Chapter 13

It was almost a week before Milo made it across the river. The wall had to be dismantled, of course, but that alone would not have detained him, for Lord Alexandras had left a couple of biremes and crews for his use. However, when certain of the Middle Kingdoms' nobles were apprised that there would be no battle, after all, they split into two factions at the cores of-which were the contingents, from Harzburk and Pitzburk. Armed to the teeth, the factions mounted and rode into the fields west of the camp. And the resulting melee was only the first and largest. It was a very hectic period for the High-Lord.

At length, he had all the northern troops and their battered nobles on the march, their units separated and shepherded by strong bodies of Confederation regulars and Confederation-contracted Freefighters.

Dressed in his best clothing and finest armor, Milo strode out of his pavilion and had already ordered a charger when he felt a familiar touch on the back of his neck. Behind him stood the elephant.

Sunshine—she had chosen the name herself as her mindspeak improved with usage—was noticeably sleeker, as she well should have been, thought Milo, considering the fantastic amounts of food she had consumed. From all over the camp, men had come not just to see her, but to watch her eat. And "hungry as the elephant" had become a common expression to Milo's army.

When Milo turned, Sunshine moved closer and placed her trunk tip on his shoulder so that its appendage might caress his skin. "Please God-Milo," she begged, "do not send Sunshine away from you today. Take her with you."

"Sunshine," Milo gently and patiently mindspoke, "we have been through all this before. Where I live is cold for much of the year, colder than the land from which you came. You would quickly die there. You must go back south, Sunshine, but Gil will be with you all the way. He will see that you eat all you want and that no man harms you. And when I come to your land, I will visit you. Will not that make Sunshine happy?"

Her answer surprised him. "Let Sunshine bear God-Milo across the river, then, please. You will ride safer on Sunshine than on that skinny-legged little creature." She pointed her trunk at where Milo's groom stood waiting with a seventeen-hand war horse. "If you fight, how can that one protect you? Sunshine has slain many two-legs."

"There will be no fight, Sunshine," Milo assured her. "Those who were my enemies are now my friends, and you must promise not to hurt the few of them who remain beyond the river; you and Gil will be traveling with them."

"Sunshine will not hurt any creatures Gil does not tell her to hurt," she spoke. Then, "But ... please ride Sunshine ... ?"

"Why, Sunshine," Milo asked, "is it so important to you that you carry me across the bridge?"

Sunshine came closer, tenderly wrapping him about with her trunk. "God-Milo is the first two-leg who was ever good to Sunshine, who spoke to her and treated her like ... like a two-leg. Sunshine cannot stay with God-Milo to serve him all her days, as she should. Will not God-Milo allow her to serve him once... ?"

What the hell, thought Milo, how much more impressive an appearance could I make than arriving on an elephant?

"Gil!" he farspoke. "Have you rigged any sort of saddle for Sunshine?"

Gil stepped from behind the elephant, a sheepish grin on his face and his arms filled with an altered saddle and an assortment of odd harness.

"Damn it!" exclaimed Milo aloud. "You two planned this in advance! Admit it, kinsman!"

"Yes, God-Milo, Sunshine and I planned," Gil mind-spoke. "But, God-Milo, she is very grateful to you ... and she loves you. Often has our Clanbard said that nothing is so unkind as to force a man or woman to swallow honest gratitude unexpressed."

Milo mindcalled the groom and the three of them saddled Sunshine. The saddle perfectly fitted the area just behind her head.

That done, Milo addressed Gil. A11 right, you ride my charger and get a pack animal for your gear." He turned back to his huge mount "Very well, my dear, you may help me aboard."

"So the guard," Thoheeks Mahvros continued, "hearing her shout in some unknown tongue, came into the tent and found her crouching before this device. Exactly what happened then, no one knows, not even the guard, who can only say that he fended her off with the butt of bis spear, then ran. He thought her a witch, you see."

"And he may not have been too far off the mark," thought Milo. "Not if she was what I suspect."

"When Lord Grahvos and I and the rest came in, she was stretched on the floor here." Mahvros indicated a spot on the carpet, stiff and crusty with dried blood.

-"The left side of her skull was cracked, just above and behind the ear, and she no longer was breathing.

"The device spoke in a man's voice, but none of us could understand the words, though some later said they thought to have once heard a similar language. None could recall where or when or what it was called. The voice but spoke a short time, then Lord Grahvos examined it and persuaded others of us to do so. It made various noises for a while. Then suddenly they ended and it has not been touched since."

Milo squatted before the odd chest and lifted the mike, then studied the various dials and knobs and switches adorning the exposed face. Turning to King Zenos, Thoheeks Grimnos, and the rest, he said, "This, gentlemen, is what the people who lived seven hundred years ago called a 'radio.' It was used to transmit spoken messages long distances. There is nothing of witchcraft about it, although I think that the purposes of the men and women who constructed this one and used it are as sinister as any wizard and warlock who ever took breath."

A closer examination revealed why the noises had so suddenly ceased. The cord that had been connected to a second chest had been somehow disconnected. Milo reconnected it and the resultant spark brought starts to the other men. As the instrument warmed up, it first emitted a low hum, then a faint static.

"Is anyone receiving my transmission?" Milo spoke into the mike. He said it again, then grinned ruefully and switched from Ehleenokos to what he hoped, after all these years, was twentieth-century American usage.

There was a louder crackling, then a voice answered in the same language. "Yes, your transmission is being received. Who are you? Where is Lily ... uh, Dr. Lillian Landor?"

"If you mean the woman who last used this radio, she's dead," answered Milo shortly. "As for me, I'm Milo Morai, High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. With whom am I speaking?"

The voice became agitated. "Yon . . . you're the mutant, the one who's lived in a single body since the war?"

"Okay, you know who I am!" snapped Milo. "Now, who the hell are you?"

But a second voice cut in to answer him, a smooth, polished, unruffled voice. "Mr. Morai, I am Dr. Stern-heimer, the Senior Director of the J. & R. Kennedy Memorial Center. We would very much like to meet with you, at your convenience, of course. We can pick you up and fly you down from anywhere within a two-hundred mile radius of the Center."

Milo's laugh was harsh and humorless. "Oh, yes, I'll just bet you types would very much like to get your claws into me. And I can imagine why, too! So you can dig out of my flesh whatever it is that makes us more or less immortal. No, thank you, Dr. Sternheimer. I don't care to be the subject in a vivisection!"

"Please, wait, you don't understand, Mr. Morai . . ." Sternheimer began.

But Milo cut him off. "No, I don't understand, Doctor; I don't understand why you creeps continue to embroil yourselves in the affairs of the Ehleens. What can you hope to gain? Are you running low on bodies?"

He was answered with a question. "Mr. Morai, are you an American citizen?"

"I was," replied Milo. "But what has that to do with my previous question, Doctor?"

Sternheimer's tones became fervid. "We, Mr. Morai, are attempting to re-establish The United States of America."

This time Milo's laughter was real. "Doctor, if you're not pulling my leg, I advise you to have a long chat with one of your shrinks. Have you lost track of time? Doctor, this is, I believe, the twenty-seventh century A.D. The United States, as you and I knew it, has been dead a long time. Why not let it rest in peace?"

"Because, Mr. Morai, I am a patriot!" announced Sternheimer.

Milo laughed again. "So patriotic are you—or were you—that you disregarded the orders of the Congress and your superiors in H.E.W. to discontinue your vampiric experiments and destroy all notes and records of them."

"But I knew that our work was terribly important, Mr. Morai, and events bear out my belief!" Sternheimer exclaimed. "Besides, who were those damned, ignorant politicians to dictate to me?"

"They were the elected congressmen of the citizens whose taxes paid for your experiments, Doctor," said Milo coolly.

This time, it was Sternheimer who expelled a snort of hard laughter. "The Great Unwashed Masses? Oh, come now, Mr. Morai, you know as well as I do that those congressional fools simply overreacted to a few letters from religious fanatics and the tripe churned out by a handful of newsmongering simpletons calling themselves 'journalists'! When we re-establish our nation, there will be no such aggregation of august fools. The people will be governed sensibly, scientifically."

"Forget it, Sternheimer." Milo's voice was become glacial. "I remind you again; this is not the world we knew, long ago. Today's people need you and your plans of a scientific dictatorship as much as they need a hole in the head. And I serve you fair warnirfg: keep your damned vampires out of my lands—which now include the Southern Kingdom as well as Karaleenos and Kehnooryos Ehlahs, incidentally. I'll scotch every one of your people I can lay my hands on, Sternheimer, and don't you for-get it!"

Sternheimer abruptly turned on the charm once more. "My dear Mr. Morai, you do misunderstand. How I wish we could speak face to face, man to man, so that I might convince you of . . ."

"Sternheimer, you couldn't convince me that dung stinks! So don't waste your breath trying psychology on me. Just remember what I said, what I promised to do to any of your parasites I catch, and keep them out of my Confederation. I expect I'll have my work cut out for me during the next couple of centuries, and I'll have no mercy on any of your ghouls who traipse about stirring things up." Milo hurled the mike to the floor.

"Wait a minute, Mr. Morai." Sternheimer's next words remained unheard, for Milo spun the frequency knob, losing the nasal voice in a welter of static.

The High-Lord disconnected the power source, then ordered his guards that the two chests be carried to the center of the bridge and dumped into the river.

Nothing that was done to Zastros' body could evoke even the fluttering of an eyelid—shaking him did no good, nor did slaps or blows or dagger points pushed into the most sensitive spots on his body, not even torch flames applied to his fingertips and toes.

"And he has been just so, Lord Milo, since the night we came to depose him," asserted Mahvros. "He swallows liquids if we open his jaws and dribble them into his mouth, but he cannot eat."

Milo gazed down on the inert body, now bruised and burned and bleeding. He attempted to enter the mind, but he found it shielded. He then surmised the actual fact, though he never knew it for such.

"Gentlemen, I imagine that Zastros' wife, who was the agent of a very evil man far south of here, drugged her husband. She probably wished him unconscious while she used that radio to contact her lord. We'll never know the antidote that might restore him to consciousness until we know what drugs she used, and she took that knowledge with her to her grave. His body would starve to death ere we might chance upon that antidote. The kindest thing to do now is to grant him a clean, quick death."

So saying, he drew his dirk.

Lillian heard it all, heard both sides of the mutant's conversation with the Senior Director, heard the order to destroy her transceiver—her only possible link with the Center—heard all their attempts to arouse Zastros' body; though she felt each and every excruciating agony and screamed almost incessantly, no single sound emerged from the body's lips. Then she heard Milo's last words, heard his weapon snick from its case.

She felt fingertips move on the chest, locate the spot and lift away, to be replaced by the knife point. Then she was silently screaming out the unbearable anguish of the cold, sharp blade entering the body's heart; unmoving, she writhed in pain as he jerked the double-edged weapon, slicing the organ to speed death.

Frantically, Lillian cast about, seeking a sleeping or unconscious body—any body, human or otherwise—fruitlessly. Faintly, she heard voices and the clumping of heavy boots. Then there was silence.

Thus, did Dr. Lillian Landor (holder of four degrees), who had hated all male humans for most of the seven hundred years of her life, at last meet death ... in a man's body.

Chapter 14

Early in that month called Thekembrios, Milo and Mara lay reclined upon a mound of cushions, sipping cordials and gazing into the heart of a crackling, popping wood fire. The evening had been one of those rare occasions on which they had been able to dine alone, in their suite, and the remains of the meal littered a table nearby.

He tried to enter her mind, failed, and said aloud, "What are you thinking of that you must shield your thoughts?"

She smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Milo. We must shield our thoughts so much of our days, you know. But I didn't mean to shut you out.

"No, I was thinking of you ... in a way. I was thinking of the first winter I spent with you in that damned drafty tent at Ehlai. God, it was horrible: that arctic wind knifing in off the ocean, fleas hopping on every living creature in the camp, and the smells, ugh—the atmosphere inside those tents was enough to sicken a hog or a goat, smoke and sour milk and wet wool and filthy, unwashed human bodies. You should have warned me beforehand what a winter camp was going to be like. Nothing even resembling a real bath for months; Milo, I thought I'd never be able to get the stink off and be clean again!"

Milo took a sip of his cordial. "I don't recall any complaints from you then, Mara."

She laughed throatily. "Of course not, silly. I was in love with you—violently, passionately in love with you. Then, the cold and the stink and the fleas and the filth still added up to paradise ... just so long as you were there. We women are like that in the first flush of love."

"And now, Mara?" He rolled onto his side to face her.

"That was forty years ago. How much do you love me now?"

"Not that much, Milo. That kind of love can never last very long; it's too intense, too demanding, too abrasive on the emotions of both parties. But I do love you still, Milo. Ours has become a ... a comfortable relationship for me. And what of you, my lord?"

Before he answered, he drained the cordial and tossed the silver goblet in the general direction of the table, then rolled onto his back, pillowing his head on his crossed arms, but with his face still toward his wife.

"I didn't love you, Mara, not then, and I think you knew."

She nodded her head slowly, and the fire threw highlights from the blue-black tresses that rippled about her shoulders.

"I knew. But it didn't matter, not then."

"For a long while, Mara, I didn't know if I could ever love you. Not that you were hard to love, that wasn't it. But I feared that my ability to love might have atrophied. I'd been afraid to love any woman for so long, you see.

"It's bad enough with a woman you simply like and respect—watching her, day by day, year by year, grow old and infirm and finally die. When you love that woman, it's the crudest of tortures. After having suffered that torment a couple of times, Mara, I willed myself not to love.

"But, over the years, I have come to love you, my lady. Not a fiery, passionate love, but a love that has come slowly into being. It is nurtured by my respect for you and my admiration of you, by my faith in your honesty and by the pleasure that your dear companionship has given me. Our relationship is, as you said, a most comfortable one. I am comfortable, Mara, and I am very happy. You made me happy, darling, and I love you."

Resting her hand on his cheek, she whispered, "I'm glad you remembered how to love, my Milo, and now that the southern Ehleenoee are all reunited and there will be peace . . ."

"Hah!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "Peace, is it, my lady? Such peace as we have now will last until spring, possibly. Let us hope it's not an early spring, for Greemos and I have much to do." _

Mara arched her brows. "Greemos? But he is King Zenos' Strahteegos."

"So he is," agreed Milo, "but only until the first day of Martios. On that day, I will take his formal oath as the Confederation's new Strahteegos of Strahteegoee. Then he and I will ride north and look over the ground on which the army will probably be campaigning."

"But Gabos . . ." she began. "He has served us well, and when he hears . . ."

"Gabos was among the first to know, Mara, and he heartily endorses the move. He'd never admit openly to the fact, of course, but he, of all men, is fully aware that he's getting too old for long campaigns. I'm kicking him upstairs. Week after next, at the Feast of the Sun, I'm investing the old war horse with his new title—Thoheeks of the Great Valley.

"That's the only way that well ever really secure it, you know. It must be settled and cultivated. I plan one large city and two smaller ones and the majority of their citizens will be, like Gabos, retired soldiers. If they're unmarried, they'll be encouraged to take wives from among the mountain tribes. It worked for the Romans; it should work for me."

"Romans?" repeated Mara puzzledly. "A very warlike people who flourished roughly twenty-four centuries ago, Mara. When they had a difficult frontier to defend, they settled it with old soldiera wed to barbarian girls, which proved quite an effective means of gradually amalgamating their enemies into their empire, as well as providing a certain source of tax revenues rather than expenditures and, at the same time, a virtual breeding ground for the next generation of soldiers."

Suddenly, Mara gurgled with laughter. "Oh, Milo, I just pictured the Lady loanna as a country thoheekeesa, milking goats instead of coupling with them! Why, she can't even ride; she'll be lost outside a city."

"Which is probably why," announced Milo, "she has been begging Gabos to divprce her, offering him fantastic sums to do so. I advised him to hold out for the highest figure he can get from her, and then to grant her wish. I've already arranged for Gabos to marry Grand Chief Shoomait's youngest daughter. I'm reliably informed that the girl is a nubile fourteen, attractive, intelligent, and personable, and Gabos is not of such an age that he can't beget a few heirs. It's said the girl is the apple of old Shoomait's eye—and God knows she cost the Confederation a high enough bride price. So I think' the old bastard will keep his own brigands and the other tribes in check; he's not going to raid his own daughter's lands or try to destroy the inheritance of his grandchildren."

"My, my, husband," teased Mara, "you were certainly a busy little High-Lord during those six weeks I spent in the country—creating a new duchy, planning new cities, abetting in the blackmail of an heiress, raiding the Confederation treasury to buy a fourteen-year-old bride for a fifty-year-old man, and arranging to get a Hew Strahteegos just in time for your new war. Tell me, dear heart, who are we fighting this time?"

Frowning, Milo toyed with his signet. "Probably Harzburk, before it's done."

"Harzburk?" she exclaimed. "But the king is your friend, your ally. He sent the second largest body of troops that came from the Middle Kingdoms."

"The King of Harzburk was never my ally, Mara, and I don't think he has ever had a friend," stated Milo. "The only reason he sent me troops was because of his overweening pride and his hereditary enmity toward the Kingdom of Pitzburk, by whom he could not bear to be publicly outdone!

"His goddamned nobles are the reason for it all. They outnumbered the band of Pitzburk nobles and I had to place them at opposite ends of the camp to prevent trouble, even before Zastros' host arrived. Then, when the Southern Council and I had arranged for the withdrawal of their army, those damned fool Middle Kingdoms' fire-eaters rode a little way out of camp and commenced a goddamned pitched battle! If I'd let them, they'd have merrily chopped each other into blood pudding."

"But that's childish," Mara observed. "Why would hundreds of grown men fight for no reason?"

Milo's shoulders rose and fell. "Their kingdoms are hereditary enemies, Mara. I suppose it's in their blood. Why do dogs and cats always fight?"

"Because they're both predators," answered Mara. "Well, you'll search long and hard to find two more predatory principalities than those two, Mara. I brought their melee to a stop by surrounding them with ten thousand mounted and fully armed dragoons, mostly Freefighters with some Kuhmbuhluhners mixed in, arrowing a few of them to get their attention, then threatening to slaughter every manjack of them if they didn't put up their steel.

"The next morning, I set the Pitzburkers on the march, wounded and all. I sent along Captain Mai and three thousand Freefighter dragoons to 'guide' them and see to it that they switched over to the western trade road at Klahkspolis.

"Hardly were they out of camp than those damned Harzburkers had provoked a skirmish with the Eeree nobility. I was out of the castra at the time, riding a few miles with Mai and the Pitzburkers, so Greemos and Duke Djefree did the same thing I'd done the day before, except they weren't as careful. They didn't just put arrows into legs and targets and horses—they shot to kill. One of the men they killed was one of King Kahl's many bastards."

Mara groaned. "So now you feel Harzburk will declare war on the Confederation?"

Milo shook his head. "Oh, no, not that sly old buzzard. He's called The Fox King' for good reason, though he doesn't quite understand how our Confederation works.

"As you know, Kuhmbuhluhn and Tchaimbuhsburk have boundary disputes that go back decades, but Kuhmbuhluhn's had very little trouble with Getzburk and no one can remember any with Yorkburk; yet all three principalities—well-known satellites of Harzburk—have sent heralds to the Duke at Haiguhsburk declaring war, to commence in the spring, as do most Middle Kingdoms' wars.

"Both the Duke and I are convinced that Harzburk is behind these declarations."

Mara tilted her head. "But why doesn't King Kahl just attack Kuhmbuhluhn himself if his people are so fond of fighting?"

"Well, for one thing," said Milo, "because he's not so honest and uncomplicated as you, love. For another, because if he were openly to attack a smaller state, his rival—Pitzburk—would attack him."

"Oh, so Pitzburk is our ally?" she asked, then answered, "Yes, that's right, they were the first to send us troops."

"No," Milo explained patiently. "Pitzburk sent us troops because we're good customers; the Pitzburkers are no more allies than are the Harzburkers."

Frowning with concentration, she finally shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Milo, I simply don't understand it all. If Pitzburk isn't our ally, then why would they attack Harzburk if Harzburk were to attack Kuhnbuh-luhn?"

Milo drew himself up. "All right, children, tonight's lesson will concern the Middle Kingdoms. These lands are bounded on the south by the river that we call Vohre-heeos, on the west by the Sea of Eeree, on the north by the Black Kingdoms and . . ."

"Oh, stop it, Milo!" she burst out. "Stop teasing me and tell me the answer to my question."

He grinned. "I'm trying to, woman, just stop interrupting. Up until the disruptions of the Great Earthquake, three-hundred fifty-odd years ago, the Middle Kingdoms were just that—three big kingdoms: Harzburk in the east; Pitzburk in the west; and Eeree in the north. Subsequent to the disasters of the quake and the subsidence of large chunks of Harzburk and Eeree, these kingdoms fragmented into the beginning of the jumbled patchwork of domains we see today.

"Not having suffered damages equal to those of the other kingdoms, Pitzburk reorganized faster and not only reconquered its breakaway areas, but marched on to subjugate a good half of Harzburk, as well. Frightened by the growing size and strength of Pitzburk, Eeree joined with the unconquered Harzburkers, after about ten years, and the combined armies drove the Pitzburk forces all the way back to their own capital and besieged it there.

"That siege lasted nearly two years and might have finally succeeded, had not several things happened almost simultaneously. Having stripped the surrounding countryside bare, the besiegers ran out of food and began to fight each other, but the Pitzburkers were in such bad shape that they were unable to take advantage of the situation and break the siege. Then an army from north of the Sea of Eeree laid siege to Eereeburk at the same time that large-scale rebellions erupted in Harzburk; so both armies hurried home.

"The King of Pitzburk had died -during the siege and only the common enemy had held the nobles together; with the enemy gone, all hell broke loose in the western kingdom.

"So, what do we have today? There are only two actual kingdoms, Eeree having become a republic; but, though much shrunken in area, Harzburk, Eeree, and Pitzburk are still the major powers in the Middle Kingdoms. Then there are the great duchies. There were sixteen of them before Kuhmbuhluhn joined our Confederation, but all of the remaining ones are in some ways connected to one or the other of the Big Three. Next come the small fries, and some of them are really small, Mara, tiny; but all are more or less independent states and most are ruled by a hereditary nobility—peacock-proud and boasting a veritable catalogue of grandiose titles."

Mara breathed a long, long sigh, saying tiredly, resignedly, "Husband, when are you going to tell me why Pitzburk will attack Harzburk if Harzburk attacks Kuhmbuhluhn?"

Pointedly ignoring this, Milo simply continued. "You and most of the Ehleenoee were horrified that the civil war that racked and wrecked the Southern Kingdom lasted for five years, yet almost the same thing has been going on in the Middle Kingdoms for over three hundred years."

"But that's different, Milo," Mara interjected. "After all, the Southern Kingdom is an Ehleen kingdom, a civilized realm, while the Middle Kingdoms are only an aggregation of brawling barbarians, little higher culturally than the mountain tribes."

"Wrong!" Milo asserted. "Wrong on several counts, Mara. First of all, although the peoples of the Middle Kingdoms and the peoples of the mountain tribes are of the same race, there is a vast cultural gap between them; in fact, it is you Ehleenoee whose culture bears the closest similarity to the mountaineers."

Mara sat up quickly, bristling, her black eyes flashing. "I'll take just so much, Milo, even from you!"

He raised his hand in the gesture of peace. "Hold on, dear, let me explain. What I just said is not completely true, not now, anyway, but it was true as little as thirty-odd years ago. Why do you think I directed the tribe here, rather than to the Middle Kingdoms or the Black Kingdoms or Kehnooryos Mahkehdohnya? Because in warfare, as in too many other aspects, the culture of all the southern Ehleenoee was a static culture, as the culture of the mountain peoples is a static culture."

He, too, sat up. "Mara, many of our people feel that I am unjustly persecuting the Ehleen Church in the Confederation. This is an exaggeration. I'm not persecuting it at all; I'm only trying to weaken the stranglehold it has had on the Ehleenoee and their culture for far too long. An organized religion of any description is, by its very nature, best served by conservatism. This is why, when I gave the ancestors of the Horseclans their laws and religion, I did it in such a manner that it would be very difficult for a priestly caste to develop.

"Your cultural apogee was reached two hundred years ago and you were still squatting there, until the coming of the Horseclans. Your average Ehleen is born a conservative—'What was good enough for great great grandpa is good enough for me!' Between that basic attitude and the tendency of the Eeyehrefsee to brand as Satan-spawned any person or thing they don't understand, the creativity has been all but ground out of your people, Mara."

She slapped her thigh angrily. "Now, that is a lie, and you know it! If our people . . . my people . . . lack creativity, then from whence comes our art, our music, our literature, our architecture? Why, the very palace in which you sit slandering us is new. Demetrios had most of it built just before you barbarians invaded. Don't misunderstand me, I bear little love for Church or Eeyehrefsee—the black-robed vultures! Do you know how they 'test' a suspected Undying? They lop off a hand or a foot and plunge the stump into boiling pitch. Then they throw the unfortunate wretch into a dungeon for a couple of months to see if it grows back. No, I wouldn't care if you had every Eeyehrefs in the Confederation roasted alive, but I won't have my people defamed!"

"Mara," he went on doggedly, "your anger is unworthy of the fine woman I know you are. Stop thinking like an Ehleen and open your mind. Think, Mara, thinfcl Your artistics are all nobles, which class is infamously irreligious. No, it is the poor and the oppressed who are your most religious; your peasants, the khpreekoee, they are the actual strength of the Church. When did one of them ever come up with something new and different—a labor-saving device, for instance, something great grandpa didn't have?"

He paused, awaiting her answer, but she only sat in sullen silence.

"What would happen if a khoreefcos devised and fabricated a simple, mule-drawn appartus that could reap a field of rye in less time than twenty scythe-men? Well, Mara," he prodded, "what would be the fate of that agrarian genius? Would he be lauded for his innovative ability? Would his peers beat a path to his door, that he might show them how to build and use his invention? Answer me, wife!"

"Oh, you know damned well what would happen to the poor dumb bastard, Milo!" snapped Mara. "The Eeyehrefsee would see him tortured until he admitted to transactions with Satan ... or died; then they'd see him and his invention burned together."

"Precisely." He nodded. "Which certainly rather discourages any original thought on the part of the land slaves, doesn't it? But the priests don't intimidate me. I have devised and am going to introduce just such a machine at the next harvest time."

"Oh, Milo, Milo!" Mara pled. "Please don't stir up any more trouble with the Church. You know what they did to that water-powered mill you had built while yon were gone last summer. And they'd have seen the millers all slain, too, had my guards not gotten there in time."

"So they sought my millers out in their homes and butchered them before their families," stated Milo grimly. "You didn't know of it because the widows were too terrified to speak until I returned, since the damned Ehpohteesee had borne their husbands' mutilated bodies away and promised to come back and do the same to them and their children if they said aught of the murders."

Mara had paled. "The Knights of the Saints?" she breathed.

He nodded, tight-lipped. "Yes, the Church's secret terror squads. But the bastards aren't secret any longer; they're all either dead or incarcerated in the old fortress at Goohm."

"But . . ." she stammered, "but how did you find out who they are?"

Milo showed his teeth in a wolf-like grin. "As you said earlier, it's been a busy six weeks for me. I had old Hreesos, the Metropolitan, arrested on a trumped-up charge and immured in the deepest tier of the City Prison, naked, to contemplate upon his sins. After a week, he was brought up, washed, shorn, shaved, and garbed in a death-robe. Then he was left alone for a few minutes, long enough for him to look out the window and see the Chief Executioner sitting on the block and thumbing the edge of his great sword. Mara, you have never heard such moaning and praying," Milo chuckled.

"The old scoundrel went to his knees, wet his red robe down the front, and started going over his life and his more questionable activities in his mind. Of course, he has no mindshield, and I was behind a false wall with two of the prairie cats; Mara, some of the things that swine has done or had done in the name of religion would curl your hair. I'd originally intended fining him and freeing him after I'd picked his mind, but after I found out just what a merciless monster he is, I had him heaved back in his cell. He's far too dangerous to be out of a cage!"

"And I hadn't been back in the palace for an hour when a delegation presented a petition for me to intercede with you on Hressos' behalf," said Mara. "The delegates also apprised me of the fact that barbarian kahtahfraktoee were riding through the streets and sabering every priest they saw—on your order."

"You've never spoken of any of this before tonight, Mara. Why not?" asked Milo.

She matched his predatory grin, tooth for tooth. "I told you, you could roast them all without upsetting me. Besides, I knew you'd tell me all about it in your own time." Her brow wrinkled. "But why that elaborate charade, darling, why didn't you just have him tortured?"

"Torturing a man like that would have accomplished nothing, Mara. The man, for all his misdeeds, is a religious fanatic. He is dead certain that every evil he has wrought has been holy, in that his acts helped perpetuate and strengthen his Church. He would have bitten off his own tongue, ere he imparted to me the information I wanted!"

"So," Mara inquired, "he unknowingly gave you the names of all the Ekpohteeseel"

He barked a short laugh. "Hardly! There were over three hundred of the ruffians. But he did think of the Grand Master, his illegitimate son, Marios. Him, I had the pleasure of introducing to the artful Master Fyuh-stohn, only a couple of hours later. Marios became a real fountain of information. It was all the scribes could do to keep up with him. Then I gave him a cell next door to his father."

"It's all up to you," put in Mara. "But wouldn't it be safer to kill them?"

"That precious pair," snarled her husband, "is undeserving of a quick death. The only man who's allowed to slop those swine is a deaf mute; the guards on the level above have orders to immediately slay anyone, even the prison-governor who tries to go below—I issued their orders, in person!"

"What," she asked, "are you going to do with the rest of the Ehpohteesee?"

"When the Church has been weakened and discredited to the point that witnesses are no longer afraid to come forward, I'm going to try them for their crimes. Until then, I've a number of schemes to keep them busy. Shortly, they'll start repairs on the east trade road. Next spring and summer will come the cleaning and repair of Goohm—at the end of the campaign, I mean Goohm to become Freefighter headquarters. Next winter, they can go back on the roads."

"How in God's name do you propose to finance road work and fortress repairs, Milo?" Mara demanded. "You had to take Lek ... Lord Alexandras' kind offer of a loan to finish paying off your Freefighters."

"Since your so-called delegation told you so much, they couldn't have failed" to mention my 'desecration' of the cathederal." At her nod, he went on. "Inside and under the main altar, we found more than two hundred thousand ounces of gold, mostly in coins, as' well as over a million ounces of silver! When we tore apart the Metropolitan's quarters, we found even more gold and enough cut gemstones to cover the top of that table— mostly fine diamonds, with a few rubies and opals and one pouch of very nice emeralds."

Stunned, she could only say, "But . . . but where? How . . . ?"

"Many ways, Mara. Perhaps a twentieth was out of free-will offerings and contributions. As for the~rest ... well, The Holy and Apostolic Church of Kehnooryos Ehlahs owns farms, Socks, herds, ships, warehouses, orchards, vineyards, extensive properties in the various cities, at least two quarries ... and more than half the brothels in the realm! They don't own the brothels openly, of course, but through dummies—willing confederates amongst the laity.

"But there's more. You wouldn't believe the quantities of wine and brandies and cordials we found in Hreesos' cellars, and never a single tax brand on any of them; so, he's obviously been smuggling. But it's his other little side line that really infuriates me."

She had seen that look in his eyes before, but only in battle, and seeing it as they lazed before a fire in their own palace frightened her.

"For most of the twenty years of his primacy, Hreesos and his priests have been offering to take one or two children from large peasant families into the monastic orders; usually, the peasants jumped at the chance, since it promised the children a secure and comparatively easy life, and gave the parents one or two less mouths to feed. From all over the realm, the children so collected would be brought here, the boys to St. Paulos' and the girls to St Sohfeeah's.

"When they totaled twenty to thirty head, they'd be marched down to the docks and loaded onto one of the Church's ships, which would promptly set sail for Yee-spahneeah or Gkahleeah or Yeetahleeah or even PahTyos Ehlahs. The prettier ones would be sold to brothels, the others to disreputable types who would either conceal the children's origin or else swear that they were war captives.

"You see, my dear, the Holy Hreesos was also a slaver. Several of his ship captains have made the acquaintance of Master Fyuhstohn, subsequent to which they told me a good deal about their activities. One of them had been at it for over twelve years, averaging a hundred children each year, for whom he got high prices, since the priests were careful to choose only attractive, strong, and healthy children. Those captains and their crews will also be improving the trade road and helping the Ehpohteesee at Goohm."

"But what about those damned Eeyehrefsee?" exploded Mara. "They chose the poor children. Surely they knew?"

"Oh, I'm certain that they did know, Mara, but the time is not yet ripe for me to strike directly at the Church," he replied, adding, "with a war declared for the spring, I don't need a peasant uprising this winter. No, I'm playing this business a different way, Mara.

"When I sent Lord Alexandros the principal and interest of his loan, I sent, as well, a request. Since then, I've dispatched seven ships to some of the ports mentioned by Hreesos' captains. My captains know those ports well; they are shrewd, hard men and in possession of adequate funds to buy back as many children as they can locate."

"Oh, yes," she said coldly, "I'm beginning to understand, I think. You mean to return them home and let them tell their parents and neighbors all about their 'religious training'? Sun and Wind, my lord, that's fiendish. Why, those peasants will tear the Eeyehrefsee into gobbets, with no Ehpohteesee on hand to protect them!"

Milo nodded, grinning broadly. "Precisely, my dear. And don't you think their fierce faith in the Holy and Apostolic Church and her clergy might be just a wee bit undermined, eh?"

"Husband-mine, please constantly remind your wife to never incur the enmity of High-Lord Milo of the Confederation." She answered his grin with one of her own. "Sweetheart, it's a master stroke; the Church won't recover for decades ... if ever. But tell me, what was the total value of Hreesos' hoard?"

"After" he emphasized the word, "I repaid the loan and financed the captains, and discounting the smuggled potables that are now in the palace cellars, the Confederation Treasury shows a balance of some forty million thrahkmehs."

"But, Milo!" Mara cried. "He couldn't, simply could not, have amassed so much in only twenty years! Forty million thrahkmehs, eight million tahluhzl"

"Oh, the current Metropolitan didn't collect it all, Mara," Milo assured her. "Sun knows how long his predecessors had been squirreling it away in that altar. Remind me to show you some of those coins that came from bags so old they fell to dust when we touched them. There was one bag of mist-sharp thrahkmehs of Lukos The First"

"They must have been saving a long time!" she exclaimed wonderingly. "Why, Lukos has been dead over three hundred years!"

He laughed harshly. "Yes, hut Hreesos' successors will never have the opportunity to lay away lucre on that scale. From now on, the Church is going to be taxed, heavily taxed, on all the sundry holdings. We are slowly unraveling the Black Robes' financial empire, and we're nibbling bits and pieces of it away. I've already confiscated the Church's fleet on the basis of evidence of smuggling, and all the harbor warehouses, too. I didn't include the value of those in the treasure balance, but it will up the balance a tad.

"Every ehkleeseeah, every monastery, every farm or pasturage or orchard or vineyard or quarry, every rural building or urban property is being cataloged. My agents are going over them with a louse comb, and wherever they uncover evidence of illegal activities, they are empowered to slap the ehkleeseeahee and monasteries with a stiff fine, while any of the other categories are to simply be confiscated to the Confederation ... all except the brothels, that is."

"Why not the brothels?" Mara queried impishly. "Just think, if the Confederation owned the brothels, the High-Lord could use them free."

He refused to rise to the jest. "No, I had a better idea. I'm having the Church's ownerships publicized!"

"Oh . . . ohhhh ... oh, Milo, ohhhhh!" Clutching her sides and roaring with laughter, she rolled back on the cushions. Finally, she sat up, gasping for breath, her eyes streaming. "Oh, Milo, you're really a terrible man, you know? Of course the Eeyehrefsee will all deny it, but, people being what they are, no one will believe them." Then she lapsed into another laughing fit.

Arising to his feet, Milo retrieved his goblet and brought the decanter from the table. After refilling for them both, he said, "Laughing Girl, if you can control yourself long enough, I'll tefl you why Harzburk will be attacked by Pitzburk if Harzburk attacks Kuhmbuhluhn ... unless you're no longer interested...."

On a cold, wet, blustery night in mid-March, three men met in a stone-and-timber hunting lodge near the walled city of Haiguhzburk, capital of the Duchy of Kuhmbuhluhn. On the wide, deep hearth, behind a man-high screen of brass wire, the fire was crackling its way into a huge pinelog and the bright light of the blaze illumined the large-scale map spread on the floor before it. Two-score Horseclansmen ringed the old, two-story building, while ten-score of their kindred patrolled the surrounding forest on their tough, shaggy little horses. And farther out, among the dripping trees and soggy underbrush, ranged a dozen of the great prairie cats.

During the months Milo's heterogeneous army awaited Zastros, Thoheeks Greemos and Duke Djefree of Kuhmbuhluhn had become fast friends. Now, the new Confederation Strahteegos traced the twisting course of the river that bisected the eastern half of the duchy.

"I could wish, Djef, that the army could headquarter at Mahrtuhnzburk and force the enemy to come to us, rather than trying to hold the damned border north of here. You're sure the invasion will come through that area we rode over, are you?"

Duke Djefree was as broad and as muscular as the Thoheeks, though nearly two hands shorter and twenty years older. Like most men who often wore both helm and beaver, his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven and his snow-white hair had been clipped within an inch of his scalp. Taking his pipe from between his strong, yellow teeth, he used its mouthpiece as a pointer.

"Oh, yes, Big Brother, if the allies follow the strategy that my spies at all three courts assure me will be followed, this is the only feasible route. They know that they must have all three of their armies combined to defeat mine and the troops they're sure my overlord will loan me."

Greemos' saturnine face mirrored puzzlement "But how do they know your army will be there to meet them?"

The Duke shrugged his wide shoulders. "Because they know I know they're coming in there; they have as many spies in my court as do I in theirs. That's why we are met here alone tonight with My Lord Milo's men for guards, rather than mine own."

"But, good God, man!" Greemos expostulated explosively. "Think on it! They coulo! be deliberately misleading your agents in the hope that you will mass your forces there. Then they could cross the border directly north of either of your principal cities."

Duke Djefree just shook his scarred head calmly. "Oh, no, Brother, they can only attack the old capital from the east. In order to get north of it, they would have to go through Tuhseemark, and Marquis Hwahruhn would never permit their passage, of course."

"He's a friend of yours, then, Djef?" probed Greemos. "Does he have enough troops to menace the enemy's Bank?"

The Duke rocked back on his heels, laughing. "A friend? Hardly! He'd be overjoyed to hear of my demise, especially were it a slow and painful one." Another laugh bubbled up, and he went on. "As for troops, the last I heard, he boasts all of five hundred pikemen, including his city and frontier guards; he retains a force of all of twenty dragoons, and his family and noble retainers probably number five-and-twenty more. Even were I willing to hire Jhim and his fifth-rate warband, I doubt me they could turn the flank of a muletrain."

"Hell and damnation!" thundered Greemos. "Then what's to prevent Duke Djai from walking right over them and attacking Kuhmbuhluhnburk from the north? A tenth of those three warbands could stamp less than six hundred men into the dust, by God!"

"Because he wouldn't dare attack Tuhseemark, not unless the Marquis led troops out and attacked him first." Duke Djefree smiled blandly. "Don't you see, Greemos?"

"No, I do not!" snapped the Thoheeks. "God's balls, Djef, you make less sense than my wife! Were I marching twenty thousand men against you, I'd come any damned way I pleased. I'd send five thousand men and my siege train through Tuhseemark, whether the Marquis liked it or not, and invest Kuhmbuhluhnburk. Then your army would have a grim choice: either meet my main army and take a chance of losing Kuhmbuhluhnburk, and then being taken in the rear by my detached force; or detach part of your smaller army to succor the city, thereby ensuring the defeat of your main force; or withdrawing your entire army toward Kuhmbuhluhnburk, with my army either snapping at your heels or marching on Haiguhsburk."

"Your strategy is good, Big Brother, and I am certain that you would defeat an enemy you so opposed." Duke Djefree spoke slowly, as if to a backward child. "But we may be assured that Duke Djai will not follow such a course. He cannot without the Marquis' leave, and the Marquis will never grant it."

A vein was quivering in Greemos' forehead and his big fists were clenched. But when he would have spoken, Milo laid a hand on his arm.

"Greemos, you Ehleenoee just don't understand these northerners. I'll try to explain and Djef can correct me or bring up any fine points I miss.

"Greemos, within the last seven years you've proved yourself a genius of military strategy and tactics; but, your inborn abilities notwithstanding, you strongly dislike war and your aim is to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Well, doesn't everyone want peace?" asked the new strahteegos.

Milo shook his heath "No, Greemos, not the Middle Kingdoms' nobility. War and fighting have replaced both sport and religion in their lives."

"In fact, Big Brother," interjected the Duke, "war has become religion. The Cult of the Sword has displaced all of the older beliefs, save only worship of The Blue Lady, but she's only worshipped by women, anyway."

"Just so," agreed Milo. "And, like any religion, it has innumerable rules and customs and usages, many of which appear idiotic to the uninitiated. But, Greemos, if you stand back and look deeper than the facade of mere custom, you'll see that there are very good reasons for these rules and usages."

"Your pardon, my lord," said Greemos, "but what am I to look into?"

"Bear with me, Lord Strahteegos, bear with me," Milo smilingly enjoined him. "Toward the end of their existence, the original three Middle Kingdoms were ruled by tyrannic despots, hated and feared by people and nobility alike. When the Great Earthquake and the chaos it and the floods engendered gave the lords and cities an opportunity for independence, they grasped it, lost it back briefly, then secured it for good and all. They . . ."

Milo paused, then turned to the Duke. "Djef, you're an initiate of the Cult. Perhaps you can explain it somewhat better than can I. What I know is but hearsay."

The Duke nodded brusquely. "As you wish, my lord. Look you, Greemos, what it boils down to is this: a smaller state may attack a larger, but a larger state may not attack a smaller except in'retaliation for overt attack. D'you ken? A smaller state may enter into compact with one or more others of comparable size to attack a larger, which is just what is being done to me, but if they lose, then all of them are open to attack by the state they attacked. But should a larger state attack a smaller, unprovoked—and such hasn't happened in Sword knows when—things will get rather sticky for him in rather short order. It may start even before he attacks, for when his intent is obvious afl Sword Initiates are bound by Sword oath to desert him, which means most if not all of his Freefighters. If this fails to deter him, if his force contains enough non-initiates and oath-breakers for him to actually launch an attack against the smaller state, then he is certainly dead and his dynasty as well, probably. All surrounding states, large and small, will march against him and his lands and titles will be forfeited to the ruler he attacked. If he fails to die in battle, then he will be hauled before a tribunal of the Cult, who will decide the manner of his execution. Likewise, all other oath-breakers in his service. Non-initiates are not subject to Cult discipline.

"So, you see, Big Brother, Kuhmbuhluhnburk is quite safe, unless our army should be defeated, for Duke Djai is an Initiate and no fool."

Chapter 15

Duke Djai and his allies, Counts Hwahltuh of Getzburk and Mortuhn of Yorkburk, unsuspectingly marched their twenty-two thousand men directly into the jaws of Strahteegos Greemos' carefully prepared a trap. The security measures had been stringent—a thing almost unheard of in Middle Kingdoms' wars—the inevitable spies and double agents having been spoon-fed informa-tion to the effect that the Confederation had sent Kuhmbuhluhn about five thousand troops, mostly Ehleen infantry, a tenth of the Confederation's standing army. Since this was the percentage usually loaned to a vassal state by an overlord, Duke Djai swallowed the tale.

The bait—the Army of Kuhmbuhluhn and its apparent reinforcements—stood athwart the valley through which Duke Djai must advance, their shallow formations lepp-ing up the slopes of the flanking hills.

Duke Djai—tall, slender, and wiry, his full armor painted a brilliant blue and edged with gold—sat his horse beneath the rippling folds of his silken banner, observing the waiting foe, while his own host reformed from marching to battle order. Ranged to his right and left were his allies—Count Hwahltuh, in violet and silver, and Count Mortuhn in orange and black.

Count Hwahltuh had just respectfully opined that Duke Djefree was too expert a war leader to place his men so stupidly—not deep enough to stop cavalry, nor yet long enough in the line to prevent flanking.

Duke Djai threw back his head and his high, tenor laughter pealed. Grinning under his sweeping, red-blond mustache, he answered, "Hwahlt, you're getting old and suspicious. What else could our esteemed cousin of Kuhmbuhluhn do? If he'd massed his slender forces in one of the narrower valleys, we'd have come through this one and taken him in the rear. His expertise told him that, so he did what he could with what he had. We'll triumph, of course, but his new Ehleen overlord should have sent him more men."

Milo, Lord Alexandros of the Sea Isles, and the Sea Lord's lieutenant, Yahnekos, sat in an artfully concealed vantage point at the crest of the hill on the bait's right Hank, from whence they witnessed the entirety of the blood-drenched affair.

Duke Djai waited nearly an hour for the flankscouts to report, but when they had not returned by the time the army was formed, he recklessly began his advance. After all, how could Duke Djefree have laid a trap when all of his force was arrayed in plain sight at the other end of the valley?

To the watchers, that advance was a colorful and stirring spectacle—the noblemen in the lead, their painted or enameled armor and nodding plumes and snapping banners creating a rainbow-hued kaleidoscope; behind the banners rode the personal entourages, then rank on rank of Freefighter dragoons and lancers; at a lengthening distance trotted disciplined units of light and heavy infantry.

"Have they no archers?" asked Alexandros. "Or slingers or engines to soften up the opposition?"

Smiling grimly, Milo shook his head. "No, they consider weapons that can kill at a distance to be dishonorable and only use them in defenses and sieges. They have both longbow men and crossbow men, but they probably left them to defend their train."

At a distance of five hundred yards from the waiting Kuhmbuhluhn array, Duke Djai halted to dress ranks for the final charge as well as to permit his infantry to catch up; for while a cavalry charge could break the formation of an opposing army, he knew full well that only infantry could complete the rout and consolidate the victory.

Count Hwahlruh sidled his black charger up to Duke Djai's gray stallion. "By your leave, my lord, their lines appear to have deepened in the center. I have a foreboding feeling about this assault."

Duke Djai was in high good humor and not even the doubt and worry tinging the young count's voice could dampen it. Slapping gauntleted hand upon armored thigh, he laughed. "You're too gloomy, little cousin. Of course, Duke Djefree has deepened his center, but you can bet he's stripped any depth from his flanks to do it! The foot already have their orders, as do the lancers. When we strike the center, they'll advance on the flanks. Ill have reconquered Haiguhzburk within the month, our dear Lord will be revenged, and both you and Mortuhn will be considerably richer. Now, get your people straightened out and stop fretting so."

For the first hundred yards they moved at a brisk walk, in time to a sprightly tune shrilled by the flutes and fifes of the musicians who followed the infantry. When the horsemen commenced to slow trot, the fifers cased their instruments, unslung their shields, and drew their swords, while the drummers remained halted in formation, beating time for the foot.

A few arrows from the defending force were to be expected, so Duke Djai was not alarmed when a drizzle of shafts pelted down, but that drizzle rapidly increased to a shower and, suddenly, the sky was dark with feathered death. Duke Djefree could not possibly have so many archers! But he knew what must be done and turning in his saddle, bade the sounding of the charge, for the only certain way to escape an arrow storm was to close with the enemy so that the cowardly bow men could not loose for fear of downing their own troops.

The horn pealed its command and the steel-edged formation swept forward at the gallop, the bass rumble of tens of thousands of hooves clearly audible to the High-Lord and the Sea Lord in their eyrie high above. The lines wavered but little, rough ground notwithstanding, as the riders of faster horses held them back to match the pace of slower mounts. Their shouts and war cries were almost lost in the overall din, as the forms of all but the first ranks were, in the rolling clouds of dust.

The living tsunami crashed against the dense hedge of pikemen with a noise loud even to the watchers on the hilltops—sounds of metal hard-swung on metal, screams of man and screams of horse. The lines of the defenders bowed inwari... inward ... inward, then snapped back with the weight of reinforcements, while the right and left wings ran down the hillsides to flank the milling, hacking horsemen.

Up the valley to the north, what was left of twelve thousand infantry were formed into a shield-overlapped hedgehog, their pikes and spears fending off squadrons of Confederation Kahtahfraktoee and Horseclansmen. The surviving lancers—all Freefighters and recognizing the stench of defeat—stampeded out of the valley, arriving at the train with shouted warnings of the disasters taking place behind them.

Those wagoneers who valued their lives slashed apart the harnesses of the draft mules, then had to fight for possession of them with hordes of archers and crossbow men, as did more than a few lancers have to battle to retain their lathered horses. This internecine warfare was still going on when the main body of the Confederation cavalry, under Sub-Strahteegos Portos, plowed into them. When the High-Lord and his entourage rode onto the battlefield, it was to find most of the noblemen of three states dead or dying. Ahead of them, to the right of the center, ringed about by hostile swords and pikes, waved the slashed and ragged battle flags of Tchaimbuhsburk and Getzburk. Beneath them, perhaps a score of nobles and a few hundred retainers and dragoons stood afoot or sat drooping mounts—horses and men alike, hacked, bloody, exhausted, but determined to die honorably.

At the High-Lord's word, a Kuhmbuhluhn herald rode to within a few yards of the battered survivors of the cavalry charge. Drawing rein, he requested Swordtruce and announced that his lord wished words with Duke Djai.

He was informed that, as Duke Djai had died a few minutes before, it would be most difficult for Duke Djefree to converse with him; however, if the Duke would settle for speech with a mere count, he could be obliged. In any event, the speaker added, a Swordtruce would be more than welcome, so far as he was concerned.

Two hours later, the speaker, still in his dust-dimmed, dented, and gore-splattered violet armor, sat in a camp chair across a table from the High-Lord of the Ehleen Confederation. Between them, their two sheathed sworda lay crossed, significant of a Swordtruce.

"I await your answer, Count Hwahltuh," Milo gently prodded. "Or do you wish leave to think over my offer and to discuss it with your comrades?"

The young count opened his mouth to speak, but his dry throat produced but a croak, then a spasm of coughing.

Duke Djefree, at Milo's left, shoved a silver ewer of watered wine forward, saying mock-reprovingly, "Oh, cousin, stop being a proper gentleman and drain off a couple of cups of this; your gullet will appreciate it."

Thus given leave, the count quaffed two full pints and part of a third, then said in an unbelieving voice, "You really mean it, my lord? It's not some cruel jest or another trap?"

"Yes, Count Hwahltuh, I do mean it. If you and the other noblemen will take Swordoath to never again bear arms against the Ehleen Confederation, all are free to de- -part this duchy. You may retain your arms and as much personal baggage as one packmule can bear. If your mount be slain or crippled, I will provide you another for the journey."

The red-haired boy—he couldn't be older than eighteen, reckoned Milo—shook his head in happy wonderment. "You are most generous, my lord. I am certain that Earl Ahrthuh and all the rest would second me in that statement, but what of our people—our retainers and the Freefighters?"

Milo smiled. "They're as free as are you, unless they decide to enlist under the Confederation banner. As for generosity, it is both easy and pleasant to be generous with men who have fought as valiantly as did you and yours."

The young nobleman's face flushed nearly the color of his hair. "Those were kind and most gentle words, Lord Milo. When and where are our ransoms to be paid ...

and have you decided upon the various amounts of them?"

"I demand no ransoms," said Milo flatly. "Nor will my army set one foot on the soil of either Getzburk or Yorkburk, so long as you and they remain true to your oaths. I will march into Tchaimbuhzburk only if King Kahl takes it into his head to march; if he does, the war will be fought on the lands of his vassals; there'll be no more fighting in Kuhmbuhluhn or any other state of the Confederation."

"But . . . but Tchaimbuhzburk and Yorkburk and my own holdings, or an agreed-upon amount of gold, are yours—or, at least, Duke Djefree's—by Swordright!" argued Count Hwahltuh. "And ..."

"And, were it up to me," Duke Djefree leaned toward the count, smiling, "I'd take all three of them, the lands, not the money; with two duchies and two counties, I could style myself 'Arch-Duke,' and spit in the Fox King's bloodshot eye with impunity.

"But, Cousin Hwahltuh, Lord Milo is my overlord, I am Sword-oathed to his service, and he wants no more lands north of the Southern River."

"Forgive me, my lord," Count Hwahltuh said, addressing Milo, "but I don't understand, really. My Getzburk is a rich country, richer than Yorkburk, by far. The Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk is ..."

"Pardon my interruption, please, young man," said Milo in friendly tones. "But if I took, or allowed Duke Djefree to take, the two counties and the duchy, I could depend on a war to retain them every other year for the next fifty, at least. I now rule an area far larger than all of the lands of the Middle Kingdoms combined. Consequently, I've more than enough to occupy my mind without getting involved in you northerners' affairs."

"Yet, when we threatened Duke Djefree," commented Count Hwahltuh thoughtfully, "you did not simply loan him troops; you personally led your entire army to his defense."

Milo nodded. "So I did, young sir, and for a very good reason. I wish to, hereby, serve notice that my Confederation will not tolerate attacks on any of its member-states by any non-member, large or small. I think that that slaughter in the valley was necessary to make my point clear."

"Yes, my lord." Count Hwahltuh speedily agreed. "You assuredly made clear your intentions to resist aggression against your vassals." Slowly, he poured his cup full again, took a few sips, then suddenly asked, "My Lord Milo, I can see your reason for not wishing to be saddled with conquered lands, but ... but what if ... if a landholder wished to Swordoath his allegiance to your Confederation, as has Duke Djefree? Would you accept his fealty?"

Milo did not need to enter the boy's mind to define his meaning. In his own mind, he spread out the map of this part of the Middle Kingdoms as they were today. He had taken Kuhmbuhluhn into the Confederation in order to protect his northwest from forays backed by the King of Pitzburk, who had threatened Kehnooryos Ehlahs up until eleven years ago when old King Ehvrit had died and been replaced by the current and friendlier monarch.

Now the threat was Harzburk, and the long, narrow duchy of Kuhmbuhluhn covered less than half of the stretch through which King Kahl might march. The addition of Getzburk, which adjoined Kuhmbuhluhn on north and east, would leave only the county of Yorkburk—a good proportion of which was saltmarsh or freshwater fens—to provide an uncontested access to Kehnooryos Ehlahs.

"Let us be blunt, young sir," he answered. "Do you wish to become my vassal? Would you have your county a member of the Confederation? If you are now willing to renounce your oaths to King Kahl, how can I be assured that you will not forswear those given me when it suits you?"

In a quick flash of the hot temper for which his race was noted, Count Hwahltuh crushed the pint cup in his powerful right hand, unaware of his action until the remaining wine gushed over his skin. "Please accept my apology, my lord. I will replace the cup. But no man of my house has ever been truly named 'forsworn'! My oaths were to Duke Djai, who lies dead in yonder valley;

his oaths were to King Kahl. While the Duke lived, King Kahl had no reason to take my oaths himself.

"And, yes, my lord, I would be your vassal, and you would have me and mine."

So, in the forty-first year of his reign, did Milo Morai, High-Lord of the Confederation, secure his northern border; for the nephew of the deceased Count of Yorkburk, upon being apprised of Getzburk's new allegiance, was quick to point out that, were he Count of Yorkburk—and he had as good a claim as any living man— he would be overjoyed to swear himself and his county to the Confederation. Thus, Milo took young Earl Ahrthuh's oath, confirmed him Count of Yorkburk, and loaned him Svb-Strahteegos Portos and four squadrons of kahtahfraktoee to overawe any opposing relatives.

As the High-Lord's dromonds clove the waves toward the former Southern Kingdom, he had good cause to be well pleased. Within two years he had avoided the bulk of two invasions and quadrupled the size of the Confederation by the additions of most of his former foes. He had only to add the Sea Isles and the Confederation would include all the southern Ehleenoee.

He smiled then, recalling his last conversation with Mara. Between her and Aldora, Alexandros and his Council of Captains would certainly be pledging their swords and—, more importantly, their ships and nautical expertise—to the Confederation before winter roughened the sea lanes.

His only source of discomfiture lay deep in the forbidding reaches of that vast wasteland of saltswamps that held the J. & R. Kennedy Center. Despite his warning to the Senior Director, he was dead certain that he'd not seen the last of them. But any attempt to take either an army or a fleet against their unknown powers would probably be suicidal. So he could only await their next move, hoping that he would know it for what it was when it came.

Revenge Of The Horseclans

THE STAMP OF HOOF, THE STROKE OF AXE...

Bili mindspoke Mahvros, "Be ready to fight, brother!" The huge black horse quickened his gait in response to Bill's command, raised his head and voiced a shrill, equine challenge, and then bore down on his promised victims.

The leading attacker held up his shield to fend off Bill's axe, while he aimed a hacking cut at Mahvros' thick neck. The stout target crumpled like wet paper and the axeblade bit completely through and deep into the arm beneath, the force of the buffet hurling the man down to a singularly messy death amid the stamping hooves.

But Bili failed to see the man who galloped in from his left, and then a hardflung throwing axe caromed off Bill's helm, nearly deafening him and filling his head full of a tight red-blackness shot with dazzling white stars ...



PUBLISHER'S NOTE
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


For Dr. Isaac Asimov, whose prodigious talents and proclivities are so widely renowned; for Cherry and Jack Weiner; for Susan Schwartz and the Koala Bear; for John Estren and Tom Anderson; for two of the finest young ladies in fandom, Claire Eddy and Sally Ann Steg


Oh, sing me of Morguhn, the brave, true, and strong. Yes, sing me of Morguhn and let the song be long. Sing of the Red Eagle that leads on to fame. Sing of the mighty Morguhns, by deed and by name.
    A Morguhn, A Morguhn,
    A Morguhn, the shout,
    While sharp Morguhn steel
Every foeman does rout. Oh, lead on, Red Eagle, to glory or to Wind, As you led those doughty Morguhns, from whom we descend.
-ancient warsong of clan Morguhn.

PROLOGUE

No matter how carefully Sir Bili Morguhn rearranged his hooded cloak, the cold, driving rain continued to find a sure path into his already sodden brigandine. Wearily, he leaned forward as his plodding gelding commenced to ascend yet another hill, and the movement started his nose to dripping again. Bili resignedly employed gauntleted fingers to blow some of the drip from his reddened nostrils, then vainly searched his person for a dry bit of cloth with which to wipe them. Leaning back against the high cantle as the gelding gingerly negotiated the mud-slick downgrade of the Traderoad, he thought that he could feel his every joint creak in harmony with his saddle. A reverie of the broad, sundappled meadows of his patrimonial estates flitted through his mind.

The wet hide of his stallion's massive barrel came to rest against his booted leg and the warhorse mindspoke him, "Mahvros, too, thinks of the land loved by Sun and Wind, and he wishes now but a single roll in soft, dry grass. Is it many more days of wet and cold until we be there?"

Bili sighed in sympathy. "It's considered to be a two-week journey by the traders," he answered telepathically. "But I hope to make it in ten days . . . less, if possible, despite this abominable weather. That's why I bought the geldings and the mule; you're too good a friend to risk foundering."

While speaking he reached over and patted the muscle corded withers, then ran his hand up to the crest and gently kneaded the thick neck. Could the big black have purred, he would have then. As it was, he beamed a wordless reaffirmation of his lifelong love for and devotion to Bili. Between the two minds, human and equine, flowed a depthless stream of mutual respect and trust and friendship.

The gelding raised his drooping head briefly and snorted. In his turn, Mahvros arched his neck and snorted in reply. The gelding, eyes rolling, shied from the stallion's threat, stumbled in the rock studded mud, and all but fell. Only Bili's superb horsemanship kept him in his seat and the gelding on his feet. He was about to chide Mahvros, who knew that the newly acquired animals were terrified of him, when the warhorse again mindspoke.

"Best to sit me, now, Brother. Stallions ahead, and mares and sexless ones and many mules. Their riders fight." There were eager undertones in the big horse's mindspeak, for he loved a fight.

A bare week ago, Bili might have been every bit as eager, but now, with his need to speedily complete his journey pressing upon him, he could see only the delay which a skirmish might entail. Nonetheless, he reined the gelding onto the shoulder where the mud was not so deep, then dismounted, tethered the two hacks and the mule, and mounted the monstrous black stallion.

Once in the familiar war kak, he removed the cloak and draped it over the mule's packsaddle, then unslung his small, heavyweight target and strapped it on his left arm. While Mahvros quivered with joyful anticipation, , Bili uncased his huge axe and tightened its thong on his right wrist. Lastly, he slid into place his helm's nasal and snapped down the cheekpieces.

"All right, Brother," he mindspoke the stamping stallion. "Let us see what lies'ahead . . . but quietly, mind youl And charge only if I so command."

For all his bulk, Mahvros was capable of moving silently as a cat. But even a cat would have found creeping difficult on the mudsucking road, so Bili put his mount to the wooded slope which flanked it. At the crest he was glad he had exercised elementary caution, for where the road curved around the hill sat two horsemen with bared blades.

Just below his hilltop position, a hot little fight was in progress round about a stonewalled travelers' spring and six huge traderwagons. The attackers were obviously brigands rather than troopers, such that had become all too common along the lonelier stretches of the traderoads, since King Gilbuht had stripped away the bulk of the usual patrols to augment his cavalry in the current war.

The defenders, fighting heavy odds, included a few Freefighters-Rahdzburkers, from the look of them and a few more hastily armed merchants, ebonskmned men garbed in the style of the Kahleefait of Zahrtohgah. That the tiny force were no mean warriors was attested by the dozen or so still or twitching brigands who were scattered about the ground before them. Even as he watched, a helmeted merchant fitted a broadbladed dart to a throwing-stick and sent a hefty robber crashing into the mud, thick fingers clawing at the steel sunk deep in his chest. But in the same time, a Freefighter and two merchants were hacked to earth. The defenders were fighting a lost battle; the odds were just too heavy to allow of aught but defeat and death for the doughty little band. Unless ...

Bili's thoughts raced. Not all the normal patrols were gone from this part of the Kingdom of Harzburk, but they no longer rode on any sort of schedule, for they had too much ground to cover with too few men. Therefore, these bandits were taking a considerable risk to attack a merchant train in broad daylight; that must be the reason for the roadguards below the hill.

Grinning with the seed of a chancy plan, he backed Mahvros a little way back into the woods, then lifted to his lips his silver mounted bullshorn. Filling his lungs, he sounded the familiar call, then again and a third time.

Hefting his axe, he next gave Mahvros the signal to charge, adding, "Make much noise, Brother, as much as a half troop of dragoons!"

Then it was over the crest and out of the woods and barrelling down the steep slope toward the raging battle. The stallion's hooves were a bass thunder through the swirling groundmist.

Raising his heavy axe and whirling it over his head, Bili shouted, "UP, UP HARZBVRK! UP HARZBURK! FIRST SQUAD LEFT! FOURTH SQUAD RIGHT! ARCHERS TO THE FLANKS! UP HARZBURK!"

From below came a confused babble of shouts, then one cracked tenor rang above the rest, ". . . git t'hell outa here! That there's Sir Hinree's Troop, I reca'nize his black horse!"

Then Bili found himself among a milling cluster of brigands. A shaggy pony went down, bowled over by Mahvros's impetus, and the savage warhorse went at the downed animal and man with teeth and hooves. Bili laid about him with the doublebitted axe, parrying swords on its steel shaft and emptying saddle after saddle. All at once, there were no riders before him, only a couple of groaning, dying bandits on the ground.

The opaque mist which had so far been but patches had thickened and coalesced since he had launched his reckless charge. He almost axed an unmounted man who appeared on his right, before he recognized the armor and gear of a Rahdzburker Freefighter. The stranger stopped long enough to dispatch a wounded brigand, then limped smiling up to Bili.

"I never thought I'd be glad to hear the Harzburker warcry, my lord, not after Behreesburk; but by the Sacred Sword, you and your troop could not have been better come! But . . ." He glanced about him bewilderedly. "... where is your troop, sir?"

Showing every tooth, Bili chuckled, "You're looking at it, Freefighter. I be no patrol, only a traveler like your employer."

Chapter I

Aside from rare border raids, there had been no real warfare within the boundaries of Bili Morguhn's homeland for nigh a hundred years, though its armies and fleets were seldom idle. Many hostile peoples pressed upon its borders and the sealanes required constant patrolling. The Confederation, toward which he rode in such haste, was the largest principality in all the known lands. Despite the Traderoads, which were much better maintained there than in other lands, months were necessary for traders to travel from one end of the Confederation to the other. Even messengers of the High Lord, who sometimes covered a hundred miles in a day, could not go from end to end in much under fifteen days.

As a consequence, news was always late, and life moved slowly and unhurriedly away from the capital of the Confederation or the port cities or the archducal capitals. The Duchy of Morguhn was no exception; the peace and ordered tranquility well suited the father of Bili and his eight brothers, giving him the time needed to devote himself exclusively to his lands and his books.

Prior to the death of Bill's grandfather, Hwahruhn Morguhn had soldiered up and down the Middle Kingdoms with a troop of Kindred noblemen under the command of his kinsman, Djeen Morguhn. Djeen who had gone on to rise swiftly to the rank of Strahteegos in the Army of the Confederation and Hwahruhn had both distinguished themselves at the seige of Kooleezburk.  After its conclusion, Hwahruhn had wed the daughters of the victor, Duke Tchahrlz of Zunburk, sending his new brides south to dwell with his father, while Djeen marched the troop off on a new campaign.

As the two lovely girls and their escort wended their way through Kehnooryos Ehlahs, capital province of the Confederation, a band of Morguhn men spurred tired horses northward, to bear word to Hwahruhn of his father's death.

Confirmed Thoheeks and Chief Morguhn of Morguhn, Hwahruhn had settled down with his young brides-Mahrnee, fourteen, and Behrnees, fifteen-to commence the siring of legitimate sons to succeed him. It had been a very late marriage; Hwahruhn was over thirty-five years of age.

Within the next six years his blond wives presented him with eleven sons. The fact that nine of these sons still lived at the time of Bill's ride was considered amazing. For despite the best efforts of the High Lord to improve the sanitation of cities and towns, despite his importation of skilled physicians from the Black Kingdoms, despite his establishment of a school in the capital to train Ehleenoee physicians in more advanced and antiseptic techniques, disease still ran high in the Confederation, taking off the young and the old.

In most provinces, few Kindred nobles descendants of the Horseclansmen who had received lands from the Undying High Lord dwelt in the unhealthy environs of their cities, preferring instead their halls amid their ranches and farms. So it was in spacious, sunny Morguhn Hall that Bili was born and it was there that he remained throughout his first eight years of life.

He never needed to be taught to mindspeak, communicating thus long ere he learned vocal communication; nor was it needful to teach him to ride. His uncles and mothers were mightily pleased at these innate abilities, as was too his father in his quiet way.

By the time the lad was eight, his father had granted grudging permission that his heir be given to the care of his mothers' cousin, Gilbuht, King of Harzburk, for education, wartraining, and gentlemanly polish. Those years of residence at the Iron King's bloodspattered court riddled with intrigues which kept the Royal torturers and executioners busy and service with the standing army of tough, practical younger sons and mercenaries molded the gangling, big boned boy into the broadshouldered, steel thewed man Bili had become by his sixteenth year. Most of his mentors, noble and Freefighter alike, could be cruel, rapacious, and frighteningly coldblooded toward their foes; but they were generally honest in dealing with their comrades and strictly honorable within their code.

Three months prior to Bili's eighteenth summer, his father was struck down by a sudden paralysis, and his mothers sent word for him to return, indicating that speed was essential, since his father might not live long. King Gilbuht freely offered him a strong escort, but knowing that a troop would slow him, he elected to ride alone.

Despite rain, sleet, mud, the brief skirmish, and other assorted difficulties, Bili, Mahvros and the mule arrived at Morguhn Hall but nine days after they had departed King Gilbuht's capital. Only his mothers recognized the tall, hard, weather darkened warrior who, stubblefaced and travelstained, strode stiffleggedly out of the night and into the hall.

But Hwahruhn clung to life and, hearing of his illness, the Ahrkeethoheeks Petros sent a master physician to tend him. Under the skillful care of Master Ahlee and his apprentice, the Thoheeks made a slow but halting improvement. As the planting season passed, he regained limited use of his left arm and some sensation in his left leg and side, but his mindspeak was gone and he could speak aloud only haltingly.

Master Ahlee, the Ahrkeethoheeks' physician, was candid with the lady-wives of his patient. "At all costs, your husband must remain free from any strain or tension, mental or physical, else he be struck by another paralysis and death certainly ensue. As he is now, it is probable that he never will walk again, and his life hangs by a thread. Naturally, I will stay with him so long as his danger remains grave."

Bili had been two weeks in the duchy, ere he was allowed to see his father for even a few minutes. Dutifully-for the old Thoheeks' rank alone deserved deference -the young man knelt by the couch and took his sire's soft, pudgy hand between his own hard ones, speaking in the hushed tones one uses to the gravely ill. "My Lord-Father, can you hear me?"

Both the stricken man's lids twitched, but only the left one opened. Mumbling broken phrases from the left side of his mouth, he asked, "Who is . . . ? Mahrnee? Who is ... man?"

Mother Mahrnee knelt beside Bili where Hwahruhn could see her, while Mother Behrnees gently opened the lid of his right eye. Placing her firm, freckled arm on the son's shoulders, Mahrnee said, "This is Bili, Hwahruhn. This is your oldest son, husband mine. Do you not remember Bili?"

After kissing his hand, Bili laid it back on the coverlet, saying stiffly, formally, "My Lord Father, I grieve to see you ill." Then he bowed his head, indicating homage, the morning sunlight glinting from his freshly shaven scalp.

Featherlight, trembling fingers brushed his head, then wandered down over cheeks callused by his helmet's face guards. Finding his scarred chin, they tugged weakly and Bili raised his face.

"Bili . . . ?" His father mumbled chokedly. "Bili, my . . . poor little lad . . . what have . . . they done ... to you?" Then his brimming black eyes spilled over and tears coursed down his pale cheeks.

The whiterobed physician signed them to leave the room, and Bili was much relieved to do so. For tutored as he had been, he considered open display of emotion unmanly and was acutely embarrassed by and for his father.

Afterward, the three sat about the winetable in the sisters' sitting room. Mother Behrnees laid her slender fingers on Bili's arm. "Son, do not judge your father by the standards of Harzburk, for the court of cousin Gilbuht is far from Morguhn in many ways. Here, life is different, slower and softer, like the speech. Though I doubt me Hwahruhn has lifted a sword in fifteen years, still is he worthy of your love and respect. For judged by the standards of his realm, he is no less manly than are you.

"Your father's Kindred love and respect him, feel him to be good and just and merciful. Until he is more fully recovered of his illness, if ever he is, you will necessarily rule here in his stead. You could do far worse than to emulate those qualities his people so admire."

After blotting watered wine from her pink lips, Mother Mahrnee spoke. "Son, since your return, Behrnees and I have painfully pondered the wisdom of sending you and your brothers-but especially you, the chief and Thoheeks-to-be-for so long a sojourn in the land of our birth. True, those years made of you a full man and warrior. Our hearts were swelled with pride when first we saw you, as you are now so like to the father and brothers we love and remember.

"But as Mother Behrnees just said, this is not Harzburk, and the ways of the Iron Palace are not those of Morguhn Hall. You are certainly aware that King Gilbuht is but the second of his House to rule Harzburk. The grandsire of Gilbuht's grandsire was born heir to only the County of Getzburk, but he died an archduke, having conquered the County of Yorkburk, the Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk, and the Mark of Tuhseezburk. Archduke Mahrtuhn, Gilbuht's father, secretly financed by the Undying High Lord Milo, hired enough swords to conquer the Kingdom of Harzburk, slay most of the House of Blawmuh, and settle himself upon the Iron Throne.           

"Consequently, Gilbuht's capital is an armed camp and he rules harshly, hating his subjects as fully as they hate him. Had old Mahrtuhn been so stupid as to leave any of the Blawmuhs alive, the rebellions would be more frequent and more stubborn than they presently are.             

"So Gilbuht considers his most unwilling subjects cattle and constantly milks them of the monies necessary to pay the troops he must maintain if he is to retain his lands and life."

She paused to sip from her winecup. Then with a rippling of ashblond tresses, she slowly shook her head. "No, despite his wealth and his power, we would be fools to envy Cousin Gilbuht. Nor would we two trade places with him."

Mother Behrnees nodded her agreement. The sisters agreed on most things; so many things, in fact, that they might almost have been one mind in two beautiful bodies.

"That is why we are now sorry that we badgered your father into sending you, his heir, to Harzburk. For the Kindred of Morguhn will never tolerate the despotism you have seen practiced, nor do most of your people deserve such ill treatment. Yours are not a recently conquered people, son. Through the Ehleenoee line-and do not ever forget, your father and your uncle, the Tahneest are a full three-quarters Ehleen-your forefathers have ruled these lands from time immemorial, and even the Kindred of Morguhn have occupied their station for over a hundred years.

"Precious few of the Ehleen nobility are of pure blood, and all of the other nobles are related to you; so, too, are many of the common people, to a greater or lesser degree. To your Kindred, noble or common, you will be their hereditary chief, not their overlord.

"The true ruler of the duchy, the actual overlord, is the Duchy Council, and although the Chief is its titular head, his voice is but one of fifteen. You . . ." she began, then queried, "The Council, Bfli, the Thirds and the reason for then: being, what do you recall of them?"

Closing his dark blue eyes, the young man thought deeply for a moment, then took a deep breath. 'The Thirds are equals in Council. The first Third is the Thoheeks Chief, the Tahneest, the Clan Bard, and the two wisest of the Kindred; the second Third is five noble Ehleenoee; the last Third is five free citizens, Kindred or Ehleen."

"When was the Council established, Bill?" Mother Mahrnee prodded. "And why? And by whose decree?"

Eyes still closed in concentration, he answered, "When first Karaleenos was conquered by the Confederation, the Undying High Lord did order that the Kindred on whom lands and cities were conferred were not to rule alone, but rather in partnership with the Karaleenee nobles and their people. In this way were rebellions prevented."

Both women smiled and Mother Behrnees declared, "Very good, Bili, almost word-for-word. You've a good memory, and that is well. The Council's regular Moon-meeting is next week and you must, in the Morguhn's absence, sit for him. Remember all that we shall now tell you, for much hinges upon your conduct at that time, not the least of which is the full acceptance of you by the Thirds.

"Now your full uncle, whose name you bear, has always favored you. So much does the Tahneest love you, that I think should you pull out his beard, rape his wife, and raze his hall, you still could depend upon his immediate acceptance of you as the next chief."

Mother Behrnees ticked off another finger. "Cousin Djeen Morguhn is, as you know, a retired Strahteegos, as well as your father's old commander and comrade when they served as Freefighters in the Middle Kingdoms. You won his acceptance last year, when news reached us of  your having slain the Earl of Behreesburk in single combat and thus winning your Bear." Another finger. "Spiros Morguhn has long despised your father for his sedentary, scholarly ways. Talk warfare and weapons and hunting with him and he soon will be your sworn liegeman."

Her last finger curled downward. "The same holds true for Clan Bard Hail Morguhn. So simply be what you are, Bill, and the first Third is yours."

She opened her small fist and again ticked off the first finger. "Of the Ehleenoee nobles, Komees Hari and his brother, Drehkos, are your father's third cousins; further, the Komees's first wife, now deceased, was your father's sister. We think that both men can be counted upon to approve your succession, but to be sure, hmmm . .." She steepled her fingers and regarded Bili closely. "The way your stallion follows you around, you've obviously not lost your touch with horses, so that could be the way. What think you, sister?"

"Yes," agreed Mother Mahrnee, nodding. "The horses of Komees Hari are aptly reputed to be among the best in all the Confederation and he is justly proud of them. Immediately we finish here, ride you over to his hall and introduce yourself he has not seen you in more than ten years and I doubt he would see the boy you were in the man you are.

"Talk horses and keep your hands off his daughters. Ask to see his herd and to meet his kingstallion. Brag of your warhorse some, then mention your desire to purchase a trained hunter. You'll have a bag of gold; of course, hell refuse to accept it, but the form must be observed.

"After that, my son, it is up to you and your training and your judgment. If you blunder and choose a bad horse . . ." Ske made a wry face and shrugged meaningfully. "If Hari approves you, Drehkos will usually follow his lead; it is as simple as that." "The Vahrohnos Myros of Kehnooryos Deskati will hate you, no matter what you do or say! He will hate you for three reasons, Bili: primarily, because you bear the Morguhn surname; secondly, because you do not look your Ehleen blood; thirdly, because, although you are a handsome man and will no doubt set his parts to itching, you outrank him and so he can neither buy you nor force you into buggery. Be formally polite to the swine, nothing more. And should he dare to offer you open offense, run your steel through his body a few times, and fear no bloodprice. There would be none to demand one anyway, for he hates all things female and so has never wed, and he has outlived all his relatives.

"Myros and Vahrohneeskos Stefahnos, who also sits on the second Third-"

"-are both insane!" interrupted Mother Behrnees. "As is that sly, sleek priest and all the poor, common fools they've beguiled into believing their fantasies! If you can believe it, Bili, those two and that Blackrobed ass have all but stirred up a rebellion in this duchy!

"Between the agents of Myros and Stefahnos and the priests of that cursed Kooreeos, the heads of many-too many-of the Dirtmen and city commoners have been filled with lovely dreams. Those dreams go something like this: the Kindred's farms and Halls and pasturelands, their womenfolk and horses and cattle and their riches are to be evenly divided between all the poor, deserving Dirtmen and urban ne'er-do-wells, which will bring about no work, no want, and idle luxury for all."

Bili could take no more in silence. "Dung and more dung! Without work, there can be nought save want. Idle luxury be damned, most nobles labor far harder than any Dirtman or mechanic or tradesman. Why, were it not for..."

Mother Mahrnee raised her hand. "Hold, Bili. You know the truth and I know the truth, Myros and Stefahnos and the Kooreeos and his damned priests know it But their dupes do not. The common folks seldom see their

  betters at work, but only the proceeds of that work, they..."

Mother Behrnees clanged her empty cup upon the table. "We waste time, sister, and we've damned little of it to waste. Bili knows that the commoners are misled and stupid to swallow such a tale. He can delve into the matter later if he likes, after the Moonmeeting is done.

"For the last Third, son, suffice it to say that there is but one man on whom you can depend. Feelos Pooleeos is now a merchant, but for twenty years he was a soldier in the High Lord's army, rising as high as lohkeeas ere he was done. His loyalty is only to the Confederation, not to the Kindred or to your father. But because the Thoheeks represents the established order, while Myros and his scum represent only chaos and anarchy, he will back us and you."

She stared for a long moment at her remaining four fingers, then grimaced and wiped them forcefully upon her skirt, as if she had touched some foulness.

"The rest are all Myros's creatures. Paulos, Guildmaster of the ironsmiths, is your father's halfbrother-one of your grandsire's multitudinous bastards-and Myros has promised him all to which the misbegotten pig aspires: Morguhn Hall, your father to torture to death, you and your brothers as gelded slaves, my sister and me for concubines and so on.

"Kooreeos Skiros would be a bishop and see his superstitions paramount in the duchy. We assume Myros has assured him that such would be the case under his overlordship, so a prating pissant supports a pernicious pervert.

"Nathos Ehvrehos, the goldsmith, has extended so much credit to Myros that he can now do nothing save support him, no matter how wild his schemes.

"Djaimos, who stands for the carters and other lesser types, is both a hopeless romantic and a foaming fanatic. He speaks nothing in public save Old Ehleeneekos, goes about in clothing no sane man has worn in a hundred years, and comes near to starving his poor family because he refuses to do business with any of the Kindred or those who do business with them."

As Mother Mahrnee refilled her winecup, Bili asked, "But, My Lady Mothers, you have given me the names of but four of the second Third. Should there not be another?"

"Why, how careless of me." Mother Behrnees slapped palm to forehead, with laughter in her eyes. "How could I have forgotten Andee?" After a sly grin at her sister, she addressed herself to Bili.

"Properly, he is Vahrohnos Ahndros of Theftehrospolis and he is a Kath'ahrohs, pure Ehleen. Though Ehleen by blood, he identifies with the Kindred and prefers the Mehreekuhn name 'Andee.' Then for ten years he was an officer in the Army of the Confederation. Rising from sublieutenant to company captain in just under eight years, he was chosen for a year of special training at the Staff College in Kehnooryos Atheenahs, after which he served a year on the military staff of the High Lord, himself. He returned last year just in time to thwart a move by Myros and his clique to legally swindle him out of his patrimony in favor of Andee's cousin, Hahrteeos Toorkos. All this would tend to place him in our camp. But there is another and a better reason we may be certain of his support."

She smiled and directed a devilish glance at her sister. "Andee swoons for love of Mother Mahrnee, Bili! He crowds the roads with hordes of messengers and writes reams of incredibly bad poetry, while the cellars of our hall bulge with his gifts of wines and cordials and spiced meats and sugared fruits. Did my sister respond to calf eyes and passionate words, their lovesweat would long since have mingled."

Mother Mahrnee laughed. "And do you know it has not already, sister mine?"

 The woman's eyes met briefly, then the laughter of Mother Behrnees trilled in harmony with Mother Mahrnee's.

"And so, Bili," Mother Mahrnee said at length, "you know that you may be sure of Andee. He is a fine man and-closer to your age than any of the others, and I'm ... well, please tell him that I think of him ... often."

Chapter II

Though not so large as Morguhn Hall, Horse Hall was constructed along the same lines, a mode of building which had originated a hundred years before, when raids by western barbarians were still commonplace. Entering a heavy, iron-studded gate, Bili rode through a dark and narrow passage into a paved courtyard, where a central fountain plashed into a circular stone trough, and a nannygoat and her half grown kid drank.

A bowing, smiling servant approached as Bili dismounted, and led Mahvros into the long, two-story building which, pierced by the entry passage, made up the entire front of the hall complex. This building's outer wall was thick and windowless, save for narrow bowman's slits on the upper level. Standing twenty feet from ground to flat topped roof, with square towers rising an additional fifteen feet at each corner and in the center, the front and sides were surmounted by four-foot stone merlons alternating with two-foot-wide crenels.

The walls which connected this structure to the main building were some two feet thick and about fifteen feet high. The walls were also crenellated; a firestep, five feet wide and twelve feet up, ran their length and covered steps connected it with the rooftop fortifications at either end. The colonnades formed by the walks and their supporting columns were the scene of a bustle of activity. An ironsmith and his helpers industriously clanged away near the door through which Mahvros had been led. Opposite him, servant women laughed and chattered, while washing clothing in immense wooden tubs of steaming water. Beyond the women, a gnomelike old man, with a long needle and a leather palmguard, stitched decorations to a dress saddle and half listened to a travelling bard, who was devoting equal concentration to the tuning of his instrument and to the recitation of lewd stories which he had to almost shout. Nearer to the manor, a man who looked fat enough to be a cook lounged in a cellar doorway supervising a trio of nearnaked boys, who were splitting firewood with a rhythmic chunk-chunking of axes.

At the foot of the wide stairway which led to the main doors, Bill was met by a pudgy, handwringingly servile, bowing man whose black hair and eyes and olive countenance attested him either pure Ehleen or close to it. The upper servant for such his dress proclaimed him to be straightened from his last and deepest bow and said, "Greet the Sacred Sun, my master. Wind has borne you well and truly. I am called Hofos and have the honor to be majordomo of the Hall of the Illustrious Komees Hari of Daiviz. Whom shall Hofos announce to his master, noble sir?"

Bill said stiffly, "Before I see your master, I would like to wash my face. Also please send someone to dust my clothing. You may announce Bili, eldest son of Thoheeks Hwahruhn, Morguhn of Morguhn."

At that, Hofos bowed so far that Bili was sure the man's forehead must soon bump against the flagstones. "Oh, Master of my master, Hofos is humiliated that he failed to recognize the redoubtable Thoheeks' son. Hofos begs, he pleads, he most humbly beseeches forgiveness, he..."

Bili waved a hand impatiently. He had run into this kind of servant before, and knew Hofos for what he certainly was dishonest, unscrupulous, and backbiting to his betters, a vicious petty tyrant to his inferiors. Such a servant would never remain long in his employ, he had often vowed, for their unrelenting self abasement usually concealed an unrelenting hatred of their betters.

"Dammit, man, how could you recognize me, since I've been in Harzburk for ten years? Til forgive you. Sun and Wind, I'll forgive you nearly anything, if you'll just get on with it!"

Hofos bowed Bili into the hall's foyer and conducted him to a sumptuously appointed bathingroom, where the majordomo issued a barrage of supercilious orders to a trio of bath servants, then backed out, bowing, and scurried off.

Shortly, the carven orkheads above the sunken tub commenced to spout. When the tub was filled and Bili had been expertly divested of swordbelt, boots, and clothing, the two girls and the man saw him safely into the steaming water. While he floated on his back, relaxing in the herbscented bathwater, the servingman departed with Bill's boots and belt and weapons, while the older girl left with his clothing.

After a few minutes, the younger serving girl shed her sandals and her single garment and joined him in the tub. While she laved him from head to foot, he smilingly recalled the first time he had been so attended since his return two weeks agone.

In the northern lands, no more than one full bath per week was the norm among the nobility, though one usually sponged the dust from face and hands after a ride. If anyone at all attended a nobleman's ablutions, it would certainly be a manservant or arming lad. So when he had first commenced a bath at Morguhn Hall and a pretty, sloe-eyed bathgirl, nude and smiling, had slipped into the water with him, he had reacted as would any Middle Kingdoms noble.

Since that time, Eeoonees had warmed his couch on a dozen nights, and his frequent conversations with her had elicited a plethora of forgotten or half-recalled facts about the distinctly different commoner-noble relationship  in the Confederation. Among these nuggets of information was the fact that normally bathgirls were just what their title implied, not concubines.

By the time Komees Hari's bathgirl had finished drying his body, the other two attendants had returned with his well brushed clothing, gleaming leather gear, and freshly polished brass fittings. A cursory glance into his belt purse assured him that the seal on the bag of gold remained unbroken, whereupon he pressed a silver half-thrahkmeh upon each of the three servants-which was far too much, as he knew, but these were the smallest coins his mothers had provided him.

At the doorway of the hall's main room, Hofos stood to one side and bellowed, "Sun and Wind are kind. Now comes the Illustrious Bili, eldest son of our exalted lord, Hwahruhn, Thoheeks and Morguhn of Morguhn!"

Near the center of the high ceilinged chamber, beyond the circular firepit, an elderly and plainly garbed man slouched against the high table. But, when Bili entered, the old man left his place and strode to meet him with a slightly rolling pace which bespoke the fact that much of his life must have been spent ahorse. Bili assumed that this was Komees Hari.

The old nobleman's hair was yellow white, his face was lined, and liver spots blotched his big, square hands and thick forearms; otherwise, he bore his fifty-six years admirably. For he was not stooped, though at five-and-a-half feet he was some six inches shorter than Bili, and his brown eyes glittered with intelligence. His grip on his visitor's hand was firm until Bili actually succeeded to the duchy, he and the Komees were equals in rank and his friendly voice was deep and rolling.

"It's as well that Hofos announced you, Bili, for Fd never have known you otherwise. You are most welcome in my hall. But... how fares Hwahruhn, lad?"

Bili shook his head and repeated all that his mothers had been told by Master Ahlee.

His host sighed. "Sacred Sun grant that when I go to Wind, it be a quick death, for if I could not ride among my herds . . . But it may not be so hard on Hwahruhn, for he has done little save read for near twenty years." He sighed again, then draped a long arm about Bill's shoulders.

Smiling, he said, "Come to my office, lad, there's someone I'd like you to meet.

No introduction was needed to recognize the waiting stranger's kinship to the Komees. Except for fewer lines in the face, black eyes and black hair shot with grey, he might have been Lord Hari's twin. Nor would Bili have been hardput to name the man's profession, for the calluses on his bluish cheeks and the bridge of his big nose, as well as the permanent dent across the forehead, could only have been caused by a helmet. White against the browned skin, cicatrices of old wounds crosshatched each other on every visible part of his burly body. As he came toward them, he favored his right leg, the thigh of which showed, below his short leather trousers, the purple pink puckering of a still healing injury.

His handgrip was as firm as that of the Komees and he precluded a formal introduction by announcing, "Now, it's a real pleasure to meet you, young sir. I am Vaskos Daiviz, natural son of the Komees. Despite the wastage of much of my life in dissipation and varied misconduct, my father still allows me his name." His disarming grin showed big, yellow teeth.

Komees Hari chuckled, but when he spoke a fierce pride suffused his voice. "I can think of no living man, Bili, who would not be honored to name Vaskos here his son! When he was fifteen, he enlisted as a spearman in the Army of the Confederation. Now he is a Keeleechstos and a weapons master, as well. To attest to his skill and valor, he holds the Order of the Golden Cat! And, when he returns to Kehnooryos Atheenahs from this convalescent leave, he is to be appointed a Substrahteegos. Could any man own a finer son?"

Blushing and fidgeting with embarrassment, the general-to-be gazed at the floortiles. Then, clearing his throat, he changed the subject before more could be said. "My father's wine is superb, sir. But he must talk forever, ere he offers it. My wind is not so long and very little. Speech tends to dry my throat."

Bili found that the wine was indeed superb. When, after the ritual of mutual healths and toasts to the High Lord and The Morguhn, the cups were refilled, Komees Hari apologized for the absence of his wife and daughters, chuckling ruefully.

"Your arrival, Bili, has set my girls all aflutter especially Eeyohahnah and Mehleesah, who are at or near marriageable age . . . though where I'll get the gold to dower two more daughters is in the lap of Sacred Sun!"

He shook his white head. "I suppose that peace is wonderful for many of our Confederation, but it spells hard times for a man whose livelihood is the breeding of war horses, what with high taxes and a profusion of daughters to be adequately dowered.

"You see, lad, Vaskos is my only son. None of my wives' male infants lived more than a couple of weeks; and, can I secure Council's approval, he'll be my heir. How could any Council refuse to grant legitimacy to a Strahteegos of our Confederation? Although after I've provided dots for Eeyohahnah and Mehleesah and little Behtee, my title, my sword, and my ledgerbooks are about all I'll probably be able to leave him.

"I vow, Bili, were it not for a few good and faithful customers in the Middle Kingdoms and the Black Kingdoms, my family and I would be starving and in rags!"

Bili was nobody's fool. His mission here was to win the support of the aging Komees. What better way than to offer his help in furtherance of the old nobleman's ambition for his bastard? It was certain to be more effective than the simple choice and purchase of a horse he really did not need.

Besides, he had liked the officer and he genuinely admired him and his accomplishments. A Keeleechstos, leader of three thousand men in the Middle Kingdom, his rank would be colonel just might have attained to that rank through the skillful greasing of selected palms. But in the Army of the Confederation it was well known that Strahteegoee were chosen strictly upon the grounds of ability; too, there was that Golden Cat. While thousands of Red Cats and hundreds of Silver Cats had been awarded during the century since the establishment of the orders, less than fivescore men, all told, had ever won the right to a golden one, of any class.

"Lord Hari," he began.

"Now stop that, Bili!" admonished his host. "You've clearly been too long away from home, among those stiffnecked northerners. We of the Kindred call each other by name, reserving formality for superiors, strangers, and known enemies. I'm Hari and my son is Vaskos."

"All right, Hari," Bili started over. "I'll be candid. I want something of you, and you want something of Council. Pledge me support in my aims, and I, in turn, will pledge you my support and my best efforts at gaining the support of others in attaining your aspiration for Vaskos."

    And so, we sing a proud song,
    Of Pitzburk, where the siege was long,
    Of Pitzburk, where our rivers ran with blood.

The last note died. Klairuhnz, the traveling bard, lowered his instrument and slowly bowed.

Bili's fingers sought his purse and selected a silver thrahkmeh. The singer deserved it, for he had certainly rendered an excellent performance, what with ancient tellingsongs of the exploits of Morguhn and Daiviz chiefs and clansmen now hundreds of years dead; a couple of Ehleen loveballads which had even brought a few brief smiles to the jowly, perpetually frowning face of the Lady Hehrah, Lord Hari's short, immensely fat wife; a Freefighter song, much laundered, which nonetheless had every man in the room roaring, since the words replacing the bawdy ones did not rhyme, making the original lyrics easy to guess; and ending with the famous Song of Pride, a venerable favorite in the Middle Kingdoms, though not so well known this far south.

Allowing his host and Vaskos to throw their coins first, Bili then tossed his thrahkmeh. The bard caught the three silver pieces in flight, juggled them for a few moments, then lined them on his open left palm. Closing that hand, he made a gesture or two above it with his right hand and, when he reopened the left, all three coins were gone.

The two youngest of Lord Hari's three daughters oohed and ahhed theur amazement, but the older, Eeyohahnah, never changed expression, since she did not see the sleight-of-hand. Her dark, brooding, slightly slanted eyes had never left Bili since first they were introduced; they had followed his every movement or gesture throughout the dinner. However, on each of the several occasions he had attempted to meet her stare, she had looked down with a show of modesty and the barest flicker of a sly smile. Her activities were beginning to irk Bili, but it would be undignified and most impolitic to allow his discomfiture to become noticeable.

Bili was far from a novice in the ways of women. Since first his voice had deepened and his shoulders commenced to broaden, women and girls had made no secret of the fact that they found him handsome to look upon. He had been but fourteen when be had pleasurably spent his virginity within the young widow of the Earl of Dawfuhnburk, then living at King Gilbuht's court. After her, he had tumbled countless serving girls and had paid court to and bedded other idle noblewomen.

He had been introduced to rapine at the ghastly intaking of Indersburk and again, more recently, had renewed his acquaintance when Behreesburk fell. But this girl, this Eeyohahnah, was no spoil of war, to be stripped and enjoyed at his leisure. Nor was she a lustful servingwench or a promiscuous northern grasswidow, free to take the bed-partner of her choice.

That the ravenhaired girl was nubile was more than apparent, even through the folds of her old-fashioned Ehleen himation, especially since she had, seemingly by accident, pulled the garment tight over her firmly swelling breasts. But the very fact that the girls and their mother were all dressed so anachronistically attested that Eeyohahnah had been reared in the Ehleen manner, and Bili knew that Ehleenoee nobles placed an absurdly high value on virgin brides. All rational men agreed that the crucified god of the Ehleenoee alone knew why they clove to so stupid a custom.

So it angered Bili that she would thus flaunt herself and taunt him with what she knew he could not take the pleasure of without so deeply offending Lord Hari that he would probably end up having to kill the old man in a death match . . . either that or marry the brazen chit. And, it came to him, maybe that was at the core of the matter. She knew that he would be Thoheeks sooner or later, and fancied herself a fair candidate for Thoheekeesa of Morguhn.

Well, she was no such thing! When Thoheeks Bili wed, he had no intention of taking an unproven heifer, not for his senior wife anyway. The woman he would take for that would have proven couchskills and would also have a proven ability to conceive.

But Lord Hari was speaking, commanding, "A chair and wine for Bard Klairuhnz." Then, to the bard, "You are, I am informed, lately come from the Southern

Duchies. Tell us the news, when you have had of the wine."

The blackhaired singer sat on the chair and carefully lowered his harp to the floor, then accepted the mug of wine. His Adam's apple bobbed as he downed half the mug. Leaning back, he smiled contentedly as the warmth the spirit spread through his vitals.

"Another of the ancient horseclans," he began, "has crossed the southern mountains and has been recognized as True Kindred by Ahrkeethoheeks Djaimz. The clan is that of Sanderz and they live according to the tenets of the Couplets of the Law. Even now, their chief, Hwahltuh by name, journeys to Kehnooryos Atheenahs to pledge his Kindred Oath to the High Lord."

"Do you believe them truly of our Kindred, Bard Klairuhnz?" inquired the Komees. "In times past, I hear, there have been bands of nomads who so claimed, in order to be granted lands ..."

The bard nodded vigorously. "Oh, these are genuine Kindred, Lord Komees, I've no doubt of that. Lord Djaimz had me seek out the Sanderz bard, and he knows the Law-all of the Law! Also, he sung me the entire Song of Sanderz, which took most of a day. They are most certainly of the Children of Ehiai, the original Kindred. Their Old Mehreekuhn is the purest I have heard in years, and those who can tell say that almost all of the Sanderz can mindspeak."

This last was a telling point. Mindspeak-telepathic ability was once an ages-old inherent talent of eighty percent of the Kindred. On the Plains which the Kindred had roamed for hundreds of years, before forty-odd of the clans had first invaded the Ehleen lands, mindspeak talents had constituted a definite survival factor, as well as the only way of communicating with Prairie Cat and horse. Even with the blood of those original forty odd clans much thinned by generations of intermarriage with other peoples, many of the modern Kindred still possessed mindspeak, to a greater or lesser degree. Bili had it, as did both the Komees and Vaskos, and so though he was damned careful of who knew did Bard Klairuhnz.

"The sea-" the bard continued his news, the transmission of which between farflung duchies was one of the most valuable and welcome functions of the traveling bards "-still is rising along the coasts and more farmland is being lost each year, as the salt fens widen. Sea creatures venture ever farther up the rivers as well, and the talk in the Southern Duchies has been of the huge white shark-a full dozen meters long and far thicker and heavier than most of that ilk, with teeth half as long as a man's finger-slain in the pleasure lake of the Ahrkeethoheeks. It overturned three boats and slew or drowned near a score of boatmen and soldiers ere all its monstrous body abristle with arrows and darts and spears it was finally driven into shallows and clubbed and axed to death.

"So many of the soldiers and waterpeople swore that the shark fought with the reasoning of a man rather than the mere cunning of a beast that the Ahrkeethoheeks had a boatload of Ehleen priests brought down from his capital, giving them leave to conduct their ceremonies for driving demons from the lake and the land. I myself saw some of those rites, and right awesome they were."

"Hogwash!" snorted the Komees. "Young Djaimz must be as weakbrained as was his father, to put any faith in Ehleen superstitions. If he really wanted to be sure that that lake was cleared, he should have rented or borrowed some Orks from the Lord of the Sea Isles. No known waterbeast is the match of a few of those thirtyfooters!

"And it is a pure mystery to me, Bard Klairuhnz, why God Milo failed to slay every one of those pimps in priests' clothing, those holy slavers, on whom he could lay hands a hundred years agone! All the bastards, from the lowest Eeyehrefsee to the Ahrkeeyehpeeskohpohs himself, are powerhungry and athirst for Kindred blood ... or Kindred gold, whichever seems easiest to lay their scaly hands to.

"Why, that thrice accursed Kooreeos Skiros of Morguhnpolis had the nerve to come to me, no more than a year agone, and demand mind you, Kinsmen, not ask, but demand one of my daughters for a 'bride' for his god, complete with a dowry which was to be paid to him."

"So what answer did you give the holy man, Father?" asked Vaskos, grinning hugely. He had obviously heard the tale before, and enjoyed it.

A harsh, humorless laugh came from the Komees. "I told him that since I did not follow or honor his stupidities, he had no claim on me or mine. That it has been known for a hundred years that he and his kind are whoremongers and slavers and that I would slay every one of my daughters, ere I consigned them to his 'care.' And I warned him against returning to Horse Hall, since the next time he trespassed under my roof, I'd make him 'holey,' in truth!"

He turned his face to Bili. "Lad, I'm sorry to have to criticize your father, but over the years he has been far too lax in his handling of potentially dangerous malcontents in this duchy. Myros of Kehnooryos Deskati, for instance, should've been flogged the length of these lands and hanged ten years ago. Your uncle, the Tahneest, favored it, as did Komees Djeen and I and Clan Bard Hail and even your mothers; but Thoheeks Hwahruhn would list to none of us, and now his duchy, and all of us with it, sits in the pan of a cocked catapult!

"Mark my words, Bili, bad days are coming to these lands. Myros's agitation was bad enough, but since this arrogant Kooreeos arrived four years ago, the petty Ehleenoee nobles and most of the commoners city and rural are become secretive and surly. I fear that terrible things are afoot."

"Aye," agreed Klairuhnz. "Ever do the squarebeards foment unrest amongst their followers. And no matter how much freedom is given them, they demand more and ever more. Why, in Gafnee..."

Komees Hari's bony knuckles glowed white against the sunbrowned skin of his clenched hands and his voice grated. "Yes, Kinsman, we heard even here; and my son, Vaskos, has told me still more. A nasty business. Sacred Sun grant that our troubles never get so far!"

"Heard what, Bard Klairuhnz?" asked Bili impulsively, noticing neither the rage on the face of his hostess, nor the grim set of his host's features.

So abruptly and violently did Komeesa Hehrah arise that her chair went crashing over. In an icy voice and clipped phrases, she said, "My lords, the hour is late. Too, I have heard quite enough slander of dedicated, selfless clergymen, I beg leave to retire. Eeyohahnah, Mehleesah, Behtee... come!"

Spinning, she waddled to and through the doorway, trailed by her daughters and servingwomen, bidding a goodnight to no one.

"I take it, Lord Komees" the Bard drily remarked, "that My Lady cleaves to the Ehleen religion."

Lord Hari made a rude noise, disgust and anger on his face. Grasping an ewer, he filled his mug to the brim, drank it all down, then slammed the empty mug onto the table with enough force to set dishes and cutlery to dancing. After taking several deep breaths, he spoke in a well controlled voice, his first words directed to Bili.

"I apologize for My Lady's atrocious conduct, Kinsman."

Bili squirmed in his chair. "My Lord, perhaps if I had not asked the question of Bard Klairuhnz... ?"

"No, Bili," the old lord sighed. "It was coming, and I well knew it. My Lady ever goes out of her way to offer offense to any Kindred I entertain, only showing her good side around folk of her own ilk. In the last few years, she's become almost unbearable."

"But, why... ?" Bili began.

Looking as if he needed to spit, Komees Hari answered before Bili finished asking. "Because among her innumerable other failings, my cursed wife slavishly bides by every one of the old Ehleen superstitions and practices, including some of the vilest of them. Oh, warm and loving Sun!" He beat one big fist against his wiry thigh, soul deep pain shining from his eyes.

"Why, oh, why was not my father more careful? Had he but known how rotten was My Lady's blood with all the cursed, shameful Ehleen practices, this day would see me wed to her I truly loved, Vasko's dear mother, not to that perverted, demonridden sow, Hehrah!

"Bili, all else aside, I know why you came. Rather, why you were sent to my hall, today. Your dear mothers are wise and were thinking straight and properly, but it was not really necessary, for your House has ever had my support in Council and you will always have it. I can speak for my brother, Drehkos as well, I believe. As for .. ."

But then Hofos, the majordomo, advanced up the hall, bowing and wringing his hands, to announce the arrival of noble guests.

Chapter III

Shortly, Bili, Vaskos, and Klairuhnz were seated with wine, cheese, fruit, and pipes in the Komees's study-cum-armory, awaiting the arrivals of Lord Hari and his guests. Once the winecups were filled and the Bard and Vaskos had their pipes going well, Bili addressed Klairuhnz.

"All right, Kinsmen, what in hell happened in the lands of Komees Gafnee that caused Lady Hehrah to take such umbrage at the mere mention of it?"

"Well I-I . . ." drawled Klairuhnz, with an inquiring glance at Vaskos.

The officer chuckled. "You may speak freely, Bard. I hold to Sun and Wind, like my father. I may look like an Ehleen, but my heart is that of a Horseclansman. Further, having served the Confederation for so many years, I can spare scant sympathy for those who would see its dissolution. I know of the Gafnee business, of course, for I've talked with officers whose units helped to mop up the mess. Bill's a right to know, for it would appear that matters are building up to a similar problem here, unless a certain Vahrohnos you two may be unaware of the fact that the same bastard was cashiered from our army and a passel of bloodthirsty priests are right speedily executed or banished."

The Bard nodded brusquely, drained off his mug, then asked, "My Lord Bili, how much know do you of the Ehleen priests and their sect?"

Bili shrugged. "Damned little, I'm afraid. None of our 33 halls practice it, none that I know of anyway. And it is unheard of in the Middle Kingdoms the sword being worshiped there, though a few women do hold to the Blue Lady."

Klairuhnz puffed at his pipe and eyed his audience through a cloud of bluish smoke. "The sect is old, Bili, ancient really. It's at least as old as the first Ehleen kingdoms say, seven hundred years. But the Ehleenoee apparently brought it and its priests with them when they crossed the Great Sea and invaded these lands, and I have talked with Ehleen scholars who held that their religion was two thousand years old at the time of the War of the Gods. And men say that that calamity occurred nearly twelve hundred 'years ago! Of course, many doubt that contention, but who can say truly, after so much time?

"Ere the Kindred came, the Ehleen sect had been slowly dying for a hundred or more years, and what few followers it retained were mostly lower or middleclass peasants, mechanics, tradesmen, small merchants, and suchlike. Most of the Ehleen nobility had adopted some odd and rather sinister cults the worship of monstrous animals, fish, and serpents, to whom they frequently sacrificed living humans. But as more of the Ehleenoee became dispossessed of their lands and cities, during the Wars of Confederation and the sporadic rebellions, the Eeyehrefsee advertised themselves and then religion as a rally point for those of their race, and many of the nobles went back to what they called the Ancient Faith.

"Now the Horseclansmen were ever tolerant of the harmless beliefs of other peoples. Once the High Lord had exposed the misdeeds of the Eeyehrefsee of Kehnooryos Ehlahs which ranged from shady business practices and smuggling to whoremongering and slaving broken their power, stripped them of most of their ill-gotten profits, and smashed their financial empire, they were allowed to practice their rites almost unmolested.

"But the last twenty years have seen rapid and very ominous changes in the sect. Certain of the darker practices of the monster cults have crept into the rites of the Ancient Faith, and here and there a priest or a Kooreeos has taken it into his head to foment disorder and even open, armed rebellion on the order of the Djeehahd or 'Holy War' in which certain of the Black Kingdoms sometimes engage.

"Mostly, such insanities have been scotched before they got much out of hand. Alert Kindred nobles who weren't afraid to shed a little blood for the good of all their peoples simply seized the squarebeards and their lay ringleaders, publicly tried them, publicly executed them, and then imported new Eeyehrefsee who had more interest in keeping their heads attached to their bodies.

"But Komees Peetuh, who was Regent of Gafnee for a Thoheeks son who was not yet of age, lived and died a very foolish man." Then the Bard went on to describe the highlights of the Gafnee Horror-a loathsome tale of a rabble risen at the urgings of priests and led by noble Ehleen malcontents; of halls besieged, overrun, looted, then burned; of Kindred men tortured to death; of Kindred ladies dying horribly beneath the lusts of hundreds of attackers; of the blood-drenched sacrifices of Kindred children and babes to the dark god of the gory-pawed Ehleen priests.

It was Klairuhnz's profession to spin good tales and he was a past master at his art. The pictures he spoke were real-terribly real Both Bili and Vaskos could see the surging, bloodthirsty mobs and hear their savage roarings, could hear the clash of arms and the crackling of the fires and the screams of the wounded or tormented or dying, could smell the smoke of burning halls and the stink of burning flesh in the Bard's words.

The priests had been shrewd in the timing of their rising, choosing the beginning of what promised to be a bad winter, when communications between principalities would be sketchy at best. And what few travelers did enter the Duchy of Gafnee never left it; the sinister Eeyehrefsee saw to that. When, with the late arrival of spring, it came time for the New Year Council, all the nobles of the Archduchy were surprised at the absence of Komees Peetuh, who had ere been one of the first arrivals at Lohfospolis.

Ahrkeethoheeks Eevahnos delayed the Council for a couple of days and sent an officer of his guard to see what might be detaining his old friend. When that officer failed to return, another officer was sent, along with a half troop of horseguards. None of those men ever came back either, but a couple of wounded troophorses stumbled in. The saddle of one was covered in crusted blood, and a mind speaker got from both animals a story of deceit and butchery.

"At that juncture," Klairuhnz continued, "Lord Eevahnos had the hillfires lit and called up the levy. With the spearlevymen and the Kindred cavalry and the Freefighters of his guard, he sealed the borders of Gafnee and initiated tentative scoutings into it, while his messengers rode north, west, and south.

"It so happened that Strahteegos Vahrohnos Fil Kuk of Kukpolis was on the march to the Southern Duchies with three thousand kahtahfrahktoee. He and his two squadrons were encamped near Gastohnya, when one of the Ahrkeethoheeks gallopers happened that way.

"He at once broke camp. By dawn, he was on Gafnee's northern border, where he picked up a few Kindred cavalry and a troop of Freefighters, then swept down into Gafnee, to the very gates of Gafneepolis. And there they camped until Eevahnos and his ragtag army joined them.

"Now the original city of Gafneepolis was razed by King Zastros's army a hundred years ago, and wasn't rebuilt for about ten years. Having nothing to fear, they thought, those who built its walls made them neither thick nor high and pierced them for double the usual number of gates. Such a position, defended as it was principally by priests, peasants, and tradesmen, had not a chance against the attack of professionals. It fell quickly."

Pausing to take a pull of his mug, Klairuhnz would have taken time to relight his pipe, but Bili could not wait.

"And then?" he urged. "What then, Kinsman?" Vaskos spoke. "Apply you to your pipe, Bard Klairuhnz. Til try to finish the tale. True, I was not there, but as I said, I've friends who were.

"Well, Bili, when the Ahrkeethoheeks and his nobles became aware of just what had transpired in Gafnee that winter, they commenced to tremble in their boots, as well they should've. First, they scoured all of Gafnee for survivors and found not one living noble Kindred in all the duchy . . . nor did the searchers leave any living person behind them priest, peasant, or villager, man, woman, or child, those who did not surrender quickly died!"

"Good!" Bili nodded. "That was good work."

Vaskos stared levelly at the young man for a moment, not noticing the odd smile on the Bard's face. "Think you so, Kinsman? Then hear the rest.

"The Ahrkeethoheeks had hundreds of people put to savage tortures and got the names of all the lay ringleaders. All who were still living on that list of names, he cast into the town dungeons, along with the priests.

"With all the living Gafneeans completely disarmed and confined, helpless as babes in the city, the Ahrkeethoheeks gave the Confederation troops and his own complete freedom of the city for seven days allowed them to loot and burn and rape and torment and kill to the point of utter satiation. He and his nobles sent wagon after groaning wagon of loot back to Lohfospolis, as well as all the grain and livestock on which they could lay hands!

"It took the pitiful wretches who survived that week of carnage another week to breach their walls to their conquerors' satisfaction, pull down their gates, and dig a long, deep trench just outside the city. Then the Ahrkeethoheeks assembled the couple of thousand Gafneeans under guard by all his forces. He had the priests and lay leaders dragged out and stripped naked, even the women!"

"Women?" Bill looked bewildered.

"Yes, Dili," nodded Vaskos. "Some of the lay leaders were women. And right horribly were they treated.

"The priests and the male leaders were gelded, then pitch was poured on their wounds. That barbarity done with, the Ahrkeethoheeks set his guardsmen to striking the heads from every man, woman, and child of Gafnee, forcing the priests and leaders who had not died of their maltreatment to watch the butchery."

"All of the female leaders naturally died of their sufferings, but some score of the priests and male leaders lived. They were set on the road, still naked and with their lips stitched shut, loaded with a manweight of manacles and chains, in two wagons and heavily guarded. Less than half lived to reach Kehnooryos Atheenahs!"

Failing to note the disgust and horror on Vaskos's swarthy face, Bili commented casually, "Sewed their lips shut, did he? Well, that's one march Lord Eevahnos has stolen on King Gilbuht. It was a good idea too, keep the bastards from spreading their poison along the way or from plotting amongst themselves. But, tell me, Kinsman, how did the rebel swine eat and drink?"

In lieu of answer, Vaskos asked in a tight voice, "Have you no feeling, then? That civilized men could do such things in the name of justice and our Confederation sickens me! To so mistreat conquered enemies . .."

"Conquered rebels," corrected Bili. "There is a considerable difference, you know. That, Kinsman, is the only way to handle the kind of rebellion you and Klairuhnz have described. You must put it down so hard and so thoroughly that no commoner or priest or noble will ever forget the fate of a rebel. I, for one, would like to make the acquaintance of this Lord Eevahnos. He sounds like a wise and most astute man. Why, King Gilbuht himself could not have done a better job!"

"But to slay women and children . . . even babes . . ." Vaskos began.

"Nits make lice, Kinsman!" Bili shrugged.

Vaskos's visage darkened perceptibly, and he straightened in his chair. "I have been a soldier for above thirty years, and while I've had to put my steel into a few barbarian women, I've yet to slay a child. Nor will I, ever!"

Bili raised his right hand, palm to Vaskos in the ancient gesture of peace. "Kinsman, I but requested a tale, not an argument. There is no need for your anger. But ere I see it grow, I shall take my leave." Arising, he smoothed his suede gambeson and started to buckle the tops of his jackboots.

"Now, hold!" snapped Klairuhnz, unmistakeable authority in his voice. "You, Kinsman Bili, sit down! You, Kinsman Keeleechstos Vaskos, act your age and your rank! The Confederation has scant need of hotheaded Strahteegoee!"

With Bili once more in his chair and Vaskos silent, the Bard leaned forward and continued, slowly and forcefully, his black eyes hard. "None of us here is as innocent as you would have us believe you to be, Kinsman Vaskos. I have slain children, Kinsman Bili has slain children, and so too have you! Think you, how many men have died under your steel, do you suppose? In above thirty years soldiering, the number must be large, considering all the small wars and skirmishings against the mountainfolk. So how many children starved to death, because you had slain their fathers?"

Vaskos shifted in his chair, looking down at his big hands, and mumbled, "But that's not the same."

The Bard nodded vehemently. "Correct. Correct, Keeleechstros Vaskos, it is not the same at all. For the sword offers a clean, quick death, while the death of hunger is long and slow, torturous and incredibly horrible, with the body ravenously feeding upon its own flesh and blood and muscle. Many of those children, Vaskos, would have welcomed the cold, sharp kiss of your sword . . . aye, and blessed you for your mercy!"

And suddenly Bili was there, was one of them! One of the horde of shadowy, emaciated little starvelings all sunken, hungerbright eyes and swollen abdomens, arms and legs fleshless and reedthin, hands like tiny claws and faces like skincovered skulls, suppurating, dripping sores and teeth dropping from bleeding gums. His hand weakly fumbled for his winemug . . . anything to fill his gaping, agonizing emptiness.

Then the nightmare dissolved as suddenly as it had come. "Sorry, Bili," came a mindspeak from Klairuhnz, on a level which Bili had thought he alone possessed, having never before met another who could communicate on it. "That was intended for Vaskos, not for you."

The Bard would then have broken off the mental connection, but Bili held stubbornly to it, demanding, "Who in hell are you, truly? What are you? No common mind-speaker could've done what you just did that I know! And no man, possessing such powers as you have would waste his life and talents as a mere traveling bard. Are you then a sorcerer in disguise?"

"Sorcerers are nonexistent, Bili," came the quick reply. "There are only men and women who use their inherent powers to the detriment or death of others . . . much as you effected the death of Earl Hahnz, or magnified the sound of your warhorses's hooves, so that those brigands thought a troop was charging them."

Bili started, and his right hand clamped onto the hilt of his dirk. "How... what do you know of... ?"

"Only what I was able to glean from your mind, earlier in the dininghall. But fear not, Bili, those secrets are safe. Nor do I fault you, for in a fight to the death, only a fool would refrain from employing every weapon or skill at his disposal."

"Who and what," Bili repeated insistently, "are you?"

"You shall know, in time," was the Bard's curt answer. "You shall know all that you now ask, and much, much more. But for now, drink your wine and allow me to finish Vaskos's education, for I... we ... may soon have need of him."

On the mindspeak level, the exchanges had taken bare fractions of seconds. And Vaskos, whose mindspeak talents were marginal at best, was unaware that Bili and Klairuhnz had even conversed.

"Perhaps all that you say is right," he answered the Bard's most recent statement. "But even so, that is but scant justification for the atrocities and wholesale butchery at Gafnee. The rebels could've been dispersed to other places, or even sold overseas. But to coldly slaughter them ... I, for one, could never ..."

Slowly, Klairuhnz shook his head. "Vaskos, you have a great capacity for compassion. Used properly, it will aid you in being a better-than-average Strahteegos. Utilized imprudently, allowed to rule rather than serve you, at the wrong time and toward the wrong people, as you are presently doing, it will lead to your downfall, if not your death.

"Vaskos, Vaskos, you are thinking with your huge loving heart, and not with the mind of a talented and experienced soldier, a leader of men. Think, man, thinkl"

Vaskos's forehead furrowed. "What mean you, Bard?"

"All right, look at it this way," Klairuhnz tried another tack. "You have fought the Tcharlztuhnee, I take it?"

Vaskos nodded brusquely. "Aye, our most recent campaign was against those devils."

Klairuhnz went on. "They steep their arrows, darts, and spearpoints in a fermented dung. So what do the eeahtrosee to such a wound, say to a deep thrust in the leg?"

Vaskos's lips tightened. "They slash the leg to the bone, let the man's own blood wash and cleanse the wound, then they poultice it with pledgets of molded wheaten bread. But what has such to do with... ?"

"All in due time." Klairuhnz cut Vaskos's question off short. "And if the bleeding and the poultices fail, Vaskos, if the toes blacken and the leg purples and starts to stink, what, then, do the eeahtrosee?"

Vaskos sighed gustily. "What can they do, if the man is to live? They dose him well with hwiskee or strong cordials, bludgeon him unconscious, then cut off the leg." Absently, he rubbed at his scarred thigh:

"Odd, but I was wounded, just so, by a Tcharlztuhnee spear. But the bleeding and poultices worked, in my case. Very odd, indeed, Kinsman Klairuhnz, that your example should have been a wound so like to mine own."

Bili smiled into his winecup. Considering what he had just learned of the so called Bard's abilities in delving minds, he did not consider the incident at all odd.

"Just a coincidence," Klairuhnz shrugged, adding, "But that course of treatment is used on a fresh wound, Vaskos. Let us say that the wounded man was pinned under a dead horse, and lay on the field for a day or so, ere he was found by the eeahtrosee. What then?"

"They'd take no chances," stated Vaskos soberly. "They'd have the leg off almost at once."

"Why?" demanded Klairuhnz.

"Sun and Wind, man," Vaskos burst out. "Because if they waited too long, or didn't take the leg at all, the poisons would possibly spread throughout the entire body and kill the man."

Then Klairuhnz said, "Vaskos, the Confederation is a social body. The Gafnee rebellion was a wound to that body, a seriously infected wound. That infection was well commenced, ere Strahteegos Kuk and the Ahrkeethoheeks came to treat it. To have dispersed the rebels would have been to insure the infection of other parts of the body,

 the Confederation. Therefore, like eeahtrosee, they excised the infection, removed it cleanly, did everything within their power to halt its spread.

"Yes, Vaskos, the Gafnee executions were an extreme measure and the hearts of many would brand them cruel, but the mind must see it for what it truly was: a necessary expedient, intended to restore the health of the Confederationl"

Chapter IV

Komees Djeen Morguhn was tall, even taller than Bill, and spare. He marched rather than walked, striding to the silent beat of a personal drum. His face would have been handsome as Bill's, save for the long scar, which in healing had twisted his upper lip into a perpetual grin, and had taken his left eye as well. He was also missing most of one ear, the last two fingers of his swordhand, and his left hand and wrist, which had been replaced by a shiny brass cap and hook. His scars and his limp were the marks of his former profession. Despite the aches and pains, which increased with every year and were accentuated by damp weather, Komees Djeen counted himself very lucky, for precious few career soldiers ever saw their sixtieth year.

He never really felt dressed unless some manner of armor weighted his shoulders. Tonight it was a hiplength jacket of brigandine, cinched about his narrow waist by an Army swordbelt supporting his purse and plain, well-worn dirk. Between the lower hem of the brigandine and the still buckled tops of his jackboots could be seen his sensible, linencanvas breeches.

The short man who followed him went garbed in the simple, five-piece ensemble of the Horseclansman-loose, pullover shirt; wide, big-buckled dirkbelt; and baggy trousers tucked into short, soft boots. His only armament was a broadbladed rancher's knife. Though he could not recall ever having seen him, Bill had no trouble in identifying him as Lord Drehkos, Komees Hari's brother, for the two men were like as peas in a pod.

The third man, however, was an utter stranger. He was about Bill's height, and like him his shoulders were wide and thick; his long arms ended in a big, wide hands. But there the similarity ended, for the man was obviously a Kath'ahrohs or fullblood Ehleen. His long pomaded hair was blueblack and his skintone, like Vaskos's, was a dark olive, though his finer features made him a far more handsome man.

This stranger was garbed in black, from foot to pate. His delicately grained, glovesoft boots rose to midthigh. Both they and his belt had been buffed until they threw back the lamplight like expanses of onyx. His sleeveless tunic encased him from shoulders to boottops and was wrought of that thick, lustrous velvet for which the Duchy of Klahksburk was justly famous. The sleeves of his silken shirt billowed from shoulder to wrist, where they were drawn tight, and atop his head drooped a soft cap of the Klahksburk, its center and edges adorned with arabesques stitched out in silver wire. The case and hilt of his dress dirk were of black leather, the former edged and studded with silver and the latter wound with silver wire; its pommel consisted of a bright silver ball almost two inches in diameter. Also silver was the massy, flatlink chain which was draped over his shoulders, but the pendant it supported was gold.

While his rich clothing and accessories would not have been considered remarkable in the Middle Kingdoms or even at the court of the Undying High Lord, within an austerely oldfashioned province such as the Duchy of Morguhn, impractical fripperies were the mark of the fop. Bili had impulsively catalogued the newcomer as such until his eyes lit on what depended from the silver chain.

No man's rank or lineage or lands or fortune ever brought him into the Order of the Cat. Only well witnessed acts of extreme valor in fierce combat earned even a Ninth Class Red Cat. So this stranger was anything but a fop, for his pendant brilliant against the black velvet bore the stalking shape of the Golden Cat, bright emeralds serving as its eyes. It was a Fourth Class Cat and gave notice to all who saw it to honor this man for the mighty champion he was.

Deep in the cellars of Horse Hall, another meeting was in progress. There, a score or so of figures crouched in the musty darkness amid the winetuns and brandy kegs and vats of pickled vegetables. The only light came from a smoky lamp, which rendered faces and forms vague and wraithlike. Although the door to then' meetingchamber was well guarded, they kept then: voices lowpitched and spoke only in Old Ehleeneekos, the language spoken before the Coming of the Horseclans more than a century before, now almost dead and seldom heard outside Ehleen Church rites.

From the darkness a slightly nasal voice declared, "I say we should kill them all. Here and now, tonight!"

"And I agree." A coldly arrogant voice half snarled from the other side. "When our time is ripe, the Butter haired Devils still will be struggling to recover from so great a loss. Think, up there sit the heir apparent to the Thoheeks, two Komeesee, a Vahrohneeskos, a City Lord, plus that bard and the Bastard."

"You are both fools!" A dry, authoritarian woman's voice flatly averred. "Oh, I doubt me not that the strangling cord or the unexpected knifethrust are disciplines with which you have much familiarity, but how much do any of you know of the art of the sword? Eh? Ere you had slain the Bastard's man, who sits guard before their door, and battered that thick portal down, your would be victims would be assuredly warned . . . and the Hall armory is in that room, you know."

"Lady, we too have arms." The nasal first voice insisted stubbornly.

"You most certainly are fools, to talk so," said a new voice, deep and rolling. "And I speak of sure knowledge, being the only trained soldier among you. Your arms are old relics and, despite my best efforts over these last months, few of you have absorbed even the bare bones of the use of those arms.

"Most of those men up there are professional soldiers, or they were. The one who is not was still reared a Kindred nobleman, which means reared to the sword. Of that bard, I know naught, save that his horse be war trained and his harness includes a well balanced and well kept saber, which I doubt he carries as a toothpick. Attempt the idiocy of which you prate and the most of you will die tonight. And your well hacked corpses will be of no use to the Church or to our oppressed people."

"Phah! Don't listen to the coward," hissed the arrogant second voice. "He is not our leader!"

"The last man who named me coward," the deep voice rolled menacingly, "died with his guts curled around his legs!"

"Enough!" snapped the woman. "Would you men serve the very cause of the Oppressors? Remember your oaths and the sacredness of our crusade."

"I do remember my oath, Lady," the soldier softly boomed. "It is the only reason I have not removed the heads from some of these yapping curs long since!" Then, speaking to the others in the room, "No, I am not your leader, thank God. But your leader did appoint me your advisor. And my advice is this: Wait. Wait for the opportunity to kill without being killed."

The nasal voice suggested, "Why don't we just poison the roomful? They are sure to call for more wine, ere the night's out."

"We dare not," answered the woman, quickly. "One of them is secretly one of us."

"Tell me which he is." Another female voice. "Lady, I could serve them, and sign him not to drink..."

But the commanding female advised, "No. We do not know who he is, and even if we did, it were too dangerous to make Sacred Signs before so many."

"Besides," rumbled the advisor. "How would you know which signs still are secret? How would anyone know . .. since Gafnee?"

Mere mention of the terrible calamity brought the expected shocked silence. Taking advantage of the silence, the soldier went quickly on. "Some of them will die tonight, never fear. The Lady and I will plan it, and I myself will see that it is properly done. But forget what has been here proposed, it is simply too chancy!"

The commanding female took over. "Now, brothers and sisters, let us close this meeting with a prayer that Our Lord, the only True God, show us the way to serve Him in the deliverance of our lands from the bloody hands of the godless heathens, and His people and Church from the ancient bondage."

After the round of introductions had been made and all were seated about the table, Komees Hari had more wine brought in, along with spiced meats and salty beancakes. Then he and the three newcomers took turns interrogating Bili, sounding out his every feeling, hope, or ambition. They pried into his past, in Harzburk and on campaign, gleaning an encapsulated rendition of ten years of training and warring. That done, Komees Djeen put several complicated military problems to him.

For Bili, it was nervewracking to sit there in the hot closeness of the narrow stone chamber, breathing air layered with pipesmoke and lampsmoke, and baring his innermost secrets and desires in response to the probing questions of the four shrewd but increasingly friendly noblemen. Of course, it would have been much quicker and far easier to have conducted the meeting by mindspeak, save for the fact that Lord Drehkos totally lacked that talent.

 But Bili consoled himself with the thought that all this was necessary and simply must be borne with as good a face as he could muster. For if these men were to eventually confirm him their Clan Chief and the Thoheeks of Morguhn, they must know him as well as they knew themselves. Only a fool would buy an untested blade, no matter how distinguished its hallmark; and their questions revealed these men to be anything but fools.

It lacked but an hour and a half of midnight when Komees Hari arose and stiffly stretched, his joints emitting sharp snaps. "Kindred," he addressed them all, "it is my thought that Bili will be to his clan a chief of famous memory. This night's questioning has proven that he possesses more patience and wisdom than most men of his years. He's a likeable young fellow, even if his manner is a bit stiff and overly formal for this Duchy. But all of us who have soldiered in the Middle Kingdoms can recall the stiff formality of the nobility of those lands, and since Bili was reared and trained there, he is but reflecting his mentors.

"Now, true, he seems a bit bloodthirsty," the Komees chuckled, echoed by his brother and Komees Djeen, "but it is not mere vicarious pleasure, for he is clearly a proven warrior, and his answers to the problems set to him by Djeen and Ahndros and Vaskos show that he possesses enviable talents as tactician and strategist."

"Plus a thorough understanding of the principles of logistics," put in Komees Djeen, holding his specially fashioned winecup with his brass hook, while accenting his words with jabs of the stem of his pipe, "which I wish I'd owned when I was his age. Our Army could use a man like him. And I think he'd enjoy the life of a cavalry officer. Now, if Hwahruhn improves and lives a few years longer..."

"Sun and Wind!" Drehkos snorted disgustedly. "For as long as I can remember, Djeen, you've been selling army life to all and sundry. I vow, in your way you're as bad as Myros. The moment he claps eyes to a wellformed lad, his mind commences to bed him, while the moment you see one, you're mentally fitting him into a cuirass!"

"Those were most unkind words, Kinsman," came the quiet, gentle, but penetrating voice of the blackclad Vahrohneeskos Ahndros. "Komees Djeen's Strahteegos Oath binds him for life, and pointing officer-quality men toward our Army is a worthy and laudable act. He it was who persuaded my brothers and me to serve, and I regret none of those years in the Army of the Confederation. Indeed, I would not have returned when I did, had not my inheritance been in jeopardy."

Drehkos made a rude noise. "Strahteegos Oath indeed! Listen you, Ahndros, Djeen's passion to put every man on two legs into armor, and the foxy wiles he uses to achieve that result, far predate his elevation to Strahteegos. Why, thirty odd years ago he came back here and did his damndest to hornswoggle me and Hari and all the other young Kindred he could catch into that troop of mercenaries he took up to Pitzburk. This, his principal idiosyncrasy, is nothing new or patriotically laudable, young Kinsman!"

His single eye skewering Hari's brother, Komees Djeen said slowly and gravely, "And you' should have ridden with your brother and me, Drehkos. You'd be a better man for it, today. And you'd have cost your poor, dead father far less expense, heartache, and embarrassment."

Drehkos squirmed and dropped his gaze, his face reddening. "Possibly!" he snapped, shortly. "But we're not gathered here to ruminate on my misspent youth, you know. A chief should have good mindspeak. How is young Bili's? All here know that I possess none myself, so I'll have to take your words for it."

"What say you, Bard Klairuhnz?" inquired Hari. "Your mindspeak seems stronger than average."

Once again, Bili noticed those very odd looks which the Bard and Vahrohneeskos Andros who supposedly had never met prior to this night were exchanging. He was absolutely certain that the two were mindspeaking, but he could not receive them, try as he might.

"Our young Kinsman is blessed with excellent natural ability," answered Klairuhnz, smiling. "He both transmits and receives well ... on the basic levels, that is. Of course, with the proper training, he could be even better, stronger."

Stubborn as a dog with a bone in his teeth, Komees Djeen immediately snapped, "And he could get that training in our Army, gentlemen, no place is better. Why, there is a special school, in Kehnooryos Atheenahs for the very purpose of developing latent mental abilities. Ask Andros, he attended it."

Komees Hari shook his head. "Desist, Djeen, desist Considering Hwahruhn's sad state of health and the perils that the Morguhn and Daiviz Kindred presently face, it's out of the question. The place of the Chiefs son is here. Until certain matters, which need no repetition, are resolved, we will need Bili far more than will the Army ... and that soon, I fear."

"Vaskos," he turned to his son, "please ask your man to have a servant fetch us a round of brandy, and a draught for himself as well. He's been a good watchdog for our door, this night. When we've had our tipple, Kinsmen, I think we should to bed. Tomorrow will commence a very busy week for most of us."

Rising to his feet, Bili chose his words cautiously. "Kinsman Hari, please do not misunderstand me and do not read into what I am about to say meanings which are certainly not intended. It is not that I scorn the gracious hospitality of your fine hall, nor that I fear to sleep under your protection. On the contrary ..."

But the laughter of old Komees Djeen brought him up short. The retired officer wiped at his eye, admonishing, "Oh, Bili, Bili, lad, we must, I fear, reeducate you. Your Kinsman Hari is no thin skinned northern princeling,  ready to shed blood or make war over some fancied slight or imagined insult.

"He-all of us-are your Kindred, son, and we're a blunt, outspoken people. If you really want to ride home at this hagridden hour, by Sun and Wind, come right out and say so! Not that I think it's basically a good idea for you, the hope of us all, to ride all those miles alone, on a dark night, as unsafe as our roads have been of late . .. nor with all that seems afoot in this Duchy.

"I want no harm to come to you, boy. Much as I love your father, I will say that he's been a poor chief in many ways, too lax and soft on men who deserve, have long deserved, a strong and pitiless hand. From what I know of you, what more I've learned of you tonight, you'll be the kind of chief your father should have been, the kind of chief your grandfather Sacred Sun shine always on his memory was.

"Your dear mothers should have sent a few of their Freefighters with you today. They know, even if you are too lately come to know, that the night roads are no longer safe for Kindred, in either our duchy or in that of our western neighbor, Chief Sidnee of Vawn. Now, if Hari had taken my advice and hired a few Freefighters himself, he could loan you a proper escort, but..."

Djeen's quoted advice was obviously a sore point with his host, for the short, stocky Komees immediately lashed back angrily, "Fah! Just because you've made of your hall a small fortress does not signify that the rest of us must hire on a host of useless mouths, men whose only accomplishments are their expertise at eating and drinking and gambling and wenching ..."

"And fighting!" snapped Komees Djeen, unfazed by the other's anger.

His face beetred and his big fists clenched, Hari opened his mouth to say more, but Ahndros quietly said, "Kinsman Bili will not be alone, Kindred; for I too am of a mind to ride to Morguhn Hall tonight."

The Komeesee burst into laughter, their shouting match forgotten. Vaskos showed every tooth and Drehkos chuckled. "Soooo, Ahndros, that is why you wear that new velvet suit and those new boots! By Wind, Kinsman, you shine like a new moon. Take warning, if Vahrohnos Myros sees you looking so handsome, he'll have you bedded and buggered before you can blink!"

Komees Djeen's laughter ceased abruptly and he spoke in a voice edged with steel. "Sun and Wind grant that I live to see the day that Myros makes advances toward Ahndros. Oh ho, that will be a sight to see! For years that degenerate boarhog has been in sore need of gelding!"

Vahrohneeskos Ahndros said nothing in response to the jesting. He but sat, sipping at his wine and smiling now and again. All that Bili had learned of the modest man's military exploits this night had come from others, mostly from Komees Djeen and Vaskos Daiviz. But before any word had been spoken, from their first handclasp and mindspeak, Bili had known Ahndros for what he was: a quiet, unassuming and basically gentle man; but, withal, a born warrior and warleader, who would be the best of allies or the most dangerous of foemen when swords were out. And women had told him that these bravest of men were right oft the tenderest of lovers. Bili thought that Mother Mahrnee had chosen well.

Bard Klairuhnz interrupted the rough banter. "Kinsmen, did I hear someone say that Hail Morguhn, your Ganbard, would be quartering the next week at Morguhn Hall? If so, I'd like the hospitality of Kinsman Bili, for I try to meet every bard I may."

Bili smiled, even while wondering what might be the mysterious "bard's" real purpose for riding with him this night. "Of course, Kinsman Klairuhnz, you are more than welcome at my father's hall."

"Well," grumbled Komees Djeen finally. "I still don't like it, but three armed men no, four, I'd forgot your retainer Ahndros; he doesn't look like much of a fighter, but well at least give him the appearance with a helmet and a spear you should scare off any skulkers. And I'll have a couple of my troopers ride along with you, 'til you're over the bridge and beyond the woods, anyhow."

Turning to their host, he said, "Hari, unlock your cabinets and let's get these lads and Kinsman Klairuhnz fitted with armor. If the party looks strong and sufficiently well-armed, chances are there'll be no attack on them. As the adage of our ancestors had it: It takes the courage of a wolf to attack a guarded herd. And we're dealing with only jackals here.

"Kinsman Vaskos, please ask your father's servants to saddle our Kinsmen's horses and that big mule Ahndros's man rides. Don't fret about my troopers, mind you, they'll saddle their own."

The troopers finished saddling all of the horses. Alternately, Komees Hari bawled the names of the missing servants and looked fit to die of embarrassment. Komees Djeen did not miss the opportunity to make the point that if Hari had had a few Freefighters of his own guarding the hall exits, the servants should have played merry hell getting out of the compound this late. At that, anger replaced all other emotions in Hari.

"Damn you, Djeen! My hall is not an armed camp! My people and servants love me and mine, and I need no barbarian jailers to lock them up of a night, nor to oversee them in the day!"

Geros, Ahndros's retainer, led out his master's horse and the Vahrohneeskos swung into the saddle, settling weightlessly, despite the added encumbrance of the three-quarter armor and thick, leathern gambeson into which Komees Djeen had chivvied the three of them, ere he'd allow them out of the hall. The rest of the party were already mounted and quaffing stirrupcups of cool wine laced with brandy, prepared by Vaskos and served by him and his orderly, Frahnkos.

At the open gate, Bili reined about and leaned from his kak to exchange final handclasps with Hari, Drehkos, Vaskos, and, lastly, Komees Djeen.

Speaking rapidly and in a low voice, the old Strahteegos told him, "I want to see you again, alive, Bili, so do you what I say. I think we're all in far more danger than we now know. I'll keep all here awake and armed until Dzhool and Shahrl get back. In those damned woods, form you a tight column and take the track at a brisk trot. If you let them string out, it could be the death of you or Ahndee or both, and . . ." Drehkos strode over, laughing. "Let be, Djeen, let be. They've a long ride before them. Surely you can find a better time to lecture on cavalry tactics?"

Chapter V

Once they were clear of the gate, Ahndros trotted his silver grey gelding up abreast of Bili and mindspoke. "Komees Djeen is a fine old man, Bili. I love and respect him more than any living man."

"It is clear that he returns your love tenfold," replied Bili.

Ahndros continued, "That's why it pains me to say what I now must. Uncle Djeen dearly loves all aspects of soldiering, especially the fighting. He is constantly expecting-eagerly looking for, really-brigands or wouldbe assassins around every turn and behind every tree.

"Now true, things are not all sweetness and light in our lands. But it is my opinion that we let them strap us into these 'Pitzburk steamers' and are a party to robbing the sleep from those Freefighters back there, to no just purpose."

"You expect no attack tonight, then?" Bili inquired.

Ahndros sighed aloud, though still mindspeaking. "Oh, anything is possible, I suppose. Sure it is that the roads aren't so safe as once they were . . . not for Kindred, at least. Perhaps Uncle Djeen is right. After all, bis intuition won many a battle for the Confederation."

The little party rode on, between the mile or more of roadside fences, intended to keep deer and wandering livestock out of the choice pasturage reserved for Komees Hari's herds. The black-on-black outlines of the rails made it easier to stay on the road, for only rarely did a winking star or a slice of moon manage to find a way through the squadrons of scudding clouds.

At a horsesaving walk, the double column followed the well kept road up and down the gentle, rolling hills it traversed. Bili found the fresh night air a pleasant contrast to the thick smokiness of Komees Hari's study. The cooling breeze which blew across their path bore away most of the dust the hooves raised from the roadway.

Bili sent his reception ranging ahead and to the flanks, striving to pick up any trace of hostile mindpatterns, but the conversations of the four men riding behind him proved too distracting. Gefos and Klairuhnz were swapping anecdotes and bawdy tales, while the two big, raw-boned troopers chattered continually in some alien tongue. It sounded, to Bili, a bit like the nasal language called Kweebehkyuhn, spoken by some tribes of those odd folk who dwelt north and west of the Sea of Eeree . . . but perhaps it was really Nyahgraheekos, which sounded similar.

Other than the conversations, the creak of the saddles, and jingling of spurs and bridlechains, the rattling of armor and the thudding of the hooves were all the sounds which disturbed the nightshrouded land. Far away, across the lea, a dogfox barked, and closer at hand came the cry of a hunting owl. But Bili could range no nearby danger, so he relaxed and mindspoke Ahndros.

"Komees Djeen sometimes calls you 'Ahndee.' May I do so?"

"Why, of course, Bili, I much prefer the Kindred form to the Ehleen."

"Thank you then, Ahndee," said Bili silently. "Let me ask you, when you have your city and lands in order, do you intend to return to the Army? You could have a splendid career, you know; a Subkeeleeohstos of your age could reasonably expect to be strahteegos by his fortieth year, if not before, and even I know that's a damned rare accomplishment."

But Ahndee shook his head. "No, Bili, that phase of my life is done forever. I may journey to the capital occasionally, for I've many friends there; but mostly I want to attend to my lands and people and lead as quiet and nonviolent a life as circumstances will allow. I don't enjoy soldiering, Bili."

"Then why did you join the Army at all?" queried Bili.

Ahndee breathed another sigh. "I'll try to explain.

"Bili, my Uncle Djeen was worshiped by me and my two brothers for the most of our lives. He was our ideal as we were growing up, the very epitome of stalwart manhood. For some reason, none of his wives or women could ever give him children-his present daughter is adopted, his new wife's by her first husband-and he undertook the virtual rearing of Oomros and Gaibrios and me, when he was home between campaigns or to recover from wounds. He was patient and gentle and loving, honorable and honest, cleanly in his habits, temperate in his few vices, and capable of astounding feats of self-discipline.

"Bili, what know you of my late father?"

Bili squirmed uncomfortably in his saddle. In the eight years before he had left for the north, he had heard more than he now wished to remember of Vahrohneeskos Ehlmos. "Well, uh . . . Ahndee, I, uh . . . Let's see ... your House follows the Old Ehleen ways, but, ahhh . . . as your grandfather had no sons ..."

"Oh, Bili," Ahndee expostulated impatiently. "Spit it out! You're not going to offend me by repeating truths known to all the Duchy. Yes, my House followed the Old Ehleen practices-both the good and the bad, the tasteful and the distasteful, the honorable and the dishonorable. My grandfather wed very late, and then only because the Council and your grandfather forced him to it. It is far from certain that he actually sired my mother. And I rejoice in that uncertainty, Bili, for I'd hate to be sure that the old degenerate's tainted blood runs in my veins. Sun and Wind know the mere suspicion that I am my father's son is hard enough to live with.

"As for the thing who called himself my father, Bili, what know you of him?"

"Right little, Ahndee," Bili answered, and could not help adding, "And none of that little good, I'm afraid."

Ahndee immediately reassured him, saying, "I meant what I said before, Bili. Unpleasant as it is, the truth does not offend me. Now, what do you know of the late Vahrohneeskos Ehlmos?"

"If you insist, Kinsman." Bili set his jaw. "It is said that right often he appeared in public garbed in your mother's clothing and jewels, with his lips and eyes and cheeks painted. It is also said that, after your mother's death, he coerced an Ehleen priest into reciting marriage rites over him and . . . and a blacksmith's apprentice, that the Vahrohneeskos's bridal costume cost near five hundred thrahkmehs. It is said that all his court were compelled to witness the events of his bridal night and . . . and that . . . that your father wept and wailed and .. . and whimpered like a maiden, when first the apprentice took him.

"But, Ahndee," he hurriedly added, "these are but things I have heard said over the years, mostly servants' gossip, probably."

"No, Bili, truth, all of it excepting the first part. My mother was a tiny woman, her clothing would never have fitted the Vahrohneeskos. No, his female clothing was all made expressly for him, tailored to his measure. You see, he . . ." Ahndee broke off as Bili suddenly halted Mahvros.

They were at the crest of a low hillock, beyond which the road ran arrowstraight to the wagonwide, wooden bridge. Beyond the bridge, crouching like some monstrous beast of nightmare, loomed the black forest.

And danger lurked within that forest, this Bili knew! Although that danger's emanations lay just beyond the range of his perceptions, still could he sense its presence. But his far-range perceptivity was very tricky; Bili would have been the first to admit to that fact. The hostile impressions given him by some something lodged amongst that gloomy host of thickholed trees could easily be a short-tempered boar or a hungry bear or both together.

Bard Klairuhnz walked his highspirited mount up to the slope, reining in beside Bili, and the three battlewise veterans briefly studied the bridge, its approaches, and the deep, swiftflowing stream whose high banks it joined. The moon had once more freed herself of the shrouding clouds and her pale radiance allowed Bili his first glimpse of the Bard since they had quit the torchlit courtyard of Horse Hall. Though Klairuhnz smiled warmly-supposedly at Bili-his black eyes were on Ahndee, and Bili once more had that weird feeling that the two were somehow communicating . . . and that feeling did nothing to detract from his general uneasiness.

Partially to soothe himself, he uncased his axe, for he always felt secure and happy with the hidewound haft in his hand. That done, he hung the bared weapon from a heavy hook let into the flaring pommel of his kak, dismounted, and loosened, then lengthened, his stirrup leathers. When he remounted, he was no longer sitting Mahvros-the great beast, recognizing the familiar preparations for imminent combat, stamping and snorting his joyful anticipation. Most of his weight was now on his booted feet.

Ahndee's handsome face mirrored his incredulity. "Why in the world did you do that, Bili? It looks to be damned unsteady and uncomfortable."

Bili laughed merrily. "You're a swordsman, Kinsman. Were you an axeman now-and with your build, you'd be a natural axewielder, you know-you'd not need to ask." Seeing that his companion still did not understand, Bili went on patiently, "What's the weight of your sword, Ahndee? Three pounds? Five? My good axe weighs thirteen Harzburk pounds, the equal of more than a dozen of your Ehleen keelohs, so the arms and shoulders are not enough. To use it properly, to get a swing powerful enough to stave in armor, requires the muscles of the lower back and the legs as well."

Ahndee still looked a bit dubiously at Bill's "seat." "If you say so, Bili. But how do you manage to stay astride, if you have to move faster than a slow trot?"

Bili's white teeth flashed in the moonlight. "That, Kinsman, takes practice!"

The young axeman would have taken the lead into the place of danger, had not Ahndee, Klairuhnz, and the two Freefighters argued him down. So when the column trotted toward the bridge, Bili was third in line, with Klairuhnz ahead and Dzhool, the younger of Komees Djeen's troopers, at point; behind rode Ahndee, then Geros, then the trooper Shahrl.

The more closely they approached the forest, the stronger grew Bili's dreadful apprehension. Now he knew that they were certainly riding into a battle, and he so mindspoke both Ahndee and Klairuhnz.

Awe in his voice, Ahndee silently asked, "You can far-gather, then, Bili? That's a rare and precious ability. We were told of it at the Confederation Mindspeak Academy, of course; but not even the instructors had ever met a man or woman who actually possessed it! Can you tell how many foemen, and how far ahead they be?"

"No," Bili admitted. "Never have I been able to judge numbers, but we are near and drawing nearer."

The thick old planks of the bridge boomed hollowly under ironshod hooves; then they were into the forest. Bili found it far less dark within than it had appeared from without. Except for the oakgrown fringes, the growth was principally tall, old pines, unbranching for many feet above roadlevel. The wan moonlight filtered through the needles, making for a dim visibility.

The road ran straight for a few dozen yards, then began a gradual ascent and slight curvature to the right, following the lower reaches of a brushgrown hillock. They splashed through a tiny rill, which fed down into a small swamp before it joined the larger stream. Beyond the rill, the road commenced another slow curve, this one to the left. As they descended the reverse slope, the moon dove for cover, and Bili's hackles rose. The unseen danger was near, terribly near!

"SOON!" he urgently mindspoke Ahndee and Klairunz, while bringing his axe up, so that its fearsome, doublebitted head rested against his armored right shoulder. Dropping his reins over the pommel knob in battle, he guided Mahvros solely by mindspeak and kneepressure, not that the battlewise stallion required a great deal of guidance he lowered and securely locked into place the slitted halfvisor which protected the eyes and nose. By that time, the peril lay so very near, pressed so heavily, that he could hardly bear it.

"NOW!" He beamed with mindblasting intensity. "IT IS ALL AROUND US!"

Ahndee and Klairuhnz drew their blades, and the zweep of steel leaving scabbard alerted the troopers, who bared their own weapons. Geros awkwardly gripped and regripped the shaft of the widebladed boarspear in his sweaty hand. He knew next to nothing of arms and their use, and showed it.

Up the slope to their left, the trees abruptly began to thin . . . and the fickle moon chose that moment to commence a slow emergence.

There was a scuffling noise at the head of the column, a strangled grunt, followed almost immediately by a horse's shrill scream of pain and terror, then the unmistakable clash-clanking of an armored body falling to the ground. And the moon came fully out.

Bili could see the trooper, Dzhool, twitching on the roadway. A stocky, blackbearded man had a foot on the dying Freefighter's chest, frantically striving to jerk his spearpoint from the body. He never got the weapon free, for Bard Klairuhnz kneed his chestnut forward; his long saber swept up, then blurred down. The bearded head, still wearing its oldfashioned helmet, clattered across the road and into the weeds. The trunk stood a brief moment, then pitched forward over its victim's body, shortened neck spouting ropy streams of blood.

From around the far side of the screaming, hamstrung lead horse rushed another of the attackers, lacking either helm or armor, but swinging up a short, widebladed infantry sword. This man was as stocky as the first, but beardless and greyhaired, his thin lips peeled back in a grimace which revealed his rotten teeth. There was fresh blood on his swordblade and he ran directly at Bili, shouting something in Old Ehleeneekos.

Ahndee watched Bili-with seeming effortlessness handling his long, massive weapon with one hand-catch the slash on the steel shaft of his axe and allow the blade's own momentum to propel it into the deep notch between head and haft. A single twist of Bili's thick wrist tore the hilt from the old man's grip and sent it spinning. The spike above the two axebits was jammed deep into the ancient's chest, ere that sword had come to ground.

Dead Dzhool's crippled mount was still screaming. Geros, too, began to scream, so terrified that he could form no words, but wail and point the boarspear up at the brushy slope. There a rank of riders, at least a dozen of them, armed and armored, was coming from the trees which had concealed them.

"BACK!" roared Klairunhz. "There's too many to fight here! Back to the bridge!" Setting words to actions, he reined his mount about and set off in the wake of Shahrl, Geros, and Ahndee.

Bili stayed only long enough to split the skull of the suffering horse. Then he set off toward the bridge, just as the line of mounted ambushers came tilting down the rise. This granted Bili a closer look; his experienced eyes informed him that though numerous-nearer a score than a dozen-the charging horsemen were not nearly so well armed as they had at first seemed.

All had swords of one kind or another, and a few even bore them as if they understood them, but the uniformity ended there. A big man in the lead had a full panoply of threequarter armor and it looked to be decent-quality plate. The remainder might have been outfitted from a hundred years of battlefield pickings. Their helms were of every description. One man wore nought save a dented breastplate, another had squeezed into a shirt of rusty scalemail. Two or three went in loricated jerkins, one in a cuirass of boiled leather, another in an old, threadbare brigandine. Bili thought that the ruffianly crew looked the part of the brigands they probably were.

Mahvros's powerful body responded to Bill's urgings and big steelshod hooves struck sparks from the pebbly roadbed. The black stallion splashed through the little rill, and then they were descending the road's first curve. Suddenly, twenty yards ahead, riders emerged from among the treetrunks to block the way. A shaft of moonlight silvered their bared blades.

At a walk or a trot, Geros Lahvoheetos's big mule was a good mount, but the animal's ragged gallop was a jarring, toothloosening ordeal. Despite this, Geros was spur-raking the roan barrel and screaming for greater speed.

The bridge now lay behind them and the road traversed was the well kept one, flanked by Komees Hari's fences. From back there, came the sudden commencement of a blacksmith symphony of steel on steel, the metallic clangs punctuated by the shouts and shrieks of man and horse. Geros's own screams then froze in his throat and he could only sob out his terror, while great tears furrowed his dusty cheeks.

His employer had bidden him ride hard for Horse Hall. He was to inform Komees Djeen that the party was under attack from at least half a score of armored and mounted bravos, and they were withdrawing to make their stand at the bridge. He was to add that one mercenary was slain; and that Thoheek's son Bili had lingered at the original ambush site to dispatch a wounded horse and was now missing.

Had his overwhelming fear not occupied every nook and cranny of his mind, Geros would have been thanking every god he had never heard of that he had been chosen messenger and sent away from the scene of battle. For though he had quickly come to love his gentle, patient, softspoken young employer, he knew himself sufficiently to realize that in an actual fight, he would probably have deserted him.

He would have consoled himself, of course, by rationalizing that he had not been retained on account of his weapons skill, of which he had none, but simply as a bodyservant and occasional musician, at both of which trades he excelled. But he could have continued neither with an arm lopped off or a foot of sharp steel rammed into his body. And this last thought would have brought up his gorge and he would have silently damned himself for a despicable craven. He had always secretly feared that he was a coward, never having been in a position to prove himself one way or another.

He heard approaching hoofbeats ahead, and as he crested the second hillock from the hall, he saw the source a galloping horse and three armed men, one astride and the other two grasping the stirrup leathers and running alongside. Before he could think of what to say or do, even rein his mule, the mounted man shouted.

"It's the renegade Vahrohneeskos's lackey. Kill him!"

Geros still bore the spear, despite his terror and flight, principally because he knew it to be the property of a nobleman and was afraid of the consequences of losing it. But he was completely ignorant of how such a weapon was employed. So, gripping the thick ash shaft near the ferrule, he let go his reins and aimed a twohanded swing at the oncoming horseman, seeking but to knock the man out of his saddle, that he might have a clear road to the safety of Horse Hall.

The mule careered downslope, at a flatout run. And the other rider spurred forward, leaving the two footmen behind. This man had been clandestinely drilling for over a year and had absorbed enough to extend his ancient saber at arm's length, seeking to spit Geros on the point. But the spear was more than twice as long as his curved saber and, thanks to the moonlight and the flitting shadows and swirling dust, he never saw that spear until it was far too late.

Poor, frightened Geros had completely forgotten that his long cudgel mounted a wide, leafshaped steel head. His wild swing missed his adversary-he had swung too soon-but that deadly point chanced to be in just the proper place at just the proper time for the swordsman to spit himself upon it. It would be fair to say that neither was the more surprised!

The combined impetus of mule and horse lifted the pierced man shrieking from his saddle, and his horse ran from under him, dropping him to the roadway. The shock of the unexpected impalement almost drove Geros over his own cantle; only his fear-locked thighs retained him his seat. Unable to release his grip on the spearshaft, he thought his shoulder must be disjointed, in the splitsecond before the bloodslimed blade came free of its lodging with a sucking sound.

The two footmen just stood in the road, their weapons dangling beside them, shocked beyond words at what they had witnessed. Secret drills in benighted meadows and brave words spoken in the dark were one thing, but coughing up your lifeblood on a moonlit roadway was something entirely different! They still had not ordered their benumbed brains sufficiently to run, when Geros was on them.

The big mule's shoulder struck the foremost, sprawling him backward, directly in the animal's path. The last thing he ever saw was the immense, looming hoof that shattered his face and crushed his skull.

The second man stood on Geros's right. Clumsily, he brought up his old sword, wishing less to fight than simply to fend off that horrible spear, already wetly gleaming with his friend's blood. Again swinging twohanded, Geros's spearshaft again missed its target ... but the tip of the knife-edged blade connected. The footman dropped his sword and clutched at his slashed throat, his last screams bubbling out his severed windpipe.

Reins flying free, its rider in a state of shock, the mule pounded into the brightlit courtyard and would probably have kept going until it struck a wall, had not one of Komees Djeen's troopers run and leaped to grasp the curbchain and halt the beast. Geros let go the spear and slid from the mule's back, but had to clutch tightly at the saddle when his legs refused to support him.

Komees Djeen crossed from the hall at a limping run. He was encased in a suit of plate, a golden cat crouched atop his helm and another enameled on the wide baldric supporting his heavy broadsword. His gauntleted hand crushingly gripped Geros's trembling shoulder.

"What is it, man? What has happened? Dammit, speak!"

But the trooper who had stopped the mule spoke first. "He's been fighting, My Lord Count. Look at this spear, there's fresh blood half down the shaft."

"Brandy!" The old man snapped over his shoulder, to no one in particular. Then turning back to Geros, his tone became solicitous. "Had to fight your way through them, did you, comrade? I must confess I misjudged you earlier, thought you a man of no mettle. Glad to see I was wrong.

"It requires a high degree of courage to do what you did, lad-ride off alone, though hostile forces, to fetch succor for your comrades. I always feel privileged to meet men of your rare kind. The Confederation never has enough of you."

Had Geros been able to let go his hold on the saddle, he would have pinched himself. He was certain that he must be dreaming. Such accolade for Geros-the-coward, from so great and famous a noble warrior, must surely be a dream. He opened his mouth, tried hard to speak, but his still-constricted and brickdry throat emitted only a croak.

"No, no, comrade," Komees Djeen gently patted his shoulder. "Don't try to talk 'til you've had of your tipple."

As soon as he had recovered from the coughing fit engendered by the strong, hastily gulped brandy, Geros gasped out his message, and the courtyard began to buzz like an overturned beehive. Already saddled horses were led out and the girths tightened, bows strung, weapons hefted, and last-minute adjustments made to belts, stirrups, and armor.

Shortly, Komees Djeen's small command galloped out of the gate. Intensive search had failed to find any of Komees Hari's servants, so there were but nineteen riders in the column-the four noblemen, the orderlies of Djeen and Vaskos, Drehkos's bodyservant, and his big, mountain-barbarian bodyguard, ten scaleshirted Freefighters ... and Geros.

"We'll surely need every fighter, comrade," Komees Djeen had declared, while two troopers buckled Geros's cuirass, draped a baldric over his shoulder, and handed him a fresh spear. "Especially a gutsy man like you. Were you a soldier, I'd see you wear a Cat for this night's work!"