by David Weber
"In my own case," Kaeritha went on, "it's something I see, like an aura or a light that guides me once I come close enough. For Bahzell, it would probably be something else, and I wouldn't presume to try to put it into words for him. But if he says he'll 'feel' something, then I'd have to say he will. When the time comes."
"Umph." Hurthang shoved himself back in his chair, scratching his nose, then shrugged once more. "All right, then, Bahzell. I suppose I've done dafter things in my time than follow a man as says he'll 'feel' the enemy when he gets close enough to 'em. Not that I can be calling any of them to mind just now, you understand, but if you'll be giving me a few days to think, I've no doubt at least one will be coming to me."
"No doubt," Bahzell agreed politely, and laughter rumbled about the map room. But then it died as one of the others spoke up in a voice which held no humor at all.
"Well, aye, I'd have to be agreeing with Hurthang so far as Sharnā's concerned," he said, "but as for this business of other gods and demons and such-!"
Bahzell turned to look at the speaker, but the young man refused to look away. Instead, he met Bahzell's eyes and shook his head with dogged hradani stubbornness.
"It's grateful I am to you for warning us what's toward, and no mistake. Aye, and that Tomanāk will help kick Sharnā's arse out of our business, as well. But I'm thinking as how he's his own reasons for wanting Demon Breath gone, and meaning no disrespect, Bahzell, I'm not so very inclined to be welcoming Scale Balancer in in his place."
No one spoke up in agreement, but Bahzell felt it in the others' silence.
"I'll not speak a word against your own choice," the critic went on, "but this I'll tell you plain, I've seen no reason at all, at all, to be welcoming any god in as my lord and master, and it just might be that one reason Tomanāk's so all-fired eager to help us is to be changing our minds about that. But the fact is there's not a one among all the 'Gods of Light' whose been after doing a single damned thing for hradani since the Fall."
He fell silent, and someone coughed into a fist behind him. The silence hovered tensely, and Bahzell looked around the gathered members of his clan with level eyes. Then he nodded slowly, and stood. The two men closest behind him had to step back to make room, and he heard someone curse as a boot heel came down on an unsuspecting toe, but he didn't even turn to look. He simply reached down for his sword, the symbol of his champion's status, and held it up, hilt uppermost, and the crowd parted before him like water before a ship's prow as he made his way to the hearth. He put his back to the mantle, feeling the fire's heat on his back and calves, and faced them all, still holding his sword before him.
"I do be hearing you, Chavâk," he said then, addressing the young warrior who had spoken as formally as a chieftain in a clan's great conclave, "and you've my respect for speaking your mind plain and unvarnished. Aye, and so far as that goes, it wasn't so very long ago I'd've been saying the selfsame things. Come to that, I did say 'em, and a mite louder than you just have, when himself and I first stood face-to-face."
"And how did he answer you?" Chavâk asked.
"He didn't," Bahzell said simply. "Not then, for he'd seen plain enough as how it would take something stronger than words to be changing a hradani's mind." He smiled faintly. "We've a way of being on the stubborn side, from time to time, or so I've heard tell."
He twitched his ears, and several members of his audience chuckled. But then his own smile faded, and he went on quietly.
"Well, he found something stronger. Leastways, I'm thinking as how most folk might be seeing a demon in that wise. But there was a bribe he could have been offering me long before that, a secret he might've told, if it so happened he'd been minded to buy my oath. But himself wouldn't bribe me, Chavâk. He won't be bribing you either, come to that, yet I'm thinking there's something you should know-something himself gave me as a gift, with neither price nor strings attached-that all hradani should be knowing, Horse Stealer and Bloody Sword alike."
He smiled briefly at Brandark, surrounded by his hereditary enemies as he sat still by the map table, and then drew a deep breath.
"You see, lads, there was a reason himself was after choosing a hradani champion after twelve hundred mortal long years. Come to that, I've no doubt there are more things than one as he has it in mind for me to do, but telling you what himself told me is the task as will mean the most to all our folk, for it's about the Rage."
Sudden silence slammed down. The tiniest crackle of the hearth fire and the sigh of wind across the roof carried clearly in the stillness, and Bahzell smiled crookedly in bitter understanding.
"We're all knowing who we've to thank for the Rage," he told them, his deep voice sweeping over them like a quiet sea, "but there's something we none of us ever knew until himself told Brandark and me the truth. When the dark wizards in Kontovar set the Rage on us to make us fight and die for them, their spell went into the bone and blood of us. For twelve long centuries we've passed it, father to son to grandson to great-grandson, and it's the Rage as truly makes the other Races of Man hate and fear us. But the Rage we have now, it's not the one as the scum who gave it to us meant us to have."
Still no one spoke, but he saw ears rising and foreheads furrowing as his audience wondered where he meant to go, and he raised his sword higher.
"I swear this to you upon this sword," he said, and he didn't raise his voice, yet it carried like thunder to them all, and his eyes flashed. "The old Rage exists yet, and will for years to come, but it's after changing at last. When we call the Rage to us-when we summon it rather than let it be taking us against our will-then we control it."
Most of the others looked confused, but he saw the start of understanding-and a wild, burning fire of hope-on some of the faces gazing back at him, and he nodded.
"Tomanāk himself has said it. The Rage can take and master us against our will only if we let it, but we can be taking it-aye, and using it-as we will and need from this day on. Not as a curse that makes animals and less of us, but as a tool, a weapon as answers to our hand and our will and makes us more than we are! That's the reason himself was after claiming a hradani champion-to be telling all hradani that after twelve hundred years, our fate lies in our hands again at last, and not the hands of the Phrobus-taken wizards who cursed us all!"
He stopped speaking, and the silence was deafening. No one spoke, as if each of them feared it was all a dream which his own voice might break, taking away the fleeting hope that the impossible might somehow be true. But then, at last, Hurthang Tharakson rose slowly. The others flowed aside to give him room, and he walked very slowly down the length of the map room to stand facing Bahzell.
"Is it true?" he whispered. "D'you swear to me it's true, Bahzell?"
"I do that," Bahzell told him quietly. "By my life, by my father's honor, by the clan blood we share, and by the Sword of Tomanāk Itself."
Hurthang stared at him, his face white and strained, and then steel whispered on leather as he took his axe from his back. He held it for a long, still moment, and then he knelt at his cousin's feet, laid the axe before him on the floor, and bent his head.
"Then Chavâk is wrong, and I see indeed why Tomanāk was seeking you, Bahzell Bahnakson," he said, the words deeply formal despite the emotion that choked his voice, "and I owe you more than ever man could hope to repay. For first you saved my Farmah's life, and then you sent her here for me to meet and love, and then you slew the black-hearted bastard who hurt her, and now you've bidden me join you to take vengeance on the like of him, and for that alone would I owe you my life. But for this-" He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "For telling my people this, I owe you more than life, and I beg that you will be taking me as your charkanahd, in the ancient way of our folk."
Someone drew a hissing breath. The oath of charkanahd was the most solemn any hradani could swear. Some foreign scholars, who thought the ancient word was purely hradani, translated it simply as "armsman," but they were wrong. Other scholars, more familiar with the
dead languages of fallen Kontovar, could have told them that it meant literally "death sworn," but only the hradani still remembered what it had once implied. What it still implied and meant to them.
Hurthang had just offered Bahzell all he was-all he could ever be. Not simply his service, and not even simply his sword in battle. Those things came with the oath of charkanahd, but they were the easy part, the reason "scholars" who knew no better used "armsman" as its equivalent. True charkanahd cut far deeper, for it superseded all other oaths, all other loyalties. It renounced any other claim upon the loyalty of the man who swore it, and he gave his liege lord his very life. More than that, he gave his lord the moment of his own death-the right and power to choose the place and time at which he would lay down the life which no longer belonged to him, without question or hesitation.
But Bahzell only rested a hand gently on his cousin's bowed head and shook his own.
"No, Hurthang," he said softly. "You're not owing me a single thing, for whatever I did, I did because I chose to, and because I couldn't just be turning away and pretending I didn't know what was needful to do, and I've no need for charkanahd. But I do need sword brothers, and if I can't be taking your oath, I know someone as can."
Hurthang looked up, and his eyes went huge, for a corona of blue brilliance crackled about Bahzell. It clung to him, outlining him in azure lightning, and his voice was no longer his alone. There was another timbre to it, deeper even than his own, and powerful, like the beat of heavy cavalry charging through a battle dawn. All around the map room, men sank to their knees before the majesty flowing out of him, and even as they knelt, they knew it was not truly Bahzell Bahnakson they beheld. Or, rather, that it was not solely him. And as that realization ran through them, they also realized that all he had told them-about Sharnā, about his own ability to sense the Dark God's lair and seek it out, and above all about the Rage-was true. Bone-deep, unquestionably true. As Hurthang, they recognized in that instant the enormity of the gift Bahzell-and Tomanāk -had given them. Of the vast change which had come into their lives, and the fact that nothing would ever be the same again.
"I'm thinking I see another reason himself was sending me here now," Bahzell said, still in that voice which was his and yet was not. "I'll not take your oaths for myself, Sword Brothers, but it's in my mind that any chapter of Tomanāk's Order has to be starting somewhere." He smiled, and a ripple of laughter like joyous trumpets seemed to shiver and dance behind his words. "No doubt there's many a fine lord will be a mite upset when he learns as how himself's been and created an entire chapter of blood-thirsty barbarian hradani, Brothers, but they'd best be getting over it as quick as ever they can, for I've the strangest notion there's worse to come for 'em than that!"
Laughter answered him from the kneeling warriors, breathless and yet somehow reverent, and he looked out over them.
"Will you swear Sword Oath to Tomanāk , as his warriors and members of his Order, Brothers?" he asked, and steel whispered and sang throughout the map room as every Horse Stealer warrior in it drew sword or axe and held it up before him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Somehow, I don't think your father quite had it in mind for you to swear in an entire chapter of the Order," Brandark said with a lurking smile. He spoke quietly, in small puffs of breath steam, as he and Bahzell lay under the low branches of a fir thicket. Fifty-four other hradani-and two humans-lay hidden about them, but any observer might have been excused for not realizing it. Even Brandark had been unsettled by the discovery of how easily half a hundred huge Horse Stealers had simply disappeared into the snow-struck woods. Granted, the foggy morning's gloomy overcast helped, yet it still seemed impossible. But, then, he'd never been part of a Horse Stealer raiding party on the Wind Plain, either.
"I'd not be so very sure of that, little man," Bahzell murmured back absently, eyes scanning the silent trees. "He's a canny one, my da, and it's in my mind he'd've seen it coming before ever he gave me leave to ask for volunteers. Besides, this way he's after getting credit as the first 'patron' of the Order amongst hradani if things go well, without risking the blame if it should happen they work out badly. Come to that, he's seen it set up so the Order won't be being 'his,' and that's no small thing if I'm to get the rest of our folk to believe himself is neutral and the Order's more than just a tool of Hurgrum."
"Really?" Brandark reached under the hood of the white smock which he, like every other member of the raiding party wore, to rub his truncated ear, then grimaced. "You're probably right," he acknowledged. "He's a deep one, your father, and somehow I've got the feeling he never does anything for a single reason."
"Which is the very reason he'll soon be after sitting on Churnazh's throne," Bahzell agreed equably. "But-"
He chopped off abruptly, and Brandark reached for his sword as he squirmed around to look in the same direction. But it was only Urach, Hurthang's chosen scout, skiing quickly and quietly back towards them out of the fog. He looked around searchingly, and Bahzell raised one hand in a small wave. Tiny as it was, the gesture caught Urach's attention, and he moved quickly towards Bahzell and Brandark.
"Well?" Bahzell asked quietly, and Urach grimaced.
"It's as Lord Brandark said, Bahz- Milord. There's a road of some sort up ahead. It's not after being much of one-more of a trail, really-but there's tracks enough to mark its course plain. Not many. I'm thinking it's naught but a pair of horses-not more than three, at the most-and they were only after going the one way. They've not come back yet. And as for the trail itself, it winds off to the north a bit, and it's twisty as a Bloody Sword's mind. Ah, no offense, Lord Brandark!"
"None taken," Brandark said dryly. Urach eyed him doubtfully, then ducked his head with a grin.
"Any road, Milord, it's after creeping about like a snake with the ague, and it clings to low ground like a leech. I've not scouted much along it, but if you were to be asking me, I'd have to say as how whoever planned it wasn't wishful for anyone to be seeing him use it."
"Um." Bahzell rubbed his chin, then nodded. "Well enough, Urach-and well done, too. It's grateful I'd be if you'd tell the same to Hurthang-he's over yonder, by that dead oak-and fetch him back to me here when you've done."
"Aye, Milord!" Urach hastened off, and Brandark cocked a sardonic eyebrow.
" 'Bahz- Milord', is it? My! What formality for a batch of unwashed Horse Stealers! Does Tomanāk know about this sudden elevation of yours?"
"I'm wondering how you'd look with your mouth stuffed full of snow?" Bahzell murmured thoughtfully. "Like as not you'd be quieter, anyway."
"My, my, my. We are feeling touchy, aren't we?" Brandark needled, but Bahzell only grinned.
"It's in my mind they'll get over it soon enough, little man. But just this minute, they're still not that all-fired sure just what it is they've let themselves in for. So if it makes a lad like Urach feel a bit more proper to be calling me 'Milord' for a bit, I'm thinking I can stand the embarrassment."
"No doubt. But you do realize you've made me even more of the odd man out, don't you?" Brandark demanded. Bahzell eyed him quizzically, and he sighed. "I was already a Bloody Sword-which, if you'll recall, isn't exactly the safest thing to be around a murderous lot of Horse Stealers-but at least I had company, since Vaijon and Kerry weren't what you might call Horse Stealers themselves. But then you had to go and swear the lot of them into the Order of Tomanāk , which Vaijon and Kerry are members of. Which just happens to leave me as the sole participant in this little expedition who isn't one of Scale Balancer's hearty minions."
"D'you know, I believe you've a point there. But don't let it be bothering you. Just you be keeping close, and we'll look after you right and tight anyway. Why, you'll be safer than if you were after lying in your mother's arms."
Brandark opened his mouth to reply, then shut it with a click as Hurthang slid under the firs beside them and jerked his head back the way Urach had come.
"Tracks, hey?" he said softly. "Now what would you be t
hinking could bring honest folk out into the middle of these godsforsaken woods this time of year, Bahzell?"
"What? Not 'Milord'?" Brandark jibed. Hurthang darted him a quick look, then chuckled and reached across Bahzell to punch the Bloody Sword on the shoulder.
"I can see why himself here is after being so attached to you, little man. You're enough to be keeping any man humble, aren't you just?"
"I try," Brandark admitted. "It's a hard task, mind you, but someone has to do it. And at least Bahzell gives me plenty of material to work with."
"Now that'll be enough out of the both of you," Bahzell said austerely as Hurthang smothered a laugh. "We've more important things to be thinking on here."
"Aye, that's true enough," Hurthang agreed. "But given the rumors Brandark was after sharing with us, I've little doubt as how Urach's trail will be taking us where it is we're wishful to go." He narrowed his eyes at Bahzell. "Have you felt anything yet?"
"No, not yet. Or, that's to say I don't think I've felt aught-other than a bit of nervous flutter, as you might say. Still and all, I'm thinking you're right enough, and it's grateful I'll be if you'll take your section up ahead there. I'll follow along on your heels, and Gharnal's lot can watch our backs."
"Fair enough." Hurthang nodded and squirmed back out into the open, waving for the other thirteen men of his section to join him. White-smocked Horse Stealers appeared suddenly, blending out of the most improbable bits and pieces of concealment, and all fourteen of them pushed off in a quiet hiss of skis.
Bahzell let them get perhaps fifty yards ahead, then crawled out of his own cover. Brandark followed, and Vaijon and Kaeritha joined them in short order. The humans looked weary, but they'd managed to keep up, and Bahzell knew they'd earned the admiration of his Horse Stealers in the process. His people took their own endurance for granted, but they knew other races didn't share it… and that however tired Vaijon or Kaeritha might have become-however hard they'd panted, or however soaked with sweat their faces had been-the humans had matched them league for league.
