by David Weber
Tothas himself was a cause of some concern, however. The man wore the crossed mace and sword of the Church of Tomanak on an amulet about his neck. He felt solid, somehow, yet whatever illness he'd suffered from must have been both protracted and severe. He was tall for a human, and rangy, built much along the same lines as Rianthus—indeed, but for his chestnut hair and blue eyes, he reminded Bahzell a great deal of Kilthan's captain—but his haggard face was badly wasted and his chain hauberk hung on his gaunt frame. He moved briskly, and he'd accepted his mistress' arrival with two hradani in tow with remarkable calm, but his hands trembled ever so slightly, and he'd stopped once or twice as if he were short of breath. Still, his equipment was well cared for, and he had the look of a man who knew how to use both the sword at his side and the short horsebow on his back.
The maid, Rekah, was another matter. She was taller than Zarantha, and much fairer. In fact, she was considerably prettier than her mistress, in a soft-edged sort of way. Zarantha could not be many years out of her teens, and her nose was strong and slightly hooked, her hair dark and her triangular face lively but decidedly lean, while Rekah was a bit older, with golden hair, a sweet, oval face, and a straight little nose. She was also better dressed than Zarantha, but she had a pronounced tendency to flutter, and she'd shrunk back in dismay when Bahzell followed her mistress into their poorly furnished rooms. She'd settled down when Zarantha explained, yet her initial squeak of panic seemed a poor augury. Rekah, Bahzell thought, wouldn't have produced a dagger if she'd been caught in an alley; she would have been too busy flailing about and screaming for help.
Still, it was early days yet, he told himself—then snorted at his own thought. From what little he did remember about the Empire of the Spear's geography, they'd have more than sufficient days for him to learn all the strengths and weaknesses of their small party!
The one thing that had truly bothered him was Zarantha's manner when they reached the docks. She'd been brisk and purposeful getting things organized and chivvying Rekah and Tothas through the city, but once they neared the river she'd fallen back beside her maid and become a totally different person. She'd exchanged her torn skirt and cloak for sturdy trousers, a leather cap, and an equally plain coat of Axeman cut before leaving the inn; once at dockside, she'd pulled the cap down over her ears, turned up her coat collar, and huddled down in it almost as if she were trying to hide. She'd been colorless and passive, almost timid, leaving everything in Bahzell's hands without so much as a word, and he hadn't missed how close Tothas stayed to her or the way his hand kept checking his sword hilt.
Of course, this was ni'Tarth's domain. That was certainly enough to account for Tothas' attitude, but Zarantha had seemed far less frightened of ni'Tarth earlier. Bahzell couldn't shake the notion that she was worried by something more than the wrath of a Riverside crime lord, however powerful, and he chewed his lip unhappily at the thought. Little though he cared for the situation he'd landed in, he found himself liking Zarantha, almost against his will, and his stubborn sense that there was more—or possibly less—to her than she'd chosen to admit bothered him more than he cared to admit.
Unfortunately, Brandark had found the perfect way to distract him from his worries. The Bloody Sword was following through on his threat to write his thrice-bedamned Lay of Bahzell Bloody-Hand. Worse, he'd chosen to set it to the tune of a well-known—and dismayingly memorable—drinking song, and he'd insisted on singing the first three verses under his breath while he and Bahzell struggled to get the animals aboard the ferry. Now he sat on the lip of the ferry's single, squat deckhouse, looking down through the open skylight at Rekah and Zarantha while he plucked out the melody on his balalaika and regaled them with his work to date.
Bahzell folded his arms, standing in the very prow of the ferry—as far from his friend as he could get—and gritted his teeth as the balalaika's spritely notes rippled through the creak of the sweeps and the sounds of rushing water. The fact that Brandark's voice was doing a better job than usual of staying with the music did nothing at all to sweeten his mood—and neither did the gurgle of female laughter that greeted the Bloody Sword's efforts.
Bahzell Bahnakson stared glumly ahead into the Dreamwater's drifting mist, and the unpleasant suspicion that this was going to be a very long journey filled him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It wasn't necessary to buy maps after all.
A chance remark from Brandark informed Tothas of their need shortly after the ferry set them ashore once more, and the guardsman blinked, then gave his youthful mistress a scolding look and produced his own map. Bahzell matched the Spearman's look with a glower of his own, but Zarantha—who'd regained her normal spirits as soon as the ferry vanished back into the mists—only grinned, and Brandark's smothered laughter didn't help. Bahzell had already reached the unhappy suspicion that his friend's and Zarantha's souls were entirely too much akin; now he was certain of it.
But at least he could get some idea of where he was bound, and it was even worse than he'd feared. He sat on the cold ground, opened the map across his thighs, found the scale, and located Alfroma, then tried to hide his dismay as he walked thumb and forefinger across the map. Alfroma was six hundred leagues from Riverside as the bird flew, but they were no birds, and this Sherhan place wasn't even shown.
"Could you be showing me just where Sherhan is?" he asked, and Tothas leaned over his shoulder to point to a location southeast of Alfroma. It would be on the far side of the city, Bahzell thought, and sat studying the map in glum silence for over ten minutes while frost melted under his backside.
The best of maps could hide unpleasant surprises, but even if this one didn't, following the roads would add another two hundred leagues, and they'd have to hunt and forage on the way. Either that or stop periodically to earn the money, somehow, for the next stage. Worse, Tothas had already assured him the roads got worse—much worse—once they left Angthyr.
Of course, they had sound beasts and no wagons. That would be a plus on bad roads, but this little jaunt would take them two months by his most favorable estimate. And that assumed two women and a man fresh from his sickbed could stand the sort of pace on horseback that a Horse Stealer could set on foot. Zarantha probably could; Rekah and Tothas were another matter, and the scarlet and gold leaves were already falling.
He looked up to meet Tothas' eyes, and the Spearman's expression matched his own. The others probably had no idea what they faced. Rekah certainly didn't, or she would have been far less cheerful. He suspected Zarantha had a sounder appreciation of what awaited them, whether she chose to admit it or not, but Brandark, for all his toughness, was city-bred, and he'd never made a forced march through sleet or snow in his life. Bahzell had; that was why winter campaigning had never appealed to him, and, from Tothas' face, he'd seen his own share of winter marches. Clearly, he looked forward to this one no more than Bahzell did, which raised an interesting question. If he knew what he was getting into, why hadn't he even tried to talk Zarantha out of it? Especially in his weakened condition?
Bahzell was fairly certain he wouldn't have liked the answer to that question if he'd known it. He sighed once more, then stood, handed the map back to Tothas, shouldered his arbalest, and set off through the ground fog with the others at his heels.
The fog burned away as the morning drew on, and Bahzell's heart rose as his ill-assorted party moved more briskly than he'd dared hope.
Zarantha's mule proved just as fractious as its wicked eyes suggested. It made a determined attempt to take a mouthful out of Bahzell's arm when she pushed up past Brandark to ask the Horse Stealer a question, but she controlled the abortive lunge with the ease of long practice and favored it with a description of its ancestry, personal habits, and probable fate that made both hradani cock their ears in appreciation. The mule seemed unimpressed, but though it eyed Bahzell's arm with wistful longing it also settled down, and the Horse Stealer answered Zarantha's question. She reined around and pressed with her heels to
ask for a trot, and Bahzell snorted as he watched her post gracefully back to her place beside Rekah. Stay on a horse, indeed!
Tothas and Brandark changed off places at midday. The armsman rode companionably at Bahzell's shoulder, and the Horse Stealer began picking his brain about the conditions they were likely to face. The hradani didn't much care for what he learned, but that wasn't Tothas' fault. The Spearman's answers were those of a man who knew exactly what Bahzell was asking, and why. They also confirmed his own insight into the rigors stretching before them, and his every word only deepened Bahzell's puzzlement. The man was obviously of officer quality; Rianthus would have given him platoon or company command in a heartbeat. What he was doing with a penniless "noblewoman" like Zarantha baffled the hradani, but he was plainly more than a simple hireling. Even when he rode at the head of their short column with Bahzell, the corner of his eye was perpetually on Zarantha, and the answers that were so forthcoming when it came to road conditions and terrain became politely vague whenever the conversation turned towards his mistress.
It would have required someone far stupider than Bahzell to think Zarantha hadn't concealed a great deal about herself, yet the fact that Tothas was so ready to support her deception—whatever it was—reassured the Horse Stealer oddly. He couldn't have said why, except that he found himself liking Tothas even more than he liked Zarantha herself. Besides, he told himself, Zarantha might have any number of legitimate reasons for caution. Her willingness to travel at this time of year was compelling evidence her situation was grave, if not desperate, and if she'd manipulated Bahzell and Brandark into helping her, that didn't mean she had reason to trust two hradani she hadn't yet had time to learn to know.
They held to a good pace all day and continued straight past the village they reached shortly before sunset. Bahzell longed for the comfort of a roof and walls, but they had too few kormaks to squander on inns. He kept his eye out as they moved on down the high road, but it was Tothas who spotted the perfect campsite. A thicket of intermixed pine and fir provided a thick, resinous windbreak and firewood in plenty, a small stream offered fresh water, and Bahzell accepted the Spearman's suggestion with gratitude.
His new companions had borne up well and maintained a brisk pace, and there were surprisingly few rough edges to the way they made camp. Rekah might be a flutterer who'd clearly heard entirely too many romantic ballads, but she was also an excellent cook, and she took over the fire pit as soon as Brandark and Tothas finished it. Bahzell and Zarantha saw to the horses and mules, and her skill with them confirmed his suspicion that she must have been put into her first saddle before she could walk. Nor did she let the "Lady" before her name stand in the way of any task that needed doing. While Brandark and Bahzell gathered wood and Tothas tended the fire, she sat peeling potatoes and carrots for her maid without so much as a hint that it might be beneath her.
Supper was as delicious as it smelled, and no one seemed inclined to sit up afterward. They'd covered forty miles from Riverside, and all of them were fatigued, but the possibility that ni'Tarth might have sent someone after them only reinforced Bahzell's inherent caution. No one argued his decision to set watches, but Tothas started to protest when Bahzell divided the task into thirds and asked Zarantha and Rekah to take the third watch without assigning him to one . . . until a single quiet sentence from Zarantha shut his mouth with a snap. Bahzell longed to know just what she'd said, but the fast, liquid sentence was in some dialect not even Brandark recognized. Whatever it was, it worked, and Tothas wrapped himself in his blankets without another word.
The night was uneventful—aside from the usual, chaotic dream fragments that tormented Bahzell—but a quiet, horrible rasping sound pulled the Horse Stealer awake with the dawn. He rolled over and sat up, and his ears lowered in shocked sympathy as he saw its source.
Tothas sat hunched in his bedroll, coughing as if to bring his lungs up while Rekah watched anxiously and Zarantha sat beside him. The Spearman fought his bitter, convulsive coughs, strangling his sounds against a white-knuckled fist, and Zarantha held his wasted body in her arms. One hand cupped the back of his head, urging his cheek against her shoulder, and quiet agony had replaced her usual smiling deviltry. Her hands were gentle as she murmured encouragement into his ear, and tears gleamed in her eyes as she met the Horse Stealer's gaze. There was anger with the anguish in those eyes—not at Bahzell, but at whatever had wreaked such ruin on Tothas—and a silent plea, and the hradani gazed back at her in silence for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly, laid back down, and turned his back while Tothas fought his lonely battle.
The armsman coughed with wracking desperation for at least fifteen minutes before he could stop, but his face showed no sign of it when Bahzell stopped pretending to sleep twenty minutes later, and if he was a little slower as he saddled his horse the next morning, Bahzell didn't begrudge the time. He couldn't. Zarantha might play whatever role she pleased, but her devotion to her armsman disarmed his distrust. And his heart went out to Tothas' gallantry when the Spearman finally mounted as if nothing at all had happened, with a refusal to ask for quarter any hradani could respect.
They stopped in Kor Keep for supplies.
They were too poor for the gouging hradani would invite, so Bahzell and Brandark sent the humans off with their skimpy funds, and Zarantha did far better than they'd dared hope. She returned with the pack mule loaded heavily enough to fold its ears resentfully back, and managed it for barely a third of the contents of Brandark's purse. The Bloody Sword gave Bahzell one look, then handed the purse back to her and made her their official treasurer.
She'd managed to pick up a few extra blankets and enough sacked grain to eke out their animals' grazing, as well, and Bahzell actually began to feel a bit optimistic. Nothing could keep the journey from being unpleasant, but it seemed there were advantages to traveling with a poverty-stricken noblewoman. At least she seemed to have learned to pinch kormaks until they squealed!
The weather remained clear for the next few days, but the nights grew steadily chillier, and Tothas was obviously in constant pain. Yet aside from an occasional coughing fit—few, mercifully, as terrible as that first one—he neither slowed them nor once complained, and Bahzell soon realized he'd never met a braver man. The Spearman's illness was a more exhausting—and frightening—battle than the Horse Stealer had ever faced, yet Tothas fought it with unflinching courage, and Bahzell was startled by his own pride on the day he discovered he could call this man a friend.
It was easier than he'd expected when Zarantha first entrapped him. Tothas spoke seldom, but what he said made sense. More, his absolute devotion to Zarantha was the sort of loyalty hradani could appreciate, and his unwavering, uncomplaining gallantry won Brandark's heart, as well as Bahzell's.
Yet there was something more to Tothas, something in his attitude, and they were past Kor Keep on the way to the Duchy of Carchon before it dawned on the Horse Stealer what that something was. The Spearman had never looked at him and seen a hradani; he'd seen only a man, to be judged on his own merits, without prejudice or preconception.
It was the first time anyone—even Hartan—had done that since he'd left Navahk, and a small, ignoble part of him resented it, as if Tothas' acceptance were a sort of secret condescension. That shamed him when he recognized it, for Tothas never condescended. Indeed, he held others to high standards—the same ones he held himself to—and his was no hasty judgment. He'd watched both hradani for days before he decided about them; once he had, he accepted Bahzell's leadership with the same unwavering support, if not the same devotion, he gave Zarantha.
He trusted the two hradani, and that trust was a two-edged sword. When one was trusted, one must prove worthy of being trusted, and Bahzell knew Tothas' trust had transformed an arrangement forced upon him by expediency into something far more constraining. But there was a curious satisfaction in the transformation, a sense of belonging, of doing something worth the doing because those doing it with him were good people
.
And they were good people, despite whatever secret they hid.
However rough the road, however tired Zarantha might be, Bahzell had yet to hear her first complaint, and she and Brandark had joined forces to keep his own life from becoming boring. She was actually helping the Bloody Sword refine his accursed composition. The two of them shared their labors with the others most nights, but at least Brandark let her do the singing.
Rekah was more mercurial, and she had her bad days, especially as the nights grew colder. But she did her part and a bit more, and however grumpy she might be of an evening, she was always up early, always ready for the next day, be it ever so grueling.
And then there was Tothas—a man, Bahzell had realized, who knew he was dying in the saddle. That was the reason he described the roads ahead so carefully. He'd chosen the hradani as his successor, the man who would see Zarantha safely home if he himself could not, for he was a man who would do his duty to the end, whatever that end was, and that, Bahzell realized, was what truly drew him so strongly to the Spearman.
No wonder Zarantha was so fiercely devoted to her armsman. No wonder she held him in her arms when he woke coughing and watched him with hidden hurt as they rode. She might laugh at Brandark's sallies or tease the others to hide her pain, but that, Bahzell knew, was because it would have shamed Tothas if she hadn't—and understanding how deeply she cared for her armsman touched the Horse Stealer with fear whenever he tried to guess what drove her to lead a dying man she loved into the teeth of winter.
