Robert Adams - Madman's Army

This was followed by the grating sound of a chair being pushed back, then a few heavy steps, and the door was shoved farther open by the thick, hairy arm of a big, muscular man of middle years. “Tomos,” he rumbled, “who is this officer and what’s this of slaves?”

Gonsalos stepped back and said in formal tones, “My lord Thoheeks , please allow me to present to you Captain-of-squadron Vahrohnos Bralos of Yohyültönpolis. He and his squadron have this very day returned from a short but very successful campaign against bandits in one of the border thoheekseeahnee , and he was telling me of the numbers of prisoners they had taken and brought back for state-slaves.

“Captain, this nobleman is a Thoheeks Bahos, a member of Council.”

Not sure just what else to do, Bralos straightened and rendered the massive man a correct military salute.

The saluted man just grinned. “So you’re the young man who so twisted the tail of our revered Grand Strahteegos , hey? Do you know that a few days after the first Council debate on whether or not you should be allowed to pay Council hard, honest gold for the right to be completely responsible for your squadron, I wound up back in armor, fighting a formal duel with that hotheaded young whippersnapper Thoheeks Vikos? Did you know that, young sir? Of course you didn’t. And you didn’t know that I showed him his folly in trying to fight me, old man or not, either. True, he’s now faster than me, but I’m still lots stronger, so I just let him wear himself out, slow down a bit, then I finished the thing quickly, nearly sundered his helm, I did, they say. Hahahahah!”

It was then that Bralos was shocked to hear himself ask, “My lord Thoheeks Bahos, may Captain Vahrohnos Bralos inquire of the thoheeks ?”

Still grinning broadly at memory of his victory over his younger peer, the big man nodded, saying, “Of course you may, young sir, and you need not be so militarily formal, either, for any man that our good Tomos pleases to call friend is also a friend of mine.”

Bralos took a deep breath and spoke again. “My lord, Captain Chief Pawl of Vawn and I, we captured a hundred and twelve bandits and got back to Mehseepolis with a hundred and seven of them still living and in as good shape as could be expected after a march of that length by men accustomed to riding mostly.”

“What of the weapons and the gear and mounts of these bandits?” interjected the thoheeks. “Was it brought back, too?”

Blankfaced, Bralos replied, “My lord, we lacked enough pack-mules to bring back much of anything, since we had been up there for so short a time and used so few supplies, though a few officers and men did pick out certain better-quality items.”

Bahos nodded. “Well, it’s of no real importance; likely it’s better that the stuff was left up there, anyway. Most of it was probably lifted from there and now the noblemen will have it back. But what of the bandits’ mounts?”

“Most of them were mountain ponies, my lord Thoheeks ,” Bralos answered. “The few full-size horses were in generally poor shape, some dozen or so that looked good we did bring back, two thirds of the beasts going to my squadron, one third selected by Pawl of Vawn for the use of his Horseclansmen.”

“Good, good,” nodded the massive nobleman, “horses cost money. But you wished to ask a question of me, I believe … ?”

Bralos took another deep breath and launched into it, saying, “My lord Thoheeks , what is the point of squandering supplies and horses and trained men to bring back captive warriors who never give Council even one day’s work because they die of the black rot in the slave pen after being gelded by an elderly pig farmer who works at the abattoir?”

The big man’s smile evaporated in a trice, and his face became as dark as a lowering thundercloud. But when he spoke, his voice was a tightly controlled, soft rumble. “Who told you these things, young man?”

“Why, the keeper of the slave pen, my lord, one Kahsos, told me of his hiring of the old man to do the gelding, while one of his men told one of my bodyguards about the high rate of loss from the black rot after the man, Pehlzos, had done his bloody work,” said Bralos.

Turning on his heel, the big man opened both doors wide agape and stepped back, saying, “My good young sir, please humor me by coming in, seating yourself, having a stoup to drink and telling my companions of these sorry things.”

As Thoheeks Bahos himself seated the somewhat bemused Bralos and filled a cup for him from one of the ewers, then introduced him to those men seated around the table, he finally understood why so many fully armed and alert Council Guardsmen were surrounding the building. No less than five of the most powerful members of the Council of the Thirty-three sat about that table, including his own commander, Senior Captain Thoheeks Portos.

Portos said, “Well, you and Pawl Vawn must have worked some sort of miracle to be back this fast. So well done a job should rightly earn Wolf Squadron a bit of rest … but it probably won’t. I don’t know, it’s just as I was telling all these gentlemen prior to your arrival, Bralos, something has gotten into Pahvlos; he seems intent anymore to run the whole army ragged to little real purpose.”

“Portos, Portos, we’ll get back to all that,” said Bahos, “but for now I’d like you all to hear some information that this fine young officer has stumbled across. My good Bralos, tell again just what you told me out in the foyer.”

Senior Captain Thoheeks Portos purposely chose the longest and most circuitous route from the headquarters of Sub- strahteegos Tomos Gonsalos back to the headquarters of the cavalry brigade, he and Bralos riding knee to knee ahead of and out of easy earshot of his bodyguards, conversing in low, hushed tones.

“You made yourself some very good friends on Council, this day, my good Bralos,” said Portos. “Those four, back there, along with a brace of their faction and leanings who were unable to make it for this day’s clandestine meeting out here, are capable—by ways of the multiple duchies and voting proxies systems—to pass or defeat most varieties of business that come before Council without so much as letting any other members of Council know that voting is taking place. And that, my boy, is power—raw, unquestionable and so never questioned power. Poor grace as you’re in with Pahvlos, you may need such friends, too, one day soon or late.”

“What of Lord Kahsos, Portos, what will be done to him?” asked Bralos.

Portos shrugged, shaking his head, so that the plumes of his dress helmet swished and the loose cheekplates rattled. “With a bit of luck, he’ll be censured, striped publicly and exiled back to his civil holdings to be further punished by his overlord, probably. But lacking that bit of luck … ? Thoheeks Bahos, jovial as he can be, is still a very hard man who can be most vindictive when he feels himself to have been wronged or hoodwinked—and you know he feels just so in this particular instance—and he also nurtures a deep, wide streak of bloodthirstiness in his character, which means that the larcenous Kahsos may well find himself adorning one of those crosses outside the walls, that or minus his balls and working on a road gang, out in the thoheekseeahnee somewhere.”

Looking and sounding as troubled as he had felt all day, ever since he had turned the war captives over to the unsavory Lord Kahsos, Bralos asked, “Portos, why are … why must state-slaves be castrated?”

The tall, darker man shrugged again. “They just always have been. It’s tradition that they be deballed, is all.