Bili the Axe Read online

  Bili the Axe

  The Horseclans

  Book 10

  Robert Adams

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Those who spoke did not think the dying old man could hear them, but he could. Despite the drugs and other arts which the Zahrtohgahn physicians had administered to him to eliminate the pain of his infected wounds, Prince Bili Morguhn of Karaleenos could still hear his overlord and the others who now were discussing his long, long life and his imminent demise.

  "If only he had been as are we," said Bili's half brother, the Undying Lord Tim Sanderz. "As it was, I had hoped for long, as he got older and older and stayed fit and far more hale than many far younger men…"He sighed sadly.

  "No more than I had hoped, Tim," said the Undying High Lord Milo of Morai, concern for his realm mingling with the sorrow in his eyes and tone. "Bili of Morguhn is a remarkable man in a multitude of ways, and he's going to be devilish hard to replace. I'm sure that you and Giliahna will give it your best shot, but even with your great natural gifts and abilities, you are going to find it damned hard to fill the shoes of Bili the Axe."

  Now it was the High Lord who sighed and sadly shook his head. "And it's my fault, really. Long years ago I knew that I should start grooming a likely man—if such exists—to take over the Principality of Karaleenos when Bili died or became too ill or senile to longer handle it properly, but he just lived on and on and on, never becoming even marginally inefficient, the reins of all the affairs of the principality always tightly in hand. So it was so much easier for me to just leave it all to him, who did it so well, and apply my own efforts to other affairs in other places, rationalizing falsely, deluding myself with the thought that it was better not to give offense to this most valuable and valued vassal."

  He sighed again. "And now it's too late to take more than stopgap measures. At least, you'll have old Lehzlee for a few more years, he has been Bill's right hand for the last twenty or so years. I'll send your great-grandnephew, Djaik Sanderz of Morguhn, down here from Theesispolis for a farspeaker. It's possible that you'll have widespread support from Bili's people, since you're related to him, but don't go wasting a lot of time trying to woo or win over any who seem hostile or uncooperative—replace them immediately they demonstrate an unwillingness to change their ways to suit the new regime. Your strength lies in the west, among your relatives, so recruit there, in the western duchies and the Ahrmehnee stahn—Morguhn, Sanderz-Vawn, Baikuh, Skaht, and Kamruhn—and you might farspeak Prince Roodee of Kuhmbuhluhn; perhaps he has some likely men he can send you. You two are related, aren't you?"

  "Rather distantly," replied Tim. "His grandmother… no, great-grandmother, I think… was my father's get by his second wife, Mehleena, the fat, treacherous sow. Princess Deeahna was the youngest of that brood, too young to have absorbed very much of her mother's madness, religious fanaticism and treason; Giliahna had promised the then prince, her stepson, a bride of her own blood, and when this Deeahna was old enough, she was sent to Kuhmbuhluhn.

  "The Princess and young Speeros Sanderz-Vawn were the only two of that pack who didn't die in disgrace. As you know, Bili had Mehleena's eldest, that buggering swine Myron, impaled right after that rebellion… after suitable public torture and maiming, of course. And although I was roundly criticized and castigated for the deed, I saw the young bitch who slew my sergeant so treacherously atop a stake, too. The eldest daughter, Dohlohrehz, married an Ahrmehnee who beat her to death when he caught her in bed with another man."

  "And what of this brother, Speeros? Did he find a prince charming to marry, too?" queried Milo a bit caustically.

  Tim shook his head. "For some reason, Speeros shared none of the insanity and perversions of his mother and elder brother. Except for his height and big-boned build, he didn't even look Ehleen. He and his sisters were taken as wards by various Clan Sanderz kith and reared by them and Chief Tahm, although, you may recall, Gil had little Deeahna brought up to Theesispolis a couple of years before she sent her to wed Prince Gy of Kuhmbuhluhn. It was Chief Tahm found a husband for Dohlohrehz amongst his Ahrmehnee kin. But even before either of the girls were placed, Speeros had ridden up to Goohm and enlisted in a squadron of dragoons— enlisted, mind you, the third-eldest surviving son of a Kindred thoheeks."

  Milo's dark brows rose. "Oh, yes, I'm beginning to recall. I gave that man a Golden Cat, Third Class, and a commission, didn't I? But… but I seem to recall that he died a thoheeks himself, Tim."

  "Just so." The blond man nodded briskly. "By the time you sent me to take over the cavalry arm of the army, that boy had clawed his way to a senior sergeantcy in the lamtha troop of the Kohkeenos F'tehro Squadron. They and two battalions of the Seventeenth Regiment of Heavy Infantry held the whole damned West Ahfut Tribe off for almost two weeks after the disaster at Bleak Meadow."

  Milo's lips tightened at the grim old memories. "Better than six regiments of my Regulars, wiped out to the last man! That idiotic swine of a Strahteegos Tohnyos of Kahvahpolis never knew how lucky he was to die with those men he so stupidly misled; if he'd come back alive, I'd have had the bastard impaled before the entire army… on a thick, blunt stake, at that!

  "But that stand that was made at Maizuhn Gap was magnificent. There's no other word fit to describe it, Tim. Three battered, understrength units, plus a handful of packers and engineers and various other service-troop types, holding off in the neighborhood of ten thousand blood-mad mountain tribesmen for the time it took the westernmost settlements to prepare for trouble and relief columns to get within striking range.

  "But if the stand was magnificent, how does one describe that fighting withdrawal from the Gap? It was this Speeros commanded the withdrawal, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. By that time, he was the highest-ranking man left in any of the units who was capable of command; the only two officers not then dead were too seriously wounded to matter. He had them retreat slowly and in excellent order, and he saw the mountaineers bleed well for every rod and mile of the way, too. He made it back to Thorohspolis with about a thousand foot and almost half the original strength of the squadron.

  "I had ridden up with a strong advance party of the relief column, Milo, so I was there when those bloody, filthy, unshaven, ragamuffin heros marched into the city—and I'm here to tell you that they marched in, with their drums marking the pace and their tattered banners unfurled, and a stirring sight that was. I don't think there was a man or horse that wasn't wounded in some way or other, Milo, yet even some of them who were hobbling along on makeshift crutches did their pitiful damnedest to strut.

  "Speeros formally turned over his assumed command to me, then dropped his well-nicked saber and tumbled from off his horse. My surgeon found no less than nine wounds on that man's body, Milo, two of them so serious and so long untended that it was for long doubtful he would even live."

  "As I remember, now," said Milo, "he looked none too hale when I put the chain of that Cat over his head. He retired soon after that, didn't he?"

  Tim shook his head. "Yes, he retired, but not on account of those wounds. He served on at least two more campaigns in his new rank of squadron commander, but then Tahm of Lion Mountain died without issue and Clan Sanderz of Vawn chose Speeros to replace him as chief."

  "What sort of officer did he turn out to be, did you hear?" asked Milo. "As I recall, after all these years
, it's damned seldom I've heard a man's Cat cheered as enthusiastically as was his that day at Goohm."

  "Most spoke very highly of Colonel Speeros. Those few who did not were Academy officers who dislike and distrust a mustang and always show it," Tim replied, adding, "His last campaign before he retired and returned to become Chief of Sanderz-Vawn was directly under my command, and I can recall no slightest reason to complain of his or his squadron's performance; that was the year we finally crushed the Western Ahfut Tribe, when we took back those standards they'd taken at Bleak Meadow."

  "Well," grumbled Milo, "if lose a good senior officer I must, I'd far liefer he become a noble administrator for the Confederation than a useless corpse. I assume he was a good thoheeks?"

  "Those few who could recall our late father—his and mine—likened Speeros to him. They said that he was hard but unstintingly fair in his treatment of all. Before he died, even poor old Bili over there had forgiven Chief Speeros his treasonous maternal antecedents and begun to not only address him as cousin, but even have him up here on occasion for hunts and the like."

  "He wed and bred, then, did he?" inquired Milo. "You said earlier that one of his descendants is now chief."

  Tim nodded again. "Yes, one of his wives was a noblewoman of Getzburk, who had been a member of the entourage of his sister, the Princess Deeahna of Kuhmbuhluhn; another—he had three wives, two of whom survived him— was a girl of the Vrainyuhn Tribe, an Ahrmehnee relative of his predecessor, Chief Tahm; the third was a Kindred chit, daughter of a far-southwestern thoheeks, Chief Breht Kahrtuh of Kahrtuh—you know, Milo, the clan that breeds our war elephants."

  "One of the clans," answered Milo. "Clan Djohnz was the first clan in that pursuit; Kahrtuh and Steevuhnz came down there two or three generations later.. I know—I was with them."

  They talked on, and old Bili would have enjoyed joining in their discussions and reminiscences, but death was very near now, and he could no longer speak aloud easily. He might have used his powerful mindspeak abilities, had not the drugs fuzzed his mind in that direction. So, as the two low voices droned on, he let his mind sink into memories of far happier days of the distant past.

  Chapter One

  Little Djef Morguhn's dark-blue eyes first saw the wan light of Sacred Sun three weeks after the midwinter Sun Birth Festival. The infant was big, too big and big-boned for his mother's narrow pelvis to accommodate, so he was perforce delivered by means of Pah-Elmuh's Kleesahk surgery, when two days of unproductive agony had shown that a natural birthing must result in at least one and possibly two deaths.

  One of the narrow-hipped Moon Maidens had already died in her effort to give birth, and Lieutenant Kahndoot had remarked to Bili that this was one of the principal reasons the Maidens of the Moon Goddess had never increased their numbers any more than they had over the centuries—very difficult birthings resulting in the deaths of mothers, infants or both being not at all uncommon to their heritage.

  Bili wished that Rahksahnah had been so frank with him, much earlier,.when Pah-Elmuh might have easily aborted the babe with no danger to the mother, and he had bluntly said as much.

  The Moon Maiden officer, Kahndoot, had just shaken her head and smiled. "No, Dook Bili, our Rahksahnah would have considered that an act of cowardice. Besides, she has come to love you deeply and she longs to be the woman who bears the son who will one day succeed you. Being who she is and what she is, she fears not death, if her death be the price of her victory."

  Not that these frank words mollified or in any way brought Bili comfort during the two long days and nights of his woman's torture, while he paced and swore and tried to stop his ears to the moans and groans and strangled-off screams. Finally, after he had entered the prince-chamber by very brute force and seen for himself just how weak Rahksahnah was now become with strain and blood loss and unceasing pain, he had frantically mindcalled Pah-Elmuh.

  The midwives, who had so stubbornly resisted his, Bili's, entrance to the room, willingly and gladly surrendered this difficult birthing over to the renowned Kleesahk healer, for, were the truth known, they were frankly despairing. They all watched the huge humanoid's procedures with fascination. So, too, did Bili… and Rahksahnah.

  Bili was familiar with pain-easing drugs and with the esoteric hypnotism practiced in lieu of drug anesthesia by the black physicians of Zahrtohgah, but use of either of these methods left the patient bereft of consciousness or so near to it that it did not matter greatly. Yet, although still very weak, almost swooning with the long, protracted agonies and substantial losses of blood, Rahksahnah was clearly conscious, her tooth-torn lips trying to form a smile as she looked up at him and the hulking Kleesahks who were readying the instruments Pah-Elmuh would soon use.

  Sensing the concern of the young thoheeks, the senior Kleesahk chose to use his powerful mindspeak, beaming into Bili's mind a reassurance. "Lord Champion, my way is far better than those of which you think. Yes, I too know of many plants, infusions of various portions of which often serve to ease pain, but most of those plants also are poisonous in large doses, and enough of any of them to ease the pain of birthing would necessarily be very close to a fatal dosage, for the pain of birthing—even of an easy, normal birthing, which this is assuredly not—has few peers in agony of man or Kleesahk or beast.

  "However, after the Wise Old Eyeless One taught my father the ways in which he could use his mind to help other beings to heal themselves, my father discovered that both the human and the Teendhdjook brains, if properly stimulated, can cause the release into the body of certain natural substances which are better at blocking out awareness of pain than even the strongest plant infusions I would dare to use.

  "My father passed this arcane knowledge on to me before he died, and you have seen me use it to relieve the sufferings of wounded folk and beasts since the very first day we two met. This is the same art I have just practiced upon your battle companion Rahksahnah. Like the poor female who died before I could be summoned, Rahksahnah's body is ill suited for easy childbirthing. Her hips are as narrow as a male's, and the opening in her pelvis is too small."

  Bili gritted his teeth and beamed his grim question on a restricted, personal level, lest Rahksahnah—also a mind-speaker—overhear. "Then what will you do, Master Elmuh? Slay the babe and remove the body in manageable pieces? If such must be, it must be, for her life is dear to me and this world abounds with broad-hipped human brood stock on whom I can get babes aplenty."

  Pah-Elmuh smiled, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth as large as those of a warhorse, though shaped and arranged much like those of a human. He beamed. "Be not so pessimistic, Lord Champion. I have the knowledge and the skill to save both. I shall open the womb and remove the babe, then close up the body again; I have done such before."

  Bili frowned. "But it is very dangerous, is it not? I have heard of such a thing being done, though only rarely, in the lands to the east, whence I came. Often the babe lives, true, but the woman usually dies, soon or late."

  Pah-Elmuh smiled again, admonishing, "Lord Champion, all living things must die, soon or late. But both Rahksahnah and this babe will live. Those of whom you speak, those men of the east, have not a way to bid the patient's body to mend itself of the effects of their surgery, while I do. That it is that removes the deadly danger, here. Watch—you will see."

  And Bili watched, and Rahksahnah watched and the cluster of wise women and midwives all watched the seemingly impossible nimbleness of the Kleesahk's thick, black-nailed, eight-inch fingers. Long, sure strokes of his bronze knives opened one layer after another of skin and flesh and hard, dense muscles to finally expose the near-bursting uterus. But the most amazing thing to all of the human watchers was the almost total lack of blood flow from the incisions.

  Bili beamed a question at Pah-Elmuh but was answered just as silently by the surgeon's Kleesahk assistant. "Your pardon, Lord Champion, but Pah-Elmuh's mind is as busy as are his hands, just now. Indeed, his mind it is that is preventing the fema
le's body from bleeding, for he feels that she already has lost more blood than is good for her."

  When once the uterus was opened, the babe lay exposed, though enclosed in a sack of tissue. Pah-Elmuh carefully lifted it out, sack and all, severed the umbilicus, then waited while his assistant tied off the cord near to the babe with a short length of strong thread.

  When the Kleesahk had stripped off the tissue sac, the midwives and wise women all exclaimed at the size and fair shape of the boy babe and waited for the huge humanoid to impart the slap that would shock the infant into breathing in his first breath of air.

  But Pah-Elmuh did no such thing; rather he simply regarded the tiny morsel of human flesh resting upon his broad, hairy hand, while his mind instructed the mind of the babe. Drawing in a deep, deep breath, little Djef Morguhn roared out his rage and indignation. Then the Kleesahk gave this newest member of the squadron of Bili, Chief of Morguhn, to the waiting women, while his huge hands went about the task of closing the deep incision in Rahksahnah's body, that incision still having bled no more than a few drops.

  On Djef Morguhn's eighth day of life, Prince Byruhn rode in from the north, with two of his noblemen and a dozen dragoons. All without exception were bundled to the very ears in furs and woolens against the frigid weather, both the men and their mounts showing the effects of their long, hard journey through the deep snows from King's Rest Mountain. Nor, Bili, was quick to note, was that all, for both the prince and the tall, slender nobleman showed new scars, while the short, broad and powerful-looking nobleman walked with a decided limp to which he was clearly not yet accustomed.

  While the dragoons proceeded on to the ancient tower keep and Count Steev's servants bore in the baggage of the noble guests and the prince, those three huddled dangerously close to the blazing hearth, sipping at large containers of hot brandied cider, while clouds of steam rose up from their sodden woolens and ice-crusted furs.