Back at the squadron, he summoned the nobles and Freefighter officers and first outlined his strategy, then issued succinct commands.

All was in readiness before the undisciplined rabble, screaming and howling like wild beasts, started to cover the distance separating them from the battered little band opposing them. Bili and the others did not need Whitetip's mindspeak to tell them, for the thud-thudding of the thousands of pony hooves was clearly audible. A ripple of movement went all through the ranks of armored horsemen as visors were snapped shut and locked onto beavers. Then Bili kneed Mahvros forward and, behind him, his squadron advanced uphill, toward the crest.

On the floor of the wide defile, the shaggy men on their shaggy ponies roiled ahead, presenting a jagged front as faster ponies surged uncontrolled and slower ones lagged. Few darts flew between the two groups, for nearly all had been expended during the earlier engagements. All at once, though, furry figures commenced to drop their crude weapons while emitting shrieks of agony, to reel from off their mounts and be trampled under the heedless hooves of the riders who followed. The Ahrmehnee seemed as shocked as the barbarians at the drizzle of slender shafts, seemingly from the empty sky.

The brow of the cliff hid from the Ahnnehnee the staggered line of bowmasters, but the barbarians could see them, and increasing dozens of them felt the deadly bite of the arrows. But the advance neither slowed nor faltered. As the range decreased, more shafts homed into flesh and the dozens became scores. Wounded ponies screamed and reared or fell with their riders, to die messily as the thousands galloped over them.

At the crest, Bili halted for half a heartbeat, taking in the panorama spread below. The giant was now among the rearmost of the horde-Northorses being bred for strength and endurance rather than speed, even the comparatively tiny ponies were far faster at the gallop. The big gray lumbered along, the monster who bestrode him waving his impossibly long blade, his huge maw gaping, his roars lost in the general din.

"Sun and Wind!" swore Komees Han. "Yon's not a man, it's surely a monster!"

Taking a fresh grip on the steel haft of his massive axe, Bili mindspoke his stallion. "Now, brother-mine, now we fight."

With Bili and a knot of heavily armed nobles at the center, the squadron crested the hill and swept down the slope at a jarring gallop. Naturally, a few horses fell, but only a few. As they reached level ground, Han's wing, the left, extended to take aim at the rear of the unruly mob of pony riders. And, all the while, the bowmasters sustained their rain of death upon the forefront of the host.

Bili unconsciously tightened his leg muscles, firming his seat and crowding his buttocks against the cantle, while crouching over the thundering black's neck and extending his axe at the end of his strong right arm, the sharp spike at the business end of that shaft glinting evilly in the pale rays of sun.

And then they struck!

The big, heavy, war-trained horses sent ponies tumbling like ninepins, and the well-armed, steel-sheathed nobles and Freefighters wreaked fearful carnage among the unarmored and all but defenseless barbarians. The Ahnnehnee could only stand speechless with the wonder of this eleventh-hour deliverance from what must surely have been their last battle.

A red-bearded headhunter heeled his pony at Bili and jabbed furiously with his spear, but the soft iron point bent against the Pitzburk plate and Bill's axe severed the speararm, cleanly, at the shoulder. Screaming a shrill challenge, Mahvros reared above a pony and rider and came down upon them, steel-shod hooves flailing; gelatinous globs of brain spurted from the man's shattered skull and the pony collapsed under the weight, whereupon the killer stallion stove in its ribs.

It was a battle wherein living men were a-horse. Those not mounted-noble, Freefighter or barbarian-were speedily pounded into the blood-soaked ground. The shaggy men fell like ripe grain, most of their weapons almost useless when pitted against fine, modern plate and only slightly more effective when employed against the scalemail hauberks of the Freefighters. To counter blows and thrusts of broadsword and saber, axe and lance, the primitive wickerwork targes offered no more protection than did the hides and ragged homespun clothing.

But, though the shaggy men died in droves, it seemed to Bili that there were always more and yet more appearing before him, behind him, to each side of him, jabbing spears and beating on his plate with light axes, with crude blades and wooden clubs. He felt that he had been fighting, slaying, swinging his ever-heavier axe for centuries. But, abruptly, he was alone, with none before him or to either side. At a flicker of movement to his right, he twisted in his sweaty saddle, whirling up his gore-clotted axe.

But it was only a limping, riderless pony, hobbling as fast as he could go from that murderous engagement, eyes rolling wildly and nostrils dilated. Bili slowly lowered his axe and relaxed for a brief moment, slumped in his saddle, drawing long, gasping, shuddery breaths. Beneath his three-quarter armor and the padded, leather gambeson, he seemed to be only one long, dull ache, with here and there sharper pains which told of strained muscles, while his head throbbed its resentment of so many clanging blows on the protecting helm. Running his parched tongue over his lips, he could taste the sweat bathing his face as well as the salty blood trickling from his nose, but he seemed to be unwounded.

Several more stampeding ponies passed by while he sat and one or two troop horses, the last with a Freefighter reeling in the kak, rhythmically spurting bright blood from a left arm that ended just above the elbow. Exerting every ounce of willpower, Bili straightened his body and reined Mahvros about, bringing up his ton-heavy axe to where he could rest its shaft across his pommel.

Fifty yards distant, the battle still surged and raged. He had ridden completely through the widest, densest part of the howling horde, a testament to Mahvros' weight and bulk and ferocity as much as to his rider's fighting skills. So close that he could almost touch him stood a panting horse and a panting rider. There was no recognizing who might be within the scarred and dented plate, but Bili knew that mare and nudged Mahvros nearer.

When they sat knee to knee, he leaned close and shouted, "Geros! Sir Geros! Are you hurt, man?" His voice thundered within his closed helm. "Where in hell did you get my Eagle?"

But the other rider sat unmoving, unresponsive. His steel-plated shoulders rose and fell jerkily to his heavy, spasmodic breathing. One gauntleted fist gripped the hilt of his broadsword, its blade red-smeared from point to guard; the other held a hacked and splintery ashwood shaft, from which the tattered and faded Red Eagle of Morguhn banner rippled silkily in the freshening breeze. Sir Geros had borne this banner to glory and lasting fame while serving with Pawl Raikuh's Morguhn Troop of Freefighters, but since his elevation to the ranks of the nobility-after a singular act of valor done during the early days of the siege of Vawnpolis-a common trooper had been chosen standardbearer, the new knight taking his well-earned place among the heavily armed nobles.

Bili tried mindspeak. "Did you piss your breeks, as usual, Sir Geros?"

Contrition boiled up from the knight's soul and beamed out with the reply. "I always do, my lord, always befoul myself in battle."

Bili chuckled good-naturedly and his mirth was silently transmitted as well. "Geros, every manjack in this squadron knows you've got at least a full league of guts. When are you going to stop being ashamed of the piddling fact that your bladder's not as brave as the rest of you, man? None of us give a damn, why should you?"

"But... but, my lord, it... it's not manly."

Bili snorted derision. "Horse turds, Sir Geros! You're acknowledged one of the ten best swordsmen in a dozen duchies and you fight like a scalded treecat, so why worry about a meaningless quirk of yours? No one else is bothered by it."

"There is never a fight, my lord, but that someone mentions my weakness, asks of it or openly lays hand to my saddle or my breeks. Then they all laugh."

Dili extended his bridle hand to firmly grip the knight's shoulder, chiding gently, "Geros, Geros, the laughter is at your evident embarrassment, and it's friendly, well-meant joshing. There are few men in all the host as widely and deeply respected as are you. Everyone knows you're a brave man, Geros."

Geros shook his head, tiredly. "But I'm not really brave, my lord, and I know it. I fight for the same reason I strove to master the sword, only to stay alive. And I'm frightened near to death, almost all the time. That's not valor, my lord."

"Not so!" stated Bili firmly. "It's the highest degree of valor, that you recognize and accept your fears and then do your duty despite them. And don't you forget what poor old Pawl Raikuh told you that day before we stormed the salients. Fear, controlled fear, is what keeps a warrior alive in a press. Men who don't know fear seldom outlive their first serious battle.

"Geros, self-doubt is a good thing in many ways; it teaches a man humility. But you can't let yourself be carried too far by such doubts, else they'll unman you.

"But, tell me, how did you chance to be bearing my banner again? Can't keep your hands off it, eh?"

Geros was too exhausted and drained to rise to the joke. "My lord, I was riding at Klifuhd's side through most of that ghastly mess back there and I thought me I had guarded him and the Eagle well. Then just at the near fringes of the horde, a barbarian axeman crowded between us and lopped off poor Klifuhd's forearm. I ran the stinking savage through the body and barely caught the Eagle ere it fell. Then I was in the open here. I don't know what happened to Klifuhd, my lord."

"Well, man, you have it now. How's your throat? Dry as mine, I don't doubt." Feeling behind his saddle, he grunted satisfaction at finding his canteen still in place.

With numbed, twitching fingers, he unlatched his visor and lowered his beaver. Raising the quart bottle to his crusty lips, he filled his mouth once and spat it out, then took several long drafts of the brandy-and-water mixture. The first swallow burned his gullet ferociously, like a red-hot spearblade on an open wound, but those which followed it were as welcome and soothing as warm honey. Taking the bottle down at last, he proffered it to Sir Geros.

"Here, man, wash your mouth and oil that remarkable set of vocal cords. If we're to really clobber these bastards, we must rally the squadron and hit them hard again."

The impetus of that smashing charge had been lost, and the majority of the lowland horsemen were fighting alone or in small groups, rising and falling from sight, almost lost in a shifting sea of multi-toned, shaggy fur. Bili realized that where mere skill at arms and superior armor could not promise victory or even survival against such odds, the superior bulk and weighty force of the troop horses and destriers were his outnumbered squadron's single remaining asset. But to take full advantage of those assets, the horde must again be struck by an ordered, disciplined formation, charging at a gallop. But before he could deliver another crushing charge, he must rally his scattered elements ... such of them as he could.

Chapter X

And once more, Geres' clear tenor voice pealed like a trumpet above the uproar, while Bili gripped the brass-shod ferrule in both his big hands, raised the banner high above his head and waggled the shaft For a long, breathless moment, it seemed that none could or would respond to the summons, but a pah* of blood-splashed Freefighters hacked their way from out of the near edge of the press, then a half-dozen more appeared behind a destrier-mounted nobleman. Slowly, by dribbles and drops, the squadron's ranks again filled and formed up behind the Red Eagle.

Not all those who had made that first charge returned, of course. Some were just too hard pressed to win free; some would never return. Bili took a position a good two hundred yards off the left flank of the milling mob, the absolute minimum distance cavalry needed to achieve the proper impetus in a charge. He had just gotten the under* strength troops into squadron-front-shortened squadron-front-when the beat of hundreds of hooves sounded from somewhere within the narrow defile at his own left flank. The veteran troopers were already preparing to wheel in order to meet the self-announced menace, when the riders swept from the mouth of that precipitous gap. In the lead rode Ehrbuhn Duhnkin-recognizable because of his clean, unmarred armor-followed by the bowmasters he had commanded to such good effect. But now bows were all unstrung and cased, sabers were out and flashing in the sunlight

While the Freefighters took their accustomed places in the shrunken ranks, Ehrbuhn rode up to the young ihoheeks, mindspeaking, "We had to miss first blood, Lord Bili, but I mean to be in at the kill. So do some others, incidentally. They it was who showed us the way here. In all courtesy, my lord, I think we should not begin the dance until the ladies arrive."

With the Maidens riding in a place of honor on the exposed right flank and the grim-faced brahbehrnuh just behind Bili in the knot of heavily armed nobles at the center, the reformed and reinforced squadron struck the confused and reeling barbarians almost as hard as they had the first time. And human flesh could take no more. The savages broke, scattered before the big horses and armored warriors and streamed down the narrow vale in full flight

Some escaped, but not many. The destriers and troop horses were tired, true, but so too were the ponies. Superior breeding and carefully nurtured top condition told in the end, at a cost of the ultimate price to most of the barbarians. The shaggy men were pursued to the very end of the long plateau, ridden down and slain. Then Bili forced a halt and rallied his force before commencing the slow, weary march back to the battlefield below the cliff.

Bili trudged beside Mahvros at the head of the exhausted squadron, having allowed none save the wounded to remain mounted. The black stallion was spent; he seemed barely able to place one hoof before the other and his proud head hung low, his shiny hide now befouled with dried lather and old sweat, with horse blood and man blood and dust Nor were the other horses of the battered squadron in better shape; many were, in fact, in worse.

The brahbehrnuh helped a reeling Freefighter onto the back of her relatively fresh charger and then strode up to pace beside Bili. After a moment, she addressed him in accented but passable trade Mehrikan.

"What is the polite form of address for my lord?" Still plodding, Bili turned his shaven head and looked into her bloodshot eyes, smiling tiredly.

"The Ehleenee say 'thoheeks,' my Freefighters say 'duke' and my friends call me simply 'Bili.' You are free to use whichever comes easiest to your lips, my lady."

With a brusque nod of her helmeted head, she asked bluntly, "You and your folk are the born enemies of the Ahrmehnee and, indirectly, of me and my sisters. So then why do you fight and bleed and die for us? Was there not enough loot in the vales for both you and the cursed Muhkohee? Think you that even this will earn you Ahnnehnee forgiveness for your many and heinous crimes,

Dookh Bili?"

A woman of spirit, thought Bili-no polite, meaningless words for her; she spits it right out and be damned to you if you don't like it. "Because, my lady, me and mine no longer are the enemies of the Ahnnehnee. Even now does their great chief treat with our High Lord, and, soon, all these Ahnnehnee mountains and vales will be one with our mighty Federation of Peoples, your folk too, probably."

"Never!" she spat. "Since the Time of the Earth-Gods have the Moon Maidens been sensibly ruled by women. Never will we submit to the utter debasement of the rule of mere men!"

Then did Bili Morguhn show a spark of that genius which was to win him a place high in the councils of his homeland. "But, my lady, did you not know?"

"Know what, lowlander?"

"Why this, my lady-the true rulers of the Confederation are women, the Undying High Ladies, Mara Morai and Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpahs."

Her jaw dropped open in wonderment, but she quickly recovered. "Then what of your infamous Undying Devil, this Milo.

"Lord Milo commands the Confederation armies, especially in the field on campaign," Bili answered glibly. "You see, our armies are all of men."

Her high brow wrinkled. "But, Dookh Bili, how can these High Ladies trust this Milo to not treacherously bring the armies against them, slay them and usurp their rightful place? The men of my own folk foolishly tried such many times over the centuries until, finally, we forbade mere men to carry weapons or know their use." She smiled grimly. "That was in the time of my mother's mother's grandmother, and the Wise Women have ruled, unquestioned and unopposed, since."

Bili shook his head. "Such harsh measures are generally unneeded in the lands of the Confederation, my lady. For one thing, the Undying High Ladies cannot be slain with weapons, but, more importantly, the High Lord would never do aught which might harm the Confederation. Moreover, he loves the Lady Mara and has great respect for the Lady Aldora. Thus has it been for six generations and more."

They walked on in silence for a quarter-hour. At last, the brahbehmuh announced, "When and where and how can I meet with one of these High Ladies, Doohk Bili? With our hold destroyed, we are cast adrift in a hostile world, with naught save the little we bear and wear. But I must be certain that my sisters and I-who are the last, pitiful remnant of our race, now-will receive land in return for our allegiances and service to your Lady rulers and that we will be allowed to practice our ancient rites and customs unmolested. These things must your Ladies avow to us who serve the Supreme Lady."

Bili mused, trying to guess just what to say to this strange, handsome young woman, but, abruptly, the conversation became unimportant.

Many leagues to the north and west, in what had been the Hold of the Maidens, a defective timing device at last fulfilled its long-overdue function. A small charge exploded, hurling a barrel-size charge over the lip of the smoking fissure which was known as the Sacred Hoofprint. Far it fell, deeper and deeper into the very bowels of the uneasy mountain, into hotter and hotter regions, falling within bare seconds from degrees of hundreds into degrees of thousands. And, still falling free, its metal casing began to melt, dripping away, and its insulation burst into brief flame and then the immense charge exploded, its sound unheard by living ear.

A feeling of unbearable unease suddenly gripped Bili. His every nerve ending seemed to be screaming, "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!"

Tired as they were, all the horses were uneasy, too, snorting and nodding, their nostrils dilated and eyes rolling, dancing with nervousness. As for Mahvros, the big black suddenly half-reared and almost bolted when three deer broke cover, dashing out of a dark copse to rocket downslope and over the edge of the plateau. Hard on their heels came a living carpet of small, scuttling beasts and, up ahead, a pair of mountain wolves and a tree cat loped along in the same direction, almost side by side.

Recalling that the High Lord had said prairiecats were but a mutation of tree cats and that many specimens of the latter could mindspeak, Bili attempted to range the fleeing feline but encountered only a jumble of inchoate terror.

Bili allowed his instinct to command him. "MOUNT!" he roared to those behind. "Mount and form column!" Following his own order, his weariness clean forgotten, he flung himself astride Mahvros, slapping his gambeson hood and helm back in place.

He had but barely forked his steed when the very earth shuddered strongly. Horses screamed; so, too, did some of the humans. The brahbehrnuh stumbled against the side of the dancing stallion, frantically grasping Bill's stirrup leather for the support her feet could not find on the rippling ground. With no time or care for niceties, Bili grabbed the woman's swordbelt and, lifting her effortlessly, placed her belly-down on his crupper.

Komees Hari came alongside, his big gray tight-reined. "It can only be an earthquake, Bili. I thought there was something odd about this damned plateau. We've got to get off it"

"THAT WAY!" Bili shouted, pointing to where the animals had disappeared, a hundred yards to his right. Mahvros was too submerged in terror to respond to mind-speak, so Bili reined him over. His booted heels beat a tattoo on the destrier's barrel and evoked a willing response; exhaustion forgotten, the big black raced flat out in the track of the fleeing game beasts.

The column followed, while trees crashed around them and boulders shifted, slid and tumbled. After their lord they went, heedlessly putting their mounts at the impossibly narrow descent down the precipitous face of the plateau. Had the plateau been higher, none would have survived. Since it was much lower than in the northern reaches, all save the very tail of the line were galloping hard toward the south when, with a horrible, grinding roar, the entire rocky face dissolved and slid down upon itself.

Not until they were a bird-flight mile from what had been the foot of the plateau did Bili bring his command to a walk, then a halt on the brushy slope of a long, serpentine ridge. Not even there was the earth completely still, but the occasional tremors were quickly forgotten, erased from their minds by the terrible wonder on the northern horizon.

So huge that it looked close enough to touch, a boiling cloud of dense, multicolored smoke loomed, shot through with flame for all its immense and increasing height. Then with a clap of such magnitude that horses screamed and reared, while men and women slapped hands to abused ears and rolled on the heaving hillside in agony, some force shredded the cloud, leaving only tumbling, smoking black shapes of irregular conformation, rising, rising and whirling, then falling swiftly. And where, within sight, those shapes grounded, smoke and leaping flames burst up. One of the shapes fell, bouncing heavily, in the tiny vale betwixt the ridge and the hill beyond. It came finally to rest in an almost-dry streambed and, when the last tendrils of stream had died, Bili and the others could clearly see that it was simply a boulder. But what a boulder! A boulder big enough for two destriers to have stood upon, uncrowded.

And upon his broad face, certain cryptic carvings were plainly visible. At sight of them, the brahbehrnuh uttered a single, piercing shriek. Then her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she collapsed, bonelessly, at Bili's feet

Regardless of the gruesome task he had so recently completed, Master Ahlee's garments and person were spotless when he came to render his report to Strahteegos Vaskos Daiviz of Morguhn. He had commanded the medical contingent of the High Lord's force and, as soon as it had become apparent that the battle with the Ahrmehnee was over, he had returned to Vawnpolis, where many folk were still suffering from the aftereffects of the long, hard siege.

Vaskos had been more than glad to have the erudite, skillful Zahrtohgahn physician, and not only because of the good his ministrations could do the Vawnpolisee who were the responsibility of the conscientious officer. For these two men had been friends for nearly a year, since the brown-skinned master had successfully treated the grievous wounds Vaskos had suffered when he had fought his way out of rebel-held Horse Hall, in the first days of the short-lived rebellion in Morguhn. That friendship had ripened during the protracted siege of Vawnpolis as they met whenever their various duties had permitted to share an ewer of wine and engage in the Game of Battles, at which both excelled, or exchange anecdotes of travels and combat.

Utterly stymied by the seemingly insoluble problem of the frequent murders, all his own efforts and those of his staff having failed, Vaskos had finally discussed the matter with Ahlee. And that was why, this day, the master had just completed the autopsy of the seventh young woman murdered in as many weeks.

Shoving aside a mound of papers and flexing his ink-stained fingers, Vaskos pushed himself back from his desk and, smiling, waved the master toward a chair.

"You are overtired, Vaskos," chided Ahlee gently. "Of what use will you be to the High Lord if you break your health? Your staff is both large and competent, yet you put them in armor on city patrols and then try to do their work yourself. Promise an old man that you will promptly mend your ways."

Vaskos sighed, frowning. "Master, I have armed all the ex-rebels I dare to. Too, I have begged all the troops I can reasonably expect from Strahteegos Demosthenes, out at the base camp. My staff noncoms were all the men I had left, with the exceptions of Danes' crew, and those poor bastards have been standing watch on watch for months. I couldn't bring myself to ask more of them ... or him, either, much as I hate him. I doubt me if the Ehleen god could fabricate a worse punishment than he is living in."

Ahlee shook his scarred, brown head-hairless, like the rest of his body, for reasons of cleanliness. "Vaskos, my friend, my order is dedicated to the saving of life in accordance with Ahlah's Holy Will. I have served that order for the larger part of my life. Consequently, it pains me to suggest that you have the Vahrohnos Myros Deskati . . . ahhh, put out of his misery. The man is, in my humble opinion, incurable and is just too dangerous to maintain longer in the existing manner. He has a record of having already slain one member of Captain Danos' detachment, and that man he attacked last week will be crippled for the rest of his days."

"I'd dearly love to do it," grunted Vaskos. "Personally. Were it my decision to make, I'd hump myself down to that level and put my sword in the bastard in an eyetwinkling. But he be the prisoner of my overlord . . . well, my father's overlord, anyhow. And I don't think Thoheeks Bill would be too happy were he denied hearing Myros' death screams, considering all the merry hob the whoreson raised in Morguhn."

At the last word, Vaskos rose and stumped over to a heavy tapestry. Pulling it back, he took from the arrowslit window it covered a jar of wine, now cooled by the frigid outdoor temperature. Setting the jar on his desk, he crossed to the hearth and poked up the fire, then returned to his seat and poured two mugs full.

When Ahlee had sipped, the strahteegos said, "Well, did you learn anything new from this latest victim, master?"

The white-robed physician shrugged. "In point of fact, Vaskos, no. Her injuries were almost identical to those of all the other poor women; I can attest that all were even mutilated with the same instruments."

"And what of the monster who wielded them, master? Any inkling of who we're looking for?"

"As I said often before, Vaskos, you are looking for a madman who, with all the cunning of his madness, has thus far eluded you. Could you but take me to the place wherein he does his savageries, I could perhaps tell you more concerning him. But then, if you knew where he takes his victims, you would need nothing save patience in order to apprehend him."

"If! If! If!" Vaskos' bloodshot eyes blazed his ill-controlled wrath and he slammed his callused palm onto the desktop. "Meanwhile, this rebel bastard of a woman killer goes his merry, bloody way making fools out of me and the entire Confederation garrison. Sun blast the swine! Why can't we catch him?"

They very nearly had on two occasions, and Captain Danos still became pale and weak-kneed whenever he thought of how narrow had been his two escapes. And what made the terrible chances he was daring so meaningless was the awful fact that he no longer even enjoyed himself. Had not since the devil-spawn vahrohnos had demonstrated that, though he might be Danos' prisoner, still was he the captain's master.

Always had it been the cries of his victims-the moans, the whimpering pleas for mercy and, especially, the screams of agony-which had aroused Danos' sexual lusts. But now, with the streets above his well-concealed cellar aswarm with armed and alert men, he was afraid to allow any avoidable noise from his victims. And victims were becoming harder and harder to come by. Only his thorough knowledge of Vawnpolis and its secret ways had provided him with the last half-dozen women and with a means of getting them onto that bloodstained cellar floor under the ruined mansion. And he knew with utter certainty that it was but a matter of time-possibly a rather short time-until one of the roving parties chanced upon an arm of that warren of ancient tunnels.

Quite by accident, he had stumbled into the subterranean ways during the siege when an overshot catapult stone had demolished some of the charred timbers and fire-blackened bricks of the once splendid mansion above his chamber of horrors. These were quite unlike the great tunnels under Morguhnpolis, being no more than six feet high and five wide, unpaved and shored up by old, rotting timbers. The main passage ran from east to south on a gradual curve, ending at each extremity against the damp stones of the city walls, and it was unblocked from one end to the other. Such was not true of many of the branch passages. Danos had found that many had collapsed and others seemed so close to collapse that he had feared to enter them.

But that had been before the increasing security within the city and the steady pressure from the satanic vahrohnos had so complicated his existence. Now he regularly trod fearfully beneath sagging, wormy timbers and even wriggled through partially blocked passages in search of access to fresh prey. The arm leading to the Citadel, though not paved, was at least walled and shored with granite, probably because of the immense weight of masonry above it. It debouched into a disused subcellar room, only four levels below the prison corridor off which was located the vahrohnos" cell, which fact was the sole reason, aside from inordinate amounts of pure luck, that Danos had not long since been apprehended.

Both of his close escapes had occurred when Danos was returning to the Citadel in the early morning. If, as in the old days, he had come back smeared from head to foot with the blood of his night's victim, the jig would have been up. But Danos had begun to take precautions to minimize the possibility of discovery and, having come across a small, spring-fed cistern in the main passage, he always thoroughly cleansed himself, his armor and his clothing after each of his forays.

No, what had most frightened him about the encounters with Citadel guards had been that, on each occasion, he had been carrying back the "delicacies" demanded by the vahrohnos. And had the guards ever chosen to examine the two sealed jars, there would have been no possible way that Captain Danos could have explained why one was brimful of fresh blood, while the other contained a whole human liver, still warm.

It had been after that second episode in the lower corridors that he had finally convinced the mad vahrohnos that he could no longer take the risk of carrying the "delicacies" into the Citadel.

After an impossibly long moment of glowering at his warder from eyes deep-sunk in his ruined face, Myros of Deskati had smiled, albeit wolfishly. "It is in moments of extreme danger that breeding becomes apparent, and you have no trace of breeding, you lowborn swine. But I had been expecting this funk of yours, soon or late, and I have devised an alternate plan, one which will give you far less to fear... well, from the guards, anyway."

Since Vaskos had refused to alter or lessen his long, work-filled hours, Ahlee had done what he felt to be both professional duty and the duty of a friend; he had been helping the harried commander with the paperwork, of nights. Nor was this a difficult undertaking for the Zahrtohguhn, for, combined with a high degree of intelligence and both a written and verbal command of most dialects of Mehrikan, Ahlee had a natural talent for and formal training in mindspeak so that he could resolve any questions by dipping into Vaskos' deliberately unshielded mind.

So it was, on an evening six days after his last autopsy, that a breathless, red-faced sergeant found them both together in Vaskos' bright-lit office a couple of hours after midnight.

The sergeant was not an ex-rebel but rather a grizzled Confederation Regular, and he behaved accordingly despite his agitation-this quite obvious to Ahlee's trained eye. Upon being bidden to enter, he stalked stiffly across the room, his well-oiled armor clanking, his helm cradled in the crook of his shield arm. At the halt, he wheeled precisely to face the desk and, standing rigid as a post, slammed fist against breast in formal military salute.

Glancing up from under his bushy salt-and-pepper brows, Vaskos returned the salute. "Yes, sergeant? You have a report?"

In a firm, emotionless voice, the noncom replied, "My lord strahteegos, I be Company Sergeant Dahbzuhn of Number Three Company, Fourteenth Regiment, seconded to your lordship's command and now serving under Lieutenant Gahloopohlos. The noble lieutenant bids me request your lordship's presence in the north quarter of the city. And it please your lordship, immediately."

The lieutenant was tall but slender, his dark hair and olive complexion attesting to his Ehleen antecedents. His were no rolling, bulging muscles, but he moved with an assurance and grace which Ahlee suspected emanated from considerable wiry strength. The young man was soft-voiced and respectful to his superior but with no trace of fawning.

"My lord strahteegos, knowing how intense be your interest in these murders, I took the liberty of sending for you. This may well be a discovery of importance."

The one-eyed man, summoned from a small knot of fellow civilians, completed his tale a few minutes later. "So, like I a'ready done told the lieutenant, Lord Vaskos, after I seen the man knock Moynah in the head and put her over his shoulder, I follered him, 'th out him seeing me, o'course; I ain't brave, 'specially as I seen he had a big dirk.

"I seen him carry her into this here empty house, then I run back and got these here other fellers together and while one feller went to look for the p'trol, we got us some torches and clubs and a few knives and went to save her. But, when we got to the house, won't nary a sign of either one of 'em, 'cept just a little bit of blood just inside the door and a little more on the steps going down to the basement, was all. Then, 'bout that time, the lieutenant and the p'trol got here."

With a brusque nod of thanks to the old man, Vaskos turned on the junior officer. "It comes to my mind that the killer, if such it was, knew that he was being followed and ducked into the house until he was certain that the observer had gone. Could that be possible, lieutenant?"

With a typically Ehleenic shrug, Gahloopohlos answered, "Highly possible, lord strahteegos. And I considered it, too, especially when my men found no living creature in the house . . . and we searched it from top to bottom. But that was before we chanced across what I wish to now show your lordship."

The cellar was old, obviously much older than the house above, larger, too, walled and floored with dressed stone, like the worn stairs which led down to it Droplets of blood were at the head of those stairs, a few more were at the bottom, and yet another sprinkling was at a spot near the east wall of the cellar, along with a faded scrap of fine woolen cloth.

"When first I came down here, my lord, this bit of cloth was protruding from between two of the wall stones. I thought it odd and examined the wall more closely. As my lord may know, my father is lord architect of Kehnooryos Atheenahs. My brothers and I often accompanied him in his duties in that and other cities, so I have some small knowledge of things which might not occur to the thinking of your average officer.

"Look around you, my lord. This cellar is clearly of older and finer construction than the structure upstairs, and it's at least half again bigger. The original structure was no doubt stone as well, stone and timber, and it burned. If my lord will look up there, near the ceiling, he still can see the fire marks. That structure was never rebuilt, but its foundation, including this cellar, was used for the brickwork house still standing."

"What," demanded Vakos, "has all this to do with our elusive murderer, lieutenant?"

With a languid, assured smfle, the officer replied, "Please bear with me, my lord. Now, when these frontier cities were built, often the citadels and walled mansions were completed before the city walls even were commenced. So, since the residents and garrisons were often in constant danger of barbarian attack, they frequently devised ways of communicating one with the other, of getting supplies or reinforcements to hard-pressed areas quickly and safely, of-"

Vaskos' big fist smacked into his horny palm and his black eyes flashed. "Tunnels! Of course! That's why we've never caught the bastard, or even seen him, despite streets crowded with patrols. I must be getting senile, lieutenant I should have thought of it ere this."

Young Gahloopohlos showed a rueful grin. "Then I fear I must share my lord's senility, for even with my experience, I gave no thought to the matter until it slapped me in the face."

Vaskos nodded brusquely. "Well, we know now, good Gahloopohlos. It sounds reasonable to me. Let us get a squad down here with sledges and bars, get these stones down and see if we're right."

The officer shook his head. "Such measures are unnecessary, my lord. You see?" Sidling to a section of wall which looked no different from many other sections about the cellar, he placed both hands flat upon it and, bunching his body behind his shoulders, heaved. His feet slid back on the rough flooring as the wall section briefly resisted his strength, but then, with a ponderous grinding and a shriek of seldom-used metal, a man-length of wall swiveled to reveal a stygian-black rectangle from which emanated the cold, dank smell of sunless earth.

Vaskos waited for the arrival of additional men before he, Ahlee, the lieutenant and a squad of soldiers filed into the narrow tunnel. Only a few steps did they proceed, however, for the way was blocked by a mound of earth and chunks of soft, rotten timber. An aperture no more than two feet wide or high had been dug through the blockage, and there they found more blood and another shred of the same fine, woolen.

There was another wait, for not liking the look of the extant shoring, Vaskos had some of the soldiers repair the areas above and return with odds and ends to strengthen the worm-eaten boards and columns. Then, one at a time, holding their torches before them, the officers, the physician and a dozen men wriggled through the ten terrible suffocating feet of crumbling earth.

Beyond, the narrow tunnel continued for a few more paces, then entered at a right angle into a wider and better-shored tunnel which seemed to stretch infinitely away in two directions.

"Sun and Wind!" swore Vaskos, softly. "The bastard could have taken that poor woman in either direction.

There's nothing else for it but to split up. Gahloopohlos, you take six men and head that way. The master and I will take five and head the other. Sergeant Dahbzuhn, go back to the cellar and get the other squad, less two men to stand guard. You bring five after me and send five after the lieutenant. And sergeant, all of you, make no unnecessary noise until the quarry's in plain sight and, let's hope, at bay. He surely knows these tunnels better than we do, and we can't afford to miss him yet again."

Arrived in his cellar, Danos had gone through the joyless motions-stripping and gagging the half-conscious woman, then securing her ankles and wrists to a large rectangle of strong wooden construction. He had fabricated the rectangle many long months before, during the early days of the siege. With a victim's hands and feet lashed to its corners, the tenderest and most sensitive portions of the body were easily accessible to whip or knife, fingers or teeth, pincers or licking flame.

That detail attended to, he had employed the whip, pulping first the back, then turning the rectangle and its moaning, fainting occupant to lay open the tender breasts with the blood-wet lash. By this time, he should have been used to an audience, but he still was somewhat inhibited in his reactions by those darkly mad eyes staring from the corner; consequently, even when white ribs were showing through the lacerated, bleeding flesh of the woman's chest, he still felt no pleasant, stirring warmth in his loins. Not until he had leaned the rectangle against a wall and commenced to rain whistling blows on inner thighs and on the pudenda itself did he experience the tardy tumescence.

When he arose from the ravaged body, his loins now slack, he privately suspected the woman to be already dead or so near death as to make no difference, but warily he made no mention of the fact. After adjusting his clothing, the slick, black leather facings all wet and red-sticky, he drew his military dirk and expertly opened the upper abdomen. Leaving the dirk by the body, he stood up and stepped back.

"Dinner is served, my lord." He addressed the lurker in the shadowy corner. "I'm going above to watch for the patrol, as usual. Please signal when you've done, sir."

On his way up the littered stairs, Danos tried hard not to hear the slurping noises.

Ahlee had lost count of the numbers of small side tunnels his party had explored. Their original torches had already guttered out and, had the practical sergeant not thought to have the reinforcements carry extras, they would all now be fumbling about in utter darkness. The physician's jaws ached from the effort of keeping them clamped against the chattering of his teeth, for he like the rest found the dank chill of these passages harder to bear than the icy weather aboveground.

They had slowly proceeded up the left-hand side of the large tunnel, come at length to a blank wall of rough-hewn granite which Vaskos had opined to be probably the foundation of part of the city walls. Now they were working back down the other side. As Ahlee, moving just behind Vaskos and the sergeant, came abreast of yet another side tunnel, he became unpleasantly conscious of a palpable emanation of purest evil radiating from the depths of that narrow passage, its uncleanness and power making him sick and dizzy.

"Vaskos!" he whispered, croakingly, pulling at the burly officer's sleeve. "In there, I think. If not what we seek, at least something... something of terrible wrongness."

All the still-unblocked side tunnels were very similar in construction-twenty to thirty feet long, about six feet high and three wide-but the differences in this one were quickly apparent. The shoring was all new, the upper areas of it stained with torch soot, and they trod not bare earth but paving tiles . . . splotched here and there with dark brownish stains which clearly were not soot. A small chamber always lay at the cellar end of these side tunnels. This one contained a pile of fresh torches and a heap of torn and gore-stiffened rags which, on closer examination, proved to all be various articles of women's clothing.

Ahlee hoped that he would never again see such a look on his friend's face as Vaskos dropped a ripped, crusty shift, drew his sword and motioned for two soldiers to open the wall section which led to the cellar.

Some of these sections had been completely immovable, some had yielded only after long and difficult labor, but this one swung easily and noiselessly open . . . laying before their eyes a scene of unrelieved ghastliness.

The cellar was brightly lit by a couple of torches and several lamps. Warmth was provided by a pair of large braziers. His back to the newcomers, a man's figure crouched over the spread-eagled body of a gagged woman. Her wide-open eyes were death-glazed and set in a reflection of agony beyond endurance, horror beyond belief. What could be seen of her body and legs brought the sour bile bubbling up into Ahlee's throat, for all that he had closely examined so many cavaders with identical savageries imprinted in their cold flesh.

A red-smeared dirk was held loosely in the crouching man's right hand, while his left held what appeared to be a lump of fresh organ meat. While they watched-battle-hardened soldiers shocked into stillness and silence by the unnatural spectacle before them-the man drove the dirk into a timber of the blood-encrusted torture frame to which the dead woman's stiffening limbs were still bound, laid the piece of meat upon the pulpy red ruin which had been her breasts, did something with his freed hands, then bent his neck and lowered his head. The terrible sound which then smote their ears was that of beast, not of mankind. Of beast busily lapping!

Vaskos, too, sounded then like a beast, growling deep in his throat. He stalked forward, cat-light, his swordblade at low guard, ready for stab or slash. The sergeant and other soldiers advanced behind him, filling the width of the cellar from wall to wall with an inexorably moving wall of armored, steel-tipped bodies.

But the feeding beast heard the growls and shufflings as they neared him and whirled about, his pallid face and graying beard a single nauseous mask of clotting blood, madness glinting its evil from out his bloodshot black eyes, his broken and rotting red-stained teeth bared in a bestial snarl of rage. Jerking the dirk from the timber, he hurled himself at Vaskos, the foremost of these intruders.

His own lips skinned back in a grimace of savage joy, the officer set himself for a thrust. With a habitual stamp and shout, the long blade swept up and the muscular arm extended, but the sharp steel met empty air and Vaskos almost fell on his face on the blood-slick floor, whereon lay the suddenly senseless hulk of Vahrohnos Myros Deskati of Morguhn, but bare feet from the ravaged corpse whose liver he had torn out, whose blood he had been drinking.

Some two hours after these events, with the madman once more securely manacled in his cell and guarded by grim Regulars, Vaskos again sat behind his desk, glowering at Captain Danos. The former rebel officer's baldric draped loosely, the cased sword it had held now hand-carried by one of the husky guardsmen who flanked him. On a cloth on the desk lay the partially cleaned dirk which had been taken from the vahrohnos in that cellar of terrors.

They had had the captain's story. Now Vaskos bluntly spake his mind. "Captain, you are either a careless, feckless fool or a cunning, glib-tongued monster. I confess that I know not which, at this point. I'd like to think you the latter, but that's because I hate you for reasons that you well know.

"The fact that this dirk fits your empty case really proves nothing, since both are Confederation Army issue. Your charge lies comatose in his cell, so it will be days ere we can question him. Not that that exercise will prove anything either, for I'd not convict even such as you on the unsupported word of a madman.

"You were found sleeping in your room here at the Citadel, and were nowhere seen on the streets tonight, but neither fact absolves you, since I now am aware that there exists a true warren of tunnels connecting the Citadel and various quarters of the city.

"However, I have put my staff to checking the presumed dates of the recent series of murders and questioning your men as to which nights you took the watch over the vahrohnos. If the two lists coincide, captain, I will assume that you are guilty, if not of duplicity, at least of dereliction of your sworn duties. And that will make me very happy, captain. My father, Lord Hari, and I were denied our just vengeance on your flesh because you were an amnestied officer fulfilling what the High Lord felt to be a valuable function. You cannot be punished for the crimes done in Morguhn, but damn you, I can damned well court-martial you for those things you've done or not done whilst under my command."

Then, to a guards officer who stood stiffly by the door, "Captain Nahks, the prisoner's quarters are to be thoroughly searched and all weapons are to be removed from them. Then he will be there confined, with the door bolted and two men to guard it around the clock. Nor is anyone save myself or Master Ahlee to be allowed through his door. See that he is provided a jug of wine and a few rounds of barracks bread; that should serve him until I have enough information to issue you further orders. Now, take him away."

Chapter XI

The camp outside the walls of Vawnpolis first swelled monstrously with the influx of the troops who had been patrolling die border and manning the border forts, then shrank to even smaller limits than its original size as regiments and lesser units took the road for the long march back to Kehnooryos Ehlahs and the sprawling garrison city at Goohm. Hardly were the last of those on their way when most of the Confederation cavalry brigade jingled down from the western mountains to collect the baggage left behind at the commencement of the campaign and spend a few weeks resting and reorganizing.

Sub-keeleeohstos Gaib Linstahk, now commander of the Fifth Kahtahfrahktoee, eventually made time to call on his old friend Strahteegos Vaskos Dahriz. The preceding summer, whfle he still commanded only three troops of dragoons, his unit had been sent with Vaskos and Lord Hari to reclaim Horse County of the Duchy of Morguhn for the Confederation. As Gaib's own sire was a Kindred horse breeder, the three noblemen had easily and quickly become fast friends.

Vaskos was hard at work when his adjutant announced that a field-grade cavalry officer was in the outer office and requested a few words with the commander of Vawnpolis. What with the various comings and goings of so many units within the environs of the city, Vaskos had endured an endless succession of duty calls. As commander of Vawnpolis, he was the titular senior officer for all of Vawn, and courtesy calls were unavoidable, since no astute major or colonel or keeleeohstos would pass through without taking the opportunity to congratulate Vaskos on his promotion and do a bit of sly apple-polishing at the same time. So Vaskos never inquired this most recent caller's name or actual rank, nor did he bother to glance up when, with a jingling and jangling, the measured footfalls crossed from the door to a heel-clicking halt before his desk and a fist clanged on breastplate in formal salute.

"My lord Strahteegos, please accept the heartfelt congratulations of all the officers and troopers of Pehmptos Kahtahfrahktoee, as well as those of their commander, Sub-keeleeohstos Gaib Linstahk, who is my lord's servant in all honorable ways."

Vaskos had peremptorily returned the salute, though his eyes still were fixed on his work. His hand moved back toward his quill pen but stopped abruptly, as the familiar voice penetrated where the maddeningly familiar stock phrases would not. His scarred face suddenly split by a broad grin, he came to his feet, heedless of the heavy chair which crashed over behind him, and rounded the desk to greet Gaib with an armor-crushing hug of sincere welcome.

With the backslappings and informal, half-insulting felicitations done, Vaskos shouted for his adjutant and soberly promised thirty lashes to anyone who disturbed him with anything less earthsbaking than an investment of Vawnpolis or the arrival of the High Lord; then he bolted his door and brought in his hidden jar of honeywine.

As they sat before the hearth with its fire of hard, bluish coal lumps, Vaskos studied his young friend critically. The cares and worries of command had already begun to leave their unmistakable marks upon the handsome, weather-dark face-furrowed brow, crinkled eyecorners and the beginning of the hard lines at the corners of the mouth, as well as the dark crescents under bloodshot eyes which Vaskos knew he shared. It seemed that the higher an officer's rank, the less sleep he could count on getting of a night.

But there were other marks visible, as well. A pink pucker of scar now ran from just below the bridge of the nose to the angle of the jaw, and the smallest finger was missing from Gaib's bridle hand. For all that returning Freefighters chortled over an all but unopposed foray, it was clear that the kahtahfrahktoee had seen some hard fighting.

When he had stuffed the clay bowl of a Zahrtohguhn waterpipe, Vaskos* callused fingers lifted a tiny coal from the hearth, dropped it atop the fragrant tobacco and puffed until it was going well. Then he handed the other mouthpiece to Gaib.

"Master Ahlee, the physician, you remember him? Well, he gifted me with this contraption. Says that, if smoke I must, this is the only good way to do it The container, here, is filled with brandy, you see, and the smoke is cooled and flavored by it I must admit, I've gotten quite fond of the bastard."

Gaib blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling and smiled. "You don't know, truly, how good it is to see you again, Vaskos, or how relieved I am to find that the lord commander of Vawnpolis still is the friend I came to know last summer."

Vaskos' brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Why shouldn't I be, Gaib?"

The cavalryman slapped at the cuff of his jackboot "Sun and Wind, Vaskos, you've been a soldier nigh on thirty years; you've seen it Breathing the rarefied air granted to strahteegoee has turned more heads than one, and we both know it. But it's always good to see the men who can carry high rank with dignity rather than arrogance. You're a fine man and officer as you are, lord strahteegos, and I'm right proud to call you friend. Were you to metamorphose into one of those strutting, supercflious popinjays that seem to abound in the capital, and sometimes deign to come out to Goohm. I might be some loath to admit I know you."

"Scant chance of that, m'boy." Vaskos took a long draft of wine and grinned. "I weren't yet sixteen when I enlisted, as a common spearman, and my highest ambition in those days was to make senior sergeant But then some fool officer took me under his wing an' groomed me proper and next I knew I was a sergeant cadet. Four years later he had me shipped off to Bloozburk an* here I be. But I'm still that senior sergeant I never got to be, Gaib. Down under, that's all I'll ever be, I s'pect."

His grin returned then. "But tell me some war stories, Gaib. Tell me about the female who bit off that finger, for instance. For the sake of your lord father, I hope that was all she managed to bite off." He chuckled.

Gaib shook his red-blond head ruefully. "For all I can say, some Ahrmehnee did bite the pinky off. I have no memory of receiving the wound, none at all. It wasn't until everything was done that I even realized it was gone."

Vaskos nodded. "Oh, yes, that's happened to me, too. Happens to most men-you get into a skirmish and-"

Gaib shook his head, grimly. "This was no skirmish, old friend. It started as a surprise attack, became a full-scale battle and might well have been a near rout but for the incredible bravery of my lord Drehkos and a few score of his rebels, who-"

Vaskos' scarred face darkened and there was dull anger in his voice as he growled, "Friend Gaib, amnestied he may be, but to my father and me, he will always be a despicable traitor, and well hear nothing of him, now or in the future."

"Oh, no, friend Vaskos," Gaib disagreed. "Like it or not, you and your father will hear of, and probably from, the Lord Drehkos for the rest of your life." He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorily. "You must respect the confidential nature of what I am about to tell you, Vaskos, for it's not yet common knowledge in the expeditionary force. Indeed, I'd not be aware of it myself but that I was once of the Bodyguards and still have many old friends amongst them.

"Vaskos, your Uncle Drehkos led the heroic defense of our camp that morning, unarmored. His few score rebels fought and held, briefly, two or three thousand Ahrmehnee, and almost all of that scratch force took their death wounds, including your uncle, who was run through the body with a wolfspear."

"Good riddance," Vaskos snarled, "to bad rubbish!

A restrained awe entered the younger officer's tone. "But, Vaskos, the Lord Drehkos did not die! He pulled out the spear and by the next morning was sitting his horse beside the High Lady on the march. And she has kept him at her side since."

Vaskos' cup clattered onto the hearth and rolled, hissing and unheeded, into the fire. His widening eyes starting from his suddenly pallid face, he croaked, "Gaib . . . man, do you know what you're implying?"

Gaib nodded. "No implication, that, old friend. The guardsmen say that the High Lord and the High Lady have administered every test and both now are satisfied that the Lord Drehkos, your esteemed relative, is of the Undying."

"And I say, hogwash!" shouted Vaskos. "Man, my uncle is two years younger than my father and looks a good ten years older. My father, and many another in Morguhn, have known the man all his misspent life. There's just no way you could possibly have heard the truth."

Gaib flavored his reply with a humorless smile. "I thank you for not putting the lie into my mouth, at least But, Vaskos, I talked with guardsmen who assisted in the tests, some of them, anyway. With your uncle's free consent, dirk blades were thrust into his body rendering fatal wounds, and still he lived. The Lord Milo and the Lady Aldora both are satisfied, why should you not be?"

With the first, green shoots of spring, the High Lord led the last of his regiments down from the western mountains, leaving Fort Kohg-as the castra was now called in honor of the nahkhahrah-manned by a mixed force of Confederation volunteers and native Ahrmehnee warriors, all under the command of Senior Strahteegos Hahfos Djohnz, who now bore the additional title of Lord Warden of the Ahrmehnee Marches, his actions accountable to none save the nahkhahrah and Milo.

At the High Lord's side rode the nahkaharah, well pleased with what he had, and would, accomplish for his people. Also, he was pleased that the Lord Milo had chosen Hahfos to be deputy. He felt his people would come to truly love the wise and competent but quiet and unassuming officer, and now that Hahfos was safely wed, by Ahrmehnee rites, to a girl of the Bahrohnyuhn Tribe, he was more or less Ahrmehnee himself. And, the old man mused on, if the Lady did not choose to grant children to him and his own new wife, there could be no complaint from any tribe were he to name as his successor Lord Hahfos' firstborn son.

While Drehkos Daiviz, still a little unbelieving that he was truly Undying, listened, Aldora was patiently explaining to the Lady Zehpoor Taishyuhn, new wife of the nahkhahrah, the precise stations of her and her husband.

"Of the First Rank, there be but three-though there will be four as soon as we reach the capital and dear Drehkos is confirmed a High Lord. Of the Second Rank are such as foreign kings, princes, kahleefahee, and the like. The Third Rank includes such foreign titles as grand duke, or archduke, both of which are the same as our own ahrkeethoheeks; senior strahteegoee hold this rank as long as they remain in the army, as do certain high officials of the Confederation.

"Since the High Lord has decided that your husband will be ahrkeethoheeks of the Ahrmehnee, he and you will be of the Third Rank, officially. But, actually, you and Kogh are much more valuable to us than any score of ahrkeethoheeksee."

Zehpoor looked puzzled. "But, my lady, all of the Ahrmehnee Stahn cannot raise ten thousand warriors, so I cannot understand-"

"Milo and Mara and I, Zehpoor, are very interested in the many and widely diverse powers of the mind. We have devoted many years of study to them and have even established an academy of sorts to see if people lacking them can be taught to ... to ... well, to control their minds sufficiently to unleash powers they did not know they had. Milo can explain the aims of the Academy far better than can I."

At a wider place in the trail, Drehkos reined aside and allowed the column to proceed past him until he spied his brother, Komees Hari, at the head of his mixed force of Freefighters, nobles and Moon Maidens. Then he toed his horse out to ride at his brother's side.

Some week or so after the Night of Fire, Hari and young Sir Geros had led three hundred riders to the castra, having missed the nahkhahrah's village by dint of faulty maps. With them had come two Ahrmehnee women, to whom Captain Pawl Raikuh owed his life. Many of the column were wounded when they arrived and all were near starvation. Nonetheless, the old komees had lost no time in reporting to the High Lord. And he had been too exhausted even to protest the presence of his despised brother in the High Lord's pavilion.

He had detailed the highlights of the forced march, the finding of Raikuh's butchered force, the approach to and advance onto the plateau. He told of the ruined village and its cruelly massacred inhabitants, then of the witnessed stand of the Ahrmehnee warriors and Moon Maidens against the thousands of barbarians and their monstrous leader.

At that point, the nahkhahrah had interrupted. "Your pardon, sir. Did you hear this creature addressed, by chance? If so, what was he called?"

Hari shrugged tiredly. "No, I heard nothing addressed to the giant. But some of the Maidens who rode in with me have mentioned that the Muhkohee's leader was one Buhbuh."

The nahkhahrah nodded. "Thank you, sir." Then he turned to Milo. "I have never heard of one of that name, though it is a common name amongst the Muhkohee. But this leader your officer describes can be only one of the terrible monsters of whom I told you, the Haidehn Tribe. Since most of them are powerful sorcerers, they are the richest of all the Muhkohee, but they are also cannibals, and no more evil tribe has ever stalked Our Lady's earth!"

"Well, sorcerer or not, he soon found his Northorse couldn't outrun Bili's Mahvros," said Hari, grimly. "Nor did either magic or armor keep that great axe out of his flesh. Bili smote him out of the saddle and our squadron rode over his body."

The nahkhahrah grunted his approval. Milo asked, "Bili routed near three thousand men with one under-strength squadron, then?"

Hari's grin was fierce with pride, though pain was in his eyes. "Aye, my lord, Duke Bili sent the Freefighter bow-masters, under command of Count Tares Duhnbahr of Baikuh, around to the top of the cliff against which the warriors and Maidens were standing at bay. Then, when the barbarian bastards already were reeling under the arrow rain, he led the rest of the squadron athump into their right flank, while my wing took them in the rear. And these little ponies just aren't built to take the charge of a good warhorse, my lord. Even so, it was a near thing once the momentum of the charge was lost and the squadron was fragmented.

"But then Duke Bili rallied most of us, reformed, reinforced by Count Taros' bowmasters along with several troops' worth of Maidens and Ahrmehnee, and hit the enemy in the left flank. That second charge did it, my lord-they broke and fled southwest, down the slope of that plateau, with us in hot pursuit.

"And we ran them, my lord. What a chase that were! Kindred and Freefighters and cats, Moon Maidens and Soormehlyuhn warriors, we chivvied and harried the bastards clear to the end of the bloody plateau. I never got the chance to ride back over the route and the battlefield, but I trow not five hundred got away. And we might've got more had Bili not stopped the pursuit when he did.

"It was while we were riding back-rather, most of us were walking to spare the horses-that the earthquake struck. Since the quake seemed to be coining from the north and since the plateau was obviously unsafe, what with the broken ground and all, we were mostly happy to follow Duke Bili down and off it But the face we came down started to break up before the tail of the column was clear, my lord, and there weren't much room at the bottom, so we took off in two directions; me with the force I brought in, Duke Bili with maybe two hundred.

"When it was over, when the ground stopped shaking and rumbling and when those hot rocks stopped falling, I led my group back and found the end of the plateau had broken up and slid down into a little vale. What of the rest of the plateau we could see looked to be all afire, and that cliff where the Maidens and Ahrmehnee had made their stand had disappeared completely. It was more burning forest southeast and southwest, and given the poor condition of my force, I felt it unwise to take them into that inferno, put them in more danger. I knew that Duke Bili, too, had maps and I assumed he would find his own way north."

He shook his head sadly. "Now I wonder if I erred, my lord. Perhaps... ?"

"Not a bit of it, Komees Han," snapped the High Lady Aldora. "You made a command decision, did what you thought best for the troops under you. Considering the circumstances and the conditions you've outlined, I doubt me Td have done differently. Don't berate yourself further. I'd say you had no choice."

Hari's relief had flooded his lined face. That Aldora, who was not only Bili's lover but a recognized authority on cavalry tactics, could thus absolve him of blame lifted a weighty load from his loyal old conscience. He continued then.

"It took us near two days, my lord, to backtrack to where we had gone onto the plateau. But the gap had fallen in. Sir Geros climbed atop the tumbled rocks and returned to say that he had seen precious little, since all the land in both directions seemed covered with a thick blanket of smoke, even the tops of the hills and ridges. So, with our supply train gone, too, I decided our best course was to hotfoot it north while still we could travel."

Draining off the last of his welcome cup, Hari stood and said, "Now, my lord, I'd like to tell of another matter. When the main barbarian force all but annihilated Captain Raikuh's squadron, the captain was seriously wounded but still managed to stay on his horse for some little distance though pursued closely by a number of the savages. Finally, the pain and loss of blood so weakened him that he fell and the horse ran on without him. That horse came into my camp later that night; it was the first sign we had that ill had befallen Raikuh's command.

"Raikuh says he was lying there, too weak even to feel for his dirk, hearing the approaching yells of the barbarians, when, suddenly, an Ahrmehnee woman stepped out of the forest onto the trail ahead of him. He says he tried to tell her to get back into hiding, but she just stood there serenely, ignoring him.

"Then the knot of shaggy riders swept around the turn, and Raikuh knew he'd fought his last battle. But then they stopped so suddenly that the leading ponies reared and several of the rear rank rode into them. All the while, the woman had just been standing in the trail, a few paces ahead of him, and he'd expected the shaggies to just cut her down and go for him.

"But they cast several darts, well over her head, then jerked their ponies' heads about and rode out of there as if a regiment of dragoons had been on their tails; some of them were actually screaming. When their hoofbeats faded, the woman shouted something and another woman came out of the forest and the two of them came over to where Raikuh lay.

"At first they tried carrying him, but the weight was too much. So they put him down and, with what little help he could give them, got most of his armor off. Then they half carried and half dragged him into the forest and over a hill and into a little cave-really, just a deep rock overhang."

Komees Hari spun a good tale. Aldora, the nahkhahrah, Senior Strahteegos Hahfos Djohnz, everyone within hearing, sat rapt. And Milo remembered the long centuries on the Sea of Grass, when Daiviz bards had been renowned as the best and most creative storytellers.

The inheritor of that ancient art continued. "Now, Raikuh's been soldiering most of his life, and he's near my own age, so he knows what death wounds look like and he knew he had at least two of them, knew that he'd not last the night. So when the older woman-the one what had faced down the barbarians-gave him something to drink, he figured it would be near his last drink.

"My lord, Raikuh swears his Sword Oath on what Fm going to tell you now, and he's not a man to lie on his Sword. When he woke up, the Sun was shining and he not only wasnt dead, he wasn't even in very much pain! Somehow, my lord, that older woman-he's pretty sure it was her, since the other's but a girl and seems the elder's helper-had got two iron dartpoints out of Raikuh's vitals, while he slept, and had sewn up the flesh with sheepgut as neatly, I trow, as could any Zahrtohguhn physician."

The High Lord nodded. "The Confederation owes those women a debt of gratitude. Captain Raikuh is a valuable officer and has served us well. I take it, Komees Hari, that those are the ones who rode in with your group. How did you come across them?"

"According to that damned map, my lord, we were too far west to hit the village where Duke Bili'd said we were to meet you if we headed straight north, so we backtracked down the trail we'd advanced up. We'd come up at a pretty fair rate of march, with point and flanks scouted by the cats. Well, all the cats went with Bili, so we marched slower and more careful coming back, and Sir Geros came across Raikuh's armor and recognized it, since the two of them had been good friends for near on a year.

"When he reported his find to me, I knew the savages hadn't gotten him, for they never leave hardly a scrap of anything except dead bodies on a field they win. So I fanned out parties to both flanks and we started looking for his corpse. A squad of Maidens stumbled onto the cave and explained the situation to the two women. And, my lord, that was that."

"What has the nahkhahrah to say on this matter?" the High Lord inquired politely.

"There are a few wise women among the Ahrmehnee, Lord Milo," Kohg had replied. "Never very many in any one generation. Since they conduct mostly women's rites, few men know much concerning them. Few of these wise women ever marry, so they choose a girl from among whatever tribe they serve" and train her to their craft. Though the wise women instruct midwives and tribal healers, they seldom perform such work themselves. Nonetheless, I have heard of some quite remarkable cures certain of them have wrought, over the years. It is said that they have the power to literally thrust their hands through flesh, without breaking the skin or drawing any blood, and remove tumors or foreign objects from the body. Under- -stand me, Lord Milo, I've never seen it done, but I know that it has been done."

Milo and Aldora exchanged a glance, then he addressed Komees Hari. "I'd like to meet this wise woman, Hari. Have her sent for."

The old nobleman smiled. "I thought my lord might She awaits his pleasure in the next chamber."

Milo guessed the age of the woman Hari ushered in at something under forty. He thought, too, that she must have been a raving beauty at twenty; even now, she was a handsome, high-breasted creature. Nor did she appear abashed in this august gathering. She strode gracefully at Hari's side, seemingly oblivious of her rumpled, travel-stained garments, the ghost of a smile rugging at her full, dark-red lips. Her black eyes locked briefly with the nahkhahrah's and Milo saw the old man start as if stabbed, but neither spoke and Milo felt it impolitic to pry.

Then her sloe-black gaze met Milo's and he found her mindspeak as powerful as his own. "Zehpoor greets you, Ageless One. I am glad that the Ahrmehnee are no longer your enemies. But, friend or foe, I can tell you nothing of my Powers or of how they be wrought For this be woman's magic, not men's, and it is not Our Lady's will that I betray my Sacred Vows to Her ... at least not those Vows regarding healing."

"I respect both your oaths and your silence, my lady," beamed Milo. "But-"

The smile fully flowered as she silently interrupted. "But still are you rabid for more knowledge of my Powers, Milo of Morai. It is our Lady's will that you shall have that knowledge-all that knowledge-but not of my revealing, not directly. The Lady Mara, that lovely, Ageless Ehleen woman you consider wife, will receive of me and transmit to you, since she is not Avowed.

"You will do much of good with that knowledge, both in this land and in that land to which you will, one day, lead the distant descendants of those who now serve you."

A strong shudder coursed through Milo's every fiber and he felt an icy prickling on his nerve ends. Aldora had been receiving as well, and now she mindspoke him.

"Yes, Milo, I feel it too. That eerieness, it... it's as if dear old Blind Hari of Krooguh were speaking through her lips." Then she beamed to the woman, saying, "When did you scan our futures, my lady, and why?"

Zehpoor answered readily. "No shade of a sightless Man of Powers speaks through me, Ageless Lady, nor did I purposely scan your futures. Rather did Our Lady reveal to me the future of the girl, Pehroosz, whom She led to my keeping. The threads of that future and of the futures of her children's children's children are closely tied to those of you Ageless Ones." She paused, then added, "But of these things, too, Milo of Morai, you will know when it is Her will that you know."