The Death Of A Legend

by Robert Adams

  “I am here, Chief Bili,” was the feline’s prompt response. “As you ordered, about halfway up the column and out of sight. Most of the twolegs have halted here, Perhaps only as many in numbers as I have claws on my four feet have kept On along the running water.”

  “Are all of them fighters?” Bili demanded. “And see you anything of a large animal coming this way before them?”

  “All are fighters, right enough, Chief Bili. And I see no beasts, large or small, only huge men on Northorses, as many of them as my back claws, I think. The smallest is as big as the giant man whom you slew before the great shaking.”

  Every step Mahvros took increased the agony of Bili’s presentiment of great danger just ahead. After hand-signalling those behind him to fully arm, he uncased his gigantic axe, but did not yet lower his visor, wishing to maintain maximum visibility of what must soon come to pass in this decidedly unusual situation. Behind him he heard the ripple of sound as visors were lowered and locked, and as sabers and broad. swords came out of sheaths. Whatever might now occur, he and the van were as ready as they could be.

  Approaching the place where the stream debouched between a pair of precipitous knobs onto relatively level ground, Bili’s presentiment became almost overpowering. Then, amid a shower of hastily gathered boulders and a chorus of horrified shouts from Lieutenant Roopuht and his men on the knob above, the ultimate terror poked its preternaturally huge snout into the vale, flicking a forked tongue as long as a lance shaft before it!

  Rahksahnah’s scream of terror was not the only one, and they were all combined with the whufflings and snortings of horses suddenly reined up short. But Bili forced his framed and disciplined mind to calm appraisal of the monster now waddling around the rocky flank of the knob and into the mouth of the vale.

  The scales which covered every visible inch of its thick body shone the color of blued steel. The one eye Bili could see was as big as a lancer’s targe — near two feet across — and was the hue of fresh-spilled blood, with a vertical black slit of a pupil. Thick as treetrunks were the legs thrusting out from that immense body, then bending down at right angles to bear the weighty burden of wide-spreading, black-clawed travesties of human hands.

  Sighting the knot of horsemen, the beast again sent that ten feet of questing black tongue flickering out, opened its gaping jaws — armed with double rows of back-curving, sharp-pointed teeth, glistening whitely and the smallest of them longer than the fangs of an adult prairiecat — then snapped them shut and increased its waddling-rush, seemingly oblivious of the missiles being showered upon its back from the knob above.

  Somewhat reassured, despite the horror apparently confronting him and his force, by the fact that his destrier was standing calmly, awaiting a command, and seemed in no slightest fear of a creature looking to be a meat-eater and at least twice the big horse’s height at the withers, Bili again mindcalled his furry scout. “Whitetip, where are you now?”

  “At the tail of their van, Chief Bili. They are now halted in the cut, all save about as many as I have claws on one forepaw. But can you not see them, Chief Bili? Even in the low place where I lie hidden, still can I see your helm and the axe on your shoulder.”

  “And you spy no beast like a great huge lizard going before them, cat brother?” Bili asked once more.

  The cat’s mindspeak rang mildly exasperated. “Chief Bili, have you guzzled too much of the stinking water? Only men and horses are before you!”

  “Be ready to attack on my command, cat brother” Bili broke off the mental bond with the hidden feline, then he mindspoke Mahvros. “Brother mine, what see you before us?”

  Mahvros stamped a big, steel-shod hoof, clearly impatient for the bloodletting to commence. “Great, huge men on big horses, brother, but the horses are those slow, sexless ones; they will not stand against Mahvros or any other warhorse. Behind those is a man the size of my brother, and he bestrides a stallion; that should be a good fight for us both, brother.” He stamped again. “We charge now, brother?”

  “Soon,” answered Bili. He reined about and beckoned the van to come to him. To the credit of their collective and individual courage, they all did. When all were within hearing, be spoke in a low-pitched but carrying voice, ignoring the jaw-snapping thing that seemed to be bearing down upon them all.

  “Furface, sound you the ‘General Advance’; the moment that the rest of the squadron comes into view, this van will charge.”

  But one of the horsemen threw up his visor with a clang to expose a dark, Ehleen countenance. “Thoheeks Bili, I’ve followed you through what has seemed like half the damned mountains in all the world, nor did I stick at riding behind your banner against five or six times our numbers of blood-thirsty barbarians. But if you mean to charge that devil’s spawn yonder, you’ll damned well charge without Mikos of Eeahnospolis or any other man with brains in his head. Look at that monster, damn you; it could champ a destrier in twain with one bite!”

  Clenching his jaws, Bili stifled a sharp and insulting retort. He really couldn’t blame the young nobleman. Despite his own dead certainty that the waddling monstrosity was mere illusion aimed solely at human minds, an atavistic tenor and loathing still tickled at his vitals.

  As calmly as he could he said, “Look you, Lord Mikos. The Ahrmehnee headmen spoke last night of works of wizardry. That apparition yonder seems to me to be an example of such, for though it seems clear and menacing to us, neither the cats out there nor my Mahvros can see it. Instead, they see armed and mounted men . . . and not very many of those.”

  But Mikos of Eeahnospolis looked anything but convinced and others seemed to be of a like turn of mind.

  “Very well,” snapped Bili. He faced Mahvros about and dropped the reins loosely over the pommel knob so as not to hinder the big horse’s fighting abilities. With his left hand thus freed, he lowered his visor and rose to his customary fighting position in the stirrups. “Now, brother!” he beamed.

  Eagerly the big black trotted forward. The trot became a faster trot, then a gallop. Waving his heavy axe as lightly as if it were a child’s toy, Bili raised his warcry.

  “UP! UP HARZBURK! A MORGUHN! A MORGUHN!”

  “NO, BILI, NO!” Rahksahnah screamed once, then she snapped down the visor of her archaic helm and spurred her tall mare in Mahvros’ wake, her own lighter axe balanced to throw or hack or parry. And hard on her heels came Meeree, with Gy Ynstyn just behind.

  When it seemed to the knot of breathless watchers that their leader would surely ride directly into those cruel, tooth-studded jaws, the black stallion came to a sudden halt. Whirling his thirteen-pound weapon around his head yet again, Bili let go the steel shaft and sent the axe tumbling, end over end . . . but not at the now-rearing monsters head, rather much lower, some six or seven feet above the ground.

  The thick axeblade took the beast at the confluence of body and loose-skinned throat, and passed cleanly through, disappearing like a pebble tossed into thin mud. But all heard the meaty thud of some solid something on flesh and bone, followed almost at once by the unmistakable shriek of a wounded man.

  In less than the blinking of an eye, the horrid, looming monster was gone! It had not fled: rather, it had vanished as if it never had been. To the eyes of the dumbfounded vanguard of Bili’s force, what had appeared to replace the monstrosity was strange enough, if not as fearsome.

  Just inside the vale’s narrow entrance were five of the gigantic Muhkohee. Two of them were standing, still holding over their heads the oversized bullhide shields which had protected them from the rain of rocks, for none of the five wore armor of any sort, unless thick leather jerkins and high-peaked hats of similar material could be construed as body armor. Behind the first two, two others had dropped their own shields to kneel beside the fifth, who lay writhing and moaning on the rocky ground, his hairy hands covering his face, bright blood gushing between the fingers.

  Beyond this group of giant men, just outside the notch between the two rocky knobs, a
sixth Muhkohee, garbed in the same fashion as the others, sat a piebald Northorse and held the reins of five more of the oversized equines.

  A score of yards to this Muhkohee’s rear were a column of normal-sized men, at least a dozen. All were armed, armored mostly in well-worn scaleshirts and mounted on largish mountain ponies. But it was their leader who caught and held every eye.

  Although certainly no Muhkohee, he was quite a big specimen of a man — half a foot over six feet, anyway, and of proportionate breadth — and he was mounted upon a destrier that might have been Mahvros’ twin for size and conformation, but of a uniform, creamy-white color.

  The big man’s armor had obviously been forged in the Middle Kingdoms and was lavishly decorated, every inch being covered with red-gold inlays and enamelwork, while the helm held in the crook of the man’s bridle arm was encircled around the brows of the bowl by a broad, thick band of gold.

  The man’s wavy, brick-red hair was streaked liberally with strands and patches of yellowish-white. His eyes were half hidden under bushy brows so thick that they seemed not to break their march over his nose; his lips, too, were almost hidden by a big, drooping red mustache. He and his stallion made a striking picture, and, as they all watched, he lifted his helm and replaced it on his head, though he left the visor raised.

  Bili drew his broadsword and once more rose in his stirrups. Raising his visor, he cupped hand to mouth and shouted, “Ho! You on the white stallion, as you can see, we outnumber you by better than ten to one. I have no wish to kill you and your men. If we are camped upon your lands, I’m sorry, but we had no choice or option. What with the fires, it was trespass or perish, and we mean to depart eastward as soon as conditions permit. On that, you have the word of Bili, Thoheeks Morguhn.

  “However,” he went on and grinned, “if only blood will satisfy you, why not spare the blood of your followers and make it between us two, eh?” His voice was tinged with a happy anticipation,

  Nor was that anticipation lost on his hoped-for adversary. The big man in the gaudy armor tilted back his head, and his basso laughter rumbled from his open-faced helmet. Then be bellowed back at Bili, “There crows a young cockerel who can hardly wait to blood his spurs! Naetheless, it was well spoken, young sir, well spoken, indeed.”

  He kneed his stallion slowly forward, his right fist resting on his armored thigh, making no attempt either to draw his ornate sword or to grasp the iron-hafted morningstar which dangled from the off side of his saddlebow.

  The white stallion’s unusually long pastern, flexed sharply at every step, imparting grace and style to his movements. His high-arched tail was full and rippled in a sudden gust of air, while his well-formed head nodded proudly. Skirting the unarmed and still bewildered-looking Muhkohee, the big man did not halt his creamy mount until he was less than three lance lengths from Bili and Mahvros.

  Bili made a move to lower his visor, but the big man cried, “Hold, young sir, wait. Whilst I’ve no doubt that we two are about evenly matched and would make a fine, memorable single combat, it were best that we talk, first. Best not only for us, but for those who follow our respective banners.”

  “Are you a Sword Brother?” inquired Bili. At the big man’s nod, Bili reversed his weapon, grasping it by the blade and bringing Mahvros to a slow walk while the stranger drew forth his own fine sword.

  “Brother,” Bili mindspoke Mabvros, “this will be a Sword truce, so keep your teeth out of that stallion.”

  “But, brother,” the big black remonstrated sulkily, “what if that overproud, pink-eared mule insults me? Or what if he bites me first?”

  “Just mind your training and my orders!” admonished Bili sharply. Instantly, he regretted taking out his nervousness — sudden truces with unknown opponents after first blood always unsettled him — on the loving and ever-faithful horse, so he added, “Besides, we may fight yet, dear brother. There is but one negotiable way out of this vale, and this man’s little force is blocking it. But restrain yourself a bit longer and let me see what he wants to discuss.

  “Will Mahvros do that . . . for his brother?”

  Beaming love and assurance of his obedience to Bili, the black stallion advanced until the two riders were almost knee to knee, then halted to stand like an onyx statue.

  Chapter VIII

  His every sense on full alert to guard against trickery. Bili wordlessly extended his sword, hilt first, his blue eyes meeting the stranger’s blue-green eyes as he did so. In return, he accepted the big man’s proffered weapon, and after each had solemnly kissed the bared steel just below the hilt, they again exchanged and then sheathed their blades.

  After they had shucked gauntlets and shared a complicated, ritual handclasp, both men visibly relaxed, tension draining out of their bodies. Each now was secure in the knowledge that the ancient Sword Oath was as sacred to the one as to the other and that consequently neither would commit or countenance any treachery as long as the Sword Truce remained in effect.

  The stranger spoke first. “Well, young sir, you and yours are in a pretty pickle, and no mistake! That those Ahrmehnee and Moon Maidens should be this deep into Muhkohee country is remarkable enough, considering the severity of the drubbing they took the last time they invaded. But by the Blue Lady, what are burkers and Confederation nobles doing here with them? I had thought the Ahrmehnee Stahn to be a bitter enemy of the Confederation, and of the Karaleenos Ehleenee, before since time out of mind.

  “Or are you really a thoheeks, sirrah? You look and bear yourself more like a burker than a damned foppish Ehleen. And your accent is of the Middle Kingdoms, too, not of the damned decadent southlands.”

  Bili smiled. “But nonetheless I am, sir, truly Thoheeks and chief of the Clan Morguhn. and the Prince of Karaleenos is nominally my overlord though recently I and mine have been in direct service to she High Lord of the Confederation. Milo Morai. But I also have the great honor to be the grandson of a Duke of Zuhnhurk, on my mother’s side, so I was fostered at the court of King Gilbuht of Harzburk. I soldiered with the army of King Gilbuht for five years and was honored with the Order of the Blue Bear of Harzburk, ere I was summoned back to Morguhn to succeed to my patrimony and titles.”

  “Yes,” chuckled the big man, “I heard the ‘Up Harzburk.’ Old habits are sometimes hard to break, eh? And a knight of the Blue Bear, are you? But that still leaves much unanswered, sir duke. What do you here, so far west and in such company?”

  But Bili shook his head. “I’d not seem discourteous, sir, but I’ve answered enough questions, for the nonce. Now I’ll ask one: just who are you and what are your intentions toward me and my force? What follows this parley — war or peace?”

  “Hmmph!” The red-haired man snorted, but showed no sign of displeasure. “Well, you’re blunt enough, anyway; there’s no misunderstanding you. Who I am is a long story, and I will be more comfortable before I go into that story, sir duke. Suffice it here to say that I am a nobleman driven from his rightful lands by a vile usurper. You, being who and what you are, may call me Byruhn; but your followers must preface the name with my title, prince.”

  Somewhere, deep in the depths of Bili’s memory, the combination of name and title — Prince Byruhn of . . . ? — seemed vaguely familiar. Somewhere, sometime, he had heard of it and knew he should recall the tale, but with all else that was now on his mind, the old memory eluded his grasp. “And your intentions, Lord Byruhn?”

  Byruhn raised his bushy single brow. “Why, sir duke, to save you and those assorted folk, back there in the vale, from protracted and singularly horrible deaths, if you’ll all accept my aid . . . and my terms.”

  “Terms, my lord?” Instantly, Bili’s every faculty returned to full alertness, and he beamed a mindprobe at the stranger but slammed headlong into a very strong and impervious mindshield.

  Byruhn at once seemed to know what Bili had tried, but he smiled good-naturedly. “No, I’m not gifted with telepathy, as you must be, sir duke, but certain of my wizards have scho
oled me in how to guard my thoughts against those who are.

  “But be not so distrustful of me, young man. I now mean you all no slightest ill, not since I’ve learned who and what you are. I only commenced an attack because I had thought the force in this vale to be a raiding party of Ahrmehnee and Moon Maidens.

  “I live finely balanced on the edge of a sword here, with precious few friends and a vast host of enemies, deadly enemies. The Blue Lady knows, the earthquake and those blasted fires have roiled things up enough and more than enough hereabouts. And an Arhmehnee raid at this fell juncture, could well topple me and mine from the skillet full into the fire.”

  “But,” said Bili dubiously, “there are indeed Moon Maidens and Ahrmehnee warriors here. How does the mere presence of me and my noblemen and Freefighters make a difference? And, Lord Byruhn, who are you to talk of terms? My force could ride over yours with ease.”

  Byruhn smiled thinly. “And just how do you know that I’ve not a larger force in concealment out there?”

  Bili answered the smile with a wolfish grin. “If you have, they’re not within easy reach, my lord. I am better served than you seem to think. Your route of march was scouted for at least a mile, and by ones immune to the delusions of your tame Muhkohee, too.”

  “Impossible!” snorted Prince Byruhn. “Aside from a couple of large and some score of smaller wild animals, the only life my wizards sensed since we marched around Crooked Peak was a brace of played-out mountain ponies . . . probably strays from the outlaw raiders who were caught by the earthquake and the fires, Sword he praised.”

  Bili asked, “A group led by one of the Muhkohee? Between two and three thousand of them?”

  Byruhn showed his big, strong and amazingly white teeth again, but this time in more a grimace than a smile. “Aye, the same pack, and I just wish I knew where their renegade leader was skulking now. There’ll be scant slumber for me until I find him and put paid to his damned account.”