A Cat Of Silvery Hue (7 page)

Since none of her boy children had survived infancy, she had long ago promised her eldest daughter, Djoodith, that title and lands and wealth would, upon the death of
Komees
Hari, go to the girl’s husband, Eeahgos of Mahrtospolis, second son of the
komees
of that city, a
Kath-ahrohs
or pure-blood Ehleen and, most important, a good Christian. She knew the Bastard to be as much a pagan as his horse-loving, Christ-hating father. To declare him legitimate and confirm him heir would be to dash her fondest hopes and dreams; it would mean that, barring a heaven-sent miracle, never would she live to see the lands and monies of Daiviz reaffirmed to the service of God and the True Faith—from which, service they had been stolen by her husband’s barbarian forebears.

She had confided her hopes and her fears to her only peer then a member of the Thirds—dear, sweet Myros of Deskahti. It was thanks only to him and to the few other fine, upstanding men who clove still to the old loyalties that
Komees
Hari’s nefarious design had not been accomplished three years ago.

Because he knew of her fears of her husband and the Bastard, knew of her unparalleled devotion to the Faith, knew of her love for all things Ehleen and her deep and uncompromising contempt for the Kindred and all they represented, Myros had first approached her, dropped a few hints of the planned glories, then introduced her to the new
kooreeos
of Morguhn, the saintly Skiros.

She had become one of the very few women and the only
noble
woman who had been initiated into the Deeper Mysteries of the Faith, and, if she had been a zealous Christian previously, the witnessing of her first Holy Sacrifice made her a fanatic. The spurt of blood under the keen edge of the Holy Skiros’ knife, the dying screams of the pagan child whom he was sending to God, had fulfilled in her a longing which she had never before recognized.

And when she partook of
that
Communion Cup, she had known to the innermost fiber of her being that the blood of that pagan child
truly had been transmuted into the authentic Blood of Christ
, for she could
feel
that precious holiness spreading out from her vitals, permeating the whole of her being with its blessed goodness. Since that miraculous event, she had never missed any of the necessarily rare and clandestine repetitions; indeed, on one occasion when the blessed Skiros had lacked a Sacrifice, she had contributed little Ehlaina, her pretty blond love girl.

She had hoped to take both the Bastard and his retainer alive so that the personal priest, recently sent her by the Holy Skiros, might offer them as Sacrifice, and all true Christians in
her
hall, especially her three daughters, might be recipients of that all-encompassing holy goodness. Which was another reason why the defections of her girls had so maddened her. Nor had the defeat of her alternate plan improved her disposition.

Red Death, the blood-bay king stallion of
Komees
Hari’s herds, had been an object of her hatred since, upon the death of his predecessor—the redoubtable Boar Killer—her husband had bought him back from the barbarian princeling whose warhorse he had been. In the nearly ten years since this dumb, brute animal had been brought from the north, she had watched in sick hatred as the
komees
evinced more and ever more friendship and respect and, yes, even
love
for the huge beast. He lavished more devotion on that horse than ever he had on her or their daughters, yet had the temerity to brutally denounce the civilized pleasures she took with her succession of love girls as depraved and unnatural!

Still trembling with rage at the escape of the Bastard, she had called to her Gaios Morguhn—despite his name and un-Ehleen appearance, he was a good and dutiful son of the Holy Church—and ordered him to mind-call Red Death. It would do her heart good to see him, at least, butchered to the Glory of Christ.

Knowing the dangers inherent in displeasing the Lady Hehrah, even when she chanced to be in a good mood, Gaios fidgeted uncomfortably and slowly shook his red-blond head. “My…my lady, the…the king stallion will…will only respond to the mindcall of…of Lord Hari.”

Then Gaios was frantically ducking the heavy silver ewer she flung at his head, and when he and three others rode out to rope their quarry, his hair, shirt and trousers were still wet and sticky with the wine that ewer had contained, and his ears still rang with his mistress’ screams and curses. As the four men came near to the farthest pasture, that one most favored by the king stallion, Gaios shuddered involuntarily at their proximity to the Forest Bridge where so many of his friends were struck down by that hideous axe of the young son of the Morguhn, and the arrows and dripping swords of the other Kindred. And once more he breathed silent thanks to his god that, since his mount had thrown a shoe while they pursued Lord Bili along the forest road, he had not been called upon to take part in the subsequent battle—actually, subsequent debacle, he was sufficiently honest to admit to himself, since those three Kindred nobles had easily beat more than seven times their number to a virtual standstill even before the arrival of the rescue party.

The big old warhorse raised his large, shapely head at their approach, then trotted out to meet them, weaving a way among his grazing mares, while a number of his frisky get gamboled around him. His keen ears had registered the un-forgotten sound of clashing arms from the faraway hall, and he had been expecting the mindcall of his brother, Hari, at any moment. Now came four of his loved brother’s servants, two bearing strung bows. So strong was his anticipatory shudder that he almost stumbled; it would be good to fight again.

“Greet the Sun, Lord Red Death,” Gaios mindspoke.

The stallion halted a few yards from the riders, his head nodding. “Greet the Sun, Gaios, two-leg of my brother. There has been fighting at the hall.” It was a statement, not a question.

Successful lying in mindspeak is difficult and requires long practice. Gaios lacked that practice and knew it. “Yessss,” he agreed, trying to becloud his motives and intentions long enough to get a couple of ropes on this potentially dangerous animal.

Toeing his mount closer to Red Death, he added, “Unexpected events have occurred at the hall, Lord Red Death. Your brother would have you there, near to him.”

“Then why has my brother not mindcalled me, two-leg?” demanded the horse.

Gaios squirmed in his saddle, wishing that Ohros would hurry and signal that he was in position to cast his rope, ere the stallion became suspicious.

But Red Death was already suspicious. He had never liked Gaios, had tolerated him only to please his brother, and he trusted no two-leg whose mind he could not reach, like these other three two-legs. Nor was he so dense as not to be fully aware that Gaios and another were slyly moving within range of the rawhide ropes coiled on their pommels. Nor had his alert eyes missed the fact that the right hands of the other two were hovering near their arrowcases. Also, there was the stink of fear on these two-legs.

Snorting, he mindcalled the danger signal to the small herd behind him and did not need to look to see them abruptly break off their tranquil grazing, bunch together while mares summoned their ranging progeny, and lope off out of bowshot even as a couple of younger stallions moved forward to add their teeth and hooves in combating the danger, whatever it was.

Observing the oncoming pair of almost mature stallions, heads held low and ears laid back, menace in every line of their bodies, Gaios’ partner panicked and cast his rope too soon. The king stallion saw the loop snaking through the air and danced lightly aside, tossing his head on his scarred, muscular neck. The outer edge of the rope struck his crest, slithered down to his withers. At its hateful touch, he screamed his battlecry, half-reared and pivoted in the direction of the two-leg who had so insulted him.

Frantically, Ohros was reining his mare about as soon as he saw his rope fail to snare, alternately sputtering prayers and screaming at Danos and Roopos to arrow Red Death.

As for Danos, he had indeed attempted to loose a war arrow at the fearsome horse, only to have his bowstring snap near the hornbow’s upper nock. Whereupon he had backed his mount, reined about and spurred toward the safety of the road, not being of a suicidal nature. From that road, he heard the shouts and shrieks of men and the furious screaming of the king stallion and his two sons, while he hurriedly fitted another bowstring. Then he waited, freshly strung bow held on thigh, arrow nocked.

But man shrieks ceased, as did the battlecries of the embattled horses. Then Gaios’ dun gelding came limping over the crest of the grassy knoll, his eyes rolling whitely, his off fore-quarter streaked with red blood from the great tooth gash in his withers. Of the two mares, Ohros’ and Roopos’ mounts, there was no sign, and Danos’ repeated shouts evoked no human answer, only the faraway challenge of a stallion.

As soon as he had firmly relatched the high gate and gathered up the trailing reins of the dun, he cased his bow and rode for the hall as fast as the battered gelding could travel.

So, for the Lady Hehrah, there had been nothing for it save to order that a child be seized from the nearby village. But all of her people seemed suitably impressed with their introduction into the Deeper Mysteries, and, from the moment she again partook of the Blood, she felt much relieved…almost at peace.

With the reclamation of
Thoheeks
Bili’s deserted capital city, Milo had had Aldora lead her five thousand cavalrymen there, partially because it was more centrally located than was Morguhn Hall, partially to remove the passionate and possessive woman from proximity to the convalescent
Vahrohneeskos
Ahndros—who, until his return to the Duchy of Morguhn, had been the dearly beloved lover of the High Lady Aldora Linszee Treeah-Pohtohmahs Pahpahs.

Nearly a hundred and fifty years of witnessing and sometimes attempting to ameliorate Aldora’s infatuations and tantrums had vouchsafed Milo great familiarity with her character. And although he had known her but bare days, he also recognized Mother Mahrnee, old Hwahruhn of Morguhn’s youngest widow, for a woman similar in many ways to Aldora—which might be part of why Ahndros loved her. She loved him, as well, and would violently oppose any attempt on Aldora’s part to rewin the nobleman’s affections. A stand-up fight betwixt the Undying Lady Aldora—who, like Milo, could not be slain by steel—could have but one certain outcome, and the rebellion had sown enough discord in Morguhn without the addition of a so surely tragic duel.

The Confederation troopers, guided by the young
thoheeks’
Freefighters and Kindred, fanned out through the duchy. Their orders were simple and merciless: take anyone suspected of being noble or priest alive, if at all possible; burn all Ehleen churches; reclaim and garrison all Kindred property; slay any non-noble, male or female, who essayed either fight or flight; slay any non-noble discovered in possession of sword or pike or war gear, burning his home, if possible; burn any village or hamlet found to be harboring rebels.

While the cavalry went ravening through the countryside and the main army marched from the trade city of Kehnooryos Deskahti, which had been secured earlier, Milo left Aldora to command the Morguhnpolis garrison and rode with a large force under the nominal command of
Thoheeks
Bili upon the duchy’s two remaining cities, Theftehrospolis and Lohfahspolis. Neither were actually cities, only large villages wherein a nobleman had his seat, nor were they walled.

Nor did either resist. The people of Theftehrospolis, indeed, welcomed the troops with open arms, having been much bedeviled of late by small bands of rebels fleeing across the nearby southern border. They proved as unreservedly loyal as their lord,
Vahrohneeskos
Ahndros, who had come by his grievous wounds in defense of
Thoheeks
Bili and the High Lord. Lohfahspolis, formerly seat of
Vahrohneeskos
Stehfahnos, the first noble rebel to die, was found to be as bare of life as had been Morguhnpolis. The
thoheeks
allowed the troopers free rein in looting the sprawling village, and himself, sent back a groaning wagon of loot from the late Stehfahnos’ palace. Then the torch was put to every structure, not even the privies being spared.

Nestled as it was in the far southeast of Morguhn, a long day’s ride from Morguhnpolis, with the Great Southern Forest lying between it and any other occupied area, Horse Hall—and Lady Hehrah, its chatelaine—remained blissfully unaware of the abysmal failure of the rebellion and the utter rout of the crusaders.

The
komeesa
, who now considered herself to be Hari’s widow, lolled in the very lap of her dreams. Not only was her faith now the only allowed faith in the county—and, she surmised, in the duchy—but at long last, after many dragging years of suffering the unwarranted persecutions and gainsayings of her barbarian husband, she was victorious. Savoring her triumph, she laid a heavy and pitiless hand upon Horse County and all who dwelt there.

The threescore or so inhabitants of Horse Hall village had not been particularly upset when the priest and hall men had come and taken the child, assuming that bluff old Lord Hari would shortly ride in and either return the boy or explain why he was needed at the hall. But when, the very next morning, some of the same hall men had come and, after beating the village headman senseless, had seized, bound and borne off his pretty young wife, grinningly informing all and sundry that their hysterical captive was henceforth to have the honor of being Lady Hehrah’s love girl, there were mutters of an appeal to the
komees
, upon his return from Morguhnpolis.

Danos, confirmed captain of the
komeesa’s
guard after his report of Gaios’ demise, had laughed harshly. “Then you bastards will have a damned long wait! That blaspheming pagan is now burning in Hell, his stinking corpse so much offal. You had all best heed me. Heed me well!”