"Adams, Robert - Horseclans 05 - The Savage Mountains 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Adams Robert)

"You all know that I ... uhh, had my differences with our late thoheeks. But Hwahruhn, at least, was loved and respected by all his folk. Bili, his son, will never own anything save their fear and hate."

Bili smiled humorlessly. "Regrettably, my late father was often ill and almost always weak-willed, Komees Djeen. As you have learned, I am neither. If love and respect bred this damned rebellion, I can well do without both.

"As regards the 'airing of truths," had not you and the vahrohneeskos so well served me and the Confederation, of late, I might think you both closet rebels, such is your concern for the gentle treatment and welfare of traitors."

"Why, you arrogant young whelp!" The white-haired nobleman sprang to his feet, his hand going to his swordhilt "I was serving the Confederation when you were being given suck! How dare you question my loyalty ... or that of Ahndee, who is a better man than ever you'll be!"

Dark, slender Djaik Morguhn sidled himself to block the direct path between his brother and the furious komees. Nor was he the only one in the pavilion to have risen. Vaskos Daiviz, son and heir of Komees Hari, stood fingering the pommel of his broadsword; so, too, did all three Freefighter officers . . . and Sir Geros.

Arising suddenly, old Komees Hari Daiviz slapped his son's hand from proximity to his hilt and strode purposefully toward the dais, his rolling gait bespeaking the percentage of his fifty-odd years spent on the back of a horse.

"Now, by Sun and Wind, gentlemen, I never thought me to live to see my own kindred, the nobility of Morguhn, brawling like drunken Ehleenee trollops and pimps!

"Djaik Morguhn, resume your seat, please. Your brother stands in no danger. Djeen, if you draw that blade, you'll be needing a hook for the other hand, as well . . . and you have known me long enough to know I mean it."

"Damn it, Hari!" the one-eyed komees burst out petulantly. "You heard what this young whippersnapper said about me and Ahndee! And we've the right to be heard!"

"Just shut up and sit down!" Komees Hari snapped impatiently. "You've said more than enough already."

Ahndros opened his mouth, but Komees Hari spotted the movement from the corner of his eye and whirled on the vahrohneeskos, barking, "So, too, have you, Ahndee. This be a war council, not a Thirds Meeting. You, all of us, are here to receive our chief's orders, to advise him if he requests such. And I've heard no request.

"Now, I don't much cotton to the idea of granting amnesty to rebel dogs, but the High Lord has no choice; that much is plain as horse turds on snow. Nor have any of us any choice, gentlemen. The High Lord has given his orders to his thoheeksee; our own thoheeks and chief has dutifully transmitted those orders to us. It be our sworn and rightful duty to learn how best we can obey, not launch yet another senseless round of who-struck-Djahn to the point where tempers rise and swords come clear. We all be supposedly responsible, adult noblemen and officers. Let us act the parts, eh?"

He turned to Bili and offered formal salute of clansman to chief. "What would you of my son and me, Bili?"

Drehkos Daiviz did not really begin to believe it until the third message arrow was brought to him. Carefully, he unrolled the vellum bound behind the hollow brass head, smooth it out and laid it beside the two others on his cluttered desktop. The three were identical, obviously written by the same hand.

In Modern Ehleeneekos, they read:

"Milos Morai, High Lord of the Confederation of Southern Peoples, sends greetings to Vahroneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The High Lord would confer with said vahrohneeskos, at his earliest convenience, that conditions may be agreed upon for the honorable capitulation of the garrison, inhabitants and city of Vawnpolis. Penned under the direction of the High Lord by Pehtros Makintahsh, Adjutant. Signed: Milos Moral."

Drehkos rested his head between his hands, his bare elbows on the desk, protruding through his well-worn shirt. Furiously, he massaged his gray-shot temples, then opened his eyes and read the message through again . . . and yet again. And still it was as a dream.

This was exactly what he had promised his ragtag garrison, never for a moment deluding himself that such would ever truly come to pass. He had felt himself and every other soul within Vawnpolis irrevocably doomed and the rejections of his three attempts to treat, combined with the besiegers' steadfast refusal to suffer prisoners to live, had but reinforced his conviction. Nonetheless, he had dangled the carrot of hope before his starveling ragamuffins. Over and over, he had assured them that, could they but cost the besiegers enough losses and hold out until planting time, terms would surely be granted to spare at least the lives of the common folk.

And now the impossible dream was become fact . . . hard fact.

As the first rays of the rising sun illumined the small, spartan room, the vahrohneeskos' servant entered to find his master slumped over the desk, his body racked with heaving sobs.

Drehkos arrived at the pavilion of the High Lord attended only by a pair of commoner-officers, all three of them astride guardsmen's horses, escorted by Keeleeohstos Sahndros Druhmuhnd, commander of the High Lord's horseguards. Inside the brazier-heated pavilion, the rebels were led to where the High Lord, the High Lady Aldora and Ahrkeethoheeks Lahmahnt sat ranged behind a heavy table.

After saluting, the keeleeohstos gruffly reported, "My Lord Milo, here be Vahrohneeskos Drehkos Daiviz of Morguhn. The other two rebels be commoner-officers of the vahrohneeskos'. Would my lord be wanting guards within?"

Milo slowly shook his head. "No need, good Sahndros. Go back and find yourself a brazier and a tipple. I'll mindcall when and if I want you."

From the moment he had been ushered in, Drehkos had stood open-mouthed, staring at the lean, saturnine figure of the High Lord. As the keeleeohstos clanked out, the rebel leader suddenly exclaimed, "But . . . what witchery be this? You . . . you be the bard . . . Klairuhnz, wasn't it? I had wine with you at ... at my brother's hall last spring, before any of this unpleasantness commenced."

A smile flitted briefly across Milo's lips. "I had reason, then, Lord Drehkos, for concealing my identity. A traveling bard is always welcome in village or city or hall, among Kindred or Ehleenee. So, can you think of a better guise?"