Blade found himself at the head of more than eighty men. Last among them was Lord Ebass, and Blade was glad to see him. He'd let Ebass take the rear guard because he was the best man for the job. He was also the man Blade would have hated most to lose. Ebass saluted, fell in beside him, and together they led their men off toward Castle Muras.

As they moved out, Blade noticed some of the Faissan Lords had caught their horses and were moving toward the river. It was time for Chenosh and Padro to stop shooting and fall back to the far side of the river or the even greater safety of Alsin's main body. They'd done everything necessary. Blade doubted that Klaman's Marshal would even be able to get his men to the narrows, let alone defeat Gennar before Alsin came up. Duke Klaman's field army would not see another sunset. The only question left was how long it would take to finish off the Duke entirely. The answer to that now lay mostly in the hands of Blade and his eighty riders.

Blade led his riders south until they rounded a bend in the Crimson River which hid them from the battlefield. On the way they saw several small bands of horsemen, who refused to come anywhere near them. They also saw a number of peasant farms lying abandoned. When Lords fought along the Crimson River, the only safety for other men lay in getting as far away as possible.

Once around the bend, Blade reined in and summoned his men to rally around him. «We're going south to Castle Muras,» he said. «We'll get between Klaman's Lords to the north and the castle, then keep them from getting home until Alsin comes and breaks them. If we all stay together, we'll be stronger than anyone we'll be meeting the rest of the day.»

«What if Klaman's Marshal does bring his people off the field before Alsin comes?» said one skeptic. «Or what if they send out the rest of the Lords in the castle?»

«If Klaman's Marshal retreats, so do we,» said Blade flatly.

«There's no honor-«began someone.

«There's no honor in getting killed fighting a useless battle against odds!» Blade snapped. «Better to wait a few hours and fight for victory beside Alsin. Or does anyone doubt he'll come?» He glowered at the Lords around him. None would meet his eye after that question. Thank goodness for Alsin's reputation!

«And they will not send out the Lords of the castle,» said Ebass. «They do not have enough. If they do, it will be a mistake. We will show them that.» This was the longest speech Blade had heard from Ebass since his face wound, and most of the words were badly distorted. Everyone seemed to understand him, though. Perhaps the berserk gleam in his eye helped.

«Are there any more doubters?» said Blade into the silence. The silence continued. «Let's be on our way, then.»

Blade's eighty moved south at a walk, to spare their horses. Even the most eager Lord understood the need for that. They might be thrusting themselves into the lion's jaws, and a man's chance of even dying with honor could depend on keeping a sound horse under him.

They rode so close to the river that Blade's mount sometimes splashed through shallow puddles. Out on the river small boats scurried frantically out of spear-throwing distance and fear-stricken men jumped overboard from rafts or logs. On land they passed more villages, bare of life except for an occasional stray dog or chicken.

A mile on they came to a family trying to drive its pigs onto an improvised raft. The pigs scattered with frantic squeals, and most of the family did the same. A small boy couldn't run fast enough to keep up, and after a look back, his mother turned to stay with him. She knelt with her son in her arms as Blade rode up, her eyes closed and her mouth twisted in prayers or perhaps curses. Blade fumbled in the purse on his belt and pulled out a handful of silver coins.

«Look, woman!» he said softly. «For your pigs.» He had to call three times, and when the woman did open her eyes and look up, he thought for a moment she was going to faint. Then she grabbed the coins as if her life depended on them. Blade rode on, the expression on his face discouraging questions. He hoped the coins would be enough for her pigs. The gift wasn't enough to silence the rage inside him, at the way things worked in this Dimension-or rather, didn't work for anyone except the Lords and their chosen friends. When he looked back a few minutes later, the woman was back on her knees, but this time she was counting the coins over and over again.

The eighty rode on, through a land so lifeless that the silence and stillness were eerie. Blade found himself looking back over his shoulder again. All he saw were his own riders on their sweating horses and the distant cloud of dust from the battle by the river. Then they came around another bend and were in sight of Castle Muras.

Duke Klaman's seat was the strongest fortress in the Crimson River lands. It stood on level ground, close to the river which filled its moat and let the Duke bring in supplies by boat. Other than the moat it relied entirely on its massive walls for protection. Some years ago, Duke Klaman's father tore down part of his keep, used the loose stones to strengthen the walls, and turned what was left into a pleasure palace.

From those walls and the palace roof floated a number of brightly colored banners. From a mile away, Blade couldn't tell if one was Duke Klaman's. He could definitely make out something much more important.

The drawbridge was down.

In fact, not only was it down but the gate was open. As Blade watched, he saw three ox-carts rumble out of the shadowed gateway, across the bridge, and onto the road along the moat. It looked like «business as usual» at Castle Muras, with no one suspecting what was going on barely five miles away.

The last stronghold of Duke Cyron's enemies lay open to Blade and his eighty mounted Lords.

He quickly gathered his men around him. Speaking softly, fighting the absurd notion that the enemy might overhear him from the distant walls, he gave new orders. They would form two lines, then advance at a steady trot, as if they were Duke Klaman's men with every right to be riding up to his castle. They would hold back to a trot until they were challenged, then take the drawbridge at a gallop. Once inside they would start by setting fire to everything which would burn. That should destroy the supplies and make it impossible for the castle to stand a long siege. After that, it would be a simple matter of «kill or be killed.»

«I will praise every brave deed I see,» Blade concluded. «But I am going to be busy enough myself. So do not worry about whether I see you. Only remember that you will be able to tell your grandchildren that you were with Lord Blade and Lord Ebass, the day they took Castle Muras!»

He'd struck the right note, so much so that he had to stop the men from cheering him. Then they formed the two lines and were off again. Blade found himself thinking more kindly of the Lords of the Crimson River. For all their faults, they would follow a leader they trusted into hell and out the other side. Right now that particular virtue outweighed a lot of their faults!

Three-quarters of a mile. Half a mile. A quarter of a mile. Blade began to measure the distance to the castle gate in yards. Three hundred yards, two hundred-if there was much archery in these lands, they would now have been within bowshot. For once the laws against using archery against Lords would work in Blade's favor. The men on the walls wouldn't dare shoot at riders who were certainly Lords, whatever else they might be.

A hundred and fifty yards, and a trumpet call came from the wall. Blade's trumpeter replied. The riders closed another fifty yards in silence. Then a human voice took over.

«Who goes there?»

«Lord (mumble) of (mumble),» replied Blade. «Bringing a hundred men to Duke Klaman's service for the war against Nainan.» Those words took him across another ten yards.