Swords of the Horseclans

15

Duke Djai and his allies, Counts Hwahltuh of Getzburk and Mortuhn of Yorkburk, unsuspectingly marched their twenty-two thousand men directly into the jaws of Strahteegos Greemos’ carefully prepared a trap. The security measures had been stringent—a thing almost unheard of in Middle Kingdoms’ wars—the inevitable spies and double agents having been spoon-fed information to the effect that the Confederation had sent Kuhmbuhluhn about five thousand troops, mostly Ehleen infantry, a tenth of the Confederation’s standing army. Since this was the percentage usually loaned to a vassal state by an overlord, Duke Djai swallowed the tale.

The bait—the Army of Kuhmbuhluhn and its apparent reinforcements—stood athwart the valley through which Duke Djai must advance, their shallow formations lopping up the slopes of the flanking hills.

Duke Djai—tall, slender, and wiry, his full armor painted a brilliant blue and edged with gold—sat his horse beneath the rippling folds of his silken banner, observing the waiting foe, while his own host reformed from marching to battle order. Ranged to his right and left were his allies—Count Hwahltuh, in violet and silver, and Count Mortuhn in orange and black.

Count Hwahltuh had just respectfully opined that Duke Djefree was too expert a war leader to place his men so stupidly—not deep enough to stop cavalry, nor yet long enough in the line to prevent flanking.

Duke Djai threw back his head and his high, tenor laughter pealed. Grinning under his sweeping, red-blond mustache, he answered, “Hwahlt, you’re getting old and suspicious. What else could our esteemed cousin of Kuhmbuhluhn do? If he’d massed his slender forces in one of the narrower valleys, we’d have come through this one and taken him in the rear. His expertise told him that, so he did what he could with what he had. We’ll triumph, of course, but his new Ehleen overlord should have sent him more men.”

Milo, Lord Alexandros of the Sea Isles, and the Sea Lord’s lieutenant, Yahnekos, sat in an artfully concealed vantage point at the crest of the hill on the bait’s right Hank, from whence they witnessed the entirety of the blood-drenched affair.

Duke Djai waited nearly an hour for the flankscouts to report, but when they had not returned by the time the army was formed, he recklessly began his advance. After all, how could Duke Djefree have laid a trap when all of his force was arrayed in plain sight at the other end of the valley?

To the watchers, that advance was a colorful and stirring spectacle—the noblemen in the lead, their painted or enameled armor and nodding plumes and snapping banners creating a rainbow-hued kaleidoscope; behind the banners rode the personal entourages, then rank on rank of Freefighter dragoons and lancers; at a lengthening distance trotted disciplined units of light and heavy infantry.

“Have they no archers?” asked Alexandros. “Or slingers or engines to soften up the opposition?”

Smiling grimly, Milo shook his head. “No, they consider weapons that can kill at a distance to be dishonorable and only use them in defenses and sieges. They have both longbow men and crossbow men, but they probably left them to defend their train.”

At a distance of five hundred yards from the waiting Kuhmbuhluhn array, Duke Djai halted to dress ranks for the final charge as well as to permit his infantry to catch up; for while a cavalry charge could break the formation of an opposing army, he knew full well that only infantry could complete the rout and consolidate the victory.

Count Hwahlruh sidled his black charger up to Duke Djai’s gray stallion. “By your leave, my lord, their lines appear to have deepened in the center. I have a foreboding feeling about this assault.”

Duke Djai was in high good humor and not even the doubt and worry tinging the young count’s voice could dampen it. Slapping gauntleted hand upon armored thigh, he laughed. “You’re too gloomy, little cousin. Of course, Duke Djefree has deepened his center, but you can bet he’s stripped any depth from his flanks to do it! The foot already have their orders, as do the lancers. When we strike the center, they’ll advance on the flanks. Ill have reconquered Haiguhzburk within the month, our dear Lord will be revenged, and both you and Mortuhn will be considerably richer. Now, get your people straightened out and stop fretting so.”

For the first hundred yards they moved at a brisk walk, in time to a sprightly tune shrilled by the flutes and fifes of the musicians who followed the infantry. When the horsemen commenced to slow trot, the fifers cased their instruments, unslung their shields, and drew their swords, while the drummers remained halted in formation, beating time for the foot.

A few arrows from the defending force were to be expected, so Duke Djai was not alarmed when a drizzle of shafts pelted down, but that drizzle rapidly increased to a shower and, suddenly, the sky was dark with feathered death. Duke Djefree could not possibly have so many archers! But he knew what must be done and turning in his saddle, bade the sounding of the charge, for the only certain way to escape an arrow storm was to close with the enemy so that the cowardly bow men could not loose for fear of downing their own troops.

The horn pealed its command and the steel-edged formation swept forward at the gallop, the bass rumble of tens of thousands of hooves clearly audible to the High-Lord and the Sea Lord in their eyrie high above. The lines wavered but little, rough ground notwithstanding, as the riders of faster horses held them back to match the pace of slower mounts. Their shouts and war cries were almost lost in the overall din, as the forms of all but the first ranks were, in the rolling clouds of dust.

The living tsunami crashed against the dense hedge of pikemen with a noise loud even to the watchers on the hilltops—sounds of metal hard-swung on metal, screams of man and screams of horse. The lines of the defenders bowed inward… inward … inward, then snapped back with the weight of reinforcements, while the right and left wings ran down the hillsides to flank the milling, hacking horsemen.

Up the valley to the north, what was left of twelve thousand infantry were formed into a shield-overlapped hedgehog, their pikes and spears fending off squadrons of Confederation Kahtahfraktoee and Horseclansmen. The surviving lancers—all Freefighters and recognizing the stench of defeat—stampeded out of the valley, arriving at the train with shouted warnings of the disasters taking place behind them.

Those wagoneers who valued their lives slashed apart the harnesses of the draft mules, then had to fight for possession of them with hordes of archers and crossbow men, as did more than a few lancers have to battle to retain their lathered horses. This internecine warfare was still going on when the main body of the Confederation cavalry, under Sub-Strahteegos Portos, plowed into them. When the High-Lord and his entourage rode onto the battlefield, it was to find most of the noblemen of three states dead or dying. Ahead of them, to the right of the center, ringed about by hostile swords and pikes, waved the slashed and ragged battle flags of Tchaimbuhsburk and Getzburk. Beneath them, perhaps a score of nobles and a few hundred retainers and dragoons stood afoot or sat drooping mounts—horses and men alike, hacked, bloody, exhausted, but determined to die honorably.

At the High-Lord’s word, a Kuhmbuhluhn herald rode to within a few yards of the battered survivors of the cavalry charge. Drawing rein, he requested Swordtruce and announced that his lord wished words with Duke Djai.

He was informed that, as Duke Djai had died a few minutes before, it would be most difficult for Duke Djefree to converse with him; however, if the Duke would settle for speech with a mere count, he could be obliged. In any event, the speaker added, a Swordtruce would be more than welcome, so far as he was concerned.

Two hours later, the speaker, still in his dust-dimmed, dented, and gore-splattered violet armor, sat in a camp chair across a table from the High-Lord of the Ehleen Confederation. Between them, their two sheathed sworda lay crossed, significant of a Swordtruce.

“I await your answer, Count Hwahltuh,” Milo gently prodded. “Or do you wish leave to think over my offer and to discuss it with your comrades?”

The young count opened his mouth to speak, but his dry throat produced but a croak, then a spasm of coughing.

Duke Djefree, at Milo’s left, shoved a silver ewer of watered wine forward, saying mock-reprovingly, “Oh, cousin, stop being a proper gentleman and drain off a couple of cups of this; your gullet will appreciate it.”

Thus given leave, the count quaffed two full pints and part of a third, then said in an unbelieving voice, “You really mean it, my lord? It’s not some cruel jest or another trap?”

“Yes, Count Hwahltuh, I do mean it. If you and the other noblemen will take Swordoath to never again bear arms against the Ehleen Confederation, all are free to de- -part this duchy. You may retain your arms and as much personal baggage as one packmule can bear. If your mount be slain or crippled, I will provide you another for the journey.”

The red-haired boy—he couldn’t be older than eighteen, reckoned Milo—shook his head in happy wonderment. “You are most generous, my lord. I am certain that Earl Ahrthuh and all the rest would second me in that statement, but what of our people—our retainers and the Freefighters?”

Milo smiled. “They’re as free as are you, unless they decide to enlist under the Confederation banner. As for generosity, it is both easy and pleasant to be generous with men who have fought as valiantly as did you and yours.”

The young nobleman’s face flushed nearly the color of his hair. “Those were kind and most gentle words, Lord Milo. When and where are our ransoms to be paid … and have you decided upon the various amounts of them?”

“I demand no ransoms,” said Milo flatly. “Nor will my army set one foot on the soil of either Getzburk or Yorkburk, so long as you and they remain true to your oaths. I will march into Tchaimbuhzburk only if King Kahl takes it into his head to march; if he does, the war will be fought on the lands of his vassals; there’ll be no more fighting in Kuhmbuhluhn or any other state of the Confederation.”

“But … but Tchaimbuhzburk and Yorkburk and my own holdings, or an agreed-upon amount of gold, are yours—or, at least, Duke Djefree’s—by Swordright!” argued Count Hwahltuh. “And …”

“And, were it up to me,” Duke Djefree leaned toward the count, smiling, “I’d take all three of them, the lands, not the money; with two duchies and two counties, I could style myself ‘Arch-Duke,’ and spit in the Fox King’s bloodshot eye with impunity.

“But, Cousin Hwahltuh, Lord Milo is my overlord, I am Sword-oathed to his service, and he wants no more lands north of the Southern River.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Count Hwahltuh said, addressing Milo, “but I don’t understand, really. My Getzburk is a rich country, richer than Yorkburk, by far. The Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk is …”

“Pardon my interruption, please, young man,” said Milo in friendly tones. “But if I took, or allowed Duke Djefree to take, the two counties and the duchy, I could depend on a war to retain them every other year for the next fifty, at least. I now rule an area far larger than all of the lands of the Middle Kingdoms combined. Consequently, I’ve more than enough to occupy my mind without getting involved in you northerners’ affairs.”

“Yet, when we threatened Duke Djefree,” commented Count Hwahltuh thoughtfully, “you did not simply loan him troops; you personally led your entire army to his defense.”

Milo nodded. “So I did, young sir, and for a very good reason. I wish to, hereby, serve notice that my Confederation will not tolerate attacks on any of its member-states by any non-member, large or small. I think that that slaughter in the valley was necessary to make my point clear.”

“Yes, my lord.” Count Hwahltuh speedily agreed. “You assuredly made clear your intentions to resist aggression against your vassals.” Slowly, he poured his cup full again, took a few sips, then suddenly asked, “My Lord Milo, I can see your reason for not wishing to be saddled with conquered lands, but … but what if … if a landholder wished to Swordoath his allegiance to your Confederation, as has Duke Djefree? Would you accept his fealty?”

Milo did not need to enter the boy’s mind to define his meaning. In his own mind, he spread out the map of this part of the Middle Kingdoms as they were today. He had taken Kuhmbuhluhn into the Confederation in order to protect his northwest from forays backed by the King of Pitzburk, who had threatened Kehnooryos Ehlahs up until eleven years ago when old King Ehvrit had died and been replaced by the current and friendlier monarch.

Now the threat was Harzburk, and the long, narrow duchy of Kuhmbuhluhn covered less than half of the stretch through which King Kahl might march. The addition of Getzburk, which adjoined Kuhmbuhluhn on north and east, would leave only the county of Yorkburk—a good proportion of which was saltmarsh or freshwater fens—to provide an uncontested access to Kehnooryos Ehlahs.

“Let us be blunt, young sir,” he answered. “Do you wish to become my vassal? Would you have your county a member of the Confederation? If you are now willing to renounce your oaths to King Kahl, how can I be assured that you will not forswear those given me when it suits you?”

In a quick flash of the hot temper for which his race was noted, Count Hwahltuh crushed the pint cup in his powerful right hand, unaware of his action until the remaining wine gushed over his skin. “Please accept my apology, my lord. I will replace the cup. But no man of my house has ever been truly named ‘forsworn’! My oaths were to Duke Djai, who lies dead in yonder valley; his oaths were to King Kahl. While the Duke lived, King Kahl had no reason to take my oaths himself.

“And, yes, my lord, I would be your vassal, and you would have me and mine.”

So, in the forty-first year of his reign, did Milo Morai, High-Lord of the Confederation, secure his northern border; for the nephew of the deceased Count of Yorkburk, upon being apprised of Getzburk’s new allegiance, was quick to point out that, were he Count of Yorkburk—and he had as good a claim as any living man—he would be overjoyed to swear himself and his county to the Confederation. Thus, Milo took young Earl Ahrthuh’s oath, confirmed him Count of Yorkburk, and loaned him Sub-Strahteegos Portos and four squadrons of kahtahfraktoee to overawe any opposing relatives.

As the High-Lord’s dromonds clove the waves toward the former Southern Kingdom, he had good cause to be well pleased. Within two years he had avoided the bulk of two invasions and quadrupled the size of the Confederation by the additions of most of his former foes. He had only to add the Sea Isles and the Confederation would include all the southern Ehleenoee.

He smiled then, recalling his last conversation with Mara. Between her and Aldora, Alexandros and his Council of Captains would certainly be pledging their swords and—, more importantly, their ships and nautical expertise—to the Confederation before winter roughened the sea lanes.

His only source of discomfiture lay deep in the forbidding reaches of that vast wasteland of saltswamps that held the J. & R. Kennedy Center. Despite his warning to the Senior Director, he was dead certain that he’d not seen the last of them. But any attempt to take either an army or a fleet against their unknown powers would probably be suicidal. So he could only await their next move, hoping that he would know it for what it was when it came.