Robert Adams - The Coming of the Horseclans

“As the land has been warred over for so many years, it is nowhere near as productive—in the senses of agriculture or husbandry—as even the border themes of the Ehleenoee lands; but, for all that, most of the so-called barbarian states are well-off, if not wealthy. The reason for this is that every city and, frequently, town has its shops and manufactories. Prior to the arrival of the tribe, I would, for instance, have felt it safe to say that fully eighty of every hundred swords swung from the South Ehleen lands to the North Ehleen Republic had blades produced in the Kingdom of Harzburk, or the Kingdom of Pitzburk or the Grand Duchy of Bethlemburk! Those three and their neighbors also produce a plethora of metal products—tools and utensils as well as weapons, not to mention the best and most modern of armor—not this heavy, clumsy, old-fashioned loricate or jazeran, mind you; but brigandines and cuirasses very similar to those of your people. But where yours are of leather, theirs are of steel! Also, the statelets produce glass, work gold and silver and fabricate jewelry.

“All in all, they are truly a gifted people and little deserve the appellation of ‘barbarian.’ Considering their technical skills and their military abilities, if they could stop fighting amongst themselves and present a united front, they could soon be the masters of all the Ehleenoee lands and the Black Kingdoms as well.

“No, Lord Milos, do not underestimate the danger that King Mahrtuhn and his nobility represent. I thank God that our ambush and the trick which followed it were successful. For, had they not been, we’d have been wiped out, had we been sufficiently stupid to stand and fight!”

But as it developed, the confrontation Lord Alexandras so dreaded did not come to pass, not that year. On receipt of certain information, King Mahrtuhn and nobles and men cut cross-country to the Trade road; spurred for Kuhmbrulun as fast as horseflesh could bear them, not even taking time to loot the areas through which they passed. Mahrtuhn could no longer afford to interfere in an Ehleenoee civil war, as he and his retinue now had one of their own to attend. His informants had brought the sad news that his brother, Duke Herbut, had gathered what few nobles remained in the kingdom and overawed or bought them. However it had been accomplished, he had usurped Mahrtuhn’s throne, declared Mahrtuhn and his chief supporters outlaw, and was busily hiring troops and fortifying the capital city. It seemed that Mahrtuhn had not only lost his stakes, but the dice as well!

Something less than two weeks after Demetrios’ tantrum, his understrength navy boarded its three best ships, scuttled the others, and beat their way down river, bound for the sea. With them went the High Lord’s last hope of escape.

His retinue of former sycophants took to avoiding his company as much as possible, for all who knew him expected the knowledge that he was trapped to drive him over the edge into true madness. But it did not. Oddly inough, the realization that he was doomed did what his Father and the strahteegohee had never been able to do—t made a real man of him. At the eleventh hour, the Demetrios-who-should-have-been belatedly emerged from the gross, debauched cocoon which had held him for so many years. And that perverted, self-seeking coterie who had influenced and guided him were stunned to discover that no longer had this High Lord need or use for them, no longer could they control or even predict his actions.

The first to meet—to his sorrow—this new High Lord, was Teeaigos, Lord High Strahteegohs of Kehnooryohs Atheenahs, a languid creature a couple of years older than the High Lord. He had attained the position by flattery, and “performance” of his “duties” had made of him a fabulously wealthy man. On the day of his downfall, he was impatiently listening to the justifiable complaints of Sergeant-Major Mahrk Hailee, commander of the White Horse Squadron, concerning the all-time low quality of the rations just issued his troops—weevil-crawling flour, three-quarters rotted vegetables and stinking, overaged meat, and not one ounce of oil or wine.

When the non-com’s flow of heated words had ceased, Teeaigos waved his white, gilded-nailed hands negligently. Though his painted lips smiled, his eyes were cold and uncaring. “If your barbarian swine don’t like the good food—really, far too good, for the likes of them—that my quartermaster issues, let them eat their horses; after all, what good are the smelly beasts, pray tell.”

The occupants of the headquarters included Teeaigos, his two secretary-clerks, Sergeant-Major Hailee and his adjutant, and two representatives of the Civil Guard who were awaiting a hearing. None of them had noticed the quiet entrance of another figure. The newcomer was half-armored—helmet of ancient-Ehleenoee design, breast-and-back and articulated pauldrons of finest Harzburk steelplate, scale-back gauntlets secured to tight-fitting vambraces of watered steel; the kilt was of blue-dyed canvas brigandine and fell to the knee; and on his left hip was belted a heavy, cut-and-thrust sword, while a dagger with wide, leaf-shaped blade jutted its hilt over his right hip. No one trace of cosmetic remained on his face and, under the cheek-plates, his beard had been shaved, its last remnant being a blue-black spike, which jutted from his chin. Even when the figure strode across to stand before the Lord High Strahteegohs, he went unrecognized until he spoke. In a deceptively soft tone, he said, “Teeaigos, do you no longer arise when your superiors enter; or has this office, which I stupidly gave you, so swelled your head, that you feel yourself to have no superiors?”

Teeaigos lumbered to his feet. “My … my Lord!” he stammered, nonplussed by sight of an armed and armored Demetrios. “I … I did not know, my Lord. Pardon, but… but as sensitive as is my Lord’s skin, isn’t he terribly uncomfortable id such barbaric attire?”

Not one whit so uncomfortable as you soon will be, my false friend, thought the High Lord. But he said, “Discomfort is of little consequence, when the city and its people lie in such danger. Tell me, Teeaigos, if the White Horse Squadron are to help defend this city, why were they served up with such shoddy fare?”

Teeaigos squirmed uneasily; then, putting on a bold front, said, “My Lord must know, the war chest is all but empty. The quartermaster purchased what he could afford, I am sure. Food prices are astronomically high in the city and country. Furthermore, most merchants and fanners are insisting that they be paid in gold, and we have only silver.”

Demetrios extended a gauntleted hand to lift and weigh the heavy, golden chain whose flat links rested across Teeaigos’ narrow shoulders. “There was gold hi the war chest, Teeaigos. Gold from Theesispolis. What happened to it? Did it go into your new chain and armlets, perhaps?”

“Why … why … why, of course not, My Lord,” Teeaigos spluttered, his face chalky under the rouge and paint. “My personal fortune …”

“Was dissipated,” Demetrios cut him off, “long years before you wheedled this sinecure out of me! Here.” He brought up his other hand and, with both of them, lifted the chain over Teeaigos’ head. Then he turned and handed it to Sergeant-Major Hailee.

“Perhaps, with the value of this useless bauble, you can procure decent food for your squadron.” He smiled. Hailee was too shocked to answer and, as he continued silent, Demetrios frowned. “Not enough, eh? Well, take his armlets, too, then. I’ll find replacements for them.”