Revenge of the Horseclans

II

Though not so large as Morguhn Hall, Horse Hall was constructed along the same lines, a mode of building which had originated a hundred years before, when raids by western barbarians were still commonplace. Entering a heavy, iron-studded gate, Bili rode through a dark and narrow passage into a paved courtyard, where a central fountain plashed into a circular stone trough, and a nannygoat and her half grown kid drank.

A bowing, smiling servant approached as Bili dismounted, and led Mahvros into the long, two-story building which, pierced by the entry passage, made up the entire front of the hall complex. This building’s outer wall was thick and windowless, save for narrow bowman’s slits on the upper level. Standing twenty feet from ground to flat topped roof, with square towers rising an additional fifteen feet at each corner and in the center, the front and sides were surmounted by four-foot stone merlons alternating with two-foot-wide crenels.

The walls which connected this structure to the main building were some two feet thick and about fifteen feet high. The walls were also crenellated; a firestep, five feet wide and twelve feet up, ran their length and covered steps connected it with the rooftop fortifications at either end. The colonnades formed by the walks and their supporting columns were the scene of a bustle of activity. An ironsmith and his helpers industriously clanged away near the door through which Mahvros had been led. Opposite him, servant women laughed and chattered, while washing clothing in immense wooden tubs of steaming water. Beyond the women, a gnomelike old man, with a long needle and a leather palmguard, stitched decorations to a dress saddle and half listened to a travelling bard, who was devoting equal concentration to the tuning of his instrument and to the recitation of lewd stories which he had to almost shout. Nearer to the manor, a man who looked fat enough to be a cook lounged in a cellar doorway supervising a trio of near-naked boys, who were splitting firewood with a rhythmic chunk-chunking of axes.

At the foot of the wide stairway which led to the main doors, Bill was met by a pudgy, handwringingly servile, bowing man whose black hair and eyes and olive countenance attested him either pure Ehleen or close to it. The upper servant for such his dress proclaimed him to be straightened from his last and deepest bow and said, “Greet the Sacred Sun, my master. Wind has borne you well and truly. I am called Hofos and have the honor to be majordomo of the Hall of the Illustrious Komees Hari of Daiviz. Whom shall Hofos announce to his master, noble sir?”

Bill said stiffly, “Before I see your master, I would like to wash my face. Also please send someone to dust my clothing. You may announce Bili, eldest son of Thoheeks Hwahruhn, Morguhn of Morguhn.”

At that, Hofos bowed so far that Bili was sure the man’s forehead must soon bump against the flagstones. “Oh, Master of my master, Hofos is humiliated that he failed to recognize the redoubtable Thoheeks’ son. Hofos begs, he pleads, he most humbly beseeches forgiveness, he…”

Bili waved a hand impatiently. He had run into this kind of servant before, and knew Hofos for what he certainly was dishonest, unscrupulous, and backbiting to his betters, a vicious petty tyrant to his inferiors. Such a servant would never remain long in his employ, he had often vowed, for their unrelenting self abasement usually concealed an unrelenting hatred of their betters.

“Dammit, man, how could you recognize me, since I’ve been in Harzburk for ten years? Til forgive you. Sun and Wind, I’ll forgive you nearly anything, if you’ll just get on with it!”

Hofos bowed Bili into the hall’s foyer and conducted him to a sumptuously appointed bathingroom, where the majordomo issued a barrage of supercilious orders to a trio of bath servants, then backed out, bowing, and scurried off.

Shortly, the carven orkheads above the sunken tub commenced to spout. When the tub was filled and Bili had been expertly divested of swordbelt, boots, and clothing, the two girls and the man saw him safely into the steaming water. While he floated on his back, relaxing in the herbscented bathwater, the servingman departed with Bill’s boots and belt and weapons, while the older girl left with his clothing.

After a few minutes, the younger serving girl shed her sandals and her single garment and joined him in the tub. While she laved him from head to foot, he smilingly recalled the first time he had been so attended since his return two weeks agone.

In the northern lands, no more than one full bath per week was the norm among the nobility, though one usually sponged the dust from face and hands after a ride. If anyone at all attended a nobleman’s ablutions, it would certainly be a manservant or arming lad. So when he had first commenced a bath at Morguhn Hall and a pretty, sloe-eyed bathgirl, nude and smiling, had slipped into the water with him, he had reacted as would any Middle Kingdoms noble.

Since that time, Eeoonees had warmed his couch on a dozen nights, and his frequent conversations with her had elicited a plethora of forgotten or half-recalled facts about the distinctly different commoner-noble relationship in the Confederation. Among these nuggets of information was the fact that normally bathgirls were just what their title implied, not concubines.

By the time Komees Hari’s bathgirl had finished drying his body, the other two attendants had returned with his well brushed clothing, gleaming leather gear, and freshly polished brass fittings. A cursory glance into his belt purse assured him that the seal on the bag of gold remained unbroken, whereupon he pressed a silver half-thrahkmeh upon each of the three servants-which was far too much, as he knew, but these were the smallest coins his mothers had provided him.

At the doorway of the hall’s main room, Hofos stood to one side and bellowed, “Sun and Wind are kind. Now comes the Illustrious Bili, eldest son of our exalted lord, Hwahruhn, Thoheeks and Morguhn of Morguhn!”

Near the center of the high ceilinged chamber, beyond the circular firepit, an elderly and plainly garbed man slouched against the high table. But, when Bili entered, the old man left his place and strode to meet him with a slightly rolling pace which bespoke the fact that much of his life must have been spent ahorse. Bili assumed that this was Komees Hari.

The old nobleman’s hair was yellow white, his face was lined, and liver spots blotched his big, square hands and thick forearms; otherwise, he bore his fifty-six years admirably. For he was not stooped, though at five-and-a-half feet he was some six inches shorter than Bili, and his brown eyes glittered with intelligence. His grip on his visitor’s hand was firm until Bili actually succeeded to the duchy, he and the Komees were equals in rank and his friendly voice was deep and rolling.

“It’s as well that Hofos announced you, Bili, for I’d never have known you otherwise. You are most welcome in my hall. But… how fares Hwahruhn, lad?”

Bili shook his head and repeated all that his mothers had been told by Master Ahlee.

His host sighed. “Sacred Sun grant that when I go to Wind, it be a quick death, for if I could not ride among my herds … But it may not be so hard on Hwahruhn, for he has done little save read for near twenty years.” He sighed again, then draped a long arm about Bill’s shoulders.

Smiling, he said, “Come to my office, lad, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.

No introduction was needed to recognize the waiting stranger’s kinship to the Komees. Except for fewer lines in the face, black eyes and black hair shot with grey, he might have been Lord Hari’s twin. Nor would Bili have been hardput to name the man’s profession, for the calluses on his bluish cheeks and the bridge of his big nose, as well as the permanent dent across the forehead, could only have been caused by a helmet. White against the browned skin, cicatrices of old wounds crosshatched each other on every visible part of his burly body. As he came toward them, he favored his right leg, the thigh of which showed, below his short leather trousers, the purple pink puckering of a still healing injury.

His handgrip was as firm as that of the Komees and he precluded a formal introduction by announcing, “Now, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, young sir. I am Vaskos Daiviz, natural son of the Komees. Despite the wastage of much of my life in dissipation and varied misconduct, my father still allows me his name.” His disarming grin showed big, yellow teeth.

Komees Hari chuckled, but when he spoke a fierce pride suffused his voice. “I can think of no living man, Bili, who would not be honored to name Vaskos here his son! When he was fifteen, he enlisted as a spearman in the Army of the Confederation. Now he is a Keeleechstos and a weapons master, as well. To attest to his skill and valor, he holds the Order of the Golden Cat! And, when he returns to Kehnooryos Atheenahs from this convalescent leave, he is to be appointed a Substrahteegos. Could any man own a finer son?”

Blushing and fidgeting with embarrassment, the general-to-be gazed at the floortiles. Then, clearing his throat, he changed the subject before more could be said. “My father’s wine is superb, sir. But he must talk forever, ere he offers it. My wind is not so long and very little. Speech tends to dry my throat.”

Bili found that the wine was indeed superb. When, after the ritual of mutual healths and toasts to the High Lord and The Morguhn, the cups were refilled, Komees Hari apologized for the absence of his wife and daughters, chuckling ruefully.

“Your arrival, Bili, has set my girls all aflutter especially Eeyohahnah and Mehleesah, who are at or near marriageable age … though where I’ll get the gold to dower two more daughters is in the lap of Sacred Sun!”

He shook his white head. “I suppose that peace is wonderful for many of our Confederation, but it spells hard times for a man whose livelihood is the breeding of war horses, what with high taxes and a profusion of daughters to be adequately dowered.

“You see, lad, Vaskos is my only son. None of my wives’ male infants lived more than a couple of weeks; and, can I secure Council’s approval, he’ll be my heir. How could any Council refuse to grant legitimacy to a Strahteegos of our Confederation? Although after I’ve provided dots for Eeyohahnah and Mehleesah and little Behtee, my title, my sword, and my ledgerbooks are about all I’ll probably be able to leave him.

“I vow, Bili, were it not for a few good and faithful customers in the Middle Kingdoms and the Black Kingdoms, my family and I would be starving and in rags!”

Bili was nobody’s fool. His mission here was to win the support of the aging Komees. What better way than to offer his help in furtherance of the old nobleman’s ambition for his bastard? It was certain to be more effective than the simple choice and purchase of a horse he really did not need.

Besides, he had liked the officer and he genuinely admired him and his accomplishments. A Keeleechstos, leader of three thousand men in the Middle Kingdom, his rank would be colonel just might have attained to that rank through the skillful greasing of selected palms. But in the Army of the Confederation it was well known that Strahteegoee were chosen strictly upon the grounds of ability; too, there was that Golden Cat. While thousands of Red Cats and hundreds of Silver Cats had been awarded during the century since the establishment of the orders, less than fivescore men, all told, had ever won the right to a golden one, of any class.

“Lord Hari,” he began.

“Now stop that, Bili!” admonished his host. “You’ve clearly been too long away from home, among those stiffnecked northerners. We of the Kindred call each other by name, reserving formality for superiors, strangers, and known enemies. I’m Hari and my son is Vaskos.”

“All right, Hari,” Bili started over. “I’ll be candid. I want something of you, and you want something of Council. Pledge me support in my aims, and I, in turn, will pledge you my support and my best efforts at gaining the support of others in attaining your aspiration for Vaskos.”

And so, we sing a proud song,

Of Pitzburk, where the siege was long,

Of Pitzburk, where our rivers ran with blood.

The last note died. Klairuhnz, the traveling bard, lowered his instrument and slowly bowed.

Bili’s fingers sought his purse and selected a silver thrahkmeh. The singer deserved it, for he had certainly rendered an excellent performance, what with ancient tellingsongs of the exploits of Morguhn and Daiviz chiefs and clansmen now hundreds of years dead; a couple of Ehleen loveballads which had even brought a few brief smiles to the jowly, perpetually frowning face of the Lady Hehrah, Lord Hari’s short, immensely fat wife; a Freefighter song, much laundered, which nonetheless had every man in the room roaring, since the words replacing the bawdy ones did not rhyme, making the original lyrics easy to guess; and ending with the famous Song of Pride, a venerable favorite in the Middle Kingdoms, though not so well known this far south.

Allowing his host and Vaskos to throw their coins first, Bili then tossed his thrahkmeh. The bard caught the three silver pieces in flight, juggled them for a few moments, then lined them on his open left palm. Closing that hand, he made a gesture or two above it with his right hand and, when he reopened the left, all three coins were gone.

The two youngest of Lord Hari’s three daughters oohed and ahhed their amazement, but the older, Eeyohahnah, never changed expression, since she did not see the sleight-of-hand. Her dark, brooding, slightly slanted eyes had never left Bili since first they were introduced; they had followed his every movement or gesture throughout the dinner. However, on each of the several occasions he had attempted to meet her stare, she had looked down with a show of modesty and the barest flicker of a sly smile. Her activities were beginning to irk Bili, but it would be undignified and most impolitic to allow his discomfiture to become noticeable.

Bili was far from a novice in the ways of women. Since first his voice had deepened and his shoulders commenced to broaden, women and girls had made no secret of the fact that they found him handsome to look upon. He had been but fourteen when be had pleasurably spent his virginity within the young widow of the Earl of Dawfuhnburk, then living at King Gilbuht’s court. After her, he had tumbled countless serving girls and had paid court to and bedded other idle noblewomen.

He had been introduced to rapine at the ghastly intaking of Indersburk and again, more recently, had renewed his acquaintance when Behreesburk fell. But this girl, this Eeyohahnah, was no spoil of war, to be stripped and enjoyed at his leisure. Nor was she a lustful servingwench or a promiscuous northern grasswidow, free to take the bed-partner of her choice.

That the ravenhaired girl was nubile was more than apparent, even through the folds of her old-fashioned Ehleen himation, especially since she had, seemingly by accident, pulled the garment tight over her firmly swelling breasts. But the very fact that the girls and their mother were all dressed so anachronistically attested that Eeyohahnah had been reared in the Ehleen manner, and Bili knew that Ehleenoee nobles placed an absurdly high value on virgin brides. All rational men agreed that the crucified god of the Ehleenoee alone knew why they clove to so stupid a custom.

So it angered Bili that she would thus flaunt herself and taunt him with what she knew he could not take the pleasure of without so deeply offending Lord Hari that he would probably end up having to kill the old man in a death match … either that or marry the brazen chit. And, it came to him, maybe that was at the core of the matter. She knew that he would be Thoheeks sooner or later, and fancied herself a fair candidate for Thoheekeesa of Morguhn.

Well, she was no such thing! When Thoheeks Bili wed, he had no intention of taking an unproven heifer, not for his senior wife anyway. The woman he would take for that would have proven couchskills and would also have a proven ability to conceive.

But Lord Hari was speaking, commanding, “A chair and wine for Bard Klairuhnz.” Then, to the bard, “You are, I am informed, lately come from the Southern Duchies. Tell us the news, when you have had of the wine.”

The blackhaired singer sat on the chair and carefully lowered his harp to the floor, then accepted the mug of wine. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he downed half the mug. Leaning back, he smiled contentedly as the warmth the spirit spread through his vitals.

“Another of the ancient horseclans,” he began, “has crossed the southern mountains and has been recognized as True Kindred by Ahrkeethoheeks Djaimz. The clan is that of Sanderz and they live according to the tenets of the Couplets of the Law. Even now, their chief, Hwahltuh by name, journeys to Kehnooryos Atheenahs to pledge his Kindred Oath to the High Lord.”

“Do you believe them truly of our Kindred, Bard Klairuhnz?” inquired the Komees. “In times past, I hear, there have been bands of nomads who so claimed, in order to be granted lands …”

The bard nodded vigorously. “Oh, these are genuine Kindred, Lord Komees, I’ve no doubt of that. Lord Djaimz had me seek out the Sanderz bard, and he knows the Law-all of the Law! Also, he sung me the entire Song of Sanderz, which took most of a day. They are most certainly of the Children of Ehiai, the original Kindred. Their Old Mehreekuhn is the purest I have heard in years, and those who can tell say that almost all of the Sanderz can mindspeak.”

This last was a telling point. Mindspeak-telepathic ability was once an ages-old inherent talent of eighty percent of the Kindred. On the Plains which the Kindred had roamed for hundreds of years, before forty-odd of the clans had first invaded the Ehleen lands, mindspeak talents had constituted a definite survival factor, as well as the only way of communicating with Prairie Cat and horse. Even with the blood of those original forty odd clans much thinned by generations of intermarriage with other peoples, many of the modern Kindred still possessed mindspeak, to a greater or lesser degree. Bili had it, as did both the Komees and Vaskos, and so though he was damned careful of who knew did Bard Klairuhnz.

“The sea-” the bard continued his news, the transmission of which between farflung duchies was one of the most valuable and welcome functions of the traveling bards “-still is rising along the coasts and more farmland is being lost each year, as the salt fens widen. Sea creatures venture ever farther up the rivers as well, and the talk in the Southern Duchies has been of the huge white shark-a full dozen meters long and far thicker and heavier than most of that ilk, with teeth half as long as a man’s finger-slain in the pleasure lake of the Ahrkeethoheeks. It overturned three boats and slew or drowned near a score of boatmen and soldiers ere all its monstrous body abristle with arrows and darts and spears it was finally driven into shallows and clubbed and axed to death.

“So many of the soldiers and waterpeople swore that the shark fought with the reasoning of a man rather than the mere cunning of a beast that the Ahrkeethoheeks had a boatload of Ehleen priests brought down from his capital, giving them leave to conduct their ceremonies for driving demons from the lake and the land. I myself saw some of those rites, and right awesome they were.”

“Hogwash!” snorted the Komees. “Young Djaimz must be as weakbrained as was his father, to put any faith in Ehleen superstitions. If he really wanted to be sure that that lake was cleared, he should have rented or borrowed some Orks from the Lord of the Sea Isles. No known waterbeast is the match of a few of those thirtyfooters!

“And it is a pure mystery to me, Bard Klairuhnz, why God Milo failed to slay every one of those pimps in priests’ clothing, those holy slavers, on whom he could lay hands a hundred years agone! All the bastards, from the lowest Eeyehrefsee to the Ahrkeeyehpeeskohpohs himself, are powerhungry and athirst for Kindred blood … or Kindred gold, whichever seems easiest to lay their scaly hands to.

“Why, that thrice accursed Kooreeos Skiros of Morguhnpolis had the nerve to come to me, no more than a year agone, and demand mind you, Kinsmen, not ask, but demand one of my daughters for a ‘bride’ for his god, complete with a dowry which was to be paid to him.”

“So what answer did you give the holy man, Father?” asked Vaskos, grinning hugely. He had obviously heard the tale before, and enjoyed it.

A harsh, humorless laugh came from the Komees. “I told him that since I did not follow or honor his stupidities, he had no claim on me or mine. That it has been known for a hundred years that he and his kind are whoremongers and slavers and that I would slay every one of my daughters, ere I consigned them to his ‘care.’ And I warned him against returning to Horse Hall, since the next time he trespassed under my roof, I’d make him ‘holey,’ in truth!”

He turned his face to Bili. “Lad, I’m sorry to have to criticize your father, but over the years he has been far too lax in his handling of potentially dangerous malcontents in this duchy. Myros of Kehnooryos Deskati, for instance, should’ve been flogged the length of these lands and hanged ten years ago. Your uncle, the Tahneest, favored it, as did Komees Djeen and I and Clan Bard Hail and even your mothers; but Thoheeks Hwahruhn would list to none of us, and now his duchy, and all of us with it, sits in the pan of a cocked catapult!

“Mark my words, Bili, bad days are coming to these lands. Myros’s agitation was bad enough, but since this arrogant Kooreeos arrived four years ago, the petty Ehleenoee nobles and most of the commoners city and rural are become secretive and surly. I fear that terrible things are afoot.”

“Aye,” agreed Klairuhnz. “Ever do the squarebeards foment unrest amongst their followers. And no matter how much freedom is given them, they demand more and ever more. Why, in Gafnee…”

Komees Hari’s bony knuckles glowed white against the sunbrowned skin of his clenched hands and his voice grated. “Yes, Kinsman, we heard even here; and my son, Vaskos, has told me still more. A nasty business. Sacred Sun grant that our troubles never get so far!”

“Heard what, Bard Klairuhnz?” asked Bili impulsively, noticing neither the rage on the face of his hostess, nor the grim set of his host’s features.

So abruptly and violently did Komeesa Hehrah arise that her chair went crashing over. In an icy voice and clipped phrases, she said, “My lords, the hour is late. Too, I have heard quite enough slander of dedicated, selfless clergymen, I beg leave to retire. Eeyohahnah, Mehleesah, Behtee… come!”

Spinning, she waddled to and through the doorway, trailed by her daughters and servingwomen, bidding a goodnight to no one.

“I take it, Lord Komees” the Bard drily remarked, “that My Lady cleaves to the Ehleen religion.”

Lord Hari made a rude noise, disgust and anger on his face. Grasping an ewer, he filled his mug to the brim, drank it all down, then slammed the empty mug onto the table with enough force to set dishes and cutlery to dancing. After taking several deep breaths, he spoke in a well controlled voice, his first words directed to Bili.

“I apologize for My Lady’s atrocious conduct, Kinsman.”

Bili squirmed in his chair. “My Lord, perhaps if I had not asked the question of Bard Klairuhnz… ?”

“No, Bili,” the old lord sighed. “It was coming, and I well knew it. My Lady ever goes out of her way to offer offense to any Kindred I entertain, only showing her good side around folk of her own ilk. In the last few years, she’s become almost unbearable.”

“But, why… ?” Bili began.

Looking as if he needed to spit, Komees Hari answered before Bili finished asking. “Because among her innumerable other failings, my cursed wife slavishly bides by every one of the old Ehleen superstitions and practices, including some of the vilest of them. Oh, warm and loving Sun!” He beat one big fist against his wiry thigh, soul deep pain shining from his eyes.

“Why, oh, why was not my father more careful? Had he but known how rotten was My Lady’s blood with all the cursed, shameful Ehleen practices, this day would see me wed to her I truly loved, Vasko’s dear mother, not to that perverted, demonridden sow, Hehrah!

“Bili, all else aside, I know why you came. Rather, why you were sent to my hall, today. Your dear mothers are wise and were thinking straight and properly, but it was not really necessary, for your House has ever had my support in Council and you will always have it. I can speak for my brother, Drehkos as well, I believe. As for…”

But then Hofos, the majordomo, advanced up the hall, bowing and wringing his hands, to announce the arrival of noble guests.