Scabbard's Song by Kim Hunter

difficulty with our tongue. I was with your husband some time. You know, we have good brains, and it did not take me long to gather a considerable vocabulary and learn to use the grammar. Yes, of course. Forgive me. My prejudices are showing. Its just that one of us would not learn as quickly. Wo shrugged and gave that lolling smile he used, as if to say, well, there you go, we are superior at some things. He and Layana talked some more. There was supper, of wild fowls and honey, with wine, tea and coffee, then Wo went back to his clan. Soldier gave the dog-men permission to camp and provided them with food and water. Many of the Carthagans, especially recruits newly arrived from their home country, remained curious. They wandered to the edge of their own camp and stared across at these men with the heads of dogs, sitting round their camp fires, erecting tents, and doing much the same chores as they did themselves. One young Carthagan asked a veteran soldier, Do they eat raw meat? Why, sometimes in emergencies, but mostly they eat it cooked. Cooked meat is easier to digest and they of course have human stomachs. And before you ask, yes, they eat vegetables too. And fish. And fowl. And bread. All the things you and I might eat. In most ways they are not so very different. But they howl. I have heard them howl. Yes, and they bark and yip and yelp. But they fight as well as any Carthagan, if a little recklessly. Its their recklessness which is their failing. They have little discipline and throw themselves at the enemy - which is usually us with abandon. We defeat them because they are an undisciplined horde, not for any reasons of superior fighting skills. They havent learned to be an army? No, and when they do, by the gods we must hone ourselves. While this conversation was taking place, things were happening in the city: momentous things. General Kaff had spoken to his Imperial Guard. He gauged their mood with their king. Kings and queens, tyrants and despots, had always run things in most countries. There was one small isle, a place called Hellest, where the people chose their king, changed him every three years, but such quirky government was not really approved of outside this one tiny state. For the most part kings were born and kings named their heirs and the people got what they were given. However, there were bad kings and there were not-so-bad kings, and Humbold was regarded as one of the former. He overused his power, decreed laws which were unpopular, executed with wild abandon, paid scant attention to good judgements in disputes between citizens, and the worst king-crime of all was attempting to have himself made a living god, absolute. These failings did not endear him to his troops. It was true he gave them special privileges over other citizens, paid them well, and let them do much as they liked in the taverns and inns of the town, but any king would have done as much. The old queen had given them all these favours. Thus when Kaff suggested they send him on his way, most of them agreed at once, and the others took only a little more time. None of them were looking forward to a long siege, with the famine, disease and confinement that sieges bring. When they learned that there would be no punishments, that they would retain all their rights and freedoms, that all they had to do was take one man - a recent upstart usurper - and send him packing why, soon the whole Imperial Guard was happy to march on the Palace of Birds and exile the king. Kaff confronted Humbold in his boudoir. The King was in his silk nightgown, clutching the Jewelled Sword of Kingship which he himself had had forged. I have the symbol of my office, he said to Kaff. You you traitor you must bow before it, bow before me. Kaff stepped forward and with his good hand snatched the sword from the old mans grasp. Time to go. Lucky for you, with your life. I could strike you down now and no one would weep. Not even these two . . . He spoke of the sisters