by Robert Adams
“And this same Lukos, who had never before commanded troops, proved to be a military genius of the first magnitude! For nearly two weeks, he maneuvered his numerically inferior force — marching and counter-marching — until he had Zenos just where he wanted him; then he struck. In a six-hour battle, he soundly trounced the Karaleenoee. When his troops would have pursued, he held them back, re-formed them, and, after an all-night march, struck again. The orderly retreat of Zenos’ army became, after that attack, a rout. At the head of his victorious forces, Lukos pursued to and across the border, turning back only when arrows and stones, shot from the walls of Kehnooryos Theevahs, began to fall among his vanguard.
“After that victory, there was no stopping him. By acclamation, the army proclaimed him High Lord and the cowed Council of Nobles could only add their own acclaim in compliance. At Lukos’ death, Alexandros’ eldest, Pavlos, succeeded him, as he had been childless. Pavlos had virtually worshiped Lukos — who had indeed proved a good ruler and had been the only father Pavlos could remember — so, at his own accession, he declared his surname to be Treeah-Pohtahmas, and his family and descendants have been so known.
“Never again in his lifetime did Zenos Pahpahs of Karaleenos — truly the rightful heir to the title of High Lord — attempt a full-scale invasion of Kehnooryos Ehlas, but, in the centuries since, the wars between this province and that have been frequent, bitter and intense, though never very rewarding for either antagonist.
“Then, about a century and a half ago, there was a fratricidal struggle in the House of Karaleenos. The losers fled to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, where they settled under the protection of the then High Lord, Petros Treeah-Pohtahmas. Since then, there has seldom been a time when a Pahpahs was not a high officer in the armies of Kehnooryos Ehlas.
“That Lord Alexandros who is coming to speak with you served the present High Lord’s father, Basil, for nearly all his life. He was a tremendously popular strahteegos — not only with the Ehleenee, but with every manjack of the barbarian mercenaries, who seldom have any use for any Ehleenee officer. When Basil died, however, Lord Alexandros’ luck ran out. Basil’s son and heir, Demetrios, could not have been less interested in affairs military; in fact, everything in his domain was considered in value only as it was useful in the promotion of his personal pleasures. A covey of officers and high nobles, Lord Alexandros among them, commenced a conspiracy to replace Demetrios with a High Lord at once less hedonistic and more militaristic. They were, in some way, found out-some say that Lord Alexandros’ own son betrayed them on a promise of leniency for his father and family. If such a promise was ever made, it certainly was not kept. Demetrios had the would-be conspirators and their kin hunted down and put to death with incredible savagery or immured under his palace to be dragged forth and further tortured or maimed whenever he became bored. Some few escaped, fled to Karaleenos or the barbarian kingdoms or oversea, and Demetrios placed huge rewards for their capture and return to him — alive. It had been generally held that Lord Alexandros was dead, but now it seems that he never even left Kehnooryos Ehlas and has indeed been in hiding within less than forty leagues of Demetrios’ very capital!
“As regards the man himself, he is a throwback, almost as different from most of the Ehleenee of today as would be Hwahlis Linszee or Djeri Hahfmun or any other of our people. As a young man, at the court of Basil — who, though infamous for his cruelties and dissipations, was all man, something his son is not — Alexandros Pahpahs stood out like a sore thumb. He was ever the direct antithesis of the fop, affecting plain clothing and unadorned, serviceable weapons and gear. He is fluent in every language and dialect used on this coast, and has a phenomenal memory for names and faces and dates and events. They say that he never forgets anything that he reads and he reads not only Ehleeneekos, but Old Mehrikan as well. The numbers of his defeats may be counted on the fingers of one hand and, though he is wont to make quick decisions, they are invariably sound decisions. Though he has been known to encourage or condone some rather gruesome practices in warfare, in command he is fair and eminently just. He is honest to a fault, brutally frank and worships personal and family honor as a god. He is clean and decent and his tastes are simple and natural. He is now sixty or thereabouts.”
Milo soon discovered that Mara had been right about Lord Alexandros Pahpahs. He was so bluntly frank as to be almost disconcerting. The moment that the amenities preceding their private meeting had been attended, he launched into a series of probing questions.
“My Lord Milos [from the start, he had Ehleenicized Milo’s name], for what possible reason did your people come to this land? You are horse-nomads, you need plains and prairies, endless expanses of graze for your herds and flocks, and you’ll not find them hereabouts. This is farming country. If your purpose is simply one of despoiling this land, then, moving on to another, you’ll find no ally in me; quite the contrary, sir. The rulers of this land and people have served my kin ill; but only the rulers, never the land or the people who live on it. The people are one with me. They are as my flesh and I shall defend them to the last drop of my blood! So, then, tell me why you are come to Kehnooryos Ehlas.”
Milo told the old fighter as much of the truth as he felt he should know. “Lord Alexandros, for many hundreds of years has this tribe been nomadic, but no more. In the time of the gods, the Sacred Ancestors came from the sea — from ‘the Holy City of Ehlai beside the shining sea’ — and it was long ago prophesied that, in due time, they should return to the sea and rebuild their city. When the tribe comes within sight of the sea, they shall cease to be nomads. They will but wait there for a sign, a sign that will tell them where Wind, Who blew them here, wishes them to begin their rebuilding.”
The old Ehleen nodded. “ ‘The Prophecy of the Return’? Yes, I’ve acquired some little familiarity with the customs and legends of the western peoples, Lord Milos. However, as I remember having heard, your tribe was to be led back to the sea by an immortal god. Are you then a god, Lord Milos?”
“No, Lord Alexandros,” replied Milo. “I am but a man like you.”
The strahteegos eyed him shrewdly. “What is your family name, Lord Milos?”
“Though I am clanless, in my capacity here,” responded Milo, “my clan is Morai.”
Lord Alexandros shook his head. “That is your name, among the nomads, Lord Milos. But you are no nomad, that much is obvious. For one thing, you’re too tall and big-boned; for another, there’s your coloring, had you a beard and civilized clothing, you could walk the streets of any city of this realm without drawing a second glance. It is quite clear, to me, you are an Ehleen! Judging by the idioms of your Ehleeneekos, I should say that you came from Kehnooryos Mahkedohnya and that you are noble-born. You have no need to feel shame for your present status, you know. Whatever dishonor caused you to leave your homeland has apparently been long expunged, for a stranger who lacked for honor could not have risen to your present exalted position among these people. I greatly admire the western nomads, Lord Milos. I admire their bravery, their honesty and their inflexible code of honor. These are qualities which my own ancestors possessed, which — to my shame — their descendants have lost. I could not watch this land despoiled and its people extirpated; but even a barbarian king could rule it better than the present kakistocracy. That the new ruler should be an Ehleen of noble lineage is even better. This is why I ask you your family name, Lord Milos.”
It was Milo’s turn to shake his head. “I reiterate, Lord Alexandros, no matter what I may appear, I am no Ehleen! I am Milo Morai, war chief of this tribe.”
The old nobleman’s features darkened and his lips became a tight line and the words which next issued from between them were clipped, short and sharp as a new-honed blade.
“I do not believe you, Lord Milos! For some cryptic reason, you wish to delude me. And you obviously take me for a fool. I am not! Until you decide to be candid with me, I can discern no point in continuing discussion of an alliance. Now, will you tell
me your Ehleen name?”
“Oh, ’Lekos, ’Lekos, ever were you pig-headed! With a bone in your teeth, you’re stubborn as a hound. I should have thought that age might have vouchsafed you some measure of wisdom,” said Mara as she advanced into the room.
She was garbed as an Ehleen noblewoman, jeweled and cosmetized, her hair elaborately coiffed. Milo had never seen her like this.
But Lord Alexandros obviously had! He paled and rapidly crossed himself with a trembling hand. “Dear sweet God!” he whispered. “Lady Mara! Lady Mara of Pohtahmas! Am I mad? Was the wine drugged? Or are you a ghost out of the past, come to haunt me?”
19
It is told, that in the days
When Gods bestrode this earth,
The Sacred Ancestors of our clans
Did have their birth,
In the God-built city of Ehlai,
By the blue and sunny water;
Whence they fled, when evil Gods
Their own good Gods did slaughter,
In God-made wingless birds,
They flew above the mountains,
To bide within the ancient caves,
Until the fiery fountains
Had ceased to blossom, where
The Gods’ death-arrows fell. . . .
—From “Song of the Beginning”,
Clan-Bard Song
A half-smile curled Mara’s lips. “No, ’Lekos, you are not mad.” She glided to a point beside bis chair, lifted his wine cup and took a long draught of its contents. Then she laid the warm palm of one smooth hand on his scarred, gnarled knuckles and gazing into his bewildered eyes, said, “Nor was the wine drugged, ’Lekos, nor am I a ghost.”
Lord Alexandros’ mind was whirling madly. He felt as if he had been clubbed. He shook his white-maned head vigorously. “But . . . but . . . Mara . . . my love . . . it . . . it’s impossible! Impossible! You . . . not one white hair . . . no change at all . . . and . . . and it’s been nigh to forty years! It’s impossible, d’you hear me? You cannot be her!”
Her voice became tender. “Poor ’Lekos, I could not tell you then; so you do not understand now. ’Lekos, long years ago I gave you a token. It was a cameo executed in the milk-stone with the gem for its setting. In the gem, which is an amethyst, is a tiny cavity filled with liquid. On the back of the stone was carved a single word.”
“Remember,” whispered Lord Alexandros with awe and reverence. “Then, impossible as it is, it must be. None other, even my wife, ever knew of that stone. Many years ago in a battle, the chain which held the golden case in which it was sealed was torn from my neck. After the battle, I went back and scoured the bloody ground until I found it. Something — horse-hoof or chariot-wheel — had crushed the case flat against a rock and ground the stone within to dust. Since then, my only links with you have been my memories and . . . my love.”
Bending over him, Mara tilted back Alexandros’ head and kissed his lips. Then, leaning back against the table, she said, “Oh, God, I had almost forgotten! I loved you so much, my ’Lekos, loved you more than I have ever loved another man in all the years of a long, long life.”
“And I, you,” replied Lord Alexandros. “And I waited, hoping against hope, long after all my old comrades were wed. At last, bowing to familial pressure, I married. For twenty years was I wedded to Katrina and, though I got children upon her and the fondness of familiarity inevitably developed, I never loved her. It was ever you, my love, you who inhabited my dreams or fantasies, you whose name I called in sleep or delirium. Oh, why, why Mara? Why did you go away? Why did you never return to me?”
She took his old hand again, and stroked it as she answered him. “Because I could not, ’Lekos. You’ll never know how every fiber of my being wanted to stay with you. For years, each time I thought of you or heard of your exploits, I ached to be with you once more. But to have done so, ’Lekos, to have surrendered to my desires would have been wrong, terribly wrong.
“For one thing, ’Lekos, I could never have given you children . . .”
When he opened his mouth to retort, she gently placed her finger athwart his lips. “Wait, my love, hear me out.
“The second thing is this: I could not have borne watching you grow old and finally die, while I remained as I am; and I could not have left you a second time.”
Lord Alexandros’ eyes seemed to be bulging from their sockets. “No!” he gasped vehemently. “No, I’ll not believe it! You? My Mara . . . one of the Cursed? No, there is nought of evil or devilishness in you. For some reason, you’re lying to me! Can’t bel.. ..”
Mara shook her head. “Milo, give me your boot-dagger and come around here to restrain him, if necessary. I’m going to have to give him proof that he will believe.”
Before he rose, Milo drew his short-bladed sgain dubh and handed it to her, then came around the table to stand close behind Lord Alexandros’ chair. The old man was wonderingly glancing at first one then the other of them.
Mara handed the Ehleen the small knife. “ ’Lekos, assure yourself that this weapon is genuine, that it is sharply pointed and that the blade will not retreat into the hilt.” Then, she set about dragging over another of the heavy chairs and placing it so that she could sit facing him. That done she held out her hand to Lord Alexandros.
“The knife, please, ’Lekos.”
Taking the blade, she laid it on the chairarm and began to undrape the upper portion of her torso, not ceasing until her entire left side — shoulder to waist — was exposed. Then she picked up the sgain dubh and tested its point on her fingertip.
“You are satisfied that the knife is genuine, ’Lekos?” she inquired.
All but frozen by what he suspected was to come, the white-haired man could only nod dumbly.
Mara used one hand to lift her brown-nippled left breast, then placed the needletip of the little dagger in the flesh just below the breast’s proud swell. Gritting her teeth and tightening her lips, she commenced to slowly push the short, broad blade into her chest.
“NO!” shouted Lord Alexandros, starting up. Only Milo’s powerful hands, gripping the elderly nobleman’s biceps, restrained him from his purpose.
When the guardless hilt was pressed against her skin, Mara said, “Dear ’Lekos, you were but twenty years of age when I fell in love with you; and at that time, I had lived over two hundred and fifty years already! Now, I am nearly three hundred.”
Gathering a handful of the stuff of her gown, she held it in readiness as she slowly withdrew the steel from her chest, being careful not to cut the sensitive breast in so doing. When she was sure that the strahteegos had gotten a good look at the wound, she pressed the bunched cloth against it, nodded at Milo to release his hold and started to speak again in a slow, gentle tone.
“ ’Lekos, I’ve no idea how that terrible myth originated — the ‘Curse of the Undying.’ For the only thing that makes our lives cursed is the unremitting persecution of us by those who believe that ancient fable. Fortunately, these Horseclansmen don’t share that murderous misbelief and, for the first time in more years than I care to remember, I’ve been able to relax, be myself, let down my guard and live at peace with others of my kind. The tribesmen all revere us, you see.
“ ’Lekos, now you see why I could not marry you, why it would’ve been so terribly wrong. I never married anyone until quite recently. When I did, it was to the god of these people, one like myself.” She extended her right hand to Milo, who took it and came to stand beside her.
“So,” Lord Alexandros nodded. “You did lie to me after all. You stated that you were not a ‘god’.”
Milo shook his head. “I am not a god, only a man like yourself. That I differ from you, in some respects, is the norm, for in nature no two things or beings are or can be precisely similar. I did not ask to be what I am, nor did Mara, nor did little Aldora. Both of them were born as they are, perhaps I was, too, I don’t know; I was born nearly six hundred and fifty years ago, which makes it difficult, sometimes, to remember.
Until about two hundred years ago, I had thought that persons like me were a by-product of that man-made catastrophe of over half a millennium ago, which came quite close to exterminating man. Now, I am not so sure but what we are a superior mutation of man. We have probably been cropping up, here and there, since long before the catastrophe of which I spoke. But in a world of several billions we were not so noticeable as we are and have been in the more recent past. Too, it is logical that a larger proportionate number of us should have survived, where most of the races of man did not, for — as is well known — we are much harder to kill than our non-mutant Kindred — nature’s recompense, I suppose, for the fact that we are sterile.
“You state yourself to be one flesh with the people whom your house should, by right, be ruling. I can understand this, Lord Alexandros, for I am as one flesh with the Kindred, my people, too. Hundreds of years ago — realizing that, in the world as it was then, a nomadic existence offered my people’s ancestors the best chance of survival — I established among them the rudiments of their culture and way of life. Though rude and barbaric and cruel in some respects, it has been a good life for them. From a beginning of a few dozens of terrified, pre-adolescent children — the orphaned remnant, who were all that was left of a city which had died of all-consuming fire — the Kindred are become a strong, independent, self-reliant people.
“Because I knew that, without it, they had little chance even of life, I gave them the Law and taught them to reverence their gods. Although I was absent from them for over two hundred years, they never wavered in that reverence, and not even I could sway them from its path today.”
