And their constant complaints about the rigors and discomforts of camp and march and campaign were not the mumbled grousing expected of all soldiers, but formal protestations, delivered personally and at maddening length. It had been bad enough during the siege of Vawnpolis, when the most unstinting of the bellyachers could be sent packing, sent on one pretext or another back to their desmesnes, ere their big, active mouths undermined both morale and discipline. But on this present campaign, only large, well-armed bodies could be sent back through the ravaged and highly vengeful tribal lands, so Bili had found himself stuck with a large minority of long-overindulged men who considered themselves his peers and who often behaved as if it was his fault that it was too cold or too wet for their pampered tastes.
Bili had long been proud of his iron control over his hot temper, but these Kindred nobles had driven him to distraction, and it had frequently been all he could do to keep from blooding his axe or sword on their miserable necks. Therefore, he had considered it the bountiful blessing of Sun and Wind to rid himself of all the winners ere setting forth on this mission to the west. And their howls of protest when he had commandeered their well-schooled warhorses and vastly superior armor for certain of his Freefighters had been sweet to his ears.
Those few Kindred who now rode west with him were either atypical younger men who had quickly and easily adapted to northern modes or older nobles who had, in their salad days, soldiered in the Middle Kingdoms as free lances. Few were his actual liegemen—Morguhn or Daiviz Kindred—but he had come to love them like brothers. One such, Komees Taros Duhnbahr of Baikuh, rode knee to knee with him.
Born a third son, Taros had never expected to succeed to his father’s title and lands, but, two days after his twenty-second birthday, the former komees and both the elder brothers had been slain in that last attack against the walls of Vawnpolis. Their smoke was not half a day with Wind, before Thoheeks Baikuh had confirmed Taros to possession of his patrimony. Even yet, he sometimes seemed startled when addressed as komees or count.
“Lord Bili,” he said respectfully, “I can truly understand why you sent back those querulous old women and precious young Ehleenee, but you know there’s going to be merry hell to pay if any of their horses are lost or any of their plate either. Aren’t you worried about starting blood-feuds?”
“With such as them?” Bili’s white teeth sparkled in a brief, humorless grin. “Hardly. Had they any gumption, they’d have given me the same answer Veetos of Lahmahnt did, that where his horse and armor went, so too went his sword and his body. There’s hope for a man that stubborn, no matter how delicate his manner or quarrelsome his nature.”
At the midpoint of Sacred Sun’s journey, they stopped long enough to chew Ahrmehnee-cured meat while the horses grazed on scant grasses and weeds, frost-sere and partially snow-covered. Then it was into the saddle and face the west again, following whatever tribe or game trails were available. Then the head of the column turned the flank of a wooded slope to see the track ahead blocked by a knot of armored and mounted warriors.
Signaling for a halt, Bill mindspoke Mahvros, his stallion, to a trot. Trailed by Komees Taros and the trooper who bore the Red Eagle of Morguhn, he advanced to exchange handclasps and greetings with the waiting nobles and officers.
Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn looked at least twenty years younger than he had on the day almost a year ago, when he had received Bill in his hall and the young thoheeks told him so.
Hari smiled broadly. “I’d forgotten just how much fun a protracted raid on hostile territory can be, Bili. And you won’t believe how much loot we’re sending south, either, not until you see the size of your tenth of it, you won’t Who’d have thought these wretched Ahrmehnee could’ve accumulated such wealth, up here away from everything?”
“Probably,” mused Bib’ aloud, “they got most of it the same way they lost it, raiding the nearer duchies and the other mountain tribes. Have your losses been heavy?”
Hari shrugged. ‘Ten killed or dead of wounds, maybe thrice that hurt in one way or another, none so bad they couldn’t sit a horse. But I fear that some of our columns may not have been so fortunate, Bili. A warhorse limped into camp, two nights back. The creature’s mindspeak is minimal, so I wasn’t able to get much information from him, but I’d have recognized him anyhow. It’s Pawl Raikuh’s gelding, Bili, and the saddle was caked with dried blood.”
“Well,” the thoheeks sighed, “Pawl would be the first to say that death is nothing more than the rest at the end of the long march. It’s a rare soldier who finds it in a bed, Hari. Let’s just hope he died in battle, hope the damned Ahrmehnee didn’t take him alive.”
Hari’s fingers sketched the Sun-sign. “Double aye to that! Not even on my … on the commander of Vawnpolis’s rebels would I wish such a cruel fate.”
Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn had thought she would never spend so horrible a night as that which followed the day of her brutal violation. She had lain upon the greasy dirt floor, her stained cloak wrapped tightly about her bruised and aching young body, while the creatures of the mountain night snapped and snarled over the freezing carcasses of the butchered herd of goats and the corpses of her three little brothers. Carefully, she had husbanded the wood from the meager furnishings so senselessly smashed by the raiders who had raped her, fearful of letting the fire die completely but even more fearful of unlacing or raising the heavy hides which closed the open side of the herd-men’s shelter and which were now all that separated her and Zahndrah, the old milkgoat, from the scavengers.
But after the endless dark had come the light of the new day. She had heard no more animal sounds for some time, so when Zahndrah commenced to paw and nibble at the hides, she found the courage to flex her stiffened limbs and crawl over. Recalling all too well the agonizing cramps which had racked her lower abdomen when, yesterday afternoon, she had tried to stand and walk, she followed the goat out on hands and knees.
But once in the sunlight, her pride took over. Since she had been gone from the village nearly twenty-four hours, it was certain that someone would soon come seeking her, especially with raiders about. It would not do for villagers to see her—naked but for her cloak and fur-lined boots—whimpering on her knees, no matter what injuries and degradations she had suffered. After all, she was eldest born to their hetman.
Gritting her teeth against the expected cramping and grasping the low lintel timber for added support, she pulled herself to her feet However, after a brief stab or two, the internal pain subsided to but a gnawing discomfort, unpleasant but bearable. That was when she became fully aware of her other pains. Worst was the tender flesh at the base of her belly, smarting as if red-hot irons had been pressed against it, but the most serious of her injuries appeared to be to her hands. The raider who had knelt on her palms, while his comrades had had their vicious sport of her body, had rested the full weight of his body as well as that of his armor. Now, after a night of stiffening she had but minimal use of her fingers, and the pain which shot up her arms when she tried to close the hands enough to really grip the lintel brought beads of sweat to her forehead and a low moan bubbling from her lips.
So, before trudging back toward the village, she made her painful way up the near slope of the intervening mountain. Clad only in cloak and boots as she was, she shivered almost constantly as the chill increased, and her teeth chattered as she wove her way between clumps of evergreens. But at last, she was before the dark opening of the cave of the Woman of Wisdom, Zehpoor.