The Patrimony Page 8

  “And I you, my sister.” Thinking him sleeping, her thought had been unshielded and then, suddenly, Tim’s mind was there within hers, but not as intruder … never as intruder.

  “You have changed, Giliahna. The body I cherished in my memory those ten long years was that of a slender, tender, nubile young girl.”

  “Oh, Tim, Tim …” She pictured herself as she was reflected in the long mirror of her robing room — the flat muscles of shoulders, arms and legs well developed from years of riding, hunting, archery and, more recently, from fierce bouts of mock swordplay with her princely stepson, Gy; the flare of her hips beneath the narrowness of her waist, the waist, itself, made to seem smaller than truth by the flared hips and by the breasts above; no, her breasts were most certainly no longer those of a young girl, being full and firm and proudly out-thrusting, the dark-blue lines of veins meandering under the fair skin, the nipples small but prominent in their shade of fiery red-pink. “Do I? Does this body of mine, then, so displease you?”

  His warm, sweet mind embraced her more fully than mere arms ever could. “Displease me, my sister? How ever could you displease me, you, who are a part of me? Ten years have passed and I am a man; for nine of those years — until word reached me of the death of the prince, your husband — I thought you lost to me forever, thought that I must then live out the rest of my years in the knowledge that the most important part of me was missing. Yes, I took other maids and women, even kept and maintained several for varying lengths of time, for I am a man with hungers that mere soul-sickness cannot erase.”

  Her mindspeak was gentle, hesitant. “Did you … love any of these, your women, Tim?”

  “I suppose that I did … in a way. At least, I felt some emotion for a few, some attachment that I thought was love. But I never did, nor could I ever, feel for another as for you. As mere children, we forged together a truly singular relationship. It has passed through fires of hate and fires of war and been bathed in oceans of tears — yours, mine, and poor, used, victimized father’s — but still its temper rings true.”

  *

  A day’s ride to the east, in Morguhn Hall, Ahrkeethoheeks Bili lay, fully clothed, upon his big, wide bed. His eyes were closed, but his unusual, highly trained and disciplined mental faculties were fully awake … and in contact with another of the few minds similar to his.

  “It is only suspicion, Aldora. No, less than that, say, intuition. I have received a few unconfirmed rumors from the north, but then, you and I both know that warfare is always abrim with rumors, warriors being as gossipy as old women. I knew them both, of course, as children and they both seemed possessed of the uncommonly good mindspeak that runs in the bloodline, but Ahl’s talents eclipsed theirs, especially after he lost his eyes. Then, too, they both were gone for ten years.”

  There was intense excitement boiling, bubbling in the faraway mind. “Bili, there are latent abilities, powers, in your mind that none of us was ever able to even recognize or categorize, much less probe and hone. So don’t call your feeling about these minds ‘only’ anything — no doubt a sense of perception you don’t even know you have is alerting you.

  “I’ll be in Morguhn as fast as horseflesh can bring me. But first I must contact Milo. Damn his short-range farspeak, anyway! I’ll have to send a galloper … no, I’ll go as far as Theesispolis myself, and send a galloper from there. He’s on campaign, as usual, leaving me and Mara and Drehkos to rule the Confederation. Oh, Sun and Wind, if only you are right, Bili.”

  “Steel grant that I am,” beamed the ahrkeethoheeks, with fervor. “For I fear me that they both bide in deadly danger at Vawn Hall, Aldora. That Ehleen sow that Zenos’ uncle persuaded poor old Hwahltuh to marry is intent on her dung-wallowing son, Myron, being confirmed thoheeks and chief. I’ve always been dead certain that she was responsible for Ahl’s blinding and for the death of my youngest half brother, Behrl, as well.

  “Hwahltuh himself suspected that much of his progressive illness was due to some machination of Mehleena and her tongue-sister, the witchwoman. Since his death, she’s discharged most of the Freefighters, along with many of the Kindred and Ahrmehnee retainers, replacing them with a carefully chosen pack of crafty, sneaking Ehleenee. Another thing you and the High Lord should know is that she has brought in one of those fanatic hedge priests, one of the gelded ones. He lives in the hall as a noble and honored guest, I’m told.”

  “And so?” she demanded. “Are you going soft, Bili? You know those black-robed troublemakers are proscribed throughout the Confederation. Why haven’t you and your kahtahfrahktoee just ridden over to Vawn and introduced that priest’s unwashed arse to a sharp stake? Such is your right, nay, your duty as ahrkeethoheeks. Milo would say the same, and you know it.”

  “The idea has crossed my mind more than once, Aldora. You know how I feel about Ehleen priests … and most Ehleenee, for that matter; I’d dearly love to impale the fat bastard, Mehleena and all her crew, as well, but that damned, chuckleheaded Zenos stands in the way.”

  “Prince Zenos of Karaleenos, sixteenth of that name,” Aldora beamed. “I warned Milo and Mara and Drehkos not to confirm him prince. He is the diseased and decaying branch of a once-great tree. The last true king of Karaleenos, dear, old Zenos XII, would never have owned him as his, and Zenos XI would likely have had so poor a specimen drowned shortly after birth. He has then forbidden you to deal simple justice to this illegal cleric?”

  “No,” answered Bili. “Not in so many words, not directly. But when I took up the matter of the priest with him last spring at the Year Council, he brought up the fact that Mehleena is his first cousin and, as such, the descendant of kings, as is he.”

  “Hens’ ballocks!” beamed Aldora. “So, too, am I, so is Mara. So, likely, are most of the non-Kindred folk in this Confederation, if the lines were traced back far enough. But a royal pedigree cannot be considered a license for lawbreaking. I’m going to communicate all this to the others before I take horse for the west. Either Mara or Drehkos can care for things here in the capital, and the other can ride down to Zenos’ seat and remind him of a few facts. Before all be done, you may be Prince of Karaleenos, as I said you should have been when Zenos’ sire died.”

  “Dammit, Aldora, I don’t want to be a prince, any more than I wanted to be an archduke; I was very happy simply as thoheeks and chief of Morguhn, and you know it.”

  “Nor do I want to be a High Lady of the Confederation; could I, I’d ride far west, to the Sea of Grass, and find a clan of the Kindred. But I cannot, I have responsibilities which shape my life. So do you, lord ahrkeethoheeks. You have responsibilities — to your sovrans, to the Confederation, to all the law-abiding folk of that Confederation and to your Kindred. A prince who would not need to be reminded to rule by law rather than to allow himself and his judgments to be swayed by ties of house or kinship would be of great value to all. Zenos — Wind take his wormy guts! — has never been such a prince; you would be, it’s that simple.

  “But that matter aside. I charge you, in Milo’s name, to take whatever actions you deem necessary until he and I can reach Vawn, and Zenos’ likes and dislikes be damned.”

  Arising from his bed, Bili of Morguhn took his famous axe down from its wall hooks and commenced replacing the rawhide-and-wire grip on the steel shaft, absently humming through his wolf-grim smile a song that had been popular during his war years in the Middle Kingdoms.

  “Death rides all in plate and His tall horse is black.

  He leads every charge and His bowstring’s never slack.

  He stalks every camp and He rides ev’ry raid.

  His steel harvests warrior and merchant and maid.

  Death rides a coal-black horse, and we are sworn to His service.

  A Freefighter rides for Blood and Death.”

  *

  Myron had been assisted from the room, still gasping, gurgling and dry-retching in his misery, his fine clothing fouled with vomit, his flushed face streaked with sweat and tears and mo
st of his weight borne by Gaios and a husky servingman. His mother proffered no word of apology for her sudden attack, rather she called for another big bowl of buttered-and-honeyed porridge and for another ewer of chilled wine. In ominous silence, she shoveled down porridge and swilled wine, her movements jerky with undischarged rage. The other children cowered at their end of the high table, silent and wide-eyed with fright. The priest sat petrified, the stains of her earlier outburst drying on his robes. Only Neeka continued to consume her food in a normal fashion — the “mistress” knew better than to attack her.

  When she had finished the last of her vegetable broth, yogurt, boiled eggs and cucumbers, Neeka sank back in the chair, sipped slowly at the watered, resinous wine and thought about blind Ahl’s sudden comment that Mehleena would henceforth be forbidden use of the Master’s Chair; then she closed her eyes and sent her powerful, self-trained mind questing, seeking through the hall and every mind in it. What she found gave her such a start that she almost dropped her goblet. Her features suddenly drawn and pale as whey, she turned and touched Mehleena’s blubbery arm.

  “We must speak privately — and very soon. That which we least expected is come to pass, but if we move quickly enough, we still may win the day.”

  A wall panel near the head of Giliahna’s bed swung silently open on well-greased hinges and Mairee Lahvoheetos stepped out, followed by Ahl Sanderz. There was but the barest scraping of Ahl’s felt boot against the frame of the secret door, yet before the two had advanced more than two paces into the bedchamber, Tim had spun out of the bed in a whirl of motion and stood confronting them, nude, but armed with both bared sword and dirk. Giliahna still crouched upon the well-used bed, but from some hidden recess she had drawn and now grasped a wavy-bladed Zahrtohgahn dagger.

  Teeth showing in a sardonic smile, Ahl clapped his hands softly, saying, “Very good, brother Tim, sister Giliahna, for all that I deliberately provided a bit of noise for warning; I think me that perhaps a murder-minded Ehleen or three would not have been so considerate. Before we do or say anything else, both of you raise your mindshields, and keep them up. The mind of Mehleena’s pet witch is nearly as powerful as mine or Bili’s, though in different ways. Too, there’s another exceptionally powerful mind in this hall. It’s been here for some years, but I’ve never been able to contact it directly. Not knowing for certain that it is for us, we had best consider it to be against us. So do not mindspeak anything of import until this affair be sorted out and this hall cleared of our enemies.”

  Tim sank onto the bed and, as he resheathed his broadsword and dirk, said, with a grin, “I think my heart almost stopped when you two came through that damned panel, brother. Who’s out to do me in, anyhow — you or Mehleena?”

  The blind man did not return the smile. “Were it me, Tim, you’d never have survived your bath. You’ve been exceedingly careless since you rode in this morning. Didn’t Bili make it clear that your life hangs on a frayed thread in this hall?

  “These foes have already slain two of our brothers and our father — I believe that as surely as nits make lice, they’re immediately responsible for all three deaths, and for the loss of my sight, as well. They drugged Father and maneuvered the poor old man into banishing both of you, which we all know he never would have done in his right mind. Mehleena was certain you were dead, Tim. Now that you are returned and stand between her and her nefarious designs on this duchy, you can be damned sure that she’ll not stick at one more murder.”

  Again, Tim showed his teeth. “Then the fat bitch had better do it within the next couple of hours, dear brother, for at the same time I left Morguhn Hall, so did gallopers from brother Bili. They bore archducal orders that the Kindred electors of Vawn-Sanderz arrive at this hall no later than the second hour after the nooning. Yes the Ehleen sow would gleefully slay me, but would she dare do in most of the nobility of this duchy? I think not, for she’d have Bili down on her in a trice and her kinship with Prince Zenos would be of no help to her — and she knows this.

  “No, brother, I’ll be duke by this time tomorrow. You’ll so notify Bili by farspeak and he, in turn, will inform Kehnooryos Atheenahs by the same method, while sending word to the prince via galloper.

  “But, by Steel and Blood,” his face looked as if he had bitten into a piece of rotten fruit, “to have a Myron for tanist sets my teeth edge to edge.”

  Ahl said, “There’s no need to fret about that, Tim. Even if we’re unable to eliminate the pervert in any other way, the mere mention by the chief-elect that he does or does not want a certain man as tanist or subchief will usually change the minds of the electors. The tanist need not be a member of the chief’s immediate family, you know — that’s only custom not law; the Couplets of Horseclans Law only insist that tanist, chief and subchiefs of a clan be of blood relationship. All the electors are our blood relations, Tim, and any one of them would be happy, honored and even flattered to be selected the new tanist.”

  Tim sighed in relief. “You know them better than do I, Ahl. Whom would you say is my best choice?”

  With no hesitation, the sightless man answered, “Young Vahrohneeskos Tahm Adaimian of Lion Mountain.”

  Tim snorted and shook his head. “Young is right; he must be a good six or seven years my junior, Ahl. Besides, he’s half barbarian, isn’t he?”

  Mairee frowned and Ahl snapped, “Ahrmehnee! Barbarian is a relative term, dear brother. To be cursed Ehleenee, everyone who is not a kath-ahrohs is a barbarian, to a greater or lesser degree — Kindred, Ahrmehnee, burkers, everybody. Tahm is kin and Kindred through the maternal line, and lest you forget, Tim, that is how Horseclans kinship is reckoned, not by the silly and imprecise manner of the northern barbar …” He stopped in midword and grinned sheepishly, then both couples joined in laughter. The laugher erased the tension which had been present from the moment of Ahl’s and Mairee’s entrance; the atmosphere in the wake of those gales of merriment was considerably more relaxed and familial.

  Ahl’s right arm hugged his younger brother’s scarred and muscular shoulders fiercely. “It’s good to have you back, Tim. So damned good. Even so, I think you and Gil were wise to cover your hides. This gives promise of being a full day of settling old scores, and anything could happen at any moment, now. The Ehleen sow has schemed and slain for nigh on twenty years and she’ll not give up easily or soon.”

  While Tim pulled on smallclothes, Giliahna summoned Widahd, donned a loose gown and felt slippers, then began to select clothing items as the tiny brown maid gathered the numerous necessities for her lady’s bath. Tim was stamping into his second boot by the time the two were ready to descend to the bath wing. He had just placed his baldric over his bead when his sister came hurrying back, horror reflecting from her eyes.

  “Tim. Come quickly. It’s … your sergeant. In a chair by the outer door, and he’s dead.”

  Chapter X

  The young captain insisted that Giliahna continue on to the bath, but he also insisted that Ahl and Mairee accompany her, then he and the apprentice of Master Fahreed carried the chair and its lifeless contents around to the master physician’s suite in the north wing. While the brown-skinned apprentice cleared a long table of books and writing materials, Tim held the cooling body cradled in his arms, unashamed tears of rage and sorrow streaming down his scarred cheeks.

  The master was a tall, slender man, topping Tim’s own height by a head. Where the skin of the apprentice was the soft brown of Tim’s boots, the master’s was so black that it looked bluish. His scalp was as clean-shaven as his face, and both bore sufficient scars to attest to the fact that Master Fahreed was no stranger to the practice of arms, physician or no. There was an aura of concern and thoroughgoing competence about the man, and Tim liked him on sight.

  “Lord Tim,” said the master, speaking Mehrikan of the Middle Kingdoms, but with a peculiar lilt and accent the like of which Tim had never heard in a Zahrtohgahn’s speech. “If this poor man was your friend, perhaps you had best leav
e the room whilst I inquire into the cause of his demise. Some of the procedures I may find needful might seem to you a discourtesy to the body.”

  Tim shook his head curtly. “Thank you. Master Fahreed, but I’ll stay. The deaths of friends are nothing new to me. As for Rai’s body, he would have been the first to tell you that a corpse is dead meat and can no more be offended than can a side of beef. It is imperative that I know, and know quickly, how he was slain, however.”

  With a nod, the master strode over to a washstand and scrubbed his hands and tapering fingers vigorously with strong soap and a small brush in a bowl of steaming water, then shrugged off his outer robe, replacing it with another of bleached linen.

  Waving a hand at the contorted features of the dead sergeant, the master said, “We already can safely assume that we know the immediate cause of death, Lord Tim. And what is that, Raheen?”

  “Poison, master,” replied the shorter, lighter-skinned man, unhesitatingly. Then he leaned close and examined the bulging, glassy eyes and, after a moment, parted the lips and sniffed at the mouth. Straightening, he added, “Most likely, arrow poison, master, since none of the characteristic odors of poisons are in the mouth and the lips show no burns nor the teeth any discolorations.”

  Tim shook his head. “Arrow poison? There’s no wound on Rai’s body, Master Fahreed.”