Free A Cat Of Silvery Hue by Robert Adams Page B

with Freefighters as they debouched from the forest. Wordlessly, he signed them to dismount and rest or see to their horses. When Captain Linstahk, his blond mustachios sweat-plastered to his face, emerged from amongst the trees and brush, Hari’s son kneed over to the officer.
    “Gaib, pass back word for the column to halt in place. They can probably use the rest since we’ve been on the march for nearly nine hours now. My father was mindspoken by his king stallion, who lies injured nearby, dying, from what he told me. He loves that horse in a way that you possibly cannot understand, and nothing is now more important than that he go to him, take him water, try to ease his suffering.”
    When the captain raised his visor, there was deep sympathy in his green eyes. Laying his swordhand on the big man’s shoulderplate, he said, “But I
do
understand, Vaskos. My own father,
Vahrohnos
Djahsh Linstahk, breeds horses, you know. Between him and his king stallion there is a…a…well, it is as if the two of them were of the same birthing.”
    “But this still be hostile territory, Vaskos. The lord should not be alone. Let us go to him and…wait, my squadron has a horse-leech, nor is he far down the column, as I recall; I will pass word for him to join us. Perhaps he can do something.”
    Djehsz Reeguhn truly loved horses and exercised all possible gentleness in his examination of Red Death’s grievously infected wound. Nonetheless, the stallion’s neck and legs jerked, his eyes rolled, he snorted and snuffled, and twice he screamed. Arising, his sensitive face set in hard lines, the horse-leech wiped foul-smelling greenish pus from his hands with a handful of leaves torn from the bush, then approached the
komees
who sat weeping unashamed tears onto the big, scarred head cradled in his lap.
    “My lord, I suspect that the weapon was envenomed or at least dungcoated, for the infection is far advanced. Were he a man, I would say, ‘Dose him with brandy, club him senseless and saw off the leg.’ I have seen such done with horses, but, weak as he is, he would not survive that shock. He cannot live for long, in any case, and, as you know, he suffers greatly. Believe me, my lord, I sorrow with you, but there is only one thing we can now do for him.” His hand strayed to the short, heavy axe cased at his belt.
    Hari nodded, his tear-shiny face glinting in the noon sun. “Thank you, sergeant, thank you for everything. But I…we know, we knew even before, but I had hoped…” He broke off, chokedly.
    After a moment of silence, Sergeant Reeguhn uncased his mercy-axe and placed it on the well-cropped grass of the tiny glade, straightened and stepped back. “My lord, considering his position, a deathstroke would be difficult with a sword but very easy with my axe. If my lord wishes, I have sent many a brave, suffering horse to Wind—”
    “No…again my thanks, sergeant, but no. He is
my
brother. I will do what must be done for him. Please leave us now, but send my son to me.”
    Vaskos squatted beside his father, laid his big, calloused hand on Red Death’s damp cheek and stroked him tenderly. As always, physical contact made mindspeak easier, and the dying stallion bespoke him.
    “Get of my brother, Red Death knows but little of you, for you were already gone a-warring when he first saw Sacred Sun. You have pleased my brother, he mindspeaks of you often and well, mindspeaks of your valor and weapons skills and of your glorious deeds and of how highly your captains regard you. These are things Red Death can understand and admire, for he was long years the brother and warhorse of King Ahlbehrt of Pitzburk.”
    “Red Death loves battle, get of my brother, loves the feel of plated thigh forking him, loves the peal of the bugle and the ring of the sword, loves the wild gallop of the charge and the shock of its arrival, loves the sensation of rending flesh under his steelshod hooves…but Red Death has fought his last fight, get