by Robert Adams
“Hark you, because these trespassing foreigners own no bowmen or slingers in their own host, the king has come to feel that it would be an act of dishonor to include such in our own array, for all that it was those same missilemen who enabled me and what was by then left of our last year’s army to win back to the safety of these stout walls after the autumn disaster; had they not nibbled and pecked at the Skohshun pursuit, none of us would be here today to fight again.
“Moreover, his majesty is of the opinion that use of our traditional allies, the Kleesahks, would also be unfair and therefore dishonorable. I’ve never before heard such gross foolishness from my father, Cousin Bili, and I’d suspect encroaching senility, save that my nephew is of exactly the same idiotic bent in this matter.”
“Could it not be, Lord Byruhn,” suggested Bili, “that the prince your nephew’s voiced opinion is but a reflection of that of the king your father? You know as do I that the old often influence the young both for good and for ill.”
The prince gusted a sigh, his big hands absently clenching and releasing only to reclench the chiseled-sliver goblet which was still half full of wine. “Yes, I, too, had thought of that, of course, cousin; but such is not the case, here. My nephew and my father have always been like to but one mind in two bodies — one younger, one older — almost from the birth of the young prince. That is one of the reasons that I declined to become heir upon the demise of my elder brother, the present heir’s sire, years agone.
“As you are by now surely aware, my royal sire and I differ in many a way, both in thought and in actions. The royal councilors of that time recognized and feared the possible strife and discontent that might be caused should the kingship pass from my father to me, and with the good of our kingdom in mind, I could not but agree with them.
“It is not mere flattery that he is called King Mahrtuhn the Good, you know; my royal father is a good king, a very good king to his people . . . up until now, at least, when he seems firm bent on dragging a number of the best men in all the kingdom down to bloody death with him.
“I now deeply regret that I did what I did to bring you and your force up here to quite probably die with us in this . . . this royal madness, young cousin. You and yours had served us well in the Ganik Campaign. You deserved more of a recompense than I saw you served. But what has been done has truly been done and cannot now be undone. However, you and your squadron just might represent the only chance that some few of us might survive the battle toward which we must ride out on the morrow, you and this new tactic in which you have drilled your squadron. Do you truly think it will work, will break the pike hedge enough for horsemen to hack a way through?”
Bili’s thick shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Who can say for sure what way a yet-to-be-fought battle will go, Lord Byruhn? I only know that the squadron performs the drills well, that if done properly the exercise has never failed to break a pike formation, and that I am certain that my squadron will perform well . . . dead certain, your grace. I have wagered my life upon it. But our own fighting will have been for naught unless heavy horse quickly follows us and consolidates our gains. Can we be certain that the king, your father, will hold his charge for the length of time our work will require for accomplishment?”
Byruhn frowned. “To be frank, no, not if he comes to feel his pride has been pricked. But I hereby assure you that I will hold my battle, the left battle, until the time is ripe to follow up your squadron, no matter what my royal father and my nephew do with their own two battles.”
And despite the occasions on which Prince Byruhn had misled him and misused his squadron to the advantage of New Kuhmbuhluhn, still Bili felt that he could believe the present assurances of the hulking, hairy nobleman. “And I had better be right, in this instance,” thought the young thoheeks, “else damned precious few of us will live to hack a way out of the Skohshun pike hedge.”
After the departure of the prince, Bili mused silently as he went about the chamber snuffing the candles, prior to taking up the last and repairing to the bedchamber.
“Even if he is true to his word, though. it still will be a chancy thing. After their losses last year, all three battles combined number less than twelve hundreds of horsemen, with the left battle — Prince Byruhn’s own — the lightest, three hundred . . . maybe, three hundred and fifty men. There’s no doubt that we can gap the hedge, me and mine, but no gap lasts long, not in a disciplined hedge of pikes, and from all that I’ve heard of these Skohshuns, their precision and discipline would put the best professional Freefighter infantry to shame.
“Now if the king and all three battles were to charge together, drive a wedge of steel into that gap before the pikes could close up again King Mahrtuhn might very well win that field. But with only Byruhn’s battle to back us . . .?” The young man sighed and shook his shaven head. “The very best we can anticipate is stinging the foe sorely then getting the most of us out alive. And once we — my squadron and I — are out of that hedge, we are through with King Mahrtuhn, Prince Byruhn and their damned misfought little war, If these New Kuhmbuhluhners persist in disregarding good advice and planning suicidal campaigns to no purpose, they cannot expect hired swords to proceed with them to a certain death.”
* * *
Fanned by cooling breezes from the north and west, the royal army of New Kuhmbuhluhn moved at a steady pace through most of that first day, covering in excess of thirty miles, despite several longish — and, to Bili’s mind, utterly unnecessary — halts for “conferences” amongst the king, his captains and senior noblemen. That night’s camp was made upon the banks of a swift-flowing stream, just off the corduroy road that paralleled its south bank as far as a ford that lay a couple of miles to the west. There was at least an hour of daylight remaining when the column halted, so Bili was at a loss to explain to himself, much less to his seasoned squadron, why the king failed to press on and make camp where his army might guard that vital stream crossing throughout the night. But the young warrior knew by then the futility of pointing out tactical advantages to the headstrong, stubbornly honor-bound hereditary ruler of the New Kuhmbuhluhners.
But when it became obvious that King Mahrtuhn didn’t intend even to ditch the perimeter of the camp or to pest more than a cursory guard throughout the hours of darkness, Bili could no longer restrain himself, and sought out the king in his pavilion.
King Mahrtuhn, whose breath was thick with the heady flumes of the powerful New Kuhmbuhluhn apple brandy, heard his young captain out. But when once Bili had said his piece, the white-haired monarch shook his head and spoke in tones of mild reproof.
“Oh, young, young cousin, you are so suspicious-natured, so very untrusting, and you slander our valiant foemen, the Skohshuns. Those who command the Skohshun pikemen are noble gentlemen all, and of ancient lineage; such men would not stoop to the attack of respected foemen whilst they slept. No, they desire an open, stand-up, breast-to-breast fight every bit as much as do we.
“You have spent the sum of your young life at war with men lacking any save the barest trace of honor, this much is abundantly clear from your actions and attitudes, but our brave Skohshuns are not of that ill-found stripe, we, assure you. Our own son, Prince Byruhn, and others of our vassals have warred with these Skohshuns, and we ourselves have entertained their heralds, so we know whereof we speak on these matters.”
The craggy features of the monarch had been firm while he spoke, but now he smiled warmly. “But now, sit you down with us, young cousin, sit you down, we say. Fill you that goblet from the ewer of punch and hack off a bit of the ox, then tell us more of this new-model tactic of yours to break the pike hedge, eh?”
* * *
In Bili’s absence. Rahksahnah sat on a low camp stool in the small pavilion they two shared. By the dim, flaring light of a lamp, she was patiently rehoning the edge of her Moon Maiden saber with stone and oil, her sinewy, weather-browned hands moving with the sureness of long practice at their task. She had let down her long
hair, and the gleaming, ebon cascade reflected almost as much of the lamplight as did the length of oiled steel she held.
Then, silent as death itself, from the darkness of the smaller, outer chamber of the canvas pavilion, stepped a huge feline. The beast was of a golden chestnut hue, with the ghosts of slightly darker rosettes faintly visible here and there about the body. And that body bulked big-boned and powerful, with smoothly rippling muscles, and large paws housing a full complement of eighteen sharp retractable claws. But his most easily seen armament consisted of his huge white cuspids — long, thick, sharp-pointed fangs the needle tips of which were nearly an inch below his lower jaw when it was shut.
His overall size — he stood almost ten hands at the withers — those fearsome fangs and one other facet of his outward appearance set him and his ilk apart from all other felines of this land; that other facet sparkled in the depths of his wide-set amber eyes, and it was intelligence. True intelligence, not the mere cunning of some beast of prey. And there was yet another, though invisible, quality that he owned: telepathy.
The cat advanced a few feet into the inner chamber, in the direction of the busy woman, then sank onto his thick haunches, bringing his long, furry, white-tipped tail to lap over his forepaws. So seated, his big head was almost on a level with hers.
“Mate of my cat brother, Chief Bili,” he silently beamed to her familiar mind, “if only you two tegs would breed for claws and teeth of a respectable size, you would not need these sabers and axes and whatnot that must so often be re-edged.”
Without looking up, she answered him just as soundlessly. “If properly wielded, axe or saber or sword can shear through or penetrate armors of metal, against which your claws and your fangs are useless, Chief Whitetip. Have you now any more opinions to state? Have you eaten this day, or would you care for some cheese?”
The cat gaped his jaws sufficiently to allow a vast expanse of red-pink tongue to emerge and glide raspingly over his thin tips and their furry peripheries. Closing his eyes to mere slits, he sighed audibly in a surfeit of happy gustatory memory. Thank you, but no, mate-of-my-brother. I found a tasty young goat wandering on the other side of the stream. He was juicy and tender and just the right size for a fine meal.”
As her hands moved the saber to concentrate the strokes of the stone on another section of the blade, Rahksahnah, asked, “And what of these folk we go to fight, these Skohshuns — what saw you of them? How near are they to this place?”
The big cat slid forward onto his belly and rested his chin upon his forepaws. “A short march the other side of this stream is a low ridge, and beyond it is a small valley that angles toward the north; this valley is flanked by other ridges and in its center runs a smaller stream that joins this larger one a mile or so to the eastward. The road of treetrunks goes over the nearer ridge and through that valley, along the east bank of the smaller stream. The Skohshuns are camped on and about the two flanking ridges, and I think they mean to block that little valley with their army, when next Sacred Sun shines.”
It stood to reason, thought Rahksahnah. The Skohshuns had been able to field very little heavy-armed cavalry to start with, and last autumn’s battles had almost extirpated those few. That meant that the Skohshun pike hedge would have little if any horse to guard against a flank attack, so throwing the pike line across a narrow vale and anchoring the vulnerable flanks on ground too rough or precipitous or wooded to allow for passage of mounted men was a sensible idea.
“How many watchers have they on the ridge closest to the larger stream?” she beamed to the cat. “And are there any troops making ready to block the ford in the morning?”
“No,” the cat replied, “none of these twolegs-with-the-overlong-spears are any closer to this place than the north side of the first ridge . . . at least, they were not when I left to come here.”
“Just so,” Rahksahnah nodded, while silently beaming her thoughts to the feline. “They could easily have moved to new and more threatening positions whilst you were not there to observe them. So go back across the stream and watch for any change in their ranks, any movements out of their camps. But don’t come back here to let us know; farspeak us the message.”
“I cannot farspeak your mind, mate-of-my-brother,” said Whitetip. “Yours is simply one of those twoleg minds that I cannot range.”
“No, I know you can’t,” she replied. “But you can farspeak Bili or Captain Fil Tyluh or Lieutenant Kahndoot, and all of them are here in camp. But you must go back, for this mad king has not and will not send out twoleg scouts or even post a decent camp guard for the night, so the squadron must have the benefit of your observation of the enemy to be certain that we are not surprised by a sudden attack by dark or dawn.”
Not bothering to shield a mind seething with most unflattering opinions regarding King Mahrtuhn’s probable antecedents, personal traits, usual practices and present lack of foresight, the huge feline flowed effortlessly back onto his big feet and stalked out of the pavilion, his white-tipped tail swishing his displeasure. Not only must he swim back over that icy-cold stream, but the scent of the night air presaged at least a splattering of rain before the dawn, and he had anticipated sleeping it out in the dry comfort of a tent, not under the dripping leaves of some misbegotten tree,
But he was a cat of Clan Morguhn by free choice, not by a mere accident of birth, and Bili of Morguhn was his chief as well as his cat brother. The black-haired mate of his chosen chief and brother spoke for the Morguhn in his absence; this, Whitetip knew, and so — knowing well the duties and obligations of an obedient clans cat, for he was, himself, a sept chief — the prairiecat obeyed.
Upon Bili’s return from the royal pavilion, Rahksahnah recounted the information brought by the cat, whereupon the young commander mindcalled his principal lieutenants, those of them as were mindspeakers. He sent his two guards in search of the others.
First to anive was Lieutenant Kahndoot of the Moon Maidens. Though but of average height, the woman was chunky and powerful and the only other person in the squadron, male or female, who had proved able to handle Bili’s big axe as well as did he . . . or almost as well. Alone of the contingent of surviving Moon Maidens who had followed their hereditary leader — the brahbehrnuh, now called Rahksahnah by all — into this savage, often hostile land, Kahndoot had not yet done the announced will of the Silver Lady, the Moon Goddess, and taken a man as mate and battle companion, for all that she had given up the ways of the irrevocably lost Hold of the Maidens of the Moon and no longer had a woman as lover and battle mate, either. When anyone presumed to ask her, she would simply smile and shrug and state that she had not as yet found a male who suited her and was uncommitted to another Maiden.
Hard upon Kahndoot’s heels came Captain Fil Tyluh and Lieutenant Frehd Brakit, both Freefighter officers, both younger sons of Middle Kingdoms nobility and, perforce, making their way in the world by hiring out their swords and fighting skills to those in need of a few bravos or a temporary army.
Bili’s maternal heritage was of a Middle Kingdoms noble house, and he had, moreover, fostered and had his arms training and experienced his first few years of warfare at the violent court of the Iron King of Harzburk, so he frequently understood Freefighters better than he did his part-Ehleen paternal relatives, and he always had felt more at home with the burker mercenary soldiers than with either Horseclans Kindred or Ehleen aristocracy.
The last three subordinate officers to arrive crowded in at the same time. One was a distant cousin of Bili’s in the paternal line, Like Bili, he was of mixed blood — part Horseclans Kindred part Ehleen, although he and most of his peers considered themselves to be Kindred, nothing else, nothing less — and like Bili, he was holder of a hereditary title in the Confederation, whence most of them had originally come. He was Vahrohneeskos — he was called “baronet” by the Freetighters — Gneedos Kahmruhn of Skaht.
Vahk Soormehlyuhn and Vahrtahn Panosyuhn bore a clear racial similarity to each other and a
less striking one to Rahksahnah and Kahndoot. The two were Ahrmehnee warriors, and they shared command of the contingent of their tribesmen who made up a part of Bili’s squadron.
Bili nodded curt greetings and said, “Don’t bother to get comfortable any of you; this won’t take long. Then you must all go back and spread the word, but quietly, amongst those you directly command, bidding them do the same amongst their own subordinates. I want no big, loud-spoken, easily overheard meetings, you see. What I have had done for me — for us, rather — would be considered strictly dishonorable by the sovran we now serve.
“Whitetip, the prairiecat, left New Kuhmbuhluhnburk well before our own departure and has been scouting out our line-of-march, with orders to mindspeak me from afar only in the event of his discovery of an ambush site, ready-manned and awaiting our column.
When it became clear that King Mahrtuhn intended to halt and camp here for the night, I farspoke Whitetip and sent him on across the stream to try to find trace of the Skohshuns and possibly determine their distance from us. That he did, and more. He brought the report to Rahksalmah whilst I was still at the royal pavilion, this night.
“By Whitetip’s witness, these Skohshuns are about as demented or, at the least, as strategically unschooled as the royal personage we now serve. They have gone into camp a good hour or more of marching time from yonder ford, and although they too have thrown out a few pickets, they are clearly not preparing emplacements for engines with which to harass those making use of the ford, have not even occupied the crest of the ridge that lies between the ford and their camp and, indeed, have a campsite every bit as ill defended as is this one.”
Vahk Soormehlynhn, the bald, gray-bearded elder of the two Ahrmehnee, asked, “How many of them are there, Dook Bili?”
