effort dispassionately evaluating him, and that’s one of the reasons Tellian’s been able to to accomplish so much. Respecting an adversary’s capabilities is the first step to taking them effectively into consideration in your own plans.”
Sahrdohr started to reply quickly, then stopped and obviously reconsidered what he’d been about to say. After a moment, he nodded, albeit more than a little grudgingly.
“All right, that’s fair,” he said. “In fact, I’ll go further and admit it’s wise. And having all three of Scale Balancer’s champions out of Sothofalas should make actually killing Tellian a lot easier if we can get another shot at him. But Bahzell’s clearly Their more important target, and we didn’t even come close to killing him when we had the chance.”
“No, and I’m not going to be anywhere within thirty or forty leagues of him when we do try to kill him, if it’s all the same to you,” Varnaythus said dryly. “That’s what demons, devils, ghouls, trolls, and dog brothers are for, thank you very much. When the time comes, of course. And the good thing about it is that we can use anything that comes to hand against him without worrying about drawing attention to our plans for the Sothoii in general. No one’s going to be a bit surprised if any of Them or Their allies want to kill one of Tomanak’s champions, after all. And that, my friend, means we can delegate that particular little task to one of Their other servants. I don’t know if we’re going to manage to get him onto the Ghoul Moor to enjoy our little surprise along with Vaijon and the others, of course. In some ways, that could work out for the best, but that really irritating talent of his for surviving could cause that whole arm of the operation to come up short, instead. And I’m just delighted to leave it up to Krashnark’s servants… especially if Bahzell’s going to put in an appearance. After all,” he smiled thinly at his companion, “we’re wizards. We do the subtle, sophisticated work and leave that crude heavy lifting to those better suited to it.”
Sahrdohr gazed at him for several moments, then leaned back in his own chair, took a large bite from the pretzel in his left hand and washed it down with a healthy swig of beer.
“You know,” he said after he’d swallowed, “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way, but you’re right, Master Varnaythus.”
“Of course I am.” Varnaythus treated himself to another swallow of ale. “That’s why I’m in charge. And it’s also the reason, young Malahk, that I’ve survived long enough to be in charge. You might want to write that down somewhere.”
“Prince Bahzell!”
Bahzell turned in the saddle as Walsharno halted under him. He and the courser both looked back the way they’d come, and the hradani frowned as a man made his way down the stone-slab sidewalk towards him. The newcomer was a tallish man, like most Sothoii, with auburn hair just starting to gray and a neatly trimmed spade beard. He wore his hair in a warrior’s braid and there was a saber at his side, but he wasn’t dressed like an armsman, and he certainly wasn’t dressed like a noble. In fact, he wore a blue tunic badged with the white scepter of Semkirk, the god of wisdom…and magi.
‹ Do you have any idea who this fellow might be?› Walsharno inquired.
“No more than what you see yourself,” Bahzell replied.
“He might be a really cleverly disguised assassin,” Brandark suggested cheerfully, and Bahzell gave him a disgusted look. “I’m just saying it’s possible,” the Bloody Sword said mildly. “I never said it was likely.”
‹ If it wouldn’t hurt the lesser cousin, I’d step on him.›
“As to that, he’ll have to be dismounting sometime.”
‹ True. And I’m a patient fellow. I can wait.›
“Why do I have the feeling you and Walsharno were talking about me?” Brandark asked.
“I’m thinking that’s because I’ve the look of a man with a belly ache.”
“My, you are in a sour mood today.”
“Now,” Bahzell agreed with a pleasant smile, and Brandark chuckled.
The Bloody Sword opened his mouth, but before he could say anything else, the stranger had caught up with them. Bahzell looked down at him for a moment, then courteously dismounted. He still towered a foot and more taller than the newcomer, but at least the fellow wouldn’t have to crane his neck staring up at him.
“And how might I be helping you?” he inquired.
“Your pardon, Milord.” The other man gave him a small but polite bow. “I’d hoped to catch you before you left Sir Jerhas’ townhouse, but I was delayed along the way, so I cut through the side streets to make up for lost time. My name is Brayahs-Brayahs Daggeraxe-and I have a message for you from Mistress Zarantha.”
“Ah! Then you’d be Baron Halthan’s nephew, I’m thinking?”
“I have that honor,” Daggeraxe acknowledged with another half-bow. If he was surprised at Bahzell’s identification, it didn’t show. “And I was one of Mistress Zarantha’s mentors at the Axe Hallow mage academy. She’s stayed in touch over the years, and she’s always spoken most warmly of you.”
“Aye, she would.” Bahzell shook his head with a smile. “She’s always been one as thinks the best of others, whether they’re after deserving it or not, hasn’t she just?”
“Actually, I’ve always found her rather hardheaded and careful about who she chooses to trust, Milord,” Daggeraxe said dryly.
“Oh, no, Master Brayahs!” Brandark said cheerfully, swinging down from the saddle and inserting himself into the conversation. “You must be thinking about someone else. Why, Mistress Zarantha even trusts me! ”
“And I’m sure you’ve never given her cause to do anything of the sort.” Daggeraxe shook his head. “Shocking.”
“I’d not go quite so far as all that,” Bahzell said, looking down at Brandark, “but I will say there’s times a man needs to be reminding himself just why it is he puts up with some people.”
Brandark grinned impudently at him, and Daggeraxe chuckled. But then his expression turned more serious and he looked around. He’d overtaken them several blocks from the Prime Councilor’s home, on a broad street fronted by busy shops, eateries, sidewalk stalls, and taverns.
“I truly regret not having caught up with you sooner, Milord,” he said.
“Well, seeing as how no one was supposed to know-officially-as how I was even here in the first place, I’m thinking you didn’t do so very poorly as all that. Still,” Bahzell glanced around in turn, “I’ll allow as this isn’t the very most private place in all the world.”
“There’s a park another two blocks down this street,” Dragonaxe said. “Earlier in the day it’s usually fairly crowded-it’s one of the city’s larger parks, and there’s room to hack a horse or even take a turn in a carriage, if you’re truly fashionable. Most of the city exquisites should have taken themselves off for the day by now, though.”
‹ If he really was a cleverly disguised assassin, that would be a wonderful way to get us off into a quiet corner,› Walsharno observed in the back of Bahzell’s brain. Bahzell looked up at him with something very like a glower, and the courser tossed his head. ‹ I’m just saying it’s possible,› he said in a very passable imitation of Brandark’s voice. ‹ I never said it was likely.›
“A park sounds just fine, Master Brayahs,” Bahzell said. “Another two blocks, you were saying?”
Bahzell could see why the park to which Daggeraxe guided them might be popular. It was quite old, surrounded by gray stone walls mottled with lichen, with paths of carefully raked gravel threading their way under ancient trees just starting to come into full leaf. Broader paths-more like promenades than roads-wound through the park’s gently rolling spaciousness, and a large fountain at its heart splashed around an inevitable equestrian statue. Groundskeepers were at work as the three of them-and Walsharno-passed through the open gate in the stone wall. They looked up, and their eyes widened as they saw the hradani. Most of them stiffened automatically, as well, but Bahzell and Brandark had grown accustomed to that response, and the Horse Stealer watched at least some of them relax as they took in the sword and mace on his surcoat, added to them to Walsharno, and realized who he had to be.
Not, he noted sourly, that most of them relaxed very noticeably.
