Oath of Swords

“Ah.” He eyed her plain, cheap clothing again and cleared his throat. “And would the Duke know you’re in difficulties?”

“I didn’t say it was a close co

Bahzell nodded again, slowly, tempted, despite the absurdity of what she claimed to be, to believe her. He also felt a stir of sympathy and stepped on it hard. The last thing he and Brandark needed was to get involved with an indigent noblewoman, however minor. Especially a foreign one.

“Well, it’s happy I am to have been of service, Lady Zarantha,” he said, “but I’ve a friend waiting for me, and I’d best be going, so-”

“Wait!” She held out her hand again, and Bahzell felt a sharper stab of foreboding. “If you’re just traveling through, won’t you help us? Tothas is still weak, and I’m sure if you-and your friend, if he’s willing-help us get home, my father will see you rewarded for it!”

Bahzell’s jaw clenched, and he swore at himself for not having made his escape in time.

“I’ve no doubt he would,” he began, “but I’m thinking there’s better than such as us to be helping you home. It’s like enough he’d be none too happy to see you trailing a pair of hradani with you, and-”

Another thug raised a bleary head, peered about him, and began crawling down the alley, and Bahzell reached down and caught him by the cloak. He jerked the unfortunate up and bounced his head off the wall-harder than was strictly necessary in his frustration-and let him slither back.

“As I was saying-” he began again, when a loud voice spoke from behind him.

“Here, now!” it said sharply. “What’s all this, then?”

Bahzell shut his mouth and turned slowly. He wore no sword-the Riverside Guard frowned on them-but he was careful to keep his hand well away from his dagger hilt, as well.

It was, perhaps, as well he had, for ten of the Guard stood in the alley mouth with torches, peering at the carnage. The sergeant at their head removed his steel cap and tucked it under his left arm to scratch his head, and more steel rasped quietly behind him as someone loosened a sword in its sheath.

“Well?” the sergeant said after a moment, gazing up at Bahzell, and the hradani opened his mouth, but Zarantha stepped past him before he could speak.

“I,” she said, and Bahzell blinked at her suddenly regal tone, “am the Lady Zarantha Hûrâka, of Clan Hûrâka, sept to Shâloan of the South Weald.”

“Ah?” The sergeant rocked back on his heels with a smile, but the smile faded as Zarantha faced him. She should have looked ridiculous in her cheap, drab garments, torn and streaked with the alley’s filth, but she didn’t. Bahzell could see only her back, but there was a dangerous tilt to her head, and the sergeant cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I see . . . My Lady,” he said finally. “Ah, I don’t suppose you could, um, explain what’s happened here?”

“Certainly, Sergeant,” she replied with that same regality. “I was on my way to my lodging when I was set upon by these . . . persons.” A distasteful wave encompassed the bodies about Bahzell’s feet. “No doubt they intended to rob me-or worse-and would have, but for this gentleman.” A much more graceful wave indicated Bahzell, and the sergeant blinked again.

“He helped you?”

“He certainly did, and most efficiently, too.”

“I see.” The sergeant bent to roll one of the bodies onto its back, and his frown deepened. He waved a corporal forward to join him, and the corporal whistled through his teeth.

“That’s Shainhard, sure as Phrobus, Sarge,” he muttered, and the sergeant nodded and straightened.

“Well . . . My Lady,” he said slowly, “I’m glad he did, I suppose, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to take him in for disturbing the peace.”

“Disturbing the peace , is it?” One or two guardsmen flinched at the quiet anger in Bahzell’s deep voice. “And I suppose you’re thinking I should have just walked on past and let them do as they willed?”

“I didn’t say that,” the sergeant replied sharply, “but I’ve heard the reports, and this isn’t the first brawl for you or your friend. I don’t say they were your fault,” he added as Bahzell stiffened, “for I doubt they were, but we know there’s been trouble, and this looks like more, and worse, of the same. Best to get you safely in cells while we decide what happened.”

“And if I’m not minded to go?” Bahzell asked in a perilously quiet voice, but the sergeant faced up to him without flinching.

“I don’t think that would be very smart of you,” he said flatly. “You’re a stranger in town, and-no offense-you’re also a hradani with no means of support. When you add that to who this lot-” he gestured at the bodies “-work for, well, there’s going to be questions, like it or no.”

“Questions?” Bahzell began dangerously, but Zarantha raised a hand, and the gesture was so imperious it cut him off in midbreath.

“Excuse me, Sergeant, but you’re in error,” she said crisply.

“I’m what?” The guardsman blinked at her.

“I said you were in error,” she repeated, her voice even crisper. “You said this man has no means of support.”

“Well, no more does he!”

“Yes, he does. In fact, he’s been retained by Clan Hûrâka as my personal armsman, and he was acting in that capacity when I was attacked. Surely you don’t question the propriety of defending his employer?”

The sergeant sucked his teeth and peered up at Bahzell, and it was all the Horse Stealer could do to keep his own mouth closed. He knew how deep was the trouble in which he stood, but his eyes narrowed as he glared down at the top of Zarantha’s head, and he suddenly found himself wondering if a Riverside cell would be all that bad a place to spend the night, after all.

“Your . . . armsman,” the sergeant repeated at length. “I see. And just what might you and your, ah, armsman be doing in Riverside, My Lady?”

“I was forced to stop here when one of my servants fell ill,” Zarantha said coldly. “Now that he’s recovered, I intend to return to my home in the South Weald. May I ask what concern that is of yours, Sergeant?”

“Well, since you ask, My Lady, I’ll tell you,” the guardsman said with a certain air of satisfaction. “These aren’t just any street scum. This one-” he pointed at the man he and the corporal had examined “-is named Shainhard, and he’s a senior lieutenant to one Molos ni’Tarth. Now, it may be none of my concern, but ni’Tarth’s a nasty customer. We know he runs most of the southside drinking sties and sells protection down at the docks, and we think he’s had dealings with the dog brothers. But the point, Lady Zarantha,” he allowed himself to use the title with withering irony this time, “is that Shainhard is important to ni’Tarth’s operations, and he doesn’t look so very good right at the moment. In fact, I don’t believe he’s breathing anymore.”

Bahzell felt his stomach sinking steadily, and the smile the sergeant gave him was a strange mix of satisfaction and sympathy.

“Now the thing is, My Lady, that ni’Tarth won’t take kindly to this, not at all, at all. In fact, he’ll probably try to cut your new armsman’s throat-or ask his dog brother friends to do it for him. Come to that, he won’t be too pleased by your part in this, either.”

“I see.” Bahzell felt an unwilling admiration for Zarantha’s calm, despite what he saw coming. Her voice didn’t even quaver at the mention of dog brothers, and she shrugged. “I imagine it would be better not to tempt him to be foolish, then, wouldn’t it?”