Oath of Swords wg-1

by David Weber

  The guard’s eyes flared in panic. He sucked in air to shout even as he tried to leap back, but that enormous hand didn’t encircle his neck. It gripped the front of his throat between thumb and fisted fingers, and his stillborn shout died in an agonized gurgle as Bahzell twisted his hand. A trachea crushed, ripped, tore, and then the Horse Stealer stepped out into the hall, and his other hand caught the guard’s sword hand as the strangling sentry tried frantically to strike at him.

  The guardsman’s free hand beat at Bahzell, but the hradani’s grip was an iron manacle upon his sword hand. He couldn’t even open his fingers to drop the weapon, and Bahzell Bahnakson’s cold, merciless smile was the last thing his bulging eyes ever saw as his crushed windpipe strangled him to death.

  Bahzell held the body until it stopped twitching, dragged it back into the library, and lowered it to the carpet. Steel rasped as he drew his own sword, and then he went down the hall with the deadly tread of a dire cat.

  The carved door was locked, and Bahzell raised a booted foot. He drove it forward, and the door crashed open as its lock disintegrated.

  It wasn’t a woman who’d been screaming; it was a boy-naked, no more than twelve, bound to a stone table, his chest already a bloody ruin of oozing cuts-and a silk clad man leapt back with a startled cry as his door flew wide.

  “What in Carnad-?! ” he snapped, whirling towards the intrusion, but the oath died in his throat and his eyes went huge. He stared at Bahzell in disbelief, then dropped his razor-edged knife, and his hands flickered.

  Something tore at Bahzell, twisting deep in his brain, but he barely felt its pain, and the wordless snarl of a hunting beast quivered in his throat. He bounded through the door and kicked it shut behind him, and Baron Dunsahnta paled as his spell of compulsion failed. He spat a phrase in High Kontovaran, hands moving again, but the force of Bahzell’s Rage filled the very air. The baron had never encountered its like-never imagined anything like it-and the terrible power of the curse of the hradani lashed at him. Not even a full adept could have adjusted for its impact, for the way it twisted and reverberated in the energy fields about him, and the baron was little more than a journeyman. The bolt of power which should have struck Bahzell down flashed up from the baron’s hands in a dazzling burst of light that accomplished absolutely nothing, and then that huge sword whistled at him.

  Baron Dunsahnta screamed as the flat of the blade crashed into his left arm. Bone splintered, hurling him to the floor, and a boot slammed down on his right elbow. He shrieked again as more bone broke, then wailed in terror as a hand gripped his robe and snatched him up. Brown eyes, harder than stone and colder than death itself, stared into his, and he writhed in agony and strangling panic as the mouth below those eyes smiled.

  “Now then,” a voice that was inhuman in every sense of the word said coldly, almost caressingly, “I’m thinking it’s time we had a little chat.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Brandark stared out into the night, trying to hide his concern. Bahzell had been gone too long, but he’d heard no alarms, and one thing was certain: his friend would never be taken quietly, whatever happened. So-

  “And a good evening to you, Brandark,” a deep voice said, and the Bloody Sword leapt a full inch into the air. His sword was in his hand by the time he landed, and he whirled with a curse.

  “Fiendark seize you, don’t do that!” he gasped at the huge shadow which had filtered from the night and heard Tothas’ soft, sibilant endorsement, but both of them crowded forward to seize the Horse Stealer’s shoulders-only to pause as they saw the small, cloth-wrapped body he held.

  Bahzell ignored them and bent over the boy in his arms. The youngster shook like a terrified leaf, and his eyes were huge with fear and pain, but a smile trembled on his mouth when the hradani nodded to him.

  “There now, didn’t I say we’d be making it out?” The boy managed a tiny answering nod. “So I did, and now we’ll take you where it’s safe. You’ve my word.”

  The boy closed his eyes and pressed his face into the Horse Stealer’s armored chest, and Bahzell’s huge, gentle hands held him close.

  “My Lady?” Tothas demanded, and slumped as Bahzell shook his head.

  “Buck up, man. We’d never much hope of finding her here, but now I’ve a notion where I should be looking.”

  “You do?” Tothas looked back up eagerly, and the hradani nodded.

  “Aye. But first we’ve a lad to get safe back to The Brown Horse, and then it’s time we were making some plans.”

  ***

  The landlord was less than pleased to see them back-until he recognized his own nephew in Bahzell’s arms. The healer was still there, watching over Rekah, and the innkeeper snatched the boy up and hurried upstairs with him while Bahzell turned to his friends once more in the taproom.

  “You know where to find My Lady?” Tothas demanded urgently.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Bahzell swallowed a huge gulp of ale, and only Brandark recognized the dark core of sickness, the remembered hunger of the Rage, in his eyes. “Look you, Tothas, we knew they’d not waste time, and so they haven’t. Lady Zarantha is on her way to Jashân, but they daren’t risk the roads lest someone see them, so it’s cross-country they’ve taken her.”

  Tothas stared at him, mouth working with fear for his mistress, then nodded sharply.

  “How many of them?” Brandark asked, and Bahzell frowned.

  “Aye, well, there’s the bad news. They’ve two wizards with ’em, and ten of the baron’s men, which would be bad enough, I’m thinking, but there’s ten dog brothers, as well.”

  “Dog brothers?” Brandark repeated, and cursed at Bahzell’s nod. “Phrobus take it, will we never be done with those scum?”

  “Not just yet, any road,” Bahzell replied, “and they’re to meet with still more men along the way.”

  “Where?” Tothas asked sharply.

  “As to that, the baron didn’t know. But where they started from’s another thing, and even a blind Horse Stealer could follow a score of horses!”

  “Then let’s be on our way!”

  “Wait, now.” Bahzell’s powerful hand pushed the Spearman gently back into his chair, and he shook his head. “Think, man. Even such as I need light to see by. And-” his voice deepened, and his grip on Tothas’ shoulder tightened “-it’s not ‘we’ must be on our way, but only Brandark and me.”

  “What?! ” Tothas’ face went white, and he shook his head violently. “She’s my lady , Bahzell! I’ve watched over her since she could walk!”

  “Aye, and you’ll die in a week in weather like this.” Tothas flinched, but the hradani went on with brutal honesty. “Or, worse, you’ll slow us. I know you’d die for her, but out there in the cold and wet, with no roof and like as not no fire, it’s die for nothing you would. Leave this to us.”

  Tothas stared at him, mouth tragic, then closed his eyes while tears trickled down his wasted face, and Bahzell squeezed his shoulder hard.

  “Will you trust us with her life, sword brother?” he asked softly, and the armsman nodded brokenly.

  “As with my own honor,” he whispered.

  “Thank you.” Bahzell squeezed his shoulder once more, then sat back and smiled sadly. “And before you come all over useless feeling, Tothas, it’s in my mind you’ll have enough on your plate as it is.”

  “What?” Tothas blinked in confusion, and Bahzell shook his head.

  “There’s Rekah upstairs. She’ll need you-aye, and the boy, too. It’s marked for more of the baron’s blood magic he was, and I’m thinking there’s some would be happier if neither he nor Rekah told what happened to them.”

  “The baron?” Brandark asked sharply, and, despite himself, Tothas shivered at Bahzell’s smile.

  “Oh, no, not the baron,” the Horse Stealer said. Brandark grunted in approval, and Bahzell went on. “But it’s naught but a matter of time before one of his men gets up the guts to poke his head into his chambers and find him. There�
�s not many will weep for him, and both his wizard friends are away with Lady Zarantha, but this village will be like a hornet’s nest come morning. And that, Tothas, is where I’m thinking you come in.”

  “How?” Tothas asked, but his voice said he already knew.

  “You’re a Spearman-and a senior armsman to a Spearman duke. Would the nearest army post send a company or two this way if you asked?”

  “Yes.” There was no doubt in Tothas’ reply, and Bahzell nodded.

  “Then we’d best ask someone-the healer, I’m thinking, and not our landlord-who you can trust to be taking word to the army. And until help comes, we’ll trust you to keep Rekah and the boy alive to talk when it does come. Aye, and while I’m thinking on it, you’d best send word to Duke Jashân, as well. If it’s home they’re headed, it just might be couriers on the highway can beat them there. But only to Jashân, mind! From the way the baron talked, I’ve a feeling there’s hands in this closer to home.”

  “I’ll do it.” Tothas nodded grimly. “Trust me for that and get her back safe. And . . . tell her I love her.”

  “Ah, don’t be daft, man!” Bahzell laughed sadly. “If she needs to be told after all these years, then she’s not half so bright as I thought her.”

  “Tell her anyway,” Tothas said with a small, sad smile. “And Tomanāk bless and guide you both.”

  “Aye, well, thank you,” Bahzell said, and glanced wryly at Brandark.

  ***

  Dawn bled in the east as two hradani picked their way across a field of wheat stubble. They were uncommonly well provided with riding beasts and pack animals, especially when only one of them was mounted. If they were able to find-and rescue-Zarantha, she’d need her mule, and Bahzell’s packhorse, the pack mule, and Rekah’s mule all carried pack saddles. Brandark thought his friend had been a little unreasonable to insist on loading the pack animals so lightly, but he hadn’t argued. They had to take them along, anyway-just as they’d had to take along Tothas’ warhorse.

  Any villager would recognize the horse as a stranger, and Tothas had decided his best chance for the next few days was to lie hidden in the inn. His horse’s presence would betray his own, and taking it along would not only give any who strayed across their tracks the idea that they’d taken him along but also provide Brandark with a war-trained change of mounts.

  They’d taken Rekah’s mule for much the same reasons. Only the healer and the staff of The Brown Horse knew how badly the maid had actually been hurt, and the innkeeper had grown a backbone when Bahzell restored his nephew to him. He was still terrified, but he had the boy’s life to worry about now-and a chance to be free of the terror which had haunted his village. He’d agreed to hide both Rekah and Tothas, as well as the boy, while the healer’s son-a square, solid young man whose bovine features disguised a ready wit-took word to the nearest garrison.

  So now Bahzell and Brandark crossed the field to a narrow track well back from the main road. The twisting band of mud, little used and completely overgrown in places, snaked through desolate winter woodland, but its surface was pocked with the marks of shod hooves and dotted with occasional droppings. The dung was spongy, but not broken down as a heavy rain would have left it. That meant it could be no more than forty-eight hours old, and Bahzell squatted on his heels and studied the hoofprints carefully while Brandark sat his horse beside him and tried not to fidget.

  “What are you doing?” the Bloody Sword asked finally.

  “Even such as you should know any hoof is after leaving its own mark, city boy, and I’ve a mind to be sure I’ll know ’em when I see them again.” Brandark’s ears shifted in question, and Bahzell shrugged. “It’s like enough we’ll lose them somewhere. If it happens we do, don’t you think it would be helpful to know what we’re looking for when it comes time to be casting about for them?”

  Brandark stared at the churned mud and shook his head dubiously. “You can actually recognize individual prints in that mess?”

  “D’you recognize notes in a song?” Bahzell asked in reply. Brandark nodded, and the Horse Stealer shrugged. “Well, I’ll not say I’ve all of them straight already, but I’ll be having them all tucked away in here-” he tapped his temple “-by the time we’ve put a mile or two behind us.”

  “How far ahead are they?”

  “As to that,” Bahzell frowned and rubbed his chin, ears half-lowered, “they’ve a full day’s start on us, and from all the baron said, they’ll have moved like Phrobus himself was on their trail, to start at least, and they’ve at least two mounts each from these tracks.” He shook his head slowly. “I’d not be surprised if they’re near thirty leagues in front of us, but they’ve the better part of four hundred leagues to go in a straight line, and it’s no straight line they’ll move in. Not if they’re minded to avoid the roads. And I’m doubting they’ll find fresh mounts once these tire.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’d no notion Zarantha was after walking into their hands. Close to home, they’ll have folk ready to remount them without question, but once out of their own front yard they’ll have to buy fresh as they go-assuming they find someplace with more than plowhorses to sell in the middle of all this nothing-and there’s too many of them to do that without raising questions. No, once they’ve settled in to run cross-country they’ll have naught but the horses under ’em to do it with, and a strange thing it will be if we can’t make up a bit on them every day then.” He shook his head again. “It’s in my mind we’ll catch them up, Brandark, but we’ll not do it all in a jump.”

  Brandark chewed his lip unhappily. “I don’t like leaving her in their hands that long.”

  “No more do I.” Bahzell’s face turned grim, and his ears went tight to his skull. “They’ll be after keeping her alive as long as they’ve a hope of getting her home to Jashân, but that’s not to say they’ll treat her well.” The Horse Stealer’s jaw tightened, and then he shook himself. “Well, we’ll not accomplish much while we stand about talking, so-”

  He adjusted his sword baldric, and then Brandark blinked as he vanished up the narrow slot of the trail in the ground-devouring lope of the Horse Stealer hradani.

  Brandark had heard of how rapidly Horse Stealers could cover ground and hadn’t believed it. But for the first time since leaving Navahk, Bahzell was truly in a hurry, with neither injured women, merchant wagons, nor sick armsmen to slow him, and Brandark had no choice but to believe. He pressed with his heels, urging his horse to a trot, yet he had to ask for a mud-spattering canter, with the long line of horses and mules thudding along behind him, before he could catch up and drop back to a trot. No wonder the infantry of Hurgrum had seemed so baffling to Navahk’s cavalry!

  Bahzell turned his head and flashed a grin over his shoulder, then turned his eyes back to the trail before him and loped on into the sunrise with the horses and mules bounding along behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Cold wind blew into Brandark Brandarkson’s face. It was the sixth evening of their pursuit, and Tothas’ horse moved wearily under him as the western horizon ate the sun. Shadows stretched inky black with the onset of evening, but Bahzell jogged steadily on like some tireless, questing hound, and Brandark wrapped his cloak about himself and shivered.

  Their quarry had, indeed, kept to wild country. They’d also hooked further east than Brandark had anticipated before turning south, and their twisting path had kept them off ridge lines and avoided open stretches. The hradani had made up ground, as Bahzell had predicted, but less than he’d hoped. Their targets were pushing even harder than he’d feared, almost as if they knew-not suspected, but knew -someone was behind them. They were even riding on after nightfall, which took toll of their mounts but meant they regained an hour or two each evening when darkness forced Bahzell to halt.

  A stronger gust flapped Brandark’s cloak, and he glowered at the clouds in the east. Rain was bad enough-two days back, a storm had all but obliterated the trail; how Bahzell had held to it
was more than Brandark could even guess-but this wind smelled of snow. A blanket of that would hide any trail, even from a Horse Stealer, and-

  Bahzell’s hand flew up. Brandark drew rein, and the other animals shuffled to a grateful halt behind him, breath steaming as they blew. Even Zarantha’s mule hung its head without its normal fractiousness, and Brandark frowned as Bahzell swerved off the trail and moved along the flank of a hill. He climbed the slope and knelt to examine something, then stood, put his hands on his hips, and turned slowly. He looked back into the west and then peered into the rapidly darkening east for several minutes, cloak blowing on the wind, before he shook his head and walked back to Brandark.

  “What?” Brandark’s voice sounded harsh and unnatural to his own ears after the long silence of the afternoon, and Bahzell shrugged.

  “There’s a spot yonder we can camp.” He jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder, but there was an odd note in his voice. Brandark cocked his head, and Bahzell shrugged again. “I’m thinking something new’s been added. We’re not the only ones following those bastards.”

  “We’re not?” Brandark’s ears pricked, and Bahzell grunted.

  “That we’re not, though who else it may be has me puzzled.”

  The Horse Stealer scratched his chin for a moment, then turned back the way he’d come, and Brandark dismounted and followed him, leading Tothas’ horse. Zarantha’s mule pricked its ears and snorted to the other animals as it realized they were headed for a stopping place. Bahzell’s packhorse seemed inclined to lag, but the mule’s sharp nip drove it on while Brandark followed the Horse Stealer into a hollow cut from the hillside by a spring-fed, ice-crusted stream. A small stand of scrubby trees offered fuel, the slope to the east broke the wind, and the spring bubbled out of the hill with enough energy that it hadn’t yet frozen. It was a perfect campsite, but Brandark’s ears flattened as he saw where someone had buried the ashes of a small fire.