Sword Brother

Walsharno tossed his head in agreement once more, and Bahzell drew a deep breath. Child sacrifices were always acceptable to any of the Dark Gods, but Sharnā's church usually preferred older ones. Victims with just enough experience to fully appreciate the horrific, lingering deaths Sharnā's worshipers dealt out, especially to summon or control their foul patron's demons. It was unlikely that those who served the Scorpion would have bothered to attack the village just to steal away its children.

But other Dark churches had different preferences. Carnadosa, for example. The lady of black sorcery did not delight in cruelty for cruelty's sake the way Sharnā and some of the others did. But in many ways, her total amorality, her total indifference to cruelty or atrocity so long as its outcome served her needs, was almost worse. And all of her senior priests were also wizards, and children were prized when it came to the rites of blood magic.

*Sharnā and Carnadosa don't like one another very much,* Walsharno pointed out, following his bonded rider's thoughts with the ease of long familiarity. *For that matter, none of the Dark Gods like one another all that much.*

"Aye, so I've heard," Bahzell said. "Still and all, for all folk keep telling me such as that, it's in my mind that you and I have been seeing them working hand in hand more often than not."

*Perhaps we're just lucky.*

The irony in Walsharno's mental tone was only a frail mask for the icy fury burning at the courser's heart. Had he not bonded with Bahzell and become a champion of Tomanâk himself, Walsharno would almost certainly have eventually become a herd stallion, and the coursers didn't really think the way the Races of Man did. Each courser was an individual, true, but they saw themselves also collectively, as members of the herd. And, as members of the herd, each was responsible for the protection of all. Especially the herd stallions, who led and governed their herds . . . and who died to defend them.

Bahzell understood that, better even than another wind rider might have, for unlike most wind riders, he shared the coursers' herd sense. Even if he hadn't, any champion of Tomanâk would have shared the cold, bleak hatred burning like ice in Walsharno's heart.

"Well," the hradani said quietly, "I've no notion as to how lucky or unlucky you and I may be after being, Walsharno. But I'm thinking as how the scum as did this-" his mobile ears flattened as he swept one hand in an arc indicating the devastated village "- are after deserving a wee bit of ill luck all their very own."

*Indeed they do,* Walsharno agreed.

"Then let's you and I be bringing it to them," Bahzell said. "But first . . . "

The hradani held out his right hand.

"Come," he said softly, and five feet of gleaming steel materialized in his fist as he summoned the sword which normally rode sheathed across his back.

He gripped it just below the quillons, holding it up hilt-first as the symbol of the god he served, and felt Walsharno joining with him, heart, mind, and soul.

"I'm thinking as how these folk fell in the service of Light," he said, speaking to the night and to their deity for both of them. "Any man or woman who dies defending children is one as I'm proud to call brother or sister. And I'll not leave my brothers or sisters to wolves and carrion-eaters."

*Are you certain about this, Bahzell?* an earthquake-deep voice asked in the back of his brain. *Only their bodies remain with you.*

"Aye, it's certain I am-we are," Bahzell replied, knowing he spoke for Walsharno, and not at all surprised to hear Tomanâk's voice.

*Their souls already sit at Isvaria's table,* Tomanâk's deep voice said. *As you say, there's a special place reservedfor those who die defending children, and my sister and I know our own.*

"I've no doubt of that," Bahzell said. "And it's happy I'll be to meet them someday. But until that day comes, Walsharno and I will be doing what we must, and we'll not leave them."

"You realize that if you do this, the ones you're pursuingwill know where you are, how close you are."

"Aye," Bahzell said simply.

*Aren't you going to ask me just who you are following?*

Bahzell heard the faint undertone of amusement in Tomanâk's voice, despite the grim horror of the scene about them.

"As to that, if I thought it was like to do me a single solitary bit of good, aye, I'd be asking. As it's not-"

He shrugged, and felt a huge, immaterial hand rest lightly on his shoulder for a moment.

*You are my true Swords, you and Walsharno,* the deep, rumbling voice said. *But I will tell you this much. Brothers come in many forms, and from many places. You're right that this is Sharnā's work. And I'm afraid your suspicion that it isn't Sharnā alone you face is also correct. Yet the two of you will not face the Dark alone, either. Not even I know how it will all end, but this I do know-you'll find yourself in the best of company before it does.*

"In which case, I'm thinking we'd best be getting on with it, if it's all the same to you, and all," Bahzell said, and this time Tomanâk actually chuckled.

*Very well. I suppose I should be accustomed to hradani-and courser . . . directness by now. Not to mention stubbor