by Robert Adams
“Look at yourself, Meeree. Once you were the second or, at least, the third best warrior of all the Maidens, but you in your foolish pride incurred Her wrath, Her terrible wrath, and what are you now become? You —”
But Meeree jerked her arm from Kahndoot’s grip and put as much distance as the confines of the small chamber allowed between them, then her good right hand produced from the folds of her clothing a long, slim, double-edged dagger, “Get away from that door, damn you!” she snarled. “What I am now is nothing to do with the so-called Goddess, but the fault of Rahksahnah’s parts itching unnaturally for that lumbering, hairless thing, Dook Bili. He it was smashed and ruined my shield and bridle arm, first took my own lover, then spoiled me for war; but he will pay. Soon or late, Meeree will see him pay with his own misbegotten life. Just as you, you sow, now pay!”
With the last, half-screamed words, the crippled woman lunged, all of her weight a strength behind the dagger she thrust at Kahndoot’s thick body. But, with an audible snap, the slender blade broke off short and tinkled on the stone floor. Off balance, Meeree stumbled against her intended victim, whose strong hands grabbed her and hurled her lighter body into a corner, Then Khandoot paced to stand over her. She opened her gashed shirt, and the lamplight imparted a rippling sheen to the short hauberk of fine Ahrmehnee mail which had underlain the shirt.
Smiling coldly, she said, “Has hate and envy driven all reason from your mind, woman? Did you think I’d immure myself alone with such a creature as you now are without some sort of protection against such infamy as you just displayed? I’d be thoroughly justified to slay you, here and now, and no doubt I would save much suffering for other people If I did just that. But I say again what I said on the night of that duel at Sandees Cot — there are few enough of us Maidens of the Moon Goddess left as it is, and I do not want any of that now-rare blood on these hands of mine.”
* * *
Bili had Pah-Elmuh summoned back up to the palace for the penultimate meeting of the new council, which henceforth would not style itself “royal.” but rather the Council of the Aristocratic Republic of Kleesahkyuhn — named after those who had preceded all of the present twoleg disputants to the area. The initial council that Bili would leave behind him when he marched would consist of three Kuhmbuhluhn noblemen, three of the Skohshuns and one Kleesahk. but eventually there would be a total of fourteen men and three Kleesahks to constitute the council, though most of the day-to-day affairs would be conducted by the smaller, seven-chair assemblage.
After seeing them all seated and a surprisingly peaceful meeting commence, Bili departed to his suite and slept for the best part of two full days and nights. He then arose long enough to dine, bathe, make long, unhurried, gentle love to and with Rahksahnah, then sleep for another day. Then he once more arose and threw himself into the preparations for the return to Sandee’s Cot and then, eventually, Morguhn, into which he had not set foot for almost three years.
Things had been far less complicated, he thought, before he had been burdened with a household for which to arrange transport and supplies for the trip. In addition to himself, Rahksahnah, the twins — and, when they arrived in Sandee’s Cot, young Djef Morguhn, now some year old — there were his hornman, Gy Ynstyn, and his woman, Meeree, his bannerman, his three orderlies, his secretary, his cook and that worthy’s two helpers, his three horse tenders, Rahksahnah’s three servants, the wet nurse and her young husband, six Freefighter bodyguards and four muleskinners to handle the household pack train on the march and in camp. Moreover, the prairiecat Stealth — now, once again, pregnant by Chief Whitetip — would be accompanying his personal entourage.
* * *
In the usual manner of all of fallible humanity, Hornman Gy Ynstyn had conveniently forgotten the sullen behavior of Meeree when he had departed with the squadron bound for the north and the Skohshun War, near six months agone. Because of her maimed left arm, she had been left behind along with some score of sick, injured or pregnant and near-to-term warriors. Poor Gy, who had come to love the woman, had deluded himself with the unfounded belief that when once more they two were together, they would commence a life of unmitigated bliss.
But from the very first day they were reunited, all his hopes and dreams were utterly dashed. No sooner were the woman and her gear installed in Gy’s small chamber, which adjoined Duke Bili’s rambling suite, than did Meeree seek out Rahksahnah and spend two hours alternately arguing with and screaming at the young mother, Gy could understand none of the words, since they were couched in the cryptic language of the Moon Maidens, but the tones left no doubt as to the general content of the heated exchanges.
Very soon thereafter, Meeree took to locking Gy out of his chamber for hours, sometimes, whilst she closeted herself with certain ones of the Moon Maidens who had marched north with the forces of Sir Geros and Sir Djim Bohluh. And when these meetings abruptly ceased, when the Maidens would none of them submit to private converse with Meeree, indeed, avoided her if at all possible, still did Meeree deny his access to his room and bed, right often, so that she might sit alone and brood.
And on those occasions when he was allowed use of his bed, Meeree either ignored him completely or hectored him for long, sleepless hours with all that she swore would be done to him and all the other men when the Moon Maidens at last realized the errors into which the forsworn Rahksahnah had led them, cleaved to her — Meeree — and took over the city of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk as a new Hold of the Maidens of the Moon.
Then, of a night, something awakened him from exhausted slumber in time to see Meeree advancing toward him, her good right hand gripping the worn hilt of her razor-edged shortsword, her lips curled back from off her teeth, her eyes as wild and savage as those of any predatory beast. Only his startled, sudden movement saved his genitals from the point and edges of her steel, and she still managed to thrust the broad blade so deeply into his inner thigh that the point grated agonizingly against bone.
Fortunately for Gy, Bili and Rahksahnah were but just closing the main doors of their suite for the night. having bid a good-night to Pah-Elmuh, when the hornman staggered naked out into the hallway, his wound gushing blood at every beat of his heart.
When once the Kleesahk had stopped the arterial blood flow, cleaned and closed the gaping wound, then instructed Gy Ynstyn’s brain to pump natural anesthetics into the affected areas and to commence the healing processes, he and Bili entered the swooning hornman’s mind and had the entire tale.
When questioned, Rahksahnah just shrugged. “It began while you were trying to persuade the Kuhmbuhluhners and Skohshuns to join together, Bili. You had a full load of cares, and I could see no reason to burden you with more. I’m of the opinion that poor Meeree’s mind is become as twisted and deformed as her arm, Back during the first week after the battle, she tried to put a dagger into Kahndoot’s heart, but with long months of bad blood between those two, it was perhaps understandable. But now this night’s work, to attack and almost kill her own, sworn battle companion . . . ? Bili, she is not any longer the Meeree I once loved, and it’s too bad, for that Meeree was an altogether admirable woman.”
“Pah-Elmuh,” Bili asked, “lunacy such as this — is it at all responsive to your talents?”
“Yes, Lord Champion.” beamed the Kleesahk in reply. “I have, over the years, brought reason back to more than a few unfortunates through first wakening them to their problems, then showing their brains how to correct them. But it is a long process, Lord Champion — months are required to do it properly.”
Bili thought for a moment, then nodded and mindspoke, “I’ll leave behind a sum to provide proper maintenance for this woman, Meeree, would you undertake to cure her, old friend?”
Pah-Elmuh smiled and beamed, “Speak not of gold or silver, Lord Champion. You have wrought here in New Kuhmbuhluhn more than a score of our generations could ever repay. Besides, you know that healing is my art and my joy. She will be well maintained, never you fear. Perhaps when once
her mind is clear and rational, I can even show it how to restore that arm.”
* * *
And so, of a bright morning nearly autumn, Sir Bili, Thoheeks and Chief of Morguhn, Lord Champion of the Kleesahks, and last legal ruler of the former Kingdom of New Kuhmbuhluhn, set the steel-shod hooves of his mighty warhorse to the boards of the drawbridge and rode out of that fortress-city he had defended so well. The throngs he left behind in the streets of the mountain city cheered him and his cavalcade, even while bitterly weeping over his departure. One and all, they had come to truly love the brave, astute, just and always courteous young commander and, agreements in council be damned, would have acclaimed him the new King of Kuhmbuhluhn. in a bare eyeblink. had they had but a suspicion that he might have accepted the crown.
Arrived down upon the plain, Bili, Rahksahnah, Hornman Gy, the bannerman bearing the Red Eagle of Morguhn, and Bili’s six bodyguards took their places at the head of the long colmnn and the march toward the central mountain chain commenced.
Excepting some of the servants and muleskinners, all were veterans, so the steady pace of the march did not fatigue them, and when finally Bili called a halt and an encampment was emplaced near to a purling brookside, they were only a day’s additional march from the mouth of the pass that would take them through to the southern counties.
They were moving through a land that was at last enjoying peace, so Bili saw no reason to post guards or establish a perimeter for the camp. Consequently, it sprawled unevenly along both sides of the winding brook and soon became a place of joyous merriment for the homeward-bound men and women. With dinners consumed, barrels of Skohshun beer and Kuhmbuhluhn ale were broached, and wineskins circulated freely. The ever-present Ahrmehnee musicians drew out their instruments, and, to their wailing, drum-thumping rhythms, the other Ahrmehnee first raised a deep-voiced chorus, then began a sword dance.
The drinking and general jollity went on about the leaping fires until well after moonrise, when Bili, reluctantly, ordered all to seek their beds, as he intended to recommence the march at dawn. He and Rahksahnah stripped and washed in the icy water of the brook, then raced breathlessly up the bank to seek the anticipated warmth of their camp bed and blankets.
* * *
In his huge great-bed, where he lay dying with the stink of his own suppurating flesh cloying his nostrils, the old, old man that the years had made of young Bili of Morguhn once more castigated himself as he had nearly every lonely day for almost eighty years.
“Why?” he demanded of himself. “Why did I do it? Surely I knew better. I had been a-soldiering for more than half my life. even then. Had I set up a perimeter, posted sentries, had I even placed a brace of my personal guards at the entry of my pavilion . . .”
A protracted sigh rattled out of the throat of the dying old man, bringing the attending physician hurrying to his side to assure himself that the spark of life yet remained. But Bili did not see or hear this old friend. He once more was reliving the saddest moments of his ninety-nine years of existence.
* * *
Laughing through chattering teeth, young Bili and his dark, lovely and much-loved wife and battlemate, Rahksahnah, ran gaily into their pavilion, dimly lit by a single small metal lamp slung by chains from the ridgepole. After hurriedly stripping off their damp clothing, they tumbled into the camp bed to lie locked in close embrace until their bodies’ heat reasserted normal temperature and they ceased to shiver.
That same closeness, however; aroused passions that had never been long quiescent in them. Then, after they both were sated, fulfilled one by the other, they lay long in silent, telepathic oneness before sleep finally claimed them.
Bili was never certain just how long they lay in slumber, but suddenly his danger-prescience, which rare talent had so many times before saved his life on the march or in situations of imminent combat, brought him completely awake and wary. He cautiously slitted his eyes and saw, through the scrimlike curtain of Rahksahnah’s disordered black hair, a cloaked and hooded figure moving soundlessly across the thick carpets. The dim lamplight glittered on the watered-steel blade that the intruder held reversed, in the classic down-stabbing position.
Making as little movement as possible, Bili felt for the familar hilt of his pillow sword . . . unavailingly. It was not in its accustomed place! So he mindspoke Rahksahnah.
“Do not move, my dear, not yet, not until you feel me do so. There is an intruder here, in this very chamber, creeping with naked steel toward us. Moreover, the servants forgot again to place my pillow sword in position when they set up the bed. But there’s but the one and that one not very big. Wait.”
* * *
Hornman Gy Ynstyn was sitting with a group of old Freefighter cronies around the fire before the tent of Sir Geros Lahvoheetos when oncoming hootbeats were felt by them all long before they could hear them above the noise of the camp. Then there were shouts across on the northern bank of the brook, followed closely by splashings, and a dusty rider on a foam-flecked horse guided that stumbling beast close to the group of Freefighters.
Despite the mask of mud that copious sweat and trail dust had placed over his features, Gy still could recognize the drawn face of one of the squires of Count Yoo Folsom, so the hornman arose from his place and bore the wineskin they had been circulating over to the newcomer.
“Welcome, Master Pahrkuh. Here, take you a pull at this — you look like a wornout boot.”
Without a word, the horseman accepted the skin and poured a good pint down his working throat before stoppering it and gasping out, “Please, Hornman Ynstyn, I must speak with Duke Bili . . . quickly! After your column was well on the march, a patient of Pah-Elmuhs, a Moon Maiden gone mad, escaped from his cart, slew two hostlers, stole a horse and lied her way past the gate guards. Pah-Elmuh fears she means to harm his grace.”
* * *
All in a single movement, Bili rose to his knees, throw back the blankets and heaved a pillow at the assassin, shouting, “Hold, now!”
The trespasser ducked barely in time, but so close came the hard-flung cushion that it tore back the hood of the cloak to reveal the dusty-dirty face, dulled hair and wild eyes of Meeree, her lips twisted into a feral snarl. Even as Bili made to quit the bed, the lunatic hurled herself at him, her blade raised high for the stab.
Gy Ynstyn, running toward Bili’s pavilion, with the New Kuhmbuhluhn messenger at a fast walk behind him, heard Bili’s shout and increased his pace, at the same time drawing his long dirk and cursing himself for leaving his saber off this night. Bursting through the flaps of the ducal pavilion and then through the inner flaps that led into the bedchamber, he was unwilling witness to the climax of the tragedy.
Meeree, in her haste to flesh her blade, failed to watch her footing and tripped on an uneven spot in the carpet, and before she could regain her balance enough to strike at the naked, unarmed man on the bed, Rahksahnah had arisen to block her way, pity on her face and one hand extended toward the murderous madwoman.
“Meeree, my Meeree!” Rahksahnah forced her voice to calmness and low, soothing tones. “Meeree, give me the knife, please.”
“No!” snapped Meeree, “He must be killed. He has taken you from me, led you into dark, evil practices. He would prevent us from a new beginning, a proper, natural beginning a new hold, so I must kill him!”
“Then you must kill me first, Meeree,” said Rahksabnah, softly and simply.
“Then die, you faithless, perverted bitch!” shrieked Meeree, plunging her blade to the very hilt into the full breast of her once lover. You — gaaarrrgghh!” She shrieked once more and flinched forward across the body of her victim, as her battlemate, Hornman Gy Ynstyn — his face bathed with his rueful tears — buried his sharp dirk in her back.
Furiously. Bili pushed and shoved the cloaked figure from off Rahksahnah and the bed, but Meeree was not yet dead, and she held the hilt of her weapon tight-clenched, so the blade came out from her victim with an ugly, sucking sound, followed by a gush
of blood, almost black in the dim lamplight.
Gy Ynstyn held Meeree’s body in his arms, weeping, sobbing unashamedly. “Oh, my poor, dear Meeree, I’m sorry, my love, but . . . but I had to. Can’t you see that? I truly love you, but I am Duke Bili’s sworn man.”
“Man-Gy . . . Gy?” The voice was little better than a whisper, and a trickle of blood began to trace through the dust from one corner of Meeree’s mouth. She made as if to snuggle against his body, murmuring almost imperceptibly. “Good man . . . Man-Gy. You please . . . Meeree, much please Meeree. But tired . . . sleep now.”
Meeree’s body became limp, heavy, the knife slipped from her hand, the last breath left her body along with her life. Gy crouched there, still hugging her body to his chest, still sobbing out his explanations for killing her.
The pavilion was fast filling up with men and women, but neither Bili nor Gy noticed any of them. Rahksahnah had spoken but briefly before she died. “My Bili, my poor Bili. Be good I would tell you to our little ones, but no need is, you could not be other . . . always good, kind, patient, loving. Send me to Home of Wind, your chosen god . . . will wait for you there . . .”
And she was gone.
Epilogue
The eastern Karaleenos sky was a bright, deep red with dawn — Sacred Sun-birth — bare minutes away. Old Prince Bili Morguhn of Karaleenos opened his eyes to see the also elderly Zahrtohgahn physician, Master Ahkmehd, seated on the edge of the great-bed, his back curved and his chin with its wispy, white beard sunk onto his bony chest.
“Ahkmehd . . . old friend?” Bili’s voice croaked, sounding strange and unreal to his ears.
With a start, the dark-brown-skinned man raised his head.
“My lord Bili . . . you are in pain?”
Bili chuckled humorlessly. “When have I not been in pain, of one sort or another? But I mean to be shortly shut of all of it. Where is the Undying High Lord Milo?”
