Robert Adams - The Death of a Legend

Bili heard several scornful snorts from the group of low-lander nobles and turned his head to loose a venomous glance in their direction. Although, like his nobles, he personally considered the head-hunting and -collecting practiced by the Ahrmehnee tribes about on a par with the cannibalism that they and the brahbehrnuh said was among the brutish practices of these Muhkohee—or whatever their true name was —now was no time to stir up discord with the only allies available in this sinister land.

Turning back to the two Ahrmehnee, he asked, “If Muhkohee is not the name of the shaggy men, then what is?”

Vahk spread his big hands and grinned. “It’s a hard word for an Ahrmehnee-speaker to shape his mouth about, Dehrehbeh Bili, which is the main reason we’ve kept calling them Muhkohee all these years.” He grinned even wider and added, “Among other and far less complimentary things, that is.

“As closely as I can come to what they call themselves, it is Ohrgahnikahnsehrvaishuhnee.”

Bili, himself, grinned wryly. “I can now see just why you and your folk stuck to Muhkohee, Sir Vahk. I think me that I’ll follow your precept on the matter.” Old Panosyuhn spoke up again. “Such as we know of their customs and usages, Dook Bili, are exceeding strange. For, although they all partake of manflesh with great gusto, they will not eat of the flesh of their kine or fowl, taking of them only milk and eggs and hides; and, too, although they hunt bears and wolves and the like for the furs and pelts, not even a starveling Muhkohee would eat of those creatures’ flesh.”

Bili shook his head in consternation at such wastefulness. “What do they do, then, just leave good meat out to rot?”

“No, Dook Bili,” replied Panosyuhn, “they bury the carcasses of the game and of any of their dead kine or fowl, too. With great ceremony and solemn sorrow do they bury them, all the while praying to their gods. Rather to one of their chief gods, him called Kahlohdjee, in their tongue.”

“They have many gods, then?” inquired Bili.

“I think so, Dook Bili. I think they have very many gods, though I know the names of only a few of their gods or of their many devils,” Panosyuhn answered, furrowing his wrinkled forehead and ticking off the difficult names on his fingers. “Let’s see… Kahlohdjee is one, N’Vyrmuhndt is another, then there be the god Plooshuhn…”

“Your pardon, please, Der Vahrtahn,” interjected Soormehlyuhn with the customary respect shown to older Ahrmehnee by younger. “But I think I recall that Plooshuhn be not a god but one of the greatest of their devils.”

Panosyuhn tilted his head, closed his eyes and scratched at the scalp explosed under his thinning hair, then he opened his dark-brown eyes and nodded briskly. “My thanks, young Vahk. The valiant Vahk be right, Dook Bili. I am an old man and I had misremembered. Plooshuhn is a ged, but a very evil god, to the Muhkohee… or so say these evilest of living men.

“Plooshuhn is, say these terrible Muhkohee, the patron devil of any who smelt ores, cast bronze or suchlike. This, Dook Bili, be why Muhkohee-fashioned tools and even weapons be always of cold-hammered iron, unless they have been able to steal better, properly made ones.

“These manlike monsters have no respect for age and its wisdom, either. Whenever a man or woman of their groups is found too old or infirm to do a full day of useful tasks, they kill and eat him or her, and in especially hard times they think nothing of eating their youngest children.”

Bili’s shock and amazement was borne in his voice. “Yet they cast away the flesh of any beast? They must be a race of madmen, these Muhkohee.”

“There are some beasts they will eat,” put in Soormehlyuhn. “Any fish, frogs or snakes they can catch, lizards, too. They remove the scales or skins and fins, but they eat everything else, even the guts and all they contain. They also eat insects, worms, grubs and caterpillars. I doubt me not that a Muhkohee stew would turn the stomach of a hog.”

When he had heard all that the two Ahrmehnee knew of the singular customs of their traditional enemies, Bili dismissed the gathering, announcing that he would sleep on the matter and apprise all of his decision on just what course they had best take on the morrow.

But when at last the young duke lay rolled in his cloak on the springy bough bed made for him by his striker, sleep seemed to elude him for some time, despite the physical exhaustion of the events of the long, strenuous day just past For one thing, he was very worried about what might have befallen old Komees Hari, brave Sir Geros and all those others who had become separated from the main party during the confusion following the earthquake. Unless Hari had kept his wing together and had lucked onto such a relatively secure campsite as Bill’s, the old man and his troops were in direst danger.

Straining his vast telepathic abilities to the utmost, Bill vainly endeavored to range Komees Hari’s mind… nor could he contact any of the few other minds he knew well in that band, which might mean all or nothing. They could all be already dead, or his failure could be simply caused by some something in his own makeup and present condition.

For, as the High Lord Milo and the High Lady Aldora had often attested in his hearing, despite all the years of study and practice, not even they could admit to knowing very much about their own telepathy, much less that of anyone else. “If I had one of the prairiecats here, now,” mused Bili, “to merge our two minds and so increase my range and power__”

But all of the great felines who bad accompanied his force on the march west and in the battle on the plateau were missing, like Hari and Geros and the rest. Helpless to contact any of his friends, Dili’s restless mind roved back again to last year’s events, to the eventual investment and siege of Vawnpolis, where once more the genius of Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn had manifested itself.

“And even then, disregarding mountains of evidence to the contrary,” thought Bili ruefully, “there were those of us who were still able to convince ourselves that that bastard Vahrohnos Myros of Dehskati was really the shrewd mind we faced.”

“It wasn’t until… until the near disaster that followed our taking of those two outer salients of Vawnpolis that most of us really began to believe that another mind than Myros’ might be guiding the opposition. Sun and Wind, what a close call that was.”

And once more young Bili’s mind flew back over time and distance to the day of the assault on the outer works of the invested city of Vawnpolis, held by the Ehleen rebels.

An hour before the dawn, Aldora’s maidservant wakened her mistress. The High Lady and Bili arose, washed, broke fast on a bit of hard bread dipped in strong wine, then helped each other to arm and wended their way to the sprawling pavilion of the High Lord. There they separated, with Aldora riding off to the cavalry camp and Bili remaining with Milo to accompany his sovereign at the head of the assaulting infantry.

No words were either spoken or beamed at the parting of the lovers; none were needed, for their two straining, striving, pleasure-racked bodies had communicated all that was needful in the night now dying. As for Milo, he allowed himself a silent chuckle or two, for Aldora trotted off astride none other than Mahvros, Bili’s own huge black warhorse—a one-man, mindspeaking killer stallion that had never before allowed any other than his “brother,” Bili, to fork him.

Preceded by a pinkish vanguard, the copper-hued sun peeked over the eastern horizon, and, with a crash and roll of drums, a shrilling of fifes, a pealing of trumpets, the gruesome day commenced.

When his two younger brothers—Djaik and Gilbuht, down from the Middle Kingdoms to have a share in this marvelous war now raging so unexpectedly almost in their own home duchy—requested permission to ride this day with the mounted Freefighters, Bili was more than happy to grant such permission, for it summarily relieved him of two worries.