“But where do I fit in?” Kenhodan demanded. “What use is a sword in a confrontation between wizards?”
“The objective is to avoid an arcane confrontation, if possible,” Wencit answered. “I doubt we can avoid the art entirely, but the Barony of Torfo is two thousand leagues and more south of here. Even if I can reach it without open sorcery, the sheer length of the journey gives an enemy too many chances to arrange misadventures along the way. I don’t doubt will meet opposition in the art—after all, several weaker wizards run at Wulfra’s heels these days; she’d gladly risk them, and despite all her protests, I’ve caught the scent of Kontovar wafting north from time to time, as well—but most of what we encounter will be mortal enough for cold steel.”
“That’s your whole reason for taking me?” Kenhodan sounded skeptical.
“Wizards always have many reasons,” Wencit said gently. “Don’t ask for all of them. You wouldn’t like what you might hear. In fact, I don’t like knowing them all myself.”
“It’s a kormak or two I’d give to see the Baroness brought down a peg,” Bahzell said thoughtfully.
“Bahzell…!” Leeana’s tone was sharp.
“Now, lass. It’s not as if the Order hasn’t heard the same sorts of tales as Wencit and the magi, and well you know it. And as Wencit says, it’s time and past time she was seen to.” The big hradani’s expression had turned grim. “It’s in my mind it’s no coincidence he and Kenhodan were after washing up on our doorstep tonight.”
“And have you heard a single word from Him about it?” she demanded.
“No, that I haven’t. But himself’s not the sort as leads people about by the hand, now is he, lass? It’s a mind of my own I have, and I’m thinking he expects me to be using my head for more than a hat rack, time to time.”
Leeana glared at him for a long, still moment, then turned an even more sulfurous glare on the wizard.
“Wencit, if you encourage this great idiot to wander off without me and get himself killed just now—!”
Leeana’s eyes seemed to stray to Gwynna for a moment before she caught them and returned her gaze to the wizard.
“Leeana, talking sense to either of you is like trying to swim the Western Sea. I don’t even try anymore. After all these years, you’d think at least one of you would have gotten a little less stubborn, but no! And don’t even get me started on champions of Tomanāk and how unreasonable they can be. Even the ones who aren’t hradani on top of everything else!”
“Wizards! You dangle the carrot in front of the ox, but it’s never your fault when the poor beast follows after it!”
“Very well.” Wencit turned to Bahzell. “Comforting as your sword and your presence have been in their time, I believe I can safely dispense with them. Kenhodan and I can see to our own safety, thank you. You and the Order have done more than enough for me in the past, Bahzell. And Leeana’s right that this is no time for you to be away from Belhadan.”
“Spoilsport!” Bahzell’s tone was wry, but his brown eyes were warm as they met Leeana’s worried green gaze.
“Perhaps, but I’d sooner have neither you nor Leeana in this. No, hear me out!” Wencit raised his voice, overriding Bahzell’s attempt to interrupt. “You’ve been good friends, among the best I’ve ever had, but too many pay for my friendship with their lives. I won’t have you do so when there’s no need. Kenhodan and I have to go, but you don’t. Not this time. The time may come when I have to ask you to risk your lives again—yes, and lose them, too—but not yet, Bahzell. Not yet! Gwynna needs both parents now, more than ever, and I tell you that if you mix in this venture, you’ll take a step you can never untake. The time will come when you curse the day you heard my name, Bahzell Bloody Hand.”
“Ominous words!” the hradani laughed, but then he shook his head, and his eyes were very serious. “It’s not so very many of himself’s champions as die in bed, Wencit. It might be you’ll recall a time or two we’ve had that selfsame discussion. And it’s in my mind there’s a risk or three you’ve run for other folk your own self over the last thirteen hundred years or so. You’ll not be frightening me—no, nor Leeana come to that—with warnings such as that.”
“Perhaps not, but don’t expect me not to try, you overgrown lummox!”
“Sure and life would come all over boring if you didn’t,” Bahzell replied with a slow smile, ears cocked in amusement.
“I’m so happy I’ve been able to keep you entertained. But that doesn’t change anything I just said about Gwynna needing both of you. Nor do I have any intention of exposing her to any sort of danger. In fact,” Wencit raised his head and sniffed, “we should leave now. I’ve lingered too long already. Farewell.”
He started to rise, but Bahzell’s palm slammed the table like a hammer. Kenhodan flinched as bowls and mugs jumped, and the towering hradani’s ears lay half flattened, his big, square teeth bared in something no one would ever mistake for a smile.
“Now that you’ll not do!” he rumbled. “My house is yours, and has been these sixty years! D’you think Leeana and I are after forgetting all you’ve done for us and ours? Who was it brought Tellian and me face-to-face and laid the truth about the hate betwixt hradani and Sothōii out for anyone with eyes to be seeing? And who was it saved my arse—aye, and Master Trayn’s, come to that—time and again? Who was it warned us of the mage power? No, Wencit of Rūm! I’m thinking it’s one thing to leave me out of your journeyings, but you’ll not be leaving my roof under threat! Not if I have to knock you senseless myself!”
“We’re entering a time of great peril, Bahzell,” Wencit said tensely. “Great evil may come to this house and all in it if we linger under your roof. I know you’re a champion of Tomanāk. I know what that means—none better. But great evil is coming to us all, more than enough for a dozen champions. Yet this is no demon, no devil—nothing that…simple and above board, and I tell you this now. You may meet your sorrow sooner if we stay, Bahzell. Believe me.”
“I do,” Bahzell said simply but unyieldingly. “What evil?”
“Bahzell, can’t you just take my word and let me go?” Wencit was half-pleading now. “Just this once, please. I will not involve you in this!”
“And you’ll not leave until you tell me,” Bahzell said inflexibly. “What evil would be after threatening this house if you stay?”
“An attempt was made on my life earlier tonight,” Wencit said unwillingly. “I expect another shortly, and Kenhodan’s presence may increase the probability.”
“All the more reason to stay,” Bahzell insisted. “It’s little liking I have for assassins, and it’s cold welcome dog brothers will find in my house!”
“Assassins, yes. If that were my only fear, then no place could be safer, and I wouldn’t worry about you. But my enemies command the art, as well. They won’t rely on mortal killers.”
“And whatever it happens they do rely on, it’s in my mind it won’t be so very happy to be meeting with a champion of Tomanāk. Best you be meeting it here, under a roof with extra eyes to guard and the entire Order ready to hand, come to that. I’m thinking there’s little even such as she could be getting past that!”
“I can’t involve the Order at this time, Bahzell,” Wencit said flatly. Bahzell’s mobile ears flattened in obvious surprise and the wizard sighed. “There are too many factors in play,” he said. “I can’t explain all of them to you, for a lot of reasons, but if the Order’s drawn into this—if it’s given proof someone is openly using the art against subjects of the King Emperor—you’ll have no choice but to move openly against Wulfra. And if you move openly against her, my only chance to retrieve what I need from her will disappear. You’re right that I do know even better than the Order of Semkirk just how vile she is, how much damage she’s already done. I know that, but believe me when I tell you that getting into Torfo and back out again is far more important than punishing her crimes. It’s even more important than preventing future crimes.”
“I’ve
no need to involve the entire Order,” Bahzell said in that same unyielding tone. “But I’m himself’s champion, Wencit. And do you think it’s so very happy he’d be with me if it should happen I went and left you and Kenhodan to deal with this attack on your own?”
“I don’t want your protection!” Wencit snapped. “And I’ve been protecting myself quite handily since before the Fall! I know you’re a champion of Tomanāk, and I know your skull is thicker than the East Walls, but d’you think I want to expose Gwynna and Leeana to black sorcery?! Give me enough credit—”
He stopped suddenly, as if aware he’d made a grave tactical error, and so he had.
“Leeana is the daughter of Tellian and Hanatha of Balthar,” Leeana said proudly, “and Gwynna is the daughter of Bahzell Bahnakson and Leeana Hanathafressa. Will you have it said we turned away guests and friends in time of danger? Would you dishonor us so, Wencit?”
“Some things are more dangerous than others.” Wencit picked his words with care. “Believe me. Any attack on this house will be…extreme. Possibly extreme enough to require the rest of Bahzell’s chapter when I can’t afford—I literally cannot afford—to risk involving the Order of Tomanāk or the Order of Semkirk. Honor doesn’t require you to accept such risks for your daughter, Leeana. Especially not when the guest prefers to leave before his enemies strike.”
“Honor requires what we believe it requires.” Leeana sounded as if she were reciting a creed. “You were our friend even before we ever met. You were the one person who helped Bahzell and Father put an end to almost a thousand years of slaughter between Sothōii and hradani. You hammered those diehard idiots in the Kraithâlyr when they tried to fight King Markhos’ decision to revise the war maids’ charter. You warned us about Sharlassa’s mage gift, and you held my hand when Gwynna was born and Bahzell couldn’t come. You’ve always been our friend, you’re our friend now, and we do not desert our friends, Wencit of Rūm! We offer you the protection of our roof, and you will offend and dishonor us if you refuse.”
Wind roared around the eaves as Wencit stared at her determined face. When he spoke again, he was through arguing. He was pleading.
“Leeana, listen to me. A time is coming when those dear to me will pay for their love and courage. I know they will, and I thought I could accept it. I was wrong. Some things are more important than all a wizard’s schemes. I should never have let you come so close to me, but I was…lonely. Now I want this danger away from you. From Gwynna.” He sounded hesitant, almost beaten, as if tormented by something the others couldn’t see. “I’ve risked you both before, and I’d back you against a hundred assassins. You know that. But I don’t choose to involve you in this. What’s begun tonight is worse than assassins could ever be, Leeana. As bad as anything Bahzell has ever faced in Tomanāk’s service and, yes, worse even than that. Believe me, please.”
Leeana rested her hand on her husband’s shoulder and listened to Wencit’s words. Then she looked into Bahzell’s face, eyebrows lifted. Brown eyes met green and reached silent agreement.
“Then I’d best get my sword,” Bahzell said simply.
CHAPTER THREE
Shadows by Night
The storm prowled the city like a conquering army as night guttered towards a close. The City Guard changed, new men tramping miserably to their sodden posts through sheets of windy rain while others hurried back to the welcome comfort of barracks fires and hot food. Water chuckled and laughed through downspouts, then gurgled and chattered in the deep gutters, its voice lost in the storm as it spouted and fumed headlong for the sea.
Tiny lights gleamed in a smooth crystal. Their wash illuminated the stern face of a blonde-haired woman as she peered past the lights at the water-washed Belhadan streets. Her eyes were intent, her gaze questing for signs of her servants’ progress. Long, slow minutes dragged past, and she endured them with a hard-learned patience which was foreign to her nature. Fresh lightning flared, washing the gramerhain crystal’s images with blue-white glare that flickered and crackled, and her search ended abruptly. She leaned close—so close her breath misted the stone—and a hard glitter of anticipation burnished her eyes while an unpleasant smile curled her full, red lips.
Shadows gathered in the rainswept night. They moved silently through the maze of streets and alleys, picking an unseen way towards a certain tavern. Deeper dark and blackly solid, they filtered noiselessly through the wind-slashed night while Baroness Wulfra smiled upon them.
* * *
Bahzell Bahnakson leaned back comfortably in a chair propped against the taproom wall. The tavern keeper’s apron had vanished, hanging on its peg and replaced by the chain mail hauberk, breastplate, and deep green surcoat of his order. The crossed mace and sword of Tomanāk on that surcoat’s breast gleamed fitfully golden through the dimness of the turned-down lamps as the hearth fire tossed fitful spits of flame among the embers. An enormous sword leaned against the wall beside him, and his eyes were thoughtful as he gazed past the spiral of smoke rising from the bowl of his carven, silver inlaid Dwarvenhame meerschaum. That pipe was a gift from a friend long dead, and its heat-colored stone was hand-polished to a fine gloss from long years of use.
The red-haired man who’d named himself Kenhodan sat across the taproom from him, the bare blade of his new sword gleaming across his thighs. The Iron Axe was quiet despite the tumult rushing and bellowing about the heavens, and the quiet ticking of the clock above the bar was clearly audible.
Bahzell frowned mentally, although his expression never flickered, as he considered the younger man and wondered what might be passing through his mind as they sat waiting for the peril of which Wencit had warned. Bahzell had learned, over the many years of their acquaintance, that one thing Wencit of Rūm seldom did was to overstate a danger or a threat. That was the reason he’d bustled the last few, diehard guests into the rainy dark and sent the staff to find lodging elsewhere. Not without protests, although the guests’ complaints had died with remarkable speed when Bahzell twitched his head sideways at Wencit and his wildfire eyes. The staff had been a bit more difficult. None of them had been willing to “desert” Bahzell and Leeana in the face of danger, and against a purely mortal threat, he would have allowed them to stay. Against this threat he’d overridden their protests with the ruthless authority of a hradani chieftain…and a champion of Tomanāk. In fact, he rather wished he’d had the intestinal fortitude to send Leeana off to safety with Gwynna, as well.
a deep, silent voice rumbled in the back of his brain.
he replied just a bit tartly,
A laugh rolled like fond thunder.
Bahzell was a wise and canny tactician. That undoubtedly explained why he chose not to reply to any of those questions, and he felt someone else’s fresh amusement at his discretion.
he said then, his mood considerably more sober than it had been a moment earlier.
There was silence for a moment, and when that deep, rumbling voice, its depths pregnant with a power before which most mortals would have quailed, spoke once again, its humor had faded.
> Tomanāk Orfro, God of War and Judge of Princes, said quietly.
Tomanāk acknowledged.
Bahzell said simply, and felt a vast, immaterial hand rest lightly on his shoulder.