Swords of the Horseclans by Adams Robert

bowed formally from the waist—the obeisance due to one equal in rank. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rich, but so, too, had been that of the earlier Alexandros.

“My Lady Mara, often have I heard your beauty praised, but lavish as was that praise, my own eyes now tell me that it was an unforgivable understatement.”

“Young lord,” she replied, “your compliment was most gallantly couched and much appreciated. But my curiosity has become aroused. No one of your people has visited our shores—professionally or otherwise—for at least forty years. What now brings you to our court?”

Alexandros took a step forward. “My lady, I bear urgent intelligences for the ears of the High-Lords alone. I must speak with them … and that soon!”

Mara shook her raven tresses. If no one else had informed him, she might as well do so; he’d know soon enough. “Lord Alexandros, my husband, High-Lord Milo, the High-Lord Demetrios and his wife, the High-Lady Aldora, are all on campaign. I hold the Confederation in their absence. We four are all equals in rank and power, so you may deal with me as you would with them.”

Shortly, he bobbed his head. “Very well, my lady. But I know something of courts. I would speak what I know only to you. These captains will corroborate my words.”

Mara ordered the reception hall cleared, then thought more deeply and led her guests down a side corridor to a small, windowless, thick-walled room. Neeaheearkos Petros and his squad of marines had followed and would have entered, but she forbade it.

Petros reddened, expostulating, “But they still are armed, my lady. You should have guards, within as well as without.”

Mara laughed and laid one slim hand on his arm. “You forget, old friend, steel cannot harm me. And I feel Lord Alexandros to be an honorable man. If you wish to serve me, have wine and fruit and cheeses fetched. You have done well today.”

When all were seated and refreshments were placed on the table and the door was securely bolted, she took a chance and addressed the young lord telepathically. “Do you mindspeak, Lord Alexandros?”

He answered her in the same manner. “Of course. No one who cannot can hold high rank among us. It is the way we communicate with our orks, much as do your people with their cats.”

“Then I propose we converse in just this way, since even the stoutest of doors and the thickest of stones may develop ears on occasion. But we four are not the only ones here with mindspeak talents, so maintain your shields against ah1 save short-range, personal contacts. Now, what is this earthshaking news, Lord Alexandros?”

While sipping at his wine, the young man’s mind said, “We have . .. contacts amongst the swamp and fenfolk of all coasts except yours. In return for immunity from raids, as well as a bit of hard money now and then, they keep us informed of such matters as vulnerable towns, movements of patrols and warships, sailing dates of worthwhile merchant ships—things of that nature.”

Mara nodded. It was reasonable that, over many generations, professional marauders would have built up such a network of agents.

Alexandros went on. “Throughout the last five years, we have generally avoided the coasts of the Southern Kingdom. With the dynastic struggle ongoing, every city, town, and village that wasn’t a blackened ruin was an armed camp. Stray detachments of troops were tramping hither and yon over the countryside, at little or no notice, and it sometimes seemed that every headland concealed a warship or flotilla. The Captains’ Council decided it was just too risky.”

“But I’d heard that the war was all but over some six months ago,” Mara said.

“True,” commented Alexandros, assuring her. “The new High-King is Zastros of the House of Zladinos, a most ambitious man, it would seem.”

“Since when,” interjected Mara, “has the usurper of the Southern Kingdom become a High-King?”

Alexandros grinned. “Since Zastros had himself crowned such, my lady. As I said, he is a very ambitious man.

“At any rate, when we heard of the end of the civil war, two biremes were dispatched to nose along the coast to see what they might and re-establish relations with any of our former informants who might remain. Captain Yahnekos, here,” he said, gesturing toward the dark-visaged, hook-nosed man to his left, “captained one ship and Captain Vanskeleeg”—this time he nodded at the graying, fair-skinned man on his right, who was cracking nuts in his big, square, tar-stained hands—”the other. Why don’t you tell the High-Lady how the voyage went, gentlemen?”

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