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He slept for almost nine hours before his own sense of urgency dragged him back up out of dream-troubled sleep. Despite a lifetime in the saddle, he couldn’t stifle a groan as he shoved himself up and forced stiff, abused muscles to answer his demands. He managed a sketchy wash up, then tottered downstairs to the i
Bahzell and the rest of their party—all hradani, Alfar thought, truly realizing for the first time that he was the only human in the entire group—sat around one of the trestle tables. There was something about the way they sat that was almost defensive. The table wasn’t the largest one available, but it was set in the angle of a corner, and the hradani seated around it could see the entire room and all three of its entrances while they sat with their backs to a solid wall. A smallish fire smoldered on the hearth, and bright morning sunshine spilled through the i
Alfar’s jaw clenched in mingled shame and anger as he gazed out the window.
“What’s the hour?” he asked.
Bahzell gazed at him for a moment, one eyebrow quirked, then reached into a belt pouch and withdrew a pocket watch. It was only the fourth or fifth watch Alfar had seen in his entire life, and he recognized a work of art when he saw one. He had no idea how a hradani might have come by it, but he also found himself rapidly passing beyond any sense of surprise at anything this improbable hradani champion of Tomanak might do. And so he simply waited while Bahzell consulted the beautifully painted ivory face and golden hands.
“It’s just passed nine of the morning,” the hradani rumbled after a moment. He closed the watch case and returned it to his pouch, and Alfar’s jaw tightened even harder. They could have been on the road again at least two or three hours earlier, and it was obvious the hradani were all fresh and rested. It was only his own weakness which had delayed them.
“I could wish you’d waked me earlier, Milord Champion,” he said, once he was certain he had command of his voice. It appeared, however, that he’d had less command of it than he’d thought, because Bahzell cocked his ears quizzically, then shook his head.
“Master Axeblade,” he said, his deep voice surprisingly gentle, “even if we’d been after waking you earlier, I’m thinking as how your horse might not have been so very grateful to have his rest cut short. Now, it’s in my mind that we’d not find it so very difficult to be finding you another horse, but that’s a fine mount Baron Tellian’s seneschal already found you. Probably better than any we might be finding in replacement.”
He let Alfar consider that for a few seconds, until the human’s own common sense had to admit there was some point to the argument. Then he continued.
“Still and all, though,” he said, “I’ll admit as how I’d not have waked you any sooner even if we’d a courser waiting to go under your backside. It’s half-dead you were, for you’d driven yourself like Fiendark himself was on your heels to be reaching Balthar, and it was little enough rest you’d had since. Aye, and naught but a few mouthfuls of bread and sausage in the saddle for food. I’ve seldom seen a man as needed rest more than you, and its naught but sheer stubbor
His voice was as steady and level as his eyes, and Alfar recognized his tone. He’d simply never expected to hear a hradani, of all people, speaking to him as his commanding officer. But that, he realized with a lingering sense of disbelief, was precisely what Bahzell Bahnakson had become. And it shamed him again, in a different way, to realize that he was actually surprised by Bahzell’s concern for his own exhaustion.
“No doubt you’ve a point, Milord,” he admitted finally. “But even so, I can’t say I don’t begrudge every lost minute.”
“No more can I,” Bahzell said. He looked over Alfar’s shoulder, and the human turned to see one of the i
She obeyed quickly and silently, her anxious expression proclaiming her trepidation at finding herself in such close proximity to eight murdering hradani, whatever their leader claimed to be, and Alfar looked back at Bahzell as she turned and scurried away like a frightened rabbit. He felt his face heat, but Bahzell only flicked his ears in the equivalent of a human shrug and gave him a crooked smile.
Alfar wondered if he should say something, but nothing suggested itself to him. Then he wondered if he could get away with declining the substantial breakfast Bahzell had obviously ordered for him. One more glance at the hradani’s expression told him there was no point trying, however, and his empty belly’s sudden, sharp pangs as he smelled the food’s aroma made him just as happy that there wasn’t.
“Better,” Bahzell said with a broader, less ironic smile as Alfar seated himself and reached for a spoon. “I’d half thought as how I’d find myself force-feeding you, Master Axeblade!”
“If I thought it might have gotten us on our way any sooner, you would have, Milord,” he said around a mouthful of stinging hot porridge and honey.
“Ah, a man of wisdom, I see,” Brandark put in. The Bloody Sword half-reclined along another bench directly under the window, plucking idly at his balalaika, and Alfar glanced across at him. “I wouldn’t call Bahzell the very brightest fellow I’ve ever met, Master Axeblade, but he’s certainly in the ru
Alfar’s spoon paused midway between bowl and lips, frozen there by the understanding in the Bloody Sword’s voice. After a lifetime of mutual hatred, compassion was the very last thing he would have anticipated from any hradani. Which, he suddenly thought, might say more about his own prejudices than it did about Bahzell or Brandark.
“I—” He paused, wondering what might be the right thing to say. Then he cleared his throat. “I know what you mean,” he said. “But to see something like that—to know an entire herd of coursers could be destroyed that way …” He shook his head. “I doubt anyone but another Sothoii could really understand what that feels like, Lord Brandark.”
“Just ’Brandark’ will do fine, Master Axeblade.” The Bloody Sword chuckled. “None of us hradani stand much on ceremony, and even if I’d been inclined to do that, I’d’ve given up months ago. These Horse Stealer louts are too ignorant and uncivilized to remember proper titles, anyway.”
“Just you go right on being civilized, my lad,” Gharnal advised him, while another chuckle rumbled through the other Horse Stealers. “Don’t you be wasting a moment worrying about what nasty things might happen to a man whose mouth is so smart he can’t be keeping it shut.”
“You see?” Brandark said plaintively. “All of them are like that, not just him.” He pointed at Bahzell with his chin, and the Horse Stealer snorted.