David Weber - Wind Rider's Oath

But it appeared that the hradani was confident enough to come out from behind its protection at last. Which was either a very good thing . . . or the very worst thing that could possibly have happened. And if the shardohn's report was correct, Jerghar should discover which it was this very night.

This time, the deep, rolling voice echoing through Bahzell's mind wasn't a courser's. It was the voice of Tomanâk Orfro, God of War and Chief Captain of the Gods of Light.

Bahzell didn't even blink, but his mobile ears twitched, moving in perfect parallel with Walsharno's to point forward. The hradani felt the courser's reaction like an echo of his own, yet Walsharno took the cascading, musical thunder of that voice far more calmly than Bahzell had taken his own first conversation with Tomanâk. There was a flavor of intense respect to his emotions, a touch of wonder and delight, but not one of awe.

Bahzell thought back at his deity.

Walsharno didn't share the apprehension bordering on horror which Bahzell's tart exchanges with his god tended to evoke in two-legged audiences. He continued to trot briskly forward, swishing his tail to discourage a particularly irritating fly, and looked on with amused interest, perched like another viewpoint in Bahzell's mind.

the deep, resonant voice observed with a sort of pained amusement of its own,

Walsharno's thought put in.

< Just like you to be after making up to Himself just because he's a god, and all, > Bahzell retorted, and the earthquake rumble of Tomanâk's chuckle rolled through him. Then the god continued, but his voice was softer, somehow.

< Aye, that we will, > Bahzell replied, his own "voice" gentler than it had been a moment before. He felt Walsharno's unspoken agreement behind his own, then gave himself a mental shake. < Still and all, > he pointed out in something much more like his normal style, < that sounds as if it's after suggesting we've a way to go yet after this little unpleasantness as is waiting up ahead of us somewhere. >

Tomanâk said seriously.

Walsharno's ears shifted.

Tomanâk said,

Bahzell frowned, intrigued almost despite himself. A portion of his awareness remained firmly focused on the movement of Walsharno's muscles under him, the caress of the late afternoon breeze as the day wound towards twilight, the jingle of mail and weapons harnesses, the creak of saddle leather, and the slightly dusty smell of grass crushed under the hooves of coursers and warhorses alike. But most of his attention was focused on the question it had never occurred to him to ask and on the answer he would never have anticipated, if he had asked.

he put in,

Walsharno agreed.

There was no disrespect or challenge in the courser's question. He accepted what Tomanâk had said, as a yearling accepted the decrees and explanations of his herd stallion. He was simply seeking explanation, not demanding that Tomanâk justify what he had already said.

Tomanâk replied.

Bahzell observed dryly, and Tomanâk chuckled again in the back of the link he and Walsharno shared.

Tomanâk replied.

He obviously recognized Bahzell's and Walsharno's confusion, for he went on.

Walsharno thought slowly,

Tomanâk replied simply, as if the staggeringly complex and preposterous implication were perfectly reasonable.

Bahzell thought after a moment.

Tomanâk agreed,

Bahzell and Walsharno were silent, stunned by the immensity of the concept Tomanâk had just laid before them. The idea that there were an infinite number of Bahzells paired with an infinite number of Walsharnos, each fusion experiencing its own outcomes, fighting its own battles and meeting its own fate, might have made them feel small, and insignificant. No more than two single grains of sand upon an endless beach. Yet they were anything but small and insignificant. The exercise of their free will would determine their fates, and their fates would be not grains of sand on a beach, but stones in an avalanche thundering to a grand conclusion which would determine the fate of all universes and of every creature who had ever lived . . . or ever would.

Bahzell said after a long, thoughtful pause.

Tomanâk agreed.

< I? > Walsharno came to a sudden halt, his ears straight up and his eyes wide. < I, a champion ? I'm no such thing! >

Tomanâk said almost gently.

< But- > Bahzell began.

Tomanâk said gently,

Bahzell protested, oblivious to the other coursers and warhorses halted in puzzlement about him and Walsharno.

The complex linkage between hradani, courser, and deity trembled with the force of his protest.

< Peace, Brother, > Walsharno said, shaking off his own shock at Tomanâk's calm announcement as he recognized the pain-and guilt-suffusing Bahzell's mental cry of denial. < You will never drag me anywhere against my will. When I chose you, I chose knowing you were a champion, knowing where that might lead. I was surprised, but He's right, and if you think upon it, you'll see that He is. I willingly and gladly chose to partake of whatever fate awaits you-whatever fate we make for ourselves-in the full knowledge that you were a champion . . . and that few champions perish in peace, surrounded by those who love them. It simply never occurred to me that in doing so I might have stepped so close to the power of the Light myself. >

Tomanâk said gently.

< I will, > the courser's voice rang in the vaults of Bahzell's mind. A part of the hradani wanted desperately to forbid it, to prevent Walsharno from binding himself so inescapably to whatever fate awaited Bahzell himself. But another part recognized that it was too late to prevent that. That from the moment Walsharno willingly linked himself to him, their fates had been joined. And another part of him recognized that he had no right to forbid Walsharno this. That it was the courser's-his brother's-right to make the choice for himself.

< I do .> Walsharno's "voice" was as deep, as measured, as that of Tomanâk himself, filled with all the certainty and power of his mighty heart.

A deep, resonant bell rang somewhere deep in the depths of Bahzell Bahnakson's soul. A single musical note enveloped him, wrapped itself about him and Walsharno, and as it sang like the voice of the universe itself, Walsharno's presence blazed beside him like the very Sun of Battle for which he was named. The power and essence of Tomanâk himself was infused into that glorious heart of flame, and Bahzell felt all of the myriad connections between the three of them. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, even in that moment when he and Kaeritha had felt and experienced with Vaijon the moment that Tomanâk accepted his sword oath.

< Done-and well done! > The deep voice sang through the depths of their joined souls, deep and triumphant, joyously welcoming and shrouded in the thunder of coming battle. < Tremble, 0, Darkness! Tremble before the coming of these, my Swords! >

"The Mistress was right-they are fools!"

Treharm Haltharu, who looked as human as Jerghar Sholdan-and was-exposed razor-sharp teeth in a vicious smile. Stars twinkled overhead, their jewellike beauty uncaring, and the crescent new-moon hung low on the eastern horizon. He stood beside Jerghar atop the low hill over the cave in which they had spent the daylight hours, and his eyes glittered with the deadly green light of his true nature.