Chapter II
Captain-of-Lances Tim Sanderz floated on his back in the gently steaming, herb-scented bathwater, his eyes closed, allowing the soothing warmth to sink into tired muscles. From shaven pate to stubby toes, there was hardly an inch of visible skin that was not crossed by scars, and torso and limbs alike were ridged and callused at the weight-bearing points of armor. As he slowly moved his arms and legs to and fro to keep himself afloat, the muscles rippled under his skin.

Opening his eyes, he allowed his gaze to wander across whitewashed ceiling, down the painted stucco walls. How familiar it all was; it almost seemed that the past ten years had never been, that he was still the eldest boy growing up in his father's hall.

"Father…" he mused, conjuring up the image of that aged and stooped, but gnarled and powerful little man, always smelling of the milk and curds and cheese that had made up so much of his diet The long years I hated you and cursed you. And now I have returned, and you are gone to Wind and Brother Bili says that none of it was really your fault."

Closing his eyes again, the captain thought back to that last conference with his half brother and overlord, the ahrkeethoheeks, Sir Bili of Morguhn.

For all his exalted rank, Sir Bili's private office was spartan in its simplicity. A refectory table, a few chairs and stools in a windowless and lamplit room, the thick, stone walls lined with cabinets and the floorspace cluttered with chests, the double-thick door fitted with iron bolts as thick as a warrior's wrist.

Glancing about while the nobleman poured wine for them both, Tim felt certain that he sat in a second hall armory, was sure that the many chests would yield up plate and swords, dirks and axes and warhammers, that the cabinets held resting hornbows, bales of arrows, stands of pikes and bundles of darts.

For it was common knowledge that Bili of Morguhn had never gotten over the Ehleen-spawned rebellion that had burst forth in Morguhn and Vawn long before Tim was born. Bili remembered well the ruthless butchery of his kin, the besieging of this very hall. He recalled how he and his uncles, cousins and one of his brothers had had to hack their way out of his own capital, Morguhnpolis, and remembered also the death of that much-loved brother, Djef Morguhn, ere the siege of Morguhn Hall had been broken by the approach of Confederation troops.

All of Bili's personal servants were Middle Kingdoms men, as were his picked bodyguard. Not one servitor in Morguhn Hall was of Ehleen blood; moreover, all were, if not of the Middle Kingdoms, Kindred or Ahrmehnee from the western marches. He governed his own duchy harshly, as pitilessly as a northern burklord ruling a conquered province, trusting none but his brothers, his sons and Kindred of proven loyalty. Few men of any race liked him, but there was not one who did not fear and respect Bili.

Sliding a cup of wine across to Tim, Bili said bluntly, "To me. Tim, you're already thoheeks, and that's-a load off my mind, young kinsman. I've been worried sick these past months with no word from or of you, afraid I'd wind up having to confirm a thrice-damned Ehleen pervert to the Duchy of Vawn, your stepmother's eldest, Myron. Not that he'd have ruled, of course; she would've, and she's far worse than even such as he will ever be. Why, my informants tell ma that, since your father's death, she's brought in a priest of that damned, baby-butchering, blood-drinking Old Church of the Ehleenee; that she flaunts the outlawed bastard before all at the hall, clothes him in silks and supports him in indolent luxury."

Tim shrugged. "Well, my father's been dead half a year. Perhaps this so-called priest is her lover."

Bili smiled coldly. "That thought came to my mind when first I heard of this priest, but my folk tell me such is not the case. For one thing, Mehleena is as perverted as her son. Her lover is reported to be her cousin, the witch, Neeka; for another, this priest is what the Ehleenee call 'one of God's Holy Geldings'—before they'll ordain a man into that order, they take his ballocks off, and most of his yard, too."

Tim shuddered. "Sun and Wind! What kind of people are these Ehleenee of the Old Cult?"

"Fanatics, snapped Bili, adding, "to be born and bred Ehleen is to be inculcated with fanaticism and treason with your mother's very milk. My peers speak most unkindly of, me, claiming that I blindly hate and unreasonably mistrust such few Ehleenee as remain in Morguhn. But their duchies did not—a bare generation ago—suffer civil war and ruin because of an Ehleen holy war. Yes, many of them did lose kith in the Vawnpolis campaign and in the mountain fighting that followed, but those dead are only memories to them now, and dim memories at that. Every time I ride over my lands, I am confronted by stark reminders of what evil deeds, were committed here."

The passion faded from his pale blue eyes. "But, to your case, young kinsman. Could we do this the way I feel to be proper, we'd ride into Vawn at the head of your lances and my dragoons, put every Ehleen who looked at us sideways to the sword, impale that outlaw priest side by side with your stepmother, burn Neeka alive and cleanse your duchy of any taint of the Old Cult or like treasons.

"But alas, we are not honest burklords, you and I, and if we did such, we'd have Prince Zenos and his army at our throats in a twinkling. We'd be flagrant lawbreakers, y'see, and—for all his pro-Kindred sentiments—the prince could not allow us to get away with it.

"However, man, I think you should take at least a couple of files of lancers with you. Only a few of the hall folk are Sir Geros' people or mine. And as old Hwahltuh became more and more senile, that damned Mehleena persuaded him to let go almost all his Freefighters. I know, for I hired most of them onto my own force. I doubt there're now a half-dozen overaged blades left."

Tim just smiled. "I'm taking Rai with me, Brother Bili— he's a weaponsmaster. And I'm no mean swordsman, myself."

"Of course you're a good fighter," Bili snorted. "Else you'd not be here, after ten years of Freefighter life. But many a good blade has fallen to the poisoned cup, the strangler's cord, the knifethrust in the dark. You can't wear armor all the time, kinsman, can't go abroad everywhere full-armed. Nor can one or two men guard your back twenty-four hours a day.

"I am sure that these Ehleen swine have killed before, Tim. Ahl's blinding was said to be an accident. I think that even Ahl believes it was, but not I. And there is and was much to be questioned in the matter of Behrl's death, so much so that the prince almost sent a committee to investigate it—would that he had! And, for all his great age, your father's passing was most strange. None of my informants had ever before seen a man die as he did. You are the last male Sanderz of untainted blood, Tim, and I fear for your safety if you take risks among such folk."

But Tim had ridden off with only Sergeant Rai, a single packmule and an assortment of his oldest clothes, leaving his lances camped in Morguhn and his two wagonloads of loot from the intaking of Getzburk locked in the cellars of Morguhn Hall.

The water had begun to cool, and Tim momentarily debated jerking the bellrope to summon the servants with more heated water, but ended by rolling over and pulling himself out of the bath and, after making certain his heavy blade was near to hand, stretching out on the tiles to await the arrival of Rai with clean clothing. But Sir Geros came in first, bearing a brace of cups, and a small bottle of brandy and wearing a self-satisfied smile.

Wrapped in a length of thick cloth, Tim sniffed, sampled then drained the small cup. "Where'd you liberate this, you old bummer? It tastes to be twenty years old."

Sir Geros nodded. "Twenty-five, my lord. It—"

"Enough of that," said the younger man, shortly. "Appearances are well kept, in public, but, man, you jounced me on your knee and paddled my arse, when I needed it—which as I recollect was right often. In privacy, let's be on a first-name basis, eh? Geros?"

"I… I'll try… Tim." The old knight stammered. "But, my lord—but you must know, Tim, I was born a nobleman's servant, as were both my parents and all their folk before them. My father was a majordomo to a komees, which was higher than any of my folk had risen… until me."

"And you raised yourself on the strength of your arm, on the richness of the blood you shed for the Confederation and on your matchless valor, Geros," nodded Tim. "If ever any man deserved a cat, it was you." He gently tapped the silver likeness of a prairiecat which rested on the old warrior's breast. "I've never understood why you, a nobleman in your own right, entitled to rich lands in Morguhn, forsook those lands to serve as castellan here, at Sanderz Hall."

Geros sighed. "My… Tim, I could never have been happy as a lord. I was born to serve, and service is my pleasure. I… but let us talk of these matters on another day. There are things you must know, and I know not how long my folk can keep others out of earshot of us here."

"How many in the hall are you sure of, Geros?" asked Tim.

The elder set down the bottle to tick off names on his fingers. "Old Tahmahs, the head groom, is loyal; then there's Mahrtun, the dragoon 'sergeant, and the five troopers. The majordomo, Tonos, blows first hot then cold; I can't say he's our man, but he doesn't seem Lady Mehleena's either."

Tim frowned. Tones' name was not one of those given him by Archduke Bili, and it could bode ill to have so powerful a servant leagued against one.

Geros continued, graying brows knitted in concentration. "Our only reliable people in the kitchens are Hahros, the meat cook, and his eldest apprentice, Tchahrlee. Hahros is a retired Confederation Army cook and far better qualified to be head cook than that mincing effeminate, Gaios, but naturally Gaios has simpered his way into Lady Mehleena's good graces. Anyway, I've taken the liberty of promising Gaios' position upon my 1—" At a warning frown from Tim, he hurriedly corrected to, "your assumption of your patrimony."

Tim nodded. "You know these folk better than I; speak in my name when it seems wise or needful. I'll back you up."

Geros smiled thanks and went on. "The keeper of the cellars, Hyk, is an Ahrmehnee and another of the ones I cant figure."

"In that case," said Tim, grimly, "I think we should start bringing arms up out of the armory a few at the time and secreting them somewhere where we can get to them easily, when and if we need them." Then, noticing the return of Geros' smile, he inquired, "Or have you already commenced such, old friend?"

Quickly, the castellan told of the stocks of arms hidden in various parts of the hall and outbuildings—enough to equip forty men, if somewhat sketchily. Adding, "But Tim, even if we do see troubles, they'll be nothing like the risings here and in Morghun years ago. For one thing, there be precious few Ehleenee in Vawn, save those servants hired since your lady mother's time. Almost all the farmers in the duchy are Ahrmehnee, so too are the mechanics and tradesmen hereabouts. The nobles all are first- and second-generation Horseclansmen… and you know well what sort of shrift they'd give Ehleen rebels or religious fanatics.

"No, Tim, the only danger lies in the fact that Mehleena is set on her spawn, Myron, sitting in your father's place. There were some very peculiar aspects to the death of your brother, Behrl, last year."

"Yes," Tim answered. "So Bili informed me. Something to do with a mock fight, wasn't it?"

Geros grimaced. "Closer to an out-and-out duel, my… Tim. It was during that last, long illness of Lord Hwahltuh. Young Behrl was at the sword posts, one morn. Myron and the boy who then was his lover sauntered out and began to make crude and disparaging remarks. Finally, Behrl—who never could stomach Myron for any length of time, anyhow—suggested that his tormentor get a sword and see if he could do better.

"Now, Tim, Myron is no mean swordsman. He is long in the arm and strong. But, in all my years, seldom have I seen a man handle steel as did Behrl; the lad was an artist with the sword.

"Anyway, Myron sent his bumboy running and soon was at the posts himself. I'm told that Behrl, in his turn, twitted Myron's showing—at least, this was overheard by Gaib, the farrier, who happened to be passing by. I was in my house when I heard the first ringing of the blades and the fighting shouts. I headed for the practice yard as fast as these legs would carry me, but halfway there I heard a terrible cry and, when finally I panted up, Behrl lay dead in his blood, his chest hacked half through, just below the shoulderblade.

"Tim, Myron is a good swordsman, as I said, but Behrl was his master—and mine own. Without outside help, interference, there be no way that Myron could have even nicked Behrl, much less slain him!"

Tim pursed lips and squinted. "There were no witnesses?"

Geros shook his head. "Only the bumboy. What I got out of him on the spot was little—he was verging on hysteria— and seemed to back up Myron's lies. And when I wanted to question him the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. It was nearly two weeks before Moorahd, the hall hunter, hauled what was left of the corpse out of the north forest. A hot summer that was and the body was ripe, and animals had been at it till there was no way to tell just what had killed him. We only knew it was the runaway by a silver torque Myron had given him."

"Very convenient… for somebody," grunted Tim. "So now, the only way we can get at the truth is to put dear half brother Myron to the question. And if the man he is be as stubborn as the child he was it would have to be rather severe questioning. Hmmm."

A grin split Geros' face almost from ear to ear. "Ah, Tim, it will do these ears good to hear that strutting, buggering popinjay howl! Of course, your father's Room of Truth has not been used in some years, but I doubt not it can be put to rights quickly enough, and…"

Tim grimaced. "And we'd have the archduke, possibly even the prince as well, down around our ears before the echoes had died. We must never forget that this isn't a northern burk but a duchy of the Confederation, wherein, what we have here contemplated is illegal; not even the High Lords, up in Kehnooryos Atheenahs, can put a Confederation nobleman to the torture without ironbound proof of wrongdoing."

The young captain smashed scarred knuckles into horny palm. "Why? Why could there not have been one living witness? The deed must've been planned long and carefully to have been carried off so cleanly."

Then he fell silent. A dim, almost imperceptible farspeak was nibbling within his mind: "But there was another witness. Brother Tim, and Sir Geros is right, it was murder—pure and simple. No, brother, do not try to range me, please—there are other secret mindspeakers in your hall. And do not expect me to make myself known or to reveal what I saw until you have made it safe for me to do so."

And the fleeting contact was gone, like a wisp of morning mist.

"Who are the mindspeakers, here, Geros?" asked Tim. "How many of them are ours?"

Geros frowned. "Beyond any doubt, the best is your brother, Lord Ahl. You must recall that he always was far above average in that faculty, and it has been improved by a couple of years of training at the Institute in Kehnooryos Atheenahs and the year he lived at the duke's court. But my daughter, Mairee, is almost his peer in mindspeak… and the two are seldom parted; he even took her to the capital with him, and the duke seems to think highly of her."

"And," grinned Tim, shamelessly picking thoughts from the older man's mind, "you know how she feels toward my brother and are thinking that Ahl would not prove a bad son-in-law, eh?"

Though red with embarrassment, Geros nodded vigorously. "Lord Ahl could do worse, Tim. Blind as he is the Kindred will never accept him tahneestos. But he has the wisdom to make a fine townlord, and my baronetcy in Morguhn boasts a fine little town, and, since my stepson and both my natural sons died, Mairee is my only heir."

Tim nodded emphatically. "No need to convince me, old friend. I think it a marvelous idea, not to mention a stroke of pure luck for Ahl. I agree he'd be a better townlord than perhaps anything else; neither custom nor law requires a townlord to be sound of body himself, just to maintain a few Freefighters and a ready levy under a loyal and efficient captain.

"But back to this question of mindspeakers, Geros…"

"Master Tahmahs and most of his grooms are good to fair, of course, Tim."

Tim nodded. "Yes, good horse handlers have to be."

Geros went on, "There are many with middling mindspeak, like mine own, among the servants and the soldiers, though definite eye contact is necessary to range most of them."

"How of Mehleena and her litter?"

Geros looked the disgust he so strongly felt. "If she herself has any at all, she'll not ever own to it, since her damned priest says that any who can use that ability are witches and damned of his crucified god."

Tim snorted a short, harsh laugh. "That any of that accursed, traitorous pack should accuse normal Kindred of 'witchcraft' surely surpasses sane understanding. But, pray continue."

"Well, Tim, as to the piglets: Whenever the bitch has the chance to talk to Vawn or Morguhn Kindred, she's always prating about the mindspeak ability of Myron, but he's got no more than have I. Treena, the eldest girl, has none, and neither does Speeros, her year-younger brother. As for the two youngest, Maia and little Behti, it's possible they're more of Vawn than the rest—at least they look like they are, and, when the bitch or the others aren't about, they act more like they are, too.

"Sun and Wind alone know just what talents that damned Neeka owns, and…"

Suddenly there was a quick, measured series of knocks against the outer door and Geros opened it a crack, then closed it and turned back. "There's no more time for talk, Tim. The majordomo is hotfooting it out here, and- Lord Ahl has come down to break his fast. I'd best let him know you've arrived."

Chapter III
The edifice known as Vawn Hall was new, as structures went in this ancient land; its construction had been started at the close of the great Ehleen rebellion and finished only a few years before the death of Hwahltuh Sanderz, first thoheeks of the new line, all the original Vawns having fallen under the dripping blades of the rebels.

Like all the older halls, it faced east—toward the rising point of Sacred Sun—the main building rising three stories aboveground and descending four levels of cellars below. A wide, spacious, flag-paved courtyard fronted the broad stone stairway leading up to the entry. The courtyard was bounded on either side by lines of small, low-ceilinged cubicles built against the twelve-foot granite walls. Opposite the hall stood the squat, two-story-stable-cum-barrack-cum-gatehouse. To the west of the main structure was a smaller court, likewise walled, with the castellan's neat home snugged into one corner and the kitchen—with its huge hearths and cavernous ovens and soaring chimneys—in the other.

Just beyond the postern gate lay a well-appointed yard for the exercise of arms skills, with the summer smithy on one side of it and the hall privies facing. Around and about the hall stretched the rolling, grassy leas, across which ambled the hall horses and a herd of milch cows with sheep and goats in the near distance. In the fringes of the oak woods, a half mile distant—for Thoheeks Hwahltuh, ever mindful of the fate that befell his predecessor, had cleared all woods and brush within four arrow flights of his hall—rooted and foraged half-wild swine.

Having interbred countless times with the huge, indigenous boar tribe, these "domestic" hogs ran to lean strength and such fearsome ferocity that only starvling wolves or a ravenous bear or the occasional mountain cat would brave their porcine rage. But they had learned to fear two-legs on horses, for this was how they were taken in the fall, by two-legs on horses, armed with lances and bows and ropes.

Farther into the forest ranged deer and elk, and, more rarely seen, wild cattle—called "shaggy-bulls" in the Middle Kingdoms, huge and fierce and dangerous if provoked; they were roan or dusty black, dark brown or sometimes whitish, but both sexes equipped with wide-flaring, needle-tipped horns and the strength and speed to use them to awesome effect. Rabbits scuttled through the underbrush, sometimes pursued by weasel or bobcat, wolf or fox, while squirrels chattered from the trees above.

Beyond the miles of forest lay the westernmost domain of the duchy, the lands of Komees Tahm, youngest uncle of the late thoheeks' children, known as Tahm of Lion Mountain because most of the mountain cats which plagued the duchy of hard winters seemed to come down through his desmesne.

Even farther west, the tracks became narrow, winding amongst weathered rock and trees clinging precariously to the steeps which were the eastern wall of the Marches, the ahrkeethoheekatohn of the Ahrmenee Stahn, staunch allies of the Confederation. Once the fiercest enemies of the Kindred and Ehleenee, these hawk-nosed, dark-visaged men had become in the generation since the first ahrkeethoheeks, Kohk Taishyuhn, had perceived the folly of continuing hostilities, the veritable cream of the Confederation Army, whilst producing within their own stahn works of artistry in metals eagerly sought throughout the Confederation and well beyond.

The Stahn buffered the middlewestern thoheekatohnee from inroads of the savage tribes of mountain barbarians, few of whom dared incur the wrath of the well-armed, determined, head-collecting Ahrmehnee. Nor were warfare and metal-working the only accomplishments of these people or their only value to the Confederation. Straddling shaggy mountain ponies from near-infancy and hunting cunning mountain beasts from pre-puberty, Ahrmehnee boys and men made excellent hunters and the increasing number of them gifted with mindspeak ability were the best and most highly paid of horsehandlers, farriers and equine leeches.

In the twelve generations since first their Undying God had led the Horseclans Kindred across the violent, blood-soaked two thousand miles from their former home on the limitless plains of the interior to the decadent coastal principality of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, the vital, virile Kindred had brought all the Ehleenee south of the Middle Kingdoms into their Confederation—sometimes by conquest, sometimes by alliance— as well as the Ahrmehnee Stahn and several non-Ehleen northern states.

From the northernmost point—Nohtohpolisburk in the Principate of Kuhmbuhluhn—twenty days of hard riding would lead to the southern border, unmarked amidst the treacherous salt fens beyond which lay the legendary evil Witch Kingdom and, even with the matchless roads built and maintained by the army, the remainder of a full month needs must be ridden out before the southwesternmost principate, on the eastern and northern shores of the brackish River-Sea, was reached.

From their capital of Kehnoorvos Atheenahs, the four Undying ruled over six principates, over a hundred ahrkeethoheekatohnee and nearly six hundred thoheekatohee Five major races—Kindred, Ehleen, Middle Kingdoms Mehruhkuhn, Mountain Mehruhkuhn and Ahrmehnee—and numerous smaller ones made up the heterogeneous population. Three principal languages—the various dialects of Mehrikan, Ehleeneekos and Ahrmehnee—were spoken and written, though it was traditional for official records to be kept in Ehleeneekos.

The population was larger than ever it had been under the old Ehleen sway and, moreover, was growing larger with each passing year. Cities were replacing towns, becoming larger and more congested, and even the land was becoming crowded. The oceans encroached farther upon the verdant coastal croplands with each succeeding year and Middle Kingdoms states were no whit less populous, so the only viable direction for expansion lay to the west.

Compared to the east—from which their ancestors had been driven by the Ehleenee nearly a thousand years before—the peaks and glens, plateaus and vales, were thinly settled, but every tribe or clan or family group felt a fierce pride of ownership in its stony acreage and expressed that pride in bitter, unremitting warfare against the lowland invaders.

And so the huge Army of the Confederation had been engaged in almost constant warfare for over a century, fighting scores of battles and skirmishes for each mile of near-wilderness brought under Confederation control, every inch of arable land bought with the lifeblood of Confederation regulars and Middle Kingdoms Freefighters. Precious few liked the enduring situation of endless war to the west, but most recognized the necessity and inevitability of the advance of civilization against barbarism.

The Undying would have preferred to gain the use of western lands through treaties of alliance, as they had done a generation back with the Ahrmehnee; but, unlike the tightknit Ahrmehnee Stahn, the mountaineers were for the most part crude, brutish and highly fractious among themselves, though they displayed a modicum of twisted honor in their internecine feudings—and some of the clans and tribes seemed to hate other clans and tribes nearly as much as they all hated the lowlanders—they seemed to feel that treaties with non-mountaineers were made to be broken as quickly as suited them. Further, their chiefs thought nothing of claiming and selling lands not their own, so the Undying had long ago reconciled themselves to the fact that needful expansion of territory could only advance behind the point of a spear.

Within the Confederation itself, however, there had been no warfare since the crushing of the Ehleen revolts nearly thirty years before. Within cities and towns, crime was petty and small-scale, and in the countryside, brigandage was almost unheard of. The descendants of the Ehleenee pirates who once had been the scourge of the mainland coasts now were the officers and crews of the swift oarships and far-ranging sailing ships that made the coastal waters too dangerous for any but honest merchantmen and the most suicidally foolhardy raiders.

Save on the western frontiers, few towns or cities were still completely contained by walls. All the older, lowland urban areas had spread well beyond their walls and many had wholly or partially dismantled them. Even some of the conservative hereditary nobility had defortified their ancestral halls or even deserted the grim stone piles to live in the new-" style manor houses.

But these nobles were not among those who had fought against the fanatic rebels of Gafnee, Morguhn and Vawn. Those nobles bided within their castellated halls, locked their gates each sundown, slept lightly and with a pillow-sword close to hand. And they distrusted all Ehleenee—for all that most of them had more than a trace of that blood in their own veins—especially the self-styled kath-ahrohs or Ehleenee of pure lineage.

Such a kath-ahrohs house had spawned her who had been Mehleena Lohgos, ere she was taken to wife by Hwahlruh, chief of Sanderz and Thoheeks of Vawn; and loud, long and fierce had been remonstrations of his Kindred at word of the projected match. But he was a stubborn man; moreover was he the son and grandson of chiefs and unaccustomed to tamely submitting to the bidding of his subchiefs. Also, he had the full support of his premier wife, the Lady Mahrnee— widow of the chief and Thoheeks of Morguhn, ere she wed her second husband—and against those two the combined Sanderz Kin stood no slightest chance, for all their ranting and raving of Ehleen plots, past, present and future.

But before her bridal year was spent, Mehleena was first and only wife, Lady Mahrnee being suddenly taken with a wasting sickness which claimed her life within two months of its onset. The servants had all loved and respected their dead mistress as cordially as they had quickly learned to hate and fear Lady Mehleena, and there were whisperings of witchcraft and poison. However, the improvable charges remained but the mutterings of older servants.

However, the mutterings increased as ill fortune seemed to stalk the house of Sanderz. In his twelfth year, Gilbuht Sanderz, eldest son of the chief and heir presumptive, drowned in the lake, for all that he had been an excellent swimmer. And that same year, his twin, Ahl, was blinded and almost killed in a freak accident. The mutterings had it that neither "accident" had occurred until after Mehleena had been delivered of her firstborn son, dark little Myron.

With one older brother dead and another disqualified for any clan office due to his blindness, the aging chief and his male kin commenced crash-course schooling in the duties, privileges and responsibilities of a chief and a tahneestos with Tim and Behrl, the two remaining. boy-children of Lady Mahrnee and Hwahltuh. More and more frequently, this training fell to the uncles and older cousins of the boys, for the health of the chief was failing. Nor was this failing remarkable to any, for Hwahltuh had counted more than threescore years when his first child was born.

But the old chief gradually fell more and more under the sway of Mehleena, for only the potions brewed by her and her cousin, Neeka, served to relieve the unbearable headaches which had taken to plaguing him. These potions cast him into a deep and lengthy slumber, and for days after his eventual wakening, he was meek and biddable as a child, seemingly incapable of formulating his own opinions or of making his own decisions, bowing to Mehleena's will in every particular. And that weakness was Tim's downfall.

Chapter IV

"I saw them myself, Hwahltuh!" Mehleena's dark eyes were wide with horror and her voice strident with emotion; her soft, beringed hands were clasped tightly at her heaving bosom. "Tim and Giliahna, in her chamber, on her very bed! Clipping, they were, Hwahltuh, and…" Her voice sank to a horrified whisper. "And kissing!"

The bearded, white-haired man looked up from the arrows he had been fletching for his short, powerful bow. His bushy brows bunched and merriment shone from his light-blue eyes. "Well, Sacred Sun be praised for that much, wife. Or would it more please you to see them trading daggerthrusts or seeking to poison each other, as is the wont of siblings in some noble houses? I'd hate to go to Wind leaving the makings of a battle royal within my own house."

"But, Hwahltuh, no." She bent closer. "It… it was not as brother with sister, Hwahltuh, it was as man with woman, they were! Embraced, kissing, their hands… their hands, husband, moving under each other's clothing in private places!"

Mehleena moved back, expecting violent rage. But her husband just straightened a bit on his chair, shook his head slowly and chuckled.

"Sweet Jesus save us!" burst out the stupified Ehleen woman. "Don't you understand me, Hwahltuh? Your depraved son is about to have his incestuous way with his own blood sister, your daughter! You must do something to stop this nastiness or send him away until she be safely wed."

"Send my heir away? Nonsense," grunted the old chief, then voiced another throaty chuckle. "He's a Sanderz, right enough, shows good taste in womanflesh. Randy young colt, he is, as I was, and for all she's only thirteen, Giliahna is a handsome filly and no mistake."

Mehleena's earlier horror was magnified by his attitude. Hastily, she crossed herself to ward off evil and clutched her jeweled cross for comfort and strength.

"Hwahltuh, Hwahlruh, he will take her flower. Then how win you find a decent husband for her? And… and everyone knows that if a child be gotten in incest, it always is either born dead or born an idiot. Have you thought on that?"

"Hogwash!" the old man snorted derisively, casting down his arrow and split quills. "Ehleen hogwash, woman! Do I look like the spawn of idiots, eh! My great-grandfather married his sister and got my grandfather on her. If Tim wants Giliahna to wife, he'll have her with my blessing and that of the clan. What better bloodline could he choose for breeding chiefs and warriors? And if his dalliances quicken her, he'll have her to wife, like it or not. As for her maidenhead, pah, it's of no importance. She's a comely chit, wellborn and well-dowered, and there'll be no lack of noble suitors, wife, believe me."

He picked up the arrow again, adding, "Mehleena, love, this is not your father's hall. We are Kindred, here, not Ehleenee, and you must always remember that our ways, our customs, are not your people's. I have allowed you to cleave to your preferred religion since you wed me, for all that it's proscribed the length and breadth of our great Confederation, but don't try to force Kindred into that narrow mold, dear.

"We are free men, we Kindred. We reverence Sun and Wind as did our Sacred Ancestors back to our very beginnings on the Sea of Grass. We never have been priest-bound and saddled with those silly, childish rituals and taboos which your religion has foisted upon you Ehleenee.

"Now, please let me get back to these arrows, love. There's not much light left and I'd like to finish them today."

Mehleena left him. Pale and shuddering with frustrated rage and soul-sick of her—to her, justified—horror at the mortal sin her husband was countenancing under his very roof. But, heeding Cousin Neeka's advice, she did nothing more, said nothing further… until the chiefs next headache.

By the time that Hwahlruh recovered his will, nearly a month later, Tim was beyond the borders of the Confederation : . . and Giliahna was on her way to be wed to the Prince of Kuhmbuhluhn, a man but ten years her father's junior and recently widower of his seventh wife.

The aging chief sent a letter north with the next Confederation rider to pass through his duchy. In it, he humbly asked his son to forgive his temporary weakness to Mehleena's importunings, begged him to return at once to his home, his father, and his family, but that letter was never answered. Nor were any others of the scores the repentant old man sent north. At length, his hurt pride surfacing, Hwahltuh stopped writing directly. Instead he entrusted weights of gold to Chief Bili, Ahrkeethoheeks Morguhn, that Tim might at least clothe himself well, own the protection of good weapons, decent armor and a well-trained destrier. Nor did the saddened Thoheeks of Vawn ever again hear directly from his heir. Only through Archduke Bili—who had been reared and war-trained in the Middle Kingdoms and who had kin and old comrades now in high places—did bits and pieces of Tim's career trickle south, of Tim's appointment as an ensign of dragoons in the Freefighter regiment of a well-known and renowned noble officer; of Tim's knighting into the Order of the Blue Bear of Harzburk by King Gy, himself, on the blood-soaked field of Krahkitburk; of his defeat and capture of a famous champion in another battle; and, later, of the lieutenancy Tim purchased with said champion's ransom.

It was on Hwahltuh's last visit to the ahrkeethoheeks' hall that he heard of the purchased promotion. In the few years of life he then had remaining, his infirmities precluded travel, and the yearly taxes were, perforce, delivered to the overlord by his brother, the tahneestos, and Tim's brother, Behrl.

"You know these strange northern ways, Chief Bili. What does it mean, this title my boy's bought himself? How many bows will draw for him? Is he still an underling to this Colonel What's-his-name?"

Bili nodded. "Yes, Colonel Sir Hehnri, Earl of Pahkuhzburk, is still his commander, but the title means that Tim now commands a contingent of fifty horse archers—they call them 'dragoons,' up there—with an ensign or two and a senior sergeant to assist him. Tim's now responsible for the training of his troop, for their welfare and provisioning in garrison or on the march and for recruiting replacements after battles. Their weapons and armor and their horses, however, are provided by Sir Hehnri, except for those men lucky enough to own their own."

Hwahltuh sighed his relief. He still meant to provide for his loved son, but he had suddenly realized as the archduke spoke that he could beggar his duchy if he had to buy trained warhorses and weapons and armor for fifty-odd men.

Bili went on, grinning, obviously inordinately proud of this younger half brother who had succeeded so well in the land of their mother's birth and Bili's own fond boyhood memories.

"Give Tim a couple more good ransoms, if his luck holds, and he'll be a captain in his own right Hell be totally independent of his present regiment and able to negotiate contracts for his services."

"With only fifty horse archers, Bili?" the old thoheeks asked. "What sovran or lord would be willing to hire on so small a contingent?"

"Ask any one of the hundred I might name, Hwahltuh," attested Bili bluntly, adding, "You've never been in the Middle Kingdoms, good stepfather, so you're thinking in terms of the vast host of Lord Milo's army. But none of the states of the north is even a tenth the size of our Confederation, and even if the three largest could somehow be brought into alliance, even that alliance could not pay either the hire or the maintenance of a force the size of our Regular Army.

"Oh, yes, there've been the rare times in years agone when one kingdom or another briefly fielded fifteen or twenty thousand fighters, but not recently. They've been fighting among themselves for so long that warfare there is almost a game—a violent, bloody and sometimes fatal game, but a game, nonetheless. Quality of troops is of far more importance to the prospective employer than is numbers—quality of the troops and the fame of their commander.

"You can bet your last silver thrahkmeh that Sir Tim's exploits have by now spread far and wide. So if his luck holds and he can manage to put together a good, independent command, he'll soon be able to pick and choose among some very lucrative contracts. His fortune will be assured. You can be justly proud of him. Hwahltuh. Sun and Wind know that I am."

"I could burst of my pride in my son, Bili." The old man's voice was low but filled with feeling. "But his place is—> should be—here. He should be in Vawn, Bili. I'm an old, old man, even for our race, and… and I'm not well. If… if something should happen to Tim, if he should be killed or badly crippled… well, I just don't know.

"You know how it is with Ahl—he'd never be confirmed chief. As for Behrl, well, hell make a fine tahneestos, he'd be a first-class war chief, but he's just not the temper for the kind of chief a Confederation clan needs, and the Kindred know it as well as I do, too. And his mindspeak is a chancy, come-and-go thing, atop it all. So, I doubt me that the Clan Council would ever confirm him.

"And," his voice assumed grim overtones, "you and I both know who that leaves to succeed me. She is forever preening the lout in front of any Kinsman of Sanderz who'll hold still long enough to watch the act And act it is, Bili. Myron is totally Ehleen, the worst kind of Ehleen. I cringe to think how my duchy and kin and our folk would fare under so unnatural a creature."

Bili squirmed uncomfortably in his high-backed armchair, then shrugged, "Well, if the act is really so apparent, the clansmen might not confirm him, and, even if they should, I can always refuse to recognize that confirmation, you know."

Hwahltuh sighed. "Be realistic, Bili. Admittedly, I was born in a hide tent on the Sea of Grass, but I've dwelt among your eastern Kindred for near a score and half of summers now. Men will be men, whatever their birth or race, and they have their pride.

"Prince Zenos is first cousin of Mehleena, and you know as well as I do that he'd never allow you to override a Clan Council confirmation of a man of his house. No, you wouldn't dare but recognize that pervert in my place."

Bili cracked one big knuckle, then another. "Hwahltuh, I am not without certain influence at Kehnooryos Atheenahs, the Undying…"

Hwahltuh slowly shook his head, raising a hand. "The High Lords are up to the eyebrows in the mountain business, and the last thing they want to see is any bare trace of internal discord. Neither the High Ladies nor God Milo could afford to countenance your barefaced insult and defiance of your overlord."

The two noblemen finished their honey mead in silence; there was nothing more to say. But as Hwahltuh was mounting his easy-gaited mule for the long ride back to Vawn, he leaned close to the archduke and said, "I have a strange feeling, Bili, that I'll never see you again. Please, promise me one thing. By the love my dear Mahrnee so freely gave to the three of us, swear that immediately I seem about to go to Wind you will see Tim in Vawn to take his lawful place."