of the eight thousand dead they’d suffered. Yurgazh Charkson would not be returning to Navahk. Over half the Hurgrum Chapter had died. Sir Yarran Battlecrow would spend the remainder of his life with one leg. Half of Tharanalalknarthas zoi’Harkanath’s barge crews had died, and Tharanal himself had lost his left hand to a ghoul’s jaws. He’d been thrusting a dagger down the creature’s throat at the moment those jaws closed.
Losses among the hradani infantry who’d held that line against the avalanche of ghouls had been especially heavy. Hurgrum would be years recovering from all the sons she’d lost that day, but their deaths had accomplished far more than simply clearing the line of the Hangnysti for the Derm Canal project. The Sothoii who’d been there with them, who’d shared that day of blood and carnage, had carried the tale of that grisly field back to the Wind Plain, and those battle companions had been…disinclined to listen to any more anti-hradani bigotry. It wasn’t just the fighting men of the West Riding anymore, either. Prince Yurokhas and his royal brother had seen to it that the truth of that fight had been spread far and wide.
It had come hard on the heels of the news of the assassination attempt at Chergor. Of the treason of Baron Cassan…and of the King’s rescue by the despised war maids of Kalatha. Some had tried to give the credit to Trisu of Lorham, instead, but Trisu would have none of it. Stubborn and stiff-necked he might be, but no man who lived could doubt Trisu of Lorham’s honesty or call him liar, and he’d already thrashed one particularly bigoted minor lord warden within an inch of his life for daring to impugn the war maids’ contribution.
They were the ones who’d discovered the plot in the first place, he’d told the spectators, standing over the semiconscious body of his opponent in the middle of the lists. It was a war maid, not one of his armsmen who’d carried the warning to Chergor in time. Who’d fought-unarmored and on foot-to save their King. Who’d claimed the traitor’s head and delivered it to King Markhos. And it was her sisters who’d taken Cassan’s armsmen in the flank and produced the victory his outnumbered armsmen-and, he’d added rather pointedly, the Quaysar Temple Guard and the Arm of Lillinara who’d commanded it-could not have won without them. In fact, he’d finished, one foot resting on the breastplate of the opponent who’d finally begun to stir once more, without the war maids of Kalatha, King Markhos would be dead, and Baron Tellian with him, and the traitor who’d killed them might very well have been named regent for Crown Prince Norandhor.
It had been quite a performance, and he’d capped it by escorting Shahana Lillinarafressa to the great banquet Baron Tellian had decreed (with King Markhos’ strong support) in honor of those selfsame war maids. He’d danced no less than six of that evening’s dances with Shahana, as well, and Bahzell had spotted the two of them with their heads together over tankards of beer well after everyone else had left for home or rolled unconscious under one of the tables. (With so many war maids in attendance, it had inevitably turned into that sort of party before the night was over.)
The sheer shock of the attempt on Markhos’ life, not to mention the disreputable nature of his rescuers, had rippled through the Kingdom of the Sothoii like the outrider of an earthquake. And then had come the terrifying news that greater devils had been seen for the first time in twelve centuries-and seen here, in Norfressa.
The majority of Norfressans had half-forgotten that they and their ancestors had ever lived anywhere else. They knew the tales and they sang the ballads, but aside from the historians among them, Kontovar was no longer truly real to them. It was a legend, a cautionary tale, something that had happened long ago to someone else entirely, and they’d grown accustomed over the centuries to coping with the handful of the Dark’s servants and creatures who emerged into the Light from time to time without sparing much thought for the Council of Carnadosa or the wizard lords of Kontovar who lay on the far side of an ocean, half a world away from Norfressa.
It was probable, Bahzell thought, that the majority of Norfressans still felt that way about it, but not the Sothoii. Not anymore.
It hadn’t happened overnight, although it probably seemed that way to many. It had actually begun with Krahana’s attack on the Warm Springs coursers, he knew, although he wasn’t surprised no one really seemed to have noticed at the time. Shigu’s strike at the Quaysar Temple of Lillinara and the war maids had been far less disturbing to the Sothoii in general than the murder of so many coursers, yet not even the coursers’ deaths had been enough to pull most of the Sothoii away from their concentration on their hatred for their more traditional enemies at the foot of the Wind Plain. Not even the Hurgrum Chapter’s role in freeing the coursers’ souls had been enough to change that. Not quite.
But like the first stones in an avalanche, those events had started something far greater than anyone would have guessed at the time. Not all of the Sothoii had gone peacefully back to sleep afterward. Some had started paying attention, and when Tellian, Kilthan, and Bahnak had begun their great canal scheme, others had paid heed, as well. Not all of them happily, perhaps, but it had gotten them looking in the right direction.
And then had come the Battle of the Hangnysti and the proof-the proof no one could ignore-that the threat of the Dark remained only too real…and that the Dark was determined that those trying to bring peace between hradani and Sothoii would fail.
They were a stubborn people, the Sothoii. It wasn’t in them to change their minds quickly or easily. Indeed, they were uncomfortably like Bahzell’s own people in that regard. But whatever else they might be, they weren’t stupid. No one doubted that the Dark had been involved in the attempt on Markhos, as well, especially since the mage investigators probing that plot had already confirmed that Cassan had been involved with at least one dark wizard. And if the Dark who’d tried to murder their King also wanted to prevent them from somehow achieving a just peace and friendship with the hated hradani, why, the Sothoii were more than stubborn enough to do just that and laugh in the Dark’s teeth.
A bitter price, Trianal’s army had paid, but what it had bought-what it was buying-was worth the cost, and he knew it. Not in his heart, where the aching emptiness of so many missing friends was still unhealed, but in the considered judgment of a champion of Tomanak who knew victory when he saw it.
“Aye,” he told Wencit now. “Aye, it’s the folk who died as made this come together. But not a one of them had the doing of it for fame or bards’ tales any more than me…or Vaijon.”
“Of course not,” Wencit said gently, reaching up to put a hand on Bahzell’s shoulder, and smiled crookedly. “Don’t you think I, of all people, understand that? ”
The wizard shook his head, and Bahzell snorted softly as the question put his own discomfort with the songs already circulating about his “mighty deeds” at the Hangnysti-not a one of them, curiously, by Brandark Brandarkson-into perspective. He’d been at this championing trade for less than ten years, after all; Wencit had been in the legend-making business for over twelve centuries.
“On the other hand,” Wencit continued, almost as if he’d just read Bahzell’s mind, “you do seem to do things in more…concentrated doses than I do. I really wouldn’t object if you slowed down just a bit for, oh, a decade or two.”
“I wouldn’t really object to that, either, Bahzell,” Leeana chimed in, and Bahzell chuckled.
“No more would I,” he assured them.
“That’s what you say,” Wencit said darkly, “but I’ve noticed these things tend to seek you out.”
“Well, at least this time you’d no need to be getting involved,” Bahzell pointed out affably, and Wencit smiled.
“No,” he agreed, glancing at Leeana. “No, this time I didn’t have to get involved at all. Very peaceful, it was.”
“For some,” Leeana said tartly, and the wizard gave her a small, ironic bow.
“Have the war maids decided how they’re going to select their delegate to the Great Council?” he inquired by way of a change of subject.
“Not really.” Leeana shook her head, accepting the change. “Some of us are still too deeply in shock that the Kingdom’s lords warden haven’t all dropped dead from apoplexy at the mere notion for us to think very constructively about it ourselves yet. I know we’re going to have to come up with a solution, but it would have helped if the King had decided to give us some guidelines.”
“Actually, I think it was much wiser of him to leave it up to you,” Wencit disagreed. “Whoever you end up nominating is going to have to have Crown approval, but you war maids aren’t really accustomed to the top-down way the Kingdom as a whole does things. Better for you to come up with your own way of choosing your nominees. Besides,” the old wizard grinned suddenly, “I’ve been around long enough I’m accustomed to taking the long view, and I’m thoroughly in favor of opening the door-just a crack, you understand-to the notion of the kind of Parliament the Axemen have.”
“Mother, Wencit!” Leeana laughed out loud. “You would have the lords warden dropping in droves if you suggested something like that! ”
