The War God's Own wg-2

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The War God's Own wg-2 Page 31

by David Weber


  Fortunately, Bahzell had slowed the pace once they reached the wooded area Brandark had identified as their likely hunting ground. Haste was the enemy of stealth, and at the moment caution was more important than speed could ever have been. The peace treaty between Horse Stealers and Bloody Swords still held-technically, at least. But even though hradani tended to be surprisingly proper sticklers for things like formal declarations of war, they were also masters of the occasional preemptive raid, and unlike many people, they had no objection to launching those raids in winter. Which meant Churnazh had to be keeping a closer watch than usual for Horse Stealer trespassers in his realm… and that didn't even consider anything Sharnā's lot might be up to. The fact that slowing down had allowed his human friends to catch their breath was a useful bonus, but Bahzell's real purpose had been to avoid blundering into some sentry or trap his enemies might have set.

  The rest of his section joined him, and he waved them forward, he and his friends moving off on Hurthang's heels at the center of their loose formation. Behind them, Gharnal began beckoning for his own people to form up, and Bahzell let automatic, trained reactions carry him along while he half-closed his eyes and concentrated.

  He hadn't been entirely honest with Hurthang. Or, more precisely, he'd understated his own speculations to be on the cautious side. Privately, he was convinced he was picking up a faint, unpleasant sensation, almost like something stirring in the dark, from the north. Now his head turned, nostrils flaring as if to scent the air, and his lips drew back from his teeth in a snarl he wasn't even aware of, for the sensation was stronger than it had been, and strengthening by the moment.

  "D'you think as how Sharnā's lot can be sensing us as well as we can sense them?" he asked Kaeritha quietly, and she shrugged.

  "I don't know. I suppose Demon Breath has the equivalent of his own champions, but I've no idea at all what capabilities they might have." She frowned, arcing away from Bahzell to pass on the far side of a tree and then coming back, and shrugged. "I know our champions have wandered into ambushes from time to time. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. As far as I know, though, it's usually when they don't expect trouble." She grimaced. "I suppose no one could be ambushed in the proper sense of the word if they were 'expecting trouble,' of course, but that wasn't what I meant."

  "What you were meaning was that the champions in question weren't after trying to sense their enemies because they'd been given no other reason to think as how they might be there," Bahzell said, and she nodded.

  "Exactly. And that being the case, I've always assumed we can do the same thing to the other side under similar conditions. Of course, Sharnā may well have told them we were coming. He did try to ambush us in the Empire, after all."

  "Aye." It was Bahzell's turn to grimace. "Well, the best we can do is all we can be doing, and we'll just have to be hoping it's enough."

  He looked up, beckoned, and another of his men hurried forward.

  "Aye, B- Milord?"

  "Take yourself on ahead there, Torlahn. Tell Hurthang I'm after being certain now. There's a pocket of pus and nastiness up ahead, and I'm wishful he should go slow and easy, for they may've guessed we're coming."

  Torlahn nodded and pushed off with his ski poles. He faded quickly into the fog, and Brandark looked around with a jaundiced eye.

  "I don't want to sound as if I'm complaining," he observed, "but it's just occurred to me that fifty-eight men-well, fifty-seven men and one woman-could find themselves just a bit outnumbered by a nest of demon-worshiping filth on its own ground."

  "That just occurred to you now?" Vaijon asked in a hoarse whisper, surveying the same woods, and shook his head in disbelief.

  "I'm a city boy," Brandark replied with dignity, "not a Horse Stealer. I'm not the expert on raids and sneaking about in the woods." He sniffed and jabbed one of his ski poles at Bahzell. "That's the management for this little operation, my boy."

  "And a good thing, too," Bahzell rumbled, "for the two of you are after carrying on like little old ladies in a brothel! We're after trying to sneak up on 'em, as even this Bloody Sword knows, and I'd take it kindly if the both of you would be keeping your jaws still for just a bit. And as for being outnumbered, well, I'm doubtful somehow that Sharnā and his lot would be wanting to keep a lot of men under arms out here. Even a Bloody Sword might spot such as that-though I'll grant you he'd need to be walking right into 'em before he stopped chattering long enough to be taking notice!"

  "There's no need to be rude," Brandark said with even more dignity. He and Vaijon exchanged slightly strained grins, and then the two of them concentrated on moving as smoothly and silently as possible.

  That sick sense of something putrid and vile grew stronger and stronger as Bahzell concentrated upon it. The chaffering with Brandark had distracted him from it for a few moments, but now it was back and worse than ever, and his ears flattened under his hood. He glanced at Kaeritha and made a small gesture for her to retain her position at the center of his section, then pushed ahead to overtake Hurthang. He wasn't certain why it suddenly seemed so urgent for him to do that, but he didn't question the feeling, either.

  One of Hurthang's men saw him and hissed a warning that brought the entire section to a halt. Hurthang himself loomed up out of the fog, eyebrows arched and ears cocked as Bahzell caught up with him. Bahzell started to speak, then swayed, gagging as a carrion reek seemed to catch at the back of his throat like filthy hands. He caught himself on his ski poles and shook his head violently, then spat into the snow.

  "What?" Hurthang asked, his voice little more than a rumbling thread.

  "We're close," Bahzell said equally quietly. "What's ahead?"

  "Not a lot," Hurthang replied. "A clearing of sorts, and a valley. It's an ugly place, too. I'd not set foot in it under other circumstances, and that I'll tell you plain, Bahzell."

  "And why not?"

  "That's more than I can say, to speak truth. Maybe it's naught but the fact that I know what it is we're hunting. That's cause enough for any man to be feeling a bit hesitant, I'd guess. And it's after being the sort of nasty, narrow, twisting place I hate. In fact, it's narrow enough I'd almost think as how the tracks up and vanish right into a hillside to look at it, but it must be there's a way around it on the far side as we just aren't able to see from here."

  "I'd not count on that," Bahzell said grimly, for a sudden stab of certainty had gone through him like a knife the instant his cousin mentioned a hillside. "There's no way around that hill, Hurthang. The bastards are after being inside it."

  "Inside?" Hurthang sounded dubious, and Bahzell nodded.

  "Aye. Kilthan had the right of it when he said as how Sharnā's lot hide themselves underground, and I can be feeling some kind of trickery even from here."

  "Wizardry?" Hurthang hissed, but Bahzell shook his head quickly.

  "No, not that, but like it. I'm thinking it's a bit of Sharnā himself, spread out so as to be tricking minds and eyes to keep us from seeing what's really there. And I'd not be surprised if it's the real reason the place is after looking 'ugly' to you, too. He'd not want to encourage folk to come right in on his… people."

  "Then just how is it we're supposed to be getting at them?"

  "Well, as to that, it's surprised I'll be if Kerry and I betwixt us can't convince that little bit of Sharnā to be moving aside," Bahzell replied, and bared his teeth in a vicious grin. "Old Demon Breath's scared to death of himself, and I'm thinking that when a pair of champions come calling all unannounced, and bring himself along with 'em when they knock on the door, that door will be after opening."

  Hurthang looked less than totally convinced, but he nodded and waved his men into concealment to wait while Bahzell went back for Kaeritha and the rest of the party. Then the two champions, accompanied only by Vaijon, Brandark, and Hurthang, moved to the very edge of the woods and peered out into the foggy late morning light.

  As Hurthang had said, the woods gave way to a narrow valle
y between brooding hills. The tracks they'd followed this far snaked out into that valley, looking somehow furtive and lost, and seemed to vanish straight into a rough, almost vertical hillside. But the scene didn't look quite the same to all of them, and Bahzell heard Kaeritha-and Vaijon-suck in sharp breaths even as the hillside began to waver like wind-struck water to his own vision. Details were hard to make out, but his jaw clenched as he caught the likeness of a huge scorpion carved out of the rock above an arched opening that was somehow… wrong. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what made that arch look subtly perverted and diseased. After all, how could a simple opening in the stone look "perverted"? The concept made no sense, and yet that was the only word which fitted that obscene, waiting mouth under the protective claws of the scorpion.

  "What is it?" Hurthang asked quickly as he caught his cousin's expression.

  "What we came for," Bahzell replied grimly. He tore his eyes from the rippling hillside to scan the other slopes, looking for any sign of guard posts or sentries. There were none, and he supposed that made sense. Even knowing exactly what they sought, neither Hurthang nor Brandark could see a thing but blank stone. Coupled with the sense of aversion Hurthang had felt for the entire valley-and which Bahzell felt, as well, when he let himself-that offered Sharnā's followers almost perfect concealment, and posting sentries would actually be more likely to attract attention, not less.

  But Bahzell knew what was hidden there, and his belly tightened as he sensed a dark, malevolent presence inside that hill. Not Sharnā himself, though there was a trace of the dark god present. No one who'd ever sensed him could mistake that skin-crawling shudder of pure evil for anything else. But there was something more, another presence, infinitely weaker than Sharnā's potential power but enormously stronger than any mortal creature. He glanced at Kaeritha and Vaijon, and their expressions showed they sensed it, too. But they looked perplexed, uncertain as to just what it was they felt, for unlike him, they had never faced one of Sharnā's greater demons.

  He drew a deep breath, then sank back into the cover of the forest edge and waved his friends in close.

  "All right, then," he said softly. "We've found what we came for, but I'm thinking we've a real fight on our hands." He darted a sharp glance at Kaeritha and Vaijon. "The two of you are after sensing something else in there, too, aren't you, now?"

  "Yes," Kaeritha said shortly, and Vaijon nodded.

  "Well, I've sensed its like before-and so have you, Brandark." He flicked a look at his friend. "In the Shipwood."

  "Phrobus!" Brandark whispered. "D'you mean there's a bloody demon in there?!"

  "And why not? Sharnā is after being their patron, and as Kerry said naught but a moment ago, he's after knowing we're coming, whatever the bastards inside that hill may know or guess."

  "A demon?" Hurthang shook his head. "That sounds like being just a mite much for our lads to handle, Bahzell."

  "Aye, it does that. And I'll not say I'm looking forward to it myself," Bahzell admitted. "Still and all, it's a pleasure I've had before, and if I'm not all aquiver with eagerness, at least I've another champion to back me this time. You and the lads be leaving the demon to Kerry and me, Hurthang. There'll be enough others in yonder for you lot to be dealing with."

  "Are you sure about this?" Kaeritha asked quietly. "I mean, you're the only one of us who's actually ever faced a demon, but I've always heard the worst possible place to take one on is underground."

  "I've no doubt of that at all, at all," Bahzell said grimly, "and I'll tell you true, it was footwork as much as bladework got me off whole last time. But more even than that, it was himself. He was with me when I was needing him worst, and I've no doubt at all as how he'll be with both of us-with all of us-" he amended, waving one hand to encompass their entire party "-this time, as well."

  "I don't either," Vaijon said, and smiled suddenly at the two champions. "And if He is with us, what more do we need?"

  "Oh, I'd say a bit of courage, a good sword, some muscle, and more than one man's fair share of luck," Bahzell said judiciously, with a smile of his own. "Still and all, you've put your hand on the meat of it, Vaijon. And all we need or no, it's a damned sight more than anyone on t'other side is likely to be having!"

  He paused a moment, looking around the circle of his friends' faces, seeing his own fear-and he was afraid, he admitted-and determination in their expressions, then nodded. No man could ask for better companions. He would take his chances with Tomanāk and these people any day.

  "All right, then," he said. "Here's what I'm thinking to do… ."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Prince Chalghaz, heir apparent to the throne of Navahk, tried to hide the crawling terror which simmered somewhere deep down inside his pulsing excitement. Until last autumn, he had never so much as suspected this buried sanctuary existed-and if he had known, he would have been as eager as anyone else to see it rooted out and destroyed. But not now. Now his fate had become inextricably bound up with its survival, and he still didn't understand exactly how that had happened.

  It was Yarthag's doing. He was certain of that much, and he wondered if Yarthag had… done something to him to bring it about. It was certainly possible, and neither Yarthag nor Tharnatus, the human priest who presided over this enclave, would have hesitated a moment to use any tool at their disposal. Yet in his moments of self-honesty (of which he subjected himself to as few as possible), Chalghaz knew it wouldn't have taken much, for Sharnā's support offered him so many things he desperately craved.

  The sensual pleasures of the Demon Lord's unspeakable worship appealed strongly to the debauched part of him, of course. Where was the point in possessing power if it did not permit a man to do as he wished? That was a lesson his father had taught him well, although the things Chalghaz enjoyed were best kept hidden-especially among hradani-however much power he held. But a man had to have companions (which was ever so much nicer a word than "procurers") in the pursuit of passion, and it was that need which had given Yarthag's influence its first toehold with Chalghaz, especially after the endless months he'd spent at Bahnak's disgustingly respectable court. He'd plunged deep into the enjoyment of the flesh as soon as he was released from that bondage, and Yarthag had always seemed to be there, guiding him and constantly introducing him to new and different drugs or more… sophisticated delights. In a sense, he supposed, it had been only a small step from those pleasures to these.

  Yet heady as they were, and deeply as the dark and twisted parts of him rejoiced in the blood-sweet rites of Sharnā, it was the Scorpion's power he valued most. As Sharnā had supported Harnak, now He supported Chalghaz, and for the same reasons. Chalghaz knew Tharnatus saw him only as one of Sharnā's pincers, sunk deep into the heart of Navahk and thus into all Bloody Swords, and that bothered him no more than it had bothered his brother. Whatever Sharnā desired of him in return for the throne and power, Chalghaz would give willingly, for his secret deity would protect and shield him against all enemies, even that bastard Bahnak and his cursed armies.

  Of course, there were moments when he remembered how Sharnā had not protected Harnak against Bahnak's son, but Tharnatus had explained that. Harnak had displeased the Scorpion by trying to keep Farmah for himself rather than bringing her here so that the whole body of His worshipers might have partaken of her. That was the reason He had permitted Bahzell to interrupt Harnak before he could kill the slut. But He'd also given Harnak the opportunity to avenge himself and regain His favor, and it was the ineffectualness of Harnak's weak efforts to slay Bahzell even with the mighty weapon Sharnā had put into his hand which explained his final downfall.

  And besides, as Tharnatus had said reasonably, if Harnak had not fallen, then how could Chalghaz, who was such a better choice, have supplanted him as Navahk's heir?

  Unlike his brother Chalak, Chalghaz was wise enough to see the sophistry hidden in that argument… and the warning. For if Harnak had been discarded as unsuitable, then Chalghaz could be thrown
aside in turn if he became unsuitable. But he had no fear of that. The approaching war with Bahnak had pushed Tharnatus and his deity into moving more rapidly than they'd planned. It was painfully obvious that Churnazh, whose armies had been smashed so easily three years past and whose alliances had already been shaken by what had passed between Harnak and Bahzell, could never defeat Bahnak and his Horse Stealers. The desertion of Arvahl of Sondur had been a serious blow, but even without it, Hurgrum had already proven what she could do to the best Navahk could field against her. No, Churnazh couldn't match Bahnak in the field. Nor, for that matter, could Chalghaz have matched him… under normal circumstances.

  But circumstances weren't going to be normal, for Tharnatus had devised a plan to shatter the Horse Stealer alliance, instead of the Bloody Swords'. Best of all, it would require Churnazh's death, which would put Chalghaz on the throne at exactly the right time to take credit for the Bloody Swords' inevitable victory. Just six months ago, Chalghaz had been resigned to spending his life in the shadow of his older brother; now, within weeks, he would rule Navahk, and within months, all of the northern hradani.

  And all it had required was the sacrifice of one nobly born maiden to summon one of Sharnā's demons to do their bidding. Well, that and a second sacrifice when the time came to actually launch the creature against Churnazh's palace to rend and destroy every living thing in its path until it reached the prince himself.

  Chalghaz smiled dreamily, watching the sweet smoke curl up from Tharnatus' censer as the priest circled the gore-encrusted altar stone at the heart of the sanctuary. He had attended the first sacrifice, as he would also be required to attend the second, for it was necessary for the demon to know him as one of its summoners so that he might emerge unscathed from the impending carnage, but he'd found that duty no hardship. Indeed, he looked forward eagerly to the second ritual, and his soul shuddered in ecstasy every time he recalled the night of summoning. In a way, the terror he felt whenever he thought of the demon and recalled the raw power of hate and destruction they had bound to their will-remembered the dark rage which had burned against them, as well, as the monster recognized who had enslaved it-only made the razor edges of that pleasure still sweeter. But even more than the memory or anticipation of the rites still to come, it was contemplation of Tharnatus' elegantly simple plan which made him smile. He knew as well as the priest that even his closest followers would turn upon him in the blink of an eye if they ever suspected he'd given his allegiance to the Scorpion, but Tharnatus had turned that source of apprehension into the key to success.

 

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