The Golden Steed

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Blade was able to lead his men back to the palace before the sun rose much higher and the streets filled with people. Those few who were up early scuttled hastily away from the large band of armed men carrying a shrouded body through the streets. Over the past few years Klerus' men had made people wary of being too inquisitive about such sights. Even as he was being carried dead through the streets of Vilesh, Klerus' reputation was clearing the way for the men who had killed him.

But rumors move faster than marching men. Before he was halfway to the palace, Blade heard alarm gongs and horns sounding in the palace. Yellow smoke began to spiral up from signal fires and he heard the roll of drums. The palace garrison must already be pouring out of its barracks. Blade knew that it contained many of Klerus' sympathizers. Though nothing these men might do could bring the High Councilor or his plots back to life, they might still send Blade and Guroth after Klerus. Blade was prepared to pay that price. But he was hardly enthusiastic about the idea.

Blade ordered the guardsmen to step up their pace, and they moved through the streets at a jog. Guroth brought up the rear, urging the men on. Soon they broke out into the main square of Vilesh and saw the white walls and gilded roofs of the palace gleaming in the rising sun. But that same sun also shined on the armor of the palace garrison already filing out into the square. With strung bows ready, they stood in a deep line across the gates.

Blade realized that he had to move fast before some officer sympathetic to Klerus decided to stage an «accident.» But the only effective move he could see might be as suicidal as doing nothing. He would walk out into the empty square alone, calling to the soldiers, relying on their unwillingness to fire on the Pendarnoth.

He called Guroth to him and explained his plan. The High Captain was too surprised to say anything, either in praise or in protest. He stood there gaping as Blade turned and strode out into the square, head up and arms at his side.

Silence fell fog like on the square as Blade strode out toward the waiting soldiers. He kept his eyes roaming along the line, trying to seem as if he were looking each soldier individually in the eye. Only one soldier was needed to nock an arrow and fire to bring things to an end. But at least the guardsmen behind him could see what happened and perhaps run for cover.

Nearer and nearer he came, until he could begin to make out individual faces, the decorations on the gilded armor, one man raising a hand to scratch his head. He decided it was time to speak. He stopped and took a deep breath.

«Soldiers of Pendar. I, the Pendarnoth, speak to you. With my own hands this night I have slain the High Councilor Klerus, for his many treasons against Pendar and against King Nefus. In all of these treasons he had but one goal-to sell Pendar to the Lanyri who are even now marching upon this city. They are leaving behind them a trail of death and destruction. If they had come upon Vilesh with Klerus still alive to lead them, it would have gone down like any village. You would be dead under Lanyri swords, your wives ravished by Lanyri soldiers, your children dashed against the walls or hauled off to grow up in Lanyri slave pens. All this Klerus wanted to bring upon you.

«And when he had ruined Pendar, he dreamed of ruling over its ruins, to help the Lanyri bleed the corpse yet more. But my night's work has put an end to all this. I return with the traitor's body…» he pointed back to where the guard stood, Guroth at their head «… to lay before King Nefus. I will throw myself on his mercy, and if he judges me wrong in what I have done, let his will prevail. But I think he will call this night's work wise. And then I shall lead you out against the real enemies of Pendar-the Lanyri!»

Blade had never fancied himself as a speaker. He had never dreamed he could say anything to move such a mass of tough men. So he was as surprised as anyone by the reaction of the soldiers. They gave a single shout that was almost terrible to hear, two thousand men all yelling their throats out. Then they broke ranks and swarmed forward toward Blade, raising their hands and shouting, «Hear the Pendarnoth! Klerus is dead! Long live the Pendarnoth and King Nefus!»

They reached Blade and nearly trampled him to death in their enthusiasm. Then a few strong ones formed a circle around him, while others lifted him up onto their shoulders. It was on their shoulders that he made his way through the gates, into the palace, to the audience chamber of King Nefus. And it was from their shoulders that he greeted King Nefus. Even if the boy-king had wanted to punish Blade for killing Klerus, he would not have dared.

He would have faced a revolt of his own soldiers if he had done so. All he could do was wait — a long wait-until the soldiers quieted enough so he could make himself heard.

Then he climbed up on the throne and called out:

«Pendarnoth, you have this day slain a notable traitor to Pendar and to our house. You have done well. This day I call you by a new name, 'Pendarstrin,' the Savior of the Pendari.» This set off another round of cheers, and Nefus took advantage of the uproar to slip out. Blade did not see him again until that afternoon, when the king summoned the Council of Regents to his presence.

Standing in full ceremonial robes, with Guroth on one side and Blade on the other, Nefus addressed the council in blunt, clipped phrases. «It is Our royal will that the Pendarnoth shall be now the High Councilor of Pendar. There are some among you who played your part in the treasons of the late Klerus. If you accept the Pendarnoth and give him and Us good and faithful service, you will be forgiven. If not, you shall die as Klerus did.» At Nefus' signal both Blade and Guroth drew their swords. And behind them so did fifty of the Pendarnoth's Guard, with Princess Harima standing among them.

The message went home. Indeed, it could hardly have done otherwise, unless the councilors were very foolish or very tired of life. They voted Blade into the office without a dissenting vote. Then they sat down to discuss how to prepare Pendar to meet the Lanyri invasion.

Blade kept the meeting short and the discussion perfunctory. He had no intention of revealing his plans for surprising and destroying the Lanyri too soon. And he would never reveal them before a group whose loyalty he distrusted as much as the councilors'. So he merely spoke of the need to increase the output of the armorers' shops, train the soldiers, lay in supplies, and so on. The only specific item he mentioned was the need to increase the number of siege engines, particularly the long-range ones. There were already a hundred of these, but Blade wanted three times as many. The councilors listened in silence, not even bothering to ask questions. Those who had always been loyal didn't need to; those who had supported Klerus were afraid to. Again, without a dissenting vote, they endorsed Blade's program.

Blade saved the meat of his plans for a very private session that evening. Only Nefus, Harima, Guroth, and some other reliable officers attended. Blade gave them a frank outline of the way he saw the situation, then turned to his plans.

«I will no longer be content with merely driving the Lanyri back,» he said. «I want to see them destroyed, destroyed the way they have destroyed Pendari towns and lives.»

«That will be difficult,» said Guroth. «If there was nothing but the Lanyri infantry coming against us, we could do as we have always done. Ride around and around them, picking our time of attack to take them at their weakest, and then drive home our charge. But the Rojags are riding with them, and that will make it hard for us to choose the time we will fight. We need to destroy the Rojags as well if we wish to destroy the Lanyri.»

«That may not be as hard as you think,» said Blade. «The Rojags are strong when they are in a mass. But break up that mass, and they have no discipline, no courage. They scatter and run. If we can break up their formations, we will have the chance to fight the Lanyri in the usual manner.»

«That is true,» said Nefus. «But how can we do this thing? It is not as easy to attack another army of horsemen as it is to attack soldiers on foot. The horsemen can choose where to fight much more easily.»

«Then we tempt them to fight where we choose,» said Blade.

«You make it sound so easy,» said Guroth sourly.

«It is not easy,» said Blade. «I have never thought it is, or will be. But it is our best chance.» And he began describing his plan for the decisive battle. Occasionally Guroth or one of the other officers would ask a question. Usually it was simply to clarify a technical point. But once Guroth broke out in indignation. He was joined by Nefus and Harima.

«This cannot be, oh Pendarnoth! We cannot let you risk your life again, after you have already risked it so many times. What would be the effect on the minds of our soldiers, if they saw you fall?»

«I hope they will avenge me properly,» said Blade. «No, I must ask you to let me do this as I have proposed. General Ornilan is too able to miss an open trap unless we somehow blind him to its presence. And the best way of blinding him is to offer me as the bait of the trap. I humiliated him by my escape. He will desperately want to wipe out that humiliation by killing or capturing me.»

«Desperately enough to throw sound tactics to the wind?» asked Guroth.

«I think so,» said Blade. «I cannot make any promises. But can any general do more?»

Inevitably, for they recognized the realities of war, they accepted this. And because they accepted this, they also accepted Blade's plan. Blade walked out of the chamber arm in arm with Harima, feeling certain that he had done his best. He could only hope that would be good enough. And he had at least the consolation of knowing that he would have his answer within a few weeks.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Less than a mile behind Blade rose the walls of Vilesh. Two miles ahead rose a cloud of dust marking the advancing Rojags. Invisible behind that dust curtain was the Lanyri army-invisible, but there, where they were supposed to be. Scouts had been bringing in reports at ten-minute intervals all morning. Behind a cavalry screen thrown out by their Rojag allies, the Lanyri were advancing straight toward Vilesh.

Ornilan was throwing his entire army straight at the Pendari capital. Perhaps he did not know that the main Pendari army was lurking off to his right rear. Most of its fifty thousand men and horses were hidden in groves of fruit trees and fields of ripening grain. Most of the men were dismounted, saving their horses. Only a few thousand were mounted, enough to keep the Rojag scouts pushed back.

Or perhaps Ornilan knew and didn't care. Perhaps he couldn't resist this opportunity to get his army within striking distance of the walls of Vilesh without fighting a battle. If Ornilan was that sort of headlong fighter, perhaps there was no need to lure him into the trap prepared for him?

Blade very much wanted to believe that. Around him was only the Pendarnoth's Guard and two army regiments-barely two thousand horsemen in all. He wanted very much to believe that he didn't really have to sit out here on the Golden Steed and wait while five times that many Rojag cavalry advanced on him. But he couldn't let himself be that optimistic. He simply had to wait and see.

Around him also stood ruined cottages, the souvenirs of a Rojag raid two weeks ago. A thousand enemy horsemen had pushed right up to the walls of Vilesh. But when the smoke had cleared away, Blade realized that the Rojags had given him a valuable gift.

He scanned the ground around the ruins, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun. He would have traded five hundred horsemen for a pair of sunglasses, and a thousand for a pair of binoculars. But even his naked eyes could make out furrows and dents on the ground. During those two weeks, the long-range siege engines lurking behind the walls of Vilesh had been ranging in on the ruins. Now they could drop a salvo of two hundred stones and spears within a hundred-yard radius of the ruins. Blade had seen them do it. The next time they did it, those stones and bolts would be coming down on a mass of Rojag cavalry. Or so Blade planned. Part of the plan was for him to ride out in the face of ten thousand Rojags with his two thousand Pendari to wave the bait in their faces.

If he was going to be bait, he was going to be tempting bait: Not only was he riding the Golden Steed, he was wearing the ceremonial war garb of the Pendarnoth. There had been no such thing until the night before, when a regiment of craftsmen urged on by Princess Harima had finished their work. Now Blade gleamed and sparkled all over as he sat in the saddle. His high-crested helmet was gilded and burnished, and the metal clasps of his leather armor shone golden. A massive gold buckle set with diamonds held a blue cloak encrusted with gold embroidery around his shoulders. His belt was made of gilded links of fine steel, with a gold buckle almost large enough to armor his stomach and groin. A scabbard of gilded leather held together with gold-headed rivets carried a sword with a jeweled and gilded hilt and gold engraving on the blued steel blade. The inscription read: «THAT THE PENDARNOTH MAY STRIKE DOWN THE ENEMIES OF PENDAR.»

Gilded greaves on his calves, gilded spurs on his boots, gilded bit and bridle and stirrups, gilded rivets holding the high-peaked saddle together-the gold and gilding went on and on. Neither Blade nor the Golden Steed could so much as twitch a muscle without making sun blaze from something golden. Blade hoped he and his mount looked both impressive and tempting. But he had a private, nagging feeling that he merely looked ridiculous.

He would find out shortly. The wall of dust was moving towards him faster now. He could see a dark line more than a mile wide taking shape at its base. The first rank of the Rojag cavalry was coming into sight. They seemed to be heading straight toward him, but there was only one way to make sure they would keep on coming. He nodded to his trumpeter.

Once more the harsh call of Pendari trumpets hammered at Blade's ears. He could never call it a beautiful sound, but it was impressive and inspiring when you were waiting for a battle to begin. All along the line of horses there were flickers of movement and flashes of metal, as two thousand men scrambled into their saddles. At the far end of the line, red smoke mushroomed into the air as a signal flare went off. That told the watchers in Vilesh that the «bait force» was on the move.

More trumpet calls, and the Pendari began to move. Blade urged the Golden Steed forward to keep ahead of the advancing line. He had to show himself in the open, to give the finishing touch to the bait.

Now the Pendari were clear of the ruins and picking up speed. A mile away the dust cloud was slowing down and widening. The Rojags were not coming straight in. They were reforming and extending their flanks. Blade shook his head. He couldn't let them do that. They had to be kept bunched and coming on.

Again Blade turned to the trumpeter. «Blow the charge.» More blarings, and then the sun glinted off lance points as the Pendari swung their lances down into position. The Golden Steed neighed loudly and tossed its head as it gained speed.

Ideally the Pendari should have covered most of the mile to the Rojag lines at a trot, breaking into a gallop only in the last few hundred yards. But none of the men cared about sparing their horses, or anything except getting at the Rojags. They were up to a full gallop within the first few hundred yards, and went thundering toward the enemy. To Blade, it seemed as if a solid wall of hoofbeats and war cries were rolling along just behind him.

As the Pendari charge came down on them, the Rojags stopped and began to bunch together. By the time Blade could make out individual horsemen in the dark line ahead, they were massed solidly, many ranks deep. Then the Pendari charge struck home.

Blade drove his lance into the first man in his path, and had it wrenched out of his hands. He heard an arrow whistle past his ear and suddenly realized that his sword was still in its scabbard. He barely jerked it free in time to parry a Rojag cut at his thigh. Then the Golden Steed crashed into the Rojag's mount and sent it reeling back. The Rojag kept his saddle, but that did not save him as Blade's sword flashed out and split open his skull. Then the Golden Steed was plunging into the solid ranks of the Rojags. Blade laid about him like a madman, using both hands on his sword, letting the Golden Steed go where it would.

The whole Rojag line was heaved back as the main body of the Pendari struck it. A hideous chorus of screaming men and horses rose behind Blade as Pendari lances drove into the Rojags. For a moment Blade and the Golden Steed might as well have been bogged in quicksand. He did not even have room to raise or swing his sword.

Then Pendari trumpets called again, and Blade felt the pressure on the Rojags ease. He slashed at the arm pushing a sword toward him, saw it jump free in a flurry of blood. Then he was digging in his spurs and pulling the Golden Steed's head around. The Pendari would be pulling back now, bringing their bows into play, further maddening the Rojags already stung by the charge. Blade had to get away from the middle of the Rojags before the arrows came down.

He used fists and feet and sword to clear his path, yelling and screaming as he did so. Some of the Rojags died or went down, others simply spurred their horses away from this madman in gold. One man shouted, «The Pendarnoth! The reward! He…» but died in the middle of his shout with Blade's sword smashing in his temple. And no reward could make the Rojags stay within reach of Blade when the fighting madness was on him.

After a minute the blind frenzy died away. He realized that he was almost alone among the scattered front ranks of the Rojags. A hundred yards away the last of the Pendari were disappearing in a cloud of dust. Blade dug his spurs in and the Golden Steed seemed to leap away from the startled Rojags. Weaving and dodging to throw off any Rojag archers, Blade spurred after his comrades at a full gallop. Yard by yard he closed the distance. He was almost up with the rear most Pendari before he looked back over his shoulder. The Rojags were still re-forming, but some of the bolder spirits were starting in pursuit.

Then the Golden Steed stumbled. Caught off balance, Blade lost his grip on the reins, over balanced, clawed at the leather of his saddle, and went sailing off. He landed with a bone-jarring crash. Only his instinctive half-roll saved him from a dozen broken bones. Still on its feet and still at a gallop, the Golden Steed vanished into the dust. So did the last of the Pendari, in spite of Blade's yells and curses. A moment later the first of the Rojags loomed out of the dust.

In the swirling yellow-grayness both men were surprised.

But Blade was less surprised than the Rojag and his reflexes were faster. The Rojag lance dipped toward his chest, but his massive arms shot out and clamped down on it. A mighty heave and a twist and the Rojag flew up out of his saddle like a shell from a mortar. He landed somewhere off in the dust with a thud and a yell. The horse slowed, just enough to let Blade lunge forward and grab the bridle. The sudden savage tug on its head slowed the horse still further, and Blade vaulted into the saddle.

The horse quivered as though Blade had given it an electric shock. For a moment he thought it was going to try to buck him off. Then as more of the Rojags came thundering past, it gathered its scrawny legs under it and joined the charge.

By some miracle Blade's sword-thong had not snapped when he fell, and he still had his sword. As the Rojag horse carried him along like a log in a fast river, he slashed and hacked to either side of him. Empty saddles began to appear around him. The Rojags seemed to be taking no notice of the figure dressed in dusty gold pounding along with them. All their attention seemed to be on pushing their charge straight ahead, to avenge the insult the Pendari had given them. At this rate the Rojags would plunge straight into the trap in their own fury.

Which was all very well, except that Blade was charging with them. If he kept on he was going to be caught in his own trap, skewered by a six-foot spear or mashed by a hundred-pound stone. If there was a sillier way to die, he couldn't think of it right now. He had to get clear of the Rojags-and soon!

He dug his spurs in unmercifully. Somewhere the gaunt Rojag horse found extra strength and speed. It began to move up through the ranks of the charge. On either side Rojags pointed and stared. Those within reach of Blade's sword died. He left a trail of writhing forms behind him as he moved forward. Those who were writhing when they hit the ground were still after their comrades had ridden over them.

Gradually Blade worked his way up among the leaders of the Rojags. Again there were some who recognized him and tried to do something about it. But none could live within reach of his sword, and the Rojags were too closely packed for any of their few archers to risk an arrow.

The dust was beginning to thin out. Blade could again see the rear guard of the Pendari, with Guroth's unmistakable black cloak flapping among them. The Pendari were not keeping any particular formation. In fact, they were giving a remarkably good imitation of a beaten force fleeing in disorder. If they could just keep that up for another minute or two… Beyond Guroth, Blade could see the ruins.

The Pendari thundered past the ruins on toward the looming walls of Vilesh. Blade looked back. The Rojags were coming on in a wild dense mass, whatever discipline they had utterly gone. But the lead ranks of the Rojags were opening out a trifle now, and some of their archers were trying shots at the elusive Pendarnoth. Blade heard arrows whistle past. One glanced off his helmet with a metallic tack!

As he galloped past the ruins, Blade saw green smoke puffing up behind stretches of broken wall. The green flares were the signal to the crews of the siege-engines. Then the air seemed to be torn apart as the siege engines' first salvo came down on the Rojags.

Even the noise of the stones and spears coming down could not drown out the noise that rose when they struck: shrill screams, bubbling screams, screams of rage and terror and agony from both men and horses; the crash of stones hitting the rocky ground, bursting apart like bombs, and spraying chunks in all directions; the meaty whunk of catapult bolts pinning men to their saddles.

Fifty Rojags died from the stones and spears. Another hundred died or fell in screaming tangles of men and horses. Those who didn't lose their lives or their saddles soon lost their courage. By the hundreds they reined in, piling up into still more tangles. Those who still managed to stay in their saddles formed a great solid milling mass. Blade kept riding, and he was almost up with the Pendari when the second salvo came down. The massed Rojags could not have made a better target if they had been taking orders from the commander of the siege engines.

How many Rojags died as stones and spears plowed through their ranks, Blade never knew or even tried to guess. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand. And the survivors lost the last remnants of their courage. The Rojags became a churning mob. Every man tried to turn his horse around and plunge wildly away from the death striking down from the skies. In their panic they only jammed together more tightly than before. They were still jammed together when a third salvo landed. The screams from its impact had not died away when Blade saw black smoke spout from the tops of every tower along the walls of the city. Every gate large enough to let a mounted man through flew open, and out at a full gallop came ten thousand horsemen. All the picked troops of Pendar were riding in a single charge. The air split apart again from war cries and the whistle of so many arrows. For a moment the sky seemed to turn black above Blade.

Once again Blade had the sick feeling he was going to be shot down or ridden down by his own side. The Pendari were coming on as if the devil were at their heels, and shooting arrows like firemen pouring water on a fire. The arrows sliced down out of the sky all around Blade, hitting dead Rojags, live Rojags, the bare ground, and a few Pendari, a great many horses, and anything else in their path. One sliced across his upper arm, leaving a bloody oozing gash but not sinking in. Then the Rojags finally broke and ran. They could run now-so many had been killed that the survivors at last had room to turn their horses.

Blade saw Guroth ride up to him with a broad grin on his dust-caked face. He was leading the Golden Steed. Blade hastily dismounted his Rojag prize and remounted the Golden Steed.

Guroth looked across the plain at the vanishing enemy. «So much for the Rojags. I do not think they will stop running until they are back in their own mountains.»

«Perhaps not. But the Lanyri will not run. We will have to beat them.»

«I hope they will not run. Like you, I do not want them to escape.»

They turned their horses and spurred away after the Rojags. They made no effort to keep up with the headlong charge of the ten thousand Pendari who were riding fresh horses. They passed the ruins and the litter of dead Rojag warriors and horses at a trot. Then they were swallowed up in another swirling curtain of dust, this one raised by the Pendari charge. It was so thick they could barely see twenty feet ahead. Blade found himself navigating more by sound than by sight.

There were plenty of sounds all around. Men and horses screaming, Pendari and Rojag war cries, the snap of bows, the whistle of arrows, the pounding of thousands of hoofs. The Pendari were no longer sounding their trumpets. The enemy was in sight and there was nothing to do but chase him. It was every man for himself.

Then a new sound tore through the dust and rose above all the rest of the noise: Lanyri battle horns, sounding the alarm. Blade fought back an urge to spur the Golden Steed up to a gallop; he did not want to throw away its last strength.

Pendari trumpets now joined the booming Lanyri horns. Then Blade and Guroth and the Pendarnoth's Guard rode out of the dust and saw the battle that was raging before them. Sixty thousand Lanyri infantry were formed in five massive squares, each with its baggage wagons and civilian camp followers inside. The sun made a blinding glare on the acres of armor and glinted on the deadly accurate spears the Lanyri threw at any Pendari who rode within range. A good many Pendari horses were already running about with empty saddles, and a fringe of Pendari bodies was spreading around each square. Any Pendari who tried to ride in and use his lance had only a slim chance of riding out again alive.

The Rojags had kept right on going, the sight of their allies apparently having done nothing to cure their panic. It looked as if they were going to be out of the battle for good. So most of the Pendari were riding around the massed Lanyri squares, shooting arrows from a distance beyond spear range. That kept the Pendari safe but did little harm to the Lanyri. Except for those in the two outer ranks, they kept their shields over their heads. The Pendari arrows came down in black clouds but stuck in the tough, leather-covered wood.

Blade led his guard in until they were just beyond spear range and let them try a few arrows anyway. For the moment he could think of nothing better to do. In fact he was not even sure there was anything to do, for the moment. Once more the Pendari were outnumbered five to one or more. When the main army came up…

There was a particularly deafening blast of the heavy toned war horns. Then the ranks of one of the squares began to open from the inside, as a force of mounted men began to push its way out into the open field. Blade peered through the dust and the glare and made out the red-cloaked figure of General Ornilan leading the horsemen. Behind him rode some five hundred heavily armored men. These must be the mercenaries he had mentioned.

Ornilan led the mercenaries through the last ranks of the Lanyri infantry and out into the open. They shifted from column into line, and Blade saw them checking their weapons and armor. His own guardsmen began dropping arrows among them, but heavy armor covered both men and horses and few were hurt. Then the line of mercenaries began to roll toward Blade.

Blade realized what Ornilan's game was. He was throwing his heavy cavalry straight at the Pendarnoth, seeking to kill or capture him and so break the spirits of the Pendari. It was a desperate venture, even if it was Ornilan's last chance of a decisive victory. Blade admired Ornilan's courage in risking himself along with the mercenaries. Such courage deserved to be met on its own terms.

For a moment Blade toyed with the idea of deliberately meeting Ornilan with only equal force-five hundred of his guardsmen. There was another moment of shock as he realized how close he had come to such a chivalrous-and foolish-gesture. He ordered his trumpeter to sound the charge. The Pendari swept forward, and with the eyes of both armies on them, the two lines met.

They met with a crash and a shock that threw both lightly armored Pendari and heavily armored mercenaries out of their saddles. But the mercenaries were riding heavier horses than the Pendari, and they stood the shock better. Their heavy lances drove through Pendari leather, while their mail kept out Pendari arrows and their shields blocked the lighter Pendari lances.

Blade snapped his own lance on a mercenary's shield and nearly ran straight into his opponent. The man was wielding a huge straight broadsword, almost large enough to require two hands. Blade saw it shear through one Pendari's leather cap as though it were paper and split the man's skull down to the chin. But Blade slashed at the mercenary's face before he could shift his guard. The man's mouth opened in a scream of agony as blood gushed from his mutilated nose and lips. Half-blinded, he reeled in his saddle. Blade swung again and slashed across. His sword drove under the base of the heavy iron helmet and into the back of the mercenary's neck. It did not penetrate his mail collar, but the impact, with Blade's arm behind it, crushed the spinal cord. The mercenary's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled stiffly out of his saddle.

Another mercenary rode at Blade. He crouched low in his saddle so that the man's lance went over his head. Then the mercenary was riding past. At last Blade found himself facing Ornilan. He did not try to avoid the combat, for Ornilan at least deserved the honor of a personal encounter.

The Lanyri general wore a short sword at his belt, but there was a broadsword in his hand and a shield on his other arm. If the Lanyri despised horsemen, Blade would never have known it from seeing Ornilan handle his big roan stallion. It towered over the Golden Steed by at least four hands. It reared up and struck out at the smaller horse with both fore-hoofs, but the weary Golden Steed was still fast enough to swing aside, and the smashing hoofs came down on the ground. Then Blade and Ornilan were at too close quarters to be able to do any more maneuvering. It was straight hard fighting.

Blade had no shield. But he was stronger and faster than Ornilan, and his sword had a point as well as a slashing edge. Ornilan's sword clanged against his at each stroke, while his own slashes and thrust sometimes got through Ornilan's guard. Most of these merely grated or scraped the general's armor, but before long two little trickles of blood showed on Ornilan's bare arms, and one on the side of his neck.

Why didn't he strike down Ornilan's horse and then ride the man under? He didn't know. He only knew that Ornilan was fighting with complete honor and complete courage. As both Richard Blade and the Pendarnoth, he had to fight the same way. He no longer found it odd that he was thinking in this almost medieval fashion with both men mounted, their endurance was increased. Because no man on either side cared to interfere, the fight went on, seemingly endless. Blade was vaguely aware that his guardsmen had finally driven the mercenaries back. A good many from both sides now lay dead on the ground around the two duelists.

He was explicitly aware that his arm muscles were beginning to scream in protest at the endless sequence of thrust, slash, and parry. His eyes were stinging from the sweat pouring into them. The same sweat was turning the dust caked on his face into mud. He began to wonder if his greater strength and speed would be enough to carry him through.

For more long minutes the fight went on. Blade's sword was beginning to lose its edge and show so many nicks it looked more like a saw than a sword. And there was blood on his left leg just below the knee, where Ornilan's sword had gashed it. So far the wound had not stiffened or cost him much blood, but it meant that his guard was no longer impenetrable.

It was the Golden Steed that found the strength to neigh, and rear, and lash out with both fore-hoofs. It caught Ornilan's horse on the side of the neck, and the horse stumbled and lurched sideways as its rider launched another stroke at Blade. The stroke missed. Half off-balance, Ornilan was slow to bring his guard back up. Blade's sword flashed out in a thrust, at the full length of Blade's long arm. Its point drove into Ornilan's neck, tearing through skin and flesh. Blood spurted out, and down on the general's armor.

Although he must have known that the wound was mortal, Ornilan dropped his sword and clamped both hands over the wound. For a moment the blood slowed to a trickle. His face pale, he stared at Blade.

«Why, Pendarnoth? Why, when you were offered so much?»

«It wasn't enough, Ornilan.»

«But you are still going to…»

«Lose?» He shook his head. «I think not, Ornilan.»

The words were barely out of Blade's mouth when he heard Pendari horns sounding beyond the Lanyri squares. There were more of them than Blade had ever heard. They sounded in an arc miles wide, from far around on the Lanyri left to equally far around on the right. And behind the harsh music of the horns was the earth-shaking thud of hoofs-not merely thousands, but tens of thousands.

Blade threw back his head and laughed, wildly and triumphantly. «The Pendari are in your rear, Ornilan! How will you get your army clear now? How, I ask you?» He caught himself as he realized there was an almost hysterical note in his voice. Strain and fatigue were catching up with him.

Ornilan made no reply. Hands still over his wound but blood seeping between them, he dug his spurs into his horse. It cantered away and was lost in the cloud of dust spreading across the field as the main army of Pendar went into the attack.

Whether the Lanyri ever learned that their general was dying Blade himself never knew. Certainly they showed no loss of spirit or lack of courage as they stood and fought off one Pendari charge after another. But soon their spears were almost gone, and their arms too weary to throw those that remained-or to hold their shields up, for that matter. Pendari arrows began to find targets, and the Lanyri ranks began to thin. All through the long afternoon of heat and dust they thinned, still standing. It was not until the sun was dipping close to the horizon that the Pendari broke the first square. It was not until well after dark that the last one gave way. And it was not until dawn broke over the battlefield that the killing ended, for the Pendari took no prisoners. Sixty thousand Lanyri soldiers had come onto the field the morning before. Sixty thousand remained there the morning after.

In the gray light of that dawn Blade rode back to Vilesh with Princess Harima. He had his second wind now, or perhaps his third. He talked as they rode along side by side.

«It was odd. The whole point of my being out there was to bait the trap for the Rojags. But they rode straight into it anyway, simply because we had charged them. I'm not sure if more than a handful of them even recognized me. And as for General Ornilan…» He shrugged.

«Well, it doesn't matter whether or not it was necessary this time. You certainly won't have to do it again,» said Harima. She went on, with a note of mock severity in her voice. «Do you think I'd let you, in any case? I don't want to be the Pendarnoth's widow, not for a good many years at least.»

«Widow?»

«Didn't Nefus tell you? Oh, there are times when I want to slap that brother of mine, even if he is a king! I went to him the night before the battle and asked him if I could have you to husband. He consented. He will announce it tonight at the banquet.»

Blade was about to ask, «What banquet?» But then pain stabbed into his head, pulsing savagely for a moment, then fading. The computer was tugging at his brain, seeking him out to snatch him back to Home Dimension. Its grip hadn't tightened on this first lunge, but it would be back. The grip would tighten, and Harima and the battlefield and all of Pendar would sink away into his memories.

As the pain faded and his vision cleared, he saw a familiar face staring up at him from the ground almost at the feet of the Golden Steed, a face white and drained of blood by a gaping wound in the neck. General Ornilan. He was naked-the scavengers had already been at work. Blade beckoned to one of the guardsmen riding with them and pointed down at the body.

«This man is to be taken to Vilesh and buried with honor. He was a brave opponent.» The guardsmen looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue, but the hardening of Blade's face kept the man's mouth shut. He nodded and dropped back to pass the word on to his comrades. Blade urged the Golden Steed forward again.

As he did so, the pain struck a second time. After the first terrible pulsing, he knew that this time the computer's grip was going to tighten. The outside world faded swiftly into darkness, with none of the effects he was used to. Oddly, though, he still had the sensation of gripping the Golden Steed tightly between his legs and holding the reins tightly in his hands.

The darkness-formless, empty, chill-swirled about him until all sense of time and space left him. Then it began to fade. Slowly at first, then suddenly it was torn apart by a glaring burst of light. The light dazzled Blade. He closed his eyes, but he could still feel the Golden Steed under him.

Then a voice was sounding in his ear. It was unmistakably Lord Leighton's voice, loud and almost shrill with surprise and indignation. And just as unmistakably Lord Leighton was shouting, «Get that horse out of here!»