“Yes, my lord.” Count Hwahltuh speedily agreed. “You assuredly made clear your intentions to resist aggression against your vassals.” Slowly, he poured his cup full again, took a few sips, then suddenly asked, “My Lord Milo, I can see your reason for not wishing to be saddled with conquered lands, but … but what if … if a landholder wished to Swordoath his allegiance to your Confederation, as has Duke Djefree? Would you accept his fealty?”
Milo did not need to enter the boy’s mind to define his meaning. In his own mind, he spread out the map of this part of the Middle Kingdoms as they were today. He had taken Kuhmbuhluhn into the Confederation in order to protect his northwest from forays backed by the King of Pitzburk, who had threatened Kehnooryos Ehlahs up until eleven years ago when old King Ehvrit had died and been replaced by the current and friendlier monarch.
Now the threat was Harzburk, and the long, narrow duchy of Kuhmbuhluhn covered less than half of the stretch through which King Kahl might march. The addition of Getzburk, which adjoined Kuhmbuhluhn on north and east, would leave only the county of Yorkburk—a good proportion of which was saltmarsh or freshwater fens—to provide an uncontested access to Kehnooryos Ehlahs.
“Let us be blunt, young sir,” he answered. “Do you wish to become my vassal? Would you have your county a member of the Confederation? If you are now willing to renounce your oaths to King Kahl, how can I be assured that you will not forswear those given me when it suits you?”
In a quick flash of the hot temper for which his race was noted, Count Hwahltuh crushed the pint cup in his powerful right hand, unaware of his action until the remaining wine gushed over his skin. “Please accept my apology, my lord. I will replace the cup. But no man of my house has ever been truly named ‘forsworn’! My oaths were to Duke Djai, who lies dead in yonder valley; his oaths were to King Kahl. While the Duke lived, King Kahl had no reason to take my oaths himself.
“And, yes, my lord, I would be your vassal, and you would have me and mine.”
So, in the forty-first year of his reign, did Milo Morai, High-Lord of the Confederation, secure his northern border; for the nephew of the deceased Count of Yorkburk, upon being apprised of Getzburk’s new allegiance, was quick to point out that, were he Count of Yorkburk—and he had as good a claim as any living man—he would be overjoyed to swear himself and his county to the Confederation. Thus, Milo took young Earl Ahrthuh’s oath, confirmed him Count of Yorkburk, and loaned him Sub-Strahteegos Portos and four squadrons of kahtahfraktoee to overawe any opposing relatives.
As the High-Lord’s dromonds clove the waves toward the former Southern Kingdom, he had good cause to be well pleased. Within two years he had avoided the bulk of two invasions and quadrupled the size of the Confederation by the additions of most of his former foes. He had only to add the Sea Isles and the Confederation would include all the southern Ehleenoee.
He smiled then, recalling his last conversation with Mara. Between her and Aldora, Alexandros and his Council of Captains would certainly be pledging their swords and—, more importantly, their ships and nautical expertise—to the Confederation before winter roughened the sea lanes.
His only source of discomfiture lay deep in the forbidding reaches of that vast wasteland of saltswamps that held the J. & R. Kennedy Center. Despite his warning to the Senior Director, he was dead certain that he’d not seen the last of them. But any attempt to take either an army or a fleet against their unknown powers would probably be suicidal. So he could only await their next move, hoping that he would know it for what it was when it came.