Robert Adams - The Patrimony

Leaving a dozen men to man the walls and guard the small rear gates, the four gentlemen clanked into the south wing at the head of thirty-two fighters. The intaking was ferocious, brutal and quickly done. No quarter was expected or proffered, but at Komees Dik’s express command, Speeros Sanderz and his two maternal cousins. Xeelos and Mailos, were taken alive—battered but alive. So, too, were the younger, prettier Ehleen serving women—at no one’s command, rather by an unvoiced but general agreement. Mehleena’s younger children were in the north wing and were not found until long after the heat of bloodlust had cooled.

It was near sunset before the company marched in from the eastern village. Captain Plehkos spurred ahead of his men and reined up at the edge of the ditch, demanding that the bridge be lowered. In the dusk, he failed to recognize the stiff, grayish, naked corpses of Mehleena and Captain Ahreestos, dangling by their ankles above the gate. His armor saved him from the arrows, but his horse lacked any such protection. Captain Plehkos executed a retrograde movement at a limping run, commandeered the mule from a sergeant then led his forty-eight bravos far enough down the hill to be well out of bow range.

Komees Dik, Vahrohneeskos Tahm and the others were all for mounting and sallying out to finish the job of rebel eradication, but Tim—who had assumed overall command with natural ease and without argument—shook his head.

“No, Kinsmen, you have had your fun. There are those coming who have not so leave yon bandits to them.” Then he added, on a serious note, “If you want an occupation for your men, set them to finding that whoreson Myron. We found his armor in that room where his bitch mother was killed, but sword, dirk and the pervert himself are gone, along with his bum boy, the cook, Gaios. You say you had all exits guarded so he must still be in this hall. I charge you, Kindred, find that precious pair. I’ve a stake prepared that will no doubt tickle his arse to such a degree that the folk off in Morguhnpolis will hear his shrieks of pleasure!”

But when a nightlong search failed to produce even a clue to the missing men, Tim sought out Sir Geros, locating him at last lowering a cloth-wrapped bundle onto a pyre of faggots he had laid between his small house and the outer wall.

There were tears in the baronet’s eyes and the traces of more down his stubbled cheeks, as he lifted his head to face Tim. “Poor old Brownie,” he said chokedly, his lips drawn in a tight line. “The oldest hound in the duchy. The last gift Komees Hari Daiviz of Morguhn presented your late father, near eighteen years agone. He was near blind and his teeth were so worn down that he could not eat meat unless I chewed it for him first, so I kept him here by me where I knew he would sleep warm of cold nights. Those bastards couldn’t find me here to kill, so they murdered old Brownie, speared the poor beast where he lay on my hearth.”

They sent the faithful old dog to Wind together, Tim chanting what he could recall of the Lament of Sanderz , as he would have sung it for the sending to Wind of a human Kinsman.

Later, over brandy in the sitting room of his cottage, Sir Geros remarked, “Tim, I hate to discourage you, but Myron and Gaios might’ve got away clean … or they could still be in the hall.”

Tim shook his head, tiredly. “Not in my hall, Geros. I’d stake my horse on it! Why, man, we went through that place from top to bottom, then from bottom to top, from the cisterns in the spring cellar to the bat roosts in the attics. And every one of the outbuildings, too, and all the towers, and down the stable well and the privies. We found some remarkable things but not one hair of my perverted half brother and his pooeesos .”

Geros sipped at the fiery brandy, then said slowly, “No, Tim, you’re wrong, though you have no way of knowing it, not till now, at least.”

“Tim, your pa was haunted by the shades of the Vawn Kindred, and it was for long his constant terror that he would be trapped in his hall, and helplessly murdered as were so many of them by the Ehleen rebels in the Great Rebellion. Therefore, when his old friend and comrade Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt designed this hall, he prepared two sets of plans. When the building was done, one set was burned. It’s the other, incomplete set that’s among your pa’s papers.”

“Tim, there’s tunnels and stairways and passages and hidey-holes in this hall even I don’t know about, and I’ve been castellan since it was finished. Only your pa knew them all, and there’s a good chance Mehleena got some of those secrets out of him from time to time, her and her witch.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Friend Geros, I wouldn’t throw that old charge of witchcraft about too much from now on, were I you. If Mistress Neeka passes all the tests they’ll put her to in Kehnooryos Atheenahs, she’ll be declared a High Lady of this Confederation of ours, and it has been my experience that women—all women, high or lowly—have long memories for insults or slights.” He chuckled. “Not to mention that most women are far more dangerous than men because their strength and determination are so often underestimated.”

The hapless rebel bravos of Captain Plehkos milled about the base of the hill in uncertainty for an hour too long, only attempting to disperse and scatter when they spotted the vanguard of Arhkeethoheeks Bili of Morguhn’s column … and by then, of course, it was far too late for any of them. The middle-aged archduke led his dragoons, and Tim—on a hastily saddled Steelsheen and accompanied by his four noble relatives—spurred forth to take command of his own company of lancers. Then the horsemen rode down their two-legged game with the whoops and shouts of the hunt rather than war cries. Tahm took one more head, and only Captain Plehkos, rendered insensible when his wounded mule bucked him off, was taken alive.

The rebel captain would much have preferred a quick death from lance or saber, axe or arrow, for Bili of Morguhn—who had right speedily pressed his rightful claim to Speeros Sanderz, the captain and the majordomo, Tonos, who had been found cowering in an old privy pit during the searching for Myron—made no secret of the great delight he would derive from their interrogation, torture and eventual execution.

Tonos collapsed, befouling himself in an excess of unconcealed terror. The veteran Plehkos’ face went white as whey, but he just set his square jaws in silence. Speeros Sanderz, at fifteen, more of a man than his hulking elder brother had ever been, just sneered, then coolly spit at the archduke’s feet.

“Threaten and bluster all you like, cousin,” he snapped, superciliously. “But we both know, you and I, that you dare not harm or slay me for fear of our prince, my poor mother’s cousin. Her murder alone already weighs right heavy on your head!”

Bili grinned like a winter wolf. “Once that was so, young sir, but no more, Sun and Wind be praised. You and your ilk have removed yourselves from any scintilla of protection. You rose in armed and organized rebellion against your rightful overlords, and were Zenos to try to intercede for you in any way, all loyal noblemen would view him tarred with the same brush … and you may rest assured that the prince, your cousin, recognizes his jeopardy as clearly as do I.”

“As regards your late dam, the valiant Tonos, here, has signed a sworn statement that she went berserk when your dear brother publicly demonstrated that he held his wretched life of more value than his honor. Stout Tonos goes on to say that she then attacked your brother and a whole roomful of men with an axe. Tonos saw no more after that, but your mother was already dead when first the loyal warriors entered that room. As she was run through with an antique slashing sword, I think it safe to assume that one of her own armed jailbirds did it; so she was hoist on her own treasonous hooks, and I only regret that she did not live to be hoist upon a dull stake.”