Wind Rider's Oath wg-3

by David Weber

  “Well, that’s Cassan, not Triahm,” she said. “But if it makes you feel better about helping an idiot, just remember how unlikely he is to survive long enough to enjoy his success. As you said yourself, his incompetence was one of the reasons They chose him as Their tool. Do you honestly expect him to be able to navigate the storm we’re preparing for him?”

  “No, of course not.” Varnaythus munched on his apple, then chuckled suddenly. “And you know what? It does make me feel better.”

  Dahlaha laughed yet again and raised her glass in mock salute. He waved the half-eaten apple at her in response, then applied himself to finishing it off.

  “Do you really think that having Tellian’s daughter injected into the situation at Kalatha is going to work to our advantage?” his hostess asked after a moment, her tone much more serious, and Varnaythus snorted.

  “It’s hard to say.” he took a last bite of apple, tossed the gnawed core back onto his plate, and then stretched. “With another, more typical Sothoii noble, I’d be more prepared to hazard a prediction. But Tellian is scarcely typical—I suspect that that’s the main reason They want him dead, or at least discredited and set at odds with the Crown.” He shrugged. “The man loves his wife and his daughter, and I frankly think it’s unlikely he’ll cut himself off from the girl, whatever she’s done. That’s the real reason I opposed killing her. If we can get him tangled up in our little web—” Dahlaha’s eyes flashed at his choice of noun, as he’d known they would “— it would do far more to destabilize the kingdom as a whole than anything we might achieve locally here in Lorham.”

  “Don’t underestimate what we’re doing here, Varnaythus.” Dahlaha’s husky voice had turned cold and hard, and Varnaythus glanced at her. “My Lady doesn’t waste Her efforts on minor projects,” she continued. “The web She’s weaving here will stretch out to every corner of the Wind Plain. Yes, drawing Tellian into Her toils would make things easier. But in the end, She will achieve her goals even without him.”

  “And if a champion of Tomanak interferes?” Varnaythus asked levelly. There was an odd, greenish flicker at the backs of Dahlaha’s eyes, and he felt his pulse quicken with a sudden tingle of something much too much like fear for his taste. But he made himself look into those eyes steadily, and reminded himself that he, too, had his patron.

  “Tomanak!“ Dahlaha hissed the hated name. Her long, graceful fingers with their crimson-painted nails flexed like claws, or pincers, and she spat on the floor. “That for your precious champion!” she snarled.

  She really didn’t look at all beautiful in that moment, Varnaythus reflected.

  “That’s all very well,” he said in a brisk, businesslike voice, “but your Lady is the one who’s going to have to deal with this Kaeritha if she gets that far putting things together.”

  “She won’t,” his hostess said shortly.

  “Dahlaha,” he said patiently, “that’s exactly the sort of thinking that leads to … unfortunate errors. I remind you of what happened to Tharnatus when this same champion and Bahzell came calling in Navahk.”

  “Tharnatus was a fool, and Sharna is a coward,” she shot back, and her ripe mouth twisted with contempt. “I can’t believe your Lady let Herself be roped into that entire mess. One thing Carnadosa has always been is smart, so what was She thinking of to throw good money after bad that way?”

  “The Lady of the Wand is smart,” Varnaythus agreed. “In this case, though, She had no choice. The decision came from Phrobus Himself.”

  Dahlaha looked up from her wineglass, her expression suddenly taut. Then she shrugged.

  “I still don’t understand why Phrobus allowed himself to be convinced to let Sharna deal with the hradani in the first place. Granted, even He should have been able to handle a horde of ignorant barbarians, but His father must have known He’d think small, as usual. And then He chose Tharnatus as His chief priest. Tharnatus!“ She barked a vicious laugh. “He always was as stupid as Triahm, and he certainly proved it in Navahk! First he overestimated his own cleverness and power, and then Sharna was too terrified of Tomanak to face him openly when Tharnatus needed Him most. But that won’t happen here. My Lady fears no one and nothing! When we require Her aid, She’ ll provide it, and spit in Tomanak’s face, if She must.”

  Varnaythus gazed at her for several seconds, and his stomach muscles tightened at what he saw in her expression. It was more than possible that she was reading too much into her deity’s intentions. But it was also possible that she wasn’t. Dahlaha’s Lady was noted for neither her sense of restraint nor her willingness to accept any limitations upon her power. Or, for that matter, for what most mortals would have called her sanity. The wizard-priest remembered his conversation with Jerghar, and he felt sweat trying to pop out along his hairline.

  “I trust it won’t be necessary for it to come to that,” he said after a moment, choosing his words and controlling his tone rather more carefully than he usually did in conversation with Dahlaha.

  “I doubt very much that it will.”

  She, too, seemed to have stepped back a pace from the intensity of the moment before. She lifted her wineglass and sipped delicately, then set it gently on the table.

  “All of the pieces are in place,” she said. “When They decided to place this portion of the plan in Her care, They knew what They were doing.” Her smile was a thing of ice and old, dried bone. “We’ve placed Her agents—including the ones who don’t even realize they’re working for Her—in all of the critical places.”

  “Including Trisu’s household?” Varnaythus asked in a neutral tone, and she grimaced.

  “No,” she admitted. “Not there.” She shrugged irritably. “there’s something about Trisu that bothers me. When I look at him, I don’t see what I see in other men’s eyes.”

  She picked up the wineglass once more, but this time only to glower down into its depths, not to drink from it, and Varnaythus watched her expression from behind masklike eyes. It was obvious that she resented Trisu’s apparent immunity to the allure of her exquisitely maintained beauty and raw sexuality, but there was more to it than simple resentment. There was also uncertainty, almost a trace of fear, and he cocked his head.

  “What do you see in hiseyes?” he asked finally, and she shrugged again, this time angrily.

  “Suspicion,” she hissed, like a cat passing a fishbone, and glowered at her fellow conspirator. The green flicker was back in her eyes, although fainter than before, and he could almost physically taste her anger—at him, this time—for forcing her to admit that. But he could stand more than Dahlaha’s anger if that was the price of making sure hedidn’t disappoint Them.

  “Suspicion of what?” he asked, quietly, but in a tone whose firmness reminded her that he was her superior—for now, at least—and warned her that he expected an answer.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, then tossed her head angrily. “I know he knows I’m Triahm’s mistress, and he’s too straitlaced to care for that. Besides, he likes Triahm’s wife, and I’m sure he resents his cousin’s infidelity because of that, as well. But there’s something else in there, too, and I’m not sure exactly what it is.”

  She obviously hated confessing that much, but she made herself meet Varnaythus’ eyes steadily, and it seemed to him that she was being honest about her concerns. Or, at least, as honest as it was possible for her to be.

  “Well, he obviously doesn’t know Who you serve,” the wizard-priest observed. “If he did, you’d be dead—or at least fled, with his troops in hot pursuit, which would be almost as bad from Their viewpoint. I wonder …”

  His voice trailed off, and he gazed into the distance at something only he could see, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh while he thought. Dahlaha stood it in silence for as long as she could, then cleared her throat noisily. His eyes popped back into focus and swiveled to her.

  “You wonder what?” she demanded.

  “I wonder if he’s Gifted,” the wizard-priest replied.<
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  “Gifted?” Dahlaha sat up on her chaise lounge, her expression alarmed. “Is that possible?”

  “Of course it’s possible.” Varnaythus grimaced. “He’s a Sothoii. Whatever they may have degenerated into since, they’re descended from the oldest, highest noble families of the Empire of Ottovar. Some of them probably have traces of Ottovar and Gwynytha’s blood in their veins even today. Most of the surviving wizard lords of Kontovar are descended from exactly the same source, for Phrobus’ sake. The Art is bred into their bone and blood, Dahlaha. It’s our good fortune that their ancestors turned so completely against all forms of wizardry after their escape to Norfressa. There’s a very good chance Trisu’s bloodline carries the Gift, but there’s virtually no chance at all of his knowing it. Still, if it’s strong enough, he might well have at least a touch of True Sight. In which case he probably recognizes that there’s something hidden behind your outward appearance. There’s no way he could know what, not without a great deal of training he can’t possibly have had. But many people who possess instinctive True Sight rely on it even if they don’t know exactly what it is.” He shrugged. “Most of them simply assume that they have unusually accurate ’hunches’ and let it go at that.”

  “You never suggested he might have any abilities like that!”

  “I don’t recall your ever having asked me what abilities he might have,” Varnaythus replied coolly. “As you’ve pointed out to me several times, this end of the operation is yours—yours and your Lady’s. I assumed that if you’d had any reason to believe you needed my assistance, you would have asked for it.”

  Dahlaha glared at him, obviously looking for a fresh line of attack, but his defense was unassailable. The Lorham and Kalatha portions of the master plan to destabilize the Kingdom of the Sothoii and return it to the Time of Troubles were, indeed, her responsibility.

  “Very well,” she huffed finally, “be that way. But at least tell me this—is this untrained Gift of his likely to see through Triahm’s role playing?”

  “It probably already has,” Varnaythus said calmly. “Luckily for us, even if he were trained, he wouldn’t be able to read minds. He’s not a mage, Dahlaha. I’m sure he realized long ago that his dear cousin Triahm hates his guts and resents the fact that a man ten years younger than he is inherited the title he wants so badly. Trisu doesn’t trust Triahm as far as he could throw a courser, but aside from helping to confirm that his general suspicions are justified, the True Sight won’t help him anywhere else. Although, it’s possible that the combination of his distrust for Triahm and any True Sight he might possess could explain why he should have taken his cousin’s mistress in such dislike.” He flicked one hand in a throwing-away gesture. “On the other hand, does it really matter? Do you really care how much Trisu may dislike you? I mean, you’re planning on having the man killed, Dahlaha, so what does it matter if he doesn’t particularly care for you?”

  “It doesn’t matter at all,” she said, “except that the eye he keeps on me has prevented me from infiltrating his household the way I managed at Kalatha. I haven’t cared to take too many chances, so I’ve been unable to eliminate or tamper with people like Salthan.”

  “There’s not really any need to put Salthan out of the way,” Varnaythus said after a brief consideration. “Or, rather, we can let Triahm deal with it once Trisu’s dead. That’s the beauty of it. We didn’t have to change anything at this end.”

  “I know. I’d still feel better if I had more positive control of the situation, though.”

  “There’s never any such thing as too much control,” Varnaythus agreed. “Still, it sounds as if you have things in hand. What truly matters is goading the war maids into providing the proper provocation, not whether or not Trisu responds to it exactly the way we want him to. After all,” he leaned back with an expansive gesture and an icy smile, “when the time comes, what will count isn’t what actually happened, but what everyone thinks happened.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Leeana, this is Garlahna Lorhanalfressa. She’ll be your mentor during your probationary period.”

  Leeana saw a very young war maid, no more than six years older than she was. Garlahna was considerably shorter than Leeana, with brown hair and brown eyes. She looked as if she ought to be smiling, but at the moment her expression and body language were soberly attentive, almost brusquely businesslike. She stood at a sort of parade rest, feet slightly spread and hands clasped behind her, her attention evenly divided between Leeana and Erlis Rahnafressa. Erlis was the fair-haired, brown-eyed Commander of One Hundred—roughly equivalent to the rank of captain in the Empire of the Axe’s Royal and Imperial Army—who appeared to be in charge of training new war maid … recruits. At forty-three, she was a bit old for her rank, but she looked like a competent, no-nonsense sort of person. Perhaps the left arm she’d lost just above the elbow explained why she’d risen no higher in rank. She reminded Leeana a great deal of a female version of Sir Jahlahan Swordspinner.

  The three of them stood in the soggy grass behind the roofed exercise salle, and Leeana felt as if she’d dressed inappropriately for a formal party. She wore the leather trousers and smock her mother had deplored with increasing frequency, yet this time she was the one who seemed dreadfully overdressed for the occasion. Erlis and Garlahna both wore the traditional war maid chari and yathu. The former was a short green kilt which fell barely to mid-thigh, and the latter was something which might have been described (in a moment of extreme charity) as a short, abbreviated—very abbreviated—bodice. But it wasn’t boned and happened to be made out of fabric-lined, glove-supple leather. Whereas the main support of a regular bodice came from below, with little or no weight actually bearing on the shoulders, the yathu was equipped with buckle-adjustable shoulder straps which crossed on the wearer’s shoulder blades. It was shorter, snugger, and stronger than any conventional “bodice” Leeana had ever seen. She could see where that support might come in handy, she supposed, but she hardly needed it. Not yet, at least. Garlahna, on the other hand, although shorter than Leeana, was considerably bustier, which her yathu made amply—one might almost have said abundantly—apparent.

  Although Leeana had heard tales of the “licentious” and “shocking” war maid garments, she’d never actually seen them until she reached Kalatha, and she found herself somewhat in two minds about them. They certainly seemed practical enough, but still … The fact that both war maids were also barefoot, despite the chilly spring breeze and the muddy footing, whereas she still wore her riding boots, didn’t make her feel one bit less overdressed, either.

  “Garlahna, this is Leeana Hanathafressa,” Erlis continued calmly, and Leeana’s entire body tensed.

  Her concern for anything as unimportant as what she might or might not be wearing vanished instantly, and her head twitched as it tried to whip around towards Erlis. She stopped herself in time, but it was hard, hard. It was the first time anyone had ever called her that, and the loss of her father’s name hit her like an axe. Yet she’d known it was coming. Every war maid was known legally by her mother’s given name, not whatever surname she might have borne before she became a war maid. It wasn’t as if Leeana had a choice—she didn’t—or as if she didn’t love her mother or hated to be known as Hanatha’s daughter. But she still felt as if in that moment, when Erlis first used her matronym, she had somehow abandoned her father, and it hurt. Perhaps it hurt even more because, in a way, some small, deeply hidden piece of her insisted that that was precisely what she had done.

  But much as it hurt, she refused to let herself look at Erlis in either surprise or pain. And certainly not in anger. She suspected that her reaction to that first, abrupt use of her new name was a test, or at least a part of the training process she was about to begin.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Leeana,” Garlahna said after moment. Her voice was deeper than Leeana’s, with a musical throatiness. “I hope I can help you settle in here reasonably comfortably.”

&nbs
p; Leeana did glance at Erlis this time, out of the corner of her eye, and the Hundred nodded.

  “Thank you … Garlahna,” Leeana said then. “I hope I can fit in quickly, but—” she flashed a small smile “—I wonder if any new war maid ever really settles in comfortably.”

  She heard something suspiciously like a smothered snort from Erlis’ direction, and Garlahna grinned. Then she smoothed the smile quickly from her expression and nodded with appropriate sobriety.

  “It does come as quite a shock for most of us, whatever we expected ahead of time,” she agreed.

  “Most of us survive it, though,” Erlis put in dryly, and Leeana looked back at her.

  “And you’ll have your opportunity to begin surviving it first thing tomorrow morning, Leeana,” the Hundred continued briskly. “You’ll be joining us for calisthenics at dawn. Once you’ve had a chance to warm up, I’ll evaluate the level of your current general physical skills. After breakfast, you’ll have your first session with Ravlahn—that’s Ravlahn Thregafressa, my assistant arms master—and me. We’ll see where you are in terms of self-defense and weapons skills. Then, after lunch,” Erlis continued, apparently oblivious to Leeana’s reaction, “you’ll have an hour or two with Lanitha Sarthayafressa. She’s our archivist, but she’s also the principal of our school here in Kalatha. She’ll evaluate your basic literacy, your math ability, and your general knowledge. That should take you to an hour or so before supper, and you’ll be assigned to one of the dining hall crews for that. I’m not sure which of the cooks will be in charge of the kitchen, but Garlahna will be responsible for finding that out and seeing to it that you report in the right place at the right time.”