Robert Adams - The Savage Mountains

“Unfortunately for Sun knows how many, they were successful in their search. They found a way to prolong a given number of human minds, almost indefinitely. But intuitively realizing what the most of humanity would think of their answer to the problem, they took every precaution to conceal their triumph,’ so that it was only bare months before the Great Catastrophe that the Congress—which is what the gathering of ruling representatives was then called—and certain newsmongers discovered just how horrible was that method.

“The outcries of the millions who had chosen those representatives was loud and long and outraged. And those rulers, who wished to remain such, quickly reacted by ordering the project to prolong life immediately canceled, all its records destroyed and its personnel discharged and widely dispersed.

“However, ere their will could be implemented, there commenced the series of events which led to the destruction of nations, races and cultures. Because of their still secret and isolated location, the couple of hundred people in the project area, which was called the Kehnehdee Research Center, survived unharmed by firerain or plagues. When the plagues had run their course, they allowed a few, pitiful outsiders to join them as ‘breeding stock.’

“You see, gentlemen, what they had discovered was a way to transfer the mind and memories from an aging to a younger body—man to man, woman to woman, man to woman, woman to man and even, so I understand, man or woman to certain animals! And so they have continued their parasitic existence down through the centuries, their aged, evil minds using one young, vibrant body after another.

“And their grand design is nothing less than to make the entire world their slaves. They were ready to do it by force of arms four hundred years ago, but the earthquakes and floods, the tidal waves and the subsidence of most of the huge peninsula whereon they dwelt utterly confounded their schemes. Though most of the original parasites survived that disaster, they lost much of their carefully maintained equipment—which was irreplaceable—all save a couple of their population centers and eight of every ten of their serf-soldiers. And virtually overnight their rich, productive lands were become, at the very best, sterile for years from their drenching of seawater.

“They have not yet fully recovered. Even so, they recognize the Confederation as a menace to their eventual intent, standing united on their very border as we do. Therefore they continue to foment trouble from within and without—trying to weaken us, divide us. This rebellion, which started at Gafnee and is ending here, was their third effort against us since the coming of the Horseclans. And we must finish it quickly, even at the cost of some concessions, for we will be face to face with their fourth effort all too soon. To combat this new and awesome threat effectively, gentlemen, the Confederation will need every arm that can swing sword or pull bow!”

Sir Geros Lahvoheetos of Morguhn stood and leaned across the small table to refill his guest’s winecup, a completely natural action on the part of a young man who, born of upper-servant class, had spent most of his life as a valet to noblemen.

His guest, however, slapped a horny hand on the tabletop, exclaiming in the harsh, nasal accents of Harzburk, “Now, dammit, Geros … ahh, Sir Geros … that just is not done! You’re noble, now, man. You’re a knight of Duke Bili’s household, which means you outrank me. You ask if I want more wine; then, since your servant seems to have absented himself, I refill my own cup … and yours, if you so indicate.”

Sinking back onto his seat, the husky, olive-skinned knight sighed and shook his shaven head. “Oh, Pawl, Pawl … I was so happy before, as a simple color sergeant, as merely a comrade of your troop. I never aspired to nobility. Tell me, Pawl, was I … did you consider me to be a good soldier, a good Freefighter?”

The silvery bristles on the guest’s pate flashed in the lamplight as his head bobbed. “Sir Geros, I will always feel honored that you learned your craft under me. Yes, you were an excellent Freefighter, none better.”

Sir Geros sighed once more. “Then why, Pawl? Why could they not just leave me where I was so happy? Why was it necessary to thrust nobility on me? Force me to bear a title which I will never be able to live up to? What did I do to deserve such?”

Pawl Raikuh’s scarred features registered stunned dismay. “Are you daft, man, to talk so? One who did not know better would think you’d been condemned to some dire punishment Man, in one day, you saved your lord’s life, slew the biggest warrior I’ve ever seen and performed an act of bravery which, though I witnessed every moment of it, I still can hardly believe! What did you expect? A pat on the head and, maybe, a new sword?”

Geros raised his dark, troubled eyes. “I would have been more than happy with such, Pawl.” His fingers toyed with the silver cat pendant on his chest. “After all, I but did what any man of the thoheek’s would have done during the battle, for he is a good lord and kind. As for the other, well…” Embarrassed, he dropped his gaze. “I still don’t know why I did it, didn’t really realize I was doing it until I found myself down there in the fire and the heat. But it’s as I said, Pawl. The officer was hurt and everyone could see he would soon be burned alive. If I had not, another would’ve.”

“Turkey dung!” snorted Raikuh. “I was there, Sir Geros. Remember?”

He could.

The hilltop salient had been but a trap set by the crafty leader of the rebels. The fortifications, garrisoned by suicide troops, had been undermined, supported only by oil-soaked timbers which had been secretly fired. The stratagem had failed on the twin hillock, assaulted and taken by troops under the personal command of the High Lord; his mindspeak warning had arrived barely in time for most of the Confederation forces to quit the dangerous area.

Only a single, rearguard company had been still at the periphery of the trap when it was sprung. When the dust had settled, it could be seen that but a single member of that company had survived. And he was facing a cruel, gruesome death, his legs securely pinned under a huge, smoldering timber, unable to draw his sword and his dirk missing.

Several men on the lip of the still-settling crater had attempted to throw the unfortunate officer a weapon that he might decently end his life ere the flames reached him, but the distance was too great, and Thoheeks Bili of Morguhn had sent a galloper to bring back an archer from the foot of the hill.

Geros could not recall all of the beginning, could not remember hastily shedding most of his armor or clambering down the crumbling slope of the crater. But he would never forget that heat!

It had lapped over him, enfolded him in its deadly embrace. It had savaged his flesh, set boots and clothing a-smolder, made each breath a searing agony.

After an endless eternity of gingerly picking his way over an almost limitless expanse of steaming earth, jumbled stones and splintered timbers, the officer lay just before him, thanking him for his valor, asking for his dirk and urging him to return to safety.

The few moments after that were very hazy in Geros’ memory … but in no one else’s. He recalled, however, half carrying, half dragging the young officer—Captain Lehzlee, heir to Ahrkeethoheeks Lehzlee—to where a host of willing hands assisted them both up to safety.

But from that now cursed moment, the warm and natural comradery which he had so cherished had disappeared with the suddenness of a blown-out candle flame. The hard-bitten Freefighters, who reverenced damned few things, had seemed very uncomfortable in his presence, treating him with a deference bordering upon awe. And he hated it all!