His eyes closed as he mused, Milo was unaware of the approach of Halfbreed until the cat’s chin was resting on his armored thigh. He scratched the furry ears, eliciting a deep sigh of contentment.
Though a great-grandson of mighty Horsekiller, the cat-chief who had led his clan to this land, he had been gotten on a tree cat that had been caught as a kitten and tamed by Aldora; therefore, he was less than two-thirds the bulk of an adult prairie cat. Some seven feet overall, Halfbreed was slender and wiry, his cuspids were only slightly longer than had been his mother’s—nowhere near the size of a prairie cat’s massive fangs—and his fur was short and uniformly pale brown. Because of his distinct resemblance to his wild cousins, Halfbreed was a very useful scout.
Scanning Milo’s surface thoughts, the cat mindspoke a question. “If you mean to fight, God-Milo, should not Halfbreed take a look at the Ehleenee army?”
Milo sighed. “I wish you could, cat-brother. But this river is a natural line of defense. It is wide and deep and there are no fords for many miles. This bridge is the only way across and you could never traverse it unseen … not in daylight, anyway—perhaps tonight, if there is no moon or a storm. But wait for my word.”
One of Captain Mai’s officers came galloping the length of the bridge, ironshod hooves striking sparks. Before his mount had fully halted, the rider was out of his saddle and saluting his captain.
“Sir, a herald from the camp of King Zenos is at the middle of the bridge. He begs audience with High-Lord Milo and High-Lady Aldora. He is alone and bears only sword and dirk. Besides, I don’t think he’d be very dangerous; he’s wounded.”
When, at length, the officer returned, he rode stirrup to stirrup with a freckle-faced young man in the uniform of Zenos’ bodyguards. The wicked tip had been removed from his lance and a square of lustrous, creamy silk fluttered at the apex of the long ash shaft. Nothing could be seen of his hair, since above the browline his head was swathed in bandages, but his sweeping mustache and pointed beard were brick-red. His bandaged left hand appeared to be shy a couple of fingers; nonetheless, he handled his reins skillfully and sat his big gray horse with the unconscious ease of the born horseman.
Milo tried a quick scan of the herald’s surface thoughts, finding them as open and friendly as the merry green eyes. But there were other thoughts, too, and had been since first the freckled one had clapped eyes on Aldora. A glance at her showed Milo that she had read those thoughts as well. The trace of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
The herald thrust the ferrule of his lanceshaft into the loam, dismounted gracefully, and strode to stand before Milo. He first bowed, then executed an elaborate salute. At closer range, Milo was aware of the copious perspiration coursing down the freckled face, the clenched teeth, and bunched muscles of the jaw.
“He is in pain,” Aldora mindspoke rapidly, “intense pain. But he’d die ere he betrayed it, Milo. He is a fine young man, honorable and very proud.”
Milo smiled. “Now that the formalities are done with, young sir, will you not sit and have wine with us?
Tomos Gonsalos, despite his obvious thirst, sipped delicately at his wine. Savoring it on his tongue, he graciously complimented it, the silver cup in which it had been served, and his host and hostess, like the gentleman he gave every appearance of being. He had brought an invitation from King Zenos, who would share his evening meal with High-Lord Milo, High-Lady Aldora, and their four gentleman-captains. King Zenos stated that, aware as he was that certain deceased members of his House had established a reputation for treachery, his guests had his leave to ride with a bodyguard contingent of any size they saw fit. His intent, he emphasized, was honorable, but he wished his guests to feel secure in their persons.
After an hour’s light conversation and another pint of wine, Tomos indicated that he should return and announce their acceptance of King Zenos’ invitation. Upon rising, however, he staggered, took no more than two steps toward his horse, then crumpled bonelessly to the sward.