Oath of Swords

Now, as the convoy headed down the last few leagues to Riverside, Bahzell felt unhappy over his plan to leave it when they reached the port. Kilthan was well beyond any likely raider attack, but leaving him now seemed poor repayment for his kindness if the dog brothers meant to have him.

“Kormak for your thoughts,” a tenor voice asked.

“I’m doubting they’re worth as much as all that,” he rumbled.

“Call me a big spender.”

Bahzell gave a wry smile, but then it faded, and he shrugged.

“I’ve just been casting my mind over my-our-plans. We’re coming up fast on Riverside, and I’m not so easy in my mind over leaving Kilthan as I’d thought to be.”

“The dog brothers?”

“Aye.” Bahzell flattened his ears. “It’s not a thing I can understand, Brandark, this notion of taking money to kill a man you’ve never met and who’s done naught to you or yours. And as for any scum that would worship Sharna into the bargain-!” The Horse Stealer spat over the side, and Brandark sat up and cradled his balalaika across his lap.

“Sometimes I think you’re too much a barbarian for your own good,” he said. “If you’d grown up in Navahk, you’d understand exactly how someone could kill for a fistful of gold-or copper, for that matter. But you really don’t, do you?” He shook his head at Bahzell’s blank look and sighed. “Don’t let it worry you, Bahzell. You’re probably better off not understanding . . . as long as you remember other folk do. But as for worshiping Sharna-”

The Bloody Sword broke off, gazing out over the sunlit river for several long minutes, then shrugged.

“Truth to tell, I doubt many of them really ‘worship’ old Demon Breath. From all I’ve heard, a man would have to be more than just sick-minded to dabble in such as that. Oh, the dog brothers pay Sharna lip service, at least-I suppose even assassins want a patron of some sort, and the kind of treachery and cu

“Aye?” Bahzell raised his sword to peer down its edge, and fresh-honed steel glittered below his eye as he glanced up at his friend. “That’s as may be, my lad, but if they’ve a mind to call such as Sharna lord and master, then I’ve a mind to cut their gizzards out on sight.”

“I doubt you’d get much argument from anyone there-except the dog brothers, of course. But I take it the attacks on Kilthan are why you’re uncomfortable about leaving his service?”

Bahzell nodded again, then put his sword away. Steel clicked as he sheathed it and tucked the whetstone into his belt pouch.

“I understand,” Brandark said after a moment, “but you can only kill them when they come at him. Hartan’s other fellows can do that almost as well as you, and, much as it pains me to say it, he and Rianthus between them are at least half as smart as I am, so not even my brilliance is irreplaceable to Kilthan’s security.”

“Ah, the modesty of the man!” Bahzell sighed, and Brandark gri

“I know.” Brandark rubbed an index finger gently down a balalaika string and frowned. “Has he said anything more about our plans?”

“Naught but what you’ve heard as well as me. I’m thinking he’ll be sorry to see our backs, not but what he’d cut his throat sooner than admit it! But all he’s said is that we’d best be looking twice before we jump. We’ve a place here now; if we strike out on our own, we’ll lose that.”

“True enough, but that’d be just as true wherever we part company with him, and if you’re serious about not going further west-?”

“After that maw worm Tarlnasa?” Bahzell bared square, strong teeth. “Even allowing as how that bag of piss and wind would know Dark Gods from Light, no god as would choose something like that as messenger is anyone I’d want to be meeting! Oh, no, Brandark, my lad! It’s happy I am no one’s said aught of wizards, but I’ll be taking my chances with Harnak again before I stick my neck into any god’s noose!”

“Why am I not surprised?” Brandark murmured. Bahzell glared at him, but the Bloody Sword only twitched his ears gently in thought. “Well,” he said finally, “in that case, Riverside’s the place for us. The further west we go, the less likely we are to find anything going east, especially with winter coming on. So if you’re still determined to outrun divine interference and Kilthan is willing to let us go, I suppose we have to.”

“Aye,” Bahzell growled, and squinted up into the cloudless blue sky with a look that boded ill for whatever god might be stalking him.

Chapter Fourteen

“So you’re sure about this, are you?”

Kilthan’s sharp topaz eyes considered the two hradani as they stood at dockside. The city of Riverside was grimy and unkempt, and it had a name as a rough place. The Kingdom of Morvan was one of the Border Kingdoms-the small states nestled along the Empire of the Axe’s frontier-but it was more lawless than most. And less concerned with keeping the Axemen happy, for the Forest of Sharmi covered its southern flank. No one went into the Sharmi willingly, not even armies of the expansionist Empire of the Spear, which left the Morvanians with a smaller sense of dependence upon Axeman protection.

“Aye, you are,” the dwarf sighed, and shook his head. “I’ll be honest, you lads have worked out better than I’d expected, and Riverside is no place for a pair of hradani all on their own. I’ll keep you both on-as sergeants over the winter, and with your own platoons come spring.”

“We appreciate the offer.” Brandark still acted as their spokesman more often than not, but Bahzell nodded in agreement. “Truly we do. But under the circumstances-” He shrugged, and Kilthan frowned up at Bahzell.

“You’re remembering that idiot in Derm, aren’t you?” His cocked head demanded answer, and the Horse Stealer nodded again. “Well, I don’t know as I blame you, but I doubt Norfressa’s big enough to outrun the gods-assuming a lunatic in a fancy bed gown would know a message from them if it bit him on the arse!”

“That’s as may be, but I’m minded to try. And, truth to tell, I’d sooner whatever it is not splash on you and yours if I can’t outrun it, Kilthan.”

“Hmmmmm. You know, there might just be something in that,” Kilthan agreed with a slow smile, then shook himself. “All right. You’ve more than pulled your weight, so here’s your pay-and I’ve decided to absorb your bonds with the Guild.” He tossed over a purse that clinked satisfyingly when Brandark caught it, and gri

“Somehow I doubt that’s going to happen,” Brandark assured him.

“No more it should,” Kilthan agreed, drawing an unsealed parchment letter from his tunic and handing it to Brandark as well. “You’d best take this, too. Gods know you louts will have trouble enough without me to vouch for you, but this may help.” Brandark cocked his ears-his eyebrows were growing back, but remained too wispy for suitable expressiveness-and Kilthan snorted. “It’s a letter of introduction. Won’t do a damned bit of good if the guard decides to clap you up, and don’t expect it to help much with local tradesmen, but it should carry weight with anyone from the Guild who’s looking for reliable men. I perjured my immortal soul in it, but if they believe half the lies I’ve told, it should get you a job with someone reputable who’s headed east-assuming there is anyone headed east this time of year!”