David Weber - The War God's Own

Vaijon's quiet sincerity took Bahzell aback. Despite everything, including Tomanāk's intervention, a major portion of his brain had continued to think of Vaijon as the conceited, egotistical peacock who'd met Wind Dancer at the docks, and he felt a stab of shame as he realized that. Gods knew the original Sir Vaijon had deserved all he'd gotten, but Prince Bahnak had taught his sons better than to think that no one could learn from experience. Hradani notions of justice were severe, as they must be among a people afflicted by the Rage, but they were also fair. Punishment was meted out to suit the offense; once it had been administered, the account was squared, and no wise clan lord or war leader continued to hold the past against his followers. That, after all, was one of the functions of punishment: to teach anyone capable of learning, whether from personal experience or from the example of others.

And as Bahzell gazed at the younger man, he realized not only that Vaijon had learned but that the knight-probationer was genuinely grateful for his lesson. That was a sobering thought, for Bahzell was only too aware of how seldom he had been grateful for the lessons of his own past. Especially the ones which involved bruises. Which, now that he thought about it, seemed to account for a majority of the ones which had stuck with him.

"I'd not put it quite that way myself, lad," he said after a moment, and waved for Vaijon to sit back down at the table while he seated himself in the out-sized chair beside the fire. Brandark took the opportunity to disappear into his own rooms in an unwonted display of tact, and Bahzell rested one heel on the raised hearth while he gazed down into the burning coal.

"It's glad enough I'll be to teach you what I know of arms," he went on after another pause. "Mind you, I'm thinking you've been taught well enough already. It was overconfidence and anger got you into trouble-that, and the way you'd underestimated what I might be doing because you were so all fired busy with what you meant to be doing… and so sure no hradani could really measure up to himself's standards."

He glanced up and smiled as the younger man flushed in embarrassment. The flush grew darker for an instant, but there was too much sympathy in his smile for Vaijon to resent it, and the human smiled back hesitantly.

"I wish I could dispute your analysis, Milord," he said, and Bahzell chuckled.

"Don't be taking it too hard, lad. It's the way of young bucks to make mistakes. Tomanāk knows I did-aye, and it's lucky I was they didn't cost me far more than yours cost you! There's no shame in admitting past mistakes; only in making 'em over again."

"I understand, Milord," Vaijon said, and, for the first time, he truly did.

"Well, if you're after understanding that much, understand this, as well," Bahzell went on seriously. "I'm no knight, Vaijon, and I've no least desire to be one. In fact, the very notion makes me come all over queasy. I know that's not something as you find easy to understand, but it's true enough. And I'll not take you nor anyone else as a 'squire,' either." He held the younger man's eyes levelly. "But this I will do. I'll keep an eye on you as himself was asking, and I'll teach you whatever there is for me to teach, as you asked. And if I'll not have you as a servant, I will have you as a friend and companion."

A light began to glow in those blue eyes, and he raised a warning hand.

"Best be thinking before you leap after it like a fish after a fly, my lad, for I've been casting my mind over what himself was saying. I'm thinking it's past time Brandark and I were on our way to Hurgrum, and Gods only know what sort of trouble we'll be finding there! Not to mention that it's high winter and the snow's horse-belly deep betwixt here and there. Or that we'll have to be crossing Bloody Sword territory to get there, if we go by road, and cutting cross country in winter's as good a way as any to die. Then there's the little matter of a price on my head in Navahk. Aye, and on Brandark's, too, now I think on it. And once we get past all that-assuming we do-you'll be one lonely human amongst a crop of Horse Stealer hradani, some of whom'd just as soon cut your throat as look at you. I'll put in a word for you, you understand, but some of my folk… Well, let's just say they're after thinking about humans like you were thinking about hradani. There's some would look at all that and think two or three times before deciding as how they'd want to be my friend, I'm thinking!"

"I'm sure there are, Milord," Vaijon agreed, and smiled. "When do we leave?"

"You mean to what? " Charrow looked at Bahzell with the expression of a man who devoutly hoped he'd misheard.

"I've dallied long enough," Bahzell told the knight-captain with unwonted seriousness. He stood in the library, his back to the fire, and Vaijon stood quietly in one corner. The master of the Belhadan Chapter had been careful to take no note of the way the young knight-probationer's finery had mutated into an echo of Bahzell's utilitarian style. Nor had he drawn attention to Vaijon's new modesty of manner by praising it, although the smile he'd given his long-recalcitrant protégé had carried its own measure of approval. But Bahzell's abrupt announcement of his impending departure had snapped Charrow's attention away from Vaijon in a heartbeat.

"But… but it's high winter!" he protested. "And you've been here less than three weeks! There's so much we still have to tell you-and that you still have to tell us! And-"

"Hisht, now!" Bahzell rumbled with a crooked grin. "It's in my mind that himself already has what he was wanting out of my time here. This fine young lordling-" he jerked his head at Vaijon and winked at the younger man "-was after getting a mite out of hand, so himself had me spank him for you."

Something suspiciously like a chuckle emerged from Vaijon's corner. Under other circumstances, Charrow would have been astonished to hear it; now he scarcely noticed.

"As for the rest of your chapter," Bahzell went on more thoughtfully, "I'm thinking it was Yorhus and Adiskael and their crew himself wanted seen to." His crooked smile became something very like a grin as Charrow frowned at him. "Well, no one's ever called hradani smart, Sir Charrow, but I'd've been a right idiot not to see how the wind set with those two. But if they're after having the makings of good religious fanatics, I've a shrewd notion himself's little visit has, um, redirected their attention, hasn't it now?"

"Well, yes," Charrow admitted. In fact, he found the two knights-commander's newfound, humble piety almost more worrisome than their earlier zealotry. Charrow had seen too many people in whom humility and extremism seesawed back and forth. But at least now he realized the potential problem was there so that he could keep an eye on it, and Bahzell was right. It was the hradani's presence-and, of course, Tomanāk's manifestation-which had not only shaken them out of their previous attitude but pushed Charrow himself into seeing a problem to which familiarity had blinded him.

"Well, then," Bahzell said, holding out his right hand, palm up. "I'm thinking that was what needed doing here, and now I've other matters to see to."

"But what in Tomanāk's name is so important it can't wait until spring?" Strictly speaking, Charrow had no right to demand that information, for champions were the sole judges of where the God most needed them. He knew that, but he was also no stranger to the rigors of winter campaigning and travel.

"As to that," Bahzell said slowly, turning to stare down into the fire, "I'm not so very certain. Not as to the whole of it. But I've something to teach my folk-something himself was after going out of his way to be certain I knew, and…" He paused and looked up at Charrow, then glanced at Vaijon, as if measuring their probable reactions, before he continued. "The Dark Gods are meddling amongst my folk, Sir Charrow," he said quietly, "and I've no idea how deep the rot has spread."