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"Me?" Vaijon sat up straighter, eyebrows arching, and Hurthang shrugged.
"We're talking of hradani here, Vaijon, and a good fourth part of 'em Bloody Swords," he explained with exaggerated patience. "And we've just allowed as how Bahzell can't be swearing them in. Well, no more can I, for I'm close enough kin to him to make me suspect, as well, and the same for Gharnal—assuming he could be keeping his sword sheathed long enough for a Bloody Sword as wasn't already a member of the Order to be saying two words in a row to him! And that, my lad, is leaving us you and Kerry, and would you be so very kind as to tell me just how you think a Bloody Sword would be after reacting to a woman warrior as wants his oath?"
"I don't really see the problem," Vaijon said after a few seconds' thought. This time Hurthang's eyebrows went up in surprise, and Vaijon shrugged. "I'm sure they'd have reservations about her as a warrior , but as you just pointed out yourself, we are talking about hradani. And just who do you people use to administer most of your oaths or judge cases at law?"
"You're right enough there, lad," Bahzell said before his cousin could reply, "but I'm thinking you've missed Hurthang's point. Our women are after being judges and lawyers, aye, and ambassadors and councilors, as well. But they've never been war leaders—not even amongst us Iron Axes—and there's likely not a dozen Bloody Swords in all the world as would even consider giving Oath to Tomanāk to such."
"Then they'd better not tell me about it," Vaijon said ominously. "If Kerry's not good enough for them, then—"
"You've been amongst hradani too long, Vaijon!" Hurthang interrupted with a laugh. "There's ways to settle things without swords, and I'm sure that once you've done explaining matters to 'em all right and proper there's not a one of 'em would question Kerry's right to be here. Aye, and if they were to be so inclined, she'd not need the likes of you—or me!—to be trimming out their ears for coin purses her own self." Vaijon blushed, then gri
"It doesn't have to be you or Bahzell," Vaijon protested. "It could be Harkhar or Aerich or Shalach or—"
"Good lads, all of them, and all of 'em hradani," Bahzell agreed for Hurthang. "But not a one of them a champion, and that's after leaving us with only one choice... Milord Champion."
Vaijon closed the mouth he'd just reopened and glared at Bahzell. Then he sighed.
"All right," he agreed. "I'll do it."
Prince Bahnak Karathson opened the waterproof leather tube the mud-spattered courier had handed him and removed the message inside it. His senior officers stepped back to give him room, and the mutter of conversation died into a respectful silence. As Bahnak, most of them had recognized the signet of his third son, Tormach, in the wax sealing the tube, and the letter itself was written in Tormach's hand, as if he'd been unwilling to trust it to a secretary. And as Bahnak ran his eye down the neatly written lines, he could see why that was.
He finished the message and let it roll back up again, then held it in his right hand, tapping it against his left palm as he gazed down at the map. He felt the officers behind him, their eyes on his back, and he could almost taste their tension. All of them were Horse Stealers, and half were his own Iron Axes. But the others were from every major Horse Stealer clan, and they'd had less time to learn his ways than his own Hurgrumese and their closest allies. On the other hand, every one of them knew his methods had produced smashing victories in the last war. Even if the traditionalists among them might cherish private doubts about those methods, no one was going to disparage them openly.
He smiled crookedly at the thought, remembering days when he'd been forced to bellow at the top of his formidable lungs to get even his own clan to listen to his "radical" ideas. He could still recall the first time his father had introduced the concept of maps as weapons of war and the way the conservatives had howled, and his own tactical and command structure i
His eyes found the city of Durghazh to Hurgrum's north. Tormach's dispatch confirmed, among other things, that the last clandestine supply train had come in from Daranfel, and Bahnak wondered once again just how Kilthandahknarthas had managed to bribe Haraldahn IV of Daranfel to let his shipments through. Just getting them there must have been bad enough, given spring mud and the state of the roads in most of the Border Kingdoms. Indeed, there were no roads across the Daranfel frontier to Durghaz, and Tormach had been forced to break the heavy wagon loads down into something mules could pack for that nightmare journey. But like most lands with hradani neighbors, Daranfel was far from fond of them. The thought of shipping anything , especially weapons, to Bahnak, should have thrown the entire Daranfel court into a tizzy.
Assuming, of course, that King Haraldahn knew anything about it, Bahnak thought once more. The Daranfelian monarch actively disliked and distrusted hradani—not, unfortunately, without reason. From all accounts, he disliked Horse Stealers less than he disliked Bloody Swords, but he made no great distinction between them, and few merchants would risk alienating the ruling monarch of even a small country. On the other hand, Kilthan of Silver Cavern wasn't just any merchant... and no doubt things would be much simpler all around if he'd simply forgotten to mention his activities to Haraldahn. For that matter, Haraldahn himself might have wanted it that way!
But the exact means by which Kilthan had achieved delivery meant less at the moment than the fact that he'd succeeded in doing it. The forges of Silver Cavern had provided Bahnak with armor, halberds, swords, and axes enough to completely reequip his entire clan's warriors—the better part of ten thousand men. And as they were issued their dwarf-forged steel breastplates and chain haubergeons they had been able to pass their scale and splint armor on to their allies. There might have been some muttering among the other contingents at "making do" with "hand me downs," but any which might have arisen was muted, for all of them knew that Clan Iron Axe's warriors would bear the brunt of the fighting. Besides, the "hand me downs" were far superior to anything most of the other clans had been able to provide their own people in the first place.
They were as ready as they were going to get, Bahnak thought while his mind turned over the rest of Tormach's message. A courier from one of Marglyth's Navahkan spies had staggered into Durghaz, half dead of exhaustion, with word that Churnazh had just executed Halâshu and two more of his closest advisers. That message should have been delivered directly to Marglyth here, but Churnazh had decided to smother the countryside between Navahk and Hurgrum with patrols. Indeed, from all accounts, the courier to Tormach must have needed Norfram's own luck just to reach Durghaz. But even though it had been delayed, the report suggested several interesting possibilities.
Most obviously, Churnazh was in even more trouble than Bahnak had yet allowed himself to believe. Toman?k's appearance in Hurgrum and the creation of the first chapter of his Order—again in Hurgrum—under the leadership of one of Bahnak's sons had been enough to rock Churnazh's alliances. Confirmation that Sharnā had managed to gain a toehold in Navahk had been another shock and, even with Toman?k's personal assurance that Churnazh himself had known nothing about it, had dealt those alliances yet another blow. And Bahzell's insistence on a
Nor had the erosion of the Navahkan's power base stopped there. Most observers had long since decided Navahk was totally outclassed by its Hurgrumese opponents, and the rumors that someone from outside the lands of the hradani was providing Bahnak with arms and armor had only underscored the difference in their capabilities. Arvahl of Sondur had been the first to change sides, but there were rumbles of disaffection coming from many of Churnazh's other allies. One or two had actually gotten as far as opening clandestine contact with Marglyth. Indeed, a part of Bahnak was tempted to sit back and wait to see how many more of Navahk's allies would fall into his lap without a fight, and the execution of a man like Halâshu, who'd been with Churnazh for so many years, only strengthened the temptation. Always assuming the report was accurate.
Bahnak rather suspected it was. Halâshu wasn't—hadn't been—a genius, but unlike Churnazh, he'd seen Tomanāk with his own eyes, actually spoken to Him. Under the circumstances, it was entirely possible he'd decided it would be suicidal for Navahk to fight Hurgrum. Even if the gods weren't officially on Bahnak's side, they obviously liked him more than they cared for Churnazh. Whether Halâshu had simply made the mistake of urging that view too strongly or gone the fatal step further into fomenting some sort of coup hardly mattered compared to the fact that Churnazh had felt compelled to make an example of one of his oldest lieutenants.
But however great the temptation to let Churnazh self-destruct, Bahnak dared not give in to it. The Bloody Swords were off-balance now, divided and led by a ruler who had been grievously weakened. But if Bahnak gave them long enough, someone would get a dagger into Churnazh's back, and he couldn't have that. However neatly it might solve one set of problems, it was all too likely to leave him with another, worse set, because whoever replaced Churnazh would almost have to be in a stronger position than the current Prince of Navahk. He could hardly be in a weaker one, after all!