“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.