David Weber - Oath of Swords

“I’d no mind to frighten you, Tala,” he said mildly as he lowered his dagger. The woman who would have been the palace’s housekeeper in Hurgrum (here she was simply one slave among many, and more exposed to her “betters’ ” wrath than most), drew a deep breath at his pacific tone and opened her mouth . . . just as Farmah stepped waveringly out from behind him.

“ Farmah! ” Tala gasped, and leapt forward as the girl’s legs began to give. Only Tala’s arms kept her from collapsing, and the housekeeper gasped again as she realized how badly hurt Farmah was. Her eyes darted back to Bahzell, and he winced at the sudden, horrified accusation-the look of betrayal-in them. Yet he couldn’t blame her for her automatic assumption, and the accusation vanished as quickly as it had come. The horror remained, but fury replaced the betrayal, and her ears flattened.

“Who, M’lord?” she hissed. “Who did this?!”

“Harnak,” Farmah answered for him, resting the less injured side of her face against Tala’s shoulder, and the protective arms tightened about her. Tala looked into Bahzell’s eyes, searching for confirmation, and her own face tightened as he nodded. She started to speak again, then pressed her lips together and handed Farmah back to him.

She darted back to the intersection without a word and looked both ways, then beckoned him forward, and he sighed with relief as he scooped the girl back up and followed her.

Tala led the way to his chambers like a scout, then closed the outer door behind him and leaned against it to watch him deposit Farmah gently in a chair. Her expression was grim, but she showed no surprise when he shrugged out of his tunic, squirmed into a padded buckram aketon, and lifted his scale shirt from its rack. He drew it on and reached up for his sword, looping the baldric over his head and settling the hilt against his left shoulder blade, and Tala cleared her throat.

“Is he dead, M’lord?” Her voice was flat.

“He was breathing when I left him. Now?” Bahzell shrugged, and she nodded without surprise.

“I was afraid of this. He’s been after her so long, and-” Tala closed her mouth and shook her head. “How can I help, M’lord?”

Bahzell shook his head quickly, his face grim. “You’d best think what you’re saying, Tala. If he dies yet, or if we’re caught inside the walls-”

“If you’re caught, it won’t matter whether I helped you or just didn’t call the Guard myself.” Her voice was bleak as she looked at Farmah, huddled brokenly in the chair and little more than half-conscious. “That could be me, M’lord, or my daughter, if I’d been fool enough to have one.”

Bahzell frowned, but she was right. He’d already put her at risk simply by crossing her path, and he needed all the help he could get.

“Clothes first,” he said, and Tala nodded, accepting his acceptance. “I’ve naught that would fit her, and if anyone sees that cloak-”

“I understand, M’lord. We’re close enough in size my clothes would do. And then?”

“And then forget you ever saw us. I’m thinking it’s the servants’ way out for us.”

“Can she walk?” Tala asked bluntly, and Farmah stirred.

“I can walk.” Tala eyed her skeptically, and she straightened in the chair, one arm pressed to her side to cradle broken ribs. “I can ,” she repeated, “and I have to.”

“But where can you- No.” Tala cut herself off and shook her head. “Best I don’t know any more than I must.”

“Aye, for all our sakes,” Bahzell agreed grimly, and began stuffing items into a leather rucksack, starting with the heavy purse his father had sent with him.

“Very well, M’lord. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Tala slipped out, closing the door behind her, and Bahzell worked quickly. He could take little, and he made his choices with ruthless dispatch, watching Farmah from the corner of one eye as he packed. She listed sideways in the chair, no longer holding herself erect to prove her strength to Tala, and he didn’t like the way she was favoring her right side. Something broken in there, and gods only knew what other damage she’d suffered. He admired her courage, but how far could she walk? And how quickly, when Churnazh’s men would be after them a-horseback within hours?

He pushed the worry aside as best he could and buckled the rucksack, then took his steel-bowed arbalest from the wall. (That was one more thing for Churnazh to sneer at-what sort of a hradani relied on arrows or bolts instead of meeting his enemies hand to hand?) Bahzell had hostage right to carry his personal weapons whenever he chose, but one sight of the arbalest by any sentry would raise questions he dared not answer, and he hesitated, loath to abandon it, then whirled as the door opened silently once more.

It was Tala, clothing bundled under her arm. She paused if to speak when she saw him holding the arbalest, then shook her head and crossed quickly to Farmah and helped her up from the chair. The door of the inner bedchamber closed behind them, and Bahzell laid the arbalest aside with regret. Their chance of getting as far as the city gate unchallenged was already so slight as not to exist; adding more weight to the odds would be madness.

He shrugged to settle his armor and began to pace. No one was likely to stumble over Harnak, but every second increased the chance of his regaining consciousness and raising the alarm himself. Once that happened-

Bahzell pushed the thought aside with his worries over Farmah’s strength. There was nothing he could do if it happened; best to concentrate on what to do if it didn’t, and he rubbed his chin and shifted his ears slowly back and forth as he thought. The immediate problem was escaping the city, but after that he still had to get Farmah to Hurgrum somehow, and how was he to do that when he himself dared not enter Hurgrum’s territory? He could think of only one way, but with Farmah’s injuries and-

He turned as the bedchamber door opened once more and Farmah stepped through it. Her movements were slow and obviously painful but stronger than he’d dared hope, and Tala followed her with a worried expression.

The housekeeper had done well, Bahzell thought. It would take an observant eye to realize the plain gray gown was just too large, its hem just too short for Farmah, and the extra girth helped hide the bandages Tala had bound tight about her ribs. Its long, full sleeves hid the bruises and rope burns on the girl’s arms, as well, and Tala had dressed her hair, but nothing could hide the marks on her face. The blood had been washed away, and the cuts no longer bled, yet they were raw and ugly, and her bruises, especially the ones on her broken left cheek, were dark and swelling.

Farmah felt his gaze and touched her face.

“I’m sorry, M’lord,” she began wretchedly, and he felt her shame at her ugliness, her knowledge that some, at least, of those cuts would be scars for life and that anyone who saw them now would guess instantly what had happened to her, “but-”

“Hush, lass! It’s no fault of yours.” He glanced at Tala. “I’m thinking a hooded cloak might help,” he began, “and-”

“Indeed it might, M’lord,” Tala agreed, raising her arm to show him the cloak draped across it, “and I’ve had another thought or two, as well.”

“You’d best not be getting any deeper into this,” Bahzell objected, and the housekeeper snorted.

“I’m deep enough to drown already, M’lord, so save your worry for things you can change.” She was old enough to be Bahzell’s mother, and her tart tone was so like his old nurse’s that he grinned despite his tension. It seemed Churnazh had failed to crush at least one of his slaves completely, after all.