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The narrow, winding streets of the city were dark and utterly deserted, save for the solitary figure whose worn, oft-patched boots crunched through the fresh-fallen snow. The fine stuff of the hooded cloak which shrouded the walker had commenced to fray in places, but still was thick and warm. The scabbard of a broadsword jutted out at the hooded one's side, though of all the folk still alive within the walls of the doomed city, he was the man least likely to be attacked.
Not that Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhnpolis was universally loved. There were full many who actively hated the short, stocky, middle-aged nobleman, especially among the more religious elements of the population. But there was not a man or woman who would have dared to lift hand against him who commanded the city and its defense, for, harsh and uncompromising as had been his tenure, but few of his schemes and stratagems had failed, while each and every one of his predictions had inexorably come to pass.
Most of those few thousands remaining in besieged Vawnpolis were common people—peasant villagers of this Duchy of Vawn and its neighboring principality, the Duchy of Morguhn; Vawnpolee and Morguhnpolee city dwellers, servant-class types, miners, herders and the like—and all were deeply riddled with superstition, else they would never have become involved in the insanity which had brought them to these sorry straits.
Inflamed by the kooreeoee and priests, who had been abetted by a handful of minor nobles, they had schemed and plotted against their rightful lords and finally had risen up and murdered many of them. In Vawn, the rebellion had been an unqualified success. But, due to a number of factors, in Morguhn it had failed miserably and, worse, had cost the lives not only of many Morguhn rebels but of hundreds of the Vawnee who had ridden to aid them. Of the two kooreeoee, Holy Skiros of Morguhn was known to have been captured by the forces of the pitiless thoheeks of Morguhn; Mahreeos of Vawn had simply disappeared in the maelstrom rout of the self-proclaimed Soldiers of God, whether dead, captured or in hiding, none of his erstwhile followers could say which.
Few of the rebel nobles had survived the debacle in Morguhn, and those few had bolted to the only refuge available to them, the walled city of Vawnpolis, which had been the seat of the now-extirpated Thoheeksee of Vawn—descendants of one of the barbarian Horseclans whose rule had been imposed upon formerly Ehleen lands for a century and a half.
Though there had been, between the defeat in Morguhn and the investment of Vawnpolis, more than adequate time for every man or woman or child of the rebels to escape, to flee before the avenging forces, there had never been a safe direction in which to flee—Morguhn lay to the east, the loyal Duchy of Skaht lay to the north and the equally loyal Duchy of Baikuh lay to the south; west lay grim death in the terrible form of wild, savage mountain tribes.
Just before harvest time, after a hotly contested march, the army now besieging Vawnpolis had arrived under its walls. Twenty thousand Confederation Regulars had marched under their cat standards, along with almost every loyal nobleman of fighting age, their relatives, retainers and companies of hired Freefighters, most of the latter being natives of the Middle Kingdoms, which lay several hundred miles to the north. This vast host—more than thirty thousand warriors, in all—was led by High Lord Milo of Morai and High Lady Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpahs, two of the Undying Triumvirate who had ruled the Confederation since its inception. Only they were aware that the rebellion, though cloaked in religious trappings, was really sparked by ageless agents of the Witch Kingdom, situated in the huge and trackless Salt Swamp of the farthest south.
With the siegelines drawn and fortified, the bulk of the nobles had been sent home to see to their harvests, while their Freefighter companies and the Regulars maintained the investiture. With the crisp air of autumn, they returned with reinforcements, swelling the total strength of the army to over forty thousand.
Since then, there had been three assaults on the city walls, all beaten off, but all exacting a high cost not only to attackers, but to the defenders, who could ill afford any manner of losses.
It was, Drehkos ruminated as he walked back to the Citadel, an impossible situation. Due principally to the senseless burnings of standing crops and slaughterings of herds during the first days of the Vawn rebellion, Vawnpolis had not ever been really well supplied with food and had lasted this long only because of the fever which had sporadically raged through the city, taking off mostly the youngest and the oldest and the sickly or wounded. Now, the last skeletal horse had been butchered, most of the hoarded stores were gone along with dogs and cats; even rats and mice were virtually extinct in Vawnpolis.
Before the outer works fell, it had sometimes been possible to filter small raiding parties through the lines to prey upon the camps or supply line of the besiegers, but recent attempts in this direction had resulted only in the gruesome return of the raiders by way of the investing army's catapults—their headless bodies splatting against the walls or into the streets.
At least there was no lack of fresh water from the three deep wells within the walls. Nor did they lack for fuel, since the miners had early on discovered a wide seam of hard coal beneath the city itself. But these were the only items they did not lack.
The refugee-rebels had fled their homes in haste, in summer, and the dearth of warm clothing, boots and blankets was crippling. The supply of arrows was running perilously low. Since the city's tannery had lain outside the walls, leather was become scarce and even the few green hides were husbanded. Even so mundane a thing as rope was become infinitely precious, and ordinary linen or cotton thread brought its lucky owner a silver thrahkmeh the yard.
For months now, no scrap of any hard metal had been allowed to sit idle. A round dozen master smiths were among the rebels in Vawnpolis, along with numerous apprentices and a superfluity of fuel; all that was lacking was a decent supply of war metals—steel, iron, bronze and brass.
The lack of horn and fish glue rendered the repair of bows almost an impossibility, and stringing those still usable was becoming more and more difficult as the supply of silk steadily dwindled. The few arrows they could find decent wood to produce were, of dire necessity, fletched with vellum and tipped with fire-hardened bone; also, Drehkos had encouraged experiments in scraping and otherwise processing bone in attempts to devise a substitute for horn, but the results had been, thus far, inconclusive.
If only . . . Drehkos Daiviz could but shake his weary head and sigh. This rebellion, now fast approaching its bloody, inevitable conclusion, had been pointless and wasteful, and those involved, himself included, had been fools and worse. How can an egg be unscrambled? And it would be as simple to do that as to return any part of the Confederation to its pre-Horseclans condition—Ehleen-ruled and principally Christian.
How could he and the other nobles have allowed the kooreeoee to so delude them? Poor Myros, at least, was more or less mad and might be excused on that ground. But the rest of them should have known better, should have known their Holy Cause was foredoomed to failure, should have realized that a mere handful of nobles and a few thousands Soldiers of Christ—ill-armed, half-trained peasants and city riffraff—had not the chance of a snowball in Hell against the professional troops they were certain to face.
As the torches at the Citadel gate glowed ahead, he consciously set his face in a smile, that those good men within might not think him either worried or displeased. For he was definitely not displeased, not with them, anyway. They—common and gentle and noble . . . yes, and even cleric—had done more, done longer and done with less than anyone had any right to expect.
And his smile broadened, involuntarily, at the swell of his fierce pride in these, his men. Their bravery, stoicism in suffering privations and self-sacrifice, should, by rights, have bought them their lives and guaranteed their futures; in truth, he and they would all soon be dead. He only hoped that what they had done here would be remembered by those who opposed them, even after the Holy Cause which had brought them all to this pass had been long years relegated to that dung-heap from which it should never have been resurrected.
1
Although the camps scattered about the headquarters hill resounded with the raucous gaiety of the besieging army's celebration of the year-end Sun Festival, the woman and eight men gathered about the board in the commander's pavilion were subdued, drinking little and eating less. Of the ten thoheeksee who had led the march out of Morguhnpolis last summer, seven were left alive, but only five had been hale enough to ride to this feast, and all of them bore either bandages or new scars.
Old Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt, Confederation siegemaster, tapped the dottle from his pipe, picked up his wine cup, then set it back, untasted. "Had one of my officer-students propounded a situation of this sort, even as late as a year ago, I'd have pegged him a madman!" He snorted, feelingly. "The whole damned thing's impossible! A few thousand ill-supplied, ill-equipped, starveling wretches of amateur soldiers simply cannot hold the antique walls of a small hill town against four times their number of professionals—and half of that force, units of the best damned army any of us will ever see. It's completely illogical!"
Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt mindspoke, while sipping thin broth through a copper tube and longingly eyeing the joints of meat—broth and milk and wine having been his only sustenance since the physician, Master Ahlee, had wired shut his shattered jaws after the most recent attack. "Logical or not, Sir Ehdt, I face the reality of it every time I shave. It might almost lead one to wonder at the power of a religion that can give its adherents what it takes to do the impossible. . . ."
Thoheeks Morguhn set down his silver wine cup with a crash. The lamp flames played on his scarred, shaven scalp as he tilted back his head to vent a harsh laugh. "My lord arhkeethoheeks, men sometimes die for religion, but they don't fight for religion. Men fight for blood and loot and women and great captains. The rebels are fighting for Drehkos Daiviz, not for any blood-drinking, crucified god. When they've beaten us off, do you hear them praising their god or his priests? Of course not! That whole city erupts with cheers for Lord Drehkos. Should they be suddenly bereft of him, they'd fold up like an empty wineskin."
Old Thoheeks Duhnkin belched twice, resoundingly, then nodded. "Aye, Bili, I too have noted that. Ah, Sacred Sun, but it was a bitter and cursed day when so obviously worthy and talented a Kinsman chose to turn against his Kindred and throw in his lot with a traitorous pack of Ehleenee scum." He belched once more, then added, "For, to my way of thinking, our Confederation could well use such a gifted leader."
The High Lord, Milo Morai, who had but recently returned from his capital to rejoin the army, agreed. "Yes, thoheeksee, never has any realm a superfluity of good leaders. And I admit to you all, his crimes notwithstanding, I could be quite magnanimous to Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn, in the right circumstances. And him who delivered me said baronet alive would not go unrewarded, either. In return for the sworn services of a Drehkos, I would even be willing to negotiate generous terms in the surrender of Vawnpolis."
At this, several of the thoheeksee growled and the young Morguhn slammed a callused palm on tabletop. "My liege must be aware that he owns all my fealty and devotion, but such an action would be wrong. I must tell him so. I well recall a day last summer, in a blood-splashed cornfield, when my lord spoke otherwise. He then felt that, any other considerations apart, the only way to be sure of no future rebellions was to utterly extirpate this lot of rebels."
Milo shrugged. "Times change, Bili, as do conditions; the wise man will alter his conduct, conceptions and plans accordingly. A good sword is flexible and a good man, adaptable. Admittedly, we still could probably do it your way—batter our way into Vawnpolis, butcher its inhabitants to a man and raze the walls and structures. But such a course is certain to be very costly, in terms of men and in terms of money, both of which will be needed in full measure, come spring, as will all of you and your levies. But more of that, anon."
"With regard to Drehkos and to Sun knows how many more of these rebels, there be this: When I journeyed back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, two months ago, it was principally for the purpose of personally conducting two very important prisoners, the so-called Kooreeoee Skiros of Morguhn and Mahreeos of Vawn. Arrived in the capital, these two were put to the question, with all that that implies. It was not an easy task, nor a quick one, but eventually I got the truth from them, the whole truth, much of which but reinforced what I had already known."
"And the three men—there was another kooreeos, captured at Gafnee, who chanced to die while being questioned by High Lady Mara, last summer—were not what they seemed. Though their minds occupied the husks of men who had really been ordained priests and confirmed kooreeoee, they were still imposters, intent upon creating as much havoc as possible in the Confederation. Gentlemen, those spurious kooreeoee were as old as I am, maybe even older! But Sacred Sun had not gifted them as the true Undying are gifted. Rather, were they of that hellish breed commonly called 'Witchmen'!"
Several of the thoheeksee grasped at their Sun medallions, while old Sir Ehdt and Thoheeks Bili Morguhn made the Sign of Sacred Steel in the air before them.
Smiling, the High Lord reassured them all, saying, "Despite what you may have heard, gentlemen, there is nothing supernatural about these, our enemies. They are highly dangerous, make no mistake, but they be no sorcerers; rather have they perverted certain disciplines of knowledge, knowledge which first saw light in the days before the death of that world which preceded this one."
"Nearly a thousand years ago, your distant ancestors—over two hundred million of them, of a vast diversity of races—dwelt in a principality which was one though it stretched from the Sea of Sun Birth to another which lies far west of the Sea of Grass. Then was the Great Salt Swamp mostly dry land, full of farms and pasturelands, cities and towns and, probably, more people than now live in all the lands of our Confederation."
"All these many people were ruled by men chosen to represent them. These men met in a great city which was almost totally destroyed, the ruins of which now lie beneath the waters of the lakes and bays near the mouth of the North River of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. So rich were the people and the nation which they ruled that vast sums could be spent on various projects which had little to do with such basic needs as food production, war preparation and the like."
"One such project was the effort to transport men to the stars by means which I'll not even attempt to explain to you. An auxiliary project, part of the star-journey project, was the need to find a way of prolonging human lifespans, since even the nearer stars lay a distance of years away. The men and women assigned to search out these means were all concentrated in a highly secret place in that sub-principality which now is the Great Salt Swamp."
"Unfortunately for Sun knows how many, they were successful in their search. They found a way to prolong a given number of human minds, almost indefinitely. But intuitively realizing what the most of humanity would think of their answer to the problem, they took every precaution to conceal their triumph, so that it was only bare months before the Great Catastrophe that the Congress—which is what the gathering of ruling representatives was then called—and certain newsmongers discovered just how horrible was that method."
"The outcries of the millions who had chosen those representatives was loud and long and outraged. And those rulers, who wished to remain such, quickly reacted by ordering the project to prolong life immediately canceled, all its records destroyed and its personnel discharged and widely dispersed."
"However, ere their will could be implemented, there commenced the series of events which led to the destruction of nations, races and cultures. Because of their still secret and isolated location, the couple of hundred people in the project area, which was called the Kehnehdee Research Center, survived unharmed by fire rain or plagues. When the plagues had run their course, they allowed a few, pitiful outsiders to join them as 'breeding stock.'"
"You see, gentlemen, what they had discovered was a way to transfer the mind and memories from an aging to a younger body—man to man, woman to woman, man to woman, woman to man and even, so I understand, man or woman to certain animals! And so they have continued their parasitic existence down through the centuries, their aged, evil minds using one young, vibrant body after another."
"And their grand design is nothing less than to make the entire world their slaves. They were ready to do it by force of arms four hundred years ago, but the earthquakes and floods, the tidal waves and the subsidence of most of the huge peninsula whereon they dwelt utterly confounded their schemes. Though most of the original parasites survived that disaster, they lost much of their carefully maintained equipment—which was irreplaceable—all save a couple of their population centers and eight of every ten of their serf-soldiers. And virtually overnight their rich, productive lands were become, at the very best, sterile for years from their drenching of seawater."
"They have not yet fully recovered. Even so, they recognize the Confederation as a menace to their eventual intent, standing united on their very border as we do. Therefore they continue to foment trouble from within and without—trying to weaken us, divide us. This rebellion, which started at Gafnee and is ending here, was their third effort against us since the coming of the Horseclans. And we must finish it quickly, even at the cost of some concessions, for we will be face to face with their fourth effort all too soon. To combat this new and awesome threat effectively, gentlemen, the Confederation will need every arm that can swing sword or pull bow!"
——«»——«»——«»——
Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn stood and leaned across the small table to refill his guest's wine cup, a completely natural action on the part of a young man who, born of upper-servant class, had spent most of his life as a valet to noblemen.
His guest, however, slapped a horny hand on the tabletop, exclaiming in the harsh, nasal accents of Harzburk, "Now, dammit, Geros . . . ahh, Sir Geros . . . that just is not done! You're noble, now, man. You're a knight of Duke Bili's household, which means you outrank me. You ask if I want more wine; then, since your servant seems to have absented himself, I refill my own cup . . . and yours, if you so indicate."
Sinking back onto his seat, the husky, olive-skinned knight sighed and shook his shaven head. "Oh, Pawl, Pawl . . . I was so happy before, as a simple color sergeant, as merely a comrade of your troop. I never aspired to nobility. Tell me, Pawl, was I . . . did you consider me to be a good soldier, a good Freefighter?"
The silvery bristles on the guest's pate flashed in the lamplight as his head bobbed. "Sir Geros, I will always feel honored that you learned your craft under me. Yes, you were an excellent Freefighter, none better."
Sir Geros sighed once more. "Then why, Pawl? Why could they not just leave me where I was so happy? Why was it necessary to thrust nobility on me? Force me to bear a title which I will never be able to live up to? What did I do to deserve such?"
Pawl Raikuh's scarred features registered stunned dismay. "Are you daft, man, to talk so? One who did not know better would think you'd been condemned to some dire punishment. Man, in one day, you saved your lord's life, slew the biggest warrior I've ever seen and performed an act of bravery which, though I witnessed every moment of it, I still can hardly believe! What did you expect? A pat on the head and, maybe, a new sword?"
Geros raised his dark, troubled eyes. "I would have been more than happy with such, Pawl." His fingers toyed with the silver cat pendant on his chest. "After all, I but did what any man of the thoheeks' would have done during the battle, for he is a good lord and kind. As for the other, well . . ." Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze. "I still don't know why I did it, didn't really realize I was doing it until I found myself down there in the fire and the heat. But it's as I said, Pawl. The officer was hurt and everyone could see he would soon be burned alive. If I had not, another would've."
"Turkey dung!" snorted Raikuh. "I was there, Sir Geros. Remember?"
He could.
The hilltop salient had been but a trap set by the crafty leader of the rebels. The fortifications, garrisoned by suicide troops, had been undermined, supported only by oil-soaked timbers which had been secretly fired. The stratagem had failed on the twin hillock, assaulted and taken by troops under the personal command of the High Lord; his mindspeak warning had arrived barely in time for most of the Confederation forces to quit the dangerous area.
Only a single, rearguard company had been still at the periphery of the trap when it was sprung. When the dust had settled, it could be seen that but a single member of that company had survived. And he was facing a cruel, gruesome death, his legs securely pinned under a huge, smoldering timber, unable to draw his sword and his dirk missing.
Several men on the lip of the still-settling crater had attempted to throw the unfortunate officer a weapon that he might decently end his life ere the flames reached him, but the distance was too great, and Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sent a galloper to bring back an archer from the foot of the hill.
Geros could not recall all of the beginning, could not remember hastily shedding most of his armor or clambering down the crumbling slope of the crater. But he would never forget that heat!
It had lapped over him, enfolded him in its deadly embrace. It had savaged his flesh, set boots and clothing a-smolder, made each breath a searing agony.
After an endless eternity of gingerly picking his way over an almost limitless expanse of steaming earth, jumbled stones and splintered timbers, the officer lay just before him, thanking him for his valor, asking for his dirk and urging him to return to safety.
The few moments after that were very hazy in Geros' memory . . . but in no one else's. He recalled, however, half carrying, half dragging the young officer—Captain Lehzlee, heir to Ahrkeethoheeks Lehzlee—to where a host of willing hands assisted them both up to safety.
But from that now cursed moment, the warm and natural comradery which he had so cherished had disappeared with the suddenness of a blown-out candle flame. The hard-bitten Freefighters, who reverenced damned few things, had seemed very uncomfortable in his presence, treating him with a deference bordering upon awe. And he hated it all!
Pawl Raikuh went on, "I was there. I saw what you did . . . though, as I said, I still scarce can credit the testimony of my own eyes. That timber was hardwood, looked to be solid oak, and near two feet thick, so it couldn't have weighed less than a ton and a half, Harzburk measure, maybe two tons. Yet you raised it, man! With your bare hands, you lifted near a thousand ferfee-weight and held the damned thing long enough for the captain to inch his crushed legs from under it! In my near forty years as a Freefighter, I've seen many a wonder, but if Steel allows me that many more years, I'll never again see an equal to my lord's feat in the crater—"
"Damn it!" Sir Geros' fist crashed onto the table, setting cups and ewer to dancing. "Damn you, Pawl Raikuh! I be nobody's lord, and you know it! I'm the same man I've always been, Geros Lahvoheetos, son of Vahrohnos Luhmahnt's majordomo. My mother was an herb gardener, who harped and sang at feasts. And I, I was a gentleman's valet, who played and sang when so ordered. It was by purest chance that I found myself thrust into the role of warrior."
Raikuh grinned. "And you took to it as naturally and easily as an otter kit swims. In short months, you were one of the best swordsmen in my troop."
"Only because I realized there was no way I could wriggle out of the situation . . . easily, and being a born coward, I wanted to stay alive. And the only way a warrior can be reasonably certain he'll survive his next battle is to make himself a master of his weapons. But I am not, can never be, as you and Thoheeks Bili and those reared to the Sword. I don't like fighting and killing, Pawl. I'll never like it."
"At least, when I was simply a Freefighter, I had the solace that when the rebellion was crushed, I'd be able to return to being what I had always been. But now, since they did these unwarranted things to me, I'll be expected to swing Steel the rest of my life and to rear any sons I happen to sire to pursue like lives."
"I say again, Pawl, I am no one's lord. Rather am I a slave in detested bondage to an undeserved reputation, an unwanted title, a silver bauble and a couple of feet of sharp steel."
A feeling of fatherliness swept over the fiftyish captain. He reached across the table to pat Geros' clenched fist lightly. "Son, you'll not feel so in a year. Others have been similarly upset by the sudden grant of nobility . . . I've seen such. As for being no one's lord, that same year will put the lie to that statement, I'll warrant."
"Now what is that cryptic comment supposed to mean?" snapped Geros.
Tracing designs in a puddle of spilled wine and regarding the new noble from beneath bushy brows, Raikuh spoke slowly. "Why just this, Geros. Duke Bili is not so mean as to give a faithful man rank without maintenance. Your present title is but a military one, and as certain sure as steel cuts to bone, you'll be at least a vahrohneeskos of Morguhn—with a fine town and croplands and kine—by this time next year, mark my words. Nor be that all, I know."
Raising cup to lips, he took a long draught of the fine, strong wine, then continued. "That feisty little bastard Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn be proud as a solid-gold hilt, and he'll not forsake an opportunity like this. After all, he can truthfully attest that your deeds were done in his service, too, since we all are fighting on what are his lands. And don't you forget the House of Lehzlee, either. There be no richer or prouder house in the south of Karaleenos than Lehzlee, and you saved the life—at great personal risk—of the man who will one day be archduke and chief of that house. They're not likely to let such go unrewarded."
Geros' mind reeled. He had not even considered these possibilities. "But . . . but, Pawl, what will I do? I know nothing of farming."
Raikuh chuckled. "Damned few nobles do, son Geros. You'll do what they all do, of course. You'll find and hire a competent provost and a few overseers and a score or so over-age Freefighters to see the peace be kept. Then you'll spend your days riding and hunting and begetting. You'll sit in judgment in your town on market days, meet in council with your overlord and peers once each moon and ride with them once each year to the archduchy council, where you will deliver up your taxes for the previous year to the High Lord's deputy."
"And someday, Geros, when you're a fat forty-odd, and your mind is filled with worry about the weather and the crops and outfitting your sons for the army and dowering your daughters well, then . . . mayhap, then, you'll think on this eve. Think how foolishly you then thought, wished to once more be back with the Morguhn troop, swinging steel and taking blows as light-heartedly as you did twenty years before."
Ere Geros could frame an answer, his big servant, Sahndos, entered, ushering in one of Raikuh's lieutenants, Krahndahl. The junior officer slapped gauntlet to breastplate in salute and announced, "My lord Geros, captain, Duke Bili summons all his nobles and officers to his pavilion, immediately, if you please."
2
"And so, gentlemen," the grave-faced young thoheeks soberly concluded, "we may, even now, be proceeding on borrowed time. Winter has ever been the favorite raiding season of the mountain folk, so the first blow could fall at any moment anywhere along more than five hundred miles of borderlands. That is why ending this siege quickly is so imperative."
"But Sun and Wind, Bili," burst out old Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn, "to grant amnesty to my no-good brother and the rest of those treacherous, murdering swine? Whose harebrained idea was that?"
"The High Lord's!" snapped the Morguhn. "Present your objections to him, if you wish, Hari. But, I warn you, mine own did scant good, nor did those of the Duhnkin or the arhkeethoheeks."
Ever the apologist in all matters concerning the Confederation he had so long served, retired Strahteegos Komees Djeen Morguhn, the thoheeks' sixtyish cousin-german, nodded sagely, stated stiffly, "My lord thoheeks, the High Lord dare not concern himself with but this single, relatively unimportant facet of the overall problem. You see, the entire Confederation be his responsibility. I like pardoning known backstabbers no better than Hari, but I also can appreciate Lord Milo's position."
Vahrohnos Spiros Morguhn, Bili's second cousin, gingerly shifted on the padded litter which had conveyed him here, finally reaching down with both hands to ease his splinted and bandaged left leg into a more comfortable position. "But, dammit, Bili, how can we be expected to go traipsing off on a campaign into the mountains, or wherever, leaving our lands filled with unrepentant rebels and a batch of bloodthirsty priests? You've seen, the High Lord has seen, we all have seen what they did to Vawn. By my steel, they'll not do the like to Morguhn!"
"They'll not get a chance to." Bili shook his head. "It's been decided that most of the rebel fighting men will be dragooned into the campaign force; dribbled out, a few to this unit, a few to that. The amnesty is to exclude the priests and monks; those bastards will spend the length of the campaign enjoying the comforts provided by our Morguhnpolis prison."
"Noncombatants in Vawnpolis will remain there, as will a garrison of our troops. The city will be base supply for operations immediately west of Vawn."
Pawl Raikuh sighed. "Fortunes of war, I suppose. All us Freefighters had been hopefully anticipating an intaking, a sack, a bit of booty, some old-fashioned rapine. Well, there'll be other wars . . . for some."
"How will we get word to the rebels that we now wish to treat?" This from Djaik Morguhn, Bili's younger brother—war-trained, like Bili and all his other brothers, in the Middle Kingdoms; acknowledged, despite his bare fifteen years, as one of the three best swordsmen in all the besieging army.
Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn was but distantly related to Bili, actually being more closely related to certain of the rebels, but, like Komees Djeen, he was a former Confederation Army officer . . . also, he was in love with one of Bili's widowed mothers. Nonetheless, he had been occasionally sullen since, disregarding his advices and wishes, Bili and the High Lord had seen fit to honor and ennoble his former servant, Geros.
Smoothing back a lock of his raven's-wing hair with a languid gesture, he put in, "Yes, Bili, there is that factor, too. We have been anything but cordial in our responses to the two or three peace overtures the rebels have made. If, during the High Lord's absence, you and the High Lady had seen fit to heed the expert advice which Komees Djeen and I proffered you . . ."
Tried to ram down our throats, thought Bili, who sometimes of late had had to forcefully remind himself that this supercilious man had sat his horse knee to knee with him and the High Lord last summer at the Forest Bridge, and had suffered grievous wounds in his behalf. Ever since the vahrohneeskos had recovered sufficiently to join the army before Vawnpolis, he had been a divisive element among the nobles of Morguhn, immediately taking the part of any who opposed the young thoheeks and offering his own opposition when none other arose.
"Kinsman," said Bili, with as much forbearance and patience as he could muster, "none of us could have known that affairs would so arrange themselves, and it was the High Lord himself who rejected the first effort of the rebels to parley, ere the siege had even commenced. Him it was who first declared that we were to neither give nor ask quarter—"
"Untrue!" snapped Ahndros coldly. "To the extent, at least, that it was you, with your barbaric, blood-hungry, northern notions of conduct, who put the idea into the High Lord's head."
Bili shook his shaven poll bewilderedly. "Kinsman, I am afraid that you credit me with far more influence over the affairs of the mighty than ever I have owned . . . or wished to own."
"Have you not, my lord?" Ahndros sneered. "Did not the High Lord, on the morning which saw the breaking of the siege of your hall, allow you first to throw a childish temper tantrum and publicly, brutally, humiliate Komees Djeen, when he sagely advised you to await the arrival of Confederation Cavalry ere you pursued the rebels? Did not the High Lord then accompany you on that pursuit, riding as but another nobleman under your command?"
"That was the High Lord's expressed desire, vahrohneeskos" growled Bili, fighting to control the temper he could feel beginning to fray under the continued insult and insubordination.
"Then what of that morning's butchery, eh?" Ahndros prodded on. "Why, even the barbarian mercenaries, on whom you so dote, call those miles of massacre 'The Bloody Ride'! The High Lord I knew, with whom and under whom I served for so many years, would never have countenanced such inexcusable savageries."
The knuckles stood out whitely on Bili's clenched fists and he grated his reply from between tight-locked teeth. "Lord Ahndros, I owe you no explanation of my conduct or of the High Lord's. You forget your place and station, and you sorely try my patience. Nonetheless, I will tell you this much: I believe that the scope and the suddenness of the rebellion, the depth of the depravities of the rebels, shocked the High Lord to his very core. On that morning, he admonished me to put down the Morguhn rebels in the manner of Harzburk, deal with them as would the Iron King, under whose tutelage I served more than half my life."
Ahndros either failed to notice or chose to ignore the young thoheeks' rising rage. "And you took Lord Milo at his word, didn't you? You did it up brown! No unwashed, stinking, illiterate, barbarian burk lord could have been more callously thorough. Not o...
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