by David Weber
But they hadn’t, and it wasn’t, which turned the attempt into an equally resounding failure. Although, now that he thought about it, increasing Tellian’s suspicions of Cassan would probably be worthwhile in its own right. After all, it wasn’t that the Dark Gods actually needed Cassan to win; they only needed him to destroy the Kingdom’s cohesion trying to win. In fact, it would actually suit them even better to see the entire Kingdom dissolve into something like that interminable bloodletting in Ferenmoss. Twenty or thirty years of civil war, preferably with enough attention diverted to break up Prince Bahnak’s experiment in hradani unity, would be just about perfect from his Lady’s perspective.
Well, since you never expected them to succeed in the first place, at least the fact that they didn’t hasn’t dislocated any of your own plans, he told himself as philosophically as he could. And you should probably make sure Cassan finds out about this as soon as you can do it without raising any suspicions about just how you learned about Arthnar’s failure that quickly. Not that a little delay couldn’t be useful. He smiled unpleasantly. After all, it’ll give you more time to decide exactly how you want to let Cassan know about Arthnar’s...misdirection. It never hurts to add a bit of salt to the wound when it comes to sowing dissension, now does it?
* * *
“And a good morning to you, too,” Bahzell said, recovering from his yawn and reaching out to rub Walsharno’s nose. “I’m hoping you had a restful evening?”
“Freezing is it, now?”
Sunlight was already slanting golden shafts through the leaves overhead, promising plenty of warmth to come, and Bahzell chuckled and patted the side of Walsharno’s neck.
“And no more did I fit into that ‘wretched little’ bed,” Bahzell pointed out. “It’s a hard floor that bedchamber has!”
He reached back to knead the small of his back, and someone laughed behind him. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder, and smiled as Hathan Shieldarm joined him and Walsharno.
“Making you feel guilty, is he?” Hathan asked.
“Oh, not so much as all that,” Bahzell demurred with a grin.
“But not for lack of trying. Is that what you mean?”
“Now that I won’t.” Bahzell shook his head with a laugh. “First, because it’s a fearful lie it would be, and, second, because he’d not believe a word of it.”
Walsharno snorted and shoved hard enough with his nose to stagger even the massive hradani, and Hathan laughed. He obviously didn’t need to actually hear what Walsharno had said to make a pretty shrewd guess about its content. He started to say something else, then paused and turned his head, shading his eyes with one hand as another courser—this one an iron gray, smaller (though no courser would ever actually be called “small”) than Walsharno and obviously at least a few years older—came drifting over.
“Good morning, Gayrhalan,” Bahzell said courteously, and the newcomer snorted with a very horselike head shake before he nodded to the hradani.
There’d been a time when Bahzell Bahnakson had not been Gayrhalan’s favorite person in the world. Those days were long gone, but Hathan’s courser had been well named. “Storm Souled”—that was what Gayrhalan meant—and the gray’s temper was as stormy as his name suggested.
Despite which, he whinnied like a child’s pony in delight as Hathan reached into his belt pouch and extracted a large lump of maple sugar.
“Greedy!” the Sothōii said as Gayrhalan lipped the sugar delicately from his palm. The courser ignored the charge with lordly hauteur...and crunched the sugar loudly.
“Ha!” Bahzell shook his head. “‘Appreciate,’ is it, now? More a matter of who’s after being under whose hoof, I’m thinking!”
“That sort of honest evaluation isn’t going to make you any friends, Milord Champion,” Hathan said.
“Aye,” Bahzell sighed and shook his head again, his expression mournful. “It’s a hard lot, this being an honest man. There’s never an end to the trouble it can be landing a fellow in! If I’d the least notion then where it would be taking me, I’d not have fallen so easy for Himself’s little invitation. I mean, when it comes to the sticking point, what’s one wee little demon one way or the other compared to a man’s spending his whole life long speaking naught but the truth? And me a hradani, to boot.”
Hathan laughed. But then he gave Gayrhalan’s neck one last pat and turned to face Bahzell fully, and his expression was far more serious than it had been.
“Gayrhalan says Dathgar’s strength is coming back nicely. Has Walsharno spoken with him this morning?”
Hathan’s eyes had narrowed as he listened to Gayrhalan relaying Walsharno’s comments. Now he smiled and nodded his head vigorously, but his expression was quizzical.
“I don’t know that I’d like to be the one suggesting to Dathgar that he might be getting a bit past it,” he said, regarding Walsharno with a raised eyebrow. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t, even if I were a somewhat younger fellow than him and a champion of Tomanāk. Having said that, though, I agree there’s no need to rush getting back on the road. And not just for Dathgar’s sake, either.”
“Well, I’ll not deny it’s easier I’d be in my own mind if it so happened we could convince Tellian of the same thing,” Bahzell acknowledged. “Mind, champion of Tomanāk or no, I’ve no mind to be suggesting to him as how he’s ‘getting a bit past it, either,’ if it’s all the same to you.”
“I think that would be an excellent thing to avoid doing,” Hathan agreed fervently. “In fact, I can’t think of anything you could possibly say that would be more likely to inspire him to insist on leaving before breakfast!”
“Sure, and a sad thing it is to see such deceitfulness so early in the morning,” Bahzell sighed.
“That I don’t,” the hradani conceded cheerfully. “And it’s no quarrel I have with deceitfulness so long as it’s after working, when all’s said.”
“From your lips to Tomanāk’s ears,” Hathan said feelingly. “And
if convincing the two of them to go easy on each other doesn’t work, we can always add Tarith. For that matter, I’m pretty sure we could convince him to hobble around for a day or two—with a properly stoic expression, you understand—to convince Tellian he needs the rest!”
“No doubt,” Bahzell agreed.
“Good.”
Hathan reached up to rub Gayrhalan’s nose again for several seconds, then looked back at Bahzell and Walsharno, and his expression was far more serious than it had been.
“Things were a bit hectic yesterday,” he said. “I’m not sure I got around to thanking the two of you for saving Tellian’s and Dathgar’s lives. If I didn’t, I should have.” His eyes darkened with emotion. “I knew they were both gone, and all I could think of was telling Hanatha. I think it would have killed her, too, you know.”
“I’m thinking she’s a stronger woman than that,” Bahzell disagreed. “Still and all, it’s happier I am we’ve no need to find out one way or the other.”
“The gods know I agree with you there!” Hathan said. “When you pulled those arrows out of his chest, Bahzell...I was afraid you were going to finish him off on the spot!” He shook his head. “Of course, I knew even then that we were going to lose him anyway if you couldn’t heal him, but still—!”
“I’ll not deny it gave me a twinge or two,” Bahzell admitted. “Yet I couldn’t be leaving them where they were, and there was no time at all, at all, for being gentle about it.”
“No, and I knew it at the time. For that matter, I had to do the same thing with Dathgar!”
Hathan cocked his head as he listened to the other courser relaying that to him. Then he nodded to Walsharno with a courteous formality.
“It was my honor,” he said quietly. “But we were all lucky to have the two of you and Vaijon along! Toragan only knows how many we would’ve lost without you.” His mouth tightened. “For that matter, it was bad enough with all the three of you could do.”
“That it was.”
Bahzell’s ears flattened and his eyes darkened. Not even a champion of Tomanāk could recall someone who’d already crossed the wall between life and death, and seven of Tellian’s armsmen had made that journey before he or Vaijon could summon them back. Walsharno had helped with that effort as much as he could, but one thing he and Bahzell had learned over the years since he’d become the very first courser champion of Tomanāk was that there were differences in their healing abilities.
Bahzell wasn’t entirely certain why that was so, but they’d discovered that Walsharno’s ability to heal coursers or horses was far stronger than Bahzell’s...and that Bahzell’s ability to heal the Races of Man was greater than Walsharno’s. They’d discussed the difference often, and they’d come to the conclusion that the difference lay in who—and what—they were. The degree to which any champion of Tomanāk could succeed in a healing depended in large part upon how completely and deeply he could visualize his patient’s restoration...and how deeply into that patient’s soul and innermost being he could reach. Coursers and the Races of Man were simply different from one another in some deep and fundamental ways, and that affected how deeply and intimately they could fuse with those they sought to heal, become the essential bridge between the hurt and dying and Tomanāk.
Whatever the reason, Walsharno was plainly better than Bazell at healing coursers or their smaller equine cousins while Bahzell was better at healing fellow hradani and humans. That was why Bahzell had concentrated on saving Tellian and entrusted Dathgar to Walsharno. It was also why Walsharno had lent his strength to Bahzell and Vaijon, putting all his driving will behind them as they’d plucked as many of the wounded back from death as they could. They’d done all any man could do, and without Walsharno’s aid they would have lost still more of them. Bahzell and his wind brother both knew that, and so did Vaijon, yet the hradani also knew it would be a long time before any of them fully forgave themselves for having lost so many.
And I’d’ve done still better if I’d spent less time making bad jokes and more seeing what it was the lot of us were riding into, Bahzell thought grimly.
Bahzell started to reply, then stopped himself.
Bahzell felt a twinge of resentment at being called “childish,” but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. After all, Tomanāk was the God of Truth. Which was undoubtedly the very reason the word had stung.
I’ll try to be bearing that in mind, he thought a bit tartly. In the meantime, though, would it be as how you’ve any more to be telling us?
Bahzell frowned for a moment. Then his eyes widened, and he sensed Tomanāk’s nod.
Tomanāk replied after a moment. Walsharno and Bahzell sensed his fierce satisfaction, his pride in them. that direction if they can.>
And here they’ve been so shy and hesitant about all they’ve been doing so far, Bahzell thought in a wondering tone, and Tomanāk chuckled.
Bahzell looked at Walsharno as he felt a huge, immaterial hand rest on his shoulder for just an instant. Then it was gone, and as he drew a deep breath he realized the entire conversation had taken place between one heartbeat and the next, without Hathan or Gayrhalan sensing a thing about it.
“Aye, Hathan,” he said, resuming the conversation the other wind rider had no idea had ever been interrupted, “it’s lucky we were to lose so few. And speaking of luck,” he straightened, smiling wickedly, “what say the lot of us go have a word or three with those lads as were giving oath to Tomanāk yesterday? I’ve the oddest feeling as how it might just be they’ll find it in their hearts to be telling us what it is we’d like to know.”
Chapter Ten
“Leeana is here, Five Hundred.”
Commander of Five Hundred Balcartha Evahnalfressa looked up from the paperwork on her desk, one eyebrow raised as she regarded the youthful war maid currently detailed as her aide. It was a rotating assignment which was usually shared by the newest and most junior members of the Kalatha City Guard...much to their trepidation. Most of them thought that things were arranged that way to be sure they were suitably terrified by the Guard’s commander before they were released to the general population. In fact, it was so that they got an inside look at how the Guard ran as early in their careers as possible...and so that Balcartha had the opportunity to personally evaluate each of them. The Guard wasn’t all that enormous, after all. Certainly, it wasn’t so big that she couldn’t actually know each of her war maids, yet new recruits had a pronounced tendency to hide from their commanding officer in the underbrush, at least until they got their feet under them. Balcartha understood that. She even sympathized with them. Yet she had no intention of allowing them to get away with it, either.
