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sleep, she waited; but her beautiful face slowly contorted with hate and disgust.
Finally, sure the Lord was deeply asleep, she rose, glided to his wardrobe, and
slid a jeweled dagger from its sheath on an embossed leather belt. She glided back
through a single shaft of moonlight to his bedside, and stood looking down at
him. Slowly she smiled as she raised the dagger and plunged it home.
To the south, in Lord Ubiquii's tall, moated castle, two guards stood leaning on
their pikes outside the Lord's bedroom door.
A Butler came discreetly down the hall and stopped to murmur in the ear of the
older guard. The guard's face turned grim; he nodded shortly. The Butler bowed
courteously and moved away.
The younger man frowned. "What was that about?"
"It could be trouble," the older guard said slowly, "but not enough to trouble His
Lordship. Go to the guardroom and tell Sergeant Garstang to come here with five
picked men."
The younger man cocked his head to one side, frowning.
"Go!" the older man barked. "Do as you are bid!"
The younger man turned away, still watching his companion out of the corner of
his eye.
The elder waited till the younger man had passed from sight, waited till his
footsteps had faded away. Then he turned, opened the door he guarded, and went
in to murder his Lord.
In Chateau Grenoble, the kitchen drudge came to the head Butler, murmuring
quietly to him. He listened thoughtfully, nodding; she turned away. Then the
Butler told one of his footmen to bear a message to a certain Sergeant of Guards.
As the footman went, the Butler passed among the other servants, murmuring
briefly to each; one by one, they finished what they were doing and went to the
kitchens, where they took up knives and cleavers.
They marched up the great stairs toward the chamber where their Lord and Lady
lay sleeping, each of them remembering many humiliations, injuries, and loved
ones lost. On a landing they met a troop of guardsmen. The sergeant and the
Butler exchanged glances, then marched on up the stairs, side by side. Fifty
Soldiers and servants followed them.
The castle of Miltrait had a lord with a nasty, suspicious mind; he'd always made
sure he kept a good standing army handy within the walls of his keep, and a
squad of young lordlings (mostly his own) to stand behind the Soldiers with
lasers. The lordlings had stood night watch in the barracks; which was why,
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r r
though the house churls had opened the gate, the rebel army wasn't making
much headway.
The courtyard was a frenzy of torchlight, hoarse screams, bellows of rage,
winking laser beams, and the clatter of steel. At its center stood the Lord, armor
bolted over his nightshirt, hewing and hacking about him, bellowing, "On, my
bullies, on! Force them out through the gate; free this castle of vermin!" And
slowly, bit by bit, the churls were being pushed back to the wall.
But, silent and unseen above them, a huge black egg drifted down, hovering over
the battlements. One of its turrets swiveled downward, lining up on the Lord.
He happened to glance upward, saw the dark blot against the stars, and realized
what was happening. He sprang backward with a bellow of warning-but the turret
tracked him, and a rod of red fire sizzled out, strafing the long line of lordlings.
The Lord died in an instant. Some of his men survived long enough for the knives
of the churls to reach them.
Lady Pomgrain fled back through the keep. Behind her, in the great hall, the air
danced with laser bolts. Steel clashed on steel. Her husband fought like a maniac
with the handful of gentlemen left to him, guarding her line of escape, but the
churls pressed them hard; as soon as one was dispatched, another popped up in
his place.
The Lady threw open a door on a spiral stair, stepped in, and bolted the door
behind her. Up and up she climbed, panting heavily, till she came to a door at the
roof of the tower. She leaned against it, gasping till she'd recovered a little of her
strength; then, fumbling her keys in her fear, she unlocked it. The door swung
open; she all but fell in.
The room was empty and clean, as immaculate as gray stone can be, except for a
large metal console with a viewscreen in its center, at the far side of the small
room. The Lady staggered over to it, pushed a button, and jewel-lights glowed
into life. She threw a key and spoke into a grid on the console's face: "Alarm,
alarm, emergency! The churls have risen on the estates of Pomgrain! They have
taken the castle; they are slaying the nobles! Send help; let all men guard their
own!"
The message rolled out from her castle in a huge, expanding globe. It touched
castle after castle; and where it touched, receiving sets woke into life.
Decade and Dirk had donned outlaw clothing against the chill of the dark
predawn hours, but Dirk still wore the rope belt, and the garnet in his ear.
The garnet buzzed; Dirk tapped recognition on the end of the rope/transmitter.
He listened for a few minutes, frowning, then tapped an acknowledgment and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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