The Exotic Enchanter by L. Sprague de Camp, Lyon Sprague de Camp, Christopher Stasheff Page A

Sergeivich's hand trembled on his arm.
    Sviatoslav was led out of the yard, still whimpering. Igor turned to Reed Chalmers.
    "Fifteen men are dead, and one is blind, for which you bear some blame. Confess your part in this."
    Underneath his caution, Chalmers had courage. "A man, none of these, approached me and offered to return the Lady Florimel to me if I helped him. If not, he said she would be sold beyond the Volga and I would never get her back."
    Had Reed actually watched the executions?
    "How do you know he was none of these?" Igor asked.
    "He looked to have Polovets blood, Your Highness."
    "And you believed him?"
    "I couldn't take the chance that he was lying, Your Highness."
    "What did you agree to do?"
    "To cast a spell, so that strangers could enter the palace without being questioned. Further orders would have been given me when the palace was taken."
    "You knew, then, that you were dealing with my enemies?"
    "It was for my wife, Your Highness."
    From the look on Igor's face, Shea knew he had better say something before the prince pronounced sentence.
    "Your Highness," Shea managed, hoping that Mikhail Sergeivich would keep his dagger sheathed, "I swear to you that Rurik Vasilyevich has done nothing out of malice to you, but only for the sake of his wife. Among us, the marriage bond is strong. A man who will not risk his honor to rescue his wife has no honor at all."
    "A man who will take the word of a Polovets also has no sense," Igor said. "And with thirteen dead and more wounded men, it will be harder for me to rescue Yuri Dimitrivich's household."
    Shea knelt, awkwardly because of his hands. "I beg you to spare his life, Your Highness. We can't pay your blood price in grivnas , only in service. When we work together, we can do much more than either of us can alone. Won't you spare him to recover your losses, if nothing else?"
    George Raft could not have improved on the smile Igor's face wore. "He stands condemned, but I will pardon him if you defeat the Polovtsi for me without more loss of men. Or, if men are lost, if you pay their blood price—in grivnas .
    "I place no punishment on you, Egorov Andreivich. Mikhail Sergeivich bears witness that you fought for me, and you are free to accept or refuse for your comrade's sake. If you succeed, he is free. If you do not succeed, and die in the attempt, his punishment stands but you shall have a warrior's grave. If you do not succeed, and live, I can think of no punishment greater than that you watch your comrade quartered on the execution ground.
    "Do you accept?"
    "Yes, Your Highness."
    "Free him." Mikhail Sergeivich hauled Shea to his feet, and cut his bonds. "Take Rurik Vasilvevich to the penitents' cells beneath the basilica. Keep him guarded, but I doubt he can work sorcery there. And Egorov Andreivich," Igor concluded, "you will go to the barracks, where you can be watched."
    The royal trio swept off, and the rest began to carry out their orders.

IV
    Harold Shea swore as his horse shied from yet another balky mule. He had been in the saddle for what seemed like weeks, certainly long enough to learn the difference between riding with a war party stripped for action, and riding herd on a cavalcade of merchants. The dust from a long line of horses, pack and riding mules, carts and wagons, and a fair bit of foot traffic kept his throat constantly dry. He was reaching for his waterskin just as Mikhail Sergeivich rode by.
    "Drink up. We'll reach a spring before noon," Mikhail said. Like Shea, the Rus soldier wore the plain armor of mercenaries rather than anything with Prince Igor's device.
    "I swear, we seem to add more merchants every day," Shea said.
    "That ruse of yours worked a little too well," Mikhail replied. "But I must admit it was clever."
    To get Reed Chalmers out from under Prince Igor's death sentence, Shea had improvised a fairly desperate plan: hit the Polovtsi while they're drunk. The prince had laughed aloud when the psychologist explained it,