Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

Emhelee whipped around and sought the speaker. Midnight was not a man’s name, nor a woman’s either.

“I! I! Supid two-legs, I should show you the Steel of my warhooves. I should trample and kill you, mash you to redness! I am over here!”

“Here is not very helpful,” Emhelee beamed back, offended. She understood it was a warhorse who bespoke her, yet she had done nothing to incite the stallion to such anger. The only horse she had ever bespoken in Harzburk, the ancient mare Meehah, had warned her about the stallions.

Then Emhelee heard a rustling sound and a leggy black colt stepped elegantly from the woods. The young stallion had certainly chosen a name that described him well. His shining jet coat was unbroken by any white markings as he trotted closer to Emhelee.

“You’re beautiful,” Emhelee beamed, remembering that Meehah had told her to always praise young stallions. “Midnight is a perfect name—how clever of you to have chosen it. And surely I could use your aid against enemies on this road as I travel to Morguhnpolis. How do you come to be here and alone, Midnight?”

“I should ask you just as well, two-legs. As yet 1 do not even know your name as you know mine. Midnight is as brave as the Moon and as bold as Steel itself. But you look to be no warrior. You are too little and wear no armor.” The black colt nosed the girl suspiciously.

Emhelee thought fast. “Yes, that is true. My name is Emhelee and I am going from this place to find my father, who is one of the greatest warriors in all the Confederation. I do not know exactly where the Confederation is, but 1 shall find it. And when I do, if you care to come with me, there will be more fine fighters and warhorses than we have ever seen in my father’s army. 1 am sure that such a noble brother as yourself could choose between as many bold young Kindred as he pleased, and perhaps become King Midnight ere the year grows cold.”

Midnight pranced around a few steps, inspecting the girl. “You’re a filly! And a baby one, too, only a two-legged foal.”

“True enough,” Emhelee agreed. “So there is neither use nor honor in fighting me. Victory is too easily assured and proves neither your valor nor skill. But escort me to my father’s home and you shall have stories and deeds that all will tremble to hear. And it is truth that we are both young to be away from home.”

Midnight snorted, and then nuzzled Emhelee. “Do you have any apples?” he asked. “I am very fond of apples.”

Four days on the road passed peacefully. It was late enough in the spring that Emhelee found early berries and tender greens. With a sling she could bring down birds, at least those who did not flee at the thrashing she and Midnight made as they journeyed. For his part, Midnight found enough tender young grass to keep well filled, and if he complained about the lack of apples and other delicacies it was all for form.

On the morning of the fifth day they left the main road for a smaller track. “The army is well ahead,” Emheiee beamed to Midnight, “but it’s safer this way, I think. They need the road, so any fighting, of course, will be there. I would avoid battle as best we can, and that means we should stay well away from the army.”

“Avoid battle?” Midnight bespoke her, contempt shading the meaning of his thought. “I do not avoid battles. And you promised me stories of valor to tell.”

“You don’t have any proper armor and I don’t have a good sword,” Emhelee improvised. “It is not noble to ride into battle without armor. It is just stupid.”

The argument had become old on the road, and now was a source of solace to them both. The girl knew that the colt was only posturing, even if he believed his own words. No proper herd would permit a mere yearling to begin war training, let alone do the deeds that Midnight longed to boast of. She walked without looking, thinking about the colt and why he was here alone.

A mindspeaking war stallion, though only a yearling, was surely worth more than she could imagine. When she had been the lowest assistant scullery maid in the kitchens, she had heard whispers of this horse or that, how one was ill or another had saved the lord’s son. She remembered Kahl, the heir of Harzburk, often came into the kitchens at odd times hunting for a fine apple or carrot or other treats for his brother. Why a colt like Midnight was wandering far from his ilk she could not even begin to understand. Nor could she ask Midnight. Since they had first met, he had refused to answer any of her questions. She wondered if he was like herself, in search of a truer home.

For herself Emhelee was not afraid. She had always planned this, ever since her mother had first told her about the valiant young fosterling of the house who had become her father. She had been only eight when her mother had brought out the knife and showed it to her, setting it in the place of honor in front of the hearth of their tiny hut.

“Emhelee,” her mother had said carefully, “you are soon to be a young woman and no more a girl, so it is fitting for you to know of your father. He was a nobleman, the heir to the House of Morguhn of the Confederation.” Her mother had recited the names by rote, as things learned carefully and not to be forgotten, but not to be truly understood. “He was a great warrior already so young, and now will be greater still. His name is known by all, and honored as high as the God Milo, for your father is called Bili the Axe.”

Emhelee had gasped and held fast to the leg of her stool. Even she had heard that name. But her own father?

“When he was here as a fosterling,” her mother continued, “I was lucky enough to catch his eye for more than one night. He left to return to Morguhnpolis before you w'ere bom, but a good and thoughtful man he was. Two nights before he left he visited me and gave me this knife. He told me that if my child was his son, to give the boy the knife and send him south when he reached an age to be trained to war. And that if my child was a girl, then the knife should be sold for no less than three silver pieces, that she should be properly dowered and wed.”

That had seemed enough and more to Emhelee. It was a good and generous lord who left some inheritance to a by-blo.v with a serving wench. No, Emhelee had first wanted to go south to see this fine person who was her father. The next year there was much gossip in the kitchen about another girl, the daughter of nearby Kindred by a servant much like Emhelee. This girl had been properly given in marriage to one of her father’s sergeants because the girl had strong mindspeak. All the girls in the kitchens, and the woman too, had talked of nothing else for days. The Undying had urged those with mindspeak to marry others with that particular gift, but still it was amazing that it should lead to a laundry helper actually marrying a sergeant. With gifts from the family too, it was said, a fine bed with a down coverlet and copper and one silver plate and a mare from the lord’s own stable.

If some other wench could marry so well, Emhelee thought, she coufd too. She had been able to use mindspeech since before she could remember, since before she could talk aloud. Of course, it was rare for her to bespeak a person. Most everyone of her rank was mind-deaf, and she dared not bespeak one higher. So she had sought out those animals who would have conversation with her, the mare Meehah being her best friend.

Surely, she thought, if her father knew that she had inherited his talent she would be welcomed in Morguhnpolis. Most likely he had never mentioned this possibility to her mother because he was sure that his child would be mind-deaf, as was the usual case with such unions.

Her thoughts so occupied, she did not notice the rustling of the leaves behind her, the man-noises on the trail. Midnight had gone up ahead to find some tender grass, as he had done every day of their travels. Two-legs were too slow, he had insisted, especially silly, mooning fillies. So it was not until she was stopped by a spear pointed level at her breast that she noticed there were others in the woods.

Emhelee began to scream. There was nothing else to do.

She knew these men, the kind they were. She had seen them often enough, villagers with airs who thought themselves Freefighters when all they were was rabble. She had heard Meehah say so many times.

As she screamed they laughed. The largest one came over and pinched her arm. “Not much meat there, is there?” he boomed. The men leered.

“No, she’s not for you,” the large man said. “For the thrice-damned Ehleenee priests, blast their black robes. But they pay well enough. Well enough for an untouched one, that is. So keep your hands off and we’ll have more than enough to feast on soon.”

Emhelee became very quiet. She understood at least a little of their meaning. They were not going to violate her, at least not now. They were going to bring her to the Ehleenee priests, of whom she had heard no good, but no real evil either. What they would want with her she couldn’t imagine, but whatever it was precluded permitting these men their natural vices. She stayed still as they bound her and set her on a pony.

“My father will pay well for my release,” Emhelee broadbeamed to the little band. She waited for an answer, for the feeling of touching another mind, and then tried again. There was no answer. Mind-deaf, they were, and that suited her perfectly. She had hoped but had not expected it.

“Midnight!” she beamed out in the direction he had gone. “Midnight, help! Two-legs have me! Stinking ones!”

There was no reply. She didn’t know where Midnight was, or if he was close enough to hear her. In panic she tried again, this time sending out broadly, trying to catch a touch of her companion.

The silence that answered her echoed in her mind. She could not find Midnight, and without the stallion, colt though he might be, she was truly alone. She began to sob quietly.

“Stop sniveling, girl,” the large man commanded her. “Or you’ll never get to the priests. Damn if we need you— there are others here. And they aren’t all that careful who they take, if you get my meaning.”

Emhelee gulped softly and pressed her eyes shut. Perhaps the priests would be kind. She knew that the Ehleenee were soft, decadent, not in the least admired among those of Harzburk. But it was possible that among them she would be unbound and could slip away. One thing she had heard was that mindspeak was rare among the Ehleenee, a thing she found hard to credit. Among those of Harzburk it was nearly as likely as not, no matter a person’s rank.

They stopped for food. The men did not untie Emhelee, but she was given a few swallows of water and a bit of cheese, which she could hardly keep down in her fear. Even the taste did not help, although it had been many days since she had had such a luxury. Her arms ached and her skin was chafed from the coarse rope that held her tight.

Then, as the band remounted and Emhelee was settled roughly on the pony, she caught a flicker of shadow between the trees. “Midnight?” she beamed cautiously.