by David Weber
Whatever his relationship to Kilthan, Tharanal bore a marked family likeness to his clan head, and it seemed obvious he had deliberately chosen to pattern his own personality on Kilthan's. Despite his youth, he was already beginning to lose his hair, which only heightened the resemblance, and Bahzell and Brandark quickly became comfortable with him. It was also evident that he was very much in Kilthan's confidence, and he was able to bring them speedily up to date on the latest news. Nothing important ever happened in Norfressa without Kilthandahknarthas learning of it-usually sooner rather than later-but Bahzell was still impressed by Tharanal's knowledge, especially about relations between Hurgrum and Navahk.
"They've been going steadily into the chamber pot for the last six months," Tharanal said, squinting up at the clouds as his pony trotted along beside Brandark's horse. Dwarvenhame's roads were even better than those of the rest of the Empire, and despite the cold, damp afternoon's promise of fresh snow, they were clear, at least for the moment, which allowed the travelers to make excellent time.
"In fact," Tharanal continued, turning his head to smile grimly at Bahzell, "you could almost say they started heading that way about the time you and your friend decided to go traveling, Prince Bahzell."
The two hradani glanced at one another, and their mouths tightened. It was one thing to know war between their clans was inevitable, or even to anticipate it as the only way in which their people's lot could be improved. It was something very different to hear Tharanal's blunt confirmation of their fears, and Bahzell knew both of them were thinking of the men they knew-friends and family, as well as enemies-who might soon find themselves trying to slaughter one another in battle.
"I wouldn't say your beating that bastard Harnak within an inch of his life was the main cause for it, mind you," Tharanal went on. "Torframos knows both sides've been circling long enough, looking for their chance. But you struck a spark to the tinder, and no mistake. And it cost Navahk a pretty steep price, too."
"How so?" Bahzell cocked his ears in question.
"Well, let's just say Arvahl of Sondur was already a bit uneasy. From all accounts, it had more to do with the fact that what passes for a road net among Bloody Swords makes his city a natural target for a cross-country attack from Mazgau and Gorchcan, but Arvahl decided to believe the bards' version of what happened between you and Harnak."
"Are you saying Prince Arvahl's gone over to Hurgrum?" Brandark demanded in shocked tones.
"That he has," Tharanal said with obvious relish. Then he seemed to remember he was speaking to a Navahkan, for his expression went suddenly blank and he glanced back and forth between Bahzell and his friend.
"Phrobus!" Brandark said, then shook himself and smiled crookedly at Bahzell. "I knew Arvahl didn't care much for Churnazh, but you really did strike a spark if he could convince his nobles and captains to back him in an alliance with Horse Stealers!"
"With all due respect, Milord, I'd say Churnazh had as much to do with it as Prince Bahzell or even Prince Bahnak," Tharanal said diffidently. Brandark cocked an ear at him, and the dwarf shrugged. "I'm a merchant, not a prince, Milord, but if I tried to run my affairs the way Churnazh runs Navahk, I'd be out of business in a month. You won't need me to tell you what a nasty customer he is, of course, but it's obvious as the nose on your face that he's no match for Bahnak-or, for that matter, that the Bloody Swords as a whole are no match for the Horse Stealers, now that Bahnak's gotten them all pulling together. I wouldn't want to bring up rats and sinking ships, but anyone willing to look the truth in the eye can see that, barring direct demonic intervention, it'll be Churnazh's head that goes up on a pike when push finally comes to shove. And if I were a Bloody Sword prince who didn't want my head alongside his, I'd be looking for a way out, too."
"Does that mean Churnazh's alliance is about to come apart?" Vaijon asked, frowning intently as he followed the discussion and worked to relate it to what Bahzell and Brandark had already told him.
"I wouldn't go that far," Tharanal said, shaking his head. "Arvahl is not only smart enough to see which way the wind is blowing but-if you and Lord Brandark will forgive me, Prince Bahzell-weak-livered enough to want out of the draft. Most of the other Bloody Sword princes and chieftains will stand by Churnazh, I'm afraid. Not because they want to, you understand, but because they're hradani."
"And would you care to be explaining that last little bit, friend Tharanal?" Bahzell demanded. The dwarf glanced at him apprehensively, but the twinkle in the Horse Stealer's eye seemed to reassure him. Some.
"I only meant that they were… ah, determined, Prince Bahzell," he said with the air of a man choosing his words carefully.
"You mean they're stubborn as blocks of granite and too bloody-minded to see another way out," Brandark corrected him with a grim smile.
"It could certainly be put that way, yes, Milord."
"But wouldn't that change if the others knew about Sh-" Vaijon began, only to cut himself off in mid-word as Kaeritha shot him a sudden glance. Tharanal's ears perked up almost visibly at the interrupted remark, and he glanced speculatively at Vaijon, but no one offered further explanation, and he was far too courteous to press. Nonetheless, Bahzell felt certain Kilthan would hear about it as soon as his younger kinsman reported.
But that was all right with him. He'd intended to bring Kilthan fully up to date on his plans-such as they were-from the outset. Kilthan was no hradani, and he had no direct dealings with the Horse Stealers, but he was a canny man who had sources and contacts in the most unlikely places. If anyone outside Hurgrum itself could give Bahzell good advice, it was certainly Kilthan, and Bahzell was only too well aware of how much advice he needed. Now he withdrew into his own thoughts, listening to Brandark shift the conversation to other topics, and frowned as he pondered what Tharanal had already said.
It contained few surprises-except for Arvahl's sudden shift in allegiance. There had been occasional instances in the past in which this or that Horse Stealer or Bloody Sword leader allied with his traditional enemies for momentary advantage, but they were rare. More to the point, ever since it became obvious Bahnak intended to bring the incessant bickering and warfare between the two clan groups to an end once and for all, there had been absolutely no sign of any wavering among the Bloody Sword princes and clan lords. As Brandark had succinctly if unkindly implied, hradani could persist with unbelievable stubbornness even in actions which they knew were ultimately doomed. It wasn't simple stupidity, though there were times Bahzell found himself unable to call it by any other name, so much as a sort of elemental intractability. On the plus side, that same stubbornness meant that once a hradani swore loyalty to someone, he tended to honor that oath. As Bahzell himself had told Tomanāk one cold, windy night in the Empire of the Spear, when a hradani gave his word, it meant something, and the very fact that any hradani had survived the Fall and the flight to Norfressa was probably due to the same dogged refusal to yield, however impossible the odds, that kept Churnazh's allies loyal. But it did make for messy politics, since the only way most hradani chieftains could admit defeat was with the point of a sword pressed firmly to their throats. That was why it had been obvious from the outset that the only way the northern hradani would ever be united was by force.
And now it looked as if that force was about to be employed. Bahzell glanced at Brandark and saw an echo of his own introspection in his friend's eyes even as the Bloody Sword listened with apparent concentration to Tharanal's description of the market in gemstones. Bahzell's faith in their friendship was absolute, yet he knew that friendship would be harshly tested when the inevitable happened. Brandark's father and both his brothers were trapped on Churnazh's side, and so was almost everyone else he'd ever known. He himself would be greeted with a hefty degree of suspicion by Bahzell's fellow Horse Stealers, some of whom would regard him as a turncoat and traitor, and if he actually found himself forced to take up arms against other Bloody Swords-
Bahzell shook his head. One thing at a t
ime, he reminded himself. They had to deal with Sharnā first. That, at least, should pose no conflict of loyalties, and the revelation that Sharnā had established a foothold in Churnazh's domain-and, for that matter, that Churnazh's late, unlamented heir had been a party to it-might just bring the approaching war to a much more rapid conclusion. If Arvahl of Sondur could change sides over Harnak's rape of a servant girl, Churnazh's alliances were likely to start leaking like a sieve when the full story came out. Not even hradani stubbornness would keep his allies loyal if they believed there was even a remote possibility that he'd known about Sharnā's activities in his realm. And even some of those who decided he hadn't known were likely to switch allegiances on the basis that any prince worthy of his crown should have known about them… and dealt with them.
Bahzell hoped so. He didn't want to see his friend caught between loyalties, and deep inside, he knew he didn't want to see the sort of war this one was likely to be.
It was going to be bloody, whatever happened, and the outcome would be of intense interest to all of their neighbors, as well. Neither the Horse Stealers nor the Bloody Swords were all that numerous compared to the populations of the human-dominated lands which bordered their own, but any army of hradani had an impact out of all proportion to its mere size. Anyone who had ever had the misfortune to encounter one knew that, and Bahzell was quite certain that no one outside the hradani homelands was going to be pleased by the prospect of any one ruler bringing all of them under one banner. If Bahzell were a Sothōii or an Esganian, he certainly wouldn't have been happy over it.
No, this promised to be a fundamental shift in the power and politics of northern Norfressa-one whose like was seen only once or twice in generations. For good or ill, the northern hradani were about to emerge as a single, unified entity unless someone-or something-from the outside prevented it. Was that Sharnā's true purpose in Navahk? To prevent that unity and keep the clans at one another's throats forever? Or did he want the unification to succeed… under Churnazh and his heirs rather than Bahnak? And if Sharnā succeeded in insinuating his pincers deeper and deeper into a united hradani empire, what would that mean for the hradani's neighbors? Or, ultimately, for all hradani everywhere? Tomanāk knew enough people among the other Races of Man were ready enough already to remember tales of the Fall and automatically associate all hradani with the Dark Gods. If Sharnā was able to blow the embers of that distrust and fear back into a blaze, even briefly, he might just manage to provoke the outside attacks which could finally destroy Bahzell's people.
From what Bahzell knew of him, Sharnā would probably find that almost as enjoyable as exerting control through Harnak would have been. At the very least, Demon Breath would seize any opportunity to destroy Bahnak and all he stood for. That made it personal, and Bahzell felt his lips trying to curl up and bare his teeth at the thought. No doubt a champion of Tomanāk shouldn't think in such terms, but he rather doubted his deity would hold it against him just this once.
And however Tomanāk might feel, it was time and past time for Sharnā Phrofro to discover that there were easier targets-and far safer prey-than Horse Stealer hradani.
Chapter Seventeen
"Let's take a walk, Longshanks."
Bahzell looked up from his book and quirked an eyebrow. Kilthandahknarthas dihna'Harkanath stood in the doorway of the comfortable (if low-ceilinged) room the Horse Stealer had been assigned and propped his fists impatiently upon his hips.
"Well, come along!"
"Ah?" Bahzell closed his book on the index finger of his left hand and used his right to tug at the fob dangling from his breeches pocket. He pressed the crown of the handsome-and expensive-watch attached to the fob and squinted at the golden hands sweeping about its painted ivory face. "Why, it's naught but eleven of the morning," he remarked. "Sure and you seem in a tearing rush about something, Kilthan. Are you sure it can't be waiting while I'm after finishing my chapter?"
"No, it can't," the dwarf said tartly. His topaz eyes twinkled wryly as they rested on the watch, but then he shook himself and glared at his towering guest. "And we don't have all day, you know."
"And why not?" Bahzell asked pleasantly. "From all accounts, it's snowing fit to bury a mountain whole outside. That being so, I'm not so all-fired eager as all that to be on my way, and I've naught else planned for the day except this book. And truth to tell, I've not found it all that enthralling."
"Good! In that case you won't mind coming with me. And I'm still waiting."
The dwarf was barely half Bahzell's height but with shoulders as broad as he was tall. He was also bald as a polished brown egg, with brilliant eyes under bushy tufts of eyebrows, and a magnificent forked beard streamed down over his belt buckle. From conversations with some of the other members of Clan Harkanath, Bahzell had discovered that Kilthan was considerably older than he'd first assumed. In fact, the clan lord merchant-prince was well into his third century, although the massive muscles characteristic of his race were only now beginning to lose the hard suppleness of his youth. Despite the difference in their heights, Bahzell would not have been eager to face Kilthandahknarthas in battle even today, much less in his prime.
But for the last century and a half Kilthan's most deadly weapons had been trade wagons, merchant ships, letters of credit, and investment funds, not battle axes. He favored plain clothing-well tailored and of good, serviceable fabric, but without the silks or velvets or the jewels or gold bullion embroidery others might choose-and he scarcely looked the part of one of Norfressa's wealthiest men. In fact, he looked more like an irascible tutor, standing there with his fists on his hips. But that was only true until you saw his eyes. Those strange, topaz eyes from which a core of burnished steel looked out upon the world.
"And what's after being so Phrobus-taken important?" The Horse Stealer demanded… but he also marked his place and set his book aside with the air of a small boy obeying an order to wash up for supper before things got still worse.
"We need to talk-and I want to show you something. Come on with you now!"
Kilthan turned and stumped away, and Bahzell shrugged, climbed out of his chair, patted his belt out of long habit to be certain he had his dagger, and followed him.
Someone else was waiting in the passageway, and Bahzell smiled and held out his hand to another friend. Rianthus of Sindor was a human, once a major in the Royal and Imperial Army, who had risen to command the private army which protected Clan Harkanath's merchant empire outside the Empire of the Axe, and both Bahzell and Brandark had developed a deep respect for him during their time under his orders.
"Is he always after being like this?" Bahzell asked him, jerking his head at Kilthan as the two of them followed the dwarf down the passage.
"Like what?" Rianthus replied. "You mean pushy, pompous, and a little arrogant?"
A loud snort came back from ahead of them, and Bahzell grinned.
"Aye-except that I was thinking more of a lot arrogant."
"Only when he's awake," Rianthus assured him.
"I might as well be 'arrogant' with you lot," Kilthan said without turning his head. "After all, there's no point wasting anything else on you, since neither of you seem to notice anyone else until they kick you in the arse."
"Are you saying we're just a mite dense?" Bahzell asked innocently.
"I'm saying I've met boulders with more brains than either of you," Kilthan told him tartly, and Bahzell laughed.
"Here now! That's no way to be talking to a man as has gone and signed on with Tomanāk !"
"Ha! I've never met a champion of Tomanāk yet who didn't need a little boy with a lantern to lead him around anywhere but on a battlefield!" Kilthan shot back, and Bahzell laughed again.
Kilthan said no more, even when the Horse Stealer deliberately gave him a few fresh openings, and Bahzell shrugged. Kilthandahknarthas of Silver Cavern was accustomed to doing things his own way, and he wasn't the sort to waste his time or anyone else's on frivolous concerns. Whatever he wante
d to discuss was probably important, and Bahzell was willing to let him get to it in his own good time.
In the meanwhile, the Horse Stealer and Rianthus chatted amiably, bringing one another up to date on all that had passed since Bahzell and Brandark had left Kilthan's employ in Riverside. The hradani enjoyed the conversation-it was good to catch up on the affairs of the men who had been his companions in arms-and the walk also gave him a chance to see a bit more of Silver Cavern than he had upon his arrival yesterday.
Unlike Mountain Heart, Silver Cavern had been built exclusively by and for dwarves. With the exception of a few thousand humans like Rianthus and his men, who had become almost adoptive members of one of the great clans, only dwarves lived in Silver Cavern, and there were none of the surface homes which had covered the approaches to Mountain Heart.
Silver Cavern was also the better part of five hundred years older than Mountain Heart, and much larger. The original silver veins from which the city took its name had played out within two centuries of its founding, but there were other ores under the East Wall Mountains. More importantly, perhaps, there were also at least two powerful subterranean rivers, and the Silver Cavern dwarves made full use of them.
The city proper sprawled over half a dozen main levels, and an entire host of secondary and tertiary ones meandered off on their own. Bahzell was privately certain no one had the least idea where all the tunnels, passages, and chambers went, and one excavation had run into a series of immense natural caverns. The cave system ran for scores of miles, and even now, forty years after its discovery, had yet to be fully explored. Wide avenues and squares were interspersed with the large, underground villas and palaces of Silver Cavern's nobility and wealthy over the city's first two or three levels. From there, housing ran downward-both in elevation and quality-through the well-to-do to the middle-class and skilled artisans, to the poorest laborers.
Oddly enough, those laborers seemed to cherish little resentment of the wealthy compared to other places Bahzell had visited since leaving Hurgrum. Not that dwarves weren't ambitious, for very few people were more ambitious. No doubt there was a great deal of not-too-deeply-buried envy in the stereotype of the greedy, avaricious dwarf cherished by many members of the other Races of Man. Like most stereotypes, it was a gross exaggeration in many respects, yet a remarkable percentage of the world's wealth did end up in dwarvish hands somehow. By the standards of peasants in places like Navahk or the Land of the Purple Lords, even the poorest of Silver Cavern's dwarves were unbelievably rich, but they didn't compare themselves to outlanders. They compared themselves to their own wealthy, and every single one of them aspired to amass the fortune which would let him move to the High Quarter.
