Swords of the Horseclans by Adams Robert

Captain Mai flushed deeply, looking at his toes. “Ten … no, eleven years, my lady.”

Milo Morai had seen her play this game with other former lovers. Impatiently, he snapped, “For all you know, Aldora, your husband is lying on the bed of the Luhmbuh River, providing a feast for happy fish. You may hate him, but he is my co-regent and the only one with a hereditary claim to the rulership of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. Besides, he is one of our kind.”

Aldora snorted. “And I hope the fish get more use from Demetrios than ever I did! You know how it’s been between us for the thirty-two years we’ve been married. Emotionally speaking, Demetrios is—was, I pray, Wind—a child, a terribly spoiled brat. Damn it, he looks so masculine, but even if he lives as long as you have, hell never mature into a real man. He can take all the grandiose titles he can think of, deck himself out in the fanciest clothing and armor he can find, and he’ll never be more than a gilded cowpat. He …” “Aldora,” Milo said, “we are not alone.” She shook her head defiantly. “We do not need to be. Herbuht was my lover for four years; he’s heard all I’ve said here and more—much, much more. My husband, the Lord-High Buggerer of Kehnooryos Ehlahs, is as useful to a woman as is a gelding to a mare! I pray to the • Sun and Wind that he be dead. Oh, Wind grant that 1 am at last freed of him.”

Suddenly, she raised both arms, threw back her head and, with closed eyes, began to chant, “Wind, oh, Wind of all Wind. Wind of the North, Wind of the West, Wind of the South, Wind of the East. Oh, Wind of the oceans, Wind of the mountains, Wind of the plains. Wind of gentleness, Wind of violence. Oh, Wind, hear now thy true daughter, Aldora of Linsee, come to me and grant my prayer. Come to me, oh, Wind. Speak to thy daughter, thy servant, thy bride. Come, oh, Wind. Come, come, come, come, come.”

From the camp about them came shouts of alarm along with much noise from the picket lines—the snort-ings and whinnyings of terrified horses. Then a roaring commenced, growing louder as it neared. Then it was all around the tent, and suddenly the front flaps billowed inward, while the heavy lamps hung from the ridgepole were swung to and fro like ships tossed on a stormy sea.

Icy air buffeted Milo’s skin and he could not repress a shudder. Aldora’s talents continued to amaze him. Speaking in as calm a voice as he could muster, he admonished, “That’s more than sufficient, Aldora. The men outside may have to fight tomorrow; they need their relaxation, their dinners, their sleep, and so do the horses.”

After a somewhat shaky Herbuht Mai had left to see to his men and to the other captains who had met with ‘ King Zenos subsequent to the battle that followed the bridge skirmish, Milo had other words for Aldora.

As he unstrapped her cuirass, he spoke sternly. “You call Demetrios a child, then follow with a completely childish example of mental trickery! Who were you trying to impress, girl? Me? Herbuht Mai?”

She turned to face him, her face looking drained, the halves of her cuirass dangling loose. “It was no trick, Milo. Calling the Wind was one of the secret things Blind Hari taught me before he left.”

“If you’ve known it that long,” demanded Milo, “why is it I’ve never seen you do it before?”

The woman extended trembling arms so that Milo might pull off the armor. “Because I don’t do it often, Milo, because it tires me, it takes too much from me.”

Drawing off her armor, Milo said angrily, “Don’t ever do that at sea, Aldora. There are not very many ways to kill our kind, but drowning is one of them.”

The four captains—Herbuht Mai of the lancers, Guhsz Helluh of the heavy infantry, Prestuhn Maklaud of the horse-archers, and Gabros Zarameenos of the light infantry—entered and saluted first Milo, then Aldora.

“Lord Milo,” spoke Mai, “I have ordered Lord Demetrios’ pavilion pitched on that low hill between the camp and the river. It’s an exposed position, true, but it will be well guarded. Besides, King Zenos struck me as a man of his word. I don’t think he’d allow an attack without formally notifying us of the cessation of the truce.”

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