Finally, he could sit no longer; he drained his wine cup and stood up. «King Pelthros has done one wise thing so far in this crisis. He has made me a High Constable» His voice was bitter, so bitter that Larina neither smiled nor threw back a witty remark. «I am going to take advantage of that.» He began to stride back and forth, even less able to remain motionless now that he was planning, talking in a low voice.

«The key to the whole situation is still Indhios. The conspiracy will live until we take off its head by taking off his. And the most likely place for Indhios is the camp of the Ninth Brigade. That camp hasn't been taken. It hasn't been attacked. It hasn't been besieged or even properly patrolled! The local troops and the Guard are all too busy fighting some poor wretch of a shopkeeper over his grandfather's halberd! We don't even know that the Ninth Brigade isn't marching on High Royth at this very moment! If it is, there's nothing to stop it but a few cavalry patrols. And once it's through the gates and over the walls, the citizens that Pelthros' damned foolish orders have alienated will join it, and we'll finally have the popular uprising we couldn't have had otherwise!» He was so furious at Pelthros' obstinate folly that he let his voice rise almost to a shout.

With an effort he controlled himself. «A small force of picked men, disguised and heavily armed, might be able to make it into the camp and kill or capture Indhios. After that, I doubt if the Brigade's officers will move on their own. They'll probably try to make terms. If Pelthros has any sense, he'll at least cashier them all.»

Larina smiled knowingly. «And you will be leading this small force? I might have guessed it.»

Blade shrugged. «As I said, I'm a High Constable of Royth. I should be able to find arms and horses for fifty men without anybody asking stupid questions. Could you call two of your guards, Larina? I would like to send messages to Captain Tralthos and Brora.»

No matter how many orders a general gives, it still takes a certain amount of time to pick fifty good fighting men, equip them, and brief them for a complex and dangerous mission where any one of fifty things could go disastrously wrong. Although Blade did his best, he could not be in six places at once. It was nearly midnight before he led his force out of High Royth. They passed out through the West Gate, the same one he had passed through from the other direction as a chained prisoner only a few months before, and moved out on the Royal South Road at a canter.

When they were safely clear of the rich men's villas and scattered farms that clung to the fringes of the city, they turned sharply back to the west. Although the road narrowed almost to a trail, they kept on without slackening their speed. The raid was a desperate project at best; it would be simple suicide in daylight. By the road they were using, the camp was no more than three hours' ride west of High Royth, which should with luck give them two full hours of darkness for their work.

Blade's estimate was close enough. The chimes in the camp's shrine to Myonra, the war god, were chiming the third hour as they stopped their horses just in sight of the camp but beyond the ranges of its sentries. The turncoat soldiers were apparently concentrating entirely on defending their camp and not bothering to send out patrols, even foot ones, to cover the surrounding roads. This was a mistake, and Blade intended to take full advantage of it.

The light of the moon and the torches in the camp made it fully visible. It was a rectangle two hundred yards by three hundred, with rammed-earth walls eight feet high surmounted by a row of wooden palisades rising another five feet and sliced through all along their length by arrow slits. Inside, the tents were arrayed in smaller rectangles, each company with its own defined space, and in the center bulked the larger, permanent buildings. A whitewashed shrine, a red-painted hospital, the black squat arsenal and forge, with clangings and smoke floating up from inside it, the green-painted storehouses. In the very center was a small, square building whose gilded ornamentation blazed in the light reflected from numerous torches burning inside it and also those carried by the cordon of sentries around it. That cordon of sentries meant only one thing to Blade-someone or something important was inside that building. And there could be only one person that important in the camp-Indhios. He turned to Brora and grinned savagely.

«Ready.»

Brora nodded and pulled out a black hood and a length of rope. In a few moments Blade and Tralthos were hooded and bound with knots that would instantly slip apart the moment they exerted a little force. Then one of Brora's own men bound and hooded him, one of Tralthos' sergeants took the lead, and the whole cavalcade clattered down the hill, making as much noise as possible with hoofbeats and jangling equipment and whoops of joy.

Inside the hood, Blade could only judge their progress from the sounds that came to his ears. He heard the sentries challenge and an explosion of trumpet calls as the guard was called out, and the sergeant's voice replying gleefully:

«We have some prisoners that Indhios might be interested in seeing.»

There was a moment's silence. Blade found himself holding his breath.

«The count is asleep,» replied the guard cautiously. Blade now found himself having to fight to keep from triumphantly shouting a war cry.

«I don't think he'll mind being awakened for these three,» said the sergeant with a laugh. «Remove the masks.»

Blade found himself in the middle of a sea of half-dressed soldiers holding torches and lanterns, all staring at him and the other «prisoners» as if they were some prodigious monsters. He tried to look fearful and uncertain. He hoped his expression didn't show the red blood lust that was filling him at the anticipation of finally coming to grips with Indhios.

The guard commander returned. «The count will see you with the prisoners. Your men can dismount and stable their horses with us.»

Blade waited to see if the sergeant would come through with the cover story prepared as an answer to just that question. «Thank you, but no. We have our own base some miles from here, and our own women and wine waiting there. But you will be welcome to our hospitality there soon. The disturbances in Royth will be making many a wealthy man pack up and head for the country, and the pickings should be rich.» The sergeant had the expression, of a man almost licking his lips in anticipation of plunder.

«Very well. Come with me.» They followed the guard through the gate of the camp. Half a dozen of the troop stayed with the three «prisoners,» leading their horses at a walk up the main street of the camp, while the rest milled around by the gate. They approached the gilt-encrusted budding, its torches seeming even brighter at close range. The sentries drew back to let the horsemen ride up to the door, then turned and snapped to attention as Indhios came out.

He wore a plum-colored robe with black fur trim and a gold chain around his neck, none of the rich attire doing anything to diminish his grossness. The fat hands that came up in a gesture of childish delight at the sight of Blade were covered with rings that winked in the light.

«Ah, the pirate Blahyd. This meeting will be most interesting, though I fear profitable only for myself. I shall have to tell Alixa that you are here. I am sure the poor creature will want to see you, although whether you will find much pleasure in seeing her, as she is now. .»

There being no good reason for further delay and no hope of controlling himself much longer, Blade moved. His wrists flew apart, jerking the ropes clear, and he vaulted out of the saddle straight onto Indhios. The Chancellor weighed more than Blade, but he crashed to the ground under the attack. Before the Chancellor could regain his breath or draw any of his weapons, Blade grabbed the greasy beard and hair and hammered the massive skull hard against the ground until the man stopped struggling.