by Robert Adams
“Now fortifying Twocityport — that is, adding to the existing and somewhat old-fashioned defenses — would not only have taken far too long, but such action would’ve alerted my enemies that I was aware of what is afoot here. Therefore, I’ve had it bruited about in the duchy and beyond that this new fortress is, like Pirates’ Folly, simply another — albeit an expensive — way to prick Ann’s scaly hide. It’s an eminently believable yarn, for it’s well known up and down both rivers that we cordially hate each other.”
“My lord duke.” Martuhn held up his hand, palm outward. “If a part of my responsibility is to be preserving the cables from capture, would it not be better to lengthen them a bit, then secure them inside the walls of the citadel?”
The duke grinned again. “Great minds, it is said, run in the same channels, my good Martuhn. Not only are the cables now lengthened and secured within the new fortress, but from the outer walls down to the very lip of the river, they are now housed within very strong and solid stone-built tunnels. Moreover, it is now an open secret in Twocityport — which means that that ewe-raping Alex knows of it — that the fabric of the tunnel is fitted with devices that will assuredly sever the cables if any attempt is made to enter or dismantle the sheathings.
“So, my good Martuhn, now you know as much as do I. Do you think you can hold that citadel against Duke Alex for as long as a year? I’ll either be engaged downriver or holding Pahdookahport and the Folly, while my horsemen harry the various besiegers and their inevitable patrols. So you and your garrison will be completely on your own, slam in the center of a probably hostile town — for the bulk of the Twocityporters have always hated me and loved my Sow of a wife — and with no hope of relief until I’ve scared that gutless young Uyr out of this affair and can amass enough of a force to be sure of extirpating — or at the least, soundly trouncing — the Traderstown army in open battle. Well, what say you, Captain Count Martuhn of Twocityport?”
* * *
Now, in his towertop aerie, the new-made Count of Twocityport sat down to the spartan breakfast brought up by the faithful Wolf, who had also prepared it, since he felt that he knew his lord’s tastes better than did the new cooks. While he ate the fried fatback, cornmeal mush and crisp little apples, washed down with drafts of cider, he read through a pile of dispatches just in from Pirates’ Folly, commenting to Wolf, who took notes when necessary in his cribbed writing.
“The duke is taking my advice and retaining almost all of the lancers and dragoons to his personal force.”
“A good thing, too,” Wolf put in, nodding his hairless, scar-furrowed head. “Horsemen don’t do neither side no good in a siege, ’cept mebbe as far-riding foragers for them as is besieging.”
“Yes,” Count Martuhn continued, “only the officers and sergeants and a score or so of dispatch riders will be mounted in this garrison.”
Wolf grunted. “This here garrison his grace promised you had better stir their stumps, if they means to get here afore Duke Alex’s folks does. Talk’s all over town that he’s gonna be a-landing ’fore the end of the month, and any street you walks down, you can hear the spades a-ringing in the backyards with plate and money and all a-getting put under till it’s all over.”
The captain stabbed a long finger at the topmost letter on the pile before him, bearing the elaborate and gaudy ducal seal. “The first battalion — Baron Burklee’s six hundred pike-men, plus two hundred and forty crossbowmen — marched out from Pirates’ Folly before dawn this morning, according to this dispatch.”
Wolf grunted again and scratched at one of his cranial scars with the nib of his quill pen, heedless of the ink lines he scribed into the skin. “How ’bout the engineers? ’Sides me and my lord and a handful of others, don’t nobody know pee turkey ’bout servicing, laying and manning all these here spearthrowers and rock lobbers and such, as his grace’s got mounted up on the walls and roofs.”
Martuhn frowned. “I don’t know, Wolf. I’ve not yet read all of the dispatch.” He fell silent for a moment, then announced, “Ah, yes, here it is. The second battalion, which includes the engineers as well as the surgeons and the rest of the service troops, was originally scheduled to be here before Burklee’s, but the duke had to relieve the commander and then reform them to some extent . . . He doesn’t say why, he just says that they’ll be on the march soon.”
“Which could mean a lot or nothing!” snorted Wolf disgustedly. “Best I c’lect, ever’body as knows anything ’bout ’gines and start a-schooling our comp’ny in how to use ’em. ’Cause sure as can be, that baron’s pikepushers ain’t likely to know shit ’bout ’em.”
The count frowned again. “Go ahead, Wolf, and while you’re at it, see if any of ours are fair slingmen. There’s no mention of any in the duke’s listings. There’re siege slings, pig lead and casting sets in the lower armory, I noticed.
“Oh, and I’ll want all our officers assembled just before the noon hour, except you. His grace feels that they will get more respect from the baron and the rest of his gentry if they are of the same caste, and, now that I’m a nobleman again, I can knight them . . . you, too, old friend.”
The hairless man just cackled. “That’ll be the day, my lord! All your ofsers, ’cepting Lootenant Krains, are gennulman borned; ol’ Wolf, here, his paw was your paw’s servin’ man. Aint no smidgin of gentul blood in him.”
Martuhn’s lips flitted into a brief, sketchy smile. He had expected just such a response from his old and faithful retainer. “You would then have me disobey his grace, our overlord, Wolf?”
Wolf looked his discomfort. “Well . . . mebbe you could just tell his grace and ever’body elst that you done it . . . and I won’t say no different . . . ?”
“You would, then, counsel that I lie to his grace, Wolf?” Martuhn chided solemnly. “Have you not always told me that the truth is easier to keep track of than lies? Or was that another man named Wolf, eh?”
“Well, dammit, Martuhn-boy, it . . . it just ain’t right and proper to make a common-borned man like me no ‘sir.’ ”
The count became serious. “Not only is it right, my good old friend, you’ve earned and more than deserved a knighting threescore times and more in these last hard twenty-odd years. Had I but then had the legal rank to grant it, I would have done so long ago. Now I again have that rank and you will receive your just deserts, but formally and solemnly, after Baron Burklee arrives.
“For now, however, I need you for another task. It’s a certainty that the enemy will not try a landing within the range of our engines. The shoreline for miles south of the town is too swampy to make for an easy landing of large numbers of troops, much less horses and supplies, and due north of Twocityport, the bluffs are high and precipitous and march right to the verge of the Great River. However, below the east-west stretch of the bluffs and a few hundred yards eastward of the mouth of the Ohyoh River, his grace’s maps show a long, wide beach of sorts, with a track of some description meandering east along the river for a way, then southeast and over a saddle or a pass to come out some miles northeast of us, here.
“Now, whoever drew these charts was no soldier. I’ve a plan for stinging those bastards, maybe slowing them up a bit and delaying the close of their siege lines for a few days, but in order to use this plan, I’ll need better and more exact maps, and that’s where you come in, Wolf.
“Take all of our men you think you’ll need, take any horses in the fortress and take the existing maps. I need to know how long and deep that beach is, how far it lies from the channel, how high and steep are the bluffs just over it and the exact location, directions and condition of the indicated track. Note carefully all locations along the bluffs at which you think a landslide could be easily precipitated or where your experience tells you a small number of slingers and archers might do a maximum amount of damage while sustaining minimum casualties.
“Take rations and fodder for as many days as you think this will require. If it takes longer, however, don’t hesi
tate to forage. Remember, not only are we on my lands, but a largish number of the folk in and around Twocityport are sworn enemies of Duke Tcharlz. If, however, you should run across a few likely-looking recruits, by all means bring them back.”
Chapter VIII
At Hwahruhn’s brusque command, both boys shed their worn and ragged garments. Then the two traders stood by holding a pair of lamps high while the Ehleen “examined” his new purchases. Custuh seemed not to notice the manner in which their customer’s soft, beringed hands lingered upon the boys’ freckled flesh . . . but Hwahruhn did, and the sight sickened him.
“You kin see, Lord Urbahnos,” Custuh said, after a few minutes, “it ain’t a earthly thang wrong with the slaves. We’s treated ’em good and fed ’em good, too. They’s as hale as they wuz the day we ketched ’em, out awn the prairie. No worms, no sores, no pus in they eyes, no loose teeth, no runnin’ noses evun. We only carries quality stock, we does.”
Urbahnos made his decision quickly. The elder boy was nowhere near as pretty as the red-blond younger one. Too, the elder was already beginning to sprout genital hair — something which no sensitive Ehleen of sophisticated tastes could or would tolerate, had he the choice, in a love boy. Therefore, the younger would be fed to plumpness, clothed fittingly and sent upriver and across the mountains to Karaleenos and the noblemen whom Urbahnos had now convinced himself would see to the nullification of his unjust banishment. The elder would be Urbahnos’ plaything until he tired of him, at which juncture he would be sold — with luck, at a good profit — to a brothel keeper.
The Ehleen also decided that the “education” of this new, blond, exciting love boy would commence this very night, as soon as he could tactfully rid himself of these two barbarians.
Urbahnos was not a mindspeaker. In all of the eastern Ehleen lands, telepathy was considered to be a form of witchcraft and was savagely persecuted by the established religion. Therefore he possessed no mindshield, and his every thought was crystal-clear to the powerful mind of his chosen victim, Bahb Steevuhnz. Though appalled and more than a little frightened at what he read in the roiling mind of his new, degenerate owner, Bahb kept his face carefully blank.
When Urbahnos had announced his satisfaction with the sale, he departed the strongroom, followed by the two traders. Custuh took the lamp he had held with him, but Hwahruhn hung his on a hook let into the wall over the door.
“Now, you lads be careful not to knock this down, hear? I’ve seen bales of furs and hides flare up like so much oil, and with that rout going on belowstairs, nobody would likely hear your screams until you were both burned to flinders.”
Then he just stood for a moment, eying the two naked boys. He seemed to want to say more, but then he snapped his mouth shut, turned on his heel and walked out, shaking his head between bowed shoulders.
When he could no longer hear footsteps beyond the locked door, Bahb once more turned to the now openable chest. He slowly raised the lid and expressed his delight in a single grunt. The lower section was filled with hornbows, each of them wrapped in waxed vellum sheets and packed into a horn-and-leather quiver along with a dozen arrows. Most of the bows were the plainer variety made by all the Horseclans for trade purposes, but the four topmost sets were finely carved and decorated in tooled leather cases marked with the totem animals of Clan Steevuhnz — the bows taken from them, their sister and their dead half-brother upon the day of their capture.
Nor was this all. The two Clan Steevuhnz sabers lay beside the hornbow sets, and in the tray hinged to the lid of the chest reposed the four Steevuhnz dirks and even the boot knives. Bahb immediately seized one of the latter and filled the empty sheath inside his right boot with it, then he began to dress himself, mindspeaking his younger brother the while.
“Don’t ask questions, my brother, just heed me. The black-hair who has bought us is like no man I have ever heard of. He cares nothing for females, but rather means to use me as an ordinary man would use a woman. And he means to send for me as soon as he is done with the traders, whom he despises for some reason. So I will not be here to help, though I will let you know what passes by mindspeak.
“With this,” — the wiry boy slapped at his boottop —”I have no fear of the black-haired man, for he is clumsy and more than a little fat, nor does he seem to be overly strong, for all his size and height. So unless he has help, I doubt he can harm me.
Take a dirk and start cutting one of your blankets into Strips; spread the other out flat and I’ll roll the sabers and bows in it — that way you can lower them to the ground without damage to them or any noise. I’ll take another boot knife and you can take the other two. Then secure all four dirks to your belt. Here, I’ll put my belt and the saber slings in with the bows.
“Just before you go out that window, after the roll of weapons is safe below, drag something to stand on to the door, take that lamp down and set fire to everything that will bum in this room. No, wait — drag everything you can manage in front of the door before you fire it. That way, maybe they won’t know so soon that we’re gone.”
Barely had the two boys dressed, tied and hidden the blanket full of weapons and gotten the chest closed and relocked than a big, tall, bald man with skin the color of an old saddle opened the door, pointed at Bahb and crooked a finger thrice.
“Our master summons you, boy. Come, or I’ll drag you.”
Nahseer had been aware of Urbahnos’ unnatural vices as long as the Ehleen had owned him, and he secretly felt that, for all the fact he had been gelded, he still was more of a man than his owner had ever been. He had been revolted at the order to bring the boy to Urbahnos’ bedchamber, but it had been a matter of either obeying or hurrying the day when the devious Ehleen would sell him to the bargers . . . and he would seek his death, hoping to take as many other men as he could with him into that state.
In the great room below, seated across the dining table from the exultant Custuh, the trader, Hwahruhn, watched the big Zahrtohgahn warrior — still fully armed and obviously cold sober, a fact unusual in this serai full of drunken men — proceed along the upper walkway to the strongroom, unbar the door, lead forth the eldest boy and return with him to the suite of the Ehleen. Then Hwahruhn tore his gaze away, lifted his wine cup and drained it, hurriedly refilled and drained the second just as fast, then refilled again.
Custuh looked up from his calculations and said, with a rotten-toothed grin, “Buddyroll, keep a-drinkin’ like thet an’ yew won’ be in no shape fer t’ spin’ yore gol’, t’morra in Pahdookahport.”
Hwahruhn felt the deathly danger so strongly now that it almost eclipsed his own soul-sickness and self-loathing. In that warm, noisy room, cold sweat trickled down his spine and hairs prickled wherever they grew on his body. Near madness glared from his eyes, and he bespoke Custuh in a voice pitched just loud enough for him alone to hear.
“You won’t be spending any of that blood money, Custuh, nor journeying to Pahdookahport. You’ll be dead by sunup. I’ve seen your body lying in its blood . . . with the head caved in.”
Custuh stared back at his partner and gulped. Then his ire rose above his sudden fear. He slammed a horny palm down on the tabletop, snarling, “Now, damn yew fer a big-mouthed fool, Hwahruhn. Yew knows how superstitious alla these here bastids is. Whut if some o’ ’em heered yew, huh? Ah knows it’s mosly yer likker a-talkin’, but they won’t. Iffen they all ups an’ meks tracks, come t’ middle o’ t’ night, whut we gon’ use fer wagoners come daybreak? ’Sides, t’ bugtits’d likely steal us blin’, t’boot.”
* * *
Urbahnos stood waiting impatiently by the door to his bedchamber, temples and groin throbbing with desire bred from his visual and tactile examinations of the two little boys. When, after what seemed centuries, Nahseer entered with the elder lad and stooped to examine him for weapons, his master snapped, “Enough, you dung-colored ape! I’ve just seen him bare and there are no weapons in that room he could have gotten at. Just bring him here to me. But d
on’t leave this room, you hear? Those rascally traders know that I have gold and jewels, and I don’t want my throat cut in my sleep.”
As his master took the slave boy’s arm and propelled him into the inner chamber, then closed and locked the door, Nahseer settled himself into the large, padded chair which Urbahnos himself had occupied during his dealings with the plains traders, awaiting developments.
The boy moved lightly and could probably be fast as a scalded cat if need be. Another might think the boy’s thinness to be all skin and bone, but Nahseer recognized the flat musculature and the wiry strength it portended. Even unarmed, that lad was likely a healthy fight for the master, for even sober he was fat, clumsy of movements and possessed of muscles near to the point of atrophy from lack of exercise. And the master was well into his second drunk of the day, the effects of the first still not fully dissipated.
Nahseer smiled, thinking of the two little knives his sure fingers had detected beneath the felt of the lad’s boottops.
“Yes,” he whispered softly in his native tongue, “these next few minutes should prove most assuredly interesting.”
* * *
Within the great room of the serai, the riotous tumult raged at full fury as the wagoners and apprentice traders and the other men of the caravan celebrated the conclusion of yet another summer among the nomads. Several of the serai women had trooped in to sell their shopworn favors in alcoves about the room, the serai musicians — two fiddlers, a banjo, a guitar and a grizzled oldster who performed with hand drum or tambourine, as required — aided willingly (if somewhat off-key) by a drunken wagoner and his reedpipes played loud and lively runes, but were heard only by those closest to them in the general uproar.