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Robert Adams
A Cat of Silvery Cue
PROLOGUE
The shaven scalp of the tall, broad-shouldered young warrior glinted in the light of the rising sun, as did the burnished surfaces of his suit of three-quarter armor and the dolphin-shaped silver goblet in his right hand. Though heavier and squarely masculine, his face bore a startling similarity to those of the two tall, handsome women who stood before him, their hair but slightly darker than his bushy corn-silk eyebrows.
The large, battlemented building, atop the flat roof of which they stood, was known as Morguhn Hall and was the young man's ancestral home. The hall crowned a gently sloping hill and, to north, south, east and west, as far as the eye might see, the fields and woodlands and rolling leas were all his domain, the Thoheekahtohn of Morguhn.
To their left, a tall column of smoke arose from the rear courtyard, wherein had been laid the funeral pyre of the man who had been husband to the two women and father to the young warrior. Though the man had died of natural causes, the six hacked corpses which had shared his pyre had fallen in battle just hours before their cremations; among them had been a younger son of the two women, Djehf Morguhn.
As the hall had but recently been invested, the bailey to their right lay cluttered, and jerrybuilt pens were tightly packed with hundreds of cattle, sheep and goats. The small open space remaining was now filled with above threescore stamping, whickering warhorses, astride most of which were armored and fully armed fighting men. The majority of these riders wore the scale-mail hauberks and open-faced helms which identified them as Middle Kingdoms Freefighters or mercenary cavalrymen—armed with broadsword or heavy saber, two-foot hide buckler shod with iron, long, broad dirk and a few short-shafted, well-balanced darts. Ten of the horsemen were alike as peas in a pod, being Horseclansmen but recently arrived from the Sea of Grass, thousands of kaiee to the west.
Of the remaining men, all save one were armed with broadswords and spears, and wore three-quarter plate very similar to that of the young man atop the hall. This last man, clad in a flowing white robe, was armed with daggers, a full dozen darts and a double-curved yaghatan. Where all of the other men's faces, though tanned by sun and weather, were either olive or fair, his was the rich dark-brown of old leather.
One who might have been a younger duplicate of the dark-skinned mounted man stood behind the young man on the rooftop. His name was Eeshmaheel and he was a physician from the Black Kingdoms, far away to the north and east of this land. A rail-thin lad, his own skin almost blue in its blackness, stood by the physician's side, holding with both hands a gleaming brass bowl. He was but recently freed from an odious bondage to a perverted nobleman and had voluntarily apprenticed himself to the tall, graceful brown-skinned man; his hated master had called him Peeos, but all here used his proper name, Peeair.
Eeshmaheel was placing a fresh bandage over a recent wound in the young man's scalp. As he performed this task, he talked constantly, explaining to Peeair just what he was doing and why, for so had the master physician, Ahlee, imparted his extensive knowledge to Eeshmahehl. The language he spoke was Kweebehkeekos, for, though Peeair was from an exotic land far to the south, this far-northern tongue was enough like his native speech to be easily comprehensible.
Lifting a thick cloth pad, damp with some liquid from the bowl held by Peeair, the physician briefly held the pad under the lad's fine-boned nose, slightly canted since a blow of his former master's fist had broken it "What is the smell, Peeair?"
"Brandy, master."
Eeshmahehl nodded, placed the pad over the healing wound, held it with his left hand while taking a length of rolled bandage from the compartmented bowl. "Just so, Peeair, just so. And why is the inner bandage so often soaked with brandy, do you remember?"
The boy closed his eyes and knitted his brows in concentration. "To . . . because wounds covered with such dressings seem to heal quicker and cleaner?"
"Very good, my son, very good. Ahlah has granted you a good memory, which makes me certain that the Elder Masters will quickly confirm you as my apprentice, when you return with me to Zahrtohgah . . . . Now, set down the basin, Peeair, and hand me the thoheeks' helmet."
Gingerly, the sinewy brown hands settled the weighty helm atop the thick bandages, then fumblingly commenced to thread straps through buckles.
Smiling, one of the two widows stepped forward, saying, "Please, Master Eeshmahehl, allow me. You are inexperienced at it, but my sister and I helped arm our father and brothers before we were half the age of young Peeair."
While the two women fastened the neckpiece to helm, lowered the cheek-pieces, then set about checking and tightening the fit of various other components of their son's set of plate, a tall, much-scarred man of forty or so emerged from a corner tower and strode purposefully the length of the side wall, his Pitzburk plate clanking and the plume on his helm nodding.
After ascending the stone steps to the roof, he paced over to the young thoheeks, rendered a military salute and said, "The column is formed up, Duke Bili. Each horse bears a skin of watered wine and a wallet of war rations. Master Ahlee said that it would be neither painful or injurious to the beast, so I've had your black charger saddled and fitted with a chamfron."
The thoheeks nodded curtly. "Very good, captain. You may return, now. I'll join you, shortly."
Saluting once more, the officer spun and retraced his steps, while Bili embraced and kissed each of his mothers, saying, "When the Undying High Lady Aldora and her dragoons arrive, point them in the direction of the rebels' retreat. Tell them that his grace rides with us and wishes them to join us."
Mother Behrnees nodded briskly. "We will, Bili. But, ere you ride . . . you really should make your peace with Count Djeen."
Bili's mouth thinned into a grim line. "There is no peace to be made, Mother. The tail does not wag the dog. I, not Count Djeen, am lord here, a fact which I had to make abundantly clear to him!"
Mother Mahrnee's blond braids swished as she shook her head. "Admittedly, he did provoke you, son, but he is a very proud man. You could have taken him to a place apart. You should not have humiliated him before everyone in the hall."
The thoheeks snorted harshly. "When did he hesitate to call me to task, to question my every word, before whoever happened to be nearby, Mother? No, the time was overripe for him and everyone else to be made aware that this is now my duchy and that I will order it and its affairs in my way. Now, I must go."
When the last scale-clad trooper had cleared the courtyard, Feelahks Sami Kahtuhr, the castellan, saw the heavy, thick gates shut and the two massive bars dropped into place, but the outer grille of wrought iron he left raised, for with the would-be rebels in full flight, hotly pursued by Duke Bili's stout little band, there were no rams to threaten the entry portals.
Old Komees Djeen Morguhn, retired strahteegos of the Confederation Army and a soldier for most of his sixty-odd years, limped along the length of the wall and up the stairs to the roof, where the ladies still stood, watching their son's column re-form and set off down the hill at a brisk trot. The plates of the old man's set of proof scraped loudly each time he leaned against the wall to swing his stiff leg up onto the next step. His visor was raised so his one eye might do the work of two, and the shiny brass hook which had replaced his left hand sparkled in the morning sunlight.
He limped over to the ladies, muttering, "Damned foolishness, that's what it is, and no mistake! Probably get himself and half his troop killed for a piece of senseless stupidity! The tower has already spotted the van of the Confederation kahtahfrahktoee, why not let professionals handle this matter of pursuit and harassment, eh?"
"Sun and Wind, my lord count," snapped Mother Behrnees, "what do you want? For more years than I care to recall, you chivvied our Bili's father to forsake his passive, peaceful ways. Now you would condemn the son for being actively warlike! But I think you've learned better than to do so to his face, have you not?"
The scarred, wrinkled features flushed hotly. "The young whippersnapper! To so abase me before my wife and daughter and everyone else in this hall! And after all I've done and tried to do for him! That act, alone, shows how dangerous is his immaturity!"
"Now hold!" Mother Mahrnee's tone was cold and brittle as midwinter ice. "Lord count, think you. When did you ever shrink from patronizing or upbraiding Bili before all and sundry? How long did you think a proud man would submit to such abuse and humiliation?"
The nobleman's lips made as if to spit. "But he's no man, dammit, he's a murderous, hotheaded boy in a man's body. He needs guidance, discipline!"
Mother Mahrnee smiled grimly. "Bili, your lord, is less than two moons shy of eighteen summers, lord count, and he is a seasoned warrior . . . as you have reason to know, would you but admit the fact. He has fought battles and single combats; he has commanded men and earned their respect. King Gilbuht of Harzburk saw fit to knight him on the field, investing him with the Order of the Blue Bear!"
"He has done as much as any veteran. He has bedded noblewomen and tumbled serving girls, one at least within this hall, he has fought and pillaged and razed and raped his way through at least two intakings. Though he is as stark a warrior as you are likely to meet, he is no braggart or hector, preferring to let his scars and his honors and the strength of his arm tell of his prowess."
"Fagh! The accomplishments of a northern barbarian pocket princeling!" snorted Komees Djeen, derisively. "But, as I told him, a thoheeks must have more than a strong arm and an overgrown battleaxe to rule in Morguhn! Why, the arrogant young puppy even attempted to murder the High Lord. Sun and Wind, my ladies, this isn't some blood-soaked barbarian kingdom, where the lords rule by steel and rope!"
Mother Mahrnee's laugh was harsh. "No wonder you were so successful a strahteegos—your maneuvers were nothing short of amazing! Up until the eve of the very day that his illness claimed him, were you not urging Bili's sire to rule in that very way you now claim to abhor—badgering him to hang the Ehleen kooreeos and all his priests, and to have off the heads of Vahrohnos Myros and half a score of petty lords of the old blood! One might think, on the basis of your past preachments, that you'd be overjoyed with your new lord, not ceaselessly nitpicking and criticizing him in public and in private."
The old man stamped a foot in his angry frustration. "But last night, to try to slay a Kinsman over so petty a matter—"
"The High Lord does not fault him," stated Mother Mahrnee flatly. "Why then should you? The High Lord told my sister and me that, had he been in Bili's place, considering last night's dangers and turmoil, he might well have done the same thing to a subordinate—Kinsman or no—who had seen fit to disobey orders and desert his assigned post. I repeat, Count Djeen, why do you continue to harp on a matter which the Undying High Lord, who was the only injured party, has seen fit to utterly dismiss?"
"I'll tell you why!" Mother Behrnees' blue eyes flashed fire and her voice cracked like a lash. "Pique, petulance and pettishness are what now drive our Komees Djeen, sister! So you waste breath trying to reason with him. Showing his breeding, Bili respected age and deferred to military experience; whereupon the good Komees seized upon this respect and deference as a lever to cant his lord in directions contrary to his nature. After swallowing far more censure and disrespect than would the average nobleman, our son enlightened Count Djeen, made it clear to him whose hand holds the whip. Count Djeen has for so long been issuing uncontested orders and manipulating the lives of younger men that he is now peeved beyond bearing to be confronted by a young man who not only owns the power to command him, but who refuses to be manipulated!"
"Madam, you go too far!" His gnarled right hand had unconsciously sought his dirk hilt and his single eye glowered.
Hotly, Mother Mahrnee's voice cut in. "Oh, no, Count Djeen, not nearly far enough! Do you truly think you'll need that dirk to still us from stating the bare truth? Or don't you think you've enough Morguhn blood on your hands?"
He opened his mouth, but so enraged was he that he could not speak, as she ruthlessly went on. "Poor Bili blames himself for his brother's death, but it is you who must bear that onus, Count Djeen. You and Spiros browbeat him into allowing Djehf—who though but six moons younger was much less seasoned, having been reared at Eeree, which fights fewer wars than Harzburk and is internally peaceful—to lead last night's sortie."
"As you well know, Bili had envisaged and laid out a plan to simply fire the stores and engines, then slay as many of the officers and priests as darts or arrows could reach, capturing an officer or two, if they chanced to run in the proper direction, but on no account closing with enemies who so far outnumbered the sally band. But Djehf, in his youthful inexperience, chose to disregard not only his brother's very good plan but the equally good advice of Captain Raikuh. He charged an armed and fully aroused camp with only a dozen dragoons, and no one of them even mounted! It was only because Chief Hwahltuh, seeing their predicament, led his clansmen to their aid and then covered the withdrawal with his bowmen, that they—any of them!—got back here."
"Well, Count Djeen, your insistence that all men's lives be so ordered as to always accord with your selfish dictates has exacted a high price. Six of those brave dragoons are now dead, along with two of the Sanderz clansmen. Djehf paid the ultimate cost for his rashness, and Bili, because he is a man who accepts full responsibility for his actions—no matter whose words may have influenced those actions—will probably castigate himself for the rest of his life."
At last he managed to get a few words past the rage-constricted tightness of his throat. "I will now return to my duties, ladies, I—"
"You'll withdraw when you've our leave, Count Djeen!" stated Mother Behrnees. "For we are not the 'barbarian trollops' you once saw fit to name us, when you were attempting to dissuade our late husband from marrying us. No, we are the granddaughters of a duke, the daughters of a duke, the cousins-german of a duke, the sisters of a duke, the widows of a duke and the mothers of a duke! You'll accord us the respect due us or, by Sun and Wind, you'll suffer the consequences!"
"Yes, Count Djeen, you might do well to remember that you no longer are dealing with poor, weak-willed Hwahruhn, whom you could accuse of foolishness and cowardice with virtual impunity. An open affront to my sister or me will be an open affront to our son; and Bili, already quite wroth at you and your arrogances, just might decide to treat you as King Gilbuht, long his mentor, would treat an impertinent noble."
"Now, by Sacred Sun, madam," grated the komees, from betwixt bared, yellow teeth, "I'll not see my homeland ruled in the bloody manner of an unlettered northern barbarian!"
"It is you who are the fool," hissed Mother Mahrnee, "not our late husband! You make a loud noise of despising the Ehleenee and their ways, yet you talk just like one, as well you should, since you are at least half-Ehleen by blood. You, of all men in this duchy, after your years of soldiering in the Middle Kingdoms, should be aware that they and their peoples are in no way barbarian. Our civilization is much different from that to which you were born, but it is in no wise inferior and, in many ways, superior to yours!"
Hate lanced from his eye as he cackled, "Ha! Hit a nerve, did I? Your kind have always been thin-skinned, proud as peacocks of the stinking middens which spawned you. Yes, I peddled my sword from Hwehlzburk to Hahrbuhnburk, and right often did I find it hard not to laugh at the unlearned apes you call noblemen—who marveled at a noble officer's abilities to read and write—even while I tried not to gag at the stenches of their long-unwashed bodies! When did one of your kind ever do anything to support your claim of civilized status, eh? They can but fight and kill, breed and wallow in their own filth and ignorance. You're, none of you, any better than the mountain barbarians; you're even of the same race!"
"Yes," nodded Mother Mahrnee. "We are of the same, ancient race as the mountain folk, and you Ehleenee would do well to remember that fact. Our race is descended in direct line from the demigods, the Mehruhkuhnz, untainted by the blood of effete Ehleenee."
"When first the Ehleenee came to this land, driving our race north and west, they were strong and valiant and honorable foemen, but in the centuries since, while we progressed, they have either remained static or have actually regressed. It required the Coming of the Horseclans and the unstinting efforts of the Undying High Lord to infuse new purpose along with new blood and inaugurate the snail-slow process of snapping your Ehleenee ancestors out of their course of certain racial suicide."
"As for what you have said of our people, some of it is true. No, we do not take to books and quills and soaps and scented water, but you who do so would not long be contented or safe as you now are without certain of the creations and products of our own civilization, Count Djeen."
"Your good sword bears the hallmark of the Kingdom of Pitzburk, as does each piece of your armor and, indeed, most of the decent weapons and armor in this duchy! That fine velvet you wore last night at dinner was woven in the capital of our own homeland, the Duchy of Zunburk, while your boots look to be from the County of Pahtzburk. And who but Middle Kingdoms Freefighters fought the Ehleenee's wars, ere God Milo crossbred Ehleenee with Horseclansmen and forced them to become other than effeminate fops?"
"And, speaking of God Milo, Count Djeen," interjected Mother Behrnees, "he knows the folk of the Middle Kingdoms far better than do you, yet he has never slandered us. Why, then, do you take such joy in it, not just here and now, but right often in the past?"
"You may be certain," the old man smiled thinly, "that my dear lord feels precisely as I do, but he must be diplomatic in any congress with your barbarians, since your dung-heaps adjoin his northern and northwestern borders, just as he must call common mercenaries 'Freefighters.' But I need not be so careful of treading on barbarian toes, for I am but—"
"You are but a fool!" The mindspeak was of terrible intensity and was broad-beamed into the minds of every mind-speaker in the hall. "You were a hidebound, opinionated, self-righteous young fool, forty years ago, Djeen Morguhn, and I can see that age has not brought you wisdom!"
Then the alarm trumpet pealed from the watchtower and Feelahks Sami bellowed, "They have forded the stream and they now approach the hall. Open the gates! Now comes the Undying High Lady Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmahs Pahpahs!"
1
Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz had gotten the last contingent of his peasant pikemen across the stream and jogging toward Morguhnpolis before the Vawnee scouts galloped in to report the Confederation cavalry's van to be no more than some two miles distant. He was distractedly rubbing an unshaven cheek and wondering whether he should try to cover the retreat of the hapless infantry with his mere handful of mounted men when the senior of the remaining sub-priests intruded upon his reverie with a demand.
"Lord Drehkos, if it be true that the hordes of the cursed Undying be not a mile away, I must insist that our coaches be returned to us, for the lives of those who do God's work are certainly of more importance than are those of the wretches you have ordered our conveyances filled with!"
Drehkos was not at all religious. He had joined the rebellion for the avowed purpose of gaining his brother's lands and title. His answer was heavily larded with studied irreverence. "Reverend Father, if you and your fellow 'servants of God' expect to reach Morguhnpolis other than on your well-shod feet, perhaps you had best start praying that God quickly grant you wings. You can blame Lord Myros and Father Rikos for the fact you have to walk; for had they not taken the last of the sound and usable wagons when they—ahhhh, shall we say, 'preceded'—our departure last night you'd be able to ride in the style to which you feel entitled. But I'll be damned if I intend to leave behind wounded officers and men, simply so priestly feet might be spared a few honest blisters!"
"Now, go away and leave me alone! I've weightier things to consider than your possible discomforts."
With the departure of the glowering priest, Drehkos returned to his ponderings. For the first time in his life, he regretted not riding north in his youth to serve as a Freefighter in the Middle Kingdoms with Djeen Morguhn, as had so many others of the young Kindred nobility. If he had, at least, he might now have a bare glimmering of his best course to follow, might not now be in this sorry mess. Finally, he sent for the only professional officer left after the previous night's chaos and carnage.
Shortly, the barbarian sub-lieutenant ambled in, his battered helmet sitting askew over his bandaged head. "You wanta talk to me, Lord Drehkos?"
Drehkos gestured at the other chair, charred slightly, like his own. When the skinny, long-bodied man had seated himself, the commander outlined the overall situation, admitted his own ignorance, and bluntly asked what he should do.
The reply was just as blunt. "Lord Drehkos, including me, it ain't but twenny real soljers left. Mosta them Vawnees done been long gone, an' I cain't say I blames 'em none. The only ones in this whole kit-and-kaboodle what has any chance of getting back to Morguhnpolis is the horsemen and, mebbe them there coaches. Them pike-toters is dead meat no matter how you riggers it, and you and us a-gittin' ourselves kilt long with 'em ain't gonna do nobody no good."
"Way I sees it, there's two things you can do, and I'll tell 'em to you. But I don't think neither one's gonna set in your craw too good." He paused, raising his grizzled brows in an unspoken question.
"Don't fear to speak, Lieutenant Hohguhn," smiled Drehkos. "I'm not Lord Myros. I don't punish men for speaking the truth as they see it, no matter how distasteful that truth may be to me."
"Wai, Lord Drehkos, if I 'uz you, I'd ride up yonder and surrender and see if I couldn't git my lord to go easy on my men, even if he wouldn't on me!"
Drehkos shook his head slowly. "Would that I could, lieutenant, but I don't think that that gesture would accomplish anything. I've met Thoheeks Bili, both in friendship and in enmity, and I've found him hard as steel. He was reared in Harzburk and tutored at the court of King Gilbuht, if you know what that means."
Hohguhn nodded vehemently. "I shore do, Lord Drehkos, I shore do, and you're right as rain, too. Won't do no particle of good to expeck no mercy off one of the Iron King's folks. Only thing you and your officers and them few Vawnees can do now is make tracks for Morguhnpolis, and I shorely do wish you luck."
"You won't be riding with us then, Hohguhn?"
The lieutenant looked the nobleman squarely in the eye. "No suh, I won't, and neither will none of my men."
"May I ask why, good Hohguhn? I'll not hold your answer against you."
The officer cracked his scarred knuckles before answering. "Wai, Lord Drehkos, it's thisaway. We's all Freefighters and we ain't been paid in near three moons, but we 'uz all willing to stick around, long as it looked like we might get some loot, no matter how common Lord Myros treated us; but didn't none of us sign on to fight the Confederation Army or to die in a losing fight for no pay but rotten rations and horse-piss wine and hard words."
He glanced around uncomfortably, then leaned forward and spoke in a much-lowered voice. "Lord Drehkos, you done treated us better all along then any of the others, so I'll level with you. You cain't hold Morguhnpolis! Them old walls ain't near thick nor high enough, and mosta the engines whut wuz burnt up las' night was took off of them walls, so Morguhnpolis ain't nuthin' now but a big ol' rat trap. Don't you git yourself caught in it, Lord Drehkos. You just keep on by. You don't look like no Ehleen, so mebbe the mountain folks'll take you in. This all's just 'tween you and me, you unnerstan'."
The skinny officer stood and extended his hand. Soberly, Drehkos arose and gripped the officer's grubby, broken-nailed hand as if he had been an equal, saying, "I thank you, Hohguhn, I thank you for everything. Now, let me advise you, if I may. Your men may, of course, take anything left in the camps that strikes their fancy, but don't linger too long, lest you be taken for a rearguard and attacked."
——«»——«»——«»——
From the top of the hill, the camps appeared deserted. Nonetheless, Bili rode with his visor down and his uncased axe laid ready across his wide-flaring pommel. While he had ridden through the dark, narrow passage to the gate, he had mindspoken his warhorse, Mahvros, reaffirming their brotherhood and telling him how much he regretted their enforced separation and how pleased he was to be once more able to ride into battle astride one on whom he could depend. Nor was any of it untrue, for Bili actually felt kinship with the devoted stallion, had felt his own wounds no more keenly than he had the horse's at the embattled bridge where he and the High Lord and Vahrohneeskos Ahndee had stood off a score or more of mounted rebels. Had it only been less than a week since that affray? It seemed a lifetime—and he well knew how important to a warrior's safety was the cooperation of a disciplined and courageous mount.
As for Mahvros, he all but purred! Once clear of the gate, he arched his steel-clad neck and lifted his white-stockinged feet high in his showiest parade strut, his powerful thews rolling under his glossy black hide. Mahvros loved nothing more than a good blood-spurting fight, and his brother had told him that soon there would be two-legs in plenty to savage and kick.
Bili spoke aloud, for though Chief Hwahltuh Sanderz, who rode at his right, could mindspeak, Captain Pawl Raikuh, on his left, could not.
"Captain, should I fall. Baron Spiros Morguhn will be acting duke until my brother, Tcharlee, can get here from Pitzburk. You are a brave and honorable man and you have served me well—serve them equally. Command of the present warband will devolve upon the Undying High Lord."
"Regarding the rebels, the only men I want taken alive are those damned priests and the treacherous nobles, but no man is to chance undue risks simply to capture them. I would like to have the bastards for public torture and execution, but none of them are worth the lives of any of your men, and I'll settle for just their heads, if it comes to that."
"As for the common scum, I want to see no living ones along our track. Understood?" At his companions' grim nods, he went on.
"Save your darts and arrows for the unlikely event that someone persuades the pigs to make a stand, or for later, when the horses are too blown to run them down; for now, let's have sword and axe and spear work. And, since our numbers be small, we'd best stay together until we're certain there's no organized rearguard to hack through. We— What's this?"
A broad-beamed mindspeak from Chief Hwahltuh and a hand signal from Captain Raikuh brought troopers and clansmen into line of battle on the flanks of the three leaders. Then every eye was fixed upon the tall, broad form of the young thoheeks, awaiting his word or gesture to charge the small band which had emerged from a fold of ground and was now moving slowly up the hill.
Bili raised his visor for better visibility and kneed Mahvros forward a few yards, then a few yards more, until he could clearly see the approaching men. Only the leading six were mounted, though several others led limping horses or saddled mules. The foremost, a skinny man whose dented helmet bore the horsehair crest of a commoner officer, was gripping his sheathed sword by the tip and holding it high over his head. Noting Bili's advanced position, the officer turned to halt his party, then spurred forward alone.
Bili unwound the thong from his wrist, grasped the central spike of his axe and waved the haft above his head.
"Now, what the hell is going on?" demanded the Sanderz of Raikuh.
His eyes still upon his young lord, the captain snapped, "Sword Truce. Those men must be Freefighters, probably part of Captain Manos' two troops of dragoons. But keep your eyes peeled, lord chief, and your bow ready. Sword Truce is sacred to those of us who worship Steel, but others have been known to invoke it for purposes of unhallowed treachery."
When but a yard separated the two riders, the lanky officer extended his weapon, hilt first, to Bili, who accepted it with one hand while proffering his axe with the other. Gravely, the officer raised the head of the upended axe to his lips and kissed the burnished metal. No less gravely, Bili partially drew the sword and reverently pressed his lips to the flat of the wide, well-honed blade, gently resheathed it, then returned it to its owner, accepting his axe in return. Moving up knee-to-knee, the men exchanged whispered words and a complicated handclasp.
Grinning, Bili laid his axe back across his pommel and relaxed against the high cantle of his warkak. "Well, Sword Brother, I hope that, if you and yours were a part of that sorry rabble just departed, you at least got paid."
Lieutenant Hohguhn smiled ruefully. "Not for the last three moons, noble Sword Brother, but Lord Drehkos, he give us leave to loot the camp, after he 'uz gone. 'Course, we would've enyhow, pay or no pay, but she were a nice touch, having permission and all."
"Well, what want you of me and the sacred Truce, Brother?" asked Bill, adding, "I must be brusque, for there is a day of bladework ahead."
Hohguhn snorted. "Butcher's work, it'll be, and no mistaking, 'less some o' them Vawnee dig up enough gumption to stand and fight."
An icy prickling crept under Bill's backplate. "Vawnee, Sword Brother? Is Thoheeks Vawn involved, then, in this sorry affair?"
"If you'd a-lissuned to whatall them Vawnee said, you'd of thought their Ehleen god'd done in the thoheeks and all his kin. But iffen you 'uz raised in mountains, like me, you'd know what probly really happuned."
"Thoheeks Vawn and his Kindred are then dead?" Bill's voice was tight.
"Oh, aye, noble Sword Brother," Hohguhn stated. "Seems as how him and his got drove up inta the mountains and holed up in a old Confederation fort and they 'uz standing off the whole dang Ehleen force, then—and this here's where them Vawnee gits all walleyed and sweaty—what I figger happened was a big ole thunderstorm come on and lightning struck their wall. I tell you, I seen the like happen, up near to Pahkuhzburk, where I 'uz borned, Sword Brother. A hit like that, with a lotta thunder a-ratiling the rocks will real often set off a landslide, so when them Vawnee tolt me part o' the fort slid down the mountain, I knowed didn't no Ehleen god have nuthin' to do with it."
"But, anyhow, five or six hundred of them Vawnee come a-riding in last night, fulla piss and vinegar and set to lick the whole Confederation. Leastways they wuz till all that ruckus got started. Half of 'em wuz dead afore dawn. And that wuz a right fine piece of work, that sally. Did you lead her, Sword Brother?"
"No," said Bili simply. "It was led by my birth brother, Djehf, Tahneest of Morguhn, now dead."
Hohguhn clasped his cased sword in both hands, saying, "Honor of the Steel to his memory, Sword Brother."
"Thank you, Sword Brother Hohguhn. But I repeat, what is it you want of me? Safe passage out of Morguhn, or employment?"
A note of ill-concealed eagerness entered the officer's voice. "You . . . you'd hire us on, then, Sword Brother?"
"Of course," Bili replied shortly. "Unless you've some compunction against drawing steel in my cause. I'll confirm you as sub-lieutenant and pay you as such, but you'll be under the command of Captain Raikuh, who leads my dragoons."
Hohguhn's bushy brows rose. "Pawl Raikuh, what useta be a gate sergeant at Morguhnpolis?"
Bili's helmeted head bobbed once. "The same. You see, Brother Hohguhn, men of proven loyalty rise fast in my service."
Hohguhn beamed a gap-toothed smile. "Then Bohreegahd Hohguhn's your man, and no mistake! B'sides, I weren't no officer till I signed on with Captain Manos, anyhow. Highest I'd ever been afore that 'uz troop sergeant for Captain Feeliks Kahtruhl."
Now Bili looked amazed. "You mean that some of you Freefighters actually got out of Behreezburk alive? With our lines drawn so tightly it seems hard to believe that anything larger than a rat could have wormed through them."
All at once, Hohguhn's mouth dropped open, his seamed and weathered face mirroring surprise. When, at length, he again spoke, his tone was less of respect than of utter awe. "By my Steel, you . . . you be Bili the Axe! It wuz you what slew the earl and two of his bodyguards in that fight under the north wall. I seen it!"
"And now you be duke here? Well, my lord, me and my men, what's left of us, we'd be purely honored to fight under your banner, we would!"
——«»——«»——«»——
While Lieutenant Krahndahl conducted Hohguhn and his men up to the hall to get them outfitted and decently mounted, Bili and the warband picked through what was left of the string of camps, dispatching any wounded they came across, making certain that the dead really were deceased and earmarking usable spoils for later collection by the hall ...
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