“Of course not,” Wencit said gently, reaching up to put a hand on Bahzell’s shoulder, and smiled crookedly. “Don’t you think I, of all people, understand that?”
The wizard shook his head, and Bahzell snorted softly as the question put his own discomfort with the songs already circulating about his “mighty deeds” at the Hangnysti—not a one of them, curiously, by Brandark Brandarkson—into perspective. He’d been at this championing trade for less than ten years, after all; Wencit had been in the legend-making business for over twelve centuries.
“On the other hand,” Wencit continued, almost as if he’d just read Bahzell’s mind, “you do seem to do things in more...concentrated doses than I do. I really wouldn’t object if you slowed down just a bit for, oh, a decade or two.”
“I wouldn’t really object to that, either, Bahzell,” Leeana chimed in, and Bahzell chuckled.
“No more would I,” he assured them.
“That’s what you say,” Wencit said darkly, “but I’ve noticed these things tend to seek you out.”
“Well, at least this time you’d no need to be getting involved,” Bahzell pointed out affably, and Wencit smiled.
“No,” he agreed, glancing at Leeana. “No, this time I didn’t have to get involved at all. Very peaceful, it was.”
“For some,” Leeana said tartly, and the wizard gave her a small, ironic bow.
“Have the war maids decided how they’re going to select their delegate to the Great Council?” he inquired by way of a change of subject.
“Not really.” Leeana shook her head, accepting the change. “Some of us are still too deeply in shock that the Kingdom’s lords warden haven’t all dropped dead from apoplexy at the mere notion for us to think very constructively about it ourselves yet. I know we’re going to have to come up with a solution, but it would have helped if the King had decided to give us some guidelines.”
“Actually, I think it was much wiser of him to leave it up to you,” Wencit disagreed. “Whoever you end up nominating is going to have to have Crown approval, but you war maids aren’t really accustomed to the top-down way the Kingdom as a whole does things. Better for you to come up with your own way of choosing your nominees. Besides,” the old wizard grinned suddenly, “I’ve been around long enough I’m accustomed to taking the long view, and I’m thoroughly in favor of opening the door—just a crack, you understand—to the notion of the kind of Parliament the Axemen have.”
“Mother, Wencit!” Leeana laughed out loud. “You would have the lords warden dropping in droves if you suggested something like that!”
“Which is why I have absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort, even—or perhaps especially—to Markhos or Sir Jerhas.” The wizard snorted. “Not that I’d have to mention it to your father or your father-in-law, my dear. Trust me, they’re already thinking about it.”
“Aye, like as two peas in a pod, they are,” Bahzell agreed, glancing back down at the courtyard where several days ago the first hradani prince ever to be received peacefully on Sothōii soil had exchanged bows with the first Sothōii king who’d ever greeted a hradani without a sword in his hand. “And not done scheming yet, either of them, I’ve no doubt at all, at all.”
“I’d be disappointed if they were,” Wencit told him cheerfully. Then he gave himself an obvious mental shake.
“I’d be disappointed,” he said more briskly, “but I really didn’t come up here to discuss politics with the two of you.”
“No?” Bahzell said a bit warily.
“Oh, don’t worry, Bahzell! I have no fell designs on you, your wife, or your time together.” Wencit smiled at them. “I only wanted to ask if you’ve given any thought to a proper wedding gift for Sharlassa and Trianal?”
“Why?” Leeana asked.
“Because if you haven’t, I have a suggestion.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Don’t be silly.” The wizard looked at her severely. “It’s just that you’re now sept to Clan Hûrâka by marriage, courtesy of your husband’s adoption by Duke Jâshân. That being the case, I thought you might ask your sister-in-law Zarantha to give them exactly the gift they need.”
“Zarantha?” Bahzell’s ears twitched in surprise, and his eyes narrowed. “And what gift would that be?”
“Training for Sharlassa,” Wencit said in a suddenly much gentler tone. “She’s a mage, you know.”
“Sharlassa?” Leeana stared at him, and he shrugged.
“I suspect she has only one talent, or possibly two, and they’ve been late manifesting, Leeana. But trust me—I know more about recognizing the mage talent than most. I don’t think her talents are strong enough for her to have a very severe mage crisis, but I do think it would be a very good idea for Trianal and her to honeymoon at Zarantha’s academy.”
“Thank you,” Leeana said after a moment. She gave her head a shake. “Thank you very much!”
“You’re very welcome.” Wencit smiled. “I’ve had quite a strong interest in the magi for quite some time, you know. Part of that long view of mine, I suppose. And now, I have to run. I promised His Majesty I’d put in an appearance at this afternoon’s conference. More sitting around ominously in the background, I imagine. It’s really quite amusing, you know. I don’t actually have to say anything. I’ve discovered over the centuries that most of your normal, bickering aristocrats really know what they ought to be doing; they just have no interest in actually doing it. All I have to do is sit there and look at them sternly and they suddenly start falling all over themselves to do what they ought to have done all along.”
“Amusing,” Bahzell repeated, cocking his ears at him. “It’s a strange, strange man you are, Wencit of Rūm.”
“Of course I am. I’m a wizard.”
Wencit gave them another smile, then disappeared down the winding stair into the tower, and Bahzell and Leeana turned back to the courtyard.
It was emptying rapidly now, and she leaned her head against him, one arm around his waist.
“Sharlassa as a mage.” She laughed softly. “And as a future Baroness of Balthar and Lady Warden of the West Riding. I’m amazed she hasn’t already stolen a horse and fled to hide among the Wakūo!”
“Or the war maids,” Bahzell agreed with a chuckle. “But she’s made of sterner stuff than ever she thought, I’m thinking.”
“Not to mention the fact that Trianal would hunt her down wherever she hid,” Leeana acknowledged. Then she cocked a devilish eyebrow up at her towering husband. “And what about your sister, Milord Champion?”
“As to that, it’s early days,” Bahzell replied comfortably. “I’ll not say I’ve aught against the notion, mind, and it’s sure I am my Da can see the advantages clear as ever Arsham can. But Sharkah’s a mind of her own, too, and neither Father nor Mother would be pushing her into a thing, even if they’d any notion they could.”
“But Arsham seems interested in her for more than just ‘reasons of state,’” Leeana pointed out.
“Aye, so he does. And she’s more than a mite interested in him, I’m thinking.” Bahzell shrugged. “But she’s after being a mite stubborn, you’ve no doubt noticed. I’ve no notion where she comes by it, reasonable as all the rest of my family’s after being, yet there it is, and years it’s been she’s had her heart set on the sword maid’s path. I’m thinking it’ll need a mortal lot of patience on Arsham’s part to talk her round to the notion of settling down as anyone’s princess.”
“Well, I don’t suppose he could have survived under Churnazh as long as he did if he weren’t a patient fellow,” Leeana said thoughtfully, and Bahzell chuckled.
“Aye, so he is. And it’s in my mind as Sharkah knows it, too. I’m thinking she’s minded to see just how patient he’s after being. And she’s naught but in her early fifties. She’s time to let him be wearing her down properly.”
Leeana looked up at him in amusement, then frowned.
“But if she does marry him, would she have to l
eave the Order?”
“As to that, the decision would be up to her,” Bahzell said much more soberly. “She’d not have to give up her sword oath, but it’s like enough the Hurgrum Chapter would be releasing her. And she’d not agree to wed if she’d any notion but to be meeting the duties as came with wedding a ruling prince. It’s not at all surprised I’d be if she’s already discussed it with Hurthang.”
Leeana nodded. Hurthang had become the commander of the Hurgrum Chapter following Vaijon’s death. It wasn’t a responsibility he’d wanted, for a lot of reasons, but as Bahzell had pointed out upon occasion, a follower of Tomanāk was one who did what needed doing, and there’d never been any doubt who the Chapter itself would choose as Vaijon’s successor. And it was probably just as well there’d been no confusion about its leadership, since the Chapter—despite its losses at the Hangnysti—would soon be far larger than it had been. The Battle of the Hangnysti had done nothing but increase its renown, and its human membership was growing by leaps and bounds.
And the fact that Prince Yurokhas has joined the Hurgrum Chapter hasn’t hurt its recruiting here in the Kingdom one bit, she reflected.
“Vaijon would be proud of them, I think,” she said softly, and Bahzell smiled.
“Aye, that he would. A rare popinjay he was, when first we met, but a finer man I’ve never known.”
a voice said suddenly from behind them, and they turned quickly, eyes widening.
Vaijon told them with an impish smile. He stood on the battlements, the East Tower’s steeply pitched roof just barely visible through him, and a soft blue glow clung to him, bright enough to be visible even in the sunlight.
“Lad—” Bahzell began, then stopped.
Vaijon laughed, and the bright, joyous sound went through them both like a cleansing wind.
“I’ve no doubt you’ll be dropping in on him to tell him all about it,” Bahzell said after a moment.
Vaijon told him.
“No?” Leeana touched the silver sprig of amethyst-leaved perriwinkle she wore in her hair. She seemed preposterously calm to Bahzell, but Vaijon only smiled at her. “Why are you here, then?”
Vaijon said. He turned back to Bahzell, and his smile turned softer.
His smile faded away completely, but his blue eyes were warm as they met Bahzell’s.
He smiled again.
“And—” Bahzell paused and cleared his throat. “And I’m sure it’s glad they’ll all be to hear it,” he told his friend just a bit huskily.
Vaijon agreed.
“I can see as there are some things even dying doesn’t change,” Bahzell said much more dryly, and Vaijon laughed.
His body began to thin, becoming increasingly translucent, and his smile turned impish once more.
He was almost invisible now, and Bahzell seemed to feel a hand resting on his shoulder. It squeezed for just a moment, then released him, and he heard Vaijon’s laughing voice one last time.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
David Weber, War Maid's Choice
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