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“Maybe some folk would be,” Bahzell snorted, “but these people are after knowing hradani better than most. I’m thinking as how it would take a mighty stupid Sothoii to be making that particular mistake.”
“And has it been your observation that most blind, pigheaded, dyed-in-the-wool bigots aren’t stupid?” Kaeritha inquired.
“Not to mention easy to manipulate,” Brandark added, and Bahzell nodded unhappily.
“Aye, there’s truth enough in that,” he conceded. “I’d sooner be able to say there wasn’t, but wishing won’t make it so.” He shook his head. “I’ve a nasty feeling there’s more than one set of manipulators in it, too.”
“Likely enough,” Kaeritha agreed. “And I doubt it’s going to get much better anytime soon.”
“Well, at least we’re not after having Gharnal to worry about,” Hurthang said with a grimace.
“Ah, well, as to that …” Bahzell allowed his voice to trail off, and Hurthang looked at him with sudden sharp suspicion.
“Aye?” he prompted ominously as Bahzell’s pause stretched out.
“Well, it’s just that I’ve a message for you from Vaijon,” Bahzell said, and Hurthang’s suspicious eye narrowed.
Sir Vaijon of Almerhas was the youthful knight who’d been assigned to the Belhadan chapter of the Order of Tomanak when Bahzell arrived there. His anti-hradani prejudices had been so hugely offended by the idea of a hradani champion of Tomanak that he’d found himself facing Bahzell in trial by combat. He’d entered the combat arrogantly certain of victory only to emerge astonished by his own survival, and somehow the youngster had ended up not only a champion of Tomanak himself, but the sword brother Bahzell had left behind to oversee the organization of the hradani branch of the Order.
“And just what might it be that Vaijon’s after telling me?” Hurthang demanded.
“As to that, most of it’s after being routine enough,” Bahzell said in a reassuring tone. “He says as how Father’s deeded another manor to the Order, at Tharkhul, up on the Hangnysti. And he’s been after making progress getting the new Bloody Swords settled in amongst us nasty Horse Stealers. And—”
“And something about Gharnal, I’m thinking?” Hurthang rumbled.
“Well, aye,” Bahzell agreed with a slow smile. “There was after being something about him.”
“Then you’d best be spitting it out while I’m still remembering you’re after being a champion and all so I’m not supposed to be thumping your head for you,” Hurthang told him grimly.
“It’s naught to be worrying about at all, at all,” Bahzell said soothingly. “Naught but a little matter of a reassignment, as you might be saying.”
“Bahzell!” It was Kaeritha, with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re not saying that Vaijon is assigning Gharnal to Hurthang?”
“Aye,” Bahzell said, with an expression of consummate i
“Gharnal?“ Hurthang stared at him, then shook his head. Gharnal, Bahzell’s foster brother, possessed many good qualities, however …
“Bahzell,” Kaeritha said for Hurthang, “Gharnal isn’t exactly, um … how shall I say this? Not exactly the most tactful member of the order. In fact, he’s the only person I know who makes you and Hurthang look like effete, overcivilized diplomats. What in the world is Vaijon thinking of?”
“As to that, I’m not so very sure,” Bahzell acknowledged. “It was after being Gharnal’s very own idea, but Vaijon says as how it ’felt’ right when he asked. As to why Gharnal might be wanting to be sent into such as this, I’ve no least idea what maggot’s invaded his brain, and no more does he, as far as I can be telling. But let’s us be honest here, Hurthang. Vaijon’s been after making less mistakes with the Order than you or I most likely would, so I’m thinking we’d best not quibble here.” He flicked his ears and shrugged. “It just might be as how Himself is after poking a finger back into the pie. Any road, he’ll be arriving tomorrow morning, so we’d best be battening down.”
“You think Tomanak Himself might want Gharnal up here among all these hradani-hating Sothoii?” Clearly, despite her own champion’s status, Kaeritha found the possibility difficult to accept.
“And why not?” Bahzell gri
“Um.” Kaeritha closed her mouth on a fresh objection, then nodded. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “If He can send Vaijon of Almerhas to Hurgrum, then there’s no reason He couldn’t send Gharnal here … even if the mere thought of it does send a chill down my spine. On the other hand, I’m afraid that even adding Gharnal to the mess isn’t going to make it a lot worse. In fact—”
“Milord Champion!”
Bahzell turned towards the raised voice that wasn’t quite a shout, although it seemed like one in the temple’s quiet precincts.
Brother Relath, one of Father Taraman’s acolytes, hurried up the temple nave towards them, his youthful face screwed up in an expression of deep concern … or something worse.
“Milord Champion!” he repeated as he slid to a halt before Bahzell, panting slightly. “Come quickly! There’s trouble!”
Relath, Bahzell thought sourly when he reached the temple doors, had a distinct gift for understatement.
Thalgahr Rarikson—one of the Horse Stealer warriors his father had assigned to his official bodyguard, rather than a member of the Hurgrum Order—had accompanied him to the temple as the “official” bodyguard Sothoii protocol demanded of any ambassador, be he ever so unofficial. Like most hradani, Thalgahr had little enough use for any god—of Light or Dark—and so, however much he might respect Tomanak, he’d chosen to stay outside, sheltering from the misting rain under the portico which protected the temple’s main entrance.
Prince Bahnak had handpicked the members of Bahzell’s guard. He was perfectly well aware of how delicate a balancing act Bahzell confronted, and he also knew how assiduously Sothoii who disapproved of Tellian’s initiative would attempt to provoke incidents designed to joggle Bahzell’s elbow. Which was why he’d chosen men whose discipline and ability to control their tempers he could trust.
The men he’d selected had regarded their inclusion among Bahzell’s guardsmen as a high honor, proof of their chieftain’s confidence in both their loyalty and their capacity to resist the inevitable provocations. At the moment, however, Thalgahr looked as if he was regretting the fact that his Prince’s eye had fallen upon him for this duty.
Bahzell swallowed a curse as he took in the tableau. Thalgahr stood with his back to the temple wall, and the set of his shoulders under his chain hauberk suggested that he’d put it there to keep daggers out of it. His right hand was carefully away from his sword hilt, but the way his wrist was cocked told Bahzell he was ready to draw steel instantly. Worse, the half-flattened ears and the fire burning at the backs of his eyes told any hradani that Thalgahr was fighting a bitter battle to restrain the Rage, the berserker curse of his people.
“ … back where your kind belong, you murdering, thieving bastard—away from civilized people!” someone shouted from the damp crowd of Sothoii which had assembled itself on the brightly colored pavement as if by magic in the brief time Bahzell had been inside the temple. It was still a crowd, not yet anything which might have been called a mob, but Bahzell felt it hovering on the brink and realized it could go either way with no more warning than an avalanche in snow country. Worse, several of its members seemed more than a little sympathetic to the taunts and vituperation the heckler was spouting.
Thalgahr said nothing in response to the human’s invective, but his ears flattened still further.
“Yes!” someone else shouted. “We’ve had a bellyful of you raping, horse-stealing—horse-killing—bastards! Are you really stupid enough to think you can fool us by pretending you’re not the sneaking, backstabbing cowards your kind always been, hradani?”