Even so, his sickening envy for the stations once his and now held by Bili soon blossomed into hate. Assiduous nitpicking produced no dearth of fuel for stoking the fires of that hate. Also, he found a willing fire tender in the person of old Komees Djeen Morguhn, whose earlier, overbearing efforts to browbeat Bili had ultimately resulted in his own public humiliation, an act for which he could never forgive his young overlord. Throughout the siege, these two had been able to cause Bili and Aldora—the High Lady having been left in charge of the besieging forces during the High Lord’s lengthy absence—considerable annoyance and not a little real trouble.
Nonetheless, the habitual caution of the elderly komees had in some measure restrained Ahndros’ less calculating nature from open and violent defiance. But Komees Djeen had been in command of the farthest-eastward squadron, and so was presently withdrawing with his force to the south. Ahndros was now completely on his incautious own.
Though Bili answered the barb as calmly as possible, it was from betwixt tightly clenched jaws, above which his eyes blazed blue fire. “When once more we are our own men, Lord Ahndros, without mission and orders and responsibilities for those we lead, you will find me more than happy to let Steel decide our differences. For the nonce, however, we are all under the High Lord’s command to fulfill his behests, and, as I have before told you, we are far from the Confederation and in the midst of a hostile land. It was the High Lord’s express wish that I captain this special enterprise, and I will not surrender that captaincy to you or anyone else without the Lord Milo’s order.
“My farspeak summons to you instructed you to join this column at the specified rendezvous with a half-dozen troopers or officers and a bare minimum of equipment. Since we were to move far and fast, I said nothing about bodyservants, yet you appeared with five, plus a half-troop and a packtrain near as long as this entire squadron’s. Tents and scents and oils and fine clothing have no place in the High Lord’s plans, Lord Ahndros, nor in mine; this is why the baggagemaster dumped your three packloads, and I had intended to so inform you, though, for your pride’s sake, I’d not have done so in public.
“The grain and dried beans are being retained to keep our warhorses in proper flesh, since, unlike the ponies, they cannot thrive on dry grass and treebark. Even the lowliest trooper seems to understand this, Lord Ahndros. Why can’t you?”
During Dili’s long reply, Ahndros’ blood had cooled enough to allow his brain to register a few very important facts: Bili was not wearing a sword; it hung, along with his axe and helm, on the saddle of Mahvros, his black stallion, some paces to his rear. His sneer intensified and he hitched his swordbelt forward and closed his right hand about the wire-wound hilt.
“I don’t think these noble gentlemen and northern officers are willing to follow the lead or orders of a craven, no matter his hereditary rank or who misplaced him in command.” He raised his voice and glanced about him. “What say you, gentlemen? The thoheeks of Morguhn has done me injury, yet he refuses to meet me in honorable combat, and such refusal brands him craven. Do you now follow him or me?”
Lord Hari, his face fire-red, made to step forward, but Djaik Morguhn was there before him. “Lord Ahndros, I know not the customs and usages of the Confederation Army, but I had assumed it at least as civilized and well ordered a force as the armies of the Middle Kingdoms. In the Army of Eeree, now, a nobleman—no matter how high his birth—who saw fit to insult his commander, openly question that commander’s judgment and tender a challenge which he knew the commander’s oaths would not let him take up would be brought before a drumhead court-martial and, most probably, a Steel Cult Council, as well.
“The Order would likely bid him do combat with a weapons master in full plate and him with but a sword and his bare skin. If, by wildest chance, he survived that encounter—”
“Fagh!” Ahndros burst out. “Your barbarian practices would sicken a hog. Find someone else to yap at, puppy, I have business with grown men.”
Grave-faced, the younger Morguhn turned to Bili. “Brother, I ask Sword-leave. Be it your will?”
At Bili’s mindcall, Mahvros gave over his browsing and paced to Bili’s side, his harness jingling. Feeling the supercharged emotional atmosphere, the sensitive horse mind-spoke with rising eagerness. “Do we fight soon, brother?”
“Not me, Mahvros, but possibly you with my brother, Djaik, astride you. Will you serve him as you would me?”
“My brother’s brother is my brother,” the horse answered simply.
Bili lifted his baldric from off the pommel, uncased the sword and dropped baldric and sheath to the ground. Turning back to Djaik and the assemblage, he raised the broadsword to his lips, kissing the blade just below the guard.
Djaik drew his own sword and did likewise, then he extended his hilt to Bili, accepting Bill’s sword in return.
“No, not Sword-leave, my brother,” stated Bili formally. “Rather, this. You are me, until my Steel runs lifeblood.”
Stiffly, Djaik nodded. “I will serve your honor well, lord brother. Honor to Steel.” Once more, the two men kissed their blades.
“What are you two yammering about?” shouted Ahndros, peevishly. “Is the craven thoheeks going to fight me or not?
Still gripping Djaik’s bare blade, Bili stalked forward, saying, “Count Hari, I beg you and Sir Geros attend and advise Lord Ahndros, as I doubt me he knows aught of Sword Cult usages.”
Once again confronting Ahndros, Bili grounded the point of his brother’s sword, crossing his big, scarred hands upon its pommel-ball. “You were insistent on a duel, eh? Well, a duel you are to have, sirrah. Were I free to do so, I’d meet you myself, on horseback, with axes. But I’m not, as you well know.
“However, Lord Ahndros, you have challenged and my surrogate has taken up that challenge. You will meet my brother, Djaik Morguhn, as soon as he has fully armed. It will be a combat conducted by Sword Cult customs, in which Count Hari and Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn will presently instruct you.
“You have been most provocative, Lord Ahndros, but, even so, I would prefer reconciliation and comradeship to combat. Therefore, I offer you the opportunity to withdraw your challenge, apologize for your insults and rejoin us as a loyal and obedient Kinsman.”
It was not working out as Ahndros had hoped. He did not really fear Djaik, though he respected the boy’s unquestioned expertise, but he had no desire to fight him, nothing to gain in wounding or killing him, save the enmity of all of Clan Morguhn. He would have been happy to live with that enmity, could he only have hacked the life out of the thoheeks, but, once again, circumstances had conspired to cheat him of his rightful deserts. Utter frustration was compounded with his rage and the mixture suddenly bubbled over, completely out of control.
His sword sang clear of its scabbard, flashing blindingly in the westering sun. “Christ damn you, you heathen bastard! It’s not your brother’s blood I want, it’s yours. You’ve got a sword. Use it!” And with that he stamped forward, his forehand slash aimed at Bill’s helmless head.
VIII
Ahndros should have known better; he had, after all, seen Bili fight. For all his thick waist and hips almost as wide as his shoulders, the young thoheeks was in no manner clumsy or slow, else he would not have lived through over five years of almost continuous warfare. His quick reflexes had saved his life in more than one fierce encounter. They did again.