The Sword of the South - eARC (33 page)

“Don’t change the subject from your own transgressions, Bahzell,” Wencit replied. “And for that matter, you can’t fairly blame me for the dog brothers.”

“Oh, and can’t I just?” Bahzell glowered across at the wizard. “It’s in my mind Fradenhelm said as how Chernion was after hunting
you
, not me, Wencit! Aye, and it’s not the first solitary word he had to be saying about young
Kenhodan
, either.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually going to apply
logic
to this,” Wencit retorted.

“Well, if pressed I’d have to be admitting logic’s not so much a thing as hradani come by naturally,” Bahzell conceded. “Not but what I’ve not been forced to be taking on quite a few things as most hradani don’t over the years. The most of them, now I think on it, because of dealings with you.”

“There you go again!” Wencit scolded. “That’s really very tiresome of you. Especially since, now that Walsharno’s joined us, we have someone who can interpret and give us Milord Courser’s name.”

“Aye, so we do,” Bahzell said much more seriously, “and in fact he’s been after sharing that with me already. Wencit, Kenhodan—be known to Byrchalka of the Stone Valley herd.”

The black stallion—Byrchalka—raised his head in acknowledgment of the invitation and Kenhodan and Wencit both bowed formally from the saddle to him. Kenhodan rolled the name through his thoughts and found it fitting, for it meant “Black Thunderbolt,” which certainly suited what he’d seen of the courser so far.

“Byrchalka’s fallen brother was Tairsal Lancebearer,” Bahzell went on more grimly, and Wencit’s eyes narrowed. “Aye,” Bahzell nodded sadly. “He was after being one of Sir Kelthys’ grandnephews, and that’s after having made him oath sworn to Balthar. It’s glad I am we can tell Baron Chardahn as how Chernion’s already paid for young Tairsal’s blood. I’d sooner not see him and his in blood feud with the entire Assassins Guild and well you know that’s exactly what he’d be doing when he heard.”

“No doubt,” Wencit said somberly, leaning forward in the saddle to lay one palm on Byrchalka’s shoulder. “I know no one will ever be able to replace your Wind Brother, Byrchalka, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your willingness to bear
me
on this journey.”

The black stallion turned his head, looking back at the wizard, then snorted and nodded in obvious acceptance of Wencit’s words.

“And if Walsharno’s here,” Wencit continued after a moment, turning back to Bahzell and Walsharno, “may I ask where Gayrfressa is?”

“As to that, I’ve no doubt she’s reached Belhadan by now, or soon will have,” Bahzell said. “Walsharno says as how himself was after getting both of them on the road back from the Wind Plain about the same time as a drowned rat washed up in the Iron Axe’s taproom with as disreputable an old trickster as ever I’ve known trailing behind. Walsharno was after leaving first, though. Herself had a few things to be looking after at Hill Guard.”

Wencit chuckled, but Kenhodan pursed his lips in a silent whistle as he contemplated the incredible distance Walsharno had covered since that night. It certainly put all of the legends about the coursers’ speed and endurance into sharp perspective!

“Well, now that he’s here, I suppose we should be getting back on the road,” Wencit said, as if the accomplishment of such monumental journeys was a mere commonplace. Which, Kenhodan reflected after a moment, they very probably
were
for Wencit of Rūm.

“Let me just be rigging a saddle,” Bahzell replied. “Walsharno’s firm notions about where a wind rider’s arse is best placed, and since Chernion was so very kind as to be gifting us with so many saddles, it’s in my mind as how I should be after coming up with something as will work.”

* * *

<
There’s something…odd about Glamhandro, Brother
,> Walsharno said.

Night had found them still several miles inside the Forest of Hev, and firelight danced in gold and black shadows off the trunks of the towering trees. The packhorses and the mounts which had served the assassins were picketed on a line between two of those trees, but Walsharno, Byrchalka, and Glamhandro stood in a companionable knot on the edge of the firelight, eyes gleaming to the flickering jubilance of the flames.

<
And is there, now?
> Bahzell replied from his place beside the fire. Kenhodan had the current watch, some distance away from the flames’ ability to destroy night vision, and the hradani’s nimble fingers were repairing a weak spot on one of the pack horses’ halter while he smoked his pipe. <
Now why d’you think as that might not be taking me all by surprise?
>

<
Probably because you’re actually quite a bit brighter than you’d really prefer for people to think you are.
>

Bahzell chuckled, and Byrchalka snorted in matching amusement. The black couldn’t speak directly to Bahzell the way Walsharno could, but for the first time since his rider’s murder he could at least communicate with someone, and coursers shared many of the “lesser cousins’” attributes. They were creatures of the herd, accustomed to—indeed, they needed—sharing the mind-to-mind flow of thoughts with their fellows.

<
Well, as to that
,> Bahzell replied, <
given as how both Wencit and himself are after telling us young Kenhodan’s a mite more than it might be
he seems on the surface, I’d not be so very
surprised if something was after steering him to
a mount as might be just a mite more than
he’s
after seeming, too
.>

<
Neither would I, but I have to admit I’d feel more comfortable if I knew exactly how Glamhandro came to be available for anyone to steer Kenhodan towards in the first place
.>

Bahzell looked up from his leatherwork, glancing over his shoulder in Walsharno’s direction, and cocked his ears. As he’d told Kenhodan in Korun, it wasn’t entirely unheard of for the coursers’ bloodlines to cross with those of lesser horses, but it happened very, very seldom, and it wasn’t something coursers often discussed, even with their riders. All coursers were protective where their lesser cousins were concerned, and Sothōii warhorses were the most intelligent horses in the world, but they still weren’t coursers. The smartest of them were the equivalent of very, very young foals compared to any courser, and coursers mated for life. So far as Bahzell knew, no courser had ever life-mated with anything but another courser, and the sort of casual dalliance which might have produced a courser-warhorse by-blow was something of which the courser herds strongly disapproved.

<
I’m assuming there’s a reason as you’re finding that a puzzle?
> the hradani asked after a moment, and Walsharno and Byrchalka both nodded.

<
Byrchalka had noticed it long before I ever caught up with you,
> the roan replied. <
It’s obvious there’s courser blood in him, but neither of us have ever seen—or heard of—a case where it’s worked out this way. His link to the magic field is as strong as mine is, Brother, and that’s unheard of in any of the lesser cousins, even one with courser blood. And he’s far smarter than any lesser cousin I’ve ever met, as well. Many of them have great hearts and the wisdom that goes with them, but that’s a very different thing. It’s clear to both me and Byrchalka that he can hear us when we speak to him, too.
>

<
I’m thinking as how you’re saying it’s more than just his responding to your herd sense?
>

<
That’s exactly what I’m saying
,> Walsharno confirmed, and Bahzell drew thoughtfully on his pipe as he chewed that information over.

He himself had acquired the herd sense—the herd stallion’s ability to sense the hearts, minds, health, and location of the members of his herd—when he healed the survivors of the Warm Springs herd after Krahana’s attack upon it. He still had it, although only Gayrfressa remained of the Warm Springs coursers he’d touched all those years ago, and he knew Walsharno had it, too. Had they not bonded, had Walsharno not become another of Tomanāk’s champions, he probably would have become a herd stallion in the fullness of time himself. Unlike Walsharno, however, Bahzell’s herd sense was specific to the Warm Springs coursers, so he wasn’t surprised by the fact that Walsharno could see more deeply into Glamhandro than he could.

<
You know a herd stallion—or someone who might have been one under other circumstances—
> Walsharno allowed himself a mental chuckle <
can make the lesser cousins understand him when he must. But it’s not the same sort of understanding coursers have with one another or you and I have with each other, Brother. It’s…less well formed. Almost more a matter of imposing his will on the lesser cousin, of
commanding
rather than
communicating.>

Bahzell nodded in understanding of the difference Walsharno was attempting to define.

<
Well, it’s not like that in Glamhandro’s case. In fact, I’m not sure I
could
impose my will on him, even if I tried to. He actually hears my thoughts—my words. I’m sure of it, even though he can’t reply. And he understands them far more clearly than even the wisest of the lesser cousins understands you two-foots
.>

Bahzell’s ears half-flattened at Walsharno’s serious tone. And it was a sobering thought, the hradani admitted to himself. He knew how intelligent Sothōii warhorses were, he’d seen how deeply and completely they came to understand and bond with their own long-term riders. Walsharno knew that even better than Bahzell did, so when he said that Glamhandro’s understanding surpassed that level of comprehension he knew exactly what he was saying.

<
And there’s one more thing
,> Walsharno said now, quietly. <
He’s bonded with Kenhodan
.>

Bahzell’s ears stood straight up in surprise at that one, and Walsharno shook his head and tossed his mane in agreement.

<
I don’t know if Kenhodan’s realized that
,> the roan stallion continued, <
but it’s obvious to me and Byrchalka. In fact, Byrchalka says he realized they were bonded the instant he first laid eyes on the two of them
.>

Bahzell’s upright ears folded slowly close to his head. Something in Walsharno’s voice told him the stallion’s words meant more than they seemed to.

<
Yes, they do, Brother
,> Walsharno confirmed. <
They were
already
bonded. Whether Kenhodan knows it or not, he and Glamhandro were linked before you three two-foots ever entered Fradenhelm’s stable. So I’m very strongly inclined to believe that you rather understated things when you suggested he’d been “steered” towards Glamhandro. And that, as Brandark might have said, gives me furiously to think about how inappropriate words like “coincidence” are when one gets too close to Wencit of Rūm
.>

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Secrets in Sindor

Three weary riders entered Sindor as afternoon edged into evening.

Eyebrows rose as they passed, for they led eighteen riderless mounts. Obviously something untoward had happened, but only a hardy soul would have stopped the travel-stained trio to discover what. The last weekend been dry, and they were coated in grit, but dust couldn’t hide the identities of the flame-eyed rider on the black courser or the towering hradani on the even bigger roan, and while a handful of those witnesses might have had the temerity to pry into Bahzell Bahnakson’s affairs, none of them wanted anything at all to do with those of Wencit of Rūm.

Kenhodan paid the curious little heed as he studied the city’s impressive walls and grim battlements. There were two Sindors—one within the walls and one growing beyond them—but the city had kept new structures clear of the main curtainwall, and an extension of the present fortifications had begun. Such a project was hideously expensive; the fact that the city proposed to spend so much emphasized both its own wealth and the chance of trouble.

The walls cut black shadows across the street as they passed the ironbound gates. Guards paced the wall, halberds shouldered, but the slight slouch of their shoulders indicated they expected no immediate trouble.

“Well, that’s the second stage done,” Bahzell said, slapping dust from his chest. “I’d best be turning these horses into the Order’s keeping. The bailiff can be explaining to the Guard, which should be after keeping it out of our business.”

“A good idea,” Wencit agreed wearily, “but somehow I doubt our arrival will go unreported.” He gestured at the gawking bystanders.

“And could you be telling me how it might be after being any other way?” the hradani asked dryly. “They’ll not see our like here often, Wencit. Still, is it likely to be making much difference either way?”

“It might. We’ve dealt with one lot of dog brothers, but that’s only likely to spur them on. And I’d just as soon give Wulfra as little warning as possible.”

“Maybe so, but we’ve no choice but to be stopping in towns now and again betwixt here and Torfo—South Keep, at the least. After that, it may be we’ll have more options, but it’s little choice we have for now. It’s one threat we’ve already dealt with—” he nodded over his shoulder at the riderless horses “—and it’s in my mind as we’ll deal with the others as they’re arising. For now, what I’m mostly wanting is a bath, a meal, and a bed, and I’m thinking Walsharno, Byrchalka, and Glamhandro wouldn’t be so very unhappy as to be finding themselves under a roof with a nose bag full of oats!”

“A masterly prescription,” Wencit chuckled. “And you’re right. Caution and stealth are one thing; running from shadows is another. You know a place?”

“And would it happen that was a
serious
question?” Bahzell shook his head. “There’s times you’re after reminding me of a babe just out of diapers, Wencit. Of course I do! The Dancing Unicorn’s just down yonder street, and old Telbor was landlord when last I checked, an honest man as welcomes himself’s servants. It’s after being a mite noisy, but the beds’re clean and the food’s good. Not up to the standards of Leeana’s kitchen, maybe, but then what is?”

“
I’ll
be happy as long as the meat’s dead and the bedbugs are no bigger than ponies,” Kenhodan sighed.

“Then the Dancing Unicorn it is, Bahzell. Lead on.”

Bahzell grinned and turned down Gate Street, picking his way past taverns, rows of eating places, and the sorts of shops that catered to every sort and grade of traveler. Sindor was larger than Korun, with broad streets and a more sedate population, but Kenhodan was surprised by the number of troops he observed. Everywhere he looked he saw cavalry surcoats or the tunics of royal and imperial infantry. It puzzled him, and his brow furrowed as he considered it, but then his expression cleared as he recognized why they were there. If the southern border was brewing trouble, Sindor was a logical place to mass reserves. Which might also explain the new walls; perhaps the imperial treasury was footing the bill. He looked away from the scenery to raise an eyebrow at Bahzell and twitch his head as they passed a marching squad of infantry.

“Aye, you’ll be finding a Purple Lords’ caravan guard of soldiers in Sindor most times,” the hradani replied with a nod, “but with Angthyr on the boil, the King Emperor’s after looking to his defenses.”

“So I see. And South Wall Pass is the last pass down this way?”

“Aye. It’s naught but twenty-five leagues to the south, but South Keep’s after being built clean across it. No army’s come that way since King Emperor Forgoth was after finishing the keep three hundred years ago.”

“I take it the keep is…formidable?”

“I suppose there’s some as might say so. The main wall’s after being two hundred feet high and eighty thick.”

“Definitely formidable,” Kenhodan decided.

“Aye, but that’s not to be saying it can’t be taken.”

“I suppose not,” Kenhodan said, although his tone was doubtful.

“Bahzell’s right.” Unlike Kenhodan’s, Wencit’s tone was flat and boned with iron certitude. “The walls were strong in Kontovar, but they fell. Not too better generals—I knew Toren Swordarm’s generals, and there
were
no finer commanders. Sorcery took Trōfrōlantha and razed the walls of Rollanthia.”

Bahzell and Kenhodan exchanged glances.

“Never forget that!” Wencit turned in the saddle to stare at them fiercely. “What happened there can happen here, and that’s only as far away as we can hold it! Folk forget how close the peril is. They see the walls of Sindor, of South Keep—of Axe Hallow itself—and they forget that simple force of arms is useless against those willing to twist and pervert the art. They forget it can happen here, but it can. It can!”

His sudden passion shook his companions, and Kenhodan looked around uneasily, his mind hazed with images of fire and rapine. A shiver ran down his spine. Could it really happen again?

He shuddered. Of course it could, and he suddenly realized that Wencit, who’d seen the ruin of Kontovar with his own eyes, was warning them that their present mission wasn’t simply to deal with a single rogue sorcerous. He was telling them it was the first skirmish of the long-awaited final struggle, and what in the names of all the gods had caught Kenhodan up in such a clash?

* * *

Another mind asked the same question, if from a different perspective. A slim figure leaned against the wall and frowned at the passing travelers.

Well, at least Rosper’s fate was confirmed, Chernion thought grimly. It seemed Wulfra’s infuriating message had been correct.

The assassin wondered how it had been done, not that it mattered, and growled a mental curse. Rosper should never have been sent after them on his own. Never! And Chernion had known it at the time. Now the dog brothers were committed to kill the targets out of self-preservation, and Wulfra knew it, curse her! Her insolent letter had said as much, if not in so many words, just as it proved she’d witnessed the slaughter with her accursed sorcery. The thought of Wulfra watching what had obviously been a massacre did not endear the baroness to the Guildmaster.

Chernion muttered one more curse, then turned and slipped away, considering the next move. The Guild had lost its chance to back away; despite all Chernion’s distrust of the wizard breed, the dog brothers were trapped right in the middle of Wulfra’s and Wencit’s struggle. There was no point weeping over it, but Chernion didn’t much care for the Guild’s tactical position at the moment.

It was always irksome to work with a craftmaster who wasn’t privy to his Guildmaster’s secret, and while Umaro was a good man, he didn’t know Chernion well. Of course, Ashwan was with him, and Ashwan was the only man who’d
always
known Chernion’s most guarded secret, but Chernion had no intention of revealing that secret to Umaro if it could be avoided. It could be a deadly weapon, properly used, but it was more likely to slip out with each new mind that shared it, which was one reason Chernion avoided attention and familiarity among the dog brothers as well as in public. The terror of the Guildmaster’s name rested in no small part on the fact that Chernion was a shadowy, secretive figure even to senior Guild members. Now Chernion might have to admit Umaro to a secret unknown even to the Guild’s present Councilors.

The assassin paused in the street, frowning in thought. Perhaps there was another way? The secret had served the Guild before, and it might again—even against Wencit and the Bloody Hand, if the stage were properly set. After several minutes of careful consideration, the Guildmaster nodded and stepped silently into the Windhawk Inn and passed through its taproom, signaling an unobtrusive dog brother to collect his fellows in Chernion’s room.

It took less than five minutes for them to filter silently into the small bedchamber, and the Guildmaster turned to face them, expression grim.

“They’re here…with Rosper’s horses.”

One of the four cursed softly.

“Shall we strike tonight, Chernion?” Another asked quietly.

“No.” Chernion’s answer was soft, and they tensed in disbelief. “No, their guard’s up. They’ve killed eight dog brothers; I see no reason they can’t kill five more. Besides, the Dancing Unicorn’s a sinkhole of the Order of Tomanāk. We can’t take them there.”

“You’re saying we’re going to just let them
go?!
”

One of the shocked dog brothers forgot himself enough to blurt out the question, and Chernion’s hand flashed. Bladed fingers slashed into the bridge of his nose—not quite hard enough to break it—and he collapsed with a muffled scream, clutching his face. His fellows watched impassively. Fools who angered Chernion could expect sudden punishment and scant sympathy.

“Get up,” Chernion said coldly, and he staggered up, leaning against the wall, one hand trying to staunch the flow from his bloodied nose, while the Guildmaster continued as if there’d been no interruption at all. “We won’t ‘let them go,’ but it’s time to try another way.

“Craftmaster Umaro’s been summoned from Morfintan. I’d hoped he would have arrived by now, but obviously he hasn’t. Either that, or he already knows the targets have chosen the Dancing Unicorn and he’s lying low to avoid attracting their attention rather than risk joining us here. Horum, you’ll take charge of this group and find him, wherever he is. Tell him that under no circumstances is he to attack without my direct command.”

“Yes, Chernion.”

“This is only one of several projects I must attend to, and I’ve spent too long on it already. I see, however, that I can’t leave the matter unattended, so I’ll place a spy among them as a first step.”

“A spy? How?” Horum’s questions were profoundly respectful.

“There are ways, Brothers. The agent I have in mind is an independent, and while we must always be careful with any such, I’ve used her before. Yes,
her
,” Chernion answered their expressions. “More often than not, men see what they want to see. They don’t look for threats in fair places, and the agent I have in mind is fair.
Very
fair.”

“But a woman, Chernion?”

“Yes. She’s not a dog brother, so we can’t trust her fully, but she knows better than to betray
me
. Don’t show yourselves to her unmasked. She knows her duties, but I’m the only dog brother she knows, and I wish it to remain so. I’ll instruct her, and you’ll be guided by her messages. And mark this well: she’s valuable to me. In fact, she’s more valuable than you are, my brothers. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Chernion,” Horum said carefully, “but may I ask what your plans for her are? Or does Umaro already know them?”

“No, he doesn’t, so see that you find him quickly, lest he attack before he learns what I intend. Curse the wizard for choosing the Unicorn! It’s too near for comfort, and I can’t blame Umaro for staying clear of it, but I don’t like how little time we have to rearrange things, and it’s always possible he’ll act on his own initiative in the absence of direct instructions from me. That’s why it’s vital that you find him and be certain he knows he isn’t to attack in Sindor.”

“Understood, Chernion,” Horum said. “We’ll do our best.”

Another assassin might have promised not to fail, but Horum had worked with Chernion before. He knew how little use the Guildmaster had for easy promises…and that Chernion was unlikely to punish anyone who truly did do his best to fulfill his instructions.

“Tell him I want to study the targets,” Chernion continued. “If we learn their purpose, we’ll be better able to plan their deaths, and beyond that, there are parts of this I don’t like. I think our client may be trying to manipulate the Guild, and we have to discover whether or not that’s true, as well. Our targets are bound for Angthyr, so we have time to think and plan, and it seems to me it serves the Guild’s purposes best to spend some of that time discovering what we can about our client’s intentions where we’re concerned. At the very least, I think she’s trying to…amass information she might use to try to control our future actions. That’s one reason I want to place my agent in the targets’ midst—to learn what she can about their intentions and purpose. That sort of knowledge may give us insight into what our client has in mind and why she wants them dead, and that might be a weapon against whatever plans she has in mind for the Guild.”

Chernion paused, and Horum and nodded in understanding.

“Beyond that,” the Guildmaster continued “I want the targets threatened from as many directions as possible when the time to strike finally comes, so while she joins them and—hopefully—gains their trust, I’ll move ahead of them and Umaro will trail behind. If I need aid, I’ll summon it from the other chapters, but I think it’s important I reach South Keep ahead of them to find a proper spot between there and Angthyr for a careful attack. In the meantime, the woman will keep us in communication. She knows my codes, and she’ll relay messages from me to Umaro, but under no circumstances will he make contact with her. If contact must be made,
she’ll
signal
him
.”

“Yes, Chernion.”

“Very well; go now. Find Umaro, and I’ll see you once more when the assignment’s completed. Clean killing, Brothers.”