David Weber - Oath of Swords

“Buy?” Turl snapped upright. “D’ye mean t’ say buy , M’lord? Cash money?”

“Aye. Mind you, I’m thinking it would have been more fun to steal them,” Bahzell admitted, “but it’s a bit of a hurry I’m in.”

Turl gaped at him, then laughed out loud. “Well, M’lord, if its fun ye want, just go back down th’ track and me an’ the lads can step back inside an’ let ye try agin. Course, the dogs’ll be on ye quick as spit, but if that’s yer notion o’ fun-” He shrugged, and Bahzell joined him in his laughter.

“No, thank you kindly. It may be I’ll take you up on that another day, but I’ve scant time for such tonight. So if you’re minded to sell, I’ll buy three of them from you, and tack to go with them, if you have it.”

“Yer serious, ain’t ye?” Turl said slowly, rubbing his chin. “ ’Twouldn’t be ye’ve need t’ be elsewhere, would it, M’lord?”

“It would, friend, and the sooner the better.”

“Um.” Turl looked at his fellows for a long, silent moment, then back at Bahzell. “Horses are hard come by in these parts, M’lord,” he said bluntly, “an’ harder t’ replace. ’Specially when partin’ wi’ ’em seems like t’ bring th’ Black Prince an’ his scum down on ye.”

“Aye, I’ve little doubt of that,” Bahzell agreed, “and I’d not be wishing that on anyone, but I’ve a thought on that.”

“Do ye?” Turl squatted on his heels, waving the others to do the same when Bahzell followed suit. “Tell me, then, M’lord. How does an honest farmer sell his horses t’ the likes o’ you wi’out Black Churnazh stretchin’ his neck fer his troubles?”

“As to that, friend Turl, I’m thinking there’s always a way, when a man’s looking hard enough.” Bahzell shook his purse, letting them hear the jingle of coins, and cocked his head. “Now, as for how it works, why-”

Tala looked up nervously as hooves thudded on the dirt track. She parted the screen of branches, peering out of the clump of brush Bahzell had hidden her and Farmah in, and her ears twitched in silent relief as she recognized the huge, dark shape leading the horses.

Bahzell stopped them with a soft, soothing sound, and Tala helped Farmah to her feet. The girl had regained a little strength during Bahzell’s absence, and she clung to Tala as the housekeeper half-led and half-carried her out of the brush.

“I never thought you could do it, M’lord. Never ,” Tala breathed. “How did you ever get them to agree without-?” Her eyes cut to his sword hilt, and he chuckled.

“As to that, it wasn’t so hard a thing. Mind, that farmer’s missed his calling, for he’s one could make money selling stones to Purple Lords.” He shook his head and looked at the three unprepossessing animals behind him. “My folk wouldn’t be wasting pot space on two of these, and the third’s no courser! I’ve no mind at all to hear what old Hardak or Kulgar would be saying if they knew I’d paid for nags like these!” He shook his head again, trying to imagine the expressions of the two captains who’d led a very young Bahzell on his first raid against the vast Sothōii herds if they could see him now. Imagination failed, and he was just as glad it did.

“But how did you talk them into it?” Tala pressed, and he shrugged.

“I’d a heavy purse, and it’s a lighter one now. They took every Navahkan coin I had, and the lot of us spent ten minutes breaking down paddock fences and scuffing the ground.” He shrugged again. “If any of Churnazh’s men track us back to them, why, they’ve proof enough how hard they tried to stop my stealing these miserable racks of-that’s to say, these noble beasts.” He sounded so wry Tala chuckled, despite her exhaustion and fear, and he grinned.

“There’s the spirit! Now let’s be getting Farmah in the saddle.”

Neither woman had ever ridden a horse. Tala, at least, had ridden muleback a time or two before she fell into Churnazh’s service, but Farmah had no experience at all, and she was in no fit state for lessons. She bit her lip, wide skirt bunched clumsily high, clutching at the high cantle of the saddle and trying not to flinch as the stolid horse shifted under her, and Bahzell patted her shoulder encouragingly. It wasn’t hard to reach. Even mounted, her head was little higher than his.

“Don’t be fretting, lass,” he told her. “These are war saddles,” his palm smacked leather loudly, “and you’ll not fall out.”

She nodded uncertainly as he buckled a strap around her waist, snapped it to rings on the saddle, and grinned at her.

“I’m thinking friend Turl-the son of Hirahim who parted with these nags-wasn’t always a farmer. Not with these in his barn.” He bent to adjust the stirrups to her shorter legs and went on speaking. “But however he came by them, it’s grateful I am he had them. Wounded stay with the column or die in war, lass; that’s why they’ve straps to hold a hurt man in the saddle.”

She nodded nervously, and he gave her shoulder another pat and turned to Tala. The housekeeper had split her skirts down the middle and bound the shredded halves tightly about her legs; now she scrambled up into the second saddle without assistance. Fortunately, the plow horse under it was staid enough not to shy at her clumsy, if determined, style, and Bahzell nodded in approval and showed her how to adjust the straps. She had the reins in her hands, and he managed not to wince as he rearranged her grip, then tied the lead from Farmah’s horse to the back of her saddle.

“But . . . what about you, M’lord?” Tala asked as she glanced at the third horse. It had no saddle, only a pack frame.

“Now wouldn’t it be a cruel thing to be putting the likes of me on a horse’s back?” Bahzell replied, slinging his rucksack to the frame. “I’ve yet to meet the beast that can carry me more than a league-or outpace me over the same distance, for that matter.”

“But I thought-” Tala broke off as he looked at her, then shrugged. “They do call you ‘Horse Stealers,’ M’lord,” she said apologetically.

“And so we are, but that’s for the cooking pot.”

“You eat them?!” Tala looked down at the huge animal under her, and Bahzell chuckled.

“Aye, but don’t be saying so too loudly. You’ll fret the poor beasties, and no Horse Stealer would be eating anything this bony.” Tala blinked, and Bahzell lowered his ears more seriously.

“Now pay me heed, Tala. Churnazh will be after us soon-if he’s not already-and I’m thinking there’s no way the three of us can show them our heels.” One ear flicked at Farmah, drooping in the saddle, her small store of recovered energy already spent, and Tala nodded silently.

“Well, then. When you can’t outrun them, it’s time to outthink them. That’s why I’ve gone west, not east for Hurgrum as they might expect. But when they miss us on the east road, even the likes of Churnazh will think to sweep this way, as well.”

He paused, ears cocked, until Tala nodded again.

“I’d a few words with Turl,” he went on then, “and there’s one lad as wants us caught no more than we do, not with the questions they’ll be asking when they see saddles on the horses I ‘stole’! From the way he tells it, there’s a village-Fir Hollow, he called it-two leagues northeast of here. Do you know it?”

“Fir Hollow?” Tala repeated the name and furrowed her brow, then shook her head. “I’m afraid not, M’lord,” she apologized, and Bahzell shrugged.

“No reason you should, but here’s what I’m thinking. The road forks there, and the right fork-the eastern one-hooks north towards Chazdark.”

“Oh!” Tala nodded sharply. “I know that town, M’lord. Fraidahn and I were there once, before-” She broke off, pushing the painful memory aside, and Bahzell squeezed her forearm.