by Robert Adams
At the head of the long column of mounted and armored warrior women, Sahrah/Erica rode knee to knee with the tall, handsome brahbehrnuh or warleader of the Maidens. And she thought it was too bad, in a way, that that splendid body would most likely be hacked into bloody gobbets before the spring came on the hills. It was a strong, healthy and attractive body, for which she would willingly have traded the one she now occupied.
* * *
Milo Morai had not, in something less than two centuries, built his Confederation by passively awaiting attacks. In this present world, pacifism was suicidal, if indeed, it had not always been. Which was why, immediately Vawnpolis was surrendered and regarrisoned, he set about preparing for an offensive thrust into the mountains.
They gathered within the largest chamber of the Vawnpolis Citadel — the major nobles of the archduchy, with surrogates taking the places of those thoheeksee dead or incapacitated; the strahteegoee of the Confederation units camped outside the walls, headed by Sir Ehdt, the siege-master, and High Lady Aldora; Vahroneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn and three of his officers, all veterans of his early-summer march through the mountains.
Working from such few maps as were available, Sir Ehdt had constructed a huge sand-table model of the western borders of Vawn, with southernmost Skaht to the north and northernmost Baikuh to the south. Now, he and a couple of Confederation officers were tracing Drehkos’ route and altering the model to conform with the former rebels’ memories of the terrain through which they had fought.
And, throughout it all, Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sat in his place, silently staring his hatred at the gray-haired, emaciated figure of his rebellious former vassal. Only some exceedingly firm language from Milo and Aldora had gotten the young noble into the same room with Drehkos, for Bili could not forget the siege of Morguhn Hall or that Drehkos had been one of the rebel commanders there. His pride might keep the fact from his clansmen, but his peers well knew that pardoning Drehkos and the mad Vahrohnos Myros had been a bitter pill for Bili to swallow.
Sir Ehdt’s pointer paused over the serpentine line of light-blue sand which represented the principal non-seasonal waterway debouched by this section of mountains. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the respect which the vahrohneeskos had earned from those who had fought him so long. “Lord baronet, this blue sand is the main stream of the Peekrohs River, which you must have crossed next. Please try to recall just where you crossed and the approximate depth.” He then handed over the pointer.
Fingering his ear with his free hand, Drehkos briefly closed his eyes in concentration, then moved up to the table, scrutinizing the jagged chunks of rock and hummocks of sand. Beckoning his officers to him, he exchanged a few low-voiced words with them, then spoke aloud.
“As we remember, my lords, we entered Bitter River about here . . . but came out here.” He indicated a spot some little distance downstream of the point of entry.
Before he could say more, Vahrohnos Rai Fraizehr, sitting as surrogate for the infant heir of dead Thoheeks Fraizehr, nodded. “Aye, those mountain streams be swift. How many men and horses did you lose in that crossing?”
But Drehkos shook his close-cropped head. “It was only swift in the center channel, my lord, though fortunately not too deep. For the length of the distance, here, it is very wide, but generally shallow. That’s why we stayed in it for so long — it’s a pebble bed and easier going for tired horses and exhausted or wounded men than the trails which paralleled it.”
He frowned. “Besides which something told me to employ that route and —”
“And, my lords.” put in one of the former rebel officers with a grin, “Lord Drehkos’ hunch was right, as they mostly are. A couple of days after, we took a wounded Ahrmehnee and, ere he died, squeezed out of him the information that an ambush was set and waiting for us just where we would have been about an hour after we forded the river had we gone straight across. Thanks to Lord Drehkos, we outfoxed those barbarian bastards, went near two whole days without having to fight, we did!” crowed Captain Toorkos, exultantly.
Milo, Aldora and Sir Ehdt had already questioned Drehkos and almost every other living survivor of that march at great length. This session was being staged for the benefit of the nobles and army officers. Now the High Lord rose from his place.
“As you are aware, gentlemen, it is my intent to invade the Ahrmehnee mountains in force. It will be a savage and brutal campaign, for they must be hit hard and hurt seriously, else we’ll soon have them here in our laps.”
Striding around the table, he took up the pointer and placed its tip at the Gap of Vawn — where the transmontane trade-road entered the mountains and near to which lay the tumbled ruins of Fort Buhkuh, in which the last of the Vawnee Kindred nobility had resisted to their deaths the Vawnee rebels.
“At this gap will strike the main body of our force, led by me. I will lead most of the Confederation infantry, with three squadrons of kahtahfraktoee, Thoheeks Hwahltuh of Vawn-Sanderz and his clansmen and half of Vahrohneeskos Drehkos’ troops. We will strike directly for the heart — the seat of the Stahn Nahkhahrah, himself, the place called Zeese.”
He moved the pointer northward, up into the duchy of Thoheeks Skaht. “The force which enters Raider Gap will be led by the High Lady. It will consist of eight squadrons of kahtahfraktoee, two of lancers, Vahrohneeskos Drehkos and all of his remaining cavalry and the Kindred nobility of Skaht, Duhnkin, Lahmahnt and Fraizehr.”
Rapidly, he moved the pointer south, into the Duchy of Baikuh. “Through the Gap of Skulls will go the third prong of our attack. All the Freefighters presently with the army, all the Kindred nobility not otherwise assigned, all to be led by Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn.”
Months agone, when Bili had been the youngest and newest duke of the archduchy and an unknown quantity to his peers, there would certainly have been loud and bitter outcry at the High Lord’s choice of commanders for the southernmost column. But in the wake of several months of brutal combat, much of it commanded by Bili, he was no longer the newest thoheeks and his abilities as both astute captain and stark warrior were well known and unquestioned . . . for all his not-quite-nineteen years.
The High Lord continued: “The prairiecats will be evenly divided amongst the three columns, as will the medical personnel. The engineers and selected Confederation Army units will take up garrison duties in Vawnpolis and the border forts. The trains will remain in Vawnpolis, as well, but in readiness, for there may be need of them. Overall command of the defenses of the three duchies will be in the capable hands of Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt and, after due consideration, I have decided that Sub-strahteegos Vaskos Daiviz of Morguhn will command Vawnpolis, assisted by former keeleeoostos Vahrohneeskos Ahndros Theftehros of Morguhn.”
Of all non-mutants present, only Bili understood the hidden meaning of the High Lord’s choices — Aldora was a farspeaker, whose mind could range the Vawnpolis base or any of the other two columns at will; using the added power of another mind, preferably that of a prairiecat, Milo, Bili or Ahndros could do the same, and so the far-flung commands would be in frequent or constant contact, as the situations demanded.
One of the strahteegoee — a short, chunky, white-haired man, whose helm-creased brow and silver cat pendant served notice that he was a field officer, not an administrator — stood, cleared his throat and said, “My lord Milo . . . ?”
Milo smiled. “Senior Strahteegos Paidros Kailehb has a question, as usual.”
Everyone laughed or chuckled; it was a standing joke. Even Bili’s scowl softened into a smile.
Unabashed, the officer went on. “My lord, if we are to leave the trains behind, how are our necessary supplies to be transported? Mules? If so, we had best commence gathering them.”
The High Lord nodded. “A herd of five hundred mules and asses should, even now, be moving down through Skaht and will be here in a few days. Only my column will bear any quantity of supplies, however, The High Lady’s cavalry and Thoheeks Bili’s Freefi
ghters will be expected to subsist on game — and the mountains are, we understand, swarming with wild beasts — and what foodstuffs they seize from the Ahrmehnee.
“But, back to the order of march and the responsibilities of the three columns, gentlemen. If the Witchmen are physically present among the Ahrmehnee the logical place for them to be is with the nahkhahrah. This is why my column will strike directly for his village. Only one tribe, aside from the nahkhahrah’s own, lies athwart our route, the Tribe of Frainyuhn — or its southern fringes. I anticipate little danger from them, however, since I met their chief last year and found him a young hothead, such a one as tends to make a poor defensive warrior.”
Under his shaven scalp, Bili’s brow wrinkled. “But, my lord, if the Witchmen are with the nahkhahrah, will not most or all of the warriors of the Thirteen Tribes be there as well?”
“Just so.” grinned the High Lord. “And this is where Aldora’s work and yours begins. The plan of the Witchmen is to neutralize — by hook or by crook — the non-Ahrmehnee tribes to the north and west so that the Ahrmehnee fighters will not need to leave warriors to protect their valleys and mountain villages. For though they bear allegiance to the nahkhahrah, Ahrmehnee family ties are far stronger, and they will desert the nahkhahrah in an eyeblink if their homes are imperiled.
“Now, the lands of eight of the tribes are situated to the south of the nahkhahrah’s seat. From one end of this coast to the other, Freefighters are justly renowned as reavers and rapers. And they are to have free rein, Bili. I want every village leveled, every flock butchered or dispersed. Kill the men and rape the women and run the survivors into the forests. But make certain that there are survivors and that they do get away — headed north, preferably on pony-back. When the lands of the first tribe are laid waste, move quickly on to the next.
“The High Lady’s column will also be performing atrocities upon the three tribe lands which lie north of the nahkhahrah’s holdings, and by the time my column arrives at its objective, I expect that most of the Ahrmehnee warriors will be widely scattered, battling back to their homes . . . or what will then be left of them. We should then be able to coerce the Ahrmehnee into handing over the damned Witchmen, as well as hostages for their future good behavior. Then we can move the Regulars north and south to help in scotching the rest of the Witchmen’s schemes.”
Chapter IV
Halfway up the last, steep slope, Pehroosz Bahrohnyuhn first heard the terrified bleating of the goats and the snorting-stamping of horses or ponies. Hill-born and bred, for all that her father was village headman and full brother to Chief Moorahd, the proud-breasted, raven-haired girl was immediately suspicious. Dropping the bundle of fresh-baked bread she had been bringing to her younger brothers, she forsook the narrow track for the bordering thick growth of evergreens and gingerly crept upward seeking a point from which she might see the whole of the pasture slopes without being seen herself.
It was a scene of horror. Big men on big, lowland horses were cantering about the pasture slopes, sabering or axing the scuttling, bleating goats. The dry winter grass already was speckled with quivering, bloody carcasses. Of her two youngest brothers there was no sign, but Toorkohm — at a hundred and forty-three moons, thirty-seven moons her junior; big-boned, with their father’s craggy face, wide shoulders and quick, sure movements — stood at bay, his back to the dry-stone chimney of the herdsmen’s shelter, his wolfspear held menacingly ready, fresh blood glowing on its wide blade.
Pehroosz could not repress a smile of grim satisfaction, even under these conditions, for one scale-shirted raider lay stretched on the sward, his throat gaping like a huge second mouth, his chest and shoulders covered with frothy pink gore. Another sat swaying with agony, while a third labored to stop his life from leaking out the broad stab in his thigh. It was obvious that Toorkohm had fought skillfully and well.
But it could not last, this Pehroosz knew. No matter how reckless his courage, how strong his arm, how thirsty his spear, he was but a largish, unarmored boy, now ringed by cautiously advancing, fully armed, full-grown raiders. It ended quickly. A long-bladed saber licked out and Toorkohm sought to parry it with his spearshaft. With a practiced drawcut, the raider’s upper edge sliced deeply into the seasoned walnut wood. In the moment the spear was immobilized, two more raiders stepped close to Pehroosz’s brother and she quickly closed her eyes as the blades rose and fell, rose and fell with the meaty tchunnks reminiscent of autumn hog-butchering. Toorkohm’s own, thin death wail rose above those of the goats he had fought so well to succor.
Her pretty olive face bathed with tears, Pehroosz slowly worked her broad-hipped but lissome body back from the crest, not turning until the bulk of the hill loomed above her. And what she saw then brought a piercing scream from her throat Then consciousness left her.
The chill awakened her, and she instinctively sought to flex her body against it, but neither arms nor legs would move. Only when she opened her eyes could she see that she was lying on the packed-earth floor of the herdsmen’s hut, her clothing all stripped from her and wadded beneath her buttocks. One of the raiders knelt his weight on her palms, holding her arms extended above her head; two others crouched grinning, their big, dirty hands locked about her ankles, splaying her long legs. Standing between those legs was a fourth raider. His breeks were tumbled about his boot tops and he was tucking up the skirt of his scaleshirt. Pehroosz’s first thought had been to show the bravery of her dead brother, but when she saw the thick, throbbing maleness standing up from the raider’s loins, terror sent a shudder coursing through her body and a whimper bubbling from her lips.
She was deflowered savagely, brutally. And when the spent raider rose from her ravaged flesh, his place was taken by another. Then, another . . . and another . . . and yet another.
Pehroosz lost count of the number of attacks. But at some point she did rally, did do something other than scream her throat raw. She tried to clench her pain-racked body and, failing that, bit at her tormentors, drawing blood from at least one, possibly two. But their buffets dizzied her and they began to hold themselves up and away from those teeth while they used her.
Somewhere close by, Pehroosz could hear the ugly, guttural sounds of some animal’s agony. The noises were harsh, sickening, and she wished that the raiders would saber the poor beast so that the noises would stop. Dimly, from far off, she heard, too, men speaking in one of the Mehruhkuhn dialects, but she had never had cause to master Mehrikan, since Ahnnehnee men did all the trading.
“I know just what Duke Bili ordered.” snapped the plate-armored officer shortly, the knuckles of his bridle hand glowing white where he gripped the pommel of his fine broadsword. “But if, Sword forbid, her screams carried as far north as they did south the whole damned village could be alerted by now! You, Grohz, put up your damned dirk! Remember, we want the likes of this poor girl to escape north to the nahkhahrah. All you men get mounted now, put Patuhzuhn’s body on his horse and form up. Komees Hari will soon be at the ford, and we’re to meet him there. He wants to be in position to attack the village just at the nooning. Run off the smaller ponies, but leave the big one for her.”
With a chuckle, the sergeant commented, “Sir Geros, that chit were a maid, ere my yard rendered her a woman. With the swiving we done give her, her crotch’ll be sorer nor a boil for some little while. She’ll not be forking no pony this day, I trow!”
His laughter was echoed by most of the others as they strode out to the horses.
Shortly, a jingling and creaking and measured hoofbeats receded into the distance as the patrol went back the way they had come. But it was more than an hour before Pehroosz, once more shivering in her nakedness, managed to drag her bruised, battered body to the hearth, on which a small fire still glowed.
She wished that the raiders had had the decency to slay that still-suffering goat, ere they left. Some time later, she realized that those hurt-animal sounds came not from a goat, but from her own throat. Her fierce. Bahrohnyuhn
pride had refused to show the raiders her tears, but now they came. In a great racking rush they came, and her abused body doubled upon itself and shook to her sobs of rage and pain and shame.
* * *
In his youth, Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn had been a Freefighter, soldiering the length and breadth of the Middle Kingdoms, whose two-score-plus principalities had seen precious few years of peace in the four centuries since the Great Earthquake had brought them into squabbling existence. The passage of more than a score of years had failed to dim his memories of those bloody days, nor had the pursuits of peace — marriage and the rearing of a family, succession to his patrimonial title and estate, the ordering of his lands and horses and people — softened him or expunged from his mind the hard lessons learned from the particularly savage and merciless brand of warfare peculiar to the kingdoms of the north.
Almost all of the Freefighters who had ridden into the mountains behind komees’ suzerain, Thoheeks Bili Morguhn of Morguhn, were men born and bred and blooded in the Middle Kingdoms, and Hari had quickly reverted to the man he had been twenty-odd years before, finding that he once more was thinking like a professional soldier. He was again relishing the rough banter and lewd songs; the constant and often senseless profanities and blasphemies fell unnoticed on his ears and unconsciously from his lips. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to end a hard day’s march with a bruising session of sword-fencing or staffplay, under the discriminating eye of a weaponsmaster — which breed of noncom tyrannically chivvied exhausted officers and men alike into nightly practice sessions in weapons skills.
In recognition of his experience, the thoheeks had given him command of a squadron of dragoons and had not demurred too vociferously when the old komees chose one of the suzerain’s favorites, the valorous Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn, to be his senior captain.
