Revenge of the Horseclans

by Robert Adams

  Vaskos' gentle probing had early established that Ahndee's left radius was broken. It was a clean break, however, and had been more or less immobilized by the tight-fitting armguard which had encased it. The broken arm did not disturb the Keeleeohstos and his orderly. What did was not visible until more armor was stripped off. Both the left elbow and shoulder had been sprung from their sockets! So employing rough-and-ready battlefield expedients between them, the officer and the soldier snapped the two joints back into place, then set and splintered the forearm.

  Poor Ahndee recovered brief, screaming consciousness, but quickly and mercifully lapsed back into insensibility.

  Upon Komees Djeen's return, it was decided that since a physician was known to be in residence to attend the ailing Thoheeks, the wounded men would be borne to Morguhn Hall, guarded by him and his troopers, while the remainder of the party returned to Horse Hall with the captured weapons, gear, and horses, most of which Hari recognized as his anyway. The broken, bloody corpses would be fetched in after sunrise.

  None of Komees Djeen's faithful Freefighters made mention of the armored man they had found wandering the forest in a daze, nor did the old Strahteegos for he had recognized his prisoner as Komees Hari's valet, Kreestofohros.

  It was a long, slow journey, for horse litters could not move so rapidly as riders. Dawn was paling the sky ere the van pounded their saber pommels on the thick, barred gates of Morguhn Hall.

  ——«»——«»——«»——

  At about the same time, in the town of Morguhnpolis, another nobleman was hearing the report of a spikebearded visitor. The visitor knelt before the lord, still in his hacked and dented armor, a blood-crusty rag wrapped around his head and another around his right hand.

  When he had mumbled the last word of his summary, the nobleman hissed, "You clumsy, witless, bungling fool!"

  Jerkily, the armored man crawled a few feet closer and, raising his hands in supplication, stuttered, "Please . . . if it please my Lord . . . we did all that mortal flesh . . ."

  A chopping motion of the nobleman's head silenced the supplicant. Leaning far back in his chair, he jerked a dark-red rose from a silver vase on the table beside him and pressed it to his nostrils, snarling around the stem, "Get away, you pig! Your mortal flesh stinks, and nothing you have done or countenanced this cursed night pleases me!"

  "What made you think we wanted the Thoheeks' son killed, you witless ape? Who gave you leave to think, anyway? Better, far better, for you had you heeded the good Lady's advice!"

  "But . . . but, the men . . ." the spikebearded one started.

  "Damn you!" growled the nobleman. "You were represented to me as a veteran soldier, who had command experience. If you truly commanded soldiers, why can you not handle a pack of oafish servants and stupid peasants and city gutterscum? Never mind. I don't wish to hear any more of your excuses. You answer my questions, no more!"

  "Succinctly, then, thanks to your ill-conceived and amateurishly staged little skirmish, the Staheerforeeah has at least twelve members dead and as many more missing or unaccounted for, not to mention the losses of painfully collected arms and equipment. And what did this blood sacrifice buy our Holy Cause? Hah! Two barbarian mercenaries and possibly a traveling bard slain; and two nobles wounded! And one of these nobles is a Kath'ahrohs, to all intents and purposes, whom we still have reason to think we can convert to the True Faith. As for the other . . . what in God's name did you dimwits expect to accomplish in the death of Thoheeks' son, Bili?"

  Eagerly, the soldier grasped at this straw which might possibly redeem him. "It has worked very well, Lord, in other places. Slay the heir and you put question to the lawful succession, and . . ."

  The nobleman's fleshy lips curled back to expose his even teeth—amazingly white for a man of his middle years. "You ambulatory dungheap! This is not 'other places'!" he snarled. "True, the present Thoheeks is in ill health and, I have been reliably informed, is partially paralyzed and assuredly dying, though slowly. But—and of this matter you might have inquired before you did the irrevocable, the Lady could have told you every bit as easily as I—the death of Bili would lawfully throw the succession to Djehf, his junior by about six months. The death of Djehf would lawfully make Thoheeks of Tchahrlee, Bili's younger by roughly a year. The death of Tchahrlee would see the accession of Gilbuht, and the death of Gilbuht would give the title to Djaikuhb; and so on. Dammit, the Thoheeks has nine living sons! How many do you think the Staheerforeeah could assassinate, ere we all had a Confederation expeditionary force breathing down our necks, eh? You and those fools you presumably lead may have suicidal tendencies, but I, for one, have no wish to adorn a damned cross!"

  "Not only have you wasted good men on a fool's errand, but this bit of stupidity may well have jeopardized the entire structure of the Staheerforees in this duchy, especially if any of those missing have been taken alive!"

  "But . . . but, my Lord," stuttered Spikebeard. "None of . . . they are all . . . all have taken the Sacred Oaths, they would never betray . . ."

  The noble leaned forward and hissed scornfully. "Have you never heard of torture, then? Oaths, sacred or otherwise, mean nothing to a man whose pain is sufficiently unbearable! Oh, damn you to the lowest reaches. If they have one of ours we may have to strike ere our time is truly ripe, ere our western brothers have done their own work and can join us!"

  Spikebeard raised his bloody head, squared his shoulders, fanaticism gleaming from his eyes. "Nonetheless, my Lord, you must know that we will triumph, for God, the one True God, is on our side!"

  The noble sighed. "Oh, yes, we'll triumph. But lacking surprise, truly overwhelming forces, and more professionals than this Duchy can presently count, the butcher's bill will be high, very high. One look at your sorry state would tell anyone that!"

  "Speaking of which, one would hope that you came into the city unseen? Did you scale the wall, come through our tunnel?"

  The kneeling soldier crimsoned and fidgeted. Through trembling lips, he at last managed to mumble. "I . . . I rode through the . . . the gate, my Lord. But . . . but I . . . I had my cloak so arranged that . . . that none could possibly have seen my armor and . . ."

  The noble clenched his fists and his dark eyes flashed fire. "What in hell kind of soldier are you, or were you ever really a soldier at all? Don't you think the mercenaries at the east gate could tell you were wearing armor, cloak or no cloak, you idiot? A man carries his body differently in armor, any fool knows that!"

  "So you rode through the east gate, bleeding, in armor, and wearing a sword, and, fool that you are, you came directly to my house, eh? Damn your eyes, I should have your life . . . would, were you not so highly connected elsewhere!"

  The kneeling man's face had faded from crimson to pasty white, his lord's reputation for cruelty being well known and equally well earned. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it with a snap when the noble added, "And still may, if I hear one more odious yap from your dog's mouth!"

  He struck a small gong on the table at his side. Two brawny, olive-skinned guards opened the door and entered, bowing.

  Vahrohnos Myros waved a graceful, manicured hand at Spikebeard. "Take him to your barracks and strip off his armor, every scrap of it, mind you. You, Ahngehlos, bundle them well, I want no one to suspect what you're carrying. Bear the armor to Paulos, the smith. Tell him to immediately break up the plates, burn off the leather, and dip the metal in acid, before he scatters it throughout his scrap heap."

  "As for Captain Manos here, humm. Feelos, send a man for a physician to tend a man injured in a barracks brawl. By the time the doctor arrives, I will expect his patient to look the part. Take him away!"

  7

  Mahrnee and Behrnees Morguhn, wrapped warmly against the chill morning air, received Komees Djeen and Bard Klairuhnz in the broad foyer of Morguhn Hall. Standing on the main staircase, the ladies were flanked by Vahrohnos Spiros Morguhn and Clan Bard Hail Morguhn.

  The trim old warrior march
ed in, his braided gray hair coiled about the crown of his head to pad the helmet he now bore in the crook of his left arm. He halted and stiffly bowed, his armor clanking.

  "Ladies Morguhn, Cousin Spiros, Cousin Hail, greet the Sun. I am sorry to rouse your hall at so early an hour, but midnight last saw a brisk little melee at the Forest Bridge. I've brought a son of this House and another nobleman, both of whom are in urgent need of a physician's care."

  The two women paled, but otherwise did credit to their stern upbringing.

  Vahrohnos Spiros asked in a tight voice, "Be candid, Djeen. How bad are Bili's wounds?"

  A smile flitted across the Komees' thin lips. "Ladies and Kinsmen, we may all be proud of the lad, according to Bard Klairuhnz here. You do not know him, of course, but he is a clanless Kinsman who took part in the action, until his horse was slain and he was rendered senseless."

  "He states unequivocally that our Chief-to-be fought like a tree cat! Indeed, Bili captained the defense."

  "Our boy has suffered a nasty split of his scalp and a deep stab in his leg, but he's now fully awake, obviously experiencing pain, and hungry as a wolf, so I doubt me not that he'll live."

  A note of sadness then entered the old man's voice. "The other nobleman is Vahrohneeskos Ahndros. Ahndee is not really conscious and he frequently raves in delirium."

  At Komees Djeen's insistence, Master Ahlee saw first to Ahndee. After cursory examination, the physician and his apprentice firmly but courteously ushered all, even Mother Mahrnee, out into the corridor. When at some length he allowed them to reenter, Ahndee appeared to be sleeping peacefully and his color showed a marked improvement.

  All this gave Bili time to prepare. With the aid of Mother Behrnees and a few servants, he removed his bloody, sweat-smelly clothing, bathed and donned an old, soft lounging tunic. His experience with the practice of the physician's arts had been in the Middle Kingdoms, whose nobles saw scant need to put good gold, which could be better invested in arms, armor, and condottas, into the bottomless pockets of foreigners. Therefore, although he was ravenously hungry, he refrained from eating.

  When the two strangely garbed men entered his chamber, he sat on his bed, propped against a mound of pillows and taking long draughts from a leetrah-flagon of wine and brandy, steeling himself to endure the inevitable, and hoping that his body would not betray his honor—that he would neither scream nor befoul himself when the white-hot iron was pressed into his flesh.

  He found the physician impressive, though he did not immediately recognize why. His height was average and Bili would have estimated his weight at perhaps eighty Ehleen keelohs, though his loose, flowing garments could easily have concealed a bulkier body. But Bili did not think this the case, for there was little surplus flesh on the dusky face and his hands were fine-boned.

  The master and his apprentice were dressed almost identically—loose-sleeved, ankle-length white robe; sleeveless, knee-length jerkin of soft-woven, pale blue cotton; and well-made boots, plain ones on the feet of the apprentice, richly tooled ones on the master. The shaven scalps of both men reflected the lamplight, that of the master furrowed with old scars.

  The master physician literally radiated a calm dignity and Bili found himself addressing him as an equal. "Greet the Sun, Lord Ahlee. It is not my wish to try to teach the horse how to eat grass, but I am no longer bleeding much and my pain is bearable, so tend you first to the noble Ahndee. When his hurts are eased, come you then to me."

  The physician's voice was deep, rolling, and melodious. "Peace be with you, Lord Bili. We are but come from Lord Ahndee, where we corrected the well-meant damages wrought by those who first treated him. He now sleeps peacefully."

  Bili nodded, set down his flagon, and turned to Mother Behrnees. "Please leave us now, Mother."

  Behrnees opened her mouth to protest, but a deep look into those blue eyes—so like her loved father's—stilled her voice. And she wanted to cry, to shed tears to mourn the passing of the child and to rejoice the now obvious presence of the man.

  "Please, Mother, you must go," Bili insisted in firm tones. "I know what must now be done, for I have suffered it before. And a wound-burning is no place for a lady."

  As Behrnees departed through the door held open by the apprentice, she thought that her heart would burst of her pride.

  When his mother had gone, Bili offered a grim smile. "I await your pleasure, sir." Dubiously, he eyed the two leather-bound chests which the apprentice was opening. "Where is your brazier?"

  Master Ahlee seated himself on the edge of Bill's bed and smiled. "I shall close your wounds in due time, Lord Bili, never fear. But first, tell me how you received these hurts and what varieties of weapons inflicted them."

  Bili raised a hand to tap at the fresh cloths which Mother Behrnees had wound about his head. "The head wound is not much. My helm was struck and dented and the scalp beneath it split. I was struck from behind, so I can't say what kind of missile hit me. But I've suffered such injuries many times ere this. You have too, I'd imagine." He smiled, waving at the scars on Master Ahlee's own head.

  The physician smiled also, saying softly, "No, I am no stranger to the sight of my own blood, Lord Bili. But to continue, did you swoon at the time of the injury or at any time since? Did you become dizzy or queasy? Did your vision blur? Did you feel a heaviness or a prickling in your arms and legs?"

  Bili shrugged. "At the time I took the blow, it was all I could do to sit my horse, nor do I know for how long it was so. I could hear, but I could not move or speak or even open my eyes. But eventually I came back into control of myself, and then Ahndee, Mahvros, and I fought until both Ahndee and Mahvros were wounded. Then . . ."

  "Wait a moment, please, Lord Bili." The physician looked puzzled. "I was not told of a third casualty. This man, Mahvros, did he return with your party? Do you know how serious is his wound?"

  Blank-faced, Bili said, "Yes, Lord Ahlee, Mahvros was beside me for most of the journey. As concerns his wound, he took a javelin in his right shoulder. One of Komees Djeen's troopers is tending him down in the stables."

  "Lord Bili," Master Ahlee spoke urgently, "this Mahvros must be removed from the stable as quickly as possible. There are many guest chambers in this hall. Can he not be accommodated in one?"

  "No," said Bili flatly. "His kind are not allowed inside the hall."

  Master Ahlee's manner cooled noticeably. "If this Mahvros was good enough to fight beside you, surely he deserves better lodgment than a stable! You disappoint me, young sir."

  Bili kept his face blank with great effort. "Where else, Lord Ahlee, do the men of your own land lodge their horses?"

  The physician regarded Bill's twitching mouth and mirth-filled eyes for a long moment, then grinned broadly, chuckling, "When I am done with you, Lord Bili, I shall be happy to take a look at Mahvros . . . in the stable."

  Bili sobered. "Now that is most gracious of you, Lord Ahlee. I would much appreciate such generosity, for Mahvros and I are . . . well, we're closer than you probably could understand."

  The physician nodded. "But I do understand, Lord Bili, and I will certainly see to your friend. Now, back to you. Have you lost consciousness or control since that first time?"

  "Only once," answered Bili. "I unseated a man, threw him off his horse into the stream. But when I mounted his horse, I became very dizzy and couldn't lift my axe. Then I fell off the horse and I recall nothing more until I awakened in a horse litter."

  Ahlee nodded, then shifted his position and pointed at the bandaged leg. "And how was that wound inflicted, Lord Bili?"

  "I don't know," Bili admitted. "Honestly, you know how things are in battle. I can't remember even taking that wound, much less when or where or with what. From the look I got when I bathed though, I'd say a small-bladed spear or a javelin."

  "But, Lord Ahlee, let me warn you. I don't think I can remain unmoving whilst you sear these wounds. It might be better if you strapped me down, or called for servants to hold me . . . a go
od dozen men, anyway, for Sacred Sun has given me great strength."

  Ahlee smiled again. "Yes, I am sure you are a very strong man, Lord Bili. But wait." He extended his right hand over his shoulder, palm open.

  Having been busy arranging the lamps, Eeshmaheel, the apprentice, stepped back to one of the opened chests, took something from it, and laid that something in his master's pink palm.

  When the physician opened his hand, Bili saw that it contained a disk of clear, smoothly polished quartz, suspended from a thin, golden chain. Ahlee held the ends of the chain, allowing the disk to dangle before Bili's eyes for a moment, then set it to spinning.

  In a low, soothing, monotonous voice, he intoned, "Watch the crystal, Lord Bili. Do not take your eyes from it for a moment. Watch it, watch it, see the beauty of the light. You see? Is it not the most beautiful light you have ever seen? See the light, Lord Bili. Sink into the light . . ."

  And as the voice murmured on and on, Bili found himself obeying. He sank into the light, became one with it, and it was good, that oneness was infinitely good. It was the Light of Sacred Sun and he was part of It and It was part of him, It streamed through him and of him. And from Them, worlds and universes received their substances and were born and lived countless eons and died and returned their life gift to Them. And Bili continued to sink, faster and faster and faster, spiraling tightly, bodilessly, through the unbearably beautiful, wondrous light-which-was-one-with-darkness, and Sacred Wind roared in his ears. But it roared steadily and soothingly and reminded him of the sound of that voice—what voice?—and the roar gradually faded and the spiraling went on and still he sank, descending toward the tossing waves of a great, vast, dark-light ocean. Closer to those dark, light-crested waves he came, closer and closer and closer.

  Bili steeled his light-filled, bodiless body for the chill of the water, but he eased gently into it and it closed over him and there was no chill. He was enveloped in a moist, nourishing warmth, a warmth which soothed and comforted and lulled. And in the warm, caressing, dark-light nothingness, everything vanished—pain, pleasure, worry, fear, pride, desire. And Bili could not bring himself to wish them back, for all of them together could not, he knew, replace one-ten-thousandth part of the exquisite beauty of his newfound but never forgotten nothingness . . .