Free A Cat Of Silvery Hue by Robert Adams Page A

in case the swine flee along this road…though I doubt me they’ll head
into
Morguhn.”
    The young captain frowned thoughtfully. “Why not a platoon then, Lord Hari? Surely thirty of my troopers will be sufficient to deal with any number of the scum we’ve encountered so far.”
    The old nobleman shrugged. “Whatever you think best, Gaib, for you do know your men better than I.”
    So it was that the chosen platoon, grumbling as soldiers always have and always will, watched the last of the long, single column finally disappear among the trees, heading roughly west and south.
    The mixed column, paralleling the course of Forest Creek, clove to the woods path almost to the unmarked border between Horse County and Sheep County, domain of
Komees
Djeen Morguhn, forded the creek and then followed another game trail and a succession of tiny glades, heading almost due south. They rode in silence—no bugle or shouts, all orders being transmitted in hushed tones from each rider to the one behind. They rode with visors down and beavers up, bows strung, arrows nocked, swords out, though due to the narrowness of the ways they traversed, targets were left slung.
    In every glade, they found horse droppings and the marks of hooves; obviously a goodly number of horses were roaming far deeper into the forest than was either normal or safe—and
Komees
Hari was troubled by the fact.
    “Dammit, Vaskos, Red Death must be easing into senility to let them stray thus! He
knows
the dangers of the forest, what with boars and bears and treecats, not to mention lack of proper graze. Why, in your grandfather’s youth, there was still a goodly herd of shaggy-bulls in this forest, and as late as ten years ago, I slew a damned big mountain cat not two hours’ ride from here!”
    In the interest of continued silence, the old lord had mindspoken. With his mind open and receptive, he awaited Vaskos’ reply but received the mindspeak of another.
    “My brother…my loved brother, Hari. Red Death sorrows that he has displeased his brother. But the two-legs from my brother’s hall hunt us. Hunt horses as they would hunt deer or boar, with spear and dart and arrow. So Red Death and his subchiefs fled here and have not been pursued.”
    “My brother has not displeased his brother,” Hari beamed, simply and bluntly. “His brother did not know of the terrible things done by the two-legs of the hall. All are aware that King Red Death is both valiant and wise, and he did what he thought best: that he and his were not pursued shows the sagacity of his choice.”
    “But, my brother, come to me. There is like to be fighting this day and your brother would feel better with his brave, wise and fearsome brother betwixt his legs, when swords ring.”
    There was infinite sadness in the king stallion’s mindspeak then. “Ah, my dear brother, Red Death cannot come to you, cannot even stand. In the first fight with the two-legs, Red Death slew two of them but took a wound which has turned evil, and he would long since have been food for the carrion birds or the scuttling creatures of the forest had not his valiant sons watched over him. Will not Red Death’s true brother come to this place and bring water?”
    The mindspeak had been weak and Hari had closed his eyes in concentration. When he opened them, the tears spilled over and coursed through the dust coating his stubbled cheeks. His gauntleted fist beat upon his armored thigh with enough force to all but dent the princegrade Pitzburk plate.
    Of Vaskos he inquired, “Did you receive, my son?” At the shaking of the steel-encased head, he said, “It is Red Death—my brother. He is…is badly hurt. That slimy bitch! She failed to slay you, so she struck at the only other creature she knows I love! He has a festered wound, cannot rise, and is being guarded by the young stallions. And he…he thirsts. Give me your water bottle.”
    With Hari’s departure, Vaskos recrossed the glade, now beginning to fill