Oath of Swords

“This,” Brandark remarked as Bahzell reached him, “is probably the worst idea you’ve had yet. You know that, don’t you?”

“D’you have a better one?”

“No, not really,” the Bloody Sword admitted.

“Well, then.” Bahzell rubbed his chin for a moment and frowned at the eight new horses they’d added to their string. They were well-bred animals, no doubt worth a pretty price somewhere, but they were going to be a handful for two people to manage, and none of them were up to a hradani’s weight. On the other hand, they couldn’t exactly leave them behind, now could they?

He sighed, then clapped Brandark on the shoulder.

“Well, climb up, little man. Climb up! We’ve some ground to cover before sunrise!”

“No doubt.” Brandark swung up into the saddle and twitched his ears at his friend. “Just once, Bahzell-just once! -I’d like to leave someplace with you and not have someone on our trail. Is that too much to ask?”

“Oh, be still with you!” Bahzell was already jogging south down the rough trail that served the village as a road, and Brandark urged his horse to a canter at his heels. The other animals lurched into motion on their leads, and the Horse Stealer’s voice carried through the wet squelch of hooves in mud. “You’ve more complaints than a little old lady in a brothel! Why, the way you’re after carrying on, folk might think you weren’t enjoying yourself at all, at all.”

“Enjoying myself! Listen, you overgrown lump of gristle, I-”

Their cheerful bickering faded into the darkness, and the villagers shook their heads at one another in disbelief.

Major Rathan No’hai Taihar was a lean, dangerous man. He was also a very well-born Purple Lord, and it showed-both in the arrogant tilt of his head and the rage in his eyes as he gazed down at the body of his cousin Yithar and listened to the illiterate headman of this miserable collection of hovels.

“ . . . an’ then Milord Yithar come t’collect th’ rest of next quarter’s rent, Milord,” Malith said anxiously, hands wringing a shapeless cap before him. “We was expectin’ him, of course, for he’d said as how he’d be here, an’ he’d just come up th’ track when we heard it.”

“Heard what?” Rathan demanded, waving a scented handkerchief under his nose against the muddy woodland stink. He knew there was money in the timber business, but what had possessed Yithar to buy up this wretched village was more than he-

“We heard ’em comin’ out of th’ woods, Milord.” Rathan’s eyes snapped back from the body to Malith’s face, and the villager swallowed. “Hradani they was, Milord. Must’a been at least a half-score of ’em-maybe more-an’ I think they was layin’ for Milord Yithar, like they knew he was collectin’, y’see.”

“Hradani?” Rathan repeated incredulously.

“Aye, Milord. Hradani. Y’can see their tracks yourself, out yonder where they come from, an’ again where they headed south with Milord Yithar’s horses . . . after.”

Rathan glared at him, and Malith swallowed again, strangling his cap.

“And none of you did a thing to help him, hey?” Rathan’s voice was silk-wrapped ice, and Malith paled.

“Milord . . . Milord Yithar don’t allow no weapons ’mongst his people-not but a boar spear or a huntin’ bow or two-an’ we’re not trained with ’em no how. ’Twas all we could do to get the gates closed and save our ownselves, ’deed it was, Milord!”

Rathan growled. The fingers of his right hand twitched towards his sword, yet the inability of these patchwork peasants to defend even themselves was disgustingly evident. Singing tension held for a long, still moment, and then he growled again and took his hand away with a grimace of contempt.

“So you just watched these bastard hradani murder Lord Yithar and his men,” he sneered instead, and Malith stared at the ground and bobbed his head.

“We did, Milord. ’Tweren’t no good thinkin’ we could’a done elsewise, for we couldn’t. ’Deed, we couldn’t even a held th’ gate, if they’d thought to attack us when they was done.”

“Attack you? ” Rathan gave a crack of scornful laughter. “Why in Hirahim’s name should anyone attack this? ” His gesture of disdain took in the village, and Malith looked up earnestly.

“Why, Milord, they would’a done it in a minute, ’deed they would’a, if they’d’a known.”

“Known what , you fool?”

“Why, known as how we’d saved up Milord Yithar’s rent money, Milord. Every copper of it.” The headman reached out as if to grasp the major’s arm before he remembered himself and snatched his hand back, but his pathetic eagerness was plain to see. “They was so busy lootin’ him an’ his men, they must not’a realized Milord Yithar was a’comin’ here, not leavin’, Milord, an’ we been downright afeared they’d come back an’ take th’ rent, as well!”

Rathan blinked, for he’d assumed the villagers were going to claim the brigands had stolen the rent payment. No one could have proven otherwise, and it was a rare peasant who wouldn’t do his betters gleefully out of their legitimate earnings.

“You mean they didn’t take the rent?”

“No, Milord, ’tis what I’m a’sayin’. They didn’t know as ’twas here, an’ we’d be thankful if you’d take it with you when you goes. ’Tisn’t much for Milord Yithar’s family, an’ all, but we feel it sharp that we couldn’t’a done somethin’ to save him. He . . . he could be a mite short if the dibs was out’a tune, Milord Yithar could, meanin’ no disrespect, but if you’d see as how his family gets th’ rent we’re owin’ . . . ?”

The headman’s voice trailed off, and Rathan shook himself. He turned away from the village, gazing down at the countless tracks which marked the muddy field where his cousin had died-the tracks, had he but known, which the villagers themselves had made under Bahzell’s direction-and then back at Malith. His expression was just as arrogant, but a faint hint of approval, like a master’s for a trained dog’s cleverness, tinged his smile.

“Of course, Headman Malith. Give it to my clerk-he’ll count it and give you a receipt, and I’ll personally see that Lord Yithar’s family receives it. Yes,” his smile vanished into a glare as his eyes turned back to the south, “and all the other money he’d collected, when we run these bastards to earth!”

He stood for a moment longer, glaring into the falling twilight, then inhaled sharply and beckoned to his second in command.

“Get Tregar over here to take charge of these yokels’ rent payment, Halith,” he said shortly. “Keep an eye on him while he counts it, and then get the men ready to move out.”

“Tonight, sir?” Halith said, and Rathan snarled.

“In the morning, idiot! We need light to track by. But get a couple of couriers off immediately to alert the border posts. These bastards may try to double back to the north. Even if they don’t, I want patrols out sweeping southward with daylight. We’ll teach these scum what it means to murder Purple Lords!”

“Yes, sir!” his subordinate barked, and jogged back to the remainder of the men while Rathan returned his attention to Malith.

“From all I can see, there was little your people could have done, after all,” he conceded, “and you did well to protect the rent you owed Lord Yithar. I’ll see that my report reflects that.”

“Thank you, Milord!” Malith bobbed servilely, still wringing his cap.

“In the meantime, we’ll be camping here tonight before we go after them,” Rathan went on. “We’ll need fodder for our mounts. And have your women see to some sort of supper for my men.”

“At once, Milord!”

“Good.” Rathan strode away, and, as the major turned his back, he failed to note the most unservile satisfaction-and concern for the village’s benefactors-that flickered in Malith’s shrewd old eyes.