Oath of Swords wg-1

by David Weber

  “As I say, Hûrâka isn’t the largest sept of Shâloan, and Father’s always had some . . . peculiar notions and no sons. My mother is dead, and he remarried just two years ago, so that may change, but for now I’m still his oldest child and heir. Of course, my husband would inherit the title and what lands go with it, not me, but still-”

  She shrugged again, and Brandark nodded, yet a flicker of unsatisfied curiosity still glowed in his eyes.

  “As for sending me to the Axemen,” she went on more briskly, “pray, why should he not? There’s always tension between the empires, but, as you say, I’m only a daughter. Even the most patriotic Spearman has to admit Axeman schools are better, and-” a hint of bitterness tinged her voice “-no one pays much heed to where a mere daughter is educated.”

  She fell silent, then gave her head a little toss. “At any rate, he sent me to Axe Hallow very quietly, I assure you. Just as I assure you he will, indeed, recompense you for any expenses you may suffer and reward you well for your assistance in getting me home.”

  Bahzell had the distinct impression as much was left unsaid as said, but he glanced at Brandark, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. He seemed to accept Zarantha’s story at face value, but it was hard to be certain. For himself, Bahzell was inclined to believe all she’d said was true, yet that wasn’t to say it was all the truth . . . or that she hadn’t embroidered a bit about the edges.

  “Well,” he said at length, “if the sergeant had the right of it, we’d best be on our way quick.” He bent a dubious eye on Zarantha. “Can you be staying on a horse if we put you there . . . Lady?”

  She lowered her eyes demurely, but the ghost of a smile flickered about her lips.

  “I think I could,” she said in a meek voice, “but if you don’t mind, I’d feel more comfortable on my mule. Father sent him to me, and he’s a really fine mule. I have a pack mule, too, and another for my maid, Rekah, as well.”

  Bahzell studied the crown of her bent head, and a corner of his mind noted that her dark, shining hair was as scrupulously clean as her shabby garments had been before ni’Tarth’s thugs attacked her. The thought of a father poor enough to send his eldest daughter off to foreign lands on muleback, without even a horse, caused his heart to sink, but there were worse things than mules when it came to the road. They were tough enough, with the ability to survive on forage that could never support a horse, and if he’d seldom met a mule with a disposition he cared for, they were also smarter than horses.

  “Aye, well, I’ve no problem with that,” he rumbled, “but you were saying you’ve still one guardsman left. D’you have a mule for him, as well?”

  “Oh, no! But Tothas has an excellent horse,” she said so reassuringly he felt an instant pang of dread. Then she raised her head and met his eyes with an earnest look. “The only problem is that, as I told you, we were robbed while he was ill. I’ve been able to pay our board and stable fees, but when it comes to provisions for the road-”

  She raised her hands, empty palms up, and Bahzell looked at Brandark in resignation. The Bloody Sword only grinned and opened his purse to spill a scant handful of coins onto the wobbly table, and Bahzell sighed and followed suit.

  They pushed their total remaining assets into a single heap, and Bahzell sat back to let Brandark count it. The Bloody Sword had a better notion of the value of foreign coins, and his fingers sorted them briskly while Zarantha sat with her hands in her lap and an anxious expression. Bahzell had an odd feeling she looked more anxious than she was, and it irritated him. He’d never seen a map of the Empire of the Spear-not one he’d trust, anyway-but it was easily half again the size of the Empire of the Axe. It was also far more sparsely settled, and the thought of crossing it with scant supplies at this time of year was hardly amusing, whatever Zarantha might think.

  Bahzell finished counting and scraped the coins back into his purse, then leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful frown.

  “We’ve enough, I think,” he said after a moment. “Not much more than that, mind, but enough-assuming, that is,” he added with a sharp glance at Zarantha, “that you and your servants have your own trail gear.”

  “We do,” she assured him.

  “In that case,” Brandark turned his eyes to Bahzell, “we should consider where to get what we require. If this ni’Tarth is as powerful as your guardsman says, he won’t need long to hear what happened. Under the circumstances, I’d just as soon get on the road quickly.”

  “You’re minded to set out and buy what we need on the way?” Bahzell asked dubiously, and Brandark nodded.

  “You and I have enough trail rations to carry us all for a day or two, and we’re going to have to cross the Dreamwater when we leave Riverside. If this ni’Tarth is involved in the docks, it might be smarter to get ourselves ferried across before he puts out the word he’s looking for us than to take the time to go shopping. We can buy what we need once we get over into Angthyr.”

  “Aye, that’s true enough, but I’ve not the least notion where we’re bound.” Bahzell looked at Zarantha. “This Sherhan, now. You were saying it’s near what?”

  “Alfroma. That’s the second largest city in the South Weald,” she told him proudly.

  “Well it may be, but I’ve no idea how to get there from here.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I know the way.”

  “Do you, now?” He gave her a grim look. “If it’s all the same to you, Lady, I’m not minded to set out for a place I ’ve no notion of how to find.” He looked back at Brandark. “Would you be knowing the way?”

  “No, but I know roughly where the South Weald is in relation to us, and I’m sure we can find a map in Kor Keep, if not sooner. On the other hand,” it was Brandark’s turn to look thoughtfully at their new employer, “I can’t help wondering why your father didn’t send you home by ship, My Lady. If memory serves, you could have sailed up the Sword to the Darkwater from Bortalik Bay. Surely that would have been faster, not to mention more comfortable-and safer-than traveling overland from Riverside at this time of year.”

  “Father doesn’t like Purple Lords.” For the first time, there was a truly evasive note in Zarantha’s voice, but she brushed it aside and went on more briskly. “Besides, it should have been safe enough if my armsmen hadn’t been taken ill,” she reminded him. “There was no reason to expect that.”

  “I see.” Brandark studied her a moment longer, then shrugged and turned back to Bahzell. “At any rate, we can get maps in Angthyr, and this Tothas probably knows the roads fairly well-”

  “He does,” Zarantha put in.

  “-so I don’t think that will be that much of a problem,” Brandark continued with a flick of his ears. “At any rate, I don’t want to hang about hunting for maps here . Even if this ni’Tarth didn’t get us while we did it, he could probably find out which maps we’d been looking for after we’d gone. That might give him a better notion where to find us while we’re still close enough for him to consider sending someone after us.”

  “Aye, there’s that.” Bahzell frowned down at the table for several silent moments, then twitched his shoulders and sighed. “In that case, I’m thinking we’d best be about it. It’s coming up on dawn in an hour or two, and the ferries will be running with the sun.”

  “Agreed,” Brandark nodded.

  “Then if you’ll pay our shot to the harpy downstairs-I’ve a notion she’d sooner see you than me, just now-let’s be off.”

  ***

  Streetlights still burned behind them, for the sun was just rising as the ferry crept across the Dreamwater towards the Kingdom of Angthyr’s Grand Duchy of Korwin. Heavy mist pressed down on the river’s cold water, but the eastern sky was a pale gold glory, bright enough to throw shadows . . . and to hurt Bahzell Bahnakson’s weary eyes.

  The ferry was crowded, and the boatmen were surly. They’d grumbled resentfully when Brandark pulled them away from their breakfasts, and not even the extra coins he’d slipped them when no one was looking had
sweetened their dispositions. They might be making twice the legal ferry fee, but they’d stood aloof and left it to the two hradani and Zarantha’s single remaining armsman to get three nervous horses and three resentful mules aboard their craft.

  Overall, Bahzell had been pleasantly surprised by the quality of Zarantha’s animals. Her own saddle mule had a wicked, roving eye, but all three were long-legged, big-boned, powerful animals who looked remarkably well cared for, given their owner’s poverty and the wretched inn at which they’d been stabled. For its part, Tothas’ mount, far from being the nag he’d feared, was an excellent medium warhorse, and its war training-and bond with Tothas-showed. Finding an animal easily worth several hundred kormaks in the hands of a retainer who served such a poverty-stricken mistress was one more puzzle for him to chew at unhappily, and Zarantha’s sweet smile when he saw it told him she’d enjoyed leading him to assume the worst.

  Tothas himself was a cause of some concern, however. The man wore the crossed mace and sword of the Church of Tomanāk on an amulet about his neck. He felt solid , somehow, yet whatever illness he’d suffered from must have been both protracted and severe. He was tall for a human, and rangy, built much along the same lines as Rianthus-indeed, but for his chestnut hair and blue eyes, he reminded Bahzell a great deal of Kilthan’s captain-but his haggard face was badly wasted and his chain hauberk hung on his gaunt frame. He moved briskly, and he’d accepted his mistress’ arrival with two hradani in tow with remarkable calm, but his hands trembled ever so slightly, and he’d stopped once or twice as if he were short of breath. Still, his equipment was well cared for, and he had the look of a man who knew how to use both the sword at his side and the short horsebow on his back.

  The maid, Rekah, was another matter. She was taller than Zarantha, and much fairer. In fact, she was considerably prettier than her mistress, in a soft-edged sort of way. Zarantha could not be many years out of her teens, and her nose was strong and slightly hooked, her hair dark and her triangular face lively but decidedly lean, while Rekah was a bit older, with golden hair, a sweet, oval face, and a straight little nose. She was also better dressed than Zarantha, but she had a pronounced tendency to flutter, and she’d shrunk back in dismay when Bahzell followed her mistress into their poorly furnished rooms. She’d settled down when Zarantha explained, yet her initial squeak of panic seemed a poor augury. Rekah, Bahzell thought, wouldn’t have produced a dagger if she’d been caught in an alley; she would have been too busy flailing about and screaming for help.

  Still, it was early days yet, he told himself-then snorted at his own thought. From what little he did remember about the Empire of the Spear’s geography, they’d have more than sufficient days for him to learn all the strengths and weaknesses of their small party!

  The one thing that had truly bothered him was Zarantha’s manner when they reached the docks. She’d been brisk and purposeful getting things organized and chivvying Rekah and Tothas through the city, but once they neared the river she’d fallen back beside her maid and become a totally different person. She’d exchanged her torn skirt and cloak for sturdy trousers, a leather cap, and an equally plain coat of Axeman cut before leaving the inn; once at dockside, she’d pulled the cap down over her ears, turned up her coat collar, and huddled down in it almost as if she were trying to hide. She’d been colorless and passive, almost timid, leaving everything in Bahzell’s hands without so much as a word, and he hadn’t missed how close Tothas stayed to her or the way his hand kept checking his sword hilt.

  Of course, this was ni’Tarth’s domain. That was certainly enough to account for Tothas’ attitude, but Zarantha had seemed far less frightened of ni’Tarth earlier. Bahzell couldn’t shake the notion that she was worried by something more than the wrath of a Riverside crime lord, however powerful, and he chewed his lip unhappily at the thought. Little though he cared for the situation he’d landed in, he found himself liking Zarantha, almost against his will, and his stubborn sense that there was more-or possibly less-to her than she’d chosen to admit bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  Unfortunately, Brandark had found the perfect way to distract him from his worries. The Bloody Sword was following through on his threat to write his thrice-bedamned Lay of Bahzell Bloody-Hand. Worse, he’d chosen to set it to the tune of a well-known-and dismayingly memorable-drinking song, and he’d insisted on singing the first three verses under his breath while he and Bahzell struggled to get the animals aboard the ferry. Now he sat on the lip of the ferry’s single, squat deckhouse, looking down through the open skylight at Rekah and Zarantha while he plucked out the melody on his balalaika and regaled them with his work to date.

  Bahzell folded his arms, standing in the very prow of the ferry-as far from his friend as he could get-and gritted his teeth as the balalaika’s spritely notes rippled through the creak of the sweeps and the sounds of rushing water. The fact that Brandark’s voice was doing a better job than usual of staying with the music did nothing at all to sweeten his mood-and neither did the gurgle of female laughter that greeted the Bloody Sword’s efforts.

  Bahzell Bahnakson stared glumly ahead into the Dreamwater’s drifting mist, and the unpleasant suspicion that this was going to be a very long journey filled him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It wasn’t necessary to buy maps after all.

  A chance remark from Brandark informed Tothas of their need shortly after the ferry set them ashore once more, and the guardsman blinked, then gave his youthful mistress a scolding look and produced his own map. Bahzell matched the Spearman’s look with a glower of his own, but Zarantha-who’d regained her normal spirits as soon as the ferry vanished back into the mists-only grinned, and Brandark’s smothered laughter didn’t help. Bahzell had already reached the unhappy suspicion that his friend’s and Zarantha’s souls were entirely too much akin; now he was certain of it.

  But at least he could get some idea of where he was bound, and it was even worse than he’d feared. He sat on the cold ground, opened the map across his thighs, found the scale, and located Alfroma, then tried to hide his dismay as he walked thumb and forefinger across the map. Alfroma was six hundred leagues from Riverside as the bird flew, but they were no birds, and this Sherhan place wasn’t even shown.

  “Could you be showing me just where Sherhan is?” he asked, and Tothas leaned over his shoulder to point to a location southeast of Alfroma. It would be on the far side of the city, Bahzell thought, and sat studying the map in glum silence for over ten minutes while frost melted under his backside.

  The best of maps could hide unpleasant surprises, but even if this one didn’t, following the roads would add another two hundred leagues, and they’d have to hunt and forage on the way. Either that or stop periodically to earn the money, somehow, for the next stage. Worse, Tothas had already assured him the roads got worse-much worse-once they left Angthyr.

  Of course, they had sound beasts and no wagons. That would be a plus on bad roads, but this little jaunt would take them two months by his most favorable estimate. And that assumed two women and a man fresh from his sickbed could stand the sort of pace on horseback that a Horse Stealer could set on foot. Zarantha probably could; Rekah and Tothas were another matter, and the scarlet and gold leaves were already falling.

  He looked up to meet Tothas’ eyes, and the Spearman’s expression matched his own. The others probably had no idea what they faced. Rekah certainly didn’t, or she would have been far less cheerful. He suspected Zarantha had a sounder appreciation of what awaited them, whether she chose to admit it or not, but Brandark, for all his toughness, was city-bred, and he’d never made a forced march through sleet or snow in his life. Bahzell had; that was why winter campaigning had never appealed to him, and, from Tothas’ face, he’d seen his own share of winter marches. Clearly, he looked forward to this one no more than Bahzell did, which raised an interesting question. If he knew what he was getting into, why hadn’t he even tried to talk Zarantha out of it? Especially in
his weakened condition?

  Bahzell was fairly certain he wouldn’t have liked the answer to that question if he’d known it. He sighed once more, then stood, handed the map back to Tothas, shouldered his arbalest, and set off through the ground fog with the others at his heels.

  ***

  The fog burned away as the morning drew on, and Bahzell’s heart rose as his ill-assorted party moved more briskly than he’d dared hope.

  Zarantha’s mule proved just as fractious as its wicked eyes suggested. It made a determined attempt to take a mouthful out of Bahzell’s arm when she pushed up past Brandark to ask the Horse Stealer a question, but she controlled the abortive lunge with the ease of long practice and favored it with a description of its ancestry, personal habits, and probable fate that made both hradani cock their ears in appreciation. The mule seemed unimpressed, but though it eyed Bahzell’s arm with wistful longing it also settled down, and the Horse Stealer answered Zarantha’s question. She reined around and pressed with her heels to ask for a trot, and Bahzell snorted as he watched her post gracefully back to her place beside Rekah. Stay on a horse, indeed!

  Tothas and Brandark changed off places at midday. The armsman rode companionably at Bahzell’s shoulder, and the Horse Stealer began picking his brain about the conditions they were likely to face. The hradani didn’t much care for what he learned, but that wasn’t Tothas’ fault. The Spearman’s answers were those of a man who knew exactly what Bahzell was asking, and why. They also confirmed his own insight into the rigors stretching before them, and his every word only deepened Bahzell’s puzzlement. The man was obviously of officer quality; Rianthus would have given him platoon or company command in a heartbeat. What he was doing with a penniless “noblewoman” like Zarantha baffled the hradani, but he was plainly more than a simple hireling. Even when he rode at the head of their short column with Bahzell, the corner of his eye was perpetually on Zarantha, and the answers that were so forthcoming when it came to road conditions and terrain became politely vague whenever the conversation turned towards his mistress.