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Robert Adams

The Revenge of the Horseclans

For Dr. Isaac Asimov, whose prodigious talents and proclivities are so widely renowned; for Cherry and Jack Weiner; for Susan Schwartz and the Koala Bear; for John Estren and Tom Anderson; for two of the finest young ladies in fandom, Claire Eddy and Sally Ann Steg.

Oh, sing me of Morguhn, the brave, true, and strong.

Yes, sing me of Morguhn and let the song be long.

Sing of the Red Eagle that leads on to fame.

Sing of the mighty Morguhns, by deed and by name.

A Morguhn, A Morguhn,

A Morguhn, the shout,

While sharp Morguhn steel,

Every foeman does rout.

Oh, lead on, Red Eagle, to glory or to Wind,

As you led those doughty Morguhns, from whom we descend.

—Ancient Warsong of clan Morguhn

PROLOGUE

No matter how carefully Sir Bili Morguhn rearranged his hooded cloak, the cold, driving rain continued to find a sure path into his already sodden brigandine. Wearily, he leaned forward as his plodding gelding commenced to ascend yet another hill, and the movement started his nose to dripping again. Bili resignedly employed gauntleted fingers to blow some of the drip from his reddened nostrils, then vainly searched his person for a dry bit of cloth with which to wipe them. Leaning back against the high cantle as the gelding gingerly negotiated the mud-slick downgrade of the Traderoad, he thought that he could feel his every joint creak in harmony with his saddle. A reverie of the broad, sun-dappled meadows of his patrimonial estates flitted through his mind.

The wet hide of his stallion's massive barrel came to rest against his booted leg and the warhorse mindspoke him, "Mahvros, too, thinks of the land loved by Sun and Wind, and he wishes now but a single roll in soft, dry grass. Is it many more days of wet and cold until we be there?"

Bili sighed in sympathy. "It's considered to be a two-week journey by the traders," he answered telepathically. "But I hope to make it in ten days . . . less, if possible, despite this abominable weather. That's why I bought the geldings and the mule; you're too good a friend to risk foundering."

While speaking he reached over and patted the muscle-corded withers, then ran his hand up to the crest and gently kneaded the thick neck. Could the big black have purred, he would have then. As it was, he beamed a wordless reaffirmation of his lifelong love for and devotion to Bili. Between the two minds, human and equine, flowed a depthless stream of mutual respect and trust and friendship.

The gelding raised his drooping head briefly and snorted. In his turn, Mahvros arched his neck and snorted in reply. The gelding, eyes rolling, shied from the stallion's threat, stumbled in the rock-studded mud, and all but fell. Only Bili's superb horsemanship kept him in his seat and the gelding on his feet. He was about to chide Mahvros, who knew that the newly acquired animals were terrified of him, when the warhorse again mindspoke.

"Best to sit me, now, Brother. Stallions ahead, and mares and sexless ones and many mules. Their riders fight." There were eager undertones in the big horse's mindspeak, for he loved a fight.

A bare week ago, Bili might have been every bit as eager, but now, with his need to speedily complete his journey pressing upon him, he could see only the delay which a skirmish might entail. Nonetheless, he reined the gelding onto the shoulder where the mud was not so deep, then dismounted, tethered the two hacks and the mule, and mounted the monstrous black stallion.

Once in the familiar war kak, he removed the cloak and draped it over the mule's packsaddle, then unslung his small, heavyweight target and strapped it on his left arm. While Mahvros quivered with joyful anticipation, Bili uncased his huge axe and tightened its thong on his right wrist. Lastly, he slid into place his helm's nasal and snapped down the cheekpieces.

"All right, Brother," he mindspoke the stamping stallion. "Let us see what lies ahead . . . but quietly, mind you! And charge only if I so command."

For all his bulk, Mahvros was capable of moving silently as a cat. But even a cat would have found creeping difficult on the mud-sucking road, so Bili put his mount to the wooded slope which flanked it. At the crest he was glad he had exercised elementary caution, for where the road curved around the hill sat two horsemen with bared blades.

Just below his hilltop position, a hot little fight was in progress round about a stonewalled travelers' spring and six huge traderwagons. The attackers were obviously brigands rather than troopers, such that had become all too common along the lonelier stretches of the traderoads, since King Gilbuht had stripped away the bulk of the usual patrols to augment his cavalry in the current war.

The defenders, fighting heavy odds, included a few Freefighters—Rahdzburkers, from the look of them and a few more hastily armed merchants, ebon-skinned men garbed in the style of the Kahleefait of Zahrtohgah. That the tiny force were no mean warriors was attested by the dozen or so still or twitching brigands who were scattered about the ground before them. Even as he watched, a helmeted merchant fitted a broad-bladed dart to a throwing stick and sent a hefty robber crashing into the mud, thick fingers clawing at the steel sunk deep in his chest. But in the same time, a Freefighter and two merchants were hacked to earth. The defenders were fighting a lost battle; the odds were just too heavy to allow of aught but defeat and death for the doughty little band. Unless . . .

Bili's thoughts raced. Not all the normal patrols were gone from this part of the Kingdom of Harzburk, but they no longer rode on any sort of schedule, for they had too much ground to cover with too few men. Therefore, these bandits were taking a considerable risk to attack a merchant train in broad daylight; that must be the reason for the road guards below the hill.

Grinning with the seed of a chancy plan, he backed Mahvros a little way back into the woods, then lifted to his lips his silver mounted bullshorn. Filling his lungs, he sounded the familiar call, then again and a third time.

Hefting his axe, he next gave Mahvros the signal to charge, adding, "Make much noise, Brother, as much as a half troop of dragoons!"

Then it was over the crest and out of the woods and barreling down the steep slope toward the raging battle. The stallion's hooves were a bass thunder through the swirling ground mist.

Raising his heavy axe and whirling it over his head, Bili shouted, "UP, UP HARZBURK! UP HARZBURK! FIRST SQUAD LEFT! FOURTH SQUAD RIGHT! ARCHERS TO THE FLANKS! UP HARZBURK!"

From below came a confused babble of shouts, then one cracked tenor rang above the rest, ". . . git t'hell outa here! That there's Sir Hinree's Troop, I reca'nize his black horse!"

Then Bili found himself among a milling cluster of brigands. A shaggy pony went down, bowled over by Mahvros's impetus, and the savage warhorse went at the downed animal and man with teeth and hooves. Bili laid about him with the double-bitted axe, parrying swords on its steel shaft and emptying saddle after saddle. All at once, there were no riders before him, only a couple of groaning, dying bandits on the ground.

The opaque mist which had so far been but patches had thickened and coalesced since he had launched his reckless charge. He almost axed an unmounted man who appeared on his right, before he recognized the armor and gear of a Rahdzburker Freefighter. The stranger stopped long enough to dispatch a wounded brigand, then limped smiling up to Bili.

"I never thought I'd be glad to hear the Harzburker warcry, my lord, not after Behreesburk; but by the Sacred Sword, you and your troop could not have been better come! But . . ." He glanced about him bewilderedly, ". . . where is your troop, sir?"

Showing every tooth, Bili chuckled, "You're looking at it, Freefighter. I be no patrol, only a traveler like your employer."

1

Aside from rare border raids, there had been no real warfare within the boundaries of Bili Morguhn's homeland for nigh a hundred years, though its armies and fleets were seldom idle. Many hostile peoples pressed upon its borders and the sea-lanes required constant patrolling. The Confederation, toward which he rode in such haste, was the largest principality in all the known lands. Despite the Traderoads, which were much better maintained there than in other lands, months were necessary for traders to travel from one end of the Confederation to the other. Even messengers of the High Lord, who sometimes covered a hundred miles in a day, could not go from end to end in much under fifteen days.

As a consequence, news was always late, and life moved slowly and unhurriedly away from the capital of the Confederation or the port cities or the archducal capitals. The Duchy of Morguhn was no exception; the peace and ordered tranquility well suited the father of Bili and his eight brothers, giving him the time needed to devote himself exclusively to his lands and his books.

Prior to the death of Bili's grandfather, Hwahruhn Morguhn had soldiered up and down the Middle Kingdoms with a troop of Kindred noblemen under the command of his kinsman, Djeen Morguhn. Djeen who had gone on to rise swiftly to the rank of Strahteegos in the Army of the Confederation and Hwahruhn had both distinguished themselves at the siege of Kooleezburk. After its conclusion, Hwahruhn had wed the daughters of the victor, Duke Tchahrlz of Zunburk, sending his new brides south to dwell with his father, while Djeen marched the troop off on a new campaign.

As the two lovely girls and their escort wended their way through Kehnooryos Ehlahs, capital province of the Confederation, a band of Morguhn men spurred tired horses northward, to bear word to Hwahruhn of his father's death.

Confirmed Thoheeks and Chief Morguhn of Morguhn, Hwahruhn had settled down with his young brides—Mahrnee, fourteen, and Behrnees, fifteen—to commence the siring of legitimate sons to succeed him. It had been a very late marriage; Hwahruhn was over thirty-five years of age.

Within the next six years his blond wives presented him with eleven sons. The fact that nine of these sons still lived at the time of Bili's ride was considered amazing. For despite the best efforts of the High Lord to improve the sanitation of cities and towns, despite his importation of skilled physicians from the Black Kingdoms, despite his establishment of a school in the capital to train Ehleenoee physicians in more advanced and antiseptic techniques, disease still ran high in the Confederation, taking off the young and the old.

In most provinces, few Kindred nobles descendants of the Horseclansmen who had received lands from the Undying High Lord dwelt in the unhealthy environs of their cities, preferring instead their halls amid their ranches and farms. So it was in spacious, sunny Morguhn Hall that Bili was born and it was there that he remained throughout his first eight years of life.

He never needed to be taught to mindspeak, communicating thus long ere he learned vocal communication; nor was it needful to teach him to ride. His uncles and mothers were mightily pleased at these innate abilities, as was too his father in his quiet way.

By the time the lad was eight, his father had granted grudging permission that his heir be given to the care of his mothers' cousin, Gilbuht, King of Harzburk, for education, war-training, and gentlemanly polish. Those years of residence at the Iron King's blood-spattered court riddled with intrigues which kept the Royal torturers and executioners busy and service with the standing army of tough, practical younger sons and mercenaries molded the gangling, big boned boy into the broad-shouldered, steel-thewed man Bili had become by his sixteenth year. Most of his mentors, noble and Freefighter alike, could be cruel, rapacious, and frighteningly cold-blooded toward their foes; but they were generally honest in dealing with their comrades and strictly honorable within their code.

Three months prior to Bili's eighteenth summer, his father was struck down by a sudden paralysis, and his mothers sent word for him to return, indicating that speed was essential, since his father might not live long. King Gilbuht freely offered him a strong escort, but knowing that a troop would slow him, he elected to ride alone.

Despite rain, sleet, mud, the brief skirmish, and other assorted difficulties, Bili, Mahvros and the mule arrived at Morguhn Hall but nine days after they had departed King Gilbuht's capital. Only his mothers recognized the tall, hard, weather-darkened warrior who, stubble-faced and travel-stained, strode stiff-leggedly out of the night and into the hall.

But Hwahruhn clung to life and, hearing of his illness, the Ahrkeethoheeks Petros sent a master physician to tend him. Under the skillful care of Master Ahlee and his apprentice, the Thoheeks made a slow but halting improvement. As the planting season passed, he regained limited use of his left arm and some sensation in his left leg and side, but his mindspeak was gone and he could speak aloud only haltingly.

Master Ahlee, the Ahrkeethoheeks' physician, was candid with the lady wives of his patient. "At all costs, your husband must remain free from any strain or tension, mental or physical, else he be struck by another paralysis and death certainly ensue. As he is now, it is probable that he never will walk again, and his life hangs by a thread. Naturally, I will stay with him so long as his danger remains grave."

Bili had been two weeks in the duchy, ere he was allowed to see his father for even a few minutes. Dutifully—for the old Thoheeks' rank alone deserved deference—the young man knelt by the couch and took his sire's soft, pudgy hand between his own hard ones, speaking in the hushed tones one uses to the gravely ill. "My Lord Father, can you hear me?"

Both the stricken man's lids twitched, but only the left one opened. Mumbling broken phrases from the left side of his mouth, he asked, "Who is . . . ? Mahrnee? Who is . . . man?"

Mother Mahrnee knelt beside Bili where Hwahruhn could see her, while Mother Behrnees gently opened the lid of his right eye. Placing her firm, freckled arm on the son's shoulders, Mahrnee said, "This is Bili, Hwahruhn. This is your oldest son, husband mine. Do you not remember Bili?"

After kissing his hand, Bili laid it back on the coverlet, saying stiffly, formally, "My Lord Father, I grieve to see you ill." Then he bowed his head, indicating homage, the morning sunlight glinting from his freshly shaven scalp.

Feather-light, trembling fingers brushed his head, then wandered down over cheeks callused by his helmet's face guards. Finding his scarred chin, they tugged weakly and Bili raised his face.

"Bili . . . ?" His father mumbled chokedly. "Bili, my . . . poor little lad . . . what have . . . they done . . . to you?" Then his brimming black eyes spilled over and tears coursed down his pale cheeks.

The white-robed physician signed them to leave the room, and Bili was much relieved to do so. For tutored as he had been, he considered open display of emotion unmanly and was acutely embarrassed by and for his father.

Afterward, the three sat about the wine table in the sisters' sitting room. Mother Behrnees laid her slender fingers on Bili's arm. "Son, do not judge your father by the standards of Harzburk, for the court of cousin Gilbuht is far from Morguhn in many ways. Here, life is different, slower and softer, like the speech. Though I doubt me Hwahruhn has lifted a sword in fifteen years, still is he worthy of your love and respect. For judged by the standards of his realm, he is no less manly than are you."

"Your father's Kindred love and respect him, feel him to be good and just and merciful. Until he is more fully recovered of his illness, if ever he is, you will necessarily rule here in his stead. You could do far worse than to emulate those qualities his people so admire."

After blotting watered wine from her pink lips, Mother Mahrnee spoke. "Son, since your return, Behrnees and I have painfully pondered the wisdom of sending you and your brothers—but especially you, the chief and Thoheeks-to-be—for so long a sojourn in the land of our birth. True, those years made of you a full man and warrior. Our hearts were swelled with pride when first we saw you, as you are now so like to the father and brothers we love and remember."

"But as Mother Behrnees just said, this is not Harzburk, and the ways of the Iron Palace are not those of Morguhn Hall. You are certainly aware that King Gilbuht is but the second of his House to rule Harzburk. The grandsire of Gilbuht's grandsire was born heir to only the County of Getzburk, but he died an archduke, having conquered the County of Yorkburk, the Duchy of Tchaimbuhzburk, and the Mark of Tuhseezburk. Archduke Mahrtuhn, Gilbuht's father, secretly financed by the Undying High Lord Milo, hired enough swords to conquer the Kingdom of Harzburk, slay most of the House of Blawmuh, and settle himself upon the Iron Throne."

"Consequently, Gilbuht's capital is an armed camp and he rules harshly, hating his subjects as fully as they hate him. Had old Mahrtuhn been so stupid as to leave any of the Blawmuhs alive, the rebellions would be more frequent and more stubborn than they presently are."

"So Gilbuht considers his most unwilling subjects cattle and constantly milks them of the monies necessary to pay the troops he must maintain if he is to retain his lands and life."

She paused to sip from her wine cup. Then with a rippling of ash-blond tresses, she slowly shook her head. "No, despite his wealth and his power, we would be fools to envy Cousin Gilbuht. Nor would we two trade places with him."

Mother Behrnees nodded her agreement. The sisters agreed on most things; so many things, in fact, that they might almost have been one mind in two beautiful bodies.

"That is why we are now sorry that we badgered your father into sending you, his heir, to Harzburk. For the Kindred of Morguhn will never tolerate the despotism you have seen practiced, nor do most of your people deserve such ill treatment. Yours are not a recently conquered people, son. Through the Ehleenoee line—and do not ever forget, your father and your uncle, the Tahneest are a full three-quarters Ehleen—your forefathers have ruled these lands from time immemorial, and even the Kindred of Morguhn have occupied their station for over a hundred years."

"Precious few of the Ehleen nobility are of pure blood, and all of the other nobles are related to you; so, too, are many of the common people, to a greater or lesser degree. To your Kindred, noble or common, you will be their hereditary chief, not their overlord."

"The true ruler of the duchy, the actual overlord, is the Duchy Council, and although the Chief is its titular head, his voice is but one of fifteen. You . . ." she began, then queried, "The Council, Bili, the Thirds and the reason for their being, what do you recall of them?"

Closing his dark blue eyes, the young man thought deeply for a moment, then took a deep breath. "The Thirds are equals in Council. The first Third is the Thoheeks Chief, the Tahneest, the Clan Bard, and the two wisest of the Kindred; the second Third is five noble Ehleenoee; the last Third is five free citizens, Kindred or Ehleen."

"When was the Council established, Bili?" Mother Mahrnee prodded. "And why? And by whose decree?"

Eyes still closed in concentration, he answered, "When first Karaleenos was conquered by the Confederation, the Undying High Lord did order that the Kindred on whom lands and cities were conferred were not to rule alone, but rather in partnership with the Karaleenee nobles and their people. In this way were rebellions prevented."

Both women smiled and Mother Behrnees declared, "Very good, Bili, almost word-for-word. You've a good memory, and that is well. The Council's regular Moon-meeting is next week and you must, in the Morguhn's absence, sit for him. Remember all that we shall now tell you, for much hinges upon your conduct at that time, not the least of which is the full acceptance of you by the Thirds."

"Now your full uncle, whose name you bear, has always favored you. So much does the Tahneest love you, that I think should you pull out his beard, rape his wife, and raze his hall, you still could depend upon his immediate acceptance of you as the next chief."

Mother Behrnees ticked off another finger. "Cousin Djeen Morguhn is, as you know, a retired Strahteegos, as well as your father's old commander and comrade when they served as Freefighters in the Middle Kingdoms. You won his acceptance last year, when news reached us of your having slain the Earl of Behreesburk in single combat and thus winning your Bear." Another finger. "Spiros Morguhn has long despised your father for his sedentary, scholarly ways. Talk warfare and weapons and hunting with him and he soon will be your sworn liegeman."

Her last finger curled downward. "The same holds true for Clan Bard Hail Morguhn. So simply be what you are, Bili, and the first Third is yours."

She opened her small fist and again ticked off the first finger. "Of the Ehleenoee nobles, Komees Hari and his brother, Drehkos, are your father's third cousins; further, the Komees's first wife, now deceased, was your father's sister. We think that both men can be counted upon to approve your succession, but to be sure, hmmm . . ." She steepled her fingers and regarded Bili closely. "The way your stallion follows you around, you've obviously not lost your touch with horses, so that could be the way. What think you, sister?"

"Yes," agreed Mother Mahrnee, nodding. "The horses of Komees Hari are aptly reputed to be among the best in all the Confederation and he is justly proud of them. Immediately we finish here, ride you over to his hall and introduce yourself. He has not seen you in more than ten years and I doubt he would see the boy you were in the man you are."

"Talk horses and keep your hands off his daughters. Ask to see his herd and to meet his king stallion. Brag of your warhorse some, then mention your desire to purchase a trained hunter. You'll have a bag of gold; of course, he'll refuse to accept it, but the form must be observed."

"After that, my son, it is up to you and your training and your judgment. If you blunder and choose a bad horse . . ." She made a wry face and shrugged meaningfully. "If Hari approves you, Drehkos will usually follow his lead; it is as simple as that."

"The Vahrohnos Myros of Kehnooryos Deskati will hate you, no matter what you do or say! He will hate you for three reasons, Bili: primarily, because you bear the Morguhn surname; secondly, because you do not look your Ehleen blood; thirdly, because, although you are a handsome man and will no doubt set his parts to itching, you outrank him and so he can neither buy you nor force you into buggery. Be formally polite to the swine, nothing more. And should he dare to offer you open offense, run your steel through his body a few times, and fear no blood price. There would be none to demand one anyway, for he hates all things female and so has never wed, and he has outlived all his relatives."

"Myros and Vahrohneeskos Stefahnos, who also sits on the second Third—"

"—are both insane!" interrupted Mother Behrnees. "As is that sly, sleek priest and all the poor, common fools they've beguiled into believing their fantasies! If you can believe it, Bili, those two and that black-robed ass have all but stirred up a rebellion in this duchy!"

"Between the agents of Myros and Stefahnos and the priests of that cursed Kooreeos, the heads of many—too many—of the Dirtmen and city commoners have been filled with lovely dreams. Those dreams go something like this: the Kindred's farms and Halls and pasturelands, their womenfolk and horses and cattle and their riches are to be evenly divided between all the poor, deserving Dirtmen and urban ne'er-do-wells, which will bring about no work, no want, and idle luxury for all."

Bili could take no more in silence. "Dung and more dung! Without work, there can be nought save want. Idle luxury be damned, most nobles labor far harder than any Dirtman or mechanic or tradesman. Why, were it not for . . ."

Mother Mahrnee raised her hand. "Hold, Bili. You know the truth and I know the truth, Myros and Stefahnos and the Kooreeos and his damned priests know it. But their dupes do not. The common folks seldom see their betters at work, but only the proceeds of that work, they . . ."

Mother Behrnees clanged her empty cup upon the table. "We waste time, sister, and we've damned little of it to waste. Bili knows that the commoners are misled and stupid to swallow such a tale. He can delve into the matter later if he likes, after the Moon-meeting is done."

"For the last Third, son, suffice it to say that there is but one man on whom you can depend. Feelos Pooleeos is now a merchant, but for twenty years he was a soldier in the High Lord's army, rising as high as lohkeeas ere he was done. His loyalty is only to the Confederation, not to the Kindred or to your father. But because the Thoheeks represents the established order, while Myros and his scum represent only chaos and anarchy, he will back us and you."

She stared for a long moment at her remaining four fingers, then grimaced and wiped them forcefully upon her skirt, as if she had touched some foulness.

"The rest are all Myros's creatures. Paulos, Guildmaster of the ironsmiths, is your father's half-brother—one of your grandsire's multitudinous bastards—and Myros has promised him all to which the misbegotten pig aspires: Morguhn Hall, your father to torture to death, you and your brothers as gelded slaves, my sister and me for concubines and so on."

"Kooreeos Skiros would be a bishop and see his superstitions paramount in the duchy. We assume Myros has assured him that such would be the case under his overlordship, so a prating pissant supports a pernicious pervert."

"Nathos Ehvrehos, the goldsmith, has extended so much credit to Myros that he can now do nothing save support him, no matter how wild his schemes."

"Djaimos, who stands for the carters and other lesser types, is both a hopeless romantic and a foaming fanatic. He speaks nothing in public save Old Ehleeneekos, goes about in clothing no sane man has worn in a hundred years, and comes near to starving his poor family because he refuses to do business with any of the Kindred or those who do business with them."

As Mother Mahrnee refilled her wine cup, Bili asked, "But, my Lady Mothers, you have given me the names of but four of the second Third. Should there not be another?"

"Why, how careless of me." Mother Behrnees slapped palm to forehead, with laughter in her eyes. "How could I have forgotten Andee?" After a sly grin at her sister, she addressed herself to Bili.

"Properly, he is Vahrohnos Ahndros of Theftehrospolis and he is a Kath'ahrohs, pure Ehleen. Though Ehleen by blood, he identifies with the Kindred and prefers the Mehreekuhn name 'Andee.' Then for ten years he was an officer in the Army of the Confederation. Rising from sub-lieutenant to company captain in just under eight years, he was chosen for a year of special training at the Staff College in Kehnooryos Atheenahs, after which he served a year on the military staff of the High Lord himself. He returned last year just in time to thwart a move by Myros and his clique to legally swindle him out of his patrimony in favor of Andee's cousin, Hahrteeos Toorkos. All this would tend to place him in our camp. But there is another and a better reason we may be certain of his support."

She smiled and directed a devilish glance at her sister. "Andee swoons for love of Mother Mahrnee, Bili! He crowds the roads with hordes of messengers and writes reams of incredibly bad poetry, while the cellars of our hall bulge with his gifts of wines and cordials and spiced meats and sugared fruits. Did my sister respond to calf eyes and passionate words, their love-sweat would long since have mingled."

Mother Mahrnee laughed. "And do you know it has not already, sister mine?"

The women's eyes met briefly, then the laughter of Mother Behrnees trilled in harmony with Mother Mahrnee's.

"And so, Bili," Mother Mahrnee said at length, "you know that you may be sure of Andee. He is a fine man and closer to your age than any of the others, and I'm . . . well, please tell him that I think of him . . . often."

2

Though not so large as Morguhn Hall, Horse Hall was constructed along the same lines, a mode of building which had originated a hundred years before, when raids by western barbarians were still commonplace. Entering a heavy, iron-studded gate, Bili rode through a dark and narrow passage into a paved courtyard, where a central fountain plashed into a circular stone trough, and a nanny goat and her half grown kid drank.

A bowing, smiling servant approached as Bili dismounted, and led Mahvros into the long, two-story building which, pierced by the entry passage, made up the entire front of the hall complex. This building's outer wall was thick and windowless, save for narrow bowman's slits on the upper level. Standing twenty feet from ground to flat topped roof, with square towers rising an additional fifteen feet at each corner and in the center, the front and sides were surmounted by four-foot stone merlons alternating with two-foot-wide crenels.

The walls which connected this structure to the main building were some two feet thick and about fifteen feet high. The walls were also crenellated; a firestep, five feet wide and twelve feet up, ran their length and covered steps connected it with the rooftop fortifications at either end. The colonnades formed by the walks and their supporting columns were the scene of a bustle of activity. An ironsmith and his helpers industriously clanged away near the door through which Mahvros had been led. Opposite him, servant women laughed and chattered, while washing clothing in immense wooden tubs of steaming water. Beyond the women, a gnome-like old man, with a long needle and a leather palm-guard, stitched decorations to a dress saddle and half listened to a traveling bard, who was devoting equal concentration to the tuning of his instrument and to the recitation of lewd stories which he had to almost shout. Nearer to the manor, a man who looked fat enough to be a cook lounged in a cellar doorway supervising a trio of near-naked boys, who were splitting firewood with a rhythmic chunk-chunking of axes.

At the foot of the wide stairway which led to the main doors, Bill was met by a pudgy, hand-wringingly servile, bowing man whose black hair and eyes and olive countenance attested him either pure Ehleen or close to it. The upper servant, for such his dress proclaimed him to be, straightened from his last and deepest bow and said, "Greet the Sacred Sun, my master. Wind has borne you well and truly. I am called Hofos and have the honor to be majordomo of the Hall of the Illustrious Komees ...