Robert Adams - The Death of a Legend

Bili watched as each of the grim Maidens, each of the hardbitten Ahrmehnee, nodded their agreement and fumbled silver crescents from beneath breastplate or hauberk.

He shook his shaven head forcefully. “No. To stay here will be to see many of our wounded die needlessly; they need unguents, healers, potions to ease their pain and let them sleep. We all need decent food, and the big horses need grain and hay, for the grass here will not last long and they cannot subsist on treebark and moss as do the ponies. I’ve seen damn-all game hereabouts, and even were this place aswann with such, our archers used all their shafts to quill the damned Muhkohee, back there.

“No, to remain here will weaken all and kill some. If die I must, I’d rather do it sitting my stallion and swinging my axe. What say the rest of you?”

Nods and smiles and wordless grunts of assent answered him… but only from the lowlander nobles and the Freefighter officers. What Bili read on the firelit faces of the others, Maidens and Ahrmehnee alike, was not fear but, rather, a crawling horror.

“Ride out if you wish, you thing of male foolishness!” snapped the Maiden who had earlier spoken. “And take with you all your followers of stupidness. But first allow us, who reason have, the time to win free of Muhkohee lands.” There was a low but concerted growl from the lowlanders and mercenaries. They all had seen the Moon Maidens fight and unanimously respected the arms skills and clear courage of them; but these armored girls were still mere females, and the nobles and Freefighters intended to tolerate no abuse or contumely from an overweening pack of man-aping women.

Bili knew that growl and recognized its meaning. He knew full well that aching muscles and near-empty bellies had already gone far toward honing a cutting edge on pride and hot tempers, crafting a weapon which could rend apart this shaky alliance of traditional enemies, further decimate their thin ranks and add to the numbers of the wounded. He made to step into the breach, but another forestalled him.

From out of the surrounding darkness, into the shifting, wavering circle of the firelight, came the brahbehrnuh, the chieftainess of the Moon Maidens. She moved slowly, a bit unsteadily. She had shed helm and armor, and her loosened hair cascaded in ebon waves about the high collar of her long cloak of soft, green-dyed leather. Her black eyes were deep-sunk, her face pale under her tan, but her voice was firm, and it contained the natural authority of the born leader.

“Kahndoot,” she addressed the Maiden standing with arms akimbo, “sit down and shut up! These men are not as are…” Her contralto voice nearly broke as she corrected herself. “As were the males of our blood. Accuse such as Dook Bili, there, of foolishness or cowardice and you’ll shortly have a bared sword to face.”

“But, honored one,” protested the Moon Maiden hotly, “this stupid lowlander male wants to raid a Muhkohee village, can he find one; and you know what that will likely mean, there being so very few of us.”

The brahbehrnuh nodded slowly. “Yes, Kahndoot, I know and you know, but he probably does not. Remember, he is not an Ahrmehnee, not even a cursed Ehleen, by the looks of him. You should have explained to him the danger before you so railed at him.”

Kahndoot’s brows shot up in amazement. “Me? Me, honored one? Explain my reasons to a mere man? Why, that’s silly!”

Shuffling over to stand before the Moon Maiden, the brahbehrnuh placed her palms on the woman’s armored shoulders, saying, softly and sadly, “Yes, love, explain. Remember, the Hold is no more, it is gone, utterly. We few here are likely the very last of our race. Are we to survive, we must learn to adapt to the customs of those with whom our lot be cast. “Mere man though he be, this Dook Bili has proved himself to be as brave and as wise as any woman here, when he knows where lies danger; moreover, he is the unquestioned leader of these lowlanders. Even the Ahrmehnee seem to have accepted his war-leadership, for all that until less than a single Moon agone, he and his men were burning and looting Ahrmehnee villages and steadings, maiming and slaying and raping Ahrmehnee tribesfolk.

“But now you sit you down, love, and hold your tongue, you and our sisters. I will explain the awfulness of our common danger to Dook Bili.”

Because she had spoken in the secret language of her race, no male present had understood a single word; this was as she had intended, not wishing to shame one of her sisters before menfolk.

While the outspoken Moon Maiden sank back onto her mailed haunches, the brahbehrnuh began to make a slow way around the fire. Her unsteadiness was no less obvious than was her stubborn intention to carry on despite it. This very stubbornness touched Bili, touched him as fully and as deeply as had her reckless courage in the battle which had preceeded the earthquake. He felt a strange oneness with this scarcely known, mannish young woman.

Most of the hunkered or sitting officers and nobles made way for the staggering woman, arising, and only reseating themselves when she had passed. But not so one Tsimbos of Ahnpolis, third son of the lord of that Kehnooryos Ehlas city. Deliberately, grinning insolently up at her, he kept his place and even went so far in his discourtesy as to extend his legs when she made to move around him. But, suddenly, an immensely powerful hand clamped onto Tsimbos’ shoulder and, for all his two and eighty keelohee and the added weight of his clothing and armor, he found himself savagely jerked erect, raised until only his booted toes still contacted the ground. Held thus, he was subjected to a thorough shaking, while from behind him a cold voice snapped short, brittle phrases.

“On your misbegotten feet, damn you! She is a chief, a full queen, among her own. And, too, she is ill, as any man can see. She has obviously just used her authority to get us all out of what could have quickly become a very sticky situation. So would you deign to render her less honor than you would me, you young cur?”

Swaying a half-step forward, the brahbehrnuh laid her calloused palm on Bill’s big, scarred knuckles. In stilted Trade Mehrikan, she said, “No, Dook Bili, please to put down your fighter. His actions but bespoke his anger at the thoughtless provocation of my sister’s words. Please, so tightly squeezing his shoulder may do injury to his sword arm. Besides, no offense did I take.” Bili was as stubborn as any, but it seemed now entirely natural to gently ease his chosen victim back down onto his feet, slacking oS the armor-crushing grip of that hand through which the cool, wondrous fire now suffusing his body and mind had entered. Stepping around the trembling and terrified Tsimbos of Ahnpolis, he took the elbow he could feel through the brahbehrnuh’s cloak and guided her to the seat his striker had fashioned for him of war saddles and other gear.

When she had partaken icy brook water laced with fiery brandy from Bili’s own silver cup, she commenced to speak. To her surprise, she found that for the first time in all her two hundred and forty Moons, she was not only addressing a man as an equal, she actually felt this Dook Bili to be her full equal. She felt more, also, but the thoughts were very strange and they tumbled about inchoate in her mind, and she knew that this was neither the time nor the setting to try to sort them out.

Slipping over, she patted the makeshift couch beside her, saying, “Enough room there is here for us both, Dook Bili.”

When he was perched beside her, she began, pitching her voice that all about the big fire might hear, as well. “Dook Bili, you well know that we Moon Maidens and the Ahrmehnee are stark and fearsome fighters. Why then do you think it is that, between us, we never have been able to drive those evil beasts we call the Muhkohee from these our mountains? They are many, true, but the most of those many are very poorly armed, as you saw; in a fair fight, no five of their warriors can stand against even one fully armed Ahrmehnee, much less a Moon Maiden.