'Not much,' said the woman. 'And yet more than most.' She squeezed her bony hands together and the tendons cracked.
Blade frowned and left off pacing. 'I do not want riddles.'
'I make none. I know more than most because I have not been asked until now. Only you ask, Lord Blade. For the others it is enough to believe that my mistress, the High Priestess, fell overboard. They have not dared ask.'
Blade tugged at his beard, black and curling now. 'So I do ask. What have you to tell?'
'The Drusilla did not fall overboard. One came and tapped at our door in the reaches of the night. I had just fallen to sleep, so the Drusilla answered. I woke then, but did not speak or stir, and I heard them whispering at the door. What words I did not hear, but I understood that the caller wanted the Drusilla to come on deck. There was great urgency to the whispering. So the Drusilla put on her robe and cowl and left the cabin. She did not return. And that is all I know, Lord Blade. Unless it be this bit more— my mistress did not fall overboard. She was pushed overboard by the one who came to the door and whispered. Perhaps the Drusilla was slain first. Perhaps not. But she is dead. Murdered. This I know.'
Blade remembered the golden sword stabbing down at. the screaming, terror-crazed serving wench of Lycanto. A deed conspired by the Lady Alwyth? But what matter now—
A sudden pang struck Blade, an electric pain slashing at his head like a lightning bolt. He staggered and clung to the wall for a moment, bemused, dazed, his head buzzing with a thousand bees. For a micro-instant he saw words blazoned on his memory: He who lives by the sword dies by the sword!
The old Dru was staring at Blade. 'You are ill, Lord Blade?'
It had gone. Blade rubbed his head and frowned. How strange. For a moment he had been nearly blind, with a tempest raging in his skull and his body light as feathers.
'It is nothing,' he told her gruffly. 'A headache. I have been in darkness too long and perhaps the sun— But back to our business. This one who came and whispered. You recognized the voice?'
'No.'
'Was it man or woman— certainly you could tell that.'
'I could not, Lord Blade. They spoke too low. I could not say, in truth, that it was a man— or a woman.'
He considered her for a moment, scratching his chin. 'You may go then. Do not speak of this to anyone. I will look into it in person.'
'And see the guilty punished, my Lord Blade? Man— or woman?' There was no mistaking the doubt and mockery in that dry old voice.
'That is my affair,' he said, turning to stare out the port. 'I said I will look into it. Go.'
She had been gone but a moment when there came another tapping at the door. Blade's mood was turning vile now and he had no wish for company at the moment. His 'Enter' was cold and curt.
It was the Princess Taleen, her nymph body robed against the sea air. She was wearing her auburn hair long again, as when he had first seen her and killed the mastiff, and the luxuriant tresses were held back by the same simple golden band. She was buskined and the robe, which was short, revealed dimpled knees. Sea and sun had imparted a fine bronze glow to her already magnificent skin.
She bowed slightly and there was faint mockery in the deep brown eyes that were too limpid, too innocent. He did not trust her in this mood. It meant mischief. He recalled the way she had looked at him when he was in danger— with all her love shining forth.
'I have come to pay my respects,' she said. 'To the new ruler of the Sea Robbers. And to say that I am glad you are alive, Lord Blade. I prayed to Frigga for it.'
Blade's smile was tentative. This one had as many humors as a chameleon has colors.
'Lord Blade? We are most formal today,'
She bowed again. 'As befits a mere maid with a great lord and warrior. Even though she is the daughter of a true king, and has known the great lord and warrior when he wore a scarecrow's breeches.'
Blade frowned at her, arms akimbo. 'You have come to quarrel, Taleen. With me, who is just back from death. Why?'
For a moment she did not answer. She went to the cot and began to make it, smoothing the coverlet and patting the sweat-stained pillow where he had tossed for so many dark hours. Blade studied that trim behind as she bent over the cot and felt much as he had that first night by the brook, when her girlish breasts had been practically thrust into his face. That this was lust, he acknowledged. Yet it was a kind of lust he had never known before— lust with an oddly gentle strain.
'I do not come to quarrel,' she said. She bustled around the tiny cabin, straightening and tidying. 'I come to explain.'
'Explain what, Princess?'
'Why I did not come before, to tend you in your sickness. I tried. The silver Dru would not permit it. Only once she spoke to me— to warn me away from you. I was frightened, Blade. I admit it. I, princess of Voth, did not have courage to go against her.'
Blade smiled. When she called him Blade things were nearly back to normal.
'So was Jarl frightened,' he said. 'And I account him no coward. And all the others, from what I hear. So what of all this? She is dead and I live. Forget the rest. It is over.'
He watched her narrowly.
Taleen made much of tossing a handful of litter out the port. 'Yes,' she agreed. 'That is over. We will forget it. Tomorrow we come to Bourne and then it is only four days march to Voth. Which brings about another matter, Blade.'
'Speak then.' He still watched her closely, but knew now that it would not avail him. For one so young she schooled
