“Lord Milo,” interrupted Bohluh, “don’t go blaming young Ahrtos, there, ’cause it ain’t his fault. He be a damned good of cer, all us has been. But all my records they got burnt up in that big fire at Goohm, fourteen year agone. An’ when we set out tryin’ to do ’em over, it might be some names ‘n* dates got done wrong, is all.”
Milo sighed. “Djim, you must be pushing sixty, half again the average lifespan these days. War is an activity for young men, old friend. I think I should retire you now. Report back to the camp. When I’m done in this field, I’ll have orders drafted to get you back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs. Or you can retire in Morguhn, if you wish. There’re right many widows there and Thoheeks Bili is going to need some loyal husbands for them.”
Bohluh’s spear fell, clattering. His lined, seamed face working, he stumbled forward, one big hand raised beseechingly, the other on the chestnut’s reins. “Please, Lord Milo, please! Please let me stay. This be my home, Lord Milo, the only home I’ve knowed for over forty-five years. If I didn’t hear the drum of a momin’, I’d … I couldn’t, wouldn’t want to … I mean-” Then his voice broke and he could but sob chokedly. “Please, Lord Milo. Please don’t send me away.”
And something in those swimming green eyes touched a nerve in Bili Morguhn. He urged his horse up beside Mile’s and touched his arm. “My lord, if you please … ?”
The High Lord mindspoke impatiently. “This is none of your affair, Bili. It’s army business, a matter of regulations. We can’t afford the precedent of sixty-odd-year-old soldiers swinging a sword in the ranks.”
“I … I understand your position, my lord. So, I think, does he. He knows this be the end of his long road. But I do not think my lord understands him.”
“And you,” beamed the High Lord sarcastically, “from the eminent wisdom of your less than twenty summers, do?”
“Your pardon, my lord. I had no wish to offend.”
“Your pardon, Bili.” The edge was gone from Milo’s mind-speak. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever get over being jumpy before a battle, and I sometimes forget your constantly expanding mental abilities. What do old Djim’s words say to you?”
“He craves a last boon, my lord. A soldier’s death. And this final battle in which to find it.”
“And you know this, Bili?” asked the High Lord. “How?”
The answer came quickly and unhesitatingly. “My lord, I can just sense that we are much alike, Bohluh and I. And, were I in his position, this is what I would have of a man I’d served so long and so well.”
“Bili,” Milo mindspoke slowly, “discipline in my army is much stricter than what passes for such in your Middle Kingdoms hosts. Every ear within hearing heard me order him back to camp, and it would hurt morale if his pleas seemed to bring about a reversal of those orders. Besides, it’s highly probable that his company won’t even fight today. These regiments are drawn up for effect; we’ll not use a third of them, if that many.”
“Djim Bohluh has served you well, my lord?” prodded Bili.
“He’d not have that cat otherwise,” retorted Milo. “He’s been up and down the noncommissioned ladder so many times he’s worn a path in the rungs. But that’s because in garrison he’s a boozing, brawling, insubordinate rakehell. But on campaign, in battle, he’s been worth bis weight in emeralds! Had I as few as one regiment like him, the western border of the Confederation would be somewhere on the Sea of Grass today. Yes, Bili, Djim Bohluh has indeed served me well.”
“Then, my lord,” suggested Bili, “let him find what he seeks with me in my guard. I know damned well that we’ll wet our blades.”
After his long months with the Morguhn Company of Freefighters, Geros had thought himself inured to every degree of foul language, but the massive old soldier that Thoheehs Bili had had seconded to serve as color shield, while friendly was unbelievably obscene. No three words came from his lips but one of them was a depthless crudity, and the Freefighters hung, grinning like opossums, on his every phrase, obviously highly appreciative of the oldster’s seemingly limitless profane vocabulary.