The bawdy old ballad brought fond memories to Komees Djeen and a broad smile to his face, and he joined in as well. Though he knew neither the song itself nor memories of it, Spiros found himself joining in the catchy, nonsensical chorus. And when others’ recall failed, Clan bard Hail provided extemporaneous and topical verses.
While his physical being sang with the rest, Klairuhnz mindspoke Ahlee, saying, “These fine men cannot know or even suspect just how incredibly ancient this song really is. Nor do they realize that near twoscore generations of their ancestors have sung it.”
“Did my antecedents also sing it, Lord?” queried the physician.
“Oh, yes, Ahlee,” replied the Bard. “In those long-ago days, we were all one nation, speaking one language.”
“Most remarkable,” Ahlee commented, adding, “It is certain that I have then chosen aright, for surely you and your few peers are much loved of Ahlah, that He has vouchsafed you such long life.”
The guards at the eastern gate of Morguhnpolis were Freefighters, mostly from the Middle Kingdoms. They laughed and buffeted each other in delight, as the noble lords entered the city singing a song they considered their own, and they enthusiastically added their voices to a chorus, feeling a fierce kinship with these fellow fighting-men.
Thus augmented, the last chorus roared up the all but deserted east-west thoroughfare, “HINKEE DINKEE PAHRLEE VOOOOt”
CHAPTER IX
Bill’s party dismounted before the city palace, more than three hundred years old, dating from the period before his ancestors had crossed the mountains, when Morguhnpolis-then called Eeleeoheepolis-had been the north-western jewel of the Crown of Karaleenos. It was an impressive building, fashioned of native granite and faced with that hauntingly beautiful greygreen limestone from Kehnooryohs Ehlahs. Its main chamber was almost as large as the outer courtyard of Morguhn Hall and was columned and paved with colored and veined marbles; but it was very difficult to heat, so was seldom used for anything. The footfalls of the noblemen echoed as they traversed the length of the huge chamber and mounted the wide marble stairs toward the second floor Council Chamber.
Komees Djeen frowned at sight of the four pikemen ranged before the tall, brass-sheathed doors of the Council’s meetingroom. They were not the usual Free-fighter guards, but rather civilian Spearlevymen, Ehleenoee all. A skinny corporal of the same body stood just behind the pikemen, holding his knife-edged thrusting spear as though it were a frog gig.
Eyes fixed dead ahead, Bili and Djehf clanked toward the doors, outwardly unconcerned. After nervously licking his lips, the corporal hissed a whispered order and the levymen sloppily presented their pikes, no two at the same angle. Komees Djeen snorted in disgust and made a decidedly uncomplimentary remark concerning gutter-scum playing at soldier.
Bili and Djehf marched forward until the glittering points were but inches from their breastplates. The brothers stood thus for a moment. Then Djehf suddenly grasped the crossbar of the pike before him and savagely jerked it from the hands of its wielder. The levyman spun half around and, ere he could turn back, Djehf dropped the captured pike and booted the man’s rump so hard that he went sprawling, sliding a good way down the slick floor of the side hallway on his breastplate. Grinning, he reached for a second pike, but the levymen hastily grounded their weapons and backed up until the walls ended their retreat, leaving their corporal to guard the portals alone.
“The Council Chamber,” began that worthy, in a piping falsetto squeak. He flushed, cleared his throat, presented the long, wide blade of his spear, and started over. “The Council Chamber is forbidden to any save confirmed members of the Thirds!” He spoke in Old Ehleeneekos.
Komees Djeen shouldered between Bili and Djehf, demanding, “What language are you grunting in, you puling shoat?”
Before the unhappy man could frame an answer, Djehf’s powerful hand had closed on the shaft of the short spear. In a brittle voice, he announced, “If you don’t let go of that piece of junk, dungface, by Sun and Wind, I’ll bugger you with it!”
The corporal did let go, but not quickly enough to suit Djehf, who jerked the Ehleen away from the closed door, spun him about, and jabbed a good two inches of the broad spearpoint into his seat. The man screamed, then sped down the side hall, clutching at his bleeding posterior and howling like a moon mad hound. Three pikes fell clattering and three pikemen followed their wounded leader as fast as their legs would carry them.