As they sat before the hearth with its fire of hard, bluish coal lumps, Vaskos studied his young friend critically. The cares and worries of command had already begun to leave their unmistakable marks upon the handsome, weather-dark face—furrowed brow, crinkled eyecorners and the beginning of the hard lines at the corners of the mouth, as well as the dark crescents under bloodshot eyes which Vaskos knew he shared. It seemed that the higher an officer’s rank, the less sleep he could count on getting of a night.
But there were other marks visible, as well. A pink pucker of scar now ran from just below the bridge of the nose to the angle of the jaw, and the smallest finger was missing from Gaib’s bridle hand. For all that returning Freefighters chortled over an all but unopposed foray, it was clear that the kahtahfrahktoee had seen some hard fighting.
When he had stuffed the clay bowl of a Zahrtohguhn waterpipe, Vaskos’ callused fingers lifted a tiny coal from the hearth, dropped it atop the fragrant tobacco and puffed until it was going well. Then he handed the other mouthpiece to Gaib.
“Master Ahlee, the physician, you remember him? Well, he gifted me with this contraption. Says that, if smoke I must, this is the only good way to do it The container, here, is filled with brandy, you see, and the smoke is cooled and flavored by it I must admit, I’ve gotten quite fond of the bastard.”
Gaib blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling and smiled. “You don’t know, truly, how good it is to see you again, Vaskos, or how relieved I am to find that the lord commander of Vawnpolis still is the friend I came to know last summer.”
Vaskos’ brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why shouldn’t I be, Gaib?”
The cavalryman slapped at the cuff of his jackboot “Sun and Wind, Vaskos, you’ve been a soldier nigh on thirty years; you’ve seen it Breathing the rarefied air granted to strahteegoee has turned more heads than one, and we both know it. But it’s always good to see the men who can carry high rank with dignity rather than arrogance. You’re a fine man and officer as you are, lord strahteegos, and I’m right proud to call you friend. Were you to metamorphose into one of those strutting, supercflious popinjays that seem to abound in the capital, and sometimes deign to come out to Goohm. I might be some loath to admit I know you.”
“Scant chance of that, m’boy.” Vaskos took a long draft of wine and grinned. “I weren’t yet sixteen when I enlisted, as a common spearman, and my highest ambition in those days was to make senior sergeant But then some fool officer took me under his wing an’ groomed me proper and next I knew I was a sergeant cadet. Four years later he had me shipped off to Bloozburk an’ here I be. But I’m still that senior sergeant I never got to be, Gaib. Down under, that’s all I’ll ever be, I s’pect.”
His grin returned then. “But tell me some war stories, Gaib. Tell me about the female who bit off that finger, for instance. For the sake of your lord father, I hope that was all she managed to bite off.” He chuckled.
Gaib shook his red-blond head ruefully. “For all I can say, some Ahrmehnee did bite the pinky off. I have no memory of receiving the wound, none at all. It wasn’t until everything was done that I even realized it was gone.”
Vaskos nodded. “Oh, yes, that’s happened to me, too. Happens to most men—you get into a skirmish and—”
Gaib shook his head, grimly. “This was no skirmish, old friend. It started as a surprise attack, became a full-scale battle and might well have been a near rout but for the incredible bravery of my lord Drehkos and a few score of his rebels, who—”
Vaskos’ scarred face darkened and there was dull anger in his voice as he growled, “Friend Gaib, amnestied he may be, but to my father and me, he will always be a despicable traitor, and well hear nothing of him, now or in the future.”
“Oh, no, friend Vaskos,” Gaib disagreed. “Like it or not, you and your father will hear of, and probably from, the Lord Drehkos for the rest of your life.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorily. “You must respect the confidential nature of what I am about to tell you, Vaskos, for it’s not yet common knowledge in the expeditionary force. Indeed, I’d not be aware of it myself but that I was once of the Bodyguards and still have many old friends amongst them.
“Vaskos, your Uncle Drehkos led the heroic defense of our camp that morning, unarmored. His few score rebels fought and held, briefly, two or three thousand Ahrmehnee, and almost all of that scratch force took their death wounds, including your uncle, who was run through the body with a wolfspear.”
“Good riddance,” Vaskos snarled, “to bad rubbish!
A restrained awe entered the younger officer’s tone. “But, Vaskos, the Lord Drehkos did not die! He pulled out the spear and by the next morning was sitting his horse beside the High Lady on the march. And she has kept him at her side since.”
Vaskos’ cup clattered onto the hearth and rolled, hissing and unheeded, into the fire. His widening eyes starting from his suddenly pallid face, he croaked, “Gaib … man, do you know what you’re implying?”
Gaib nodded. “No implication, that, old friend. The guardsmen say that the High Lord and the High Lady have administered every test and both now are satisfied that the Lord Drehkos, your esteemed relative, is of the Undying.”
“And I say, hogwash!” shouted Vaskos. “Man, my uncle is two years younger than my father and looks a good ten years older. My father, and many another in Morguhn, have known the man all his misspent life. There’s just no way you could possibly have heard the truth.”
Gaib flavored his reply with a humorless smile. “I thank you for not putting the lie into my mouth, at least But, Vaskos, I talked with guardsmen who assisted in the tests, some of them, anyway. With your uncle’s free consent, dirk blades were thrust into his body rendering fatal wounds, and still he lived. The Lord Milo and the Lady Aldora both are satisfied, why should you not be?”
With the first, green shoots of spring, the High Lord led the last of his regiments down from the western mountains, leaving Fort Kohg—as the castra was now called in honor of the nahkhahrah—manned by a mixed force of Confederation volunteers and native Ahrmehnee warriors, all under the command of Senior Strahteegos Hahfos Djohnz, who now bore the additional title of Lord Warden of the Ahrmehnee Marches, his actions accountable to none save the nahkhahrah and Milo.
At the High Lord’s side rode the nahkhaharah, well pleased with what he had, and would, accomplish for his people. Also, he was pleased that the Lord Milo had chosen Hahfos to be deputy. He felt his people would come to truly love the wise and competent but quiet and unassuming officer, and now that Hahfos was safely wed, by Ahrmehnee rites, to a girl of the Bahrohnyuhn Tribe, he was more or less Ahrmehnee himself. And, the old man mused on, if the Lady did not choose to grant children to him and his own new wife, there could be no complaint from any tribe were he to name as his successor Lord Hahfos’ firstborn son.
While Drehkos Daiviz, still a little unbelieving that he was truly Undying, listened, Aldora was patiently explaining to the Lady Zehpoor Taishyuhn, new wife of the nahkhahrah, the precise stations of her and her husband.
“Of the First Rank, there be but three—though there will be four as soon as we reach the capital and dear Drehkos is confirmed a High Lord. Of the Second Rank are such as foreign kings, princes, kahleefahee, and the like. The Third Rank includes such foreign titles as grand duke, or archduke, both of which are the same as our own ahrkeethoheeks; senior strahteegoee hold this rank as long as they remain in the army, as do certain high officials of the Confederation.