A Cat Of Silvery Hue by Robert Adams Read Free Book Online

strapped to his bridle arm. But for all the discomforts, he would not have been in other circumstances or another place than this.
    Since the night of the bridge fight when, in a panic of fear, he—Geros the valet, who knew as much of weapons and warfare as a turtle knew of flying—had
accidentally
lanced one rebel and cut the throat of a second while his mule trampled down a third, he had been living in the very lap of his former fantasies. With his young master, the
Vahrohneeskos
Ahndros, kept unconscious by the arts of Master Ahlee, the physician, there was no one to betray him, to reveal the sad truth that he had never been aught save a body servant and musician, who had always privately considered himself to be a coward.
    But here he rode, booted, armored and helmeted, with shield and spear, saber and dirk, bestriding a well-bred and trained warhorse, whose even, distance-eating strides were bearing him toward yet another combat—his third, now. And he was frightened, every bit as frightened as he had been at the first, that night on the lonely, moon-dappled road. But, now, he would die ere he would allow that fear to surface, to show its shamefulness to this affable young officer and his troopers, all of whom had immediately and naturally accepted him as a warrior like themselves.
    Old
Komees
Djeen, himself, had commended him to the light-cavalry commander, resting his handless, armored arm over the valet’s shoulders and saying, “My comrade, Geros, knows that road better than most, having right often ridden it in the service of his employer, poor young Ahndee. He’ll make you a good guide and,” he chuckled good-naturedly, “a right good lance to add to your troop, too.”
    Chuckling again, he squeezed Geros with his hooked arm, continuing, “Just don’t let Geros’ gentle speech and modest manner delude you as it did me. He’s a stark warrior, is our Geros. Why not too many days agone, he rode off alone, armed with only a boar spear, and fought his way back to Horse Hall to fetch aid for his master and the High Lord and the
thoheeks
! Rode in with that spear all blood from tip to ferrule! But, by Sun and Wind, no sooner was he rearmed and remounted than he rode back out with the rest of us to have at the damned rebels again!
    “And have at them, he did,
Prehsvootehros
Ehlyuht!”
    There, in the hot, sun-drenched courtyard of Morguhn Hall, in an eyewink of time, Geros relived the darkness, confusion and icy-cold crawling fear. After a few volleys of arrows,
Komees
Djeen’s column had poured across that blood-slimy, corpse-cobbled bridge, hurdling the windrow of mutilated men and hacked horses which marked the spot where
Vahrohneeskos
Ahndros and
Thoheeks
Bili and the High Lord had made their stand. Then it was into the inky tunnel between the trees, hot on the heels of the routed rebels.
    It was a good hunter they had put Geros upon, strong, leggy and fresh, not already ridden several leagues during the preceding day, like the mounts of the
Komees
and his Freefighters. Consequently, Geros shortly found himself to be the unintended point of the column, and so was the first to come up with the enemy.
    As Geros pounded up behind, a rebel halted and turned his lathered mount, an errant sliver of moonlight silvering the length of his bared swordblade. Heedless of who heard his whines of terror, Geros extended his fresh spear, hoping against hope to fend off his opponent long enough for those behind to come up and succor him. Crouching low in his saddle, plastered to the galloping hunter’s neck and mouthing childhood prayers, he fully expected to feel at any moment the agony of steel in his quaking flesh.
    But what he felt, when feel he did, was a shock which almost unhorsed him. Forgetting once again, as he had in the brief melee on the road to Horse Hall, that his “staff” bore a wide, knife-edged, needle-tipped blade on the end, he was mightily surprised when a bone-chilling scream interrupted his