He paused to clear his throat. “Now my son, Dahn—”
Another round of shouting, threating and general uproar then ensued. Milo’s broadbeamed mindspeak finally ended it.
“Gentlemen … and I use the term very loosely since there appear to be but two such in my presence. There be weightier things at hand than the disposal of a vacant title and its lands, and these be not yours to award in any case but mine. I have decided in favor of Thoheeks Morguhn’s wise suggestion.
“Nor can this decision be construed as favoritism, since the Sanderz is Kindred to all here yet close relative of none.
“Nor, Thoheeks Duhnkin, are the Agreements of Confederation in any manner compromised by this decision. Think you, are we not all here assembled to conquer Vawn? Are not Chief Hwahltuh and most of his clan’s fighters taking part in that conquest? Could we adhere any more closely to the Agreements, then?”
So it was that, before all the assembled nobles of the archduchy, Chief Hwahltuh of Sanderz and his clansmen took their oaths to the Undying God of the Horseclans, Milo of Morai, High Lord of the Confederation of Kindred and Ehleenoee.
After so many weeks of living and fighting and roistering among these, once strange, eastern Kinsmen, the short, wiry, middle-aged warrior was no longer ill at ease, though he still held Milo in greater awe than did the more sophisticated easterners. In the new clothing, boots and armor Bili had pressed upon him, he impressively fulfilled his part of the long ceremony, and he was proclaimed Thoheeks of Vawn and Chief of Sanderz by the High Lord, these titles being confirmed by each of the major and minor nobles, in turn—which took considerable time plus the best efforts of a brazen-throated sergeant major of the Confederation kahtahfrahktoee.
And when “Komees Daiviz of Horse County!” was called, the chunky Vaskos stood and roared back his “Aye, my lords. All of Horse County say, ‘Long life to Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn!’”
“And so,” Komees Hari’s son went on, smiling at Bili over his goblet of Vahrohnos Myros’ best honey wine, “we cleared the county of rebels. As best we can figure, only the huntsman, Danos, escaped us. At least we couldn’t find his body, though his sword, bow and armor and all his clothing were still in his quarters. Among those papers I brought is the receipt from your prison keeper for the persons of Lady Hehrah Daiviz, Sub-kooreeos Pavlos and his woman, one Ntohrees Kahntlehs. The only others left alive in Horse Hall were the headman’s kidnapped wife and a handful of servants’ children, all of them since taken in by villagers who had lost their own to Hehrah’s evil.”
Bill nodded. “Then I assume Hari’ll not be taking part in the campaign?”
Vaskos’ hearty chuckle nearly slopped out his wine. “Hardly. Hell be along presently, though we’ll be in Vawn by then—hopefully. But you know Father-first come his people, then his purse, though he’s not nearly so impecunious as you’d think by his bellyaching.
“No, he wants to be sure that his folk and his horses will be well provided for and ascertain the minimum number of men required to take in the crops if the campaign outlasts this season.
“Oh, and speaking of men, Father has learned his lesson. You recall how adamant he was that he’d never maintain Freefighters at Horse Hall? Well, he’s kept eight—no, nine—of yours. But I’m sure Boh Hohguhn will cover that in his report, after which, with your permission, of course, he’s promised to go out and help me sign on a score of good Freefighters for Father’s own use.”
Lieutenant Hohguhn’s report was short and • concise. He told of one man killed by slingstone and two wounded, one of them soon to come back to the army with the old komees; the other, though he had at first appeared to have suffered only a bump on the head, had become prone to fainting fits and, after pitching down a staircase one day, had died of a broken neck. The officer had brought back the dead men’s horses and gear, and he assured Bill that when he assisted Vaskos in recruiting the Daiviz condotta, he would sign on two good fighters to replace the losses.
VIII
After a long, arduous march, which had included several inconclusive skirmishes with the wild mountain tribesmen, Drehkos Daiviz and his battered band at last crossed the northwestern border of Vawn, rested briefly at a deserted hall, then continued on toward Vawnpolis—which city had no Ehleen name, since there had been no city on its site in Ehleen times, nor had the duchy even been a part of the Kingdom of Karaleenos then.
The utter desolation of the countryside through which they marched appalled Drehkos, and the evidences of savageries and atrocities sickened him. Here lay the rotted remains of a whole herd of sheep and, farther on, the animal-gnawed bones of a foal, its legs looking to have been lopped off with a sword; mutilated, bird-picked human corpses dangled from trees and improvised crosses. And in empty halls and deserted villages were hints of other things, deeds so depraved that the sinister thoughts of what they might have been set Drehkos’ skin acrawl. That Drehkos had never been initiated into the Deeper Mysteries of the Faith was perhaps the wisest decision Vahrohnos Myros had ever made.
As for the vahrohnos, he had regained his senses after a week or so and, when again he could sit a horse, had expected to assume command. But by that time, the fleeing rebels—of Morguhn and Vawn alike—had come to rely upon Drehkos. Not all of the peacock-proud Myros’ boasts of his own military exploits and experience or his snarled references to Vahrohneeskos Daiviz’ lack of such could shake the faith of those men who had come to appreciate Drehkos’ quiet courage, that manner which was unruffled and quick-witted even in the midst of an unexpected ambush and the tactical decisions which, though usually unorthodox, were usually right.
Denied what he considered to be his rightful station and deference, Myros became petty and spiteful, dragging out his memory and gleefully recounting to all and sundry forty years’ worth of Drehkos’ peccadilloes and profligacies and, when memory and facts failed, spinning ne,w tales. When questioned, Drehkos admitted those bits of vicious gossip which were true and quietly denied Myros’ false slanders, all the while continuing to lead as best he knew how, further uncovering a never before suspected natural aptitude for command and leadership, and learning the exacting art of mountain warfare by bitter experience.
By the time they crossed into Vawn, only Myros’ servants and bodyguards would listen to a word he had to say, and even they laughed behind their hands when he launched another round of slanders against the man who was now unquestionably their commander; the other Morguhnee and Vawnee barely tolerated the vahrohnos.
Nor was it any different in Vawnpolis, which soon was babbling in every quarter tales of that epic march through the dreaded mountains and murderous tribes and of the calm and competent leadership of Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz. Calm or competent leaders were indeed rare in doomed, overcrowded Vawnpolis, so Drehkos not only found himself lionized but quickly ensconced high in the command structure of the Crusader forces, as well as becoming the chief of the Morguhn refugee community.
And as Drehkos’ star spectacularly waxed, so did Myros’ wane. Before his very face both noble and commoner aped mocking parodies of his pompous bearing and affected mannerisms and, when the last of his jewels had gone to buy the few morsels of poor food they would bring, his servants and guards deserted him. Finally only the charity of the Church sustained him. Occasionally, while Drehkos and his staff supervised the strengthening of the walls or the emplacement of a new-made engine on them, the vahrohneeskos would see on a street below Myros’ shambling figure, garbed in his ragged, tattered finery. Of neither his exalted pedigree nor his high attainments nor his expropriated wealth was there any evidence in that unshaven, unwashed rooter in garbage piles.