Lord of Janissaries (35 page)

“He wouldn’t even need that,” Murphy said. “With those goddamn Tamaerthon archers of his, Christ, they could have us stuck over with gullfeathers ’fore you could unsling that H&K.”

“You do think of the cheerfullest things.”

“You say what?” One of the riders drew level with Murphy and threw back her hood. She was quite pretty, and much younger than the two soldiers. “You have afraid?” she asked.

“Naw, I’m not afraid,” Reznick said. “ ’Course not, honey. I wouldn’t bring you here if I was afraid.”

“I hear afraid,” she said. “The mounts know we afraid.”

“Just nervous in the service,” Murphy said. “To your place, if you please, Lady . . .”

The girl started to say something, but checked herself. She halted to let Murphy and Reznick draw ahead and the three other women catch up to her. Then she began to chatter to them, speaking the native language far too swiftly for Murphy to understand her words.

Murphy and Reznick rode on in silence until they reached the castle gates, which seemed at least as massive as the town portals had been. As they approached, the gates swung open.

“Expectin’ us,” Murphy said. “Well, here we go.” He stood in his stirrups and turned to the group behind him. “No weapons,” he said, grinning to himself. I don’t speak this local stuff too bad, he thought. Bettern’ Honeypie speaks English. “No matter what happens, keep your hands off your weapons. You have seen our star weapons. These gentry will be watching us, and their captain has weapons to overpower any you have seen us use.”

The women nodded solemnly. The five merchant adventurers behind them looked around uneasily.

“They could get us bloody well killed,” Murphy said. “Tell them wives of yours I mean it.”

“I already did,” Reznick said. “Christ, Ben, there’s times I can’t believe any of this.”

“I know what you mean.” He shook his head wryly. “Fightin’ in Africa, ’bout to be finished by the Cubans and we get picked up by a goddamn flyin’ saucer. And even then it don’t make sense. This whole planet, none of it makes sense.”

“Except to Captain Galloway.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Hell, Ben, it was you said we ought to come here . . .”

“You agreed,” Murphy reminded him. “I didn’t twist your arm.” He grinned. “Anyway, I still think it was best. That paper the Cap’n sent us, it said he really did understand things here. He knows why there’s people here, and what those saucer critters want, and—”

“And you can believe as much of it as you want to,” Reznick said. He paused a moment, then matched Murphy’s grin. “And we both sure as hell want to believe a lot of it.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He led the way through the open gates.

The courtyard behind the gates smelled of burned gunpowder. It was packed with people. Archers in kilts held them back to make a lane that Murphy’s party could ride through. “Like MPs,” Murphy said.

“Big deal.” Reznick squinted upwards. “Don’t look now, but there’s a sniper up in the tower over the gate.”

“Yeah, I spotted him. Don’t matter. There’s a dozen of those archer types on the wall up there, too. There’s sure as hell only one way to play this now.”

The wall ahead of them was taller than the first, and the gateway through it was so narrow they had to go single file. The gate itself was a long mazelike corridor, with two twists barely wide enough for their mounts. Then they came out into an inner court, empty except for half a dozen richly dressed courtiers.

“Welcome,” one called. “In the name of Wanax Ganton, welcome to Castle Edron. I am Parilios, Chamberlain to Wanax Ganton and servant to the Lord Protector, in whose name I bid you welcome yet again.”

“Sounds good so far,” Murphy said. “Uh—we have come at the invitation of the lord Rick, Eqeta of Chelm, Great Captain General of the Forces of Drantos, Colonel of Mercenaries . . .” He gave the last title in English. “We are Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafferty Reznick do Bathis, Merchant Traders of the Sun Lands.”

“The lord Rick is here and awaits you eagerly,” the chamberlain said. “He has been foretold of your coming. He bade me say that his food will be no more than filling for his belly, and his drink no more than moisture for the tongue, until he has spoken with you at last.”

“Fat chance the captain ever said that,” Murphy said
sotto voce
. “Bid the Wanax, and the Lord Protector, and Lord Rick a thousand thanks in our names, and tell him that we came in haste to his summons.”

There was more ceremony before they were invited to dismount. Eventually they were led into an antechamber. A cheerful fire blazed at one end of the room, and there was a table laid out with wine and food. Washbasins stood on a sideboard. “I will leave you to refresh yourselves,” their escort said. He turned a pair of identical sand glasses, and took one with him. “I will return when this is done.” The chamberlain bowed and left them.

The women began to chatter, but Murphy made a sharp gesture, and they fell quiet. He eyed the glass. “About twenty minutes. We going to take the women in with us?”

“Why not?” Reznick demanded.

Murphy shrugged. “This is royalist country,” he said. “Not like the south where we were. And the girls aren’t exactly out of the nobility—”

“Dirdre and Marva are now,” Reznick said. “Married me, didn’t they? That makes them as good as anybody.”

“Okay if you say so. Wonder where the bloody plumbing is?”

“Through there, I’d say,” Reznick said. He walked over to a small curtained doorway and looked inside. “Yep. Looks to me like it hangs out over the town. Shall we go relieve ourselves on the commoners?”

* * *

“Cap’n?”

Rick Galloway turned from the window as one of the skyrockets burst in crimson. “Yes?”

“Two things,” Art Mason said. “Lady Tylara says you’re supposed to be downstairs enjoying the fireworks—”

“Hell, I know that,” Rick said. He lifted a crystal goblet and tossed off the full cup of wine it held. “Three days we’ve been on display. Tylara likes all the fuss.” He grinned slightly. “Isobel really is a beautiful little thing. I guess Tylara’s earned all this glory. But why she wants it is beyond me.” He poured another drink.

Mason shrugged. “I never claimed to understand women.”

“What was the other thing?”

“Murphy’s here.”

“Murphy?”

“Private Ben Murphy,” Mason said. “Along with Lafe Reznick. Two of the troops that ran away south with Warner and Gengrich. They just showed up at the gate, dressed up like rich southern merchants and attended by some women and bullyboys. Murphy told the officer of the guard that he’s got a present for the Eqeta of Chelm, the great Captain-General of the Host of Drantos—”

“Humph.”

“Hell, he’s layin’ it on thicker’n glue, Cap’n. But I think you’ll like the present. It’s all wrapped up in silk and gold cloth, but it’s about yay long and maybe this big around—”

“The recoilless!”

“Could be,” Mason said. “It just could be. Anyway, he’s downstairs in the entry hall. I checked with Elliot and we had the chamberlain give him wine and some chow, and I figured I’d better get you before that Camithon gets at him.”

“Yes. Good thinking. I’ll come.” He started toward the door.

“Not without we dress you proper,” Mason protested. “Wait, Cap’n. I’ll help you into your armor.”

“I do not need armor.”

“Hell you don’t,” Mason said. “Cap’n, now dammit I mean it, don’t you go down there without your mail shirt. Here, take the pistol off. That’s it. Now duck—” Despite Rick’s protests, Mason eased him into a shirt woven of tiny metal rings.

“Damn thing’s too heavy,” Rick said.

“Wasn’t heavy it wouldn’t do much good,” Mason said. “Here, lift your arm—” Deftly he buckled Rick’s pistol and combat knife under his captain’s left arm. “Now you look proper.”

“And feel like an idiot.”

“No, sir.” Mason was emphatic. “You gotta be practical.”

I’ve been practical all my life, Rick thought. I do the sensible, practical thing, and I feel like a coward half the time.

Mason saw Rick’s expression. “Cap’n, you don’t know what Murphy wants. I grant you, he probably didn’t come to make trouble. Not coming inside the gates like that. But Christ, Cap’n, this whole place is about to explode. Ambassadors from both Roman outfits. That diplomat from the Five Kingdoms, he’s nothing more than a spy—hell, they’re still technically at war with us! Not to mention our own nobles. Wasn’t an hour ago I had to disarm two of those barons, Dragomer and Kilantis—”

“Who?”

“Couple of the barons who went over to Sarakos,” Mason said. “Took advantage of the amnesty after we beat Sarakos. They come from the north central hills.”

“Yeah. I remember,” Rick said. “Hard to blame them for going over, being that close to the Five Kingdoms and all. Why disarm them?”

“Fighting over something. I didn’t bother to find out what. Just got their dirks.”

“They drew steel in the palace?”

“Yeah.”

“Where was Wanax Ganton?”

“Up watching the fireworks,” Mason said. “Hell, Cap’n, if they’d drawn weapons while the kid or the old geezer was there I’d’ve done a lot more then disarm them, you know that.”

“Yeah. Sorry. All right, let’s go.” He led the way to the thick nail-studded door and pulled. It opened slowly. It ought to, Rick thought. The damn thing must weigh five hundred pounds in this gravity. One heavy mother. There were men outside the door. Rick nodded to Jamiy, his orderly, and the brace of Guardsmen. Then he turned to the fourth man who stood stiffly aloof from the others. “Captain Caradoc.”

“My lord.” Caradoc was dressed in bright-colored kilts. He wore a jewel-handled dirk at his waist. A bow and quiver hung over his shoulder. He was no older than Rick. Caradoc bowed deeply, and waited until Rick returned the greeting before straightening.

“It’s good to see you again,” Rick said. “How went your journey?”

“Well enough, my lord. I had fast horses and Yatar’s favor.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Rick put as much warmth in his voice as he could. More than once Caradoc had saved Rick—and his family. Caradoc was really Tylara’s man, henchman of her father, son of one of her father’s subchiefs. Loyal men high in the Tamaerthon clan system were rare . . .

“We’ll go down to audience hall,” Mason said. One of the guards went ahead at a trot. The second walked ahead of Rick. Mason walked alongside Rick, with Jamiy and Caradoc following.

All this rigmarole just to go downstairs
, Rick thought.
Places of honor and all. And yet there really
are
damned few I can trust to walk behind me with weapons
.

They went down a narrow stone stairway to a broad hall hung with tapestries, then along that to an arched entry into a much larger chamber.

Rick had just gotten inside when he heard a gravelly voice call, “Make way. Make way for the Wanax of Drantos.” A party came through another entrance. First two men-at-arms. Then the King’s Companion, Morrone, a lordling Rick found a bit pretentious. Next came Camithon, the scar-faced Lord Protector.

“Who ranks who?” Mason asked in English.

“I’ll have to think,” Rick said. It was a hell of a complex question. As Protector, Camithon ranked everyone except the king. On the other hand, before he became Lord Protector he’d been Tylara’s general, and he held most of his lands as a mere bheroman in her service. If that wasn’t complex enough, Rick and Tylara were technically host and hostess here, since Wanax Ganton had generously offered his palace to Tylara during her confinement and delivery. Which made Camithon guardian to Rick’s honored guest—

“My lord,” Camithon growled. He bowed slightly. Rick bowed in return, then bowed even deeper to Ganton as the boy came in.

“Majesty,” Rick said. “I trust you have enjoyed the celebrations.”

“We have,” Ganton said. He looked around at the minor nobility and others who had come into the hall.

The boy’s all right
, Rick thought.
Got a pretty level head. And he listens to Tylara. Then there’s the rest of these. Half of ’em want to make me a god, and the other half want to put a knife in my ribs
. “Majesty, I would ask a favor,” Rick said. “The use of your hall to receive these starmen.”

“This is your house,” Ganton said ritually. “I wear no crowns while you and your lady are here. I would ask that you allow me the pleasure of watching you receive your friends.”

“Certainly, sire. And my thanks.”

One end of the room was dominated by a throne on a high dais. Below that was a lower dais with less elaborate chairs. Yanulf, chief priest of Yatar Dayfather, was already there. So was Sigrim, high priest of Vothan One-eye, Chooser of the Slain. They did not rise when Rick came to the dais. As he took his seat on the lower platform there was a stir at the door. Tylara had arrived.

She looks pale
, Rick thought. She’s still so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at here, though. Her raven black hair shone as always, and her eyes were startlingly blue. There wasn’t much to show that she’d been through a difficult labor, forty hours in the house of Yatar. Rick shuddered at the memory. If he’d lost her—

He couldn’t follow that thought. “Sweetheart,” he said in English. Then more formally for the court, “My lady. Will you join me?”

“Thank you.” Her voice was like ice, and there was winter in her smile as she sat beside Rick.

Christ. I didn’t send for her
, Rick thought.
I should have, but I just forgot. But
—“I am pleased that you were able to join us. When you did not come I worried.” And that ought to make her wonder. “Chamberlain, summon our guests if you please.”

“You sent for me?” Tylara demanded.

“Benjamin Murphy do Dirstval and Lafe Reznick do Bathis, Star Lords and Merchant Traders of the Sun Lands,” the chamberlain announced.

“Ah,” Rick said to himself as Murphy came in. I remember him now. Belfast Irishman. Made a bundle playing poker until most of the others wouldn’t play with him. Nobody thought he was cheating. Just good. Good man with the light machine-gun, too.

He couldn’t recall very much about Reznick, except that he always teamed with Murphy.

Murphy and Reznick came to the dais, followed by two women and four men, obviously armed servants. The men carried something heavy and bulky wrapped in silk and cloth of gold. They reached the dais and looked at Rick in mild confusion. Then Murphy stamped to attention and saluted.