Prologue
The shaven scalp of the tall, broad-shouldered young warrior glinted in the light of the rising sun, as did the burnished surfaces of his suit of three-quarter armor and the dolphin-shaped silver goblet in his right hand. Though heavier and squarely masculine, his face bore a startling similarity to those of the two tall, handsome women who stood before him, their hair but slightly darker than his bushy cornsilk eyebrows.
The large, battlemented building, atop the flat roof of which they stood, was known as Morguhn Hall and was the young man’s ancestral home. The hall crowned a gently sloping hill and, to north, south, east and west, as far as the eye might see, the fields and woodlands and rolling leas were all his domain, the Thoheekahtohn of Morguhn.
To their left, a tall column of smoke arose from the rear courtyard, wherein had been laid the funeral pyre of the man who had been husband to the two women and father to the young warrior. Though the man had died of natural causes, the six hacked corpses which had shared his pyre had fallen in battle just hours before their cremations; among them had been a younger son of the two women, Djef Morguhn.
As the hall had but recently been invested, the bailey to their right lay cluttered, and jerrybuilt pens were tightly packed with hundreds of cattle, sheep and goats. The small open space remaining was now filled with above threescore stamping, whickering warhorses, astride most of which were armored and fully armed fighting men. The majority of these riders wore the scalemail hauberks and open-faced helms which identified them as Middle Kingdoms Freefighters or mercenary cavalrymen—armed with broadsword or heavy saber, two-foot hide buckler shod with iron, long, broad dirk and a few short-shafted, well-balanced darts. Ten of the horsemen were alike as peas in a pod, being Horseclansmen but recently arrived from the Sea of Grass,’ thousands of kaiee to the west.
Of the remaining men, all save one were armed with broadswords and spears, and wore three-quarter plate very similar to that of the young man atop the hall. This last man, clad in a flowing white robe, was armed with daggers, a full dozen darts and a doublecurved yaghatan. Where all of the other men’s faces, though tanned by sun and weather, were either olive or fair, his was the rich dark brown of old leather.
One who might have been a younger duplicate of the dark-skinned mounted man stood behind the young man on the rooftop. His name was Eeshmahehl and he was a physician from the Black Kingdoms, far away to the north and east of this land. A rail-thin lad, his own skin almost blue in its blackness, stood by the physician’s side, holding with both hands a gleaming brass bowl. He was but recently freed from an odious bondage to a perverted nobleman and had voluntarily apprenticed himself to the tall, graceful brown-skinned man; his hated master had called him Peeos, but all here used his proper name, Peeair.
Eeshmahehl was placing a fresh bandage over a recent wound in the young man’s scalp. As he performed this task, he talked constantly, explaining to Peeair just what he was doing and why, for so had the master physician, Ahlee, imparted his extensive knowledge to Eeshmahehl. The language he spoke was Kweebehkeekos, for, though Peeair was from an exotic land far to the south, this far-northern tongue was enough like his native speech to be easily comprehensible.
Lifting a thick cloth pad, damp with some liquid from the bowl held by Peeair, the physician briefly held the pad under the lad’s fine-boned nose, slightly canted since a blow of his former master’s fist had broken it “What is the smell, Peeair?”
“Brandy, master.”
Eeshmahehl nodded, placed the pad over the healing wound, held it with his left hand while taking a length of rolled bandage from the compartmented bowl. “Just so, Peeair, just so. And why is the inner bandage so often soaked with brandy, do you remember?”
The boy closed his eyes and knitted his brows in concentration. “To … because wounds covered with such dressings seem to heal quicker and cleaner?”
“Very good, my son, very good. Ahlali has granted you a good memory, which makes me certain that the Elder Masters will quickly confirm you as my apprentice, when you return with me to Zahrtohgah… . Now, set down the basin, Peeair, and hand me the thoheeks” helmet.”
Gingerly, the sinewy brown hands settled the weighty helm atop the thick bandages, then fumblingly commenced to thread straps through buckles.
Smiling, one of the two widows stepped forward, saying, “Please, Master Eeshmahehl, allow me. You are inexperienced at it, but my sister and I helped arm our father and brothers before we were half the age of young Peeair.”
While the two women fastened the neckpiece to helm, lowered the cheekpieces, then set about checking and tightening the fit of various other components of their son’s set of plate, a tall, much-scarred man of forty or so emerged from a corner tower and strode purposefully the length of the side wall, his Pitzburk plate clanking and the plume on his helm nodding.
After ascending the stone steps to the roof, he paced over to the young thoheeks, rendered a military salute and said, “The column is formed up, Duke Bill. Each horse bears a skin of watered wine and a wallet of war rations. Master Ahlee said that it would be neither painful or injurious to the beast, so I’ve had your black charger saddled and fitted with a chamfron.”
The thoheeks nodded curtly. “Very good, captain. You may return, now. I’ll join you, shortly.”
Saluting once more, the officer spun and retraced his steps, while Bili embraced and kissed each of his mothers, saying, “When the Undying High Lady Aldora and her dragoons arrive, point them in the direction of the rebels’ retreat. Tell them that his grace rides with us and wishes them to join us.”
Mother Behrnees nodded briskly. “We will, Bili. But, ere you ride … you really should make your peace with Count Djeen.”
Bili’s mouth thinned into a grim line. There is no peace to be made, Mother. The tail does not wag the dog. I, not Count Djeen, am lord here, a fact which I had to make abundantly clear to him!”
Mother Mahrnee’s blond braids swished as she shook her head. “Admittedly, he did provoke you, son, but he is a very proud man. You could have taken him to a place apart. You should not have humiliated him before everyone in the hall.”
The thoheeks snorted harshly. “When did he hesitate to call me to task, to question my every word, before whoever happened to be nearby, Mother? No, the time was overripe for him and everyone else to be made aware that this is now my duchy and that I will order it and its affairs in my way. Now, I must go.”
When the last scale-clad trooper had cleared the courtyard, Feelahks Sami Kahrtuh, the castellan, saw the heavy, thick gates shut and the two massive bars dropped into place, but the outer grille of wrought iron he left raised, for with the would-be rebels in full flight, hotly pursued by Duke Bili’s stout little band, there were no rams to threaten the entry portals.
Old Komees Djeen Morguhn, retired strahteegos of the Confederation Army and a soldier for most of his sixty-odd years, limped along the length of the wall and up the stairs to the roof, where the ladies still stood, watching their son’s column re-form and set off down the hill at a brisk trot. The plates of the old man’s set of proof scraped loudly each time he leaned against the wall to swing his stiff leg up onto the next step. His visor was raised so his one eye might do the work of two, and the shiny brass hook which had replaced his left hand sparkled in the morning sunlight.
He limped over to the ladies, muttering, “Damned foolishness, that’s what it is, and no mistake! Probably get himself and half his troop killed for a piece of senseless stupidity! The tower has already spotted the van of the Confederation kahtahfrahktoee, why not let professionals handle this matter of pursuit and harassment, eh?”
“Sun and Wind, my lord count,” snapped Mother Behrnees, “what do you want? For more years than I care to recall, you chivvied our Bili’s father to forsake his passive, peaceful ways. Now you would condemn the son for being actively warlike! But I think you’ve learned better than to do so to his face, have you not?”