Oath of Swords-ARC

by David Weber

  Bahzell braced his shoulders against the mantel, feeling the fire's heat against his back, and breath rasped in his lungs as his eyes darted about in search of fresh threats. But there were none. Sixteen bodies lay leaking blood into the sawdust, and he lowered his dagger slowly.

  The bouncer sighed beside him and lowered his own weapon, and the Horse Stealer gave him a quick look of thanks, then stepped past him as Brandark sat down very carefully. His left leg was soaked with blood, and Bahzell knelt to rip his trouser leg open, then sagged in relief. The cut was ugly, but it was in the meaty part of the thigh, just below the hip, and it hadn't gotten deep enough to sever muscles or tendons.

  The Horse Stealer reached out to rip a bandage from a dead man's tunic, but the bouncer shouldered him aside.

  "See to yourself, hradani," he said gruffly, and Bahzell slumped back on his heels and looked bemusedly down at his own bleeding arm.

  Feet pattered down the stairs, and then strong, slender hands were ripping his sleeve apart. It was Zarantha, with Tothas' quiver over her shoulder. The Spearman's strung horsebow lay beside her in the sawdust as she muttered under her breath and probed the cut carefully, and Rekah came more slowly downstairs behind her with Tothas' saber clutched in both hands.

  He hissed in pain as Zarantha turned his arm to get better access, then looked away while she wound a clean cloth—gods only knew where she'd gotten it—and knotted it tight. Four of the bodies, he noted with curious detachment, had arrows in their backs or chests. He started to comment on the fact, but Zarantha gripped his chin and turned his head to examine his freely bleeding cheek.

  "I thought," she said between gritted teeth as she wiped blood from the wound, "that I told you two not to get into any brawls!"

  Chapter Nineteen

  The landlord astonished Bahzell. He summoned the Guard, but, despite the carnage, he didn't even consider turning his unchancy guests out.

  Some of that might have been because of the bouncer. The brothers had a brisk discussion while they awaited the Guard's arrival, and it turned even brisker when the bouncer bent and ripped open a dead man's smock to bare his left shoulder. Bahzell watched them bend over the corpse while Zarantha set neat, painful stitches in his gashed cheek, then touched her gently on the shoulder and crossed the sawdust to them.

  "My thanks, friend," he rumbled to the bouncer, and the man shrugged.

  "It's my job to keep people from being murdered in the taproom."

  "Aye, that may well be, but I'm thinking it was more than your job to get involved against those odds for folk you don't know." Bahzell clasped his forearm. "My name is Bahzell Bahnakson, of Hurgrum, and if there's ever aught I or anyone from Hurgrum can be doing for you, be pleased to let me know it."

  "I may just do that, friend Bahzell," the bouncer said with a tight smile, "and while we're naming names, I'm Talamar Ratherson, and this—" he jabbed a thumb at the landlord "—is my brother Alwith."

  "It's pleased I am to know you both." Bahzell clasped Alwith's arm in turn, and the landlord gripped back, but there was a worried light in his eyes.

  "I'd say you've an enemy somewhere," Talamar went on, pointing to the body, and Bahzell's ears flattened as he saw the scarlet scorpion tattoo.

  "Aye, it seems I have that," he said softly, and his mind raced. Dog brothers set on to assassinate Kilthan might make some sort of sense, despite the risk, but why should they try to kill him now that he was no longer even in the dwarf's employ? Unless . . .

  "What's this?" Brandark had hobbled over and stood beside him, glowering down at the tattoo.

  "Now, I'm thinking you're a clever enough lad to know that as well as I," Bahzell murmured, kneading his wounded left arm, and his face was grim.

  "But why—?" Brandark paused with a frown. "Phrobus take it, were they after you the whole time?"

  "If you can be finding another reason for all this—" Bahzell waved at the carnage "—it's more than happy I'll be to hear it."

  "Um." Brandark pulled on his nose in thought, then shook his head. "It does make a sort of sense, you know. Everyone assumed they were after Kilthan, but you were with him each time they tried an ambush, and that fireship in Malgas would have fried your tripes right along with his."

  "Aye, so I was, and so it would. And I'm thinking, Brandark my lad, that there's only one reason to be sending dog brothers after me."

  "Harnak," Brandark agreed grimly.

  "Or Churnazh. Either of 'em would piss on my grave and be glad to do it. But how would one of them be knowing how to set dog brothers on me?"

  "A point," Brandark murmured. "Definitely a point. Not even Churnazh would let Sharnā's get into Navahk—not when they might be used against him."

  "True." Bahzell stopped kneading his arm and glanced sideways at his friend. "Would you be thinking what I am? That that sick bastard Harnak might be a bit sicker even than we'd thought?"

  "I don't like it, but it makes sense." Brandark sighed. "Wonderful. Hundreds of leagues yet to go, and dog brothers on our track!"

  "Well, as to that, we may just end up costing them enough they decide to give over," Bahzell rumbled with a bleak smile. "Sixteen here, fifteen in Saramfal . . . that's after being a lot of dead men, Brandark. How many funerals d'you think Harnak has gold enough to pay for?"

  "I wouldn't count on that, friend." Talamar traced the sign of the War God's mace, and the hradani winced at the reminder. "Tomânak knows no decent man has any use for such as this," Talamar's toe prodded the body, "but this I will say: once the dog brothers take a man's gold, they do the job. They have to, if they want their reputation to stand."

  "They do it if they can," Bahzell corrected grimly, "and I'm thinking this time they've bitten off a mite more than they'll like chewing." He shook himself and looked at Alwith. "But be that as it may, we'd no notion of bringing trouble like this down on your house. It's in my mind we should be gone before we bring you more grief."

  The landlord looked like he wanted to agree but shook his head firmly, and his brother echoed the refusal.

  "You've paid your shot," Talamar said. "You're under the protection of our roof, and your friend's too sick to be out on a night like this. Besides, Tomânak wouldn't like it if we threw you out."

  "I'm not talking of throwing out," Bahzell objected, "but of leaving of our own will." He liked the thought of taking Tothas back out into the wet no more than Talamar did, yet this was his trouble, not the Angcarans'. There was no reason for them to mix in it—and he owed Talamar for saving his life. It would be poor gratitude to get him killed in thanks, and Talamar's repeated references to Tomânak only made it worse, for it felt like another "bribe," and this was no empty cave. It was something that could cost lives.

  "It doesn't matter," Talamar said firmly. "The Sword God knows only one way to deal with scum like this, and it would dishonor us to let you face them alone with both of you hurt and a sick man on your hands to boot."

  "Talamar's right." Alwith still looked unhappy, but his voice was just as firm, and Bahzell studied both brothers' faces.

  It made no sense. He and Brandark had learned only too well how most of the world regarded hradani, and they'd brought the Assassins Guild down on The Laughing God. It was only Norfram's own luck neither brother nor any of their patrons had been killed. Talamar's warning had already saved his life—not to mention how the Angcaran had fought at his side—which was more than ample repayment for the cost of their food and lodging, and Bahzell was offering to leave. Yet they were arguing with him, the both of them, and they actually sounded as if they meant it.

  "Well, then," he said finally, his deep voice soft, "if you're daft enough to mean that, there's naught for me to do but thank you once again."

  The City Guard wasn't happy when it finally arrived, for Angcar was an orderly place. The city fathers frowned on battles in a public inn at the best of times, and sixteen dead was a dismaying body count, even when the Guard didn't find two hradani in the midst of the carnage.


  By the time it arrived in the person of one Captain Deskhan, however, the patrons who hadn't taken to their heels had reemerged from under the tables. The musician who'd caught up Brandark's balalaika had returned it, and he and the Bloody Sword sat in a corner, with the Angcaran keeping time on a small hand drum while the hradani plucked out a melody. Alwith had ordered ale all round on the house, and the witnesses were prepared to wax vehement in the hradani's defense. In fact, four or five of them illustrated every gory moment of the encounter in graphic pantomime, and the baffled Deskhan had no choice but to accept that whatever had happened, the hradani hadn't started it.

  He departed at last with a wagonload of dead assassins and a grudging verdict of self-defense, and Talamar stood in the inn door and waved farewell with a cheeriness that astonished Bahzell.

  "I'm thinking that's an unhappy man yonder. How likely is it he'll be after making trouble for you out of this?"

  "Oh, not very." Talamar shrugged. "He doesn't like it, but he'll cool off once you folk leave. Besides, he's as little liking for dog brothers as the next man, and he can use this tale to astonish people for years."

  The Angcaran cocked his head and grinned. "For that matter, so can Alwith and I. We'll have more custom than we can handle for days—maybe weeks—once word of this gets around!"

  "And welcome to it," Bahzell rumbled. "But, d'you know, I'm still wondering how you spotted them at the start like that?"

  "I didn't." Talamar closed the door and headed back to the taproom beside him. "To be honest, I was keeping an eye on you." He shrugged with another grin. "The two of you seemed like peaceable fellows, but if someone got drunk enough, he might have taken it into his head to pick a quarrel with you. As for the dog brothers," his grin became a frown, "they came in in ones and twos, so gradually I never noticed, and I should have, since they were all strangers. But there was something odd about the way that first fellow held his hand when he headed over your way, and I've seen those little blowguns before."

  "D'you think he really believed he could kill me with such as that and not be found out?"

  "Bahzell, if he'd hit you with that dart, you'd never have known a thing about it," Talamar said grimly. "Didn't you see it?"

  "Not clear," the hradani rumbled, "and your Guard captain was after taking it with him when he left."

  "It was tipped with mindanwe sap. A scratch of that, and you're gone in seconds. All anyone would think would be that your heart had burst—which it would have—and once you were down, he'd've bent over you to 'help' and picked the dart back out while he pretended to 'examine' you."

  A shiver rippled up Bahzell's spine. Poison. The most loathsome weapon of a coward, but an effective one.

  "Begging your pardon, and don't take this wrongly, but it sounds as if you've experience of such," he murmured.

  "I do. Alwith and I served in a troop of freeswords up in Ferenmoss some years back. That civil war is a nightmare, but at least it offers steady work for mercenaries. Only our troop must have been a bit too good, because someone on the other side set the dog brothers on us. We lost half our officers in less than two weeks, and Alwith and I caught the bastard who killed our captain with one of those damned blowguns. He was a good man, Captain Vakhan, and any time I can get sword into the same kind of scum who murdered him—"

  Talamar broke off with yet another shrug, almost an apologetic one, and Bahzell touched his shoulder.

  "I'm sorry for your captain, but grateful you saw this coming."

  "I suppose some good comes of almost anything," the Angcaran sighed, then gave himself a brisk shake. "In the meantime, I've put out the word, and a dozen mercs will be dropping by shortly. They're good men—most of them were with us in Ferenmoss—and they've settled in to pass the winter here. When they hear about dog brothers in Angcar, they'll be only too happy to spend a night or two drinking our ale, so you and your people get what sleep you can."

  "Aye, we'll be doing that," Bahzell agreed, and beckoned to Brandark to follow as he started up the stairs.

  They did get some sleep, but not immediately. Zarantha was still up—not surprisingly—and insisted on rechecking the work she'd done on their wounds. And then, of course, Bahzell had to tell her what had happened and as much as they'd been able to guess about why. He did not mention any nocturnal visits by goddesses, but that was hardly relevant anyway.

  Zarantha heard him out with remarkable calm, but her dark eyes were haunted when he finished. Rekah sat quietly beside Tothas' bed, her oval face white, yet she said nothing, and Bahzell touched Zarantha's knee gently.

  "Lass," he said, abandoning the "My Ladies" he usually remembered to use, "you've bought into more trouble with us than we'd any notion, either of us. I'm knowing you've need of help to get home, but it's in my mind you might best be considering whether it's our help you need."

  "Because of the dog brothers?"

  "Of course because of the dog brothers! I've told you why Harnak wants me dead—aye, and his father, too—and a pair of hradani aren't after being the hardest targets to spot. We're like to bring them down on you again, and—" He paused, then sighed. "Lass, d'you think Brandark and I don't know you've troubles of your own? We're not wishful to make them worse."

  "After the way I trapped you into this?" Zarantha blinked damply, and Bahzell shrugged.

  "As for that, I've no one to blame but myself for mixing in your troubles in the first place, and it was you kept me out of jail and away from ni'Tarth's daggers. Aye, and so far as that goes, the dog brothers would've been more than pleased to have me penned up in a cell like a sheep on slaughtering day!"

  "No one to blame but yourself," Zarantha murmured. She swiped a hand across her eyes and smiled at him. "You're not nearly so hard a man as you'd have people think, are you, Bahzell Bahnakson? First that girl in Navahk, then me. And do you think I haven't seen the way you watch after Tothas?"

  He looked away uncomfortably, and it was her turn to pat his knee.

  "Tell me this, Bahzell. If I were able to find someone else to see us the rest of the way home, what would you and Brandark do?"

  "Well, we couldn't be staying here, for if one thing's sure it's that the dog brothers know our whereabouts."

  "So you'd be moving on anyway?"

  "Aye, that we would."

  "In that case, if you're still willing, I'd rather move on with you. As you say, I've troubles of my own, and—"

  She broke off, almost against her will, and shook her head. The Horse Stealer looked closely at her, recognizing her temptation to tell him whatever she'd so far concealed, but he recognized her decision not to, as well. He felt disappointed, yet not truly resentful. Whatever it was, he'd already accepted its seriousness, and her willingness to continue in company with two hradani marked for death by the Assassins Guild only reinforced his sense of her desperation.

  "All right, then," he sighed. "If that's the way of it, then we'll be staying with you, and I'm only hoping it's not a choice we'll both regret."

  Chapter Twenty

  They stayed three days at The Laughing God without further incident. The Guard dropped by at odd times on no set schedule, Talamar's mercenary friends made the taproom their permanent headquarters, and if business was down, Alwith was almost cheerful when Bahzell apologized for it.

  "Talamar's right," the landlord said, "once they're not worried about getting caught in the middle, they'll be spilling out the windows while they tell each other how brave they were. Half of 'em will be convinced they fought the dog brothers off while your lot just watched!"

  It was windy and cold when they finally set out again—with the brothers Ratherson's invitation to return in, um, more peaceable times—but it was also clear and dry, and the rest had done Tothas good. He was in far less pain, and his coughs, when they came, were ghosts of his previous terrible spasms. Even their animals seemed more cheerful; indeed, Zarantha had to stop her mule from biting Bahzell three times the first day out.

  But clear w
eather or no, all of them felt wariness tingling in their blood like an extra layer of frost, and Tothas was no longer excused watch duty. He and the women between them took the first watch each night, before the full cold set in. Bahzell had the second watch, and when Tothas turned in at last, it was to find the hradani had gotten up early and tucked a heated stone into his blankets to take the chill off them.

  It was as well he did, for the last leaves had vanished. By this time, Bahzell knew, Hurgrum was covered in snow; this far south, it was merely cold. Bitterly cold—far colder than he'd expected. Tothas assured him it was an unseasonal cold snap that would ease—for a time, at least—soon, but that was scant comfort as he watched his breath plume and felt the ground like iron under his feet.