In Modern Ehleeneekos, they read:
“Milos Morai, High Lord of the Confederation of Southern Peoples, sends greetings to Vahroneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The High Lord would confer with said vahrohneeskos, at his earliest convenience, that conditions may be agreed upon for the honorable capitulation of the garrison, inhabitants and city of Vawnpolis. Penned under the direction of the High Lord by Pehtros Makintahsh, Adjutant. Signed: Milos Moral.”
Drehkos rested his head between his hands, his bare elbows on the desk, protruding through his well-worn shirt. Furiously, he massaged his gray-shot temples, then opened his eyes and read the message through again … and yet again. And still it was as a dream.
This was exactly what he had promised his ragtag garrison, never for a moment deluding himself that such would ever truly come to pass. He had felt himself and every other soul within Vawnpolis irrevocably doomed and the rejections of his three attempts to treat, combined with the besiegers’ steadfast refusal to suffer prisoners to live, had but reinforced his conviction. Nonetheless, he had dangled the carrot of hope before his starveling ragamuffins. Over and over, he had assured them that, could they but cost the besiegers enough losses and hold out until planting time, terms would surely be granted to spare at least the lives of the common folk.
And now the impossible dream was become fact … hard fact.
As the first rays of the rising sun illumined the small, spartan room, the vahrohneeskos’ servant entered to find his master slumped over the desk, his body racked with heaving sobs.
Drehkos arrived at the pavilion of the High Lord attended only by a pair of commoner-officers, all three of them astride guardsmen’s horses, escorted by Keeleeohstos Sahndros Druhmuhnd, commander of the High Lord’s horseguards. Inside the brazier-heated pavilion, the rebels were led to where the High Lord, the High Lady Aldora and Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt sat ranged behind a heavy table.
After saluting, the keeleeohstos gruffly reported, “My Lord Milo, here be Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The other two rebels be commoner-officers of the vahrohneeskos’. Would my lord be wanting guards within?”
Milo slowly shook his head. “No need, good Sahndros. Go back and find yourself a brazier and a tipple. I’ll mindcall when and if I want you.”
From the moment he had been ushered in, Drehkos had stood open-mouthed, staring at the lean, saturnine figure of the High Lord. As the keeleeohstos clanked out, the rebel leader suddenly exclaimed, “But … what witchery be this? You … you be the bard … Klairuhnz, wasn’t it? I had wine with you at … at my brother’s hall last spring, before any of this unpleasantness commenced.”
A smile flitted briefly across Milo’s lips. “I had reason, then, Lord Drehkos, for concealing my identity. A traveling bard is always welcome in village or city or hall, among Kindred or Ehleenee. So, can you think of a better guise?”
Before Drehkos could frame an answer, Milo’s smile vanished and his voice cooled and hardened. “But we are not met to discuss the past, vahrohneeskos. Where are your other two nobles, Vahrohnos Myros Deskahti of Morguhn and Vahrohneeskos Kahzos Boorsohthehpsees of Vawn? I had thought that you would bring them to this gathering.”
“My lord,” replied Drehkos, “I am empowered to speak for all, noble or common, within Vawnpolis. I left poor Kahzos in command of the city, since unhealed wounds have rendered him incapable of sitting a horse.”
“And Myros?” prodded Aldora. “Is that thieving murderer also wounded … I hope?”
“No,” Drehkos answered. “Even during the assaults, I have been loath to allow Lord Myros within proximity to weapons, for more and more frequently he lapses into violent and completely pointless rages; indeed, I have found it necessary to detail an officer and a squad to … to look after him.”
Milo nodded once, then turned to Aldora. “It’s as I said years back, my dear. The reason I opposed executing him. The man’s mad, always has been, and whatever drugs that so-called kooreeos fed him have obviously worsened his condition.”
Drehkos looked from one to the other in bewilderment. “My lord, my lady, I confess I don’t understand. Drugs?”
“Just so, vahrohneeskos, drugs.” Milo gestured at the empty chairs opposite him. “But it’s a long tale. You and your officers sit down and help yourselves to the wine.”
Before seating himself, Drehkos spoke with crisp formality. “My lords, my lady, please allow me to introduce my officers.” At Milo’s nod, he went on. “On my right stands Captain Pehtros Naimos, commander of the north wall; on my left, Captain Djaimz Trohahnos, commander of the east wall. They are not of noble birth and they are … ahh, have been your enemies, but they have been unswervingly faithful to me, and I have never met men who more truly epitomize the word ‘gentlemen.’ “
Aldora watched the two officers, saw the younger, fair-skinned Djaimz Trohahnos flush red at the unexpected public praise. This man obviously had some measure of mindspeak ability, for his mindshield was impenetrable, even in his embarrassment. The other, dark, middle-aged Pehtros Naimos, was completely unshielded and his mind literally oozed devotion to his leader.
Next, the High Lady turned her attention to Drehkos. The rebel leader bore a quite striking resemblance to Hari and Vaskos Daiviz, his brother and nephew, respectively—most of his thinning hair was white, but this was the only indication of his age; otherwise, all five and a half feet of his big-boned, wide-shouldered body looked lean and hard and fit. His helm had left a dent in his high forehead, and beneath it his eyes were bloodshot and dark-ringed with lack of sleep, his face lined with worry and care. But, withal, he was still a handsome man.
Aldora sent her mind questing forth, recoiled in shocked surprise, immediately beamed to Milo on a mindspeak level unattainable to most. “I thought you said this rebel lordling had no mindspeak.”
“So everyone, all his relatives and former friends, assured me,” the High Lord replied on the same level. “Why? Has he a shield?”
“Try him and see.”
“Whew!” Milo tried to mask the amazement from his face. “It’s like running headlong into a brick wall, isn’t it?”
“It’s the conscious shield of a very powerful mind, Milo,” she assured him. “Yours is that strong, and so is Mara’s, but I’ve never met another such. Not even dear old Hari Kruhguh’s mind had such a formidable defense.”
As is true of mindspeak “conversations,” these exchanges had taken bare microseconds.
Aloud, Milo smiled again, saying, “Very well, Lord Drehkos. I believe you know Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt, of old. On my right sits the Undying High Lady, Aldora Linsee Treeah-Pohtohmas Pahpahs.”
Aldora inclined her small head slightly, the light of the lamps picking out bluish highlights in her long black hair. But beneath her slender brows, her almond-shaped black eyes never ceased their careful scrutiny of Drehkos.
“Do we all mindspeak?” asked Milo as soon as all goblets were full.
The older officer shook his raggedly barbered head. “No, my lord, I be almost kathahrohs, and my kind lack such heathenish … ahh, such talents.”
Milo smiled. “Captain, both the High Ladies—my wife, Mara, and Aldora, here—be true kathahrohsee, yet they pose high degrees of mindspeak ability. Kindred heritage, or the lack of it, is not the determinant factor in whether a man can or cannot mindspeak. Nor are we Undying and Kindred unique, as you should very well know. Large numbers of your own Ehleenee nobles and commoners are mindspeakers, the Vahrohnos Myros Deskati of Morguhn amongst them.”
He looked down the table at the younger officer. “And what of you, Captain Trohahnos?”
The red-haired officer squirmed, uncomfortable to be seated in the presence of such high nobility. “A … a little, my … my lord. Papa didn’ mindspeak an’ … an’ Mama died ‘fore she could … could teach me much, an’ …”