The Patrimony by Robert Adams Read Free Book Online

of metallic sounds as targets were unslung and the various points and fastenings of armor checked. Without a word, the lieutenant kneed his mount forward until he was abreast of his mistress.
    When he had halted his steed, the point rider saluted. “My lady, a column approaches; their van be less than half a mile from this place. I counted a score of dragoons and at least two noblemen, no baggage.”
    “Is there a banner, man?” put in Duke Bahrt. “I’d like to know what scapegrace leads armed men across my land without a by-your-leave.”
    The Freefighter nodded. “Aye, my lord, it looked to be a bird of some kind. Red, I think.”
    Bahrt slapped his thigh. “The Red Eagle of Morguhn, by Sun! Bili’s come to meet you himself, my lady. I should’ve expected that of him.”
    The lady turned to the lieutenant “No cause for alarm, Leeahn, it’s the archduke, Bili of Morguhn, my half brother.”
    Had the pointman watched a bit longer, he would have seen that the column from the south was assuredly no war party. It moved at an ambling walk, and the only man erect in his saddle was the pennon bearer, and he was kept alert only by the occasional gust of wind from off the distant mountains that unexpectedly bellied out the heavy, silken banner and made fair to tear the ashwood shaft from his grasp. The twenty troopers behind him slouched in restful postures, feet loose from stirrups and many with a leg hooked up around saddle pommel. They chatted and joked and cackled, blew at the sweat coursing down their faces and now and then sucked at the sun-warmed water in their journey-bottles.
    But the short, powerful hornbows protruding from their cases were strung, the quivers were all full, and a heavy saber depended from every man’s belt The armor which peeked from under the light cotton surcoats had been polished to the sheen of fine silver, and, indeed, every scrap of their equipment mirrored the devotion and hard work of upkeep. One familiar with warriors would not have needed to see the hard-eyed, scarred faces to ascertain that these men were professionals or to guess how quickly, for all their present relaxation, they could become two tens of mounted, steel-swinging death to any rash enough to oppose them.
    A few paces ahead of the pennonman, astride identical black stallions, rode two noblemen. The elder—thick of body, wide at hip and shoulder, big, square hands thickly dusted with fine blond hairs, lined, scarred face cleanly shaven— rode in silence, listening to the younger, his favorite son.
    “… so there we sat, Father, through the whole damned night, all twelve thousand of us. Had we attacked immediately we arrived, at dusk, before all the barbarian host had assembled, we could have slaughtered them piecemeal. But no, we must perforce hunker down until dawn, then assault the works they’d been preparing all night. The upshot of that idiocy was near two thousand casualties. And, after the fact, when it was far too late to save those good men we’d lost Senior
Strahteegos Vahrohnos
Gaib of Hweelahk and his entourage rode into camp.”
    “
I’ve
not seen Gaib in twenty years, I guess.” The elder showed strong, yellow teeth in a broad grin.
    “He’s inspector of cavalry, Father. But when he saw and heard all, he relieved
Strahteegos Vahrohnos
Hwyt on the spot, sent the craven bastard back to Kehnooryos Atheenahs under guard, and took over command himself. Then he called all commanders of field grade to his pavilion and had each of us tell all we knew of the Djahrehtee opposing us, of Skuhltuhn, the approaches to which they were defending and of the lay of the country thereabouts. He pored over the maps for a bit, then called us all back from the wine tun and issued his orders.
    “As soon as it was dark, he sent out the cats to sweep any barbarian scouts from the area. Then, ceding command of the camp and the infantry to Sub-strahteegos
Vahrohnos
Djak Sanderz of Kahrtuh, he took all of the cavalry on a