by Robert Adams
“Yes, Count Hwahltuh, I do mean it. If you and the other noblemen will take Swordoath to never again bear arms against the Ehleen Confederation, all are free to depart this duchy. You may retain your arms and as much personal baggage as one packmule can bear. If your mount be slain or crippled, I will provide you another for the journey.”
The red-haired boy — he couldn’t be older than eighteen, reckoned Milo — shook his head in happy wonderment. “You are most generous, my lord. I am certain that Earl Ahrthuh and all the rest would second me in that statement, but what of our people — our retainers and the Freefighters?”
Milo smiled. “They’re as free as are you, unless they decide to enlist under the Confederation banner. As for generosity, it is both easy and pleasant to be generous with men who have fought as valiantly as did you and yours.”
The young nobleman’s face flushed nearly the color of his hair. “Those were kind and most gentle words, Lord Milo. When and where are our ransoms to be paid . . . and have you decided upon the various amounts of them?”
“I demand no ransoms,” said Milo flatly. “Nor will my army set one foot on the soil of either Getzburk or Yorkburk, so long as you and they remain true to your oaths. I will march into Tchaimbuhzburk only if King Kahl takes it into his head to march; if he does, the war will be fought on the lands of his vassals; there’ll be no more fighting in Kuhmbuhluhn or any other state of the Confederation.”
“But . . . but Tchaimbuhzburk and Yorkburk and my own holdings, or an agreed-upon amount of gold, are yours — or, at least, Duke Djefree’s — by Swordright!” argued Count Hwahltuh. “And . . .”
“And, were it up to me,” Duke Djefree leaned toward the count, smiling, “I’d take all three of them, the lands, not the money; with two duchies and two counties, I could style myself ‘Arch-Duke,’ and spit in the Fox King’s bloodshot eye with impunity.
“But, Cousin Hwahltuh, Lord Milo is my overlord, I am Sword-oathed to his service, and he wants no more lands north of the Southern River.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Count Hwahltuh said, addressing Milo, “but I don’t understand, really. My Getzburk is a rich country, richer than Yorkburk, by far. The Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk is . . .”
“Pardon my interruption, please, young man,” said Milo in friendly tones. “But if I took, or allowed Duke Djefree to take, the two counties and the duchy, I could depend on a war to retain them every other year for the next fifty, at least. I now rule an area far larger than all of the lands of the Middle Kingdoms combined. Consequently, I’ve more than enough to occupy my mind without getting involved in you northerners’ affairs.”
“Yet, when we threatened Duke Djefree,” commented Count Hwahltuh thoughtfully, “you did not simply loan him troops; you personally led your entire army to his defense.”
Milo nodded. “So I did, young sir, and for a very good reason. I wish to, hereby, serve notice that my Confederation will not tolerate attacks on any of its member-states by any non-member, large or small. I think that that slaughter in the valley was necessary to make my point clear.”
“Yes, my lord.” Count Hwahltuh speedily agreed. “You assuredly made clear your intentions to resist aggression against your vassals.” Slowly, he poured his cup full again, took a few sips, then suddenly asked, “My Lord Milo, I can see your reason for not wishing to be saddled with conquered lands, but . . . but what if . . . if a landholder wished to Swordoath his allegiance to your Confederation, as has Duke Djefree? Would you accept his fealty?”
Milo did not need to enter the boy’s mind to define his meaning. In his own mind, he spread out the map of this part of the Middle Kingdoms as they were today. He had taken Kuhmbuhluhn into the Confederation in order to protect his northwest from forays backed by the King of Pitzburk, who had threatened Kehnooryos Ehlahs up until eleven years ago when old King Ehvrit had died and been replaced by the current and friendlier monarch.
Now the threat was Harzburk, and the long, narrow duchy of Kuhmbuhluhn covered less than half of the stretch through which King Kahl might march. The addition of Getzburk, which adjoined Kuhmbuhluhn on north and east, would leave only the county of Yorkburk — a good proportion of which was saltmarsh or freshwater fens — to provide an uncontested access to Kehnooryos Ehlahs.
“Let us be blunt, young sir,” he answered. “Do you wish to become my vassal? Would you have your county a member of the Confederation? If you are now willing to renounce your oaths to King Kahl, how can I be assured that you will not forswear those given me when it suits you?”
In a quick flash of the hot temper for which his race was noted, Count Hwahltuh crushed the pint cup in his powerful right hand, unaware of his action until the remaining wine gushed over his skin. “Please accept my apology, my lord. I will replace the cup. But no man of my house has ever been truly named ‘forsworn’! My oaths were to Duke Djai, who lies dead in yonder valley; his oaths were to King Kahl. While the Duke lived, King Kahl had no reason to take my oaths himself.
“And, yes, my lord, I would be your vassal, and you would have me and mine.”
* * *
So, in the forty-first year of his reign, did Milo Morai, High Lord of the Confederation, secure his northern border; for the nephew of the deceased Count of Yorkburk, upon being apprised of Getzburk’s new allegiance, was quick to point out that, were he Count of Yorkburk — and he had as good a claim as any living man — he would be overjoyed to swear himself and his county to the Confederation. Thus, Milo took young Earl Ahrthuh’s oath, confirmed him Count of Yorkburk, and loaned him Sub-Strahteegos Portos and four squadrons of kahtahfraktoee to overawe any opposing relatives.
As the High Lord’s dromonds clove the waves toward the former Southern Kingdom, he had good cause to be well pleased. Within two years he had avoided the bulk of two invasions and quadrupled the size of the Confederation by the additions of most of his former foes. He had only to add the Sea Isles and the Confederation would include all the southern Ehleenoee.
He smiled then, recalling his last conversation with Mara. Between her and Aldora, Alexandros and his Council of Captains would certainly be pledging their swords and — more importantly, their ships and nautical expertise — to the Confederation before winter roughened the sea lanes.
His only source of discomfiture lay deep in the forbidding reaches of that vast wasteland of saltswamps that held the J. & R. Kennedy Center. Despite his warning to the Senior Director, he was dead certain that he’d not seen the last of them. But any attempt to take either an army or a fleet against their unknown powers would probably be suicidal. So he could only await their next move, hoping that he would know it for what it was when it came.
The End
