Swords of the Horseclans

by Robert Adams

  7

  “I am reliably informed that you could have slain him long before the fact, Lord Alexandros. It is worth too much to our two realms for you to take such needless risks.”

  Aldora had returned the day after the duel and Mara had finally managed the time to devote an entire evening to her guest-hostage.

  Smiling into her eyes, he answered, “Viewing an action from afar and actually being in the heart of that action impart two very different perspectives, my lady. Many have informed me that I should have severed his knee tendons when I was behind him, just as many have chided me that I did not thrust below the edge of the backplate and skewer his kidney.

  “I revere my lady and would not cause her distress, but I am a man and, as my lady must know, men fight.” The voice was gentle, but emphatic.

  Mara once more experienced that prickly tingling. He had spoken almost identical words, once. “Lekos . . .” she began, without thinking.

  The Sea Lord’s easy smile returned to crinkle his young face. “Thank you, Mara. I’d far rather be considered your friend than a formal guest. And a first-name basis makes conversation infinitely easier.”

  Mara fought a quaver from her voice. “You are then called ‘Lekos’?”

  He shrugged. “My late father called me that; some of my older captains still do. But Mara, why stare you so oddly at me?”

  She did not answer, but rather asked, “Lekos, how long have you been Sea Lord?”

  “Five years, my la . . . Mara, since the death of my father.”

  “And your father reigned how long?”

  “Almost twenty-five years, Mara.”

  “And it’s been a good thirty years since any of your ships raided our coasts. Why? Aren’t our people wealthy enough? Aren’t our women sufficiently fair for the taste of your reavers?”

  “So wealthy and fair, Mara, that my father was hard put to enforce his edict that this realm not be subject to raid. For a while it was touch and go, but as the older captains died or retired, he made it stick. Today, it is custom that High Lord Demetrios’ coasts are sacrosanct.”

  “But,” Mara pried, still far from satisfied, “Lord Pardos’ men played merry hell on the coasts and rivers of Kehnooryos Ehlahs for two-score years, and his fathers before him. How came your father to order so radical a reversal of his ancestors’ policies?”

  Alexandros shook his head. “Mara, my father was not related to Lord Pardos by blood — not in direct lines of kinship, anyway. Pardos adopted him and compelled the Council of Captains to name him successor and support him. But years before he came to the Sea Isles, my father swore a lifelong oath of service to High Lord Demetrios. And my father was an honorable man. He kept to that oath all his life to the best of his ability, despite the fact that he served a cowardly swine.”

  Then, he related the story.

  Lord Alexandros tale

  Prior to the fall of Kehnooryos Atheenahs and the subsequent establishment of the Confederation, Demetrios of Treeah-Pohtahmos had been sole and hereditary High Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, which had since become the nucleus of the Confederation.

  As Milo’s tribe and their allies, the swelling army of the outlawed Strahteegos, Alexandros of Pahpahspolis, slowly moved eastward, unopposed, the High Lord found himself in an unenviable position, although his father had been a warrior-High Lord and had left him not only a well-filled treasury and thirty rich provinces ruled over by loyal nobles, but a large, tough, and formidable army.

  Demetrios had been and could be and would be called many things in his seventy-odd years of life, but not, in the beginning, a militarist — that came later. His grasping, grafting, hedonistic clique replaced the administrators of his late father’s honest and efficient civil service; within less than a year, Demetrios and his coterie had emptied the treasury.

  Some of his army he frittered away in senseless wars that all ended in the loss of lands as well as men. The better condottas of Freefighters commenced to trickle away to seek the employ of lords who paid in hard coin rather than empty promises.

  When he started to sell hard-won border provinces to foreigners to raise the cash to keep his sybartic court supplied with necessary luxuries, the Strahteegoee and certain nobles who had been his father’s closest friends and advisors decided that the young High Lord would destroy the realm, if not soon stopped. They carefully devised plans to topple their inept sovran and replace him with a council of military commanders until a new High Lord should be chosen.

  Someone, nobody ever knew for certain whom, betrayed the projected coup to Demetrios, along with the names of nearly every man involved. The conspirators and their families — men, women, children, even babes-in-arms — were nearly all netted by the High Lord’s men, although a few managed to flee into exile and some others fought their would-be captors to the death . . . these were the fortunate ones. The majority, regardless of age, sex, or known degree of involvement, were put to savage tortures. Many died under torture; many slew themselves to escape further torment. Demetrios saw that most suffered slow, degrading deaths, with their remains thrown into cesspools or the river. He kept some few maimed, broken men and women in his dungeons, having them occasionally brought up for the amusement of his depraved court.

  When first the High Lord heard that nomads were coming from the west, he dispatched a good two-thirds of what army he had left. That army’s gentle mission was to massacre the nomad warriors and take their women and children for sale as slaves. The nomads, warned by a deserter, trapped the army while it marched through a narrow mountain pass and virtually extirpated it.

  The first of Demetrios’ cities in their path, Theesispolis, fell to a sudden attack and most of its inhabitants were massacred. One of the High Lord’s three remaining squadrons of Freefighters rode in pursuit of nomad raiders and had the misfortune to encounter a sizable war party; Demetrios had most of the survivors beheaded for having the effrontery to return alive.

  That piece of barbarity, plus long-overdue wages, prompted the best of his two remaining squadrons to desert to the enemy. The Freefighters slew their Ehleenoee officers, took their arms, horses, and gear and rode out of the city after stopping long enough to loot a wing of the palace and to smash their way into the prison and free all prisoners who were in condition to travel.

  Frantic with fear and lacking the money to hire more troops, he appealed to High Lord Hamos of Kehnooryos Makahdonyah, who replied only with condolences and an offer of sanctuary. An appeal to Ohdessios, king of the fabulously wealthy Southern Kingdom, elicited a plea of poverty. When he appealed to his southern neighbor, King Zenos IX of Karaleenos, his messenger failed to return and Zenos’ troops inaugurated a full-scale invasion of the southernmost provinces.

  There was but one more source of possible aid, his distant kinsman, Pardos, Lord of the Sea Isles, and an infamous pirate. Since Demetrios had treated his navy as cavalierly as his land forces, he had to commandeer a merchant vessel to bear his messenger. The messenger returned with good tidings — or so he thought, since it was the first positive answer to the High Lord’s desperate importunings. It seemed that while Lord Pardos was willing to discuss the, rendering of aid to Kehnooryos Ehlahs in her extremity, he felt it proper that Demetrios, as supplicant, come to the court of the Sea Lord.

  Demetrios raged! He screamed, swore, blasphemed, foamed, and tore at his beard and hair. He slew three slaveboys and gravely injured a member of his court. He had the unfortunate messenger brutally tortured, emasculated, and blinded, then crucified with an iron pot filled with starving mice bound to his abdomen. He laid foul curses upon Pardos and all of his ancestors, gradually broadening his sphere of malediction to include the whole of the world and every living thing in it. Toward the end of his tantrum, he tore at his flesh with teeth and nails, slammed his head repeatedly against walls and columns, and rolled upon the floors, kicking his legs and sobbing like a spoiled, frustrated child.

  Lastly, moaning piteously of the undeserved indignities b
eing heaped upon him, he began to make grudging preparations for the voyage. He well knew — and so did everyone around him — that he had no option.

  Lord Sergios, Komees of Pahpahspolis and High Admiral of the Navies of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, had never been upon the open ocean in all his young life; consequently, he was every bit as ill as Demetrios for most of the nearly two weeks that the wallowing merchantman took to reach the Sea Isles. The High Lord and the Admiral were the only nobles aboard, for it was a small ship and they, Demetrios’ ten bodyguards, and two slave-boys were all that could be accommodated.

  At last, they were laid to, off the rocky, spray-shiny cliffs that were the northern side of the Sea Isles. Titos, sailing master and captain, had his crew put out a sea anchor, ran up signal flags, and then awaited the sign to proceed into the entry channel. They were allowed to wait for almost twenty-four hours before the clifftop fort puffed up a few blossoms of smoke. Then, propelled by slow strokes of the sweeps and depending for their very lives upon the leadsman straddling the bowsprit, Titos gingerly edged his ship into the narrow, treacherous channel.

  Throughout the course of the long, halting passage, Demetrios fretted and cursed and fumed. He had been most loath to embark upon this abasement, but now that it was commenced, he wished to finish it quickly — like the fast swallowing of an unpleasant medicine.

  Finally, the ship eased between the last of the jagged rocks and glided into the central lagoon, landlocked and placid, the water clear as blue-green glass and the bottom deceptively appearing but an arm’s length from the viewer. The protrusions of dark rock were almost invisible, so covered were they by an endless profusion of fantastically colorful plant and animal life. Schools of tiny fish, scintillating as gemstones, darted to and fro and, a few hundred yards to port, a brace of flying fish broke the surface and sailed twice the length of the ship before re-entering the water.

  The ship’s crew secured their sweeps and were making sail when Demetrios, his anger and frustration and even his sickness temporarily purged from him by the unquestionable beauty over which they were moving, rushed to the waist to hang over the rail. Fascinated by the marine panorama, he failed to notice the huge, dark shape just below the keel. Suddenly, a gigantic head broke the surface, immediately below him, and it seemed to his startled gaze that all the world had become a dark red gaping maw edged with huge conical white teeth.

  Shrieking with terror, Demetrios thrust himself upward from off the rail with such force that he lost his footing and came down with a painful thump of soft bottom on hard deckboards.

  From his seat, he screamed to the twenty black spearmen who were his bodyguards, “Kill it! Kill it! Do you hear us? We command you to kill the horrid, nasty thing! Kill it, now! At once!”

  Two of the tall, slender men fitted short, broad-bladed darts to throwing sticks. One kicked off his slick-soled gilt sandals and climbed a few feet up the standing rigging. The other, who had been beside Lord Sergios on the small bridge, grasped a taut line and leaped onto the rail. But neither could spot a target; the monster had apparently departed as quickly and noiselessly as it had come.

  Then, a long bowshot distant, a veritable forest of towering, black, triangular fins, broke water and bore along on the same course as the ship.

  “Sea serpents!” whimpered Demetrios. “They’ll sink the ship and eat us!”

  Endeavoring to not show his disgust, Titos shook his grizzled head, saying, “Beggin’ the High Lord’s pardon, but them be grampuses, sorta half-porpoise an’ half-whale. The lords of these isles hold converse with them creatures and, ‘tis said they do his biddin’. I doubt me not that so many could go far toward the sinkin’ of my ship, but . . .”

  Before he could say more, the starboard side of the ship was struck twice, in rapid succession — a one-two that shook every line, beam, and timber of the vessel and rattled the teeth in men’s heads. The aft spearman lost his footing on the polished rail and, stubbornly refusing to drop his spearstick and dart, hung by only his grip on the line, his sandaled feet frantically scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surfaces of the strakes.

  Ere any could leap to the dangling man’s assistance, a shadowy shape appeared beneath him. Again a head such as had frightened Demetrios rose above the water and a gaping mouth opened. While the spearman screamed, his legs and pelvis disappeared into that mouth and thick, two-inch teeth sank into the dark flesh . . . and then the fingers were gone from the line. Horrified, the crew and passengers could not but watch through the terrible clarity of the water as two streamlined black-and-white shapes, each above thirty feet long, worried the thrashing man apart, releasing a pink cloud of diluted blood. Voraciously, the monsters cleaned up the scraps, leaving but little to be picked at by the gleaming little fish.

  On the heels of the gruesome episode, the ashy-faced High Lord fled to his cabin, leaving the deck to the crew, the nineteen sober and silent bodyguards, and Lord Sergios. During the couple of hours it took them to sail within sight of the main island, Kehnooryos Knossos, Titos and Lord Sergios lounged on the minuscule bridge and chatted. Every so often, whenever the array of six-foot fins changed directions, Titos shouted the change of course to the steersman. Between those times, however, he was able to ascertain that “Admiral” Sergios’ intelligence was far greater than his foppish exterior promised, although his hands gave proof that he was no true seaman; nonetheless, he proved to know quite a bit of theoretical navigation.

  Just before they entered the harbor mouth, a grampus sped past them and disappeared into the murky water of the harbor.

  “Going to report to his master,” remarked Titos. Sergios nodded. “Many might call it sorcery, but I have heard that those who dwelt on the mainland, prior to the Punishment of God, domesticated all manner of unusual creatures — porpoises and seals among them.”

  “Aye,” affirmed Titos. “I, too, have heard those tales. It is said that, even today, in the Witch Kingdom amid the Great Southern Swamp, full many a strange beast does the bidding of man.”

  At the mention of that unholy domain, Lord Sergios shuddered and hurriedly crossed himself.

  “Why, strike me blind!” exclaimed Titos. “It has been years since I have seen any of your Lordship’s class do that. I had thought me that the High Lord’s new religion had completely supplanted the Ancient Faith — amongst the nobility of the capital, at least.”

  Sergios flushed and glanced about uneasily. “So it has, good Master Titos. The High Lord’s orders notwithstanding, it is difficult to throw off the training of one’s childhood and youth.”

  Now it was Titos who covertly eyed the deck and took care to see that his words would not be overheard. “Do you ever hear from your noble father, Lord Sergios? I served him, years agone, ere I went to sea. I still love him, despite what is said of him.”

  Sergios took Titos’ arm and hustled him over to the rail. “Let none other hear you so avow, Master Titos,” he whispered. “Else, some gray dawn will find you adorning a cross or immured in that place of horrors beneath the High Lord’s prison, screaming for death.

  “But in answer, no. Whether it’s because he does not wish to endanger me, does not trust me, or has died, I do not know. I’ve not had one word from him since his flight.”

  “My Lord,” hissed Titos fervently, “there are many who, like me, honor the memory of your noble father and what he tried to do for Kehnooryos Ehlahs . . .”

  But he never finished, for it was then that Denietrios, closely guarded by his spearmen, waddled back on deck.

  He was resplendent, hoping his sartorial elegance might possibly overawe the dread Lord Pardos and assure him the respect that the nasty pirate had thus far withheld. His sandals were not only gilded but adorned with small gems; so, too, were his gilded-suede “greaves.” His kilt was of starched, snowy linen, and his cloth-of-gold “cuirass” had been stiffened with strips of whalebone. Rings flashed from every finger, almost matching the jewel-blaze that was the hilt and guard of his dress-sword. Hi
s flowing locks had been teased into ringlets, and hair; mustache and forked beard all shone and reeked of strongly perfumed oil.

  Protocol in visits such as this really called for a military helmet, but the wearing of any kind of armor was unbearable to Demetrios. Metal was hot, binding, heavy, and terribly uncomfortable, and even leather caused one to perspire so. Therefore, his only head covering consisted of a narrow, golden circlet, surmounted by a frame of stiff wires. Over this was stretched another piece of cloth-of-gold that had been thickly sewn with seed pearls and was crested by a blue ostrich plume.

  A massy-gold chain hung between the two golden brooches that secured his cape of blue brocade. On the outer surface of the cape the Trident that was the badge of his house had been worked in silver wire. Broad golden bands adorned his smooth, pudgy, depilated forearms.

  The pre-pubescent slaveboy who was to accompany him was attired similarly, in addition to being heavily cosmetized. His guard was to consist of an even dozen of his black spearmen, officered by Lord Admiral Sergios. The other seven spearmen he ordered to guard his cabin and protect his possessions from wandering pirates or thieving crewmen.

  Followed by his cortege, the High Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs proceeded to an awning-covered section of the waist and awaited the arrival of a litter or chariot to convey him. Two hours later, as the sun was sinking behind the western cliffs, and the mosquitoes were venturing out for the night’s feasting, the High Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs and his retinue were still waiting.

  The blacks were relaxed, patient; Lord Sergios kept glancing warily at his unpredictable lord; Demetrios was nearing a state of murderous anger. Such discourtesy from a fellow-noble-Ehleen could just not be tolerated! All at once, he half turned, jerked the slaveboy closer, and slammed the back of his heavy hand across the child’s face. Then he felt a little better.