Swords of the Horseclans

5

At his own suggestion, Lord Alexandros had remained in Kehnooryos Atheenahs when his captains and ship re-, turned to the Sea Isles. He informed them that he was hostage to their full -cooperation in the effort to stop King Zastros.

Despite her burning curiosity regarding the young man’s relationship to that man he so closely resembled—his namesake, the late Lord Strahtegos Alexandros of Pahpahspolis—Lady Mara could find no time for her hostage-lord for over a month, so filled were her days with the multitudinous chores engendered by her responsibilities. Nor, despite Milo’s gesture of solicitude, was Aldora of any immediate help. Without even reporting to Mara upon her arrival in the capital, she dismissed most of her guard, ordered a barge, and had herself rowed downriver to Ehlai, not returning until all the Tribe’s fighters had departed and the young and old were being boated up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs.

Nonetheless, Mara did the best she could to make the Sea Lord’s stay a happy one. Gooltes and Manos, his two bodyguard-servants, were augmented by a host of skilled slaves’ and a detachment of Lady Mara’s own private guard.

At the end of the first week, Lieutenant Komees Feeleepos, the detachment commander, reported to his mistress.

“My lady, Lord Alexandros makes friends quite easily. Indeed, I have come to admire and respect him … not that my personal feelings would in any way impair my loyalty to Your Grace, of course,” he added quickly.

“Of course.” She nodded. “He mixes well, then, with the court?”

The corners of the young officer’s eyes crinkled with his smile. “Oh, yes, my lady. He has received invitations to nearly every noble house in the city. Some, he has already accepted; five, he has attended.”

“Whose?” demanded Mara. “And what transpired?” “Theftehrah, it was dinner with Lord Neeaheearkos Petros and some of his officers. They spent most of the evening discussing the sea, the various coasts, ships, fleet tactics, plus navigation and other mysteries. To my thinking, Lord Petros still doesn’t quite trust Lord Alexandros, but he now has respect for his skills and experience … he might even like him, in time.

“Treetee was a dinner party at the town house of Lord Vahrohnos Paulos of Notohpolis … the Vahrohnos’ usual variety of party, of course.”

Mara’s lips wrinkled in disgust. She had always found it difficult to be even marginally polite to High-Lord Demetrios’ coterie of pederasts; but she had tried, mostly for the good of the Confederation, since many of them were powerful nobles and/or high-ranking and efficient officers. She had suffered many crushing disappointments in her long, long life; but, considering all that Alexandros’ name and physical appearance meant to her, she was fearful of asking her officer that question she knew she must. Trying desperately to mask any evidence of her inner turmoil, she inquired, “And how did Lord Alexandros enjoy the party?”

The lieutenant chuckled. “The Sea Lord wasn’t born yesterday, Your Grace. He obviously knew his host and fellow guests for just what they were. When he was offered the so-called place of honor—sharing Paulos’ dining couch—he very politely requested a chair, instead, saying that he suffered indigestion if he dined other than erect. He ate and drank and chatted in a most friendly fashion with all who addressed him. He lavishly complimented his host’s home, decorations, food, wines, and musicians; but he appeared to be completely unable to comprehend the meanings of a number of quite overt verbal overtures that the Vahrohnos, who seems rather taken by him, put to him. When the feasting was done and Paulos announced that the ‘entertainment’ was about to commence, Lord Alexandros rose, pleaded fatigue, thanked the Vahrohnos for the dinner, and we took our leave.

“I am reliably informed that, immediately subsequent to our departure, Lord Paulos threw a knife at one guest who made some comment or other, bashed in the front teeth of a second, then burst into tears and fled the dining hall.”

Mara felt as if the weight of a war horse had been suddenly lifted from her. She smiled broadly. Then another thought came to her and she frowned.

“Be very careful of the Vahrohnos and his clique, Fil, warn Lord Alexandros to be equally cautious. That kind of man can be petty and spiteful as an unpaid whore, when balked; furthermore, Vahrohnos Paulos is a veteran warrior and a duelist of some note, should he take it into his head that he has been publicly humiliated and decide to force Alexandros into a death match. Well, things could get very sticky with the men of the Sea Islands should any harm come to their Lord.”

Feeleepos smiled lazily. “Your Grace need have no fears in that direction.”

“Oh, I know,” said Mara impatiently. “You and your men will protect him from assassins, but if Paulos opts to call the Sea Lord out, man to man …”

“In the unlikely event, my lady,” he said, interrupting, “my money will go on Lord Alexandros. Have a death match between Paulos and Alexandros, and they’ll be putting a well-hacked buggerer in Paulos’ family tomb the next day! Believe me, my lady, I am a professional. I have seen the Vahrohnos fight and I have seen Lord Alexandros fight and …”

“When,” snapped Mara, her eyes flashing fire, “have you seen Lord Alexandros fight, Lieutenant?”

The officer squirmed under her glare. “My lady, Lord Alexandros spent his first two days touring the city, but on the morning after the Vahrohnos’ party, he said that he felt in need of some exercise. I took him to the main guard barracks, thinking that he might wish to swim ‘or run or jump or throw spears, but he insisted that we stop at the practice yard, where he first requested, then demanded, a padded brigandine, weapons, and shield.

What could I do, Your Grace? I had him fitted out with regulation training weapons and a full-face, double-thick helm. Then I warned the weapon master that if any harm came to Alexandros, I’d have off his ears and nose.

“Well, they whacked away for a while, Weapons Master Rahn taking more blows than he gave. Then Lord Alexandros spun around and stalked over to the barrier where I was standing. He said that he had come for a practice bout, not a sword dance, that he’d rather fight me than old Rahn, and that I had better give him a real fight or I’d shortly wish I had.”

Mara could almost hear the quoted words, for they sounded so like that other Alexandros, that long years’ dead Alexandros. “And you fought him … really fought him?” she prodded.

Feeleepos nodded gravely. “Yes, Your Grace, I really fought him, and I pray that I never have to face him in actual battle. My lady, he is of slight frame and build, as you know. He was burdened with a thick, hot brigandine that reached to his knees and weighed exactly twice as much as a scaleshirt, ten pounds of helm, and double-weight infantry-style shield and sword; yet he danced around me like a cat toying with a mouse, a thrust here and a hack there, a slash at the legs, and a split second later a stab at the eyes. By straining every muscle, I was able to catch or deflect them all with either shield or sword; but when he shouted his war cry and closed with me, Your Grace, there was no way I could have stopped him. Then he stepped back and saluted me and thanked me for my efforts.

“Of course, a crowd of off-duty officers and men had gathered around to watch; we don’t discourage the pastime, for observation, too, is a form of training. At any rate, Lord Alexandros pulled off his helm and asked if any of the onlookers would care to give him a bout. When no one immediately came forward, he suggested that the swords be tarred and offered a silver piece for every tar mark an opponent could put on him.

“With my approval, the weapons master took him on … and lost. Then he took on two other officers and a dragoon sergeant of the Harzburk Ambassador’s retinue. When he finally tired and took off his brigandine and helm, there was not one speck of tar on either!”

Mara shook her head in wonderment. “What did this champion, after all that?”

“He threw spears for a while, and then we had a swim. And he’s like a fish. I’ve never known a man who could swim so far under water!”

“How did he spend that night, Fil?” Mara was again friendly, her worry erased. “Another banquet?”

“No, Your Grace, he said that he felt like having a quiet evening. We dined in his suite, played zahtreekeeohee for a while—he checkmated me quickly, two out of three times, and I’m not sure but that he allowed me my one win—and then we simply sipped wine and talked.”

“Of what did you and he talk, Fil?” “Of so very many things, my lady, that I hardly know where to begin. He asked many questions concerning the court—who were the leaders and principal members of the various cliques, which cliques favored which high-lord or high-lady, the names of the most powerful men, and what were their vices or weaknesses. He asked many questions concerning our customs, not only of the court and palace, but of the city and countryside. He had me tell him all I knew of the Horseclans, He asked me to tell him of my hereditary city and lands, of my boyhood, of my campaigns and the different tribes I had fought, of my service and duties and various assignments since I entered Your Grace’s guard, of my future plans, of my hopes and aspirations. He dismissed me near midnight.” “What did he do the next day?”

“Pemtee, he arose and broke his fast early, then spent the entire day, until sunset, in the palace library. My lady must, I fear, ask the librarian what Lord Alexandros read, for I assigned some guards and went about other duties of mine.”

Mara shrugged. “I can’t see that what he read is of import. And what of that night?”

“Dinner and entertainment at the palace of Lord Strahteegos Gabos.” The young officer grinned wickedly. “Yes.” Mara cracked a knuckle. “I heard of that rout. Two duels came out of it, one a death match. And what sort of swath did our Sea Lord cut through the ranks of the grass-widows?”

“Lord Alexandros could have had any woman in that palace, Your Grace, merely by a nod or a look or a crook of one finger. The Lady Loanna never took her eyes off him from the moment he arrived. In the course of the evening, she and a number of others managed to corner him, and the language used in some of their invitations would have embarrassed a stone statue!”

“And his replies were … ?” prompted Mara impatiently.

“The essence of diplomacy, Your Grace, and if he was dissembling, he hoodwinked everyone … including me. His tale was guaranteed to touch the heart of almost any living female. He declared that, soon after his arrival, he had seen the woman of his dreams, had fallen in love with her at a single glance, but could not declare his passion, as she was the honorable wife of a powerful lord. He admitted that, though he might never be enabled to consummate his love for her, his needs must await the improbable chance, since the charms of no other woman could any longer stir him.

“My Lady, they all wept for pity of his plight; a few swooned. When the tale got about the gathering, Lord Alexandros was put to a merciless questioning to establish the identity of his love, but he simply answered all with a sad smile and a shake of his head. I think that each of the ladies offered at least once to plead his case, if he would but tell her whom to approach; several of the gentlemen suggested that there were numerous persons in the city who, for a modest fee, could quietly and discreetly dispose of inconvenient husbands … permanently. He refused them all.

“Naturally, the ‘entertainment’ had been going on about us from the end of the last course. We drank a bit more wine, and Lord Alexandros chatted with some of the spectators, but when they brought out the trained animals, he indicated his desire to leave and we did so, being unable to locate our hostess.”

“I cannot imagine where Lady loanna could have been,” remarked Mara sarcastically. “She’s like the Confederation Army—open to any man between fifteen and forty. I don’t know why Gabos hasn’t beaten her to death long since. An occasional affair when a woman’s husband is on a long campaign is one thing, but she’s put so many horns on poor old Gabos’ head that I fail to see … but it’s none of my business.

“Well, what did our guest today, Fil?”

“Over to the barrack-yards again, Your Grace. This time, though, he had to offer gold to get bouts from any, save old Rahn and me; soon, I may have to start assigning men to fight him. Another thing—he wants someone to teach him to ride a horse. He says they have no horses in the Sea Isles.”

Lord Djeree Pahtuhr was a horseclansman. Though he hardly looked his age, he had ‘been born on the high plains, thousands of miles to the west, on the very year that the tribe commenced its twenty-years-long migration, which had ended in the conquest of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. He had fought in every battle of the conquest and in many thereafter. Now, most of his hair was gone and precious few strands of red adorned what little remained, but his eyes still sparkled clear and blue as a mountain lake. Nor had sixty years bent his back, stooped his shoulders, or weakened him. Though short and slight like most of his race, he stood straight as a spearshaft and, though his clasp of greeting was gentle, Lord Alexandros could sense the formidable strength in the old man’s hand.

Horseclansmen, the Sea Lord discovered, were as blunt and informal as were his own people. Truly revering only their Undying God and two Godesses—Milo, Mara, and Aldora—they considered all others—kings, nobles, even their own chieftains—as mere men and treated them as such.

“You tell Mara that I’ll be right glad to teach the young feller to ride,” Pahtuhr told Lieutenant Feeleepos. “Though it ain’t much teachin’ to ridin’, mostly, it’s fallin’ off ‘til you get the hang of how to stay on.” He turned to Alexandros, looking him over critically.

“Can you mindspeak?” He asked it suddenly and silently.

“Yes.” Alexandros answered just as silently.

“You sure can, an’ strong, too; not too many of you Ehleenee got that much power—them what can mind-speak, a-tall. That’s good, what with that an’ your build, I’ll have you finished in no time.”

High-Lord Milo’s breeding farm lay some miles northwest of the capital, so Djeree had a pair of huge, white mules harnessed to an old-fashioned war cart. When the slave-driver was in place, he and Alexandros mounted, whereupon the slave lashed the mules to a fast trot, able to maintain such speed in the city only because he drove the Military Highway, just inside the city walls. Lord Djeree was apparently well known and popular with the soldiery, for many an arm was raised as they passed and many a ribald greeting shouted.

They never even paused at the west gate and the sparse traffic scurried from their precipitate progress. Then the driver put the team into a ragged gallop and the heavy, springless vehicle jounced and clattered. The slave seemed to know every boulder and pothole in the seldom-used road, and at least one wheel seemed to make violent contact with each imperfection.

But Alexandros adapted, guessing that the relaxed, expressionless old man was putting him to some test. Facing forward and taking a firm grip of the brass side rail, the Sea Lord put into play the muscular harmony and sense of balance that had kept him erect on the steering deck of many a storm-lashed bireme … but he still felt that his every tooth was being jarred from his jaws.

Lord Djeree’s hand on the driver’s arm ended the hell-ride at the first milestone. The mules were reined up to a smooth trot and the slave adeptly avoided the rougher areas of the roadway.

Grinning broadly, Pahtuhr clapped a horny palm onto Alexandros’ shoulder. “Ever’thin’ I’ve heard about you is true, boy; you got balls, an’ no mistakin’. Me an’ Feelos, here, we done had many’s the high-mucketymuck Ehleenee a-screamin’ his head off and a-bawlin’ his eyes out afore we come to the milestone. You sure you ain’t got no Horseclans blood, Alex? You’re built like it, though you’re some taller.”

The Sea Lord shook his dusty head. “No, Lord Djeree, I am a Kath’ahrohs—pure Ehleea—according to my late father.”

The old man scratched his scarred, sun-browned scalp. “Well, with your guts and your build and strength, and your mindspeak, you’ll be a fine rider in record time.”

Milo’s herd was one of his experiments. The plains horses, on which the Horseclans had trekked to the east, were brave, intelligent for their species, and possessed a well-developed capacity for mindspeak; but they were slight, wiry, and small, like the race who had bred them. A large plains-horse stallion might be expected to stand fifteen hands at the withers, but the breed averaged considerably less.

The eastern breeds, especially those of the Middle Kingdoms, were all rolling muscle and tremendous power, some weighing twice as much as a plains horse. Pitzburk, Harzburk, Szunburk, and most of the other northern states would not even give war training to an animal of less than seventeen hands. Such horses easily bowled over the mounts of Horseclansmen, who quickly discovered that the only way they could stop a charge of Kahtahfraktoee or dragoons was by a concentrated arrow-rain at a distance, breaking up and slowing the formation before it reached them.

But the clansmen considered the majority of the eastern horses stupid, and not without some justification; furthermore, few possessed more than rudimentary mind-speak. Although larger, eastern horses were far less hardy and self-sufficient than plains horses and were subject to a plethora of diseases and infirmities without a maximum of human care.

During the conquest of Kehnooryos Ehlahs and in the ten years following, a certain amount of uncontrolled interbreeding had taken place as captured eastern animals were introduced into plains horse herds. Then, thirty years of controlled interbreeding was instituted by Milo at a number of farms scattered about the Confederation. The herd from which Alexandros was to be mounted was small, less than two hundred horses; but they were the best of the best—combining the finest qualities of eastern charger and plains horse.

Lord Djeree, using only mindspeak, introduced Alexandros to the king stallion, informing the big, glossy bloodbay that Alexandros, too, was a king as well as a seasoned warrior. The king stallion and the two men then strolled through the herd, mindspeaking those of their host’s choosing. Finally, they selected a young, war-trained stallion, solid black with three white stockings. The three-year-old and Alexandros stumbled into immediate rapport and, when the man had given the horse a mental picture of the speed, ferocity, and awesome power of the huge, shiny-black Orcas, the black happily accepted the name “Ork.”

Lord Djeree’s predictions were well proven. Alexandros spent most of the next two weeks at the farm, at first under the old man’s expert tutelage, then alone with Ork. When he, Feeleepos, and Lord Djeree trotted their, mounts through the west gate, toward the end of the Sea Lord’s third week in Kehnooryos Ehlahs, no onlooker would have thought but that he had been a horseman from boyhood.

Although he had, of course, quartered a sextet of guardsmen at the farm and made occasional visits, Feeleepos had spent most of his time in the palace. Like any palace, Mara’s swarmed with informants, but under his stiffest questioning, none would admit to having heard Vahrohnos Paulos refer to Lord Alexandros in any stronger terms than “a silly, fickle boy.” The two guests Paulos had assaulted after Alexandros’ departure had both armed and ridden south, apparently fearing King Zastros’ army less than the Vahrohnos’ disfavor. Nor could underworld contacts in the city learn of any plot to poison or assassinate the Sea Lord. Paulos’ actions—or, rather, lack of actions—had both Feeleepos and Mara puzzled and deeply worried when the hostage-lord rode back into the city.

After a long, hot soak and bath, Alexandros dined in his suite with Feeleepos and Lord Djeree, then tossed the dice with them for an hour, glad when he lost a dozen gold pieces to the old man, since the horse master had refused any recompense for the long hours of extra labor. After a last goblet of wine, he bade them both good night and retired.

Lord Alexandros awakened from a sound sleep with the certain knowledge that someone was within his bedchamber. His every sense straining, as he lay immobile, he thought he detected a brief rustle of cloth, then knew that a pair of unshod feet were slowly shuffling toward him from his right. Tensed for action, he kept his eyes shut and his body still as death until he could feel that the presence was standing by the side of his bed. Gradually opening his eyelids, he could see a man-shaped form, black in the dim starlight that filtered through the windows.

Lacking a weapon, he suddenly spun on his buttocks and lashed out with a sinewy le!g at the midsection of the featureless bulk. Hardly had his foot met flesh, bringing a grunt of pain and surprise, then the agile man was out of his bed, firmly grasping a pair of thickly muscled shoulders and slamming a knee up between two hairy thighs. His antagonist wheezed another breathless grunt, followed by a shrill, womanish scream. Alexandros gave the man a firm shove backward, then leaped for the wall, where hung his sword.

But ere he could draw his steel, the room began to fill with guards. Their torches and the quickly lit lamps revealed to all the unenviable condition of the intruder … and his identity.

The clothing and sandals of Lord Vahrohnos Paulos lay on the floor near the door. Paulos himself, nude, sobbing, and glistening with the sweat of agony, lay curled in a knot, clutching his groin and retching onto the tiles.

“Shall we slay him, Lord Alexandros?” inquired a sergeant. “Or take him downstairs and lock him up?”

“Is he armed?” Alexandros questioned.

The suffering noble was roughly stretched out and his clothes were examined, but no weapon was in evidence.

With the help of two guards, Alexandros got Paulos onto his feet, guided the stumbling, gagging man out onto the balcony, and pitched him over the low balustrade. As Alexandros recalled, it was a fall of less than six feet… with a thick hedge of roses for a fall-breaker. But when Feeleepos arrived and learned of the Sea Lord’s disposal of the intruder, he was quietly furious.

“By every known god, my lord, you should have slain the bastard on the spot! You had every right to either gut him yourself or let the guards spear him; after all, he was not here by your invitation. Was he, My Lord?”

“No, good Feeleepos, he was not. But there was no weapon on him, so I don’t think he meant me harm.”

The lieutenant savagely struck his own forehead with the heels of his hands. “My lord, the alliance of your people and ours could mean a great deal to both, but what do you think will be the reaction of your captains if we have to report you slain? The Lady Mara and I have been twisting every tail in the palace and city to ensure that you stay alive and unharmed. Even should he decide to not hire a poisoner or assassin, your uninvited guest is a well-known warrior and an infamous duelist. His temper rests on a hair and he has been known to force men to a death match, simply because he fancied they were thinking insulting thoughts of him!

“No, my lord, Paulos didn’t come here to kill you. He bribed a couple of my guards and came in to either seduce you or rape you, whichever tactic he found necessary. He has been known to do such before, though never to a royal guest. I feel the man to be deranged, but that makes him no less dangerous.

“Had he died in this room, it could have been quietly forgotten. As it is, as Your Lordship has handled it; the very least we can expect is a challenge.”

Lord Alexandros yawned widely. “Feeleepos, I greatly appreciate all that you and the Lady Mara’ have done. I also appreciate your worry for me. But rest your minds, please. I do not fear the Lord Paulos on a personal basis—had I, I would certainly have slain him as he lay helpless before me. If he demands a fight, I will meet him. Tell my captains that I died in a duel and there will be no recriminations. The duel is far more common amongst my people than amongst yours.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to sleep for what’s left of this night.”