"You ..." To a chorus of sly chuckles from the guardsmen, Sir Djaimz cleared his throat and started afresh in his normal speaking tone. "You may be who and what you say you are, but if so, surely you would know better than to seek an audience with Duke Tcharlz while in so disreputable a state of both person and attire. Why not seek your home, if you have one, and bathe, if you know how, and don cleaner, if not better, clothing.

"Return tomorrow morning at the fifth hour-sharp, mind you-and if I feel you are in proper form to see the duke, I shall sell you the very first audience... and for a most reasonable price, too. Now, begone! Your stink nauseates me!" Martuhn had then felt a grudging respect for the pale, slender man, for his telepathic mind could sense the raw fear being held down by force of will. Nonetheless, he knew that he must do what was expected of him in this, Duke Tcharlz's latest, cruel little game.

He breathed a single, deep sigh, then deliberately swung a backhanded buffet against one of those wan, beardless cheeks; not nearly as hard as he might have struck had he been truly affronted or angry, but just hard enough to send the slender young man slamming back into his padded chair. Sir Djaimz's milk-white hand hovered for a second over the gilded hilt of his small sword, but then, recalling the long, heavy-bladed battle brand belted at Martuhn's Side-and how the leather-and-wire hilt was hand-worn to a smooth shin-iness-he changed his mind. On unsteady legs, he arose and, in as firm a voice as he could muster, issued challenge.

At that juncture, Martuhn sensed excitement and a cold satisfaction from beyond the closed door to the duke's rooms.

And the tall, scarred captain felt dirty, used, as if the last tattered shred of his old honor had been torn away.

The quartet of guardsmen who had quickly-too quickly not to have been prearranged, thought Marruhn-stepped forward had courteously ushered Martuhn and Wolf into one of the guardrooms, seated them, pressed jacks of cold ale upon them and then awaited a visit from a similar quartet, now in attendance upon Sir Djaimz.

At length, the young knight's seconds arrived, were seated and given ale, chatted briefly of the weather and of anything save their mission. Then the senior of them drained off his jack, arose and announced, "Captain Martuhn, gentlemen, challenge has been issued and legally witnessed by all here. Because I cannot imagine that the renowned Captain Martuhn of Geerzburk would decline a challenge, I simply ask what weapons he chooses and what mode of combat" Gleeful as malicious boys' torturing a stray dog, Martuhn's quartet's suggestions flowed: a-horse, with spear and longsword, in full armor and shield; a-horse, in half-armor, with two-foot targets and heavy, cursive, nomad sabers; a-foot, with full armor and poleaxes. This went on for several minutes until their princ.i.p.al, disgusted, put an end to it "Gentlemen," Martuhn growled, "I am as aware as are you that that boy out there is no true knight in any sense of the word, though I strongly suspect he's got a shade more guts than you give him credit for. But I'm a soldier, not a butcher, gentlemen. I choose light rapiers and daggers, a-foot, no armor save face guards, ankle boots, breeches' and shirts, and for three bloods only. Are my terms clear, gentlemen?"

He left unsaid the fact that he would have refrained from the precipitation of this farcial combat from the start, had he not sensed the malign machinations of Duke Tcharlz in it Nor did he reveal that he now had, in his own mind, sacrificed the last dregs of the honor of Count Martuhn of Geerzburk in order to retain the goodwill of such a thing as the duke. An hour later, after a quick wash in the guardsmen's barrack, a shave and a hair trim by their barber, the loan of some clean and lighter clothing and the selection of arapier from the castle armory, he stood ready, surrounded by his quartet at one end of the inner garden which had been chosen for the encounter. The duke was not visible at any of the surrounding windows, but Martuhn could sense the man's mind now and again, close by, observing, and once more he had the uncomfortable feeling of being but a piece on a gaming board.

As he and his opponent were led to the center of the sward by their respective entourages, Martuhn once more felt respect-an increasing measure of respect-for the willow-slender man he was about to fight. The captain's unusual mind could sense the dark oceans of terror lapping at and around the barrier reefs of will, yet Sir Djaimz's demeanor showed no trace of fear and the only change in his face was a purple bruise on his right cheek, the result of Martuhn's buffet Perfunctorily, the weapons and face guards were exchanged and examined by the seconds. Martuhn's left-hand weapon-he had retained his own battle dirk from force of habit-was found to be heavier in the blade and somewhat longer than the wide-quillioned dagger of Sir Djaimz, so one of the men set off at a trot to fetch several shorter, lighter pieces from which the captain might choose. While they waited, cool ale was offered. Sir Djaimz took a grateful gulp of his and was about to take another when he noted that his opponent-to-be was sipping, barely doing more than wetting his lips and mouth. He began to emulate the veteran captain.

Martuhn smiled to himself. The lad was both intelligent and adaptable. Given time, patience and training, he doubted not he could make a good officer of him. Sword knew he had the sand. This little business proved that for all to see. Sir Djaimz cleared his throat and bespoke Martuhn, "Sir, I have been informed that I should not address you directly until... after these proceedings, but..." Martuhn nodded once.

"Speak away, sir. Yon's a custom that's honored as much in the breach as the observance. Do you wish to withdraw your challenge? I'm more than amenable. I've no desire to see your blood." Sir Djaimz flushed and shook his small head, sending the dark, curling locks swirling on his narrow shoulders. "No, sir, a certain high personage desires my death, and I had as lief receive it from a man I can see than from a wire garrote some dark night or a cup of poisoned wine." Martuhn shook his own close-cropped head, "I'm no man's executioner, sir! This duel's for no more than three bloods, mine or yours or both together, not to the death."

Sir Djaimz just smiled cynically. "But, of course, accidents do occur now and then, don't they?"

There'll be no accidents this day," declared Martuhn bluntly. "Unless you go mad and decide to run yourself onto my blade, you'll leave on your own two feet." "No." Sir Djaimz again shook his head. "I'd not do that, though it might be better for both of us if I did."

The man returned from the armory, and Martuhn chose a dagger that was almost the mate to his opponent's-eight inches of a thick but narrow and double-edged blade, with a crossguard three inches to the arm and a latticework of steel to protect the knuckles. Then he paced to his appointed place. As the longsword of the arbitrator of the duel flashed downward, Martuhn moved forward smoothly and deliberately; although his conscious mind realized that he was but the instrument of an all but unskilled man's cruel punishment and in no slightest degree of danger, to his subconscious and his physical reflexes, he was approaching another combat, pure, simple and deadly. Sir Djaimz vainly tried to copy his opponent's footwork, but though awkward, he neither hesitated nor halted. Nor did he flinch from Martuhn's first, powerful thrust, catching and turning the licking tongue of steel on his dagger blade and delivering an upward slash which rang upon the bigger man's face guard, even as the sharp edge of Martuhn's dagger laid open a billow of shirt, barely missing the pale skin beneath.

As they fenced, the tall captain's respect for the pale, slender man became less grudging; relatively weak and certainly unschooled, none of his attacks, defenses or ripostes seemed those of any school of the blade with which the widely experienced captain was familiar-Sir Djaimz seemed to be one of those rare, natural swordsmen. His weapon seemed an extension of his arm, the womanish soft hand inside thekidskin glove but an incidental link between the two. Martuhn fleetingly regretted not naming longswords or even axes, the proper use of which demanded more strength than he thought his opponent owned, as that same opponent's silvery blade danced and flickered before his eyes, weaving an intricate pattern between them.

He thought, "Had the skinny b.a.s.t.a.r.d the foot skill and a bit more muscle to go with it, he'd be flat dangerous!"

He fought defensively, deliberately ignoring seeming openings', until Sir Djaimz showed signs of exertion and he thought that he had finally caught the rhythm of the very unorthodox fighting style. Then he waited his chance and struck-point slashing not thrusting at the already ripped front of the shirt. He came breathtakingly close, but at the last possible split second, Sir Djaimz's blade beat down his own, so that the slash, rather than opening chest and shirt, severed the pale man's fine waistbelt, the waistband of his breeches and the drawstring cinching his smallclothes. Both items of clothing promptly tumbled down about his ankles.

Apparently unaware of what had occurred. Sir Djaimz made to riposte... and fell fiat on his face, his bare white and almost fleshless b.u.t.tocks reflecting back an errant beam of sunlight The guardsmen and other watchers, who had been hooting and shouting cruel jests at the downed knight, fell silent as Martuhn moved forward, his face as cold and bleak as a bleached skull. He kicked both weapons from the fallen man's grip, then placed a foot in the small of his back and sank the point of his sword just deeply enough to draw a few drops of blood, once, twice, thrice into the back of the right thigh.

Then he dropped his own weapons and leaned over, placing his big hands under Sir Djaimz's arms. As he effortlessly raised his erstwhile opponent onto his feet, he spoke swiftly and in a low voice.

"This is a good ending, better than you can imagine, my boy. You've been humiliated, and that's a d.a.m.ned good and unquestionable reason for leaving Pirates' Folly while you still have your life and most of your blood. "Go back to the d.u.c.h.ess' court, Sir Djaimz. When the new fortress at Twocityport is completed, I am certain to be named to command the garrison there. Come to me then, and I promise to make a real swordsman of you, with your promise, an unbeatable one.

"What I will do now is for he who watches. Do not take it to heart; it's for your protection as much as anything."

With that, he patted Sir Djaimz's bare b.u.t.tocks, remarking, "Soft as a girl's a.r.s.e. Reminds me of that new wh.o.r.e down at Charlotte the Harlot's place in Pahdookahport." Then he threw back his head and laughed, and, still laughing, he picked up his weapons and stalked back toward the barracks. Later that same day, Sir Djaimz and his servants had departed Pirates' Folly, riding east toward Twocityport at about the time Martuhn was being ushered in to his dinner with Duke Tcharlz.

When once the remnants of the last course were cleared away and the table bore only a set of small silver cups and a goodly a.s.sortment of brandies and cordials, the duke gave over from chitchat and got down to business. "The Twocityport citadel is completed, Martuhn. I took the liberty of installing in it the bulk of your old company, under command of Lieutenant Mawree, almost a fortnight agone."

Martuhn looked every bit of his surprise. "But... my lord, it was no more than a plan when I departed."

The duke grinned like a cat. "Well, nonetheless, it's done, every last stone and timber and treenail of it,and with no less than three clearwater springs inside the walls. A full year's worth of provisions for two thousand men and five hundred horses' should be in its magazines by the time you reach it to take command, along with a full complement of wall engines and a well-stocked armory. And none too soon, say I."

He leaned forward conspiratorily, nudging the table with his burgeoning paunch, sweat brought out by the rich foods and strong brandies gleaming on his face. "There've been developments since you left.

Duke Alex, that arrogant, overweening, greedy, pig-sp.a.w.ned, dung-eating hound of a sneak thief, has-or so my agents in Traderstown court inform me-entered into a criminal collusion with the witless young jackanapes who now styles himself King of Mehmfiz. Through that supposedly royal ninny, our scheming neighbor is hiring himself an army from anywhere he can scratch up men, but mostly from the northwestern duchies of the Southern Ehleenee.

"Moreover, they-this precious pair of gelded jacka.s.ses- have begun to make threatening noises and movements toward certain of my downriver client-states and allies, states that that stunted, imbecUic dwarf Uyr of Mehmfiz has had his eyes on for years. They a.s.sume that I cannot but go to the aid of my allies whenever Alex and Uyr scratch up enough personal sand and armed men to actually attack one, and they're right on that score, I'll have to at least send troops down there, possibly even lead them myself.

"But they've not the collective brains of a ptssant if they think I'm deluded. I know full well what they're up to. You know it too, Martuhn, and so does every thinking man in my duchy: The one scheme that that prince of deceptions has harbored in his cesspool brain ever since the old duke died has been to rule both Traderstown and Twocityport, that he might control both ends of the transriverine cables.

"Therefore, my dear Martuhn, however much dust these two b.a.s.t.a.r.ds may kick up downriver, we may be a.s.sured that their true objective is Twocityport and its immediate environs, and when once they feel they've engaged the bulk of my forces downriver, they'll strike hard to seize my chief city. My spies at the court of my b.i.t.c.h wife are convinced that she and certain of hers are into this up to their plucked eyebrows, and they're likely right, but I can't prove the case just now, else I'd have her ugly head.

"Now fortifying Twocityport-that is, adding to the existing and somewhat old-fashioned defenses-would not only have taken far too long, but such action would've alerted my enemies that I was aware of what is afoot here. Therefore, I've had it bruited about in the duchy and beyond that this new fortress is, like Pirates' Folly, simply another-albeit an expensive-way to p.r.i.c.k Ann's scaly hide.

It's an eminently believable yarn, for it's well known up and down both rivers that we cordially hate each other."

"My lord duke." Martuhn held up his hand, palm outward. "If a part of my responsibility is to be preserving the cables from capture, would it not be better to lengthen them a bit, then secure them inside the walls of the citadel?"

The duke grinned again. "Great minds, it is said, run in the same channels, my good Martuhn. Not only are the cables now lengthened and secured within the new fortress, but from the outer walls down to the very lip of the river, they are now housed within very strong and solid stone-built tunnels. Moreover, it is now an open secret in Twocityport- which means that that ewe-raping Alex knows of it-that the fabric of the tunnel is fitted with devices that will a.s.suredly sever the cables if any attempt is! made to enter or dismantle the sheathings. "So, my good Martuhn, now you know as much as do I. Do you think you can hold that citadel against Duke Alex for as long as a year? Ill either be engaged downriver or holding Pahdookahport and the Folly, while my hors.e.m.e.n harry the various besiegers and their inevitable patrols. So you and your garrison will be completely on your own, slam in the center of a probablyhostile town-for the bulk of the Twocityporters have always hated me and loved my Sow of a wife-and with no hope of relief until I've scared that gutless young Uyr out of this affair and can ama.s.s enough of a force to be sure of extirpating-or at the least, soundly trouncing-the Traderstown army in open battle. Well, what say you, Captain Count Martuhn of Twocityport?"

Now, in his towertop aerie, the new-made Count of Twocityport sat down to the spartan breakfast brought up by the faithful Wolf, who had also prepared it, since he felt that he knew his lord's tastes better than did the new cooks. While he ate the fried fatback, cornmeal mush and crisp little apples, washed down with drafts of cider, he read through a pile of dispatches just in from Pirates' Folly, commenting to Wolf, who took notes when necessary in his cribbed writing.

The duke is taking my advice and retaining almost all of the lancers and dragoons to his personal force."

"A good thing, too," Wolf put in, nodding his hairless, scar-furrowed head. "Hors.e.m.e.n don't do neither side no good in a siege, 'cept mebbe as far-riding foragers for them as is besieging."

"Yes," Count Martuhn continued, "only the officers and sergeants and a score or so of dispatch riders will be mounted in this garrison." Wolf grunted. "This here garrison his grace promised you had better stir their stumps, if they means to get here afore Duke Alex's folks does. Talk's all over town that he's gonna be a-landing 'fore the end of the month, and any street you walks down, you can hear the spades a-ringing in the backyards with plate and money and all a-getting put under till it's all over." The captain stabbed a long finger at the topmost letter on the pile before him, bearing the elaborate and gaudy ducal seal. "The first battalion-Baron Burklee's six hundred pike-men, plus two hundred and forty crossbowmen-marched out from Pirates' Folly before dawn this morning, according to this dispatch."

Wolf grunted again and scratched at one of his cranial scars with the nib of his quill pen, heedless of the ink lines he scribed into the skin. "How 'bout the engineers? 'Sides me and my lord and a handful of others, don't n.o.body know pee turkey 'bout servicing, laying and manning all these here spearthrowers and rock lobbers and such, as his grace's got mounted up on the walls and roofs." Martuhn frowned. "I don't know, Wolf. I've not yet read all of the dispatch." He fell silent for a moment, then announced, "Ah, yes, here it is. The second battalion, which includes the engineers as well as the surgeons and the rest of the service troops, was originally scheduled to be here before Burklee's, but die duke had to relieve the commander and then reform them to some extent... He doesn't say why, he just says that they'll be on the march soon." "Which could mean a lot or nothing!" snorted Wolf disgustedly. "Best I elect, ever'body as knows anything 'bout 'gines and start a-schooling our comp'ny in how to use 'em.

'Cause sure as can be, that baron's pikepushers ain't likely to know s.h.i.t *bout 'em."

The count frowned again. "Go ahead, Wolf, and while you're at it, see if any of ours are fair slingmen.

There's no mention of any in the duke's listings. There're siege slings, pig lead and casting sets in the lower armory, I noticed. "Oh, and I'll want all our officers a.s.sembled just before the noon hour, except you. His grace feels that they will get more respect from the baron and the rest of his gentry if they are of the same caste, and, now that I'm a n.o.bleman again, I can knight them... you, too, old friend."

The hairless man just cackled. "That'll be the day, my lord! All your ofsers, 'cepting Lootenant Krains, are gennul-man borned; ol' Wolf, here, his paw was your paw's servin1 man. Aint no smidgin of gentul blood in him." Martuhn's lips flitted into a brief, sketchy smile. He had expected just such a response from his old and faithful retainer. "You would then have me disobey his grace, our overlord, Wolf?"

Wolf looked his discomfort. "Well... mebbe you could just tell his grace and ever'body elst that you done it... and I won't say no different... ?" "You would, then, counsel that I lie to his grace, Wolf?" Martuhn chided solemnly. "Have you not always told me that the truth is easier to keep track of than lies? Or was that another man named Wolf, eh?" "Well, dammit, Martuhn-boy, it... it just ain't right and proper to make a common-borned man like me no 'sir.' " The count became serious. "Not only is it right, my good old friend, you've earned and more than deserved a knighting threescore times and more in these last hard twenty-odd yean. Had I but then had the legal rank to grant it, I would have done so long ago. Now I again have that rank and you *will receive your just deserts, but formally and solemnly, after Baron Burklee arrives. "For now, however, I need you for another task. It's a certainty that the enemy will not try a landing within the range of our engines. The sh.o.r.eline for miles south of the town is too swampy to make for an easy landing of large numbers of troops, much less horses and supplies, and due north of Twocityport, the bluffs are high and precipitous and march right to the verge of the Great River. However, below the east-west stretch of the bluffs and a few hundred yards eastward of the mouth of the Ohyoh River, his grace's maps show a long, wide beach of sorts, with a track of some description meandering east along the river for a way, then southeast and over a saddle or a pa.s.s to come out some miles northeast of us, here.

"Now, whoever drew these charts was no soldier. I've a plan for stinging those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, maybe slowing them up a bit and delaying the close of their siege lines for a few days, but in order to use this plan, I'll need better and more exact maps, and that's where you come in, Wolf. "Take all of our men you think you'll need, take any horses in the fortress and take the existing maps. I need to know how long and deep that beach is, how far it lies from the channel, how high and steep are the bluffs just over it and the exact location, directions and condition of the indicated track. Note carefully all locations along the bluffs at which you think a landslide could be easily precipitated or where your experience tells you a small number of slingers and archers might do a maximum amount of damage while sustaining minimum casualties. Take rations and fodder for as many days as you think this will require. If it takes longer, however, don't hesitate to forage. Remember, not only are we on my lands, but a Iarge-ish number of the folk in and around Twocityport are sworn enemies of Duke Tcharlz. If, however, you should run across a few likely-looking recruits, by all means bring them back."

Chapter Eight.

At Hwahruhn's brusque command, both boys shed their worn and ragged garments. Then the two traders stood by holding a pair of lamps high while the Ehleen "examined" his new purchases. Custuh seemed not to notice the manner in which their customer's soft, beringed hands lingered upon the boys'

freckled flesh... but Hwahruhn did, and the sight sickened him.

"You kin see, Lord Urbahnos," Custuh said, after a few minutes, "it ain't a earthly thang wrong with the slaves. We's treated 'em good and fed 'em good, too. They's as hale as they wuz the day we ketched 'em, out awn the prairie. No worms, no sores, no pus in they eyes, no loose teeth, no runr nin' noses evun. We only carries quality stock, we does."

Urbahnos made his decision quickly. The elder boy was nowhere near as pretty as the red-blond younger one. Too, the elder was already beginning to sprout genital hair-something which no sensitive Ehleen of sophisticated tastes could or would tolerate, had he the choice, in a love boy. Therefore, the younger would be fed to plumpness, clothed fittingly and sent upriver and across the mountains to Karaleenos and the n.o.blemen whom Urbahnos had now convinced himself would see to the nullification of his unjust banishment. The elder would be Urbahnos' plaything until he tired of him, at which juncture he would be sold-with luck, at a good profit-to a brothel keeper. The Ehleen also decided that the "education" of this new, blond, exciting love boy would commence this very night, as soon as he could tactfully rid himself of these two barbarians.

Urbahnos was not a mindspeaker. In all of the eastern Ehleen lands, telepathy was considered to be aform of witchcraft and was savagely persecuted by the established religion. Therefore he possessed no mindshield, and his every thought was crystal-clear to the powerful mind of his chosen victim, Bahb Steevuhnz. Though appalled and more than a little frightened at what he read in the roiling mind of his new, degenerate owner, Bahb kept his face carefully blank.

When Urbahnos had announced his satisfaction with the sale, he departed the strongroom, followed by the two traders. Custuh took the lamp he had held with him, but Hwahruhn hung his on a hook let into the wall over the door. "Now, you lads be careful not to knock this down, hear? I've seen bales of furs and hides flare up like so much oil, and with that rout going on belowstairs, n.o.body would likely hear your screams until you were both burned to flinders." Then he just stood for a moment, eying the two naked boys. He seemed to want to say more, but then he snapped his mouth shut, turned on his heel and walked out, shaking his head between bowed shoulders.

When he could no longer hear footsteps beyond the locked door, Bahb once more turned to the now openable chest. He slowly raised the lid and expressed his delight in a single grunt. The lower section was filled with hornbows, each of them wrapped in waxed vellum sheets and packed into a horn-and-leather quiver along with a dozen arrows. Most of the bows were the plainer variety made by all the Horseclans for trade purposes, but the four topmost sets were finely carved and decorated in tooled leather cases marked with the totem animals of Clan Steevuhnz-the bows taken from them, their sister and their dead half-brother upon the day of their capture.

Nor was this all. The two Clan Steevuhnz sabers lay beside the hornbow sets, and in the tray hinged to the lid of the chest reposed the four Steevuhnz dirks and even the boot knives. Bahb immediately seized one of the latter and filled the empty sheath inside his right boot with it, then he began to dress himself, mindspeaking his younger brother the while.

"Don't ask questions, my brother, just heed me. The black-hair who has bought us is like no man I have ever heard of. He cares nothing for females, but rather means to use me as an ordinary man would use a woman. And he means to send for me as soon as he is done with the traders, whom he despises for some reason. So I will not be here to help, though I will let you know what pa.s.ses by mindspeak. "With this,"-the wiry boy slapped at his boottop-"I have no fear of the black-haired man, for he is clumsy and more than a little fat, nor does he seem to be overly strong, for all his size and height. So unless he has help, I doubt he can harm me.

Take a dirk and start cutting one of your blankets into Strips; spread the other out flat and I'll roll the sabers and bows in it-that way you can lower them to the ground without damage to them or any noise.

I'll take another boot knife and you can take the other two. Then secure all four dirks to your belt. Here, I'll put my belt and the saber slings in with the bows. "Just before you go out that window, after the roll of weapons is safe below, drag something to stand on to the door, take that lamp down and set fire to everything that will b.u.m in this room. No, wait-drag everything you can manage in front of the door before you fire it. That way, maybe they won't know so soon that we're gone."

Barely had the two boys dressed, tied and hidden the blanket full of weapons and gotten the chest closed and relocked than a big, tall, bald man with skin the color of an old saddle opened the door, pointed at Bahb and crooked a finger thrice.

"Our master summons you, boy. Come, or I'll drag you." Nahseer had been aware of Urbahnos'

unnatural vices as long as the Ehleen had owned him, and he secretly felt that, for all the fact he had been gelded, he still was more of a man than his owner had ever been. He had been revolted at the order to bring the boy to Urbahnos' bedchamber, but it had been a matter of either obeying or hurrying the day When the devious Ehleen would sell him to the bargers... and he would seek his death, hoping to take asmany other men as he could with him into that state.

In the great room below, seated across the dining table from the exultant Custuh, the trader, Hwahruhn, watched the big Zahrtohgahn warrior-still fully armed and obviously cold sober, a fact unusual in this serai full of drunken men-proceed along the upper walkway to the strongroom. unbar the door, lead forth the eldest boy and return with him to the suite of the Ehleen. Then Hwahruhn tore his gaze away, lifted his wine cup and drained it, hurriedly refilled and drained the second just as fast, then refilled again.

Custuh looked up from his calculations and said, with a rotten-toothed grin, "Buddyroll, keep a-drinkin'

like thet an' yew won' be in no shape fer't' spin' yore gol','t'morra in Pahdookahport."

Hwahruhn felt the deathly danger so strongly now that it almost eclipsed his own soul-sickness and self-loathing. In that warm, noisy room, cold sweat trickled down his spine and hairs p.r.i.c.kled wherever they grew on his body. Near madness glared from his eyes, and he bespoke Custuh in a voice pitched just loud enough for him alone to hear.

"You won't be spending any of that blood money, Custuh, nor journeying to Pahdookahport. You'll be dead by sunup. I've seen your body lying in its blood... with the head caved in."

Custuh stared back at his partner and gulped. Then his ire rose above his sudden fear. He slammed a h.o.r.n.y palm down on the tabletop, snarling, "Now, d.a.m.n yew fer a big-mouthed fool, Hwahruhn. Yew knows how superst.i.tious alia these here bastids is. Whut if some o' 'em heered yew, huh? Ah knows it's mosly yer likker a-talkin', but they won't. Iffen they all ups an* meks tracks, come't'middle o"t'night, whut we gon* use fer wagoners come daybreak? 'Sides,'t'bugt.i.ts'd likely steal us blin', fboot."

Urbahnos stood waiting impatiently by the door to his bedchamber, temples and groin throbbing with desire bred from his visual and tactile examinations of the two little boys. When, after what seemed centuries, Nahseer entered with die elder lad and stooped to examine him for weapons, his master snapped, "Enough, you dung-colored ape! I've just seen him bare and there are no weapons in that room he could have gotten at. Just bring him here to me. But don't leave this room, you hear? Those rascally traders know that I have gold and jewels, and I don't want my throat cut in my sleep."

As his master took the slave boy's arm and propelled him into the inner chamber, then closed and locked the door, Nahseer settled himself into the large, padded chair which Urbahnos himself had occupied during his dealings with the plains traders, awaiting developments.

The boy moved lightly and could probably be fast as a scalded cat if need be. Another might think the boy's thinness to be all skin and bone, but Nahseer recognized the flat musculature and the wiry strength it portended. Even unarmed, that lad was likely a healthy fight for the master, for even sober he was fat, clumsy of movements and possessed of muscles near to the point of atrophy from lack of exercise. And the master was well into his second drunk of the day, the effects of the first still not fully dissipated.

Nahseer smiled, thinking of the two little knives his sure fingers had detected beneath the felt of the lad's boottops.

"Yes," he whispered softly in his native tongue, "these next few minutes should prove most a.s.suredly interesting."

Within the great room of the serai, the riotous tumult raged at full fury as the wagoners and apprentice traders and the other men of the caravan celebrated the conclusion of yet another summer among the nomads. Several of the serai women had trooped in to sell their shopworn favors in alcoves about the room, the serai musicians-two fiddlers, a banjo, a guitar and a grizzled oldster who performed with hand drum or tambourine, as required-aided willingly (if somewhat off-key) by a drunken wagoner andhis reedpipes played loud and lively runes, but were heard only by those closest to them in the general uproar. Portuh strolled through from time to time, seeing that the beer, ale and cider flowed freely and without stint, collecting his half from the serai wh.o.r.es and now and then stopping by to share a sip of wine with the morose Hwahruhn and the loud, perpetually grinning Custuh. Before long, Portuh, too, was grinning, for the traders and their men were putting down stupendous quant.i.ties of the various potables and his profit from the bill he would present ere they departed on the morrow would be most satisfying, even after the duke's cut was removed. There had been one killing so far, a fair fight with foot-long dirks between two wagoners. But these things had a habit of occurring when l.u.s.ty, violent men got drunk, so no one was surprised or upset, least of all Portuh. He just hoped that the sometime mates of the corpse, now lying out in one of the sheds, would decide to burn rather than simply bury him, for his profit would be higher on wood for a pyre than on the digging of a grave. Suddenly, above the raucous disorder, a shrill, womanish scream rang out from the direction of the Ehleen gentleman's suite. Few of the men gave it any heed, but Trader Hwahruhn came to his unsteady feet so quickly and with such force that he overturned the solid hardwood bench and even set the heavy table teetering onto two legs, sending ewers, cups and mugs crashing to the floor. Turning, he staggered on unsteady legs toward the stairs, one hand clenched around the wire-wound hilt of his long, wide-bladed dirk. Custuh rushed after his partner, his every step making squishing noises from the liquor that had poured into his rolled-down boottops.

Hwahruhn shook off the first hold that Custuh took on him, but then Custuh threw both brawny arms about the other trader's body, pinning the arms, while shouting over a shoulder to the serai keeper.

"G.o.ddammit, gimme a hand with 'im, heah? He's drunk as a f.u.c.kin' skunk an' plumb loco't'boot! We don' stop him, he likely fkill thet Ehleen up thar." Portuh grimly reflected that putting paid to that particular b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a bag of eastern s.h.i.t might just be a laudable achievement and would sit most kindly in his mind. Nonetheless, he did not care to have the rich and no doubt well-connected t.u.r.d die in this serai, so he rushed to Custuh's aid. Hwahruhn fought them silently and with every ounce of his considerable strength, until, finally, Portuh drew the small, lead-filled cosh from under his belt and fetched the drunken, berserk trader a practiced blow behind the ear. Hwahruhn dropped like a sack of meal, whereupon Portuh and Custuh bore his limp form out into the drizzle, bedded him down in his own, personal wagon and locked him in. In his drunken, self-recriminating mental haze, Hwahruhn had, of course, a.s.sumed that the scream of undiluted agony had been that of Bahb Steevuhnz. Nahseer, closer, knew better, even before his master began to shout. "Help't Oh, please, no't Help me, Nahseer, before this little b.i.t.c.h kills me!" A single heave of his thick-muscled shoulder ripped the fabric of the door's top panel, and Nahseer reached in and drew the bolts, then swung the shattered portal wide.

The Lord Urbahnos, stark naked save for his finger and arm rings, crouched-trembling, whimpering and drooling in terror-at the head of the bed, seemingly unaware of a deep and earnestly bleeding slash down his left cheek. Both his hands were clutching frantically at his crotch. Dark-red blood poured between and over the beringed fingers to soak into the pillow beneath him. Bahb was still fully clad, although both shirt and trousers were torn and both sun-browned cheeks showed prints left by the fingers and rings of the hand that had slapped him. A short-bladed knife in each grubby hand, the fine steel of both blades clouded with blood, he had been engaged in stalking Urbahnos, even while he mindspoke both his brother and the mare in the serai stables. Upon Nahseer's entrance, however, he leaped backward to place his back hard to the outer wall. "Brown man," he hissed, holding one blade ready for defense and placing the point of the other just under the hinge of his jaw, "if you try to take me again for him, I'll send myself to Wind... but I'll take you with me, if I can. Beware I" Nahseer knew of a certainty that the spindly boy meant every word of it, and he loved him from that moment for his courage in the face of impossible odds-a barely p.u.b.escent boy pitted against an armored swordsman four times his size, and the lad with only two little knives.

"Take him alive!" shrieked Urbahnos. "When I've had my will of him, I want him tortured to death, slowly. He hurt me, Nahseer, the little b.i.t.c.h has injured me terribly. "Well? Move on him, you ape, draw your sword, but hit him only with the flat or I'll have out your eyes.

Call the hired guards if you're afraid of him, but take him."

Nahseer gazed deeply into the bloodshot, teary, hate-filled eyes of his master. Rage lay in their black depths, rage compounded with pain and the still-fresh memory of cold, crawling terror. He knew that now his master would never sell him, not unless he had his tongue removed first More likely, the Ehleen would have him murdered soon after they returned to Pahdookahport so that the only living witnesses to Lord Urbahnos' humiliation might be permanently silenced. Turning his gaze back to the boy, the sometime warrior of far-off Zahrtohgah saw a fellow warrior, for all his lack of size and his tender years.

There was no hate in those blue-gray eyes, only a grim determination. The lad stood stock-still, his wiry body seemingly relaxed, but both daggers held steady and unwavering.

With a deep sigh, Nahseer drew his heavy dirk and advanced on Bahb. Behind him, Urbahnos shrilled, "If you kill him, I'll have your wormy guts nailed to a post and you marched around it until you bleed to death, you wh.o.r.eson!"

Drawn by the lights and the noise, all the caravansers who had been a.s.signed to stable duty flitted through the misty drizzle into the warmth and clamorous hilarity of the great hall. All but two of the serai stablehands had soon joined them, "just for one or two pots of beer."

Of the two regular hands remaining, the younger was suffering a griping of the guts, and the stables lay nearer to the jakes than did the main building. The other, a much older man, had shed his threadbare breeches and was trying to ease the pains of his arthritic knees by the tried-and-true method of covering the joints with piles of fresh, hot horse manure.

The younger man had just left on his third or fourth run toward the privy when one of the small, ugly prairie-bred mares began to move agitatedly in her shared stall, kicking and snorting. The-oldster, the pains just beginning to ease a bit, tried manfully to ignore the equine uproar. But when one, then another of the horses began to emulate the mare, he sighed and, grumbling curses, pulled himself to his feet and stumbled stiffly down the aisle between the rows of stalls.

"Dang half-broke HI ol' nomad critter. Probly spooked by a goldurned rat, is all."

He lifted down a hanging lantern and in the other hand took a grip on a yard-long billet of wood, good for either crushing a rat or dealing with an aggressive equine. At the mare's stall-shared with another of her kind-he held the lantem high and leaned into the cubicle, his old eyes vainly searching the corners for sight of a scuttling rodent "s.h.i.tfire, anyhow!" he mumbled. "Thet dadgummed boy should oughta be here, a-doin' this-his eyes is a h.e.l.l of a sight sharper nor mine is." Taking the stick under his lantern arm, he unlatched the lower half of the gate and swung it outward, but before he could take a single step or even re-grasp his protective club, Windswift was on him with flashing hooves and savaging teeth. Within seconds, he was forever freed of the aches of his arthritis. Nor, when he returned, did the younger hand live much longer. Windswift was a trained and veteran warhorse, and these were not the first twolegs she had slain. The dropped lantern, which had bounced into the stall, had eaten its own oiled-vellum covering, and little flames were beginning to lick out at the straw. Windswift quickly kicked and nudged fresh dung onto the device until she could sense no more flame and little heat It was not yet time for the stable to take fire.

She mindspoke Bahb Steevuhnz that her job was accomplished, then she and the other, younger mare set about freeing the other two Horseclans mares. Shortly, little Djoh Steevuhnz trotted in, four dirks at his belt and the bulky roll of the other weapons on his shoulder. There was scant need for actual speech;physical contact enhanced even his marginal telepathic abilities to the point that he could easily communicate with all four of the mares. He and Bahb had watched from their window as the various wagons were parked for the night, and so he had no trouble in finding those in which the richly decorated Clan Steevuhnz saddles had been stored. The kaks were too heavy for even a strong ten-year-old to lug back to the stables, but the yard lay empty of all humans save him and the rain and mist made visibility poor at best, so he simply bade the mares to come to him, dragged the gear onto the tailgate and from there heaved it onto the low backs of the small beasts, hopping down into the mud to cinch the straps.

Back in the dryness of the stable, the boy squeezed and wrung the water from his dripping hair, then unrolled the blanket and attached bowcase-quivers and sabers in their customary places on the saddles.

The blanket he rerolled and lashed behind the saddle of his own mount, Mousebrown. Horseclansfolk seldom used bridles, except on untrained young stallions, for usually mindspeak and pressure of knee or hand were all that was necessary to guide this breed of equines, who were the partners rather than the chattels of the nomads. When all was in readiness, Windswift once more mind-spoke Bahb Steevuhnz.

His reply was a surprise to them all, mares and boy alike. Within arm's length of the crouching nomad boy, Nahseer flipped the dirk, grasping the broad blade between thumb and a knuckle. Smiling gently, he said, 'Take this, my little brother-it will make for you a far better weapon. But give me in exchange one of the little knives you have used to such good advantage this night, for I too have a few old scores to wash out in the diseased blood of yonder perverted pig."

After a brief silence he widened his smile and added, "And tell the minds outside to saddle and bridle a good, big horse for me. I admire the spirit of your plains stock but they are just too small for a man of my size." Bahb's eyes widened in surprise. He beamed, "You mind-speak, man with brown skin? You are that thing's sworn man, are you not? If you knew of my planning, why did you not tell him? For what purpose do you wish to help me? If you try to do to me what he would have done, I warn you, I will serve you even as I served him."

Nahseer shook his hairless head. "Brother mine, even when still I had my man-parts, I utilized them only in the ways that Ahlah intended, not in the unnatural nastinesses in which some infidels debase themselves." He sighed deeply and aloud, then went on silently.

""And I am no one's sworn man, my brother. I am the pig's chattel, as much a slave as are you. And yes, I can converse mind-to-mind, sense the mind conversations of others and even sense the surface thoughts of those with whom I cannot converse. This talent I was born with; it is not uncommon among the upper castes of my people.

"Why did I not betray your conversations with those outside, why did I fail to inform yon black-haired pig that you bore the two little daggers in your boots? The answers are many and complex, my brother, and if Ahlah so wills it, we will have time and leisure to speak on these matters. But for now, I believe I smell smoke. I imagine that your former cell is blazing merrily by this time, and so I suggest that we put an end to affairs here and depart... quickly." Warily, unsure whether or not to believe, Bahb took both of his little knives in his left hand and s.n.a.t.c.hed the dirk from its profferer, then gingerly laid one of the blood-sticky short blades in the pink palm of the brown-skinned man.

Nahseer withdrew his sword from its case and leaned it against the wall near the boy, then turned and walked to the bedside of his sometime master. Because mindspeak took far less time than did oral communication, bare seconds had pa.s.sed since Urbahnos had given the order to stun and capture his newest slave. "What are you doing, you dung-hued cretin?" the Ehleen rasped. "I'll have you flayed and rolled in salt. I'll-" Nahseer interrupted him. The big man's voice was soft, but the undertone froze Urbahnos to his innermost being. "The only thing you will do now, sweet master, is to hold your flapping tongue... unless you had rather lose it, that is. You promised me my freedom whenever you returned tothe east, you depraved beast of a liar, yet your true intent all the while was to sell me to the slow, living death of the row-barges."

His teary eyes once more wide with terror, his thick lips atremble, the Lord Urbahnos shook his head wildly from side to side, sending a spray of bright blood from his slashed cheek in all directions. "No, Nahseer! No, no, no! You are to be freed, / swear it... my word of sacred honor... no, I..." The Zahrtohgahn sneered. "Dear master, we both know that your word is of less worth than a half dram of rat's p.i.s.s. The only thing in all the world that you hold sacred is profit As for honor, it surprises me that you even know and can p.r.o.nounce the word in any language, since you so obviously have never possessed a scintilla of it."

While speaking, Nahseer had used the little knife to cut down most of the bedside bell rope, then divide it into two equal lengths. After tucking the knife into the folds of his sash, he grabbed Urbahnos and jerked him suddenly onto his back on the rumpled, b.l.o.o.d.y bed. He seized first one arm, then the other and used the ropes to bind the Ehteen's wrists to the bedhead, knotting them cruelly tight. Then he did the same for the ankles, lashing each to a bedpost with strips torn from the linen sheets. Several shorter strips went into a crude but effective gag. Then Nahseer stood back and surveyed his handiwork, while testing the edge of the boot knife on the callused ball of his thumb. To Bahb, he said, "Bring me the other little knife, please, my brother. That rope is tough and this one has lost the best of its cutting edge. And bring my sword, as well; this thing cannot grab at it now." "What are you going to do to him?" asked Bahb curiously. "I mean to geld him," stated Nahseer bluntly and aloud, his words setting Urbahnos to squinning and vainly jerking at his bonds, trying to force words and strangled screams through the fabric of his gag, his features almost livid and his eyes starting from their sockets.

Bahb handed back the Zahrtohgahn's sword. Though he kept the dirk in his right hand and ready, he sheathed the dulled dagger. This will be the first time I've ever seen a man gelded. Is it the same as gelding a bull calf?" Nahseer nodded. "Much the same, my brother, much the same." To Urbahnos, he said, "Master, think you back on how many times you have chided me because I have been deprived of the very man-parts you daily dishonor. Recall how often you have spoken to me and of me in public as 'your Zahrtohgahn steer' or 'a creature of uncertain s.e.x.'