Revenge of the Horseclans

  Revenge of the

  Horseclans

  The Horseclans

  Book III

  Robert Adams

  Content

  Dedication

  Ancient Warsong of Clan Morguhn

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  About The Author

  Dedication

  For Dr. Isaac Asimov, whose prodigious talents and proclivities are so widely renowned; for Cherry and Jack Weiner; for Susan Schwartz and the Koala Bear; for John Estren and Tom Anderson; for two of the finest young ladies in fandom, Claire Eddy and Sally Ann Steg.

  Ancient Warsong of

  Clan Morguhn

  Oh, sing me of Morguhn, the brave, true, and strong. Yes, sing me of Morguhn and let the song be long. Sing of the Red Eagle that leads on to fame. Sing of the mighty Morguhns, by deed and by name. A Morguhn, A Morguhn, A Morguhn, the shout, While sharp Morguhn steel, every foeman does rout. Oh, lead on, Red Eagle, to glory or to Wind, As you led those doughty Morguhns, from whom we descend.

  Prologue

  No matter how carefully Sir Bili Morguhn rearranged his hooded cloak, the cold, driving rain continued to find a sure path into his already sodden brigandine. Wearily, he leaned forward as his plodding gelding commenced to ascend yet another hill, and the movement started his nose to dripping again. Bili resignedly employed gauntleted fingers to blow some of the drip from his reddened nostrils, then vainly searched his person for a dry bit of cloth with which to wipe them. Leaning back against the high cantle as the gelding gingerly negotiated the mud-slick downgrade of the Traderoad, he thought that he could feel his every joint creak in harmony with his saddle. A reverie of the broad, sun-dappled meadows of his patrimonial estates flitted through his mind.

  The wet hide of his stallion's massive barrel came to rest against his booted leg and the warhorse mindspoke him, "Mahvros, too, thinks of the land loved by Sun and Wind, and he wishes now but a single roll in soft, dry grass. Is it many more days of wet and cold until we be there?"

  Bili sighed in sympathy. "It's considered to be a two-week journey by the traders," he answered telepathically. "But I hope to make it in ten days . . . less, if possible, despite this abominable weather. That's why I bought the geldings and the mule; you're too good a friend to risk foundering."

  While speaking he reached over and patted the muscle-corded withers, then ran his hand up to the crest and gently kneaded the thick neck. Could the big black have purred, he would have then. As it was, he beamed a wordless reaffirmation of his lifelong love for and devotion to Bili. Between the two minds, human and equine, flowed a depthless stream of mutual respect and trust and friendship.

  The gelding raised his drooping head briefly and snorted. In his turn, Mahvros arched his neck and snorted in reply. The gelding, eyes rolling, shied from the stallion's threat, stumbled in the rock-studded mud, and all but fell. Only Bili's superb horsemanship kept him in his seat and the gelding on his feet. He was about to chide Mahvros, who knew that the newly acquired animals were terrified of him, when the warhorse again mindspoke.

  "Best to sit me, now, Brother. Stallions ahead, and mares and sexless ones and many mules. Their riders fight." There were eager undertones in the big horse's mindspeak, for he loved a fight.

  A bare week ago, Bili might have been every bit as eager, but now, with his need to speedily complete his journey pressing upon him, he could see only the delay which a skirmish might entail. Nonetheless, he reined the gelding onto the shoulder where the mud was not so deep, then dismounted, tethered the two hacks and the mule, and mounted the monstrous black stallion.

  Once in the familiar war kak, he removed the cloak and draped it over the mule's packsaddle, then unslung his small, heavyweight target and strapped it on his left arm. While Mahvros quivered with joyful anticipation, Bili uncased his huge axe and tightened its thong on his right wrist. Lastly, he slid into place his helm's nasal and snapped down the cheekpieces.

  "All right, Brother," he mindspoke the stamping stallion. "Let us see what lies ahead . . . but quietly, mind you! And charge only if I so command."

  For all his bulk, Mahvros was capable of moving silently as a cat. But even a cat would have found creeping difficult on the mud-sucking road, so Bili put his mount to the wooded slope which flanked it. At the crest he was glad he had exercised elementary caution, for where the road curved around the hill sat two horsemen with bared blades.

  Just below his hilltop position, a hot little fight was in progress round about a stonewalled travelers' spring and six huge traderwagons. The attackers were obviously brigands rather than troopers, such that had become all too common along the lonelier stretches of the traderoads, since King Gilbuht had stripped away the bulk of the usual patrols to augment his cavalry in the current war.

  The defenders, fighting heavy odds, included a few Freefighters—Rahdzburkers, from the look of them and a few more hastily armed merchants, ebon-skinned men garbed in the style of the Kahleefait of Zahrtohgah. That the tiny force were no mean warriors was attested by the dozen or so still or twitching brigands who were scattered about the ground before them. Even as he watched, a helmeted merchant fitted a broad-bladed dart to a throwing stick and sent a hefty robber crashing into the mud, thick fingers clawing at the steel sunk deep in his chest. But in the same time, a Freefighter and two merchants were hacked to earth. The defenders were fighting a lost battle; the odds were just too heavy to allow of aught but defeat and death for the doughty little band. Unless . . .

  Bili's thoughts raced. Not all the normal patrols were gone from this part of the Kingdom of Harzburk, but they no longer rode on any sort of schedule, for they had too much ground to cover with too few men. Therefore, these bandits were taking a considerable risk to attack a merchant train in broad daylight; that must be the reason for the road guards below the hill.

  Grinning with the seed of a chancy plan, he backed Mahvros a little way back into the woods, then lifted to his lips his silver mounted bullshorn. Filling his lungs, he sounded the familiar call, then again and a third time.

  Hefting his axe, he next gave Mahvros the signal to charge, adding, "Make much noise, Brother, as much as a half troop of dragoons!"

  Then it was over the crest and out of the woods and barreling down the steep slope toward the raging battle. The stallion's hooves were a bass thunder through the swirling ground mist.

  Raising his heavy axe and whirling it over his head, Bili shouted, "UP, UP HARZBURK! UP HARZBURK! FIRST SQUAD LEFT! FOURTH SQUAD RIGHT! ARCHERS TO THE FLANKS! UP HARZBURK!"

  From below came a confused babble of shouts, then one cracked tenor rang above the rest, ". . . git t'hell outa here! That there's Sir Hinree's Troop, I reca'nize his black horse!"

  Then Bili found himself among a milling cluster of brigands. A shaggy pony went down, bowled over by Mahvros's impetus, and the savage warhorse went at the downed animal and man with teeth and hooves. Bili laid about him with the double-bitted axe, parrying swords on its steel shaft and emptying saddle after saddle. All at once, there were no riders before him, only a couple of groaning, dying bandits on the ground.

  The opaque mist which had so far been but patches had thickened and coalesced since he had launched his reckless charge. He almost axed an unmounted man who appeared on his right, before he recognized the armor and gear of a Rahdzburker Freefighter. The stranger stopped long enough to dispatch a wounded brigand, then limped smiling up to Bili.

  "I never thought I'd be glad to hear the Harzburker warcry, my lord, not after Behree
sburk; but by the Sacred Sword, you and your troop could not have been better come! But . . ." He glanced about him bewilderedly, ". . . where is your troop, sir?"

  Showing every tooth, Bili chuckled, "You're looking at it, Freefighter. I be no patrol, only a traveler like your employer."

  1

  Aside from rare border raids, there had been no real warfare within the boundaries of Bili Morguhn's homeland for nigh a hundred years, though its armies and fleets were seldom idle. Many hostile peoples pressed upon its borders and the sea-lanes required constant patrolling. The Confederation, toward which he rode in such haste, was the largest principality in all the known lands. Despite the Traderoads, which were much better maintained there than in other lands, months were necessary for traders to travel from one end of the Confederation to the other. Even messengers of the High Lord, who sometimes covered a hundred miles in a day, could not go from end to end in much under fifteen days.

  As a consequence, news was always late, and life moved slowly and unhurriedly away from the capital of the Confederation or the port cities or the archducal capitals. The Duchy of Morguhn was no exception; the peace and ordered tranquility well suited the father of Bili and his eight brothers, giving him the time needed to devote himself exclusively to his lands and his books.

  Prior to the death of Bili's grandfather, Hwahruhn Morguhn had soldiered up and down the Middle Kingdoms with a troop of Kindred noblemen under the command of his kinsman, Djeen Morguhn. Djeen who had gone on to rise swiftly to the rank of Strahteegos in the Army of the Confederation and Hwahruhn had both distinguished themselves at the siege of Kooleezburk. After its conclusion, Hwahruhn had wed the daughters of the victor, Duke Tchahrlz of Zunburk, sending his new brides south to dwell with his father, while Djeen marched the troop off on a new campaign.

  As the two lovely girls and their escort wended their way through Kehnooryos Ehlahs, capital province of the Confederation, a band of Morguhn men spurred tired horses northward, to bear word to Hwahruhn of his father's death.

  Confirmed Thoheeks and Chief Morguhn of Morguhn, Hwahruhn had settled down with his young brides—Mahrnee, fourteen, and Behrnees, fifteen—to commence the siring of legitimate sons to succeed him. It had been a very late marriage; Hwahruhn was over thirty-five years of age.

  Within the next six years his blond wives presented him with eleven sons. The fact that nine of these sons still lived at the time of Bili's ride was considered amazing. For despite the best efforts of the High Lord to improve the sanitation of cities and towns, despite his importation of skilled physicians from the Black Kingdoms, despite his establishment of a school in the capital to train Ehleenoee physicians in more advanced and antiseptic techniques, disease still ran high in the Confederation, taking off the young and the old.

  In most provinces, few Kindred nobles descendants of the Horseclansmen who had received lands from the Undying High Lord dwelt in the unhealthy environs of their cities, preferring instead their halls amid their ranches and farms. So it was in spacious, sunny Morguhn Hall that Bili was born and it was there that he remained throughout his first eight years of life.

  He never needed to be taught to mindspeak, communicating thus long ere he learned vocal communication; nor was it needful to teach him to ride. His uncles and mothers were mightily pleased at these innate abilities, as was too his father in his quiet way.

  By the time the lad was eight, his father had granted grudging permission that his heir be given to the care of his mothers' cousin, Gilbuht, King of Harzburk, for education, war-training, and gentlemanly polish. Those years of residence at the Iron King's blood-spattered court riddled with intrigues which kept the Royal torturers and executioners busy and service with the standing army of tough, practical younger sons and mercenaries molded the gangling, big boned boy into the broad-shouldered, steel-thewed man Bili had become by his sixteenth year. Most of his mentors, noble and Freefighter alike, could be cruel, rapacious, and frighteningly cold-blooded toward their foes; but they were generally honest in dealing with their comrades and strictly honorable within their code.

  Three months prior to Bili's eighteenth summer, his father was struck down by a sudden paralysis, and his mothers sent word for him to return, indicating that speed was essential, since his father might not live long. King Gilbuht freely offered him a strong escort, but knowing that a troop would slow him, he elected to ride alone.

  Despite rain, sleet, mud, the brief skirmish, and other assorted difficulties, Bili, Mahvros and the mule arrived at Morguhn Hall but nine days after they had departed King Gilbuht's capital. Only his mothers recognized the tall, hard, weather-darkened warrior who, stubble-faced and travel-stained, strode stiff-leggedly out of the night and into the hall.

  But Hwahruhn clung to life and, hearing of his illness, the Ahrkeethoheeks Petros sent a master physician to tend him. Under the skillful care of Master Ahlee and his apprentice, the Thoheeks made a slow but halting improvement. As the planting season passed, he regained limited use of his left arm and some sensation in his left leg and side, but his mindspeak was gone and he could speak aloud only haltingly.

  Master Ahlee, the Ahrkeethoheeks' physician, was candid with the lady wives of his patient. "At all costs, your husband must remain free from any strain or tension, mental or physical, else he be struck by another paralysis and death certainly ensue. As he is now, it is probable that he never will walk again, and his life hangs by a thread. Naturally, I will stay with him so long as his danger remains grave."

  Bili had been two weeks in the duchy, ere he was allowed to see his father for even a few minutes. Dutifully—for the old Thoheeks' rank alone deserved deference—the young man knelt by the couch and took his sire's soft, pudgy hand between his own hard ones, speaking in the hushed tones one uses to the gravely ill. "My Lord Father, can you hear me?"

  Both the stricken man's lids twitched, but only the left one opened. Mumbling broken phrases from the left side of his mouth, he asked, "Who is . . . ? Mahrnee? Who is . . . man?"

  Mother Mahrnee knelt beside Bili where Hwahruhn could see her, while Mother Behrnees gently opened the lid of his right eye. Placing her firm, freckled arm on the son's shoulders, Mahrnee said, "This is Bili, Hwahruhn. This is your oldest son, husband mine. Do you not remember Bili?"

  After kissing his hand, Bili laid it back on the coverlet, saying stiffly, formally, "My Lord Father, I grieve to see you ill." Then he bowed his head, indicating homage, the morning sunlight glinting from his freshly shaven scalp.

  Feather-light, trembling fingers brushed his head, then wandered down over cheeks callused by his helmet's face guards. Finding his scarred chin, they tugged weakly and Bili raised his face.

  "Bili . . . ?" His father mumbled chokedly. "Bili, my . . . poor little lad . . . what have . . . they done . . . to you?" Then his brimming black eyes spilled over and tears coursed down his pale cheeks.

  The white-robed physician signed them to leave the room, and Bili was much relieved to do so. For tutored as he had been, he considered open display of emotion unmanly and was acutely embarrassed by and for his father.

  Afterward, the three sat about the wine table in the sisters' sitting room. Mother Behrnees laid her slender fingers on Bili's arm. "Son, do not judge your father by the standards of Harzburk, for the court of cousin Gilbuht is far from Morguhn in many ways. Here, life is different, slower and softer, like the speech. Though I doubt me Hwahruhn has lifted a sword in fifteen years, still is he worthy of your love and respect. For judged by the standards of his realm, he is no less manly than are you."

  "Your father's Kindred love and respect him, feel him to be good and just and merciful. Until he is more fully recovered of his illness, if ever he is, you will necessarily rule here in his stead. You could do far worse than to emulate those qualities his people so admire."

  After blotting watered wine from her pink lips, Mother Mahrnee spoke. "Son, since your return, Behrnees and I have painfully pondered the wisdom of sending you and your
brothers—but especially you, the chief and Thoheeks-to-be—for so long a sojourn in the land of our birth. True, those years made of you a full man and warrior. Our hearts were swelled with pride when first we saw you, as you are now so like to the father and brothers we love and remember."

  "But as Mother Behrnees just said, this is not Harzburk, and the ways of the Iron Palace are not those of Morguhn Hall. You are certainly aware that King Gilbuht is but the second of his House to rule Harzburk. The grandsire of Gilbuht's grandsire was born heir to only the County of Getzburk, but he died an archduke, having conquered the County of Yorkburk, the Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk, and the Mark of Tuhseezburk. Archduke Mahrtuhn, Gilbuht's father, secretly financed by the Undying High Lord Milo, hired enough swords to conquer the Kingdom of Harzburk, slay most of the House of Blawmuh, and settle himself upon the Iron Throne."

  "Consequently, Gilbuht's capital is an armed camp and he rules harshly, hating his subjects as fully as they hate him. Had old Mahrtuhn been so stupid as to leave any of the Blawmuhs alive, the rebellions would be more frequent and more stubborn than they presently are."

  "So Gilbuht considers his most unwilling subjects cattle and constantly milks them of the monies necessary to pay the troops he must maintain if he is to retain his lands and life."

  She paused to sip from her wine cup. Then with a rippling of ash-blond tresses, she slowly shook her head. "No, despite his wealth and his power, we would be fools to envy Cousin Gilbuht. Nor would we two trade places with him."

  Mother Behrnees nodded her agreement. The sisters agreed on most things; so many things, in fact, that they might almost have been one mind in two beautiful bodies.

  "That is why we are now sorry that we badgered your father into sending you, his heir, to Harzburk. For the Kindred of Morguhn will never tolerate the despotism you have seen practiced, nor do most of your people deserve such ill treatment. Yours are not a recently conquered people, son. Through the Ehleenoee line—and do not ever forget, your father and your uncle, the Tahneest are a full three-quarters Ehleen—your forefathers have ruled these lands from time immemorial, and even the Kindred of Morguhn have occupied their station for over a hundred years."