Revenge of the Horseclans Read online

  "Precious few of the Ehleen nobility are of pure blood, and all of the other nobles are related to you; so, too, are many of the common people, to a greater or lesser degree. To your Kindred, noble or common, you will be their hereditary chief, not their overlord."

  "The true ruler of the duchy, the actual overlord, is the Duchy Council, and although the Chief is its titular head, his voice is but one of fifteen. You . . ." she began, then queried, "The Council, Bili, the Thirds and the reason for their being, what do you recall of them?"

  Closing his dark blue eyes, the young man thought deeply for a moment, then took a deep breath. "The Thirds are equals in Council. The first Third is the Thoheeks Chief, the Tahneest, the Clan Bard, and the two wisest of the Kindred; the second Third is five noble Ehleenoee; the last Third is five free citizens, Kindred or Ehleen."

  "When was the Council established, Bili?" Mother Mahrnee prodded. "And why? And by whose decree?"

  Eyes still closed in concentration, he answered, "When first Karaleenos was conquered by the Confederation, the Undying High Lord did order that the Kindred on whom lands and cities were conferred were not to rule alone, but rather in partnership with the Karaleenee nobles and their people. In this way were rebellions prevented."

  Both women smiled and Mother Behrnees declared, "Very good, Bili, almost word-for-word. You've a good memory, and that is well. The Council's regular Moon-meeting is next week and you must, in the Morguhn's absence, sit for him. Remember all that we shall now tell you, for much hinges upon your conduct at that time, not the least of which is the full acceptance of you by the Thirds."

  "Now your full uncle, whose name you bear, has always favored you. So much does the Tahneest love you, that I think should you pull out his beard, rape his wife, and raze his hall, you still could depend upon his immediate acceptance of you as the next chief."

  Mother Behrnees ticked off another finger. "Cousin Djeen Morguhn is, as you know, a retired Strahteegos, as well as your father's old commander and comrade when they served as Freefighters in the Middle Kingdoms. You won his acceptance last year, when news reached us of your having slain the Earl of Behreesburk in single combat and thus winning your Bear." Another finger. "Spiros Morguhn has long despised your father for his sedentary, scholarly ways. Talk warfare and weapons and hunting with him and he soon will be your sworn liegeman."

  Her last finger curled downward. "The same holds true for Clan Bard Hail Morguhn. So simply be what you are, Bili, and the first Third is yours."

  She opened her small fist and again ticked off the first finger. "Of the Ehleenoee nobles, Komees Hari and his brother, Drehkos, are your father's third cousins; further, the Komees's first wife, now deceased, was your father's sister. We think that both men can be counted upon to approve your succession, but to be sure, hmmm . . ." She steepled her fingers and regarded Bili closely. "The way your stallion follows you around, you've obviously not lost your touch with horses, so that could be the way. What think you, sister?"

  "Yes," agreed Mother Mahrnee, nodding. "The horses of Komees Hari are aptly reputed to be among the best in all the Confederation and he is justly proud of them. Immediately we finish here, ride you over to his hall and introduce yourself. He has not seen you in more than ten years and I doubt he would see the boy you were in the man you are."

  "Talk horses and keep your hands off his daughters. Ask to see his herd and to meet his king stallion. Brag of your warhorse some, then mention your desire to purchase a trained hunter. You'll have a bag of gold; of course, he'll refuse to accept it, but the form must be observed."

  "After that, my son, it is up to you and your training and your judgment. If you blunder and choose a bad horse . . ." She made a wry face and shrugged meaningfully. "If Hari approves you, Drehkos will usually follow his lead; it is as simple as that."

  "The Vahrohnos Myros of Kehnooryos Deskati will hate you, no matter what you do or say! He will hate you for three reasons, Bili: primarily, because you bear the Morguhn surname; secondly, because you do not look your Ehleen blood; thirdly, because, although you are a handsome man and will no doubt set his parts to itching, you outrank him and so he can neither buy you nor force you into buggery. Be formally polite to the swine, nothing more. And should he dare to offer you open offense, run your steel through his body a few times, and fear no blood price. There would be none to demand one anyway, for he hates all things female and so has never wed, and he has outlived all his relatives."

  "Myros and Vahrohneeskos Stefahnos, who also sits on the second Third—"

  "—are both insane!" interrupted Mother Behrnees. "As is that sly, sleek priest and all the poor, common fools they've beguiled into believing their fantasies! If you can believe it, Bili, those two and that black-robed ass have all but stirred up a rebellion in this duchy!"

  "Between the agents of Myros and Stefahnos and the priests of that cursed Kooreeos, the heads of many—too many—of the Dirtmen and city commoners have been filled with lovely dreams. Those dreams go something like this: the Kindred's farms and Halls and pasturelands, their womenfolk and horses and cattle and their riches are to be evenly divided between all the poor, deserving Dirtmen and urban ne'er-do-wells, which will bring about no work, no want, and idle luxury for all."

  Bili could take no more in silence. "Dung and more dung! Without work, there can be nought save want. Idle luxury be damned, most nobles labor far harder than any Dirtman or mechanic or tradesman. Why, were it not for . . ."

  Mother Mahrnee raised her hand. "Hold, Bili. You know the truth and I know the truth, Myros and Stefahnos and the Kooreeos and his damned priests know it. But their dupes do not. The common folks seldom see their betters at work, but only the proceeds of that work, they . . ."

  Mother Behrnees clanged her empty cup upon the table. "We waste time, sister, and we've damned little of it to waste. Bili knows that the commoners are misled and stupid to swallow such a tale. He can delve into the matter later if he likes, after the Moon-meeting is done."

  "For the last Third, son, suffice it to say that there is but one man on whom you can depend. Feelos Pooleeos is now a merchant, but for twenty years he was a soldier in the High Lord's army, rising as high as lohkeeas ere he was done. His loyalty is only to the Confederation, not to the Kindred or to your father. But because the Thoheeks represents the established order, while Myros and his scum represent only chaos and anarchy, he will back us and you."

  She stared for a long moment at her remaining four fingers, then grimaced and wiped them forcefully upon her skirt, as if she had touched some foulness.

  "The rest are all Myros's creatures. Paulos, Guildmaster of the ironsmiths, is your father's half-brother—one of your grandsire's multitudinous bastards—and Myros has promised him all to which the misbegotten pig aspires: Morguhn Hall, your father to torture to death, you and your brothers as gelded slaves, my sister and me for concubines and so on."

  "Kooreeos Skiros would be a bishop and see his superstitions paramount in the duchy. We assume Myros has assured him that such would be the case under his overlordship, so a prating pissant supports a pernicious pervert."

  "Nathos Ehvrehos, the goldsmith, has extended so much credit to Myros that he can now do nothing save support him, no matter how wild his schemes."

  "Djaimos, who stands for the carters and other lesser types, is both a hopeless romantic and a foaming fanatic. He speaks nothing in public save Old Ehleeneekos, goes about in clothing no sane man has worn in a hundred years, and comes near to starving his poor family because he refuses to do business with any of the Kindred or those who do business with them."

  As Mother Mahrnee refilled her wine cup, Bili asked, "But, my Lady Mothers, you have given me the names of but four of the second Third. Should there not be another?"

  "Why, how careless of me." Mother Behrnees slapped palm to forehead, with laughter in her eyes. "How could I have forgotten Andee?" After a sly grin at her sister, she addressed herself to Bili.

  "Properly, h
e is Vahrohnos Ahndros of Theftehrospolis and he is a Kath'ahrohs, pure Ehleen. Though Ehleen by blood, he identifies with the Kindred and prefers the Mehreekuhn name 'Andee.' Then for ten years he was an officer in the Army of the Confederation. Rising from sub-lieutenant to company captain in just under eight years, he was chosen for a year of special training at the Staff College in Kehnooryos Atheenahs, after which he served a year on the military staff of the High Lord himself. He returned last year just in time to thwart a move by Myros and his clique to legally swindle him out of his patrimony in favor of Andee's cousin, Hahrteeos Toorkos. All this would tend to place him in our camp. But there is another and a better reason we may be certain of his support."

  She smiled and directed a devilish glance at her sister. "Andee swoons for love of Mother Mahrnee, Bili! He crowds the roads with hordes of messengers and writes reams of incredibly bad poetry, while the cellars of our hall bulge with his gifts of wines and cordials and spiced meats and sugared fruits. Did my sister respond to calf eyes and passionate words, their love-sweat would long since have mingled."

  Mother Mahrnee laughed. "And do you know it has not already, sister mine?"

  The women's eyes met briefly, then the laughter of Mother Behrnees trilled in harmony with Mother Mahrnee's.

  "And so, Bili," Mother Mahrnee said at length, "you know that you may be sure of Andee. He is a fine man and closer to your age than any of the others, and I'm . . . well, please tell him that I think of him . . . often."

  2

  Though not so large as Morguhn Hall, Horse Hall was constructed along the same lines, a mode of building which had originated a hundred years before, when raids by western barbarians were still commonplace. Entering a heavy, iron-studded gate, Bili rode through a dark and narrow passage into a paved courtyard, where a central fountain plashed into a circular stone trough, and a nanny goat and her half grown kid drank.

  A bowing, smiling servant approached as Bili dismounted, and led Mahvros into the long, two-story building which, pierced by the entry passage, made up the entire front of the hall complex. This building's outer wall was thick and windowless, save for narrow bowman's slits on the upper level. Standing twenty feet from ground to flat topped roof, with square towers rising an additional fifteen feet at each corner and in the center, the front and sides were surmounted by four-foot stone merlons alternating with two-foot-wide crenels.

  The walls which connected this structure to the main building were some two feet thick and about fifteen feet high. The walls were also crenellated; a firestep, five feet wide and twelve feet up, ran their length and covered steps connected it with the rooftop fortifications at either end. The colonnades formed by the walks and their supporting columns were the scene of a bustle of activity. An ironsmith and his helpers industriously clanged away near the door through which Mahvros had been led. Opposite him, servant women laughed and chattered, while washing clothing in immense wooden tubs of steaming water. Beyond the women, a gnome-like old man, with a long needle and a leather palm-guard, stitched decorations to a dress saddle and half listened to a traveling bard, who was devoting equal concentration to the tuning of his instrument and to the recitation of lewd stories which he had to almost shout. Nearer to the manor, a man who looked fat enough to be a cook lounged in a cellar doorway supervising a trio of near-naked boys, who were splitting firewood with a rhythmic chunk-chunking of axes.

  At the foot of the wide stairway which led to the main doors, Bill was met by a pudgy, hand-wringingly servile, bowing man whose black hair and eyes and olive countenance attested him either pure Ehleen or close to it. The upper servant, for such his dress proclaimed him to be, straightened from his last and deepest bow and said, "Greet the Sacred Sun, my master. Wind has borne you well and truly. I am called Hofos and have the honor to be majordomo of the Hall of the Illustrious Komees Hari of Daiviz. Whom shall Hofos announce to his master, noble sir?"

  Bill said stiffly, "Before I see your master, I would like to wash my face. Also please send someone to dust my clothing. You may announce Bili, eldest son of Thoheeks Hwahruhn, Morguhn of Morguhn."

  At that, Hofos bowed so far that Bili was sure the man's forehead must soon bump against the flagstones. "Oh, Master of my master, Hofos is humiliated that he failed to recognize the redoubtable Thoheeks' son. Hofos begs, he pleads, he most humbly beseeches forgiveness, he . . ."

  Bili waved a hand impatiently. He had run into this kind of servant before, and knew Hofos for what he certainly was: dishonest, unscrupulous, and backbiting to his betters, a vicious petty tyrant to his inferiors. Such a servant would never remain long in his employ, he had often vowed, for their unrelenting self-abasement usually concealed an unrelenting hatred of their betters.

  "Dammit, man, how could you recognize me, since I've been in Harzburk for ten years? I'll forgive you. Sun and Wind, I'll forgive you nearly anything, if you'll just get on with it!"

  Hofos bowed Bili into the hall's foyer and conducted him to a sumptuously appointed bathing room, where the majordomo issued a barrage of supercilious orders to a trio of bath servants, then backed out, bowing, and scurried off.

  Shortly, the carven ork-heads above the sunken tub commenced to spout. When the tub was filled and Bili had been expertly divested of sword belt, boots, and clothing, the two girls and the man saw him safely into the steaming water. While he floated on his back, relaxing in the herb-scented bathwater, the serving man departed with Bili's boots and belt and weapons, while the older girl left with his clothing.

  After a few minutes, the younger serving girl shed her sandals and her single garment and joined him in the tub. While she laved him from head to foot, he smilingly recalled the first time he had been so attended since his return two weeks agone.

  In the northern lands, no more than one full bath per week was the norm among the nobility, though one usually sponged the dust from face and hands after a ride. If anyone at all attended a nobleman's ablutions, it would certainly be a manservant or arming lad. So when he had first commenced a bath at Morguhn Hall and a pretty, sloe-eyed bathgirl, nude and smiling, had slipped into the water with him, he had reacted as would any Middle Kingdoms noble.

  Since that time, Eeoonees had warmed his couch on a dozen nights, and his frequent conversations with her had elicited a plethora of forgotten or half-recalled facts about the distinctly different commoner-noble relationship in the Confederation. Among these nuggets of information was the fact that normally bathgirls were just what their title implied, not concubines.

  By the time Komees Hari's bathgirl had finished drying his body, the other two attendants had returned with his well-brushed clothing, gleaming leather gear, and freshly polished brass fittings. A cursory glance into his belt purse assured him that the seal on the bag of gold remained unbroken, whereupon he pressed a silver half-thrahkmeh upon each of the three servants—which was far too much, as he knew, but these were the smallest coins his mothers had provided him.

  At the doorway of the hall's main room, Hofos stood to one side and bellowed, "Sun and Wind are kind. Now comes the Illustrious Bili, eldest son of our exalted lord, Hwahruhn, Thoheeks and Morguhn of Morguhn!"

  Near the center of the high-ceilinged chamber, beyond the circular fire-pit, an elderly and plainly garbed man slouched against the high table. But, when Bili entered, the old man left his place and strode to meet him with a slightly rolling pace which bespoke the fact that much of his life must have been spent ahorse. Bili assumed that this was Komees Hari.

  The old nobleman's hair was yellow-white, his face was lined, and liver spots blotched his big, square hands and thick forearms; otherwise, he bore his fifty-six years admirably. For he was not stooped, though at five-and-a-half feet he was some six inches shorter than Bili, and his brown eyes glittered with intelligence. His grip on his visitor's hand was firm.

  Until Bili actually succeeded to the duchy, he and the Komees were equals in rank and his friendly voice was deep and rolling.

  "It's as well
that Hofos announced you, Bili, for I'd never have known you otherwise. You are most welcome in my hall. But . . . how fares Hwahruhn, lad?"

  Bili shook his head and repeated all that his mothers had been told by Master Ahlee.

  His host sighed. "Sacred Sun grant that when I go to Wind, it be a quick death, for if I could not ride among my herds . . . But it may not be so hard on Hwahruhn, for he has done little save read for near twenty years." He sighed again, then draped a long arm about Bili's shoulders.

  Smiling, he said, "Come to my office, lad, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

  No introduction was needed to recognize the waiting stranger's kinship to the Komees. Except for fewer lines in the face, black eyes and black hair shot with gray, he might have been Lord Hari's twin. Nor would Bili have been hard-put to name the man's profession, for the calluses on his bluish cheeks and the bridge of his big nose, as well as the permanent dent across the forehead, could only have been caused by a helmet. White against the browned skin, cicatrices of old wounds crosshatched each other on every visible part of his burly body. As he came toward them, he favored his right leg, the thigh of which showed, below his short leather trousers, the purple pink puckering of a still-healing injury.

  His handgrip was as firm as that of the Komees and he precluded a formal introduction by announcing, "Now, it's a real pleasure to meet you, young sir. I am Vaskos Daiviz, natural son of the Komees. Despite the wastage of much of my life in dissipation and varied misconduct, my father still allows me his name." His disarming grin showed big, yellow teeth.

  Komees Hari chuckled, but when he spoke a fierce pride suffused his voice. "I can think of no living man, Bili, who would not be honored to name Vaskos here his son! When he was fifteen, he enlisted as a spearman in the Army of the Confederation. Now he is a Keeleechstos and a weapons master, as well. To attest to his skill and valor, he holds the Order of the Golden Cat! And, when he returns to Kehnooryos Atheenahs from this convalescent leave, he is to be appointed a Sub-strahteegos. Could any man own a finer son?"