by David Weber
Soon.
Swordspinner’s was the next door down the corridor from Tellian’s own office, and it was only marginally smaller than the baron’s. Despite that, and despite the fact that Sothoii were taller than most humans, Bahzell felt cramped and trapped, painfully aware of the ceiling close above his head.
He’d felt that way constantly when he first arrived at Hill Guard, but it was a sensation he’d gotten over with the help of familiarity. Now that comforting sense of the familiar had disappeared. The dreadful message Jahlahan had summarized for him on the walk to his office had stripped it away, and the weight of the castle’s stonework seemed to press down upon him.
The human waiting in Swordspinner’s office was short for a Sothoii, a good four inches shorter than Brandark, much less Bahzell. But he was a tough, weathered-looking man, with hard muscles and a face wind, sun, and winter had darkened to the hue of old leather. It was impossible for Bahzell to estimate his age accurately, but he was certain the human was at least several years older than he was himself.
And it was also quickly apparent that this was not one of Tellian’s retainers who approved of hradani.
Lord Edinghas’ messenger snapped to his feet, his exhausted face taut with outrage, as soon as he laid eyes on Bahzell and Brandark. His bone-deep weariness had clearly undermined whatever normal reserve he might have, and he opened his mouth angrily. No doubt he intended to demand to know what Swordspinner thought he was doing bringing hradani into his mission to Hill Guard, and Bahzell couldn’t honestly blame him. Not given the long and bloody history which lay between the Sothoii and the Horse Stealer clans. Bahzell didn’t begin to have all the details, but the horrifying bits and pieces Swordspinner had shared with him on the walk here were more than enough to explain both the messenger’s exhaustion and his anger at suddenly finding himself face-to-face with hradani.
But despite all of that, the man managed to clamp his jaws before his anger found words to express itself. Bahzell was impressed by the other man’s self-control. He doubted he could have matched it, had their circumstances been reversed. And he was suddenly glad he’d sent Gharnal off with Hurthang to alert the Order.
“Alfar Axeblade, be known to Prince Bahzell Bahnakson, son of Prince Bahnak of the Horse Stealer Hradani,” Swordspinner said, his tone formal. Obviously, he, too, recognized Axeblade’s struggle with his emotions, and he kept his own voice carefully under control as he added, “And champion of Tomanak.”
“Champion of Tomanak?“ Axeblade repeated. Despite all he could do, there was as much incredulity as surprise in his tone, and his weathered face flushed darker as he realized how he’d given himself away.
“Aye,” Bahzell rumbled, his deep voice measured and dispassionate. “And I’ll not blame you for feeling a mite … surprised, Master Axeblade.” He produced a wry smile. “I’m thinking you couldn’t possibly be more surprised than I was when Himself first turned up and told me as how such as I had the makings of a champion! Yet such I am, and if there’s aught I can be doing to serve you or Lord Warden Edinghas against the Dark, then that I will be doing.”
There was a tang of iron promise in his voice. Axeblade heard it, but so many centuries of mutual hatred couldn’t be washed away so quickly.
“I hope you’ll not take this wrongly … Milord Champion,” he said, after a moment. He seemed to have trouble getting the title out, as if the words were sharp-edged enough to cut his tongue. “But Warm Springs isn’t exactly what you might call the very heart of the West Riding. Often enough, news takes a while getting to us, and we’d not heard aught about you. So if I could be asking, what’s a hradani doing here?”
“And what’s a hradani doing pretending as he’s a champion of Tomanak, for that matter?” Bahzell added dryly, and Axeblade flushed again. But he also nodded stubbornly, and Bahzell chuckled.
“Master Axeblade,” Swordspinner began stiffly, “Prince Bahzell is Baron Tellian’s guest. Under the circumstances, I don’t think—”
“Let be, Sir Jahlahan,” Bahzell interrupted. The seneschal looked at him sharply, and the Horse Stealer shrugged. “In Master Axeblade’s place, I’d not be so polite,” he said dryly, and returned his attention to the other man.
“What I’m after doing here is just a mite complicated,” he said. “It’s glad enough I’ll be to explain it all to you, and to Lord Edinghas, assuming as how I have the opportunity. For now, let’s just be saying that Baron Tellian and I—aye, and my father, as well—are after doing what we can to be keeping our swords out of one another’s bellies for a change. That’s what I’m doing here at Hill Guard. But what you’re really asking, Master Axeblade, is why a Horse Stealer should be offering to help any Sothoii—or coming within a league or three of any courser ever born. Or, for that matter, why in the world you should be trusting such as me to do any such thing.”
“Aye, that I am,” Axeblade said after a moment. “Your folk aren’t named ’Horse Stealer’ for naught … Milord. And Tomanak Himself knows how many of our horses you’ve stolen, slaughtered, and eaten,” he continued, matching bluntness to bluntness, and Bahzell smiled more naturally. This man might hate hradani, but Bahzell recognized a kindred soul when he met one.
“That we have,” he acknowledged. “And, truth to tell, there’s more than enough of my folk as would cheerfully do the same, even now. But my father’s not after being one of them, and no more am I. We’ve done each other harm enough over the years, I’m thinking, Master Axeblade. Time we tried another road, one where neither of us is after raiding the other.”
Axeblade looked as if he found the entire concept impossible to grasp, but at least he was polite enough not to call Bahzell insane.
“I can’t be undoing all Horse Stealers are having done to the Sothoii,” Bahzell continued. “And no more can you—or Baron Tellian, himself—undo a single thing as Sothoii are having done to us. But if we’re to stop killing one another once and for all, I’m thinking as how it will have to start somewhere. So why not here, and now? And if it’s Tomanak’s little joke to choose such as me to be playing peacemaker to you Sothoii, then it’s little choice I have but to be doing the same for the coursers. Or do you think Horse Stealers are daft enough to think we could be after making peace with one and not the other?”
“That sounds mighty fine and reasonable, Milord,” Axeblade said in a tone he managed to keep neutral. “I’m not so very sure the coursers will think it does, though. They’ve long memories, too, you know.”
“So they do,” Bahzell agreed. “And I suppose it’s likely enough one of them might like to feel a little Horse Stealer crushed under his toes. Mind you, I’d not think it such a marvelous idea, but I can see how it might be having a little appeal for a courser. Still and all, Baron Tellian’s courser, and Hathan Shieldarm’s courser, have been after being civil enough.” He shrugged. “I’ll take my chances that other coursers will be being reasonable enough to give one of Tomanak’s champion’s time enough to at least be saying a few words in his own defense before they’re after turning him into Wind Plain mud.
“And whatever it is they may think about the notion,” he went on in a voice which was suddenly devoid of any humor at all, “what Sir Jahlahan’s told me of your tale is after leaving me no choice. I’ll not pretend I’ve any clear idea of who or what might have been able to do such as you’ve described. But this I do know, Master Axeblade—whoever, or whatever, it may be, it’s flat my business to be stopping it. And stop it I will.”
Axeblade started to say something more, then stopped, looking at Bahzell’s expression. Several seconds passed in silence, and then Lord Edinghas’ messenger nodded slowly.
“I believe you will, Milord Champion,” he said. “Or die trying, any road. To my mind, that’s the most anyone could ask of any man … human or hradani. So if you’re daft enough to ride into the middle of a holding full of Sothoii and coursers who’re none of them going to be happy to see hradani, now of all times, then I suppose I’m daft
enough to take you there.”
“Take us there, you mean,” Brandark put in. Axeblade looked at him, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. “He’s not very bright, but he is my friend,” he said lightly. “I’d never forgive myself if I let him out without a leash and he suffered a mischief.”
“As well take two hradani—or a dozen—as one,” Axeblade agreed with an answering shrug. “I don’t know who’s going to explain any of this to the coursers, though!” he added.
“Well, as to that,” Bahzell said, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking Sir Jahlahan to send word to Deep Water. Would it happen you and your lord are after knowing Sir Kelthys and his courser?”
“Aye,” Axeblade said slowly, his expression thoughtful.
“So am I,” Bahzell said. “And I’m thinking as how Kelthys will vouch for me to you two-legged Sothoii, while Walasfro is after talking fast enough to the other coursers to keep me untrodden on. Besides, like as not we’ll be needing him if the surviving coursers are to tell us what happened out there.”
“That we will,” Axeblade agreed.
“Well, then,” Bahzell said. “With Walasfro under him, Kelthys can be making the trip to Warm Springs from Deep Water faster than we can get there from Balthar. Even allowing for the time to be getting word to him in the first place, it’s in my mind he’ll be there before ever we are, or close enough behind to be treading on our heels. So if you’re fit for the saddle, then I’m thinking its past time we were on the road. You can be telling me the details while we travel.”
“Milord Champion, Master Axeblade is—” Sir Jahlahan began, but Bahzell raised one hand.
“It’s plain as the nose on my face—or on Brandark’s—as how this man’s worn himself to the bone getting here, Sir Jahlahan. I’ll not let him push himself hard enough to be doing himself in, but no more will I insult him by pretending every hour isn’t more precious than gold.”
Bahzell held Axeblade’s eyes levelly, and the horse trainer nodded slowly.
“I’ll ask you to be finding him a fresh horse while I send word to Hurthang, and to be seeing to it as Brandark is mounted and we’ve supplies for the trip,” Bahzell said. “And then we’ll be leaving.”
Chapter Seventeen
The nondescript man stood gazing moodily out of a second-story inn window with his hands folded behind his back. He was no more remarkable looking than he’d been when he appeared uninvited in Baron Cassan’s suite, but the other two people in the room with him watched him attentively. There was deep respect, possibly even fear, in their eyes, and they were careful not to intrude upon his thoughts.
Unlike the weather during his last visit to the baron, the day beyond the window was beautiful. Just a hint of a breeze whispered across the city of Balthar, scarcely enough to set the great standard over the castle above the city gently flapping. Birdsong echoed from the city’s towers and eaves, drifting through the rise and fall of voices from the market two blocks over and the rumbling clatter of the wheels and hooves of a heavy freight wagon passing below the window. The early morning sun shone brilliantly from a high blue sky, cradled amid dramatic billows of fleecy white clouds. Like most Sothoii towns and cities, Balthar enjoyed excellent drains and sewers, and the air breathing lightly through the window was remarkably free of the odors it would have carried in many another city the unremarkable man had visited in his time. He drew a deep, lung-filling breath of the fresh spring air … which did absolutely nothing to improve his mood.
“Well!” he said finally, turning away from the window. He balanced on the balls of his feet, weight forward, hands still clasped behind him, and both of the other men in the room seemed to shrink ever so slightly away from him. “This is a fine mess, isn’t it?”
His tone was almost conversational, but neither of the others appeared inclined to respond, and he smiled thinly.
“Come, now! You know the plan as well as I do. Would you say it’s proceeding properly?”
“Not exactly according to schedule, no,” one of his companions finally replied. The speaker was taller than the nondescript man, with black hair, yet shared something of his lack of remarkability. Except, perhaps, for his dark eyes. There was a peculiar stillness about them, an almost reptilian, unblinking watchfulness. “On the other hand, Master Varnaythus, that’s scarcely mine or Jerghar’s fault, is it?”
He met the nondescript man’s gaze steadily, and it was Varnaythus who finally shrugged irritably.
“I suppose not,” he said in a peevish tone. Then he shook his head. “No. No, it isn’t,” he continued in quite a different tone. It wasn’t precisely apologetic, perhaps, but it was at least an admission that his irritation was making him unreasonable.
“Actually,” he turned back to the window’s open casement, but his shoulders weren’t quite so taut and his hands’ interlocked grip relaxed slightly, “I think what I’m most frustrated about is having such an unanticipated opportunity slip through our fingers this way.”
“If I’d had even a day or two of warning,” the black-haired man replied, “I might have been able to put together enough men to do something about it. But Tellian rode out of here like Fiendark’s Furies were on his heels. And the armsmen he took with him were all from his personal guard.” He shrugged. “I don’t have more than a dozen men here in Balthar at the moment—and usually barely half that many, given how low a profile we have to maintain—and I’m not going up against Tellian’s handpicked guards, even from ambush, without at least twice their number. We might get Tellian before they killed us all, but the Guild doesn’t accept contracts it knows are going to be suicidal.”
“I understand, Salgahn,” Varnaythus said. “I don’t like it, but I certainly understand it. And I don’t disagree with your analysis. It’s just that opportunities to catch Tellian in the open, especially when he’s distracted by personal problems and his guard might be down, are so few and far between that I hate to waste one when it comes along.”
“A pity you couldn’t scry far enough ahead to see it coming,” the third man said at that. Jerghar Sholdan was taller than Varnaythus, shorter than Salgahn, and better dressed than either of them. Indeed, he looked like what he was—a wealthy merchant banker who had arrived in Balthar several months before to represent the interests of half a dozen prominent Axeman and Purple Lord merchants. He was well groomed and clean-shaven, with fair hair, manicured hands, and cheerful blue eyes, yet there was something else about him … Varnaythus knew what that “something else” was, since it was he who had provided the charm which both offset the “banker’s” aversion to direct sunlight and prevented others from noticing his minor peculiarities.
“Scrying isn’t as simple as people without a trace of the Art at their command sometimes assume, Jerghar,” Varnaythus said, still gazing out the window. “And unless I’m mistaken, it was your job to keep Tellian under observation, since that entire portion of the operation is your responsibility.”
He turned from the window finally, facing Sholdan with a thin smile.
“Scrying takes concentration, a lack of distractions, and enough preliminary information to at least know where to look. Even the best wizard can only employ one scry spell at a time, you know. To watch all of our possible targets by gramerhain, I’d have to concentrate on doing nothing but that, and given the quality of coconspirator currently available to me, I don’t seem to be able to find enough time free of distractions to do other people’s work for them.”
Sholdan’s eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened, showing just a flash of sharp, oddly elongated teeth. He started a quick retort, then made himself swallow it unspoken as he remembered who—and what—Varnaythus was.
Varnaythus watched him unblinkingly, then smiled again, even more thinly than before.
“The problem,” the black wizard said as if the venomous exchange had never occurred, “is that there are too many cooks busily stirring this particular pot. We know who most of the major players are, but don’t delude yourself into be
lieving that we know who all of them are. There’s no possible way to predict what people you don’t even know about are going to do next. That’s bad enough, but I prefer it to having someone I do know about take me as completely by surprise as Cassan managed with this little gem.”
“Do you think he kept us in the dark because he’s begun to distrust us?” Salgahn asked.
“I think he kept us in the dark because he doesn’t want his own shadow to know what he’s doing, much less anyone else,” Varnaythus snorted. “Which, to be fair, doesn’t make him so very different from us. And he did at least warn me he’d taken measures to ’distract’ Tellian.” The wizard twitched his shoulders in another shrug, his smile tart as alum. “He probably wouldn’t have given me any specifics, whatever he expected, but I doubt very much that he anticipated a result quite this … spectacular. After all, who would have expected the girl to bolt this way?”
“I can see that,” Salgahn said thoughtfully. “On the other hand, I wonder what else he’s working on that he hasn’t bothered to mention to us?”
“He’s operating exactly the same way we are,” Varnaythus replied. “We’re certainly not going to tell him what we actually have in mind, are we?” He took one hand from behind him and waved it in a dismissive gesture. “Our whole object, where he’s concerned, is to keep him convinced he’s the prime mover and that he’s simply using our services. I’m sure he’s intelligent enough to assume we have ends of our own in mind, however, and that means he’s not stupid enough to trust us. So he’ll tell us just enough about his plans to make us useful to him … just as we’re doing where he’s concerned. Of course, however much he may distrust us, it’s probably never occurred to him that we intend to destabilize the entire Kingdom and let him take the blame for it.”
