Swords of the Horseclans by Adams Robert

“Aye,” affirmed Titos. “I, too, have heard those tales. It is said that, even today, in the Witch Kingdom amid the Great Southern Swamp, full many a strange beast does the bidding of man.”

At the mention of that unholy domain, Lord Sergios shuddered and hurriedly crossed himself.

“Why, strike me blind!” exclaimed Titos. “It has been years since I have seen any of your Lordship’s class do that. I had thought me that the High-Lord’s new religion had completely supplanted the Ancient Faith—amongst the nobility of the capital, at least.”

Sergios flushed and glanced about uneasily. “So it has, good Master Titos. The High-Lord’s orders notwithstanding, it is difficult to throw off the training of one’s childhood and youth.”

Now it was Titos who covertly eyed the deck and took care to see that his words would not be overheard. “Do you ever hear from your noble father, Lord Sergios? I served him, years agone, ere I went to sea. I still love him, despite what is said of him.”

Sergios took Titos’ arm and hustled him over to the rail. “Let none other hear you so avow, Master Titos,” he whispered. “Else, some gray dawn will find you adorning a cross or immured in that place of horrors beneath the High-Lord’s prison, screaming for death.

“But in answer, no. Whether it’s because he does not wish to endanger me, does not trust me, or has died, I do not know. I’ve not had one word from him since his flight.”

“My Lord,” hissed Titos fervently, “there are many who, like me, honor the memory of your noble father and what he tried to do for Kehnooryos Ehlahs …”

But he never finished, for it was then that Denietrios, closely guarded by his spearmen, waddled back on deck.

He was resplendent, hoping his sartorial elegance might possibly overawe the dread Lord Pardos and assure him the respect that the nasty pirate had thus far withheld. His sandals were not only gilded but adorned with small gems; so, too, were his gilded-suede “greaves.” His kilt was of starched, snowy linen, and his cloth-of-gold “cuirass” had been stiffened with strips of whalebone. Rings flashed from every finger, almost matching the jewel-blaze that was the hilt and guard of his dress-sword. His flowing locks had been teased into ringlets, and hair; mustache and forked beard all shone and reeked of strongly perfumed oil.

Protocol in visits such as this really called for a military helmet, but the wearing of any kind of armor was unbearable to Demetrios. Metal was hot, binding, heavy, and terribly uncomfortable, and even leather caused one to perspire so. Therefore, his only head covering consisted of a narrow, golden circlet, surmounted by a frame of stiff wires. Over this was stretched another piece of cloth-of-gold that had been thickly sewn with seed pearls and was crested by a blue ostrich plume.

A massy-gold chain hung between the two golden brooches that secured his cape of blue brocade. On the outer surface of the cape the Trident that was the badge of his house had been worked in silver wire. Broad golden bands adorned his smooth, pudgy, depilated forearms.

The pre-pubescent slaveboy who was to accompany him was attired similarly, in addition to being heavily cosmetized. His guard was to consist of an even dozen of his black spearmen, officered by Lord Admiral Sergios. The other seven spearmen he ordered to guard his cabin and protect his possessions from wandering pirates or thieving crewmen.

Followed by his cortege, the High-Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs proceeded to an awning-covered section of the waist and awaited the arrival of a litter or chariot to convey him. Two hours later, as the sun was sinking behind the western cliffs, and the mosquitoes were venturing out for the night’s feasting, the High:Lord of Kehnooryos Ehlahs and his retinue were still waiting.

The blacks were relaxed, patient; Lord Sergios kept glancing warily at his unpredictable lord; Demetrios was nearing a state of murderous anger. Such discourtesy from a fellow-noble-Ehleen could just not be tolerated! All at once, he half turned, jerked the slaveboy closer, and slammed the back of his heavy hand across the child’s face. Then he felt a little better.

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