

Back and forth across the circle they sprang in a continuous fury of exchanges, broken only by momentary pauses when by mutual if unspoken consent they drew apart to wipe their faces free of the sweat now flooding down their bodies and darkening their tunics and breeches. Then they would return to the battle.

Blade was conscious of mutterings and murmurings among the crowd now, as people noted the fine points of each fighter's techniques or gasped at some particularly hairbreadth escape-usually one of his. The baron might as well have been a machine, for all the strain he was showing. Blade, however, was becoming conscious of rasping breath and rubbery legs and arms as his prison-weakened frame began to rebel against the burden falling on it. But he at least could see in his opponent's eyes the dying of the former arrogant confidence and the beginning of-not fear, but at least strain and uncertainty. The baron began to use strokes designed to kill, not merely to show off his prowess in handling his swords.

A moment came, twenty minutes (though feeling more like twenty years) into the fight. The baron sprang out of a resting guard, feinting with the broadsword and thrusting with the shortsword in the same split second. Blade half-crouched, feeling the wind of the broadsword above his head-and feeling the point of the shortsword wedge itself for a moment in one of the gashes that scarred the surface of his shield. In the extra fraction of a second the baron needed to jerk his shortsword free and begin to back away, Blade drove his own sword forward in a lightning thrust and saw the point rake along Maltravos' left forearm and sink deep into his bicep. The blood welled up fast.

Blade felt an inner surge of new strength as the baron sprang clear, staring at his arm. And he felt the mood of the crowd swing in his favor-or was it just in favor of blood and victory, no matter whose? No time to think that over now, only time to press his advantage. He stepped up his own pace to a level he knew he could not maintain for long, and pressed his attack.

In another minute the baron showed blood on the side of his neck and a moment after that on his left thigh. But although he had abandoned the furious offensive of the first stages of the fight, he was still maintaining a solid defense. Blade heard the crowd, for a few moments perhaps his partisans, subside once again into rumblings and occasional remarks. And he knew he was pouring the last of his strength into an offense that had yet to break decisively through to the baron. He would have to draw the baron out, and soon.

As he stepped back for a moment's break, his opponent did not let him move away unmolested. Instead Maltravos sprang out of his defensive stance with both swords slicing the air. Blade gave way before the attack, put his left foot into a slick smear of blood on the floor, and felt himself going over backward.

Instantly the reflexes developed by his unarmed combat training took over. Before he hit the ground he had whipped his left arm forward to hurl the shield at the baron and lashed out with his right foot at the baron's kneecap: Both strokes connected. It was the baron's turn to reel back so violently that he lost his balance. Blade continued his backward fall, kicked himself over into a complete backward somersault, and came up still clutching his sword before the baron had regained his feet. For a moment the solid defense was shattered. Blade thrust with every ounce of strength and speed he had left, saw his point drive through Maltravos' chest, heard it sc.r.a.pe on the floor as it came out Maltravos' back. Blood came out of the baron's mouth, he coughed twice, then his grip on his swords relaxed and they clattered to the floor on either side of their dead master.

Blade felt like falling forward and lying face down on the stone until his head stopped whirling. Instead, he pulled his sword free, laid it down beside his shield, and turned to the King.

"Is it Your Majesty's judgment that I defeated Baron Maltravos in equal and fair combat?"

There was a moment's silence while the King pulled at his beard and another, deeper silence fell over the crowd. Then he looked at Blade, smiled, and said: "You have, Captain Blahyd. And so be it. Herald, proclaim the new Champion of the King of Royth!"

As the trumpets blared again and the crowd swept the guards aside to cl.u.s.ter round him and congratulate him, Blade's legs finally gave under him and he sank to the floor not far from the baron's body. Part of his mind was hurling sharp remarks at him for this weakness, reminding him that his crew still needed protection and much else had to be done. The other part was informing him that he was not far from collapse and that if he had in truth any influence as Champion, it would not vanish in the few minutes it took to restore a small fraction of his energy. Eventually, he got his legs moving again and, half-walking, half-stumbling, he made his way out of the Court chamber in the wake of two guards a.s.signed to lead him to his new quarters. The last things he saw before pa.s.sing through the high-arched door with its bronze grill folded back were the faces of Alixa and the countess. They were staring at him from opposite sides of the room, and both had a combination of awe and hope in their eyes.

CHAPTER 16.

Blade soon discovered that while being King's Champion of Royth got him and his crew out of prison, it did not immediately solve very many of his other problems. Brora and the other pirates went through a solemn and humiliating ceremony at the local temple of Druk and, after being p.r.o.nounced cleansed of the taint of the Brotherhood, went to work in the royal dockyards. Blade had a chance for a few words with Brora before the sailor led his men off to their new work.

"Find out who in the dockyards supports Indhios and who opposes him. If you can safely do so, organize the ones on our side for action in a crisis. They may be needed." Brora nodded and went off without a word. Blade knew the man understood him perfectly and would do as much as humanly possible to win over and organize the dockyard workers.

Brora and the others at least had the consolation of hard, useful work day in and day out. For Blade, the duty of King's Champion proved to entail more show than work, as the countess had warned him it would. It gave him the freedom of movement he needed to play his role in his own (and Larina's) intrigues, and to visit Larina herself occasionally. But otherwise it was a thoroughgoing bore. For Blade it had more and more of a bird-in-a-gilded-cage feeling as the weeks wore on.

And also, as the weeks wore on the winter chill faded from the winds, and buds began to appear on the trees. Blade became more and more impatient. What he had learned in Royth confirmed what he had picked up in Neral-this was the year Indhios would make his move. And the year was pushing onward to the moment when Indhios would be prepared to strike.

Larina drove him wild with frustration as she continued to turn aside all his urgings for quick action, saying that while he might be a fighting man, she knew the intrigues of the Court. It would be folly to risk everything by moving prematurely. Blade was equally convinced it was becoming folly to wait, risking discovery by the Chancellor.

Blade was also becoming more concerned about Alixa. She was still in High Royth, or so it was reported, but any day now the Chancellor might decide to send her to one of his more remote estates, where she could be kept safely for the day when she would be turned over to the pirates. Even if Indhios himself were caught, it would be an easy thing for his henchmen to use Alixa as a hostage for their own escape, and tracking down every one of Indhios' agents would be impossible. Only a quick blow at the count and his leading allies together, beheading the whole conspiracy at one stroke, stood any chance of saving Royth. And apart from that, Blade wanted Alixa safe. In this intrigue-riddled Dimension, she was one of the few whole, sound, sane people he had found. Still, for all the countess' a.s.surances that she was not jealous of Alixa, Blade could not quite trust her reaction if he urged faster action because it would help to save Alixa.

The winds grew warmer still; dawn now came before Blade slipped from Larina's bed and down the stairs to where his horse waited. The buds began to turn to young leaves, and on a blue sea the white, red, and brown sails of ships began to appear. The seas were opening again-to pirates as well as peaceful commerce.

Brora's talents and his previous reputation and popularity had led to his being given full charge of a dock, with the rank of an officer. Most of the other ex-pirates, except for a few incorrigibles, had also done well, in spite of the prejudice against even forsworn Neralers. Brora and his men had learned much and were learning more.

A fair number of the officers of the dockyard and the fleet had gone over to Indhios, who was pouring out money and promises with a lavishness that Blade knew could not be long maintained. These formed a solid, well-organized bloc. There was a smaller group, with some officers but mostly led by the senior warrant officers, foremen and the like, who were sworn to fight Indhios and his allies to the death. These had already done much to organize for action even before Brora appeared. And as always, there was the majority of both officers and men who saw nothing beyond their daily jobs and knew little and cared less of politics.

There was an extensive district of cheap waterfront taverns and sailors' dives where most of the plotting and counterplotting went on. There Blade and Brora met every few nights to exchange information over leather cups of sour wine and sc.u.mmy beer. Blade disliked the smells of over-aged fish cooked in rancid oil, the guttering torchlight, the shrill-voiced trulls and snarling tavernkeepers that filled the area, but it was by far the best place to meet in safety. Indhios had few if any supporters among the tavern population, and some of those who had been incautious enough to reveal themselves at the wrong time had never been seen again. Besides, Brora had a full twelve-hour day to work, while Blade had little or nothing to occupy his time except his occasional nights with Larina.

A gust-driven, spattering rain was falling on the huddled waterfront district as Blade made his way homeward toward the palace one night. This was a particularly bad area, and the night was warm, so he rode with his cloak thrown back and his sword openly exposed at his side. There was nothing to look forward to but the ceremonial good-night to the King and a late supper in the boring company of half a dozen other court functionaries, all of them twenty years older than he and with twenty years more of petty experiences to be boring about. The sigh and patter of the storm and the clop-clop of his horse's hooves were the only sounds.

Abruptly a cloaked figure slipped out from an alley to his left and darted at him. His sword was free in an instant, and he was flipping it up for a downstroke when the countess' voice spoke from inside the figure's hood: "Blahyd! Abandon your horse-now!-and come with me!"

If it had been anybody else but the countess, Blade would have spurred the horse to a gallop and vanished up the hill. But though her presence here in this slum was a surprise, he knew the countess would not be here but for some good and important reason. She had too much common sense to risk herself unnecessarily. He felt the tingling and stimulation that the prospect of action often produced; he had not had a chance to feel this way for much too long.

The horse clattered away up the hill by itself and Blade followed the countess down a pitch-dark alley into a low-roofed shed. Four men, their faces darkened with soot, were sitting around a feeble oil lamp.

"My guards," said the countess. She turned to Blade and said, "Are your allies in the dockyards ready?"

Blade wanted to cheer out loud, but he only nodded and added, "'As ready as they could be by now."

The countess smiled. "Well and good. Indhios plans to move tomorrow night. His agents will start fires in the dockyards, destroying the navy's supplies and many warships. At the same time, others of his faction in the garrison will call out their troops to "suppress disorders" and will march on the palace. King Pelthros will be taken prisoner, drugged, and used as a puppet until the pirates arrive. And Indhios is sending Alixa up-country. She and her escort leave tonight."

Blade subdued a flare of rage at that news and asked, "Do you know the agents in the dockyard?"

She nodded and named several officers who were already on Brora's list, plus others Blade had not heard mentioned. "Let me write a note to Brora," he said, "and have one of your men take it to him immediately. He will probably still be at the Sailor's Friend on Brandy Street. That should be all we need to make the dockyard safe. Brora has little love for pirates." He quickly scribbled a few lines on a sheet of paper and folded it into a small square that one of the guards dropped into his pouch.

When the man had vanished into the night, the countess said, "For our part, it is time to go to the palace and alert the King. I have with me all the written evidence needed to convince even Pelthros, including your notes from your stay on Neral."

"How did you get those? I thought Indhios had them concealed safely."

"They were safe, until Indhios boasted too long to one of his henchmen. He no longer trusts me enough to speak before me, but his vanity has not changed. The man wanted me to come to his bed, and it was easy to raid his strongbox while he slept afterwards." She shivered with disgust at the memory. "Once we have Pelthros convinced, it should be easy. Indhios has only a few supporters among the courtiers, and I can rely on you to deal with them properly if they appear. The Royal Guard is mostly loyal to Pelthros. If they are alerted, they can easily defend the palace against Indhios' faction until the loyal troops come up. If we can only convince Pelthros and then keep him alive long enough to give the necessary orders . . ." Her jaw set, but her eyes were anything but grim, gleaming with her own joy of battle and the hope of seeing her plans all come to fruition. "But we need no more talking. It is time to leave."

There were horses for all of them ready in a stable on the other side of the shed. As greatly as he wanted to break into a gallop, Blade kept his mount reined in to a trot all the way to the palace. It loomed high and somber in the night, with only the few gleams of light that marked the sentries' posts still breaking the darkness. As King's Champion, Blade could pa.s.s anywhere without question, even into the personal presence of the King with no permission other than the King's own. So the sentries at the outer gates pa.s.sed them through without question once they recognized Blade.

Once inside, however, Blade kept his hand on his sword as they moved down the long, dark corridors towards the royal apartments. He cursed Pelthros' frugality that led to the palace being largely in darkness. If Indhios had any of his allies prowling in this darkness, they might have to fight their way through against men who knew the palace better than he did. Blade almost wanted to take off his boots and pad forward on his bare feet, as their footfalls echoed from the stone around them seemingly loud enough to shake the whole palace and wake the long-dead Kings of Royth in their tombs far below. But as they twisted and turned their way closer to their goal, the palace might still have been a city of the dead.

They saw nothing to start at but their own shadows when they pa.s.sed through an area lighted by a feeble torch or a few candles and finally reached the small, square chamber that lay at the foot of the stairs leading to the actual private chambers of King Pelthros. Four soldiers were on duty in the chamber, tough young men in chased silver cuira.s.ses and open-faced helms, officers from the elite Royal Guard. Now, though, the light of the bronze chandelier hanging from the roof of the chamber showed the hard, tanned faces as bored and inattentive as those of any sentry walking his post on a cold night in a rear-area garrison. One of them yawned in Blade's face as he led his party into the chamber.

Blade had no authority over the Royal Guard by law, but he had contrived friendships (or at least mutual trust) with some of the officers. Unfortunately, none of the ones he knew well were among the four on duty. The one who had yawned was a captain he knew only by name; the others he had never even seen.

"Good evening, Captain Tralthos."

"Morning, rather, Champion Blade. It's well on toward the second hour. What brings you here? And who are these people?"

"The Countess Indhios and three of her household." Tralthos' eyes widened at the name. "We have urgent business with His Majesty."

"Hand the message over and I'll see that it gets delivered to him the first thing in the morning," said Tralthos wearily.

"It must be delivered to His Majesty personally. And immediately."

Tralthos looked openly truculent. Blade could hardly blame the man. Or perhaps Indhios had managed to suborn some of the Palace Guard after all? A distinctly unpleasant thought. For a long moment Blade and Tralthos glared at each other in a direct confrontation of will power. At the end of that moment, it was Tralthos who gave way.

"All right," he grumbled, unable to manage his surrender with grace. "I'll go on up and wake the King."

"Do that," said Blade shortly. "And hurry, if you love your King!" He was feeling distinctly edgy. No premonitions of trouble-yet-but they could still be confounded and slain if a dozen of Indhios' bravos charged out of the darkness. He turned back to look at the long corridor. Nothing moved in it, out to the end of the torchlight where walls, floor, and ceiling all merged into blackness. Not yet.

Tralthos vanished up the stairs to the royal chambers. They saw his torch flicker its way up to the small door at the top, heard him knock, listened as he did for the response, then heard a door latch disengaged and a squeak of hinges as the door opened and he vanished through it.

Although they almost stopped breathing, in the vague murmur of words floating down the stairs to them they could still distinguish neither voices nor words. It occurred to Blade that it would be a monumental jest of the G.o.ds if the Kingdom of Royth were to fall to the Neraler pirates because its King objected to being awakened at two in the morning.

Then his speculation ended abruptly as Tralthos closed the door and came back down the stairs. "His Majesty will receive Champion Blade and the Countess Indhios, but the others must remain here." Blade nodded. "Also, you must leave your weapons down here."

Before Blade could explode in a futile and disastrous outburst of rage against all this timidity and bureaucracy, the countess laid a hand on his arm and said swiftly, "We agree. Lead us to the King," to Tralthos, and in a half-whisper to Blade, "Silence! Would you smash everything when we are so close?" Blade's temptation was to point out that they were not yet so close that they could not be interrupted-permanently-but Tralthos was already on his way back up the stairs and motioning them to follow him.

They found the King sitting on the edge of his bed, the blankets thrown back and the pillows shoved into a ma.s.sive white pile in one corner. The bed itself was a huge canopied affair easily large enough to accommodate five people, hung with black brocade embroidered with red silk castles. Pelthros had pulled on a dark green chamber robe and belted his sword on over it. Otherwise he was barefoot, unkempt, with his thick salt-and-pepper beard and his not-so-thick gray hair sticking out in all directions, red-eyed and baleful in the glare he threw at the two visitors.

Blade let the countess explain their visit. She was more fluent in the Court formulas of speech, and had a strong personal incentive for making herself as conspicuous as possible in the King's eyes. Blade had no particular interest in politics any longer except insofar as it was necessary to convince Pelthros of the threat. After that, he wanted only to work his way through the ranks of the enemy with his sword, starting with Indhios.

"Your Majesty," began the countess. "When your late brother, the Grand Duke Khystros, brought an accusation against Count Indhios, that the Chancellor was plotting to betray the Kingdom to the Neraler pirates, he spoke the truth." That, at least, gained her the King's attention. Then she moved into a rapid summary of what Indhios was plotting, what the pirates were plotting, who was allied with them-and how she and Blade had found out what they knew.

"And if you seek evidence that would stand before a Grand Court, then consider this-and this-and this," hauling notes and doc.u.ments from the flowing sleeves of her gown. Blade could not help admiring the countess at this moment as she stood there, rendered formidable by her keen wits as well as by her beauty. If by some strange chain of events she did mount the throne of Royth beside Pelthros, then perhaps the Kingdom would finally have the political skill in high places that it so sadly lacked and so badly needed.

Pelthros remained silent and motionless, staring at the pile of doc.u.ments she was laying beside him on the bed, either unable or unwilling to react. When the countess had finished and stepped back-almost posing, it struck Blade-the King raised his head and said: "My Lady. If what you say is true, you are laying your husband's head on the block."