won’t pretend I don’t believe many of my…less than flattering opinions where the war maids are concerned are justified, either. Obviously, you and I aren’t going to agree with one another in that regard. However, it’s a lord warden’s responsibility to discharge his duties as impartially as he possibly can, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d put myself into a position where I wasn’t able to do that.”
“As nearly as I can tell, Milord,” Shahana said a bit stiffly, “you did discharge them impartially. It certainly turned out you were the one who was correctly interpreting the situation and the provisions of the Kalatha town charter. Whatever anyone may have thought at the time, you were completely within your legal rights.”
“Oh, I know I was,” he acknowledged with a slightly broader smile, eyes glinting as he recognized how unhappy it made her to acknowledge that point. “But the problem, Milady, is that everyone else knew about my… let’s be courteous and call them prejudices where the war maids were concerned. And because they did, there was an automatic assumption that I wasn’t acting impartially. I put myself in that position by not watching my words more carefully, and I can’t quite free myself of the suspicion that Shigu chose Lorham and Quaysar specifically because I’d allowed myself to be far more outspoken about my feelings than a responsible lord warden would have done. Those opinions of mine were too broadly known, and without Dame Kaeritha’s intervention, that would have made Shigu’s lies entirely too plausible.”
Shahana blinked. She couldn’t help it, because she would never have expected that analysis out of Trisu Pickaxe. It was entirely too insightful to be coming from someone like him.
Only it just did, didn’t it? she thought. And the fact that you would never have expected it probably says more about you than it does about him, doesn’t it? Damn the man! Now I can’t even congratulate myself for overcoming my prejudices against him better than he overcomes his against me!
“Milord,” she said, regarding him levelly, “there’s probably something in what you say, but perhaps it cuts both ways. I’ll concede you’ve been a bit more…outspoken than I might have wished upon occasion, but so have the war maids. And, for that matter, the Quaysar Temple has been more confrontational than absolutely necessary from time to time. I think you’re right that it was the tension between all parties, and the fact that that tension was so widely known, that cleared the way for Shigu’s attempt in the first place. But you weren’t the only source of that tension.”
“Oh, I never said I was!” Trisu actually chuckled, leaning even further back in his chair. “Milady, it would never do for me to say I was more at fault than the war maids! Just think of the consternation that would cause among my armsmen and anyone else who knows me! Besides, the entire situation would never have arisen if not for the unnatural and perverse lifestyle the war maids have chosen to embrace now would it?”
Shahana had just raised her stein for another sip of beer. Now she spluttered into it and lowered the stein again to glare at him as he delivered his last sentence in a tone of perfect, matter-of-fact sincerity, as if he’d simply remarked that the sun was likely to rise in the east tomorrow morning. She started to open her mouth, then paused as their gazes met and she saw the amusement sparkling deep in his eyes. She drew a deep breath and shook her head.
“Milord,” she said tartly, “if you’re not careful, I’m going to decide you have a sense of humor after all, and then where will you be?”
Chapter Eight
‹ Do you think that if I asked Dathgar to just sort of nudge his horse-you know, just hard enough to knock him out of the saddle-he’d stop that racket?› Walsharno asked rather wistfully in the back of Bahzell’s mind.
“Now isn’t that a dreadful thing to be asking?” Bahzell replied, quietly enough not even another hradani could have overheard him. “And him doing all he can to wile away the leagues and all!”
‹ You do realize coursers’ ears are even more sensitive than yours, don’t you?› The mental voice was considerably more tart this time, and Bahzell chuckled, glancing ahead to where Brandark rode easily in the saddle, strumming his balalaika.
The musical tastes of individual coursers, he had discovered, varied at least as widely as those of the individual members of the Races of Man, and Walsharno’s ran more to stately measures which relied heavily on woodwinds, viols, and cellos. He was not a fan of balalaika music, and he had even less taste for the dwarves’ latest musical invention. They called it a “banjo,” and Brandark was already showing what Walsharno considered a most unhealthy interest in the infernal new device. If he was going to be honest, Bahzell shared his courser brother’s reservations where Brandark’s new attraction was concerned, but the Bloody Sword’s current selection didn’t bother him anywhere nearly as badly as it obviously bothered Walsharno. At least he wasn’t playing the “Lay of Bahzell Bloody Hand.” That was something, Bahzell reflected. And he wasn’t singing, either, which was even better. In fact, taking everything together, and considering how much worse it could always get, Walsharno shouldn’t be complaining at all.
‹ I wouldn’t dream of “complaining.” I’m only thinking about helping him have a little accident.›
“Oh, and isn’t that ever so much better? I’m not so sure at all, at all, as how a champion of Tomanak should be thinking such things.”
‹ And you don’t?›
“Ah, but it’s only mortal I am, when all’s said,” Bahzell replied mournfully. “And I never said as how I’d never the slightest temptation of my own, come to that. The spirit’s willing enough, but somehow…”
He shrugged, and Walsharno snorted in amusement. Baron Tellian heard that snort and turned his head, raising one eyebrow quizzically. No wind rider could hear another courser’s voice, but all of them got quite adept at reading courser body language.
“Brandark?” the baron asked, gray eyes gleaming appreciatively.
“I’m sure I’ve no idea at all what it might be you’re referring to, Milord,” Bahzell replied innocently.
“I thought I’d heard somewhere that champions of Tomanak weren’t supposed to lie,” Tellian observed to no one in particular, and Walsharno snorted again, louder than ever. He also tossed his head in an unmistakable nod.
“Traitor,” Bahzell said wryly.
‹ Nonsense. Is it my fault I recognize the truth when I hear it?›
“It’s not really all that bad,” Tellian said thoughtfully. “And at least he’s not singing. That’s something.”
‹ Two minds with but a single thought, › Walsharno said, and Bahzell chuckled.
“Truth to tell, though I’d not like to be admitting it to him, you understand, the little man’s not so bad as all that when he plays. In fact, he’s better than most, if it comes down to it.”
“Agreed. It just seems…wrong, somehow. Or perhaps the word I really want is frivolous.”
Tellian gazed up at the brilliant blue sky and the white drifts of cloud blowing about its polished dome. The day, for a change, was both dry and not too oppressively hot, with a breeze that was just short of brisk blowing out of the north behind them as they headed south along the Balthar-Sothofalas high road. It was over two hundred leagues from Balthar to King Markhos’ capital as the bird might have flown-just under two hundred and sixty for road bound mortals-and they were roughly halfway to their destination. This particular stretch of road was better maintained than many of the Kingdom’s highways, largely because it lay in the West Riding and both Tellian and his father had made a point of seeing to the proper upkeep of the high roads passing through their riding, but it was still intended for horses and coursers, not heavy foot traffic or freight wagons. Instead of the broad, paved stone of the Empire of the Axe, it had a surface of river gravel, theoretically rolled level and bordered with wide shoulders of firm, hoof-friendly turf. Even in Balthar, the gravel surface left quite a bit to be desired, especially where the ravages of winter had not yet been repaired, but it was wide enough, and Tellian’s escort had stretched out a bit, moving towards its western edge to take advantage of the band of shade projected by the trees along that side of the road as the sun moved towards afternoon.
All Sothoii high roads, like most of those in the Empire of the Axe, for that matter, were bordered by carefully planted rows of trees intended to provide windbreaks, shelter, and firewood for travelers forced to bivouac along the way. The penalties for casually felling those trees were stiff, but fallen limbs and branches were another matter, and the road crews thinned and tended them every year when they repaired the ravages of winter. The trees they took down were sawn into convient lengths, with the thicker logs split, and stacked in neat wood piles at semiregular intervals for travelers’ convenience. Combined with natural deadfalls, that was enough to keep most
