Swords of the Horseclans

10

The cyclopean masonry of the Luhmbuh River bridge had weathered hundreds of years of floods and at least one titanic earthquake, so Milo had not been surprised when both his artificers and King Zenos’ despaired of doing it any damage not easily repairable. On the fords, however, he was luckier. The more treacherous of the two, thirty miles upstream, was found to be natural; but the better one, only twelve miles west of the bridge, was manmade of large blocks of granite. Milo had both ends dismantled, rafting the stones downstream to help fortify the northern end of the bridge.

With the arrival of Strahteegos Gabos and the main Confederation army, things began to hum. The fledgling castra was completed in a day, then much enlarged and elaborated upon, though compartmentalized for easy defense by a small force.

It had been his idea to send the Maklaud and his horseclansmen to help King Zenos’ mountain irregulars and reports indicated that they made a good combination.

By the end of the four weeks, Milo was heartened. Not only had Zastros’ speed been reduced to a slow crawl that promised precious time, but the first condottas from the Middle Kingdoms were arriving—horsemen all, armored in half suits of plate, armed with lance, sword, shield, and dirk; every fourth trooper being an expert horse-archer and bearing a powerful hornbow. The condottas averaged small—five hundred being an exceptionally large unit—but these Freefighters were the best soldiers of this era. They were versatile, highly mobile, and courageous, if well-fed.

The middle of the sixth week brought the gallant old Duke of Kuhmbuhlun, at the head of his own army of six thousand, plus the promised sixty-five hundred from Pitzburk. There was word, as well, from the King of Harzburk. Not to be outdone by his arch-rival of Pitzburk, he was sending his hundred noble cavalry and seven thousand Freefighters … as soon as he could find and hire them.

By chance, Milo and some of his staff happened to be standing near the west gate of the castra when another column of light cavalry trotted in … with Tomos Gonsalos, who was supposed to be helping lead the harassment in the southern mountains, riding knee to knee with an unknown Ehleen officer at their head. Milo mindspoke Tomos, who spoke a word or two to his companion, then turned his dusty mount toward the High-Lord.

“What have we here, Tomos?” Milo spoke aloud, since not all his party were talented with mindspeak. “If that condotta are irregulars, they’re the best armed and disciplined irregulars I’ve ever seen; if they’re Freefighters, they’re a draggle-tailed lot. And I thought you rode south with the Maklaud.”

Tomos grinned engagingly. “I’m not really needed there, Lord Milo. Your Lordship was right, the Horseclansmen and King Zenos’ mountain warriors are of the same coinage; they blend as easily as hot cheese and butter.” But, even while speaking lightly aloud, he imparted more serious information by mindspeak. “There are nearly a thousand veteran light cavalry here, the personal squadron of Captain Portos over there. They are topnotch troops, and I know, my lord, for we’ve been skirmishing with them for over a month.”

“Deserters?” Milo looked his astonishment. “These were Zastros’ troops?”

“Among his best, my lord, Komees Portos has captained cavalry in Zastros’ behalf for six years, since first he raised his banner. He has lost or sold everything he owned in Zastros’ cause.”

Milo shook his head. “At best, turncoats are unreliable, and a thousand possibly hostile horsemen in my camp is more than I care to risk. We’d best have them disarmed. We can put the troopers to work. I’ll send the officers, under guard, up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs with the next …”

“Your pardon, my lord,” interrupted Tomos. “But I have reason to believe Captain Komees Portos’ story and …”

“And,” snapped Milo, “you are a very young man, but men far older have been deluded.”

“And,” Tomos continued, “I was instructed by the Maklaud to inform Your Lordship that the captain had been subjected to the Test of the Cat and found completely truthful. He also said that Your Lordship should hear the tale and put your own questions to the captain.”

“And so,” concluded Portos, “when I reached my camp, I told my officers what had happened at the High King’s camp and what I intended doing. I did not need to tell them what would happen if the squadron remained under the High King’s orders. Then I mounted a fresh horse and rode into the mountains with a white pennon on my lanceshaft. It required nearly two days for me to make contact. When at last I did, I asked to meet with their chiefs.

“Chief Maklaud seemed to believe me from the start, but Chief Hohlt and Tomos, here, were quite skeptical. Tomos suggested putting me to the torture, that I might reveal my nefarious schemes; Chief Hohlt was in favor of simply slitting my throat”

“So the Maklaud explained the Test of the Cat, then had you submit to it,” added Milo, smiling, smiling because he knew, as had the Maklaud, that such a test was completely unnecessary with a man like the captain, who, lacking mindspeak, also lacked a mindshield. Milo’s already-high estimation of the Maklaud went up; he had employed his prairie cat and a bit of showmanship to keep secret his ability to read some minds.

“All right, Captain Portos, if you wish to sign on your condotta, I pay good wages. But there will be no foraging; let that be understood now. My supply trains arrive twice a week, it’s plain fare, but you’ll not be shorted by my quartermasters. Under normal conditions, I pay Free-fighter captains half the agreed wages when I hire them, but I saw your squadron when they rode in. So, would you rather have your advance in equipment, Captain?” Since most Ehleenoee were far less prone to evidencing emotion than were Horseclansmen, Milo was genuinely surprised to see tears come into the big captain’s eyes. But when he answered, his voice was firm. “My lord is more than generous. It has … pained me for weeks to see my men suffer for lack of those things that a captain should be able to provide, but the initial expense of bringing my squadron back up to strength took every bit of the gold my lands brought, so I had nothing to bribe the quartermasters. Then, when your horse-archers raided my camp that night and fired our supply wagons …” Milo tentatively probed Portos’ mind, but he hurriedly withdrew with a lump in his throat; in that moment, the High-Lord felt real hate for Zastros, that his hauteur and neglect toward one who had served him faithfully and long had reduced that proud and honorable man to what he—Portos—considered the acceptance of charity. For the first time, Milo really noticed the southern nobleman’s appearance—the old and battered helmet with half the crest long since hacked away, the patched and repatched clothing and boots, the cheap scale-mail hauberk, where most officers and nobles wore plate. And he came to a decision that he was never to regret.

He raised his voice, calling, “Lieutenant Markos.” Shortly, a small, heavy chest rested beside his chair. On the tabletop were an ewer of wine and four cups, and another chair had been brought in. .

After the aide had left in search of Strahteegos Gabos, Milo turned to Tomos. “I think that Captain Portos and I are about of a size. Go over into my quarters and tell my men to open my chests, then choose some clothing and boots suitable for a captain of a thousand horse, then have them bring your choices and my extra suit of Pitzburk back here.”

As Tomos rose to go, the big captain protested, “But, my lord … I ask only for those who depend upon me, not for myself.”

“Because, in addition to being a born leader and true gentleman, you’re a really good officer, and that, my good Portos, is a far rarer combination than you think; too many officers, especially nobleborn officers, remember only that ‘Rank Hath Its Privileges,’ forgetting that ‘Rank Hath Its Responsibilities,’ as well. You gave more than your all to one who betrayed your trust. You must now be very cynical regarding the gratitude of rulers, but I say to you this: serve me as faithfully as you served Zastros in the past, and the rewards for both you and your squadron will be great.”

While Portos sat digesting the unexpected praise, Milo leaned to open the small coffer and extract three leather bags that he dropped, clanking, on the table, then shoved over to Portos.

“Captain, we maintain and enforce high standards of personal cleanliness in our army, especially amongst our officers, so you will need more than a single suit of clothes; the smaller bag is for your own needs. With the two larger bags, I expect you to improve the appearances of your officers, nor will you have to search far, for—impending battle or no impending battle—a host of sutlers and merchants have opened for business along both sides of the road just north of the castra, along with armorers, tailors, whores, pimps, gamblers, bootmakers, horsetraders, farriers, fortune-tellers, and thieves. God help them all if we lose the battle!”

“No, my lord!” Portos shook his head emphatically. “The supplies for my troopers are more important. In honor, I cannot accept …”

“Captain Portos!” Milo snapped. “In my army you will accept what I damn well tell you to accept. Your sergeants and troopers will be supplied by my quartermaster with whatever they need, be it clothing or weapons or armor or horses or blankets or even cookpots. And Sacred Sun help the quartermaster I ever apprehend cadging bribes for preferential issuance of stores!”

Then Tomos and Milo’s orderlies arrived and, by the time Gabos came puffing in, Captain Komees Portos looked the part of a noble officer—black, thigh-length boots; breeches and shirt of plum-colored linen canvas; black leather gambeson under a three-quarter suit of matchless Pitzburk plate..

Without preliminaries, Milo said, “Gabos, ever “since you became Senior Strahteegos, you’ve been badgering me to train and allot you more Ehleen cavalry, despite the fact that—as you well know—my efforts along that line have been dismal failures for reasons we’ll not here recite.

“Well, to your right sits the answer to your prayers. His name is Portos, he is a Kath’ahrohs and a Komees by birth, he commands nine hundred sixty-eight veteran lancers, all Ehleenoee. Until recently, his unit served in the army of King Zastros, who shamelessly misused him and them. Tomos has fought Portos’ troopers and he considers them first-rate opponents, brave, and well led. Do you want them?”

Gabos turned and eyed Portos shrewdly, then snapped coldly, “Why did you desert your former lord, Komees Portos?”

Crisply and succinctly, Portos told him. While he spoke, Gabos mindspoke the High-Lord, “You believe this tale, Lord Milo?”

“Yes,” Milo answered silently. “I have entered his mind, and so has the Maklaud. He has been completely candid with us all.”

“I like his bearing,” commented Gabos, “and he speaks and expresses himself well. Yes, I’ll take him and his men as regulars. I’d be a bigger fool than I am not to, Lord Milo.”

“Then say it aloud,” ordered Milo. “The good captain doesn’t mindspeak.”

Pale moonlight bathed Lord Alexandros’ couch and a soft night breeze cooled his love-wet skin. Mara lay pressed close beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her breath still ragged, her shapely legs quivering yet from the joy he had given her.

After a long, dreamy while, she half whispered, “Lekos?”

“Yes, Mara?” he murmured.

Without speaking, she rolled her body atop his. her full, firm breasts pressed tightly against his chest. Resting on her elbows, her thick hair cascaded down either side of her small head, enclosing their two faces in a faery-pavilion, through which moonlight filtered as through blue-black gossamer. For an interminable moment, she gazed into his eyes, then slowly lowered her face and pasted her hot, red mouth firmly over his. But when his arms made to close around her, she tore out of their incipient embrace.

“No, Lekos, we must talk.”

Knowing her moodiness as well as he knew her matchless body, Alexandros lay back, cupping his hands beneath his head.

Mara reclined on her elbow, tracing the scars on his body with a forefinger. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the finger, she stated, “Lekos, I love you. I think that I love you as much as I loved your grandfather, my first Lekos … perhaps more. With you, in these past weeks, I have re-experienced a rapture that I had thought I would never again know.

“But, unlike my first Lekos, you as well as I knew that it could not last, that it must end. And why, as well. I would gladly give anything of which I can think if you could be as me or I as you, but Fate has ruled otherwise.

“My husband and Aldora and I are not truly immortal—Demetrios’ death proves that. -Anything that keeps air from our lungs is fatal to us, but our almost-instantaneous regeneration of tissue makes us impervious to most injuries or wounds or diseases and keeps us youthful for hundreds of years. To look at Aldora or at me, few would guess our ages at over five-and-twenty, yet Aldora is well past her fiftieth year, and I am well over three hundred years old. Milo is not even certain of his own age; he thinks that he is seven hundred, possibly more.

“What I am trying to tell you, Lekos …” Gently, he placed two fingers to her full lips and softly said, “That you could not bear to see me grow old, my Mara? No, that must never happen, my love, for it would be the cruelest of torture for both of us. So you wish me to leave. When must I leave you?”

“I dispatched a galley this morning, Lekos. With favorable weather, she should reach Kehnooryos Knossos in a few days. The message I sent Captain Yahnekos was to send a larger ship than a bireme … for I have a favor to ask you, Lekos.” “And what is that, Mara?”

“I want you to take Aldora with you, Lekos. Knowing her proclivities, she’ll no doubt seduce you soon after you reach home … if not before. But make love to her with a free heart, Lekos, for my blessing will be upon you both.”

This time, it was Mara whose hand covered his mouth, stilling his outraged, protests.

“Be still, Lekos, and listen well. Long life does not equate to eternal happiness. Aldora has had a tragic life to date. She was born of a noble family of Theesispolis and her father was of the sort of Vahrohnos Paulos, whom you slew; his wife was a necessary evil, because he could breed no sons without a woman. When poor Aldora was but a babe, her mother died and you can imagine how much parental affection a girl-child received from such a father. She grew to be a bigger than average girl and became pubescent at about ten. When she was but eleven, Theesispolis was taken by storm and she had to watch her father and brothers butchered by mercenaries, three of whom later raped her, then sold her to a horseclansman who did not speak her language. At that time, her mindspeak talent was quiescent. Horse-clansmen share their concubines and sometimes their wives with their kindred or eminent guests, and I’ll not elaborate on her ordeal before it was brought to the attention of the clansmen that, since the girl was less than fourteen, they were violating a tribal law in using her.

“Before it was done, that clan’s chief was deposed and slain, and her erstwhile owner became chief in his stead. Then he did what he could to recompense her. Being told that her real father was dead, he adopted her as his own daughter—rapist turned father, you see.

“For a few years after Milo and Demetrios formed the Confederation and became joint High-Lords, Demetrios gave every indication of wishing to be like ‘Milo in all ways. Demetrios, it was, who suggested marriage to Aldora. By that time, she was nearing sixteen and had become the complete Horseclanswoman.

“Do not, Lekos, confuse Ehleen maidens with Horse-clans ‘maidens.’ After they are fourteen, girls of the clans are allowed just as much sexual freedom as the boys. Pregnant brides are, to a Horseclansman, a normal occurrence; virgin brides are unheard of.

“Aldora had been taking full and very frequent advantage of the custom of the tribe, so she was far from inexperienced when Milo and I finally browbeat her into marrying Demetrios. For a few months, they seemed happy enough, but then he reverted to type. He fell madly in love with one of his aides. Aldora chanced to catch the two of them at it one day, and the ‘fat was in the fire!

“Since that day, she has seduced most of the court—with the exception of Demetrios’ and Paulos’ clique, though she did rub her husband’s face in the fact that she’d seduced one of his own lovers—army officers, Freefighter captains, country gentry. And recently, since Demetrios’ remains were found, she’s attended a few of Lady Joanna’s frolics. I just want to get the girl out of this reeking court and among normal, honest, uncomplicated fighting men,” she said, squeezing his arm, “like. you, dearest.”

“I think,” said Alexandras coldly, “that the woman is a bit shopworn for my taste. But if you truly want me to take her to the Sea Isles, she’ll certainly not lack for those to play stallion. I am more discrimating than most of my men.”

“Lekos,” she asked softly, “do you consider me to be shopworn, as well?”

“Now, by God, Mara!” He sat up and grabbed her shoulders roughly, anger and hurt mingling in his voice. “You know that I said not a word concerning you. I love you, Mara; if God wills that I live to be an old man with a long, white beard, I still will love vou and treasure in my old man’s memory the joy and the beauty we shared for so short a time.

“But, my love, I harbor no wish to be but the most recent in your precious Aldora’s long, lone, lone string of seductions. Can’t you see? Can’t vou understand?” “Lekos, Milo can explain this better than can I, for he has much of the knowledge from the times of the Old Ones, the godlike men who once owned this world before their weapons of wizardry destroyed them. Nonetheless, I’ll try to tell it to you as he has told it to me … he knows her mind, has explored it deeply, both he and Al-dora possessing mental talents that I, alas, lack.

“Lekos, for the first ten years of her life, Aldora was denied any semblance of a father’s love, something Milo says is of vital importance to a girl-child. He says that what she is unconsciously seeking is a father to love her and protect her and care for her, as well as a sexual partner to assuage her carnal needs; ideally, what she needs is a vigorous older man, but there lie the three walls that entrap her. The first wall is the thickest and is well below her conscious mind; its ponderous stones are fears—very well justified, considering her ordeal—of the brutal and terrifying degradation of rape, mortared with a vague and confused horror of incest.

“The second wall is the highest, and it is a wall that confronts all of our kind. She seeks a man of forty to forty-five years, but even if she could somehow break down that first wall, she could not surmount the second—not on the basis of permanence that she also craves. For, Lekos, how many men live much beyond sixty years?

“The third wall is my husband, Milo. Aldora both loves and deeply respects him—though, for some reason, she tries hard not to show these feelings publicly. But, having watched her grow up and having helped to educate her, having shown her how to develop and properly channel her prodigious mental talents, he feels fatherly toward her. Consequently, he has been able to resist her wiles all these years. Too, he is armed with the predictions of dead old Blind Harri, who was Aldora’s other teacher.”

“Blind Harri?” asked Alexandros. “One of your kind or one of mine?”

“Mara shrugged. “One of yours … I think. But not even Milo or Harri himself knew for certain. He was at least one hundred thirty, when first Milo met him; he was twenty years older when Milo and I found each other. He migrated east with the tribe, but after Ehlai had been settled, he grew homesick for the plains and none could deter him from returning to them and to the scattered clans still living on them. With him went two-thirds of the Cat Clan. Their breed is not really suited to this region.

“As last living member of his clan, Blind Harri bore the rank of Chief, but he was much more than that, Lekos, and very powerful within the tribe. And his mental abilities were stronger and more numerous than even Mile’s or Aldora’s. Among other powers was the ability to, under rare conditions, see the future with astounding accuracy.

“Before he rode back west, about twenty-five years ago, he imparted to Milo and me a number of predictions concerning the futures of the Confederation and of various clans mostly. But he said of Aldora, “Her husband, who cannot live as a man, will at least die as a man should; it will be many long years ere she finds “happiness, nor will it be in this land, but beyond many salty seas.

“Very well, Mara, I’ll take the Lady Aldora out onto the first of those salty seas. But ask no more.”

Taking his hand, she kissed the palm. “Thank you, Lekos. But I must ask more. I must ask that you be kind to her, for she was suffering years before you were born, and she will be suffering yet when your wonderful splendid body is dust.”

In a husky voice he inquired, “And will you remember my body, Mara? When I am dust, will you remember me?”

And he was immediately rueful of his words in the sight of the tears coursine; down her cheeks. The words she tried to speak came only as gasping sobs.

“Mara, dearest, please forgive me. I’d not deliberately hurt you, never, you know that.”

Gathering her into his arms, he cradled her shuddering body against his own, crooning soothing words he could never recall, until at last grief became exhaustion, and exhaustion became sleep.