Robert Adams - Horseclans 5 - The Savage Mountains

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PROLOGUE

The narrow, winding streets of the city were dark and utterly deserted, save for the solitary

figure whose worn, oft-patched boots crunched through the fresh-fallen snow. The fine stuff of the

hooded cloak which shrouded the walker had commenced to fray in places, but still was thick and

warm. The scabbard of a broadsword jutted out at the hooded one's side, though of all the folk

still alive within the walls of the doomed city, he was the man least likely to be attacked.

Not that Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhnpolis was universally loved. There were full many

who actively hated the short, stocky, middle-aged nobleman, especially among the more religious

elements of the population. But there was not a man or woman who would have dared to lift hand

against him who commanded the city and its defense, for, harsh and uncompromising as had been his

tenure, but few of his schemes and strategems had failed, while each and every one of his

predictions had inexorably come to pass.

Most of those few thousands remaining in besieged Vawnpolis were common people-peasant villagers

of this Duchy of Vawn and its neighboring principality, the Duchy of Morguhn; Vawnpolee and

Morguhnpolee city dwellers, servant-class types, miners, herders and the like-and all were deeply

riddled with superstition, else they would never have become involved in the insanity which had

brought them to these sorry straits.

Inflamed by the kooreeoee and priests, who had been abetted by a handful of minor nobles, they had

schemed and plotted against their rightful lords and finally had risen up and murdered many of

them. In Vawn, the rebellion had been an unqualified success. But, due to a number of factors, in

Morguhn it had failed miserably and, worse, had cost the lives not only of many Morguhn rebels

but of hundreds of the Vawnee who had ridden to aid them. Of the two kooreeoee, Holy Skiros of

Morguhn was known to have been captured by the forces of the pitiless thoheeks of Morguhn;

Mahreeos of Vawn had simply disappeared in the maelstrom-rout of the self-proclaimed Soldiers of

God, whether dead, captured or in hiding, none of his erstwhile followers could say which.

Few of the rebel nobles had survived the debacle in Morguhn, and those few had bolted to the only

refuge available to them, the walled city of Vawnpolis, which had been the seat of the now

extirpated Thoheeksee of Vawn-descendants of one of the barbarian Horseclans whose rule had been

imposed upon formerly Ehleen lands for a century and a half.

Though there had been, between the defeat in Morguhn and the investment of Vawnpolis, more than

adequate time for every man or woman or child of the rebels to escape, to flee before the avenging

forces, there had never been a safe direction in which to flee-Morguhn lay to the east, the loyal

Duchy of Skaht lay to the north and the equally loyal Duchy of Baikuh lay to the south; west lay

grim death in the terrible form of wild, savage mountain tribes.

Just before harvest time, after a hotly contested march, the army now besieging Vawnpolis had

arrived under its walls. Twenty thousand Confederation Regulars had marched under their cat

standards, along with almost every loyal nobleman of fighting age, their relatives, retainers and

companies of hired Freefighters, most of the latter being natives of the Middle Kingdoms, which

lay several ' hundred miles to the north. This vast host-more than thirty thousand warriors, in

all-was led by High Lord Milo of Morai and High Lady Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpas, two

of the Undying Triumvirate who had ruled the Confederation since its inception. Only they were

aware that the rebellion, though cloaked in religious trappings, was really sparked by ageless

agents of the Witch Kingdom, situated in the huge and trackless Salt Swamp of the farthest south.

With the siegelines drawn and fortified, the bulk of the nobles had been sent home to see to their

harvests, while their Freefighter companies and the Regulars maintained the investiture. With the

crisp air of autumn, they returned

with reinforcements, swelling the total strength of the army to over forty thousand.

Since then, there had been three assaults on the city walls, all beaten off, but all exacting a

high cost not only to attackers, but to the defenders, who could ill afford any manner of losses.

It was, Drehkos ruminated as he walked back to the Citadel, an impossible situation. Due

principally to the senseless burnings of standing crops and slaughterings of herds during the

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first days of the Vawn rebellion, Vawnpolis had not ever been really well supplied with food and

had lasted this long only because of the fever which had sporadically raged through the city,

taking off mostly the youngest and the oldest and the sickly or wounded. Now, the last skeletal

horse had been butchered, most of the hoarded stores were gone along with dogs and cats; even rats

and mice were virtually extinct in Vawnpolis.

Before the outer works fell, it had sometimes been possible to filter small raiding parties

through the lines to prey upon the camps or supply line of the besiegers, but recent attempts in

this direction had resulted only in the gruesome return of the raiders by way of the investing

army's catapults-their headless bodies splatting against the walls or into the streets.

At least there was no lack of fresh water from the three deep wells within the walls. Nor did they

lack for fuel, since the miners had early on discovered a wide seam of hard coal beneath the city

itself. But these were the only items they did not lack.

The refugee-rebels had fled their homes in haste, in summer, and the dearth of warm clothing,

boots and blankets was crippling. The supply of arrows was running perilously low. Since the

city's tannery had lain outside the walls, leather was become scarce and even the few green hides

were husbanded. Even so mundane a thing as rope was become infinitely precious, and ordinary linen

or cotton thread brought its lucky owner a silver thrahkmeh the yard.

For months now, no scrap of any hard metal had been allowed to sit idle. A round dozen master

smiths were among the rebels in Vawnpolis, along with numerous apprentices and a superfluity of

fuel; all that was lacking was a decent supply of war metals-steel, iron, bronze and brass.

The lack of horn and fishglue rendered the repair of bows almost an impossibility, and stringing

those still usable was becoming more and more difficult as the supply of silk steadily dwindled.

The few arrows they could find decent wood to produce were, of dire necessity, fletched with

vellum and tipped with fire-hardened bone; also, Drehkos had encouraged experiments in scraping

and otherwise processing bone in attempts to devise a substitute for horn, but the results had

been, thus far, inconclusive.

If only . . . Drehkos Daiviz could but shake his weary head and sigh. This rebellion, now fast

approaching its bloody, inevitable conclusion, had been pointless and wasteful, and those

involved, himself included, had been fools and worse. How can an egg be unscrambled? And it would

be as simple to do that as to return any part of the Confederation to its pre-Horseclans condition-

Ehleen-ruled and principally Christian.

How could he and the other nobles have allowed the kooreeoee to so delude them? Poor Myros, at

least, was more or less mad and might be excused on that ground. But the rest of them should have

known better, should have known their Holy Cause was foredoomed to failure, should have realized

that a mere handful of nobles and a few thousands Soldiers of Christ-ill-armed, half-trained

peasants and city riffraff-had not the chance of a snowball in Hell against the professional

troops they were certain to face.

As the torches at the Citadel gate glowed ahead, he consciously set his face in a smile, that

those good men within might not think him either worried or displeased. For he was definitely not

displeased, not with them, anyway. They-common and gentle and noble . . . yes, and even cleric-had

done more, done longer and done with less than anyone had any right to expect

And his smile broadened, involuntarily, at the swell of his fierce pride in these, his men. Their

bravery, stoicism in suffering privations and self-sacrifice, should, by rights, have bought them

their lives and guaranteed their futures; in truth, he and they would all soon be dead. He only

hoped that what they had done here would be remembered by those who opposed them, even after the

Holy Cause which had brought them all to this pass had been long years relegated to that dungheap

from which it should never have been resurrected.

Chapter I

Although the camps scattered about the headquarters hill resounded with the raucous gaiety of the

besieging army's celebration of the year-end Sun Festival, the woman and eight men gathered about

the board in the commander's pavilion were subdued, drinking little and eating less. Of the ten

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thoheeksee who had led the march out of Morguhnpolis last summer, seven were left alive, but only

five had been hale enough to ride to this feast, and all of them bore either bandages or new

scars.

Old Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt, Confederation siegemaster, tapped the dottle from his pipe, picked up his

winecup, then set it back, untasted. "Had one of my officer-students propounded a situation of

this sort, even as late as a year ago, Td have pegged him a madman!" He snorted, feelingly. "The

whole damned thing's impossible! A few thousand ill-supplied, ill-equipped, starveling wretches of

amateur soldiers simply cannot hold the antique walls of a small hill town against four times

their number of professionals-and half of that force, units of the best damned army any of us will

ever see. It's completely illogical!"

Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt mindspoke, while sipping thin broth through a copper tube and longingly

eyeing the joints of meat-broth and milk and wine having been his only sustenance since the

physician, Master Ahlee, had wired shut his shattered jaws after the most recent attack. "Logical

or not, Sir Ehdt, I face the reality of it every time I shave. It might almost lead one to wonder

at the power of a religion that can give its adherents what it takes to do the impossible.. .."

Thoheeks Morguhn set down his silver winecup with a crash. The lamp flames played on his scarred,

shaven scalp as he tilted back his head to vent a harsh laugh. "My lord ahrkeethoheeks, men

sometimes die for religion, but they don't fight for religion. Men fight for blood and loot and

women and great captains. The rebels are fighting for Drehkos Daiviz, not for any blood-drinking,

crucified god. When they've beaten us off, do you hear them praising their god or his priests? Of

course not! That whole city erupts with cheers for Lord Drehkos. Should they be suddenly bereft of

him, they'd fold up like an empty wineskin."

Old Thoheeks Duhnkin belched twice, resoundingly, then nodded. "Aye, Bili, I too have noted that.

Ah, Sacred Sun, but it was a bitter and cursed day when so obviously worthy and talented a Kinsman

chose to turn against his Kindred and throw in his lot with a traitorous pack of Ehleenee scum."

He belched once more, then added, "For, to my way of thinking, our Confederation could well use

such a gifted leader."

The High Lord, Milo Morai, who had but recently returned from his capital to rejoin the army,

agreed. "Yes, thoheeksee, never has any realm a superfluity of good leaders. And I admit to you

all, his crimes notwithstanding, I could be quite magnanimous to Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of

Morguhn, in the right circumstances. And him who delivered me said baronet alive would not go

unrewarded, either. In return for the sworn services of a Drehkos, I would even be willing to

negotiate generous terms in the surrender of Vawnpolis."

At this, several of the thoheeksee growled and the young Morguhn slammed a callused palm on

tabletop. "My liege must be aware that he owns all my fealty and devotion, but such an action

would be wrong. I must tell him so. I well recall a day last summer, in a blood-splashed

cornfield, when my lord spoke otherwise. He then felt that, any other considerations apart, the

only way to be sure of no future rebellions was to utterly extirpate this lot of rebels."

Milo shrugged. "Times change, Bili, as do conditions; the wise man will alter his conduct,

conceptions and plans accordingly. A good sword is flexible and a good man, adaptable. Admittedly,

we still could probably do it your way-batter our way into Vawnpolis, butcher its inhabitants to a

man and raze the walls and structures. But such a course is certain to be very costly, in terms of

men and in terms of money, both of which will be needed in full measure, come spring, as will all

of you and your levies. But more of that, anon.

"With regard to Drehkos and to Sun knows how many more of these rebels, there be this: When I

journeyed back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, two months ago, it was principally for the purpose of

personally conducting two very important prisoners, the so-called Kooreeoee Skiros of Morguhn and

Mahreeos of Vawn. Arrived in the capital, these two were put to the question, with all that that

implies. It was not an easy task, nor a quick one, but eventually I got the truth from them, the

whole truth, much of which but reinforced what I had already known.

"And the three men-there was another kooreeos, captured at Gafnee, who chanced to die while being

questioned by High Lady Mara, last summer-were not what they seemed. Though their minds occupied

the husks of men who had really been ordained priests and confirmed kooreeoee, they were still

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imposters, intent upon creating as much havoc as possible in the Confederation. Gentlemen, those

spurious kooreeoee were as old as I am, maybe even older! But Sacred Sun had not gifted them as

the true Undying are gifted. Rather, were they of that hellish breed commonly called 'Witchmen'!"

Several of the thoheeksee grasped at their Sun medallions, while old Sir Ehdt and Thoheeks Bili

Morguhn made the Sign of Sacred Steel in the air before them.

Smiling, the High Lord reassured them all, saying, "Despite what you may have heard, gentlemen,

there is nothing supernatural about these, our enemies. They are highly dangerous, make no

mistake, but they be no sorcerers; rather have they perverted certain disciplines of knowledge,

knowledge which first saw light in the days before the death of that world which preceded this

one.

"Nearly a thousand years ago, your distant ancestors- over two hundred million of them, of a vast

diversity of races-dwelt in a principality which was one though it stretched from the Sea of Sun

Birth to another which lies far west of the Sea of Grass. Then was the Great Salt Swamp mostly dry

land, full of farms and pasturelands, cities and towns and, probably, more people than now live in

all the lands of our Confederation.

"All these many people were ruled by men chosen to represent them. These men met in a great city

which was almost totally destroyed, the ruins of which now lie beneath the waters of the lakes and

bays near the mouth of the North River of Kehnooryos Ehlas. So rich were the people and the nation

which they ruled that vast sums could be spent on various projects which had little to do with

such basic needs as food production, war preparation and the like.

"One such project was the effort to transport men to the stars by means which I'll not even

attempt to explain to you. An auxiliary project, part of the star-journey project, was the need to

find a way of prolonging human lifespans, since even the nearer stars lay a distance of years

away. The men and women assigned to search out these means were all concentrated in a highly

secret place in that sub-principality which now is the Great Salt Swamp.

"Unfortunately for Sun knows how many, they were successful in their search. They found a way to

prolong a given number of human minds, almost indefinitely. But intuitively realizing what the

most of humanity would think of their answer to the problem, they took every precaution to conceal

their triumph,' so that it was only bare months before the Great Catastrophe that the Congress-

which is what the gathering of ruling representatives was then called-and certain newsmongers

discovered just how horrible was that method.

"The outcries of the millions who had chosen those representatives was loud and long and outraged.

And those rulers, who wished to remain such, quickly reacted by ordering the project to prolong

life immediately canceled, all its records destroyed and its personnel discharged and widely

dispersed.

"However, ere their will could be implemented, there commenced the series of events which led to

the destruction of nations, races and cultures. Because of their still secret and isolated

location, the couple of hundred people in the project area, which was called the Kehnehdee

Research Center, survived unharmed by firerain or plagues. When the plagues had run their course,

they allowed a few, pitiful outsiders to join them as 'breeding stock.'

"You see, gentlemen, what they had discovered was a way to transfer the mind and memories from an

aging to a younger body-man to man, woman to woman, man to woman, woman to man and even, so I

understand, man or woman to certain animals! And so they have continued their parasitic existence

down through the centuries, their aged, evil minds using one young, vibrant body after another.

"And their grand design is nothing less than to make the entire world their slaves. They were

ready to do it by force of arms four hundred years ago, but the earthquakes and floods, the tidal

waves and the subsidence of most of the huge peninsula whereon they dwelt utterly confounded their

schemes. Though most of the original parasites survived that disaster, they lost much of their

carefully maintained equipment-which was irreplaceable-all save a couple of their population

centers and eight of every ten of their serf-soldiers. And virtually overnight their rich,

productive lands were become, at the very best, sterile for years from their drenching of

seawater.

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"They have not yet fully recovered. Even so, they recognize the Confederation as a menace to their

eventual intent, standing united on their very border as we do. Therefore they continue to foment

trouble from within and without-trying to weaken us, divide us. This rebellion, which started at

Gafnee and is ending here, was their third effort against us since the coming of the Horseclans.

And we must finish it quickly, even at the cost of some concessions, for we will be face to face

with their fourth effort all too soon. To combat this new and awesome threat effectively,

gentlemen, the Confederation will need every arm that can swing sword or pull bow!"

Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn stood and leaned across the small table to refill his guest's

winecup, a completely natural action on the part of a young man who, born of upper-servant class,

had spent most of his life as a valet to noblemen.

His guest, however, slapped a horny hand on the tabletop, exclaiming in the harsh, nasal accents

of Harzburk, "Now, dammit, Geros . . . ahh, Sir Geros . . . that just is not done! You're noble,

now, man. You're a knight of Duke Bili's household, which means you outrank me. You ask if I want

more wine; then, since your servant seems to have absented himself, I refill my own cup . . . and

yours, if you so indicate."

Sinking back onto his seat, the husky, olive-skinned knight sighed and shook his shaven head. "Oh,

Pawl, Pawl ... I was so happy before, as a simple color sergeant, as merely a comrade of your

troop. I never aspired to nobility. Tell me, Pawl, was I ... did you consider me to be a good

soldier, a good Freefighter?"

The silvery bristles on the guest's pate flashed in the lamplight as his head bobbed. "Sir Geros,

I will always feel honored that you learned your craft under me. Yes, you were an excellent

Freefighter, none better."

Sir Geros sighed once more. "Then why, Pawl? Why could they not just leave me where I was so

happy? Why was it necessary to thrust nobility on me? Force me to bear a title which I will never

be able to live up to? What did I do to deserve such?"

Pawl Raikuh's scarred features registered stunned dismay. "Are you daft, man, to talk so? One who

did not know better would think you'd been condemned to some dire punishment Man, in one day, you

saved your lord's life, slew the biggest warrior I've ever seen and performed an act of bravery

which, though I witnessed every moment of it, I still can hardly believe! What did you expect? A

pat on the head and, maybe, a new sword?"

Geros raised his dark, troubled eyes. "I would have been more than happy with such, Pawl." His

fingers toyed with the silver cat pendant on his chest. "After all, I but did what any man of the

thoheek's would have done during the battle, for he is a good lord and kind. As for the other,

well. .." Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze. "I still don't know why I did it, didn't really

realize I was doing it until I found myself down there in the fire and the heat. But it's as I

said, Pawl. The officer was hurt and everyone could see he would soon be burned alive. If I had

not, another would've."

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

He could.

The hilltop salient had been but a trap set by the crafty leader of the rebels. The

fortifications, garrisoned by suicide troops, had been undermined, supported only by oil-soaked

timbers which had been secretly fired. The stratagem had failed on the twin hillock, assaulted and

taken by troops under the personal command of the High Lord; his mindspeak warning had arrived

barely in time for most of the Confederation forces to quit the dangerous area.

Only a single, rearguard company had been still at the periphery of the trap when it was sprung.

When the dust had settled, it could be seen that but a single member of that company had survived.

And he was facing a cruel, gruesome death, his legs securely pinned under a huge, smoldering

timber, unable to draw his sword and his dirk missing.

Several men on the lip of the still-settling crater had attempted to throw the unfortunate officer

a weapon that he might decently end his life ere the flames reached him, but the distance was too

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great, and Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sent a galloper to bring back an archer from the foot of

the hilL

Geros could not recall all of the beginning, could not remember hastily shedding most of his armor

or clambering down the crumbling slope of the crater. But he would never forget that heat!

It had lapped over him, enfolded him in its deadly embrace. It had savaged his flesh, set boots

and clothing a-smolder, made each breath a searing agony.

After an endless eternity of gingerly picking his way over an almost limitless expanse of steaming

earth, jumbled stones and splintered timbers, the officer lay just before him, thanking him for

his valor, asking for his dirk and urging him to return to safety.

The few moments after that were very hazy in Geros' memory . . . but in no one else's. He

recalled, however, half carrying, half dragging the young officer-Captain Lehzlee, heir to

Ahrkeethoheeks Lehzlee-to where a host of willing hands assisted them both up to safety.

But from that now cursed moment, the warm and natural comradery which he had so cherished had

disappeared with the suddenness of a blown-out candle flame. The hard-bitten Freefighters, who

reverenced damned few things, had seemed very uncomfortable in his presence, treating him with a

deference bordering upon awe. And he hated it all!

Pawl Raikuh went on, "I was there. I saw what you did . . . though, as I said, I still scarce can

credit the testimony of my own eyes. That timber was hardwood, looked to be solid oak, and near

two feet thick, so it couldn't have weighed less than a ton and a half, Harzburk measure, maybe

two tons. Yet you raised it, man! With your bare hands, you lifted near a thousand ferfee-weight

and held the damned thing long enough for the captain to inch his crushed legs from under it! In

my near forty years as a Freefighter, I've seen many a wonder, but if Steel allows me that many

more years, I'll never again see an equal to my lord's feat in the crater-"

"Damn it!" Sir Geros' fist crashed onto the table, setting cups and ewer to dancing. "Damn you,

Pawl Raikuh! I be nobody's lord, and you know it! I'm the same man I've always been, Geros

Lahvoheetos, son of Vahrohnos Luhmahnt's majordomo. My mother was an herb gardener, who harped and

sang at feasts. And I, I was a gentleman's valet, who played and sang when so ordered. It was by

purest chance that I found myself thrust into the role of warrior."

Raikuh grinned. "And you took to it as naturally and easily as an otter kit swims. In short

months, you were one of the best swordsmen in my troop."

"Only because I realized there was no way I could wriggle out of the situation . . . easily, and

being a born coward, I wanted to stay alive. And the only way a warrior can be reasonably certain

he'll survive his next battle is to make himself a master of his weapons. But I am not, can never

be, as you and Thoheeks Bili and those reared to the Sword. I don't like fighting and killing,

Pawl. I'll never like it.

"At least, when I was simply a Freefighter, I had the solace that when the rebellion was crushed,

I'd be able to return to being what I had always been. But now, since they did these unwarranted

things to me, I'll be expected to swing Steel the rest of my life and to rear any sons I happen to

sire to pursue like lives.

"I say again, Pawl, I am no one's lord. Rather am I a slave in detested bondage to an undeserved

reputation, an unwanted title, a silver bauble and a couple of feet of sharp steel."

A feeling of fatherliness swept over the fiftyish captain. He reached across the table to pat

Geros' clenched fist lightly. "Son, you'll not feel so in a year. Others have been similarly upset

by the sudden grant of nobility . . . I've seen such. As for being no one's lord, that same year

will put the lie to that statement, I'll warrant."

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

Tracing designs in a puddle of spilled wine and regarding the new noble from beneath bushy brows,

Raikuh spoke slowly. "Why just this, Geros. Duke Bili is not so mean as to give a faithful man

rank without maintenance. Your present title is but a military one, and as certain sure as steel

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cuts to bone, you'll be at least a vahrohneeskos of Morguhn-with a fine town and croplands and

kine-by this time next year, mark my words. Nor be that all, I trow___"

Raising cup to lips, he took a long draught of the fine, strong wine, then continued. "That fiesty

little bastard Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn be proud as a solid-gold hilt, and he'll not forsake an

opportunity like this. After all, he can truthfully attest that your deeds were done in his

service, too, since we all are fighting on what are his lands. And don't you forget the House of

Lehzlee, either. There be no richer or prouder house in the south of Karaleenos than Lehzlee, and

you saved the life-at great personal risk-of the man who will one day be archduke and chief of

that house. They're not likely to let such go unrewarded."

Geros' mind reeled. He had not even considered these possibilities. "But . . . but, Pawl, what

will I do? I know nothing of farming."

Raikuh chuckled. "Damned few nobles do, son Geros. You'll do what they all do, of course. You'll

find and hire a competent provost and a few overseers and a score or so over-age Freefighters to

see the peace be kept. Then you'll spend your days riding and hunting and begetting. You'll sit in

judgment in your town on market days, meet in council with your overlord and peers once each moon

and ride with them once each year to the archduchy council, where you will deliver up your taxes

for the previous year to the High Lord's deputy.

"And someday, Geros, when you're a fat forty-odd, and your mind is filled with worry about the

weather and the crops and outfitting your sons for the army and dowering your daughters well, then

. . . mayhap, then, you'll think on this eve. Think how foolishly you then thought, wished to once

more be back with the Morguhn troop, swinging steel and taking blows as light-heartedly as you did

twenty years before."

Ere Geros could frame an answer, his big servant, Sahndos, entered, ushering in one of Raikuh's

lieutenants, Krahndahl. The junior officer slapped gauntlet to breastplate in salute and

announced, "My lord Geros, captain, Duke Bili summons all his nobles and officers to his pavilion,

immediately, if you please."

Chapter II

"And so, gentlemen," the grave-faced young thoheeks soberly concluded, "we may, even now, be

proceeding on borrowed time. Winter has ever been the favorite raiding season of the mountain

folk, so the first blow could fall at any moment anywhere along more than five hundred miles of

borderlands. That is why ending this siege quickly is so imperative."

"But Sun and Wind, Bili," burst out old Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn, "to grant amnesty to my no-

good brother and the rest of those treacherous, murdering swine? Whose harebrained idea was that?"

"The High Lord's!" snapped the Morguhn. "Present your objections to him, if you wish, Hari. But, I

warn you, mine own did scant good, nor did those of the Duhnkin or the ahrkeethoheeks"

Ever the apologist in all matters concerning the Confederation he had so long served, retired

Strahteegos Komees Djeen Morguhn, the thoheeks' sixtyish cousin-german, nodded sagely, stated

stiffly, "My lord thoheeks, the High Lord dare not concern himself with but this single,

relatively unimportant facet of the overall problem. You see, the entire Confederation be his

responsibility. I like pardoning known backstabbers no better than Hari, but I also can appreciate

Lord Milo's position."

Vahrohnos Spiros Morguhn, Bill's second cousin, gingerly shifted on the padded litter which had

conveyed him here, finally reaching down with both hands to ease his splinted and bandaged left

leg into a more comfortable position. "But, dammit, Bili, how can we be expected to go traipsing

off on a campaign into the mountains, or wherever, leaving our lands filled with unrepentant

rebels and a batch of bloodthirsty priests? You've seen, the High Lord has seen, we all have seen

what they did to Vawn. By my steel, they'll not do the like to Morguhn!"

"They'll not get a chance to." Bili shook his head. "It's been decided that most of the rebel

fighting men will be dragooned into the campaign force; dribbled out, a few to this unit, a few to

that. The amnesty is to exclude the priests and monks; those bastards will spend the length of the

campaign enjoying the comforts provided by our Morguhnpolis prison.

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"Noncombatants in Vawnpolis will remain there, as will a garrison of our troops. The city will be

base supply for operations immediately west of Vawn."

Pawl Raikuh sighed. "Fortunes of war, I suppose. All us Freefighters had been hopefully

anticipating an intaking, a sack, a bit of booty, some old-fashioned rapine. Well, there'll be

other wars ... for some."

"How will we get word to the rebels that we now wish to treat?" This from Djaik Morguhn, Bili's

younger brother-war-trained, like Bili and all his other brothers, in the Middle Kingdoms;

acknowledged, despite his bare fifteen years, as one of the three best swordsmen in all the

besieging army.

Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn was but distantly related to Bili, actually being more

closely related to certain of the rebels, but, like Komees Djeen, he was a former Confederation

Army officer . . . also, he was in love with one of Bili's widowed mothers. Nonetheless, he had

been occasionally sullen since, disregarding his advices and wishes, Bili and the High Lord had

seen fit to honor and enoble his former servant, Geros.

Smoothing back a lock of his raven's-wing hair with a languid gesture, he put in, "Yes, Bili,

there is that factor, too. We have been anything but cordial in our responses to the two or three

peace overtures the rebels have made. If, during the High Lord's absence, you and the High Lady

had seen fit to heed the expert advice which Komees Djeen and I proffered you . . ."

Tried to ram down our throats, thought Bili, who sometimes of late had had to forcefully remind

himself that this supercilious man had sat his horse knee to knee with him and the High Lord last

summer at the Forest Bridge, and had suffered grievous wounds in his behalf. Ever since the

vahrohneeskos had recovered sufficiently to join the army before Vawnpolis, he had been a divisive

element among the nobles of Morguhn, immediately taking the part of any who opposed the young

thoheeks and offering his own opposition when none other arose.

"Kinsman," said Bili, with as much forebearance and patience as he could muster, "none of us could

have known that affairs would so arrange themselves, and it was the High Lord himself who rejected

the first effort of the rebels to parley, ere the siege had even commenced. Him it was who first

declared that we were to neither give nor ask quarter-"

"Untrue!" snapped Ahndros coldly. "To the extent, at least, that it was you, with your barbaric,

blood-hungry, northern notions of conduct, who put the idea into the High Lord's head."

Bili shook his shaven poll bewilderedly. "Kinsman, I am afraid that you credit me with far more

influence over the affairs of the mighty than ever I have owned ... or wished to own."

"Have you not, my lord?" Ahndros sneered. "Did not the High Lord, on the morning which saw the

breaking of the siege of your hall, allow you first to throw a childish temper tantrum and

publicly, brutally, humiliate Komees Djeen, when he sagely advised you to await the arrival of

Confederation Cavalry ere you pursued the rebels? Did not the High Lord then accompany you on that

pursuit, riding as but another nobleman under your command?"

"That was the High Lord's expressed desire, vahrohnee-skos" growled Bili, fighting to control the

temper he could feel beginning to fray under the continued insult and insubordination.

"Then what of that morning's butchery, eh?" Ahndros prodded on. "Why, even the barbarian

mercenaries, on whom you so dote, call those miles of massacre The Bloody Ride'! The High Lord I

knew, with whom and under whom I served for so many years, would never have countenanced such

inexcusable savageries."

The knuckles stood out whitely on Bili's clenched fists and he grated his reply from between tight-

locked teeth. "Lord Ahndros, I owe you no explanation of my conduct or of the High Lord's. You

forget your place and station, and you sorely try my patience. Nonetheless, I will tell you this

much: I believe that the scope and the suddenness of the rebellion, the depth of the depravaties

of the rebels, shocked the High Lord to his very core. On that morning, he admonished me to put

down the Morguhn rebels in the manner of Harzburk, deal with them as would the Iron King, under

whose tutelage I served more than half my life."

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Ahndros either failed to notice or chose to ignore the young thoheek's rising rage. "And you took

Lord Milo at his word, didn't you? You did it up brown! No unwashed, stinking, illiterate,

barbarian burk lord could have been more callously thorough. Not only did you and your howling

savages chase down and slay hundreds of fleeing men, many of them completely unarmed, that

terrible morning, but you hunted the poor bastards for weeks, hunted them as if they had been

beasts, dangerous vermin."

Spiros Morguhn turned himself enough to see Ahndros, grimacing with the pain of the effort.

"Dangerous vermin, is it, Ahndee? Yes, I consider that an apt simile for treacherous, backbiting

dogs who turn on masters. I, too, took a most willing part in that hunt. Are you going to name me

a burk barbarian, too? And I agree with Bili, you've far overstepped yourself ... for some little

time now."

Komees Djeen clashed the brass hook which had replaced the missing hand on his left wrist loudly

against his thigh plate, and his single, blue eye flashed fire as he came to Ahndros' defense. "I

think me not, Spiros. Ahndee is but stating truths which long have needed airing.

"As I affirmed in the very beginning, that pursuit from Morguhn Hall was a senseless and savage

vanity of our young and vastly inexperienced thoheeks. And what followed the reoccupation of

deserted Morguhnpolis was inexcusable, on any grounds.

"Why, man, the Duchy of Morguhn lies more than half depopulated. Whole villages were burned to the

ground, after being plundered by the arsonists. There are damned few living common women who are

not well-raped widows, damned few Morguhn trees that don't dangle the rotting carcass of some

poor, misled peasant pikeman.

"You all know that I ... uhh, had my differences with our late thoheeks. But Hwahruhn, at least,

was loved and respected by all his folk. Bili, his son, will never own anything save their fear

and hate."

Bili smiled humorlessly. "Regrettably, my late father was often ill and almost always weak-willed,

Komees Djeen. As you have learned, I am neither. If love and respect bred this damned rebellion, I

can well do without both.

"As regards the 'airing of truths," had not you and the vahrohneeskos so well served me and the

Confederation, of late, I might think you both closet rebels, such is your concern for the gentle

treatment and welfare of traitors."

"Why, you arrogant young whelp!" The white-haired nobleman sprang to his feet, his hand going to

his swordhilt "I was serving the Confederation when you were being given suck! How dare you

question my loyalty ... or that of Ahndee, who is a better man than ever you'll be!"

Dark, slender Djaik Morguhn sidled himself to block the direct path between his brother and the

furious komees. Nor was he the only one in the pavilion to have risen. Vaskos Daiviz, son and heir

of Komees Hari, stood fingering the pommel of his broadsword; so, too, did all three Freefighter

officers . . . and Sir Geros.

Arising suddenly, old Komees Hari Daiviz slapped his son's hand from proximity to his hilt and

strode purposefully toward the dais, his rolling gait bespeaking the percentage of his fifty-odd

years spent on the back of a horse.

"Now, by Sun and Wind, gentlemen, I never thought me to live to see my own kindred, the nobility

of Morguhn, brawling like drunken Ehleenee trollops and pimps!

"Djaik Morguhn, resume your seat, please. Your brother stands in no danger. Djeen, if you draw

that blade, you'll be needing a hook for the other hand, as well . . . and you have known me long

enough to know I mean it."

"Damn it, Hari!" the one-eyed komees burst out petulantly. "You heard what this young

whippersnapper said about me and Ahndee! And we've the right to be heard!"

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

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already."

Ahndros opened his mouth, but Komees Hari spotted the movement from the corner of his eye and

whirled on the vahrohneeskos, barking, "So, too, have you, Ahndee. This be a war council, not a

Thirds Meeting. You, all of us, are here to receive our chief's orders, to advise him if he

requests such. And I've heard no request.

"Now, I don't much cotton to the idea of granting amnesty to rebel dogs, but the High Lord has no

choice; that much is plain as horse turds on snow. Nor have any of us any choice, gentlemen. The

High Lord has given his orders to his thoheeksee; our own thoheeks and chief has dutifully

transmitted those orders to us. It be our sworn and rightful duty to learn how best we can obey,

not launch yet another senseless round of who-struck-Djahn to the point where tempers rise and

swords come clear. We all be supposedly responsible, adult noblemen and officers. Let us act the

parts, eh?"

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

me, Bili?"

Drehkos Daiviz did not really begin to believe it until the third message arrow was brought to

him. Carefully, he unrolled the vellum bound behind the hollow brass head, smooth it out and laid

it beside the two others on his cluttered desktop. The three were identical, obviously written by

the same hand.

In Modern Ehleeneekos, they read:

"Milos Morai, High Lord of the Confederation of Southern Peoples, sends greetings to Vahroneeskos

Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The High Lord would confer with said vahrohneeskos, at his earliest

convenience, that conditions may be agreed upon for the honorable capitulation of the garrison,

inhabitants and city of Vawnpolis. Penned under the direction of the High Lord by Pehtros

Makintahsh, Adjutant. Signed: Milos Moral."

Drehkos rested his head between his hands, his bare elbows on the desk, protruding through his

well-worn shirt. Furiously, he massaged his gray-shot temples, then opened his eyes and read the

message through again . . . and yet again. And still it was as a dream.

This was exactly what he had promised his ragtag garrison, never for a moment deluding himself

that such would ever truly come to pass. He had felt himself and every other soul within Vawnpolis

irrevocably doomed and the rejections of his three attempts to treat, combined with the besiegers'

steadfast refusal to suffer prisoners to live, had but reinforced his conviction. Nonetheless, he

had dangled the carrot of hope before his starveling ragamuffins. Over and over, he had assured

them that, could they but cost the besiegers enough losses and hold out until planting time, terms

would surely be granted to spare at least the lives of the common folk.

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

As the first rays of the rising sun illumined the small, spartan room, the vahrohneeskos' servant

entered to find his master slumped over the desk, his body racked with heaving sobs.

Drehkos arrived at the pavilion of the High Lord attended only by a pair of commoner-officers, all

three of them astride guardsmen's horses, escorted by Keeleeohstos Sahndros Druhmuhnd, commander

of the High Lord's horseguards. Inside the brazier-heated pavilion, the rebels were led to where

the High Lord, the High Lady Aldora and Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt sat ranged behind a heavy table.

After saluting, the keeleeohstos gruffly reported, "My Lord Milo, here be Vahrohneeskos Drehkos

Daiviz of Morguhn. The other two rebels be commoner-officers of the vahrohneeskos'. Would my lord

be wanting guards within?"

Milo slowly shook his head. "No need, good Sahndros. Go back and find yourself a brazier and a

tipple. I'll mindcall when and if I want you."

From the moment he had been ushered in, Drehkos had stood open-mouthed, staring at the lean,

saturnine figure of the High Lord. As the keeleeohstos clanked out, the rebel leader suddenly

exclaimed, "But . . . what witchery be this? You . . . you be the bard . . . Klairuhnz, wasn't it?

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