by David Weber
"So you say!" he spat at Bahzell, and wheeled to glare at Bahnak. "And you-you say it! But I see no proof. I see only the head of another murdered prince of Navahk!"
"And what of that other lot?" an envoy from one of the other Horse Stealer princes called out. "Or would you be saying they're not after being 'proof,' either?"
"I don't know anything about them," Halâshu shot back, turning to glare at the woman who'd spoken, "and neither do you! Perhaps they truly do-did-worship Sharnā, and perhaps they didn't. Anyone can be forced to wear a fancy bedgown, Milady, just as anyone can be forced to wear a fancy necklace. I won't say they are or aren't what they seem-but neither will I say he is!" He waved his hand at Bahzell in a choppy gesture. "I see Horse Stealers wearing the colors of Tomanāk and claiming Bloody Swords worship Sharnā. Well, why the Phrobus should we take their word for it?"
"Are you after calling me a liar, then?" Bahzell asked in a voice whose mildness deceived no one, but Halâshu only flicked a sneer at him, secure in his ambassador's inviolability. He felt the attitudes of the other envoys shifting as his argument registered, and he moved to drive his momentary advantage home.
"I'm saying I see no reason to accept your unsupported word that my folk are blood-drinking, flesh-eating, demon-worshiping monsters," he said flatly. "It would certainly be convenient for you Horse Stealers if we were, now wouldn't it?"
"Maybe it would, and maybe it wouldn't," Bahzell replied coldly, "but I've not said any such thing. Some of your folk, aye, and we've the proof of that right here." He waved at the prisoners. "But all of 'em? No. Whatever the feelings between Horse Stealer and Bloody Sword, I'm after knowing as well as you that most of your folk are decent enough, and few among 'em would wallow in such filth as that. Not even Churnazh, if only because he's after knowing exactly how his allies would turn on him if ever he did."
Several envoys murmured agreement, and Halâshu's jaw clenched as the small opinion swing in his favor swung back the other way. Bahzell's refusal to accuse Churnazh of sharing his sons' perversions was a telling blow. If all this had been some ploy by Bahnak to discredit his enemy, Bahzell would have done exactly the opposite, and Halâshu knew it. But he also knew the Horse Stealers didn't have to accuse Churnazh personally. The mere fact that Sharnā had gained a hold in Navahk-and upon two successive heirs to the throne, at that!-would shake the Bloody Sword alliances to their foundations. He felt a sick, sinking certainty that Bahzell was telling the truth, or a part of it, at least, yet he dared not admit it.
"How kind of you to omit Prince Churnazh from your lies!" he sneered instead. "Of course, you didn't accuse either of his sons until after they were safely dead, either, now did you? It's hard for a dead man to defend himself, isn't it, Prince Bahzell?"
"So it is," Bahzell agreed. "Of course, it's also a mite hard to be taking a man alive when he's been given a cursed sword as opens a gate to Sharnā himself, now isn't it, Milord Ambassador?"
"So you say!" Halâshu spat. "But why should we believe you? You say you're a champion of Tomanāk , too, don't you?" He turned to the assembled envoys and threw up his arms in appeal. "A champion of Tomanāk ? A hradani champion? I ask you all, my lords and ladies-why in the names of all the gods should we believe that? Oh, I'll admit it's a bold stroke! What better way to discredit my prince than to murder his sons and then accuse them of having worshiped the Demon Lord? And who better to make the accusation than a 'champion of Tomanāk '? But there hasn't been a hradani champion in over twelve centuries! Who among us would be fool enough to claim someone like Bahzell Bahnakson as such?"
"I would," a voice like a mountain avalanche said. It shook the entire hall, and Halâshu spun about and his mouth dropped open as he saw the speaker.
Tomanāk Orfro stood beside Bahzell. It was impossible, of course. There was no room in that crowded hall for a ten-foot-tall deity, and yet there was. In some way every person there knew he or she would never be able to explain, Prince Bahnak's hall remained exactly the same size and yet expanded enormously. There was room in it for anything, and the god's presence swept through it like a storm. The prisoners his Order had brought back from Navahk wailed in terror, thrashing wildly against their bonds as the Dark Gods' most deadly foe appeared before them. The guards tightened their grips upon them, but before they could do more Tomanāk glanced once at the captives, and their wails were cut off as if by an axe. They stood petrified, eyes bulging in horror, and the smile he gave them was colder than the steel of his blade.
Then he looked away from them. His gaze-no longer crushing and silencing, but no less potent-swept the envoys and, throughout the hall, men fell to their knees and women sank in deep curtseys before the power which had appeared among them.
But not everyone knelt. Halâshu of Navahk stood almost like the prisoners, too frozen to move and, as the others knelt, Bahnak himself rose once more from his throne. He stood with his daughter at his side and his older sons behind him, and Tomanāk glanced at Bahzell with a smile.
"It runs in the family, I see," he said wryly, and eyes brightened throughout the hall at the laughter which flickered in his voice.
"Aye, I suppose it does," Bahzell agreed. "We're after being a mite on the stubborn side, the lot of us."
"The lot of you, indeed," Tomanāk said, looking at the ambassadors. "I hope you won't take this wrongly, Bahzell, but it seemed to me as if the argument could go on for at least a week. Under the circumstances, I thought perhaps I could speed things up a bit."
"Did you, then?" Bahzell murmured. He let his own eyes sweep the stunned envoys, and a small smile hovered on his lips. "D'you know, I'm thinking as how you might just have done that thing."
"I intended to. Of course, with hradani it's hard to be certain you've gotten through," Tomanāk observed, and this time half a dozen of the people in the hall surprised themselves by laughing with him.
"That's better," he told them, then looked back down at Bahzell. "You've done well," he said. "It's not often that even one of my champions creates a whole new chapter of the Order singlehanded and then leads them to such victory in their very first battle. You've exceeded expectations yet again, Bahzell. That seems to be a habit of yours."
"I'm sure that's flattering," Bahzell said dryly, "but I'd not say as how I was after doing it 'singlehanded.' You'll be knowing even better than I the quality of the lads who followed me-and I'd not call the help of another champion naught."
"No, you wouldn't. And neither would I, though some might attempt to in your place. I stand corrected."
Tomanāk nodded gravely. Then he turned to Halâshu, and his expression became stern. "I trust, Ambassador, that your doubts as to my champion's honesty have now been resolved? Do you take my word that he is, indeed, my champion, and that whatever you may think, I know all of these-" a hand waved at the warriors who'd followed Bahzell into Navahk and now knelt in wonder as they gazed at their deity "-as my own?"
"Y-Y-Y-" Halâshu swallowed hard. "Yes, Sir," he choked out finally.
"Good." Tomanāk made a shooing gesture with one index finger, and Halâshu fell back instantly into the crowd and went to his own knees. The War God folded his arms, regarding them all for several moments, and a strange, breathless hush seemed to hover somewhere at the bases of their throats.
"Halâshu was correct about one thing, you know," Tomanāk told them at last, and now that boulder-shattering voice was gentle. "Neither I nor any other God of Light have had a hradani champion since the Fall of Kontovar. It wasn't because we no longer cared for you, nor had we abandoned you, however hard your lot had become. But the damage which had been done to you by the Dark Gods and their servants was too terrible. We had been unable to prevent it, and your ancestors-"
He sighed, and his brown eyes shone with a sorrow too deep for tears-one so deep only a god could know it.
"Your ancestors could not forgive our failure," he said softly, "and how could we blame them? If we could have prevented it, we would have, but as Bahzell here c
ould tell you, we may act only through our followers in your world. The Dark won an enormous victory in the Fall, and not the least of their triumphs was the hatred and suspicion which have divided your people not simply from the other Races of Man, but also from us.
"But the damage you suffered can be healed, and those divisions need not remain forever, and that, my children, is why the time has come for me to choose a hradani champion once again. Bahzell and the chapter of my Order he has established here among you have much to tell you and teach you. I will leave that task to him and to those he chooses to help him with it, but I tell you now-all of you-that my Order welcomes all hradani. Horse Stealer, Bloody Sword, Broken Bone and Wild Wash… any hradani who keeps my Code and honors the Light will be as welcome among my Blades as any human or dwarf or elf. The time has come for you to stand once more in the Light, and you will find that the terrible years your people have spent in the shadows have given you strengths and abilities the other Races will someday need sorely."
"But-"
The single word came out of Halâshu, and Tomanāk looked at the Navahkan once more. There was no judgment or condemnation in the god's eyes, yet they cut Halâshu off like a knife blade, and sweat beaded the envoy's face as all the endless times he and his prince had violated Tomanāk's code flickered in his brain.
"But you wonder if my choice of Bahzell-and his willingness to accept the burden of serving as my champion-mean I have chosen sides between Navahk and Hurgrum?" the god asked quietly, and somehow Halâshu found the strength to nod.
"I am the Judge of Princes, Halâshu of Navahk, and my courtroom is the field of battle. My decision will be rendered there, not here. I did not appear before you for that purpose, and neither my Order nor my champions will take part in any fighting between your prince and Hurgrum's." The god gazed out at all the envoys. "More, I here confirm what Bahzell has told you: Churnazh of Navahk had no knowledge of his sons' actions or of Sharnā's presence in his realm. If you would oppose him, oppose him for reasons other than that. If you would support him, then do not hold the crimes of others against him. You are not slaves, and we of the Light do not seek such. You must make your own decisions in this, as you must decide what god-if any-you will follow."
Halâshu nodded again, a bit more naturally, and Tomanāk looked at Bahzell.
"I know how stubborn you can be. Will you obey my wishes in this respect?"
"Aye," Bahzell replied. "I'll not say I like it, but I'll do as you wish. Besides-" he grinned suddenly "-it's not as if there aren't after being Horse Stealers enough to deal with the likes of Navahk without me!"
"I suppose that's the most gracious promise I can hope for." Tomanāk sighed so mournfully that, once again, the envoys surprised themselves with a ripple of laughter. The god smiled at them, then glanced at Kaeritha and beckoned her forward.
"Did you think I would forget to greet you, Kerry?" he asked teasingly.
"No." She smiled. "I just assumed you needed to concentrate on Bahzell first. I've noticed that getting ideas through to him requires a certain amount of effort."
"Even from a god," Tomanāk agreed. "Ask him someday to tell you about how long I had to pester him before he even realized who was trying to get his attention."
"I will," she promised.
"Good. For now, though, and in answer to the question in your mind, yes. You're doing exactly what you ought to be doing."
"I am?" She blinked. "Well, that's reassuring. Now if I only knew what I'm doing, everything would be perfect."
"Don't worry. It will come to you. And now-" the god turned to where the members of the newest chapter of his Order knelt "-there's only one more detail to be dealt with. Come here, Vaijon."
The golden haired knight-probationer jerked as if somehow had just touched a particularly sensitive portion of his anatomy with a well-heated poker. His head flew up, his expression one of mingled delight and fear, and he rose. He walked across the floor through a hush that was once more total to stand between Bahzell and Kaeritha, gazing up at his deity's face, and Tomanāk smiled.
"I have something of yours," he told him. Vaijon's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then the god reached out a hand and plucked a sword out of the air as casually as a mortal might have reached into a pocket. He held it up, turning it so that the gems set into its hilt and guard glittered, and astonished recognition flickered in Vaijon's eyes.
"I believe you left this in a demon," Tomanāk said.
"I-" Vaijon looked up at him, then nodded. "I suppose I did," he said.
"A pretty toy," Tomanāk observed, "but the steel is sound enough under all the fancywork. One simply has to look close enough to see it, wouldn't you say, Vaijon?" The young man nodded slowly, never looking away from the god's face. Every person in the hall knew the words meant far more than they seemed to, but only Bahzell and Vaijon knew what that something more was.
"Yes," Tomanāk went on judiciously, "I think you understand that now. Just as you understand that a blade that looks a bit rough and unpolished-" he flicked a grin at Bahzell "-can bite deeper and truer than the most beautiful one ever forged. And just as you've learned to understand that-" he returned his eyes to Vaijon "-I've tested the steel in you, Vaijon of Almerhas. It took a while to see past the gems and decoration, but there's a fine blade underneath all that gaudiness… one I would be pleased to call my own."
He reached down and handed Vaijon's sword not to him, but to Kaeritha. Vaijon's eyes flickered in confusion for a moment, but then Tomanāk reached back over his shoulder to draw his own sword and extend the hilt to him.
"Will you swear Sword Oath to me as my champion, Vaijon?" he asked, and Vaijon sucked in deeply. His eyes clung to that plain, wire-bound hilt, and he started to shake his head-not in rejection, but with a profound sense of his unworthiness. But a hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he turned his head to see Bahzell's smile.
"It's not a thing as any man feels worthy of, lad," he said softly.
"No, it's not," Tomanāk confirmed, "and the more worthy of it he is, the less worthy he feels. But you are worthy, Vaijon. Will you serve me?"
"I will," Vaijon whispered, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his god's sword.
Blue light crackled about his fingers as he touched it, and prominences of the same light ran up his arm to dance and seethe about his head like a crown of fire. The same blue radiance danced above Bahzell and Kaeritha, flickering in a web of power that linked both champions to the champion to be and to their deity, and Tomanāk's deep voice echoed in the silence of Prince Bahnak's hall.
"Do you, Vaijon of Almerhas, swear fealty to me?"
"I do." Vaijon's voice had taken on an echo of the War God's, and there was no more doubt, no more hesitation in it.
"Will you honor and keep my Code? Will you bear true service to the Powers of Light, heeding the commands of your own heart and mind and striving always against the Dark as they require, even unto death?"
"I will."
"Do you swear by my Sword and your own to render compassion to those in need, justice to those you may be set to command, loyalty to those you choose to serve, and punishment to those who knowingly serve the Dark?"
"I do."
"Then I accept your oath, Vaijon of Almerhas, and bid you take up your blade once more. Bear it well in the cause to which you have been called."
There was a moment, like a pause in the breath of infinity-one Bahzell remembered well from a windy night in the Shipwood when he had sworn that oath-and then Tomanāk drew back his sword and Vaijon blinked like a man awaking from sleep. He drew a deep, lung-filling breath and smiled up at his god, and Kaeritha stepped up beside him and extended the sword Tomanāk had handed her. He took it from her and, as he touched it, Bahzell saw the same spark in him he had seen in Kaeritha from the first-the flicker of Tomanāk's reflected presence burning like some secret coal at the young man's heart. He reached out, embracing the War God's newest champion, and Tomanāk smiled down at them all.
"Remarkable," he said, drawing his champions' eyes back to him. He shook his head. "It isn't often one of my champions has the opportunity to swear Sword Oath with even one other champion present, and here I am with three. And the three of you," he told them, "are quite possibly the stubbornest trio of mortals I've come across in millennia. If you think you had a hard time with Vaijon, Bahzell, you should hunt up Dame Chaerwyn and let her tell you what she went through with Kerry!"
"I wasn't that bad, Milord!" Kaeritha protested. "Was I?"
"Worse," Tomanāk assured her. "Much worse. But the best ones usually are."
"Are they, now?" Bahzell asked.
"Of course there are, Bahzell," Tomanāk said. "That's why I feel confident I'll be finding lots of them among your folk in the future."
And he vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brandark Brandarkson leaned back on the weathered wooden bench with a mug of beer and basked in the first real sunlight in almost a week. The cold, wet rains of a northern spring were no stranger to him, but that didn't mean he enjoyed them, and he savored the clean, mellow taste of the beer as he soaked up the warmth. His bench was in an angle of the wall around the exercise field of the fortified manor Prince Bahnak had deeded to the fledgling Hurgrum Chapter of the Order of Tomanāk . The sharp bend shielded him from the breeze-still unpleasantly biting-while he enjoyed the sun and the first, shy flowers of spring poking through the muddy grass, and his balalaika lay beside him, weighting down the pad on which he'd been jotting potential lyrics.
