Confederation-born, of mixed Ehleen and Horseclans paternity, his dam a daughter of the Duke of Zunburk, he was less than a year come down from the court and many battlefields of the Iron King, speaking the nasal Harzburker dialect better thaan he spoke Ehleeneehkos. Even his Confederation-Mehrikan was tinged with a northern accent which, to the Freefighters, gave his orders a homey sound. Reared amongst northern nobles, he behaved like them, which fact often enraged his Kindred and Ehleen subordinates, but further endeared him to the northern mercenaries, who willingly rendered him the honors due a burk-lord and referred to him fondly as "Duke Bili the Axe."

Depending on Whitetip, the long-fanged prairie cat, ranging out ahead of the column, to sniff out any ambuscades and farspeak to him of them, as well as on his own rare ability to foresense danger, Bili rode easily, slouched against the high cantle of his warkak. Long inured to the harsher clime of the north, he and most of the Freefighters had suffered less from the rigors of the winter-gripped mountains than had many of the Kindred nobility. And this was one reason he had so few of the latter with him now. Another reason was their inborn penchant for arguing the most minor details of orders under any and all conditions.

It had come as a distinct shock to Bili-and to his brothers too, who, like him, had been reared in various of the Middle Kingdom principalities-that even untitled, minor nobility of the Confederation felt not only free but almost constrained to argue the decisions and commands of major nobles, right up to their own, hereditary lieges. A northern knight or baronet or even the lord of a small burk who took it into his head to do such would part company with that head, and right speedily, too.

And their constant complaints about the rigors and discomforts of camp and march and campaign were not the mumbled grousing expected of all soldiers, but formal protestations, delivered personally and at maddening length. It had been bad enough during the siege of Vawnpolis, when the most unstinting of the bellyachers could be sent packing, sent on one pretext or another back to their desmesnes, ere their big, active mouths undermined both morale and discipline. But on this present campaign, only large, well-armed bodies could be sent back through the ravaged and highly vengeful tribal lands, so Bili had found himself stuck with a large minority of long-overindulged men who considered themselves his peers and who often behaved as if it was his fault that it was too cold or too wet for their pampered tastes.

Bili had long been proud of his iron control over his hot temper, but these Kindred nobles had driven him to distraction, and it had frequently been all he could do to keep from blooding his axe or sword on their miserable necks. Therefore, he had considered it the bountiful blessing of Sun and Wind to rid himself of all the winners ere setting forth on this mission to the west. And their howls of protest when he had commandeered their well-schooled warhorses and vastly superior armor for certain of his Freefighters had been sweet to his ears.

Those few Kindred who now rode west with him were either atypical younger men who had quickly and easily adapted to northern modes or older nobles who had, in their salad days, soldiered in the Middle Kingdoms as free lances. Few were his actual liegemen-Morguhn or Daiviz Kindred-but he had come to love them like brothers. One such, Komees Taros Duhnbahr of Baikuh, rode knee to knee with him.

Born a third son, Taros had never expected to succeed to his father's title and lands, but, two days after his twenty-second birthday, the former komees and both the elder brothers had been slain in that last attack against the walls of Vawnpolis. Their smoke was not half a day with Wind, before Thoheeks Baikuh had confirmed Taros to possession of his patrimony. Even yet, he sometimes seemed startled when addressed as komees or count.

"Lord Bili," he said respectfully, "I can truly understand why you sent back those querulous old women and precious young Ehleenee, but you know there's going to be merry hell to pay if any of their horses are lost or any of their plate either. Aren't you worried about starting blood-feuds?"

"With such as them?" Bili's white teeth sparkled in a brief, humorless grin. "Hardly. Had they any gumption, they'd have given me the same answer Veetos of Lahmahnt did, that where his horse and armor went, so too went his sword and his body. There's hope for a man that stubborn, no matter how delicate his manner or quarrelsome his nature."

At the midpoint of Sacred Sun's journey, they stopped long enough to chew Ahrmehnee-cured meat while the horses grazed on scant grasses and weeds, frost-sere and partially snow-covered. Then it was into the saddle and face the west again, following whatever tribe or game trails were available. Then the head of the column turned the flank of a wooded slope to see the track ahead blocked by a knot of armored and mounted warriors.

Signaling for a halt, Bill mindspoke Mahvros, his stallion, to a trot. Trailed by Komees Taros and the trooper who bore the Red Eagle of Morguhn, he advanced to exchange handclasps and greetings with the waiting nobles and officers.

Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn looked at least twenty years younger than he had on the day almost a year ago, when he had received Bill in his hall and the young thoheeks told him so.

Hari smiled broadly. "I'd forgotten just how much fun a protracted raid on hostile territory can be, Bili. And you won't believe how much loot we're sending south, either, not until you see the size of your tenth of it, you won't Who'd have thought these wretched Ahrmehnee could've accumulated such wealth, up here away from everything?"

"Probably," mused Bib' aloud, "they got most of it the same way they lost it, raiding the nearer duchies and the other mountain tribes. Have your losses been heavy?"

Hari shrugged. 'Ten killed or dead of wounds, maybe thrice that hurt in one way or another, none so bad they couldn't sit a horse. But I fear that some of our columns may not have been so fortunate, Bili. A warhorse limped into camp, two nights back. The creature's mindspeak is minimal, so I wasn't able to get much information from him, but I'd have recognized him anyhow. It's Pawl Raikuh's gelding, Bili, and the saddle was caked with dried blood."

"Well," the thoheeks sighed, "Pawl would be the first to say that death is nothing more than the rest at the end of the long march. It's a rare soldier who finds it in a bed, Hari. Let's just hope he died in battle, hope the damned Ahrmehnee didn't take him alive."

Hari's fingers sketched the Sun-sign. "Double aye to that! Not even on my ... on the commander of Vawnpolis's rebels would I wish such a cruel fate."

Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn had thought she would never spend so horrible a night as that which followed the day of her brutal violation. She had lain upon the greasy dirt floor, her stained cloak wrapped tightly about her bruised and aching young body, while the creatures of the mountain night snapped and snarled over the freezing carcasses of the butchered herd of goats and the corpses of her three little brothers. Carefully, she had husbanded the wood from the meager furnishings so senselessly smashed by the raiders who had raped her, fearful of letting the fire die completely but even more fearful of unlacing or raising the heavy hides which closed the open side of the herd-men's shelter and which were now all that separated her and Zahndrah, the old milkgoat, from the scavengers.

But after the endless dark had come the light of the new day. She had heard no more animal sounds for some time, so when Zahndrah commenced to paw and nibble at the hides, she found the courage to flex her stiffened limbs and crawl over. Recalling all too well the agonizing cramps which had racked her lower abdomen when, yesterday afternoon, she had tried to stand and walk, she followed the goat out on hands and knees.

But once in the sunlight, her pride took over. Since she had been gone from the village nearly twenty-four hours, it was certain that someone would soon come seeking her, especially with raiders about. It would not do for villagers to see her-naked but for her cloak and fur-lined boots- whimpering on her knees, no matter what injuries and degradations she had suffered. After all, she was eldest born to their hetman.

Gritting her teeth against the expected cramping and grasping the low lintel timber for added support, she pulled herself to her feet However, after a brief stab or two, the internal pain subsided to but a gnawing discomfort, unpleasant but bearable. That was when she became fully aware of her other pains. Worst was the tender flesh at the base of her belly, smarting as if red-hot irons had been pressed against it, but the most serious of her injuries appeared to be to her hands. The raider who had knelt on her palms, while his comrades had had their vicious sport of her body, had rested the full weight of his body as well as that of his armor. Now, after a night of stiffening she had but minimal use of her fingers, and the pain which shot up her arms when she tried to close the hands enough to really grip the lintel brought beads of sweat to her forehead and a low moan bubbling from her lips.

So, before trudging back toward the village, she made her painful way up the near slope of the intervening mountain. Clad only in cloak and boots as she was, she shivered almost constantly as the chill increased, and her teeth chattered as she wove her way between clumps of evergreens. But at last, she was before the dark opening of the cave of the Woman of Wisdom, Zehpoor.

So long as Ahrmehnee had dwelt in the nearby valley this cave had been the abode of a Woman of Wisdom. Many said that this same one had been here since the time of the Earth-Gods; others, that she was but the latest in a succession of such healer-priestesses. Pehroosz could not say. She had seen Zehpoor but once-at the time when she and three other pubescent girls had been brought up to be admitted to the Women's Mysteries-and her only memory was of an ancient, frail and withered face mouthing incomprehensible words.

Shivering now as much from awe as from cold, Pehroosz haltingly entered the outer chamber, knelt reverently before the altar of the Lady, then leaned forward to press her lips against the Skystone.

"What would you, Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn?" The words seemed to come from above, from below, from all about the small, stone room.

Pehroosz scarcely recognized her own voice, issuing from the throat screamed raw yesterday and the lips swollen from buffets and brutal, forced kisses.

"Oh, please, Mother Zehpoor, I have been . . . hurt. I ... I need healing before I can go back home, back to the village."

After a moment, a slender column of smoke arose from a crack in the top of the small altar and that disembodied voice commanded, "Breathe you of the smoke, child. Breathe it deep, Pehroosz."

Obediently, the girl did so. All at once, the icy stone beneath her knee became as warm as sun-baked rocks, the very air about her, balmy as summer. Gone was all pain, all discomfort, all remembered horror. Both body and mind seemed to be sinking slowly into soft, safe warmth. She closed her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

Chapter VII

Afterward, she could only recall a long period of waking slumber, wherein a formless blob of face flitted in to briefly float before her while hands pressed a bowl rim to her mouth and a half-heard voice urged her to drink substances ranging from nauseous and bitter to sweet and soothing. But, mostly, she simply floated, weightless, feeling nothing save comforting warmth.

At last, she opened her eyes unbidden. Above her, a ceiling of polished hardwood was almost obscured under untold layers of soot; beneath her body, she felt the warm softness of a feather mattress and, dimly, the feel of the rope supports. It was purest luxury. In the village, only her father's greatbed boasted so fine and thick a mattress.

"So," chuckled a remembered voice from her right, "my little chicken awakes at last."

The turning of her head brought to her eyes the sight of Mother Zehpoor. The crone sat in a carven chair before a heavy table, on which was a huge stone mortar, surrounded by bunches and bundles of dried herbs and roots. Gently dropping the pestle back into the mortar, she arose from her place and padded lightly over to plump herself down on the edge of the bed.

Seeing her at close range, Pehroosz was shocked. The Mother Zehpoor of the rites-less than sixty moons agone-had been ancient and withered, while this woman, though very slender, looked to be little older than Pehroosz's mother.

The woman's lip and eye corners crinkled. "Oh, but I am that same Mother Zehpoor, child. You and the others, you saw what you saw because I willed that you see it. My reasons for deceiving your sight rest between me and Her I serve.

"But come, let us see your hands, Pehroosz." Tenderly, she commenced to unwrap the linen bandages. "The Lady grant they are at last healed, for we must soon begin our journey, if we are to fulfill Her will." She sighed. "It is almost a moon's ride to the place wherein fates will be cast."

"Journey?" Pehroosz interjected, wide-eyed. "Forgive me, Mother Zehpoor, but I don't think my own mother would . . . how long have I been here? Surely, I have been missed by now. Have none come to seek me?

The woman's face became grave and sympathy shone from her sloe-black eyes. "Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn, you are descended of brave warriors and wise chiefs; you are descended, moreover, of a proud and most ancient race. Much have the Ahrmehnee suffered, child, yet have their pride and their valor ever sustained them. As you well know, this is not our original stahn. The Horse-devils and the Enleenee now squat upon the fertile lands which once were ours. But-and this you may not know, Pehroosz- there were still other stahns from which we were driven, long, long ago, in the time of the Earth-Gods. Many moons' sail away, they lie, far across the Great Sea.

"Mighty were those stahns, large and powerful and very rich. But, corrupted by wealth, those ancient Ahrmehnee turned from adoration of the Lady to worship of other gods, false gods. From that moment did fortune depart from our race, Pehroosz. Race after race did harry and hound our ancestors, driving us from our lands and cities and villages, stealing our kine and our goods and our maidens. But, even in those dark times, did our inborn courage and pride bear us up.

"Your blood is as their blood, Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn. You have suffered most cruelly. Now must I relate that which will cause you still more anguish, yet must you bear your woes as stoically as did your suffering ancestors, down through the ages."

Drawing a deep breath, she stared levelly into the girl's wide eyes. "Pehroosz, those men, the ones who attacked you, who butchered the goats and slew your brothers, were but part of a far larger raiding party. Only an hour after you were ravished, child, more than five hundred men assaulted the village. Those who escaped their cruelty fled northward. Those who did not lie dead among the ashes and rumbled stones.

"You may be as proud of your mother's memory as you are of young Toorkohm's. She directed what pitiful defense could be made and fought as bravely as any warrior could've until she was cut down."

Abruptly, Pehroosz sat up and made to lower her feet to the floor. "Please, Mother Zehpoor. Please, we must bury my mother's body."

Firmly, the woman pushed her back down on the bed. "Pehroosz, you must not go to the place that was the village. It has been a long, hard winter, child, and game has been scarce. In the four days since the village was burned, the bears and the wolves, the treecats and smaller animals will have left very little of those folk slain there."

"But . . . but it cannot have been so long," protested Pehroosz. "I came to you only this morning."

The woman shook her head of tightly coiled, iron-gray hair. "Not so, child. In less than an hour, the sun will rise on the fourth morning you have been with me. I thought it best that you remain asleep while your body's hurts healed, that your mind not be forced to dwell upon the horrors you endured. But now you are once more hale and we must leave."

"But why, Mother Zehpoor? Why must we leave? This is my home and soon my father will return and rebuild the village. And . . . and Hahkeeg, too-we are to be married soon."

"Child," said the woman, patiently, "we must leave because it is the Lady's will. Whilst you slept, I did scry the future. To remain here is death. Far from here, far to the west, lies your fortune, Pehroosz-a fabulous dowry of long-hidden wealth, a strong and brave and gentle husband of another race who will give you a life of ease and comfort and will receive of you fine sons to bring fresh honors to his house and tribe. But we must leave soon and travel cautiously, for the mountains swarm with bands of low-lander raiders."

The woman arose and smoothed down her skirt. "So, come you, child. You must eat now. I have fawn seethed in goat's milk and oatcakes and honey wine. Then you must help me prepare for our journey. It is commanded that I go, too, for, somehow, my future is tied up to yours."

Quite early in his westward dash, Bili found it necessary to place his command on meager field rations, since they were no longer assured of the superfluity of supplies which raiding brought. There was some grumbling, but most recognized the need to reserve the grain for the horses, who could not maintain their best form on the scant subsistence of the half-feral mountain ponies; not so, some of the young thoheeks's more vocal, noble critics, however.

As he had progressed, as his path had crossed those of the fanned-out columns of raiders, Bili had rendezvoused with almost all of his Morguhn nobles and the survivors of the original Morguhn troop of Freefighters who had marched into Vawn under his banner. The majority, he had been glad to see again-his brothers, Djaik and Gilbuht, Komees Hari, Freefighter lieutenants Krahndahl and Hohguhn-others he would have been as happy to not see. Or hear.

They were, by now, within a few days' ride of their objective, the area wherein the High Lord had thought they should intercept the Witchmen and the booty train. Therefore, Bili had assembled most of the officers and nobles, that the High Lord's instructions be detailed to all. Along the twisting length of a narrow, steep-sided vale, the Freefighters were laying watchfires, setting up picket lines and caring for their horses; after nearly a week of sunrise-to-sunset forced marches, they were reveling in the unaccustomed luxury of having natural light by which to set up camp.

A cursory glance at his subordinates showed all the Morguhn nobles present with the sole exception of Vahrohneeskos Ahndros. Then, from the summit of the small mound on which he stood, Bili recognized the baronet's big gray gelding coming rapidly down the length of the vale. For all that the beast was already at full gallop, its rider could be seen to spur-rake the sweaty barrel, while lashing furiously with his crop.

Only good fortune prevented Ahndros' steed from tramping the soldiers in his path. Even as Bili watched, grim-faced, the rocketing destrier's shoulder took a Free-fighter in the back, sending him spinning to the rocky ground with a mighty clashing of scale armor.

At the periphery of the gathering, the gelding was savagely reined to a shuddering halt. Stiff-legged, the vahrohneeskos stalked through the throng, directly toward the thoheeks. His saturnine countenance bespoke ill-concealed rage, his dark eyes smoldered, his right hand continually clenched and unclenched and the knuckles of his left hand gleamed white on his swordhilt. Shouldering through the front rank, he came to a halt and stood, spraddle-legged, before his suzerain.

Although he had not been with the column twenty-four hours, Ahndros had already found occasion to be publicly insubordinate, first to Komees Hari, then to Bili. Even a half-blind dolt could have seen another such outburst here aborning, and Bili was more perceptive than most. His eyes like blue ice and his voice as cold, he broke off his conversation with a Freefighter captain to ask: "You have yet another complaint, baronet?" ' In tones every bit as glacial, the newcomer replied, "My title is 'vahrohneeskos,' my lord thoheeks. I am not one your precious unwashed burk-lords! And I want to know why your damned barbarian baggage master refused to issue my cook a few pounds of grain to make flour for my bread. And what right did the lowborn swine have to jettison three packloads of my personal baggage and drive the ponies away from the march route? Who, just who do you think you are, you immature jackanapes? How much more of your supercilious contumely do you think I and the other Kindred gentlemen are going to tolerate? Only my love for your mother has restrained me ere this, but it's high time someone took you and your insufferable arrogance to task!"

Ahndros's face, blood-dark when he first began, had now become pallid with rage, and a patch of froth quivered at his lips' corners, while a tic twitched his cheek and eye.

Unmoving, grim-faced Bili heard out the enraged man. Those about the two perceptibly moved back, sensing an imminent combat. At Ahndros's last word, Bili broke his silence, sneering.

"Don't hide behind your supposed regard for one of my mothers, little man. If anyone's arrogance has made him insufferable since first he joined the siege forces, it is you, Ahndros Theftehros of-Sun and Wind help us all- Morguhn. I have never fully understood why you joined us at all, since you found my judgment, the High Lord's judgment, AJdora's judgment, all wanting. I have never given you an order that you didn't take exception to some part of, when you didn't disregard it altogether.

"So little actual combat did you take part in, at Vawn-polis, that I'd have had adequate reason to question your courage-as did certain of your peers-did I not know better. You fought with and for me against heavy odds last year, took grievous wounds in my service, and I am grateful. Because of that gratitude, I have been more than lenient, more than tolerant of your flagrant improprieties. But, no more, sirrah!

"I am not yours to command, rather you are mine. I am your hereditary lord, Ehleen. Moreover, I am in command of this column. We are on campaign in the midst of hostile country and I cannot-dare not-tolerate anything, man, cat, horse or object, that impedes our progress or endangers us or sows dissension amongst us. Therefore, I'll give you three choices: you can take the five servants you saw fit to bring, along with a small escort, and make your way back to your former posting, then lead them back to Vawnpolis; you can recognize your proper place and station and stay in it, physically and verbally; you can continue to comport yourself as previously and I'll have you executed as the troublemaker you are.

"Make your choice, Ahndros Theftehros. Now!"

Ahndros's full lips curled his scorn. "Even such a thing as you would not dare to slay me without a legal hearing before my peers of Morguhn. The High Lord would have your hairless head for such highhandedness, and you know it. Command your stinking barbarians, if you wish and can-you should be able to do that, anyway, since you're a savage, unlettered burk-lord in all save name, yourself!-but we noblemen, Kindred and Ehleenee, are your puppets only so long as we allow you to pull our strings. I, for one, have no intention of slavishly following your stupid whims, of allowing you to further humiliate me and deny me my lawful rights, nor will I allow you to degrade me by chasing me out of camp.

"So, since I flatly refuse two of your magnanimous offers and since we both know that you dare not carry out the third and, since you seem averse to meeting me honorably, as a gentleman should . . ." He allowed his voice to trail away, smiling lazily. Ahndros was easily the second-best swordsman in either Morguhn or Vawn-only Djaik Morguhn possessed superior talent and skill with broadsword or saber-so he was absolutely sure of his ground. Either Bili-hated Bili-would rise to the bait and become a corpse or he would not and lose the respect of all and the command of the column, which latter Ahndros himself craved.

While an officer in the Confederation Army, Ahndros had been lover to Aldora and an honored favorite of the High Lord. Even after he had succeeded to his father's title and lands and resigned his commission, he had been a person whom the High Lord contacted frequently, and he had been the only soul in all of Morguhn who had known that Milo would visit the duchy in the guise of a traveling bard. Consequently, it had come as an especially bitter pill to find, upon his recovery from wounds and joining of the army before Vawnpolis, that Thoheeks Bili had replaced him in both capacities.

Early on, he had found his relative lack of status unbearable and had tried to rewin his former place with both High Lord and High Lady. He had failed miserably. To Aldora, unashamedly in love with Bili, Ahndros was just one more in the scores of former bedmates she had had over the century and a half she had lived. Milo, for his part, had come to admire, respect and love Bili in his own way; Bili's astounding mental abilities-not yet fully explored or completely understood-his natural leadership and aptitude for inspiring his followers, his quick and accurate assessments of situations and problems, his personal valor and cleanly habits and blunt candor, all had impressed the High Lord.

Deep within himself, Ahndros had been able to understand, for he too had had an instant liking for the stark young warrior who had ridden down from the north to assume his patrimonial duties. Moreover, there was the link of shared combat and dangers, for he and Bili and the High Lord had held a bridge for almost an hour against a horde of mounted rebels. In that springtime skirmish had he taken the wounds which for so long had invalided him. Lastly, he lusted after one of Bili's mothers, the late Thoheeks Hwahruhn's eldest widow.

Even so, his sickening envy for the stations once his and now held by Bili soon blossomed into hate. Assiduous nitpicking produced no dearth of fuel for stoking the fires of that hate. Also, he found a willing fire tender in the person of old Komees Djeen Morguhn, whose earlier, overbearing efforts to browbeat Bili had ultimately resulted in his own public humiliation, an act for which he could never forgive his young overlord. Throughout the siege, these two had been able to cause Bili and Aldora-the High Lady having been left in charge of the besieging forces during the High Lord's lengthy absence-considerable annoyance and not a little real trouble.

Nonetheless, the habitual caution of the elderly komees had in some measure restrained Ahndros' less calculating nature from open and violent defiance. But Komees Djeen had been in command of the farthest-eastward squadron, and so was presently withdrawing with his force to the south. Ahndros was now completely on his incautious own.

Though Bili answered the barb as calmly as possible, it was from betwixt tightly clenched jaws, above which his eyes blazed blue fire. "When once more we are our own men, Lord Ahndros, without mission and orders and responsibilities for those we lead, you will find me more than happy to let Steel decide our differences. For the nonce, however, we are all under the High Lord's command to fulfill his behests, and, as I have before told you, we are far from the Confederation and in the midst of a hostile land. It was the High Lord's express wish that I captain this special enterprise, and I will not surrender that captaincy to you or anyone else without the Lord Milo's order.

"My farspeak summons to you instructed you to join this column at the specified rendezvous with a half-dozen troopers or officers and a bare minimum of equipment. Since we were to move far and fast, I said nothing about bodyservants, yet you appeared with five, plus a half-troop and a packtrain near as long as this entire squadron's. Tents and scents and oils and fine clothing have no place in the High Lord's plans, Lord Ahndros, nor in mine; this is why the baggagemaster dumped your three packloads, and I had intended to so inform you, though, for your pride's sake, I'd not have done so in public.

"The grain and dried beans are being retained to keep our warhorses in proper flesh, since, unlike the ponies, they cannot thrive on dry grass and treebark. Even the lowliest trooper seems to understand this, Lord Ahndros. Why can't you?"

During Dili's long reply, Ahndros' blood had cooled enough to allow his brain to register a few very important facts: Bili was not wearing a sword; it hung, along with his axe and helm, on the saddle of Mahvros, his black stallion, some paces to his rear. His sneer intensified and he hitched his swordbelt forward and closed his right hand about the wire-wound hilt.

"I don't think these noble gentlemen and northern officers are willing to follow the lead or orders of a craven, no matter his hereditary rank or who misplaced him in command." He raised his voice and glanced about him. "What say you, gentlemen? The thoheeks of Morguhn has done me injury, yet he refuses to meet me in honorable combat, and such refusal brands him craven. Do you now follow him or me?"

Lord Hari, his face fire-red, made to step forward, but Djaik Morguhn was there before him. "Lord Ahndros, I know not the customs and usages of the Confederation Army, but I had assumed it at least as civilized and well ordered a force as the armies of the Middle Kingdoms. In the Army of Eeree, now, a nobleman-no matter how high his birth-who saw fit to insult his commander, openly question that commander's judgment and tender a challenge which he knew the commander's oaths would not let him take up would be brought before a drumhead court-martial and, most probably, a Steel Cult Council, as well.

"The Order would likely bid him do combat with a weapons master in full plate and him with but a sword and his bare skin. If, by wildest chance, he survived that encounter-"

"Fagh!" Ahndros burst out. "Your barbarian practices would sicken a hog. Find someone else to yap at, puppy, I have business with grown men."

Grave-faced, the younger Morguhn turned to Bili. "Brother, I ask Sword-leave. Be it your will?"

At Bili's mindcall, Mahvros gave over his browsing and paced to Bili's side, his harness jingling. Feeling the supercharged emotional atmosphere, the sensitive horse mind-spoke with rising eagerness. "Do we fight soon, brother?"

"Not me, Mahvros, but possibly you with my brother, Djaik, astride you. Will you serve him as you would me?"

"My brother's brother is my brother," the horse answered simply.

Bili lifted his baldric from off the pommel, uncased the sword and dropped baldric and sheath to the ground. Turning back to Djaik and the assemblage, he raised the broadsword to his lips, kissing the blade just below the guard.

Djaik drew his own sword and did likewise, then he extended his hilt to Bili, accepting Bill's sword in return.

"No, not Sword-leave, my brother," stated Bili formally. "Rather, this. You are me, until my Steel runs lifeblood."

Stiffly, Djaik nodded. "I will serve your honor well, lord brother. Honor to Steel." Once more, the two men kissed their blades.

"What are you two yammering about?" shouted Ahndros, peevishly. "Is the craven thoheeks going to fight me or not?

Still gripping Djaik's bare blade, Bili stalked forward, saying, "Count Hari, I beg you and Sir Geros attend and advise Lord Ahndros, as I doubt me he knows aught of Sword Cult usages."

Once again confronting Ahndros, Bili grounded the point of his brother's sword, crossing his big, scarred hands upon its pommel-ball. "You were insistent on a duel, eh? Well, a duel you are to have, sirrah. Were I free to do so, I'd meet you myself, on horseback, with axes. But I'm not, as you well know.

"However, Lord Ahndros, you have challenged and my surrogate has taken up that challenge. You will meet my brother, Djaik Morguhn, as soon as he has fully armed. It will be a combat conducted by Sword Cult customs, in which Count Hari and Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn will presently instruct you.

"You have been most provocative, Lord Ahndros, but, even so, I would prefer reconciliation and comradeship to combat. Therefore, I offer you the opportunity to withdraw your challenge, apologize for your insults and rejoin us as a loyal and obedient Kinsman."

It was not working out as Ahndros had hoped. He did not really fear Djaik, though he respected the boy's unquestioned expertise, but he had no desire to fight him, nothing to gain in wounding or killing him, save the enmity of all of Clan Morguhn. He would have been happy to live with that enmity, could he only have hacked the life out of the thoheeks, but, once again, circumstances had conspired to cheat him of his rightful deserts. Utter frustration was compounded with his rage and the mixture suddenly bubbled over, completely out of control.

His sword sang clear of its scabbard, flashing blindingly in the westering sun. "Christ damn you, you heathen bastard] It's not your brother's blood I want, it's yours. You've got a sword. Use it!" And with that he stamped forward, his forehand slash aimed at Bill's helmless head.

Chapter VIII

Ahndros should have known better; he had, after all, seen Bili fight. For all his thick waist and hips almost as wide as his shoulders, the young thoheeks was in no manner clumsy or slow, else he would not have lived through over five years of almost continuous warfare. His quick reflexes had saved his life in more than one fierce encounter. They did again.

Experience told him that he could not get the long, heavy sword up quickly enough to effectively parry the attack. To duck would only make him more vulnerable, and to hop back off the small mound would be to give Ahndros the advantage of high ground. Dropping the sword, he threw himself forward, his meaty shoulder striking the center of Ahndros' breastplate, his left hand closing on his adversary's right wrist with bone-crushing force.

Ahndros crashed over backward, his cuirass striking sparks from the rocky ground. They rolled over and over, the gathered men scattering from their path. The fall had sent Ahndros' helm spinning, but Bili could not spare a fist to batter the exposed head or fingers to gouge the eyes or ram up the nostrils, for he needs must use both hands to protect himself from Ahndros' strength.

Cursing in all the languages or dialects he had ever heard, Komees Hari danced about as close to the combatants as their unpredictable writhings would permit, his blade bared, seeking a safe opening through which to thrust or slice some unarmored portion of Ahndros' anatomy.

As for Ahndros, he knew that to release his grip on his hilt was sure death, yet he also knew that he could not retain it much longer. Bili had actually bent the fine steel cuff of his right gauntlet and his relentless pressure was collapsing the high-grade plate more and more, slowly crushing the wrist beneath. Then, while their bodies gasped and thrashed and strained, Bili mindspoke him.

"Ahndee, I don't want to kill you or to see you killed on my account. My mother loves you and I once thought you my friend. What's made you so unreasonable in these last months? Simply that I felt constrained to bring Count Djeen to heel? Why, the High Lord himself averred that the old man had asked for just what be got, and many times over, too."

Ahndros answered telephathically. "You expect me to take your unadorned word on that, do you?"

"If my word isn't sufficient, Ahndee, than why not ask Lord Milo? You have farspeak, he told me, and Whitetip will be happy to assist you."

"I doubt the High Lord would receive my transmission, since I left Vawnpolis without his august leave, lord thoheeks. And, even if he did, I'm certain he'd lie to back anything you chose to say. It must have been quite a strain to keep up with the demands of both of them- swiving that slut, Aldora-the-Undying-Whore, then being poheestos to Milo."

For a moment, Bill's shock at the accusations sent his mind whirling, then he beamed back, albeit sadly. "You are surely mad, Ahndee, mad as Vahrohnos Myros, back in Vawnpolis, gibbering in his cell. I had been warned that there was madness in your house, that too much inbreeding had rendered your strain rotten. Drop your sword, man, stop fighting me, and I'll send you back in honor. Mayhap Master Ahlee can help you return to normalcy."

For a few heartbeats longer, Ahndros maintained the struggle, then he went suddenly limp and his sword clattered from his grasp.

Bili slowly regained his feet, then helped his late opponent to stand. But he missed the feral gleam in Ahndros' black eyes. As the thoheeks half-turned to speak to his brother, now standing fully armed at the forefront of the circle of watchers, the vahrohneeskos drew his heavy dirk and, screaming, lunged at the hated foe.

Komees Hari's powerful thrust entered the temple, spitting Ahndros's head like an apple on a stick. The black eyes bulged out of their sockets, then a torrent of blood gushed from eyes, ears, nostrils and mouth. The body stiffened, then collapsed bonelessly, the head pulling free of the swordblade with a sucking, popping sound.

During the next few days, Bili took each nobleman and officer aside, separately, and swore them to silence. He loved his mothers and meant to make sure that neither ever would know of how dishonorably Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn had died. To that end, he knew that the late Ahndros's servants would have to be permanently silenced, but to slay all five so close to the death of their master might cause comment amongst the Freefighters, so he simply dragooned them to his own service, where he and his striker could keep tabs on them.

Late the next morning, the vanguard came up to an old battleground, obviously the site of an Ahrmehnee victory, since most of the hacked corpses had been stripped, beheaded and sickeningly mutilated. Due to the almost total absence of artifacts, no one could say for certain just who the more than five score dead men had been; Bili and the others could only assume that they had found a part of Pawl Raikuh's still missing squadron.

In addition to the man-made disfigurements, annuals had been at the bodies, and at least a week of sundrenched days in the open had the dead flesh well on the way to putrefaction, despite the freezing nights. Nonetheless, Bili had troopers examine each cadaver in hopes of establishing his assumption. That was how the odd point was found.

The man who found it, under a reeking corpse, brought it to his captain, and the Freefighter officer immediately rode to the center of the clearing, where Bili and a knot of nobles sat then- horses amid the stench.

Captain Krawzmyuh had to almost shout to make himself heard above the angry cawings of the crows and ravens, the flapping of the wings of low-flying buzzards anxious to return to their grisly feasting.

"Duke Bili, Trooper Hwehlbehk found this underneath a body, he did. All the years I been a-soldierin", I ain't seen the like. She 'pears too big and long to be no dart point, but nobody's fool enough to forge barbs on the point of a stabbin' spear."

Bili accepted the piece of metal and scrutinized it. It was about as long as his hand, as the captain had said, too long and heavy to have tipped a hand dart. The steel seemed of poor quality and the forging was rough and sloppy, the hammer marks jaggedly positioned on the faces. Down each edge ran a row of curved barbs, and a couple of inches of sourwood shaft still remained in the band-socket, held by an iron pin. He decided that, whatever had been its use, it was a crude, savage weapon.

While the nobles passed it about amongst themselves, Bili thought aloud. "Barring evidence to the contrary, gentlemen, I think we are safe to assume that these poor bastards were of Captain Raikuh's squadron. But that missel point, if such it actually is, gives one to wonder if their nemesis was really the Ahrmehnee. I find myself doubting it for a number of reasons.

"First, though Ahrmehnee are known to take weapons and armor, horses and their equipage from slain foemen, as well as heads, I've yet to hear of any tribe stripping bodies of clothing and boots. Any nonmetallic item-one which cannot be purified by fire-which was worn touching the skin of a dead enemy is taboo to them, since they much fear the spirits of vengeful victims."

"Yet, my lord," mused Airuhn Mahkai of Duhnkin, "they do take heads ... ?"

"Which they keep in special, spell-locked houses. And their very real fear is one reason they take heads, Lord Airuhn." Bili had, at the first mention of this campaign, put his keen mind to the task of learning all he could of Ahrmehnee and their ways, so he now spoke with some authority. "Their shamans are of the mind that, so long as they are not unduly angered, maleficent spirits can be kept trapped within their skulls, which never leave the spell-house. But were a spirit to see an Ahrmehnee wearing clothing which once had been worn on that spirit's corporeal body, such would be its anger that it could overcome the spells and wreak terrible vengeance on those who took its life.

"But back to the point, gentlemen. We all are by now aware of the excellence of Ahrmehnee metalworking. They have a passionate love of fine artifacts and are masters at fabricating them. If the High Lord can bring them into the Confederation, give them steady and plentiful sources of raw materials, they'll soon be a very wealthy people, without doubt. Therefore, can any of you imagine an Ahrmehnee warrior willingly entering battle against well-armed men with so ill-wrought and clumsy a weapon? I cannot."

"But, Bili," commented Komees Hari, "who else could have mustered the force to slay over a hundred men?"

"Perhaps that tribe the High Lord mentioned, the Muhkohee. They must be powerful if the Ahrmehnee fear them."

"But, my lords," said Vahrohnos Rai Graiuhm of Makintahsh, absently massaging the thick neck of his destrier, "according to the maps, we're still two days' march within the borders of the Soormehlvuhn Tribe."

Bili nodded. "According to the maps, baron, but recall if you will what I said at our last meeting before inaugurating the raids. These maps, especially the western borders of them, are of questionable accuracy. Too, even if we are still within the lands of the Ahrmehnee, consider, the bulk of their warriors are long leagues to the northeast and we are not the only men who ever took it into their heads to raid the lands of folk we knew to be occupied with another foe.

"No, gentlemen, I think we had best assume that we could see action at any moment from here on. Accordingly, we'll tighten the march order of the column, bringing the trains from the rear to the center. The cats will still scout our projected route and our extended flanks. But now, between them and the column, a stronger vanguard will ride and, where terrain will permit, flank riders, as well.

"Hari, as you're an old hand at warring and, as you have at least minimal farspeak, you'll command the van. Stay in touch with the cats and with me. If any ambush occurs or if you run into a force unexpectedly, don't try playing the hero, just fight a sensible holding action until the main body gets up to you. Understand? Pick such men as you want. You've your choice of the squadron."

Bili stood up in his stirrups and looked about him, then, raising his voice, called, "Taros? Taros Duhnbahr? Where are you, man?"

When young Komees Taros came up, his tall sorrel stallion strutting, Bili told him, "You'll command the rearguards, Taros. I'll assign a cat to pace you on each flank, but keep your eyes peeled. None of us want to end up well-minced buzzard bait. Agreed?"

Earlier that morning, away to the. northeast, Aldora and her kahtahfrahktoee had trotted through the nahkhahrah's village, then eastward, headed for the gap and the Confederation castra beyond. Insisting upon' bringing Vahrohneeskos Drehkos with her, Aldora joined Milo in the council house, where she was introduced to the nahkhahrah and the assembled dehrehbehee. While beer was being poured for the formal healths of welcome, the woman mindspoke Milo.

"Do any of these Ahrmehnee mindspeak?"

Silently, he replied, "The nahkhahrah does, I'm sure. And the old man has other powers, as well, powers I can't begin to describe. I don't think even he understands them. Why?

"I've never understood something about myself, Milo, or about Mara and you and that bastard Demetrios, my dear, departed first husband. At what age do the bodies of the undying stop aging? Do you know?"

Milo shrugged, beaming, "It varies, dear. You look to be about twenty-five, while Mara thinks she stopped at twenty-two or -three. In forty years, Demetrios never looked more than late twentyish, while I've always appeared between thirty and forty. Again, why?"

She smiled cryptically. "Do you think . . . would it be possible for someone to age more than you did and be an Undying? Without him even knowing it?"

"What's all this leading up to, Aldora? Damn it, girl, you can be maddening sometimes. But, in answer, yes, I suppose it would be possible. No one, least of all me, knows enough about our kind to give a definitive answer. And as for not knowing, well, you didn't know and neither did Demetrios, not at first."

"Yes, but then I was a child, mentally, emotionally. As for Demetrios, he was . . . well, to be charitable, always somewhat dense. Could an intelligent man live fifty-odd years and not be aware of his differences?"

Mile's glance shot to Drehkos Daiviz, where he sat sipping Ahrmehnee honeybeer and conversing in broken trade-Mehrikan with a dehrehbeh.

"Precisely," Aldora mindspoke. Then she opened her mind to Milo.

From the very beginning to the bloody raid, it had seemed that Drehkos was actively seeking death in battle. He had insisted on commanding the van on marches, and there were few charges during which he was not at the very forefront. His former-rebel horsemen died in droves, but death seemed to flee from his grasp like a will-o'-the-wisp. Then had come that dreadful morning when a large force of screaming, bloodthirsty, vengeance-bent Ahrmehnee warriors had taken Aldora's encampment by surprise.

Suddenly, they had just been there. Rawboned men on foot or on shaggy little ponies, armed with spears and darts, axes and nail-studded clubs, metal-shod targes and wide, straight-bladed, double-edged shortswords. From along the entire southern periphery of the camp they came, wave after yelling, screeching wave of them, grasping brands from the smoldering embers of watchfires and whirling them into full, flaming life, before hurling them into tents or horse lines or among knots of sleep-drugged troopers.

In the rain of darts which followed, many a man died before he even knew the camp to be invaded. Aldora, herself, had been sleeping soundly, but Drehkos had obviously been wakeful, for it was he who organized and led the first resistance. Half-clothed, barefoot, with only a helm and his broadsword, he and a scratch force of camp guards and cats, few of the men fully armed and fewer still mounted, had hurled themselves against three thousand shrieking Ahrmehnee.

While trumpets pealed and drums rolled, while frantic orders were roared and terrified horses screamed even more loudly than the wounded, burning men in the blazing tents, Drehkos and his pitiful few did yeoman service against more than twenty times then- numbers. Very few of them lived to see the rise of Sacred Sun, an hour later, and most of those were dead of their many and terrible wounds ere Sun set.

But their sacrifice had saved the camp. Aldora's losses had "been heavy, all told, but more than a thousand Ahrmehnee had fallen within the encampment, slain or too badly wounded to flee, as had the bulk of the attackers when at last a sizable number of armed and ordered men confronted them.

There had been a few knots of resistance, though, a few suicide groups who had remained behind to slow pursuit. Bareback, Aldora and her bodyguards had set their horses toward one such, only to see Drehkos and a bare score of his survivors make first, bloody contact In the few seconds it took for the mounted contingent to reach the broil, half the score were down, lying still in death or gasping and kicking away their last moments of life. Of the rest, none was engaged against any less than three Ahrmehnee.

Even as Aldora had raised and whirled her steel, screaming the Clan Linszee warcry, she had seen Drehkos cut down an Ahrmehnee at the very moment another barbarian jammed a wolfspear into the nobleman's back with such force that the knife-sharp blade emerged, dripping, from his chest. Ere the man could free his spear, Aldora had split his skull with her heavy saber.

When the last Ahrmehnee in camp were cut down, the fires were extinguished and losses were being assessed, Aldora had detailed several of her guardsmen to fetch the vahrohneeskos" body and prepare it for cremation. By this time, she was informed of her debt to Drehkos and was truly regretful of the cool formality with which she had rebuffed his overtures of friendship, first at Vawnpolis, then during the raiding campaign.

Guard Lieutenant Trehdhwai shortly rode back to her looking as if he had been clubbed. "My . . . lady, please . . . my lady, you must come and see. He . . . Lord Drehkos is not dead. He-"

"Damnit, Hehrbuht, of course he's dead!" she had snapped peevishly. "Sun and Wind, man, I saw one of the swine jam a spear completely through him, back to front. That was over an hour ago. Even if he was not killed at that moment, he's long since bled to death."

But she had gone with the officer.

Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn was sitting, leaning weakly against a pile of stiffening corpses, his shirtfront stiff and tacky with drying gore. As she dismounted and started wonderingly toward him, one of the ring of guardsmen handed him a canteen from which he drank greedily.

Closing her memory, Aldora recommenced mindspeak. "Milo, I still have that spear. It's got a ten-inch blade, honed as sharp as a sword op both edges. Though they're fading fast, you can still see the two scars on Drehkos' body, one on his back, just under the right shoulderblade, and one on his chest, bisecting his right nipple.

"When I asked him what had happened, he seemed as stunned as any of us, but quite candidly said that he had fallen face downward and that the fall had pushed the blade back into his body. He just lay there for a while, expecting to die shortly. But he didn't. So, finally, because it was so agonizing, he managed to reach behind him and pull the spear the rest of the way out of him. By the time my guards got to him, he'd stopped bleeding, though the wounds still were gaping when I arrived."

"Who, besides you and them-and him, of course- know of this, Aldora?"

"No one, Milo. I've learned at least that much from you in two hundred years or so."

Milo nodded. "Keep it that way until we're down at the castra. Yes, dear, you're learning. It was most wise to keep him by you ... whatever it develops he is."

"Bili," Hari mindspoke back from the van, "Whitetip just told me he's found a horse wandering. There's a woman on it, an armored woman, wounded and unconscious. He wants to know if he should lead the horse here or wait for us to come up to him."

"Wait, Hari," Bili replied; then, on farspeak-level, "Cat-brother, do you think the female two-leg will fall off the horse if you try to bring her to us?"

"Her kak is like yours, Chief Bili," answered the prairiecat promptly. "She will not fall."

"Then lead the horse to our brother, Hari, catbrother. I will join you there." Then, to Hari, "Watch for Whitetip, he's bringing his find to you. I'll be there as quickly as Mahvros can bear me."

When the black stallion pounded up to the van, Hari and some of his men had removed the rider from her spent, lathered, shuddering horse and laid her out on a cloak. Another cloak had been folded and placed under her head, from which they had removed the dented helm. Using a piece of rag dipped in a waterbag, the old komees was gently sponging away the dirt and sweat and blood from her pasty-white face.

Bili had been a warrior for all his adult life and had seen his share of wounds, fatal and otherwise. He shook his head as he strode toward her, thinking that she would not live much longer and that it was a shame, for her features were regular and fair to look upon and her tresses, those not befouled with blood and dirt, were the ruddy black of his stallion's mane, though far finer in texture.

"Isn't she lovely, my lord?" said the husky, red-haired nobleman who strode beside the young thoheeks.

Bili didn't answer, for they had reached the wounded woman's side. "Has she said anything, Hari?"

Shaking his head, the old man stood up jerkily, his joints popping and creaking protest. "There's damned little life left in her. She can't even swallow. I tried to give her some brandy and it just ran out of her throat through that wound under her chin. Even if she were conscious, lad, I don't think she'd be able to speak. I tried a scan of her mind, too, but . . ." He shrugged his shoulders and turned up his palms.

Sinking down beside the dying woman, Bili raised one of her eyelids, then straightened and slapped her wan cheeks, hard. His thick, horny hand, hardened by axehaft and swordhilt, with the strength of his brawny arm behind it, cracked cruelly against the chill flesh, right cheek and left, back and palm, in a blur of motion.

Komees Hari was aghast. He stepped forward. "Now, damnit, Bili . . . Sun and Wind, man, what are you doing? You've no call to so abuse her!" he remonstrated, heatedly.

But Bili had stopped. The sooty-lashed eyelids had fluttered ever so faintly and the colorless lips trembled, then passed a croaking moan. After a moment, the lids opened to disclose bloodshot eyes, already beginning to glaze. Roughly, Bili grasped the small head, raised it, and stared hard into those sloe-black pupils.

Chapter IX

"Who are you girl?" he hurriedly mindspoke, sensing that life was almost sped. "Are you of the Moon Maidens? Who wounded you? How far ahead of this place are your sisters?"

Slowly, wonderingly, "But you're a lowlander. How can you speak Ahrmehnee? Please . . . my throat hurts . . . hurts so terribly. And I'm so cold. But, no, Moon Maidens must be strong, must serve Our Lady with stoicism."

Bluntly, "You're dying, sister, you'll not suffer much longer."

A sigh brought dark-pink froth bubbling from her lips and the hole in her throat. Her mind said, "Yes, dying. Soon be one with ... Lady."

"Who slew you, sister? Was it Muhkohee?"

"Muhkohee, yes, thousands . . . never heard of so many together. Must reach nahkhahrah, tell Ahrmehnee, raise all warriors in stahn. Brahbehrnuh says .. .**

And she was gone.

"Catbrother?" Bili silently called the crouching prai-riecat. "Take another and backtrack the horse, but cautiously, for those who slew this female still may watch or follow. I am easier to range than is our brother, Hari, so I will ride with him. Go now, and go quickly."

"Whitetip hears his brother-chief." In one fluid movement, the big, tawny-gray feline rose from his crouch and yawned hugely, his wide pink tongue lolling out between the three-inch-long upper fangs which were a characteristic feature of his species. Whirling, he started off at a distance-eating lope, his thick-thewed legs carrying his several hundred pounds easily over the rock-strewn, steep-graded track. The last Bili saw of him was his bobbing, white-tipped tail, sinking below the crest of the hill ahead.

Remounted, the van continued on, but with intervals of several yards between each four or six riders. They rode fully alert, the nobles-all save Bili and Hari-with beavers raised and visors lowered and locked. Bili rode with his huge double-bitted axe resting across his flaring pommel, the others with swords bared and targes strapped onto left arms. The archers-every fourth trooper-had all strung their short, powerful hornbows and nocked the steel-shod arrows, gripping two or three more shafts in the fingers of the bowhand, their sabers rattling loose in their cases.

A quarter mile behind, but closing, the main column came, led by Djaik Morguhn and equally ready for battle. Obedient to his older brother's mindspoken command, the deputy quickened the pace until he was within sight of the tail of the van, then slowed to maintain that interval.

One mile they traversed, two, and still the track climbed. Higher, and the footing became treacherous, loose stones atop crumbling rock, all interspersed with had been covered in the Time of the Gods. At one place, shards of that black pebbly substance with which all roads had been covered in the Time of the Gods. At one place, they rode between a double row of ancient columns, cracked and deeply weathered, with rust stains showing through the moss.

Soon after that eerie passage, the footing became firmer and the ascent began to ease, still climbing, but at a more gradual rate. Then the way became level and, around the shoulder of a precipitous hill, they spied a long, wide plateau, beyond which rose another range of dark-green mountains. At that point, Bili halted the column, wary of proceeding into the unknown without foreknowledge of what dangers might lurk there. The word was passed back by mindspeak for the men of the units to dismount but to remain in ranks within easy reach of their mounts.

While awaiting word from the scouting cats, Bili took young Ehrubuhn Duhnkin of Rahbuhtz-the red-haired youngster having ridden all the way from the western marches of the southernmost reaches of the Confederation to join in putting down the rebellion with the Thoheeks Duhnkin, his cousin much-removed-and a handful of Freefighter troopers to climb the flanking hill, from the crest of which they could scrutinize the ground ahead.

The menace struck Bili's perceptions full force, wave after irresistible wave, crashing upon him, nearly suffocating him. Yet there was nothing his keen eyes could discern, save the black specks that could only be buzzards, wheeling and dipping over some something about a mile distant, toward the center of the lifeless-looking expanse.

The length of the plateau, which was nowhere indicated on Bili's maps, was, he estimated, at least ten or twelve miles, and the width would probably average half that Not truly level, it seemed to slope to the southwest, its face furrowed and so deeply eroded that in places it resembled a giant's washboard. Of the stones and boulders which poked through the brush and laurel thickets and sere grass, those close enough for Bili to see well looked unnatural, looked to be weathered but once-worked stone rather than native rocks.

Down to his left, to the south of his present position, several columns of smoke climbed into the sky, though he could not spy either the fires or their makers due to the jagged ridges which lay between. Taking the chance that that was the place from which the dead woman had ridden, he let his open mind range out, questing, in search of the familiar mindpatterns of Whitetip.

"Brother-chief," came the cat's powerful mindspeak, "we just passed through a village. No two-legs live in it. All are dead and headless, even the cubs. It now is impossible to follow the track of the female's horse. Too many horses have passed this way."

Remembering the thick profusion of pony tracks at and around the site of the ambush and battle, Bili asked, "Cat-brother, big hooves or small? Heavy horses or light?"

After a moment the cat replied. "Both, brother-chief, but most of the small were printed over the large. Brother-chief, noise of fighting comes from the place beyond the next hill."

"Then go to the hilltop and tell me what you see," Bili commanded.

Glancing quickly back over the close ground he had earlier scanned, his eyes fixed upon the remembered formation of squarish, mossy rocks and huge-boled old trees which formed a natural fortification atop a small rise and looked about the right size to hold the packtrain.

"Hari," he mindcalled.

"Aye, Bili," came the answer.

"From what Whitetip has seen, we may be fighting soon, and I don't fancy mounting a charge-if we come to that-trailing our trains."

"We can't leave them here, Bili," Hari remonstrated.

This gap could be made a deathtrap, and that tight easily, too."

"Yes, you're right, old friend, it's even more evident from here. But about a hundred yards out on the plateau there's a ring of rocks and trees on top of a little hill. I think it's big enough to hold the trains, as well as a couple of troops to defend them. If we-"

"Brother-chief," beamed Whitetip. "Just below me is a big fight." Then he opened his mind so that Bili might see through his eyes.

There was no color, of course, to the battle Bili was witnessing, only varying shades of gray. Against the bare face of a low cliff were drawn up lines of figures who looked, from their armor and equipment, to be women like the one they had found down the trail. There were at least two hundred of them and, with them, were possibly half a thousand Ahrmehnee-looking warriors. The ground before the defensive line-for such it obviously was-lay thickly cobbled with bodies of men and carcasses of horses or ponies. Some of the bodies wore armor but most of them were shaggy and bearded and were covered by nothing more substantial than tattered rags or the skins of animals. Nor was the source of these bodies difficult to ascertain. Hundreds might lie dead or dying before the hard-pressed women and Ahrmehnee, but thousands-at least two thousand, possibly as many as three-milled about just out of dart range of the line. With Whitetip's keen nose, Bili was aware of the overpowering, nauseous stench of that mob.

He had never seen the like of this horde-hardly any wore helms and their greasy hair hung well below their shoulders, the matted beards of most covered their chests, few looked at all well fed and the majority seemed only bone and sinew and tight-stretched skin; skin long unwashed and scabrous.

Almost all seemed to be big, tall men, their skinny shanks depending amid the thick winter coats of their ill-tended ponies and their largish feet-generally bare, even in this bitter weather-almost dragging the ground. It was obvious that the well-armed men and women would have had little to fear in an open contest with the ruffianish throng had there not been so many of them, for their armament was mostly pitiful-here and there was a sword or an axe or a real lance, but the bulk were furnished only with crude-looking wickerwork targes and a few darts or a stabbing spear or a thick club.

They were formed into no recognizable formations, simply swirling in an aimless manner about several figures looking exactly like themselves, but mounted on full-size horses and fractionally better clad and armed. The cat's ears could register the incessant babble welling up from them. Bili thought that it sounded somewhat similar to some dialects of Mehrikan, but with a whining, twangy quality the like of which he had never before heard. He decided it was as unlovely a language as its speakers.

Then, cantering from out a small patch of bushy evergreens, came another party of the strange barbarians. At the distance, the Northorse at their van looked like a big gray rat leading a herd of mice. Bili was frankly amazed to see a Northorse here in this nameless wilderness, for they were rare enough in more settled lands. The outsize creatures were bred somewhere far to the north of any known lands. The breeders were most astute in maintaining then- monopoly of the fabulous and fabulously expensive animals, for they sold but few and then only geldings. In size, they ran from about nineteen hands to as much as twenty-two, and most people saw them only bearing the commodious panniers of traders or in pairs, drawing the huge wains of itinerant merchants.

Northorses were mostly too even-tempered and docile to make good warhorses; nonetheless, some of the wealthier personages of the Middle Kingdoms kept one in their stables. Bili could recall how the king of Harzburk, massive as he was, had looked like a mere toddler astride a destrier on the bay Northorse he used for parades. But not so the man-if man born of woman he truly was-who bestrode yonder Northorse.

Bili knew that he had never seen a man so huge, and he doubted if anyone else, even the High Lord, had. Standing on his gigantic feet, the barbarian would surely overtop nine feet! Some unidentifiable fur enwrapped his barrel-thick torso, concealing any armor the giant might be wearing, but head and face were covered by a shiny helm, beaver and visor. Over his left shoulder, its hilt lost in his gargantuan left hand, rested the wide, heavy-looking blade of a broadsword, and that blade was no less than six feet long. Across his back was slung a sheaf of what, to him, were probably hand darts, but Bili thought he had seen shorter boarspears.

The moment he came within sight of his motley throng, thousands of throats commenced a deep roar of "BUHBUHt BUHBUH! BUHBUH!"

The treetrunk-thick arm raised and nourished the immense sword, then pointed it at the few hundred armored figures at the base of the cliff. But Bili had seen enough. He withdrew from Whitetip's mind, first admonishing him, "Cat-brother, stay hidden where you are until we arrive. One or two cats, no matter how strong and valiant, could accomplish little against so many two-legs."

Bili left only a half-troop with the trams. If the battle should go against him, whatever remnants of the squadron were left could withdraw to the position and try either to hold the strongpoint or, if it seemed advisable, flee back the way they had come onto the plateau. Meanwhile, he wanted every sword he could get behind him when he attacked those thousands of barbarians.

When he had described what Whitetip's eyes had seen to Hari and certain of the others, the old nobleman had protested, "Bili, lad, I like a fight as much as any other, but . . . three thousand men, and us less than a thousand? And don't forget the High Lord's mission, his instructions."

"I'm not forgetting either, Hari," Bili replied grimly. "But aside from the fact that those folk, whoever they be, probably owe me bloodprice, for the butchery of Raikuh's squadron, we have no choice. Our path lies straight across this plateau, and I don't want the likes of them snuffing out our trail or barring our return. Do you?"

"Well, no, Bili, but-"

"I'd rather fight them now, on my terms, than later, on theirs and at a place of their choosing. Too, if the Ahrmehnee are now our allies, we can't just ride on and let them be massacred by a pack of human wolves, can we?"

Behind several lines of pickets, with outriders thrown well out to van and flanks, the squadron made a rapid advance despite the difficult, uneven terrain. Along with the background rumble of thudding hooves, armor clanked and leather creaked, equipment thunked and metal-fittings jangled, but Bili knew that the noises were unimportant, for none would hear them above the din of battle even if distance and the folds of ground failed to muffle them.

A quarter-hour brought the van to the outskirts of the village mentioned by the cat. And all was just as Whitetip had described it. It had been a small place, only a bare dozen small cabins of dry-stone construction, thick, windowless walls and thatched roofs. But those roofs had all been burnt off and smoke still curled up from within those walls, along with the stink of charring flesh. All among the ruined houses lay stripped, hacked, headless bodies of both sexes and of sizes varying from infant to adult

All the men of Bill's squadron were soldiers who had witnessed the horrors of war at first hand. Most of them were professionals and had devoted the larger portion of their lives to traveling from one bloody battle to the next. Even the southern nobles, those who had never been professionals, had lived through the incredible carnage of the siege of Vawnpolis or had ridden with Bui to put down the rebellion in Morguhn. But the evidences of unhallowed atrocity which lay athwart the path of the squadron had more than a few men frantically unlocking visors and fighting down beavers that the interiors of their helms might not be befouled with the spewed contents of their stomachs.

Just below the crest of the hill, Bili halted his command and, along with Hari and Taros, who would captain the right and left wings, bellied into the thicket which concealed Whitetip and the other cat.

The scene Bili now saw with his own eyes was very similar to that seen earlier through the eyes of the huge cat. There seemed to be slightly fewer of the shaggy men milling about their gigantic leader and a somewhat denser carpet of bodies between the horde and the cliff. But there were definitely fewer of the Ahrmehnee, far fewer. Their lines were considerably contracted in length and the depth of then- formation was much reduced. But they stood firm in the face of the death which must surely overtake most of them when next they were attacked. Men and women leaned, panting, on their well-used weapons In grim silence. Behind their lines lay their wounded or dead, and within cave mouths in the base of the cliffside Bill thought he could discern the heads of horses.

The top of the cliff was a continuation of the crest of the hill on which the men and cats lay, though the slope before them was much more gradual than it became as it curved around closer to the sheer precipice. A charge down this slope would take the attackers of the Ahrmehnee on the right flank and, were the line strung long enough, at the right rear, as well. Squinting in concentration, the young thoheeks considered every angle of the projected charge, weighed up every misfortune which might befall and racked his brain to settle upon an alternate plan of action to counter each. At length, he slid his armored body back down from the thicketed crest, signaling the two nobles to follow but mindspeaking the cats to remain, bidding them let him know when the barbarians seemed on the verge of a fresh assault.