EPILOGUE

Geros could have wished a return to the old days, when he was simply a color sergeant and apprentice weapons master. He found the business of being a hero most uncomfortable. By their very nature, Freefighters were an unruly, disrespectful and basically irreverent lot. Except in combat, they would argue with noncoms, officers, captains, and any grade of nobility, deferring only to those few who had earned respect.

At first shocked to the very core of his proper being by such blatantly improper conduct, Geros had, over the months, come to enjoy and appreciate his comrades' rude behavior and even-on rare occasions-to copy it.

But now the warm camaraderie was gone. In the week since he had rescued young Captain Lehzlee, men whose friendship he had treasured seemed distinctly ill at ease in his presence, spoke to him only when it was necessary and then in tones of deepest respect, far deeper respect than he had ever seen them show any officer or noble. Whenever he tried to join a fireside group, all conversation immediately ceased, lewd songs died on lips. So he found himself more and more alone.

He was alone when they came for him. Clumsily, because of his bandaged hands, he was trying to sharpen his fine sword. Then the tent flap was pulled aside and Raikuh said his piece stiffly, formally.

"Sergeant Geros, we are summoned to attend Duke Mor-guhn at the High Lord's pavilion. At once, please."

Then a trio of his former comrades filed meekly into the tent and assisted him to arm. When he emerged, Ahnah was waiting, fully equipped, her hide glossy with recent and thorough grooming.

After that, the bright morning became a phantasmagoria of improbable scenes and occurrences. At the perimeter of the Morguhn enclave, he and Captain Raikuh were joined by a squad of the kahtahfrahktoee of the High Lord's guard, brilliant in plumes and tooled boots and burnished parade armor. And Geros felt like some mendicant beggar in his crestless, field-browned helm, his scarred and dented cuirass.

All the enclaves through which they rode seemed strangely lifeless, deserted. The reason was clear when they topped the first hill. In the rolling little vale between them and the sprawling pavilions of the High Lord and High Lady, it seemed to Geros' wondering eyes that the entire army was drawn up-Confederation and Freefighter, horse and foot, rank upon rank.

Geros turned to his companion. "Pawl . . ." Then, recalling the officer's formality, "Captain, is there to be another attack today?"

The reply seemed incomprehensible. "Be quiet, sergeant, and don't slouch. Can't you see they're all watching us ... you!"

At their approach, an avenue was cleared for them and they walked their mounts across the vale, between the long rows of armored bodies and sweating, impassive faces. To Geros there was an ominousness to the silence, broken only by the sounds he and his party made-jingle and clank of metal, creak of leather, hoof on hard, pebbly ground.

And when they arrived just below the pavilions, guardsmen were waiting to lead away their horses and the path to the pavilion was lined with more faces. But officers this time, along with such minor nobles as had remained with the besieging army. The reflections of Sacred Sun on dress armor and jewels half dazzled Geros as he and the grim-faced captain trod that path.

"Close one eye!" muttered Raikuh out of the corner of his mouth. "Don't open it till we're within-otherwise you'll be blind, once we're out of this sun."

Obedient as always, Geros did as instructed. At the entrance, the guards rendered a clashing salute and Raikuh murmured, "Return the salute, lad. It's you they're honoring, not me."

Within the pavilion, the captain halted before the High Lord. "Lord Milo, I have brought, as ordered, Sergeant of Freefighters Geros Lahvoheetos."

The next few minutes were the stuff of dreams-first the touch of Duke Dili's Sacred Steel and the slow pronunciation of the ritual words which miraculously ennobled the blood in Geros' veins; the High Lord's darkly handsome face, first
serious of mien, then smiling, and his simple words of thanks on behalf of the Confederation for Geros' acts in the crater; then strong hands on his shoulderplates bearing him to his knees, and the approach of the white-haired, sinewy old nobleman, who draped the heavy chain upon those shoulders so that the pendant clanked and rang against his cuirass.

Then came that long, long ride through the ranks of the army, with the halting of the entourage before each unit, while a brazen-throated sergeant-major recited the unparalleled bravery which had earned Sir Geros Lahvoheetos his just rewards, and the pause before riding on as the men cheered.

And long years afterward, he could close his rheumy old man's eyes and still hear those decades-dead voices cheering his silver cat

PROLOGUE

The narrow, winding streets of the city were dark and utterly deserted, save for the solitary figure whose worn, oft-patched boots crunched through the fresh-fallen snow. The fine stuff of the hooded cloak which shrouded the walker had commenced to fray in places, but still was thick and warm. The scabbard of a broadsword jutted out at the hooded one's side, though of all the folk still alive within the walls of the doomed city, he was the man least likely to be attacked.

Not that Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhnpolis was universally loved. There were full many who actively hated the short, stocky, middle-aged nobleman, especially among the more religious elements of the population. But there was not a man or woman who would have dared to lift hand against him who commanded the city and its defense, for, harsh and uncompromising as had been his tenure, but few of his schemes and strategems had failed, while each and every one of his predictions had inexorably come to pass.

Most of those few thousands remaining in besieged Vawnpolis were common people-peasant villagers of this Duchy of Vawn and its neighboring principality, the Duchy of Morguhn; Vawnpolee and Morguhnpolee city dwellers, servant-class types, miners, herders and the like-and all were deeply riddled with superstition, else they would never have become involved in the insanity which had brought them to these sorry straits.

Inflamed by the kooreeoee and priests, who had been abetted by a handful of minor nobles, they had schemed and plotted against their rightful lords and finally had risen up and murdered many of them. In Vawn, the rebellion had been an unqualified success. But, due to a number of factors, in Morguhn it had failed miserably and, worse, had cost the lives not only of many Morguhn rebels
but of hundreds of the Vawnee who had ridden to aid them. Of the two kooreeoee, Holy Skiros of Morguhn was known to have been captured by the forces of the pitiless thoheeks of Morguhn; Mahreeos of Vawn had simply disappeared in the maelstrom-rout of the self-proclaimed Soldiers of God, whether dead, captured or in hiding, none of his erstwhile followers could say which.

Few of the rebel nobles had survived the debacle in Morguhn, and those few had bolted to the only refuge available to them, the walled city of Vawnpolis, which had been the seat of the now extirpated Thoheeksee of Vawn-descendants of one of the barbarian Horseclans whose rule had been imposed upon formerly Ehleen lands for a century and a half.

Though there had been, between the defeat in Morguhn and the investment of Vawnpolis, more than adequate time for every man or woman or child of the rebels to escape, to flee before the avenging forces, there had never been a safe direction in which to flee-Morguhn lay to the east, the loyal Duchy of Skaht lay to the north and the equally loyal Duchy of Baikuh lay to the south; west lay grim death in the terrible form of wild, savage mountain tribes.

Just before harvest time, after a hotly contested march, the army now besieging Vawnpolis had arrived under its walls. Twenty thousand Confederation Regulars had marched under their cat standards, along with almost every loyal nobleman of fighting age, their relatives, retainers and companies of hired Freefighters, most of the latter being natives of the Middle Kingdoms, which lay several ' hundred miles to the north. This vast host-more than thirty thousand warriors, in all-was led by High Lord Milo of Morai and High Lady Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpas, two of the Undying Triumvirate who had ruled the Confederation since its inception. Only they were aware that the rebellion, though cloaked in religious trappings, was really sparked by ageless agents of the Witch Kingdom, situated in the huge and trackless Salt Swamp of the farthest south.

With the siegelines drawn and fortified, the bulk of the nobles had been sent home to see to their harvests, while their Freefighter companies and the Regulars maintained the investiture. With the crisp air of autumn, they returned
with reinforcements, swelling the total strength of the army to over forty thousand.

Since then, there had been three assaults on the city walls, all beaten off, but all exacting a high cost not only to attackers, but to the defenders, who could ill afford any manner of losses.

It was, Drehkos ruminated as he walked back to the Citadel, an impossible situation. Due principally to the senseless burnings of standing crops and slaughterings of herds during the first days of the Vawn rebellion, Vawnpolis had not ever been really well supplied with food and had lasted this long only because of the fever which had sporadically raged through the city, taking off mostly the youngest and the oldest and the sickly or wounded. Now, the last skeletal horse had been butchered, most of the hoarded stores were gone along with dogs and cats; even rats and mice were virtually extinct in Vawnpolis.

Before the outer works fell, it had sometimes been possible to filter small raiding parties through the lines to prey upon the camps or supply line of the besiegers, but recent attempts in this direction had resulted only in the gruesome return of the raiders by way of the investing army's catapults-their headless bodies splatting against the walls or into the streets.

At least there was no lack of fresh water from the three deep wells within the walls. Nor did they lack for fuel, since the miners had early on discovered a wide seam of hard coal beneath the city itself. But these were the only items they did not lack.

The refugee-rebels had fled their homes in haste, in summer, and the dearth of warm clothing, boots and blankets was crippling. The supply of arrows was running perilously low. Since the city's tannery had lain outside the walls, leather was become scarce and even the few green hides were husbanded. Even so mundane a thing as rope was become infinitely precious, and ordinary linen or cotton thread brought its lucky owner a silver thrahkmeh the yard.

For months now, no scrap of any hard metal had been allowed to sit idle. A round dozen master smiths were among the rebels in Vawnpolis, along with numerous apprentices and a superfluity of fuel; all that was lacking was a decent supply of war metals-steel, iron, bronze and brass.

The lack of horn and fishglue rendered the repair of bows almost an impossibility, and stringing those still usable was becoming more and more difficult as the supply of silk steadily dwindled. The few arrows they could find decent wood to produce were, of dire necessity, fletched with vellum and tipped with fire-hardened bone; also, Drehkos had encouraged experiments in scraping and otherwise processing bone in attempts to devise a substitute for horn, but the results had been, thus far, inconclusive.

If only . . . Drehkos Daiviz could but shake his weary head and sigh. This rebellion, now fast approaching its bloody, inevitable conclusion, had been pointless and wasteful, and those involved, himself included, had been fools and worse. How can an egg be unscrambled? And it would be as simple to do that as to return any part of the Confederation to its pre-Horseclans condition-Ehleen-ruled and principally Christian.

How could he and the other nobles have allowed the kooreeoee to so delude them? Poor Myros, at least, was more or less mad and might be excused on that ground. But the rest of them should have known better, should have known their Holy Cause was foredoomed to failure, should have realized that a mere handful of nobles and a few thousands Soldiers of Christ-ill-armed, half-trained peasants and city riffraff-had not the chance of a snowball in Hell against the professional troops they were certain to face.

As the torches at the Citadel gate glowed ahead, he consciously set his face in a smile, that those good men within might not think him either worried or displeased. For he was definitely not displeased, not with them, anyway. They-common and gentle and noble . . . yes, and even cleric-had done more, done longer and done with less than anyone had any right to expect

And his smile broadened, involuntarily, at the swell of his fierce pride in these, his men. Their bravery, stoicism in suffering privations and self-sacrifice, should, by rights, have bought them their lives and guaranteed their futures; in truth, he and they would all soon be dead. He only hoped that what they had done here would be remembered by those who opposed them, even after the Holy Cause which had brought them all to this pass had been long years relegated to that dungheap from which it should never have been resurrected.

Chapter I

Although the camps scattered about the headquarters hill resounded with the raucous gaiety of the besieging army's celebration of the year-end Sun Festival, the woman and eight men gathered about the board in the commander's pavilion were subdued, drinking little and eating less. Of the ten thoheeksee who had led the march out of Morguhnpolis last summer, seven were left alive, but only five had been hale enough to ride to this feast, and all of them bore either bandages or new scars.

Old Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt, Confederation siegemaster, tapped the dottle from his pipe, picked up his winecup, then set it back, untasted. "Had one of my officer-students propounded a situation of this sort, even as late as a year ago, Td have pegged him a madman!" He snorted, feelingly. "The whole damned thing's impossible! A few thousand ill-supplied, ill-equipped, starveling wretches of amateur soldiers simply cannot hold the antique walls of a small hill town against four times their number of professionals-and half of that force, units of the best damned army any of us will ever see. It's completely illogical!"

Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt mindspoke, while sipping thin broth through a copper tube and longingly eyeing the joints of meat-broth and milk and wine having been his only sustenance since the physician, Master Ahlee, had wired shut his shattered jaws after the most recent attack. "Logical or not, Sir Ehdt, I face the reality of it every time I shave. It might almost lead one to wonder at the power of a religion that can give its adherents what it takes to do the impossible.. .."

Thoheeks Morguhn set down his silver winecup with a crash. The lamp flames played on his scarred, shaven scalp as he tilted back his head to vent a harsh laugh. "My lord ahrkeethoheeks, men sometimes die for religion, but they don't fight for religion. Men fight for blood and loot and women and great captains. The rebels are fighting for Drehkos Daiviz, not for any blood-drinking, crucified god. When they've beaten us off, do you hear them praising their god or his priests? Of course not! That whole city erupts with cheers for Lord Drehkos. Should they be suddenly bereft of him, they'd fold up like an empty wineskin."

Old Thoheeks Duhnkin belched twice, resoundingly, then nodded. "Aye, Bili, I too have noted that. Ah, Sacred Sun, but it was a bitter and cursed day when so obviously worthy and talented a Kinsman chose to turn against his Kindred and throw in his lot with a traitorous pack of Ehleenee scum." He belched once more, then added, "For, to my way of thinking, our Confederation could well use such a gifted leader."

The High Lord, Milo Morai, who had but recently returned from his capital to rejoin the army, agreed. "Yes, thoheeksee, never has any realm a superfluity of good leaders. And I admit to you all, his crimes notwithstanding, I could be quite magnanimous to Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn, in the right circumstances. And him who delivered me said baronet alive would not go unrewarded, either. In return for the sworn services of a Drehkos, I would even be willing to negotiate generous terms in the surrender of Vawnpolis."

At this, several of the thoheeksee growled and the young Morguhn slammed a callused palm on tabletop. "My liege must be aware that he owns all my fealty and devotion, but such an action would be wrong. I must tell him so. I well recall a day last summer, in a blood-splashed cornfield, when my lord spoke otherwise. He then felt that, any other considerations apart, the only way to be sure of no future rebellions was to utterly extirpate this lot of rebels."

Milo shrugged. "Times change, Bili, as do conditions; the wise man will alter his conduct, conceptions and plans accordingly. A good sword is flexible and a good man, adaptable. Admittedly, we still could probably do it your way-batter our way into Vawnpolis, butcher its inhabitants to a man and raze the walls and structures. But such a course is certain to be very costly, in terms of men and in terms of money, both of which will be needed in full measure, come spring, as will all of you and your levies. But more of that, anon.

"With regard to Drehkos and to Sun knows how many more of these rebels, there be this: When I journeyed back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, two months ago, it was principally for the purpose of personally conducting two very important prisoners, the so-called Kooreeoee Skiros of Morguhn and Mahreeos of Vawn. Arrived in the capital, these two were put to the question, with all that that implies. It was not an easy task, nor a quick one, but eventually I got the truth from them, the whole truth, much of which but reinforced what I had already known.

"And the three men-there was another kooreeos, captured at Gafnee, who chanced to die while being questioned by High Lady Mara, last summer-were not what they seemed. Though their minds occupied the husks of men who had really been ordained priests and confirmed kooreeoee, they were still imposters, intent upon creating as much havoc as possible in the Confederation. Gentlemen, those spurious kooreeoee were as old as I am, maybe even older! But Sacred Sun had not gifted them as the true Undying are gifted. Rather, were they of that hellish breed commonly called 'Witchmen'!"

Several of the thoheeksee grasped at their Sun medallions, while old Sir Ehdt and Thoheeks Bili Morguhn made the Sign of Sacred Steel in the air before them.

Smiling, the High Lord reassured them all, saying, "Despite what you may have heard, gentlemen, there is nothing supernatural about these, our enemies. They are highly dangerous, make no mistake, but they be no sorcerers; rather have they perverted certain disciplines of knowledge, knowledge which first saw light in the days before the death of that world which preceded this one.

"Nearly a thousand years ago, your distant ancestors- over two hundred million of them, of a vast diversity of races-dwelt in a principality which was one though it stretched from the Sea of Sun Birth to another which lies far west of the Sea of Grass. Then was the Great Salt Swamp mostly dry land, full of farms and pasturelands, cities and towns and, probably, more people than now live in all the lands of our Confederation.

"All these many people were ruled by men chosen to represent them. These men met in a great city which was almost totally destroyed, the ruins of which now lie beneath the waters of the lakes and bays near the mouth of the North River of Kehnooryos Ehlas. So rich were the people and the nation which they ruled that vast sums could be spent on various projects which had little to do with such basic needs as food production, war preparation and the like.

"One such project was the effort to transport men to the stars by means which I'll not even attempt to explain to you. An auxiliary project, part of the star-journey project, was the need to find a way of prolonging human lifespans, since even the nearer stars lay a distance of years away. The men and women assigned to search out these means were all concentrated in a highly secret place in that sub-principality which now is the Great Salt Swamp.

"Unfortunately for Sun knows how many, they were successful in their search. They found a way to prolong a given number of human minds, almost indefinitely. But intuitively realizing what the most of humanity would think of their answer to the problem, they took every precaution to conceal their triumph,' so that it was only bare months before the Great Catastrophe that the Congress-which is what the gathering of ruling representatives was then called-and certain newsmongers discovered just how horrible was that method.

"The outcries of the millions who had chosen those representatives was loud and long and outraged. And those rulers, who wished to remain such, quickly reacted by ordering the project to prolong life immediately canceled, all its records destroyed and its personnel discharged and widely dispersed.

"However, ere their will could be implemented, there commenced the series of events which led to the destruction of nations, races and cultures. Because of their still secret and isolated location, the couple of hundred people in the project area, which was called the Kehnehdee Research Center, survived unharmed by firerain or plagues. When the plagues had run their course, they allowed a few, pitiful outsiders to join them as 'breeding stock.'

"You see, gentlemen, what they had discovered was a way to transfer the mind and memories from an aging to a younger body-man to man, woman to woman, man to woman, woman to man and even, so I understand, man or woman to certain animals! And so they have continued their parasitic existence down through the centuries, their aged, evil minds using one young, vibrant body after another.

"And their grand design is nothing less than to make the entire world their slaves. They were ready to do it by force of arms four hundred years ago, but the earthquakes and floods, the tidal waves and the subsidence of most of the huge peninsula whereon they dwelt utterly confounded their schemes. Though most of the original parasites survived that disaster, they lost much of their carefully maintained equipment-which was irreplaceable-all save a couple of their population centers and eight of every ten of their serf-soldiers. And virtually overnight their rich, productive lands were become, at the very best, sterile for years from their drenching of seawater.

"They have not yet fully recovered. Even so, they recognize the Confederation as a menace to their eventual intent, standing united on their very border as we do. Therefore they continue to foment trouble from within and without-trying to weaken us, divide us. This rebellion, which started at Gafnee and is ending here, was their third effort against us since the coming of the Horseclans. And we must finish it quickly, even at the cost of some concessions, for we will be face to face with their fourth effort all too soon. To combat this new and awesome threat effectively, gentlemen, the Confederation will need every arm that can swing sword or pull bow!"

Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn stood and leaned across the small table to refill his guest's winecup, a completely natural action on the part of a young man who, born of upper-servant class, had spent most of his life as a valet to noblemen.

His guest, however, slapped a horny hand on the tabletop, exclaiming in the harsh, nasal accents of Harzburk, "Now, dammit, Geros . . . ahh, Sir Geros . . . that just is not done! You're noble, now, man. You're a knight of Duke Bili's household, which means you outrank me. You ask if I want more wine; then, since your servant seems to have absented himself, I refill my own cup . . . and yours, if you so indicate."

Sinking back onto his seat, the husky, olive-skinned knight sighed and shook his shaven head. "Oh, Pawl, Pawl ... I was so happy before, as a simple color sergeant, as merely a comrade of your troop. I never aspired to nobility. Tell me, Pawl, was I ... did you consider me to be a good soldier, a good Freefighter?"

The silvery bristles on the guest's pate flashed in the lamplight as his head bobbed. "Sir Geros, I will always feel honored that you learned your craft under me. Yes, you were an excellent Freefighter, none better."

Sir Geros sighed once more. "Then why, Pawl? Why could they not just leave me where I was so happy? Why was it necessary to thrust nobility on me? Force me to bear a title which I will never be able to live up to? What did I do to deserve such?"

Pawl Raikuh's scarred features registered stunned dismay. "Are you daft, man, to talk so? One who did not know better would think you'd been condemned to some dire punishment Man, in one day, you saved your lord's life, slew the biggest warrior I've ever seen and performed an act of bravery which, though I witnessed every moment of it, I still can hardly believe! What did you expect? A pat on the head and, maybe, a new sword?"

Geros raised his dark, troubled eyes. "I would have been more than happy with such, Pawl." His fingers toyed with the silver cat pendant on his chest. "After all, I but did what any man of the thoheek's would have done during the battle, for he is a good lord and kind. As for the other, well. .." Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze. "I still don't know why I did it, didn't really realize I was doing it until I found myself down there in the fire and the heat. But it's as I said, Pawl. The officer was hurt and everyone could see he would soon be burned alive. If I had not, another would've."

"Turkey dung!" snorted Raikuh. "I was there, Sir Geros. Remember?"

He could.

The hilltop salient had been but a trap set by the crafty leader of the rebels. The fortifications, garrisoned by suicide troops, had been undermined, supported only by oil-soaked timbers which had been secretly fired. The stratagem had failed on the twin hillock, assaulted and taken by troops under the personal command of the High Lord; his mindspeak warning had arrived barely in time for most of the Confederation forces to quit the dangerous area.

Only a single, rearguard company had been still at the periphery of the trap when it was sprung. When the dust had settled, it could be seen that but a single member of that company had survived. And he was facing a cruel, gruesome death, his legs securely pinned under a huge, smoldering timber, unable to draw his sword and his dirk missing.

Several men on the lip of the still-settling crater had attempted to throw the unfortunate officer a weapon that he might decently end his life ere the flames reached him, but the distance was too great, and Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sent a galloper to bring back an archer from the foot of the hilL

Geros could not recall all of the beginning, could not remember hastily shedding most of his armor or clambering down the crumbling slope of the crater. But he would never forget that heat!

It had lapped over him, enfolded him in its deadly embrace. It had savaged his flesh, set boots and clothing a-smolder, made each breath a searing agony.

After an endless eternity of gingerly picking his way over an almost limitless expanse of steaming earth, jumbled stones and splintered timbers, the officer lay just before him, thanking him for his valor, asking for his dirk and urging him to return to safety.

The few moments after that were very hazy in Geros' memory . . . but in no one else's. He recalled, however, half carrying, half dragging the young officer-Captain Lehzlee, heir to Ahrkeethoheeks Lehzlee-to where a host of willing hands assisted them both up to safety.

But from that now cursed moment, the warm and natural comradery which he had so cherished had disappeared with the suddenness of a blown-out candle flame. The hard-bitten Freefighters, who reverenced damned few things, had seemed very uncomfortable in his presence, treating him with a deference bordering upon awe. And he hated it all!

Pawl Raikuh went on, "I was there. I saw what you did . . . though, as I said, I still scarce can credit the testimony of my own eyes. That timber was hardwood, looked to be solid oak, and near two feet thick, so it couldn't have weighed less than a ton and a half, Harzburk measure, maybe two tons. Yet you raised it, man! With your bare hands, you lifted near a thousand ferfee-weight and held the damned thing long enough for the captain to inch his crushed legs from under it! In my near forty years as a Freefighter, I've seen many a wonder, but if Steel allows me that many more years, I'll never again see an equal to my lord's feat in the crater-"

"Damn it!" Sir Geros' fist crashed onto the table, setting cups and ewer to dancing. "Damn you, Pawl Raikuh! I be nobody's lord, and you know it! I'm the same man I've always been, Geros Lahvoheetos, son of Vahrohnos Luhmahnt's majordomo. My mother was an herb gardener, who harped and sang at feasts. And I, I was a gentleman's valet, who played and sang when so ordered. It was by purest chance that I found myself thrust into the role of warrior."

Raikuh grinned. "And you took to it as naturally and easily as an otter kit swims. In short months, you were one of the best swordsmen in my troop."

"Only because I realized there was no way I could wriggle out of the situation . . . easily, and being a born coward, I wanted to stay alive. And the only way a warrior can be reasonably certain he'll survive his next battle is to make himself a master of his weapons. But I am not, can never be, as you and Thoheeks Bili and those reared to the Sword. I don't like fighting and killing, Pawl. I'll never like it.

"At least, when I was simply a Freefighter, I had the solace that when the rebellion was crushed, I'd be able to return to being what I had always been. But now, since they did these unwarranted things to me, I'll be expected to swing Steel the rest of my life and to rear any sons I happen to sire to pursue like lives.

"I say again, Pawl, I am no one's lord. Rather am I a slave in detested bondage to an undeserved reputation, an unwanted title, a silver bauble and a couple of feet of sharp steel."

A feeling of fatherliness swept over the fiftyish captain. He reached across the table to pat Geros' clenched fist lightly. "Son, you'll not feel so in a year. Others have been similarly upset by the sudden grant of nobility . . . I've seen such. As for being no one's lord, that same year will put the lie to that statement, I'll warrant."

"Now what is that cryptic comment supposed to mean?" snapped Geros.

Tracing designs in a puddle of spilled wine and regarding the new noble from beneath bushy brows, Raikuh spoke slowly. "Why just this, Geros. Duke Bili is not so mean as to give a faithful man rank without maintenance. Your present title is but a military one, and as certain sure as steel cuts to bone, you'll be at least a vahrohneeskos of Morguhn-with a fine town and croplands and kine-by this time next year, mark my words. Nor be that all, I trow___"

Raising cup to lips, he took a long draught of the fine, strong wine, then continued. "That fiesty little bastard Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn be proud as a solid-gold hilt, and he'll not forsake an opportunity like this. After all, he can truthfully attest that your deeds were done in his service, too, since we all are fighting on what are his lands. And don't you forget the House of Lehzlee, either. There be no richer or prouder house in the south of Karaleenos than Lehzlee, and you saved the life-at great personal risk-of the man who will one day be archduke and chief of that house. They're not likely to let such go unrewarded."

Geros' mind reeled. He had not even considered these possibilities. "But . . . but, Pawl, what will I do? I know nothing of farming."

Raikuh chuckled. "Damned few nobles do, son Geros. You'll do what they all do, of course. You'll find and hire a competent provost and a few overseers and a score or so over-age Freefighters to see the peace be kept. Then you'll spend your days riding and hunting and begetting. You'll sit in judgment in your town on market days, meet in council with your overlord and peers once each moon and ride with them once each year to the archduchy council, where you will deliver up your taxes for the previous year to the High Lord's deputy.

"And someday, Geros, when you're a fat forty-odd, and your mind is filled with worry about the weather and the crops and outfitting your sons for the army and dowering your daughters well, then . . . mayhap, then, you'll think on this eve. Think how foolishly you then thought, wished to once more be back with the Morguhn troop, swinging steel and taking blows as light-heartedly as you did twenty years before."

Ere Geros could frame an answer, his big servant, Sahndos, entered, ushering in one of Raikuh's lieutenants, Krahndahl. The junior officer slapped gauntlet to breastplate in salute and announced, "My lord Geros, captain, Duke Bili summons all his nobles and officers to his pavilion, immediately, if you please."

Chapter II

"And so, gentlemen," the grave-faced young thoheeks soberly concluded, "we may, even now, be proceeding on borrowed time. Winter has ever been the favorite raiding season of the mountain folk, so the first blow could fall at any moment anywhere along more than five hundred miles of borderlands. That is why ending this siege quickly is so imperative."

"But Sun and Wind, Bili," burst out old Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn, "to grant amnesty to my no-good brother and the rest of those treacherous, murdering swine? Whose harebrained idea was that?"

"The High Lord's!" snapped the Morguhn. "Present your objections to him, if you wish, Hari. But, I warn you, mine own did scant good, nor did those of the Duhnkin or the ahrkeethoheeks"

Ever the apologist in all matters concerning the Confederation he had so long served, retired Strahteegos Komees Djeen Morguhn, the thoheeks' sixtyish cousin-german, nodded sagely, stated stiffly, "My lord thoheeks, the High Lord dare not concern himself with but this single, relatively unimportant facet of the overall problem. You see, the entire Confederation be his responsibility. I like pardoning known backstabbers no better than Hari, but I also can appreciate Lord Milo's position."

Vahrohnos Spiros Morguhn, Bill's second cousin, gingerly shifted on the padded litter which had conveyed him here, finally reaching down with both hands to ease his splinted and bandaged left leg into a more comfortable position. "But, dammit, Bili, how can we be expected to go traipsing off on a campaign into the mountains, or wherever, leaving our lands filled with unrepentant rebels and a batch of bloodthirsty priests? You've seen, the High Lord has seen, we all have seen what they did to Vawn. By my steel, they'll not do the like to Morguhn!"

"They'll not get a chance to." Bili shook his head. "It's been decided that most of the rebel fighting men will be dragooned into the campaign force; dribbled out, a few to this unit, a few to that. The amnesty is to exclude the priests and monks; those bastards will spend the length of the campaign enjoying the comforts provided by our Morguhnpolis prison.

"Noncombatants in Vawnpolis will remain there, as will a garrison of our troops. The city will be base supply for operations immediately west of Vawn."

Pawl Raikuh sighed. "Fortunes of war, I suppose. All us Freefighters had been hopefully anticipating an intaking, a sack, a bit of booty, some old-fashioned rapine. Well, there'll be other wars ... for some."

"How will we get word to the rebels that we now wish to treat?" This from Djaik Morguhn, Bili's younger brother-war-trained, like Bili and all his other brothers, in the Middle Kingdoms; acknowledged, despite his bare fifteen years, as one of the three best swordsmen in all the besieging army.

Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn was but distantly related to Bili, actually being more closely related to certain of the rebels, but, like Komees Djeen, he was a former Confederation Army officer . . . also, he was in love with one of Bili's widowed mothers. Nonetheless, he had been occasionally sullen since, disregarding his advices and wishes, Bili and the High Lord had seen fit to honor and enoble his former servant, Geros.

Smoothing back a lock of his raven's-wing hair with a languid gesture, he put in, "Yes, Bili, there is that factor, too. We have been anything but cordial in our responses to the two or three peace overtures the rebels have made. If, during the High Lord's absence, you and the High Lady had seen fit to heed the expert advice which Komees Djeen and I proffered you . . ."

Tried to ram down our throats, thought Bili, who sometimes of late had had to forcefully remind himself that this supercilious man had sat his horse knee to knee with him and the High Lord last summer at the Forest Bridge, and had suffered grievous wounds in his behalf. Ever since the vahrohneeskos had recovered sufficiently to join the army before Vawnpolis, he had been a divisive element among the nobles of Morguhn, immediately taking the part of any who opposed the young thoheeks and offering his own opposition when none other arose.

"Kinsman," said Bili, with as much forebearance and patience as he could muster, "none of us could have known that affairs would so arrange themselves, and it was the High Lord himself who rejected the first effort of the rebels to parley, ere the siege had even commenced. Him it was who first declared that we were to neither give nor ask quarter-"

"Untrue!" snapped Ahndros coldly. "To the extent, at least, that it was you, with your barbaric, blood-hungry, northern notions of conduct, who put the idea into the High Lord's head."

Bili shook his shaven poll bewilderedly. "Kinsman, I am afraid that you credit me with far more influence over the affairs of the mighty than ever I have owned ... or wished to own."

"Have you not, my lord?" Ahndros sneered. "Did not the High Lord, on the morning which saw the breaking of the siege of your hall, allow you first to throw a childish temper tantrum and publicly, brutally, humiliate Komees Djeen, when he sagely advised you to await the arrival of Confederation Cavalry ere you pursued the rebels? Did not the High Lord then accompany you on that pursuit, riding as but another nobleman under your command?"

"That was the High Lord's expressed desire, vahrohnee-skos" growled Bili, fighting to control the temper he could feel beginning to fray under the continued insult and insubordination.

"Then what of that morning's butchery, eh?" Ahndros prodded on. "Why, even the barbarian mercenaries, on whom you so dote, call those miles of massacre The Bloody Ride'! The High Lord I knew, with whom and under whom I served for so many years, would never have countenanced such inexcusable savageries."

The knuckles stood out whitely on Bili's clenched fists and he grated his reply from between tight-locked teeth. "Lord Ahndros, I owe you no explanation of my conduct or of the High Lord's. You forget your place and station, and you sorely try my patience. Nonetheless, I will tell you this much: I believe that the scope and the suddenness of the rebellion, the depth of the depravaties of the rebels, shocked the High Lord to his very core. On that morning, he admonished me to put down the Morguhn rebels in the manner of Harzburk, deal with them as would the Iron King, under whose tutelage I served more than half my life."

Ahndros either failed to notice or chose to ignore the young thoheek's rising rage. "And you took Lord Milo at his word, didn't you? You did it up brown! No unwashed, stinking, illiterate, barbarian burk lord could have been more callously thorough. Not only did you and your howling savages chase down and slay hundreds of fleeing men, many of them completely unarmed, that terrible morning, but you hunted the poor bastards for weeks, hunted them as if they had been beasts, dangerous vermin."

Spiros Morguhn turned himself enough to see Ahndros, grimacing with the pain of the effort. "Dangerous vermin, is it, Ahndee? Yes, I consider that an apt simile for treacherous, backbiting dogs who turn on masters. I, too, took a most willing part in that hunt. Are you going to name me a burk barbarian, too? And I agree with Bili, you've far overstepped yourself ... for some little time now."

Komees Djeen clashed the brass hook which had replaced the missing hand on his left wrist loudly against his thigh plate, and his single, blue eye flashed fire as he came to Ahndros' defense. "I think me not, Spiros. Ahndee is but stating truths which long have needed airing.

"As I affirmed in the very beginning, that pursuit from Morguhn Hall was a senseless and savage vanity of our young and vastly inexperienced thoheeks. And what followed the reoccupation of deserted Morguhnpolis was inexcusable, on any grounds.

"Why, man, the Duchy of Morguhn lies more than half depopulated. Whole villages were burned to the ground, after being plundered by the arsonists. There are damned few living common women who are not well-raped widows, damned few Morguhn trees that don't dangle the rotting carcass of some poor, misled peasant pikeman.

"You all know that I ... uhh, had my differences with our late thoheeks. But Hwahruhn, at least, was loved and respected by all his folk. Bili, his son, will never own anything save their fear and hate."

Bili smiled humorlessly. "Regrettably, my late father was often ill and almost always weak-willed, Komees Djeen. As you have learned, I am neither. If love and respect bred this damned rebellion, I can well do without both.

"As regards the 'airing of truths," had not you and the vahrohneeskos so well served me and the Confederation, of late, I might think you both closet rebels, such is your concern for the gentle treatment and welfare of traitors."

"Why, you arrogant young whelp!" The white-haired nobleman sprang to his feet, his hand going to his swordhilt "I was serving the Confederation when you were being given suck! How dare you question my loyalty ... or that of Ahndee, who is a better man than ever you'll be!"

Dark, slender Djaik Morguhn sidled himself to block the direct path between his brother and the furious komees. Nor was he the only one in the pavilion to have risen. Vaskos Daiviz, son and heir of Komees Hari, stood fingering the pommel of his broadsword; so, too, did all three Freefighter officers . . . and Sir Geros.

Arising suddenly, old Komees Hari Daiviz slapped his son's hand from proximity to his hilt and strode purposefully toward the dais, his rolling gait bespeaking the percentage of his fifty-odd years spent on the back of a horse.

"Now, by Sun and Wind, gentlemen, I never thought me to live to see my own kindred, the nobility of Morguhn, brawling like drunken Ehleenee trollops and pimps!

"Djaik Morguhn, resume your seat, please. Your brother stands in no danger. Djeen, if you draw that blade, you'll be needing a hook for the other hand, as well . . . and you have known me long enough to know I mean it."

"Damn it, Hari!" the one-eyed komees burst out petulantly. "You heard what this young whippersnapper said about me and Ahndee! And we've the right to be heard!"

"Just shut up and sit down!" Komees Hari snapped impatiently. "You've said more than enough already."

Ahndros opened his mouth, but Komees Hari spotted the movement from the corner of his eye and whirled on the vahrohneeskos, barking, "So, too, have you, Ahndee. This be a war council, not a Thirds Meeting. You, all of us, are here to receive our chief's orders, to advise him if he requests such. And I've heard no request.

"Now, I don't much cotton to the idea of granting amnesty to rebel dogs, but the High Lord has no choice; that much is plain as horse turds on snow. Nor have any of us any choice, gentlemen. The High Lord has given his orders to his thoheeksee; our own thoheeks and chief has dutifully transmitted those orders to us. It be our sworn and rightful duty to learn how best we can obey, not launch yet another senseless round of who-struck-Djahn to the point where tempers rise and swords come clear. We all be supposedly responsible, adult noblemen and officers. Let us act the parts, eh?"

He turned to Bili and offered formal salute of clansman to chief. "What would you of my son and me, Bili?"

Drehkos Daiviz did not really begin to believe it until the third message arrow was brought to him. Carefully, he unrolled the vellum bound behind the hollow brass head, smooth it out and laid it beside the two others on his cluttered desktop. The three were identical, obviously written by the same hand.

In Modern Ehleeneekos, they read:

"Milos Morai, High Lord of the Confederation of Southern Peoples, sends greetings to Vahroneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The High Lord would confer with said vahrohneeskos, at his earliest convenience, that conditions may be agreed upon for the honorable capitulation of the garrison, inhabitants and city of Vawnpolis. Penned under the direction of the High Lord by Pehtros Makintahsh, Adjutant. Signed: Milos Moral."

Drehkos rested his head between his hands, his bare elbows on the desk, protruding through his well-worn shirt. Furiously, he massaged his gray-shot temples, then opened his eyes and read the message through again . . . and yet again. And still it was as a dream.

This was exactly what he had promised his ragtag garrison, never for a moment deluding himself that such would ever truly come to pass. He had felt himself and every other soul within Vawnpolis irrevocably doomed and the rejections of his three attempts to treat, combined with the besiegers' steadfast refusal to suffer prisoners to live, had but reinforced his conviction. Nonetheless, he had dangled the carrot of hope before his starveling ragamuffins. Over and over, he had assured them that, could they but cost the besiegers enough losses and hold out until planting time, terms would surely be granted to spare at least the lives of the common folk.

And now the impossible dream was become fact . . . hard fact.

As the first rays of the rising sun illumined the small, spartan room, the vahrohneeskos' servant entered to find his master slumped over the desk, his body racked with heaving sobs.

Drehkos arrived at the pavilion of the High Lord attended only by a pair of commoner-officers, all three of them astride guardsmen's horses, escorted by Keeleeohstos Sahndros Druhmuhnd, commander of the High Lord's horseguards. Inside the brazier-heated pavilion, the rebels were led to where the High Lord, the High Lady Aldora and Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt sat ranged behind a heavy table.

After saluting, the keeleeohstos gruffly reported, "My Lord Milo, here be Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The other two rebels be commoner-officers of the vahrohneeskos'. Would my lord be wanting guards within?"

Milo slowly shook his head. "No need, good Sahndros. Go back and find yourself a brazier and a tipple. I'll mindcall when and if I want you."

From the moment he had been ushered in, Drehkos had stood open-mouthed, staring at the lean, saturnine figure of the High Lord. As the keeleeohstos clanked out, the rebel leader suddenly exclaimed, "But . . . what witchery be this? You . . . you be the bard . . . Klairuhnz, wasn't it? I had wine with you at ... at my brother's hall last spring, before any of this unpleasantness commenced."

A smile flitted briefly across Milo's lips. "I had reason, then, Lord Drehkos, for concealing my identity. A traveling bard is always welcome in village or city or hall, among Kindred or Ehleenee. So, can you think of a better guise?"

Before Drehkos could frame an answer, Milo's smile vanished and his voice cooled and hardened. "But we are not met to discuss the past, vahrohneeskos. Where are your other two nobles, Vahrohnos Myros Deskahti of Morguhn and Vahrohneeskos Kahzos Boorsohthehpsees of Vawn? I had thought that you would bring them to this gathering."

"My lord," replied Drehkos, "I am empowered to speak for all, noble or common, within Vawnpolis. I left poor Kahzos in command of the city, since unhealed wounds have rendered him incapable of sitting a horse."

"And Myros?" prodded Aldora. "Is that thieving murderer also wounded ... I hope?"

"No," Drehkos answered. "Even during the assaults, I have been loath to allow Lord Myros within proximity to weapons, for more and more frequently he lapses into violent and completely pointless rages; indeed, I have found it necessary to detail an officer and a squad to ... to look after him."

Milo nodded once, then turned to Aldora. "It's as I said years back, my dear. The reason I opposed executing him. The man's mad, always has been, and whatever drugs that so-called kooreeos fed him have obviously worsened his condition."

Drehkos looked from one to the other in bewilderment. "My lord, my lady, I confess I don't understand. Drugs?"

"Just so, vahrohneeskos, drugs." Milo gestured at the empty chairs opposite him. "But it's a long tale. You and your officers sit down and help yourselves to the wine."

Before seating himself, Drehkos spoke with crisp formality. "My lords, my lady, please allow me to introduce my officers." At Milo's nod, he went on. "On my right stands Captain Pehtros Naimos, commander of the north wall; on my left, Captain Djaimz Trohahnos, commander of the east wall. They are not of noble birth and they are . . . ahh, have been your enemies, but they have been unswervingly faithful to me, and I have never met men who more truly epitomize the word 'gentlemen.' "

Aldora watched the two officers, saw the younger, fair-skinned Djaimz Trohahnos flush red at the unexpected public praise. This man obviously had some measure of mindspeak ability, for his mindshield was impenetrable, even in his embarrassment. The other, dark, middle-aged Pehtros Naimos, was completely unshielded and his mind literally oozed devotion to his leader.

Next, the High Lady turned her attention to Drehkos. The rebel leader bore a quite striking resemblance to Hari and Vaskos Daiviz, his brother and nephew, respectively-most of his thinning hair was white, but this was the only indication of his age; otherwise, all five and a half feet of his big-boned, wide-shouldered body looked lean and hard and fit. His helm had left a dent in his high forehead, and beneath it his eyes were bloodshot and dark-ringed with lack of sleep, his face lined with worry and care. But, withal, he was still a handsome man.

Aldora sent her mind questing forth, recoiled in shocked surprise, immediately beamed to Milo on a mindspeak level unattainable to most. "I thought you said this rebel lordling had no mindspeak."

"So everyone, all his relatives and former friends, assured me," the High Lord replied on the same level. "Why? Has he a shield?"

"Try him and see."

"Whew!" Milo tried to mask the amazement from his face. "It's like running headlong into a brick wall, isn't it?"

"It's the conscious shield of a very powerful mind, Milo," she assured him. "Yours is that strong, and so is Mara's, but I've never met another such. Not even dear old Hari Kruhguh's mind had such a formidable defense."

As is true of mindspeak "conversations," these exchanges had taken bare microseconds.

Aloud, Milo smiled again, saying, "Very well, Lord Drehkos. I believe you know Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt, of old. On my right sits the Undying High Lady, Aldora Linsee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpahs."

Aldora inclined her small head slightly, the light of the lamps picking out bluish highlights in her long black hair. But beneath her slender brows, her almond-shaped black eyes never ceased their careful scrutiny of Drehkos.

"Do we all mindspeak?" asked Milo as soon as all goblets were full.

The older officer shook his raggedly barbered head. "No, my lord, I be almost kathahrohs, and my kind lack such heathenish ... ahh, such talents."

Milo smiled. "Captain, both the High Ladies-my wife, Mara, and Aldora, here-be true kath-ahrohsee, yet they pose high degrees of mindspeak ability. Kindred heritage, or the lack of it, is not the determinant factor in whether a man can or cannot mindspeak. Nor are we Undying and Kindred unique, as you should very well know. Large numbers of your own Ehleenee nobles and commoners are mindspeakers, the Vahrohnos Myros Deskati of Morguhn amongst them."

He looked down the table at the younger officer. "And what of you, Captain Trohahnos?"

The red-haired officer squirmed, uncomfortable to be seated in the presence of such high nobility. "A ... a little, my . . . my lord. Papa didn' mindspeak an' . . . an' Mama died 'fore she could . . . could teach me much, an' . . ."

"And you, Lord Drehkos?" inquired Milo in a voice smooth as warm honey, guileless as the coo of a dove.

The rebel lord rolled his goblet slowly between his big, scarred, weather-browned hands for a moment, then raised his eyes, grinning. "For most of my mispent life, my lord, I thought that I totally lacked that ability . . . along with many another. But last spring, when we were battling our way through the mountains, I discovered that either I had acquired it almost overnight or I'd had it all along. Yes, I do mindspeak."

"You were in the western mountains, man? Where"! Were! Why!" demanded Milo, leaning across the table, his fists clenched, his voice and manner now intense.

Despite his obvious puzzlement, Drehkos freely answered. "Yes, my lord, I-rather, those of us who escaped from Morguhnpolis after the rout under the walls of Morguhn Hall along with a contingent of Vawnee cavalry- circled through the mountains to get to Vawnpolis. As to where, we crossed the river into the Duchy of Skaht at Bloody Ford, rested for a few days at the old, deserted border fort, then rode west, through Raider Gap, and angled south. Or tried to."

He shuddered strongly. "If I never again hear another Ahrmehnee war-screech, it will be centuries too soon, my lord. It was a running battle every day, and nights as well, sometimes. They reverence the moon, you know, and won't fight on nights when it is in the sky. Fortunately, almost the entire hellish journey was made in clear, cloudless weather. Even so, I left nearly a third of my poor, brave fellows dead in those damned mountains!"

The High Lord's brows rose sharply and he regarded the vahrohneeskos with a new measure of respect. "And you won through to Vawn then. You're to be congratulated on that feat, Lord Drehkos. You apparently don't recognize just how lucky you were. Why, man, in the long-ago campaign which won Vawn and Skaht and Baikuh lands for the Confederation, whole battalions of professional soldiers were wiped out to the last man by those Ahrmehnee. The fact that you took a mounted column through the very heart of their territory and got out at all is remarkable; that you lost so few men is near miraculous.

"And your brother insisted you'd never soldiered. So, where did you learn cavalry tactics?" He gave another tight smile. "Or siegecraft?"

Drehkos shrugged tiredly. "In the mountains, I but did what seemed right to me, what seemed the best way of extricating my command from our various difficulties and predicaments. Hari was being candid with you, my lord; I never had soldiered prior to my involvement in this . . . this insanity."

He sat back and met the High Lord's gaze squarely. "I won through the mountains only because the men who accompanied me were the best and the bravest these lands have ever known. Both Pehtros and Djaimz, here, were among them. Of the rest, alas, far too many are since slain in this beastly, senseless prolongation of what was a lost cause before its inception.

"As regards my defense of the city, I discovered some ancient books within the Citadel and applied certain of their contents to the problems confronting me when the overall command of Vawnpolis was thrust onto my shoulders."

All at once, he dropped his gaze to the brilliant carpet. "I still do not know why I ever agreed to take part in this stupid foolishness. I can but ascribe it to a temporary insanity engendered by the loss of my dear wife and the ensuing loneliness, for ever have I considered warfare a monumental stupidity. Nor did I truly crave to possess my brother's lands and title."

He straightened then and once more met the High Lord's eyes. "My lords, my lady, I offer those words not as excuse, only as explanation ... as best I, myself, can understand. Lord Sahndros, my officers and I, all of us admit our crimes and are ready and willing to submit to appropriate dooms, but only on the ironclad condition that our soldiers and the noncombatants within Vawnpolis be spared their lives, and their few meager possessions and be quickly furnished food. As for poor, sick Myros, I cannot answer, but I think my lord must agree that it were pointless to slay a madman for his actions, no matter how heinous."

Drehkos arose and the two officers quickly followed suit. "I am prepared to surrender my person to you now, my lords, if you agree to my stipulations."

Milo shook his head curtly. "But I do not agree, vahrohneeskos. Sit down."

Slowly, Drehkos sank back into his chair. Of course, he bad known from the beginning that his position was not sufficiently strong to allow him to dictate the terms of the capitulation . . . but he had had his hopes, now dashed. His face and bearing mirrored his disappointment

The High Lord once more leaned across the table. "Are any of you three Initiates of the Inner Mysteries of the Faith?"

The two officers just shook their heads, and Drehkos replied, "No, my lord, there never were very many of them, and only the kooreeoee who initiated them and their fellow initiates ever knew them. For some reason, I was never approached, nor, I think, was Lord Kahzos."

"Then," said the High Lord, "you may thank whatever gods may be for your good fortune. My offer for the capitulation of Vawnpolis is full pardon and amnesty to all within its walls, saving only priests, monks and those laymen who are Initiates of the Inner Mysteries. Think you my offer fair and acceptable, Lord Drehkos?"

Drehkos could not speak, could not move, could hardly even think or breathe. At the very best he had expected for himself and his immediate subordinates a lengthy period of suffering and humiliation followed by a painful death; at worst, he had seen a continuation of the agonies of the siege until the city eventually fell by storm and/or starvation, with all the horrors of a sack to be visited upon the survivors of that last battle.

Pardons and amnesties had never even entered his suppositions, not for himself and the surviving layman-leaders of the rebellion, anyway. And a hope leaped wildly into his thoughts, to see good old Brother Hari again, to try to, in some unknown way, make up for all the ills he had wrought and attempted on both Hari and Nephew Vaskos. First, he would...

"Well?" the High Lord prodded. "Can you accept my offer, Lord Drehkos? Or will you need to return to Vawnpolis to confer with your staff?"

By great force of will, Drehkos managed to stop the dizzy spinning of his brain and to frame a reply of sorts. "In many respects, my lord, your offer is most generous. But why must you persecute the priests and monks? I know of no one of them who ever has lifted steel against the established order, either here or in Morguhn."

Milo looked grim. "No, Lord Drehkos, they but set others to do their dirty work for them; consciously aiding and abetting the evil designs of their devilish kooreeoee, they worked upon the minds of their followers, inflamed them with fiery oratory, and cleverly administered drugs when the time was ripe, and set them on a course of murder and destruction which was completely against the best interests of those poor, deluded followers.

"No, Lord Drehkos, I'll not suffer such conscienceless, merciless cowards to roam at large in my domains. As for the Initiates, I ... Tell me, what know you of their rites?"

Drehkos shrugged. "Very little, I fear, my lord. After all, had the rites not been kept secret, there would have been no Mysteries, would there?"

"Quite true," smiled the High Lord, then became once more serious of mien, deadly serious. "Know you then, Lord Drehkos, that these Mysteries were a debauched, depraved, hideously perverted distortion of true Christianity. In the foul rites of the Inner Mysteries, men and women were tortured and mutilated, innocent little children- babes, even-were hacked apart and the hot blood of their living, screaming bodies mixed with wine and other substances to be greedily guzzled by these same Initiates."

Captain Pehtros had paled visibly. Captain Djaimz looked greenish and ill; Drehkos sat, rigid, in his chair, his big hands clenched together so that the scarred knuckles shone white as new snow. He had, secretly, long suspected that some awful practices were part and parcel of the Inner Mysteries, but it had been simply a gut feeling with no real grounds for its existence. Nonetheless, he found the High Lord's words, terrible as they were, easy to believe.

"Such was the worst," Milo continued to his abashed audience, "but it was far from all. Sexual orgies frequently were the climax to their 'services,' and, since a child to sacrifice was not always available, they also filled their communion cup with animal blood, human urine and even women's moonblood."

Captain Djaimz's chair crashed over and the young officer stumbled hurriedly from the chamber, both hands pressed to his lips.

"But . . . but, my lord, why?" Drehkos shook his head in wonderment. "Such practices are no part of any religion I've ever heard of, and I've read of many, both modern and ancient"

Mile's wide shoulders rose and fell. "There are some similarities to the old Ehleen monster cults which flourished in the last few years before the coming of the Horse-clans, a hundred and fifty years ago. But, beyond those, I can but surmise that the witchmen-kooreeoee extemporaneously concocted their ceremonies, since there were significant differences between those described by Spiros and those described by Mahreeos.

"As to why? Principally, because they are evil men to whom the sufferings and debasements of others mean absolutely nothing. In order to draw one foot closer to their goals, they would cheerfully bring about the deaths of half the population of the Confederation. And such is about what would have happened had their nefarious scheme come to full fruition."

Drehkos looked his puzzlement. "I ... I don't understand ..." he began, but Milo cut him off.

"Nor will you, vahrohneeskos, until yon city is once more in Confederation hands and I have your oaths of fealty. Officially, you're still a rebel, an enemy, and I'm too old a dog to willingly give you an edge."

The rebel commander drained off the last of his wine and stared for a long minute into the empty cup. At length, he set it on the table before him, rose from his chair, unhooked his cased sword from his baldric and laid it on the board, its worn hilt near the High Lord's hand. Following his lead, Captain Pehtros did the same. Captain Djaimz, his face and armor splashed with water, reentered just in time to add his own weapon to the formal surrender.

Chapter III

Vahk Vratnyuhn watched his runty mountain pony crop at the few spears of dead grass poking through the snow, and shivered, his teeth chattering. But it was neither the biting cold nor the bitter wind which had so set Dehrehbeh Vahk, a mountain warrior born and inured to cold, to trembling. No, it was the proximity to the sinister Valley of the Maidens.

Looking back to the fire, around which his score of warriors were quietly finishing their meal of venison and mush, Vahk could feel their fear, as well. Only their inborn loyalty to him, their hereditary dehrehbeh, had kept them camped three months in this place of waking-sleeping dread; just as only his own unquestioning obedience to the will of the great chief, the nahkhahrah, had sent him and them as escort to the Woman-of-Powers, who had entered the Pass of the Maidens moon-before-last, bidding them await her return.

Vahk and his warriors were not men easily frightened. Weak or craven Ahrmehnee children did not survive to adulthood, and these were picked fighters, the very cream of the Vrainyuhn tribe; not a one but had trophies racked in the House of Skulls. As for Vahk himself, he had, when a herdboy of less than one hundred seventy moons, slain a prowling bear-sow, first driving her off the goat she had slain, then receiving her ferocious charge on his spear; firm, he had held, heedless of the claws which savaged arms and shoulders and face, until the wide blade found and burst her fierce heart. Too, he had taken men's heads, many heads, his first when he was but something less than two hundred moons.

The Ahrmehnee tribes were much feared by all their neighbors, mountaineer and lowlander alike, and with good and sufficient cause. They had dwelt in the mountain valleys-and, formerly, in the foothills, as well-since the World Death ended the Time of the Gods, were themselves the descendants of gods. The Ehleenee, strive as they might for near six thousand moons, had come away well bloodied, leaving behind many heads, on each occasion they had tried to lessen the constant menace of Ahrmehnee raids. Only a Confederation army of more than one hundred thousand men had finally driven them from their foothills, and then they had fled only because there were too few warriors left to effectively fight in open country.

Ten times thirteen moons later, the surviving elder warriors led the next generation of black-haired, hook-nosed young headhunters in an attempt to reclaim their stolen foothills; but they met their match for reckless courage and fierce bloodthirstiness in the hard-fighting horse archers of Clans Baikuh, Vawn and Skaht. Even so, they might have conquered through sheer weight of numbers, had not the Undying Devil of the Confederation returned and, with another huge army, crushed them at the Battle of Bloody Ford.

So few men had come back to the mountains after that defeat that nearly thirty times thirteen moons had elapsed ere the tribes had regained near to their former strength. And by then, the stahn was being severely pressed from both west and northwest by numerous, though primitive, non-Ahrmehnee peoples.

The Thirteen Tribes had stopped the newcomers, of course, but not decisively. The Muhkohee, as they were called after the name of one of their principal tribes, had settled on the fringes of Ahrmehnee lands, and the fight was now of many hundreds of moons duration, each new generation blooding itself on the ancient foe, race raiding race for goats and food in hard winters, for women and heads anytime. Quarter was neither asked nor given, the few warriors taken alive were invariably tortured to death . . . very, very slowly, sight and smell and sound of their agonies being always most pleasing to their captors.

Naturally, the Ahrmehnee still raided their former lands, bringing back fat cattle and sheep, fine, tall horses, choice, high-spirited women, heads and much rare booty. But these raids were small, hit-and-run affairs, and the nahkhahrah always forbade any tribe's raiders to penetrate far into the border duchies. For another decimation like Bloody Ford would, today, spell the certain extirpation of the entire Ahrmehnee stahn under the ravening spears and knives of the barbaric Muhkohee: nought but justified fear of the thousands of grim warriors the Thirteen Tribes could muster held their enemies in any sort of check.

No, Ahrmehnee warriors feared neither man nor beast ... but they, one and all, feared the Maidens unashamedly... and no one of them could say why.

Vahk and his race knew very little about the Maidens, save that, like the Ahrmehnee themselves, they worshiped the Lady Moon, wore strange and antique-looking armor, were stark warriors and paid for such items as their delegations came to Ahrmehnee villages to buy in silver and gold coins of unusual uniformity which bore likenesses of men and women and beasts as well as legends which not even the wisest Ahrmehnee elders could decipher.

Their valley was very large, virtually inaccessible and well guarded, having but a single known entry. It was before the yawning, black mouth of this cavern that Vahk's tribesmen now were encamped. The mountains surrounding the Valley of the Maidens presented an almost uniform facade of weathered rock and deep, dusty runnels. Such terrain was difficult for goats or men, impossible for ponies, but even so, the crests of the high ridges connecting the mountains showed the viewer an unbroken stretch of rough-dressed stone walls, crenellated and set with towers, squatting amid the dark evergreens.

The old tales said that Maidens had been inhabiting the valley when the ancestors of the Thirteen Tribes first came to the hills and mountains. They, like* the Ahrmehnee, were God-spawned. And these two sacred races had lived with peace between them for moons beyond reckoning.

But for all their similarities of worship, their shared glorious ancestry, their relatively friendly relations and the fact that the Ahrmehnee were renowned far and wide for their lustiness and those Maidens who ventured forth from their hold were right often young, comely and toothsome-albeit a mite on the muscular side with breasts invariably concealed beneath armor-there never had been intermarriage or even casual fraternization. In the course of the years, hot-headed or drunken Ahrmehnee had, on occasion, sought to seduce or force one of the Maidens; the would-be seducers had met with cold rebuff, the rapists with quick and bloody death. It was supposed that men did dwell in that mysterious
Valley, for the Maidens were not Undying-they aged like all living creatures and, after a while, came no more to buy goods in the villages, their places being taken by other, younger Maidens. But no one could say for sure, since no one had ever seen a man of the Maidens' race, nor managed ever to even glimpse of what lay beyond dark entry cavern and wall-crowned summits. The nahkhahrah had always strictly forbidden Ahrmehnee to trespass up the bare, rocky slopes, and those few who had seen fit to disobey had never been seen again.

The scattering of villages near to the Valley sometimes witnessed weird and disturbing phenomena-sustained and awful rumblings from within the hold, accompanied by roiling layers of thick smoke by day and unearthly radiances by night; and, for many days after, the cataract which fell from those heights and the mountain river it fed would be oddly hued and fetid to both nose and taste. And the phenomena and mysteries had given rise to a plethora of terrible tales. Some were believed, some half-believed, most used only to frighten naughty children. But told and retold over the centuries, they had given rise to the fears and dreads which had made these last three moons so unpleasant for Vahk and his fighters. Like most Ahrmehnee, they normally avoided coming within a mile of the mouth of the cavern, for all that the approach was gently graded and wide enough for two horsemen abreast.

Nor, reflected Vahk, would they now be within forty miles of this place, had it not been for the comings of the People-of-Powers. The first snows were buried under their successors and the surplus cattle were being slaughtered for salting, when the two men and the woman rode into the village of the nahkhahrah, in company with old Dehrehbeh Hahgohn Kohehnyuhn, who was come with his party for the Council of the Kehv Moon.

In the Council House, lit by fat-lamps made from skulls, the pock-faced, white-haired Hahgohn, whose tribe occupied the southernmost of the lands held by Ahrmehnee, arose and told the nahkhahrah and the other eleven dehrehbehee of how the three strangers had been brought to him by a village headman, of how they all three spoke to him in fluent-if somewhat archaic- Hahyahs, and told of having been sent by Moon to aid Moon's faithful people in regaining their ancient lands.

"And my father, my brothers," the eldest of the dehbehrehee had concluded, "I am convinced that they speak truly, for they surely are wondrous in their ways, commanding strange devices of thunder and lightning which can slay at two and three bowshots' distance and sharing ownership of a pair of chests-each no bigger than a common travel chest-which," he lowered his voice, "contain living men!"

Of course, no one had believed old Hahgohn's preposterous tales . . . not at first. But the nahkhahrah had been sufficiently titillated to first speak with the leader of the strangers, then with all three, and by the time he brought them to the Council House, he was as fervent as had been Kohehnyuhn, earlier.