Mara nodded slowly. “Such beasts do exist in the Southern Kingdom, Lord Alexandros, though I was not aware they had been trained or adapted for war. In our language they are called ‘elefahsee’; the aboriginals call them ‘eluhfuhnts.’ The kings of the Southern Kingdom have been breeding them for centuries. I saw their herd about a hundred and fifty years ago.”
She regarded her wine for a moment, then added, “I would suppose that Kehnooryos Ehlahs would be the logical objective of Zastros’ hosts, since we have already subdued most of Karaleenos.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Alexandros. “But he harbors more grandiose schemes, as well. His fleet is to pace his army up the coast, going up navigable rivers to assist his land force where necessary. They intend to bottle up your fleet in this river and capture the ships, unharmed, if possible.
“When Kehnooryos Ehlahs is taken, Zastros will send his fleet to try to storm the Sea Isles or, failing that, blockade us and starve us into capitulation. Obviously» the madman has never seen the Sea Isles and has but scant information concerning them. Our central lagoon and its islands are impregnable. There is but one narrow, twisting channel from the sea; otherwise, our seaward coast is an unbroken ring of cliffs—jagged, precipitous cliffs, my lady, the very lowest being twice the height of this city’s wall. They constitute natural fortifications and, in the few places skilled climbers might come up, we have added stretches of crenellated wall and certain other refinements.
“If he thinks to starve us out, he and his fleet have a longer wait than I think they can afford. We have little arable land and grow little food, but for that very reason our storehouses are always stuffed to bursting. Beside which, the lagoon is usually full of fish.
“No, my lady, my kingdom and I have precious little to fear from any number of Zastros’ men or ships, but you and yours will be hard-pressed to overcome the host he is gathering. I command forty-three biremes and a handful of sailing-merchantmen fitted with sweeps, a total force of near five thousand of the fiercest fighters in the world.”
“And you want to cast your lot with Kehnooryos Ehlahs?” Mara was genuinely puzzled. “But why? Why to many things, Lord Alexandros? Why did you undertake so long and difficult a voyage for the sole purpose of apprising us of our peril? Why would you now risk your ships and your men in our behalf?”
Alexandros refilled his goblet and leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs before him. “That, my lady, is a long story, but I’ll tell it, that you may know that honor of my house and not avarice impels my offer.
“It began forty years agone, when your clansmen and allies were threatening this city and realm.”
4
Lady Mara’s messenger—a subchief of Clan Morguh,.—pounded into camp in mid-afternoon of the fourth day after the first conference. Milo had the message in mind-speak—always quicker and more detailed than oral communication—and then turned both horse and rider over to Captain Ahbdool. The little man and his great-hearted mount had done better than a hundred miles a day!
Milo gathered his four captains and gave them most of the news; their individual reactions were about what he would have expected of them.
“God-Milo,” the Maklaud immediately mindspoke, “let me send riders to Ehlai and to the west. That will give us at least twenty-five hundred warriors; also, if we can boat the elders and the children up to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, I can almost guarantee nearly thirty hundred maiden-archers and matron-archers.”
Captain Zarameenos cracked his knuckles. “Irregular cavalry and horse-archers are all very well for raiding and scouting, even for flanking a host, under the proper conditions; but we’d best leave the mountains for later and get the main army down here. It takes time to move forty-thousand men.”
“Precisely,” stated old Guhsz Helluh authoritatively. “I estimate that your army will need two weeks to reach us; but for the most part, they will be marching on good roads through friendly lands. Think, man, think how much longer it will take to move three or four times that number of fighting men. Plus”—he tapped the table for emphasis—“their baggage, artificers, seige train, and the vast rabble of noncombatants that always follows a large host. His force is far too large to make much use of the trade road; they’ll mostly have to move cross country, and unless they know the country or have damned good guides …”
Herbuht Mai groaned. “All right, Guhsz, so they’ll take four, maybe six, weeks to reach our current position. But how could anyone stop them when they do get here, eh? One hundred twenty thousand fighting men! By my steel, there aren’t that many men in Pitzburk and Harzburk combined!
“Middle Kingdoms’ rulers think Lord Milo powerful because he can field an army of fifty-thousand-odd. But how can he or anyone stand against a force of nearly three times that number?”
Captain Zarameenos had never really liked Mai. “If you’re afraid to die for the realm that pays you, mercenary, why didn’t you stay in the same barbarian pigwallow that spawned you?” he sneered.
Both Helluh and Milo tensed themselves, ready to try to prevent bloodshed. The Maklaud eased backward and slyly loosened his saber, hoping to get at least one swipe at that strutting Ehleenee bastard before the northerner slew him.
But Mai’s good sense prevailed. He was far slower to anger than Helluh. “Captain Zarameenos,” he replied slowly, carefully choosing his words, “I am certainly as nobly born as are you, possibly more so, but that is of HO moment in this place and time. I do not fear death; indeed, He and I have brushed one another countless times on many a field. I well know, as do all my Freefighters, that wounds or death is the certain fate of most of us, but we continue to practice our highly dangerous profession because it is the only one most of us know.
“The nobility of your Ehleenoee realms are usually highly educated and, early on, are habituated to a soft, pampered life of culture and books and soft music and luxurious palaces and pleasures that men like me cannot understand. Consequently, few of your peers make decent soldiers.
“I dislike you probably as much as you dislike me, Captain, but I’ll gladly give any man his due; you are the rare exception to most of your ilk—admirable strategist, able field tactician, an officer who obviously cares for the welfare of his men and willingly devotes time to seeing to that welfare. Were any large number of Ehleenoee nobles the fighting men that Strahteegos Ga-bos, Komees Greemos, and you are, you’d have scant need to pay out your gold to the Freefighters you hate and despise!
“In the Middle Kingdoms, Captain Zarameenos, a nobleman begins his war training at the age of seven or eight. At fifteen or sixteen, if he’s still alive and uncrippled, he’s a seasoned veteran and he spends the best part of however much life is left him in making use of his hard-learned war skills—either for his home state or for foreign states. Yes, he fights for gold. Who can live without gold? If he’s lucky and a good leader, he manages to recruit a condotta, equip it, and hire it out as a unit for what must seem tremendous amounts of money to some. But, Captain Zarameenos, damned few condotta-captains die wealthy, not if they’re all they should be, for more than nine-tenths of the hire of their services goes back into the men for whom they are responsible.”
“Captain Zarameenos,” barked Milo, “you owe Captain Mai an apology.”
“Yes,” agreed the blackhaired officer, “I do, especially since most of what he said is true. As a class, my peers have become too soft, too civilized. Furthermore, most of us know it and despise ourselves because we are not the men that our ancestors were, so we have to hire men of the kind we should be to protect us. Something, Lord Milo, must be done to change this pattern.”