To have called Kleetos stunned would have been a gross understatement. He had expected death at the very least. Had steeled himself to accept it with the stoicism and courage shown by the Vawn Kindred-men, women, children, even babes-he had so lately seen tortured, raped, butchered by his uncle and cousins and their rabid followers. He had expected any suffering, any humiliation. But here he was being treated courteously by a tall, blue-eyed pagan who, nonetheless, bore himself like a true gentleman of pure Ehleen. antecedents. Kleetos’ naive mind reeled.
While his “guest” sipped the strong restorative, Bili ranged out his mindspeak in search of the High Lord. He had never before tried real farspeak, but he did know Milo’s mind, and after a few moments Milo responded.
When Bili had explained the situation and his intentions, he could almost hear Milo’s dry chuckle. “Bili, you amaze me a little more with each passing day. Yes, it’s a good plan, and his information could well be valuable to us. Keep the puppy by you in camp, feed him a good dinner, treat him to a wash and some fresh clothing. And tell him you’ve sent for the ahrkeethoheeks’ own physician to see to his hurts. Master Ahlee and Bard Klairuhnz will join you when the shoat be well cosseted.”
By the time they had consumed a finer meal than Kleetos .had tasted in many a long week, they were on a first-name basis, and Kleetos was reflecting that captivity might have very definite advantages, especially could he succeed in seducing his strong, handsome captor, whom he was already calling “Sweet Bili.”
As for “Sweet Bili,” the femininity of his young prisoner, which became more pronounced and overt with every passing minute and cup of wine, set his teeth on edge. Although he was aware that sexual relationships between men were not only an accepted and usual practice amongst the noble Ehleen families, but were not even considered dishonorable so long as the men also wed women and produced legitimate offspring, Bili was personally repelled by the entire’concept. He hoped that he could prevent his deepening disgust and his basic dislike for this precious, now lisping creature from being mirrored in his face and his conduct.
After Milo, in his disguise as Klairuhnz, the traveling bard, had sung a few verses of the War Song of Clan Morguhn, an archaic Ehleen love song and a humorous Freefighter ballad, Kleetos was approached by the physician, Master Ahlee, his snowy robes billowing about him.
Kleetos stared in unabashed fascination at the man now seating himself before him. He had heard of such men, of course, but had never actually seen one. Hands and face and scar-ridged, hairless scalp, all were the dark, dusky brown of an old saddle, though the palms were a startling pink. One of those pink-palmed hands disappeared into a fold in the white robes and emerged holding a polished crystal globe suspended from a thin golden chain. Grasping the ends of the chain, he allowed the spinning globe to dangle before Kleetos’ eyes.
His deep, infinitely soothing voice crooned, “Look, young sir, look at the ball. See the light within the ball? Is not the light beautiful? Fix your eyes on the light, young sir. Become one with the beautiful light. Let yourself sink into the light …”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the young rebel did just that, and, when he was in full trance state, the physician yielded his place to the High Lord, at the same time drawing a tablet and a case of ink and quills from beneath his robes in preparation for noting and sketching whatever the prisoner revealed.
When Kleetos “awakened,” he could feel bandages swathing his face and head. But this was not what utterly horrified him. “But . . . but what does this mean, Sweet Bili?” he demanded, raising his fettered wrists and clanking the chain, which joined them.
Bili stared at him as he might have at some loathsome insect wriggling on a pinpoint. The chill of his voice matched the blue ice of his eyes. “It means, you . . . you thing, that at dawn you and our wounded will commence a journey back to my duchy; they will ride, you will have a choice of walking or being dragged behind the horse you’ll be roped to, for you deserve nothing better. When you arrive in Morguhnpolis, you will be delivered to my city prison, where my Master Bahrtuhn will have his deepest, dankest, darkest, slimiest cell waiting for you. When your city falls, those nobles and priests who are of Morguhn will be slowly whipped to death, crucified or impaled, depending upon their ranks and the enormity of their offenses.