Revenge Of The Horseclans by Robert Adams

“You expect no attack tonight, then?” Bili inquired.

Ahndros sighed aloud, though still mindspeaking. “Oh, anything is possible, I suppose. Sure it is that the roads aren’t so safe as once they were . . . not for Kindred, at least. Perhaps Uncle Djeen is right. After all, bis intuition won many a battle for the Confederation.”

The little party rode on, between the mile or more of roadside fences, intended to keep deer and wandering livestock out of the choice pasturage reserved for Komees Hari’s herds. The black-on-black outlines of the rails made it easier to stay on the road, for only rarely did a winking star or a slice of moon manage to find a way through the squadrons of scudding clouds.

At a horsesaving walk, the double column followed the well kept road up and down the gentle, rolling hills it traversed. Bili found the fresh night air a pleasant contrast to the thick smokiness of Komees Hari’s study. The cooling breeze which blew across their path bore away most of the dust the hooves raised from the roadway.

Bili sent his reception ranging ahead and to the flanks, striving to pick up any trace of hostile mindpatterns, but the conversations of the four men riding behind him proved too distracting. Gefos and Klairuhnz were swapping anecdotes and bawdy tales, while the two big, raw-boned troopers chattered continually in some alien tongue. It sounded, to Bili, a bit like the nasal language called Kweebehkyuhn, spoken by some tribes of those odd folk who dwelt north and west of the Sea of Eeree . . . but perhaps it was really Nyahgraheekos, which sounded similar.

Other than the conversations, the creak of the saddles, and jingling of spurs and bridlechains, the rattling of armor and the thudding of the hooves were all the sounds which disturbed the nightshrouded land. Far away, across the lea, a dogfox barked, and closer at hand came the cry of a hunting owl. But Bili could range no nearby danger, so he relaxed and mindspoke Ahndros.

“Komees Djeen sometimes calls you ‘Ahndee.’ May I do so?”

“Why, of course, Bili, I much prefer the Kindred form to the Ehleen.”

“Thank you then, Ahndee,” said Bili silently. “Let me ask you, when you have your city and lands in order, do you intend to return to the Army? You could have a splendid career, you know; a Subkeeleeohstos of your age could reasonably expect to be strahteegos by his fortieth year, if not before, and even I know that’s a damned rare accomplishment.”

But Ahndee shook his head. “No, Bili, that phase of my life is done forever. I may journey to the capital occasionally, for I’ve many friends there; but mostly I want to attend to my lands and people and lead as quiet and nonviolent a life as circumstances will allow. I don’t enjoy soldiering, Bili.”

“Then why did you join the Army at all?” queried Bili.

Ahndee breathed another sigh. “I’ll try to explain.

“Bili, my Uncle Djeen was worshiped by me and my two brothers for the most of our lives. He was our ideal as we were growing up, the very epitome of stalwart manhood. For some reason, none of his wives or women could ever give him children-his present daughter is adopted, his new wife’s by her first husband-and he undertook the virtual rearing of Oomros and Gaibrios and me, when he was home between campaigns or to recover from wounds. He was patient and gentle and loving, honorable and honest, cleanly in his habits, temperate in his few vices, and capable of astounding feats of self-discipline.

“Bili, what know you of my late father?”

Bili squirmed uncomfortably in his saddle. In the eight years before he had left for the north, he had heard more than he now wished to remember of Vahrohneeskos Ehlmos. “Well, uh . . . Ahndee, I, uh . . . Let’s see … your House follows the Old Ehleen ways, but, ahhh . . . as your grandfather had no sons …”

“Oh, Bili,” Ahndee expostulated impatiently. “Spit it out! You’re not going to offend me by repeating truths known to all the Duchy. Yes, my House followed the Old Ehleen practices-both the good and the bad, the tasteful and the distasteful, the honorable and the dishonorable. My grandfather wed very late, and then only because the Council and your grandfather forced him to it. It is far from certain that he actually sired my mother. And I rejoice in that uncertainty, Bili, for I’d hate to be sure that the old degenerate’s tainted blood runs in my veins. Sun and Wind know the mere suspicion that I am my father’s son is hard enough to live with.

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