Swords of the Horseclans

by Robert Adams

  “Well, our boys killed as many as they could catch, and ol’ Yahnekos, who was still aboard the horse, went after the feller in the gold armor an’ he damn near lost him, too, an’ I can’t but feel sorry for them two poor horses with them two tubs o’ blubber a bouncin’ and a jouncin’. . .”

  “Enough, you red-faced pig!” Captain Yahnekos slammed a hard hand upon the table. “You call me garrulous, yet you’ve strung a short tale out over the best part of a quarter hour.”

  He addressed Mara. “My lady, my captive proved to be the Royal Governor of Sabahnahpolis, one Daidos. At his order, the city stronghold was opened and, when we’d disposed of all the garrison, Daidos showed us to the treasure that made our voyage so profitable — thirty pounds of silver coin and nearly twelve pounds of gold, taxes and excise monies destined for the capital.

  “Our boys gleaned a good bit more from within the town, then took time to knock down the main gates and smash in all the boats, after driving every horse they could find into the swamps. Slows up pursuit, that does.

  “Daidos told me that he could bring a goodly ransom from his king or his family, so I had him put in Captain Vanskeleeg’s forepeak, as it’s bigger than mine. I’d taken a fancy to Daidos’ daugher and Vanskeleeg to some merchant’s spawn, so we let the boys grab some wenches to keep them happy on the return voyage and pulled out for the Sea Isles.” He showed strong, yellow teeth in a crooked grin.

  Alexandros took over the narrative. “By the time I first interviewed Governor Daidos, he was in poor shape, both physically — he’d never been to sea before, and a bireme is not the most comfortable of ships in a rough sea — and mentally. He spoke to me without attempt at prevarication, as one Ehleenoee gentleman to another. He told me that he had lied to Captain Yahnekos. His family had been impoverished by the civil war and he knew his king to be far too busy with certain plans to see to the ransom of one minor official. In return for his life, he pledged upon his honor and the honor of his house to impart to me information that could very well save my kingdom. His words had piqued my curiosity, so I agreed not to kill him if his story proved true.

  “Daidos said that all the ships of the Eastern Fleet and a third of the Western Fleet were assembling at Neeaheeopolis, their great port just north of the Death Swamp, which separates the Southern Kingdom from the Witch Kingdom. Meanwhile, Zastros is gathering a huge army, calling troops from as far west as the Ocean River. After five years of a kingdom-wide war, you know that his realms must be aswarm with veteran soldiers, and Zastros is offering them anything that he feels might tempt them — amnesties and lands to nobles who fought against him, manumissions to escaped slaves, excellent wages to mercenaries, and mountains of loot for all. And they’re flocking to his standard in droves. A week before his capture, Daidos had reliable word that Zastros already has near one hundred twenty thousand men! His cavalry alone number some forty thousand, and he has five hundred armored war carts, each drawn by a pair of Northhorses. Too, he has units of another animal — I cannot now recall what Daidos called them — the description of which he gave sounds like a huge, deformed boar. If he wasn’t exaggerating, they are more than three meters high, have four legs as thick as trees, tushes as long as a tall man, and a long nose that drags the ground but is flexible as a snake and can be used to throw darts or stones or slash with a three-meter sword blade! Sounds utterly fantastic, does it not? Yet Daidos swears it all to be true.”

  Mara nodded slowly. “Such beasts do exist in the Southern Kingdom, Lord Alexandros, though I was not aware they had been trained or adapted for war. In our language they are called ‘elefahsee’; the aboriginals call them ‘eluhfuhnts.’ The kings of the Southern Kingdom have been breeding them for centuries. I saw their herd about a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  She regarded her wine for a moment, then added, “I would suppose that Kehnooryos Ehlahs would be the logical objective of Zastros’ hosts, since we have already subdued most of Karaleenos.”

  “Yes, my lady,” said Alexandros. “But he harbors more grandiose schemes, as well. His fleet is to pace his army up the coast, going up navigable rivers to assist his land force where necessary. They intend to bottle up your fleet in this river and capture the ships, unharmed, if possible.

  “When Kehnooryos Ehlahs is taken, Zastros will send his fleet to try to storm the Sea Isles or, failing that, blockade us and starve us into capitulation. Obviously, the madman has never seen the Sea Isles and has but scant information concerning them. Our central lagoon and its islands are impregnable. There is but one narrow, twisting channel from the sea; otherwise, our seaward coast is an unbroken ring of cliffs — jagged, precipitous cliffs, my lady, the very lowest being twice the height of this city’s wall. They constitute natural fortifications and, in the few places skilled climbers might come up, we have added stretches of crenellated wall and certain other refinements.

  “If he thinks to starve us out, he and his fleet have a longer wait than I think they can afford. We have little arable land and grow little food, but for that very reason our storehouses are always stuffed to bursting. Beside which, the lagoon is usually full of fish.

  “No, my lady, my kingdom and I have precious little to fear from any number of Zastros’ men or ships, but you and yours will be hard-pressed to overcome the host he is gathering. I command forty-three biremes and a handful of sailing-merchantmen fitted with sweeps, a total force of near five thousand of the fiercest fighters in the world.”

  “And you want to cast your lot with Kehnooryos Ehlahs?” Mara was genuinely puzzled. “But why? Why to many things, Lord Alexandros? Why did you undertake so long and difficult a voyage for the sole purpose of apprising us of our peril? Why would you now risk your ships and your men in our behalf?”

  Alexandros refilled his goblet and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him. “That, my lady, is a long story, but I’ll tell it, that you may know that honor of my house and not avarice impels my offer.

  “It began forty years agone, when your clansmen and allies were threatening this city and realm.”

  4

  Lady Mara’s messenger — a subchief of Clan Morguhn — pounded into camp in mid-afternoon of the fourth day after the first conference. Milo had the message in mind-speak — always quicker and more detailed than oral communication — and then turned both horse and rider over to Captain Ahbdool. The little man and his great-hearted mount had done better than a hundred miles a day!

  Milo gathered his four captains and gave them most of the news; their individual reactions were about what he would have expected of them.

  “God-Milo,” the Maklaud immediately mindspoke, “let me send riders to Ehlai and to the west. That will give us at least twenty-five hundred warriors; also, if we can boat the elders and the children up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, I can almost guarantee nearly thirty hundred maiden-archers and matron-archers.”

  Captain Zarameenos cracked his knuckles. “Irregular cavalry and horse-archers are all very well for raiding and scouting, even for flanking a host, under the proper conditions; but we’d best leave the mountains for later and get the main army down here. It takes time to move forty-thousand men.”

  “Precisely,” stated old Guhsz Helluh authoritatively. “I estimate that your army will need two weeks to reach us; but for the most part, they will be marching on good roads through friendly lands. Think, man, think how much longer it will take to move three or four times that number of fighting men. Plus” — he tapped the table for emphasis — “their baggage, artificers, seige train, and the vast rabble of noncombatants that always follows a large host. His force is far too large to make much use of the trade road; they’ll mostly have to move cross country, and unless they know the country or have damned good guides . . .”

  Herbuht Mai groaned. “All right, Guhsz, so they’ll take four, maybe six, weeks to reach our current position. But how could anyone stop them when they do get here, eh? One hundred twenty thousand fighting men! By my
steel, there aren’t that many men in Pitzburk and Harzburk combined!

  “Middle Kingdoms’ rulers think Lord Milo powerful because he can field an army of fifty-thousand-odd. But how can he or anyone stand against a force of nearly three times that number?”

  Captain Zarameenos had never really liked Mai. “If you’re afraid to die for the realm that pays you, mercenary, why didn’t you stay in the same barbarian pigwallow that spawned you?” he sneered.

  Both Helluh and Milo tensed themselves, ready to try to prevent bloodshed. The Maklaud eased backward and slyly loosened his saber, hoping to get at least one swipe at that strutting Ehleenee bastard before the northerner slew him.

  But Mai’s good sense prevailed. He was far slower to anger than Helluh. “Captain Zarameenos,” he replied slowly, carefully choosing his words, “I am certainly as nobly born as are you, possibly more so, but that is of no moment in this place and time. I do not fear death; indeed, He and I have brushed one another countless times on many a field. I well know, as do all my Freefighters, that wounds or death is the certain fate of most of us, but we continue to practice our highly dangerous profession because it is the only one most of us know.

  “The nobility of your Ehleenoee realms are usually highly educated and, early on, are habituated to a soft, pampered life of culture and books and soft music and luxurious palaces and pleasures that men like me cannot understand. Consequently, few of your peers make decent soldiers.

  “I dislike you probably as much as you dislike me, Captain, but I’ll gladly give any man his due; you are the rare exception to most of your ilk — admirable strategist, able field tactician, an officer who obviously cares for the welfare of his men and willingly devotes time to seeing to that welfare. Were any large number of Ehleenoee nobles the fighting men that Strahteegos Gabos, Komees Greemos, and you are, you’d have scant need to pay out your gold to the Freefighters you hate and despise!

  “In the Middle Kingdoms, Captain Zarameenos, a nobleman begins his war training at the age of seven or eight. At fifteen or sixteen, if he’s still alive and uncrippled, he’s a seasoned veteran and he spends the best part of however much life is left him in making use of his hard-learned war skills — either for his home state or for foreign states. Yes, he fights for gold. Who can live without gold? If he’s lucky and a good leader, he manages to recruit a condotta, equip it, and hire it out as a unit for what must seem tremendous amounts of money to some. But, Captain Zarameenos, damned few condotta-captains die wealthy, not if they’re all they should be, for more than nine-tenths of the hire of their services goes back into the men for whom they are responsible.”

  “Captain Zarameenos,” barked Milo, “you owe Captain Mai an apology.”

  “Yes,” agreed the blackhaired officer, “I do, especially since most of what he said is true. As a class, my peers have become too soft, too civilized. Furthermore, most of us know it and despise ourselves because we are not the men that our ancestors were, so we have to hire men of the kind we should be to protect us. Something, Lord Milo, must be done to change this pattern.”

  Milo nodded. “Something will be done . . . if the realm survives what’s coming. Captain Maklaud, I want ten of your best riders and twenty-two of your strongest, swiftest horses. You and the ten will ride within the hour — no armor, no bows, or spears, only saber, dirk, and helm. You and the men report back here.

  “Captain Mai, as soon as I’ve dispatched the messengers, you and I will ride to King Zenos’ camp.

  “Captain Zarameenos, have a detachment of your artificers determine how long it would take to partially or completely render the bridge unusable.

  “Captain Helluh, delegate your command to a good officer, then strip to sword and dirk and helm and take my stallion and a couple of good remounts. I have a very important mission for you; a man of lesser rank or experience couldn’t carry it off.”

  * * *

  Something over an hour later, Milo sat cradling his goblet, his booted legs thrust out before him, hoping that he had made the best decisions. If he had, many thousands of men would die before autumn. If he had not, there would certainly be years of untold misery and suffering and death up and down the much-altered Atlantic coast of what had once been called “North America.” In his case, nearly a hundred years of hopes and dreams and plans would be dissolved into nothingness. All that he and Mara and Aldora could do would be to go back to the Plains, where still roamed clans of Kindred, or take ship and wander the world as he had done alone for almost two centuries.

  He ticked off his accomplishments: the Maklaud and two others to Lord Gabos with the main army in the western mountains. The Strahteegos was ordered to patch up some sort of truce with his opponents — a loose alliance of rapacious mountain tribes, as prone to fight each other as anyone else — break camp and march directly to Kehnooryos Atheenahs by way of Theesispolis, whose garrison of Freefighters he was to absorb. At the capital, he was to reform so as to include all the troops Mara had been able to scrape together, then join Milo with all haste.

  Two clansmen had ridden directly for Ehlai with the message for the Kuk to boat his noncombatants to the protection of the capital’s walls, then to ride with every man and woman who could sit a horse and swing a blade or pull a bow, as well as every adult prairie cat, battle-trained or not. Old, crippled, or nursing cats were to guard the herds.

  The other five clansmen had ridden to five of Zenos’ former cities that Milo knew to have fairly large garrisons to bid those troops join him by the quickest possible means.

  Guhsz Helluh was pounding toward Kumbuhluhnburk, the most southerly of the Middle Kingdoms and long an ally of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. He bore authorizations to recruit any and all condottas — either horse or foot — that he could contact. Price haggling was to be kept to a minimum and Milo had repeatedly emphasized that quantity was of far more importance than quality in this case.

  He had sent Aldora and her bodyguard to the capital. For all her failings, the girl was a damned good administrator, and Mara was sure to need her.

  With dark approaching, Milo had sent a lancer ahead to advise Zenos that he and Mai were coming. It would help no one to have Mai killed by an overalert sentry. Consequently, they were met at the south end of the bridge by Thoheeks Serbikos and an honor guard of his Karaleenos lancers, who courteously escorted them to the hilltop where Zenos’ new and larger tent — a loan from Milo — had been erected. There waited King Zenos, hulking Komees Greemos, and the savory smell of a roasting boar, which Greemos had singlehandedly slain near the river.

  As he swung from his saddle, Milo bluntly said, “Your Majesty, gentlemen, I bear tidings of great import to us all. I suggest we talk first, then dine . . . if anyone still has an appetite.”

  When Milo and Mai had finished, there was a moment of silence as their listeners digested the shattering news. Then Greemos glared hatred at Milo, snarling, “It’s all your fault, you damned, unnatural barbarian upstart! If you hadn’t set your mind to annexing the best part of our lands and driving us to the wall, none of this Zastros business would be happening. If I thought I could kill an unholy thing like you, by Jesus, my steel would be in your guts this minute!”

  King Zenos pounded his fist on the table, his face dark with anger. “Enough, enough, damn you for a fool, Greemos, enough I say!” When he had the silenced Strahteegos’ attention, he snapped, “We’ve no time for name-calling or blame-laying or digging into old wounds; I, at least, recognize the facts that my late father and I and you but inherited the certain results of my grandfather’s greed and duplicity; he left Kehnooryos Ehlahs no choice save to neutralize the threat Karaleenos constantly poised under him.

  “But this is the dead past. We must look to the future, and there will be no future — for any of us — if we fail to stop King Zastros, which we cannot do if we do not stand as one with Lord Milo. As of this moment, we are allies. Now, have the meal served. After that, we’ll discuss strategy and I’ll give my orders to you and S
erbikos.”

  * * *

  By noon of the following day, the scanty Karaleenos baggage was trundling north across the bridge. Shortly they were followed by columns of tramping infantry, a smattering of cavalry, and a few mounted officers.

  Young King Zenos had taken a hundred lancers and ridden south and west, into the mountains to assure his kinsmen — both his mother and his grandmother had been the daughters of the chieftains of powerful mountain tribes — that he was alive, to alert them to the approaching danger, and prepare them for the hordes of lowland refugees who would shortly seek sanctuary in their domains. He and Milo had agreed that the mountain warriors could be of more military value if they remained in or near their home ground nibbling at Zastros’ western flank, retarding his advance with harassing raids, picking off stragglers and scouts, even ambushing smaller units . . . anything to buy a little more time.

  Greemos and a score of officers had taken detachments of cavalry south and east to warn the inhabitants of cities and towns and villages to take livestock and valuables and flee to the mountains, after burning all standing crops and destroying foodstuffs and supplies they could not take away. If the huge army could not subsist on forage, more strain would be placed upon Zastros’ lines of supply, which might buy precious time.

  Thoheeks Serbikos, his officers, and the bulk of the cavalry had fanned out northward on a far more delicate mission. They were to contact the leaders of the various Karaleenos resistance movements in the territories Milo had conquered, explain the present danger, inform them of their former sovereign’s alliance with the conqueror, and urge them not only to refrain from rebellion upon the withdrawal of Milo’s garrisons, but to form themselves into units, arm, and march to swell the forces now assembling to repel King Zastros’ horde.