David Weber - Oath of Swords

Brandark took the explanation better than Bahzell had feared, though the Horse Stealer was none too sure his gales of laughter at the description of the fight in the alley were truly preferable. He sobered-some-on hearing the sergeant’s warning about ni’Tarth, but he only shrugged at the revelation that he and Bahzell were now bound for the Empire of the Spear.

“Well, you said you wanted to go east,” he murmured, “and you do have a way of, ah, expediting your departures, don’t you?” Bahzell snorted in his throat, and the Bloody Sword chuckled. “Yes, you do. In fact, I think I feel an inspiration coming on.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Bahzell said hastily.

“Oh, but I do!” Brandark’s eyes glinted at him. “I think I’ll call it . . . The Lay of Bahzell Bloody-Hand. How does that sound?”

“Like a just enough cause for murder!”

“Nonsense! Why, I’ll make you famous , Bahzell! Everywhere you go, folk will know of your heroic deeds and towering nobility!”

“You’d best give the idea over while you’ve still two hands to write with,” Bahzell growled, but his own lips twitched, and Zarantha chuckled again. Then the Horse Stealer sobered. “Aye, that’s well enough, Brandark, but we’ve landed neck-deep in trouble again, and it’s me that’s put us there.”

“Now don’t take on so. It’s my fault, too. After all, I know the sorts of things you get into when I’m not there to stop you.”

“ Will you be serious?” Bahzell demanded, but Brandark only laughed, and the Horse Stealer turned his back on him to frown down at Zarantha. “I’m thinking you know you’ve mousetrapped me fair and square,” he told her, “but I’ve a mind to hear a bit more about you before we’re off to the South Weald.”

“There’s not a great deal to tell,” she shrugged. “My father is Caswal of Hûrâka. Hûrâka has some claim to fame, locally at least, though it’s certainly not the largest sept of Shâloan, and he wanted me properly educated.”

“A Spearman noble sent his daughter to the Axemen for schooling?” Brandark asked with a peculiar emphasis, and Zarantha gave him a small smile.

“I see you do know a bit about Spearmen, Lord Brandark.”

“Just Brandark, since it seems we’re working for you now,” the Bloody Sword said, but he continued to gaze at her intently, and she shrugged.

“As I say, Hûrâka isn’t the largest sept of Shâloan, and Father’s always had some . . . peculiar notions and no sons. My mother is dead, and he remarried just two years ago, so that may change, but for now I’m still his oldest child and heir. Of course, my husband would inherit the title and what lands go with it, not me, but still-”

She shrugged again, and Brandark nodded, yet a flicker of unsatisfied curiosity still glowed in his eyes.

“As for sending me to the Axemen,” she went on more briskly, “pray, why should he not? There’s always tension between the empires, but, as you say, I’m only a daughter. Even the most patriotic Spearman has to admit Axeman schools are better, and-” a hint of bitterness tinged her voice “-no one pays much heed to where a mere daughter is educated.”

She fell silent, then gave her head a little toss. “At any rate, he sent me to Axe Hallow very quietly, I assure you. Just as I assure you he will, indeed, recompense you for any expenses you may suffer and reward you well for your assistance in getting me home.”

Bahzell had the distinct impression as much was left unsaid as said, but he glanced at Brandark, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. He seemed to accept Zarantha’s story at face value, but it was hard to be certain. For himself, Bahzell was inclined to believe all she’d said was true, yet that wasn’t to say it was all the truth . . . or that she hadn’t embroidered a bit about the edges.

“Well,” he said at length, “if the sergeant had the right of it, we’d best be on our way quick.” He bent a dubious eye on Zarantha. “Can you be staying on a horse if we put you there . . . Lady?”

She lowered her eyes demurely, but the ghost of a smile flickered about her lips.

“I think I could,” she said in a meek voice, “but if you don’t mind, I’d feel more comfortable on my mule. Father sent him to me, and he’s a really fine mule. I have a pack mule, too, and another for my maid, Rekah, as well.”

Bahzell studied the crown of her bent head, and a corner of his mind noted that her dark, shining hair was as scrupulously clean as her shabby garments had been before ni’Tarth’s thugs attacked her. The thought of a father poor enough to send his eldest daughter off to foreign lands on muleback, without even a horse, caused his heart to sink, but there were worse things than mules when it came to the road. They were tough enough, with the ability to survive on forage that could never support a horse, and if he’d seldom met a mule with a disposition he cared for, they were also smarter than horses.

“Aye, well, I’ve no problem with that,” he rumbled, “but you were saying you’ve still one guardsman left. D’you have a mule for him, as well?”

“Oh, no! But Tothas has an excellent horse,” she said so reassuringly he felt an instant pang of dread. Then she raised her head and met his eyes with an earnest look. “The only problem is that, as I told you, we were robbed while he was ill. I’ve been able to pay our board and stable fees, but when it comes to provisions for the road-”

She raised her hands, empty palms up, and Bahzell looked at Brandark in resignation. The Bloody Sword only grinned and opened his purse to spill a scant handful of coins onto the wobbly table, and Bahzell sighed and followed suit.

They pushed their total remaining assets into a single heap, and Bahzell sat back to let Brandark count it. The Bloody Sword had a better notion of the value of foreign coins, and his fingers sorted them briskly while Zarantha sat with her hands in her lap and an anxious expression. Bahzell had an odd feeling she looked more anxious than she was, and it irritated him. He’d never seen a map of the Empire of the Spear-not one he’d trust, anyway-but it was easily half again the size of the Empire of the Axe. It was also far more sparsely settled, and the thought of crossing it with scant supplies at this time of year was hardly amusing, whatever Zarantha might think.

Bahzell finished counting and scraped the coins back into his purse, then leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful frown.

“We’ve enough, I think,” he said after a moment. “Not much more than that, mind, but enough-assuming, that is,” he added with a sharp glance at Zarantha, “that you and your servants have your own trail gear.”

“We do,” she assured him.

“In that case,” Brandark turned his eyes to Bahzell, “we should consider where to get what we require. If this ni’Tarth is as powerful as your guardsman says, he won’t need long to hear what happened. Under the circumstances, I’d just as soon get on the road quickly.”

“You’re minded to set out and buy what we need on the way?” Bahzell asked dubiously, and Brandark nodded.

“You and I have enough trail rations to carry us all for a day or two, and we’re going to have to cross the Dreamwater when we leave Riverside. If this ni’Tarth is involved in the docks, it might be smarter to get ourselves ferried across before he puts out the word he’s looking for us than to take the time to go shopping. We can buy what we need once we get over into Angthyr.”

“Aye, that’s true enough, but I’ve not the least notion where we’re bound.” Bahzell looked at Zarantha. “This Sherhan, now. You were saying it’s near what?”