Horseclans - Swords Of The Horseclans Part 1

Adams, Robert.

Horseclans.

Swords of the Horseclans.

Chaper 1

Briskly, the column of hors.e.m.e.n trotted onto the long, ancient bridge, steel-shod hooves ringing on the worn stones. Behind them, an oncoming dustcloud heralded the advance of their army; before them, across the width of the river, the empty road wound into the dark density of a forest, beyond which rose the mountains that sheltered their foe, King Zenos of Karaleenos. Leading the column, astride a tall black stallion of the Middle Kingdoms' breed, was a flashily attired man of uncertain age but of obvious Ehleenoee antecedents. His three-quarter armor was plated with gold, silver, and burnished copper, and his lobsterback helmet bore a nodding crest of bright red plumes. The small buckler on his left arm was also gold-plated and bore the Three Rivers sign of his house executed in turquoise. Over his left hip jutted the hilt of his sword-solid gold, pommel and quillons set with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. Some few of the men who followed were garbed in a similar manner, but most were not. Only the courtier-officers aped the impractical equipage of Demetrios, Undying High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. For the real soldiers, who const.i.tuted the bulk of the column, it was Pitzburk-plate iron-rimmed bullhide bucklers and steel-and-leather sword hilts wound with bra.s.s wire to give a better grip. The courtiers rode on; silently, behind their perpetually smiling faces, they cursed the dust and the heat, the sweat and discomfort and thirst. But the true soldiers were troubled by other matters. They squirmed uneasily in their sweat-slicked saddles and exchanged worried glances. Those who might have communicated with their fellows by mindspeak kept their mindshields rigidly in place, for Demetrios, too, possessed mindspeak; further, he owned the power of life and death over every officer and man in the army and his temper was notoriously capricious. Captain Herbuht Mai, commander of a thousand lancers contracted to the service of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, dropped his reins onto his big gelding's neck and commenced to tighten the points securing his helmet. He hasn't changed, he thought. He's the same arrogant, overconfident a.s.s that he was forty years ago when grandpa served him! By my steel, he has campaigned with Lord Milo, he should know better. Irregulars should, this very minute, be harrying, nibbling at young Zenos' army, reporting back to us of its strength ... and its weaknesses. But that pompous popinjay up there doesn't even send out flank riders or point riders, and here we are marching through hostile country. Guhsz h.e.l.luh, a stocky, fortyish, graying man, had lifted his heavy target from its carrying hooks and was tightening the armstraps, even while his blue-green eyes attempted to peel back the tangle of forest ahead, that he might see what lay under those trees. Though his thin lips fluttered, his words were as silent as had been Mai's, for if the High-Lord took it into his head to have him executed, all of his twelve hundred Kweebai pikemen would not be enough to save him. d.a.m.n fool, he thought. Good fighter-oh, that I admit, in personal combat. But as a strategist or tactician, he can't find his hairy a.r.s.e with both hands! Three- count 'em-no less than three ambuscades in the last week, and that Undying imbecile still keeps sacrificing security for speed, hurrying good lads to their death for no good reason. He may be immune to steel, but by the Sacred Sword, the rest of us aren't! And that copulating forest could hide anything-a thousand archers or five hundred lancers, even a battery or two of catapults or spearthrowers, and we'd never see them until they were ready. But both men were wrong in their estimates of the High-Lord. Demetrios rode fully aware of the chances he was taking ... and he was completely cognizant of the terrible cost should his judgment prove faulty. Ever since that day, nearly two-score years ago, when he had fought his first single combat with old Aleksan-dros, goaded the aged strahteegos into giving him the death thrust that unexpectedly proved him to be immortal, then joined forces with Lord Milo and his tribe of barbarians, had he been afforded the treatment of a r.e.t.a.r.ded child. True, he admitted to acting the fool in the first flush of his realization that there were but three others like himself in all Kehnooryos Ehlahs. No sooner had he granted equal status to Lord Milo, proclaimed him co-High-Lord, than his-Demetrios'-power began to flow away like water runs through a sieve. Then, Milo and his b.i.t.c.h of a wife chivvied him into marrying that renegade s.l.u.t, Aldora. Even had he liked women, which he did not, Aldora would have been difficult for him to stomach- born an Ehleeneeas, yet she had become more of a barbarian than any other member in the tribe since her adoption into one of the clans. I tried, he thought, squinting his eyes against the glare that the morning sun threw from his brilliant armor and shield. G.o.ds, but I tried. Nothing is wrong with me, I have no trouble at all with a clean, beautiful boy, but s.e.x with a filthy, incessantly yapping woman is something that a man of my refined sensibilities just cannot perform. And in thirty-odd years that slimy wh.o.r.e has put more horns on my head than a hundred flocks of goats could sport! She flaunts her lovers before me and, when I slew one of them, what did she do but seduce my favorite lover, ruined the poor boy for life, she did. He'd fathered three or four children on some clanswoman before he died at the intaking of Eeleeoheepolis . . . and it served the faithless pig right-he should have been tortured to death. And when my armies took the field against the northern barbarians and the western barbarians, and during the years it took to win back the north half of Karaleenos, they made a mere puppet of me. Oh, yes, a figurehead, that's all I was! Parading the army before me, calling me captain of commanders, while they gave every meaningful order. As his mount crossed the midpoint of the bridge, Demetrics smiled and, straightening in the saddle, stuck a heroic pose, head high and right fist on armored right thigh. Well, I bided my tune, I did; now, I've done it Now I'm in southern Karaleenos, and / will wrest it from Zenos, or every man in this army will die in the attempt! Then they'll all know that Demetrios is a man to be reckoned with. They'll... But there was no more time for quiet thought. A sleet of arrows fell upon the head of the column and Demetrios was hard put to control his screaming, wounded horse. None of the men were injured, for the bone-tipped hunting shafts shattered on armor and would not even pierce leather. But the horses were not so well protected; two were down, hampering the column, and several more were hurt. Captain h.e.l.luh spotted the first stone coming and instinctively raised his shield, but the foot-thick boulder was short, splashing into the river yards from the bridge downstream. The second raised a brown geyser about the same distance upstream. "Bracketed," groaned Herbuht Mai. "The next stone will draw blood unless that ninny has the brains to retreat." The third stone took out a yard of bridge railing and some of the flying splinters peppered Demetrios' stallion, at which the tortured horse surged forward, bit in teeth, nearly unseating his rider. Despite many misgivings, the column followed as best they could. While his companions drew swords or readied lances or uncased darts, Mai unslung his horn and winded the signal upon which he and his lieutenants had agreed. Once, twice, thrice he blew the code, then slung the horn and drew his steel. Seeing where he was being borne, Demetrios drew his sword-no mean feat at a full, jarring gallop-and waved it first over his head, then pointed it at the forest, meanwhile hoping that his horse would stop before he reached the border of the Witch Kingdom, three hundred miles to the south. But he need not have worried; the commander of the ambush knew well the vulnerability of dismounted archers and catapult men to cavalry attack. Within the forest, drums rolled and, before the runaway had reached the southern end of the bridge, a mixed lot of lancers and irregular cavalry debouched from hidden trails onto the roadway. No sooner were half a hundred of the enemy on the road than they launched a countercharge. Captain h.e.l.luh smiled grimly. Those posturing courtiers would take the brunt of the attack. It would be most interesting to see how well the amateurs received it. They received it well enough. Any species will fight if cornered; besides, they feared Demetrios more than the enemy hors.e.m.e.n. Almost before he knew it, Demetrios was in among Zenos' cavalry. His pain-maddened stallion completely bowled over the smaller, lighter mount of an irregular axman. Then the well-trained war horse went to work with teeth and hooves, savaging horseflesh or manflesh impartially. Demetrios turned a lance with his shield and throat-thrust its wielder. A dart clanged off his breastplate, then an unarmored mountain irregular-wild-eyed and bearded-was raining blow after blow with a woodsman's ax. Demetrios was able to deflect each blow with his battered shield, but found himself unable to use his sword until the stallion sunk big, yellow teeth into his opponent's unprotected thigh. The ax split the stallion's skull, but half the length of the sword had already penetrated the axman's abdomen. Demetrios was afoot in the midst of a cavalry engagement. There was but one thing to do. Savagely, he sawed loose the armstraps with his b.l.o.o.d.y sword and dropped the bent and useless shield. A lancer thundered down upon him. Demetrios avoided the point, grasped the shaft, and jerked. Then, while the foeman was still unbalanced, he grabbed the right foot and heaved, then clawed his way up into the empty saddle. Once on his new horse, the High-Lord found he was headed the right way. What was left of his fifty men, now outnumbered ten to one, was slowly withdrawing. Only a single blow fell upon him as he spurred his horse forward. He supposed most of Zenos' troopers thought him one of their own. Herbuht Mai was now in the forefront of the brisk little fight, and all the courtiers were dead, having followed their lord into the enemy's ranks. The powerful captain used his shieldboss to smash a face to red ruin, while his heavy sword sheared off the arm of a lancer. A buffet on his helm set his head to swimming and he almost struck the High-Lord before he recognized him. Inch by hard-fought inch, the little band, now less than half their original number, was forced back across the bridge. Not a horse but was wounded and hardly a man; armor and shields were hacked and shattered, swords nicked and dulled. No darts and few lances remained in use; only sword and dirk were fitted to this kind of combat. Footing for Zenos' troops was treacherous; the bridgebed was b.l.o.o.d.y-slimy and cobbled with dropped weapons and the trampled corpses of men and horses. The forest archers tried one volley, but so many of their own hors.e.m.e.n suffered for it that another was out of the question. Demetrios longed for his big, black stallion. The lancer's roan gelding was not war-trained. He spent as much time fighting to keep the horse in line as he did hacking at the oncoming forces, and only the excellence of his armor had kept biting steel out of bis body. He vowed that, if the roan survived the battle, he would have the cursed beast roasted alive! An irregular came at him with a long-bladed hunting spear, but his small mount stumbled on a still-wriggling body and he struggled to retain his seat. Demetrios stood ia his stirrups and, swinging his wide sword with both hands, decapitated the spearman. So great was the press that the corpse could not fall from his saddle. He remained erect, arms jerking spasmodically, twin streams of blood gushing from what remained of his thick neck. A war horse snapped at the roan and, panicked, he backed away through the stone-smashed gap in the railing. The horse struggled to regain the bridge and might have made it, had not a stray sword stroke gashed his tender nose. It was thirty feet to the river. Horse and rider struck the water together in a mighty splash. Both weighted with armor and equipment, they quickly sank beneath.

Chapter 2.

"I saw him go over into the river, my lord," said Captain Mai. "But, at that time, it was all I could do to stay alive. We were eighteen or twenty against three or four hundred; indeed, there are but twelve of us breathing tonight." The tall, saturnine man across the camp table raised a hand and a.s.sured him, saying, "No one is blaming you, Herbuht, least of all, me. Demetrios is a fool. I can't imagine what variety of feather got up his a.r.s.e to try to mount this kind of campaign with an imbalanced and ill-supplied force of the type he a.s.sembled. It's to your everlasting credit that you and Guhsz were able to take what you had at hand and trounce Zenos as badly as you did; you'll, none of you, be forgotten-my word on it." "And mine as well." The voice came from the tent's entrance. "I just hope the perverted swine is dead. Do you think he could be, Milo?" Mai arose so rapidly that he overturned his stool, his dark-haired guest simply turned in his chair. "h.e.l.lo, Aldora. What kept you?" The striking woman who entered was as dark as Milo. When she removed her helm and tossed it on Mai's camp bed, it could be seen that her long, coal-black hair had been braided and then, Horseclans-fashion, coiled about her small head to provide padding. The features of her weather-browned face were fine and regular. Her black eyes flashed in the lamplight. Despite her heavy, thigh-high boots, she moved gracefully to the table and took both of Mai's calloused hands in her own. "How long has it been, sweet Herbuht?" Captain Mai flushed deeply, looking at his toes. "Ten ... no, eleven years, my lady." Milo Morai had seen her play this game with other former lovers. Impatiently, he snapped, "For all you know, Aldora, your husband is lying on the bed of the Luhmbuh River, providing a feast for happy fish. You may hate him, but he is my co-regent and the only one with a hereditary claim to the rulership of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. Besides, he is one of our kind." Aldora snorted. "And I hope the fish get more use from Demetrios than ever I did! You know how it's been between us for the thirty-two years we've been married. Emotionally speaking, Demetrios is-was, I pray, Wind-a child, a terribly spoiled brat. d.a.m.n it, he looks so masculine, but even if he lives as long as you have, h.e.l.l never mature into a real man. He can take all the grandiose t.i.tles he can think of, deck himself out in the fanciest clothing and armor he can find, and he'll never be more than a gilded cowpat. He ..." "Aldora," Milo said, "we are not alone." She shook her head defiantly. "We do not need to be. Herbuht was my lover for four years; he's heard all I've said here and more-much, much more. My husband, the Lord-High b.u.g.g.e.rer of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, is as useful to a woman as is a gelding to a mare! I pray to the * Sun and Wind that he be dead. Oh, Wind grant that 1 am at last freed of him." Suddenly, she raised both arms, threw back her head and, with closed eyes, began to chant, "Wind, oh, Wind of all Wind. Wind of the North, Wind of the West, Wind of the South, Wind of the East. Oh, Wind of the oceans, Wind of the mountains, Wind of the plains. Wind of gentleness, Wind of violence. Oh, Wind, hear now thy true daughter, Aldora of Linsee, come to me and grant my prayer. Come to me, oh, Wind. Speak to thy daughter, thy servant, thy bride. Come, oh, Wind. Come, come, come, come, come." From the camp about them came shouts of alarm along with much noise from the picket lines-the snort-ings and whinnyings of terrified horses. Then a roaring commenced, growing louder as it neared. Then it was all around the tent, and suddenly the front flaps billowed inward, while the heavy lamps hung from the ridgepole were swung to and fro like ships tossed on a stormy sea. Icy air buffeted Milo's skin and he could not repress a shudder. Aldora's talents continued to amaze him. Speaking in as calm a voice as he could muster, he admonished, "That's more than sufficient, Aldora. The men outside may have to fight tomorrow; they need their relaxation, their dinners, their sleep, and so do the horses." After a somewhat shaky Herbuht Mai had left to see to his men and to the other captains who had met with ' King Zenos subsequent to the battle that followed the bridge skirmish, Milo had other words for Aldora. As he unstrapped her cuira.s.s, he spoke sternly. "You call Demetrios a child, then follow with a completely childish example of mental trickery! Who were you trying to impress, girl? Me? Herbuht Mai?" She turned to face him, her face looking drained, the halves of her cuira.s.s dangling loose. "It was no trick, Milo. Calling the Wind was one of the secret things Blind Hari taught me before he left." "If you've known it that long," demanded Milo, "why is it I've never seen you do it before?" The woman extended trembling arms so that Milo might pull off the armor. "Because I don't do it often, Milo, because it tires me, it takes too much from me." Drawing off her armor, Milo said angrily, "Don't ever do that at sea, Aldora. There are not very many ways to kill our kind, but drowning is one of them." The four captains-Herbuht Mai of the lancers, Guhsz h.e.l.luh of the heavy infantry, Prestuhn Maklaud of the horse-archers, and Gabros Zarameenos of the light infantry-entered and saluted first Milo, then Aldora. "Lord Milo," spoke Mai, "I have ordered Lord Demetrios' pavilion pitched on that low hill between the camp and the river. It's an exposed position, true, but it will be well guarded. Besides, King Zenos struck me as a man of his word. I don't think he'd allow an attack without formally notifying us of the cessation of the truce." "That was very thoughtful, Captain." Milo smiled. "I'd frankly given my quarters no thought, and the only baggage we brought was two packmules, the bulk of our effects being with the main army. What think you, gentlemen? Will we be needing the army? Will Zenos fight again" Guhsz h.e.l.luh said slowly, "He's a brave man, Lord Milo, a determined man, and I doubt me not were it up only to him he'd resist to the last drop of his blood. But fully sixty percent of his ragtag army was killed or wounded the day before yesterday. I think he'll husband what he has left to build a new army around." "Now I'll pose another question, gentlemen." Milo leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Captain Mai has sketched the rough outline of your three ambushes, the skirmish at the bridge, and the full-scale battle beyond it. For all five actions, what were your losses? Captain h.e.l.luh, how many killed and wounded in your pikemen's ranks?" h.e.l.luh hissed through his gapped teeth. "Too many, my lord. There'll be many a red eye in Kweebai, and no mistake. One hundred sixteen were slain, two hundred thirty wounded. That's as of sundown tonight, of course. More of the wounded will certainly die." "Captain Zarameenos?" The dark-haired Ehleenoee rumbled from his ma.s.sive chest, "I mean not to make excuses, Lord Milo, but the army was just too tired to fight well, men and horses alike." Milo nodded. "There will be no recriminations, gentlemen. All conditions considered, you and your men performed a near miracle. But, back to your casualties, Cap tain Zarameenos." The big officer nodded briskly, his black spikebeard bobbing. "I marched out of Kehnooryos Ehlahs with four thousand men; as of sundown tonight I had three thousand twenty-two effectives, six hundred forty-nine wounded, and three hundred twenty-nine are dead." Mai had lost about a fifth of his squadron, he reported. Maklaud, whose reddish hair, wiry body, and vulpine face had combined to give him his nickname of "Foxy," gave the Horseclans salute and said, "G.o.d-Milo, give us Horseclansmen steel armor and these big horses and we're d.a.m.ned hard to kill! I loat ninety men from six clans, all gone to Wind, no wounded who can't ride and fight." Milo grinned. "Who'll collect the bounty on your ear, Foxy?" The other three captains roared and Aldora managed a tired smile. Maklaud reached up to touch the bandages covering what was left of his left ear. "I didn't even know it was gone until after the big fight. It must have happened at the bridge. My helmet took a blow meant for Old Thunder, here," he said, digging a sharp elbow into Zarameenos' ribs, "and the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's sword stuck. I couldn't see the Maklaud of Maklaud riding around Kar-aleenos wearing a sword on his head, so I backed out of line long enough to doff them both-helm and sword. But I'd gotten another helm off one of Zenos' expired officers before the big fight." Milo leaned forward. "Wait a minute! All four of you were in on the skirmish at the bridge." He was answered by four nods. Milo slammed one big fist against his thigh. "Well, that a.s.s! He could have lost every senior officer in his so-called command. Thirty-six years of campaigning haven't taught my esteemed co-regent a thing!" Aldora sighed resignedly. "I could have told you that, Milo. Demetrios never learns anything he doesn't want to learn. Sun knows, I hope he's dead!" Milo, Aldora, and their bodyguards sat with the four captains on the mossy northern bank of the Lumbuh River. A few paces to their rear the tethered horses contentedly cropped gra.s.s, all shaded by the huge, ancient trees. In the river, several large rafts had been lashed to the bridge supports and, from them, divers were scouring the muddy bottom of the river. No one was sure exactly where Demetrios had left the bridge, since a good portion of the railing had been torn loose later in the fight and a good many horses and riders had plunged into the river. Therefore, the divers worked from the center toward the south bank. While the captains chatted and the bodyguards diced and Aldora stared broodingly at the waters of the river, Milo pondered. Should he send word to the main army to march, despite the danger from the west? If that shaky alliance of mountain tribes should attack while most of the army was fourteen days' march away . . . hmmm, it would be bad. On the other hand, should young Zenos be allowed to form another army and cement his present bonds with the Southern Kingdom ... maybe even ally himself with the Sea-Lord and his pirates? It might be best to scotch this Zenos while we've the opportunity. And it shouldn't be all that difficult-not now, not after the drubbing he took the other day. His eyes closed as he mused, Milo was unaware of the approach of Halfbreed until the cat's chin was resting on his armored thigh. He scratched the furry ears, eliciting a deep sigh of contentment. Though a great-grandson of mighty Horsekiller, the cat-chief who had led his clan to this land, he had been gotten on a tree cat that had been caught as a kitten and tamed by Aldora; therefore, he was less than two-thirds the bulk of an adult prairie cat. Some seven feet overall, Halfbreed was slender and wiry, his cuspids were only slightly longer than had been his mother's-nowhere near the size of a prairie cat's ma.s.sive fangs-and his fur was short and uniformly pale brown. Because of his distinct resemblance to his wild cousins, Halfbreed was a very useful scout. Scanning Milo's surface thoughts, the cat mindspoke a question. "If you mean to fight, G.o.d-Milo, should not Halfbreed take a look at the Ehleenee army?" Milo sighed. "I wish you could, cat-brother. But this river is a natural line of defense. It is wide and deep and there are no fords for many miles. This bridge is the only way across and you could never traverse it unseen ... not in daylight, anyway-perhaps tonight, if there is no moon or a storm. But wait for my word." One of Captain Mai's officers came galloping the length of the bridge, ironshod hooves striking sparks. Before his mount had fully halted, the rider was out of his saddle and saluting his captain. "Sir, a herald from the camp of King Zenos is at the middle of the bridge. He begs audience with High-Lord Milo and High-Lady Aldora. He is alone and bears only sword and dirk. Besides, I don't think he'd be very dangerous; he's wounded." When, at length, the officer returned, he rode stirrup to stirrup with a freckle-faced young man in the uniform of Zenos' bodyguards. The wicked tip had been removed from his lance and a square of l.u.s.trous, creamy silk fluttered at the apex of the long ash shaft. Nothing could be seen of his hair, since above the browline his head was swathed in bandages, but his sweeping mustache and pointed beard were brick-red. His bandaged left hand appeared to be shy a couple of fingers; nonetheless, he handled his reins skillfully and sat his big gray horse with the unconscious ease of the born horseman. Milo tried a quick scan of the herald's surface thoughts, finding them as open and friendly as the merry green eyes. But there were other thoughts, too, and had been since first the freckled one had clapped eyes on Aldora. A glance at her showed Milo that she had read those thoughts as well. The trace of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. The herald thrust the ferrule of his lanceshaft into the loam, dismounted gracefully, and strode to stand before Milo. He first bowed, then executed an elaborate salute. At closer range, Milo was aware of the copious perspiration coursing down the freckled face, the clenched teeth, and bunched muscles of the jaw. "He is in pain," Aldora mindspoke rapidly, "intense pain. But he'd die ere he betrayed it, Milo. He is a fine young man, honorable and very proud." Milo smiled. "Now that the formalities are done with, young sir, will you not sit and have wine with us? Tomos Gonsalos, despite his obvious thirst, sipped delicately at his wine. Savoring it on his tongue, he graciously complimented it, the silver cup in which it had been served, and his host and hostess, like the gentleman he gave every appearance of being. He had brought an invitation from King Zenos, who would share his evening meal with High-Lord Milo, High-Lady Aldora, and their four gentleman-captains. King Zenos stated that, aware as he was that certain deceased members of his House had established a reputation for treachery, his guests had his leave to ride with a bodyguard contingent of any size they saw fit. His intent, he emphasized, was honorable, but he wished his guests to feel secure in their persons. After an hour's light conversation and another pint of wine, Tomos indicated that he should return and announce their acceptance of King Zenos' invitation. Upon rising, however, he staggered, took no more than two steps toward his horse, then crumpled bonelessly to the sward. Aldora was kneeling beside the herald ere anyone else had hardly started forward. Expertly, she peeled back an eyelid, then announced, "He's burning with fever. One of you ride and fetch a horselitter. Someone help me get off his cuira.s.s ... but gently, mind you. He may have other hurts not so apparent." Tomos did. High on one hip, an angry, festering wound sullenly oozed with pus and serum. It had been amateurishly bandaged, and friction against the high cantle of his warkak had torn the cloths loose. A nearby bodyguard blanched and touched fingers to his Sun charm. "And he rode in here smiling, he did! How could he^even bear to sit a horse?" Herbuht Mai said, "A lifetime of self-discipline and generations of breeding ... that, and ten leagues of pure guts. Yonder, trooper, lies a man]" Bearing Tomos Gonsalos' white-pennoned lanceshaft, . Milo paced his palomino stallion, unchallenged, into the outskirts of Zenos' camp. The camp was about as he had expected: under makeshift shelters, agonized men groaned and writhed; the air was thick with flies and heavy with the nauseating miasma of corruption and death; off to one side, an officer in hacked armor hobbled about, supervising the digging of a long ma.s.s grave and piled corpses patiently awaited its completion. A question put to this officer elicited directions to Zenos' "pavilion." Outside the mean little tent, Milo slid from his kak and paced to the entry. Two tired-looking pikemen barred his way and politely asked his name, station, and business. When Milo told them, their eyes goggled and the one on the right gulped, then bawled, "Komees Greemos, please, my lord; Komees Greemos ..." A n.o.ble-officer limped to the entrance. The smudges under his eyes were nearly as black as the eyes themselves, and his bruised and battered face was lined with care and exhaustion. Although Milo had never seen the mountainous man, he well knew his reputation as strategist, tactician, and warrior. "I am Milo, High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, Lord Komees. I come in peace. Please announce me to King Zenos. I would speak with him on matters of great urgency." Milo felt instant liking for his young adversary. Zenos stood as tall as Milo, a bit over six feet. His eyes were brown and his gaze frank and open. His thick glossy hair shone a rich, dark chestnut, and his face was smooth-shaven. From what he knew of the young monarch, Milo would be willing to wager that he had had far less rest than any one of his remaining officers, yet he appeared as fresh as if he had but arisen from twelve hours' sleep. The grip of his hard, browned hand was firm. "You are most welcome, Lord Milo." He waved his guest to one of the three seats-upended sections of sawn log, bark still on-that surrounded a battered, lightly charred field table. Once seated, Milo got to the point of his visit, disregarding polite protocol. "Your herald, Tomos Gonsalos, lies in my pavilion. His wounds are grievous and he is being tended by the High-Lady Aldora, who possesses certain wisdoms and skills in healing." "Poor, brave, loyal Tomos." Zenos slowly shook his head. "G.o.d grant that he lives, for there are too few of his kind in my kingdom. "Would that I had not had to send him, hurt as I knew him to be, but it would not have been fitting to send a common trooper to issue my invitation to you and the High-Lady, my lord. Tomos is my own cousin." "Where," Milo asked, "are your fohreeohee, your eeahtrosee? Men who've fought bravely deserve professional tending. And what in Sun's name happened to your camp and baggage? My captains all a.s.sure me that there was no sack." Standing near the entrance, Komees Greemos growled deep in his throat and commenced to mumble a litany of curses. Zenos cracked his knuckles. "I will be candid,"my lord. Toward the end of the battle, certain of my mountaineer irregulars withdrew ... rather precipitately. There was no rout, you understand, they are all brave men; but their loyalty was to me, personally, and some fool convinced them that I had been slain. It was they who sacked the camp, stole what they fancied or could carry, and burned the remainder. They slew every man who tried to restrain them or who got between them and anything they wanted. My pavilion alone they spared, but I had it dismantled and recut to make flies and bandages." "Yes, a commander's first obligation is to his men," Milo said in agreement. "Would you accept the services of my eeahtrosee, those of them who can be spared from treating our own wounded?" Komees Greemos limped over. "And what concessions will be required in return?" he snapped. Milo looked up into the hulking n.o.bleman's cold stare. "None," he said flatly. Then he added, "However, I would like to instigate a series of conferences with His Majesty and his council. Let me make it clear, however, that the offer of medical a.s.sistance is not contingent upon any other of my plans. I simply dislike to see good fighters suffer and die needlessly." Zenos' brown eyes had misted and, though his features remained fixed, his voice quavered slightly as he once more gripped Milo's hand. "Two generations of my house have died fighting you, my lord, so probably shall I; but I shall never forget this act of unexpected generosity. Of course I accept, and I pray that G.o.d bless you." "As for a conference with me and my council, that will be easy enough. Of the original council, only Greemos, here, and Thoheeks Serbikos are left; all the others fell in battle, as befitted men of their caste. Serbikos and his lancers are presently out foraging, but he should be back well before night, and we three can meet with you at your convenience. Can we not, Greemos?" The officer shrugged his ma.s.sive shoulders. "Whatever my King wishes." He turned again to Milo. "How many armed men are coming with your eeahtrosee, my lord?" Milo ignored Greemos' open hostility. "Not a one, Lord Komees. I had supposed that your army had sufficient hale men to give them what workforces they might require." Greemos bobbed his head shortly. "Yes, that we can. I add my thanks to those of my King. I, too, want living, healthy troops, rather than corpses and cripples; well need them when next we battle your armies." King Zenos looked appalled at this open threat in the face of unasked-for generosity. But Milo chuckled good-naturedly. "You're nothing if not blunt and honest, Lord Greemos. I wonder not that Herbuht Mai spoke so highly of you." There was an almost imperceptible thaw in the Komees' manner. "The gentleman-captain is a good officer. He is just and honorable in his dealings, and the provisions he set for the truce might have been much harsher. He is a worthy foeman, my lord." The first meeting took place three days later at Milo's pavilion. King Zenos arrived flanked by the dark, hulking Komees Greemos and by a freckle-faced, gray-haired officer who looked like an older version of Tomos Gon-sales. Milo had brought along Herbuht Mai, of course, since he alone seemed to be able to get civil speech from the grim Greemos, as well as Guhsz h.e.l.luh. He had deliberately excluded Aldora. He had seen her disrupt more than one otherwise peaceful conference, and the combination of her vitriolic tongue and Greemos' pugnacity might well precipitate another pitched battle-something both he and Zenos wished to avoid. His other two captains were camp and perimeter commanders of the day, respectively. He had requested Captain oi Physicians Ahbdool to attend for a specific purpose. With wine served and amenities observed, Milo began. "King Zenos, Captain Ahbdool and his staff would like to bring the bulk of your more seriously wounded into my camp to continue treatment. For one thing, my camp is on higher ground and, consequently, healthier; for another, such an arrangement would immensely ease the tasks of the eeahtrosee, who must now spend much of their day in transit from one camp to another. Besides, we're better supplied-in all ways." "Only," snapped Greemos, "because we presently lack the forces to raid your lines of supply. But these wounded of ours, what would be their status? Prisoners? Hostages?" "Recuperating soldiers," Milo quickly answered. "They'll be free to return whenever they are fit and wish to do so. They'll be lodged in the same tents with our own wounded and all will receive equal food and treatment. Their friends may visit them and you and your officers may inspect at will." "At whose will?" demanded Greemos. "Yours or ours?" AH had, at the beginning, been granted leave to speak freely, regardless of rank, and old Guhsz h.e.l.luh now took advantage of this privilege. Standing and leaning across the board, he growled, "At whose leave do you think, you n.o.ble jacka.s.s? This is supposed to be a peaceful conference, but you're trying to make of it a nitpicking contest! If all you can think of is fighting, let us go outside and get a couple of pikestaves. Then I'll show you how we deal with oversized, underbrained windbags in Rahdburk!" Greemos' big hands sought the hilts of the sword and dirk that Milo had wisely suggested they all leave on a chest near the entry. A third man arose. Ahbdool was as large as Greemos and his flowing white robes made him appear even larger. A deep but gentle voice boomed softly from his barrel-chest, and his Merikahn was accented, for he was a native of the Black Kingdoms, where other languages were spoken. "n.o.ble gentlemen, before you go about making more work for me, please aid me in undoing some of the damage you have already wrought. Your Majesty ..." "Shut your thick lips, you lowborn black ape!" snarled Greemos, now fully aroused. "One more word from you when your betters are talking and ..." "Strahteegos Komees Greemos," began Captain Mai, formally, "with the exceptions of your King and Lord Milo, no man here is the peer of Captain AhbdooL Despite his humility, his father is none other than the Khaleefah Ahboo of Zahrtogah." "Pah!" snorted Greemos. "What does that mean to a northerner, black or white? You all breed like rabbits." Guhsz h.e.l.luh chose to re-enter the fray, teeth and claws bared. "Yes, you b.u.g.g.e.ring Ehleenee b.a.s.t.a.r.d, we do have large families. But that's mainly because we devote our amatory practices exclusively to women, whilst you perverts waste your seed on boy-children and goats!" And so it went for some four hours more. All in all, Milo was not displeased with the outcome of this first conference. Most of the camp gained some diversion from the pikestave duel between Greemos and h.e.l.luh, which dealt neither any serious hurt and gave each a healthy respect for the other. It was agreed that the wounded would all be concentrated at Milo's camp; and Ahbdool was even able to persuade King Zenos to set about moving his own camp to a higher, more healthful location. The next conference was set for a week later. But it was fated to come much sooner.

Chapter 3.

The first to see the ship was a stripling of Clan Kuk, whilst descending the precipitous path from plateau to beach. Sacred Sun had but barely risen and the night mists still lay thick upon the tidal estuary. The lad first heard the rhythmic clock-clock of oars against tholepins. Then the sharp prow of the long, low vessel nosed out of the opaque whiteness. She was painted a dull, brown-black, some ninety feet long and something under twenty feet in beam. Her two masts were unstepped and lashed into crutch-shaped forks. She seemed some huge bug, walking across the water on her twin banks of slender oars. By the time Djahn Kuk of Kuk had scratched together a force of warriors and maiden-archers, got them armed and mounted, and gained the edge of the plateau, the intention of the shipmaster to ascend the river was plain. An old chieftain shook his grizzled head. "It's not one of G.o.d-Milo's boats, that's for sure, and it's like to no merchant ship I've ever seen." "No," agreed the Kuk of Kuk. "I think it's one of the raiding boats from the Pirate Isles-the Sea Isle Ehleenee. I've never seen one, I admit-for some reason, they never raid Kehnooryos Ehlahs-but I've heard them described right often. Well, if they try attacking this plateau, they'll wish they'd stayed out on the Great Ocean!" He swung about in his saddle and addressed his eldest brother, Pawl, Tanist of Kiik. "Ride back and blow the war horn. Send a man up the tower to light the signal . beacon. Get the old and the young, the sick and the kittens into the fort, along with all the herds that can be quickly gathered. Send half the warriors and maidenarchers to me and the rest to the fort And send me any cat that isn't nursing a litter, too." Rahn Duhklus of Duhklus was one of the first to join the Kuk, heading a dozen and a half riders. The deep-throated blowing of the great horn was still moaning the length and breadth of the plateau, while clouds of dust were beginning to rise into the lightening sky. The men at the river's edge could not see the first flash of flame from the fort's highest tower, but when the dense column of sooty smoke mounted upward it was visible to all. The Duhklus growled impatiently, fingering his dirk-hilt. "We should send riders to warn the inlanders; the Dirtmen aren't as well able to fight for themselves as are we." "Send hors.e.m.e.n through ten leagues of Saltmarsh?" replied the Kuk. "That ship could be to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, ere our riders reached solid ground. No, and besides, where there's one of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, there's usually more. With most of our young warriors and the largest part of the Cat Clan on campaigns, I'll not countenance any more weakening of our defenses, Tribe brother." "And, look, you." The Kuk swept his arm to the northwest, where a thin line of black smoke was rising against the blue sky. "The Goonahpolisee have seen our beacon. The capital will be alerted soon enough." High-Lady Mara Morai, Milo's wife and presently ruler of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, as well as commander of what troops were left in the garrisons of the capital and its port, was upon her morning ride. She and her retainers were combining the exercise with some desultory hawking when they saw a rider coming, h.e.l.l-bent, across the fields. The full-armed kahtahfraktos drew rein before her and saluted quickly. He was streaming sweat and dust-covered and his mount was flecked with foam and shuddering with effort. "My lady, the Lord Hamnos prays you return at once. A pirate bireme from the Sea Isles has come up the river and would dock at the port. It is said that the Sea Lord himself is aboard and he seeks audience with the High-Lords." Mara was glad that she was seated when the old Neea-heearkos, Lord Petros, officiously ushered in the three visitors. She hardly noticed the two older strangers, but mere sight of the youngest man sent gooseflesh over every inch of her skin, and a glance at one of the side mirrors showed that her face had visibly paled. "Lekos!" she breathed, more to herself than to anyone else. That face was his, and each line of the slim, whipcord body, even the pantherish grace of his movements, were those of the young Alexandros of Pahpahs. Eighty long years of life had not erased her love for him, she now realized. She loved Milo, but not, she admitted, as she had loved Lekos. But she had no more time for musings, for old Petros was speaking. "... felt that these matters were of such urgency that he himself embarked to inform the High-Lords. His ship has sailed or rowed night and day and entered the river at dawn. I thought it best that it be moored amongst the Fleet, since some merchants are known to bear ill will toward the Lord of the Sea Isles and his captains." At this, there was a t.i.ttering in the gathered throng and the two older seamen laughed openly. Mara noticed that even the younger man allowed himself a wry smile ... and that smile, too, was of such old familiarity that it sent a pang through her heart. Three hundred years of life had at least granted Mara instant control of her emotions. Her face a mask. She nodded. "You have done well, Lord Petros. The strangers may be presented to me." The court herald banged his staff, bellowing, "Now conies Alexandros, Lord of Sea Isles." He announced two other names, but Mara did not hear them. Alexandros, she thought. What other name could such a one bear? I saw him slain, forty years ago, and he then an old man past sixty. Yet, here he stands before me, that same young man I loved ... and who so loved me ... eighty years in the past. How is such a thing possible? The two older seamen knelt, but the younger one bowed formally from the waist-the obeisance due to one equal in rank. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rich, but so, too, had been that of the earlier Alexandros. "My Lady Mara, often have I heard your beauty praised, but lavish as was that praise, my own eyes now tell me that it was an unforgivable understatement." "Young lord," she replied, "your compliment was most gallantly couched and much appreciated. But my curiosity has become aroused. No one of your people has visited our sh.o.r.es-professionally or otherwise-for at least forty years. What now brings you to our court?" Alexandros took a step forward. "My lady, I bear urgent intelligences for the ears of the High-Lords alone. I must speak with them ... and that soon!" Mara shook her raven tresses. If no one else had informed him, she might as well do so; he'd know soon enough. "Lord Alexandros, my husband, High-Lord Milo, the High-Lord Demetrios and his wife, the High-Lady Aldora, are all on campaign. I hold the Confederation in their absence. We four are all equals in rank and power, so you may deal with me as you would with them." Shortly, he bobbed his head. "Very well, my lady. But I know something of courts. I would speak what I know only to you. These captains will corroborate my words." Mara ordered the reception hall cleared, then thought more deeply and led her guests down a side corridor to a small, windowless, thick-walled room. Neeaheearkos Petros and his squad of marines had followed and would have entered, but she forbade it. Petros reddened, expostulating, "But they still are armed, my lady. You should have guards, within as well as without." Mara laughed and laid one slim hand on his arm. "You forget, old friend, steel cannot harm me. And I feel Lord Alexandros to be an honorable man. If you wish to serve me, have wine and fruit and cheeses fetched. You have done well today." When all were seated and refreshments were placed on the table and the door was securely bolted, she took a chance and addressed the young lord telepathically. "Do you mindspeak, Lord Alexandros?" He answered her in the same manner. "Of course. No one who cannot can hold high rank among us. It is the way we communicate with our orks, much as do your people with their cats." "Then I propose we converse in just this way, since even the stoutest of doors and the thickest of stones may develop ears on occasion. But we four are not the only ones here with mindspeak talents, so maintain your shields against ah1 save short-range, personal contacts. Now, what is this earthshaking news, Lord Alexandros?" While sipping at his wine, the young man's mind said, "We have . .. contacts amongst the swamp and fenfolk of all coasts except yours. In return for immunity from raids, as well as a bit of hard money now and then, they keep us informed of such matters as vulnerable towns, movements of patrols and warships, sailing dates of worthwhile merchant ships-things of that nature." Mara nodded. It was reasonable that, over many generations, professional marauders would have built up such a network of agents. Alexandros went on. "Throughout the last five years, we have generally avoided the coasts of the Southern Kingdom. With the dynastic struggle ongoing, every city, town, and village that wasn't a blackened ruin was an armed camp. Stray detachments of troops were tramping hither and yon over the countryside, at little or no notice, and it sometimes seemed that every headland concealed a warship or flotilla. The Captains' Council decided it was just too risky." "But I'd heard that the war was all but over some six months ago," Mara said. "True," commented Alexandros, a.s.suring her. "The new High-King is Zastros of the House of Zladinos, a most ambitious man, it would seem." "Since when," interjected Mara, "has the usurper of the Southern Kingdom become a High-King?" Alexandros grinned. "Since Zastros had himself crowned such, my lady. As I said, he is a very ambitious man. "At any rate, when we heard of the end of the civil war, two biremes were dispatched to nose along the coast to see what they might and re-establish relations with any of our former informants who might remain. Captain Yahnekos, here," he said, gesturing toward the dark-visaged, hook-nosed man to his left, "captained one ship and Captain Vanskeleeg"-this time he nodded at the graying, fair-skinned man on his right, who was cracking nuts in his big, square, tar-stained hands-"the other. Why don't you tell the High-Lady how the voyage went, gentlemen?" "Well," began Captain Yahnekos, "we slipped through the shoals by night, and by dawn we were sheltered in a little overgrown cove what's near a lake at the ebb. To see it from a sea you wouldn't think a d.a.m.ned pirogue could get in nor out; but, unladen, a bireme can. I've used that cove quite often over the years . . two full fathoms up to ten foot of the sh.o.r.e in most places, a sweet-water spring no more'n two cables' length inland. I come on 'er me-self, y'know, more'n twenty year ago, an'..." Captain Vanskeleeg shoved aside a heap of nutsh.e.l.ls. "Your pardon, my lady. Yahnekos, here, is a first-rate captain, but if he fought the way he talks, he and his company would all be sharkbait long since." "We laid up in his cove the full length of a day, put out men to watch the sea and sent patrols inland to some swampmen's villages. Not a single sail was spotted that whole day long, not even fishing craft. It looked like we had the only two ships on that whole stretch of coast. "But when the patrols come back, it's a different pot of fish. Both of the villages was part burnt and looted and the swampers what wasn't dead was scattered to h.e.l.l and gone. Aroun' night, an old swamper-name of Pinknee, who'd been one of our men there-come down to the cove. He said soldiers had been scouring the swamps for nigh on a month, not slavin', though, impressin' for the fleet an' the army. All they was takin' alive was strong, hale men an' boys an' oncet they'd got 'em chained up, they'd kill every oldster and child they could get a spear into ... and after they'd done with the women, they'd kill them too, even the good-Iookin' ones, by d.a.m.n! "Anyhow, seems old Pinknee's village had just been hit that mornin'. He never did say how he come to get away, but he did tell us how we could cut off the soldiers what done it. We talked it over and decided we owed it to the swampers and, besides, it sounded like fun. We hit 'em whilst they was makin' nightcamp, kilt an hundred-an' six pike-pushers an' one officer. We persuaded the other officer"-the captain's thin lips split in a wolfish grin-"that it might be to his best interests to tell us why he was 'pressin' the swampers, what town he and his troops was from, an' how strong the garrison was. After he'd told us ever'thin', we give him to the swampers. "So, anyhow, we come to find out that ol' Zastro'd pulled all but six score of the garrison outa Sabahnahpo-lis-that's a middlin' size town, a tradin' town, just inland of the swamps. Town's on a bluff and has good walls. Some swampers say it'uz builded on top of what useta be a G.o.d-town, but that don't cut no bait fer us. We'd alluz been scared to tackle'er afore, but we worked us out a plan. "We put chains on mosta the swampers, but so they could shed 'em easy like, y'see, and they all strapped dirks an short swords under their shirts. We figgered Yahnekos looked more like that Ehleenoee officer'n me, so we put that fancified cuira.s.s on him - and was that a job, my lady; big as his ol' belly is, we had to lay him down and set two big men on top of the breastplate afore we could get the thing buckled!" Both Alexandros and Vanskeleeg grinned hugely, while the thick-bodied Yahnekos glared at them from under lowered brows and muttered something obscene under his breath. Vanskeleeg continued. "So we got an hundred-odd of our reavers into the pikemen's gear and, along about dusk the next day we marched up to the landward side of Sabahnahpolis. They'd closed the gate, o'course, it gettin' toward night an' all. You should'a heard ol' Yahnekos, though-sounded just like one of them n.o.bles, he did! Said he'uz tired and needed him a wash, an' if they didn' get them gates opened afore he'd took another breath, he'd have ever' manjack's parts off an' feed 'em to his hounds. "Well, the gate opened up and we marched in and it was a bad night for Sabahnahpolis, it was. After we'd killed all the gate guards, we headed for the river gate to let in the shipload of reavers an' swampers what had come upriver in my ship an' Yahnekos'. We come to the marketplace and here sat this fat man in gold armor on a big, pretty horse. Behind him was what looked like five hundred pike-pushers and we figgered we'd fought our last fight, but we charged 'em, anyhow. But it turned out they was nothin' but merchants and wharfmen and factors and such like, all dressed up in old armor. They didn' know one end of their pikes from t'other, an' when it looked like they might have to use them overgrowed spears, they throwed 'em away and scattered. "Well, our boys killed as many as they could catch, and ol' Yahnekos, who was still aboard the horse, went after the feller in the gold armor an' he d.a.m.n near lost him, too, an' I can't but feel sorry for them two poor horses with them two tubs o' blubber a bouncin' and a jouncin'..." "Enough, you red-faced pig!" Captain Yahnekos slammed a hard hand upon the table. "You call me garrulous, yet you've strung a short tale out over the best part of a quarter hour." He addressed Mara. "My lady, my captive proved to be the Royal Governor of Sabahnahpolis, one Daidos. At hia order, the city stronghold was opened and, when we'd disposed of all the garrison, Daidos showed us to the treasure that made our voyage so profitable-thirty pounds of silver coin and nearly twelve pounds of gold, taxes and excise monies destined for the capital. "Our boys gleaned a good bit more from within the town, then took time to knock down the main gates and smash in all the boats, after driving every horse they could find into the swamps. Slows up pursuit, that does. "Daidos told me that he could bring a goodly ransom from his king or his family, so I had him put in Captain Vanskeleeg's forepeak, as it's bigger than mine. I'd taken a fancy to Daidos' daugher and Vanskeleeg to some merchant's sp.a.w.n, so we let the boys grab some wenches to keep them happy on the return voyage and pulled out for the Sea Isles." He showed strong, yellow teeth in a crooked grin. Alexandros took over the narrative. "By the time I first interviewed Governor Daidos, he was in poor shape, both physically-he'd never been to sea before, and a bireme is not the most comfortable of ships in a rough sea-and mentally. He spoke to me without attempt at prevarication, as one Ehleenoee gentleman to another. He told me that he had lied to Captain Yahnekos. His family had been impoverished by the civil war and he knew his king to be far too busy with certain plans to see to the ransom of one minor official. In return for his life, he pledged upon his honor and the honor of his house to impart to me information that could very well save my kingdom. His words had piqued my curiosity, so I agreed not to kill him if his story proved true. "Daidos said that all the ships of the Eastern Fleet and a third of the Western Fleet were a.s.sembling at Neea-heeopolis, their great port just north of the Death Swamp, which separates the Southern Kingdom from the Witch Kingdom. Meanwhile, Zastros is gathering a huge army, calling troops from as far west as the Ocean River. After five years of a kingdom-wide war, you know that his realms must be aswarm with veteran soldiers, and Zastros is offering them anything that he feels might tempt them-amnesties and lands to" n.o.bles who fought against him, manumissions to escaped slaves, excellent wages to mercenaries, and mountains of loot for all. And they're flocking to his standard in .droves. A week before his capture, Daidos had reliable word that Zastros already has near one hundred twenty thousand men! His cavalry alone number some forty thousand, and he has five hundred armored war carts, each drawn by a pair of Northhorses. Too, he has units of another animal-I cannot now recall what Daidos called them-the description of which he gave sounds like a huge, deformed boar. If he wasn't exaggerating, they are more than three meters high, have four legs as thick as trees, tushes as long as a tall man, and a long nose that drags the ground but is flexible as a snake and can be used to throw darts or stones or slash with a three-meter sword blade! Sounds utterly fantastic, does it not? Yet Daidos swears it all to be true." Mara nodded slowly. "Such beasts do exist in the Southern Kingdom, Lord Alexandros, though I was not aware they had been trained or adapted for war. In our language they are called 'elefahsee'; the aboriginals call them 'eluhfuhnts.' The kings of the Southern Kingdom have been breeding them for centuries. I saw their herd about a hundred and fifty years ago." She regarded her wine for a moment, then added, "I would suppose that Kehnooryos Ehlahs would be the logical objective of Zastros' hosts, since we have already subdued most of Karaleenos." "Yes, my lady," said Alexandros. "But he harbors more grandiose schemes, as well. His fleet is to pace his army up the coast, going up navigable rivers to a.s.sist his land force where necessary. They intend to bottle up your fleet in this river and capture the ships, unharmed, if possible. "When Kehnooryos Ehlahs is taken, Zastros will send his fleet to try to storm the Sea Isles or, failing that, blockade us and starve us into capitulation. Obviously the madman has never seen the Sea Isles and has but scant information concerning them. Our central lagoon and its islands are impregnable. There is but one narrow, twisting channel from the sea; otherwise, our seaward coast is an unbroken ring of cliffs-jagged, precipitous cliffs, my lady, the very lowest being twice the height of this city's wall. They const.i.tute natural fortifications and, in the few places skilled climbers might come up, we have added stretches of crenellated wall and certain other refinements. "If he thinks to starve us out, he and his fleet have a longer wait than I think they can afford. We have little arable land and grow little food, but for that very reason our storehouses are always stuffed to bursting. Beside which, the lagoon is usually full of fish. "No, my lady, my kingdom and I have precious little to fear from any number of Zastros' men or ships, but you and yours will be hard-pressed to overcome the host he is gathering. I command forty-three biremes and a handful of sailing-merchantmen fitted with sweeps, a total force of near five thousand of the fiercest fighters in the world." "And you want to cast your lot with Kehnooryos Ehlahs?" Mara was genuinely puzzled. "But why? Why to many things, Lord Alexandros? Why did you undertake so long and difficult a voyage for the sole purpose of apprising us of our peril? Why would you now risk your ships and your men in our behalf?" Alexandros refilled his goblet and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him. "That, my lady, is a long story, but 111 tell it, that you may know that honor of my house and not avarice impels my offer. "It began forty years agone, when your clansmen and allies were threatening this city and realm."

Chapter 4.

Lady Mara's messenger-a subchief of Clan Morguh,.- pounded into camp in mid-afternoon of the fourth day after the first conference. Milo had the message in mind-speak-always quicker and more detailed than oral communication-and then turned both horse and rider over to Captain Ahbdool. The little man and his great-hearted mount had done better than a hundred miles a day! Milo gathered his four captains and gave them most of the news; their individual reactions were about what he would have expected of them. "G.o.d-Milo," the Maklaud immediately mindspoke, "let me send riders to Ehlai and to the west. That will give us at least twenty-five hundred warriors; also, if we can boat the elders and the children up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, I can almost guarantee nearly thirty hundred maiden-archers and matron-archers." Captain Zarameenos cracked his knuckles. "Irregular cavalry and horse-archers are all very well for raiding and scouting, even for flanking a host, under the proper conditions; but we'd best leave the mountains for later and get the main army down here. It takes time to move forty-thousand men." "Precisely," stated old Guhsz h.e.l.luh authoritatively. "I estimate that your army will need two weeks to reach us; but for the most part, they will be marching on good roads through friendly lands. Think, man, think how much longer it will take to move three or four times that number of fighting men. Plus"-he tapped the table for emphasis-"their baggage, artificers, seige train, and the vast rabble of noncombatants that always follows a large host. His force is far too large to make much use of the trade road; they'll mostly have to move cross country, and unless they know the country or have d.a.m.ned good guides ..." Herbuht Mai groaned. "All right, Guhsz, so they'll take four, maybe six, weeks to reach our current position. But how could anyone stop them when they do get here, eh? One hundred twenty thousand fighting men! By my steel, there aren't that many men in Pitzburk and Harzburk combined! "Middle Kingdoms' rulers think Lord Milo powerful because he can field an army of fifty-thousand-odd. But how can he or anyone stand against a force of nearly three times that number?" Captain Zarameenos had never really liked Mai. "If you're afraid to die for the realm that pays you, mercenary, why didn't you stay in the same barbarian pigwal-low that sp.a.w.ned you?" he sneered. Both h.e.l.luh and Milo tensed themselves, ready to try to prevent bloodshed. The Maklaud eased backward and slyly loosened his saber, hoping to get at least one swipe at that strutting Ehleenee b.a.s.t.a.r.d before the northerner slew him. But Mai's good sense prevailed. He was far slower to anger than h.e.l.luh. "Captain Zarameenos," he replied slowly, carefully choosing his words, "I am certainly as n.o.bly born as are you, possibly more so, but that is of HO moment in this place and time. I do not fear death; indeed, He and I have brushed one another countless times on many a field. I well know, as do all my Freefighters, that wounds or death is the certain fate of most of us, but we continue to practice our highly dan-geroHs profession because it is the only one most of us know. "The n.o.bility of your Ehleenoee realms are usually highly educated and, early on, are habituated to a soft, pampered life of culture and books and soft music and luxurious palaces and pleasures that men like me cannot understand. Consequently, few of your peers make decent soldiers. "I dislike you probably as much as you dislike me, Captain, but I'll gladly give any man his due; you are the rare exception to most of your ilk-admirable strate- gist, able field tactician, an officer who obviously cares for the welfare of his men and willingly devotes time to seeing to that welfare. Were any large number of Ehleenoee n.o.bles the fighting men that Strahteegos Ga-bos, Komees Greemos, and you are, you'd have scant need to pay out your gold to the Freefighters you hate and despise! "In the Middle Kingdoms, Captain Zarameenos, a n.o.bleman begins his war training at the age of seven or eight. At fifteen or sixteen, if he's still alive and uncrippled, he's a seasoned veteran and he spends the best part of however much life is left him in making use of his hard-learned war skills-either for his home state or for foreign states. Yes, he fights for gold. Who can live without gold? If he's lucky and a good leader, he manages to recruit a condotta, equip it, and hire it out as a unit for what must seem tremendous amounts of money to some. But, Captain Zarameenos, d.a.m.ned few condotta-captains die wealthy, not if they're all they should be, for more than nine-tenths of the hire of their services goes back into the men for whom they are responsible." "Captain Zarameenos," barked Milo, "you owe Captain Mai an apology." "Yes," agreed the blackhaired officer, "I do, especially since most of what he said is true. As a cla.s.s, my peers have become too soft, too civilized. Furthermore, most of us know it and despise ourselves because we are not the men that our ancestors were, so we have to hire men of the kind we should be to protect us. Something, Lord Milo, must be done to change this pattern." Milo nodded. "Something will be done ... if the realm survives what's coming. Captain Maklaud, I want ten of your best riders and twenty-two of your strongest, swiftest horses. You and the ten will ride within the hour-no armor, no bows, or spears, only saber, dirk, and helm. You and the men report ba,ck here. "Captain Mai, as soon as I've dispatched the messengers, you and I will ride to King Zenos' camp. "Captain Zarameenos, have a detachment of your arti-, ficers determine how long it would take to partially or -completely render the bridge unusable. "Captain h.e.l.luh, delegate your command to a good officer, then strip to sword and dirk and helm and take my stallion and a couple of good remounts. I have a very important mission for you; a man of lesser rank or experience couldn't carry it off." - Something over an hour later, Milo sat cradling his goblet, his booted legs thrust out before him, hoping that he had made the best decisions. If he had, many thousands of men would die before autumn. If he had not, there would certainly be years of untold misery and suffering and death up and down the much-altered Atlantic coast of what had once been called "North America." In his case, nearly a hundred years of hopes and dreams and plans would b