Robert Adams - Champion of the Last Battle

The Maidens were led by a woman who had been one of the missing brahbehrnuh’s lieutenants, one Rehvkah, who bore the scars of the serious wounds she had taken during the great battle against the Muhkohee on the Tongue of Soormehlyuhn. The Freefighters followed two renowned officers of their own ilk, Captains Djeri Guhntuh and Pawl Raikuh, this last him who had commanded the famous Morguhn Company of Freefighters throughout the hotly fought campaigns in the duchies of Vawn and Morguhn, then into the bitter invasion of the southern portions of the Ahrmehnee stahn .

Because the dehrehbeh of the Behdrozyuhn Tribe of the Ahrmehnee had been at long last persuaded to stay at home and restore order and prosperity to his twice-invaded, twice-shattered, extensively fought-over tribal lands, those of his tribesmen who rode with this column and the several hundred Ahrmehnee warriors from other tribes had chosen several of the more experienced and famous of their number to act as the Ahrmehnee lieutenants for him who was leader of the entire column.

Two knights rode in the lead, followed closely by their bannermen and attendants, who led the sumpter mules which bore their arms and armor. They jogged along side by side, the elder forking an iron-gray gelding spotted on the rump with darker gray, the younger on a big red-bay mare. They were engaged in the very same argument that had occupied them from almost the moment they and their two units had joined at the Behdrozyuhn village nearly a week agone.

“And I says horse turds, Sir Geros!” growled the elder from the deep chest of his big-boned, thick-shouldered, rolling-muscled body. “Don’t matter diddly what kinda he-cow thang thet Pitzburker hung awn me, I’m jest whut I alius was: Big Djim Bohluh, the meanest, drinkin’est, cussin’est, fightin’est, fuckin’est soljuh the Army of the Confederation evuh had an—”

“Yes, you see, Sir Djim,” the younger, slenderer, flat-muscled man put in eagerly, “that’s just what I mean. You are an experienced soldier, a veteran of many years with the army. You know what orders to give and just when and how to give them. Me, I needs must be watched over and prompted by Pawl Raikuh, else I often would be lost in matters of a military nature; but you, now, you would know it all. That’s why I think you should be the paramount leader of this force, not I. Why can’t you agree?”

“And I’ll say ’er one more time, Sir Geros, suh,” Sir Djim said tiredly, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “I wuz a damn good sergeant ... when I won’t drunk, I means. But I won’t never no of’ser, dint never wawnt to be one, won’t be one, now, neethuh. You say you younger nor me? Wal, the las’ ten, fifteen years I’s in the Reg’lars, ever dang of’ser I had ovah me was younger nor me, so you won’t be gettin’ no cherry, see.

“As for not knowin’ whatall to say or whin to say ’er, shitfire, man, you got all you need in thet Raikuh. Of’sers don’t give orders, mostly, Sir Geros, they tells they sergeants whatall they wawnts done and the sergeants gives the troops the friggin’ orders, thet’s SOP in eny dang army. If they good of’sers, they watches and listens and learns from they sergeants, thet’s the way it alius been.

“You wants me to be one your sergeants, I’ll do ’er, Sir Geros, and happy as a hawg in shit, but I ain’t gonna take ovuh runnin’ thishere hashup, and you wastin’ Sacred Wind tryin’ to tawk me into it.”

Farther back in the column, two other men rode side by side. These two were about of an age—a bit younger than Sir Djim, but considerably older than Sir Geros. They were alike too in other ways, some easily visible, others far less so. Both were Middle Kingdoms-born—though one was base and one of noble antecedents. Both had begun their soldiering as common troopers and clawed their way to command positions in the best tradition of their violent calling. Both had had the experience of fighting through the rebellion which had begun in Morguhn and ended in Vawn, then had served in the campaign against the Ahrmehnee which had followed hard on the heels of that rebellion.

The words of old Sir Djim, often nearly shouted, had drifted back to where Raikuh and Guhntuh rode. Guhntuh shook his head, saying, “Pawl, if you have the influence you seem to have over Sir Geros, for love of Steel, ask him to lay off Sir Djim and resume his command. That old man has stated nothing less than the unadorned truth, by his lights, and no argument by Sir Geros is going to change his mind.

“Archduke Hahfos of Djohnz privily informed me that Sir Djim is at least sixty years old, possibly half a score more than that—no one save him really knows, it seems.”

Raikuh grinned. “Yes, I remember that story. Whilst Bohluh was a staff NCO with the Confederation Army headquarters at Goohm, he so ‘doctored’ the records as to slice fifteen to twenty years off his official age. Had he not been a Golden Cat man and thus easily remembered by the Undying High Lord Milo, he’d most likely have gotten clean away with it, too, and died in the ranks of old age.”

“Well,” stated Guhntuh, “I’ll say this truth to anyone who wants to know it: For a man of such advanced age, he is without question the strongest, most active and supple, most personally pugnacious oldster I’ve ever run across. He can fence my top weapons master into the ground with almost any weapon you care to name, and can and will drink you, me or anybody else under the table. He knows curses I’ve never heard and can curse for a good hour without repeating himself once. While I’ve never seen him really fight—”

“I have,” remarked Raikuh, nodding. “He was seconded to my Morguhn Company just before we stormed those undermined salients outside Vawnpolis, and for want of time to think of another posting for him, I assigned him to help to guard the then-bannerman, Sir Geros, at that time a sergeant. I recall only bits and snatches of that action, of course. After all, I was fighting, too. But my recollections of him were of cool, almost detached precision of a near-mechanical nature in his strokes and parries and thrusts with that broad, heavy shortsword, even while he used that big, wide shield to protect not himself but Sir Geros. He sustained some near-fatal hurts that day, and when he was wagoned back into the Duchy of Morguhn, I assumed I’d seen the last of him. Steel, but he must be tough, all whipcord and boiled leather!”

The other captain briefly showed an expanse of gapped, yellowed teeth. “He is that, right enough, colleague; belike the tens of thousands of gallons of spirits and ale and beer and wine he’s imbibed over the years have pickled him to the consistency of campaign pork, and it takes a good man to cut a chunk of that stuff with a razor-edged poleaxe. Moreover, for a gentleman of later years, Sir Djim has got a better nose for scenting out easy women than far many a younger man. He found at least one in every Ahrmehnee village we rode through on our way down here; swived them all right and proper, too, or so I’m told. The old boar even got into one of the three Moon Maidens what rode down with us, if you can credit trooper rumors, and the way their captain, that Rehvkah, looks at him sometimes, when she figgers nobody be watching her ... ? Well, it leads a man to wonder why is all.”

“I’d keep a locked jaw on that, were I you,” warned Raikuh. “I’ve seen Moon Maidens fight, too, and every one of them is much younger and much faster than either you or me, friend.”

Guhntuh shrugged. “If that should ever come to pass, I’ll take my chances. I fear no mannish woman, no matter how fast or young. But the rumor I mentioned is none of my business, either, true enough. But I’ve had damnall success with the few convalescing Maidens who were at the Taishyuhn village over the last year or so; I’d come to the conclusion that they all were man-hating lesbians.”