Robert Adams: The Savage Mountains

As the torches at the Citadel gate glowed ahead, he consciously set his face in a smile, that those good men within might not think him either worried or displeased. For he was definitely not displeased, not with them, anyway. They—common and gentle and noble … yes, and even cleric—had done more, done longer and done with less than anyone had any right to expect.

And his smile broadened, involuntarily, at the swell of his fierce pride in these, his men. Their bravery, stoicism in suffering privations and self-sacrifice, should, by rights, have bought them their lives and guaranteed their futures; in truth, he and they would all soon be dead. He only hoped that what they had done here would be remembered by those who opposed them, even after the Holy Cause which had brought them all to this pass had been long years relegated to that dungheap from which it should never have been resurrected.

Although the camps scattered about the headquarters hill resounded with the raucous gaiety of the besieging army’s celebration of the year-end Sun Festival, the woman and eight men gathered about the board in the commander’s pavilion were subdued, drinking little and eating less. Of the ten thoheeksee who had led the march out of Morguhnpolis last summer, seven were left alive, but only five had been hale enough to ride to this feast, and all of them bore either bandages or new scars.

Old Sir Ehdt Gahthwahlt, Confederation siegemaster, tapped the dottle from his pipe, picked up his winecup, then set it back, untasted. “Had one of my officer-students propounded a situation of this sort, even as late as a year ago, Td have pegged him a madman!” He snorted, feelingly. “The whole damned thing’s impossible! A few thousand ill-supplied, ill-equipped, starveling wretches of amateur soldiers simply cannot hold the antique walls of a small hill town against four times their number of professionals—and half of that force, units of the best damned army any of us will ever see. It’s completely illogical!”

Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt mindspoke, while sipping thin broth through a copper tube and longingly eyeing the joints of meat-broth and milk and wine having been his only sustenance since the physician, Master Ahlee, had wired shut his shattered jaws after the most recent attack. “Logical or not, Sir Ehdt, I face the reality of it every time I shave. It might almost lead one to wonder at the power of a religion that can give its adherents what it takes to do the impossible….”

Thoheeks Morguhn set down his silver winecup with a crash. The lamp flames played on his scarred, shaven scalp as he tilted back his head to vent a harsh laugh. “My lord ahrkeethoheeks, men sometimes die for religion, but they don’t fight for religion. Men fight for blood and loot and women and great captains. The rebels are fighting for Drehkos Daiviz, not for any blood-drinking, crucified god. When they’ve beaten us off, do you hear them praising their god or his priests? Of course not! That whole city erupts with cheers for Lord Drehkos. Should they be suddenly bereft of him, they’d fold up like an empty wineskin.”

Old Thoheeks Duhnkin belched twice, resoundingly, then nodded. “Aye, Bili, I too have noted that. Ah, Sacred Sun, but it was a bitter and cursed day when so obviously worthy and talented a Kinsman chose to turn against his Kindred and throw in his lot with a traitorous pack of Ehleenee scum.” He belched once more, then added, “For, to my way of thinking, our Confederation could well use such a gifted leader.”

The High Lord, Milo Morai, who had but recently returned from his capital to rejoin the army, agreed. “Yes, thoheeksee, never has any realm a superfluity of good leaders. And I admit to you all, his crimes notwithstanding, I could be quite magnanimous to Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn, in the right circumstances. And him who delivered me said baronet alive would not go unrewarded, either. In return for the sworn services of a Drehkos, I would even be willing to negotiate generous terms in the surrender of Vawnpolis.”

At this, several of the thoheeksee growled and the young Morguhn slammed a callused palm on tabletop. “My liege must be aware that he owns all my fealty and devotion, but such an action would be wrong. I must tell him so. I well recall a day last summer, in a blood-splashed cornfield, when my lord spoke otherwise. He then felt that, any other considerations apart, the only way to be sure of no future rebellions was to utterly extirpate this lot of rebels.”

Milo shrugged. “Times change, Bili, as do conditions; the wise man will alter his conduct, conceptions and plans accordingly. A good sword is flexible and a good man, adaptable. Admittedly, we still could probably do it your way—batter our way into Vawnpolis, butcher its inhabitants to a man and raze the walls and structures. But such a course is certain to be very costly, in terms of men and in terms of money, both of which will be needed in full measure, come spring, as will all of you and your levies. But more of that, anon.

“With regard to Drehkos and to Sun knows how many more of these rebels, there be this: When I journeyed back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs, two months ago, it was principally for the purpose of personally conducting two very important prisoners, the so-called Kooreeoee Skiros of Morguhn and Mahreeos of Vawn. Arrived in the capital, these two were put to the question, with all that that implies. It was not an easy task, nor a quick one, but eventually I got the truth from them, the whole truth, much of which but reinforced what I had already known.

“And the three men—there was another kooreeos, captured at Gafnee, who chanced to die while being questioned by High Lady Mara, last summer—were not what they seemed. Though their minds occupied the husks of men who had really been ordained priests and confirmed kooreeoee, they were still imposters, intent upon creating as much havoc as possible in the Confederation. Gentlemen, those spurious kooreeoee were as old as I am, maybe even older! But Sacred Sun had not gifted them as the true Undying are gifted. Rather, were they of that hellish breed commonly called ‘Witchmen’!”

Several of the thoheeksee grasped at their Sun medallions, while old Sir Ehdt and Thoheeks Bili Morguhn made the Sign of Sacred Steel in the air before them.

Smiling, the High Lord reassured them all, saying, “Despite what you may have heard, gentlemen, there is nothing supernatural about these, our enemies. They are highly dangerous, make no mistake, but they be no sorcerers; rather have they perverted certain disciplines of knowledge, knowledge which first saw light in the days before the death of that world which preceded this one.

“Nearly a thousand years ago, your distant ancestors—over two hundred million of them, of a vast diversity of races—dwelt in a principality which was one though it stretched from the Sea of Sun Birth to another which lies far west of the Sea of Grass. Then was the Great Salt Swamp mostly dry land, full of farms and pasturelands, cities and towns and, probably, more people than now live in all the lands of our Confederation.

“All these many people were ruled by men chosen to represent them. These men met in a great city which was almost totally destroyed, the ruins of which now lie beneath the waters of the lakes and bays near the mouth of the North River of Kehnooryos Ehlas. So rich were the people and the nation which they ruled that vast sums could be spent on various projects which had little to do with such basic needs as food production, war preparation and the like.

“One such project was the effort to transport men to the stars by means which I’ll not even attempt to explain to you. An auxiliary project, part of the star-journey project, was the need to find a way of prolonging human lifespans, since even the nearer stars lay a distance of years away. The men and women assigned to search out these means were all concentrated in a highly secret place in that sub-principality which now is the Great Salt Swamp.